Ralph looked so interested that Saunders quite felt for him.

“And what then?” said he.

“Then,” said Saunders, nodding his head, so that it made the assertion of itself without any connection with his body—­“then, say ye, then is juist whaur the besom comes in”—­he paused a moment in deep thought—­“i’ the sma’ o’ yer back!” he added, in a low and musing tone, as of one who chews the cud of old and pleasant memories.  “An’ ye may thank a kind Providence gin there’s plenty o’ heather on the end o’t.  Keep aye plenty o’ heather on the end o’ the besom,” said Saunders; “a prudent man aye sees to that.  What is’t to buy a new besom or twa frae a tinkler body, whan ye see the auld yin gettin’ bare?  Nocht ava, ye can tak’ the auld yin oot to the stable, or lose it some dark nicht on the moor!  O aye, a prudent man aye sees to his wife’s besom.”  Saunders paused, musing.  “Ye’ll maybe no believe me, but often what mak’s a’ the hale differ atween a freendly turn up wi’ the wife, that kind o’ cheers a man up, an’ what ye micht ca’ an onpleesantness—­ is juist nae mair nor nae less than whether there’s plenty o’ heather on his wife’s besom.”

Saunders had now finished all his buckles to his satisfaction.  He summed up thus the conclusion of his great argument:  “A besom i’ the sma’ o’ yer back is interestin’ an’ enleevinin’, whan it’s new an’ bushy; but it’s the verra mischief an’ a’ whan ye get the bare shank on the back o’ yer heid—­an’ mind ye that.”

“I am very much indebted to you for the advice, Saunders.”

“Aye, sir,” said Saunders, “it’s sound! it’s sound!  I can vouch for that.”

Ralph went towards the door and looked out.  The minister was still walking with his hands behind his back.  He did not in the least hear what Saunders had said.  He turned again to him.  “And what do you want another wife for, then, Saunders?”

“‘Deed, Maister Ralph, to tell ye the Guid’s truth, it’s awfu’ deevin’ [deafening] leevin’ wi’ yin’s mither.  She’s a awfu’ woman to talk, though a rale guid mither to me.  Forbye, she canna tak’ the besom to ye like yer ain wife—­the wife o’ yer bosom, so to speak—­when ye hae been to the Black Bull.  It’s i’ the natur’ o’ things that a man maun gang there by whiles; but on the ither haund it’s richt that he should get a stap ta’en oot o’ his bicker when he comes hame, an’ some way or ither the best o’ mithers haena gotten the richt way o’t like a man’s ain wife.”

“And you think that Meg would do it well?” said Ralph, smiling.

“Aye, sir, she Avad that, though I’m thinkin’ that she wad be kindlier wi’ the besom-shank than Jess; no that I wad for a moment expect that there wad be ony call for siclike,” he said, with a look of apology at Ralph, which was entirely lost on that young man, “but in case, sir—­in case—­”

Ralph looked in bewilderment at Saunders, who was indulging in mystic winks and nods.