'Ay, weel, mebbe ye're richt; an' ye mentionin' wall-paper reminds me that the damp frae the gable has discoloured the end wa'. But the whitewashin' and paperin' o' ae room will no' be a big job, an' aince we gi'e the painter the order we'll no' ha'e lang to wait for him. His back-en' slackness is on noo. I saw him paintin' his ain doors and windas; an', as there's little chance o' him gettin' fat on that wark, he'll no' swither aboot gi'in' it up for what is likely to pey better. Imphm! Mebbe I should ha'e seen to this afore noo. The fact is, Maister Weelum, except for a few shillin's for paintin' the outside woodwark, I've spent no' a penny on paint or paper for the hoose since Nathan an' me were marrit. I should ha' had things in better order for ye; but, believe me, it was juist want o' thocht.' 'Nonsense, Betty; the whole house is in apple-pie order. There was no call for you to spend money on painting and papering, and I won't allow you to do that now. This is my little affair, Betty, and all I ask you to do is to see the painter and arrange for the work to be done as soon as possible.' 'Do you mean, Maister Weelum, that ye're to pey the whole thing?' 'Most certainly. So, my dear Betty, please say no more on that point, as my mind is made up and unalterable.' 'Weel, weel, sae be it. "Them that will to Cupar maun to Cupar." What kind o' a paper wad ye think o' puttin' on?' Within my own mind I had decided on a nice warm buff canvas, but I refrained from giving my opinion. 'What do you think would be nice, Betty?' Of old I remembered the garish colouring of the paper on her bedroom walls. Her taste in this was always a law unto the paper-hanger, and my mother used to shiver when she peeped in, and wondered how Betty could sleep peacefully in such a profusion of colour. Betty pondered over my question for a moment. 'Mrs Black, the clogger's wife, got her parlour done up last spring, an' it looks juist beautifu'. The paper has a kind o' mauve gr'und wi' a gold stripe runnin' up, an' roon the stripe there's a winkle-wankle o' nice big blue roses, an' a wee bit o' forget-me-not tied wi' a pink ribbon keeks oot here and there, juist as if it was hangin' in the air.' 'Blue roses are not natural, Betty.' 'No, so Nathan says; but they're most by-ordinar' bonny, an' they're hangin' roon this gold stripe for a' the world as if they were newly blawn; an'--an' the leaves are a brisk green, an' the buds standin' oot abune the bloom as like as life, an' a' this beautifu' colourin' for a shillin' a piece! It was John Boyes the painter that put it on, an' he telt Mrs Black that there was only anither room like hers, an' it was in the Crystal Palace at London.' 'A shilling a piece, Betty!' I said, in astonishment, just for something to say. 'Oh, but I would give more than that!' 'Oh, then, ye'll juist get a' the mair gold an' roses for the extra money, Maister Weelum.'