"Yes, Mary the Mill is glad to have him. Are you going to the wedding, Mari?"
"Yes, I have promised. You are not, I suppose?"
"Well, no—but I am going to the bidding."
"Yes, there's what I heard."
"I was thinking that would be enough," he said. "What do you think?"
"Quite enough," said Mari. "Being the Mishteer, they would scarcely expect you to both; and if you went to this one, you would offend others by refusing——"
"Exactly what I was thinking," said Hugh.
"We had better have supper now," said Mari, "the potatoes are done." And taking the huge crock which hung by a chain from the wide chimney, she placed it on the floor, and with the large wooden spoon or "lletwad" mashed the snowy potatoes into a steaming paste, adding a little salt and cream. From this crock she partly filled the black, shining bowls which were ranged on the table, placing a wooden spoon for herself and her uncle. A large jug of buttermilk stood in the centre of the table.
For the Mishteer, Mari placed a quaint, slender silver spoon; but he indignantly pushed it away, and she laughingly substituted for it a wooden one like her own.
"Mari, fâch," he said, "what dost think I am made of that I should eat out of a silver spoon while thou art satisfied with a wooden one? Not I, indeed! Well, I don't think anyone ever did cook potatoes like thee. More? Caton pawb! no, I have made two suppers in one."