A silence intervened. Then said Andrew, thoughtfully,
“I thoucht, whan I saw ye first, ye was maybe a lad frae a shop i’ the muckle toon—or a clerk, as they ca’ them, ’at sits makin’ up accoonts.”
“Na, I’m no that, I thank God,” said Donal.
“What for thank ye God for that?” asked Andrew. “A’ place is his. I wudna hae ye thank God ye’re no a cobbler like me! Ye micht, though, for it’s little ye can ken o’ the guid o’ the callin’!”
“I’ll tell ye what for,” answered Donal. “I ken weel toon-fowk think it a heap better to hae to du wi’ figures nor wi’ sheep, but I’m no o’ their min’; an’ for ae thing, the sheep’s alive. I could weel fancy an angel a shepherd—an’ he wad coont my father guid company! Trowth, he wad want wings an’ airms an’ feet an’ a’ to luik efter the lambs whiles! But gien sic a ane was a clerk in a coontin’ hoose, he wad hae to stow awa’ the wings; I cannot see what use he wad hae for them there. He micht be an angel a’ the time, an’ that no a fallen ane, but he bude to lay aside something to fit the place.”
“But ye’re no a shepherd the noo?” said the cobbler.
“Na,” replied Donal, “—’cep’ it be I’m set to luik efter anither grade o’ lamb. A freen’—ye may a’ h’ard his name—sir Gilbert Galbraith—made the beginnin’ o’ a scholar o’ me, an’ noo I hae my degree frae the auld university o’ Inverdaur.”
“Didna I think as muckle!” cried mistress Comin triumphant. “I hadna time to say ’t to ye, Anerew, but I was sure he was frae the college, an’ that was hoo his feet war sae muckle waur furnisht nor his heid.”
“I hae a pair o’ shune i’ my kist, though—whan that comes!” said Donal, laughing.
“I only houp it winna be ower muckle to win up oor stair!”