[With this story came a glossary of Scots expressions. We have referred to it as we went along, and found everything quite intelligible. As, however, we have no room to publish the glossary, we can only appeal to the indulgence of our readers. The story itself was written in a very clear, legible hand, and was enclosed in a wrapper labelled, “Arcadia Mixture. Strength and Aroma combined. Sold in Six-shilling cases. Special terms for Southrons. Liberal allowance for returned empties.”] CHAPTER I. We were all sitting on the pig-sty at T’nowhead’s Farm. A pig-sty is not, perhaps, a strictly eligible seat, but there were special reasons, of which you shall hear something later, for sitting on this particular pig-sty. [Illustration: THE UNCO’ GUID _Scrupulous Waiter._ “A what? A sangwitch! Na, na! I’ll gie ye breed an’ cheese, an’ as much whusky as ye can drink; but, tae mak’ sangwidges on the Saubberth day!”----] [Illustration: SKETCHED AT ISLINGTON _Purchaser._ “K-a-t-l is no the way to spell ‘cattle.’” _Drover (writing the receipt)._ “Naebody could spell wi’ this pen. There’s been owre mony drucken bodies usin’ it!”] [Illustration: _Southerner (in Glasgow, to Friend)._ “By the way, do you know McScrew?” _Northerner._ “Ken McScrew? Oo’ fine! A graund man, McScrew! Keeps the Sawbath,--an’ everything else he can lay his hands on!”] [Illustration: “SITTING ON THE PIG-STY AT T’NOWHEAD’S FARM.”] The old sow was within, extended at full length. Occasionally she grunted approval of what was said, but, beyond that, she seemed to show but a faint interest in the proceedings. She had been a witness of similar gatherings for some years, and, to tell the truth, they had begun to bore her, but, on the whole, I am not prepared to deny that her appreciation was an intelligent one. Behind us was the brae. Ah, that brae! Do you remember how the child you once were sat in the brae, spinning the peerie, and hunkering at I-dree I-dree I droppit-it? Do you remember that? Do you even know what I mean? Life is like that. When we are children the bread is thick, and the butter is thin; as we grow to be lads and lassies, the bread dwindles, and the butter increases; but the old men and women who totter about the commonty, how shall they munch when their teeth are gone? That’s the question. I’m a Dominie. What!--no answer? Go to the bottom of the class, all of you. [Illustration: _First Aberdonian (from the road)._ “Fat’s the man-nie deein’?” _Second Ditto (who has got over the wall to inspect)._ “He’s draain’ wi’ paint.” _First Boy._ “Fat’s he draain? Is’t bonny?” _Second Ditto (after a pause, critically)._ “O, na, it’s onything but bonny!!”] Chapter II.