"My heather land, my heather land,
Though fairer lands there be,
Thy gowany braes in early days
Were gowden ways to me."
Thom.
Scene: The fairy's glen high up among the mountains. Kenneth seated,
book in hand, on the top of the fairy knoll, which stands out strangely
green against the purples and browns which surround it. Kenneth is
alone. Kooran is away down beneath, minding the sheep. The
shepherd-boy lays down the book at last, or rather he drops it down the
chimney of his cave, and it falls on the carpet of brackens beneath.
Then he takes his crook, and goes slowly down the strath.
This was a Saturday forenoon, and Kenneth and his little friend Archie
McCrane were going on a long round of pleasure.
Ha! yonder comes Archie. Or rather, yonder suddenly doth he appear. He
comes straight up out of the centre of a bush of furze, in quite a
startling kind of way.
Archie is eleven years of age, though very tiny, but very strong, and as
hard as an Arab. No fat about Archie. His face and bare neck and
breast and thorn-scratched knees are as red as if recently rubbed with
brick-dust. There isn't a rent or hole in either his jacket or kilt,
but woe is me, it is pretty nearly all patches; it is mother's work
every night to mend the rents Archie makes in his clothes. Archie is,
of course, his mother's darling. She even takes pains to make him
pretty. She prides herself even in his beautiful hair. His hair is one
of Archie's strong points. Mind, he wears no bonnet (cap), never did
and never would. He owns one, but always forgets to put it on. So his
soft golden hair is cut across above the brows, and hangs in wavy
luxuriance over his shoulders. I said golden, but it is more straw
colour, and bleached on the top almost white.
He is a singular lad, Archie, has a half-wild, half-frightened look in
his face; in fact, take him all in all, he is quite in keeping with the
romantic surroundings.
"I've got him," Archie said.
"What is it?"
"A little black rabbit."
"Strange," said Kenneth; "put him down. He must be half tame, I should
think."
Archie put it down, and the two boys knelt beside it among the heather.
It was a half-grown one, so mild, so gentle-looking. Butter, you would
have said, wouldn't melt in that wee rabbit's mouth. And it crouched
down low and held its ears flat against its back, and never moved an eye
or winked, but allowed the lads to smooth it with their fore-fingers.
But all at once, pop! it was off like an eel.
"Oh?" said Archie, with such a disappointed look, "and I meant to take
it hame wi' me."
Kenneth laughed, and off the two scampered, as wild as any rabbits.
"Shot is here," said Archie.
"Where?"
"Down with Kooran."
"Then you must whistle him up; Kooran will look after the sheep by
himself, but Shot will lead him into temptation. Besides, the sheep
don't know Shot. Whistle, Archie, whistle, man."
Archie put four fingers in his mouth and emitted a scream as shrill as
the scream of the great whaup. [The curlew.] In a moment more Shot was
coming tearing along through the heather.
And with him was Kooran.
"What do you want, Kooran?"
Kooran threw himself in a pleading attitude at his master's feet, looked
up with brown, melting, pleading eyes, and wagged his tail.
"Oh! I know, dear doggie," said Kenneth; "you want your dinner, because
you know we'll be away all day."
Kooran jumped and capered and danced and barked, and Kenneth rolled a
piece of cake and a bit of cheese in a morsel of paper and handed it to
the dog.
"Keep the koorichan," (sheep) "well together, doggie," he said; "and
don't take your dinner for an hour yet."
Kooran gave his tail a few farewell wags and galloped off, but as soon
as he was in sight of the flock and out of sight of his master, he lay
down and ate his dinner right up at once. He ate the cheese first,
because it smelt so nice, and then he ate the cake.
Away went Archie and Kenneth and Shot. It didn't take them long to
gallop through the heather and furze. Of course the furze made their
bare knees bleed, but they did not mind that.
They reached the road in twenty minutes, and went straight away to the
clachan to report themselves at the manse, or minister's house.
It wasn't much of a manse, only an ordinary-looking, blue-slated house
of two stories, but it had a nice lawn in front and gardens round it,
where ash trees, limes, planes, and elms grew almost in too great
abundance. The windows were large, and one was a French one, and opened
under a verandah on to the lawn. This was the Rev David Grant's
study.
Before they came round the hedgerow, both boys stopped, dipped their
handkerchiefs in the running brook, and polished their faces; then they
warned Shot to be on his best behaviour, and looking as sedate and
solemn as they could, they opened the gate, and made their way to the
hall door. And Shot tried to look as old as he could, and followed
behind with his nose pretty near the ground, and his tail almost between
his heels.