speaking. What manner of landlord could this be, who made a point of
knowing his tenants as men and women the moment he came to the estate?
It was a breathless moment when at last the great castle doors swung
open, revealing a group of people standing in the entrance. There was
an instant's pause, and then a tall strong-looking woman stepped
forward upon the terrace, with her hand resting lightly on the
shoulder of a sturdy black-haired boy nearly as tall as herself. The
boy was dressed in kilts, with the Campbell plaid flung over his
shoulder and a spray of evergreen pine nodding gayly from his
Glengarry bonnet.
"Michty me! It's Alan!" exclaimed Jock, so stunned by surprise
that his knees nearly gave way under him, while Jean, her eyes
shining like stars, clutched her father's hand, too stunned to
realize at first that Alan and the new Laird of Glen Cairn were
one and the same person. In fact, nobody realized it at once, for
many of the tenants had come to know and like Alan during the
summer, simply as "the boy who was staying with Eppie McLean."
They were still gazing at the castle door and wondering why the
"puny wee laddie, who was not long for this world" did not
appear, when the gracious lady, who still stood with her hand
resting proudly on Alan's shoulder, began to speak.
"Many of you already know the new Laird of Glen Cairn as Alan
McCrae," she said, smiling kindly down into their blank upturned
faces. "He has been among you all summer and has learned to love
our Highland country without dreaming that he himself would one
day inherit this beautiful estate. He is next of kin to the Auld
Laird, though not a near relative, and had no idea that I had any
purpose beyond the improvement of his health in sending him here
for the summer. I knew that which he did not, that he was likely
soon to be called to take the Auld Laird's place here, and I
wanted him to know you first, not as tenants, but as friends
merely. He has come to love this region for its own sake, and
comes among you like a true Scotchman, meaning to make this his
home and the interests of this community his own interests. He is
not yet of age, as you see, but his purposes and plans are
clearly formed, and I will leave him to explain them to you
himself."
She stopped speaking, and the people, overwhelmed with surprise
and joy, burst into a hearty and prolonged cheer, as Alan stepped
forward to make his speech. He was only a boy, and a very much
embarrassed one at that, but he knew what he wanted to say and he
got to the point at once.
"I just want you to know," he said, "that nobody's going to be
turned out if he doesn't want to be. I know all about the lease,
and that it's going to run out this fall, but any one who wants
to stay on the land and improve it is going to have the chance to
do it. My mother knows a lot about such things, and we're going
to collect the rents ourselves, and we think, maybe, when I'm of
age, there'll be some way by which people who really want to use
the land may own it instead of being obliged to rent. Mother says
they are beginning to do it in Ireland, and in England too in
some places.
"I've found out that people are more important than rabbits and
deer, and they are going to have first chance at the land of Glen
Cairn as long as I'm Laird." This was greeted with such a roar of
cheers that for a moment it was quite impossible for Alan to
proceed. He smiled bashfully at his mother and then held up his
hand for silence.
"I just want to say, too," he went on, biting his lips to keep
from laughing, "that after this there won't be any gamekeeper on
Glen Cairn. If the rabbits spoil your crops you're welcome to
catch them if you can! I've ranged these woods myself all summer,
and I have found out that gamekeepers are no safeguard against
poachers." A gasp of astonishment greeted this statement, and
Angus Niel was observed to turn ashy pale.
"In fact, I know that sometimes gamekeepers turn poachers
themselves and make money selling what they have killed," he went
on. Here Angus Niel, looking suddenly deflated, like a burst
balloon, began quietly to slink out of sight, and Alan, brimful
of mischief, raised his voice so it would be sure to reach him
and said, "I've seen it done myself, and if Angus Niel wants to
know any more about that gang of twenty blood-thirsty villains
which has scared the life out of him all summer, he can come to
me and I'll tell him. I'm the Chief of that gang, and there are
three others just like me, and that's all!" He winked rapturously
at the three other members of the Clan, who were gazing up at him
in a stupor of astonishment, and fired his last shot at the
fleeing Angus, while the audience, catching his meaning, burst
into howls of derisive laughter.
"Don't hurry, Angus," he called. "I want to tell you about your
boat and about the water witch that haunted you. I'm the water
witch too!" But Angus was already out of hearing and scuttling as
fast as his trembling legs could carry him to get out of sight,
as well. When the roars of laughter had subsided, Alan said, with
a boyish grin, "It's too bad he couldn't stay to supper. And now
come up, everybody, and meet my mother."
It was then that the Shepherd of Glen Easig astonished himself and
every one else by shouting at the top of his lungs, "Three cheers for
the young Laird!" and when they had been given with such energy that
the hills rang with the echoes, he called for three more for her
ladyship, and Alan waved his cap in acknowledgment for them both.
Then the people, surprised out of their usual Scotch reserve by
laughter and by the joy of good news, came swarming up the steps
and were introduced to Alan's mother by Alan himself when he knew
them, and by the minister when he did not.
The Shepherd, with the bashful Clan in his wake, came last of
all, and the Twins heard him say to her ladyship, "God bless the
laddie! It was a rare day for the Glen when he fell into the burn
and came to dry himself by our fireside."
"It was a rare day for me, too, Cousin Campbell," said Alan, and
then; catching sight of Sandy and the Twins hanging back behind
their father, what did he do but pucker up his lips and whistle
the pewit call? The Clan was too overcome then even to attempt a
pucker, and Alan, springing forward, tried to grasp three hands
at once and introduced them to his mother as his Rob Roy Clan.
The Twins and Sandy were not a bit like the bold buccaneers of
the cave when the great lady of Glen Cairn smiled on them kindly.
"I told you I'd wear the sprig of evergreen pine and whistle the call
of the Clan the next time you saw me," cried Alan, as they fell in
behind the others, who were now entering the banquet-hall. "Why didn't
you answer?"
"Oh, but," said Jean, a little sadly and blushing like a poppy,
"we never thought you'd be coming back so grand like. You'll
never be playing with the Clan any more in Glen Easig, surely,
now that you 're a great Laird!"
"And why not, I'd like to know?" cried the great Laird, looking
hurt. "I'm still Alan McRae, Chief of the Clan, the same as
before, and as true to my friends as Rob Roy himself was before
me. We'll have many a good day in the woods yet before snow
flies; and listen, I've a plan in my head!"
"There speaks the Chief," cried Jock, forgetting to be afraid of
him. "He was ever having plans in his head. Out with it, man."
"It's this," said Alan, "I'm going to have a tutor here at the
castle, and you're all to have your lessons here with me, and no
end of larks!" Here Sandy, who had so far merely gazed at his
Chief with speechless devotion, suddenly burst into words.
"Aye, Chief," he cried, "that was a true word you spoke about no
gamekeeper being needed in Glen Cairn. I'm none so keen for the
learning, but if there should be poachers hanging about, they'll
have Sandy Crumpet to deal with; let them take warning of that!"
Alan laughed and clapped Sandy on the back. "I'd rather have you
than forty Angus Niels," he said, and then they were swept along,
without a chance for further words, into the great hall, where
they found long tables spread and Eppie McLean with a dozen
helpers bringing in such stores of food that all Sandy had said
about the preparations at the castle was justified at a glance.
Most of the people had already found places at the tables when
the young Laird and his mother, followed by the minister and his
wife and the castle guests, cams into the hall. The Twins and
Sandy hung back behind all the other guests, but Alan found
places for them opposite his own, and then he handed his mother
to the seat of honor at the head of the table. The minister and
the guests from the city ranged themselves on either side, and
every one stood with bowed head while the minister asked a
blessing upon the food, upon the new Laird and his mother, and
upon all the people of Glen Cairn.
There was a great scraping of chairs, and then every one sat down
and fell upon the good things like an army of locusts upon a
harvest field. The great hall, so long silent, echoed with happy
voices and the clatter, of knives and forks, and Jean, looking
across the table at the new Laird, in all his glory, wondered if
it could be possible that it was the very Alan whom she had
shaken when Angus shot the stag, or who had helped her set the
table in the kitchen of the little gray house, while his wet
clothes were drying by the cottage fire. She ate her supper like
one in a dream, and though she kept a watchful eye on Jock's
table manners and warned Sandy's elbows off the table several
times in her own efficient way, she could scarcely believe such
wonderful things were really happening to her.
At last the wonderful day drew to a close, and the people of Glen
Cairn, happier than they had been in a long time, said good-bye to
the gracious lady of the castle and to the already beloved young
Laird, and started home in the deepening twilight of the autumn
evening.
The Clan, lingering behind their parents, looked back at the
group on the castle terrace before the trees hid them from sight,
and Jock sent the pewit call shrilling through the dusk. It was
answered instantly from the terrace.
"He is just like Prince Charlie, I'm thinking," said Sandy, and
Jock, to ease his feelings, whistled "Charlie is my darling" all
the way to the gate of the park.
The evening star was shining brightly over the dark outline of
old Ben Vane as the Campbells reached the little gray house on
the brae, now safely their home forever, and Tam came bounding
down the path to meet them. Jean kissed her hand to the star and
murmured to herself,
"Star light, star bright,
I have the wish I wished to-night."
GLOSSARY
Auld, old.
Aye (pronounced i), yes.
Aye (pronounced a), ever, always.
Bailie, an officer of the law.
Bairn, a child.
Ben. See But and ben.
Besom, a broom.
Bide, stay.
Bittock, a little bit.
Blatherskite, a babbling person, a good-for-nothing.
Blethering, talking nonsense.
Bonny, pretty, beautiful, charming.
Bracken, brake, a species of tall fern.
Brae (pronounced bray), a hillside.
Braw, fine, handsome.
Burn, a brook.
But and ben, outside and in.
But the house means out of the house. But is also applied to the
kitchen; going but is going from the best room to the kitchen,
and going ben is going into the best room.
Byre, a cow-shed.
Canny, shrewd.
Chap, a knock.
Daft, silly, foolish.
Dandering, wandering.
Dawtie, darling, pet.
Dinna, do not.
Dod, an exclamation.
Doubt, suspect.
Dyke, a low fence or wall of turf or stone.
Fash, disturb.
Fine, finely, well.
Gey, very.
Gin (g as in give), if.
Girdle, a griddle.
Glengarry bonnet, a small cap without visor.
Greet, weep.
Guddling, catching fish with the hands.
Havers (a as in hay), nonsense (an exclamation).
Isna, is not.
Keek, a peep.
Ken, know.
Kilmarnock bonnet, a tam-o'-shanter.
Kirk, church.
Biro, a churn.
Kist, a chest.
Laird, a lord, a landed proprietor.
Laverock, the lark.
Limmer, a mischievous person.
Losh, an exclamation.
Loup, to leap.
Lug, ear.
Mealy pudding, a Scotch dish made of oatmeal and suet, in form
something like a sausage.
Michty (pronounced michty, with the gutteral ch as in the German
word ich), mighty, large, powerful.
Michty me, an exclamation.
Na, no, not.
Pawky, sly.
Pewit, the lapwing, a species of plover.
Plaidie (pronounced pladie), diminutive of plaid. Each clan had
its own especial pattern which was worn by all members.
Redding up, putting in order.
Sal, an exclamation.
Scone, a flat cake, unsweetened, baked on a griddle.
Skirl, a shrill sound, especially that characteristic of the
bagpipes.
Slippit awa', slipped away, died.
Sousie (both s's as in so), agreeable, attractive, comely,
pleasant.
Spier (pronounced spear), ask.
Sync, afterward, since.
Tarn, a small mountain lake.
Tatties, potatoes.
Tid, a pet name for a child.
Tirley-wirley, a disturbance.
Wasna, was not.
Wee bit hoosie, little house.
Whaup, the curlew, a large bird of the Sandpiper Family.
Wifie, an endearing term for a woman.
SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS
This story can be read without much preparation by any fifth or
sixth grade pupils. In the fifth grade it may be well to have the
children read the story first in a study period in order to work
out the pronunciation of the more difficult words and to get
sufficient command of the Scotch dialect, which, however, is not
used to so great an extent that it will be difficult for American
children to understand. The teacher should explain the use of the
glossary in this connection. In the sixth grade the children will
usually be able to read the story at sight except so far as
reference to the glossary is necessary to the understanding of
Scottish words and phrases.
As in all the Twins readers, the possibilities in this story for
dramatization will be immediately apparent. The numerous outdoor
adventures, the discovery of the cave, and the fishing will
probably be the scenes that will make the most immediate appeal
to boys who are beginning to show the Boy Scout spirit; and other
phases of outdoor life, no less than the touches of housework,
will appeal to members of the Girl Scout and the Girls' Camp Fire
organization. The illustrations in the book show hints for simple
costuming which may be followed when desired.
Mrs. Perkins's illustrations can be used in other ways also.
Children will enjoy sketching many of them, since their simple
style makes them especially available in this way. An excellent
oral exercise would be for the children after they have read the
story to take turns in telling it from the illustrations; and a
good composition exercise would be for each pupil to select the
illustration that he would like to write upon, to make a copy of
it, and then to tell its story in his own way.
During the reading, the teacher should tell the children
something about Scotland, geographically and historically. A file
of the National Geographic Magazine, which is accessible in most
public libraries, will be found to contain many illustrated
articles which will be invaluable in this connection. Teachers
should refer also to Tomlinson's "Young Americans in the British
Isles," Kate Douglas Wiggin's "Penelope's Progress," the volumes
devoted to Scotland in Longfellow's series, "Poems of Places,"
and to Bradley's "The Gateway of Scotland." Other references are
Hunnewell's "Lands of Scott" and Olcott's "The Country of Sir
Walter Scott." (Consult the indexes for references to Rob Roy,
The Lady of the Lake, etc. Also of course Scott's novels and
poems and Burns's poems contain much material that can be drawn
upon.) Particularly to be recommended are the selections
published in the Riverside Literature Series and in Webster and
Coe's "Tales and Verse from Sir Walter Scott."
Just at the present time when the tercentenary of the landing at
Plymouth occupies all our attention, it is particularly timely to
recall the potent influences of the Scottish people upon the
Puritans in old England and the Pilgrims who founded New England.
Scott's "Tales of a Grandfather" and Dickens's "Child's History
of England," also Tappan's "England's Story" will give an account
of how the Scotch rose in revolt against kings and prelates, and
how they were the first nation in Europe to establish in their
country the underlying principles of democracy. The Scottish
systems of land tenure--which may be said to be the theme of The
Scotch Twins--are discussed in Beaton's "Highlands of Scotland."
Of particular bearing is his comment upon conditions resulting
from the withdrawal of soil for purposes of sport, the poaching
that followed, etc.
The spirit of Scottish history is epitomized in Burns's poem, "A
Man's a Man for a' That," and the ingenious teacher will need no
further prompting as to the ways in which this poem and the
movement for which it stands are related to the history of our
own country. A further debt to Scotland lies in the character of
the Scotch immigrants to the United States and their descendants;
Griffis's "Bonnie Scotland and What We Owe Her" will show how to
apply this suggestion and others which will come to mind from
these paragraphs.