‘Girzy,’ said the Laird to his daughter, as they entered the
dining-room, ‘gae to thy bed and bring a cod for Mr. Walkinshaw, for
he’ll no can thole to sit down on our hard chairs.’
Miss Girzy laughed as she retired to execute the order, while her
mother continued, as she had done from the first introduction, to
inspect Claud from head to foot, with a curious and something of a
suspicious eye; there was even an occasional flush that gleamed through
the habitual paleness of her thoughtful countenance, redder and warmer
than the hectic glow of mere corporeal indisposition. Her attention,
however, was soon drawn to the spacious round table, in the middle of
the room, by one of the maids entering with a large pewter tureen, John
Drappie, the manservant, having been that morning sent on some caption
and horning business of the Laird’s to Gabriel Beagle, the Kilmarnock
lawyer. But, as the critics hold it indelicate to describe the details
of any refectionary supply, however elegant, we must not presume to
enumerate the series and succession of Scottish fare, which soon
crowned the board, all served on pewter as bright as plate. Our readers
must endeavour, by the aid of their own fancies, to form some idea of
the various forms in which the head and harigals of the sheep, that
had been put to death for the occasion, were served up, not forgetting
the sonsy, savoury, sappy haggis, together with the gude fat hen, the
float whey, which, in a large china punch-bowl, graced the centre of
the table, and supplied the place of jellies, tarts, tartlets, and
puddings.
By the time the table was burdened, Miss Girzy had returned with the
pillow, which she herself placed in one of the armchairs, shaking and
patting it into plumpness, as she said,--
‘Come round here, Mr. Walkinshaw,--I trow ye’ll fin’ this a saft easy
seat,--well do I ken what it is to be saddle-sick mysel’. Lordsake,
when I gaed in ahint my father to see the robber hanged at Ayr, I was
for mair than three days just as if I had sat doun on a heckle.’
When the cloth was removed, and the ladies had retired, the Laird
opened his mind by stretching his arm across the table towards his
guest, and, shaking him again heartily by the hand,--
‘Weel, Grippy,’ said he, ‘but am blithe to see you here; and, if am
no mistaen, Girzy will no be ill to woo.--Is na she a coothy and kind
creature?--She’ll make you a capital wife.--There’s no another in the
parish that kens better how to manage a house.--Man, it would do your
heart gude to hear how she rants among the servan’ lasses, lazy sluts,
that would like nothing better than to live at heck and manger, and
bring their master to a morsel; but I trow Girzy gars them keep a trig
house and a birring wheel.’
‘No doubt, Laird,’ replied Claud, ‘but it’s a comfort to hae a frugal
woman for a helpmate; but ye ken nowadays it’s no the fashion for bare
legs to come thegither.--The wife maun hae something to put in the pot
as well as the man.--And, although Miss Girzy may na be a’thegither
objectionable, yet it would still be a pleasant thing baith to hersel’
and the man that gets her, an ye would just gi’e a bit inkling o’ what
she’ll hae.’
‘Is na she my only dochter? That’s a proof and test that she’ll get
a’,--naebody needs to be teld mair.’
‘Vera true, Laird,’ rejoined the suitor, ‘but the leddy’s life’s in her
lip, and if ony thing were happening to her, ye’re a hale man, and wha
kens what would be the upshot o’ a second marriage?’
‘That’s looking far ben,’ replied the Laird, and he presently added,
more briskly, ‘My wife, to be sure, is a frail woman, but she’s no the
gear that ’ill traike.’
In this delicate and considerate way, the overture to a purpose of
marriage was opened; and, not to dwell on particulars, it is sufficient
to say, that, in the course of little more than a month thereafter,
Miss Girzy was translated into the Leddy of Grippy; and in due season
presented her husband with a son and heir, who was baptized by the name
of Charles.
When the birth was communicated to the Laird, he rode expressly to
Grippy to congratulate his son-in-law on the occasion; and, when they
were sitting together, in the afternoon, according to the fashion of
the age, enjoying the contents of the gardevin entire, Claud warily
began to sound him on a subject that lay very near his heart.
‘Laird,’ said he, ‘ye ken the Walkinshaws of Kittlestonheugh are o’ a
vera ancient blood, and but for the doited prank o’ my grandfather,
in sending my father on that gouk’s errand to the Darien, the hills
are green and the land broad that should this day hae been mine; and,
therefore, to put it out o’ the power of posterity to play at any sic
wastrie again, I mean to entail the property of the Grippy.’
‘That’s a very good conceit,’ replied the Laird, ‘and I hae mysel’ had
a notion of entailing the Plealands likewise.’
‘So I hae heard you say,’ rejoined Claud, ‘and now that the bairn’s
born, and a laddie too, we may make ae work o’t.’
‘Wi’ a’ my heart,’ replied the Laird, ‘nothing can be more agreeable to
me; but as I wish to preserve the name of my family, than whilk there’s
no a more respectit in Scotland, I’ll only covenant that when Charlie
succeeds me, that he’ll take the name o’ Hypel.’
‘Ye surely, Laird, would ne’er be so unreasonable,’ replied Grippy, a
little hastily; ‘ye can ne’er be sae unreasonable as to expect that the
lad would gie up his father’s name, the name o’ Walkinshaw, and take
only that of Hypel.’
‘’Deed would I,’ said the Laird, ‘for no haeing a son o’ my own to come
after me, it’s surely very natural that I would like the Hypels to
kittle again in my oe through my only dochter.’
‘The Walkinshaws, I doubt,’ replied Claud emphatically, ‘will ne’er
consent to sic an eclipse as that.’
‘The lands of Plealands,’ retorted the Laird, ‘are worth something.’
‘So it was thought, or I doubt the heir o’t would nae hae been a
Walkinshaw,’ replied Claud, still more pertinaciously.
‘Weel, weel,’ said the Laird, ‘dinna let us argol bargol about it;
entail your own property as ye will, mine shall be on the second son;
ye can ne’er object to that.’
‘Second son, and the first scarce sax days auld! I tell you what it
is, an ye’ll no make the entail on the first, that is, on Charlie
Walkinshaw, to be Walkinshaw, mind that, I’ll no say what may happen in
the way o’ second sons.’
‘The Plealands’ my ain, and though I canna weel will it awa’, and ne’er
will sell’t, yet get it wha will, he maun tak the name o’ Hypel. The
thing’s sae settled, Grippy, and it’s no for you and me to cast out
about it.’
Claud made several attempts to revive the subject, and to persuade the
Laird to change his mind, but he was inflexible. Still, however, being
resolved, as far as in him lay, to anticipate the indiscretion of his
heirs, he executed a deed of entail on Charles; and for a considerable
time after the Laird was not a little confirmed in his determination
not to execute any deed in favour of Charles, but to reserve his lands
for the second son, by the very reason that might have led another
sort of person to act differently, namely, that he understood there was
no prospect of any such appearing.
Towards the end, however, of the third year after the birth of
Charles, Claud communicated to the Laird, that, by some unaccountable
dispensation, Mrs. Walkinshaw was again in the way to be a mother,
adding, ‘Noo, Laird, ye’ll hae your ain way o’t;’ and, accordingly,
as soon as Walter, the second son, was born, and baptized, the lands
of Plealands were entailed on him, on condition, as his grandfather
intended, that he should assume the name of Hypel.