necessary business, to visit the fishing hamlet, and was gliding like a ghost past the door of the cooper, tor fear of being summoned to give some account of the progress of the solicitation in his favour, or, more probably, that the inmates might upbraid him with the false hope he had held out upon the subject, he heard himself, not without some apprehension, summoned at once in treble, tenor, and bass,—a trio performed by the voices of Mrs Girder, old Dame Loup-the-dike, and the goodman of the dwelling—"Mr Caleb—Mr 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
