Several days passed away, in which Elsie said nothing more to Duncan of
her plans. Robbie's birthday passed off, and Elsie did serve the cake
and milk under the alder-tree, after all. She was even kind to the
little lad, and played with the two boys. Robbie was trying hard to
deserve her attention, running himself quite out of breath after the
ball she threw, and using all his strength to keep up with Duncan, who
was ever so much stronger.
By-and-by, when Elsie proposed a run on the moor, Robbie looked timidly
in her face, and said, "I wish I might come too."
"Well, go an' ask," Elsie said, condescendingly; and Robbie having
obtained permission, coupled with many injunctions not to go far or run
too much, they started, with Robbie in a radiant state of delight. And
Elsie was so gentle with him that Robbie could not help saying, "I do
like coming out here with you," in his own little gentle way; and
Duncan, who loved peace, was quite happy.
Two or three days later there was a slaying of fowls, while Elsie and
Duncan were set to pick a gathering of plums, apples, and beans, and
arrange them in baskets. As a rule, Elsie disliked this day, and went
about when she was at home with a cloudy face and many an impatient
exclamation. This time, however, she seemed quite cheerful, and helped
readily.
Very early the next morning Mrs. MacDougall was waiting at the cottage
door in her bonnet and shawl for Farmer Jarrett's cart. Presently it
came along, the farmer's round jolly face surmounting a heap of baskets,
packed with butter, cheese, eggs, and poultry. Mrs. MacDougall handed
her few baskets up to him, and when these were arranged in various odd
corners she put her foot on the cart-wheel, jumped up by his side, and
off they started for the little market town, where Mrs. MacDougall could
get a better price for the few things she had to sell than in the
village shop, and could also purchase more cheaply the groceries,
calicoes, and other necessaries of her household.
"Tell granny to take care o' Robbie," Mrs. MacDougall called, as she
waved her good-bye. "I shan't be later than six about."
"Take care o' Robbie, indeed!" muttered Elsie, just loud enough for
Duncan to hear. "It's always Robbie. Why should he be taken more care of
than any other body? P'raps she thinks he'll melt in the sun, or be
drowned by the rain, or blown away by the wind, which can't never hurt
us."
As Mrs. MacDougall drove off in the early morning, she looked somewhat
anxiously at the heavy mist which hung over the moor, and remarked to
her neighbour that there was a chilliness about the air this morning
which felt like the approach of cold weather.
"Well, we mustn't grumble," the farmer said, in his northern dialect;
"it's over fine for the time o' year; but when the weather does break we
shall have the winter early upon us, and a long, hard one too, I
reckon."
"If I have a good day I'll just take some warm stuff home for the
children," Mrs. MacDougall said to herself. Then she pulled out her
purse and looked over its contents, turning them over and over, and
reckoning them up, as if by dint of careful arithmetic they might,
perchance, come to a little more. In one part of it there was a little
packet of money done up in paper, marked "Robbie." There was more there
than in all the other divisions put together. It was clear Robbie would
not go short. Mrs. MacDougall looked at it with a little sigh.
[Illustration: "'WE ARE VERY TIRED,' ELSIE SAID" (_p. 71_).]
"I must get yarn to finish Elsie's stockings," she said to herself.
"Duncan will have her old ones that she's grown out of. A fine lassie
she'll be in a few more years, growing like this; but it's hard work to
keep them without a man's earnings to look to."
[Illustration]
"You're thinking out some very hard question, judging by your silence,"
the farmer said, after a while.
"Yes, it's just a puzzle to know how to bring the children up," Mrs.
MacDougall replied. "Since my good man died and left me with them, it's
been a hard matter at times, but never so hard as now. There's my Elsie,
growing as fine a lass as may be, though a deal bit wilful without a man
to intimidate her. She'll have to take service in a few years more, for
what else can I do with her? an' I'm thinking she'll take it hard, for
she's got rare notions, an' is a bit clever above the common. Duncan's
over young yet to fret about; Robbie'll be provided for, no doubt, when
the proper time comes."
"I wouldn't fret at all," the farmer replied, heartily; "you've done the
best, and worked hard for the bairnies since your good man was taken.
They'll find a good provision, I doubt not. There's a special protection
for the fatherless and the widow, so the minister's always saying."
"It's just the one interest of my life to see the children started,"
Mrs. MacDougall replied, "although sometimes I get pretty nigh
disheartened."
"You've had a sorrowful life," the farmer said. "Some dead, others false
and mean, but you've much to be proud of. The bairnies are strong an'
winsome, an' I'm sure the little one's just a real credit to you."
"Ah! the poor little lad. I think his father would be astonished to see
him. Yes, I'm bound to say he's done well, all things considered."
"But, if I may say it, I think you're a bit mistaken to treat him any
differently from the others. Surely he's strong an' hearty enough now."
"Mother talks like that," Mrs. MacDougall replied; "but I must be just.
There's many a time when I'd be glad to give the others a little more
and Robbie a little less, but I regard it as a temptation to be
resisted. He has a double claim upon me, an' if I were to push him to
the wall, or let him be sacrificed in any way, the dead would rise up
an' reproach me."
"But his father never intended you to make a difference between the
children," the farmer continued. "I'm thinking if it mightn't make a
jealousy among 'em, which wouldn't be a good thing for any of them."
"Children don't remark much," Mrs. MacDougall replied. "They know how
weakly he is, an' they wouldn't be jealous. It's circumstances has made
the difference. If their father had lived there'd have been plenty for
all, doubtless, but now the strong ones must go without, since they
can't all have everything; an' they know it must be so."
"Well, well, you do your best; but I will say I agree with the old
dame," Farmer Jarrett replied; and then they changed the subject.
In the meantime Elsie, having seen her mother depart, and had her
grumble against Robbie, turned back into the cottage. Mrs. MacDougall
was very greatly mistaken in supposing that Elsie was not jealous.
Duncan's matter-of-fact mind took things as he found them, and did not
trouble to inquire why they were so or whether they should be different,
but Elsie was quite the opposite. She was always troubling herself about
things that did not concern her, and not being of an open, ingenuous
disposition, which turns naturally to some other person for a solution
of its difficulties, she formed her own conclusions, which, more often
than not, were very erroneous ones.
It was not yet seven, so that there were more than two hours wanting to
school-time. Elsie was very busy about the house for a little time; she
changed her week-day clothes for her Sunday ones, and made Duncan do the
same; she opened their money-boxes, and carefully counted the coppers
they contained: they amounted altogether to elevenpence, halfpennies and
farthings included. These she tied up in a handkerchief, and put in her
pocket. Then she went to the pantry, and took from it a loaf of bread
and some Dutch cheese, which she put into a basket.
This done, she called sharply to Duncan to make haste, for she was
"going to have a run on the moor before school." Robbie asked timidly if
he might come too, but Elsie would not hear of it.
"You can tell granny when she comes downstairs that we're not coming
home to dinner. I've taken our dinner in a basket," she said to Robbie.
The little fellow stood at the door, and watched them wistfully as they
ran off. It was dull to turn back into the empty kitchen, and wait there
till the old dame came downstairs. If Robbie could have put his feelings
into words, he would have said that he would have been happier roughing
it with Duncan and Elsie than with the constant care and consideration
that separated him from them. Perhaps, after all, Farmer Jarrett was
right.
Elsie was in an extraordinary state of excitement this morning. She
danced along, laughing and talking merrily. Duncan wondered to see her
in such spirits, for it was seldom that she had nothing to grumble at.
By-and-by they reached a point where there were two roads: the one
leading to the village, the other a short cut to the school, running
along the back of the village. Elsie took the long one.
"Where are you going?" Duncan asked, in astonishment.
Elsie looked at him gleefully, and burst out laughing. "I don't mind
telling you now," she replied; "you can't let it out. We're going to
England, and we've got the whole day before us, for granny won't expect
us home till after afternoon school, and mother won't be home till
sunset. Oh! wasn't it just a capital idea of mine?"
"To England?" echoed Duncan, somewhat ruefully, for the idea was, after
all, sudden enough to take him aback. "Then let's be quick, Elsie. Shall
we get there to-night?"
"That depends," Elsie returned, with the air of a person who knows all
about it. "If we get a lift on the road, we shall get along quickly."
It had occurred to her that they might not reach London that evening,
but she was not daunted by the thought, for she had a plan in her mind
in case of such an event, only she considered it wiser to keep Duncan in
ignorance of any possible difficulty.