_Ang._ Meg, my weel lo’ed Meg, my wee wifie that is to be, tell me what’s wrang wi’ ’ee? _Mag._ Oh, mither, it’s him; the noble gentleman I plighted my troth to three weary months agone! The gallant Englishman who gave Angus twa golden pound to give me up! _Ang._ It’s the coward Sassenach who well nigh broke our Meg’s heart! _Mrs. Mac._ My lass, my lass, dinna greet, maybe he’ll marry ye yet. _Ch._ (_desperately_). Here’s another! Does anybody else want to marry me? Don’t be shy. You, ma’am (_to MRS. MAC._) _you’re_ a fine woman--perhaps _you_ would like to try your luck? _Mag._ Ah, sir! I dinna ken your name, but your bonnie face has lived in my twa een, sleeping and waking, three weary, weary months! Oh, sir, ye should na’ ha’ deceived a trusting, simple Lowland lassie. ’Twas na’ weel done--’twas na’ weel done! (_Weeping on his shoulder; he puts his arm round her waist._) _Ch._ (_softening_). My good girl, what do you wish me to do? I remember you now perfectly. I _did_ admire you very much--in fact, I do still; you’re a very charming girl. Let us talk this over, calmly and quietly. (_MAG. moves away._) No, you needn’t go; you can stop there if you like. There, there, my dear! don’t fret. (_Aside._) She _is_ a very charming girl. I almost wish I--I really begin to think I--no, no! damn it, Cheviot! not to-day. _Mag._ Oh! mither, he told me he loved me! _Ch._ So I did. The fact is, when I fell in love with you--don’t go my pretty bird--I quite forgot that I was engaged. There, there! I thought at the time that you were the tree upon which the fruit of my heart was growing; but I was mistaken. Don’t go; you needn’t go on that account. It was another tree-- _Mag._ Oh, mither, it was anither tree! (_Weeping on CHEVIOT’S shoulder._) _Mrs. Mac._ Angus, it was anither tree! (_Weeping on ANGUS’S shoulder._) _Ang._ Dinna, mither, dinna; I canna bear it! (_Weeps._) _Ch._ Yes, it was another tree--you can remain there for the present--in point of fact, it was growing on both trees. I don’t know how it is, but it seems to grow on a great many trees--a perfect orchard--and you are one of them, my dear. Come, come, don’t fret, you are one of them! _Enter MINNIE and SYMPERSON._ _Min._ Cheviot! _Sym._ What is all this? _Ch._ (_rapidly referring to piece of paper given to him by Mrs. Macfarlane, as if going over a washerwoman’s bill._) “Twenty-four pairs socks, two shirts, thirty-seven collars, one sheet, forty-four nightshirts, twenty-two flannel waistcoats, one white tie.” Ridiculous--quite ridiculous--I won’t pay it. _Min._ Cheviot, who is this person who was found hanging on your neck? Say she is somebody--for instance, your sister or your aunt. Oh, Cheviot, say she is your aunt, I implore you! (_The three cottagers curtsy and bow to MINNIE._) _Sym._ Cheviot, say she is your aunt, I command you.