“Johnny has promised me he’ll keep sober till plantin’ is over,” interrupted Gilbert firmly; “after that he can do as he likes.”
“Ye should both be ashamed o’ yoursel’s drinkin’ that vile whisky,” said Mrs. Burns angrily, and she clacked her lips in disgust. “It is your worst enemy, I’m tellin’ ye.”
“Ye mind, Mistress Burns,” replied Souter, winking his left eye at Tam, “ye mind the Scriptures say, ‘Love your enemies.’ Weel, we’re just tryin’ to obey the Scriptures, eh, Tam?”
“Aye, Souter,” answered Tam with drunken gravity, “I always obey the Scriptures.”
“Here, mon, drink a cup of tea before ye gang awa’,” said Mrs. Burns, and she took him a brimming cup of the delicious beverage, thinking it might assuage his thirst for something stronger. Tam majestically waved it away.
“Nay, I thank ye, Mistress Burns, I’ll no’ deprive ye of it,” he answered with extreme condescension. “Tea doesno’ agree with Tam O’Shanter.” He pushed open the door. “I’m off to the Inn, where the tea is more to my likin’. Guid-day to ye all,” and, slamming the door behind him, he called Maggie to his side, and jumping astride her old back galloped speedily toward the village Inn. The last heard of him that day was his voice lustily singing “The Campbells Are Coming.”
After he left the room Mistress Burns handed Souter the cup of tea she had poured for Tam, and soon the silence was unbroken save by an occasional sigh from the old tyke as he sipped his tea.
Presently Gilbert set down his empty cup, rose and donned his coat. “Here we are drinking tea, afternoon tea, as if we were of the quality,” he observed sarcastically, “instead of being out in the fields plowing the soil; there’s much to be done ere sundown.”
“Weel, this suits me fine,” murmured Souter contentedly, draining his cup. “I ken I was born to be one o’ the quality; work doesno’ agree wi’ me, o’er weel,” and he snuggled closer in his chair.