Arranged marriage -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Love stories; Psychological fiction; Scotland -- Fiction; Women murderers -- Fiction
So resolving, he entered the apartment, and, in all courteous greeting,
saluted both the mother and the daughter. Wolf’s Crag was the court of
the barony, Caleb prime minister at Wolf’s Crag; and it has ever been
remarked that, though the masculine subject who pays the taxes
sometimes growls at the courtiers by whom they are imposed, the said
courtiers continue, nevertheless, welcome to the fair sex, to whom they
furnish the newest small-talk and the earliest fashions. Both the dames
were, therefore, at once about old Caleb’s neck, setting up their
throats together by way of welcome.
“Ay, sirs, Mr. Balderstone, and is this you? A sight of you is gude for
sair een. Sit down—sit down; the gudeman will be blythe to see you—ye
nar saw him sae cadgy in your life; but we are to christen our bit wean
the night, as ye will hae heard, and doubtless ye will stay and see the
ordinance. We hae killed a wether, and ane o’ our lads has been out wi’
his gun at the moss; ye used to like wild-fowl.”
“Na, na, gudewife,” said Caleb; “I just keekit in to wish ye joy, and I
wad be glad to hae spoken wi’ the gudeman, but——” moving, as if to go
away.
“The ne’er a fit ye’s gang,” said the elder dame, laughing and holding
him fast, with a freedom which belonged to their old acquaintance; “wha
kens what ill it may bring to the bairn, if ye owerlook it in that
gate?”
“But I’m in a preceese hurry, gudewife,” said the butler, suffering
himself to be dragged to a seat without much resistance; “and as to
eating,” for he observed the mistress of the dwelling bustling about to
place a trencher for him—“as for eating—lack-a-day, we are just killed
up yonder wi’ eating frae morning to night! It’s shamefu’ epicurism;
but that’s what we hae gotten frae the English pock-puddings.”
“Hout, never mind the English pock-puddings,” said Luckie Lightbody;
“try our puddings, Mr. Balderstone; there is black pudding and
white-hass; try whilk ye like best.”
“Baith gude—baith excellent—canna be better; but the very smell is
eneugh for me that hae dined sae lately (the faithful wretch had fasted
since daybreak). But I wanda affront your housewifeskep, gudewife; and,
with your permission, I’se e’en pit them in my napkin, and eat them to
my supper at e’en, for I am wearied of Mysie’s pastry and nonsense; ye
ken landward dainties aye pleased me best, Marion, and landward lasses
too (looking at the cooper’s wife). Ne’er a bit but she looks far
better than when she married Gilbert, and then she was the bonniest
lass in our parochine and the neist till’t. But gawsie cow, goodly
calf.”
The women smiled at the compliment each to herself, and they smiled
again to each other as Caleb wrapt up the puddings in a towel which he
had brought with him, as a dragoon carries his foraging bag to receive
what my fall in his way.
“And what news at the castle?” quo’ the gudewife.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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