"Ay, we could sew something on the border instead o' paintin't. The room lookit weel, ye say?" "Yes, but it was economically furnished. There was nae carpet below the wax-cloth; na, there was nane below the bed either." "Was't a grand bed?" "It had a fell lot o' brass aboot it, but there was juist one pair o' blankets. I thocht it was gey shabby, hae'n the ewer a different pattern frae the basin; ay, an' there was juist a poker in the fireplace, there was nae tangs." "Yea, yea; they'll hae but one set o' bedroom fireirons. The tangs'll be in anither room. Tod, that's no sae michty grand for Edinbory. What like was she hersel?" "Ou, very ladylike and saft spoken. She's a canty body an' frank. She wears her hair low on the left side to hod (hide) a scar, an' there's twa warts on her richt hand." "There hadna been a fire i' the parlour?" "No, but it was ready to licht. There was sticks and paper in't. The paper was oot o' a dressmaker's journal." "Ye say so? She'll mak her ain frocks, I sepad." When Hendry entered to take off his collar and coat before sitting down to his evening meal of hot water, porter, and bread mixed in a bowl, Jess sent me off to the attic. As I climbed the stairs I remembered that the minister's wife thought Leeby in need of sharpening. CHAPTER XV HOW GAVIN BIRSE PUT IT TO MAG LOWNIE In a wet day the rain gathered in blobs on the road that passed our garden. Then it crawled into the cart-tracks until the road was streaked with water. Lastly, the water gathered in heavy yellow pools. If the on-ding still continued, clods of earth toppled from the garden dyke into the ditch. On such a day, when even the dulseman had gone into shelter, and the women scudded by with their wrappers over their heads, came Gavin Birse to our door. Gavin, who was the Glen Quharity post, was still young, but had never been quite the same man since some amateurs in the glen ironed his back for rheumatism. I thought he had called to have a crack with me. He sent his compliments up to the attic, however, by Leeby, and would I come and be a witness? Gavin came up and explained. He had taken off his scarf and thrust it into his pocket, lest the rain should take the colour out of it. His boots cheeped, and his shoulders had risen to his ears. He stood steaming before my fire. "If it's no' ower muckle to ask ye," he said, "I would like ye for a witness." "A witness? But for what do you need a witness, Gavin?" "I want ye," he said, "to come wi' me to Mag's, and be a witness." Gavin and Mag Birse had been engaged for a year or more. Mag was the daughter of Janet Ogilvy, who was best remembered as the body that took the hill (that is, wandered about it) for twelve hours on the day Mr. Dishart, the Auld Licht minister, accepted a call to another church. "You don't mean to tell me, Gavin," I asked, "that your marriage is to take place to-day?" By the twist of his mouth I saw that he was only deferring a smile.