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. "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.
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