price for him, he readily sold him, thinking it a sin to refuse a good offer; and therefore hoped he would not take it ill what he had done.
Upon hearing this, the Quaker was in a great passion; and said, "Thou villain! what, after having robbed me of my bull and cow, to steal my horse!—why—why fellow, don't you think to be hang'd?"—"I hope not," replies Roger; "but however that may be, pray friend, let me ask thee one question. What might you be doing when I took the horse?"—"Hush! Hush!" cries the Quaker, in a terrible fright—"Never mention what thou hast seen, and I'll forgive thee all. Go thy ways; and hark thee, take grace with thee."
Roger bowed, and proceeded homewards; but, as the Quaker moved slowly, determined to call at his house. When he arrived there, the maid accosted him with, "Well, Roger, how hast thou and my master made it out?"—"Oh! very well," replies Roger, "We're as good friends as ever. He bid me go, and take grace with me."—"Grace! cries the maid; "what, and all her pigs!"
Now, reader, you must know, grace was a favourate sow of the Quaker's, who had lately littered a fine parcel of pigs. The maid thinking it her master's intention, turned the sow and her litter out of the sty, and Roger drove them home before him.
The Quaker's wife was soon made acquainted with the affair; and the reception Aminadab met with from her, when she saw him come home without his horse, is better imagined than expressed—But I am credibly informed, that his harangues in the meeting were for some time after very much larded with invectives against rage—hard words—and an immoderate indulgence of the passions.
Glasgow, Printed by J. & M. Robertson, Saltmarket, 1800.
