"Whan God gies you a wife, may she be ane to hear yer lichtest
word!" answered the cobbler.

Sure enough, he had scarcely finished the sentence, when Doory
appeared at the door.

"Did ye cry, guidman?" she said.

"Na, Doory: I canna say I cried; but I spak, an' ye, as is yer
custom, hearkent til my word!--Here's a believin' lad--I'm thinkin'
he maun be a gentleman, but I'm no sure; it's hard for a cobbler to
ken a gentleman 'at comes til him wantin' shune; but he may be a
gentleman for a' that, an' there's nae hurry to ken. He's welcome
to me, gien he be welcome to you. Can ye gie him a nicht's
lodgin'?"

"Weel that! an' wi' a' my hert!" said Doory. "He's welcome to what
we hae."

Turning, she led the way into the house.




CHAPTER VI.

DOORY.

She was a very small, spare woman, in a blue print with little white
spots--straight, not bowed like her husband. Otherwise she seemed