Caleb!--Mr. Caleb Balderstone! I hope
ye arena ganging dry-lipped by our door, and we sae muckle indebted to
you?"
This might be said ironically as well as in earnest. Caleb augured the
worst, turned a deaf ear to the trio aforesaid, and was moving doggedly
on, his ancient castor pulled over his brows, and his eyes bent on the
ground, as if to count the flinty pebbles with which the rude pathway
was causewayed. But on a sudden he found himself surrounded in his
progress, like a stately merchantman in the Gut of Gibraltar (I hope
the ladies will excuse the tarpaulin phrase) by three Algerine galleys.
"Gude guide us, Mr. Balderstone!" said Mrs. Girder. "Wha wad hae thought
it of an auld and kenn'd friend!" said the mother.
"And no sae muckle as stay to receive our thanks," said the cooper
himself, "and frae the like o' me that seldom offers them! I am sure I
hope there's nae ill seed sawn between us, Mr. Balderstone. Ony man that
has said to ye I am no gratefu' for the situation of Queen's cooper, let
me hae a whample at him wi' mine eatche, that's a'.
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