“Ay, Davit,” replied Sam’l.

This group was composed of some of the sharpest wits in Thrums, and it was not to be expected that they would let this opportunity pass.  Perhaps when Sam’l joined them he knew what was in store for him.

“Was ye lookin’ for T’nowhead’s Bell, Sam’l?” asked one.

“Or mebbe ye was wantin’ the minister?” suggested another, the same who had walked out twice with Chirsty Duff and not married her after all.

Sam’l could not think of a good reply at the moment, so he laughed good-naturedly.

“Ondoobtedly she’s a snod bit crittur,” said Davit, archly.

“An’ michty clever wi’ her fingers,” added Jamie Deuchars.

“Man, I’ve thocht o’ makkin’ up to Bell myself,” said Pete Ogle.  “Wid there be ony chance, think ye, Sam’l?”

“I’m thinkin’ she widna hae ye for her first, Pete,” replied Sam’l, in one of those happy flashes that come to some men, “but there’s nae sayin’ but what she micht tak ye to finish up wi’.”

The unexpectedness of this sally startled every one.  Though Sam’l did not set up for a wit, however, like Davit, it was notorious that he could say a cutting thing once in a way.

“Did ye ever see Bell reddin’ up?” asked Pete, recovering from his overthrow.  He was a man who bore no malice.

“It’s a sicht,” said Sam’l, solemnly.

“Hoo will that be?” asked Jamie Deuchars.

“It’s weel worth yer while,” said Pete, “to ging atower to the T’nowhead an’ see.  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 ha’en 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?”

“She did not,” said Sam’l, dropping into a fine mode of speech to add emphasis to his remark.

“I’ll tell ye what she did,” said Pete to the others.  “She juist lifted up the litlins, twa at a time, an’ flung them into the coffin-beds.  Syne she snibbit the doors on them, an’ keepit them there till the floor was dry.”

“Ay, man, did she so?” said Davit, admiringly.

“I’ve seen her do’t myself,” said Sam’l.

“There’s no a lassie maks better bannocks this side o’ Fetter Lums,” continued Pete.

“Her mither tocht her that,” said Sam’l; “she was a gran’ han’ at the bakin’, Kitty Ogilvy.”

“I’ve heard say,” remarked Jamie, putting it this way so as not to tie himself down to anything, “’at Bell’s scones is equal to Mag Lunan’s.”

“So they are,” said Sam’l, almost fiercely.

“I kin she’s a neat han’ at singein’ a hen,” said Pete.

“An’ wi’t a’,” said Davit, “she’s a snod, canty bit stocky in her Sabbath claes.”

“If onything, thick in the waist,” suggested Jamie.