“Ay,” said Bell again, and this time there was a tear in her eye.  Sanders was little better than an “orra man,” and Sam’l was a weaver, and yet—­But it was too late now.  Sanders gave the pig a vicious poke with a stick, and when it had ceased to grunt, Bell was back in the kitchen.  She had forgotten about the milk, however, and Sam’l only got water after all.

In after-days, when the story of Bell’s wooing was told, there were some who held that the circumstances would have almost justified the lassie in giving Sam’l the go-by.  But these perhaps forgot that her other lover was in the same predicament as the accepted one—­that of the two, indeed, he was the more to blame, for he set off to T’nowhead on the Sabbath of his own accord, while Sam’l only ran after him.  And then there is no one to say for certain whether Bell heard of her suitors’ delinquencies until Lisbeth’s return from the kirk.  Sam’l could never remember whether he told her, and Bell was not sure whether, if he did, she took it in.  Sanders was greatly in demand for weeks to tell what he knew of the affair, but though he was twice asked to tea to the manse among the trees, and subjected thereafter to ministerial cross-examinations, this is all he told.  He remained at the pigsty until Sam’l left the farm, when he joined him at the top of the brae, and they went home together.

“It’s yersel’, Sanders,” said Sam’l.

“It is so, Sam’l,” said Sanders.

“Very cauld,” said Sam’l.

“Blawy,” assented Sanders.

After a pause—­

“Sam’l,” said Sanders.

“Ay.”

“I’m hearing ye’re to be mairit.”

“Ay.”

“Weel, Sam’l, she’s a snod bit lassie.”

“Thank ye,” said Sam’l.

“I had ance a kin o’ notion o’ Bell mysel’,” continued Sanders.

“Ye had?”

“Yes, Sam’l; but I thocht better o’ ’t.”

“Hoo d’ ye mean?” asked Sam’l, a little anxiously.

“Weel, Sam’l, mairitch is a terrible responsibeelity.”

“It is so,” said Sam’l, wincing.

“An’ no the thing to tak’ up withoot conseederation.”

“But it’s a blessed and honourable state, Sanders; ye’ve heard the minister on ’t.”

“They say,” continued the relentless Sanders, “’at the minister doesna get on sair wi’ the wife himsel’.”

“So they do,” cried Sam’l, with a sinking at the heart.

“I’ve been telt,” Sanders went on, “’at gin ye can get the upper han’ o’ the wife for a while at first, there’s the mair chance o’ a harmonious exeestence.”

“Bell’s no the lassie,” said Sam’l, appealingly, “to thwart her man.”

Sanders smiled.

“D’ ye think she is, Sanders?”

“Weel, Sam’l, I d’na want to fluster ye, but she’s been ower-lang wi’
Lisbeth Fargus no to hae learned her ways.  An’ a’body kins what a life
T’nowhead has wi’ her.”

“Guid sake, Sanders, hoo did ye no speak o’ this afore?”