'Toots, toots, lassie, it's a fine morning,' said he indifferently.

'It was Meenie said I was not to let you do such foolish things,' the

little lass ventured to say diffidently.

Of course this put a new aspect on the case, but he would not admit as

much directly.

'Oh, well,' said he, 'if you bring me out my coat and bonnet I will put

them on, for I'm going down to the Doctor's with two or three of the

hares.'

And then she hesitated.

'Ronald,' said she, 'I will take them to Mrs. Douglas, if you like.'

'You?' said he.

'For I would give them to her with a nice message from you; and--and--if

you take them, you will say nothing at all; and where is the

compliment?'

He laughed.

'Ye're a wise little lass; but four big hares are heavy to carry--with

the wind against ye; so run away and get me my coat and my Glengarry;

and I will take them along myself, compliment or no compliment.'

However, as it turned out, Mrs. Douglas was not the first of the family

he was fated to meet that morning. He had scarcely left the deershed

when he perceived Meenie coming along the road; and this was an

auspicious and kindly event; for somehow the day seemed to go by more

smoothly and evenly and contentedly when he had chanced to meet Meenie

in the morning, and have a few minutes' chat with her about affairs in

general, and an assurance that all was going well with her. So he went

forward to meet her with a light heart; and he thought she would be

pleased that he was taking the hares to her mother; and perhaps, too, he

considered that they might be a little more frank in their friendship

after the exceeding good fellowship of the night of the children's

party.

He went forward unsuspectingly.

'Good morning, Miss Douglas!' said he, slackening in his pace, for

naturally they always stopped for a few seconds or minutes when they met

thus.

But to his astonishment Miss Douglas did not seem inclined to stay. Her

eyes were bent on the ground as she came along; she but timidly half

lifted them as she reached him; and 'Good morning, Ronald!' she said,

and would have passed on. And then it seemed as if, in her great

embarrassment, she did not know what to do. She stopped; her face was

suffused with red; and she said hurriedly--and yet with an effort to

appear unconcerned--

'I suppose Maggie is at home?'

'Oh yes,' said he, and her manner was so changed that he also scarce

knew what to say or to think.

And again she was going on, and again she lingered--with a sudden fear

that she might be thought ungracious or unkind.

'The children all got away safely yesterday morning,' said she--but her

eyes never met his; and there was still tell-tale colour in her cheeks.

'So I heard,' he answered.

'I am sure they must have enjoyed the evening,' she said, as if forcing

herself to speak.

And then it suddenly occurred to him--for this encounter had been all

too brief and bewildering for any proper understanding of it--that

perhaps her mother had been reproving her for being too friendly with

the people about the inn and with himself, and that he was only causing

her embarrassment by detaining her, and so he said--

'Oh yes, I'm sure o' that. Well, good morning, Miss Douglas; I'm going

along to give your mother these two or three hares.'

'Good morning,' said she--still without looking at him--and then she

went.

And he, too, went on his way; but only for a brief space; presently he

sate down on the low stone dyke by the roadside, and dropped the hares

on the ground at his feet. What could it all mean? She seemed anxious

to limit their acquaintanceship to the merest formalities; and yet to be

in a manner sorry for having to do so. Had he unwittingly given her

some cause of offence? He began to recall the minutest occurrences of

the night of the children's party--wondering if something had then

happened to account for so marked a change? But he could think of

nothing. The supper-party of three was of her own suggestion; she could

not be angry on that account. Perhaps he ought to have asked this person

or that person over from the inn to join them, for the sake of

propriety? Well, he did not know much about such matters; it seemed to

him that they were very happy as they were; and that it was nobody

else's business. But would she quarrel with him on that account? Or on

account of his smoking in her presence? Again and again he wished that

his pipe had been buried at the bottom of the loch; and indeed his

smoking of it that evening had given him no enjoyment whatever, except

in so far as it seemed to please her; but surely, in any case, that was

a trifle? Meenie would not suddenly become cold and distant (in however

reluctant a way) for a small matter like that? Nor could she be angry

with him for taking her father away for a day on the hill; she was

always glad when the Doctor got a day's shooting from anybody. No; the

only possible conclusion he could come to was that Mrs. Douglas had more

strongly than ever disapproved of Meenie's forming friendships among

people not of her own station in life; and that some definite

instructions had been given, which the girl was anxious to obey. And if

that were so, ought he to make it any the more difficult for her? He

would be as reserved and distant as she pleased. He knew that she was a

very kindly and sensitive creature; and might dread giving pain; and

herself suffer a good deal more than those from whom she was in a

measure called upon to separate herself. That was a reason why it

should be made easy for her; and he would ask Maggie to get on with her

lessons by herself, as much as she could; and when he met Miss Douglas

on the road, his greeting of her would be of the briefest--and yet with

as much kindness as she chose to accept in a word or a look. And if he

might not present her with the polecat's skin that was now just about

dressed?--well, perhaps the American gentleman's daughter would take it,

and have it made into something, when she came up in March.

The pretty, little, doll-like woman, with the cold eyes and the haughty

stare, was at the front-door of the cottage, scattering food to the

fowls.

'I have brought ye two or three hares, Mrs. Douglas, if they're of any

use to ye,' Ronald said modestly.

'Thank you,' said she, with lofty courtesy, 'thank you; I am much

obliged. Will you step in and sit down for a few minutes?--I am sure a

little spirits will do you no harm on such a cold morning.'

In ordinary circumstances he would have declined that invitation; for he

had no great love of this domineering little woman, and much preferred

the society of her big, good-natured husband; but he was curious about

Meenie, and even inclined to be resentful, if it appeared that she had

been dealt with too harshly. So he followed Mrs. Douglas into the

dignified little parlour--which was more like a museum of cheap

curiosities than a room meant for actual human use; and forthwith she

set on the crimson-dyed table-cover a glass, a tumbler, a jug of water,

and a violet-coloured bulbous glass bottle with an electro-plated

stopper. Ronald was bidden to help himself; and also, out of her

munificence, she put before him a little basket of sweet biscuits.

'I hear the Doctor is away again,' Ronald said--and a hundred times

would he rather not have touched the violet bottle at all, knowing that

her clear, cold, blue eyes were calmly regarding his every movement.

'Yes,' she said, 'to Tongue. There is a consultation there. I am sure

he has had very little peace and quiet lately.'

'I am glad he had a holiday yesterday,' Ronald said, with an endeavour

to be agreeable.

But she answered severely--

'It might have been better if he had spent the first day of his getting

back with his own family. But that has always been his way; everything

sacrificed to the whim of the moment--to his own likings and

dislikings.'

'He enjoys a day's sport as much as any man I ever saw,' said he--not

knowing very well what to talk about.

'Yes, I daresay,' she answered shortly.

Then she pushed the biscuits nearer him; and returned to her attitude of

observation, with her small, neat, white hands crossed on her lap, the

rings on the fingers being perhaps just a little displayed.

'Miss Douglas is looking very well at present.' he said, at a venture.

'Williamina is well enough--she generally is,' she said coldly. 'There

is never much the matter with her health. She might attend to her

studies a little more and do herself no harm. But she takes after her

father.'

There was a little sigh of resignation.

'Some of us,' said he good-naturedly, 'were expecting her to come over

on Monday night to see the dancing.'

But here he had struck solid rock. In a second--from her attitude and

demeanour--he had guessed why it was that Meenie had not come over to

the landlord's party: a matter about which he had not found courage to

question Meenie herself.

'Williamina,' observed the little dame, with a magnificent dignity, 'has

other things to think of--or ought to have, at her time of life, and in

her position. I have had occasion frequently of late to remind her of

what is demanded of her; she must conduct herself not as if she were for

ever to be hidden away in a Highland village. It will be necessary for

her to take her proper place in society, that she is entitled to from

her birth and her relatives; and of course she must be prepared--of

course she must be prepared. There are plenty who will be willing to

receive her; it will be her own fault if she disappoints them--and us,

too, her own parents. Williamina will never have to lead the life that

I have had to lead, I hope; she belongs by birth to another sphere; and

I hope she will make the most of her chances.'

'Miss Douglas would be made welcome anywhere, I am sure,' he ventured to

say; but she regarded him with a superior look--as if it were not for

him to pronounce an opinion on such a point.

'Soon,' she continued--and she was evidently bent on impressing him,

'she will be going to Glasgow to finish in music and German, and to get

on with her Italian: you will see she has no time to lose in idle

amusement. We would send her to Edinburgh or to London, but her sister

being in Glasgow is a great inducement; and she will be well looked

after. But, indeed, Williamina is not the kind of girl to go and marry

a penniless student; she has too much common sense; and, besides, she

has seen how it turns out. Once in a family is enough. No; we count on

her making a good marriage, as the first step towards her taking the

position to which she is entitled; and I am sure that Lady Stuart will

take her in hand, and give her every chance. As for their taking her

abroad with them--and Sir Alexander almost promised as much--what better

could there be than that?--she would be able to show off her

acquirements and accomplishments; she would be introduced to the

distinguished people at the ministerial receptions and balls; she would

have her chance, as I say. And with such a chance before her, surely it

would be nothing less than wicked of her to fling away her time in idle

follies. I want her to remember what lies before her; a cottage like

this is all very well for-me--I have made my bed and must lie on it; but

for her--who may even be adopted by Lady Stuart--who knows? for stranger

things have happened--it would be downright madness to sink into content

with her present way of life.'

'And when do you think that M-- that Miss Douglas will be going away to

Glasgow?' he asked--but absently, as it were, for he was thinking of

Inver-Mudal, and Clebrig, and Loch Loyal, and Strath-Terry, and of

Meenie being away from them all.

'That depends entirely on herself,' was the reply. 'As soon as she is

sufficiently forward all round for the finishing lessons, her sister is

ready to receive her.'

'It will be lonely for you with your daughter away,' said he.

'Parents have to make sacrifices,' she said. 'Yes, and children too.

And better they should make them while they are young than all through

the years after. I hope Williamina's will be no wasted life.'

He did not know what further to say; he was dismayed, perplexed,

downhearted, or something: if this was a lesson she had meant to read

him, it had struck home. So he rose and took his leave; and she thanked

him again for the hares; and he went out, and found Harry awaiting him

on the doorstep. Moreover, as he went down to the little gate, he

perceived that Meenie was coming back--she had been but to the inn with

a message; and, obeying some curious kind of instinct, he turned to the

left--pretending not to have seen her coming; and soon he was over the

bridge, and wandering away up the lonely glen whose silence is broken

only by the whispering rush of Mudal Water.

He wandered on and on through the desolate moorland, on this wild and

blustering day, paying but little heed to the piercing wind or the

driven sleet that smote his eyelids. And he was not so very sorrowful;

his common sense had told him all this before; Rose Meenie, Love Meenie,

was very well in secret fancies and rhymes and verses; but beyond that

she was nothing to him. And what would Clebrig do, and Mudal Water, and

all the wide, bleak country that had been brought up in the love of her,

and was saturated with the charm of her presence, and seemed for ever

listening in deathlike silence for the light music of her voice? There

were plenty of verses running through his head on this wild day too; the

hills and the clouds and the January sky were full of speech; and they

were all of them to be bereft of her as well as he:--

_Mudal, that comes from the lonely loch,_

_Down through the moorland russet and brown,_

_Know you the news that we have for you?--_

_Meenie's away to Glasgow town._

_See Ben Clebrig, his giant front_

_Hidden and dark with a sudden frown;_

_What is the light of the valley to him,_

_Since Meenie's away to Glasgow town?_

_Empty the valley, empty the world,_

_The sun may arise and the sun go down;_

_But what to do with the lonely hours,_

_Since Meenie's away to Glasgow town?_

_Call her back, Clebrig! Mudal, call._

_Ere all of the young spring time be flown;_

_Birds, trees, and blossoms--you that she loved--_

_O summon her back from Glasgow town!_

'_Call her back, Clebrig! Mudal, call!_' he repeated to himself as he

marched along the moorland road; for what would they do without some one

to guard, and some one to watch for, and some one to listen for, in the

first awakening of the dawn? Glasgow--the great and grimy city--that

would be a strange sort of guardian, in the young Spring days that were

coming, for this fair Sutherland flower. And yet might not some appeal

be made even there--some summons of attention, as it were?

_O Glasgow town, how little you know_

_That Meenie has wandered in_

_To the very heart of your darkened streets,_

_Through all the bustle and din._

_A Sutherland blossom shining fair_

_Amid all your dismal haze,_

_Forfeiting the breath of the summer hills,_

_And the blue of the northern days._

_From Dixon's fire-wreaths to Rollox stalk,_

_Blow, south wind, and clear the sky,_

_Till she think of Ben Clebrig's sunny slopes,_

_Where the basking red-deer lie._

_Blow, south wind, and show her a glimpse of blue_

_Through the pall of dusky brown;_

_And see that you guard her and tend her well,_

_You, fortunate Glasgow town!_

But then--but then--that strange, impossible time--during which there

would be no Meenie visible anywhere along the mountain roads; and Mudal

Water would go by unheeded; and there would be no careless,

clear-singing girl's voice along Loch Naver's shores--that strange time

would surely come to an end, and he could look forward and see how the

ending of it would be:

_The clouds lay heavy on Clebrig's crest,_

_For days and weeks together;_

_The shepherds along Strath-Terry's side_

_Cursed at the rainy weather;_

_They scarce could get a favouring day_

_For the burning of the heather._

_When sudden the clouds were rent in twain_

_And the hill laughed out to the sun;_

_And the hinds stole up, with wondering eyes,_

_To the far slopes yellow and dun;_

_And the birds were singing in every bush_

_As at spring anew begun,_

_O Clebrig, what is it that makes you glad,_

_And whither is gone your frown?_

_Are you looking afar into the south,_

_The long, wide strath adown?_

_And see you that Meenie is coming back--_

_Love Meenie, from Glasgow town!_

He laughed. Not yet was Love Meenie taken away from them all. And if

in the unknown future the Stuarts of Glengask and Orosay were to carry

her off and make a great lady of her, and take her to see strange

places, and perhaps marry her to some noble person, at least in the

meantime Ben Clebrig and Ben Loyal and the wide straths between knew

that they still held in the mighty hollow of their hand this sweet

flower of Sutherlandshire, and that the world and the skies and the

woods and lakes seemed fairer because of her presence. And as regarded

himself, and his relations with her? Well, what must be must. Only he

hoped--and there was surely no great vanity nor self-love nor jealousy

in so modest a hope--that the change of her manner towards him was due

to the counsels of her mother rather than to anything he had unwittingly

said or done. Rose Meenie--Love Meenie--he had called her in verses;

but always he had been most respectful to herself; and he could not

believe that she thought him capable of doing anything to offend her.

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*A NEW ARRIVAL.*

Very early one Sunday morning, while as yet all the world seemed asleep,

a young lady stole out from the little hotel at Lairg, and wandered down

by herself to the silent and beautiful shores of Loch Shin. The middle

of March it was now, and yet the scene around her was quite summer-like;

and she was a stranger from very far climes indeed, who had ventured

into the Highlands at this ordinarily untoward time of the year; so that

there was wonder as well as joy in her heart as she regarded the

fairyland before her, for it was certainly not what she had been taught

to expect. There was not a ripple on the glassy surface of the lake;

every feature of the sleeping and faintly sunlit world was reflected

accurately on the perfect mirror: the browns and yellows of the lower

moorland; the faint purple of the birch-woods; the aerial blues of the

distant hills, with here and there a patch of snow; and the fleecy white

masses of the motionless clouds. It was a kind of

dream-world--soft-toned and placid and still, the only sharp bit of

colour being the scarlet-painted lines of a boat that floated double on

that sea of glass. There was not a sound anywhere but the twittering of

small birds; nor any movement but the slow rising into the air of a tiny

column of blue smoke from a distant cottage; summer seemed to be here

already, as the first light airs of the morning--fresh and clear and

sweet--came stealing along the silver surface of the water, and only

troubling the magic picture here and there in long trembling swathes.

The young lady was of middle height, but looked taller than that by

reason of her slight and graceful form; she was pale, almost sallow, of

face, with fine features and a pretty smile; her hair was of a lustrous

black; and so, too, were her eyes--which were large and soft and

attractive. Very foreign she looked as she stood by the shores of this

Highland loch; her figure and complexion and beautiful opaque soft dark

eyes perhaps suggesting more than anything else the Spanish type of the

Southern American woman; but there was nothing foreign about her attire;

she had taken care about that; and if her jet-black hair and pale cheek

had prompted her to choose unusual tones of colour, at all events the

articles of her costume were all correct--the warm and serviceable

ulster of some roughish yellow and gray material, the buff-coloured,

gauntleted gloves, and the orange-hued Tam o' Shanter which she wore

quite as one to the manner born. For the rest, one could easily see

that she was of a cheerful temperament; pleased with herself; not over

shy, perhaps; and very straightforward in her look.

However, the best description of this young lady was the invention of an

ingenious youth dwelling on the southern shores of Lake

Michigan.--'Carry Hodson,' he observed on one occasion, 'is just a real

good fellow, that's what she is.' It was a happy phrase, and it soon

became popular among the young gentlemen who wore English hats and vied

with each other in driving phantom vehicles behind long-stepping horses.

'Carry Hodson?--she's just the best fellow going,' they would assure

you. And how better can one describe her? There was a kind of frank

_camaraderie_ about her; and she liked amusement, and was easily amused;

and she laboured under no desire at all of showing herself

'bright'--which chiefly reveals itself in impertinence; but, above all,

there was in her composition not a trace of alarm over her relations,

however frank and friendly, with the other sex; she could talk to any

man--old or young, married or single--positively without wondering when

he was about to begin to make love to her. For one thing, she was quite

capable of looking after herself; for another, the very charm of her

manner--the delightful openness and straightforwardness of it--seemed to

drive flirtation and sham sentiment forthwith out of court. And if,

when those young gentlemen in Chicago called Miss Carry Hodson 'a real

good fellow,' they could not help remembering at the same time that she

was an exceedingly pretty girl, perhaps they appreciated so highly the

privilege of being on good-comrade terms with her that they were content

to remain there rather than risk everything by seeking for more.

However, that need not be discussed further here. People did say,

indeed, that Mr. John C. Huysen, the editor of the _Chicago Citizen_,

was more than likely to carry off the pretty heiress; if there was any

truth in the rumour, at all events Miss Carry Hodson remained just as

frank and free and agreeable with everybody--especially with young men

who could propose expeditions and amusements.

Now there was only one subject capable of entirely upsetting this young

lady's equanimity; and it is almost a pity to have to introduce it here;

for the confession must be made that, on this one subject, she was in

the habit of using very reprehensible language. Where, indeed, she had

picked up so much steamboat and backwoods slang--unless through the

reading of _Texas Siftings_--it is impossible to say; but her father,

who was about the sole recipient of these outbursts, could object with

but little show of authority, for he was himself exceedingly fond, not

exactly of slang, but of those odd phrases, sometimes half-humorous,

that the Americans invent from day to day to vary the monotony of

ordinary speech. These phrases are like getting off the car and running

alongside a little bit; you reach your journey's end--the meaning of the

sentence--all the same. However, the chief bugbear and grievance of

Miss Carry Hodson's life was the Boston girl as displayed to us in

fiction; and so violent became her detestation of that remarkable young

person that it was very nearly interfering with her coming to Europe.

'But, pappa, dear,' she would say, regarding the book before her with

some amazement, 'will the people in Europe think I am like _that_?'

'They won't think anything about you,' he would say roughly.

'What a shame--what a shame--to say American girls are like _that_!' she

would continue vehemently. 'The self-conscious little beasts--with

their chatter about tone, and touch, and culture! And the men--my

gracious, pappa, do the people in England think that our young fellows

talk like _that_? "Analyse me; formulate me!" he cries to the girl;

"can't you imagine my environment by the aid of your own

intuitions?"--I'd analyse him if he came to me; I'd analyse him fast

enough: Nine different sorts of a born fool; and the rest imitation

English prig. I'd formulate him if he came to me with his pretentious

idiotcy; I'd show him the kind of chipmunk I am.'

'You are improving, Miss Carry,' her father would say resignedly. 'You

are certainly acquiring force in your language; and sooner or later you

will be coming out with some of it when you least expect it; and then

whether it's you or the other people that will get fits I don't know.

You'll make them jump.'

'No, no, pappa, dear,' she would answer good-naturedly; for her

vehemence was never of long duration. 'I have my company manners when

it is necessary. Don't I know what I am? Oh yes, I do. I'm a real

high-toned North Side society lady; and can behave as sich--when there's

anybody present. But when it's only you and me, pappa, I like to wave

the banner a little--that's all.'

This phrase of hers, about waving the banner, had come to mean so many

different things that her father could not follow half of them, and so

it was handy in winding up a discussion; and he could only remark, with

regard to her going to Europe, and her dread lest she should be

suspected of resembling one of the imaginary beings for whom she had

conceived so strong a detestation, that really people in Europe were as

busy as people elsewhere, and might not show too absorbing an interest

in declaring what she was like; that perhaps their knowledge of the

Boston young lady of fiction was limited, and the matter not one of deep

concern; and that the best thing she could do was to remember that she

was an American girl, and that she had as good a right to dress in her

own way and speak in her own way and conduct herself in her own way as

any French, or German, or English, or Italian person she might meet.

All of which Miss Carry received with much submission--except about

dress: she hoped to be able to study that subject, with a little

attention, in Paris.

Well, she was standing there looking abroad on the fairy-like picture of

lake and wood and mountain--and rather annoyed, too, that, now she was

actually in the midst of scenes that she had prepared herself for by

reading, she could recollect none of the reading at all, but was wholly

and simply interested in the obvious beauty of the place itself--when

she became conscious of a slow and stealthy footstep behind her, and,

instantly turning, she discovered that a great dun-coloured dog, no

doubt belonging to the hotel, had come down to make her acquaintance.

He said as much by a brief and heavy gambol, a slow wagging of his

mighty tail, and the upturned glance of his small, flat, leonine eyes.

'Well,' she said, 'who are you? Would you like to go for a walk?'

Whether he understood her or no he distinctly led the way--taking the

path leading along the shores of the loch towards Inver-shin; and as

there did not seem to be any sign yet of anybody moving about the hotel,

she thought she might just as well take advantage of this volunteered

escort. Not that the mastiff was over communicative in his

friendliness; he would occasionally turn round to see if she was

following; and if she called to him and spoke to him, he would merely

make another heavy effort at a gambol and go on again with his

slow-moving pace. Now and again a shepherd's collie would come charging

down on him from the hillside, or two or three small terriers, keeping

sentry at the door of a cottage, would suddenly break the stillness of

the Sunday morning by the most ferocious barking at his approach; but he

took no heed of one or the other.

'Do you know that you are an amiable dog--but not amusing?' she said to

him, when he had to wait for her to let him get through a swinging

stile. 'I've got a dog at home not a quarter as big as you, and he can

talk twice as much. I suppose your thoughts are important, though. What

do they call you? Dr. Johnson?'

He looked at her with the clear, lionlike eyes, but only for a second;

seemed to think it futile trying to understand her; and then went on

again with his heavy, shambling waddle. And she liked the freshness of

the morning, and the novelty of being all alone by herself in the

Scottish Highlands, and of going forward as a kind of pioneer and

discoverer; and so she walked on in much delight, listening to the

birds, looking at the sheep, and thinking nothing at all of breakfast,

and the long day's drive before her father and herself.

And then a sudden conviction was flashed on her mind that something was

wrong. There was a man coming rushing along the road after her--with

neither coat nor cap on--and as he drew near she could hear him say--

'Ah, you rascal! you rascal! Bolted again?'

He seemed to pay no attention to her; he ran past her and made straight

for the mastiff; and in a couple of minutes had a muzzle securely

fastened on the beast, and was leading him back with an iron chain.

'Surely that is not a ferocious dog?' said she, as they came up--and

perhaps she was curious to know whether she had run any chance of being

eaten.

'The master had to pay five pounds last year for his worrying sheep--the

rascal,' said the man; and the great dog wagged his tail as if in

approval.

'Why, he seems a most gentle creature,' she said, walking on with the

man.

'Ay, and so he is, miss--most times. But he's barely three years old,

and already he's killed two collies and a terrier, and worried three

sheep.'

'Killed other dogs? Oh, Dr. Johnson!' she exclaimed.

'He's sweirt[#] to begin, miss; but when he does begin he _maun_

kill--there's no stopping him. The rascal! he likes fine to get

slippin' away wi' one of the gentlefolks, if he's let off the chain for

a few minutes--it's a God's mercy he has done no harm this morning--it

was the ostler let him off the chain--and he'd have lost his place if

there had been ony mair worrying.'

[#] _Sweirt_, reluctant.

'No, no, no, he would not,' she said confidently. 'I took the dog away.

If any mischief had been done, I would have paid--why, of course.'

'_Why, of cois_' was what she really said; but all the man knew was that

this American young lady spoke with a very pleasant voice; and seemed

good-natured; and was well-meaning, too, for she would not have had the

ostler suffer. Anyway, the mastiff, with as much dignity as was

compatible with a muzzle and an iron chain, was conducted back to his

kennel; and Miss Hodson went into the hotel, and expressed her profound

sorrow that she had kept breakfast waiting; but explained to her father

that it was not every morning she had the chance of exploring the

Highlands all by herself--or rather accompanied by a huge creature

apparently of amiable nature, but with really dark possibilities

attached.

In due course of time the waggonette and horses were brought round to

the door of the little hotel; their baggage was put in; and presently

they had set forth on their drive through the still, sunlit, solitary

country. But this was a far more pleasant journey than his first

venturing into these wilds. He had been warning his daughter of the

bleak and savage solitude she would have to encounter; but now it

appeared quite cheerful--in a subdued kind of way, as if a sort of

Sunday silence hung over the landscape. The pale blue waters of Loch

Shin, the beech-woods, the russet slopes of heather, the snow-touched

azure hills along the horizon--all these looked pretty and were

peacefully shining on this fair morning; and even after they had got

away from the last trace of human habitation, and were monotonously

driving through mile after mile of the wide, boggy, hopeless peatland,

the winter colours were really brighter than those of summer, and the

desolation far from overpowering. If they met with no human beings,

there were other living objects to attract the eye. A golden

plover--standing on a hillock not half a dozen yards off, would be

calling to his mate; a wild duck would go whirring by; a red-plumed

grouse-cock would cease dusting himself in the road, and would be off

into the heather as they came along, standing and looking at them as

they passed. And so on and on they went, mile after mile, along the

fair shining Strath-Terry; the morning air blowing freshly about them;

the sunlight lying placidly on those wide stretches of russet and golden

bogland; and now and again a flash of dark blue showing where some

mountain-tarn lay silent amid the moors.

'And you thought I should be disappointed, pappa dear?' said Miss Carry,

'or frightened by the loneliness? Why, it's just too beautiful for

anything! And so this is where the Clan Mackay lived in former days?'

'Is it?' said her father. 'I wonder what they lived on. I don't think

we'd give much for that land in Illinois. Give for it? You couldn't get

a white man to trade for that sort of land; we'd have to ask Wisconsin

to take it and hide it away somewhere.'

'What are those things for?' she asked, indicating certain tall poles

that stood at intervals along the roadside.

'Why, don't you know? These are poles to tell them where the road is in

snow time.'

'Then it is not always May in these happy latitudes?' she observed

shrewdly.

He laughed.

'I heard some dreadful stories when I was here in January--but I don't

believe much in weather stories. Anyhow, we've got to take what comes

now; and so far there is not much to howl about.'

And at last they came in sight of the ruffled blue waters of Loch Naver;

and the long yellow promontories running out into the lake; and the

scant birch-woods fringing here and there the rocky shore; with the

little hamlet of Inver-Mudal nestling down there in the hollow; and far

away in the north the mountain-masses of Ben Hope and Ben Loyal struck

white with snow. And she was very curious to see the kind of people who

lived in these remote solitudes; and the pretty sloe-black eyes were all

alert as the waggonette rattled along towards the two or three scattered

houses; and perhaps, as they drove up to the inn, she was wondering

whether Ronald the gamekeeper, of whom she had heard so much, would be

anywhere visible. But there was scarcely any one there. The Sabbath

quiet lay over the little hamlet. Mr. Murray appeared, however,--in his

Sunday costume, of course,--and an ostler; and presently Miss Carry and

her father were in the sitting-room that had been prepared for them--a

great mass of peats cheerfully blazing in the capacious fireplace, and

the white-covered table furnished with a substantial luncheon.

'And what do you think of your future maid?' her father asked, when the

pretty Nelly had left the room.

'Well, I think she has the softest voice I ever heard a woman speak

with,' was the immediate answer. 'And such a pretty way of talking--and

looking at you--very gentle and friendly. But she won't do for my maid,

pappa; she's too tall; I should want to put a string round her neck and

lead her about like a giraffe.'

However, she was pleased with the appearance and manner of the girl, and

that was something; for, oddly enough, Mr. Hodson seemed to imagine that

he had discovered this remote hamlet, and was responsible for it, and

anxious that his daughter should think well of it, and of the people she

might meet in it. He called her attention to the scent of the peat; to

the neatness with which the joints on the table had been decorated with

little paper frills; to the snugness and quiet of the sitting-room; to

the spacious character of the views from the windows--one taking in

Clebrig and the loch, the other reaching away up to Ben Loyal. All

these things he had provided for her, as it were; and it must be said

that she was a most excellent travelling-companion, always content,

easily interested, never out of humour. So, when he proposed, after

luncheon, that they should go along and call on Ronald Strang, she

readily consented; no doubt a keeper's dwelling in these wilds would be

something curious--perhaps of a wigwam character, and of course filled

with all kinds of trophies of his hunting.

Well, they went along to the cottage, and Mr. Hodson knocked lightly on

the door. There was no answer. He rapped a little more loudly; then

they heard some one within; and presently the door was thrown open, and

Ronald stood before them--a book in one hand, a pipe in the other, no

jacket covering his shirt-sleeves, and the absence of any necktie

showing a little more than was necessary of the firm set of his

sun-tanned throat. He had been caught unawares--as his startled eyes

proclaimed; in fact, he had been reading _Paradise Regained_, and

manfully resisting the temptation to slip on to the gracious melody of

_L'Allegro_, and _Il Penseroso_, and _Lycidas_; and when he heard the

tapping he fancied it was merely one of the lads come for a chat or the

last newspaper, and had made no preparations for the reception of

visitors.

'How are you, Ronald?' said Mr. Hodson. 'I have brought my daughter to

see you.'

'Will ye step in, sir?' said Ronald hastily, and with a terrible

consciousness of his untidy appearance. 'Ay, in there--will ye sit down

for a few minutes--and will ye excuse me--I thought you werena coming

till to-morrow----'

'Well, I thought they might object to driving me on a Sunday. I can't

make it out. Perhaps what I have read about Scotland is not true. Or

perhaps they have altered of late years. Anyhow they made no objection,

and here I am.'

In the midst of these brief sentences--each pronounced with a little

rising inflexion at the end--Ronald managed to slip away and get himself

made a little more presentable. When he returned the apparent excuse for

his absence was that he brought in some glasses and water and a bottle

of whisky; and then he went to a little mahogany sideboard and brought

out a tin case of biscuits.

'You need not trouble about these things for us; we have just had

lunch,' Mr. Hodson said.

'Perhaps the young lady----?' said Ronald timidly, and even nervously,

for there was no plate handy, and he did not know how to offer her the

biscuits.

'Oh no, I thank you,' she said, with a pretty and gracious smile; and he

happened to meet her eyes just at that time; and instantly became aware

that they were curiously scrutinising and observant, despite their

apparent softness and lustrous blackness.

Now Miss Carry Hodson had an abundance of shrewd feminine perception,

and it was easy for her to see that this handsome and stalwart young

fellow had been grievously disturbed, and was even now unnerved, through

his having been caught in disarray on the occasion of a young lady

visiting him; and accordingly, to allow him to recover, she deliberately

effaced herself; saying not a word, nor even listening, while her father

and he proceeded to talk about the salmon-fishing, and about the

distressingly fine weather that threatened to interfere with that

pursuit. She sate silent, allowing those observant eyes of hers to roam

freely round the room, and indeed wondering how a man of his occupations

could so have contrived to rob his home of all distinctive character and

to render it so clearly common-place. There was nothing wild or savage

about it; not the skin of any beast, nor the plumage of any bird;

everything was of a bourgeois neatness and respectability--the ornaments

on the mantel-shelf conspicuously so; and what was strangest of

all--though this will scarcely be believed--the two roebucks' heads that

adorned the wall, in a country where roe abound, were earthenware casts,

and very bad casts too, obviously hailing from Germany. She observed,

however, that there were a good many books about--some of them even

piled in obscure corners; and to judge by the sober character of their

cloth binding she guessed them to be of a rather superior class. The

pictures on the walls were some cheap reprints of Landseer; a portrait

of the Duke of Sutherland, in Highland garb; a view of Dunrobin Castle;

and a photograph of Mr. Millais' 'Order of Release.'

After a while she began to know (without looking) that the young man had

assumed sufficient courage to glance at her from time to time; and she

allowed him to do that; for she considered that the people in Regent

Street had fitted her out in Highland fashion in a sufficiently accurate

way. But it soon appeared that he was talking about her; and what was

this wild proposal?

'It seems a pity,' he was saying, 'if the fish are taking, not to have

two boats at the work. And there's that big rod o' yours, sir--you

could use that for the trolling; and let the young lady have one o' your

grilse rods. Then there's mine--she can have that and welcome----'

'Yes, but the gillies----'

'Oh, I'll take a turn myself; I'm no so busy the now. And I can get one

o' the lads to lend a hand.'

'Do you hear this, Carry?' her father said.

'What, pappa?'

'Ronald wants you to start off salmon-fishing to-morrow, in a boat all

to yourself--

'Alone?'

'Why, no! He says he will go with you, and one of the lads; and you

will have all the best advice and experience--I don't think it's fair,

myself--but it's very good-natured anyhow----'

'And do you think there's a chance of my catching a salmon?' she said

eagerly, and she turned her eloquent black eyes, all lit up with

pleasure, full upon him.

'Oh yes, indeed,' said he, looking down, 'and many and many a one, I am

sure, if we could only get a little wet weather.'

'My!' she exclaimed. 'If I caught a salmon, I'd have it stuffed right

away----'

'With sage and onions, I suppose,' her father said severely.

'And we begin to-morrow? Why, it's just too delightful--I was looking

forward to days and days indoors, with nothing but books. And I shall

really have a chance?----'

'I think you might as well thank Ronald for his offer,' her father said.

'I should never have thought of it.'

Well, she hesitated; for it is a difficult thing to make a formal little

speech when it is asked for by a third person; but the young keeper

quickly laughed away her embarrassment.

'No, no, sir; we'll wait for that till we see how our luck turns out.

And we'll have the Duke's boat, mind, that Duncan says is the lucky one;

you'll have to look sharp, sir, or we'll have the biggest show on the

grass at the end of the day.'

Mr. Hodson now rose to take his leave, for he wanted his daughter to

walk down to the shores of the loch where they were next day to begin

their labours. And thus it was that Miss Carry--who had looked forward

at the most to sitting in the boat with her father and looking on--found

herself pledged to a course of salmon-fishing, under the immediate

guidance and instruction of the young keeper; and she had noticed that

he had already talked of the occupants of the Duke's boat as

'we'--assuming that he and she were in a sort of partnership, and pitted

against the others. Well, it would be amusing, she thought. She also

considered that he was very good-looking; and that it would be

pleasanter to have a companion of that kind than a surly old boatman.

She imagined they might easily become excellent friends--at least, she

was willing enough; and he seemed civil and good-humoured and modest;

and altogether the arrangement promised to work very well.

*CHAPTER XIV.*

*'ABOUT ILLINOIS.'*

There was a good deal of bustle in the inn next morning; Ronald busy

with the fishing-tackle for the second boat; luncheon being got ready

for six; and the gillies fighting as to which party should have the

landing-net and which the clip. In the midst of all this Miss

Carry--looking very smart in her Highland costume, Tam o' Shanter and

all--came placidly in to breakfast, and as she sate down she said--

'Pappa dear, I met such a pretty girl.'

'Have you been out?' he asked.

'Only as far as the bridge. I met her as I was coming back. And she

looked so pretty and shy that I spoke to her; I think she was a little

frightened at first; but anyway I got to know who she is--the Doctor's

daughter. Oh, you should hear her speak--the accent is so pretty and

gentle. Well, it's all settled, pappa; I'm just in love with the

Highland people, from this out.'

'There's safety in numbers,' observed her father grimly; and then he

proceeded to explore the contents of the covers.

When they were ready to go down to the loch they found that the men had

already set out--all but Ronald, who had remained behind to see if there

was nothing further he could carry for the young lady. So these three

started together; and of course all the talk was about the far too fine

weather, and the chances of getting a fish or two in spite of it, and

the betting on the rival boats. Miss Carry listened in silence; so far

she had heard or seen nothing very remarkable about the handsome young

keeper who had so impressed her father. He spoke frankly and freely

enough, it is true (when he was not speaking to her), and he was

recounting with some quiet sarcasm certain superstitious beliefs and

practices of the people about there; but, apart from the keen look of

his eyes, and the manly ring of his voice, and the easy swing of the

well-built figure, there was nothing, as she considered, very noticeable

about him. She thought his keeper's costume rather picturesque, and

weather-worn into harmonious colour; and wondered how men in towns had

come to wear the unsightly garments of these present days. And so at

last they arrived at the loch; and found that the gillies had got the

rods fixed and everything ready; and presently the black boat, with Mr.

Hodson and his two gillies, was shoved off, and Ronald, before asking

the young lady to step into the green boat--the Duke's boat--was showing

her what she should do if a salmon should attach itself to either of the

lines.

'I don't feel like catching a salmon somehow,' she remarked. 'I don't

think it can be true. Anyway you'll see I shan't scream.'

She stepped into the boat and took her seat; the rods were placed for

her; the coble was shoved farther into the water, and then Ronald and

the young lad got in and took to the oars. Miss Carry was bidden to pay

out one of the lines slowly as they moved away from the bank; and in due

course she had both lines out and the two rods fixed at the proper

angle, and the reels free. She obeyed all his instructions without

haste or confusion. She was a promising pupil. And he wondered what

nerve she would show when the crisis came.

Now it may be explained for the benefit of those inexperienced in such

things that these fishing cobles have a cross bench placed about midway

between the stern and the thwart occupied by the stroke oar; and the

usual custom is for the fisherman to sit on this bench facing the stern,

so that he can see both rods and be ready for the first shaking of the

top. But Miss Carry did not understand this at all. In entering the

coble she naturally took her place right astern, facing the rowers. It

never entered her head to be guilty of the discourtesy of turning her

back on them; besides, Ronald was directing her with his eyes as much as

with his speech, and she must be able to see him; moreover he did not

tell her she was sitting the wrong way; and then again was not the first

signal to be the shrieking of the reel?--and both reels were now under

her observation, so that she could snatch at either rod in a second.

The consequence of all this was that she and Ronald sate face to

face--not more than a yard and a half between them--their eyes exactly

on a level--and when they spoke to each other, it was very distinctly

_unter vier Augen_, for the boy at the bow was mostly hidden.

'Pappa dear,' she said to her father that evening, 'he is a very nervous

man.'

'Who?'

'Ronald.'

'Nonsense. He is hard as nails. He don't know what nerves mean.'

'He is a very nervous man,' she insisted (and had she not been studying

him for a whole day?). 'His eyes throb when you meet them suddenly. Or

rather he seems to know they are very powerful and penetrating--and he

does not like to stare at you--so you can see there is a tremor of the

lid sometimes as he looks up--as if he would partly veil his eyes. It's

very curious. He's shy--like a wild animal almost. And that pretty

girl I met this morning has something of that look too.'

'Perhaps they're not used to having the cold gaze of science turned on

them,' her father remarked drily.

'Is that me?'

'You may take it that way.'

'Then you're quite wrong. It isn't science at all. It is an active and

benevolent sympathy; I am going to make friends with every one of them.

Ronald says her name is Miss Douglas--and I mean to call.'

'Very well, then,' said her father, who left this young lady pretty much

the mistress of her own actions.

However, to return to the fishing: the morning did not promise well, the

weather being too bright and clear, though there was a very fair

breeze--of a curious sultry character for the middle of March--blowing

up from the south and making a good ripple on the loch. Again and again

the two boats crossed each other; and the invariable cry was--

'Nothing yet?'

And the answer--

'Not a touch.'

By this time Miss Carry had got to know a good deal about the young

keeper whose eyes were so directly on a level with hers. He had been to

Aberdeen, and to Glasgow, and to Edinburgh; but never out of

Scotland?--no. Had he no wish to see London and Paris? Had he no wish

to see America?--why, if he came over, her father would arrange to have

him put in the way of seeing everything. And perhaps he might be tempted

to stay?--there were such opportunities for young men, especially in the

west. As for her, she was most communicative about herself; and

apparently she had been everywhere and seen everything--except

Stratford-on-Avon: that was to be the climax; that was to be the last

thing they should visit in Europe--and then on to Liverpool and home.

She had been a great deal longer in Europe than her father, she said.

Her mother was an invalid and could not travel; her brother George

(Joidge, she called him) was at school; so she and a schoolfellow of

hers had set out for Europe, accompanied by a maid and a courier, and

had 'seen most everything' from St. Petersburg to Wady Halfa. And all

this and more she told him with the black soft eyes regarding him

openly; and the pale, foreign, tea-rose tinted face full of a friendly

interest; and the pretty, white, delicate small fingers idly

intertwisting the buff-coloured gloves that she had taken off at his

request. Inver-Mudal, Clebrig, Ben Loyal, the straths and woods around

looked to him small and confined on this quiet morning. She seemed to

have brought with her a wider atmosphere, a larger air. And for a young

girl like this to know so much--to have seen so much--and to talk so

simply and naturally of going here, there, or anywhere, as if distance

were nothing, and time nothing, and money nothing; all this puzzled him

not a little. She must have courage, then, and daring, and endurance,

despite the pale face and the slender figure, and the small, white,

blue-veined hands? Why, she spoke of running over to Paris, in about a

fortnight's time, to be present at the wedding of a friend, just as any

one about here would speak of driving on to Tongue and returning by the

mail-cart next day.

Suddenly there was a quick, half-suppressed exclamation.

'There he is!--there he is!'

And all in a second, as it seemed, Ronald had flung his oar back to the

lad behind, seized one of the rods and raised it and put it in her

hands, and himself got hold of the other, and was rapidly reeling in the

line. What was happening she could hardly tell--she was so bewildered.

The rod that she painfully held upright was being violently shaken--now

and again there was a loud, long whirr of the reel--and Ronald was by

her shoulder, she knew, but not speaking a word--and she was wildly

endeavouring to recall all that he had told her. Then there was a

sudden slackening of the line--what was this?

'All right,' said he, very quietly. 'Reel in now--as quick as ye can,

please.'

Well, she was reeling in as hard as her small and delicate wrist was

able to do--and in truth she was too bewildered to feel excited; and

above all other earthly things was she anxious that she shouldn't show

herself a fool, or scream, or let the thing go--when all at once the

handle of the reel seemed to be whipped from her grasp; there was a long

whirring shriek of the line; she could hear somewhere a mighty splash

(though she dared not look at anything but what was in her hands), and

at the same moment she fancied Ronald said, with a quiet laugh--

'We've beat them this time--a clean fish!'

'Do you think we'll get him?' she said breathlessly.

'We'll hold on to him as long as he holds on to us,' Ronald said; and

she heard him add to himself, 'I would rather than five shillings we got

the first fish!'

'But this thing is so heavy!' she pleaded.

'Never mind--that's right--that's right--keep a good strain on

him--we'll soon bring him to his senses.'

Again there was a sudden slackening of the line; and this time she

actually saw the animal as it sprang into the air--a white gleaming

curved thing--but instantly her attention was on the reel.

'That's it--you're doing fine,' he said, with an intentional quietude of

tone, so that she might not get over-nervous and make a mistake.

Then he made her stand up, and fortunately the coble was rocking but

little; and he moved her left hand a little higher up the rod, so that

she should have better leverage; and she did all that she was bid mutely

and meekly, though her arm was already beginning to feel the heavy

strain. She vowed to herself that so long as she could draw a breath she

would not give in.

The other boat was passing--but of course at a respectful distance.

'Hold on to him, Carry!' her father called.

She paid no heed. She dared not even look in his direction. The fish

seemed to be following up the coble now, and it was all that the slender

wrist could do to get in the line so as to keep the prescribed curve on

the rod. And then she had to give way again; for the salmon went

steadily and slowly down--boring and sulking--and they pulled the boat

away a bit, lest he should suddenly come to the surface and be after

some dangerous cantrip. She took advantage of this period of quiet to

pass the rod from her left hand to her right; and that relieved her arm

a little; and she even ventured to say--

'How long is he going on like this?'

'We'll give him his own time, Miss,' Ronald said.

'Don't call me Miss,' she said, with a little vexation.

'I--I beg your pardon--what then?'

'Oh, anything you like. Mind you catch me if I fall into the water.'

The truth was she was a little bit excited, and desperately anxious that

her strength should hold out; and even permitting herself an occasional

gleam of hope and joy and triumph. Her first salmon? Here would be

tidings for the girls at home! If only the beast would do something--or

show signs of yielding--anything rather than she should have to give in,

and weakly resign the rod to Ronald! As for him, he stood almost

touching her shoulder.

'No, no,' said he, 'there's no fear o' your falling into the water.

We've got to get this gentleman out first.'

And then her feeble efforts at talking (meant to show that she was not

excited, but having exactly the contrary effect) all went by the board.

Something was happening--she knew not what--something wild, terrifying,

violent, desperate--and apparently quite near--and all the line was

slack now--and the handle of the reel stuck in her frantic efforts to

turn it with an impossible quickness--and her heart was choking with

fright. For why would this beast spring, and splash, and churn the

water, while the line seemed to go all wrong and everything become

mixed? But her trembling fingers got the reel to work at last; and she

wound as quickly as she could; and by this time the salmon had

disappeared again, and was bearing an even, dead strain on the rod, but

not so heavily as before.

'My gracious!' she said--she was quite breathless.

'It's all right,' he said quietly; but he had been pretty breathless

too, and for several seconds in blank despair.

The fish began to show signs of yielding--that last fierce thrashing of

the water had weakened him. She got in more and more line--Ronald's

instructions being of the briefest and quietest--and presently they

could see a faint gleam in the water as the big fish sailed this way or

that. But still, she knew not what he might not do. That terrible time

had been altogether unexpected. And yet she knew--and her left arm was

gratefully conscious--that the strain was not so heavy now; the line was

quite short; and she became aware that she was exercising more and more

power over her captive and could force him to stop his brief and

ineffectual rushes.

Once or twice he had come quite near the boat--sailing in on his side,

as it were--and then sheering off again at the sight of them; but these

efforts to get away were growing more and more feeble; and at last

Ronald called--

'We'll try him this time--give him the butt well--that's right--lift his

head--now----' and then there was a quick stroke of the clip, and the

great monster was in the boat, and she sank down on to the bench, her

arms limp and trembling, but her hand still grasping the rod. And she

felt a little inclined to laugh and to cry; and she wondered where her

father was; and she looked on in a dazed way as they killed the fish,

and got the phantom-minnow out of its mouth, and proceeded to the

weighing of the prize.

'Eleven pounds and a half--well done the Duke's boat!' Ronald cried.

'Is it your first salmon, Miss Hodson?'

'Why, certainly.'

'You'll have to drink its health, or there'll be no more luck for you

this season,' said he, and he reached back for a pocket-flask.

'But where is my father?' she said--she was anxious he should hear the

news.

'Oh,' said he coolly, 'they've been into a fish for the last ten

minutes; I wouldna tell ye, in case it might distract ye.'

'Have they got one?' she cried.

'They've got something--and I dinna think it's a kelt from the way

they're working.'

She clapped her hands in delight. Yes, and that involuntary little

action revealed to her what she had not known before--that one of her

fingers was pretty badly cut, and bleeding.

'What's this?' she said, but she did not heed much--now that the great

beautiful gleaming fish lay in the bottom of the boat.

Ronald cared a great deal more. He threw aside the flask. A cut?--it

was his own stupidity was the cause of it; he ought to have known that

her delicate fingers could not withstand the whirring out of the line;

he should have allowed her to keep on her gloves. And nothing would do

but that she must carefully bathe the wound in the fresh water of the

loch; and he produced a piece of plaster; and then he cut a strip off

her handkerchief, and bound up the finger so.

'What do I care?' she said--pointing to the salmon.

And then he begged her to drink a little whisky and water--for luck's

sake--though he had been rather scornful about these customs in the

morning; and she complied--smiling towards him as the Netherby bride may

have looked at Young Lochinvar; but yet he would not drink in her

presence; he put the flask aside; and presently they were at their work

again, both lines out, and the southerly breeze still keeping up.

They passed the other boat.

'What weight?' was the cry.

'Eleven and a half. Have you got one?'

'Yes.'

'How much?'

'Just over seven.'

'Duncan will be a savage man,' said Ronald, with a laugh. 'It's all the

bad luck of his boat, he'll be saying; though it's good enough luck for

the two first fish to be clean fish and no kelt.'

However, the Duke's boat fell away from its auspicious beginning that

morning. When lunch time arrived, and both cobles landed at a part of

the shore agreed upon, where there was a large rock for shelter, and a

good ledge for a seat, Miss Carry had but the one fish to be taken out

and placed on the grass, while her father had two--respectively seven

and thirteen pounds. And very picturesque, indeed, it was to see those

white gleaming creatures lying there; and the two boats drawn up on the

shore, with the long rods out at the stern; and the gillies forming a

group at some distance off under the shelter of the stone dyke; and the

wide waters of the lake all a breezy blue in the cup of the encircling

sunlit hills. Ronald got out the luncheon, for he had seen to the

packing of it--and he knew more about table-napkins and things of that

sort than those men; and then, when he had made everything right, and

brought ashore a cushion for Miss Carry to sit upon, and so forth, he

went away.

'Ronald,' Mr. Hodson called to him, 'ain't you going to have some

lunch?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Come along, then; there's plenty of room right here.'

'Thank ye, sir; I know where they've put my little parcel,' said he--and

he went and sate down with the gillies; and soon there was enough

talking and laughing amongst them--faintly heard across the wind.

'Well?' said her father, when they were left alone.

'Oh, it's just too delightful for anything.'

This was her summing up of the whole situation. And then she added--

'Pappa, may I send my salmon to Lily Selden?'

'I wouldn't call it kindness,' said he. 'Looks more like boasting. And

what's the good, since she is staying at a hotel?'

'Oh, she will be as glad as I am even to see it. But can't they cook it

at a hotel anyway? I want to be even with Lily about that balloon. I

don't see much myself in going up in a balloon. I would just like to

have Lily here now--think she wouldn't fall down and worship those

beautiful creatures?'

'Well, you may send her yours, if you like,' her father said. 'But you

needn't dawdle so over your luncheon. These days are short; and I want

to see what we can do on our first trial.'

'I'm ready now, if it comes to that,' said she placidly; and she put a

couple of sweet biscuits in her pocket, to guard against emergency.

And soon they were afloat again. But what was this that was coming over

the brief winter afternoon? The sultry south wind did not die away, nor

yet did any manifest clouds appear in the heavens, but a strange gloom

began to fill the skies, obscuring the sun, and gradually becoming

darker and darker. It was very strange; for, while the skies overhead

were thus unnaturally black, and the lapping water around the boats

similarly livid, the low-lying hills at the horizon were singularly keen

and intense in colour. The air was hot and close, though the breeze

still came blowing up Strath-Terry. There was a feeling as if thunder

were imminent, though there were no clouds anywhere gathering along the

purple mountain-tops.

This unusual darkness seemed to affect the fishing. Round after round

they made--touching nothing but one or two kelts; and this Ronald

declared to be a bad sign, for that when the kelts began to take, there

was small chance of a clean fish. However, Miss Carry did not care.

She had caught her first salmon--that was enough. Nay, it was

sufficient to make her very cheerful and communicative; and she told him

a good deal about her various friends in the Garden City--but more

especially, as it seemed to the respectful listener, of the young men

who, from a humble beginning, had been largely successful in business;

and she asked him many questions about himself, and was curious about

his relations with Lord Ailine. Of course, she went on the assumption

that the future of the world lay in America, and that the future of

America lay in the bountiful lap of Chicago: and she half intimated that

she could not understand how any one could waste his time anywhere else.

Her father had been born in a log-cabin; but if he--that is,

Ronald--could see the immense blocks devoted to 'Hodson's reaper' 'on

Clinton and Canal Streets' he would understand what individual

enterprise could achieve out west. The 'manifest destiny' of Chicago

loomed large in this young lady's mind; the eastern cities were 'not in

it,' so to speak; and Ronald heard with reverence of the trade with

Montana, and Idaho, and Wyoming, and Colorado, and Utah, and Nevada. It

is true that she was recalled from this imparting of information by a

twenty-five minutes' deadly struggle with a creature that turned out

after all to be a veritable clean salmon: and with this triumph ended

the day's sport; for the afternoon was rapidly wearing to dusk. The

gloom of the evening, by the way, was not decreased by a vast mass of

smoke that came slowly rolling along between the black sky and the black

lake; though this portentous thing--that looked as if the whole world

were on fire--meant nothing further than the burning of the heather down

Strath-Terry way. When both cobles were drawn up on the beach, it was

found that Mr. Hodson had also added one clean salmon to his score; so

that the five fish, put in a row on the grass, made a very goodly

display, and were a sufficiently auspicious beginning.

'Carry,' said her father, as they walked home together in the gathering

darkness, 'do you know what you are expected to do? You have caught

your first salmon: that means a sovereign to the men in the boat.'

'I will give a sovereign to the young fellow,' said she, 'and willingly;

but I can't offer money to Ronald.'

'Why not? it is the custom here.'

'Oh, I declare I couldn't do it. My gracious, no! I would sooner--I

would sooner--no, no, pappa dear, I could not offer him money.'

'Well, we must do something. You see, we are taking up all his time. I

suppose we'll have to send for another gillie--if you care to go on with

that boat----'

'I should think I did!' she said. 'But why should you send for another

gillie so long as Ronald says he is not busy? I dare say he can tell us

when he is; I don't believe he's half so shy as he looks. And he's much

better fun than one of these Highlanders; he wants his own way; and,

with all his shyness, he has a pretty good notion of himself and his own

opinions. He don't say you are a fool if you differ from him; but he

makes you feel like it. And then, besides,' she added lightly, 'we can

make it up to him some way or other. Why, I have been giving him a

great deal of good advice this afternoon.'

'You? About what?'

'About Illinois,' she said.

*CHAPTER XV.*

*WILD TIMES.*

What that mysterious gloom had meant on the previous evening was

revealed to them the next morning by a roaring wind that came swooping

down from the Clebrig slopes, shaking the house, and howling through the

bent and leafless trees. The blue surface of the lake was driven white

with curling tips of foam; great bursts of sunlight sped across the

plains and suddenly lit up the northern hills; now and again Ben Hope or

Ben Hee or Ben Loyal would disappear altogether behind a vague mass of

gray, and then as quickly break forth again into view, the peaks and

shoulders all aglow and the snow-patches glittering clear and sharp. The

gillies hung about the inn door, disconsolate. Nelly made no speed with

the luncheon-baskets. And probably Mr. Hodson and his daughter would

have relapsed into letter-writing, reading, and other feeble methods of

passing a rough day in the Highlands, had not Ronald come along and

changed the whole aspect of affairs. For if the wind was too strong, he

pointed out, to admit of their working the phantom-minnow properly, they

might at least try the fly. There were occasional lulls in the gale. It

was something to do. Would Miss Hodson venture? Miss Hodson replied by

swinging her waterproof on her arm; and they all set out.

Well, it was a wild experiment. At first, indeed, when they got down to

the shores of the loch, the case was quite hopeless; no boat--much less

a shallow flat-bottomed coble--could have lived in such a sea; and they

merely loitered about, holding themselves firm against the force of the

wind, and regarding as best they might the savage beauty of the scene

around them--the whirling blue and white of the loch, the disappearing

and reappearing hills, the long promontories suddenly become of a vivid

and startling yellow, and then as suddenly again steeped in gloom. But

Miss Carry was anxious to be aboard.

'We should only be driven across to the shore yonder,' Ronald said; 'or

maybe capsized.'

'Oh, but that would be delightful,' she remarked instantly. 'I never

had my life saved. It would read very well in the papers.'

'Yes, but it might end the other way,' her father interposed. 'And then

I don't see where the fun would come in--though you would get your

newspaper paragraph all the same.'

Ronald had been watching the clouds and the direction of the squalls on

the loch; there was some appearance of a lull.

'We'll chance it now,' he said to the lad; and forthwith they shoved the

boat into the water, and arranged the various things.

Miss Carry was laughing. She knew it was an adventure. Her father

remonstrated; but she would not be hindered. She took her seat in the

coble, and got hold of the rod; then they shoved off and jumped in; and

presently she was paying out the line, to which was attached a 'silver

doctor' about as long as her forefinger. Casting, of course, was beyond

her skill, even had the wind been less violent; there was nothing for it

but to trail the fly through these rushing and tumbling and hissing

waves.

And at first everything seemed to go well enough--except that the coble

rolled in the trough of the waves so that every minute she expected to

be pitched overboard. They were drifting down the wind; with the two

oars held hard in the water to retard the pace; and the dancing movement

of the coble was rather enjoyable; and there was a kind of fierceness of

sunlight and wind and hurrying water that fired her brain. These poor

people lingering on the shore--what were they afraid of? Why, was there

ever anything so delightful as this--the cry of the wind and the rush of

the water; and everything around in glancing lights and vivid colours;

for the lake was not all of that intense and driven blue, it became a

beautiful roseate purple where the sunlight struck through the shallows

on the long banks of ruddy sand. She would have waved her cap to those

poor forlorn ones left behind, but that she felt both hands must be left

free in case of emergency.

But alas! that temporary lull in which they had started was soon over.

A sharper squall than any before came darkening and tearing across the

loch; then another and another; until a downright gale was blowing, and

apparently increasing every moment in violence. Whither were they

drifting? They dared not run the coble ashore; all along those rocks a

heavy sea was breaking white; they would have been upset and the boat

stove in in a couple of minutes.

'This'll never do, Johnnie, lad,' she heard Ronald call out. 'We'll

have to fight her back, and get ashore at the top.'

'Very well; we can try.'

And then the next moment all the situation of affairs seemed changed.

There was no longer that too easy and rapid surging along of the coble,

but apparently an effort to drive her through an impassable wall of

water; while smash after smash on the bows came the successive waves,

springing into the air, and coming down on the backs of the men with a

rattling volley of spray. Nay, Miss Carry, too, got her Highland

baptism--for all her crouching and shrinking and ducking; and her

laughing face was running wet; and her eyes--which she would not shut,

for they were fascinated with the miniature rainbows that appeared from

time to time in the whirling spray--were half-blinded. But she did not

seem to care. There was a fierce excitement and enjoyment in the

struggle--for she could see how hard the men were pulling. And which

was getting the better of the fight--this firm and patient endeavour, or

the fell power of wind and hurrying seas?

And then something happened that made her heart stand still: there was a

shriek heard above all the noise of the waves--and instinctively she

caught up the rod and found the line whirling out underneath her closed

fingers. What was it Ronald had exclaimed? 'Oh, thunder!' or some such

thing; but the next moment he had called to her in a warning voice--

'Sit still--sit still--don't move--never mind the fish--let him

go--he'll break away with the fly and welcome.'

But it seemed to him cowardly advice too; and she one behind her father

in the score. He sent a glance forward in a kind of desperation: no,

there was no sign of the squall moderating, and they were a long way

from the head of the loch. Moreover, the salmon, that was either a

strong beast or particularly lively, had already taken out a large

length of line, in the opposite direction.

'Do you think,' said he hurriedly, 'you could jump ashore and take the

rod with you, if I put you in at the point down there?'

'Yes, yes!' she said, eagerly enough.

'You will get wet.'

'I don't care a cent about that--I will do whatever you say----'

He spoke a few words to the lad at the bow; and suddenly shifted his oar

thither.

'As hard as ye can, my lad.'

And then he seized the rod from her, and began reeling in the line with

an extraordinary rapidity, for now they were drifting down the loch

again.

'Do ye see the point down there, this side the bay?'

'Yes.'

'There may be a little shelter there; and we're going to try to put ye

ashore. Hold on to the rod, whatever ye do; and get a footing as fast

as ye can.'

'And then?' she said. 'What then? What am I to do?'--for she was

rather bewildered--the water still blinding her eyes, the wind choking

her breath.

'Hold on to the rod--and get in what line ye can.'

All this wild, rapid, breathless thing seemed to take place at once. He

gave her the rod; seized hold of his oar again, and shifted it; then

they seemed to be turning the bow of the boat towards a certain small

promontory where some birch trees and scattered stones faced the rushing

water. What was happening--or going to happen--she knew not; only that

she was to hold on to the rod; and then there was a sudden grating of

the bow on stones--a smash of spray over the stern--the coble wheeled

round--Ronald had leapt into the water--and, before she knew where she

was, he had seized her by the waist and swung her ashore--and though she

fell, or rather slipped and quietly sat down on some rocks, she still

clung to the rod, and she hardly had had her feet wet! This was what

she knew of her own position; as for Ronald and the lad, they paid no

further heed to her, for they were seeking to get the coble safe from

the heavy surge; and then again she had her own affairs to attend to;

for the salmon, though it was blissfully sulking after the first long

rushes, might suddenly make up its mind for cantrips.

Then Ronald was by her side again--rather breathless.

'You've still got hold of him?--that's right--but give him his own

time--let him alone--I don't want him in here among the stones in rough

water like this.'

And then he said, rather shamefacedly--

'I beg your pardon for gripping ye as I had to do--I--I thought we

should have been over--and you would have got sorely wet.'

'Oh, that's all right,' she said--seeking in vain amid the whirling

waste of waters for any sign or glimpse of the salmon. 'But you--you

must be very wet--why did you jump into the water?'

'Oh, that's nothing--there, let him go!--give him his own way!--now,

reel in a bit--quicker--quicker--that'll do, now.'

As soon as she had got the proper strain on the fish again, she held out

her right hand.

'Pull off my glove, please,' she said--but still with her eyes intent on

the whirling waves.

Well, he unbuttoned the long gauntlet--though the leather was all

saturated with water; but when he tried the fingers, he could not get

them to yield at all; so he had to pull down the gauntlet over the hand,

and haul off the glove by main force--then he put it in his pocket, for

there was no time to waste on ceremony.

There was a sudden steady pull on the rod; and away went the reel.

'Let him go--let him go--ah, a good fish, and a clean fish too! I hope

he'll tire himself out there, before we bring him in among the stones.'

Moreover, the gale was abating somewhat, though the big waves still kept

chasing each other in and springing high on the rocks. She became more

eager about getting the fish. Hitherto, she had been rather excited and

bewildered, and intent only on doing what she was bid; now the prospect

of really landing the salmon had become joyful.

'But how shall we ever get him to come in here?' she said.

'He's bound to come, if the tackle holds; and I'm thinking he's well

hooked, or he'd been off ere now, with all this scurrying water.'

She shifted the rod to her right hand; her left arm was beginning to

feel the continued strain.

'Has the other boat been out?' she asked.

'No, no,' said he, and then he laughed. 'It would be a fine thing if we

could take back a good fish. I know well what they were thinking when

we let the boat drift down the second time--they were thinking we had

got the line aground, and were in trouble. And now they canna see

us--it's little they're thinking that we're playing a fish.'

'We' and 'us' he said quite naturally; and she, also, had got into the

way of calling him Ronald--as every one did.

Well, that was a long and a stiff fight with the salmon; for whenever it

found that it was being towed into the shallows, away it went again,

with rush on rush, so that Miss Carry had her work cut out for her, and

had every muscle of her arms and back aching.

'Twenty pounds, you'll see,' she heard the lad Johnnie say to his

companion; and Ronald answered him--

'I would rather than ten shillings it was.'

Twenty pounds! She knew that this was rather a rarity on this loch--ten

or eleven pounds being about the average; and if only she could capture

this animal--in the teeth of a gale too--and go back to the others in

triumph, and also with another tale to tell to Lily Selden! She put

more and more strain on; she had both hands firm on the butt; her teeth

were set hard. Twenty pounds! Or if the hook should give way? Or the

line be cut on a stone? Or the fish break it with a spring and lash of

its tail? Fortunately she knew but little of the many and heart-rending

accidents that happen in salmon-fishing, so that her fears were fewer

than her hopes; and at last her heart beat quickly when she saw Ronald

take the clip in his hand.

But he was very cautious; and bade her take time; and spoke in an

equable voice--just as if she were not growing desperate, and wondering

how long her arms would hold out! Again and again, by dint of tight

reeling up and putting on a deadly strain, she caught a glimpse of the

salmon; and each of these times she thought she could guide it sailingly

towards the spot where Ronald was crouching down by the rocks; and then

again it would turn and head away and disappear--taking the line very

slowly now, but still taking it. She took advantage of one of these

pauses in the fight to step farther back some two or three yards; this

was at Ronald's direction; and she obeyed without understanding. But

soon she knew the reason; for at last the salmon seemed to come floating

in without even an effort at refusal; and as she was called on to give

him the butt firmly, she found she could almost drag him right up and

under Ronald's arm. And then there was a loud 'hurrah!' from the lad

John as the big silver fish gleamed in the air; and the next second it

was lying there on the withered grass and bracken. Miss Carry, indeed,

was so excited that she came near to breaking the top of the rod; she

forgot that the struggle was over; and still held on tightly.

'Lower the top, Miss,' the lad John said, 'or ye can put the rod down

altogether.'

Indeed he took it from her to lay it down safely, and right glad was

she; for she was pretty well exhausted by this time, and fain to take a

seat on one of the rocks while they proceeded to weigh the salmon with a

pocket-scale.

'Seventeen pounds--and a beauty: as pretty a fish as ever I saw come out

of the loch.'

'Well, we've managed it, Ronald,' said she, laughing, 'but I don't know

how. There he is--sure; but how we got him out of that hurricane I

can't tell.'

'There was twice I thought ye had lost him,' said he gravely. 'The line

got desperately slack after ye jumped ashore----'

'Jumped ashore?' she said. 'Seems to me I was flung ashore, like a sack

of old clothes.'

'But ye were not hurt?' said he, glancing quickly at her.

'No, no; not a bit--nor even wet; and if I had been, _that_ is enough

for anything.'

'Johnnie, lad, get some rushes, and put the fish in the box. We'll have

a surprise for them when we get back, I'm thinking.'

'And can we get back?' she said.

'We'll try, anyway--oh yes--it's no so bad now.'

But still it was a stiff pull; and they did not think it worth while to

put out the line again. Miss Carry devoted her whole attention to

sheltering herself from the spray; and was fairly successful. When, at

length, they reached the top of the loch and landed, they were treated

to a little mild sarcasm from those who had prudently remained on shore;

but they said nothing; the time was not yet come.

Then came the question as to whether all of them could pull down the

opposite side of the loch to the big rock; for there they would have

shelter for lunch; while here in the open every gust that swooped down

from the Clebrig slopes caught them in mid career. Nay, just then the

wind seemed to moderate; so they made all haste into the cobles; and in

due time the whole party were landed at the rock, which, with its broad

ledges for seats, and its overhanging ferns, formed a very agreeable and

sheltered resort. Of course, there was but the one thing wanting. A

fishing party at lunch on the shores of a Highland loch is a very

picturesque thing; but it is incomplete without some beautiful

silver-gleaming object in the foreground. There always is a bit of

grass looking as if it were just meant for that display; and when the

little plateau is empty, the picture lacks its chief point of interest.

'Well, you caught something if it wasn't a salmon,' her father said,

glancing at her dripping hat and hair.

'Yes, we did,' she answered innocently.

'You must be wet through in spite of your waterproof. Sometimes I could

not see the boat at all for the showers of spray. Did you get much

shelter where you stopped?'

'Not much--a little.'

'It was a pretty mad trick, your going out at all. Of course Ronald only

went to please you; he must have known you hadn't a ghost of a chance in

a gale like that.'

'Pappa dear,' said she, 'there's nothing mean about me. There's many a

girl I know would play it on her pa; but I'm not one of that kind. When

I have three kings and a pair--

'Stop it, Carry,' said he angrily, 'I'm tired of your Texas talk. What

do you mean?'

'I only want to show my hand,' she said sweetly; and she called

aloud--'Johnnie!'

The young lad jumped up from the group that were cowering under the

shelter of the stone dyke.

'Bring the fish out of the boat, please.'

He went down to the coble, and got the salmon out of the well; and then,

before bringing it and placing it on the grass before the young lady, he

held it up in triumph for the gillies to see: the sarcasm was all the

other way now.

'You see, pappa dear, you would have bet your boots against it, wouldn't

you?' she remarked.

'But where did you get it?' he said, in amazement. 'I was watching your

boat all the time. I did not see you playing a fish.'

'Because we got ashore as fast as we could, and had the fight out there.

But please, pappa, don't ask me anything more than that. I don't know

what happened. The wind was choking me, and I was half-blind, and the

stones were slippery and moving, and--and everything was in a kind of

uproar. Perhaps you don't think I did catch the salmon. If my arms

could speak, they could tell you a different tale just at this minute;

and I shall have a back to-morrow morning, I know that. Seventeen

pounds, Ronald says; and as prettily shaped a fish as he has ever seen

taken out of the lake.'

'He is a handsome fish,' her father admitted; and then he looked up

impatiently at the wind-driven sky. 'There is no doubt there are plenty

of fish in the lake, if the weather would only give us a chance. But

it's either a dead calm or else a raging gale. Why, just look at that!'

For at this moment a heavier gust than ever struck down on the

water--and widened rapidly out--and tore the tops of the waves into

spray--until a whirling gray cloud seemed to be flying over to the other

shores. The noise and tumult of the squall were indescribable; and

then, in five or six minutes or so, the loch began to reappear again,

black and sullen, from under that mist of foam; and the wind

subsided--only to keep moaning and howling as if meditating further

springs. There was not much use in hurrying lunch. The gillies had

comfortably lit their pipes. Two of the younger lads were trying their

strength and skill at 'putting the stone;' the others merely lay and

looked on; an occasional glance at the loch told them they need not

stir.

It was not jealousy of his daughter having caught a fish that made Mr.

Hodson impatient; it was the waste of time. He could not find refuge in

correspondence; he had no book with him; while gazing at scenery is a

feeble substitute for salmon-fishing, if the latter be your aim. And

then again the loch was very tantalising--awaking delusive hopes every

few minutes. Sometimes it would become almost quiet--save for certain

little black puffs of wind that fell vertically and widened and widened

out; and they would be on the point of summoning the men to the cobles

when, with a low growl and then a louder roar, the gale would be rushing

down again, and the storm witches' white hair streaming across the

suddenly darkened waters.

'"Ben Clebrig--the Hill of the Playing Trout,"' said he peevishly. 'I

don't believe a word of it. Why, the Celtic races were famous for

giving characteristic names to places--describing the things accurately.

"The Hill of the Playing Trout!" Now, if they had called it "The Hill

of the Infernal Whirlwinds," or "The Hill of Blasts and Hurricanes," or

something of that kind, it would have been nearer the mark. And this

very day last year, according to the list that Ronald has, they got nine

salmon.'

'Perhaps we may get the other eight yet, pappa,' said she lightly.

And indeed, shortly after this, the day seemed to be getting a little

quieter; and her father decided upon a start. The men came along to the

coble. Ronald said to her--

'We will let them get well ahead of us; it's their turn now.' And so he

and she and the lad John remained on the shore, looking after the

departing boat, and in all sincerity wishing them good luck.

Presently she said, 'What's that?'--for something had struck her sharply

on the cheek. It was a heavy drop of rain, that a swirl of wind had

sent round the side of the rock; and now she became aware that

everywhere beyond their shelter there was a loud pattering, becoming

every moment heavier and heavier, while the wind rose and rose into an

ominous high screeching. And then all round there was a hissing and a

roar and from under the rock she looked forth on the most extraordinary

phantasmagoria--for now the sheets of rain as they fell and broke on the

water were caught by the angry mountain blasts and torn into spindrift,

so that the whole lake seemed to be a mass of white smoke. And her

father?--well, she could see something like the ghost of a boat and two

or three phantom figures; but whether they were trying to fight their

way, or letting everything go before the tempest, or what, she could not

make out--for the whirling white rain-smoke made a mere spectral vision

of them. Ronald came to her.

'That's bad luck,' said he composedly.

'What?' she asked, quickly. 'They are not in danger?'

'Oh no,' said he. 'But they've got both minnows aground, as far as I

can make out.'

'But what about that? why don't they throw the rods and everything

overboard, and get into safety?'

'Oh, they'll try to save the minnows, I'm thinking.'

And they did succeed in doing so--after a long and strenuous struggle;

and then Mr. Hodson was glad to have them row him back to the shelter of

the rock. Apparently his success with regard to the minnows had put him

into quite a good humour.

'Carry,' said he, 'I'm not an obstinate man--I know when I've got

enough. I will allow that this battle is too much for me. I'm going

home. I'm going to walk.'

'Then I will go with you, pappa,' she said promptly.

'You may stay if you choose,' said he. 'You may stay and take my share

as well as your own. But I'm going to see what newspapers the mail

brought this morning; and there may be letters.'

'And I have plenty to do also,' said she. 'I mean to call on that

pretty Miss Douglas I told you of--the Doctor's daughter. And do you

think she would come along and dine with us?--or must I ask her mother

as well?'

'I don't know what the society rules are here,' he answered. 'I suspect

you will have to find out.'

'And Ronald--do you think he would come in and spend the evening with

us? I can't find out anything about him--it's all phantom-minnows and

things when he is in the boat.'

'Well, I should like that too,' said he: for he could not forsake the

theories which he had so frequently propounded to her.

And so they set forth for the inn, leaving the men to get the boats back

when they could; and after a long and brave battling with rain and wind

they achieved shelter at last. And then Miss Carry had to decide what

costume would be most appropriate for an afternoon call in the

Highlands--on a day filled with pulsating hurricanes. Her bodice of blue

with its regimental gold braid she might fairly adopt--for it could be

covered over and protected; but her James I. hat with its gray and

saffron plumes she had to discard--she had no wish to see it suddenly

whirling away in the direction of Ben Loyal.

*CHAPTER XVI.*

*DREAMS AND VISIONS.*

Miss Hodson was in no kind of anxiety or embarrassment about this visit;

she had quite sufficient reliance on her own tact; and when, going along

to the Doctor's cottage, she found Meenie alone in that little room of

hers, she explained the whole situation very prettily and simply and

naturally. Two girls thrown together in this remote and solitary place,

with scarcely any one else to talk with; why should they not know each

other? That was the sum and substance of her appeal; with a little

touch here and there about her being a stranger, and not sure of the

ways and customs of this country that she found herself in. And then

Meenie, who was perhaps a trifle overawed at first by this resplendent

visitor, was almost inclined to smile at the notion that any apology was

necessary, and said in her gentle and quiet way--

'Oh, but it is very kind of you. And if you had lived in one or two

Scotch parishes, you would know that the minister's family and the

doctor's family are supposed to know every one.'

She did not add 'and be at every one's disposal'--for that might have

seemed a little rude. However, the introduction was over and done with;

and Miss Carry set herself to work to make herself agreeable--which she

could do very easily when she liked. As yet she kept the invitation to

dinner in the background; talked of all kinds of things--the

salmon-fishing, the children's soiree she had heard of; Ronald; Ronald's

brother the minister; and her wonder that Ronald should be content with

his present position; and always those bright dark eyes seemed to be

scanning everything in the room with a pleased curiosity, and then again

and again returning to Meenie's face, and her dress, and her way of

wearing her hair, with a frank scrutiny which made the country mouse not

a little shy in the presence of this ornate town mouse. For Miss Carry,

with her upper wrappings discarded, was not only very prettily attired,

but also she had about her all kinds of nick-nacks and bits of finery

that seemed to have come from many lands, and to add to her foreign

look. Of course, a woman's glance--even the glance of a shy Highland

girl--takes note of these things; and they seemed but part of the

unusual character and appearance of this stranger, who seemed so

delicate and fragile, and yet was full of an eager vivacity and

talkativeness, and whose soft, large, black eyes, if they seemed to

wander quickly and restlessly from one object to another, were clearly

so full of kindness and a wish to make friends. And very friendly

indeed she was; and she had nothing but praise for the Highlands, and

Highland scenery, and Highland manners, and even the Highland accent.

'I suppose I have an accent myself; but of course I don't know it,' she

rattled on. 'Even at home they say our western accent is pretty bad.

Well, I suppose I have got it; but anyway I am not ashamed of it, and I

am not in a hurry to change it. I have heard of American girls in

Europe who were most afraid to speak lest they should be found

out---found out! Why, I don't see that English girls try to hide their

accent, or want to copy any one else; and I don't see why American girls

should be ashamed of having an American accent. Your accent, now; I

have been trying to make out what it is, but I can't. It is very

pretty; and not the least like the English way of talking; but I can't

just make out where the difference is.'

For this young lady had a desperately direct way of addressing any one.

She seemed to perceive no atmosphere of conventionality between person

and person; it was brain to brain, direct; and no pausing to judge of

the effect of sentences.

'I know my mother says that I speak in the Highland way,' Meenie said,

with a smile.

'There now, I declare,' said Miss Hodson, 'that did not sound like an

English person speaking, and yet I could not tell you where the

difference was. I really think it is more manner than accent. The

boatmen and the girls at the inn--they all speak as if they were anxious

to please you.'

'Then it cannot be a very disagreeable accent,' said Meenie, laughing in

her quiet way.

'No, no; I like it. I like it very much. Ronald now, has nothing of

that; he is positive and dogmatic--I would say gruff in his way of

talking, if he was not so obliging. But he is very obliging and

good-natured; there is just nothing he won't do for us--and we are

perfect strangers to him.'

And so she prattled on, apparently quite satisfied that now they were

good friends; while Meenie had almost forgotten her shyness in the

interest with which she listened to this remarkable young lady who had

been all over the world and yet took her travelling so much as a matter

of course. Then Miss Hodson said--

'You know my father and I soon exhaust our remarks on the events of the

day when we sit down to dinner; and we were wondering whether you would

take pity on our solitude and come along and dine with us this evening.

Will you? I wish you would--it would be just too kind of you.'

Meenie hesitated.

'I would like very well,' said she, 'but--but my mother and the lad have

driven away to Tongue to fetch my father home--and it may be late before

they are back----'

'The greater reason why you should come--why, to think of your sitting

here alone! I will come along for you myself. And if you are afraid of

having too much of the star-spangled banner, we'll get somebody else in

who is not an American; I mean to ask Ronald if he will come in and

spend the evening with us--or come in to dinner as well, if he has

time----'

Now the moment she uttered these words she perceived the mistake she had

made. Meenie all at once looked troubled, conscious,

apprehensive--there was a touch of extra colour in her face: perhaps she

was annoyed that she was betraying this embarrassment.

'I think some other night, if you please,' the girl said, in a low

voice, and with her eyes cast down, 'some other night, when mamma is at

home--I would like to ask her first.'

'Class distinctions,' said Miss Carry to herself, as she regarded this

embarrassment with her observant eyes. 'Fancy class distinctions in a

little community like this--in mid-winter too! Of course the Doctor's

daughter must not sit down to dinner with Lord Ailine's head keeper.'

But she could not offer to leave Ronald out--that would but have added

to the girl's confusion, whatever was the cause of it. She merely said

lightly--

'Very well, then, some other evening you will take pity on us--and I

hope before I go to Paris. And then I want you to let me come in now

and again and have a cup of tea with you; and I get all the illustrated

periodicals sent me from home--with the fashion-plates, you know.'

She rose.

'What a nice room--it is all your own, I suppose?'

'Oh yes; that is why it is so untidy.'

'But I like to see a room look as if it was being used. Well, now, what

are these?' she said, going to the mantel-shelf, where a row of bottles

stood.

'These are medicines.'

'Why, you don't look sick,' the other said, turning suddenly.

'Oh no. These are a few simple things that my father leaves with me

when he goes from home--they are for children mostly--and the people

have as much faith in me as in anybody,' Meenie said, with a shy laugh.

'Papa says I can't do any harm with them, in any case; and the people

are pleased.'

'Hush, hush, dear, you must not tell me any secrets of that kind,' said

Miss Carry gravely; and then she proceeded to get on her winter wraps.

Meenie went downstairs with her, and at the door would see that she was

all properly protected and buttoned up about the throat.

'For it is very brave of you to come into Sutherlandshire in the

winter,' said she; 'we hardly expect to see any one until the summer is

near at hand.'

'Then you will let me come and have some tea with you at times, will you

not?'

'Oh yes--if you will be so kind.'

They said good-bye and shook hands; and then Miss Carry thought that

Meenie looked so pretty and so shy, and had so much appealing gentleness

and friendliness in the clear, transparent, timid blue-gray eyes, that

she kissed her, and said 'Good-bye, dear,' again, and went out into the

dusk and driving wind of the afternoon, entirely well pleased with her

visit.

But it seemed as though she were about to be disappointed in both

directions; for when she called in at Ronald's cottage he was not there;

and when she returned to the inn, he was not to be found, nor could any

one say whither he had gone. She and her father dined by themselves.

She did not say why Meenie had declined to come along and join them; but

she had formed her own opinion on that point; and the more she thought

of it, the more absurd it seemed to her that this small handful of

people living all by themselves in the solitude of the mountains should

think it necessary to observe social distinctions. Was not Ronald, she

asked herself, fit to associate with any one? But then she remembered

that the Highlanders were said to be very proud of their descent; and

she had heard something about Glengask and Orosay; and she resolved that

in the future she would be more circumspect in the matter of

invitations.

About half-past eight or so the pretty Nelly appeared with the message

that Ronald was in the inn, and had heard that he was being asked for.

'What will I tell him ye want, sir?' she said, naturally assuming that

Ronald was to be ordered to do something.

'Give him my compliments,' said Mr. Hodson, 'and say we should be

obliged if he would come in and smoke a pipe and have a chat with us, if

he has nothing better to do.'

But Nelly either thought this was too much politeness to be thrown away

on the handsome keeper, or else she had some small private quarrel with

him; for all she said to him, and that brusquely, was--

'Ronald, you're wanted in the parlour.'

Accordingly, when he came along the passage, and tapped at the door and

opened it, he stood there uncertain, cap in hand. And Mr. Hodson had to

repeat the invitation--explaining that they had wanted him to have some

dinner with them, but that he could not be found; and then Ronald, with

less of embarrassment than might have been expected--for he knew these

two people better now--shut the door, and laid down his cap, and

modestly advanced to the chair that Mr. Hodson had drawn in towards one

side of the big fireplace. Miss Carry was seated apart on a sofa,

apparently engaged in some sort of knitting work; but her big black eyes

could easily be raised when there was need, and she could join in the

conversation when she chose.

At first that was mostly about the adjacent shooting, which Mr. Hodson

thought of taking for a season merely by way of experiment; and the

question was how long he would in that case have to be away from his

native country. This naturally took them to America, and eventually and

alas! to politics--which to Miss Carry was but as the eating of chopped

straw. However, Mr. Hodson (if you could keep the existence of lords

out of his reach) was no very violent polemic; and moreover, whenever

the Bird of Freedom began to clap its wings too loudly, was there not on

the sofa there a not inattentive young lady to interfere with a little

gentle sarcasm? Sometimes, indeed, her interpositions were both

uncalled for and unfair; and sometimes they were not quite clearly

intelligible. When, for example, they were talking of the colossal

statue of Liberty enlightening the World which the French Republic

proposed to present to the American Republic to be set up in New York

Bay, she pretended not to know in which direction--east or west--the

giant figure was to extend her light and liberty-giving arm; and her

objection to her father's definition of the caucus system as a despotism

tempered by bolting, was a still darker saying of which Ronald could

make nothing whatever. But what of that? Whatever else was veiled to

him, this was clear--that her interference was on his behalf, so that he

should not be overpressed in argument or handicapped for lack of

information; and he was very grateful to her, naturally; and far from

anxious to say anything against a country that had sent him so fair and

so generous an ally.

But, after all, was not this laudation of the institutions of the United

States meant only as a kindness--as an inducement to him to go thither,

and better his position? There was the field where the race was to the

swiftest, where the best man got to the front, and took the prize which

he had fairly won. There no accident of birth, no traditional usage,

was a hindrance. The very largeness of the area gave to the individual

largeness of view.

'Yes,' said Miss Carry (but they took no heed of her impertinence) 'in

our country a bar-tender mixes drinks with his mind fixed on Niagara.'

Nay, the very effort to arouse dissatisfaction in the bosom of this man

who seemed all too well contented with his circumstances was in itself

meant as a kindness. Why should he be content? Why should he not get

on? It was all very well to have health and strength and high spirits,

and to sing tenor songs, and be a favourite with the farm-lasses; but

that could not last for ever. He was throwing away his life. His

chances were going by him. Why, at his age, what had so-and-so done, and

what had so-and-so not done? And how had they started? What did they

owe to fortune--what, rather, to their own resolution and brain?

'Ronald, my good fellow,' said his Mentor, in the most kindly way, 'if I

could only get you to breathe the atmosphere of Chicago for a fortnight,

I am pretty sure you wouldn't come back to stalk deer and train dogs for

Lord Ailine or any other lordship.'

Miss Carry said nothing; but she pictured to herself Ronald passing down

Madison Street--no longer, of course, in his weather-tanned stalking

costume, but attired as the other young gentlemen to be found there; and

going into Burke's Hotel for an oyster luncheon; and coming out again

chewing a toothpick; and strolling on to the Grand Pacific to look at

the latest telegrams. And she smiled (though, indeed, she herself had

not been behindhand in urging him to get out of his present estate and

better his fortunes), for there was something curiously incongruous in

that picture; and she was quite convinced that in Wabash Avenue he would

not look nearly as handsome nor so much at his ease as now he did.

'I am afraid,' said he, with a laugh, 'if ye put me down in a place like

that, I should be sorely at a loss to tell what to turn my hand to.

It's rather late in the day for me to begin and learn a new trade.'

'Nonsense, man,' the other said. 'You have the knowledge already, if

you only knew how to apply it.'

'The knowledge?' Ronald repeated, with some surprise. Most of his

book-reading had been in the field of English poetry; and he did not see

how he could carry that to market.

Mr. Hodson took out his note-book; and began to look over the leaves.

'And you don't need to go as far as Chicago, if you would rather not,'

said he.

'If you do,' said Miss Carry flippantly, 'mind you don't eat any of our

pork. Pappa dear, do you know why a wise man doesn't eat pork in

Illinois? Don't you know? It is because there is a trichinosis worth

two of that.'

Ronald laughed; but her father was too busy to attend to such idiotcy.

'Even if you would rather remain in the old country,' he continued, 'and

enjoy an out-of-door life, why should you not make use of what you

already know? I have heard you talk about the draining of soil, and

planting of trees, and so on: well, look here now. I have been

inquiring into that matter; and I find that the Highland and

Agricultural Society of Scotland grants certificates for proficiency in

the theory and practice of forestry. Why shouldn't you try to gain one

of those certificates; and then apply for the post of land-steward?

I'll bet you could manage an estate as well as most of them who are at

it--especially one of those Highland sporting estates. And then you

would become a person of importance; and not be at any lordship's beck

and call; you would have an opportunity of beginning to make a fortune,

if not of making one at once; and if you wanted to marry, there would be

a substantial future for you to look to.'

'And then you would come over and see us at Chicago,' said Miss Carry.

'We live on North Park Avenue; and you would not feel lonely for want of

a lake to look at--we've a pretty big one there.'

'But the first step--about the certificate?' said Ronald

doubtfully--though, indeed, the interest that these two kindly people

showed in him was very delightful, and he was abundantly grateful, and

perhaps also a trifle bewildered by these ambitious and seductive

dreams.

'Well, I should judge that would be easy enough,' continued Mr. Hodson,

again referring to his note-book in that methodical, slow-mannered way

of his. 'You would have to go to Edinburgh or Glasgow, and attend some

classes, I should imagine, for they want you to know something of

surveying and geology and chemistry and botany. Some of these you could

read up here--for you have plenty of leisure, and the subjects are just

at your hand. I don't see any difficulty about that. I suppose you

have saved something now, that you could maintain yourself when you were

at the classes?'

'I could manage for a while,' was the modest answer.

'I have myself several times thought of buying an estate in the

Highlands,' Mr. Hodson continued, 'if I found that I have not forgotten

altogether how to handle a gun; and if I did so, I would give you the

management right off. But it would not do for you to risk such a

chance; what you want is to qualify yourself, so that you can take your

stand on your own capacity, and demand the market value for it.'

Well, it was a flattering proposal; and this calm, shrewd-headed man

seemed to consider it easily practicable--and as the kind of thing that

a young man in his country would naturally make for and achieve; while

the young lady on the sofa had now thrown aside the pretence of

knitting, and was regarding him with eloquent eyes, and talking as if it

were all settled and attained, and Ronald already become an enterprising

and prosperous manager, whom they should come to see when they visited

Scotland, and who was certainly to be their guest when he crossed the

Atlantic. No wonder his head was turned. Everything seemed so

easy--why, both she and her father appeared to be surrounded, when at

home, with men who had begun with nothing and made fortunes. And then

he would not be torn away altogether from the hills. He might still

have a glimpse of the dun deer from time to time; there would still be

the dewy mornings by lake and strath and mountain-tarn, with the

stumbling on a bit of white heather, and the picking it and wearing it

for luck. And if he had to bid farewell to Clebrig and Ben Loyal and

Ben Hope and Bonnie Strath-Naver--well, there were other districts far

more beautiful than that, as well he knew, where he would still hear the

curlew whistle, and the grouse-cock crow in the evening, and the great

stags bellow their challenge through the mists of the dawn. And as for

a visit to Chicago?--and a view of great cities, and harbours, and the

wide activities of the world?--surely all that was a wonderful dream, if

only it might come true!

'I'm sure I beg your pardon,' said he, rising, 'for letting ye talk all

this time about my small affairs. I think you'll have a quieter day

to-morrow; the wind has backed to the east; and that is a very good wind

for this loch. And I've brought the minnows that I took to mend; the

kelts are awful beasts for destroying the minnows.'

He put the metal box on the mantelpiece. They would have had him stay

longer--and Miss Carry, indeed, called reproaches down on her head that

she had not asked him to smoke nor offered him any kind of

hospitality--but he begged to be excused. And so he went out and got

home through the cold dark night--to his snug little room and the

peat-fire, and his pipe and papers and meditations.

A wonderful dream, truly--and all to be achieved by the reading up of a

few subjects of some of which he already knew more than a smattering.

And why should he not try? It seemed the way of the world--at least, of

the world of which he had been learning so much from these strangers--to

strive and push forward and secure, if possible, means and independence.

Why should he remain at Inver-Mudal? The old careless happiness had

fled from it. Meenie had passed him twice now--each time merely giving

him a formal greeting, and yet, somehow, as he imagined, with a timid

trouble in her eyes, as if she was sorry to do that. Her

superintendence of Maggie's lessons was more restricted now; and never

by any chance did she come near the cottage when he was within or about.

The old friendliness was gone; the old happy companionship--however

restricted and respectful on his side; the old, frank appeal for his aid

and counsel when any of her own small schemes had to be undertaken. And

was she in trouble on his account?--and had the majesty of Glengask and

Orosay been invoked? Well, that possibility need harrow no human soul.

If his acquaintanceship--or companionship, in a measure--with Meenie was

considered undesirable, there was an easy way out of the difficulty.

Acquaintanceship or companionship, whichever it might be, it would

end--it had ended.

And then again, he said to himself, as he sate at the little table and

turned over those leaves that contained many a gay morning song and many

a midnight musing--but all about Meenie, and the birds and flowers and

hills and streams that knew her--soon she would be away from

Inver-Mudal, and what would the place be like then? Perhaps when the

young corn was springing she would take her departure; and what would

the world be like when she had left? He could see her seated in the

little carriage; her face not quite so bright and cheerful as usually it

was; her eyes--that were sometimes as blue as a speedwell in June, and

sometimes gray like the luminous clear gray of the morning sky--perhaps

clouded a little; and the sensitive lips trembling? The children would

be there, to bid her good-bye. And then away through the lonely glens

she would go, by hill and river and wood, till they came in sight of the

western ocean, and Loch Inver, and the great steamer to carry her to the

south. Meenie would be away--and Inver-Mudal, _then_?

_Small birds in the corn_

_Are cowering and quailing:_

_O my lost love,_

_Whence are you sailing?_

_Fierce the gale blows_

_Adown the bleak river;_

_The valley is empty_

_For ever and ever._

_Out on the seas,_

_The night-winds are wailing:_

_O my lost love,_

_Whence are you sailing?_

END OF VOL. I.