“Weel, ye see, Maister Ralph,” pursued the grave-digger, “I’m by inclination a social man, an’ the nature o’ my avocation, so to speak, is a wee unsocial.  Fowk are that curious.  Noo, when I gang into the square o’ a forenicht, the lads ’ll cry oot, ’Dinna be lookin’ my gate, Saunders, an’ wonnerin’ whether I’ll need a seven-fit hole, or whether a six-fit yin will pass!’ Or maybe the bairns’ll cry oot, ‘Hae ye a skull i’ yer pooch?’ The like o’ that tells on a man in time, sir.”

“Without doubt,” said Ralph; “but how does matrimony, for either the first or the second time, cure that?”

“Weel, sir, ye see, mairriage mak’s a man kind o’ independent like.  Say, for instance, ye hae been a’ day at jobs up i’ the yaird, an’ it’s no been what ye micht ca’ pleesant crunchin’ through green wud an’ waur whiles.  Noo, we’ll say that juist as a precaution, ye ken, ye hae run ower to the Black Bull for a gless or twa at noo’s an’ nan’s” [now and then].

“I have run over, Saunders?” queried Ralph.

“Oh, it’s juist a mainner o’ speakin’, sir; I was takin’ a personal example.  Weel, ye gang hame to the wife aboot the gloamin’, an’ ye open the door, an’ ye says, says you, pleesant like, bein’ warm aboot the wame,’ Guid e’en to ye, guidwife, my dawtie, an’ hoos a’ thing been gaim wi’ ye the day?’ D’ye think she needs to luik roon’ to ken a’ aboot the Black Bull?  Na, na, she kens withoot even turnin’ her heid.  She kenned by yer verra fit as ye cam’ up the yaird.  She’s maybe stirrin’ something i’ the pat.  She turns roon’ wi the pat-stick i’ her haund.  ’I’ll dawtie ye, my man!’ she says, an’ Whang, afore ye ken whaur ye are, the pat-stick is acquant wi’ the side o’ yer heid.  ’I’ll dawtie ye, rinnin’ rakin’ to the public-hoose wi’ yer hard-earned shillin’s.  Dawtie!’ quo’ she; ‘faith, the Black Bull’s yer dawtie!’”

“But how does she know?” asked Ralph, in the interests of truth and scientific inquiry.

Saunders thought that he was speaking with an eye on the future.  He lifted up his finger solemnly:  “Dinna ye ever think that ye can gang intil a public hoose withoot yer wife kennin’.  Na, it’s no the smell, as an unmarrit man micht think; and peppermints is a vain thing, also ceenimons.  It’s juist their faculty—­aye, that’s what it is—­it’s a faculty they hae; an’ they’re a’ alike.  They ken as weel wi’ the back o’ their heids till ye, an’ their noses fair stuffit wi’ the cauld, whether ye hae been makin’ a ca’ or twa on the road hame on pay-nicht.  I ken it’s astonishin’ to a single man, but ye had better tak’ my word for’t, it’s the case.  ‘Whaur’s that auchteenpence?’ Betty used to ask; ‘only twal an’ sixpence, an’ your wages is fourteen shillings—­forbye your chance frae mourners for happen the corp up quick’—­then ye hummer an’ ha’, an’ try to think on the lee ye made up on the road doon; but it’s a gye queery thing that ye canna mind o’t.  It’s an odd thing hoo jooky [nimble] a lee is whan ye want it in time o’ need!”