found it worse than irksome, and longed for Scaurnose. At the same
time loyalty to Malcolm kept him from uttering a whisper of his
homesickness. It was yet but the fourth day they had been in London.

"Eh, my lord!" said Blue Peter, when by chance they found themselves
in the lull of a little quiet court, somewhere about Gray's Inn,
with the roar of Holborn in their ears, "it's like a month sin' I
was at the kirk. I'm feart the din's gotten into my heid, an' I'll
never get it out again. I cud maist wuss I was a mackerel, for
they tell me the fish hears naething. I ken weel noo what ye meant,
my lord, whan ye said ye dreidit the din micht gar ye forget yer
Macker."

"I hae been wussin' sair mysel', this last twa days," responded
Malcolm, "'at I cud get ae sicht o' the jaws clashin' upo' the
Scaurnose, or rowin up upo' the edge o' the links. The din o' natur'
never troubles the guid thouchts in ye. I reckon it's 'cause it's
a kin' o' a harmony in 'tsel', an' a harmony's jist, as the maister
used to say, a higher kin' o' a peace. Yon organ 'at we hearkent
till ae day ootside the kirk, ye min'--man, it was a quaietness
in 'tsel', and cam' throu' the din like a bonny silence--like a
lull i' the win' o' this warl'! It wasna a din at a', but a gran'
repose like. But this noise tumultuous o' human strife, this din'
o' iron shune an' iron wheels, this whurr and whuzz o' buyin' an'
sellin' an' gettin' gain--it disna help a body to their prayers."

"Eh, na, my lord! Jist think o' the preevilege--I never saw nor
thoucht o' 't afore--o' haein' 't i' yer pooer, ony nicht 'at
ye're no efter the fish, to stap oot at yer ain door, an' be in
the mids o' the temple! Be 't licht or dark, be 't foul or fair,