Part 25 (1/2)

In a moment all Christie's nonchalance gave way to a fiery animation.

She darted to Flucker's side.

”Ye hae na been sae daft as tell?” asked she.

Flucker shook his head contemptuously.

”Ony birds at the island, Flucker?”

”Sea-maws, plenty, and a bird I dinna ken; he moonted sae high, then doon like thunder intil the sea, and gart the water flee as high as Haman, and porpoises as big as my boat.”

”Porr-poises, fulish laddy--ye hae seen the herrin whale at his wark, and the solant guse ye hae seen her at wark; and beneath the sea, Flucker, every coedflsh and doegfish, and fish that has teeth, is after them; and half Scotland wad be at Inch Keith Island if they kenned what ye hae tell't me--dinna speak to me.”

During this, Gatty, who did not comprehend this sudden excitement, or thought it childish, had tried in vain to win her attention.

At last he said, a little peevishly, ”Will you not attend to me, and tell me at least when you will sit to me?”

”Set!” cried she. ”When there's nae wark to be done stanning.”

And with this she was gone.

At the foot of the stairs, she said to her brother:

”Puir lad! I'll sune draw auchty punds fra' the sea for him, with my feyther's nets.”

As she disappeared, Mrs. Gatty appeared. ”And this is the woman whose mind was not in her dirty business,” cried she. ”Does not that open your eyes, Charles?”

”Ah! Charles,” added she, tenderly, ”there's no friend like a mother.”

And off she carried the prize--his vanity had been mortified.

And so that happened to Christie Johnstone which has befallen many a woman--the greatness of her love made that love appear small to her lover.

”Ah! mother,” cried he, ”I must live for you and my art; I am not so dear to her as I thought.”

And so, with a sad heart, he turned away from her; while she, with a light heart, darted away to think and act for him.

CHAPTER XII.

IT was some two hours after this that a gentleman, plainly dressed, but whose clothes seemed a part of himself (whereas mine I have observed hang upon me; and the Rev. Josiah Splitall's stick to him)--glided into the painter's room, with an inquiry whether he had not a picture or two disposable.

”I have one finished picture, sir,” said the poor boy; ”but the price is high!”

He brought it, in a faint-hearted way; for he had shown it to five picture-dealers, and all five agreed it was hard.

He had painted a lime-tree, distant fifty yards, and so painted it that it looked something like a lime-tree fifty yards off.

”That was _mesquin,”_ said his judges; ”the poetry of painting required abstract trees, at metaphysical distance, not the various trees of nature, as they appear under positive accidents.”