“Wha whammelt my cheeny bowl?” said Mistress M’Quhirr, in a tone which, had I not been innocent, would have made me take the stable.

“Wha gaed through that door last?” said I.

“The minister,” says she.

“Then it maun hae been the minister that broke the bowl.  Pit it by for him till he comes.  I’m no’ gaun to be wracked oot o’ hoose an’ hame for reckless ministers.”

“But wha was’t?” she said, still in doubt.

“Juist e’en the waff o’ your ain coat-tails, mistress,” said Tammock.  “I hae seen the day that mair nor bowls whammelt themsel’s an’ brak’ into flinders to be after ye.”

And Tammock sighed a sigh and shook his head at the red greesoch in the grate.

“Hoots, haivers!” said the mistress.  But I could see she was pleased, and wanted Tammock to go on.  He was a great man all his days with the women-folk by just such arts.  On the contrary, I am for ever getting cracks on the crown for speaking to them as ye would do to a man body.  Some folk have the gift and it is worth a hundred a year to them at the least.

“Ay,” said Tammock thoughtfully, “ye nearly brak’ my heart when I was the grieve at the Folds, an’ cam’ owre in the forenichts to coort ye.  D’ye mind hoo ye used to sit on my knee, and I used to sing,

  ’My love she’s but a lassie yet’?”

“I mind no siccan things,” said Mistress M’Quhirr.  “Weel do ye ken that when ye cam’ aboot the mill I was but a wee toddlin’ bairn rinnin’ after the dyukes in the yaird.  It’s like aneuch that I sat on your knee.  I hae some mind o’ you haudin’ your muckle turnip watch to my lug for me to hear it tick.”

“Aweel, aweel, Mary,” he said placably, “it’s like aneuch that was it.  Thae auld times are apt to get a kennin’ mixter-maxter in yin’s held.”

We got little more out of him till once the bairns were shooed off to their beds, and the wife had been in three times at them with the broad of her loof to make them behave themselves.  But ultimately Tammock Thackanraip agreed to spend the night with us.  I saw that he wanted to open out something by ourselves, after the kitchen was clear and the men off to the stable.

So on the back of nine we took the book, and then drew round the red glow of the fire in the kitchen.  It is the only time in the day that the mistress allows me to put my feet on the jambs, which is the only way that a man can get right warmed up, from foundation to rigging, as one might say.  In this position we waited for Tammock to begin—­or rather I waited, for the wife sat quietly in the corner knitting her stocking.

“I was thinkin’ o’ takin’ a wife gin I could get a guid, faceable-like yin,” said Tammock, thumbing the dottle down.

“Ay?” said I, and waited.

“Ye see, I’m no’ as young as I yince was, and I need somebody sair.”

“But I thocht aye that ye were lookin’ at Tibby o’ the Hilltap,” said the mistress.