But now comes Elsie herself, and Willie runs to meet her and lead her forward by the hand. Right bonnie she looks in her dress of silken green with poppies in her hair.
She has come to cut the kliack sheaf. Right deftly she does it too, and binds it also with her own fair fingers.
Then cheers arise, three times three, that seem to make the welkin ring. Harvest is done, kliack is taken, and every heart rejoices.
By-and-bye, when the stooking is quite finished, all march merrily home.
Now, mark you this, reader, no vinous stimulant of any kind has been used while harvest work was in progress.
But now, in the kitchen, all hands, each with a spoon, surround a big table on which stands an immense basin of what is called meal and ale. I will tell you its composition: about half a gallon of oatmeal, mixed with good ale, sweetened with syrup, and fortified with a pint of the best Scotch whisky.
And hark! somewhere in that dish was Mrs. M‘Crae’s marriage-ring. So every mouthful had to be carefully examined by the tongue previous to swallowing, and the person who was lucky enough to find that ring would be married before the year was out.
When all this strange dish of brose was finished, and everybody averred he or she had seen nothing of the ring, everybody began to cast suspicious glances at everybody else.
But at long and last, noticing a strange light in Geordie’s eyes, Sandie jumped up, and seizing him by one ear, pulled it till the rustic poet’s eyes began to water.
“You’ve got it, Geordie! You’ve got it!”