“Deed,” says Betty, “there’s was little about it ava’. Our maister was awa’ at the fair a’e day, sellin’ the lambs, an’ it was gey late afore he cam hame. Our maister very seldom stays late, ony place, for he’s a douce man as can be. Weel, ye see, he was mair hearty than I had seen him for a lang time, but I opine he had a gude market for his lambs, and there’s room for excuse when ane drives a gude bargain. Indeed, to tell ye the even-doun truth, he had rather better that a wee drap in his e’e. It was my usual to sit up till he cam’ hame, when he was awa’. When he cam’ in that nicht an’ gied up stairs he fand his supper ready for him. An’ ‘Betty,’ says he, ‘what’s been gaun on the day?—A’s richt, I houp?’ ‘Ou, ay, sir!’ says I. ‘Very weel, very weel,’ says he, in his ain canny way, an’ gae me a clap on the shouther an’ said I was a gude lassie. When I had telt him a’ that had been dune through the day, just as I aye did, he gae me anither clap on the shouther, an’ said he was a fortunate man to hae sic a carefu’ person about the house. I never had heard him say sae muckle to my face afore, though he had aften said mair ahent my back. I really thocht he was fey. When he had got his supper finished, he began to be very jokey ways, an’ said that I wasna only a gude but I was a bonnie lassie. I ken that fouks arena themsel’s when they have a dram, an’ say rather mair than they wad do if they were sober, sae I cam’ awa’ doun into the kitchen—Na, the maister never offered to kiss me; he was ower modest a man for that.
“Twa or three days after, our maister cam’ into the kitchen. ‘Betty,’ says he. ‘Sir,’ says I. ‘Betty,’ says he, ‘come upstairs; I want to speak to ye,’ says he. ‘Very weel, sir,’ says I. Sae I went upstairs after him, thinking a’ the road that he was gaun to tell me something aboot the feedin’ o’ the swine, or something like that. But when he tellt me to sit doun, I saw there was something serious, for he never bid me sit doun afore but ance, an’ that was whan he was gaun to Glasgow Fair. ‘Betty,’ says he, ‘ye ha’e been lang a servant to me,’ says he, ‘an’ a gude an’ an honest servant. Since ye’re sae gude a servant, I aften think ye’ll mak’ a better wife. Ha’e ye ony objections to be a wife, Betty?’ says he. ‘I dinna ken, sir,’ says I; ‘a body canna just say hoo they wad like a bargain until they see the article.’ ‘Weel, Betty,’ says he, ‘ye’re very richt there again. I ha’e had ye for a servant these fifteen years, an’ I never knew that I could find faut wi’ ye for onything. Ye’re carefu’, honest, an’ attentive. And——’ ‘Oh, sir,’ says I, ‘ye aye paid me for’t, an’ it was only my duty.’ ‘Weel, weel,’ says he, ‘Betty, that’s true; but then I mean to mak’ amends to ye for the evil speculation that Tibby Langtongue raised about you an’ me, an’ forby—the world are taking the same liberty; sae, to stop a’ their mouths you an’ I sall be married.’ ‘Very weel, sir,’ says I; for what could I say?
“Our maister looks into the kitchen anither day, an’ says, ‘Betty,’ says he. ‘Sir,’ says I. ‘Betty,’ says he, ‘I’m gaun to gie in our names to be cried in the kirk, this and next Sabbath.’ ‘Very weel, sir,’ says I.
“About anither eight days after this, our maister says to me, ‘Betty,’ says he. ‘Sir,’ says I. ‘Betty,’ says he, I think we’ll ha’e the waddin’ put owre neist Friday, if ye ha’e nae objections.’ ‘Very weel, sir,’ says I. ‘An’ ye’ll tak’ the grey yad, an’ gang to the toun on Monday, an’ get your bits o’ waddin’ braws. I ha’e spoken to Mr. Cheap, the draper, an’ ye can tak’ aff onything ye want, an’ please yoursel’, for I canna get awa’ that day.’ ‘Very weel, sir,’ says I.
“Sae I gaed awa’ to the toun on Monday, an’ bought some wee bits o’ things; but I had plenty o’ claes, an’ I couldna think o’ bein’ extravagant. I took them to the manty-maker to get made.
“On Thursday nicht our maister says to me—‘Betty,’ says he. ‘Sir,’ says I. ‘The morn is our waddin’-day,’ says he; ‘an’ ye maun see that a’ thing’s prepared for the denner,’ says he, ‘an’ see everything dune yoursel’, says he; ‘for I expect some company, an’ wad like to see a’thing feat an’ tidy, an’ in your ain way,’ says he. ‘Very weel, sir,’ says I. Sae I got everything in readiness.
“On Friday mornin’ our maister says to me, ‘Betty,’ says he. ‘Sir,’ says I. ‘Betty,’ says he, ‘gang awa’ an’ get yoursel’ dressed,’ says he. ‘For the company will sune be here, an’ ye maun be decent. An’ ye maun stay in the room upstairs,’ says he, ‘until ye’re sent for,’ says he. ‘Very weel, sir,’ says I. But there was sic a great deal to do, an’ sae many grand dishes to prepare for the denner, to the company, that I couldna get awa’, an’ the hale fouk were come afore I got mysel’ dressed.
“Our maister cam’ dounstairs an’ tell’t me to go up that instant an’ dress mysel’, for the minister was just comin’ doun the loan. Sae I was obleeged to leave everything to the rest o’ the servants, an’ gang upstairs an’ put on my claes.
“When I was wanted, Mr. Brown o’ the Hazelybrae cam’ an’ took me into the room amang a’ the grand fouk an’ the minister. I was maist like to fent, for I never saw sae mony grand fouk thegether a’ my born days afore, an’ I didna ken whaur to look. At last our maister took me by the hand, an’ I was greatly relieved. The minister said a great deal to us, but I canna mind muckle o’t; an’ then he said a prayer. After this I thocht I should hae been worried wi’ fouk kissin’ me; mony ane shook hands wi’ me I had never seen afore, an’ wished me much joy.