“What’s to pey, John?” asked a scrubby farmer of the sexton of Kilwinning, as the finishing touches were being given to the sod on the grave of the farmer’s wife.
“Five shillin’s,” said John.
“Five shillin’s for that sma’ job? It’s oot o’ a’ reason. Ye’re weel pey’d wi’ hauf-a-croon.”
“She’s doon seven feet,” said John; “an’ I’ve tell’t ye my chairge.”
“I dinna want to quarrel wi’ ye here the day, John,” said the farmer, gruffly; “so there’s four shillin’s, but I winna gi’e ye a fardin’ mair!”
“See here!” said John, holding the money on the palm of his left hand just as he had received it, whilst he seized the handle of the spade in a businesslike way with the other, “doon wi’ the ither shillin’, or up she comes!”
Another was remonstrated with for making an overcharge. “Weel, you see,” said the beadle, making a motion with his thumb to the grave, “him and me had a bit troke about a watch a dizzin o’ years syne, and he never paid me the difference o’t. Noo, says I to mysel’, this is my last chance. I’ll better tak’ it.”
“Ay, man, it’s a bonnie turff,” one is reported to have said. “It’s a peety to see it putten doon on the tap o’ sic a skemp!”
Of another deceased person another beadle said, “He was sic a fine chield I howkit his grave wi’ my new spade.”
Not long ago a funeral party in the North on arriving at the kirkyard and placing the coffin over the grave, discovered that the latter was not long enough to admit of the interment. “Man, John,” said the chief mourner to the beadle, “ye’ve made the grave ower short.”