112 EASY-CHAIR MEMORIES 



fling the flee, till last o' a' he would plump 

 richt out o' sicht, till the Highlander o' Ben 

 Cruachan thocht him drooned ; but he was na 

 born to be drooned no he indeed. Sae, he 

 taks to the soomin', and strikes awa' wi' one 

 arm like yourseP, sir, for the tother had haud 

 o' the rod and, could ye believe't, though it's 

 as true as scriptur', fishin' a' the time . . . and 

 gettin' footin' on the yellow sand, he but gies 

 himsel' a shake, and ere the sun looks out 

 o' the clud has hyucket a four-pounder, whom 

 in four minutes (for it's a multiplying pirn the 

 cratur uses) he lands gasping through the giant 

 gills, and glitterin 7 wi' a thousand spots, streaks 

 and stars, on the shore. That's a pictur' o' 

 North's fishin' in days o' yore. But look at 

 him noo look at him noo ! wi' that auld 

 farrant face o' his, no unlike a pike's, crunkled 

 up in his chair . . . the hauns o' him a' covered 

 wi' chalk stanes, his legs like winnlestraes, and 

 his knees but knobs. " Vanity o' vanities ! all 

 is vanity." ' 



" North : ' By the by, James, who won the 

 salmon medal this season on the Tweed ? ' 



"Shepherd: * Wha, think ye, could it be, ye 

 coof, but myseF ? I beat them a' by two stane 



