“Ay,” said John, with a jocular wink at his father-in-law, “ye’re feart ye singe yer whiskers, ma mannie.” “John,” said Lizzie, “it’s naething to joke aboot.... Jimsie, if ever I catch ye at the smokin’, I’ll stop yer Seturday penny, an’ gi’e ye castor ile instead. D’ye hear?” “Hoots!” cried Gran’paw, “that’s a terrible severe-like punishment, Lizzie!” “I wud rayther tak’ ile twicet an’ get ma penny,” quoth Jimsie. “Hear, hear!” from John. Lizzie was about to speak when the bell rang. Jeannie slipped from her chair. “I’ll gang, Maw,” she said, and went out. “It’s Macgreegor,” remarked John. “Ha’e ye kep’ his haddie hot for him, Lizzie?” “What for wud I dae that?” retorted Mrs. Robinson in a tone of irony, going over to the oven and extracting a covered dish. “Haw!” laughed John. “I kent ye had something there!” “What for did ye ask then?” She came back to the table as her son entered, a very perceptible odour of his trade about him――an odour which she still secretly disliked though nearly three years had gone since her first whiff of it. “What kep’ ye?” she enquired, pleasantly enough. It is possible that Macgregor’s dutiful greeting to his grandfather prevented his answering the question. He appeared honestly glad to see the old man; yet compared with his own the latter’s greeting was boisterous. He returned his father’s smile, glanced at his mother who was engaged in filling his cup, winked at his young brother, and took his place at the table, between the two men. “Ye’ll be wearied,” remarked John. “No’ extra,” he replied, stretching his tired legs under cover of the table. “Did ye walk?” his mother asked, passing him his tea. “Ay.” “It’ll be three mile,” said John. Jeannie came from the fire and put a fresh slice of toast on his plate. He nodded his thanks, and she went to her place satisfied and assisted Jimsie who had got into difficulties with a jam sandwich that oozed all round. “What way did ye no’ tak’ the car, laddie?” enquired Lizzie. “I’d as sune walk,” he replied, shortly. “It’s fine to save the siller――eh, Macgreegor?” said Mr. Purdie. Macgregor reddened. “It’s something new for Macgreegor to dae that,” Lizzie quietly observed. “Tits, wumman!” muttered John. “Wi’ their cheap cars,” put in Mr. Purdie, “Glesga folk are like to loss the use o’ their legs. It’s terrible to see the number o’ young folk that winna walk if they’ve a bawbee in their pooch. I’m gled to see Macgreegor’s no’ yin o’ them.” He patted Macgregor’s shoulder as he might have done ten years ago, and the youth moved impatiently. “I’m no’ complainin’ o’ Macgreegor walkin’ when he micht tak’ the car,” said Lizzie, “but I wud like to see him puttin’ his savin’s to some guid purpose.” At these words Macgregor went a dull red, and set down his cup with a clatter. “Ha’e ye burnt yer mooth?” asked John, with quick sympathy.