Old Grannie Stewart—she was only ninety-three—was stopping here for the present, airing it, burning fires in both rooms, for fear the young folks might catch a chill.
“Ah, grannie!” cried Sandie, “I’m right glad to see you. And look, I’ve brought a wee drappie in a flat bottle. Ye must just taste. It’ll warm your dear old heart.”
The old lady’s eyes glittered.
“Well,” she said, “it’s not much of that comes my way, laddie. My blood is not so thick as it used to be. For—would you believe it!—I think I’m beginnin’ to grow auld.”
“Nonsense,” said Sandie.
Old or young the old dame managed to whip off her drop of Scotch, though it brought the water to her eyes.
And now all preparations were being made for the coming marriage.
For several days Sandie had to endure much chaff and wordy persecution from the lads and lasses about his diminutive stature and his uncouth figure.
Sandie didn’t mind. Sandie was happy. Sandie took snuff.