ANNIE.
Time passed and brought the usual changes to the family of honest
Wullie. Jamie had finished his college course with honor, and was now a
teacher in one of the high schools of Edinburgh. Davie could no longer
be called "the wee lad." He took his place beside his father, and with
his youthful vigor performed as much labor as Wullie with his declining
strength. Annie was now in the full flush of early womanhood. Her dark
eyes, rosy cheeks, and bewitching manner had already won the admiration
of many "neebor lads," who did not fail to get a sight of her every
Sunday in the kirk. But she had completely captured the heart of Donald
McPherson, Jr. To his great annoyance she did not seem to reciprocate
his affection. But knowing her to be lively and wilful, he hoped she
only feigned indifference and did not mean to allow herself to be
lightly won.
It was at this time that a nephew of John Cameron came to spend a few
weeks at Laird Erskine's. He had been educated with Jamie, and, as was
quite natural, he called at the cottage to deliver a message and some
presents from Jamie. In one of his rambles he took occasion to call a
second time. He chatted pleasantly with Annie, and was pleased with her
artless simplicity. When he was about to return to Edinburgh he called
again to say good-by. He gave his hand to Annie as he took leave, and
with a pleasant smile remarked, "I hope I shall see you again."
Poor Annie! It was the first time a fine gentleman had talked with her.
She could not but observe the refinement of his manner and conversation.
She contrasted him with the rustic lads of the neighborhood, and they
sank into insignificance. She remembered his looks and his words, and
pondered them in her heart. How she wished she had been born a lady, or
had been educated like her brother Jamie! Her sunny face lost some of
its color. She moved about her work mechanically, her thoughts wandering
in the cloud-land of her imagination.
Mrs. Murdoch noticed the change in her daughter's manner. "What ails ye,
lass, that ye dinna talk ony mair? Are ye no weel?" she asked.
"I am quite weel," said Annie, "but I dinna feel like talking."
Donald McPherson had been steadily gaining property ever since he
stopped drinking. He now had sufficient means to stock a farm which he
rented. He had also gained respectability by honest dealing with his
neighbors and by a strict attendance at church. He had merited and
gained the coveted name of douce Donald, which was not misapplied.
Donald, Jr., being the only child, and of steady habits, Mrs. Murdoch
placed no obstacle in the way of an intimate friendship between him and
her daughter. In fact, she considered him a very suitable person to sue
for Annie's hand. He was warmly received by all at the cottage; but
Annie never showed him any preference above the other lads of the
neighborhood. Her mother had long since realized that Wullie was right
when he intimated that she was "heidstrang." Mrs. Murdoch was at a loss
to know how to approach her daughter, for fear of driving her in the
wrong direction; therefore she wisely concluded to let the matter alone.
But young McPherson, who saw nothing in the way of settling in life,
offered her his hand. She declined the offer. He was loath to accept a
refusal. He pressed his suit, telling her that he had always thought of
her as his future wife.
"Ye hae taen far too muckle for granted," she replied, "for I canna wed
wi' you."
Donald's visits were discontinued. The mother, ascertaining the cause
of his prolonged absence, remonstrated with her daughter.
"Annie, lass, what hae ye dune to young Donald?"
"I hae refused him, as was my privilege," she replied, with an
independent toss of her head.
"Can ye no see where your interest lies? Donald is a clever lad, and
would gie you a gude hame; and a' would be your ain when his faither and
mither are gane."
"I dinna want a better hame than I have noo," retorted Annie; "and it is
lang waiting for dead folks' shoon."
"Ye will drive the lad a'maist daft wi' your stubborn ways."
"Little danger o' that; but I canna help it if I do. Auld Muckle Geordie
might tak it in his heid to gang daft aboot me; would I hae to marry
him?" she asked, with a merry twinkle in her mischievous eyes.
The mother laughed despite her efforts to the contrary, for Auld Muckle
Geordie was an old lame piper supported by charity.
"Noo be a canny lass," she continued, resuming the stern expression of
her countenance. "Auld Muckle Geordie has naething to do wi' Donald,
who isna quite twa years older than yoursel, and naething can be said
against him."
"I didna say onything against him. I only meant to shaw that a lass
canna always wed ony ane that sets his heart on her."
"Ay, ony ane, to be sure! But where would ye find a better lad than
Donald? Dinna pit your dish tapside doun when it rains parritch."
"Weel, mither, it will hae to rain parritch frae anither quarter before
I set my dish to catch it."
"Annie, ye can never be tauld onything. But I hae kenned folk wha
decided sae speedily that they had to repent at leisure."
Donald took the matter more to heart than Annie had anticipated. Wishing
to get away from scenes that were constant reminders of his chagrin and
unhappiness, he left home and took passage in a vessel bound to the West
Indies. Annie then received cold looks from more than one pair of eyes.
Mr. and Mrs. McPherson regarded her as the disturber of their peace and
the desolater of their home. They could see no reason why their son
should be refused by Annie Murdoch or any other lass. Even Annie's
mother was reserved in manner towards her. But her native wit and
vivacity often served her a good turn when the subject was broached,
and she generally parried their censure with a counterstroke that made
her victorious. So things remained till Jamie came again.
Jamie, though so learned and so well received in Edinburgh society, did
not forget his parents in their humble home. Every year he spent with
them at least a part of the summer, and they were none the poorer for
his visit. From the time he first received a salary he had every year
sent them a generous remittance; and when he visited them he did not
come empty-handed. His coming was always anticipated with eager
pleasure; and now when he arrived all were delighted. He took an
interest in all their simple home affairs, and always inquired about the
welfare of the neighbors. He liked to sit and talk with his mother.
During a conversation with her he chanced to ask her how she liked young
Mr. Cameron. Annie turned away her face at the mention of his name. She
felt the hot blood rush to her cheeks; but it soon receded, for Jamie
followed his question with the statement that Cameron was soon to be
married to his cousin.
Annie, pale and trembling, sought the door.
"What ails thee, Annie?" asked the anxious mother; but receiving no
answer, the truth flashed on her mind. "Puir lass!" said she; but
Annie, refusing sympathy, withdrew from her mother, and hurried out to
conceal her emotion.
"What ails Annie?" asked Jamie.
"I see it a' noo," replied his mother. "I ken why she refused young
Donald McPherson. The puir lass maun hae lo'ed young Cameron."
Jamie was astonished. He questioned his mother, and learned that Cameron
had been at the cottage but three times. "He is a kind-hearted, noble
young man. I do not wonder that my little sister admired him; but it was
folly to fall in love with him. Let us deal gently with the girl, and
turn her thoughts in other directions."
The day passed; night wrapped the earth in darkness; bird, beast, and
human creatures rested in sleep, save where the solitary lamp burned
dimly in the sick-room or the aching heart forbade the eyes to slumber.
Annie retired to her bed, but sleep came not. She had been rudely
wakened from her young life's happy dream; could she ever sleep again!
In vain she tried to dismiss her thoughts and find rest.
Finally she rose from her bed and stole softly to the window. Looking
out of its narrow casement, she saw in the distance the outline of a
clump of silver birches; then catching the scent of the clover from the
meadow and the wild rose from the hedgerow, she said mentally, "This
world is too bonny for tears. And why should I grieve for one who
perhaps never gave me a second thought, and whom I had no right to love?
It was but a childish fancy. I am no longer a child. From this hour I am
a woman. I will tear his image from my heart, and be content with the
lot that God has given me."
The midnight air cooled her brow and quieted her throbbing brain and
aching heart. She again sought her couch, and soon fell into a peaceful
slumber. The next morning she was calm, but not sad. Reason had
prevailed.
Her mother was surprised at her self-control; but she said not a word to
Annie upon the subject that was most in both their thoughts. Neither did
Annie ever mention to any one her struggle and her victory. If she had
supposed that any one possessed her secret, her mortification would have
been as great as her grief.
Jamie felt sorry for his sister, but he did not dare tell her so. He
only gave her his parting presents, bade her a cheerful good-by, and
returned to his post.