I did not see Erchie during the New-Year holidays, and so our greetings on Saturday night when I found him firing up the church furnace had quite a festive cheerfulness.

“Where have you been for the past week?” I asked him. “It looks bad for a beadle to be conspicuous by his absence at this season of the year.”

“If ye had been whaur ye ocht to hae been, and that was in the kirk, last Sunday, ye wad hae found me at my place,” said Erchie. “Here’s a bit bride’s-cake,” he went on, taking a little packet from his pocket. “The rale stuff! Put that below your heid at nicht and ye’ll dream aboot the yin that’s gaun to mairry ye. It’s a sure tip, for I’ve kent them that tried it, and escaped in time.”

I took the wedding-cake. To dream of the one I want to marry is the desire of my days—though, indeed, I don’t need any wedding-cake below my pillow for such a purpose. “And who’s wedding does this—this deadly comestible—come from, Erchie?” I asked him.

“Wha’s wad it be but Duffy’s,” said Erchie. “‘At 5896 Braid Street, on the 31st, by the Rev. J. Macauslane, Elizabeth M’Niven Jardine to James K. Duffy, coal merchant.’ Duffy’s done for again; ye’ll can see him noo hurryin’ hame for his tea when his work’s bye and feared ony o’ the regular customers o’ the Mull o’ Kintyre Vaults’ll stop him on the road and ask him in for something. His wife’s takin’ him roond wi’ a collar on, and showin’ him aff among a’ her freen’s and the ither weemen she wants to vex, and she’s learning him to ca’ her ‘Mrs D.’ when they’re in company. He wasna twa days at his work efter the thing happened when she made him stop cryin’ his ain coals and leave yin o’ his men to dae’t, though there’s no’ twa o’ them put thegither has the voice o’ Duffy. I wadna wonder if his tred fell aff on accoont o’t, and it’s tellin’ on his health. ‘She says it’s no’ genteel for me to be cryin’ my ain coals,’ he says to me; ‘but I think it’s jist pride on her pairt, jist pride. Whit hairm does it dae onybody for me to gie a wee bit roar noo and then if it’s gaun to help business?’ I heard him tryin’ to sing ‘Dark Lochnagar’ on Friday nicht in his ain hoose, and it wad vex ye to listen, for when he was trampin’ time wi’ his feet ye could hardly hear his voice, it was that much failed. ‘Duffy,’ I says till him, takin’ him aside, ‘never you mind the mistress, but go up a close noo and then and gie a roar to keep your voice in trim withoot lettin’ on to her ony-thing aboot it.’

“Yes, Duffy was mairried on Hogmanay Nicht, and we were a’ there—Jirinet and me, and her niece Sarah, and Macrae the nicht polis, and a companion o’ Macrae’s frae Ardentinny, that had his pipes wi’ him to play on, but never got them tuned. It was a grand ploy, and the man frae Ardentinny fell among his pipes comin’ doon the stair in the mornin’. ‘Ye had faur ower much drink,’ I tellt him, takin’ him oot frae amang the drones and ribbons and things. ‘I’m shair ye’ve drunk a hale bottle.’ ‘Whit’s a bottle o’ whusky among wan?’ says he. If it wasna for him it wad hae been a rale nice, genteel mairrage.

“Duffy had on a surtoo coat, and looked for, a’ the warld like Macmillan, the undertaker, on a chape job. He got the lend o’ the surtoo frae yin o’ the men aboot the Zoo, and he was aye tryin’ to put his haunds in the ootside pooches and them no’ there. ‘Oh, Erchie,’ he says to me, ‘I wish I had on my jaicket again, this is no’ canny. They’ll a’ be lookin’ at my haunds.’ ‘No, nor yer feet,’ I tellt him; ‘they’ll be ower busy keepin’ their e’e on whit they’re gaun to get to eat.’ ‘If ye only kent it,’ says he, ‘my feet’s a torment to me, for my buits is far ower sma’.’ And I could see the puir sowl sweatin’ wi’ the agony.

“The bride looked fine. Jinnet nearly grat when she saw her comin’ in, and said it minded her o’ hersel’ the day she was mairried. ‘Ye’re just haverin’,’ I tellt her, gey snappy. ‘She couldna look as nice as you did that day if she was hung wi’ jewels.’ But I’ll no’ say Leezie wasna nice enough—a fine, big, sonsy, smert lass, wi’ her face as glossy as onything.

“When the operation was by, and the minister had gane awa’ hame, us pressin’ him like onything to wait a while langer, and almost breakin’ his airms wi’ jammin’ his top-coat on him fast in case he micht change his mind, we a’ sat down to a high tea that wad dae credit to F. & F.‘s. If there was wan hen yonder there was haulf a dizzen, for the bride had a hale lot o’ country freen’s, and this is the time o’ the year the hens is no’ layin’.

“There were thirty-five folk sat doon in Duffy’s hoose that nicht, no’ coontin’ a wheen o’ the neighbours that stood in the lobby and took their chance o’ whit was passin’ frae the kitchen. Duffy hadna richt started carvin’ the No. 6 hen when a messenger cam’ to the door to ask for the surtoo coat, because the man in the Zoo had his job changed for that nicht and found he needed the coat for his work; so Duffy was quite gled to get rid of it, and put on his Sunday jaicket. ‘Ask him if he wadna like a wee lend o’ my new tight boots,’ he says to the messenger frae the Zoo; ‘if he does, come back as fast’s ye can for them, and I’ll pay the cab.’

“Efter the high tea was by, the Ardentinny man never asked onybody’s leave, but began to tune his pipes, stoppin’ every twa or three meenutes to bounce aboot the player he was, and that his name was M’Kay—yin o’ the auld clan M’Kays. Macrae, the nicht polis, was awfu’ chawed that he brocht him there at a’. Ye couldna hear yersel’ speakin’ for the tunin’ o’ the pipes, and they werena nearly half ready for playin’ on when the bride’s mither took the liberty o’ stoppin’ him for a wee till we wad get a sang frae somebody.

“‘James’ll sing,’ says the bride, lookin’ as prood’s ye like at her new man. ‘Will ye no’ obleege the company wi’ “Dark Lochnagar”?’ “‘I wad be only too willin’,’ he tellt her, ‘if I had on my ither boots and hadna ett thon last cookie.’ But we got him to sing ‘Dark Lochnagar’ a’ richt. In the middle o’t the man frae Ardentinny said if Duffy wad haud on a wee he wad accompany him on the pipes, and he started to tune them again, but Macrae stopped him by puttin’ corks in his drones.

“Jinnet sang the ‘Auld Hoose.’ Man! I was prood o’ her. Yon’s the smertest wumman in Gleska. The Rale Oreeginal!”

“Don’t you yourself sing, Erchie?”

“Not me! I’m comic enough withoot that. A flet fit and a warm hert, but timmer in the tune. Forbye, I was too busy keepin’ doon the man frae Ardentinny. He was determined to hae them pipes o’ his tuned if it took him a’ nicht. I tried to get him to gang oot into the back-coort to screw them up, but he aye said they were nearly ready noo, they wadna tak’ him ten meenutes, and he kept screechin’ awa’ at them. It was fair reediculous.

“At last the bride’s mither got him put into the kitchen, and was clearin’ the room for a dance. Duffy was very red in the face, and refused to rise frae the table. ‘Whit’s the use o’ dancin’?’ says he; ‘are we no’ daein’ fine the way we are?’ And then it was found oot he had slipped his tight boots aff him under the table, and was sittin’ there as joco as ye like in his stockin’ soles.

“The young yins were dancin’ in the room to the playin’ o’ a whustle, and the rest o’ us were smokin’ oot on the stair-heid, when the man frae Ardentinny cam fleein’ oot wi’ his bagpipes still gaspin’. He said it was an insult to him to start dancin’ to a penny whustle and him there ready to play if he could only get his pipes tuned.

“‘Never you heed, Mac,’ says I; ‘ye’ll hae a chance at Macrae’s waddin’ if ye can get the pipes tuned afore then; he’s engaged to oor Sarah.’

“I was that gled when the cat-wutted cratur fell amang his pipes gaun doon the stair in the mornin’; it served him richt.”

“And where did Duffy and his bride spend their honeymoon, Erchie?” I asked.

“They took the skoosh car oot to Paisley; that was a’ their honeymoon.”