"Rachel had ay a gude roose of hersel'," said Becky Glibbans, as Miss Isabella concluded. In the same moment, Mr. Snodgrass took his leave, saying to Mr. Micklewham, that he had something particular to mention to him. "What can it be about?" inquired Mrs. Glibbans at Mr. Craig, as soon as the helper and schoolmaster had left the room: "Do you think it can be concerning the Doctor's resignation of the parish in his favour?" "I'm sure," interposed Mrs. Craig, before her husband could reply, "it winna be wi' my gudewill that he shall come in upon us--a pridefu' wight, whose saft words, and a' his politeness, are but lip-deep; na, na, Mrs. Glibbans, we maun hae another on the leet forbye him." "And wha would ye put on the leet noo, Mrs. Craig, you that's sic a judge?" said Mrs. Glibbans, with the most ineffable consequentiality. "I'll be for young Mr. Dirlton, who is baith a sappy preacher of the word, and a substantial hand at every kind of civility." "Young Dirlton!--young Deevilton!" cried the orthodox Deborah of Irvine; "a fallow that knows no more of a gospel dispensation than I do of the Arian heresy, which I hold in utter abomination. No, Mrs. Craig, you have a godly man for your husband--a sound and true follower; tread ye in his footsteps, and no try to set up yoursel' on points of doctrine. But it's time, Miss Mally, that we were taking the road; Becky and Miss Isabella, make yourselves ready. Noo, Mrs. Craig, ye'll no be a stranger; you see I have no been lang of coming to give you my countenance; but, my leddy, ca' canny, it's no easy to carry a fu' cup; ye hae gotten a great gift in your gudeman. Mr. Craig, I wish you a good-night; I would fain have stopped for your evening exercise, but Miss Mally was beginning, I saw, to weary--so good-night; and, Mrs. Craig, ye'll take tent of what I have said--it's for your gude." So exeunt Mrs. Glibbans, Miss Mally, and the two young ladies. "Her bark's waur than her bite," said Mrs. Craig, as she returned to her husband, who felt already some of the ourie symptoms of a henpecked destiny. CHAPTER IX--THE MARRIAGE Mr. Snodgrass was obliged to walk into Irvine one evening, to get rid of a raging tooth, which had tormented him for more than a week. The operation was so delicately and cleverly performed by the surgeon to whom he applied--one of those young medical gentlemen, who, after having been educated for the army or navy, are obliged, in this weak piping time of peace, to glean what practice they can amid their native shades--that the amiable divine found himself in a condition to call on Miss Isabella Tod. During this visit, Saunders Dickie, the postman, brought a London letter to the door, for Miss Isabella; and Mr. Snodgrass having desired the servant to inquire if there were any for him, had the good fortune to get the following from Mr. Andrew Pringle:-- LETTER XXIX _Andrew Pringle Esq._, _to the Rev. Mr. Charles Snodgrass_