Page:Martha Spreull by Zachary Fleming.pdf/28

16 the removal o’ my last lodger’s kist—he wis awn me six months’ board—Maister Fleming, the writer, broke the news to me. He wis a terrible pious man —Maister Fleming—and spoke in a real feelin’ wye aboot the great loss I had sustained. It wis sudden, but I must bear up wi’ Christian fortitude and resignation—I said I wud try; and speired efter her affairs.

“There is not a great deal,” he said, “ but as you are next of kin, and live in a simple way, between the siller and the heritable property ye may feel easy in your mind as to this world’s concerns for the remainder of your lifetime.”

Naething could have happened better—no’ that I wished for the puir woman’s death, far from it, for I didna expect onything, but the hand o’ Providence seem’d clear, coming to me as it did just when I wis in my last extremity, greeting ower the removal o’ Maister Pringle’s kist. It clean beat romances, and I thought to mysel’, noo, if ever I hae a chance I’ll put this in a book, whether folk believe it or no’.

But the day wisna dune yet. When I got back to the wee bedroom where Maister Pringle wis ropin’his bit boxie, I thought he looked pale and yaupish-like; and it bein’ about tea time, I made up my mind that as he had been leevin’ at my expense for the last six months I could maybe as weel afford to gie him anither meal for naething as the landlady he wis gaun to in the West-End. So I gaed awa oot and bocht twa fine fresh finnon baddies, and telt the lassie to put up the toaster