'ye'll-no'-do-this-an'-ye'll-no'-do-that' sort o' thing. What the hell
right has ony gaffer wi' what a man does? It's a' one to him what I do.
I'm nae slave, an' forby, I dinna believe they are weel-aff. They maun
be hard up."

"But he'll maybe sack ye," suggested Peter, "if ye take the collection."

"Well, let him," cried Andrew, now thoroughly roused, "the bastard! I
would see the greyhounds o' hell huntin' him roun' the rocks o' blazes
afore I'd give in to him!"

Nothing further was said of the matter until well on in the day, when it
suddenly occurred to Andrew that Peter, who had a large family, might
not care to incur the displeasure of Walker by taking the collection the
next day.

"Of course, Peter," he said, after he had thought the matter over, "if
ye don't care to take the collection wi' me, I won't press ye. I'll no'
think ony worse o' ye if ye don't. Ye ha'e a big family, while I ha'e
only the wife to look after. Sometimes I think it's lucky we ha'e nae
weans; I can flit, and ye might no' be able to rise an' run. But I mean
to take the collection onyway, for I don't like a man to order me what I
ha'e to do."

"Oh, I wasna mindin' that, Andra," replied Peter, trying to make Andrew
believe that he had not guessed the truth. "I'll take the collectin wi'
ye, an' Black Jock can gang to hell if he likes."

"No, Peter, ye'll do naethin' o' the kind. I'll take it mysel'." And
Andrew would not move from that decision.