"The ’Peg’ is honoured with your company tonight, I see," said Peter, making a bow to me. "’Tis the finest gathering that I remember: the Laird o’ Barns, worthy Maister Trumbull, myself, and my honoured freend, Maister Simon Doolittle." The black fisher lifted his face from the ale which the landlord had brought. "Your guid health, gentlemen. I’m prood o’ your company, though I’m no just fit for’t, since I’m no half an ’oor oot o’ the Dookit Pool." All eyes were turned to the speaker, and we saw that his clothes hung limp and wet. "And pray, how did you get there, Maister Doolittle? Was’t by the working o’ Providence, or the wiles o’ sinfu’ man?" "A mixture o’ baith. I took a bit daunder up Tweed to the Castle Rock to see how the water was rinnin’. It’s been raither grimily for fishin’ o’ late. Ye a’ ken the rocks that they’re no exactly the sort o’ place that a man wad choose for dancin’ a reel in tackety boots. Weel, I was admiring the works o’ God as manifested in a big, deep, swirlin’ hole, when afore ever I kenned I was admirin’ the hole frae the middle o’t. I was gey near chokit wi’ Tweed water, but I wabbled a bit, and syne grippit a birk and held on." There was a pause and he took a draught of ale. "Weel, I roared as loud as I could, and the auld runt whae bides i’ the Castle heard me. He cam doun and askit me what was wrang. ’Wrang,’ says I. ’If ye dinna ca’ ten feet o’ water and you no able to soom, wrang, I just wis ye were here yoursel.’ So he gangs cannily back and brings anither man to look at me; and the twae thocht for a while, and then each grippit an airm and after a gey wammlin’ I got oot. I was angry at their delay, for I couldna hae held on muckle langer, so I kickit them baith an’ cam aff here. I’ve muckle need o’ yill, fur I feel as if I had eaten ten pund o’ snaw." "Come nearer the fire, Simon," said one. "Ye’re a muckle tried man." "I’m a’ that," said the brown-faced poacher, and relapsed into silence. The lights were now lit in the streets of Peebles, as we could see by the glimmer through the windows; but in our room no lamp was needed, for the bright firelight was sufficient for a man to read a little book by. The great shadows danced on the wall, bent and crooked into a thousand phantasies; and the men by the fire nodded and spoke little. Then the old man Turnbull began an argument with the tailor about some clothes in which he said he had been cheated; and Peter Crustcrackit, never a quiet-tempered man, was rejoining with vigour. I heard only fragments of their talk, being taken up in dreaming of my future course, and when I should go to see the world.