Part 26 (1/2)
Ralph looked in bewilderment at Saunders, who was indulging in mystic winks and nods.
”You see, the way o't is this, sir: yin's mither--(an' mind, I'm far frae sayin' a word agin my ain mither--she's a guid yin, for a' her tongue, whilk, ye ken, sir, she canna help ony mair than bein' a woman;) but ye ken, that when ye come hame frae the Black Bull, gin a man has only his mither, she begins to flyte on [scold] him, an' cast up to him what his faither, that's i' the grave, wad hae said, an' maybe on the back o' that she begins the greetin'. Noo, that's no comfortable, ava. A man that gangs to the Black Bull disna care a flee's hin' leg what his faither wad hae said. He disna want to be grutten ower [wept over]; na, what he wants is a guid-gaun tongue, a wullin' airm, an' a heather besom no ower sair worn.”
Ralph nodded in his turn in appreciative comment.
”Then, on the morrow's morn, when ye rub yer elbow, an' fin'
forbye that there's something on yer left shoother-blade that's no on the ither, ye tak' a resolve that ye'll come straught hame the nicht. Then, at e'en, when ye come near the Black Bull, an'
see the crony that ye had a gla.s.s wi' the nicht afore, ye naturally tak' a bit race by juist to get on the safe side o' yer hame. I'm hearin' aboot new-fangled folk that they ca' 'temperance advocates,' Maister Ralph, but for my pairt gie me a lang-shankit besom, an' a guid-wife's wullin airm!”
These are all the opinions of Saunders Mowdiewort about besom- shanks.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THAT GIPSY JESS.
Saunders took Ralph's letter to Craig Ronald with him earlier that night than usual, as Ralph had desired him. At the high hill gate, standing directing the dogs to gather the cows off the hill for milking, he met Jess.
”Hae ye ouy news, Saunders?” she asked, running down to the little foot-bridge to meet him. Saunders took it as a compliment; and, indeed, it was done with a kind of elfish grace, which cast a glamour over his eyes. But Jess, who never did anything without a motive, really ran down to be out of sight of Ebie Farrish, who stood looking at her from within the stable door.
”Here's a letter for ye, Jess,” Saunders said, importantly, handing her Ralph's letter. ”He seemed rale agitat.i.t when he brocht it in to me, but I cheered him up by tellin' him how ye wad dreel him wi' the besom-shank gin he waur to gang to the Black Bull i' the forenichts.”
”Gang to the Black Bull!--what div ye mean, ye gomeril?--Saunders I mean; ye ken weel that Maister Peden wadna gang to ony Black Bull.”
”Weel, na, I ken that; it was but a mainner o' speakin'; but I can see that he's fair daft ower ye, Jess. I ken the signs o' love as weel as onybody. But hoo's Meg--an' do ye think she likes me ony better?”
”She was speakin' aboot ye only this mornin',” answered Jess pleasantly, ”she said that ye waur a rale solid, sensible man, no a young ne'er-do-weel that naebody kens whaur he'll be by the Martinmas term.”
”Did Meg say that!” cried Saunders in high delight, ”Ye see what it is to be a sensible woman. An' whaur micht she be noo?”
Now Jess knew that Meg was churning the b.u.t.ter, with Jock Forrest to help her, in the milk-house, but it did not suit her to say so.
Jess always told the truth when it suited as well as anything else; if not, then it was a pity.
”Meg's ben the hoose wi' the auld fowk the noo,” she said, ”but she'll soon be oot. Juist bide a wee an' bind the kye for me.”
Down the brae face from the green meadowlets that fringed the moor came the long procession of cows. Swinging a little from side to side, they came--black Galloways, and the red and white breed of Ayrs.h.i.+re in single file--the wavering piebald line following the intricacies of the path. Each full-fed, heavy-uddered mother of the herd came marching full matronly with stately tread, blowing her flower-perfumed breath from dewy nostrils. The older and staider animals--Marly, and Dumple, and Flecky--came stolidly homeward, their heads swinging low, absorbed in meditative digestion, and soberly retasting the sweetly succulent gra.s.s of the hollows, and the crisper and tastier acidity of the sorrel- mixed gra.s.s of the knolls. Behind them came Spotty and Speckly, young and frisky matrons of but a year's standing, who yet knew no better than to run with futile head at Roger, and so encourage that short-haired and short-tempered collie to snap at their heels. Here also, skirmis.h.i.+ng on flank and rear, was Winsome's pet sheep, ”Zachary Macaulay”--so called because he was a living memorial to the emanc.i.p.ation of the blacks. Zachary had been named by John Dusticoat, who was the politician of Cairn Edward, and ”took in” a paper. He was an animal of much independence of mind.
He utterly refused to company with the sheep of his kind and degree, and would only occasionally condescend to accompany the cows to their hill pasture. Often he could not be induced to quit poking his head into every pot and dish about the farm-yard. On these occasions he would wander uninvited with a little pleading, broken-backed bleat through every room in the house, looking for his mistress to let him suck her thumb or to feed him on oatcake or potato parings.
To-night he came down in the rear of the procession. Now and then he paused to take a random crop at the herbage, not so much from any desire for wayside refreshment, as to irritate Roger into attacking him. But Roger knew better. There was a certain imperiousness about Zachary such as became an emanc.i.p.ated black.
Zachary rejoiced when Speckly or any of the younger or livelier kine approached to push him away from a succulent patch of herbage. Then he would tuck his belligerent head between his legs, and drive fore-and-aft in among the legs of the larger animals, often bringing them down full broadside with the whole of their extensive systems ignominiously shaken up.
By the time that Saunders had the cows safe into the byre, Jess had the letter opened, read, and resealed. She had resolved, for reasons of her own, on this occasion to give the letter to Winsome. Jess ran into the house, and finding Winsome reading in the parlour, gave her the letter in haste.
”There's a man waiting for the answer,” she said, ”but he can easy bide a while if it is not ready.”
Winsome, seeing it was the handwriting she knew so well, that of the note-book and the poem, went into her own room to read her first love-letter. It seemed very natural that he should write to her, and her heart beat within her quickly and strongly as she opened it. As she unfolded it her eye seemed to take in the whole of the writing at once as if it were a picture. She knew, before she had read a word, that ”beloved” occurred twice and ”Winsome dear” twice, nor had she any fault to find, unless it were that they did not occur oftener.