There I lay and wearied for ye sore, Davie," says he, laying his hand on my shoulder, "and guessed when the two hours would be about by--unless Charlie Stewart would come and tell me on his watch--and then back to the dooms haystack.

Na, it was a driech employ, and praise the Lord that I have warstled through with it!" "What did you do with yourself ?" I asked.
"Faith," said he, "the best I could! Whiles I played at the knucklebones.

I'm an extraordinar good hand at the knucklebones, but it's a poor piece of business playing with naebody to admire ye.

And whiles I would make songs." "What were they about ?" says I.
"O, about the deer and the heather," says he, "and about the ancient old chiefs that are all by with it long syne, and just about what songs are about in general.

And then whiles I would make believe I had a set of pipes and I was playing.