When the next Saturday came, all the friends of the
bride or bridegroom who had “gotten a call”
to the wedding of Annie Mair and Charley Wilson, assembled
respectively at the houses of their parents.
Malcolm had received an invitation from both, and had
accepted that of the bride.
Whisky and oatcake having been handed round, the bride,
a short but comely young woman, set out with her father
for the church, followed by her friends in couples.
At the door of the church, which stood on the highest
point in the parish, a centre of assault for all the
winds that blew, they met the bridegroom and his party:
the bride and he entered the church together, and
the rest followed. After a brief and somewhat
bare ceremony, they issued—the bride walking
between her brother and the groomsman, each taking
an arm of the bride, and the company following mainly
in trios. Thus arranged they walked eastward
along the highroad, to meet the bride’s firstfoot.
They had gone about halfway to Portlossie, when a
gentleman appeared, sauntering carelessly towards
them, with a cigar in his mouth. It was Lord
Meikleham. Malcolm was not the only one who knew
him: Lizzy Findlay, only daughter of the Partan,
and the prettiest girl in the company, blushed crimson:
she had danced with him at Lossie House, and he had
said things to her, by way of polite attention, which
he would never have said had she been of his own rank.
He would have lounged past, with a careless glance,
but the procession halted by one consent, and the
bride, taking a bottle and glass which her brother
carried, proceeded to pour out a bumper of whisky,
while the groomsman addressed Lord Meikleham.
“Ye ’re the bride’s first fut, sir,”
he said.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Lord
Meikleham.
“Here’s the bride, sir: she’ll
tell ye.”
Lord Meikleham lifted his hat.
“Allow me to congratulate you,” he said.
“Ye ’re my first fut,” returned
the bride eagerly yet modestly, as she held out to
him the glass of whisky.
“This is to console me for not being in the
bridegroom’s place, I presume; but notwithstanding
my jealousy, I drink to the health of both,”
said the young nobleman, and tossed off the liquor.—
“Would you mind explaining to me what you mean
by this ceremony?” he added, to cover a slight
choking caused by the strength of the dram.
“It’s for luck, sir,” answered Joseph
Mair. “A first fut wha wadna bring ill
luck upon a new merried couple, maun aye du as ye hae
dune this meenute—tak a dram frae the bride.”
“Is that the sole privilege connected with my
good fortune?” said Lord Meikleham. “If
I take the bride’s dram, I must join the bride’s
regiment—My good fellow,” he went
on, approaching Malcolm, “you have more than
your share of the best things of this world.”
For Malcolm had two partners, and the one on the side
next Lord Meikleham, who, as he spoke, offered her
his arm, was Lizzy Findlay.
