"Would he like to come up, think you?"

"Don't ask the man twice if you want him to say no," said Nancy.

Blushing and stammering, and trying to straighten his black curls, Pete came at Nancy's call.

Kate had few qualms. The wound she had received from Philip had left her conscienceless towards Pete. Yet she turned her head a little sideways as she welcomed him.

"Are you better, then, Kirry?" said Pete timidly.

"I'm nearly as well as ever," she answered.

"You are, though?" said Pete. "Then you'll be down soon, it's like, eh?"

"I hope so, Pete--quite soon."

"And fit for anything, now--yes?"

"Oh, yes, fit for anything."

Pete laughed from his heart like a boy. "I'll take a slieu round to Ballure and tell Philip immadiently."

"Philip?" said Kate, with a look of inquiry.

"He was saying this morning you wouldn't be equal to it, Kirry."

"Equal to what, Pete?"

"Getting--going--having--that's to say--well, you know, putting a sight on the parson himself one of these days, that's the fact." And, to cover his confusion, Pete laughed till the scraas of the roof began to snip.

There was a moment's pause, and then Kate said, with a cough and a stammer and her head aside, "Is that so _very_ tiring, Pete?"

Pete leapt from his chair and laughed again like a man demented. "D'ye say so, Kitty? The word then, darling--the word in my ear--as soft as soft----"

He was leaning over the bed, but Kate drew away from him, and Nancy pulled him back, saying, "Get off with you, you goosey gander! What for should you bother a poor girl to know if sugar's sweet, and if she's willing to change a sweetheart for a husband?"

It was done. One act--nay, half an act; a word--nay, no word at all, but only silence. The daring venture was afoot.

Grannie came up with Kate's dinner that day, kissed her on both cheeks, felt them hot, wagged her head wisely, and whispered, "I know--you needn't tell _me!_"

XIV.

The last hymn was sung, Caesar came home from chapel, changed back from his best to his work-day clothes, and then there was talking and laughing in the kitchen amid the jingling of plates and the vigorous rattling of knives and forks.

"Phil must be my best man," said Pete. "He'll be back to Douglas now, but I'll get you to write me a line, Caesar, and ask him."

"Do you hold with long engagements, Pete?" said Grannie.

"A week," said Pete, with the air of a judge; "not much less anyway--not of a rule, you know."

"You goose," cried Nancy, "it must be three Sundays for the banns."

"Then John the Clerk shall get them going this evening," said Pete.

"Nancy had the pull of me there, Grannie. Not being in the habit of getting married, I clane forgot about the banns."

John the Clerk came in the afternoon, and there was some l.u.s.ty disputation.

"We must have bridesmaids and wedding-cakes, Pete--it's only proper,"

said Nancy.

"Aw, yes, and tobacco and rum, and everything respectable," said Pete.

"And the parson--mind it's the parson now," said Grannie; "none of their nasty high-bailiffs. I don't know in the world how a dacent woman can rest in her bed----"

"Aw, the parson, of coorse--and the parson's wife, maybe," said Pete.

"I think I can manage it for you for to-morrow fortnight," said John the Clerk impressively, and there was some clapping of hands, quickly suppressed by Caesar, with mutterings of--

"Popery! clane Popery, sir! Can't a person commit matrimony without a parson bothering a man?"

Then Caesar squared his elbows across the table and wrote the letter to Philip. Pete never stood sponsor for anything so pious.

"Respected and Honoured Sir,--I write first to thee that it hath been borne in on my mind (strong to believe the Lord hath spoken) to marry on Katherine Cregeen, only beloved daughter of Caesar Cregeen, a respectable man and a local preacher, in whose house I tarry, being free to use all his means of grace. Wedding to-morrow fortnight at Kirk Christ, Lezayre, eleven o'clock forenoon, and the Lord make it profitable to my soul.--With love and-reverence, thy servant, and I trust the Lord's, Peter Quilliam."

Having written this, Caesar read it aloud with proper elevation of pitch.

Grannie wiped her eyes, and Pete said, "Indited beautiful, sir--only you haven't asked him."

"My pen's getting crosslegs," said Caesar, "but that'll do for an N.B."

"N. B.--Will you come for my best man?"

Then there was more talk and more laughter. "You're a lucky fellow, Pete," said Pete himself. "My sailor, you are, though. She's as sweet as clover with the b.u.mbees humming over it, and as warm as a gorse bush when the summer's gone."

And then, affection being infectious beyond all maladies known to mortals, Nancy Joe was heard to say, "I believe in my heart I must be having a man myself before long, or I'll be losing the notion."

"D'ye hear that, boys?" shouted Pete. "Don't all spake at once."

"Too late--I've lost it," said Nancy, and there was yet more laughter.

To put an end to this frivolity, Caesar raised a hymn, and they sang it together with cheerful voices. Then Caesar prayed appropriately, John the Clerk improvised responses, and Pete went out and sat on the bottom step in the lobby and smoked up the stairs, so that Kate in the bedroom should not feel too lonely.

XV.