We're never varra partic'lar." "I tak yer offer wi' thankfu'ness," answered Donal.
"Weel, gang ye in at that door jist 'afore ye, an' ye'll see the guidwife--there's nane ither til see.

I wad gang wi' ye mysel', but I canna, wi' this shue o' yours to turn intil a Sunday ane!" Donal went to the door indicated.

It stood wide open; for while the cobbler sat outside at his work, his wife would never shut the door.

He knocked, but there came no answer.
"She's some dull o' hearin'," said the cobbler, and called her by his own name for her.
"Doory! Doory!" he said.
"She canna be that deif gien she hears ye!" said Donal; for he spoke hardly louder than usual.
"Whan God gies you a wife, may she be ane to hear yer lichtest word!" answered the cobbler.
Sure enough, he had scarcely finished the sentence, when Doory appeared at the door.
"Did ye cry, guidman ?" she said.
"Na, Doory: I canna say I cried; but I spak, an' ye, as is yer custom, hearkent til my word!--Here's a believin' lad--I'm thinkin' he maun be a gentleman, but I'm no sure; it's hard for a cobbler to ken a gentleman 'at comes til him wantin' shune; but he may be a gentleman for a' that, an' there's nae hurry to ken.

He's welcome to me, gien he be welcome to you.