Dan’s eye followed her as she left the room with a funny smile on it; and he said to himself:
“Me come to see ye—me! That wad be a farce. I think the offishers [police] wad keep a gey sharp look-out for some nichts after they saw me at siccan a house.” Here he was interrupted by hearing Sandie Ramage saying, “I’ll tak’ a bit draw, an’ then start.”
Dan quickly crossed the field with his precious burden, taking great care to keep the top of the picture uppermost, and not to shake it. Sandie Ramage said he heard him say, “If I’m no’ carefu’, I micht wauken the bonnie bairn.” After he got it safely home, and put, still top uppermost, inside of his box bed, he put the only two chairs he had in the house before it, locked the door, and convoyed Charlie Gray until he had mastered the “Ramsune Hill,” assisted by Dan from the back of the cart at the zig-zag turns. He would have gone farther, but he was wearying to have a good look at the picture. On his way home he met the drosky containing Mrs. Barrie and the children. Gordie, who was beside the driver, cried to those inside, “Here’s Dan coming!” As they passed, all waved him a kind good-bye, and poor Dan stood, cap in hand, looking at the receding vehicle until Gordie turned round and waved his cap. Dan did the same, and said laughingly, “Ye’re an awfu’ ane. He’s a stuffy laddie that,—he’ll no’ let grass grow at his heels. But they’re a’ gude thegither, an’ they hae been gude to me. Ma blessings may be no’ muckle worth, but they hae’t frae my heart,—God bless them a’.”
BETTER FLEECH A FOOL THAN FECHT HIM.
When he reached his own door he found Mr. Walker there. He had been at the London Exhibition of 1851, and had got from a publisher, an old Blinkbonny man, some copies of the Pilgrim’s Progress, one of which he had brought to Dan, who was so proud of his new picture that he asked Mr. Walker in to see it. Mr. Walker explained to him some of the pictures in the Pilgrim’s Progress, which greatly interested him. A neighbour’s boy occasionally came in and read it to him, greatly to Dan’s delight. Had I room to give his comments, they would astonish even very learned men; but I must take leave of Dan for the present, and am glad to leave him such a quiet neighbourly man, that when an impertinent fellow shortly after this called “Braidnebs” after him, Dan quietly looked at him and said:
“If I was as I’ve seen me, I wad ’a made a fule o’ mysel’ the noo; an’ ye’re trying to mak’ a fule o’ me, but ye’ll find out that ye’re jist makin’ a fule o’ yersel’. The game’s here yet, but it disna show up at a dirty barn-door bantin’ that kens nae better. Man, I’m sorry for ye.”
The flitting got all right to Edinburgh. Bell had not been there before, and was greatly taken with the Castle. “It was bigger and had mair houses on’t than Dumbarton Castle; but there was ae thing, it hadna the bonnie Clyde round it.” When she arrived at the house she set to work at once, William Morrison, the singing deacon formerly mentioned, who had charge of the flitting, having come off with the early train.
“Weel, Willie, is the house a’ ready? Is a’ the lums soopit [chimneys swept]? It’s a bit nice-like house. Has May Ritchie gotten’t a’ clean?”
Here May, Guy’s daughter, appeared to answer for herself.
“A’s as clean as a new preen [pin],” said May.