CHAPTER XVI.

DREAMS AND VISIONS

*WHITE HEATHER.*

*CHAPTER I.*

*A JOURNEY NORTHWARD.*

On a certain cold evening in January, and just as the Scotch night-mail

was about to start for the north, a stranger drove up to Euston and

alighted, and was glad enough to escape from the chill draughts of the

echoing station into the glow and warmth and comfort of a sleeping-car.

He was a man of means apparently; for one half of this carriage,

containing four berths, and forming a room apart, as it were, had been

reserved for himself alone; while his travelling impedimenta--fur-lined

coats and hoods and rugs and what not--were of an elaborate and

sumptuous description. On the other hand, there was nothing of

ostentation about either his dress or appearance or demeanour. He was a

tall, thin, quiet-looking man, with an aquiline nose, sallow complexion,

and keen but not unkindly gray eyes. His short-cropped hair was

grizzled, and there were deep lines in the worn and ascetic face; but

this may have been the result of an exhausting climate rather than of

any mental care, for there was certainly no touch of melancholy in his

expression. His costume was somewhat prim and precise; there was a kind

of schoolmasterish look about the stiff white collar and small black

tie; his gloves were new and neat. For the rest, he seemed used to

travelling; he began to make himself at home at once, and scarcely

looked up from this setting of things to rights when the conductor made

his appearance.

'Mr. Hodson, sir?' the latter said, with an inquiring glance.

'That's about what they call me,' he answered slowly, as he opened a

capacious dressing-bag covered with crocodile-hide.

'Do you expect any friends to join you farther along, sir?'

'Not that I know of,' was the answer--and a pair of dark-blue velvet

slippers, with initials worked in gold, were fished out and thrown upon

the seat beside him.

But when the conductor had got one of the lower sleeping-berths made

ready and the traveller had completed his leisurely arrangements for

passing the night in comfort, a somewhat one-sided conversation ensued.

This gaunt, slow-speaking, reserved man proved to be quite talkative--in

a curious, measured, dry, and staccato fashion; and if his conversation

consisted chiefly of questions, these showed that he had a very honest

and simple concern in the welfare of this other human being whom chance

had thrown in his way, and that he could express his friendly interest

without any touch of patronage or condescension. He asked first about

the railway-line; how the company's servants were paid; what were their

hours on duty; whether they had formed any associations for relief in

case of sickness; what this particular man got for his work; whether he

could look forward to any bettering of his lot, and so forth. And then,

fixing his eyes more scrutinisingly on his companion, he began to ask

about his family affairs--where he lived; what children he had; how

often he saw them; and the like; and these questions were so obviously

prompted by no idle curiosity, but by an honest sympathy, and by the

apparent desire of one human being to get to understand fully and

clearly the position and surroundings and prospects of this other

fellow-creature, that it was impossible for any one to take offence.

'And how old is your little girl?'

'Eight, sir: she will be nine in May next.'

'What do you call her?'

'Caroline, sir.'

'Why, you don't say!' he exclaimed, with his eyes--which were usually

calm and observant--lighting up with some surprise. 'That is the name

of my girl too--though I can't call her little any more. Well now,' he

added, as he took out his purse and selected a sovereign from the mass

of coins, 'I think this is about what you ought to do. When you get back

to Camden Town, you start an account in the Post Office Savings Bank, in

your little girl's name, and you put in this sovereign as a first

deposit. Then, whenever you have an odd sixpence or shilling to give

her--a birthday present, or that--you keep adding on and on; and there

will be a nice little sum for her in after years. And if ever she asks,

you can tell her it was the father of an American Caroline who made her

this little present; and if she grows up to be as good a girl as the

American Carry, she'll do very well, I think.'

The conductor scarcely knew how to express his thanks, but the American

cut him short, saying coolly--

'I don't give the sovereign to you at all. It is in trust for your

daughter. And you don't look to me the kind of man who would go and

drink it.'

He took out an evening newspaper, and, at the hint, the conductor went

away to get ready the berths in the other end of the car. When he came

back again to see if the gentleman wanted anything further for the

night, they had thundered along the line until they were nearing Rugby.

'Why, yes,' Mr. Hodson said, in answer to the question, 'you might get

me a bottle of soda-water when we get to the station.'

'I have soda-water in the car, sir.'

'Bring me a bottle, then, please.'

'And shall I get anything else for you, sir, at Rugby?'

'No, I thank you.'

When the man returned with the soda-water, the traveller had taken from

his dressing-bag a bottle labelled 'Bromide of Potassium' and he was

just about to mix his customary sleeping-draught when it occurred to him

that perhaps this conductor could tell him something of the new and far

country into which he was about to adventure for the first time. And in

making these inquiries he showed that he was just as frank-spoken about

his own plans and circumstances as he expected other people to be about

theirs. When the conductor confessed that he knew next to nothing about

the north of Scotland, never having been farther than Perth, and even

then his knowledge of the country being confined to the railway-line and

the stations, Mr. Hodson went on to say--in that methodical way of his,

with little rising inflexions here and there--

'Well, it's bound to be different from London, anyway. It can't be like

London; and that's the main thing for me. Why, that London fog, never

moving, same in the morning, same at night, it's just too dismal for

anything; the inside of a jail is a fool to it. 'Pears to me that a

London afternoon is just about as melancholy as they make it; if there's

anything more melancholy than that anywhere, I don't know it. Well,

now, it can't be like that at Cape Wrath.'

'I should think not, sir.'

'I daresay if I lived in the town, and had my club, and knew people, it

might be different; and my daughter seems to get through the time well

enough; but young folks are easily amused. Say, now, about this salmon

fishing in the north: you don't know when it begins?'

'No, sir.'

'You haven't seen anybody going yet with a bundle of rods?'

'No, sir, not this year yet.'

'Hope they haven't been playing it on me--I was told I could begin on

the eleventh. But it don't signify much so long's I get out of that

infernal cut-throat atmosphere of London.'

At this point the train began to slow into Rugby station, and the

conductor left to attend to his duties; and by the time they were moving

out again and on their way to the far north, Mr. Hodson had mixed and

drunk his nightly potion, and, partially undressed, was wrapped up in

the thick and warm coverings of the sleeping-berth, where, whether owing

to the bromide of potassium, or the jog-trot rattle of the wheels, he

was soon plunged in a profound slumber.

Well, if part of his design in thus venturing upon a journey to the

north in mid-winter was to get away from the monotonous mists of London,

the next morning showed him that so far he had been abundantly

successful. The day breaking caused him to open his eyes; and

instinctively he turned to the window. There before him was a strange,

and unusual, and welcome sight. No more dismal grays, and the gathering

down of a hopeless dusk; but the clear, glad light of the morning--a

band of flashing gold all along the eastern horizon, behind the

jet-black stems and branches of the leafless trees; and over that the

heavens were all of a pale and luminous lilac, with clouds hanging here

and there--clouds that were dark and almost thunderous in their purple

look, but that really meant nothing but beauty, as they lay there soft

and motionless in the glowing and mystical dawn. Quickly he got up.

The windows were thrown open. And this air that rushed in--so fresh, so

sweet, so full of all kinds of mellow and fragrant messages from the

hills, and the pine-woods, and the wide-lying straths--did it not bring

a strange kind of joy and surprise with it?

'A beautiful morning, sir; we are getting near to Perth now,' the

conductor said, when he made his appearance.

'Are we in time?'

'Yes, in very good time.'

'And no hurry about breakfast?'

'No, sir; you don't start again till nine o'clock.'

Even this big hollow station, with its wide stone platforms and

resounding arch: was it the white light that filled it, or the fresh air

that blew through it, that made it quite a cheerful place? He was

charmed with the accent of the timid handmaiden who brought him his

breakfast in the refreshment room, and who waited on him in such a

friendly, half-anxious, shy fashion; and he wondered whether he would

dare to offer so pretty and well-mannered a young lady anything over the

customary charge in token of his gratitude to her for her gentle ways.

Perth itself: well, there had been rain in the night, and the streets

near the station were full of mud; but then the cart ruts in the mud

were gleaming lines of gold; and the beautiful sky hung over the slowly

rising smoke of the houses; and the air was everywhere so sweet and

welcome. He had got into a new world altogether; the weight of the

London atmosphere was lifted from him; he whistled 'Auld Lang

Syne'--which was the only Scotch air he knew--and the lugubrious tune

sounded quite pleasant on so joyous a morning.

Moreover, these were but first and commonplace experiences. For by and

by, when he had again taken his seat to prosecute his journey--and he

found himself the sole occupant of the carriage--the sunrise had widened

into the full splendour of a sunlit day; and as the train sped away to

the north, he, sitting at the window there, and having nothing to do but

examine the new country he was entering, was wholly amazed at the

intensity and brilliancy of the colouring around, and at the

extraordinary vividness of the light. The wide stretches of the Tay

shone like burnished silver; there were yellow straths and fields; and

beech hedges of a rich russet-red; and fir-woods of a deep fresh green;

and still farther away low-lying hills of a soft and ruddy purple,

touched sharp here and there with patches of snow; and over all these a

blue sky as of summer. The moist, warm air that blew in at the window

seemed laden with pine odours; the country women at the small stations

had a fresh pink colour in their cheeks; everywhere a new and glad and

wholesome life seemed to be abroad, and cheerfulness, and rich hues, and

sunlight.

'This is good enough,' he said to himself. 'This is something like what

I shipped for.'

And so they sped on: through the soft, wide-stretching woods of Murthly,

and Birnam, and Dunkeld; through the shadow and sudden gleams of

Killiecrankie Pass; on by Blair Athol and the banks of the Garry; until,

with slow and labouring breath, the train began to force its way up the

heights of the Grampians, in the lone neighbourhood of the Drumouchter

Forest. The air was keener here; the patches of snow were nearer at

hand; indeed, in some places the line had evidently been cleared, and

large snow banks heaped up on each side. But by and by the motion of

the train seemed to become easier; and soon it was apparent that the

descent had begun; presently they were rattling away down into the wide

and shining valley of Strathspey; and far over there on the west and

north, and keeping guard over the plain, as it were, rose the giant

masses of the Cairngorm Hills, the snow sparkling here and there on

their shoulders and peaks.

It was not until half-past four in the afternoon that the long railway

journey came to an end; and during that time he had come upon many a

scene of historical interest and pictorial beauty. He had been within a

short distance of the mournful 'haughs of Cromdale;' he had crossed

Culloden Moor. Nearing Forres, he had come within sight of the Northern

Sea; and thereafter had skirted the blue ruffled waters of the Moray,

and Cromarty, and Dornoch Firths. But even when he had got to Lairg, a

little hamlet at the foot of Loch Shin, his travelling for the day was

not nearly over; there still remained a drive of four-and-twenty miles;

and although it was now dusk and the weather threatened a change, he

preferred to push on that night. Travelling did not seem to tire him

much; no doubt he was familiar with immeasurably greater distances in

his own country. Moreover, he had learned that there was nothing

particular to look at in the stretch of wild moorland that lay between

him and his destination; and then again, if it was dark now, there would

be moonlight later on. So he ate his dinner leisurely and in content,

until a waggonette with two stout horses was brought round; then he got

in; and presently they were away from the little hamlet and out in a

strange land of darkness and silence, scarcely anything visible around

them, the only sound the jog-trot clatter of the horses' feet.

It was a desperately lonely drive. The road appeared to go over

interminable miles of flat or scarcely undulating moorland; and even

when the moonlight began to make the darkness faintly visible, that only

increased the sense of solitude, for there was not even a single tree to

break the monotony of the sombre horizon line. It had begun to rain

also: not actual rain, but a kind of thin drizzle, that seemed to mix

itself up with the ineffectual moonlight, and throw a wan haze over

these far-reaching and desolate wastes. Tramp, tramp went the horses'

feet through this ghostly world; the wet mist grew thicker and thicker

and clung around the traveller's hair; it was a chilling mist, moreover,

and seemed to search for weak places about the throat. The only sharply

defined objects that the eye could rest on were the heads and upthrown

ears of the horses, that shone in the light sent forward by the lamps:

all else was a formless wilderness of gloom, shadows following shadows,

and ever the desolate landscape stretching on and on, and losing itself

in the night.

The American stood up in the waggonette, perhaps to shake off for a

second the clammy sensation of the wet.

'Say, young man,' he observed--but in an absent kind of way, for he was

regarding, as far as that was possible, the dusky undulations of the

mournful landscape--'don't you think now, that for a good wholesome dose

of God-forsakenness, this'll about take the cake?'

'Ah beg your paurdon, sir,' said the driver, who was apparently a

Lowlander.

The stranger, however, did not seem inclined to continue the

conversation; he sank into his seat again; gathered his rugs round him;

and contented himself as heretofore by idly watching the lamplight

touching here and there on the harness and lighting up the horses' heads

and ears.

Mile after mile, hour after hour, went by in this monotonous fashion;

and to the stranger it seemed as if he were piercing farther and farther

into some unknown land unpeopled by any human creatures. Not a ray of

light from any hut or farmhouse was visible anywhere. But as the time

went on, there was at least some little improvement in the weather.

Either the moonlight was growing stronger, or the thin drizzle clearing

off; at all events he could now make out ahead of him--and beyond the

flat moorland--the dusky masses of some mountains, with one great peak

overtopping them all. He asked the name.

'That is Ben Clebrig, sir.'

And then through the mist and the moonlight a dull sheet of silver began

to disclose itself dimly.

'Is that a lake down there?'

'Loch Naver, sir.'

'Then we are not far from Inver-Mudal?'

'No far noo; just a mile or two, sir,' was the consoling answer.

And indeed when he got to the end of his journey, and reached the little

hostelry set far amid these moorland and mountain wilds, his welcome

there made ample amends. He was ushered into a plain, substantially

furnished, and spacious sitting-room, brightly lit up by the lamp that

stood on the white cloth of the table, and also by the blazing glare

from the peats in the mighty fireplace; and when his eyes had got

accustomed to this bewilderment of warmth and light, he found, awaiting

his orders, and standing shyly at the door, a pretty, tall, fair-haired

girl, who, with the softest accent in the world, asked him what she

should bring him for supper. And when he said he did not care to have

anything, she seemed quite surprised and even concerned. It was a long,

long drive, she said, in her shy and pretty way; and would not the

gentleman have some hare-soup--that they had kept hot for him? and so

forth. But her coaxing was of no avail.

'By the way, what is your name, my girl?' he said.

'Nelly, sir.'

'Well, then, Nelly, do you happen to know whether Lord Ailine's keeper

is anywhere in the neighbourhood?'

'He is in the unn, sir, waiting for you.'

'Oh, indeed. Well, tell him I should like to see him. And say, what is

his name?'

'Ronald, sir.'

'Ronald?'

'That is his first name,' she explained.

'His "first name"? I thought that was one of our Americanisms.'

She did not seem to understand this.

'Ronald Strang is his name, sir; but we jist call him Ronald.'

'Very well, Nelly; you go and tell him I want to see him.'

'Ferry well, sir,' she said; and away she went.

But little indeed did this indefatigable student of nature and human

nature--who had been but half interested by his observations and

experiences through that long day's travel--know what was yet in store

for him. The door opened; a slim-built and yet muscular young man of

eight-and-twenty or so appeared there, clad in a smart deer-stalking

costume of brownish green; he held his cap in his hand; and round his

shoulder was the strap from which hung behind the brown leather case of

his telescope. This Mr. Hodson saw at a glance; and also something

more. He prided himself on his judgment of character. And when his

quick look had taken in the keen, sun-tanned face of this young fellow,

the square, intellectual forehead, the firm eyebrows, the finely cut and

intelligent mouth, and a certain proud set of the head, he said to

himself, 'This is a _man_: there's something here worth knowing.'

'Good evening, sir,' the keeper said, to break the momentary silence.

'Good evening,' said Mr. Hodson (who had been rather startled out of his

manners). 'Come and sit down by the fire; and let's have a talk now

about the shooting and the salmon-fishing. I have brought the letters

from the Duke's agent with me.'

'Yes, sir,' said Strang; and he moved a bit farther into the room; but

remained standing, cap in hand.

'Pull in a chair,' said Mr. Hodson, who was searching for the letters.

'Thank ye, sir; thank ye,' said the keeper; but he remained standing

nevertheless.

Mr. Hodson returned to the table.

'Sit down, man, sit down,' said he, and he himself pulled in a chair.

'I don't know what your customs are over here, but anyhow I'm an

American citizen; I'm not a lord.'

Somewhat reluctantly the keeper obeyed this injunction, and for a minute

or two seemed to be rather uncomfortable; but when he began to answer

the questions concisely put to him with regard to the business before

them, his shyness wholly wore away, for he was the master of this

subject, not the stranger who was seeking for information. Into the

details of these matters it is needless to enter here; and, indeed, so

struck was the American with the talk and bearing of this new

acquaintance that the conversation went far afield. And the farther

afield it went, the more and more was he impressed with the

extraordinary information and intelligence of the man, the independence

of his views, the shrewdness and sometimes sarcasm of his judgments.

Always he was very respectful; but in his eyes--which seemed singularly

dark and lustrous here indoors, but which, out of doors and when he was

after the wary stag, or the still more wary hinds, on the far slopes of

Clebrig, contracted and became of a keen brownish gray--there was a kind

of veiled fire of humour which, as the stranger guessed, might in other

circumstances blaze forth wildly enough. Mr. Hodson, of Chicago, was

entirely puzzled. A gamekeeper? He had thought (from his reading of

English books) that a gamekeeper was a velveteen-coated person whose

ideas ranged from the ale-house to the pheasant-coverts, and thence and

quickly back again. But this man seemed to have a wide and competent

knowledge of public affairs; and, when it came to a matter of argument

(they had a keen little squabble about the protection tariffs of

America) he could reason hard, and was not over-compliant.

'God bless me,' Mr. Hodson was driven to exclaim at last, 'what is a man

of your ability doing in a place like this? Why don't you go away to

one of the big cities--or over to America--where a young fellow with his

wits about him can push himself forward?'

'I would rather be "where the dun deer lie,"' said he, with a kind of

bashful laugh.

'You read Kingsley?' the other said, still more astonished.

'My brother lends me his books from time to time,' Ronald said modestly.

'He's a Free Church minister in Glasgow.'

'A Free Church minister? He went through college, then?'

'Yes, sir; he took his degree at Aberdeen.'

'But--but--' said the newcomer, who had come upon a state of affairs he

could not understand at all--'who was your father, then? He sent your

brother to college, I presume?'

'Oh no, sir. My father is a small farmer down the Lammermuir way; and

he just gave my brother Andrew his wages like the rest, and Andrew saved

up for the classes.'

'You are not a Highlander, then?'

'But half-and-half, like my name, sir,' he said (and all the shyness was

gone now: he spoke to this stranger frankly and simply as he would have

spoken to a shepherd on the hillside). 'My mother was Highland. She

was a Macdonald; and so she would have me called Ronald; it's a common

name wi' them.'

Mr. Hodson stared at him for a second or two in silence.

'Well,' said he, slowly, 'I don't know. Different men have different

ways of looking at things. I think if I were of your age, and had your

intelligence, I would try for something better than being a gamekeeper.'

'I am very well content, sir,' said the other placidly; 'and I couldna

be more than that anywhere else. It's a healthy life; and a healthy

life is the best of anything--at least that is my way of thinking. I

wadna like to try the toun; I doubt it wouldn't agree wi' me.' And then

he rose to his feet. 'I beg your pardon, sir; I've been keeping ye

late.'

Well, Mr. Hodson was nothing loth to let him go; for although he had

arrived at the conviction that here was a valuable human life, of

exceptional quality and distinction, being absolutely thrown away and

wasted, still he had not formed the arguments by which he might try to

save it for the general good, and for the particular good of the young

man himself. He wanted time to think over this matter--and in cool

blood; for there is no doubt that he had been surprised and fascinated

by the intellectual boldness and incisiveness of the younger man's

opinions and by the chance sarcasms that had escaped him.

'I could get him a good opening in Chicago soon enough,' he was thinking

to himself, when the keeper had left, 'but upon my soul I don't know the

man who is fit to become that man's master. Why, I'd start a newspaper

for him myself, and make him editor--and if he can't write, he has got

mother-wit enough to guide them who can--but he and I would be

quarrelling in a week. That fellow is not to be driven by anybody.'

He now rang the bell for a candle; and the slim and yellow-haired Nelly

showed him upstairs to his room, which he found to be comfortably warm,

for there was a blazing peat fire in the grate, scenting all the air

with its delicious odour. He bade her good-night, and turned to open

his dressing-bag; but at the same moment he heard voices without, and,

being of an inquiring turn of mind, he went to the window. The first

thing he saw was that outside a beautiful clear moon was now shining;

the leafless elm-trees and the heavy-foliaged pines throwing sharp black

shadows across the white road. And this laughing and jesting at the

door of the inn?--surely he heard Ronald's voice there--the gayest of

any--among the jibes that seemed to form their farewells for the night?

Then there was the shutting of a door; and in the silence that ensued he

saw the solitary, straight-limbed, clean-made figure of a man stride up

the white road, a little dog trotting behind him.

'Come along, Harry, my lad,' the man said to his small companion--and

that, sure enough, was the keeper's voice.

And then, in the stillness of the moonlight night, this watcher and

listener was startled to hear a clear and powerful tenor voice suddenly

begin to sing--in a careless fashion, it is true, as if it were but to

cheer the homeward going--

_'Come all ye jolly shepherds,_

_That whistle through the glen,_

_I'll tell ye of a secret_

_That courtiers dinna ken._

_What is the greatest bliss_

_That the tongue o' man can name?--_

_'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie_

_When the kye come hame.'_

'Great heavens!' said Mr. Hodson to himself, 'such a voice--and all

Europe waiting for a new tenor! But at seven or eight and twenty I

suppose he is beyond training.'

The refrain became more and more distant:

_'When the kye come hame,_

_When the kye come hame,_

_'Twixt the gloamin' and the mirk,_

_When the kye come hame.'_

Both the keeper and the little trotting terrier had disappeared now,

having turned a corner of the road where there was a clump of trees.

The traveller who had wandered into these remote wilds sate down for a

minute or two to sum up his investigations of the evening, and they were

these:

'Accounts of the deer seem shaky; but there may have been bad shooting

this last year, as he says. The salmon-fishing sounds more likely; and

then Carry could come with us in the boat--which would make it less dull

for her. Anyhow, I have discovered the most remarkable man I have met

with as yet in the old country; and to think of his being thrown away

like that!'

*CHAPTER II.*

*MEENIE.*

We may now follow Ronald Strang as he walks along to his cottage, which,

with its kennels and its shed for hanging up the slain deer, stands on a

little plateau by the roadside, a short distance from the inn. The

moonlight night is white and beautiful, but far from silent; for the

golden plover are whistling and calling down by the lochside, and the

snipe are sending their curious harsh note across the moorland wastes.

Moreover, he himself seems to be in a gay mood (perhaps glad to be over

the embarrassment of a first meeting with the stranger), and he is

conversing amicably with his little terrier. The subject is rats.

Whether the wise little Harry knows all that is said need not be

determined; but he looks up from time to time and wags his stump of a

tail as he trots placidly along. And so they get up to the cottage and

enter, for the outer door is on the latch, thieves being unheard of in

this remote neighbourhood; though here Harry hesitates, for he is

uncertain whether he is to be invited into the parlour or not. But the

next moment all consideration of this four-footed friend is driven out

of his master's head. Ronald had expected to find the parlour empty, and

his little sister, at present his sole housekeeper, retired to rest. But

the moment he opens the door, he finds that not only is she there,

sitting by the table near to the solitary lamp, but that she has a

companion with her. And well he knows who that must be.

'Dear me, Miss Douglas,' he exclaimed, 'have I kept you so late!'

The young lady, who now rose, with something of a flush over her

features--for she had been startled by his sudden entrance--was

certainly an extraordinarily pretty creature: not so much handsome, or

distinguished, or striking, as altogether pretty and winning and

gentle-looking. She was obviously of a pure Highland type: the figure

slender and graceful, the head small and beautifully formed; the

forehead rather square for a woman, but getting its proper curve from

the soft and pretty hair; the features refined and intelligent; the

mouth sensitive; the expression a curious sort of seeking to please, as

it were, and ready to form itself into an abundant gratitude for the

smallest act of kindness. Of course, much of this look was owing to her

eyes, which were the true Highland eyes; of a blue gray these were, with

somewhat dark lashes; wide apart, and shy, and apprehensive, they

reminded one of the startled eyes of some wild animal; but they were,

entirely human in their quick sympathy, in their gentleness, in their

appeal to all the world, as it were, for a favouring word. As for her

voice--well, if she used but few of the ordinary Highland phrases, she

had undoubtedly a considerable trace of Highland accent; for, although

her father was an Edinburgh man, her mother (as the elderly lady very

soon let her neighbours know) was one of the Stuarts of Glengask and

Orosay; and then again Meenie had lived nearly all her life in the

Highlands, her father never having risen above the position of a parish

doctor, and welcoming even such local removals as served to improve his

position in however slight a way.

'Maggie,' said Miss Douglas (and the beautiful wide-apart eyes were full

of a shy apology), 'was feeling a little lonely, and I did not like to

leave her.'

'But if I had known,' said he, 'I would not have stayed so late. The

gentleman that is come about the shooting is a curious man; it's no the

salmon and the grouse and the deer he wants to know about only; it's

everything in the country. Now, Maggie, lass, get ye to bed. And I

will see you down the road, Miss Douglas.'

'Indeed there is no need for that,' said Meenie, with downcast eyes.

'Would ye have a bogle run away with ye?' he said good-naturedly.

And so she bade good-night to the little Maggie, and took up some books

and drawings she had brought to beguile the time withal; and then she

went out into the clear night, followed by the young gamekeeper.

And what a night it was--or rather, might have been--for two lovers!

The wide waters of the loch lay still and smooth, with a broad pathway

of silver stretching away into the dusk of the eastern hills; not a

breath of wind stirred bush or tree; and if Ben Clebrig in the south was

mostly a bulk of shadow, far away before them in the northern skies rose

the great shoulders of Ben Loyal, pallid in the moonlight, the patches

of snow showing white up near the stars. They had left behind them the

little hamlet--which merely consisted of a few cottages and the inn;

they were alone in this pale silent world. And down there, beneath the

little bridge, ran the placid Mudal Water: and if they had a Bible with

them?--and would stand each on one side of the stream?--and clasp hands

across? It was a night for lovers' vows.

'Maggie is getting on well with her lessons,' the pretty young lady

said, in that gentle voice of hers. 'She is very diligent.'

'I'm sure I'm much obliged to ye, Miss Douglas,' was the respectful

answer, 'for the trouble ye take with her. It's an awkward thing to be

sae far from a school. I'm thinking I'll have to send her to my brother

in Glasgow, and get her put to school there.'

'Oh, indeed, indeed,' said she, 'that will be a change now. And who will

look after the cottage for you, Ronald?'

She addressed him thus quite naturally, and without shyness; for no one

ever dreamed of calling him anything else.

'Well, I suppose Mrs. MacGregor will give the place a redd[#] up from

time to time. But a keeper has but half learned his business that canna

shift for himself; there's some of the up-country lodges with ne'er a

woman-body within a dozen miles o' them.'

[#] 'Redd,' a setting to rights.

'It is your brother the minister that Maggie will be going to?' she

said.

'Oh yes; he is married, and has a family of his own; she will be

comfortable there.'

'Well, it is strange,' said she, 'that you should have a brother in

Glasgow, and I a sister, and that your mother should be Highland and

mine too.'

But this was putting himself and her on much too common a footing; and

he was always on his guard against that, however far her gentleness and

good-nature might lead her.

'When is your father coming back, Miss Douglas?' said he.

'Well, I really do not know,' she said. 'I do not think he has ever had

so wide a district to attend to, and we are never sure of his being at

home.'

'It must be very lonely for a young lady brought up like you,' he

ventured to say, 'that ye should have no companions. And for your

mother, too; I wonder she can stand it.'

'Oh no,' she said, 'for the people are so friendly with us. And I do

not know of any place that I like better.'

By this time they were come to the little wooden gate of the garden, and

he opened that for her. Before them was the cottage, with its windows,

despite the moonlight on the panes, showing the neat red blinds within.

She gave him her hand for a second.

'Good night, Ronald,' said she pleasantly.

'Good night, Miss Douglas,' said he; 'Maggie must not keep you up so

late again.'

And therewith he walked away back again along the white road, and only

now perceived that by some accident his faithful companion Harry had

been shut in when they left. He also discovered, when he got home, that

his sister Maggie had been so intent puzzling over some arithmetical

mysteries which Meenie had been explaining to her, that she had still

further delayed her going to bed.

'What, what?' said he, good-humouredly. 'Not in bed yet, lass?'

The little red-headed, freckled-faced lassie obediently gathered up her

belongings, but at the door she lingered for a moment.

'Ronald,' said she, timidly, 'why do ye call Meenie "Miss Douglas?" It's

not friendly.'

'When ye're a bit older, lass, ye'll understand,' he said, with a laugh.

Little Maggie was distressed in a vague way, for she had formed a warm

affection for Meenie Douglas, and it seemed hard and strange that her

own brother should show himself so distant in manner.

'Do you think she's proud? for she's not that,' the little girl made

bold to say.

'Have ye never heard o' the Stuarts of Glengask?' said he; and he added

grimly, 'My certes, if ye were two or three years older, I'm thinking

Mrs. Douglas would have told ye ere now how Sir Alexander used to call

on them in Edinburgh every time he came north. Most folk have heard

that story. But however, when Meenie, as ye like to call her, goes to

live in Edinburgh or Glasgow, or some o' the big towns, of course she'll

be Miss Douglas to every one, as she ought to be here, only that she's

taken a fancy to you, and, my lass, fairly spoils ye with her kindness.

Now, off with ye, and dinna fash your head about what I or any one else

calls her; if she's content to be Meenie to you, ye should be proud

enough.'

As soon as she was gone he stirred up the peats, lit his pipe, and drew

in a chair to the small table near the fire. It was his first pipe that

evening, and he wished to have it in comfort. And then, to pass the

time, he unlocked and opened a drawer in the table, and began to rummage

through the papers collected there--all kinds of shreds and fragments

they were, scored over mostly in pencil, and many of them bearing marks

as if the writing had been done outside in the rain.

The fact was, that in idle times, when there was no trapping to be done,

or shooting of hoodie-crows, or breaking-in of young dogs, he would

while away many an hour on the hillside or along the shores of the loch

by stringing verses together. They were done for amusement's sake.

Sometimes he jotted them down, sometimes he did not. If occasionally,

when he had to write a letter to a friend of his at Tongue, or make some

request of his brother in Glasgow, he put these epistles into jingling

rhyme, that was about all the publication his poetical efforts ever

achieved; and he was most particular to conceal from the 'gentry' who

came down to the shooting any knowledge that he scribbled at all. He

knew it would be against him. He had no wish to figure as one of those

local poets (and alas! they have been and are too numerous in Scotland)

who, finding within them some small portion of the afflatus of a Burns,

or a Motherwell, or a Tannahill, are seduced away from their lawful

employment, gain a fleeting popularity in their native village, perhaps

attain to the dignity of a notice in a Glasgow or Edinburgh newspaper,

and subsequently and almost inevitably die of drink, in the most abject

misery of disappointment. No; if he had any ambition it was not in that

direction; it was rather that he should be known as the smartest

deerstalker and the best trainer of dogs in Sutherlandshire. He knew

where his strength lay, and where he found content. And then there was

another reason why he could not court newspaper applause with these idle

rhymes of his. They were nearly all about Meenie Douglas.

Meenie-olatry was written all across those scribbled sheets. And of

course that was a dark secret known only to himself; and indeed it

amused him, as he turned over the loose leaves, to think that all the

Stuarts of Glengask and Orosay (and that most severe and terrible of

them all, Mrs. Douglas) could not in the least prevent his saying to

Meenie just whatever he pleased--within the wooden confines of this

drawer. And what had he not said? Sometimes it was but a bit of

careless singing--

_Roses white, roses red,_

_Roses in the lane,_

_Tell me, roses red and white,_

_Where is Meenie gane?_

_O is she on Loch Loyal's side?_

_Or up by Mudal Water?_

_In vain the wild doves in the woods_

_Everywhere have sought her._

_Roses white, roses red,_

_Roses in the lane,_

_Tell me, roses red and white,_

_Where is Meenie gane?_

Well, now, supposing you are far away up on Ben Clebrig's slopes, a gun

over your shoulder, and idly looking out for a white hare or a

ptarmigan, if you take to humming these careless rhymes to some such

tune as 'Cherry Ripe,' who is to hinder? The strongest of all the south

winds cannot carry the tidings to Glengask nor yet to Orosay's shores.

And so the whole country-side--every hill and stream and wood and

rock--came to be associated with Meenie, and saturated with the praise

and glory of her. Why, he made the very mountains fight about her!

_Ben Loyal spake to Ben Clebrig,_

_And they thundered their note of war:_

_'You look down on your sheep and your sheepfolds;_

_I see the ocean afar._

_'You look down on the huts and the hamlets,_

_And the trivial tasks of men;_

_I see the great ships sailing_

_Along the northern main.'_

_Ben Clebrig laughed, and the laughter_

_Shook heaven and earth and sea:_

_'There is something in that small hamlet_

_That is fair enough for me--_

_'Ay, fairer than all your sailing ships_

_Struck with the morning flame:_

_A fresh young flower from the hand of God--_

_Rose Meenie is her name!'_

But at this moment, as he turned over this mass of scraps and fragments,

there was one, much more audacious than the rest, that he was in search

of, and when he found it a whimsical fancy got into his head. If he

were to make out a fair copy of the roughly scrawled lines, and fold

that up, and address it to Meenie, just to see how it looked? He took

out his blotting-pad, and selected the best sheet of note-paper he could

find; and then he wrote (with a touch of amusement, and perhaps of

something else, too, in his mind the while) thus--

_O wilt thou be my dear love?_

_(Meenie and Meenie),_

_O wilt thou be my ain love?_

_(My sweet Meenie),_

_Were you wi' me upon the hill,_

_It's I would gar the dogs be still,_

_We'd lie our lane and kiss our fill,_

_(My love Meenie)._

_Aboon the burn a wild bush grows_

_(Meenie and Meenie),_

_And on the lush there blooms a rose_

_(My sweet Meenie);_

_And wad ye tak the rose frae me,_

_And wear it where it fain would be,_

_It's to your arms that I would flee,_

_(Rose-sweet Meenie!)_

He carefully folded the paper and addressed it outside--so:

_Miss Wilhelmina Stuart Douglas,_

_Care of James Douglas, Esq., M.D.,_

_Inver-Mudal,_

_Sutherlandshire._

And then he held it out at arm's length, and regarded it, and laughed,

in a contemptuous kind of way, at his own folly.

'Well,' he was thinking to himself, 'if it were not for Stuart of

Glengask, I suppose the day might come when I could send her a letter

like that; but as it is, if they were to hear of any such madness,

Glengask and all his kith and kin would be for setting the heather on

fire.'

He tossed the letter back on the blotting-pad, and rose and went and

stood opposite the blazing peats. This movement aroused the attention

of the little terrier, who immediately jumped up from his snooze and

began to whimper his expectation. Strang's heart smote him.

'God bless us!' he said aloud. 'When a lass gets into a man's head,

there's room for nothing else; he'll forget his best friends. Here,

Harry, come along, and I'll get ye your supper, my man.'

He folded up the blotting-pad and locked it in the drawer, blew out the

candles, called Harry to follow him into the kitchen, where the small

terrier was duly provided for and left on guard. Then he sought out his

own small room. He was whistling as he went; and, if he dreamt of

anything that night, be sure it was not of the might and majesty of Sir

Alexander Stuart of Glengask and Orosay. These verses to Meenie were but

playthings and fancies--for idle hours.

*CHAPTER III.*

*ON THE LOCH.*

A considerable wind arose during the night; Mr. Hodson did not sleep

very well; and, lying awake towards morning, he came to the conclusion

that he had been befooled, or rather that he had befooled himself, with

regard to that prodigy of a gamekeeper. He argued with himself that his

mental faculties must have been dulled by the long day's travel; he had

come into the inn jaded and tired; and then finding himself face to face

with an ordinarily alert and intrepid intellect, he had no doubt

exaggerated the young man's abilities, and made a wonder of him where no

wonder was needed. That he was a person of considerable information and

showed common sense was likely enough. Mr. Hodson, in his studies of

men and things, had heard something of the intelligence and education to

be found among the working classes in Scotland. He had heard of the

handloom weavers who were learned botanists; of the stone-masons who

were great geologists; of the village poets who, if most of their

efforts were but imitations of Ferguson and Burns and Tannahill, would

here and there, in some chance moment of inspiration, sing out some true

and pathetic song, to be taken to the hearts of their countrymen, and

added to a treasure-store of rustic minstrelsy such as no other nation

in the world has ever produced. At the same time he was rather anxious

to meet Strang again, the better to get the measure of him. And as he

was also curious to see what this neighbourhood into which he had

penetrated looked like, he rose betimes in the morning--indeed, before

the day was fully declared.

The wind still moaned about the house, but outside there was no sign of

any storm; on the contrary, everything was strangely calm. The lake lay

a dark lurid purple in the hollow of the encircling hills; and these,

along the eastern heavens, were of the deepest and softest olive green;

just over them was a line of gleaming salmon-red, keen and resplendent

as if molten from a furnace; and over that again soft saffron-dusky

clouds, deepening in tone the higher they hung in the clear pale steel

hues of the overhead sky. There was no sign of life anywhere--nothing

but the birch woods sloping down to the shore; the moorland wastes of

the lower hills; and above these the giant bulk and solemn shadows of

Ben Clebrig,[#] dark against the dawn. It was a lovely sight; he began

to think he had never before in his life felt himself so much alone.

But whence came the sound of the wind that seemed to go moaning down the

strath towards the purple lake?

[#] That is, the Hill of the Playing Trout.

Well, he made no doubt that it was up towards the north and west that

the storm was brewing; and he remembered that a window in the

sitting-room below looked in that direction; there he would be able to

ascertain whether any fishing was practicable. He finished his dressing

and went down. The breakfast table was laid; a mighty mass of peats was

blazing cheerfully in the spacious fireplace. And the storm? Why, all

the wide strath on this northern side of the house was one glow of

yellow light in the now spreading sunrise; and still farther away in the

north the great shoulders of Ben Loyal[#] had caught a faint roseate

tinge; and the same pale and beautiful colour seemed to transfuse a

large and fleecy cloud that clung around the snow-scarred peak. So he

came to the conclusion that in this corner of the glen the wind said

more than it meant; and that they might adventure on the loch without

risk of being swamped or blown ashore.

[#] More properly Ben Laoghal, the Hill of the Calves.

The slim tall Highland lass made her appearance with further plenishings

for the table, and 'Good moarning!' she said, in her pretty way, in

answer to his greeting.

'Say, now, has that man come down from Tongue yet?'

'No, sir,' said Nelly, 'he wass no come down yet.' And then she looked

up with a demure smile. 'They would be keeping the New Year at Tongue

last night.'

'Keeping the New Year on the 14th of January?'

'It's the twelfth is the usual day, sir,' she explained, 'but that was

Saturday, and they do not like a Saturday night, for they have to stop

at twelve o'clock, and so most of them were for keeping it last night.'

'Oh, indeed. Then the festive gentleman won't show up to-day?'

'But it is of no matter whateffer whether he comes or no; for I am sure

that Ronald will be willing to lend a hand. Oh, I am sure of it. I

will ask him myself.'

'_You_ will ask him?' was Mr. Hodson's internal soliloquy. 'It is to

_you_ he will grant the favour. Indeed!'

He fixed his eyes on her,

'He is a good-looking young fellow, that Ronald.'

She did not answer that; she was putting the marmalade, and the honey,

and the cream on the table.

'He is not married?'

'No, sir.'

'Well, now, when he thinks about getting married, I suppose he'll pretty

well have his choice about here?'

'Indeed there iss others besides him,' said Nelly rather proudly, but

her face was red as she opened the door.

Well, whether it was owing to the intervention of Nelly or not, as soon

as Mr. Hodson was ready to start he found Ronald waiting for him

without; and not only that, but he had already assumed command of the

expedition, having sent the one gillie who had arrived down to bale the

boat. And then he would overhaul Mr. Hodson's fishing-gear--examining

the rods, testing the lines and traces, and rejecting all the spoon

baits, angels, sand-eels, and what not, that had been supplied by the

London tackle-maker, for two or three of the familiar phantom minnows.

Mr. Hodson could scarcely believe that this was the same man who last

night had been discussing the disestablishment of state churches and the

policy of protecting native industries. He had not a word for anything

but the business before him; and the bold fashion in which he handled

those minnows, all bristling with hooks, or drew the catgut traces

through his fingers (Mr. Hodson shivered, and seemed to feel his own

fingers being cut to the bone), showed that he was as familiar with the

loch as with the hillside or the kennel.

'I'm not much on salmon-fishing myself,' the American remarked modestly.

'It's rather early in the season, sir, I'm afraid,' was the answer.

'But we might get a fish after all; and if we do it'll be the first

caught in Scotland this year, I warrant.'

They set out and walked down to the shore of the loch, and there Mr.

Hodson seated himself on the gunwale of the flat-bottomed coble, and

watched the two men putting the rods together and fixing the traces.

The day had now declared itself; wild and stormy in appearance, but fair

on the whole; great floods of sunshine falling suddenly on the yellow

slopes and the russet birch woods; and shadows coming as rapidly across

the far heights of Clebrig, steeping the mountains in gloom. As for the

gillie who had been proof against the seductions of keeping the New

Year, and who was now down on one knee, biting catgut with his teeth, he

was a man as tall and as sallow as Mr. Hodson himself, but with an added

expression of intense melancholy and hopelessness. Or was that but

temporary?

'Duncan doesna like that boat,' Ronald said, glancing at Mr. Hodson.

The melancholy man did not speak, but shook his head gloomily.

'Why?'

As the gillie did not answer, Ronald said--

'He thinks there is no luck with that boat.'

'That boat?' the gillie said, with an angry look towards the hapless

coble. 'She has the worst luck of any boat in Sutherland--_tam her_,'

he added, under his breath.

'In my country,' the American said, in his slow way, 'we don't mind luck

much; we find perseverance about as good a horse to win with in the

end.'

He was soon to have his perseverance tried. Everything being ready they

pushed off from the shore, Ronald taking stroke oar, the gillie at the

bow; Mr. Hodson left to pay out the lines of the two rods, and fix these

in the stern, when about five-and-thirty yards had gone forth. At

first, it is true, he waited and watched with a trifle of anxiety. He

wanted to catch a salmon; it would be something to write about to his

daughter; it would be a new experience for himself. But when time

passed and the boat was slowly rowed along the loch at a measured

distance from the shore, without any touch of anything coming to make

the point of either rod tremble, he rather gave up his hope in that

direction, and took to talking with Ronald. After all, it was not

salmon-fishing alone that had brought him into these wilds.

'I suppose it is really too early in the season,' he observed, without

much chagrin.

'Rayther,' said Ronald.

'Rawther,' said the melancholy gillie.

But at that instant something happened that startled every one of them

out of their apathy. The top of one of the rods was violently pulled

at, and then there was a long shrill yell of the reel.

'There he is, sir! there he is, sir!' Ronald called.

Mr. Hodson made a grab blindly--for he had been looking at the scenery

around--at one of the rods. It was the wrong one. But before he knew

where he was, Ronald had got hold of the other and raised the top so as

to keep a strain on the fish. The exchange of the rods was effected in

a moment. Then when Ronald had wound in the other line and put the rod

at the bow, he took to his oar again, leaving Mr. Hodson to fight his

unknown enemy as best he might, but giving him a few words of direction

from time to time, quietly, as if it were all a matter of course.

'Reel in, sir, reel in--keep an even strain on him--let him go--let him

go if he wants----'

Well, the fish was not a fierce fighter; after the first long rush he

scarcely did anything; he kept boring downwards, with a dull, heavy

weight. It seemed easy work; and Mr. Hodson--triumphant in the hope of

catching his first salmon--was tempted to call aloud to the melancholy

gillie--

'Well, Duncan, how about luck now?'

'I think it's a kelt,' the man answered morosely.

But the sinister meaning of this reply was not understood.

'I don't know what you call him,' said Mr. Hodson, holding on with both

hands to the long, lithe grilse-rod that was bent almost double. 'Celt

or Saxon, I don't know; but I seem to have got a good grip of him.'

'Then he heard Ronald say, in an undertone, to the gillie--

'A kelt? No fears. The first rush was too heavy for that.'

And the gillie responded sullenly--

'He's following the boat like a cow.'

'What is a kelt, anyway?' the American called out. 'Something that

swims, I suppose? It ain't a man?'

'I hope it's no a kelt, sir,' said Ronald--but doubtfully.

'But what is a kelt, then, when he's at home?'

'A salmon, sir, that hasna been down to the sea; we'll have to put him

back if he is.'

Whirr! went the reel again; the fish, kelt or clean salmon, had struck

deep down. But the melancholy creature at the bow was taking no further

interest in the fight. He was sure it was a kelt. Most likely the

minnow would be destroyed. Maybe he would break the trace. But a kelt

it was. He knew the luck of this 'tammed' boat.

The struggle was a tedious one. The beast kept boring down with the

mere force of its weight, but following the coble steadily; and even

Ronald, who had been combating his own doubts, at length gave in: he was

afraid it was a kelt. Presently the last suspicion of hope was

banished. With a tight strain on him, the now exhausted animal began to

show near the surface of the water--his long eel-like shape and black

back revealing too obviously what manner of creature he was. But this

revelation had no effect on the amateur fisherman, who at last beheld

the enemy he had been fighting with so long. He grew quite excited. A

kelt?--he was a beautiful fine fish! If he could not be eaten he could

be stuffed! Twenty pounds he was, if an ounce!--would he throw back

such a trophy into the loch?

Ronald was crouching in the stern of the boat, the big landing-net in

his hand, watching the slow circling of the kelt as it was being hauled

nearer and nearer. His sentiments were of a different kind.

'Ah, you ugly brute!--ah, you rascal!--ah--ah!'--and then there was a

deep scoop of the landing-net; and the next minute the huge eel-like

beast was in the bottom of the boat, Duncan holding on to its tail, and

Ronald gripping it by the gills, while he set to work to get the minnow

out of its jaws. And then without further ado--and without stopping to

discuss the question of stuffing--the creature was heaved into the water

again, with a parting benediction of 'Bah, you brute!' It took its

leave rapidly.

'Well, it's a pity, sir,' Ronald said; 'that would have been a

twenty-four-pound salmon if he had been down to the sea.'

'It's the luck of this tammed boat,' Duncan said gloomily.

But Mr. Hodson could not confess to any such keen sense of

disappointment. He had never played so big a fish before, and was

rather proud that so slight a grilse-rod and so slender a line should

(of course, with some discretion and careful nursing on his part) have

overmastered so big a beast. Then he did not eat salmon; there was no

loss in that direction. And as he had not injured the kelt in any way,

he reflected that he had enjoyed half-an-hour's excitement without doing

harm to anything or anybody, and he was well content. So he paid out

the two lines again, and set the rods, and began to renew his talk with

Ronald touching the customs connected with the keeping of the New Year.

After all, it was a picturesque kind of occupation, kelts or no kelts.

Look at the scene around them--the lapping waters of the loch, a vivid

and brilliant blue when the skies were shining fair, or black and stormy

again when the clouds were heavy in the heavens; and always the

permanent features of the landscape--the soft yellows of the lower

straths, where the withered grass was mixed with the orange bracken; the

soft russet of the leafless birch woods fringing the shores of the lake;

the deep violet shadows of Ben Clebrig stretching up into the long

swathes of mist; and then the far amphitheatre of hills--Ben Hee, and

Ben Hope, and Ben Loyal--with sunlight and shade inter-mingling their

ethereal tints, but leaving the snow-streaks always sparkling and clear.

He got used to the monotony of the slow circling of the upper waters of

the lake. He forgot to watch the points of the rods. He was asking all

kinds of questions about the stags and the hinds, about ptarmigan, and

white hares, and roe, about the price of sheep, the rents of crofts, the

comparative wages of gillies, and shepherds, and foresters, and keepers,

and stalkers, and the habits and customs of land-agents and factors.

And at length, when it came to lunch-time, and when they landed, and

found for him a sheltered place under the lee of a big rock, and when

Ronald pointed out to him a grassy bank, and said rather ruefully--

'I dinna like to see that place empty, sir. That's where the gentlemen

have the salmon laid out, that they may look at them at lunch-time--'

Mr. Hodson, as he opened the little basket that had been provided for

him, answered cheerfully enough--

'My good friend, don't you imagine that I feel like giving it up yet.

I'm not finished with this lake, and I'll back perseverance against luck

any day. Seems to me we've done very well so far; I'm con-tent.'

By and by they went back into the coble again, and resumed their patient

pursuit; and there is little doubt that by this time Ronald had come to

the conclusion that this stranger who had come amongst them was a

singularly odd and whimsical person. It was remarkable enough that he

should have undertaken this long and solitary journey in order to fish

for salmon, and then show himself quite indifferent as to whether he got

any or not; and it was scarcely human for any one to betray no

disappointment whatever when the first fish caught proved to be a kelt;

but it was still stranger that a man rich enough to talk about renting a

deer-forest should busy himself with the petty affairs of the very

poorest people around. Why, he wanted to know how much Nelly the

housemaid could possibly save on her year's wages; whether she was

supposed to lay by something as against her wedding-day; or whether any

of the lads about would marry her for her pretty face alone. And when

he discovered that Mr. Murray, the innkeeper, was about to give a New

Year supper and dance to the lads and lasses of the neighbourhood, he

made no scruple about hinting plainly that he would be glad of an

invitation to join that festive party.

'Not if I'm going to be anything of a wet blanket,' he said candidly.

'My dancing days are over, and I'm not much in the way of singing; but

I'll tell them an American story; or I'll present them with a barrel of

whisky--if that will keep the fun going.'

'I'm sure they'll be very glad, sir,' Ronald said, 'if ye just come and

look on. When there's gentlemen at the Lodge, they generally come down

to hear the pipes, and the young gentlemen have a dance too.'

'What night did you say?'

'Monday next, sir.'

Well, he had only intended remaining here for a day or two, to see what

the place was like; but this temptation was too great. Here was a

famous opportunity for the pursuit of his favourite study--the study of

life and manners. This, had Ronald but known it, was the constant and

engrossing occupation that enabled this contented traveller to accept

with equanimity the ill-luck of kelt-catching; it was a hobby he could

carry about with him everywhere; it gave a continuous interest to every

hour of his life. He cared little for the analyses of science; he cared

less for philosophical systems; metaphysics he laughed at; but men and

women--the problems of their lives and surroundings, their diverse

fortunes and aspirations and dealings with each other--that was the one

and constant subject that engrossed his interest. No doubt there was a

little more than this; it was not merely as an abstract study that he

was so fond of getting to know how people lived. The fact was that, even

after having made ample provision for his family, he still remained

possessed of a large fortune; his own expenditure was moderate; and he

liked to go about with the consciousness that here or there, as occasion

served, he could play the part of a little Providence. It was a

harmless vanity; moreover, he was a shrewd man, not likely to be

deceived by spurious appeals for charity. Many was the young artist whom

he had introduced to buyers; many the young clerk whom he had helped to

a better situation; more than one young woman in the humblest of

circumstances had suddenly found herself enabled to purchase her wedding

outfit (with a trifle over, towards the giving her greater value in her

lover's eyes), through the mysterious benevolence of some unknown

benefactor. This man had been brought up in a country where every one

is restlessly pushing forward; and being possessed of abundant means,

and a friendly disposition, it seemed the most natural thing in the

world that here or there, at a fitting opportunity, he should lend a

helping hand. And there was always this possibility present to

him--this sense of power--as he made those minute inquiries of his into

the conditions of the lives of those amongst whom he chanced to be

living.

The short winter day was drawing to a close; the brilliant steely blue

of the driven water had given place to a livid gray; and the faint

gleams of saffron-yellow were dying out in the western skies.

'Suppose we'd better be going home now,' Mr. Hodson remarked at a

venture, and with no great disappointment in his tone.

'I'm afraid, sir, there's no much chance now,' Ronald said.

'We must call again; they're not at home to-day,' the other remarked,

and began with much complacency to reel in one of the lines.

He was doing so slowly, and the men were as slowly pulling in for the

shore in the gathering dusk, when _whirr!_ went the other reel. The

loud and sudden shriek in this silence was a startling thing; and no

less so was the springing into the air--at apparently an immense

distance away--of some creature, kelt or salmon, that fell into the

water again with a mighty splash. Instinctively Mr. Hodson had gripped

this rod, and passed the other one he had been reeling in to Strang. It

was an anxious moment. _Whirr!_ went another dozen yards of line; and

again the fish sprang into the air--this time plainly visible.

'A clean fish, sir! a clean fish!' was the welcome cry.

But there was no time to hazard doubts or ask questions; this sudden

visitor at the end of the line had not at all made up his mind to be

easily captured. First of all he came sailing in quietly towards the

boat, giving the fisherman all he could do to reel in and keep a strain

on him; then he whirled out the line so suddenly that the rod was nearly

bent double; and then, in deep water, he kept persistently sulking and

boring, refusing to yield an inch. This was a temporary respite.

'Well, now, is this one all right?' Mr. Hodson called out--but he was

rather bewildered, for he knew not what this violent beast might not be

after next, and the gathering darkness looked strange, the shadows of

Clebrig overhead seeming to blot out the sky.

'A clean fish, sir,' was the confident answer.

'No doubt o' that, sir,' even the melancholy Duncan admitted; for he

foresaw a dram now, if not a tip in actual money.

Then slowly and slowly the salmon began to yield to the strain on

him--which was considerable, for this was the heavier of the two

rods--and quickly the line was got in, the pliant curve of the rod

remaining always the same; while Mr. Hodson flattered himself that he

was doing very well now, and that he was surely becoming the master of

the situation. But the next instant something happened that his mind

was not rapid enough to comprehend: something dreadful and horrible and

sudden: there was a whirring out of the reel so rapid that he had to

lower the point of the rod almost to the water; then the fish made one

flashing spring along the surface--and this time he saw the creature, a

gleam of silver in the dusk--and then, to his unspeakable dismay and

mortification, he felt the line quite slack. He did utter a little

monosyllable.

'He's off, sir,' the melancholy gillie said in a tone of sad

resignation.

'Not a bit, sir, not a bit! Reel in, quick!' Ronald called to him: and

the fisherman had sense enough to throw the rod as far back as he could

to see if there was yet some strain on it. Undoubtedly the fish was

still there. Moreover, this last cantrip seemed to have taken the

spirit out of him. By and by, with a strong, steady strain on him, he

suffered himself to be guided more and more towards the boat, until, now

and again, they could see a faint gleam in the dark water; and now

Ronald had relinquished his oar, and was crouching down in the

stern--this time not with the landing-net in his hand, but with the

bright steel clip just resting on the gunwale.

'He's showing the white feather now, sir; give him a little more of the

butt.'

However, he had not quite given in yet: each time he came in sight of

the boat he would make another ineffectual rush, but rarely getting down

deeper than three or four yards. And then, with a short line and the

butt well towards him, he began to make slow semicircles this way and

that; and always he was being steadily hauled nearer the coble; until

with one quick dip and powerful upward pull Ronald had got him

transfixed on the gaff and landed--the huge, gleaming, beautiful silver

creature!--in the bottom of the boat.

'Well done, sir!--a clean fish!--a beauty--the first caught in Scotland

this year, I know!'--these were the exclamations he heard now; but he

scarcely knew how it had all happened, for he had been more excited than

he was aware of. He felt a vague and general sense of satisfaction;

wanted to give the men a glass of whisky, and had none to give them;

thought that the capture of a salmon was a noble thing; would have liked

his daughter Carry to hear the tidings at once; and had a kind of

general purpose to devote the rest of that year to salmon-fishing in the

Highlands. From this entrancement he was awakened by a dispute between

the two men as to the size of the fish.

'He's twelve pounds, and no more,' the melancholy Duncan said, eyeing

him all over.

'Look at his shoulders, man,' Ronald rejoined. 'Fourteen pounds if he's

an ounce. Duncan, lad, ye've been put off your guessing by the sight of

the kelt.'

'He's a good fish whateffer,' Duncan was constrained to admit--for he

still foresaw that prospect of a dram when they returned to the inn,

with perhaps a more substantial handselling of good luck.

Of course, they could do no more fishing that afternoon, for it was

nearly dark; but it was wonderful how the capture of this single salmon

seemed to raise the spirits of the little party as they got ashore and

walked home. There was a kind of excitement in the evening air. They

talked in a rapid and eager way--about what the fish had done; what were

the chances of such and such a rush; the probable length of time it had

been up from the sea; the beauty of its shape; the smallness of its

head; the freshness of its colour, and so forth--and there was a kind of

jubilation abroad. The first fish caught in Scotland that year!--of

course, it must be packed forthwith and sent south to his daughter Carry

and her friends. And Mr. Hodson was quite facetious with the pretty

Nelly when she came in to lay the table for dinner; and would have her

say whether she had not yet fixed her mind on one or other of these

young fellows around. As for the small hamlet of Inver-Mudal, it was

about as solitary and forlorn a habitation as any to be found in the

wilds of northern Scotland; and he was there all by himself; but with

the blazing peat-fire, and the brilliant white cloth on the

dinner-table, and the consciousness that the firm, stout-shouldered,

clean-run fourteen-pounder was lying in the dairy on a slab of cold

stone, he considered that Inver-Mudal was a most enjoyable and sociable

and comfortable place, and that he had not felt himself so snug and so

much at home for many and many a day.

*CHAPTER IV.*

*A LETTER.*

After dinner he found himself with a pretty long evening before him, and

thought he could not do better than devote the major part of it to

writing to his daughter. He would not confess to himself that he wanted

her to know at once that he had caught his first salmon; that was but a

trivial incident in the life of a philosopher and student of mankind;

still she would be glad to hear of his adventures; and it was not an

unpleasant way of passing the time. So he wrote as follows:--

'MY DARLING CARRY--You will be rejoiced to learn that I have discovered

a harbour of refuge for you, where that minute organ you call your mind

may lay aside its heaviest load of trouble. Here, at last, is one

corner of Europe where you need have no fear of anybody mistaking you

for one of the Boston girls of fiction; indeed you might go about all

day talking your beloved Texas with impunity; although, my dear young

lady, that is a habit you would do well to drop, for sooner or later it

will get you into trouble when you are least expecting it. But short of

scalping children or using a bowie-knife for a fork, I think you might

do or say anything you pleased here; it is the most out-of-the-world

sort of place; a community of fifteen or twenty, I should guess, hidden

away in a hole of a valley, and separated from the rest of the universe

by great ranges of mountains and interminable miles of moorland. The

people seem very friendly, but shy; and I don't quite catch on to them

yet, for their speech bothers me--scarcely any two of them seem to have

the same accent; but I hope to get to know something more about them

next Monday, when they have a New Year celebration, which I am invited

to the same. Would you like to join in? By all means come if you care

to; the station is Lairg; wire, and I will meet you there. You will

miss the wild excitement of paying afternoon calls and drinking tea; but

you will get sunlight and fresh air into your lungs. The talk about the

fierce weather is all nonsense. There is a sprinkling of snow on the

higher hills, but the temperature is quite agreeable. In any case I

expect you to come here with me in March, when the salmon-fishing will

begin in earnest; and I have no doubt you will have made the

acquaintance of the whole of the people in a couple of days, shy as they

are. There is another point I have not forgotten. As you seem

determined to set yourself up for your lifetime with reminiscences of

your travels in Europe, I have had to consider what you could carry away

from here. I am afraid that Inver-Mudal jewellery wouldn't make much of

a show; and I haven't seen any shell necklaces or silk scarves or blue

pots about. But what about a Highland maid? I suppose the N.Y. Customs

officers wouldn't charge much for that article of _vertu_. Now the maid

who waits on me here is very pretty and gentle in manner; and I suppose

she could be induced to go--for a proper consideration; and you could

begin the training of her now, and have her quite accomplished by the

time we got home. Sounds rather like slavery, don't it?--but she would

be going to the land of the free, and the banner would wave over her.

She gets eighty dollars a year and her board; I'd go better than that,

if you took a fancy to her.

'But the most remarkable person here--perhaps it is the contrast between

his personal abilities and his position that is the striking thing--is a

deerstalker and gamekeeper whom they familiarly call Ronald; and I

confess that, with all I had heard of the intelligence of the Scotch

peasantry, this fellow, before I had been talking with him ten minutes,

rather made me open my eyes. And yet, looking back over the different

subjects we fell upon, I don't know that he said anything so very

remarkable on any one of them. I think it is rather the personal

character of the man that is impressive--the manliness and independence

of his judgment, and yet his readiness to consider the other side if you

can convince him; his frank (and, I should say, foolish) recognition of

the differences of social position; and then a kind of curious

self-respect he has which refuses to allow him to become quite friendly,

though you may be willing enough to forget that you are talking of

taking a shooting on which he is one of the _employes_, and anxious only

to converse with him as man to man. I'm afraid this is rather mixed, but

you would have to see him to understand quite well what manner of person

he is--a good-looking fellow too, well knit together, with a keen, hard

face, full of life and a half-concealed force of humour. I should judge

he would make a pretty fair king of good company in the unrestrained

intercourse of a few boon companions; and I imagine he has a hard head

if there should be any drinking going on. What to do with him I don't

know. It is absurd he should be where he is. His brother has been to

college, taken his degree, and is now in the Scotch Church somewhere.

But this fellow seems quite content to trap foxes and shoot gray crows,

and, in the autumn, look after the grouse-shooting and deerstalking of

other people. A man of his brains would not be in that position for a

fortnight in our country. Here everything is fixed. He thinks it is

_natural_ for him to be in a subservient position. And yet there is a

curious independence about the fellow; I don't know what inducement I

could put before him to get him out of it. Suppose we said, "Come you

with us to America, and we'll run you for President;" I'm afraid he'd

quote Kingsley in our face, and be off to "where the dun deer lie." In

fact his reverence for the star-spangled banner appears to be of a

mitigated description. I found he knew more than I expected about our

wire-pulling gentry at home; but then, on the other hand, I discovered

that he knew nothing about the necessity of protecting the industries of

a young country beyond what he had read in the English papers, and you

know what high old Mother Hubbardism that is. Now I want to do something

for this fellow, and don't know how. He's too good a man to be thrown

away--a kind of upper servant, as it were, of his lordship. He has

plenty of ability and he has plenty of knowledge in a dozen different

directions, if they could only be _applied_. But then he is a dogged

kind of a creature--he is not pliant; if you can show him sufficient

reason for changing he might change, otherwise not one inch will he

budge. What is the inducement to be? It is useless offering him an

allotment of land in Nebraska; here he has miles and miles of the most

picturesque territory conceivable, of which, save for a month or two in

the autumn, he is the absolute master. He enjoys an ownership over

these hills and moors and lochs more obvious than that of the Duke

himself; he would not exchange that for the possession of a bit of

table-land on the Platte Valley, unless he were a fool, and that he is

far from being. The Presidentship? Well, I waved your beloved banner

over him, but he didn't enthuse worth a cent. However, I must cast

about and see what is to be done with him, for I am really interested in

the man.'

At this moment there was a tapping at the door, and Nelly appeared with

a huge armful of peats, which she began to build up dexterously in the

fireplace, always leaving a central funnel open.

'Say, my girl, when will this letter go south?' Mr. Hodson asked.

'To-morrow moarning,' was the answer.

'And the fish, too?'

'Yes, sir, by the mail cart.'

'Has Duncan packed it in the rushes yet?'

'Oh no, sir, Ronald will do that; he can do it better as any of them; he

would not let any one else do it, for they're saying it iss the first

fish of the year, and he's very proud of your getting the fish, sir.'

'_Ich auch!_' observed Mr. Hodson to himself; and he would probably have

continued the conversation, but that suddenly a strange noise was heard,

coming from some distant part of the inn--a harsh, high, note, all in

monotone.

'What's that now, Nelly?'

'It will be Ronald tuning his pipes,' said she, as she was going to the

door.

'Oh, he can play the pipes too?'

'Indeed, yes, sir; and better as any in Sutherland, I hef heard them

say,' she added.

Just as she opened the door the drones and chanter broke away into a

shrill and lively march that seemed to flood the house with its

penetrating tones.

'I think it's "Dornoch Links" he's playing,' Nelly said, with a quiet

smile, 'for there's some of the fisher-lads come through on their way to

Tongue.'

She left then; but the solitary occupant of the sitting-room thought he

could not do better than go to the door and listen for a while to this

strange sort of music, which he had never heard played properly before.

And while he could scarcely tell one tune from another except by the

time--the slow, wailing, melancholy Lament, for example, was easily

enough distinguished from the bright and lively Strathspey--here and

there occurred an air--the '79th's Farewell,' or the 'Barren Rocks of

Aden,' or the 'Pibroch of Donald Dhu,' had he but known the names of

them--which had a stately and martial ring about it; he guessed that it

was meant to lead the tramp of soldiers. And he said to himself--

'Here, now, is this fellow, who might be piper to a Highland regiment,

and I daresay all the use he makes of his skill is to walk up and down

outside the dining-room window of the Lodge and play to a lot of

white-kneed Englishmen when they come down for the autumn shooting.'

He returned to his letter.

'I have the honour to inform you that the first salmon caught on any

Scotch loch this year was caught by me this afternoon, and to-morrow

will be on its way to you. If you don't believe the story, look at the

salmon itself for evidence. And as regards this loch-fishing, it

appears to me you might have a turn at it when we come up in

March--taking one of the two rods; a little practice with Indian clubs

meanwhile would enable you to make a better fight of it when you have to

keep a continuous strain on a fourteen-pound fish for twenty minutes or

half an hour. You must have some amusement or occupation; for there is

no society--except, by the way, the doctor's daughter, who might be a

companion for you. I have not seen her yet; but the handmaiden I have

mentioned above informs me that she is "a ferry pretty young lady, and

ferry much thought of, and of a ferry great family too." I should not

imagine, however, that her Highland pride of blood would bar the way

against your making her acquaintance; her father is merely the parish

doctor--or rather, the district doctor, for he has either two or three

parishes to look after--and I don't suppose his emoluments are colossal.

They have a pretty cottage; it is the swell feature of the village, if

you can call the few small and widely scattered houses a village. You

could practise Texas talk on her all day long; I daresay she wouldn't

know.

'Good-night; it's rather sleepy work being out in that boat in the cold.

Good-night, good-night; and a kiss from the Herr Papa.'

Well, by this time the fisher-lads had left the inn and were off on the

way to Tongue--and glad enough to have a moonlight night for the weary

trudge. Ronald remained behind for a while, drinking a glass of ale

with the inn-keeper; and generally having to keep his wits about him,

for there was a good deal of banter going on. Old John Murray was a

facetious person, and would have it that Nelly was setting her cap at

Ronald; while the blushing Nelly, for her part, declared that Ronald was

nothing but a poor south-country body; while he in fair warfare had to

retort that she was 'as Hielan's a Mull-drover.' The quarrel was not a

deadly one; and when Ronald took up his pipes in order to go home, he

called out to her in parting--

'Nelly, lass, see you get the lads to clean out the barn ere Monday

next; and put on your best ribbons, lassie; I'm thinking they'll be for

having a spring o' Tullochgorum.'

The pipes were over his shoulder as he walked away along the moonlit

road; but he did not tune up; he had had enough playing for that

evening. And be sure that in his mind there was no discontent because

he had no allotment of land on the Platte Valley, nor yet a place in a

Chicago bank, nor the glory of being pipe-major to a Highland regiment.

He was perfectly content as he was; and knew naught of these things. If

there was any matter troubling him--on this still and moonlight night,

as he walked blithely along, inhaling the keen sweet air, and conscious

of the companionship of the faithful Harry--it was that the jog-trot

kind of tune he had invented for certain verses did not seem to have

sufficient definiteness about it. But then the verses themselves--as

they kept time to his tramp on the road--were careless and light-hearted

enough:

_The blossom was white on the blackthorn tree,_

_And the mavis was singing rarely;_

_When Meenie, Love Meenie, walked out wi' me,_

_All in the springtime early._

_'Meenie, Love Meenie, your face let me see,_

_Meenie, come answer me fairly;_

_Meenie, Love Meenie, will you wed me,_

_All in the springtime early?'_

_Meenie but laughed; and kentna the pain_

_That shot through my heart fu' sairly:_

_'Kind sir, it's a maid that I would remain,_

_All in the springtime early.'_

And 'Hey, Harry, lad,' he was saying, as he entered the cottage and went

into the little parlour, where a candle had been left burning, 'we'll

have our supper together now; for between you and me I'm just as hungry

as a gled.'

*CHAPTER V.*

*BEGINNINGS.*

Next day promised to give them sharper work on the loch. The weather had

changed towards the morning; showers of hail had fallen; and now all the

hills around--Ben Hee and Ben Hope and Ben Loyal--had their far peaks

and shoulders powdered over, while the higher slopes and summit of the

giant Clebrig were one solid mass of white. It was much colder, too;

and the gusts of wind that came hurling along Strath Terry[#] struck

down on the loch, spreading out like black fans, and driving the

darkened water into curling crisp foam. It was a wild, changeable,

blowy morning; sunlight and gloom intermingled; and ever the wind howled

and moaned around the house, and the leafless trees outside bent and

shivered before the wintry blast.

[#] No doubt corrupted from _Strath Tairibh_, the Strath of the Bull.

When the tall Highland lass brought in breakfast it appeared that the

recusant gillie had not yet come down from Tongue; but it was no matter,

she said; she would call Ronald. Now this exactly suited Mr. Hodson,

who wanted to have some further speech with the young man--in view of

certain far-reaching designs he had formed; and what better opportunity

for talk than the placid trolling for salmon on the lake there? But

courtesy demanded some small protest.

'I am afraid I cannot ask him a second day,' he remarked.

'Oh,' said she (for she did not wish the gentleman to imagine that she

thought over much of the smart young keeper), 'he ought to be ferry glad

if he can be of use to any one. He is jist amusing himself with the

other lads.'

Which was strictly true at this moment. On the little plateau outside

Ronald's cottage two or three of them were standing together. They had

got a heavy iron ball, to which was attached about a yard and a half of

rope, and one after another was trying who could launch this ball the

farthest, after swinging it three or four times round his head. It came

to Ronald's turn. He was not the most thick-set of those young fellows;

but he was wiry and muscular. He caught the rope with both hands, swung

the heavy weight round his head some four or five times--his teeth

getting ever and ever more firmly clenched the while--and then away went

the iron ball through the air, not only far outstripping all previous

efforts, but unluckily landing in a wheelbarrow and smashing sadly a

jacket which one of the lads had thrown there when he entered upon this

competition. When he somewhat ruefully took up the rent garment, there

was much ironical laughing; perhaps that was the reason that none of

them heard Nelly calling.

'Ronald!'

The tall, slim Highland maid was pretty angry by this time. She had

come out of the house without any head-gear on; and the cold wind was

blowing her yellow hair about her eyes; and she was indignant that she

had to walk so far before attracting the attention of those idle lads.

'Ronald, do you hear!' she called; and she would not move another yard

towards them.

And then he happened to notice her.

'Well, lass, what is't ye want?'

'Come away at once!' she called, in not the most friendly way. 'The

gentleman wants you to go down to the loch.'

But he was the most good-natured of all these young fellows; the lasses

about ordered him this way or that just as they pleased.

'What!' he called to her, 'hasna Fraser come down from Tongue yet?'

'No, he has not.'

'Bless us; the whisky must have been strong,' said he, as he picked up

his jacket. 'I'll be there in a minute, Nelly.'

And so it was that when Mr. Hodson went into the little front hall, he

found everything in trim readiness for getting down to the loch--the

proper minnows selected; traces tried; luncheon packed; and his heavy

waterproof coat slung over Ronald's arm.

'Seems you think I can't carry my own coat?' Mr. Hodson said; for he did

not like to see this man do anything in the shape of servant work;

whereas Ronald performed these little offices quite naturally and as a

matter of course.

'I'll take it, sir,' said he; 'and if you're ready now we'll be off.

Come along, Duncan.'

And he was striding away with his long deerstalker step, when Mr. Hodson

stopped him.

'Wait a bit, man; I will walk down to the loch with you.'

So Duncan went on, and the American and Ronald followed.

'Sharp this morning.'

'Rayther sharp.'

'But this must be a very healthy life of yours--out in the fresh air

always--plenty of exercise--and so forth.'

'Just the healthiest possible, sir.'

'But monotonous a little?'

''Deed no, sir. A keeper need never be idle if he minds his business;

there's always something new on hand.'

'Then we'll say it is a very enjoyable life, so long as your health

lasts, and you are fit for the work?'

This was apparently a question.

'Well, sir, the head stalker on the Rothie-Mount forest is seventy-two

years of age; and there is not one of the young lads smarter on the hill

than he is.'

'An exception, doubtless. The betting is all against your matching that

record. Well, take your own case: what have you to look forward to as

the result of all your years of labour? I agree with you that in the

meantime it is all very fine; I can understand the fascination of it,

even, and the interest you have in becoming acquainted with the habits

of the various creatures, and so forth. Oh yes, I admit that--the

healthiness of the life, and the interest of it; and I daresay you get

more enjoyment out of the shooting and stalking than Lord Ailine, who

pays such a preposterous price for it. But say we give you a fairly

long lease of health and strength sufficient for the work: we'll take

you at sixty; what then? Something happens--rheumatism, a broken leg,

anything--that cripples you. You are superseded; you are out of the

running; what is to become of you?'

'Well, sir,' said Ronald instantly, 'I'm thinking his lordship wouldna

think twice about giving a pension to a man that had worked for him as

long as that.'

It was a luckless answer. For Mr. Hodson, whose first article of belief

was that all men are born equal, had come to Europe with a positive

resentment against the very existence of lords, and a detestation of any

social system that awarded them position and prestige merely on account

of the accident of their birth. And what did he find now? Here was a

young fellow of strong natural character, of marked ability, and fairly

independent spirit, so corrupted by this pernicious system that he

looked forward quite naturally to being helped in his old age by his

lordship--by one of those creatures who still wore the tags and rags of

an obsolete feudalism, and were supposed to 'protect' their vassals.

The House of Peers had a pretty bad time of it during the next few

minutes; if the tall, sallow-faced, gray-eyed man talked with little

vehemence, his slow, staccato sentences had a good deal of keen irony in

them. Ronald listened respectfully. And perhaps the lecture was all the

more severe that the lecturer had but little opportunity of delivering

it in his own domestic circle. Truly it was hard that his pet grievance

won for him nothing but a sarcastic sympathy there; and that it was his

own daughter who flouted him with jibes and jeers.

'Why, you know, pappa dear,' she would say as she stood at the window of

their hotel in Piccadilly, and watched the carriages passing to and fro

beneath her, 'lords may be bad enough, but you know they're not half as

bad as the mosquitoes are at home. They don't worry one half as much;

seems to me you might live in this country a considerable time and never

be worried by one of them. Why, that's the worst of it. When I left

home, I thought the earls and marquises would just be crowding us; and

they don't seem to come along at all. I confess they are a mean lot.

Don't they know well enough that the first thing ['the fooist thing,'

she said, of course; but her accent sounded quite quaint and pretty if

you happened to be looking at the pretty, soft, opaque, dark eyes] the

first thing an American girl has to do when she gets to Europe is to

have a lord propose to her, and to reject him? But how can I? They

won't come along! It's just too horrid for anything; for of course when

I go back home they'll say--"It's because you're not a Boston girl.

London's full of lords; but it's only Boston girls they run after; and,

poor things, they and their coronets are always being rejected. The

noble pride of a Republican country; wave the banner!"'

But here Mr. Hodson met with no such ill-timed and flippant opposition.

Ronald the keeper listened respectfully, and only spoke when spoken to;

perhaps the abstract question did not interest him. But when it came to

the downright inquiry as to whether he, Strang, considered his master,

Lord Ailine, to be in any way whatever a better man than himself, his

answer was prompt.

'Yes, sir, he is,' he said, as they walked leisurely along the road.

'He is a better man than me by two inches round the chest, as I should

guess. Why, sir, the time that I hurt my kneecap, one night we were

coming down Ben Strua, our two selves, nothing would hinder his lordship

but he must carry me on his back all the way down the hill and across

the burn till we reached the shepherd's bothy. Ay, and the burn in

spate; and the night as dark as pitch; one wrong step on the

swing-bridge, and both of us were gone. There's Peter McEachran at

Tongue, that some of them think's the strongest man in these parts; and

I offered to bet him five shillings he wouldna carry me across that

bridge--let alone down the hill--on a dark night. But would he try?

Not a bit, sir.'

'I should think Peter Mac--what's his name?--was a wiser man than to

risk his neck for five shillings,' Mr. Hodson said drily. 'And you--you

would risk yours--for what?'

'Oh, they were saying things about his lordship,' Ronald said

carelessly.

'Then he is not worshipped as a divinity by everybody?' the American

said shrewdly.

But the keeper answered, with much nonchalance--

'I suppose he has his ill-wishers and his well-wishers, like most other

folk; and I suppose, like most other folk, he doesna pay ower great

attention to what people say of him.'

They did not pursue the subject further at this moment, for a turn of

the road brought them suddenly within sight of a stranger, and the

appearance of a stranger in these parts was an event demanding silence

and a concentration of interest. Of course, to Ronald Strang Miss

Meenie Douglas was no stranger; but she was obviously a source of some

embarrassment: the instant he caught sight of her his face reddened, and

as she approached he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. It was not that

he was ashamed she should see him acting the part of a gillie; for that

he did not care in the least, it was as much a part of his work as

anything else; what vexed him was lest some sign of recognition should

show the stranger gentleman that Miss Douglas had formed the

acquaintance of the person who was at the moment carrying his waterproof

and his fishing-rods. And he hoped that Meenie would have the sense to

go by without taking any notice of him; and he kept his eyes on the

road, and walked forward in silence.

'Who is she?' Mr. Hodson asked, in an undertone, and with some

astonishment, for he had no idea there was any such neatly-dressed and

pretty young lady in the neighbourhood.

Ronald did not answer, and they drew nearer. Indeed, Meenie was looking

quite beautiful this morning; for the cold air had brightened up the

colour in her cheeks; and the wide-apart blue-gray eyes were clear and

full of light; and her brown hair, if it was tightly braided and bound

behind, had in front been blown about a little by the wind, and here and

there a stray curl appeared on the fair white forehead. And then again

her winter clothing seemed to suit the slight and graceful figure; she

looked altogether warm, and furry, and nice, and comfortable; and there

was a sensible air about her dress--the blue serge skirt, the

tight-fitting sealskin coat (but this was a present from the laird of

Glengask and Orosay) and the little brown velvet hat with its wing of

ptarmigan plumage (this was a present not from Glengask, and probably

was not of the value of three halfpence, but she wore it, nevertheless,

when she was at her smartest). And if Ronald thought she was going to

pass him by without a word, he was mistaken. It was not her way. As

she met them, one swift glance of her Highland eyes was all she bestowed

on the stranger; then she said, pleasantly, as she passed--

'Good morning, Ronald.'

He was forced to look up.

'Good morning, Miss Douglas,' said he, with studied respect; and they

went on.

'Miss Douglas?' Mr. Hodson repeated, as soon as they were beyond

hearing. 'The doctor's daughter, I presume?'

'Yes, sir.'

'But--but--I had no idea--why, she is a most uncommonly pretty young

lady--one of the most interesting faces I have seen for many a day. You

did not say there was such a charming young person in the place; why,

she adds a new interest altogether; I fancy my daughter won't be long in

making her acquaintance when she comes here.'

Indeed, as they got down to the boat, and the two men set about getting

the rods ready, all his talk was about the pretty young lady he had

seen; and he scarcely noticed that Ronald, in answering these questions,

showed a very marked reserve. He could not be got to speak of her

except in curt answers; perhaps he did not like to have the melancholy

Duncan listening; at all events, he showed a quite absorbing interest in

the phantom minnows, and traces, and what not. Moreover, when they got

into the boat, there was but little opportunity for conversation. The

day had become more and more squally; there was a considerable sea on;

it was all the two men could do to keep sufficient way on the coble so

that the phantoms should spin properly. Then every few minutes a

rain-cloud would come drifting across--at first mysterious and awful, as

if the whole world were sinking into darkness; then a few big drops

would patter about; then down came the sharp clattering shower, only to

be followed by a marvellous clearing up again, and a burst of watery

sunshine along the Clebrig slopes. But these changes kept Mr. Hodson

employed in sheltering himself from the rain while it lasted, and then

getting off his waterproof again lest perchance there might come a

salmon at one of the lines. That event did actually occur; and when

they least expected it. In one of the heaviest of the squalls they had

such a fight to get the boat along that the minnows, sinking somewhat,

caught the bottom. Of course the rowers had to back down--or rather to

drift down--to get the lines released; and altogether the prospect of

affairs seemed so unpromising--the heavens darkening with further rain,

the wind blowing in sharper and sharper gusts, and the water coming

heavily over the bows--that Mr. Hodson called out that, as soon as he

had got the minnows free, they might as well run the coble on to the

land, and wait for calmer weather. But this was a lee shore. The men

were willing to give up for a time--but not until they had got to the

sheltered side; so he was counselled to put out the lines again, slowly,

and they began anew their fight against the gale. Well, he was actually

paying out the first of the lines with his hand, when suddenly--and

without any of the preliminary warnings that usually tell of a salmon

being after a minnow--the line was snatched from his fingers, and out

went the reel with that sharp long shriek that sends the whole boat's

crew into an excitement of expectation. But there was no spring into

the air away along there in the darkened and plunging waters; as he

rapidly got in his line, he knew only of a dull and heavy strain; and

the men had to keep on with their hard pulling against the wind, for the

fish seemed following the boat in this sulky and heavy fashion.

'What do you think?' Mr. Hodson said, half turning round, and not giving

plainer voice to his anxieties.

'I'm afraid it's a kelt, sir,' the dismal gillie answered.

'Looks like it, don't it?' the fisherman said rather dolefully; for the

fish showed no sign of life whatever.

'We'll see by and by,' was Ronald's prudent answer; but even he was

doubtful; the only good feature being that, if the fish showed no fight,

at least he kept a heavy strain on the rod.

But it seemed as if everything was conspiring against them. The black

heavens above them burst into a torrent of rain; and with that came a

squall that tore the water white, and blew them down on the fish in

spite of their hardest efforts. Shorter and shorter grew the line as it

was rapidly got in, and still the fish did not show; it was now so near

to the boat that any sudden movement on its part was almost certain to

produce a catastrophe. Nor could they drive the boat ashore; the beach

was here a mass of sharp stones and rocks; in three minutes the coble

would have been stove in. With faces set hard the two men pulled and

pulled against the storm of wind and rain; and Mr. Hodson--seated now,

for he dared not attempt to stand up, the boat was being thrown about so

by the heavy waves--could only get in a little more line when he had the

chance, and look helplessly on, and wait.

Then, all of a sudden, there was a long shrill shriek--heard loud above

the din of wind and water--continued and continued, and in vain he tried

to arrest this wild rush; and then, some seventy or eighty yards away,

there was a great white splash among the rushing black waves--and

another--and another--and then a further whirling out of some fifteen

yards of line, until he glanced with alarm at the slender quantity left

on the reel. But presently he began to get some in again; the men were

glad to let the boat drift down slowly; harder and harder he worked at

the big reel, and at last he came to fighting terms with the

animal--kelt or salmon, as it might be--with some five-and-twenty yards

out, and the squall moderating a little, so that the men could keep the

boat as they wanted. Nay, he ventured to stand up now, wedging his legs

and feet so that he should not be suddenly thrown overboard; and it was

quite evident, from the serious purpose of his face, that all

possibility of this being a kelt had now been thrown aside.

'No kelt is he, Ronald?' he called aloud.

'Not a bit, sir! There's no kelt about that one. But give him time;

he's a good big fish, or I'm sore mistaken.'

They were far from the end yet, however. The long rush and the

splashing had exhausted him for a while; and the fisherman, with a firm

application of the butt, thought he could make the fish show himself;

but still he kept boring steadily down, sometimes making little angry

rushes of a dozen yards or so. And then all of a sudden began some wild

cantrips. There was another rush of ten or a dozen yards; and a clear

leap into the air--a beautiful, great, silvery creature he looked amid

all this hurrying gloom; and then another downward rush; and then he

came to the surface again, and shook and tugged and struck with his tail

until the water was foaming white about him. These were a few terribly

anxious seconds, but all went happily by, and then it was felt that the

worst of the fighting was over. After that there was but the sullen

refusal to come near the boat--the short sheering off whenever he saw it

or one of the oars; but now, in the slow curves through the water, he

was beginning to show the gleam of his side; and Ronald was crouching

down in the stern, gaff in hand.

'Steady, sir, steady,' he was saying, with his eye on those slow

circles; 'give him time, he's no done yet; a heavy fish, sir--a good

fish that--twenty pounds, I'm thinking--come along, my beauty, come

along--_the butt now, sir!_' And then, as the great gleaming fish, head

up, came sheering along on its side, there was a quick dive of the steel

clip, and the next second the splendid creature was in the bottom of the

coble.

Mr. Hodson sank down on to his seat; it had been a long fight--over half

an hour; he was exhausted with the strain of keeping himself balanced;

and he was also (what he had not perceived in this long spell of

excitement) wet to the skin. He pulled out a spirit-flask from the

pocket of his waterproof--as ill-luck would have it, that useful garment

happened to be lying in the bottom of the boat when the fight began--and

gave the two men a liberal dram; he then took a sip himself; and when

there had been a general quarrel over the size of the fish--nineteen the

lowest, twenty-two the highest guess--they began to consider what they

ought to do next. The weather looked very ugly. It was resolved to get

up to the head of the loch anyhow, and there decide; and so the men took

to their oars again, and began to force their way through the heavy and

white-crested waves.

But long ere they had reached the head of the loch Mr. Hodson had become

aware of a cold feeling about his shoulders and back, and quickly enough

he came to the conclusion that sitting in an open boat, with clothes wet

through, on a January day, did not promise sufficient happiness. He

said they might put him ashore as soon as possible.

'Indeed, sir, it's no much use going on in this weather,' Ronald said,

'unless maybe you were to try the fly.'

'I thought you said it was rather early for the fly.'

'Rayther early,' Ronald admitted.

'Rawther,' said Duncan.

'Anyhow,' observed Mr. Hodson, 'I don't feel like sitting in this boat

any longer in wet clothes. I'm going back to the inn right now; maybe

the afternoon will clear up--and then we might have another try.'

They got ashore at last, and Mr. Hodson at once started off for the inn;

and when the two men had got the rods taken down, and the fish tied head

and tail for the better carrying of it, they set out too. But Ronald

seemed unusually depressed and silent. Where was the careless joke--the

verse of an idle song--with which he was wont to brave the discomforts

of wind and weather? The two men strode along without a word; and it

was not likely that Duncan the dismal should be the first to break the

silence. Nay, when they got to the inn, Ronald would not go in for a

minute or two, as was his custom, to see the fish weighed and have a

chat. He went on to his own cottage; got the key of the kennel; and

presently he and the dogs were leaving the little scattered hamlet,

taking the lonely moorland road that led away up the Mudal valley.

He knew not why he was so ill at ease; but something had gone wrong.

Had his mind been disturbed and disquieted by the American gentleman's

plainly hinting to him that he was living in a fool's paradise; and that

old age, and illness, and the possible ingratitude of his master were

things to be looked forward to? Or was it that the sudden meeting with

Meenie, with this stranger looking on, seemed to have revealed to him

all at once how far away she was from him? If she and he had met, as

every day they did, and passed with the usual friendly greeting, it

would all have been quite simple and ordinary enough; but with this

stranger looking on,--and she appearing so beautiful and refined and

neatly dressed, and wearing moreover the present given her by Glengask

and Orosay--while he, on the other hand, was carrying the gentleman's

waterproof and a bundle of rods--well, that was all different somehow.

And why had she said 'Good-morning!' with such a pointed friendliness?

He did not wish this stranger to imagine that Miss Douglas and he were

even acquaintances. And then he thought that that very night he would

burn all those stupid verses he had written about her; that secret and

half-regretful joy of his--of imagining himself in a position that would

entitle him to address her so--was all too daring and presuming. It is

true, she wore the ptarmigan's wing she had begged him to get for her

(and never in all the years had he so gladly sped up the Clebrig slopes

as when she sent him on that errand), but that was a trifle; any young

lady, if she wanted such a thing, would naturally ask the nearest

gamekeeper. And then the other young lady--the American young

lady--when she came, and made Meenie's acquaintance: would not they be

much together? Meenie would be still farther and farther away then. He

would himself have to keep studiously aloof, if in the generosity of her

heart she wished to be as friendly as ever.

Well, these were not very bitter or tragic thoughts; and yet--and

yet--there was something wrong. He scarcely knew what it was, but only

that the little hamlet--as he returned to it after a long and solitary

wandering--did not seem to be the simple and natural and happy place

that it used to be. But one thing he was glad of. The second gillie

had now arrived from Tongue. Consequently his services would no longer

be needed in the coble; he would return to his own ways; and be his own

master. And as for companions?--well, Clebrig and he had long been

friends.

*CHAPTER VI.*

*A PROGRAMME.*

That same evening little Maggie, having made herself as smart and neat

as possible, went along the dark road to the doctor's house, was

admitted, and forthwith passed upstairs to Miss Douglas's own room. It

was an exceedingly small apartment; but on this cold winter night it

looked remarkably warm and snug and bright, what with the red peats in

the fireplace, and the brilliant little lamp on the table; and it was

prettily decorated too, with evidences of feminine care and industry

everywhere about. And Meenie herself was there--in her gown of plain

blue serge; and apparently she had been busy, for the table was littered

with patterns and designs and knitting-needles and what not, while a

large mass of blue worsted was round the back of a chair, waiting for

the winding.

'Help me to clear the table, Maggie,' she said good-naturedly, when her

visitor entered, 'and then we will get tea over: I declare I have so

many things to think of that I am just driven daft.'

And then she said--with some touch of anger--

'Do you know that I saw your brother--on a cold, wet day like this--and

he was walking along the road, with his jacket open, and paying no heed

at all to the weather? Maggie, why do you not make him take some care of

himself? In January--and he goes about as if it were June! How would

you like it if he were to catch a bad cold and have to take to his bed?

Why do you not make him take care of himself?'

'He would only laugh at me,' the little Maggie said ruefully. 'He

doesna mind anything. I do my best to get his clothes dried when he

comes in wet; but he doesna like to be bothered--especially if he's

writing or reading; he says that a pipe keeps the harm away. I'm sure

if you would speak to him, Meenie, he would take a great deal more

care.'

'What, me!' the girl said--and there was a touch of colour in the pretty

refined face; and then she added, with a good-humoured smile, 'No, he

would not mind what I said, I know. But it is little matter; for with

such a wilful man you can do nothing except by cunning. Do you see the

wool there, Maggie?'

She laughed; but the little, red-haired, freckled girl looked rather

frightened.

'Oh no, Meenie, I dare not take it,' she said. 'He would know I had not

the money to buy all that wool; and then he would ask; and I should be

scolded--

'Nonsense, nonsense!' the other cried, in her friendly way. 'Do you

think a man would ask any such questions? It would never occur to him at

all! When the jersey is all knitted and complete, you will just say to

him, "Ronald, here is a jersey that I have knitted for you all by

myself; and you are to put it on whenever there is a cold morning;" and

you will see he will think your knitting it yourself explains

everything. Ask about the wool?--he will never think of such a thing.

If you hang the jersey on the nail of his bedroom door, it will be all a

matter of course; I should not wonder, now, if he forgot to say "Thank

you."'

'And then there is another thing,' Maggie said, rather timidly and

wistfully. 'How am I to tell him that I knitted the jersey when you

know that you will do the most of it? For it is always that; you did

nearly all the socks that we gave to Ronald; and he thinks it was me.'

But here the good humour left Meenie Douglas's face--that was suddenly

grown red and embarrassed.

'How can you talk such foolishness?' she said, rather sharply. 'If I

show you here or there how you are to go on, is that doing the knitting

for you? I wonder you have no more sense, Maggie. Of course, I will

have to begin the jersey for you; and if I cast on the stitches for the

width of the neck, what is that? It is what any one would do for

you--Mrs. Murray, or one of the girls at the inn. And I hope you are not

going away with that idea in your head; or sooner or later you will be

telling somebody that I am knitting a jersey for your brother--that

would be a fine thing!'

A timid appealing hand was put on her arm.

'I am sure that Ronald would rather never see or hear of any jersey than

have anything make you angry, Meenie.'

The trouble was over in a moment: the girl was essentially quick and

generous and kind-hearted; and this small lassie was about her only

companion. Moreover, tea was brought in at this moment by the

maidservant; and so the question of the proportion of work contributed

by either of them to Ronald's woollen gear was put aside.

'And what do you think of this now, Maggie?' the elder said, with some

eagerness in her face and eyes. 'You know the great preparations they

are making for Monday night--the long barn is to be cleared; and they

are going to have a chimney made and a fireplace; and long tables all

the way down, and wooden forms to sit on; and some of the lads, they

say, are talking of a chandelier to be made out of hoops, and candles

stuck all the way round. And all that trouble for the grown-up folk!

Is it fair? Oh, it is quite absurd to have such a deal of trouble; and

all for the grown-up people. Now, if Ronald would help me--and you know

he is such a favourite he always has his own way with everybody--would

it not be a fine thing to ask Mr. Murray to leave all those preparations

as they are for a day or two--perhaps till Wednesday--and by that time

we could have messages sent to the farms round about, and all the

children brought in for a soiree? Why should the grown-up people have

everything? And there would be nobody but ourselves,--that's Ronald and

you and I, Maggie,--for the children would have more freedom and

amusement that way--you see my father is not likely to be back by then,

or we might ask him--and then, with nearly a week, we could send to

Tongue for a great many things--and--and--have a splendid children's

party just as fine as fine could be.'

She was quite excited over this matter.

'Look,' she said, going and fetching a sheet of paper which was written

over in a bold, large hand (her own handwriting was small and neat

enough, but this had been assumed for so important a public purpose);

'look at the programme--it is all guess work as yet, of course, for I

have not asked Ronald; but I am sure he will help us; and if he says it

is to be done, then everything will go right--they will keep the barn

for us; and the people will send the children; and those of them who

can't go back will stay the night at the inn. I have saved my

pocket-money for months for it; but who could have expected such a

chance--the barn all fitted up, and the fire to keep it warm, and the

chandelier? There now, Maggie, what do you think?'

The little Maggie took up the big sheet of paper, wondering; for all

this was a wild and startling project amid the monotony of their life in

this remote and small hamlet.

CHILDREN'S SOIREE.

_Inver-Mudal, Wednesday, January 23._

MR. RONALD STRANG in the Chair.

PROGRAMME.

_Psalm_ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _Old Hundredth_.

_Service of Tea and Cake._

_Address_ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CHAIRMAN.

_Service of Raisins._