“A BETTER NEVER LIFTIT LEG.”
“Well, Rosie, my dawtie [darling],” said he, at the same time patting her nose and kindly pulling her ears, “ye wad need tae be in gude fettle [trim] the day. Ye’ve a far road afore ye; but there’s nane fitter for’t. Ye’ll no’ reist [stubbornly stick] on the lang dreich [tiresome] Cadger’s Brae, nor on the Ramsune [ram’s horn] Hill; for altho’ it’s no’ sae lang as the Cadger’s Brae, it’s a nasty strauchty-squinty [zig-zag] bit, wi’ terrible snell snabs [steep parts] that tak’s the wind mair frae a beast than a lang steady pu’. I ken ye o’ the auld, Rosie; ye’ll scart [scratch] yer way up, diggin’ yer shoon intae the road till the fire’s fleein’ frae them, an’ bendin’ yer forelegs wi’ a’ yer pith, and strauchtin’ them back again wi’ a nick like the spring o’ a gardener’s knife. You for a steady day’s wark, Rosie; you’re no’ ane o’ the breengein’, flingin’ [rashly running, kicking] kind, Rosie; ye just snoove [move steadily] awa’, like linseed out o’ a pock—on an’ on—steady, steady”—and much to the same effect.
As the journey was a long one, Rosie’s cart started at a very early hour. When all was ready, Bell, as she had to mount on the top of some mattresses which had been put there for her comfortable journey, handed Nellie’s box to Dan to hold, saying:
“Eh, Dan, that’s wee Nellie’s things in that box. I’ll carry’t on my lap a’ the way. D’ye ken, Dan, that your dream has hardly ever been out o’ my head since I packit them? I aye think I see her in her braw mansion, lookin’ doon on the confushun an’ upturn o’ the flittin’. Nae flittin’, or confushun, or bother for her noo. Na—We maun a’ try to get up beside her, Dan, gin the time comes.”
“It’s worth tryin’,” said Dan; “’deed is’t,” as Rosie, led by David, with Bell as a deck cargo, scarcely visible in the dark morning, started for Edinburgh. The old mare’s long swinging step served to keep David warm, but it actually set Bell asleep. Luckily she was well wrapped up, so that she took no skaith.
As Rosie’s cart went out, Sandie Ramage, David’s head ploughman, appeared with the next cart, drawn by “Charlie Gray,” another of David’s plough-horses. Dan had a good deal to say to “Charlie” also, but Bell’s remark about Nellie’s mansion had changed the current of his thoughts, and he spoke more to Charlie about this matter than about the Edinburgh journey.
“We’ll need to try’t, as your mistress said, Charlie,” said Dan, after exchanging civilities with the horse, “an’ wi’ the like o’ her I get on no’ that ill; but it disna set the like o’ me, for ye ken, Charlie, I’ve been a wild, throughither kind o’ a man, to mak’ ony show off or palaver about thae things; an’ forbye, what mak’s folk sae keen to speir into a’ the oots an’ ins o’ that kind o’ thing at the like o’ me? It’s ma business. It’s ill kennin’ some folk, an’ there’s nae satisfyin’ ithers, an’ d’ye no’ think, Charlie, that maybe the best o’ folk has enough adae wi’ themsel’s? Mr. Walker says that, onyway, an’ he’s a man I can speak till. We’ve haen mony a crack, an’ I’ve aye been the better o’t; he’s that hamely an’ kindlike, an’ firm tae. He tak’s pains tae mak’ the thing plain, an’ he doesna miss ye if ye’re in faut; he grups ye gey sharp, an’ gars [makes] ye a’ shiver if ye’ve been misbehavin’.”
Finding Charlie a patient listener, Dan went on as leisure admitted; but it would be tedious to record all he said. One bit was spoken rather louder than the rest, and reported to me as follows:—
“HE PRAYETH BEST WHO LOVETH BEST.”
“I’m willin’ to hear o’ thae things in the like o’ the kirk, or when there’s a wheen [number] thegither speakin’ about them; but I tak’ very ill wi’ the like o’ Miss Park speirin’ [inquiring] if I’ve fand this, or am sure o’ that; an’ after gaun ower about a dizzen o’ lang-nebbit dictionar’ words, she tell’d me if I couldna say I had them an’ ither evidences, as she ca’d them, I was deid an’ something.—An’ what business had she to say that nae gude man could keep a big ugly doug—meanin’ my Burke? He’s a hantle better-lookin’ than her, wi’ her wizened leathery chafts [jaws]. I’ve never letten him fecht, or gaen to see either cock-fechts or doug-fechts, since I saw the pictures. Burke an’ me’s ower auld friends to pairt noo; in fac’, Charlie, I learn mair frae him than the like o’ Miss Park. I whiles dae up her bit garden, an’ she speaks that saucy an’ disdainfu’-like at me, as if I was some nasty mongrel. She minds me o’ the doctors at Greenock lang syne, that used to boord the ships if there was onybody no’ weel in them. They were the sharp blades. They never even offert to gang near the puir sailors to cure them, or help them onyway; it was just, ‘Bad case; off to hospital—off too—off,’ an’ sic like. Nae doubt she means to dae me gude, but yon’s no’ the way! It’s like as Burke used to be amang the sheep whiles when I was gi’ein’ him a walk lang syne; it was a kind o’ vexin’ sicht, for Burke wasna exactly like a collie amang them.”