pitch thyself into the Tay than to woo a lass
that may be had for the asking, if you can but choose the lucky minute."

"Ay, but that lucky minute, father? I question much if Catharine ever
has such a moment to glance on earth and its inhabitants as might lead
her to listen to a coarse ignorant borrel man like me. I cannot tell
how it is, father; elsewhere I can hold up my head like another man, but
with your saintly daughter I lose heart and courage, and I cannot help
thinking that it would be well nigh robbing a holy shrine if I could
succeed in surprising her affections. Her thoughts are too much fitted
for Heaven to be wasted on such a one as I am."

"E'en as you like, Henry," answered the glover. "My daughter is not
courting you any more than I am--a fair offer is no cause offend; only
if you think that I will give in to her foolish notions of a convent,
take it with you that I will never listen to them. I love and honour
the church," he said, crossing himself, "I pay her rights duly and
cheerfully--tithes and alms, wine and wax, I pay them as justly, I say,
as any man in Perth of my means doth--but I cannot afford the church my
only and single ewe lamb that I have in the world. Her mother was dear
to me on earth, and is now an angel in Heaven. Catharine is all I have
to remind me of her I have lost; and if she goes to the cloister, it
shall be when these old eyes are closed for ever, and not sooner. But
as for you, friend Gow, I pray you will act according to your own best
liking, I want to force no wife on you, I promise you."

"Nay, now you beat the iron twice over," said Henry. "It is thus we
always end, father, by your being testy with me for not doing that
thing in the world which would make me happiest, were I to have it in my
power. Why, father, I would the keenest dirk I ever forged were sticking
in my heart at this moment if there is one single particle in it that
is not more your daughter's property than my own. But what can I do? I
cannot think less of her, or more of myself, than we both deserve; and
what seems to you so easy and certain is to me as difficult as it would
be to work a steel hauberk out of bards of flax. But here is to you,
father," he added, in a more cheerful tone; "and here is to my fair
saint and Valentine, as I hope your Catharine will be mine for the
season. And let me not keep your old head longer from the pillow, but
make interest with your featherbed till daybreak; and then yo