“Come, come,” said M‘Harrigle, “this affair ’ll no be weel ended till we hae sowthered our hearts again wi’ a half mutchkin o’ M‘Gowan’s best. Come, Duncan, draw the tow, and tell the gudewife to fetch the mutchkin stoup, and het water to kirsten’t. I’m sure I’m a fule o’ a body, for my lang tongue, my short temper, and my short wit, hae keepit me in a fry a’ the days o’ me.”
“Ye’re vera right, M‘Harrigle,” said the landlord, rubbing his hand briskly at the blithe proposal. “I’ll ring for Tibbie; she’ll bring us something worth preein’ out o’ her ain bole. She’s a bit eident body, and aye keeps a drap heart’s comfort in an orra neuk.”
M‘Gowan pulled a hare’s foot at the end of a rope, which was suspended from an unhewn piece of knotted wood, of a three-legs-of-man shape, fastened by a strong screw nail into the wall, and a solemn bell, most unlike the merry tinkle of an alehouse warning, was heard jowin’ and croorin’ in a distant apartment, from which our hostess presently made her appearance.
Her aspect and demeanour at first sight bespoke your affection. There was in her face a look of blithe contentment with her condition; in her dress a neat attention to cleanliness and simplicity, and in her whole manner and behaviour a hearty and honest desire, not only to be happy herself, but to make all around her equally comfortable. She curtseyed respectfully and smilingly when she entered the room; but it was not that cut-and-dried sort of politeness which publicans in general indiscriminately pay to all their customers;—it was a kind of friendly greeting, mingled with no small portion of gratitude towards those on whom she was conscious she depended for subsistence. It was that warm and kindly expression of affection which brought one who was removed from his family fireside in mind of his mother, and which made imagination point out her habitation as a quiet resting place, where the unsettled sojourner might stop and glean from the barren field of earthly enjoyment some few ripe ears of happiness.
“My gude will to ye a’, gentlemen; I’m thinkin’ ye were ca’in’.”
“That we were,” said M‘Harrigle. “Fetch us a mutchkin o’ your best, gudewife, and some het water.”
“Ye’se no want that,” replied our hostess; “but ye’ll aiblins aforehand be pleased to tak a tasting o’ supper; I hae’t ready for ye yonder, as I guessed some o’ ye might stand in need o’ some sma refreshment. I’ll send it ben to ye in twa or three minutes, and syne get ye onything else ye want. Ay will ye,” said the motherly, sonsy, little woman, as she shut the door behind her with a gentleness of hand which showed that her affections had some regard even for things inanimate.
A beautiful tall girl immediately made her appearance, and prepared the round oaken table before us for the reception of the landlady’s hospitality, by spreading over it a table-cloth of snowy whiteness, and in arranging the shining implements, which, from their brilliant cleanliness, seemed to be kept as much for ornaments to the kitchen shelf, as for the more vulgar purpose of preparing food for the process of mastication. She was evidently the daughter of the hostess. Her countenance indicated all the amiable qualities of her mother, but her manners were more polished,—at least they seemed so, perhaps from the circumstance of her language being pure English, unmixed with any of the Doric dialect of her parent. By the mutual assistance of the landlady and her daughter, the table soon groaned beneath a load of savoury substantialities, most provokingly pleasant to all but myself. Our chairs being drawn forward towards the attractive influence of the supper, and grace being said by the reverend Mr Singleheart, they all proceeded lustily and cheerfully to the work of repletion.
“Oogh!” says M‘Glashan the piper, as he opened his Celtic jaws, and disclosed two formidable rows of white stakes, which stood as a sort of turnpike gate to the entrance of his stomach, and demanded toll of all that passed that way,—“oogh! this’ll pe tooin’ her good, for her fu’ bag maks a loot trone.”
“Verily, it is both savoury and refreshing,” said Mr Singleheart, as he sawed away with a suppleness of elbow by no means consistent with the staid solemnity of his usual motions.