“Hoo?”
“There’s was varra little time, Sanders.”
“Half an ‘oor,” said Sanders.
“Was there? Man Sanders, to tell ye the truth, I never thocht o’ ‘t.”
Then the soul of Sanders Elshioner was filled with contempt for Sam’l Dickie.
The scandal blew over. At first it was expected that the minister would interfere to prevent the union, but beyond intimating from the pulpit that the souls of Sabbath-breakers were beyond praying for, and then praying for Sam’l and Sanders at great length, with a word thrown in for Bell, he let things take their course. Some said it was because he was always frightened lest his young men should intermarry with other denominations, but Sanders explained it differently to Sam’l.
“I hav’na a word to say agin’ the minister,” he said; “they’re gran’ prayers; but, Sam’l, he’s a mairit man himsel’.”
“He’s a’ the better for that, Sanders, isna he?”
“Do ye no see,” asked Sanders, compassionately, “‘at he’s trying to mak’ the best o’ ‘t?”
“O Sanders, man!” said Sam’l.
“Cheer up, Sam’l,” said Sanders; “it’ll sune be ower.”
Their having been rival suitors had not interfered with their friendship. On the contrary, while they had hitherto been mere acquaintances, they became inseparables as the wedding-day drew near. It was noticed that they had much to say to each other, and that when they could not get a room to themselves they wandered about together in the churchyard. When Sam’l had anything to tell Bell he sent Sanders to tell it, and Sanders did as he was bid. There was nothing that he would not have done for Sam’l.
The more obliging Sanders was, however, the sadder Sam’l grew. He never laughed now
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