The painters have come and gone, and on the dining-room walls and
woodwork they have left evidence of tasty, careful workmanship. John
Boyes, to whom the question of wall-paper was referred, was of the
opinion that the decorative scheme adopted by Mrs Black for her parlour
was not exactly applicable or advisable in our case; so Betty at once
deferred to his better judgment, but warned us, all the same, that if
the work didn't turn out a success we were not to blame her. There was,
however, no occasion for what she calls 'castin' up,' as the room looks
exceedingly well, and we--that is, Betty and I--have complimented John
Boyes, who likewise looks exceedingly well, not so much perhaps by
reason of our commendation, but because his account was asked for and
paid the day after the work was completed. I understand the general rule
in the locality is to pay tradesmen's accounts once a year, and when I
offered such prompt payment John was both surprised and perplexed.
'I thocht, Mr Russell,' he said, 'that you were satisfied wi' the job;'
and he placed his hat on Betty's kitchen dresser, fastened a button in
his coat, and stood on the defensive.
'And I _am_ pleased with the job, Boyes,' I replied. 'You and your men
have worked well, and--and whistled well,' I added, with a laugh; 'and
in attending to this work just now you have suited my convenience.'
'Well--but--does it no' look as if ye werena pleased when ye're payin'
me so soon?'
'No, no, Boyes, you mustn't think that. I happen just now to have the
money beside me, and now that the work is completed it is yours, not
mine.'
'Oh, that puts a different complexion on the face o't, as the monkey
said when he pented the cat green;' and he gave a cough of relief, and
surreptitiously bit off a chew of brown twist. 'It's no' often that
money's put doon on my pastin'-table, as it were, an' it's braw an'
welcome, I assure you. I'll no' forget ye wi' leebral discoont, let me
tell ye.' When he came back to receipt the account he borrowed a penny
stamp from Betty, and with great deliberation and no little ceremony
drew his pen several times through the pence column, completely
obliterating the 8-1/2d. 'Ye see, sir, when a gentleman treats me weel,
I'm no' feart. We'll let the eichtpence ha'penny go to the deevil, an'
that'll be five pounds six shillin's--nate, as it were.' He stowed the
notes away down in his trousers-pocket, unbuttoned and rebuttoned his
coat, and jocosely informed me that the price of liquid drier was on the
rise, and he would now lay in a stock before the market was too high. An
hour afterwards I saw him emerge from the side-door of the inn, wiping
his mouth with the back of his hand, and the term 'liquid drier' was to
me stripped of any technical vagueness it had previously possessed.
I have rearranged all the old dining-room pictures so that, without
discarding any of them, I shall have sufficient space for the painting
of Nith Bridge which the Laurieston minister looked upon as a valuable
asset to his bazaar. One day, when I was confined to bed upstairs, I
pencilled a note to my confidential clerk in Edinburgh, asking him to
find out in which of the five Lauriestons, noted in the Post-Office
Directory, a bazaar was to be held, and to make sure of purchasing
thereat a certain oil-painting of which I gave full particulars.
Ormskirk is a cute, long-headed chap; and, knowing the man well, I was
really not surprised when, yesterday morning, I received a letter from
him advising me that, without any difficulty, he had 'struck' the right
Laurieston, and that through our corresponding agent in Falkirk the
picture in question had been secured. Following out my instructions, he
is getting it suitably framed; so I trust shortly to see the space
filled which I am reserving for it.
Poor Betty has put herself to no end of trouble over the modernising of
this room. She has planned and worked unceasingly; and as she couldn't
be in two places or do two things at once, Nathan and I these last few
days have been in a manner neglected. I was sorry to know of her toiling
on late and early, and I told her to get a woman in to help her; but all
she said, and that with a sniff, too, was, 'It may happen;' and for the
first time I saw Betty's nose in the air. And now that everything is
done that she recommended, she is regretting all the expense I have been
put to, and bewailing the fact that 'efter a' it was hardly worth
while.' 'It's a braw, braw room, Maister Weelum,' she said, as she
surveyed it for the twentieth time from the doorway--'a braw room
indeed, and I trust ye'll lang be spared to enjoy it. Ay, I do that;'
and she sighed.
I looked keenly and quickly at her.
'No, no, Maister Weelum, I dinna mean that. I'm no' a dabbler amang
leaf-mould;' and she laughed cheerily. 'A' the same, an' jokin' apairt,
I trust ye'll live to get the guid o' a' your ootlay. At ony rate, ye'll
be gey bien here ower the winter. An' when ye're weel again, an' away
back to yer wark in Embro', ye'll no' forget that ye have sic a place
here. Somewey, I think ye'll get marrit sune--hoo I think sae I canna
tell, but the look's comin' to your e'e--an' whaever the lucky leddy may
be, ye needna be feart to bring her here, for it's a room fit for a
duchess.'
The early fall of snow, which I shall ever associate with the doctor's
love-story, was, after all, very slight, and except in the uplands,
where it lies in the crevices gleaming white in the wintry sun, it has
almost entirely disappeared. I have been allowed outside again, and, but
for a little stiffness, due, the doctor says, to inaction, I am feeling
wonderfully strong and even vigorous.
John Kellock the butcher is the nominal owner of an old bobtailed collie
which rejoices in the name of Bang. Bang carries with him into old age
many mementos of his pugilistic days, not the least obvious of which are
a tattered and limp ear and a short, deformed foreleg. He is long past
active service, and only barks now from the shop-door when sheep pass
along the village street; but he dearly loves a quiet saunter down the
pavement and along the country road with any one who has a mind to chum
with him and can keep step with his. John Sterling the shoemaker is also
the nominal owner of a dog, a Dandie Dinmont named Jip, which was long a
doughty antagonist of Bang, but he is now on the pension list too, and
glad of congenial company of limited locomotive capabilities. So the
three of us--all more or less 'crocks,' and mutually sympathetic--take a
constitutional together almost every day. I have mentioned Jip last, but
really it was he who made friends with me first. His master made no
demur to Jip's frequent strolls with me, as the shoemaker himself leads
a sedentary life, and no man knows better than he that a dog should get
exercise; but since Jip has on more than one occasion taken French leave
and remained overnight with me, I am afraid jealousy is springing up in
the shoemaker's breast. Bang noted the ripening acquaintanceship, and
girned disapproval as we passed the butcher's shop; but I never
neglected an opportunity of scratching his shaggy underjaw and talking
coaxingly in a 'doggie' way to him, and so it came to pass that after
following us bit by bit, day by day, he agreed with Jip to bury the
hatchet, and we are now a happy trio and the very best of friends.
As companions in a country walk I prefer Bang and Jip to any man I know.
I can be silent and meditative, and they don't feel neglected or out of
it; and when I am minded to talk, they, in the wag of the tail and the
intelligent look of the eye, respond and approve. But they never
trespass upon my attention or disturb my vein of thought.
At first, after our walk, when I reached Betty's door, I asked them to
come inside, but they stood with a dubious look in their eyes and with
heads turned sideways. Then Jip evidently remembered that John Sterling
had paid his license, and that he was in duty bound to make some show of
recognition, so he walked sedately and with fixed purpose across the
street; while Bang, with recurrent memories of truant acts associated
with ash-plants, limped his way to Kellock's door. Now, however, they
have both flung discretion and fears to the winds, and accompany me to
my fireside with an 'at home' sort of air, and just as if Betty's abode
were their own.
Betty has a cat, a very nice, comfortable-looking cat, with a glossy,
well-cared-for fur, and a strong masculine face; and she often wonders
why I take no notice of Jessie, as she, in her simplicity, misnames
him. The truth is, God's creatures, great and small, interest and appeal
to me, but I cannot love cats. I admire their graceful movements, their
agility, their cleanliness so far as their fur is concerned; but their
eyes cannot draw me lovingly to them as a dog's can, and I have the
feeling that they are capable of loving only those who minister to their
wants, and that they are putting up with domesticity because it assures
them of food and shelter without putting them to the trouble and
inconvenience of seeking it for themselves. I am sorry I cannot love
Jessie, but it can't be helped. Jessie, I know, never loved me; and
since Bang and Jip have got entry to the house I know 'she' positively
hates me.
This afternoon Bang and Jip accompanied me as usual in my stroll, and
after I had leisurely surveyed all the countryside around, and the two
dogs had to their hearts' content explored every rat-run in the roots of
the bordering hedgerows, we turned for home. For a little while I halted
at Hastie's gate, and watched with interest the northward rush of the
afternoon express. I remembered how, when a boy, I used to stand at this
coign of vantage, with my eyes riveted on the speeding trains, following
them in imagination and desire through distant fields and woods, past
towns I knew of only through my geography, on and away to the busy,
bustling terminus on the Clyde, with its big houses, its long streets,
and attractive shops. How I envied the driver on the footplate, and how
I longed to be a passenger with him _en route_ to the city which was
then to me unknown and unexplored! _Experientia docet_; the express in
its flight was as interesting to me as it was then, but the desire and
longing to be in it were lacking. 'No, no,' I said to myself; 'no
bustling city for me at present. Here around me is life without veneer;
here is the peace I crave; here, I feel, is the goal.' The sound of
approaching footsteps cut short my reverie. I turned my head, and for
the second time I looked into the eyes of my dream-lady.
Had I had time to gather my wits and consider the situation, I should
probably have recognised her presence by merely raising my hat, but this
was denied me; and, acting on a sudden impulse, I went forward to meet
her with my hand outstretched. With a look of surprise and, I imagined,
annoyance, she stopped and regarded me earnestly for a moment. In a
flash it came to me that we had never been introduced, and I blushed
awkwardly and retreated a step, muttering an incoherent apology. Then
ensued a long pause, an awkward silence. It was Bang who came to the
rescue, and saved the situation. Wagging his scraggy apology for a tail,
he sidled up to her, and in an ingratiating, wheedling way which only a
dog possesses, he claimed her attention. She spoke to him, and stroked
his shaggy head. Then Jip ventured forward, demanding his share of her
favours, and she bent down and asked him his name. I remained
tongue-tied and ill at ease, and was wishing myself a hundred miles
away, when she suddenly looked toward me and smiled.
'I consider a collie and a Dandie Dinmont ideal companions,' she said.
'They are evidently very much attached to you, and old friends are the
best friends.'
'Friends, yes; but they don't belong to me,' I replied. 'Bang here is an
old pensioner of the village butcher, and wee Jip is the apple of our
local shoemaker's eye. We've been good chums since I came down here, and
I seldom go for a walk without them.'
'They weren't with you that day in Nithbank Wood?'
'No.'
'By the way,' she hastily interposed, as if glad of an opening, 'I am
pleased to have met you again, and to see you are none the worse of
your indiscretion in venturing so far when you weren't feeling fit. You
have only one walking-stick now, instead of two; so I argue you are
making good progress. Do you know,' she continued, and she gave me a
look which set my heart thumping, 'I have, time and again, reproached
myself for leaving you as I did. You acknowledged you had attempted too
much, and you looked so helpless, so--so'----and she hesitated. 'What
_is_ that very expressive Scots word, now? So'----
'Forfaughten,' I hazarded.
'That's it--forfaughten; and you must have felt forfaughten, otherwise
the word wouldn't have appealed to you as suitable.'
'Well, I admit now, I was, but at the time I didn't wish you, a lady and
a stranger, to know it. Besides, you had already done a good deal for
me, which, allow me to repeat, I shall not readily forget.'
I was gradually regaining the confidence I had lost, and felt inclined
to say more, and to tell her of my dream and what her presence meant to
me; but I restrained myself; and, pointing to the paint-box she carried,
I changed the subject by asking her if she was finding much inspiration
in our beautiful surroundings.
'Yes--oh yes!' she replied; 'it is a beautiful countryside, and the
longer I live in it the more I see in it to admire. A wooded locality,
such as this, looks at its best--at least from an artist's
standpoint--in the late autumn, when sufficient foliage is shed to allow
the gray-purple of the branches to mingle with the yellow and russet of
the leaves. I am fortunate in being here at this particular time, and I
have made quite a number of sketches, which I may work up later. But I
am not really an artist. I am only a humble amateur, though I may to an
extent have the eye of an artist--to appreciate all the beautiful
sights, you know, and that, after all, is something. But I must be
going. Good-afternoon; and I'm glad that you are getting on so
nicely.--Good-bye, Bang.--Good-bye, Jip;' and she gave them a parting
pat, and with a smile on her face which I long remembered, she walked
slowly away.
It is a very slender hair to make a tether with, but somehow the fact of
her remembering the dogs by name is a consoling thought, and a source of
peculiar satisfaction to me.