Meantime Robert was seated in the parlour at the little dark mahogany
table, in which the lamp, shaded towards his grandmother's side, shone
brilliantly reflected. Her face being thus hidden both by the light and
the shadow, he could not observe the keen look of stern benevolence with
which, knowing that he could not see her, she regarded him as he ate
his thick oat-cake of Betty's skilled manufacture, well loaded with the
sweetest butter, and drank the tea which she had poured out and sugared
for him with liberal hand. It was a comfortable little room, though its
inlaid mahogany chairs and ancient sofa, covered with horsehair, had a
certain look of hardness, no doubt. A shepherdess and lamb, worked in
silks whose brilliance had now faded half-way to neutrality, hung in
a black frame, with brass rosettes at the corners, over the
chimney-piece--the sole approach to the luxury of art in the homely
little place. Besides the muslin stretched across the lower part of the
window, it was undefended by curtains. There was no cat in the room, nor
was there one in the kitchen even; for Mrs. Falconer had such a respect
for humanity that she grudged every morsel consumed by the lower
creation. She sat in one of the arm-chairs belonging to the hairy set,
leaning back in contemplation of her grandson, as she took her tea.
She was a handsome old lady--little, but had once been taller, for she
was more than seventy now. She wore a plain cap of muslin, lying close
to her face, and bordered a little way from the edge with a broad black
ribbon, which went round her face, and then, turning at right angles,
went round the back of her neck. Her gray hair peeped a little way from
under this cap. A clear but short-sighted eye of a light hazel shone
under a smooth thoughtful forehead; a straight and well-elevated, but
rather short nose, which left the firm upper lip long and capable of
expressing a world of dignified offence, rose over a well-formed mouth,
revealing more moral than temperamental sweetness; while the chin was
rather deficient than otherwise, and took little share in indicating the
remarkable character possessed by the old lady.
After gazing at Robert for some time, she took a piece of oat-cake from
a plate by her side, the only luxury in which she indulged, for it
was made with cream instead of water--it was very little she ate of
anything--and held it out to Robert in a hand white, soft, and smooth,
but with square finger tips, and squat though pearly nails. 'Ha'e,
Robert,' she said; and Robert received it with a 'Thank you, grannie';
but when he thought she did not see him, slipped it under the table
and into his pocket. She saw him well enough, however, and although she
would not condescend to ask him why he put it away instead of eating it,
the endeavour to discover what could have been his reason for so doing
cost her two hours of sleep that night. She would always be at the
bottom of a thing if reflection could reach it, but she generally
declined taking the most ordinary measures to expedite the process.
When Robert had finished his tea, instead of rising to get his books and
betake himself to his lessons, in regard to which his grandmother had
seldom any cause to complain, although she would have considered herself
guilty of high treason against the boy's future if she had allowed
herself once to acknowledge as much, he drew his chair towards the fire,
and said:
'Grandmamma!'
'He's gaein' to tell me something,' said Mrs. Falconer to herself. 'Will
't be aboot the puir barfut crater they ca' Shargar, or will 't be aboot
the piece he pat intil 's pooch?'
'Weel, laddie?' she said aloud, willing to encourage him.
'Is 't true that my gran'father was the blin' piper o' Portcloddie?'
'Ay, laddie; true eneuch. Hoots, na! nae yer grandfather, but yer
father's grandfather, laddie--my husband's father.'
'Hoo cam that aboot?'
'Weel, ye see, he was oot i' the Forty-five; and efter the battle o'
Culloden, he had to rin for 't. He wasna wi' his ain clan at the battle,
for his father had broucht him to the Lawlands whan he was a lad; but he
played the pipes till a reg'ment raised by the Laird o' Portcloddie.
And for ooks (weeks) he had to hide amo' the rocks. And they tuik a' his
property frae him. It wasna muckle--a wheen hooses, and a kailyard or
twa, wi' a bit fairmy on the tap o' a cauld hill near the sea-shore;
but it was eneuch and to spare; and whan they tuik it frae him, he had
naething left i' the warl' but his sons. Yer grandfather was born the
verra day o' the battle, and the verra day 'at the news cam, the mother
deed. But yer great grandfather wasna lang or he merried anither wife.
He was sic a man as ony woman micht hae been prood to merry. She was the
dother (daughter) o' an episcopalian minister, and she keepit a school
in Portcloddie. I saw him first mysel' whan I was aboot twenty--that was
jist the year afore I was merried. He was a gey (considerably) auld man
than, but as straucht as an ellwand, and jist pooerfu' beyon' belief.
His shackle-bane (wrist) was as thick as baith mine; and years and
years efter that, whan he tuik his son, my husband, and his grandson, my
Anerew--'
'What ails ye, grannie? What for dinna ye gang on wi' the story?'
After a somewhat lengthened pause, Mrs. Falconer resumed as if she had
not stopped at all.
'Ane in ilka han', jist for the fun o' 't, he kneipit their heids
thegither, as gin they hed been twa carldoddies (stalks of ribgrass).
But maybe it was the lauchin' o' the twa lads, for they thocht it unco
fun. They were maist killed wi' lauchin'. But the last time he did it,
the puir auld man hostit (coughed) sair efterhin, and had to gang and
lie doon. He didna live lang efter that. But it wasna that 'at killed
him, ye ken.'
'But hoo cam he to play the pipes?'
'He likit the pipes. And yer grandfather, he tuik to the fiddle.'
'But what for did they ca' him the blin' piper o' Portcloddie?'
'Because he turned blin' lang afore his en' cam, and there was naething
ither he cud do. And he wad aye mak an honest baubee whan he cud; for
siller was fell scarce at that time o' day amo' the Falconers. Sae he
gaed throu the toon at five o'clock ilka mornin' playin' his pipes, to
lat them 'at war up ken they war up in time, and them 'at warna, that it
was time to rise. And syne he played them again aboot aucht o'clock at
nicht, to lat them ken 'at it was time for dacent fowk to gang to their
beds. Ye see, there wasna sae mony clocks and watches by half than as
there is noo.'
'Was he a guid piper, grannie?'
'What for speir ye that?'
'Because I tauld that sunk, Lumley--'
'Ca' naebody names, Robert. But what richt had ye to be speikin' to a
man like that?'
'He spak to me first.'
'Whaur saw ye him?'
'At The Boar's Heid.'
'And what richt had ye to gang stan'in' aboot? Ye oucht to ha' gane in
at ance.'
'There was a half-dizzen o' fowk stan'in' aboot, and I bude (behoved) to
speik whan I was spoken till.'
'But ye budena stop an' mak' ae fule mair.'
'Isna that ca'in' names, grannie?'
''Deed, laddie, I doobt ye hae me there. But what said the fallow Lumley
to ye?'
'He cast up to me that my grandfather was naething but a blin' piper.'
'And what said ye?'
'I daured him to say 'at he didna pipe weel.'
'Weel dune, laddie! And ye micht say 't wi' a gude conscience, for he
wadna hae been piper till 's regiment at the battle o' Culloden gin he
hadna pipit weel. Yon's his kilt hingin' up i' the press i' the garret.
Ye'll hae to grow, Robert, my man, afore ye fill that.'
'And whase was that blue coat wi' the bonny gowd buttons upo' 't?' asked
Robert, who thought he had discovered a new approach to an impregnable
hold, which he would gladly storm if he could.
'Lat the coat sit. What has that to do wi' the kilt? A blue coat and a
tartan kilt gang na weel thegither.'
'Excep' in an auld press whaur naebody sees them. Ye wadna care,
grannie, wad ye, gin I was to cut aff the bonnie buttons?'
'Dinna lay a finger upo' them. Ye wad be gaein' playin' at pitch and
toss or ither sic ploys wi' them. Na, na, lat them sit.'
'I wad only niffer them for bools (exchange them for marbles).'
'I daur ye to touch the coat or onything 'ither that's i' that press.'
'Weel, weel, grannie. I s' gang and get my lessons for the morn.'
'It's time, laddie. Ye hae been jabberin' ower muckle. Tell Betty to
come and tak' awa' the tay-things.'
Robert went to the kitchen, got a couple of hot potatoes and a candle,
and carried them up-stairs to Shargar, who was fast asleep. But the
moment the light shone upon his face, he started up, with his eyes, if
not his senses, wide awake.
'It wasna me, mither! I tell ye it wasna me!'
And he covered his head with both arms, as if to defend it from a shower
of blows.
'Haud yer tongue, Shargar. It's me.'
But before Shargar could come to his senses, the light of the candle
falling upon the blue coat made the buttons flash confused suspicions
into his mind.
'Mither, mither,' he said, 'ye hae gane ower far this time. There's ower
mony o' them, and they're no the safe colour. We'll be baith hangt, as
sure's there's a deevil in hell.'
As he said thus, he went on trying to pick the buttons from the coat,
taking them for sovereigns, though how he could have seen a sovereign
at that time in Scotland I can only conjecture. But Robert caught him by
the shoulders, and shook him awake with no gentle hands, upon which he
began to rub his eyes, and mutter sleepily:
'Is that you, Bob? I hae been dreamin', I doobt.'
'Gin ye dinna learn to dream quaieter, ye'll get you and me tu into mair
trouble nor I care to hae aboot ye, ye rascal. Haud the tongue o' ye,
and eat this tawtie, gin ye want onything mair. And here's a bit o'
reamy cakes tu ye. Ye winna get that in ilka hoose i' the toon. It's my
grannie's especial.'
Robert felt relieved after this, for he had eaten all the cakes Miss
Napier had given him, and had had a pain in his conscience ever since.
'Hoo got ye a haud o' 't?' asked Shargar, evidently supposing he had
stolen it.
'She gies me a bit noo and than.'
'And ye didna eat it yersel'? Eh, Bob!'
Shargar was somewhat overpowered at this fresh proof of Robert's
friendship. But Robert was still more ashamed of what he had not done.
He took the blue coat carefully from the bed, and hung it in its place
again, satisfied now, from the way his grannie had spoken, or, rather,
declined to speak, about it, that it had belonged to his father.
'Am I to rise?' asked Shargar, not understanding the action.
'Na, na, lie still. Ye'll be warm eneuch wantin' thae sovereigns. I'll
lat ye oot i' the mornin' afore grannie's up. And ye maun mak' the best
o't efter that till it's dark again. We'll sattle a' aboot it at the
schuil the morn. Only we maun be circumspec', ye ken.'
'Ye cudna lay yer han's upo' a drap o' whusky, cud ye, Bob?'
Robert stared in horror. A boy like that asking for whisky! and in his
grandmother's house, too!
'Shargar,' he said solemnly, 'there's no a drap o' whusky i' this hoose.
It's awfu' to hear ye mention sic a thing. My grannie wad smell the
verra name o' 't a mile awa'. I doobt that's her fit upo' the stair
a'ready.'
Robert crept to the door, and Shargar sat staring with horror, his eyes
looking from the gloom of the bed like those of a half-strangled dog.
But it was a false alarm, as Robert presently returned to announce.
'Gin ever ye sae muckle as mention whusky again, no to say drink ae drap
o' 't, you and me pairt company, and that I tell you, Shargar,' said he,
emphatically.
'I'll never luik at it; I'll never mint at dreamin' o' 't,' answered
Shargar, coweringly. 'Gin she pits 't intil my moo', I'll spit it oot.
But gin ye strive wi' me, Bob, I'll cut my throat--I will; an' that'll
be seen and heard tell o'.'
All this time, save during the alarm of Mrs. Falconer's approach,
when he sat with a mouthful of hot potato, unable to move his jaws for
terror, and the remnant arrested half-way in its progress from his mouth
after the bite--all this time Shargar had been devouring the provisions
Robert had brought him, as if he had not seen food that day. As soon as
they were finished, he begged for a drink of water, which Robert managed
to procure for him. He then left him for the night, for his longer
absence might have brought his grandmother after him, who had perhaps
only too good reasons for being doubtful, if not suspicious, about boys
in general, though certainly not about Robert in particular. He carried
with him his books from the other garret-room where he kept them,
and sat down at the table by his grandmother, preparing his Latin and
geography by her lamp, while she sat knitting a white stocking with
fingers as rapid as thought, never looking at her work, but staring
into the fire, and seeing visions there which Robert would have given
everything he could call his own to see, and then would have given his
life to blot out of the world if he had seen them. Quietly the evening
passed, by the peaceful lamp and the cheerful fire, with the Latin on
the one side of the table, and the stocking on the other, as if ripe and
purified old age and hopeful unstained youth had been the only extremes
of humanity known to the world. But the bitter wind was howling by fits
in the chimney, and the offspring of a nobleman and a gipsy lay asleep
in the garret, covered with the cloak of an old Highland rebel.
At nine o'clock, Mrs. Falconer rang the bell for Betty, and they had
worship. Robert read a chapter, and his grandmother prayed an extempore
prayer, in which they that looked at the wine when it was red in the
cup, and they that worshipped the woman clothed in scarlet and seated
upon the seven hills, came in for a strange mixture, in which the
vengeance yielded only to the pity.
'Lord, lead them to see the error of their ways,' she cried. 'Let the
rod of thy wrath awake the worm of their conscience that they may know
verily that there is a God that ruleth in the earth. Dinna lat them gang
to hell, O Lord, we beseech thee.'
As soon as prayers were over, Robert had a tumbler of milk and some more
oat-cake, and was sent to bed; after which it was impossible for him to
hold any further communication with Shargar. For his grandmother, little
as one might suspect it who entered the parlour in the daytime, always
slept in that same room, in a bed closed in with doors like those of a
large press in the wall, while Robert slept in a little closet, looking
into a garden at the back of the house, the door of which opened from
the parlour close to the head of his grandmother's bed. It was just
large enough to hold a good-sized bed with curtains, a chest of drawers,
a bureau, a large eight-day clock, and one chair, leaving in the centre
about five feet square for him to move about in. There was more room
as well as more comfort in the bed. He was never allowed a candle, for
light enough came through from the parlour, his grandmother thought; so
he was soon extended between the whitest of cold sheets, with his knees
up to his chin, and his thoughts following his lost father over
all spaces of the earth with which his geography-book had made him
acquainted.
He was in the habit of leaving his closet and creeping through his
grandmother's room before she was awake--or at least before she
had given any signs to the small household that she was restored to
consciousness, and that the life of the house must proceed. He therefore
found no difficulty in liberating Shargar from his prison, except
what arose from the boy's own unwillingness to forsake his comfortable
quarters for the fierce encounter of the January blast which awaited
him. But Robert did not turn him out before the last moment of safety
had arrived; for, by the aid of signs known to himself, he watched
the progress of his grandmother's dressing--an operation which did
not consume much of the morning, scrupulous as she was with regard to
neatness and cleanliness--until Betty was called in to give her careful
assistance to the final disposition of the mutch, when Shargar's exit
could be delayed no longer. Then he mounted to the foot of the second
stair, and called in a keen whisper,
'Noo, Shargar, cut for the life o' ye.'
And down came the poor fellow, with long gliding steps, ragged and
reluctant, and, without a word or a look, launched himself out into the
cold, and sped away he knew not whither. As he left the door, the only
suspicion of light was the dull and doubtful shimmer of the snow that
covered the street, keen particles of which were blown in his face by
the wind, which, having been up all night, had grown very cold, and
seemed delighted to find one unprotected human being whom it might
badger at its own bitter will. Outcast Shargar! Where he spent the
interval between Mrs. Falconer's door and that of the school, I do not
know. There was a report amongst his school-fellows that he had been
found by Scroggie, the fish-cadger, lying at full length upon the back
of his old horse, which, either from compassion or indifference, had not
cared to rise up under the burden. They said likewise that, when accused
by Scroggie of housebreaking, though nothing had to be broken to get in,
only a string with a peculiar knot, on the invention of which the
cadger prided himself, to be undone, all that Shargar had to say in his
self-defence was, that he had a terrible sair wame, and that the horse
was warmer nor the stanes i' the yard; and he had dune him nae ill, nae
even drawn a hair frae his tail--which would have been a difficult feat,
seeing the horse's tail was as bare as his hoof.