CHAPTER XII.
THAT BURSAR AGAIN!
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T wis a Monday morning, and as nice aday as onybody could wish to see, though the air ootby wis a thocht cauld. I could hear Mrs. M'Culloch's lark, that she aye put ootside the window on fine days, liltin' awa' to itsel', bringin' to my mind the time I spent wi' my mither's sister at the waterside in Govan, when I wis gettin' better o' the chincough. I mindet hoo I used to sit on a plaid on the gress, before my auntie's door, makin' up babs o' buttercups and listenin' to the whir o' the shuttles, and the daud, daudin' o' the lays i' the loomshops. Then my mither wud steal oot wi' a jeelie-piece, preen the wee shawl tichter aboot my throat, and chairge me ower and ower again to rin inbye, a' my pith, whenever I felt the kink comin' on.
Thinks I, "Weel, it's no' every day I'm i' the mood for writin', but here is my early days comin' back to my min' quite poetical; and, as I hae promised Mr. Fleming to say something aboot my youthfu' impressions and my upbringin', noo's the time." Sae I got oot my papers, and had spelt my name to see hoo the pen wud write. The ideas were comin' into my mind in the most beautifu' order, when lo! the door opened, and Willie Warstle stepped ben.
"What noo?' quoth I, wishin' to teach him mainners.
