"Yea," gasped Ichabod, and there was another pause.
"My service to you, Sir. Wilt taste my wine? 'tis right Gascony, and I should be a judge."
"Yea, having been in those parts where it was produced, probably," observed Ichabod, becoming more curious and communicative as he imbibed the lion's share of Walter's wine pot, and waited for an answer, but there was none given.
"Verily, Sir," began Mr. Bummel, "these are times to chill the souls and bodies of the afflicted. Thou seest how sore the famine waxeth in the land, especially in these our once fertile Lothians, which whilome were wont to be overflowing with milk and honey."
"Ay," chimed in Elsie, "but I've seen them in mair fearfu' times, when they were overflowing wi' blude and soldiers."
"'Tis for that red harvest, woman, that we are visited by this lamentable scourge; plagued even as Egypt was of old. In these three fertile shires of Lothian I have seen a woeful change since the last harvest, and my heart grows heavy when I think upon it; but I am about to arise and go forth from them for ever."
"Indeed, Sir," said Walter.
"I have gotten a pleasant call from the Lord to another kirk——"
"Wi' a better stipend, Sir," added the gleeful Elsie.
"Indubitably," said Mr. Bummel.