“That was written aboot ‘Hielan’ Mary,’” said Duffy. “He met her at Dunoon the Fair Week, and I’ve seen her monument.” “It’s yonder as nate’s ye like,” said Erchie. “Faith! it’s you that’s weel up in Burns, Duffy.” “Oh! I’m no’ that faur back in my history,” said Duffy, quite pleased with himself. “But I could hae sworn it was him that put thegither ‘Rollin’ Hame to Bonnie Scotland’; it’s his style. He micht be rollin’, but he aye got hame. He was a gey wild chap, Burns.”. “I’m no’ denyin’t, Duffy,” said Erchie. “But he hadna ony o’ the blessin’s we have in oor time to keep him tame. There was nae Free Leebrary to provide him wi’ books to keep him in the hoose at nicht, nae Good Templar Lodges to help him in keepin’ clear o’ the horrors o’ drink; and Poosy Nancy’s public-hoose didna shut at ten o’clock, nor even eleeven. If Burns had thae advantages, there’s nae’ sayin’ whit he micht hae risen to; perhaps he micht hae become an M.P., and dee’d wi’ money in the bank.” “Och! there’s worse than Burns,” said Duffy. “I was gey throughither mysel’ when I was a young chap.” “Ah! but ye couldna hae been that awfu’ bad, for ye never made ony poetry.” “I never tried,” said Duffy; “I was the youngest o’ nine, and I was put oot to wark early. So there wasna time for me to try and be fancy in ony wye. But a gey wild chap, Burns!” “Maybe no’ that awfu’ wild,” said Erchie. “Ye’re aye harpin’ on the wild. Burns was like a man takin’ a daunder oot in a country road on a fine nicht: he kept his een sae much on the stars that sometimes he tripped in the sheuch. If it was the like o’ you and me, Duffy, we wad be keepin’ oor e’e a’ the time on the road at oor feet to see if onybody hadna dropped onything, and there wad be nae fears o’ us fa’in in the sheuch. Except for his habit o’ makin’ sangs when he micht be makin’ money, Burns wasna very different frae the rest o’ us. There was ae thing aboot him--he aye payed his way, and never forgot his freen’s. He had a warm hert.” “Man, ye should be doon at the Mull o’ Kintyre Vaults Haggis Club on Monday and propose the toast,” said Duffy, admiringly. “I’m better whaur I am,” said Erchie; “the best Burns Club a man can hae’s a weel-thumbed copy o’ the poems on his chevalier and book-case, and a wife that can sing ‘Ye Banks and Braes’ like por Jinnet.” XXIX THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN