J. J. Bell

“ It's fair monsterous the wey some folk come dancin' into the shop, jist as if their internal organs—excuse me mentionin' sic things, Mistress Houston—jist as if the organs I refer to had remindit them suddently—expectin' me to send proveesions to every pint o' the compass as quick as ye can say 'Jack Robison'!"
"It's a good thing you have a good temper, Mr. Ogilvy," Jess remarked, smiling, and preparing to depart. ”

“ Ye see," continued the grocer, who had been vainly longing all afternoon for some one to talk to—"ye see, Mistress Houston, it's no' as if it was the simmer, when things is kin' o' brisk—no' as brisk as they micht be—but jist kin' o' brisk an' the laddie's cairryin' messages near a' day to the veesitors an' whiles near rin aff his twa feet tryin' for to obleege folk that forgets what they're needin' till the last meenit, an' are ower prood to cairry a paircel unless maybe yin containin' jools or scent or some ither vanity. ”

“ He said he wud never eat the breid o' idleness as lang as he was leevin'—puir man!—an' I hadna the hert to pit him awa'."
"But he was working when I came in," said Jess, flicking some specks of dust from her husband's jacket collar.
"Aw, he aye stairts to work when you or yer aunt comes into the shop—for, ye see, he winna let ye think he's dune—but he usually dis the wrang thing, an'—an' it's gey provokin' whiles."
"So it is, Davie. But can't you give him his own work to do?"
"Ay. But he forgets an' turns sleepy-like, an' forbye that, he disna see vera weel. ”

“ Houston, sympathetically.
"'Deed, Mistress Houston, I whiles try to think of Job bein' a grocer; but, efter a', it's maybe jist as weel for him he wasna. I doot he wud ha'e fleed up as I did, though I tried no' to shew it, when a leddy cam' in yin mornin' in July an' ordered an unce o' pepper-corns to be sent hauf a mile in a hurry because her cook was waitin' on them, an' she wasna gaun stracht hame. She wasna a vera guid customer, but I tell't her as nice as possible I was rale sorry I had naebody to send wi' her esteemed order—I said 'esteemed' ablow ma breith, ye ken. ”

“ An' it's no' a bad trade, an' things are gaun weel, an' I'm no' complainin'," he added, more cheerfully.
"But you'll get time for your gardening soon again, Davie," she said.
"We'll see, we'll see."
"Oh, but, Davie—" she began, and stopped, lest she should say too much.
Suddenly he turned towards her. "Ye're the best wife a man ever had, an' I envy naebody," he exclaimed. "The fire was maybe a guid thing. It was a guid thing because o' yersel', ma dear."
"But, Davie," she said, breaking a long silence, "supposing the shop hadn't been insured—"
"I wud ha'e been dune for. Fine I ken that!" ”

“ Rather alarmed, Jess interposed, saying—
"But, oh, Mr. Ogilvy, if it's anything particular, I really think you should say it yourself."
"I canna, I canna!" he asserted, gloomily. "But I'll tell ye aboot it, Mistress Houston, for I ken ye're rale discreet, an' then ye can decide if ye'll tell yer highly respectit aunt for me."
"No, no! You mustn't tell me, Mr. Ogilvy," cried Jess, flushing. "I'm sure it's none of my business."
"If ye please—"
"Oh no! I must go now. David will be wondering what's keeping me. I was to call at the shop for him. Good—"
"Bide a wee—bide a wee," he implored. ”

“ I'm as secret as a—a—tinned, tongue," returned the grocer, finding sudden inspiration on his counter. "I am that, Mistress Houston. An' I ken fine David tell't me aboot it in the fulness o' his hert, for he said, 'If it hadna been for ma wife, Ogilvy, I wud be a ruined man this day.' That was when he was lettin' me see the new premises, so to speak. ”

“ You had a hard fight, and you got the best of it, and everybody's proud of you," said his wife, warmly. "I know how hard it has been for you."
"Tits! It wasna as bad as a' that. An' I'm shair I wud never ha'e been whaur I am if it hadna been for yersel', ma dear. It's a peety aboot the gairden, but I'd shinner see it like a midden plantit wi' auld tin cans an' broken gless nor let Angus try his haun at it. Guidsake, Jess, the puir buddy disna ken the difference at ween a dahlia an' a dandilion, an' I doot if he wud ken a crocus-bulb f rae a Spanish ingin! ”

“ Wallace?" asked Jess, unable to resist putting the question.
"Weel," returned Mr. Ogilvy, who had now reached what might be described as a twittering condition—"weel, Mistress Houston, I—I wudna say it wasna. In fac', I micht venture to say it—it was aboot yer highly respectit aunt. Ay. I wud be tellin' ye an untruth if I said it wasna." Here he paused, transferred his gaze from the sausages to his boots, and, heaving a soft sigh, passed his hand across his forehead.
"Yes, Mr. Ogilvy," Mrs. Houston murmured, encouragingly.
"Whaur was I?" helplessly inquired the grocer. "Oh, ay. ”

“ I yinst made a mistak' in her pass-book—it was a wee blot that pit me wrang—I thocht it was a saxpence when I was addin' it up, an' it was jist a penny—an' I can tell ye she was gey pit oot, an' I felt gey sma'. I'm feart for neither man nor beast nor deevil, but I cudna thole her vails o' wrath, as it were. ”