It was Saturday evening--the night in the week when Auld Licht youngmen fell in love. Sam'l Dickie, wearing a blue glengarry bonnet with ared ball on the top, came to the door of the one-story house in thetenements, and stood there wriggling, for he was in a suit of tweedfor the first time that week, and did not feel at one with them. Whenhis feeling of being a stranger to himself wore off, he looked up anddown the road, which straggles between houses and gardens, and then,picking his way over the puddles, crossed to his father's hen-houseand sat down on it. He was now on his way to the square.
Eppie Fargus was sitting on an adjoining dyke knitting stockings, andSam'l looked at her for a time.
"Is't yersel', Eppie?" he said at last.
"It's a' that," said Eppie.
"Hoo's a' wi' ye?" asked Sam'l.
"We're juist aff an' on," replied Eppie, cautiously.
There was not much more to say, but as Sam'l sidled off the hen-househe murmured politely, "Ay, ay." In another minute he would have beenfairly started, but Eppie resumed the conversation.
"Sam'l," she said, with a twinkle in her eye, "ye can tell LisbethFargus I'll likely be drappin' in on her aboot Mununday or Teisday."
Lisbeth was sister to Eppie, and wife of Tammas McQuhatty, betterknown as T'nowhead, which was the name of his farm. She was thusBell's mistress.
Sam'l leaned against the hen-house as if all his desire to depart hadgone.
"Hoo d' ye kin I'll be at the T'nowhead the nicht?" he asked, grinningin anticipation.
"Ou, I'se warrant ye'll be after Bell," said Eppie.
"Am no sae sure o' that," said Sam'l, trying to leer. He was enjoyinghimself now.
"Am no sure o' that," he repeated, for Eppie seemed lost in stitches.
"Sam'l!"
"Ay."
"Ye'll be speerin' her sune noo, I dinna doot?"
This took Sam'l, who had only been courting Bell for a year or two, alittle aback.
"Hoo d' ye mean, Eppie?" he asked.
"Maybe ye'll do 't the nicht."
"Na, there's nae hurry," said Sam'l.
"Weel, we're a' coontin' on 't, Sam'l."
"Gae 'wa' wi' ye."
"What for no?"
"Gae 'wa' wi' ye," said Sam'l again.
"Bell's gei an' fond o' ye, Sam'l."
"Ay," said Sam'l.
"But am dootin' ye're a fell billy wi' the lasses."
"Ay, oh, I d'na kin; moderate, moderate," said Sam'l, in high delight.
"I saw ye," said Eppie, speaking with a wire in her mouth, "gaein' onterr'ble wi' Mysy Haggart at the pump last Saturday."
"We was juist amoosin' oorsel's," said Sam'l.
"It'll be nae amoosement to Mysy," said Eppie, "gin ye brak her heart."
"Losh, Eppie," said Sam'l, "I didna think o' that."
"Ye maun kin weel, Sam'l, 'at there's mony a lass wid jump at ye."
"Ou, weel," said Sam'l, implying that a man must take these things asthey come.
"For ye're a dainty chield to look at, Sam'l."
"Do ye think so, Eppie? Ay, ay; oh, I d'na kin am onything by theordinar."
"Ye mayna be," said Eppie, "but lasses doesna do to be ower-partikler."
Sam'l resented this, and prepared to depart again.
"Ye'll no tell Bell that?" he asked, anxiously.
"Tell her what?"
"Aboot me an' Mysy."
"We'll see hoo ye behave yersel', Sam'l."
"No 'at I care, Eppie; ye can tell her gin ye like. I widna thinktwice o' tellin' her mysel'."
"The Lord forgie ye for leein', Sam'l," said Eppie, as he disappeareddown Tammy Tosh's close. Here he came upon Henders Webster.
"Ye're late, Sam'l," said Henders.
"What for?"
"Ou, I was thinkin' ye wid be gaen the length o' T'nowhead the nicht,an' I saw Sanders Elshioner makkin' 's wy there an 'oor syne."
"Did ye?" cried Sam'l, adding craftily, "but it's naething to me."
"Tod, lad," said Henders, "gin ye dinna buckle to, Sanders'll becarryin' her off."
Sam'l flung back his head and passed on.
"Sam'l!" cried Henders after him.
"Ay," said Sam'l, wheeling round.
"Gie Bell a kiss frae me."
The full force of this joke struck neither all at once. Sam'l began tosmile at it as he turned down the school-wynd, and it came uponHenders while he was in his garden feeding his ferret. Then he slappedhis legs gleefully, and explained the conceit to Will'um Byars, whowent into the house and thought it over.
There were twelve or twenty little groups of men in the square, whichwas lit by a flare of oil suspended over a cadger's cart. Now andagain a staid young woman passed through the square with a basket onher arm, and if she had lingered long enough to give them time, someof the idlers would have addressed her. As it was, they gazed afterher, and then grinned to each other.
"Ay, Sam'l," said two or three young men, as Sam'l joined them beneaththe town clock.
"Ay, Davit," replied Sam'l.
This group was composed of some of the sharpest wits in Thrums, and itwas not to be expected that they would let this opportunity pass.Perhaps when Sam'l joined them he knew what was in store for him.
"Was ye lookin' for T'nowhead's Bell, Sam'l?" asked one.
"Or mebbe ye was wantin' the minister?" suggested another, the samewho had walked out twice with Chirsty Duff and not married her afterall.
Sam'l could not think of a good reply at the moment, so he laughedgood-naturedly.
"Ondootedly she's a snod bit crittur," said Davit, archly.
"An' michty clever wi' her fingers," added Jamie Deuchars.
"Man, I've thocht o' makkin' up to Bell mysel'," said Pete Ogle. "Widthere be ony chance, think ye, Sam'l?"
"I'm thinkin' she widna hae ye for her first, Pete," replied Sam'l, inone of those happy flashes that come to some men, "but there's naesayin' but what she micht tak' ye to finish up wi'."
The unexpectedness of this sally startled every one. Though Sam'l didnot set up for a wit, however, like Davit, it was notorious that hecould say a cutting thing once in a way.
"Did ye ever see Bell reddin' up?" asked Pete, recovering from hisoverthrow. He was a man who bore no malice.
"It's a sicht," said Sam'l, solemnly.
"Hoo will that be?" asked Jamie Deuchars.
"It's weel worth yer while," said Pete, "to ging atower to theT'nowhead an' see. Ye'll mind the closed-in beds i' the kitchen? Ay,weel, they're a fell spoiled crew, T'nowhead's litlins, an' no thataisy to manage. Th' ither lasses Lisbeth's haen had a michty troublewi' them. When they war i' the middle o' their reddin' up the bairnswid come tum'lin' aboot the floor, but, sal, I assure ye, Bell didnafash lang wi' them. Did she, Sam'l?"
"She did not," said Sam'l, dropping into a fine mode of speech to addemphasis to his remark.
"I'll tell ye what she did," said Pete to the others. "She juistlifted up the litlins, twa at a time, an' flung them into the coffin-beds. Syne she snibbit the doors on them, an' keepit them there tillthe floor was dry."
"Ay, man, did she so?" said Davit, admiringly.
"I've seen her do 't mysel'," said Sam'l.
"There's no a lassie mak's better bannocks this side o' Fetter Lums,"continued Pete.
"Her mither tocht her that," said Sam'l; "she was a gran' han' at thebakin', Kitty Ogilvy."
"I've heard say," remarked Jamie, putting it this way so as not to tiehimself down to anything, " 'at Bell's scones is equal to MagLunan's."
"So they are," said Sam'l, almost fiercely.
"I kin she's a neat han' at singein' a hen," said Pete.
"An' wi' 't a'," said Davit, "she's a snod, canty bit stocky in herSabbath claes."
"If onything, thick in the waist," suggested Jamie.
"I dinna see that," said Sam'l.
"I d'na care for her hair, either," continued Jamie, who was very nicein his tastes; "something mair yallowchy wid be an improvement."
"A'body kins," growled Sam'l, " 'at black hair's the bonniest."
The others chuckled.
"Puir Sam'l!" Pete said.
Sam'l, not being certain whether this should be received with a smileor a frown, opened his mouth wide as a kind of compromise. This wasposition one with him for thinking things over.
Few Auld Lichts, as I have said, went the length of choosing ahelpmate for themselves. One day a young man's friends would see himmending the washing-tub of a maiden's mother. They kept the joke untilSaturday night, and then he learned from them what he had been after.It dazed him for a time, but in a year or so he grew accustomed to theidea, and they were then married. With a little help he fell in lovejust like other people.
Sam'l was going the way of the others, but he found it difficult tocome to the point. He only went courting once a week, and he couldnever take up the running at the place where he left off the Saturdaybefore. Thus he had not, so far, made great headway. His method ofmaking up to Bell had been to drop in at T'nowhead on Saturday nightsand talk with the farmer about the rinderpest.
The farm kitchen was Bell's testimonial. Its chairs, tables, andstools were scoured by her to the whiteness of Rob Angus's sawmillboards, and the muslin blind on the window was starched like a child'spinafore. Bell was brave, too, as well as energetic. Once Thrums hadbeen overrun with thieves. It is now thought that there may have beenonly one, but he had the wicked cleverness of a gang. Such was hisrepute that there were weavers who spoke of locking their doors whenthey went from home. He was not very skilful, however, being generallycaught, and when they said they knew he was a robber, he gave themtheir things back and went away. If they had given him time there isno doubt that he would have gone off with his plunder. One night hewent to T'nowhead, and Bell, who slept in the kitchen, was awakened bythe noise. She knew who it would be, so she rose and dressed herself,and went to look for him with a candle. The thief had not known whatto do when he got in, and as it was very lonely he was glad to seeBell. She told him he ought to be ashamed of himself, and would notlet him out by the door until he had taken off his boots so as not tosoil the carpet.
On this Saturday evening Sam'l stood his ground in the square, untilby-and-by he found himself alone. There were other groups there still,but his circle had melted away. They went separately, and no one saidgood-night. Each took himself off slowly, backing out of the groupuntil he was fairly started.
Sam'l looked about him, and then, seeing that the others had gone,walked round the town-house into the darkness of the brae that leadsdown and then up to the farm of T'nowhead.
To get into the good graces of Lisbeth Fargus you had to know her waysand humour them. Sam'l, who was a student of women, knew this, and so,instead of pushing the door open and walking in, he went through therather ridiculous ceremony of knocking. Sanders Elshioner was alsoaware of this weakness of Lisbeth's, but though he often made up hismind to knock, the absurdity of the thing prevented his doing so whenhe reached the door. T'nowhead himself had never got used to hiswife's refined notions, and when any one knocked he always started tohis feet, thinking there must be something wrong.
Lisbeth came to the door, her expansive figure blocking the way in.
"Sam'l," she said.
"Lisbeth," said Sam'l.
He shook hands with the farmer's wife, knowing that she liked it, butonly said, "Ay, Bell," to his sweetheart, "Ay, T'nowhead," toMcQuhatty, and "It's yersel', Sanders," to his rival.
They were all sitting round the fire; T'nowhead, with his feet on theribs, wondering why he felt so warm; and Bell darned a stocking, whileLisbeth kept an eye on a goblet full of potatoes.
"Sit into the fire, Sam'l," said the farmer, not, however, making wayfor him.
"Na, na," said Sam'l; "I'm to bide nae time." Then he sat into thefire. His face was turned away from Bell, and when she spoke heanswered her without looking round. Sam'l felt a little anxious.Sanders Elshioner, who had one leg shorter than the other, but lookedwell when sitting, seemed suspiciously at home. He asked Bellquestions out of his own head, which was beyond Sam'l, and once hesaid something to her in such a low voice that the others could notcatch it. T'nowhead asked curiously what it was, and Sanders explainedthat he had only said, "Ay, Bell, the morn's the Sabbath." There wasnothing startling in this, but Sam'l did not like it. He began towonder if he were too late, and had he seen his opportunity would havetold Bell of a nasty rumour that Sanders intended to go over to theFree Church if they would make him kirk officer.
Sam'l had the good-will of T'nowhead's wife, who liked a polite man.Sanders did his best, but from want of practice he constantly mademistakes. To-night, for instance, he wore his hat in the house becausehe did not like to put up his hand and take it off. T'nowhead had nottaken his off, either, but that was because he meant to go out by-and-by and lock the byre door. It was impossible to say which of herlovers Bell preferred. The proper course with an Auld Licht lassie wasto prefer the man who proposed to her.
"Ye'll bide a wee, an' hae something to eat?" Lisbeth asked Sam'l,with her eyes on the goblet.
"No, I thank ye," said Sam'l, with true gentility.
"Ye'll better."
"I dinna think it."
"Hoots aye, what's to hender ye?"
"Weel, since ye're sae pressin', I'll bide."
No one asked Sanders to stay. Bell could not, for she was but theservant, and T'nowhead knew that the kick his wife had given him meantthat he was not to do so, either. Sanders whistled to show that he wasnot uncomfortable.
"Ay, then, I'll be stappin' ower the brae," he said at last.
He did not go, however. There was sufficient pride in him to get himoff his chair, but only slowly, for he had to get accustomed to thenotion of going. At intervals of two or three minutes he remarked thathe must now be going. In the same circumstances Sam'l would have actedsimilarly. For a Thrums man, it is one of the hardest things in lifeto get away from anywhere.
At last Lisbeth saw that something must be done. The potatoes wereburning, and T'nowhead had an invitation on his tongue.
"Yes, I'll hae to be movin'," said Sanders, hopelessly, for the fifthtime.
"Guid-nicht to ye, then, Sanders," said Lisbeth. "Gie the door afling-to ahent ye."
Sanders, with a mighty effort, pulled himself together. He lookedboldly at Bell, and then took off his hat carefully. Sam'l saw withmisgivings that there was something in it which was not ahandkerchief. It was a paper bag glittering with gold braid, andcontained such an assortment of sweets as lads bought for their lasseson the Muckle Friday.
"Hae, Bell," said Sanders, handing the bag to Bell in an offhand wayas if it were but a trifle. Nevertheless he was a little excited, forhe went off without saying good-night.
No one spoke. Bell's face was crimson. T'nowhead fidgeted on hischair, and Lisbeth looked at Sam'l. The weaver was strangely calm andcollected, though he would have liked to know whether this was aproposal.
"Sit in by to the table, Sam'l," said Lisbeth, trying to look as ifthings were as they had been before.
She put a saucerful of butter, salt, and pepper near the fire to melt,for melted butter is the shoeing-horn that helps over a meal ofpotatoes. Sam'l, however, saw what the hour required, and, jumping up,he seized his bonnet.
"Hing the tatties higher up the joist, Lisbeth," he said, withdignity; "I'se be back in ten meenits."
He hurried out of the house, leaving the others looking at each other.
"What do ye think?" asked Lisbeth.
"I d'na kin," faltered Bell.
"Thae tatties is lang o' comin' to the boil," said T'nowhead.
In some circles a lover who behaved like Sam'l would have beensuspected of intent upon his rival's life, but neither Bell norLisbeth did the weaver that injustice. In a case of this kind it doesnot much matter what T'nowhead thought.
The ten minutes had barely passed when Sam'l was back in the farmkitchen. He was too flurried to knock this time, and, indeed, Lisbethdid not expect it of him.
"Bell, hae!" he cried, handing his sweetheart a tinsel bag twice thesize of Sanders's gift.
"Losh preserve 's!" exclaimed Lisbeth; "I'se warrant there's ashillin's worth."
"There's a' that, Lisbeth--an' mair," said Sam'l, firmly.
"I thank ye, Sam'l," said Bell, feeling an unwonted elation as shegazed at the two paper bags in her lap.
"Ye're ower-extravegint, Sam'l," Lisbeth said.
"Not at all," said Sam'l; "not at all. But I widna advise ye to eatthae ither anes, Bell--they're second quality."
Bell drew back a step from Sam'l.
"How do ye kin?" asked the farmer, shortly, for he liked Sanders.
"I speered i' the shop," said Sam'l.
The goblet was placed on a broken plate on the table, with the saucerbeside it, and Sam'l, like the others, helped himself. What he did wasto take potatoes from the pot with his fingers, peel off their coats,and then dip them into the butter. Lisbeth would have liked to provideknives and forks, but she knew that beyond a certain point T'nowheadwas master in his own house. As for Sam'l, he felt victory in hishands, and began to think that he had gone too far.
In the meantime Sanders, little witting that Sam'l had trumped histrick, was sauntering along the kirk-wynd with his hat on the side ofhis head. Fortunately he did not meet the minister.
The courting of T'nowhead's Bell reached its crisis one Sabbath abouta month after the events above recorded. The minister was in greatforce that day, but it is no part of mine to tell how he bore himself.I was there, and am not likely to forget the scene. It was a fatefulSabbath for T'nowhead's Bell and her swains, and destined to beremembered for the painful scandal which they perpetrated in theirpassion.
Bell was not in the kirk. There being an infant of six months in thehouse it was a question of either Lisbeth or the lassie's staying athome with him, and though Lisbeth was unselfish in a general way, shecould not resist the delight of going to church. She had nine childrenbesides the baby, and, being but a woman, it was the pride of her lifeto march them into the T'nowhead pew, so well watched that they darednot misbehave, and so tightly packed that they could not fall. Thecongregation looked at that pew, the mothers enviously, when they sangthe lines:
"Jerusalem like a city is Compactly built together."The first half of the service had been gone through on this particularSunday without anything remarkable happening. It was at the end of thepsalm which preceded the sermon that Sanders Elshioner, who sat nearthe door, lowered his head until it was no higher than the pews, andin that attitude, looking almost like a four-footed animal, slippedout of the church. In their eagerness to be at the sermon many of thecongregation did not notice him, and those who did put the matter byin their minds for future investigation. Sam'l however, could not takeit so coolly. From his seat in the gallery he saw Sanders disappear,and his mind misgave him. With the true lover's instinct he understoodit all. Sanders had been struck by the fine turnout in the T'nowheadpew. Bell was alone at the farm. What an opportunity to work one's wayup to a proposal! T'nowhead was so overrun with children that such achance seldom occurred, except on a Sabbath. Sanders, doubtless, wasoff to propose, and he, Sam'l, was left behind.
The suspense was terrible. Sam'l and Sanders had both known all alongthat Bell would take the first of the two who asked her. Even thosewho thought her proud admitted that she was modest. Bitterly theweaver repented having waited so long. Now it was too late. In tenminutes Sanders would be at T'nowhead; in an hour all would be over.Sam'l rose to his feet in a daze. His mother pulled him down by thecoat-tail, and his father shook him, thinking he was walking in hissleep. He tottered past them, however, hurried up the aisle, which wasso narrow that Dan'l Ross could only reach his seat by walkingsideways, and was gone before the minister could do more than stop inthe middle of a whirl and gape in horror after him.
A number of the congregation felt that day the advantage of sitting inthe loft. What was a mystery to those downstairs was revealed to them.From the gallery windows they had a fine open view to the south; andas Sam'l took the common, which was a short cut through a steepascent, to T'nowhead, he was never out of their line of vision.Sanders was not to be seen, but they guessed rightly the reason why.Thinking he had ample time, he had gone round by the main road to savehis boots--perhaps a little scared by what was coming. Sam'l's designwas to forestall him by taking the shorter path over the burn and upthe commonty.
It was a race for a wife, and several onlookers in the gallery bravedthe minister's displeasure to see who won. Those who favoured Sam'l'ssuit exultingly saw him leap the stream, while the friends of Sandersfixed their eyes on the top of the common where it ran into the road.Sanders must come into sight there, and the one who reached this pointfirst would get Bell.
As Auld Lichts do not walk abroad on the Sabbath, Sanders wouldprobably not be delayed. The chances were in his favour. Had it beenany other day in the week Sam'l might have run. So some of thecongregation in the gallery were thinking, when suddenly they saw himbend low and then take to his heels. He had caught sight of Sanders'shead bobbing over the hedge that separated the road from the common,and feared that Sanders might see him. The congregation who couldcrane their necks sufficiently saw a black object, which they guessedto be the carter's hat, crawling along the hedge-top. For a moment itwas motionless, and then it shot ahead. The rivals had seen eachother. It was now a hot race. Sam'l dissembling no longer, clatteredup the common, becoming smaller and smaller to the onlookers as heneared the top. More than one person in the gallery almost rose totheir feet in their excitement. Sam'l had it. No, Sanders was infront. Then the two figures disappeared from view. They seemed to runinto each other at the top of the brae, and no one could say who wasfirst. The congregation looked at one another. Some of them perspired.But the minister held on his course.
Sam'l had just been in time to cut Sanders out. It was the weaver'ssaving that Sanders saw this when his rival turned the corner; forSam'l was sadly blown. Sanders took in the situation and gave in atonce. The last hundred yards of the distance he covered at hisleisure, and when he arrived at his destination he did not go in. Itwas a fine afternoon for the time of year, and he went round to have alook at the pig, about which T'nowhead was a little sinfully puffedup.
"Ay," said Sanders, digging his fingers critically into the gruntinganimal, "quite so."
"Grumph," said the pig, getting reluctantly to his feet.
"Ou, ay, yes," said Sanders thoughtfully.
Then he sat down on the edge of the sty, and looked long and silentlyat an empty bucket. But whether his thoughts were of T'nowhead's Bell,whom he had lost for ever, or of the food the farmer fed his pig on,is not known.
"Lord preserve 's! are ye no at the kirk?" cried Bell, nearly droppingthe baby as Sam'l broke into the room.
"Bell!" cried Sam'l.
Then T'nowhead's Bell knew that her hour had come.
"Sam'l," she faltered.
"Will ye hae 's, Bell?" demanded Sam'l, glaring at her sheepishly.
"Ay," answered Bell.
Sam'l fell into a chair.
"Bring 's a drink o' water, Bell," he said. But Bell thought theoccasion required milk, and there was none in the kitchen. She wentout to the byre, still with the baby in her arms, and saw SandersElshioner sitting gloomily on the pigsty.
"Weel, Bell," said Sanders.
"I thocht ye'd been at the kirk, Sanders," said Bell.
Then there was a silence between them.
"Has Sam'l speered ye, Bell?" asked Sanders, stolidly.
"Ay," said Bell again, and this time there was a tear in her eye.Sanders was little better than an "orra man," and Sam'l was a weaver,and yet--But it was too late now. Sanders gave the pig a vicious pokewith a stick, and when it had ceased to grunt, Bell was back in thekitchen. She had forgotten about the milk, however, and Sam'l only gotwater after all.
In after-days, when the story of Bell's wooing was told, there weresome who held that the circumstances would have almost justified thelassie in giving Sam'l the go-by. But these perhaps forgot that herother lover was in the same predicament as the accepted one--that ofthe two, indeed, he was the more to blame, for he set off to T'nowheadon the Sabbath of his own accord, while Sam'l only ran after him. Andthen there is no one to say for certain whether Bell heard of hersuitors' delinquencies until Lisbeth's return from the kirk. Sam'lcould never remember whether he told her, and Bell was not surewhether, if he did, she took it in. Sanders was greatly in demand forweeks to tell what he knew of the affair, but though he was twiceasked to tea to the manse among the trees, and subjected thereafter toministerial cross-examinations, this is all he told. He remained atthe pigsty until Sam'l left the farm, when he joined him at the top ofthe brae, and they went home together.
"It's yersel', Sanders," said Sam'l.
"It is so, Sam'l," said Sanders.
"Very cauld," said Sam'l.
"Blawy," assented Sanders.
After a pause--
"Sam'l," said Sanders.
"Ay."
"I'm hearing ye're to be mairit."
"Ay."
"Weel, Sam'l, she's a snod bit lassie."
"Thank ye," said Sam'l.
"I had ance a kin o' notion o' Bell mysel'," continued Sanders.
"Ye had?"
"Yes, Sam'l; but I thocht better o' 't."
"Hoo d' ye mean?" asked Sam'l, a little anxiously.
"Weel, Sam'l, mairitch is a terrible responsibeelity."
"It is so," said Sam'l, wincing.
"An' no the thing to tak' up withoot conseederation."
"But it's a blessed and honourable state, Sanders; ye've heard theminister on 't."
"They say," continued the relentless Sanders, " 'at the ministerdoesna get on sair wi' the wife himsel'."
"So they do," cried Sam'l, with a sinking at the heart.
"I've been telt," Sanders went on, " 'at gin ye can get the upper han'o' the wife for a while at first, there's the mair chance o' aharmonious exeestence."
"Bell's no the lassie," said Sam'l, appealingly, "to thwart her man."
Sanders smiled.
"D' ye think she is, Sanders?"
"Weel, Sam'l, I d'na want to fluster ye, but she's been ower-lang wi'Lisbeth Fargus no to hae learned her ways. An' a'body kins what a lifeT'nowhead has wi' her."
"Guid sake, Sanders, hoo did ye no speak o' this afore?"
"I thocht ye kent o' 't, Sam'l."
They had now reached the square, and the U. P. kirk was coming out.The Auld Licht kirk would be half an hour yet.
"But, Sanders," said Sam'l, brightening up, "ye was on yer wy to speerher yersel'."
"I was, Sam'l," said Sanders, "and I canna but be thankfu' ye wasower-quick for 's."
"Gin 't hadna been you," said Sam'l, "I wid never hae thocht o' 't."
"I'm saying naething agin Bell," pursued the other, "but, man, Sam'l,a body should be mair deleeberate in a thing o' the kind."
"It was michty hurried," said Sam'l wofully.
"It's a serious thing to speer a lassie," said Sanders.
"It's an awfu' thing," said Sam'l.
"But we'll hope for the best," added Sanders, in a hopeless voice.
They were close to the tenements now, and Sam'l looked as if he wereon his way to be hanged.
"Sam'l!"
"Ay, Sanders."
"Did ye--did ye kiss her, Sam'l?"
"Na."
"Hoo?"
"There's was varra little time, Sanders."
"Half an 'oor," said Sanders.
"Was there? Man Sanders, to tell ye the truth, I never thocht o' 't."
Then the soul of Sanders Elshioner was filled with contempt for Sam'lDickie.
The scandal blew over. At first it was expected that the ministerwould interfere to prevent the union, but beyond intimating from thepulpit that the souls of Sabbath-breakers were beyond praying for, andthen praying for Sam'l and Sanders at great length, with a word thrownin for Bell, he let things take their course. Some said it was becausehe was always frightened lest his young men should intermarry withother denominations, but Sanders explained it differently to Sam'l.
"I hav'na a word to say agin' the minister," he said; "they're gran'prayers; but, Sam'l, he's a mairit man himsel'."
"He's a' the better for that, Sanders, isna he?"
"Do ye no see," asked Sanders, compassionately, " 'at he's trying tomak' the best o' 't?"
"O Sanders, man!" said Sam'l.
"Cheer up, Sam'l," said Sanders; "it'll sune be ower."
Their having been rival suitors had not interfered with theirfriendship. On the contrary, while they had hitherto been mereacquaintances, they became inseparables as the wedding-day drew near.It was noticed that they had much to say to each other, and that whenthey could not get a room to themselves they wandered about togetherin the churchyard. When Sam'l had anything to tell Bell he sentSanders to tell it, and Sanders did as he was bid. There was nothingthat he would not have done for Sam'l.
The more obliging Sanders was, however, the sadder Sam'l grew. Henever laughed now on Saturdays, and sometimes his loom was silent halfthe day. Sam'l felt that Sanders's was the kindness of a friend for adying man.
It was to be a penny wedding, and Lisbeth Fargus said it was thedelicacy that made Sam'l superintend the fitting up of the barn bydeputy. Once he came to see it in person, but he looked so ill thatSanders had to see him home. This was on the Thursday afternoon, andthe wedding was fixed for Friday.
"Sanders, Sanders," said Sam'l, in a voice strangely unlike his own,"it'll a' be ower by this time the morn."
"It will," said Sanders.
"If I had only kent her langer," continued Sam'l.
"It wid hae been safer," said Sanders.
"Did ye see the yallow floor in Bell's bonnet?" asked the acceptedswain.
"Ay," said Sanders, reluctantly.
"I'm dootin'--I'm sair dootin' she's but a flichty, light-heartedcrittur after a'."
"I had aye my suspeecions o' 't," said Sanders.
"Ye hae kent her langer than me," said Sam'l.
"Yes," said Sanders, "but there's nae getting' at the heart o' women.Man Sam'l, they're desperate cunnin'."
"I'm dootin' 't; I'm sair dootin' 't."
"It'll be a warnin' to ye, Sam'l, no to be in sic a hurry i' thefutur'," said Sanders.
Sam'l groaned.
"Ye'll be gaein' up to the manse to arrange wi' the minister themorn's mornin'," continued Sanders, in a subdued voice.
Sam'l looked wistfully at his friend.
"I canna do 't, Sanders," he said; "I canna do 't."
"Ye maun," said Sanders.
"It's aisy to speak," retorted Sam'l, bitterly.
"We have a' oor troubles, Sam'l," said Sanders, soothingly, "an' everyman maun bear his ain burdens. Johnny Davie's wife's dead, an' he's norepinin'."
"Ay," said Sam'l, "but a death's no a mairitch. We hae haen deaths inour family too."
"It may a' be for the best," added Sanders, "an' there wid be a michtytalk i' the hale country-side gin ye didna ging to the minister like aman."
"I maun hae langer to think o' 't," said Sam'l.
"Bell's mairitch is the morn," said Sanders, decisively.
Sam'l glanced up with a wild look in his eyes.
"Sanders!" he cried.
"Sam'l!"
"Ye hae been a guid friend to me, Sanders, in this sair affliction."
"Nothing ava," said Sanders; "doun't mention 'd."
"But, Sanders, ye canna deny but what your rinnin' oot o' the kirkthat awfu' day was at the bottom o' 'd a'."
"It was so," said Sanders, bravely.
"An' ye used to be fond o' Bell, Sanders."
"I dinna deny 't."
"Sanders, laddie," said Sam'l, bending forward and speaking in awheedling voice, "I aye thocht it was you she likit."
"I had some sic idea mysel'," said Sanders.
"Sanders, I canna think to pairt twa fowk sae weel suited to aneanither as you an' Bell."
"Canna ye, Sam'l?"
"She wid mak' ye a guid wife, Sanders. I hae studied her weel, andshe's a thrifty, douce, clever lassie. Sanders, there's no the like o'her. Mony a time, Sanders, I hae said to mysel', 'There's a lass onyman micht be prood to tak'.' A'body says the same, Sanders. There'snae risk ava, man--nane to speak o'. Tak' her, laddie; tak' her,Sanders; it's a gran' chance, Sanders. She's yours for the speerin'.I'll gie her up, Sanders."
"Will ye, though?" said Sanders.
"What d' ye think?" asked Sam'l.
"If ye wid rayther," said Sanders, politely.
"There's my han' on 't," said Sam'l. "Bless ye, Sanders; ye've been atrue frien' to me."
Then they shook hands for the first time in their lives, and soonafterward Sanders struck up the brae to T'nowhead.
Next morning Sanders Elshioner, who had been very busy the nightbefore, put on his Sabbath clothes and strolled up to the manse.
"But--but where is Sam'l?" asked the minister; "I must see himself."
"It's a new arrangement," said Sanders.
"What do you mean, Sanders?"
"Bell's to marry me," explained Sanders.
"But--but what does Sam'l say?"
"He's willin'," said Sanders.
"And Bell?"
"She's willin' too. She prefers 't."
"It is unusual," said the minister.
"It's a' richt," said Sanders.
"Well, you know best," said the minister.
"You see the hoose was taen, at ony rate," continued Sanders, "an'I'll juist ging in til 't instead o' Sam'l."
"Quite so."
"An' I cudna think to disappoint the lassie."
"Your sentiments do you credit, Sanders," said the minister; "but Ihope you do not enter upon the blessed state of matrimony without fullconsideration of its responsibilities. It is a serious business,marriage."
"It's a' that," said Sanders, "but I'm willin' to stan' the risk."
So, as soon as it could be done, Sanders Elshioner took to wifeT'nowhead's Bell, and I remember seeing Sam'l Dickie trying to danceat the penny wedding.
Years afterward it was said in Thrums that Sam'l had treated Bellbadly, but he was never sure about it himself.
"It was a near thing--a michty near thing," he admitted in the square.
"They say," some other weaver would remark, " 'at it was you Bellliked best."
"I d'na kin," Sam'l would reply; "but there's nae doot the lassie wasfell fond o' me; ou, a mere passin' fancy, 's ye micht say."
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