"No, God be thanked!" said the deacon, "there are some independent men i' the world besides mysel. Every husband's no henpecked. Every man that has a wife doesna 'glory' in being 'pecked by such a hen.'"
"There's William M'Gillavry," said the sly wife, in a soft and unassuming tone; "he is independent o' his wife."
"Do ye mean, Peggy, that I should get him to sign the bill?"
"Na," replied she, "I dinna say that; I merely meant that he was an independent man like you, wha, if ye asked him to do it, wouldna refuse on such a ground as the want o' consent o' his wife. Oh, what will my puir faither do? I canna live if he is in sorrow and perplexity." (Weeping.) "I saw William M'Gillavry yesterday. He asked kindly for ye. Ye haena visited him for a lang time. Twa husbands sae like each other might meet oftener, and twa wives, wha agree in the ae grand point o' submittin to the authority o' their lords and masters, might, wi' advantage, be greater gossips than we hae been."
"Might I try William, think ye, Margaret?" said he.
"My puir advice canna be o' muckle avail to ye," said she; "ye ken best yersel; but I think, if he were asked, he wadna refuse the sma' favour."
"I see you wish me to try him, Peggy," said he; "and I will try him."
Away hastened the deacon to William M'Gillavry. He found him at home; and, as a deacon, was well received. Having opened the subject to him, he found that M'Gillavry was not inclined to become cautioner, unless he got put into his hands some security, that, in the event of his being called upon to pay the money, he might, in the end, be safe. This proposition was not expected by the deacon, who did not possess any portable security that he could give. He endeavoured to get his friend to be satisfied with his own obligation, to keep him scatheless against all the effects of his obligation; but the other would not agree to this, and, pretending to be called away by some one, left the room for a little, promising to be back instantly. In the meantime, the deacon heard a conflict of words in an adjoining apartment, in the course of which several half-sentences met his ear. The wordy war was between William M'Gillavry and his wife. Her notes were shrill and high, and repeatedly she said—"Get my brither John's bill frae him"—"that will do"—"he, puir fallow! canna pay't, at ony rate, and I want to save him frae the hands o' the law." The deacon did not understand this broken conversation; but he could easily perceive that his friend was taking the advice of his wife. The words of old Fleming's ballad of evil wives came into his mind:—
"An evil wyfe is the werst aught
That ony man can haif,
For he may never sit in saught
Onless he be her sklaif."
As he muttered the last words, forgetful of his own case, his friend entered.