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Updated: October 5, 2025
"Is't yersel, Eppie?" he said at last "It's a' that," said Eppie. "Hoo's a' wi' ye?" asked Sam'l. "We're juist aff an' on," replied Eppie, cautiously. There was not much more to say, but as Sam'l sidled off the henhouse he murmured politely, "Ay, ay." In another minute he would have been fairly started, but Eppie resumed the conversation.
Ef I hadn't come along an' throwed out the life-line, yew " "Sam'l," interrupted the new Abraham, not without a touch of asperity, "whar yew been these six months? A-leavin' me ter die of apron-strings an' doctors!
Nevertheless he was a little excited, for he went off without saying good-night. No one spoke. Bell's face was crimson. T'nowhead fidgetted on his chair, and Lisbeth looked at Sam'l. The weaver was strangely calm and collected, though he would have liked to know whether this was a proposal. "Sit in by to the table, Sam'l," said Lisbeth, trying to look as if things were as they had been before.
Nearly twelve years previously Jamie Lownie had lent him two pounds, and though the money was never asked for, it preyed on Cree's mind that he was in debt. He payed off all he owed, and so Cree's life was not, I think, a failure. Sam'l was a weaver in the Tenements, and Sanders a coal-carter whose trade mark was a bell on his horse's neck that told when coals were coming.
Sam'l saw with misgivings that there was something in it which was not a handkerchief. It was a paper bag glittering with gold braid, and contained such an assortment of sweets as lads bought for their lasses on the Muckle Friday. "Hae, Bell," said Sanders, handing the bag to Bell in an off-hand way as if it were but a trifle.
Sanders gave the pig a vicious poke with a stick, and when it had ceased to grunt, Bell was back in the kitchen. She had forgotten about the milk, however, and Sam'l only got water after all. In after days, when the story of Bell's wooing was told, there were some who held that the circumstances would have almost justified the lassie in giving Sam'l the go-by.
Ye'll mind the closed-in beds i' the kitchen? Ay, weel, they're a fell spoilt crew, T'nowhead's litlins, an' no that aisy to manage. Th' ither lasses Lisbeth's hae'n had a michty trouble wi' them. When they war i' the middle o' their reddin' up the bairns wid come tumlin' about the floor, but, sal, I assure ye, Bell didna fash lang wi' them. Did she, Sam'l?"
My seventh lesson today in the secret writing, and progress made, but it do make my head ake extremely and were it not needful would not continue on therein. Comes this day my old Mayd Gosnell that Sam'l and I do call our Marmotte, she telling me that Jane my mayde is naught and she hath herself seen her abroade in light company.
"Ye'll bide a wee, an' hae something to eat?" Lisbeth asked Sam'l, with her eyes on the goblet. "No, I thank ye," said Sam'l, with true gentility. "Ye'll better." "I dinna think it." "Hoots aye; what's to hender ye?" "Weel, since ye're sae pressin', I'll bide." No one asked Sanders to stay.
While the storm-stead show was in the vicinity the villages suffered from an invasion of these dogs. Nothing told more truly the dreadful tale of the showman's life in winter. Sam'l Mann's was a big show, and half a dozen smaller ones, most of which were familiar to us, crawled in its wake. Others heard of its whereabouts and came in from distant parts.
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