The first few weeks of the Sudberrys' residence in their Highland home
were of an April cast--alternate sunshine and shower. Sometimes they
had a day of beaming light from morning till night; at other times they
had a day of unmitigated rain, or, as Mr Sudberry called it, "a day of
cats and dogs;" and occasionally they had a day which embraced within
its own circuit both conditions of weather--glorious bursts of sunshine
alternating with sudden plumps of rain.
Thus far the weather justified and strengthened the diverse opinions of
both husband and wife.
"Did I not tell you, my love, that the climate was charming?" was Mr
Sudberry's triumphant remark when a dazzling blaze of light would roll
over flood and fell, and chase the clouds away.
"There, didn't I say so?" was the withering rejoinder of Mrs Sudberry,
when a black cloud rolled over the sky and darkened the landscape as
with a wipe of ink.
Hitherto victory leaned decidedly to neither side, the smile of triumph
and the humbled aspect of defeat rested alternate on either countenance,
so that both faces taken together formed a sort of contradictory human
barometer, which was not a bad one--at all events it was infinitely
superior to that instrument of the banjo type, which Mr Sudberry was
perpetually tapping in order to ascertain whether or not its tendencies
were dropsical.
When father was up at "set fair," mother was certain to be depressed,
inclining to much rain; yet, strangely enough, it was on such occasions
_very dry_! When mother was "fair," (barometrically speaking, of
course), father was naturally down at "changeable"! Yet there was
wonderful contradiction in the readings of this barometer; for, when
mother's countenance indicated "much rain," father sometimes went down
to "stormy," and the tails of his coat became altogether unmanageable.
But, towards the middle of the holidays, father gained a decided
victory. For three weeks together they had not a drop of rain--scarcely
a cloud in the sky; and mother, although fairly beaten and obliged to
confess that it was indeed splendid weather, met her discomfiture with a
good grace, and enjoyed herself extremely, in a quiet way.
During this bright period the Sudberry Family, one and all, went ahead,
as George said, "at a tremendous pace." The compasses having arrived,
Mr Sudberry no longer laid restrictions on the wandering propensities
of his flock but, having given a compass to each, and taught them all
the use of it, sent them abroad upon the unexplored ocean of hills
without fear. Even Jacky received a compass, with strict injunctions to
take good care of it. Being naturally of an inquiring disposition, he
at once took it to pieces, and this so effectually that he succeeded in
analysing it into a good many more pieces than its fabricator had ever
dreamed of. To put it together again would have taxed the ingenuity of
the same fabricator--no wonder that it was beyond the power of Jacky
altogether. But this mattered nothing to the "little darling," as he
did not understand his father's learned explanation of the uses of the
instrument. To do Mr Sudberry justice, he had not expected that his
boy could understand him; but he was aware that if he, Jacky, did not
get a compass as well as the rest of them, there would be no peace in
the White House during _that_ season. Moreover, Jacky did not care
whether he should get lost or not. In fact, he rather relished it; for
he knew that it would create a pleasant excitement for a time in the
household, and he entertained the firm belief that McAllister and his
men could find any creature on the hills, man or beast, no matter how
hopelessly it should be lost.
There being, then, no limit to the wanderings of the Sudberrys, they one
and all gave themselves over deliberately to a spirit of riotous
rambling. Of course they all, on various occasions, lost themselves,
despite the compasses; but, having become experienced mountaineers, they
always took good care to find themselves again before sunset. George
and Fred candidly declared that they preferred to steer by "dead
reckoning," and left their compasses at home. Lucy always carried hers,
and frequently consulted it, especially when in her father's presence,
for she was afflicted, poor girl, with that unfashionable weakness, an
earnest desire to please her father even in trifles. Nevertheless, she
privately confided to Fred one day that she was often extremely puzzled
by her compass, and that she had grave doubts as to whether, on a
certain occasion, when she had gone for a long ramble with Hector and
Flora Macdonald, and been lost, the blame of that disaster was not due
to her compass. Fred said he thought it was, and believed that it would
be the means of compassing her final disappearance from the face of the
earth if she trusted to it so much.
As for Mr Sudberry himself; his faith in the compass was equal to that
of any mariner. The worthy man was, or believed himself to be, (which
is the same thing, you know!) of profoundly scientific _tendencies_. He
was aware, of course, that he had never really _studied_ any science
whatever; but he had dabbled in a number of them, and he felt that he
had immense _capacity_ for deep thought and subtle investigation. His
mind was powerfully analytical--that's what it was. One consequence of
this peculiarity of mind was that he "took his bearings" on short and
known distances, as well as on long venturesome rambles; he tested
himself and his compass, as it were.
One day he had walked out alone in the direction of the village, four
miles distant from the White House, whence the family derived their
supplies. He had set out with his rod, (he never walked near the river
without his rod), intending to take a cast in what he styled the "lower
pools." By degrees he fished so near to the village that he resolved to
push forward and purchase a few books. Depositing rod and basket among
the bushes, he walked smartly along the road, having previously, as a
matter of course, taken his bearings from the village by compass. A
flock of sheep met him, gazed at him in evident surprise, and passed on.
At their heels came the collie dog, with his tongue out. It bestowed a
mild, intelligent glance on the stranger, and also passed on. Close
behind the dog came the shepherd, with plaid bonnet and thick stick.
"A fine day, friend," said Mr Sudberry.
"Oo, ay, it _is_ a fine day."
He also passed on.
Another turn in the road, and Mr Sudberry met a drove of shaggy cattle,
each cow of which looked sturdy and fierce enough for any ordinary bull;
while the bull himself was something awful to look upon. There is
nothing ladylike or at all feminine in the aspect of a Highland cow!
Mr Sudberry politely stepped to one side, and made way for them. Many
of the animals paused for an instant, and gazed at the Englishman with
profound gravity, and then went on their way with an air that showed
they evidently could make nothing of him. The drover thought otherwise,
for he stopped.
"Coot-tay to you, sir."
"Good-day, friend, good-day. Splendid weather for the--for the--"
Mr Sudberry did not know exactly for which department of agriculture
the weather was most favourable, so he said--"for the cattle."
"Oo, ay, the w'ather's no that ill. Can she tell the time o' day?"
Out came the compass.
"West-nor'-west, and by--Oh! I beg your pardon," (pulling out his watch
and replacing the compass), "a quarter-past two."
The drover passed on, and Mr Sudberry, chuckling at his mistake, took
the bearings of a tall pine that grew on a distant knoll.
On gaining the outskirts of the village, Mr Sudberry felt a sensation
of hunger, and instantly resolved to purchase a bun, which article he
had now learned to call by its native name of "cookie." At the same
instant a bright idea struck him--he would steer for the baker's shop by
compass! He knew the position of the shop exactly--the milestone gave
him the distance--he would lay his course for it. He would walk
conscientiously with his eyes on the ground, except when it was
necessary to refer to the compass, and he would not raise them until he
stood within the shop. It would be a triumphant exhibition of the
practical purposes, in a small way, to which the instrument might be
applied.
Full of this idea, he took a careful observation of the compass, the
sun, and surrounding nature; laid his course for the baker's shop, which
was on the right side of the village, and walked straight into the
butcher's, which lay on its left extremity. He was so much put out on
lifting his eyes to those of the butcher, that he ordered a leg of
mutton and six pounds of beefsteaks on the spot. The moment after, he
recollected that two legs of mutton and a round of beef had been
forwarded to the White House by coach the day before, and that there was
a poached brace of moor-fowl in the larder at that moment; but, having
given the order in a prompt, business tone of voice, he felt that he
lacked moral courage to rescind it.
"Ye'll ha'e frien's comin' to veesit ye," observed the butcher, who was
gifted with a peculiar and far-sighted faculty of "putting that and that
together."
"No; we have no immediate prospect of such a pleasure."
"Ay? Hum! it's wonderfu' what an appeteet the hill air gives to
strangers."
"A tremendous appetite! Good-day, friend."
Mr Sudberry said this heartily, and went off to the baker's--by dead
reckoning--discomfited but chuckling.
The butcher pondered and philosophised over the subject the remainder of
the afternoon with much curiosity, but with no success. Had the wisdom
of Plato been mingled with his Scotch philosophy, the compound reduced
to an essential oil of investigative profundity, and brought to bear on
the subject in question, he would have signally failed to discover the
reason of the Sudberrys' larder being crammed that week with an
unreasonable quantity of butcher-meat.
Yes! during these three weeks of sunshine the Sudberrys made hay of
their time as diligently as the McAllisters made hay of their grass, and
the compasses played a prominent part in all their doings, and led them
into many scrapes. Among other things, they led them to Glen Ogle.
More of this in the next chapter.