"My father wa' a mon in humble life, but he wa' a guid mon, an' ane that wa' much respectit; he wa' weel off for his station—he wa' na' so to say rich, but he farmed his own lan'—he had a snug little farm, a sma' housie, a cosy but an' ben, as we ca' it; he owed nae mon a penny, an' he had a little siller laid by, as he used aften to tell me, for my tocher—for he wa' varry fond o' me. An' so it kim aboot that, being called fair, an' my father reputit rich, I wa' na' to seek for suitors; but I did na' care for them—ane an' a' wa' nathing to me.
"But my father's little place wa' near a barrack toon, an' ane day I met wi' a gay young soger laddie fra' the toon—weel-a-weel, lassie, words are but idle brith, never mind them; but he had a merry eye, a ready tongue, an' a winsome smile; an' the upshot o' it wa' that he woo'd an' won me; an' I had nae thought but for my gay, bonnie soger laddie.
"But my father, he wad na' hear tell on't. 'He's but a rovin' blade, Elsie,' he said to me; 'he'll maybe be ordered awa' fra' here ony day in the year, an' then I'll lose my
