Part 14 (2/2)

'Maister Weelum's no' an offisher; he's a gentleman.'

'That's exactly why I saluted him, Nathan,' said Joe very patly; and I was laughing quietly to myself as I re-entered my room.

Betty was what she calls 'bankin'' my fire; and, on looking round and catching the smile on my face, she wiped her fingers on her dust-cloth and smiled too.

'Nathan's a wee bit cheerier noo than he was in the foreday,' she said; and, after a pause, as a second thought, she added, 'at least he's as cheery as a Hebron could be in the circ.u.mstances.'

'Oh yes, Betty,' I said, 'he seems to be in a happy enough mood; but I think I have heard you say the Hebrons are not what one would call a hilarious family.'

'No, 'aith no, except Joe, an' him only sometimes--when he shouldna be.

Imphm! Ye never met ony o' Nathan's sisters, Maister Weelum, did ye?'

'No, Betty. I didn't know he had any sisters.'

'Oh, weel, in a wey neither he has, for yin o' them lives in Auchensell an' the ither twae away in the back o' beyond, somewhere in Glencairn.

They come to Thornhill only aince a year, at the Martinmas fair, an' of coorse Nathan stays at hame frae his wark, an' we've them doon here for their denner. Peasoup's a weakness o' the Hebrons, an' they're awfu'

keen on pork ribs, so I mak' my bill o' fare to suit them. An' then, the time I'm cleanin' up, they a' sit roon the fire, an' Nathan smokes an'

spits, an' his sisters sit strecht up in their chairs, lookin' frae the fire to the window, an' whisperin' to each ither. Ye see, Nathan brocht them up. They look on him in a wey as their faither, an' they defer to him even yet, an' aye wait on him speakin' first, so ye can understaun their tongues dinna gang juist like hand-bells; no, 'aith no, they do not. Nathan's fair, but they are dark an' swarthy, an' they a' wear black dolmans, 'lastic-sided boots, an' white stockin's, an' they aye come wi' umbrellas in their haun even though the weather's as dry as tinder. Thomasina frae Auchensell is the auldest, an' she's the only yin that has a family; an' when Nathan does say ocht it's aye her he speaks to, an' the ither twae juist sit an' mutter to yin anither, lookin'

quite pleased an' satisfied. I'm used wi' them noo; but the first time I had them here I was at my wits' end. No' a word could I get oot o' them, an' Nathan--weel, I didna ken him very weel then either--_he_ could hardly be seen for pipe-reek, an' it was only because I couldna do the deaf an' dumb alphabet that I didna try it on them. An' mair than that, Maister Weelum, here's anither very queer thing. Do you know that their men--their marrit men, I mean--have never been inside this door. I've never met them, no' even seen them; an' Nathan--weel, I dare say he wad be at their waddin's, but I question if he wad stop an' speak to them if he met them on the king's highway. Oh, I tell ye, they're queer! Ye micht marry a Hebron, but ye never get into the family.'

'And what about Joe?' I asked. 'Does he join these annual reunions?'

'Catch Joe sittin' in the hoose on a Thornhill fair-day. No, no, Joe's ower keen on the pea-guns, an' the Aunt Sally booth, an' siclike to ha'e ony time to help Nathan to entertain his sisters. He's a queer, queer mixture is Joe; but his he'rt's in the richt place for a' that. Ha'e ye seen him the day?'

'Yes; I met him on the street, looking rather melancholy, I thought.

You--you haven't put him under the pledge again, Betty?'

'Ye thocht he looked melancholy, did ye? Weel, he's under nae pledge to me. It's no' that that's putten him aboot. Puir Joe! puir Joe!'

'What is it, then, Betty?'

She hesitated for a minute, and I at once apologised, thinking I was unconsciously prying into family affairs.

'Oh, it's no' that I'm hankerin' for, Maister Weelum. The fact is, it's in a wey concerned wi' a friend o' yours, an' I don't know very weel hoo to begin; but ye mind me tellin' ye aboot Joe gettin' the awfu' fricht meetin' a lady he thocht was deid an' buried? You an' me made licht o't; but Joe wadna be convinced, an' last nicht he saw the lady again, an'--noo, Maister Weelum, this is the queer bit o' the story--the lady was Miss Stuart.'

'How did he know that, Betty?'

'Weel, he was in the kitchen last nicht when I brocht her through frae Mrs Jardine's to see your picter, an' he was so putten aboot that he gaed strecht away hame to the Cuddy Lane withoot sayin' a word to onybody. This mornin' he spoke to me aboot it, an' asked her name, an'

when I said it was Miss Stuart he nearly fainted. ”Same name,” he said, ”and the same locket,” an' that's a' I could get oot o' him; an' he was so dazed an' bamboozled that he couldna mind my messages, an' I had to write them doon on a bit paper. Noo, Maister Weelum, what mak' ye o'

that?'

'Same name and the same locket!' I repeated slowly. 'Whatever could he mean by that?'

'I dinna ken. I asked him, but his lips shut wi' a snap like a handbag.

If I hadna asked he wad ha'e telt me; the Hebron cam' oot there again, Maister Weelum.'

'Oh, Betty, it must be a foolish fancy. The chance of Joe having met Miss Stuart before has, of course, to be considered; but the lady he knew died twenty-four years ago. Miss Stuart must have been a baby then.'

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