Part 4 (1/2)
Luckily, the agent of the estate, being a man of kindly feelings, was willing to allow the poor woman to remain for a time in the cottage they had occupied, and Val had approached the proprietor on the subject of a pension. At present, however, beyond a liberal donation for Christian's benefit, nothing definite had been settled. We had all subscribed to buy her a sewing-machine, and as she was a clever seamstress she was able to make ends meet by dressmaking. She had her cow, and her few hens, so altogether, with the sale of eggs and occasionally of milk, she was able to provide for her little ones for the present. She was such a cheery, kindly little body that every one at Ardmuirland was her friend; this accounted in great measure for the unusual interest in her prospects.
I felt that it would be but neighborly to offer Christian my congratulations upon her approaching good fortune. Her little house stood near a belt of trees on a rising ground, a few feet from the road that led higher up the hill. No other habitation was within a mile of it, and its solitary position was quite enough by itself to suggest to any one that a man who had made money across the ”drink”--as I heard an American once irreverently style the Atlantic--would scarcely be likely to stay for any considerable time in such an out-of-the-world spot. To my mind it seemed incredible that he could be content for long with the comparative luxury of Mrs. Dobie's inn.
Christian sat at her machine in her clean little kitchen when I arrived there, and she called to me cheerily through the open doorway to enter, and rose to receive me. She was a plain little woman, about forty years old, probably; she bore the marks of her many anxieties on her brow--too early scored with wrinkles. I could not help thinking, as I saw her, that no fine clothes that her rich relative might buy for her would ever make her anything else than a plain country body; in silks and satins, even, she would still be the same homely Christian.
”I came over to say how glad I am to hear of your good fortune,” I said when the usual greetings had pa.s.sed, and I was seated in the chair of state by the fire--for the hillside was chilly, and fires were seldom wanting up there even in the summer weather.
”Thank you kindly, sir,” was her answer. ”Father Fleming was in himself yesterday, for the same reason. It is very good of the priest and yourself, sir, as well as our neighbors aboot, to take sic an interest in us. Indeed, I'm very thankful that G.o.d has been sae guid to us. It looks as though our troubles are coming to an end, with this guid news!”
”When do you expect your cousin?” I asked.
Christian took a letter from the mantelpiece, where a china dog had been guarding it.
”This is his last letter, sir,” she said, with a touch of honest pride, as she handed it to me to read. ”You will see what he says. He was to sail on the 14th, and that was about a fortnight ago. Mistress Dobie had a message to say that he would be there about the first of June.
He has business in Glasgow, which will keep him there a bit.”
”It's a kind, friendly letter,” I remarked, as I handed it back. ”He speaks very nicely about you all.”
”If only for the sake of the bairns, sir, I'm very thankful that we've foond sae guid a friend,” she said with much feeling.
Jeemsie peeped in at the door just then. He was quite a handsome little chap, with regular features and a rather intelligent face.
”Jeemsie will be provided for now,” I said, beckoning the child to me.
He came, shyly smiling, and put his hand in mine.
”Yes, thank G.o.d!” was the poor mother's reply. ”It's been a trouble to me to know what to do for him, and especially what'll happen to the bairn when I'm taken. But Father Fleming says his cousin can put him to some kind of inst.i.tution for a year or two, where they can teach him to read and write and c.o.o.nt as well as any bairn wi' all his senses.
For he's nae daft!” she exclaimed, with motherly pride. ”He's just as sensible as can be aboot most things. He kens as weel as Tam aboot searching for the eggs, and he loves to fetch water from the well in his little pail for me, bless him!”
”Yes, it's a great thing for the child that his cousin is coming to look after you all. Jeemsie will be made a man of. I once knew a postman who was afflicted like Jeemsie, and he did his work better than any of the other men in the same office. The postmaster was quite proud of him. He couldn't talk, poor man, so there was no danger of his wasting time in gossip.”
I took my leave after chatting a while, and rejoiced as I pictured to myself on the way home the lightening of so many burdens which had pressed heavily on the shoulders of that brave little woman.
A week later and we heard through w.i.l.l.y that Mr. Gowan had arrived at Larrigie Inn.
”An' a freer mon wi' his money, Mistress Dobie says, ye'd niver wish to see,” was his estimate of the newcomer. ”He was treatin' the fellows wi' drams a' roond, the nicht he cam'; he wes sae glad to be bock i'
the auld place. He wes a loon o' fafteen when him an' his farther went an' to mak' their fortune in Ameriky, ye ken.”
”I don't like to hear about that dramming business,” was Val's comment to me later. ”There's too much of that kind of thing already about here. However, we must make allowance for the man's natural joy at seeing his old haunts once more.”
”Including the inn, I suppose! But he was too young when they left to have cultivated a very intimate acquaintance with that one!”
Gowan proved to be but one of our own rough crofters who had acquired so thin a veneer of civilization that it scarcely concealed the reality beneath. With a somewhat boisterous geniality he made instant friends with all of his former cla.s.s in the neighborhood. With Val and myself he was not altogether at his ease. An abrupt awkwardness of manner, which we put down to shyness, characterized our intercourse, which was of rare occurrence.
He drove up to Ma.s.s on a Sunday, not in a motor, but in the ordinary ”machine” belonging to the inn--a kind of small wagonette, drawn by a single horse--in which he always occupied the seat next the driver, good-humoredly conveying any persons from that direction who might be coming up our way, either to kirk or ”chapel.”
We heard glowing accounts of his kindness to Christian and the children--of constant excursions to the town; of the purchase of unlimited clothing for all the family, and of many costly presents, such as watches for Christian and Tam, pretty trinkets for little Kirsty, and toys for each of the bairns. He seemed to be never happy out of their company; when they were not driving about the country, visiting neighbors, or picnicking on the hills, they took their more important meals at the inn. The two elder children seemed to have left school for good; we heard later that Gowan had arranged matters with the authorities, stating that he meant to take the family back to America with him, or at any rate to find them a home elsewhere should he make a lengthy stay in Scotland.