My story must have shown already that, although several years younger
than Alec, Annie had much more character and personality than he. Alec
had not yet begun to look realities in the face. The very nobility and
fearlessness of his nature had preserved him from many such actions as
give occasion for looking within and asking oneself whereto things are
tending. Full of life and restless impulses to activity, all that could
properly be required of him as yet was that the action into which he
rushed should be innocent, and if conventionally mischievous, yet
actually harmless. Annie, comfortless at home, gazing all about her to
see if there was a rest anywhere for her, had been driven by the
outward desolation away from the window of the world to that other
window that opens on the regions of silent being where God is, and into
which when his creatures enter, or even look, the fountain of their
life springs aloft with tenfold vigour and beauty. Alec, whose home was
happy, knew nothing of that sense of discomfort which is sometimes the
herald of a greater need. But he was soon to take a new start in his
intellectual relations; nor in those alone, seeing the change was the
result of a dim sense of duty. The fact of his not being a scholar to
the mind of Murdoch Malison, arose from no deficiency of intellectual
_power_, but only of intellectual _capacity_--for the indefinite
enlargement of which a fitting excitement from without is alone
requisite.
The season went on, and the world, like a great flower afloat in space,
kept opening its thousandfold blossom. Hail and sleet were things lost
in the distance of the year--storming away in some far-off region of
the north, unknown to the summer generation. The butterflies, with
wings looking as if all the flower-painters of fairyland had wiped
their brushes upon them in freakful yet artistic sport, came forth in
the freedom of their wills and the faithful ignorance of their minds.
The birds, the poets of the animal creation--what though they never get
beyond the lyrical!--awoke to utter their own joy, and awake like joy
in others of God's children. The birds grew silent, because their
history laid hold upon them, compelling them to turn their words into
deeds, and keep eggs warm, and hunt for worms. The butterflies died of
old age and delight. The green life of the earth rushed up in corn to
be ready for the time of need. The corn grew ripe, and therefore weary,
hung its head, died, and was laid aside for a life beyond its own. The
keen sharp old mornings and nights of autumn came back as they had come
so many thousand times before, and made human limbs strong and human
hearts sad and longing. Winter would soon be near enough to stretch out
a long forefinger once more, and touch with the first frosty shiver
some little child that loved summer, and shrunk from the cold.
One evening in early autumn, when the sun, almost on the edge of the
horizon, was shining right in at the end of one of the principal
streets, filling its whole width with its glory of molten roses, all
the shopkeepers were standing in their doors. Little groups of country
people, bearing a curious relation to their own legs, were going in
various directions across the square. Loud laughter, very much like
animal noises, now and then invaded the ear; but the sound only rippled
the wide lake of the silence. The air was perfumed with the scent of
peat fires and the burning of weeds and potato-tops. There was no
fountain to complete the harmony, but the intermittent gushes from the
spout of the great pump in the centre of the square were no bad
substitute. At all events, they supplied the sound of water, without
which Nature's orchestra is not full.
Wattie Sim, the watchmaker, long and lank, with grey bushy eyebrows
meeting over his nose, wandered, with the gait of a heedless pair of
compasses, across from his own shop to Redford the bookseller's, at
whose door a small group was already gathered.
"Well, Wattie," said Captain Clashmach, "how goes the world with you?"
"Muckle the same's wi' yersel', Captain, and the doctor there,"
answered Wattie with a grin. "Whan the time's guid for ither fowk, it's
but sae sae for you and me. I haena had a watch come in for a haill ook
(week)."
"Hoo de ye accoont for that, Mr Sim?" asked a shoemaker who stood near
without belonging to the group.
"It's the ile, man, the ile. Half the mischeef o' watches is the ile."
"But I don't see," said the doctor, "how that can be, Sim."
"Weel, ye see, sir," answered Wattie--and the words seemed somehow to
have come tumbling silently down over the ridge of his nose, before he
caught them in his mouth and articulated them--"ye see, sir, watches is
delicat things. They're not to be traitet like fowk's insides wi'
onything 'at comes first. Gin I cud jist get the middle half-pint oot
o' the hert o' a hogsheid o' sperm ile, I wad I sud keep a' yer watches
gaein like the verra universe. But it wad be an ill thing for me, ye
ken. Sae maybe a' thing's for the best efter a'.--Noo, ye see, i' this
het weather, the ile keeps fine an' saft, and disna clog the
warks.--But losh preserves a'! What's that?"
Staring up the street towards the sunset, which coloured all their
faces a red bronze, stood a group of townsfolk, momently increasing,
from which, before Wattie's party could reach it, burst a general
explosion of laughter. It was some moments, however, before they
understood what was the matter, for the great mild sun shone full in
their eyes. At length they saw, as if issuing from the huge heavy orb,
a long dark line, like a sea-serpent of a hundred joints, coming down
the street towards them, and soon discovered that it was a slow
procession of animals. First came Mistress Stephen, Stumpin Steenie the
policeman's cow, with her tail at full stretch behind her. To the end
of her tail was tied the nose of Jeames Joss the cadger's horse--a
gaunt sepulchral animal, which age and ill-treatment had taught to move
as if knees and hocks were useless refinements in locomotion. He had
just enough of a tail left to tie the nose of another cow to; and so,
by the accretion of living joints, the strange monster lengthened out
into the dim fiery distance.
When Mrs Stephen reached the square, she turned to lead her train
diagonally across it, for in that direction lay her home. Moved by the
same desire, the cadger's horse wanted to go in exactly the opposite
direction. The cow pulled the one way, and the horse pulled the other;
but the cow, having her head free, had this advantage over the horse,
which was fast at both ends. So he gave in, and followed his less noble
leader. Cow after horse, and horse after cow, with a majority of cows,
followed, to the number of twenty or so; after which the joints began
to diminish in size. Two calves were at the tail of the last cow, a
little Highland one, with a sheep between them. Then came a goat
belonging to Charles Chapman the wool-carder, the only goat in the
place, which as often as the strain on his own tail slackened, made a
butt at that of the calf in front of him. Next came a diminishing
string of disreputable dogs, to the tail of the last of which was
fastened the only cat the inventors of this novel pastime had been able
to catch. At her tail followed--alas!--Andrew Truffey's white rabbit,
whose pink eyes, now fixed and glazed, would no more delight the
imagination of the poor cripple; and whose long furry hind legs would
never more bang the ground in sovereign contempt, as he dared pursuit;
for the dull little beast, having, with the stiffneckedness of fear,
persisted in pulling against the string that tied him to the tail of
Widow Wattles's great tom-cat, was now trailed ignominiously upon his
side, with soiled fur and outstretched neck--the last joint, and only
dead one, of this bodiless tail.
Before Mistress Stephen had reached her home, and just as the last link
of the chain had appeared on the square, the mirth was raised to a yet
higher pitch by the sudden rush of several women to the rescue, who had
already heard the news of the ignominious abduction of their honoured
_kye_, and their shameful exposure to public ridicule. Each made for
her own four-footed property.
"Guid preserve's, Hawkie! are ye come to this?" cried Lucky Lapp, as
she limped, still and ever lame with rheumatism, towards the third
member of the procession. "Gin I had the loon that did it," she went
on, fumbling, with a haste that defeated itself, at the knot that bound
Hawkie's nose to the tail of the cadger's horse--"gin I had the loon
'at did it, I wad ding the sowl oot o' his wame, the villain!"
"Losh! it's my ain cat, as weel's my ain coo." screamed Lucky Wattles
in twofold indignation. "Gin I cud but redd (comb) the scoonrel's heid
wi' your cleuks, Baudrons!" she added, as she fondled the cat
passionately, "he wadna be in sic a doom's hurry to han'le ye again,
Is' wad (wager)."
By this time Stumpin' Steenie, having undone his cow's tail, was
leading her home amid shouts of laughter.
"Pit her i' the lock-up, Steenie. She's been takin' up wi' ill loons,"
screeched an urchin.
"Haud yer ill tongue, or I s' tak' you up, ye rascal," bawled Steenie.
"Ye'll hae to saiddle Mistress Stephen afore ye can catch me, Stumpin'
Steenie!"
Steenie, inflamed with sudden wrath, forsook the cow, and made an
elephantine rush at the offender, who vanished in the crowd, and thus
betrayed the constable to another shout of laughter.
While the laugh was yet ringing, the burly figure of the stonemason
appeared, making his way by the momentum of great bulk and slow motion
to the front of the crowd. Without a word to any one, he drew a knife
from his pocket, and proceeded to cut every cord that bound the
helpless animals, the people staring silent all the while.
It was a sight to see how the dogs scampered off in the delight of
their recovered freedom. But the rabbit lay where the cat had left him.
Thomas took it with some sign of tenderness, and holding it up in his
huge hand, put the question to the crowd in general.
"Wha's aucht this?"
"It's cripple Truffey's?" piped a shrill little voice.
"Tell him 'at I'll account for't," rejoined Thomas, and putting the
animal in his pocket, departed.
He took the nearest way to George Macwha's workshop, where he found
Alec and Curly, as he had expected, busy or appearing to be busy about
something belonging to their boat. They looked considerably hotter,
however, than could be accounted for by their work. This confirmed
Thomas's suspicions.
"A fine ploy yon for a young gentleman, Alec!" said he.
"What ploy, Thomas?" asked Alec, with attempted innocence.
"Ye ken weel eneuch what ploy I mean, man."
"Weel, supposin' I do--there's nae that muckle hairm dune, to mak' a
wark aboot, surely, Thomas."
"Ca' ye that no hairm?" rejoined Thomas, pulling the dead rabbit out of
his pocket, and holding it up by the ears. "Ca' ye that no hairm?" he
repeated.
Alec stared in dismay. Thomas well knew his regard for animals, and had
calculated upon it.
"Luik at the puir thing wi' its bonny reid een closed for ever! It's a
mercy to think 'at there's no lemin' and lowin' (blazing and flaming)
future in store for hit, puir mappy (bunny)!"
"Hoot, hoot, Thamas, man! Isna that bein' richteous overmuch, as oor
minister wad say?"
The question came in the husky voice of Peter Whaup, the blacksmith,
who was now discovered leaning in over the half-door of the shop.
"And wha's _your_ minister, Peter, my man?" retorted Thomas, with some
acrimony.
"Mr Cooie, as ye weel ken, Thamas."
"I thoucht as muckle. The doctrine savours o' the man, Peter. There's
no fear o' him or ony o' his followers bein' richteous over-much."
"Weel, ye ken, that's naething but a rabbit i' yer han'. It wad hae
been worried some day. Hoo cam' 't by 'ts deith?"
"I didna mean to kill't. 'Twas a' for fun, ye ken," said Alec,
addressing Thomas.
"There's a heap o' fun," answered Thomas with solemnity, "that carries
deith i' the tail o' 't. Here's the puir cripple laddie's rabbit as
deid's a herrin', and him at hame greetin' his een oot, I daursay."
Alec caught up his cap and made for the door.
"I'll gang and see him. Curly, wha has ony rabbits to sell?"
"Doddles's cleckit aboot a month ago."
"Whaur does Doddles bide?"
"I'll lat ye see."
The boys were hurrying together from the shop, when Thomas caught Alec
by the arm.
"Ye canna restore the rabbit, Alec."
"Hoot! Thamas, ae rabbit's as guid's anither," interposed the smith, in
a tone indicating disapprobation, mingled with a desire to mollify.
"Ay--to them 'at cares for neither. But there's sic a thing as a human
election, as weel's a divine ane; an' ane's no the same's anither, ance
it's a chosen ane."
"Weel, I pity them 'at the Lord has no pity upo'," sighed the smith,
with a passing thought of his own fits of drinking.
"Gang ye and try him. He may hae pity upo' you--wha kens?" said Thomas,
as he followed Alec, whom he had already released, out of the shop.
"Ye see, Alec," he resumed in a low voice, when they were in the open
air--Curly going on before them, "it's time 'at ye was growin' a man,
and pittin' awa' childish things. Yer mither 'll be depen'in' upo' you,
or lang, to haud things gaein'; and ye ken gin ye negleck yer chance at
the school, yer time'll no come ower again. Man, ye sud try to do
something for conscience-sake. Hae ye learnt yer lessons for the morn,
noo?"
"No, Thomas. But I will. I'm jist gaein' to buy a pair o' rabbits to
Truffey; and syne I'll gang hame."
"There's a guid lad. Ye'll be a comfort till yer mither some day yet."
With these words, Thomas turned and left them.
There had been a growing, though it was still a vague sense, in Alec's
mind, that he was not doing well; and this rebuke of Thomas Crann
brought it full into the light of his own consciousness. From that day
he worked better. Mr Malison saw the change, and acknowledged it. This
reacted on Alec's feeling for the master; and during the following
winter he made three times the progress he had made in any winter
preceding.
For the sea of summer ebbed away, and the rocky channels of the winter
appeared, with its cold winds, its ghost-like mists, and the damps and
shiverings that cling about the sepulchre in which Nature lies
sleeping. The boat was carefully laid up, across the rafters of the
barn, well wrapped in a shroud of tarpaulin. It was buried up in the
air; and the Glamour on which it had floated so gaily, would soon be
buried under the ice. Summer alone could bring them together again--the
one from the dry gloom of the barn, the other from the cold seclusion
of its wintry hebetude.
Meantime Mrs Forbes was somewhat troubled in her mind as to what should
be done with Alec; and she often talked with the schoolmaster about
him. Herself of higher birth, socially considered, than her husband,
she had the ambition that her son should be educated for some
profession. Now in Scotland education is more easily got than almost
anything else; and whether there might be room for the exercise of the
profession afterwards, was a matter of less moment to Mrs Forbes,
seeing she was not at all willing that the farm which had been in her
husband's family for hundreds of years, should pass into the hands of
strangers, and Alec himself had the strongest attachment to the
ancestral soil; for to be loved it is not necessary that land should be
freehold. At length his increased diligence, which had not escaped her
observation, and was testified to by Mr Malison, confirmed her
determination that he should at least go to college. He would be no
worse a farmer for having an _A.M_. after his name; while the
curriculum was common to all the professions. So it was resolved that,
in the following winter, he should _compete for a bursary_.
The communication that his fate lay in that direction roused Alec still
more. Now that an ulterior object rendered them attractive, he turned
his attention to the classics with genuine earnestness; and, on a
cloudy day in the end of October, found himself on the box-seat of the
Royal Mail, with his trunk on the roof behind him, bound for a certain
city whose advantages are not confined to the possession of a
university.