“It’s a wonnerfu’ place, Gleska,” said Erchie. “There’s such diversion in’t if ye’re in the key for’t. If ye hae yer health and yer wark, and the weans is weel, ye can be as happy as a lord, and far happier. It’s the folk that live in the terraces where the nae stairs is, and sittin’ in their paurlours readin’ as hard’s onything to keep up wi’ the times, and naething to see oot the window but a plot o’ grass that’s no’ richt green, that gets tired o’ everything. The like o’ us, that stay up closes and hae nae servants, and can come oot for a daunder efter turnin’ the key in the door, hae the best o’t. Lord! there’s sae muckle to see--the cheeny-shops and the drapers, and the neighbours gaun for paraffin oil wi’ a bottle, and Duffy wi’ a new shepherd-tartan grauvit, and Lord Macdonald singin’ awa’ like a’ that at the Normal School, and------” “Oh, Erchie! dae ye mind when Willie was at the Normal?” said Jinnet. “Oh, my! here it is already,” thought Erchie. “If that laddie o’ oors kent the hertbrek he was to his mither,nI wonder wad he bide sae lang awa’.” “Yes, I mind, Jinnet; I mind fine. Whit for need ye be askin’? As I was sayin’, it’s aye in the common streets that things is happenin’ that’s worth lookin’ at, if ye’re game for fun. It’s like travellin’ on the railway; if ye gang first-cless, the wey I did yince to Yoker by mistake, ye micht as weel be in a hearse for a’ ye see or hear; but gang third and ye’ll aye find something to keep ye cheery if it’s only fifteen chaps standin’ on yer corns gaun to a fitba’-match, or a man in the corner o’ the cairrage wi’ a mooth-harmonium playin’ a’ the wye.” “Oh! Erchie, look at the puir wean,” said Jinnet, turning to glance after a woman with an infant in her arms. “Whit a shame bringin’ oot weans on a nicht like this! Its face is blae wi’ the cauld.” “Och! never mind the weans,” said her husband; “if ye were to mind a’ the weans ye see in Gleska, ye wad hae a bonnie job o’t.” “But jist think on the puir wee smout, Erchie. Oh, dear me! there’s anither yin no’ three months auld, I’ll wager. It’s a black-burnin’ shame. It should be hame snug and soond in its wee bed. Does’t no’ mind ye o’ Willy when I took him first to his grannie’s?” Her husband growled to himself, and hurried his step; but that night there seemed to be a procession of women with infants in arms in New City Road, and Jinnet’s heart was wrung at every crossing. “I thocht it was pan-drops ye cam’ oot for, or conversation- losengers,” he protested at last; “and here ye’re greetin’ even-on aboot a wheen weans that’s no’ oor fault.” “Ye’re a hard-herted monster, so ye are,” said his wife indignantly.