“No a ne’er-do-weel, faither. Poor laddie! he’s so easy led away; but by-and-by he’ll tak’ a thought and mend.” “Like the de’il--at least, accordin’ to Robert Burns. Ay, ay, Jeanie, by-and-by! But maybe he’ll break our hearts afore then.” “And Willie, faither?” “Since Willie ’listed, I try to think of him nae mair,” said the cobbler, with a quiver in his lips; then he added, “But he’ll be held weel under authority, as the centurion says in Scripture, and maybe it’s the best thing that could have happened for himself.” “That’s aye what Bell says--” “Bell! and what does Bell ken about it--a woman that never had a son! If I were to have my family over again, I would pray for a’ lasses, Jeanie, my woman, like you.” “Eh, faither! but you mustna forget Robin and Alick, though they’re far away; and a’ the lasses are no like me,” said Jeanie, with a tear and a smile. “I might have been marriet, and far from hame; or I might have been licht-headed;” this she said, with a faith laugh at the idea, and rising blush; for to be anything different from her modest self was half incredible, half alarming. The cobbler shook his head. “Another might, but no my Jean. But what is sent is the best, if we could but see it, nae doubt, nae doubt.” “And that minds me,” she said, abruptly, with a little gasp of rising agitation. Then she stopped herself as quickly; “how is the work getting on? have ye aye plenty jobs to keep ye going, faither?” she added, as by an after-thought. “No that bad,” said the shoemaker. “Plenty wark--pay’s no just the same thing. There was three pair last week for Merran Linsay, you ken she’s aye to be trusted.” “Trusted!” said Jeanie, “ay, for kindness and a good heart, but for the siller--” “My heart’s wae for the poor decent woman,” said John Robertson, “with aye the wolf at her door. The shoes thae bairns gang through! no to speak of other things. How could I bid her depart, and get something elsewhere to put on their feet when she came to me? Would you ca’ that Christianity--no that I’m blaming them that can do it,” he added, hastily. “Na, whiles I wish I could do it; but nature’s mair strong than wishing--” “You are aye the auld man,” said Jeanie, tenderly; “it’s real foolish, faither, but I canna blame ye. I like ye a’ the better. You would make shoes for a’ the parish, and never take a penny.” “Na, na, lass! there you’re wrong,” he said, briskly. “I charged a shilling mair than the price to auld Will Heriot, nae further gane than Friday last. He was in an awfu’ hurry, and awfu’ ill tempered. I put on a shilling,” said the cobbler, with a low laugh. “In the abstract it wasna right, and I’ll no say but I may gie it back; but the auld Adam is strong now and then.”