Part 18 (1/2)
”There, you ought to take comfort from that, Junkie,” remarked his brother Archie, with that fine spirit of tenderness which is so often observable in brothers.
”Ha! ha! ha!” yelled Eddie, with that delicacy of feeling which is equally common.
”Hold your tongues!” growled Junkie--the more cla.s.sic ”shut up” not having at that time found its way to the Western Isles.
”You must know, Junkie, that all parts of an elephant's head are not of equal thickness,” said Jackman in that kindly confidential tone which tends so powerfully to soothe a ruffled spirit. ”The only point in an elephant's forehead that can be pierced by a rifle ball is exactly in the centre. It is about the size of a saucer, and if you miss that, you might as well fire against the Eagle Cliff itself, for the ball would only stick in the skull.”
With this explanation Junkie was fain to rest content at the time, for the party had reached a part of the hill where it became necessary to station the guns at their several posts. In regard to this drive, we have only to say that it ended in nothing except heavy rain and a severe draft on the patience of the sportsmen, without any reward, save that which may be derived from mild martyrdom.
Now, when the events which we have described were taking place on the mountains of Loch Lossie, a very different scene was occurring in the nursery of Kinlossie House. In that interesting apartment, which was one of the chief country residences of the spirits Row and Smash, little Flora was seated all alone in the afternoon of that day. Her seat was a low chair, before her was a low table to match. On the table sat her favourite doll, Blackie, to whom she was administering counsel of the gravest kind, in tones the most solemn. The counsel, we need scarcely say, gave unquestionable proof that her mother's admonitions to herself had been thoroughly understood, though not always acted on. Flo was in the midst of one of her most pathetic appeals to Blackie to be ”dood,”
when her mother entered hastily.
”Come with me, darling, to visit poor old Mrs Donaldson. She is not very well, I hear.”
Flo required no second bidding, for she was extremely fond of the keeper's mother--and love needs no persuasion.
As we have said, Mrs Donaldson's little cottage stood behind that of her son Ivor. It was very small, consisting of only one apartment with a box bed and a few articles of old furniture, the most cherished of which was a little clock with a staring face, and a poor landscape on it.
”What caused the bruise, Maggie?” asked Mrs Gordon, after much talk on the subject of fomentations and bandages. The old woman hesitated to tell, but after a little pressing she said, in half apologetic tone,--”Weel, mem, it was na Ivor's fau't, but the day before yesterday he cam in--fou--ye ken he's fond o' his gla.s.s, mem, an' he was swingin'
aboot his airms, poor falla, an' withoot the least intention, his haund cam doon wi' sik a ding on my heed that knockit me doon. But he kens na aboot it, so ye'll no speak o't to him--or to the laird.”
”You may depend upon it, poor Maggie, that I will not. My mentioning it could do no good. And, as you say, Ivor was not quite himself at the time.”
”Thank'ee, mem, that's just it. An' he's the best sons to me--_whan he's sober_.”
Soon afterwards a shout outside told that the sportsmen had returned from the hills, so, bidding the old woman good-bye, Mrs Gordon and her sympathetic child returned to the house.
CHAPTER NINE.
A QUIET DAY WITH A STIRRING TERMINATION.
What fisher does not know the charm, the calm delight, of a quiet day by the river-side, after, it may be, months of too much contact with society? On such an occasion a congenial comrade is an advantage, but unless the comrade be congenial, one is better alone.
This may sound selfish to some ears, but is it really so? When a man has all but immolated himself for ten or eleven months, it may be, on the altar of business, art, and social duty, is a tremendous thirst for Nature and solitude altogether selfish? We think not. And evidently MacRummle thought not, as he wandered one soft, delightful morning, rod in hand, down to the river-side.
The river-side! There is something restfully suggestive in the very words. The quiet pools, the gurgling deeps, the rus.h.i.+ng rapids, the rippling shallows, the little cascades--what ardent hopes, what wild suggestions, what grand possibilities these have for the young; what gentle excitations, what pleasant, even though sad, memories for the old!
Of course the non-fisher knows nothing of all this. His terrestrial joys are limited, poor thing! The painter, indeed, has some part in the matter--as regards his own line, so to speak--and when he goes on what is vulgarly termed his own hook. We have profound sympathy with the painter. But for the poor fellow who neither fishes nor paints, alas!
To be sure he may botanise. Strange to say, we had almost forgotten that! and also geologise; but our concern at present is with fishers, or, rather, with that fis.h.i.+ng enthusiast, MacRummle.
The suns.h.i.+ne of his face was second only to that of Nature. His visage beamed with satisfaction; his eyes gleamed with hope, as he sat down on the bank near to his first pool, and began to select flies.
We have probably given the impression that MacRummle was alone, but this is not strictly correct. In his own estimation he was, indeed, in absolute solitude, and, so far, his felicity was unbroken; but his steps had been dogged that morning, and the dogger was Junkie.
That eccentric youngster possessed a mind which it is not easy to a.n.a.lyse or describe. One strong element in it, however, was curiosity.
Another was ambition. The blending of these two qualities produced wonder in Junkie--wonder that he, though as ardent a sportsman as MacRummle, should go forth frequently to fish and catch little or nothing, while the old gentleman went out and was wont to return with baskets full to overflowing. There must be a secret of some sort. He did not like to ask what that secret was, so he made up his mind to follow the old man and watch him--not of course with the slightest intention of doing anything sly or wrong, but secretly, because he was well aware that MacRummle did not like to be distracted by company-- especially _his_ company!
Following, then, at a respectful distance, and relying for success very much on the fisher's partial blindness and deafness, Junkie went out to have a day of it. He even went so far, in the matter of forethought, as to provide himself with a ma.s.sive slice of bread and cheese to sustain him while carrying on his investigations.