Erchie laughed till the tears ran into his tea. “Oh, my!” said he, “but ye’re the caution! It’s them that pays you. If ye leave the twenty-wan pound in for a twelvemonth, they’ll gie ye something like twenty-wan pound ten shillin’s when ye gang to lift it.” This troubled Tennet worse than ever. “It’s rale nice o’ them,” said she, “but I’m no’ needin’ their ten shillin’s; we’re no’ that faur doon in the warld, and it’s like enough they wad just be takin’ it aff some ither puir cratur.” But eventually the money was lodged in Jinnet’s name. She used to take out her bank-book and examine it once a-week, to make sure, as she said, “the money was still there,” a proceeding at which Erchie would wink to himself, and with difficulty restrain his laughter. On Saturday, Jinnet expressed a wish that she had some of her money to make some purchases for Christmas and the New Year. “Weel,” said her husband, “whit’s to hinder ye gaun to the bank and liftin’ a pound or twa?” Her face turned white at the very thought. “Me!” she cried. “I wadna ask for money at that bank if I was stervin’.” “But, bless my sowl! it’s yer ain money; they canna keep ye frae gettin’ it if ye want it,” said her husband. “I’m no carin’,” Jinnet protested. “I divna like to ask for’t, and them maybe busy. Perhaps the puir crat’urs havena got it to spare the noo.” “Weel, they can jist send oot for a wee lend o’t frae somebody they ken,” said Erchie. “It’s your money, and if ye want ony o’t oot they must gie ye’t; that’s whit banks is for.” “Will you no’ gang for the twa pound ten for me, and I’ll mak’ something nice and tasty for your tea the nicht?” said Jinnet coaxingly; but Erchie had his own way of teaching Jinnet self-confidence, and refused. “They wadna gie’t to me without a lot o’ palaver,” he explained; “ye’ll jist hae to gang yersel’. Speak nice to them, and they’ll no’ touch ye. There hasna been a customer murdered in a Gleska bank for years and years.” He explained the process she was to follow, and she set out with great misgivings. “Weel, hoo did ye get on?” Erchie asked her when she returned. “Ye got the money onywye,--I can see by the wye yer niefs shut.” “Oh, Erchie!” she cried hysterically, and dropped into a chair. “I wad never mak’ a man o’ business. My hert’s in a palpitation--jist fair stottin’. I peety them that has the bother o’ muckle money.” “Myjove!” said Erchie in alarm, “were they no’ nice to ye? If they werena nice and ceevil, I’ll--I’ll tak’ oot every penny, and then they’ll see whaur they are.” “Oh, they were as nice as they could be,” Jinnet hurried to explain. “And I got the money a’ richt. But oh! I was that put-aboot. Thon slippy floor aye frichtens me, and the gentlemen inside the coonter in their wee cages like Duffy’s goldy----” “Goldies--ay, that’s jist whit they are,” said Erchie. “It’s a fine bird a goldie if ye get a guid yin; it can whustle better nor a canary.”