angrily. "If the lassie's in grief, whilk she has but little reason to
be, she has them aboot her here wha hae a deeper interest in her than ye
can hae, and a hantle better richt to be her comforters."
"Sma' comfort she's like to get amang ye, be ye what ye like to her,"
replied the stranger, doughtily; "and, if it's onything I can richt her
in, tak my word for't, honest man, I'll do it with but small regard to
your displeasure."
"My troth, ye're no blate, sirrah, to tell me sae--her ain faither,"
said Clayslaps, reddening with anger; "but I advise ye, freend, neither
to mak nor meddle wi' oor affairs, else ye may repent it. That lassie,
sir, is my dochter; and there's her mother, and there's her uncle, and
there's her husband to be; sae ye may see hoo very little your
interference is needed here."
"Weel, weel," replied the stranger, now retiring to his seat, "if
there's only fair play going, I'm content; but I like to see that
everywhere and on all occasions."
"So, Clayslaps," said the curate, here interfering, "is't to be a match
after a'--is't?"
"Indeed is't, curate," replied the former. "Meenie's come roun at last,
and is convinced her parents wadna advise her against her interest. Sae
we have just come here this nicht for the express purpose o' gettin a
cast o' your office; and I consider it the luckiest thing in the world
that we hae foregathered wi' ye sae cannily, curate."
"Indeed, ay, curate," here chimed in Meenie's mother with that ready
volubility and a little of the incoherence of her particular class and
character, "we're just gaun to close the business at ance, and be dune
wi't. I'm sure, muckle trouble and thocht it has cost us, curate. Ye ken
Davy o'Partick, that was rinnin after Meenie, and wha the fulish,
thochtless thing had sic a wark wi', hasna a plack in his purse--neither
maut nor meal, neither hoose nor ha'; and were we gaun to throw awa oor
lassie, wi' fifty merks o' tocher in her pouch, forbye what she may get
whan the guidman and me's raked i' the mools, on a landless, penniless
chiel like that? Na, my certy--we kent better than that, curate; and
we're just gaun to gie her to the young laird o' Goupinsfou there, wha
can lay down plack for plack wi' her, and has a bien house to tak her
to, forbye."
"But," here interrupted the curate, at the same time looking towards
Meenie, "are ye quite sure, Mrs Ritchie, that ye hae brocht your dochter
to see this matter in the same prudent licht that ye do? I maun say, I
doot it. And besides, guidwife, what's a' the hurry in marryin the
lassie--she's but young yet."
"That's a faut that's aye mendin, curate," replied Meenie's mother; "and
we think the suner she's oot o' harm's way the better. He's but a
reckless chiel that Davy, and there's nae sayin what he micht do. Maybe
rin awa wi' her afore mornin; for he has heard an inklin o' oor
intentions. Sae we just cam slippin awa in the dark, to get the business
settled withoot his kennin."
During all this time, poor Meenie Ritchie sat the picture of misery and
suffering. She had never, since she entered, once raised her head, but
continued wrapped up in the silent wretchedness of despair; painfully
and forcibly showing how little she partook in the anxiety of her
parents to accomplish the impending union. Meenie was evidently, in
short, a victim to parental authority; and this all present felt and
saw, and none with more compassion than the worthy curate who was to be
the unwilling instrument of her doom.
"To be plain wi' ye, guidwife," said the kindhearted churchman, when the
former had gone through her somewhat unconnected, but sufficiently
intelligible, story, "and you, Clayslaps, and the rest o' ye that's
concerned in this business, I dinna like it, and I will not marry these
persons but with the full and free consent of both."
"But ye may not refuse, curate," said Meenie's father, somewhat testily.
"She has consented already, and will consent again."
"In that case, certainly, I may not refuse," said the curate, going up
to the afflicted girl, and taking her kindly by the hand. "Meenie, my
dear," he now said, addressing her, "are ye here for the purpose o'
being united to Goupinsfou, o' yer ain free will and accord?"
The poor girl made no reply.
The curate repeated his question, when her father sternly called on her
to answer. Thus urged, she uttered a scarcely audible affirmative.
"Then, since it is so, Meenie," said the curate, dropping her hand, "I
may not decline to effect the union. Do you desire, Clayslaps, that the
ceremony should be immediately performed?"
"As sune's ye like, curate," replied the latter.
"And the suner the better," added Meenie's mother.
"Our worthy landlord here, then," said the curate, "will prepare an
apartment for us, and we will retire thither and unite this young
couple. In the meantime, freends," he added, addressing the schoolmaster
and he of the darned hose, "we had better settle oor lawin."
The schoolmaster instantly drew from his pocket his share of the
reckoning, while the stranger pulled out the foot of an old stocking,
which had been ingeniously converted into a purse, and was about
undoing the bit of twine with which it was secured, when the curate
placed his hand on his arm, to arrest his proceedings, saying--
"The ne'er a bodle, freend, ye'll pay. This'll be the schule-maister's
and mine."
"The ne'er o' that it'll be, curate," replied the schoolmaster. "Every
ane for himsel. Plack aboot's fair play. Let every herrin hing by its
ain head. The deil a bodle I'll pay for onybody."
"Then I will," said the curate. "I'll pay for this honest man here; for
it may be he canna sae weel spare't." And he laid down his own and the
stranger's share of the reckoning.
"Many thanks to ye, curate," said the latter; "but there's no occasion
for this kindness. I have, indeed, but little to spare; but that gives
me no claim whatever on your generosity."
"Say nae mair aboot it, freend," replied the curate--"say nae mair aboot
it, man. Ye'll maybe pay for me in a strait, some ither time. It's but a
trifle, at ony rate--no worth speakin aboot; sae ye'll obleege me by
giein me my ain way."
"Well, well, since you insist on it," said the stranger, again tying up
the stocking-foot, "I winna press the matter. Many thanks to ye."
The important affair of the reckoning settled, a general movement was
made amongst the party to adjourn to the apartment which had been
prepared for the celebration of the marriage ceremony. Taking advantage
of the momentary confusion created by this circumstance, the curate's
new friend touched him on the elbow, led him aside, and whispered into
his ear, "Delay the ceremony as long as you can. The poor girl, you see,
is about to be sacrificed. Perhaps I can prevent it."
The curate nodded assent, although it was but the result of an impulse
of his kind nature; for he could not conceive how any one--particularly
such a very humble personage as he who had spoken to him--should have
the power to stay an event of the kind, and under the circumstances of
that which was about to take place. Still, as the request was in
accordance with his own feelings, and as he did not know what this very
odd person might have it in his power to do in the matter, he resolved
to do what he could to comply with it. Having made the communication to
the curate just recorded, the stranger suddenly and hurriedly left the
apartment. Whither, and the purpose for which he went, we shall
ascertain by following him.
On leaving the house, he hastened down to the river side, and having
called the ferryman out of his temporary habitation, a little hut
erected on the bank, "Friend," he said, "do you know Davy Linn
o'Partick?"
"Brawly that," replied the ferryman. "No a better or decenter chiel in
the country side than Davy. A warmhearted, honest fellow!"
"Glad to hear it," said the inquirer. "Well, then, since that is the
case, you will have no objection to do him a service, I daresay?"
"It would be ill my part, if I had," replied the man; "for he has done
me twa or three services that I wadna willingly forget."
"Then across the water with you, and up to Partick as fast as if the old
one were after you, and tell Davy to come here directly--to come along
with you--if he would not lose Meenie Ritchie for ever."
"Feth, that'll mak him rin, if onything will," said the man, who knew of
Davy's attachment to Meenie.
"And stay, sir," continued the stranger, without noticing the
interruption; "take this"--producing a small gold ring--"and go, at the
same time, to the bishop's castle, up the way, there, on the Kelvin, and
request some one of the domestics to put it into the hands of Sir John
Elphingstone, who is residing there just now with the bishop. He will
instantly come out to you; and, when he does, tell him that the person
who sent it desires to see him here immediately, and requests that he
may come along with you. And now, my friend," he continued, "that you
may do all these errands with the greater good-will and despatch, here's
a gold Jacobus for thee."
The man took the coin, though not without a look of surprise at the
donor, whom he evidently thought a most unlikely person to deal in gold
rings and Jacobuses. He, however, made no remark, but prepared to
execute the mission with which he had been intrusted; and was just about
to push off his boat, when his employer called out to him--
"I forgot to say, friend, that when you have brought over your
passengers, you will desire them to wait in your hut here until you have
acquainted me with their arrival. You will find me in Scouler's
hostelry."
With this order the boatman promised compliance, and pushed off; when
his employer returned to the inn, and, planting himself before the
kitchen fire, anxiously awaited the return of his messenger.
The curate, in the meantime, was faithfully performing his part, in
promoting delay, by the aid of story and anecdote, although he felt as
if it were a hopeless case. While thus employed, the landlady, a lively,
active, bustling body, happening to come into the room, he suddenly
stopped in the middle of a story, and exclaimed, laughingly, "Mrs
Scouler, hae ye been makin ony brandy parritch lately?"
"Tuts, Mr Gibson, will I never hear the end o' that?" replied the
hostess of the Grilse and Gridiron, good-naturedly, and hurrying out of
the apartment, to escape the further banter of the facetious churchman.
"What aboot the brandy parritch, curate?" exclaimed the guidwife of
Clayslaps, on the hostess leaving the room.
I'll tell you that (replied the curate). Ae morning, pretty early, last
summer, there cam a serving man, mounted on horseback, to oor freend
Ringan Scouler's door here, and said he belonged to Lord Minto; and that
he had been sent forward by his master, who was on the road comin frae
Arran through to Edinburgh; to order some breakfast to be prepared for
him. But what, think ye, was the breakfast ordered for his lordship?
Why, it was parritch--plain, simple parritch; for it seems he prefers it
to a' ither kind of food for his morning meal. Weel, however much
astonished Mrs Scouler was at this order, she readily undertook to
prepare the dish desired, and the man departed. But he had no sooner
gone, than it occurred to her, that parritch for a lord ought to be made
somewhat differently from those intended for a plebeian stomach. But
wherein was this difference to consist? There was no choice of
materials, no variety of ingredients, no process of manufacture, but
one, that she had ever seen or heard tell of. At length, after racking
her brain for some time, to see if she could not strike out something
new on the subject, it occurred to her that, if she would substitute
brandy for water, the desired object would be accomplished, and a lordly
dish produced. Acting on this bright idea, the guidwife immediately
emptied a bottle of brandy into the parritch-pot, and proceeded with the
remainder of the process in the usual way. By the time his lordship came
up, the parritch was ready, and a dish of them placed before him. Little
suspecting--although he thocht they looked a wee thing darker than they
should do--that there was anything wrong, his lordship took a thumpin
spoonfu to begin wi'; but he no sooner fan' the extraordinary taste they
had, than he jumped from his seat, threw doon the spune, and sputtered
the contents o' his mooth a' owre the table, thinkin he was poisoned.
He then ran to the door, and called oot violently for oor guid hostess
here. In great alarm she ran hastily up the stair, and inquired what was
the matter.
"The matter, woman!" exclaimed his lordship, in a towering passion.
"What's this you hae gien me?" pointing to the parritch; "what infernal
stuff is that?"
Mrs Scouler, surprised at his lordship's want of discernment, explained
to him what she had dune; when he burst out a-laughing, told her that
the taste of a peer and a ploughman were precisely the same, and
requested her to make him just such a mess as she made for her ain
family. This was accordingly dune; whan his lordship, payin sax prices
for his hamely breakfast, set off in great good humour, telling Mrs
Scouler, however, at parting, never to put brandy in his parritch again.
The curate, having concluded his episodical anecdote, proceeded with the
story which he had interrupted to relate it; but was beginning to be
secretly uneasy at the long delay which was taking place in the
operations of his friend of the darned stockings. From this feeling,
however, he was in some measure relieved by the latter's sending for
him, after a short while, and begging of him to gain but other fifteen
minutes, if he could, when he pledged himself that such an event would
occur as would, in all probability, save Meenie Ritchie from the fate
that threatened her.
"But what is the event ye allude to, freend, and what is't ye propose to
do in this matter that'll produce the effect ye speak o'?" said the
curate, looking doubtingly at his new acquaintance.
"Patience a little, my good sir," replied the latter, smiling, "and ye
shall know all. In the meantime, trust to my good faith, and you will
find that I can do more, perhaps, than my appearance would promise.
"Be it even so, then," said the curate; "but observe I cannot possibly
put the ceremony off beyond the time you have mentioned; for a' but the
puir lassie hersel are gettin restlessly impatient."
The curate now returned to his party, and again had recourse to his
store of anecdote, which was an inexhaustible one, to protract the
performance of the ceremony. In the meantime, the boatman, faithful to
his trust, was diligently executing the missions confided to him. On
entering the house of Davy Linn's father, he found Davy sitting
disconsolately by the fire, his head resting on his hand, and his eyes
fixed, in thoughtful gaze, on the burning embers. He was thinking of
Meenie Ritchie--there could be no doubt of that; for poor Davy thought
of little else. Formerly, these thoughts had been pleasant to Davy; but
at this moment they were sad and heart-withering; for he had heard some
rumours of her parents intending to marry her to another; and he now,
therefore, considered her as for ever lost to him.
"What the mischief, Davy, man, are ye sittin gloomin and glunchin at
there?" said the ferryman, whose name was Archy Dawson, slapping the
person he addressed on the shoulder--"up, man, up!--I hae guid news for
you--at least what I think's likely to turn oot sae."
Davy, who had hitherto been so engrossed by his own gloomy reflections,
as either not to have heard or not heeded the entrance of Archy Dawson,
now rose from his seat, and, confronting the former, asked, with a faint
smile, what the news was.
"Is there naebody in the hoose but yersel, Davy?" inquired Archy,
looking cautiously round the apartment.
"Nane at this moment," replied Davy; "but there'll be some of them here
belyve, I daursay."
"Weel, before they come, Davy, I'll tell you what's brocht me here the
nicht." And Archy proceeded to relate the particulars of his mission.
Davy made no reply for some time; but the clenching of his teeth showed
that some fierce spirit had been roused within him by the intelligence.
At length he said--"Ay, I see how it is; they have stolen a march on me.
Oh, if I had known this but an hour since, they should have had more
guests at the wedding than they counted on, although some of them might
not have been very welcome."
"Maybe, maybe, Davy," said Archy; "but it's likely no owre late yet; sae
come awa as fast's ye can, man, and let's see what this business'll turn
oot to, and I'll tell ye the rest o' my story as we gang alang."
Davy, although without knowing distinctly why or wherefore now left the
house with his friend Archy, when the latter, as promised, acquainted
him with the other mission he had to execute--namely, the delivering the
ring to Sir John Elphingstone, at the bishop's castle, whither Davy
subsequently accompanied him.
On arriving at the lordly mansion of the prelate, Archy inquired of a
servant if Sir John was there, and was told that he was.
"Then," said he, "be sae guid, freend, as tak up this bit trantalum o' a
thing till him, and I'll wait whar I am till I hear frae him."
In a few minutes after Sir John appeared, and, accosting Archy, said,
"Well, my friend, what commands have you brought along with this?"
producing the ring.
"The person that gied me that, sir," said Archy, "desired me to tell you
to come along wi' me."
"And, pray, where are you from, friend?"
"Ou, no far awa, sir," said Archy; "just frae Govan, owre the way
there."
"Very well, I'll accompany you. But who's this you have with you?"
inquired the knight, looking at Davy Linn, who stood close by.
"That lad's name, sir," said Archy, "is Davy Linn; he belangs to
Partick, up there, sir. He's a fine lad, Davy--a fine, decent, canny
lad, sir."
"I have no reason to doubt it," replied Sir John; "but what does he here
with you?"
"Dear me, sir," said Archy--"he was sent for, too, by the same chield
that sent you the ring. I was desired to bring ye baith."
"Oh, indeed," replied Sir John--"that's enough; let us proceed, then."
And the three immediately set off for Govan. On their arrival on the
opposite bank of the river, Archy, leaving them there, hastened up to
Ringan Scouler's, and intimated to his employer that he had executed his
mission, and that the persons he had sent for waited him in his hut. On
receiving this information, the former hastened down to the ferry
station; and, after a brief interview and hasty explanation with Sir
John and Davy, of which we leave the sequel to show the import, returned
with equal haste to the hostelry, and now pushed boldly into the
apartment occupied by the marriage party. The time stipulated with the
curate had expired; and the latter, finding he could no longer delay the
discharge of the duty he was called upon to perform, had already
commenced the service.
"Friend," said the intruder, with a degree of boldness and familiarity
in his manner which he had not before assumed, and at the same time
laying his hand on the arm of the curate, to arrest his attention,
"pray, stop a moment, if you please, till I speak a word with the
bride's father." Saying this, and now turning round to the person to
whom he alluded, "May I ask, Clayslaps," he said, "if your objection to
your daughter's having the man of her choice is his want of fortune?"
Clayslaps looked for a moment at the querist with an expression of
extreme surprise, but at length said--
"I dinna see what richt, freend, ye hae to put such questions;
nevertheless, I will answer't. It is; and a guid and sufficient ane
it'll be allooed, I think."
"Is it your only one? Have you no other fault to lay to the young man's
charge?"
"I hae nae faut to charge him wi'," replied Clayslaps, crustily and
reluctantly. "The lad, for ought I ken to the contrary, is weel aneugh
in ither respects. But he's nae match for my dochter."
"Your wife has said," continued the querist, "that your daughter's
portion is fifty merks, which is to be met by a similar sum on the part
of the young man whom you intend for her husband. Now, friend, if Davy
could produce two merks for her one--that is, a hundred to her
fifty--what would you say to having him still for a son-in-law?"
"Why," said the bride's father, "that wad certainly hae altered the case
at ae time; but it's owre late noo."
"Not a bit--not a bit," replied the propounder of the question--"better
late than never."
"But young Goupinsfou has lands as weel as siller," rejoined Clayslaps.
"True, I believe," said the other speaker; "but suppose Davy could
produce you evidence of his being a laird, too--say--let me see"--and he
paused a moment--"say he could show you that he was laird of a hundred
acres of the best land within half-a-dozen miles of Partick, what would
you say then, guidman, to having Davy for your daughter's husband?"
"What's the use o' talking this nonsense?" said the Laird of Clayslaps,
impatiently; "everybody kens that Davy Linn's baith landless and
penniless, and likely aye to be. Sae, freend, hae the guidness to
retire--for your company's no wanted here--and let the ceremony
proceed."
"Not so fast, laird, if you please," returned the person addressed; and
then, turning to the bride's mother, "What would you say, guidwife, to
Davy for a son-in-law, if he had all the property I have mentioned?"
"Ou, indeed, man, it wad surely hae altered the case athegither--there's
nae doot o' that. I wad hae had nae objection till him, had that been
the case--neither wad her faither, I am sure. But, as the guidman has
said, what's the use o' speaking o' thae things, now, at ony rate? Davy
has naething, and Goupinsfou has plenty, and that maks a' the
differ--but, my faith, an unco differ it is."
"No doubt; but, if we remove this differ, guidwife," rejoined the
stranger, "perhaps we may yet prevent two fond hearts being separated;
and, to end this matter at once," continued the speaker, but now in a
serious tone, "_I_ will pay down a hundred merks on Davy Linn's account,
as a free gift to him, on the day after he has become the husband of
your daughter, and _I_ will put him in possession, as a free gift also,
of a hundred acres of the best land within six miles of Partick, on the
same day, and on the same conditions."
"_Ye'll_ pay doon a hunner merks to Davy Linn, and _ye'll_ gie him a
hunner acres o' land!" exclaimed Clayslaps, in the utmost amazement, and
looking at the threadbare coat, clouted shoes, and darned hose of the
man of promises, with the most profound contempt and incredulity. "And
whar the deil are _ye_ to get them?"
"Never ye fear that, freend," replied the latter, laughing; "I'll find
them, I warrant you."
"Let's see the siller," said Clayslaps, triumphantly.
"Why, you certainly have me there, Clayslaps. I have not the money on
me, indeed; but I will find you instant security for it, and for the
entire fulfilment of my promises. Landlord," continued the speaker, and
now turning to Ringan, who was one of his astonished auditors, "please
to say to Sir John Elphingstone, whom I presume you know is to be found
in the next room, that it will be obliging if he will step this way a
moment."
We will not stop to describe the amazement that was felt by all, and
expressed on every countenance in the apartment, on the delivery of this
extraordinary message. Sir John Elphingstone was well known to every one
there as a gentleman of large possessions and highly honourable
character; and how he came to be at the call of such a person as he who
had sent for him, or how he came to be in the house at all at such a
time, was matter of inexpressible surprise to every one present. The
whole affair, in short, was one of impenetrable mystery and perplexity
to all, including the worthy curate. We will not, however, wait to
describe the feelings of the party on this occasion, but go straight on
with our story. Neither will we do so, in any case--thinking it much
better to leave such matters wholly to the reader's own imagination.