"Losh," said Sandy Toddle, "yonder's the Free Kirk minister going past the Cross! Where'll he be off till at this hour of the day? He's not often up so soon."
"They say he sits late studying," said Johnny Coe.
"H'mph, studying!" grunted Tam Brodie, a big, heavy, wall-cheeked man, whose little, side-glancing eyes seemed always alert for scandal amid the massive insolence of his smooth face. "I see few signs of studying in him. He's noathing but a stink wi' a skin on't."
T. Brodie was a very important man, look you, and wrote "Leather Mercht." above his door, though he cobbled with his own hands. He was a staunch Conservative, and down on the Dissenters.
"What road'th he taking?" lisped Deacon Allardyce, craning past Brodie's big shoulder to get a look.
"He's stoppit to speak to Widow Wallace. What will he be saying to her?"
"She's a greedy bodie that Mrs. Wallace: I wouldna wonder but she's speiring him for bawbees."
"Will he take the Skeighan Road, I wonder?"
"Or the Fechars?"