"No, sir, I've asked everybody, and no one has seen them since Bridget
put them to dry. She says they were in front of the fire when she went
to bed."
This was Grant's reply to Max's earnest prayer that he would try and
find his trousers.
"Do you think they could have been stolen?" said Max doubtingly.
"Stolen! My goodness, sir! do you think there is any one about this
house who would steal young gentlemen's trousers?"
"Oh no, of course not," said Max; "but could you get a man to pick a
lock?"
"Pick a pocket, sir!" cried Grant indignantly, for he had not fully
caught Max's question.
"No, no--a lock. I lost the key of my small portmanteau as I came here,
and I can't get at my clothes."
"No, sir, there is no one nearer than Stirling that we could get to do
that."
"Oh, never mind, Max," cried Kenneth, coming in after leaving his
visitor for some little time in the drawing-room; "the trousers'll turn
up soon, and if they don't, you'll do as you are. He looks fizzing,
don't he, Granty?"
"Yes, sir, that he do," replied the butler, compressing his lips into a
thin line.
"Only his legs look just a little too white," continued Kenneth.
"You are both laughing at me," said Max sadly.
"No, no, nonsense! There, come on out."
"Like this?"
"Of course. It's no worse for you than it is for me. Come along."
Max felt as if he could not help himself, and, yielding to the pressure,
he followed his young host out on to the terrace-like rock, where they
were joined by Scoodrach, who came up with his eyes so wide open that
they showed the whites all round.
As the red-headed lad came up, he essayed to speak, but only made an
explosive sound.
"Look here, Scood, if you laugh, Max Blande will pitch you overboard.
Now then, what is it?"
"Tonald--"
"Well, what about Donald?"
"She's chust waitin' for the young chentleman."
"Where?"
"In ta castle yaird."
"What does he want?" said Kenneth seriously. "Here, Max, let's go and
see."
Max was not sorry to follow his young host into the shelter of the
castle ruins, for there was a good deal of breeze off the sea; and, as
soon as the three lads were in the shady quadrangle, old Donald Dhu came
out of the ruined entry at the corner tower he affected.
As soon as the old man was well outside, he stood shading his dim eyes
with one bony hand, bending forward and gazing at Max, looking him up
and down in a way which was most embarrassing to the visitor, but which
made the boys' eyes sparkle with delight.
Max felt ready to run back to his room and lock himself in, but, to his
relief, the old man did not burst into a fit of laughing, for a grave
smile overspread his venerable face.
"She wass a prave poy," he said, laying a claw-like hand upon Max's
shoulder, "and she shall wear ta kilt petter some day."
Then, motioning to him mysteriously with his free hand, he beckoned him
slowly toward the entry to the spiral staircase, and Max yielded, though
he longed to escape.
"What does he want, Kenneth?"
"Got something to say to you, I suppose. Don't be long, and we'll have
the boat ready for a sail."
"But--"
"I say, don't stop talking; it may make the old boy wild, and if you
do--"
Kenneth did not finish his sentence, but made a peculiar cluck with his
tongue--a sound which might have meant anything.
All this time the old man stood, with his flowing white locks and beard,
motioning to Max to come; and unwillingly enough he entered the old
tower, and climbed cautiously up, avoiding the broken places, and
finally reaching the chamber in the top.
"She shall sit town there," said the old man, pointing to a stool set in
the ruinous fireplace; and, without the slightest idea of what was going
to happen, Max seated himself and waited to hear what the piper had to
say.
He was not kept long in suspense, for the old man said, with a
benevolent look on his ancient face,--
"She lo'es ta pipes, and she shall hear them the noo, for they're mentit
up, and tere's nae music like them in ta wide world."
As he spoke, he raised the lid of a worm-eaten old chest, and, smiling
the while, took out the instrument, placed the green baize-covered bag
under one arm, arranged the long pipes over his shoulder, and, inflating
his cheeks, seemed to mount guard over the doorway, making Max a
complete prisoner, and sending a thrill of misery through him, as, after
producing a few sounds, the old man took the mouthpiece from his lips,
and said, with a smile,--
"`Macrimmon's Lament.'"
Max felt as if he should like to stick his fingers in his ears, but he
dared not,--as if he should like to rush down the stairs, but he could
not. For the old man fixed him with his eyes, and, keeping his head
turned towards his prisoner, began to march up and down the broken stone
floor, and blew so wild a dirge that in a few moments it became almost
maddening.
For Max Blande's nerves, from the retired London life he had led, were
sensitive to a degree. He had never had them strung up by open-air
sports or life among the hills, but had passed his time in study,
reading almost incessantly; though even to the ears of an athlete, if he
were shut up in a small chamber with a piper, the strains evoked from
this extremely penetrating instrument might jar.
As Donald marched up and down in a pace that was half trot, half dance,
his eyes brightened and sparkled; his yellow cheeks flushed as they were
puffed out; and, as he went to and fro before the window, the sea-breeze
made his long hair and beard stream out behind, giving him a wild, weird
aspect that was almost startling, as it helped to impress Max with a
feeling of awe which fixed him to his chair. For if he dared to rise he
felt that he would be offering a deadly affront to the old minstrel, one
which, hot-blooded Highlander as he was, he might resent with his dirk,
or perhaps do him a mischief in a more simple manner, by spurning him
with his foot as he retreated--in other words, kick him down-stairs.
And those were such stairs!
Northern people praise the bagpipes, and your genuine Highlander would
sooner die than own it was not the "pravest" music ever made. He will
tell you that to hear it to perfection you must have it on the mountain
side, or away upon some glorious Scottish loch. This is the truth, for
undoubtedly the bagpipes are then at their best, and the farther off
upon the mountain, or the wider the loch, the better.
But Max was hearing the music in a bare-walled, echoing chamber, and,
but for the fact that there was hardly any roof, there is no saying what
might have been the consequences. For Donald blew till his cheeks were
as tightly distended as the bag, while chanter and drone burred and
buzzed, and screamed and wailed, as if twin pigs were being ornamented
with nose-rings, and their affectionate mamma was all the time bemoaning
the sufferings of her offspring, "Macrimmon's Lament" might have been
the old piper's lamentation given forth in sorrow because obliged to
make so terribly ear-shrilling a noise.
But, like most things, it came to an end, and with a sigh of relief Max
sprang up to exclaim, as if he had been in a London drawing-room, and
some one had just obliged,--
"Oh, thank you!"
"She's a gran' chune," said Donald, pressing forward, and as it were
backing poor Max into the seat from which he had sprung. "Noo she'll
gie ye `Ta Mairch o' ta Mackhais.'"
Max suppressed a groan, as the old man drew himself up and produced half
a dozen sonorous burring groans from the drone.
Then there was a pause, and Donald dropped the mouthpiece from his lips.
"She forgot to say tat she composed ta mairch in honour of the Chief
hersel'."
Then he blew up the bag again, and there came forth a tremendous wail,
wild and piercing, and making a curious shudder run up and down Max's
backbone, while directly after, as he was debating within himself
whether he might not make some excuse about Kenneth waiting, so as to
get away, the old man marched up and down, playing as proudly as if he
were at the head of a clan of fighting men.
All at once, sounding like an echo, there came from somewhere below a
piteous yell, long-drawn and wild, and doleful as the strains of the
pipes.
The effect was magical. The old man ceased playing, his face grew
distorted, and he stamped furiously upon the floor.
"It's tat Sneeshing," he cried, laying down the pipes and making a
snatch at his dirk, but only to thrust it back, dart at a great stone
which had fallen in from the side of the window, and, seizing it, whirl
it up and dash it out of the broken opening down into the court where
the dog was howling.
There was a crash, a snapping, wailing howl, and then all was silent.
"She hopes she has killed ta tog," cried the old man, as he gathered up
his pipes again, and once more began to march up and down and blow.
The fierce burst of tempestuous rage and the accompanying actions were
not without their effect upon Max, who shrank back now helpless and
aghast, staring at the old piper, whose face grew smoother again, as he
gave his visitor an encouraging smile and played away with all his
might.
Would it never end--that weary, weary march--that long musical journey?
It was in a minor key, and anything more depressing it was impossible to
conceive. Like the pieces played by WS Gilbert's piper, there was
nothing in it resembling an air, but Donald played on and on right to
the bitter end, when once more Max began to breathe, and again he
said,--
"Thank you."
"She hasn't tone yet," said Donald, smiling. "She does not often ket a
young chentleman like yersel' who lo'es ta coot music, and she'll keep
on playing to ye all tay. Ye shall noo hae something lively."
Before Max could speak, the old man blew away, and wailed and burred out
what was probably intended for "Maggie Lauder;" but this was changed
into "Tullochgorum," and back again, with frills, and puckers, and bows,
and streamers, formed of other airs, used to decorate what was evidently
meant for a grand _melange_ to display the capabilities of the national
instrument.
Just when this wonderful stream of maddening notes was at its highest
pitch, and Max Blande was at his lowest, and feeling as if he would like
to throw himself down upon the floor and cry, he became aware of the
fact that Kenneth and Scoodrach were up above, gazing down at him from
the ruined wall on the side where the chamber was roofless.
Old Donald was right below them and could not see, even had he been less
intent and out of his musical dreaming, instead of tramping up and down,
evidently supremely happy at the diversity of noises he made.
Max seized the opportunity of Donald's back being turned, and made a
sign to them to come down; but they only laughed, keeping their heads
just in sight, Scoodrach's disappearing and bobbing about from time to
time, as he grinned and threw up his fingers, and seemed to be going
through the motions of one dancing a reel.
Max would have shouted to them to come down, but at the thought of doing
so a feeling of nervous trepidation came over him. Donald had looked
half wild when the dog interrupted him; how would he behave if he were
interrupted again, just as he was in this rapt state, and playing away
with all his might?
The lad subsided in his seat, and with wrinkled brow gazed from the
piper to the heads of the two boys, both of whom were laughing, and
evidently enjoying his misery.
And now for the first time it struck Max that he had been inveigled up
there through the planning of Kenneth, who knew his dislike to the
pipes, and had told Donald that he was anxious to hear him play.
His face must have been expressive, for Kenneth was laughing at him, and
whispered something to Scoodrach, who covered his mouth with his hands,
and seemed to roar to such an extent that he was obliged to bend down.
As Scoodrach reappeared, he climbed up so as to lie flat on the top of
the wall, leaning his head down when Donald came toward him, and raising
it again as the old man turned.
The medley of Scottish airs ceased, and at last Max thought his penance
was at an end, but in an instant the old man began again blowing hard,
and playing a few solemn notes before approaching quite close to Max,
taking his lips from the mouthpiece and whispering sharply,--
"Ta Dirge o' Dunloch."
Then whang! wha! on went the depressing strain Sneeshing being heard to
howl in the distance.
Max felt as if he must run, and in his despondency and horror, knowing
as he did that if he did not do something the old half-crazy piper would
keep him shut up there and play to him all day, he waited till Donald
had approached close to him, and, as the old man turned, he stretched
out a leg ready. Then, waiting till he had been across the room, come
back, and was turning again, Max cautiously slipped off his seat, and
was about to dash for the door, when there was a shout, a scuffle, a
thud, an awful pipe yell, and Donald came staggering back, uttering a
series of wild Gaelic ejaculations in his surprise.
The cause of the interruption was plain enough: Scood had rolled off the
top of the wall feet first, clung with his hands, and in his efforts to
recover himself and get back he had kicked out one leg so sharply that
it had come in contact with the bag of the pipes, producing the wild
yell, and sending the old man staggering back.
As soon as he fully realised what was the matter, the old man uttered a
howl of rage, laid down his pipes, and rushed across at Scoodrach, who
had half scrambled back.
Donald's attack altered his position, for the old man seized him about
the hips by the kilt, and dragged at him to get him down, just as
Kenneth was holding him tightly and trying to pull him up, Scood
seconding his efforts by clinging to him with all his strength.
What followed did not take many moments, for Donald had every advantage
on his side. He hauled, and Kenneth hauled, while Scood clung to his
companion with tremendous tenacity.
"Pull! pull!" shouted Scoodrach to Kenneth; but the latter could not
pull for laughing. And besides, he had the whole of the young gillie's
weight to bear, while his foothold was exceedingly insecure.
The old piper uttered some fierce words in Gaelic, to which Scoodrach
replied in the same tongue; and then, finding how helpless he was, and
little likely to be drawn up while Donald was clinging to him, he drew
in his legs and then kicked them out again, like one swimming, or, a
better comparison, like a grasshopper in the act of taking a leap.
Scoodrach was as strong as one of the rough ponies of the place, while
old Donald's days for display of muscular strength had long gone by.
Consequently he was drawn to and fro as Scoodrach kicked, and was
finally thrown off, to go down backwards into a sitting position.
"Now pull, Maister Ken," shouted Scoodrach. "Heave her up, or she'll
hae that mad blawblether at her again."
Kenneth pulled, laughing more than ever, as Scoodrach held on by his
jacket; and just then the gillie managed to get a foot in a hole whence
a stone had been dislodged. Raising himself up a little, Kenneth now
began to pull in earnest; but it was too late. Old Donald had struggled
up and seized Scoodrach once more, giving so heavy a drag upon him that
down came the young gillie, and not alone, for he dragged Kenneth with
him; and all three lay together in a struggling heap upon the floor.
"Rin, Maister Ken! Rin, young chentleman! Doon wi' ye! She'll be like
a daft quey the noo. I can haud her till ye get doon."
"No, no, Scood, I won't run!" cried Kenneth. "You run, Max. Get down
with you."
Max obeyed, glad of the opportunity for escape; but as soon as he had
passed through the door he turned, and looked in at the struggle going
on.
To his horror, they more than once drew so near to the hole in the floor
that it seemed as if they must go through; but they all wrenched
themselves clear, and Scoodrach suddenly got free, leaped up, and drew
his dirk.
"Oh!" cried Max in horror.
"Put away that knife, Scood, and run!" cried Kenneth.
"She'll niver rin frae ta auld piper!" cried Scoodrach; and, turning to
the box on which lay the pipes, he caught them up, and held them with
the point of his keen knife close to the skin bag.
"Noo," he shouted, "haud off an' let the young maister go, or I'll slit
the bag's weam."
"Ah!" shouted old Donald.
"Ay, but I will!" yelled Scoodrach, with the point of his keen knife
denting in the bag.
"Ah!" shouted the old piper again; and he made a movement toward the
boy.
But Scoodrach was too quick. He stepped back, raised his arm, and
seemed about to plunge the knife through the green baize.
"She'll preak her heart," groaned the old piper.
"Shall she let her go, then?" cried Scoodrach.
The old man caught hold of his hair by handfuls and gave it a tremendous
tug.
"Don't cut, Scood," cried Kenneth.
"Go on down, and she shall come aifter. She'll slit ta bahg oop if
Tonald ton't sit town."
The old man's breast heaved, and he gazed piteously at his instrument;
following Scoodrach slowly, as that young gentleman edged round by the
side of the wall till he reached the door, through which Kenneth had
passed, and where he was now standing holding on by Max, both being
intensely interested spectators of the scene.
"Rip her recht up," cried Scoodrach. "Noo, Maister Kenneth, are ye
ready?"
"Yes."
"Down wi' ye, then. He canna catch us there. Noo, Tonald, catch."
He threw the pipes at the old man, and then darted through the narrow
opening, and followed the others down the spiral stairs at such a rate
that an accident seemed certain; but they reached the bottom in safety,
and stood at last in the courtyard, laughing and cheering.
"Tonal'!" shouted Scoodrach; and he added something in Gaelic.
The effect was to bring the old piper's head and shoulders out of the
narrow broken window opening, where he stood, hugging the pipes in one
hand, and shaking the other menacingly.
Then, changing his manner, he began to beckon with his great claw-like
hand.
"Nivver mind him, laddie. Come up here and I'll play ye Macrimmon owre
again."
"No, no!" exclaimed Max earnestly.
"Says he's afraid you'd blow the roof off, Tonal'," shouted Kenneth.
"No time. He's coming along with us;" and he led Max, to his very great
delight, out through the old arch on to the broad terrace by the sea.
But they had not gone many yards before they heard old Donald again
piping away, with no other audience but the jackdaws, which came and
settled near, and looked at him sideways, too much used to the wild
strains to be alarmed, and knowing from experience that the old piper
would pay no heed to them.