“Miss Spreull.” he says, “ since the moment o’ partin’ has
come, I find it harder to face than I expected.”
“Wheesht, wheesht,” I interrupted, “ ye ’re only six months ahin, and ye can gie m’t again.”
“O, it’s no’ that,” says he, as if that wis naething; “ it’s no’ that. It’s the thocht o’ you bein’ left all by yourself without a protecting hand. I didn’t mean to declare my sentiments until I wis placed ”—sune enough, thinks I; has the man been listening at the door ?—“ and till I had a comfortable manse to offer you as a home. I need not say what a help ye would be to me in my ministerial work.”
“In truth ye needna,” says I. But I could stand it nae langer. The man had still twa years to serve i’ the Divinity Hall, and maybe hauf-a-dizzen mair or ever he wan near a kirk. What could he want hut his meat, and maybe claes, a’ that time for naething; and wha wud say he did wrang if he picked the bonniest young thing wi’ siller he could get to fill the place in the manse he noo offered, but never ettled for me ? I wis ower auld no’ to ken the wyes o’ men, so I started to my feet, and I says—
“ Noo, Maister Pringle, dinna talk ony mair nonsense; it’s but a trifling obligation ye are under to me, only I dinna wish to mak’ it ony bigger. Ye need hae nae fear for me, for I can tak’ braw an’ guid care o’ mysel’; and since ye have got warm’t wi’ the dram, just step awa’ west like a man, and I ’ll send the lassie doon and tell the carrier to come for yer kist.”
Noo, I never cared for love- stories mysel’, and ye’ll maybe think this is gey an’ ootspoken o’ me; but the incident may serve as a warnin’. Hooever, I wadna hae breathed the thing ava had it no’ been brocht to my mind by what I saw the ither day. I wis gaun doon Renfield Street wi’ Maister Fleming, when I saw twa gey riff-raff looking beings wi’ some papers
