Part 6 (1/2)
like my father an' mither!”
He took the seat appointed him.
”Come to the table, Anerew,” said the old woman, ”gien sae be ye can pairt wi' that buik o' yours, an' lat yer sowl gie place to yer boady's richts.--I doobt, sir, gien he wad ait or drink gien I wasna at his elbuck.”
”Doory,” returned her husband, ”ye canna deny I gie ye a bit noo an'
than, specially whan I come upo' onything by ord'nar' tasty!”
”That ye du, Anerew, or I dinna ken what wud come o' my sowl ony mair nor o' your boady! Sae ye see, sir, we're like John Sprat an' his wife:--ye'll ken the bairns' say aboot them?”
”Ay, fine that,” replied Donal. ”Ye couldna weel be better fitt.i.t.”
”G.o.d grant it!” she said. ”But we wad fit better yet gien I had but a wheen mair brains.”
”The Lord kenned what brains ye had whan he broucht ye thegither,” said Donal.
”Ye never uttert a truer word,” replied the cobbler. ”Gien the Lord be content wi' the brains he's gien ye, an' I be content wi' the brains ye gie me, what richt hae ye to be discontent.i.t wi' the brains ye hae, Doory?--answer me that. But I s' come to the table.--Wud ye alloo me to speir efter yer name, sir?”
”My name 's Donal Grant,” replied Donal.
”I thank ye, sir, an' I'll haud it in respec',” returned the cobbler.
”Maister Grant, wull ye ask a blessin'?”
”I wad raither j'in i' your askin',” replied Donal.
The cobbler said a little prayer, and then they began to eat--first of oat-cakes, baked by the old woman, then of loaf-breid, as they called it.
”I'm sorry I hae nae jeally or jam to set afore ye, sir,” said Doory, ”we're but semple fowk, ye see--content to haud oor earthly taibernacles in a haibitable condition till we hae notice to quit.”
”It's a fine thing to ken,” said the cobbler, with a queer look, ”'at whan ye lea' 't, yer hoose fa's doon, an' ye haena to think o' ony damages to pey--forby 'at gien it laist.i.t ony time efter ye was oot o'
't, there micht be a wheen deevils takin' up their abode intil 't.”
”Hoot, Anerew!” interposed his wife, ”there's naething like that i'
scriptur'!”
”Hoot, Doory!” returned Andrew, ”what ken ye aboot what's no i'
scriptur'? Ye ken a heap, I alloo, aboot what's in scriptur', but ye ken little aboot what's no intil 't!”
”Weel, isna 't best to ken what's intil 't?”
”'Ayont a doobt.”
”Weel!” she returned in playful triumph.
Donal saw that he had got hold of a pair of originals: it was a joy to his heart: he was himself an original--one, namely, that lived close to the simplicities of existence!
Andrew Comin, before offering him house-room, would never have asked anyone what he was; but he would have thought it an equal lapse in breeding not to show interest in the history as well as the person of a guest. After a little more talk, so far from commonplace that the common would have found it mirth-provoking, the cobbler said:
”An' what office may ye haud yersel', sir, i' the ministry o' the temple?”