"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.
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