For several years after the birth of Walter, no event of any
consequence happened in the affairs of Claud. He continued to persevere
in the parsimonious system which had so far advanced his fortune. His
wife was no less industrious on her part, for, in the meantime, she
presented him with a daughter and another son, and had reared calves
and grumphies innumerable, the profit of which, as she often said, was
as good as the meal and malt o’ the family. By their united care and
endeavours, Grippy thus became one of the wealthiest men of that age
in Glasgow; but although different desirable opportunities presented
themselves for investing his money in other and more valuable land, he
kept it ever ready to redeem any portion of his ancestral estate that
might be offered for sale.
The satisfaction which he enjoyed from his accumulative prospects was
not, however, without a mixture of that anxiety with which the cup
of human prosperity, whether really full, or only foaming, is always
embittered. The Laird, his father-in-law, in the deed of entail which
he executed of the Plealands, had reserved to himself a power of
revocation, in the event of his wife dying before him, in the first
instance, and of Walter and George, the two younger sons of Grippy,
either dying under age, or refusing to take the name of Hypel, in the
second. This power, both under the circumstances, and in itself, was
perfectly reasonable; and perhaps it was the more vexatious to the
meditations of Claud, that it happened to be so. For he often said
to his wife, as they sat of an evening by the fire-side in the dark,
for as the leddy was no seamstress, and he had as little taste for
literature, of course, they burned no candles when by themselves, and
that was almost every night,--‘I marvel, Girzy, what could gar your
father put that most unsafe claw in his entail. I would na be surprised
if out o’ it were to come a mean of taking the property entirely frae
us. For ye see, if your mither was dead, and, poor woman, she has lang
been in a feckless way, there’s no doubt but your father would marry
again,--and married again, there can be as little doubt that he would
hae childer,--so what then would become o’ ours--’
To this the worthy leddy of Grippy would as feelingly reply,--
‘I’m thinking, gudeman, that ye need na tak the anxieties sae muckle
to heart; for, although my mither has been, past the memory o’ man,
in a complaining condition, I ken nae odds o’ her this many a year;
her ail’s like water to leather; it makes her life the tougher; and I
would put mair confidence in the durability of her complaint than in my
father’s health; so we need na fash ourselves wi’ controverting anent
what may come o’ the death o’ either the t’ane or the t’ither.’
‘But then,’ replied Claud, ‘ye forget the other claw about Watty and
Geordie. Supposing, noo, that they were baith dead and gone, which,
when we think o’ the frush green kail-custock-like nature of bairns, is
no an impossibility in the hands of their Maker. Will it no be the most
hardest thing that ever was seen in the world for Charlie no to inherit
the breadth o’ the blade of a cabaudge o’ a’ his father’s matrimonial
conquest? But even should it please the Lord to spare Watty, is’t
no an afflicting thing, to see sic a braw property as the Plealands
destined to a creature that I am sure his brother Geordie, if he lives
to come to years o’ discretion, will no fail to tak the law o’ for a
haverel?’
‘I won’er to hear you, gudeman,’ exclaimed the leddy, ‘ay mislikening
Watty at that gait. I’m sure he’s as muckle your ain as ony o’ the
ither bairns; and he’s a weel-tempered laddie, lilting like a linty at
the door-cheek frae morning to night, when Charlie’s rampaging about
the farm, riving his claes on bush and brier a’ the summer, tormenting
the birds and mawkins out o’ their vera life.’
‘Singing, Girzy, I’m really distressed to hear you,’ replied the
father; ‘to ca’ yon singing; it’s nothing but lal, lal, lal, lal, wi’
a bow and a bend, backwards and forwards, as if the creature had na
the gumpshion o’ the cuckoo, the whilk has a note mair in its sang,
although it has but twa.’
‘It’s an innocent sang for a’ that; and I wish his brothers may ne’er
do waur than sing the like o’t. But ye just hae a spite at the bairn,
gudeman, ’cause my father has made him the heir to the Plealands.
That’s the gospel truth o’ your being so fain to gar folk trow that my
Watty’s daft.’
‘Ye’re daft, gudewife--are na we speaking here in a rational manner
anent the concerns o’ our family? It would be a sair heart to me to
think that Watty, or any o’ my bairns, were na like the lave o’ the
warld; but ye ken there are degrees o’ capacity, Girzy, and Watty’s,
poor callan, we maun alloo, between oursels, has been meted by a sma’
measure.’
‘Weel, if ever I heard the like o’ that--if the Lord has dealt the
brains o’ our family in mutchkins and chapins, it’s my opinion, that
Watty got his in the biggest stoup; for he’s farther on in every sort
of education than Charlie, and can say his questions without missing
a word, as far as “What is forbidden in the tenth commandment?” And
I ne’er hae been able to get his brother beyond “What is effectual
calling?” Though, I’ll no deny, he’s better at the Mother’s
Carritches; but that a’ comes o’ the questions and answers being so
vera short.’
‘That’s the vera thing, Girzy, that disturbs me,’ replied the father,
‘for the callan can get ony thing by heart, but, after all, he’s just
like a book, for every thing he learns is dead within him, and he’s
ne’er a prin’s worth the wiser o’t. But it’s some satisfaction to me,
that, since your father would be so unreasonably obstinate as to make
away the Plealands past Charlie, he’ll be punished in the gouk he’s
chosen for heir.’
‘Gude guide us; is na that gouk your ain bairn?’ exclaimed the
indignant mother. ‘Surely the man’s fey about his entails and his
properties, to speak o’ the illess laddie, as if it were no better than
a stirk or a stot.--Ye’ll no hae the power to wrang my wean, while the
breath o’ life’s in my body; so, I redde ye, tak tent to what ye try.’
‘Girzy, t’ou has a head, and so has a nail.’
‘Gudeman, ye hae a tongue, and so has a bell.’
‘Weel, weel, but what I was saying a’ concerns the benefit and
advantage o’ our family,’ said Claud, ‘and ye ken as it is our duty to
live for one another, and to draw a’ thegither, it behoves us twa, as
parents, to see that ilk is properly yocket, sin’ it would surely be a
great misfortune, if, after a’ our frugality and gathering, the cart
were cowpit in the dirt at last by ony neglek on our part.’
‘That’s ay what ye say,’ replied the lady,--‘a’s for the family,
and nothing for the dividual bairns--noo that’s what I can never
understand, for is na our family, Charlie, Watty, Geordie, and Meg?’--
‘My family,’ said Claud emphatically, ‘was the Walkinshaws of
Kittlestonheugh, and let me tell you, Girzy Hypel, if it had na been on
their account, there would ne’er hae been a Charlie nor a Watty either
between you and me to plea about.’
‘I’m no denying your parentage--I ne’er said a light word about it, but
I canna comprehend how it is, that ye would mak step-bairns o’ your ain
blithesome childer on account o’ a wheen auld dead patriarchs that
hae been rotten, for aught I ken to the contrary, since before Abraham
begat Isaac.’
‘Haud thy tongue, woman, haud thy tongue. It’s a thrashing o’ the
water, and a raising o’ bells, to speak to ane o’ thy capacity on
things so far aboon thy understanding. Gae but the house, and see gin
the supper’s ready.’
In this manner, the conversations between Grippy and his leddy were
usually conducted to their natural issue, a quarrel, which ended in a
rupture that was only healed by a peremptory command, which sent her on
some household mission, during the performance of which the bickering
was forgotten.