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Bella was right, there really was a difference already, and, best of all, the difference continued. Never again could any one say that the Henders' garden was neglected and untidy. As of old, William Hender worked there every evening, but now he usually had one or more of his children with him, and the garden in time became a perfect picture.
"Ou, I was thinkin' ye wid be gaen the length o' T'nowhead the nicht, an' I saw Sanders Elshioner makkin's wy there an oor syne." "Did ye?" cried Sam'l, adding craftily, "but it's naething to me." "Tod, lad," said Henders, "gin ye dinna buckle to, Sanders'll be carryin' her off." Sam'l flung back his head and passed on. "Sam'l!" cried Henders after him. "Ay," said Sam'l, wheeling round.
"Gie Bell a kiss frae me." The full force of this joke struck neither all at once. Sam'l began to smile at it as he turned down the school-wynd, and it came upon Henders while he was in his garden feeding his ferret. Then he slapped his legs gleefully, and explained the conceit to Will'um Byars, who went into the house and thought it over.
They had already been clearing it at the other end, or his words would have been choked. "You're snawed up, Davit," cried Henders, in a voice that was entirely business-like; "hae ye a spade?" A conversation ensued up and down this unusual channel of communication. The unlucky householder, taking no thought of the morrow, was without a spade.
Down at the Henders' cottage all was misery and discomfort; the house was full of bad temper, steam, and the smell of soap-suds. It was washing-day, and the children hated washing-day. For one thing, Aunt Emma was always very cross, and for another, they never knew what to do with themselves.
Gin ye're no willin' to say saxpence, I'm aff to Will'um Pyatt's. He's buried too." So the victim had to make up his mind to one of two things: he must either say saxpence or remain where he was. If Henders was "promised," he took good care that no snowed-up inhabitant should perjure himself.
But if Henders would clear away the snow from his door he would be "varra obleeged." Henders, however, had to come to terms first. "The chairge is saxpence, Davit," he shouted. Then a haggling ensued. Henders must be neighbourly. A plate of broth, now or, say, twopence. But Henders was obdurate. "I'se nae time to argy-bargy wi' ye, Davit.
"Ye'll no tell Bell that?" he asked, anxiously. "Tell her what?" "Aboot me an' Mysy." "We'll see hoo ye behave yersel, Sam'l." "No 'at I care, Eppie; ye can tell her gin ye like. I widna think twice o' tellin her mysel." "The Lord forgie ye for leein', Sam'l," said Eppie, as he disappeared down Tammy Tosh's close. Here he came upon Henders Webster. "Ye're late, Sam'l," said Henders. "What for?"
Sam'l flung back his head and passed on. "Sam'l!" cried Henders after him. "Ay," said Sam'l, wheeling round. "Gie Bell a kiss frae me." The full force of this joke struck neither all at once. Sam'l began to smile at it as he turned down the school-wynd, and it came upon Henders while he was in his garden feeding his ferret.
Most of the leading shops are here, and the decorous draper ventures a few yards from the pavement to scan the sky, or note the effect of his new arrangement in scarves. Planted against his door is the butcher, Henders Todd, white-aproned, and with a knife in his hand, gazing interestedly at the draper, for a mere man may look at an elder.
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