“My faith!” said M‘Harrigle to the dominie, “your mill gangs glibly.”
“Ay,” says the dominie, “the still sow licks up the draff, and a heapit plate maks hungry men scant o’ cracks.”
“And scant o’ havins too, I think,” said M‘Gowan; “for the stranger gentleman’s sittin’ there before us wi’ a toom plate.”
“Let him alane,” said the dominie; “it’s time he were learning that a man that’s hamely’s aye welcome, and that frank looks mak kind hearts.”
Cleekum had secreted himself in the kitchen, and, though indebted to Mrs M‘Gowan’s fidelity for his preservation from M‘Harrigle’s indignation, he was by no means satisfied with the amount of the night’s amusement. It was at all times a source of delight to him to observe men acting extravagantly and foolishly under misconception and false impressions of one another; and he at no time hesitated to invent and circulate fabrications, generally innocent, indeed, as to intention, but sometimes productive of serious consequences. He was commonly the most taciturn individual in company, and notwithstanding his frolicsome and mischievous disposition, enjoyed the reputation among his neighbours of being a skilful lawyer, and what is still more creditable, a man of unimpeached integrity. This last quality, in some measure, atoned for his love of mischief, and enabled him to perform with impunity wild pranks, which might have seriously injured almost any other man.
When he saw Dame M‘Gowan preparing supper, his whimsical imagination suggested to him the very ridiculous and extravagant trick of making M‘Glashan believe that his favourite bagpipes formed a part of the entertainment. This he accomplished by giving a little urchin a penny to steal unperceived into the room and fetch them away, and an old pair that lay on a shelf in the kitchen furnished him with the ready materials for carrying his whimsical conceit into execution. Ribbons of the same breadth and colour with those which garnished M‘Glashan’s pipes were purchased, and tied upon the drone, which was then attached to the “chieftain o’ the pudding race,” which had never before perhaps been dignified with such notable marks of distinction. Mrs M‘Gowan whispered to her husband a hint of the rarity preparing for them in the kitchen, and he gave a sly intimation of the same to the dominie.
Part of the dishes being removed, the whole company sat in silent expectation of this new specimen of culinary skill, for the whispered hint had by this time been communicated to all except M‘Glashan himself. The dominie squinted at M‘Gowan, with that sly and jocular expression of face for which he was so remarkable. The landlord himself could with difficulty restrain his risibility within the compass of a well-bred smile. It was evident, from the various workings of his features, that it required no small exertion to master down his inward emotion, and keep it from leaping forth and divulging the secret of the coming joke.
After a delay of a few minutes our good hostess entered with a pair of bagpipes on a large plate. She placed them on the table and hurried out of the room, evidently for the purpose of enjoying a prudential and private laugh. There stood the piper’s instrument on the middle of the table, “warm, reeking, rich,” steaming forth its appetising fragrance, regaling every nose, delighting every eye, and provoking instantaneous peals of laughter from all but the supposed proprietor of this fantastical but seemingly substantial piece of good cheer.
“Cod mak a mercy on us a’! An’ I will teclare, a poiled pagpipe! Who’ll be toing that, noo? Oogh! oogh!” said the enraged musician, snuffing himself into an ungovernable fit of rage, raising his brawny and ponderous form into a threatening attitude and doubling his knotty, iron fists, with the design of hammering the offender, whose wicked temerity had dared to brave the indignation of this half-reclaimed mountaineer. “An you’ll offer to jag him, and let out his win’ too, oogh! you’ll petter be a’ looking ower a house-rigging o’ twa storey. You’ll poil your tam haggis in my pag, and sotter my trone too, and the vera ribbons I had at the competeetion. Shust mine!” cried the enraged Highlander, looking more intently at the Scotch haggis with its whimsical appendages. “An you’ll no tell me the man wha would be toing that, I will mak the room my ain in five minutes. I taur you all to touch him. I’ll mak a tead man o’ her—oogh! oogh!”
I was the only individual in the company who seemed to feel any apprehensions about the consequence of this absurd piece of waggery. All the rest enjoyed it rarely, not even excepting the Rev. Mr Singleheart, who, though possessing none of the elements of jocularity himself, was yet at times singularly well pleased to second a piece of innocent fun with his individual portion of jocose laughter.