HE IS NOT OF MY KIND
The story of the riot in which Ranald played so important a part filled
the town and stirred society to its innermost circles--those circles,
namely, in which the De Lacys lived and moved. The whole town began
talking of the Glengarry men, and especially of their young leader who
had, with such singular ability and pluck, rescued the Ottawas with
Harry and Lieutenant De Lacy, from their perilous position.
The girls had the story from Harry's lips, and in his telling of it,
Ranald's courage and skill certainly lost nothing; but to Maimie, while
it was pleasant enough for her to hear of Ranald's prowess, and while
she enjoyed the reflected glory that came to her as his friend, the
whole incident became altogether hateful and distressing. She found
herself suddenly famous in her social world; every one was talking of
her, but to her horror, was connecting Ranald's name with her's in a
most significant way. It was too awful, and if her Aunt Frances should
hear of it, the consequences would be quite too terrible for her to
imagine. She must stop the talk at once. Of course she meant to be kind
to Ranald; he had done her great service, and he was her Aunt Murray's
friend, and besides, she liked him; how much she hardly cared to say to
herself. She had liked him in Glengarry. There was no doubt of that, but
that was two years ago, and in Glengarry everything was different! There
every one was just as good as another, and these people were all her
Aunt Murray's friends. Here the relations were changed. She could not
help feeling that however nice he might be, and however much she might
like him, Ranald was not of her world.
“Well, tell him so; let him see that,” said Kate, with whom Maimie was
discussing her difficulty.
“Yes, and then he would fly off and I--we would never see him again,”
said Maimie. “He's as proud as--any one!”
“Strange, too,” said Kate, “when he has no money to speak of!”
“You know I don't mean that, and I don't think it's very nice of you.
You have no sympathy with me!”
“In what way?”
“Well, in this very unpleasant affair; every one is talking about Ranald
and me, as if I--as if we had some understanding.”
“And have you not? I thought--” Kate hesitated to remind Maimie of
certain confidences she had received two years ago after her friend had
returned from Glengarry.
“Oh, absurd--just a girl and boy affair,” said Maimie, impatiently.
“Then there's nothing at all,” said Kate, with a suspicion of eagerness
in her voice.
“No, of course not--that is, nothing really serious.”
“Serious? You mean you don't care for him at all?” Kate looked straight
at her friend.
“Oh, you are so awfully direct. I don't know. I do care; he's nice in
many ways, and he's--I know he likes me and--I would hate to wound him,
but then you know he's not just one of us. You know what I mean!”
“Not exactly,” said Kate, quietly. “Do you mean he is not educated?”
“Oh, no, I don't mean education altogether. How very tiresome you are!
He has no culture, and manners, and that sort of thing.”
“I think he has very fine manners. He is a little quaint, but you can't
call him rude.”
“Oh, no, he's never rude; rather abrupt, but oh, dear, don't you know?
What would Aunt Frank say to him?”
Kate's lip curled a little. “I'm very sure I can't say, but I can
imagine how she would look.”
“Well, that's it--”
“But,” went on Kate, “I can imagine, too, how Ranald would look back at
her if he caught her meaning.”
“Well, perhaps,” said Maimie, with a little laugh, “and that's just it.
Oh, I wish he were--”
“A lieutenant?” suggested Kate.
“Well, yes, I do,” said Maimie, desperately.
“And if he were, you would marry him,” said Kate, a shade of contempt in
her tone that Maimie failed to notice.
“Yes, I would.”
Kate remained silent.
“There now, you think I am horrid, I know,” said Maimie. “I suppose you
would marry him if he were a mere nobody!”
“If I loved him,” said Kate, with slow deliberation, and a slight tremor
in her voice, “I'd marry him if he were--a shantyman!”
“I believe you would,” said Maimie, with a touch of regret in her voice;
“but then, you've no Aunt Frank!”
“Thank Providence,” replied Kate, under her breath.
“And I'm sure I don't want to offend her. Just listen to this.” Maimie
pulled out a letter, and turning over the pages, found the place and
began to read: “'I am so glad to hear that you are enjoying your stay in
Quebec'--um-um-um--'fine old city'--um-um-um--'gates and streets,' 'old
days'--um-um-um--'noble citadel,' 'glorious view'--um-um-um-um--'finest
in the world'--No, that isn't it--Oh, yes, here it is: 'The De Lacys
are a very highly connected English family and very old friends of my
friends, the Lord Archers, with whom I visited in England, you know.
The mother is a dear old lady--so stately and so very particular--with
old-fashioned ideas of breeding and manners, and of course, very
wealthy. Her house in Quebec is said to be the finest in the Province,
and there are some English estates, I believe, in their line. Lieutenant
De Lacy is her only son, and from what you say, he seems to be a very
charming young man. He will occupy a very high place someday. I suppose
Kate will'--um-um-um--'Oh yes, and if Mrs. De Lacy wishes you to visit
her you might accept'--um-um--um--'and tell Kate that I should be
delighted if she could accompany me on a little jaunt through the
Eastern States. I have asked permission of her father, but she wrote you
herself about that, didn't she?--um-um-um--And then listen to this!
'How very odd you should have come across the young man from Glengarry
again--Mac Lennon, is it? Mac-something-or-other! Your Aunt Murray seems
to consider him a very steady and worthy young man. I hope he may not
degenerate in his present circumstances and calling, as so many of his
class do. I am glad your father was able to do something for him. These
people ought to be encouraged.' Now you see!” Maimie's tone was quite
triumphant.
“Yes,” said Kate! “I do see! These people should be encouraged to make
our timber for us that we may live in ease and luxury, and even to save
us from fire and from blood-thirsty mobs, as occasions may offer, but as
for friendships and that sort of thing--”
“Oh, Kate,” burst in Maimie, almost in tears, “you are so very unkind.
You know quite well what I mean.”
“Yes, I know quite well; you would not invite Ranald, for instance,
to dine at your house, to meet your Aunt Frank and the Evanses and
the Langfords and the Maitlands,” said Kate, spacing her words with
deliberate indignation.
“Well, I would not, if you put it in that way,” said Maimie, petulantly,
“and you wouldn't either!”
“I would ask him to meet every Maitland of them if I could,” said Kate,
“and it wouldn't hurt them either.”
“Oh, you are so peculiar,” said Maimie, with a sigh of pity.
“Am I,” said Kate; “ask Harry,” she continued, as that young man came
into the room.
“No, you needn't mind,” said Maimie; “I know well he will just side with
you. He always does.”
“How very amiable of me,” said Harry; “but what's the particular issue?”
“Ranald,” said Kate.
“Then I agree at once. Besides, he is coming to supper next Sunday
evening!”
“Oh, Harry,” exclaimed Maimie, in dismay, “on Sunday evening?”
“He can't get off any other night; works all night, I believe, and would
work all Sunday, too, if his principles didn't mercifully interfere. He
will be boss of the concern before summer is over.”
“Oh, Harry,” said Maimie, in distress, “and I asked Lieutenant De Lacy
and his friend, Mr. Sims, for Sunday evening--”
“Sims,” cried Harry; “little cad!”
“I'm sure he's very nice,” said Maimie, “and his family--”
“Oh, hold up; don't get on to your ancestor worship,” cried Harry,
impatiently. “Anyway, Ranald's coming up Sunday evening.”
“Well, it will be very awkward,” said Maimie.
“I don't see why,” said Kate.
“Oh,” cried Harry, scornfully, “he will have on his red flannel shirt
and a silk handkerchief, and his trousers will be in his boots; that's
what Maimie is thinking of!”
“You are very rude, Harry,” said Maimie. “You know quite well that
Ranald will not enjoy himself with the others. He has nothing in common
with them.”
“Oh, I wouldn't worry about that Maimie,” said Kate; “I will talk to
Ranald.” But Maimie was not quite sure how she should like that.
“You are just your Aunt Frank over again,” said Harry, in a disgusted
tone; “clothes and people!”
Maimie was almost in tears.
“I think you are both very unkind. You know Ranald won't enjoy it. He
will be quite miserable, and--they'll just laugh at him!”
“Well, they'd better laugh at him when he isn't observing,” said Harry.
“Do you think Ranald would really mind?” interposed Kate, addressing
Harry. “Do you think he will feel shy and awkward? Perhaps we'd better
have him another evening.”
“No,” said Harry, decidedly; “he is coming, and he's coming on Sunday
evening. He can't get off any other night, and besides, I'd have to lie
to him, and he has an unpleasant way of finding you out when you are
doing it, and once he does find out why he is not asked for Sunday
evening, then you may say good by to him for good and all.”
“Oh, no fear of that,” said Maimie, confidently; “Ranald has good sense,
and I know he will come again.”
“Well,” cried Harry, “if you are not going to treat him as you would
treat De Lacy and that idiotic Sims, I won't bring him!” And with that
he flung out of the room.
But Harry changed his mind, for next Sunday evening as the young ladies
with De Lacy and his friend were about to sit down to supper in their
private parlor, Harry walked in with Ranald, and announced in triumph:
“The man from Glengarry!” Maimie looked at him in dismay, and indeed she
well might, for Ranald was dressed in his most gorgeous shanty array,
with red flannel shirt and silk handkerchief, and trousers tucked into
his boots. Sims gazed at him as if he were an apparition. It was Kate
who first broke the silence.
“We are delighted to see you,” she cried, going forward to Ranald with
hands outstretched; “you are become quite a hero in this town.”
“Quite, I assure you,” said the lieutenant, in a languid voice, but
shaking Ranald heartily by the hand.
Then Maimie came forward and greeted him with ceremonious politeness
and introduced him to Mr. Sims, who continued to gaze at the shantyman's
attire with amused astonishment.
The supper was not a success; Ranald sat silent and solemn, eating
little and smiling not at all, although Mr. Sims executed his very best
jokes. Maimie was nervous and visibly distressed, and at the earliest
possible moment broke up the supper party and engaged in conversation
with the lieutenant and his witty friend, leaving Harry and Kate to
entertain Ranald. But in spite of all they could do a solemn silence
would now and then overtake the company, till at length Maimie grew
desperate, and turning to Ranald, said: “What are you thinking of? You
are looking very serious?”
“He is 'thinking of home and mother,'” quoted Mr. Sims, in a thin,
piping voice, following his quotation with a silly giggle.
Kate flushed indignantly. “I am quite sure his thoughts will bear
telling,” she said.
“I am sure they would,” said Maimie, not knowing what to say. “What were
they, Ran--Mr. Macdonald?”
“I was thinking of you,” said Ranald, gravely, looking straight at her.
“How lovely,” murmured the lieutenant.
“And of your aunt, Mrs. Murray, and of what they would be doing this
night--”
“And what would that be?” said Kate, coming to the relief of her friend.
But Ranald was silent.
“I know,” cried Harry. “Let's see, it is ten o'clock; they will all be
sitting in the manse dining-room before the big fire; or, no, they will
be in the parlor where the piano is, and John 'Aleck' will be there,
and they will be singing”; and he went on to describe his last Sabbath
evening, two years before, in the Glengarry manse. As he began to
picture his aunt and her work, his enthusiasm carried him away, and made
him eloquent.
“I tell you,” he concluded, “she's a rare woman, and she has a hundred
men there ready to die for her, eh, Ranald?”
“Yes,” said Ranald, and his deep voice vibrated with intense feeling.
“They would just die for her, and why not? She is a great woman and a
good.” His dark face was transformed, and his eyes glowed with an inner
light.
In the silence that followed Kate went to the harmonium and began to
play softly. Ranald stood up as to go, but suddenly changed his mind,
and went over and stood beside her.
“You sing, don't you?” said Kate, as she played softly.
“You ought to just hear him,” said Harry.
“Oh, what does he sing?”
“I only sing the psalm tunes in church,” said Ranald, “and a few hymns.”
“Ye gods!” ejaculated the lieutenant to Maimie, “psalms and hymns; and
how the fellow knocked those Frenchmen about!”
“Sing something, Kate, won't you?” said Maimie, and Kate, without a word
began the beautiful air from Mendelssohn's St. Paul:--
“But the Lord is mindful of His own,”
singing it with a power of expression marvellous in so young a girl.
Then, without further request, she glided into the lovely aria, “O Rest
in the Lord.” It was all new and wonderful to Ranald. He did not dream
that such majesty and sweetness could be expressed in music. He sat
silent with eyes looking far away, and face alight with the joy that
filled his soul.
“Oh, thanks, very much,” murmured the lieutenant, when Kate had
finished. “Lovely thing that aria, don't you know?”
“Very nice,” echoed Mr. Sims, “and so beautifully done, too.”
Ranald looked from one to the other in indignant surprise, and then
turning away from them to Kate, said, in a tone almost of command: “Sing
it again.”
“I'll sing something else,” she said. “Did you ever hear--”
“No, I never heard anything at all like that,” interrupted Ranald. “Sing
some more like the last.”
The deep feeling showing in his face and in his tone touched Kate.
“How would this do?” she replied. “It is a little high for me, but I'll
try.”
She played a few introductory chords, and then began that sweetest bit
of the greatest of all the oratorios “He shall Feed His Flock.” And from
that passed into the soul-moving “He Was Despised” from the same noble
work. The music suited the range and quality of her voice perfectly, and
she sang with her heart thrilling in response to the passionate feeling
in the dark eyes fixed upon her face. She had never sung to any one who
listened as Ranald now listened to her. She forgot the others. She
was singing for him, and he was compelling her to her best. She was
conscious of a subtle sense of mastery overpowering her, and with a
strange delight she yielded herself to that commanding influence; but
as she sang she began to realize that he was thinking not of her, but of
her song, and soon she, too, was thinking of it. She knew that his eyes
were filled with the vision of “The Man of Sorrows” of whom she sang,
and before she was aware, the pathos of that lonely and despised life,
set forth in the noble words of the ancient prophet, was pouring forth
in the great Master's music.
When the song was ended, no one spoke for a time, and even Mr. Sims
was silent. Then the lieutenant came over to the harmonium, and leaning
toward Kate, said, in an earnest voice, unusual with him, “Thank you
Miss Raymond. That was truly great.”
“Great indeed;” said Harry, with enthusiasm. “I never heard you sing
like that before, Kate.”
But Ranald sat silent, finding no words in which to express the thoughts
and feelings her singing had aroused in him.
There is that in noble music which forbids unreality, rebukes frivolity
into silence, subdues ignoble passions, soothes the heart's sorrow, and
summons to the soul high and holy thoughts. It was difficult to begin
the conversation; the trivial themes of the earlier part of the evening
seemed foreign to the mood that had fallen upon the company. At length
Mr. Sims ventured to remark, with a giggle: “It's awfully fine, don't
you know, but a trifle funereal. Makes one think of graves and that
sort of thing. Very nice, of course,” he added, apologetically, to Kate.
Ranald turned and regarded the little man for some moments in silence,
and then, with unutterable scorn, exclaimed: “Nice! man, it's wonderful,
wonderful to me whatever! Makes me think of all the great things I ever
saw.”
“What things?” Kate ventured to say.
For a few moments Ranald paused, and then replied: “It makes me think
of the big pine trees waving and wailing over me at night, and the big
river rolling down with the moonlight on it--and--other things.”
“What other things, Ranald,” persisted Kate.
But Ranald shook his head and sat silent for some time. Then he rose
abruptly.
“I will be going now,” he said.
“You will come again soon, Ranald,” said Maimie, coming toward him with
a look on her face that reminded him of the days in the Glengarry manse.
She had forgotten all about his red shirt and silk handkerchief. As
Ranald caught that look a great joy leaped into his eyes for a moment,
then faded into a gaze of perplexity.
“Yes, do come,” added Kate.
“Will you sing again?” he asked, bluntly.
“Yes, indeed,” she replied, with a slight blush, “if you want me to.”
“I will come. When? To-morrow night?”
“Yes, certainly, to-morrow night,” said Kate, blushing deeply now, for
she noticed the slight smile on Harry's face, and the glance that passed
between Mr. Sims and the lieutenant. Then Ranald said good night.
“I have never had such pleasure in my life,” he said, holding her hand
a moment, and looking into her eyes that sparkled with a happy light.
“That is,” he added, with a swift glance at Maimie, “from music or
things like that.”
Kate caught the glance, and the happy light faded from her eyes.
“Good night,” said Ranald, offering his hand to Maimie. “I am glad I
came now. It makes me think of the last night at the manse, although I
am always thinking of it,” he added, simply, with a touch of sadness in
his voice. Maimie's face grew hot with blushes.
“Yes,” she answered, hurriedly. “Dear Aunt Murray!”
He stood a moment or two as if about to speak, while Maimie waited in
an agony of fear, not knowing what to expect in this extraordinary young
man. Then he turned abruptly away, and with a good night to De Lacy and
a nod to Mr. Sims, strode from the room.
“Great Caesar's ghost!” exclaimed the lieutenant; “pardon me, but has
anything happened? That young man now and then gives me a sense of
tragedy. What HAS taken place?” he panted, weakly.
“Nonsense,” laughed Maimie, “your nervous system is rather delicate.”
“Ah, thanks, no doubt that's it. Miss Kate, how do you feel?”
“I,” said Kate, waking suddenly, “thank you, quite happy.”
“Happy,” sighed De Lacy. “Ah, fortunate young man!”
“Great chap, that,” cried Harry, coming back from seeing Ranald to the
door.
“Very,” said De Lacy, so emphatically that every one laughed.
“Some one really ought to dress him, though,” suggested Mr. Sims, with a
slight sneer.
“Why?” said Kate, quietly, facing him.
“Oh, well, you know, Miss Raymond,” stammered Mr. Sims, “that sort of
attire, you know, is hardly the thing for the drawing-room, you know.”
“He is a shantyman,” said Maimie, apologetically, “and they all dress
like that. I don't suppose that he has any other clothes with him.”
“Oh, of course,” assented Mr. Sims, retreating before this double
attack.
“Besides,” continued Kate, “it is good taste to dress in the garb of
your profession, isn't it, Lieutenant De Lacy?”
“Oh, come now, Miss Kate, that's all right,” said the lieutenant, “but
you must draw the line somewhere, you know. Those colors now you must
confess are a little startling.”
“You didn't mind the colors when he saved you the other day from that
awful mob!”
“One for you, De Lacy,” cried Harry.
“Quite right,” answered the lieutenant, “but don't mistake me. I
distinguish between a fellow and his clothes.”
“For my part,” said Kate, “I don't care how a man is dressed; if I like
him, I like him should he appear in a blanket and feathers.”
“Don't speak of it,” gasped the lieutenant.
“Do let's talk of something else,” said Maimie, impatiently.
“Delighted, I am sure,” said De Lacy; “and that reminds me that madam
was thinking of a picnic down the river this week--just a small company,
you know. The man would drive her down and take the hamper and things,
and we would go down by boat. Awful pull back, though,” he added,
regretfully, “but if it should give any pleasure--delighted, you know,”
bowing gallantly to the ladies.
“Delightful!” cried Maimie.
“And Ranald pulls splendidly,” said Kate.
Maimie looked at her, wondering how she knew that. “I don't think Ranald
can get away every day. I'm sure he can't; can he, Harry?” she said.
“No,” said Harry, “no more can I, worse luck! The governor is sticking
awfully close to work just now.”
“And, of course, you can't be spared,” said Kate, mockingly. “But
couldn't you both come later? We could wait tea for you.
“Might,” said Harry. “I shall make my best endeavor for your sake,”
bowing toward Kate, “but I am doubtful about Ranald. Perhaps we'd better
not--”
“Why, certainly, old chap,” said the lieutenant, “what's the matter?”
“Well, the fact is,” blurted out Harry, desperately, “I don't want to
drag in Ranald. I like him awfully, but you may feel as if he were not
quite one of us. You know what I mean; your mother doesn't know him.”
Harry felt extremely awkward knowing that he came perilously near to
suspecting the lieutenant of the most despicable snobbery.
“Why, certainly,” repeated the lieutenant. “That's all right. Bring your
Glengarry man along if any one wants him.”
“I do,” said Kate, decidedly.
“Kismet,” replied the lieutenant. “It is decreed. The young man must
come, for I suspect he is very much 'one of us.'” But of this the
lieutenant was not quite so certain by the time the day of the picnic
had arrived.