‘Na, gudeman, an that’s to be a come-to-pass--let nobody talk o’ miracles to me. For although it’s a thing just to the nines o’ my wishes, I hae ay jealoused that Betty Bodle would na tak him, for she’s o’ a rampant nature, and he’s a sober weel-disposed lad. My word, Watty, t’ou has thy ain luck--first thy grandfather’s property o’ the Plealands, and syne’--She was going to add, ‘sic a bonny braw-tochered lass as Betty Bodle’--but her observation struck jarringly on the most discordant string in her husband’s bosom, and he interrupted her sharply, saying,-- ‘Every thing that’s ordained will come to pass; and a’ that I hae for the present to observe to you, Girzy, is, to tak tent that the lad gangs over wiselike, at the gloaming, to Kilmarkeckle, in order to see Miss Betty anent the wedding.’ ‘I’m sure,’ retorted the Leddy, ‘I hae no need to green for weddings in my family, for, instead o’ any pleasance to me, the deil-be-licket’s my part and portion o’ the pastime but girns and gowls. Gudeman, ye should learn to keep your temper, and be of a composed spirit, and talk wi’ me in a sedate manner, when our bairns are changing their life. Watty, my lad, mind what your mother says--“Marriage is a creel, where ye maun catch,” as the auld byword runs, “an adder or an eel.” But, as I was rehearsing, I could na hae thought that Betty Bodle would hae fa’en just at ance into your grip; for I had a notion that she was oure souple in the tail to be easily catched. But it’s the Lord’s will, Watty; and I hope ye’ll enjoy a’ manner o’ happiness wi’ her, and be a comfort to ane anither, like your father and me,--bringing up your bairns in the fear o’ God, as we hae done you, setting them, in your walk and conversation, a pattern of sobriety and honesty, till they come to years of discretion, when, if it’s ordained for them, nae doubt they’ll look, as ye hae done, for a settlement in the world, and ye maun part wi’ them, as we are obligated, by course of nature, to part with you.’ At the conclusion of which pathetic address, the old lady lifted her apron to wipe the gathered drops from her eyes, when Watty exclaimed,-- ‘Eh! mother, ane o’ the hen’s feathers is playing at whirley wi’ the breath o’ your nostril!’ Thus ended the annunciation of the conjugal felicity of which Grippy was the architect.