A wae worth the filthy body, said she, is not that in every part? What, said the goodman; I wat weel there was nae rain when I came in. The wife then pushes me out, and bolted the door behind me. Well, said I, but I shall be through between thy mouth and thy nose ere the morn. It being now so dark, and I a stranger, could see no place to go to, went into the corn yard, but finding no loose straw, I fell a drawing one of their stacks, sheaf by sheaf, until I pulled out a threave or two, and got into the hole myself, where I lay as warm as a pye. The goodman, on the morning, perceiving the heap of corn sheaves, came running to carry it away, and stop the hole in the stack wherein I lay with some of the sheaves, so with the steighling of the straw, and him talking to others, cursing the thieves who had done it, swearing they had stole six sheaves of it; I then skipped out of the hole, ho, ho, said I, goodman, you’re not to bury me alive in your stack: he then began to chide me, vowing to keep my pack for the damage I had done; whereupon I took his servants witnesses he had robbed me; when hearing me urge him so, he gave me my pack again, and off I came to the next house, and told the whole of the story. After this I travelled up by the water of Clyde, near the foot of Tintock hill, where I met with a sweet companion, who was an older traveller than I, and he gave me some information how to blow the goodwife, and sleek the goodman; with him I kept company for two months; and as we travelled down Tweed towards the border, we being both hungry, and could get nothing to buy for the belly, we came unto a wife who had been kirning, but she would give us nothing, nor sell so much as one halfpenny worth of her sour milk: Na, na, said she, I’ll neither sell butter, bread nor milk, ’tis a’ little enough to sair my ain family; ye that’s chapman may drink water, ye dinna work sair. Ay, but goodwife, said I, I have been at Temple-bar, where I was sworn ne’er to drink water if I could get better. What do ye say, said she, about Temple-bar! a town just about twa three miles and a bittock frae this; a thief ane was to swear you there, an’ it wasna auld Willy Miller the cobbler the ill thief, a nither minister nor a magistrate ever was in it a’. O but, says the other lad, the Temple-bar he means by is at London. Yea, yea, lad, an’ ye be com’d frae Lunun ye’re little worth. London, said he, is but at home to the place he comes from. A dear man, quoth she, and where in the warl’ comes he frae? All the way from Italy, where the Pope of Rome dwells, says he. A sweet be wi’ us, quoth she, for the fouks there awa is a’ witches and warlocks, deils, brownies, and fairies. Well I wat that’s true, said I, and that thou shalt know, thou hard hearted wretch, who would have people to starve, or provoke them to steal. With that I rose, lifts twa or three long straws, and casting knots on them, into the byre I went, and throws a knotted straw on every cow’s stake, saying,