"When is it to be?" he asked eagerly.
"You are thinking of the wedding feast I presume, my lad, what?"
He did not answer; he seemed to be thinking.
"Bob Scott has a' the luck," he said dolefully; "when he was ten his mither was married, when he was eleven his sister Bets dee'd, and syne when he was twel his father was married. Aw've only had a marriage and a daith. Aw like marriages better gyn daiths; ye get mair to eat, and ye dinna hae to look solemn. A christenin' doesna coont; ye jest get a wee bit o' cake, and the minister prays."
"Jim," I said suddenly, "will you be my best man?"
He gaped.
"Will Aw be yer—?" He was too much surprised to complete the sentence.
"Yes, and carry the ring," I said.
His eyes danced.