Martha Spreull/Henry Hernbane’s Courtship

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CHAPTER XVII.

HENRY HERNBANE'S COURTSHIP

LET me see, whare wis I at? Maister Fleming reminds me that I have been makin' digressions. Weel, that's true—and nae doot yer critic will say this is a gey reel-ral autobiography; but life itsel' is unco reel-ral whiles, and it wud ill-become an honest wumman, charged as I am wi' the moral oversicht and godly upbringin' o' a bursar, to mak' things straicht when they should be crooket, or smooth when they should be rough, simply for the sake o' effect; na, na, we 'll leave that to novelist-bodies wha's professed business it is to lee. The wheels o' real life dinna rin on rails like the steam coach or the tramway-car. They hae their ups and doons, and if they whiles stick in a dub, or rin into a sheuch, we maun e'en bide till they get oot before we can expect to mak' progress forret.

Noo, I admit the truth o' what Maister Fleming says, that there's still a hiawtis in my story between the time we leeved i' the Bell-o'-the-Brae and oor removal to George Street; but nae wumman likes to be hurried, and in this respect I'm just like the lave o' my sex—nevertheless, I'm comin' to the point in my ain wye.

I have already telt ye hoo Babie Brewster, my mither's sister-in-law, nearly robbed the hoose during a time o' sair afflickshen and bereavement. Weel, the years following this ungodly event were, so to speak, marked by extraordinary material prosperity. Wellington boots were then a’ the rage, and my faither’s work having taken the fancy o’ ane Major Macready, he sent us sic routh o’ aristocratic customers we had to gie up oor hit hoose on the Bell-o’-the-Brae, and remove to lairger premises in George Street, that we micht the better accommodate the gentle folk that drove up to oor door in their carriages to leave their measure.

Sae great wis ocr run o’ fortune, that we had five journeymen and twa apprentices wi’ hound indentures workin’ at ae time frae six i’ the morning till six at nicht—no to speak o’ lang brashes o’ overtime at the end o’ the week. It wis a real heartsome time, wi’ the gran’ gentry callin’ every day, and the siller increasin’ in the bank till within twa or three hunner pounds, as my faither telt me, o’ reachin’ four figures. At that time my faither wis only a tenant in the George Street hoose, but I maun tell ye hoo he became the laird. The owner o’ the flett o’ rooms, the tae half o’ which wis occupied by us, and the tither by himsel’, wis ane Henry Hernbane, a tyler.

The property wis said to have come into his hands through an uncle on his mither’s side, but that mak’s nae odds, only I want ye to understan’ that it never wud have been his ava if he had had to work for’t himsel’, for he wis ane o’ the laziest beings I ever saw, and as inquisitive as lazy! Every carriage that cam’ to the closs found him either lookin’ owre the window, or stanin’ wi’ the door open to the length o’ its chain, that he might see wha the new comer happened to be.

Having tried every means, by speirin’ here, and speirin’ there, to ken what my faither wis worth, he at last cam’ straicht to the point and asked for a loan on the security o’ the property. Seein’ there wis but bank interest on the money we had saved, my faither thocht ower the proposal, and efter due precautions aboot searches, deeds, and ither instruments, as they were ca’d, he lent the body the siller ; but noo the man’s purpose cam’ oot. Kennin’ we had siller he next laid his plans to win oot o’ his obligation to my faither by offering his hand to me. Just as barefaced a piece o’ impidence as ever I heard tell o’, but I’m thinkin’ he met wi’ his match. For a while efter he got the siller he took every chance o’ putting himsel’ in my wye, and in makin’ himsel’ ceevil—in fact senselessly ceevil. Weel, I wis as licht-hearted and fu’ o’ mischief as I could be, and as soon as I jaloused his intentions, I thoeht I would lead the body on.

In troth, he could see plainly frae my looks that I wis just deein’ for him. This fares on for a time, but he couldna afford to let me dee before his een, and lose baith me and my faither’s hard-earned siller. So the creator’ plucks up courage, and ae nicht, when he kent my faither wis awa at a cordiners’ meeting, he cam’ in and asked if he could see me a’ by my lane. He wis dressed in a swallow-tailed coat, and had a yellow kid glove on his left han’. He scraped and bowed like ane o’ Queen Elizabeth’s courtiers, and wis sic a comical fricht, that I could hardly contain mysel’, till I got to the kitchen, where Betty Basin, the servant-wumman, and me had oor lauch oot thegither. Having arranged matters wi’ Betty as to when she wis to appear on the scene, awa’ I goes ben and sits doon at the ither end o’ the sofa frae where he sat, and claspin’ my hands, lookit as mim as ye like.

“Martha,” says he, in a voice that a common story-writer wud say wis thick wi’ emotion, “ Martha, will ye exkaise me ca’in’ ye by that hamely name?”

“ I hae nae ither,” quoth I staring sadly at a faded rose-bud

on the carpet, as if I fain wud be ca’d by some ither name if I could get it.

“Eh, it’s a nice name,” quoth he, wi’ a sigh, and then stopped to think aboot it for the better pairt o’ a minute. “ I have been switherin’,” he resumed, “for sometime aboot takin’ a wife.”

“ The thing’s cornin’ noo,” thinks I, still I never lifted my e’e frae the rose-bud, but it took me a’ my time to keep my face straicht.

“ Till short syne I had never seen onyhody that my heart could lie to. Martha, I needna beat aboot the bush— that body is yersel’.”

I felt my face gettin’ red wi’ the effort to keep frae screaming, but I stuck to the rose-bud, and never said a word. “Ye needna blush,” says he, “ but just tell me oot plain, what I hae jaloused for sometime past—is my proposal no agreeable to ye ? ”

“This is far ower much kindness,” quoth, I, twirling my thooms, and shifting my een in search o’ a green leaf or something to rest them on for a change. “ You wha micht get a wife wi’ plenty o’ siller.”

“ That’s true,” says he, “ that’s true, but love gets the better o’ us whiles; hooever, I hae a guid trade, and there’s neither o’ us bare-handed, I hope.”

“ As for me,” quoth I, “ I canna reckon on mair than a thoosand pounds sae lang as my faither leeves, yet I’m sure there’s plenty o’ ladies .”

“ Martha,” says he, jumping to his feet, “ what are fine leddies or siller to me ? Love is better than warld’s gear; gie me a kiss and close the bargain.”

The man cam’ dangerously near me, so I got to my feet.

“Na, na,” quoth I, “ no’ a step farther till ye speir my faither’s leave.”

"I maun hae arles," says he, "we can close the bargain atween oorsel's, and speir leave efter hin'."

There wis spunk i' the body, for wi' that he flings himsel' upon me, puts his arms aboot my neck, and makes for my lips. I wis gey an strong, so I swings him roon the table wi' a birl, but he still stuck round my neck.

At that moment the parlour door opened wi' a breinge, and Betty Basin, her face scarlet wi' laughin', rushed ben to my succour.

"Oh, ye mean vagabon'," says she, "wud ye tak' advantage o' a virtuous lass," and wi' that she plays clour at his head wi' a blacklead brush, blackening the whole side o' ane o' his chafts, and leaving the breadth o' the brush on the front o' his white sark and yellow waistcoat.

This wis ower much for me, sae I ran into the kitchen and left Betty blackballin' him up hill and doon dale.

In the midst o' the uproar my faither cam' to the door and rang the bell. We were in a bonny pickle; in fact, we were alarmed oorsel's, and as the body begged pitifully to be hidden tailed coat into the kitchen press, clapped him doon on a basket o' wet claes wi’ a guid sowse, and snibbed the door.

I brewed my faither an extra strong gless o’ toddy that nicht, and Betty packed the tyler oot when the hoose was quate. I needna say that wis the first and last o’ Henry Hernbane’s approaches to me. His idle habits had led him into debt everywhere; soon efter that his creditors cam’ upon him, and his effects were sold, but my faither, having a first claim by virtue o’ the bond, the property fell to him.