Up with your foot-soles, Davie!
Forth, Fortune, once again of it! And a bonny walk we are like to
have."
So we went east by the beach of the sea, towards where the salt-
pans were smoking in by the Esk mouth. No doubt there was a by-
ordinary bonny blink of morning sun on Arthur's Seat and the green
Pentlands; and the pleasantness of the day appeared to set Alan
among nettles.
"I feel like a gomeral," says he, "to be leaving Scotland on a day
like this. It sticks in my head; I would maybe like it better to
stay here and hing."
"Ay, but ye wouldnae, Alan," said I.
"No, but what France is a good place too," he explained; "but it's
some way no the same. It's brawer I believe, but it's no Scotland.
I like it fine when I'm there, man; yet I kind of weary for Scots
divots and the Scots peat-reek."
"If that's all you have to complain of, Alan, it's no such great
affair," said I.
"And it sets me ill to be complaining, whatever," said he, "and me
but new out of yon deil's haystack."
"And so you were unco weary of your haystack?" I asked.
"Weary's nae word for it," said he.
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