“What Mary is that you are speaking about?” asked the sailor.
“Oh, just bonny Mary Seton that’s to be married the night,” answered the farmer.
“Whew!” cried the sailor, giving a long whistle.
“I doubt,” said the farmer, “she’ll be but a waefu’ bride, for the sough gangs that she hasna forgotten an auld joe; but ye see he was away, and no likely to come back, and Jamie Binks is weel to pass in the world, and the mother, they say, just made her life bitter till the puir lassie was driven to say she would take him. It is no right in the mother, but folks say she is a dour wife, and had aye an ee to the siller.”
“Right!” exclaimed the young sailor, “she deserves the cat-o’-nine tails!”
“Whisht, whisht, laddie,” said the farmer. “Preserve us! where is he gaun?” he continued, as the youth sprung from the coach and struck across the fields.
“He’ll be taking the short cut to the town,” answered the coachman, giving his horses the whip.
The coach whirled rapidly on, and the farmer was soon set down at Dame Seton’s dwelling, where the whole of the bridal party was assembled, waiting the arrival of the minister.
“I wish the minister would come,” said Dame Seton.
“We must open the window,” answered Annot, “for Mary is like to swarf awa.”