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THE SCOTCH TWINS
By
Lucy Fitch Perkins
ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
Geographical Series
THE DUTCH TWINS PRIMER. Grade I.
THE DUTCH TWINS Grade III.
THE ESKIMO TWINS. Grade II.
THE JAPANESE TWINS. Grade IV.
THE IRISH TWINS. Grade V.
THE SCOTCH TWINS. Grades V and VI.
THE MEXICAN TWINS. Grade VI.
THE BELGIAN TWINS. Grade VI.
THE FRENCH TWINS. Grade VII.
Historical Series
THE CAVE TWINS. Grade IV.
THE SPARTAN TWINS. Grades V-VI.
Each volume is illustrated by the author
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY LUCY PITCH PERKINS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
I. THE LITTLE GRAY HOUSE ON THE BRAE
II. THE RABBIT AND THE GAMEKEEPER
III. THE SABBATH
IV. THE NEW BOY
V. EVENING IN THE WEE BIT HOOSIE
VI. TWO DISCOVERIES
VII. THE CLAN
VIII. THE POACHERS
IX. A RAINY DAY
X. ON THE TRAIL
XI. ANGUS NIEL AND THE CANNY CLAN
XII. NEWS
XIII. THE NEW LAIRD
GLOSSARY
SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS
THE SCOTCH TWINS
I. THE LITTLE GRAY HOUSE ON THE BRAE
If you had peeped in at the window of a little gray house on a
heathery hillside in the Highlands of Scotland one Saturday
morning in May some years ago, you might have seen Jean Campbell
"redding up" her kitchen. It was a sight best seen from a safe
distance, for, though Jean was only twelve years old, she was a
fierce little housekeeper every day in the week, and on Saturday,
when she was getting ready for the Sabbath, it was a bold person
indeed who would venture to put himself in the path of her broom.
To be sure, there was no one in the family to take such a risk
except her twin brother Jock, her father, Robin Campbell, the
Shepherd of Glen Easig, and True Tammas, the dog, for the Twins'
mother had "slippit awa'" when they were only ten years old,
leaving Jean to take a woman's care of her father and brother and
the little gray house on the brae.
On this May morning Jean woke up at five o'clock and peeped out
of the closet bed in which she slept to take a look at the day.
The sun had already risen over the rocky crest of gray old Ben
Vane, the mountain back of the house, and was pouring a stream of
golden sunlight through the eastern windows of the kitchen. The
kettle was singing over the fire in the open fireplace, a pan of
skimmed milk for the calf was warming by the hearth, and her
father was just going out, with the pail on his arm, to milk the
cow. She looked across the room at the bed in the corner by the
fireplace to see if Jock were still asleep. All she could see of
him was a shock of sandy hair, two eyes tight shut, and a
freckled nose half buried in the bed-clothes.
"Wake up, you lazy laddie," she called out to him, "or when I get
my clothes on I'll waken you with a wet cloth! Here's the sun
looking in at the windows to shame you, and Father already gone
to the milking."
Jock opened one sleepy blue eye.
"Leave us alone, now, Jeanie," he wheedled. "I was just having a
sonsie wee bit of a dream. Let me finish, and syne I'll tell you
all about it."
"Indeed, and you'll do nothing of the kind" retorted Jean, with
spirit. "Up with you, mannie, or I'll be dressed before you, and
I ken very well you'd not like to be beaten by a lassie, and her
your own sister, too."
Jock cuddled down farther into the blankets without answering, and
Jean began putting on her clothes. It seemed but a moment before she
slid to the floor, rolled her sleeves high above a pair of sturdy
elbows, and went to finish her toilet at the basin. There she washed
her face and combed her hair, while Jock, cautiously opening one eye
again, observed her from his safe retreat. He watched her part her
hair, wet it, plaster it severely back from her brow, and tie it
firmly in place with a piece of black ribbon. Jock could read Jean's
face like print, and in this stern toilet he foresaw a day of
unrelenting house-cleaning.
"Aye," he said to himself bitterly, "she's putting on her
Saturday face. There's trouble brewing, I doubt! It'll be Jock
this and Jock that both but and ben all day long, and whatever is
the use of all this tirley-wirly I can't see, when on Monday the
house will look as if it had never seen the sight of a besom!
I'll just bide where I am." He closed his eyes and pretended to
be asleep.
It is true that Jean's Saturday face had such a housekeepery
pucker between the eyes and such a severe arrangement of the
front hair that any one who did not peep behind the black ribbon
might have thought her a very stern young person indeed, but
behind the black ribbon Jean's true character stood revealed!
However prim and smooth she might make it look in front, where
the cracked glass enabled her to keep an eye on it, behind her
back, where she couldn't possibly see it, her hair broke into the
jolliest little waves and curls, which bobbed merrily about even
on the worst Saturday that ever was; and spoiled the effect
whenever she tried to be severe.
When she had given a final wipe with the brush, she took another
look at Jock. There was still nothing to be seen of him but the
shock of sandy hair and a series of bumps under the blanket. Jock
could feel Jean looking at him right through the bed-clothes.
"Jock," said Jean,--and her voice had a Saturday sound to
it,--"You can't sleep in this day! Get up!"
There was no answer. Jock might well have known that Jean was in
no mood for trifling, but, having decided on his course of
action, he stuck to it like a true Scotchman and neither moved
nor opened his eyes. Jean was driven to desperate measures. She
took a few drops of water in the dipper, marched firmly to the
bedside, and stood with it poised directly above Jock's nose.
"Jock," she said solemnly, "I'm telling you! Don't ever say I
didn't. If you don't stir yourself before I count five, you'll be
sorry. One, two, three!" Still no move from Jock. "Four, five,"
and, without further parley, she emptied the dipper on his
freckled nose.
There was a wrathful snort and a violent convulsion of the
blankets, and an instant later Jock was tearing about the kitchen
like a cat in a fit, but by this time Jean was out of doors and
well beyond reach.
"Come here, you limmer!" he howled. But Jean knew better than to
accept his invitation. Instead she skipped laughing down the path
from the door to the brook which ran bubbling and gurgling by the
house. Even in her hasty exit from the cottage, Jean had had the
presence of mind to take the pail with her, and now she stopped
to fill it from the clear, sparkling water of the burn. It was
such a wonderful bright spring morning that, having filled it,
she stopped for a moment to look about her at the dear familiar
surroundings of her home.
There was the little gray house itself, with the peat smoke
curling from the chimney straight up into the blue sky. Back of
it was the garden-patch with its low stone wall, and back of that
were the fowl-yard and the straw-covered byre for the cow.
Beyond, and to the north lay the moors, covered with heather and
dotted with grazing sheep. Jean could hear the tinkle of their
bells, the bleating of the lambs, and the comforting maternal
answers of the ewes. Above the dark forest which spread itself
over the slopes of the foot-hills toward the south and east a
lave rock was singing, and she could hear the cry of whaups
wheeling and circling over the moors. They were pleasant morning
sounds, dear and familiar to Jean's ear, and oh, the sparkle of
the dew on the bracken, and the smell of the hawthorn by the
garden wall! Jean lifted her pail of water and went singing with
it up the hill-slope to the house for sheer joy that she was
alive.
"The Campbells are coming, O ho, O ho!" she sang, and the hills,
taking up the refrain, echoed "O ho, O ho!"
True Tammas, who had slept all night under the straw-stack by the
byre, came bounding down the little path to meet her, wagging his
tail and barking his morning greeting. They reached the door
together, but Jock, mindful of his injuries, had shut and barred
it, and was grinning at them through the window. Jean sat placidly
down upon the step with True Tammas beside her and continued her
song. Her calmness irritated Jock.
"Aye," he shouted through the crack, "the Campbells may be
coming, but they'll not get in this house! You can just sit there
blethering all day, and I'll never unbar the door."
Jean stopped singing long enough to answer: "You'll get no
breakfast, then, you mind, unless you'll be getting it yourself,
for the porridge is not cooked and the kettle's nearly boiled
away. I've the water-pail with me, and there's not a drop else in
the house."
She left him to consider this and resumed her song. For several
minutes she and True Tammas sat there gazing westward across the
valley with the little river flowing through it, to the hills
swimming in the blue distance beyond.
At last she called over her shoulder, "Jock, Father's coming,"
and Jock, seeing that his cause was hopelessly lost, unfastened
the door. Jean, her father, and True Tammas all came into the
kitchen together, and the moment she was in the room again you
should have seen how she ordered things about!
"Set the milk right down here, Father," she said, tapping the
table with her finger as she flew past to get the strainer and a
pan, "and you, Jock, fill the kettle. It's almost dry this
minute. And stir up the fire under it. Tam,"--that was what they
called the dog for short,--"go under the table or you'll get
stepped on!"
You should have seen how they all minded!--even the father, who
was six feet tall, with a jaw like a nut-cracker and a face that
would have looked very stern indeed if it hadn't been for his
twinkling blue eyes. When the milk was strained and put away in
the little shed room back of the kitchen chimney, Jean got out
the oatmeal-kettle and hung the porridge over the fire, and while
that was cooking she set three places at the tiny table and
scalded the churn. Meanwhile Jock went out to feed the fowls. By
half past six the oatmeal was on the table and the little family
gathered about it, reverently bowing their heads while the
Shepherd of Glen Easig asked a blessing upon the food.
There was only porridge and milk for breakfast, so it took but a
short time to eat it, and then the real work of the day began.
The Shepherd put on his Kilmarnock bonnet and called Tam, who had
had his breakfast on the hearth, and the two went away to the
hills after the sheep. Jock led the cow to a patch of green turf
near the bottom of the hill, where she could find fresh pasture,
and Jean was left alone in the kitchen of the little gray house.
Ah, you should have seen her then! She washed the dishes and put
them away in the cupboard, she skimmed the milk and put the cream
into the churn, she swept the hearth and shook the blankets out
of doors in the fresh morning air. Then she made the beds, and
when the kitchen was all in order, she "went ben"--that was the
way they spoke of the best room--and dusted that too. There
wasn't really a bit of need of dusting the room, for it was
never, never used except on very important occasions, such as
when the minister called. The little house was five miles from
the village, so the minister did not come often, but Jean kept it
clean all the time just to be on the safe side.
There wasn't so very much work to do in the room after all, for there
was nothing in it but the fireplace, a little table with the Bible,
the Catechism, and a copy of Burns's poems on it, and three chairs.
The kitchen was a different matter: There were the beds, and they were
hard for a small girl to manage, and the cupboard with its shelves of
dishes. There were three stools, and a big chair for the Shepherd, and
the great chest where the clothes were kept, and besides all these
things there was the wag-at-the-wall clock on the mantel-shelf which
had to be wound every Saturday night. If you want to know just where
these things stood, you have only to look at the plan, where their
places are so plainly marked that, if you were suddenly to wake up in
the middle of the night and find yourself in the little gray house,
you could go about and put your hand on everything in it in the dark.
Jock stayed with the cow as long as he dared, and went back to
the house only when he knew he couldn't postpone his tasks any
longer. Jean was sweeping the doorstep as he came slowly up the
hill.
"Come along, Grandfather," she called out, her brow sternly
puckered in front and her curls bobbing gaily up and down behind.
"A body'd think you were seventy-five years old and had the
rheumatism to see you move! Come and work the churn a bit. 'Twill
limber you up."
Jock knew that arguments were useless. His father had told him,
girl's work or not, he was to help Jean, so he slowly dragged
into the house and slowly began to move the dasher up and down.
"Havers!" said Jean, when she could stand it no longer. "It's
lucky there's a cover to the churn else you'd drop to sleep and
fall in and drown yourself in the buttermilk! The butter won't be
here at this rate till to-morrow, when it would break the Sabbath
by coming!"
She seized the dasher, as she spoke, and began to churn so
vigorously that the milk splashed up all around the handle. Soon
little yellow specks began to appear; and when they had formed
themselves into a ball in the churn, she lifted it out with a
paddle and put it in a pan of clear cold water. Then she gave
Jock a drink of buttermilk.
"Poor laddie!" she said. "You are all tired out! Take a sup of
this to put new strength in you, for you've got to go out and
weed the garden. I looked at the potatoes yesterday, and the
weeds have got the start of them already."
"If I must weed the garden, give me something to eat too," begged
Jock. "This milk'll do no more than slop around in my insides to
make me feel my emptiness."
Jean opened the cupboard door and peeped within.
"There's nothing for you, laddie," she said, "but this piece of a
scone. I'll have to bake more for the Sabbath, and you can have
this to give yourself a more filled-up feeling. And now off with
you!"
She took him by the collar and led him to the door; and there on
the step was Tam.
"What are you doing here?" cried Jean, astonished to see him.
"You should be with Father, watching the sheep! It's shame to a
dog to be lolling around the house instead of away on the hills
where he belongs."
Tam flattened himself out on his stomach and dragged himself to
her feet, rolling his eyes beseechingly upward, and if ever a dog
looked ashamed of himself, that dog was Tam. Jean shook her head
at him very sternly, and oh, how the jolly little curls bobbed
about.
"Tam," she said, "you're as lazy as Jock himself. Whatever shall
I do with the two of you?"
Jock had already finished his scone and he thought this a good
time to disappear. He slipped round the corner of the house and
whistled. All Tam's shame was gone in an instant. He gave a
joyous bark and bounded away after Jock, his tail waving gayly in
the breeze.
II. THE RABBIT AND THE GAMEKEEPER
Out in the garden a rabbit had for some time been enjoying
himself nightly in the potato-patch, biting off the young sprouts
which were just sticking their heads through the ground. When the
rabbit heard Tam bark she dashed out of sight behind a burdock
leaf and sat perfectly still. Now if Tam and Jock had come into
the garden by the wicket gate, as they should have done, this
story might never have been written at all, because in that case
the rabbit would perhaps have got safely back to her burrow in
the woods without being seen, and there wouldn't have been any
story to tell.
But Tam and Jock didn't come in by the gate. They jumped over the
wall. Jock jumped first and landed almost on top of the rabbit,
but when Tam, a second later, landed in the same place, she was
running for dear life toward the hole in the stone wall where she
had got in. Shouting and barking, Jock and Tam tore after her.
Round and round the garden they flew, but just as they thought
they had her cornered, the rabbit slipped through the hole in the
wall and ran like the wind for the woods. Jock and Tam both
cleared the wall at a bound and chased after her, making enough
noise to be heard a mile away.
It happened that there was some one much less than a mile away to
hear it. And it happened, too, that he was the one person in all
the world that Jock would most wish not to hear it, for he was
gamekeeper to the Laird of Glen Cairn, and the Laird of Glen
Cairn owned all the land for miles and miles about in every
direction. He owned the little gray house and the moor, the
mountain, and the forest, and even the little brook that sang by
the door. To be sure, the Laird seemed to care very little for
his Highland home. He visited it but once in a great while, and
then only for a few days' hunting. The rest of the year his great
stone castle was occupied only by Eppie McLean, the housekeeper,
and two or three other servants. The Laird did not know his
tenants, and they did not know him. The rents were collected for
him by Mr. Craigie, his factor, who lived in the village, and
Angus Niel was appointed to see that no one hunted game on the
estate.
Angus was a man of great zeal in the performance of his duty, to
judge by his own account of it. He was always telling of heroic
encounters with poachers in the forests, and though he never
seemed to succeed in catching them and bringing them before the
magistrate, his tales were a warning to evil-doers and few people
dared venture into the region which he guarded. He was often seen
creeping along the outskirts of the woods, his gun on his
shoulder, his round eyes rolling suspiciously in every direction,
or even loitering around the cow byres as if he thought game
might be secreted there.
At the very moment when Jock and Tam came flying over the fence
and down the hill like a cyclone after the rabbit, Angus was
kneeling beside the brook to get a drink. His lips were pursed up
and he was bending over almost to the surface of the water, when
something dashed past him, and an instant later something else
struck him like a thunderbolt from behind, and drove him
headforemost into the brook! It wasn't Tam that did it. It was
Jock! Of course, it was an accident, but Angus thought he had
done it on purpose, and he was probably the most surprised as
well as the angriest man in Scotland at that moment. He lifted
his head out of the brook and glared at Jock as fiercely as he
could with little rills of water pouring from his hair and nose,
and trickling in streams down his neck.
"I'll make you smart for this, you young blatherskite," he roared
at Jock, who stood before him frozen with horror. "I'll teach you
where you belong! You were running after that rabbit, and your
dog is yelping down a hole after her this minute!" He was such a
funny sight as he knelt there, dripping and scolding, that,
scared as he was, Jock could not help laughing. More than ever
enraged, Angus made a sudden lunge forward and seized Jock by the
ear.
"You come along o' me," he said. His invitation was so urgent
that Jock felt obliged to accept it, and together the two started
up the slope to the little gray house. Tam, meanwhile, had given
up the chase and joined them, his tail at half-mast.
When they reached the house Angus bumped the door open without
knocking, and stamped into the kitchen. Jean was bending over the
fire turning a scone on the girdle, when the noise at the door
made her jump and look around. She was so amazed at the sight
which met her eye that for an instant she stood stock-still, and
Angus, seeing that he had only two children to deal with, gave
Jock's ear a vicious tweak and began to bluster at Jean.
But, you see, he didn't know Jean. When she saw that great fat
man abusing her brother and tracking mud all over her kitchen
floor at the same time, instead of being frightened, as she
should have been, Jean shook her cooking-fork at Angus Niel and
stamped her foot smartly on the floor.
"You let go of my brother's ear this instant," she shouted, "and
take your muddy boots out of my kitchen!"
Angus let go of Jock's ear for sheer surprise, and Jock at once
sprang to his sister's side, while Tam, seeing that trouble was
brewing, gave a low growl and bared his teeth. Angus gave a look
at Tam and decided to explain.
"This young blatherskite here," he began, in a voice that caused
the rafters to shake, "has been trespassing. He was after a
rabbit. I caught him in the very act. I'll have the law on him!
He rammed me into the burn!"
"I didn't mean to," shouted Jock, "I thought you were a stone,
and I just meant to step on you and jump across the burn."
"You meant to step on me, did you?" roared Angus. "Me! Do you
know who I am?" Jock knew very well, but he didn't have time to
say so before Angus, choking with rage, made a furious lunge for
his ear and left two more great spots of mud on the kitchen
floor. It was not to be borne. Jean pointed to his feet.
"You're trespassing yourself," she screamed. "You've no right in
this house, And you take yourself out of it this minute! Just
look at the mud you've tracked on my floor!"
Angus did look. He looked not only at the floor but at Tam, for
Tam was now slowly approaching him, growling as he came.
Angus thought best to do exactly as Jean said and as quickly as
possible. He reached the door in two jumps with Tam leaping after
him and nipping his heels at each jump, and in another instant
found himself on the doorstep with the door shut behind him.
Angus considered himself a very important man. He wasn't used to
being treated in this way, and it's no wonder he was angry. He
swelled up like a pouter pigeon; and shook his fist at the door.
"You just mind who I am," he shouted. "If ever I catch you
poaching again, I'll have you up before the bailie as sure as
eggs is eggs!"
But the door didn't say a word, and it seemed beneath his dignity
to scold a door that wouldn't even answer back, so he stamped
away growling. The children watched him until he disappeared in
the woods, and when at last they turned from the window, the
scone on the girdle was burned to a cinder and had to be given to
the chickens!
You might have thought that by this time Jean had done enough
work even for Saturday, but there was still the broth to make for
supper and for the Sabbath, and the kitchen floor to be scrubbed,
and, last of all, the family baths! When the little kitchen was
as clean as clean could be, Jean got the wash-tub and set it on
the hearth. Jock knew the signs and decided he'd go out behind
the byre and look for eggs, but Jean had her eye on him.
"Jock Campbell," said she, "you go at once and get the water."
In vain Jock assured her he was cleaner than anything and didn't
need a bath. Jean was firm. She made him fill the kettles, and
when the water was hot, she shut him up in the kitchen with soap
and a towel while she took all the shoes to the front steps to
polish for Kirk on the morrow. When at last Jock appeared before
her he was so shiny clean that Jean said it dazzled her eyes to
look at him, so she sent him for the cow while she took her turn
at the tub.
By four o'clock, Tam, who had spent an anxious afternoon by the
hole in the garden wall watching for the rabbit, suddenly
remembered his duties and started away over the moors to meet the
Shepherd and round up any sheep that might have strayed from the
flock, and at five Jock, returning from the byre, met his father
coming home with Tam at his heels.
The regular evening tasks were finished just as the sun sank out
of sight behind the western hills, and the birds were singing
their evening songs, and when they went into the kitchen a bright
fire was blazing on the hearth, the broth was simmering in the
kettle, and Jean had three bowls of it ready for them on the
table.
While they ate their supper Jock told their father all about the
rabbit and Angus Niel and his ducking in the burn, and when Jock
told about Jean's ordering him out of the kitchen, and of his
jumping to the door with Tam nipping at his heels, the Shepherd
slapped his knee and laughed till he cried. Tam, sitting on the
hearth with his tongue lolling out, looked as if he were
laughing, too.
"Havers!" cried the Shepherd, "I wish I'd been here to see that
sight! Angus is that swollen up with pride of position, he's like
to burst himself. He needed a bit of a fall to ease him of it,
but I'd never have picked out Jean Campbell to trip him up!
You're a spirited tid, my dawtie, and I'm proud of you."
"But, Father," said Jock, "whatever shall we do about the
rabbits? The woods are full of them, and there'll not be a sprig
of green left in the garden. They can hop right over the wall,
even if we do stop up the hole."
"Aye," answered his father solemnly, "and that's a serious
question, my lad. They get worse every year, and syne we'll have
no tatties for the winter, let alone other vegetables. A deer
came into Andrew Crumpet's garden one night last week and left
not a green sprout in it by the morning. The creatures must live
that idle gentlemen may shoot them for pleasure, even though they
eat our food and leave us to go hungry." His brow darkened and a
long-smouldering wrath burst forth into words. "There's no
justice in it," he declared, thumping the table with his fist
till the spoons danced, "Lairds or no Lairds, Anguses or no
Anguses."
The Twins had never before heard their father speak like that,
and they were a little frightened. They were too young to know
the long years of injustice in such matters that stretched far
back into the history of Scotland.
For a few minutes after this outburst the Shepherd remained
silent, gazing into the fire; then he roused himself from his
brown study and said: "I've been keeping something from you, my
bairns. Mr. Craigie told me last week that the Auld Laird has
taken a whim to turn all this region into a game preserve, and
that he will not renew our lease when the time is up. It has till
autumn to run, and then, God help us, we'll have to be turned out
of this house where I've lived all my life and my forebears
before me, and seek some other place to live and some other work
to do."
"But what can you do else?" gasped Jock. He felt that his world
was tumbling about his ears.
"The Lord knows," answered the Shepherd. "Emigrate to America
likely. I've always been with the sheep and nothing else. It may
be I can hire out to some other body, but chances are few
hereabouts, and if the Auld Laird carries out this notion,
there'll be many another beside ourselves who'll need to be
walking the world. It seems unlikely he would be for taking away
the town too, even if it is but a wee bit of a village, and the
law gives him the right, for times have changed since that lease
was made, long years ago, and there are few in this day who would
venture to enforce it. But the Auld Laird's a hard man, I'm told,
and he chooses hard men to carry out his will. Mr. Craigie has
little heart, and as for Angus Niel, he'd make things worse
rather than better if he had his way." Then, seeing tears
gathering in Jean's eyes, he said to comfort her, "There now,
dinna greet, my lassie! There's no sense in crossing a bridge
till you come to it, and this bridge is still four months and a
bittock away. We've the summer before us, and the Lord's arm is
not shortened that it cannot save. We'll make the best of it and
have one more happy summer, let the worst come at the end of it."
"But, Father," urged Jock, "will he turn every one out, do you
think?"
"Who can foretell the whimsies of a selfish man?" answered the
Shepherd. "He has only his own will to consider, but my opinion
is he'll turn out those whose holdings lie nearest the forests
and would be best for game, whatever he may do with the rest."
This was overwhelming news, and the children sat silent beside
their silent father, trying to think of something to comfort
their sad hearts. At last Jean lifted her head with a spirited
toss and said, "Gin we were to go to-morrow, the dishes would
still have to be washed," and she began to clear the table.
Her father laughed, and oh, how his laugh brightened the little
kitchen and seemed to bid defiance to the fates!
"That's right, little woman," he said. "You've the true spirit of
a Campbell in you. We must aye do the duty at hand and trust the
Lord for the rest."
Jock was so impressed with the solemn talk of the evening that he
wiped the dishes without being asked and went to bed of his own
accord when the wag-at-the-wall clock struck eight. The Shepherd
sat alone beside the fire until the children were in bed and
asleep; then he sent Tam to the straw stack, wound the clock, and
took his own turn at the tub. Last of all he covered the coals
with ashes for the night and crept into bed beside Jock.
III. THE SABBATH
The Sabbath morning dawned bright and clear, and the Campbells
were all up early and had the chores done before seven o'clock.
Then came breakfast, and after breakfast Jean ran "ben the room,"
and brought the Bible to her father. Then she and Jock sat with
folded hands while he read a long chapter about the "begats."
Jock thought there seemed to be a very large family of them. This
was followed by a prayer as long as the chapter. The prayer was
so long that True Tammas went sound asleep on the hearth and had
a dream that must have been about the rabbit, for his ears
twitched and he made little whiny noises and jerked his legs. It
was so long that the kettle boiled clear away and made such
alarming, crackling sounds that Jean couldn't help peeking
through her fingers just once, because it was their only kettle,
and if it should go and burst itself during family prayers,
whatever should they do! The moment the Shepherd said "Amen,"
Jean sprang so quickly to lift it from the fire that she stumbled
over Tam and woke him up and almost burned her fingers besides.
The kettle wasn't really spoiled, and while the water was heating
in it for the dishes, Jean took up the little yellow book and
said to Jock,
"Come here now, laddie, and see if you can say your catechism. Do
you ken what is the chief end of man?"
"Dod, and I do," answered Jock. "You let me spier the questions."
"No," answered Jean firmly. "I'll spier them first myself."
"You're thinking I can't answer," said Jock. "I'll fool you."
He stood up as straight as a whole row of soldiers and fired off
the answer all in one breath.
"The-chief-end-of-man-is-to-glorify-God-and-enjoy-Him-forever,"
he shouted.
Jean nodded approvingly. "You ken that one all right, but that is
the first one in the book and everybody knows that one. Now I'm
going to skip around."
"Don't skip," urged Jock. "Take them just the way they come. I
can remember 'em better."
But Jean gave no quarter. "What is predestination?" she demanded.
This was a poser, but Jock tackled it bravely.
"Whom he did foreknow he also did predestinate to-to-" he got so
far and stuck.
"To what?" asked Jean.
"To be reformed," Jock hazarded, wallowing in difficulties.
"Conformed," corrected Jean. "You don't know that one at all!
What is Saving Grace?"
Jock fell down entirely on saving grace. "It's a--It's a--" he
began. Then he bit his lip and scowled, and looked up at the ham
hanging from the rafters, and out of the windows, but as nothing
more about saving grace occurred to him he said, "Aw, Jean, I
know, but I can't think."
"If you knew, you wouldn't have to think," Jean retorted, and
then she made him take the book and sit down on the stool by the
window and learn both answers while she finished the dishes.
It was ten miles to the village and back, and there was no way to
get there except by walking, but the Campbells would sooner have
thought of going without their food than of staying away from the
Kirk, and so by eight o'clock they were all dressed in their best
clothes and ready to start. They left True Tammas sitting on the
doorstep with his ears drooped and his eyes looking very
sorrowful. He wanted to go with them, but he knew well that he
must stay at home to guard the sheep from stray dogs.
It was springtime, and the world was so lovely that the troubles
the little family had faced the evening before seemed far away
and impossible in the morning light. It was as if they had
awakened from a bad dream. Who could help being happy on such a
morning? The birds were flying about with straw and bits of wool
in their bills to weave into their nests, and singing as if they
would split their little throats. The river splashed and gurgled
and sang as it dashed over its rocky bed on its way to the sea.
From the village came the distant music of the church bells. The
hawthorn was in bloom, and the river-banks and roadsides were gay
with dandelions and violets, daisies and buttercups. Far away the
mountains lifted their blue summits to the sky, and on a nearer
hill they could see the gray towers of the castle of the Laird of
Glen Cairn.
The bell was ringing its final summons and all the people were
pouring into the little vestibule as the Campbells reached the
steps of the Kirk. Angus Niel pushed past them, looking as puffy
as a turkey-cock with its feathers spread, and glaring at the
Twins so fiercely that Jock whispered to Jean, "If I poked my
finger at him I believe he'd gobble," and made her almost laugh
aloud. When they passed Mr. Craigie, who held the plate for
people to drop their money in, Jean whispered to Jock, "He looks
for all the world like a pair of tongs in his blacks, he's that
tall and thin," and then Jock certainly would have laughed
outright if he hadn't seen Mrs. Crumpet's eye on him.
The sermon was very long and the seats were hard and high, but
the service did come to an end at last, although Jock was sure it
was never going to, and afterward the children with their father
stood about in the churchyard for a little while talking to their
neighbors and friends.
The farm of Andrew Crumpet lay in the same direction as the home
of the Campbells, so it was natural that they should walk along
together and that the two men should talk about the thing that
was uppermost in their minds. Mrs. Crumpet had gone on ahead with
another neighbor, and Sandy Crumpet, who was twelve too, and had
yellow hair, a snub nose, and freckles like Jock's own, walked
with the Twins behind the two fathers. As they turned into the
road, the children heard Andrew say, with a heavy sigh: "Aye,
Robin, we must just make up our minds to it. The Auld Laird's
bent on getting us out."
"Has Mr. Craigie given you notice, too?" asked the Shepherd.
"Aye, has he," Andrew answered with bitterness, "and short work
he made of it. It means little to him telling a man to leave his
home and go out in the world to seek new work at our time of
life."
"He passes for a religious man," said the Shepherd.
"So did the Pharisee in the temple," said Andrew, "but 'by their
fruits ye shall know them,' and we're not gathering any figs off
of Mr. Craigie, nor grapes from that thorn of an Auld Laird that
I can see!"
"Nor from Angus Niel, either," agreed Robin Campbell. "The Auld
Laird's servants are of a piece with himself."
"Fine I ken that," answered Andrew.
"Well," sighed the Shepherd, "the toad under the harrow cannot be
expected to praise the plowman, and we're just like the toad."
"Very true," said Andrew, "but the toad has the best of it. We
are being destroyed; not that some one may till the land, but
that it may go to waste, and be kept out of use. We suffer that
the rich may be richer and the poor poorer, that less food may be
produced instead of more. I tell you, Robin, it is not justice."
"It may be so. It may be so," sighed the Shepherd, "but it is the
law, and we must just submit."
The two men walked on in silence to the bridge, where the
Crumpets turned, while the Campbells kept on beside the river.
The children were silent, too, only calling out "Good-bye" to
Sandy as they parted, Jock adding, "Come on by to-morrow if you
can," and Sandy, waving his hand, calling back, "Aye, will I."
As the Twins and their father neared the "wee bit hoosie," Tam
came bounding down the brae to meet them, and in less time than
it takes to tell it Jean had run into the house, taken off her
Sabbath dress, and put on her old one, with her kitchen apron
over it, had mended the fire and heated the broth, and the little
family was seated about the table eating their frugal meal with
appetites sharpened by their long walk.
The afternoon seemed endless to the children, for they spent it
trying hard not to do any of the things they wanted to do. They
studied the catechism while their father sat with his bonnet on
his head nodding over the Bible, and the wag-at-the-wall clock
ticked the hours solemnly away. Jock whispered to Jean that he
didn't see why Sunday was so much longer than any other day, and
didn't believe her when she said it wasn't really that it only
seemed so.
IV. THE NEW BOY
Usually Jean and Jock went to school in summer, for in winter the
snow made the roads impassable, but at this time the Dominie was
ill and until he should get well they had the long days to
themselves. When breakfast was over the next morning and the
Shepherd had gone with Tam to the hills, Jean decided to wash the
clothes. Sandy Crumpet came early, and the two boys went off to
play, leaving Jean standing on a stone in the middle of the burn,
soaping the clothes and scrubbing them on the flat surface of a
rock. The water was so cold it made her arms ache, and she soon
decided to let the fast-running stream do the washing for her.
She soaped the garments well, weighted them down with stones, and
then went to join the boys. She found them flat on their stomachs
by the stream, gazing down into a pool of clear water.
"What do you see?" she called out to them.
"Trout," answered Jock, his eyes shining with excitement.
"Let me take a keek," said Jean, flopping down beside them and
craning her neck over the edge.
They were all three peering with breathless interest into the
water when a strange voice behind them made them jump. For an
instant they thought it might be Angus Niel.
"Hello!" said the voice.
The children whirled around, and there before them stood a boy
not much older than themselves, but taller and thinner. He had a
pale face with large black eyes and dark hair partly covered with
a Glengarry bonnet set rakishly over one ear. He wore a suit of
gray tweed with plaid-topped stockings, and carried a fishing-rod
over his shoulder.
"Hello!" said the stranger again.
"Hello, yourself!" responded Jock.
Jean and Sandy were so relieved to find it wasn't Angus Niel that
for an instant they merely gazed at him without speaking.
"What's there?" asked the new boy.
"Fish," said Jock.
"Fish!" cried the new boy, shifting his rod into position.
"Where? Let me have a crack at 'em!"
"Na, na, don't be so hasty," cried Jock, heading him off. "You'll
get yourself into trouble! Angus Niel would be after you in no
time, and if he caught you, he'd cuff your lug for you, and drag
you before the bailie for poaching!"
"Who's Angus Niel?" demanded the boy. "I'm not afraid of him."
"Not yet," answered Jock, "but just go on and you will be! He's
gamekeeper to the Laird, and he'd rather do for you than not.
Aye, he'd just like the feel of you in his fingers, he would."
Jock rubbed his ear. "It's but two days gone since he nearly
pulled the lug off me because I was running after a rabbit that
was eating up our garden. He's terrible suspicious, is Angus, and
he's mad at us besides."
"What for?" asked the boy.
"I stepped on him by accident," explained Jock, "and butted him
into the burn."
"No wonder he was mad," laughed the boy. "Come on, now. Surely a
body can fish. There's no law against that!"
"Well," said Sandy, "law or no law, Angus is against it, and the
Auld Laird is terrible particular. He's going to turn out all the
farmers in this region and make it into a great game preserve.
Nothing else. You're strange hereabouts, I doubt, or you'd ken
all this yourself. Where are you from?"
"I'm from London," replied the boy. "I'm staying with Eppie
McLean at the castle."
"Are you, now?" gasped Sandy. "Is Eppie your aunt, maybe? She'll
be telling you about Angus herself."
"Eppie's not my aunt," said the boy. "She's a friend of my
mother, and my mother got her to take me in because I've been
sick, and she thought I'd get strong up here, and I'm not going
to have my summer spoiled by Angus Niel or any other old bogie
man. Stand back now while I cast."
He swung his rod over his head, and the fly fell with a flop in
the middle of the pool. He waited a breathless instant while
Jock, Sandy, and Jean watched the fly with him, and then, as
nothing happened, he cast again. When several such attempts
brought no result, he said, "You're sure they 're there?"
"They're lying at the bottom as soft as a baby in a cradle," said
Jean. "I could catch them with a skimmer! Gin they don't bite,
maybe I'll try it!"
Jock looked at Jean in amazement.
"You're a braw lassie, Jean Campbell," he said severely, "and you
just telling about Angus Niel!"
"T'was yourself and Sandy here telling about Angus Niel," Jean
answered. "I said nothing at all about him. I'm not afraid of
him, either."
"Good for you!" said the new boy with admiration. "You can have a
turn with my rod. Try it once before you get the skimmer!"
Jean sprang to her feet and took the rod, though she had never
had one like it in her hand before. She made a mighty sweep with
it as she had seen the new boy do, but somehow the fly flew off
in an unexpected direction and caught in a tree, while the line
wound itself in a hopeless snarl around the tip. Jock and Sandy,
who had stood by, green with envy, clapped their hands over their
mouths and danced with mirth.
"It looks easy," said poor Jean mournfully, "but maybe I'd best
stick to the skimmer when I fish."
"Oh, it always does that the first time," said the new boy
comfortingly, as he rescued the fly and straightened out the
line.
"When a girl tries to do it," added Jock witheringly.
The new boy held out the rod.
"You try it," he said to Jock, and Jock, full of confidence, did
not wait for a second invitation.
"Look here, Jean," he said. "This is the way you do it."
He swung the rod with a mighty flourish over his head, bud alas,
the fly surprised him too. It caught in Sandy's trousers and
surprised Sandy as well. Not only that, it scratched him.
"Ow!" howled Sandy, leaping about like a monkey on the end of the
string. "Leave go of me!"
There was a snarl even worse than Jean's, too, and between that
and Sandy's jumping about it was some time before the line was
disentangled and the hook freed so that Sandy was able to take
his turn. Jean, meanwhile, said nothing at all, for Jock looked
so crestfallen that she hadn't the heart. When Sandy tried it
things were still worse, for the fly flew about so wildly that
Jock and Jean fled before it and hid behind some bushes.
"Whoever could catch fish with such gewgaws as them anyway?" said
Sandy scornfully, when a second attempt brought no better result.
"The fish aren't used to it."
Jock rolled up his sleeves, crept to the side of the burn, and
looked over into the pool.
"Hold to me, Sandy," he said, and Sandy immediately sat down on
his legs. Then Jock suddenly plunged his arms into the water and
before the fish could whisk their tails he had caught one in his
hand and thrown it on the grass.
Springing to his feet and upsetting Sandy, he jumped to a rock in
the middle of the brook and caught two more. It was now the new
boy's turn to be astonished. Apparently Jock had stirred up a
whole school of trout, for Sandy, following Jock's lead, also
leaped into the stream, and in a few moments six fine trout were
flopping about the grass.
"Let's build a fire and cook them," urged the new boy, whose name
they soon learned was Alan McRae. "And if old Angus Niel comes
nosing around we'll offer him a bite! He can do nothing with four
of us, anyway, unless he shoots us, and he'd hang for that. Come
on!"
By this time they were all so thrilled with the sport and were
having such fun that nobody thought any more about Angus anyway,
so Jean ran for a pan, while Jock and Sandy cleaned the fish with
Alan's knife, and Alan gathered dry twigs and bracken for the
fire. Jean brought down some scones, which she split and spread
with butter while the fish were frying. When they were done to a
golden brown she put a hot fish on each piece of scone and handed
them out to the boys, and when they had eaten every scrap they
buried the fish-bones in case Angus should come that way.
After lunch Jean went to wring out the clothes and hang them on
the bushes to dry, while Jock and Sandy examined Alan's wonderful
book of flies and his reel, and even the creel in which he was to
have put the fish, if he had caught any.
"Losh, man!" exclaimed Sandy, swaggering about with his hands in
his pockets, "that's all very well. Aye, it's a good game, and
you might go dandering along a stream all day playing with it,
but if you really want fish, just go after 'em yourself! That's
my way. Guddling for trout like you saw me and Jock do, that's
the real sport!"
"I believe you," said Alan. "I'm going to try it myself. Come on.
Let's go farther up stream and see if we can find another good
fishing-hole. I told Eppie I'd bring her a fish to her tea, and
I'd hate to go back with nothing at all," and the three boys
disappeared in the woods.
Jean finished her work by the brook and went to the house to make
more scones, for the picnic had exhausted the supply and they
used no other bread. She bustled about the kitchen, mixing,
spreading them on the girdle over the fire, keeping the coals
bright, and turning them out nicely browned on the mixing-board.
She was just finishing the sixth one, when there was a great
thumping at the door, and she ran to see what was the matter.
There on the doorstep stood the three boys, Alan dripping wet
from head to heel, shivering with cold, and with mud and water
running from him in streams. Jean threw up her hands.
"It's most michty," she cried, "if I can't ever bake scones in
this kitchen without some man body coming in half drowned to mess
up my clean floor! However did you go and drop yourself in the
burn, Alan McRae? 'Deed and I wonder that your mother lets you go
out alone, you're that careless with yourself. And you not long
out of a sick bed, too."
"He was guddling for trout," shouted Jock and Sandy in one
breath; "and the hole was deep. There was no one sitting on him,
and syne over he went!"
Jean seized Alan by the shoulder and drew him into the kitchen,
and set him to drip on the hearth while she gave her orders.
"Jock, do you fill the basin with warm water, and you, Sandy, put
more peat on the fire. He must have a rinse with hot water and
something hot to drink."
"What'll he do for clothes?" cried Jock.
"Dinna fash yourself about clothes," said Jean, rummaging
furiously in the "kist." "I'm laying out Father's old kilts he
had when he was a boy. He can put them on till his own things are
dry. Here's a towel for you," she added, tossing one to Alan.
"Rub yourself down well, and when you've dressed, just give a
chap at the door, and I'll come in and get you a sup of tea."
Then she disappeared. You can imagine what the kitchen looked
like when she came back again. Alan's wet clothes were spread out
on her father's chair by the fire, and Alan, gorgeous in his
plaid kiltie, was strutting back and forth giving an imitation of
the bagpipes on his nose, with Jock and Sandy marching behind him
singing "Do ye ken John Peel with his coat so gay" at the top of
their lungs.
"Have you gone clean daft?" Jean shouted. "Sit down by the fire and
get out of my way while I mop up after you!"
The boys each seized one of the kitchen stools without stopping
the song and marched with it to the hearth, and when they came to
"Peel's view halloo would awaken the dead," they gave a howl that
nearly brought down the ham from the rafters as they banged them
down on the hearth-stones. Jean clapped her hands over her ears
and ran for the mop, and in no time at all the puddles had
disappeared and the boys were drinking tea by the fire.
Of course, Alan had no shoes to put on because his were soaking
wet, and as it was now late in the afternoon it began to be a
question how he should get back to the castle. It was still cold
for going barefoot, and he was not used to it besides, and his
clothes certainly would not be fit to put on for a long time.
They held a consultation. Alan thought he could go without shoes.
"You'll do nothing of the kind," said Jean firmly. "What sickness
was it you had, anyway?"
"Measles," said Alan, looking ashamed of it.
"Measles!" shouted Sandy. "That's naught but a baby disease. My
little sister had that. Sal, but I've had worse things the matter
with me! I've had the fever, and once I cut my toe with the axe!"
"Hold your tongue, Sandy," said Jean, "and dinna boast! If Alan's
had measles he can't go back to the castle barefoot; so you must
just be stepping yourself, and stop by at the castle to tell
Eppie McLean that Alan will bide here till his things are dry."
Sandy rose reluctantly and set down his empty mug.