It was to me that fell one o' the few heart-rending episodes o' the
whole tour. Again it's the story of a man who thocht the world owed
him a living, and that his mission was but to collect it. Why it is
that men like that never see that it' not the world that pays them,
but puir individuals whom they leave worse off for knowing them, and
trusting them, and seeking to help them?

I mind it was at Gatehouse-of-Fleet in Kircudbrightshire that, for
once in a way, for some reason I do not bring to mind, Mac and I were
separated for a nicht. I found a lodging for the night wi' an aged
couple who had a wee cottage all covered wi' ivy, no sae far from the
Solway Firth. I was glad o' that; I've aye loved the water.

It was nae mair than four o'clock o' the afternoon when I reached the
cottage and found my landlady and her white-haired auld husband
waitin' to greet me. They made me as welcome as though I'd been their
ain son; ye'd ne'er ha' thocht they were just lettin' me a bit room
and gie'n me bit and sup for siller. 'Deed, an' that's what I like
fine about the Scots folk. They're a' full o' kindness o' that sort.
There's something hamely aboot a Scots hotel ye'll no find south o'
the border, and, as for a lodging, why there's nowt to compare wi'
Scotland for that. Ye feel ye're ane o' the family so soon as ye set
doon yer traps and settle doon for a crack wi' the gude woman o' the
hoose.

This was a fine, quiet, pawky pair I found at Gatehouse-of-Fleet. I
liked them fine frae the first, and it was a delight to think of them
as a typical old Scottish couple, spending the twilight years of their
lives at hame and in peace. They micht be alane, I thocht, but wi'