towards the chair of the semi-paralytic in the corner.

There silent and unregarding Walter Skirving sat--a man still
splendid in frame and build, erect in his chair, a shawl over his
knees even in this day of fervent heat, looking out dumbly on the
drowsing, humming world of broad, shadowless noonshine, and often
also on the equable silences of the night.

"No that I regret it the day, when he is but the name o' the man
he yince was. For fifty years since there was nae lad like Walter
Skirving cam into Dumfries High Street frae Stewartry or frae
Shire. No a fit in buckled shune sae licht as his, his weel-shapit
leg covered wi' the bonny 'rig-an'-fur' stockin' that I knitted
mysel' frae the cast on o' the ower-fauld [over-fold] to the bonny
white forefit that sets aff the blue sae weel. Walter Skirving
could button his knee-breeks withoot bendin' his back--that nane
could do but the king's son himsel'; an' sic a dancer as he was
afore guid an' godly Maister Cauldsowans took hand o' him at the
tent, wi' preachin' a sermon on booin' the knee to Baal. Aye, aye,
its a' awa'--an' its mony the year I thocht on it, let alane
thocht on wantin' back thae days o' vanity an' the pride o' sinfu'
youth!"

"Tell me about the officer men, granny," said Winsome.

"'Deed wull I no. It wad be mair tellin' ye gin ye were learnin'
yer Caritches" [Westminster Catechism].

"But, grandmammy dear, I thought that you said that the officer
men ran away from you--"