It's nae mony years sin' there lived a man o' the name o' Archy Brown, at the Windy Hill, up by yonder. He was a puir weaver body, wi' a wife and a hantel o' weans, and sair wark he had to keep the house owre his head. The wife was a clean, canty body, and keepit a'thing trig and comfortable, and made the maist o' what she could get, and that was but little; but content, they say, is better than riches, and she aye keepit her heart abune, and tried to mak her guidman as contented as hersel. But it wadna do—Archy was a disappointed, unhappy man; he was aye grumbling at his hard fate, and wonnerin what he'd dune, that he should be forced to work hard for his bread, whan ithers, nae better than himsel, he thocht, were sittin wi' their hans afore them, doin naething ava. But this wadna do; it taks a stout heart to face a stey brae—and Archy seemed to hae tint his athegither. Wark cam slowly in, and when it did come, it was sair negleckit, till, at last, if it hadna been the respeck they had for his wife, his employers wad hae left him ane and a'. Archy had just suppit his parritch, after a grumlin day's wark in August, and was sittin by the ingle cheek, looking as black as the back o' the lum, and the wife was busy washin the dishes and puttin a'thing richt.
"Hech," says Archy, with a pech, "but this is a weary warld."
"Hoot," said the wife, "the warld's weel enough, if 'twarna the folk that's in't; it's a guid and a bonny warld, Archy, and thankfu we should be that we hae health to enjoy it."
"Thankfu!" said Archie. "My certie! guid richt hae we to be thankfu, and can hardly get the bite and sowp to pit in our mous, when there are sae mony that dinna ken what to mak o' a' their havins!"
"Ou, Archy, man! ye're aye thinkin o' them that's better off than yersel; but think how mony wad be happy to change wi' ye. There's mony a ane this nicht, Archy, that has nae shelter fo his head but the lift abune him, and that's fain to cower ahint the dyke frau the cauld blast."
"Gae 'wa wi' your preachins!" said Archy. "Is't no aneugh to hear the minister on the Sabbath, but I maun be plagued wi' a wife playin hum in my lug a' the day lang?"
The wife held her tongue, but the tears were rinnin doun her cheeks, as she wiped doun the dresser. Archy was a guid-hearted though a fretfu man; and the sicht o' his wife's distress softened him.
"Come, come, Nancy, woman, dinna tak on sae; ye ken I lo'e ye weel—for a kind and guid wife hae ye aye been to me; and ye sudna heed what I say, when the vera heart's bluid within me is soured by disappointment. I could bear't a' weel aneugh for mysel; but to think o' my havin wiled ye frae yer faither's beil hame, to share the fortunes o' a broken man, gars my heart grue; and whiles I feel as if I could risk my saul to the evil ane, to procure ye ease and comfort."
"Oh, Archy! shut such wicked thochts oot o' yer heart, or maybe, whan temptation comes, ye'll tak it by the hand, instead o' resistin it. Mindna for me—I want naething to mak me happy but to see ye pleased; and I'd far fainer see ye smile as ye used to do lang syne, than be the brawest o' the braw withoot it."
The darkness o' night was noo beginnin to spread owre the earth, and Archy and the wife were just ettlin to gang to bed, when a saft rap cam to the door, and a hand tirled at the sneck.