CHAPTER XII.

Bairns, and their bairns, make sure a firmer tie Than aught in love the like of us can spy. See yon twa elms that grow up side by side: Suppose them, some years syne, bridegroom and bride; Nearer and nearer ilka year they've pressed, Till wide their spreading branches have increased. This shields the other frae the eastlin blast, That in return defends it frae the west.

Allan Ramsay.

Although Mr. Otley had no longer any commissions to perform at Turnholme for Susan, her worsted-work having given place to her former occupation of needle-work, still he found many an excuse for calling. Sometimes he would send the old man a rabbit for his supper; sometimes a cheese, the handy-work of Dame Thompson. At another time, he gave Susan a hive of young bees which had just swarmed, as the dame had said she was fond of honey. By degrees he greatly won upon the esteem of Susan by his attentions to her parents. He was in a situation comparatively so much superior to theirs, that he had the opportunity of appearing to them almost in the light of a benefactor. Some time, however, elapsed before he ventured to express his feelings in any mode but by kindness to her parents. The sorrows she had known, the trials she had gone through, and the composed resignation to which she had trained her mind during her affliction, had left a sedate self-possession in her cheerfulness. He was aware of her previous attachment, and he did not feel sure whether an offer of marriage would be received, in the manner probable, from the relative situation of the parties.

At length his little presents became more pointedly addressed to her. His basket of ripest gooseberries was given to her. He would invite her to take a walk to look at his garden and gather herself a nosegay. He sometimes lamented to her that his children were not sufficiently attended to. "He did not wish to bring them up to over-gentility, but he wished them to have a good plain education. He should like his girl to be as good a scholar as Susan was; that would do for him: plain useful learning, plain useful good sense, and plain useful work. He wished Susan would step up and see how little Lizzy went on." But this Susan did not like to do.

The neighbours already began to talk, and the old dame already began to hope her girl was likely to be well settled in life; "and then," as she said to Nicholas one evening, when Susan was gone out to carry home some work,--"and then, Nicholas, it does not signify how soon it pleases the Lord to take us: then I may pray, as I used to do, that I may never see another sun rise when once it has pleased God to call you to himself."

Susan herself had no pride of romance about her. She esteemed Mr. Otley, and she was aware that he became every day more particular in his manner to her; she knew that the home he could offer her would be comfortable beyond what she had any right to expect; his plain manners appeared to her neither rough, nor homely, and she felt sorry for the little children, who were deprived of a mother's tenderness. Such being the state of mind of the parties in question, the sequel may easily be guessed. Mr. Otley stopped one evening on his way from market, as it was now grown his custom to do, and good-naturedly reproached Susan for not having been to see his garden or his children. She was ashamed to give the true reason, and said she had been very busy with a job of needle-work.

"I don't like you to work so hard, Susan: it is not good for her, is it, dame? Young folks should take a little pleasure sometimes. I know I should like to see Susan in a home of her own, with a servant-girl to do her work for her. She is too good by half to be always drudging."

"Thank you kindly for your good wishes, Master Otley," answered old Nicholas. "I should like to know my poor girl had a good home over her head when I am dead and gone."

"Ah! that's what a good father is sure to think of. You would rest easier, Master Nicholas, if you knew Susan was mistress of a comfortable place of her own, and was never likely to come to want as long as she lived."

"Ah, sure! should I," replied the simple old man, who was in great hopes Mr. Otley was coming straight to the point. And he wished no better than to come to the point: but it is not easy to propose in company; and, straightforward as Mr. Otley was, he began to feel as shy as others do in this predicament.

"I should like to see Susan in a home of her own very much," repeated Mr. Otley, slowly and awkwardly, and looking out of the window when he had spoken.

The dame, who plainly perceived what was in the farmer's mind, thought that if Susan was out of the way he might speak openly to them, or if Susan was alone, he might find courage to declare himself to her. She therefore, with feminine resource, told Susan to go to the shop and buy her a pennyworth of ginger to put in her tea. Susan had left the cottage in a moment, for she found herself becoming confused and uncomfortable. Mr. Otley lingered a short time, and said nothing; but when he left the cottage he watched for Susan's return, and their conversation was prolonged till the dame began to doubt whether she should ever have any ginger at all.

When Susan re-appeared, Mr. Otley was with her. She looked blushing, but happy; the farmer confused, but glorious, as he told Nicholas he "hoped he would rest soundly that night; that is, if he thought Holmy-bank farm was a place where Susan might make herself comfortable, and if he could trust to him to see she never wanted for anything as long as he lived."

The old people did not attempt to conceal their satisfaction, and never was son-in-law more cordially received.

We have already celebrated two weddings in this short tale, and it was not long before a third took place in the village of Overhurst. Mr. and Mrs. Otley ate their wedding-dinner in the Fosters' cottage; for Mr. Otley had had enough of finery and fine folks, and he enjoyed the heart-felt happiness of those whom he felt he rendered happy. When he took his bride home in the evening, he left the old couple in a state of blissful composure of mind which they had once thought could never again be theirs on this side the grave; and when they retired to rest, they returned their fervent thanks to Heaven for having been allowed to see this day: and now they felt their task was ended, their duties were fulfilled.