“I’ll stand here, if you please, mem,” said Dan.
THE WEIGHT OF HONOURS.
“But I wish to speak with you in the house, Mr. Corbett, if you please,” said Mrs. Barrie. Dan grinned from ear to ear at “Mr.” Corbett; he did not remember of ever having been called that before, and he kept repeating, “Maister,—Maister, if you please—Eh, Dan, ye’ll dae now,” laughing heartily either to or at himself. Dan seldom laughed—it was almost a new sensation to him; but the “Maister, if you please,” tickled him immensely, and by the time Bell had got the kitchen door open, for she saw him halt before the window, and slap his leg, and laugh until even the blind eye opened and yielded copious tears (so she said), he was in a social, happy glow.
“What’s ta’en ye the day, Dan? what grand news hae ye gotten? have ye seen the Cornel?”
Dan could not reply, but brushed past Bell, and said when he settled a little:
“It’s naething at a’, Bell—it’s fair silliness o’ me; but Mrs. Barrie met me at the road end and said,” here he fell a-laughing again,—“‘Maister Corbett, if you please.’ I’m no’ used wi’ such genty manners, an’ like mony anither fule I was laughin’ at mysel’.”
Mrs. Barrie came into the kitchen, and he laughed when she again called him “Mr. Corbett,” and said: “Ca’ me Dan, if you please, mem; naebody ever ca’d me Maister a’ my days afore, and it sounds very droll—Maisterin’ me.”
“Well, Daniel, then!” said Mrs. Barrie.
“Dan, if you please, mem—just plain Dan.”
“Well, Dan!”