It was Saturday evening--the night in the week when Auld Licht young men fell in love. Sam'l Dickie, wearing a blue glengarry bonnet with a red ball on the top, came to the door of a one-story house in the Tenements, and stood there wriggling, for he was in a suit of tweed for the first time that week, and did not feel at one with them. When his feeling of being a stranger to himself wore off, he looked up and down the road, which straggles between houses and gardens, and then, picking his way over the puddles, crossed to his father's hen-house and sat down on it. He was now on his way to the square. Eppie Fargus was sitting on an adjoining dyke knitting stockings, and Sam'l looked at her for a time. “Is't yersel, Eppie?” he said at last. “It's a' that,” said Eppie. “Hoo's a' wi' ye?” asked Sam'l. “We're juist aff an' on,” replied Eppie, cautiously. There was not much more to say, but as Sam'l sidled off the hen-house, he murmured politely, “Ay, ay.” In another minute he would have been fairly started, but Eppie resumed the conversation. “Sam'l,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye, “ye can tell Lisbeth Fargus I'll likely be drappin' in on her' aboot Mununday or Teisday.” Lisbeth was sister to Eppie, and wife of Tammas McQuhatty, better known as T'nowhead, which was the name of his farm. She was thus Bell's mistress. Sam'l leaned against the hen-house as if all his desire to depart had gone. “Hoo d'ye kin I'll be at the T'nowhead the nicht?” he asked, grinning in anticipation. “Ou, I'se warrant ye'll be after Bell,” said Eppie. “Am no sae sure o' that,” said Sam'l, trying to leer. He was enjoying himself now. “Am no sure o' that,” he repeated, for Eppie seemed lost in stitches. “Sam'l!” “Ay.” “Ye'll be speirin' her sune noo, I dinna doot?” This took Sam'l, who had only been courting Bell for a year or two, a little aback. “Hoo d'ye mean, Eppie?” he asked. “Maybe ye'll do't the nicht.” “Na, there's nae hurry,” said Sam'l. “Weel, we're a' coontin' on't, Sam'l.” “Gae wa wi' ye.” “What for no?” “Gae wa wi' ye,” said Sam'l again, “Bell's gei an' fond o' ye, Sam'l.” “Ay,” said Sam'l. “But am dootin' ye're a fell billy wi' the lasses.” “Ay, oh, I d'na kin, moderate, moderate,” said Sam'l, in high delight. “I saw ye,” said Eppie, speaking with a wire in her mouth, “gae'in on terr'ble wi' Mysy Haggart at the pump last Saturday.” “We was juist amoosin' oorsels,” said Sam'l, “It'll be nae amoosement to Mysy,” said Eppie, “gin ye brak her heart.” “Losh, Eppie,” said Sam'l, “I didna think o' that.” “Ye maun kin weel, Sam'l, 'at there's mony a lass wid jump at ye.” “Ou, weel,” said Sam'l, implying that a man must take these things as they come. “For ye're a dainty chield to look at, Sam'l.” “Do ye think so, Eppie? Ay, ay; oh, I d'na kin am onything by the ordinar.” “Ye mayna be,” said Eppie, “but lasses doesna do to be ower partikler.” Sam'l resented this, and prepared to depart again.