But, on the other hand, Scarlett was not the man to lose his time, in spite of bonds and imprisonments.
"Ye are as weel-faured as ever, Bess. Ye were aye a bonny blithesome lass a' the days o' ye!" said he, complacently, as he munched his farles of cake and took sup about of usquebaugh from the horn and buttermilk from the pail.
"Havers!" said Mistress McAlister, "ye are an auld eneuch man to ken that ye canna blaw twice in my lug wi' the same flairdies. Ye forget I hae heard ye at that job before. And it lasted—hoo lang? Just e'en till your company rade awa' frae Girvan to Kirkcudbright, and then ye took up with Maggie Nicholson, the byre-lass o' Bombie, the very second week that ever ye were there! And telled her, I dare say, that she was weel-faured, blithe, and a bonny woman!"
"I see ye haena forgotten how to belie them that ye tried to break the hearts o', Bess Landsborough," said Scarlett, without, however, letting his broken heart interfere with a very excellent appetite. "Ye weel ken that ye sent me frae the door o' the Laggan wi' my tail atween my legs like a weel-lickit messan, and twa o' your ill-set cronies lookin' on at my shaming, too."
"I'm thinkin', my man John," retorted Bess Landsborough, "that ye had better say as little as ye can aboot that ploy. For the lasses were Mirren Semple o' the Auld Wa's and Meg Kennedy o' Kirriemore, that had come in the afternoon to keep me company. And as we sat talking ower ae thing after anither, we spak' amang ithers o' you, my braw trooper—Sergeant John Scarlett, no less, that rode so gallantly with the colors in his hand. And by this and that we had it made clear that ye had been for making up to a' the three o' us at once! An' so we compared your tricks. How ye had gotten doon on your knees and telled us that ye loved us best o' a' the world. Ye had kissed oor hands—at least, mine and Meg Kennedy's. But your favorite fashion was to take the skirts o' oor gouns and kiss the hem o' them, swearin' that ye wad raither kiss the border o' oor cloaks than the mouth o' the grandest woman in Scotland. (A' the three o' us!) Then ye asked for a curl cut off aboon our brows—at least, frae mine and Mirren Semple's. For Meg Kennedy never had sic a thing in her life, but had aye flat, greasy hair, sleekit like a mowdiewart[D] hingin' by the neck in a trap on a wat day. And her ye telled that ye couldna bide hair that wadna keep smooth, but was aye a'kinked and thrawn into devalls and curliewigs. Oh, sic a bonny, true-speakin', decent, mensefu' callant as the three o' us made ye oot to be! So when we had ye gye-and-weel through-hands, wha should ride up to the door but my gay lad himsel', this same braw cavalier. So Mirren and Meg and me, we gaed oot ontil the step and telled ye what we thocht o' ye. Ow aye, ye were a puir disjaskit cuif that day, Sergeant John Scarlett, for a' your silver spurs and your red sodjer's coat!"
[D] Mole.
John Scarlett laughed loud and long at the record of his iniquities, but his abasement, if at the time as profound as Bess Landsborough made it out to be, had certainly completely passed away. For he cried out: "What a grand memory ye hae for the auld times, Bess! I warrant ye, ye couldna gang ower the points o' Effectual Calling as briskly, nor yet the kings o' Judah and Israel that ye learned on the Sabbath forenichts by the lowe o' the Colmonel peats!"
"But eneuch o' havers," said Bess; "ken ye that yon braw lad o' yours is safe and hearty? Mair than that, he met wi' his bonny lass yestreen. Baith o' them kens what love is—a thing that ye never kenned, no, nor will ken to your dying day, John Scarlett."
"Aweel, aweel," replied Scarlett, placably, "at ony rate I am desperate glad that Wat's won oot o' the brash o' the mony waters safe and sound; and as for love, if I kenned nocht aboot it, at least I hae had experience o' some gye fair imitations in my time, that did well eneuch for a puir perishing mortal like me."
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