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"I broucht a picnic wi' me." "Did ye, noo? An' hoo did ye ken aboot picnics, laddie?" "Maister Traill was tellin' Ailie an' me. There's ilka thing to mak' a picnic i' the kirkyaird. They couldna mak' my legs gude i' the infairmary, but I'm gangin' to Heriot's. I'll juist hae to airn ma leevin' wi' ma heid, an' no' remember aboot ma legs, ava. Is he no' a bonny doggie?" "Ay, he's bonny.
It's juist for puir toon bodies that are aye ailin' an' deein'." Fright and resentment lent the silent old man an astonishing eloquence for the moment. "Ye wadna gang to the infairmary yer ainsel', an' tak' charity." "Would I no'? I would go if I so much as cut my sma' finger; and I would let a student laddie bind it up for me." "Weel, ye're a saft ane," said Auld Jock.
A doctor is the last resort of the unlettered poor. The very threat of one to the Scotch peasant of a half-century ago was a sentence of death. Auld Jock blanched, and he shook so that he dropped his spoon. Mr. Traill hastened to undo the mischief. "It's no' a doctor ye'll be needing, ava, but a bit dose o' physic an' a bed in the infirmary a day or twa." "I wullna gang to the infairmary.
The very next morning he had gone down into the perilous Cowgate, and inquired in every place where it might be possible for such a timid old shepherd to be known. But there! As well look for a burr thistle in a bin of oats, as look for a human atom in the Cowgate and the wynds "juist aff." "Weel, noo, ye couldna hae dune aething wi' the auld body, ava, gin he wouldna gang to the infairmary."
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