He had scarcely laid down when the men approached.--They spoke a few words sufficient for him to discover that one of the party was the sexton himself. The barrow was wheeled off, and he heard the gate locked immediately. As the wheelbarrow rattled over the rough causeway, Tam’s stomach began to feel rather queer--he nevertheless resolved to lie quiet until they should stop. After a short time, however, he became aware that, if his jolting was not put an end to, his stomach would be speedily emptied of the contents.--In short, he found it almost impossible any longer to refrain from vomiting. He had therefore no alternative but to raise himself up in the vehicle; and accordingly, he suddenly started up, and stretching out his arms with great violence soon disencumbered the upper part of his body from the sack in which he had been inveloped. The consternation of the body-lifters may be imagined. The one who was wheeling the barrow suddenly let go his hold, by which means it upset, and both taking to their heels, they ran as if the evil one himself had been in chase of them. By the upsetting of the barrow, Tam Merrilees was rolled upon the ground: however, having managed to get entirely free from the sack; and regain his legs, he found himself at the end of the Cross causeway, near St. Leonard’s. He scratched his head, and taking a snuff, began to consider how he was to dispose of the barrow. “It is no sic a bad wheelbarrow,” said he; “I’ll just tak it hame wi’ me;” so throwing into it the sack, he made the best of his way home, feeling a good deal soberer for his adventure.--On his arrival at home he deposited the barrow in a small yard at the back of the house; and without facing his expectant spouse, he proceeded straightway to the dwelling of Maister Peter Mitchell, an old acquaintance, and moreover an elder of the kirk. On his road thither he indulged in no very gentle denunciations against the sexton. “A fine fellow to trust folks’ bodies wi’! I’se warrant all the corpses that’s been buried thonder for the last twalvemonth hae gaen the same gate as that yin wad if I had na’ prevented it. It’s an awfu’ thing that folk canna get leave to rest in their graves now-a-daye for thae doctors.” Tam’s reflections were interrupted by his arrival at the elder’s house; the inmates were all gone to bed, with the exception of the elder himself, who was doubtless rather surprised at so late, or rather early, a visit from his friend Tam Merrilees. (It was, now between one and two of the morning.) ‘Mr. Merrilees!’ exclaimed he, ‘what was brought you here at this time of the night? Nothing serious, I hope.’ ‘Serious enough,’ muttered Tam. ‘I’m just come, Maister Mitchell, ye see, about an unco queer kind o’ a circumstance.’ Aye, Mr. Merrilees, what is it? Sit down and lets hear it.’ ‘I’ll just speer at ye a sma’ question first,’ answered Tam.--‘What kind o’ a body is that grave-digger o’ yours?’ ‘Is it Willie Scrymgeour ye mean?’ asked the elder.