"Not so very foolish, perhaps, as you think, curate," said the person thus addressed, "and that it's possible ye may find. At any rate, it's no lost what a friend gets, you know, curate; but, in the meantime, will you proceed with the ceremony, if you please. And, guidman," he added, turning to Clayslaps, "will ye allow me to give away the bride?"
"I ken nane here that has a better richt," replied the latter, now thoroughly reconciled to the sudden and most unexpected change in his daughter's destiny which had taken place. "Ye may either gie her awa or tak her yersel, just as ye like; for, by my faith, ye seem to be a guid honest chiel, be ye wha ye like, as the curate says."
"Well, then, since you place her at my disposal, I here give her to Davie Linn o' Partick—and may he always continue to deserve her!"
This conveyance of the fair Meenie, the curate lost no time in legalising and confirming. When the ceremony was completed, "Now," said the stranger, "if there be a fiddler or piper in all Govan who will play to us for love or money, let him be brought here instantly, and we'll finish as well as we've begun. By St Bride, we'll have a night of it! What say you, Sir John?" And he turned to that gentleman with a smile. "Will you condescend to honour us with your presence, and with as much good-humour as you can conveniently spare?"
"Oh, most certainly," replied the latter, laughing, "with all my heart."
The desired musician was procured, and made his appearance. The room was cleared, creature comforts were ordered in, in unsparing abundance, and such a night of mirth and fun ensued as, we believe, has not been seen since in the little village of Govan, and perhaps not often anywhere else. The curate danced and frisked about like a three-year-old; Sir John conducted himself with no less animation; but neither of them had the smallest chance with the gentleman in the darned hose. He kept the floor almost the whole night, whooping and hallooing in a most spirited manner, and dancing fully half the time with the bride, and the rest with her mother, the guidwife of Clayslaps, relieved occasionally by a turn-out with some young girls of the neighbourhood, whom the landlord of the Grilse and Gridiron had hurriedly brought together, on the principle of "the more the merrier." But time and tide wait on no man. Morning came, and the revellers prepared to depart to their several homes. The marriage party, including the bride and bridegroom, and Sir John Elphingstone, proceeded to the ferry, to which they were accompanied by him who had performed the principal character of the night. Having seen them all embarked, and having wished the young married couple every happiness, he stood on the shore for an instant, waved them a final adieu, retired by the way of the village, and was seen no more.
Within a week after the occurrence of the events just related, the worthy curate of Govan was surprised one day by receiving a letter from the Archbishop of Glasgow.
"What's wrang now?" said the curate to himself, as he opened it. "My dismissal, I suppose, for the irregularity o' my conduct at Ringan Scouler's the ither nicht."
It was not exactly so, as the reader will perceive. The letter ran thus:—
"At the recommendation of a high personage, I intend appointing you to the vacant rectorship of Govan. You will therefore repair immediately to me, either at my palace at Glasgow or my castle at Partick, that I may confer with you farther on the subject.
"Dunbar, A. B. of G."