like to split. My heart flap-flappit in my breast like a pair of
fanners. It was a moment of heavenly hope; but I saw Jamie Coom, the
blacksmith, who I aye jealoused was my rival, coming down to the well. I
saw her give him one of the apples; and hearing him say, with a loud
gaffaw, "Where is the tailor?" I took to my heels, and never stopped
till I found myself on the little stool by the fireside, and the hamely
sound of my mother's wheel bum-bumming in my lug, like a gentle lullaby.

Every noise I heard flustered me, but I calmed in time, though I went to
my bed without my supper. When I was driving out the gaislings to the
grass on the next morn, who was it my ill fate to meet but the
blacksmith. "Ou, Mansie," said Jamie Coom, "are ye gaun to take me for
your best-man? I hear you are to be cried in the kirk on Sunday?"

"Me!" answered I, shaking and staring.

"Yes!" said he; "Jess the minister's maid told me last night, that you
had been giving up your name at the manse. Ay, it's ower true--for she
showed me the apples ye gied her in a present. This is a bonny story,
Mansie, my man, and you only at your prenticeship yet."

Terror and despair had struck me dumb. I stood as still and as stiff as
a web of buckram. My tongue was tied, and I could not contradict him.
Jamie folded his arms, and went away whistling, turning every now and
then his sooty face over his shoulder, and mostly sticking his tune, as
he could not keep his mouth screwed for laughing. What would I not have
given to have laughed too!

There was no time to be lost: this was the Saturday. The next rising sun
would shine on the Sabbath. Ah, what a case I was in! I could mostly
have drowned myself, had I not been frighted. What could I do? My love
had vanished like lightning; but oh, I was in a terrible gliff! Instead
of gundy, I sold my thrums to Mrs Walnut for a penny, with which I bought
at the counter a sheet of paper and a pen; so that in the afternoon I
wrote out a letter to the minister, telling him what I had been given to
hear, and begging him, for the sake of mercy, not to believe Jess's word,
as I was not able to keep a wife, and as she was a leeing gipsy.

CHAPTER V.--CURSECOWL.

From his red poll a redder cowl hung down;
His jacket, if through grease we guess, was brown;
A vigorous scamp, some forty summers old;
Rough Shetland stockings up his thighs were roll'd;
While at his side horn-handled