Mary herself was generally tugging at him to come on.  She pulled Billy, and Billy pulled the cart.  But, nevertheless, in the long-run, it was the will of Billy that was the ultimate law.  Walter was very glad to have the M’Haffies on the cart, both because he was allowed to walk all the time, and because he hoped to get Mary into a good temper against next Tuesday.

Mary came Drumquhat way twice a week—­on Tuesdays and Fridays.  As Wattie went to school he met her, and, being allowed by his granny one penny to spend at Mary’s cart, he generally occupied most of church time, and all the school hours for a day or two before these red-letter occasions, in deciding what he would buy.

It did not make choice any easier that alternatives were strictly limited.  While he was slowly and laboriously making up his mind as to the long-drawn-out merits of four farthing biscuits, the way that “halfpenny Abernethies” melted in the mouth arose before him with irresistible force.  And just as he had settled to have these, the thought of the charming explorations after the currants in a couple of “cookies” was really too much for him.  Again, the solid and enduring charms of a penny “Jew’s roll,” into which he could put his lump of butter, often entirely unsettled his mind at the last moment.  The consequence was that Wattie had always to make up his mind in the immediate presence of the objects, and by that time neither Billy nor Mary could brook very long delays.

It was important, therefore, on Sabbaths, to propitiate Mary as much as possible, so that she might not cut him short and proceed on her way without supplying his wants, as she had done at least once before.  On that occasion she said—­

“D’ye think Mary M’Haffie has naething else in the world to do, but stan’ still as lang as it pleases you to gaup there!  Gin ye canna tell us what ye want, ye can e’en do withoot!  Gee up, Billy!  Come oot o’ the roadside—­ye’re aye eat-eatin’, ye bursen craitur ye!”

III

THE COURTSHIP OF TAMMOCK THACKANRAIP, AYRSHIREMAN

  The peats were brought, the fires were set,
       While roared November’s gale;
  With unbound mirth the neighbours met
       To speed the canty tale.

A bask, dry November night at Drumquhat made us glad to gather in to the goodwife’s fire.  I had been round the farm looking after the sheep.  Billy Beattie, a careless loon, was bringing in the kye.  He was whacking them over the rumps with a hazel.  I came on him suddenly and changed the direction of the hazel, which pleased my wife when I told her.

“The rackless young vaigabond,” said she—­“I’ll rump him!”

“Bide ye, wife; I attended to that mysel’.”