"It's,—it's you,—is it? The second son come to me in my hour o' trial."
"Why! Donald,—what's the trouble?" I asked.
"Trouble,—ye may well say trouble. Have ye mind o' the sixpence ye gied me on the roadside this mornin'."
"Yes!"
"For thirteen long, unlucky hours I saved that six-pence against my time o' need. I tied it in the tail o' my sark for safety. I came in here an hour ago. I ordered a glass o' whisky and a tumbler o' beer. I sat doon here for a while wi' them both before me, enjoying the sight o' them and indulgin' in the heavenly joy o' anteecipation. Then I drank the speerits and was just settlin' doon to the beer,—tryin' to make it spin oot as long as I could; for, ye ken, it's comfortable in here,—when an emissary o' the deevil, wi' hands like shovels and a leer in his e'e, came in and picked up the tumbler frae under my very nose and swallowed the balance o' your six-pence before I could say squeak."
I laughed at Donald's rueful countenance and his more than rueful tale.
"Did the man have a broken nose and a heavy jaw?" I asked.
"Ay, ay!" said Donald, lowering his voice. "Do ye happen to ken him?"
"No!—but he is still out there and he thinks it a fine joke that he played on you."
"So would I," said Donald, "if I had drunk his beer."