"Well, now, I will tell you the God’s truth, mem; for there’s two ways about every story; and there’s my way of it, and there’s Mr. Purdie’s way of it; and mebbe the one is true or the other. And this is my way of it: I wass gettin the prize—oh, yes, I will not deny that—year by year, and very proud I wass, too, of the cabbages, and the scarlet beans, and the like of that, and the thirty shullins of the prize a very good thing for me. And then kem the time the Minard crofters they were for sending an appligation to Mr. Stanley for to have the rents revised, and I put my name to the paper too; but Mr. Stanley he would do nothing at ahl—he said ’Go to Mr. Purdie.’ Then Mr. Purdie he sees my name on the paper; and he says, ’Very well, there will be no more prize for the garden, and you can do without your thirty shullins.’ It wass a punishment for me, that I wass putting my name on the paper. Now, mem, that is my story about the prize——"
"I think it was very shabby treatment!" Käthchen exclaimed.
"And that is the way I see my side of it," continued Big Archie, honestly; "but I am not denying there may be another way. Aw naw, mem, I want to tell you fair; and Mr. Purdie he would hef another version for you, if you were to believe it——"
"Well, then, what is his version?" said Käthchen—for the time being rather priding herself on playing Mary Stanley’s part.
"Well, I wass speaking to Mr. Pettigrew, the minister, and he wass speaking to Mr. Purdie, about getting the prize back, and Mr. Purdie he says to Mr. Pettigrew ’No, I will not give the prize back; for there was not enough competition, and Archie MacNicol he wass always tekkin the prize, and it wass the same as thirty shullins a year off his rent. The prize,’ he wass saying, ’wass to encourache ahl the people to attend to their gardens, and not to give Archie MacNicol thirty shullins a year.’ And that’s the God’s truth, mem, and both ways of the story; but what I will be thinking to myself is that there wass no talk of stopping the prize till Mr. Purdie found my name on the paper. That’s what I would be thinking to myself sometimes."
Käthchen glanced rather timidly at her friend. But Mary was still in that curiously abstracted reverie—her eyes turned wistfully towards the now receding Eilean Heimra—her thoughts remote. So Käthchen merely said in an undertone—