'Od, Tibbie! ye'll be rael crouse here, woman! The best o' a' thing, an' plenty! An' here's as bonny a fry o' bacon as e'er was seen! I'se on wi' 't til the fire. It gars a body's mouth water juist to see til 't! He little thocht, honest man, it wad be his gudemother wad fry his supper for him the nicht! Ay faigs! 'An' eat her share o' 't as weel. But there's little enough for twa here,' she added, going to the cupboard where the remainder of the flitch was discovered, as well as the other little comforts and supplies with which Joseph had provided himself. 'My certie, laad! But ye live weel! An' ye'll do credit to yer gudemither or a's dune! He was aye ane o' the unco gude, an' here's the gude livin'! Whether it be holy livin' or no'.' Another plentiful rasher was cut, the frying-pan laid on the coals, and Tibbie returned to her seat. But now, disturbed by so many gettings-up and sittings-down, the babe began to whimper. 'Whist, my bonny man! Ye'se hae yer share o' yer daddie's supper as weel as the lave!' And thereupon she emptied the contents of Joseph's milk jug into a basin. Then she cut the nice new loaf and broke some of the bread into the milk; after that a contribution was levied on the sugar basin, and lastly the singing kettle completed the gracious mess, of which the wandering heir thus unexpectedly returned to his father's halls partook with appetite. Then stretching himself out in his grandmother's arms, he fell asleep. Joseph Smiley being a beadle, and liable to be called away at all times and seasons, worked by the piece. He was a good workman, and so could dictate in some measure his terms. He was working on the new church, and having lost so much time fruitlessly in the morning, he remained at work after the other men had left. It was nearly dark, therefore, when at last he laid aside his tools and moved homewards very much beyond his usual hour. He had been depressed and disgusted with himself all day. How could he, a man of sense as he had always supposed, and one accustomed to play upon the weaknesses of his fellows--how had it ever come to pass that he, so clear-sighted as he thought, should have come to grief in this utterly discreditable fashion? To himself it was incomprehensible, though to the perspicuous reader plain enough. Joseph had been trying to do two things at once--to capture both Jean and her Mistress, meaning to use whichever might happen to answer best in the end; and he had missed both, as any man of his intelligence should have known would come of it. But then small successes make a man conceited, and conceit makes a man blind (Pray to be defended from small successes, my reader!) It is the single eye which hits the mark. As Joseph walked along the main street, a subtle fragrance seemed to hover in the air, thin, bright, appetizing, but indefined. 'Hech!' he said to himself, 'somebody has a gude supper the nicht! I wuss I was there.'