“I've been telt,” Sanders went on, “'at gin ye can get the upper han' o' the wife for a while at first, there's the mair chance o' a harmonious exeestence.”
“Bell's no the lassie,” said Sam'l appealingly, “to thwart her man.”
Sanders smiled.
“D'ye think she is, Sanders?”
“Weel, Sam'l, I d'na want to fluster ye, but she's been ower lang wi' Lisbeth Fargus no to hae learnt her ways. An a'body kins what a life T'nowhead has wi' her.”
“Guid sake, Sanders, hoo did ye no speak o' this afore?”
“I thocht ye kent o't, Sam'l.”
They had now reached the square, and the U.P. kirk was coming out. The Auld Licht kirk would be half an hour yet.
“But, Sanders,” said Sam'l, brightening up, “ye was on yer wy to spier her yer-sel.”
“I was, Sam'l,” said Sanders, “and I canna but be thankfu' ye was ower quick for's.”