at four and even at two (thinking that his mallet and chisel are
calling him), and begins to pull on his trousers, until the grandeur
of them reminds him that he can go to bed again. Sometimes he cries a
little, because there is no more work for him to do for ever and
ever; and then Maggie gives him a spade (without telling David) or
David gives him the logs to saw (without telling Maggie).

We have given James a longer time to make his move than our kind
friends in front will give him, but in the meantime something has
been happening. David has come in, wearing a black coat and his
Sabbath boots, for he has been to a public meeting. David is nigh
forty years of age, whiskered like his father and brother (Alick's
whiskers being worn as a sort of cravat round the neck), and he has
the too brisk manner of one who must arrive anywhere a little before
any one else. The painter who did the three of them for fifteen
pounds (you may observe the canvases on the walls) has caught this
characteristic, perhaps accidentally, for David is almost stepping
out of his frame, as if to hurry off somewhere; while Alick and James
look as if they were pinned to the wall for life. All the six of
them, men and pictures, however, have a family resemblance, like
granite blocks from their own quarry. They are as Scotch as peat for
instance, and they might exchange eyes without any neighbour noticing
the difference, inquisitive little blue eyes that seem to be always
totting up the price of things.

The dambrod players pay no attention to David, nor does he regard
them. Dumping down on the sofa he removes his 'lastic sides, as his
Sabbath boots are called, by pushing one foot against the other, gets
into a pair of hand-sewn slippers, deposits the boots as according to
rule in the ottoman, and crosses to the fire. There must be something