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No doubt the grace was properly finished, but nothing more
was heard, for John had already begun to play such a knife and
fork, that his speech was, for the time, gone.

‘I shall take the usual licence, Mr Browdie,’ said Nicholas, as he
placed a chair for the bride.

‘Tak’ whatever thou like’st,’ said John, ‘and when a’s gane, ca’
for more.’

Without stopping to explain, Nicholas kissed the blushing Mrs
Browdie, and handed her to her seat.

‘I say,’ said John, rather astounded for the moment, ‘mak’
theeself quite at whoam, will ’ee?’

‘You may depend upon that,’ replied Nicholas; ‘on one

‘And wa’at may thot be?’ asked John.
‘That you make me a godfather the very first time you have
occasion for one.’

‘Eh! d’ye hear thot?’ cried John, laying down his knife and fork.
‘A godfeyther! Ha! ha! ha! Tilly--hear till ’un--a godfeyther!
Divn’t say a word more, ye’ll never beat thot. Occasion for ’un--a
godfeyther! Ha! ha! ha!’

Never was man so tickled with a respectable old joke, as John
Browdie was with this. He chuckled, roared, half suffocated
himself by laughing large pieces of beef into his windpipe, roared
again, persisted in eating at the same time, got red in the face and
black in the forehead, coughed, cried, got better, went off again
laughing inwardly, got worse, choked, had his back thumped,
stamped about, frightened his wife, and at last recovered in a state
of the last exhaustion and with the water streaming from his eyes,
but still faintly ejaculating, ‘A godfeyther--a godfeyther, Tilly!’ in a

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