Page:Traditional Tales of the English and Scottish Peasantry - 1887.djvu/175

Rh cannot be wealthy;' and with this unceremonious notice of me, he drew in a chair by the side of the maiden, and stroked down her innumerable curls with his hand, which smelled of tar equal to the suffocation of any town damsel. She smiled, for the smell was frankincense to her; the ancient suitor smiled also—a smile rivalling that of a death's-head on a grave-stone—and said, 'Well may ye laugh, lassie; that's the right hand that lays on the tar with mair skill than the proudest man in Tiviotdale, and has more flocks to lay tar on, lassie—seventy score of brood ewes; but why need I brag? A man may ride a summer-day on my farm and no get far over the boundary.'

"I sat confounded at this display of opulence, which I saw had a strong influence on the maiden's heart; while her father, drawing near her, whispered 'Take him, Penney, take him—he's a rich man and well arrayed—he has two tap-coats and a plaid on.'

"The shepherd maiden looked on this antiquated suitor, and she looked on me; but the glow which unrequited love spread over a face of eighteen barely balanced the matter against territorial wealth and its grey-bearded owner. I had no resource save in youth and health; but my adversary came armed in the charms and might of property, and my more modern looks made but a poor battle against the appeal which riches made to maiden vanity. 'Foolish lassie,' said my rival, in a tone which sounded like the first shovelful of churchyard earth thrown on the lid of a coffin—'foolish lassie, why makest thou thy bright een glance from side to side on this stripling and me, as if thou wouldst weigh us in a balance? Who is this raw youth, thinkest thou? The owner of his own proper person, the laird of no-town-brae, as the proverb says, and lord of windy-wa's, as singeth the auld sang. He may wooe you with fine words, but will he drop a bonnet piece of beaten gold in thy lap for every sigh he gives? He may please thee with his face, and, bating that he looks like a fool, his looks are well enough; but can he cast cantraips over ye as I can do? Can he scatter golden spells and paper charms in thy lap, and make ye lady of as mickle land as a hooded crow will fly over when he seeks to prey on the earliest lamb of spring?'

"And as the old man spoke, he produced from the nook-pouch of his plaid a kind of wallet of rough calf-skin, secured with many a strap and string, which he unloosed