"I am sorry for ye, Patie," said Robin Roughead; "but really I think, in a great measure, ye hae yoursel to blame for it a'!"
"Me!" said Patie—"what do ye mean, Robin?"
"Why, Patie," said Robin, "I ken it is said that every ane can rule a bad wife but he that has her—and I believe it is true. I am quite convinced that naebody kens sae weel where the shoe pinches as they that hae it on; though I am quite satisfied that, had my case been yours, I wad hae brought her to her senses long afore now, though I had
'Dauded her lugs wi' Rab Roryson's bannet.'
or gien her a hoopin like your friend the cooper o' Coldingham."
"Save us, man!" said Patie, who loved a joke, even though at second-hand, and at his own expense; "but ye see the cooper's case is not in point, though I am in the same line; for, as I hae observed, I am only five feet twa inches and an eighth in height—my wife is not the weaker vessel—that I ken to my sorrow."
"Weel, Patie," said Robin, "I wadna hae ye to lift your hand—I was but jokin upon that score, it wadna be manly;—but there is ae thing that ye can do, and I am sure it wad hae an excellent effect."
"Dearsake! what is that?" cried Patie.
"For a' that has happened ye," said Robin, "ye hae just yoursel to blame, for giein up the key and the siller to her management that nicht ye gaed to Orange Lane. That is the short and the lang o' a' your troubles, Patie."
"Do you think sae?" inquired the little bicker-maker.