McLaughlan inquired when the proposed negotiation was likely to take place. “To-morrow morning,” said George. “He asked me to go over about it this afternoon, but I remembered the lesson you gave me about making bargains on this day, and I said 'To-morrow, farmer.'” “Y're a guid lad,” said the Scot demurely; “y're just as decent a body as ever I forgathered wi'--and I'm thinking it's a sin to let ye gang twa miles for mairchandeeze whan ye can hae it a hantle cheaper at your ain door.” “Can I? I don't know what you mean.” “Ye dinna ken what I mean? Maybe no.” Mr. McLaughlan fell into thought a while, and the grog being finished he proposed a stroll. He took George out into the yard, and there the first thing they saw was a score and a half of bullocks that had just been driven into a circle and were maintained there by two men and two dogs. George's eye brightened at the sight and his host watched it. “Aweel,” said he, “has Tamson a bonnier lot than yon to gie ye?” “I don't know,” said George dryly. “I have not seen his.” “But I hae--and he hasna a lot to even wi' them.” “I shall know to-morrow,” said George. But he eyed McLaughlan's cattle with an expression there was no mistaking. “Aweel,” said the worthy Scot, “ye're a neebor and a decent lad ye are, sae I'll just speer ye ane question. Noo, mon,” continued he in a most mellifluous tone and pausing at every word, “gien it were Monday--as it is the Sabba day--hoo mony sheep wud ye gie for yon bonnie beasties?” George, finding his friend in this mind, pretended to hang back and to consider himself bound to treat with Thomson first. The result of all which was that McLaughlan came over to him at daybreak and George made a very profitable exchange with him. At the end of six months more George found himself twice as rich in substance as at first starting; but instead of one hundred pounds cash he had but eighty. Still if sold up he would have fetched five hundred pounds. But more than a year was gone since he began on his own account. “Well,” said George, “I must be patient and still keep doubling on, and if I do as well next year as last I shall be worth eight hundred pounds.” A month's dry hot weather came and George had arduous work to take water to his bullocks and to drive them in from long distances to his homestead, where, by digging enormous tanks, he had secured a constant supply. No man ever worked for a master as this rustic Hercules worked for Susan Merton. Prudent George sold twenty bullocks and cows to the first bidder. “I can buy again at a better time,” argued he. He had now one hundred and twenty-five pounds in hand. The drought continued and he wished he had sold more.