"Here is the key of the treasury-box, Mr Todd," said she.
Andrew was greatly relieved; but wonder took the place of his fear, for he could not conceive how his wife could so soon have got the key out of the hands of the deacon—and yet for certain the key was before his eyes.
"See you that ring?" continued the dame, holding out a steel key-hoop, on which were hung a score of keys, shining as bright as silver, from the eternal motion to which they were exposed in the red pocket of their mistress.
"Ay, weel do I see it," replied Andrew, "and weel do I ken't. It is by that magic ring that a' my guids and gear are girded and prevented frae fa'in into the staves o' that bankruptcy and ruin I threatened this day to bring upon them."
The dame replied nothing to the remark of her husband, though she was inwardly well pleased to see him penitent; but, opening the spring-clasp, she deliberately placed the treasury-box key upon the ring, along with the score of others that had hung there for a score of years. She did not deign to accompany this act by a single word of objurgation. Her faith rested altogether upon the ring, and to have tried to add to the security it afforded her, by impressing her husband with a deeper sense of his imprudence, appeared to her to be sheer supererogation. Opening the entrance to her red "pouch," she consigned, with a suitable admonitory jingle, the whole bunch to the keeping of that huge conservatory of the virtues of "hussyskep." She then resumed her ordinary duties, and Andrew was delighted to have "got off," as he inwardly termed his relief, with so easily-borne a reproof of his weakness and imprudence.
The circumstances we have here narrated became, some time after, known to the public, through what channel it would be difficult to say, although it is not improbable that the boxmaster, vain of the protecting care of his wife, had given some hint of it, which, having been taken advantage of by Deacon Waldie's enemies, gave rise to reports, and latterly to a true exposition of the whole affair. The effect of such a transaction upon the credit of any man could not fail to be ruinous. In a very short time Deacon Waldie became suspected and shunned—no one would trust him, few would deal with him; and, before the termination of the period of his deaconship, he failed—falling thus a victim to that female domination he so much dreaded, and for submitting to which he so much despised his friend the boxmaster.
The fate of Mr Todd was signally different. At the end of the period of his office, there was a special meeting called of the trade, for the purpose of making a vote of thanks to their official, for saving the incorporation-box from spoliation, and presenting him with a small piece of plate, in commemoration of his services. This was a delicate matter. The members knew well to whom they owed the obligation; but they could not, in a public hall, declare that their boxmaster was assisted in his official capacity by his wife, and, therefore, they resolved upon taking no notice of the real boxmaster; who, however, like all good wives, would be gratified by the notice that was taken of her husband. The vote of thanks was accordingly moved by the chairman, and supported by a very good speech. Mr Todd rose to reply:—
"Gentlemen," he said, "ye maunna think that I am sae blind as no to see what is yer true meanin, concealed though it be under this thick veil o' courtesy and delicate regard to my feelins. Ye want to try to conceal frae me that ye ken how muckle baith you and I are obliged to a sensible and discreet woman; and ye hae twa reasons for this: first, ye dinna like to acknowledge that ye are indebted to a woman for savin frae the hands o' the spoiler the incorporation-box; and, secondly, ye dinna like to say that yer boxmaster is under the kindly care and protection o' his guidwife. Now, as to the first, I leave it in yer ain hands; but as to the second, I will free ye frae a' delicacy and difficulty, for I here acknowledge and declare, wi' pride and pleasure, that Mrs Jean Todd is my counsellor and adviser in a' my affairs, baith public and private; and mony a time she has kept me frae that ruin whilk my ain wit and wisdom never could hae saved me frae. I dinna need to say that it was that admirable woman wha saved the incorporation-box: the thing is already owre the town, and dootless kenned to ye a', and, I warrant ye, also to yer wives. Why, then, should I accept o' honour I never wrocht for, and couldna hae merited by a' the power and skill o' my puir abilities? 'The labourer is worthy o' his hire.' 'Honour to him to whom honour is due.' I therefore move that the thanks ye intended for me should be offered to Mrs Jean Todd—to whom also, wi' your permission, I would suggest that the piece o' silver-plate should be presented."
This speech produced much laughter throughout the hall. Some humorous member relished the idea, and, standing up, seconded the boxmaster's motion.
"A' our difficulty has vanished," he began; "and glad am I to see that the honour we intended for the real conservator o' our corporation-box may be, through the noble spirit o' our nominal boxmaster, communicated without the intervention o' a deputy. I second Mr Todd's motion, because I admire his spirit, and because I rejoice in an opportunity of doing justice to thae great conservators o' our sex—the strong-minded, gaucy, thrifty, and loving wives o' Scotland, to whom our very nation (if it were kenned) awes the character it has acquired owre the face o' the earth, for its prudence, its honesty, and its trustworthiness. Weel do I ken that the dear craturs hae suffered for their exertions in the cause o' our sex, and their authority has been attempted to be put an end to by drunken caitiffs, wha, wantin the nobility o' mind to admire and serve wham they canna equal, blaw up their pot-companions against petticoat authority, by dubbin them henpecked, forgettin, the wretched craturs, that that very hen supplies often the egg, at least clocks to preserve it for future increase. The very men the dear craturs feed, and clothe, and protect, and cherish, sing in the pot-houses that they want their liberty—