Part 36 (2/2)
”Weel, weel, hae'd yer ain way, la.s.s, but Sw.a.n.kie's awa' to the wars, and so's Ruby Brand, for they've gotten him as weel.”
”Ruby Brand!” exclaimed the woman.
”Ay, Ruby Brand; and this is the way they did it.”
Here Spink detailed to his helpmate, who sat with folded hands and staring eyes opposite to her husband, all that had happened. When he had concluded, they discussed the subject together. Presently the little girl came bouncing into the room, with rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes, a dirty face, and fair ringlets very much dishevelled, and with a pitcher of hot soup in her hands.
Davy caught her up, and kissing her, said abruptly, ”Maggie, Big Sw.a.n.kie's awa' to the wars.”
The child looked enquiringly in her father's face, and he had to repeat his words twice before she quite realised the import of them.
”Are ye jokin', daddy?”
”No, Maggie; it's true. The press-gang got him and took him awa', an' I doot we'll never see him again.”
The little girl's expression changed while he spoke, then her lip trembled, and she burst into tears.
”See there, Janet,” said Spink, pointing to Maggie, and looking earnestly at his wife.
”Weel-a-weel,” replied Janet, somewhat softened, yet with much firmness, ”I'll no deny that the man was fond o' the bairn, and it liked him weel enough; but, my certes! he wad hae made a bad man o' you if he could.
But I'm real sorry for Ruby Brand; and what'll the puir la.s.sie Gray do?
Ye'll hae to gang up an' gie them the message.”
”So I will; but that's like somethin' to eat, I think?”
Spink pointed to the soup.
”Ay, it's a' we've got, so let's fa' to; and haste ye, lad. It's a sair heart she'll hae this night--wae's me!”
While Spink and his wife were thus employed, Widow Brand, Minnie Gray, and Captain Ogilvy were seated at tea, round the little table in the snug kitchen of the widow's cottage.
It might have been observed that there were two teapots on the table, a large one and a small, and that the captain helped himself out of the small one, and did not take either milk or sugar. But the captain's teapot did not necessarily imply tea. In fact, since the death of the captain's mother, that small teapot had been accustomed to strong drink only. It never tasted tea.
”I wonder if Ruby will get leave of absence,” said the captain, throwing himself back in his armchair, in order to be able to admire, with greater ease, the smoke, as it curled towards the ceiling from his mouth and pipe.
”I do hope so,” said Mrs Brand, looking up from her knitting, with a little sigh. Mrs Brand usually followed up all her remarks with a little sigh. Sometimes the sigh was _very_ little. It depended a good deal on the nature of her remark whether the sigh was of the little, less, or least description; but it never failed, in one or other degree, to close her every observation.
”I _think_ he will,” said Minnie, as she poured a second cup of tea for the widow.
”Ay, that's right, la.s.s,” observed the captain; ”there's nothin' like hope--
”`The pleasures of hope told a flatterin' tale Regardin' the fleet when Lord Nelson set sail.'
”Fill me out another cup of tea, Hebe.”
It was a pleasant little fiction with the captain to call his beverage ”tea”. Minnie filled out a small cupful of the contents of the little teapot, which did, indeed, resemble tea, but which smelt marvellously like hot rum and water.
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