Part 3 (2/2)
In all Craig Ronald there was nothing between the hill and the best room that did not bear the mark of Winsome's method and administrative capacity. In perfect dependence upon Winsome, her granny had gradually abandoned all the management of the house to her, so that at twenty that young woman was a veritable Napoleon of finance and capacity. Only old Richard Clelland of the Boreland, grave and wise pillar of the kirk by law established, still transacted her market business and banked her siller--being, as he often said, proud to act as ”doer” for so fair a princ.i.p.al.
So it happened that all the reins of government about this tiny lairds.h.i.+p of one farm were in the strong and capable hands of a girl of twenty.
And Meg Kissock was her true admirer and faithful slave--Winsome's heavy hand, too, upon occasion; for all the men on the farm stood in awe of Meg's prowess, and very especially of Meg's tongue. So also the work fell mostly upon these two, and in less measure upon a sister of Meg's, Jess Kissock, lately returned from England, a young lady whom we have already met.
During the night and morning Winsome had studied with some attention the Hebrew Bible, in which the name Allan Welsh appeared, as well as the Latin Luther Commentary, and the Hebrew Lexicon, on the first page of which the name of Ralph Peden was written in the same neat print hand as in the note-book.
This was the second day of the blanket-was.h.i.+ng, and Winsome, having in her mind a presentiment that the proprietor of these learned quartos would appear to claim his own, carried them down to the bridge, where Meg and her sister were already deep in the mysteries of frothing tubs and boiling pots. Winsome from the broomy ridge could hear the shrill ”giff-gaff” [give and take] of their colloquy. She sat down under Ralph's very broom bush, and absently turned over the leaves of the note-book, catching sentences here and there.
”I wonder how old he is?” she said, meditatively; ”his coat-tails looked old, but the legs went too lively for an old man; besides, he likes maids to be dressed in lilac--” She paused still more thoughtfully. ”Well, we shall see.” She bent over and pulled the milky-stalked, white-seeded head of a dandelion. Taking it between the finger and thumb of her left hand she looked critically at it as though it were a gla.s.s of wine. ”He is tall, and he is fair, and his age is--”
Here she pouted her pretty lips and blew.
”One--ha, ha!--he was an active infant when he ran from the blanket-tramping--two, three, four--”
Some tiny feather-headed spikelets disengaged themselves unwillingly from the round and venerable downpolled dandelion.
They floated lazily up between the ta.s.sels of the broom upon the light breeze.
”Five, six, seven, eight--faith, he was a clean-heeled laddie yon.
Ye couldna see his legs or coat-tails for stour as he gaed roon'
the Far Away Turn.”
Winsome was revelling in her broad Scots. She had learned it from her grandmother.
”Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen--I'll no can set the dogs on him then--sixteen, seventeen, eighteen--dear me, this is becoming interesting.”
The plumules were blowing off freely now, like snow from the eaves on a windy day in winter.
”Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one--I must reverence my elders. If I don't blow stronger he'll turn out to be fifty--twenty-three, twenty-f--”
A shadow fell across the daintily-held dandelion and lay a blue patch on the gra.s.s. Only one pale grey star stood erect on the stem, the vacant green sheathing of the calyx turning suddenly down.
”TWENTY-FOUR!--” said Ralph Peden quietly, standing with his hat in his hand and an eager flush on his cheek. The last plumule floated away.
Winsome Charteris had risen instinctively, and stood looking with crimson cheeks and quicker-coming breath at this young man who came upon her in the nick of time.
He was startled and a little indignant. So they stood facing one another while one might count a score--silent and drinking each the other in, with that flas.h.i.+ng transference of electric sympathy possible only to the young and the innocent.
It was the young man who spoke first. Winsome was a little indignant that he should dare to come upon her while so engaged.
Not, of course, that she cared for a moment what he thought of her, but he ought to have known better than to have stolen upon her while she was behaving in such a ridiculous, childish way. It showed what he was capable of.
”My name is Ralph Peden,” he said humbly. ”I came from Edinburgh the day before yesterday. I am staying with Mr. Welsh at the manse.”
Winsome Charteris glanced down at the books and blushed still more deeply. The Hebrew Bible and Lexicon lay harmlessly enough on the gra.s.s, and the Luther was swinging in a frivolous and untheological way on the strong, bent twigs of broom. But where was the note-book? Like a surge of Solway tide the remembrance came over her that, when she had plucked the dandelion for her soothsaying, she had thrust it carelessly into the bosom of her lilac-sprigged gown. Indeed, a corner of it peeped out at this moment. Had he seen it?--monstrous thought! She knew young men and the interpretations that they put upon nothings! This, in spite of his solemn looks and mantling bashfulness, was a young man.
”Then I suppose these are yours,” said Winsome, turning sideways towards the indicated articles so as to conceal the note-book. The young man removed his eyes momentarily from her face and looked in the direction of the books. He seemed to have entirely forgotten what it was that had brought him to Loch Grannoch bridge so early this June morning. Winsome took advantage of his glance to feel that her sunbonnet sat straight, and as her hand was on its way to her cl.u.s.tering curls she took this opportunity of thrusting Ralph's note-book into more complete concealment. Then her hands went up to her head only to discover that her sunbonnet had slipped backward, and was now hanging down her back by the strings.
Ralph Peden looked up at her, apparently entirely satisfied. What was a note-book to him now? He saw the sunbonnet resting upon the wavy distraction of the pale gold hair. He had a luxurious eye for colour. That lilac and gold went well together, was his thought.
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