‘A braw soom, a braw soom,’ said the spiritual comforter:—but what further of the customary spirituality of this occasion might have ensued is matter of speculative opinion; for, at this juncture, Watty, the heir to the deceased, came rumbling into the room, crying,
‘Mither, mither, Meg Draiks winna gie me a bit of auld daddy’s burial bread, though ye brought o’er three farls wi’ the sweeties on’t, and twa whangs as big as peats o’ the fine sugar seed-cake.’
The composity of the minister and his wife were greatly tried, as Mrs. Kilfuddy herself often afterwards said, by this ‘outstrapolous intrusion;’ but quiet was soon restored by Mrs. Walkinshaw ordering in the bread and wine, of which Walter was allowed to partake. The visitors then looked significantly at each other; and Mrs. Kilfuddy, replacing her hands in her satin muff, which, during the refectionary treat from the funeral relics, had been laid on her knees, rose and said,—
‘Noo, I hope, Mrs. Walkinshaw, when ye come to see the leddy, your mither, at the Plealands, that ye’ll no neglek to gie us a ca’ at the Manse, and ye’ll be sure to bring the young Laird wi’ you, for he’s a fine spirity bairn—every body maun alloo that.’
‘He’s as he came frae the hand o’ his Maker,’ replied Mrs. Walkinshaw, looking piously towards the minister; ‘and it’s a great consolation to me to think he’s so weel provided for by my father.’
‘Then it’s true,’ said Mr. Kilfuddy, ‘that he gets a’ the Plealands property?’
‘’Deed is’t, sir, and a braw patrimony I trow it will be by the time he arrives at the years o’ discretion.’
‘That’s a lang look,’ rejoined the minister a little slyly, for Walter’s defect of capacity was more obvious than his mother imagined; but she did not perceive the point of Mr. Kilfuddy’s sarcasm, her attention at the moment being drawn to the entrance of her husband, evidently troubled in thought, and still holding the papers in his hand as he took them away from Mr. Omit’s desk.