she comes. (_Trap returns at a modest pace._) Stan' back, noo, all of ye; give her room. I'll sell the mare first, and a beauty she is--what shell we say? Ten poons--and she's a nice one! Well, stairt her at five, she may get up. (_Bidding gets up to ten pounds, where it stops._) Then she goes at ten, and I'm very glad she's gaun to a gude auld friend o' mine--Meester McKenzie, o' Glenbannock. Wull ye say five mair, and take the hairness, Meester McKenzie? It's _richt_ hairness! (_MR. MCK. declines to be tempted._) Well, I'm sorry ye wull na, I'd ha liked (_sentimentally, as if it had been the dream of his life_) for the mare an' the hairness to go togither and no to pairt them--but as 'tis, it canna be helped. We'll pass on to the pegs, if you please. (_Passes to a row of pens containing pigs, and mounts some planks placed along the top._) Now, these are some proper pegs. (_A rush is made for the rails enclosing the pigs, which instantly become self-conscious and redouble their grunts._) Noo, laddies, laddies, it's no fair o' ye taking up a' the room i' that way. I'm quite sure there's a lot o' ye in front that's no buying pegs--ye hanna the luik o' pairsons that buy pegs. Stan' by for shame, and don't keep them that comes to buy, where they canna see sae much as a tail. Hoo much apiece for these palefaced pegs? Ye've an awfu' guid view o' them there, Mr. Ferguson,---luik this way once again for forrty and threepence. (_Persuasively._) It'll soun' better wi' the threepence. Gaun' for forty an' three. (_The owner of the pigs calls out "No!"_) I thocht I made a law here that people having pegs should gie me the resairve at the time--see what ye do now, Peter MacPhairson, make a fule of the buyers and a fule o' mysel'!--but (_with tolerant contempt_) Peter is not a strong man, we must no be haird on Peter. (_Roar from crowd;_ _disappearance of MR. MACPH._) I'll cancel no more sales that way, however, as I eentimate to ye once for a'. 'ARRY (_on tour from Town--to his admiring friend_). I say, Charley, what d'yer bet I don't talk to some of these chaps in their own lingo? CHARLEY. What a fellow you are! Mind what you are about, that's all. 'ARRY (_going up to an elderly person in the only Scotch cap visible_). Hech, Sair, but yon's a braw bonnie wee bit piggie fur a body to tak' a richt gude wullie waucht wi' gin ye meet him comin' thro' the rye! The PERSON IN THE SCOTCH CAP (_who happens to be a retired Colonel in a Highland Regiment, who is somewhat careless in his attire_). I think you will find that sort of thing better appreciated after you've got home. [_'ARRY returns to CHARLEY, feeling much smaller than he allows his friend to perceive._ [Illustration] THE COUNTRY OF COCKAIGNE. A MONOLOGUE--WITH A MORAL. _An airless Court in a London back Street. TIME--August._