'Hame to yer ain bed at my grannie's.'

'Na, na,' said Shargar, hurriedly, retreating within the door of the
hovel. 'Na, na, Bob, lad, I s' no du that. She's an awfu' wuman,
that grannie o' yours. I canna think hoo ye can bide wi' her. I'm
weel oot o' her grups, I can tell ye.'

It required a good deal of persuasion, but at last Robert prevailed
upon Shargar to return. For was not Robert his tower of strength?
And if Robert was not frightened at his grannie, or at Betty, why
should he be? At length they entered Mrs. Falconer's parlour,
Robert dragging in Shargar after him, having failed altogether in
encouraging him to enter after a more dignified fashion.

It must be remembered that although Shargar was still kilted, he was
not the less trowsered, such as the trowsers were. It makes my
heart ache to think of those trowsers--not believing trowsers
essential to blessedness either, but knowing the superiority of the
old Roman costume of the kilt.

No sooner had Mrs. Falconer cast her eyes upon him than she could
not but be convinced of the truth of Robert's averment.

'Here he is, grannie; and gin ye bena saitisfeed yet--'

'Haud yer tongue, laddie. Ye hae gi'en me nae cause to doobt yer
word.'

Indeed, during Robert's absence, his grandmother had had leisure to
perceive of what an absurd folly she had been guilty. She had also