OVER LAND AND SEA.
Four years after Robert Lindsay left home he returned for a visit. He
was now a millwright. He had not only mastered his trade, but he had
surprised his employers by his originality and inventive genius.
Satisfied with what he had accomplished, he thought himself entitled to
a holiday. There was joy in the old farmhouse when Robert arrived. After
all the others had greeted him Annie came forward, put her arms about
his neck, and kissed him.
"Now that is what I call a bit partial," said her cousin James, her warm
friend and her unceasing tormentor. "Here I hae been gaen in and out o'
this house for three years and mair, and Annie has never gien me a
kiss."
"Ye will gang in and out three years mair and I winna do it," said she,
laughing, while a blush mantled her cheek at Jamie's unexpected
complaint.
"Na, Annie, I willna be here three years mair, kiss or no kiss. I will
be awa to Robin in America."
"Ye are joking now," said Aunt Belle.
"Not a bit of it. There is nae need o' three strang lads hanging about
one small hame. Wullie does the ploughing, Archie can take my place, and
I can very well be spared. Ye should hear, Robert, how Robin writes
about that country."
"Now, dinna put it into his heid next," said Mrs. Lindsay.
"If there is gude fortune to be had for the taking, I might as weel hae
it as ither people," said Robert, casting a wistful glance at the supper
table. Travelling had made him hungry, and a whiff from one of the
steaming dishes sharpened his appetite.
The mother announced supper, and all gathered at the table. Robert was
the hero of the evening: he talked while others listened. He told them
how pleasantly Alice was situated, and spoke well of her husband.
"Alice deserves to do weel," said the mother. "She was aye a dutiful
daughter, and I mak no doubt she is a gude wife as weel."
Robert's holidays passed so quickly that when they were gone all wished
he had but just come.
"I am not done thinking about America," said he, as he was about to
leave. "Here I may work for ither people all the days of my life; there
I might build a mill, and own it myself in the bargain. If Jamie
Murdoch goes he will not go alone."
Davie Murdoch soon became aware that his son was making plans to leave
home and kindred and follow Robin to America. He was heavy-hearted, for
he knew that Jamie would sooner or later accomplish what he had made up
his mind to do.
"It has a' come o' Robin's roving notions," said he to his wife. "Hoo
can I let Jamie gang? He is the cleverest lad I hae; and he is o'er
young to gang that far."
"I would be muckle grieved to part wi' him," said Jeannie, "but I canna
blame the lad. What would he do here but herd sheep, or haud the pleugh
for ither people? while in America he could shear his ain sheep, and
guide his ain pleugh on his ain land. If I was young I would gang
mysel."
"Hoot, woman!" said Davie, "dinna let the lad hear ye talk in that
fashion. I am glad I hae nae sic notions. I am content to live and dee
as my faither did before me. If I am as muckle respeckit as he was, I
shall hae honor eneuch, and I am sure we dinna suffer for ony o' the
necessaries o' life."
"That is true, Davie, but young people canna be content wi' auld ways.
If our sons could do better for themselves than we can do for them, I
wouldna haud them back."
Davie heaved a sigh, put on his bonnet, and went out to his accustomed
toil.
The subject of America was never long undiscussed in the little cottage
circle. Every time Jamie came home he was sure to introduce it.
"Do ye not fare weel eneuch wi' Archie Lindsay?" asked his father.
"Ay, I fare weel eneuch," said Jamie, "but I can never make a step
forward. Nothing but America will satisfy me. I am twa-and-twenty years
of age, and I can make my way now if ever I can. Wages are good
there--twa or three dollars a day in harvest, Robin says--and I could
soon earn enough to buy a farm, and stock it too. There is but ane thing
would keep me at hame, and that is if ye should say, 'Ye shallna gang.'
In that case I think I would grieve mair than you would to let me hae my
way."
"Ye will leave us wi' sair hearts if ye gang, Jamie," said his mother,
"but I wouldna want a mither's feelings to stand in the way o' your
success. If ye maun gang, ye hae my consent and my blessing," said she,
wiping her eyes with her apron as she spoke.
Jamie caught the first shadow of consent, and resolved to go the
following spring. Before that time his cousin, Robert Lindsay, the
millwright, had decided to go with him. The young emigrants wrote to
Robin that they were coming, and gained the necessary information in
regard to the journey.
With dim eyes and trembling fingers Davie Murdoch counted from his
little hoard a sum which, added to his son's earnings, made the amount
sufficient to defray the expenses of the journey. "And take this
besides," said he as, parent-like, he laid five pounds more on the pile.
"Seckness may overtake you, my bairn."
On the day appointed for the departure Archie Lindsay, who was to take
Jamie as well as his own son to a railway station, came to Davie's
cottage, accompanied by his wife and daughter; they had come to take
leave of Jamie. They had become much attached to him in the three years
he had lived under their roof.
There were no dry eyes in the cottage that morning. Davie took his son's
hand, held it some moments, shook his head sadly, then turned away; he
could say nothing. The mother could scarcely do more. She spoke a few
words of counsel; then her voice was choked with sobs. The sisters were
in tears, and Jamie's own eyes began to fill. He kissed his mother, his
sisters, and his aunt Belle. When he came to Annie she proffered a kiss
likewise.
"Weel, I hae gained this muckle, at ony rate, by gaen awa. A kiss frae
Annie is a thing to remember," said he, trying to make light of his
sadness.
Time and railroad trains do not wait, and the two young men with Mr.
Lindsay drove rapidly away. Davie and his remaining sons went to their
work--one to follow the plough, the other to tend the sheep on the
hillside.
In less than two weeks our travellers had landed in New York, purchased
tickets for the West, and were speeding towards the setting sun as fast
as steam could carry them. Across the Alleghanies, across rivers in
comparison with which those of Scotland were mere brooks, across States
as large as kingdoms, through flourishing towns and busy cities, over
far-reaching, level prairies, they hurried forward day and night, till
they reached the Father of Waters, and crossed it. Still westward
pursuing their course a day's journey, they reached at last their
destination.
If the parting with home and friends was sad, the meeting with their
cousin in America was very joyful. Robin, with a fine pair of horses,
was at the station awaiting their arrival. Taking them and their trunks
into his wagon, he drove away across the level prairie towards his own
home. To the new-comers the country seemed a paradise. Far as their
sight could reach a vast expanse of living green met their delighted
eyes. Fields of waving grain, miles in extent, gave varied tints to the
verdant landscape. Herds of sleek-haired cattle grazed on the unfenced
fields of luxuriant prairie-grass. All around them flowers of scarlet,
purple, gold, pure white, and delicate intermediate tints dotted the
green enamel, glowed in the sunlight, nodded a welcome, or bowed their
graceful stems in the breeze that undulated the ocean of green. Never
had they conceived that earth in her primeval garb was so magnificent.
Beyond answering a few simple questions about the friends at home, they
could talk and think of nothing but the beauties of nature spread out
before them. Many miles they rode across this varying and yet uniform
garden; and when at length they reached the homestead a warm Western
welcome awaited them.
"It is a braw hame ye hae," said Jamie, "and I am muckle pleased wi' all
I see. But how is it that ye dinna speak your ain language? Hae ye grawn
ashamed of your mither-tongue? Naebody would ken ye were a Scotchman at
a'."
"No, I am not ashamed of it," said Robin, with a smile; "but it wears
away after a while, where no one speaks that way. You will lose your
Scotch too, Jamie; but it has done me good to hear you talk. It seems
like a bit of Scotland, and I like you better for it."
Geordie McKay was not slow to visit and welcome his fellow-countrymen.
He, too, thought of his old home across the waves, and his heart warmed
towards it as he heard the familiar speech of his boyhood.
The new-comers went to work with a will, and at the end of three years
James Murdoch had a farm of his own. He had bought improved land near
his cousin Robin's. Robert Lindsay had built or helped to build two
mills, and then he had gone to a fine wheat-producing region, where he
was building a mill for himself.
When Jamie had the deed of his farm in his hands he went to spend the
evening at Robin's. "I have made the last payment to-day," said he. "I
own a hundred and sixty acres of land, and I am a happy man."
"That is more than you would ever have called your own in the old
country," said Robin.
"You are right in that. I have succeeded even beyond my expectation;
nevertheless I long for a sight of the faces I left in the far-away
cottage."
"And do you not think I too have such a longing?"
"I suppose you have; but you have a wife and bairns. You can scarcely
miss the old friends as I do."
"You must take a wife too, Jamie."
"If I could find a lass as good and as bonny as my cousin Annie, I might
try to win her hand."
"Cousin Annie--ay, she was but young when I left the old country; but I
mind she was fair to look at, and a pleasant child too. I wonder how
they all look there now."
Jamie was not very long in finding a lass who would have compared not
unfavorably with his cousin Annie. She was a cousin of Robin's wife, and
the beautiful affection cherished for each other by these two families
of cousins could scarcely have been equalled by any two brothers in the
land. The grass was not suffered to grow upon the path between their
pleasant homes. They loved to meet and talk of their old homes across
the waters--of their dead as well as of their living friends. Robin
could well remember his grandfather, honest Wullie, but Jamie could
recall him only in his last days. He remembered how Alice Lindsay had
tried to comfort his brother Wullie and himself when they first knew
they were to lose their grandfather. Often, when thinking and talking
of such things, they formed plans to go and see their relatives and the
dear familiar scenes so far away. The prospect was still in the
distance; but when they should become sufficiently prosperous they
expected to make the journey.