It was a dull evening in the month of September, 1728.
The apprentices had closed and barred the shutters
and the day’s work was over. Supper was
laid in the long room over the shop, the viands were
on the table, and round it were standing Bailie Anderson
and his wife, his foreman John Gillespie, and his
two apprentices. The latter were furtively eying
the eatables, and wondering how much longer the grace
which their master was delivering would be. Suddenly
there was a knock at the door below. No one stirred
until the bailie had finished his grace, before which
time the knock had been twice repeated.
“Elspeth, woman,” the bailie said when
he had brought the grace to an end, “go down
below and see who knocks so impatiently; look through
the grille before you open the door; these are nor
times when one opens to the first stranger who knocks.”
The old servant, who had been standing behind her
mistress, went downstairs. The door was opened,
and they heard an exclamation of surprise at the answer
to her question, “Who is it that’s knocking
as if the house belonged to him?”
Those gathered up stairs heard the bolts withdrawn.
There was a confused sound of talking and then a heavy
step was heard ascending the stairs, and without introduction
a tall man, wrapped in a cloak and carrying a child
of some two years old, strode into the room. He
threw his hat on to a settle and advanced straight
towards the bailie, who looked in surprise at this
unceremonious entry.
“Don’t you know me, Andrew?”
“Heaven preserve us,” the bailie exclaimed,
“why it’s Malcolm!”
“Malcolm himself,” the visitor repeated,
“sound in wind and limb.”
“The Lord be praised!” the bailie exclaimed
as he grasped the other’s hand and wrung it
warmly. “I had thought you dead years and
years ago. Janet, this is my brother Malcolm
of whom you have often heard me speak.”
“And of whom you can have heard little good,
mistress, if my brother has spoken the truth concerning
me. I was ever a ne’er do well, while Andrew
struck hard and fast to our father’s trade.”
“My husband has ever spoken with affection of
you,” Janet Anderson said. “The bailie
is not given to speak ill of any, much less of his
own flesh and blood.”
“And now sit down, Malcolm. Supper is waiting,
and you are, I doubt not, ready for it. It is
ill talking to a fasting man. When you have done
you shall tell me what you have been doing for the
last fifteen years, and how it comes that you thus
suddenly come back among us with your boy.”
“He is no boy of mine,” Malcolm said;
“but I will tell you all about it presently.
First let me lay him down on that settle, for the poor
little chap is fast asleep and dead tired out.
Elspeth, roll up my cloak and make a pillow for him.
That’s right, he will do nicely now. You
are changed less than any of us, Elspeth. Just
as hard to look at, and, I doubt not, just as soft
at heart as you used to be when you tried to shield
me when I got into scrapes. And now to supper.”
