My business is to luik to the bodies o' men, an' specially to their puir feet 'at has to bide the weicht, an' get sair pressed therein.

Life 's as hard upo' the feet o' a man as upo' ony pairt o' 'm! Whan they gang wrang, there isna muckle to be dune till they be set richt again.

I'm sair honourt, I say to mysel' whiles, to be set ower the feet o' men.

It's a fine ministration!--full better than bein' a door-keeper i' the hoose o' the Lord! For the feet 'at gang oot an' in at it 's mair nor the door!" "The Lord be praist!" said Donal to himself; "there's mair i' the warl' like my father an' mither!" He took the seat appointed him.
"Come to the table, Anerew," said the old woman, "gien sae be ye can pairt wi' that buik o' yours, an' lat yer sowl gie place to yer boady's richts .-- I doobt, sir, gien he wad ait or drink gien I wasna at his elbuck." "Doory," returned her husband, "ye canna deny I gie ye a bit noo an' than, specially whan I come upo' onything by ord'nar' tasty!" "That ye du, Anerew, or I dinna ken what wud come o' my sowl ony mair nor o' your boady! Sae ye see, sir, we're like John Sprat an' his wife:--ye'll ken the bairns' say aboot them ?" "Ay, fine that," replied Donal.

"Ye couldna weel be better fittit." "God grant it!" she said.