"Aich! Gudeness guide us, mother, am I no up yet?" cried George, springing out of his bed; for he had been all the while in a sound sleep, and dreaming. "What gart ye let me lie sae lang? I thought I had been i' the shop!" "Shop!" exclaimed she; "I daresay, then, you thought you had found a fiddle in't. What were ye guffawing and laughing at?" "O! I was laughing at a fat man, and the payment of a pair o' boots at Widow Wilson's, in Hawick." "Widow Wilson's, i' Hawick!" exclaimed his mother, holding up both her hands; "Gude forgie me for a great leear, if I hae dreamed about ony body else, frae the tae end o' the night to the tither!" "Houts, mother, haud your tongue; it is needless to heed your dreams, for ye never gie ower dreaming about somebody." "And what for no, lad? Hasna an auld body as good a right to dream as a young ane? Mrs Wilson's a throughgaun quean, and clears mair than a hunder a-year by the Tannage. I'se warrant there sall something follow thir dreams; I get the maist o' my dreams redd." George was greatly tickled with his dream about the fat gentleman and the boots, and so well convinced was he that there was some sort of meaning in it, that he resolved to go to Hawick the next market day, and call on Mrs Wilson, and settle with her; although it was a week or two before his usual term of payment, he thought the money would scarcely come wrong. So that day he plied and wrought as usual; but instead of his favourite ditties relating to the Forest, he chanted, the whole day over, one as old as any of them; but I am sorry I recollect only the chorus and a few odd stanzas of it. ROUND ABOUT HAWICK. We'll round about Hawick, Hawick, Round about Hawick thegither; We'll round about Hawick, Hawick, And in by the bride's gudemither. Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. And as we gang by we will rap, And drink to the luck o' the bigging; For the bride has her tap in her lap, And the bridegroom his tail in his rigging. Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. There's been little luck i' the deed; We're a' in the dumps thegither; Let's gie the bridegroom a sheep's head, But gie the bride brose and butter. Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. Then a' the gudewives i' the land Came flocking in droves thegither, A' bringing their bountith in hand, To please the young bride's gudemither. Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. The black gudewife o' the Braes Gae baby-clouts no worth a button; But the auld gudewife o' Penchrice Cam in wi' a shouder o' mutton. Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. Wee Jean o' the Coate gae a pun', A penny, a plack, and a boddle; But the wife at the head o' the town Gae nought but a lang pin-todle.[A] Sing, Round about Hawick, &c.