“KATERIN!” she said, coming into the kitchen with a handful of paper
cuttings, and, hearing her, the maid's face blanched.
“I declare I never broke an article the day!” she cried, protestingly,
well accustomed to that formal address when there had been an accident
among her crockery.
“I wasn't charging you,” said her mistress. “Dear me! it must be an
awful thing, a guilty conscience! I was thinking to give you--and
maybe Lennox, if she would not mind--a lesson or two in cookery. It's
a needful thing in a house with anything of a family. You know what men
are!”
“Fine that!” said Kate. “They're always thinking what they'll put in
their intervals, the greedy deevils!--beg your pardon, but it's not a
swear in the Gaelic.”
“There's only one devil in any language, Kate,” said Miss Bell. “'How
art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!' And I am
glad to think he is oftener on our foolish tongues than in our hearts. I
have always been going to give you a cookery-book.”
“A cookery-book!” cried the maid. “Many a time I saw one out in
Colonsay; for the minister's wife had one they called Meg Dods, that was
borrowed for every wedding. But it was never much use to us, for it
started everything with, 'Take a clean dish,' or 'Mince a remains of
chicken,' and neither of them was very handy out in the isle of
Colonsay.”
Miss Bell laid out her cuttings on the dresser--a mighty pile of recipes
for soups and stews, puddings and cakes, sweetmeats, and cordial wines
that could be made deliciously from elder and mulberry, if hereabouts we
had such fruits to make them with. She had been gathering these scraps
for many years, for the household column was her favorite part of the
paper after she was done with the bits that showed how Scotsmen up in
London were at the head of everything or did some doughty deed on the
field of war. She hoarded her cuttings as a miser hoards his notes, but
never could find the rich Sultana cake that took nine eggs when it was
wanted, but only the plain one costing about one-and-six. Sometimes
Ailie would, in mischief, offer to look through the packet for recipes
rich and rare that had been mentioned; they were certainly there (for
Bell had read them gloatingly aloud when she cut them out), but Bell
would never let her do it, always saying, “Tuts! never mind; Dan likes
this one better, and the other may be very nice in print but it's too
rich to be wholesome, and it costs a bonny penny. You can read in
the papers any day there's nothing better for the health than simple
dieting.” So it was that Mr. Dyce had some monotony in his meals, but
luckily was a man who never minded that, liking simple, old friends
best in his bill of fare as in his boots and coats and personal
acquaintances. Sometimes he would quiz her about her favorite
literature, pretending a gourmet's interest for her first attempt at
something beyond the ordinary, but never relished any the less her
unvarying famous kale and simple entremets, keeping his highest praise
for her remarkable breakfasts. “I don't know whether you're improving or
whether I am getting used to it,” he would say, “but that's fish! if you
please, Miss Bell.”
“Try another scone, Dan,” she would urge, to hide the confusion that his
praise created. “I'm sure you're hungry.”
“No, not hungry,” would he reply, “but, thank Providence, I'm
greedy--pass the plate.”
Bell was busy at her cookery lesson, making her cuttings fill the part
of the book that was still to buy, doing all she could to make Bud see
how noble was a proper crimpy paste, though her lesson was cunningly
designed to look like one for Kate alone. Her sleeves were rolled up,
and the flour was flying, when a rat-tat came to the door. They looked
up from their entrancing occupation, and there, in front, was the castle
carriage!
Miss Bell made moan. “Mercy on us! That 'll be Lady Anne, and Ailie out,
and I cannot go to speak to anybody, for I'm such a ticket. Run to the
door, dear, and take her into the parlor, and keep her there till I am
ready. Don't forget to say 'My lady'--No, don't say 'My lady,' for
the Dyces are of old, and as good as their neighbors, but say 'Your
ladyship'--not too often, but only now and then, to let her see you know
it.”
Bud went to the door and let in Lady Anne, leading her composedly to the
parlor.
“Aunt Ailie's out,” she said, “and Aunt Bell is _such_ a ticket. But
she's coming in a minute, your--your--your--” Bud paused for a second, a
little embarrassed.
“I forget which it was I was to say. It was either 'Your ladyship' or
'My lady.' You're not _my_ lady, really, and you're not your own,
hardly, seeing you're promised to Colonel George. Please tell me which
is right, Lady Anne.”
“Who told you it was Colonel George, my dear?” asked Lady Anne, sitting
down on the proffered chair and putting her arms around the child.
“Oh, it's just the clash of the parish,” said my little Scot, who once
was Yankee. “And everybody's so glad.”
“Are they, indeed?” said Lady Anne, blushing in her pleasure. “That is
exceedingly kind of them. I always thought our own people the nicest and
kindest in the world.”
“That's just it,” said Bud, cheerfully. “Everybody everywhere is just
what one is one's self--so Aunt Ailie says; and I s'pose it's because
you're--Oh, I was going to say something about you, but I'll let you
guess. What lovely weather! I hope your papa is well? And Mr. Jones?”
“Thank you; papa is very well, indeed,” said Lady Anne. “And Mr.
Jones--” She hung upon the name with some dubiety.
“The coachman, you know,” said Bud, placidly. “He's a perfectly lovely
man, so fat and smiley. He smiles so much his face is all in gathers. So
kind to his horses, too, and waves his whip at me every time he passes.
Once he gave me a ride on the dickey; it was gorgeous. Do you often get
a ride on the dickey, Lady Anne?”
“Never!” said Lady Anne, with a clever little sigh. “Many a time I have
wished I could get one, but they always kept me inside the carriage. I
don't seem to have had much luck all my life till--till--till lately.”
“Did Mr. Jones never take you on his knee and tell you the story of the
Welsh giants?”
“No,” said Lady Anne, solemnly shaking her head. “Then you're too big
now. What a pity! Seems to me there isn't such a much in being a big L
lady, after all. I thought you'd have everything of the very best. You
have no idea what funny ideas we had in America about dukes and lords
and ladies in the old country. Why, I expected I'd be bound to hate them
when I got here, because they'd be so proud and haughty and tyrannical.
But I don't hate them one little bit; they don't do anybody any harm
more'n if they were knockabout artistes. I suppose the queen herself 'd
not crowd a body off the sidewalk if you met her there. She'd be just as
apt to say, 'What ho! little girl, pip! pip!' and smile, for Auntie Bell
is always reading in the newspapers snappy little parts, about the nice
things the royal family do, just the same as if they weren't royal a
bit.”
“Yes, I sometimes see those touching domestic incidents,” said her
ladyship. “You mean such things as the prince helping the cripple boy to
find his crutch? They make me almost cry.”
“I wouldn't wet a lash, if I were you,” said Bud. “That's just the
press; like as not there's nothing behind it but the agent in advance.”
“Agent in advance?” said Lady Anne, perplexed. “Yes. He's bound to boom
the show somehow--so Jim Molyneux said, and he knew most things, did
Jim.”
“You wicked republican!” cried her ladyship, hugging the child the
closer to her.
“I'm not a republican,” protested Bud. “I'm truly Scotch, same as father
was and Auntie Bell is--that's good enough for me. I'd just _love_ to be
a my lady myself, it must be so nice and--and fairy. Why, it's about the
only fairy thing left anywhere, I guess.
“There's nothing really to it; it's not being richer nor powerfuller nor
more tyrannical than anybody else, but it's--it's--it's--I dunno 'zactly
what it is, but it's something--it--it's romantic, that's what it is, to
be a king or a duke or a my lady. The fun of it is all inside you, like
poetry. I hope, my lady Anne, you 'preciate your privileges! You must
'preciate your privileges always, Auntie Bell says, and praise the
Lord without ceasing, and have a thankful heart.”
“I assure you I do,” replied her ladyship.
“That's right,” said Bud, encouragingly. “It's simply splendid to be
a really lady with a big L without having to play it to yourself. I've
been one as Winifred Wallace quite often; with Auntie Ailie's fur jacket
and picture-hat on I'd sit and sit, and feel so composed and grand in
the rocker, and let on it was Mr. Jones's carriage, and bow sweetly to
Footles, who'd be a poor man passing to his work, and mighty proud to
have me notice him. I'd be sort of haughty but not 'bominable haughty,
cause Auntie Bell says there's nothing beats a humble and a contrite
heart. But then, you see, something would happen to spoil everything:
Kate would laugh, or Auntie Bell would pop in and cry: 'Mercy on me,
child, play-acting again! Put away that jacket instantly.' Then I'd
know I was only letting on to be a really lady; but with you it's
different--all the time you're It. Auntie Bell says so, and she knows
everything.”
“It really looks as if she did,” said her ladyship, “for I've called to
see her to-day about a sailor.”
“A sailor!” Bud exclaimed, with wild surmise. “Yes. He wants to be
captain of my yacht, and he refers me to Miss Dyce, for all the world as
if he were a housemaid.”
“I'm _so_ glad,” cried Bud, “for it was I who advised him to, and
I'm--I'm the referee.”
“You?”
“Yes; it was Kate's letter, and she--and we--and I said there was a
rumor you wanted a captain, and he should apply, saying if you wanted
to know just what a clean, good, brave sailor he was you should ask Kate
MacNeill or Miss Dyce, and I'm the Miss Dyce this time, and you're--why,
you're really visiting me!”
Lady Anne laughed. “Really, Miss Lennox,” she said, “you're a wonderful
diplomatist. I must get the Earl to put you in the service. I believe
there's a pretty decent salary goes to our representative in the United
States.”
“But don't laugh at me, Lady Anne,” pleaded Bud, earnestly. “I'm
dre'ffle set on having Charles off the cargo-boats, where he's thrown
away. You don't know how Kate loves him, and she hasn't seen him--not
for years and years. You know yourself what it is to be so far away
from anybody you love. He'd just fit your yacht like a glove--he's so
educated, having been on the yachts and with the gentry round the world.
He's got everything nice about him you'd look for in a sailor--big,
brown eyes, so beautiful there's only Gaelic words I don't know, but
that sound like somebody breaking glass, to describe how sweet they are.
And the whitest teeth! When he walks, he walks so straight and hits the
ground so hard you'd think he owned the land.”
“It seems to me,” said Lady Anne, “that you couldn't be more
enthusiastic about your protégé if you loved him yourself.”
“So I do,” said Bud, with the utmost frankness.
“But there's really nothing between us. He's meant for Kate. She's got
heaps of beaux, but he's her steady. I gave him up to her for good on
Hallowe'en, and she's so happy.”
Bell had thrown off her cooking-apron and cleaned her hands, and ran up
the stairs to see that her hair was trim, for, though she loved a lady
for the sake of Scotland's history, she someway felt in the presence of
Lady Anne the awe she had as a child for Barbara Mushet. That Ailie in
such company should be, on the other hand, so composed, and sometimes
even comical, was a marvel she never could get over. “I never feared the
face of earl or man,” she would say, “but I'm scared for a titled lady.”
When she came down to the parlor the visitor was rising to go.
“Oh, Miss Dyce,” said she, “I'm so glad to see you, though my visit this
time's really to Miss Lennox. I wished to consult her about a captain
for my little yacht.”
“Miss Lennox!” exclaimed Miss Bell, shaking hands, and with a look of
apprehension at her amazing niece.
“Yes,” said Lady Anne; “she has recommended a man who seems in all
respects quite suitable, if he happens to know a little about sailing,
and I'm going to write to him to come and see me.”
At that, I must confess it, Lennox for once forgot her manners and
darted from the parlor to tell Kate the glorious news.
“Kate, you randy!” she cried, bursting into the kitchen, “I've fixed it
up for Charles; he's to be the captain.”
The servant danced on the floor in a speechless transport, and Bud
danced, too.