"There’s a lot o’ places no’ as guid as Daldowie. I couldna hear o’ ye leavin’ us yet. Ye see, Jean--that’s the wife--has ta’en an awfu’ fancy tae ye; and as for masel’, I like a man aboot the hoose. A man like me gets tired wi’ naething but womenfolk cackling roon’ him. I think wi’ a bit o’ experience ye’d mak’ no’ a bad fairmer. When winter comes wi’ the snaw there’s a lot o’ heavy work to be done feedin’ the nowt, forby lookin’ after the sheep. Last winter I lost half a score in a snaw-drift, and that is mair than a man like me can afford in sic tryin’ times. I was ettlin’ to hire a man in the back end o’ the year; but if you like to stop you can tak’ his place. I think I could learn ye a lot: and in the lang winter nichts me and you’ll be able to ha’e some guid sets to on the dambrod. But a word in your lug. If ye’re stoppin’ on here ye’d better drap that English tongue o’ yours, and learn to talk like a civilised body. It’ll be safer. I’ve noticed that when a Scotsman loses his ain tongue, an’ talks like an Englishman, he loses a bit o’ his Scots backbane. Maybe in your case the thing will work the ither wey"--and he struck me heartily on the shoulder. So the bargain was made, and I entered into the service of Andrew Paterson of Daldowie and of Jean his wife. I was already the devoted bond-slave of Mary. Andrew announced our pact that evening as we sat round the fire. "Jean," he said, "I’ve hired a man." Her knitting needles clicked a little faster: "And where did ye get him?" she asked. "I ha’e seen naebody aboot the steadin’ the day, and the hirin’ fair is no’ till October." Out of the corner of my eyes I saw a smile on Mary’s face. "Wha dae ye think?" said Andra. "Bryden here has speired for the job, and as he seems to ha’e the makin’ o’ a fairmer in him, I agreed to gi’e him a try." Jean laid her knitting in her lap. "Andra, are ye sure ye’re daein’ richt?" Involuntarily I started. Was Jean about to turn against me? But there was wisdom in her question, for she knew her husband better than I did. There was irritation in his voice: "Of course I’m daein’ richt, woman. It’s like ye to question the wisdom o’ your man. He never does onything richt." He swung himself round on the settle and crossed his knees angrily. "But," returned Jean, "do ye no’ see the risk ye’re runnin’? Lag’s ridin’ through the countryside, and what dae ye think he’ll say if he finds that a deserter is serving-man at Daldowie?" "I ha’e thocht o’ a’ that, Jean," he replied. "He’ll juist hae to keep oot o’ sicht when your godless frien’ Lag is aboot." His wife seemed about to raise further objections, but he silenced her: "Haud yer tongue, Jean, and gang on wi’ yer knittin’. My min’s made up, and I am no’ gaun to be turned frae my ain course by a naggin’ woman. Let’s hear nae mair o’t." And then raising his voice he ended: "I’ll be maister in ma ain hoose, I tell ye."