It was the habit of our three friends--Bob Mabberly, John Barret, and
Giles Jackman--during their residence at Kinlossie, to take a stroll
together every morning before breakfast by the margin of the sea, for
they were fond of each other's company, and Mabberly, as a yachtsman,
had acquired the habit of early rising. He had also learned to
appreciate the early morning hours as being those which present Nature
in her sweetest, as well as her freshest, aspect--when everything seems,
more than at other periods of the day, to be under the direct influence
of a benignant Creator.
It was also the habit of Captain McPherson and his man, James McGregor,
to indulge daily in similar exercise at about the same hour, but, owing
probably to their lives having been spent chiefly on the sea, they were
wont to ramble up a neighbouring glen in preference to sauntering on the
shore.
One bright calm morning, however, when the sky was all blue and the loch
was like a mirror, the two seamen took it into their heads to desert the
glen and ramble along the shore. Thus it came to pass that, on
returning homeward, they encountered our three friends.
"It iss fery strange that we should foregather this mornin', Mr
Mabberly," said the skipper, after greeting the young men; "for Shames
an' me was jist speakin' aboot ye. We will be thinkin' that it iss
foolishness for hum an' me to be stoppin' here wastin' our time when we
ought to be at oor work."
"Nonsense, Captain," said Mabberly; "surely you don't think that taking
a holiday in a pleasant place like this is wasting time. Besides, I
don't consider you free from your engagement to me. You were hired for
the trip, and that includes land as well as water, so I won't give you
your discharge till you have had a long rest, and recruited yourselves
after the shock to your nervous systems occasioned by the wreck and the
swim to shore!"
A grim smile played on the skipper's iron features when reference was
made to his nerves, and a flicker of some sort illumined the wooden
visage of McGregor.
"You are fery kind, sir," returned the skipper; "but we don't like to be
receivin' pay for doin' nothin'. You see, neither Shames nor me cares
much for fushin' in the burns, or goin' after the deer, an' there's no
chance o' raisin' the yat from the pottom o' the sea, so, if you hev no
objection, sir, we will be goin' by the steamer that arrives to-morrow.
I thought I would speak to you to-day, for we will hev to start early in
the mornin', before you're up, for it iss a long way we'll hev to go.
Iss it not so, Shames?"
"Oo, ay," replied the seaman, with more than ever of the nasal twang;
"it iss a coot many miles to where the poat comes in--so the poy Tonal'
wass tellin' me, what-e-ver."
Mabberly tried to persuade the men to remain a little longer, but they
were obdurate, so he let them go, knowing well that his father, who was
a wealthy merchant and shipowner, would see to the interests of the men
who had suffered in his son's service.
As they retraced their steps to the house the skipper gave Giles Jackman
some significant glances, which induced him to fall behind the others.
"You want to speak with me privately, I think, skipper?"
"Yes, sir, I do," replied the seaman, with some embarrassment. "But it
iss not fery easy nor pleesant to do so. A man does not like to speak
of another man's failin's, you see, but as I am goin' away I'm obleeged
to do it. You will hev noticed, sir, that Ivor Tonalson iss raither
fond of his tram?"
"I'm afraid that I have observed that--poor fellow."
"He is a goot man, sir, is Tonalson--a fery goot man--when he iss sober,
but he hes got no power to resist the tram. An' whiles he goes on the
spree, an' then he gits wild wi' D.T. you know, sir. Noo, ever since we
cam' here, Ivor an' me hes been great friends, an' it hes been heavy on
my mind to see him like that, for he's a fine man, a superior person, is
Ivor, if he would only let alone the whusky. So I hev spoken to him
wance or twice--serious like, you know. At first he was not pleased,
but the last time I spoke, he took it kindly, an' said he would think
aboot what I had been sayin'. Noo, it's heavy on me the thoucht o'
goin' away an' leavin' him in that state, so I thoucht that maybe ye
would tak the metter up, sir, an' see what ye can do wi' him. Git him,
if ye can, to become a total abstainer, nothin' less than that wull do
wi' a man in that condeetion."
Jackman was greatly surprised, not only at the tenor of the skipper's
remarks, but at the evidently deep feeling with which he spoke, for up
to that time the reticence and quiet coolness of the man had inclined
him to think that his mind and feelings were in harmony with his rugged
and sluggish exterior. It was, therefore, with something of warmth that
he replied,--"I shall be only too happy to do as you wish, Captain; all
the more that I have had some serious thoughts and feelings in that
direction. Indeed, I have made up my mind, as it happens, to speak to
Ivor on that very subject, not knowing that you were already in the
field. I am particularly sorry for his poor old mother, who has
suffered a great deal, both mentally and physically, on his account."
"Ay, that's the warst o' it," said the skipper. "It wass the sicht o'
the poor wumin ailin' in body an' broken heartit that first set me at
Ivor."
"But how comes it, Captain, that you plead so earnestly for _total_
abstinence?" asked Jackman with a smile. "Have I not heard you defend
the idea of moderate drinking, although you consented to sail in a
teetotal yacht?"
"Mr Jackman," said the skipper, with almost stern solemnity, "it iss
all fery weel for men to speak aboot moderate drinkin', when their
feelin's iss easy an' their intellec's iss confused wi' theories an'
fancies, but men will change their tune when it iss brought home to
themselves. Let a man only see his brither or his mither, or his
faither, on the high road to destruction wi' drink, an' he'll change his
opeenion aboot moderate drinkin'--at least for hard drinkers--ay, an'
he'll change his practice too, unless he iss ower auld, or his stamick,
like Timothy's, canna git on withoot it. An' that minds me that I would
tak it kind if ye would write an' tell me how he gets on, for I hev
promised to become a total abstainer if _he_ wull."
That very afternoon, while out shooting on the hills, Jackman opened the
campaign by making some delicate approaches to the keeper on the
subject, in a general and indirect way, but with what success he could
not tell, for Ivor was respectfully reserved.
About the same time John Barret went off alone for a saunter in one of
the nearest and most picturesque of the neighbouring glens. He had
declined to accompany his comrades that day, for reasons best known to
himself. After writing a few letters, to keep up appearances, and to
prevent his being regarded as a mere idler, he went off, as we have
said, to saunter in the glen.
He had not sauntered far when he came upon a sight which is calculated,
whenever seen, to arouse sentiments of interest in the most callous
beholder--a young lady painting! It would be wrong to say he was
surprised, but he was decidedly pleased, to judge from the expression of
his handsome face. He knew who the lady was, for by that time he had
studied the face and figure of Milly Moss until they had been indelibly
photographed on his--well, on the sensitive-plate of his soul, wherever
that lay.
Milly had quite recovered from her accident by that time and had resumed
her favourite pursuits.
"I'm very glad to have caught you at work at last, Miss Moss," he said,
on coming up to the picturesque spot on which her easel was erected. "I
wish much to receive that lesson which you so kindly promised to give
me."
"I thought it was just the other way. Did you not say that you would
teach me some of those perplexing rules of perspective which my book
lays down so elaborately--and, to me, so incomprehensibly?"
"I did, but did not you promise to show me how to manipulate oils--in
regard to which I know absolutely nothing? And as practice is of
greater importance than theory, you must be the teacher and I the
pupil."
Upon this point they carried on a discussion until Milly, declaring she
was wasting her time and losing the effects of light and shade, went
seriously to work on the canvas before her. Barret, whose natural
colour was somewhat heightened, stood at a respectful distance, looking
on.
"You are quite sure, I hope," said the youth, "that it does not disturb
you to be overlooked? You know I would not presume to do so if you had
not promised to permit me. My great desire, for many a day, has been to
observe the process of painting in oils by one who understands it."
How he reconciled this statement with the fact that he was not looking
at the picture at all, but at the little white hand that was deftly
applying the brush, and the beautiful little head that was moving itself
so gracefully about while contemplating the work, is more than we can
explain.
Soon the painter became still more deeply absorbed in her work, and the
pupil more deeply still in the painter. It was a magnificent sweep of
landscape that lay before them--a glen glowing with purple and green,
alive with flickering sunlight and shadow, with richest browns and reds
and coolest greys in the foreground; precipices, crags, verdant slopes
of bracken, pine and birch woods hanging on the hillsides, in the middle
distance, and blue mountains mingling with orange skies in the
background, with MacRummle's favourite stream appearing here and there
like a silver thread, running through it all. But Barret saw nothing of
it. He only saw a pretty hand, a blushing cheek and sunny hair!
The picture was not bad. There was a good deal of crude colour in the
foreground, no doubt, without much indication of form; and there was
also some wonderfully vivid green and purple, with impossible forms and
amazing perspective--both linear and aerial--in places, and Turneresque
confusion of yellow in the extreme distance. But Barret did not note
that--though by means of some occult powers of comprehension he
commented on it freely! He saw nothing but Milly Moss.
It was a glorious chance. He resolved to make the most of it.
"I had no idea that painting in oils was such a fascinating occupation,"
he remarked, without feeling quite sure of what he said.
"I delight in it," returned the painter, slowly, as she touched in a
distant sheep, which--measured by the rules of perspective, and regard
being had to surrounding objects--might have stood for an average
cathedral.
Milly did not paint as freely as usual that afternoon. There was
something queer, she said, about the brushes. "I _can't_ get it to look
right," she said at last, wiping out an object for the third time and
trying again.
"No doubt," murmured the youth, "a cottage like that must be difficult
to--"
"Cottage!" exclaimed Milly, laughing outright; "it is not a cottage at
all; it's a cow! Oh! Mr Barret, that is a very poor compliment to my
work and to your own powers of discernment."
"Nay, Miss Moss," retorted the pupil, in some confusion, "but you have
wiped it out twice, confessing, as you did so, that you could not paint
it! Besides, my remark referred to the cottage which I _thought_ you
were going to paint--not to your unsuccessful representations of the
cow."
The poor youth felt that his explanation was so lame that he was
somewhat relieved when the current of their thoughts was diverted by a
loud shouting in the road farther down the glen. A shade of annoyance,
however, rested for a moment on the face of his companion, for she
recognised the voices, and knew well that the quiet _tete-a-tete_ with
her willing and intelligent pupil must now be interrupted.
"My cousins," she remarked, putting a touch on the cow that stamped that
animal a _lusus naturae_ for all time coming.
Another whoop told that the cousins were drawing near. In a few minutes
they appeared in the path emerging from a clump of hazel bushes.
"They are evidently bent on a photographic expedition," remarked Barret,
as the boys approached, Junkie waving his hat with hilarious good-will
when he discovered the painters.
"And Flo is with them," said Milly, "from which I conclude that they are
having what Junkie calls a day of it; for whenever they are allowed to
take Flo, they go in for a high holiday, carrying provisions with them,
so as to be able to stay out from morning till night."
The appearance of the young revellers fully bore out Milly's statement,
for they were all more or less burdened with the means or signs of
enjoyment. Archie carried his box of dry plates in his left hand, and
his camera and stand over his right shoulder; Eddie bore a colour-box
and sketching-book; Junkie wielded a small fishing-rod, and had a
fishing-basket on his back; and Flo was encircled with daisy chains and
crowned with laurel and heather, besides which, each of the boys had a
small bag of provisions slung on his shoulder.
"Hooray! hooray!
Out for the day!"
sang, or rather yelled, Junkie, as he approached.
"Ramble and roam--
Never go home!"
added Archie, setting down his camera, and beginning to arrange it.
"All of us must
Eat till we bust!
"Junkie teached me zat," said innocent Flo, with a look of grave
surprise at the peals of laughter which her couplet drew from her
brothers.
"Yes, that's what we're goin' to do," said Junkie; "we've had lunch at
the foot of Eagle Glen, and noo we are going up to Glen Orrack to dine,
and fish, an' paint, an' botanise. After that we'll cross over the
Swan's Neck, an' finish off the bustin' business with supper on the
sea-shore. Lots of grub left yet, you see."
He swung round his little wallet as he spoke, and held it up to view.
"Would you like some, Cousin Milly?" asked Eddie, opening his bag. "All
sorts here. Bread, cheese, ginger snaps, biscuits, jam--Oh! I say, the
jam-pot's broken! Whatever shall we do?"
He dipped his fingers into his wallet as he spoke, and brought them out
magenta!
Their hilarity was dissipated suddenly, and grave looks were bestowed on
Eddie's digits, until Flo's little voice arose like a strain of sweet
music to dissipate the clouds.
"Oh! never mind," she said; "I's got anuzzer pot in my bag."
This had been forgotten. The fact was verified by swift examination,
and felicity was restored.
"What are you going to photograph?" asked Milly, seeing that Archie was
busy making arrangements.
"_You_, Cousin Milly. You've no notion what a splendid couple you and
Mr Barret look--stuck up so picturesquely on that little mound, with
its rich foreground of bracken, and the grey rock beside you, and the
peep through the bushes, with Big Ben for a background; and the easel,
too--so suggestive! There, now, I'm ready. By the way, I might take
you as a pair of lovers!"
Poor Milly became scarlet, and suddenly devoted herself to the _lusus
naturae_! Barret took refuge in a loud laugh, and then said:
"Really, one would suppose that you were a professional, Archie; you
order your sitters about with such self-satisfied presumption."
"Yes, they always do that," said Milly, recovering herself, and looking
calmly up from the cow--which now resembled a megatherium--"but you must
remember, Cousin Archie, that I am a _painter_, and therefore understand
about attitudes, and all that, much better than a mere photographer.
So, if I condescend to sit, you must take your orders from _me_!"
"Fire away then with your orders," cried the impatient amateur.
"See, sir, I will sit thus--as if painting," said Milly, who was
desperately anxious to have it over, lest Archie should make some
awkward proposition. "Mr Barret will stand behind me, looking
earnestly at the picture--"
"Admiringly," interposed Barret.
"Not so--earnestly, as if getting a lesson," said Milly, with a
teacher's severity; "and Flo will sit thus, at my feet, taking care
(hold it, dear,) of my palette."
"More likely to make a mess of it," said Junkie.
"Now, are you ready? Steady! Don't budge a finger," cried Archie,
removing the little leather cap.
In her uncertainty as to which of her fingers she was not to budge, Flo
nervously moved them all.
"You're movin', Flo!" whispered Junkie.
"No, I'm not," said Flo, looking round indignantly.
"There, I knew you couldn't hold your tongue, Junkie," cried the
photographer, hastily replacing the cap. "However, I think I had it
done before she moved."
"And look--you've got the nigger in!" cried Junkie, snatching up the
black doll, which had been lying unobserved on its owner's knee all the
time.
"Never mind, that'll do no harm. Now, then, soldiers, form up, an'
quick march," said Archie, closing up his apparatus. "We have got
plenty of work before us, and no time to waste."
Obedient to this rather inaccurately given word of command, Archie's
troops fell into line, and, with a whooping farewell, continued their
march up the glen.
During the remainder of that beautiful afternoon, the artist and pupil
continued at their "fascinating" work. Shall we take advantage of our
knowledge to lift the curtain, and tell in detail how Milly introduced a
few more megatheriums into her painting, and violated nearly all the
rules of perspective, to say nothing of colour and chiaro-oscuro? Shall
we reveal the multitude of absurd remarks made by the pupil, in his wild
attempts at criticism of an art, about which he knew next to nothing?
No; it would be unwarrantable--base! Merely remarking that painter and
pupil were exceedingly happy, and that they made no advance whatever in
the art of painting, we turn to another scene in the neighbourhood of
Kinlossie House.
It was a wide grass-field from which the haycocks had recently been
removed, leaving it bare and uninteresting. Nevertheless, there were
two points of interest in that field which merit special attention. One
was a small black bull, with magnificent horns, the shaggiest of coats,
and the wickedest of eyes. The other was our friend MacRummle, taking a
short cut through the field, with a basket on his back, a rod in one
hand, and an umbrella in the other.
We may at once account for the strange presence of the latter article,
by explaining that, on the day before--which was rainy--the laird, had
with an umbrella, accompanied his friend to his first pool in the river,
at which point their roads diverged; that he had stayed to see MacRummle
make his first two or three casts, during which time the sky cleared,
inducing the laird to close his umbrella, and lean it against the bank,
after which he went away and forgot it. Returning home the next day our
angler found and took charge of it.
That he had been successful that day was made plain, not only by the
extra stoop forward, which was rendered necessary by the weight of his
basket, and the beaming satisfaction on his face, but by the protruding
tail of a grilse which was too large to find room for the whole of
itself, inside.
"You're a lucky man to-day, Dick," murmured the enthusiastic angler to
himself, as he jogged across the field.
Had he known what was in store for him, however, he would have arrived
at a very different estimate of his fortunes!
The field, as we have said, was a large one. MacRummle had reached the
centre of it when the black bull, standing beside the wall at its most
distant corner, seemed to feel resentment at this trespass on its
domain.
It suddenly bellowed in that low thunderous tone which is so awfully
suggestive of conscious power. MacRummle stopped short. He was
naturally a brave man, nevertheless his heart gave his ribs an unwonted
thump when he observed the bull in the distance glaring at him. He
looked round in alarm. Nothing but an unbroken flat for a hundred yards
lay around him in all directions, unrelieved by bush, rock, or tree, and
bounded by a five-foot wall, with only one gate, near to where the bull
stood pawing the earth and apparently working itself into a rage.
"Now, Dick," murmured the old gentleman, seriously, "it's do or die with
you if that brute charges, for your legs are not much better than
pipe-stems, and your wind is--Eh! he comes!"
Turning sharply, he caused the pipe-stems to wag with amazing velocity--
too fast, indeed, for his toe, catching on something, sent him violently
to the ground, and the basket flew over his head with such force that
the strap gave way. He sprang up instantly, still unconsciously holding
on to rod and umbrella.
Meanwhile, the bull, having made up its mind, came charging down the
field with its eyes flashing and its tail on high.
MacRummle looked back. He saw that the case was hopeless. He was
already exhausted and gasping. A young man could scarcely have reached
the wall in time. Suddenly he came to a ditch, one of those narrow open
drains with which inhabitants of wet countries are familiar. The sight
of it shot a blaze of hope through his despair! He stopped at once,
dropped his rod, and, putting up his umbrella, laid it on the ground.
It was a large cotton one of the Gamp description. Under the shelter of
it he stepped quietly into the ditch, which was not much more than
knee-deep, with very little water in it.
Placing the umbrella in such a position that it came between himself and
the bull, he laid himself flat down in the drain. The opening was far
too narrow to admit his broad shoulders, except when turned sidewise.
The same treatment was not applicable to other parts of his person, but,
by dint of squeezing and collapsing, he got down, nestled under the
bank, and lay still.
On came the bull till it reached the basket, which, with a deft toss, it
hurled into the air and sent the silvery treasure flying. A moment more
and it went head foremost into the umbrella. Whether it was surprised
at finding its enemy so light and unsubstantial, or at the slipping of
one of its feet into the drain, we cannot tell, but the result was that
it came down and turned a complete somersault over the drain, carrying
the umbrella along with it in its mad career!
When the bull scrambled to its feet again, and looked round in some
surprise, it found that one of its legs and both its horns were through
and entangled with the wrecked article.
It was a fine sight to witness the furious battle that immediately
ensued between the black bull and that cotton umbrella! Rage at the man
was evidently transmuted into horror at the article. The bull pranced
and shook its head and pawed about in vain efforts to get rid of its
tormenter. Shreds of the wreck flapped wildly in its eyes. Spider-like
ribs clung to its massive limbs and poked its reeking sides, while the
swaying handle kept tapping its cheeks and ears and nose, as if taunting
the creature with being held and badgered by a thing so flimsy and
insignificant!
Happily this stirring incident was not altogether unwitnessed. Far up
the valley it was observed by four living creatures, three of whom
immediately came tearing down the road at racing speed. Gradually their
different powers separated them from each other. Archie came first,
Eddie next, and Junkie brought up the rear. On nearing the field the
first wrenched a stake out of a fence; the second caught up a rake, that
had been left by the haymakers; and the last, unscrewing the butt of his
rod, broke the line, and flourished the weapon as a cudgel. They all
three leaped into the field one after another, and bore courageously
down on the bull, being well accustomed to deal with animals of the
sort.
Separating as they drew near, they attacked him on three sides at once.
Short work would he have made with any of them singly; together they
were more than his match. When he charged Junkie, Archie ran in and
brought the stake down on his skull. When he turned on his assailant,
Eddie combed his sides with the rake. Dashing at the new foe he was
caught by the tail by Junkie, who applied the butt of his rod
vigorously, the reel adding considerable weight to his blows. At last
the bull was cowed--if we may venture to say so--and driven
ignominiously into a corner of the field, where he vented his rage on
the remnants of the umbrella, while the victors returned to the field of
battle.
"But what's come of MacRummle?" said the panting Junkie as they gathered
up the fish and replaced them in the basket. "I never saw him get over
the wall. Did you?"
"No," replied Archie, looking round in surprise.
"I dare say he ran off while we were thumpin' the bull," suggested
Eddie.
"I'm here, boys! I'm here, Junkie," cried a strange sepulchral voice,
as if from the bowels of the earth.
"Where?" asked the boys gazing down at their feet with expressions of
awe.
"He's i' the drain!" cried Junkie with an expanding mouth.
"Ay--that's it! I'm in the drain! Lend a hand, boys; I can hardly
move."
They ran to him instantly, but it required the united powers of all
three to get him out, and when they succeeded he was found to be coated
all over one side with thick mud.
"What a muddle you've made of yourself, to be sure!" exclaimed Junkie.
"Let me scrape you."
But MacRummle refused to be scraped until they had placed the five-foot
wall between himself and the black bull. Then he submitted with a
profound sigh.