I’ve seen the morning, with gold the hills adorning,
And loud tempests roaring before parting day.
SONG.
“SUCCESS to Uncle Sandy--he has done it!” cried Harry, with exultation,
as he threw Uncle Sandy’s note, which he himself had just glanced at,
across the table to Rose. “Read it aloud for the general edification,
Rosie. My uncle has always some good counsel for us.”
And Rose, upon whom this duty generally devolved, put little Harry
into Martha’s lap, and read the letter.
“My dear Harry,
I have just come home from seeing Miss Jean; and to put you out of
pain, I may as well say at once that, to my great astonishment,
she has consented like a lamb; so that I called on Mr. Macer, on
my road home, and told him he might go the very same afternoon and
conclude the matter; and I suppose you will get the siller very
soon. But Harry, my man, mind what I said to you, and take good
thought and competent counsel before you begin to lay it out, for I
have heard folk say that ye may sow siller broadcast on land, and
if it’s no wisely done, you may be left ne’er a hair the better
after all. I do not pretend to be learned about farming; but mind,
Harry, and take good advice before you begin to spend this siller.
Your propine of the ham was very well taken, and did me good in my
errand; but I will never wish _you_ an errand like it, Harry. Poor
old desolate woman, it makes my heart sore to see her strong grip
of the world, and worse than that, her grudge at you and the like
of you, for the strength and youth which Jean Calder had in her
day, but could not hoard like siller. I cannot get this out of my
head, for it aye rejoices me myself to see the new life springing,
and my heart blesses it; and Jean Calder, if years are anything,
should be nearer the end than me.
Ye may tell Violet and Katie that the bairns here are just laying
the table in the garden, and that we are all to get our four
hours’ of strawberries and cream. So being a little wearied after
my battle with Miss Jean, and the bairns being clamorous for me
outbye, and besides the first part of this letter being what
will most content _you_, Harry, the rest of the bairns will make
allowance for me if I say no more at the present writing.
ALEXANDER MUIR.”
“Well done, Uncle Sandy! He is the prince of plenipotentiaries!”
said the triumphant Harry, who, in the meantime, had opened another
letter. “And here’s a note from Charteris. He’s coming to-day to pay
us a visit, Agnes. You must give him the best room, and do him all
honour--but for him, we might never have seen Allenders. Does anybody
know, by the bye, what first set Charteris to search for the heir? Do
you, Rosie?”
“Harry, _me_!”
Rose hastily drew little Harry upon her lap again, and looked very much
amazed and innocent; but the colour rose over her face, and the small
heir of Allenders felt her brow burn as he pulled her hair. His father
laughed, and pulled Rose’s dark love-locks too.
“Never mind then, we can ask himself; but Rose, we must take care
that no hostile encounter takes place between Charteris and Gibbie
Allenders--that would not do, you know.”
A sudden frown contracted the forehead on which little Harry’s hand
grew hotter and hotter. The very name of Gilbert Allenders had grown a
bugbear to Rose, for he had already paid them repeated visits, and was
every time more and more demonstrative of his devotion to herself.
“Now, little ones, are you ready?” said Harry. “Come, we shall drive
you in to school to-day; and who else will go with me? you, Agnes, or
Rose? We will stay in Stirling till Charteris comes, and bring him
home.”
“Not me,” said Rose, under her breath, “not me.” She said it as if she
was resisting some urgent solicitations, and very resolute was the
heroic Rose, who in ordinary circumstances thought a drive to Stirling
a very pleasant thing.
“Nor me either, Harry, for I have something to do,” said Agnes; “and
besides, I don’t want to be an hour or two in Stirling. Go yourself,
and take the children; and Dragon thinks, Harry, that Violet’s pony
should be put to the little old gig to take them to school, for they
cannot walk always, Dragon says; and it won’t do to have a pillion, as
Lettie proposed.”
“But, Harry, I think it would, and Katie thinks it would,” said Violet,
eagerly; “and I would ride behind the one day, and Katie the other. And
what way could we no do as well as the lady in young Lochinvar?”
“The lady in young Lochinvar did not run away every day, or I dare say
even she might have preferred a gig,” said Harry. “And besides, she had
no pillion. I think we must have another pony for Katie--that will be
the best plan.”
“Eh, Violet!” Little Katie Calder looked down at her printed chintz
frock, and struggled to restrain the laugh of delight which was quite
irrestrainable; for Katie had other frocks now much grander than the
chintz one, and the little handmaiden of Miss Jean believed devoutly
that she had come to live in fairy-land.
Their school was about two miles off, on the Stirling road--a famous
_genteel_ school for young lady boarders, where only these two little
strangers were admitted as day scholars, because “Allenders” was
landlord of the house. Violet and Katie dined with the young ladies
at Blaelodge, besides having lessons with them; and they were being
practically trained into the “manners” for which good, stiff, kindly
Miss Inglis was renowned. On this particular morning the children ran
to their room for their bonnets, and collected their books from the
sunny window in the hall, just beside the door, which they had chosen
for their study, with a considerable flutter of excitement; for to have
“the carriage” stop at Blaelodge, and Harry himself, the most dignified
of mortal men in the eyes of both, seen by all the young ladies at all
the windows taking care of them, was quite an overwhelming piece of
grandeur.
“He’ll take off his hat to Miss Inglis,” said Katie, reverentially, “I
saw him do that once, Violet, to the minister’s wife.”
“Eh, I’ve lost my grammar,” said Violet in dismay. “Katie, do you mind
where we had it last? And there’s Harry ready at the door.”
“When we were sitting on the steps at Dragon’s room last night,” said
the accurate Katie, “yes, I ken; and I’ll run, Lettie.”
“I’ll run myself,” said Violet stoutly; and there immediately followed
a race across the lawn, which Lettie, being most impetuous, threatened
at first to win, but which was eventually carried by the steadier speed
of Katie Calder.
The Dragon himself, taking long, feeble, tremulous strides over the
dewy turf, met them half way, carrying the lost grammar.
“Ay, I kent it was near school time,” said old Adam; “and what should
I pit my fit on, the first thing this morning when I steppit out o’
my ain door, but this braw new book? What gars ye be such careless
monkeys? And it might just as easy have tumbled down off the step to
the byre door, and had the brown cow Mailie, tramp on’t instead o’
me--and then ye never could have looked at it again, bairns. I wish you
would just mind that a’ thing costs siller.”
“Eh, Dragon, Harry is to take us to Blaelodge in the carriage,” said
Violet; “for Harry is going to Stirling to bring home Mr. Charteris to
stay a whole week; and you mind Mr. Charteris, Dragon?”
“That’s yon birkie,” said the old man. “Is he coming to be married
upon Miss Rose?”
“As if Rose would marry anybody!” said Violet, with disdain; “but, eh,
Katie! I dinna mind my grammar.”
“Because you made him tell us fairy tales last night,” said the
sensible Katie; “but I had my grammar learned first. Come away, Lettie,
and learn it on the road.”
“And I’ll maybe daunder as far as Maidlin Cross and meet ye, bairns,
when ye’re coming hame,” said Dragon. “And I wadna care, if Mr. Hairy
gave ye the auld gig to drive ye ower every morning mysel, and sae ye
may tell him.”
But Harry, just then, had discovered, by a second glance at Cuthbert’s
note, that he did not expect to arrive in Stirling till four or five
o’clock. “It does not matter, however,” said Harry, “I have something
to do in Stirling, and an hour or two is not of much importance. Have
a good dinner for us, Agnes--perhaps I may bring out somebody else with
me. Now, little ones, jump in--and you need not expect us till five.”
Agnes stood on the steps, very gay and blooming, in a morning dress
which she would have thought magnificent Sabbath-day’s apparel six
months ago; while Rose, behind her, held up little Harry to kiss his
hand to his young father. The window of the dining-room, where they
had breakfasted, was open, and Martha stood beside it looking out. She
was chiding herself, as she found that all those peaceful days had
not yet quite obliterated the old suspicious anxiety which trembled
to see Harry depart anywhere alone; and unconsciously she pulled the
white jasmine flowers which clustered about the window, and felt their
fragrance sicken her, and threw them to the ground. Many a time after,
there returned to Martha’s heart the odour of those jasmine flowers.
The high trees gleaming in the golden sunshine, the dewy bits of shade,
and then the broad flush of tangible light into which their horse
dashed at such an exhilarating pace, made the heart of Harry bound
as lightly as did those of the children by his side. In his warm and
kindly good-humour Harry even hesitated to set them down at the very
shady gate of Blaelodge, which the sunshine never reached even in
midsummer, till its latest hour, and gave five minutes to consider the
practicability of carrying them with him to Stirling; but it was not
practicable--and Harry only paused to lift them out, and bid them hurry
home at night to see the strangers, before proceeding himself on his
farther way. The influence of the bright summer day entered into his
very heart; he looked to his right hand, where lay the silver coils of
the Forth, gleaming over fertile fields and through rich foliage; he
looked before him, where his young groom steadily driving on, cut in
two the far-off mass of Benledi, and lifted his towering head over the
mountain--an unconscious innocent Titan--and Harry’s heart ran over
like a child’s, and he scarcely could keep himself still for a second,
but whistled and sang, and talked to John, till John thought Allenders
the merriest and wittiest gentleman in the country side; and John was
not much mistaken.
The day passed with the children, as days at school always pass. Violet
very quick and very ambitious, resolute not to lose the silver medal
inscribed with its glorious “Dux,” which she had worn for a whole
week, managed to learn her grammar in some mysterious magical way which
the steady Katie Calder could not comprehend; and at last, just as
Martha at home began to superintend the toilette which Rose anxiously
desired to have plainer than usual to-day, although in spite of her,
herself took involuntary pains with it, Katie and Violet gathered up
their books, and left Blaelodge. Their road was the highway--a fine
one, though not so delightful to Lettie as the narrower bye-lanes about
Allenders--but the sun was sufficiently low to leave one side of the
path, protected by high hedges and a fine line of elm trees, very shady
and cool and pleasant. So they walked along the soft velvet grass,
which lined their road, and lingered at the door of the one wayside
cottage, and further on gave loving salutation to the cottar’s cow,
feeding among the sweet deep herbage, all spangled with wildflowers,
and cool with the elm tree’s shadow, which made her milk so rich and
fragrant, and herself a household treasure and estate. The little
village of Maidlin lay half way between Blaelodge and Allenders, a
hamlet of rude labourers’ houses untouched by the hand of improvement,
where shrewish hens and sunburnt children swarmed about the doors
continually. There had been once a chapel here dedicated to the
pensive Magdalen, and an old stone cross still stood in the centre
of the village, which--though there now remained no vestige of the
chapel--retained the Scoticised name of the Saint.
“There’s Dragon at the cross,” said Katie Calder, who was skipping on
in advance, leaving Violet absorbed in a childish reverie behind, “and
he’s telling a story to a’ the bairns.”
So saying, Katie, who did not choose to lose the story, ran forward;
while Lettie, only half awakened, and walking straight on in an
unconscious, abstracted fashion peculiar to herself, had time to be
gradually roused before she joined the little group which encircled the
Dragon of Allenders.
He, poor old man, leaned against the cross, making a gesture now and
then with those strange dangling arms of his which, called forth a
burst of laughter, and scattered the little crowd around him for a
moment, only to gather them closer the next. He was, indeed, telling a
story--a story out of the Arabian Nights, which Violet herself had left
in his room.
“Ay, bairns, ye see I’m just ready,” said Dragon, finishing “Sinbad
the Sailor,” with a flourish of those long disjointed arms. “Ony
divert does to pass the time when ane’s waiting, for ye’re aff-putting
monkeys, and might hae been here half an hour since--no to say there’s
a grand dinner making at the house, and as many flowers pu’ed as would
plenish a poor man’s garden, and Miss Rose dressed like a fairy in a
white gown, and ilka ane grander than anither. Whisht, wee laddies!
do ye no see the twa missies carrying their ain books hame frae the
school, and I maunna stop to tell ony mair stories to you.”
“Come back the morn, Dragon.” “Dinna eat them, Dragon, or chain them
up in your den.” “If ye do, I’ll come out and fecht ye!” cried the
“laddies” of Maidlin Cross; for those sturdy young sons of the soil,
in two distinct factions, gave their fervent admiration to Katie and
Violet, and would have been but too happy to do battle for them on any
feasible occasion.
“Have they come, Dragon?” asked Lettie. “Has Harry and Mr. Charteris
come?”
“Nae word of them, nae word of them,” answered the Dragon. “They’re in
at Stirling doing their ain pleasure, ye may tak my word for that. See,
bairns, yonder’s Geordie Paxton, my sister’s son, coming in frae the
field. He’s very sune dune the nicht. Just you look at him as he gangs
by, and see what an auld failed man he is, aulder like than me.”
Geordie, laden with his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, was
returning home with those heavy, lengthened, slow strides which almost
persuade you that some great clod drags back the heavy-weighted
footstep of the rustic labourer. He was a man of fifty, with bent
shoulders and a furrowed face; but though their old attendant advanced
to him at a pace which Geordie’s slow step could ill have emulated, the
children, glancing up at the hale, brown, careworn face of the family
father, and contrasting with it their poor old Dragon’s ashy cheeks and
wandering eyes, were by no means inclined to pronounce Geordie as old
as his uncle.
“How’s a’ wi’ ye the day, auld man?” said the slow-spoken labourer.
“Aye daundering about in the auld way, I see. And how are ye liking the
new family, uncle?”
“No that ill,” answered the old man. “I’ve kent waur, to be such young
craturs; and to tell you the truth, Geordie, I feel just that I might
be their faither, and that I’m appointed to take care o’ the puir
things. Thae’s twa o’ the bairns, and our Mr. Hairy’s wean is weer
than them still.”
“He has a muckle family on his hands, puir lad,” said Geordie. “He’ll
hae mair o’ his ain siller than the Allenders lands, it’s like, or he
ne’er would live in such grandeur. Your auld man never tried the like
of yon, uncle.”
“Ay, but Mr. Hairy has a grand spirit,” said the Dragon; “and what for
should he no have a’ thing fine about him, sic a fine young lad as he
is? See yonder, he’s coming this very minute along the road.”
The boys were still grouped in a ring round Maidlin Cross; and as
Dragon spoke a shrill cheer hailed the advent of Harry’s carriage as it
dashed along in a cloud of dust towards Allenders. Harry himself was
driving, his face covered with smiles, but his hands holding tight by
the reins, and himself in a state of not very comfortable excitement,
at the unusual pace of the respectable horse, which he had chafed
into excitement too. In the carriage was Charteris, looking grave and
anxious, Gilbert Allenders, and another; but Harry could only nod, and
Cuthbert bend over the side, to bow and wave his hand to little Violet
as they flew past. There was not really any danger, for Harry’s horse
understood its business much better than its driver did; but Harry
himself was considerably alarmed, though his pride would not permit him
to deliver up the reins into the hands of John, who sat on the box by
his side.
Violet did not think of danger; but, without saying a word to any one,
and indeed with a perfect inability to give a reason, she sat down
upon the roadside grass, and cried. Dragon, who had added a feeble
hurra to the cheer of the boys, bent down his white head anxiously, and
Katie sat by her side and whispered, “Dinna greet!” and Geordie looked
on in hard, observant silence. But when Lettie rose at last, and dried
her eyes, and went on, neither her young companion nor her old one
could glean from her what ailed her. “Nothing--she did not know.” Poor
little Lettie! she did not know indeed.