THE winter went by very sadly. At first the people about Fairnilee
expected the English to cross the Border and march against them. They
drove their cattle out on the wild hills, and into marshes where
only they knew the firm paths, and raised walls of earth and
stones--_barmkyns_, they called them--round the old house; and made many
arrows to shoot out of the narrow windows at the English. Randal used
to like to see the arrow-making beside the fire at! night. He was not
afraid; and said he would show the English what he could do with his
little bow. But weeks went on and no enemy came. Spring drew near, the
snow melted from the hills. One night Randal was awakened by a great
noise of shouting; he looked out of the window, and saw bright torches
moving about. He heard the cows “routing,” or bellowing, and the women
screaming. He thought the English had come. So they had; not the English
army, but some robbers from the other side of the Border. At that time
the people on the south side of Scotland and the north side of England
used to steal each other’s cows time about. When a Scotch squire, or
“laird,” like Randal’s father, had been robbed by the neighbouring
English, he would wait his chance and drive away cattle from the English
side. This time most of Randal’s mother’s herds were seized, by a sudden
attack in the night, and were driven away through the Forest to England.
Two or three of Lady Ker’s men were hurt by the English, but old Simon
Grieve took a prisoner. He did this in a curious way. He shot an arrow
after the robbers as they rode off, and the arrow pinned an Englishman’s
leg to the saddle, and even into his horse. The horse was hurt and
frightened, and ran away right back to Fairnilee, where it was caught,
with the rider and all, for of course he could not dismount.
They treated him kindly at Fairnilee, though they laughed at him a good
deal. They found out from him where the English had come from. He did
not mind telling them, for he was really a gipsy from Yetholm, where the
gipsies live, and Scot or Southron was all one to him.
When old Simon Grieve knew who the people were that had taken the cows,
he was not long in calling the men together, and trying to get back what
he had lost. Early one April morning, a grey morning, with snow in the
air, he and his spearmen set out, riding down through the Forest, and so
into Liddes-dale. When they came back again, there were great rejoicings
at Fairnilee. They drove most of their own cows before them, and a great
many other cows that they had not lost; cows of the English farmers.
The byres and yards were soon full of cattle, lowing and roaring, very
uneasy, and some of them with marks of the spears that had goaded them
across many a ford, and up many a rocky pass in the hills.
Randal jumped downstairs to the great hall, where his mother sat. Simon
Grieve was telling her all about it.
“Sae we drave oor ain kye hame, my lady,” he said, “and aiblins some
orra anes that was na oor ain. For-bye we raikit a’ the plenishing oot
o’ the ha’ o’ Hardriding, and a bonny burden o’ tapestries, and plaids,
and gear we hae, to show for our ride.” *
* “We drove our own cattle home, and perhaps some others
that were not ours. And we took all the goods out of the
hall at Hardriding, and a pretty load of tapestries, and
rugs, and other things we have to show for our ride.”
Then he called to some of his men, who came into the hall, and cast down
great piles of all sorts of spoil and booty, silver plate, and silken
hangings, and a heap of rugs, and carpets, and plaids, such as Randal
had never seen before, for the English were much richer than the Scotch.
Randal threw himself on the pile of rugs and began to roll on it.
“Oh, mother,” he cried suddenly, jumping up and looking with wide-open
eyes, “there ‘s something living in the heap! Perhaps it’s a doggie, or
a rabbit, or a kitten.”
[Illustration: Page 248]
Then Randal tugged at the cloths, and then they all heard a little
shrill cry.
“Why, it’s a bairn!” said Lady Ker, who had sat very grave all the time,
pleased to have done the English some harm; for they had killed her
husband, and were all her deadly foes. “It’s a bairn!” she cried,
and pulled out of the great heap of cloaks and rugs a little beautiful
child, in its white nightdress, with its yellow curls all tangled over
its blue eyes.
Then Lady Ker and the old nurse could not make too much of the pretty
English child that had come here in such a wonderful way.
How did it get mixed up with all the spoil? and how had it been carried
so far on horseback without being hurt? Nobody ever knew. It came as
if the fairies had sent it. English it was, but the best Scot could not
hate such a pretty child. Old Nancy Dryden ran up to the old nursery
with it, and laid it in a great wooden tub full of hot water, and was
giving it warm milk to drink, and dandling it, almost before the men
knew what had happened.
“Yon bairn will be a bonny mate for you, Maister Randal,” said old Simon
Grieve. “‘Deed, I dinna think her kin will come speering* after her at
Fairnilee. The Red Cock’s crawing ower Hardriding Ha’ this day, and when
the womenfolk come back frae the wood, they’ll hae other thing to do
for-bye looking for bairns.”
* Asking.
When Simon Grieve said that the Red Cock was crowing over his enemies’
home, he meant that he had set it on fire after the people who lived in
it had run away.
Lady Ker grew pale when she heard what he said. She hated the English,
to be sure, but she was a woman with a kind heart. She thought of the
dreadful danger that the little English girl had escaped, and she went
upstairs and helped the nurse to make the child happy.
[Illustration: Chapter Four]