'Oh, weel, it's no' for the likes o' me to dictate to you. Ye ken your ain ken best, but wad ye no' be mair comfortable-like sleepin' in the sooth room an' sittin' your odd time in the dinin'-room? Betty or me never put a foot in it except to air or fire it, an' it wad save ye the trouble an' inconvenience o' comin' up an' doon the stairs.' I thought for a moment before replying to this unexpected and most sensible suggestion. 'Is this idea off your own bat, Nathan?' I asked. 'Off my ain what, Maister Weelum?' 'I mean, did you think out this arrangement yourself, or is it Betty's idea and yours?' 'Oh, I see. Weel--imphm-m!--we were talkin' it ower atween us last nicht, an' Betty thinks ye wad be better doon the stairs; but she doesna like to say that to ye for fear ye micht think that ye were a bother to her, or that she considered hersel' ill hauden takin' your meat up to ye, an'--an' things like that--ye see.' 'I understand,' I said thoughtfully; 'and do you know, Nathan, the idea is worth considering, and'---- 'No' to interrupt ye, Maister Weelum,' he interposed, 'ye ken as weel as I do ye're far frae bein' strong--at least, as strong as ye should be. Ye're nocht the better o' that lang walk ye had the ither day, an' the doctor's no' sae pleased wi' ye as he was.' 'Oh, indeed, Nathan! I'm sorry to know that; but, with care and a few days' rest, I trust to be all right very soon.' 'Oh, dod, sir, we a' hope that--imphm!--but, a' the same, if I were you I wad shift my quarters. Ye'll ha'e mair convenience, a sooth exposure, langer sunshine, nae back smoke, an' then, man, ye'll be nearer Betty should ye need her service. I've aye considered this a wee, poky place onyway; an' as for the stair up to 't, it's the warst-planned yin I ever saw. It's far ower narra, the turn's ower sherp, an' it wad be a perfect deevil o' a job to get a kist doon there.' 'A what, Nathan?' I asked. 'A kist--a coffin, I mean.' 'But, goodness me, my good man, who wants to take a coffin down there?' 'Oh Lord! naebody that I ken o', Maister Weelum--no, no, naebody I ken o'. But yin's never sure. As Betty often says, "oor days are as gress"--imphm! We drap awa' like the leaves in the back-end, Maister Weelum--ay, juist like leaves nippit wi' the frost. An', speakin' o' leaves, I was workin' amang leaf-mould the day; an', dod, sir, it's a queer thing, but, d'ye ken, whenever I handle that stuff I begin to think aboot kirkyairds. Isn't that a queer thing noo, Maister Weelum?' and he puffed at his pipe without drawing smoke.