Up with your foot-soles, Davie! Forth, Fortune, once again of it! And a bonny walk we are like to have." So we went east by the beach of the sea, towards where the salt-pans were smoking in by the Esk mouth.

No doubt there was a by-ordinary bonny blink of morning sun on Arthur's Seat and the green Pentlands; and the pleasantness of the day appeared to set Alan among nettles.
"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.