But Cosmo instead of rising only laughed the more, and went on until at length Grizzie made use of a terrible threat. “As sure ’s sowens!” she said, “gien ye dinna haud yer tongue wi’ that menseless-like lauchin’, I’ll no tell ye anither auld-warld tale afore Marti’mas.” “Will ye tell me ane the nicht gien I haud my tongue an’ gang hame wi’ ye?” “Ay, that wull I--that’s gien I can min’ upo’ ane.” He rose at once, and laughed no more. They walked home together in the utmost peace. After tea, his father went out with him for a stroll, and to call on Jeames Gracie, the owner of the cow whose _inconstellation_ had so much amused him. He was an old man, with an elderly wife, and a grand-daughter--a weaver to trade, whose father and grandfather before him had for many a decade done the weaving work, both in linen and wool, required by “them at the castle.” He had been on the land, in the person of his ancestors, from time almost immemorial, though he had only a small cottage, and a little bit of land, barely enough to feed the translunar cow. But poor little place as Jeames’s was, if the laird would have sold it, the price would have gone a good way towards clearing the rest of his property of its encumbrances. For the situation of the little spot was such as to make it specially desirable in the eyes of the next proprietor, on the border of whose land it lay. He was a lord of session, and had taken his title from the place, which he inherited from his father; who, although a laird, had been so little of a gentleman, that the lordship had not been enough to make one of his son. He was yet another of those trim, orderly men, who will sacrifice anything--not to beauty--of that they have in general no sense--but to tidiness: tidiness in law, in divinity, in morals, in estate, in garden, in house, in person--tidiness is in their eyes the first thing--seemingly because it is the highest creative energy of which they are capable. Naturally the dwelling of James Gracie was an eyesore to this man, being visible from not a few of his windows, and from almost anywhere on the private road to his house; for decidedly it was not tidy. Neither in truth was it dirty, while to any life-loving nature it was as pleasant to know, as it was picturesque to look at. But the very appearance of poverty seems to act as a reproach on some of the rich--at least why else are they so anxious to get it out of their sight?--and Lord Lickmyloof--that was not his real title, but he was better known by it than by the name of his land: it came of a nasty habit he had, which I need not at present indicate farther--Lord Lickmyloof could not bear the sight of the cottage which no painter would have consented to omit from the landscape. It haunted him like an evil thing. [Illustration: COSMO ON HIS WAY TO SCHOOL.] CHAPTER V. THE SCHOOL.