aged limbs through the single street of the village at Middlemas towards
the honoured door, which, fenced off from the vulgar causeway, was
defended by a broken paling, enclosing two slips of ground, half arable,
half overrun with an abortive attempt at shrubbery. The door itself was
blazoned with the name of Gideon Gray, M. A. Surgeon, &c. &c. Some of
the idle young fellows, who had been a minute or two before loitering at
the other end of the street before the door of the alehouse, (for the
pretended inn deserved no better name,) now accompanied the old dames
with shouts of laughter, excited by their unwonted agility; and with
bets on the winner, as loudly expressed as if they had been laid at the
starting post of Middlemas races. "Half a mutchkin on Luckie
Simson!"--"Auld Peg Tamson against the field!"--"Mair speed, Alison
Jaup, ye'll tak the wind out of them yet!"--"Canny against the hill,
lasses, or we may have a burstern auld earline amang ye!" These, and a
thousand such gibes, rent the air, without being noticed, or even heard,
by the anxious racers, whose object of contention seemed to be, which
should first reach the Doctor's door.

"Guide us, Doctor, what can be the matter now?" said Mrs. Gray, whose
character was that of a good-natured simpleton; "Here's Peg Tamson, Jean
Simson, and Alison Jaup, running a race on the hie street of the burgh!"

The Doctor, who had but the moment before hung his wet great-coat before
the fire, (for he was just dismounted from a long journey,) hastened
down stairs, arguing some new occasion for his services, and happy,
that, from, the character of the messengers, it was likely to be within
burgh, and not landward.

He had just reached the door as Luckie Simson, one of the racers,
arrived in the little area before it. She had got the start, and kept