A' day, I've had my dwelling into the inside of a stack of hay, where I couldnae see the nebs of my ten fingers; and then two hours of it waiting here for you, and you never coming! Dod, and ye're none too soon the way it is, with me to sail the morn! The morn?
what am I saying ?--the day, I mean." "Ay, Alan, man, the day, sure enough," said I."It's past twelve now, surely, and ye sail the day.

This'll be a long road you have before you." "We'll have a long crack of it first," said he.
"Well, indeed, and I have a good deal it will be telling you to hear," said I.
And I told him what behooved, making rather a jumble of it, but clear enough when done.

He heard me out with very few questions, laughing here and there like a man delighted: and the sound of his laughing (above all there, in the dark, where neither one of us could see the other) was extraordinary friendly to my heart.
"Ay, Davie, ye're a queer character," says he, when I had done: "a queer bitch after a', and I have no mind of meeting with the like of ye.

As for your story, Prestongrange is a Whig like yoursel', so I'll say the less of him; and, dod! I believe he was the best friend ye had, if ye could only trust him.

But Symon Fraser and James More are my ain kind of cattle, and I'll give them the name that they deserve.