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As the prayer drew to a close, the sounds of trampling and scuffling feet bore witness that Watty Witherspail and his assistants were carrying the coffin down the stair. Soon the company rose to follow it, and trooping out, arranged themselves behind the hearse, which, horrid with nodding plumes and gold and black panelling, drew away from the door to make room for them.
When they passed Mrs Catanach's cottage an hour after, on their way to the harbour, they saw the blinds drawn down, as if a dead man lay within: according to after report, she had the brute already laid out like a human being, and sat by the bedside awaiting a coffin which she had ordered of Watty Witherspail. The day continued lovely, with a fine breeze.
An' noo ye hae pitten't intil my heid that there's Wattie Witherspail an' Jonathan Auldbuird for the porters to open an' lat a' that's left o' 's oot again! Think o' sic like haein' sic a han' in sic solemn maitters!"
I said it micht be set up at her heid, whaur she wad never fin' the weicht o' 't; but na, na! nane o' 't for her! She's ane 'at maun tak her ain gait, say the ither thing wha likes." It was Wattie Witherspail who spoke a thin shaving of a man, with a deep, harsh, indeed startling voice. "An' what ailed her at a stane?" returned the voice of Jonathan Auldbuird, the sexton.
But here a heavy step descending the stair just outside the room attracted her attention, and checking the flow of her speech perforce, with three ungainly strides she reached the landing. "Watty Witherspail! Watty!" she called after the footsteps down the stair. "Yes, mem," answered a gruff voice from below.
She's lyin' quaiet noo verra quaiet waitin' upo' Watty Witherspail. Whan he fesses hame her bit boxie, we s' hae her laid canny intill 't, an' hae dune wi' 't." "Weel, mem, for a leddy born, like yersel', I maun say, ye tak it unco composed!" "I'm no awaur, Mistress Catanach, o' ony necessity laid upo' ye to say yer min' i' this hoose. It's no expeckit.
The next moment, Watty Witherspail, who had his station at the further side of the hearse, arriving somehow at a knowledge of the apparition, came round by the horses' heads, and with a look of positive alarm at the glaring infringement of time honoured customs, addressed her in half whispered tones expostulatory: "Ye'll never be thinkin' o' gauin' yersel', mem!" he said.
"Wha am I, to be speirt sic a queston! Wha but yersel' wad hae daurt it, Mistress Mellis?" "I hae nae wuss to pry intill ony secrets o' yours, or " "Secrets!" shouted Miss Horn! But her consciousness of good intent, and all but assurance of final victory, upheld Mrs Mellis. "The parlour blind 's gane up crookit sin' ever that thoomb fingert cratur, Watty Witherspail, made a new roller till 't.
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