ing spades
into their houses the night before, which is my plan at the
schoolhouse, dug themselves out. They hobbled cautiously over the
snow, sometimes sinking into it to their knees, when they stood still
and slowly took in the situation. It had been snowing more or less for
a week, but in a commonplace kind of way, and they had gone to bed
thinking all was well. This night the snow must have fallen as if the
heavens had opened up, determined to shake themselves free of it for
ever.

The man who first came to himself and saw what was to be done was young
Henders Ramsay. Henders had no fixed occupation, being but an "orra
man" about the place, and the best thing known of him is that his
mother's sister was a Baptist. He feared God, man, nor the minister;
and all the learning he had was obtained from assiduous study of a
grocer's window. But for one brief day he had things his own way in
the town, or, speaking strictly, on the top of it. With a spade, a
broom, and a pickaxe, which sat lightly on his broad shoulders (he was
not even back-bent, and that showed him no respectable weaver), Henders
delved his way to the nearest house, which formed one of a row, and
addressed the inmates down the chimney. 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
businesslike; "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. 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. 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. He made his way to a window first,
and, clearing the snow from the top of it, pointed out that he could
not conscientiously proceed further until the debt had been paid.
"Money doon," he cried, as soon as he reached a pane of glass; or,
"