CHAPTER XII.

ANOTHER MARRIAGE AND HOME-COMING.

“Noo they’re crouse and canty baith,Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.”Burns.

“Noo they’re crouse and canty baith,Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.”

“Noo they’re crouse and canty baith,

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.”

Burns.

THE “Forms of Procedure” in the translation of a Scottish Presbyterian minister are somewhat elaborate, and require a good deal of time for their various requirements of intimating, citing and hearing parties, sustaining and transmitting the call, and summoning the congregation to appear to answer the reasons for translation. When the call is presented, time is allowed for the minister’s decision; even after this, there are other steps to be taken, so that should the autumn season intervene, when presbytery meetings are rarely held unless for cases of extreme urgency, several months may elapse between the “call” and the “settlement.”

It was so in Mr. Barrie’s case; but in a small place like Blinkbonny, little things, that would in large towns be “lost in the crowd,” are found and foundedon to an extent much beyond their intrinsic importance. This must be my apology for stating that the regret at the prospect of Mr. Barrie’s leaving was counterbalanced to a certain extent by the announcement of Bell’s approaching marriage.

Under all ordinary circumstances Bell would have been and was a “fixture,”—so much so that for years past she had been universally called Bell Barrie, and the idea that she ever would be married was unborn. Hitherto the Edinburgh call had been looked at entirely in its public aspect as affecting the Free church of Blinkbonny, and little thought had been expended on the private view of the matter. It was taken for granted that the family would remove to Edinburgh; and Bell had so long been a part of it, as much so, in fact, as either Mr. or Mrs. Barrie, that although she was indirectly included in the feeling of general regret, she did not form a distinct element in the case.

“GIN A BODY GREET A BODY.”

When, therefore, it became known that she was to be married to David Tait of Blackbrae, I may say without exaggeration that the news was received with heartfelt delight. All who had come much into contact with Bell esteemed her highly, and those who knew her best liked her most. Her unwearied industry, her sterling worth, her kindly charity, herhumility and strong common sense, had been quietly appreciated. Indeed, she was so unostentatious and natural, and her good qualities were so universally known, that they were seldom commented on.

Bell was surprised, and not a little annoyed, at the number of folks who came to congratulate her on her approaching marriage; it would have pleased her much better had nothing been said about it.

“The place is like a gaun fair,” said she to David, “mornin’, noon, an’ nicht. I canna get on wi’ my wark for folk comin’ wishin’ me this an’ that. Nae doubt a body likes to be likit, but no aye to be tell’d it. Mr. Taylor said the best thing, an’ he bade nae time; a’ he said was, ‘Gi’e me a shake o’ your hand, Bell; I’m a wee feared ye’ll no’ escape the woe.’

“‘The woe!’ said I; ‘Mr. Taylor, what woe? that’s a queer kind o’ backin’ to gi’e tae a gude wish.’

“‘Bell,’ said he, ‘the Bible says, “Woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you,” an’ that’s what a’body’s sayin’ o’ you the noo.’

“‘I’m maybe no’ as grateful as I should be,’ says I ‘but I wish they wadna speak about me at a’, for if they kent me as weel as I ken mysel’, they wadna speak as they dae; as gude auld George Brown used to say, “The best o’ men were but men at the best,” an’ women’s just sic-like. I’ve been but an unprofitableservant baith to God an’ man, although I think I may say that I’ve tried to do my best.’

“Says he, ‘that’s the richt way to tak’ thae things, Bell. Haud on; naebody ever stack in the world but Lot’s wife, an’ she wad a gotten through fine, if she had held forrit as she was well tell’t, an’ no lookit back. There’s nothing like makin’ the shortcomin’s o’ the past warnin’s, an’ the mercies o’ the past encouragements.’”

“But, Bell,” said David, “wha d’ye think wished me weel in this matter? Ye’ll never guess—there’s mony mair forbye him, but nae less than Sir John McLelland came ane’s errant to the hoose, an’ he did gi’e you a flamin’ character. Ae thing he said was, ‘Scotland’s a grand place to dee in, for a’body speaks weel o’ the deid; but it’s the warst place to get marrit in, for if there’s a hair to clash about, they’ll make a tether o’t,’—at least that was his meanin’, if no’ the vera words,—an’ he said he wad defy mortal to say anything but gude o’ you.”

“It’s because he disna ken ony better; but I’m obleeged till him,” said Bell; “may we baith he respeckit by richt thinkin’ kind o’ folk; we maun try tae deserve it.”

“MEASURE FOR MEASURE.”

David continued: “Sir John tell’d me no’ an ill story about himsel’. No lang after he was marrit, hetook his leddy to see auld Ailsie Ferguson, his henwife. Ailsie beckit [curtsied] an’ bowed to the leddy, an’ wished her a’ that was gude; then she turned to Sir John an’ wished him the same, sayin’ that she was blythe to serve such a beautifu’, handsome leddy, only she wad a likit if she had been bigger.”

“‘Bigger!’ said Sir John; ‘why do you wish that, Ailsie? It seems rather a singular sort of compliment.’

“‘Oh, Sir John,’ said Ailsie, ‘they say that you got her wecht [weight] in gold wi’ her, and of course the bigger she was the mair ye wad hae gotten.’”

“Very good for Ailsie,” said Bell, “very good. Her an’ me was weel acquaint.”

A movement was set afoot to give Bell a present, and subscriptions were readily got from all classes, irrespective of church or other distinctive connection. There was more difficulty in determining how to expend the money than there had been in collecting it. Betty Kellock’s was perhaps the best proposal.

“Gi’e Bell the hard siller; she’ll gar’t gang farther, and ware it better than ony o’ us.”

There were so many and so various proposals, that ultimately Mrs. Barrie had to be consulted, and she quietly sounded Bell, who would only speak on thesubject after she learned that she could not get out of it, and the result was that a “Paisley shawl” (I think it was also called a Paisley plaid, a “harness” plaid) and a china tea-set were procured.

A meeting of lady subscribers was held in the manse dining-room. As Dr. Stevenson insisted on being admitted, he made the presentation, in what was reported to me as “a real neat wee speech.” Bell’s reply was declared by those present to have been “beautiful”; even Miss Park said it was very becoming and most creditable for a person in Bell’s position. The only fragment of it that I could pick up was that “she would not presume to invite ladies in their station to her plain hoose, but if any o’ them would be kind enough to come, she wad hansel the teapot wi’ a’ her heart.” Dr. Stevenson said, “Remember, Bell, you’ll need to give me acinderin my last cup.”

Bell did not know that the Doctor referred to a little whisky when he said this. She look puzzled, hospitably puzzled, and said, “A cinder, Doctor! a cinder in your hinmost cup? The coals are unco assy [very ashy] hereabouts, an’ it micht break the cup; but when a’ ither folks are served, I could drop ane into the teapot if that would please ye.”

“I’ll drop it in myself, Bell, if you’ll either give me the key of the cupboard, or put the bottle on thetable,” said the Doctor. “The cinder I mean will not burn a cork; it’s ‘barley tea’ or ‘barley bree.’”

“THE TONES OF THE HEART.”

Mrs. Barrie gave Bell as her personal present a brooch of large dimensions, which contained locks of the hair of all the family;—wee Nellie’s was in the middle. There was engraved on the back of the brooch: “From Mrs. Barrie to Isabella Cameron—July 1851. ‘The Lord deal kindly with you, as ye have dealt with the dead and with me,’ Ruth i. 8.”

Bell was neither romantic, nor sentimental, nor demonstrative, but when she read the inscription, she kissed the brooch again and again and again, and for several nights after she got it, she often took it from under her pillow, and pressed it to her lips and to her heart.

Mr. Barrie’s present was a Bible in two volumes, and he was bewildered by the number of texts he wouldliketo write on each.

“My dear,” said he to Mrs. Barrie, “I have spent some hours in considering what to write on Bell’s Bible, and have not yet decided, so many texts seem suitable. In the first place, I would like to write the last twenty-one verses of the Book of Proverbs. I have just been reading these, and it seemed to me as if the writer had Bell in his thoughts when he wrote them. It resembles one of those new-fashioned pictures that aretaken by the sun now-a-days, called ‘daguerreotypes,’[28]invented by a Frenchman called Daguerre. Could anything more accurately descriptive of even plain homely Bell be imagined than ‘The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her,’—‘do him good and not evil all the days of his life,’—‘worketh willingly with her hands,’—‘consideretha field and buyeth it,’—‘reacheth forth her hand to the needy,’—‘in her tongue is the law of kindness,’—‘looketh well to the ways of her household,’—‘eateth not the bread of idleness,’ and so on, my dear,” added he, laying his hand on the Bible. “That is an old Book,—THEold Book,—but its references to human life—the lower as well as the higher life—are as applicable to the life of to-day as they were to that of two thousand years ago. The reading of these verses in the circumstances, and with the object I had in view, has delighted me; I think I never felt so irresistibly convinced that they were written byHimwho knew what was in man, and what would suit mankind for all time.”

[28]The original process of photography, in which the picture was taken on a silvered plate. The daguerreotypes required to be held in a certain way to prevent the bright silverized plate from shining so as to confuse the eye, and they could not be used as negatives to take other impressions from, as photographs now are.

“FAR ABOVE RUBIES.”

Mr. Barrie also showed her a long list of other texts: “A succourer of many, and of myself also,”—“whobestowed much labour on us,”—“in labours more abundant, in weariness and painfulness, in watchings often,” etc. He almost grudged Mrs. Barrie her quotation from Ruth, but he took part of the 12th verse of the second chapter, as also the blessing of the tribes in Numbers vi. 24–26: “The Lord bless thee, and keep thee: the Lord make His face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace,” and a few other passages, until the front fly-leaf of both volumes was fairly covered.

Bell was immensely delighted with this gift, and the volumes occupied in the “room” at Blackbrae the place of honour on the small back table.

The very important question of the marriage gown—Bell never got the length of a dress—was confined to the matters of colour and fabric, as the shape was to be her “invariable.” The dressmaker asked her if she would like it to be low-bodied, for bare necks and bare arms were in vogue for dress occasions at that time.

“What d’ye mean by low-bodied?” said Bell. “D’ye mean lang tails that ye hae to hand up for fear o’ their trailing amang the mud? That I’ll never wear; mak’ it just like this every way.”Thisonly reached to the ankles, and was, as all her “kirk-claes” were, of douce black.

“Oh,” said the dressmaker, “I meant, would you like a bare neck and sleeves? These are the fashion for dress occasions at present.”

Bell looked indignantly at her, and said: “Hoo dare you speak o’ sic heathenish fal-de-rals to me? Bare necks and sleeves! I think I see mysel’!” But she was quieted by the dressmaker’s gentle reply, that she was merely inquiring, not proposing such a thing; for she had an elderly lady to fit yesterday who would have a “low-bodied.”

“There’s nae fules like auld fules, they say. Black’s no’ lucky to get married in, so I’ve ta’en a red merino, an’ mak’ it as ye’ve aye done my goons. An’ be sure an’ send me the bits that’s ower—they micht come usefu’; an’ as I’ll no’ aye hae somebody to ‘hook my back’ where I’m gaun, pit gude big hooks an’ gude wide eyes on’t.”

Dresses in those days were fastened by hooks and eyes at the back, and many a firm “yerk” it took to make them meet when done by the wearer alone. The words may seem strange to younger readers, but older householders will well remember the familiar sound of “Hook my back.”

“THEY’LL HELP TO GAR THE BOATIE ROW.”

Bell wished to postpone the marriage until the flitting to Edinburgh was over, but Mrs. Barrie would not hear of this; so the earliest possible day wasfixed, Bell having determined to get Blackbrae all right, and thereafter to see Mrs. Barrie settled in Edinburgh.

Bell found a “best-maid” in Mary Barrie, who was now a handsome young lady of eighteen. Besides having had a good education, she had the not less important advantage of a thorough training in household work from her mother and Bell. She was a sweet-tempered, charming girl, and entered into the preparations for Bell’s marriage with great spirit,—so much so that she became Bell’s adviser or rather confidant, and put her head, her hands, and her heart into the work.

Mr. Tait, the schoolmaster, whose examination occupied part of an earlier chapter, was “best-man.”

James Barrie, now a promising young student, heard Mary wondering who would give away the bride, and he expressed to Mrs. Barrie his desire to do so; but his mother thought he was rather young, and had intended to ask Mr. Taylor, when another applicant for the honour appeared.

Mr. Tait, the schoolmaster, was calling on Mr. Walker on parish business, and, as his uncle David of Blackbrae had told him of his intended marriage, and “trysted” him for “best-man” the day after Bell and he had “made it up,” he was the first to give Mr. Walker the news.

I have omitted till now to tell that Mr. Walker was a capital player on the violin; his general instrument, indeed, was the violoncello, “the bass fiddle”—possibly because it was more solemn and ministerial-looking than the “wee fiddle;” and he had few equals in playing Scotch music of all kinds.

When he heard of David Tait’s approaching marriage with Bell, he started up in an ecstasy of delight, threw up his arms, and said:

“What! Bell Barrie married—David Tait married! Bell Barrie married to David Tait—David married to Bell! That’s news! thatisnews! It’s the best thing I’ve heard of for many a day;” and he took a good, hearty laugh. Then he resumed:

“That isnews! He’s a decent, honest, sterling man, your uncle—a great friend of mine” (Mr. Walker’s forte was friendliness—his heart was larger than his head); “a fine, a very fine man. Then Bell; Bell’s a—it beats me to tell what Bell is. She’s the cleverest an’ best servant in Blinkbonny; but she’s more—she’s—she’s Bell Barrie, and that’s the pink o’ perfection for a farmer’s wife. She’s a tocher in hersel’. Bell for a manager—Bell for a garden, or hens, or cows, or cookin’! Excuse me, Mr. Tait, I cannot refrain from expressing my delight. I’ll need to try the fiddle, and see if it will quiet me. Bell mistress o’ Blackbrae! They’remade for one another. It never struck me before, but it’s perfection.”

“BAITH MICHT AND MAIN.”

He got the “wee” fiddle down from its peg in the study, and marched up and down playing almost furiously several old Scotch tunes, and occasionally singing a line or a few words of some of them, such as “A thrifty queen was Kate Dalrymple,” “We’re a’ gaun to the waddin’, Lassie, will ye gae?” “Hey the bonnie! ho the bonnie! hey the bonnie breastknots!” “Dainty Davie,” “Fy, let us a’ to the bridal,” etc., and he ended by playing “Auld langsyne,” with exquisite feeling.

Not many days after this Mr. Walker called on Bell, and offered to “give her away.” He was accepted with becoming thanks, Bell declaring “that it was far ower kind,—that she never could have expected to hae been countenanced in the way she had been by a’body, but really this was the crowner.” And when all the wedding guests had met in Knowe Park, in stalked worthy Mr. Walker, his sonsy face beaming with delight, arm in arm with Bell, whom he delivered with quite a “Sir Roger de Coverley” grace by the side of David. Bell, when referring to this memorable act of attention on Mr. Walker’s part, used to say, “Mr. Walker oxtered me in his ainsel’, and he was a fine buirdly man to cleek.”

The knot was soon tied by Mr. Barrie, “assisted by Mr. Walker;” and Mr. Barrie, whose prerogative it was to be the first to congratulate the happy couple immediately at the close of the ceremony shook hands with the young wife, and said: “Mrs. Tait, I wish you very much happiness, and every blessing in your married life.”

Bell was demure till now, and had not lifted her eyes from the ground, but this roused her, and she said:

“Oh! Mr. Barrie, ca’ me Bell, dinna ca’ me Mrs. Tait,”—looking earnestly into Mr. Barrie’s face.

Mrs. Barrie followed, and also said “Mrs. Tait,” etc.

“Mrs. Barrie,” said Bell softly and imploringly, “if you please, mem, dinna you ca’ me Mrs. Tait.”

Mr. Walker was number three who called her Mrs. Tait, and she remonstrated with him likewise:

“Oh, Maister Walker, Maister Walker, dinna Mrs. Tait me—I canna thole’t.”

He made one of his little jokes—“To-night be Mrs. Tait, but seeing you rebel, we will re-Bellyou to-morrow.”

“That’s no’ bad,” said David. These were the first words he had uttered since he entered the room.

SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT?

A “towsie tea,” or “tea and eating,” followed theceremony. Mary and the schoolmaster cut up the bridescake, and to Bell’s great delight Gordie got the ring. Mr. Barrie made a short and happy speech, but Bell rather broke down in the middle of it. Mr. Walker also said a little about both David and Bell; she brightened up as he referred to her “Black Daisy,” and all were put into excellent humour by his reference to “Braidnebs.”

When this was over, Bell, forgetting her new position, started to collect the tea-things, and said she would wash them up before she went away. Mrs. Barrie did not object to Bell’s singular procedure, but followed her to the kitchen, and after again wishing her everything that was good, she said:

“Bell”—not Mrs. Tait, greatly to Bell’s delight—“I understand that the young lads of the village intend to give Mr. Tait and you a noisy convoy. I think you should slip quietly away, so as to get to Blackbrae before they assemble.”

This hint was taken, and the couple set off alone—not, however, until Gordie had made David’s back feel the weight of an old slipper with which he had armed himself, and which he applied with all his might.

Those in the manse that intended to take part in the “home-coming” allowed about half an hourto elapse before they followed to Blackbrae, where David’s sister and a few neighbours were surprised to see the “happy pair” arrive earlier than they were expected—and alone. Indeed, David and Bell, or rather Mr. and Mrs. Tait, appeared at the “room” door before the table was “set,” and Mrs. Brunton, David’s sister, stood quite aghast when she saw them.

“Preserve us a’,” said she, “what’s brocht ye sae sune? I wasna lookin’ for ye for an hour yet, an’ it’ll no’ dae to come into the house without gettin’ the lucky cake broken o’er your heid, Bell. Ye’ll need tae gang out again till the lave [rest] comes, for I’m no’ gaun to crown ye wi’t till the best-man an’ the best-maid’s here,—it wadna be canny [safe], forbye [besides] it wadna be wiselike to break the infar-cake[29]till there’s some wanters and swankies [unmarried females and nimble young men] to scram’le for’t; so Bell, David and you’ll just need to gang into the garden or through the parks till the lave comes.”

[29]Infar,—the entertainment made for the reception of the bride in the bridegroom’s house.—Spalding.

David said: “We’ll dae nae sic things,” and Bell said: “It was nae matter about the infar-cake, for it was jist an auld superstition about it’s no’ bein’lucky no’ to hae’t richt broken, or about dreamin’ ower’t to ken wha wad marry ye.”

But Mrs. Brunton was immoveable in this matter, so they had to submit.

“AULD LANGSYNE.”

The time, however, was not lost: David showed Bell the cows, the live stock, and the steading. They had but half finished the survey of the garden when the Knowe Park contingent came up; they joined it, and were convoyed into the house in a style quite to Mrs. Brunton’s mind. The infar-cake was duly broken over Bell’s head, and the usual doggrel rhyme repeated:

“Welcome to your ain fireside—Health and wealth attend the bride!Wanters noo your true weird make—Joes are spaed by th’ infar-cake.”

“Welcome to your ain fireside—

Health and wealth attend the bride!

Wanters noo your true weird make—

Joes are spaed by th’ infar-cake.”

When the young lads of the village gathered round the manse to give David and Bell a kindly but rough token of their respect, they were sadly disappointed to find that they were too late. This spoiling of their expected “ploy” [innocent frolic] irritated them, and the more thoughtless determined to go to Blackbrae and play some tricks on David, or, as the ringleaders expressed it, “they wad gi’e him’t for this.” They returned to the village to get a creel, a fishwife’s basket, with which to “creel” David,—a custom now unknown, but common forty years ago.

In my earlier days I have witnessed very rude conduct when the rougher and “drouthy” neighbours got the young husband into a creel, as soon as he appeared outside on the day after the marriage, and roughly jostled him until his wife came out, kissed him, and produced the “bottle.” Whilst this custom was dying out such extremes were not practised. The husband got the creel put on his back, with some weight in it (sometimes a boy, sometimes a pig, but oftener a few stones), and the whisky was greedily drained by the creelers to “your very good health,” but the wife did not need to appear.

Dan chanced to overhear some of the more fiery spirits concocting schemes to annoy his friends at Blackbrae. He went home as quickly as he could, “loosed” his ferocious, bandy-legged, ugly (not in Dan’s eyes, for he thought him a beauty, just a perfect picture) bull-dog “Burke,” took a short cut through the fields, carrying with him a huge “flail” used for threshing corn, and sat down on the “loupin’-on stane”—a stone at the side of Blackbrae farm-yard gate used when mounting on horseback.

“WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK.”

Dan was leisurely smoking his black cutty-pipe, having “Burke” on his right side, collared and chained, the chain being wound round Dan’s arm, and the flail lying against the wall of the farm-shedat his left, when the Blinkbonny lads, who had been leisurely discussing the plan of attack as they came along, turned off the main road into the Blackbrae farm road.

Rarely has a crowd looked so cowed or so cowardly as this did when they saw Dan. He seemed provokingly unconscious of the change of aspect that took place when they observed him, and said in quite a familiar, off-hand way, with the pipe still in his cheek, “It’s a fine summer nicht for a walk this.”

“Burke” was not quite so neighbourly, for he growled and oggled and strained his chain so much that the crowd instinctively fell back.

Dan spoke to “Burke” very kindly. “What ails ye, Burke? They’s a’ our ain folk, come out for a mouthfu’ o’ fresh air. Tak’ it canny, Burke,—ye needna carry on as if there was mischief gaun on; they’s a’ friends o’ yours, an’ mine, an’ Blackbrae’s, and they’re come out to wish him an’ the new mistress weel.”

Some of the wilder spirits now began to chaff.

“When did you turn a special constable, Dan? Ye’re the last man that ou wad ’a thocht wad ’a spoilt the fun.”

“No’ me,” said Dan, “as mickle fun as ye like—tak’ yer fill o’t. Whare wad folk hae daffin’ [diversion]if no’ at a waddin’? Be ceevil, an’ dinna work mischeef, an’ naebody’ll find fau’t wi’ ye.”

Dan wound up “Burke’s” chain, shouldered the flail, and headed the crowd up to the front door. David came frankly out and thanked them for the compliment. Bell also came to the door in reply to a call for the “mistress.” And Mrs. Brunton followed with a bottle of whisky (pardon the truth, ye teetotallers, for so it was wont in Blinkbonny in those days), and said, “Come awa’, some o’ ye, an’ drink the couple’s health.”

None of the young men answered the invitation. After a pause Dan stepped forward and said: “Will ony o’ you haud ma doug, and I’ll drink their healths?”

There was no reply. “Then keep quiet and dinna cheer till I tell ye, for ‘Burke’s’ a wee roused. I’m no’ as keen o’ a glass as I’ve seen me; I can either tak’ it or want it.” Then taking the glass of whisky in his hand, he said: “Here’s t’ye, Mr. Tait, an’ here’s to the mistress,—baith your very gude healths, an’ may a’ that’s gude befa’ you,” and drained it at a draught.

“Noo,” said he, “come awa’, some mair o’ ye, an’ drink luck to Blackbrae, and after ye’re dune we’ll gi’e them a cheer.”

“FROM LIVELY TO SEVERE.”

Very few answered Dan’s invitation. When no other could be prevailed on to do so, Dan said: “Noo dinna cheer till I grup ‘Burke’ by the collar; the chain micht snap.” He then wound the chain round his arm, stooped down, and held Burke firmly. The dog seemed to be affronted, for he tugged, and strained, and bayed. When Dan got him fairly in hand, he said: “Now, lads, cheer awa’; gi’e our young friends” (here the crowd were unmannerly, and broke out into “Oh-oh-young? ho-ho”) “a real hearty ane.” This was done. Burke joined in the noise if he did not help the melody, and trailed or harled Dan a few yards nearer the crowd. David stepped forward and again thanked them. Another cheer followed, and all were in grand fettle, when a voice (luckily from some unrecognisable throat at the back of the crowd) cried out, “Three cheers for ‘Auld Braidnebs.’”

“What!” said Dan sharply; “wha dared to say that?” and he made for the flail, which he reached with difficulty, as “Burke” seemed determined to face the crowd. Bell saw that Dan was excited, and laid her hand on his shoulder, intending to pacify him.

“For ony favour,” said he nervously, “dinna come near me; abune a’, dinna lay hands on me, or I’ll no’ answer for Burke.”

When he turned round to ask again, “Wha said that?” the close was empty, and the crowd was flying pell-mell homewards—their speed not a little quickened by Watty’s remark that “Burke was sure to break the chain, an’ pity the man that’s hin’most.”

“Dan,” said Bell, “I’ve forgotten a box; ask Jenny Bennet”—Bell’s worthy successor in Mrs. Barrie’s kitchen—“to gie’t. It’s below the kitchen dresser, tied up in broon paper an’ ‘skeenie’ [twine], an’ fetch’t out wi’ ye the morn.”

Dan brought it, and he was so considerately treated, that he actually took dinner in the kitchen, a thing he had seldom done anywhere. David convoyed him through the “close” as he was leaving, and the sow that had vexed him so much attracted Dan’s notice.

“Ye’ll be needin’ me sune, Mr. Tait,” said he, pointing to the sow; “that pig’s ready for killin’.”

“I canna bide it; I canna bear the sicht o’t,” said David. “I intended it for our ain use this winter, but since it ate the Corinthians, I wadna let a particle o’t within ma mouth.”

“Ate what?” said Dan.

“Ye may weel say what? It ate a’ the Second Corinthians and fully the half o’ the First.”

“THE CUP AND PLATTER.”

Dan, supposing them to be some kind of new vegetable,said, as a kind of feeler, “But she wadna eat them a’ at ance—baith the second an’ the first?”

“But she did, the mair’s the pity,” said David; “an’ it was on a Sabbath mornin’ tae, the abominable craitur.”

Dan was still more at a loss to make out what he meant, so he said inquiringly, “Some o’ the first an’ a’ the second? She left some o’ the first crap, did she, an’ ye planted mair, or did they grow again? or was’t some kind o’ pushin [poison] or med’cine stuff that didna ’gree wi’ her?”

“’Gree wi’ her!” said David in amazement; “’gree wi’ her! some sort o’ medicine?—What d’ye mean? It was the Corinthians out o’ the Bible.”

“Out o’ the Bible?” said Dan,—“out o’ the Bible! I never kent that ony o’ it was for eatin’.”

“For eatin’?” repeated David,—“for eatin’! It was some o’ the leaves o’ the Bible, the bit that the Epistle to the Corinthians was printed on, that she ate, or tore out ony way, an’ made them useless.”

“Was that a’?” said Dan.

“A’—a’—a’, Dan, was’t no’ plenty? It made me a’ grue [shiver] to see her munchin’ them. I couldna touch her; I canna even bring mysel’ to sell her, for naebody that kent (and I couldna but tell) wad eat her either.”

“What for no’?” said Dan, “she’s neither ony the waur nor ony the better o’t. If ye’ll gi’e me a gude luckpenny, I’ll sell her for ye.”

David was glad to get the pig out of his premises. Dan got a little profit by the transaction, and thus both were pleased.

Bell’s “kirkin’” was a quiet affair. David and she started early, and were seated before many folks had come in to the church. The second volume of Mr. Barrie’s presentation Bible was carried thither by Bell in a clean white handkerchief and used for the day. In her other hand she had a few sprigs of balm and southernwood, which she moved backwards and forwards at her nose until they were withered, and limp, and double.

They dined at Knowe Park. Bell looked vexed when Mrs. Barrie said, “You know the spare bedroom, Bell; put off your bonnet and shawl in it, and I daresay you’ll remember the way to the parlour.”

“Mrs. Barrie,” said Bell, “oh, dinna make a stranger o’ me. Best bedroom!—me gang till the best bedroom? No, no, I’ll gang to my auld room,”—which she did; and she was heartily welcomed by Jenny, her successor, who proved to be a revised, I dare not say an improved, edition of Bell.

A’ BODY’S BODY.

Blackbrae soon bore evidences of Bell’s presence.The window-panes were “glancin’ clean,” David said; “the house was lichtsomer an’ sweeter.” The part of the “close” before the front door was railed off and converted into a kitchen garden, and the Knowe Park family, especially Mary and Gordie, spent several happy afternoons at Bell’s house.

Many others enjoyed the homely hospitality of Blackbrae. Dr. Stevenson, one of the hardest wrought members of the hardest wrought class of men in Scotland, namely, the country surgeons, often took pot-luck there, and he never had to ask for a “cinder,” although at the same time he was very sparing in his use of Bell’s bottle. But he found her so well provided with many things, little in themselves, but invaluable to poor invalids, that he made her his “Lady Bountiful,” and found her always not only ready and willing, but, as Mr. Barrie expressed it, “pre-eminently judeecious.”

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