“Am trenching up the sparry-grass, and am gaun to saw some Misegun beans; they winna want them to their swine's flesh, I'se warrant--muckle gude may it do them. And siclike dung as the grieve has gien me!--it should be wheat-strae, or aiten at the warst o't, and it's pease dirt, as fizzenless as chuckie-stanes. But the huntsman guides a' as he likes about the stable-yard, and he's selled the best o' the litter, I'se warrant. But, howsoever, we mauna lose a turn o' this Saturday at e'en, for the wather's sair broken, and if there's a fair day in seven, Sunday's sure to come and lick it up--Howsomever, I'm no denying that it may settle, if it be Heaven's will, till Monday morning,--and what's the use o' my breaking my back at this rate?--I think, I'll e'en awa' hame, for yon's the curfew, as they ca' their jowing-in bell.” Accordingly, applying both his hands to his spade, he pitched it upright in the trench which he had been digging and, looking at me with the air of superiority of one who knows himself possessed of important information, which he may communicate or refuse at his pleasure, pulled down the sleeves of his shirt, and walked slowly towards his coat, which lay carefully folded up upon a neighbouring garden-seat. “I must pay the penalty of having interrupted the tiresome rascal,” thought I to myself, “and even gratify Mr. Fairservice by taking his communication on his own terms.” Then raising my voice, I addressed him,--“And after all, Andrew, what are these London news you had from your kinsman, the travelling merchant?” “The pedlar, your honour means?” retorted Andrew--“but ca' him what ye wull, they're a great convenience in a country-side that's scant o' borough-towns like this Northumberland--That's no the case, now, in Scotland;--there's the kingdom of Fife, frae Culross to the East Nuik, it's just like a great combined city--sae mony royal boroughs yoked on end to end, like ropes of ingans, with their hie-streets and their booths, nae doubt, and their kraemes, and houses of stane and lime and fore-stairs--Kirkcaldy, the sell o't, is langer than ony town in England.” “I daresay it is all very splendid and very fine--but you were talking of the London news a little while ago, Andrew.” “Ay,” replied Andrew; “but I dinna think your honour cared to hear about them--Howsoever” (he continued, grinning a ghastly smile), “Pate Macready does say, that they are sair mistrysted yonder in their Parliament House about this rubbery o' Mr. Morris, or whatever they ca' the chiel.” “In the House of Parliament, Andrew!--how came they to mention it there?”