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OUR LITTLE SCOTCH COUSIN
* * * * *
The Little Cousin Series
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in tint.
Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover, per volume, 60 cents.
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE (unless otherwise indicated)
Our Little African Cousin
Our Little Armenian Cousin
Our Little Brown Cousin
Our Little Canadian Cousin
By Elizabeth R. Macdonald
Our Little Chinese Cousin
By Isaac Taylor Headland
Our Little Cuban Cousin
Our Little Dutch Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little English Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little Eskimo Cousin
Our Little French Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little German Cousin
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
Our Little Indian Cousin
Our Little Irish Cousin
Our Little Italian Cousin
Our Little Japanese Cousin
Our Little Jewish Cousin
Our Little Korean Cousin
By H. Lee M. Pike
Our Little Mexican Cousin
By Edward C. Butler
Our Little Norwegian Cousin
Our Little Panama Cousin
By H. Lee M. Pike
Our Little Philippine Cousin
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin
Our Little Russian Cousin
Our Little Scotch Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little Siamese Cousin
Our Little Spanish Cousin
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Swedish Cousin
By Claire M. Coburn
Our Little Swiss Cousin
Our Little Turkish Cousin
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.
* * * * *
[Illustration: DONALD GORDON.]
OUR LITTLE SCOTCH COUSIN
by
BLANCHE McMANUS
Author of "Our Little English Cousin," "Our Little French Cousin," etc.
Illustrated by The Author
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
MDCCCCVI
Copyright, 1906
by L. C. Page & Company
(Incorporated)
All rights reserved
The Little Cousin Series
(Trade Mark)
First Impression, April, 1906
Second Impression, November, 1906
Colonial Press
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U.S.A.
Preface
TO the thousands of little American cousins the little Scotch cousins
send their greetings.
The Scotch, perhaps, are not so very different from the Americans,
after all, and certainly there is so much in common between the
English, the Americans, and the Scotch that each may be expected to
have a lively concern in the affairs of the other!
Many of the Scottish legends and stories of romance and history have
an abounding interest for Americans of all ages, and who shall say
that Scott and Burns are not as great favourites in America as in
Scotland itself? For this reason, and for the fact that thousands of
Scottish-Americans have never severed the ties of sentiment which bind
them to Bonnie Scotland, a warm welcome is assured to our little Scotch
cousins whenever they may come to visit America.
As with our little English cousins there is the bond of common speech;
and Scotch institutions, though varied and strange in many instances,
are in others very similar to those of America.
Of the historic and scenic charms of Scotland much has already
been written in the romances and poems of Scott and Burns, so that
little American cousins may be expected to have at least a nodding
acquaintance with them. On the other hand, these charms are so numerous
and varied that American cousins cannot but wish that some day they may
be able to visit the land of purple heather.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE FINDING OF "ROB ROY" 1
II. SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOLIDAYS 14
III. A WALK IN EDINBURGH 28
IV. ANOTHER WALK IN EDINBURGH AND A VISIT TO ABBOTSFORD 47
V. THE GATHERING OF THE CLANS 58
VI. SOME SCOTCH CUSTOMS 74
VII. SUMMER HOLIDAYS 83
List of Illustrations
PAGE
DONALD GORDON _Frontispiece_
A NEWHAVEN FISHWIFE 25
THE HIGHLAND PIPER 34
MELROSE ABBEY 54
"'JUST A WEE GIFTIE FOR THE LASSIE'" 68
"OUR LITTLE SCOTCH FRIENDS WERE STANDING
BEFORE THE LITTLE HOUSE AT AYR, WHERE
ROBERT BURNS WAS BORN" 88
[Illustration: MAP _of_ SCOTLAND
_Places mentioned in OUR LITTLE SCOTCH COUSIN_]
Our Little Scotch Cousin
CHAPTER I.
THE FINDING OF "ROB ROY"
"HELLO! Sandy, what do you think I have got here?" called Donald, over
the low wall which separated his garden from that of his chum. He
was quite excited, so Sandy knew that something out of the ordinary
had happened, and quickly leaped over the wall. He found Donald
carefully holding his muffler, which was wriggling about in the most
extraordinary manner.
"What on earth is it,--a rat?" asked Sandy, looking curiously at the
muffler, which seemed trying to tie itself up in a hard knot.
"A rat!" exclaimed Donald, with great scorn.
"Do you suppose, Sandy MacPherson, that I'd be carrying a rat around
like this? But you couldn't guess if you tried all day; look here."
He carefully undid one end of the muffler, and out wriggled a little
brown head.
"Did you ever see a finer pup than that?" and Donald, with great pride,
showed a little puppy, who was trying to chew up his fingers.
"My! but he's a bonnie one; who gave him to you, Don?"
"I found him," and Donald went on eagerly to tell the story. "You know
that lane which leads to the widow Calden's house? Well, I came through
there to-day, thinking I might catch Andy and Archie playing marbles.
You know we thought they had been trying to dodge us lately. All at
once I felt something tugging at my shoe, and there was the pup. I
looked around for its mother, but there was no sign of any other dog
about. The poor, wee bairn whined, and was so glad when I picked him
up, I could not leave him there alone, could I?" Donald explained, in
self-defence. "You can see he hasn't had his eyes open very long, and
he might have starved to death; so I wrapped him up in my muffler, as
he was all of a shiver from the cold. Then I ran to the widow Calden,
but she did not know any pup like it in the neighbourhood. The baker's
boy drove up just then in his cart, but he did not know any one who had
a dog with a young pup, so I brought him home."
"But you can't keep him," said Sandy; "he must belong to some one."
"Perhaps they wanted to get rid of him," said Donald, hopefully. "I am
going to show him to father, and he will know what to do about it.
Perhaps he may advertise him in the paper, and then if no one claims
him he will belong to me."
The two lads ran across the garden and burst into the sitting-room
where Doctor Gordon and Mrs. Gordon were having afternoon tea.
"Well, laddies," called out the doctor, cheerfully, "you do not often
neglect your tea like this. Hey! what is all this about?" he continued,
as his son poured out his story.
"Poor, wee doggie," said the doctor, petting the pup, who licked his
hand and wobbled all over with delight, "and a fine collie pup he is,
too; he comes of a good breed, if I am not mistaken."
"Oh! then I shall have a fine dog when he grows up, father," cried
Donald, with joy.
"Gently, my son," said his father. "We must find out his owner if we
can. A valuable puppy like that will be missed, and if we advertise
him the notice will probably be seen by the right person. We must also
give notice at the police station."
"But if no one claims him I can keep him, can't I?" pleaded Don, who
had grown dismal at the thought that he might be deprived of his new
pet.
"Surely," said the doctor, "we could not refuse to give him a good
home."
Mrs. Gordon had meanwhile poured out a saucer of milk, and, warming
it a little, placed it in front of doggie. It was the funniest thing
to see him. First he dashed into the middle of the saucer, and stuck
his little nose deep in the milk; then such a sneezing and choking
followed. Finally, he found that it tasted good, and that it was for
his mouth, and not for his paws, and he lapped away in earnest, while
everybody knelt on the floor and watched him.
"He may stay in the armchair by the fire until I can find a basket for
him to sleep in," said Mrs. Gordon, returning to the tea-table.
The boys were soon there as well, for the tea at half-past four in the
afternoon is the favourite meal of the four which the Scotch usually
eat during the day.
There are such good things to eat then! First, there is shortbread, a
sort of crisp cake, made with a great deal of sugar and butter, and
very little flour, which melts away in your mouth. Then there are hot
buttered scones, which, if you know anything at all about Scotland, you
must have heard of, for they are one of their best-liked dishes; and
until you have eaten a scone, well-buttered, you will have no idea how
good they are.
Cakes, too; "layer cake," with chocolate between the layers; and nice
little round cakes, fluted around the edge,--all children know that
pattern,--hot from the oven, for Mrs. Gordon made her own cake and
shortbread. Indeed, Scotch women consider it quite an accomplishment
to make their own shortbread, which is far nicer than that which is
bought outside.
Then there is jam and preserved ginger. Perhaps you did not know that
Scotch people were very fond of sweet things. They are, indeed, and
they make many different kinds, and they are all good.
Of course the talk around the table was all about the little puppy.
"Oh, father!" suddenly said Donald, with his mouth full of shortbread,
"I can train him to be a sheep-dog, can't I? And we will take care of
the sheep, like the herds and collies that Uncle Alan was telling us
about."
"You are ambitious, my son," laughed the doctor. "You must get your
uncle to tell you some of the wonderful feats performed by the
sheep-dogs and their masters, and the difficult work that they have to
do, and then you will not think it so easy to turn yourself and the
little doggie into shepherds. And that reminds me that I had a letter
from your uncle to-day, and he wants us to make him a visit next month,
in time for Marjorie's birthday-party. 'We must have a meeting of the
Clans,' he says, 'to celebrate the day.'"
"Oh, how jolly!" cried Donald, prancing about the room, and waving his
napkin. "Uncle Alan's the best thing that ever lived; he lets you do
just what you want when you go to see him."
"He has invited Sandy, also; but I must warn him," said the doctor,
trying to look severe, and shaking a finger at the boys, "that you
laddies are not to do everything that you wish, such as wheedling old
Dugald into letting you carry the guns, as happened once before when
your uncle and I went shooting."
The doctor's effort to be stern did not last long, for Donald nearly
choked him with a big hug, and then subsided panting beside Sandy.
Whenever Sandy was very much pleased he grew speechless and shy, but
he nudged Don with his elbow and grinned, so every one knew he was as
delighted as the more talkative Don.
"But that is not all the news," said Mrs. Gordon. "Your cousins are
coming to make us a visit first, and your Uncle Alan says we may look
for them next week."
"Hurrah! won't we have fun going about seeing things," and Don started
another dance, for he was very fond of his two little cousins, Janet
and Marjorie Lindsay, and thought them far nicer than most lassies, for
they could keep up with him on a day's climb over the moors, and play
games almost as well as Sandy.
The boys were soon whispering together in a corner, and planning how
much pleasure they could crowd into this wonderful week. Don told
for the hundredth time of the marvels of Skylemore, his Uncle Alan's
beautiful home in the Highlands.
Uncle Alan Lindsay was a very wonderful person to Donald. He had gone
to America when he was a young lad, and had made a great fortune in
copper mines. He wanted to enjoy it in Scotland, his own country,
however, for the Scotch are very clannish, and like nothing better than
to be in their own land, and among their own people.
So he came back to Scotland, and bought a fine estate with a beautiful
house, into which he put handsome furniture and good pictures and
books,--everything that could make a home attractive. To Donald it
seemed a palace, and he did not think the king himself had anything so
grand.
Around the house was a big park, with miles of rolling woodland well
stocked with deer. Here one could shoot grouse and pheasants and small
game of all kinds. There were several clear streams and a _loch_, as a
lake is called in Scotland, where one could fish for salmon and trout,
and catch them, too, if one only knew how.
Many were the stories that Don had told Sandy of his adventures in
company with old Dugald, the gamekeeper, who had taught him how to
fish; and how together they had tramped miles over the wild moors
covered with heather.
Donald never tired of hearing his uncle tell of his life and adventures
in the far-away Western States of America, which seemed always to him
to belong to another world. The story of how he had lived among real
Indians, and had been lost in great snow-storms, was like a recounting
of adventures of the olden time to the lad.
Donald was amazed, too, at the tales of the great cities that his uncle
had seen in America, with big buildings so tall that they seemed like
many houses piled one on top of another. Then again there were miles
and miles of nothing but great wheat-fields. "Why, you could drop
Scotland down in the midst of them and it would be so small that you
would not be able to find it again if it were not for the mountains
sticking up above the grain," Uncle Alan would say, with a twinkle
in his eye. But he would always add: "It's a grand country, bonnie
Scotland, if it is a wee one, my lad."
For many days after he had found the puppy, Donald would rush home
from school, not even stopping where the enticing rattle told him that
a game of "boules" was going on. His heart would be in his mouth when
he reached the gate of Kelvin House, as the Gordons' home in Edinburgh
was called, for he was afraid that the doggie would be gone. But as day
after day passed, and no one came to say that they had lost a little
dog, Donald breathed easier, and the little puppy was looked upon as
one of the Gordon family. Finally, even the doctor said it was time to
give "doggie" a name.
The whole family talked the matter over a long time, but it was Don who
finally decided to name him after the hero of his favourite story, "Rob
Roy," written by the great Scotch author, Sir Walter Scott, which his
father was even then reading aloud to him evenings.
The puppy's name was in time shortened to Rob. He loved the whole
family, beginning with the doctor and ending with the stable-boy; but
he adored Donald, and whined most dolefully each morning when he left
him, and barked and wriggled about like an eel, with pleasure, when
Donald came back again.