A SCOTCH CONVERSATION.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXIX, Issue 3648, 26 January 1899, Page 2

A SCOTCH CONVERSATION.

i - Scone : Evening In a cottish village. Gloaming falling over the land. Angry mountains etched against pale green sky. White clouds lying on the horiaon like 'soapsuds. Three men sitting op a dyke, -smoking gravely and thoughtfully. In a field, 'a; flock of sheep cluster. A dog ■barking somewhere. A man shouting in the distance. Sandy (after long silence) : It’s a bonny nicht ! * ■ ■ 1 George : ..It is so. # ! Tainmas : It is so, Sandy. (Silence. They smoke gravely.) Sandy : What time o’ nicht wull’t be, George ? ■ George (taking pipe from mouth after a 1 minute) : I canna’ tell ye, Sandy, (uts pipe back in mouth.) (Silence. They smoke.) ' ’ Sandy (gravely) : What’s come owre Peggy the nicht, George ? George (turning red) : What Peggy ? ■ Sandy : Peggy what d’ye-ca’-her ? George (turning more red): Oh, she’s 'fine'. ‘ k .' (They smoke gravely.) 'Tammas : When are ye gaun tae spier ■.her, Geqrge ? Ye’ve been Rangin’ ;lang ''dnbugh at her petticoats. •• George (turning ■ most red): Plenty o’ time. Hoos yer new mare daein’, Tammas P

Tammas (feeling his way) : Somebody wis tellin’ mo ye spiered her - last nicht. George : Ay. 1 Sandy and Tammas (admiringly): Man, man !

V (George , shakes pipe violently.) : Sandy : Hoo on earth did ye manage it, George ?, ~ George (getting 1 more at ease); It’s naething when yer used tae’t. 'Tammas That’s true. What did ,ye say, George ? '■ George : I said, “Wull ye tak me, Peggy,'?”;:,: ; • ■ . , , Tammas and Sandy (in admiration): Man, man ! • Sandy. An’ what did she say tae that ? j George : She never said naething. ,!->lfo jist lookit doon. Tammas : Man, man! (They smoko gravely.) ) 0 Sandy : She’s a braw lass, George. ../'George, (turning red) : Ay, oh, ay, she’ll dao. lW (Tammas ; She’ll be a doovil for wark, George. George (brightening) : She’ll be that. Sandy ; I dout she’ll wear the breeks, George. - ' George (with, relief) : Here s Joems M’Whirter. (A tall, thin figure, silhouetted against the evening sky, stalks across the field towards them. He wears a plaid flung over his shoulder, and his knees are gartered with wisps of straw.) ' Sandy :- He’s been pittiri up the sheep. Did yo hear how ho came owre the meonistor Sabbath eight days. No, yo wadna hear, seein’ ye’re baith U.P. Man, man, Jeems spak’ up tae the ister as if it had been his am guidwifo. It wis fine. ’ .iv. (Jeems M'Whirter climbs dyke and passes; down the road.) ■ Jeems : A braw nicht, lads. -«-• Sandy,; George, Tammas (in chorus) : ■.lt is sOj' Jcems. . .< > (They smoke and watch Jeems disappear.) Sandy ; - I'was tellin ye about Jeems. Weol, ye see, he’s that indpendent. He’s; ‘the, Auld Kirk beadle, and leads the singin’ forbye. - In fact, he’s the ixieenister’s right haun, an’ he kens that tae, which hisna mak’ him ony better. , | . . Weel, ; Sabbath eight days, for some reason or anither, lie had made the stove unco’ hot. It wisna a cold day in itsel’, an’ it-: wisna lang before the congregfiation began tae feel maist uncomfortable, an ’the faces o’ them sittin’ next the stove wore'mair like biled hams than onything else, but they didna like tae rise an’ walk oot wi’ their Sunday buits cheepin’. 1 The meenister wis na muckle better, for he drank the hale tumbler o’ water that sits ablow the pulpit tae help him wi’ the preachin’, an’ when ho gaed doon into the vestry I could _ see the sweet rinnin’ doon the back o’ his heck. ■' Weel, he yokit Jeems aboot it afterhin an’ askit bin. why. he pittin’ on sic a fire. t.‘ Weel, meenister,” says Jeems, “I’ve ;-got a vera bad cauld, an’ a body has tae tak’: care o’ himscl’.” The meenister was rale angry, an’ said that there was mair than him tae bo ’considered, an’ eelt Jeems tae gang an’ tak the fire oot o’,the stove.

■ George : And what did Jeoms say tae that ? ■ •• Sandy : “ Deed, meonister,” he says, “an’ I’ll dae naothing o’ the kind wi’ ma Sunday claes on.” .. Tammas : That’s just Jeems. He’s that independent. - (They smoke thoughtfully.) Sandy : Ho wis ay dour. George : Ay. Tammas : Ay, Sandy. Sandy : >His faither wis the same afore him, he wis a thrawn deevil. I’ve never seen his match.. He wis a big, muckle man, wi’ red whiskers an’ luutin een, an’ aye on the Sabbath he wore a white

weskit because ither folks wore blacks. Ay. ho wis dour. George ; Jeems is his bairn. " Sandy Ae braw mornin’ I passed him breakin’ stones by the side o’ the road. “ A fine mornin’, Aleck,” I says. Ay, it wis a bonny momin’. Tammas : What did he say ? . Sandy (mournfully) : He said it was naething o’ the kind. Tammas : Man, man. Sandy : Anither time, we were curlin’ doon in the pond. Man, but he wis a braw. curler. Weel, Aleck gaed through the ice into seven feet o’ water. He wis a heavy man. It wis a wee afore he cam’ tae himsel’, the water bein’ gey cauld. “Man,” says Geordie Forbes tae him, thochtless like, “it wad be gey cauld in there, Aleck ?” “ Cauld ?” says Aleck, wi ’his teeth chitterin, in his heid ; “it wis as warm as hell ! ” Tammas : He wis a dour ane. George : He wis so. Sandy : He wis so, Tammas. (Silence. They smoke.) Tammas (after long silence, knocks ashes from pipe, replaces it in pocket, and slides stiffly off the dyke) : Guidnicht, lads. (Tammas passes down road. George and Sandy smoke.) George (after a little, slides off dyke) : I’ll hae tae ava, Sandy. Guidnicht. Sandy : Guidnicht, George. (George passes down road.) Sandy, left alone, smokes thoughtfully for some minutes ; then takes pipe from mouth and knocks ashes slowly into the palm of his hand, pausing a moment to think. Then puts pipe into pocket, slides from dyke, and passes away down road. The dusk deepens, the stars show themselves and all the world is hushed.—W.S. (“ The Speaker.”)