“All right,” and, leaving the steaming herrings on the breakfast-table, I went to the door to see Mrs. Murray. “Good morning, Mrs. Murray. Did you want to see me?” “’Deed, mem, yes, mem,” and the old body in short serge skirt, so full at the waist that her creel of fish literally rested on the pleats, beamed all over inside her nice, clean, white “mutch” cap. “Maybe ye ken, mistress, we have got a new haddie boatie [haddock boat], and we want to have the baptisement whatever.” “Well?” “And maybe, mem, ye would be sae guid as to humble yersel’, mistress, and come down—the laddies want ye to come down and do the baptisement yersel’.” “Me?” “Yes, mem, if we might make sae bold in the asking,” and the old body looked quite shy at having asked, and actually the colour mounted to her weather-worn cheeks. “But what do you want me to do?” I enquired, really interested in what a baptisement could be. “Jist the baptisement, whatever.” “Yes, but how do you do it?” I persisted. “Law, mem, ye jist break the bottlie, whatever.” “Oh; all right, I know all about that, and I’ll do it with the greatest possible pleasure; but which day?” “If ye’ll jist please to name the dee yersel’.” “High tide would be nicest, I think. It would not be so wet and sloppy, would it?” “Weel, weel. I near forgot the laddies want ye to come pertikeler Tuesday at three or Wednesday at four, for the tide be high then; and they’ll bait some hooks, and ye can go out and catch the first haddie yersel’ for luck, mem.” “All right, then, Tuesday, at three.” So on Tuesday we hurried over luncheon and drove in the dogcart to the fishing village of Haddon, for the official ceremony, carefully armed with a bottle of red wine to sprinkle the sides of the boat, and a bottle of whisky for the family to drink the boat’s health; both being suggestions of the dear old fishwife herself—the one for the cold, the other for the boat, as she wisely remarked. All our friends, the minister among them, refused to believe I—a stranger—had actually been asked to perform such a ceremony: the Haddon folk being usually so exclusive. They marry amongst themselves and do everything amongst themselves, no outsider ever being asked to partake in any of their functions. Arrived at the quaint little village, driving with difficulty between the pigs, the babies, and the chickens, we sought the heather-thatched, whitewashed house of the Murrays. “Good dee to ye, mem—good dee to ye au,” and out of the kitchen tumbled the mother, father, sons, and daughters, pigs, chickens, and grandchildren. Carefully carrying a bottle in each arm, I marched to the beach, followed by the Murray family, our numbers being swelled by other villagers at every step.