"I wad raither than a five-pun-note I had never seen yer face! Keep us! what’s to be dune! What wull yer mither say? and his Lordship? Na, what wull onybody say wi’ a spark o’ decency when they hear----" "Dinna fash yer thoomb, John; tak’ me and send me to the jail." "The jail! What gude will that do to you or me, laddie? I’m clean donnered about the business. Let me sit down aside ye; keep laigh, in case the keepers see ye, and tell me by what misshanter ye ever took to this wicked business, and under my nose, as if _I_ couldna fin’ ye oot!" "Sport, sport!" was Mercer’s reply. "Ye ken, John, I’m a shoemaker, and it’s a dull trade, and squeezing the clams against the wame is ill for digestion; and when that fails, ane’s speerits fail, and the warld gets black and dowie; and whan things gang wrang wi’ me, I canna flee to drink: but I think o’ the moors that I kent sae weel when my faither was a keeper to Murray o’ Cultrain. Ye mind my faither? was he no’ a han’ at a gun!" "He was that--the verra best," said John. "Aweel," continued Adam, "when doon in the mouth, I ponder ower the braw days o’ health and life I had when carrying his bag, and getting a shot noos and thans as a reward; and it’s a truth I tell ye, that the _whirr kick-ic-ic_ o’ a covey o’ groose aye pits my bluid in a tingle. It’s a sort o’ madness that I canna accoont for; but I think I’m no responsible for’t. Paitricks are maist as bad, though turnips and stubble are no’ to be compared wi’ the heather, nor walkin’ amang them like the far-aff braes, the win’y taps o’ the hills, or the lown glens. Mony a time I hae promised to drap the gun and stick to the last; but when I’m no’ weel, and wauken and see the sun glintin’, and think o’ the wide bleak muirs, and the fresh caller air o’ the hill, wi’ the scent o’ the braes an’ the bog myrtle, and thae whirrin’ craturs--man, I canna help it! I spring up and grasp the gun, and I’m aff!" The reformed poacher and keeper listened with a poorly-concealed smile, and said, "Nae doot, nae doot, Adam, it’s a’ natural--I’m no denyin’ that; it’s a glorious business; in fac’, it’s jist pairt o’ every man that has a steady han’ and a guid e’e and a feeling heart. Ay, ay. But, Adam, were ye no’ frichtened?" "For what?" "For the keepers!" "The keepers! Eh, John, that’s half the sport! The thocht o’ dodgin’ keepers, jinkin’ them roon’ hills, and doon glens, and lyin’ amang the muir-hags, and nickin’ a brace or twa, and then fleein’ like mad doon ae brae and up anither; and keekin’ here, and creepin’ there, and cowerin’ alang a fail dyke, and scuddin’ thro’ the wood--that’s mair than half the life o’t, John! I’m no sure if I could shoot the birds if they were a’ in my ain kailyard, and my ain property, and if I paid for them!" "But war ye no’ feared for me that kent ye?" asked John.