"Fashed!" exclaimed Effie, thankful for the opportunity of expressing sympathy with her master, and her indignation at his inconsiderate patients; "naebody kens that but him and me! Fashed! the man haesna the life o’ a streyed dog or cat! There’s no’ a lameter teylor wi’ his waik fit, nor a bairn wi’ a sair wame frae eatin’ ower mony cruds or grosats, nor an auld wife hostin’ wi’ a grew o’ cauld, nor a farmer efter makin’ ower free wi’ black puddins and haggis when a mairt is kill’t--but a’ maun flee tae the doctor, ilka ane yam, yam, yammerin’, as if _he_ had the poower o’ life and death! Puir cratur! I could maist greet if I wasna sae angry, to wauk him in his first sleep in a winter’s nicht to ride aff on auld Bolus--that’s his auld decent horse, ye ken--and for what? Maybe for naething! I assure you he has a taughy fleece tae scoor in this parish!" Effie stopped, not from want of illustration, but from want of breath. "A hard life, a hard life, nae doot," remarked the Corporal; "but it’s his duty, and he’s paid for’t." "Him paid for’t!" said Effie, "I wad like tae see the siller; as the watchmaker said--The Doctor, quo’ he, should let them pay the debt o’ natur’ if they wadna pay his ain debts first. He wasna far wrang! But I was forgettin’ the Sergeant--what’s wrang wi’ him? That’s a man never fashes the doctor or onybody; and wha pays what he gets. But ither folk fash the Sergeant--I wuss I had the doctorin’ o’ some o’ them I ken o’l Feggs, I wad doctor them! I wad gie them a blister or twa o’ Spenish flees that they wadna forget in a hurry I--but what’s wrang?" she asked, once more halting in her eloquence. "That’s just what we want tae ken," replied the Corporal, quietly. "I’ll tell the Doctor," said Effie. "I think ye said yer name was Dick--Cornal Dick?" "No, no! not Cornal yet," replied Dick, smiling, "I’m sorry tae say, my braw woman, but Corporal only." The epithet "braw" drew down a curtsy from Effie in reply to his "Gude day; ye’ll be sure to send the Doctor."