aid the deacon, "at the conduct of
Mrs Jean Todd. _Ye_ werena to blame--I assoilzie ye. Think nae mair
o't. You can just sign a fresh bill. I'll buy the stamp round the
corner at Dickson's, and we can draw it out here."

"I beg yer pardon," replied Andrew; "I maunna get into that scrape
again. I'll never resist the authority o' Mrs Jean Todd mair on
earth. To her I owe my boxmastership--my trade--my status--my
health--my happiness--and a' that's worth livin for in this evil
warld; and she will never hae it to say again, that I'm no gratefu for
the care she taks o' me, and the love she bears to me. Let the warld
say, if they like, that I am henpecked--I dinna care."

"Weel, weel," replied the deacon; "we were speakin o' bills. Are ye
quite sure that ye haena allowed the days o' grace in Templeton's bill
to expire? There's indorsers there; and if it is as I suspect, ye've
lost recourse, and may be liable for the debt."

"Mercy on us!" cried the terrified Andrew. "It's impossible. Dinna
say't. Let me count." (Using his fingers). "Count, deacon--count,
man."

"I think we had better see the bill itsel," cried the deacon. "Where's
the key?"

"Here it is," replied the simple boxmaster, taking it out.

"Give it to me," said the deacon, taking it out of Andrew's hand;
"we'll sune see if the bill's past due."

Waldie hurried out of the room, telling Andrew, as he went out, that
he would come back, and inform him how the fact stood. The mind of the
boxmaster was now too much occupied about the danger of having allowed
the days of grace to pass without intimation to the indorsers on the
bill, to have any space left for doubting the honesty of the deacon.
The suspicion of having been cajoled never approached him; he sat and
sipped the liquor that lay before him, occupied all the time in a
brown study, with the thought continually rising--"What will Mrs Jean
Todd say to my stupidity, in making myself responsible for the amount
of Templeton's bill? It will ruin me; and a' her care and prudence
will in an instant be scattered to the winds." He still sat, expecting
the deacon to return with the required information. Half-an-hour
passed, and no deacon came; but a messenger came with a note, stating
that all was quite safe, and that, as something had occurred to
prevent the writer from returning to the tavern, he had sent that
intelligence, to ease his mind, and that he would return the key in
the course of the day. Andrew's mind