“I daursay it’s true enough. I went doon to the Broomielaw on Setturday to see Jinnet aff, and the croods on the Irish and Hielan’ boats was that awfu’, the men at the steerage end hadna room to pu’ oot their pocket-hankies if they needed them. It’s lucky they could dae withoot. When the butter-and-egg boats for Belfast and Derry left the quay, the pursers had a’ to have on twa watches--at least they had the twa watch-chains, ane on each side, for fear the steamer wad capsize. I says to mysel’, ‘It’s a peety a lot o’ thae folk for Clachnacudden and County Doon dinna lose their return tickets and bide awa’ when they’re at it, for Gleska’s a fine toon, but jist a wee bit owre crooded nooadays.’ “I hae nae great notion for doon the watter mysel’ at the Fair. Jinnet jist goes and says she’ll tell me whit it’s like. Whit she likes it for is that ye’re never lonely. “And ‘it’s that homely doon aboot Rothesay and Dunoon, wi’ the Gleska wifes hangin’ ower the windows tryin’ as hard as they can to see the scenery, between the whiles they’re fryin’ herrin’ for Wull. And then there’s wee Hughie awfu’ ill wi’ eatin’ ower mony hairy grossets. “But it’s fine for the weans too, to be gaun sclimbin’ aboot the braes pu’in’ the daisies and the dockens and the dentylions and--and--and a’ thae kin’ o’ flooers ye’ll can touch withoot onybody findin’ fau’t wi’ ye. It’s better for the puir wee smouts nor moshy in the back-coort, and puttin’ bunnets doon the stanks. They’ll mind it a’ their days--the flooers and the dulse for naething, and the grossets and the Gregory’s mixture. It’s Nature; it’s the Rale Oreeginal. “It does the wife a lot o’ guid to gae doon the watter at the Fair. She’s that throng when she’s at hame she hasna had time yet to try a new shooglin’-chair we got at the flittin’; but ‘it’s a rest,’ she’ll say when she comes back, a’ moth-eaten wi’ the midges. And then she’ll say, ‘I’m that gled it’s ower for the year.’ “That’s the droll thing aboot the Fair and the New Year; ye’re aye in the notion that somethin’ awfu’ nice is gaun to happen, and naethin’ happens at a’, unless it’s that ye get your hand awfu’ sair hashed pu’in’ the cork oot o’ a bottle o’ beer.” “You’ll be glad, I’m sure, to have the goodwife back, Erchie?” I said, with an eye on the fire-kindlers. He betrayed some confusion at being discovered, and then laughed. “Ye see I’ve been for sticks,” said he. “That’s a sample o’ my hoose-keepin’. I kent there was something parteecular to get on the Setturday night, and thought it was pipeclye. The grocer in there wad be thinkin’ I was awa’ on the ping-pong if he didna ken I was a beadle. Will ye be puttin’ ony o’ this bit crack in the papers?” “Well, I don’t know, Erchie; I hope you won’t mind if I do.”