As Auld Lichts do not walk abroad on the Sabbath, Sanders would probably not be delayed.  The chances were in his favour.  Had it been any other day in the week Sam’l might have run.  So some of the congregation in the gallery were thinking, when suddenly they saw him bend low and then take to his heels.  He had caught sight of Sanders’s head bobbing over the hedge that separated the road from the common, and feared that Sanders might see him.  The congregation who could crane their necks sufficiently saw a black object, which they guessed to be the carter’s hat, crawling along the hedge-top.  For a moment it was motionless, and then it shot ahead.  The rivals had seen each other.  It was now a hot race.  Sam’l dissembling no longer, clattered up the common, becoming smaller and smaller to the onlookers as he neared the top.  More than one person in the gallery almost rose to their feet in their excitement.  Sam’l had it.  No, Sanders was in front.  Then the two figures disappeared from view.  They seemed to run into each other at the top of the brae, and no one could say who was first.  The congregation looked at one another.  Some of them perspired.  But the minister held on his course.

Sam’l had just been in time to cut Sanders out.  It was the weaver’s saving that Sanders saw this when his rival turned the corner; for Sam’l was sadly blown.  Sanders took in the situation and gave in at once.  The last hundred yards of the distance he covered at his leisure, and when he arrived at his destination he did not go in.  It was a fine afternoon for the time of year, and he went round to have a look at the pig, about which T’nowhead was a little sinfully puffed up.

“Ay,” said Sanders, digging his fingers critically into the grunting animal, “quite so.”

“Grumph,” said the pig, getting reluctantly to his feet.

“Ou, ay, yes,” said Sanders thoughtfully.

Then he sat down on the edge of the sty, and looked long and silently at an empty bucket.  But whether his thoughts were of T’nowhead’s Bell, whom he had lost for ever, or of the food the farmer fed his pig on, is not known.

“Lord preserve ’s! are ye no at the kirk?” cried Bell, nearly dropping the baby as Sam’l broke into the room.

“Bell!” cried Sam’l.

Then T’nowhead’s Bell knew that her hour had come.

“Sam’l,” she faltered.

“Will ye hae ’s, Bell?” demanded Sam’l, glaring at her sheepishly.

“Ay,” answered Bell.

Sam’l fell into a chair.

“Bring ‘s a drink o’ water, Bell,” he said.  But Bell thought the occasion required milk, and there was none in the kitchen.  She went out to the byre, still with the baby in her arms, and saw Sanders Elshioner sitting gloomily on the pigsty.

“Weel, Bell,” said Sanders.

“I thocht ye’d been at the kirk, Sanders,” said Bell.

Then there was a silence between them.

“Has Sam’l speered ye, Bell?” asked Sanders, stolidly.