“But I’m in a preceese hurry, gudewife,” said the butler, suffering himself to be dragged to a seat without much resistance; “and as to eating,” for he observed the mistress of the dwelling bustling about to place a trencher for him—“as for eating—lack-a-day, we are just killed up yonder wi’ eating frae morning to night! It’s shamefu’ epicurism; but that’s what we hae gotten frae the English pock-puddings.”
“Hout, never mind the English pock-puddings,” said Luckie Lightbody; “try our puddings, Mr. Balderstone; there is black pudding and white-hass; try whilk ye like best.”
“Baith gude—baith excellent—canna be better; but the very smell is eneugh for me that hae dined sae lately (the faithful wretch had fasted since daybreak). But I wanda affront your housewifeskep, gudewife; and, with your permission, I’se e’en pit them in my napkin, and eat them to my supper at e’en, for I am wearied of Mysie’s pastry and nonsense; ye ken landward dainties aye pleased me best, Marion, and landward lasses too (looking at the cooper’s wife). Ne’er a bit but she looks far better than when she married Gilbert, and then she was the bonniest lass in our parochine and the neist till’t. But gawsie cow, goodly calf.”
The women smiled at the compliment each to herself, and they smiled again to each other as Caleb wrapt up the puddings in a towel which he had brought with him, as a dragoon carries his foraging bag to receive what my fall in his way.
“And what news at the castle?” quo’ the gudewife.
“News! The bravest news ye ever heard—the Lord Keeper’s up yonder wi’ his fair daughter, just ready to fling her at my lord’s head, if he winna tak her out o’ his arms; and I’se warrant he’ll stitch our auld lands of Ravenswood to her petticoat tail.”
“Eh! sirs—ay!—and will hae her? and is she weel-favoured? and what’s the colour o’ her hair? and does she wear a habit or a railly?” were the questions which the females showered upon the butler.
“Hout tout! it wad tak a man a day to answer a’ your questions, and I hae hardly a minute. Where’s the gudeman?”
“Awa’ to fetch the minister,” said Mrs. Girder, “precious Mr. Peter Bide-the-Bent, frae the Mosshead; the honest man has the rheumatism wi’ lying in the hills in the persecution.”
“Ay! Whig and a mountain-man, nae less!” said Caleb, with a peevishness he could not suppress. “I hae seen the day, Luckie, when worthy Mr. Cuffcushion and the service-book would hae served your turn (to the elder dame), or ony honest woman in like circumstances.”