A TALE OF A GLOVE
So long as Jamie was not the lad, Jess twinkled gleefully over tales of
sweethearting. There was little Kitty Lamby who used to skip in of an
evening, and, squatting on a stool near the window, unwind the roll of
her enormities. A wheedling thing she was, with an ambition to drive
men crazy, but my presence killed the gossip on her tongue, though I
liked to look at her. When I entered, the wag at the wa' clock had
again possession of the kitchen. I never heard more than the end of a
sentence:
"An' did he really say he would fling himsel into the dam, Kitty?"
Or--"True as death, Jess, he kissed me."
Then I wandered away from the kitchen, where I was not wanted, and
marvelled to know that Jess of the tender heart laughed most merrily
when he really did say that he was going straight to the dam. As no
body was found in the dam in those days, whoever he was he must have
thought better of it.
But let Kitty, or any other maid, cast a glinting eye on Jamie, then
Jess no longer smiled. If he returned the glance she sat silent in her
chair till Leeby laughed away her fears.
"Jamie's no the kind, mother," Leeby would say. "Na, he's quiet, but
he sees through them. They dinna draw his leg (get over him)."
"Ye never can tell, Leeby. The laddies 'at's maist ill to get
sometimes gangs up in a flame a' at aince, like a bit o' paper."
"Ay, weel, at ony rate Jamie's no on fire yet."
Though clever beyond her neighbours, Jess lost all her sharpness if
they spoke of a lassie for Jamie.
"I warrant," Tibbie Birse said one day in my hearing, "'at there's some
leddie in London he's thinkin' o'. Ay, he's been a guid laddie to ye,
but i' the course o' nature he'll be settlin' dune soon."
Jess did not answer, but she was a picture of woe.
"Ye're lettin' what Tibbie Birse said lie on yer mind," Leeby remarked,
when Tibbie was gone. "What can it maiter what she thinks?"
"I canna help it, Leeby," said Jess. "Na, an' I canna bear to think o'
Jamie bein' mairit. It would lay me low to loss my laddie. No yet, no
yet."
"But, mother," said Leeby, quoting from the minister at weddings, "ye
wouldna be lossin' a son, but juist gainin' a dochter."
"Dinna haver, Leeby," answered Jess, "I want nane o' thae dochters; na,
na."
This talk took place while we were still awaiting Jamie's coming. He
had only been with us one day when Jess made a terrible discovery. She
was looking so mournful when I saw her, that I asked Leeby what was
wrong.
"She's brocht it on hersel," said Leeby. "Ye see she was up sune i'
the mornin' to begin to the darnin' o' Jamie's stockins an' to warm his
sark at the fire afore he put it on. He woke up, an' cried to her 'at
he wasna accustomed to hae'n his things warmed for him. Ay, he cried
it oot fell thrawn, so she took it into her head 'at there was
something in his pouch he didna want her to see. She was even onaisy
last nicht."
I asked what had aroused Jess's suspicions last night.
"Ou, ye would notice 'at she sat devourin' him wi' her een, she was so
lifted up at hae'n 'im again. Weel, she says noo 'at she saw 'im twa
or three times put his hand in his pouch as if he was findin' to mak
sure 'at something was safe. So when he fell asleep again this mornin'
she got haud o' his jacket to see if there was onything in't. I
advised her no to do't, but she couldna help herself. She put in her
hand, an' pu'd it oot. That's what's makkin' her look sae ill."
"But what was it she found?"
"Did I no tell ye? I'm ga'en dottle, I think. It was a glove, a
woman's glove, in a bit paper. Ay, though she's sittin' still she's
near frantic."
I said I supposed Jess had put the glove back in Jamie's pocket.
"Na," said Leeby, "'deed no. She wanted to fling it on the back o' the
fire, but I wouldna let her. That's it she has aneath her apron."
Later in the day I remarked to Leeby that Jamie was very dull.
"He's missed it," she explained.
"Has any one mentioned it to him," I asked, "or has he inquired about
it?"
"Na," said Leeby, "there hasna been a syltup (syllable) aboot it. My
mother's fleid to mention't, an' he doesna like to speak aboot it
either."
"Perhaps he thinks he has lost it?"
"Nae fear o' him," Leeby said. "Na, he kens fine wha has't."
I never knew how Jamie came by the glove, nor whether it had originally
belonged to her who made him forget the window at the top of the brae.
At the time I looked on as at play-acting, rejoicing in the happy
ending. Alas! in the real life how are we to know when we have reached
an end?
But this glove, I say, may not have been that woman's, and if it was,
she had not then bedevilled him. He was too sheepish to demand it back
from his mother, and already he cared for it too much to laugh at
Jess's theft with Leeby. So it was that a curious game at chess was
played with the glove, the players a silent pair.
Jamie cared little to read books, but on the day following Jess's
discovery, I found him on his knees in the attic, looking through mine.
A little box, without a lid, held them all, but they seemed a great
library to him.
"There's readin' for a lifetime in them," he said. "I was juist
takkin' a look through them."
His face was guilty, however, as if his hand had been caught in a
money-bag, and I wondered what had enticed the lad to my books. I was
still standing pondering when Leeby ran up the stair; she was so active
that she generally ran, and she grudged the time lost in recovering her
breath.
"I'll put yer books richt," she said, making her word good as she
spoke. "I kent Jamie had been ransackin' up here, though he came up
rale canny. Ay, ye would notice he was in his stockin' soles."
I had not noticed this, but I remembered now his slipping from the room
very softly. If he wanted a book, I told Leeby, he could have got it
without any display of cunning.
"It's no a book he's lookin' for," she said, "na, it's his glove."
The time of day was early for Leeby to gossip, but I detained her for a
moment.
"My mother's hodded (hid) it," she explained, "an he winna speir nae
queistions. But he's lookin' for't. He was ben in the room searchin'
the drawers when I was up i' the toon in the forenoon. Ye see he
pretends no to be carin' afore me, an' though my mother's sittin' sae
quiet-like at the window she's hearkenin' a' the time. Ay, an' he
thocht I had hod it up here."
But where, I asked, was the glove hid.
"I ken nae mair than yersel," said Leeby. "My mother's gien to hoddin'
things. She has a place aneath the bed whaur she keeps the siller, an'
she's no speakin' aboot the glove to me noo, because she thinks Jamie
an' me's in comp (company). I speired at her whaur she had hod it, but
she juist said, 'What would I be doin' hoddin't'?' She'll never admit
to me 'at she hods the siller either."
Next day Leeby came to me with the latest news.
"He's found it," she said, "ay, he's got the glove again. Ye see what
put him on the wrang scent was a notion 'at I had put it some gait. He
kent 'at if she'd hod it, the kitchen maun be the place, but he thocht
she'd gi'en it to me to hod. He came upon't by accident. It was
aneath the paddin' o' her chair."
Here, I thought, was the end of the glove incident, but I was mistaken.
There were no presses or drawers with locks in the house, and Jess got
hold of the glove again. I suppose she had reasoned out no line of
action. She merely hated the thought that Jamie should have a woman's
glove in his possession.
"She beats a' wi' 'cuteness," Leeby said to me. "Jamie didna put the
glove back in his pouch. Na, he kens her ower weel by this time. She
was up, though, lang afore he was wauken, an' she gaed almost strecht
to the place whaur he had hod it. I believe she lay waukin a' nicht
thinkin' oot whaur it would be. Ay, it was aneath the mattress. I saw
her hodden't i' the back o' the drawer, but I didna let on."
I quite believed Leeby when she told me afterwards that she had watched
Jamie feeling beneath the mattress.
"He had a face," she said, "I assure ye, he had a face, when he
discovered the glove was gone again."
"He maun be terrible ta'en up aboot it," Jess said to Leeby, "or he
wouldna keep it aneath the mattress."
"Od," said Leeby, "it was yersel 'at drove him to't."
Again Jamie recovered his property, and again Jess got hold of it.
This time he looked in vain. I learnt the fate of the glove from Leeby.
"Ye mind 'at she keepit him at hame frae the kirk on Sabbath, because
he had a cauld?" Leeby said. "Ay, me or my father would hae a gey ill
cauld afore she would let's bide at hame frae the kirk; but Jamie's
different. Weel, mair than ance she's been near speakin' to 'im aboot
the glove, but she grew fleid aye. She was so terrified there was
something in't.
"On Sabbath, though, she had him to hersel, an' he wasna so bright as
usual. She sat wi' the Bible on her lap, pretendin' to read, but a'
the time she was takkin' keeks (glances) at him. I dinna ken 'at he
was broodin' ower the glove, but she thocht he was, an' just afore the
kirk came oot she couldna stand it nae langer. She put her hand in her
pouch, an pu'd oot the glove, wi' the paper round it, just as it had
been when she came upon't.
"'That's yours, Jamie,' she said; 'it was ill-dune o' me to tak it, but
I couldna help it.'
"Jamie put oot his hand, an' syne he drew't back. 'It's no a thing o'
nae consequence, mother, he said.
"'Wha is she, Jamie?' my mother said.
"He turned awa his heid--so she telt me. 'It's a lassie in London,' he
said, 'I dinna ken her muckle.'
"'Ye maun ken her weel,' my mother persisted, 'to be carryin' aboot her
glove; I'm dootin' ye're gey fond o' her, Jamie?'
"'Na,' said Jamie, 'am no. There's no naebody I care for like yersel,
mother.'
"'Ye wouldna carry aboot onything o' mine, Jamie,' my mother said; but
he says, 'Oh, mother, I carry aboot yer face wi' me aye; an' sometimes
at nicht I kind o' greet to think o' ye.'
"Ay, after that I've nae doot he was sittin' wi' his airms aboot her.
She didna tell me that, but weel he kens it's what she likes, an' she
maks nae pretence o' its no bein'. But for a' he said an' did, she
noticed him put the glove back in his inside pouch.
"'It's wrang o' me, Jamie,' she said, 'but I canna bear to think o' ye
carryin' that aboot sae carefu'. No, I canna help it.'
"Weel, Jamie, the crittur, took it oot o' his pouch an' kind o'
hesitated. Syne he lays't on the back o' the fire, an' they sat
thegither glowerin' at it.
"'Noo, mother,' he says, 'you're satisfied, are ye no'?'
"Ay," Leeby ended her story, "she said she was satisfied. But she saw
'at he laid it on the fire fell fond-like."