'Speak laich, woman! An' bide a wee. (The deil's in the wife! the way her tongue rins). Oh Mistress Tirpie! I'm bund till own it was ill my pairt to do as I did; but the best o' us wull gang astray whiles. King Dawvit himself, tho' I wadna be sae presumptious as even mysel' wi' the like o' him, gaed ance wrang amang the lasses, but he made it a' richt belive; an' sae aiblins wull I. But it taks time--we maun bide a wee.'
'An' what's to come o' Tibbie or than?'
'The deil may flee awa' wi' her for me! An' I wuss he wad,' muttered Joseph below his breath; but aloud his words were more prudent. 'She maun just juke an' let the jaw gae by, like the lave. An' after a', there's naethin' kenned till her discredit, we tuk braw gude care o' that; and there's a gude tent taen o' the bairn as ye cud tak' yersel', an' ye're its grannie. Bide a wee; it'll a' come richt. Ye see, Mistress Tirpie, I'm an office-bearer e'y kirk, an' there maun be nae clashes or clavers about me, or I'd lose my place. Gin thae lang-tongued gouks cud find but a haunel, it's nae Joseph Smiley was be lang the bederal o' Kilrundle, an' then whaur wad the siller come frae for me to keep a wife?'
'Hech! Joseph Smiley, but ye're a pawkie loon an' a slick-tongued! Ye'd fraik the tail aff auld Hornie himsel'. But I'm misdoubtin' ye. Ye'll be slippin' through our fingers yet, like an eel. But I'd be laith to lose ye yer place; an' gin ye'll swear again afore me an' cripple Cormack, an' own her for yer wife, I'se raise nae din. Least said suinest mendet. But Tibbie's real lonesome, an' aye at the greetin'. Ye maun come an' see her twa fore nichts ilka week, an' keep up her heart.'
'I'se tak my aith to yersel, Tibbie, wi' muckle pleasure, an' I'se some an' see Tib, but I'll say naething afore auld Cormack. I winder that a sensible woman like you wad fash wi' sic a doited auld gomeral, 'at can nae mair haud his tongue than he can flee. But I maun be steerin', or it's cauld parritch I'll sup this nicht. Sae here's wussin' ye weel, an' mind me kindly to Tibbie--bonny lass!--gude nicht.'
'Fushionless senseless gowk!' he muttered to himself as he turned homewards. 'An' she's gaun to wive her on me is she? We'll see, Luckie! Time wull tell! But it winna be by garrin' me own up afore auld Cormack!'
Tibbie likewise wended home. As she recalled her interview, she could not but admit to herself that excepting fair words she had taken little. At the same time she had broken ground, and her adversary had betrayed no small dread of a scandal. She, had, therefore she thought some slight hold on that slippery person, and took comfort in recollecting that a salmon ere now has been angled for and landed with a single horse hair. 'But we maun ca' canny,' she muttered to herself. 'He's a kittle chield to drive.' She began now to regret she had not used her little pull towards securing some present advantage. It is sweet to spoil the Egyptians. Besides, any tribute secured would be an admission of her power, and every such tribute and admission would add strength to the chain by which she hoped eventually to secure her victim. Wherefore, it was resolved and decided in Tibbie's council of one, that no time should be lost, but the very earliest opportunity taken to commence operations.
CHAPTER VIII.
[A FIELD PREACHING].
Sunday in summertime among the hills is not like other days of the week, and it is not like the Sundays given to less favoured scenes. It is free from the smothering sense of restraints experienced in cities, shut up as it were for the day, with their inhabitants paraded through the streets in solemn raiment returning home to depressing lunches and drowsy afternoons. It seems rather to foreshadow that bright eternal Sabbath we looked forward to in childhood, ere faith grew dim-sighted or criticism had been heard of,--that day when every act shall be spontaneously holy, and each sacred observance a delight. The glorious sunshine, the bright breezy sky streaked and dappled with shining white clouds, the crimson moors and the all-pervading scent of the heather, the hum of bees and the chirp of grasshoppers in the herbage, a silence that is musical with faint and distant sounds, burns babbling in the hollows, lambs bleating on the braes, all speak to the spirit of perfect peace and freedom and holy gladness.