"I hope you had a pleasant excursion, my dears, on the moor," said Mrs
Maclean, when they entered the house.
"Oh, we had very good fun, and we should have had more if Fanny would
have gone farther," answered Norman. "She cannot stand jokes, and
because I just touched her with my stick she would not go on."
Fanny cast a reproachful glance at Norman. She had determined not to
complain of him, and now he was trying to make it appear that he had
come back through her want of temper. This was very hard indeed to
bear, but she did not attempt to defend herself, for she knew that her
granny would be aware of the truth, and that satisfied her, and she was
unwilling to make her little brother appear to disadvantage in the eyes
of their hostess.
"I shall be very happy to take Norman out again whenever he likes, and I
hope that I shall be able to draw him farther than I did to-day," she
said quietly.
Mrs Maclean was a very kind lady, an old friend of their granny's, and
Fanny thought her very like her; she had the same quiet, but yet firm,
manner, and she seemed to take an interest in what she and Norman said
and did, and to be anxious to amuse them.
Mr Maclean was a Highland gentleman who preferred spending his days
among his native moors and heathery hills, to living in a town and
mixing in the world.
Norman whispered to Fanny that he thought he was an old farmer, when he
first saw him in his tartan shooting-coat and trowsers, with a bonnet on
his head, a plaid over his shoulders, and a thick stick in his hand.
Old as he was, however, he could walk many a mile over those heathery
hills he loved so well, and not only Norman, but Norman's papa, might
have had some difficulty in keeping up with him. He was as kind as Mrs
Maclean, and soon took a great fancy to Fanny; Norman discovered that,
somehow or other, he did not stand so well in his opinion.
The laird, as he was called, now entered the room--"Well, young people,
you took but a short excursion to-day," he observed; "perhaps, Mistress
Fanny, you found the carriage rather heavy to drag, and if you have a
fancy for a row on the loch, as I am going down after luncheon to try
and catch a few trout for dinner, I shall be glad to take you with me."
"Oh, thank you, Mr Maclean, I should so like to go," answered Fanny.
"May we, mamma? may we, granny?"
Mrs Leslie and her mamma willingly gave their consent.
"I must ask you to take care that Norman does not tumble into the water,
though," said Mrs Vallery.
"I will make a line fast to the young gentleman's leg, and soon haul him
out again if he does," answered Mr Maclean, laughing.
"I can take very good care of myself, thank you," said Norman; "but I
should like to see you catch some fish, if they are good big ones."
"There are not finer in any loch in Scotland, but they will not always
rise to the fly," observed Mr Maclean.
As soon as luncheon was over, the laird, carrying his rod and
fishing-basket, and accompanied by his two young friends, set off for
the loch. On their way they were joined by Sandy Fraser, a tall, thin,
old man, with grey hairs escaping from under his bonnet. Sandy had been
Mr Maclean's constant attendant from his boyhood, and had followed him
to many parts of the world which he had visited before he settled down
in his Highland home.
On reaching the loch, they found a boat, and Sandy took the oars. The
two children were placed in the centre, Mr Maclean took his seat in the
stern, and Sandy rowed away towards the further end of the loch. On one
side the hills, with here and there bare, grey rocks appearing on their
steep sides, rose directly out of the water, and were reflected on its
calm surface.
"Why, the hills are standing on their heads," exclaimed Norman, who for
the first time in his life had witnessed such a scene.
Rowing on, they passed several pretty islands covered thickly with
trees, among which, Fanny said, she should like to have a hut and live
like Robinson Crusoe.
"No, I should be Robinson Crusoe, and you should be Friday," exclaimed
Norman, who knew the story, as it was in one of Fanny's picture-books.
"Young gentleman, you should be proud of working for your sister,"
observed the laird, who was busy getting his fishing-tackle ready. "It
is far more manly to work for others, than to let others work for you."
Norman held his tongue, for he had an opinion that he had better not
contradict the old gentleman as he was accustomed to do other persons.
Fanny watched Mr Maclean with great curiosity, as, at length having
reached a spot where, the breeze playing over the surface, he expected
the fish to rise, he began to throw the little fly at the end of his
long line. Now he made it skim the water from one side to the other,
now he drew it towards him, always keeping it in motion, just as a real
fly would play over the surface. On a sudden there was a splash, and
for an instant the head of a fish was seen above the surface, and the
tip of the light rod bending, the line ran rapidly out of his reel. The
laird began at length to wind up the line, in vain the poor fish swam
here and there, it could not get the sharp hook out of its mouth.
Sandy, laying in his oars, got the landing-net ready. The rod was so
light that it could not have borne the weight of the fish, but by
putting the net beneath it he easily lifted it into the boat.
"Oh, what a fine fish," exclaimed Fanny, as she examined the large loch
trout which had been caught; "what delicate colours it has! How
beautifully it is marked on the back!"
"We must get a few more, though, to make up our dish," said Mr Maclean,
getting his line ready for another throw.
A second unwary trout was soon caught, and a third, and a fourth.
"I should like to fish too," exclaimed Norman. "Won't you let me have
your long stick and string, Mr Maclean? It seems very easy, and I am
sure I should soon catch some."
The laird laughed heartily.
"You are more likely to tumble into the water, and then we should have
to catch you, young gentleman," he answered. "It will take a good many
years before you can throw a fly, let me tell you."
Norman was not convinced.
"I'll get Sandy to row me out some day."
"He is welcome to do that; but remember, you must not be tumbling
overboard."
"I can take very good care of myself," answered Norman, folding his
arms, and trying to look very grand.
A broad grin came over the countenance of Sandy, who knew enough of
English to understand him. He nodded to his master.
"If he comes with me I will take gude care of the child, and maybe he
will catch a big trout some day; and you will come, young lady, and I
will teach you to catch fish too," he said, turning to Fanny.
"Oh, I am sure I should not like to ran a hook into their mouths, it
must hurt them so dreadfully," answered Fanny.
"They are given to us for food, my little girl," observed Mr Maclean,
"and most conscientiously I believe they suffer no real pain, and
although the instinct of self-preservation makes them wish to escape, I
doubt even whether they are frightened when they feel the hook in their
mouths."
Still Fanny was incredulous, and thought she should never agree with the
laird on that point.
"I do not care whether the fish are hurt or not if I want to catch
them," observed Norman, showing his usual indifference to the feelings
of others, whether human beings or animals.
Fanny enjoyed the row very much, and thanked Sandy for offering to take
her and Norman out.
They reached home in time to have the trout dressed for dinner, and the
laird insisted that the children should come down, and partake of some
of the fish which they, as he said, had assisted to catch.
The laird was fond of the study of natural history, and narrated a
number of anecdotes especially of the sagacity of animals.
"Fanny and I have a difference of opinion as to whether fish when caught
do or do not feel pain," he observed. "I remember reading an anecdote
which, if true, supports what she thinks. A surgeon was one day walking
by the side of a pond in a gentleman's grounds in England, when he saw a
large pike, which had struck its head against a piece of iron projecting
from a sunken log, and was struggling in the water close to the bank.
The fish did not attempt to swim away, nor did it seem alarmed, when the
surgeon stooped down, and lifted it gently out of the water. He at once
saw that the jaw of the fish had been broken, and with his penknife and
some strips of wood and linen, which he had in his pocket, he
dexterously managed to bind up the jaw, after doing which, he placed the
fish in the water. It did not even then swim away, but as long as he
remained on the bank, kept watching him attentively.
"The next day, going down to the pond what was his surprise to see the
fish swim towards him, and poke his head out of the water. He perceived
that some of the bandaging had been displaced, and lifting the fish as
before gently on the bank he dressed the wound, and again returned it to
its native element. As he walked along the bank, the fish swam by his
side, and not till he turned his back, did it dart off into deep water.
"The following day, he again went down to the pond, when the fish swam
up to where he stood, though it did no more than come to the edge, being
apparently satisfied that its wound was going on well. As long as he
remained in the place, the fish invariably appeared whenever he went to
the pond, and swam close to the edge, as he walked along the bank.
"I must confess that that fish must have had as much sense as many other
animals, and probably felt more pain when injured, and would have been
alarmed, if it had been attacked, or had found a hook in its jaws."
"But is the story really true?" asked Fanny.
"It is at all events as well authenticated as many other anecdotes,"
answered the laird. "By-the-by, Mrs Vallery, I should like to witness
the performances of the snake-charmers in India. Have you ever seen
them?"
"Frequently," answered Mrs Vallery. "They are very wonderful, and my
husband has taken some pains to ascertain whether there is any
imposture, but without success. They profess to charm the Cobra de
Capella and other snakes, which are excessively venomous, and abound in
all the hotter parts of the country. It is said, indeed, that 12,000
natives are killed annually by bites from them. The snake-charmers do
not previously train the snakes, but will charm those only just caught,
quite as well as those they carry about with them.
"They use for this purpose, a hollow gourd on which they play a buzzing
music. On one occasion, three men appeared, dressed only in their
turbans and waist cloths, in which it was impossible they could have
concealed any snakes. My husband took them to some wild ground, where
they speedily caught a couple of large cobras, and returning with the
venomous creatures having placed them on the ground, made them rear up
their bodies, and raise and bow their heads, keeping exact time with the
music. After they had ceased, my husband speedily killed the snakes,
and on examining them the poison fangs were found to be perfect.
Generally, however, the snake-charmers either extract the fangs of the
snakes they carry about with them, or wisely employ those which are
harmless. They allow the creatures to crawl over their bodies, and
twist and twine themselves in the most horrible manner round their necks
and arms, and I have seen a snake putting its forked tongue into its
master's mouth.
"There are instances, however, of the venomous serpents biting the
snake-charmers, who have thus lost their lives.
"At one of the stations where my husband was quartered, snakes were very
numerous, and we used to keep a mongoose in the house to destroy them.
It is a pretty little animal, a species of ichneumon with catlike habits
and a very prying disposition. The common idea is, that if bitten by a
venomous serpent, it runs to find a particular herb, which prevents the
venom taking effect. This, however, is not really the case, the
mongoose depends upon its own vigilance and great agility for escaping
from the fangs of even the most active serpent, for if bitten, it would
die like any other animal.
"I should not like to see men allowing snakes to put their tongues in
their mouths, even though I knew that the fangs had been taken out,"
observed Fanny. "But I should like to see the jugglers you were
speaking of, mamma, who performed such wonderful tricks."
"I was mentioning the Indian gipsies or Nutts, as they are called, who
travel as those in England used to do, from one end of the country to
the other, and appear to have no settled home. A party arrived one day
at our station, and offered to exhibit their tricks, and your papa gave
them leave to do so.
"There were among them several persons of all ages. First an old man
took his seat on the ground and began violently beating a drum, shouting
out that we should soon see what we should see. Meantime a young man
and a boy had fixed firmly in the ground a bamboo nearly thirty feet
high, and while thus engaged, another man singing in a monotonous voice,
was running round and round it. Presently a woman who was standing by,
leaped on the shoulder of the running man, who did not stop, but
continued his course as before, rapidly increasing his speed. In
another minute she had leaped on his head, and there she stood with
perfect steadiness, while he ran still faster, and the old man beat the
drum louder and louder, shrieking all the time, even more shrilly than
before, till the noise became almost deafening.
"While our senses were somewhat bewildered by the sound, the boy ran up
to the running man with a large earthen pot, which the latter in a
wonderful way placed on his head; the woman having, I suppose, in the
meantime put her feet on his shoulders, for before I could follow her
movements she appeared standing on the top of the pot, the man still
running round as before.
"The man who had been fixing the pole in the earth, now advanced, and
taking up a heavy stone ball which it would have required a strong man
to lift even a few inches from the ground, began playing with it,
catching it now on one shoulder, now on the other, then in his hands,
and on his arms and feet. Next he threw up two ivory balls, quickly
adding others in succession, till there were no less than eight kept in
motion at the same time, flying up in the air.
"The first party, who had in the meantime been resting, now arranged a
flat circular brass dish, of considerable size, on which were placed
four pillars about three inches high. These were connected by four
sticks, with other sticks above them, and then more pillars, and so on,
till there were fully thirty pillars one above another, with a brass
dish on the top of all. We thought it surprising that this structure
could stand as it did, but greater was our amazement to see it lifted on
the man's head while he was circling round the post, and still more
astonished were we, when the woman sprang like lightning up in the air
and stood on the top of all, as steadily as if she was on the ground,
while the man continued rapidly circling round.
"After this, one of the men leaped on the shoulders of the other, who
was standing close to the pole, and then the woman making use of them as
a ladder, sprang to the very top of the pole, on the point of which she
lay in a horizontal position, when one of the men who had followed her,
touching her foot, she began to spin round and round, like the card of a
pocket compass on its point.
"The men performed a variety of other tricks, but those I have mentioned
are the most wonderful.
"Here was no room for deception, though many of the tricks performed by
Indian jugglers are really the result of clever sleight-of-hand."
"I think I would rather see the tricks which the conjuror did when we
went to the Egyptian Hall last year with granny," said Fanny; "I never
like to look at people who are doing things by which if they make a
mistake they may hurt themselves. I should not like to have seen
Blondin, and the other people we read of in the newspapers, who run
along tight ropes high up in the air."
"I should think them very foolish for their pains, and wish them a
better mode of gaining their livelihood," observed Mr Maclean, "and I
agree with Fanny. A sailor has to climb the rigging of his ship, but
then he goes in the way of duty, and when people mount in balloons, they
have generally a scientific object in view, or some reason to offer.
But in my opinion, the rest of the world should keep their feet on the
earth as long as they can."
Even Norman, was interested in this conversation, and declared that he
recollected the performances of the jugglers which his mamma spoke of.
He then described several scenes which he had witnessed in India, in a
very clear way.
"You have got a head on your shoulders, young gentleman," observed the
laird; "I only hope you have got your heart in its right place."
Mrs Leslie sighed, for she was afraid that her little grandson had been
so long allowed to have his own way, that though his heart might be in
its right place, as the common expression is, it was sadly choked up
with the bad seed of weeds, which were already beginning to sprout The
next day was rainy, and neither Fanny nor Norman could go out. He
behaved himself tolerably well in the drawing-room, but when they were
at play together, he ordered her about in his usual dictatorial manner,
and said several things which greatly tried her temper.
"Although he is so forward in many things, and talks so well, he is but
a little boy after all," she thought; "it is, however, easy to feel
amiable and good when I am not opposed, but I ought to try and be so,
notwithstanding all he says and does."
The following day was bright and fine, and as Sandy could not take them,
out in the boat, the laird asked Fanny and Norman whether they would
like to make another excursion with the carriage. "Oh yes! I shall
like it very much," exclaimed Norman. "Please cut me another long
stick, for Fanny broke the one you gave me the other day."
Fanny did not say why she broke it, so the laird cut another long thin
wand, and gave it to Norman.
"Ah, this will make my horse go on at a good quick pace," he observed,
flourishing it. "I won't ask you to drag me up the hill, because you
can't," he said to Fanny, "so if you will pull, I'll push behind."
"That is very right of you," observed the laird, as his young friends
set off on their excursion. "He is a fine little fellow, though too
much addicted to boasting."
Fanny, with Norman pushing behind, soon dragged the carriage up the
hill. He then declared that he was tired, and getting in told her to
move on.
As the ground was tolerably smooth, she was able to do so at a speed
which satisfied the young gentleman.
"Capital," he cried out, flourishing his stick, "my horse draws fast, go
on, go on; now see if you can't gallop."
Fanny exerted herself to the utmost, and the air being pure and fresh
she felt in good spirits.
The ground after some time became rather rougher, but Norman did not
mind the bumping and thumping of the carriage, though it was much harder
work for Fanny.
She at last began to go slower.
"Can't you keep it up," he cried out. "If you do not! Remember I have
got my stick!"
"You must also remember how I treated you the last time," said Fanny,
"and if you use your stick as you did then, I will leave you in the
carriage and run away."
"You had better not," said Norman. "You promised to take care of me.
Mamma will be angry if you leave me on the moor all alone by myself."
"Very well, do not beat me with your stick, and I will drag you on as
fast as I can," said Fanny.
Norman remembering that Fanny had broken his stick before, thought it
would be wise not to tempt her to do so again, and therefore, though he
continued to flourish it, and now and then to touch her frock, he did
not venture to beat her.
Fanny went on contentedly, sometimes turning round to speak to him and
sometimes stopping to rest. As the ground looked smoother to the right,
Fanny turned off from the main track and went towards a clump of trees
which she saw in the distance, knowing that it would serve as a guide to
her and believing she could easily find her way back again.
On and on they went--Norman was delighted.
"This is great fun; I wonder where we shall get to at last," he said,
when Fanny again stopped to rest. "I think it will be soon time,
however, to go back again," she observed, "for though Mr Maclean told
us we could come to no harm on the moor, we might lose our way if we
went very far."
Norman urged her to go on.
"I see a cottage a little way off between the trees, let us go as far as
that, and then we can turn back," he said.
Fanny wished to please him and though she already felt a little tired,
she thought there would be no difficulty in reaching the cottage, and
that she would like to talk to the people who lived in it. At length,
however, the ground became rougher than ever, and they soon came to a
shallow burn or stream which made its way from the higher part of the
moor, and went winding along till it fell into the loch below.
"I am afraid we must turn back now at all events," she said, "I shall
never be able to drag the carriage over this rough ground and across the
stream, so we must go back and give up visiting the cottage."
"Oh no, no! go on," cried Norman, "you can easily cross the water, it is
scarcely above the soles of your shoes and see there are some big stones
on which you can tread while you drag the carriage along on one side of
them."
"I think I could do that if you were not in it," said Fanny, "I must not
let you, however, run the risk of wetting your feet; mamma objects to
that as she is afraid of your catching cold. If you will cling round my
neck, I will carry you across in my arms, and then I will go back and
get the carriage."
"That will do very well," said Norman. "Lift me up! Be quick about it,
and we shall soon be across."
Fanny dragging the carriage to the edge of the stream took up Norman,
and though he was a heavy weight for her to carry, still she thought
that she could take him across in safety. She had to tread very
carefully and slowly as the stream though shallow was wide and the
stones uneven.
They had not gone many paces when Norman declared that she did not move
fast enough.
"If I attempt to move faster I may let you fall," she answered.
"You had better not do that or mamma will be angry with you, and I am
sure if you chose you could go faster than you are doing. Come, move
on, move on," cried out the young tyrant, nourishing his stick, and
ungrateful little boy that he was, he began to beat Fanny with it
knowing that she dare not let him fall.
"Keep quiet, Norman," she exclaimed, "it is very naughty of you! You
will make me let you drop, though I should be very sorry to do so."
Norman looked wickedly in her face, and only hit her harder.
As he was flourishing his stick, he knocked off her hat--she caught it,
however, but in doing so she very nearly let him drop into the water.
Still, though she begged and begged him to be quiet, he continued
beating her, till after considerable exertions she reached dry ground in
safety, and gladly put him down.
"Now, Norman," she exclaimed, "what do you deserve?"
"I do not care what I deserve, but I know that you had better not slap
my face, for mamma was angry with you when you did so before, and papa
says he won't allow anybody to beat me but himself, so just go and get
the carriage as you said you would. You must not leave it there,
somebody will run away with it, and I shall have to walk all the way
home."
"Very well, do you stay where you are, and I will go and bring it
across," said Fanny.
Norman agreed to stop, and Fanny went back carefully making her way over
the stepping-stones. She found the task of dragging the carriage across
without stepping into the water much greater than she had expected.
Norman shouted to her to make haste.
"I am doing my best, and cannot go faster," she answered.
"If you are not quicker I will stay here no longer," answered Norman.
Without stopping to see whether she did move faster, off he ran.
At that moment poor Fanny's foot slipped, and before she could regain
her balance, down she fell into the stream. In doing so she hurt her
arm, and wet her clothes almost all over. Norman, instead of coming to
help her, laughed heartily at her misfortune, and scampered away crying
out, "It served you light, you should have come faster when I told you."
Poor Fanny felt very much inclined to cry with vexation, but knowing
that that would do no good, she managed to scramble up again, and as her
feet were wet, she stepped on through the water, and soon got the
carriage to the other side of the stream. As Norman did not come back
to her, she ran after him, dragging it on.
"Norman! Norman!" she cried out, but instead of coming back, he made
his way towards the cottage.
She had nearly overtaken him just as they had got close to it, when the
door opened, and an old man appeared, followed by a little fair-haired
child, much younger than Norman.
"What is the matter?" asked the old man, eyeing the two children whose
voices he had heard.
"My young brother ran away from me, and I tumbled down and wet my
frock," answered Fanny.
"Come in, then, and dry yourself," said the old man.
"But I have wet my stockings and shoes," said Fanny, "and they will take
a long time to dry."
"I shall be happy to have your company, my pretty lassie, as long as you
like to stay," said the old man. "I ken ye are staying with Glen
Tulloch and ony of his friends are welcome here."
"We are staying with Mr Maclean," answered Fanny, "and were making an
excursion over the moor, when we saw your cottage, and thought we should
like to visit you."
"We call Mr Maclean Glen Tulloch about here, as that's the name of his
house," answered the old man. "Come in! come in! We will soon get your
wet shoes and stockings off, though I am afraid you must sit without any
while they are drying, for Robby there has never had a pair to his feet,
and my old slippers are too large for you, I have a notion."
Fanny observed that though the old man used a few Scotch expressions, he
spoke English perfectly. His dress, too, was more like that of a sailor
than the costume worn by the surrounding peasantry.
Norman, who had also come into the house, stood while they were
speaking, eyeing the little boy, without saying anything. At last,
looking up at the old man, he asked, "Is that your son?"
"No, young gentleman, he is my grandson," was the answer, "he is the
only one alive of all my family, and I am to him as father and mother,
and nurse and playmate. Am I not, Robby?"
"Yes, grandfather," answered the child, looking up affectionately at the
old man, "I do not want any one to play with but you."
"Would you not like a ride in our little carriage?" asked Fanny. "As
soon as my shoes and stockings are dry I shall be happy to draw you."
Robby nodded his head, and came near to Fanny.
"Would you not like to go out and play with the young gentleman?" asked
the old man.
"I do not want him," said Norman haughtily; "I am not accustomed to play
with little brats of that sort."
"Oh, Norman, how can you say that?" exclaimed Fanny, very much annoyed.
"Is he your brother, young lady?" asked the old man, looking with a
pitying eye on Norman, but not at all angry.
"Yes," said Fanny.
"I should not have thought it. There is a wide difference between you,
I see."
Fanny did not quite understand him.
Norman sat himself down on a stool in the corner of the room, and folded
his arms in the fashion which he adopted when he wished to be dignified.
"You have come a long way from Glen Tulloch, young lady, and I must see
you safe back, for your young brother I have a notion is not likely to
be much help to you," said the old man; "Robby, though he is very small,
is accustomed to take care of the house, for I often have to leave him
by himself."
Fanny thanked him, for, recollecting the difficulties she encountered in
coming, she felt somewhat anxious about the homeward journey, especially
as Norman had behaved so ill, and very likely would continue in his
present mood.
Her stockings were soon dry, but her boots took longer, and were
somewhat stiff when she put them on. They were some which her mamma had
brought her from Paris, and were not very well suited for walking in the
Highlands.
"I am afraid I have nothing to offer you to eat suitable to your taste,
young lady," said the old man, "though you must be hungry after your
long journey. Robby and I live on `brose' to our breakfast, dinner, and
supper, but will you just take a cup of milk? it was fresh this morning,
and you may want it after your walk."
Fanny gladly accepted the old man's offer, and then looked at Norman.
The cup of milk greatly restored her. The old man, without saying a
word, brought another and offered it to Norman.
The young gentleman took it without scarcely saying thank you. Again,
the old man cast a look of compassion on him.
"Poor boy," he said quietly, "he kens no better."
Robby bad in the meantime run out, and was admiring the carriage by
himself, thinking how much he should like to have it to drag about, and
to bring the meal home in, instead of allowing his grandfather to carry
it on his back.
Fanny was curious all the time, to learn something more about their
host. He was evidently different to the other people around, and it
seemed so strange that he and the little boy should be living together
in that lone cottage on the wild moor. But she did not like to ask him
questions, and as he did not offer to say anything more about himself
than he had done, she restrained her curiosity intending to ask Mr
Maclean more about him when she got home.
At last her clothes, and boots, and stockings being dry, she told the
old man that she thought it was time to begin their homeward journey.
"As you wish, young lady," he answered, and accompanied her and Norman
out of the cottage. They found Robby at the door, looking at the
carriage.
"Oh, you must get in," said Fanny, "and I will draw you. My brother can
walk very well some of the way."
"Thank you, young lady," said the old man; "if you will let Robby have a
ride, I will draw the carriage, and let him come a little way, but he
must go back, and look after the house, and it would be over far for him
to return, if he came with us to Glen Tulloch."
Norman looked very angry when Robby got into the carriage, and he
himself had to walk, but he dared not complain, as there was something
in the old man's manner which made him stand in awe of him.
After they had gone a short distance, his grandfather told Robby to run
back, and thanking Fanny, invited Norman to get in. The young gentleman
did so, but he did not use his stick, as he had done when Fanny was
dragging him.
They easily crossed the stream, and Fanny was surprised to find how soon
they reached the top of the hill near Glen Tulloch.
"Now, young lady, you can easily take the carriage home, so I will wish
you good-bye," said the old man; "I hope you will come soon again--it
does my heart good to see you." Fanny promised, if she was allowed,
soon again to pay him a visit, and wishing him good-bye, while he
strolled back over the moor, she dragged the carriage down the hill.
She met the laird setting out to look for her and Norman.
"Why, my bonny lassie, the ladies were afraid that you had wandered away
over the moor and lost yourselves, you have been so long away, and they
sent me off to try and find you."
Fanny, without blaming Norman, told him of their adventure in the
stream, and their meeting with the old man and his little grandson in
the lone hut on the moor.
"Ah, that was old Alec Morrison," observed the laird. "His is a sad
history, I will tell it you by-and-by, but come along home and satisfy
the ladies that you are not lost."
"I am very glad you have come back at last, Fanny, we were getting
anxious about you," said Mrs Vallery. "I must not allow you to make
excursions with Norman unless you can manage to come back with him in
good time."
"I will try and manage better another time, mamma," she said, looking up
after a minute's silence. "I should very much like to pay another visit
to the old man who was so kind to us, and to take something for his
little grandson. Poor little fellow, I pity him so much having to live
out on a wild moor, where there are no other children to play with him.
His grandfather says he often leaves him alone in the cottage by
himself."
"I cannot promise positively to let you go," said Mrs Vallery, "but I
am sure that you will do your best to return in good time. I hope to be
able to do so, and I should wish you to take something for the poor
little child you speak of."
"Thank you, mamma," said Fanny, kissing Mrs Vallery affectionately, and
forgetting all about the way Norman had treated her, she ran off to
prepare for tea.