When Lily got up next morning, it was to the cheerful sounds of the
yard, the clucking of fowls, the voices of the kitchen calling to each
other, Katrin darting out a sentence as she came to the door, Dougal
growling a bass order to the boy, the sounds of whose hissing and
movement over his stable-work were as steady as if Rory were being
groomed like a racer till his coat shone. It is not pleasant to be
disturbed by Chanticleer and his handmaidens in the middle of one’s
morning sleep, nor to hear the swing of the stable pails, and the hoofs
of the horses, and the shouts to each other of the outdoor servants. I
should not like to have even one window of my bedchamber exposed to
these noises. But Lily sprang up and ran to the window, cheered by this
rustic Babel, and looked out with keen pleasure upon the rush of the
fowls to Katrin’s feet as she stood with her apron filled with grain,
flinging it out in handfuls, and upon the prospect through the stable of
the boy hissing and rubbing down Rory, who clattered with his impatient
hoofs and would not stand still to have his toilet made. Dougal was
engaged in the byre, in some more important operations with the cow,
whose present hope and representative--a weak-kneed, staggering
calf--looked out from the door with that solemn stare of wondering
imbecility which is often so pathetic. Lily did not think of pathos. She
was cheered beyond measure to look out on all this active life instead
of the silent moor. The world was continuing to go round all the same,
the creatures had to be fed, the new day had begun--notwithstanding that
she was banished to the end of the world; and this was no end of the
world after all, but just a corner of the country, where life kept going
on all the same, whether a foolish little girl had been to a ball
overnight, or had arrived in solitude and tears at the scene of her
exile. A healthful nature has always some spring in it at the opening of
a new day.
She went over the place under Katrin’s guidance, when she had dressed
and breakfasted, and was as ready to be amused and diverted as if she
had found every thing going her own way; which shows that Lily was no
young lady heroine, but an honest girl of twenty-two following the
impulses of nature. The little establishment at Dalrugas was not a farm.
It had none of the fluctuations, none of the anxieties, which befall a
humble agriculturist who has to make his living out of a few not very
friendly acres, good year and bad year together. Dougal loved, indeed,
to grumble when any harm came over the potatoes, or when his hay was
spoiled, as it generally was, by the rain. He liked to pose as an
unfortunate farmer, persecuted by the elements; but the steady wages
which Sir Robert paid, with the utmost regularity, were as a rock at the
back of this careful couple, whose little harvest was for the sustenance
of their little household, and did not require to be sold to produce the
ready money of which they stood so very little in need. Therefore all
was prosperous in the little place. The eggs, indeed, produced so
plentifully, were not much profit in a place where every-body else
produced eggs in their own barnyards; but a sitting from Katrin’s fowls
was much esteemed in the countryside, and brought her honor and
sometimes a pleasant present in kind, which was to the advantage both of
her comfort and self-esteem. But a calf was a thing which brought in a
little money; and the milk formed a great part of the living of the
house in various forms, and when there was any over, did good to the
poor folk who are always with us, on the banks of the Rugas as in other
places. Dougal would talk big by times about his losses--a farmer,
however small, is nothing without them; but his loss sat very lightly on
his shoulders, and his comfort was great and his little gains very
secure. The little steading which lurked behind Sir Robert’s gray house,
and was a quite unthought-of adjunct to it, did very well in all its
small traffic and barter under such conditions. The mission of Dougal
and his wife was to be there, always ready to receive the master when he
chose to “come North,” as they called it, with the shooting-party, for
whom Katrin always kept her best sheets well aired. But Sir Robert had
no mind to trust himself in the chilly North: that was all very well
when a man was strong and active, and liked nothing so much as to tramp
the moor all day, and keep his friends at heck and manger. But a man’s
friends get fewer as he gets old, and other kinds of pleasure attract
him. It was perhaps a dozen years since he had visited his spare
paternal house. And Dougal and Katrin had come to think the place was
theirs, and the cocks and the hens, and the cows and ponies, the chief
interest in it. But they were no niggards; they would have been glad to
see Sir Robert himself had he come to pay them a visit; they were still
more glad to see Lily, and to make her feel herself the princess, or it
might be altogether more correct to say the suzerain, under whom they
reigned. They did not expect her to interfere, which made her welcome
all the more warm. As for Sir Robert, he might perhaps have interfered;
but even in the face of that doubt Dougal and Katrin would have acted as
became them, and received him with a kindly welcome.
“Ye see, this is where I keep the fowls,” said Katrin. “It was a kind of
a gun-room once; but it’s a place where a shootin’ gentleman never sets
his fit, and there’s no a gun fired but Dougal’s auld carabeen. What’s
the use of keeping up thae empty places, gaun to rack and ruin, with
grand names till them? The sitting hens are just awfu’ comfortable in
here; and as for Cockmaleerie, he mairches in and mairches out, like Mr.
Smeaton, the school-master, that has five daughters, besides his wife,
and takes his walks at the head of them. A cock is wonderful like a man.
If you just saw the way auld Smeaton turns his head, and flings a word
now and then at the chattering creatures after him! We’ve put the
pig-sty out here. It’s no just the place, perhaps, so near the house;
but it’s real convenient; and as the wind is maistly from the east, ye
never get any smell to speak of. Besides, that’s no the kind of smell
that does harm. The black powny he’s away to the moor for peat; but
there’s Rory, aye taking another rug at his provender. He’s an auld
farrant beast. He’s just said to himself, as you or me might do: ‘Here’s
a stranger come, and I am the carriage-horse; and let’s just make the
most of it.’”
“He must be very conceited if he thinks himself a carriage-horse,” said
Lily, with a laugh.
“’Deed, and he’s the only ane; and no a bad substitute. As our auld
minister said the day yon young lad was preaching: ‘No a bad
substitute.’ I trow no, seeing he’s now the assistant and successor, and
very well likit; and if it could only be settled between him and Miss
Eelen there could be naething more to be desired. But that’s no the
question. About Rory, Miss Lily----”
“I would much rather hear about Miss Helen. Who is Miss Helen? Is it the
minister’s little girl that used to come out to Dalrugas to play with
me?”
“She’s a good ten years older than you, Miss Lily.”
“I don’t think so. I was--how old?--nine; and I am sure she was not
grown up, nor any thing like it. And so she can’t make up her mind to
take the assistant and successor? Tell me, Katrin, tell me! I want to
hear all the story. It is something to find a story here.”
“There are plenty of stories,” said Katrin; “and I’ll tell you every one
of them. But about Miss Eelen. She’s a very little thing. You at nine
were bigger than she was--let us say--at sixteen. There maun be five
years atween you, and now she’ll be six-and-twenty. No, it’s no auld,
and she’s but a bairn to look at, and she will just be a fine friend for
you, Miss Lily; for though they’re plain folk, she has been real well
brought up, and away at the school in Edinburgh, and plays the pianny,
and a’ that kind of thing. I have mair opinion mysel’ of a good seam;
but we canna expect every-body to have that sense.”
“And why will she have nothing to say to the assistant and successor?
and what is his name?”
“His name is Douglas, James Douglas, of a westland family, and no that
ill-looking, and well likit. Eh, but you’re keen of a story, Miss Lily,
like a’ your kind. But I never said she would have naething to say to
him. She is just great friends with him. They are aye plotting thegether
for the poor folk, as if there was nothing needed but a minister and
twa-three guid words to make heaven on earth. Oh, my bonnie lady, if it
could be done as easy as that! There’s that drunken body, Johnny Wright,
that keeps the merchant’s shop.” Katrin was a well-educated woman in her
way, and never put _f_ for _w_, which is the custom of her district; but
she said _chop_ for _shop_, an etymology which it is unnecessary to
follow here. “But it’s a good intention--a good intention. They are aye
plotting how they are to mend their neighbors; and the strange thing
is---- But, dear, bless us! what are we to be havering about other
folk’s weakness when nae doubt we have plenty of our ain?”
“I am not to be cheated out of my story, Katrin. Do you mean that the
young minister is not a good man himself?”
“Bless us, no! that’s not what I mean. He’s just as pious a lad and as
weel living---- It’s no that--it’s no that. It’s just one o’ thae
mysteries that you’re far o’er-young to understand. She’s been keen to
mend other folk, poor lass; and that the minister should speak to them,
and show them the error o’ their ways! But the dreadful thing is that
her poor bit heart is just bound up in a lad--a ne’er-do-weel, that is
the worst of them all. Oh, dinna speak of it, Miss Lily, dinna speak of
it! I’ll tell you anither time; or, maybe, I’ll no tell ye at all. Come
in and see the kye. They’re honest creatures. There’s nothing o’ the
deevil and his dreadful ways in them.”
“I wouldna be ower sure of that,” said Dougal, who came to meet them to
the door of the byre, his cap hanging on to the side of his head, upon
one grizzled lock, so many pushes and scratches had it received in the
heat of his exertions. “There’s Crummie, just as little open to raison
as if she were a wuman. No a step will she budge, though it’s clean
strae and soft lying that I’m offering till her. Gang ben, and try what
ye can do. She’s just furious. I canna tell what she thinks, bucking at
me, and butting at me, as if I was gaun to carry her off to the butcher
instead of just setting her bed in comfort for her trouble. None of the
deil in them! What d’ye say to Rory? He’s a deil a’thegether, from the
crown of his head to his off leg, the little evil spirit! And what’s
that muckle cock ye’re so proud o’? Just Satan incarnate, that’s my
opinion, stampin’ out his ain progeny when they’re o’ the same sect as
himsel’. Dinna you trust to what she says, Miss Lily. There’s nae place
in this world where _he_ is not gaun about like a roarin’ lion, seekin’,
as the Scripture saith, whom he may devour.”
“Eh, man,” said his wife, coming out a little red, yet triumphant, “but
you’re a poor hand with your doctrines and your opinions! A wheen soft
words in poor Crummie’s ear, and a clap upon her bonnie broad back, poor
woman, and she’s as quiet as a lamb. Ye’ve been tugging at her, and
swearing at her, though I aye tell ye no. Fleeching is aye better than
fechting, if ye would only believe me--whether it’s a woman or a bairn
or a poor timorsome coo.”
“Ye’re a’ alike,” said Dougal, with a grunt, returning to his work. “I’m
thinking,” he said, pausing to deliver his broadside, “that, saving your
presence, Miss Lily, weemen are just what ye may call the head of the
irrational creation. It’s men that’s a little lower than the angels;
we’re them that are made in the image of God. But when ye speak o’ the
whole creation that groaneth and travaileth, I’m thinking----”
“Ye’ll just think at your work, and haud your ill tongue before the
young lady,” cried his wife in high wrath. But she, too, added as he
swung away with a big laugh: “Onyway, by your ain comparison, we’re at
the head and you’re at the tail. Come away, Miss Lily, and see the
bonnie doos. There is nae ill speaking among them. I’m no so sure,” she
added, however, when out of hearing of her husband, “I’ve heard yon
muckle cushat, the one with the grand ruff about his neck, swearin’ at
his bonnie wifie, or else I’m sair mista’en. It’s just in the nature o’
the men-kind. They like ye weel enough, but they maun aye be gibing at
ye, and jeerin’ at ye--but, bless me, a bit young thing like you, it’s
no to be expeckit ye could understand.”
The pigeons were very tame, and alighted not only on Katrin’s capacious
shoulders, who “shoo’d” them off, but on Lily’s, who liked the
sentiment, and to find herself so familiarly accosted by creatures so
highly elevated above mere cocks and hens--“the bonnie creatures,” as
Katrin said, who sidl’d and bridl’d about her, with mincing steps and
graceful movements. “The doocot” was an old gray tower, standing apart
from the barnyard, in a small field, the traditional appendage of every
old Scotch house of any importance. To come upon Rory afterward,
dragging after him the boy, by name Sandy, and not unlike, either in
complexion or shape, to the superior animal whom he was supposed to be
taking out for exercise, brought back, if not the former discussion on
the prevalence of evil, at least a practical instance of “the deevil”
that was in the pony, and was an additional amusement. Lily made instant
trial of the feminine ministrations which had been so effective with the
cow, whispering in Rory’s ear, and stroking his impatient nose, without,
however, any marked effect.
“He’ll soon get used to ye,” Katrin said consolingly, “and then you’ll
can ride him down to the town, and make your bit visits, and get any
thing that strikes your fancy at the shop. Oh, you’ll find there’s
plenty to divert ye, my bonnie leddy, when once ye are settled down.”
Would it be so? Lily felt, in the courage of the morning, that it might
be possible. She resolved to be good, as a child resolves; there should
be no silly despair, no brooding nor making the worst of things. She
would interest herself in the beasts and the birds, in Rory, the pony,
and Crummie, the cow. She would always have something to do. Her little
school accomplishment of drawing, in which she had made some progress
according to the drawing-master, she would take that up again. The kind
of drawing Lily had learned consisted in little more than copying other
drawings; but that, when it had been carefully done, had been thought a
great deal of at school. And then there was the fine fancy-work which
had been taught her--the wonderful things in Berlin wool, which was
adapted to so many purposes, and occupied so large a share of feminine
lives. Miss Martineau, that strong-minded politician and philosopher,
amused her leisure with it, and why should not Lily? But Berlin
patterns, and all the beautiful shades of the wool, could not, alas! be
had on Dalrugas moor. Lily decided bravely that she would knit stockings
at least, and that practice would soon overcome that difficulty about
turning the heel which had damped her early efforts. She would knit warm
stockings for Sir Robert--warm and soft as he liked them--ribbed so as
to cling close to his handsome old leg, and show its proportions, and
so, perhaps, touch his heart. And then there would, no doubt, turn up,
from time to time, something to do for the poor folk. Surely, surely
there would be employment enough to “keep her heart.” Then she would go
to Kinloch-Rugas and see “Miss Eelen,” Helen Blythe, the minister’s
daughter, whom she remembered well, with the admiration of a little girl
for one much older than herself. Here was something that would interest
her and occupy her mind, and prevent her from thinking. And then there
were the old books in the library, in which she feared there would be
little amusement, but probably a great many good books that she had not
read, and what a fine opportunity for her to improve her mind! Her
present circumstances were quite usual features in the novels before the
age of Sir Walter: a residence in an old castle or other lonely house,
where a persecuted heroine had the best of reading, and emerged quite an
accomplished woman, was the commonest situation. She said to herself
that there would be plenty to do, that she would not leave a moment
without employment, that her life would be too busy and too full to
leave any time for gazing out at that window, watching the little bit of
road, and looking, looking for some one who never came. Having drawn up
this useful programme, and decided how she was to spend every day, Lily,
poor Lily, all alone--even Beenie having gone down stairs for a long
talk with Katrin--seated herself, quite unconsciously, at the window,
and gazed and gazed, without intermission, at the little corner of the
road that climbed the brae, and across the long level of the unbroken
moor.