"Ye may weel mak the remark, sir!" replied the cobbler without
looking up, for a critical stitch occupied him. "It's a balmy
nicht."

"That's raither a bonny word to put til't!" returned Donal. "There's
a kin' o' an air aboot the place I wad hardly hae thoucht balmy!
But troth it's no the fau't o' the nicht!"

"Ye're richt there also," returned the cobbler--his use of the
conjunction impressing Donal. "Still, the weather has to du wi' the
smell--wi' the mair or less o' 't, that is. It comes frae a
tanneree nearby. It's no an ill smell to them 'at's used til't; and
ye wad hardly believe me, sir, but I smell the clover throuw 't.
Maybe I'm preejudized, seein' but for the tan-pits I couldna weel
drive my trade; but sittin' here frae mornin' to nicht, I get a kin'
o' a habit o' luikin' oot for my blessin's. To recognize an auld
blessin' 's 'maist better nor to get a new ane. A pair o' shune
weel cobblet 's whiles full better nor a new pair."

"They are that," said Donal; "but I dinna jist see hoo yer seemile
applies."

"Isna gettin' on a pair o' auld weel-kent an' weel men'it shune, 'at
winna nip yer feet nor yet shochle, like waukin' up til a blessin'
ye hae been haein' for years, only ye didna ken 't for ane?"

As he spoke, the cobbler lifted a little wizened face and a pair of
twinkling eyes to those of the student, revealing a soul as original
as his own. He was one of the inwardly inseparable, outwardly far
divided company of Christian philosophers, among whom individuality