"But we wad fit better yet gien I had but a wheen mair brains." "The Lord kenned what brains ye had whan he broucht ye thegither," said Donal.
"Ye never uttert a truer word," replied the cobbler.

"Gien the Lord be content wi' the brains he's gien ye, an' I be content wi' the brains ye gie me, what richt hae ye to be discontentit wi' the brains ye hae, Doory ?--answer me that.

But I s' come to the table .-- Wud ye alloo me to speir efter yer name, sir ?" "My name 's Donal Grant," replied Donal.
"I thank ye, sir, an' I'll haud it in respec'," returned the cobbler.
"Maister Grant, wull ye ask a blessin' ?" "I wad raither j'in i' your askin'," replied Donal.
The cobbler said a little prayer, and then they began to eat--first of oat-cakes, baked by the old woman, then of loaf-breid, as they called it.
"I'm sorry I hae nae jeally or jam to set afore ye, sir," said Doory, "we're but semple fowk, ye see--content to haud oor earthly taibernacles in a haibitable condition till we hae notice to quit." "It's a fine thing to ken," said the cobbler, with a queer look, "'at whan ye lea' 't, yer hoose fa's doon, an' ye haena to think o' ony damages to pey--forby 'at gien it laistit ony time efter ye was oot o' 't, there micht be a wheen deevils takin' up their abode intil 't." "Hoot, Anerew!" interposed his wife, "there's naething like that i' scriptur'!" "Hoot, Doory!" returned Andrew, "what ken ye aboot what's no i' scriptur'?
Ye ken a heap, I alloo, aboot what's in scriptur', but ye ken little aboot what's no intil 't!" "Weel, isna 't best to ken what's intil 't ?" "'Ayont a doobt." "Weel!" she returned in playful triumph.
Donal saw that he had got hold of a pair of originals: it was a joy to his heart: he was himself an original--one, namely, that lived close to the simplicities of existence! Andrew Comin, before offering him house-room, would never have asked anyone what he was; but he would have thought it an equal lapse in breeding not to show interest in the history as well as the person of a guest.

After a little more talk, so far from commonplace that the common would have found it mirth-provoking, the cobbler said: "An' what office may ye haud yersel', sir, i' the ministry o' the temple ?" "I think I un'erstan' ye," replied Donal; "my mother says curious things like you." "Curious things is whiles no that curious," remarked Andrew.
A pause following, he resumed: "Gien onything gie ye reason to prefar waitin' till ye ken Doory an' me a bit better, sir," he said, "coont my ill-mainnert queston no speirt." "There's naething," answered Donal.

"I'll tell ye onything or a'thing aboot mysel'." "Tell what ye wull, sir, an' keep what ye wull," said the cobbler.
"I was broucht up a herd-laddie," proceeded Donal, "an' whiles a shepherd ane.