The cobbler looked up again.
"Ye'll be wantin' a han' frae me i' my ain line, I'm thinkin'!" he said, with a kindly nod towards Donal's shoeless feet.
"Sma' doobt!" returned Donal.

"I had scarce startit, but was ower far to gang back, whan the sole o' ae shue cam aff, an' I had to tramp it wi' baith my ain." "An' ye thankit the Lord for the auld blessin' o' bein' born an' broucht up wi' soles o' yer ain!" "To tell the trowth," answered Donal, "I hae sae mony things to be thankfu' for, it's but sma' won'er I forget mony ane o' them.

But noo, an' I thank ye for the exhortation, the Lord's name be praist 'at he gae me feet fit for gangin' upo'!" He took his shoes from his back, and untying the string that bound them, presented the ailing one to the cobbler.
"That's what we may ca' deith!" remarked the cobbler, slowly turning the invalided shoe.
"Ay, deith it is," answered Donal; "it's a sair divorce o' sole an' body." "It's a some auld-farrand joke," said the cobbler, "but the fun intil a thing doesna weir oot ony mair nor the poetry or the trowth intil't." "Who will say there was no providence in the loss of my shoe-sole!" remarked Donal to himself.

"Here I am with a friend already!" The cobbler was submitting the shoes, first the sickly one, now the sound one, to a thorough scrutiny.
"Ye dinna think them worth men'in', I doobt!" said Donal, with a touch of anxiety in his tone.
"I never thoucht that whaur the leather wad haud the steik," replied the cobbler.

"But whiles, I confess, I'm jist a wheen tribled to ken hoo to chairge for my wark.