"Ye’ll be like the lave," Jock continued, "ower prood to work for a man like me. I wadna wunner if ye’re no sure o’ payment. Sae maybe it’s as weel to tell ye, that as far as I ken, ye’ll never get a bawbee frae me! For Jock Hall is a braw customer to them that’ll ser’ him--though, faix, there’s no mony o’ that kind noo!--but he’s a bad payer. In fac, he has clean forgot hoo to pay an account." Sorrow softens the hearts of good men; and if it is in any degree occasioned by unjust treatment, it prompts charitable sympathies towards others who are condemned as wicked by society without a fair hearing ever having been afforded them. When the streams of their affection have been frozen by the cold reception given where a warm welcome was anticipated, it is a relief to let them flow into other and dried-up cisterns where, in despair, from a long drought, such blessings were never expected, and are joyfully appreciated. So Adam felt kindly towards Jock, though he only said, "I’ll men’ your boots for that fine pinch o’ snuff, and they’ll cost ye nae mair, except guidwill, and that’s cheap." Jock Hall looked rather perplexed, and cleared out his box with his long finger, pressing his last snuff vehemently into his nostril. Then resuming, as if with difficulty, his careless manner, he said, "Hae the boots ready by Friday nicht, as I maun fish the East Muir water on Saturday." "Ye may depend on them, Jock! And noo, as yer business is done, ye may gang." The Sergeant did not wish him to resume his wild talk, as he had threatened to do. Jock crossed his arms, and gazed on the Sergeant as if he would look him through. Then grasping his own throat, and looking wildly, he said: "It’s come! it’s come! The evil speerit is chokin’ me! He is here like a cannon ball! I maun speak, or my head will rive! I maun curse Porteous, and the kirk, and religion, and elders, and Sabbath days, and a’ thing guid!" and his eyes flashed fire. The Sergeant could not make him out, as they say. He was disposed to think him insane, though he had never heard Jock’s name associated with anything save recklessness of character. He therefore did nothing but return the gaze of the excited man. Katie, unwilling to sit in the same room with him, had retired to her bedroom. Mary sat at the fireside with her book in evident alarm. "I hate them!" repeated Jock, almost grinding his teeth. "What do ye mean, Jock?" asked Adam, quietly but firmly. "Do you want to quarrel wi’ me?"