“He’s a very decent beast,” said Robbie. “I hae kent mony a waur Christian. The bairns! I hae half a dizzen curly pows o’ them, ilk ane a greater sorrow than the tither, and I can tell ye it’s Blackie out there that has the maist cause to compleen o’ being evened to them. He’s a decent, sober, ’sponsible beast, like my ain sel’, and the little anes are evendown spirits, never out o’ mischief, if it binna when they’re tumbled in a dub; and then ane has the fash o’ fishing them out again.” “It maun be awfu’ dangerous for bairns, that weary marsh,” said Mrs Mense, sympathetically. “Hout, we never fash our heads about it,” said the fisherman; “they’re a’ born to plouter amang saut water: it comes natural; when they do get a fa’, the oldest anes can scramble out again, and there’s nane o’ them ower young to skirl. The wife whiles makes a fyke about it, but nane o’ them ’ll drown. You might maist say they were born in the sea; onyway, the tide was up on the very doorstane the nicht Sandy was born. It was an uncommon high tide; and the weans hae a story that he came in on the tap o’ a muckle wave. Little Mary wad maist swear she saw the bit wee beld pow o’ him in amang the foam; and the foam’s nane o’ the clearest, I can tell ye, when the Firth’s in a roar.” “Wasna Monday nicht uncommon coarse doun-bye?” said Janet. “Did ye hear if there was ony skaith dune, Robbie?” “Hout, woman, do ye ca’ _yon_ coarse?” answered the salt-water man. “Skaith! no, if it werena that auld careless body Willie Tamson that brought in his heavy brute o’ a boat ower the nets, and had nigh coupit her, forbye driving I kenna how mony stakes out of the shore, and garring us lose a day’s kep. The fish are aye maist plentiful when the water’s troubled; puir beasts! they haena muckle variety in their life--I’m thinking they’ll like a storm for the sake o’ change; onyway, they’re aye strong when the Firth’s champing like an ill-willy horse.” “And are ye doing ought weel, Robbie?” said Mrs Mense. “No to compleen o’,” answered Robbie, “it aye hauds us gaun. I’m thinking we’ll be no that ill this year; the red fish looks weel. See to that grilse; ye’ll be needing it for the Laird’s dinner the day. Did ye ever see a bonnier beast in the water or out o’t?” After considerable bargaining, the grilse was laid aside together with store of flounders. “For there’s nae saying,” said Robbie, “when I may be round again, and it’s better to hae a wheen ower mony than ower few--that’s philosophy--ye can ask the Laird. I’m thinking to send Peter mair; he’s a muckle callant grown, and I see nae occasion I have, to keep a doug, and bark mysel; if it wasna that it wad be an awfu’ loss to the haill countryside--I dinna ken what ye wad a’ do, wanting me.” “Ye’ve aye a guid word o’ yoursel, Robbie Caryl,” said Janet.