“Canna ye, Sam'l?”
“She wid mak ye a guid wife, Sanders, I hae studied her weel, and she's a thrifty, douce, clever lassie. Sanders, there's no the like o' her. Mony a time, Sanders, I hae said to mysel, 'There's a lass ony man micht be prood to tak.' A'body says the same, Sanders, There's nae risk ava, man: nane to speak o'. Tak her, laddie, tak her, Sanders; it's a grand chance, Sanders. She's yours for the spierin'. I'll gie her up, Sanders.”
“Will ye, though?” said Sanders.
“What d'ye think?” asked Sam'l.
“If ye wid rayther,” said Sanders politely.
“There's my han' on't,” said Sam'l. “Bless ye, Sanders; ye've been a true frien' to me.”
Then they shook hands for the first time in their lives; and soon afterward Sanders struck up the brae to T'nowhead,
Next morning Sanders Elshioner, who had been very busy the night before, put on his Sabbath clothes and strolled up to the manse.
“But—but where is Sam'l?” asked the minister; “I must see himself.”
“It's a new arrangement,” said Sanders.