here was nae tangs."

"Yea, yea; they'll hae but one set o' bedroom fireirons. The tangs'll
be in anither room. Tod, that's no sae michty grand for Edinbory.
What like was she hersel?"

"Ou, very ladylike and saft spoken. She's a canty body an' frank. She
wears her hair low on the left side to hod (hide) a scar, an' there's
twa warts on her richt hand."

"There hadna been a fire i' the parlour?"

"No, but it was ready to licht. There was sticks and paper in't. The
paper was oot o' a dressmaker's journal."

"Ye say so? She'll mak her ain frocks, I sepad."

When Hendry entered to take off his collar and coat before sitting down
to his evening meal of hot water, porter, and bread mixed in a bowl,
Jess sent me off to the attic. As I climbed the stairs I remembered
that the minister's wife thought Leeby in need of sharpening.

CHAPTER XV

HOW GAVIN BIRSE PUT IT TO MAG LOWNIE

In a wet day the rain gathered in blobs on the road that passed our
garden. Then it crawled into the cart-tracks until the road was
streaked with water. Lastly, the water gathered in heavy yellow pools.
If the on-ding still continued, clods of earth toppled from the garden
dyke into the ditch.

On such a day, when even the dulseman had gone into shelter, and the
women scudded by with their wrappers over their heads, came Gavin Birse
to our door. Gavin, who was the Glen Quharity post, was still young,
but had never been quite the same man since some amateurs in the glen
ironed his back for rheumatism. I thought he had called to have a
crack with me. He sent his compliments up to the attic, however, by
Leeby, and would I come and be a witness?

Gavin came up and explained. He had taken off his scarf and thrust it
into his pocket, lest the rain should take the colour out of it. His
boots cheeped, and his shoulders had risen to his ears. He stood
steaming before my fire.

"If it's no' ower muckle to ask ye," he said, "I would like ye for a
witness."

"A witness? But for what do you need a witness, Gavin?"

"I want ye," he said, "to come wi' me to Mag's, and be a witness."

Gavin and Mag Birse had been engaged for a year or more. Mag was the
daughter of Janet Ogilvy, who was best remembered as the body that took
the hill (that is, wandered about it) for twelve hours on the day Mr.
Dishart, the Auld Licht minister, accepted a call to another church.

"You don't mean to tell me, Gavin," I asked, "that your marriage i