CHAPTER VIII.
The devil a puritan, or any thing else he is, but a time-server.
Twelfth Night.
It was evening when Mr Henry Morton perceived an old woman, wrapped in her tartan plaid, supported by a stout, stupid-looking fellow, in hoddin-grey, approach the house of Milnwood.

Old Mause made her courtesy, but Cuddie took the lead in addressing Morton.

Indeed, he had previously stipulated with his mother that he was to manage matters his own way; for though he readily allowed his general inferiority of understanding, and filially submitted to the guidance of his mother on most ordinary occasions, yet he said, "For getting a service, or getting forward in the warld, he could somegate gar the wee pickle sense he had gang muckle farther than hers, though she could crack like ony minister o' them a'." Accordingly, he thus opened the conversation with young Morton: "A braw night this for the rye, your honour; the west park will be breering bravely this e'en." "I do not doubt it, Cuddie; but what can have brought your mother--this is your mother, is it not ?" (Cuddie nodded.) "What can have brought your mother and you down the water so late ?" "Troth, stir, just what gars the auld wives trot--neshessity, stir--I'm seeking for service, stir." "For service, Cuddie, and at this time of the year?
how comes that ?" Mause could forbear no longer.

Proud alike of her cause and her sufferings, she commenced with an affected humility of tone, "It has pleased Heaven, an it like your honour, to distinguish us by a visitation"-- "Deil's in the wife and nae gude!" whispered Cuddie to his mother, "an ye come out wi' your whiggery, they'll no daur open a door to us through the haill country!" Then aloud and addressing Morton, "My mother's auld, stir, and she has rather forgotten hersell in speaking to my leddy, that canna weel bide to be contradickit, (as I ken nae-body likes it if they could help themsells,) especially by her ain folk,--and Mr Harrison the steward, and Gudyill the butler, they're no very fond o' us, and it's ill sitting at Rome and striving wi' the Pope; sae I thought it best to flit before ill came to waur--and here's a wee bit line to your honour frae a friend will maybe say some mair about it." Morton took the billet, and crimsoning up to the ears, between joy and surprise, read these words: "If you can serve these poor helpless people, you will oblige E.B." It was a few instants before he could attain composure enough to ask, "And what is your object, Cuddie?
and how can I be of use to you ?" "Wark, stir, wark, and a service, is my object--a bit beild for my mither and mysell--we hae gude plenishing o' our ain, if we had the cast o' a cart to bring it down--and milk and meal, and greens enow, for I'm gay gleg at meal-time, and sae is my mither, lang may it be sae--And, for the penny-fee and a' that, I'll just leave it to the laird and you.

I ken ye'll no see a poor lad wranged, if ye can help it." Morton shook his head.