The narrative which I am about to give was a prime favourite at the winter firesides of the parish. Its chief incident is so extraordinary, that it has often been scouted as an improbability. But it is literally true, as may be ascertained by those who will take the trouble to investigate the chronicles of the period.
In the early years of the present century, the principal baker in Sandyriggs was Alister Gow. He had one son, Donald, and five daughters. The four elder girls, Flora, Ellen, Marjory, and Nora, were good-looking, with bright complexions and red cheeks; the youngest, Mysie, was plain, with irregular features and dingy colour. The four soon found husbands, thriving tradesmen in the place, who gave them what was called "a good setting down"; but no one came to court Mysie, and she remained at home to attend to the comfort of her parents, and specially to take charge of the shop.
"And when are you gaun aff, Mysie," said old Wull Spears, the most impudent man in the parish, "when are you gaun to be knocked doon to the highest bidder?"
"Oh!" said Mysie, in the bright manner peculiar to her, "I'm no in the market; there's nae demand for gudes like me."
"I wadna wonder," continued Wull, "that ye're gaun to be an auld maid."
"And what for no?" replied Mysie. "Maids, like Scotch whisky, improve by growin' auld."
The years rolled by and brought changes. While Mysie's married sisters, harassed by the ceaseless worries of housekeeping and child-rearing, became more and more careworn, Mysie herself, able and willing for all her duties, grew cantier and cantier every day. While they began to lose their good looks, she began to lose her plainness. The truth is, that she was, though probably she did not know it, a practical philosopher; and in a business-like manner she weighed the advantages and disadvantages of her lot.
"What have I kept," she said to herself, "by remaining single? Good health, good spirits, home comforts, congenial employment, pleasant friends and neighbours. And what have I lost? A husband! And what is a husband? A pig in a poke, a lottery ticket that may take a prize but is far more likely to get a blank. If I'm not happy now, I never deserve to be."
So she resolved to keep a contented mind, to dwell on the blessings she had, and not on those which she had not, to make the most of her life, and to find something good in everything. She was cheerful under all circumstances, and had a smile and a kind word for all her fellow-creatures. As the old people expressed it, "she was everybody's body." However dull and cheerless the weather might be in the streets of the town, there was always sunshine in the baker's shop at the corner of Water Lane. And this genial, kindly disposition soon began to tell upon her own appearance. It actually cleared her complexion, brightened her eyes, and made her look (as an old woman remarked) "halesome, wicelike, and bonny." She became a walking proof of the truth of the proverb that "a kindly disposition is the best cosmetic." And thus it happened, that not only old people and children were attracted by her, but even wooers; and among them came (wonderful to relate) the dandy draper, the woman-killer, the gay Lothario of the town.
This was Bob Dallas. The worship of his mother and sisters had convinced him that he was an Adonis; and the bright smiles of the village maidens had confirmed this belief. "A' the lasses," his sisters would remark to a friend, "are in love wi' oor Bob;" and his mother, in her strong idiomatic Scotch, would add—"Toots, ye ken, they'll no lie aff 'im." Accordingly, he wore on his countenance a constant smirk of satisfaction, and he entered a company as if to the tune, "See the Conquering Hero comes." He sought female society to captivate, not to sue, to receive admiration, not to give it. A pretty girl was a plaything to be taken up for a short time, and then changed for something else. Some people called this conduct cruelty; but he thought it kindness. A smile from him, he believed, was a favour which every woman would prize.