The next morning while they were at breakfast, Fanny asked the laird to
tell her something about Alec Morrison, the old man who had been so kind
to her and her brother the previous day.
"I can only give you the outline of his history, but perhaps you may get
him to narrate some of the many adventures he has gone through," he
answered.
"He was born not far from this, and his mother was a shepherd's only
daughter. His father who belonged also to this neighbourhood, when
quite a young man had driven some cattle to a seaport town when he got
pressed on board a man-of-war, and had sailed away to a foreign station,
before he could let his friends know what had become of him, or take any
steps to obtain his liberation. He had promised to marry Jennie Dow,
whom he truly loved, and had hoped soon to save enough by his industry
to set up house.
"Years and years passed by during which Jennie, who would not believe
that he was dead, remained faithful to him. Her father was getting old,
and her friends advised her to secure a home for herself. She replied
that it would be time enough to do so when her father was dead, and that
as long as he lived, she would stay and look after him.
"At length, on the evening of a summer's day, a one-armed man in a
sailor's dress approached the door. He looked ill and hungry and tired.
He stopped and asked for a cup of milk and a bit of bannock.
"`I will pay for both, gladly,' he said, `and be thankful besides, for
without some food I feel scarcely able to get on even to the village
where, if the friends I once had there are still alive, I am sure to get
a night's lodging and to learn about others, though may be they have
forgotten me long ago.'
"`Come in and sit down, old friend,' said the shepherd, and Jennie
placed a cup of milk and a bannock on the table.
"As she did so she cast an inquiring glance at the face of the stranger.
"`Who are you, friend?' asked Alec Dow. `I am as likely as any one to
tell you of the people in these parts.'
"`I am sure it must be,' exclaimed Jennie, coming forward and placing
her hand on the stranger's shoulder. `Don't you know me, Alec
Morrison?'
"`O Jennie, I thought you must be married long ago!' exclaimed the
sailor, jumping to his feet, `for I could not think that you would have
remembered me. And can you care for me now--a battered old hulk as I
am, with one arm and half-a-dozen bullets through me, besides I don't
know how many cutlass cuts and wounds from pikes?'
"`I have never ceased to hope that you would return,' was Jennie's
answer.
"As his daughter was the only being the old shepherd loved, he allowed
her to marry the wounded sailor, who took up his abode with them, and
served him faithfully till he died.
"Times went hard with Jennie and her husband, for Morrison's
constitution was shattered, and he could not work as hard as he wished.
They had one son, Alec, who grew up a fine manly boy. The sailor was
fond of spinning yarns, to which his son listened with rapt attention,
and longed to meet with the same adventures as his father.
"The boy was little more than twelve years old when his sailor father
died from the wounds he had received fighting his country's battles.
"Though his thoughts often wandered away over the wide ocean which he
had never yet seen, young Alec dutifully did his best to assist his
mother, but she did not long survive her husband, and he was left an
orphan.
"It would have been a hard matter for him living all alone to have made
a livelihood, so he sold two of his heifers to obtain an outfit, and
leaving the remainder as well as his cottage in charge of a relative of
his father's, he started off to the nearest seaport. He had no
difficulty in finding a ship, for he was as likely a lad as a captain
could wish to have on board.
"He sailed away to foreign lands, to the East and West Indies,
Australia, and the wide Pacific, and though he may have visited English
ports in the meantime, many a long year passed before he again saw the
home of his youth.
"He at length came back with a young wife, and some money in his pocket.
He had undoubtedly pictured in his imagination his cottage on the wild
moor as an earthly paradise, and had described it as such to his wife.
When she saw it, she expressed a very different opinion, and complained
of the wretched hovel and savage region to which he had brought her.
Poor Alec told her with all sincerity that he had believed it to be very
different to what he owned it really was. He promised to take her back
to the town where her father lived, although in order to support her he
must again go to sea. His relation was an honest man and promised to
take charge of his property as before, for Alec would not sell it, and
leaving his young wife he once more went to sea.
"On his return from his first voyage, he found that she was dead, and
had left behind her a daughter. He had still the little damsel to work
for, and so the brave sailor placed her under charge of her grandmother,
and again sailed away over the ocean.
"His thoughts often wandered back to his little daughter for whose
benefit he was enduring hardships and dangers--twice he was wrecked, and
many years passed by before he again got home, and found his daughter no
longer a little child but a full-grown woman, and as ready I am afraid
to spend the old sailor's money as her mother had been. He had not,
however, much to give her, and so in a short time off to sea he went
again to get more. Next time he came back feeling that this voyage must
be the last, for he was getting too old to endure the hardships of a
life on the ocean, he found his daughter married to a sailor. Her
husband had soon to go away to sea, and shortly afterwards news came
that his fine ship had foundered, and all on board had perished. His
poor young wife was heart-broken at the news, and not many weeks
afterwards she was taken away, leaving her little boy who was born at
the time to the charge of her father. Her mother's family were all
dead, and Alec Morrison found himself alone in the world with his little
grandson Robby, and possessed of but scanty means of support. He had
just money enough to bring him to his old home in the Highlands.
"His cousin though a poor man had done his best to keep the cottage in
repair, and to preserve a few head of cattle which he handed over to
him.
"The old sailor took up his abode with little Robby in the cottage,
hoping with the small plot of ground surrounding it and his cattle to
obtain the means of supporting himself and his grandson. He, often, I
fear has a difficulty in doing so, but he never complains, and
recollecting how he lived as a boy, often I believe fancies himself one
again.
"He employs his spare time in taming birds and making cages for them,
and in cutting models of vessels and boats, and manufacturing other
articles; indeed, I believe he is never idle, and seems as contented and
happy as if he had been prosperous all his life, and never met with a
misfortune.
"There, I have told you all I know about old Alec and his ancestors and
descendants--four generations if I reckon rightly. I daresay as I
before said, if you ask him that he will be happy to narrate some of the
many adventures he has met with during his voyages. I suspect that he
often, while enjoying his pipe, tells them to Robby as he sits on his
knee during the long winter evenings, though the little fellow must be
puzzled to understand whereabouts they take place, unless he knows more
about geography than probably is the case."
"Thank you, Mr Maclean," exclaimed Fanny, "I long to see old Alec
again, after the account you have given us of him; I feel so sorry for
him that he should have lost his father and mother, his wife and
daughter, and all the money he has gained with so much toil and
hardship, and now to be compelled to live alone with a little child to
look after."
"I am very sure he thinks the little child a great blessing, and would
much rather have it than be without its companionship," observed Mrs
Leslie. "From the account you gave of the boy, he is very intelligent
and obedient."
"Oh yes!" answered Fanny, "he seems to understand what his grandfather
wishes him to do, and does it immediately. When he was sent back,
before going he sprang up into the old man's arms, and gave him a kiss,
and then ran off across the moor singing merrily."
"I thought him a stupid little brat," muttered Norman. "When I ran out
while you were drying your clothes, Fanny, and told him to draw me about
in the carriage, he said that he could not till he had asked his
grandfather's leave, as he had to run after one of the cows which was
straying further than she ought."
"That, instead of showing that he is stupid, proves that he is sensible
and obedient, and I wish that another little boy I know of, was equally
sensible and obedient," observed Mrs Leslie, looking at Norman.
Norman tried to appear unconcerned, but he knew very well that his
grandmamma alluded to him.
"I will make him do what I want, the next time I go there," said Norman,
but he took care that Mrs Leslie should not hear him.
The account which Fanny had heard, made her eager to set off that
morning to visit the old sailor and his grandchild.
"May we have the carriage, Mr Maclean?" she asked. "I should so like
to take little Robby some toys, or picture-books, or fruit, or something
that he would like it would make him happy, and, I hope, please the old
man."
"We shall be very glad to give you some things to take," said Mrs
Maclean, "and though I do not think we have any toys, we may find some
picture-books, at all events we can send some fruit and cakes which will
be welcome."
"Oh, thank you, thank you," exclaimed Fanny, "if we go as soon as we
have had our reading, we shall be back by luncheon-time, and now I think
I know the way too well to run the risk of losing it."
"You must take care not to tumble into the water again though," said
Mrs Vallery.
"I will take care not to do that, mamma; indeed, there is no risk of it,
as old Alec showed us a safe way across the stream, and I can easily
carry Norman over, so that there will be no chance either of his
tumbling in, if he does not kick about while I have him in my arms."
"Will you behave properly, and do as your sister tells you?" asked Mrs
Vallery, turning to Norman.
"I always behave properly," answered the young gentleman, looking
indignant at the idea of his ever doing otherwise.
"Norman will be very good I am sure," said Fanny, fearing that any
difficulty might arise to prevent the intended excursion.
Just as they left the breakfast-room, however, Sandy Fraser came to the
door.
"It's a fine day for the young folks to take a row on the loch, and so I
just came up to see if they were willing to go," he said, as he pulled
off his bonnet and wished the laird and ladies good morning.
"Oh, I shall like that much better than bumping over the moor in the
little cart," exclaimed Norman. "Fanny, I am going with Sandy Fraser on
the loch, and you can pay your visit to old Alec and his stupid little
grandson another day. It will be much better fun to row about on the
water, and I will take a rod and line, and I am sure I shall catch I
don't know how many fish in a short time."
These remarks were not heard by the rest of the party.
"Mamma, do let me go with Sandy Fraser," exclaimed Norman, as Mrs
Vallery appeared from the breakfast-room. "Fanny does not care about
the trip over the moor I am sure, and we shall both like a row in the
boat much better."
"In that case, as Sandy has come up for you, I certainly would rather
you accompanied him," said Mrs Vallery, and going to the door without
waiting to hear what Fanny had to say on the subject, she told Sandy
that the children would soon be ready, if Mr Maclean approved of their
going.
"That's jolly," cried Norman. "Mr Maclean can you lend me one of your
rods? I want to catch some fish for you."
"You would find it a hard matter even to hold one," answered the laird,
"but I will get a long thin stick cut, which you will be able to manage
better than one of my rods. And let me advise you to sit quiet in the
boat, and do what Sandy tells you, or you will get into mischief. If
you promise me this you may go."
"Oh yes, I promise to sit quiet," answered Norman, "and you may be sure
I will not get into mischief."
Fanny though she liked going on the water, would much rather have paid a
visit to old Alec, but she was always ready to give up her wishes to
please others, and as Norman seemed so eager to take a row in the boat,
she agreed to accompany him.
Sandy undertook to dig for some worms for bait, and to cut a rod. When
he brought it back, Mr Maclean fastened a line with a float and a hook
to it.
"There, young gentleman, you are fitted out as an angler," he observed,
as he gave it him. "Would you like a very large basket to bring back
your fish in, or will a small one do?"
"I think I had better take a large one," answered Norman. "Fanny can
carry it down to the boat, and Sandy and I will bring it back slung on a
thick stick when it's full of fish."
The laird laughed heartily. "You must not blame your fishing-rod if you
are not successful, for you will catch quite as many with it, as you
would were I to lend you one of mine," he observed. "Now good-bye, and
remember your promise to behave properly, and Sandy will do his part in
looking after you."
Fanny came down ready to set off.
While she walked on by the side of the old man, Norman frequently
started ahead, flourishing his fishing-rod in the way he had seen Mr
Maclean flourish his, and eager to begin drawing in the fish he expected
to catch.
They soon reached the boat.
"Now, Miss Fanny, do you sit in the stern, and Master Norman, you keep
by me in the middle of the boat, and take care that you do not hook your
sister when you are whisking about your rod. We will gang to the end of
the loch first, where I promised to take you, and then you can begin to
fish on the way back."
"But why should I not begin to fish at once?" exclaimed Norman. "That's
what I want to do, I do not care about the scenery."
"But the young lady maybe does," observed Sandy, "and I wish to do what
she likes best."
"But I want to fish, I say," exclaimed Norman. "Why cannot I begin
while the boat is going on? I wish you would put some bait on my hook,
for I don't like to touch the nasty worms--then you will see how soon I
shall catch a fish."
Sandy gave a broad grin, as he put on a worm, and then throwing the line
into the water, let Norman hold his stick, while he again took the oars,
and rowed slowly along towards the end of the loch.
Fanny sat in the stern of the boat, looking like a bright little fairy--
admiring the scenery, even more than she did on her first excursion with
the laird. She wished that Norman could admire it too, but he kept his
eye on the float, thinking much more of the fish he expected to catch
than of the mountains and rocks and tree-covered islets.
"I am so very much obliged to you for bringing us," she said to Sandy.
"This is indeed very beautiful."
"Oh yes, its very braw," answered Sandy,--but she could obtain no
further expression of admiration from him, for having lived near the
loch nearly all his life, he saw nothing very remarkable about it.
"I wonder whether there is any other place equal to this in all
Scotland," exclaimed Fanny, after they had gone a little further, and
had come in sight of a deep valley opening up on one side, down which a
sparkling stream rushed impetuously into the loch, while a waterfall
came leaping down from rock to rock among the trees which clothed the
valley's side, now appearing, now concealed from sight by the
overhanging foliage.
"Oh yes!" answered Sandy, "there are mony streams and lochs in the
He'lands, but ye maun gang far to find one with fish bigger than swim in
Loch Tulloch."
"But I was speaking of the scenery," said Fanny, "I dinna ken much about
that," said Sandy, not exactly understanding her.
Still Fanny continued to make her remarks, and to utter exclamations of
delight, and Sandy was at all events satisfied that she was well
pleased.
"I wish you would not talk so much, Fanny," cried Norman. "I have been
fishing away for I don't know how long, and I have not caught anything
yet, and I am sure it is all your fault. You frighten the fish away."
"Unless the fish come to the top of the water, they are not likely to
bite at your hook," she replied, "for I have seen it floating there,
ever since Sandy began to row."
"Can't you stop rowing then, and let me catch some fish," exclaimed
Norman, turning round with an aggrieved look to the old man. "It
matters much more that I should catch fish, than that we should get to
the end of the loch just to please Fanny."
"I have no objection to stop rowing if you wish it, young gentleman,"
said Sandy, "though I would rather hear you say that you wanted to
please your sister more than yourself."
Norman did not heed the rebuke, but seeing his hook sink down fully
believed that he was going to catch a fish. He waited and waited with
unusual patience for him, but still his float rested without moving on
the calm waters.
"There are no fish here, young gentleman, that have a fancy for your
hook. We will go on to the end of the loch as I promised your sister,
and try what we can do when we come back. Just sit down and let your
line hang out if you like. There will be no harm in doing that, though
the fish may not be the worse for it."
As Sandy began to move his oars, Norman was obliged to do as he was
told. He looked very sulky and angry however, and would not even answer
Fanny when she spoke to him.
At last they reached the end of the loch. Here the mountain appeared to
be cloven in two--a narrow channel running at the bottom of the gorge
and uniting Loch Tulloch to another larger loch beyond. Fanny was
delighted, especially when Sandy poling the boat along proceeded onwards
till the loch and bright sunshine being left behind, they found
themselves in the gloom of the narrow gorge with lofty cliffs arching
overhead, so that when they looked up, all they could see was a narrow
strip of blue sky above them.
"We cannot go further," said Sandy, "for some big rocks stop the
passage, or I would take you a row through a larger loch than our ain.
If you stand up you can just see its blue waters shining brightly at the
head of the gorge."
"I want to go back and begin fishing," cried Norman, in an angry tone,
"we are wasting our time here."
"Yours is very valuable time, young gentleman, I doubt not," remarked
Sandy, standing up in the bow of the boat, which having turned round, he
began to pole out by the way they had entered.
They were soon again in the loch, which looked brighter and more
beautiful than ever after the gloom of the gorge.
They had not gone far when Norman again insisted on stopping.
"You promised that you would let me fish on our way back, and I am sure
there must be numbers about here," he said, throwing in his line.
"I should not wonder that there was no worm on your hook," observed
Sandy, after they had waited some time. "I thought so," he continued,
when Norman pulled up his line; "you canna expect ony fish to bite at a
bare hook."
"But put on another worm," said Norman, who again tried for some time
with equal want of success.
He was beginning to lose patience.
"Try deeper, young gentleman, fish swim further down than you think
for," observed Sandy.
Norman did not know what he meant, and so Sandy slipped the float
considerably higher up the line. Still no fish were to be tempted by
his worm.
"I wish you would make them bite," Norman exclaimed petulantly. "I
shall never catch anything with this stupid stick and string; Mr
Maclean ought to have lent me one of his own rods, and then I should
have caught some fish for him."
Sandy who would never allow anything to be said against the laird in his
presence, felt very angry with Norman at this remark.
"You are very ungrateful, young gentleman, to say that," he remarked.
"I have let you fish long enough already, though if you were to try till
nightfall, you would go back with your basket empty, so just draw in
your line and pit quiet, it's time to be making our way back."
Norman looked somewhat surprised at this address.
"It's all the fault of the stupid stick," he exclaimed, and standing up
he threw it away from him into the loch, and began dancing about to give
vent to his anger and disappointment.
The old man rowed on, taking no notice of his foolish conduct. Fanny,
however, felt very much ashamed of him, and begged him to be quiet, but
he only jumped about the more, declaring that he would complain to his
mamma of the way Sandy had treated him.
After he had thus given vent to his feelings for some time, and had
become more quiet, Sandy, who was really good-natured, and was sorry for
his disappointment, promised that if he would be a good boy, he would
take him out in the evening when the fish were more ready to bite, and
show him how he himself caught them. This pacified him, and he sat
quiet for some time. Still, as he thought how foolish he would look
going back with his big basket and no fish in it, he began again to grow
angry.
"It's all Fanny's fault," he said to himself, "if she had not wanted to
row about the lake, I should have had time to catch some fish."
Not knowing what was passing in his mind, Fanny, whose eyes fell on the
basket, laughingly said to Norman.
"Shall I carry it home again, or will you and Sandy carry it between you
on a stick, as you proposed?"
"Why do you say that?" exclaimed Norman, jumping up, "you are sneering
at me; you will go and tell them I daresay that I threw my rod into the
water."
"Indeed, I will not," said Fanny, "I do not wish that any one should
laugh at you."
"You are always laughing at me yourself," he answered, growing more
angry. "But I will keep you in order, you are but a girl, and girls
should always obey their brothers, that's what I think."
"You are but a little boy, though you think yourself a big one," said
Fanny, somewhat nettled at the way he spoke. "I wish to be kind to you,
but I will not obey you, especially when you are angry, as you appear to
be now, without any cause that I can see."
Fanny was not aware how very angry Norman was.
Suddenly darting at her, he seized her hat and tore it off her head.
"Take care, young gentleman, what you are about," cried Sandy, putting
in his oars and about to take hold of Norman, who with Fanny's hat in
his hand, had jumped up on the seat.
"Your hat shall go after my fishing-rod," he cried out, and was about to
throw it as far from him as he could into the water, when, in making the
attempt, he lost his balance and overboard he fell.
For a moment the water which got into his mouth as he struggled and
splashed about, prevented him from uttering any sound. When he came to
the surface he quickly found his voice.
"Help! help! I am drowning!" he shrieked out. "I am drowning! I am
drowning! Oh save me, save me!"
Sandy quickly leaning over the side of the boat caught hold of him, and
dragged him in, though he continued to shriek lustily, and struggle as
if he was still in the water.
Poor Fanny gave a cry of alarm.
"He is all safe, young lady, and the cold bath will cool his anger, and
won't do him any harm," observed Sandy. "But we will just pull off his
wet clothes, and I will wrap him in my jacket."
Norman who soon regained his senses, and became quieter when he found
himself safe in the boat again objected to this, but Sandy insisted on
doing what he proposed, and in spite of his struggles, took off his wet
things, and made him put on his jacket, which he fastened round his
waist with a handkerchief.
Fanny who had recovered from her flight, could scarcely help laughing at
the funny figure he presented, dressed in the coat with the sleeves
turned half way back, so that he might have his hands free.
"You will keep quiet now, young gentleman, I hope, or you will be
tumbling overboard again," said Sandy. "I don't know what the laird
will say to you, when he hears how it happened."
Norman looked foolish, and made no reply.
Sandy had in the meantime picked up Fanny's hat, and he now spread
Norman's clothes out on the seats that they might dry in the sun.
Having done this, he pulled away as fast as he could towards the
landing-place near the house.
As Norman's clothes were not nearly dry by the time they reached the
shore, he packed them away in the basket, which was thus made useful,
though in a different way to what Norman expected. Having secured the
boat, and helped Fanny out, Sandy took Norman up in his arms and marched
away with him to the house.
The laird saw them coming, and of course inquired what had happened.
Fanny would as usual, have tried to save her brother from being blamed,
but Sandy told the whole story.
"You brought it upon yourself, by disobeying orders, Norman," observed
Mr Maclean. "I will go in and tell your mamma and Mrs Leslie what has
occurred, that they may not be alarmed, and the best thing you can do is
to go to bed, and to stay there till your clothes are dried. You must
not expect to go out in the boat again, as I see you cannot be trusted."
"It was all Fanny's fault, she had no business to make me angry,"
answered Norman; "it is very hard that I should be punished because of
her."
The laird made no answer, but telling a maid-servant who appeared at the
moment to carry Master Vallery upstairs and put him to bed, he entered
the drawing-room where the ladies were sitting.
The laird took care not to alarm them when he described what had
happened.
"Sandy did not tell you that I laughed at Norman, and that made him
angry," said Fanny.
"He had no business to be angry, young lady," observed the laird. "Let
me advise you, my dear Mrs Vallery, to allow him to remain in bed till
he becomes more amiable. His tumble into the water may perhaps be an
advantage to him, and teach him the consequences of giving way to his
anger."
Mrs Vallery, however, though assured that no real harm had happened to
her boy, could not refrain from running upstairs to see him.
Norman did not appear at all sensible that he had brought the accident
upon himself, and declared that it was all Fanny's fault, and that he
would not stop in bed.
Mrs Vallery at last yielded to his entreaties to be allowed to get up,
and obtaining some fresh clothes, led him down to dinner, after he had
promised that he would tell Mr Maclean he was sorry for having
disobeyed his orders. Norman did so, though not with a very good grace,
and he could not help feeling for the rest of the day that he was out of
favour with the laird.
Mrs Leslie did not allude to the subject, for she hoped that his mamma
had said all that was necessary, and Norman congratulated himself that
he had got off more cheaply altogether than he had expected.
Poor Fanny was the chief sufferer, for she longed to say how delighted
she was with the scenery, and yet she did not like, on account of her
brother, to mention the subject. Norman, however, tried to look as
unconcerned as possible, as if he had done nothing to be ashamed of.
Fanny, who wished very much to carry the presents to little Robby, and
to see the old sailor again, begged the next morning that she might take
Norman, as had been before arranged, with the little carriage.
"But I do not know if we can trust Norman," observed the laird; "he may
be scampering off by himself across the moor, and give you a great deal
of trouble to catch him."
"Oh! but I am sure Norman will behave well to-day," pleaded Fanny.
"Won't you, Norman? You will promise Mr Maclean that you will do as he
tells you."
"Of course I will," answered Norman. "Because I happen to do one day
what you don't like, you fancy that I must always do what you think
wrong."
"If you promise me that you will obey your sister, you shall have the
carriage, as I hope that I may trust to your word."
Norman promised that he would do whatever Fanny told him.
"Will you cut me a whip, Mr Maclean?" he added, "I cannot drive a
carriage without one."
"Pray let it be short then, the horse is not very far off, and a large
one may tickle its shoulders and ears more than it likes," said Fanny,
looking archly at Norman, showing that though she had forgiven him, she
had not forgotten the way he had treated her on their former excursion.
The laird cut a short thin wand which could not do much harm in the
hands of Norman, and kindly saw them off as before on the road.
The day was fine and bright, and the pure Highland air raised Fanny's
spirits. She drew on the little carriage at a quick rate, singing
merrily as she went. Norman felt unusually happy, he flourished his
stick without attempting to beat Fanny, and shouted at the top of his
voice. When the ground was rough, and the carriage bumped about, he
held on to the sides with both his hands, but even that he thought very
good fun. Quite regardless, however, of the exertion Fanny had to make
on his account, he told her to go faster and faster.
"I like the bumping and tumbling. It puts me in mind of being at sea,--
go on, go on," he shouted.
Fanny proceeded for some distance, and at last felt so tired, that she
was obliged to stop.
"I must rest for a few minutes, Norman," she said, "for really it is
very hard work going over this rough ground."
"Oh, nonsense! you are lazy, you see how I like it, and so you ought to
keep going on, I cannot give you many minutes to rest," he replied.
"That's a good joke," said Fanny, "if you will drag the carriage and let
me get into it, you will soon find that it is not so easy as you suppose
to drag it over this ground."
"You are heavier than I am, so that would not be fair, and besides, you
promised to draw me, and you say you always do what you promise."
"That is true," said Fanny; "I am much heavier than you are, and I have
really no wish that you should draw me, but pray have patience, and I
will go on again."
Norman got out of the carriage and ran about, he might just as well have
gone on in front, and saved Fanny the trouble of dragging him so far;
that, he did not think of.
At last Fanny proposed that he should get in again, and on they went.
The ground was, however, still rougher than what they had passed over.
Norman cried out to Fanny, who was going somewhat slower than at first,
to move faster.
"I cannot, Norman; indeed I cannot," she answered.
"I shall run the risk of tumbling down, if I do."
"Then I'll make you," he shouted out.
As he could not reach her with his stick from where he sat, he jumped up
to lean forward that he might do so. Just then the carriage gave a
violent bump, and out he tumbled, falling on some hard stones. He
shrieked out, fancying himself dreadfully hurt, and very angry at what
had happened to him.
"You did it on purpose, I know you did," he exclaimed, as Fanny came to
pick him up.
Fanny was a little alarmed at first, but she soon found that a slight
bruise or two was all the harm he had received, so, after stopping a
short time till he had ceased crying and complaining, she put him into
the carriage again, and went on more carefully than before. Norman did
not again insist on her moving faster, as he was occupied in feeling his
elbows and shoulders and wondering whether he was much bruised.
Soon after crossing the stream, they came in sight of Alec Morrison's
cottage. The ground was smooth near it, so Fanny was able to go on
pretty fast, and Norman got into better humour, and shouted and sang as
at first.
As they approached the cottage they saw Robby, who had heard their
voices coming out to meet them. Poor little fellow, as he did not
expect visitors, and the weather was hot, he had very few clothes on,
but he did not think about that.
Fanny, stopping, made Norman get out of the carriage that she might take
out the things which were placed under the seat.
"Here, Robby," she said, as the little boy came up, "we have brought you
some nice fruit, and some cakes, and some picture-books, which Mrs
Maclean gave us for you."
"Thank you, young lady, thank you," exclaimed Robby, receiving them with
delight, as Fanny took them out of the carriage, while Norman stood by,
feeling somewhat jealous that the little beggar boy, as he chose to
think Robby, should have so many things given him.
"Is your grandfather at home?" asked Fanny. "I have been longing to
come and see him, and to thank him for helping us on our way back the
other day."
"No; I am keeping house alone, but grandfather will soon be back, so
don't go away, please, till he comes," answered Robby, who was holding
the things which Fanny had given him in his arms. "Won't you come in,
young lady, and rest?"
"No, thank you, I would rather stay outside in the shade till your
grandfather comes back," said Fanny, as she did not like to go into the
old man's cottage without an invitation from him. "Do you, Robby, go in
with the things, and put them away," she added, for she rather
mistrusted Norman, who continued eyeing the little boy with no very kind
looks.
Robby ran in with his treasures.
"Stupid little brat," observed Norman, "I wonder Mrs Maclean sent him
all those things, I should have thought a piece of bread and cheese was
quite enough for him."
"When we make presents we should try and give nice things, such as
people who receive them will like," said Fanny. "Old Alec could give
his grandson bread and cheese, but he probably would be unable to obtain
the sort of things we have brought. I wish when I make a present to
give something that I myself like."
"I do not understand anything about that," answered Norman, turning
away, and flourishing his stick as he walked up and down.
Old Alec soon appeared, with a basket containing food for himself and
Robby, which he had gone to the village to purchase.
"It does my heart good to see you and your brother," he exclaimed, as he
came up.
"Grandfather!" cried Robby, "they have brought me all sorts of nice
things--look here, look here!" and Robby led the old man into the
cottage that he might exhibit the gifts he had received. "They would
not come in themselves, but said they would wait till you returned. I
think the young gentleman would like some of the fruit, for he looked at
it when his sister gave it to me. Can I run out and offer it to him?
Perhaps, though, he will be offended, for he looks very proud."
"Yes, Robby, go and give the young gentleman some fruit," said old Alec,
who was at the time turning his eyes towards several cages which hung
against the wall, with birds in most of them.
He first looked at one, and then at another and another. At last he
selected one neater and prettier than the rest, containing a linnet.
"This will be the thing for the little damsel," he observed. "If it was
made of gold it would not be too good for her."
Fanny and Norman had still remained outside seated on a bench in the
shade. They did not observe Robby, who came back with some of the
fruit, intending to bring it to them, but feeling somewhat shy of
presenting it, he placed it in the carriage, where he thought they would
soon see it.
The old man, going to a window which overlooked the spot where they were
seated, called to Fanny.
"Here, my dear young lady; an old man such as I am has but few things
which you would care for, but I shall be greatly pleased if you will
accept this little bird and its cage. Hang it up in your room where it
can enjoy sunlight and air, and if you feed it and give it water
regularly, it will sing sweetly to you in the morning and at all times
of the day."
"Oh, thank you! thank you! what a dear, sweet, little bird! There is
nothing I shall like to have so much, and I hope mamma and granny will
allow me to receive it."
Fanny was so delighted with the gift, that she felt she could not find
words enough to thank old Alec for it.
"The gift is a very poor one, but I shall be just as much pleased as you
are, if you will receive it," answered the old man, as he put the cage
into Fanny's hands.
The bird did not seem at all startled or afraid of her, but hopped about
from perch to perch, and uttered a few gentle notes, as if it was much
pleased at having her for its future mistress.
"But I have kept you waiting a long time outside," said the old man.
"You must come in for a few minutes to rest, before you begin your
journey home; and I have got some sweet milk and a fresh bannock--a
better one than I had to offer you the other day. You will go back all
the merrier for a little food."
Fanny thought it would please the old man to accept his invitation, and
perhaps too, she might be able to get him to tell her and Norman some of
the adventures which the laird said he had gone through, so calling to
Norman, and holding the cage in her hands, she went into the house.