“What's this ye 're aifter wi' the mare, Jock?” “Doctoring her stiffness, Burnbrae; it wears aff as sune as she gets warm, and the fouk micht as weel see her at her best. “It 'ill pit a five-pund note on her,” continued Jock, “an' a'm no tae gie a warranty wi' onything the day. “Man, hoo did ye no get the wricht tae gie those cairts a lick o' pent? They did it at Pit-foodles, and there wes an auld corn cairt went aff for new.” “Ye may dae what ye like at Pit foodies, but ye 'll play nae tricks here, Jock,” and Burnbrae's eye had a dangerous gleam; “gin ye dinna tell the fouk that the mare hes a titch o' 'grease' on her aff hind-leg, a 'll dae it masel.” Jock was much dashed, for he had intended some other legitimate improvements, and he carried his wrongs to Drumsheugh. “There's sic a thing as bein' ower gude, an' a' dinna see ony use in startin' this roup; he micht as weel fling awa' his gear tae the first bidder. Wull ye believe it,” said Jock, in bitterness of soul, “that he hesna providit a drop o' speerits, an' is gaein' tae offer the fouk tea an' lime-juice--lime-juice,” and Jock dwelt on the word with scathing scorn. Did ye ever hear o' a roup comin' aff on sic like drink? It's fifteen year sin a' took tae the unctioneerin' trade, an' a' tell ye nae man 'ill gie a bid worth mentionin' till he 's hed his tastin', an' there's nae spunk afore the third gless. “Noo there wes Pitfoodles roup,” exclaimed Jock, harking back to high-water mark; “if a' didna send roond the glesses sax times, an' afore a' wes ower Lochlands bocht a geizened (leaky) water-cairt withoot wheels for aucht pund twal shillings, an' it's lying at Pitfoodles till this day. Ye'ill no see a roup like that twice in a generation. Lime-juice--it's a clean temptin' o' Providence.” “Ye needna get in a feery-farry (commotion), Jock,” said Drumsheugh, eyeing the little man severely; “the 'ill be nae call for speerits the day. A'm no a jidge o' lime-juice masel, but it 'ill dae as weel as onything else, or water itsel for that maitter. “Pitfoodles! Man, it 'ill no be mentioned wi' the prices ye 'ill get at Burnbrae, or a' dinna ken Drumtochty.” “Div ye mean that Drumtochty's gaein' tae stand in?” said Jock, much cheered. “A' mean what a' say, an' the suner ye begin the better. Ye 'ill be takin' the potatoes first,” and the gait of Drumsheugh as he moved off was that of a general on the morning of battle.