loves g-geranniums, and is sorry that he wasted his time on k-kites and
snowballs. We are going to himprove our m-minds, and we don't want you
to trouble us." But this was not knowledge.
It remained a mystery, and when Jock and Bauldie tailed off at the
bridge, and Speug, halfway across, turned round and winked again, it was
with regret that they betook themselves to their kites, and more than
once they found themselves casting longing glances to the distant woods,
where Speug was now pursuing the study of botany.
"Bauldie," said Jock suddenly, as the kites hung motionless in the sky,
"this is weel enough, but tak' my word for't it's nothing to the game
they're playin' in yon woods."
"Div ye mean howkin' geranniums? for I canna see muckle game in that: I
would as soon dig potatoes." Bauldie, though a man of his hands, had a
prosaic mind and had little imagination.
"Geranniums! ger---- havers, that's no' what Speug is after, you bet.
He's got a big splore (exploit) on hand or he never crossed Muirtown
Brig in such company. Man, Bauldie, I peety Byles, I do. Peter'ill lose
the lot o' them in the woods or he'ill stick them in a bog, or"--and
Jock could hardly hold his kite--"what div ye say to this, man? he'ill
row them over to Woody Island and leave them there till Monday, with
naething but bread and milk and the net to sleep in." And the joy of
Jock and Bauldie at this cheerful prospect was rather a testimony to
their faith in Peter's varied ability than a proof of sympathy with
their fellow-creatures.
If Speug was playing the fox he gave no sign on the way to the woods,
for he was a model of propriety and laid himself out to be agreeable. He
showed an unwonted respect for the feelings of the Dowbiggins, so that
these two young gentlemen relaxed the vigilant attention with which they
usually regarded Speug, and he was quite affable with Cosh. As for the
master, Peter simply placed himself at Mr. Byles's service, expatiating
on the extent of the woods and their richness in flowers--"just fair
scatted up wi' geranniums and the rest o' them:" offering to take the
expedition by the nearest way to the treasures, and especially insisting
on the number and beauty and tameness of the pheasants, till Mr. Byles
was charmed and was himself surprised at the humanising influence of
scientific pursuits.
Nor had Peter boasted vainly of his wood lore, for he led them by so
direct a way that, before they came to the place of flowers, the
expedition--except the two little chaps, whom Speug sent round in
Nestie's charge, to a selected rendezvous as being next door to
babies--had climbed five dykes, all with loose stones, fought through
three thickets very prickly indeed, crawled underneath two hedges,
crossed three burns, one coming up to the knees, and mired themselves
times without number. Cosh had jostled against Speug in leaping from one
dry spot to another and come down rolling in the mud, which made his
appearance from behind wonderful; Speug, in helping Thomas John out of a
very entangling place, had been so zealous that the seat had been almost
entirely detached from Thomas John's trousers, and although Mr. Byles
had done his best with pins, the result was not edifying; his brother's
straw hat had fallen in the exact spot where Speug landed as he jumped
from a wall, and was of no further service, and so the younger
Dowbiggin--"who is so refined in his ways," as his mother used to
say--wore as his headgear a handkerchief which had been used for
cleaning the mud from his clothes. Upon Mr. Byles, whom fate might have
spared, misfortunes had accumulated. His trousers had been sadly mangled
from the knee downwards as he crawled through a hole, and had to be
wound round his legs with string, and although Speug had pulled his cap
out of a branch, he had done his work so hastily as to leave the peak
behind, and he was so clumsy, with the best intentions, that he allowed
another branch to slip, which caught Mr. Byles on the side of the head
and left a mark above his eye, which distinctly suggested a prizefight
to anyone not acquainted with that gentleman's blameless character.
Peter himself had come unscathed from the perils of land and water, save
a dash of mud here and there and a suspicion of wet about his feet,
which shows how bad people fare better than good. The company was so
bedraggled and discouraged that their minds did not seem set on wild
flowers, and in these circumstances Peter, ever obliging and thoughtful,
led the botanists to a pleasant glade, away from thickets and bogs,
where the pheasants made their home and swarmed by hundreds. Mr. Byles
was much cheered by this change of environment, and grew eloquent on the
graceful shape and varied plumage of the birds. They were so friendly
that they gathered round the party, which was not wonderful, as a keeper
fed them every day, but which Mr. Byles explained was due to the
instinct of the beautiful creatures, "who know, my dear boys, that we
love them." He enlarged on the cruelty of sport, and made the Dowbiggins
promise that they would never shoot pheasants or any other game, and
there is no reason to doubt that they kept their word, as they did not
know one end of a gun from another, and would no sooner have dared to
fire one than they would have whistled on Sunday. A happy thought
occurred to Mr. Byles, and he suggested that they should now have their
lunch and feed the birds with the fragments. He was wondering also
whether it would be wrong to snare one of the birds in the net, just to
hold it in the hand and let it go again.
[Illustration: "THEY WERE SO FRIENDLY THAT THEY GATHERED ROUND THE
PARTY."]
When things had come to this pass--and he never had expected anything so
good--Speug withdrew unobtrusively behind a clump of trees, and then ran
swiftly to a hollow where Nestie was waiting with the juniors.
"Noo, my wee men," said Peter to the innocents, "div ye see that path?
Cut along it as hard as ye can leg, and it 'ill bring you to the
Muirtown Road, and never rest till ye be in your own houses. For Byles
and these Dowbiggins are carryin' on sic a game wi' Lord Kilspindie's
pheasants that I'm expectin' to see them in Muirtown jail before nicht.
Ye may be thankful," concluded Peter piously, "that I savit ye from sic
company."
"Nestie," Peter continued, when the boys had disappeared, "I've never
clypit (told tales) once since I cam to the Seminary, and it's no' a
nice job, but div ye no' think that the head keeper should know that
poachers are in the preserves?"
"It's a d-duty, Peter," as they ran to the keeper's house, "especially
when there's a g-gang of them and such b-bad-looking fellows--v-vice
just written on their faces. It's horried to see boys so young and so
w-wicked."
"What young prodigals are yon comin' skelpin' along, as if the dogs were
aifter them?" and the head keeper came out from the kennels. "Oh, it's
you, Speug--and what are you doin' in the woods the day? there's no eggs
now." For sporting people are a confederacy, and there was not a
coachman or groom, or keeper or ratcatcher, within twelve miles of
Muirtown, who did not know Mr. McGuffie senior, and not many who did not
also have the acquaintance of his hopeful son.
"Nestie and me were just out for a run to keep our wind richt, an' we
cam on a man and three boys among the pheasants in the low park."
"Among the what? Meddlin' with Lord Kilspindie's birds?"
"Well, I dinna ken if they were juist poachin', but they were feedin'
them, and we saw a net."
"Sandie," shouted the head keeper, "and you, Tom, get up out of yir beds
this meenut; the poachers are after the pheasants. My word, takin' them
alive, as I'm a livin' man, to sell them for stock: and broad daylight;
it beats everything. He 'ill be an old hand, frae Dundee maist likely.
And the impidence o't, eleven o'clock in the forenoon an' the end o'
September. Dod: it's a depairture in poachin'." And as the sight of Mr.
Byles burst on his view, surrounded by trustful birds, and the two
Dowbiggins trying very feebly to drop the net on a specially venturesome
one, the head keeper almost lost the power of speech.
"Dinna let us interrupt you," and Mr. Byles looked up to see three armed
keepers commanding their helpless party, and one of them purple with
rage. "I hope we don't intrude; maybe we could give you a hand in
catchin' the birds, and if a spring-cart would be of ony use ...
confound your cheek!
"Gathering flowers, are ye, and gave the pheasants a biscuit, did ye,
and the boys thought they would like to stroke one, would they? How is
that, lads? I've seen two or three poachers in my time, but for
brazen-faced lyin' I've never seen your match. Maybe you're a
Sabbath-school out for a trip, or an orphan asylum?
"Assistant mathematical master at the Seminary, that's what you are, is
it, ye awfu' like blackguard, an' the laddies are the sons o' a
respectable Free Kirk minister, the dirty dogs? Are ye sure ye're no'
the principal o' Edinburgh University? Tak' yir time and try again. I'm
enjoying it. Is't by the hundred ye sell them, and wud it be a leeberty
to ask for whose preserves? Dash the soople tongue o' ye.
"If ye dare to put yir hand in a pocket, I'll lodge a charge o' shot in
ye: we'ill hae nae pistol-work in Kilspindie Woods. Come along wi' ye,
professor an' students, an' I'll give ye a ride into Muirtown, an'
we'ill just be in time to catch the magistrate. He hasna tried a learned
institution like this since he mounted the bench. March in front, but
dinna try to run, or it will be the waur for ye. Ma certes, sic a band
o' waufies!"
Then those two officers of justice, Peter and Nestie, having seen all
without being seen, now started for Muirtown to gather the kite-players
and as many of the Seminary as could be found to see the arrival of the
botanists. They were brought in a large spring-cart--Mr. Byles seated
between the head keeper and the driver, in front, and the other three
huddled like calves in the space behind--a mass of mud, tatters, and
misery, from which the solemn, owl-like face of Thomas John, whose cap
was now gone also, looked out in hopeless amazement. As they were handed
over to the police the Seminary, which had been at first struck dumb,
recovered speech and expressed itself with much vivacity.
"Who would have thought Byles had as much spirit? Sall, he 'ill be
rinnin' horses at Muirtown Races yet;" "For ony sake walk backwards,
Thomas--yir breeks are barely decent;" "The pheasants have been hard on
yir legs, Cosh;" "Where's the geranniums?" "Has his Lordship kept yir
bonnet, Dowbiggin?" "It 'ill be a year's hard labour." For boys are only
in the savage state, and the discomfiture of such immaculate
propriety was very sweet to the Seminary.
[Illustration: "THEY WERE BROUGHT IN A LARGE SPRING CART."]
So powerful was the evidence of the head keeper, who saw in Mr. Byles's
effort a new and cunning form of poaching he was not prepared for, and
so weird was the appearance of the prisoners, that the Bailie on duty
was for sentencing them at once, and would hardly wait for the testimony
of friends. It took the sworn testimony of the Rector of the Seminary
and poor Dr. Dowbiggin, summoned from their studies in hot haste and
confusion of face, to clear the accused, and even then the worthy
magistrate thought it proper, as Scots magistrates do, to administer a
rebuke and warning so solemn that it became one of the treasures of
memory for all Seminary lads.
"After what I have heard I cannot convict you, and you may go this time;
but let me never see you here again in such circumstances. It's fearsome
to think that an educated man"--this to Byles--"instead of setting an
example to the laddies under your charge, should be accused of a mean
and cunning offence against the laws of the land, and I cannot look at
your face without having grave doubts. And to think that the sons of a
respected minister of the kirk should be found in such company, and with
all the appearance of vagrants, must be a great trial to their father,
and I am sure he has the sympathy of Muirtown. As for you, Cosh, I
never expected to see the son of a brother bailie in such a position.
All I can hope is that this will be a lesson to you to keep clear of
evil companions and evil ways, and that you may live to be a respectable
citizen. But do not presume on your escape to-day--that is all I have to
say."
Outside the court-room the head keeper caught Speug and gave him his
mind.
"Ye're a limb o' Satan, Peter McGuffie, and that English-speakin' imp is
little better. My belief is that this has been a pliskie (trick) o'
yours frae beginning to end, and I just give ye one word o'
advice--don't let me catch you in Kilspindie Woods, or it will be the
worse for you."
THE COUNT
VII
If you excluded two or three Englishmen who spoke with an accent
suggestive of an effeminate character, and had a fearsome habit of
walking on the Sabbath, and poor "Moossy," the French master at the
Seminary, who was a quantity not worth considering, the foreign element
in Muirtown during the classical days consisted of the Count. He never
claimed to be a Count, and used at first to deprecate the title, but he
declined the honour of our title with so much dignity that it seemed
only to prove his right, and by and by he answered to the name with
simply a slight wave of his hand which he meant for deprecation, but
which came to be considered a polite acknowledgement. His real name was
not known in Muirtown--not because he had not given it, but because it
could not be pronounced, being largely composed of x's and k's, with an
irritating parsimony of vowels. We had every opportunity of learning to
spell it, if we could not pronounce it, for it was one of the Count's
foreign ways to carry a card-case in his ticket-pocket, and on being
introduced to an inhabitant of Muirtown to offer his card with the right
hand while he took off his hat with the left, and bowed almost to a
right angle. Upon those occasions a solid man like Bailie MacFarlane
would take hold of the card cautiously, not knowing whether so unholy a
name might not go off and shatter his hand; and during the Count's
obeisance, which lasted for several seconds, the Bailie regarded him
with grave disapproval. The mind of Muirtown, during this performance of
the Count's, used to be divided between regret that any human being
should condescend to such tricks, and profound thankfulness that
Muirtown was not part of a foreign country where people were brought up
with the manners of poodles. Our pity for foreigners was nourished by
the manner of the Count's dress, which would have been a commonplace on
a _boulevard_, but astounded Muirtown on its first appearance, and
always lent an element of piquant interest to our streets. His perfectly
brushed hat, broadish in the brim and curled at the sides, which he wore
at the faintest possible angle, down to his patent leather boots, which
it was supposed he obtained in Paris, and wore out at the rate of a pair
a month--all was unique and wonderful, but it was his frock-coat which
stimulated conversation. It was so tight and fitted so perfectly,
revealing the outlines of his slender form, and there was such an
indecent absence of waist--waist was a strong point with Muirtown men,
and in the case of persons who had risen to office, like the Provost,
used to run to fifty inches--that a report went round the town that the
Count was a woman. This speculation was confirmed rather than refuted by
the fact that the Count smoked cigarettes, which he made with Satanic
ingenuity while you were looking at him, and that he gave a display of
fencing with the best swordsman of a Dragoon regiment in the barracks,
for it was shrewdly pointed out that those were just the very
accomplishments of French "Cutties." This scandal might indeed have
crystallised into an accepted fact, and the Provost been obliged to
command the Count's departure, had it not been for the shrewdness and
good nature of the "Fair Maid of Muirtown." There always was a fair maid
in Muirtown--and in those days she was fairest of her succession: let
this flower lie on her grave. She declared to her friends that she had
watched the Count closely and had never once seen him examine a woman's
dress when the woman wasn't looking; and after that no person of
discernment in Muirtown had any doubt about the Count's sex. It was,
however, freely said--and that story was never contradicted--that he
wore stays, and every effort was made to obtain the evidence of his
landlady. Her gossips tried Mistress Jamieson with every wile of
conversation, and even lawyers' wives, pretending to inquire for rooms
for a friend, used to lead the talk round to the Count's habits; but
that worthy matron was loyal to her lodger, and was not quite insensible
to the dignity of a mystery.
"Na, na, Mistress Lunan, I see what you're after; but beggin' your
pardon, a landlady's a landlady, and my mouth's closed. The Count disna
ken the difference atween Saturday and Sabbath, and the money he wastes
on tobacco juist goes to ma heart; but he never had the blessin' of a
Gospel ministry nor the privileges of Muirtown when he was young. As
regards stays, whether he wears them or disna wear them I'm no' prepared
to say, for I thank goodness that I've never yet opened a lodger's boxes
nor entered a lodger's room when he was dressin'. The Count pays his
rent in advance every Monday morning; he wanted to pay on Sabbath, but I
told him it was not a lawful day. He gives no trouble in the house, and
if his doctor ordered him to wear stays to support his spine, which I'm
no' sayin' he did, Mistress Lunan, it's no concern o' mine, and the
weather is inclining to snow."
His dress was a perfect fabric of art, however it may have been
constructed; and it was a pleasant sight to see the Count go down our
main street on a summer afternoon, approving himself with a side glance
in the mirrors of the larger shops, striking an attitude at our
bookseller's when a new print was exposed in the window, waving his
cigarette and blowing the smoke through his nostrils, which was
considered a "tempting of Providence," making his respectful salutations
to every lady whom he knew, and responding with "Celestial, my friend!"
to Bailie MacFarlane's greeting of "Fine growing weather." When he
sailed past McGuffie's stable-yard, like Solomon in all his glory, that
great man, who always persisted in regarding the Count as a sporting
character, would touch the rim of his hat with his forefinger--an honour
he paid to few--and, after the Count had disappeared, would say "Gosh!"
with much relish. This astounding spectacle very early attracted the
attention of the Seminary boys, and during his first summer in Muirtown
it was agreed that he would make an excellent target for snowball
practice during next winter. The temptation was not one which could have
been resisted, and it is to be feared that the Count would have been
confined to the house when the snow was on the ground had it not been
for an incident which showed him in a new light, and established him,
stays or no stays, in the respect of the Seminary for ever. There had
been a glorious fight on the first day of the war with the "Pennies,"
and when they were beaten, a dozen of them, making a brave rearguard
fight, took up their position with the Count's windows as their
background. There were limits to license even in those brave old days,
and it was understood that the windows of houses, especially private
houses, and still more especially in the vicinity of the Seminary,
should not be broken, and if they were broken the culprits were hunted
down and interviewed by "Bulldog" at length. When the "Pennies" placed
themselves under the protection of the Count's glass, which was really
an unconscious act of meanness on their part, the Seminary distinctly
hesitated; but Speug was in command, and he knew no scruples as he knew
no fear.
"Dash the windows!" cried the Seminary captain; and when the "Pennies"
were driven along the street, the windows had been so effectually dashed
that there was not a sound pane of glass in the Count's sitting-room. As
the victorious army returned to their capital, and the heat of battle
died down, some anxiety about to-morrow arose even in minds not given to
care, for Mistress Jamieson was not the woman to have her glass broken
for nothing, and it was shrewdly suspected that the Count, with all his
dandyism, would not take this affront lightly. As a matter of fact,
Mistress Jamieson made a personal call upon the Rector that evening, and
explained with much eloquence to that timid, harassed scholar that,
unless his boys were kept in better order, Muirtown would not be a place
for human habitation; and before she left she demanded the blood of the
offenders; she also compared Muirtown in its present condition to Sodom
and Gomorrah. As the Rector was always willing to leave discipline in
the capable hands of Bulldog, and as the chief sinners would almost
certainly be in his class in the forenoon, the Count, who had witnessed
the whole battle from a secure corner in his sitting-room, and had
afterwards helped Mistress Jamieson to clear away the _débris_, went to
give his evidence and identify the culprit. He felt it to be a dramatic
occasion, and he rose to its height; and the school retained a grateful
recollection of Bulldog and the Count side by side--the Count carrying
himself with all the grace and dignity of a foreign ambassador come to
settle an international dispute, and Bulldog more austere than ever,
because he hated a "tellpyet," and yet knew that discipline must be
maintained.
The Count explained with many flourishes that he was desolated to come
for the first time to this so distinguished a Gymnasium upon an errand
so distasteful, but that a lady had laid her commands on him ("Dis the
body mean Lucky Jamieson?" whispered Speug to a neighbour), and he had
ever been a slave of the sex (Bulldog at this point regarded him with a
disdain beyond words.) The Rector of this place of learning had also
done him, an obscure person, the honour of an invitation to come and
assist at this function of justice; and although, as the Count
explained, he was no longer a soldier, obedience was still the breath of
his nostrils. Behold him, therefore, the servant of justice, ready to be
questioned or to lay down his life for law; and the Count bowed again to
Bulldog, placing his hand upon his heart, and then leant in a becoming
attitude against the desk, tapping his shining boots with his cane, and
feeling that he had acquitted himself with credit.
"We're sorry to bring ye out on such a day, sir," and Bulldog's glance
conveyed that such a figure as the Count's ought not to be exposed in
snowtime; "but we'll not keep ye long, and Ill juist state the
circumstances with convenient brevity. The boys of the Seminary are
allowed to exercise themselves in the snowtime within limits. If they
fight wi' neighbouring schools, it's a maitter of regret; but if they
break windows, they're liable to the maist extreme penalty. Now, I'm
informed that some of the young scoundrels--and I believe the very
laddies are in this class-room at this meenut" (Speug made no effort to
catch Bulldog's eye, and Howieson's attention was entirely occupied with
mathematical figures)--"have committed a breach of the peace at Mistress
Jamieson's house. What I ask you, sir, to do"--and Bulldog regarded the
Count with increasing disfavour, as he thought of such a popinjay giving
evidence against his laddies--"is, to look round this class-room and
point out, so far as ye may be able, any boy or boys who drove a
snowball or snowballs through the windows of your residence."