"I feel like a gomeral," says he, "to be leaving Scotland on a day like this. It sticks in my head; I would maybe like it better to stay here and hing."
"Ay, but ye wouldnae, Alan," said I.
"No but what France is a good place too," he explained; "but it's some way no the same. It's brawer, I believe, but it's no Scotland. I like it fine when I'm there, man; yet I kind of weary for Scots divots and the Scots peat-reek."
"If that's all you have to complain of, Alan, it's no such great affair," said I.
"And it sets me ill to be complaining, whatever," said he, "and me but new out of yon de'il's haystack."
"And so you were unco' weary of your haystack?" I asked.
"Weary's nae word for it," said he. "I'm not just precisely a man that's easily cast down; but I do better with caller air and the lift above my head. I'm like the auld Black Douglas (wasnae't?) that likit better to hear the laverock sing than the mouse cheep. And yon place, ye see, Davie--whilk was a very suitable place to hide in, as I'm free to own--was pit mirk from dawn to gloaming. There were days (or nights, for how would I tell one from other?) that seemed to me as long as a long winter."
"How did you know the hour to bide your tryst?" I asked.
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THE GOODMAN BROUGHT ME MY MEAT AND A DROP BRANDY, AND A CANDLE-DOWP TO EAT IT BY, ABOUT ELEEVEN, SAID HE |