"Dinna ye reckon on that, Jennie; it's nae the bonniest Bubbly Jock that
mak's the most feathers to fly in the kailyard. I was ever a lad to run
after the petticoats, as is weel kent; an' it's a weary handfu' I'll be
to ye, I'm thinkin'."

"Ah, but ye hae a kind heart, Davie! an' ye love me weel. I'm sure
on't."

"I like ye weel enoo', Jennie, though I canna say how long the feeling
may bide wi' me; an' I'm kind enoo' when I hae my ain way, an' naethin'
happens to put me oot. But I hae the deevil's ain temper, as my mither
call tell ye, an' like my puir fayther, I'm a-thinkin', I'll grow nae
better as I grow mair auld."

"Ay, but ye're sair hard upon yersel', Davie. Ye're an honest lad. I
ken ye better than ye ken yersel', an' ye'll mak a guid hame for me."

"Maybe, Jennie! But I hae my doots. It's a sair thing for wife an'
bairns when the guid man canna keep awa' frae the glass; an' when the
scent of the whusky comes to me it's just as though I hae'd the throat o'
a Loch Tay salmon; it just gaes doon an' doon, an' there's nae filling o'
me."

"Ay, but ye're a guid man when ye're sober, Davie."

"Maybe I'll be that, Jennie, if I'm nae disturbed."

"An' ye'll bide wi' me, Davie, an' work for me?"

"I see nae reason why I shouldna bide wi' yet Jennie; but dinna ye clack