A second time that day Margot came into close contact with Mr George
Elgood. She was strolling slowly up and down the road with "the
Chieftain," waiting for Ron to make his appearance before starting for a
ramble over the countryside, when through the doorway of the inn out
dashed the "Editor," making in the same direction, in the headlong,
unseeing fashion which was plainly a characteristic. When about twenty
yards distant, he lifted his eyes from the ground, became suddenly
conscious of the two figures slowly strolling towards him, stopped short
in the middle of the path, and, wheeling round, darted quickly in the
opposite direction.
The cut was too glaring to be ignored. Margot's cheeks flamed with
annoyance, which the sound of a low chuckle by her side did not help to
subdue. She reared her little head to its haughtiest angle, and spoke
in frosty accents.
"I am afraid I am in the way. Pray don't let me interfere with your
plans. Won't you join your brother before he goes too far? He is
walking very fast--"
There was a note of satire in the last words which made the Chieftain
chuckle once more.
"Not I," he replied easily. "I can have his society any time I like.
Yours is infinitely more refreshing. Keeps up a pretty good pace, don't
he? Scared, you know. Scared to death! Running to cover like a
frightened hare!"
"Scared of what?"
"Of you?"
Margot had known the answer to the question before she had put it, but,
woman-like, was none the less affronted. Accustomed to be sought after
and admired by mankind in general, it was a disagreeable experience to
find herself repelled by the man of all others whom she was most anxious
to ingratiate. Her face stiffened, and her rounded little chin
projected itself proudly, the while her companion looked on with
twinkling amusement.
"That makes you feel pretty mad, don't it?" he inquired genially. "You
are not accustomed to that sort of treatment. Most of 'em run the other
way, don't they? I should, in their place! But you mustn't be hard on
old George. When I said `you,' I used the word as a plural, not as
applying with any special significance to your charming self. It is
womankind as a whole which he finds terrifying. Run a mile any day
rather than meet a woman face to face! You must not imagine that there
is anything unusual in his avoidance of yourself. It's always the same
tale."
Margot paused a moment, to reflect dismally that in this case there was
small hope for the fulfilment of her scheme, then ventured the natural
feminine question--
"Has he been crossed in love?"
"Who? George?" George's brother appeared to find something
mysteriously ludicrous in the suggestion, for he shook with delighted
laughter. "Rather not! Never had enough to do with a woman to give
himself a chance. He's an old hermit of a bachelor, Miss Vane, absorbed
in his work, and becoming more of a slave to it every year of his life.
Even on a holiday he can't take it easy like other folks. He has some
writing on hand just now--a paper of sorts which he has undertaken to
have ready by a certain time, and it appears to his benighted intellect
that a holiday is an excellent opportunity of getting it through. Mad,
you see; stark, staring mad, but an excellent fellow all the same. One
of the very best. I have a large experience of men, but I've never met
one to compare with him for all-round goodness and simplicity of heart.
We all have our failings, and there are worse things than a little
shyness and reserve. If he avoids you like the plague, try to pity him
for the loss it entails upon himself, and take no offence! As I said
before, it's not a personal matter. He knows that you are a stranger
and a woman, but I don't suppose he has the most glimmering idea of what
you are really like!"
"Oh yes, he has. I was sitting in the kitchen this morning, and he came
and spoke to me under the impression that I was Elspeth! The impression
lasted until he got quite near. I was wearing an apron, but still,--I
wasn't pleased! When he saw my face instead of hers, he fled for his
life. But he _did_ see it! He knows quite well what I am like."
"And in the depths of your little girl heart you think he is a strange
fellow, not to want to see you again! You can't understand why he
should go out of his way to be kind to Elspeth, and avoid some one
infinitely more attractive. Don't be offended, but that's a wrong view
to take of the case. In my brother's eyes Elspeth is more attractive
than yourself, for she is poor, you see, and ugly, and leads a life of
all work and no play. He might be able to do her a good turn. Besides,
he has known her for several years, and has had time to become
reconciled to her existence, so to speak. Custom goes a long way with
shy people. George would rather beard a den of lions than face the
company in the inn parlour on a wet evening, but he is a welcome guest
in the kitchen, and Mrs McNab adores him to the extent of submitting to
muddy boots without a murmur. He cracks jokes with her in a free-and-
easy manner which strikes awe into the heart of tremblers like myself.
It's my first visit to the Nag's Head, and I'm still in the stage of
abject submission. She's a wonderful woman!"
Margot smiled with returning composure. She divined her companion's
desire to change the subject of conversation, and was quite willing to
further his efforts. What she had already heard concerning George
Elgood supplied ample food for meditation.
Viewed in dispassionate light, it was not wholly disconcerting, for if
the citadel could but once be stormed, there seemed a certainty of
gaining sympathy and consideration. She must be content to wait in
patience, until the hermit had become reconciled to her existence; but
Ron, as a fellow-man, could venture on advances on his own account.
She must talk to Ron in private, and try to instil into him some of her
own energy and enterprise. He was a dear, wonderful fellow, but
absolutely wanting in initiative. Poets, she supposed, were always
dreamy, impracticable creatures, unfitted to attend to practical
interests, and dependent upon the good offices of some adoring woman
working meekly in the background.
Her eyes brightened eloquently as she watched her brother's approach
along the winding path. What a handsome young figure of manhood he made
in his Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, the close-fitting deerstalker
cap showing the light chestnut hair, from which no barber's shears could
succeed in banishing the natural kink and curl. No one would suspect,
to look at him, that he cherished poetical ambitions! Margot was
English enough to be thankful for this fact, illogical as it may appear.
She was proud to realise that he looked a thorough sportsman, and in
absolute harmony with his surroundings, and instinctively her pride and
affection voiced themselves in words. The Chieftain might not be the
rose, but he was at least near the rose, and it would be well to enlist
his interest as well as that of his brother.
"Doesn't he look splendid?"
Mr Elgood started, and for a moment his round face expressed the
blankest bewilderment, then his eyes lit upon Ron, and comprehension
dawned.
"Ah, yes," he returned indifferently, "nice-looking lad! Pity he hasn't
more to say for himself. What's he supposed to do? Business or
profession?"
"It's not decided. He has not long come down from Cambridge. He is
quiet, but he is very clever, all the same. Much cleverer than most
boys of his age."
"Humph!" The Chieftain's tone was distinctly sceptical. "Yes! Good
degree?"
Margot's colour heightened in embarrassment.
"Nothing special. Only a pass. It isn't in _that_ way that his
cleverness shows."
"Just so! Just so! I've met men like that before. Well, don't spoil
him, that's all. Worship him in your heart, but not to his face. Looks
to me as if he needed hardening up. A bit moony and sentimental. What?
Don't mind my saying so, do you?"
"Not a bit!" returned Margot proudly; but she cared horribly, all the
same, and for the moment her liking for her companion suffered a
distinct eclipse. "I know him, you see, and understand him as no
stranger can do. He needs appreciation, for he is too apt to lose faith
in himself, and he is not sentimental at all. He has plenty of
sentiment, but that's a different thing!"
"Yes--Um!" responded the Chieftain mischievously, his little eyes
twinkling with amusement as they scanned the girl's flushed, injured
face. "Quite so! Sorry I spoke. He is, without doubt, an unusually
gifted young man." He bowed towards Margot, with an inference too
transparent to be mistaken, and at which she was obliged to laugh,
despite herself.
Ronald joined them at this moment, and looked from one to the other with
his big, dreamy eyes. Margot was irritated to see that he looked even
more absent-minded than usual, just when she was anxious that he should
show to most advantage. He asked no questions in words, however, but
Mr Elgood hastened to reply to the unspoken query in his eyes.
"Your sister and I have been having an argument. I don't know how it
came about. Hate arguments myself, especially on a holiday. Besides,
it's a waste of time. Whoever knew any one converted by an argument?
Each one goes away more satisfied than ever that he is in the right, and
that his opponent is talking rubbish; present company excluded, of
course. So far as I can remember, we were discussing cleverness. If
you were asked for a definition of a clever man, what would you say?
How would you describe him?"
Ronald stood in the centre of the road, his hands clasped behind his
back, his brows knitted in thought. Ninety-nine people out of a hundred
would have answered such a question off-hand with a few light words; Ron
bent the weight of his mind to it, with whole-hearted earnestness.
"Cleverness!" he repeated slowly. "It's a poor word! There's no depth
in it. When a man is called clever, it means, I think, more an ability
to display a superficial knowledge than any real, stored-up wisdom. It
may even be a double-edged compliment!"
"Scored!" cried the Chieftain gaily, as he waved his stick in the air,
and led the way forward with a jaunty tread. "Proposed, seconded, and
carried that cleverness is a delusion to be sedulously avoided! Just
what I always said. I've known clever people in my day--squillions of
them, and, my hat! how stupid they were! That little lass dabbling in
the lake is wiser than the whole crowd." He pointed to a fair-haired
child wading by the side of the tarn. "The spirit of childhood--that's
what we want! the spirit of joy in present blessings, and untroubled
trust for the future. That little lass has a life of hardship and toil
ahead--but what does she care? The sun shines to-day, and the funny wee
mannie fra the inn is going to gie her a bawbee for goodies. It's a bad
habit which he has fallen into; a shocking bad habit, but he canna cure
himself of it." He threw a penny to the smiling, expectant child, then
turning sharply to the left, led the way across the low-lying ground
towards the base of the nearest hill.
Margot noticed that, as he went, he turned from time to time quick,
scrutinising glances at Ron's face, as though trying to satisfy a doubt,
and classify him in his own mind. Evidently the lad's serious, somewhat
pedantic manner of replying had invested him with a new interest, but
when he spoke again it was only in reference to the afternoon's
expedition itself.
"I am not going to take you far," he announced. "I object to walking,
on principle. What I maintain is, that we were never intended to walk!
If we had been, we should have had four legs, instead of two. I never
walk if I can possibly induce something else to carry me. And climbing
is another mistake. What is it that one admires about mountains? Their
height and grandeur! Very well, then, where is the point of vantage
from which to view them? The base, of course. Climb up to the top, and
you lose the whole effect, to say nothing of chucking away your valuable
breath. See that little path winding up the slope? That leads to the
moors, and when you are once on the moors you can walk about on the
level all day long, if you are so disposed, and the air goes to the head
of even a lazy old fellow like myself, and makes me quite gay and
frisky. You two youngsters can go on ahead and engage in light
conversation, while I puff along in the rear. At my age and bulk even
the most witty conversation palls when climbing a hillside. When you
get to the end of the footpath sit down and wait till I arrive, and take
no notice of me till I get my wind. Then we'll start fair. Off with
you!"
Margot ran forward, laughing, and she and Ron were soon scrambling up
the hillside, side by side.
"That's a good fellow. I like him! He will be very interesting when
one gets beneath the surface," pronounced the boy thoughtfully.
Margot nodded emphatically.
"I'm going to love him! I feel it in my bones, and he is going to love
me too, but unfortunately he's the wrong man. He says that his brother
hates women, and will do all he can to avoid me, so you must take things
into your own hands, Ron! I can't help you, so you must help yourself.
You will have to cultivate his acquaintance, and get him to take you
about, and talk to him, and try to get intimate. You will, won't you?
Promise me that you will!"
She looked with anxiety into the lad's face as she spoke, for previous
experience had proved that Ron possessed the full share of those
failings which are most characteristic of his temperament: a sudden
cooling of interest at critical moments; a shirking of responsibility,
an inclination to drift. It was a part of the artistic nature, which
had an irritating effect on more practical mortals. Now, as she feared,
he remained as placidly unmoved by the intelligence as if it had no
bearing whatever on his own prospects.
"Oh, all right. I'll see! You can't rush things, if a fellow keeps out
of your way. Our opening will come in time, if we leave it to chance
and don't worry. I believe I am going to do really good work here,
Margot! I had an idea last night, after you had gone to bed, and I was
watching the stars through the pines. I won't read it to you yet, for
it wants working up, but it's good--I am sure it is good! And that
little stream along from the house; I found a song motif in
that,--`_Clear babbling over amber bed_!' How's that for a word-
picture? Shows the whole thing, doesn't it? The crystal clearness of
the water; the music of its flow, the curious golden colour of the
rocks. I'm always pleased when I can hit off a description in a line.
I'm glad we came, Margot! There's inspiration in this place."
But for once Margot refused to be sympathetic.
"You did not come for inspiration, you came for a definite, practical
purpose; and if you write a hundred poems, it won't make up for
neglecting it. Now, Ron, wake up! I shall be angry with you if you
don't do all you can for yourself. Promise me that you will try!"
"All right! All right! Do let us be happy while we have the chance,
Margot. We had enough worry at home, and this place is perfect. Let us
be wise children, and take no thought for the morrow. What would Elgood
think of you, beginning to worry about the future, the moment his back
was turned? She was a pretty illustration, wasn't she?--that little
bare-headed child. Did you notice her hair? Almost white against the
russet of her skin."
Margot grunted unsympathetically. She was out of breath with scrambling
up the hillside, a trifle out of temper also, and consequently not in
the mood to enthuse over artistic contrasts. She did not speak again
until the summit was reached, and she threw herself on the ground to
rest, and wait the arrival of the Chieftain. His gasps and grunts could
already be heard in the distance, for, notwithstanding his various
handicaps, he was surprisingly nimble, and in a few moments a round
scarlet face hove into sight, and a round grey body rolled over on the
ground by her side.
"Piff! piff! whew-w! Don't look at me, please--I don't like--being
stared at by ladies--when my--complexion is flushed!" he gasped
brokenly, mopping his face with a large silk handkerchief. "Every
time--I--come up here--I vow I'll--never come again; but when _I'm_ once
up, I--never want to go down!"
He flourished his handkerchief to the left, pointing out the wide
moorland, beautiful in colouring with its bright rank greens, and the
bloomy purple of heather undulating gently up and down like the waves of
an inland sea.
The pure rarefied air fanned the heated faces of the climbers, and with
every moment seemed to instil fresh life and vigour. It was easy to
believe that, once started, one would wander on and on over this
wonderful moorland, feeling no fatigue, possessed with the desire to go
farther and farther, to see what surprise lay beyond the next hillock.
After all, it was Mr Elgood who made the first start. One moment he
lay still, puffing and blowing, bemoaning past youth, and bewailing loss
of strength; the next, like an indiarubber ball, he had bounced to his
feet, and was strutting forward, waving his short arms in the air, the
white silk handkerchief streaming behind him like a flag.
"_Allons, mes enfants_! No lolling allowed on the moors. Keep your eye
on that green peak to the right, and make for it as straight as a die.
A few hundred yards away is a cottage where, if we are very polite and
ask prettily, the guid-wife will give us a cup of buttermilk, the Gaelic
substitute for afternoon tea. In a certain spot, which shall be
nameless, I should as soon think of drinking poison in glassfuls, but
after a stretch on the moors it tastes like nectar! Take my word for
it, and try!"
That was the first walk which Ron and Margot had ever taken over a
Scotch moor, and to the last day of their lives they remembered it with
joy. The air went to their heads so that they grew "fey," and sang, and
laughed, and teased each other like a couple of merry-hearted children,
while the Chieftain was the biggest child of the three.
At times he declared that he was tired out and must turn back, but
hardly were the words out of his mouth, than, lo, he was dancing an
impromptu hornpipe with astonishing nimbleness and dexterity! He took a
lively interest in all that his companions did and said, and did not
hesitate to put question after question in order to arrive at a fuller
understanding of any case in point; but London, and all that took place
in London, remained a forbidden topic. He was the Elgood of Elgood, and
they were "his bonnie men," and life outside the Highlands had ceased to
exist.
Margot was delighted that the little man should have a chance of seeing
Ronald in one of his lightest, most boyish moods, for from the
expression of his face she feared that he had not so far previously been
favourably impressed by the lad's personality. Now it was impossible
not to admire and laugh as Ron played imaginary bagpipes on the end of
his walking-stick, or droned out lugubrious ballads in imitation of a
strolling minstrel who had visited the inn the night before. The ballad
dramatised the circumstances of the moment: the perilous ascent, the
wandering of three strangers across the moor, the flowing bowl which was
to refresh and strengthen them for the return journey. Ron's knowledge
of the native dialect was so slight that he fell back upon the more
stately phraseology of the early English poets, introducing a strange
Scotch term now and again with irresistibly comic effect.
The two listeners cheered him on with bursts of delighted laughter,
while at an unexpected clever turn, or apt stringing together of words,
the Chieftain would clap his hands and caper with delight.
"Good! good!" he would cry. "Neat! neat!" while his twinkling eyes
surveyed the boy with increasing respect. "Do you often improvise?" he
asked, when the ballad came to an end, and when Ron replied truthfully
enough in the negative, "Well, I have heard many fellows do it worse!"
was his flattering comment.
Margot had expected more, and felt that more was deserved, for the
ballad had been quite a brilliant effort to be rattled off on the spur
of the moment, but she could only hope that, in conclave with his
brother, the Chieftain might be more enthusiastic, and manage to impress
upon that absent-minded genius that the boy was worthy of his notice and
study.
In due time--a very short time, as it appeared--the cottage was reached
owned by the "guid-wife," who was ready to give--not sell--draughts of
buttermilk to the passers-by. Margot was a little chary of the first
taste, but the keen moorland air had done its work, and she too found it
as nectar to the palate. The guid-wife "had no English," but the two
women conversed eloquently with the language of the eyes, concerning the
sleeping baby in its cradle, and the toddling urchins around the door.
Here in the solitude this brave woman of the people reared her family,
made their garments, tended them when they were sick, cooked for them,
baked for them, washed for them, mended for them, and kept the three-
roomed cot as exquisitely clean as hands could make it. The girl who
dusted the drawing-room and arranged a few vases of flowers as her duty
in life, gazed at her with awe, and felt ashamed of her own idle
existence!
The buttermilk quaffed, Mr Elgood led the way to a thick patch of
heather some few hundred yards nearer home, came to a standstill, and,
spreading his handkerchief under his head, lay down with great
deliberation and crossed his arms in beatific content.
"Now, if you want to discover what comfort means, find a soft patch for
yourselves, and take a nap before we start for home. No upholsterer on
earth ever manufactured a mattress to equal a bed of heather. If you
don't want to sleep, kindly keep your distance, and enjoy yourselves
with discretion, for if I'm awakened in the middle of my siesta, nothing
short of murder will appease me!"
He shut his eyes even as he spoke, and composed himself with a sigh of
content. Margot, nothing loath, took off her cap, and, spreading her
cape over the bushes, nestled contentedly into its folds. Ron scorned
the idea of sleep, but as he was curious to test the comforts of the
heather, down he lay in his turn; and so soft, so springy, so eminently
luxurious did the new bed appear, that he felt no desire to rise.
Presently his eyes dropped, rose heavily once or twice, and rose no
more. Margot's head burrowed more deeply into her cape. Deep regular
snores sounded from the bush where Mr Elgood reposed. All three were
fast asleep!
The sun shone on them; the hum of a thousand insects rose from the
grass; high in the air a lark trilled his triumphant song. It was rest
indeed to sleep and dream in such surroundings!