After all the carts were laden, Dan waited to convoy the last one for a few miles on the road. Mrs. Barrie called him in, and said:
“Now, Dan, I’m not going to pay you in money for this morning’s work.”
“Pay me!” said Dan; “pay me in money! Ye ken better than to vex me that sair. I couldna even look Burke in the face if I took a farden [farthing]. He wad be that affrontit at me that he wadna gi’e me house-room.”
“I never thought of offering you money, Dan,” replied Mrs. Barrie. “I am quite pleased to accept your help as a friend of the family; but to keep you from forgetting us altogether”—
“That’s what I’ll never dae,” said Dan very firmly.
Mrs. Barrie bowed neatly, and proceeded in a homelier tone than before: “To keep you in mind of us all, I ask you to take this picture, and hang it in your house; it’s your old friend, ‘The Angel’s Whisper.’”
“THERE’S A DEEP LORE IN HEARTS OF LOVE.”
The picture-frame was leaning against the dining-room wall, and only its rough brown paper back was visible until Mrs. Barrie had named it. She then lifted it up and turned its face towards Dan. The poor man started, applied first the cuff of his coat, then his rough woollen cap, to his eyes; and, as he afterwards told Bell, “I fand out where my heart was, sure eneuch; it flappert about like a fresh-run sea-troot wi’ a hook in its mooth. I was that gliffed [taken by surprise] that I couldna even say Thank ye.” Mrs. Barrie had great difficulty in getting him to take the picture.
“Take that,—that frae you! that’s the brawest thing in yer hoose. That’s no’ like ma house at a’. It’s far ower splendid—it’s just awfu’ bonnie; that’s a pictur’ an’ no mistake,” said Dan; and he kept gazing at it until his solitary eye watered.
Mrs. Barrie would take no denial. She advised Dan to take it home at once; and, shaking him by the hand, she said: “Good-bye, Dan; many thanks for all your kindness. Be sure if ever you are in Edinburgh to come and see us.”