Sam’l leaned against the hen-house as if all his desire to depart had gone.

“Hoo d’ ye kin I’ll be at the T’nowhead the nicht?” he asked, grinning in anticipation.

“Ou, I’se warrant ye’ll be after Bell,” said Eppie.

“Am no sae sure o’ that,” said Sam’l, trying to leer.  He was enjoying himself now.

“Am no sure o’ that,” he repeated, for Eppie seemed lost in stitches.

“Sam’l!”

“Ay.”

“Ye’ll be speerin’ her sune noo, I dinna doot?”

This took Sam’l, who had only been courting Bell for a year or two, a little aback.

“Hoo d’ ye mean, Eppie?” he asked.

“Maybe ye’ll do ’t the nicht.”

“Na, there’s nae hurry,” said Sam’l.

“Weel, we’re a’ coontin’ on ’t, Sam’l.”

“Gae ‘wa’ wi’ ye.”

“What for no?”

“Gae ‘wa’ wi’ ye,” said Sam’l again.

“Bell’s gei an’ fond o’ ye, Sam’l.”

“Ay,” said Sam’l.

“But am dootin’ ye’re a fell billy wi’ the lasses.”

“Ay, oh, I d’na kin; moderate, moderate,” said Sam’l, in high delight.

“I saw ye,” said Eppie, speaking with a wire in her mouth, “gaein’ on terr’ble wi’ Mysy Haggart at the pump last Saturday.”

“We was juist amoosin’ oorsel’s,” said Sam’l.

“It’ll be nae amoosement to Mysy,” said Eppie, “gin ye brak her heart.”

“Losh, Eppie,” said Sam’l, “I didna think o’ that.”

“Ye maun kin weel, Sam’l, ’at there’s mony a lass wid jump at ye.”

“Ou, weel,” said Sam’l, implying that a man must take these things as they come.

“For ye’re a dainty chield to look at, Sam’l.”

“Do ye think so, Eppie?  Ay, ay; oh, I d’na kin am onything by the ordinar.”

“Ye mayna be,” said Eppie, “but lasses doesna do to be ower-partikler.”

Sam’l resented this, and prepared to depart again.

“Ye’ll no tell Bell that?” he asked, anxiously.

“Tell her what?”

“Aboot me an’ Mysy.”

“We’ll see hoo ye behave yersel’, Sam’l.”

“No ’at I care, Eppie; ye can tell her gin ye like.  I widna think twice o’ tellin’ her mysel’.”

“The Lord forgie ye for leein’, Sam’l,” said Eppie, as he disappeared down Tammy Tosh’s close.  Here he came upon Henders Webster.

“Ye’re late, Sam’l,” said Henders.

“What for?”

“Ou, I was thinkin’ ye wid be gaen the length o’ T’nowhead the nicht, an’ I saw Sanders Elshioner makkin’ ’s wy there an ’oor syne.”

“Did ye?” cried Sam’l, adding craftily, “but it’s naething to me.”

“Tod, lad,” said Henders, “gin ye dinna buckle to, Sanders’ll be carryin’ her off.”

Sam’l flung back his head and passed on.

“Sam’l!” cried Henders after him.

“Ay,” said Sam’l, wheeling round.

“Gie Bell a kiss frae me.”

The full force of this joke struck neither all at once.  Sam’l began to smile at it as he turned down the school-wynd, and it came upon Henders while he was in his garden feeding his ferret.  Then he slapped his legs gleefully, and explained the conceit to Will’um Byars, who went into the house and thought it over.