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There are many sooth words spoken in bourding. There is na thief without a Resetter. There is many a fair thing full false. There is na man so deaf as he that will not hear. There was never a fair word in flyting. The mouth that lyes, slayes the foul. Trot mother, trot father, how should the foal amble? They were never fain that fidgit. Two fools in ane house, is over many.
"I hold these gleams," she said, after a moment's consideration, "to come, not from the churchyard, but from the hut of the old gardener Blinkhoolie. I wonder what thrift that churl drives, that of late he hath ever had light in his house till the night grew deep. I thought him an industrious, peaceful man If he turns resetter of idle companions and night-walkers, the place must be rid of him."
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