Part 20 (2/2)
But Mistress Skirving did not look in the least put out; only she was discreetly silent for a minute or two after her husband had spoken, as was her wont, and then she proceeded:
”Aye, brawly I kenned Gilbert Peden, when he used to come in at that door, wi' his black curls ower his broo as crisp an' bonny as his son's the day.”
Winsome looked at the door with an air of interest. ”Did he come to see you, grandmammy?” she asked.
”Aye, aye, what else?--juist as muckle as this young man here comes to see me. I had the word o' baith o' them for't. Ralph Peden says that he comes to see me, an' sae did the faither o'
him--”
Again Mistress Skirving paused, for she was aware that her husband had turned on her one of his silent looks.
”Drive on aboot yer faither an' John Rorrison,” she said; ”it's verra entertainin'.”
”Bairdieson,” said Winsome, correctingly.
Ralph, now rea.s.sured that he was interesting Winsome as well, went on more briskly. Winsome had slipped down beside her grandmother, and had laid her arm across her grandmother's knees till the full curve of her breast touched the spare outlines of the elder woman.
Ralph wondered if Winsome would ever in the years to come be like her grandmother. He thought that he could love her a thousand times more then.
”My father,” said Ralph, ”is a man much beloved by his congregation, for he is a very father to them in all their troubles; but they give him a kind of adoration in return that would not be good for any other kind of man except my father. They think him no less than infallible. 'Dinna mak' a G.o.d o' yer minister,' he tells them, but they do it all the same.”
Winsome looked as if she did not wonder.
”When I kenned yer faither,” said the old dame, ”he wad hae been nocht the waur o' a pickle mair o' the auld Adam in him. It's a rale usefu' commodity in this life--”
”Why, grandmother--” began Winsome.
”Noo, la.s.sie, wull ye haud yer tongue? I'm sair deeved wi' the din o' ye! Is there ony yae thing that a body may say withoot bern'
interrupt.i.t? Gin it's no you wi' yer 'Grandmither!' like a cheepin' mavis, it's him ower by lookin' as if ye had dung doon the Bible an' selled yersel' to Sawtan. I never was in sic a hoose. A body canna get their tongue rinnin' easy an' comfortable like, but it's 'Woman, silence!' in a yoice as graund an' awfu' as 'The Lord said unto Moses'--or else you wi' yer Englishy peepin'
tongue, 'Gran'mither!' as terrible shockit like as if a body were gaun intil the kirk on Sabbath wi' their stockin's doon aboot their ankles!”
The little outburst seemed mightily to relieve the old lady.
Neither of the guilty persons made any signs, save that Winsome extended her elbow across her grandmother's knee, and poised a dimpled chin on her hand, smiling as placidly and contentedly as if her relative's words had been an outburst of admiration. The old woman looked sternly at her for a moment. Then she relented, and her hand stole among the girl's cl.u.s.tering curls. The little burst of temper gave way to a semi-humorous look of feigned sternness.
”Ye're a thankless madam,” she said, shaking her white-capped head; ”maybe ye think that the fifth commandment says nocht aboot grandmithers; but ye'll be tamed some day, my woman. Mony's the gamesome an' h.e.l.licat [madcap] la.s.sie that I hae seen brocht to hersel', an' her wings clippit like a sea-gull's i' the yaird, tethered by the fit wi' a family o' ten or a dizzen--”
Winsome rose and marched out of the room with all the dignity of offended youth at the suggestion. The old lady laughed a hearty laugh, in which, however, Ralph did not join.
”Sae fine an' Englishy the ways o' folk noo,” she went on; ”ye mauna say this, ye mauna mention that; dear sirse me, I canna mind them a'. I'm ower auld a p.u.s.s.y Bawdrous to learn new tricks o'
sayin' 'miauw' to the kittlins. But for a' that an' a' that, I haena noticed that the young folk are mair particular aboot what they do nor they waur fifty years since. Na, but they're that nice they manna say this and they canna hear that.”
The old lady had got so far when by the sound of retreating footsteps she judged that Winsome was out of hearing. Instantly she changed her tone.
”But, young man,” she said, shaking her finger at him as if she expected a contradiction, ”mind you, there's no a la.s.s i' t.w.u.n.ty parishes like this la.s.sie o' mine. An' dinna think that me an' my guidman dinna ken brawly what's bringin' ye to Craig Ronald. Noo, it's richt an' better nor richt--for ye're yer faither's son, an'
we baith wuss ye weel. But mind you that there's sorrow comin' to us a'. Him an' me here has had oor sorrows i' the past, deep buried for mair nor twenty year.”
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