"I'm dootin't; I'm sair dootin't." "It'll be a warnin' to ye, Sam'l, no to be in sic a hurry i' the futur," said Sanders. Sam'l groaned. "Ye'll be gaein up to the manse to arrange wi' the minister the morn's mornin'," continued Sanders in a subdued voice. Sam'l looked wistfully at his friend. "I canna do't, Sanders," he said, "I canna do't." "Ye maun," said Sanders. "It's aisy to speak," retorted Sam'l, bitterly. "We have a' oor troubles, Sam'l," said Sanders, soothingly, "an' every man maun bear his ain burdens. Johnny Davie's wife's dead, an' he's no repinin'." "Ay," said Sam'l, "but a death's no a mairitch. We hae haen deaths in our family too." "It may a' be for the best," added Sanders, "an' there wid be a michty talk i' the hale country-side gin ye didna ging to the minister like a man." "I maun hae langer to think o't," said Sam'l. "Bell's mairitch is the morn," said Sanders, decisively. Sam'l glanced up with a wild look in his eyes. "Sanders," he cried. "Sam'l?" "Ye hae been a guid friend to me, Sanders, in this sair affliction." "Nothing ava," said Sanders; "dount mention'd." "But, Sanders, ye canna deny but what your rinnin oot o' the kirk that awfu' day was at the bottom o'd a'." "It was so," said Sanders, bravely. "An' ye used to be fond o' Bell, Sanders." "I dinna deny't." "Sanders, laddie," said Sam'l, bending forward and speaking in a wheedling voice, "I aye thocht it was you she likeit." "I had some sic idea mysel," said Sanders. "Sanders, I canna think to pairt twa fowk sae weel suited to ane anither as you an' Bell." "Canna ye, Sam'l?" "She wid mak ye a guid wife, Sanders. I hae studied her weel, and she's a thrifty, douce, clever lassie. Sanders, there's no the like o' her. Mony a time, Sanders, I hae said to mysel, There's a lass ony man micht be prood to tak. A'body says the same, Sanders. There's nae risk ava, man: nane to speak o'. Tak her, laddie, tak her, Sanders; it's a grand chance, Sanders. She's yours for the spierin. I'll gie her up, Sanders." "Will ye, though?" said Sanders. "What d'ye think?" asked Sam'l. "If ye wid rayther," said Sanders, politely. "There's my han' on't," said Sam'l. "Bless ye, Sanders; ye've been a true frien' to me." Then they shook hands for the first time in their lives; and soon afterwards Sanders struck up the brae to T'nowhead. Next morning Sanders Elshioner, who had been very busy the night before, put on his Sabbath clothes and strolled up to the manse. "But--but where is Sam'l?" asked the minister; "I must see himself." "It's a new arrangement," said Sanders. "What do you mean, Sanders?" "Bell's to marry me," explained Sanders. "But--but what does Sam'l say?" "He's willin'," said Sanders. "And Bell?" "She's willin', too. She prefers't." "It is unusual," said the minister. "It's a' richt," said Sanders. "Well, you know best," said the minister.