"G'wa, Ellen," cried Sarah, "they're no married yet! And ye dinna get bairns till ye're married a gey lang time."
"Some fowk has them afore they get married," said Barbara thoughtfully, and I chuckled when I saw how the others looked at her. Disapproval was writ large on their faces.
"Ye shudna mention sic things afore Maggie!" said Janet in a stage whisper, and I had to hold my sides. Margaret could not keep her gravity either, and she laughed immoderately.
Later they pleaded with me to tell them when the wedding was to take place. I told them that I did not know, but that it would be soon, and I promised to invite them all.
"But no Mester Macdonald!" said Jean. "Aw wudna feel so free wi' him there."
I told them of the widower whose friends tried to persuade him to take his mother-in-law with him in the front funeral coach. After some persuasion he said resignedly: "Verra weel, then; but it'll spoil my day." Then I sent them home.
* * *
The story I told the girls set me thinking of funeral stories. I have heard dozens of them, but the only other one I can remember is the one about the farmer whose wife was to be buried. As the men carried the coffin along the passage they stumbled, and the coffin came into violent contact with the corner. The lid flew off, and the wife sat up and rubbed her eyes. She had been in a trance.
Twenty years later the wife died again. The men were carrying the coffin through the passage when the farmer rushed forward.
"Canny, lads!" he cried, "canny wi' that corner!"