“There’s ne’er a ane kens me as weel, Jen, my woman,” retorted the undaunted Robbie; “if it binna the wife; and the wife’s gift is mair for finding out folk’s faults than their guid qualities; but when I gie ower coming ye’ll find it out; see if ye dinna be gieing weary looks ilka market-day for Robbie Caryl and the cuddie.” “We’ll wait till that time comes, Robbie,” said Mrs Mense; “but, man, hae ye nae mair news than that?” “Hearken till her noo,” said Robbie, reflectively; “hearken till the gate o’ thae women--ne’er a thing but news in the heads o’ them. Jen, I’m awa’--hae ye ony message to your joe? I’m the canniest man gaun--I ne’er was blackfit at a courtin’ yet but it throve; and speaking about marryin’--that’s what ye ca’ _news_, I’m thinking?--the wives in the toun are thrang on the top o’ ane e’en now.” “Wha is’t Robbie?” asked Janet and her aunt together. “Oh, I hae gotten till the right thing noo, have I? It’s ane that’ll ne’er be in this world--it’s the minister.” “The minister!” said Mrs Mense, “and what ill will hae ye at the winsome lad, Robbie Caryl, that ye should say he wad never be married?” “I said nae sic thing; ye tak folk up, neebor, afore they fa’. He may hae half a hunder wives for onything I care, but I’ll just tell him ae guid word o’ counsel--he needna fash his thoom about this ane.” “And wha is she that’s sae grand?” said the old housekeeper, “set her up! does she think the minister’s no guid enough for onybody?” The Reverend Robert was an immense favourite with Mrs Mense. She felt it as an injury to the Church that he should not be able to choose where it pleased him. “I’m no speaking about grandness--she’s nae muckle lady; she’s just the mistress o’ the schule our wee Mary’s at, learning to sew and to behave hersel; but, Mrs Mense, you’re auld--ye dinna mind o’ the fancies o’ young folk. It’s you and me, Jen, that can understand how ane whiles likes ae body better than anither--and ye’ll gie me the message to your joe?” Jen made a furious lunge at the bold Robbie with the poker she had in her hand. Her irons were not heating so well as they should have done. Janet was in a bad humour. “Dear me, Robbie, did ye say it was the schulemistress?” said Mrs Mense with some concern; “nae doubt she’s a great friend o’ our Miss Lillie’s--but the misguided lad! He might have seen how Mr Wright, at Fairholm, made a wreck o’ himsel, wi’ marryin’ Willie Tasker’s daughter; but it’s nae use speaking--for nothing will learn thae young folk.” “Never you heed, gudewife,” said Robbie, “there’s nae ill dune. I’ll wad ye a’ the red fish that comes into the net atween this and Sabbath that she’ll no tak’ him.” “She’ll no tak’ him--the minister?--she’s no blate!” “Whisht, whisht,” said the fisherman, “we needna be misca’ing folk that never did us ony ill. She’s as blate as she has ony occasion to be; but there’s anither lad in the gate, ye ken--that’s it, Jen; ye’ll mind by yoursel.”