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"Losh, Eppie," said Sam'l, "I didna think o' that." "Ye maun kin weel, Sam'l, 'at there's mony a lass wid jump at ye." "Ou, weel," said Sam'l, implying that a man must take these things as they come. "For ye're a dainty chield to look at, Sam'l." "Do ye think so, Eppie? Ay, ay; oh, I d'na kin am onything by the ordinar." "Ye mayna be," said Eppie, "but lasses doesna do to be ower-partikler."
"I d'na care for her hair either," continued Jamie, who was very nice in his tastes; "something mair yallowchy wid be an improvement." "A'body kins," growled Sam'l, "'at black hair's the bonniest." The others chuckled. "Puir Sam'l!" Pete said. Sam'l not being certain whether this should be received with a smile or a frown, opened his mouth wide as a kind of compromise.
"I d'na kin what he said," admitted Haggart; "but he took Little Rathie up to the manse, an' if ever I saw a man lookin' sma', it was Little Rathie when he cam oot." To the number of about twenty we assembled round the end of the house to escape the bitter wind, and here I lost the precentor, who, as an Auld Licht elder, joined the chief mourners inside.
Sanders smiled. "D' ye think she is, Sanders?" "Weel, Sam'l, I d'na want to fluster ye, but she's been ower lang wi' Lisbeth Fargus no to hae learnt her ways. An a'body kins what a life T'nowhead has wi' her." "Guid sake, Sanders, hoo did ye no speak o' this afore?" "I thocht ye kent o't, Sam'l." They had now reached the square, and the U. P. kirk was coming out.
"It was a near thing a michty near thing," he admitted in the square. "They say," some other weaver would remark, "'at it was you Bell liked best." "I d'na kin," Sam'l would reply, "but there's nae doot the lassie was fell fond o' me. Ou, a mere passin' fancy's ye micht say." When an election-day comes round now, it takes me back to the time of 1832. I would be eight or ten year old at that time.
"What do ye think?" asked Lisbeth. "I d'na kin," faltered Bell. "Thae tatties is lang o' comin' to the boil," said T'nowhead. In some circles a lover who behaved like Sam'l would have been suspected of intent upon his rival's life, but neither Bell nor Lisbeth did the weaver that injustice. In a case of this kind it does not much matter what T'nowhead thought.
"Ay, oh, I d'na kin, moderate, moderate," said Sam'l, in high delight. "I saw ye," said Eppie, speaking with a wire in her mouth, "gae'in on terr'ble wi Mysy Haggart at the pump last Saturday." "We was juist amoosin' oorsels," said Sam'l. "It'll be nae amoosement to Mysy," said Eppie, "gin ye brak her heart." "Losh, Eppie," said Sam'l, "I didna think o' that."
Sanders smiled. "D' ye think she is, Sanders?" "Weel, Sam'l, I d'na want to fluster ye, but she's been ower-lang wi' Lisbeth Fargus no to hae learned her ways. An' a'body kins what a life T'nowhead has wi' her." "Guid sake, Sanders, hoo did ye no speak o' this afore?" "I thocht ye kent o' 't, Sam'l." They had now reached the square, and the U. P. kirk was coming out.
"Ye maun kin weel, Sam'l, 'at there's mony a lass wid jump at ye." "Ou, weel," said Sam'l, implying that a man must take these things as they come. "For ye're a dainty chield to look at, Sam'l." "Do ye think so, Eppie? Ay, ay; oh, I d'na kin am onything by the ordinar." "Ye mayna be," said Eppie, "but lasses doesna do to be ower partikler." Sam'l resented this, and prepared to depart again.
"They say," some other weaver would remark, "'at it was you Bell liked best." "I d'na kin," Sam'l would reply; "but there's nae doot the lassie was fell fond o' me; ou, a mere passin' fancy, 's ye micht say." Janet Balchrystie lived in a little cottage at the back of the Long Wood of Barbrax.
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