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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12768-0.txt b/12768-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..41b2ace --- /dev/null +++ b/12768-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10494 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12768 *** + +PENNY PLAIN + +BY + +O. DOUGLAS + + + +TO MY BROTHER WALTER + + + + +SHOPMAN: "You may have your choice--penny plain or twopence coloured." + +SOLEMN SMALL BOY: "Penny plain, please. It's better value for the +money." + + + + +CHAPTER I + + "The actors are at hand, + And by their show + You shall know all that you are like to know." + _Midsummer Night's Dream_. + + +It was tea-time in Priorsford: four-thirty by the clock on a chill +October afternoon. + +The hills circling the little town were shrouded with mist. The wide +bridge that spanned the Tweed and divided the town proper--the Highgate, +the Nethergate, the Eastgate--from the residential part was almost +deserted. On the left bank of the river, Peel Tower loomed ghostly in +the gathering dusk. Round its grey walls still stood woods of larch and +fir, and in front the links of Tweed moved through pleasant green +pastures. But where once ladies on palfreys hung with bells hunted with +their cavaliers there now stood the neat little dwellings of prosperous, +decent folk; and where the good King James wrote his rhymes, and +listened to the singing of Mass from the Virgin's Chapel, the Parish +Kirk reared a sternly Presbyterian steeple. No need any longer for Peel +to light the beacon telling of the coming of our troublesome English +neighbours. Telegraph wires now carried the matter, and a large bus met +them at the trains and conveyed them to that flamboyant pile in red +stone, with its glorious views, its medicinal baths, and its +band-enlivened meals, known as Priorsford Hydropathic. + +As I have said, it was tea-time in Priorsford. + +The schools had _skailed_, and the children, finding in the weather +little encouragement to linger, had gone to their homes. In the little +houses down by the riverside brown teapots stood on the hobs, and +rosy-faced women cut bread and buttered scones, and slapped their +children with a fine impartiality; while in the big houses on the Hill, +servants, walking delicately, laid out tempting tea-tables, and the +solacing smell of hot toast filled the air. + +Most of the smaller houses in Priorsford were very much of one pattern +and all fairly recently built, but there was one old house, an odd +little rough stone cottage, standing at the end of a row of villas, its +back turned to its parvenu neighbours, its eyes lifted to the hills. A +flagged path led up to the front door through a herbaceous border, which +now only held a few chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies (Perdita would +have scorned them as flowers for the old age), but in spring and in +summer blazed in a sweet disorder of old-fashioned blossoms. + +This little house was called The Rigs. + +It was a queer little house, and a queer little family lived in it. +Jardine was their name, and they sat together in their living-room on +this October evening. Generally they all talked at once and the loudest +voice prevailed, but to-night there was not so much competition, and +Jean frequently found herself holding the floor alone. + +David, busy packing books into a wooden box, was the reason for the +comparative quiet. He was nineteen, and in the morning he was going to +Oxford to begin his first term there. He had so long looked forward to +it that he felt dazed by the nearness of his goal. He was a good-looking +boy, with honest eyes and a firm mouth. + +His only sister, Jean, four years older than himself, left the table and +sat on the edge of the box watching him. She did not offer to help, for +she knew that every man knows best how to pack his own books, but she +hummed a gay tune to prove to herself how happy was the occasion, and +once she patted David's grey tweed shoulder as he leant over her. +Perhaps she felt that he needed encouragement this last night at home. + +Jock, the other brother, a schoolboy of fourteen, with a rough head and +a voice over which he had no control, was still at the tea-table. He was +rather ashamed of his appetite, but ate doggedly. "It's not that I'm +hungry just now," he would say, "but I so soon get hungry." + +At the far end of the room, in a deep window, a small boy, with a dog +and a cat, was playing at being on a raft. The boy's name was Gervase +Taunton, but he was known to a large circle of acquaintances as "the +Mhor," which, as Jean would have explained to you, is Gaelic for "the +great one." Thus had greatness been thrust upon him. He was seven, and +he had lived at The Rigs since he was two. He was a handsome child with +an almost uncanny charm of manner, and a gift of make-believe that made +his days one long excitement. + +He now stood like some "grave Tyrian trader" on the table turned upside +down that was his raft, as serious and intent as if it had been the navy +of Tarshish bringing Solomon gold and silver, ivory and apes and +peacocks. With one arm he clutched the cat and assured that unwilling +voyager, "You're on the dangerous sea, me old puss. You don't want to be +drowned, do you?" The cat struggled and scratched. "Then go--to your +doom!" + +He clasped his hands behind him in a Napoleonic manner and stood +gloomily watching the unembarrassed progress of the cat across the +carpet, while Peter (a fox-terrier, and the wickedest dog in Priorsford) +crushed against his legs to show how faithful he was compared to any +kind of cat. + +"Haven't you finished eating yet, Jock?" Jean asked. "Here is Mrs. +M'Cosh for the tea-things." + +The only servant The Rigs possessed was a middle-aged woman, the widow +of one Andrew M'Cosh, a Clyde riveter, who had drifted from her native +city of Glasgow to Priorsford. She had a sweet, worn face, and a neat +cap with a black velvet bow in front. + +Jock rose from the table reluctantly, and was at once hailed by the Mhor +and invited on to the raft. + +Jock hesitated, but he was the soul of good nature. "Well, only for five +minutes, remember. I've a lot of lessons to-night." He sat down on the +upturned table, his legs sprawling on the carpet, and hummed "Tom +Bowling," but the Mhor leaned from his post as steersman and said +gravely, "Don't dangle your legs, Jock; there are sharks in these +waters." So Jock obediently crumpled his legs until his chin rested on +his knees. + +Mrs. M'Cosh piled the tea-things on a tray and folded the cloth. "Ay, +Peter," she said, catching sight of that notorious character, "ye look +real good, but I wis hearin' ye were efter the sheep again the day." + +Peter turned away his head as if deeply shocked at the accusation, and +Mrs. M'Cosh, with the tea-cloth over her arm, regarded him with an +indulgent smile. She had infinite tolerance for Peter's shortcomings. + +"Peter was kinna late last night," she would say, as if referring to an +erring husband, "an' I juist sat up for him." She had also infinite +leisure. It was no use Jean trying to hurry the work forward by offering +to do some task. Mrs. M'Cosh simply stood beside her and conversed until +the job was done. Jean never knew whether to laugh or be cross, but she +generally laughed. + +Once when the house had been upset by illness, and trained nurses were +in occupation, Jean had rung the bell repeatedly, and, receiving no +answer, had gone to the kitchen. There she found the Mhor, then a very +small boy, seated on a chair playing a mouth-organ, while Mrs. M'Cosh, +her skirts held coquettishly aloft, danced a few steps to the music. +Jean--being Jean--had withdrawn unnoticed and slipped upstairs to the +sick-room much cheered by the sight of such detachment. + +Mrs. M'Cosh had been eight years with the Jardines and was in many ways +such a treasure, and always such an amusement, that they would not have +parted from her for much red gold. + +"Bella Bathgate's expectin' her lodger the morn." The tea-tray was ready +to be carried away, but Mrs. M'Cosh lingered. + +"Oh, is she?" said Jean. "Who is it that's coming?" + +"I canna mind the exact name, but she's ca'ed the Honourable an' she's +bringin' a leddy's maid." + +"Gosh, Maggie!" ejaculated Jock. + +"I asked you not to say that, Jock," Jean reminded him. + +"Ay," Mrs. M'Cosh continued, "Bella Bathgate's kinna pit oot aboot it. +She disna ken how she's to cook for an Honourable--she niver saw yin." + +"Have you seen one?" Jock asked. + +"No' that I know of, but when I wis pew opener at St. George's I let in +some verra braw folk. One Sunday there wis a lord, no less. A shaughly +wee buddy he wis tae. Ma Andra wud hae been gled to see him sae oorit." + +The eyes of the Jardines were turned inquiringly on their handmaid. It +seemed a strange reason for joy on the part of the late Andrew M'Cosh. + +"Weel," his widow explained, "ye see, Andra wis a Socialist an' thocht +naething o' lords--naething. I used to show him pictures o' them in the +_Heartsease Library_--fine-lukin' fellays wi' black mustacheys--but he +juist aye said, 'It's easy to draw a pictur', and he wouldna own that +they wis onything but meeserable to look at. An', mind you, he wis +richt. When I saw the lord in St. George's, I said to masel', I says, +'Andra wis richt,' I says." She lifted up the tray and prepared to +depart. "Weel, he'll no' be muckle troubled wi' them whaur he's gone, +puir man. The Bible says, Not many great, not many noble." + +"D'you think," said Mhor in a pleasantly interested voice, "that Mr. +M'Cosh is in heaven?" (Mhor never let slip an opportunity for +theological discussions.) "I wouldn't care much to go to heaven myself, +for all my friends are in"--he stopped and cast a cautious glance at +Jean, and, judging by her expression that discretion was the better part +of valour, and in spite of an encouraging twinkle in the eyes of Jock, +finished demurely--"the Other Place." + +"Haw, haw," laughed Jock, who was consistently amused by Mhor and his +antics. "I'm sorry for your friends, old chap. Do I know them?" + +"Well," said Mhor, "there's Napoleon and Dick Turpin and Graham of +Claverhouse and Prince Charlie and----" + +"Mhor--you're talking too much," said David, who was jotting down +figures in a notebook. + +"It's to be hoped," said Jean to Mrs. M'Cosh, "that the honourable lady +will suit Bella Bathgate, for Bella, honest woman, won't put herself +about to suit anybody. But she's been a good neighbour to us. I always +feel so safe with her near; she's equal to anything from a burst pipe to +a broken arm.... I do hope that landlord of ours in London will never +take it into his head to come back and live in Priorsford. If we had to +leave The Rigs and Bella Bathgate I simply don't know what we'd do." + +"We could easy get a hoose wi' mair conveniences" Mrs. M'Cosh reminded +her. She had laid down the tray again and stood with her hands on her +hips and her head on one side, deeply interested "Thae wee new villas in +the Langhope Road are a fair treat, wi' a pantry aff the dining-room an' +hot and cold everywhere." + +"_Villas_," said Jean--"hateful new villas! What are conveniences +compared to old thick walls and queer windows and little funny stairs? +Besides, The Rigs has a soul." + +"Oh, mercy!" said Mrs. M'Cosh, picking up the tray and moving at last to +the door, "that's fair heathenish!" + +Jean laughed as the door shut on their retainer, and perched herself on +the end of the big old-fashioned sofa drawn up at one side of the fire. +She wore a loose stockinette brown dress and looked rather like a wood +elf of sorts with her golden-brown hair and eyes. + +"If I were rich," she said, "I would buy an annuity for Mrs. M'Cosh of +at least £200 a year. When you think that she once had a house and a +husband, and a best room with an overmantel and a Brussels carpet, and +lost them all, and is contented to be a servant to us, with no prospect +of anything for her old age but the workhouse or the charity of +relations, and keeps cheery and never makes a moan and never loses her +interest in things ..." + +"But you're _not_ rich," said Jock. + +"No," said Jean ruefully. "Isn't it odd that no one ever leaves us a +legacy? But I needn't say that, for it would be much odder if anyone +did. I don't think there is a single human being in the world entitled +to leave us a penny piece. We are destitute of relations.... Oh, well, I +daresay we'll get on without a legacy, but for your comfort I'll read to +you about the sort of house we would have if some kind creature did +leave us one." + +She dived for a copy of _Country Life_ that was lying on the sofa, and +turned to the advertisements of houses to let and sell. + +"It is good of Mrs. Jowett letting us have this every week. It's a great +support to me. I wonder if anyone ever does buy these houses, or if they +are merely there to tantalize poor folk? Will this do? 'A finely +timbered sporting estate--seventeen bedrooms----'" + +"Too small," said Jock from his cramped position on the raft. + +"'A beautiful little property----' No. Oh, listen. 'A characteristic +Cotswold Tudor house'--doesn't that sound delicious? 'Mullioned windows. +Fine suite of reception-rooms, ballroom. Lovely garden, with +trout-stream intersecting'--heavenly. 'There are vineries, peach-houses, +greenhouses, and pits'--what do you do with pits?" "Keep bears in them, +of course," said Jock, and added vaguely--"bear baiting, you know." + +"It isn't usual to keep bears," David pointed out. + +"No, but if you _had_ them," Jock insisted, "you would want pits to keep +them in." + +"Jock," said Jean, "you are like the White Knight when Alice told him it +wasn't likely that there would be any mice on the horse's back. 'Not +very likely, perhaps, but if they _do_ come I don't choose to have them +running all about.' But I agree with the White Knight, it's as well to +be provided for everything, so we'll keep the pits in case of bears." + +"They had pits in the Bible," said Mhor dreamily, as he screwed and +unscrewed his steering-wheel, which was also the piano stool, "for +Joseph was put in one." + +Jean turned over the leaves of the magazine, studying each pictured +house, gloating over details of beauty and of age, then she pushed it +away with a "Heigh-ho, but I wish we had a Tudor residence." + +"I'll buy you one," David promised her, "when I'm Lord Chancellor." + +"Thank you, David," said Jean. + +By this time the raft had been sunk by a sudden storm, and Jock had +grasped the opportunity to go to his books, while Mhor and Peter had +laid themselves down on the rug before the fire and were rolling on each +other in great content. + +Jean and David sat together on the sofa, their arms linked. They had +very little to say, for as the time of departure approaches +conversation dies at the fount. + +Jean was trying to think what their mother would have said on this last +evening to her boy who was going out into the world. Never had she felt +so inadequate. Ought she to say things to him? Warn him against lurking +evils? (Jean who knew about as much of evil as a "committed linnet"!) +But David was such a wise boy and so careful. It always pinched Jean's +heart to see him dole out his slender stock of money, for there never +was a Jardine born who did not love to be generous. + +She looked at him fondly. "I do hope you won't find it too much of a +pinch, David. The worst of it is, you will be with people who have heaps +of money, and I'm afraid you'll hate to feel shabby." + +"It's no crime to be poor," said David stoutly. "I'll manage all right. +Don't you worry. What I hate is thinking you are scrimping to give me +every spare penny--but I'll work my hardest." + +"I know you'll do that, but play too--every minute you can spare. I +don't want you to shut yourself up among books. Try and get all the good +of Oxford. Remember, Sonny, this is your youth, and whatever you may get +later you can never get that back." She leaned back and gave a great +sigh. "How I wish I could make this a splendid time for you, but I +can't, my dear, I can't.... Anyway, nobody will have better china. I've +given you six of Aunt Alison's rosy ones; I hope the scout won't break +them. And your tablecloths and sheets and towels are all right, thanks +to our great-aunt's stores.... And you'll write as often as you can and +tell us everything, if you get a nice scout, and all about your rooms, +and if cushions would be any use, and oh, my dear, _eat_ as much as you +can--don't save on food." + +"Of course not," said David. "But several nights a week I'll feed in my +own room. You don't need to go to Hall to dinner unless you like." + +He got up from the sofa and went and stood before the fire, keeping his +head very much in the air and his hands in his pockets. He was feeling +that home was a singularly warm, kind place, and that the great world +was cold and full of strangers; so he whistled "D'ye ken John Peel?" and +squared his shoulders, and did not in the least deceive his sister Jean. + +"Peter, me faithful hound," said the Mhor, hugging the patient dog. +"What would you like to play at?" + +Peter looked supremely indifferent. + +"Red Indians?" + +Peter licked the earnest face so near his own. + +The Mhor wiped his face with the back of his hand (his morning's +handkerchief, which he alluded to as "me useful little hanky," being +used for all manner of purposes not intended by the inventor of +handkerchiefs, was quite unpresentable by evening) and said: + +"I know. Let's play at 'Suppose.' Jean, let's play at 'Suppose.'" + +"Don't worry, darling," said Jean. + +The Mhor turned to Jock, who was sitting at a table with his head bent +over a book. "Jock, let's play at 'Suppose.'" + +"Shut up," said Jock. + +"David." The Mhor turned to his last hope. "_Seeing_ it's your last +night." + +David never could resist the Mhor when he was beseeching. + +"Well, only for ten minutes, remember." + +Mhor looked fixedly at the clock, measuring with his eye the space of +ten minutes, then nodded, murmuring to himself, "From there to there. +You begin, Jean." + +"I can't think of anything," said Jean. Then seeing Mhor's eager face +cloud, she began: "Suppose when David was in the train to-morrow he +heard a scuffling sound under the seat, and he looked and saw a grubby +little boy and a fox-terrier, and he said, 'Come out, Mhor and Peter.' +And suppose they went with him all the way to Oxford, and when they got +to the college they crept upstairs without being seen and the scout was +a kind scout and liked dogs and naughty boys and he gave them a splendid +supper----" + +"What did he give them?" Mhor asked. + +"Chicken and boiled ham and meringues and sugar biscuits and lemonade" +(mentioning a few of Mhor's favourite articles of food), "and he tucked +them up on the sofa and they slept till morning, and got into the train +and came home, and that's all." + +"Me next," said Mhor. "Suppose they didn't come home again. Suppose they +started from Oxford and went all round the world. And I met a +magician--in India that was--and he gave me an elephant with a gold +howdah on its back, and I wasn't frightened for it--such a meek, gentle, +dirty animal--and Peter and me sat on it and it pulled off cocoanuts +with its trunk and handed them back to us, and we lived there always, +and I had a Newfoundland pup and Peter had a golden crown because he was +king of all the dogs, and I never went to bed and nobody ever washed my +ears and we made toffee every day, every single day...." His voice +trailed away into silence as he contemplated this blissful vision, and +Jock, wooed from his Greek verbs by the interest of the game, burst in +with his unmanageable voice: + +"Suppose a Russian man-of-war came up Tweed and started shelling +Priorsford, and the parish church was hit and the steeple fell into +Thomson's shop and scattered the haddocks and kippers and things all +over the street, and----" + +"Did you pick them up, Jock?" squealed Mhor, who regarded Jock as the +greatest living humorist, and now at the thought of the scattered +kippers wallowed on the floor with laughter. + +Jock continued: "And another shell blew the turrety thing off The Towers +and blew Mrs. Duff-Whalley right over the West Law and landed her in +Caddon Burn----" + +"Hurray!" yelled Mhor. + +Jock was preparing for a further flight of fancy, when Mrs. M'Cosh, +having finished washing the dishes, came in to say that Thomson had +never sent the sausages for Mr. David's breakfast, and she could not +see him depart for England unfortified by sausages and poached eggs. + +"I'll just slip down and get them," she announced, being by no means +averse to a stroll along the lighted Highgate. It was certainly neither +Argyle Street nor the Paisley Road, but it bore a far-off resemblance to +those gay places, and for that Mrs. M'Cosh was thankful. There was a +cinema, too, and that was a touch of home. Talking over Priorsford with +Glasgow friends she would say, "It's no' juist whit I wud ca' the deid +country--no juist paraffin-ile and glaury roads, ye ken. We hev gas an' +plain-stanes an' a pictur hoose." + +When Mrs. M'Cosh left the room Jock returned to his books, and the Mhor, +his imagination fermenting with the thought of bombs on Priorsford, +retired to the window-seat to think out further damage. + + * * * * * + +Some hours later, when Jock and Mhor were fast asleep and David, his +packing finished, was preparing to go to bed, Jean slipped into the +room. + +She stood looking at the open trunk on the floor, at the shelves from +which the books had been taken, at the empty boot cupboard. + +Two large tears rolled over her face, but she managed to say quite +gaily, "December will soon be here." + +"In no time at all," said David. + +Jean was carrying a little book, which she now laid on the +dressing-table, and, giving it a push in her brother's direction, "It's +a _Daily Light_," she explained. + +David did not offer to look at the gift, which was the traditional +Jardine gift to travellers, a custom descending from Great-aunt Alison. +He stood a bit away and said, "All right." + +And Jean understood, and said nothing of what was in her heart. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + "They have their exits and their entrances." + _As You Like It_. + + +The ten o'clock express from Euston to Scotland was tearing along on its +daily journey. It was that barren hour in the afternoon when luncheon is +over and forgotten, and tea is yet far distant, and most of the +passengers were either asleep or listlessly trying to read light +literature. + +Alone in a first-class carriage sat Bella Bathgate's lodger--Miss Pamela +Reston. A dressing-bag and a fur-coat and a pile of books and magazines +lay on the opposite seat, and the lodger sat writing busily. An envelope +lay beside her addressed to + +THE LORD BIDBOROUGH, + c/o KING, KING, & Co., + BOMBAY. + +The letter ran: + +"DEAR BIDDY,--We have always agreed, you and I (forgive the abruptness +of this beginning), that we would each live our own life. Your idea of +living was to range over the world in search of sport, mine to amuse +myself well, to shine, to be admired. You, I imagine from your letters +(what a faithful correspondent you have been, Biddy, all your wandering +life), are still finding zest in it: mine has palled. You will jump +naturally to the brotherly conclusion that _I_ have palled--that I cease +to amuse, that I find myself taking a second or even a third place, I +who was always first; that, in short, I am a soured and disappointed +woman. + +"Honestly, I don't think that is so. I am still beautiful: I am more +sympathetic than in my somewhat callous youth, therefore more popular: I +am good company: I have the influence that money carries with it, and I +could even now make what is known as a 'brilliant' marriage. Did you +ever wonder--everybody else did, I know--why I never married? Simply, my +dear, because the only man I cared for didn't ask me ... and now I am +forty. (How stark and almost indecent it looks written down like that!) +At forty, one is supposed to have got over all youthful fancies and +disappointments, and lately it has seemed to me reasonable to +contemplate a common-sense marriage. A politician, wise, honoured, +powerful--and sixty. What could be more suitable? So suitable that I ran +away--an absurdly young thing to do at forty--and I am writing to you in +the train on my way to Scotland.... You see, Biddy, I quite suddenly saw +myself growing old, saw all the arid years in front of me, and saw that +it was a very dreadful thing to grow old caring only for the things of +time. It frightened me badly. I don't want to go in bondage to the fear +of age and death. I want to grow old decently, and I am sure one ought +to begin quite early learning how. + + "'Clear eyes do dim at last + And cheeks outlive their rose: + Time, heedless of the past, + No loving kindness knows.' + +Yes, and 'youth's a stuff will not endure,' and 'golden lads and girls +all must like chimney-sweepers come to dust.' The poets aren't at all +helpful, for youth--poor brave youth--won't listen to their warnings, +and they seem to have no consolation to offer to middle age. + +"The odd thing is that up to a week or two ago I greatly liked the life +I led. You said it would kill you in a month. Was it only last May that +you pranced in the drawing-room in Grosvenor Street inveighing against +'the whole beastly show,' as you called it--the freak fashions, the ugly +eccentric dances, the costly pageant balls, the shouldering, +the striving, the worship of money, the gambling, the +self-advertisement--all the abject vulgarity of it? And my set, the +artistic, soulful literary set, you said was the worst of all: you +actually described the high-priestess as looking like a 'decomposing +cod-fish,' and added by way of a final insult that you thought the woman +had a kind heart. + +"And I laughed and thought the War had changed you. It didn't change me, +to my shame be it said. I thought I was doing wonders posing about in a +head-dress at Red Cross meetings, and getting up entertainments, and +even my neverceasing anxiety about you simply seemed to make me more +keen about amusing myself. + +"Do you remember a story we liked when we were children, _The Gold of +Fairnilee_? Do you remember how Randal, carried away by the fairies, +lived contented until his eyes were touched with the truth-telling +water, and then Fairyland lost its glamour and he longed for the old +earth he had left, and the changes of summer and autumn, and the streams +of Tweed and his friends? + +"Is it, do you suppose, because we had a Scots mother that I find, deep +down within me, that I am 'full of seriousness'? It is rather +disconcerting to think oneself a butterfly and find out suddenly that +one is a--what? A bread-and-butter fly, shall we say? Something quite +solid, anyway. + +"As I say, I suddenly became deadly sick of everything. I simply +couldn't go on. And it was no use going burying myself at Bidborough or +even dear Mintern Abbas; it would have been the same sort of trammelled, +artificial existence. I wanted something utterly different. Scotland +seemed to call to me--not the Scotland we know, not the shooting, +yachting, West Highland Scotland, but the Lowlands, the Borders, our +mother's countryside. + +"I remembered how Lewis Elliot (I wonder where he is now--it is ages +since I heard of him) used to tell us about a little town on the Tweed +called Priorsford. It was his own little town, his birthplace and I +thought the name sung itself like a song. I made inquiries about rooms +and found that in a little house called Hillview, owned by one Bella +Bathgate, I might lodge. I liked the name of the house and its owner, +and I hope to find in Priorsford peace and great content. + +"Having been more or less of a fool for forty years, I am now going to +try to get understanding. It won't be easy, for we are told that 'it +cannot be gotten with gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the +price thereof.... No mention shall be made of coral and pearls: for the +price of wisdom is above rubies.' + +"I am going to walk on the hills all day, and in the evening I shall +read the Book of Job and Shakespeare and Sir Walter. + +"In one of the Jungle Books there was a man called Sir Purun Dass--do +you remember? Sir Purun Dass, K.C.I.E., who left all his honours and +slipped out one day to the sun-baked highway with nothing but an +ochre-coloured garment and a beggar's bowl. I always envied that man. +Not that I could rise to such Oriental heights. The beggar's bowl +wouldn't do for me. I cling to my comforts: also, I am sure Sir Purun +Dass left himself no loophole whereby he might slip back to his official +position whereas I-----Well, the Politician thinks I have gone for a +three months' rest cure, and at sixty one is not impatient. You will +say, 'How like Pam!' Yes, isn't it? I always was given to leaving myself +loopholes; but, all the same, I am not going to face an old age +bolstered up by bridge and cosmetics. There must be other props, and I +mean to find them. I mean to possess my soul. I'm not all froth, but, if +I am, Priorsford will reveal it. I feel that there will be something +very revealing about Miss Bella Bathgate. + +"Poor Biddy, to have such an effusion hurled at you! + +"But you'll admit I don't often mention my soul. + +"I doubt if you will be able to read this letter. If you can make it +out, forgive it being so full of myself. The next will be full of quite +other things. All my love, Biddy.--Yours, PAM." + + * * * * * + +Three hours later the express stopped at the junction. The train was +waiting on the branch line that terminated at Priorsford, and after a +breathless rush over a high bridge in the dark Pamela and her maid, +Mawson, found themselves bestowed in an empty carriage by a fatherly +porter. + +Mawson was not a real lady's maid: one realised that at once. She had +been a housemaid for some years in the house in Grosvenor Street, and +Pamela, when her own most superior maid flatly refused to accompany her +on this expedition, had asked Mawson to be her maid, and Mawson had +gladly accepted the offer. She was a middle-aged woman with a small +brown face, an obvious _toupée_, and an adventurous spirit. + +She now tidied the carriage violently, carefully hiding the book Pamela +had been reading and putting the cushion on the rack. Finally, tucking +the travelling-rug firmly round her mistress, she remarked pleasantly, +"A h'eight hours' journey without an 'itch!" + +"Certainly without an aitch," thought Pamela, as she said, "You like +travelling, Mawson?" + +"Oh yes, m'm. I always 'ave 'ad a desire to travel. Specially, if I may +say so, to see Scotland, Miss. But, oh, ain't it bleak? Before it was +dark I 'ad me eyes glued to the window, lookin' out. Such miles of +'eather and big stones and torrents, Miss, and nothing to be seen but a +lonely sheep--'ardly an 'ouse on the 'orizon. It gave me quite a turn." + +"And this is nothing to the Highlands, Mawson." + +"Ain't it, Miss? Well, it's the bleakest I've seen yet, an' I've been to +Brighton and Blackpool. Travelled quite a lot, I 'ave, Miss. The lydy +who read me 'and said I would, for me teeth are so wide apart." Which +cryptic saying puzzled Pamela until Priorsford was reached, when other +things engaged her attention. + + * * * * * + +There was another passenger for Priorsford in the London express. He was +called Peter Reid, and he was as short and plain as his name. Peter Reid +was returning to his native town a very rich man. He had left it a youth +of eighteen and entered the business of a well-to-do uncle in London, +and since then, as the saying is, he had never looked over his shoulder; +fortune showered her gifts on him, and everything he touched seemed to +turn to gold. + +While his mother lived he had visited her regularly, but for thirty +years his mother had been lying in Priorsford churchyard, and he had not +cared to keep in touch with the few old friends he had. For forty-five +years he had lived in London, so there was almost nothing of Priorsford +left in him--nothing, indeed, except the desire to see it again before +he died. + +They had been forty-five quite happy years for Peter Reid. Money-making +was the thing he enjoyed most in this world. It took the place to him of +wife and children and friends. He did not really care much for the +things money could buy; he only cared to heap up gold, to pull down +barns and build greater ones. Then suddenly one day he was warned that +his soul would be required of him--that soul of his for which he had +cared so little. After more than sixty years of health, he found his +body failing him. In great irritation, but without alarm, he went to see +a specialist, one Lauder, in Wimpole Street. + +He supposed he would be made to take a holiday, and grudged the time +that would be lost. He grudged, also, the doctor's fee. + +"Well," he said, when the examination was over, "how long are you going +to keep me from my work?" + +The doctor looked at him thoughtfully. He was quite a young man, tall, +fair-haired, and fresh-coloured, with a look about him of vigorous +health that was heartening and must have been a great asset to him in +his profession. + +"I am going to advise you not to go back to work at all." + +"_What!_" cried Peter Reid, getting very red, for he was not accustomed +to being patient when people gave him unpalatable advice. Then +something that he saw--was it pity?--in the doctor's face made him white +and faint. + +"You--you can't mean that I'm really ill?" + +"You may live for years--with care." + +"I shall get another opinion," said Peter Reid. + +"Certainly--here, sit down." The doctor felt very sorry for this hard +little business man whose world had fallen about his ears. Peter Reid +sat down heavily on the chair the doctor gave him. + +"I tell you, I don't feel ill--not to speak of. And I've no time to be +ill. I have a deal on just now that I stand to make thousands out +of--thousands, I tell you." + +"I'm sorry," James Lauder said. + +"Of course, I'll see another man, though it means throwing away more +money. But"--his face fell--"they told me you were the best man for the +heart.... Leave my work! The thing's ridiculous Patch me up and I'll go +on till I drop. How long do you give me?" + +"As I said, you may live for years; on the other hand, you may go very +suddenly." + +Peter Reid sat silent for a minute; then he broke out: + +"Who am I to leave my money to? Tell me that." + +He spoke as if the doctor were to blame for the sentence he had +pronounced. + +"Haven't you relations?" + +"None." + +"The hospitals are always glad of funds." + +"I daresay, but they won't get them from me." + +"Have you no great friends--no one you are interested in?" + +"I've hundreds of acquaintances," said the rich man, "but no one has +ever done anything for me for nothing--no one." + +James Lauder looked at the hard-faced little man and allowed himself to +wonder how far his patient had encouraged kindness. + +A pause. + +"I think I'll go home," said Peter Reid. + +"The servant will call you a taxi. Where do you live?" + +Peter Reid looked at the doctor as if he hardly understood. + +"Live?" he said. "Oh, in Prince's Gate. But that isn't home.... I'm +going to Scotland." + +"Ah," said James Lauder, "now you're talking. What part of Scotland is +'home' to you?" + +"A place they call Priorsford. I was born there." + +"I know it. I've fished all round there. A fine countryside." + +Interest lit for a moment the dull grey eyes of Peter Reid. + +"I haven't fished," he said, "since I was a boy. Did you ever try the +Caddon Burn? There are some fine pools in it. I once lost a big fellow +in it and came over the hills a disappointed laddie.... I remember what +a fine tea my mother had for me." He reached for his hat and gave a +half-ashamed laugh. + +"How one remembers things! Well, I'll go. What do you say the other +man's name is? Yes--yes. Life's a short drag; it's hardly worth +beginning. I wish, though, I'd never come near you, and I would have +gone on happily till I dropped. But I won't leave my money to any +charity, mind that!" + +He walked towards the door and turned. + +"I'll leave it to the first person who does something for me without +expecting any return.... By the way, what do I owe you?" + +And Peter Reid went away exceeding sorrowful, for he had great +possessions. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + "It is the only set of the kind I ever met with in which you are + neither led nor driven, but actually fall, and that imperceptibly + into literary topics; and I attribute it to this, that in that house + literature is not a treat for company upon invitation days, but is + actually the daily bread of the family."--Written of Maria + Edgeworth's home. + + +Pamela Reston stood in Bella Bathgate's parlour and surveyed it +disconsolately. + +It was papered in a trying shade of terra-cotta and the walls were +embellished by enlarged photographs of the Bathgate family--decent, +well-living people, but plain-headed to a degree. Linoleum covered the +floor. A round table with a red-and-green cloth occupied the middle of +the room, and two arm-chairs and six small chairs stood about stiffly +like sentinels. Pamela had tried them all and found each one more +unyielding than the next. The mantelshelf, painted to look like some +uncommon kind of marble, supported two tall glass jars bright blue and +adorned with white raised flowers, which contained bunches of dried +grasses ("silver shekels" Miss Bathgate called them), rather dusty and +tired-looking. A mahogany sideboard stood against one wall and was +heavily laden with vases and photographs. Hard lace curtains tinted a +deep cream shaded the bow-window. + +"This is grim," said Pamela to herself. "Something must be done. First +of all, I must get them to send me some rugs--they will cover this awful +floor--and half a dozen cushions and some curtains and bits of +embroidery and some table linen and sheets and things. Idiot that I was +not to bring them with me!... And what could I do to the walls? I don't +know how far one may go with landladies, but I hardly think one could +ask them to repaper walls to each stray lodger's liking." + +Miss Bathgate had not so far shown herself much inclined for +conversation. She had met her lodger on the doorstep the night before, +had uttered a few words of greeting, and had then confined herself to +warning the man to watch the walls when he carried up the trunks, and to +wondering aloud what anyone could want with so much luggage, and where +in the world it was to find room. She had been asked to have dinner +ready, and at eight o'clock Pamela had come down to the sitting-room to +find a coarse cloth folded in two and spread on one-half of the round +table. A knife, a fork, a spoon lay on the cloth, flanked on one side by +an enormous cruet and on the other by four large spoons, laid crosswise, +and a thick tumbler. An aspidistra in a pot completed the table +decorations. + +The dinner consisted of stewed steak, with turnip and carrots, and a +large dish of potatoes, followed by a rice pudding made without eggs and +a glass dish of prunes. + +Pamela was determined to be pleased. + +"How _right_ it all is," she told herself--"so entirely in keeping. All +so clean and--and sufficient. I am sure all the things we hang on +ourselves and round ourselves to please and beautify are very +clogging--this is life at its simplest," and she rang for coffee, which +came in a breakfast-cup and was made of Somebody's essence and boiling +water. + +Pamela had gone to bed very early, there being absolutely nothing to sit +up for; and the bed was as hard as the nether millstone. As she put her +tired head on a cast-iron pillow covered by a cotton pillow-slip, and +lay crushed under three pairs of hard blankets, topped by a patchwork +quilt worked by Bella's mother and containing samples of the clothes of +all the family--from the late Mrs. Bathgate's wedding-gown of +puce-coloured cashmere to her youngest son's first pair of "breeks," the +whole smelling strongly of naphtha from the _kist_ where it had +lain--regretful thoughts of other beds came to her. She felt she had not +fully appreciated them--those warm, soft, embracing beds, with +satin-smooth sheets and pillow-cases smelling of lavender and other +sweet things, feather-light blankets, and rose-coloured eiderdowns. + +She came downstairs in the morning to the bleak sitting-room filled with +a distaste for simplicity which she felt to be unworthy. For breakfast +there was a whole loaf on a platter, three breakfast rolls hot from the +baker, and the family toast-rack full of tough, damp toast. A large +pale-green duck's egg sat heavily in an egg-cup, capped, but not +covered, by a strange red flannel thing representing a cock's head, +which Pamela learned later was called an "egg-cosy" and had come from +the sale of work for Foreign Missions. A metal teapot and water-jug +stood in two green worsted nests. + +Pamela poured herself out some tea. "I'm almost sure I told her I wanted +coffee in the morning," she murmured to herself, "but it doesn't +matter." Already she was beginning to hold Bella Bathgate in awe. She +took the top off the duck's egg and looked at it in an interested way. +"It's a beautiful colour--orange--but"--she pushed it away--"I don't +think I can eat it." + +She drank some tea and ate a baker's roll, which was excellent; then she +rang the bell. + +When Bella appeared she at once noticed the headless but uneaten egg, +and, taking it up, smelt it. + +"What's wrang wi' the egg?" she demanded. + +"Oh, nothing," said Pamela quickly. "It's a lovely egg really, such a +beautiful colour, but"--she laughed apologetically--"you know how it is +with eggs--either you can eat them or you can't. I always have to eat +eggs with my head turned away so to speak. There is something about the +yolk so--so----" Her voice trailed away under Miss Bathgate's stolid, +unsmiling gaze. + +There was no point in going on being arch about eggs to a person who so +obviously regarded one as a poor creature. But a stand must be taken. + +"Er--Miss Bathgate----" Pamela began. + +There was no answer from Bella, who was putting the dishes on a tray. +Had she addressed her rightly? + +"You _are_ Miss Bathgate, aren't you?" + +"Ou ay," said Bella. "I'm no' mairret nor naething o' that kind." + +"I see. Well, Miss Bathgate, I wonder if you would mind if Mawson--my +maid, you know--carried away some of those ornaments and photographs to +a safe place? It would be such a pity if we broke any of them, for, of +course, you must value them greatly. These vases now, with the pretty +grasses, it would be dreadful if anything happened to them, for I'm sure +we could never, never replace them." + +"Uch ay," Bella interrupted. "I got them at the pig-cairt in exchange +for some rags. He's plenty mair o' the same kind." + +"Oh, really," Pamela said helplessly. "The fact is, a few things of my +own will be arriving in a day or two--a cushion or two and that sort of +thing--to make me feel at home, you know, so if you would very kindly +let us make room for them, I should be so much obliged." + +Bella Bathgate looked round the grim chamber that was to her as the +apple of her eye, and sighed for the vagaries of "the gentry." + +"Aweel," she said, "I'll pit them in a kist until ye gang awa'. I've +never had lodgers afore." And as she carried out the tray there was a +baleful gleam in her eye as if she were vowing to herself that she would +never have them again. + +Pamela gave a gasp of relief when the door closed behind the ungracious +back of her landlady, and started when it opened again, but this time it +was only Mawson. + +She hailed her. "Mawson, we must get something done to this room. Lift +all these vases and photographs carefully away. Miss Bathgate says she +will put them somewhere else in the meantime. And we'll wire to +Grosvenor Street for some cushions and rugs--this is too hopeless. Are +you quite comfortable Mawson?" + +"Yes, Miss. I 'ave me meals in the kitchen, Miss, for Miss Bathgate +don't want to keep another fire goin'. A nice cosy kitchen it is, Miss." + +"Then I wish I could have my meals there, too." + +"Oh, Miss!" cried Mawson in horror. + +"Does Miss Bathgate talk to you, Mawson?" + +"Not to say talk, Miss. She don't even listen much; says she can't +understand my 'tongue.' Funny, ain't it? Seems to me it's 'er that +speaks strange. But I expect we'll be friends in time, Miss. You do 'ave +to give the Scotch time: bit slow they are.... What I wanted to h'ask, +Miss, is where am I to put your things? That little wardrobe and chest +of drawers 'olds next to nothing." + +"Keep them in the trunks," said Pamela. "I think Miss Bathgate would +like to see us departing with them to-day, but I won't be beat. In +Priorsford we are, in Priorsford we remain.... I'll write out some wires +and you will explore for a post office. I shall explore for an +upholsterer who can supply me with an arm-chair not hewn from the +primeval rock." + +Mawson smiled happily and departed to put on her hat, while Pamela sat +down to compose telegrams. + +These finished, she began, as was her almost daily custom, to scribble a +letter to her brother. + +"c/o Miss B. BATHGATE, + HILLVIEW, PRIORSFORD, + SCOTLAND. + +"BIDDY DEAR,--The beds and chairs and cushions are all stuffed with +cannon-balls, and the walls are covered with enlarged photographs of men +with whiskers, and Bella Bathgate won't speak to me, partly because she +evidently hates the look of me, and partly because I didn't eat the +duck's egg she gave me for breakfast. But the yolk of it was orange, +Biddy. How could I eat it? + +"I have sent out S.O.S. signals for necessaries in the way of rugs and +cushions. Life as bald and unadorned as it presents itself to Miss +Bathgate is really not quite decent. I wish she would speak to me, but I +fear she considers me beneath contempt. + +"What happens when you arrive in a place like Priorsford and stay in +lodgings? Do you remain seated alone with your conscience, or do people +call? + +"Perhaps I shall only have Mawson to converse with. It might be worse. I +don't think I told you about Mawson. She has been a housemaid in +Grosvenor Street for some years, and she maided me once when Julie was +on holiday, so when that superior damsel refused to accompany me on this +trek I gladly left her behind and brought Mawson in her place. + +"She is really very little use as a maid, but her conversation is +pleasing and she has a most cheery grin. She reads the works of Florence +Barclay, and doesn't care for music-halls--'low I call them, Miss.' I +asked her if she were fond of music, and she said, 'Oh yes, Miss,' and +then with a coy glance, 'I ply the mandoline.' I think she is about +fifty, and not at all good-looking, so she will be a much more +comfortable person in the house than Julie, who would have moped without +admirers. + +"Well, at present Mawson and I are rather like Robinson Crusoe and Man +Friday on the island...." + + * * * * * + +Pamela stopped and looked out of the window for inspiration. Miss +Bathgate's parlour was not alluring, but the view from it was a +continual feast--spreading fields, woods that in this yellowing time of +the year were a study in old gold, the winding river, and the blue hills +beyond. Pamela saw each detail with delight; then, letting her eyes come +nearer home, she studied the well-kept garden belonging to her landlady. +On the wall that separated it from the next garden a small boy and a dog +were seated. + +Pamela liked boys, so she smiled encouragingly to this one, the boy +responding by solemnly raising his cap. + +Pamela leaned out of the window. + +"Good morning," she said. "What's your name?" + +"My name's Gervase Taunton, but I'm called 'the Mhor.' This is Peter +Jardine," patting the dog's nose. + +"I'm very glad to know you," said Pamela. "Isn't that wall damp?" + +"It is rather," said Mhor. "We came to look at you." + +"Oh," said Pamela. + +"I've never seen an Honourable before, neither has Peter." + +"You'd better come in and see me quite close," Pamela suggested. "I've +got some chocolates here." + +Mhor and Peter needed no further invitation. They sprang from the wall +and in a few seconds presented themselves at the door of the +sitting-room. + +Pamela shook hands with Mhor and patted Peter, and produced a box of +chocolates. + +"I hope they're the kind you like?" she said politely. + +"I like any kind," said Mhor, "but specially hard ones. I don't suppose +you have anything for Peter? A biscuit or a bit of cake? Peter's like +me. He's always hungry for cake and _never_ hungry for porridge." + +Pamela, feeling extremely remiss, confessed that she had neither cake +nor biscuits and dared not ask Miss Bathgate for any. + +"But you're bigger than Miss Bathgate," Mhor pointed out. "You needn't +be afraid of her. I'll ask her, if you like." + +Pamela heard him cross the passage and open the kitchen door and begin +politely, "Good morning, Miss Bathgate." + +"What are ye wantin' here wi' thae dirty boots?" Bella demanded. + +"I came in to see the Honourable, and she has nothing to give poor Peter +to eat. Could he have a tea biscuit--not an Abernethy one, please, he +doesn't like them--or a bit of cake?" + +"Of a' the impidence!" ejaculated Bella. "D'ye think I keep tea biscuits +and cake to feed dowgs wi'? Stan' there and dinna stir." She put a bit +of carpet under the small, dirty boots, and as she grumbled she wiped +her hands on a coarse towel that hung behind the door, and reached up +for a tin box from the top shelf of the press beside the fire. + +"Here, see, there's yin for yerself, an' the broken bits are for Peter. +Here he comes snowkin'," as Peter ambled into the kitchen followed by +Pamela. That lady stood in the doorway. + +"Do forgive me coming, but I love a kitchen. It is always the nicest +place in the house, I think; the shining tins are so cheerful, and the +red fire." She smiled in an engaging way at Bella, who, after a second, +and, as it were, reluctantly, smiled back. + +"I see you have given the raider some biscuits," Pamela said. + +"He's an ill laddie." Bella Bathgate looked at the Mhor standing +obediently on the bit of carpet, munching his biscuit, and her face +softened. "He has neither father nor mother, puir lamb, but I must say +Miss Jean never lets him ken the want o' them." + +"Miss Jean?" + +"He bides at The Rigs wi' the Jardines--juist next door here. She's no a +bad lassie, Miss Jean, and wonderfu' sensible considerin'.... Are ye +finished, Mhor? Weel, wipe yer feet and gang ben to the room an' let me +get on wi' ma work." + +Pamela, feeling herself dismissed, took her guest back to the +sitting-room, where Mhor at once began to examine the books piled on the +table, while Peter sat himself on the rug to await developments. + +"You've a lot of books," said Mhor. "I've a lot of books too--as many as +a hundred, perhaps. Jean teaches me poetry. Would you like me to say +some?" + +"Please," said Pamela, expecting to hear some childish rhymes. Mhor took +a long breath and began: + + "'O take me to the Mountain O, + Past the great pines and through the wood, + Up where the lean hounds softly go, + A whine for wild things' blood, + And madly flies the dappled roe. + O God, to shout and speed them there + An arrow by my chestnut hair + Drawn tight, and one keen glittering spear-- + Ah, if I could!'" + +For some reason best known to himself Mhor was very sparing of breath +when he repeated poetry, making one breath last so long that the end of +the verse was reached in a breathless whisper--in this instance very +effective. + +"So that is what 'Jean' teaches you," said Pamela. "I should like to +see Jean." + +"Well," said Mhor, "come in with me now and see her. I should be doing +my lessons anyway, and you can tell her where I've been." + +"Won't she think me rather pushing?" Pamela asked. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Mhor carelessly. "Jean's kind to +everybody--tramps and people who sing in the street and little cats with +no homes. Hadn't you better put on your hat?" + +So Pamela obediently put on her hat and coat and went with her new +friends down the road a few steps and up the flagged path to the front +door of the funny little house that kept its back turned to its parvenu +neighbours, and its eyes lifted to the hills. + +In Mhor led her, Peter following hard behind, through a square, +low-roofed entrance-hall with a polished floor, into a long room with +one end coming to a point in an odd-shaped window, rather like the bow +of a ship. + +A girl was sitting in the window with a large basket of darning beside +her. + +"Jean," cried Mhor as he burst in, "here's the Honourable. I asked her +to come in and see you. She's afraid of Bella Bathgate." + +"Oh, do come in," said Jean, standing up with the stocking she was +darning over one hand. "Take this chair; it's the most comfortable. I do +hope Mhor hasn't been worrying you?" + +"Indeed he hasn't," said Pamela; "I was delighted to see him. But +please don't let me interrupt your work." + +"The boys make such big holes," said Jean, picking up a damp +handkerchief that lay beside her; and then with a tremble in her voice, +"I've been crying," she added. + +"So I see," said Pamela. "I'm sorry. Is anything wrong?" + +"Nothing in the least wrong," Jean said, swallowing hard, "only that I'm +so silly." And presently she found herself pouring out her troubled +thoughts about David, about the lions that she feared stood in his path +at Oxford, about the hole his going made in the little household at The +Rigs. It was a comfort to tell it all to this delightful-looking +stranger who seemed to understand in the most wonderful way. + +"I remember when my brother Biddy went to Oxford," Pamela told her. "I +felt just as you do. Our parents were dead, and I was five years older +than my brother, and took care of him just as you do of your David. I +was afraid for him, for he had too much money, and that is much worse +than having too little--but he didn't get changed or spoiled, and to +this day he is the same, my own old Biddy." + +Jean dried her eyes and went on with her darning, and Pamela walked +about looking at the books and talking, taking in every detail of this +girl and her so individual room, the golden-brown hair, thick and wavy, +the golden-brown eyes, "like a trout-stream in Connemara," that sparkled +and lit and saddened as she talked, the mobile, humorous mouth, the +short, straight nose and pointed chin, the straight-up-and-down belted +brown frock, the whole toning so perfectly with the room with its +polished floor and old Persian rugs, the pale yellow walls (even on the +dullest day they seemed to hold some sunshine) hung with coloured prints +in old rosewood frames--"Saturday Morning," engraved (with many +flourishes) by T. Burke, engraver to His Serene Highness the Reigning +Landgrave of Hesse Darmstadt; "The Cut Finger," by David Wilkie--those +and many others. The furniture was old and good, well kept and well +polished, so that the shabby, friendly room had that comfortable air of +well-being that only careful housekeeping can give. Books were +everywhere: a few precious ones behind glass doors, hundreds in low +bookcases round the room. + +"I needn't ask you if you are fond of reading," Pamela said. + +"Much too fond," Jean confessed. "I'm a 'rake at reading.'" + +"You know the people," said Pamela, "who say, 'Of course I _love_ +reading, but I've no time, alas!' as if everyone who loves reading +doesn't make time." + +As they talked, Pamela realised that this girl who lived year in and +year out in a small country town was in no way provincial, for all her +life she had been free of the company of the immortals. The Elizabethans +she knew by heart, poetry was as daily bread. Rosalind in Arden, Viola +in Illyria, were as real to her as Bella Bathgate next door. She had +taken to herself as friends (being herself all the daughters of her +father's house) Maggie Tulliver, Ethel Newcome, Beatrix Esmond, Clara +Middleton, Elizabeth Bennet---- + +The sound of the gong startled Pamela to her feet. + +"You don't mean to say it's luncheon time already? I've taken up your +whole morning." + +"It has been perfectly delightful," Jean assured her. "Do stay a long +time at Hillview and come in every day. Don't let Bella Bathgate +frighten you away. She isn't used to letting her rooms, and her manners +are bad, and her long upper lip very quelling; but she's really the +kindest soul on earth.... Would you come in to tea this afternoon? Mrs. +M'Cosh--that's our retainer--bakes rather good scones. I would ask you +to stay to luncheon, but I'm afraid there mightn't be enough to go +round." + +Pamela gratefully accepted the invitation to tea, and said as to +luncheon she was sure Miss Bathgate would be awaiting her with a large +dish of stewed steak and carrots saved from the night before--so she +departed. + + * * * * * + +Later in the day, as Miss Bathgate sat for ten minutes in Mrs. M'Cosh's +shining kitchen and drank a dish of tea, she gave her opinion of the +lodger. + +"Awfu' English an' wi' a' the queer daft ways o' gentry. 'Oh, Miss +Bathgate,' a' the time. They tell me Miss Reston's considered a beauty +in London. It's no' ma idea o' beauty--a terrible lang neck an' a wee +shilpit bit face, an' sic a height! I'm fair feared for ma gasaliers. +An' forty if she's a day. But verra pleasant, ye ken. I aye think there +maun be something wrang wi' folk that's as pleasant as a' that--owre +sweet to be wholesome, like a frostit tattie! ... The maid's ca'ed Miss +Mawson. She speaks even on. The wumman's a fair clatter-vengeance, an' I +dinna ken the one-hauf she says. I think the puir thing's _defeecient_!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + " ... Ruth, all heart and tenderness + Who wept, like Chaucer's Prioress, + When Dash was smitten: + Who blushed before the mildest men, + Yet waxed a very Corday when + You teased the kitten." + + AUSTIN DOBSON. + + +Before seeking her stony couch at the end of her first day at +Priorsford, Pamela finished the letter begun in the morning to her +brother. + + * * * * * + +" ... I began this letter in the morning and now it is bedtime. Robinson +Crusoe is no longer solitary: the island is inhabited. My first visitors +arrived about 11 a.m.--a small boy and a dog--an extremely good-looking +little boy and a well-bred fox-terrier. They sat on the garden wall +until I invited them in, when they ate chocolates and biscuits, and the +boy offered to repeat poetry. I expected 'Casabianca' or the modern +equivalent, but instead I got the song from Hippolytus, 'O take me to +the Mountains, O.' It was rather surprising, but when he invited me to +go with him to his home, which is next door, it was more surprising +still. Instead of finding another small villa like Hillview with a +breakneck stair and poky little rooms, I found a real old cottage. The +room I was taken into was about the nicest I ever saw. I think it would +have fulfilled all your conditions as to the proper furnishing of a +room; indeed, now that I think of it, it was quite a man's room. + +"It had a polished floor and some good rugs, and creamy yellow walls +with delicious coloured prints. There were no ornaments except some fine +old brass: solid chairs and a low, wide-seated sofa, and books +everywhere. + +"The shape of the room is delightfully unusual. It is long and rather +low-ceilinged, and one end comes almost to a point like the bow of a +ship. There is a window with a window-seat in the bow, and as the house +stands high on a slope and faces west, you look straight across the +river to the hills, and almost have the feeling that you are sailing +into the sunset. + +"In this room a girl sat, darning stockings and crying quietly to +herself--crying because her brother David had gone to Oxford the day +before, and she was afraid he would find it hard work to live on his +scholarship with the small help she could give him, afraid that he might +find himself shabby and feel it bitter, afraid that he might not come +back to her the kind, clear-eyed boy he had gone away. + +"She told me all about it as simply as a child. Didn't seem to find it +in the least odd to confide in a stranger, didn't seem at all impressed +by the sudden appearance of my fashionably dressed self! + +"People, I am often told, find themselves rather in awe of me. I know +that they would rather have me for a friend than an enemy. You see, I +can think of such extraordinarily nasty things to say about people I +don't like. But this little girl treated me as if I had been an older +sister or a kind big brother, and--well, I found it rather touching. + +"Jean Jardine is her funny little name. She looks a mere child, but she +tells me she is twenty-three and she has been head of the house since +she was nineteen. + +"It is really the strangest story. The father, one Francis Jardine, was +in the Indian Civil Service--pretty good at his job, I gather--and these +three children, Jean and her two brothers, David and Jock, were brought +up in this cottage--The Rigs it is called--by an old aunt of the +father's, Great-aunt Alison. The mother died when Jock was a baby, and +after some years the father married again, suddenly and +unpremeditatedly, a beautiful and almost friendless girl whom he met in +London when home on leave. Jean offered no comment on the wisdom or the +unwisdom of the match, but she told me the young Mrs. Jardine had sent +for her (Jean was then a schoolgirl of fourteen) and had given her a +good time in London before she sailed with her husband for India. Rather +unusual when you come to think of it! It isn't every young wife who has +thought on the honeymoon for schoolgirl stepdaughters, and Jean had seen +that it was kind and unselfish, and was grateful. The Jardines sailed +for India, and were hardly landed when Mr. Jardine died of cholera. The +young widow stayed on--I suppose she liked the life and had little to +bring her back to England--and when the first year of her widowhood was +over she married a young soldier, Gervase Taunton. I'm almost sure I +remember meeting him about--good-looking, perfect dancer, crack polo +player. They seem, in spite of lack of money, to have been supremely +happy for about three years, when young Taunton was killed playing polo. +The poor girl broke her heart and slipped out of life, leaving behind +one little boy. She had no relations, and Captain Taunton had no one +very near, and when she was dying she had left instructions. 'Send my +boy to Scotland. Ask Jean to bring him up. She will understand.' I +suppose she had detected even in the schoolgirl of fourteen Jean's most +outstanding quality, steadfastness, and entrusted the child to her +without a qualm. + +"So the baby of two was sent to the child of eighteen, and Jean glows +with gratitude and tells you how good it was of her at-one-time +stepmother to think of her! That is how she seems to take life: no +suspecting of motives: looking for, therefore perhaps finding, kindness +on every side. It is rather absurd in this wicked world, but I shouldn't +wonder if it made for happiness. + +"The Taunton child has, of course, no shadow of claim on the Jardines, +but he is to them a most treasured little brother. 'The Mhor,' as they +call him, is their great amusement and delight. He is quite absurdly +good-looking, with great grave green eyes and a head most wonderfully +set on his shoulders. He has a small income of his own, which Jean +keeps religiously apart so that he may be able to go to a good school +when he is old enough. + +"The great-aunt who brought up the Jardines must have been an uncommon +old woman. She died (perhaps luckily) just as the young Gervase Taunton +came on the scene. + +"It seems she always dressed in rustling black silk, sat bolt upright on +the edge of chairs for the sake of her figure, took the greatest care of +her hands and complexion, and was a great age. She had, Jean said, 'come +out at the Disruption.' Jean was so impressive over it that I didn't +like to ask what it meant. Do you suppose she made her début then? + +"Perhaps 'the Disruption' is a sort of religious _tamasha_. Anyway, she +was frightfully religious--a strict Calvinist--and taught Jean to regard +everything from the point of view of her own death-bed. I mean to say, +the child had to ask herself, 'How will this action look when I am on my +death-bed?' Every cross word, every small disobedience, she was told, +would be a 'thorn in her dying pillow.' I said, perhaps rather rudely, +that Great-aunt Alison must have been a horrible old ghoul, but Jean +defended her hotly. She seems to have had a great admiration for her +aged relative, though she owned that her death was something of a +relief. Unfortunately most of her income died with her. + +"I think perhaps it was largely this training that has given Jean her +particular flavour. She is the most happy change from the ordinary +modern girl. Her manners are delightful--not noisy, but frank and gay +like a nice boy's. She neither falls into the Scylla of affectation nor +the Charybdis of off-handness. She has been nowhere and seen very +little; books are her world, and she talks of book-people as if they +were everyday acquaintances. She adores Dr. Johnson and quotes him +continually. + +"She has no slightest trace of accent, but she has that lilt in her +voice--I have noticed it once or twice before in Scots people--that +makes one think of winds over heathery moorlands, and running water. In +appearance she is like a wood elf, rather small and brown, very light +and graceful. She is so beautifully made that there is great +satisfaction in looking at her. (If she had all the virtues in the world +I could never take any interest in a girl who had a large head, or short +legs, or thick ankles!) She knows how to dress, too. The little brown +frock was just right, and the ribbon that was tied round her hair. I'll +tell you what she reminded me of a good deal--Romney's 'Parson's +Daughter.' + +"What a find for my first day at Priorsford! + +"I went to tea with the Jardines and I never was at a nicer tea-party. +We said poems to each other most of the time. Mhor's rendering of +Chesterton's 'The Pleasant Town of Roundabout' was very fine, but Jock +loves best 'Don John of Austria.' You would like Jock. He has a very +gruff voice and such surprised blue eyes, and is fond of weird +interjections like 'Gosh, Maggie!' and 'Earls in the streets of Cork!' +He is a determined foe to sentiment. He won't read a book that contains +love-making or death-beds. 'Does anybody marry?' 'Does anybody die?' are +his first questions about a book, so naturally his reading is much +restricted. + +"The Jardines have the lovable habit of becoming suddenly overpowered +with laughter, crumpled up, and helpless. You have it, too; I have it; +all really nice people have it. I have been refreshing myself with +_Irish Memories_ since dinner. Do you remember what is said of Martin +Ross? 'The large conventional jest had but small power over her; it was +the trivial absurdity, the inversion of the expected the sublimity +getting a little above itself and failing to realise that it had taken +that fatal step over the border--those were the things that felled her, +and laid her, wherever she might be, in ruins....' + +"Bella Bathgate, I must tell you, remains unthawed. She hinted to me +to-night that she thought the Hydropathic was the place for me--surely +the unkindest cut of all. People dress for dinner every night there, she +tells me, and most of them are English, and a band plays. Evidently she +thinks I would be at home in such company. + +"Some day I think you must visit Priorsford and get to know Miss +Bathgate.--Yours, + +"PAM. + +"I forgot to tell you that for some dark reason the Jardines call their +cat Sir J.M. Barrie. + +"I asked why, but got no satisfaction. + +"'Well, you see, there's Peter,' Mhor said vaguely. + +"Jock looked at the cat and observed obscurely, 'It's not a sentimental +beast either'--while Jean asked if I would have preferred it called Sir +Rabindranath Tagore!" + + + + +CHAPTER V + + "O, the land is fine, fine, + I could buy it a' for mine, + For ma gowd's as the stooks in Strathairlie." + + _Scots Song._ + + +When Peter Reid arrived at Priorsford Station from London he stood for a +few minutes looking about him in a lost way, almost as if after thirty +years he expected to see a "kent face" coming to meet him. He had no +-notion where to go; he had not written for rooms; he had simply obeyed +the impulse that sent him--the impulse that sends a hurt child to its +mother. It is said that an old horse near to death turns towards the +pastures where he was foaled. It is true of human beings. "Man wanders +back to the fields which bred him." + +After a talk with a helpful porter he found rooms in a temperance hotel +in the Highgate--a comfortable quiet place. + +The next day he was too tired to rise, and spent rather a dreary day in +his rooms with the _Scotsman_ for sole companion. + +The landlord, a cheery little man, found time once or twice to talk for +a few minutes, but he had only been ten years in Priorsford and could +tell his guest nothing of the people he had once known. + +"D'you know a house called The Rigs?" he asked him. + +The landlord knew it well--a quaint cottage with a pretty garden. Old +Miss Alison Jardine was living in it when he came first to Priorsford; +dead now, but the young folk were still in it. + +"Young folk?" said Peter Reid. + +"Yes," said the landlord, "Miss Jean Jardine and her brothers. Orphans, +I'm told. Father an Anglo-Indian. Nice people? Oh, very. Quiet and +inoffensive. They don't own the house, though. I hear the landlord is a +very wealthy man in London. By the way, same name as yourself, sir." + +"Do I look like a millionaire?" asked Peter Reid, and the landlord +laughed pleasantly and non-committally. + +The next day was sunny and Peter Reid went out for a walk. It was a +different Priorsford that he had come back to. A large draper's shop +with plate-glass windows occupied the corner where Jenny Baxter had +rolled her toffee-balls and twisted her "gundy," and where old Davy +Linton had cut joints and weighed out mince-collops accompanied by wise +weather prophecies, a smart fruiterer's shop now stood furnished with a +wealth of fruit and vegetables unimagined in his young days. There were +many handsome shops, the streets were wider and better kept, unsightly +houses had been demolished; it was a clean, prosperous-looking town, but +it was different. + +Peter Reid (of London) would have been the first to carp at the +tumbledown irregular old houses, with their three steps up and three +steps down, remaining, but Peter Reid (of Priorsford) missed them. He +resented the new shops, the handsome villas, the many motors, all the +evidences of prosperity. + +And why had Cuddy Brig been altered? + +It had been far liker the thing, he thought--the old hump-backed bridge +with the grass and ferns growing in the crannies. He had waded in Cuddy +when he was a boy, picking his way among the broken dishes and the tin +cans, and finding wonderful adventures in the dark of the bridge; he had +bathed in it as it wound, clear and shining, among the green meadows +outside the town, and run "skirl-naked" to dry himself, in full sight of +scandalised passengers in the Edinburgh train; he had slid on it in +winter. The memory of the little stream had always lain in the back of +his mind as something precious--and now to find it spanned by a staring +new stone bridge. Those Town Councils with their improvements! + +Even Tweed Bridge had not been left alone. It had been widened, as an +inscription in the middle told the world at large. He leant on it and +looked up the river. Peel Tower was the same, anyway. No one had dared +to add one cubit to its grey stature. It was a satisfaction to look at +something so unchanging. + +The sun had still something of its summer heat, and it was pleasant to +stand there and listen to the sound of the river over the pebbles and +see the flaming trees reflected in the blue water all the way up +Tweedside till the river took a wide curve before the green slope on +which the castle stood. A wonderfully pretty place, Priorsford, he told +himself: a home-like place--if one had anyone to come home to. + +He turned slowly away. He would go and look at The Rigs. His mother had +come to it as a bride. He had been born there. Though occupied by +strangers, it was the nearest he had to a home. The house in Prince's +Gate was well furnished, comfortable, smoothly run by efficient +servants, but only a house when all was said. He felt he would like to +creep into The Rigs, into the sitting-room where his mother had always +sat (the other larger rooms, the "good room" as it was called, was kept +for visitors and high days), and lay his tired body on the horsehair +arm-chair by the fireside. He could rest there, he thought. It was +impossible, of course. There would be no horsehair arm-chair, for +everything had been sold--and there was no mother. + +But, anyway, he would go and look at it. There used to be primroses--but +this was autumn. Primroses come in the spring. + +Thirty years--but The Rigs was not changed, at least not outwardly. Old +Mrs. Reid had loved the garden, and Great-aunt Alison, and Jean after +her, had carried on her work. + +The little house looked just as Peter Reid remembered it. + +He would go in and ask to see it, he told himself. + +He would tell these Jardines that the house was his and he meant to live +in it himself. They wouldn't like it, but he couldn't help that. +Perhaps he would be able to persuade them to go almost at once. He would +make it worth their while. + +He was just going to lift the latch of the gate when the front door +opened and shut, and Jean Jardine came down the flagged path. She +stopped at the gate and looked at Peter Reid. + +"Were you by any chance coming in?" she asked. + +"Yes," said Mr. Reid; "I was going to ask if I might see over the +house." + +"Surely," said Jean. "But--you're not going to buy it, are you?" + +The face she turned to him was pink and distressed. + +"Did you think of buying it yourself?" Peter Reid asked. + +"_Me_? You wouldn't ask that if you knew how little money I have. But +come in. I shall try to think of all its faults to tell you--but in my +eyes it hasn't got any." + +They went slowly up the flagged path and into the square, low-roofed +hall. This was not as his mother had it. Then the floor had been covered +with linoleum on which had stood two hard chairs and an umbrella-stand. +Now there was an oak chest and a gate-table, old brass very well rubbed +up, a grandfather clock with a "clear" face, and a polished floor with a +Chinese rug on it. + +"It is rather dark," said Jean, "but I like it dark. Coming in on a hot +summer day it is almost like a pool; it is so cool and dark and +polished." Mr. Reid said nothing, and Jean was torn between a desire to +have her home appreciated and a desire to have this stranger take an +instant dislike to it, and to leave it speedily and for ever. + +"You see," she pointed out, "the little staircase is rather steep and +winding, but it is short; and the bedrooms are charming--not very big, +but so prettily shaped and with lovely views." Then she remembered that +she should miscall rather than praise, and added, "Of course, they have +all got queer ceilings; you couldn't expect anything else in a cottage. +Will you go upstairs?" + +Mr. Reid thought not, and asked if he might see the sitting-rooms. +"This," said Jean, opening a door, "is the dining-room." + +It was the room his mother had always sat in, where the horsehair +arm-chair had had its home, but it, too, had suffered a change. Gone was +the arm-chair, gone the round table with the crimson cover. This room +had an austerity unknown in the room he remembered. It was small, and +every inch of space was made the most of. An old Dutch dresser held +china and acted as a sideboard; a bare oak table, having in its centre a +large blue bowl filled with berries and red leaves, stood in the middle +of the room; eight chairs completed the furniture. + +"This is the least nice room in the house," Jean told him, "but we are +never in it except to eat. It looks out on the road." + +"Yes," said Peter Reid, remembering that that was why his mother had +liked it. She could sit with her knitting and watch the passers-by. She +had always "infused" the tea when she heard the click of the gate as he +came home from school. + +"You will like to see the living-room," said Jean, shivering for the +effect its charm might have on a potential purchaser. She led him in, +hoping that it might be looking its worst, but, as if in sheer +contrariness, the fire was burning brightly, a shaft of sunlight lay +across a rug, making the colours glow like jewels, and the whole room +seemed to hold out welcoming hands. It was satisfactory (though somewhat +provoking) that the stranger seemed quite unimpressed. + +"You have some good furniture," he said. + +"Yes," Jean agreed eagerly. "It suits the room and makes it beautiful. +Can you imagine it furnished with a 'suite' and ordinary pictures, and +draped curtains at the windows and silver photograph frames and a grand +piano? It would simply be no sort of room at all. All its individuality +would be gone. But won't you sit down and rest? That hill up from the +town is steep." + +Peter Reid sank thankfully into a corner of the sofa, while Jean busied +herself at the writing-table so that this visitor, who looked so tired, +need not feel that he should offer conversation. + +Presently he said, "You are very fond of The Rigs?" + +Jean came and sat down beside him. + +"It's the only home we have ever known," she said. "We came here from +India to live with our great-aunt--first me alone, and then David and +Jock. And Father and Mother were with us when Father had leave. I have +hardly ever been away from The Rigs. It's such a very _affectionate_ +sort of house--perhaps that is rather an absurd thing to say, but you do +get so fond of it. But if I take you in to see Mrs. M'Cosh in the +kitchen she will tell you plenty of faults. The water doesn't heat well, +for one thing, and the range simply eats up coal, and there is no proper +pantry. Your wife would want to know about these things." + +"Haven't got a wife," said Peter Reid gruffly. + +"No? Well, your housekeeper, then. You couldn't buy a house without +getting to know all about the hot water and pantries." + +"There is no question of my buying it." + +"Oh, isn't there?" cried Jean joyfully. "What a relief! All the time +I've been showing you the house I've been picturing us removing sadly to +a villa in the Langhope Road. They are quite nice villas as villas go, +but they have only tiny strips of gardens, and stairs that come to meet +you as you go in at the front door, and anyway no house could ever be +home to us after The Rigs--not though it had hot and cold water in every +room and a pantry on every floor." + +"Dear me," said Peter Reid. + +He felt perplexed, and annoyed with himself for being perplexed. All he +had to do was to tell this girl with the frank eyes that The Rigs was +his, that he wanted to live in it himself, that if they would turn out +at once he would make it worth their while. Quite simple--They were nice +people evidently, and would make no fuss. He would say it now--but Jean +was speaking. + +"I think I know why you wanted to see through this house," she was +saying. "I think you must have known it long ago when you were a boy. +Perhaps you loved it too--and had to leave it." + +"I went to London when I was eighteen to make my fortune." + +"Oh," said Jean, and into that "Oh" she put all manner of things she +could not say. She had been observing her visitor, and she was sure that +this shabby little man (Peter Reid cared not at all for appearances and +never bought a new suit of clothes unless compelled) had returned no +Whittington, Lord Mayor of London. Probably he was one of the "faithful +failures" of the world, one who had tried and missed, and had come back, +old and tired and shabby, to see his boyhood's home. The tenderest +corner of Jean's tender heart was given to shabby people, and she longed +to try to comfort and console, but dared not in case of appearing +impertinent. She reflected dismally that he had not even a wife to be +nice to him, and he was far too old to have a mother. + +"Are you staying in Priorsford?" she asked gently. + +"I'm at the Temperance Hotel for a few days. I--the fact is, I haven't +been well. I had to take a rest, so I came back here--after thirty +years." + +"Have you really been away for thirty years? Great-aunt Alison came to +The Rigs first about thirty years ago. Do you, by any chance, know our +landlord in London? Mr. Peter Reid is his name." + +"I know him." + +"He's frightfully rich, they say. I don't suppose you know him well +enough to ask him not to sell The Rigs? It can't make much difference to +him, though it means so much to us. Is he old, our landlord?" + +"A man in his prime," said Peter Reid. + +"That's pretty old, isn't it?" said Jean--"about sixty, I think. Of +course," hastily, "sixty isn't really old. When I'm sixty--if I'm +spared--I expect I shall feel myself good for another twenty years." + +"I thought I was," said Peter Reid, "until I broke down." + +"Oh, but a rest at Priorsford will put you all right." + +Could he afford a holiday? she wondered. Even temperance hotels were +rather expensive when you hadn't much money. Would it be very rash and +impulsive to ask him to stay at The Rigs? + +"Are you comfortable at the Temperance?" she asked. "Because if you +don't much care for hotels we would love to put you up here. Mhor is apt +to be noisy, but I'm sure he would try to be quiet when he knew that you +needed a rest." + +"My dear young lady," gasped Peter Reid. "I'm afraid you are rash. You +know nothing of me. I might be an impostor, a burglar--" + +Jean threw back her head and laughed. "Do forgive me, but the thought +of you with a jemmy and a dark lantern is so funny." + +"You don't even know my name." + +"I don't," said Jean, "but does that matter? You will tell it me when +you want to." + +"My name is Reid, the same as your landlord." + +"Then," said Jean, "are you a relative of his?" + +"A connection." It was not what he meant to say, but he said it. + +"How odd!" said Jean. She was trying to remember if she had said +anything unbecoming of one relative to another. "Oh, here's Jock and +Mhor," as two figures ran past the windows; "you must stay and have tea +with us, Mr. Reid." + +"But I ought to be getting back to the hotel. I had no intention of +inflicting myself on you in this way." He rose to his feet and looked +about for his hat. "The fact is--I must tell you--I am----" + +The door burst open and Mhor appeared. He had forgotten to remove his +cap, or wipe his muddy boots, so eager was he to tell his news. + +"Jean," he shouted, oblivious in his excitement of the presence of a +stranger--"Jean, there are six red puddock-stools at the bottom of the +garden--bright red puddock-stools." He noticed Mr. Reid and, going up to +him and looking earnestly into his face, he repeated, "Six!" + +"Indeed," said Peter Reid. + +He had no acquaintance with boys, and felt extremely ill at ease, but +Mhor, after studying him for a minute, was seized with a violent fancy +for this new friend. + +"You're going to stay to tea, aren't you? Would you mind coming with me +just now to look at the puddock-stools? It might be too dark after tea. +Here is your hat." + +"But I'm not staying to tea," cried the unhappy owner of The Rigs. Why, +he asked himself had he not told them at once that he was their +landlord? A connection! Fool that he was! He would say it now--"I only +came--" + +"It was very nice of you to come," said Jean soothingly. "But, Mhor, +don't worry Mr. Reid. Everybody hasn't your passion for puddock-stools." + +"But you would like to see them," Mhor assured him. "I'm going to fill a +bowl with chucky-stones and moss and stick the puddock-stools among them +and make a fairy garden for Jean. And if I can find any more I'll make +one for the Honourable; she is very kind about giving me chocolates." + +They were out of doors by this time, and Mhor was pointing out the +glories of the garden. + +"You see, we have a burn in our garden with a little bridge over it; +almost no one else has a burn and a bridge of their very own. There are +minnows in it and all sorts of things--water-beetles, you know. _And +here are my puddock-stools._" + +When Mr. Reid came back from the garden Mhor had firm hold of his hand +and was telling him a long story about a "mavis-bird" that the cat had +caught and eaten. + +"Tea's ready," he said, as they entered the room; "you can't go away +now, Mr. Reid. See these cookies? I went for them myself to Davidson +the baker's, and they were so hot and new-baked that the bag burst and +they all fell out on the road." + +"_Mhor_! You horrid little boy." + +"They're none the worse, Jean. I dusted them all with me useful little +hanky, and the road wasn't so very dirty." + +"All the same," said Jean, "I think we'll leave the cookies to you and +Jock. The other things are baked at home, Mr. Reid, and are quite safe. +Mhor, tell Jock tea's in, and wash your hands." + +So Peter Reid found himself, like Balaam, remaining to bless. After all, +why should he turn these people out of their home? A few years (with +care) was all the length of days promised to him, and it mattered little +where he spent them. Indeed, so little profitable did leisure seem to +him that he cared little when the end came. Mhor and his delight over a +burn of his own, and a garden that grew red puddock-stools, had made up +his mind for him. He would never be the angel with the flaming sword who +turned Mhor out of paradise. He had not known that a boy could be such a +pleasant person. He had avoided children as he had avoided women, and +now he found himself seated, the centre of interest, at a family +tea-table, with Jean, anxiously making tea to his liking, while Mhor +(with a well-soaped, shining face, but a high-water mark of dirt where +the sponge had not reached) sat close beside him, and Jock, the big +schoolboy, shyly handed him scones: and Peter walked among the feet of +the company, waiting for what he could get. + +Peter Reid quite shone through the meal. He remembered episodes of his +boyhood, forgotten for forty years, and told them to Jock and Mhor, who +listened with most gratifying interest. He questioned Jock about +Priorsford Grammar School, and recalled stories of the masters who had +taught there in his day. + +Jean told him about David going to Oxford, and about Great-aunt Alison +who had "come out at the Disruption"--about her father's life in India, +and about her mother, and he became every minute more human and +interested. He even made one or two small jokes which were received with +great applause by Jock and Mhor, who were grateful to anyone who tried, +however feebly, to be funny. They would have said with Touchstone, "It +is meat and drink to me to see a clown." + +Jean watched with delight her rather difficult guest blossom into +affability. "You are looking better already," she told him. "If you +stayed here for a week and rested and Mrs. M'Cosh cooked you light, +nourishing food and Mhor didn't make too much noise, I'm sure you would +feel quite well again. And it does seem such a pity to pay hotel bills +when we want you here." + +Hotel bills! Peter Reid looked sharply at her. Did she imagine, this +girl, that hotel bills were of any moment to him? Then he looked down at +his shabby clothes and recalled their conversation and owned that her +mistake was not unjustifiable. + +But how extraordinary it was! The instinct that makes people wish to +stand well with the rich and powerful he could understand and commend, +but the instinct that opens wide doors to the shabby and the +unsuccessful was not one that he knew anything about: it was certainly +not an instinct for this world as he knew it. + +Just as they were finishing tea Mrs. M'Cosh ushered in Miss Pamela +Reston. + +"You did say I might come in when I liked," she said as she greeted +Jean. "I've had tea, thank you. Mhor, you haven't been to see me +to-day." + +"I would have been," Mhor assured her, "but Jean said I'd better not. Do +you invite me to come to-morrow?" + +"I do." + +"There, Jean," said Mhor. "You can't _un_-vite me after that." + +"Indeed she can't," said Pamela. "Jock, this is the book I told you +about.... Please, Miss Jean, don't let me disturb you." + +"We've finished," said Jean. "May I introduce Mr. Reid?" + +Pamela shook hands and at once proceeded to make herself so charming +that Peter Reid was galvanised into a spirited conversation. Pamela had +brought her embroidery-frame with her, and she sat on the sofa and +sorted out silks, and talked and laughed as if she had sat there off and +on all her life. To Jean, looking at her, it seemed impossible that two +days ago none of them had beheld her. It seemed--absurdly enough--that +the room could never have looked quite right when it had not this +graceful creature with her soft gowns and her pearls, her +embroidery-frame and heaped, bright-hued silks sitting by the fire. + +"Miss Jean, won't you sing us a song? I'm convinced that you sing Scots +songs quite perfectly." + +Jean laughed. "I can sing Scots songs in a way, but I have a voice about +as big as a sparrow's. If it would amuse you I'll try." + +So Jean sat down to the piano and sang "Proud Maisie," and "Colin's +Cattle," and one or two other old songs. + +"I wonder," said Peter Reid, "if you know a song my mother used to +sing--'Strathairlie'?" + +"Indeed I do. It's one I like very much. I have it here in this little +book." She struck a few simple chords and began to sing: it was a +lilting, haunting tune, and the words were "old and plain." + + "O, the lift is high and blue, + And the new mune glints through, + On the bonnie corn-fields o' Strathairlie; + Ma ship's in Largo Bay, + And I ken weel the way + Up the steep, steep banks o' Strathairlie. + + When I sailed ower the sea, + A laddie bold and free, + The corn sprang green on Strathairlie! + When I come back again, + It's an auld man walks his lane + Slow and sad ower the fields o' Strathairlie. + + O' the shearers that I see + No' a body kens me, + Though I kent them a' in Strathairlie; + An' the fisher-wife I pass, + Can she be the braw lass + I kissed at the back o' Strathairlie? + O, the land is fine, fine, + I could buy it a' for mine, + For ma gowd's as the stooks in Strathairlie; + But I fain the lad would be + Wha sailed ower the saut sea + When the dawn rose grey on Strathairlie." + +Jean rose from the piano. Jock had got out his books and had begun his +lessons. Mhor and Peter were under the table playing at being cave-men. +Pamela was stitching at her embroidery. Peter Reid sat shading his eyes +from the light with his hand. + +Jean knelt down on the rug and held out her hands to the blazing fire. + +"It must be sad to be old and rich," she said softly, almost as if she +were speaking to herself. "It is so very certain that we can carry +nothing out of this world.... I read somewhere of a man who, on every +birthday, gave away some of his possessions so that at the end he might +not be cumbered and weighted with them." She looked up and caught the +gaze of Peter Reid fixed on her intently. "It's rather a nice idea, +don't you think, to give away all the superfluous money and lands, +pictures and jewels, everything we have, and stand stripped, as it were, +ready when we get the word to come, to leap into the beyond?" + +Pamela spoke first. "There speaks sweet and twenty," she said. + +"Yes," said Jean. "I know it's quite easy for me to speak in that lordly +way of disposing of possessions, for I haven't got any to dispose of." + +"Then," said Pamela, "we are to take it that you are ready to spring +across any minute?" + +"So far as goods and gear go; but I'm rich in other things. I'm pretty +heavily weighted by David, and Jock, and Mhor." + +Then Peter Reid spoke, still with his hand over his eyes. + +"Once you begin to make money it clings. How can you get rid of it?" + +"I'm saving up for a bicycle," the Mhor broke in, becoming aware that +the conversation turned on money. "I've got half a crown and a +thru-penny-bit and fourpence-ha'penny in pennies: and I've got a duster +to clean it with when I've got it." + +Jean stroked his head. "I don't think you'll ever be overburdened with +riches, Mhor, old man. But it must be tremendous fun to be rich. I love +books where suddenly a lawyer's letter comes saying that someone has +left them a fortune." + +"What would you do with a fortune if you got it?" Peter Reid asked. + +"Need you ask?" laughed Pamela. "Miss Jean would at once make it over to +David and Jock and Mhor." + +"Oh, well," said Jean, "of course they would come _first_, but, oh, I +would do such a lot of things! I'd find out where money was most needed +and drop it on the people anonymously so that they wouldn't be bothered +about thanking anyone. I would creep about like a beneficent Puck and +take worried frowns away, and straighten out things for tired people, +and, above all, I'd make children smile. There's no fun or satisfaction +got from giving big sums to hospitals and things--that's all right for +when you're dead. I want to make happiness while I'm alive. I don't +think a million pounds would be too much for all I want to do." + +"Aw, Jean," said Mhor, "if you had a million pounds would you buy me a +bicycle?" + +"A bicycle," said Jean, "and a motor and an aeroplane and a Shetland +pony and a Newfoundland pup. I'll make a story for you in bed to-night +all about what you would have if I were rich." + +"And Jock, too?" + +Being assured that Jock would not be overlooked Mhor grabbed Peter round +the neck and proceeded to babble to him about bicycles and aeroplanes, +motors and Newfoundland pups. + +Jean looked apologetically at her guests. + +"When you're poor you've got to dream," she said. "Oh, must you go, Mr. +Reid? But you'll come back to-morrow, won't you? We would honestly like +you to come and stay with us." + +"Thank you," said Peter Reid, "but I am going back to London in a day or +two. I am obliged to you for your hospitality, especially for singing me +'Strathairlie.' I never thought to hear it again. I wonder if I might +trouble you to write me out the words." + +"But take the book," said Jean, running to get it and pressing it into +his hands. "Perhaps you'll find other songs in it you used to know and +like. Take it to keep." + +Pamela dropped her embroidery-frame and watched the scene. + +Mhor and Peter stood looking on. Jock lifted his head from his books to +listen. It was no new thing for the boys to see Jean give away her most +treasured possessions: she was a born "Madam Liberality." + +"But," Peter Reid objected, "it is rather a rare book. You value it +yourself." + +"Of course I do," said Jean, "and that is why I am giving it to _you_. I +know you will appreciate it." + +Peter Reid took the book as if it was something fragile and very +precious. Pamela was puzzled by the expression on his face. He did not +seem so much touched by the gift as amused--sardonically amused. + +"Thank you," he said. And again, "Thank you!" + +"Jock will go down with you to the hotel," Jean said, explaining, when +the visitor demurred, that the road was steep and not very well lighted. + +"I'll go too," said Mhor, "me and Peter." + +"Well, come straight back. Good-bye, Mr. Reid. I'm so glad you came to +see The Rigs, but I wish you could have stayed...." + +"Is he an old friend?" Pamela asked, when the cavalcade had departed. + +"I never saw him before to-day. He once lived in this house and he came +back to see it, and he looks ill and I think he is poor, so I asked him +to come and stay with us for a week." + +"My dear child, do you invite every stranger to stay with you if you +think he is poor?" + +"Of course not. But he looked so lonely and lost somehow, and he doesn't +seem to have anyone belonging to him, and I was sorry for him." + +"And so you gave him that song-book you value so much?" + +"Yes," said Jean, looking rather ashamed. "But," she brightened, "he +seemed pleased, don't you think? It's a pretty song, 'Strathairlie,' but +it's not a _pukka_ old one--it's early Victorian." + +"Miss Jean, it's a marvel to me that you have anything left belonging to +you." + +"Don't call me Miss Jean!" + +"Jean, then; but you must call me Pamela." + +"Oh, but wouldn't that be rather familiar? You see, you are so--so--" + +"Stricken in years," Pamela supplied. + +"No--but--well, you are rather impressive, you know. It would be like +calling Miss Bathgate 'Bella' to her face. However--Pamela--" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + "For 'tis a chronicle of day by day." + + _The Tempest_. + + +About this time Jean wrote a letter to David at Oxford. It is wonderful +how much news there is when people write every other day; if they wait +for a month there is nothing that seems worth telling. + +Jean wrote: + +" ... You have been away now for four days, and we still miss you badly. +Nobody sits in your place at the table, and it gives us such a horrid +bereaved feeling when we look at it. Mhor was waiting at the gate for +the post yesterday and brought your letter in in triumph. He was +particularly interested in hearing about your scout, and has added his +name to the list he prays for. You will be glad to hear that he has got +over his prejudice against going to heaven. It seems it was because +someone told him that dogs couldn't go there, and he wouldn't desert +Micawber--Peter, in other words. Jock has put it right by telling him +that the translators of the Bible probably made a slip, and Mhor now +prays earnestly every night: 'Let everyone in The Rigs go to heaven,' +hoping thus to smuggle in his dear companion. + +"It is an extraordinary thing, but almost the very minute you left +Priorsford things began to happen. + +"I told you in the note I wrote the day you left that Bella Bathgate's +lodger had arrived and that I had seen her, but I didn't realise then +what a difference her coming would make to us. I never knew such a +friendly person; she comes in at any sort of time--after breakfast, a +few minutes before luncheon, for tea, between nine and ten at night. Did +I tell you her name is Pamela Reston, and her brother, who seems to be +ranging about India somewhere, is Lord Bidborough ('A lord-no-less,' as +Mrs. M'Cosh would say). She calls him Biddy, and seems devoted to him. + +"Although she is horribly rich and an 'honourable,' and all that sort of +thing, she isn't in the least grand. She never impresses one with her +opulence as, for instance, Mrs. Duff-Whalley does. Her clothes are +beautiful, but so much a part of her personality that you never think of +them. Her pearls don't hit you in the face as most other people's do. +Because she is so unconscious of them, I suppose. I think she is lovely. +Jock says she is like a greyhound, and I know what he means--it is the +long, swift, graceful way she has of moving. She says she is forty. I +always thought forty was quite old, but now it seems to me the very +prettiest age. Age doesn't really matter at all to people who have got +faces and figures and manners like Pamela Reston. They will always make +whatever age they are seem the perfect age. + +"I do wonder what brings her to Priorsford! I rather think that having +been all her life so very 'twopence coloured' she wants the 'penny +plain' for a change. Perhaps that is why she likes The Rigs and us. +There is no mistake about our 'penny-plainness'--it jumps to the eye! + +"I am just afraid she won't stay very long. There are so many pretty +little houses in Priorsford, and so many kind and forthcoming +landladies, it was bad luck that she should choose Hillview and Bella +Bathgate. Bella is almost like a stage-caricature of a Scotswoman, so +dour she is and uncompromising and she positively glories in the drab +ugliness of her rooms. Ugliness means to Bella respectability; any +attempt at adornment is 'daft-like.' + +"Pamela (she has asked me to call her that) trembles before her, and +that makes Bella worse. She wants someone to stand up to her, to laugh +at her grimness; she simply thinks when Pamela is charming to her that +she is a poor creature. + +"She is charming to everyone, this lodger of Bella's. Jock and Mhor and +Mrs. M'Cosh are all at her feet. She brings us books and papers and +chocolates and fruit, and makes us feel we are conferring the favour by +accepting them. She is a real charmer, for when she speaks to you she +makes you feel that no one matters to her but just you yourself. +And she is simple (or at least appears to be); she hasn't that +Now-I-am-going-to-be-charming manner that is so difficult to bear. It is +such fun talking to her, for she is very--pliable I think is the word I +want. Accustomed to converse with people who constantly pull one up +short with an 'Ah, now I don't agree,' or 'There, I think you are quite +wrong,' it is wonderfully soothing to discuss things with someone who +has the air of being convinced by one's arguments. It is weak, I know, +but I'm afraid I agree with Mrs. M'Cosh, who described a friend as 'a +rale nice buddy. She clinks wi' every word ye say.' + +"I am thinking to myself how Great-aunt Alison would have dreaded +Pamela's influence. She would have seen in her the personification of +the World, the Flesh, and the Devil--albeit she would have been much +impressed by her long descent: dear Aunt Alison. + +"All the same, Davie, it is odd what an effect one's early training has. +D'you remember how discouraged G.-A. Alison was about our +levity--especially mine? She once said bitterly that I was like the +ell-woman--hollow--because I laughed in the middle of the Bible lesson. +And how antiquated and stuffy we thought her views, and took pleasure in +assuring ourselves that we had got far beyond them, and you spent an +evening tea-less in your room because you said you would rather be a +Buddhist than a Disruption Worthy--do you remember that? + +"Yes, but Great-aunt Alison had builded better than she knew. When +Pamela laughs 'How Biblical!' or says in her pretty, soft voice that +our great-aunt's religion must have been a hard and ugly thing, I get +hot with anger and feel I must stick unswervingly to the antiquated +views. Is it because poor Great-aunt isn't here to make me? I don't +know. + +"Mhor is really surprisingly naughty. Yesterday I heard angry shouts +from the road, and then I met Mhor sauntering in, on his face the +seraphic expression he wears when some nefarious scheme has prospered, +and in his hand the brass breakfast kettle. He had been pouring water on +the passers-by from the top of the wall. 'Only,' he explained to me, 'on +the men who wore hard black hats, who could swear.' + +"I told him the police would probably visit us in the course of the +afternoon, and pointed out to him how ungentleman-like was his +behaviour, and he said he was sorry; but I'm afraid he will soon think +of some other wickedness. + +"He thinks he can do anything he hasn't been told not to do, but how +could I foresee that he would want to pour water on men with hard black +hats, capable of swearing? + +"I had almost forgotten to tell you, an old man came yesterday and +wanted to see over the house. You can imagine what a scare I got--I made +sure he wanted to buy it; but it turned out that he had lived at The +Rigs as a boy, and had come back for old sake's sake. He looked ill and +rather shabby, and I don't believe life had been very good to him. I did +want to try and make up a little, but he was difficult. He was staying +at the Temperance, and it seemed so forlorn that he should have no one +of his own to come home to. He didn't look as if anybody had ever made a +fuss of him. I asked him to stay with us for a week, but he wouldn't. I +think he thought I was rather mad to ask him, and Pamela laughed at me +about it.... She laughs at me a good deal and calls me a +'sentimentalist.' ... + +"There is the luncheon bell. + +"We are longing for your letter to-morrow to hear how you are settling +down. Mrs. M'Cosh has baked some shortbread for you, which I shall post +this afternoon. + +"Love from each of us, and Peter.--Your + +"JEAN." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + "Is this a world to hide virtues in?" + + _Twelfth Night._ + + +"You should never wear a short string of beads when you are wearing big +earrings," Pamela said. + +"But why?" asked Jean. + +"Well, see for yourself. I am wearing big round earrings--right. I put +on the beads that match--quite wrong. It's a question of line." + +"I see," said Jean thoughtfully. "But how do you learn those things?" + +"You don't learn them. You either know them, or you don't. A sort of +instinct for dress, I suppose." + +Jean was sitting in Pamela's bedroom. Pamela's bedroom it was now, +certainly not Bella Bathgate's. + +The swinging looking-glass had been replaced by one which, according to +Pamela, was at least truthful. "The other one," she complained, "made me +look pale green and drowned." + +A cloth of fine linen and lace covered the toilet-table which was spread +with brushes and boxes in tortoiseshell and gold, quaint-shaped bottles +for scent, and roses in a tall glass. + +A jewel-box stood open and Pamela was pulling out earrings and +necklaces, rings and brooches for Jean's amusement. + +"Most of my things are at the bank," Pamela was saying as she held up a +pair of Spanish earrings made of rows of pearls. "They generally are +there, for I don't care a bit about ordinary jewels. These are what I +like--odd things, old things, things picked up in odd corners of the +world, things that have a story and a meaning. Biddy got me these +turquoises in Tibet: that is a devil charm: isn't that jade delicious? I +think I like Chinese things best of all." + +She threw a string of cloudy amber round Jean's neck and cried, "My +dear, how it becomes you. It brings out all the golden lights in your +hair and eyes." + +Jean sat forward in her chair and looked at her reflection in the glass +with a pleased smile. + +"I do like dressing-up," she confessed. "Pretty things are a great +temptation to me. I'm afraid if I had money I would spend a lot in +adorning my vile body." + +"I simply don't know," said Pamela, "how people who don't care for +clothes get through their lives. Clothes are a joy to the prosperous, a +solace to the unhappy, and an interest always--even to old age. I knew a +dear old lady of ninety-four whose chief diversion was to buy a new +bonnet. She would sit before the mirror discarding model after model +because they were 'too old' for her. One would have thought it difficult +to find anything too old for ninety-four." + +Jean laughed, but shook her head. + +"Doesn't it seem to you rather awful to care about bonnets at +ninety-four?" + +"Not a bit," said Pamela. She was powdering her face as she spoke. "I +like to see old people holding on, not losing interest in their +appearance, making a brave show to the end.... Did you never see anyone +use powder before, Jean? Your eyes in the glass look so surprised." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Jean, in great confusion, "I didn't mean +to stare--" She hastily averted her eyes. + +Pamela looked at her with an amused smile. + +"There's nothing actively immoral about powdering one's nose, you know, +Jean. Did Great-aunt Alison tell you it was wrong?" + +"Great-aunt Alison never talked about such things," Jean said, flushing +hotly. "I don't think it's wrong, but I don't see that it's an +improvement. I couldn't take any pleasure in myself if my face were made +up." + +Pamela swung round on her chair and laid her hands on Jean's shoulders. + +"Jean," she said, "you're within an ace of being a prig. It's only the +freckles on your little unpowdered nose, and the yellow lights in your +eyes, and the way your hair curls up at the ends that save you. +Remember, please, that three-and-twenty with a perfect complexion has no +call to reprove her elders. Just wait till you come to forty years." + +"Oh," said Jean, "it's absurd of you to talk like that. As if you didn't +know that you are infinitely more attractive than any young girl. I +never know why people talk so much about _youth_. What does being young +matter if you're awkward and dull and shy as well? I'd far rather be +middle-aged and interesting." + +"That," said Pamela, as she laid her treasures back in the box, "is one +of the minor tragedies of life. One begins by being bored with being +young, and as we begin to realise what an asset youth is, it flies. +Rejoice in your youth, little Jean-girl, for it's a stuff will not +endure.... Now we'll go downstairs. It's too bad of me keeping you up +here." + +"How you have changed this room," said Jean. "It smells so nice." + +"It is slightly less forbidding. I am quite attached to both my rooms, +though when Mawson and I are both here together I sometimes feel I must +poke my arms out of the window or thrust my head up the chimney like +Bill the Lizard, in order to get room. It is a great disadvantage to be +too large for one's surroundings." + +The parlour was as much changed as the bedroom. + +The round table with the red-and-green cover that filled up the middle +of the room had been banished and a small card-table stood against the +wall ready to be brought out for meals. A Persian carpet covered the +linoleum and two comfortable wicker-chairs filled with cushions stood by +the fireside. The sideboard had been converted into a stand for books +and flowers. The blue vases had gone from the mantelshelf and two tall +candlesticks and a strip of embroidery took their place. A writing-table +stood in the window, from which the hard muslin curtains had been +removed; there were flowers wherever a place could be found for them, +and new books and papers lay about. + +Jean sank into a chair with a book, but Pamela produced some +visiting-cards and read aloud: + + "MRS. DUFF-WHALLEY. + MISS DUFF-WHALLEY. + + THE TOWERS, + PRIORSFORD. + +"Who are they, please? and why do they come to see me?" + +Jean shut her book, but kept her finger in as if hoping to get back to +it soon, and smiled broadly. + +"Mrs. Duff-Whalley is a wonderful woman," she said. "She knows +everything about everybody and simply scents out social opportunities. +Your name would draw her like a magnet." + +"Why is she called Duff-Whalley? and where does she live? I'm +frightfully intrigued." + +"As to the first," said Jean, "there was no thought of pleasing either +you or me when she was christened--or rather when the late Mr. +Duff-Whalley was christened. And I pointed out the house to you the +other day. You asked what the monstrosity was, and I told you it was +called The Towers." + +"I remember. A staring red-and-white house with about thirty +bow-windows and twenty turrets. It denies the landscape." + +"Wait," said Jean, "till you see it close at hand. It's the most naked, +newest thing you ever saw. Not a creeper, not an ivy leaf is allowed to +crawl on it; weather seems to have no effect on it: it never gets to +look any less new. And in summer it is worse, for then round about it +blaze the reddest geraniums and the yellowest calceolarias and the +bluest lobelias that it's possible to imagine." + +"Ghastly! What is the owner like?" + +"Small, with yellowish hair turning grey. She has a sharp nose, and her +eyes seem to dart out at you, take you all in, and then look away. She +is rather like a ferret, and she has small, sharp teeth like a ferret. +I'm never a bit sure she won't bite. She really is rather a wonderful +woman. She hasn't been here very many years, but she dominates everyone. +At whatever house you meet her she has the air of being hostess. She +welcomes you and advises you where to sit, makes suitable conversation +and finally bids you good-bye, and you feel yourself murmuring to her +the grateful 'Such a pleasant afternoon,' that was due to the real +hostess. She is in constant conflict with the other prominent matrons in +Priorsford, but she always gets her own way. At a meeting she is quite +insupportable. She just calmly tells us what we are to do. It's no good +saying we are busy; it's no good saying anything. We walk away with a +great district to collect and a pile of pamphlets under one arm.... Her +nose is a little on one side, and when I sit and look at her presiding +at a meeting I toy with the thought that someone goaded to madness by +her calm persistence had once heaved something at her, and wish I had +been there to see. Really, though, she is rather a blessing in the +place; she keeps us from stagnation. I read somewhere that when they +bring tanks of cod to this country from wherever cod abound, they put a +cat-fish in beside them, and it chases the cod round all the time, so +that they arrive in good condition. Mrs. Duff-Whalley is our cat-fish." + +"I see. Has she children?" + +"Three. A daughter, married in London--Mrs. Egerton-Thomson--a son at +Cambridge, and a daughter, Muriel, at home. I think it must be very bad +for the Duff-Whalleys living in such a vulgar, restless-looking house." + +Pamela laughed. "Do you think all the little pepper-pot towers must have +an effect on the soul? I doubt it, my dear." + +"Still," said Jean, "I think more will be expected at the end from the +people who have all their lives lived in and looked at lovely places. It +always worries me, the thought of people who live in the dark places of +big cities--children especially, growing up like 'plants in mines that +never saw the sun.' It is so dreadful that sometimes I feel I _must_ go +and help." + +"What could you do?" + +"That's what common sense always asks. I could do nothing alone, but if +all the decent people tried their hardest it would make a difference.... +It's the thought of the cruelty in the world that makes me sick. It's +the hardest thing for me to keep from being happy. Great-aunt Alison +said I had a light nature. Even when I ought to be sad my heart jumps up +in the most unreasonable way, and I am happy. But sometimes it feels as +if we comfortable people are walking on a flowery meadow that is really +a great quaking morass, and underneath there is black slime full of +unimagined horrors. A paragraph in the newspaper makes a crack and you +see down: women who take money for keeping little babies and allow them +to die, men who torture: tales of horror and terror. The War made a +tremendous crack. It seemed then as if we were all to be drawn into the +slime, as if cruelty had got its fangs into the heart of the world. When +you knelt to pray at nights you could only cry and cry. The courage of +the men who grappled in the slime with the horrors was the one thing +that kept one from despair. And the fact that they could _laugh_. You +know about the dying man who told his nurse some joke and finished, +'This is _the_ War for laughs.'" + +Pamela nodded. "It hardly bears thinking of yet--the War and the +fighters. Later on it will become the greatest of all sagas. But I want +to hear about Priorsford people. That's a clean, cheerful subject. Who +lives in the pretty house with the long ivy-covered front?" + +"The Knowe it is called. The Jowetts live there--retired Anglo-Indians. +Mr. Jowett is a funny, kind little man with a red face and rather a +nautical air. He is so busy that often it is afternoon before he reads +his morning's letters." + +"What does he do?" + +"I don't think he does anything much: taps the barometer, advises the +gardener, fusses with fowls, potters in the garden, teaches the dog +tricks. It makes him happy to feel himself rushed, and to go carrying +unopened letters at tea-time. They have no children. Mrs. Jowett is a +dear. She collects servants as other people collect prints or old china +or Sheffield plate. They are her hobby, and she has the most wonderful +knack of managing them. Even now, when good servants seem to have become +extinct, and people who need five or six are grubbing away miserably +with one and a charwoman, she has four pearls with soft voices and +gentle ways, experts at their job. She thinks about them all the time, +and considers their comfort, and dresses them in pale grey with the +daintiest spotted muslin aprons and mob caps. It is a pleasure to go to +the Jowetts for a meal, everything is so perfect. The only drawback is +if anyone makes the slightest mark on the cloth one of the silver-grey +maids brings a saucer of water and wipes it off, and it is apt to make +one nervous. I shall never forget going there to a children's party with +David and Jock. Great-aunt Alison warned us most solemnly before we left +home about marking the cloth, so we went rather tremblingly. There was a +splendid tea in the dining-room with silver candlesticks and pink +shades, and lovely china, and a glittering cloth, and heaps of good +things to eat--grown-up things like sandwiches and rich cakes, such as +we hardly ever saw. Jock was quite small and loved his food even more +than he does now, dear lamb. A maid handed round the egg-shell china--if +only they had given us mugs--and as she was putting down Jock's cup he +turned round suddenly and his elbow simply shot it out of her hand, and +sent it flying across the table. As it went it spattered everything with +weak tea and then smashed itself against one of the candlesticks. + +"I wished at that moment that the world would come to an end. There +seemed no other way of clearing up the mess. I was so ashamed, and so +sorry for my poor Jock, I couldn't lift my eyes, but Mr. Jowett rose to +the occasion and earned my affection and unending gratitude. He +pretended to find it a very funny episode, and made so many jokes about +it that stiffness vanished from the party, and we all became riotously +happy. And Mrs. Jowett, whose heart must have been wrung to see the +beautiful table ruined at the outset, so mastered her emotion as to be +able to smile and say no harm had been done.... You must go with me and +see Mrs. Jowett, only don't tell her anything in the very least sad: she +weeps at the slightest provocation." + +"Tell me more," said Pamela--"tell me about all the people who live in +those houses on the hill. It's like reading a nice _Cranfordy_ book." + +"But," Jean objected, "we're not in the least like people in a book. I +often wonder why Priorsford is so unlike a story-book little town. We're +not nearly interested enough in each other for one thing. We don't +gossip to excess. Everyone goes his or her own way. In books people do +things or are suspected of doing things, and are immediately cut by a +feverishly interested neighbourhood. I can't imagine that happening in +Priorsford. No one ever does anything very striking, but if they did I'm +sure they wouldn't be ostracised. Nobody would care much, except perhaps +Mrs. Hope, and she would only be amused." + +"Mrs. Hope?" + +"Have you noticed a whitewashed house standing among trees about half a +mile down Tweed from the bridge? That is Hopetoun, and Mrs. Hope and her +daughter live there." + +"Nice?" + +Jean nodded her head like a wise mandarin. "You must meet Mrs. Hope. To +describe her is far beyond my powers." + +"I see. Well, go on with the houses on the hill. Who lives in the one at +the corner with the well-kept garden?" + +"The Prestons. Mr. Preston is a lawyer, but he isn't much like a lawyer +in appearance--not yellow and parchmenty, you know. He's a good shot and +an ardent fisher, what Sir Walter would have called 'a just leevin' man +for a country writer.' There are several daughters, all musical, and it +is a very hospitable, cheerful house. Next the Prestons live the +Williamsons. Ordinary nice people. There is really nothing to say about +them.... The house after that is Woodside, the home of the two Miss +Speirs. They are not ordinary. Miss Althea is a spiritualist. She sees +visions and spends much of her time with spooks. Miss Clarice is a +Buddhist. Their father, when he lived, was an elder in the U.F. Church. +I sometimes wonder what he would say to his daughters now. When he died +they left the U.F. Church and became Episcopalians, then Miss Clarice +found that she couldn't believe in vicarious sacrifice and went over to +Buddhism. She took me into her bedroom once. There was a thick yellow +carpet, and a bed with a tapestry cover, and almost no furniture, +except--is it impious to call Buddha furniture?--a large figure of +Buddha with a lamp burning before it. It all seemed to me horribly +unfresh. Both ladies provide much simple amusement to the townsfolk with +their clothes and their antics." + +"I know the Speirs type," said Pamela. "Foolish virgins." + +"Next to Woodside is Craigton," went on Jean, "and there live three +spinsters--the very best brand of spinsters--the Duncans, Miss Mary, +Miss Janet, and Miss Phemie. I don't know what Priorsford would do +without these good women. Spinsters they are, but they are also real +mothers in Israel. They have time to help everyone. Benign Miss Mary is +the housekeeper--and such a housekeeper! Miss Janet is the public one, +sits on all the Committees. Miss Phemie does the flowers and embroiders +beautiful things and is like a tea-cosy, so soft and warm and +comfortable. Somehow they always seem to be there when you want them. +You never go to their door and get a dusty answer. There is the same +welcome for everyone, gentle and simple, and always the bright fire, and +the kind, smiling faces, and tea with thick cream and cake of the +richest and freshest.... You know how some people beg you to visit them, +and when you go they seem to wear a surprised look, and you feel +unexpected and awkward? The Duncans make you feel so pleased with +yourself. They are so unselfishly interested in other people's concerns; +and they are grand laughers. Even the dullest warm to something +approaching wit when surrounded by that appreciative audience of three. +They don't talk much themselves, but they have made of listening a fine +art." + +"Jean," said Pamela, "do you actually mean to tell me that everybody in +Priorsford is nice? Or are you merely being charitable? I don't know +anything duller than your charitable person who always says the kind +thing." + +Jean laughed. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid the Priorsford people are all +more or less nice. At least, they seem so to me, but perhaps I'm not +very discriminating. You will tell me what you think of them when you +meet them. All these people I've been telling you about are rich people, +'in a large way,' as Priorsford calls it. They have all large motor-cars +and hothouses and rich things like that. Mrs. M'Cosh says Priorsford is +a 'real tone-y wee place,' and we do fancy ourselves a good deal. It's a +community largely made up of women and middle-aged retired men. You see, +there is nothing for the young men to do; we haven't even mills like so +many of the Tweedside towns." + +"Will people call on me?" Pamela asked. "Is Priorsford sociable?" + +Jean pursed up her mouth in an effort to look worldly wise. "I think +_you_ will find it sociable, but if you had come here obscure and +unknown, your existence would never have been heard of, even if you had +taken a house and settled down. Priorsford hardly looks over its +shoulder at a newcomer. Some of the 'little' people might call and ask +you to tea--the kind 'little' people--but--" + +"Who do you call the 'little' people?" + +"All the people who aren't 'in a large way,' all the dwellers in the +snug little villas--most of Priorsford in fact." Jean got up to go. +"Dear me, look at the time! The boys will be home from school. May I +have the book you spoke of? Priorsford would be enraged if it heard me +calmly discussing its faults and foibles." She laughed softly. "Lewis +Elliot says Priorsford is made up of three classes--the dull, the daft, +and the devout." + +Pamela, looking for the book she wanted to lend to Jean, stopped and +stood still as if arrested by the name. + +"Lewis Elliot!" + +"Yes, of Laverlaw. D'you know him, by any chance?" + +"I used to know a Lewis Elliot who had some connection with Priorsford, +but I thought he had left it years ago." + +"Our Lewis Elliot inherited Laverlaw rather unexpectedly some years +ago. Before that he was quite poor. Perhaps that is what makes him so +understanding. He is a sort of distant cousin of ours. Great-aunt Alison +was his aunt too--at least, he called her aunt. It will be fun if he +turns out to be the man you used to know." + +"Yes," said Pamela. "Here is the book, Jean. It's been so nice having +you this afternoon. No, dear, I won't go back with you to tea. I'm going +to write letters. Good-bye. My love to the boys." + +But Pamela wrote no letters that evening. She sat with a book on her +knee and looked into the fire; sometimes she sighed. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + "I have, as you know, a general prejudice against all persons who do + not succeed in the world."--JOWETT OF BALLIOL. + + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley was giving a dinner-party. This was no uncommon +occurrence, for she loved to entertain. It gave her real pleasure to +provide a good meal and to see her guests enjoy it. "Besides," as she +often said, "what's the use of having everything solid for the table, +and a fine house and a cook at sixty pounds a year, if nobody's any the +wiser?" + +It will be seen from this remark that Mrs. Duff-Whalley had not always +been in a position to give dinner-parties; indeed, Mrs. Hope, that +terror to the newly risen, who traced everyone back to their first rude +beginnings (generally "a wee shop"), had it that the late Mr. +Duff-Whalley had begun life as a "Johnnie-a'-things" in Leith, and that +his wife had been his landlady's daughter. + +But the "wee shop" was in the dim past, if, indeed, it had ever existed +except in Mrs. Hope's wicked, wise old head, and for many years Mrs. +Duff-Whalley had ruffled it in a world that asked no questions about +the origin of money so obviously there. + +Most people are weak when they come in contact with a really +strong-willed woman. No one liked Mrs. Duff-Whalley, but few, if any, +withstood her advances. It was easier to give in and be on calling and +dining terms than to repulse a woman who never noticed a snub, and who +would never admit the possibility that she might not be wanted. So Mrs. +Duff-Whalley could boast with some degree of truth that she knew +"everybody," and entertained at The Towers "very nearly the highest in +the land." + +The dinner-party I write of was not one of her more ambitious efforts. +It was a small and (with the exception of one guest) what she called "a +purely local affair." That is to say, the people who were to grace the +feast were culled from the big villas on the Hill, and were not +"county." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley was an excellent manager, and left nothing to chance. +She saw to all the details herself. Dressed and ready quite half an hour +before the time fixed for dinner, she had cast her eagle glance over the +dinner-table, and now sailed into the drawing-room to see that the fire +was at its best, the chairs comfortably disposed, and everything as it +should be. Certainly no one could have found fault with the comfort of +the room this evening. A huge fire blazed in the most approved style of +grate, the electric light (in the latest fittings) also blazed, lighting +up the handsome oil-paintings that adorned the walls, the many +photographs, the china in the cabinets, the tables with their silver +treasures. Everywhere stood vases of heavy-scented hothouse flowers. +Mrs. Duff-Whalley approved of hothouse flowers; she said they gave a +tone to a room. + +The whole room glittered, and its mistress glittered with it as she +moved about in a dress largely composed of sequins, a diamond necklace, +and a startling ornament in her hair. + +She turned as the door opened and her daughter came into the room, and +looked her carefully up and down. She was a pretty girl dressed in the +extreme of fashion, and under each arm she carried a tiny barking dog. + +Muriel was a good daughter to her mother, and an exemplary character in +every way, but the odd thing was that few people liked her. This was the +more tragic as it was the desire of her heart to be popular. Her +appearance was attractive, and strangers usually began acquaintance with +enthusiasm, but the attraction rarely survived the first hour's talk. +She was like a very well-coloured and delightful-looking apple that is +without flavour. She was never natural--always aping someone. Her +enthusiasms did not ring true, her interest was obviously feigned, and +she had that most destroying of social faults, she could not listen with +patience, but let her attention wander to the conversation of her +neighbours. It seemed as if she could never talk at peace with anyone +for fear of missing something more interesting in another quarter. + +"You look very nice, Muriel! I'm glad I told you to put on that dress, +and that new way of doing your hair is very becoming." One lovable thing +about Mrs. Duff-Whalley was the way she sincerely and openly admired +everything that was hers. "Now, see and do your best to make the evening +go. Mr. Elliot takes a lot of amusing, and the Jowetts aren't very +lively either." + +"Is that all that's coming?" Muriel asked. + +"I asked the new Episcopalian parson--what's his name?--yes--Jackson--to +fill up." + +"You don't often descend to the clergy, mother." + +"No, but Episcopalians are slightly better fitted for society than +Presbyterians, and this young man seems quite a gentleman--such a +blessing, too, when they haven't got wives. Dear, dear, I told Dickie +not to send in any more of that plant--what d'you call it?" (It was a +peculiarity of Mrs. Duff-Whalley that she never could remember the names +of any but the simplest flowers.) "I don't like its perfume. What was I +saying? Of course, I only got up this dinner on the spur of the moment, +so to speak, when I met Mr. Elliot in the Highgate. He comes and goes so +much you never know when he's at Laverlaw; if you write or telephone +he's always got another engagement. But when I met him face to face I +just said, 'Now, when will you dine with us, Mr. Elliot?' and he hummed +and hawed a bit and then fixed to-night." + +"Perhaps he didn't want to come," Muriel suggested as she snuggled one +of the small dogs against her face. "And did it love its own mummy, +then, darling snub-nose pet?" + +Her mother scouted the idea. + +"Why should he not want to come? Do put down those dogs, Muriel. I never +get used to see you kissing them. A good dinner and everything +comfortable, and you to play the piano to him taught by the best +masters--he's ill to please. And he's not very well off, though he does +own Laverlaw. It's the time the family has been there that gives him the +standing. I must say, he isn't in the least genial, but he gets that +from his mother. A starchier old woman I never met. I remember your +father and I were staying at the Hydro when old Elliot died, and his son +was killed before that, shooting lions or something in Africa, so this +Lewis Elliot, who was a nephew, inherited. We thought we would go and +ask if by any chance they wanted to sell the place, so we called in a +friendly way, though we didn't know them, of course. It was old Mrs. +Elliot we saw, and my word, she was cold. As polite as you like, but as +icy as the North Pole. Your father had some vulgar sayings I couldn't +break him off, and he said as we drove out of the lodge gates, 'Well, +that old wife gave us our heads in our laps and our lugs to play wi'.'" + +"Why, mother!" Muriel cried, astonished. Her mother was never heard to +use a Scots expression and thought even a Scots song slightly vulgar. + +"I know--I know," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley hastily. "It just came over me +for a minute how your father said it. He was a very amusing man, your +father, very bright to live with, though he was too fond of low Scots +expressions for my taste; and he _would_ eat cheese to his tea. It kept +us down, you know. I've risen a lot in the world since your father left +us, though I miss him, of course. He used to laugh at Minnie's ideas. It +was Minnie got us to send Gordon to an English school and then to +Cambridge, and take the hyphen. Your father had many a laugh at the +hyphen, and before the servants too! You see, Minnie went to a +high-class school and made friends with the right people, and learned +how things should be done. She had always assurance, had Minnie. The way +she could order the waiters about in those grand London hotels! And then +she married Egerton-Thomson. But you're better-looking, Muriel." + +Muriel brushed aside the subject of her looks. + +"What made you settle in Priorsford?" she asked. + +"Well, we came out first to stay at the Hydro--you were away at school +then--and your father took a great fancy to the place. He was making +money fast, and we always had a thought of buying a place. But there was +nothing that just suited us. We thought it would be too dull to be right +out in the country, at the end of a long drive--exclusive you know, but +terribly dreary, and then your father said, 'Build a house to suit +ourselves in Priorsford, and we'll have shops and a station and +everything quite near.' His idea was to have a house as like a +hydropathic as possible, and to call it The Towers. 'A fine big red +house, Aggie,' he often said to me, 'with plenty of bow-windows and +turrets and a hothouse off the drawing-room and a sweep of gravel in +front and a lot of geraniums and those yellow flowers--what d'you call +'em?--and good lawns, and a flower garden and a kitchen garden and a +garage, and what more d'you want?' Well, well, he got them all, but he +didn't live long to enjoy them. I think myself that having nothing to do +but take his meals killed him. I hear wheels! That'll be the Jowetts. +They're always so punctual. Am I all right?" + +Muriel assured her that nothing was wrong or lacking, and they waited +for the guests. + +The door opened and a servant announced, "Mr. and Mrs. Jowett." + +Mrs. Jowett walked very slowly and delicately, and her husband pranced +behind her. It might have been expected that in their long walk together +through life Mr. Jowett would have got accustomed to his wife's +deliberate entrances, but no--it always seemed as if he were just on the +point of giving her an impatient push from behind. + +She was a gentle-looking woman with soft, white hair and a +pink-and-white complexion--the sort of woman one always associates with +old lace. In her youth it was said that she had played the harp, and one +felt that the "grave, sweet melody" would have well become her. She was +dressed in pale shades of mauve, and had a finely finished look. The +Indian climate and curries had affected Mr. Jowett's liver, and made his +temper fiery, but his heart remained the sound, childlike thing it had +always been. He quarrelled with everybody (though never for long), but +people in trouble gravitated to him naturally, and no one had ever +asked him anything in reason and been refused; children loved him. + +Mr. Jackson, the Episcopalian clergyman, followed hard behind the +Jowetts, and was immediately engaged in an argument with Mr. Jowett as +to whether or not choral communion, which had recently been started and +which Mr. Jowett resented, as he resented all new things, should be +continued. + +"Ridiculous!" he shouted--"utterly ridiculous! You will drive the people +from the church, sir." + +Then Mr. Elliot arrived. Mrs. Duff-Whalley greeted him impressively, and +dinner was announced. + +Lewis Elliot was a man of forty-five, tall and thin and inclined to +stoop. He had shortsighted blue eyes and a shy, kind smile. He was not a +sociable man, and resented being dragged from his books to attend a +dinner-party. Like most people he was quite incapable of saying No to +Mrs. Duff-Whalley when that lady desired an answer in the affirmative, +but he had condemned himself roundly to himself as a fool as he drove +down the glen from Laverlaw. + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley always gave a long and pretentious meal, and expected +everyone to pay for their invitation by being excessively bright and +chatty. It was not in the power of the present guests to be either the +one thing or the other. Mrs. Jowett was pensive and sweet, and inclined +to be silent; her husband gave loud barks of disagreement at intervals; +Mr. Jackson enjoyed his dinner and answered when spoken to, while Lewis +Elliot was rendered almost speechless by the flood of talk his hostess +poured over him. + +"I'm very sorry, Mr. Elliot," she remarked in a pause, "that the people +I wanted to meet you couldn't come. I asked Sir John and Lady Tweedie, +but they were engaged--so unfortunate, for they are such an acquisition. +Then I asked the Olivers, and they couldn't come. You would really +wonder where the engagements come from in this quiet neighbourhood." She +gave a little unbelieving laugh. "I had evidently chosen an unfortunate +evening for the County." + +It was trying for everyone: for Mr. Elliot, who was left with the +impression that people were apt to be engaged when asked to meet him; +for the Jowetts, who now knew that they had received a "fiddler's +bidding," and for Mr. Jackson, who felt that he was only there because +nobody else could be got. + +There was a blank silence, which Lewis Elliot broke by laughing +cheerfully. "That absurd rhyme came into my head," he explained. "You +know: + + "'Miss Smarty gave a party, + No one came. + Her brother gave another, + Just the same.'" + +Then, feeling suddenly that he had not improved matters, he fell silent. + +"Oh," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, rearing her head like an affronted hen, +"the difficulty, I assure you, is not to find guests but to decide which +to select." + +"Quite so, quite so, naturally," murmured Mr. Jackson soothingly; he +had laughed at the rhyme and felt apologetic. Then, losing his head +completely under the cold glance his hostess turned on him, he added, +"Go ye into the highways and hedges and compel them to come in." + +Mrs. Jowett took a bit of toast and broke it nervously. She was never +quite at ease in Mrs. Duff-Whalley's company. Incapable of an unkind +thought or a bitter word, so refined as to be almost inaudible, she felt +jarred and bumped in her mind after a talk with that lady, even as her +body would have felt after bathing in a rough sea among rocks. Realising +that the conversation had taken an unfortunate turn, she tried to divert +it into more pleasing channels. + +Turning to Mr. Jackson, she said: "Such a sad thing happened to-day. Our +dear old dog, Rover, had to be put away. He was sixteen, very deaf and +rather cross, and the Vet. said it wasn't _kind_ to keep him; and of +course after that we felt there was nothing to be said. The Vet. said he +would come this morning at ten o'clock, and it quite spoilt my +breakfast, for dear Rover sat beside me and begged, and I felt like an +executioner; and then he went out for a walk by himself--a thing he +hadn't done since he had become frail--and when the Vet. came there was +no Rover." + +"Dear, dear!" said Mr. Jackson, helping himself to an entrée. + +"The really dreadful thing about it," continued Mrs. Jowett, refusing +the entrée, "was that Johnston--the gardener, you know--had dug the +grave where I had chosen he should lie, dear Rover, and--you have heard +the expression, Mr. Jackson--a yawning grave? Well, the grave _yawned_. +It was too heartrending. I simply went to my room and cried, and Tim +went in one direction and Johnston in another, and the maids looked too, +and they found the dear doggie, and the Vet.--a most obliging man called +Davidson--came back ... and dear Rover is _at rest_." + +Mrs. Jowett looked sadly round and found that the whole table had been +listening to the recital. + +Few people have not loved a dog and known the small tragedy of parting +with it when its all too short day was over, and even the "lamentable +comedy" of Mrs. Jowett's telling of the tale made no one smile. + +Muriel leant forward, genuinely distressed. "I'm so frightfully sorry, +Mrs. Jowett; you'll miss dear old Rover dreadfully." + +"It's a beastly business putting away a dog," said Lewis Elliot. "I +always wish they had the same lease of life as we have. 'Threescore and +ten years do sum up' ... and it's none too long for such faithful +friends." + +"You must get another, Mrs. Jowett," her hostess told her bracingly. +"Get a dear little toy Pekinese or one of those Japanese +what-do-you-call-'ems that you can carry in your arms: they are so +smart." + +"If you do, Janetta," her husband warned her, "you must choose between +the brute and me. I refuse to live in the same house with one of those +pampered, trifling little beasts. If we decide to fill old Rover's +place I suggest that we get a rough-haired Irish terrier." He rolled the +"r's" round his tongue. "Something robust that can bark and chase cats, +and not lie all day on a cushion, like one of those dashed Chinese ..." +His voice died away in muttered thunder. + +Again Mrs. Duff-Whalley reared her head, but Muriel interposed, +laughing. "You mustn't really be so severe, Mr. Jowett. I happen to +possess two of the 'trifling beasts,' and you must come and apologise to +them after dinner. You can't imagine more perfect darlings, and of +_course_ they are called Bing and Toutou. You won't be able to resist +their little sweet faces--too utterly darling!" + +"Shan't I?" said Mr. Jowett doubtfully. "Well, I apologise. Nobody likes +to hear their dog miscalled.... By the way, Jackson, that's an +abominable brute of yours. Bit three milk-girls and devastated the +Scotts' hen-house last week, I hear." + +"Yes," said Mr. Jackson. "Four murdered fowls they brought to me, and I +had to pay for them; and they didn't give me the corpses, which I felt +was too bad." + +"What?" said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, deeply interested. "Did you actually pay +for the damage done and let them keep the fowls?" + +"I did," Mr. Jackson owned gloomily, and the topic lasted until the +fruit was handed round. + +"I wonder," said Mrs. Jowett to her hostess, as she peeled a pear, "if +you have met a newcomer in Priorsford--Miss Reston? She has taken Miss +Bathgate's rooms." + +"You mean the Honourable Pamela Reston? She is a daughter of the late +Lord Bidborough of Bidborough Manor, Surrey, and Mintern Abbas, +Oxfordshire, and sister of the present peer: I looked her up in Debrett. +I called on her, feeling it my duty to be civil to a stranger, but it +seems to me a very odd thing that a peer's daughter would care to live +in such a humble way. Mark my words, there's something shady about it. +As likely as not, she's an absconding lady's-maid--but a call commits +one to nothing. She was out anyway, so I didn't see her." + +"Oh, indeed," said Mrs. Jowett, blushing pink, "Miss Reston is no +impostor. When you have seen her you will realise that. I met her +yesterday at the Jardines'. She is the most delightful creature, _so_ +charming to look at, so wonderfully graceful--" + +"I think," said Lewis Elliot, "that that must be the Pamela Reston I +used to know. Did you say she was living in Priorsford?" + +"Yes, in a cottage called Hillview, next to The Rigs, you know," Mrs. +Jowett explained. "Mhor made friends with her whenever she arrived, and +took her in to see Jean. You can imagine how attractive she found the +whole household." + +"The Jardines are very unconventional," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, "if you +call that attractive. Jean doesn't know how to keep her place with +people at all. I saw her walking beside a tinker woman the other day, +helping her with her bundle; and I'm sure I've simply had to give up +calling at The Rigs, for you never knew who you would have to shake +hands with. I'm sorry for Jean, poor little soul. It seems a pity that +there is no one to dress her and give her a chance. She's a plain little +thing at best, but clothes might do wonders for her." + +"There I totally disagree," shouted Mr. Jowett. "Jean, to my mind, is +the best-looking girl in Priorsford. She walks so well and has such an +honest, jolly look. I'm glad there's no one to dress her and make an +affected doll of her.... She's the kind of girl a man would like to have +for a daughter." + +"But what," asked Mrs. Duff-Whalley, "can Miss Reston have in common +with people like the Jardines? I don't believe they have more than £300 +a year, and such a plain little house, and one queer old servant. Miss +Reston must be accustomed to things so very different. We must ask her +here to meet some of the County." + +"The County!" growled Mr. Jowett. "Except for Elliot here, and the Hopes +and the Tweedies and the Olivers, there are practically none of the old +families left. I tell you what it is--" + +But Mrs. Duff-Whalley had had enough for the moment of Mr. Jowett's +conversation, so she nodded to Mrs. Jowett, and with an arch admonition +to the men not to stay too long, she swept the ladies before her to the +drawing-room. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + "I will the country see + Where old simplicity, + Though hid in grey, + Doth look more gay + Than foppery in plush and scarlet clad." + + THOMAS RANDOLPH, 1605-35. + + +A letter from Pamela Reston to her brother. + +" ... It was a tremendous treat to get your budget this morning after +three mails of silence. I got your cable saying you were back before I +knew you contemplated going, so I never had to worry. I think the War +has shaken my nerves in a way I hadn't realised. I never used to worry +about you very much, knowing your faculty of falling on your feet, but +now I tremble. + +"Sikkim must be marvellous, and to try an utterly untried route was +thrilling, but what uncomfortable times men do give themselves! To lie +in a tiny tent in the soaking rain with your bedding crawling with +leeches, 'great, cold, well-nourished fellows.' Ugh! And yet, I suppose +you counted the discomforts as nothing when you gazed at Everest while +yet the dawn 'walked tiptoe on the mountains' (will it ever be climbed, +I wonder!), and even more wonderful, as you describe it, must have been +the vision from below the Alukthang glacier, when the mists slowly +unveiled the face of Pandim to the moon.... + +"And I shall soon hear of it all by word of mouth. It is the best of +news that you are coming home. I don't think you must go away again +without me. I have missed you dreadfully these last six months. + +"Besides, you ought to settle at home for a bit now, don't you think? +First, your long exploring expedition and then the War: haven't you been +across the world, away long enough to make you want to stay at home? You +are one of the very worst specimens of an absentee landlord.... After +profound calculations I have come to the conclusion that you will get +two letters from me from Priorsford before you leave India. I am sending +this to Port Said to make sure of not missing you. You will have lots of +time to read it on board ship if it is rather long. + +"Shall I meet you in London? Send me a wire when you get this. What I +should like to do would be to conduct you personally to Priorsford. I +think you would like it. The countryside is lovely, and after a week or +two we could go somewhere for Christmas. The Champertouns have asked me +to go to them, and of course their invitation would include you. They +are second or third cousins, and we've never seen them, but they are our +mother's people, and I have always wanted to see where she was brought +up. However, we can settle all that later on.... + +"I feel myself quite an old resident in Priorsford now, and have become +acquainted with some of the people--well-to-do, hospitable, not at all +interesting (with a few exceptions), but kind. + +"The Jardines remain my great interest. What a blessing it is when +people improve by knowing--so few do. I see the Jardines once every day, +sometimes oftener, and I like them more every time I see them. + +"I've been thinking, Biddy, you and I haven't had a vast number of +people to be fond of. There was Aunt Eleanor, but I defy anyone to be +fond of her. Respect her one might, fear her we did, but love her--it +would have been as discouraging as petting a steam road-roller. We +hadn't even a motherly old nurse, for Aunt Eleanor liked machine-made +people like herself to serve her. I don't think it did you much harm, +you were such a sunny-tempered, affectionate little boy, but it made me +rather inhuman. + +"As we grew up we acquired crowds of friends and acquaintances, but they +were never like real home-people to whom you show both your best and +your worst side, and who love you simply because you are you. The +Jardines give me that homey feeling. + +"The funny thing is I thought I was going to broaden Jean, to show her +what a narrow little Puritan she is, bound in the Old Testament thrall +of her Great-aunt Alison--but not a bit of it. She is very receptive, +delighted to be told about people and clothes, cities, theatres, +pictures, but on what she calls 'serious things' she is an absolute +rock. It is like finding a Roundhead delighting in Royalist sports and +plays, or a Royalist chanting Roundhead psalms--if you can imagine an +evangelical Royalist. Anyway, it is rather a fine combination. + +"I only wish I could help to make things easier for Jean. I have far +more money than I want; she has so little. I'm afraid she has to plan +and worry a good deal how to clothe and feed and educate those boys. I +know that she is very anxious that David should not be too scrimped for +money at Oxford, and consequently spends almost nothing on herself. A +warm coat for Jock; no evening gown for Jean. David finds that he must +buy certain books and writes home in distress. 'That can easily be +managed,' says Jean, and goes without a new winter hat. She and Mrs. +M'Cosh are wonders of economy in housekeeping, and there is always +abundance of plain, well-cooked food. + +"I told you about Mrs. M'Cosh? She is the Jardines' one servant--an +elderly woman, a widow from Glasgow. I like her way of showing in +visitors. She was a pew-opener in a church at one time, which may +account for it. When you ask if Jean is in, she puts her head on one +side in a considering way and says, 'I'm no' juist sure,' and ambles +away, leaving the visitor quite undecided whether she is intended to +remain on the doorstep or follow her in. I know now that she means you +to remain meekly on the doorstep, for she lately recounted to me with +glee of another caller, 'I'd went awa' up the stair to see if Miss Jean +wis in, an' whit d'ye think? When I lukit roond the wumman wis at ma +heels.' The other day workmen were in the house doing something, and +when Mrs. M'Cosh opened the door to me she said, 'Ye see the mess we're +in. D'ye think ye should come in?' leaving it to my better nature to +decide. + +"She is always serene, always smiling. The great love of her life is +Peter, the fox-terrier, one of the wickedest and nicest of dogs. He is +always in trouble, and she is sorely put to it sometimes to find excuses +for him. 'He's a great wee case, is Peter,' she generally finishes up. +'He means no ill' (this after it has been proved that he has chased +sheep, killed hens, and bitten message-boys); 'he's juist a wee thing +playful.' + +"Peter attends every function in Priorsford--funerals, marriages, +circuses. He meets all the trains and escorts strangers to the objects +of interest in the neighbourhood. He sees people off, and wags his tail +in farewell as the train moves out of the station. + +"He and Mhor are fast friends, and it is an inspiring sight to see them +of a morning, standing together in the middle of the road with the whole +wide world before them, wondering which would be the best way to take +for adventures. Mhor has had much liberty lately as he has been +infectious after whooping-cough, but now he has gone back to the little +school he attends with some twenty other children. I'm afraid he is a +very unwilling scholar. + +"You will be glad to hear that Bella Bathgate (I'm taking a liberty +with her name I don't dare take in speaking to her) is thawing to me +slightly. It seems that part of the reason for her distaste to me was +that she thought I would probably demand a savoury for dinner! If I did +ask such a thing--which Heaven forbid!--she would probably send me in a +huge pudding dish of macaroni and cheese. Her cooking is not the best of +Bella. + +"She and Mawson have become fast friends. Mawson has asked Bella to call +her Winifred, and she calls Miss Bathgate 'Beller.' + +"Miss Bathgate spends any leisure moments she has in doing long strips +of crochet, which eventually become a bedspread, and considers it a +waste of time to read anything but the Bible, the _Scotsman_ and the +_Missionary Magazine_ (she is very keen on Foreign Missions), but she +doesn't object to listening to Mawson's garbled accounts of the books +she reads. I sometimes overhear their conversations as they sit together +by the kitchen fire in the long evenings. + +"'And,' says Mawson, describing some lurid work of fiction, 'Evangeline +was left shut up in the picture-gallery of the 'ouse.' + +"'D'ye mean to tell me hooses hev picture-galleries?' says Bella. + +"'Course they 'ave--all big 'ouses.' + +"'Juist like the Campbell Institution--sic a bother it must be to dust!' + +"'Well,' Mawson goes on, 'Evangeline finds 'er h'eyes attracted--' + +"Again Bella interrupts. 'Wha was Evangeline? I forget aboot her.' + +"'Oh, don't you remember? The golden-'aired 'eroine with vilet eyes.' + +"'I mind her noo. The yin wi' the black hair was the bad yin.' + +"'Yes, she was called 'Ermione. Well, Evangeline finds 'er h'eyes +attracted to the picture of a man dressed like a cavalier.' + +"'What's that?' + +"'I don't rightly know,' Mawson confesses. 'Kind of a fancy dress, I +believe, but anyway 'er h'eyes were attracted to the picture, and as she +fixed 'er h'eyes on it the _h'eyes in the picture_ moved.' + +"'Oh, murder!' says Bella, much thrilled. + +"'You may say it. Murder it was, h'attempted murder, I should say, for +of course it would never do to murder the vilet-h'eyed 'eroine. As it +'appened ...' and so on ... + +"One of the three months gone! Perhaps at the beginning of the year I +shall have had more than enough of it, and go gladly back to the +fleshpots of Egypt and the Politician. + +"It is a dear thing a little town, 'a lovesome thing, God wot,' and +Priorsford is the pick of all little towns. I love the shops and the +kind, interested way the shopkeepers serve one: I have shopped in most +European cities, but I never realised the full delight of shopping till +I came to Priorsford. You can't think what fun it is to order in all +your own meals, to decide whether you will have a 'finnan-haddie' or a +'kipper' for breakfast--much more exciting than ordering a ball gown. + +"I love the river, and the wide bridge, and the old castle keeping watch +and ward, and the _pends_ through which you catch sudden glimpses of the +solemn round-backed hills. And most of all I love the lights that +twinkle out in the early darkness, every light meaning a little home, +and a warm fireside and kindly people round it. + +"To live, as you and I have done all our lives, in houses where all the +difficulties of life are kept in oblivion, and existence runs on +well-oiled wheels is very pleasant, doubtless, but one misses a lot. I +love the _nearness_ of Hillview, to hear Mawson and B.B. converse in the +kitchen, to smell (this is the most comfortable and homely smell) the +ironing of clean clothes, and to know (also by the sense of smell) what +I am going to have for dinner hours before it comes. + +"Of course you will say, and probably with truth, that what I enjoy is +the _newness_ of it, that if I knew that my life would be spent in such +surroundings I would be profoundly dissatisfied. + +"I dare say. But in the meantime I am happy--happy in a contented, quiet +way that I never knew before. + +"It is strange that our old friend Lewis Elliot is living near +Priorsford, at a place called Laverlaw, about five miles up Tweed from +here. Do you remember what good times we used to have with him when he +came to stay with the Greys? That must be more than twenty years +ago--you were a little boy and I was a wild colt of a girl. I don't +think you have ever seen much of him since, but I saw a lot of him in +London when I first came out. Then he vanished. Some years ago his uncle +died and he inherited Laverlaw. He came to see me the other day, not a +bit changed, the same dreamy, unambitious creature--rather an angel. I +sometimes wonder if little Jean will one day go to Laverlaw. It would be +very nice and fairy-tale-ish!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + + "You that are old," Falstaff reminds the Chief Justice, "consider + not the capacities of us that are young." + + +One afternoon Jean called for Pamela to take her to see Mrs. Hope. + +It was a clear, blue-and-white day, with clouds scudding across the sky, +and a cold, whistling wind that blew the fallen leaves along the dry +roads--a day that made people walk smartly and gave the children +apple-red cheeks and tangled curls. + +Mhor and Peter were seated on The Rigs garden wall as Pamela and Jean +came out of Hillview gate. Peter wagged his tail in recognition, but +Mhor made no sign of having seen his sister and her friend. + +"Aren't you cold up there?" Pamela asked him. + +"Very cold," said Mhor, "but we can't come down. We're on sentry duty on +the city wall till sundown," and he shaded his eyes with his hand and +pretended to peer into space for lurking foes. + +Peter looked wistfully up at him and hunched himself against the +scratched bare knees now blue with cold. + +"When the sun touches the top of West Law," said Jean, pointing to a +distant blue peak, "it has set. See--there.... Now run in, sonny, and +tell Mrs. M'Cosh to let you have some currant-loaf for tea. Pamela and I +are going to tea at Hopetoun." + +"Aw," said Mhor, "I hate when you go out to tea. So does Jock. So does +Peter. Look out! I'm going to jump." + +He jumped and fell prostrate, barking his chin, but no howl came from +him, and he picked himself up with dignity, merely asking for the loan +of a handkerchief, his own "useful little hanky," as he explained, +having been used to mop up a spilt ink-bottle. + +Fortunately Jean had a spare handkerchief, and Pamela promised that on +her return he should have a reel of sticking-plaster for his own use, +so, battered but content, he returned to the house, Peter remaining +behind to investigate a mole-heap. + +"What a cheery day for November," Pamela remarked as they took the road +by Tweedside. "Look at that beech tree against the blue sky, every black +twig silhouetted. Trees are wonderful in winter." + +"Trees are wonderful always," said Jean. "'Solomon spake of trees'--I do +wonder what he said. I suppose it would be the cedars of Lebanon he +'spake' of, and the hyssop that grows in the walls, and sycamores, but +he would have been worth hearing on a rowan tree flaming red against a +blue September sky. Look at that newly ploughed field so softly brown, +and the faded gold of the beech hedge. November _is_ a cheery time. The +only depressing time of the year to me is when the swallows go away. I +can't bear to see them wheeling round and preparing to depart. I want so +badly to go with them. It always brings back to me the feeling I had as +a child when people read Hans Andersen to me--the storks in _The Marsh +King's Daughter_, talking about the mud in Egypt. Imagine Priorsford +swallows in Egypt!... As the song says: + + "'It's dowie at the hint o' hair'st + At the way-gaun o' the swallow.'" + +"What a lovely sound Lowland Scots has," said Pamela. "I like to hear +you speak it. Tell me about Mrs. Hope, Jean. I do hope we shall see her +alone. I don't like Priorsford tea-parties; they are rather like a +foretaste of eternal punishment. With no choice you are dumped down +beside the most irrelevant sort of person, and there you remain. I went +to return Mrs. Duff-Whalley's call the other day, and fell into one. +Before I could retreat I was wedged into a chair beside a woman whom I +hope I shall never see again. She was one of those bleak people who make +the thought of getting up in the morning and dressing quite +insupportable. I don't think there was a detail in her domestic life +that she didn't touch on. She told me all her husband could eat and +couldn't eat; she called her children 'little tots,' and said she +couldn't get so much as a 'serviette' washed in the house. I thought +nobody talked of serviettes outside Wells and Arnold Bennett. Mrs. +Duff-Whalley rescued me in the nick of time before I could do anything +desperate, and then _she_ cross-examined me as to my reasons for coming +to Priorsford." + +Jean laughed. "What a cheery afternoon! But it will be all right to-day. +Mrs. Hope never sees more than one or two people at a time. She is +pretty old, you see, and frail, though she has such an extraordinary +gift of being young. I do hope you will like each other. She has an edge +to her tongue, but she is an incomparable friend. The poor people go to +her in flocks, and she scolds them roundly, but always knows how to help +them in the only wise way. Her people have been in Priorsford for ages; +she knows every soul in the place, and is vastly amused at all the +little snobberies that abound in a small town. But she laughs kindly. +Pretentious people are afraid of her; simple people love her." + +"Am I simple, Jean?" + +Jean laughed and refused to give an opinion on the subject, beyond +quoting the words of Autolycus--"How blessed are we that are not simple +men." + +They were in the Hopetoun Woods now, and at the end of the avenue could +see the house standing on a knoll by the river, whitewashed, dignified, +home-like. + +"Talk to Mrs. Hope about the view," Jean advised "She is as proud of the +Hopetoun Woods as if she had made them. Isn't it a nice place? Old and +proud and honourable--like Mrs. Hope herself." + +"Are there sons to inherit?" + +Jean shook her head. "There were three sons. Mrs. Hope hardly ever +talks about them, but I've seen their photographs, and of course I have +often been told about them--by Great-aunt Alison, and others--and heard +how they died. They were very clever and good-looking and +well-liked--the kind of sons mothers are very proud of, and they all +died imperially, if that is an expression to use. Two died in India, +one--a soldier--in one of the Frontier skirmishes: the other--an I.C.S. +man--from over-working in a famine-stricken district. The youngest fell +in the Boer War ... so you see Mrs. Hope has the right to be proud. Aunt +Alison used to tell me that she made no moan over her wonderful sons. +She shut herself up for a short time, and then faced the world again, +her kindly, sharp-tongued self. She is one of those splendid people who +take the slings and arrows thrown at them by outrageous fortune and bury +them deep in their hearts and go on, still able to laugh, still able to +take an interest. Only, you mustn't speak to her of what she has lost. +That would be too much." + +"Yes," said Pamela. "I can understand that." + +She stopped for a minute and stood looking at the river full of "wan +water from the Border hills," at the stretches of lawn ornamented here +and there by stone figures, at the trees _thrawn_ with winter and rough +weather, and she thought of the three boys who had played here, who had +lived in the whitewashed house (she could see the barred nursery +windows), bathed and fished in the Tweed, thrown stones at the grey +stone figures on the lawn, climbed the trees in the Hopetoun Woods, and +who had gone out with their happy young lives to lay them down in a far +country. + +Mrs. Hope was sitting by the fire in the drawing-room, a room full of +flowers and books, and lit by four long windows. Two of the windows +looked on to the lawns, and the stone figures chipped by generations of +catapult-owning boys; the other two looked across the river into the +Hopetoun Woods. The curtains were not drawn though the lamps were lit, +for Mrs. Hope liked to keep the river and the woods with her as long as +light lasted, so the warm bright room looked warmer and brighter in +contrast with the cold, ruffled water and the wind-shaken trees outside. + +Mrs. Hope had been a beautiful woman in her day, and was still an +attractive figure, her white hair dressed high and crowned with a square +of lace tied in quaint fashion under her chin. Her black dress was soft +and becoming to her spare figure. There was nothing unsightly about her +years; she made age seem a lovely, desirable thing. Not that her years +were so very many, but she had lived every minute of them; also she had +given lavishly and unsparingly of her store of sympathy and energy to +others: and she had suffered grievously. + +She kissed Jean affectionately, upbraiding her for being long in coming, +and turned eagerly to Pamela. New people still interested her vividly. +Here was a newcomer who promised well. + +"Ah, my dear," she said in greeting, "I have wanted to know you. I'm +told you are the most interesting person who ever came to this little +town." + +Pamela laughed. "There I am sure you have been misled. Priorsford is +full of exciting people. I expected to be dull, and I have rarely been +so well amused." + +Mrs. Hope studied the charming face bent to her own. Her blue eyes were +shrewd, and though she stood so near the end of the way she had lost +none of her interest in the comings and goings of Vanity Fair. + +"Is Priorsford amusing?" she said. "Well" (complacently), "we have our +points. As Jane Austen wrote of the Misses Bingley, 'Our powers of +conversation are considerable--we can describe an entertainment with +accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at our acquaintances +with spirit.'" + +"Laugh!" Jean groaned. "Pamela, I must warn you that Mrs. Hope's +laughter scares Priorsford to death. We speak her fair in order that she +won't give us away to our neighbours, but we have no real hope that she +doesn't see through us. Have we, Miss Augusta?" addressing the daughter +of the house, who had just come into the room. + +"Ah," said Mrs. Hope, "if everyone was as transparent as you, Jean." + +"Oh, don't," Jean pleaded. "You remind me that I am quite uninteresting +when I am trying to make believe that I am subtle, or 'subtile,' as the +Psalmist says of the fowler's snare." + +"Absurd child! Augusta, my dear, this is Miss Reston." + +Miss Hope shook hands in her gentle, shy way, and busied herself putting +small tables beside her mother and the two guests as the servant brought +in tea. Her life was spent in doing small services. + +Once, when Augusta was a child, someone asked her what she would like to +be, and she had replied, "A lady like mamma." She had never lost the +ambition, though very soon she had known that it could not be realised. +It was difficult to believe that she was Mrs. Hope's daughter, for she +had no trace of the beauty and sparkle with which her mother had been +endowed. Augusta had a long, kind, patient face--a drab-coloured +face--but her voice was beautiful. She had never been young; she was +born an anxious pilgrim, and now, at fifty, she seemed infinitely older +than her ageless mother. + +Pamela, watching her as she made the tea, saw all Augusta's heart in her +eyes as she looked at her mother, and saw, too, the dread that lay in +them--the dread of the days that she must live after the light had gone +out for her. + +During tea Mrs. Hope had many questions to ask about David at Oxford, +and Jean was only too delighted to tell every single detail. + +"And how is my dear Jock? He is my favourite." + +"Not the Mhor?" asked Pamela. + +"No. Mhor is 'a'body's body.' He will never lack for admirers. But Jock +is my own boy. We've been friends since he came home from India, a +white-headed baby with the same surprised blue eyes that he has now. He +was never out of scrapes at home, but he was always good with me. I +suppose I was flattered by that." + +"Jock," said Jean, "is very nearly the nicest thing in the world, and +the funniest. This morning Mrs. M'Cosh caught a mouse alive in a trap, +and Jock, while dressing, heard her say she would drown it. Down he +went, like an avalanche in pyjamas, drove Mrs. M'Cosh into the scullery, +and let the mouse away in the garden. He would fight any number of boys +of any size for an ill-treated animal. In fact, all his tenderness is +given to dumb animals. He has no real liking for mortals. They affront +him with their love-making and their marriages. He has to leave the room +when anything bordering on sentiment is read aloud. 'Tripe,' he calls it +in his low way. _Do_ you remember his scorn of knight-errants who +rescued distressed damsels? They seemed to him so little worth +rescuing." + +"I never cared much for sentiment myself," said Mrs. Hope. "I wouldn't +give a good adventure yarn for all the love-stories ever written." + +"Mother remains very boyish," said Augusta. "She likes something vivid +in the way of crime." + +"And now," said her mother, "you are laughing at an old done woman, +which is very unseemly. Come and sit beside me, Miss Reston, and tell me +what you think of Priorsford." + +"Oh," said Pamela, drawing a low chair to the side of her hostess, +"it's not for me to talk about Priorsford. They tell me you know more +about it than anyone." + +"Do I? Well, perhaps; anyway, I love it more than most. I've lived here +practically all my life, and my forbears have been in the countryside +for generations, and that all counts. Priorsford ... I sometimes stand +on the bridge and look and look, and tell myself that I feel like a +mother to it." + +"I know," said Pamela. "There is something very appealing about a little +town: I never lived in one before." + +"But," said Mrs. Hope, jealous as a mother for her own, "I think there +is something very special about Priorsford. There are few towns as +beautiful. The way the hills cradle it, and Peel Tower stands guard over +it, and the links of Tweed water it, and even the streets aren't +ordinary, they have such lovely glimpses. From the East Gate you look up +to the East Law, pine trees, grey walls, green terraces; in the Highgate +you don't go many yards without coming to a _pend_ with a view of blue +distances that takes your breath, just as in Edinburgh when you look +down an alley and see ships tacking for the Baltic.... But I wish I had +known Priorsford as it was in my mother's young days, when the French +prisoners were here. The genteel supper-parties and assemblies must have +been vastly entertaining. It has changed even in my day. I don't want to +repeat the old folks' litany, 'No times like the old times,' but it does +seem to me--or is it only distance lending enchantment?--that the +people I used to know were more human, more interesting; there was less +worship of money, less running after the great ones of the earth, +certainly less vulgarity. We were content with less, and happier." + +"But, Mrs. Hope," said Pamela, laying down her cup, "this is most +depressing hearing. I came here to find simplicity." + +"You needn't expect to find it in Priorsford. We aren't so provincial as +all that. I just wish Mrs. Duff-Whalley could hear you. Simplicity +indeed! I'm not able to go out much now, but I sit here and watch +people, and I am astonished at the number of restless eyes. So many +people spend their lives striving to keep in the swim. They are +miserable in case anyone gets before them, in case a neighbour's car is +a better make, in case a neighbour's entertainments are more +elaborate.... Two girls came to see me this morning, nice girls, pretty +girls, but even my old eyes could see the powder on their faces and +their touched-up eyes. And their whole talk was of daft-like dances, and +bridge, and absurdities. If they had been my daughters I would have +whipped them for their affected manners. And when I think of their +grandmother! A decent woman was Mirren Somerville. She lived with her +father in that ivy-covered cottage at our gates, and she did sewing for +me before she married Banks. She wasn't young when she married. I +remember she came to ask my advice. 'D'you care for him, Mirren?' I +asked. 'Well, mem, it's no' as if I were a young lassie. I'm forty, and +near bye caring. But he's a dacent man, and it's lonely now ma faither's +awa, an' I'm a guid cook, an' he would aye come in to a clean fireside.' +So she married him and made a good wife to him, and they had one son. +And Mirren's son is now Sir John Banks, a baronet and an M.P. Tuts, the +thing's ridiculous.... Not that there's anything wrong with the man. +He's a soft-tongued, stuffed-looking butler-like creature, with a lot of +that low cunning that is known as business instinct, but he was good to +his mother. He didn't marry till she died, and she kept house for him in +his grand new house--the dear soul with her caps and her broad +south-country accent. She managed wonderfully, for she had great natural +dignity, and aped nothing. It was the butler killed her. She could cope +with the women servants, but when Sir John felt that his dignity +required a butler she gave it up. I dare say she was glad enough to +go.... 'Eh, mem, I am effrontit,' she used to say to me if I went in and +found her spotless kitchen disarranged, and I thought of her to-day when +I saw those silly little painted faces, and was glad she had been spared +the sight of her descendants.... But what am I raging about? What does +it matter to me, when all's said? Let the lassies dress up as long as +they have the heart; they'll have long years to learn sense if they're +spared.... Miss Reston, did you ever see anything bonnier than Tweed and +Hopetoun Woods? Jean, my dear, Lewis Elliot brought me a book last night +which really delighted me. Poems by Violet Jacob. If anyone could do for +Tweeddale what she has done for Angus I would be glad...." + +"You care for poetry, Miss Reston? In Priorsford it's considered rather +a slur on your character to care for poetry. Novels we may discuss, +sensible people read novels, even now and again essays or biography, but +poetry--there we have to dissemble. We pretend, don't we, Jean?--that +poetry is nothing to us. Never a quotation or an allusion escapes us. We +listen to tales of servants' misdeeds, we talk of clothes and the +ongoings of our neighbours, and we never let on that we would rather +talk of poetry. No. No. A daft-like thing for either an old woman or a +young one to speak of. Only when we are alone--Jean and Augusta and +Lewis Elliot and I--we 'tire the sun with talking and send it down the +sky.' ... Miss Reston, Lewis Elliot tells me he knew you very well at +one time." + +"Yes, away at the beginning of things. I adored him when I was fifteen +and he was twenty. He was wonderfully good to me and Biddy--my brother. +It is delightful to find an old friend in a new place." + +"I'm very fond of Lewis," said Mrs. Hope, "but I wish to goodness he had +never inherited Laverlaw. He might have done a lot in the world with his +brain and his heart and his courage, but there he is contentedly settled +in that green glen of his, and greatly absorbed in sheep. Sheep! The +country is run by the Sir John Bankses, and the Lewis Elliots think +about sheep. It's all wrong. It's all wrong. The War wakened him up, +and he was in the thick of it both in the East and in France, but never +in the limelight, you understand, just doggedly doing his best in the +background. If he would marry a sensible wife with some ambition, but +he's about as much sentiment in him as Jock. It would take an earthquake +to shake him into matrimony." + +"Perhaps," said Pamela, "he is like your friend Mirren--'bye caring.'" + +"Nonsense," said Mrs. Hope briskly. "He's 'bye' the fervent stage, if he +ever was a prisoner in that cage of rushes, which I doubt, but there are +long years before him, I hope, and if there isn't a fire of affection on +the hearth, and someone always about to listen and understand, it's a +dowie business when the days draw in and the nights get longer and +colder, and the light departs." + +"But if it's dreary for a man," said Pamela, "what of us? What of the +'left ladies,' as I heard a child describe spinsters?" + +Mrs. Hope's blue eyes, callously calm, surveyed the three spinsters +before her. + +"You will get no pity from me," she said. "It's practically always the +woman's own fault if she remains unmarried. Besides, a woman can do fine +without a man. A woman has so much within herself she is a constant +entertainment to herself. But men are helpless souls. Some of them are +born bachelors and they do very well, but the majority are lost without +a woman. And angry they would be to hear me say it!... Are you going, +Jean?" + +"Mhor's lessons," said Jean. "I'm frightfully sorry to take Pamela +away." + +"May I come again?" Pamela asked. + +"Surely. Augusta and I will look forward to your next visit. Don't tire +of Priorsford yet awhile. Stay among us and learn to love the place." +Mrs. Hope smiled very kindly at her guest, and Pamela, stooping down, +kissed the hand that held her own. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + "Lord Clinchum waved a careless hand. A small portion of blood royal + flows in my veins, he said, but it does not worry me at all and + after all, he added piously, at the Day of Judgment what will be the + Odds? + + "Mr. Salteena heaved a sigh. I was thinking of this world, he + said."--_The Young Visiters_. + + +"I would like," said Pamela, "to get to know my neighbours. There are +six little houses, each exactly like Hillview, and I would like to be +able to nod to the owners as I pass. It would be more friendly." + +Pamela and Jean, with Mhor and Peter, were walking along the road that +contained Hillview and The Rigs. + +"Every house in this road is a twin," said Mhor, "except The Rigs. It's +different from every other house." + +They were coming home from a long walk, laden with spoils from the +woods: moss for the bowls of bulbs, beautiful bare branches such as Jean +loved to stand in blue jars against the creamy walls. Mhor and Peter had +been coursing about like two puppies, covering at least four times the +ground their elders covered, and were now lagging, weary-footed, much +desiring their midday meal. + +"I don't know," said Jean, pondering on the subject of neighbours, "how +you could manage to be friends with them. You see, they are busy people +and--it sounds very rude--they haven't time to be bothered with you. +Just smile tentatively when you see them and pass the time of day +casual-like; you would soon get friendly. There is one house, the one +called 'Balmoral,' with the very much decorated windows and the basket +of ferns hanging in the front door, where the people are at leisure, and +I know would deeply value a little friendliness. Two sisters live in +it--Watson is the name--most kindly and hospitable creatures with enough +to live on comfortably and keep a small servant, and ample leisure after +they have, what Mrs. M'Cosh calls, 'dockit up the hoose,' to entertain +and be entertained. They are West country--Glasgow, I think, or +Greenock--and they find Priorsford just a little stiff. They've been +here about three years, and I'm afraid are rather disappointed that they +haven't made more progress socially. I love them personally. They are so +genteel, as a rule, but every little while the raciness natural to the +West country breaks out." + +"You are nice to them, Jean, I am sure." + +"Oh yes, but the penalty of being more or less nice to everyone is that +nobody values your niceness: they take it for granted. Whereas the +haughty and exclusive, if they do condescend to stoop, are hailed as +gods among mortals." + +"Poor Jean!" laughed Pamela. "That is rather hard. It's a poor thing +human nature." + +"It is," Jean agreed. "I went to the dancing-class the other day to see +a most unwilling Mhor trip fantastically, and I saw a tiny girl take the +hand of an older girl and look admiringly up at her. The older child, +with the awful heartlessness of childhood wriggled her hand away and +turned her back on her small admirer. The poor mite stood trying not to +cry, and presently a still tinier mite came snuggling up to her and took +her hand. 'Now,' I thought, 'having learned how cruel a thing a snub is, +will she be kind?' Not a bit of it. With the selfsame gesture the older +girl had used she wriggled away her hand and turned her back." + +"Cruel little wretches," said Pamela, "but it's the same with us older +children. Apart from sin altogether, it must be hard for God to pardon +our childishness ... But about the Miss Watsons--d'you think I might +call on them?" + +"Well, they wouldn't call on you, I'm sure of that. Suppose I ask them +to meet you, and then you could fix a day for them to have tea with you? +It would be a tremendous treat for them, and pleasant for you too--they +are very entertaining." + +So it was arranged. The Miss Watsons were asked to The Rigs, and to +their unbounded satisfaction spent a most genial hour in the company of +Miss Reston, whose comings and goings they had watched with breathless +interest from behind the elegant sash curtain of Balmoral. On their way +home they borrowed a copy of Debrett and studied it all evening. + +It was very confusing at first, but at last they ran their quarry to +earth. "Here she is ... She's the daughter (dau. must mean daughter) of +Quintin John, 10th Baron Bidborough. And this'll be her brother, Quintin +Reginald Feurbras--what names! _Teenie_, her mother was an earl's +daughter!" + +"Oh, mercy!" wailed Miss Teenie, quite over-come. + +"Yes, see here. 6th Earl of Champertoun--a Scotch earl too! Lady Ann was +her name. Fancy that now!" + +"And her so pleasant!" said Miss Teenie. + +"It just lets you see," said Miss Watson, "the higher up you get in the +social scale, the pleasanter and freer people are. You see, they've been +there so long they're accustomed to it; their position never gives them +a thought: it's the people who have climbed up who keep on wondering if +you're noticing how grand they are." + +"Well, Agnes," said Miss Teenie, "it's a great rise in the world for you +and me to be asked to tea with an earl's granddaughter. There's no +getting over that. I'm thinking we'll need to polish up our manners. +I've an awful habit of drinking my tea with my mouth full. It seems more +natural somehow to give it a _synd_ down than to wait to drink till your +mouth's empty." + +"Of course it's more natural," said her sister, "but what's natural's +never refined. That's a queer thing when you think of it." + +The Miss Watsons called on all their friends in the next few days, and +did not fail to mention in each house, accidentally, as it were, that on +Wednesday they expected to take tea with Miss Reston, and led on from +that fact to glowing details of Miss Reston's ancestry. + +The height of their satisfaction was reached when they happened to meet +Mrs. Duff-Whalley, who, remembering yeoman service rendered by the +sisters at a recent bazaar, stopped them and, greatly condescending, +said, "Ah, er--Miss Watson--I'm asking a few local ladies to The Towers +on Wednesday afternoon to discuss the subject of a sale of work for the +G.F.S. A cup of tea, you understand, and a friendly chat in my own +drawing-room You will both join us, I hope?" Her tone held no doubt of +their delighted acceptance, but Miss Watson, who had suffered much from +Mrs. Duff-Whalley, who had been made use of and then passed unnoticed, +taken up when needed and dropped, replied with great deliberation, "Oh, +thank you, but we are going to tea with Miss Reston that afternoon. I +dare say we shall hear from someone what is decided about the sale of +work." + +The epoch-making Wednesday dawned at last. + +Great consultations had gone on between The Rigs and Hillview how best +to make it an enjoyable occasion. Pamela wanted Jean to be present, but +Jean thought it better not to be. "It would take away from the glory of +the occasion. I'm only a _chota Miss_, and they are too accustomed to +me. Ask Mrs. Jowett. She wouldn't call on the Watsons--the line must +be drawn somewhere even by the gentle Mrs. Jowett--but she will be very +sweet and nice to them. And Miss Mary Dawson. She is such a kind, +comfortable presence in a room--I think that would be a nice little +party." + +Pamela obediently promised to do as Jean suggested. + +"I've sent to Fullers' for some cakes, though I don't myself consider +them a patch on the Priorsford cakes, but they will be a change and make +it more of an occasion. Mawson can make delicious sandwiches and Bella +Bathgate has actually offered to bake some scones. I'll make the room +look as smart as possible with flowers." + +"You've no photographs of relations? They would like photographs better +than anything." + +"People they never heard of before," cried Pamela. "What an odd taste! +However, I'll do what I can." + +By 11 a.m. the ladies in Balmoral had laid out all they meant to +wear--skirts spread neatly on beds, jackets over chair-backs, even to +the very best handkerchiefs on the dressing-table waiting for a sprinkle +of scent. + +At two o'clock they began to dress. + +Miss Teenie protested against this disturbance of their afternoon rest, +but her sister was firm. + +"It'll take me every minute of the time, Teenie, for I've all my +underclothing to change." + +"But, mercy me, Miss Reston'll not see your underclothes!" + +"I know that, but when you've on your very best things underneath you +feel a sort of respect for yourself, and you're better able to hold your +own in whatever company you're in. I don't know what you mean to do, but +I'm going to change _to the skin_." + +Miss Teenie nearly always followed the lead of her elder sister, so she +meekly went off to look out and air her most self-respecting under +garments, though she protested, "Not half aired they'll be, and as +likely as not I'll catch my death," and added bitterly, "It's not all +pleasure knowing the aristocracy." + +They were ready to the last glove-button half an hour before the time +appointed, and sat stiffly on two high chairs in their little +dining-room. "I think," said Miss Watson, "we'd be as well to think on +some subjects to talk on. We must try to choose something that'll +interest Miss Reston. I wish I knew more about the Upper Ten." + +"I'd better not speak at all," said Miss Teenie, who by this time was in +a very bad temper. "I never could mind the names of the Royal Family, +let alone the aristocracy. I always thought there was a weakness about +the people who liked to read in the papers and talk about those kind of +folk. I'm sure when I do read about them they're always doing something +kind of indecent, like getting divorced. It seems to me they never even +make an attempt to be respectable." + +She looked round the cosy room and thought how pleasant it would have +been if she and her sister had been sitting down to tea as usual, with +no need to think of topics. It had been all very well to tell their +obviously surprised friends where they were going for tea, but when it +came to the point she would infinitely have preferred to stay at home. + +"She'll not likely have any notion of a proper tea," Miss Watson said. +"Scraps of thin bread and butter, mebbe, and a cake, so don't you look +disappointed Teenie, though I know you like your tea. Just toy with it, +you know." + +"No, I don't know," said Miss Teenie crossly. "I never 'toyed' with my +tea yet, and I'm not going to begin. It'll likely be China tea anyway, +and I'd as soon drink dish-water." + +Miss Watson looked bitterly at her sister. + +"You'll never rise in the world, Teenie, if you can't _give_ up a little +comfort for the sake of refinement Fancy making a fuss about China tea +when it's handed to you by an earl's granddaughter." + +Miss Teenie made no reply to this except to burst--as was a habit of +hers--into a series of violent sneezes, at which her sister's wrath +broke out. + +"That's the most uncivilised sneeze I ever heard. If you do that before +Miss Reston, Teenie, I'll be tempted to do you an injury." + +Miss Teenie blew her nose pensively. "I doubt I've got a chill changing +my underclothes in the middle of the day, but 'a little pride and a +little pain,' as my mother used to say when she screwed my hair with +curl-papers.... I suppose it'll do if we stay an hour?" + +Things are rarely as bad as we anticipate, and, as it turned out, not +only Miss Watson, but the rebellious Miss Teenie, looked back on that +tea-party as one of the pleasantest they had ever taken part in, and +only Heaven knows how many tea-parties the good ladies had attended in +their day. + +They were judges of china and fine linen, and they looked appreciatively +at the table. There were the neatest of tea-knives, the daintiest of +spoons, jam glowed crimson through crystal, butter was there in a lordly +dish, cakes from London, delicate sandwiches, Miss Bathgate's best and +lightest in the way of scones, shortbread crisp from the oven of Mrs. +M'Cosh. + +And here was Miss Reston looking lovely and exotic in a wonderful +tea-frock, a class of garment hitherto unknown to the Miss Watsons, who +thrilled at the sight. Her welcome was so warm that it seemed to the +guests, accustomed to the thus-far-and-no-further manner of the +Priorsford great ladies, almost exuberant. She led Miss Teenie to the +most comfortable chair, she gave Miss Watson a footstool and put a +cushion at her back, and talked so simply, and laughed so naturally, +that the Miss Watsons forgot entirely to choose their topics and began +on what was uppermost in their minds, the fact that Robina (the little +maid) had actually managed that morning to break the gazogene. + +Pamela, who had not a notion what a gazogene was, gasped the required +surprise and horror and said, "But how did she do it?" which was the +safest remark she could think of. + +"Banged it in the sink," said Miss Watson, with a dramatic gesture, "and +the bottom came out. I never thought it was possible to break a +gazogene with all that wire-netting about it." + +"Robina," said Miss Teenie gloomily, "could break a steam-roller let +alone a gazogene." + +"It'll be an awful miss," said her sister. "We've had it so long, and it +always stood on the sideboard with a bottle of lemon-syrup beside it." + +Pamela was puzzling to think what this could be that stood on a +sideboard companioned by lemon-syrup and compassed with wire-netting +when Mawson showed in Mrs. Jowett, and with her Miss Mary Dawson, and +the party was complete. + +The Miss Watsons greeted the newcomers brightly, having met them on +bazaar committees and at Red Cross work parties, and having always been +treated courteously by both ladies. They were quite willing to sink at +once into a lower place now that two denizens of the Hill had come, but +Pamela would have none of it. + +They were the reason of the party; she made that evident at once. + +Miss Teenie did not attempt the impossible and "toy" with her tea. There +was no need to. The tea was delicious, and she drank three cups. She +tried everything on the table and pronounced everything excellent. Never +had she felt herself so entertaining such a capital talker as now, with +Pamela smiling and applauding every effort. Mrs. Jowett too, gentle +lady, listened with most gratifying interest, and Miss Mary Dawson threw +in kind, sensible remarks at intervals. There was no arguing, no +disagreeing, everybody "clinked" with everybody else--a most pleasant +party. + +"And isn't it awful," said Miss Watson in a pause, "about our minister +marrying?" + +Pamela waited for further information before she spoke, while Mrs. +Jowett said, "Don't you consider it a suitable match?" + +"Oh, well," said Miss Watson, "I just meant that it was awful +unexpected. He's been a bachelor so long, and then to marry a girl +twenty years younger than himself and a 'Piscipalian into the bargain." + +"But how sporting of him," Pamela said. + +"Sporting?" said Miss Watson doubtfully, vague thoughts of guns and +rabbits floating through her mind. "Of course you're a 'Piscipalian too, +Miss Reston, so is Mrs. Jowett: I shouldn't have mentioned it." + +"I'm afraid I'm not much of anything," Pamela confessed, "but Jean +Jardine has great hopes of making me a Presbyterian. I have been going +with her to hear her own most delightful parson--Mr. Macdonald." + +"A dear old man," said Mrs. Jowett; "he does preach so beautifully." + +"Mr. Macdonald's church is the old Free Kirk, now U.F., you know," said +Miss Watson in an instructive tone. "The Jardines are great Free Kirk +people, like the Hopes of Hopetoun--but the Parish is far more class, +you know what I mean? You've more society there." + +"What a delightful reason for worshipping in a church!" Pamela said. +"But please tell me more about your minister's bride--does she belong to +Priorsford?" + +"English," said Miss Teenie, "and smokes, and plays golf, and wears +skirts near to her knees. What in the world she'll look like at the +missionary work party or attending the prayer meeting--I cannot think. +Poor Mr. Morrison must be demented, and he is such a good preacher." + +"She will settle down," said Miss Dawson in her slow, sensible way. +"She's really a very likeable girl; and if she puts all the energy she +uses to play games into church-work she will be a great success. And it +will be an interest having a young wife at the manse." + +"I don't know," said Miss Watson doubtfully. "I always think a +minister's wife should have a little money and a strong constitution and +be able to play the harmonium." + +Miss Watson had not intended to be funny, and was rather surprised at +the laughter of her hostess. + +"It seems to me," she said, "that the poor woman _would_ need a strong +constitution." + +"Well, anyway," said Miss Teenie, "she would need the money; ministers +have so many claims on them. And they've a position to keep up. Here, of +course, they have manses, but in Glasgow they sometimes live in flats. I +don't think that's right. ... A minister should always live in a villa, +or at least in a 'front door.'" + +"Is your minister's bride pretty?" Pamela asked. + +Miss Watson got in her word first. "Pretty," she said, "but not in a +ministerial way, if you know what I mean. I wouldn't call her ladylike." + +"What would you call 'ladylike'?" Pamela asked. + +"Well, a good height, you know, and a nice figure and a pleasant face +and tidy hair. The sort of person that looks well in a grey coat and +skirt and a feather boa." + +"I know exactly. What a splendid description!" + +"Now," continued Miss Watson, much elated by the praise, "Mrs. Morrison +is very conspicuous looking. She's got yellow hair and a bright colour, +and a kind of bold way of looking." + +"She's a complex character," sighed Mrs. Jowett; "she wears snakeskin +shoes. But you must be kind to her, Miss Watson. I think she would +appreciate kindness." + +"Oh, so we are kind to her. The congregation subscribed and gave a grand +piano for a wedding-present. Wasn't that good? She is very musical, you +know, and plays the violin beautifully. That'll be very useful at church +meetings." + +"I can't imagine," said Miss Dawson, "why we should consider a +minister's wife and her talents as the property of the congregation. A +doctor's wife isn't at the beck and call of her husband's patients, a +lawyer's wife isn't briefed along with her husband. It doesn't seem to +me fair." + +"How odd," said Pamela; "only yesterday I was talking to Mrs. +Macdonald--Jean's minister's wife--and I said just what you say, that it +seems hard that the time of a minister's wife should be at the mercy of +everyone, and she said, 'My dear, it's our privilege, and if I had my +life to live again I would ask nothing better than to be a hard-working +minister's hard-working wife.' I stand hat in hand before that couple. +When you think what they have given all these years to this little +town--what qualities of heart and head. The tact of an ambassador (Mrs. +Macdonald has that), the eloquence of a Wesley, a largesse of sympathy +and help and encouragement, not to speak of more material things to +everyone in need, and all at the rate of £250 per annum. Prodigious!" + +"Yes," said Miss Dawson, "they have been a blessing to Priorsford for +more than forty years. Mr. Macdonald is a saint, but a saint is a great +deal the better of a practical wife. Mrs. Macdonald is an example of +what can be accomplished by a woman both in a church and at home. I sit +rebuked before her." + +"Oh, my dear," said Mrs. Jowett, "no one could possibly be more helpful +than you and your sisters. It's I who am the drone.... Now I must go." + +The Miss Watsons outstayed the other guests, and Pamela, remembering +Jean's advice, produced a few stray photographs of relations which were +regarded with much interest and some awe. The photograph of her brother, +Lord Bidborough, they could hardly lay down. Finally, Pamela presented +them with flowers and a basket of apples newly arrived from Bidborough +Manor, and they returned to Balmoral walking on air. + +"Such _pleasant_ company and _such_ a tea," said Miss Watson. "She had +out all her best things." + +"And Mrs. Jowett and Miss Dawson were asked to meet _us_," exulted Miss +Teenie. + +"And very affable they were," added her sister. But when the sisters had +removed their best clothes and were seated in the dining-room with the +cloth laid for supper, Miss Teenie said, "All the same, it's fine to be +back in our own house and not to have to heed about manners." She pulled +a low chair close to the fire as she spoke and spread her skirt back +over her knee and, thoroughly comfortable and at peace with the world, +beamed on her sister, who replied: + +"What do you say to having some toasted cheese to our supper?" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + "I hear the whaups on windy days + Cry up among the peat + Whaur, on the road that spiels the braes, + I've heard ma ain sheep's feet. + An' the bonnie lambs wi' their canny ways + And the silly yowes that bleat." + + _Songs of Angus_. + + +Mhor, having but lately acquired the art of writing, was fond of +exercising his still very shaky pen where and when he could. + +One morning, by reason of neglecting his teeth, and a few other toilet +details, he was able to be downstairs ten minutes before breakfast, and +spent the time in the kitchen, plaguing Mrs. M'Cosh to let him write an +inscription in her Bible. + +"What wud ye write?" she asked suspiciously. + +"I would write," said Mhor--"I would write, 'From Gervase Taunton to +Mrs. M'Cosh.'" + +"That wud be a lee," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "for I got it frae ma sister +Annie, her that's in Australia. Here see, there's a post-caird for ye. +It's a rale nice yin.--Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow. There's Annackers' +shope as plain's plain." + +Mhor looked discontentedly at the offering. "I wish," he said +slowly--"I wish I had a post-card of a hippopotamus being sick." + +"Ugh, you want unnaitural post-cairds. Think on something wise-like, +like a guid laddie." + +Mhor considered. "If you give me a sheet of paper and an envelope I +might write to the Lion at the Zoo." + +For the sake of peace Mrs. M'Cosh produced the materials, and Mhor sat +down at the table, his elbows spread out, his tongue protruding. He had +only managed "Dear Lion," when Jean called him to go upstairs and wash +his teeth and get a clean handkerchief. + +The sun was shining into the dining-room, lighting up the blue china on +the dresser, and catching the yellow lights in Jean's hair. + +"What a silly morning for November," growled Jock. "What's the sun going +on shining like that for? You'd think it thought it was summer." + +"In winter," said Mhor, "the sky should always be grey. It's more +suitable." + +"What a couple of ungrateful creatures you are," Jean said; "I'm ashamed +of you. And as it happens you are going to have a great treat because of +the good day. I didn't tell you because I thought it would very likely +pour. Cousin Lewis said if it was a good day he would send the car to +take us to Laverlaw to luncheon. It's really because of Pamela; she has +never been there. So you must ask to get away at twelve, Jock, and I'll +go up with Pamela and collect Mhor." + +Mhor at once left the table and, without making any remark, stood on +his head on the hearthrug. Thus did his joy find vent. Jock, on the +other hand, seemed more solemnised than gleeful. + +"That's the first time I've ever had a prayer answered," he announced. +"I couldn't do my Greek last night, and I prayed that I wouldn't be at +the class--and I won't be. Gosh, Maggie!" + +"Oh, Jock," his sister protested, "that's not what prayers are for." + +"Mebbe not, but I've managed it this time," and, unrepentant, Jock +started on another slice of bread and butter. + +Jean told Pamela of Jock's prayer as they went together to fetch Mhor +from school. + +"But Mhor is a much greater responsibility than Jock. You know where you +are with Jock: underneath is a bedrock of pure goodness. You see, we +start with the enormous advantage of having had forebears of the very +decentest--not great, not noble, but men who feared God and honoured the +King--men who lived justly and loved mercy. It would be most uncalled +for of us to start out on bypaths with such a straight record behind us. +But Mhor, bless him, is different. I haven't a notion what went to the +making of him. I seem to see behind him a long line of men and women who +danced and laughed and gambled and feasted, light-hearted, charming +people. I sometimes think I hear them laugh as I teach Mhor _What is the +chief end of man?_ ... I couldn't love Mhor more if he really were my +little brother, but I know that my hold over him is of the frailest. +It's only now that I have him. I must make the most of the present--the +little boy days--before life takes him away from me." + +"You will have his heart always," Pamela comforted her. "He won't +forget. He has been rooted and grounded in love." + +Jean winked away the tears that had forced their way into her eyes, and +laughed. + +"I'm bringing him up a Presbyterian. I did try him with the Creed. He +listened politely, and said carelessly, 'It all seems rather sad--Pilate +is a nice name, but not Pontius.' Then Jock laughed at him learning, +'What is your name, A or B?' and Mhor himself preferred to go to the +root of the matter with our Shorter Catechism, and answer nobly if +obscurely--_Man's chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him for +ever_. Indeed, he might be Scots in his passion for theology. The other +night he went to bed very displeased with me, and said, 'You needn't +read me any more of that narsty Bible,' but when I went up to say +good-night he greeted me with, '_How_ can I keep the commandments when I +can't even remember what they are?' ... This is Mhor's school, or rather +Miss Main's school." + +They went up the steps of a pretty, creeper-covered house. + +"It once belonged to an artist," Jean explained. "There is a great big +light studio at the back which makes an ideal schoolroom. It's an ideal +school altogether. Miss Main and her young stepsister are born teachers, +full of humour and understanding, as well as being brilliantly +clever--far too clever really for this job; but if they don't mind we +needn't complain. They get the children on most surprisingly, and teach +them all sorts of things outside their lessons. Mhor is always +astonishing me with his information about things going on in the +world.... Yes, do come in. They won't mind. You would like to see the +children." + +"I would indeed. But won't Miss Main object to us interrupting--" + +Miss Main at once reassured her on that point, and said that both she +and the scholars loved visitors. She took them into the large schoolroom +where twenty small people of various sizes sat with their books, very +cheerfully imbibing knowledge. + +Mhor and another small boy occupied one desk. + +Jean greeted the small boy as "Sandy," and asked him what he was +studying at that moment. + +"I don't know," said Sandy. + +"Sandy," said Miss Main, "don't disgrace your teachers. You know you are +learning the multiplication table. What are three times three?" + +Sandy merely looked coy. + +"Mhor?" + +"Six," said Mhor, after some thought. + +"Hopeless," said Miss Main. "Come and speak to my sister Elspeth, Miss +Reston." + +"My sister Elspeth" was a tall, fair girl with merry blue eyes. + +"Do you teach the Mhor?" Pamela asked her. + +"I have that honour," said Miss Elspeth, and began to laugh. "He always +arrives full of ideas. This morning he had thought out a plan to stop +the rain. The sky, he said, must be gone over with glue, but he gave it +up when he remembered how sticky it would be for the angels.... He has +the most wonderful feeling for words of any child I ever taught. He +can't, for instance, bear to hear a Bible story told in everyday +language. The other children like it broken down to them, but Mhor +pleads for 'the real words.' He likes the swing and majesty of them.... +I was reading them Kipling's story, _Servants of the Queen_, the other +day. You know where it makes the oxen speak of the walls of the city +falling, 'and the dust went up as though many cattle were coming home.' +I happened to look up, and there was Mhor with lamps lit in those +wonderful green eyes of his, gazing at me. He said, 'I like that bit. +It's a nice bit. I think it should be at the end of a sad story.' And he +uses words well himself, have you noticed? The other day he came and +thrust a dead field-mouse into my hand. I squealed and dropped it, and +he said, 'Afraid? And of such a calm little gentleman?'" + +Pamela asked if Mhor's behaviour was good. + +"Only fair," said pretty Miss Elspeth. "He always means to be good, but +he is inhabited by an imp of mischief that prompts him to do the most +improbable things. He certainly doesn't make for peace in the school, +but he keeps 'a body frae languor.' I like a naughty boy myself much +better than a good one. He's the 'more natural beast of the twain.'" + +Outside, with the freed Mhor capering before them, Pamela was +enthusiastic over the little school and its mistresses. + +"Miss Main looks like an old miniature, with her white hair and her +delicate colouring, and is wise and kind and sensible as well; and as +for that daffodil girl, Elspeth, she is a sheer delight." + +"Yes," Jean agreed. "Hasn't she charming manners? It is so good for the +children to be with her. She is so polite to them that they can't be +anything but gentle and considerate in return. Heaps of girls would +think school-marming very dull, but Elspeth makes it into a sort of +daily entertainment. They manage, she and her sister, to make the +dullest child see some glimmer of reason in learning lessons. I do wish +I had had a teacher like that. I had a governess who taught me like a +parrot. She had no notion how to make the dry bones live. I thought I +scored by learning as little as I possibly could. The consequence is I'm +almost entirely illiterate.... There's the car waiting, and Jock +prancing impatiently. Run in for your thick coat, Mhor. No, you can't +take Peter. He chased sheep last time and fought the other dogs and made +himself a nuisance." + +Mhor was now pleading that he might sit in the front beside the +chauffeur and cry "Honk, honk," as they went round corners. + +"Well," said Jean, "choose whether it will be going or coming back. Jock +must sit there one time." + +Mhor, as he always did, grasped the pleasure of the moment, and +clambered into the seat beside the chauffeur, an old and valued friend, +whom he greeted familiarly as "Tam." + +The road to Laverlaw ran through the woods behind Peel, dipped into the +Manor Valley and, emerging, made straight for the hills, which closed +down round it as though jealous of the secrets they guarded. It seemed +to a stranger as if the road led nowhere, for nothing was to be seen for +miles except bare hillsides and a brawling burn. Suddenly the road took +a turn, a white bridge spanned the noisy Laverlaw Water, and there at +the opening of a wide, green glen stood the house. + +Lewis Elliot was waiting at the doorstep to greet them. He had been out +all morning, and with him were his two dogs, Rab and Wattie. Jock and +Mhor threw themselves on them with many-endearing names, before they +even looked at their host. + +"Is luncheon ready?" was Mhor's greeting. + +"Why? Are you hungry?" + +"Oh yes, but it's not that. I wondered if there would be time to go to +the stables. Tam says there are some new puppies." + +"I'd keep the puppies for later, if I were you," Lewis Elliot advised. +"You'd better have luncheon while your hands are fairly clean. Jean will +be sure to make you wash them if you go mucking about in the stables." + +Mhor nodded. He was no Jew, and took small pleasure in the outward +cleansing of the cup and platter. Soap and water seemed to him almost +quite unnecessary, and he had greatly admired and envied the Laplanders +since Jock had told him that that hardy race rarely, if ever, washed. + +"I hope you weren't cold in that open car," Lewis Elliot said as he +helped Pamela and Jean to remove their wraps. "D'you mind coming into my +den? It's warm, if untidy. The drawing-room is so little used that it's +about as cheerful as a tomb." + +He led them through the panelled hall, down a long passage hung with +sporting prints, into what was evidently a much-liked and much-used +room. + +Books were everywhere, lining the walls, lying in heaps on tables, some +even piled on the floor, but a determined effort had evidently been made +to tidy things a little, for papers had been collected into bundles, +pipes had been thrust into corners, and bowls of chrysanthemums stood +about to sweeten the tobacco-laden atmosphere. + +A large fire burned on the hearth, and Lewis pulled up some +masculine-looking arm-chairs and asked the ladies to sit in them, but +Jean along with Jock and Mhor were already engrossed in books, and their +neglected host looked at them with disgust. + +"Such are the primitive manners of the Jardine family," he said to +Pamela. "If you want a word out of them you must lock up all printed +matter before they approach. Thank goodness, that's the gong! They can't +read while they're feeding." + +"Honourable," said Mhor, as they ate their excellent luncheon. "Isn't +Laverlaw a lovely place?" + +Pamela agreed. "I never saw anything so indescribably green. It wears +the fairy livery. I can easily picture True Thomas walking by that +stream." + +"Long ago," said Jock in his gruff voice, "there was a keep at Laverlaw +instead of a house, and Cousin Lewis' ancestors stole cattle from +England, and there were some fine fights in this glen. Laverlaw Water +would run red with blood." + +"Jock," Jean protested, "you needn't say it with such relish." + +Pamela turned to her host. + +"Priorsford seems to think you find yourself almost too contented at +Laverlaw. Mrs. Hope says you are absorbed in sheep." + +Lewis Elliot looked amused. "I can imagine the scorn Mrs. Hope put into +her voice as she said 'sheep.' But one must be absorbed in +something--why not sheep?" + +"I like a sheep," said Jock, and he quoted: + + "'Its conversation is not deep, + But then, observe its face.'" + +"You may be surprised to hear," said Lewis, "that sheep are almost like +fine ladies in their ways: they have megrims, it appears. I found one +the other day lying on the hill more or less dead to the world, and I +went a mile or two out of my way to tell the shepherd. All he said was, +'I ken that yowe. She aye comes ower dwamy in an east wind.' ... But +tell me, Jean, how is Miss Reston conducting herself in Priorsford?" + +"With the greatest propriety, I assure you," Pamela replied for herself. +"Aren't I, Jean? I have dined with Mrs. Duff-Whalley and been +introduced to 'the County.' You were regrettably absent from that august +gathering, I seem to remember. I have lunched with the Jowetts, and left +the table without a stain either on the cloth or my character, but it +was a great nervous strain. I thought of you, Jock, old man, and deeply +sympathised with your experience. I have been to quite a lot of +tea-parties, and I have given one or two. Indeed, I am becoming as +absorbed in Priorsford as you are in sheep." + +"You have been to Hopetoun, I know." + +"Yes, but don't mix that up with ordinary tea-parties That is an +experience to keep apart. She holds the imagination, that old woman, +with her sharp tongue, and her haggard, beautiful eyes, and her dead +sons. To know Mrs. Hope and her daughter is something to be thankful +for." + +"I quite agree. The Hopes do much to leaven the lump. But I expect you +find it rather a lump." + +"Honestly, I don't. I'm not being superior, please don't think so, or +charitable, or pretending to find good in everything, but I do like the +Priorsford people. Some of them are interesting, and nearly all of them +are dears." + +"Even Mrs. Duff-Whalley?" + +"Well, she is rather a caricature, but there are oddly nice bits about +her, if only she weren't so overpoweringly opulent. The ospreys in her +hat seem to shriek money, and her furs smother one, and that house of +hers remains so starkly new. If only creepers would climb up and hide +its staring red-and-white face, and ivy efface some of the decorations, +but no--I expect she likes it as it is. But there is something honest +about her very vulgarity. She knows what she wants and goes straight for +it; and she isn't a fool. The daughter is. She was intended by nature to +be a dull young woman with a pretty face, but not content with that she +puts on an absurdly skittish manner--oh, so ruthlessly bright--talks +what she thinks is smart slang, poses continually, and wears clothes +that would not be out of place at Ascot, but are a positive offence to +the little grey town. I hadn't realised how gruesome provincial +smartness could be until I met Muriel Duff-Whalley." + +"Oh, poor Muriel!" Jean protested. "You've done for her anyway. But +you're wrong in thinking her stupid. She only comes to The Rigs when she +isn't occupied with smart friends and is rather dull--I don't see her in +her more exalted moments; but I assure you, after she has done talking +about 'the County,' and after the full blast of 'dear Lady Tweedie' is +over, she is a very pleasant companion, and has nice delicate sorts of +thoughts. She's really far too clever to be as silly as she sometimes +is--I can't quite understand her. Perhaps she does it to please her +mother." + +"Jean's disgustingly fond of finding out the best in people," Pamela +objected. + +"Priorsford is a most charming town," said Mr. Elliot, "but I never find +its inhabitants interesting." + +"No," Jean said, "but you don't try, do you? You stay here in your +'wild glen sae green,' and only have your own friends to visit you--" + +"Are you," Pamela asked Lewis, "like a woman I know who boasts that she +knows no one in her country place, but gets her friends and her fish +from London?" + +"No, I'm not in the least exclusive, only rather _blate_, and, I +suppose, uninterested. Do you know, I was rather glad to hear you begin +to slang the unfortunate Miss Duff-Whalley. It was more like the Pamela +Reston I used to know. I didn't recognise her in the tolerant, +all-loving lady." + +"Oh," cried Pamela, "you are cruel to the girl I once was. The years +mellow. Surely you welcome improvement, even while you remind me of my +sins and faults of youth." + +"I don't think," Lewis Elliot said slowly, "that I ever allowed myself +to think that the Pamela Reston I knew needed improvement. That would +have savoured of sacrilege.... Are we finished? We might have coffee in +the other room." + +Pamela looked at her host as she rose from the table, and said, "Years +have brought clearer eyes for faults." + +"I wonder," said Lewis Elliot, as he put a large chocolate into Mhor's +ever-ready mouth. + +Before going home they went for a walk up the glen. Jean and the boys, +very much at home, were in front, while Lewis named the surrounding +hills and explained the lie of the land to Pamela. They fell into talk +of younger days, and laughed over episodes they had not thought of for +twenty years. + +"And, do you know, Biddy's coming home?" Pamela said. "I keep +remembering that with a most delightful surprise. I haven't seen him for +more than a year--my beloved Biddy!" + +"He was a most charming boy," Lewis said. "I suppose he would be about +fifteen when last I saw him. How old is he now?" + +"Thirty-five. But such a young thirty-five. He has always been doing the +most youth-preserving things, chasing over the world after adventures, +like a boy after butterflies, seeing new peoples, walking in untrodden +ways. If he had lived in more spacious days he would have sailed with +Francis Drake and helped to singe the King of Spain's beard. Oh, I do +think you will still like Biddy. The charm he had at fifteen he hasn't +lost one little bit. He has still the same rather shy manner and slow +way of speaking and sudden, affection-winning smile. The War has changed +him of course, emptied and saddened his life, and he isn't the +light-foot lad he was six years ago. When it was all over he went off +for one more year's roving. He has a great project which I don't suppose +will ever be accomplished--to climb Everest. He and three great friends +had arranged it all before the War, but everything of course was +stopped, and whatever happens he will never climb it with those three +friends. They had to scale greater heights than Everest. It is a sober +and responsible Biddy who is coming back, to settle down and look after +his places, and go into politics, perhaps--" + +They walked together in comfortable silence. + +Jean, in front, turned round and waved to them. + +"I'm glad," said Lewis, "that you and Jean have made friends. Jean--" He +stopped. + +Pamela stood very still for a second, and then said, "Yes?" + +"Jean and her brothers are sort of cousins of mine. I've always been +fond of them, and my mother and I used to try to give them a good time +when we could, for Great-aunt Alison's was rather an iron rule. But a +man alone is such a helpless object, as Mrs. Hope often reminds me. It +isn't fair that Jean shouldn't have her chance. She never gets away, and +her youth is being spoiled by care. She is such a quaint little person +with her childlike face and motherly ways! I do wish something could be +done." + +"Jean must certainly have her chance," said Pamela. She took a long +breath, as if she had been under water and had come to the surface. +"I've said nothing about it to anyone, but I am greatly hoping that some +arrangement can be made about sending the boys away to school and +letting me carry off Jean. I want her to forget that she ever had to +think about money worries. I want her to play with other boys and girls. +I want her to marry." + +"Yes, that would be a jolly good scheme." Lewis Elliot's voice was +hearty in its agreement. "It really is exceedingly kind of you. You've +lifted a weight from my mind--though what business I have to push my +weights on to you.... Yes, Jean, perhaps we ought to be turning back. +The car is ordered for four o'clock. I wish you would stay to tea, but I +expect you are dying to get back to Priorsford. That little town has you +in its thrall." + +"I wish," said Jock, "that The Rigs could be lifted up by some magician +and plumped down in Laverlaw Glen." + +"Oh, Jock, wouldn't that be fine?" sighed the Mhor. "Plumped right down +at the side of the burn, and then we could fish out of the windows." + +The sun had left the glen, the Laverlaw Water ran wan; it seemed +suddenly to have become a wild and very lonely place. + +"Now I can believe about the raiders coming over the hills in an autumn +twilight," said Pamela. "There is something haunted about this place. In +Priorsford we are all close together and cosy: that's what I love about +it." + +"You've grown quite suburban," Lewis taunted her. "Jean, I was told a +story about two Priorsford ladies the other day. They were in London and +went to see Pavlova dance at the Palace, for the first time. It was her +last appearance that season, and the curtain went down on Pavlova +embedded in bouquets, bowing her thanks to an enraptured audience, the +house rocking with enthusiasm. The one Priorsford lady turned to the +other Priorsford lady and said, 'Awfully like Mrs. Wishart!'" + +As the car moved off, Jock's voice could be heard asking, "And who _was_ +Mrs. Wishart?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + "Hast any philosophy in thee?" + + _As You Like It_. + + +Miss Bella Bathgate was a staunch supporter of the Parish Kirk. She had +no use for any other denomination, and no sympathy with any but the +Presbyterian form of worship. Episcopalians she regarded as beneath +contempt, and classed them in her own mind with "Papists"--people who +were more mischievous and almost as ignorant as "the heathen" for whom +she collected small sums quarterly, and for whom the minister prayed as +"sitting in darkness." Miss Bathgate had developed a real, if somewhat +contemptuous, affection for Mawson, her lodger's maid, but she never +ceased to pour scorn on her "English ways" and her English worship. If +Mawson had not been one of the gentlest of creatures she would not have +tolerated it for a day. + +One wet and windy evening Bella sat waiting for Mawson to come in to +supper. She had gone to a week-night service at the church, greatly +excited because the Bishop was to be present. The supper was ready and +keeping hot in the oven, the fire sparkled in the bright range, and +Bella sat crocheting and singing to herself, "From Greenland's icy +mountains." For Bella was passionately interested in missions. The needs +of the heathen lay on her heart. Every penny she could scrape together +went into "the box." The War had reduced her small income, and she could +no longer live without letting her rooms, but whatever she had to do +without her contributions to missions never faltered; indeed, they had +increased. Missions were the romance of her life. They put a scarlet +thread into the grey. The one woman she had ever envied was Mary Slessor +of Calabar. + +Mawson came in much out of breath, having run up the hill to get out of +the darkness. + +"Weel, and hoo's the Bishop?" Bella said in jocular tones. + +"Ow, 'e was lovely. 'E said the Judgment was 'anging over all of us." + +"Oh, wumman," said Bella, as she dumped a loaf viciously on the platter, +"d'ye need a Bishop to tell ye that? I'm sure I've kent it a' ma days." + +"It gives me the creeps to think of it. Imagine standin' h'up before +h'all the earth and 'aving all your little bits o' sins fetched out +against you! But"--hopefully--"I don't see myself 'ow there'll be time." + +"Ay, there'll be time! There'll be a' Eternity afore us, and as far as I +can see there'll be naething else to do." + +"Ow," Mawson wailed. "You do make it sound so 'orrid, Bella. The Bishop +was much more comfortable, and 'e 'as such a nice rosy face you can't +picture anything very bad 'appening to 'im. But I suppose Bishops'll be +judged like everyone else." + +"They will that." Bella's tone was emphatic, almost vindictive. + +"Oh, well," said Mawson, who looked consistently on the bright sides, "I +dare say they won't pay much h'attention to the likes of us when they've +Kings and Bishops and M.P.'s and London ladies to judge. Their sins will +be a bit more interestin' than my little lot.... Well, I'll be glad of a +cup of tea, for it's thirsty work listening to sermons. I'll just lay me +'at and coat down 'ere, if you don't mind, Bella. Now, this is cosy. I +was thinkin' of this as I came paddin' over the bridge listening to the +sound of the wind and the water. A river's a frightenin' sort of thing +at night and after 'earin' about the Judgment too." + +Miss Bathgate took a savoury-smelling dish from the oven and put it, +along with two hot plates, before Mawson, then put the teapot before +herself and they began. + +"Whaur's Miss Reston the nicht?" Bella asked, as she helped herself to +hot buttered toast. + +"Dinin' with Sir John and Lady Tweedie. She's wearin' a lovely new gown, +sort of yellow. It suited her a treat. I must say she did look noble. +She is 'andsome, don't you think?" + +"Terrible lang and lean," said Miss Bathgate. "But I'm no denyin' that +there's a kind o' look aboot her that's no common. She would mak' a guid +queen if we had ony need o' anither." "She makes a good mistress +anyway," said loyal Mawson. + +"Oh, she's no bad," Bella admitted. "An' I must say she disna gie much +trouble--but it's an idle life for ony wumman. I canna see why Miss +Reston, wi' a' her faculties aboot her, needs you hingin' round her. +Mercy me, what's to hinder her pu'in ribbons through her ain +underclothes, if ribbons are necessary, which they're not. There's Mrs. +Muir next door, wi' six bairns, an' a' the wark o' the hoose to dae an' +washin's forbye, an' here's Miss Reston never liftin' a finger except to +pu' silk threads through a bit stuff. That's what makes folk +Socialists." + +Mawson, who belonged to that fast disappearing body, the real servant +class, and who, without a thought of envy, delighted in the possession +of her mistress, looked sadly puzzled. + +"But, Beller, don't you think things work out more h'even than they +seem? Mrs. Muir next door works very 'ard. I've seen her put out a +washin' by seven o'clock in the morning, but then she 'as a good 'usband +and an 'ealthy family and much pleasure in 'er work. Miss Reston lies +soft and drinks her mornin' tea in comfort, but she never knows the +satisfied feelin' that Mrs. Muir 'as when she takes in 'er clean +clothes." + +"Weel, mebbe you're right. I'm nae Socialist masel'. There maun aye be +rich and poor, Dives in the big hoose and Lazarus at the gate. But so +long as we're sure that Dives'll catch it in the end, and Lazarus lie +soft in Abraham's bosom, we can pit up wi' the unfairness here. An' +speakin' about Miss Reston, I dinna mind her no' working. Ye can see by +the look of her that she never was meant to work, but just to get +everything done for her. Can ye picture her peelin' tatties? The verra +thocht's rideeclus. She's juist for lookin' at, like the floors and a' +the bonnie things ... But it's thae new folk that pit up ma birse. That +Mrs. Duff-Whalley, crouse cat! Rollin' aboot wrap up in furs in a great +caur, patronisin' everybody that's daft enough to let theirselves be +patronised by her. Onybody could see she's no used to it. She's so ta'en +up wi' hersel'. It's kinda play-actin' for her ... An' there's naebody +gives less to charitable objects. I suppose when ye've paid and fed sae +mony servants, and dressed yersel' in silks and satins, and bocht every +denty ye can think of, and kept up a great big hoose an' a great muckle +caur, there's no' that much left for the kirk-plate, or the heathen, or +the hospitals ... Oh, it's peetifu'!" + +Mawson nodded wisely. "There's plenty Mrs. Duff-Whalleys about; you be +thankful you've only one in the place. Priorsford is a very charitable +place, I think. The poor people here don't know they're born after +London, and the clergy seem very active too." + +"Oh, they are that. I daur say they're as guid as is gaun. Mr. Morrison +is a fine man if marriage disna ruin him." + +"Oh, surely not!" + +"There's no sayin'," said Bella gloomily. "She's young and flighty, but +there's wan thing, she has no money. I kent a minister--he was a kinda +cousin o' ma father's--an' he mairret a heiress and they had late +denner. I tell ye that late denner was the ruin o' that man. It fair got +between him an' his jidgment. He couldna veesit his folk at a wise-like +hour in the evening because he was gaun to hev his denner, and he +couldna get oot late because his leddy-wife wanted him to be at hame +efter denner. There's mony a thing to cause a minister to stumble, for +they're juist human beings after a', but his rich mairrage was John +Allison's undoing." + +"Marriage," sighed Mawson, "is a great risk. It's often as well to be +single, but I sometimes think Providence must ha' meant me to 'ave an +'usband--I'm such a clingin' creature." + +Such sentiments were most distasteful to Miss Bathgate, that +self-reliant spinster, and she said bitterly: + +"Ma wumman, ye're ill off for something to cling to! I never saw the man +yet that I wud be pitten up wi'." + +"Ho! I shouldn't say that, but I must say I couldn't fancy a +h'undertaker. Just imagine 'im 'andlin' the dead and then 'andlin' me!" + +"Eh, ye nesty cratur," said Bella, much disgusted "But I suppose ye're +meaning _English_ undertakers--men that does naething but work wi' +funerals--a fearsome ill job. Here it's the jiner that does a' thing, so +it's faur mair homely." + +"Speakin' about marriages," said Mawson, who preferred cheerful +subjects, "I do enjoy a nice weddin'. The motors and the bridesmaids and +the flowers. Is there no chance of a weddin' 'ere?" + +Miss Bathgate shook her head. + +"Why not Miss Jean?" Mawson suggested. + +Again Miss Bathgate shook her head. + +"Nae siller," she said briefly. + +"What! No money, you mean? But h'every gentleman ain't after money." +Mawson's expression grew softly sentimental as she added, "Many a one +marries for love, like the King and the beggar-maid." + +"Mebbe," said Bella, "but the auld rhyme's oftener true: + + "'Be a lassie ne'er sae black, + Gie her but the name o' siller, + Set her up on Tintock tap + An' the wind'll blaw a man till her. + + Be a lassie ne'er sae fair, + Gin she hinna penny-siller, + A flea may fell her in the air + Ere a man be evened till her.' + +"I would like fine to see Miss Jean get a guid man, for she's no' a bad +lassie, but I doot she'll never manage't." + +"Oh, Beller, you do take an 'opeless view of things. I think it's +because you wear black so much. Now I must say I like a bit o' bright +colour. I think it gives one bright thoughts." + +"I aye wear black," said Bella firmly, as she carried the supper dishes +to the scullery, "and then, as the auld wifie said, 'Come daith, come +sacrament, I'm ready!'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + "Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon, may a man buy for a + remuneration?"--_Comedy of Errors_. + + +The living-room at The Rigs was the stage of many plays. Its uses ranged +from the tent of a ménagerie or the wigwam of an Indian brave to the +Forest of Arden. + +This December night it was a "wood near Athens," and to Mhor, if to no +one else, it faithfully represented the original. That true Elizabethan +needed no aids to his imagination. "This is a wood," said Mhor, and a +wood it was. "Is all our company here?" and to him the wood was peopled +by Quince and Snug, by Bottom the weaver, by Puck and Oberon. Titania +and her court he reluctantly admitted were necessary to the play, but he +did not try to visualise them, regarding them privately as blots. The +love-scenes between Hermia and Lysander, Helena and Demetrius, were +omitted, because Jock said they were "_awful_ silly." + +It was Friday evening, so Jock had put off learning his lessons till the +next day, and, as Bully Bottom, was calling over the names of his cast. + +"Are we all met?" + +"Pat, pat," said Mhor, who combined in his person all the other parts, +"and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal; this green +plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tiring-house; and we +will do it in action as we will do it before the duke." + +Pamela Reston, in her usual place, the corner of the sofa beside the +fire, threaded her needle with a bright silk thread, and watched the +players amusedly. + +"Did you ever think," she asked Jean, who sat on a footstool beside +her--a glowing figure in a Chinese coat given her by Pamela, engaged +rather incongruously in darning one of Jock's stockings--"did you ever +think what it must have been like to see a Shakespeare play for the +first time? Was the Globe filled, I wonder, with a quite unexpectant +first night audience? And did they realise that the words they heard +were deathless words? Imagine hearing for the first time: + + 'When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver + white....' + +and then--'The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.' +Did you ever try to write, Jean?" + +"Pamela," said Jean, "if you drop from Shakespeare to me in that sudden +way you'll be dizzy. I have thought of writing and trying to give a +truthful picture of Scottish life--a cross between _Drumtochty_ and _The +House with the Green Shutters_--but I'm sure I shall never do it. And if +by any chance I did accomplish it, it would probably be reviewed as a +'feebly written story of life in a Scots provincial town,' and then I +would beat my pen into a hatpin and retire from the literary arena. I +wonder how critics can bear to do it. I couldn't sleep at nights for +thinking of my victims--" + +"You sentimental little absurdity! It wouldn't be honest to praise poor +work." + +Jean shook her head. "They could always be a little kind ... Pamela, I +love myself in this coat. You can't think what a delight colours are to +me." She stopped, and then said shyly, "You have brought colour into all +our lives. I can see now how drab they were before you came." + +"Oh dear, no, Jean, your life was never drab. It could never be drab +whatever your circumstances, you have so much happiness within yourself. +I don't think anything in life could ever quite down you, and even +death--what of death, Jean?" + +Jean looked up from her stocking. "As Boswell said to Dr. Johnson, 'What +of death, Sir?' and the great man was so angry that the little +twittering genius should ask lightly of such a terrifying thing that he +barked at him and frightened him out of the room! I suppose the ordinary +thing is never to think about death at all, to keep the thought pushed +away. But that makes people so _afraid_ of it. It's such a bogey to +them. The Puritans went to the other extreme and dressed themselves in +their grave-clothes every day. Wasn't it Samuel Rutherford who advised +people to 'forefancy their latter end'? I think that's where Great-aunt +Alison got the idea; she certainly made us 'forefancy' ours! But apart +from what death may mean to each of us--life itself gets all its meaning +from death. If we didn't know that we had all to die we could hardly go +on living, could we?" + +"Well," said Pamela, "it would certainly be difficult to bear with +people if their presence and our own were not utterly uncertain. And if +we knew with surety when we rose in the morning that for another forty +years we would go on getting up, and having a bath and dressing, we +would be apt to expire with ennui. We rise with alacrity because we +don't know if we shall ever put our clothes on again." + +Jean gave a little jump of expectation. "It's frightfully interesting. +You never do know when you get up in the morning what will happen before +night." + +"Most people find that a little wearing. It isn't always nice things +that happen, Jean." + +"Not always, of course, but far more nice things than nasty ones." + +"Jean, I'm afraid you're a chirping optimist. You'll reduce me to the +depths of depression if you insist on being so bright. Rather help me to +rail against fate, and so cheer me." + +"Do you realise that Davie will be home next week?" said Jean, as if +that were reason enough for any amount of optimism. "I think, on the +whole, he has enjoyed his first term, but he was pretty homesick at +first. He never actually said so, but he told us in one letter that he +smelt the tea when he made it, for it was the one thing that reminded +him of home. And another time he spoke with passionate dislike of the +pollarded trees, because such things are unknown on Tweedside. I'm so +glad he has made quite a lot of friends. I was afraid he might be so shy +and unforthcoming that he would put people off, but he writes +enthusiastically about the men he is with. It is good for him to be made +to leave his work, and play games; he is keen about his footer and they +think he will row well! The man who has rooms on the same staircase +seems a very good sort. I forget who he is--it's quite a well-known +family--but he has been uncommonly kind to Davie. He wants him to go +home with him next week, but of course Davie is keen to get back to +Priorsford. Besides, you can't visit the stately homes of England on +thirty shillings, and that's about Davie's limit, dear lamb! Jock and +Mhor are looking forward with joy to hear him speak. They expect his +accent to have suffered an Oxford change, and Jock doesn't think he will +be able to remain in the room with him and not laugh." + +"I expect Jock will be 'affronted,'" said Pamela. "But you aren't the +only one who is expecting a brother, Jean, girl. Any moment I may hear +that Biddy is in London. He wired from Port Said that he would come +straight to Priorsford. I wonder whether I should take rooms for him in +the Hydro, or in one of these nice old hotels in the Nethergate? I wish +I could crush him into Hillview, but there isn't any room, alas!" + +"I wish," said Jean, and stopped. She had wanted in her hospitable way +to say that Pamela's brother must come to The Rigs, but she checked the +impulse with a fear that it was an absurd proposal. She was immensely +interested in this brother of Pamela's. All she had heard of him +appealed to her imagination, for Jean, cumbered as she was with domestic +cares, had an adventurous spirit, and thrilled to hear of the perils of +the mountains, the treks behind the ranges for something hidden, all the +daring escapades of an adventure-loving young man with time and money at +his disposal. She had made a hero of Pamela's "Biddy," but now that she +was to see him she shrank from the meeting. Suppose he were a +supercilious sort of person who would be bored with the little town and +the people in it. And the fact that he had a title complicated matters, +Jean thought. She could not imagine herself talking naturally to Lord +Bidborough. Besides, she thought, she didn't know in the least how to +talk to men; she so seldom met any. + +"I expect," she broke out after a silence, "your brother will take you +away?" + +"For Christmas, I think," said Pamela, "but I shall come back again. Do +you realise that I've been here two months, Jean?" + +"Does it seem so short to you?" + +"In a way it does; the days have passed so pleasantly. And yet I seem to +have been here all my life; I feel so much a part of Priorsford, so akin +to the people in it. It must be the Border blood in my veins. My mother +loved her own country dearly. I have heard my aunt say that she never +felt at home at Bidborough or Mintern Abbas. I am sure she would have +wanted us to know her Scots home, so Biddy and I are going to +Champertoun for Christmas. My mother had no brothers, and everything +went to a distant cousin. He and his wife seem friendly people and they +urge us to visit them." + +"That will mean a lovely Christmas for you," Jean said. + +Here Mhor stopped being an Athenian reveller to ask that the sofa might +be pushed back. The scene was now the palace of Theseus, and Mhor, as +the Prologue, was addressing an imaginary audience with--"Gentles, +perchance you wonder at this show." + +Pamela and Jean removed themselves to the window-seat and listened while +Jock, covered with an old skin rug, gave a realistic presentment of the +Lion, that very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. + +The 'tedious brief' scene was drawing to an end, when the door opened +and Mrs. M'Cosh, with a scared look in her eyes and an excited squeak in +her voice, announced, "Lord Bidborough." + +A slim, dark young man stood in the doorway, regarding the dishevelled +room. Jock and Mhor were still writhing on the floor, the chairs were +pushed anyway, Pamela's embroidery frame had alighted on the bureau, the +rugs were pulled here and there. + +Pamela gave a cry and rushed at her brother, forgetting everything in +the joy of seeing him. Then, remembering her hostess, she turned to +Jean, who still sat on the window-seat, her face flushed and her eyes +dark with excitement, the blood-red mandarin's coat with its embroidery +of blue and mauve and gold vivid against the dark curtains, and said, +"Jean, this is Biddy!" + +Jean stood up and held out a shy hand. + +"And this is Jock--and Mhor!" + +"Having a great game, aren't you?" said the newcomer. + +"Not a game," Mhor corrected him, "a play, _Midsummer Night's Dream_." + +"No, are you? I once played in it at the O.U.D.S. I wanted to be Bully +Bottom, but I wasn't much good, so they made me Snug the joiner. I +remember the man who played Puck was a wonder, about as light on his +feet and as swift as the real Puck. A jolly play." + +"Biddy," said his sister, "why didn't you wire to me? I have taken no +rooms." + +"Oh, that's all right--a porter at the station, a most awfully nice +chap, put me into a sort of fly and sent me to one of the hotels--a +jolly good little inn it is--and they can put me up. Then I asked for +Hillview, mentioning the witching name of Miss Bella Bathgate, and they +sent a boy with me to find the place. Miss Bathgate sent me on here. +Beautifully managed, you see." + +He smiled lazily at his sister, who cried: + +"The same casual old Biddy! What about dinner?" + +"Mayn't I feed with you? I think Miss Bathgate would like me to. And I'm +devoted to stewed beef and carrots. After cold storage food it will be a +most welcome change. But," turning to Jean, "please forgive me arriving +on you like this, and discussing board and lodgings. It's the most +frightful cheek on my part, but, you see, Pam's letters have made me so +well acquainted with The Rigs and everyone in it that I'm afraid I don't +feel the need of ceremony." + +"We wouldn't know what to do with ceremony here," said Jean. "But I do +wish the room had been tidier. You will get a bad impression of our +habits--and we are really quite neat as a rule. Jock, take that rug back +to Mrs. M'Cosh and put the sofa right. And, Mhor, do wash your face; +you've got it all smeared with black." + +As Jean spoke she moved about, putting things to rights, lifting +cushions, brightening the fire, brushing away fallen cinders. + +"That's better. Now don't stand about so uncomfortably Pamela, sit in +your corner; and this is a really comfortable chair, Lord Bidborough." + +"I want to look at the books, if I may," said Lord Bidborough. "It's +always the first thing I do in a room. You have a fine collection here." + +"They are nearly all my father's books," Jean explained. "We don't add +to them, except, of course, on birthdays and at Christmas, and never +valuable books." + +"You have some very rare books--this, for instance." + +"Yes. Father treasured that--and have you seen this?" + +They browsed among the books for a little, and Jean, turning to Pamela, +said, "I remember the first time you came to see us you did this, too, +walked about and looked at the books." + +"I remember," said Pamela; "history repeats itself." + +Lord Bidborough stopped before a shelf. "This is a catholic selection." + +"Those are my favourite books," said Jean--"modern books, I mean." + +"I see." He went along the shelf, naming each book as he came to it. +"_The Long Roll_ and _Cease Firing_. Two great books. I should like to +read them again now." + +"Now one could read them," said Jean. "Through the War I tried to, but I +had to stop. The writing was too good--too graphic, somehow...." + +"Yes, it would be too poignant.... _John Splendid_. I read that one +autumn in Argyle--slowly--about two chapters a day, making it last as +long as I could." + +"Isn't it fine?" said Jean. "John Splendid, who never spoke the truth +except to an enemy! Do you remember the scene with the blind widow of +Glencoe? And John Splendid was so gallant and tactful: 'dim in the +sight,' he called her, for he wouldn't say 'blind'; and then was +terrified when he heard that plague had been in the house, and would +have left without touching the outstretched hand, and Gordon, the +harsh-mannered minister, took it and kissed it, and the blind woman +cried, 'O Clan Campbell, I'll never call ye down--ye may have the guile +they claim for ye, but ye have the way with a woman's heart,' and poor +John Splendid went out covered with shame." + +Jean's eyes were shining, and she had forgotten to be awkward and +tongue-tied. + +"I remember," said Lord Bidborough. "And the wonderful descriptions--'I +know corries in Argyle that whisper silken' ... do you remember that? +And the last scene of all when John Splendid rides away?" + +"Do you cry over books, Jean?" Pamela asked. She was sitting on the end +of the sofa, her embroidery frame in her hand and her cloak on, ready to +go when her brother had finished looking at Jean's treasures. + +Jean shook her head. "Not often. Great-aunt Alison said it was the sign +of a feeble mind to waste tears over fiction, but I have cried. Do you +remember the end of _The Mill on the Floss_? Tom and Maggie have been +estranged, and the flood comes, and Tom goes to save Maggie. He is +rowing when he sees the great mill machinery sweeping down on them, and +he takes Maggie's hand, and calls her the name he had used when they +were happy children together--'_Magsie_!'" + +Pamela nodded. "Nothing appeals to you so much as family affection, +Jean, girl. What have you got now, Biddy? _Nelly's Teachers_?" + +"Oh, that," said Jean, getting pink--"that's a book I had when I was a +child, and I still like it so much that I read it through every year." + +"Oh, Jean, you babe!" Pamela cried. "Can you actually still read +goody-goody girls' stories?" + +"Yes," said Jean defiantly, "and enjoy them too." + +"And why not?" asked Lord Bidborough. "I enjoy _Huckleberry Finn_ as +much now as I did when I was twelve; and I often yearn after the books I +had as a boy and never see now. I used to lie on my face poring over +them. _The Clipper of the Clouds_, and _Sir Ludar_, and a fairy story +called _Rigmarole in Search of a Soul_, which, I remember, was quite +beautiful, but can't lay hands on anywhere." + +Jean looked at him gratefully, and thought to herself that he wasn't +going to be a terrifying person after all. For his age--Jean knew that +he was thirty-five, and had expected something much more mature--he +seemed oddly boyish. He had an expectant young look in his eyes, as if +he were always waiting for some chance of adventure to turn up, and +there were humorous lines about his mouth which seemed to say that he +found the world a very funny place, and was exceedingly well amused. + +He certainly seemed very much at home at The Rigs, fondling the rare old +books with the hands of a book lover, inspecting the coloured prints, +chaffing Jock and Mhor, who fawned round him like two puppy dogs. Peter +had at once made friends with him, and Mrs. M'Cosh, coming into the room +on some errand, edged her way out backwards, her eyes fixed on the +newcomer with an approving stare. As she told Jean later: "For a' Andra +pit me against lords, I canna see muckle wrang wi' this yin. A rale +pleasant fellow I tak' him to be, lord or no lord. If they were a' like +him, we wudna need to be Socialists. It's queer I've aye hed a hankerin' +after thae high-born kinna folk. It's that interestin' to watch them. Ye +niver ken whit they'll dae next, or whit they'll say--they're that +audacious. We wud mak' an awfu' dull warld o' it if we pit them a' awa +to Ameriky or somewhere. I often tell't Andra that, but he said it wud +be a guid riddance ... I'm wonderin' what Bella Bathgate thinks o' him. +It'll be great to hear her breath on't. She's quite comin' roond to Miss +Reston. She was tellin' me she disna think there's onything veecious +about her, and she's gettin' quite used to her manners." + + * * * * * + +When Pamela departed with her brother to partake of a dinner cooked by +Miss Bathgate (a somewhat doubtful pleasure), Mhor went off to bed, and +Jock curled himself up on the sofa with Peter, for his Friday night's +extra hour with a story-book, while Jean resumed her darning of +stockings. + +Her thoughts were full of the sister and brother who had just left. +"Queer they are!" she thought to herself. "If Davie came back to me +after a year in India, I wouldn't have liked to meet him in somebody +else's house. But they seemed quite happy to look at books, and talk +about just anything and play with Jock and Mhor and tease Peter. Now I +expect they'll be talking about their own affairs, but I would have +rushed at the pleasure of hearing all about everything--I couldn't have +waited. Pamela has such a leisured air about everything she does. It's +nice and sort of aloof and quiet--but I could never attain to it. I'm +little and bustling and Martha-like." + +Here Jean sighed, and put her fingers through a large hole in the toe of +a stocking. + +"I'm only fit to keep house and darn and worry the boys about washing +their ears.... Anyway, I'm glad I had on my Chinese coat." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + "Her gown should be of goodliness + Well ribboned with renown, + Purfilled with pleasure in ilk place, + Furred with fine fashion. + + Her hat should be of fair having, + And her tippet of truth, + Her patclet of good pansing, + Her neck ribbon of ruth. + + Her sleeves should be of esperance + To keep her from despair: + Her gloves of the good governance + To guide her fingers fair. + + Her shoes should be of sickerness + In syne she should not slide: + Her hose of honesty I guess + I should for her provide." + + _The Garment of Good Ladies_, 1568. + + +Jock and Mhor looked back on the time Lord Bidborough spent in +Priorsford as one long, rosy dream. + +It is true they had to go to school as usual, and learn their home +lessons, but their lack of attention in school-hours must have sorely +tried their teachers, and their home lessons were crushed into the +smallest space of time so as not to interfere with the crowded hours of +glorious living that Lord Bidborough managed to make for them. + +That nobleman turned out to be the most gifted player that Jock and +Mhor had ever met. There seemed no end to the games he could invent, and +he played with a zest that carried everyone along with him. + +Mhor's great passion was for trains. He was no budding engineering +genius; he cared nothing about knowing what made the wheels go round; it +was the trains themselves, the glorious, puffing, snorting engines, the +comfortable guards' vans, and the signal-boxes that enchanted him. He +thought a signalman's life was one of delirious happiness; he thrilled +at the sight of a porter's uniform, and hoped that one day he too might +walk abroad dressed like that, wheel people's luggage on a trolley and +touch his hat when given tips. It was his great treat to stand on the +iron railway-bridge and watch the trains snorting deliriously +underneath, but the difficulty was he might not go alone, and as +everyone in the house fervently disliked the task of accompanying him, +it was a treat that came all too seldom for the Mhor. + +It turned out that Lord Bidborough also delighted in trains, and he not +only stood patiently on the bridge watching goods-trains shunting up and +down, but he made friends with the porters, and took Mhor into +prohibited areas such as signal-boxes and goods sheds, and showed him +how signals were worked, and ran him up and down on trolleys. + +One never-to-be-forgotten day a sympathetic engine-driver lifted Mhor +into the engine and, holding him up high above the furnace, told him to +pull a chain, whereupon the engine gave an anguished hoot. Mhor had no +words to express his pleasure, but in an ecstasy of gratitude he seized +the engine-driver's grimy hand and kissed it, leaving that honest man, +who was not accustomed to such ongoings considerably confused. + +Jock did not share Mhor's interest in "base mechanic happenings"; his +passion was for the world at large, his motto, "For to admire and for to +see." He had long made up his mind that he must follow some profession +that would take him to far places. Mrs. Hope suggested the Indian Army, +while Mr. Jowett loyally recommended the Indian Civil Service, though he +felt bound in duty to warn Jock that it wasn't what it was in his young +days, and was indeed hardly fit now for a white man. + +Jock felt that Mrs. Hope and Mr. Jowett were wise and experienced, but +they were old. In Lord Bidborough he found one who had come hot foot +from the ends of the earth. He had seen with his own eyes, and he could +tell Jock tales that made the coveted far lands live before him; and +Jock fell down and worshipped. + +Through the day, while the two boys were interned in school, Pamela took +her brother the long walks over the hills that had delighted her days in +Priorsford. Jean sometimes went with them, but more often she stayed at +home. It was her mission in life, she said, to stay at home and have +meals ready for people when they returned, and it was much better that +the brother and sister should have their walks alone, she told herself. +Excessive selfconfidence was not one of Jean's faults. She was much +afraid of boring people by her presence, and shrank from being the third +that constitutes "a crowd." + +One afternoon Lewis Elliot called at The Rigs. + +"Sitting alone, Jean? Well, it's nice to find you in. I thought you +would be out with your new friends." + +"Lord Bidborough has motored Pamela down Tweed to see some people," Jean +explained. "They asked me to go with them, but I thought I might perhaps +be in the way. Lord Bidborough is frightfully pleased to be able to hire +a motor to drive. On Saturday he has promised to take the boys to +Dryburgh and to the Eildon Hills. Mhor is very keen to see for himself +where King Arthur is buried, and make a search for the horn!" + +"I see. It's a pity it isn't a better time of year. December days are +short for excursions.... Isn't Biddy a delightful fellow?" + +"Yes. Jock and Mhor worship him. One word from him is more to them than +all the wisdom I'm capable of. It isn't quite fair. After all, I've had +them so long, and they've only known him for a day or two. No, I don't +think I'm jealous. I'm--I'm hurt!" and to Lewis Elliot's great +discomfort Jean took out her handkerchief and openly wiped her eyes, and +then, putting her head on the table, cried. + +He sat in much embarrassment, making what he meant to be comforting +ejaculations, until Jean stopped crying and laughed. + +"It's wretched of me to make you so uncomfortable. I don't know what's +happened to me. I've suddenly got so silly. And I don't think I like +charming people. Charm is a merciless sort of gift ... and I know he +will take Pamela away, and she made things so interesting. Every day +since he came I seem to have got lonelier and lonelier, and the sight of +your familiar face and the sound of your kind voice finished me.... I'm +quite sensible now, so don't go away. Tea will be in in a minute, and +the boys. Isn't it fine that Davie will be home to-morrow? D'you think +he'll be changed?" + +Lewis Elliot stayed to tea, and Jock and Mhor fell on him with +acclamation, and told him wonderful tales of their new friend, and never +noticed the marks of tears on Jean's face. + +"Jean, what is Lord Bidborough's Christian name?" Jock asked. + +"Oh, I don't know. Richard Plantagenet, I should think." + +"Really, Jean?" + +"Why not? But you'd better ask him. Are you going, Cousin Lewis? When +will you come and see Davie?" + +"Let me see. I'm lunching at Hillview on Friday May I come in after +luncheon? Thanks. You must all come up to Laverlaw one day next week. +The puppies are growing up, Mhor, and you're missing all their +puppyhood; that's a pity." + +Later in the evening, just before Mhor's bedtime Lord Bidborough came to +The Rigs. Pamela was resting, he explained, or writing letters, or +doing something else, and he had come in to pass the time of day with +them. + +"The time of night, you mean," said Mhor ruefully "In ten minutes I'll +have to go to bed." + +"Had you a nice time this afternoon?" Jean asked. + +"Oh, ripping! Coming up by Tweed in the darkening was heavenly. I wish +you had been with us, Miss Jean. Why wouldn't you come?" + +"I had things to do," said Jean primly. + +"Couldn't the things have waited? Good days in December are precious, +Miss Jean--and Pam and I are going away next week. Promise you will go +with us next time--on Saturday, to the Eildon Hills." + +"What's your Christian name, please?" Jock broke in suddenly, +remembering the discussion. "Jean says it's Richard Plantagenet--_is_ +it?" + +Jean flushed an angry pink, and said sharply: + +"Don't be silly, Jock. I was only talking nonsense." + +"Well, what is it?" Jock persisted. + +"It's not quite Richard Plantagenet, but it's pretty bad. My name given +me by my godmother and godfathers is--Quintin Reginald Fuerbras." + +"Gosh, Maggie!" ejaculated Jock. "Earls in the streets of Cork!" + +"I knew," said Jean, "that it would be something very +twopence-coloured." + +"It's not, I grant, such a jolly name as yours," said Lord +Bidborough--"Jean Jardine." + +"Oh, mine is Penny-plain," said Jean hurriedly. + +"Must we always call you Lord?" Mhor asked. + +"Of course you must," Jean said. "Really, Mhor, you and Jock are +sometimes very stupid." + +"Indeed you must not," said Lord Bidborough. "Forgive me, Miss Jean, if +I am undermining your authority, but, really, one must have some say in +what one is to be called. Why not call me Biddy?" + +"That might be too familiar," said Jock. "I think I would rather call +you Richard Plantagenet." + +"Because it isn't my name?" + +"It sort of suits you," Jock said. + +"I like long names," said Mhor. + +"Will you call me Richard Plantagenet, Miss Jean?" + +The yellow lights in Jean's eyes sparkled. "If you'll call me +Penny-plain," she said. + +"Then that's a bargain, though I don't think either of us is well +suited. However--now that we are really friends, what did you do this +afternoon that was so very important?" + +"Talked to Lewis Elliot for one thing: he came to tea." + +"I see. An excellent fellow, Lewis. He's a relation of yours, isn't he?" + +"A very distant one, but we have so few relations we are only too glad +to claim him. He has been a very good friend to us always.... Mhor, you +really must go to bed now." + +"Oh, all right, but I don't think it's very polite to go to bed when a +visitor's in. It might make him think he ought to go away." + +Lord Bidborough laughed, and assured Mhor that he appreciated his +delicacy of feeling. + +"There's a thing I want to ask you, anyway," said Mhor.--"Yes, I'm going +to bed, Jean. Whether do you think Quentin Durward or Charlie Chaplin +would be the better man in a fight?" + +Lord Bidborough gave the matter some earnest thought, and decided on +Quentin Durward. + +"I told you that," said. Jock to Mhor. "Now, perhaps, you'll believe +me." + +"I don't know," said Mhor, still doubtful. "Of course Quentin Durward +had his sword--but you know that way Charlie has with a stick?" + +"Well, anyway, go to bed," said Jean, "and stop talking about that +horrible little man. He oughtn't to be mentioned in the same breath as +Quentin Durward." + +Mhor went out of the room still arguing. + +The next day David came home. + +The whole family, including Peter, were waiting on the platform to +welcome him, but Mhor was too interested in the engine and Jock too +afraid of showing sentiment to pay much attention to him, and it was +left to Jean and Peter to express joy at his return. + +At first it seemed to Jean that it was a different David who had come +back. There was an indefinable change even in his appearance. True, he +wore the same Priorsford clothes that he had gone away in, but he +carried himself better, with more assurance. His round, boyish face had +taken on a slightly graver and more responsible look, and his accent +certainly had an Oxford touch. Enough, anyhow, to send Jock and Mhor +out of the room to giggle convulsively in the lobby. To Jean's relief +David noticed nothing; he was too busy telling Jean his news to trouble +about the eccentric behaviour of the two boys. + +David would hardly have been human if he had not boasted a little that +first night. He had often pictured to himself just how it would be. Jean +would sit by the fire and listen, and he would sit on the old +comfortable sofa and recount all the doings of his first term, tell of +his friends, his tutors, his rooms, the games, the fun--all the details +of the wonderful new life. And it had happened just as he had pictured +it--lucky David! The room had looked as he had known it would look, with +a fire that sparkled as only Jean's fire ever sparkled, and Jean's +eyes--Jean's "doggy" eyes, as Mhor called them--were lit with interest; +and Jock and Mhor and Peter crept in after a little and lay on the rug +and gazed up at him, a quiet and most satisfactory audience. + +Jean felt a little in awe of this younger brother of hers, who had +suddenly grown a man and spoke with an air of authority. She had an ache +at her heart for the Davie who had been a little boy and content to +lean; she seemed hardly to know this new David. But it was only for a +little. When Jock and Mhor had gone to bed, the brother and sister sat +over the fire talking, and David forgot all his new importance and +ceased to "buck," and told Jean all his little devices to save money, +and how he had managed just to scrape along. + +"If only everyone else were poor as well," said Jean, "then it wouldn't +matter." + +"That's just it; but it's so difficult doing things with men who have +loads of money. It never seems to occur to them that other people +haven't got it. Of course I just say I can't afford to do things, but +that's awkward too, for they look so surprised and sort of ashamed, and +it makes me feel a prig and a fool. I think having a lot of money takes +away people's imagination." + +"Oh, it does," Jean agreed. + +"Anyway," David went on, "it's up to me to make some money. I hate +sponging on you, old Jean, and I'm not going to do it. I've been trying +my hand at writing lately and--I've had two things accepted." + +Jean all but fell into the fire in her surprise and delight. + +"Write! You! Oh, Davie, how utterly splendid!" + +A torrent of questions followed, which David answered as well as he +could. + +"Yes, they are printed, and paid for, and what's more I've spent the +money." He brought out from his pocket a small leather case which he +handed to his sister. + +"For me? Oh, David!" Her hands shook as she opened the box and disclosed +a small brooch, obviously inexpensive but delicately designed. + +"It's nothing," said David, walking away from the emotion in his +sister's face. "With the rest of the money I got presents for the boys +and Mrs. M'Cosh and Peter, but they'd better be kept out of sight till +Christmas Day." + +Truth to tell, he had meant to keep the brooch also out of sight till +Christmas, but the temptation to see Jean's pleasure had been too +strong. This Jean divined and, with happy tears in her eyes, handed it +back to him to keep till the proper giving-day arrived. + +The next day David was introduced to Pamela and her brother, and was +pleased to pronounce well of them. He had been inclined to be +distrustful about the entrance of such exotic creatures as they sounded +into the quiet of Priorsford, but having seen and talked to them he +assured his sister they were quite all right. + +Why, Lord Bidborough had been at David's own college--that alone was +recommendation enough. His feats, too, were still remembered, not feats +of scholarship--oh no, but of mountaineering on the college roofs. He +had not realised when Jean mentioned Lord Bidborough in her letters that +it was the same man who was still spoken of by undergraduates with bated +breath. + +Of Pamela, David attempted no criticism. How could he? He was at her +feet, and hardly dared lift his eyes to her face. A smile or two, a few +of Pamela's softly spoken sentences, and David had succumbed. Not that +he allowed her--or anyone else--to know it. He kept at a respectable +distance, and worshipped in silence. + +One evening while Pamela sat stitching at her embroidery in the little +parlour at Hillview her brother laid down the book he was reading, lit a +cigarette, and said suddenly, "What of the Politician, Pam?" + +Pamela drew the thread in and out several times before she answered. + +"The Politician is safe so far as I'm concerned. Only last week I wrote +and explained matters to him. He wrote a very nice letter in reply. I +think, on the whole, he is much relieved, though he expressed polite +regret. It must be rather a bore at sixty to become possessed of a wife, +even though she might be able to entertain well and manage people.... It +was a ridiculous idea always; I see that now." + +Lord Bidborough regarded his sister with an amused smile. "I always did +regard the Politician as a fabulous monster. But tell me, Pam, how long +is this to continue? Are you so enamoured of the simple life that you +can go on indefinitely living in Miss Bathgate's parlour and eating +stewed steak and duck's eggs?" + +Pamela dropped her embroidery-frame, looked at her brother with a +puzzled frown, and gave a long sigh. + +"Oh, I don't know," she said--"I don't know. Of course it can't go on +indefinitely, but I do hate the thought of going away and leaving it +all. I love the place. It has given me a new feeling about life; it has +taught me contentment: I have found peace here. If I go back to the old +restless, hectic life I shall be, I'm afraid, just as restless and +feverishly anxious to be happy as I used to be. And yet, I suppose, I +must go back. I've almost had the three months I promised myself. But +I'm going to try and take Jean with me. Lewis Elliot and I mean to +arrange things so that Jean can have her chance." + +"Why should Lewis Elliot have anything to do with it?" + +Her brother's tone brought a surprised look into Pamela's eyes. + +"Lewis is a relation as well as a very old friend. Naturally he is +interested. I should think it could easily be managed. The boys will go +to school, Mrs. M'Cosh will stay on at The Rigs, Jean will see something +of the world. Imagine the joy of taking Jean about! She will make +everything worth while. I don't in the least expect her to be what is +known as a 'success.' I can picture her at a ball thinking of her latter +end! Up-to-date revues she will hate, and I can't see her indulging in +whatever is the latest artistic craze of the moment. She is a very +_select_ little person, Jean. But she will love the plays and pictures, +and shops and sights. And she has never been abroad--picture that! There +are worlds of things to show her. I find that her great desire--a very +modest one--is to go some April to the Shakespeare Festival at +Stratford-on-Avon. She worships Shakespeare hardly on this side of +idolatry." + +"Won't she be disappointed? There is nothing very romantic about +Stratford of to-day." + +"Ah, but I think I can stage-manage so that it will come up to her +expectations. A great many things in this world need a little +stage-management. Oh, I hope my plans will work out. I _do_ want Jean." + +"But, Pamela--I want Jean too." + +Lord Bidborough had risen, and now stood before the fire, his hands in +his pockets, his head thrown back, his eyes no longer lazy and amused, +but keen and alert. This was the man who attempted impossible +things--and did them. + +It is never an easy moment for a sister when she realises that an adored +brother no longer belongs to her. + +Pamela, after one startled look at her brother, dropped her eyes and +tried to go on with her embroidery, but her hand trembled, and she made +stitches at random. + +"Pam, dear, you don't mind? You don't think it an unfriendly act? You +will always be Pam, my only sister; someone quite apart. The new love +won't lessen the old." + +"Ah, my dear"--Pamela held out her hands to her brother--"you mustn't +mind if just at first.... You see, it's a great while ago since the +world began, and we've been wonderful friends all the time, haven't we, +Biddy?" They sat together silent for a minute, and then Pamela said, +"And I'm actually crying, when the thing I most wanted has come to pass: +what an idiot! Whenever I saw Jean I wanted her for you. But I didn't +try to work it at all. It all just happened right, somehow. Jean's +beauty isn't for the multitude, nor her charm, and I wondered if she +would appeal to you. You have seen so many pretty girls, and have been +almost surfeited with charm, and remained so calm that I wondered if you +ever would fall in love. The 'manoeuvring mamaws,' as Bella Bathgate +calls the ladies with daughters to marry, quite lost hope where you were +concerned; you never seemed to see their manoeuvres, poor dears.... And +I was so thankful, for I didn't want you to marry the modern type of +girl.... But I hardly dared to hope you would come to Priorsford and +love Jean at sight. It's all as simple as a fairy-tale." + +"Oh, _is_ it? I very much doubt if Jean will look at me. I sometimes +think she rather avoids me. She keeps out of my way, and hardly ever +addresses a remark to me." + +"She has never mentioned you to me," said Pamela, "and that's a good +sign. I don't say you won't have to wait. I'm pretty certain she won't +accept you when you ask her. Even if she cares--and I don't think she +realises yet that she does--her sense of duty to the boys, and other +things, will hold her back, and your title and possessions will tell +against you. Jean is the least mercenary of creatures Ask her before you +leave, and if she refuses you appear to accept her refusal. Don't say +you will try again and that sort of thing: it gives a girl a caged +feeling. Go away for a while and make no sign. I know what I'm talking +about, Biddy ... and she is worth waiting for." + +"I would serve for her as Jacob served for Rachel, and not grudge one +minute of the time, but the nuisance is I'm twelve years older than she +is. I can't afford to wait. I'm afraid she will think me too old." + +"Nonsense, a boy would never do for Jean. Although she looks such a +child, she is a woman, and a woman with a brain. Otherwise she would +never do for you. You would tire of a doll in a week, no matter how +curly the hair or flawless the complexion.... You realise, of course, +that Jean is an uncompromising little Puritan? Mercy is as plain as +bread and honour is as hard as stone to Jean--but she has a wide +tolerance for sinners. I can imagine it won't always be easy to be +Jean's husband. She is so full of compassion that she will want to help +every unfortunate, and fill the house with the broken and the +unsuccessful. But she won't be a wearisome wife. She won't pall. She +will always be full of surprises, and an infinite variety, and find such +numbers of things to laugh about.... You know how she mothers those +boys--can't you see Jean with babies of her own?... To me she is like a +well of spring-water a continual refreshment for weary souls." + +Pamela stopped. "Am I making too much of an ordinary little country +girl, Biddy?" + +Her brother smiled and shook his head, and after a minute he said: + +"A garden enclosed is my love." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + "What's to be said to him, lady? He is fortified against any + denial."--_Twelfth Night_. + + +The day before Pamela and her brother left Priorsford for their visit to +Champertoun was a typical December day, short and dark and dirty. + +There was a party at Hopetoun in honour of David's home-coming, and +Pamela and her brother were invited, along with the entire family from +The Rigs. + +They all set off together in the early darkening, and presently Pamela +and the three boys got ahead, and Jean found herself alone with Lord +Bidborough. + +Weather had little or no effect on Jean's spirits, and to-day, happy in +having David at home, she cared nothing for the depressing mist that +shrouded the hills, or the dank drip from the trees on the carpet of +sodden leaves, or the sullen swirl of Tweed coming down big with spate, +foaming against the supports of the bridge. + +"As dull as a great thaw," she quoted to her companion cheerfully. "It +does seem a pity the snow should have gone away before Christmas. Do +you know, all the years of my life I've never seen snow on Christmas. I +do wish Mhor wouldn't go on praying for it. It's so stumbling for him +when Christmas comes mild and muggy. If we could only have it once as +you see it in pictures and read about it in books--" + +She broke off to bow to Miss Watson and her sister, Miss Teenie, who +passed Jean and her companion with skirts held well out of the mud, and +eyes, after the briefest glance, demurely cast down. + +"They are going out to tea," Jean explained to Lord Bidborough. "Don't +they look nice and tea-partyish? Fur capes over their best dresses and +snow boots over their slippers. Those little black satin bags hold their +work, and I expect they have each a handkerchief edged with Honiton lace +and scented with White Rose. Probably they are going to Mrs. +Henderson's. She gives wonderful teas, and they will be taken to a +bedroom to take off their outer coverings, and they'll stay till about +eight o'clock and then go home to supper." + +Lord Bidborough laughed. "I begin to see what Pam means when she talks +of the lovableness of a little town. It is cosy, as she says, to see +people go out to tea and know exactly where they are going, and what +they'll do when they get there." + +"I should think," said Jean, "that it would rather appeal to you. Your +doings have always been on such a big scale--climbing the highest +mountains in the world, going to the very farthest places--that the tiny +and the trivial ought to be rather fascinating by contrast." + +Lord Bidborough admitted that it was so, and silence fell between them. + +"I wonder," said Jean politely, having cast round in her mind for a +topic that might interest--"I wonder what you will attempt next? Jock +says you want to climb Everest. He is frightfully excited about it, and +wishes you would wait a few years till he is grown up and ready." + +"Jock is a jewel, and he will certainly go with me when I attempt +Everest, if that time ever comes." + +They had reached the entrance to Hopetoun: the avenue to the house was +short. "Would you mind," said Lord Bidborough, "walking on with me for a +little bit?..." + +"But why?" asked Jean, looking along the dark, uninviting road. "They'll +wonder what's become of us, and tea will be ready, and Mrs. Hope doesn't +like to be kept waiting." + +"Never mind," said Lord Bidborough, his tone somewhat desperate. "I've +got something I want to say to you, and this may be my only chance. +Jean, could you ever--I mean, d'you think it possible--oh, Jean, will +you marry me?" + +Jean backed away from him, her mouth open, her eyes round with +astonishment. She was too much surprised to be anything but utterly +natural. + +"Are you asking me to marry you? But how _ludicrous_!" + +The answer restored them both to their senses. + +Lord Bidborough laughed ruefully and said, "Well, that's not a pretty +way to take a proposal," while Jean, flushed with shame at her own +rudeness, and finding herself suddenly rather breathless, gasped out, +"But you shouldn't give people such frights. How could I know you were +going to say anything so silly? And it's my first proposal, and I've +_got on goloshes_!" + +"Oh, Jean! What a blundering idiot I am! I might have known it was a +wrong moment, but I'm hopelessly inexperienced, and, besides, I couldn't +risk waiting; I so seldom see you alone. Didn't you see, little blind +Jean, that I was head over ears in love with you? The first night I came +to The Rigs and you spoke to me in your singing voice I knew you were +the one woman in the world for me." + +"No," said Jean. "No." + +"Ah, don't say that. You're not going to send me away, Penny-plain?" + +"Don't you see," said Jean, "I mustn't _let_ myself care for you, for +it's quite impossible that I could ever marry you. It's no good even +speaking about such a thing. We belong to different worlds." + +"If you mean my stupid title, don't let that worry you. A second and the +Socialists alter that! A title means nothing in these days." + +"It isn't only your title: it's everything--oh, can't you _see_?" + +"Jean, dear, let's talk it over quietly. I confess I can't see any +difficulty at all--if you care for me a little. That's the one thing +that matters." + +"My feelings," said Jean, "don't matter at all. Even if there was +nothing else in the way, what about Davie and Jock and the dear Mhor? I +must always stick to them--at least until they don't need me any +longer." + +"But Jean, beloved, you don't suppose I want to take you away from them? +There's room for them all.... I can see you at Mintern Abbas, Jean, and +there's a river there, and the hills aren't far distant--you won't find +it unhomelike--the only thing that is lacking is a railway for the +Mhor." + +"Please don't," said Jean. "You hurt me when you speak like that. Do you +think I would let you burden yourself with all my family? I would never +be anything but a drag on you. You must go away, Richard Plantagenet, +and take your proper place in the world, and forget all about Priorsford +and Penny-plain, and marry someone who will help you with your career +and be a fit mistress for your great houses, and I'll just stay here. +The Rigs is my proper setting." + +"Jean," said Lord Bidborough, "will you tell me--is there any other +man?" + +"No. How could there be? There aren't any men in Priorsford to speak +of." + +"There's Lewis Elliot." + +Jean stared. "You don't suppose _Lewis_ wants to marry me, do you? Men +are the _stupidest_ things! Don't you know that Lewis...." + +"What?" + +"Nothing. Only you needn't think he ever looks the road I'm on. What a +horrid conversation this is! It's a great mistake ever to mention love +and marriage. It makes the nicest people silly. I simply daren't think +what Jock would say if he heard us. He would be what Bella Bathgate +calls 'black affrontit.'" + +"Jean, will it always matter to you more than anything in the world what +David and Jock and Mhor think? Will you never care for anyone as you +care for them?" + +"But they are my charge," Jean explained. "They were left to me. Mother +said, before she went away that last time, 'I trust you, Jean, to look +after the boys,' and when father didn't come back, and Great-aunt Alison +died, they had only me." + +"Can't you adopt me as well? Do you know, Penny-plain, I believe it is +all the fault of your Great-aunt Alison. You are thinking that on your +death-bed you will like to feel that you sacrificed yourself to +others--" + +"Oh," cried Jean, "did Pamela actually tell you about Great-aunt Alison? +That wasn't quite fair." + +"She wasn't laughing. She only told me because she knew I was interested +in every detail of your life, and Great-aunt Alison explains a lot of +things about her grand-niece." + +Jean pondered on this for a little and then said: + +"Pam once said I was on the verge of being a prig, and I'm not sure that +she wasn't right, and it's a hateful thing to be. D'you think I'm +priggish, Richard Plantagenet? Oh no, don't kiss me. I hate it.... Why +do you want to behave like that? It isn't nice." + +"I'm sorry, Jean." + +"And now your voice sounds as if you did think me a prig ... Here we +are at last, and I simply don't know what to say kept us." + +"Don't say anything: leave it to me. I'll be sure to think of some lie. +Do you realise that we are only ten minutes behind the others?" + +"Is that all?" cried Jean, amazed. "It seems like _hours_." + +Lord Bidborough began to laugh helplessly. + +"I wonder if any man ever had such a difficult lady," he said, "or one +so uncompromisingly truthful?" + +He rang the bell, and as they stood on the doorstep waiting, the light +from the hall-door fell on his face, and Jean, looking at him, suddenly +felt very low. He was going away, and she might never see him again. The +fortnight he had been in Priorsford had given her an entirely new idea +of what life might mean. She had not been happy all the time: she had +been afflicted with vague discontents and jealousies such as she had not +known before, but at the back of them all she was conscious of a shining +happiness, something that illuminated and gave a new value to all the +commonplace daily doings. Now, as in a flash, while they waited for the +door to open, Jean knew what had caused the happiness, and realised that +with her own hand she was shutting the door on the light, shutting +herself out to a perpetual twilight. + +"If only you hadn't been a man," she said miserably, "we might have been +such friends." + +A servant opened the door and they went in together. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + "When icicles hang by the wall, + And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, + And Tom bears logs into the hall, + And milk comes frozen home in pail, + When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul, + Then nightly sings the staring owl, + Tu whit, + Tu whu, a merry note + While greasy Joan doth keel the pot." + + +Mhor began to look forward to Christmas whenever the days began to +shorten and the delights of summer to fade; and the moment the +Hallowe'en "dooking" for apples was over he and Jock were deep in +preparations. + +As is the way with most things, the looking forward and preparing were +the best of it. It meant weeks of present-making, weeks of wrestling +with delicious things like paints and pasteboard and glue. Then came a +week or two of walking on tiptoe into the little spare room where the +presents were stored, just to peep, and make sure that they really were +there and had not been spirited away, for at Christmas-time you never +knew what knavish sprites were wandering about. The spare room became +the most interesting place in the house. It was all so thrilling: the +pulling out of the drawer, the breathless moment until you made sure +that the presents were safe, the smell that came out of the drawer to +meet you, an indescribable smell of lavender and well-washed linen, of +furniture polish and cedar-wood. The dressing-table had a row of three +little drawers on either side, and in these Jean kept the small eatables +that were to go into the stockings--things made of chocolate, packets of +almonds and raisins, big sugar "bools." To Mhor a great mystery hung +over the dressing-table. No mortal hand had placed those things there; +they were fairy things, and might vanish any moment. On Christmas +morning he ate his chocolate frog with a sort of reverence, and sucked +the sugar "bools" with awe. + +A caller at The Rigs had once exclaimed in astonishment that an +intelligent child like the Mhor still believed in Santa Claus, and Jean +had replied with sudden and startling ferocity, "If he didn't believe I +would beat him till he did." Happily there was no need for such extreme +measures: Mhor believed implicitly. + +Jock had now grown beyond such beliefs, but he did nothing to undermine +Mhor's trust. He knew that the longer you can believe in such things the +nicer the world is. + +The Jardines always felt about Christmas Day that the best of it was +over in the morning--the stockings and the presents and the postman, +leaving long, over-eaten, irritable hours to be got through before +bedtime and oblivion. + +This year Jock had drawn out a time-table to ensure that the day held +no longueurs. + + 7.30 Stockings. + 8.30 Breakfast. + 9 Postman. + 10-12 Deliver small presents to various friends. + 1 Luncheon at the Jowetts'. + 4 Tea at home and present-giving. + 5-9 Devoted to supper and variety entertainment. + +This programme was strictly adhered to except by the Mhor in the matter +of his stocking, which was grabbed from the bed-post and cuddled into +bed beside him at least two hours before the scheduled time; and by the +postman, who did not make his appearance till midday, thereby greatly +disarranging things. + +The day passed very pleasantly: the luncheon at the Jowetts' was +everything a Christmas meal should be, Mrs. M'Cosh surpassed herself +with bakemeats for the tea, the presents gave lively satisfaction, but +_the_ feature of the day was the box that arrived from Pamela and her +brother. It was waiting when the family came back from the Jowetts', +standing in the middle of the little hall with a hammer and a +screw-driver laid on the top by thoughtful Mrs. M'Cosh--a large white +wooden box which thrilled one with its air of containing treasures. Mhor +sank down beside it, hardly able to wait until David had taken off his +coat and was ready to tackle it. Off came the lid, out came the packing +paper on the top, and in Jock and Mhor dived. + +It was really a wonderful box. In it there was something for everybody, +including Mrs. M'Cosh and Peter, but Mhor's was the most striking +present. No wonder the box was large. It contained a whole railway--a +train, lines, signal-boxes, a station, even a tunnel. + +Mhor was rendered speechless with delight. Jean wished Pamela had been +there to see the lamps lit in his green eyes. Mrs. M'Cosh's beautiful +tea was lost on him: he ate and drank without being aware of it, his +eyes feasting all the time on this great new treasure. + +"I wish," he said at last, "that I could do something for the Honourable +and Richard Plantagenet. I only sent her a wee poetry-book. It cost a +shilling. It was Jean's shilling really, for I hadn't anything left, and +I wrote in it, 'Wishing you a pretty New Year.' I forgot about 'happy' +being the word; d'you think she'll mind?" + +"I think Pamela will prefer it called 'pretty,'" Jean said. "You are +lucky, aren't you?--and so is Jock with that gorgeous knife." + +"It's an explorer's knife," said Jock. "You see, you can do almost +everything with it. If I was wrecked on a desert island I could pretty +nearly build a house with it. Feel the blades--" + +"Oh, do be careful. I would put away the presents in the meantime and +get everything ready for the charade. Are you quite sure you know what +you're going to do? You mustn't just stand and giggle." + +Jean had asked three guests to come to supper--three lonely women who +otherwise would have spent a solitary evening--and Mrs. M'Cosh had +asked Bella Bathgate to sup with her and afterwards to witness what she +dubbed "a chiraide." + +The living-room had been made ready for the entertainment, all the +chairs placed in rows, the deep window-seat doing duty for a stage, but +Jean was very doubtful about the powers of the actors, and hoped that +the audience would be both easily amused and long-suffering. + +Jock and Mhor protested that they had chosen a word for the charade, and +knew exactly what they meant to say, but they would divulge no details, +advising Jean to wait patiently, for something very good was coming. + +The little house looked very festive, for the boys had decorated +earnestly, the square hall was a bower of greenery, and a gaily coloured +Chinese lantern hanging in the middle added a touch of gaiety to the +scene. The supper was the best that Jean and Mrs. M'Cosh could devise, +the linen and the glass and silver shone, the flowers were charmingly +arranged Jean wore her gay mandarin's coat, and the guests--when they +arrived--found themselves in such a warm and welcoming atmosphere that +they at once threw off all stiffness and prepared to enjoy the evening. + +The entertainment was to begin at eight, and Mrs. M'Cosh and Miss +Bathgate took their seats "on the chap," as the latter put it. The two +Miss Watsons, surprisingly enough, were also present. They had come +along after supper with a small present for Jean, had asked to see her, +and stood lingering on the doorstep refusing to come farther, but +obviously reluctant to depart. + +"Just a little bag, you know, Miss Jean, for you to put your work in if +you're going out to tea, you know. No, it's not at all kind. You've been +so nice to us. No, no, we won't come in; we don't want to disturb +you--just ran along--you've friends, anyway. Oh, well, if you put it +that way ... we might just sit down for five minutes--if you're sure +we're not in the way...." And still making a duet of protest they sank +into seats. + +A passage had been arranged, with screens between the door and the +window-seat, and much traffic went along that way; the screens bumped +and bulged and seemed on the point of collapsing, while smothered +giggles were frequent. + +At last the curtains were jerked apart, and revealed what seemed to be a +funeral pyre. Branches were piled on the window-seat, and on the top, +wrapped in an eiderdown quilt, with a laurel wreath bound round his +head, lay David. Jock, with bare legs and black boots, draped in an +old-fashioned circular waterproof belonging to Mrs. M'Cosh, stood with +arms folded looking at him, while Mhor, almost denuded of clothing, and +supported by Peter (who sat with his back to the audience to show his +thorough disapproval of the proceedings), stood at one side. + +When the murmured comments of the spectators had ceased, Mhor, looking +extraordinarily Roman, held up his hand as if appealing to a raging mob, +and said, "Peace, ho! Let us hear him," whereupon Jock, breathing +heavily in his brother's face, proceeded to give Antony's oration over +Caesar. He did it very well, and the Mhor as the Mob supplied +appropriate growls at intervals; indeed, so much did Antony's eloquence +inspire Mhor that, when Jock shouted, "Light the pyre!" (a sentence +introduced to bring in the charade word), instead of merely pretending +with an unlighted taper, Mhor dashed to the fire, lit the taper, and +before anyone could stop him thrust it among the dry twigs, which at +once began to light and crackle. Immediately all was confusion. "Mhor!" +shouted Jean, as she sprang towards the stage. "Gosh, Maggie!" Jock +yelled, as he grabbed the burning twigs, but it was "Imperial Caesar, +dead and turned to clay," who really put out the fire by rolling on it +wrapped in an eiderdown quilt. + +"Eh, ye ill callant," said Bella Bathgate. + +"Ye wee deevil," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "ye micht hev had us a' burned where +we sat, and it Christmas too!" + +"What made you do it, sonny?" Jean asked. + +"It made it so real," Mhor explained, "and I knew we could always throw +them out of the window if they really blazed. What's the use of having a +funeral pyre if you don't light it?" + +The actors departed to prepare for the next performance Jock coming back +to put his head in at the door to ask if they had guessed the first part +of the word. + +Jean said she thought it must be incendiarism. + +"Funeral," said Miss Watson brightly. + +"Huch," said Jock; "it's a word of one syllable." + +"I think," Jean said as the door shut on Jock--I think I know what the +word is--pyre." + +"Oh, really," said Miss Watson, "I'm all shaking yet with the fright I +got. He's an awful bad wee boy that--sort of regardless. He needs a man +to look after him." + +"I'll never forget," said Miss Teenie, "once I was staying with a friend +of ours, a doctor; his mother and our mother were cousins, you know, and +when I looked--I was doing my hair at the time--I found that the curtain +had blown across the gas and was blazing. If I had been in our own house +I would just have rushed out screaming, but when you're away from home +you've more feeling of responsibility and I just stood on a chair and +pulled at the curtain till I brought it down and stamped on it. My hands +were all scorched, and of course the curtain was beyond hope, but when +the doctor saw it, he said, 'Teenie,' he said--his mither and ours were +cousins, you know--'you're just a wee marvel.' That was what he said--'a +wee marvel.'" + +Jean said, "You _were_ brave," and one of the guests said that presence +of mind was a wonderful thing, and then the next act was ready. + +The word had evidently something to do with eating, for the three actors +sat at a Barmecide feast and quaffed wine from empty goblets, and carved +imaginary haunches of venison. So far as could be judged from the +conversation, which was much obscured by the smothered laughter of the +actors, they seemed to belong to Robin Hood's merry men. + +The third act took place on board ship--a ship flying the Jolly +Roger--and it was obvious to the meanest intelligence that the word was +pirate. + +"Very good," said Miss Teenie, clapping her hands; "but," addressing the +Mhor, "don't you go lighting any more funeral pyres. Boys who do that +have to go to jail." + +Mhor looked coldly at her, but made no remark, while Jean said hastily: + +"You must show everyone your wonderful present, Mhor. I think the hall +would be the best place to put it up in." + +The second part of the programme was of a varied character. Jean led off +with the old carol: + + "There comes a ship far sailing then, + St. Michael was the steersman," + +and Mhor followed with a poem, "In Time of Pestilence," which had +captivated his strange small boy's soul, and which he had learned for +the occasion. Everyone felt it to be singularly inappropriate, and Miss +Watson said it gave her quite a turn to hear the relish with which he +knolled out: + + "Wit with his wantonness + Tasteth death's bitterness: + Hell's executioner + Hath no ears for to hear + What vain art can reply! + I am sick, I must die-- + God have mercy on us." + +She regarded him with disapproving eyes as a thoroughly uncomfortable +character. + +One of the guests sang a drawing-room ballad in which the words "dear +heart" seemed to occur with astonishing frequency. Then the +entertainment took a distinctly lower turn. + +David and Jock sang a song composed by themselves and set to a hymn +tune, a somewhat ribald production. Mhor then volunteered the +information that Mrs. M'Cosh could sing a song. Mrs. M'Cosh said, "Awa +wi' ye, laddie," and "Sic havers," but after much urging owned that she +knew a song which had been a favourite with her Andra. It was sung to +the tune of "When the kye come hame," and was obviously a parody on that +lyric, beginning: + + "Come a' ye Hieland pollismen + That whustle through the street, + An' A'll tell ye a' aboot a man + That's got triple expansion feet. + He's got braw, braw tartan whuskers + That defy the shears and kaim: + There's an awfu' row in Brigton + When M'Kay comes hame." + +It went on to tell how: + + "John M'Kay works down in Singers's, + He's a ceevil engineer, + But his wife's no verra ceevil + When she's had some ginger-beer. + When he missed the last Kilbowie train + And had to walk hame lame, + There wis Home Rule wi' the poker + When M'Kay cam hame." + +Mrs. M'Cosh sang four verses and stopped, in spite of the rapturous +applause of a section of the audience. + +"There's aboot nineteen mair verses," she explained "an' they get kinna +worse as they gang on, so I'd better stop," which she did, to Jean's +relief, for she saw that her guests were feeling that this was not an +entertainment such as the Best People indulged in. + +"And now Miss Bathgate will sing," said Mhor. + +"I will not sing," said Miss Bathgate. "I've mair pride than make a fool +o' mysel' to please folk." + +"Oh, come on," Jock begged. "Look at Mrs. M'Cosh!" + +Miss Bathgate snorted. + +"Ay," said Mrs. M'Cosh, with imperturbable good-humour, "she seen me, +and she thinks yin auld fool is enough at a time. Never heed, Bella, +juist gie us a verse." + +Miss Bathgate protested that she knew no songs, and had no voice, but +under persuasion she broke into a ditty, a sort of recitative: + + "Gang further up the toon, Geordie Broon, Geordie Broon, + Gang further up the toon, Geordie Broon: + Gang further up the toon + Till ye's spent yer hale hauf-croon, + And then come singin' doon, + Geordie Broon, Geordie Broon." + +"I remember that when I was a child," Jean said. "We used to be put to +sleep with it; it is very soothing. Thank you so much, Miss Bathgate +... Now I think we should have a game." + +"Forfeits," Miss Teenie suggested. + +"That's a silly game," said Mhor; "there's kissing in it." + +"Perhaps we might have a quiet game," Jean said. "What was that one we +played with Pamela, you remember, Jock? We took a subject, and tried who +could say the most obvious thing about it." + +"Oh, nothing clever, for goodness' sake," pleaded Miss Watson. "I've no +head for anything but fancy-work." + +"'Up Jenkins' would be best," Jock decreed; so a table was got in, and +"up Jenkins" was played with much laughter until the clock struck ten, +and the guests all rose in a body to go. + +"Well," said Miss Watson, "it's been a very pleasant evening, though I +wouldn't wonder if I had a nightmare about that funeral pyre ... I +always think, don't you, that there's something awful pathetic about +Christmas? You never know where you may be before another." + +One of the guests, a little music-teacher, said: + +"The worst of Christmas is that it brings back to one's mind all the +other Christmasses and the people who were with us then...." + +Bella Bathgate's voice was heard talking to Mrs. M'Cosh at the door: "I +dinna believe in keeping Christmas; it's a popish festival. New Year's +the time. Ye can eat yer currant-bun wi' a relish then. Guid-nicht, +then, and see ye lick that ill laddie for near settin' the hoose on +fire. It's no' safe, I tell ye, to live onywhere near him noo that he's +begun thae tricks. Baith Peter an' him are fair Bolsheviks ... Did I +tell ye that Miss Reston sent me a grand feather-boa--grey, in a +present? I've aye had a notion o' a feather-boa, but I dinna ken how she +kent that. And this is no' yin o' the skimpy kind; it's fine and fussy +and soft ... Here, did the Lord send Miss Jean a present?... I doot he's +aff for guid. Weel, weel, guid-nicht." + +With a heightened colour Jean said good-night to her guests, separated +Mhor from his train, and sent him with Jock to bed. + +As she went upstairs, Bella Bathgate's words rang in her ears dismally: +"I doot he's aff for guid." + +It was what she wanted, of course; she had told him so. But she had half +hoped that he might send her a letter or a little remembrance on +Christmas Day. + +Better not, perhaps, but it would have been something to keep. She +sometimes wondered if she had not dreamt the scene in the Hopetoun +Woods, and only imagined the words that were constantly in her ears. It +was such a very improbable thing to happen to such a commonplace person. + +Her room was very restful-looking that night to Jean, tired after a long +day's junketing. It was a plain little upper chamber, with white walls +and Indian rugs on the floor. A high south wind was blowing (it had been +another of poor Mhor's snow-less Christmasses!), making the curtains +billow out into the room, and she could hear through the open window +the sound of Tweed rushing between its banks. On the dressing-table lay +a new novel with a vivid paper cover. Jean gave it a little disgusted +push. Someone had lent it to her, and she had been reading it between +Christmas preparations, reading it with deep distaste. It was about a +duel for a man between a woman of forty-five and a girl of eighteen. The +girl was called Noel, and was "pale, languid, passionate." The older +woman gave up before the end, and said Time had "done her in." There +were pages describing how she looked in the mirror "studying with a +fearful interest the little hard lines and markings there beneath their +light coating of powder, fingered and smoothed the slight looseness and +fullness of the skin below her chin," and how she saw herself going down +the years, "powdering a little more, painting a little more, touching up +her hair till it was all artifice, holding on by every little +device...." + +A man had written that. What a trade for a man, Jean thought. + +She was glad she lived among people who had the decency to go on caring +for each other in spite of lines and wrinkles--comfortable couples whose +affection for each other was a shelter in the time of storm, a shelter +built of common joys, of "fireside talks and counsels in the dawn," +cemented by tears shed over common sorrows. + +She smiled to herself as she remembered a little woman who had told her +with great pride that, to celebrate their silver wedding, her husband +was giving her a complete set of artificial teeth. "And," she had +finished impressively, "you know what teeth cost now." + +And why not? It was as much a token of love as a pearl necklace, and, +looked at in the right way, quite as romantic. + +"I'd better see how it finishes," Jean said to herself opening the book +a few pages from the end. + +Oh yes, there they were at it. Noel, "pale, languid passionate," and the +man "moved beyond control." "He drew her so close that he could feel the +throbbing of her heart ..." And the other poor woman with the hard lines +and marking beneath the light coating of powder, where had she gone? + +Jean pushed the book away, and stood leaning on the dressing-table +studying her face in the glass. This was no heroine, "pale, languid, +passionate." She saw a fresh-coloured face with a pointed chin, +wide-apart eyes as frank and sunny as a moorland burn, an innocent +mouth. It seemed to Jean a very uninteresting face. She was young, +certainly, but that was all--not beautiful, or brilliant and witty. Lord +Bidborough must see scores of lovely girls. Jean seemed to see them +walking past her in a procession--girls who had maids to do their hair +in the most approved fashion, constantly renewed girls whose clothes +were a dream of daintiness all charming, all witty, all fitted to be +wife to a man like Lord Bidborough. What was he doing now, Jean +wondered. Perhaps dancing, or sitting out with someone. Jean could see +him so clearly, listening, smiling, with lazy, amused eyes. By now he +must be thankful that the penny-plain girl at Priorsford had not +snatched at the offer he had made her, but had had the sense to send him +away. It must have been a sudden madness on his part. He had never said +a word of love to her--then suddenly in the rain and mud, when she was +looking her very plainest, muffled up in a thick coat, clogged by +goloshes, to ask her to marry him! + +Jean nodded at the girl in the glass. + +"What you've got to do is to put him out of your head, and be thankful +that you have lots to do, and a house to keep, and boys to make happy, +and aren't a heroine writhing about in a novel." + +But she sighed as she turned away. Doing one's duty is a dreary business +for three-and-twenty. It goes on for such a long time. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + "It was told me I should be rich by the fairies."--_A Winter's + Tale._ + + +January is always a long, flat month: the Christmas festivities are +over, the bills are waiting to be paid, the weather is very often of the +dreariest, spring is yet far distant. With February, hope and the +snowdrops begin to spring, but January is a month to be _warstled_ +through as best we can. + +This January of which I write Jean felt to be a peculiarly long, dull +month. She could not understand why, for David was at home, and she had +always thought that to have the three boys with her made up the sum of +her happiness. She told herself that it was Pamela she missed. It made +such a difference knowing that the door would not open to admit that +tall figure; the want of the embroidery frame seemed to take a +brightness from the room, and the lack of that little gay laugh of +Pamela's left a dullness that the loudest voices did nothing to dispel. + +Pamela wrote that the visit to Champertoun had been a signal success. +The hitherto unknown cousins were delightful people, and she and her +brother were prolonging their stay till the middle of January. Then, +she said, she hoped to come back to Priorsford for a little, while Biddy +went on to London. + +How easy it all sounded, Jean thought. Historic houses full of all +things lovely, leisured, delightful people, the money, and the freedom +to go where one listed: no pinching, no striving, no sordid cares. + +David's vacation was slipping past; and Jean was deep in preparations +for his departure. She longed vehemently for some money to spend. There +were so many things that David really needed and was doing without, so +many of the things he had were so woefully shabby. Jean understood +better now what a young man wanted; she had studied Lord Bidborough's +clothes. Not that the young man was anything of a dandy, but he had +always looked right for every occasion. And Jean thought that probably +all the young men at Oxford looked like that--poor David! David himself +never grumbled. He meant to make money by his pen in spare moments, and +his mind was too full of plans to worry much about his shabby clothes. +He sometimes worried about his sister, and thought it hard that she +should have the cares of a household on her shoulders at an age when +other girls were having the time of their lives, but he solaced himself +with the thought that some day he would make it up to Jean, that some +day she should have everything that now she was missing, full measure +pressed down and running over. It never occurred to the boy that Jean's +youth would pass, and whatever he might be able to give her later, he +could never give her that back. + +Pamela returned to Hillview in the middle of the month, just before +David left. + +Bella Bathgate owned that she was glad to have her back. That +indomitable spinster had actually missed her lodger. She was surprised +at her own pleasure in seeing the boxes carried upstairs again, in +hearing the soft voice talking to Mawson, in sniffing the faint sweet +scent that seemed to hang about the house when Miss Reston was in it, +conquering the grimmer odour of naphtha and boiled cabbage which +generally held sway. + +Bella had missed Mawson too. It was fine to have her back again in her +cosy kitchen, enjoying her supper and full of tales of the glories of +Champertoun. Bella's face grew even longer than it was naturally as she +heard of the magnificence of that ancient house, of the chapel, of the +ballroom, of the number of bedrooms, of the man-servants and +maid-servants, of the motors and horses. + +"Forty bedrooms!" she said, in scandalised tones. "The thing's +rideeclous. Mair like an institution than a private hoose." + +"Oh, it's a _gentleman's_ 'ouse," said Mawson proudly--"the sort of +thing Miss Reston's accustomed to. At Bidborough, I'm told, there's +bedrooms to 'old a regiment, and the same at Mintern Abbas, but I've +never been there yet. It was all the talk in the servants' 'all at +Champertoun 'oo would be Lady Bidborough. There were several likely +young ladies there, but 'e didn't seem partial to any of them." + +"Whaur's he awa to the noo?" + +"Back to London for a bit, I 'eard, and later on we're joining 'im at +Bidborough. Beller, I was thinking to myself when they were h'all +talking, what if Lady B. should be a Priorsford lady? His lordship did +seem h'attentive in at The Rigs. Wouldn't it be a fine thing for Miss +Jean?" + +Miss Bathgate suddenly had a recollection of Jean as she had seen her +pass that morning--a wistful face under a shabby hat. + +"Hut," she said, tossing her head and lying glibly. "It's ma opeenion +that the Lord askit Miss Jean when he was in Priorsford, and she simply +sent him to the right about." + +She took a drink of tea, with a defiant twirl of her little finger, and +pretended not to see the shocked expression on Mawson's face. To Mawson +it sounded like sacrilege for anyone to refuse anything to his lordship. + +"Oh, Beller! Miss Jean would 'ave jumped at 'im!" + +"Naething o' the kind," said Miss Bathgate fiercely, forgetting all +about her former pessimism as to Jean's chance of getting a man, and +desiring greatly to champion her cause. "D'ye think Miss Jean's sitting +here waitin' to jump at a man like a cock at a grossit? Na! He'll be a +lucky man that gets her, and weel his lordship kens it. She's no pented +up to the een-holes like thae London Jezebels. Her looks'll stand wind +and water. She's a kind, wise lassie, and if she condescends to the +Lord, I'm sure I hope he'll be guid to her. For ma ain pairt I wud faur +rather see her marry a dacent, ordinary man like a minister or a +doctor--but we've nane o' thae kind needin' wives in Priorsford the noo, +so Miss Jean 'll mebbe hev to fa' back on a lord...." + +On the afternoon of the day this conversation took place in Hillview +kitchen, Jean sat in the living-room of The Rigs, a very depressed +little figure. It was one of those days in which things seem to take a +positive pleasure in going wrong. To start with, the kitchen range could +not go on, as something had happened to the boiler, and that had +shattered Mrs. M'Cosh's placid temper. Also the bill for mending it +would be large, and probably the landlord would make a fuss about paying +it. Then Mhor had put a newly-soled boot right on the hot bar of the +fire and burned it across, and Jock had thrown a ball and broken a +precious Spode dish that had been their mother's. But the worst thing of +all was that Peter was lost, had been lost for three days, and now they +felt they must give up hope. Jock and Mhor were in despair (which may +have accounted for their abandoned conduct in burning boots and breaking +old china), and in their hearts felt miserably guilty. Peter had wanted +to go with them that morning three days ago; he had stood patiently +waiting before the front door, and they had sneaked quietly out at the +back without him. It was really for his own good, Jock told Mhor; it was +because the gamekeeper had said if he got Peter in the Peel woods again +he would shoot him, and they had been going to the Peel woods that +morning--but nothing brought any comfort either to Jock or Mhor. For two +nights Mhor had sobbed himself to sleep openly, and Jock had lain awake +and cried when everyone else was sleeping. + +They scoured the country in the daytime, helped by David and Mr. Jowett +and other interested friends, but all to no purpose. + +"If I knew God had him I wouldn't mind," said Mhor, "but I keep seeing +him in a trap watching for us to come and let him out. Oh, Peter, +_Peter_...." + +So Jean felt completely demoralised this January afternoon and sat in +her most unbecoming dress, with the fire drearily, if economically, +banked up with dross, hoping that no one would come near her. And Mrs. +Duff-Whalley and her daughter arrived to call. + +It was at once evident that Mrs. Duff-Whalley was on a very high horse +indeed. Her accent was at its most superior--not at all the accent she +used on ordinary occasions--and her manner was an excellent imitation of +that of a lady she had met at one of the neighbouring houses and greatly +admired. Her sharp eyes were all over the place, taking in Jean's poor +little home-made frock, the shabby slippers, the dull fire, the +depressed droop of her hostess's shoulders. + +Jean was sincerely sorry to see her visitors. To cope with Mrs. +Duff-Whalley and her daughter one had to be in a state of robust health +and high spirits. + +"We ran in, Jean--positively one has time for nothing these days--just +to wish you a Happy New-Year though a fortnight of it is gone. And how +are you? I do hope you had a very gay Christmas, and loads of presents. +Muriel quite passed all limits. I told her I was quite ashamed of the +shoals of presents, but of course the child has so many friends. The +Towers was full for Christmas. Dear Gordon brought several Cambridge +friends, and they were so useful at all the festivities. Lady Tweedie +said to me, 'Mrs. Duff-Whalley, you really are a godsend with all these +young men in this unmanned neighbourhood.' Always so witty, isn't she? +dear woman. By the way, Jean, I didn't see you at the Tweedies' dance, +or the Olivers' theatricals." + +"No, I wasn't there. I hadn't a dress that was good enough, and I didn't +want to be at the expense of hiring a carriage." + +"Oh, really! We had a small dance at The Towers on Christmas night--just +a tiny affair, you know, really just our own house-party and such old +friends as the Tweedies and the Olivers. We would have liked to ask you +and your brother--I hear he's home from Oxford--but you know what it is +to live in a place like Priorsford: if you ask one you have to ask +everybody--and we decided to keep it entirely County--you know what I +mean?" + +"Oh, quite," said Jean; "I'm sure you were wise." + +"We were so sorry," went on Mrs. Duff-Whalley, "that dear Lord +Bidborough and his charming sister couldn't come. We have got so fond of +both of them. Muriel and Lord Bidborough have so much in common--music, +you know, and other things. I simply couldn't tear them away from the +piano at The Towers. Isn't it wonderful how simple and pleasant they are +considering their lineage? Actually living in that little dog-hole of a +Hillview. I always think Miss Bathgate's such an insolent woman; no +notion of her proper place. She looks at me as if she actually thought +she was my equal, and wasn't she positively rude to you, Muriel, when +you called with some message?" + +"Oh, frightful woman!" said Muriel airily. "She was most awfully rude to +me. You would have thought that I wanted to burgle something." She gave +an affected laugh. "I simply stared through her. I find that irritates +that class of person frightfully ... How do you like my sables, Jean? +Yes--a present." + +"They are beautiful," said Jean serenely, but to herself she muttered +bitterly, "Opulent _lumps_!" + +"David goes back to Oxford next week," she said aloud, the thought of +money recalling David's lack of it. + +"Oh, really! How exciting for him," Mrs. Duff-Whalley said. "I suppose +you won't have heard from Miss Reston since she went away?" + +"I had a letter from her a few days ago." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley waited expectantly for a moment, but as Jean said +nothing more she continued: + +"Did she talk of future plans? We simply must fix them both up for a +week at The Towers. Lord Bidborough told us he had quite fallen in love +with Priorsford and would be sure to come back. I thought it was so +sweet of him. Priorsford is such a dull little place." + +"Yes," said Jean; "it was very condescending of him." + +Then she remembered Richard Plantagenet, her friend, his appreciation of +everything, his love for the Tweed, his passion for the hills, his +kindness to herself and the boys--and her conscience pricked her. "But I +think he meant it," she added. + +"Well," Muriel said, "I fail to see what he could find to admire in +Priorsford. Of all the provincial little holes! I'm constantly +upbraiding Mother for letting my father build a house here. If they had +gone two or three miles out, but to plant themselves in a little dull +town, always knocking up against the dull little inhabitants! Positively +it gets on my nerves. One can't go out without having to talk to Mrs. +Jowett, or a Dawson, or some of the villa dwellers. As I said to Lady +Tweedie yesterday when I met her in the Eastgate, 'Positively,' I said, +'I shall _scream_ if I have to say to anyone else, "Yes, isn't it a nice +quiet day for the time of year?"' I'm just going to pretend I don't see +people now." + +"Muriel, darling, you mustn't make yourself unpopular. It's not like +London, you know, where you can pick and choose. I quite agree that the +Priorsford people need to be kept in their places, but one needn't be +rude. And some of the people, the aborigines, as dear Gordon calls them, +are really quite nice. There are about half a dozen men one can ask to +dinner, and that new doctor--I forget his name--is really quite a +gentleman. Plays bridge." + +Jean laughed suddenly and Mrs. Duff-Whalley looked inquiringly at her. + +"Oh," she said, blushing, "I remembered the definition of a gentleman in +the _Irish R.M._--'a man who has late dinner and takes in the London +_Times_.' ... Won't you stay to tea?" + +"Oh no, thank you, the car is at the gate. We are going on to tea with +Lady Tweedie. 'You simply must spare me an afternoon, Mrs. +Duff-Whalley,' she said to me the other day, and I rang her up and said +we would come to-day. Life is really such a rush. And we are going +abroad in February and March. We must have some sunshine. Not that we +need it for our health, for we're both as strong as ponies. I haven't +been a day in bed for years, and Muriel the same, I'm thankful to say. +We've never had to waste money on doctors. And the War kept us so cooped +up, it's really pleasant to feel we can get about again. I thought on +our way south we would make a tour of the battlefields. I think one owes +it to the men who fought for us to go and visit their graves--poor +fellows! I saw Mrs. Macdonald--you go to their church, don't you?--at a +meeting yesterday, and I said if she would give me particulars I'd try +and see her boy's grave. They won't be able to go themselves, poor +souls, and I thought it would be a certain consolation to them to know +that a friend had gone. I must say, I think she might have shown more +gratitude. She was really quite off-hand. I think ministers' wives have +often bad manners; they deal so much with the working classes...." + +Jean thought of a saying she had read of Dr. Johnson's: "He talked to me +at the Club one day concerning Catiline's conspiracy--so I withdrew my +attention and thought about Tom Thumb." When she came back to Mrs. +Duff-Whalley that lady was saying: + +"Did you say, Jean, that Miss Reston is coming back to Priorsford soon?" + +"Yes, any day." + +"Fancy! And her brother too?" + +Jean said she thought not: Lord Bidborough was going to London. + +"Ah! then we shall see him there. I don't know when I met anyone with +whom I felt so instantly at home. He has such easy manners. It really is +a pleasure to meet a gentleman. I do wish my boy Gordon had seen more of +him. I'm sure they would have been friends. So good for a boy, you know, +to have a man of the world to go about with. Well, good-bye, Jean. You +really look very washed out. What you really need is a thorough holiday +and change of scene. Why, you haven't been away for years. Two months in +London would do wonders for you--" + +The handle of the door turned and a voice said, "May I come in?" and +without waiting for permission Pamela Reston walked in, bare-headed, +wrapped in a cloak, and with her embroidery-frame under her arm, as she +had come many times to The Rigs during her stay at Hillview. + +When Jean heard the voice it seemed to her as if everything was +transformed. Mrs. Duff-Whalley and Muriel, their sables and their +Rolls-Royce, ceased to be great weights crushing life and light out of +her, and became small, ordinary, rather vulgar figures; she forgot her +own home-made frock and shabby slippers; and even the fire seemed to +feel that things were brightening, for a flame struggled through the +backing and gave promise of future cheerfulness. + +"Oh, Pamela!" cried Jean. There was more of relief and appeal in her +voice than she knew, and Pamela, seeing the visitors, prepared to do +battle. + +"I thought I should surprise you, Jean, girl. I came by the two train, +for I was determined to be here in time for tea." She slipped off her +coat and took Jean in her arms. "It is good to be back.... Ah, Mrs. +Duff-Whalley, how are you? Have you kept Priorsford lively through the +Christmas-time, you and your daughter?" + +"Well, I was just telling Jean we've done our best. My son Gordon, and +his Cambridge friends, delightful young fellows, you know, _perfect_ +gentlemen. But we did miss you and your brother. Is dear Lord Bidborough +not with you?" + +"My brother has gone to London." + +"Naturally," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, nodding her head knowingly. "All +young men like London, so gay, you know, restaurants and theatres and +night-clubs--" + +"Oh, I hope not," laughed Pamela. "My brother's rather extraordinary; +he cares very little for London pleasures. The open road is all he +asks--a born gipsy." + +"Fancy! Well, it's a nice taste too. But I would rather ride in my car +than tramp the roads. I like my comforts. Muriel and I are going to +London shortly, on our way to the Continent. Will you be there, Miss +Reston?" + +"Probably, and if I am Jean will be with me. Do you hear that, Jean?" +and paying no attention to the dubious shake of Jean's head she went on: +"We must give Jean a very good time and have lots of parties. Perhaps, +Mrs. Duff-Whalley, you will bring your daughter to one of Jean's parties +when you are in London? You have been so very kind to us that we should +greatly like to have an opportunity of showing you some hospitality. Do +let us know your whereabouts. It would be fun--wouldn't it, Jean?--to +entertain Priorsford friends in London." + +For a moment Mrs. Duff-Whalley looked very like a ferret that wanted to +bite; then she smiled and said: + +"Well, really, it's most kind of you. I'm sure Jean should be very +grateful to you. You're a kind of fairy godmother to this little +Cinderella. Only Jean must remember that it isn't very nice to come back +to drudgery after an hour or two at the ball," and she gave an +unpleasant laugh. + +"Ah, but you forget your fairy tale," said Pamela. "Cinderella had a +happy ending. She wasn't left to the drudgery, but reigned with the +prince in the palace." + +"It's hardly polite surely," Muriel put in, "to liken poor little Jean +to a cinder-witch." + +Jean laughed and held out a foot in a shabby slipper. "I've felt like +one all day. It's been such a grubby day, no kitchen range on, no hot +water, and Mrs. M'Cosh actually out of temper. Now you've come, Pamela, +it will be all right--but it has been wretched. I hadn't the spirit to +change my frock or put on decent slippers, that's why I've reminded you +all of Cinderella.... Are you going, Mrs. Duff-Whalley? Good-bye." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley had, with an effort, regained her temper, and was now +all smiles. + +"We must see you often at The Towers while you are in Priorsford, dear +Miss Reston. Muriel and I are on our way to tea with Lady Tweedie. She +will be so excited to hear you are back. You have made quite a _place_ +for yourself in our little circle. Good-bye, Jean, we shall be seeing +you some time. Come, Muriel. Well--t'ta." + +When the visitors had rolled away in their car Jean told Pamela about +Peter. + +"I couldn't tell you before those opulent, well-pleased people. It's +absolutely breaking our hearts. Mrs. M'Cosh looks ten years older, and +Jock and Mhor go about quite silent thinking out wicked things to do to +relieve their feelings. David has gone over all the hills looking for +him, but he may be lying trapped in some wood. Come and speak to Mrs. +M'Cosh for a minute. Between Peter and the boiler she is in despair." + +They found Mrs. M'Cosh baking with the gas oven. + +"It's a scone for the tea. When I seen Miss Reston it kinna cheered me +up. Hae ye tell't her aboot Peter?" + +"He will turn up yet, Mrs. M'Cosh," Pamela assured her. "Peter's such a +clever dog, he won't let himself be beat. Even if he is trapped I +believe he will manage to get out." + +"It's to be hoped so, for the want o' him is something awful." + +A knock came to the back door and a boy's voice said, "Is Peter in?" It +was a message boy who knew all Peter's tricks--knew that however +friendly Peter was with a message boy on the road, he felt constrained +to jump out at him when he appeared at the back door with a basket. The +innocent question was too much for Mrs. M'Cosh. + +"Na," she said bitterly. "Peter's no' in, so ye needna hold on to the +door. Peter's lost. Deid, as likely as not." She turned away in +bitterness of heart, leaving Jean to take the parcels from the boy. + +The boys came in quietly after another fruitless search. They did not +ask hopefully, as they had done at first, if Peter had come home, and +Jean did not ask how they had fared. + +The sight of Pamela cheered them a good deal. + +"Does she know?" Jock asked, and Jean nodded. + +Pamela kept the talk going through tea, and told them so many funny +stories that they had to laugh. + +"If only," said Mhor, "Peter was here now the Honourable's back we +would be happy." + +"There's a big box of hard chocolates behind that cushion," Pamela said, +pointing to the sofa. + +It was at that moment that the door opened, and Mrs. M'Cosh put her head +in. Her face wore a broad smile. + +"The wanderer has returned," she said. + +At that moment Jean thought the Glasgow accent the most delightful thing +on earth and the smile on Mrs. M'Cosh's face the most beautiful. With a +shout they all made for the kitchen. + +There was Peter, thin and dirty, but in excellent spirits, wagging his +tail so violently that his whole body wagged. + +"See," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "he's been in a trap, but he's gotten out. +Peter's a cliver lad." + +Jock and Mhor had no words. They lay on the linoleum-covered floor while +Mrs. M'Cosh fetched hot milk, and crushed their faces against the little +black-and-white body they had thought they might never see again, while +Peter licked his own torn paw and their faces in turn. + + * * * * * + +It was wonderfully comfortable to see Pamela settle down in the corner +of the sofa with her embroidery and ask news of all her friends. Jean +had been a little shy of meeting Pamela, wondering if Lord Bidborough +had told her anything, wondering if she were angry that Jean should have +had such an offer, or resentful that she had refused it. But Pamela +talked quite naturally about her brother, and gave no hint that she +knew of any reason why Jean should blush when his name was mentioned. + +"And how are all the people--the Jowetts and the Watsons and the +Dawsons? And the dear Macdonalds? I picked up a book in Edinburgh that I +think Mr. Macdonald will like. And Lewis Elliot--have you seen him +lately, Jean?" + +"He's away. Didn't you know? He went just after you did. He was in +London at Christmas--at least, that was the postmark on the parcels, but +he has never written a word. He was always a bad correspondent, but +he'll turn up one of these days." + +Mrs. M'Cosh came in with the letters from the evening post. + +"Actually a letter for me," said Jean, "from London. I expect it's from +that landlord of ours. Surely he won't be giving us notice to leave The +Rigs. Pamela, I'm afraid to open it. It looks like a lawyer's letter." + +"Open it then." + +Jean opened it slowly and read the enclosure with a puzzled frown; then +she dropped it with a cry. + +Pamela looked up from her work to see Jean with tears running down her +face. Jock and Mhor stopped what they were doing and came to look at +her. Peter rubbed himself against her legs by way of comfort. + +"My dear," said Pamela, "is there anything wrong?" + +"Oh, do you remember the little old man who came one day to look at the +house and stayed to tea and I sang 'Strathairlie' to him? He's dead." + +Jean's tears flowed afresh as she said the words. "How I wish I had +been kinder to him. I somehow felt he was ill." + +"And why have they written to tell you?" Pamela asked. + +Jean picked up the letter which had fallen on the floor. + +"It's from his lawyer, and he says he has left me money.... Read it, +Pamela. I don't seem able to see the words." + +So Pamela read aloud the letter that converted poverty-stricken Jean +into a very wealthy woman. + +Jean's face was dead white, and she lay back as if stunned, while Jock +gave solemn utterance to the most complicated ejaculation he had yet +achieved: "Goodness-gracious-mercy-Moses-Murphy-mumph-mumph-mumph!" + +Mhor said nothing, but stared with grave green eyes at the stricken +figure of the heiress. + +"It's awful," Jean moaned. + +"But, my dear," said Pamela, "I thought you wanted to be rich." + +"Oh--rich in a gentle way, a few hundreds a year--but this--" + +"Poor Jean, buried under bullion." + +"You're all looking at me differently already," cried poor Jean. "Mhor, +it's just the same me. Money can't make any real difference. Don't stare +at me like that." + +"Will Peter have a diamond collar now?" Mhor asked. + +"Awful effect of sudden riches," said Pamela. + +"Bear up, Jean--I've no doubt you'll be able to get rid of your money. +Just think of all the people you will be able to help. You needn't spend +it on yourself you know." + +"No, but suppose it's the ruin of the boys! I've often heard of sudden +fortunes making people go all wrong." + +"Now, Jean, does Jock look as if anything so small as a fortune could +put him wrong? And David--by the way, where is David?" + +"Out," said Jock, "getting something at the stationer's. Let me tell him +when he comes in." + +"Then I'll tell Mrs. M'Cosh," cried Mhor, and, followed by Peter, he +rushed from the room. + +The colour was beginning to come back to Jean's face, and the stunned +look to go out of her eyes. + +"Why in the world has he left it to me?" she asked Pamela. + +"You see the lawyer suggests coming to see you. He will explain it all. +It's a wonderful stroke of luck, Jean. No wonder you can't take it in." + +"I feel like the little old woman in the nursery-rhyme who said, 'This +is none of I.' I'm bound to wake up and find I've dreamt it.... Oh, Mrs. +M'Cosh!" + +"It's the wee laddie Scott to say his mother canna come and wash the +morn's mornin'; she's no weel. It's juist as weel, seein' the biler's +gone wrang. I suppose I'd better gie the laddie a piece?" + +"Yes, and a penny." Then Jean remembered her new possessions. "No, give +him this, please, Mrs. M'Cosh." + +Mrs. M'Cosh received the coin and gasped. "Hauf a croon!" she said. + +"Silver," said Pamela, "is to be no more accounted of than it was in the +days of Solomon!" + +"D'ye ken whit ye'll dae?" demanded Mrs. M'Cosh. "Ye'll get the laddie +taen up by the pollis. Gie him thruppence--it's mair wise-like." + +"Oh, very well," said Jean, thwarted at the very beginning of her +efforts in philanthropy. "I'll go and see his mother to-morrow and find +out what she needs. Have you heard the news, Mrs. M'Cosh?" + +Mrs. M'Cosh came farther into the room and folded her hands on her +snow-white apron. + +"Weel, Mhor came in and tell't me some kinna story aboot a lot o' money, +but I thocht he was juist bletherin'. Is't a fac'?" + +"It would seem to be. The lawyer in London writes that Mr. Peter +Reid--d'you perhaps remember an old man who came here to tea one day in +October?--he came from London and lived at the Temperance--has left me +all his fortune, which is a large one. I can't think why.... And I +thought he was so poor, I wanted to have him here to stay, to save him +paying hotel bills. Poor man, he must have been very friendless when he +left his money to a stranger." + +"It's a queer turn up onyway. I juist hope it's a' richt. But I would +see it afore ye spend it. I wis readin' a bit in the papers the ither +day aboot a wumman who got word o' a fortune sent her, and went and got +a' sorts o' braw claes and things ower the heid o't, and here it wis a' +a begunk. And a freend o' mine hed a husband oot aboot Canada somewhere, +and she got word o' his death, and she claimed the insurance, and got +verra braw blacks, and here wha should turn up but his lordship, as +leevin' as you or me! Eh, puir thing, she wis awfu' annoyed.... You be +carefu', Miss Jean, and see the colour o' yer money afore ye begin +giein' awa' hauf-croons instead o' pennies." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + "O, I wad like to ken--to the beggar-wife says I-- + Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid to fry, + An' siller, that's sae braw to get, is brawer still to gie. + --_It's gey an' easy speirin'_, says the beggar-wife to me." + + R.L.S. + + +It is always easier for poor human nature to weep with those who weep +than to rejoice with those who rejoice. Into our congratulations to our +more fortunate neighbour we often manage to squeeze something of the +"hateful rind of resentment," forgetting that the cup of life is none +too sweet for any of us, and needs nothing of our bitterness added. + +Jean had not an enemy in the world, almost everyone wished her well, but +in very few cases was there any marked enthusiasm about her inheritance. +"Ridiculous," was the most frequent comment: or "Fancy that little +thing!" It seemed absurd that such an unimportant person should have had +such a large thing happen to her. + +Pamela was frankly disgusted with the turn things had taken. She had +intended giving Jean such a good time; she had meant to dress her and +amuse her and settle her in life. Peter Reid had destroyed all her +plans, and Jean would never now be dependent on her for the pleasures of +life. + +She wrote to her brother: + +"Jean seems to be one of the people that all sorts of odd things happen +to, and now fortune has played one of her impish tricks and Jean has +become a very considerable heiress. And I was there, oddly enough, when +the god in the car alighted, so to speak, at The Rigs. + +"One afternoon, just after I came to Priorsford, I went in after tea and +found the Jardines entertaining a shabby-looking elderly man. They were +all so very nice to him that I thought he must be some old family +friend, but it turned out that none of them had seen him before that +afternoon. He had asked to look over the house, and told Jean that he +had lived in it as a boy, and Jean, remarking his rather shabby clothes +and frail appearance, jumped to the conclusion that he had failed in +life and--you know Jean--was at once full of tenderness and compassion. +At his request she sang to him a song he had heard his mother sing, and +finished by presenting him with the song-book containing it--a somewhat +rare collection which she valued. + +"This shabby old man, it seems, was one Peter Reid, a wealthy London +business man, and owner of The Rigs, born and bred in Priorsford, who +had just heard from his doctor that he had not long to live, and had +come back to his childhood's home meaning to die there. He had no +relations and few friends, and had made up his mind to leave his money +to the first person who did anything for him without thought of payment. +(He seems to have been a hard, suspicious type of man who had not +attracted kindness.) So Fate guided his steps to Jean, and this is the +result. Yes, rather far-fetched, I agree, but Fate is often like a +novelette. + +"Mr. Peter Reid had meant to ask the Jardines to leave The Rigs and let +him settle there, but--there must have been a soft part somewhere in the +hard little man--he hadn't the heart to do it when he found how attached +they were to the place. + +"I was at The Rigs when the lawyer's letter came. Jean as an heiress is +very funny and, at the same time, horribly touching. At first she could +think of nothing but that the lonely old man she had tried to be kind to +was dead, and wept bitterly. Then as she began to realise the fact of +the money she was aghast, suffocated with the thought of her own wealth. +She told us piteously that it wouldn't change her at all. I think the +poor child already felt the golden barrier that wealth builds round its +owners. I don't think Mr. Peter Reid was kind, though perhaps he meant +to be. Jean is such a conscientious, anxious pilgrim at any time, and +I'm afraid the wealth will hang round her neck like the Ancient +Mariner's albatross. + +" ... I have been wondering, Biddy, how this will affect your chances. I +know you felt as I did how nice it would be to give Jean all the things +that she has never had and which money can buy. I admit I am horribly +disappointed about it, but I'm not at all sure that this odd trick of +fortune's won't help you. Her attitude was that marriage with you was +unthinkable; you had so much and she had so little. Well, this evens +things up. _Don't come. Don't write._ Leave her alone to try her wings. +She will want to try all sorts of schemes for helping people, and I'm +afraid the poor child will get many bad falls. So long as she remains in +Priorsford with people like Mrs. Hope and the Macdonalds to watch over +her she can't come to any harm. Don't be anxious. Honestly, Biddy, I +think she cares for you. I'm glad you asked her when she was poor." + + * * * * * + +When the news of Jean's fortune broke over Priorsford, tea-parties had +no lack of material for conversation. + +Miss Watson and Miss Teenie, much more excited than Jean herself, ranged +gaily round the circle of their acquaintances, drank innumerable cups of +tea, and discussed the matter in all its bearings. + +"Isn't it strange to think of Miss Jean as an heiress? Such a plain +little thing--in her clothes, I mean, for she has a bit sweet wee face. +I don't know how she'll ever do in a great big house with butlers and +things. I expect she'll leave The Rigs now. It's no place for an +heiress. Perhaps she'll build a house like The Towers. No; you're right: +she'll look for an old house; she always had such queer ideas about +liking old things and plain things.... Well, when she had a wee house it +had a wide door. I hope when she gets a big house it won't have a +narrow door. Money sometimes changes people's very natures.... It's a +funny business; you never really know what'll happen to you in this +world. Anyway, I don't grudge it to Miss Jean, though, mind you, I don't +think myself that she'll carry off money well. She hasn't presence +enough, if you know what I mean. She'll never look the thing in a big +motor, and you can't imagine her being haughty to people poorer than +herself. She has such a way of putting herself beside folk--even a +tinker-body on the road!" + +Miss Bathgate heard the news with sardonic laughter. + +"So that's the latest! Miss Jean's gaun to be upsides wi' the best o' +them! Puir lamb, puir lamb! I hope the siller 'll bring her happiness, +but I doot it ... I yince kent some folk that got a fortune left them. +He was a beadle in the U.F. Kirk at Kirkcaple, a dacent man wi' a wife +and dochter, an' by some queer chance they came into a heap o' siller, +an' a hoose--a mansion hoose, ye ken. They never did mair guid, puir +bodies. The hoose was that big that the only kinda cosy place they could +see to sit in was the butler's pantry, an' they took to drink, fair for +want o' anything else to dae. I've heard tell that they took whisky to +their porridges, but that's mebbe a lee. Onyway, the faither and mither +sune died off, and the dochter went to board wi' the minister an' his +wife, to see if they could dae onything wi' her. I mind seein' her +yince. She was sittin' horn-idle, an' I said to her, 'D'ye niver tak' up +a stockin'?' and she says, 'I dinna _need_ to dae naething.' 'But,' I +says, 'a stockin' keeps your hands busy, an' keeps ye frae wearyin',' +but she juist said, 'I tell ye I dinna need to dae naething. I whiles +taks a ride in a carriage.' ... It was a sorry sicht, I can tell ye, to +see a dacent lass ruined wi' siller.... Weel, Miss Jean 'll get a man +noo. Nae fear o' that," and Miss Bathgate repeated her cynical lines +about the lass "on Tintock tap." + +Mrs. Hope was much excited when she heard, more especially when she +found who Jean's benefactor was. + +"Reids who lived in The Rigs thirty years ago? But I knew them. I know +all about them. It was I who suggested to Alison Jardine that the +cottage would suit her. She had lost a lot of money and wanted a small +place.... Why, bless me, Augusta, Mrs. Reid, this man's mother, came +from Corlaw; her people were tenants of my father's. What was the name? +I used to be taken to their house by my nurse and get an oatcake with +sugar sprinkled on it--a great luxury, I thought. Yes, of course, +Laidlaw. She was Jeannie Laidlaw. When I married and came to Hopetoun I +often went to see Mrs. Reid. She reminded me of Corlaw, and could talk +of my father, and I liked that.... Her husband was James Reid. He must +have had some money, and I think he was retired. He had a beard and came +from Fife. I remember the east-country tone in his voice. They went to +the Free Kirk, and I overheard, one day, a man say to him as we came out +of church (where a retiring collection for the next Sunday had been +announced), 'There's an awfu' heap o' collections in oor kirk,' and +James Reid replied, 'Ou ay, but ma way is to pay no attention.' When I +told your father he was delighted and said that he must take that for +his motto through life--'Ma way is to pay no attention.'" + +Mrs. Hope took off her glasses and smiled to herself over her +recollections.... "Mrs. Reid was a nice creature, 'fair bigoted,' as +they say here, on her son Peter. He was her chief topic of conversation. +Peter's cleverness, Peter's kindness to his mother, Peter's good looks, +Peter's fine voice: when I saw him--well, I thought we should all thank +God for our mothers, for no one else will ever see us with such kind +eyes.... And it's this Peter Reid--Jeannie Laidlaw's son--who has +enriched Jean. Well, Augusta, I must say I consider it rather a +liberty." + +Augusta looked at her mother with an amused smile. + +"Yes, Augusta, it was a pushing, interfering sort of thing to do. What +is the child to do with a great fortune? I'm not afraid of her being +spoiled. Money won't vulgarise Jean as it does so many people, but it +may turn her into a very burdened, anxious pilgrim. She is happier poor. +The pinch of too little money is a small thing compared to the burden of +too much. The doing without is good for both body and soul, but the +great possessions are apt to harden our hearts and make our souls small +and meagre. Who would have thought that little Jean would have had the +hard hap to become heir to them. But she has a high heart. She may make +a success of being a rich woman! She has certainly made a success of +being a poor one." + +"I think," said Augusta, in her gentle voice, "that Peter Reid was a +wise man to leave his money to Jean. Only the people who have been poor +know how to give, and Jean has imagination and an understanding heart. +Haven't you noticed what a wonderful way she has with the poor people? +She is always welcome in the cottages.... And think what a delight she +will have in spending money on the boys! But I hope Pamela Reston will +do as she had planned and carry Jean off for a real holiday. I should +like to see her for a little while spend money like water, buy all +manner of useless lovely things, and dine and dance and go to plays." + +Mrs. Hope put up her glasses to regard her daughter. + +"Dear me, Augusta, am I hearing right? Who is more severe than you on +the mad women who dance, and sup, and frivol their money away? But +there's something in what you say. The bairn needs a playtime.... To +think that Jeannie Laidlaw's son should change the whole of Jean's life. +Preposterous!" + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley was having tea with Mrs. Jowett when the news was +broken to her. It was a party, but only, as Mrs. Duff-Whalley herself +would have put it, "a purely local affair," meaning some people on the +Hill. + +Mrs. Jowett sat in her soft-toned room, pouring out tea into fragile +cups with hands that seemed to demand lace ruffles, so white were they +and transparent. The room was like herself, exquisitely fresh and +dainty; white walls hung with pale water-colours in gilt frames, Indian +rugs of soft pinks and blues and greys, plump cushions in worked muslin +covers that looked as if they were put on fresh every morning. +Photographs stood about of women looking sweetly into vacancy over the +heads of pretty children, and books of verses, bound daintily in white +and gold, lay on carved tables. + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley did not care for Mrs. Jowett's tea-parties, and she +always felt irritated by her drawing-room. The gentle voice of her +hostess made her want to speak louder than usual, and she thought the +conversation insipid to a degree. How could it be anything but insipid +with Mrs. Jowett saying only "How nice," or "What a pity" at intervals? +She did not even seem to care to hear Mrs. Duff-Whalley's news of "the +County," and "dear Lady Tweedie," merely murmuring, "Oh, really," when +told the most interesting and even startling facts. + +"Uninterested idiot," thought Mrs. Duff-Whalley to herself as she turned +from her hostess to Miss Mary Duncan, who at least had some sense, +though both she and her sisters had a lamentable lack of style. + +Miss Duncan's kind face beamed pleasantly. She was quite willing to +listen to Mrs. Duff-Whalley as long as that lady pleased. She thought +she needed soothing, so she agreed with everything she said, and made +sensible little remarks at intervals. Mrs. Jowett was pouring out a +second cup of tea for Mrs. Duff-Whalley when she said, "And have you +heard about dear little Jean Jardine?" + +"Has anything happened to her? I saw her the other day and she was all +right." + +"She's quite well, but haven't you heard? She has inherited a large +fortune." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley said nothing for a minute. She could not trust herself +to speak. Despised Jean, whom she had not troubled to ask to her +parties, whom she had always felt she could treat anyhow, so poor was +she and of no account. It had been bad enough to know that she was on +terms of intimacy with Pamela Reston and her brother: to hear Miss +Reston say that she meant to take her to London and entertain for her +and to hear her suggest that Muriel might go to Jean's parties had been +galling, but she had thrust the recollection from her, reflecting that +fine ladies said much that they did not mean, and that probably the +promised visit to London would never materialise. And now to be told +this! A fortune: Jean--it was too absurd! + +When she spoke, her voice was shrill with anger in spite of her efforts +to control it. + +"It can't be true. The Jardines have no relations that could leave them +money." + +"This isn't a relation," Mrs. Jowett explained. "It's someone Jean was +kind to quite by chance. I think it is _so_ sweet. It quite makes one +want to cry. _Dear_ Jean!" + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley looked at the sentimental woman before her with bitter +scorn. + +"It would take more than that to make me cry," she snorted. "I wonder +what fool wanted to leave Jean money. Such an unpractical creature! +She'll simply make ducks and drakes of it, give it away to all and +sundry, pauperise the whole neighbourhood." + +"Oh, I don't think so," Miss Duncan broke in. "She has had a hard +training, poor child. Such a pathetic mite she was when her great-aunt +died and left her with David and Jock and the little Gervase Taunton! No +one thought she could manage, but she did, and she has been so plucky, +she deserves all the good fortune that life can bring her. I'm longing +to hear what Jock says about this. I do like that boy." + +"They are, all three, dear boys," said Mrs. Jowett. "Tim and I quite +feel as if they were our own. Tim, dear," to that gentleman, who had +bounced suddenly and violently into the room, "we are talking about the +great news--Jean's fortune--" + +"Ah yes, yes," said Mr. Jowett, distributing brusque nods to the women +present. "What I want is a bit of thick string." (His wife's delicate +drawing-room hardly seemed the place to look for such a thing.) "No, no +tea, my dear. I told you I wanted a bit of _thick string_.... Yes, +let's hope it won't spoil Jean, but I think it's almost sure to. Fortune +hunters, too. Bad thing for a girl to have money.... Yes, yes, I asked +the servants and Chart brought me the string basket, but it was all thin +stuff. I'll lose the post, but it's always the way. Every day more +rushed than another. Remind me, Janetta, to get some thick string +to-morrow. I've no time to go down to the town to-day. Why, bless me, my +morning letters are hardly looked at yet," and he fussed himself out of +the room. + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley rose to go. + +"Then, Mrs. Jowett, I can depend on you to look after that collecting? +And please be firm. I find that collectors are apt to be very lazy and +unconscientious. Indeed, one told me frankly that in her district she +only went to the people she knew. That isn't the way to collect. The +only way is to get into each house--to stand on the doorstep is no use, +they can so easily send a maid to refuse--and sit there till they give a +subscription. Every year since I took it on there has been an increase, +and I'll be frightfully disappointed if you let it go back." + +Mrs. Jowett looked depressed. She knew herself to be one of the worst +collectors on record. She was guiltily aware that she often advised +people not to give; that is, if she thought their circumstances +straitened! + +"I don't know," she began, "I'm afraid I could never sit in a stranger's +house and insist on being given money. It's so--so high-handed, like a +highwayman or something." + +"Think of the cause," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, "not of your own +feelings." + +"Yes, of course, but ... well, if there is a deficit, I can always raise +my own subscription to cover it." She smiled happily at this solution of +the problem. + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley sniffed. + +"'The conies are a feeble folk,'" she quoted rudely. "Well, good-bye. I +shall send over all the papers and collecting books to-morrow. Muriel +and I go off to London on Friday _en route_ for the south. It will be +pleasant to have a change and meet some interesting people. Muriel was +just saying it's a cabbage's life we live in Priorsford. I often wonder +we stay here...." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley went home a very angry woman. After dinner, sitting +with Muriel before the fire in the glittering drawing-room, she +discussed the matter. + +"I know what'll be the end of it," she said. "You saw what a fuss Miss +Reston made of Jean the other day when we called? Depend upon it, she +knew the money was coming. I dare say she and her brother are as poor as +church mice--those aristocrats usually are--and Jean's money will come +in useful. Oh, we'll see her Lady Bidborough yet.... I tell you what it +is, Muriel, the way this world's managed is past speaking about." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley was knitting a stocking for her son Gordon (her hands +were seldom idle), and she waved it in her exasperation as she talked. + +"Here are you, meant, as anyone can see, for the highest position, and +instead that absurd little Jean is to be cocked up, a girl with no more +dignity than a sparrow, who couldn't keep her place with a washerwoman. +I've heard her talking to these cottage women as if they were her +sisters." + +Muriel leant back in her chair and seemed absorbed in balancing her +slipper on her toe. + +"My dear mother," she said, "why excite yourself? It isn't clever of you +to be so openly annoyed. People will laugh. I don't say I like it any +better than you do, but I hope I have the sense to purr congratulations. +We can't help it anyway. You and I aren't attracted to Jean, but there's +no use denying most people are. And what's more, they keep on liking +her. She isn't a person people get easily tired of. I wish I knew her +secret. I suppose it is charm--a thing that can't be acquired." + +"What nonsense, Muriel! I wonder to hear you. I'd like to know who has +charm if you haven't. It is a silly word anyway." + +Muriel shook her head. "It's no good posing when we are by ourselves. As +a family we totally lack charm. Minnie tries to make up for it by a +great deal of manner and a loud voice. Gordon--well, it doesn't matter +so much for a man, but you can see his friends don't really care about +him much. They take his hospitality and say he isn't a bad sort. They +know he is a snob, and when he tries to be funny he is often offensive, +poor Gordon! I've got a pretty face, and I play games well, so I am +tolerated, but I have hardly one real friend. The worst of it is I know +all the time where I am falling short, and I can't help it. I feel +myself jar on people. I once heard old Mrs. Hope say that it doesn't +matter how vulgar we are, so long as we know we are being vulgar. But +that isn't true. It's not much fun to know you are being vulgar and not +be able to help it." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley gave a convulsed ejaculation, but her daughter went +on. + +"Sometimes I've gone in of an afternoon to see Jean, and found her +darning stockings in her shabby frock, with a look on her face as if she +knew some happy secret; a sort of contented, brooding look--and I've +envied her. And so I talked of all the gaieties I was going to, of the +new clothes I was getting, of the smart people we know, and all the time +I was despising myself for a fool, for what did Jean care! She sat there +with her mind full of books and poetry and those boys she is so absurdly +devoted to; it was nothing to her how much I bucked; and this fortune +won't change her. Money is nothing--" + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley gasped despairingly to hear her cherished daughter +talking, as she thought, rank treason. + +"Oh, Muriel, how you can! And your poor father working so hard to make a +pile so that we could all be nice and comfortable. And you were his +favourite, and I've often thought how proud he would have been to see +his little girl so smart and pretty and able to hold her own with the +best of them. And I've worked too. Goodness knows I've worked hard. It +isn't as easy as it looks to keep your end up in Priorsford and keep the +villa-people in their places, and force the County to notice you. If I +had been like Mrs. Jowett you would just have had to be content with the +people on the Hill. Do you suppose I haven't known they didn't want to +come here and visit us? Oh, I knew, but I _made_ them. And it was all +for you. What did I care for them and their daft-like ways and their +uninteresting talk about dogs and books and things! It would have been +far nicer for me to have made friends with the people in the little +villas. My! I've often thought how I would relish a tea-party at the +Watsons'! Your father used to have a saying about it being better to be +at the head of the commonalty than at the tail of the gentry, and I know +it's true. Mrs. Duff-Whalley of The Towers would be a big body at the +Miss Watsons' tea-parties, and I know fine I'm only tolerated at the +Tweedies' and the Olivers' and all the others." + +"Poor Mother! You've been splendid!" + +"If you aren't happy, what does anything matter? I'm fair disheartened, +I tell you. I believe you're right. Money isn't much of a blessing. I've +never said it to you because you seemed so much a part of all the new +life, with your accent and your manners and your little dogs, but over +and over when people snubbed me, and I had to talk loud and brazen +because I felt so ill at ease, I've thought of the old days when I +helped your father in the shop. Those were my happiest days--before the +money came. I had a girl to look after the house and you children, and I +went between the house and the shop, and I never had a dull minute. Then +we came into some money, and that helped your father to extend and +extend. First we had a house in Murrayfield--and, my word, we thought we +were fine. But I aimed at Drumsheugh Gardens, and we got there. Your +father always gave in to me. Eh, he was a hearty man, your father. If +it's true what you say that none of you have charm, though I'm sure I +don't know what you mean by it, it's my blame, for your father was +popular with everyone. He used to laugh at me and my ambition, for, mind +you, I was always ambitious, but his was kindly laughter. Often and +often when I've been sitting all dressed up at some dinner-party, like +to yawn my head off with the dull talk, I've thought of the happy days +when I helped in the shop and did my own washing--eh, I little thought I +would ever live in a house where we never even know when it's washing +day--and went to bed tired and happy, and fell asleep behind your +father's broad back...." + +"Oh, Mother, don't cry. It's beastly of me to discourage you when you've +been the best of mothers to me. I wish I had known my father better, and +I do wish I could remember when we were all happy in the little house. +You've never been so very happy in The Towers, have you, Mother?" + +"No, but I wouldn't leave it for the world. Your father was so proud of +it. 'It's as like a hydro as a private house can be,' he often said, in +such a contented voice. He just liked to walk round and look at all the +contrivances he had planned, all the hot-rails and things in the +bathrooms and cloakrooms, and radiators in every room, and the wonderful +pantries--'tippy,' he called them. He couldn't understand people making +a fuss about old houses, and old furniture, grey walls half tumbling +down and mouldy rooms. He liked the new look of The Towers, and he said +to me, 'Mind, Aggie, I'm not going to let you grow any nonsense like ivy +or creepers up this fine new house. They're all very well for holding +together tumbledown old places, but The Towers doesn't need them. And +I'm sure he would be pleased to-day if he saw it. The times people have +advised me to grow ivy--even Lady Tweedie, the last time she came to +tea--but I never would. It's as new-looking as the day he left it.... +You don't want to leave The Towers, Muriel?" + +"No--o, but--don't you think, Mother, we needn't work quite so hard for +our social existence? I mean, let's be more friendly with the people +round us, and not strive so hard to keep in with the County set. If Miss +Reston can do it, surely we can." + +"But don't you see," her mother said, "Miss Reston can do it just +because she is Miss Reston. If you're a Lord's daughter you can be as +eccentric as you like, and make friends with anyone you choose. If we +did it, they would just say, 'Oh, so they've come off their perch!' and +once we let ourselves down we would never raise ourselves again. I +couldn't do it, Muriel. Don't ask me." + +"No. But we've got to be happier somehow. Climbing is exhausting work." +She stooped and picked up the two small dogs that lay on a cushion +beside her. "Isn't it, Bing? Isn't it, Toutou? You're happy, aren't you? +A warm fire and a cushion and some mutton-chop bones are good enough for +you. Well, we've got all these and we want more.... Mother, perhaps Jean +would tell us the secret of happiness." + +"As if I'd ask her," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + "Marvell, who had both pleasure and success, who must have enjoyed + life if ever man did, ... found his happiness in the garden where he + was."--From an article in _The Times Literary Supplement._ + + +Mrs. M'Cosh remained extremely sceptical about the reality of the +fortune until the lawyer came from London, "yin's errand to see Miss +Jean," as she explained importantly to Miss Bathgate, and he was such an +eminently solid, safe-looking man that her doubts vanished. + +"I wud say he wis an elder in the kirk, if they've onything as +respectable as an elder in England," was her summing up of the lawyer. + +Mr. Dickson (of Dickson, Staines, & Dickson), though a lawyer, was a +human being, and was able to meet Jean with sympathy and understanding +when she tried to explain to him her wishes. + +First of all, she was very anxious to know if Mr. Dickson thought it +quite fair that she should have the money. Was he _quite_ sure that +there were no relations, no one who had a real claim? + +Mr. Dickson explained to her what a singularly lonely, self-sufficing +man Peter Reid had been, a man without friends, almost without +interests--except the piling up of money. + +"I don't say he was unhappy; I believe he was very content, absolutely +absorbed in his game of money-making. But when he couldn't ignore any +longer the fact that there was something wrong with his health, and went +to the specialist and was told to give up work at once, he was +completely bowled over. Life held nothing more for him. I was very sorry +for the poor man ... he had only one thought--to go back to Priorsford, +his boyhood's home." + +"And I didn't know," said Jean, "or we would all have turned out there +and then and sat on our boxes in the middle of the road, or roosted in +the trees like crows, rather than keep him for an hour out of his own +house. He came and asked to see The Rigs and I was afraid he meant to +buy it: it was always our nightmare that the landlord in London would +turn us out.... He looked frail and shabby, and I jumped to the +conclusion that he was poor. Oh, I do wish I had known...." + +"He told me," Mr. Dickson went on, "when he came to see me on his +return, that he had come with the intention of asking the tenants to +leave The Rigs, but that he hadn't the heart to do it when he saw how +attached you were to the place. He added that you had been kind to him. +He was rather gruff and ashamed about his weakness, but I could see that +he had been touched to receive kindness from utter strangers. He was +amused in a sardonic way that you had thought him a poor man and had +yet been kind to him; he had an unhappy notion that in this world +kindness is always bought.... He had no heir, and I think I explained to +you in my letter that he had made up his mind to leave his whole fortune +to the first person who did anything for him without expecting payment. +You turned out to be that person, and I congratulate you, Miss Jardine, +most heartily. I would like to tell you that Mr. Reid planned everything +so that it would be as easy as possible for you, and asked me to come +and see you and explain in person. He seemed very satisfied when all was +in order. I saw him a few days before he died and I thought he looked +better, and told him so. But he only said, 'It's a great load off my +mind to get everything settled, and it's a blessing not to have an heir +longing to step into my shoes, and grudging me a few years longer on the +earth.' Two days later he passed away in his sleep. He was a curious, +hard man, whom few cared about, but at the end there was something +simple and rather pathetic about him. I think he died content." + +"Thank you for telling me about him," Jean said, and there was silence +for a minute. + +"And now may I hear your wishes?" said Mr. Dickson. + +"Can I do just as I like with the money? Well, will you please divide it +into four parts? That will be a quarter for each of us--David, Jock, +Mhor, me." + +Jean spoke as if the fortune was a lump of dough and Mr. Dickson the +baker, but the lawyer did not smile. + +"I understood you had only two brothers?" + +"Yes, David and Jock, but Mhor is an adopted brother. His name's Gervase +Taunton." + +"But--has he any claim on you?" + +Jean's face got pink. "I should think he has. He's _exactly_ like our +own brother." + +"Then you want him to have a full share?" + +"Of course. It's odd how people will assume one is a cad! When Mhor's +mother died (his father had died before) he came to us--his mother +_trusted him_ to us--and people kept saying, 'Why should you take him? +He has no claim on you.' As if Mhor wasn't the best gift we ever got.... +And when you have divided it, I wonder if you would take a tenth off +each share? We were brought up to give a tenth of any money we had to +God. I'm almost sure the boys would give it themselves. I _think_ they +would, but perhaps it would be safer to take it off first and put it +aside." + +Jean looked very straight at the lawyer. "I wouldn't like any of us to +be unjust stewards," she said. + +"No," said the lawyer--"no." + +"And perhaps," Jean went on, "the boys had better not get their shares +until they are twenty-five David could have it now, so far as sense +goes, but it's the responsibility I'm thinking about." + +"I would certainly let them wait until they are twenty-five. Their +shares will accumulate, of course, and be very much larger when they get +them." + +"But I don't want that," said Jean. "I want the interest on the money +to be added to the tenths that are laid away. It's better to give more +than the strict tenth. It's so horrid to be shabby about giving." + +"And what are the 'tenths,' to be used for?" + +"I'll tell you about that later, if I may. I'm not quite sure myself. I +shall have to ask Mr. Macdonald, our minister. He'll know. I'm never +quite certain whether the Bible means the tenth to be given in charity, +or kept entirely for churches and missions.... And I want to buy some +annuities, if you will tell me how to do it. Mrs. M'Cosh, our +servant--perhaps you noticed her when you came in? I want to make her +absolutely secure and comfortable in her old age. I hope she will stay +with us for a long time yet, but it will be nice for her to feel that +she can have a home of her own whenever she likes. And there are others +... but I won't worry you with them just now. It was most awfully kind +of you to come all the way from London to explain things to me, when you +must be very busy." + +"Coming to see you is part of my business," Mr. Dickson explained, "but +it has been a great pleasure too.... By the way, will you use the house +in Prince's Gate or shall we let it?" + +"Oh, do anything you like with it. I shouldn't think we would ever want +to live in London, it's such a noisy, overcrowded place, and there are +always hotels.... I'm quite content with The Rigs. It's such a comfort +to feel that it is our own." + +"It's a charming cottage," Mr. Dickson said, "but won't you want +something roomier? Something more imposing for an heiress?" + +"I hate imposing things," Jean said, very earnestly "I want to go on +just as we were doing, only with no scrimping, and more treats for the +boys. We've only got £350 a year now, and the thought of all this money +dazes me. It doesn't really mean anything to me yet." + +"It will soon. I hope your fortune is going to bring you much happiness, +though I doubt if you will keep much of it to yourself." + +"Oh yes," Jean assured him. "I'm going to buy myself a musquash coat +with a skunk collar. I've always wanted one frightfully. You'll stay and +have luncheon with us, won't you?" + +Mr. Dickson stayed to luncheon, and was treated with great respect by +Jock and Mhor. The latter had a notion that somewhere the lawyer had a +cave in which he kept Jean's fortune, great casks of gold pieces and +trunks of precious stones, and that any lack of manners on his part +might lose Jean her inheritance. He was disappointed to find him dressed +like any ordinary man. He had had a dim hope that he would look like Ali +Baba and wear a turban. + +After Mr. Dickson had finished saying all he had come to say, and had +gone to catch his train, Jean started out to call on her minister. +Pamela met her at the gate. + +"Well, Jean, and whither away? You look very grave. Are you going to +tell the King the sky's falling?" + +"Something of that kind. I'm going to see Mr. Macdonald. I've got +something I want to ask him." + +"I suppose you don't want me to go with you? I love an excuse to go and +see the Macdonalds. Oh, but I have one. Just wait a moment, Jean, while +I run back and fetch something." + +She joined Jean after a short delay, and they walked on together. Jean +explained that she was going to ask Mr. Macdonald's advice how best to +use her money. + +"Has the lawyer been?" Pamela asked, "Do you understand about things?" + +Jean told of Mr. Dickson's visit. + +"It's a fearful lot of money, Pamela. But when it's divided into four, +that's four people to share the responsibility." + +"And what are you going to do with your share?" + +"I'll tell you what I'm not going to do. I'm not going to take a house +and fill it with guests who will be consistently unpleasant, as the +Benefactress did. And I'm not going to build a sort of fairy palace and +commit suicide from the roof like the millionaire in that book _Midas_ +something or other. And I _hope_ I'm not going to lose my imagination +and forget what it feels like to be poor, and send a girl with a small +dress allowance half a dozen muslin handkerchiefs at Christmas." + +"I suppose you know, Jean--I don't want to be discouraging--that you +will get very little gratitude, that the people you try to help will +smarm to your face and blackguard you behind your back? You will be +hurt and disappointed times without number.... You see, my dear, I've +had money for quite a lot of years, and I know." + +Jean nodded. + +They were crossing the wide bridge over Tweed and she stopped and, +leaning her arms on the parapet, gazed up at Peel Tower. + +"Let's look at Peel for a little," she said. "It's been there such a +long time and must have seen so many people trying to do their best and +only succeeding in making mischief. It seems to say, 'Nothing really +matters: you'll all be in the tod's hole in less than a hundred years. I +remain, and the river and the hills.'" + +"Yes," said Pamela, "they are a great comfort, the unchanging +things--these placid round-backed hills, and the river and the grey +town--to us restless mortals.... Look, Jean, I want you to tell me if +you think this miniature is at all like Duncan Macdonald. You remember I +asked you to let me have that snapshot of him that you said was so +characteristic and I sent it to London to a woman I know who does +miniatures well. I thought his mother would like to have it. But you +must tell me if you think it good enough." + +Jean took the miniature and looked at the pictured face, a laughing +boy's face, fresh-coloured, frank, with flaxen hair falling over a broad +brow. + +When, after a minute, she handed it back she assured Pamela that the +likeness was wonderful. + +"She has caught it exactly, that look in his eyes as if he were telling +you it was 'fair time of day' with him. Oh, dear Duncan! It's fair time +of day with him now, I am sure, wherever he is.... He was twenty-two +when he fell three years ago.... You've often heard Mrs. Macdonald speak +of her sons. Duncan was the youngest by a lot of years--the baby. The +others are frighteningly clever, but Duncan was a lamb. They all adored +him, but he wasn't spoiled.... Life was such a joke to Duncan. I can't +even now think of him as dead. He was so full of abounding life one +can't imagine him lying still--quenched. You know that odd little poem: + + "'And Mary's the one that never liked angel stories, + And Mary's the one that's dead....' + +Death and Duncan seem such a long way apart. Many people are so dull and +apathetic that they never seem more than half alive, so they don't leave +much of a gap when they go. But Duncan--The Macdonalds are brave, but I +think living to them is just a matter of getting through now. The end of +the day will mean Duncan. I am glad you thought about getting the +miniature done. You do have such nice thoughts, Pamela." + +The Macdonalds' manse stood on the banks of Tweed, a hundred yards or so +below Peel Tower, a square house of grey stone in a charming garden. + +Mr. Macdonald loved his garden and worked in it diligently. It was his +doctor, he said. When his mind got stale and sermon-writing difficult, +when his head ached and people became a burden, he put on an old coat +and went out to dig, or plant or mow the grass. He grew wonderful +flowers, and in July, when his lupins were at their best, he took a +particular pleasure in enticing people out to see the effect of their +royal blue against the silver of Tweed. + +He had been a minister in Priorsford for close on forty years and had +never had more than £250 of a salary, and on this he and his wife had +brought up four sons who looked, as an old woman in the church said, "as +if they'd aye got their meat." There had always been a spare place at +every meal for any casual guest, and a spare bedroom looking over Tweed +that was seldom empty. And there had been no lowering of the dignity of +a manse. A fresh, wise-like, middle-aged woman opened the door to +visitors, and if you had asked her she would have told you she had been +in service with the Macdonalds since she was fifteen, and Mrs. Macdonald +would have added that she never could have managed without Agnes. + +The sons had worked their way with bursaries and scholarships through +school and college, and now three of them were in positions of trust in +the government of their country. One was in London, two in India--and +Duncan lay in France, that Holy Land of our people. + +It was a nice question his wife used to say before the War (when hearts +were lighter and laughter easier) whether Mr. Macdonald was prouder of +his sons or his flowers, and when, as sometimes happened he had them all +with him in the garden, his cup of content had been full. + +And now it seemed to him that when he was in the garden Duncan was +nearer him. He could see the little figure in a blue jersey marching +along the paths with a wheelbarrow, very important because he was +helping his father. He had called the big clump of azaleas "the burning +bush." ... He had always been a funny little chap. + +And it was in the garden that he had said good-bye to him that last +time. He had been twice wounded, and it was hard to go back again. There +was no novelty about it now, no eagerness or burning zeal, nothing but a +dogged determination to see the thing through. They had stood together +looking over Tweed to the blue ridge of Cademuir and Duncan had broken +the silence with a question: + +"What's the psalm, Father, about the man 'who going forth doth mourn'?" + +And with his eyes fixed on the hills the old minister had repeated: + + "'That man who bearing precious seed + In going forth doth mourn, + He, doubtless, bringing back the sheaves + Rejoicing will return.'" + +And Duncan had nodded his head and said, "That's it. 'Rejoicing will +return.'" And he had taken another long look at Cademuir. + +Many wondered what had kept such a man as John Macdonald all his life in +a small town like Priorsford. He did more good, he said, in a little +place; he would be of no use in a city; but the real reason was he knew +his health would not stand the strain. For many years he had been a +martyr to a particularly painful kind of rheumatism. He never spoke of +it if he could help it, and tried never to let it interfere with his +work, but his eyes had the patient look that suffering brings, and his +face often wore a twisted, humorous smile, as if he were laughing at his +own pain. He was now sixty-four. His sons, so far as they were allowed, +had smoothed the way for their parents, but they could not induce their +father to retire from the ministry. "I'll give up when I begin to feel +myself a nuisance," he would say. "I can still preach and visit my +people, and perhaps God will let me die in harness, with the sound of +Tweed in my ears." + +Mrs. Macdonald was, in Bible words, a "succourer of many." She was a +little stout woman with the merry heart that goes all the way, combined +with heavy-lidded, sad eyes, and a habit of sighing deeply. She affected +to take a sad view of everything, breaking into irrepressible laughter +in the middle of the most pessimistic utterances, for she was able to +see the humorous side of her own gloom. Mrs. Macdonald was a born giver; +everything she possessed she had to share. She was miserable if she had +nothing to bestow on a parting guest, small gifts like a few new-laid +eggs or a pot of home-made jam. + +"You know yourself," she would say, "what a satisfied feeling it gives +you to come away from a place with even the tiniest gift." + +Her popularity was immense. Sad people came to her because she sighed +with them and never tried to cheer them; dull people came to her +because she was never in offensive high spirits or in a boastful +mood--not even when her sons had done something particularly +striking--and happy people came to her, for, though she sighed and +warned them that nothing lasted in this world, her eyes shone with +pleasure, and her interest was so keen that every detail could be told +and discussed and gloated over with the comfortable knowledge that Mrs. +Macdonald would not say to her next visitor that she had been simply +_deaved_ with talk about So-and-so's engagement. + +Mrs. Macdonald believed in speaking her mind--if she had anything +pleasant to say, and she was sometimes rather startling in her frankness +to strangers. "My dear, how pretty you are," she would say to a girl +visitor, or, "Forgive me, but I must tell you I don't think I ever saw a +nicer hat." + +The women in the congregation had no comfort in their new clothes until +Mrs. Macdonald had pronounced on them. A word was enough. Perhaps at the +church door some congregational matter would be discussed; then, at +parting, a quick touch on the arm and--"Most successful bonnet I ever +saw you get," or, "The coat's worth all the money," or, "Everything new, +and you look as young as your daughter." + +Pamela and Jean found the minister and his wife in the garden. Mr. +Macdonald was pacing up and down the path overlooking the river, with +his next Sunday's sermon in his hand, while Mrs. Macdonald raked the +gravel before the front door (she liked the place kept so tidy that her +sons had been wont to say bitterly, as they spent an hour of their +precious Saturdays helping, that she dusted the branches and wiped the +faces of the flowers with a handkerchief) and carried on a conversation +with her husband which was of little profit, as the rake on the stones +dimmed the sense of her words. + +"Wasn't that right, John?" she was saying as her husband came near her. + +"Dear me, woman, how can I tell? I haven't heard a word you've been +saying. Here are callers. I'll get away to my visiting. Why! It's Jean +and Miss Reston--this is very pleasant." + +Mrs. Macdonald waved her hand to her visitors as she hurried away to put +the rake in the shed, reappearing in a moment like a stout little +whirlwind. + +"Come away, my dears. Up to the study, Jean; that's where the fire is +to-day. I'm delighted to see you both. What a blessing Agnes is baking +pancakes It seemed almost a waste, for neither John nor I eat them, but, +you see, they had just been meant for you.... I wouldn't go just now, +John. We'll have an early tea and that will give you a long evening." + +Jean explained that she specially wanted to see Mr. Macdonald. + +"And would you like me to go away?" Mrs. Macdonald asked. "Miss Reston +and I can go to the dining-room." + +"But I want you as much as Mr. Macdonald," said Jean. "It's your advice +I want--about the money, you know." + +Mrs. Macdonald gave a deep sigh. "Ah, money," she said--"the root of all +evil." + +"Not at all, my dear," her husband corrected. "The love of money is the +root of all evil--a very different thing. Money can be a very fine +thing." + +"Oh," said Jean, "that's what I want you to tell me. How can I make this +money a blessing?" + +Mr. Macdonald gave his twisted smile. + +"And am I to answer you in one word, Jean? I fear it's a word too wide +for a mouth of this age's size. You will have to make mistakes and learn +by them and gradually feel your way." + +"The most depressing thing about money," put in his wife, "is that the +Bible should say so definitely that a rich man can hardly get into +heaven. Oh, I know all about a needle's eye being a gate, but I've +always a picture in my own mind of a camel and an ordinary +darning-needle, and anything more hopeless could hardly be imagined." + +Mrs. Macdonald had taken up a half-finished sock, and, as she disposed +of the chances of all the unfortunate owners of wealth, she briskly +turned the heel. Jean knew her hostess too well to be depressed by her, +so she smiled at the minister, who said, "Heaven's gate is too narrow +for a man and his money; that goes without saying, Jean." + +Jean leant forward and said eagerly, "What I really want to know is +about the tenth we are to put away as not being our own. Does it count +if it is given in charity, or ought it to be given to Church things and +missions?" + +"Whatever is given to God will 'count,' as you put it--lighting, where +you can, candles of kindness to cheer and warm and lighten." + +"I see," said Jean. "Of course, there are heaps of things one could +slump money away on, hospitals and institutions and missions, but these +are all so impersonal. I wonder, would it be pushing and _furritsome_, +do you think, if I tried to help ministers a little?--ministers, I mean, +with wives and families and small incomes shut away in country places +and in the poor parts of big towns? It would be such pleasant helping to +me." + +"Now," said Mrs. Macdonald, "that's a really sensible idea, Jean. +There's no manner of doubt that the small salaries of the clergy are a +crying scandal. I don't like ministers to wail in the papers about it, +but the laymen should wail until things are changed. Ministers don't +enter the Church for the loaves and fishes, but the labourer is worthy +of his hire, and they must have enough to live on decently. Living has +doubled. I couldn't manage as things are now, and I'm a good manager, +though I says it as shouldn't.... The fight I've had all my life nobody +will ever know. Now that we have plenty, I can talk about it. I never +hinted it to anybody when we were struggling through; indeed, we washed +our faces and anointed our heads and appeared not unto men to fast! The +clothes and the boots and the butcher's bills! It's pleasant to think of +now, just as it's pleasant to look from the hilltop at the steep road +you've come. The boys sometimes tell me that they are glad we were too +poor to have a nurse, for it meant that they were brought up with their +father and me. We had our meals together, and their father helped them +with their lessons. Indeed, it's only now I realise how happy I was to +have them all under one roof." + +She stopped and sighed, and went on again with a laugh. "I remember one +time a week before the Sustentation Fund was due, I was down to one +six-pence And of course a collector arrived! D'you remember that, +John?... And the boys worked so hard to educate themselves. All except +Duncan. Oh, but I am glad that my little laddie had an easy time--when +it was to be such a short one." + +"He always wanted to be a soldier," Mr. Macdonald said. "You remember, +Anne, when you tried to get him to say he would be a minister? He was +about six then, I think. He said, 'No, it's not a white man's job,' and +then looked at me apologetically afraid that he had hurt my feelings. +When the War came he went 'most jocund, apt, and willingly,' but without +any ill-will in his heart to the Germans. + + "'He left no will but good will + And that to all mankind....'" + +Mrs. Macdonald stared into the fire with tear-blurred eyes and said: "I +sometimes wonder if they died in vain. If this is the new world it's a +far worse one than the old. Class hatred, discontent, wild extravagance +in some places, children starving in others, women mad for pleasure, +and the dead forgotten already except by the mothers--the mothers who +never to their dying day will see a fresh-faced boy without a sword +piercing their hearts and a cry rising to their lips, 'My son! My son!'" + +"It's all true, Anne," said her husband, "but the sacrifice of love and +innocence can never be in vain. Nothing can ever dim that sacrifice. The +country's dead will save the country as they saved it before. Those +young lives have gone in front to light the way for us." + +Mrs. Macdonald took up her sock again with a long sigh. + +"I wish I could comfort myself with thoughts as you can, John, but I +never had any mind. No, Jean, you needn't protest so politely. I'm a +good house-wife and I admit my shortbread is 'extra,' as Duncan used to +say. Duncan was very sorry as a small boy that he had left heaven and +come to stay with us. He used to say with a sigh, 'You see, heaven's +extra.' I don't know where he picked up the expression. But what I was +going to say is that people are so wretchedly provoking. This morning I +was really badly provoked. For one thing, I was very busy doing the +accounts of the Girls' Club (you know I have no head for figures), and +Mrs. Morton strolled in to see me, to cheer me up, she said. Cheer me +up! She maddened me. I haven't been forty years a minister's wife +without learning patience, but it would have done me all the good in the +world to take that woman by her expensive fur coat and walk her rapidly +out of the room. She sat there breathing opulence, and told me how hard +it was for her to live--she, a lone woman with six servants to wait on +her and a car and a chauffeur! 'I am not going to give to this War +Memorial,' she said. 'At this time it seems rather a wasteful +proceeding, and it won't do the men who have fallen any good.' ... I +could have told her that surely it wasn't _waste_ the men were thinking +about when they poured out their youth like wine that she and her like +might live and hug their bank books." + +Mr. Macdonald had moved from his chair in the window, and now stood with +one hand on the mantelshelf looking into the fire. "Do you remember," he +said, "that evening in Bethany when Mary took a box of spikenard, very +costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, so that the odour of the +ointment filled the house? Judas--that same Judas who carried the bag +and was a robber--was much concerned about the waste. He said that the +box might have been sold for three hundred pence and given to the poor. +And Jesus, rebuking him, said, 'The poor always ye have with you, but Me +ye have not always.'" + +He stopped abruptly and went over to his writing-table and made as +though he were arranging papers. Presently he said, "Anne, you've been +here." His tone was accusing. + +"Only writing a post card," said his wife quickly. "I can't have made +much of a mess." She turned to her visitors and explained: "John is a +regular old maid about his writing-table; everything must be so tidy +and unspotted." + +"Well, I can't understand," said her husband, "why anyone so neat handed +as you are should be such a filthy creature with ink. You seem +positively to sling it about." + +"Well," said Mrs. Macdonald, changing the subject "I like your idea of +helping ministers, Jean. I've often thought if I had the means I would +know how to help. A cheque to a minister in a city-charge for a holiday; +a cheque to pay a doctor's bill and ease things a little for a worn-out +wife. You've a great chance, Jean." + +"I know," said Jean, "if you will only tell me how to begin." + +"I'll soon do that," said practical Mrs. Macdonald "I've got several in +my mind this moment that I just ache to give a hand to. But only the +very rich can help. You can't in decency take from people who have only +enough to go on with.... Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll see if Agnes is +getting the tea. I want you to taste my rowan and crab-apple jelly, Miss +Reston, and if you like it you will take some home with you." + + + * * * * * + +As they left the Manse an hour later, laden with gifts, Pamela said to +Jean, "I would rather be Mrs. Macdonald than anyone else I know. She is +a practising Christian. If I had done a day's work such as she has done +I think I would go out of the world pretty well pleased with myself." + +"Yes," Jean agreed. "If life is merely a chance of gaining love she +will come out with high marks. Did you give her the miniature?" + +"Yes, just as we left, when you had walked on to the gate with Mr. +Macdonald. She was so absurdly grateful she made me cry. You would have +thought no one had ever given her a gift before." + +"The world," said Jean, "is divided into two classes, the givers and the +takers. Nothing so touches and pleases and surprises a 'giver' as to +receive a gift. The 'takers' are too busy standing on their hind legs +(like Peter at tea-time) looking wistfully for the next bit of cake to +be very appreciative of the biscuit of the moment." + +"Bless me!" said Pamela, "Jean among the cynics!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + "The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, + Lets in the light through chinks that time has made: + Stronger by weakness wiser men become + As they draw near to their eternal home: + Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view + That stand upon the threshold of the new." + + EDMUND WALLER. + + +One day Pamela walked down to Hopetoun to lunch with Mrs. Hope. Augusta +had gone away on a short visit and Pamela had promised to spend as much +time as possible with her mother. + +"You won't be here much longer," Mrs. Hope had said, "so spend as much +time with me as you can spare, and we'll talk books and quote poetry, +and," she had finished defiantly, "I'll miscall my neighbours if I feel +inclined." + +It was February now, and there was a hint of spring in the air. The sun +was shining as if trying to make up for the days it had missed, the +green shoots were pushing daringly forth, and a mavis in a holly-bush +was chirping loudly and cheerfully. To-morrow they might be plunged back +into winter, the green things nipped and discouraged, the birds +silent--but to-day it was spring. + +Pamela lingered by Tweedside listening to the mavis, looking back at +the bridge spanning the river, the church steeple high against the pale +blue sky, the little town pouring its houses down to the water's edge. +Hopetoun Woods were still bare and brown, but soon the larches would get +their pencils, the beeches would unfurl tiny leaves of living green, and +the celandines begin to poke their yellow heads through the carpet of +last year's leaves. + +Mrs. Hope was sitting close to the window that looked out on the +Hopetoun Woods. The spring sunshine and the notes of the mavis had +brought to her a rush of memories. + + "For what can spring renew + More fiercely for us than the need of you." + +Her knitting lay on her lap, a pile of new books stood on the table +beside her, but her hands were idly folded, and she did not look at the +books, did not even notice the sunshine; her eyes were with her heart, +and that was far away across the black dividing sea in the last +resting-places of her three sons. Wild laddies they had been, never at +rest, never out of mischief, and now--"a' quaitit noo in the grave." + +She turned to greet her visitor with her usual whimsical smile. She had +grown very fond of Pamela; they were absolutely at ease with each other, +and could enjoy talking, or sitting together in silence. + +To-day the conversation was brisk between the two at luncheon. Pamela +had been with Jean to Edinburgh and Glasgow on shopping expeditions, and +Mrs. Hope was keen to hear all about them. + +"I could hardly persuade her to go," Pamela said. "Her argument was, +'Why get clothes from Paris if you can get them in Priorsford?' She only +gave in to please me, but she enjoyed herself mightily. We went first to +Edinburgh--my first visit except just waiting a train." + +"And weren't you charmed? Edinburgh is our own town, and we are +inordinately proud of it. It's full of steep streets and east winds and +high houses, and you can't move a step without treading on a W.S., but +it's a fine place for all that." + +"It's a fairy-tale place to see," Pamela said. "The castle at sunset, +the sudden glimpses of the Forth, Holyrood dreaming in the mist--these +are pictures that will remain with one always. But Glasgow--" + +"I know almost nothing of Glasgow," said Mrs. Hope, "but I like the +people that come from it. They are not so devoured by gentility as our +Edinburgh friends; they are more living, more human...." + +"Are Edinburgh people very refined?" + +"Oh, some of them can hardly see out of their eyes for gentility. I +delight in it myself, though I've never attained to it. I'm told you see +it in its finest flower in the suburbs. A friend of mine was going out +by train to Colinton, and she overheard two girls talking. One said, 'I +was at a dence lest night.' The other, rather condescendingly, replied, +'Oh, really! And who do you dence with out at Colinton?' 'It depends,' +said the first girl. 'Lest night, for instance, I was up to my neck in +advocates.' ... Priorsford's pretty genteel too. You know the really +genteel by the way they say 'Good-bai.' The rest of us who +pride ourselves on not being provincial say--you may have +noticed--'Good-ba--a.'" + +Pamela laughed, and said she had noticed the superior accent of +Priorsford. + +"Jean and I were much interested in the difference between Edinburgh and +Glasgow shops. Not in the things they sell--the shops in both places are +most excellent--but in the manner of selling. The girls in the Edinburgh +shops are nice and obliging--the war-time manner doesn't seem to have +reached shop-assistants in Scotland, luckily--but quite Londonish with +their manners and their 'Moddom.' In Glasgow, they give one such a +feeling of personal interest. You would really think it mattered to them +what you chose. They delighted Jean by remarking as she tried on a hat, +'My, you look a treat in that!' We bought a great deal more than we +needed, for we hadn't the heart to refuse what was brought with such +enthusiasm. 'I don't know what it is about that hat, but it's awful nice +somehow Distinctive, if you know what I mean. I think when you get it +home you'll like it awful well--' Who would refuse a hat after such a +recommendation?" + +"Who indeed! Oh, they're a hearty people. Has Jean got the fur coat she +coveted?" + +"She hasn't. It was a great disappointment, poor child. She was so +excited when she saw them being brought in rich profusion, but when she +tried them on all desire to possess one left her: they became her so +ill. They buried her, somehow. She said herself she looked like 'a mouse +under a divot,' whatever that may be, and they really did make her look +like five out of any six women one meets in the street. Fur coats are +very levelling things. Later on when I get her to London we'll see what +can be done. Jean needs careful dressing to bring out that very real but +elusive beauty of hers. I persuaded her in the meantime to get a soft +cloth coat made with a skunk collar and cuffs.... She was so funny about +under-things. I wanted her to get some sets of _crêpe-de-Chine_ things, +but she was adamant. She didn't at all approve of them, and said she +liked under-things that would _boil_. She has always had very dainty +things made by herself; Great-aunt Alison taught her to do beautiful +fine sewing.... Jean is a delightful person to do things with; she +brings such a freshness to everything is never bored, never blasé. I was +glad to see her so deeply interested in new clothes. I confess to having +a deep distrust of a woman who is above trying to make herself +attractive. She is an insufferable thing." + +"I quite agree, my dear. A woman deliberately careless of her appearance +is an offence. But, on the other hand, the opposite can be carried too +far. Look at Mrs. Jowett!" + +"Oh, dear Mrs. Jowett, with her lace and her delicate, faded tints; and +her tears of sentiment and her marvellous maids!" + +"A good woman," said Mrs. Hope, "but silly. She fears a draught more +than she does the devil. I'm always reminded of her when I read _Weir of +Hermiston._ She has many points in common with Mrs. Weir--'a dwaibly +body.' Of the two, I really prefer Mrs. Duff-Whalley. _Her_ great +misfortune was being born a woman. With all that energy and perfect +health, that keen brain and the indomitable strain that never knows when +it is beaten, she might have done almost anything. She might have been a +Lipton or a Coats, or even gone out and discovered the South Pole, or +contested Lloyd George's Welsh seat in the Conservative interest. As a +woman she is cribbed and cabined. What she has set herself to do is to +force what she calls 'The County' to recognise her, and marry off her +girl as well as possible. She has accomplished the first part through +sheer perseverance, and I've no doubt she will accomplish the second; +the girl is pretty and well dowered. I have a liking for the woman, +especially if I haven't seen her for a little. There is some bite in her +conversation. Mrs. Jowett is a sweet woman, but to me she is like a +vacuum cleaner. When I've talked to her for ten minutes my head feels +like a cushion that has been cleaned--a sort of empty, yet swollen +feeling. I never can understand how Mr. Jowett has gone through life +with her and kept his reason. But there's no doubt men like sweet, +sentimental women, and I suppose they are restful in a house.... Shall +we have coffee in the drawing-room? It's cosier." + +In the drawing-room they settled down before the fire very contentedly +silent. Pamela idly reached out for a book and read a little here and +there as she sipped her coffee, while her hostess looked into the fire. +The room seemed to dream in the spring sunshine. Generations of Hopes +had lived in it, and each mistress had set her mark on the room. +Beautiful old cabinets stood against the white walls, while beaded +ottomans worked in the early days of Victoria jostled slender +Chippendale chairs and tables. A large comfortable Chesterfield and +down-cushioned arm-chairs gave the comfort moderns ask for. Nothing +looked out of place, for the room with its gracious proportions took all +the incongruities--the family Raeburns, the Queen Anne cabinets, the +miniatures, the Victorian atrocities, the weak water-colour sketches, +the framed photographs of whiskered gentlemen and ladies with bustles, +and made them into one pleasing whole. There is no charm in a room +furnished from showrooms, though it be correct in every detail to the +period chosen. Much more human is the room that is full of things, ugly, +perhaps, in themselves but which link one generation to another. The +ottoman worked so laboriously by a ringleted great-aunt stood with its +ugly mahogany legs beside a Queen Anne chair, over whose faded wool-work +seat a far-off beauty had pricked her dainty fingers--and both of the +workers were Hopes: while by Pamela's side stood a fire-screen stitched +by Augusta, the last of the Hopes. "I wonder," said Mrs. Hope, breaking +the silence, "what has become of Lewis Elliot? I haven't heard from him +since he went away. Do you know where he is just now?" + +Pamela shook her head. + +"Why don't you marry him, Pamela?" + +"For a very good reason--he hasn't asked me." + +"Hoots!" said Mrs. Hope, "as if that mattered!" + +Pamela lifted her eyebrows. "It is generally considered rather +necessary, isn't it?" she asked mildly. + +"You know quite well that he would ask you to-morrow if you gave him the +slightest encouragement The man's afraid of you, that's what's wrong." + +Pamela nodded. + +"Is that why you have remained Pamela Reston? My dear, men are fools, +and blind. And Lewis is modest as well. But ...forgive me blundering. +I've a long tongue, but you would think at my age I might keep it +still." + +"No, I don't mind your knowing. I don't think anyone else ever had a +suspicion of it. And I thought myself I had long since got over it. +Indeed when I came here I was contemplating marrying someone else." + +"Tell me, did you know Lewis was here when you came to Priorsford?" + +"No--I'd completely lost trace of him. I was too proud ever to inquire +after him when he suddenly gave up coming near us. Priorsford suggested +itself to me as a place to come to for a rest, chiefly, I suppose, +because I had heard of it from Lewis, but I had no thought of seeing +him. Indeed, I had no notion that he had still a connection with the +place. And then Jean suddenly said his name. I knew then I hadn't +forgotten; my heart leapt up in the old unreasonable way. I met him--and +thought he cared for Jean." + +"Yes. I used sometimes to wonder why Lewis didn't fall in love with +Jean. Of course he was too old for her, but it would have been quite a +feasible match. Now I know that he cared for you all the time. Oh, I'm +not surprised that he looked at no one else. But that you should have +waited.... There must have been so many suitors...." + +"A few. But some people are born faithful. Anyway, I'm so glad that when +I thought he cared for Jean it made no difference in my feelings to her. +I should have felt so humiliated if I had been petty enough to hate her +for what she couldn't help. My brother Biddy wants to marry Jean, and +I've great hopes that it may work out all right." + +Mrs. Hope sat forward in her chair. + +"I had my suspicions. Jean has changed lately; nothing to take hold of, +but I have felt a difference. It wasn't the money--that's an external +thing--the change was in Jean herself, a certain reticence where there +had been utter frankness; a laugh more frequent, but not quite so gay +and light-hearted. Has he spoken to her?" + +"Yes, but Jean wouldn't hear of it." + +"Dear me! I could have sworn she cared." + +"I think she does, but Jean is proud. What a silly thing pride is! +However, Biddy is very tenacious, and he isn't at all down-hearted about +his rebuff. He's quite sure that Jean and he were meant for each other, +and he has great hopes of convincing Jean. I've never mentioned the +subject to her, she is so tremendously reticent and shy about such +things. I talk about Biddy in a casual way, but if I hadn't known from +Biddy I would have learned from Jean's averted eyes that something had +happened. The child gives herself away every time." + +"This, I suppose, happened before the fortune came. What effect will the +money have, I wonder?" + +"I wonder too," said Pamela. "Now that Jean feels she has something to +give it may make a difference. I wish she would speak to me about it, +but I can't force her confidence." + +"No," said Mrs. Hope. "You can't do that. As you say, Jean is very +reticent. I think I'm rather hurt that she hasn't confided in me. She is +almost like my own.... She was a little child when the news came that +Sandy, my youngest boy, was gone.... I'm reticent too, and I couldn't +mention his name, or speak about my sorrow, and Jean seemed to +understand. She used to garden beside me, and chatter about her baby +affairs, and ask me questions, and I sometimes thought she saved my +reason...." + +Pamela sat silent. It was well known that no one dared mention her sons' +names to Mrs. Hope. Figuratively she removed her shoes from off her +feet, for she felt that it was holy ground. + +Mrs. Hope went on. "I dare say you have heard about--my boys. They all +died within three years, and Augusta and I were left alone. Generally I +get along, but to-day--perhaps because it is the first spring day, and +they were so young and full of promise--it seems as if I must speak +about them. Do you mind?" + +Pamela took the hand that lay on the black silk lap and kissed it. "Ah, +my dear," she said. + +"Archie was my eldest son. His father and I dreamed dreams about him. +They came true, though not in the way we would have chosen. He went into +the Indian Civil Service--the Hopes were always a far-wandering +race--and he gave his life fighting famine in his district.... And Jock +would be nothing but a soldier--_my_ Jock with his warm heart and his +sudden rages and his passion for animals! (Jock Jardine reminds me of +him just a little.) There never was anyone more lovable and he was +killed in a Frontier raid--two in a year. Their father was gone, and for +that I was, thankful; one can bear sorrow oneself, but it is terrible to +see others suffer. Augusta was a rock in a weary land to me; nobody +knows what Augusta is but her mother. We had Sandy, our baby, left, and +we managed to go on. But Sandy was a soldier too, and when the Boer War +broke out, of course he had to go. I knew when I said good-bye to him +that whoever came back it wouldn't be my laddie. He was too +shining-eyed, too much all that was young and innocent and brave to win +through.... Archie and Jock were men, capable, well equipped to fight +the world, but Sandy was our baby--he was only twenty.... Of all the +things the dead possessed it is the thought of their gentleness that +breaks the heart. You can think of their qualities of brain and heart +and be proud, but when you think of their gentleness and their youth you +can only weep and weep. I think our hearts broke--Augusta's and +mine--when Sandy went.... He had been, they told us later, the life of +his company. His spirits never went down. It was early morning, and he +was singing 'Annie Laurie' when the bullet killed him--like a lark shot +down in the sun-rising.... His great friend came to see us when +everything was over. He was a very honest fellow, and couldn't have made +up things to tell us if he had tried. He sat and racked his brains for +details, for he saw that we hungered and thirsted for anything. At last +he said, 'Sandy was a funny fellow. If you left a cake near him he ate +all the currants out of it.' ... My little boy, my little, _little_ boy! +I don't know why I should cry. We had him for twenty years. Stir the +fire, will you, Pamela, and put on a log--I don't like it when it gets +dull. Old people need a blaze even when the sun is outside." + +"You mustn't say you are old," Pamela said, as she threw on a log and +swept the hearth, shading her eyes, smarting with tears, from the blaze. +"You must stay with Augusta for a long time. Think how everyone would +miss you. Priorsford wouldn't be Priorsford without you." + +"Priorsford would never look over its shoulder. Augusta would miss me, +yes, and some of the poor folk, but I've too ill-scrapit a tongue to be +much liked. Sorrow ought to make people more tender, but it made my +tongue bitter. To an unregenerate person with an aching heart like +myself it is a relief to slash out at the people who annoy one by being +too correct, or too consciously virtuous. I admit it's wrong, but there +it is. I've prayed for charity and discretion, but my tongue always runs +away with me. And I really can't be bothered with those people who never +say an ill word of anyone. It makes conversation as savourless as +porridge without salt. One needn't talk scandal. I hate scandal--but +there is no harm in remarking on the queer ways of your neighbours: +anyone who likes can remark on mine. Even when you are old and done and +waiting for the summons it isn't wrong surely to get amusement out of +the other pilgrims--if you can. Do you know your _Pilgrim's Progress_, +Pamela? Do you remember where Christiana and the others reach the Land +of Beulah? It is the end of the journey, and they have nothing to do but +to wait, while the children go into the King's gardens and gather there +sweet flowers.... It is all true. I know, for I have reached the Land of +Beulah. 'How welcome is death,' says Bunyan, 'to them that have nothing +to do but to die.' For the last twenty-five years the way has been +pretty hard. I've stumbled along very lamely, followed my Lord on +crutches like Mr. Fearing, but now the end is in sight and I can be at +ease. All these years I have never been able to read the letters and +diaries of my boys--they tore my very heart--but now I can read them +without tears, and rejoice in having had such sons to give. I used to be +tortured by dreams of them, when I thought I held them and spoke to +them, and woke to weep in agony, but now when they come to me I can wake +and smile, satisfied that very soon they will be mine again. Sorrow is a +wonderful thing. It shatters this old earth, but it makes a new heaven. +I can thank God now for taking my boys. Augusta is a saint and +acquiesced from the first, but I was rebellious. I see that Heaven and +myself had part in my boys; now Heaven has all, and all the better is it +for the boys. I hope God will forgive my bitterness, and all the grief I +have given with words. 'No suffering is for the present joyous +... nevertheless afterwards....' When the Great War broke out and the +terrible casualty lists became longer and longer, and 'with rue our +hearts were laden,' I found some of the 'peaceable fruits' we are +promised. I found I could go without impertinence into the house of +mourning, even when I hardly knew the people, and ask them to let me +share their grief, and I think sometimes I was able to help just a +little." + +"I know how you helped," said Pamela; "the Macdonalds told me. Do you +know, I think I envy you. You have suffered much, but you have loved +much. Your life has meant something. Looking back I've nothing to think +on but social successes that now seem very small and foolish, and years +of dressing and talking and dancing and laughing. My life seems like a +brightly coloured bubble--as light and as useless." + +"Not useless. We need the flowers and the butterflies and the things +that adorn.... I wish Jean would give herself over to pleasure for a +little. Her poor little head is full of schemes--quite practical schemes +they are too, she has a shrewd head--about helping others. I tell her +she will do it all in good time, but I want her to forget the woes of +the world for a little and rejoice in her youth." + +"I know," said Pamela. "I was astonished to find how responsible she +felt for the misery in the world. She is determined to build a heaven in +hell's despair! It reminds one of Saint Theresa setting out holding her +little brother's hand to convert the Moors!... Now I've stayed too long +and tired you, and Augusta will have me assassinated. Thank you, my very +dear lady, for letting me come to see you, and for--telling me about +your sons. Bless you...." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + "For never anything can be amiss + When simpleness and duty tender it." + + _As You Like It_. + + +The lot of the conscientious philanthropist is not an easy one. The kind +but unthinking rich can strew their benefits about, careless of their +effect on the recipients, but the path of the earnest lover of his +fellows is thorny and difficult, and dark with disappointment. + +To Jean in her innocence it had seemed that money was the one thing +necessary to make bright the lives of her poorer neighbours. She +pictured herself as a sort of fairy godmother going from house to house +carrying sunshine and leaving smiles and happiness in her wake. She soon +found that her dreams had been rosy delusions. Far otherwise was the +result of her efforts. + +"It's like something in a fairy-tale," she complained to Pamela. "You +are given a fairy palace, but when you try to go to it mountains of +glass are set before you and you can't reach it. You can't think how +different the people are to me now. The very poor whom I thought I could +help don't treat me any longer like a friend to whom they can tell +their troubles in a friendly way. The poor-spirited ones whine, with an +eye on my pocket, and where I used to get welcoming smiles I now only +get expectant grins. And the high-spirited ones are so afraid that I'll +offer them help that their time is spent in snubbing me and keeping me +in my place." + +"It's no use getting down about it," Pamela told her. "You are only +finding what thousands have found before you, that's it the most +difficult thing in the world to be wisely charitable. You will never +remove mountains. If you can smooth a step here and there for people and +make your small corner of the world as pleasant as possible you do very +well." + +Jean agreed with a sigh. "If I don't finish by doing harm. I have awful +thoughts sometimes about the dire effects money may have on the boys--on +Mhor especially. In any case it will change their lives entirely. It's a +solemnising thought," and she laughed ruefully. + +Jean plodded on her well-doing way, and knocked her head against many +posts, and blundered into pitfalls, and perhaps did more good and earned +more real gratitude than she had any idea of. + +"It doesn't matter if I'm cheated ninety-nine times if I'm some real +help the hundredth time," she told herself. "Puir thing," said the +recipients of her bounty, in kindly tolerance, "she means weel, and it's +a kindness to help her awa' wi' some o' her siller. A' she gies us is +juist like tippence frae you or me." + +One woman, at any rate, blessed Jean in her heart, though her stiff, +ungracious lips could not utter a word of thanks. Mary Abbot lived in a +neat cottage surrounded by a neat garden. She was a dressmaker in a +small way, and had supported her mother till her death. She had been +very happy with her work and her bright, tidy house and her garden and +her friends, but for more than a year a black fear had brooded over her. +Her sight, which was her living, was going. She saw nothing before her +but the workhouse. Death she would have welcomed, but this was shame. +For months she had fought it out, as her eyes grew dimmer, letting no +one know of the anxiety that gnawed at her heart. No one suspected +anything wrong. She was always neatly dressed at church, she always had +her small contribution ready for collectors, her house shone with +rubbing, and as she did not seem to want to take in sewing now, people +thought that she must have made a competency and did not need to work so +hard. + +Jean knew Miss Abbot well by sight. She had sat behind her in church all +the Sundays of her life, and had often admired the tidy appearance of +the dressmaker, and thought that she was an excellent advertisement of +her own wares. Lately she had noticed her thin and ill-coloured, and +Mrs. Macdonald had said one day, "I wonder if Miss Abbot is all right. +She used to be such a help at the sewing meeting, and now she doesn't +come at all, and her excuses are lame. When I go to see her she always +says she is perfectly well, but I am not at ease about her. She's the +sort of woman who would drop before she made a word of complaint...." + +One morning when passing the door Jean saw Miss Abbot polishing her +brass knocker. She stopped to say good morning. + +"Are you keeping well, Miss Abbot? There is so much illness about." + +"I'm in my usual, thank you," said Miss Abbot stiffly. + +"I always admire the flowers in your window," said Jean. "How do you +manage to keep them so fresh looking? Ours get so mangy. May I come in +for a second and look at them?" + +Miss Abbot stood aside and said coldly that Jean might come in if she +liked, but her flowers were nothing extra. + +It was the tidiest of kitchens she entered. Everything shone that could +be made to shine. A hearthrug made by Miss Abbot's mother lay before the +fireplace, in which a mere handful of fire was burning. An arm-chair +with cheerful red cushions stood beside the fire. It was quite +comfortable, but Jean felt a bareness. There were no pots on the +fire--nothing seemed to be cooking for dinner. + +She admired the flowers and got instructions from their owner when to +water and when to refrain from watering, and then, seating herself in a +chair with an assurance she was far from feeling, she proceeded to try +to make Miss Abbot talk. That lady stood bolt upright waiting for her +visitor to go, but Jean, having got a footing, was determined to remain. + +"Are you very busy just now?" she asked. "I was wondering if you could +do some sewing for me? I don't know whether you ever go out by the day?" + +"No," said Miss Abbot. + +"We could bring it you here if you would do it at your leisure." + +"I can't take in any more work just now. I'm sorry." + +"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. Perhaps later on.... I'm keeping you. It's +Saturday morning, and you'll want to get on with your work." + +"Yes." + +There was a silence, and Jean reluctantly rose to go. Miss Abbot had +turned her back and was looking into the fire. + +"Good morning, Miss Abbot. Thank you so much for letting me know about +the flowers." Then she saw that Miss Abbot was crying--crying in a +hopeless, helpless way that made Jean's heart ache. She went to her and +put her hand on her arm. "Won't you tell me what's wrong? Do sit down +here in the arm-chair. I'm sure you're not well." + +Miss Abbot allowed herself to be led to the arm-chair Having once given +way she was finding it no easy matter to regain control of herself. + +"Is it that you aren't well?" Jean asked. "I know it's a wretched +business trying to go on working when one is seedy." + +Miss Abbot shook her head. "It's far worse than that. I have to refuse +work for I can't see to do it. I'm losing my sight and ...and there is +nothing before me but the workhouse." + +Over and over again in the silence of the night she had said those +words to herself: she had seen them written in letters of fire on the +walls of her little room: they had seemed seared into her brain, but she +had never meant to tell a soul, not even the minister, and here she was +telling this slip of a girl. + +Jean gave a cry and caught her hands. "Oh no, no! Never that!" + +"I've no relations," said Miss Abbot. She was quiet now and calm, and +hopeless. "And if I had I couldn't be a burden on them. Nobody wants a +penniless, half-blind woman. I've had to use up all my savings this +winter ...it will just have to be the workhouse." + +"But it shan't be," said Jean. "What's the use of me if I'm not to help? +No. Don't stiffen and look at me like that. I'm not offering you +charity. Perhaps you may have heard that I've been left a lot of +money--in trust. It's your money as much as mine; if it's anybody's it's +God's money. I felt I just couldn't pass your door this morning, and I +spoke to you, though I was frightfully scared--you looked so +stand-offish.... Now listen. All I've got to do is to send your name to +my lawyer--he's in London, and he knows nothing about anybody in +Priorsford, so you needn't worry about him--and he will arrange that you +get a sufficient income all your life. No, it isn't charity. You've +fought hard all your life for others, and it's high time you got a rest. +Everyone should get a rest and a competency when they are sixty. (Not +that you are nearly that, of course.) Some day that happy state of +affairs will be. Now the kettle's almost boiling, and I'm going to make +you a cup of tea. Where's the caddy?" + +There was a spoonful of tea in the caddy, but in the cupboard there was +only the heel of a loaf--no butter, no cheese, no jam. + +"I'm at the end of my tether," Miss Abbot admitted. "And unless I touch +the money laid away for my rent, I haven't a penny in the house." + +"Then," said Jean, "it was high time I turned up." She heated the teapot +and poked the bit of coal into a blaze. "Now here's your tea"--she +reached for her bag that lay on the table--"and here's some money to go +on with. Oh, please don't let's go over it all again. Do, my dear, be +reasonable." + +"I doubt it's charity," said poor Miss Abbot, "but I cannot refuse. +Indeed, I don't seem to take it in.... I've whiles dreamed something +like this, and cried when I wakened. This last year has been something +awful--trying to hide my failing eye-sight and pretending I didn't need +sewing when I was near starving, and always seeing the workhouse before +me. When I got up this morning there seemed to be a high wall in front +of me, and I knew I had come to the end. I thought God had forgotten +me." + +"Not a bit of it," said Jean. "Put away that money like a sensible body, +and I'll write to my lawyer to-day. And the next thing to do is to go +with me to an oculist, for your eyes may not be as bad as you think. +You know, Miss Abbot, you haven't treated your friends well, keeping +them all at arm's length because you were in trouble. Friends do like to +be given the chance of being useful.... Now I'll tell you what to do. +This is a nice fresh day. You go and do some shopping, and be sure and +get something nice for your supper, and fresh butter and marmalade and +things, and then go for a walk along Tweedside and let the wind blow on +you, and then drop in and have a cup of tea and a gossip with one of the +friends you've been neglecting lately, and you see if you don't feel +heaps better.... Remember nobody knows anything about this but you and +me. I shan't even tell Mr. Macdonald.... You will get papers and things +to sign, I expect, from the lawyer, and if you want anything explained +you will come to The Rigs, won't you? Perhaps you would rather I didn't +come here much. Good morning, Miss Abbot," and Jean went away. "For all +the world," as Miss Abbot said to herself, "as if lifting folk from the +miry clay and setting their feet on a rock was all in the day's work." + + * * * * * + +The days slipped away and March came and David was home again; such a +smart David in new clothes and (like Shakespeare's Town Clerk) +"everything handsome about him." + +He immediately began to entice Jean into spending money. It was absurd, +he said, to have no one but Mrs. M'Cosh: a smart housemaid must be got. + +"She would only worry Mrs. M'Cosh," Jean protested "and there isn't +room for another maid, and I hate smart maids anyway. I like to help in +the house myself." + +"But that's so absurd," said David, "with all your money. You should +enjoy life now." + +"Yes," said Jean meekly, "but smart maids wouldn't help me to--quite the +opposite.... And don't you get ideas into your head about smartness, +Davie. The Rigs could never be smart: you must go to The Towers for +that. So long as we live at The Rigs we must be small plain people. And +I hope I shall live here all my life--and so that's that!" + +David, greatly exasperated, bounded from his chair the better to +harangue his sister. + +"Jean, anybody would think you were a hundred to hear you talk! You'll +get nothing out of life except perhaps a text on your tombstone, 'She +hath done what she could,' and that's a dull prospect.... Why aren't you +more like other girls? Why don't you do your hair the new way, all sort +of--oh, I don't know, and wear earrings ... you know you don't dress +smartly." + +"No," said Jean. + +"And you haven't any tricks. I mean you don't try and attract attention +to yourself." + +"No," said Jean. + +"You don't talk like other girls, and you're not keen on the new dances. +I think you like being old-fashioned." + +"I'm afraid I'm a failure as a girl," Jean confessed, "but perhaps I'll +get more charming as I get older. Look at Pamela!" + +"Oh, _Miss Reston_," said David, in the tone that he might have said +"Helen of Troy." ... "But seriously, Jean, I think you are using your +money in a very dull way. You see, you're so dashed _helpful_. What +makes you want to think all the time about slum children?... I think +you'd better present your money all in a lump to the Government as a +drop in the ocean of the National Debt." + +"I'll not give it to the Government," said Jean, "but we may count +ourselves lucky if they don't thieve it from us. I'm at one with Bella +Bathgate when she says, 'I'm no verra sure aboot thae politicians +Liberal _or_ Tory.' I think she fears that any day they may grab +Hillview from her." + +"Anyway," David persisted, "we might have a car. I learned to drive at +Oxford. It would be frightfully useful, you know, a little car." + +"Useful!" laughed Jean. "Have you written any more, Davie?" + +David explained that the term had been a very busy one, and that his +time had been too much occupied for any outside work, and Jean +understood that the stimulus of poverty having been removed David had +fallen into easier ways. And why not--at nineteen? + +"We must think about a car. Do you know all about the different makes? +We mustn't be rash." + +David assured her that he would make all inquiries and went out of the +room whistling blithely. Jean, left alone, sat thinking. Was the money +to be a treasure to her or the reverse? It was fine to give David what +he wanted, to know that Jock and Mhor could have the best of everything, +but their wants would grow and grow; simple tastes and habits were +easily shed, and luxurious ways easily learned. Would the possession of +money spoil the boys? She sighed, and then smiled rather ruefully as she +thought of David and his smart maids and motors and his desire to turn +her into a modern girl. It was very natural and very boyish of him. +"He'll have the face ett off me," said Jean, quoting the Irish R.M.... +Richard Plantagenet hadn't minded her being old-fashioned. + +It was odd how empty her life felt when it ought to feel so rich. She +had the three boys beside her, Pamela was next door, she had all manner +of schemes in hand to keep her thoughts occupied--but there was a great +want somewhere. Jean owned to herself that the blank had been there ever +since Lord Bidborough went away. It was frightfully silly, but there it +was. And probably by this time he had quite forgotten her. It had amused +him to imagine himself in love, something to pass the time in a dull +little town. She knew from books that men had a roving fancy--but even +as she said it to herself her heart rebuked her for disloyalty Richard +Plantagenet's eyes, laughing, full of kindness and honest--oh, honest, +she was sure!--looked into hers. She thrilled again as she seemed to +feel the touch of his hand and heard his voice saying, "Oh, +Penny-plain, are you going to send me away?" Why hadn't he written to +congratulate her on the fortune? He might have done that, surely.... And +Pamela hardly spoke of him. Didn't seem to think Jean would be +interested. Jean, whose heart leapt into her throat at the mere casual +mention of his name. + +Jean looked up quickly, hearing a step on the gravel. It was Pamela +sauntering in, smiling over her shoulder at Mhor, who was swinging on +the gate with Peter by his side. + +"Oh, Pamela, I am glad to see you. David says I am using the money in +such a stuffy way. Do you think I am?" + +"What does David want you to do?" Pamela asked, as she threw off her +coat and knelt before the fire to warm her hands. + + "'To eat your supper in a room + Blazing with lights, four Titians on the wall + And twenty naked girls to change your plate?'" + +Jean laughed. "Something like that, I suppose. Anyway he wants a smart +parlour-maid at once, and a motor-car. Also he wants me to wear +earrings, and talk slang, and wear the newest sort of clothes." + +"Poor Penny-plain, are you going to be forced into being twopence +coloured? But I think you should get another maid; you have too much to +do. And a car would be a great interest to you. Jock and Mhor would love +it too: you could go touring all round in it. You must begin to see the +world now. I think, perhaps, David is right. It is rather stuffy to +stick in the same place (even if that place is Priorsford) when the +whole wide world is waiting to be looked at.... I remember a dear old +curé in Switzerland who, when he retired from his living at the age of +eighty, set off to see the world. He told me he did it because he was +quite sure when he entered heaven's gate the first question God would +put to him would be, 'And what did you think of My world?' and he wanted +to be in a position to answer intelligently.... He was an old dear. When +you come to think of it, it is a little ungrateful of you, Jean, not to +want to taste all the pleasures provided for the inhabitants of this +earth. There is no sense in useless extravagance, but there is a certain +fitness in things. A cottage is a delicious thing, but it is meant for +the lucky people with small means; the big houses have their uses too. +That's why so many rich people have discontented faces. It's because to +them £200 a year and a cottage is 'paradise enow' and they are doomed to +the many mansions and the many servants." + +Jean nodded. "Mrs. M'Cosh often says, 'There's mony a lang gant in a +cairriage,' and I dare say it's true. I don't want to be ungrateful, +Pamela. I think it's about the worst sin one can commit--ingratitude. +And I don't want to be stuffy, either, but I think I was meant for small +ways." + +"Poor Penny-plain! Never mind. I'm not going to preach any more. You +shall do just as you please with your life. I was remembering, Jean, +your desire to go to the Shakespeare Festival at Stratford in April. Why +not motor there? It is a lovely run. I meant to take you myself, but I +expect you would enjoy it much better if you went with the boys. It +would be great fun for you all, and take you away from your +philanthropic efforts and let you see round everything clearly." + +Jean's eyes lit with interest, and Pamela, seeing the light in them, +went on: + +"Everybody should make a pilgrimage in spring: it's the correct thing to +do. Imagine starting on an April morning, through new roads, among +singing birds and cowslips and green new leaves, and stopping at little +inns for the night--lovely, Jean." + +Jean gave a great sigh. + +"Lovely," she echoed. Lovely, indeed, to be away from housekeeping and +poor people and known paths for a little, and into leafy Warwick lanes +and the rich English country which she had never seen. + +"And then," Pamela went on, "you would come back appreciating Priorsford +more than you have ever done. You would come back to Tweed and Peel +Tower and the Hopetoun Woods with a new understanding. There's nothing +so makes you appreciate your home as leaving it.... Bother! That's the +bell. Visitors!" + +It was only one visitor--Lewis Elliot. + +"Cousin Lewis!" cried Jean. "Where in the world have you been? Three +whole months since you went away and never a word from you. You didn't +even write to Mrs. Hope." + +"No," said Lewis; "I was rather busy." He greeted Pamela and sat down. + +"Were you so very busy that you couldn't write so much as a post card? +And I don't believe you know that I'm an heiress?" + +"Yes; I heard that, but only the other day. It was a most unexpected +windfall. I was delighted to hear about it." Jean looked at him and +wondered if he were well. His long holiday did not seem to have improved +his spirits; he was more absent-minded than usual and disappointingly +uninterested. + +"I didn't know you were back in Priorsford," he said, addressing Pamela, +"till I met your brother in London. I called on you just now, and Miss +Bathgate sent me over here." + +"Is Biddy amusing himself well?" Pamela asked. + +"I should think excellently well. I dined with him one night and he +seemed in great spirits. He seemed to be very much in request. He wanted +to take me about a bit, but I've got out of London ways. I don't seem to +know what to talk about to this new generation and I yawn. I'm better at +home at Laverlaw among the sheep." + +Mrs. M'Cosh came in to lay the tea, and Jean said: "You'll have tea +here, Cousin Lewis, though this isn't my visit, and then you can go over +to Hillview with Pamela and pay your visit to her. You mustn't miss the +opportunity of killing two birds with one stone. Besides, Pamela's time +in Priorsford is so short now, you mayn't have another chance of paying +a visit of ceremony." + +"Well, if I may--" + +"Yes, do come. I expect Jean has had enough of me for one day. I've been +lecturing her.... By the way, where are the boys to-day? Mhor was +swinging on the gate as I came in. He told me he was going somewhere, +but his speech was obstructed by a large piece of toffee, and I couldn't +make out what he said." + +"He was waiting for Jock," said Jean. "Did you notice that he was very +clean, and that his hair was sleeked down with brilliantine? They are +invited to bring Peter to tea at the Miss Watsons', and are in great +spirits about it. They generally hate going out to tea, but Jock +discovered recently that the Watsons had a father who was a sea captain. +That fact has thrown such a halo round the two ladies that he can't keep +away from them. They have allowed him to go to the attic and rummage in +the big sea-chests which, he says, are chockful of treasures like +ostrich eggs and lumps of coral and Chinese idols. It seems the Miss +Watsons won't have these treasures downstairs as they don't look genteel +among the 'new art' ornaments admired in Balmoral. All the treasures are +to be on view to-day (Jock has great hopes of persuading the dear ladies +to give him one to bring home, what he calls a 'Chinese scratcher'--it +certainly sounds far from genteel) and a gorgeous spread as well--Jock +confided to me that he thought there might even be sandwiches; and Peter +being invited has filled Mhor's cup of happiness to the brim. So few +people welcome that marauder." + +"I wish I could be there to hear the conversation," said Pamela. "Jock +with his company manners is a joy." + +An hour later Lewis Elliot accompanied Pamela back to Hillview. + +"It's rather absurd," he protested. "I'm afraid I'm inflicting myself on +you, but if you will give me half an hour I shall be grateful." + +"You must tell me about Biddy," Pamela said, as she sat down in her +favourite chair. "Draw up that basket chair, won't you? and be +comfortable. You look as if you were just going to dart away again. Did +Biddy say anything in particular?" + +"He told me to come and see you.... I won't take a chair, thanks. I +would rather stand. ....Pamela, I know it's the most frightful cheek, +but I've cared for you exactly twenty-five years. You never had a notion +of it, I know, and of course I never said anything, for to think of your +marrying a penniless, dreamy sort of idiot was absurd--you who might +have married anybody! I couldn't stay near you loving you as I did, so I +went right out of your life. I don't suppose you ever noticed I had +gone, you had always so many round you waiting for a smile.... I used to +read the lists of engagements in the _Times_, dreading to see your name. +No, that's not the right word, because I loved you well enough to wish +happiness for you whoever brought it. I sometimes heard of you from one +and another, and I never forgot--never for a day. Then my uncle died and +my cousin was killed, and I came back to Priorsford and settled down at +Laverlaw, and was content and quite fairly happy. The War came, and of +course I offered my services. I wasn't much use but, thank goodness, I +got out to France, and got some fighting--a second-lieutenant at forty! +It was the first time I had ever felt myself of some real use.... Then +that finished and I was back at Laverlaw among my sheep--and you came to +Priorsford The moment I saw you I knew that my love for you was as +strong and young as it was twenty years ago...." + +Pamela sat fingering a fan she had taken up to protect her face from the +blaze and looking into the fire. + +"Pamela. Have you nothing to say to me?" + +"Twenty-five years is a long time," Pamela said slowly. "I was fifteen +then and you were twenty. Twenty years ago I was twenty and you were +twenty-five--why didn't you speak then, Lewis? You went away and I +thought you didn't care. Does a man never think how awful it is for a +woman who has to wait without speaking? You thought you were noble to go +away.... I suppose it must have been for some wise reason that the good +God made men blind, but it's hard on the women. You might at least have +given me the chance to say No." + +"I was a coward. But it was unbelievable that you could care. You never +showed me by word or look." + +"Was it likely? I was proud and you were blind, so we missed the best. +We lost our youth and I very nearly lost my soul. After you left, +nothing seemed to matter but enjoying myself as best I could. I hated +the thought of growing old, and I looked at the painted, restless faces +round me and wondered if they were afraid too. Then I thought I would +marry and have more of a reason for living. A man offered himself--a man +with a great position--and I accepted him and it was worse than ever, so +I fled from it all--to Priorsford. I loved it from the first, the little +town and the river and the hills, and Bella Bathgate's grim honesty and +poor cookery! And you came into my life again and I found I couldn't +marry the other man and his position...." + +"Pamela, can you really marry a fool like me? ... It's my fault that +we've missed so much, but thank God we haven't missed everything. I +think I could make you happy. I wouldn't ask you to stay at Laverlaw for +more than a month or two at a time. We would live in London if you +wanted to. I could stick even London if I had you." + +Pamela looked at him with laughter in her eyes. + +"And you couldn't say fairer than that, my dear. No, no, Lewis. If I +marry you we'll live at Laverlaw I love your green glen already; it's a +place after my own heart. We won't trouble London much, but spend our +declining years among the sheep--unless you become suddenly ambitious +for public honours and, as Mrs. Hope desires, enter Parliament." + +"There's no saying what I may do now. Already I feel twice the man I +was." + +They talked in the firelight and Pamela said: "I'm not sure that our +happiness won't be the greater because it has come twenty years late. +Twenty years ago we would have taken it pretty much as a matter of +course. We would have rushed at our happiness and swallowed it whole, so +to speak. Now, with twenty lonely, restless years behind us we shall go +slowly, and taste every moment and be grateful. Years bring their +compensation.... It's a funny world. It's a _nice,_ funny world." + +"I think," said Lewis, "I know something of what Jacob must have felt +after he had served all the years and at last took Rachel by the hand--" + +"'Served' is good," said Pamela in mocking tones. + +But her eyes were tender. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + "It was high spring, and, all the way + Primrosed and hung with shade...." + + HENRY VAUGHAN. + + "There is no private house in which people can enjoy themselves so + well as at a capital tavern.... No, Sir, there is nothing which has + yet been contrived by man by which so much happiness is produced as + by a good tavern or inn."--DR. JOHNSON. + + + +Pamela and David between them carried the day, and a motor-car was +bought. It was not the small useful car talked about at first, but one +which had greatly taken the fancy of the Jardine family in the +showroom--a large landaulette of a well-known make, upholstered in +palest fawn, fitted with every newest device, very sumptuous and very +shiny. + +They described it minutely to Pamela before she went with them to see it +and fix definitely. + +"It runs beautifully," said David. + +"It's about fifty horse-power," said Jock. + +"And, Honourable," said Mhor, "it's got electric light inside, just like +a little house, and all sorts of lovely things--a clock and--" + +"And, I suppose, hot and cold water laid on," said Pamela. + +"The worst thing about it," Jean said, "is that it looks _horribly_ +rich--big and fat and purring--just as if it were saying, 'Out of the +way, groundlings' You know what an insolent look big cars have." + +"Your small deprecating face inside will take away from the effect," +Pamela assured her; "and you need a comfortable car to tour about in. +When do you go exactly?" + +"On the twentieth," Jean told her. "We take David first to Oxford, or +rather he takes us, for he understands maps and can find the road; then +we go on to Stratford. I wrote for rooms as you told me, and for seats +for the plays, and I have heard from the people that we can have both. I +do wish you were coming, Pamela--won't you think better of it?" + +"My dear, I would love it--but it can't be done. I must go to London +this week. If we are to be married on first June there are simply +multitudes of things to arrange. But I'll tell you what, Jean. I shall +come to Stratford for a day or two when you are there. I shouldn't be a +bit surprised if Biddy were there too. If he happened to be in England +in April he always made a pilgrimage to the Shakespeare Festival. +Mintern Abbas isn't very far from Stratford, and Mintern Abbas in spring +is heavenly. _That's_ what we must arrange--a party at Mintern Abbas. +You would like that, wouldn't you, Jock?" + +"Would Richard Plantagenet be there? I would like awfully to see him +again. It's been so dull without him." + +Mhor asked if there were any railways near Mintern Abbas, and was +rather cast down when told that the nearest railway station was seven +miles distant. It amazed him that anyone should, of choice, live away +from railways. The skirl of an engine was sweeter to his ears than horns +of elf-land faintly blowing, and the dream of his life was to be allowed +to live in a small whitewashed shanty which he knew of, on the +railway-side, where he could spend ecstatic days watching every +"passenger" and every "goods" that rushed shrieking, or dawdled +shunting, along the permanent way. To him each different train had its +own features. "I think," he told Jean, "that the nine train is the most +good-natured of the trains; he doesn't care how many carriages and +horse-boxes they stick on to him. The twelve train has always a cross, +snorty look, but the five train"--his voice took the fondling note that +it held for Peter and Barrie, the cat--"that little five train goes much +the fastest; he's the hero of the day!" + +Pamela's engagement to Lewis Elliot had made, what Mrs. M'Cosh called, +"a great speak" in Priorsford. On the whole, it was felt that she had +done well for herself. The Elliots were an old and honoured family, and +the present laird, though shy and retiring, was much liked by his +tenants, and respected by everyone. Pamela had made herself very popular +in Priorsford, and people were pleased that she should remain as lady of +Laverlaw. + +"Ay," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "he's waited lang, but he's waled weel in the +end. He's gotten a braw leddy, and she'll no' be as flighty as a young +yin, for Mr. Elliot likes quiet ways. An' then she has plenty siller, +an' that's a help. A rale sensible marriage!" + +Bella Bathgate agreed. "It'll mak' a big differ at Laverlaw," she said, +"for she's the kind o' body that makes hersel' felt in a hoose. I didna +want her at Hillview wi' a' her trunks and her maid and her fal-lals an' +her fykey ways, but, d'ye ken, I'll miss her something horrid. She was +an awfu' miss in the hoose when she was awa' at Christmas-time; I was +fair kinna lost wi'out her. It'll be rale nice for Maister Elliot havin' +her aye there. It's mebbe a wakeness on ma pairt, but I whiles mak' +messages into the room juist to see her sittin' pittin' stitches into +that embroidery, as they ca' it, an' hear her gie that little lauch o' +hers! She has me fair bewitched. There's a kinna _glawmour_ aboot her. +An' I tell ye I culdna stand her by onything at the first.... I even +think her bonnie noo--an' she's no' that auld. I saw a pictur in a paper +the ither day of a new-mairit couple, an' _baith o' them had the +auld-age pension._" + +Jean looked on rather wistfully at her friend's happiness. She was most +sincerely glad that the wooing--so long delayed--should end like an old +play and Jack have his Jill, but it seemed to add to the empty feeling +in her own heart. Pamela's casual remark about her brother perhaps being +at Stratford had filled her for the moment with wild joy, but hearts +after leaps ache, and she had quickly reminded herself that Richard +Plantagenet had most evidently accepted the refusal as final and would +never be anything more to her than Pamela's brother. It was quite as it +should be, but life in spite of April and a motor-car was, what Mhor +called a minister's life, "a dullsome job." + +That year spring came, not reluctantly, as it often does in the uplands, +but generously, lavishly, scattering buds and leaves and flowers and +lambs, and putting a spirit of youth into everything. The days were as +warm as June, and fresh as only April days can be. The Jardines +anxiously watched the sun-filled days pass, wishing they had arranged to +go earlier, fearful lest they should miss all the good weather. It +seemed impossible that it could go on being so wonderful, but day +followed day in golden succession and there was no sign of a break. + +David spent most of his days at the depôt that held the car, there being +no garage at The Rigs, and Jock and Mhor worshipped with him. A +chauffeur had been engaged, one Stark, a Priorsford youth, a steady +young man and an excellent driver. He had never been farther than +Edinburgh. + +The 20th came at last. Jock and Mhor were up at an unearthly hour, +parading the house, banging at Mrs. M'Cosh's door, and imploring her to +rise in case breakfast was late, and thumping the barometer to see if it +showed any inclination to fall. The car was ordered for nine o'clock, +but they were down the road looking for it at least half an hour before +it was due, feverishly anxious in case something had happened either to +it or to Stark. + +The road before The Rigs was quite crowded that April morning. Mrs. +M'Cosh stood at the gate beside the dancing daffodils and the tulips and +the opening wallflowers in the border, her hands folded on her spotless +white apron, her face beaming with its accustomed kind smile, and +watched her family depart. + +"Keep a haud o' Peter, Mhor," she cautioned. "Ye needna come back here +if ye lose him." The safety of the rest of the party did not seem to +concern her. + +Mr. and Mrs. Jowett were there, having breakfasted an hour earlier than +usual, thus risking the wrath of their cherished domestics. Mrs. Jowett +was carrying a large box of chocolates as a parting gift to the boys, +while Mr. Jowett had a bottle of lavender water for Jean. + +Augusta Hope had walked up from Hopetoun with her mother's love to the +travellers, a basket of fruit for the boys, and a book for Jean. + +The little Miss Watsons hopped forth from their dwelling with an +offering of a home-baked cake, "just in case you get hungry on the road, +you know." + +Bella Bathgate was there, looking very saturnine, and counselling Mhor +as to his behaviour. "Dinna lean oot o' the caur. Mony a body has lost +their heid stickin' it oot of a caur. Here's some tea-biscuits for +Peter. You'll be ower prood for onything but curranty-cake, I suppose." + +Mhor assured her he was not, and gratefully accepted the biscuits. +"Isn't it fun Peter's going? I couldn't have gone either if he hadn't +been allowed, but I expect I'll have to hold him in my arms a lot. +He'll want to jump out at dogs." + +And Mr. and Mrs. Macdonald were there--Mrs. Macdonald absolutely weighed +down with gifts. "It's just a trifle for each of you," she explained. +"No, no, don't thank me; it's nothing." + +"I've brought you nothing but my blessing, Jean," the minister said. +"You'll never be better than I wish you." + +"Don't talk as if I were going away for good," said Jean, with a lump in +her throat. "It's only a little holiday." + +"Who can tell?" sighed Mrs. Macdonald. "It's an uncertain world. But +we'll hope that you'll come back to us, Jean. Are you sure you are +warmly clad? Remember it's only April, and the evenings are cold." + +David packed Jean, Jock, and Mhor into the car. Peter was poised on one +of the seats that let down, a cushion under him to protect the pale fawn +cloth from his paws. All the presents found places, the luggage was put +on the top, Stark took his seat, David, his coat pocket bulging with +maps, got in beside him; and amid a chorus of good-byes they were off. + +Jean, looking back rather wistfully at The Rigs, got a last sight of +Mrs. M'Cosh shaking her head dubiously at the departing car. + +One of the best things in life is to start on a spring morning for a +holiday. To Jock and Mhor at least life seemed a very perfect thing as +the car slid down the hill, over Tweed Bridge, over Cuddy Bridge, and +turned sharp to the left up the Old Town. Soon they were out of the +little grey town that looked so clean and fresh with its shining morning +face, and running through the deep woods above Peel Tower. Small +children creeping unwillingly to school stopped to watch them, and Mhor +looked at them pityingly. School seemed a thing so far removed from his +present happy state as not to be worth remembering. Somewhere, +doubtless, unhappy little people were learning the multiplication table, +and struggling with the spelling of uncouth words, but Mhor, sitting in +state in "Wilfred the Gazelle" (for so David had christened the new +car), could only spare them a passing thought. + +He looked at Peter sitting self-consciously virtuous on the seat +opposite, he leaned across Jean to send a glance of profound +satisfaction to Jock, then he raked from his pocket a cake of +butter-scotch and sank back in his seat to crunch in comfort. + +They followed Tweed as it ran by wood and field and hamlet, and as they +reached the moorlands of the upper reaches Jean began to notice that +Wilfred the Gazelle was not running as smoothly as usual. Perhaps it was +imagination, Jean thought, or perhaps it was the effect of having +luggage on the top, but in her inmost heart she knew it was more than +that, and she was not surprised. + +Jean was filled with a deep-seated distrust of motors. She felt that +every motor was just waiting its chance to do its owner harm. She had +started with no real hope of reaching any destination, and expected +nothing less than to spend the night camping inside the car in some +lonely spot. She had all provisions made for such an occurrence. + +Jock said suddenly, "We're not going more than ten miles an hour," and +then the car stopped altogether and David and Stark got down. Jean +leaned out and asked what was wrong, and David said shortly that there +was nothing wrong. + +Presently he and Stark got back into their places and the car was +started again. But it went slowly, haltingly, like a bird with a broken +wing. They made up on a man driving a brown horse in a wagonette--a man +with a brown beard and a cheerful eye--and passed him. + +The car stopped again. + +Again David and Stark got out and stared and poked and consulted +together. Again Jean's head went out, and again she received the same +short and unsatisfactory answer. + +The brown-bearded man and his wagonette made up on them, looked at the +car in an interested way, and passed on. + +Again the car started, passed the wagonette, and went on for about a +mile and stopped. + +Again Jean's head went out. + +"David," she said, "what _is_ the matter?" and it goes far to show how +harassed that polished Oxonian was when he replied, "If you don't take +your face out of that I'll slap it." + +Jean withdrew at once, feeling that she had been tactless and David had +been unnecessarily rude--David who had never been rude to her since they +were children, and had told each other home-truths without heat and +without ill-feeling on either side. If this was to be the effect of +owning a car-- + +"Wilfred the Gazelle's dead," said Mhor, and got out, followed by Jock, +and in a minute or two by Jean. + +They all sat down in the heather by the road-side. + +Dead car nowithstanding, it was delicious sitting there in the spring +sunshine. Tweed was nearing its source and was now only a trickling +burn. A lark was singing high up in the blue. The air was like new wine. +The lambs were very young, for spring comes slowly up that way, and one +tottering little fellow was found by Mhor, and carried rapturously to +Jean. + +"Take it; it's just born," he said. "Jock, hold Peter tight in case he +bites them." + +"Did you ever see anything quite so new?" Jean said as she stroked the +little head, "and yet so independent? Sheep are far before mortals. Its +eyes look so perplexed, Mhor. It's quite strange to the world and +doesn't know what to make of it. That's its mother over there. Take it +to her; she's crying for it." + +David came up and stood looking gloomily at the lamb. Perhaps he envied +it being so young and careless and motor-less. + +"Stark's busy with the car," he announced, rather needlessly, as the +fact was apparent to all. "I'm dashed if I know what's the matter with +the old bus.... Here's that man again...." + +Jean burst into helpless laughter as the wagonette again overtook them. +The driver flourished his whip and the horse broke into a canter--it +looked like derision. + +There was a long silence--then Jean said: + +"If it won't go, it's too big to move. We shall have to train ivy on it +and make it a feature of the landscape." + +"Or else," said David, savagely and irreverently--"or else hew it in +pieces before the Lord." + +Stark got up and straightened himself, wiped his hands and his forehead, +and came up to David. + +"I've found out what's wrong," he said. "She'll manage to Moffat, but +we'll have to get her put right there. It's...." He went into technical +details incomprehensible to Jean. + +They got back into the car and it sprang away as if suddenly endowed +with new life. In a trice they had passed the wagonette, leaving it in a +whirl of scornful dust. They ate the miles as a giant devours sheep. +They passed the Devil's Beef Tub--Jock would have liked to tarry there +and investigate, but Jean dared not ask Stark to stop in case they could +not start again--and soon went sliding down the hill to Moffat. Hot +puffs of scented air rose from the valley, they had left the moorlands +and the winds, and the town was holding out arms to welcome them. They +drove along the sunny, sleepy, midday High Street and stopped at a +hotel. + +Except David, no member of the Jardine family had ever been inside a +hotel, and it was quite an adventure for them to go up the steps from +the street, enter the swinging doors, and ask a polite woman with +elaborately done hair if they might have luncheon. Yes, they might, and +Peter, at present held tightly in Mhor's arms, could be fed in the +kitchen if that would suit. + +Stark had meantime taken the car to a motor-repairing place. + +It was half-past three before the car came swooping up to the hotel +doors. Jean gazed at it with a sort of fearful pride. It looked very +well if only it didn't play them false. Stark, too, looked well--a fine, +impassive figure. + +"Will it be all right, Stark?" she ventured to inquire, but Stark, who +rarely committed himself, merely said, "Mebbe." + +Stark had no manners, Jean reflected, but he had a nice face and was a +teetotaller, and one can't have everything. + +To Mhor's joy the road now ran for a bit by the side of the railway line +where thundered great express trains such as there never were in +Priorsford. They were spinning along the fine level road, making up for +lost time, when a sharp report startled them and made Mhor, who was +watching a train, lose his balance and fall forward on to Peter, who was +taking a sleep on the rug at their feet. + +It was a tyre gone, and there was no time to mend it if they were to be +at Carlisle in time for tea. Stark put on the spare wheel and they +started again. + +Fortune seemed to have got tired of persecuting them, and there were no +further mishaps. They ran without a pause through village after village, +snatching glimpses of lovely places where they would fain have +lingered, forgetting them as each place offered new beauties. + +The great excitement to Jock and Mhor was the crossing of the Border. + +"I did it once," said Mhor, "when I came from India, but I didn't notice +it." + +"Rather not," said Jock; "you were only two. I was four, wasn't I, Jean? +when I came from India, and I didn't notice it." + +"Is there a line across the road?" Mhor asked. "And do the people speak +Scots on one side and English on the other? I suppose we'll go over with +a bump." + +"There's nothing to show," Jock told him, "but there's a difference in +the air. It's warmer in England." + +"It's very uninterested of Peter to go on sleeping," Mhor said in a +disgusted tone. "You would think he would feel there was something +happening. And he's a Scots dog, too." + +The Border was safely crossed, and Jock professed to notice at once a +striking difference in air and landscape. + +"There's an English feel about things now," he insisted, sniffing and +looking all round him; "and I hear the English voices.... Mhor, this is +how the Scots came over to fight the English, only at night and on +horseback--into Carlisle Castle." + +"And I was English," said Mhor dreamily, "and I had a big black horse +and I pranced on the Castle wall and killed everyone that came." + +"You needn't boast about being English," Jock said, looking at Mhor +coldly. "I don't blame you, for you can't help it, but it's a pity." + +Mhor's face got very pink and there was a tremble in his voice, though +he said in a bragging tone, "I'm glad I'm English. The English are as +brave as--as--" + +"Of course they are," said Jean, holding Mhor's hand tight under the +rug. She knew how it hurt him to be, even for a moment, at variance with +Jock, his idol. "Mhor has every right to be proud of being English, +Jock. His father was a soldier and he has ancestors who were great +fighting men. And you know very well that it doesn't matter what side +you belong to so long as you are loyal to that side. You two would have +had some great fights if you had lived a few hundred years ago." + +"Yes," said Mhor. "I'd have killed a great many Scots--but not Jock." + +"Ho," said Jock, "a great many Scots would have killed you first." + +"Well, it's all past," said Jean; "and England and Scotland are one and +fight together now. This is Carlisle. Not much romance about it now, is +there? We're going to the Station Hotel for tea, so you will see the +train, Mhor, old man." + +"Mhor," said Jock, "that's one thing you would have missed if you'd +lived long ago--trains." + +The car had to have a tyre repaired and that took some time, so after +tea the Jardines stood in the station and watched trains for what was, +to Mhor at least, a blissful hour. It was thrilling to stand in the +half-light of the big station and see great trains come in, and the +passengers jump out and tramp about the platform and buy books and +papers from the bookstall, or fruit, or chocolate, or tea and buns from +the boys in uniform, who went about crying their wares. And then the +wild scurrying of the passengers--like hens before a motor, Jock +said--when the flag was waved and the train about to start. Mhor hoped +fervently, and a little unkindly, that at least one might be left +behind, but they all got in, though with some it was the last second of +the eleventh hour. There seemed to be hundreds of porters wheeling +luggage on trolleys, guards walked about looking splendid fellows, and +Mhor's eyes as he beheld them were the eyes of a lover on his mistress. +He could hardly be torn away when David came to say that Stark was +waiting with the car and that they could not hope to get farther than +Penrith that night. + +The dusk was falling and the vesper-bell ringing as they drove into the +town and stopped before a very comfortable-looking inn. + +It was past Mhor's bedtime, and it seemed to that youth a fit ending for +the most exciting day of his whole seven years of life, to sit up and +partake of mutton chops and apple-tart at an hour when he should have +been sound asleep. + +He saw Peter safely away in charge of a sympathetic "boots" before he +and Jock ascended to a bedroom with three small windows in the most +unexpected places, a bright, cheery paper, and two small white beds. + +Next morning the sun peeped in at all the odd-shaped windows on the two +boys sprawled over their beds in the attitudes in which they said they +best enjoyed slumber. + +It was another crystal-clear morning, with mist in the hollows and the +hilltops sharp against the sky. When Stark, taciturn as ever, came to +the door at nine o'clock, he found his party impatiently awaiting him on +the doorstep, eager for another day of new roads and fresh scenes. + +Jean asked him laughingly if Wilfred the Gazelle would live up to its +name this run, but Stark received the pleasantry coldly, having no use +for archness in any form. + +It was wonderful to rush through the morning air still sharp from a +touch of frost in the night, ascending higher and higher into the hills. +Mhor sang to himself in sheer joy of heart, and though no one knew what +were the words he sang, and Jock thought poorly of the tune, Peter +snuggled up to him and seemed to understand and like it. + +The day grew hot and dusty as they ran down from the Lake district, and +they were glad to have their lunch beside a noisy little burn in a green +meadow, from the well-stocked luncheon-basket provided by the Penrith +inn. Then they dipped into the black country, where tall chimneys +belched out smoke, and car-lines ran along the streets, and pale-faced, +hurrying people looked enviously at the big car with its load of youth +and good looks. Everything was grim and dirty and spoiled. Mhor looked +at the grimy place and said solemnly: + +"It reminds me of hell." + +"Haw, haw!" laughed Jock. "When did you see hell last?" + +"In the _Pilgrim's Progress_," said Mhor. + +One of the black towns provided tea in a café which purported to be +Japanese, but the only things about it that recalled that sunny island +overseas were the paper napkins, the china, and two fans nailed on the +wall; the linoleum-covered floor, the hard wooden chairs, the fly-blown +buns being peculiarly and bleakly British. + +Before evening the grim country was left behind. In the soft April +twilight they crossed wide moorlands (which Jock was inclined to resent +as being "too Scots to be English") until, as it was beginning to get +dark, they slid softly into Shrewsbury. + +The next day was as fine as ever. "Really," said Jean, as they strolled +before breakfast, watching the shops being opened and studying the old +timbered houses, "it's getting almost absurd: like Father's story of the +soldier who greeted his master every morning in India with 'Another hot +day, sirr.' We thought if we got one good day out of the three we were +to be on the road we wouldn't grumble, and here it goes on and on.... We +must come back to Shrewsbury, Davie. It deserves more than just to be +slept in...." + +"Aren't English breakfasts the best you ever tasted?" David asked as +they sat down to rashers of home-cured ham, corpulent brown sausages, +and eggs poached to a nicety. + +So far David had made an excellent guide. They had never once diverged +from the road they meant to take, but this third day of the run turned +out to be somewhat confused. They started off almost at once on the +wrong road and found themselves riding up a deep green lane into a +farmyard. Out again on the highway David found the number of cross-roads +terribly perplexing. Once he urged Stark to ask directions from a +cottage. Stark did so and leapt back into his seat. + +"Which road do we take?" David asked, as five offered themselves. + +"Didna catch what they said," Stark remarked as he chose a road at +random. + +"Didna catch it," was Stark's favourite response to everything. Later on +they came to the top of a steep hill ornamented by an enormous +warning-post with this alarming notice--"Cyclists dismount. Many +accidents. Some fatal." Stark went on unconcernedly, and Jean shouted at +him, holding desperately to the side of the car, as if her feeble +strength would help the brakes. "Stark! Stark! Didn't you see that +placard?" + +"Didna catch it," said Stark, as he swung light-heartedly down an almost +perpendicular hill into the valley of the Severn. + +"I do think Stark's a fool," said Jean bitterly, wrathful in the +reaction from her fright. "He does no damage on the road, and of course +I'm glad of that. I've seen him stop dead for a hen, and the wayfaring +man, though a fool, is safe from him; but he cares nothing for what +happens to the poor wretched people _inside_ the car. As nearly as +possible he had us over the parapet of that bridge." + +And later, when they found from the bill at lunch-time that Stark's +luncheon had consisted of "one mineral," she thought that the way he had +risked all their lives must have taken away his appetite. + +The car ran splendidly that day--David said it was getting into its +stride--and they got to Oxford for tea and had time to go and see +David's rooms before they left for Stratford. But David would let them +see nothing else. "No," he said; "it would be a shame to hurry over your +first sight. You must come here after Stratford. I'll take rooms for you +at the Mitre. I want to show you Oxford on a May morning." + +It was quite dark when they reached Stratford. To Jean it seemed strange +and delicious thus to enter Shakespeare's own town, the Avon a-glimmer +under the moon, the kingcups and the daisies asleep in the meadows. + +The lights of the Shakespeare Hotel shone cheerily as they came forward. +A "boots" with a wrinkled, whimsical face came out to help them in. +Shaded lights and fires (for the evenings were chilly) made a bright +welcome, and they were led across the stone-paved hall with its oaken +rafters, gate-legged tables, and bowls of spring flowers, up a steep +little staircase hung with old prints of the plays, down winding +passages to the rooms allotted to them. Jean looked eagerly at the name +on her door. + +"Hurrah! I've got 'Rosalind.' I wanted her most of all." + +Jock and Mhor had a room with two beds, rather incongruously called +"Anthony and Cleopatra." Jock was inclined to be affronted, and said it +was a silly-looking thing to put him in a room called after such an +amorous couple. If it had been Touchstone or Mercutio, or even Shylock, +he would not have minded, but the pilgrims of love got scant sympathy +from that sturdy misogynist. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + "It was a lover and his lass, + With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino, + That o'er the green corn-fields did pass, + In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time...." + + _As You Like It_. + + +Next morning Jean's eyes wandered round the dining-room as if looking +for someone, but there was no one she had ever seen before among the +breakfasters at the little round tables in the pretty room with its low +ceiling and black oak beams. To Jean, unused to hotel life and greatly +interested in her kind, it was like a peep into some thrilling book. She +could hardly eat her breakfast for studying the faces of her neighbours +and trying to place them. + +Were they all Shakespeare lovers? she wondered. + +The people at the next table certainly looked as if they might be: a +high-browed, thin-faced clergyman with a sister who was clever (from her +eye-glasses and the way her hair was done, Jean decided she must be very +clever), and a friend with them who looked literary--at least he had a +large pile of letters and a clean-shaven face; and they seemed, all +three, like Lord Lilac, to be "remembering him like anything." + +There were several clergymen in the room; one, rather fat, with a smug +look and a smartly dressed wife, Jean decided must have married an +heiress; another, with very prominent teeth and kind eyes, was +accompanied by an extremely aged mother and two lean sisters. + +One family party attracted Jean very much: a young-looking father and +mother, with two girls, very pretty and newly grown up, and a boy like +Davie. They were making plans for the day, deciding what to see and what +to leave unseen, laughing a great deal, and chaffing each other, parents +and children together. They looked so jolly and happy, as if they had +always found the world a comfortable place. They seemed rather amused to +find themselves at Stratford among the worshippers. Jean concluded that +they were of those "not bad of heart" who "remembered Shakespeare with a +start." + +Jock and Mhor were in the highest spirits. It seemed to them enormous +fun to be staying in a hotel, and not an ordinary square up-and-down +hotel, but a rambling place with little stairs in unexpected places, and +old parts and new parts, and bedrooms owning names, and a long, +low-roofed drawing-room with a window at the far end that opened right +out to the stable-yard through which pleasantries could be exchanged +with grooms and chauffeurs. There was a parlour, too, off the hall--the +cosiest of parlours with cream walls and black oak beams and supports, +two fireplaces round which were grouped inviting arm-chairs, tables with +books and papers, many bowls of daffodils. And all over the house hung +old prints of scenes in the plays; glorious pictures, some of +them--ghosts and murders over which Mhor gloated. + +They went before luncheon to the river and sailed up and down in a small +steam-launch named _The Swan of Avon_. Jean thought privately that the +presence of such things as steam-launches were a blot on Shakespeare's +river, but the boys were delighted with them, and at once began to plan +how one might be got to adorn Tweed. + +In the afternoon they walked over the fields to Shottery to see Anne +Hathaway's cottage. + +Jean walked in a dream. On just such an April day, when shepherds pipe +on oaten straws, Shakespeare himself must have walked here. It would be +different, of course; there would be no streets of little mean houses, +only a few thatched cottages. But the larks would be singing as they +were to-day, and the hawthorn coming out, and the spring flowers abloom +in Anne Hathaway's garden. + +She caught her breath as they went out of the sunshine into the dim +interior of the cottage. + +This ingle-nook ... Shakespeare must have sat here on winter evenings +and talked. Did he tell Anne Hathaway wonderful tales? Perhaps, when he +was not writing and weaving for himself a garment of immortality, he was +just an everyday man, genial with his neighbours, interested in all the +small events of his own town, just Master Shakespeare whom the children +looked up from their play to smile at as he passed. + +"Oh, Jock," Jean said, clutching her brother's sleeve. "Can you really +believe that _he_ sat here?--actually in this little room? Looked out of +the window--isn't it _wonderful_, Jock?" + +Jock, like Mr. Fearing, ever wakeful on the enchanted ground, rolled his +head uncomfortably, sniffed, and said, "It smells musty!" Both he and +Mhor were frankly much more interested in the fact that ginger-beer and +biscuits were to be had in the cottage next door. + +They mooned about all afternoon vastly content, and had tea in the +garden of a sort of enchanted cottage (with a card in the window which +bore the legend, "_We sell home-made lemonade, lavender, and pot-pourri +_"), among apple trees and spring flowers and singing birds, and ate +home-made bread and honey, and cakes with orange icing on them. A girl +in a blue gown, who might have been Sweet Anne Page, waited on them, and +Jean was so distressed at the amount they had eaten and at the smallness +of the bill presented that she slipped an extra large tip under a plate, +and fled before it could be discovered. + +It was a red-letter day for all three, for they were going to the +theatre that night for the first time. Jean had once been at a play with +her father, but it was so long ago as to be the dimmest memory, and she +was as excited as the boys. Their first play was to be _As You Like It_. +Oh, lucky young people to see, for the first time on an April evening, +in Shakespeare's own town, the youngest, gayest play that ever was +written! + +They ran up to their rooms to dress, talking and laughing. They could +not be silent, their hearts were so light. Jean sang softly to herself +as she laid out what she meant to wear that evening. Pamela had made her +promise to wear a white frock, the merest wisp of a frock made of lace +and georgette, with a touch of vivid green, and a wreath of green leaves +for the golden-brown head. Jean had protested. She was afraid she would +look overdressed: a black frock would be more suitable; but Pamela had +insisted and Jean had promised. + +As she looked in the glass she smiled at the picture she made. It was a +pity Pamela couldn't see how successful the frock was, for she had +designed it.... Lord Bidborough had never seen her prettily dressed. Why +did Pamela never mention him? Jean realised the truth of the old saying, +"Speak weel o' ma love, speak ill o' ma love, but aye speak o' him." + +She looked into the boys' room when she was ready and found them only +half dressed and engaged in a game of cock-fighting. Having admonished +them she went down alone. She went very slowly down the last flight of +stairs (she was shy of going into the dining-room)--a slip of a girl +crowned with green leaves. Suddenly she stopped. There, in the hall +watching her, alone but for the "boots" with the wrinkled, humorous face +and eyes of amused tolerance, was Richard Plantagenet. + +Behind her where she stood hung a print of _Lear_--the hovel on the +heath, the storm-bent trees, the figure of the old man, the shivering +Fool with his "Poor Tom's a-cold." Beside her, fastened to the wall, +was a letter-box with a glass front full of letters and picture-cards +waiting to be taken to the evening post. Tragedy and the commonplace +things of life--but Jean, for the moment, was lifted far from either. +She was seeing a new heaven and a new earth. Words were not needed. She +looked into Richard Plantagenet's eyes and knew that he wanted her, and +she put her hands out to him like a trusting child. + + * * * * * + +When Jock and Mhor reached the dining-room and found Richard Plantagenet +seated beside Jean they were rapturous in their greetings, pouring +questions on him, demanding to know how long he meant to stay. + +"As long as you stay," he told them. + +"Oh, good," Jock said. "Are you _fearfully_ keen on Shakespeare? Jean's +something awful. It gives me a sort of hate at him to hear her." + +"Oh, Jock," Jean protested, "surely not. I'm not nearly as bad as some +of the people here. I don't haver quite so much.... I was in the +drawing-room this morning and heard two women talking, an English woman +and an American. The English woman remarked casually that Shakespeare +wasn't a Christian, and the American protested, 'Oh, don't say. He had a +great White Soul.'" + +"Gosh, Maggie!" said Jock. "What a beastly thing to say about anybody! +If Shakespeare could see Stratford now I expect he'd laugh--all the +shops full of little heads, and pictures of his house, and models of his +birthplace ... it's enough to put anybody off being a genius." + +"I was dreadfully snubbed in a shop to-day," said Jean, smiling at her +lover. "It was a very nice mixed-up shop with cakes and crucifixes and +little stucco figures, presided over by a dignified lady with black lace +on her head. I remembered Mrs. Jowett's passion for stucco saints in her +bedroom, and picked one up, remarking that it would be a nice +remembrance of Stratford. 'Oh, surely not, madam,' said the shocked +voice of the shop-lady, 'surely a nobler memory'--and I found _it was a +figure of Christ_." + +"Jean simply rushed out of the shop," said Jock, "and she hadn't paid, +and I had to go in again with the money." + +"See what I've got," Mhor said, producing a parcel from his pocket. He +unwrapped it, revealing a small bust of Shakespeare. + +"It's a wee Shakespeare to send to Mrs. M'Cosh--and I've got a card for +Bella Bathgate--a funny one, a pig. Read it." + +He handed the card to Lord Bidborough, who read aloud the words issuing +from the mouth of the pig: + + "You may push me, + You may shove, + But I never will be druv + From Stratford-on-Avon." + +"Excellent sentiment, Mhor--Miss Bathgate will be pleased." + +"Yes," said Mhor complacently. "I thought she'd like a pig better than +a Shakespeare one. She said she wondered Jean would go and make a fuss +about the place a play-actor was born in. She says she wouldn't read a +word he wrote, and she didn't seem to like the bits I said to her.... +This isn't the first time, Richard Plantagenet, I've sat up for dinner." + +"Isn't it?" + +"No. I did it at Penrith and Shrewsbury and last night here." + +"By Jove, you're a man of the world now, Mhor." + +"It mustn't go on," said Jean, "but once in a while...." + +"And d'you know where I'm going to-night?" Mhor went on. "To a theatre +to see a play. Yes. And I shan't be in bed till at least eleven o'clock. +It's the first time in my life I've ever been outside after ten o'clock, +and I've always wanted to see what it was like then." + +"No different from any other time," Jock told him. But Mhor shook his +head. He knew better. After-ten-o'clock Land _must_ be different.... + +"This is a great night for us all," Jean said. "Our first play. You have +seen it often, I expect. Are you going?" + +"Of course I'm going. I wouldn't miss Jock's face at a play for +anything.... Or yours," he added, leaning towards her. "No, Mhor. +There's no hurry. It doesn't begin for another half-hour ... we'll have +coffee in the other room." + +Mhor was in a fever of impatience, and quite ten minutes before the +hour they were in their seats in the front row of the balcony. Oddly +enough, Lord Bidborough's seat happened to be adjoining the seats taken +by the Jardines, and Jean and he sat together. + +It was a crowded house, for the play was being played by a new company +for the first time that night. Jean sat silent, much too content to +talk, watching the people round her, and listening idly to snatches of +conversation. Two women, evidently inhabitants of the town, were talking +behind her. + +"Yes," one woman was saying; "I said to my sister only to-day, 'What +would we do if there was a sudden alarm in the night?' If we needed a +doctor or a policeman? You know, my dear, the servants are all as old as +we are. I don't really believe there is anyone in our road that can +_run_." + +The other laughed comfortably and agreed, but Jean felt chilled a +little, as if a cloud had obscured for a second the sun of her +happiness. In this gloriously young world of unfolding leaves and +budding hawthorns and lambs and singing birds and lovers, there were +people old and done who could only walk slowly in the sunshine, in whom +the spring could no longer put a spirit of youth, who could not run +without being weary. How ugly age was! Grim, menacing: Age, I do abhor +thee.... + +The curtain went up. + +The youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys, the young Orlando, "a youth +unschooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts +enchantingly beloved," talked to old Adam, and then to his own most +unnatural brother. The scene changed to the lawn before the Duke's +palace. Lord Bidborough bade Jean observe the scenery and dresses. "You +see how simple it is, and vivid, rather like Noah's Ark scenery? And the +dresses are a revolt against the stuffy tradition that made Rosalind a +sort of principal boy.... Those dresses are all copied from old +missals.... I rather like it. Do you approve?" + +Jean was not in a position to judge, but said she certainly approved. + +Rosalind and Celia were saying the words she knew so well. Touchstone +had come in--that witty knave; Monsieur le Beau, with his mouth full of +news; and again, the young Orlando o'er-throwing more than his enemies. + +And now Rosalind and Celia are planning their flight.... It is the +Forest of Arden. Again Orlando and Adam speak together, and Adam, with +all his years brave upon him, assures his master, "My age is as a lusty +winter, frosty but kindly." + +The words came to Jean with a new significance. How Shakespeare _knew_ +... why should she mourn because Age must come? Age was beautiful and +calm, for the seas are quiet when the winds give o'er. Age is done with +passions and discontents and strivings. Probably those women behind her +who had sighed comfortably because nobody in their road could run, whom +she pitied, wouldn't change with her to-night. They had had their life. +It wasn't sad to be old, Jean told herself, for as the physical sight +dims, the soul sees more clearly, and the light from the world to come +illumines the last dark bit of the way.... + +They went out between the acts and walked by the river in the moonlight +and talked of the play. + +Jock and Mhor were loud in their approval, only regretting that +Touchstone couldn't be all the time on the stage. Lord Bidborough asked +Jean if it came up to her expectations. + +"I don't know what I expected.... I never imagined any play could be so +vivid and gay and alive.... I've always loved Rosalind, and I didn't +think any actress could be quite my idea of her, but this girl is. I +thought at first she wasn't nearly pretty enough, but she has the kind +of face that becomes more charming the more you look at it, and she is +so graceful and witty and impertinent." + +"And Rabelaisian," added her companion. "It really is a very good show. +There is a sort of youthful freshness about the acting that is very +engaging. And every part is so competently filled. Jaques is +astonishingly good, don't you think? I never heard the 'seven ages' +speech so well said." + +"It sounded," Jean said, "as if he were saying the words for the first +time, thinking them as he went along." + +"I know what you mean. When the great lines come on it's a temptation to +the actor to draw himself together and clear his throat, and rather +address them to the audience. This fellow leaned against a tree and, as +you say, seemed to be thinking them as he went along. He's an uncommonly +good actor ... I don't know when I enjoyed a show so much." + +The play wore on to its merry conclusion; all too short the Jardines +found it. Jock's wrath at the love-sick shepherd knew no bounds, but he +highly approved of Rosalind because, he said, she had such an impudent +face. + +"Who did you like best, Richard Plantagenet?" Mhor asked as they came +down the steps. + +"Well, I think, perhaps the most worthy character was 'the old religious +man' who converted so opportunely the Duke Frederick." + +"Yes," Jean laughed. "I like that way of getting rid of an objectionable +character and enriching a deserving one. But Jaques went off to throw in +his lot with the converted Duke. I rather grudged that." + +"To-morrow," said Mhor, who was skipping along, very wide awake and +happy in After-ten-o'clock Land--"to-morrow I'm going to take Peter to +the river and let him snowk after water-rats. I think he's feeling +lonely--a Scots dog among so many English people." + +"Stark's lonely too," said Jock. "He says the other chauffeurs have an +awful queer accent and it's all he can do to understand them." + +"Oh, poor Stark!" said Jean. "I don't suppose he would care much to see +the plays." + +"He told me," Jock went on, "that one of the other chauffeurs had asked +him to go with him to a concert called _Macbeth_. When I told him what +it was he said he'd had an escape. He says he sees enough of +Shakespeare in this place without going to hear him. He's at the +Pictures to-night, and there's a circus coming--" + +"And oh, Jean," cried Mhor, "it's the _very one_ that came to +Priorsford!" + +"Take a start, Mhor," said Jock, "and I'll race you back." + +Lord Bidborough and Jean walked on in silence. + +At the garden where once had stood New Place--that "pretty house in +brick and timber"--the shadow of the Norman church lay black on the +white street and beyond it was the velvet darkness of the old trees. + +"This," Jean said softly, "must be almost exactly as it was in +Shakespeare's time. He must have seen the shadow of the tower falling +like that, and the trees, and his garden. Perhaps it was on an April +night like this that he wrote: + + On such a night + Stood Dido with a willow in her hand + Upon the wild sea-banks and waft her lover + To come again to Carthage." + +They had both stopped, and Jean, after a glance at her companion's face, +edged away. He caught her hands and held her there in the shadow. + +"The last time we were together, Jean, it was December, dripping rain +and mud, and you would have none of me. To-night--in such a night, Jean, +I come again to you. I love you. Will you marry me?" + +"Yes," said Jean--"for I am yours." + +For a moment they stood caught up to the seventh heaven, knowing +nothing except that they were together, hearing nothing but the beating +of their own hearts. + +Jean was the first to come to herself. + +"Everyone's gone home. The boys'll think we are lost.... Oh, Biddy, have +I done right? Are you sure you want me? Can I make you happy?" + +"_Can you make me happy_? My blessed child, what a question! Don't you +know that you seem to me almost too dear for my possessing? You are far +too good for me, but I won't give you up now. No, not though all the +King's horses and all the King's men come in array against me. My Jean +... my little Jean." + +Jock's comment on hearing of his sister's engagement was that he did +think Richard Plantagenet was above that sort of thing. Later on, when +he had got more used to the idea, he said that, seeing he had to marry +somebody, it was better to be Jean than anybody else. + +Mhor, like Gallio, cared for none of these things. + +He merely said, "Oh, and will you be married and have a bridescake? What +fun!... You might go with Peter and me to the station and see the London +trains pass. Jock went yesterday and he says he won't go again for three +days. Will you, Jean? Oh, _please_--" + +David, at Oxford, sent his sister a letter which she put away among her +chiefest treasures. Safely in his room, with a pen in his hand, he would +write what he was too shy and awkward to say: he could call down +blessings on his sister in a letter, when face to face with her he would +have been dumb. + +Pamela, on hearing the news, rushed down from London to congratulate +Jean and her Biddy in person. She was looking what Jean called +"fearfully London," and seemed in high spirits. + +"Of course I'm in high spirits," she told Jean. "The very nicest thing +in the world has come to pass. I didn't think there was a girl living +that I could give Biddy to without a grudge till I saw you, and then it +seemed much too good to be true that you should fall in love with each +other." + +"But," said Jean, "how could you want him to marry me, an ordinary girl +in a little provincial town?--he could have married _anybody_." + +"Lots of girls would have married Biddy, but I wanted him to have the +best, and when I found it for him he had the sense to recognise it. +Well, it's all rather like a fairy-tale. And I have Lewis! Jean, you +can't think how different life in London seems now--I can enjoy it +whole-heartedly, fling myself into it in a way I never could before, not +even when I was at my most butterfly stage, because now it isn't my +life, it doesn't really matter, I'm only a stranger within the gates. My +real life is Lewis, and the thought of the green glen and the little +town beside the Tweed." + +"You mean," said Jean, "that you can enjoy all the gaieties tremendously +because they are only an episode; if it was your life-work making a +success of them you would be bored to death." + +"Yes. Before I came to Priorsford they were all I had to live for, and +I got to hate them. When are you two babes in the wood going to be +married? You haven't talked about it yet? Dear me!" + +"You see," Jean said, "there's been such a lot to talk about." + +"Philanthropic schemes, I suppose?" + +Jean started guiltily. + +"I'm afraid not. I'd forgotten about the money." + +"Then I'm sorry I reminded you of it. Let all the schemes alone for a +little, Jean. Biddy will help you when the time comes. I see the two of +you reforming the world, losing all your money, probably, and ending up +at Laverlaw with Lewis and me. I don't want to know what you talked +about, my dear, but whatever it was it has done you both good. Biddy +looks now as he looked before the War, and you have lost your anxious +look, and your curls have got more yellow in them, and your eyes aren't +like moss-agates now; they are almost quite golden. You are infinitely +prettier than you were, Jean, girl.... Now, I'm afraid I must fly back +to London. Jock and Mhor will chaperone you two excellently, and we'll +all meet at Mintern Abbas in the middle of May." + +One sunshine day followed another. Wilfred the Gazelle and the excellent +Stark carried the party on exploring expeditions all over the +countryside. In one delicious village they wandered, after lunch at the +inn, into the little church which stood embowered among blossoming +trees. The old vicar left his garden and offered to show them its +beauties, and Jean fell in love with the simplicity and the feeling of +homeliness that was about it. + +"Biddy," she whispered, "what a delicious church to be married in. You +could hardly help being happy ever after if you were married here." + +Later in the day, when they were alone, he reminded her of her words. + +"Why shouldn't we, Penny-plain? Why shouldn't we? I know you hate a +fussy marriage and dread all the letters and presents and meeting crowds +of people who are strangers to you. Of course, it's frightfully good of +Mrs. Hope to offer to have it at Hopetoun, but that means waiting, and +this is the spring-time, the real 'pretty ring-time.' I would rush up to +London and get a special licence. I don't know how in the world it's +done, but I can find out, and Pam would come, and David, and we'd be +married in the little church among the blossoms. Let's say the +thirtieth. That gives us four days to arrange things...." + +"Four days," said Jean, "to prepare for one's wedding!" + +"But you don't need to prepare. You've got lovely clothes, and we'll go +straight to Mintern Abbas, where it doesn't matter what we wear. I tell +you what, we'll go to London to-morrow and see lawyers and things--do +you realise you haven't even got an engagement ring, you neglected +child? And tell Pam--Mad? Of course, it's mad. It's the way they did in +the Golden World. It's Rosalind and Orlando. Be persuaded, Penny-plain." + +"Priorsford will be horrified," said Jean. "They aren't used to such +indecorous haste, and oh, Biddy, I _couldn't_ be married without Mr. +Macdonald." + +"I was thinking about that. He certainly has the right to be at your +wedding. If I wired to-day, do you think they would come? Mrs. +Macdonald's such a sportsman, I believe she would hustle the minister +and herself off at once." + +"I believe she would," said Jean, "and having them would make all the +difference. It would be almost like having my own father and mother...." + +So it was arranged. They spent a hectic day in London which almost +reduced Jean to idiocy, and got back at night to the peace of Stratford. +Pamela said she would bring everything that was needed, and would arrive +on the evening of the 29th with Lewis and David. The Macdonalds wired +that they were coming, and Lord Bidborough interviewed the vicar of the +little church among the blossoms and explained everything to him. The +vicar was old and wise and tolerant, and he said he would feel honoured +if the Scots minister would officiate with him. He would, he said, be +pleased to arrange things exactly as Jean and her minister wanted them. + +By the 29th they had all assembled. + +Pamela arriving with Lewis Elliot and Mawson and a motor full of +pasteboard boxes found Jean just home from a picnic at Broadway, flushed +with the sun and glowing with health and happiness. + +"Well," said Pamela as she kissed her, "this is a new type of bride. Not +the nerve-shattered, milliner-ridden creature with writer's cramp in +her hand from thanking people for useless presents! You don't look as if +you were worrying at all." + +"I'm not," said Jean. "Why should I? There will be nobody there to +criticise me. There are no preparations to make, so I needn't fuss. +Biddy's right. It's the best way to be married." + +"I needn't ask if you are happy, my Jean girl?" + +Jean flung her arms round Pamela's neck. + +"After having Biddy for my own, the next best thing is having you for a +sister. I owe you more than I can ever repay." + +"Ah, my dear," said Pamela, "the debt is all on my side. You set the +solitary in families...." + +Mhor here entered, shouting that the car was waiting to take them to the +station to meet the Macdonalds, and Jean hurried away. + +An hour later the whole party met round the dinner-table. Mhor had been +allowed to sit up. Other nights he consumed milk and bread and butter +and eggs at 5.30, and went to bed an hour later, leaving Jock to change +his clothes and descend to dinner and the play, an arrangement that +caused a good deal of friction. But to-night all bitterness was +forgotten, and Mhor beamed on everyone. + +Mrs. Macdonald was in great form. She had come away, she told them, +leaving the spring cleaning half done. "All the study chairs in the +garden and Agnes rubbing down the walls, and Allan's men beating the +carpet.... In came the telegram, and after I got over the shock--I +always expect the worst when I see a telegraph boy--I said to John, 'My +best dress is not what it was, but I'm going,' and John was delighted, +partly because he was driven out of his study, and he's never happy in +any other room, but most of all because it was Jean. English Church or +no English Church he'll help to marry Jean. But," turning to the bride +to be, "I can hardly believe it, Jean. It's only ten days since you left +Priorsford, and to-morrow you're to be married. I think it was the War +that taught us such hurried ways...." She sighed, and then went on +briskly: "I went to see Mrs. M'Cosh before I left. She had had your +letter, so I didn't need to break the news to her. She was wonderfully +calm about it, and said that when people went away to England you might +expect to hear anything. She said I was to tell Mhor that the cat was +asking for him. And she is getting on with the cleaning. I think she +said she had finished the dining-room and two bedrooms, and she was +expecting the sweep to-day. She said you would like to know that the man +had come about the leak in the tank, and it's all right. I saw Bella +Bathgate as I was leaving The Rigs. She sent you and Lord Bidborough her +kind regards.... She has a free way of expressing herself, but I don't +think she means to be disrespectful." + +"Has she got lodgers just now?" Pamela asked. + +"Oh yes, she told me about them. One she dismissed as 'an auldish, +impident wumman wi' specs'; and the other as 'terrible genteel.' Both of +them 'a sair come-down frae Miss Reston.' Now you are gone you are on a +pedestal." + +"I wasn't always on a pedestal," said Pamela, "but I shall always have +a tenderness for Bella Bathgate and her parlour." She smiled to Lewis +Elliot as she said it. + +Jean, sitting beside Mr. Macdonald, thanked him for coming. + +"Happy, Jean?" he asked. + +"Utterly happy," said Jean. "So happy that I'm almost afraid. Isn't it +odd how one seems to cower down to avoid drawing the attention of the +Fates to one's happiness, saying, 'It is naught, it is naught,' in case +disaster follows?" + +"Don't worry about the Fates, Jean," Mr. Macdonald advised. "Rejoice in +your happiness, and God grant that the evil days may never come to +you.... What, Jock? Am I going to the play? I never went to a play in my +life and I'm too old to begin." + +"Oh, but, Mr. Macdonald," Jean broke in eagerly, "it isn't like a real +theatre; it's all Shakespeare, and the place is simply black with +clergymen, so you wouldn't feel out of place. You know you taught me +first to care for Shakespeare, and I'd love to sit beside you and see a +play acted." + +Mr. Macdonald shook his head at her. + +"Are you tempting your old minister, Jean? I've lived for sixty-five +years without seeing a play, and I think I can go on to the end. It's +not that it's wrong or that I think myself more virtuous than the rest +of the world because I stay away. It's prejudice if you like, +intolerance perhaps, narrowness, bigotry--" + +"Well, I think you and Mrs. Macdonald are better to rest this evening +after your journey," Pamela said. + +"Wouldn't you rather we stayed at home with you?" Jean asked. "We're +only going to the play for something to do. We thought Davie would like +it." + +"It's _Romeo and Juliet_," Jock broke in. "A silly love play, but +there's a fine scene at the end where they all get killed. If you're +sleeping, Mhor, I'll wake you up for that." + +"I would like to stay with you," Jean said to Mrs. Macdonald. + +"Never in the world. Off you go to your play, and John and I will go +early to bed and be fresh for to-morrow. When is the wedding?" + +"At twelve o'clock in the church at Little St. Mary's," Lord Bidborough +told her. "It's about ten miles from Stratford. I'm staying at the inn +there to-night, and I trust you to see that they are all off to-morrow +in good time." He turned to Mr. Macdonald. "It's most extraordinarily +kind, sir, of you both to come. I knew Jean would never feel herself +properly married if you were not there. And we wondered, Mrs. Macdonald, +if you and your husband would add to your kindness by staying on here +for a few days with the boys? You would see the country round, and then +you would motor down with them and join us at Mintern Abbas for another +week. D'you think you can spare the time? Jean would like you to see her +in her own house, and I needn't say how honoured I would feel." + +"Bless me," said Mrs. Macdonald. "That would mean a whole fortnight +away from Priorsford. You could arrange about the preaching, John, but +what about the spring cleaning? Agnes is a good creature, but I'm never +sure that she scrubs behind the shutters; they're the old-fashioned +kind, and need a lot of cleaning. However," with a deep sigh, "it's very +kind of you to ask us, and at our age we won't have many more +opportunities of having a holiday together, so perhaps we should seize +this one. Dear me, Jean, I don't understand how you can look so bright +so near your wedding. I cried and cried at mine. Have you not a qualm?" + +Jean shook her head and laughed, and Mr. Macdonald said: + +"Off with you all to your play. It's an odd thing to choose to go to +to-night-- + + "'For never was there such a tale of woe + As this of Juliet and her Romeo.'" + +Mrs. Macdonald shook her head and sighed. + +"I can't help thinking it's a poor preparation for a serious thing like +marriage. I often don't feel so depressed at a funeral. There at least +you know you've come to the end--nothing more can happen." Then her eyes +twinkled and they left her laughing. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + "'My lord, you nod: you do not mind the play.' + "'Yes, by Saint Anne, do I.... Madam lady.... _Would 'twere done_!'" + + _The Taming of the Shrew._ + + +Jean awoke early on her wedding morning and lay and thought over the +twenty-three years of her life, and wondered what she had done to be so +blessed, for, looking back, it seemed one long succession of sunny days. +The dark spots seemed so inconsiderable looking back as to be hardly +worth thinking about. + +Her window faced the east, and the morning sun shone in, promising yet +another fine day. Through the wall she could hear Mhor, who always woke +early, busy at some game--possibly wigwams with the blankets and +sheets--already the chamber-maid had complained of finding the sheets +knotted round the bed-posts. He was singing a song to himself as he +played. Jean could hear his voice crooning. The sound filled her with an +immense tenderness. Little Mhor with his naughtiness and his endearing +ways! And beloved Jock with his gruff voice and surprised blue eyes, so +tender hearted, so easily affronted. And David--the dear companion of +her childhood who had shared with her all the pleasures and penalties +of life under the iron rule of Great-aunt Alison, who understood as no +one else could ever quite understand, not even Biddy.... But as she +thought of Biddy, she sprang out of bed, and leaning out of the window +she turned her face to Little St. Mary's, where her love was, and where +presently she would join him. + +Five hours later she would stand with him in the church among the +blossoms, and they would be made man and wife, joined together till +death did them part. Jean folded her hands on the window-sill She felt +solemn and quiet and very happy. She had not had much time for thinking +in the last few days, and she was glad of this quiet hour. It was good +on her wedding morning to tell over in her mind, like beads on a rosary, +the excellent qualities of her dear love. Could there be another such in +the wide world? Pamela was happy with Lewis Elliot, and Lewis was kind +and good and in every way delightful, but compared with Richard +Plantagenet--In this pedestrian world her Biddy had something of the old +cavalier grace. Also, he had more than a streak of Ariel. Would he be +content always to be settled at home? He thought so now, but--Anyway, +she wouldn't try to bind him down, to keep him to domesticity, making an +eagle into a barndoor fowl; she would go with him where she could go, +and where she would be a burden she would send him alone and keep a high +heart, till she could welcome him home. + +But it was high time that she had her bath and dressed. It would be a +morning of dressing, for about 10.30 she would have to dress again for +her wedding. The obvious course was to breakfast in bed, but Jean had +rejected the idea as "stuffy." To waste the last morning of April in bed +with crumbs of toast and a tray was unthinkable, and by 9.30 Jean was at +the station giving Mhor an hour with his beloved locomotors. + +"You will like to come to Mintern Abbas, won't you, Mhor?" she said. + +Mhor considered. + +"I would have liked it better," he confessed, "if there had been a +railway line quite near. It was silly of whoever built it to put it so +far away." + +"When Mintern Abbas was built railways hadn't been invented." + +"I'm glad I wasn't invented before railways," said Mhor. "I would have +been very dull." + +"You'll have a pony at Mintern Abbas. Won't that be nice?" + +"Yes. Oh! there's the signal down at last. That'll be the express to +London. I can hear the roar of it already." + +Pamela's idea of a wedding garment for Jean was a soft white cloth coat +and skirt, and a close-fitting hat with Mercury wings. Everything was +simple, but everything was exquisitely fresh and dainty. + +Pamela dressed her, Mrs. Macdonald looking on, and Mawson fluttering +about, admiring but incompetent. + + "'Something old and something new, + Something borrowed and something blue,'" + +Mrs. Macdonald quoted. "Have you got them all, Jean?" + +"I think so. I've got a lace handkerchief that was my mother's--that's +old. And blue ribbon in my under-things. And I've borrowed Pamela's +prayer-book, for I haven't one of my own. And all the rest of me's new." + +"And the sun is shining," said Pamela, "so you're fortified against +ill-luck." + +"I hope so," said Jean gravely. "I must see if Mhor has washed his face +this morning. I didn't notice at breakfast, and he's such an odd child, +he'll wash every bit of himself and neglect his face. Perhaps you'll +remember to look, Mrs. Macdonald, when you are with him here." + +Mrs. Macdonald smiled at Jean's maternal tone. + +"I've brought up four boys," she said, "so I ought to know something of +their ways. It will be like old times to have Jock and Mhor to look +after." + +Mhor went in the car with Jean and Pamela and Mrs. Macdonald. The others +had gone on in Lord Bidborough's car, as Mr. Macdonald wanted to see the +vicar before the service. The vicar had asked Jean about the music, +saying that the village schoolmistress who was also the organist, was +willing to play. "I don't much like 'The Voice that breathed o'er +Eden,'" Jean told him, "but anything else would be very nice. It is so +very kind of her to play." + +Mhor mourned all the way to church about Peter being left behind. +"There's poor Peter who is so fond of marriages--he goes to them all in +Priorsford--tied up in the yard; and he knows how to behave in a +church." + +"It's a good deal more than you do," Mrs. Macdonald told him. "You're +never still for one moment. I know of at least one person who has had to +change his seat because of you. He said he got no good of the sermon +watching you bobbing about." + +"It's because I don't care about sermons," Mhor replied, and relapsed +into dignified silence--a silence sweetened by a large chocolate poked +at him by Jean. + +They walked through the churchyard with its quiet sleepers, into the +cool church where David was waiting to give his sister away. Some of the +village women, with little girls in clean pinafores clinging to their +skirts, came shyly in after them and sat down at the door. Lord +Bidborough, waiting for his bride, saw her come through the doorway +winged like Mercury, smiling back at the children following ... then her +eyes met his. + +The first thing that Jean became aware of was that Mr. Macdonald was +reading her own chapter. + +"The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them: and the +desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose.... + +"And an highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called The +Way of Holiness: the unclean shall not pass over it: but it shall be for +those: the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein.... + +"No lion shall be there, nor any ravenous beast shall go up thereon, it +shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. + +"And the ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion with songs +and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and +gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away." + +The schoolmistress had played the wedding march from _Lohengrin_, and +was prepared to play Mendelssohn as the party left the church, but when +the service was over Mrs. Macdonald whispered fiercely in Jean's ear, +"You _can't_ be married without 'O God of Bethel,'" and ousting the +schoolmistress from her place at the organ she struck the opening notes. + +They knew it by heart--Jean and Davie and Jock and Mhor and Lewis +Elliot--and they sang it with the unction with which one sings the songs +of Zion by Babylon's streams. + + "Through each perplexing path of life + Our wandering footsteps guide; + Give us each day our daily bread, + And raiment fit provide. + + O spread Thy covering wings around + Till all our wanderings cease, + And at our Father's loved abode + Our souls arrive in peace." + +Out in the sunshine, among the blossoms, Jean stood with her husband and +was kissed and blessed. + +"Jean, Lady Bidborough," said Pamela. + +"Gosh, Maggie!" said Jock, "I quite forgot Jean would be Lady +Bidborough. What a joke!" + +"She doesn't look any different," Mhor complained. + +"Surely you don't want her different," Mrs. Macdonald said. + +"Not _very_ different," said Mhor, "but she's pretty small for a +Lady--not nearly as tall as Richard Plantagenet." + +"As high as my heart," said Lord Bidborough. "The correct height, Mhor." + +The vicar lunched with them at the inn. There were no speeches, and no +one tried to be funny. + +Jock rebuked Jean for eating too much. "It's not manners for a bride to +have more than one help." + +"It's odd," said Jean, "but the last time I was married the same thing +happened. D'you remember Davie? You were the minister and I was the +bride, and I had my pinafore buttoned down the front to look grown up, +and Tommy Sprott was the bridegroom. And Great-aunt Alison let us have a +cake and some shortbread, and we made strawberry wine ourselves. And at +the wedding-feast Tommy Sprott suddenly pointed at me and said, 'Put +that girl out; she's eating all the shortbread.' Me--his new-made +bride!" + + * * * * * + +The whole village turned out to see the newly-married couple leave, +including the blacksmith and three dogs. It hurt Mhor afresh to see the +dogs barking happily while Peter, who would so have enjoyed a fight with +them, was spending a boring day in the stable-yard, but Jean comforted +him with the thought of Peter's delight at Mintern Abbas. + +"Will Richard Plantagenet mind if he chases rabbits?" + +"You won't, will you, Biddy?" Jean said. + +"Not a bit. If you'll stand between me and the wrath of the keepers +Peter may do any mortal thing he likes." + +As they drove away through the golden afternoon Jean said: "I've always +wondered what people talked about when they went away on their wedding +journey?" + +"They don't talk: they just look into each other's eyes in a sort of +ecstasy, saying, 'Is it I? Is it thou?'" + +"That would be pretty silly," said Jean. "We shan't do that anyway." + +Her husband laughed. + +"You are really very like Jock, my Jean.... D'you remember what your +admired Dr. Johnson said? 'If I had no duties I would spend my life in +driving briskly in a post-chaise with a pretty woman, but she should be +one who could understand me and would add something to the +conversation.' Wise old man! Tell me, Penny-plain, you're not fretting +about leaving the boys? You'll see them again in a few days. Are you +dreading having me undiluted?" + +"My dear, you don't suppose the boys come first now, do you? I love them +as dearly as ever I did, but compared with you--it's so different, +absolutely different--I can't explain. I don't love you like people in +books, all on fire, and saying wonderful things all the time. But to be +with you fills me with utter content. I told you that night in Hopetoun +that the boys filled my life. And then you went away, and I found that +though I had the boys my life and my heart were empty. You are my life, +Biddy." + +"My blessed child." + + * * * * * + +About four o'clock they came home. + +An upland country of pastures and shallow dales fell quietly to the +river levels, and on a low spur that was its last outpost stood Mintern +Abbas, a thing half of the hills and half of the broad valleys. At its +back, beyond the home-woods, was a remote land of sheep walks and +forgotten hamlets; at its feet the young Thames in lazy reaches wound +through water-meadows. Down the slopes of old pasture fell cascades of +daffodils, and in the fringes of the coppices lay the blue haze of wild +hyacinths. The house was so wholly in tune with the landscape that the +eye did not at once detect it, for its gables might have been part of +wood or hillside. It was of stone, and built in many periods and in many +styles which time had subtly blended so that it seemed a perfect thing +without beginning, as long descended as the folds of downs which +sheltered it. The austere Tudor front, the Restoration wing, the offices +built under Queen Anne, the library added in the days of the Georges, +had by some alchemy become one. Peace and long memories were in every +line of it, and that air of a home which belongs only to places that +have been loved for generations. It breathed ease and comfort, but yet +had a tonic vigour in it, for while it stood knee-deep in the green +valley its head was fanned by moorland winds. + +Jean held her breath as she saw it. It seemed to her the most perfect +thing that could be imagined. + +She walked in shyly, winged like Mercury, to be greeted respectfully by +a row of servants. Jean shook hands with each one, smiling at them with +her "doggy" eyes, wishing all the time for Mrs. M'Cosh, who was not +specially respectful, but always homely and humorous. + +Tea was ready in a small panelled room with a view of the lawns and the +river. + +"I asked them to put it here," Lord Bidborough said. "I thought you +might like to have this for your own sitting-room. It's just a little +like the room at The Rigs." + +"Oh, Biddy, it is. I saw it when I came in. May I really have it for my +own? It feels as if people had been happy in it. It has a welcoming air. +And what a gorgeous tea!" She sat down at the table and pulled off her +gloves. "Isn't life frightfully well arranged? Every day is so full of +so many different things, and meals are such a comfort. No, I'm not +greedy, but what I mean is that it would be just a little 'stawsome' if +you had nothing to do but _love_ all the time." + +"I'm Scots, partly, but I'm not so Scots as all that. What does +'stawsome' mean exactly?" + +"It means," Jean began, and hesitated--"I'm afraid it means--sickening." + +Her husband laughed as he sat down beside her. + +"I'm willing to believe that you mean to be more complimentary than you +sound. I'm very certain you would never let love-making become +'stawsome.' ... There are hot things in that dish--or would you rather +have a sandwich? This is the first time we've ever had tea alone, Jean." + +"I know. Isn't it heavenly to think that we shall be together now all +the rest of our lives? Biddy, I was thinking ... if--if ever we have a +son I should like to call him Peter Reid. Would you mind?" + +"My darling!" + +"It wouldn't go very well with the Quintins and the Reginalds and all +the other names, but it would be a sort of Thank you to the poor rich +man who was so kind to me." + +"All the same, I sometimes wish he hadn't left you all that money. I +would rather have given you everything myself." + +"Like King Cophetua. I've no doubt it was all right for him, but it +can't have been much fun for the beggar maid. No matter how kind and +generous a man is, to be dependent on him for every penny can't be nice. +It's different, I think, when the man is poor. Then they both work, the +man earning, the woman saving and contriving.... But what's the good of +talking about money? Money only matters when you haven't got any." + +"O wise young Judge!" + +"No, it's really quite a wise statement when you think of it.... Let's +go outside. I want to see the river near." She turned while going out at +the door and looked with great satisfaction on the room that was to be +her own. + +"I _am_ glad of this room, Biddy. It has such a kind feeling. The other +rooms are lovely, but they are meant for crowds of people. This says +tea, and a fire and a book and a friend--the four nicest things in the +world." + +They walked slowly down to the river. + +"Swans!" said Jean, "and a boat!" + +"In Shelley's dreams of Heaven there are always a river and a boat--I +read that somewhere.... Well, what do you think of Mintern Abbas? Did I +overpraise?" + +Jean shook her head. + +"That wouldn't be easy. It's the most wonderful place ... like a dream. +Look at it now in the afternoon light, pale gold like honey. And the odd +thing is it's in the very heart of England, and yet it might almost be +Scotland." + +"I thought that would appeal to you. Will you learn to love it, do you +think?" + +"I shan't have to learn. I love it already." + +"And feel it home?" + +"Yes ... but, Biddy, there's just one thing. I shall love our home with +all my heart and be absolutely content here if you promise me one +thing--that when I die I'll be taken to Priorsford.... I know it's +nonsense. I know it doesn't matter where the pickle dust that was me +lies, but I don't think I could be quite happy if I didn't know that +one day I should lie within sound of Tweed.... You're laughing, Biddy." + +"My darling, like you I've sometimes wondered what people talked about +on their honeymoon, but never in my wildest imaginings did I dream that +they talked of where they would like to be buried." + +Jean hid an abashed face for a moment against her husband's sleeve; then +she looked up at him and laughed. + +"It sounds mad--but I mean it," she said. + +"It's all the fault of your Great-aunt Alison. Tell me, Jean, girl--no, +I'm not laughing--how will this day look from your death-bed?" + +Jean looked at the river, then she looked into her husband's eyes, and +put both her hands into his. + +"Ah, my dear love," she said softly, "if that day leaves me any +remembrance of what I feel to-day, I'll be so glad to have lived that +I'll go out of the world cheering." + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Penny Plain, by Anna Buchan (writing as O. Douglas) + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12768 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e595df --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12768 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12768) diff --git a/old/12768-8.txt b/old/12768-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7bca547 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12768-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10878 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Penny Plain, by Anna Buchan (writing as O. Douglas) + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Penny Plain + +Author: Anna Buchan (writing as O. Douglas) + +Release Date: June 28, 2004 [EBook #12768] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PENNY PLAIN *** + + + + +Produced by Karen Lofstrom and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +PENNY PLAIN + +BY + +O. DOUGLAS + + + +TO MY BROTHER WALTER + + + + +SHOPMAN: "You may have your choice--penny plain or twopence coloured." + +SOLEMN SMALL BOY: "Penny plain, please. It's better value for the +money." + + + + +CHAPTER I + + "The actors are at hand, + And by their show + You shall know all that you are like to know." + _Midsummer Night's Dream_. + + +It was tea-time in Priorsford: four-thirty by the clock on a chill +October afternoon. + +The hills circling the little town were shrouded with mist. The wide +bridge that spanned the Tweed and divided the town proper--the Highgate, +the Nethergate, the Eastgate--from the residential part was almost +deserted. On the left bank of the river, Peel Tower loomed ghostly in +the gathering dusk. Round its grey walls still stood woods of larch and +fir, and in front the links of Tweed moved through pleasant green +pastures. But where once ladies on palfreys hung with bells hunted with +their cavaliers there now stood the neat little dwellings of prosperous, +decent folk; and where the good King James wrote his rhymes, and +listened to the singing of Mass from the Virgin's Chapel, the Parish +Kirk reared a sternly Presbyterian steeple. No need any longer for Peel +to light the beacon telling of the coming of our troublesome English +neighbours. Telegraph wires now carried the matter, and a large bus met +them at the trains and conveyed them to that flamboyant pile in red +stone, with its glorious views, its medicinal baths, and its +band-enlivened meals, known as Priorsford Hydropathic. + +As I have said, it was tea-time in Priorsford. + +The schools had _skailed_, and the children, finding in the weather +little encouragement to linger, had gone to their homes. In the little +houses down by the riverside brown teapots stood on the hobs, and +rosy-faced women cut bread and buttered scones, and slapped their +children with a fine impartiality; while in the big houses on the Hill, +servants, walking delicately, laid out tempting tea-tables, and the +solacing smell of hot toast filled the air. + +Most of the smaller houses in Priorsford were very much of one pattern +and all fairly recently built, but there was one old house, an odd +little rough stone cottage, standing at the end of a row of villas, its +back turned to its parvenu neighbours, its eyes lifted to the hills. A +flagged path led up to the front door through a herbaceous border, which +now only held a few chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies (Perdita would +have scorned them as flowers for the old age), but in spring and in +summer blazed in a sweet disorder of old-fashioned blossoms. + +This little house was called The Rigs. + +It was a queer little house, and a queer little family lived in it. +Jardine was their name, and they sat together in their living-room on +this October evening. Generally they all talked at once and the loudest +voice prevailed, but to-night there was not so much competition, and +Jean frequently found herself holding the floor alone. + +David, busy packing books into a wooden box, was the reason for the +comparative quiet. He was nineteen, and in the morning he was going to +Oxford to begin his first term there. He had so long looked forward to +it that he felt dazed by the nearness of his goal. He was a good-looking +boy, with honest eyes and a firm mouth. + +His only sister, Jean, four years older than himself, left the table and +sat on the edge of the box watching him. She did not offer to help, for +she knew that every man knows best how to pack his own books, but she +hummed a gay tune to prove to herself how happy was the occasion, and +once she patted David's grey tweed shoulder as he leant over her. +Perhaps she felt that he needed encouragement this last night at home. + +Jock, the other brother, a schoolboy of fourteen, with a rough head and +a voice over which he had no control, was still at the tea-table. He was +rather ashamed of his appetite, but ate doggedly. "It's not that I'm +hungry just now," he would say, "but I so soon get hungry." + +At the far end of the room, in a deep window, a small boy, with a dog +and a cat, was playing at being on a raft. The boy's name was Gervase +Taunton, but he was known to a large circle of acquaintances as "the +Mhor," which, as Jean would have explained to you, is Gaelic for "the +great one." Thus had greatness been thrust upon him. He was seven, and +he had lived at The Rigs since he was two. He was a handsome child with +an almost uncanny charm of manner, and a gift of make-believe that made +his days one long excitement. + +He now stood like some "grave Tyrian trader" on the table turned upside +down that was his raft, as serious and intent as if it had been the navy +of Tarshish bringing Solomon gold and silver, ivory and apes and +peacocks. With one arm he clutched the cat and assured that unwilling +voyager, "You're on the dangerous sea, me old puss. You don't want to be +drowned, do you?" The cat struggled and scratched. "Then go--to your +doom!" + +He clasped his hands behind him in a Napoleonic manner and stood +gloomily watching the unembarrassed progress of the cat across the +carpet, while Peter (a fox-terrier, and the wickedest dog in Priorsford) +crushed against his legs to show how faithful he was compared to any +kind of cat. + +"Haven't you finished eating yet, Jock?" Jean asked. "Here is Mrs. +M'Cosh for the tea-things." + +The only servant The Rigs possessed was a middle-aged woman, the widow +of one Andrew M'Cosh, a Clyde riveter, who had drifted from her native +city of Glasgow to Priorsford. She had a sweet, worn face, and a neat +cap with a black velvet bow in front. + +Jock rose from the table reluctantly, and was at once hailed by the Mhor +and invited on to the raft. + +Jock hesitated, but he was the soul of good nature. "Well, only for five +minutes, remember. I've a lot of lessons to-night." He sat down on the +upturned table, his legs sprawling on the carpet, and hummed "Tom +Bowling," but the Mhor leaned from his post as steersman and said +gravely, "Don't dangle your legs, Jock; there are sharks in these +waters." So Jock obediently crumpled his legs until his chin rested on +his knees. + +Mrs. M'Cosh piled the tea-things on a tray and folded the cloth. "Ay, +Peter," she said, catching sight of that notorious character, "ye look +real good, but I wis hearin' ye were efter the sheep again the day." + +Peter turned away his head as if deeply shocked at the accusation, and +Mrs. M'Cosh, with the tea-cloth over her arm, regarded him with an +indulgent smile. She had infinite tolerance for Peter's shortcomings. + +"Peter was kinna late last night," she would say, as if referring to an +erring husband, "an' I juist sat up for him." She had also infinite +leisure. It was no use Jean trying to hurry the work forward by offering +to do some task. Mrs. M'Cosh simply stood beside her and conversed until +the job was done. Jean never knew whether to laugh or be cross, but she +generally laughed. + +Once when the house had been upset by illness, and trained nurses were +in occupation, Jean had rung the bell repeatedly, and, receiving no +answer, had gone to the kitchen. There she found the Mhor, then a very +small boy, seated on a chair playing a mouth-organ, while Mrs. M'Cosh, +her skirts held coquettishly aloft, danced a few steps to the music. +Jean--being Jean--had withdrawn unnoticed and slipped upstairs to the +sick-room much cheered by the sight of such detachment. + +Mrs. M'Cosh had been eight years with the Jardines and was in many ways +such a treasure, and always such an amusement, that they would not have +parted from her for much red gold. + +"Bella Bathgate's expectin' her lodger the morn." The tea-tray was ready +to be carried away, but Mrs. M'Cosh lingered. + +"Oh, is she?" said Jean. "Who is it that's coming?" + +"I canna mind the exact name, but she's ca'ed the Honourable an' she's +bringin' a leddy's maid." + +"Gosh, Maggie!" ejaculated Jock. + +"I asked you not to say that, Jock," Jean reminded him. + +"Ay," Mrs. M'Cosh continued, "Bella Bathgate's kinna pit oot aboot it. +She disna ken how she's to cook for an Honourable--she niver saw yin." + +"Have you seen one?" Jock asked. + +"No' that I know of, but when I wis pew opener at St. George's I let in +some verra braw folk. One Sunday there wis a lord, no less. A shaughly +wee buddy he wis tae. Ma Andra wud hae been gled to see him sae oorit." + +The eyes of the Jardines were turned inquiringly on their handmaid. It +seemed a strange reason for joy on the part of the late Andrew M'Cosh. + +"Weel," his widow explained, "ye see, Andra wis a Socialist an' thocht +naething o' lords--naething. I used to show him pictures o' them in the +_Heartsease Library_--fine-lukin' fellays wi' black mustacheys--but he +juist aye said, 'It's easy to draw a pictur', and he wouldna own that +they wis onything but meeserable to look at. An', mind you, he wis +richt. When I saw the lord in St. George's, I said to masel', I says, +'Andra wis richt,' I says." She lifted up the tray and prepared to +depart. "Weel, he'll no' be muckle troubled wi' them whaur he's gone, +puir man. The Bible says, Not many great, not many noble." + +"D'you think," said Mhor in a pleasantly interested voice, "that Mr. +M'Cosh is in heaven?" (Mhor never let slip an opportunity for +theological discussions.) "I wouldn't care much to go to heaven myself, +for all my friends are in"--he stopped and cast a cautious glance at +Jean, and, judging by her expression that discretion was the better part +of valour, and in spite of an encouraging twinkle in the eyes of Jock, +finished demurely--"the Other Place." + +"Haw, haw," laughed Jock, who was consistently amused by Mhor and his +antics. "I'm sorry for your friends, old chap. Do I know them?" + +"Well," said Mhor, "there's Napoleon and Dick Turpin and Graham of +Claverhouse and Prince Charlie and----" + +"Mhor--you're talking too much," said David, who was jotting down +figures in a notebook. + +"It's to be hoped," said Jean to Mrs. M'Cosh, "that the honourable lady +will suit Bella Bathgate, for Bella, honest woman, won't put herself +about to suit anybody. But she's been a good neighbour to us. I always +feel so safe with her near; she's equal to anything from a burst pipe to +a broken arm.... I do hope that landlord of ours in London will never +take it into his head to come back and live in Priorsford. If we had to +leave The Rigs and Bella Bathgate I simply don't know what we'd do." + +"We could easy get a hoose wi' mair conveniences" Mrs. M'Cosh reminded +her. She had laid down the tray again and stood with her hands on her +hips and her head on one side, deeply interested "Thae wee new villas in +the Langhope Road are a fair treat, wi' a pantry aff the dining-room an' +hot and cold everywhere." + +"_Villas_," said Jean--"hateful new villas! What are conveniences +compared to old thick walls and queer windows and little funny stairs? +Besides, The Rigs has a soul." + +"Oh, mercy!" said Mrs. M'Cosh, picking up the tray and moving at last to +the door, "that's fair heathenish!" + +Jean laughed as the door shut on their retainer, and perched herself on +the end of the big old-fashioned sofa drawn up at one side of the fire. +She wore a loose stockinette brown dress and looked rather like a wood +elf of sorts with her golden-brown hair and eyes. + +"If I were rich," she said, "I would buy an annuity for Mrs. M'Cosh of +at least £200 a year. When you think that she once had a house and a +husband, and a best room with an overmantel and a Brussels carpet, and +lost them all, and is contented to be a servant to us, with no prospect +of anything for her old age but the workhouse or the charity of +relations, and keeps cheery and never makes a moan and never loses her +interest in things ..." + +"But you're _not_ rich," said Jock. + +"No," said Jean ruefully. "Isn't it odd that no one ever leaves us a +legacy? But I needn't say that, for it would be much odder if anyone +did. I don't think there is a single human being in the world entitled +to leave us a penny piece. We are destitute of relations.... Oh, well, I +daresay we'll get on without a legacy, but for your comfort I'll read to +you about the sort of house we would have if some kind creature did +leave us one." + +She dived for a copy of _Country Life_ that was lying on the sofa, and +turned to the advertisements of houses to let and sell. + +"It is good of Mrs. Jowett letting us have this every week. It's a great +support to me. I wonder if anyone ever does buy these houses, or if they +are merely there to tantalize poor folk? Will this do? 'A finely +timbered sporting estate--seventeen bedrooms----'" + +"Too small," said Jock from his cramped position on the raft. + +"'A beautiful little property----' No. Oh, listen. 'A characteristic +Cotswold Tudor house'--doesn't that sound delicious? 'Mullioned windows. +Fine suite of reception-rooms, ballroom. Lovely garden, with +trout-stream intersecting'--heavenly. 'There are vineries, peach-houses, +greenhouses, and pits'--what do you do with pits?" "Keep bears in them, +of course," said Jock, and added vaguely--"bear baiting, you know." + +"It isn't usual to keep bears," David pointed out. + +"No, but if you _had_ them," Jock insisted, "you would want pits to keep +them in." + +"Jock," said Jean, "you are like the White Knight when Alice told him it +wasn't likely that there would be any mice on the horse's back. 'Not +very likely, perhaps, but if they _do_ come I don't choose to have them +running all about.' But I agree with the White Knight, it's as well to +be provided for everything, so we'll keep the pits in case of bears." + +"They had pits in the Bible," said Mhor dreamily, as he screwed and +unscrewed his steering-wheel, which was also the piano stool, "for +Joseph was put in one." + +Jean turned over the leaves of the magazine, studying each pictured +house, gloating over details of beauty and of age, then she pushed it +away with a "Heigh-ho, but I wish we had a Tudor residence." + +"I'll buy you one," David promised her, "when I'm Lord Chancellor." + +"Thank you, David," said Jean. + +By this time the raft had been sunk by a sudden storm, and Jock had +grasped the opportunity to go to his books, while Mhor and Peter had +laid themselves down on the rug before the fire and were rolling on each +other in great content. + +Jean and David sat together on the sofa, their arms linked. They had +very little to say, for as the time of departure approaches +conversation dies at the fount. + +Jean was trying to think what their mother would have said on this last +evening to her boy who was going out into the world. Never had she felt +so inadequate. Ought she to say things to him? Warn him against lurking +evils? (Jean who knew about as much of evil as a "committed linnet"!) +But David was such a wise boy and so careful. It always pinched Jean's +heart to see him dole out his slender stock of money, for there never +was a Jardine born who did not love to be generous. + +She looked at him fondly. "I do hope you won't find it too much of a +pinch, David. The worst of it is, you will be with people who have heaps +of money, and I'm afraid you'll hate to feel shabby." + +"It's no crime to be poor," said David stoutly. "I'll manage all right. +Don't you worry. What I hate is thinking you are scrimping to give me +every spare penny--but I'll work my hardest." + +"I know you'll do that, but play too--every minute you can spare. I +don't want you to shut yourself up among books. Try and get all the good +of Oxford. Remember, Sonny, this is your youth, and whatever you may get +later you can never get that back." She leaned back and gave a great +sigh. "How I wish I could make this a splendid time for you, but I +can't, my dear, I can't.... Anyway, nobody will have better china. I've +given you six of Aunt Alison's rosy ones; I hope the scout won't break +them. And your tablecloths and sheets and towels are all right, thanks +to our great-aunt's stores.... And you'll write as often as you can and +tell us everything, if you get a nice scout, and all about your rooms, +and if cushions would be any use, and oh, my dear, _eat_ as much as you +can--don't save on food." + +"Of course not," said David. "But several nights a week I'll feed in my +own room. You don't need to go to Hall to dinner unless you like." + +He got up from the sofa and went and stood before the fire, keeping his +head very much in the air and his hands in his pockets. He was feeling +that home was a singularly warm, kind place, and that the great world +was cold and full of strangers; so he whistled "D'ye ken John Peel?" and +squared his shoulders, and did not in the least deceive his sister Jean. + +"Peter, me faithful hound," said the Mhor, hugging the patient dog. +"What would you like to play at?" + +Peter looked supremely indifferent. + +"Red Indians?" + +Peter licked the earnest face so near his own. + +The Mhor wiped his face with the back of his hand (his morning's +handkerchief, which he alluded to as "me useful little hanky," being +used for all manner of purposes not intended by the inventor of +handkerchiefs, was quite unpresentable by evening) and said: + +"I know. Let's play at 'Suppose.' Jean, let's play at 'Suppose.'" + +"Don't worry, darling," said Jean. + +The Mhor turned to Jock, who was sitting at a table with his head bent +over a book. "Jock, let's play at 'Suppose.'" + +"Shut up," said Jock. + +"David." The Mhor turned to his last hope. "_Seeing_ it's your last +night." + +David never could resist the Mhor when he was beseeching. + +"Well, only for ten minutes, remember." + +Mhor looked fixedly at the clock, measuring with his eye the space of +ten minutes, then nodded, murmuring to himself, "From there to there. +You begin, Jean." + +"I can't think of anything," said Jean. Then seeing Mhor's eager face +cloud, she began: "Suppose when David was in the train to-morrow he +heard a scuffling sound under the seat, and he looked and saw a grubby +little boy and a fox-terrier, and he said, 'Come out, Mhor and Peter.' +And suppose they went with him all the way to Oxford, and when they got +to the college they crept upstairs without being seen and the scout was +a kind scout and liked dogs and naughty boys and he gave them a splendid +supper----" + +"What did he give them?" Mhor asked. + +"Chicken and boiled ham and meringues and sugar biscuits and lemonade" +(mentioning a few of Mhor's favourite articles of food), "and he tucked +them up on the sofa and they slept till morning, and got into the train +and came home, and that's all." + +"Me next," said Mhor. "Suppose they didn't come home again. Suppose they +started from Oxford and went all round the world. And I met a +magician--in India that was--and he gave me an elephant with a gold +howdah on its back, and I wasn't frightened for it--such a meek, gentle, +dirty animal--and Peter and me sat on it and it pulled off cocoanuts +with its trunk and handed them back to us, and we lived there always, +and I had a Newfoundland pup and Peter had a golden crown because he was +king of all the dogs, and I never went to bed and nobody ever washed my +ears and we made toffee every day, every single day...." His voice +trailed away into silence as he contemplated this blissful vision, and +Jock, wooed from his Greek verbs by the interest of the game, burst in +with his unmanageable voice: + +"Suppose a Russian man-of-war came up Tweed and started shelling +Priorsford, and the parish church was hit and the steeple fell into +Thomson's shop and scattered the haddocks and kippers and things all +over the street, and----" + +"Did you pick them up, Jock?" squealed Mhor, who regarded Jock as the +greatest living humorist, and now at the thought of the scattered +kippers wallowed on the floor with laughter. + +Jock continued: "And another shell blew the turrety thing off The Towers +and blew Mrs. Duff-Whalley right over the West Law and landed her in +Caddon Burn----" + +"Hurray!" yelled Mhor. + +Jock was preparing for a further flight of fancy, when Mrs. M'Cosh, +having finished washing the dishes, came in to say that Thomson had +never sent the sausages for Mr. David's breakfast, and she could not +see him depart for England unfortified by sausages and poached eggs. + +"I'll just slip down and get them," she announced, being by no means +averse to a stroll along the lighted Highgate. It was certainly neither +Argyle Street nor the Paisley Road, but it bore a far-off resemblance to +those gay places, and for that Mrs. M'Cosh was thankful. There was a +cinema, too, and that was a touch of home. Talking over Priorsford with +Glasgow friends she would say, "It's no' juist whit I wud ca' the deid +country--no juist paraffin-ile and glaury roads, ye ken. We hev gas an' +plain-stanes an' a pictur hoose." + +When Mrs. M'Cosh left the room Jock returned to his books, and the Mhor, +his imagination fermenting with the thought of bombs on Priorsford, +retired to the window-seat to think out further damage. + + * * * * * + +Some hours later, when Jock and Mhor were fast asleep and David, his +packing finished, was preparing to go to bed, Jean slipped into the +room. + +She stood looking at the open trunk on the floor, at the shelves from +which the books had been taken, at the empty boot cupboard. + +Two large tears rolled over her face, but she managed to say quite +gaily, "December will soon be here." + +"In no time at all," said David. + +Jean was carrying a little book, which she now laid on the +dressing-table, and, giving it a push in her brother's direction, "It's +a _Daily Light_," she explained. + +David did not offer to look at the gift, which was the traditional +Jardine gift to travellers, a custom descending from Great-aunt Alison. +He stood a bit away and said, "All right." + +And Jean understood, and said nothing of what was in her heart. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + "They have their exits and their entrances." + _As You Like It_. + + +The ten o'clock express from Euston to Scotland was tearing along on its +daily journey. It was that barren hour in the afternoon when luncheon is +over and forgotten, and tea is yet far distant, and most of the +passengers were either asleep or listlessly trying to read light +literature. + +Alone in a first-class carriage sat Bella Bathgate's lodger--Miss Pamela +Reston. A dressing-bag and a fur-coat and a pile of books and magazines +lay on the opposite seat, and the lodger sat writing busily. An envelope +lay beside her addressed to + +THE LORD BIDBOROUGH, + c/o KING, KING, & Co., + BOMBAY. + +The letter ran: + +"DEAR BIDDY,--We have always agreed, you and I (forgive the abruptness +of this beginning), that we would each live our own life. Your idea of +living was to range over the world in search of sport, mine to amuse +myself well, to shine, to be admired. You, I imagine from your letters +(what a faithful correspondent you have been, Biddy, all your wandering +life), are still finding zest in it: mine has palled. You will jump +naturally to the brotherly conclusion that _I_ have palled--that I cease +to amuse, that I find myself taking a second or even a third place, I +who was always first; that, in short, I am a soured and disappointed +woman. + +"Honestly, I don't think that is so. I am still beautiful: I am more +sympathetic than in my somewhat callous youth, therefore more popular: I +am good company: I have the influence that money carries with it, and I +could even now make what is known as a 'brilliant' marriage. Did you +ever wonder--everybody else did, I know--why I never married? Simply, my +dear, because the only man I cared for didn't ask me ... and now I am +forty. (How stark and almost indecent it looks written down like that!) +At forty, one is supposed to have got over all youthful fancies and +disappointments, and lately it has seemed to me reasonable to +contemplate a common-sense marriage. A politician, wise, honoured, +powerful--and sixty. What could be more suitable? So suitable that I ran +away--an absurdly young thing to do at forty--and I am writing to you in +the train on my way to Scotland.... You see, Biddy, I quite suddenly saw +myself growing old, saw all the arid years in front of me, and saw that +it was a very dreadful thing to grow old caring only for the things of +time. It frightened me badly. I don't want to go in bondage to the fear +of age and death. I want to grow old decently, and I am sure one ought +to begin quite early learning how. + + "'Clear eyes do dim at last + And cheeks outlive their rose: + Time, heedless of the past, + No loving kindness knows.' + +Yes, and 'youth's a stuff will not endure,' and 'golden lads and girls +all must like chimney-sweepers come to dust.' The poets aren't at all +helpful, for youth--poor brave youth--won't listen to their warnings, +and they seem to have no consolation to offer to middle age. + +"The odd thing is that up to a week or two ago I greatly liked the life +I led. You said it would kill you in a month. Was it only last May that +you pranced in the drawing-room in Grosvenor Street inveighing against +'the whole beastly show,' as you called it--the freak fashions, the ugly +eccentric dances, the costly pageant balls, the shouldering, +the striving, the worship of money, the gambling, the +self-advertisement--all the abject vulgarity of it? And my set, the +artistic, soulful literary set, you said was the worst of all: you +actually described the high-priestess as looking like a 'decomposing +cod-fish,' and added by way of a final insult that you thought the woman +had a kind heart. + +"And I laughed and thought the War had changed you. It didn't change me, +to my shame be it said. I thought I was doing wonders posing about in a +head-dress at Red Cross meetings, and getting up entertainments, and +even my neverceasing anxiety about you simply seemed to make me more +keen about amusing myself. + +"Do you remember a story we liked when we were children, _The Gold of +Fairnilee_? Do you remember how Randal, carried away by the fairies, +lived contented until his eyes were touched with the truth-telling +water, and then Fairyland lost its glamour and he longed for the old +earth he had left, and the changes of summer and autumn, and the streams +of Tweed and his friends? + +"Is it, do you suppose, because we had a Scots mother that I find, deep +down within me, that I am 'full of seriousness'? It is rather +disconcerting to think oneself a butterfly and find out suddenly that +one is a--what? A bread-and-butter fly, shall we say? Something quite +solid, anyway. + +"As I say, I suddenly became deadly sick of everything. I simply +couldn't go on. And it was no use going burying myself at Bidborough or +even dear Mintern Abbas; it would have been the same sort of trammelled, +artificial existence. I wanted something utterly different. Scotland +seemed to call to me--not the Scotland we know, not the shooting, +yachting, West Highland Scotland, but the Lowlands, the Borders, our +mother's countryside. + +"I remembered how Lewis Elliot (I wonder where he is now--it is ages +since I heard of him) used to tell us about a little town on the Tweed +called Priorsford. It was his own little town, his birthplace and I +thought the name sung itself like a song. I made inquiries about rooms +and found that in a little house called Hillview, owned by one Bella +Bathgate, I might lodge. I liked the name of the house and its owner, +and I hope to find in Priorsford peace and great content. + +"Having been more or less of a fool for forty years, I am now going to +try to get understanding. It won't be easy, for we are told that 'it +cannot be gotten with gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the +price thereof.... No mention shall be made of coral and pearls: for the +price of wisdom is above rubies.' + +"I am going to walk on the hills all day, and in the evening I shall +read the Book of Job and Shakespeare and Sir Walter. + +"In one of the Jungle Books there was a man called Sir Purun Dass--do +you remember? Sir Purun Dass, K.C.I.E., who left all his honours and +slipped out one day to the sun-baked highway with nothing but an +ochre-coloured garment and a beggar's bowl. I always envied that man. +Not that I could rise to such Oriental heights. The beggar's bowl +wouldn't do for me. I cling to my comforts: also, I am sure Sir Purun +Dass left himself no loophole whereby he might slip back to his official +position whereas I-----Well, the Politician thinks I have gone for a +three months' rest cure, and at sixty one is not impatient. You will +say, 'How like Pam!' Yes, isn't it? I always was given to leaving myself +loopholes; but, all the same, I am not going to face an old age +bolstered up by bridge and cosmetics. There must be other props, and I +mean to find them. I mean to possess my soul. I'm not all froth, but, if +I am, Priorsford will reveal it. I feel that there will be something +very revealing about Miss Bella Bathgate. + +"Poor Biddy, to have such an effusion hurled at you! + +"But you'll admit I don't often mention my soul. + +"I doubt if you will be able to read this letter. If you can make it +out, forgive it being so full of myself. The next will be full of quite +other things. All my love, Biddy.--Yours, PAM." + + * * * * * + +Three hours later the express stopped at the junction. The train was +waiting on the branch line that terminated at Priorsford, and after a +breathless rush over a high bridge in the dark Pamela and her maid, +Mawson, found themselves bestowed in an empty carriage by a fatherly +porter. + +Mawson was not a real lady's maid: one realised that at once. She had +been a housemaid for some years in the house in Grosvenor Street, and +Pamela, when her own most superior maid flatly refused to accompany her +on this expedition, had asked Mawson to be her maid, and Mawson had +gladly accepted the offer. She was a middle-aged woman with a small +brown face, an obvious _toupée_, and an adventurous spirit. + +She now tidied the carriage violently, carefully hiding the book Pamela +had been reading and putting the cushion on the rack. Finally, tucking +the travelling-rug firmly round her mistress, she remarked pleasantly, +"A h'eight hours' journey without an 'itch!" + +"Certainly without an aitch," thought Pamela, as she said, "You like +travelling, Mawson?" + +"Oh yes, m'm. I always 'ave 'ad a desire to travel. Specially, if I may +say so, to see Scotland, Miss. But, oh, ain't it bleak? Before it was +dark I 'ad me eyes glued to the window, lookin' out. Such miles of +'eather and big stones and torrents, Miss, and nothing to be seen but a +lonely sheep--'ardly an 'ouse on the 'orizon. It gave me quite a turn." + +"And this is nothing to the Highlands, Mawson." + +"Ain't it, Miss? Well, it's the bleakest I've seen yet, an' I've been to +Brighton and Blackpool. Travelled quite a lot, I 'ave, Miss. The lydy +who read me 'and said I would, for me teeth are so wide apart." Which +cryptic saying puzzled Pamela until Priorsford was reached, when other +things engaged her attention. + + * * * * * + +There was another passenger for Priorsford in the London express. He was +called Peter Reid, and he was as short and plain as his name. Peter Reid +was returning to his native town a very rich man. He had left it a youth +of eighteen and entered the business of a well-to-do uncle in London, +and since then, as the saying is, he had never looked over his shoulder; +fortune showered her gifts on him, and everything he touched seemed to +turn to gold. + +While his mother lived he had visited her regularly, but for thirty +years his mother had been lying in Priorsford churchyard, and he had not +cared to keep in touch with the few old friends he had. For forty-five +years he had lived in London, so there was almost nothing of Priorsford +left in him--nothing, indeed, except the desire to see it again before +he died. + +They had been forty-five quite happy years for Peter Reid. Money-making +was the thing he enjoyed most in this world. It took the place to him of +wife and children and friends. He did not really care much for the +things money could buy; he only cared to heap up gold, to pull down +barns and build greater ones. Then suddenly one day he was warned that +his soul would be required of him--that soul of his for which he had +cared so little. After more than sixty years of health, he found his +body failing him. In great irritation, but without alarm, he went to see +a specialist, one Lauder, in Wimpole Street. + +He supposed he would be made to take a holiday, and grudged the time +that would be lost. He grudged, also, the doctor's fee. + +"Well," he said, when the examination was over, "how long are you going +to keep me from my work?" + +The doctor looked at him thoughtfully. He was quite a young man, tall, +fair-haired, and fresh-coloured, with a look about him of vigorous +health that was heartening and must have been a great asset to him in +his profession. + +"I am going to advise you not to go back to work at all." + +"_What!_" cried Peter Reid, getting very red, for he was not accustomed +to being patient when people gave him unpalatable advice. Then +something that he saw--was it pity?--in the doctor's face made him white +and faint. + +"You--you can't mean that I'm really ill?" + +"You may live for years--with care." + +"I shall get another opinion," said Peter Reid. + +"Certainly--here, sit down." The doctor felt very sorry for this hard +little business man whose world had fallen about his ears. Peter Reid +sat down heavily on the chair the doctor gave him. + +"I tell you, I don't feel ill--not to speak of. And I've no time to be +ill. I have a deal on just now that I stand to make thousands out +of--thousands, I tell you." + +"I'm sorry," James Lauder said. + +"Of course, I'll see another man, though it means throwing away more +money. But"--his face fell--"they told me you were the best man for the +heart.... Leave my work! The thing's ridiculous Patch me up and I'll go +on till I drop. How long do you give me?" + +"As I said, you may live for years; on the other hand, you may go very +suddenly." + +Peter Reid sat silent for a minute; then he broke out: + +"Who am I to leave my money to? Tell me that." + +He spoke as if the doctor were to blame for the sentence he had +pronounced. + +"Haven't you relations?" + +"None." + +"The hospitals are always glad of funds." + +"I daresay, but they won't get them from me." + +"Have you no great friends--no one you are interested in?" + +"I've hundreds of acquaintances," said the rich man, "but no one has +ever done anything for me for nothing--no one." + +James Lauder looked at the hard-faced little man and allowed himself to +wonder how far his patient had encouraged kindness. + +A pause. + +"I think I'll go home," said Peter Reid. + +"The servant will call you a taxi. Where do you live?" + +Peter Reid looked at the doctor as if he hardly understood. + +"Live?" he said. "Oh, in Prince's Gate. But that isn't home.... I'm +going to Scotland." + +"Ah," said James Lauder, "now you're talking. What part of Scotland is +'home' to you?" + +"A place they call Priorsford. I was born there." + +"I know it. I've fished all round there. A fine countryside." + +Interest lit for a moment the dull grey eyes of Peter Reid. + +"I haven't fished," he said, "since I was a boy. Did you ever try the +Caddon Burn? There are some fine pools in it. I once lost a big fellow +in it and came over the hills a disappointed laddie.... I remember what +a fine tea my mother had for me." He reached for his hat and gave a +half-ashamed laugh. + +"How one remembers things! Well, I'll go. What do you say the other +man's name is? Yes--yes. Life's a short drag; it's hardly worth +beginning. I wish, though, I'd never come near you, and I would have +gone on happily till I dropped. But I won't leave my money to any +charity, mind that!" + +He walked towards the door and turned. + +"I'll leave it to the first person who does something for me without +expecting any return.... By the way, what do I owe you?" + +And Peter Reid went away exceeding sorrowful, for he had great +possessions. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + "It is the only set of the kind I ever met with in which you are + neither led nor driven, but actually fall, and that imperceptibly + into literary topics; and I attribute it to this, that in that house + literature is not a treat for company upon invitation days, but is + actually the daily bread of the family."--Written of Maria + Edgeworth's home. + + +Pamela Reston stood in Bella Bathgate's parlour and surveyed it +disconsolately. + +It was papered in a trying shade of terra-cotta and the walls were +embellished by enlarged photographs of the Bathgate family--decent, +well-living people, but plain-headed to a degree. Linoleum covered the +floor. A round table with a red-and-green cloth occupied the middle of +the room, and two arm-chairs and six small chairs stood about stiffly +like sentinels. Pamela had tried them all and found each one more +unyielding than the next. The mantelshelf, painted to look like some +uncommon kind of marble, supported two tall glass jars bright blue and +adorned with white raised flowers, which contained bunches of dried +grasses ("silver shekels" Miss Bathgate called them), rather dusty and +tired-looking. A mahogany sideboard stood against one wall and was +heavily laden with vases and photographs. Hard lace curtains tinted a +deep cream shaded the bow-window. + +"This is grim," said Pamela to herself. "Something must be done. First +of all, I must get them to send me some rugs--they will cover this awful +floor--and half a dozen cushions and some curtains and bits of +embroidery and some table linen and sheets and things. Idiot that I was +not to bring them with me!... And what could I do to the walls? I don't +know how far one may go with landladies, but I hardly think one could +ask them to repaper walls to each stray lodger's liking." + +Miss Bathgate had not so far shown herself much inclined for +conversation. She had met her lodger on the doorstep the night before, +had uttered a few words of greeting, and had then confined herself to +warning the man to watch the walls when he carried up the trunks, and to +wondering aloud what anyone could want with so much luggage, and where +in the world it was to find room. She had been asked to have dinner +ready, and at eight o'clock Pamela had come down to the sitting-room to +find a coarse cloth folded in two and spread on one-half of the round +table. A knife, a fork, a spoon lay on the cloth, flanked on one side by +an enormous cruet and on the other by four large spoons, laid crosswise, +and a thick tumbler. An aspidistra in a pot completed the table +decorations. + +The dinner consisted of stewed steak, with turnip and carrots, and a +large dish of potatoes, followed by a rice pudding made without eggs and +a glass dish of prunes. + +Pamela was determined to be pleased. + +"How _right_ it all is," she told herself--"so entirely in keeping. All +so clean and--and sufficient. I am sure all the things we hang on +ourselves and round ourselves to please and beautify are very +clogging--this is life at its simplest," and she rang for coffee, which +came in a breakfast-cup and was made of Somebody's essence and boiling +water. + +Pamela had gone to bed very early, there being absolutely nothing to sit +up for; and the bed was as hard as the nether millstone. As she put her +tired head on a cast-iron pillow covered by a cotton pillow-slip, and +lay crushed under three pairs of hard blankets, topped by a patchwork +quilt worked by Bella's mother and containing samples of the clothes of +all the family--from the late Mrs. Bathgate's wedding-gown of +puce-coloured cashmere to her youngest son's first pair of "breeks," the +whole smelling strongly of naphtha from the _kist_ where it had +lain--regretful thoughts of other beds came to her. She felt she had not +fully appreciated them--those warm, soft, embracing beds, with +satin-smooth sheets and pillow-cases smelling of lavender and other +sweet things, feather-light blankets, and rose-coloured eiderdowns. + +She came downstairs in the morning to the bleak sitting-room filled with +a distaste for simplicity which she felt to be unworthy. For breakfast +there was a whole loaf on a platter, three breakfast rolls hot from the +baker, and the family toast-rack full of tough, damp toast. A large +pale-green duck's egg sat heavily in an egg-cup, capped, but not +covered, by a strange red flannel thing representing a cock's head, +which Pamela learned later was called an "egg-cosy" and had come from +the sale of work for Foreign Missions. A metal teapot and water-jug +stood in two green worsted nests. + +Pamela poured herself out some tea. "I'm almost sure I told her I wanted +coffee in the morning," she murmured to herself, "but it doesn't +matter." Already she was beginning to hold Bella Bathgate in awe. She +took the top off the duck's egg and looked at it in an interested way. +"It's a beautiful colour--orange--but"--she pushed it away--"I don't +think I can eat it." + +She drank some tea and ate a baker's roll, which was excellent; then she +rang the bell. + +When Bella appeared she at once noticed the headless but uneaten egg, +and, taking it up, smelt it. + +"What's wrang wi' the egg?" she demanded. + +"Oh, nothing," said Pamela quickly. "It's a lovely egg really, such a +beautiful colour, but"--she laughed apologetically--"you know how it is +with eggs--either you can eat them or you can't. I always have to eat +eggs with my head turned away so to speak. There is something about the +yolk so--so----" Her voice trailed away under Miss Bathgate's stolid, +unsmiling gaze. + +There was no point in going on being arch about eggs to a person who so +obviously regarded one as a poor creature. But a stand must be taken. + +"Er--Miss Bathgate----" Pamela began. + +There was no answer from Bella, who was putting the dishes on a tray. +Had she addressed her rightly? + +"You _are_ Miss Bathgate, aren't you?" + +"Ou ay," said Bella. "I'm no' mairret nor naething o' that kind." + +"I see. Well, Miss Bathgate, I wonder if you would mind if Mawson--my +maid, you know--carried away some of those ornaments and photographs to +a safe place? It would be such a pity if we broke any of them, for, of +course, you must value them greatly. These vases now, with the pretty +grasses, it would be dreadful if anything happened to them, for I'm sure +we could never, never replace them." + +"Uch ay," Bella interrupted. "I got them at the pig-cairt in exchange +for some rags. He's plenty mair o' the same kind." + +"Oh, really," Pamela said helplessly. "The fact is, a few things of my +own will be arriving in a day or two--a cushion or two and that sort of +thing--to make me feel at home, you know, so if you would very kindly +let us make room for them, I should be so much obliged." + +Bella Bathgate looked round the grim chamber that was to her as the +apple of her eye, and sighed for the vagaries of "the gentry." + +"Aweel," she said, "I'll pit them in a kist until ye gang awa'. I've +never had lodgers afore." And as she carried out the tray there was a +baleful gleam in her eye as if she were vowing to herself that she would +never have them again. + +Pamela gave a gasp of relief when the door closed behind the ungracious +back of her landlady, and started when it opened again, but this time it +was only Mawson. + +She hailed her. "Mawson, we must get something done to this room. Lift +all these vases and photographs carefully away. Miss Bathgate says she +will put them somewhere else in the meantime. And we'll wire to +Grosvenor Street for some cushions and rugs--this is too hopeless. Are +you quite comfortable Mawson?" + +"Yes, Miss. I 'ave me meals in the kitchen, Miss, for Miss Bathgate +don't want to keep another fire goin'. A nice cosy kitchen it is, Miss." + +"Then I wish I could have my meals there, too." + +"Oh, Miss!" cried Mawson in horror. + +"Does Miss Bathgate talk to you, Mawson?" + +"Not to say talk, Miss. She don't even listen much; says she can't +understand my 'tongue.' Funny, ain't it? Seems to me it's 'er that +speaks strange. But I expect we'll be friends in time, Miss. You do 'ave +to give the Scotch time: bit slow they are.... What I wanted to h'ask, +Miss, is where am I to put your things? That little wardrobe and chest +of drawers 'olds next to nothing." + +"Keep them in the trunks," said Pamela. "I think Miss Bathgate would +like to see us departing with them to-day, but I won't be beat. In +Priorsford we are, in Priorsford we remain.... I'll write out some wires +and you will explore for a post office. I shall explore for an +upholsterer who can supply me with an arm-chair not hewn from the +primeval rock." + +Mawson smiled happily and departed to put on her hat, while Pamela sat +down to compose telegrams. + +These finished, she began, as was her almost daily custom, to scribble a +letter to her brother. + +"c/o Miss B. BATHGATE, + HILLVIEW, PRIORSFORD, + SCOTLAND. + +"BIDDY DEAR,--The beds and chairs and cushions are all stuffed with +cannon-balls, and the walls are covered with enlarged photographs of men +with whiskers, and Bella Bathgate won't speak to me, partly because she +evidently hates the look of me, and partly because I didn't eat the +duck's egg she gave me for breakfast. But the yolk of it was orange, +Biddy. How could I eat it? + +"I have sent out S.O.S. signals for necessaries in the way of rugs and +cushions. Life as bald and unadorned as it presents itself to Miss +Bathgate is really not quite decent. I wish she would speak to me, but I +fear she considers me beneath contempt. + +"What happens when you arrive in a place like Priorsford and stay in +lodgings? Do you remain seated alone with your conscience, or do people +call? + +"Perhaps I shall only have Mawson to converse with. It might be worse. I +don't think I told you about Mawson. She has been a housemaid in +Grosvenor Street for some years, and she maided me once when Julie was +on holiday, so when that superior damsel refused to accompany me on this +trek I gladly left her behind and brought Mawson in her place. + +"She is really very little use as a maid, but her conversation is +pleasing and she has a most cheery grin. She reads the works of Florence +Barclay, and doesn't care for music-halls--'low I call them, Miss.' I +asked her if she were fond of music, and she said, 'Oh yes, Miss,' and +then with a coy glance, 'I ply the mandoline.' I think she is about +fifty, and not at all good-looking, so she will be a much more +comfortable person in the house than Julie, who would have moped without +admirers. + +"Well, at present Mawson and I are rather like Robinson Crusoe and Man +Friday on the island...." + + * * * * * + +Pamela stopped and looked out of the window for inspiration. Miss +Bathgate's parlour was not alluring, but the view from it was a +continual feast--spreading fields, woods that in this yellowing time of +the year were a study in old gold, the winding river, and the blue hills +beyond. Pamela saw each detail with delight; then, letting her eyes come +nearer home, she studied the well-kept garden belonging to her landlady. +On the wall that separated it from the next garden a small boy and a dog +were seated. + +Pamela liked boys, so she smiled encouragingly to this one, the boy +responding by solemnly raising his cap. + +Pamela leaned out of the window. + +"Good morning," she said. "What's your name?" + +"My name's Gervase Taunton, but I'm called 'the Mhor.' This is Peter +Jardine," patting the dog's nose. + +"I'm very glad to know you," said Pamela. "Isn't that wall damp?" + +"It is rather," said Mhor. "We came to look at you." + +"Oh," said Pamela. + +"I've never seen an Honourable before, neither has Peter." + +"You'd better come in and see me quite close," Pamela suggested. "I've +got some chocolates here." + +Mhor and Peter needed no further invitation. They sprang from the wall +and in a few seconds presented themselves at the door of the +sitting-room. + +Pamela shook hands with Mhor and patted Peter, and produced a box of +chocolates. + +"I hope they're the kind you like?" she said politely. + +"I like any kind," said Mhor, "but specially hard ones. I don't suppose +you have anything for Peter? A biscuit or a bit of cake? Peter's like +me. He's always hungry for cake and _never_ hungry for porridge." + +Pamela, feeling extremely remiss, confessed that she had neither cake +nor biscuits and dared not ask Miss Bathgate for any. + +"But you're bigger than Miss Bathgate," Mhor pointed out. "You needn't +be afraid of her. I'll ask her, if you like." + +Pamela heard him cross the passage and open the kitchen door and begin +politely, "Good morning, Miss Bathgate." + +"What are ye wantin' here wi' thae dirty boots?" Bella demanded. + +"I came in to see the Honourable, and she has nothing to give poor Peter +to eat. Could he have a tea biscuit--not an Abernethy one, please, he +doesn't like them--or a bit of cake?" + +"Of a' the impidence!" ejaculated Bella. "D'ye think I keep tea biscuits +and cake to feed dowgs wi'? Stan' there and dinna stir." She put a bit +of carpet under the small, dirty boots, and as she grumbled she wiped +her hands on a coarse towel that hung behind the door, and reached up +for a tin box from the top shelf of the press beside the fire. + +"Here, see, there's yin for yerself, an' the broken bits are for Peter. +Here he comes snowkin'," as Peter ambled into the kitchen followed by +Pamela. That lady stood in the doorway. + +"Do forgive me coming, but I love a kitchen. It is always the nicest +place in the house, I think; the shining tins are so cheerful, and the +red fire." She smiled in an engaging way at Bella, who, after a second, +and, as it were, reluctantly, smiled back. + +"I see you have given the raider some biscuits," Pamela said. + +"He's an ill laddie." Bella Bathgate looked at the Mhor standing +obediently on the bit of carpet, munching his biscuit, and her face +softened. "He has neither father nor mother, puir lamb, but I must say +Miss Jean never lets him ken the want o' them." + +"Miss Jean?" + +"He bides at The Rigs wi' the Jardines--juist next door here. She's no a +bad lassie, Miss Jean, and wonderfu' sensible considerin'.... Are ye +finished, Mhor? Weel, wipe yer feet and gang ben to the room an' let me +get on wi' ma work." + +Pamela, feeling herself dismissed, took her guest back to the +sitting-room, where Mhor at once began to examine the books piled on the +table, while Peter sat himself on the rug to await developments. + +"You've a lot of books," said Mhor. "I've a lot of books too--as many as +a hundred, perhaps. Jean teaches me poetry. Would you like me to say +some?" + +"Please," said Pamela, expecting to hear some childish rhymes. Mhor took +a long breath and began: + + "'O take me to the Mountain O, + Past the great pines and through the wood, + Up where the lean hounds softly go, + A whine for wild things' blood, + And madly flies the dappled roe. + O God, to shout and speed them there + An arrow by my chestnut hair + Drawn tight, and one keen glittering spear-- + Ah, if I could!'" + +For some reason best known to himself Mhor was very sparing of breath +when he repeated poetry, making one breath last so long that the end of +the verse was reached in a breathless whisper--in this instance very +effective. + +"So that is what 'Jean' teaches you," said Pamela. "I should like to +see Jean." + +"Well," said Mhor, "come in with me now and see her. I should be doing +my lessons anyway, and you can tell her where I've been." + +"Won't she think me rather pushing?" Pamela asked. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Mhor carelessly. "Jean's kind to +everybody--tramps and people who sing in the street and little cats with +no homes. Hadn't you better put on your hat?" + +So Pamela obediently put on her hat and coat and went with her new +friends down the road a few steps and up the flagged path to the front +door of the funny little house that kept its back turned to its parvenu +neighbours, and its eyes lifted to the hills. + +In Mhor led her, Peter following hard behind, through a square, +low-roofed entrance-hall with a polished floor, into a long room with +one end coming to a point in an odd-shaped window, rather like the bow +of a ship. + +A girl was sitting in the window with a large basket of darning beside +her. + +"Jean," cried Mhor as he burst in, "here's the Honourable. I asked her +to come in and see you. She's afraid of Bella Bathgate." + +"Oh, do come in," said Jean, standing up with the stocking she was +darning over one hand. "Take this chair; it's the most comfortable. I do +hope Mhor hasn't been worrying you?" + +"Indeed he hasn't," said Pamela; "I was delighted to see him. But +please don't let me interrupt your work." + +"The boys make such big holes," said Jean, picking up a damp +handkerchief that lay beside her; and then with a tremble in her voice, +"I've been crying," she added. + +"So I see," said Pamela. "I'm sorry. Is anything wrong?" + +"Nothing in the least wrong," Jean said, swallowing hard, "only that I'm +so silly." And presently she found herself pouring out her troubled +thoughts about David, about the lions that she feared stood in his path +at Oxford, about the hole his going made in the little household at The +Rigs. It was a comfort to tell it all to this delightful-looking +stranger who seemed to understand in the most wonderful way. + +"I remember when my brother Biddy went to Oxford," Pamela told her. "I +felt just as you do. Our parents were dead, and I was five years older +than my brother, and took care of him just as you do of your David. I +was afraid for him, for he had too much money, and that is much worse +than having too little--but he didn't get changed or spoiled, and to +this day he is the same, my own old Biddy." + +Jean dried her eyes and went on with her darning, and Pamela walked +about looking at the books and talking, taking in every detail of this +girl and her so individual room, the golden-brown hair, thick and wavy, +the golden-brown eyes, "like a trout-stream in Connemara," that sparkled +and lit and saddened as she talked, the mobile, humorous mouth, the +short, straight nose and pointed chin, the straight-up-and-down belted +brown frock, the whole toning so perfectly with the room with its +polished floor and old Persian rugs, the pale yellow walls (even on the +dullest day they seemed to hold some sunshine) hung with coloured prints +in old rosewood frames--"Saturday Morning," engraved (with many +flourishes) by T. Burke, engraver to His Serene Highness the Reigning +Landgrave of Hesse Darmstadt; "The Cut Finger," by David Wilkie--those +and many others. The furniture was old and good, well kept and well +polished, so that the shabby, friendly room had that comfortable air of +well-being that only careful housekeeping can give. Books were +everywhere: a few precious ones behind glass doors, hundreds in low +bookcases round the room. + +"I needn't ask you if you are fond of reading," Pamela said. + +"Much too fond," Jean confessed. "I'm a 'rake at reading.'" + +"You know the people," said Pamela, "who say, 'Of course I _love_ +reading, but I've no time, alas!' as if everyone who loves reading +doesn't make time." + +As they talked, Pamela realised that this girl who lived year in and +year out in a small country town was in no way provincial, for all her +life she had been free of the company of the immortals. The Elizabethans +she knew by heart, poetry was as daily bread. Rosalind in Arden, Viola +in Illyria, were as real to her as Bella Bathgate next door. She had +taken to herself as friends (being herself all the daughters of her +father's house) Maggie Tulliver, Ethel Newcome, Beatrix Esmond, Clara +Middleton, Elizabeth Bennet---- + +The sound of the gong startled Pamela to her feet. + +"You don't mean to say it's luncheon time already? I've taken up your +whole morning." + +"It has been perfectly delightful," Jean assured her. "Do stay a long +time at Hillview and come in every day. Don't let Bella Bathgate +frighten you away. She isn't used to letting her rooms, and her manners +are bad, and her long upper lip very quelling; but she's really the +kindest soul on earth.... Would you come in to tea this afternoon? Mrs. +M'Cosh--that's our retainer--bakes rather good scones. I would ask you +to stay to luncheon, but I'm afraid there mightn't be enough to go +round." + +Pamela gratefully accepted the invitation to tea, and said as to +luncheon she was sure Miss Bathgate would be awaiting her with a large +dish of stewed steak and carrots saved from the night before--so she +departed. + + * * * * * + +Later in the day, as Miss Bathgate sat for ten minutes in Mrs. M'Cosh's +shining kitchen and drank a dish of tea, she gave her opinion of the +lodger. + +"Awfu' English an' wi' a' the queer daft ways o' gentry. 'Oh, Miss +Bathgate,' a' the time. They tell me Miss Reston's considered a beauty +in London. It's no' ma idea o' beauty--a terrible lang neck an' a wee +shilpit bit face, an' sic a height! I'm fair feared for ma gasaliers. +An' forty if she's a day. But verra pleasant, ye ken. I aye think there +maun be something wrang wi' folk that's as pleasant as a' that--owre +sweet to be wholesome, like a frostit tattie! ... The maid's ca'ed Miss +Mawson. She speaks even on. The wumman's a fair clatter-vengeance, an' I +dinna ken the one-hauf she says. I think the puir thing's _defeecient_!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + " ... Ruth, all heart and tenderness + Who wept, like Chaucer's Prioress, + When Dash was smitten: + Who blushed before the mildest men, + Yet waxed a very Corday when + You teased the kitten." + + AUSTIN DOBSON. + + +Before seeking her stony couch at the end of her first day at +Priorsford, Pamela finished the letter begun in the morning to her +brother. + + * * * * * + +" ... I began this letter in the morning and now it is bedtime. Robinson +Crusoe is no longer solitary: the island is inhabited. My first visitors +arrived about 11 a.m.--a small boy and a dog--an extremely good-looking +little boy and a well-bred fox-terrier. They sat on the garden wall +until I invited them in, when they ate chocolates and biscuits, and the +boy offered to repeat poetry. I expected 'Casabianca' or the modern +equivalent, but instead I got the song from Hippolytus, 'O take me to +the Mountains, O.' It was rather surprising, but when he invited me to +go with him to his home, which is next door, it was more surprising +still. Instead of finding another small villa like Hillview with a +breakneck stair and poky little rooms, I found a real old cottage. The +room I was taken into was about the nicest I ever saw. I think it would +have fulfilled all your conditions as to the proper furnishing of a +room; indeed, now that I think of it, it was quite a man's room. + +"It had a polished floor and some good rugs, and creamy yellow walls +with delicious coloured prints. There were no ornaments except some fine +old brass: solid chairs and a low, wide-seated sofa, and books +everywhere. + +"The shape of the room is delightfully unusual. It is long and rather +low-ceilinged, and one end comes almost to a point like the bow of a +ship. There is a window with a window-seat in the bow, and as the house +stands high on a slope and faces west, you look straight across the +river to the hills, and almost have the feeling that you are sailing +into the sunset. + +"In this room a girl sat, darning stockings and crying quietly to +herself--crying because her brother David had gone to Oxford the day +before, and she was afraid he would find it hard work to live on his +scholarship with the small help she could give him, afraid that he might +find himself shabby and feel it bitter, afraid that he might not come +back to her the kind, clear-eyed boy he had gone away. + +"She told me all about it as simply as a child. Didn't seem to find it +in the least odd to confide in a stranger, didn't seem at all impressed +by the sudden appearance of my fashionably dressed self! + +"People, I am often told, find themselves rather in awe of me. I know +that they would rather have me for a friend than an enemy. You see, I +can think of such extraordinarily nasty things to say about people I +don't like. But this little girl treated me as if I had been an older +sister or a kind big brother, and--well, I found it rather touching. + +"Jean Jardine is her funny little name. She looks a mere child, but she +tells me she is twenty-three and she has been head of the house since +she was nineteen. + +"It is really the strangest story. The father, one Francis Jardine, was +in the Indian Civil Service--pretty good at his job, I gather--and these +three children, Jean and her two brothers, David and Jock, were brought +up in this cottage--The Rigs it is called--by an old aunt of the +father's, Great-aunt Alison. The mother died when Jock was a baby, and +after some years the father married again, suddenly and +unpremeditatedly, a beautiful and almost friendless girl whom he met in +London when home on leave. Jean offered no comment on the wisdom or the +unwisdom of the match, but she told me the young Mrs. Jardine had sent +for her (Jean was then a schoolgirl of fourteen) and had given her a +good time in London before she sailed with her husband for India. Rather +unusual when you come to think of it! It isn't every young wife who has +thought on the honeymoon for schoolgirl stepdaughters, and Jean had seen +that it was kind and unselfish, and was grateful. The Jardines sailed +for India, and were hardly landed when Mr. Jardine died of cholera. The +young widow stayed on--I suppose she liked the life and had little to +bring her back to England--and when the first year of her widowhood was +over she married a young soldier, Gervase Taunton. I'm almost sure I +remember meeting him about--good-looking, perfect dancer, crack polo +player. They seem, in spite of lack of money, to have been supremely +happy for about three years, when young Taunton was killed playing polo. +The poor girl broke her heart and slipped out of life, leaving behind +one little boy. She had no relations, and Captain Taunton had no one +very near, and when she was dying she had left instructions. 'Send my +boy to Scotland. Ask Jean to bring him up. She will understand.' I +suppose she had detected even in the schoolgirl of fourteen Jean's most +outstanding quality, steadfastness, and entrusted the child to her +without a qualm. + +"So the baby of two was sent to the child of eighteen, and Jean glows +with gratitude and tells you how good it was of her at-one-time +stepmother to think of her! That is how she seems to take life: no +suspecting of motives: looking for, therefore perhaps finding, kindness +on every side. It is rather absurd in this wicked world, but I shouldn't +wonder if it made for happiness. + +"The Taunton child has, of course, no shadow of claim on the Jardines, +but he is to them a most treasured little brother. 'The Mhor,' as they +call him, is their great amusement and delight. He is quite absurdly +good-looking, with great grave green eyes and a head most wonderfully +set on his shoulders. He has a small income of his own, which Jean +keeps religiously apart so that he may be able to go to a good school +when he is old enough. + +"The great-aunt who brought up the Jardines must have been an uncommon +old woman. She died (perhaps luckily) just as the young Gervase Taunton +came on the scene. + +"It seems she always dressed in rustling black silk, sat bolt upright on +the edge of chairs for the sake of her figure, took the greatest care of +her hands and complexion, and was a great age. She had, Jean said, 'come +out at the Disruption.' Jean was so impressive over it that I didn't +like to ask what it meant. Do you suppose she made her début then? + +"Perhaps 'the Disruption' is a sort of religious _tamasha_. Anyway, she +was frightfully religious--a strict Calvinist--and taught Jean to regard +everything from the point of view of her own death-bed. I mean to say, +the child had to ask herself, 'How will this action look when I am on my +death-bed?' Every cross word, every small disobedience, she was told, +would be a 'thorn in her dying pillow.' I said, perhaps rather rudely, +that Great-aunt Alison must have been a horrible old ghoul, but Jean +defended her hotly. She seems to have had a great admiration for her +aged relative, though she owned that her death was something of a +relief. Unfortunately most of her income died with her. + +"I think perhaps it was largely this training that has given Jean her +particular flavour. She is the most happy change from the ordinary +modern girl. Her manners are delightful--not noisy, but frank and gay +like a nice boy's. She neither falls into the Scylla of affectation nor +the Charybdis of off-handness. She has been nowhere and seen very +little; books are her world, and she talks of book-people as if they +were everyday acquaintances. She adores Dr. Johnson and quotes him +continually. + +"She has no slightest trace of accent, but she has that lilt in her +voice--I have noticed it once or twice before in Scots people--that +makes one think of winds over heathery moorlands, and running water. In +appearance she is like a wood elf, rather small and brown, very light +and graceful. She is so beautifully made that there is great +satisfaction in looking at her. (If she had all the virtues in the world +I could never take any interest in a girl who had a large head, or short +legs, or thick ankles!) She knows how to dress, too. The little brown +frock was just right, and the ribbon that was tied round her hair. I'll +tell you what she reminded me of a good deal--Romney's 'Parson's +Daughter.' + +"What a find for my first day at Priorsford! + +"I went to tea with the Jardines and I never was at a nicer tea-party. +We said poems to each other most of the time. Mhor's rendering of +Chesterton's 'The Pleasant Town of Roundabout' was very fine, but Jock +loves best 'Don John of Austria.' You would like Jock. He has a very +gruff voice and such surprised blue eyes, and is fond of weird +interjections like 'Gosh, Maggie!' and 'Earls in the streets of Cork!' +He is a determined foe to sentiment. He won't read a book that contains +love-making or death-beds. 'Does anybody marry?' 'Does anybody die?' are +his first questions about a book, so naturally his reading is much +restricted. + +"The Jardines have the lovable habit of becoming suddenly overpowered +with laughter, crumpled up, and helpless. You have it, too; I have it; +all really nice people have it. I have been refreshing myself with +_Irish Memories_ since dinner. Do you remember what is said of Martin +Ross? 'The large conventional jest had but small power over her; it was +the trivial absurdity, the inversion of the expected the sublimity +getting a little above itself and failing to realise that it had taken +that fatal step over the border--those were the things that felled her, +and laid her, wherever she might be, in ruins....' + +"Bella Bathgate, I must tell you, remains unthawed. She hinted to me +to-night that she thought the Hydropathic was the place for me--surely +the unkindest cut of all. People dress for dinner every night there, she +tells me, and most of them are English, and a band plays. Evidently she +thinks I would be at home in such company. + +"Some day I think you must visit Priorsford and get to know Miss +Bathgate.--Yours, + +"PAM. + +"I forgot to tell you that for some dark reason the Jardines call their +cat Sir J.M. Barrie. + +"I asked why, but got no satisfaction. + +"'Well, you see, there's Peter,' Mhor said vaguely. + +"Jock looked at the cat and observed obscurely, 'It's not a sentimental +beast either'--while Jean asked if I would have preferred it called Sir +Rabindranath Tagore!" + + + + +CHAPTER V + + "O, the land is fine, fine, + I could buy it a' for mine, + For ma gowd's as the stooks in Strathairlie." + + _Scots Song._ + + +When Peter Reid arrived at Priorsford Station from London he stood for a +few minutes looking about him in a lost way, almost as if after thirty +years he expected to see a "kent face" coming to meet him. He had no +-notion where to go; he had not written for rooms; he had simply obeyed +the impulse that sent him--the impulse that sends a hurt child to its +mother. It is said that an old horse near to death turns towards the +pastures where he was foaled. It is true of human beings. "Man wanders +back to the fields which bred him." + +After a talk with a helpful porter he found rooms in a temperance hotel +in the Highgate--a comfortable quiet place. + +The next day he was too tired to rise, and spent rather a dreary day in +his rooms with the _Scotsman_ for sole companion. + +The landlord, a cheery little man, found time once or twice to talk for +a few minutes, but he had only been ten years in Priorsford and could +tell his guest nothing of the people he had once known. + +"D'you know a house called The Rigs?" he asked him. + +The landlord knew it well--a quaint cottage with a pretty garden. Old +Miss Alison Jardine was living in it when he came first to Priorsford; +dead now, but the young folk were still in it. + +"Young folk?" said Peter Reid. + +"Yes," said the landlord, "Miss Jean Jardine and her brothers. Orphans, +I'm told. Father an Anglo-Indian. Nice people? Oh, very. Quiet and +inoffensive. They don't own the house, though. I hear the landlord is a +very wealthy man in London. By the way, same name as yourself, sir." + +"Do I look like a millionaire?" asked Peter Reid, and the landlord +laughed pleasantly and non-committally. + +The next day was sunny and Peter Reid went out for a walk. It was a +different Priorsford that he had come back to. A large draper's shop +with plate-glass windows occupied the corner where Jenny Baxter had +rolled her toffee-balls and twisted her "gundy," and where old Davy +Linton had cut joints and weighed out mince-collops accompanied by wise +weather prophecies, a smart fruiterer's shop now stood furnished with a +wealth of fruit and vegetables unimagined in his young days. There were +many handsome shops, the streets were wider and better kept, unsightly +houses had been demolished; it was a clean, prosperous-looking town, but +it was different. + +Peter Reid (of London) would have been the first to carp at the +tumbledown irregular old houses, with their three steps up and three +steps down, remaining, but Peter Reid (of Priorsford) missed them. He +resented the new shops, the handsome villas, the many motors, all the +evidences of prosperity. + +And why had Cuddy Brig been altered? + +It had been far liker the thing, he thought--the old hump-backed bridge +with the grass and ferns growing in the crannies. He had waded in Cuddy +when he was a boy, picking his way among the broken dishes and the tin +cans, and finding wonderful adventures in the dark of the bridge; he had +bathed in it as it wound, clear and shining, among the green meadows +outside the town, and run "skirl-naked" to dry himself, in full sight of +scandalised passengers in the Edinburgh train; he had slid on it in +winter. The memory of the little stream had always lain in the back of +his mind as something precious--and now to find it spanned by a staring +new stone bridge. Those Town Councils with their improvements! + +Even Tweed Bridge had not been left alone. It had been widened, as an +inscription in the middle told the world at large. He leant on it and +looked up the river. Peel Tower was the same, anyway. No one had dared +to add one cubit to its grey stature. It was a satisfaction to look at +something so unchanging. + +The sun had still something of its summer heat, and it was pleasant to +stand there and listen to the sound of the river over the pebbles and +see the flaming trees reflected in the blue water all the way up +Tweedside till the river took a wide curve before the green slope on +which the castle stood. A wonderfully pretty place, Priorsford, he told +himself: a home-like place--if one had anyone to come home to. + +He turned slowly away. He would go and look at The Rigs. His mother had +come to it as a bride. He had been born there. Though occupied by +strangers, it was the nearest he had to a home. The house in Prince's +Gate was well furnished, comfortable, smoothly run by efficient +servants, but only a house when all was said. He felt he would like to +creep into The Rigs, into the sitting-room where his mother had always +sat (the other larger rooms, the "good room" as it was called, was kept +for visitors and high days), and lay his tired body on the horsehair +arm-chair by the fireside. He could rest there, he thought. It was +impossible, of course. There would be no horsehair arm-chair, for +everything had been sold--and there was no mother. + +But, anyway, he would go and look at it. There used to be primroses--but +this was autumn. Primroses come in the spring. + +Thirty years--but The Rigs was not changed, at least not outwardly. Old +Mrs. Reid had loved the garden, and Great-aunt Alison, and Jean after +her, had carried on her work. + +The little house looked just as Peter Reid remembered it. + +He would go in and ask to see it, he told himself. + +He would tell these Jardines that the house was his and he meant to live +in it himself. They wouldn't like it, but he couldn't help that. +Perhaps he would be able to persuade them to go almost at once. He would +make it worth their while. + +He was just going to lift the latch of the gate when the front door +opened and shut, and Jean Jardine came down the flagged path. She +stopped at the gate and looked at Peter Reid. + +"Were you by any chance coming in?" she asked. + +"Yes," said Mr. Reid; "I was going to ask if I might see over the +house." + +"Surely," said Jean. "But--you're not going to buy it, are you?" + +The face she turned to him was pink and distressed. + +"Did you think of buying it yourself?" Peter Reid asked. + +"_Me_? You wouldn't ask that if you knew how little money I have. But +come in. I shall try to think of all its faults to tell you--but in my +eyes it hasn't got any." + +They went slowly up the flagged path and into the square, low-roofed +hall. This was not as his mother had it. Then the floor had been covered +with linoleum on which had stood two hard chairs and an umbrella-stand. +Now there was an oak chest and a gate-table, old brass very well rubbed +up, a grandfather clock with a "clear" face, and a polished floor with a +Chinese rug on it. + +"It is rather dark," said Jean, "but I like it dark. Coming in on a hot +summer day it is almost like a pool; it is so cool and dark and +polished." Mr. Reid said nothing, and Jean was torn between a desire to +have her home appreciated and a desire to have this stranger take an +instant dislike to it, and to leave it speedily and for ever. + +"You see," she pointed out, "the little staircase is rather steep and +winding, but it is short; and the bedrooms are charming--not very big, +but so prettily shaped and with lovely views." Then she remembered that +she should miscall rather than praise, and added, "Of course, they have +all got queer ceilings; you couldn't expect anything else in a cottage. +Will you go upstairs?" + +Mr. Reid thought not, and asked if he might see the sitting-rooms. +"This," said Jean, opening a door, "is the dining-room." + +It was the room his mother had always sat in, where the horsehair +arm-chair had had its home, but it, too, had suffered a change. Gone was +the arm-chair, gone the round table with the crimson cover. This room +had an austerity unknown in the room he remembered. It was small, and +every inch of space was made the most of. An old Dutch dresser held +china and acted as a sideboard; a bare oak table, having in its centre a +large blue bowl filled with berries and red leaves, stood in the middle +of the room; eight chairs completed the furniture. + +"This is the least nice room in the house," Jean told him, "but we are +never in it except to eat. It looks out on the road." + +"Yes," said Peter Reid, remembering that that was why his mother had +liked it. She could sit with her knitting and watch the passers-by. She +had always "infused" the tea when she heard the click of the gate as he +came home from school. + +"You will like to see the living-room," said Jean, shivering for the +effect its charm might have on a potential purchaser. She led him in, +hoping that it might be looking its worst, but, as if in sheer +contrariness, the fire was burning brightly, a shaft of sunlight lay +across a rug, making the colours glow like jewels, and the whole room +seemed to hold out welcoming hands. It was satisfactory (though somewhat +provoking) that the stranger seemed quite unimpressed. + +"You have some good furniture," he said. + +"Yes," Jean agreed eagerly. "It suits the room and makes it beautiful. +Can you imagine it furnished with a 'suite' and ordinary pictures, and +draped curtains at the windows and silver photograph frames and a grand +piano? It would simply be no sort of room at all. All its individuality +would be gone. But won't you sit down and rest? That hill up from the +town is steep." + +Peter Reid sank thankfully into a corner of the sofa, while Jean busied +herself at the writing-table so that this visitor, who looked so tired, +need not feel that he should offer conversation. + +Presently he said, "You are very fond of The Rigs?" + +Jean came and sat down beside him. + +"It's the only home we have ever known," she said. "We came here from +India to live with our great-aunt--first me alone, and then David and +Jock. And Father and Mother were with us when Father had leave. I have +hardly ever been away from The Rigs. It's such a very _affectionate_ +sort of house--perhaps that is rather an absurd thing to say, but you do +get so fond of it. But if I take you in to see Mrs. M'Cosh in the +kitchen she will tell you plenty of faults. The water doesn't heat well, +for one thing, and the range simply eats up coal, and there is no proper +pantry. Your wife would want to know about these things." + +"Haven't got a wife," said Peter Reid gruffly. + +"No? Well, your housekeeper, then. You couldn't buy a house without +getting to know all about the hot water and pantries." + +"There is no question of my buying it." + +"Oh, isn't there?" cried Jean joyfully. "What a relief! All the time +I've been showing you the house I've been picturing us removing sadly to +a villa in the Langhope Road. They are quite nice villas as villas go, +but they have only tiny strips of gardens, and stairs that come to meet +you as you go in at the front door, and anyway no house could ever be +home to us after The Rigs--not though it had hot and cold water in every +room and a pantry on every floor." + +"Dear me," said Peter Reid. + +He felt perplexed, and annoyed with himself for being perplexed. All he +had to do was to tell this girl with the frank eyes that The Rigs was +his, that he wanted to live in it himself, that if they would turn out +at once he would make it worth their while. Quite simple--They were nice +people evidently, and would make no fuss. He would say it now--but Jean +was speaking. + +"I think I know why you wanted to see through this house," she was +saying. "I think you must have known it long ago when you were a boy. +Perhaps you loved it too--and had to leave it." + +"I went to London when I was eighteen to make my fortune." + +"Oh," said Jean, and into that "Oh" she put all manner of things she +could not say. She had been observing her visitor, and she was sure that +this shabby little man (Peter Reid cared not at all for appearances and +never bought a new suit of clothes unless compelled) had returned no +Whittington, Lord Mayor of London. Probably he was one of the "faithful +failures" of the world, one who had tried and missed, and had come back, +old and tired and shabby, to see his boyhood's home. The tenderest +corner of Jean's tender heart was given to shabby people, and she longed +to try to comfort and console, but dared not in case of appearing +impertinent. She reflected dismally that he had not even a wife to be +nice to him, and he was far too old to have a mother. + +"Are you staying in Priorsford?" she asked gently. + +"I'm at the Temperance Hotel for a few days. I--the fact is, I haven't +been well. I had to take a rest, so I came back here--after thirty +years." + +"Have you really been away for thirty years? Great-aunt Alison came to +The Rigs first about thirty years ago. Do you, by any chance, know our +landlord in London? Mr. Peter Reid is his name." + +"I know him." + +"He's frightfully rich, they say. I don't suppose you know him well +enough to ask him not to sell The Rigs? It can't make much difference to +him, though it means so much to us. Is he old, our landlord?" + +"A man in his prime," said Peter Reid. + +"That's pretty old, isn't it?" said Jean--"about sixty, I think. Of +course," hastily, "sixty isn't really old. When I'm sixty--if I'm +spared--I expect I shall feel myself good for another twenty years." + +"I thought I was," said Peter Reid, "until I broke down." + +"Oh, but a rest at Priorsford will put you all right." + +Could he afford a holiday? she wondered. Even temperance hotels were +rather expensive when you hadn't much money. Would it be very rash and +impulsive to ask him to stay at The Rigs? + +"Are you comfortable at the Temperance?" she asked. "Because if you +don't much care for hotels we would love to put you up here. Mhor is apt +to be noisy, but I'm sure he would try to be quiet when he knew that you +needed a rest." + +"My dear young lady," gasped Peter Reid. "I'm afraid you are rash. You +know nothing of me. I might be an impostor, a burglar--" + +Jean threw back her head and laughed. "Do forgive me, but the thought +of you with a jemmy and a dark lantern is so funny." + +"You don't even know my name." + +"I don't," said Jean, "but does that matter? You will tell it me when +you want to." + +"My name is Reid, the same as your landlord." + +"Then," said Jean, "are you a relative of his?" + +"A connection." It was not what he meant to say, but he said it. + +"How odd!" said Jean. She was trying to remember if she had said +anything unbecoming of one relative to another. "Oh, here's Jock and +Mhor," as two figures ran past the windows; "you must stay and have tea +with us, Mr. Reid." + +"But I ought to be getting back to the hotel. I had no intention of +inflicting myself on you in this way." He rose to his feet and looked +about for his hat. "The fact is--I must tell you--I am----" + +The door burst open and Mhor appeared. He had forgotten to remove his +cap, or wipe his muddy boots, so eager was he to tell his news. + +"Jean," he shouted, oblivious in his excitement of the presence of a +stranger--"Jean, there are six red puddock-stools at the bottom of the +garden--bright red puddock-stools." He noticed Mr. Reid and, going up to +him and looking earnestly into his face, he repeated, "Six!" + +"Indeed," said Peter Reid. + +He had no acquaintance with boys, and felt extremely ill at ease, but +Mhor, after studying him for a minute, was seized with a violent fancy +for this new friend. + +"You're going to stay to tea, aren't you? Would you mind coming with me +just now to look at the puddock-stools? It might be too dark after tea. +Here is your hat." + +"But I'm not staying to tea," cried the unhappy owner of The Rigs. Why, +he asked himself had he not told them at once that he was their +landlord? A connection! Fool that he was! He would say it now--"I only +came--" + +"It was very nice of you to come," said Jean soothingly. "But, Mhor, +don't worry Mr. Reid. Everybody hasn't your passion for puddock-stools." + +"But you would like to see them," Mhor assured him. "I'm going to fill a +bowl with chucky-stones and moss and stick the puddock-stools among them +and make a fairy garden for Jean. And if I can find any more I'll make +one for the Honourable; she is very kind about giving me chocolates." + +They were out of doors by this time, and Mhor was pointing out the +glories of the garden. + +"You see, we have a burn in our garden with a little bridge over it; +almost no one else has a burn and a bridge of their very own. There are +minnows in it and all sorts of things--water-beetles, you know. _And +here are my puddock-stools._" + +When Mr. Reid came back from the garden Mhor had firm hold of his hand +and was telling him a long story about a "mavis-bird" that the cat had +caught and eaten. + +"Tea's ready," he said, as they entered the room; "you can't go away +now, Mr. Reid. See these cookies? I went for them myself to Davidson +the baker's, and they were so hot and new-baked that the bag burst and +they all fell out on the road." + +"_Mhor_! You horrid little boy." + +"They're none the worse, Jean. I dusted them all with me useful little +hanky, and the road wasn't so very dirty." + +"All the same," said Jean, "I think we'll leave the cookies to you and +Jock. The other things are baked at home, Mr. Reid, and are quite safe. +Mhor, tell Jock tea's in, and wash your hands." + +So Peter Reid found himself, like Balaam, remaining to bless. After all, +why should he turn these people out of their home? A few years (with +care) was all the length of days promised to him, and it mattered little +where he spent them. Indeed, so little profitable did leisure seem to +him that he cared little when the end came. Mhor and his delight over a +burn of his own, and a garden that grew red puddock-stools, had made up +his mind for him. He would never be the angel with the flaming sword who +turned Mhor out of paradise. He had not known that a boy could be such a +pleasant person. He had avoided children as he had avoided women, and +now he found himself seated, the centre of interest, at a family +tea-table, with Jean, anxiously making tea to his liking, while Mhor +(with a well-soaped, shining face, but a high-water mark of dirt where +the sponge had not reached) sat close beside him, and Jock, the big +schoolboy, shyly handed him scones: and Peter walked among the feet of +the company, waiting for what he could get. + +Peter Reid quite shone through the meal. He remembered episodes of his +boyhood, forgotten for forty years, and told them to Jock and Mhor, who +listened with most gratifying interest. He questioned Jock about +Priorsford Grammar School, and recalled stories of the masters who had +taught there in his day. + +Jean told him about David going to Oxford, and about Great-aunt Alison +who had "come out at the Disruption"--about her father's life in India, +and about her mother, and he became every minute more human and +interested. He even made one or two small jokes which were received with +great applause by Jock and Mhor, who were grateful to anyone who tried, +however feebly, to be funny. They would have said with Touchstone, "It +is meat and drink to me to see a clown." + +Jean watched with delight her rather difficult guest blossom into +affability. "You are looking better already," she told him. "If you +stayed here for a week and rested and Mrs. M'Cosh cooked you light, +nourishing food and Mhor didn't make too much noise, I'm sure you would +feel quite well again. And it does seem such a pity to pay hotel bills +when we want you here." + +Hotel bills! Peter Reid looked sharply at her. Did she imagine, this +girl, that hotel bills were of any moment to him? Then he looked down at +his shabby clothes and recalled their conversation and owned that her +mistake was not unjustifiable. + +But how extraordinary it was! The instinct that makes people wish to +stand well with the rich and powerful he could understand and commend, +but the instinct that opens wide doors to the shabby and the +unsuccessful was not one that he knew anything about: it was certainly +not an instinct for this world as he knew it. + +Just as they were finishing tea Mrs. M'Cosh ushered in Miss Pamela +Reston. + +"You did say I might come in when I liked," she said as she greeted +Jean. "I've had tea, thank you. Mhor, you haven't been to see me +to-day." + +"I would have been," Mhor assured her, "but Jean said I'd better not. Do +you invite me to come to-morrow?" + +"I do." + +"There, Jean," said Mhor. "You can't _un_-vite me after that." + +"Indeed she can't," said Pamela. "Jock, this is the book I told you +about.... Please, Miss Jean, don't let me disturb you." + +"We've finished," said Jean. "May I introduce Mr. Reid?" + +Pamela shook hands and at once proceeded to make herself so charming +that Peter Reid was galvanised into a spirited conversation. Pamela had +brought her embroidery-frame with her, and she sat on the sofa and +sorted out silks, and talked and laughed as if she had sat there off and +on all her life. To Jean, looking at her, it seemed impossible that two +days ago none of them had beheld her. It seemed--absurdly enough--that +the room could never have looked quite right when it had not this +graceful creature with her soft gowns and her pearls, her +embroidery-frame and heaped, bright-hued silks sitting by the fire. + +"Miss Jean, won't you sing us a song? I'm convinced that you sing Scots +songs quite perfectly." + +Jean laughed. "I can sing Scots songs in a way, but I have a voice about +as big as a sparrow's. If it would amuse you I'll try." + +So Jean sat down to the piano and sang "Proud Maisie," and "Colin's +Cattle," and one or two other old songs. + +"I wonder," said Peter Reid, "if you know a song my mother used to +sing--'Strathairlie'?" + +"Indeed I do. It's one I like very much. I have it here in this little +book." She struck a few simple chords and began to sing: it was a +lilting, haunting tune, and the words were "old and plain." + + "O, the lift is high and blue, + And the new mune glints through, + On the bonnie corn-fields o' Strathairlie; + Ma ship's in Largo Bay, + And I ken weel the way + Up the steep, steep banks o' Strathairlie. + + When I sailed ower the sea, + A laddie bold and free, + The corn sprang green on Strathairlie! + When I come back again, + It's an auld man walks his lane + Slow and sad ower the fields o' Strathairlie. + + O' the shearers that I see + No' a body kens me, + Though I kent them a' in Strathairlie; + An' the fisher-wife I pass, + Can she be the braw lass + I kissed at the back o' Strathairlie? + O, the land is fine, fine, + I could buy it a' for mine, + For ma gowd's as the stooks in Strathairlie; + But I fain the lad would be + Wha sailed ower the saut sea + When the dawn rose grey on Strathairlie." + +Jean rose from the piano. Jock had got out his books and had begun his +lessons. Mhor and Peter were under the table playing at being cave-men. +Pamela was stitching at her embroidery. Peter Reid sat shading his eyes +from the light with his hand. + +Jean knelt down on the rug and held out her hands to the blazing fire. + +"It must be sad to be old and rich," she said softly, almost as if she +were speaking to herself. "It is so very certain that we can carry +nothing out of this world.... I read somewhere of a man who, on every +birthday, gave away some of his possessions so that at the end he might +not be cumbered and weighted with them." She looked up and caught the +gaze of Peter Reid fixed on her intently. "It's rather a nice idea, +don't you think, to give away all the superfluous money and lands, +pictures and jewels, everything we have, and stand stripped, as it were, +ready when we get the word to come, to leap into the beyond?" + +Pamela spoke first. "There speaks sweet and twenty," she said. + +"Yes," said Jean. "I know it's quite easy for me to speak in that lordly +way of disposing of possessions, for I haven't got any to dispose of." + +"Then," said Pamela, "we are to take it that you are ready to spring +across any minute?" + +"So far as goods and gear go; but I'm rich in other things. I'm pretty +heavily weighted by David, and Jock, and Mhor." + +Then Peter Reid spoke, still with his hand over his eyes. + +"Once you begin to make money it clings. How can you get rid of it?" + +"I'm saving up for a bicycle," the Mhor broke in, becoming aware that +the conversation turned on money. "I've got half a crown and a +thru-penny-bit and fourpence-ha'penny in pennies: and I've got a duster +to clean it with when I've got it." + +Jean stroked his head. "I don't think you'll ever be overburdened with +riches, Mhor, old man. But it must be tremendous fun to be rich. I love +books where suddenly a lawyer's letter comes saying that someone has +left them a fortune." + +"What would you do with a fortune if you got it?" Peter Reid asked. + +"Need you ask?" laughed Pamela. "Miss Jean would at once make it over to +David and Jock and Mhor." + +"Oh, well," said Jean, "of course they would come _first_, but, oh, I +would do such a lot of things! I'd find out where money was most needed +and drop it on the people anonymously so that they wouldn't be bothered +about thanking anyone. I would creep about like a beneficent Puck and +take worried frowns away, and straighten out things for tired people, +and, above all, I'd make children smile. There's no fun or satisfaction +got from giving big sums to hospitals and things--that's all right for +when you're dead. I want to make happiness while I'm alive. I don't +think a million pounds would be too much for all I want to do." + +"Aw, Jean," said Mhor, "if you had a million pounds would you buy me a +bicycle?" + +"A bicycle," said Jean, "and a motor and an aeroplane and a Shetland +pony and a Newfoundland pup. I'll make a story for you in bed to-night +all about what you would have if I were rich." + +"And Jock, too?" + +Being assured that Jock would not be overlooked Mhor grabbed Peter round +the neck and proceeded to babble to him about bicycles and aeroplanes, +motors and Newfoundland pups. + +Jean looked apologetically at her guests. + +"When you're poor you've got to dream," she said. "Oh, must you go, Mr. +Reid? But you'll come back to-morrow, won't you? We would honestly like +you to come and stay with us." + +"Thank you," said Peter Reid, "but I am going back to London in a day or +two. I am obliged to you for your hospitality, especially for singing me +'Strathairlie.' I never thought to hear it again. I wonder if I might +trouble you to write me out the words." + +"But take the book," said Jean, running to get it and pressing it into +his hands. "Perhaps you'll find other songs in it you used to know and +like. Take it to keep." + +Pamela dropped her embroidery-frame and watched the scene. + +Mhor and Peter stood looking on. Jock lifted his head from his books to +listen. It was no new thing for the boys to see Jean give away her most +treasured possessions: she was a born "Madam Liberality." + +"But," Peter Reid objected, "it is rather a rare book. You value it +yourself." + +"Of course I do," said Jean, "and that is why I am giving it to _you_. I +know you will appreciate it." + +Peter Reid took the book as if it was something fragile and very +precious. Pamela was puzzled by the expression on his face. He did not +seem so much touched by the gift as amused--sardonically amused. + +"Thank you," he said. And again, "Thank you!" + +"Jock will go down with you to the hotel," Jean said, explaining, when +the visitor demurred, that the road was steep and not very well lighted. + +"I'll go too," said Mhor, "me and Peter." + +"Well, come straight back. Good-bye, Mr. Reid. I'm so glad you came to +see The Rigs, but I wish you could have stayed...." + +"Is he an old friend?" Pamela asked, when the cavalcade had departed. + +"I never saw him before to-day. He once lived in this house and he came +back to see it, and he looks ill and I think he is poor, so I asked him +to come and stay with us for a week." + +"My dear child, do you invite every stranger to stay with you if you +think he is poor?" + +"Of course not. But he looked so lonely and lost somehow, and he doesn't +seem to have anyone belonging to him, and I was sorry for him." + +"And so you gave him that song-book you value so much?" + +"Yes," said Jean, looking rather ashamed. "But," she brightened, "he +seemed pleased, don't you think? It's a pretty song, 'Strathairlie,' but +it's not a _pukka_ old one--it's early Victorian." + +"Miss Jean, it's a marvel to me that you have anything left belonging to +you." + +"Don't call me Miss Jean!" + +"Jean, then; but you must call me Pamela." + +"Oh, but wouldn't that be rather familiar? You see, you are so--so--" + +"Stricken in years," Pamela supplied. + +"No--but--well, you are rather impressive, you know. It would be like +calling Miss Bathgate 'Bella' to her face. However--Pamela--" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + "For 'tis a chronicle of day by day." + + _The Tempest_. + + +About this time Jean wrote a letter to David at Oxford. It is wonderful +how much news there is when people write every other day; if they wait +for a month there is nothing that seems worth telling. + +Jean wrote: + +" ... You have been away now for four days, and we still miss you badly. +Nobody sits in your place at the table, and it gives us such a horrid +bereaved feeling when we look at it. Mhor was waiting at the gate for +the post yesterday and brought your letter in in triumph. He was +particularly interested in hearing about your scout, and has added his +name to the list he prays for. You will be glad to hear that he has got +over his prejudice against going to heaven. It seems it was because +someone told him that dogs couldn't go there, and he wouldn't desert +Micawber--Peter, in other words. Jock has put it right by telling him +that the translators of the Bible probably made a slip, and Mhor now +prays earnestly every night: 'Let everyone in The Rigs go to heaven,' +hoping thus to smuggle in his dear companion. + +"It is an extraordinary thing, but almost the very minute you left +Priorsford things began to happen. + +"I told you in the note I wrote the day you left that Bella Bathgate's +lodger had arrived and that I had seen her, but I didn't realise then +what a difference her coming would make to us. I never knew such a +friendly person; she comes in at any sort of time--after breakfast, a +few minutes before luncheon, for tea, between nine and ten at night. Did +I tell you her name is Pamela Reston, and her brother, who seems to be +ranging about India somewhere, is Lord Bidborough ('A lord-no-less,' as +Mrs. M'Cosh would say). She calls him Biddy, and seems devoted to him. + +"Although she is horribly rich and an 'honourable,' and all that sort of +thing, she isn't in the least grand. She never impresses one with her +opulence as, for instance, Mrs. Duff-Whalley does. Her clothes are +beautiful, but so much a part of her personality that you never think of +them. Her pearls don't hit you in the face as most other people's do. +Because she is so unconscious of them, I suppose. I think she is lovely. +Jock says she is like a greyhound, and I know what he means--it is the +long, swift, graceful way she has of moving. She says she is forty. I +always thought forty was quite old, but now it seems to me the very +prettiest age. Age doesn't really matter at all to people who have got +faces and figures and manners like Pamela Reston. They will always make +whatever age they are seem the perfect age. + +"I do wonder what brings her to Priorsford! I rather think that having +been all her life so very 'twopence coloured' she wants the 'penny +plain' for a change. Perhaps that is why she likes The Rigs and us. +There is no mistake about our 'penny-plainness'--it jumps to the eye! + +"I am just afraid she won't stay very long. There are so many pretty +little houses in Priorsford, and so many kind and forthcoming +landladies, it was bad luck that she should choose Hillview and Bella +Bathgate. Bella is almost like a stage-caricature of a Scotswoman, so +dour she is and uncompromising and she positively glories in the drab +ugliness of her rooms. Ugliness means to Bella respectability; any +attempt at adornment is 'daft-like.' + +"Pamela (she has asked me to call her that) trembles before her, and +that makes Bella worse. She wants someone to stand up to her, to laugh +at her grimness; she simply thinks when Pamela is charming to her that +she is a poor creature. + +"She is charming to everyone, this lodger of Bella's. Jock and Mhor and +Mrs. M'Cosh are all at her feet. She brings us books and papers and +chocolates and fruit, and makes us feel we are conferring the favour by +accepting them. She is a real charmer, for when she speaks to you she +makes you feel that no one matters to her but just you yourself. +And she is simple (or at least appears to be); she hasn't that +Now-I-am-going-to-be-charming manner that is so difficult to bear. It is +such fun talking to her, for she is very--pliable I think is the word I +want. Accustomed to converse with people who constantly pull one up +short with an 'Ah, now I don't agree,' or 'There, I think you are quite +wrong,' it is wonderfully soothing to discuss things with someone who +has the air of being convinced by one's arguments. It is weak, I know, +but I'm afraid I agree with Mrs. M'Cosh, who described a friend as 'a +rale nice buddy. She clinks wi' every word ye say.' + +"I am thinking to myself how Great-aunt Alison would have dreaded +Pamela's influence. She would have seen in her the personification of +the World, the Flesh, and the Devil--albeit she would have been much +impressed by her long descent: dear Aunt Alison. + +"All the same, Davie, it is odd what an effect one's early training has. +D'you remember how discouraged G.-A. Alison was about our +levity--especially mine? She once said bitterly that I was like the +ell-woman--hollow--because I laughed in the middle of the Bible lesson. +And how antiquated and stuffy we thought her views, and took pleasure in +assuring ourselves that we had got far beyond them, and you spent an +evening tea-less in your room because you said you would rather be a +Buddhist than a Disruption Worthy--do you remember that? + +"Yes, but Great-aunt Alison had builded better than she knew. When +Pamela laughs 'How Biblical!' or says in her pretty, soft voice that +our great-aunt's religion must have been a hard and ugly thing, I get +hot with anger and feel I must stick unswervingly to the antiquated +views. Is it because poor Great-aunt isn't here to make me? I don't +know. + +"Mhor is really surprisingly naughty. Yesterday I heard angry shouts +from the road, and then I met Mhor sauntering in, on his face the +seraphic expression he wears when some nefarious scheme has prospered, +and in his hand the brass breakfast kettle. He had been pouring water on +the passers-by from the top of the wall. 'Only,' he explained to me, 'on +the men who wore hard black hats, who could swear.' + +"I told him the police would probably visit us in the course of the +afternoon, and pointed out to him how ungentleman-like was his +behaviour, and he said he was sorry; but I'm afraid he will soon think +of some other wickedness. + +"He thinks he can do anything he hasn't been told not to do, but how +could I foresee that he would want to pour water on men with hard black +hats, capable of swearing? + +"I had almost forgotten to tell you, an old man came yesterday and +wanted to see over the house. You can imagine what a scare I got--I made +sure he wanted to buy it; but it turned out that he had lived at The +Rigs as a boy, and had come back for old sake's sake. He looked ill and +rather shabby, and I don't believe life had been very good to him. I did +want to try and make up a little, but he was difficult. He was staying +at the Temperance, and it seemed so forlorn that he should have no one +of his own to come home to. He didn't look as if anybody had ever made a +fuss of him. I asked him to stay with us for a week, but he wouldn't. I +think he thought I was rather mad to ask him, and Pamela laughed at me +about it.... She laughs at me a good deal and calls me a +'sentimentalist.' ... + +"There is the luncheon bell. + +"We are longing for your letter to-morrow to hear how you are settling +down. Mrs. M'Cosh has baked some shortbread for you, which I shall post +this afternoon. + +"Love from each of us, and Peter.--Your + +"JEAN." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + "Is this a world to hide virtues in?" + + _Twelfth Night._ + + +"You should never wear a short string of beads when you are wearing big +earrings," Pamela said. + +"But why?" asked Jean. + +"Well, see for yourself. I am wearing big round earrings--right. I put +on the beads that match--quite wrong. It's a question of line." + +"I see," said Jean thoughtfully. "But how do you learn those things?" + +"You don't learn them. You either know them, or you don't. A sort of +instinct for dress, I suppose." + +Jean was sitting in Pamela's bedroom. Pamela's bedroom it was now, +certainly not Bella Bathgate's. + +The swinging looking-glass had been replaced by one which, according to +Pamela, was at least truthful. "The other one," she complained, "made me +look pale green and drowned." + +A cloth of fine linen and lace covered the toilet-table which was spread +with brushes and boxes in tortoiseshell and gold, quaint-shaped bottles +for scent, and roses in a tall glass. + +A jewel-box stood open and Pamela was pulling out earrings and +necklaces, rings and brooches for Jean's amusement. + +"Most of my things are at the bank," Pamela was saying as she held up a +pair of Spanish earrings made of rows of pearls. "They generally are +there, for I don't care a bit about ordinary jewels. These are what I +like--odd things, old things, things picked up in odd corners of the +world, things that have a story and a meaning. Biddy got me these +turquoises in Tibet: that is a devil charm: isn't that jade delicious? I +think I like Chinese things best of all." + +She threw a string of cloudy amber round Jean's neck and cried, "My +dear, how it becomes you. It brings out all the golden lights in your +hair and eyes." + +Jean sat forward in her chair and looked at her reflection in the glass +with a pleased smile. + +"I do like dressing-up," she confessed. "Pretty things are a great +temptation to me. I'm afraid if I had money I would spend a lot in +adorning my vile body." + +"I simply don't know," said Pamela, "how people who don't care for +clothes get through their lives. Clothes are a joy to the prosperous, a +solace to the unhappy, and an interest always--even to old age. I knew a +dear old lady of ninety-four whose chief diversion was to buy a new +bonnet. She would sit before the mirror discarding model after model +because they were 'too old' for her. One would have thought it difficult +to find anything too old for ninety-four." + +Jean laughed, but shook her head. + +"Doesn't it seem to you rather awful to care about bonnets at +ninety-four?" + +"Not a bit," said Pamela. She was powdering her face as she spoke. "I +like to see old people holding on, not losing interest in their +appearance, making a brave show to the end.... Did you never see anyone +use powder before, Jean? Your eyes in the glass look so surprised." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Jean, in great confusion, "I didn't mean +to stare--" She hastily averted her eyes. + +Pamela looked at her with an amused smile. + +"There's nothing actively immoral about powdering one's nose, you know, +Jean. Did Great-aunt Alison tell you it was wrong?" + +"Great-aunt Alison never talked about such things," Jean said, flushing +hotly. "I don't think it's wrong, but I don't see that it's an +improvement. I couldn't take any pleasure in myself if my face were made +up." + +Pamela swung round on her chair and laid her hands on Jean's shoulders. + +"Jean," she said, "you're within an ace of being a prig. It's only the +freckles on your little unpowdered nose, and the yellow lights in your +eyes, and the way your hair curls up at the ends that save you. +Remember, please, that three-and-twenty with a perfect complexion has no +call to reprove her elders. Just wait till you come to forty years." + +"Oh," said Jean, "it's absurd of you to talk like that. As if you didn't +know that you are infinitely more attractive than any young girl. I +never know why people talk so much about _youth_. What does being young +matter if you're awkward and dull and shy as well? I'd far rather be +middle-aged and interesting." + +"That," said Pamela, as she laid her treasures back in the box, "is one +of the minor tragedies of life. One begins by being bored with being +young, and as we begin to realise what an asset youth is, it flies. +Rejoice in your youth, little Jean-girl, for it's a stuff will not +endure.... Now we'll go downstairs. It's too bad of me keeping you up +here." + +"How you have changed this room," said Jean. "It smells so nice." + +"It is slightly less forbidding. I am quite attached to both my rooms, +though when Mawson and I are both here together I sometimes feel I must +poke my arms out of the window or thrust my head up the chimney like +Bill the Lizard, in order to get room. It is a great disadvantage to be +too large for one's surroundings." + +The parlour was as much changed as the bedroom. + +The round table with the red-and-green cover that filled up the middle +of the room had been banished and a small card-table stood against the +wall ready to be brought out for meals. A Persian carpet covered the +linoleum and two comfortable wicker-chairs filled with cushions stood by +the fireside. The sideboard had been converted into a stand for books +and flowers. The blue vases had gone from the mantelshelf and two tall +candlesticks and a strip of embroidery took their place. A writing-table +stood in the window, from which the hard muslin curtains had been +removed; there were flowers wherever a place could be found for them, +and new books and papers lay about. + +Jean sank into a chair with a book, but Pamela produced some +visiting-cards and read aloud: + + "MRS. DUFF-WHALLEY. + MISS DUFF-WHALLEY. + + THE TOWERS, + PRIORSFORD. + +"Who are they, please? and why do they come to see me?" + +Jean shut her book, but kept her finger in as if hoping to get back to +it soon, and smiled broadly. + +"Mrs. Duff-Whalley is a wonderful woman," she said. "She knows +everything about everybody and simply scents out social opportunities. +Your name would draw her like a magnet." + +"Why is she called Duff-Whalley? and where does she live? I'm +frightfully intrigued." + +"As to the first," said Jean, "there was no thought of pleasing either +you or me when she was christened--or rather when the late Mr. +Duff-Whalley was christened. And I pointed out the house to you the +other day. You asked what the monstrosity was, and I told you it was +called The Towers." + +"I remember. A staring red-and-white house with about thirty +bow-windows and twenty turrets. It denies the landscape." + +"Wait," said Jean, "till you see it close at hand. It's the most naked, +newest thing you ever saw. Not a creeper, not an ivy leaf is allowed to +crawl on it; weather seems to have no effect on it: it never gets to +look any less new. And in summer it is worse, for then round about it +blaze the reddest geraniums and the yellowest calceolarias and the +bluest lobelias that it's possible to imagine." + +"Ghastly! What is the owner like?" + +"Small, with yellowish hair turning grey. She has a sharp nose, and her +eyes seem to dart out at you, take you all in, and then look away. She +is rather like a ferret, and she has small, sharp teeth like a ferret. +I'm never a bit sure she won't bite. She really is rather a wonderful +woman. She hasn't been here very many years, but she dominates everyone. +At whatever house you meet her she has the air of being hostess. She +welcomes you and advises you where to sit, makes suitable conversation +and finally bids you good-bye, and you feel yourself murmuring to her +the grateful 'Such a pleasant afternoon,' that was due to the real +hostess. She is in constant conflict with the other prominent matrons in +Priorsford, but she always gets her own way. At a meeting she is quite +insupportable. She just calmly tells us what we are to do. It's no good +saying we are busy; it's no good saying anything. We walk away with a +great district to collect and a pile of pamphlets under one arm.... Her +nose is a little on one side, and when I sit and look at her presiding +at a meeting I toy with the thought that someone goaded to madness by +her calm persistence had once heaved something at her, and wish I had +been there to see. Really, though, she is rather a blessing in the +place; she keeps us from stagnation. I read somewhere that when they +bring tanks of cod to this country from wherever cod abound, they put a +cat-fish in beside them, and it chases the cod round all the time, so +that they arrive in good condition. Mrs. Duff-Whalley is our cat-fish." + +"I see. Has she children?" + +"Three. A daughter, married in London--Mrs. Egerton-Thomson--a son at +Cambridge, and a daughter, Muriel, at home. I think it must be very bad +for the Duff-Whalleys living in such a vulgar, restless-looking house." + +Pamela laughed. "Do you think all the little pepper-pot towers must have +an effect on the soul? I doubt it, my dear." + +"Still," said Jean, "I think more will be expected at the end from the +people who have all their lives lived in and looked at lovely places. It +always worries me, the thought of people who live in the dark places of +big cities--children especially, growing up like 'plants in mines that +never saw the sun.' It is so dreadful that sometimes I feel I _must_ go +and help." + +"What could you do?" + +"That's what common sense always asks. I could do nothing alone, but if +all the decent people tried their hardest it would make a difference.... +It's the thought of the cruelty in the world that makes me sick. It's +the hardest thing for me to keep from being happy. Great-aunt Alison +said I had a light nature. Even when I ought to be sad my heart jumps up +in the most unreasonable way, and I am happy. But sometimes it feels as +if we comfortable people are walking on a flowery meadow that is really +a great quaking morass, and underneath there is black slime full of +unimagined horrors. A paragraph in the newspaper makes a crack and you +see down: women who take money for keeping little babies and allow them +to die, men who torture: tales of horror and terror. The War made a +tremendous crack. It seemed then as if we were all to be drawn into the +slime, as if cruelty had got its fangs into the heart of the world. When +you knelt to pray at nights you could only cry and cry. The courage of +the men who grappled in the slime with the horrors was the one thing +that kept one from despair. And the fact that they could _laugh_. You +know about the dying man who told his nurse some joke and finished, +'This is _the_ War for laughs.'" + +Pamela nodded. "It hardly bears thinking of yet--the War and the +fighters. Later on it will become the greatest of all sagas. But I want +to hear about Priorsford people. That's a clean, cheerful subject. Who +lives in the pretty house with the long ivy-covered front?" + +"The Knowe it is called. The Jowetts live there--retired Anglo-Indians. +Mr. Jowett is a funny, kind little man with a red face and rather a +nautical air. He is so busy that often it is afternoon before he reads +his morning's letters." + +"What does he do?" + +"I don't think he does anything much: taps the barometer, advises the +gardener, fusses with fowls, potters in the garden, teaches the dog +tricks. It makes him happy to feel himself rushed, and to go carrying +unopened letters at tea-time. They have no children. Mrs. Jowett is a +dear. She collects servants as other people collect prints or old china +or Sheffield plate. They are her hobby, and she has the most wonderful +knack of managing them. Even now, when good servants seem to have become +extinct, and people who need five or six are grubbing away miserably +with one and a charwoman, she has four pearls with soft voices and +gentle ways, experts at their job. She thinks about them all the time, +and considers their comfort, and dresses them in pale grey with the +daintiest spotted muslin aprons and mob caps. It is a pleasure to go to +the Jowetts for a meal, everything is so perfect. The only drawback is +if anyone makes the slightest mark on the cloth one of the silver-grey +maids brings a saucer of water and wipes it off, and it is apt to make +one nervous. I shall never forget going there to a children's party with +David and Jock. Great-aunt Alison warned us most solemnly before we left +home about marking the cloth, so we went rather tremblingly. There was a +splendid tea in the dining-room with silver candlesticks and pink +shades, and lovely china, and a glittering cloth, and heaps of good +things to eat--grown-up things like sandwiches and rich cakes, such as +we hardly ever saw. Jock was quite small and loved his food even more +than he does now, dear lamb. A maid handed round the egg-shell china--if +only they had given us mugs--and as she was putting down Jock's cup he +turned round suddenly and his elbow simply shot it out of her hand, and +sent it flying across the table. As it went it spattered everything with +weak tea and then smashed itself against one of the candlesticks. + +"I wished at that moment that the world would come to an end. There +seemed no other way of clearing up the mess. I was so ashamed, and so +sorry for my poor Jock, I couldn't lift my eyes, but Mr. Jowett rose to +the occasion and earned my affection and unending gratitude. He +pretended to find it a very funny episode, and made so many jokes about +it that stiffness vanished from the party, and we all became riotously +happy. And Mrs. Jowett, whose heart must have been wrung to see the +beautiful table ruined at the outset, so mastered her emotion as to be +able to smile and say no harm had been done.... You must go with me and +see Mrs. Jowett, only don't tell her anything in the very least sad: she +weeps at the slightest provocation." + +"Tell me more," said Pamela--"tell me about all the people who live in +those houses on the hill. It's like reading a nice _Cranfordy_ book." + +"But," Jean objected, "we're not in the least like people in a book. I +often wonder why Priorsford is so unlike a story-book little town. We're +not nearly interested enough in each other for one thing. We don't +gossip to excess. Everyone goes his or her own way. In books people do +things or are suspected of doing things, and are immediately cut by a +feverishly interested neighbourhood. I can't imagine that happening in +Priorsford. No one ever does anything very striking, but if they did I'm +sure they wouldn't be ostracised. Nobody would care much, except perhaps +Mrs. Hope, and she would only be amused." + +"Mrs. Hope?" + +"Have you noticed a whitewashed house standing among trees about half a +mile down Tweed from the bridge? That is Hopetoun, and Mrs. Hope and her +daughter live there." + +"Nice?" + +Jean nodded her head like a wise mandarin. "You must meet Mrs. Hope. To +describe her is far beyond my powers." + +"I see. Well, go on with the houses on the hill. Who lives in the one at +the corner with the well-kept garden?" + +"The Prestons. Mr. Preston is a lawyer, but he isn't much like a lawyer +in appearance--not yellow and parchmenty, you know. He's a good shot and +an ardent fisher, what Sir Walter would have called 'a just leevin' man +for a country writer.' There are several daughters, all musical, and it +is a very hospitable, cheerful house. Next the Prestons live the +Williamsons. Ordinary nice people. There is really nothing to say about +them.... The house after that is Woodside, the home of the two Miss +Speirs. They are not ordinary. Miss Althea is a spiritualist. She sees +visions and spends much of her time with spooks. Miss Clarice is a +Buddhist. Their father, when he lived, was an elder in the U.F. Church. +I sometimes wonder what he would say to his daughters now. When he died +they left the U.F. Church and became Episcopalians, then Miss Clarice +found that she couldn't believe in vicarious sacrifice and went over to +Buddhism. She took me into her bedroom once. There was a thick yellow +carpet, and a bed with a tapestry cover, and almost no furniture, +except--is it impious to call Buddha furniture?--a large figure of +Buddha with a lamp burning before it. It all seemed to me horribly +unfresh. Both ladies provide much simple amusement to the townsfolk with +their clothes and their antics." + +"I know the Speirs type," said Pamela. "Foolish virgins." + +"Next to Woodside is Craigton," went on Jean, "and there live three +spinsters--the very best brand of spinsters--the Duncans, Miss Mary, +Miss Janet, and Miss Phemie. I don't know what Priorsford would do +without these good women. Spinsters they are, but they are also real +mothers in Israel. They have time to help everyone. Benign Miss Mary is +the housekeeper--and such a housekeeper! Miss Janet is the public one, +sits on all the Committees. Miss Phemie does the flowers and embroiders +beautiful things and is like a tea-cosy, so soft and warm and +comfortable. Somehow they always seem to be there when you want them. +You never go to their door and get a dusty answer. There is the same +welcome for everyone, gentle and simple, and always the bright fire, and +the kind, smiling faces, and tea with thick cream and cake of the +richest and freshest.... You know how some people beg you to visit them, +and when you go they seem to wear a surprised look, and you feel +unexpected and awkward? The Duncans make you feel so pleased with +yourself. They are so unselfishly interested in other people's concerns; +and they are grand laughers. Even the dullest warm to something +approaching wit when surrounded by that appreciative audience of three. +They don't talk much themselves, but they have made of listening a fine +art." + +"Jean," said Pamela, "do you actually mean to tell me that everybody in +Priorsford is nice? Or are you merely being charitable? I don't know +anything duller than your charitable person who always says the kind +thing." + +Jean laughed. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid the Priorsford people are all +more or less nice. At least, they seem so to me, but perhaps I'm not +very discriminating. You will tell me what you think of them when you +meet them. All these people I've been telling you about are rich people, +'in a large way,' as Priorsford calls it. They have all large motor-cars +and hothouses and rich things like that. Mrs. M'Cosh says Priorsford is +a 'real tone-y wee place,' and we do fancy ourselves a good deal. It's a +community largely made up of women and middle-aged retired men. You see, +there is nothing for the young men to do; we haven't even mills like so +many of the Tweedside towns." + +"Will people call on me?" Pamela asked. "Is Priorsford sociable?" + +Jean pursed up her mouth in an effort to look worldly wise. "I think +_you_ will find it sociable, but if you had come here obscure and +unknown, your existence would never have been heard of, even if you had +taken a house and settled down. Priorsford hardly looks over its +shoulder at a newcomer. Some of the 'little' people might call and ask +you to tea--the kind 'little' people--but--" + +"Who do you call the 'little' people?" + +"All the people who aren't 'in a large way,' all the dwellers in the +snug little villas--most of Priorsford in fact." Jean got up to go. +"Dear me, look at the time! The boys will be home from school. May I +have the book you spoke of? Priorsford would be enraged if it heard me +calmly discussing its faults and foibles." She laughed softly. "Lewis +Elliot says Priorsford is made up of three classes--the dull, the daft, +and the devout." + +Pamela, looking for the book she wanted to lend to Jean, stopped and +stood still as if arrested by the name. + +"Lewis Elliot!" + +"Yes, of Laverlaw. D'you know him, by any chance?" + +"I used to know a Lewis Elliot who had some connection with Priorsford, +but I thought he had left it years ago." + +"Our Lewis Elliot inherited Laverlaw rather unexpectedly some years +ago. Before that he was quite poor. Perhaps that is what makes him so +understanding. He is a sort of distant cousin of ours. Great-aunt Alison +was his aunt too--at least, he called her aunt. It will be fun if he +turns out to be the man you used to know." + +"Yes," said Pamela. "Here is the book, Jean. It's been so nice having +you this afternoon. No, dear, I won't go back with you to tea. I'm going +to write letters. Good-bye. My love to the boys." + +But Pamela wrote no letters that evening. She sat with a book on her +knee and looked into the fire; sometimes she sighed. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + "I have, as you know, a general prejudice against all persons who do + not succeed in the world."--JOWETT OF BALLIOL. + + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley was giving a dinner-party. This was no uncommon +occurrence, for she loved to entertain. It gave her real pleasure to +provide a good meal and to see her guests enjoy it. "Besides," as she +often said, "what's the use of having everything solid for the table, +and a fine house and a cook at sixty pounds a year, if nobody's any the +wiser?" + +It will be seen from this remark that Mrs. Duff-Whalley had not always +been in a position to give dinner-parties; indeed, Mrs. Hope, that +terror to the newly risen, who traced everyone back to their first rude +beginnings (generally "a wee shop"), had it that the late Mr. +Duff-Whalley had begun life as a "Johnnie-a'-things" in Leith, and that +his wife had been his landlady's daughter. + +But the "wee shop" was in the dim past, if, indeed, it had ever existed +except in Mrs. Hope's wicked, wise old head, and for many years Mrs. +Duff-Whalley had ruffled it in a world that asked no questions about +the origin of money so obviously there. + +Most people are weak when they come in contact with a really +strong-willed woman. No one liked Mrs. Duff-Whalley, but few, if any, +withstood her advances. It was easier to give in and be on calling and +dining terms than to repulse a woman who never noticed a snub, and who +would never admit the possibility that she might not be wanted. So Mrs. +Duff-Whalley could boast with some degree of truth that she knew +"everybody," and entertained at The Towers "very nearly the highest in +the land." + +The dinner-party I write of was not one of her more ambitious efforts. +It was a small and (with the exception of one guest) what she called "a +purely local affair." That is to say, the people who were to grace the +feast were culled from the big villas on the Hill, and were not +"county." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley was an excellent manager, and left nothing to chance. +She saw to all the details herself. Dressed and ready quite half an hour +before the time fixed for dinner, she had cast her eagle glance over the +dinner-table, and now sailed into the drawing-room to see that the fire +was at its best, the chairs comfortably disposed, and everything as it +should be. Certainly no one could have found fault with the comfort of +the room this evening. A huge fire blazed in the most approved style of +grate, the electric light (in the latest fittings) also blazed, lighting +up the handsome oil-paintings that adorned the walls, the many +photographs, the china in the cabinets, the tables with their silver +treasures. Everywhere stood vases of heavy-scented hothouse flowers. +Mrs. Duff-Whalley approved of hothouse flowers; she said they gave a +tone to a room. + +The whole room glittered, and its mistress glittered with it as she +moved about in a dress largely composed of sequins, a diamond necklace, +and a startling ornament in her hair. + +She turned as the door opened and her daughter came into the room, and +looked her carefully up and down. She was a pretty girl dressed in the +extreme of fashion, and under each arm she carried a tiny barking dog. + +Muriel was a good daughter to her mother, and an exemplary character in +every way, but the odd thing was that few people liked her. This was the +more tragic as it was the desire of her heart to be popular. Her +appearance was attractive, and strangers usually began acquaintance with +enthusiasm, but the attraction rarely survived the first hour's talk. +She was like a very well-coloured and delightful-looking apple that is +without flavour. She was never natural--always aping someone. Her +enthusiasms did not ring true, her interest was obviously feigned, and +she had that most destroying of social faults, she could not listen with +patience, but let her attention wander to the conversation of her +neighbours. It seemed as if she could never talk at peace with anyone +for fear of missing something more interesting in another quarter. + +"You look very nice, Muriel! I'm glad I told you to put on that dress, +and that new way of doing your hair is very becoming." One lovable thing +about Mrs. Duff-Whalley was the way she sincerely and openly admired +everything that was hers. "Now, see and do your best to make the evening +go. Mr. Elliot takes a lot of amusing, and the Jowetts aren't very +lively either." + +"Is that all that's coming?" Muriel asked. + +"I asked the new Episcopalian parson--what's his name?--yes--Jackson--to +fill up." + +"You don't often descend to the clergy, mother." + +"No, but Episcopalians are slightly better fitted for society than +Presbyterians, and this young man seems quite a gentleman--such a +blessing, too, when they haven't got wives. Dear, dear, I told Dickie +not to send in any more of that plant--what d'you call it?" (It was a +peculiarity of Mrs. Duff-Whalley that she never could remember the names +of any but the simplest flowers.) "I don't like its perfume. What was I +saying? Of course, I only got up this dinner on the spur of the moment, +so to speak, when I met Mr. Elliot in the Highgate. He comes and goes so +much you never know when he's at Laverlaw; if you write or telephone +he's always got another engagement. But when I met him face to face I +just said, 'Now, when will you dine with us, Mr. Elliot?' and he hummed +and hawed a bit and then fixed to-night." + +"Perhaps he didn't want to come," Muriel suggested as she snuggled one +of the small dogs against her face. "And did it love its own mummy, +then, darling snub-nose pet?" + +Her mother scouted the idea. + +"Why should he not want to come? Do put down those dogs, Muriel. I never +get used to see you kissing them. A good dinner and everything +comfortable, and you to play the piano to him taught by the best +masters--he's ill to please. And he's not very well off, though he does +own Laverlaw. It's the time the family has been there that gives him the +standing. I must say, he isn't in the least genial, but he gets that +from his mother. A starchier old woman I never met. I remember your +father and I were staying at the Hydro when old Elliot died, and his son +was killed before that, shooting lions or something in Africa, so this +Lewis Elliot, who was a nephew, inherited. We thought we would go and +ask if by any chance they wanted to sell the place, so we called in a +friendly way, though we didn't know them, of course. It was old Mrs. +Elliot we saw, and my word, she was cold. As polite as you like, but as +icy as the North Pole. Your father had some vulgar sayings I couldn't +break him off, and he said as we drove out of the lodge gates, 'Well, +that old wife gave us our heads in our laps and our lugs to play wi'.'" + +"Why, mother!" Muriel cried, astonished. Her mother was never heard to +use a Scots expression and thought even a Scots song slightly vulgar. + +"I know--I know," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley hastily. "It just came over me +for a minute how your father said it. He was a very amusing man, your +father, very bright to live with, though he was too fond of low Scots +expressions for my taste; and he _would_ eat cheese to his tea. It kept +us down, you know. I've risen a lot in the world since your father left +us, though I miss him, of course. He used to laugh at Minnie's ideas. It +was Minnie got us to send Gordon to an English school and then to +Cambridge, and take the hyphen. Your father had many a laugh at the +hyphen, and before the servants too! You see, Minnie went to a +high-class school and made friends with the right people, and learned +how things should be done. She had always assurance, had Minnie. The way +she could order the waiters about in those grand London hotels! And then +she married Egerton-Thomson. But you're better-looking, Muriel." + +Muriel brushed aside the subject of her looks. + +"What made you settle in Priorsford?" she asked. + +"Well, we came out first to stay at the Hydro--you were away at school +then--and your father took a great fancy to the place. He was making +money fast, and we always had a thought of buying a place. But there was +nothing that just suited us. We thought it would be too dull to be right +out in the country, at the end of a long drive--exclusive you know, but +terribly dreary, and then your father said, 'Build a house to suit +ourselves in Priorsford, and we'll have shops and a station and +everything quite near.' His idea was to have a house as like a +hydropathic as possible, and to call it The Towers. 'A fine big red +house, Aggie,' he often said to me, 'with plenty of bow-windows and +turrets and a hothouse off the drawing-room and a sweep of gravel in +front and a lot of geraniums and those yellow flowers--what d'you call +'em?--and good lawns, and a flower garden and a kitchen garden and a +garage, and what more d'you want?' Well, well, he got them all, but he +didn't live long to enjoy them. I think myself that having nothing to do +but take his meals killed him. I hear wheels! That'll be the Jowetts. +They're always so punctual. Am I all right?" + +Muriel assured her that nothing was wrong or lacking, and they waited +for the guests. + +The door opened and a servant announced, "Mr. and Mrs. Jowett." + +Mrs. Jowett walked very slowly and delicately, and her husband pranced +behind her. It might have been expected that in their long walk together +through life Mr. Jowett would have got accustomed to his wife's +deliberate entrances, but no--it always seemed as if he were just on the +point of giving her an impatient push from behind. + +She was a gentle-looking woman with soft, white hair and a +pink-and-white complexion--the sort of woman one always associates with +old lace. In her youth it was said that she had played the harp, and one +felt that the "grave, sweet melody" would have well become her. She was +dressed in pale shades of mauve, and had a finely finished look. The +Indian climate and curries had affected Mr. Jowett's liver, and made his +temper fiery, but his heart remained the sound, childlike thing it had +always been. He quarrelled with everybody (though never for long), but +people in trouble gravitated to him naturally, and no one had ever +asked him anything in reason and been refused; children loved him. + +Mr. Jackson, the Episcopalian clergyman, followed hard behind the +Jowetts, and was immediately engaged in an argument with Mr. Jowett as +to whether or not choral communion, which had recently been started and +which Mr. Jowett resented, as he resented all new things, should be +continued. + +"Ridiculous!" he shouted--"utterly ridiculous! You will drive the people +from the church, sir." + +Then Mr. Elliot arrived. Mrs. Duff-Whalley greeted him impressively, and +dinner was announced. + +Lewis Elliot was a man of forty-five, tall and thin and inclined to +stoop. He had shortsighted blue eyes and a shy, kind smile. He was not a +sociable man, and resented being dragged from his books to attend a +dinner-party. Like most people he was quite incapable of saying No to +Mrs. Duff-Whalley when that lady desired an answer in the affirmative, +but he had condemned himself roundly to himself as a fool as he drove +down the glen from Laverlaw. + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley always gave a long and pretentious meal, and expected +everyone to pay for their invitation by being excessively bright and +chatty. It was not in the power of the present guests to be either the +one thing or the other. Mrs. Jowett was pensive and sweet, and inclined +to be silent; her husband gave loud barks of disagreement at intervals; +Mr. Jackson enjoyed his dinner and answered when spoken to, while Lewis +Elliot was rendered almost speechless by the flood of talk his hostess +poured over him. + +"I'm very sorry, Mr. Elliot," she remarked in a pause, "that the people +I wanted to meet you couldn't come. I asked Sir John and Lady Tweedie, +but they were engaged--so unfortunate, for they are such an acquisition. +Then I asked the Olivers, and they couldn't come. You would really +wonder where the engagements come from in this quiet neighbourhood." She +gave a little unbelieving laugh. "I had evidently chosen an unfortunate +evening for the County." + +It was trying for everyone: for Mr. Elliot, who was left with the +impression that people were apt to be engaged when asked to meet him; +for the Jowetts, who now knew that they had received a "fiddler's +bidding," and for Mr. Jackson, who felt that he was only there because +nobody else could be got. + +There was a blank silence, which Lewis Elliot broke by laughing +cheerfully. "That absurd rhyme came into my head," he explained. "You +know: + + "'Miss Smarty gave a party, + No one came. + Her brother gave another, + Just the same.'" + +Then, feeling suddenly that he had not improved matters, he fell silent. + +"Oh," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, rearing her head like an affronted hen, +"the difficulty, I assure you, is not to find guests but to decide which +to select." + +"Quite so, quite so, naturally," murmured Mr. Jackson soothingly; he +had laughed at the rhyme and felt apologetic. Then, losing his head +completely under the cold glance his hostess turned on him, he added, +"Go ye into the highways and hedges and compel them to come in." + +Mrs. Jowett took a bit of toast and broke it nervously. She was never +quite at ease in Mrs. Duff-Whalley's company. Incapable of an unkind +thought or a bitter word, so refined as to be almost inaudible, she felt +jarred and bumped in her mind after a talk with that lady, even as her +body would have felt after bathing in a rough sea among rocks. Realising +that the conversation had taken an unfortunate turn, she tried to divert +it into more pleasing channels. + +Turning to Mr. Jackson, she said: "Such a sad thing happened to-day. Our +dear old dog, Rover, had to be put away. He was sixteen, very deaf and +rather cross, and the Vet. said it wasn't _kind_ to keep him; and of +course after that we felt there was nothing to be said. The Vet. said he +would come this morning at ten o'clock, and it quite spoilt my +breakfast, for dear Rover sat beside me and begged, and I felt like an +executioner; and then he went out for a walk by himself--a thing he +hadn't done since he had become frail--and when the Vet. came there was +no Rover." + +"Dear, dear!" said Mr. Jackson, helping himself to an entrée. + +"The really dreadful thing about it," continued Mrs. Jowett, refusing +the entrée, "was that Johnston--the gardener, you know--had dug the +grave where I had chosen he should lie, dear Rover, and--you have heard +the expression, Mr. Jackson--a yawning grave? Well, the grave _yawned_. +It was too heartrending. I simply went to my room and cried, and Tim +went in one direction and Johnston in another, and the maids looked too, +and they found the dear doggie, and the Vet.--a most obliging man called +Davidson--came back ... and dear Rover is _at rest_." + +Mrs. Jowett looked sadly round and found that the whole table had been +listening to the recital. + +Few people have not loved a dog and known the small tragedy of parting +with it when its all too short day was over, and even the "lamentable +comedy" of Mrs. Jowett's telling of the tale made no one smile. + +Muriel leant forward, genuinely distressed. "I'm so frightfully sorry, +Mrs. Jowett; you'll miss dear old Rover dreadfully." + +"It's a beastly business putting away a dog," said Lewis Elliot. "I +always wish they had the same lease of life as we have. 'Threescore and +ten years do sum up' ... and it's none too long for such faithful +friends." + +"You must get another, Mrs. Jowett," her hostess told her bracingly. +"Get a dear little toy Pekinese or one of those Japanese +what-do-you-call-'ems that you can carry in your arms: they are so +smart." + +"If you do, Janetta," her husband warned her, "you must choose between +the brute and me. I refuse to live in the same house with one of those +pampered, trifling little beasts. If we decide to fill old Rover's +place I suggest that we get a rough-haired Irish terrier." He rolled the +"r's" round his tongue. "Something robust that can bark and chase cats, +and not lie all day on a cushion, like one of those dashed Chinese ..." +His voice died away in muttered thunder. + +Again Mrs. Duff-Whalley reared her head, but Muriel interposed, +laughing. "You mustn't really be so severe, Mr. Jowett. I happen to +possess two of the 'trifling beasts,' and you must come and apologise to +them after dinner. You can't imagine more perfect darlings, and of +_course_ they are called Bing and Toutou. You won't be able to resist +their little sweet faces--too utterly darling!" + +"Shan't I?" said Mr. Jowett doubtfully. "Well, I apologise. Nobody likes +to hear their dog miscalled.... By the way, Jackson, that's an +abominable brute of yours. Bit three milk-girls and devastated the +Scotts' hen-house last week, I hear." + +"Yes," said Mr. Jackson. "Four murdered fowls they brought to me, and I +had to pay for them; and they didn't give me the corpses, which I felt +was too bad." + +"What?" said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, deeply interested. "Did you actually pay +for the damage done and let them keep the fowls?" + +"I did," Mr. Jackson owned gloomily, and the topic lasted until the +fruit was handed round. + +"I wonder," said Mrs. Jowett to her hostess, as she peeled a pear, "if +you have met a newcomer in Priorsford--Miss Reston? She has taken Miss +Bathgate's rooms." + +"You mean the Honourable Pamela Reston? She is a daughter of the late +Lord Bidborough of Bidborough Manor, Surrey, and Mintern Abbas, +Oxfordshire, and sister of the present peer: I looked her up in Debrett. +I called on her, feeling it my duty to be civil to a stranger, but it +seems to me a very odd thing that a peer's daughter would care to live +in such a humble way. Mark my words, there's something shady about it. +As likely as not, she's an absconding lady's-maid--but a call commits +one to nothing. She was out anyway, so I didn't see her." + +"Oh, indeed," said Mrs. Jowett, blushing pink, "Miss Reston is no +impostor. When you have seen her you will realise that. I met her +yesterday at the Jardines'. She is the most delightful creature, _so_ +charming to look at, so wonderfully graceful--" + +"I think," said Lewis Elliot, "that that must be the Pamela Reston I +used to know. Did you say she was living in Priorsford?" + +"Yes, in a cottage called Hillview, next to The Rigs, you know," Mrs. +Jowett explained. "Mhor made friends with her whenever she arrived, and +took her in to see Jean. You can imagine how attractive she found the +whole household." + +"The Jardines are very unconventional," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, "if you +call that attractive. Jean doesn't know how to keep her place with +people at all. I saw her walking beside a tinker woman the other day, +helping her with her bundle; and I'm sure I've simply had to give up +calling at The Rigs, for you never knew who you would have to shake +hands with. I'm sorry for Jean, poor little soul. It seems a pity that +there is no one to dress her and give her a chance. She's a plain little +thing at best, but clothes might do wonders for her." + +"There I totally disagree," shouted Mr. Jowett. "Jean, to my mind, is +the best-looking girl in Priorsford. She walks so well and has such an +honest, jolly look. I'm glad there's no one to dress her and make an +affected doll of her.... She's the kind of girl a man would like to have +for a daughter." + +"But what," asked Mrs. Duff-Whalley, "can Miss Reston have in common +with people like the Jardines? I don't believe they have more than £300 +a year, and such a plain little house, and one queer old servant. Miss +Reston must be accustomed to things so very different. We must ask her +here to meet some of the County." + +"The County!" growled Mr. Jowett. "Except for Elliot here, and the Hopes +and the Tweedies and the Olivers, there are practically none of the old +families left. I tell you what it is--" + +But Mrs. Duff-Whalley had had enough for the moment of Mr. Jowett's +conversation, so she nodded to Mrs. Jowett, and with an arch admonition +to the men not to stay too long, she swept the ladies before her to the +drawing-room. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + "I will the country see + Where old simplicity, + Though hid in grey, + Doth look more gay + Than foppery in plush and scarlet clad." + + THOMAS RANDOLPH, 1605-35. + + +A letter from Pamela Reston to her brother. + +" ... It was a tremendous treat to get your budget this morning after +three mails of silence. I got your cable saying you were back before I +knew you contemplated going, so I never had to worry. I think the War +has shaken my nerves in a way I hadn't realised. I never used to worry +about you very much, knowing your faculty of falling on your feet, but +now I tremble. + +"Sikkim must be marvellous, and to try an utterly untried route was +thrilling, but what uncomfortable times men do give themselves! To lie +in a tiny tent in the soaking rain with your bedding crawling with +leeches, 'great, cold, well-nourished fellows.' Ugh! And yet, I suppose +you counted the discomforts as nothing when you gazed at Everest while +yet the dawn 'walked tiptoe on the mountains' (will it ever be climbed, +I wonder!), and even more wonderful, as you describe it, must have been +the vision from below the Alukthang glacier, when the mists slowly +unveiled the face of Pandim to the moon.... + +"And I shall soon hear of it all by word of mouth. It is the best of +news that you are coming home. I don't think you must go away again +without me. I have missed you dreadfully these last six months. + +"Besides, you ought to settle at home for a bit now, don't you think? +First, your long exploring expedition and then the War: haven't you been +across the world, away long enough to make you want to stay at home? You +are one of the very worst specimens of an absentee landlord.... After +profound calculations I have come to the conclusion that you will get +two letters from me from Priorsford before you leave India. I am sending +this to Port Said to make sure of not missing you. You will have lots of +time to read it on board ship if it is rather long. + +"Shall I meet you in London? Send me a wire when you get this. What I +should like to do would be to conduct you personally to Priorsford. I +think you would like it. The countryside is lovely, and after a week or +two we could go somewhere for Christmas. The Champertouns have asked me +to go to them, and of course their invitation would include you. They +are second or third cousins, and we've never seen them, but they are our +mother's people, and I have always wanted to see where she was brought +up. However, we can settle all that later on.... + +"I feel myself quite an old resident in Priorsford now, and have become +acquainted with some of the people--well-to-do, hospitable, not at all +interesting (with a few exceptions), but kind. + +"The Jardines remain my great interest. What a blessing it is when +people improve by knowing--so few do. I see the Jardines once every day, +sometimes oftener, and I like them more every time I see them. + +"I've been thinking, Biddy, you and I haven't had a vast number of +people to be fond of. There was Aunt Eleanor, but I defy anyone to be +fond of her. Respect her one might, fear her we did, but love her--it +would have been as discouraging as petting a steam road-roller. We +hadn't even a motherly old nurse, for Aunt Eleanor liked machine-made +people like herself to serve her. I don't think it did you much harm, +you were such a sunny-tempered, affectionate little boy, but it made me +rather inhuman. + +"As we grew up we acquired crowds of friends and acquaintances, but they +were never like real home-people to whom you show both your best and +your worst side, and who love you simply because you are you. The +Jardines give me that homey feeling. + +"The funny thing is I thought I was going to broaden Jean, to show her +what a narrow little Puritan she is, bound in the Old Testament thrall +of her Great-aunt Alison--but not a bit of it. She is very receptive, +delighted to be told about people and clothes, cities, theatres, +pictures, but on what she calls 'serious things' she is an absolute +rock. It is like finding a Roundhead delighting in Royalist sports and +plays, or a Royalist chanting Roundhead psalms--if you can imagine an +evangelical Royalist. Anyway, it is rather a fine combination. + +"I only wish I could help to make things easier for Jean. I have far +more money than I want; she has so little. I'm afraid she has to plan +and worry a good deal how to clothe and feed and educate those boys. I +know that she is very anxious that David should not be too scrimped for +money at Oxford, and consequently spends almost nothing on herself. A +warm coat for Jock; no evening gown for Jean. David finds that he must +buy certain books and writes home in distress. 'That can easily be +managed,' says Jean, and goes without a new winter hat. She and Mrs. +M'Cosh are wonders of economy in housekeeping, and there is always +abundance of plain, well-cooked food. + +"I told you about Mrs. M'Cosh? She is the Jardines' one servant--an +elderly woman, a widow from Glasgow. I like her way of showing in +visitors. She was a pew-opener in a church at one time, which may +account for it. When you ask if Jean is in, she puts her head on one +side in a considering way and says, 'I'm no' juist sure,' and ambles +away, leaving the visitor quite undecided whether she is intended to +remain on the doorstep or follow her in. I know now that she means you +to remain meekly on the doorstep, for she lately recounted to me with +glee of another caller, 'I'd went awa' up the stair to see if Miss Jean +wis in, an' whit d'ye think? When I lukit roond the wumman wis at ma +heels.' The other day workmen were in the house doing something, and +when Mrs. M'Cosh opened the door to me she said, 'Ye see the mess we're +in. D'ye think ye should come in?' leaving it to my better nature to +decide. + +"She is always serene, always smiling. The great love of her life is +Peter, the fox-terrier, one of the wickedest and nicest of dogs. He is +always in trouble, and she is sorely put to it sometimes to find excuses +for him. 'He's a great wee case, is Peter,' she generally finishes up. +'He means no ill' (this after it has been proved that he has chased +sheep, killed hens, and bitten message-boys); 'he's juist a wee thing +playful.' + +"Peter attends every function in Priorsford--funerals, marriages, +circuses. He meets all the trains and escorts strangers to the objects +of interest in the neighbourhood. He sees people off, and wags his tail +in farewell as the train moves out of the station. + +"He and Mhor are fast friends, and it is an inspiring sight to see them +of a morning, standing together in the middle of the road with the whole +wide world before them, wondering which would be the best way to take +for adventures. Mhor has had much liberty lately as he has been +infectious after whooping-cough, but now he has gone back to the little +school he attends with some twenty other children. I'm afraid he is a +very unwilling scholar. + +"You will be glad to hear that Bella Bathgate (I'm taking a liberty +with her name I don't dare take in speaking to her) is thawing to me +slightly. It seems that part of the reason for her distaste to me was +that she thought I would probably demand a savoury for dinner! If I did +ask such a thing--which Heaven forbid!--she would probably send me in a +huge pudding dish of macaroni and cheese. Her cooking is not the best of +Bella. + +"She and Mawson have become fast friends. Mawson has asked Bella to call +her Winifred, and she calls Miss Bathgate 'Beller.' + +"Miss Bathgate spends any leisure moments she has in doing long strips +of crochet, which eventually become a bedspread, and considers it a +waste of time to read anything but the Bible, the _Scotsman_ and the +_Missionary Magazine_ (she is very keen on Foreign Missions), but she +doesn't object to listening to Mawson's garbled accounts of the books +she reads. I sometimes overhear their conversations as they sit together +by the kitchen fire in the long evenings. + +"'And,' says Mawson, describing some lurid work of fiction, 'Evangeline +was left shut up in the picture-gallery of the 'ouse.' + +"'D'ye mean to tell me hooses hev picture-galleries?' says Bella. + +"'Course they 'ave--all big 'ouses.' + +"'Juist like the Campbell Institution--sic a bother it must be to dust!' + +"'Well,' Mawson goes on, 'Evangeline finds 'er h'eyes attracted--' + +"Again Bella interrupts. 'Wha was Evangeline? I forget aboot her.' + +"'Oh, don't you remember? The golden-'aired 'eroine with vilet eyes.' + +"'I mind her noo. The yin wi' the black hair was the bad yin.' + +"'Yes, she was called 'Ermione. Well, Evangeline finds 'er h'eyes +attracted to the picture of a man dressed like a cavalier.' + +"'What's that?' + +"'I don't rightly know,' Mawson confesses. 'Kind of a fancy dress, I +believe, but anyway 'er h'eyes were attracted to the picture, and as she +fixed 'er h'eyes on it the _h'eyes in the picture_ moved.' + +"'Oh, murder!' says Bella, much thrilled. + +"'You may say it. Murder it was, h'attempted murder, I should say, for +of course it would never do to murder the vilet-h'eyed 'eroine. As it +'appened ...' and so on ... + +"One of the three months gone! Perhaps at the beginning of the year I +shall have had more than enough of it, and go gladly back to the +fleshpots of Egypt and the Politician. + +"It is a dear thing a little town, 'a lovesome thing, God wot,' and +Priorsford is the pick of all little towns. I love the shops and the +kind, interested way the shopkeepers serve one: I have shopped in most +European cities, but I never realised the full delight of shopping till +I came to Priorsford. You can't think what fun it is to order in all +your own meals, to decide whether you will have a 'finnan-haddie' or a +'kipper' for breakfast--much more exciting than ordering a ball gown. + +"I love the river, and the wide bridge, and the old castle keeping watch +and ward, and the _pends_ through which you catch sudden glimpses of the +solemn round-backed hills. And most of all I love the lights that +twinkle out in the early darkness, every light meaning a little home, +and a warm fireside and kindly people round it. + +"To live, as you and I have done all our lives, in houses where all the +difficulties of life are kept in oblivion, and existence runs on +well-oiled wheels is very pleasant, doubtless, but one misses a lot. I +love the _nearness_ of Hillview, to hear Mawson and B.B. converse in the +kitchen, to smell (this is the most comfortable and homely smell) the +ironing of clean clothes, and to know (also by the sense of smell) what +I am going to have for dinner hours before it comes. + +"Of course you will say, and probably with truth, that what I enjoy is +the _newness_ of it, that if I knew that my life would be spent in such +surroundings I would be profoundly dissatisfied. + +"I dare say. But in the meantime I am happy--happy in a contented, quiet +way that I never knew before. + +"It is strange that our old friend Lewis Elliot is living near +Priorsford, at a place called Laverlaw, about five miles up Tweed from +here. Do you remember what good times we used to have with him when he +came to stay with the Greys? That must be more than twenty years +ago--you were a little boy and I was a wild colt of a girl. I don't +think you have ever seen much of him since, but I saw a lot of him in +London when I first came out. Then he vanished. Some years ago his uncle +died and he inherited Laverlaw. He came to see me the other day, not a +bit changed, the same dreamy, unambitious creature--rather an angel. I +sometimes wonder if little Jean will one day go to Laverlaw. It would be +very nice and fairy-tale-ish!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + + "You that are old," Falstaff reminds the Chief Justice, "consider + not the capacities of us that are young." + + +One afternoon Jean called for Pamela to take her to see Mrs. Hope. + +It was a clear, blue-and-white day, with clouds scudding across the sky, +and a cold, whistling wind that blew the fallen leaves along the dry +roads--a day that made people walk smartly and gave the children +apple-red cheeks and tangled curls. + +Mhor and Peter were seated on The Rigs garden wall as Pamela and Jean +came out of Hillview gate. Peter wagged his tail in recognition, but +Mhor made no sign of having seen his sister and her friend. + +"Aren't you cold up there?" Pamela asked him. + +"Very cold," said Mhor, "but we can't come down. We're on sentry duty on +the city wall till sundown," and he shaded his eyes with his hand and +pretended to peer into space for lurking foes. + +Peter looked wistfully up at him and hunched himself against the +scratched bare knees now blue with cold. + +"When the sun touches the top of West Law," said Jean, pointing to a +distant blue peak, "it has set. See--there.... Now run in, sonny, and +tell Mrs. M'Cosh to let you have some currant-loaf for tea. Pamela and I +are going to tea at Hopetoun." + +"Aw," said Mhor, "I hate when you go out to tea. So does Jock. So does +Peter. Look out! I'm going to jump." + +He jumped and fell prostrate, barking his chin, but no howl came from +him, and he picked himself up with dignity, merely asking for the loan +of a handkerchief, his own "useful little hanky," as he explained, +having been used to mop up a spilt ink-bottle. + +Fortunately Jean had a spare handkerchief, and Pamela promised that on +her return he should have a reel of sticking-plaster for his own use, +so, battered but content, he returned to the house, Peter remaining +behind to investigate a mole-heap. + +"What a cheery day for November," Pamela remarked as they took the road +by Tweedside. "Look at that beech tree against the blue sky, every black +twig silhouetted. Trees are wonderful in winter." + +"Trees are wonderful always," said Jean. "'Solomon spake of trees'--I do +wonder what he said. I suppose it would be the cedars of Lebanon he +'spake' of, and the hyssop that grows in the walls, and sycamores, but +he would have been worth hearing on a rowan tree flaming red against a +blue September sky. Look at that newly ploughed field so softly brown, +and the faded gold of the beech hedge. November _is_ a cheery time. The +only depressing time of the year to me is when the swallows go away. I +can't bear to see them wheeling round and preparing to depart. I want so +badly to go with them. It always brings back to me the feeling I had as +a child when people read Hans Andersen to me--the storks in _The Marsh +King's Daughter_, talking about the mud in Egypt. Imagine Priorsford +swallows in Egypt!... As the song says: + + "'It's dowie at the hint o' hair'st + At the way-gaun o' the swallow.'" + +"What a lovely sound Lowland Scots has," said Pamela. "I like to hear +you speak it. Tell me about Mrs. Hope, Jean. I do hope we shall see her +alone. I don't like Priorsford tea-parties; they are rather like a +foretaste of eternal punishment. With no choice you are dumped down +beside the most irrelevant sort of person, and there you remain. I went +to return Mrs. Duff-Whalley's call the other day, and fell into one. +Before I could retreat I was wedged into a chair beside a woman whom I +hope I shall never see again. She was one of those bleak people who make +the thought of getting up in the morning and dressing quite +insupportable. I don't think there was a detail in her domestic life +that she didn't touch on. She told me all her husband could eat and +couldn't eat; she called her children 'little tots,' and said she +couldn't get so much as a 'serviette' washed in the house. I thought +nobody talked of serviettes outside Wells and Arnold Bennett. Mrs. +Duff-Whalley rescued me in the nick of time before I could do anything +desperate, and then _she_ cross-examined me as to my reasons for coming +to Priorsford." + +Jean laughed. "What a cheery afternoon! But it will be all right to-day. +Mrs. Hope never sees more than one or two people at a time. She is +pretty old, you see, and frail, though she has such an extraordinary +gift of being young. I do hope you will like each other. She has an edge +to her tongue, but she is an incomparable friend. The poor people go to +her in flocks, and she scolds them roundly, but always knows how to help +them in the only wise way. Her people have been in Priorsford for ages; +she knows every soul in the place, and is vastly amused at all the +little snobberies that abound in a small town. But she laughs kindly. +Pretentious people are afraid of her; simple people love her." + +"Am I simple, Jean?" + +Jean laughed and refused to give an opinion on the subject, beyond +quoting the words of Autolycus--"How blessed are we that are not simple +men." + +They were in the Hopetoun Woods now, and at the end of the avenue could +see the house standing on a knoll by the river, whitewashed, dignified, +home-like. + +"Talk to Mrs. Hope about the view," Jean advised "She is as proud of the +Hopetoun Woods as if she had made them. Isn't it a nice place? Old and +proud and honourable--like Mrs. Hope herself." + +"Are there sons to inherit?" + +Jean shook her head. "There were three sons. Mrs. Hope hardly ever +talks about them, but I've seen their photographs, and of course I have +often been told about them--by Great-aunt Alison, and others--and heard +how they died. They were very clever and good-looking and +well-liked--the kind of sons mothers are very proud of, and they all +died imperially, if that is an expression to use. Two died in India, +one--a soldier--in one of the Frontier skirmishes: the other--an I.C.S. +man--from over-working in a famine-stricken district. The youngest fell +in the Boer War ... so you see Mrs. Hope has the right to be proud. Aunt +Alison used to tell me that she made no moan over her wonderful sons. +She shut herself up for a short time, and then faced the world again, +her kindly, sharp-tongued self. She is one of those splendid people who +take the slings and arrows thrown at them by outrageous fortune and bury +them deep in their hearts and go on, still able to laugh, still able to +take an interest. Only, you mustn't speak to her of what she has lost. +That would be too much." + +"Yes," said Pamela. "I can understand that." + +She stopped for a minute and stood looking at the river full of "wan +water from the Border hills," at the stretches of lawn ornamented here +and there by stone figures, at the trees _thrawn_ with winter and rough +weather, and she thought of the three boys who had played here, who had +lived in the whitewashed house (she could see the barred nursery +windows), bathed and fished in the Tweed, thrown stones at the grey +stone figures on the lawn, climbed the trees in the Hopetoun Woods, and +who had gone out with their happy young lives to lay them down in a far +country. + +Mrs. Hope was sitting by the fire in the drawing-room, a room full of +flowers and books, and lit by four long windows. Two of the windows +looked on to the lawns, and the stone figures chipped by generations of +catapult-owning boys; the other two looked across the river into the +Hopetoun Woods. The curtains were not drawn though the lamps were lit, +for Mrs. Hope liked to keep the river and the woods with her as long as +light lasted, so the warm bright room looked warmer and brighter in +contrast with the cold, ruffled water and the wind-shaken trees outside. + +Mrs. Hope had been a beautiful woman in her day, and was still an +attractive figure, her white hair dressed high and crowned with a square +of lace tied in quaint fashion under her chin. Her black dress was soft +and becoming to her spare figure. There was nothing unsightly about her +years; she made age seem a lovely, desirable thing. Not that her years +were so very many, but she had lived every minute of them; also she had +given lavishly and unsparingly of her store of sympathy and energy to +others: and she had suffered grievously. + +She kissed Jean affectionately, upbraiding her for being long in coming, +and turned eagerly to Pamela. New people still interested her vividly. +Here was a newcomer who promised well. + +"Ah, my dear," she said in greeting, "I have wanted to know you. I'm +told you are the most interesting person who ever came to this little +town." + +Pamela laughed. "There I am sure you have been misled. Priorsford is +full of exciting people. I expected to be dull, and I have rarely been +so well amused." + +Mrs. Hope studied the charming face bent to her own. Her blue eyes were +shrewd, and though she stood so near the end of the way she had lost +none of her interest in the comings and goings of Vanity Fair. + +"Is Priorsford amusing?" she said. "Well" (complacently), "we have our +points. As Jane Austen wrote of the Misses Bingley, 'Our powers of +conversation are considerable--we can describe an entertainment with +accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at our acquaintances +with spirit.'" + +"Laugh!" Jean groaned. "Pamela, I must warn you that Mrs. Hope's +laughter scares Priorsford to death. We speak her fair in order that she +won't give us away to our neighbours, but we have no real hope that she +doesn't see through us. Have we, Miss Augusta?" addressing the daughter +of the house, who had just come into the room. + +"Ah," said Mrs. Hope, "if everyone was as transparent as you, Jean." + +"Oh, don't," Jean pleaded. "You remind me that I am quite uninteresting +when I am trying to make believe that I am subtle, or 'subtile,' as the +Psalmist says of the fowler's snare." + +"Absurd child! Augusta, my dear, this is Miss Reston." + +Miss Hope shook hands in her gentle, shy way, and busied herself putting +small tables beside her mother and the two guests as the servant brought +in tea. Her life was spent in doing small services. + +Once, when Augusta was a child, someone asked her what she would like to +be, and she had replied, "A lady like mamma." She had never lost the +ambition, though very soon she had known that it could not be realised. +It was difficult to believe that she was Mrs. Hope's daughter, for she +had no trace of the beauty and sparkle with which her mother had been +endowed. Augusta had a long, kind, patient face--a drab-coloured +face--but her voice was beautiful. She had never been young; she was +born an anxious pilgrim, and now, at fifty, she seemed infinitely older +than her ageless mother. + +Pamela, watching her as she made the tea, saw all Augusta's heart in her +eyes as she looked at her mother, and saw, too, the dread that lay in +them--the dread of the days that she must live after the light had gone +out for her. + +During tea Mrs. Hope had many questions to ask about David at Oxford, +and Jean was only too delighted to tell every single detail. + +"And how is my dear Jock? He is my favourite." + +"Not the Mhor?" asked Pamela. + +"No. Mhor is 'a'body's body.' He will never lack for admirers. But Jock +is my own boy. We've been friends since he came home from India, a +white-headed baby with the same surprised blue eyes that he has now. He +was never out of scrapes at home, but he was always good with me. I +suppose I was flattered by that." + +"Jock," said Jean, "is very nearly the nicest thing in the world, and +the funniest. This morning Mrs. M'Cosh caught a mouse alive in a trap, +and Jock, while dressing, heard her say she would drown it. Down he +went, like an avalanche in pyjamas, drove Mrs. M'Cosh into the scullery, +and let the mouse away in the garden. He would fight any number of boys +of any size for an ill-treated animal. In fact, all his tenderness is +given to dumb animals. He has no real liking for mortals. They affront +him with their love-making and their marriages. He has to leave the room +when anything bordering on sentiment is read aloud. 'Tripe,' he calls it +in his low way. _Do_ you remember his scorn of knight-errants who +rescued distressed damsels? They seemed to him so little worth +rescuing." + +"I never cared much for sentiment myself," said Mrs. Hope. "I wouldn't +give a good adventure yarn for all the love-stories ever written." + +"Mother remains very boyish," said Augusta. "She likes something vivid +in the way of crime." + +"And now," said her mother, "you are laughing at an old done woman, +which is very unseemly. Come and sit beside me, Miss Reston, and tell me +what you think of Priorsford." + +"Oh," said Pamela, drawing a low chair to the side of her hostess, +"it's not for me to talk about Priorsford. They tell me you know more +about it than anyone." + +"Do I? Well, perhaps; anyway, I love it more than most. I've lived here +practically all my life, and my forbears have been in the countryside +for generations, and that all counts. Priorsford ... I sometimes stand +on the bridge and look and look, and tell myself that I feel like a +mother to it." + +"I know," said Pamela. "There is something very appealing about a little +town: I never lived in one before." + +"But," said Mrs. Hope, jealous as a mother for her own, "I think there +is something very special about Priorsford. There are few towns as +beautiful. The way the hills cradle it, and Peel Tower stands guard over +it, and the links of Tweed water it, and even the streets aren't +ordinary, they have such lovely glimpses. From the East Gate you look up +to the East Law, pine trees, grey walls, green terraces; in the Highgate +you don't go many yards without coming to a _pend_ with a view of blue +distances that takes your breath, just as in Edinburgh when you look +down an alley and see ships tacking for the Baltic.... But I wish I had +known Priorsford as it was in my mother's young days, when the French +prisoners were here. The genteel supper-parties and assemblies must have +been vastly entertaining. It has changed even in my day. I don't want to +repeat the old folks' litany, 'No times like the old times,' but it does +seem to me--or is it only distance lending enchantment?--that the +people I used to know were more human, more interesting; there was less +worship of money, less running after the great ones of the earth, +certainly less vulgarity. We were content with less, and happier." + +"But, Mrs. Hope," said Pamela, laying down her cup, "this is most +depressing hearing. I came here to find simplicity." + +"You needn't expect to find it in Priorsford. We aren't so provincial as +all that. I just wish Mrs. Duff-Whalley could hear you. Simplicity +indeed! I'm not able to go out much now, but I sit here and watch +people, and I am astonished at the number of restless eyes. So many +people spend their lives striving to keep in the swim. They are +miserable in case anyone gets before them, in case a neighbour's car is +a better make, in case a neighbour's entertainments are more +elaborate.... Two girls came to see me this morning, nice girls, pretty +girls, but even my old eyes could see the powder on their faces and +their touched-up eyes. And their whole talk was of daft-like dances, and +bridge, and absurdities. If they had been my daughters I would have +whipped them for their affected manners. And when I think of their +grandmother! A decent woman was Mirren Somerville. She lived with her +father in that ivy-covered cottage at our gates, and she did sewing for +me before she married Banks. She wasn't young when she married. I +remember she came to ask my advice. 'D'you care for him, Mirren?' I +asked. 'Well, mem, it's no' as if I were a young lassie. I'm forty, and +near bye caring. But he's a dacent man, and it's lonely now ma faither's +awa, an' I'm a guid cook, an' he would aye come in to a clean fireside.' +So she married him and made a good wife to him, and they had one son. +And Mirren's son is now Sir John Banks, a baronet and an M.P. Tuts, the +thing's ridiculous.... Not that there's anything wrong with the man. +He's a soft-tongued, stuffed-looking butler-like creature, with a lot of +that low cunning that is known as business instinct, but he was good to +his mother. He didn't marry till she died, and she kept house for him in +his grand new house--the dear soul with her caps and her broad +south-country accent. She managed wonderfully, for she had great natural +dignity, and aped nothing. It was the butler killed her. She could cope +with the women servants, but when Sir John felt that his dignity +required a butler she gave it up. I dare say she was glad enough to +go.... 'Eh, mem, I am effrontit,' she used to say to me if I went in and +found her spotless kitchen disarranged, and I thought of her to-day when +I saw those silly little painted faces, and was glad she had been spared +the sight of her descendants.... But what am I raging about? What does +it matter to me, when all's said? Let the lassies dress up as long as +they have the heart; they'll have long years to learn sense if they're +spared.... Miss Reston, did you ever see anything bonnier than Tweed and +Hopetoun Woods? Jean, my dear, Lewis Elliot brought me a book last night +which really delighted me. Poems by Violet Jacob. If anyone could do for +Tweeddale what she has done for Angus I would be glad...." + +"You care for poetry, Miss Reston? In Priorsford it's considered rather +a slur on your character to care for poetry. Novels we may discuss, +sensible people read novels, even now and again essays or biography, but +poetry--there we have to dissemble. We pretend, don't we, Jean?--that +poetry is nothing to us. Never a quotation or an allusion escapes us. We +listen to tales of servants' misdeeds, we talk of clothes and the +ongoings of our neighbours, and we never let on that we would rather +talk of poetry. No. No. A daft-like thing for either an old woman or a +young one to speak of. Only when we are alone--Jean and Augusta and +Lewis Elliot and I--we 'tire the sun with talking and send it down the +sky.' ... Miss Reston, Lewis Elliot tells me he knew you very well at +one time." + +"Yes, away at the beginning of things. I adored him when I was fifteen +and he was twenty. He was wonderfully good to me and Biddy--my brother. +It is delightful to find an old friend in a new place." + +"I'm very fond of Lewis," said Mrs. Hope, "but I wish to goodness he had +never inherited Laverlaw. He might have done a lot in the world with his +brain and his heart and his courage, but there he is contentedly settled +in that green glen of his, and greatly absorbed in sheep. Sheep! The +country is run by the Sir John Bankses, and the Lewis Elliots think +about sheep. It's all wrong. It's all wrong. The War wakened him up, +and he was in the thick of it both in the East and in France, but never +in the limelight, you understand, just doggedly doing his best in the +background. If he would marry a sensible wife with some ambition, but +he's about as much sentiment in him as Jock. It would take an earthquake +to shake him into matrimony." + +"Perhaps," said Pamela, "he is like your friend Mirren--'bye caring.'" + +"Nonsense," said Mrs. Hope briskly. "He's 'bye' the fervent stage, if he +ever was a prisoner in that cage of rushes, which I doubt, but there are +long years before him, I hope, and if there isn't a fire of affection on +the hearth, and someone always about to listen and understand, it's a +dowie business when the days draw in and the nights get longer and +colder, and the light departs." + +"But if it's dreary for a man," said Pamela, "what of us? What of the +'left ladies,' as I heard a child describe spinsters?" + +Mrs. Hope's blue eyes, callously calm, surveyed the three spinsters +before her. + +"You will get no pity from me," she said. "It's practically always the +woman's own fault if she remains unmarried. Besides, a woman can do fine +without a man. A woman has so much within herself she is a constant +entertainment to herself. But men are helpless souls. Some of them are +born bachelors and they do very well, but the majority are lost without +a woman. And angry they would be to hear me say it!... Are you going, +Jean?" + +"Mhor's lessons," said Jean. "I'm frightfully sorry to take Pamela +away." + +"May I come again?" Pamela asked. + +"Surely. Augusta and I will look forward to your next visit. Don't tire +of Priorsford yet awhile. Stay among us and learn to love the place." +Mrs. Hope smiled very kindly at her guest, and Pamela, stooping down, +kissed the hand that held her own. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + "Lord Clinchum waved a careless hand. A small portion of blood royal + flows in my veins, he said, but it does not worry me at all and + after all, he added piously, at the Day of Judgment what will be the + Odds? + + "Mr. Salteena heaved a sigh. I was thinking of this world, he + said."--_The Young Visiters_. + + +"I would like," said Pamela, "to get to know my neighbours. There are +six little houses, each exactly like Hillview, and I would like to be +able to nod to the owners as I pass. It would be more friendly." + +Pamela and Jean, with Mhor and Peter, were walking along the road that +contained Hillview and The Rigs. + +"Every house in this road is a twin," said Mhor, "except The Rigs. It's +different from every other house." + +They were coming home from a long walk, laden with spoils from the +woods: moss for the bowls of bulbs, beautiful bare branches such as Jean +loved to stand in blue jars against the creamy walls. Mhor and Peter had +been coursing about like two puppies, covering at least four times the +ground their elders covered, and were now lagging, weary-footed, much +desiring their midday meal. + +"I don't know," said Jean, pondering on the subject of neighbours, "how +you could manage to be friends with them. You see, they are busy people +and--it sounds very rude--they haven't time to be bothered with you. +Just smile tentatively when you see them and pass the time of day +casual-like; you would soon get friendly. There is one house, the one +called 'Balmoral,' with the very much decorated windows and the basket +of ferns hanging in the front door, where the people are at leisure, and +I know would deeply value a little friendliness. Two sisters live in +it--Watson is the name--most kindly and hospitable creatures with enough +to live on comfortably and keep a small servant, and ample leisure after +they have, what Mrs. M'Cosh calls, 'dockit up the hoose,' to entertain +and be entertained. They are West country--Glasgow, I think, or +Greenock--and they find Priorsford just a little stiff. They've been +here about three years, and I'm afraid are rather disappointed that they +haven't made more progress socially. I love them personally. They are so +genteel, as a rule, but every little while the raciness natural to the +West country breaks out." + +"You are nice to them, Jean, I am sure." + +"Oh yes, but the penalty of being more or less nice to everyone is that +nobody values your niceness: they take it for granted. Whereas the +haughty and exclusive, if they do condescend to stoop, are hailed as +gods among mortals." + +"Poor Jean!" laughed Pamela. "That is rather hard. It's a poor thing +human nature." + +"It is," Jean agreed. "I went to the dancing-class the other day to see +a most unwilling Mhor trip fantastically, and I saw a tiny girl take the +hand of an older girl and look admiringly up at her. The older child, +with the awful heartlessness of childhood wriggled her hand away and +turned her back on her small admirer. The poor mite stood trying not to +cry, and presently a still tinier mite came snuggling up to her and took +her hand. 'Now,' I thought, 'having learned how cruel a thing a snub is, +will she be kind?' Not a bit of it. With the selfsame gesture the older +girl had used she wriggled away her hand and turned her back." + +"Cruel little wretches," said Pamela, "but it's the same with us older +children. Apart from sin altogether, it must be hard for God to pardon +our childishness ... But about the Miss Watsons--d'you think I might +call on them?" + +"Well, they wouldn't call on you, I'm sure of that. Suppose I ask them +to meet you, and then you could fix a day for them to have tea with you? +It would be a tremendous treat for them, and pleasant for you too--they +are very entertaining." + +So it was arranged. The Miss Watsons were asked to The Rigs, and to +their unbounded satisfaction spent a most genial hour in the company of +Miss Reston, whose comings and goings they had watched with breathless +interest from behind the elegant sash curtain of Balmoral. On their way +home they borrowed a copy of Debrett and studied it all evening. + +It was very confusing at first, but at last they ran their quarry to +earth. "Here she is ... She's the daughter (dau. must mean daughter) of +Quintin John, 10th Baron Bidborough. And this'll be her brother, Quintin +Reginald Feurbras--what names! _Teenie_, her mother was an earl's +daughter!" + +"Oh, mercy!" wailed Miss Teenie, quite over-come. + +"Yes, see here. 6th Earl of Champertoun--a Scotch earl too! Lady Ann was +her name. Fancy that now!" + +"And her so pleasant!" said Miss Teenie. + +"It just lets you see," said Miss Watson, "the higher up you get in the +social scale, the pleasanter and freer people are. You see, they've been +there so long they're accustomed to it; their position never gives them +a thought: it's the people who have climbed up who keep on wondering if +you're noticing how grand they are." + +"Well, Agnes," said Miss Teenie, "it's a great rise in the world for you +and me to be asked to tea with an earl's granddaughter. There's no +getting over that. I'm thinking we'll need to polish up our manners. +I've an awful habit of drinking my tea with my mouth full. It seems more +natural somehow to give it a _synd_ down than to wait to drink till your +mouth's empty." + +"Of course it's more natural," said her sister, "but what's natural's +never refined. That's a queer thing when you think of it." + +The Miss Watsons called on all their friends in the next few days, and +did not fail to mention in each house, accidentally, as it were, that on +Wednesday they expected to take tea with Miss Reston, and led on from +that fact to glowing details of Miss Reston's ancestry. + +The height of their satisfaction was reached when they happened to meet +Mrs. Duff-Whalley, who, remembering yeoman service rendered by the +sisters at a recent bazaar, stopped them and, greatly condescending, +said, "Ah, er--Miss Watson--I'm asking a few local ladies to The Towers +on Wednesday afternoon to discuss the subject of a sale of work for the +G.F.S. A cup of tea, you understand, and a friendly chat in my own +drawing-room You will both join us, I hope?" Her tone held no doubt of +their delighted acceptance, but Miss Watson, who had suffered much from +Mrs. Duff-Whalley, who had been made use of and then passed unnoticed, +taken up when needed and dropped, replied with great deliberation, "Oh, +thank you, but we are going to tea with Miss Reston that afternoon. I +dare say we shall hear from someone what is decided about the sale of +work." + +The epoch-making Wednesday dawned at last. + +Great consultations had gone on between The Rigs and Hillview how best +to make it an enjoyable occasion. Pamela wanted Jean to be present, but +Jean thought it better not to be. "It would take away from the glory of +the occasion. I'm only a _chota Miss_, and they are too accustomed to +me. Ask Mrs. Jowett. She wouldn't call on the Watsons--the line must +be drawn somewhere even by the gentle Mrs. Jowett--but she will be very +sweet and nice to them. And Miss Mary Dawson. She is such a kind, +comfortable presence in a room--I think that would be a nice little +party." + +Pamela obediently promised to do as Jean suggested. + +"I've sent to Fullers' for some cakes, though I don't myself consider +them a patch on the Priorsford cakes, but they will be a change and make +it more of an occasion. Mawson can make delicious sandwiches and Bella +Bathgate has actually offered to bake some scones. I'll make the room +look as smart as possible with flowers." + +"You've no photographs of relations? They would like photographs better +than anything." + +"People they never heard of before," cried Pamela. "What an odd taste! +However, I'll do what I can." + +By 11 a.m. the ladies in Balmoral had laid out all they meant to +wear--skirts spread neatly on beds, jackets over chair-backs, even to +the very best handkerchiefs on the dressing-table waiting for a sprinkle +of scent. + +At two o'clock they began to dress. + +Miss Teenie protested against this disturbance of their afternoon rest, +but her sister was firm. + +"It'll take me every minute of the time, Teenie, for I've all my +underclothing to change." + +"But, mercy me, Miss Reston'll not see your underclothes!" + +"I know that, but when you've on your very best things underneath you +feel a sort of respect for yourself, and you're better able to hold your +own in whatever company you're in. I don't know what you mean to do, but +I'm going to change _to the skin_." + +Miss Teenie nearly always followed the lead of her elder sister, so she +meekly went off to look out and air her most self-respecting under +garments, though she protested, "Not half aired they'll be, and as +likely as not I'll catch my death," and added bitterly, "It's not all +pleasure knowing the aristocracy." + +They were ready to the last glove-button half an hour before the time +appointed, and sat stiffly on two high chairs in their little +dining-room. "I think," said Miss Watson, "we'd be as well to think on +some subjects to talk on. We must try to choose something that'll +interest Miss Reston. I wish I knew more about the Upper Ten." + +"I'd better not speak at all," said Miss Teenie, who by this time was in +a very bad temper. "I never could mind the names of the Royal Family, +let alone the aristocracy. I always thought there was a weakness about +the people who liked to read in the papers and talk about those kind of +folk. I'm sure when I do read about them they're always doing something +kind of indecent, like getting divorced. It seems to me they never even +make an attempt to be respectable." + +She looked round the cosy room and thought how pleasant it would have +been if she and her sister had been sitting down to tea as usual, with +no need to think of topics. It had been all very well to tell their +obviously surprised friends where they were going for tea, but when it +came to the point she would infinitely have preferred to stay at home. + +"She'll not likely have any notion of a proper tea," Miss Watson said. +"Scraps of thin bread and butter, mebbe, and a cake, so don't you look +disappointed Teenie, though I know you like your tea. Just toy with it, +you know." + +"No, I don't know," said Miss Teenie crossly. "I never 'toyed' with my +tea yet, and I'm not going to begin. It'll likely be China tea anyway, +and I'd as soon drink dish-water." + +Miss Watson looked bitterly at her sister. + +"You'll never rise in the world, Teenie, if you can't _give_ up a little +comfort for the sake of refinement Fancy making a fuss about China tea +when it's handed to you by an earl's granddaughter." + +Miss Teenie made no reply to this except to burst--as was a habit of +hers--into a series of violent sneezes, at which her sister's wrath +broke out. + +"That's the most uncivilised sneeze I ever heard. If you do that before +Miss Reston, Teenie, I'll be tempted to do you an injury." + +Miss Teenie blew her nose pensively. "I doubt I've got a chill changing +my underclothes in the middle of the day, but 'a little pride and a +little pain,' as my mother used to say when she screwed my hair with +curl-papers.... I suppose it'll do if we stay an hour?" + +Things are rarely as bad as we anticipate, and, as it turned out, not +only Miss Watson, but the rebellious Miss Teenie, looked back on that +tea-party as one of the pleasantest they had ever taken part in, and +only Heaven knows how many tea-parties the good ladies had attended in +their day. + +They were judges of china and fine linen, and they looked appreciatively +at the table. There were the neatest of tea-knives, the daintiest of +spoons, jam glowed crimson through crystal, butter was there in a lordly +dish, cakes from London, delicate sandwiches, Miss Bathgate's best and +lightest in the way of scones, shortbread crisp from the oven of Mrs. +M'Cosh. + +And here was Miss Reston looking lovely and exotic in a wonderful +tea-frock, a class of garment hitherto unknown to the Miss Watsons, who +thrilled at the sight. Her welcome was so warm that it seemed to the +guests, accustomed to the thus-far-and-no-further manner of the +Priorsford great ladies, almost exuberant. She led Miss Teenie to the +most comfortable chair, she gave Miss Watson a footstool and put a +cushion at her back, and talked so simply, and laughed so naturally, +that the Miss Watsons forgot entirely to choose their topics and began +on what was uppermost in their minds, the fact that Robina (the little +maid) had actually managed that morning to break the gazogene. + +Pamela, who had not a notion what a gazogene was, gasped the required +surprise and horror and said, "But how did she do it?" which was the +safest remark she could think of. + +"Banged it in the sink," said Miss Watson, with a dramatic gesture, "and +the bottom came out. I never thought it was possible to break a +gazogene with all that wire-netting about it." + +"Robina," said Miss Teenie gloomily, "could break a steam-roller let +alone a gazogene." + +"It'll be an awful miss," said her sister. "We've had it so long, and it +always stood on the sideboard with a bottle of lemon-syrup beside it." + +Pamela was puzzling to think what this could be that stood on a +sideboard companioned by lemon-syrup and compassed with wire-netting +when Mawson showed in Mrs. Jowett, and with her Miss Mary Dawson, and +the party was complete. + +The Miss Watsons greeted the newcomers brightly, having met them on +bazaar committees and at Red Cross work parties, and having always been +treated courteously by both ladies. They were quite willing to sink at +once into a lower place now that two denizens of the Hill had come, but +Pamela would have none of it. + +They were the reason of the party; she made that evident at once. + +Miss Teenie did not attempt the impossible and "toy" with her tea. There +was no need to. The tea was delicious, and she drank three cups. She +tried everything on the table and pronounced everything excellent. Never +had she felt herself so entertaining such a capital talker as now, with +Pamela smiling and applauding every effort. Mrs. Jowett too, gentle +lady, listened with most gratifying interest, and Miss Mary Dawson threw +in kind, sensible remarks at intervals. There was no arguing, no +disagreeing, everybody "clinked" with everybody else--a most pleasant +party. + +"And isn't it awful," said Miss Watson in a pause, "about our minister +marrying?" + +Pamela waited for further information before she spoke, while Mrs. +Jowett said, "Don't you consider it a suitable match?" + +"Oh, well," said Miss Watson, "I just meant that it was awful +unexpected. He's been a bachelor so long, and then to marry a girl +twenty years younger than himself and a 'Piscipalian into the bargain." + +"But how sporting of him," Pamela said. + +"Sporting?" said Miss Watson doubtfully, vague thoughts of guns and +rabbits floating through her mind. "Of course you're a 'Piscipalian too, +Miss Reston, so is Mrs. Jowett: I shouldn't have mentioned it." + +"I'm afraid I'm not much of anything," Pamela confessed, "but Jean +Jardine has great hopes of making me a Presbyterian. I have been going +with her to hear her own most delightful parson--Mr. Macdonald." + +"A dear old man," said Mrs. Jowett; "he does preach so beautifully." + +"Mr. Macdonald's church is the old Free Kirk, now U.F., you know," said +Miss Watson in an instructive tone. "The Jardines are great Free Kirk +people, like the Hopes of Hopetoun--but the Parish is far more class, +you know what I mean? You've more society there." + +"What a delightful reason for worshipping in a church!" Pamela said. +"But please tell me more about your minister's bride--does she belong to +Priorsford?" + +"English," said Miss Teenie, "and smokes, and plays golf, and wears +skirts near to her knees. What in the world she'll look like at the +missionary work party or attending the prayer meeting--I cannot think. +Poor Mr. Morrison must be demented, and he is such a good preacher." + +"She will settle down," said Miss Dawson in her slow, sensible way. +"She's really a very likeable girl; and if she puts all the energy she +uses to play games into church-work she will be a great success. And it +will be an interest having a young wife at the manse." + +"I don't know," said Miss Watson doubtfully. "I always think a +minister's wife should have a little money and a strong constitution and +be able to play the harmonium." + +Miss Watson had not intended to be funny, and was rather surprised at +the laughter of her hostess. + +"It seems to me," she said, "that the poor woman _would_ need a strong +constitution." + +"Well, anyway," said Miss Teenie, "she would need the money; ministers +have so many claims on them. And they've a position to keep up. Here, of +course, they have manses, but in Glasgow they sometimes live in flats. I +don't think that's right. ... A minister should always live in a villa, +or at least in a 'front door.'" + +"Is your minister's bride pretty?" Pamela asked. + +Miss Watson got in her word first. "Pretty," she said, "but not in a +ministerial way, if you know what I mean. I wouldn't call her ladylike." + +"What would you call 'ladylike'?" Pamela asked. + +"Well, a good height, you know, and a nice figure and a pleasant face +and tidy hair. The sort of person that looks well in a grey coat and +skirt and a feather boa." + +"I know exactly. What a splendid description!" + +"Now," continued Miss Watson, much elated by the praise, "Mrs. Morrison +is very conspicuous looking. She's got yellow hair and a bright colour, +and a kind of bold way of looking." + +"She's a complex character," sighed Mrs. Jowett; "she wears snakeskin +shoes. But you must be kind to her, Miss Watson. I think she would +appreciate kindness." + +"Oh, so we are kind to her. The congregation subscribed and gave a grand +piano for a wedding-present. Wasn't that good? She is very musical, you +know, and plays the violin beautifully. That'll be very useful at church +meetings." + +"I can't imagine," said Miss Dawson, "why we should consider a +minister's wife and her talents as the property of the congregation. A +doctor's wife isn't at the beck and call of her husband's patients, a +lawyer's wife isn't briefed along with her husband. It doesn't seem to +me fair." + +"How odd," said Pamela; "only yesterday I was talking to Mrs. +Macdonald--Jean's minister's wife--and I said just what you say, that it +seems hard that the time of a minister's wife should be at the mercy of +everyone, and she said, 'My dear, it's our privilege, and if I had my +life to live again I would ask nothing better than to be a hard-working +minister's hard-working wife.' I stand hat in hand before that couple. +When you think what they have given all these years to this little +town--what qualities of heart and head. The tact of an ambassador (Mrs. +Macdonald has that), the eloquence of a Wesley, a largesse of sympathy +and help and encouragement, not to speak of more material things to +everyone in need, and all at the rate of £250 per annum. Prodigious!" + +"Yes," said Miss Dawson, "they have been a blessing to Priorsford for +more than forty years. Mr. Macdonald is a saint, but a saint is a great +deal the better of a practical wife. Mrs. Macdonald is an example of +what can be accomplished by a woman both in a church and at home. I sit +rebuked before her." + +"Oh, my dear," said Mrs. Jowett, "no one could possibly be more helpful +than you and your sisters. It's I who am the drone.... Now I must go." + +The Miss Watsons outstayed the other guests, and Pamela, remembering +Jean's advice, produced a few stray photographs of relations which were +regarded with much interest and some awe. The photograph of her brother, +Lord Bidborough, they could hardly lay down. Finally, Pamela presented +them with flowers and a basket of apples newly arrived from Bidborough +Manor, and they returned to Balmoral walking on air. + +"Such _pleasant_ company and _such_ a tea," said Miss Watson. "She had +out all her best things." + +"And Mrs. Jowett and Miss Dawson were asked to meet _us_," exulted Miss +Teenie. + +"And very affable they were," added her sister. But when the sisters had +removed their best clothes and were seated in the dining-room with the +cloth laid for supper, Miss Teenie said, "All the same, it's fine to be +back in our own house and not to have to heed about manners." She pulled +a low chair close to the fire as she spoke and spread her skirt back +over her knee and, thoroughly comfortable and at peace with the world, +beamed on her sister, who replied: + +"What do you say to having some toasted cheese to our supper?" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + "I hear the whaups on windy days + Cry up among the peat + Whaur, on the road that spiels the braes, + I've heard ma ain sheep's feet. + An' the bonnie lambs wi' their canny ways + And the silly yowes that bleat." + + _Songs of Angus_. + + +Mhor, having but lately acquired the art of writing, was fond of +exercising his still very shaky pen where and when he could. + +One morning, by reason of neglecting his teeth, and a few other toilet +details, he was able to be downstairs ten minutes before breakfast, and +spent the time in the kitchen, plaguing Mrs. M'Cosh to let him write an +inscription in her Bible. + +"What wud ye write?" she asked suspiciously. + +"I would write," said Mhor--"I would write, 'From Gervase Taunton to +Mrs. M'Cosh.'" + +"That wud be a lee," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "for I got it frae ma sister +Annie, her that's in Australia. Here see, there's a post-caird for ye. +It's a rale nice yin.--Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow. There's Annackers' +shope as plain's plain." + +Mhor looked discontentedly at the offering. "I wish," he said +slowly--"I wish I had a post-card of a hippopotamus being sick." + +"Ugh, you want unnaitural post-cairds. Think on something wise-like, +like a guid laddie." + +Mhor considered. "If you give me a sheet of paper and an envelope I +might write to the Lion at the Zoo." + +For the sake of peace Mrs. M'Cosh produced the materials, and Mhor sat +down at the table, his elbows spread out, his tongue protruding. He had +only managed "Dear Lion," when Jean called him to go upstairs and wash +his teeth and get a clean handkerchief. + +The sun was shining into the dining-room, lighting up the blue china on +the dresser, and catching the yellow lights in Jean's hair. + +"What a silly morning for November," growled Jock. "What's the sun going +on shining like that for? You'd think it thought it was summer." + +"In winter," said Mhor, "the sky should always be grey. It's more +suitable." + +"What a couple of ungrateful creatures you are," Jean said; "I'm ashamed +of you. And as it happens you are going to have a great treat because of +the good day. I didn't tell you because I thought it would very likely +pour. Cousin Lewis said if it was a good day he would send the car to +take us to Laverlaw to luncheon. It's really because of Pamela; she has +never been there. So you must ask to get away at twelve, Jock, and I'll +go up with Pamela and collect Mhor." + +Mhor at once left the table and, without making any remark, stood on +his head on the hearthrug. Thus did his joy find vent. Jock, on the +other hand, seemed more solemnised than gleeful. + +"That's the first time I've ever had a prayer answered," he announced. +"I couldn't do my Greek last night, and I prayed that I wouldn't be at +the class--and I won't be. Gosh, Maggie!" + +"Oh, Jock," his sister protested, "that's not what prayers are for." + +"Mebbe not, but I've managed it this time," and, unrepentant, Jock +started on another slice of bread and butter. + +Jean told Pamela of Jock's prayer as they went together to fetch Mhor +from school. + +"But Mhor is a much greater responsibility than Jock. You know where you +are with Jock: underneath is a bedrock of pure goodness. You see, we +start with the enormous advantage of having had forebears of the very +decentest--not great, not noble, but men who feared God and honoured the +King--men who lived justly and loved mercy. It would be most uncalled +for of us to start out on bypaths with such a straight record behind us. +But Mhor, bless him, is different. I haven't a notion what went to the +making of him. I seem to see behind him a long line of men and women who +danced and laughed and gambled and feasted, light-hearted, charming +people. I sometimes think I hear them laugh as I teach Mhor _What is the +chief end of man?_ ... I couldn't love Mhor more if he really were my +little brother, but I know that my hold over him is of the frailest. +It's only now that I have him. I must make the most of the present--the +little boy days--before life takes him away from me." + +"You will have his heart always," Pamela comforted her. "He won't +forget. He has been rooted and grounded in love." + +Jean winked away the tears that had forced their way into her eyes, and +laughed. + +"I'm bringing him up a Presbyterian. I did try him with the Creed. He +listened politely, and said carelessly, 'It all seems rather sad--Pilate +is a nice name, but not Pontius.' Then Jock laughed at him learning, +'What is your name, A or B?' and Mhor himself preferred to go to the +root of the matter with our Shorter Catechism, and answer nobly if +obscurely--_Man's chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him for +ever_. Indeed, he might be Scots in his passion for theology. The other +night he went to bed very displeased with me, and said, 'You needn't +read me any more of that narsty Bible,' but when I went up to say +good-night he greeted me with, '_How_ can I keep the commandments when I +can't even remember what they are?' ... This is Mhor's school, or rather +Miss Main's school." + +They went up the steps of a pretty, creeper-covered house. + +"It once belonged to an artist," Jean explained. "There is a great big +light studio at the back which makes an ideal schoolroom. It's an ideal +school altogether. Miss Main and her young stepsister are born teachers, +full of humour and understanding, as well as being brilliantly +clever--far too clever really for this job; but if they don't mind we +needn't complain. They get the children on most surprisingly, and teach +them all sorts of things outside their lessons. Mhor is always +astonishing me with his information about things going on in the +world.... Yes, do come in. They won't mind. You would like to see the +children." + +"I would indeed. But won't Miss Main object to us interrupting--" + +Miss Main at once reassured her on that point, and said that both she +and the scholars loved visitors. She took them into the large schoolroom +where twenty small people of various sizes sat with their books, very +cheerfully imbibing knowledge. + +Mhor and another small boy occupied one desk. + +Jean greeted the small boy as "Sandy," and asked him what he was +studying at that moment. + +"I don't know," said Sandy. + +"Sandy," said Miss Main, "don't disgrace your teachers. You know you are +learning the multiplication table. What are three times three?" + +Sandy merely looked coy. + +"Mhor?" + +"Six," said Mhor, after some thought. + +"Hopeless," said Miss Main. "Come and speak to my sister Elspeth, Miss +Reston." + +"My sister Elspeth" was a tall, fair girl with merry blue eyes. + +"Do you teach the Mhor?" Pamela asked her. + +"I have that honour," said Miss Elspeth, and began to laugh. "He always +arrives full of ideas. This morning he had thought out a plan to stop +the rain. The sky, he said, must be gone over with glue, but he gave it +up when he remembered how sticky it would be for the angels.... He has +the most wonderful feeling for words of any child I ever taught. He +can't, for instance, bear to hear a Bible story told in everyday +language. The other children like it broken down to them, but Mhor +pleads for 'the real words.' He likes the swing and majesty of them.... +I was reading them Kipling's story, _Servants of the Queen_, the other +day. You know where it makes the oxen speak of the walls of the city +falling, 'and the dust went up as though many cattle were coming home.' +I happened to look up, and there was Mhor with lamps lit in those +wonderful green eyes of his, gazing at me. He said, 'I like that bit. +It's a nice bit. I think it should be at the end of a sad story.' And he +uses words well himself, have you noticed? The other day he came and +thrust a dead field-mouse into my hand. I squealed and dropped it, and +he said, 'Afraid? And of such a calm little gentleman?'" + +Pamela asked if Mhor's behaviour was good. + +"Only fair," said pretty Miss Elspeth. "He always means to be good, but +he is inhabited by an imp of mischief that prompts him to do the most +improbable things. He certainly doesn't make for peace in the school, +but he keeps 'a body frae languor.' I like a naughty boy myself much +better than a good one. He's the 'more natural beast of the twain.'" + +Outside, with the freed Mhor capering before them, Pamela was +enthusiastic over the little school and its mistresses. + +"Miss Main looks like an old miniature, with her white hair and her +delicate colouring, and is wise and kind and sensible as well; and as +for that daffodil girl, Elspeth, she is a sheer delight." + +"Yes," Jean agreed. "Hasn't she charming manners? It is so good for the +children to be with her. She is so polite to them that they can't be +anything but gentle and considerate in return. Heaps of girls would +think school-marming very dull, but Elspeth makes it into a sort of +daily entertainment. They manage, she and her sister, to make the +dullest child see some glimmer of reason in learning lessons. I do wish +I had had a teacher like that. I had a governess who taught me like a +parrot. She had no notion how to make the dry bones live. I thought I +scored by learning as little as I possibly could. The consequence is I'm +almost entirely illiterate.... There's the car waiting, and Jock +prancing impatiently. Run in for your thick coat, Mhor. No, you can't +take Peter. He chased sheep last time and fought the other dogs and made +himself a nuisance." + +Mhor was now pleading that he might sit in the front beside the +chauffeur and cry "Honk, honk," as they went round corners. + +"Well," said Jean, "choose whether it will be going or coming back. Jock +must sit there one time." + +Mhor, as he always did, grasped the pleasure of the moment, and +clambered into the seat beside the chauffeur, an old and valued friend, +whom he greeted familiarly as "Tam." + +The road to Laverlaw ran through the woods behind Peel, dipped into the +Manor Valley and, emerging, made straight for the hills, which closed +down round it as though jealous of the secrets they guarded. It seemed +to a stranger as if the road led nowhere, for nothing was to be seen for +miles except bare hillsides and a brawling burn. Suddenly the road took +a turn, a white bridge spanned the noisy Laverlaw Water, and there at +the opening of a wide, green glen stood the house. + +Lewis Elliot was waiting at the doorstep to greet them. He had been out +all morning, and with him were his two dogs, Rab and Wattie. Jock and +Mhor threw themselves on them with many-endearing names, before they +even looked at their host. + +"Is luncheon ready?" was Mhor's greeting. + +"Why? Are you hungry?" + +"Oh yes, but it's not that. I wondered if there would be time to go to +the stables. Tam says there are some new puppies." + +"I'd keep the puppies for later, if I were you," Lewis Elliot advised. +"You'd better have luncheon while your hands are fairly clean. Jean will +be sure to make you wash them if you go mucking about in the stables." + +Mhor nodded. He was no Jew, and took small pleasure in the outward +cleansing of the cup and platter. Soap and water seemed to him almost +quite unnecessary, and he had greatly admired and envied the Laplanders +since Jock had told him that that hardy race rarely, if ever, washed. + +"I hope you weren't cold in that open car," Lewis Elliot said as he +helped Pamela and Jean to remove their wraps. "D'you mind coming into my +den? It's warm, if untidy. The drawing-room is so little used that it's +about as cheerful as a tomb." + +He led them through the panelled hall, down a long passage hung with +sporting prints, into what was evidently a much-liked and much-used +room. + +Books were everywhere, lining the walls, lying in heaps on tables, some +even piled on the floor, but a determined effort had evidently been made +to tidy things a little, for papers had been collected into bundles, +pipes had been thrust into corners, and bowls of chrysanthemums stood +about to sweeten the tobacco-laden atmosphere. + +A large fire burned on the hearth, and Lewis pulled up some +masculine-looking arm-chairs and asked the ladies to sit in them, but +Jean along with Jock and Mhor were already engrossed in books, and their +neglected host looked at them with disgust. + +"Such are the primitive manners of the Jardine family," he said to +Pamela. "If you want a word out of them you must lock up all printed +matter before they approach. Thank goodness, that's the gong! They can't +read while they're feeding." + +"Honourable," said Mhor, as they ate their excellent luncheon. "Isn't +Laverlaw a lovely place?" + +Pamela agreed. "I never saw anything so indescribably green. It wears +the fairy livery. I can easily picture True Thomas walking by that +stream." + +"Long ago," said Jock in his gruff voice, "there was a keep at Laverlaw +instead of a house, and Cousin Lewis' ancestors stole cattle from +England, and there were some fine fights in this glen. Laverlaw Water +would run red with blood." + +"Jock," Jean protested, "you needn't say it with such relish." + +Pamela turned to her host. + +"Priorsford seems to think you find yourself almost too contented at +Laverlaw. Mrs. Hope says you are absorbed in sheep." + +Lewis Elliot looked amused. "I can imagine the scorn Mrs. Hope put into +her voice as she said 'sheep.' But one must be absorbed in +something--why not sheep?" + +"I like a sheep," said Jock, and he quoted: + + "'Its conversation is not deep, + But then, observe its face.'" + +"You may be surprised to hear," said Lewis, "that sheep are almost like +fine ladies in their ways: they have megrims, it appears. I found one +the other day lying on the hill more or less dead to the world, and I +went a mile or two out of my way to tell the shepherd. All he said was, +'I ken that yowe. She aye comes ower dwamy in an east wind.' ... But +tell me, Jean, how is Miss Reston conducting herself in Priorsford?" + +"With the greatest propriety, I assure you," Pamela replied for herself. +"Aren't I, Jean? I have dined with Mrs. Duff-Whalley and been +introduced to 'the County.' You were regrettably absent from that august +gathering, I seem to remember. I have lunched with the Jowetts, and left +the table without a stain either on the cloth or my character, but it +was a great nervous strain. I thought of you, Jock, old man, and deeply +sympathised with your experience. I have been to quite a lot of +tea-parties, and I have given one or two. Indeed, I am becoming as +absorbed in Priorsford as you are in sheep." + +"You have been to Hopetoun, I know." + +"Yes, but don't mix that up with ordinary tea-parties That is an +experience to keep apart. She holds the imagination, that old woman, +with her sharp tongue, and her haggard, beautiful eyes, and her dead +sons. To know Mrs. Hope and her daughter is something to be thankful +for." + +"I quite agree. The Hopes do much to leaven the lump. But I expect you +find it rather a lump." + +"Honestly, I don't. I'm not being superior, please don't think so, or +charitable, or pretending to find good in everything, but I do like the +Priorsford people. Some of them are interesting, and nearly all of them +are dears." + +"Even Mrs. Duff-Whalley?" + +"Well, she is rather a caricature, but there are oddly nice bits about +her, if only she weren't so overpoweringly opulent. The ospreys in her +hat seem to shriek money, and her furs smother one, and that house of +hers remains so starkly new. If only creepers would climb up and hide +its staring red-and-white face, and ivy efface some of the decorations, +but no--I expect she likes it as it is. But there is something honest +about her very vulgarity. She knows what she wants and goes straight for +it; and she isn't a fool. The daughter is. She was intended by nature to +be a dull young woman with a pretty face, but not content with that she +puts on an absurdly skittish manner--oh, so ruthlessly bright--talks +what she thinks is smart slang, poses continually, and wears clothes +that would not be out of place at Ascot, but are a positive offence to +the little grey town. I hadn't realised how gruesome provincial +smartness could be until I met Muriel Duff-Whalley." + +"Oh, poor Muriel!" Jean protested. "You've done for her anyway. But +you're wrong in thinking her stupid. She only comes to The Rigs when she +isn't occupied with smart friends and is rather dull--I don't see her in +her more exalted moments; but I assure you, after she has done talking +about 'the County,' and after the full blast of 'dear Lady Tweedie' is +over, she is a very pleasant companion, and has nice delicate sorts of +thoughts. She's really far too clever to be as silly as she sometimes +is--I can't quite understand her. Perhaps she does it to please her +mother." + +"Jean's disgustingly fond of finding out the best in people," Pamela +objected. + +"Priorsford is a most charming town," said Mr. Elliot, "but I never find +its inhabitants interesting." + +"No," Jean said, "but you don't try, do you? You stay here in your +'wild glen sae green,' and only have your own friends to visit you--" + +"Are you," Pamela asked Lewis, "like a woman I know who boasts that she +knows no one in her country place, but gets her friends and her fish +from London?" + +"No, I'm not in the least exclusive, only rather _blate_, and, I +suppose, uninterested. Do you know, I was rather glad to hear you begin +to slang the unfortunate Miss Duff-Whalley. It was more like the Pamela +Reston I used to know. I didn't recognise her in the tolerant, +all-loving lady." + +"Oh," cried Pamela, "you are cruel to the girl I once was. The years +mellow. Surely you welcome improvement, even while you remind me of my +sins and faults of youth." + +"I don't think," Lewis Elliot said slowly, "that I ever allowed myself +to think that the Pamela Reston I knew needed improvement. That would +have savoured of sacrilege.... Are we finished? We might have coffee in +the other room." + +Pamela looked at her host as she rose from the table, and said, "Years +have brought clearer eyes for faults." + +"I wonder," said Lewis Elliot, as he put a large chocolate into Mhor's +ever-ready mouth. + +Before going home they went for a walk up the glen. Jean and the boys, +very much at home, were in front, while Lewis named the surrounding +hills and explained the lie of the land to Pamela. They fell into talk +of younger days, and laughed over episodes they had not thought of for +twenty years. + +"And, do you know, Biddy's coming home?" Pamela said. "I keep +remembering that with a most delightful surprise. I haven't seen him for +more than a year--my beloved Biddy!" + +"He was a most charming boy," Lewis said. "I suppose he would be about +fifteen when last I saw him. How old is he now?" + +"Thirty-five. But such a young thirty-five. He has always been doing the +most youth-preserving things, chasing over the world after adventures, +like a boy after butterflies, seeing new peoples, walking in untrodden +ways. If he had lived in more spacious days he would have sailed with +Francis Drake and helped to singe the King of Spain's beard. Oh, I do +think you will still like Biddy. The charm he had at fifteen he hasn't +lost one little bit. He has still the same rather shy manner and slow +way of speaking and sudden, affection-winning smile. The War has changed +him of course, emptied and saddened his life, and he isn't the +light-foot lad he was six years ago. When it was all over he went off +for one more year's roving. He has a great project which I don't suppose +will ever be accomplished--to climb Everest. He and three great friends +had arranged it all before the War, but everything of course was +stopped, and whatever happens he will never climb it with those three +friends. They had to scale greater heights than Everest. It is a sober +and responsible Biddy who is coming back, to settle down and look after +his places, and go into politics, perhaps--" + +They walked together in comfortable silence. + +Jean, in front, turned round and waved to them. + +"I'm glad," said Lewis, "that you and Jean have made friends. Jean--" He +stopped. + +Pamela stood very still for a second, and then said, "Yes?" + +"Jean and her brothers are sort of cousins of mine. I've always been +fond of them, and my mother and I used to try to give them a good time +when we could, for Great-aunt Alison's was rather an iron rule. But a +man alone is such a helpless object, as Mrs. Hope often reminds me. It +isn't fair that Jean shouldn't have her chance. She never gets away, and +her youth is being spoiled by care. She is such a quaint little person +with her childlike face and motherly ways! I do wish something could be +done." + +"Jean must certainly have her chance," said Pamela. She took a long +breath, as if she had been under water and had come to the surface. +"I've said nothing about it to anyone, but I am greatly hoping that some +arrangement can be made about sending the boys away to school and +letting me carry off Jean. I want her to forget that she ever had to +think about money worries. I want her to play with other boys and girls. +I want her to marry." + +"Yes, that would be a jolly good scheme." Lewis Elliot's voice was +hearty in its agreement. "It really is exceedingly kind of you. You've +lifted a weight from my mind--though what business I have to push my +weights on to you.... Yes, Jean, perhaps we ought to be turning back. +The car is ordered for four o'clock. I wish you would stay to tea, but I +expect you are dying to get back to Priorsford. That little town has you +in its thrall." + +"I wish," said Jock, "that The Rigs could be lifted up by some magician +and plumped down in Laverlaw Glen." + +"Oh, Jock, wouldn't that be fine?" sighed the Mhor. "Plumped right down +at the side of the burn, and then we could fish out of the windows." + +The sun had left the glen, the Laverlaw Water ran wan; it seemed +suddenly to have become a wild and very lonely place. + +"Now I can believe about the raiders coming over the hills in an autumn +twilight," said Pamela. "There is something haunted about this place. In +Priorsford we are all close together and cosy: that's what I love about +it." + +"You've grown quite suburban," Lewis taunted her. "Jean, I was told a +story about two Priorsford ladies the other day. They were in London and +went to see Pavlova dance at the Palace, for the first time. It was her +last appearance that season, and the curtain went down on Pavlova +embedded in bouquets, bowing her thanks to an enraptured audience, the +house rocking with enthusiasm. The one Priorsford lady turned to the +other Priorsford lady and said, 'Awfully like Mrs. Wishart!'" + +As the car moved off, Jock's voice could be heard asking, "And who _was_ +Mrs. Wishart?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + "Hast any philosophy in thee?" + + _As You Like It_. + + +Miss Bella Bathgate was a staunch supporter of the Parish Kirk. She had +no use for any other denomination, and no sympathy with any but the +Presbyterian form of worship. Episcopalians she regarded as beneath +contempt, and classed them in her own mind with "Papists"--people who +were more mischievous and almost as ignorant as "the heathen" for whom +she collected small sums quarterly, and for whom the minister prayed as +"sitting in darkness." Miss Bathgate had developed a real, if somewhat +contemptuous, affection for Mawson, her lodger's maid, but she never +ceased to pour scorn on her "English ways" and her English worship. If +Mawson had not been one of the gentlest of creatures she would not have +tolerated it for a day. + +One wet and windy evening Bella sat waiting for Mawson to come in to +supper. She had gone to a week-night service at the church, greatly +excited because the Bishop was to be present. The supper was ready and +keeping hot in the oven, the fire sparkled in the bright range, and +Bella sat crocheting and singing to herself, "From Greenland's icy +mountains." For Bella was passionately interested in missions. The needs +of the heathen lay on her heart. Every penny she could scrape together +went into "the box." The War had reduced her small income, and she could +no longer live without letting her rooms, but whatever she had to do +without her contributions to missions never faltered; indeed, they had +increased. Missions were the romance of her life. They put a scarlet +thread into the grey. The one woman she had ever envied was Mary Slessor +of Calabar. + +Mawson came in much out of breath, having run up the hill to get out of +the darkness. + +"Weel, and hoo's the Bishop?" Bella said in jocular tones. + +"Ow, 'e was lovely. 'E said the Judgment was 'anging over all of us." + +"Oh, wumman," said Bella, as she dumped a loaf viciously on the platter, +"d'ye need a Bishop to tell ye that? I'm sure I've kent it a' ma days." + +"It gives me the creeps to think of it. Imagine standin' h'up before +h'all the earth and 'aving all your little bits o' sins fetched out +against you! But"--hopefully--"I don't see myself 'ow there'll be time." + +"Ay, there'll be time! There'll be a' Eternity afore us, and as far as I +can see there'll be naething else to do." + +"Ow," Mawson wailed. "You do make it sound so 'orrid, Bella. The Bishop +was much more comfortable, and 'e 'as such a nice rosy face you can't +picture anything very bad 'appening to 'im. But I suppose Bishops'll be +judged like everyone else." + +"They will that." Bella's tone was emphatic, almost vindictive. + +"Oh, well," said Mawson, who looked consistently on the bright sides, "I +dare say they won't pay much h'attention to the likes of us when they've +Kings and Bishops and M.P.'s and London ladies to judge. Their sins will +be a bit more interestin' than my little lot.... Well, I'll be glad of a +cup of tea, for it's thirsty work listening to sermons. I'll just lay me +'at and coat down 'ere, if you don't mind, Bella. Now, this is cosy. I +was thinkin' of this as I came paddin' over the bridge listening to the +sound of the wind and the water. A river's a frightenin' sort of thing +at night and after 'earin' about the Judgment too." + +Miss Bathgate took a savoury-smelling dish from the oven and put it, +along with two hot plates, before Mawson, then put the teapot before +herself and they began. + +"Whaur's Miss Reston the nicht?" Bella asked, as she helped herself to +hot buttered toast. + +"Dinin' with Sir John and Lady Tweedie. She's wearin' a lovely new gown, +sort of yellow. It suited her a treat. I must say she did look noble. +She is 'andsome, don't you think?" + +"Terrible lang and lean," said Miss Bathgate. "But I'm no denyin' that +there's a kind o' look aboot her that's no common. She would mak' a guid +queen if we had ony need o' anither." "She makes a good mistress +anyway," said loyal Mawson. + +"Oh, she's no bad," Bella admitted. "An' I must say she disna gie much +trouble--but it's an idle life for ony wumman. I canna see why Miss +Reston, wi' a' her faculties aboot her, needs you hingin' round her. +Mercy me, what's to hinder her pu'in ribbons through her ain +underclothes, if ribbons are necessary, which they're not. There's Mrs. +Muir next door, wi' six bairns, an' a' the wark o' the hoose to dae an' +washin's forbye, an' here's Miss Reston never liftin' a finger except to +pu' silk threads through a bit stuff. That's what makes folk +Socialists." + +Mawson, who belonged to that fast disappearing body, the real servant +class, and who, without a thought of envy, delighted in the possession +of her mistress, looked sadly puzzled. + +"But, Beller, don't you think things work out more h'even than they +seem? Mrs. Muir next door works very 'ard. I've seen her put out a +washin' by seven o'clock in the morning, but then she 'as a good 'usband +and an 'ealthy family and much pleasure in 'er work. Miss Reston lies +soft and drinks her mornin' tea in comfort, but she never knows the +satisfied feelin' that Mrs. Muir 'as when she takes in 'er clean +clothes." + +"Weel, mebbe you're right. I'm nae Socialist masel'. There maun aye be +rich and poor, Dives in the big hoose and Lazarus at the gate. But so +long as we're sure that Dives'll catch it in the end, and Lazarus lie +soft in Abraham's bosom, we can pit up wi' the unfairness here. An' +speakin' about Miss Reston, I dinna mind her no' working. Ye can see by +the look of her that she never was meant to work, but just to get +everything done for her. Can ye picture her peelin' tatties? The verra +thocht's rideeclus. She's juist for lookin' at, like the floors and a' +the bonnie things ... But it's thae new folk that pit up ma birse. That +Mrs. Duff-Whalley, crouse cat! Rollin' aboot wrap up in furs in a great +caur, patronisin' everybody that's daft enough to let theirselves be +patronised by her. Onybody could see she's no used to it. She's so ta'en +up wi' hersel'. It's kinda play-actin' for her ... An' there's naebody +gives less to charitable objects. I suppose when ye've paid and fed sae +mony servants, and dressed yersel' in silks and satins, and bocht every +denty ye can think of, and kept up a great big hoose an' a great muckle +caur, there's no' that much left for the kirk-plate, or the heathen, or +the hospitals ... Oh, it's peetifu'!" + +Mawson nodded wisely. "There's plenty Mrs. Duff-Whalleys about; you be +thankful you've only one in the place. Priorsford is a very charitable +place, I think. The poor people here don't know they're born after +London, and the clergy seem very active too." + +"Oh, they are that. I daur say they're as guid as is gaun. Mr. Morrison +is a fine man if marriage disna ruin him." + +"Oh, surely not!" + +"There's no sayin'," said Bella gloomily. "She's young and flighty, but +there's wan thing, she has no money. I kent a minister--he was a kinda +cousin o' ma father's--an' he mairret a heiress and they had late +denner. I tell ye that late denner was the ruin o' that man. It fair got +between him an' his jidgment. He couldna veesit his folk at a wise-like +hour in the evening because he was gaun to hev his denner, and he +couldna get oot late because his leddy-wife wanted him to be at hame +efter denner. There's mony a thing to cause a minister to stumble, for +they're juist human beings after a', but his rich mairrage was John +Allison's undoing." + +"Marriage," sighed Mawson, "is a great risk. It's often as well to be +single, but I sometimes think Providence must ha' meant me to 'ave an +'usband--I'm such a clingin' creature." + +Such sentiments were most distasteful to Miss Bathgate, that +self-reliant spinster, and she said bitterly: + +"Ma wumman, ye're ill off for something to cling to! I never saw the man +yet that I wud be pitten up wi'." + +"Ho! I shouldn't say that, but I must say I couldn't fancy a +h'undertaker. Just imagine 'im 'andlin' the dead and then 'andlin' me!" + +"Eh, ye nesty cratur," said Bella, much disgusted "But I suppose ye're +meaning _English_ undertakers--men that does naething but work wi' +funerals--a fearsome ill job. Here it's the jiner that does a' thing, so +it's faur mair homely." + +"Speakin' about marriages," said Mawson, who preferred cheerful +subjects, "I do enjoy a nice weddin'. The motors and the bridesmaids and +the flowers. Is there no chance of a weddin' 'ere?" + +Miss Bathgate shook her head. + +"Why not Miss Jean?" Mawson suggested. + +Again Miss Bathgate shook her head. + +"Nae siller," she said briefly. + +"What! No money, you mean? But h'every gentleman ain't after money." +Mawson's expression grew softly sentimental as she added, "Many a one +marries for love, like the King and the beggar-maid." + +"Mebbe," said Bella, "but the auld rhyme's oftener true: + + "'Be a lassie ne'er sae black, + Gie her but the name o' siller, + Set her up on Tintock tap + An' the wind'll blaw a man till her. + + Be a lassie ne'er sae fair, + Gin she hinna penny-siller, + A flea may fell her in the air + Ere a man be evened till her.' + +"I would like fine to see Miss Jean get a guid man, for she's no' a bad +lassie, but I doot she'll never manage't." + +"Oh, Beller, you do take an 'opeless view of things. I think it's +because you wear black so much. Now I must say I like a bit o' bright +colour. I think it gives one bright thoughts." + +"I aye wear black," said Bella firmly, as she carried the supper dishes +to the scullery, "and then, as the auld wifie said, 'Come daith, come +sacrament, I'm ready!'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + "Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon, may a man buy for a + remuneration?"--_Comedy of Errors_. + + +The living-room at The Rigs was the stage of many plays. Its uses ranged +from the tent of a ménagerie or the wigwam of an Indian brave to the +Forest of Arden. + +This December night it was a "wood near Athens," and to Mhor, if to no +one else, it faithfully represented the original. That true Elizabethan +needed no aids to his imagination. "This is a wood," said Mhor, and a +wood it was. "Is all our company here?" and to him the wood was peopled +by Quince and Snug, by Bottom the weaver, by Puck and Oberon. Titania +and her court he reluctantly admitted were necessary to the play, but he +did not try to visualise them, regarding them privately as blots. The +love-scenes between Hermia and Lysander, Helena and Demetrius, were +omitted, because Jock said they were "_awful_ silly." + +It was Friday evening, so Jock had put off learning his lessons till the +next day, and, as Bully Bottom, was calling over the names of his cast. + +"Are we all met?" + +"Pat, pat," said Mhor, who combined in his person all the other parts, +"and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal; this green +plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tiring-house; and we +will do it in action as we will do it before the duke." + +Pamela Reston, in her usual place, the corner of the sofa beside the +fire, threaded her needle with a bright silk thread, and watched the +players amusedly. + +"Did you ever think," she asked Jean, who sat on a footstool beside +her--a glowing figure in a Chinese coat given her by Pamela, engaged +rather incongruously in darning one of Jock's stockings--"did you ever +think what it must have been like to see a Shakespeare play for the +first time? Was the Globe filled, I wonder, with a quite unexpectant +first night audience? And did they realise that the words they heard +were deathless words? Imagine hearing for the first time: + + 'When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver + white....' + +and then--'The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.' +Did you ever try to write, Jean?" + +"Pamela," said Jean, "if you drop from Shakespeare to me in that sudden +way you'll be dizzy. I have thought of writing and trying to give a +truthful picture of Scottish life--a cross between _Drumtochty_ and _The +House with the Green Shutters_--but I'm sure I shall never do it. And if +by any chance I did accomplish it, it would probably be reviewed as a +'feebly written story of life in a Scots provincial town,' and then I +would beat my pen into a hatpin and retire from the literary arena. I +wonder how critics can bear to do it. I couldn't sleep at nights for +thinking of my victims--" + +"You sentimental little absurdity! It wouldn't be honest to praise poor +work." + +Jean shook her head. "They could always be a little kind ... Pamela, I +love myself in this coat. You can't think what a delight colours are to +me." She stopped, and then said shyly, "You have brought colour into all +our lives. I can see now how drab they were before you came." + +"Oh dear, no, Jean, your life was never drab. It could never be drab +whatever your circumstances, you have so much happiness within yourself. +I don't think anything in life could ever quite down you, and even +death--what of death, Jean?" + +Jean looked up from her stocking. "As Boswell said to Dr. Johnson, 'What +of death, Sir?' and the great man was so angry that the little +twittering genius should ask lightly of such a terrifying thing that he +barked at him and frightened him out of the room! I suppose the ordinary +thing is never to think about death at all, to keep the thought pushed +away. But that makes people so _afraid_ of it. It's such a bogey to +them. The Puritans went to the other extreme and dressed themselves in +their grave-clothes every day. Wasn't it Samuel Rutherford who advised +people to 'forefancy their latter end'? I think that's where Great-aunt +Alison got the idea; she certainly made us 'forefancy' ours! But apart +from what death may mean to each of us--life itself gets all its meaning +from death. If we didn't know that we had all to die we could hardly go +on living, could we?" + +"Well," said Pamela, "it would certainly be difficult to bear with +people if their presence and our own were not utterly uncertain. And if +we knew with surety when we rose in the morning that for another forty +years we would go on getting up, and having a bath and dressing, we +would be apt to expire with ennui. We rise with alacrity because we +don't know if we shall ever put our clothes on again." + +Jean gave a little jump of expectation. "It's frightfully interesting. +You never do know when you get up in the morning what will happen before +night." + +"Most people find that a little wearing. It isn't always nice things +that happen, Jean." + +"Not always, of course, but far more nice things than nasty ones." + +"Jean, I'm afraid you're a chirping optimist. You'll reduce me to the +depths of depression if you insist on being so bright. Rather help me to +rail against fate, and so cheer me." + +"Do you realise that Davie will be home next week?" said Jean, as if +that were reason enough for any amount of optimism. "I think, on the +whole, he has enjoyed his first term, but he was pretty homesick at +first. He never actually said so, but he told us in one letter that he +smelt the tea when he made it, for it was the one thing that reminded +him of home. And another time he spoke with passionate dislike of the +pollarded trees, because such things are unknown on Tweedside. I'm so +glad he has made quite a lot of friends. I was afraid he might be so shy +and unforthcoming that he would put people off, but he writes +enthusiastically about the men he is with. It is good for him to be made +to leave his work, and play games; he is keen about his footer and they +think he will row well! The man who has rooms on the same staircase +seems a very good sort. I forget who he is--it's quite a well-known +family--but he has been uncommonly kind to Davie. He wants him to go +home with him next week, but of course Davie is keen to get back to +Priorsford. Besides, you can't visit the stately homes of England on +thirty shillings, and that's about Davie's limit, dear lamb! Jock and +Mhor are looking forward with joy to hear him speak. They expect his +accent to have suffered an Oxford change, and Jock doesn't think he will +be able to remain in the room with him and not laugh." + +"I expect Jock will be 'affronted,'" said Pamela. "But you aren't the +only one who is expecting a brother, Jean, girl. Any moment I may hear +that Biddy is in London. He wired from Port Said that he would come +straight to Priorsford. I wonder whether I should take rooms for him in +the Hydro, or in one of these nice old hotels in the Nethergate? I wish +I could crush him into Hillview, but there isn't any room, alas!" + +"I wish," said Jean, and stopped. She had wanted in her hospitable way +to say that Pamela's brother must come to The Rigs, but she checked the +impulse with a fear that it was an absurd proposal. She was immensely +interested in this brother of Pamela's. All she had heard of him +appealed to her imagination, for Jean, cumbered as she was with domestic +cares, had an adventurous spirit, and thrilled to hear of the perils of +the mountains, the treks behind the ranges for something hidden, all the +daring escapades of an adventure-loving young man with time and money at +his disposal. She had made a hero of Pamela's "Biddy," but now that she +was to see him she shrank from the meeting. Suppose he were a +supercilious sort of person who would be bored with the little town and +the people in it. And the fact that he had a title complicated matters, +Jean thought. She could not imagine herself talking naturally to Lord +Bidborough. Besides, she thought, she didn't know in the least how to +talk to men; she so seldom met any. + +"I expect," she broke out after a silence, "your brother will take you +away?" + +"For Christmas, I think," said Pamela, "but I shall come back again. Do +you realise that I've been here two months, Jean?" + +"Does it seem so short to you?" + +"In a way it does; the days have passed so pleasantly. And yet I seem to +have been here all my life; I feel so much a part of Priorsford, so akin +to the people in it. It must be the Border blood in my veins. My mother +loved her own country dearly. I have heard my aunt say that she never +felt at home at Bidborough or Mintern Abbas. I am sure she would have +wanted us to know her Scots home, so Biddy and I are going to +Champertoun for Christmas. My mother had no brothers, and everything +went to a distant cousin. He and his wife seem friendly people and they +urge us to visit them." + +"That will mean a lovely Christmas for you," Jean said. + +Here Mhor stopped being an Athenian reveller to ask that the sofa might +be pushed back. The scene was now the palace of Theseus, and Mhor, as +the Prologue, was addressing an imaginary audience with--"Gentles, +perchance you wonder at this show." + +Pamela and Jean removed themselves to the window-seat and listened while +Jock, covered with an old skin rug, gave a realistic presentment of the +Lion, that very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. + +The 'tedious brief' scene was drawing to an end, when the door opened +and Mrs. M'Cosh, with a scared look in her eyes and an excited squeak in +her voice, announced, "Lord Bidborough." + +A slim, dark young man stood in the doorway, regarding the dishevelled +room. Jock and Mhor were still writhing on the floor, the chairs were +pushed anyway, Pamela's embroidery frame had alighted on the bureau, the +rugs were pulled here and there. + +Pamela gave a cry and rushed at her brother, forgetting everything in +the joy of seeing him. Then, remembering her hostess, she turned to +Jean, who still sat on the window-seat, her face flushed and her eyes +dark with excitement, the blood-red mandarin's coat with its embroidery +of blue and mauve and gold vivid against the dark curtains, and said, +"Jean, this is Biddy!" + +Jean stood up and held out a shy hand. + +"And this is Jock--and Mhor!" + +"Having a great game, aren't you?" said the newcomer. + +"Not a game," Mhor corrected him, "a play, _Midsummer Night's Dream_." + +"No, are you? I once played in it at the O.U.D.S. I wanted to be Bully +Bottom, but I wasn't much good, so they made me Snug the joiner. I +remember the man who played Puck was a wonder, about as light on his +feet and as swift as the real Puck. A jolly play." + +"Biddy," said his sister, "why didn't you wire to me? I have taken no +rooms." + +"Oh, that's all right--a porter at the station, a most awfully nice +chap, put me into a sort of fly and sent me to one of the hotels--a +jolly good little inn it is--and they can put me up. Then I asked for +Hillview, mentioning the witching name of Miss Bella Bathgate, and they +sent a boy with me to find the place. Miss Bathgate sent me on here. +Beautifully managed, you see." + +He smiled lazily at his sister, who cried: + +"The same casual old Biddy! What about dinner?" + +"Mayn't I feed with you? I think Miss Bathgate would like me to. And I'm +devoted to stewed beef and carrots. After cold storage food it will be a +most welcome change. But," turning to Jean, "please forgive me arriving +on you like this, and discussing board and lodgings. It's the most +frightful cheek on my part, but, you see, Pam's letters have made me so +well acquainted with The Rigs and everyone in it that I'm afraid I don't +feel the need of ceremony." + +"We wouldn't know what to do with ceremony here," said Jean. "But I do +wish the room had been tidier. You will get a bad impression of our +habits--and we are really quite neat as a rule. Jock, take that rug back +to Mrs. M'Cosh and put the sofa right. And, Mhor, do wash your face; +you've got it all smeared with black." + +As Jean spoke she moved about, putting things to rights, lifting +cushions, brightening the fire, brushing away fallen cinders. + +"That's better. Now don't stand about so uncomfortably Pamela, sit in +your corner; and this is a really comfortable chair, Lord Bidborough." + +"I want to look at the books, if I may," said Lord Bidborough. "It's +always the first thing I do in a room. You have a fine collection here." + +"They are nearly all my father's books," Jean explained. "We don't add +to them, except, of course, on birthdays and at Christmas, and never +valuable books." + +"You have some very rare books--this, for instance." + +"Yes. Father treasured that--and have you seen this?" + +They browsed among the books for a little, and Jean, turning to Pamela, +said, "I remember the first time you came to see us you did this, too, +walked about and looked at the books." + +"I remember," said Pamela; "history repeats itself." + +Lord Bidborough stopped before a shelf. "This is a catholic selection." + +"Those are my favourite books," said Jean--"modern books, I mean." + +"I see." He went along the shelf, naming each book as he came to it. +"_The Long Roll_ and _Cease Firing_. Two great books. I should like to +read them again now." + +"Now one could read them," said Jean. "Through the War I tried to, but I +had to stop. The writing was too good--too graphic, somehow...." + +"Yes, it would be too poignant.... _John Splendid_. I read that one +autumn in Argyle--slowly--about two chapters a day, making it last as +long as I could." + +"Isn't it fine?" said Jean. "John Splendid, who never spoke the truth +except to an enemy! Do you remember the scene with the blind widow of +Glencoe? And John Splendid was so gallant and tactful: 'dim in the +sight,' he called her, for he wouldn't say 'blind'; and then was +terrified when he heard that plague had been in the house, and would +have left without touching the outstretched hand, and Gordon, the +harsh-mannered minister, took it and kissed it, and the blind woman +cried, 'O Clan Campbell, I'll never call ye down--ye may have the guile +they claim for ye, but ye have the way with a woman's heart,' and poor +John Splendid went out covered with shame." + +Jean's eyes were shining, and she had forgotten to be awkward and +tongue-tied. + +"I remember," said Lord Bidborough. "And the wonderful descriptions--'I +know corries in Argyle that whisper silken' ... do you remember that? +And the last scene of all when John Splendid rides away?" + +"Do you cry over books, Jean?" Pamela asked. She was sitting on the end +of the sofa, her embroidery frame in her hand and her cloak on, ready to +go when her brother had finished looking at Jean's treasures. + +Jean shook her head. "Not often. Great-aunt Alison said it was the sign +of a feeble mind to waste tears over fiction, but I have cried. Do you +remember the end of _The Mill on the Floss_? Tom and Maggie have been +estranged, and the flood comes, and Tom goes to save Maggie. He is +rowing when he sees the great mill machinery sweeping down on them, and +he takes Maggie's hand, and calls her the name he had used when they +were happy children together--'_Magsie_!'" + +Pamela nodded. "Nothing appeals to you so much as family affection, +Jean, girl. What have you got now, Biddy? _Nelly's Teachers_?" + +"Oh, that," said Jean, getting pink--"that's a book I had when I was a +child, and I still like it so much that I read it through every year." + +"Oh, Jean, you babe!" Pamela cried. "Can you actually still read +goody-goody girls' stories?" + +"Yes," said Jean defiantly, "and enjoy them too." + +"And why not?" asked Lord Bidborough. "I enjoy _Huckleberry Finn_ as +much now as I did when I was twelve; and I often yearn after the books I +had as a boy and never see now. I used to lie on my face poring over +them. _The Clipper of the Clouds_, and _Sir Ludar_, and a fairy story +called _Rigmarole in Search of a Soul_, which, I remember, was quite +beautiful, but can't lay hands on anywhere." + +Jean looked at him gratefully, and thought to herself that he wasn't +going to be a terrifying person after all. For his age--Jean knew that +he was thirty-five, and had expected something much more mature--he +seemed oddly boyish. He had an expectant young look in his eyes, as if +he were always waiting for some chance of adventure to turn up, and +there were humorous lines about his mouth which seemed to say that he +found the world a very funny place, and was exceedingly well amused. + +He certainly seemed very much at home at The Rigs, fondling the rare old +books with the hands of a book lover, inspecting the coloured prints, +chaffing Jock and Mhor, who fawned round him like two puppy dogs. Peter +had at once made friends with him, and Mrs. M'Cosh, coming into the room +on some errand, edged her way out backwards, her eyes fixed on the +newcomer with an approving stare. As she told Jean later: "For a' Andra +pit me against lords, I canna see muckle wrang wi' this yin. A rale +pleasant fellow I tak' him to be, lord or no lord. If they were a' like +him, we wudna need to be Socialists. It's queer I've aye hed a hankerin' +after thae high-born kinna folk. It's that interestin' to watch them. Ye +niver ken whit they'll dae next, or whit they'll say--they're that +audacious. We wud mak' an awfu' dull warld o' it if we pit them a' awa +to Ameriky or somewhere. I often tell't Andra that, but he said it wud +be a guid riddance ... I'm wonderin' what Bella Bathgate thinks o' him. +It'll be great to hear her breath on't. She's quite comin' roond to Miss +Reston. She was tellin' me she disna think there's onything veecious +about her, and she's gettin' quite used to her manners." + + * * * * * + +When Pamela departed with her brother to partake of a dinner cooked by +Miss Bathgate (a somewhat doubtful pleasure), Mhor went off to bed, and +Jock curled himself up on the sofa with Peter, for his Friday night's +extra hour with a story-book, while Jean resumed her darning of +stockings. + +Her thoughts were full of the sister and brother who had just left. +"Queer they are!" she thought to herself. "If Davie came back to me +after a year in India, I wouldn't have liked to meet him in somebody +else's house. But they seemed quite happy to look at books, and talk +about just anything and play with Jock and Mhor and tease Peter. Now I +expect they'll be talking about their own affairs, but I would have +rushed at the pleasure of hearing all about everything--I couldn't have +waited. Pamela has such a leisured air about everything she does. It's +nice and sort of aloof and quiet--but I could never attain to it. I'm +little and bustling and Martha-like." + +Here Jean sighed, and put her fingers through a large hole in the toe of +a stocking. + +"I'm only fit to keep house and darn and worry the boys about washing +their ears.... Anyway, I'm glad I had on my Chinese coat." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + "Her gown should be of goodliness + Well ribboned with renown, + Purfilled with pleasure in ilk place, + Furred with fine fashion. + + Her hat should be of fair having, + And her tippet of truth, + Her patclet of good pansing, + Her neck ribbon of ruth. + + Her sleeves should be of esperance + To keep her from despair: + Her gloves of the good governance + To guide her fingers fair. + + Her shoes should be of sickerness + In syne she should not slide: + Her hose of honesty I guess + I should for her provide." + + _The Garment of Good Ladies_, 1568. + + +Jock and Mhor looked back on the time Lord Bidborough spent in +Priorsford as one long, rosy dream. + +It is true they had to go to school as usual, and learn their home +lessons, but their lack of attention in school-hours must have sorely +tried their teachers, and their home lessons were crushed into the +smallest space of time so as not to interfere with the crowded hours of +glorious living that Lord Bidborough managed to make for them. + +That nobleman turned out to be the most gifted player that Jock and +Mhor had ever met. There seemed no end to the games he could invent, and +he played with a zest that carried everyone along with him. + +Mhor's great passion was for trains. He was no budding engineering +genius; he cared nothing about knowing what made the wheels go round; it +was the trains themselves, the glorious, puffing, snorting engines, the +comfortable guards' vans, and the signal-boxes that enchanted him. He +thought a signalman's life was one of delirious happiness; he thrilled +at the sight of a porter's uniform, and hoped that one day he too might +walk abroad dressed like that, wheel people's luggage on a trolley and +touch his hat when given tips. It was his great treat to stand on the +iron railway-bridge and watch the trains snorting deliriously +underneath, but the difficulty was he might not go alone, and as +everyone in the house fervently disliked the task of accompanying him, +it was a treat that came all too seldom for the Mhor. + +It turned out that Lord Bidborough also delighted in trains, and he not +only stood patiently on the bridge watching goods-trains shunting up and +down, but he made friends with the porters, and took Mhor into +prohibited areas such as signal-boxes and goods sheds, and showed him +how signals were worked, and ran him up and down on trolleys. + +One never-to-be-forgotten day a sympathetic engine-driver lifted Mhor +into the engine and, holding him up high above the furnace, told him to +pull a chain, whereupon the engine gave an anguished hoot. Mhor had no +words to express his pleasure, but in an ecstasy of gratitude he seized +the engine-driver's grimy hand and kissed it, leaving that honest man, +who was not accustomed to such ongoings considerably confused. + +Jock did not share Mhor's interest in "base mechanic happenings"; his +passion was for the world at large, his motto, "For to admire and for to +see." He had long made up his mind that he must follow some profession +that would take him to far places. Mrs. Hope suggested the Indian Army, +while Mr. Jowett loyally recommended the Indian Civil Service, though he +felt bound in duty to warn Jock that it wasn't what it was in his young +days, and was indeed hardly fit now for a white man. + +Jock felt that Mrs. Hope and Mr. Jowett were wise and experienced, but +they were old. In Lord Bidborough he found one who had come hot foot +from the ends of the earth. He had seen with his own eyes, and he could +tell Jock tales that made the coveted far lands live before him; and +Jock fell down and worshipped. + +Through the day, while the two boys were interned in school, Pamela took +her brother the long walks over the hills that had delighted her days in +Priorsford. Jean sometimes went with them, but more often she stayed at +home. It was her mission in life, she said, to stay at home and have +meals ready for people when they returned, and it was much better that +the brother and sister should have their walks alone, she told herself. +Excessive selfconfidence was not one of Jean's faults. She was much +afraid of boring people by her presence, and shrank from being the third +that constitutes "a crowd." + +One afternoon Lewis Elliot called at The Rigs. + +"Sitting alone, Jean? Well, it's nice to find you in. I thought you +would be out with your new friends." + +"Lord Bidborough has motored Pamela down Tweed to see some people," Jean +explained. "They asked me to go with them, but I thought I might perhaps +be in the way. Lord Bidborough is frightfully pleased to be able to hire +a motor to drive. On Saturday he has promised to take the boys to +Dryburgh and to the Eildon Hills. Mhor is very keen to see for himself +where King Arthur is buried, and make a search for the horn!" + +"I see. It's a pity it isn't a better time of year. December days are +short for excursions.... Isn't Biddy a delightful fellow?" + +"Yes. Jock and Mhor worship him. One word from him is more to them than +all the wisdom I'm capable of. It isn't quite fair. After all, I've had +them so long, and they've only known him for a day or two. No, I don't +think I'm jealous. I'm--I'm hurt!" and to Lewis Elliot's great +discomfort Jean took out her handkerchief and openly wiped her eyes, and +then, putting her head on the table, cried. + +He sat in much embarrassment, making what he meant to be comforting +ejaculations, until Jean stopped crying and laughed. + +"It's wretched of me to make you so uncomfortable. I don't know what's +happened to me. I've suddenly got so silly. And I don't think I like +charming people. Charm is a merciless sort of gift ... and I know he +will take Pamela away, and she made things so interesting. Every day +since he came I seem to have got lonelier and lonelier, and the sight of +your familiar face and the sound of your kind voice finished me.... I'm +quite sensible now, so don't go away. Tea will be in in a minute, and +the boys. Isn't it fine that Davie will be home to-morrow? D'you think +he'll be changed?" + +Lewis Elliot stayed to tea, and Jock and Mhor fell on him with +acclamation, and told him wonderful tales of their new friend, and never +noticed the marks of tears on Jean's face. + +"Jean, what is Lord Bidborough's Christian name?" Jock asked. + +"Oh, I don't know. Richard Plantagenet, I should think." + +"Really, Jean?" + +"Why not? But you'd better ask him. Are you going, Cousin Lewis? When +will you come and see Davie?" + +"Let me see. I'm lunching at Hillview on Friday May I come in after +luncheon? Thanks. You must all come up to Laverlaw one day next week. +The puppies are growing up, Mhor, and you're missing all their +puppyhood; that's a pity." + +Later in the evening, just before Mhor's bedtime Lord Bidborough came to +The Rigs. Pamela was resting, he explained, or writing letters, or +doing something else, and he had come in to pass the time of day with +them. + +"The time of night, you mean," said Mhor ruefully "In ten minutes I'll +have to go to bed." + +"Had you a nice time this afternoon?" Jean asked. + +"Oh, ripping! Coming up by Tweed in the darkening was heavenly. I wish +you had been with us, Miss Jean. Why wouldn't you come?" + +"I had things to do," said Jean primly. + +"Couldn't the things have waited? Good days in December are precious, +Miss Jean--and Pam and I are going away next week. Promise you will go +with us next time--on Saturday, to the Eildon Hills." + +"What's your Christian name, please?" Jock broke in suddenly, +remembering the discussion. "Jean says it's Richard Plantagenet--_is_ +it?" + +Jean flushed an angry pink, and said sharply: + +"Don't be silly, Jock. I was only talking nonsense." + +"Well, what is it?" Jock persisted. + +"It's not quite Richard Plantagenet, but it's pretty bad. My name given +me by my godmother and godfathers is--Quintin Reginald Fuerbras." + +"Gosh, Maggie!" ejaculated Jock. "Earls in the streets of Cork!" + +"I knew," said Jean, "that it would be something very +twopence-coloured." + +"It's not, I grant, such a jolly name as yours," said Lord +Bidborough--"Jean Jardine." + +"Oh, mine is Penny-plain," said Jean hurriedly. + +"Must we always call you Lord?" Mhor asked. + +"Of course you must," Jean said. "Really, Mhor, you and Jock are +sometimes very stupid." + +"Indeed you must not," said Lord Bidborough. "Forgive me, Miss Jean, if +I am undermining your authority, but, really, one must have some say in +what one is to be called. Why not call me Biddy?" + +"That might be too familiar," said Jock. "I think I would rather call +you Richard Plantagenet." + +"Because it isn't my name?" + +"It sort of suits you," Jock said. + +"I like long names," said Mhor. + +"Will you call me Richard Plantagenet, Miss Jean?" + +The yellow lights in Jean's eyes sparkled. "If you'll call me +Penny-plain," she said. + +"Then that's a bargain, though I don't think either of us is well +suited. However--now that we are really friends, what did you do this +afternoon that was so very important?" + +"Talked to Lewis Elliot for one thing: he came to tea." + +"I see. An excellent fellow, Lewis. He's a relation of yours, isn't he?" + +"A very distant one, but we have so few relations we are only too glad +to claim him. He has been a very good friend to us always.... Mhor, you +really must go to bed now." + +"Oh, all right, but I don't think it's very polite to go to bed when a +visitor's in. It might make him think he ought to go away." + +Lord Bidborough laughed, and assured Mhor that he appreciated his +delicacy of feeling. + +"There's a thing I want to ask you, anyway," said Mhor.--"Yes, I'm going +to bed, Jean. Whether do you think Quentin Durward or Charlie Chaplin +would be the better man in a fight?" + +Lord Bidborough gave the matter some earnest thought, and decided on +Quentin Durward. + +"I told you that," said. Jock to Mhor. "Now, perhaps, you'll believe +me." + +"I don't know," said Mhor, still doubtful. "Of course Quentin Durward +had his sword--but you know that way Charlie has with a stick?" + +"Well, anyway, go to bed," said Jean, "and stop talking about that +horrible little man. He oughtn't to be mentioned in the same breath as +Quentin Durward." + +Mhor went out of the room still arguing. + +The next day David came home. + +The whole family, including Peter, were waiting on the platform to +welcome him, but Mhor was too interested in the engine and Jock too +afraid of showing sentiment to pay much attention to him, and it was +left to Jean and Peter to express joy at his return. + +At first it seemed to Jean that it was a different David who had come +back. There was an indefinable change even in his appearance. True, he +wore the same Priorsford clothes that he had gone away in, but he +carried himself better, with more assurance. His round, boyish face had +taken on a slightly graver and more responsible look, and his accent +certainly had an Oxford touch. Enough, anyhow, to send Jock and Mhor +out of the room to giggle convulsively in the lobby. To Jean's relief +David noticed nothing; he was too busy telling Jean his news to trouble +about the eccentric behaviour of the two boys. + +David would hardly have been human if he had not boasted a little that +first night. He had often pictured to himself just how it would be. Jean +would sit by the fire and listen, and he would sit on the old +comfortable sofa and recount all the doings of his first term, tell of +his friends, his tutors, his rooms, the games, the fun--all the details +of the wonderful new life. And it had happened just as he had pictured +it--lucky David! The room had looked as he had known it would look, with +a fire that sparkled as only Jean's fire ever sparkled, and Jean's +eyes--Jean's "doggy" eyes, as Mhor called them--were lit with interest; +and Jock and Mhor and Peter crept in after a little and lay on the rug +and gazed up at him, a quiet and most satisfactory audience. + +Jean felt a little in awe of this younger brother of hers, who had +suddenly grown a man and spoke with an air of authority. She had an ache +at her heart for the Davie who had been a little boy and content to +lean; she seemed hardly to know this new David. But it was only for a +little. When Jock and Mhor had gone to bed, the brother and sister sat +over the fire talking, and David forgot all his new importance and +ceased to "buck," and told Jean all his little devices to save money, +and how he had managed just to scrape along. + +"If only everyone else were poor as well," said Jean, "then it wouldn't +matter." + +"That's just it; but it's so difficult doing things with men who have +loads of money. It never seems to occur to them that other people +haven't got it. Of course I just say I can't afford to do things, but +that's awkward too, for they look so surprised and sort of ashamed, and +it makes me feel a prig and a fool. I think having a lot of money takes +away people's imagination." + +"Oh, it does," Jean agreed. + +"Anyway," David went on, "it's up to me to make some money. I hate +sponging on you, old Jean, and I'm not going to do it. I've been trying +my hand at writing lately and--I've had two things accepted." + +Jean all but fell into the fire in her surprise and delight. + +"Write! You! Oh, Davie, how utterly splendid!" + +A torrent of questions followed, which David answered as well as he +could. + +"Yes, they are printed, and paid for, and what's more I've spent the +money." He brought out from his pocket a small leather case which he +handed to his sister. + +"For me? Oh, David!" Her hands shook as she opened the box and disclosed +a small brooch, obviously inexpensive but delicately designed. + +"It's nothing," said David, walking away from the emotion in his +sister's face. "With the rest of the money I got presents for the boys +and Mrs. M'Cosh and Peter, but they'd better be kept out of sight till +Christmas Day." + +Truth to tell, he had meant to keep the brooch also out of sight till +Christmas, but the temptation to see Jean's pleasure had been too +strong. This Jean divined and, with happy tears in her eyes, handed it +back to him to keep till the proper giving-day arrived. + +The next day David was introduced to Pamela and her brother, and was +pleased to pronounce well of them. He had been inclined to be +distrustful about the entrance of such exotic creatures as they sounded +into the quiet of Priorsford, but having seen and talked to them he +assured his sister they were quite all right. + +Why, Lord Bidborough had been at David's own college--that alone was +recommendation enough. His feats, too, were still remembered, not feats +of scholarship--oh no, but of mountaineering on the college roofs. He +had not realised when Jean mentioned Lord Bidborough in her letters that +it was the same man who was still spoken of by undergraduates with bated +breath. + +Of Pamela, David attempted no criticism. How could he? He was at her +feet, and hardly dared lift his eyes to her face. A smile or two, a few +of Pamela's softly spoken sentences, and David had succumbed. Not that +he allowed her--or anyone else--to know it. He kept at a respectable +distance, and worshipped in silence. + +One evening while Pamela sat stitching at her embroidery in the little +parlour at Hillview her brother laid down the book he was reading, lit a +cigarette, and said suddenly, "What of the Politician, Pam?" + +Pamela drew the thread in and out several times before she answered. + +"The Politician is safe so far as I'm concerned. Only last week I wrote +and explained matters to him. He wrote a very nice letter in reply. I +think, on the whole, he is much relieved, though he expressed polite +regret. It must be rather a bore at sixty to become possessed of a wife, +even though she might be able to entertain well and manage people.... It +was a ridiculous idea always; I see that now." + +Lord Bidborough regarded his sister with an amused smile. "I always did +regard the Politician as a fabulous monster. But tell me, Pam, how long +is this to continue? Are you so enamoured of the simple life that you +can go on indefinitely living in Miss Bathgate's parlour and eating +stewed steak and duck's eggs?" + +Pamela dropped her embroidery-frame, looked at her brother with a +puzzled frown, and gave a long sigh. + +"Oh, I don't know," she said--"I don't know. Of course it can't go on +indefinitely, but I do hate the thought of going away and leaving it +all. I love the place. It has given me a new feeling about life; it has +taught me contentment: I have found peace here. If I go back to the old +restless, hectic life I shall be, I'm afraid, just as restless and +feverishly anxious to be happy as I used to be. And yet, I suppose, I +must go back. I've almost had the three months I promised myself. But +I'm going to try and take Jean with me. Lewis Elliot and I mean to +arrange things so that Jean can have her chance." + +"Why should Lewis Elliot have anything to do with it?" + +Her brother's tone brought a surprised look into Pamela's eyes. + +"Lewis is a relation as well as a very old friend. Naturally he is +interested. I should think it could easily be managed. The boys will go +to school, Mrs. M'Cosh will stay on at The Rigs, Jean will see something +of the world. Imagine the joy of taking Jean about! She will make +everything worth while. I don't in the least expect her to be what is +known as a 'success.' I can picture her at a ball thinking of her latter +end! Up-to-date revues she will hate, and I can't see her indulging in +whatever is the latest artistic craze of the moment. She is a very +_select_ little person, Jean. But she will love the plays and pictures, +and shops and sights. And she has never been abroad--picture that! There +are worlds of things to show her. I find that her great desire--a very +modest one--is to go some April to the Shakespeare Festival at +Stratford-on-Avon. She worships Shakespeare hardly on this side of +idolatry." + +"Won't she be disappointed? There is nothing very romantic about +Stratford of to-day." + +"Ah, but I think I can stage-manage so that it will come up to her +expectations. A great many things in this world need a little +stage-management. Oh, I hope my plans will work out. I _do_ want Jean." + +"But, Pamela--I want Jean too." + +Lord Bidborough had risen, and now stood before the fire, his hands in +his pockets, his head thrown back, his eyes no longer lazy and amused, +but keen and alert. This was the man who attempted impossible +things--and did them. + +It is never an easy moment for a sister when she realises that an adored +brother no longer belongs to her. + +Pamela, after one startled look at her brother, dropped her eyes and +tried to go on with her embroidery, but her hand trembled, and she made +stitches at random. + +"Pam, dear, you don't mind? You don't think it an unfriendly act? You +will always be Pam, my only sister; someone quite apart. The new love +won't lessen the old." + +"Ah, my dear"--Pamela held out her hands to her brother--"you mustn't +mind if just at first.... You see, it's a great while ago since the +world began, and we've been wonderful friends all the time, haven't we, +Biddy?" They sat together silent for a minute, and then Pamela said, +"And I'm actually crying, when the thing I most wanted has come to pass: +what an idiot! Whenever I saw Jean I wanted her for you. But I didn't +try to work it at all. It all just happened right, somehow. Jean's +beauty isn't for the multitude, nor her charm, and I wondered if she +would appeal to you. You have seen so many pretty girls, and have been +almost surfeited with charm, and remained so calm that I wondered if you +ever would fall in love. The 'manoeuvring mamaws,' as Bella Bathgate +calls the ladies with daughters to marry, quite lost hope where you were +concerned; you never seemed to see their manoeuvres, poor dears.... And +I was so thankful, for I didn't want you to marry the modern type of +girl.... But I hardly dared to hope you would come to Priorsford and +love Jean at sight. It's all as simple as a fairy-tale." + +"Oh, _is_ it? I very much doubt if Jean will look at me. I sometimes +think she rather avoids me. She keeps out of my way, and hardly ever +addresses a remark to me." + +"She has never mentioned you to me," said Pamela, "and that's a good +sign. I don't say you won't have to wait. I'm pretty certain she won't +accept you when you ask her. Even if she cares--and I don't think she +realises yet that she does--her sense of duty to the boys, and other +things, will hold her back, and your title and possessions will tell +against you. Jean is the least mercenary of creatures Ask her before you +leave, and if she refuses you appear to accept her refusal. Don't say +you will try again and that sort of thing: it gives a girl a caged +feeling. Go away for a while and make no sign. I know what I'm talking +about, Biddy ... and she is worth waiting for." + +"I would serve for her as Jacob served for Rachel, and not grudge one +minute of the time, but the nuisance is I'm twelve years older than she +is. I can't afford to wait. I'm afraid she will think me too old." + +"Nonsense, a boy would never do for Jean. Although she looks such a +child, she is a woman, and a woman with a brain. Otherwise she would +never do for you. You would tire of a doll in a week, no matter how +curly the hair or flawless the complexion.... You realise, of course, +that Jean is an uncompromising little Puritan? Mercy is as plain as +bread and honour is as hard as stone to Jean--but she has a wide +tolerance for sinners. I can imagine it won't always be easy to be +Jean's husband. She is so full of compassion that she will want to help +every unfortunate, and fill the house with the broken and the +unsuccessful. But she won't be a wearisome wife. She won't pall. She +will always be full of surprises, and an infinite variety, and find such +numbers of things to laugh about.... You know how she mothers those +boys--can't you see Jean with babies of her own?... To me she is like a +well of spring-water a continual refreshment for weary souls." + +Pamela stopped. "Am I making too much of an ordinary little country +girl, Biddy?" + +Her brother smiled and shook his head, and after a minute he said: + +"A garden enclosed is my love." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + "What's to be said to him, lady? He is fortified against any + denial."--_Twelfth Night_. + + +The day before Pamela and her brother left Priorsford for their visit to +Champertoun was a typical December day, short and dark and dirty. + +There was a party at Hopetoun in honour of David's home-coming, and +Pamela and her brother were invited, along with the entire family from +The Rigs. + +They all set off together in the early darkening, and presently Pamela +and the three boys got ahead, and Jean found herself alone with Lord +Bidborough. + +Weather had little or no effect on Jean's spirits, and to-day, happy in +having David at home, she cared nothing for the depressing mist that +shrouded the hills, or the dank drip from the trees on the carpet of +sodden leaves, or the sullen swirl of Tweed coming down big with spate, +foaming against the supports of the bridge. + +"As dull as a great thaw," she quoted to her companion cheerfully. "It +does seem a pity the snow should have gone away before Christmas. Do +you know, all the years of my life I've never seen snow on Christmas. I +do wish Mhor wouldn't go on praying for it. It's so stumbling for him +when Christmas comes mild and muggy. If we could only have it once as +you see it in pictures and read about it in books--" + +She broke off to bow to Miss Watson and her sister, Miss Teenie, who +passed Jean and her companion with skirts held well out of the mud, and +eyes, after the briefest glance, demurely cast down. + +"They are going out to tea," Jean explained to Lord Bidborough. "Don't +they look nice and tea-partyish? Fur capes over their best dresses and +snow boots over their slippers. Those little black satin bags hold their +work, and I expect they have each a handkerchief edged with Honiton lace +and scented with White Rose. Probably they are going to Mrs. +Henderson's. She gives wonderful teas, and they will be taken to a +bedroom to take off their outer coverings, and they'll stay till about +eight o'clock and then go home to supper." + +Lord Bidborough laughed. "I begin to see what Pam means when she talks +of the lovableness of a little town. It is cosy, as she says, to see +people go out to tea and know exactly where they are going, and what +they'll do when they get there." + +"I should think," said Jean, "that it would rather appeal to you. Your +doings have always been on such a big scale--climbing the highest +mountains in the world, going to the very farthest places--that the tiny +and the trivial ought to be rather fascinating by contrast." + +Lord Bidborough admitted that it was so, and silence fell between them. + +"I wonder," said Jean politely, having cast round in her mind for a +topic that might interest--"I wonder what you will attempt next? Jock +says you want to climb Everest. He is frightfully excited about it, and +wishes you would wait a few years till he is grown up and ready." + +"Jock is a jewel, and he will certainly go with me when I attempt +Everest, if that time ever comes." + +They had reached the entrance to Hopetoun: the avenue to the house was +short. "Would you mind," said Lord Bidborough, "walking on with me for a +little bit?..." + +"But why?" asked Jean, looking along the dark, uninviting road. "They'll +wonder what's become of us, and tea will be ready, and Mrs. Hope doesn't +like to be kept waiting." + +"Never mind," said Lord Bidborough, his tone somewhat desperate. "I've +got something I want to say to you, and this may be my only chance. +Jean, could you ever--I mean, d'you think it possible--oh, Jean, will +you marry me?" + +Jean backed away from him, her mouth open, her eyes round with +astonishment. She was too much surprised to be anything but utterly +natural. + +"Are you asking me to marry you? But how _ludicrous_!" + +The answer restored them both to their senses. + +Lord Bidborough laughed ruefully and said, "Well, that's not a pretty +way to take a proposal," while Jean, flushed with shame at her own +rudeness, and finding herself suddenly rather breathless, gasped out, +"But you shouldn't give people such frights. How could I know you were +going to say anything so silly? And it's my first proposal, and I've +_got on goloshes_!" + +"Oh, Jean! What a blundering idiot I am! I might have known it was a +wrong moment, but I'm hopelessly inexperienced, and, besides, I couldn't +risk waiting; I so seldom see you alone. Didn't you see, little blind +Jean, that I was head over ears in love with you? The first night I came +to The Rigs and you spoke to me in your singing voice I knew you were +the one woman in the world for me." + +"No," said Jean. "No." + +"Ah, don't say that. You're not going to send me away, Penny-plain?" + +"Don't you see," said Jean, "I mustn't _let_ myself care for you, for +it's quite impossible that I could ever marry you. It's no good even +speaking about such a thing. We belong to different worlds." + +"If you mean my stupid title, don't let that worry you. A second and the +Socialists alter that! A title means nothing in these days." + +"It isn't only your title: it's everything--oh, can't you _see_?" + +"Jean, dear, let's talk it over quietly. I confess I can't see any +difficulty at all--if you care for me a little. That's the one thing +that matters." + +"My feelings," said Jean, "don't matter at all. Even if there was +nothing else in the way, what about Davie and Jock and the dear Mhor? I +must always stick to them--at least until they don't need me any +longer." + +"But Jean, beloved, you don't suppose I want to take you away from them? +There's room for them all.... I can see you at Mintern Abbas, Jean, and +there's a river there, and the hills aren't far distant--you won't find +it unhomelike--the only thing that is lacking is a railway for the +Mhor." + +"Please don't," said Jean. "You hurt me when you speak like that. Do you +think I would let you burden yourself with all my family? I would never +be anything but a drag on you. You must go away, Richard Plantagenet, +and take your proper place in the world, and forget all about Priorsford +and Penny-plain, and marry someone who will help you with your career +and be a fit mistress for your great houses, and I'll just stay here. +The Rigs is my proper setting." + +"Jean," said Lord Bidborough, "will you tell me--is there any other +man?" + +"No. How could there be? There aren't any men in Priorsford to speak +of." + +"There's Lewis Elliot." + +Jean stared. "You don't suppose _Lewis_ wants to marry me, do you? Men +are the _stupidest_ things! Don't you know that Lewis...." + +"What?" + +"Nothing. Only you needn't think he ever looks the road I'm on. What a +horrid conversation this is! It's a great mistake ever to mention love +and marriage. It makes the nicest people silly. I simply daren't think +what Jock would say if he heard us. He would be what Bella Bathgate +calls 'black affrontit.'" + +"Jean, will it always matter to you more than anything in the world what +David and Jock and Mhor think? Will you never care for anyone as you +care for them?" + +"But they are my charge," Jean explained. "They were left to me. Mother +said, before she went away that last time, 'I trust you, Jean, to look +after the boys,' and when father didn't come back, and Great-aunt Alison +died, they had only me." + +"Can't you adopt me as well? Do you know, Penny-plain, I believe it is +all the fault of your Great-aunt Alison. You are thinking that on your +death-bed you will like to feel that you sacrificed yourself to +others--" + +"Oh," cried Jean, "did Pamela actually tell you about Great-aunt Alison? +That wasn't quite fair." + +"She wasn't laughing. She only told me because she knew I was interested +in every detail of your life, and Great-aunt Alison explains a lot of +things about her grand-niece." + +Jean pondered on this for a little and then said: + +"Pam once said I was on the verge of being a prig, and I'm not sure that +she wasn't right, and it's a hateful thing to be. D'you think I'm +priggish, Richard Plantagenet? Oh no, don't kiss me. I hate it.... Why +do you want to behave like that? It isn't nice." + +"I'm sorry, Jean." + +"And now your voice sounds as if you did think me a prig ... Here we +are at last, and I simply don't know what to say kept us." + +"Don't say anything: leave it to me. I'll be sure to think of some lie. +Do you realise that we are only ten minutes behind the others?" + +"Is that all?" cried Jean, amazed. "It seems like _hours_." + +Lord Bidborough began to laugh helplessly. + +"I wonder if any man ever had such a difficult lady," he said, "or one +so uncompromisingly truthful?" + +He rang the bell, and as they stood on the doorstep waiting, the light +from the hall-door fell on his face, and Jean, looking at him, suddenly +felt very low. He was going away, and she might never see him again. The +fortnight he had been in Priorsford had given her an entirely new idea +of what life might mean. She had not been happy all the time: she had +been afflicted with vague discontents and jealousies such as she had not +known before, but at the back of them all she was conscious of a shining +happiness, something that illuminated and gave a new value to all the +commonplace daily doings. Now, as in a flash, while they waited for the +door to open, Jean knew what had caused the happiness, and realised that +with her own hand she was shutting the door on the light, shutting +herself out to a perpetual twilight. + +"If only you hadn't been a man," she said miserably, "we might have been +such friends." + +A servant opened the door and they went in together. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + "When icicles hang by the wall, + And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, + And Tom bears logs into the hall, + And milk comes frozen home in pail, + When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul, + Then nightly sings the staring owl, + Tu whit, + Tu whu, a merry note + While greasy Joan doth keel the pot." + + +Mhor began to look forward to Christmas whenever the days began to +shorten and the delights of summer to fade; and the moment the +Hallowe'en "dooking" for apples was over he and Jock were deep in +preparations. + +As is the way with most things, the looking forward and preparing were +the best of it. It meant weeks of present-making, weeks of wrestling +with delicious things like paints and pasteboard and glue. Then came a +week or two of walking on tiptoe into the little spare room where the +presents were stored, just to peep, and make sure that they really were +there and had not been spirited away, for at Christmas-time you never +knew what knavish sprites were wandering about. The spare room became +the most interesting place in the house. It was all so thrilling: the +pulling out of the drawer, the breathless moment until you made sure +that the presents were safe, the smell that came out of the drawer to +meet you, an indescribable smell of lavender and well-washed linen, of +furniture polish and cedar-wood. The dressing-table had a row of three +little drawers on either side, and in these Jean kept the small eatables +that were to go into the stockings--things made of chocolate, packets of +almonds and raisins, big sugar "bools." To Mhor a great mystery hung +over the dressing-table. No mortal hand had placed those things there; +they were fairy things, and might vanish any moment. On Christmas +morning he ate his chocolate frog with a sort of reverence, and sucked +the sugar "bools" with awe. + +A caller at The Rigs had once exclaimed in astonishment that an +intelligent child like the Mhor still believed in Santa Claus, and Jean +had replied with sudden and startling ferocity, "If he didn't believe I +would beat him till he did." Happily there was no need for such extreme +measures: Mhor believed implicitly. + +Jock had now grown beyond such beliefs, but he did nothing to undermine +Mhor's trust. He knew that the longer you can believe in such things the +nicer the world is. + +The Jardines always felt about Christmas Day that the best of it was +over in the morning--the stockings and the presents and the postman, +leaving long, over-eaten, irritable hours to be got through before +bedtime and oblivion. + +This year Jock had drawn out a time-table to ensure that the day held +no longueurs. + + 7.30 Stockings. + 8.30 Breakfast. + 9 Postman. + 10-12 Deliver small presents to various friends. + 1 Luncheon at the Jowetts'. + 4 Tea at home and present-giving. + 5-9 Devoted to supper and variety entertainment. + +This programme was strictly adhered to except by the Mhor in the matter +of his stocking, which was grabbed from the bed-post and cuddled into +bed beside him at least two hours before the scheduled time; and by the +postman, who did not make his appearance till midday, thereby greatly +disarranging things. + +The day passed very pleasantly: the luncheon at the Jowetts' was +everything a Christmas meal should be, Mrs. M'Cosh surpassed herself +with bakemeats for the tea, the presents gave lively satisfaction, but +_the_ feature of the day was the box that arrived from Pamela and her +brother. It was waiting when the family came back from the Jowetts', +standing in the middle of the little hall with a hammer and a +screw-driver laid on the top by thoughtful Mrs. M'Cosh--a large white +wooden box which thrilled one with its air of containing treasures. Mhor +sank down beside it, hardly able to wait until David had taken off his +coat and was ready to tackle it. Off came the lid, out came the packing +paper on the top, and in Jock and Mhor dived. + +It was really a wonderful box. In it there was something for everybody, +including Mrs. M'Cosh and Peter, but Mhor's was the most striking +present. No wonder the box was large. It contained a whole railway--a +train, lines, signal-boxes, a station, even a tunnel. + +Mhor was rendered speechless with delight. Jean wished Pamela had been +there to see the lamps lit in his green eyes. Mrs. M'Cosh's beautiful +tea was lost on him: he ate and drank without being aware of it, his +eyes feasting all the time on this great new treasure. + +"I wish," he said at last, "that I could do something for the Honourable +and Richard Plantagenet. I only sent her a wee poetry-book. It cost a +shilling. It was Jean's shilling really, for I hadn't anything left, and +I wrote in it, 'Wishing you a pretty New Year.' I forgot about 'happy' +being the word; d'you think she'll mind?" + +"I think Pamela will prefer it called 'pretty,'" Jean said. "You are +lucky, aren't you?--and so is Jock with that gorgeous knife." + +"It's an explorer's knife," said Jock. "You see, you can do almost +everything with it. If I was wrecked on a desert island I could pretty +nearly build a house with it. Feel the blades--" + +"Oh, do be careful. I would put away the presents in the meantime and +get everything ready for the charade. Are you quite sure you know what +you're going to do? You mustn't just stand and giggle." + +Jean had asked three guests to come to supper--three lonely women who +otherwise would have spent a solitary evening--and Mrs. M'Cosh had +asked Bella Bathgate to sup with her and afterwards to witness what she +dubbed "a chiraide." + +The living-room had been made ready for the entertainment, all the +chairs placed in rows, the deep window-seat doing duty for a stage, but +Jean was very doubtful about the powers of the actors, and hoped that +the audience would be both easily amused and long-suffering. + +Jock and Mhor protested that they had chosen a word for the charade, and +knew exactly what they meant to say, but they would divulge no details, +advising Jean to wait patiently, for something very good was coming. + +The little house looked very festive, for the boys had decorated +earnestly, the square hall was a bower of greenery, and a gaily coloured +Chinese lantern hanging in the middle added a touch of gaiety to the +scene. The supper was the best that Jean and Mrs. M'Cosh could devise, +the linen and the glass and silver shone, the flowers were charmingly +arranged Jean wore her gay mandarin's coat, and the guests--when they +arrived--found themselves in such a warm and welcoming atmosphere that +they at once threw off all stiffness and prepared to enjoy the evening. + +The entertainment was to begin at eight, and Mrs. M'Cosh and Miss +Bathgate took their seats "on the chap," as the latter put it. The two +Miss Watsons, surprisingly enough, were also present. They had come +along after supper with a small present for Jean, had asked to see her, +and stood lingering on the doorstep refusing to come farther, but +obviously reluctant to depart. + +"Just a little bag, you know, Miss Jean, for you to put your work in if +you're going out to tea, you know. No, it's not at all kind. You've been +so nice to us. No, no, we won't come in; we don't want to disturb +you--just ran along--you've friends, anyway. Oh, well, if you put it +that way ... we might just sit down for five minutes--if you're sure +we're not in the way...." And still making a duet of protest they sank +into seats. + +A passage had been arranged, with screens between the door and the +window-seat, and much traffic went along that way; the screens bumped +and bulged and seemed on the point of collapsing, while smothered +giggles were frequent. + +At last the curtains were jerked apart, and revealed what seemed to be a +funeral pyre. Branches were piled on the window-seat, and on the top, +wrapped in an eiderdown quilt, with a laurel wreath bound round his +head, lay David. Jock, with bare legs and black boots, draped in an +old-fashioned circular waterproof belonging to Mrs. M'Cosh, stood with +arms folded looking at him, while Mhor, almost denuded of clothing, and +supported by Peter (who sat with his back to the audience to show his +thorough disapproval of the proceedings), stood at one side. + +When the murmured comments of the spectators had ceased, Mhor, looking +extraordinarily Roman, held up his hand as if appealing to a raging mob, +and said, "Peace, ho! Let us hear him," whereupon Jock, breathing +heavily in his brother's face, proceeded to give Antony's oration over +Caesar. He did it very well, and the Mhor as the Mob supplied +appropriate growls at intervals; indeed, so much did Antony's eloquence +inspire Mhor that, when Jock shouted, "Light the pyre!" (a sentence +introduced to bring in the charade word), instead of merely pretending +with an unlighted taper, Mhor dashed to the fire, lit the taper, and +before anyone could stop him thrust it among the dry twigs, which at +once began to light and crackle. Immediately all was confusion. "Mhor!" +shouted Jean, as she sprang towards the stage. "Gosh, Maggie!" Jock +yelled, as he grabbed the burning twigs, but it was "Imperial Caesar, +dead and turned to clay," who really put out the fire by rolling on it +wrapped in an eiderdown quilt. + +"Eh, ye ill callant," said Bella Bathgate. + +"Ye wee deevil," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "ye micht hev had us a' burned where +we sat, and it Christmas too!" + +"What made you do it, sonny?" Jean asked. + +"It made it so real," Mhor explained, "and I knew we could always throw +them out of the window if they really blazed. What's the use of having a +funeral pyre if you don't light it?" + +The actors departed to prepare for the next performance Jock coming back +to put his head in at the door to ask if they had guessed the first part +of the word. + +Jean said she thought it must be incendiarism. + +"Funeral," said Miss Watson brightly. + +"Huch," said Jock; "it's a word of one syllable." + +"I think," Jean said as the door shut on Jock--I think I know what the +word is--pyre." + +"Oh, really," said Miss Watson, "I'm all shaking yet with the fright I +got. He's an awful bad wee boy that--sort of regardless. He needs a man +to look after him." + +"I'll never forget," said Miss Teenie, "once I was staying with a friend +of ours, a doctor; his mother and our mother were cousins, you know, and +when I looked--I was doing my hair at the time--I found that the curtain +had blown across the gas and was blazing. If I had been in our own house +I would just have rushed out screaming, but when you're away from home +you've more feeling of responsibility and I just stood on a chair and +pulled at the curtain till I brought it down and stamped on it. My hands +were all scorched, and of course the curtain was beyond hope, but when +the doctor saw it, he said, 'Teenie,' he said--his mither and ours were +cousins, you know--'you're just a wee marvel.' That was what he said--'a +wee marvel.'" + +Jean said, "You _were_ brave," and one of the guests said that presence +of mind was a wonderful thing, and then the next act was ready. + +The word had evidently something to do with eating, for the three actors +sat at a Barmecide feast and quaffed wine from empty goblets, and carved +imaginary haunches of venison. So far as could be judged from the +conversation, which was much obscured by the smothered laughter of the +actors, they seemed to belong to Robin Hood's merry men. + +The third act took place on board ship--a ship flying the Jolly +Roger--and it was obvious to the meanest intelligence that the word was +pirate. + +"Very good," said Miss Teenie, clapping her hands; "but," addressing the +Mhor, "don't you go lighting any more funeral pyres. Boys who do that +have to go to jail." + +Mhor looked coldly at her, but made no remark, while Jean said hastily: + +"You must show everyone your wonderful present, Mhor. I think the hall +would be the best place to put it up in." + +The second part of the programme was of a varied character. Jean led off +with the old carol: + + "There comes a ship far sailing then, + St. Michael was the steersman," + +and Mhor followed with a poem, "In Time of Pestilence," which had +captivated his strange small boy's soul, and which he had learned for +the occasion. Everyone felt it to be singularly inappropriate, and Miss +Watson said it gave her quite a turn to hear the relish with which he +knolled out: + + "Wit with his wantonness + Tasteth death's bitterness: + Hell's executioner + Hath no ears for to hear + What vain art can reply! + I am sick, I must die-- + God have mercy on us." + +She regarded him with disapproving eyes as a thoroughly uncomfortable +character. + +One of the guests sang a drawing-room ballad in which the words "dear +heart" seemed to occur with astonishing frequency. Then the +entertainment took a distinctly lower turn. + +David and Jock sang a song composed by themselves and set to a hymn +tune, a somewhat ribald production. Mhor then volunteered the +information that Mrs. M'Cosh could sing a song. Mrs. M'Cosh said, "Awa +wi' ye, laddie," and "Sic havers," but after much urging owned that she +knew a song which had been a favourite with her Andra. It was sung to +the tune of "When the kye come hame," and was obviously a parody on that +lyric, beginning: + + "Come a' ye Hieland pollismen + That whustle through the street, + An' A'll tell ye a' aboot a man + That's got triple expansion feet. + He's got braw, braw tartan whuskers + That defy the shears and kaim: + There's an awfu' row in Brigton + When M'Kay comes hame." + +It went on to tell how: + + "John M'Kay works down in Singers's, + He's a ceevil engineer, + But his wife's no verra ceevil + When she's had some ginger-beer. + When he missed the last Kilbowie train + And had to walk hame lame, + There wis Home Rule wi' the poker + When M'Kay cam hame." + +Mrs. M'Cosh sang four verses and stopped, in spite of the rapturous +applause of a section of the audience. + +"There's aboot nineteen mair verses," she explained "an' they get kinna +worse as they gang on, so I'd better stop," which she did, to Jean's +relief, for she saw that her guests were feeling that this was not an +entertainment such as the Best People indulged in. + +"And now Miss Bathgate will sing," said Mhor. + +"I will not sing," said Miss Bathgate. "I've mair pride than make a fool +o' mysel' to please folk." + +"Oh, come on," Jock begged. "Look at Mrs. M'Cosh!" + +Miss Bathgate snorted. + +"Ay," said Mrs. M'Cosh, with imperturbable good-humour, "she seen me, +and she thinks yin auld fool is enough at a time. Never heed, Bella, +juist gie us a verse." + +Miss Bathgate protested that she knew no songs, and had no voice, but +under persuasion she broke into a ditty, a sort of recitative: + + "Gang further up the toon, Geordie Broon, Geordie Broon, + Gang further up the toon, Geordie Broon: + Gang further up the toon + Till ye's spent yer hale hauf-croon, + And then come singin' doon, + Geordie Broon, Geordie Broon." + +"I remember that when I was a child," Jean said. "We used to be put to +sleep with it; it is very soothing. Thank you so much, Miss Bathgate +... Now I think we should have a game." + +"Forfeits," Miss Teenie suggested. + +"That's a silly game," said Mhor; "there's kissing in it." + +"Perhaps we might have a quiet game," Jean said. "What was that one we +played with Pamela, you remember, Jock? We took a subject, and tried who +could say the most obvious thing about it." + +"Oh, nothing clever, for goodness' sake," pleaded Miss Watson. "I've no +head for anything but fancy-work." + +"'Up Jenkins' would be best," Jock decreed; so a table was got in, and +"up Jenkins" was played with much laughter until the clock struck ten, +and the guests all rose in a body to go. + +"Well," said Miss Watson, "it's been a very pleasant evening, though I +wouldn't wonder if I had a nightmare about that funeral pyre ... I +always think, don't you, that there's something awful pathetic about +Christmas? You never know where you may be before another." + +One of the guests, a little music-teacher, said: + +"The worst of Christmas is that it brings back to one's mind all the +other Christmasses and the people who were with us then...." + +Bella Bathgate's voice was heard talking to Mrs. M'Cosh at the door: "I +dinna believe in keeping Christmas; it's a popish festival. New Year's +the time. Ye can eat yer currant-bun wi' a relish then. Guid-nicht, +then, and see ye lick that ill laddie for near settin' the hoose on +fire. It's no' safe, I tell ye, to live onywhere near him noo that he's +begun thae tricks. Baith Peter an' him are fair Bolsheviks ... Did I +tell ye that Miss Reston sent me a grand feather-boa--grey, in a +present? I've aye had a notion o' a feather-boa, but I dinna ken how she +kent that. And this is no' yin o' the skimpy kind; it's fine and fussy +and soft ... Here, did the Lord send Miss Jean a present?... I doot he's +aff for guid. Weel, weel, guid-nicht." + +With a heightened colour Jean said good-night to her guests, separated +Mhor from his train, and sent him with Jock to bed. + +As she went upstairs, Bella Bathgate's words rang in her ears dismally: +"I doot he's aff for guid." + +It was what she wanted, of course; she had told him so. But she had half +hoped that he might send her a letter or a little remembrance on +Christmas Day. + +Better not, perhaps, but it would have been something to keep. She +sometimes wondered if she had not dreamt the scene in the Hopetoun +Woods, and only imagined the words that were constantly in her ears. It +was such a very improbable thing to happen to such a commonplace person. + +Her room was very restful-looking that night to Jean, tired after a long +day's junketing. It was a plain little upper chamber, with white walls +and Indian rugs on the floor. A high south wind was blowing (it had been +another of poor Mhor's snow-less Christmasses!), making the curtains +billow out into the room, and she could hear through the open window +the sound of Tweed rushing between its banks. On the dressing-table lay +a new novel with a vivid paper cover. Jean gave it a little disgusted +push. Someone had lent it to her, and she had been reading it between +Christmas preparations, reading it with deep distaste. It was about a +duel for a man between a woman of forty-five and a girl of eighteen. The +girl was called Noel, and was "pale, languid, passionate." The older +woman gave up before the end, and said Time had "done her in." There +were pages describing how she looked in the mirror "studying with a +fearful interest the little hard lines and markings there beneath their +light coating of powder, fingered and smoothed the slight looseness and +fullness of the skin below her chin," and how she saw herself going down +the years, "powdering a little more, painting a little more, touching up +her hair till it was all artifice, holding on by every little +device...." + +A man had written that. What a trade for a man, Jean thought. + +She was glad she lived among people who had the decency to go on caring +for each other in spite of lines and wrinkles--comfortable couples whose +affection for each other was a shelter in the time of storm, a shelter +built of common joys, of "fireside talks and counsels in the dawn," +cemented by tears shed over common sorrows. + +She smiled to herself as she remembered a little woman who had told her +with great pride that, to celebrate their silver wedding, her husband +was giving her a complete set of artificial teeth. "And," she had +finished impressively, "you know what teeth cost now." + +And why not? It was as much a token of love as a pearl necklace, and, +looked at in the right way, quite as romantic. + +"I'd better see how it finishes," Jean said to herself opening the book +a few pages from the end. + +Oh yes, there they were at it. Noel, "pale, languid passionate," and the +man "moved beyond control." "He drew her so close that he could feel the +throbbing of her heart ..." And the other poor woman with the hard lines +and marking beneath the light coating of powder, where had she gone? + +Jean pushed the book away, and stood leaning on the dressing-table +studying her face in the glass. This was no heroine, "pale, languid, +passionate." She saw a fresh-coloured face with a pointed chin, +wide-apart eyes as frank and sunny as a moorland burn, an innocent +mouth. It seemed to Jean a very uninteresting face. She was young, +certainly, but that was all--not beautiful, or brilliant and witty. Lord +Bidborough must see scores of lovely girls. Jean seemed to see them +walking past her in a procession--girls who had maids to do their hair +in the most approved fashion, constantly renewed girls whose clothes +were a dream of daintiness all charming, all witty, all fitted to be +wife to a man like Lord Bidborough. What was he doing now, Jean +wondered. Perhaps dancing, or sitting out with someone. Jean could see +him so clearly, listening, smiling, with lazy, amused eyes. By now he +must be thankful that the penny-plain girl at Priorsford had not +snatched at the offer he had made her, but had had the sense to send him +away. It must have been a sudden madness on his part. He had never said +a word of love to her--then suddenly in the rain and mud, when she was +looking her very plainest, muffled up in a thick coat, clogged by +goloshes, to ask her to marry him! + +Jean nodded at the girl in the glass. + +"What you've got to do is to put him out of your head, and be thankful +that you have lots to do, and a house to keep, and boys to make happy, +and aren't a heroine writhing about in a novel." + +But she sighed as she turned away. Doing one's duty is a dreary business +for three-and-twenty. It goes on for such a long time. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + "It was told me I should be rich by the fairies."--_A Winter's + Tale._ + + +January is always a long, flat month: the Christmas festivities are +over, the bills are waiting to be paid, the weather is very often of the +dreariest, spring is yet far distant. With February, hope and the +snowdrops begin to spring, but January is a month to be _warstled_ +through as best we can. + +This January of which I write Jean felt to be a peculiarly long, dull +month. She could not understand why, for David was at home, and she had +always thought that to have the three boys with her made up the sum of +her happiness. She told herself that it was Pamela she missed. It made +such a difference knowing that the door would not open to admit that +tall figure; the want of the embroidery frame seemed to take a +brightness from the room, and the lack of that little gay laugh of +Pamela's left a dullness that the loudest voices did nothing to dispel. + +Pamela wrote that the visit to Champertoun had been a signal success. +The hitherto unknown cousins were delightful people, and she and her +brother were prolonging their stay till the middle of January. Then, +she said, she hoped to come back to Priorsford for a little, while Biddy +went on to London. + +How easy it all sounded, Jean thought. Historic houses full of all +things lovely, leisured, delightful people, the money, and the freedom +to go where one listed: no pinching, no striving, no sordid cares. + +David's vacation was slipping past; and Jean was deep in preparations +for his departure. She longed vehemently for some money to spend. There +were so many things that David really needed and was doing without, so +many of the things he had were so woefully shabby. Jean understood +better now what a young man wanted; she had studied Lord Bidborough's +clothes. Not that the young man was anything of a dandy, but he had +always looked right for every occasion. And Jean thought that probably +all the young men at Oxford looked like that--poor David! David himself +never grumbled. He meant to make money by his pen in spare moments, and +his mind was too full of plans to worry much about his shabby clothes. +He sometimes worried about his sister, and thought it hard that she +should have the cares of a household on her shoulders at an age when +other girls were having the time of their lives, but he solaced himself +with the thought that some day he would make it up to Jean, that some +day she should have everything that now she was missing, full measure +pressed down and running over. It never occurred to the boy that Jean's +youth would pass, and whatever he might be able to give her later, he +could never give her that back. + +Pamela returned to Hillview in the middle of the month, just before +David left. + +Bella Bathgate owned that she was glad to have her back. That +indomitable spinster had actually missed her lodger. She was surprised +at her own pleasure in seeing the boxes carried upstairs again, in +hearing the soft voice talking to Mawson, in sniffing the faint sweet +scent that seemed to hang about the house when Miss Reston was in it, +conquering the grimmer odour of naphtha and boiled cabbage which +generally held sway. + +Bella had missed Mawson too. It was fine to have her back again in her +cosy kitchen, enjoying her supper and full of tales of the glories of +Champertoun. Bella's face grew even longer than it was naturally as she +heard of the magnificence of that ancient house, of the chapel, of the +ballroom, of the number of bedrooms, of the man-servants and +maid-servants, of the motors and horses. + +"Forty bedrooms!" she said, in scandalised tones. "The thing's +rideeclous. Mair like an institution than a private hoose." + +"Oh, it's a _gentleman's_ 'ouse," said Mawson proudly--"the sort of +thing Miss Reston's accustomed to. At Bidborough, I'm told, there's +bedrooms to 'old a regiment, and the same at Mintern Abbas, but I've +never been there yet. It was all the talk in the servants' 'all at +Champertoun 'oo would be Lady Bidborough. There were several likely +young ladies there, but 'e didn't seem partial to any of them." + +"Whaur's he awa to the noo?" + +"Back to London for a bit, I 'eard, and later on we're joining 'im at +Bidborough. Beller, I was thinking to myself when they were h'all +talking, what if Lady B. should be a Priorsford lady? His lordship did +seem h'attentive in at The Rigs. Wouldn't it be a fine thing for Miss +Jean?" + +Miss Bathgate suddenly had a recollection of Jean as she had seen her +pass that morning--a wistful face under a shabby hat. + +"Hut," she said, tossing her head and lying glibly. "It's ma opeenion +that the Lord askit Miss Jean when he was in Priorsford, and she simply +sent him to the right about." + +She took a drink of tea, with a defiant twirl of her little finger, and +pretended not to see the shocked expression on Mawson's face. To Mawson +it sounded like sacrilege for anyone to refuse anything to his lordship. + +"Oh, Beller! Miss Jean would 'ave jumped at 'im!" + +"Naething o' the kind," said Miss Bathgate fiercely, forgetting all +about her former pessimism as to Jean's chance of getting a man, and +desiring greatly to champion her cause. "D'ye think Miss Jean's sitting +here waitin' to jump at a man like a cock at a grossit? Na! He'll be a +lucky man that gets her, and weel his lordship kens it. She's no pented +up to the een-holes like thae London Jezebels. Her looks'll stand wind +and water. She's a kind, wise lassie, and if she condescends to the +Lord, I'm sure I hope he'll be guid to her. For ma ain pairt I wud faur +rather see her marry a dacent, ordinary man like a minister or a +doctor--but we've nane o' thae kind needin' wives in Priorsford the noo, +so Miss Jean 'll mebbe hev to fa' back on a lord...." + +On the afternoon of the day this conversation took place in Hillview +kitchen, Jean sat in the living-room of The Rigs, a very depressed +little figure. It was one of those days in which things seem to take a +positive pleasure in going wrong. To start with, the kitchen range could +not go on, as something had happened to the boiler, and that had +shattered Mrs. M'Cosh's placid temper. Also the bill for mending it +would be large, and probably the landlord would make a fuss about paying +it. Then Mhor had put a newly-soled boot right on the hot bar of the +fire and burned it across, and Jock had thrown a ball and broken a +precious Spode dish that had been their mother's. But the worst thing of +all was that Peter was lost, had been lost for three days, and now they +felt they must give up hope. Jock and Mhor were in despair (which may +have accounted for their abandoned conduct in burning boots and breaking +old china), and in their hearts felt miserably guilty. Peter had wanted +to go with them that morning three days ago; he had stood patiently +waiting before the front door, and they had sneaked quietly out at the +back without him. It was really for his own good, Jock told Mhor; it was +because the gamekeeper had said if he got Peter in the Peel woods again +he would shoot him, and they had been going to the Peel woods that +morning--but nothing brought any comfort either to Jock or Mhor. For two +nights Mhor had sobbed himself to sleep openly, and Jock had lain awake +and cried when everyone else was sleeping. + +They scoured the country in the daytime, helped by David and Mr. Jowett +and other interested friends, but all to no purpose. + +"If I knew God had him I wouldn't mind," said Mhor, "but I keep seeing +him in a trap watching for us to come and let him out. Oh, Peter, +_Peter_...." + +So Jean felt completely demoralised this January afternoon and sat in +her most unbecoming dress, with the fire drearily, if economically, +banked up with dross, hoping that no one would come near her. And Mrs. +Duff-Whalley and her daughter arrived to call. + +It was at once evident that Mrs. Duff-Whalley was on a very high horse +indeed. Her accent was at its most superior--not at all the accent she +used on ordinary occasions--and her manner was an excellent imitation of +that of a lady she had met at one of the neighbouring houses and greatly +admired. Her sharp eyes were all over the place, taking in Jean's poor +little home-made frock, the shabby slippers, the dull fire, the +depressed droop of her hostess's shoulders. + +Jean was sincerely sorry to see her visitors. To cope with Mrs. +Duff-Whalley and her daughter one had to be in a state of robust health +and high spirits. + +"We ran in, Jean--positively one has time for nothing these days--just +to wish you a Happy New-Year though a fortnight of it is gone. And how +are you? I do hope you had a very gay Christmas, and loads of presents. +Muriel quite passed all limits. I told her I was quite ashamed of the +shoals of presents, but of course the child has so many friends. The +Towers was full for Christmas. Dear Gordon brought several Cambridge +friends, and they were so useful at all the festivities. Lady Tweedie +said to me, 'Mrs. Duff-Whalley, you really are a godsend with all these +young men in this unmanned neighbourhood.' Always so witty, isn't she? +dear woman. By the way, Jean, I didn't see you at the Tweedies' dance, +or the Olivers' theatricals." + +"No, I wasn't there. I hadn't a dress that was good enough, and I didn't +want to be at the expense of hiring a carriage." + +"Oh, really! We had a small dance at The Towers on Christmas night--just +a tiny affair, you know, really just our own house-party and such old +friends as the Tweedies and the Olivers. We would have liked to ask you +and your brother--I hear he's home from Oxford--but you know what it is +to live in a place like Priorsford: if you ask one you have to ask +everybody--and we decided to keep it entirely County--you know what I +mean?" + +"Oh, quite," said Jean; "I'm sure you were wise." + +"We were so sorry," went on Mrs. Duff-Whalley, "that dear Lord +Bidborough and his charming sister couldn't come. We have got so fond of +both of them. Muriel and Lord Bidborough have so much in common--music, +you know, and other things. I simply couldn't tear them away from the +piano at The Towers. Isn't it wonderful how simple and pleasant they are +considering their lineage? Actually living in that little dog-hole of a +Hillview. I always think Miss Bathgate's such an insolent woman; no +notion of her proper place. She looks at me as if she actually thought +she was my equal, and wasn't she positively rude to you, Muriel, when +you called with some message?" + +"Oh, frightful woman!" said Muriel airily. "She was most awfully rude to +me. You would have thought that I wanted to burgle something." She gave +an affected laugh. "I simply stared through her. I find that irritates +that class of person frightfully ... How do you like my sables, Jean? +Yes--a present." + +"They are beautiful," said Jean serenely, but to herself she muttered +bitterly, "Opulent _lumps_!" + +"David goes back to Oxford next week," she said aloud, the thought of +money recalling David's lack of it. + +"Oh, really! How exciting for him," Mrs. Duff-Whalley said. "I suppose +you won't have heard from Miss Reston since she went away?" + +"I had a letter from her a few days ago." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley waited expectantly for a moment, but as Jean said +nothing more she continued: + +"Did she talk of future plans? We simply must fix them both up for a +week at The Towers. Lord Bidborough told us he had quite fallen in love +with Priorsford and would be sure to come back. I thought it was so +sweet of him. Priorsford is such a dull little place." + +"Yes," said Jean; "it was very condescending of him." + +Then she remembered Richard Plantagenet, her friend, his appreciation of +everything, his love for the Tweed, his passion for the hills, his +kindness to herself and the boys--and her conscience pricked her. "But I +think he meant it," she added. + +"Well," Muriel said, "I fail to see what he could find to admire in +Priorsford. Of all the provincial little holes! I'm constantly +upbraiding Mother for letting my father build a house here. If they had +gone two or three miles out, but to plant themselves in a little dull +town, always knocking up against the dull little inhabitants! Positively +it gets on my nerves. One can't go out without having to talk to Mrs. +Jowett, or a Dawson, or some of the villa dwellers. As I said to Lady +Tweedie yesterday when I met her in the Eastgate, 'Positively,' I said, +'I shall _scream_ if I have to say to anyone else, "Yes, isn't it a nice +quiet day for the time of year?"' I'm just going to pretend I don't see +people now." + +"Muriel, darling, you mustn't make yourself unpopular. It's not like +London, you know, where you can pick and choose. I quite agree that the +Priorsford people need to be kept in their places, but one needn't be +rude. And some of the people, the aborigines, as dear Gordon calls them, +are really quite nice. There are about half a dozen men one can ask to +dinner, and that new doctor--I forget his name--is really quite a +gentleman. Plays bridge." + +Jean laughed suddenly and Mrs. Duff-Whalley looked inquiringly at her. + +"Oh," she said, blushing, "I remembered the definition of a gentleman in +the _Irish R.M._--'a man who has late dinner and takes in the London +_Times_.' ... Won't you stay to tea?" + +"Oh no, thank you, the car is at the gate. We are going on to tea with +Lady Tweedie. 'You simply must spare me an afternoon, Mrs. +Duff-Whalley,' she said to me the other day, and I rang her up and said +we would come to-day. Life is really such a rush. And we are going +abroad in February and March. We must have some sunshine. Not that we +need it for our health, for we're both as strong as ponies. I haven't +been a day in bed for years, and Muriel the same, I'm thankful to say. +We've never had to waste money on doctors. And the War kept us so cooped +up, it's really pleasant to feel we can get about again. I thought on +our way south we would make a tour of the battlefields. I think one owes +it to the men who fought for us to go and visit their graves--poor +fellows! I saw Mrs. Macdonald--you go to their church, don't you?--at a +meeting yesterday, and I said if she would give me particulars I'd try +and see her boy's grave. They won't be able to go themselves, poor +souls, and I thought it would be a certain consolation to them to know +that a friend had gone. I must say, I think she might have shown more +gratitude. She was really quite off-hand. I think ministers' wives have +often bad manners; they deal so much with the working classes...." + +Jean thought of a saying she had read of Dr. Johnson's: "He talked to me +at the Club one day concerning Catiline's conspiracy--so I withdrew my +attention and thought about Tom Thumb." When she came back to Mrs. +Duff-Whalley that lady was saying: + +"Did you say, Jean, that Miss Reston is coming back to Priorsford soon?" + +"Yes, any day." + +"Fancy! And her brother too?" + +Jean said she thought not: Lord Bidborough was going to London. + +"Ah! then we shall see him there. I don't know when I met anyone with +whom I felt so instantly at home. He has such easy manners. It really is +a pleasure to meet a gentleman. I do wish my boy Gordon had seen more of +him. I'm sure they would have been friends. So good for a boy, you know, +to have a man of the world to go about with. Well, good-bye, Jean. You +really look very washed out. What you really need is a thorough holiday +and change of scene. Why, you haven't been away for years. Two months in +London would do wonders for you--" + +The handle of the door turned and a voice said, "May I come in?" and +without waiting for permission Pamela Reston walked in, bare-headed, +wrapped in a cloak, and with her embroidery-frame under her arm, as she +had come many times to The Rigs during her stay at Hillview. + +When Jean heard the voice it seemed to her as if everything was +transformed. Mrs. Duff-Whalley and Muriel, their sables and their +Rolls-Royce, ceased to be great weights crushing life and light out of +her, and became small, ordinary, rather vulgar figures; she forgot her +own home-made frock and shabby slippers; and even the fire seemed to +feel that things were brightening, for a flame struggled through the +backing and gave promise of future cheerfulness. + +"Oh, Pamela!" cried Jean. There was more of relief and appeal in her +voice than she knew, and Pamela, seeing the visitors, prepared to do +battle. + +"I thought I should surprise you, Jean, girl. I came by the two train, +for I was determined to be here in time for tea." She slipped off her +coat and took Jean in her arms. "It is good to be back.... Ah, Mrs. +Duff-Whalley, how are you? Have you kept Priorsford lively through the +Christmas-time, you and your daughter?" + +"Well, I was just telling Jean we've done our best. My son Gordon, and +his Cambridge friends, delightful young fellows, you know, _perfect_ +gentlemen. But we did miss you and your brother. Is dear Lord Bidborough +not with you?" + +"My brother has gone to London." + +"Naturally," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, nodding her head knowingly. "All +young men like London, so gay, you know, restaurants and theatres and +night-clubs--" + +"Oh, I hope not," laughed Pamela. "My brother's rather extraordinary; +he cares very little for London pleasures. The open road is all he +asks--a born gipsy." + +"Fancy! Well, it's a nice taste too. But I would rather ride in my car +than tramp the roads. I like my comforts. Muriel and I are going to +London shortly, on our way to the Continent. Will you be there, Miss +Reston?" + +"Probably, and if I am Jean will be with me. Do you hear that, Jean?" +and paying no attention to the dubious shake of Jean's head she went on: +"We must give Jean a very good time and have lots of parties. Perhaps, +Mrs. Duff-Whalley, you will bring your daughter to one of Jean's parties +when you are in London? You have been so very kind to us that we should +greatly like to have an opportunity of showing you some hospitality. Do +let us know your whereabouts. It would be fun--wouldn't it, Jean?--to +entertain Priorsford friends in London." + +For a moment Mrs. Duff-Whalley looked very like a ferret that wanted to +bite; then she smiled and said: + +"Well, really, it's most kind of you. I'm sure Jean should be very +grateful to you. You're a kind of fairy godmother to this little +Cinderella. Only Jean must remember that it isn't very nice to come back +to drudgery after an hour or two at the ball," and she gave an +unpleasant laugh. + +"Ah, but you forget your fairy tale," said Pamela. "Cinderella had a +happy ending. She wasn't left to the drudgery, but reigned with the +prince in the palace." + +"It's hardly polite surely," Muriel put in, "to liken poor little Jean +to a cinder-witch." + +Jean laughed and held out a foot in a shabby slipper. "I've felt like +one all day. It's been such a grubby day, no kitchen range on, no hot +water, and Mrs. M'Cosh actually out of temper. Now you've come, Pamela, +it will be all right--but it has been wretched. I hadn't the spirit to +change my frock or put on decent slippers, that's why I've reminded you +all of Cinderella.... Are you going, Mrs. Duff-Whalley? Good-bye." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley had, with an effort, regained her temper, and was now +all smiles. + +"We must see you often at The Towers while you are in Priorsford, dear +Miss Reston. Muriel and I are on our way to tea with Lady Tweedie. She +will be so excited to hear you are back. You have made quite a _place_ +for yourself in our little circle. Good-bye, Jean, we shall be seeing +you some time. Come, Muriel. Well--t'ta." + +When the visitors had rolled away in their car Jean told Pamela about +Peter. + +"I couldn't tell you before those opulent, well-pleased people. It's +absolutely breaking our hearts. Mrs. M'Cosh looks ten years older, and +Jock and Mhor go about quite silent thinking out wicked things to do to +relieve their feelings. David has gone over all the hills looking for +him, but he may be lying trapped in some wood. Come and speak to Mrs. +M'Cosh for a minute. Between Peter and the boiler she is in despair." + +They found Mrs. M'Cosh baking with the gas oven. + +"It's a scone for the tea. When I seen Miss Reston it kinna cheered me +up. Hae ye tell't her aboot Peter?" + +"He will turn up yet, Mrs. M'Cosh," Pamela assured her. "Peter's such a +clever dog, he won't let himself be beat. Even if he is trapped I +believe he will manage to get out." + +"It's to be hoped so, for the want o' him is something awful." + +A knock came to the back door and a boy's voice said, "Is Peter in?" It +was a message boy who knew all Peter's tricks--knew that however +friendly Peter was with a message boy on the road, he felt constrained +to jump out at him when he appeared at the back door with a basket. The +innocent question was too much for Mrs. M'Cosh. + +"Na," she said bitterly. "Peter's no' in, so ye needna hold on to the +door. Peter's lost. Deid, as likely as not." She turned away in +bitterness of heart, leaving Jean to take the parcels from the boy. + +The boys came in quietly after another fruitless search. They did not +ask hopefully, as they had done at first, if Peter had come home, and +Jean did not ask how they had fared. + +The sight of Pamela cheered them a good deal. + +"Does she know?" Jock asked, and Jean nodded. + +Pamela kept the talk going through tea, and told them so many funny +stories that they had to laugh. + +"If only," said Mhor, "Peter was here now the Honourable's back we +would be happy." + +"There's a big box of hard chocolates behind that cushion," Pamela said, +pointing to the sofa. + +It was at that moment that the door opened, and Mrs. M'Cosh put her head +in. Her face wore a broad smile. + +"The wanderer has returned," she said. + +At that moment Jean thought the Glasgow accent the most delightful thing +on earth and the smile on Mrs. M'Cosh's face the most beautiful. With a +shout they all made for the kitchen. + +There was Peter, thin and dirty, but in excellent spirits, wagging his +tail so violently that his whole body wagged. + +"See," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "he's been in a trap, but he's gotten out. +Peter's a cliver lad." + +Jock and Mhor had no words. They lay on the linoleum-covered floor while +Mrs. M'Cosh fetched hot milk, and crushed their faces against the little +black-and-white body they had thought they might never see again, while +Peter licked his own torn paw and their faces in turn. + + * * * * * + +It was wonderfully comfortable to see Pamela settle down in the corner +of the sofa with her embroidery and ask news of all her friends. Jean +had been a little shy of meeting Pamela, wondering if Lord Bidborough +had told her anything, wondering if she were angry that Jean should have +had such an offer, or resentful that she had refused it. But Pamela +talked quite naturally about her brother, and gave no hint that she +knew of any reason why Jean should blush when his name was mentioned. + +"And how are all the people--the Jowetts and the Watsons and the +Dawsons? And the dear Macdonalds? I picked up a book in Edinburgh that I +think Mr. Macdonald will like. And Lewis Elliot--have you seen him +lately, Jean?" + +"He's away. Didn't you know? He went just after you did. He was in +London at Christmas--at least, that was the postmark on the parcels, but +he has never written a word. He was always a bad correspondent, but +he'll turn up one of these days." + +Mrs. M'Cosh came in with the letters from the evening post. + +"Actually a letter for me," said Jean, "from London. I expect it's from +that landlord of ours. Surely he won't be giving us notice to leave The +Rigs. Pamela, I'm afraid to open it. It looks like a lawyer's letter." + +"Open it then." + +Jean opened it slowly and read the enclosure with a puzzled frown; then +she dropped it with a cry. + +Pamela looked up from her work to see Jean with tears running down her +face. Jock and Mhor stopped what they were doing and came to look at +her. Peter rubbed himself against her legs by way of comfort. + +"My dear," said Pamela, "is there anything wrong?" + +"Oh, do you remember the little old man who came one day to look at the +house and stayed to tea and I sang 'Strathairlie' to him? He's dead." + +Jean's tears flowed afresh as she said the words. "How I wish I had +been kinder to him. I somehow felt he was ill." + +"And why have they written to tell you?" Pamela asked. + +Jean picked up the letter which had fallen on the floor. + +"It's from his lawyer, and he says he has left me money.... Read it, +Pamela. I don't seem able to see the words." + +So Pamela read aloud the letter that converted poverty-stricken Jean +into a very wealthy woman. + +Jean's face was dead white, and she lay back as if stunned, while Jock +gave solemn utterance to the most complicated ejaculation he had yet +achieved: "Goodness-gracious-mercy-Moses-Murphy-mumph-mumph-mumph!" + +Mhor said nothing, but stared with grave green eyes at the stricken +figure of the heiress. + +"It's awful," Jean moaned. + +"But, my dear," said Pamela, "I thought you wanted to be rich." + +"Oh--rich in a gentle way, a few hundreds a year--but this--" + +"Poor Jean, buried under bullion." + +"You're all looking at me differently already," cried poor Jean. "Mhor, +it's just the same me. Money can't make any real difference. Don't stare +at me like that." + +"Will Peter have a diamond collar now?" Mhor asked. + +"Awful effect of sudden riches," said Pamela. + +"Bear up, Jean--I've no doubt you'll be able to get rid of your money. +Just think of all the people you will be able to help. You needn't spend +it on yourself you know." + +"No, but suppose it's the ruin of the boys! I've often heard of sudden +fortunes making people go all wrong." + +"Now, Jean, does Jock look as if anything so small as a fortune could +put him wrong? And David--by the way, where is David?" + +"Out," said Jock, "getting something at the stationer's. Let me tell him +when he comes in." + +"Then I'll tell Mrs. M'Cosh," cried Mhor, and, followed by Peter, he +rushed from the room. + +The colour was beginning to come back to Jean's face, and the stunned +look to go out of her eyes. + +"Why in the world has he left it to me?" she asked Pamela. + +"You see the lawyer suggests coming to see you. He will explain it all. +It's a wonderful stroke of luck, Jean. No wonder you can't take it in." + +"I feel like the little old woman in the nursery-rhyme who said, 'This +is none of I.' I'm bound to wake up and find I've dreamt it.... Oh, Mrs. +M'Cosh!" + +"It's the wee laddie Scott to say his mother canna come and wash the +morn's mornin'; she's no weel. It's juist as weel, seein' the biler's +gone wrang. I suppose I'd better gie the laddie a piece?" + +"Yes, and a penny." Then Jean remembered her new possessions. "No, give +him this, please, Mrs. M'Cosh." + +Mrs. M'Cosh received the coin and gasped. "Hauf a croon!" she said. + +"Silver," said Pamela, "is to be no more accounted of than it was in the +days of Solomon!" + +"D'ye ken whit ye'll dae?" demanded Mrs. M'Cosh. "Ye'll get the laddie +taen up by the pollis. Gie him thruppence--it's mair wise-like." + +"Oh, very well," said Jean, thwarted at the very beginning of her +efforts in philanthropy. "I'll go and see his mother to-morrow and find +out what she needs. Have you heard the news, Mrs. M'Cosh?" + +Mrs. M'Cosh came farther into the room and folded her hands on her +snow-white apron. + +"Weel, Mhor came in and tell't me some kinna story aboot a lot o' money, +but I thocht he was juist bletherin'. Is't a fac'?" + +"It would seem to be. The lawyer in London writes that Mr. Peter +Reid--d'you perhaps remember an old man who came here to tea one day in +October?--he came from London and lived at the Temperance--has left me +all his fortune, which is a large one. I can't think why.... And I +thought he was so poor, I wanted to have him here to stay, to save him +paying hotel bills. Poor man, he must have been very friendless when he +left his money to a stranger." + +"It's a queer turn up onyway. I juist hope it's a' richt. But I would +see it afore ye spend it. I wis readin' a bit in the papers the ither +day aboot a wumman who got word o' a fortune sent her, and went and got +a' sorts o' braw claes and things ower the heid o't, and here it wis a' +a begunk. And a freend o' mine hed a husband oot aboot Canada somewhere, +and she got word o' his death, and she claimed the insurance, and got +verra braw blacks, and here wha should turn up but his lordship, as +leevin' as you or me! Eh, puir thing, she wis awfu' annoyed.... You be +carefu', Miss Jean, and see the colour o' yer money afore ye begin +giein' awa' hauf-croons instead o' pennies." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + "O, I wad like to ken--to the beggar-wife says I-- + Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid to fry, + An' siller, that's sae braw to get, is brawer still to gie. + --_It's gey an' easy speirin'_, says the beggar-wife to me." + + R.L.S. + + +It is always easier for poor human nature to weep with those who weep +than to rejoice with those who rejoice. Into our congratulations to our +more fortunate neighbour we often manage to squeeze something of the +"hateful rind of resentment," forgetting that the cup of life is none +too sweet for any of us, and needs nothing of our bitterness added. + +Jean had not an enemy in the world, almost everyone wished her well, but +in very few cases was there any marked enthusiasm about her inheritance. +"Ridiculous," was the most frequent comment: or "Fancy that little +thing!" It seemed absurd that such an unimportant person should have had +such a large thing happen to her. + +Pamela was frankly disgusted with the turn things had taken. She had +intended giving Jean such a good time; she had meant to dress her and +amuse her and settle her in life. Peter Reid had destroyed all her +plans, and Jean would never now be dependent on her for the pleasures of +life. + +She wrote to her brother: + +"Jean seems to be one of the people that all sorts of odd things happen +to, and now fortune has played one of her impish tricks and Jean has +become a very considerable heiress. And I was there, oddly enough, when +the god in the car alighted, so to speak, at The Rigs. + +"One afternoon, just after I came to Priorsford, I went in after tea and +found the Jardines entertaining a shabby-looking elderly man. They were +all so very nice to him that I thought he must be some old family +friend, but it turned out that none of them had seen him before that +afternoon. He had asked to look over the house, and told Jean that he +had lived in it as a boy, and Jean, remarking his rather shabby clothes +and frail appearance, jumped to the conclusion that he had failed in +life and--you know Jean--was at once full of tenderness and compassion. +At his request she sang to him a song he had heard his mother sing, and +finished by presenting him with the song-book containing it--a somewhat +rare collection which she valued. + +"This shabby old man, it seems, was one Peter Reid, a wealthy London +business man, and owner of The Rigs, born and bred in Priorsford, who +had just heard from his doctor that he had not long to live, and had +come back to his childhood's home meaning to die there. He had no +relations and few friends, and had made up his mind to leave his money +to the first person who did anything for him without thought of payment. +(He seems to have been a hard, suspicious type of man who had not +attracted kindness.) So Fate guided his steps to Jean, and this is the +result. Yes, rather far-fetched, I agree, but Fate is often like a +novelette. + +"Mr. Peter Reid had meant to ask the Jardines to leave The Rigs and let +him settle there, but--there must have been a soft part somewhere in the +hard little man--he hadn't the heart to do it when he found how attached +they were to the place. + +"I was at The Rigs when the lawyer's letter came. Jean as an heiress is +very funny and, at the same time, horribly touching. At first she could +think of nothing but that the lonely old man she had tried to be kind to +was dead, and wept bitterly. Then as she began to realise the fact of +the money she was aghast, suffocated with the thought of her own wealth. +She told us piteously that it wouldn't change her at all. I think the +poor child already felt the golden barrier that wealth builds round its +owners. I don't think Mr. Peter Reid was kind, though perhaps he meant +to be. Jean is such a conscientious, anxious pilgrim at any time, and +I'm afraid the wealth will hang round her neck like the Ancient +Mariner's albatross. + +" ... I have been wondering, Biddy, how this will affect your chances. I +know you felt as I did how nice it would be to give Jean all the things +that she has never had and which money can buy. I admit I am horribly +disappointed about it, but I'm not at all sure that this odd trick of +fortune's won't help you. Her attitude was that marriage with you was +unthinkable; you had so much and she had so little. Well, this evens +things up. _Don't come. Don't write._ Leave her alone to try her wings. +She will want to try all sorts of schemes for helping people, and I'm +afraid the poor child will get many bad falls. So long as she remains in +Priorsford with people like Mrs. Hope and the Macdonalds to watch over +her she can't come to any harm. Don't be anxious. Honestly, Biddy, I +think she cares for you. I'm glad you asked her when she was poor." + + * * * * * + +When the news of Jean's fortune broke over Priorsford, tea-parties had +no lack of material for conversation. + +Miss Watson and Miss Teenie, much more excited than Jean herself, ranged +gaily round the circle of their acquaintances, drank innumerable cups of +tea, and discussed the matter in all its bearings. + +"Isn't it strange to think of Miss Jean as an heiress? Such a plain +little thing--in her clothes, I mean, for she has a bit sweet wee face. +I don't know how she'll ever do in a great big house with butlers and +things. I expect she'll leave The Rigs now. It's no place for an +heiress. Perhaps she'll build a house like The Towers. No; you're right: +she'll look for an old house; she always had such queer ideas about +liking old things and plain things.... Well, when she had a wee house it +had a wide door. I hope when she gets a big house it won't have a +narrow door. Money sometimes changes people's very natures.... It's a +funny business; you never really know what'll happen to you in this +world. Anyway, I don't grudge it to Miss Jean, though, mind you, I don't +think myself that she'll carry off money well. She hasn't presence +enough, if you know what I mean. She'll never look the thing in a big +motor, and you can't imagine her being haughty to people poorer than +herself. She has such a way of putting herself beside folk--even a +tinker-body on the road!" + +Miss Bathgate heard the news with sardonic laughter. + +"So that's the latest! Miss Jean's gaun to be upsides wi' the best o' +them! Puir lamb, puir lamb! I hope the siller 'll bring her happiness, +but I doot it ... I yince kent some folk that got a fortune left them. +He was a beadle in the U.F. Kirk at Kirkcaple, a dacent man wi' a wife +and dochter, an' by some queer chance they came into a heap o' siller, +an' a hoose--a mansion hoose, ye ken. They never did mair guid, puir +bodies. The hoose was that big that the only kinda cosy place they could +see to sit in was the butler's pantry, an' they took to drink, fair for +want o' anything else to dae. I've heard tell that they took whisky to +their porridges, but that's mebbe a lee. Onyway, the faither and mither +sune died off, and the dochter went to board wi' the minister an' his +wife, to see if they could dae onything wi' her. I mind seein' her +yince. She was sittin' horn-idle, an' I said to her, 'D'ye niver tak' up +a stockin'?' and she says, 'I dinna _need_ to dae naething.' 'But,' I +says, 'a stockin' keeps your hands busy, an' keeps ye frae wearyin',' +but she juist said, 'I tell ye I dinna need to dae naething. I whiles +taks a ride in a carriage.' ... It was a sorry sicht, I can tell ye, to +see a dacent lass ruined wi' siller.... Weel, Miss Jean 'll get a man +noo. Nae fear o' that," and Miss Bathgate repeated her cynical lines +about the lass "on Tintock tap." + +Mrs. Hope was much excited when she heard, more especially when she +found who Jean's benefactor was. + +"Reids who lived in The Rigs thirty years ago? But I knew them. I know +all about them. It was I who suggested to Alison Jardine that the +cottage would suit her. She had lost a lot of money and wanted a small +place.... Why, bless me, Augusta, Mrs. Reid, this man's mother, came +from Corlaw; her people were tenants of my father's. What was the name? +I used to be taken to their house by my nurse and get an oatcake with +sugar sprinkled on it--a great luxury, I thought. Yes, of course, +Laidlaw. She was Jeannie Laidlaw. When I married and came to Hopetoun I +often went to see Mrs. Reid. She reminded me of Corlaw, and could talk +of my father, and I liked that.... Her husband was James Reid. He must +have had some money, and I think he was retired. He had a beard and came +from Fife. I remember the east-country tone in his voice. They went to +the Free Kirk, and I overheard, one day, a man say to him as we came out +of church (where a retiring collection for the next Sunday had been +announced), 'There's an awfu' heap o' collections in oor kirk,' and +James Reid replied, 'Ou ay, but ma way is to pay no attention.' When I +told your father he was delighted and said that he must take that for +his motto through life--'Ma way is to pay no attention.'" + +Mrs. Hope took off her glasses and smiled to herself over her +recollections.... "Mrs. Reid was a nice creature, 'fair bigoted,' as +they say here, on her son Peter. He was her chief topic of conversation. +Peter's cleverness, Peter's kindness to his mother, Peter's good looks, +Peter's fine voice: when I saw him--well, I thought we should all thank +God for our mothers, for no one else will ever see us with such kind +eyes.... And it's this Peter Reid--Jeannie Laidlaw's son--who has +enriched Jean. Well, Augusta, I must say I consider it rather a +liberty." + +Augusta looked at her mother with an amused smile. + +"Yes, Augusta, it was a pushing, interfering sort of thing to do. What +is the child to do with a great fortune? I'm not afraid of her being +spoiled. Money won't vulgarise Jean as it does so many people, but it +may turn her into a very burdened, anxious pilgrim. She is happier poor. +The pinch of too little money is a small thing compared to the burden of +too much. The doing without is good for both body and soul, but the +great possessions are apt to harden our hearts and make our souls small +and meagre. Who would have thought that little Jean would have had the +hard hap to become heir to them. But she has a high heart. She may make +a success of being a rich woman! She has certainly made a success of +being a poor one." + +"I think," said Augusta, in her gentle voice, "that Peter Reid was a +wise man to leave his money to Jean. Only the people who have been poor +know how to give, and Jean has imagination and an understanding heart. +Haven't you noticed what a wonderful way she has with the poor people? +She is always welcome in the cottages.... And think what a delight she +will have in spending money on the boys! But I hope Pamela Reston will +do as she had planned and carry Jean off for a real holiday. I should +like to see her for a little while spend money like water, buy all +manner of useless lovely things, and dine and dance and go to plays." + +Mrs. Hope put up her glasses to regard her daughter. + +"Dear me, Augusta, am I hearing right? Who is more severe than you on +the mad women who dance, and sup, and frivol their money away? But +there's something in what you say. The bairn needs a playtime.... To +think that Jeannie Laidlaw's son should change the whole of Jean's life. +Preposterous!" + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley was having tea with Mrs. Jowett when the news was +broken to her. It was a party, but only, as Mrs. Duff-Whalley herself +would have put it, "a purely local affair," meaning some people on the +Hill. + +Mrs. Jowett sat in her soft-toned room, pouring out tea into fragile +cups with hands that seemed to demand lace ruffles, so white were they +and transparent. The room was like herself, exquisitely fresh and +dainty; white walls hung with pale water-colours in gilt frames, Indian +rugs of soft pinks and blues and greys, plump cushions in worked muslin +covers that looked as if they were put on fresh every morning. +Photographs stood about of women looking sweetly into vacancy over the +heads of pretty children, and books of verses, bound daintily in white +and gold, lay on carved tables. + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley did not care for Mrs. Jowett's tea-parties, and she +always felt irritated by her drawing-room. The gentle voice of her +hostess made her want to speak louder than usual, and she thought the +conversation insipid to a degree. How could it be anything but insipid +with Mrs. Jowett saying only "How nice," or "What a pity" at intervals? +She did not even seem to care to hear Mrs. Duff-Whalley's news of "the +County," and "dear Lady Tweedie," merely murmuring, "Oh, really," when +told the most interesting and even startling facts. + +"Uninterested idiot," thought Mrs. Duff-Whalley to herself as she turned +from her hostess to Miss Mary Duncan, who at least had some sense, +though both she and her sisters had a lamentable lack of style. + +Miss Duncan's kind face beamed pleasantly. She was quite willing to +listen to Mrs. Duff-Whalley as long as that lady pleased. She thought +she needed soothing, so she agreed with everything she said, and made +sensible little remarks at intervals. Mrs. Jowett was pouring out a +second cup of tea for Mrs. Duff-Whalley when she said, "And have you +heard about dear little Jean Jardine?" + +"Has anything happened to her? I saw her the other day and she was all +right." + +"She's quite well, but haven't you heard? She has inherited a large +fortune." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley said nothing for a minute. She could not trust herself +to speak. Despised Jean, whom she had not troubled to ask to her +parties, whom she had always felt she could treat anyhow, so poor was +she and of no account. It had been bad enough to know that she was on +terms of intimacy with Pamela Reston and her brother: to hear Miss +Reston say that she meant to take her to London and entertain for her +and to hear her suggest that Muriel might go to Jean's parties had been +galling, but she had thrust the recollection from her, reflecting that +fine ladies said much that they did not mean, and that probably the +promised visit to London would never materialise. And now to be told +this! A fortune: Jean--it was too absurd! + +When she spoke, her voice was shrill with anger in spite of her efforts +to control it. + +"It can't be true. The Jardines have no relations that could leave them +money." + +"This isn't a relation," Mrs. Jowett explained. "It's someone Jean was +kind to quite by chance. I think it is _so_ sweet. It quite makes one +want to cry. _Dear_ Jean!" + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley looked at the sentimental woman before her with bitter +scorn. + +"It would take more than that to make me cry," she snorted. "I wonder +what fool wanted to leave Jean money. Such an unpractical creature! +She'll simply make ducks and drakes of it, give it away to all and +sundry, pauperise the whole neighbourhood." + +"Oh, I don't think so," Miss Duncan broke in. "She has had a hard +training, poor child. Such a pathetic mite she was when her great-aunt +died and left her with David and Jock and the little Gervase Taunton! No +one thought she could manage, but she did, and she has been so plucky, +she deserves all the good fortune that life can bring her. I'm longing +to hear what Jock says about this. I do like that boy." + +"They are, all three, dear boys," said Mrs. Jowett. "Tim and I quite +feel as if they were our own. Tim, dear," to that gentleman, who had +bounced suddenly and violently into the room, "we are talking about the +great news--Jean's fortune--" + +"Ah yes, yes," said Mr. Jowett, distributing brusque nods to the women +present. "What I want is a bit of thick string." (His wife's delicate +drawing-room hardly seemed the place to look for such a thing.) "No, no +tea, my dear. I told you I wanted a bit of _thick string_.... Yes, +let's hope it won't spoil Jean, but I think it's almost sure to. Fortune +hunters, too. Bad thing for a girl to have money.... Yes, yes, I asked +the servants and Chart brought me the string basket, but it was all thin +stuff. I'll lose the post, but it's always the way. Every day more +rushed than another. Remind me, Janetta, to get some thick string +to-morrow. I've no time to go down to the town to-day. Why, bless me, my +morning letters are hardly looked at yet," and he fussed himself out of +the room. + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley rose to go. + +"Then, Mrs. Jowett, I can depend on you to look after that collecting? +And please be firm. I find that collectors are apt to be very lazy and +unconscientious. Indeed, one told me frankly that in her district she +only went to the people she knew. That isn't the way to collect. The +only way is to get into each house--to stand on the doorstep is no use, +they can so easily send a maid to refuse--and sit there till they give a +subscription. Every year since I took it on there has been an increase, +and I'll be frightfully disappointed if you let it go back." + +Mrs. Jowett looked depressed. She knew herself to be one of the worst +collectors on record. She was guiltily aware that she often advised +people not to give; that is, if she thought their circumstances +straitened! + +"I don't know," she began, "I'm afraid I could never sit in a stranger's +house and insist on being given money. It's so--so high-handed, like a +highwayman or something." + +"Think of the cause," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, "not of your own +feelings." + +"Yes, of course, but ... well, if there is a deficit, I can always raise +my own subscription to cover it." She smiled happily at this solution of +the problem. + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley sniffed. + +"'The conies are a feeble folk,'" she quoted rudely. "Well, good-bye. I +shall send over all the papers and collecting books to-morrow. Muriel +and I go off to London on Friday _en route_ for the south. It will be +pleasant to have a change and meet some interesting people. Muriel was +just saying it's a cabbage's life we live in Priorsford. I often wonder +we stay here...." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley went home a very angry woman. After dinner, sitting +with Muriel before the fire in the glittering drawing-room, she +discussed the matter. + +"I know what'll be the end of it," she said. "You saw what a fuss Miss +Reston made of Jean the other day when we called? Depend upon it, she +knew the money was coming. I dare say she and her brother are as poor as +church mice--those aristocrats usually are--and Jean's money will come +in useful. Oh, we'll see her Lady Bidborough yet.... I tell you what it +is, Muriel, the way this world's managed is past speaking about." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley was knitting a stocking for her son Gordon (her hands +were seldom idle), and she waved it in her exasperation as she talked. + +"Here are you, meant, as anyone can see, for the highest position, and +instead that absurd little Jean is to be cocked up, a girl with no more +dignity than a sparrow, who couldn't keep her place with a washerwoman. +I've heard her talking to these cottage women as if they were her +sisters." + +Muriel leant back in her chair and seemed absorbed in balancing her +slipper on her toe. + +"My dear mother," she said, "why excite yourself? It isn't clever of you +to be so openly annoyed. People will laugh. I don't say I like it any +better than you do, but I hope I have the sense to purr congratulations. +We can't help it anyway. You and I aren't attracted to Jean, but there's +no use denying most people are. And what's more, they keep on liking +her. She isn't a person people get easily tired of. I wish I knew her +secret. I suppose it is charm--a thing that can't be acquired." + +"What nonsense, Muriel! I wonder to hear you. I'd like to know who has +charm if you haven't. It is a silly word anyway." + +Muriel shook her head. "It's no good posing when we are by ourselves. As +a family we totally lack charm. Minnie tries to make up for it by a +great deal of manner and a loud voice. Gordon--well, it doesn't matter +so much for a man, but you can see his friends don't really care about +him much. They take his hospitality and say he isn't a bad sort. They +know he is a snob, and when he tries to be funny he is often offensive, +poor Gordon! I've got a pretty face, and I play games well, so I am +tolerated, but I have hardly one real friend. The worst of it is I know +all the time where I am falling short, and I can't help it. I feel +myself jar on people. I once heard old Mrs. Hope say that it doesn't +matter how vulgar we are, so long as we know we are being vulgar. But +that isn't true. It's not much fun to know you are being vulgar and not +be able to help it." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley gave a convulsed ejaculation, but her daughter went +on. + +"Sometimes I've gone in of an afternoon to see Jean, and found her +darning stockings in her shabby frock, with a look on her face as if she +knew some happy secret; a sort of contented, brooding look--and I've +envied her. And so I talked of all the gaieties I was going to, of the +new clothes I was getting, of the smart people we know, and all the time +I was despising myself for a fool, for what did Jean care! She sat there +with her mind full of books and poetry and those boys she is so absurdly +devoted to; it was nothing to her how much I bucked; and this fortune +won't change her. Money is nothing--" + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley gasped despairingly to hear her cherished daughter +talking, as she thought, rank treason. + +"Oh, Muriel, how you can! And your poor father working so hard to make a +pile so that we could all be nice and comfortable. And you were his +favourite, and I've often thought how proud he would have been to see +his little girl so smart and pretty and able to hold her own with the +best of them. And I've worked too. Goodness knows I've worked hard. It +isn't as easy as it looks to keep your end up in Priorsford and keep the +villa-people in their places, and force the County to notice you. If I +had been like Mrs. Jowett you would just have had to be content with the +people on the Hill. Do you suppose I haven't known they didn't want to +come here and visit us? Oh, I knew, but I _made_ them. And it was all +for you. What did I care for them and their daft-like ways and their +uninteresting talk about dogs and books and things! It would have been +far nicer for me to have made friends with the people in the little +villas. My! I've often thought how I would relish a tea-party at the +Watsons'! Your father used to have a saying about it being better to be +at the head of the commonalty than at the tail of the gentry, and I know +it's true. Mrs. Duff-Whalley of The Towers would be a big body at the +Miss Watsons' tea-parties, and I know fine I'm only tolerated at the +Tweedies' and the Olivers' and all the others." + +"Poor Mother! You've been splendid!" + +"If you aren't happy, what does anything matter? I'm fair disheartened, +I tell you. I believe you're right. Money isn't much of a blessing. I've +never said it to you because you seemed so much a part of all the new +life, with your accent and your manners and your little dogs, but over +and over when people snubbed me, and I had to talk loud and brazen +because I felt so ill at ease, I've thought of the old days when I +helped your father in the shop. Those were my happiest days--before the +money came. I had a girl to look after the house and you children, and I +went between the house and the shop, and I never had a dull minute. Then +we came into some money, and that helped your father to extend and +extend. First we had a house in Murrayfield--and, my word, we thought we +were fine. But I aimed at Drumsheugh Gardens, and we got there. Your +father always gave in to me. Eh, he was a hearty man, your father. If +it's true what you say that none of you have charm, though I'm sure I +don't know what you mean by it, it's my blame, for your father was +popular with everyone. He used to laugh at me and my ambition, for, mind +you, I was always ambitious, but his was kindly laughter. Often and +often when I've been sitting all dressed up at some dinner-party, like +to yawn my head off with the dull talk, I've thought of the happy days +when I helped in the shop and did my own washing--eh, I little thought I +would ever live in a house where we never even know when it's washing +day--and went to bed tired and happy, and fell asleep behind your +father's broad back...." + +"Oh, Mother, don't cry. It's beastly of me to discourage you when you've +been the best of mothers to me. I wish I had known my father better, and +I do wish I could remember when we were all happy in the little house. +You've never been so very happy in The Towers, have you, Mother?" + +"No, but I wouldn't leave it for the world. Your father was so proud of +it. 'It's as like a hydro as a private house can be,' he often said, in +such a contented voice. He just liked to walk round and look at all the +contrivances he had planned, all the hot-rails and things in the +bathrooms and cloakrooms, and radiators in every room, and the wonderful +pantries--'tippy,' he called them. He couldn't understand people making +a fuss about old houses, and old furniture, grey walls half tumbling +down and mouldy rooms. He liked the new look of The Towers, and he said +to me, 'Mind, Aggie, I'm not going to let you grow any nonsense like ivy +or creepers up this fine new house. They're all very well for holding +together tumbledown old places, but The Towers doesn't need them. And +I'm sure he would be pleased to-day if he saw it. The times people have +advised me to grow ivy--even Lady Tweedie, the last time she came to +tea--but I never would. It's as new-looking as the day he left it.... +You don't want to leave The Towers, Muriel?" + +"No--o, but--don't you think, Mother, we needn't work quite so hard for +our social existence? I mean, let's be more friendly with the people +round us, and not strive so hard to keep in with the County set. If Miss +Reston can do it, surely we can." + +"But don't you see," her mother said, "Miss Reston can do it just +because she is Miss Reston. If you're a Lord's daughter you can be as +eccentric as you like, and make friends with anyone you choose. If we +did it, they would just say, 'Oh, so they've come off their perch!' and +once we let ourselves down we would never raise ourselves again. I +couldn't do it, Muriel. Don't ask me." + +"No. But we've got to be happier somehow. Climbing is exhausting work." +She stooped and picked up the two small dogs that lay on a cushion +beside her. "Isn't it, Bing? Isn't it, Toutou? You're happy, aren't you? +A warm fire and a cushion and some mutton-chop bones are good enough for +you. Well, we've got all these and we want more.... Mother, perhaps Jean +would tell us the secret of happiness." + +"As if I'd ask her," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + "Marvell, who had both pleasure and success, who must have enjoyed + life if ever man did, ... found his happiness in the garden where he + was."--From an article in _The Times Literary Supplement._ + + +Mrs. M'Cosh remained extremely sceptical about the reality of the +fortune until the lawyer came from London, "yin's errand to see Miss +Jean," as she explained importantly to Miss Bathgate, and he was such an +eminently solid, safe-looking man that her doubts vanished. + +"I wud say he wis an elder in the kirk, if they've onything as +respectable as an elder in England," was her summing up of the lawyer. + +Mr. Dickson (of Dickson, Staines, & Dickson), though a lawyer, was a +human being, and was able to meet Jean with sympathy and understanding +when she tried to explain to him her wishes. + +First of all, she was very anxious to know if Mr. Dickson thought it +quite fair that she should have the money. Was he _quite_ sure that +there were no relations, no one who had a real claim? + +Mr. Dickson explained to her what a singularly lonely, self-sufficing +man Peter Reid had been, a man without friends, almost without +interests--except the piling up of money. + +"I don't say he was unhappy; I believe he was very content, absolutely +absorbed in his game of money-making. But when he couldn't ignore any +longer the fact that there was something wrong with his health, and went +to the specialist and was told to give up work at once, he was +completely bowled over. Life held nothing more for him. I was very sorry +for the poor man ... he had only one thought--to go back to Priorsford, +his boyhood's home." + +"And I didn't know," said Jean, "or we would all have turned out there +and then and sat on our boxes in the middle of the road, or roosted in +the trees like crows, rather than keep him for an hour out of his own +house. He came and asked to see The Rigs and I was afraid he meant to +buy it: it was always our nightmare that the landlord in London would +turn us out.... He looked frail and shabby, and I jumped to the +conclusion that he was poor. Oh, I do wish I had known...." + +"He told me," Mr. Dickson went on, "when he came to see me on his +return, that he had come with the intention of asking the tenants to +leave The Rigs, but that he hadn't the heart to do it when he saw how +attached you were to the place. He added that you had been kind to him. +He was rather gruff and ashamed about his weakness, but I could see that +he had been touched to receive kindness from utter strangers. He was +amused in a sardonic way that you had thought him a poor man and had +yet been kind to him; he had an unhappy notion that in this world +kindness is always bought.... He had no heir, and I think I explained to +you in my letter that he had made up his mind to leave his whole fortune +to the first person who did anything for him without expecting payment. +You turned out to be that person, and I congratulate you, Miss Jardine, +most heartily. I would like to tell you that Mr. Reid planned everything +so that it would be as easy as possible for you, and asked me to come +and see you and explain in person. He seemed very satisfied when all was +in order. I saw him a few days before he died and I thought he looked +better, and told him so. But he only said, 'It's a great load off my +mind to get everything settled, and it's a blessing not to have an heir +longing to step into my shoes, and grudging me a few years longer on the +earth.' Two days later he passed away in his sleep. He was a curious, +hard man, whom few cared about, but at the end there was something +simple and rather pathetic about him. I think he died content." + +"Thank you for telling me about him," Jean said, and there was silence +for a minute. + +"And now may I hear your wishes?" said Mr. Dickson. + +"Can I do just as I like with the money? Well, will you please divide it +into four parts? That will be a quarter for each of us--David, Jock, +Mhor, me." + +Jean spoke as if the fortune was a lump of dough and Mr. Dickson the +baker, but the lawyer did not smile. + +"I understood you had only two brothers?" + +"Yes, David and Jock, but Mhor is an adopted brother. His name's Gervase +Taunton." + +"But--has he any claim on you?" + +Jean's face got pink. "I should think he has. He's _exactly_ like our +own brother." + +"Then you want him to have a full share?" + +"Of course. It's odd how people will assume one is a cad! When Mhor's +mother died (his father had died before) he came to us--his mother +_trusted him_ to us--and people kept saying, 'Why should you take him? +He has no claim on you.' As if Mhor wasn't the best gift we ever got.... +And when you have divided it, I wonder if you would take a tenth off +each share? We were brought up to give a tenth of any money we had to +God. I'm almost sure the boys would give it themselves. I _think_ they +would, but perhaps it would be safer to take it off first and put it +aside." + +Jean looked very straight at the lawyer. "I wouldn't like any of us to +be unjust stewards," she said. + +"No," said the lawyer--"no." + +"And perhaps," Jean went on, "the boys had better not get their shares +until they are twenty-five David could have it now, so far as sense +goes, but it's the responsibility I'm thinking about." + +"I would certainly let them wait until they are twenty-five. Their +shares will accumulate, of course, and be very much larger when they get +them." + +"But I don't want that," said Jean. "I want the interest on the money +to be added to the tenths that are laid away. It's better to give more +than the strict tenth. It's so horrid to be shabby about giving." + +"And what are the 'tenths,' to be used for?" + +"I'll tell you about that later, if I may. I'm not quite sure myself. I +shall have to ask Mr. Macdonald, our minister. He'll know. I'm never +quite certain whether the Bible means the tenth to be given in charity, +or kept entirely for churches and missions.... And I want to buy some +annuities, if you will tell me how to do it. Mrs. M'Cosh, our +servant--perhaps you noticed her when you came in? I want to make her +absolutely secure and comfortable in her old age. I hope she will stay +with us for a long time yet, but it will be nice for her to feel that +she can have a home of her own whenever she likes. And there are others +... but I won't worry you with them just now. It was most awfully kind +of you to come all the way from London to explain things to me, when you +must be very busy." + +"Coming to see you is part of my business," Mr. Dickson explained, "but +it has been a great pleasure too.... By the way, will you use the house +in Prince's Gate or shall we let it?" + +"Oh, do anything you like with it. I shouldn't think we would ever want +to live in London, it's such a noisy, overcrowded place, and there are +always hotels.... I'm quite content with The Rigs. It's such a comfort +to feel that it is our own." + +"It's a charming cottage," Mr. Dickson said, "but won't you want +something roomier? Something more imposing for an heiress?" + +"I hate imposing things," Jean said, very earnestly "I want to go on +just as we were doing, only with no scrimping, and more treats for the +boys. We've only got £350 a year now, and the thought of all this money +dazes me. It doesn't really mean anything to me yet." + +"It will soon. I hope your fortune is going to bring you much happiness, +though I doubt if you will keep much of it to yourself." + +"Oh yes," Jean assured him. "I'm going to buy myself a musquash coat +with a skunk collar. I've always wanted one frightfully. You'll stay and +have luncheon with us, won't you?" + +Mr. Dickson stayed to luncheon, and was treated with great respect by +Jock and Mhor. The latter had a notion that somewhere the lawyer had a +cave in which he kept Jean's fortune, great casks of gold pieces and +trunks of precious stones, and that any lack of manners on his part +might lose Jean her inheritance. He was disappointed to find him dressed +like any ordinary man. He had had a dim hope that he would look like Ali +Baba and wear a turban. + +After Mr. Dickson had finished saying all he had come to say, and had +gone to catch his train, Jean started out to call on her minister. +Pamela met her at the gate. + +"Well, Jean, and whither away? You look very grave. Are you going to +tell the King the sky's falling?" + +"Something of that kind. I'm going to see Mr. Macdonald. I've got +something I want to ask him." + +"I suppose you don't want me to go with you? I love an excuse to go and +see the Macdonalds. Oh, but I have one. Just wait a moment, Jean, while +I run back and fetch something." + +She joined Jean after a short delay, and they walked on together. Jean +explained that she was going to ask Mr. Macdonald's advice how best to +use her money. + +"Has the lawyer been?" Pamela asked, "Do you understand about things?" + +Jean told of Mr. Dickson's visit. + +"It's a fearful lot of money, Pamela. But when it's divided into four, +that's four people to share the responsibility." + +"And what are you going to do with your share?" + +"I'll tell you what I'm not going to do. I'm not going to take a house +and fill it with guests who will be consistently unpleasant, as the +Benefactress did. And I'm not going to build a sort of fairy palace and +commit suicide from the roof like the millionaire in that book _Midas_ +something or other. And I _hope_ I'm not going to lose my imagination +and forget what it feels like to be poor, and send a girl with a small +dress allowance half a dozen muslin handkerchiefs at Christmas." + +"I suppose you know, Jean--I don't want to be discouraging--that you +will get very little gratitude, that the people you try to help will +smarm to your face and blackguard you behind your back? You will be +hurt and disappointed times without number.... You see, my dear, I've +had money for quite a lot of years, and I know." + +Jean nodded. + +They were crossing the wide bridge over Tweed and she stopped and, +leaning her arms on the parapet, gazed up at Peel Tower. + +"Let's look at Peel for a little," she said. "It's been there such a +long time and must have seen so many people trying to do their best and +only succeeding in making mischief. It seems to say, 'Nothing really +matters: you'll all be in the tod's hole in less than a hundred years. I +remain, and the river and the hills.'" + +"Yes," said Pamela, "they are a great comfort, the unchanging +things--these placid round-backed hills, and the river and the grey +town--to us restless mortals.... Look, Jean, I want you to tell me if +you think this miniature is at all like Duncan Macdonald. You remember I +asked you to let me have that snapshot of him that you said was so +characteristic and I sent it to London to a woman I know who does +miniatures well. I thought his mother would like to have it. But you +must tell me if you think it good enough." + +Jean took the miniature and looked at the pictured face, a laughing +boy's face, fresh-coloured, frank, with flaxen hair falling over a broad +brow. + +When, after a minute, she handed it back she assured Pamela that the +likeness was wonderful. + +"She has caught it exactly, that look in his eyes as if he were telling +you it was 'fair time of day' with him. Oh, dear Duncan! It's fair time +of day with him now, I am sure, wherever he is.... He was twenty-two +when he fell three years ago.... You've often heard Mrs. Macdonald speak +of her sons. Duncan was the youngest by a lot of years--the baby. The +others are frighteningly clever, but Duncan was a lamb. They all adored +him, but he wasn't spoiled.... Life was such a joke to Duncan. I can't +even now think of him as dead. He was so full of abounding life one +can't imagine him lying still--quenched. You know that odd little poem: + + "'And Mary's the one that never liked angel stories, + And Mary's the one that's dead....' + +Death and Duncan seem such a long way apart. Many people are so dull and +apathetic that they never seem more than half alive, so they don't leave +much of a gap when they go. But Duncan--The Macdonalds are brave, but I +think living to them is just a matter of getting through now. The end of +the day will mean Duncan. I am glad you thought about getting the +miniature done. You do have such nice thoughts, Pamela." + +The Macdonalds' manse stood on the banks of Tweed, a hundred yards or so +below Peel Tower, a square house of grey stone in a charming garden. + +Mr. Macdonald loved his garden and worked in it diligently. It was his +doctor, he said. When his mind got stale and sermon-writing difficult, +when his head ached and people became a burden, he put on an old coat +and went out to dig, or plant or mow the grass. He grew wonderful +flowers, and in July, when his lupins were at their best, he took a +particular pleasure in enticing people out to see the effect of their +royal blue against the silver of Tweed. + +He had been a minister in Priorsford for close on forty years and had +never had more than £250 of a salary, and on this he and his wife had +brought up four sons who looked, as an old woman in the church said, "as +if they'd aye got their meat." There had always been a spare place at +every meal for any casual guest, and a spare bedroom looking over Tweed +that was seldom empty. And there had been no lowering of the dignity of +a manse. A fresh, wise-like, middle-aged woman opened the door to +visitors, and if you had asked her she would have told you she had been +in service with the Macdonalds since she was fifteen, and Mrs. Macdonald +would have added that she never could have managed without Agnes. + +The sons had worked their way with bursaries and scholarships through +school and college, and now three of them were in positions of trust in +the government of their country. One was in London, two in India--and +Duncan lay in France, that Holy Land of our people. + +It was a nice question his wife used to say before the War (when hearts +were lighter and laughter easier) whether Mr. Macdonald was prouder of +his sons or his flowers, and when, as sometimes happened he had them all +with him in the garden, his cup of content had been full. + +And now it seemed to him that when he was in the garden Duncan was +nearer him. He could see the little figure in a blue jersey marching +along the paths with a wheelbarrow, very important because he was +helping his father. He had called the big clump of azaleas "the burning +bush." ... He had always been a funny little chap. + +And it was in the garden that he had said good-bye to him that last +time. He had been twice wounded, and it was hard to go back again. There +was no novelty about it now, no eagerness or burning zeal, nothing but a +dogged determination to see the thing through. They had stood together +looking over Tweed to the blue ridge of Cademuir and Duncan had broken +the silence with a question: + +"What's the psalm, Father, about the man 'who going forth doth mourn'?" + +And with his eyes fixed on the hills the old minister had repeated: + + "'That man who bearing precious seed + In going forth doth mourn, + He, doubtless, bringing back the sheaves + Rejoicing will return.'" + +And Duncan had nodded his head and said, "That's it. 'Rejoicing will +return.'" And he had taken another long look at Cademuir. + +Many wondered what had kept such a man as John Macdonald all his life in +a small town like Priorsford. He did more good, he said, in a little +place; he would be of no use in a city; but the real reason was he knew +his health would not stand the strain. For many years he had been a +martyr to a particularly painful kind of rheumatism. He never spoke of +it if he could help it, and tried never to let it interfere with his +work, but his eyes had the patient look that suffering brings, and his +face often wore a twisted, humorous smile, as if he were laughing at his +own pain. He was now sixty-four. His sons, so far as they were allowed, +had smoothed the way for their parents, but they could not induce their +father to retire from the ministry. "I'll give up when I begin to feel +myself a nuisance," he would say. "I can still preach and visit my +people, and perhaps God will let me die in harness, with the sound of +Tweed in my ears." + +Mrs. Macdonald was, in Bible words, a "succourer of many." She was a +little stout woman with the merry heart that goes all the way, combined +with heavy-lidded, sad eyes, and a habit of sighing deeply. She affected +to take a sad view of everything, breaking into irrepressible laughter +in the middle of the most pessimistic utterances, for she was able to +see the humorous side of her own gloom. Mrs. Macdonald was a born giver; +everything she possessed she had to share. She was miserable if she had +nothing to bestow on a parting guest, small gifts like a few new-laid +eggs or a pot of home-made jam. + +"You know yourself," she would say, "what a satisfied feeling it gives +you to come away from a place with even the tiniest gift." + +Her popularity was immense. Sad people came to her because she sighed +with them and never tried to cheer them; dull people came to her +because she was never in offensive high spirits or in a boastful +mood--not even when her sons had done something particularly +striking--and happy people came to her, for, though she sighed and +warned them that nothing lasted in this world, her eyes shone with +pleasure, and her interest was so keen that every detail could be told +and discussed and gloated over with the comfortable knowledge that Mrs. +Macdonald would not say to her next visitor that she had been simply +_deaved_ with talk about So-and-so's engagement. + +Mrs. Macdonald believed in speaking her mind--if she had anything +pleasant to say, and she was sometimes rather startling in her frankness +to strangers. "My dear, how pretty you are," she would say to a girl +visitor, or, "Forgive me, but I must tell you I don't think I ever saw a +nicer hat." + +The women in the congregation had no comfort in their new clothes until +Mrs. Macdonald had pronounced on them. A word was enough. Perhaps at the +church door some congregational matter would be discussed; then, at +parting, a quick touch on the arm and--"Most successful bonnet I ever +saw you get," or, "The coat's worth all the money," or, "Everything new, +and you look as young as your daughter." + +Pamela and Jean found the minister and his wife in the garden. Mr. +Macdonald was pacing up and down the path overlooking the river, with +his next Sunday's sermon in his hand, while Mrs. Macdonald raked the +gravel before the front door (she liked the place kept so tidy that her +sons had been wont to say bitterly, as they spent an hour of their +precious Saturdays helping, that she dusted the branches and wiped the +faces of the flowers with a handkerchief) and carried on a conversation +with her husband which was of little profit, as the rake on the stones +dimmed the sense of her words. + +"Wasn't that right, John?" she was saying as her husband came near her. + +"Dear me, woman, how can I tell? I haven't heard a word you've been +saying. Here are callers. I'll get away to my visiting. Why! It's Jean +and Miss Reston--this is very pleasant." + +Mrs. Macdonald waved her hand to her visitors as she hurried away to put +the rake in the shed, reappearing in a moment like a stout little +whirlwind. + +"Come away, my dears. Up to the study, Jean; that's where the fire is +to-day. I'm delighted to see you both. What a blessing Agnes is baking +pancakes It seemed almost a waste, for neither John nor I eat them, but, +you see, they had just been meant for you.... I wouldn't go just now, +John. We'll have an early tea and that will give you a long evening." + +Jean explained that she specially wanted to see Mr. Macdonald. + +"And would you like me to go away?" Mrs. Macdonald asked. "Miss Reston +and I can go to the dining-room." + +"But I want you as much as Mr. Macdonald," said Jean. "It's your advice +I want--about the money, you know." + +Mrs. Macdonald gave a deep sigh. "Ah, money," she said--"the root of all +evil." + +"Not at all, my dear," her husband corrected. "The love of money is the +root of all evil--a very different thing. Money can be a very fine +thing." + +"Oh," said Jean, "that's what I want you to tell me. How can I make this +money a blessing?" + +Mr. Macdonald gave his twisted smile. + +"And am I to answer you in one word, Jean? I fear it's a word too wide +for a mouth of this age's size. You will have to make mistakes and learn +by them and gradually feel your way." + +"The most depressing thing about money," put in his wife, "is that the +Bible should say so definitely that a rich man can hardly get into +heaven. Oh, I know all about a needle's eye being a gate, but I've +always a picture in my own mind of a camel and an ordinary +darning-needle, and anything more hopeless could hardly be imagined." + +Mrs. Macdonald had taken up a half-finished sock, and, as she disposed +of the chances of all the unfortunate owners of wealth, she briskly +turned the heel. Jean knew her hostess too well to be depressed by her, +so she smiled at the minister, who said, "Heaven's gate is too narrow +for a man and his money; that goes without saying, Jean." + +Jean leant forward and said eagerly, "What I really want to know is +about the tenth we are to put away as not being our own. Does it count +if it is given in charity, or ought it to be given to Church things and +missions?" + +"Whatever is given to God will 'count,' as you put it--lighting, where +you can, candles of kindness to cheer and warm and lighten." + +"I see," said Jean. "Of course, there are heaps of things one could +slump money away on, hospitals and institutions and missions, but these +are all so impersonal. I wonder, would it be pushing and _furritsome_, +do you think, if I tried to help ministers a little?--ministers, I mean, +with wives and families and small incomes shut away in country places +and in the poor parts of big towns? It would be such pleasant helping to +me." + +"Now," said Mrs. Macdonald, "that's a really sensible idea, Jean. +There's no manner of doubt that the small salaries of the clergy are a +crying scandal. I don't like ministers to wail in the papers about it, +but the laymen should wail until things are changed. Ministers don't +enter the Church for the loaves and fishes, but the labourer is worthy +of his hire, and they must have enough to live on decently. Living has +doubled. I couldn't manage as things are now, and I'm a good manager, +though I says it as shouldn't.... The fight I've had all my life nobody +will ever know. Now that we have plenty, I can talk about it. I never +hinted it to anybody when we were struggling through; indeed, we washed +our faces and anointed our heads and appeared not unto men to fast! The +clothes and the boots and the butcher's bills! It's pleasant to think of +now, just as it's pleasant to look from the hilltop at the steep road +you've come. The boys sometimes tell me that they are glad we were too +poor to have a nurse, for it meant that they were brought up with their +father and me. We had our meals together, and their father helped them +with their lessons. Indeed, it's only now I realise how happy I was to +have them all under one roof." + +She stopped and sighed, and went on again with a laugh. "I remember one +time a week before the Sustentation Fund was due, I was down to one +six-pence And of course a collector arrived! D'you remember that, +John?... And the boys worked so hard to educate themselves. All except +Duncan. Oh, but I am glad that my little laddie had an easy time--when +it was to be such a short one." + +"He always wanted to be a soldier," Mr. Macdonald said. "You remember, +Anne, when you tried to get him to say he would be a minister? He was +about six then, I think. He said, 'No, it's not a white man's job,' and +then looked at me apologetically afraid that he had hurt my feelings. +When the War came he went 'most jocund, apt, and willingly,' but without +any ill-will in his heart to the Germans. + + "'He left no will but good will + And that to all mankind....'" + +Mrs. Macdonald stared into the fire with tear-blurred eyes and said: "I +sometimes wonder if they died in vain. If this is the new world it's a +far worse one than the old. Class hatred, discontent, wild extravagance +in some places, children starving in others, women mad for pleasure, +and the dead forgotten already except by the mothers--the mothers who +never to their dying day will see a fresh-faced boy without a sword +piercing their hearts and a cry rising to their lips, 'My son! My son!'" + +"It's all true, Anne," said her husband, "but the sacrifice of love and +innocence can never be in vain. Nothing can ever dim that sacrifice. The +country's dead will save the country as they saved it before. Those +young lives have gone in front to light the way for us." + +Mrs. Macdonald took up her sock again with a long sigh. + +"I wish I could comfort myself with thoughts as you can, John, but I +never had any mind. No, Jean, you needn't protest so politely. I'm a +good house-wife and I admit my shortbread is 'extra,' as Duncan used to +say. Duncan was very sorry as a small boy that he had left heaven and +come to stay with us. He used to say with a sigh, 'You see, heaven's +extra.' I don't know where he picked up the expression. But what I was +going to say is that people are so wretchedly provoking. This morning I +was really badly provoked. For one thing, I was very busy doing the +accounts of the Girls' Club (you know I have no head for figures), and +Mrs. Morton strolled in to see me, to cheer me up, she said. Cheer me +up! She maddened me. I haven't been forty years a minister's wife +without learning patience, but it would have done me all the good in the +world to take that woman by her expensive fur coat and walk her rapidly +out of the room. She sat there breathing opulence, and told me how hard +it was for her to live--she, a lone woman with six servants to wait on +her and a car and a chauffeur! 'I am not going to give to this War +Memorial,' she said. 'At this time it seems rather a wasteful +proceeding, and it won't do the men who have fallen any good.' ... I +could have told her that surely it wasn't _waste_ the men were thinking +about when they poured out their youth like wine that she and her like +might live and hug their bank books." + +Mr. Macdonald had moved from his chair in the window, and now stood with +one hand on the mantelshelf looking into the fire. "Do you remember," he +said, "that evening in Bethany when Mary took a box of spikenard, very +costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, so that the odour of the +ointment filled the house? Judas--that same Judas who carried the bag +and was a robber--was much concerned about the waste. He said that the +box might have been sold for three hundred pence and given to the poor. +And Jesus, rebuking him, said, 'The poor always ye have with you, but Me +ye have not always.'" + +He stopped abruptly and went over to his writing-table and made as +though he were arranging papers. Presently he said, "Anne, you've been +here." His tone was accusing. + +"Only writing a post card," said his wife quickly. "I can't have made +much of a mess." She turned to her visitors and explained: "John is a +regular old maid about his writing-table; everything must be so tidy +and unspotted." + +"Well, I can't understand," said her husband, "why anyone so neat handed +as you are should be such a filthy creature with ink. You seem +positively to sling it about." + +"Well," said Mrs. Macdonald, changing the subject "I like your idea of +helping ministers, Jean. I've often thought if I had the means I would +know how to help. A cheque to a minister in a city-charge for a holiday; +a cheque to pay a doctor's bill and ease things a little for a worn-out +wife. You've a great chance, Jean." + +"I know," said Jean, "if you will only tell me how to begin." + +"I'll soon do that," said practical Mrs. Macdonald "I've got several in +my mind this moment that I just ache to give a hand to. But only the +very rich can help. You can't in decency take from people who have only +enough to go on with.... Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll see if Agnes is +getting the tea. I want you to taste my rowan and crab-apple jelly, Miss +Reston, and if you like it you will take some home with you." + + + * * * * * + +As they left the Manse an hour later, laden with gifts, Pamela said to +Jean, "I would rather be Mrs. Macdonald than anyone else I know. She is +a practising Christian. If I had done a day's work such as she has done +I think I would go out of the world pretty well pleased with myself." + +"Yes," Jean agreed. "If life is merely a chance of gaining love she +will come out with high marks. Did you give her the miniature?" + +"Yes, just as we left, when you had walked on to the gate with Mr. +Macdonald. She was so absurdly grateful she made me cry. You would have +thought no one had ever given her a gift before." + +"The world," said Jean, "is divided into two classes, the givers and the +takers. Nothing so touches and pleases and surprises a 'giver' as to +receive a gift. The 'takers' are too busy standing on their hind legs +(like Peter at tea-time) looking wistfully for the next bit of cake to +be very appreciative of the biscuit of the moment." + +"Bless me!" said Pamela, "Jean among the cynics!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + "The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, + Lets in the light through chinks that time has made: + Stronger by weakness wiser men become + As they draw near to their eternal home: + Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view + That stand upon the threshold of the new." + + EDMUND WALLER. + + +One day Pamela walked down to Hopetoun to lunch with Mrs. Hope. Augusta +had gone away on a short visit and Pamela had promised to spend as much +time as possible with her mother. + +"You won't be here much longer," Mrs. Hope had said, "so spend as much +time with me as you can spare, and we'll talk books and quote poetry, +and," she had finished defiantly, "I'll miscall my neighbours if I feel +inclined." + +It was February now, and there was a hint of spring in the air. The sun +was shining as if trying to make up for the days it had missed, the +green shoots were pushing daringly forth, and a mavis in a holly-bush +was chirping loudly and cheerfully. To-morrow they might be plunged back +into winter, the green things nipped and discouraged, the birds +silent--but to-day it was spring. + +Pamela lingered by Tweedside listening to the mavis, looking back at +the bridge spanning the river, the church steeple high against the pale +blue sky, the little town pouring its houses down to the water's edge. +Hopetoun Woods were still bare and brown, but soon the larches would get +their pencils, the beeches would unfurl tiny leaves of living green, and +the celandines begin to poke their yellow heads through the carpet of +last year's leaves. + +Mrs. Hope was sitting close to the window that looked out on the +Hopetoun Woods. The spring sunshine and the notes of the mavis had +brought to her a rush of memories. + + "For what can spring renew + More fiercely for us than the need of you." + +Her knitting lay on her lap, a pile of new books stood on the table +beside her, but her hands were idly folded, and she did not look at the +books, did not even notice the sunshine; her eyes were with her heart, +and that was far away across the black dividing sea in the last +resting-places of her three sons. Wild laddies they had been, never at +rest, never out of mischief, and now--"a' quaitit noo in the grave." + +She turned to greet her visitor with her usual whimsical smile. She had +grown very fond of Pamela; they were absolutely at ease with each other, +and could enjoy talking, or sitting together in silence. + +To-day the conversation was brisk between the two at luncheon. Pamela +had been with Jean to Edinburgh and Glasgow on shopping expeditions, and +Mrs. Hope was keen to hear all about them. + +"I could hardly persuade her to go," Pamela said. "Her argument was, +'Why get clothes from Paris if you can get them in Priorsford?' She only +gave in to please me, but she enjoyed herself mightily. We went first to +Edinburgh--my first visit except just waiting a train." + +"And weren't you charmed? Edinburgh is our own town, and we are +inordinately proud of it. It's full of steep streets and east winds and +high houses, and you can't move a step without treading on a W.S., but +it's a fine place for all that." + +"It's a fairy-tale place to see," Pamela said. "The castle at sunset, +the sudden glimpses of the Forth, Holyrood dreaming in the mist--these +are pictures that will remain with one always. But Glasgow--" + +"I know almost nothing of Glasgow," said Mrs. Hope, "but I like the +people that come from it. They are not so devoured by gentility as our +Edinburgh friends; they are more living, more human...." + +"Are Edinburgh people very refined?" + +"Oh, some of them can hardly see out of their eyes for gentility. I +delight in it myself, though I've never attained to it. I'm told you see +it in its finest flower in the suburbs. A friend of mine was going out +by train to Colinton, and she overheard two girls talking. One said, 'I +was at a dence lest night.' The other, rather condescendingly, replied, +'Oh, really! And who do you dence with out at Colinton?' 'It depends,' +said the first girl. 'Lest night, for instance, I was up to my neck in +advocates.' ... Priorsford's pretty genteel too. You know the really +genteel by the way they say 'Good-bai.' The rest of us who +pride ourselves on not being provincial say--you may have +noticed--'Good-ba--a.'" + +Pamela laughed, and said she had noticed the superior accent of +Priorsford. + +"Jean and I were much interested in the difference between Edinburgh and +Glasgow shops. Not in the things they sell--the shops in both places are +most excellent--but in the manner of selling. The girls in the Edinburgh +shops are nice and obliging--the war-time manner doesn't seem to have +reached shop-assistants in Scotland, luckily--but quite Londonish with +their manners and their 'Moddom.' In Glasgow, they give one such a +feeling of personal interest. You would really think it mattered to them +what you chose. They delighted Jean by remarking as she tried on a hat, +'My, you look a treat in that!' We bought a great deal more than we +needed, for we hadn't the heart to refuse what was brought with such +enthusiasm. 'I don't know what it is about that hat, but it's awful nice +somehow Distinctive, if you know what I mean. I think when you get it +home you'll like it awful well--' Who would refuse a hat after such a +recommendation?" + +"Who indeed! Oh, they're a hearty people. Has Jean got the fur coat she +coveted?" + +"She hasn't. It was a great disappointment, poor child. She was so +excited when she saw them being brought in rich profusion, but when she +tried them on all desire to possess one left her: they became her so +ill. They buried her, somehow. She said herself she looked like 'a mouse +under a divot,' whatever that may be, and they really did make her look +like five out of any six women one meets in the street. Fur coats are +very levelling things. Later on when I get her to London we'll see what +can be done. Jean needs careful dressing to bring out that very real but +elusive beauty of hers. I persuaded her in the meantime to get a soft +cloth coat made with a skunk collar and cuffs.... She was so funny about +under-things. I wanted her to get some sets of _crêpe-de-Chine_ things, +but she was adamant. She didn't at all approve of them, and said she +liked under-things that would _boil_. She has always had very dainty +things made by herself; Great-aunt Alison taught her to do beautiful +fine sewing.... Jean is a delightful person to do things with; she +brings such a freshness to everything is never bored, never blasé. I was +glad to see her so deeply interested in new clothes. I confess to having +a deep distrust of a woman who is above trying to make herself +attractive. She is an insufferable thing." + +"I quite agree, my dear. A woman deliberately careless of her appearance +is an offence. But, on the other hand, the opposite can be carried too +far. Look at Mrs. Jowett!" + +"Oh, dear Mrs. Jowett, with her lace and her delicate, faded tints; and +her tears of sentiment and her marvellous maids!" + +"A good woman," said Mrs. Hope, "but silly. She fears a draught more +than she does the devil. I'm always reminded of her when I read _Weir of +Hermiston._ She has many points in common with Mrs. Weir--'a dwaibly +body.' Of the two, I really prefer Mrs. Duff-Whalley. _Her_ great +misfortune was being born a woman. With all that energy and perfect +health, that keen brain and the indomitable strain that never knows when +it is beaten, she might have done almost anything. She might have been a +Lipton or a Coats, or even gone out and discovered the South Pole, or +contested Lloyd George's Welsh seat in the Conservative interest. As a +woman she is cribbed and cabined. What she has set herself to do is to +force what she calls 'The County' to recognise her, and marry off her +girl as well as possible. She has accomplished the first part through +sheer perseverance, and I've no doubt she will accomplish the second; +the girl is pretty and well dowered. I have a liking for the woman, +especially if I haven't seen her for a little. There is some bite in her +conversation. Mrs. Jowett is a sweet woman, but to me she is like a +vacuum cleaner. When I've talked to her for ten minutes my head feels +like a cushion that has been cleaned--a sort of empty, yet swollen +feeling. I never can understand how Mr. Jowett has gone through life +with her and kept his reason. But there's no doubt men like sweet, +sentimental women, and I suppose they are restful in a house.... Shall +we have coffee in the drawing-room? It's cosier." + +In the drawing-room they settled down before the fire very contentedly +silent. Pamela idly reached out for a book and read a little here and +there as she sipped her coffee, while her hostess looked into the fire. +The room seemed to dream in the spring sunshine. Generations of Hopes +had lived in it, and each mistress had set her mark on the room. +Beautiful old cabinets stood against the white walls, while beaded +ottomans worked in the early days of Victoria jostled slender +Chippendale chairs and tables. A large comfortable Chesterfield and +down-cushioned arm-chairs gave the comfort moderns ask for. Nothing +looked out of place, for the room with its gracious proportions took all +the incongruities--the family Raeburns, the Queen Anne cabinets, the +miniatures, the Victorian atrocities, the weak water-colour sketches, +the framed photographs of whiskered gentlemen and ladies with bustles, +and made them into one pleasing whole. There is no charm in a room +furnished from showrooms, though it be correct in every detail to the +period chosen. Much more human is the room that is full of things, ugly, +perhaps, in themselves but which link one generation to another. The +ottoman worked so laboriously by a ringleted great-aunt stood with its +ugly mahogany legs beside a Queen Anne chair, over whose faded wool-work +seat a far-off beauty had pricked her dainty fingers--and both of the +workers were Hopes: while by Pamela's side stood a fire-screen stitched +by Augusta, the last of the Hopes. "I wonder," said Mrs. Hope, breaking +the silence, "what has become of Lewis Elliot? I haven't heard from him +since he went away. Do you know where he is just now?" + +Pamela shook her head. + +"Why don't you marry him, Pamela?" + +"For a very good reason--he hasn't asked me." + +"Hoots!" said Mrs. Hope, "as if that mattered!" + +Pamela lifted her eyebrows. "It is generally considered rather +necessary, isn't it?" she asked mildly. + +"You know quite well that he would ask you to-morrow if you gave him the +slightest encouragement The man's afraid of you, that's what's wrong." + +Pamela nodded. + +"Is that why you have remained Pamela Reston? My dear, men are fools, +and blind. And Lewis is modest as well. But ...forgive me blundering. +I've a long tongue, but you would think at my age I might keep it +still." + +"No, I don't mind your knowing. I don't think anyone else ever had a +suspicion of it. And I thought myself I had long since got over it. +Indeed when I came here I was contemplating marrying someone else." + +"Tell me, did you know Lewis was here when you came to Priorsford?" + +"No--I'd completely lost trace of him. I was too proud ever to inquire +after him when he suddenly gave up coming near us. Priorsford suggested +itself to me as a place to come to for a rest, chiefly, I suppose, +because I had heard of it from Lewis, but I had no thought of seeing +him. Indeed, I had no notion that he had still a connection with the +place. And then Jean suddenly said his name. I knew then I hadn't +forgotten; my heart leapt up in the old unreasonable way. I met him--and +thought he cared for Jean." + +"Yes. I used sometimes to wonder why Lewis didn't fall in love with +Jean. Of course he was too old for her, but it would have been quite a +feasible match. Now I know that he cared for you all the time. Oh, I'm +not surprised that he looked at no one else. But that you should have +waited.... There must have been so many suitors...." + +"A few. But some people are born faithful. Anyway, I'm so glad that when +I thought he cared for Jean it made no difference in my feelings to her. +I should have felt so humiliated if I had been petty enough to hate her +for what she couldn't help. My brother Biddy wants to marry Jean, and +I've great hopes that it may work out all right." + +Mrs. Hope sat forward in her chair. + +"I had my suspicions. Jean has changed lately; nothing to take hold of, +but I have felt a difference. It wasn't the money--that's an external +thing--the change was in Jean herself, a certain reticence where there +had been utter frankness; a laugh more frequent, but not quite so gay +and light-hearted. Has he spoken to her?" + +"Yes, but Jean wouldn't hear of it." + +"Dear me! I could have sworn she cared." + +"I think she does, but Jean is proud. What a silly thing pride is! +However, Biddy is very tenacious, and he isn't at all down-hearted about +his rebuff. He's quite sure that Jean and he were meant for each other, +and he has great hopes of convincing Jean. I've never mentioned the +subject to her, she is so tremendously reticent and shy about such +things. I talk about Biddy in a casual way, but if I hadn't known from +Biddy I would have learned from Jean's averted eyes that something had +happened. The child gives herself away every time." + +"This, I suppose, happened before the fortune came. What effect will the +money have, I wonder?" + +"I wonder too," said Pamela. "Now that Jean feels she has something to +give it may make a difference. I wish she would speak to me about it, +but I can't force her confidence." + +"No," said Mrs. Hope. "You can't do that. As you say, Jean is very +reticent. I think I'm rather hurt that she hasn't confided in me. She is +almost like my own.... She was a little child when the news came that +Sandy, my youngest boy, was gone.... I'm reticent too, and I couldn't +mention his name, or speak about my sorrow, and Jean seemed to +understand. She used to garden beside me, and chatter about her baby +affairs, and ask me questions, and I sometimes thought she saved my +reason...." + +Pamela sat silent. It was well known that no one dared mention her sons' +names to Mrs. Hope. Figuratively she removed her shoes from off her +feet, for she felt that it was holy ground. + +Mrs. Hope went on. "I dare say you have heard about--my boys. They all +died within three years, and Augusta and I were left alone. Generally I +get along, but to-day--perhaps because it is the first spring day, and +they were so young and full of promise--it seems as if I must speak +about them. Do you mind?" + +Pamela took the hand that lay on the black silk lap and kissed it. "Ah, +my dear," she said. + +"Archie was my eldest son. His father and I dreamed dreams about him. +They came true, though not in the way we would have chosen. He went into +the Indian Civil Service--the Hopes were always a far-wandering +race--and he gave his life fighting famine in his district.... And Jock +would be nothing but a soldier--_my_ Jock with his warm heart and his +sudden rages and his passion for animals! (Jock Jardine reminds me of +him just a little.) There never was anyone more lovable and he was +killed in a Frontier raid--two in a year. Their father was gone, and for +that I was, thankful; one can bear sorrow oneself, but it is terrible to +see others suffer. Augusta was a rock in a weary land to me; nobody +knows what Augusta is but her mother. We had Sandy, our baby, left, and +we managed to go on. But Sandy was a soldier too, and when the Boer War +broke out, of course he had to go. I knew when I said good-bye to him +that whoever came back it wouldn't be my laddie. He was too +shining-eyed, too much all that was young and innocent and brave to win +through.... Archie and Jock were men, capable, well equipped to fight +the world, but Sandy was our baby--he was only twenty.... Of all the +things the dead possessed it is the thought of their gentleness that +breaks the heart. You can think of their qualities of brain and heart +and be proud, but when you think of their gentleness and their youth you +can only weep and weep. I think our hearts broke--Augusta's and +mine--when Sandy went.... He had been, they told us later, the life of +his company. His spirits never went down. It was early morning, and he +was singing 'Annie Laurie' when the bullet killed him--like a lark shot +down in the sun-rising.... His great friend came to see us when +everything was over. He was a very honest fellow, and couldn't have made +up things to tell us if he had tried. He sat and racked his brains for +details, for he saw that we hungered and thirsted for anything. At last +he said, 'Sandy was a funny fellow. If you left a cake near him he ate +all the currants out of it.' ... My little boy, my little, _little_ boy! +I don't know why I should cry. We had him for twenty years. Stir the +fire, will you, Pamela, and put on a log--I don't like it when it gets +dull. Old people need a blaze even when the sun is outside." + +"You mustn't say you are old," Pamela said, as she threw on a log and +swept the hearth, shading her eyes, smarting with tears, from the blaze. +"You must stay with Augusta for a long time. Think how everyone would +miss you. Priorsford wouldn't be Priorsford without you." + +"Priorsford would never look over its shoulder. Augusta would miss me, +yes, and some of the poor folk, but I've too ill-scrapit a tongue to be +much liked. Sorrow ought to make people more tender, but it made my +tongue bitter. To an unregenerate person with an aching heart like +myself it is a relief to slash out at the people who annoy one by being +too correct, or too consciously virtuous. I admit it's wrong, but there +it is. I've prayed for charity and discretion, but my tongue always runs +away with me. And I really can't be bothered with those people who never +say an ill word of anyone. It makes conversation as savourless as +porridge without salt. One needn't talk scandal. I hate scandal--but +there is no harm in remarking on the queer ways of your neighbours: +anyone who likes can remark on mine. Even when you are old and done and +waiting for the summons it isn't wrong surely to get amusement out of +the other pilgrims--if you can. Do you know your _Pilgrim's Progress_, +Pamela? Do you remember where Christiana and the others reach the Land +of Beulah? It is the end of the journey, and they have nothing to do but +to wait, while the children go into the King's gardens and gather there +sweet flowers.... It is all true. I know, for I have reached the Land of +Beulah. 'How welcome is death,' says Bunyan, 'to them that have nothing +to do but to die.' For the last twenty-five years the way has been +pretty hard. I've stumbled along very lamely, followed my Lord on +crutches like Mr. Fearing, but now the end is in sight and I can be at +ease. All these years I have never been able to read the letters and +diaries of my boys--they tore my very heart--but now I can read them +without tears, and rejoice in having had such sons to give. I used to be +tortured by dreams of them, when I thought I held them and spoke to +them, and woke to weep in agony, but now when they come to me I can wake +and smile, satisfied that very soon they will be mine again. Sorrow is a +wonderful thing. It shatters this old earth, but it makes a new heaven. +I can thank God now for taking my boys. Augusta is a saint and +acquiesced from the first, but I was rebellious. I see that Heaven and +myself had part in my boys; now Heaven has all, and all the better is it +for the boys. I hope God will forgive my bitterness, and all the grief I +have given with words. 'No suffering is for the present joyous +... nevertheless afterwards....' When the Great War broke out and the +terrible casualty lists became longer and longer, and 'with rue our +hearts were laden,' I found some of the 'peaceable fruits' we are +promised. I found I could go without impertinence into the house of +mourning, even when I hardly knew the people, and ask them to let me +share their grief, and I think sometimes I was able to help just a +little." + +"I know how you helped," said Pamela; "the Macdonalds told me. Do you +know, I think I envy you. You have suffered much, but you have loved +much. Your life has meant something. Looking back I've nothing to think +on but social successes that now seem very small and foolish, and years +of dressing and talking and dancing and laughing. My life seems like a +brightly coloured bubble--as light and as useless." + +"Not useless. We need the flowers and the butterflies and the things +that adorn.... I wish Jean would give herself over to pleasure for a +little. Her poor little head is full of schemes--quite practical schemes +they are too, she has a shrewd head--about helping others. I tell her +she will do it all in good time, but I want her to forget the woes of +the world for a little and rejoice in her youth." + +"I know," said Pamela. "I was astonished to find how responsible she +felt for the misery in the world. She is determined to build a heaven in +hell's despair! It reminds one of Saint Theresa setting out holding her +little brother's hand to convert the Moors!... Now I've stayed too long +and tired you, and Augusta will have me assassinated. Thank you, my very +dear lady, for letting me come to see you, and for--telling me about +your sons. Bless you...." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + "For never anything can be amiss + When simpleness and duty tender it." + + _As You Like It_. + + +The lot of the conscientious philanthropist is not an easy one. The kind +but unthinking rich can strew their benefits about, careless of their +effect on the recipients, but the path of the earnest lover of his +fellows is thorny and difficult, and dark with disappointment. + +To Jean in her innocence it had seemed that money was the one thing +necessary to make bright the lives of her poorer neighbours. She +pictured herself as a sort of fairy godmother going from house to house +carrying sunshine and leaving smiles and happiness in her wake. She soon +found that her dreams had been rosy delusions. Far otherwise was the +result of her efforts. + +"It's like something in a fairy-tale," she complained to Pamela. "You +are given a fairy palace, but when you try to go to it mountains of +glass are set before you and you can't reach it. You can't think how +different the people are to me now. The very poor whom I thought I could +help don't treat me any longer like a friend to whom they can tell +their troubles in a friendly way. The poor-spirited ones whine, with an +eye on my pocket, and where I used to get welcoming smiles I now only +get expectant grins. And the high-spirited ones are so afraid that I'll +offer them help that their time is spent in snubbing me and keeping me +in my place." + +"It's no use getting down about it," Pamela told her. "You are only +finding what thousands have found before you, that's it the most +difficult thing in the world to be wisely charitable. You will never +remove mountains. If you can smooth a step here and there for people and +make your small corner of the world as pleasant as possible you do very +well." + +Jean agreed with a sigh. "If I don't finish by doing harm. I have awful +thoughts sometimes about the dire effects money may have on the boys--on +Mhor especially. In any case it will change their lives entirely. It's a +solemnising thought," and she laughed ruefully. + +Jean plodded on her well-doing way, and knocked her head against many +posts, and blundered into pitfalls, and perhaps did more good and earned +more real gratitude than she had any idea of. + +"It doesn't matter if I'm cheated ninety-nine times if I'm some real +help the hundredth time," she told herself. "Puir thing," said the +recipients of her bounty, in kindly tolerance, "she means weel, and it's +a kindness to help her awa' wi' some o' her siller. A' she gies us is +juist like tippence frae you or me." + +One woman, at any rate, blessed Jean in her heart, though her stiff, +ungracious lips could not utter a word of thanks. Mary Abbot lived in a +neat cottage surrounded by a neat garden. She was a dressmaker in a +small way, and had supported her mother till her death. She had been +very happy with her work and her bright, tidy house and her garden and +her friends, but for more than a year a black fear had brooded over her. +Her sight, which was her living, was going. She saw nothing before her +but the workhouse. Death she would have welcomed, but this was shame. +For months she had fought it out, as her eyes grew dimmer, letting no +one know of the anxiety that gnawed at her heart. No one suspected +anything wrong. She was always neatly dressed at church, she always had +her small contribution ready for collectors, her house shone with +rubbing, and as she did not seem to want to take in sewing now, people +thought that she must have made a competency and did not need to work so +hard. + +Jean knew Miss Abbot well by sight. She had sat behind her in church all +the Sundays of her life, and had often admired the tidy appearance of +the dressmaker, and thought that she was an excellent advertisement of +her own wares. Lately she had noticed her thin and ill-coloured, and +Mrs. Macdonald had said one day, "I wonder if Miss Abbot is all right. +She used to be such a help at the sewing meeting, and now she doesn't +come at all, and her excuses are lame. When I go to see her she always +says she is perfectly well, but I am not at ease about her. She's the +sort of woman who would drop before she made a word of complaint...." + +One morning when passing the door Jean saw Miss Abbot polishing her +brass knocker. She stopped to say good morning. + +"Are you keeping well, Miss Abbot? There is so much illness about." + +"I'm in my usual, thank you," said Miss Abbot stiffly. + +"I always admire the flowers in your window," said Jean. "How do you +manage to keep them so fresh looking? Ours get so mangy. May I come in +for a second and look at them?" + +Miss Abbot stood aside and said coldly that Jean might come in if she +liked, but her flowers were nothing extra. + +It was the tidiest of kitchens she entered. Everything shone that could +be made to shine. A hearthrug made by Miss Abbot's mother lay before the +fireplace, in which a mere handful of fire was burning. An arm-chair +with cheerful red cushions stood beside the fire. It was quite +comfortable, but Jean felt a bareness. There were no pots on the +fire--nothing seemed to be cooking for dinner. + +She admired the flowers and got instructions from their owner when to +water and when to refrain from watering, and then, seating herself in a +chair with an assurance she was far from feeling, she proceeded to try +to make Miss Abbot talk. That lady stood bolt upright waiting for her +visitor to go, but Jean, having got a footing, was determined to remain. + +"Are you very busy just now?" she asked. "I was wondering if you could +do some sewing for me? I don't know whether you ever go out by the day?" + +"No," said Miss Abbot. + +"We could bring it you here if you would do it at your leisure." + +"I can't take in any more work just now. I'm sorry." + +"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. Perhaps later on.... I'm keeping you. It's +Saturday morning, and you'll want to get on with your work." + +"Yes." + +There was a silence, and Jean reluctantly rose to go. Miss Abbot had +turned her back and was looking into the fire. + +"Good morning, Miss Abbot. Thank you so much for letting me know about +the flowers." Then she saw that Miss Abbot was crying--crying in a +hopeless, helpless way that made Jean's heart ache. She went to her and +put her hand on her arm. "Won't you tell me what's wrong? Do sit down +here in the arm-chair. I'm sure you're not well." + +Miss Abbot allowed herself to be led to the arm-chair Having once given +way she was finding it no easy matter to regain control of herself. + +"Is it that you aren't well?" Jean asked. "I know it's a wretched +business trying to go on working when one is seedy." + +Miss Abbot shook her head. "It's far worse than that. I have to refuse +work for I can't see to do it. I'm losing my sight and ...and there is +nothing before me but the workhouse." + +Over and over again in the silence of the night she had said those +words to herself: she had seen them written in letters of fire on the +walls of her little room: they had seemed seared into her brain, but she +had never meant to tell a soul, not even the minister, and here she was +telling this slip of a girl. + +Jean gave a cry and caught her hands. "Oh no, no! Never that!" + +"I've no relations," said Miss Abbot. She was quiet now and calm, and +hopeless. "And if I had I couldn't be a burden on them. Nobody wants a +penniless, half-blind woman. I've had to use up all my savings this +winter ...it will just have to be the workhouse." + +"But it shan't be," said Jean. "What's the use of me if I'm not to help? +No. Don't stiffen and look at me like that. I'm not offering you +charity. Perhaps you may have heard that I've been left a lot of +money--in trust. It's your money as much as mine; if it's anybody's it's +God's money. I felt I just couldn't pass your door this morning, and I +spoke to you, though I was frightfully scared--you looked so +stand-offish.... Now listen. All I've got to do is to send your name to +my lawyer--he's in London, and he knows nothing about anybody in +Priorsford, so you needn't worry about him--and he will arrange that you +get a sufficient income all your life. No, it isn't charity. You've +fought hard all your life for others, and it's high time you got a rest. +Everyone should get a rest and a competency when they are sixty. (Not +that you are nearly that, of course.) Some day that happy state of +affairs will be. Now the kettle's almost boiling, and I'm going to make +you a cup of tea. Where's the caddy?" + +There was a spoonful of tea in the caddy, but in the cupboard there was +only the heel of a loaf--no butter, no cheese, no jam. + +"I'm at the end of my tether," Miss Abbot admitted. "And unless I touch +the money laid away for my rent, I haven't a penny in the house." + +"Then," said Jean, "it was high time I turned up." She heated the teapot +and poked the bit of coal into a blaze. "Now here's your tea"--she +reached for her bag that lay on the table--"and here's some money to go +on with. Oh, please don't let's go over it all again. Do, my dear, be +reasonable." + +"I doubt it's charity," said poor Miss Abbot, "but I cannot refuse. +Indeed, I don't seem to take it in.... I've whiles dreamed something +like this, and cried when I wakened. This last year has been something +awful--trying to hide my failing eye-sight and pretending I didn't need +sewing when I was near starving, and always seeing the workhouse before +me. When I got up this morning there seemed to be a high wall in front +of me, and I knew I had come to the end. I thought God had forgotten +me." + +"Not a bit of it," said Jean. "Put away that money like a sensible body, +and I'll write to my lawyer to-day. And the next thing to do is to go +with me to an oculist, for your eyes may not be as bad as you think. +You know, Miss Abbot, you haven't treated your friends well, keeping +them all at arm's length because you were in trouble. Friends do like to +be given the chance of being useful.... Now I'll tell you what to do. +This is a nice fresh day. You go and do some shopping, and be sure and +get something nice for your supper, and fresh butter and marmalade and +things, and then go for a walk along Tweedside and let the wind blow on +you, and then drop in and have a cup of tea and a gossip with one of the +friends you've been neglecting lately, and you see if you don't feel +heaps better.... Remember nobody knows anything about this but you and +me. I shan't even tell Mr. Macdonald.... You will get papers and things +to sign, I expect, from the lawyer, and if you want anything explained +you will come to The Rigs, won't you? Perhaps you would rather I didn't +come here much. Good morning, Miss Abbot," and Jean went away. "For all +the world," as Miss Abbot said to herself, "as if lifting folk from the +miry clay and setting their feet on a rock was all in the day's work." + + * * * * * + +The days slipped away and March came and David was home again; such a +smart David in new clothes and (like Shakespeare's Town Clerk) +"everything handsome about him." + +He immediately began to entice Jean into spending money. It was absurd, +he said, to have no one but Mrs. M'Cosh: a smart housemaid must be got. + +"She would only worry Mrs. M'Cosh," Jean protested "and there isn't +room for another maid, and I hate smart maids anyway. I like to help in +the house myself." + +"But that's so absurd," said David, "with all your money. You should +enjoy life now." + +"Yes," said Jean meekly, "but smart maids wouldn't help me to--quite the +opposite.... And don't you get ideas into your head about smartness, +Davie. The Rigs could never be smart: you must go to The Towers for +that. So long as we live at The Rigs we must be small plain people. And +I hope I shall live here all my life--and so that's that!" + +David, greatly exasperated, bounded from his chair the better to +harangue his sister. + +"Jean, anybody would think you were a hundred to hear you talk! You'll +get nothing out of life except perhaps a text on your tombstone, 'She +hath done what she could,' and that's a dull prospect.... Why aren't you +more like other girls? Why don't you do your hair the new way, all sort +of--oh, I don't know, and wear earrings ... you know you don't dress +smartly." + +"No," said Jean. + +"And you haven't any tricks. I mean you don't try and attract attention +to yourself." + +"No," said Jean. + +"You don't talk like other girls, and you're not keen on the new dances. +I think you like being old-fashioned." + +"I'm afraid I'm a failure as a girl," Jean confessed, "but perhaps I'll +get more charming as I get older. Look at Pamela!" + +"Oh, _Miss Reston_," said David, in the tone that he might have said +"Helen of Troy." ... "But seriously, Jean, I think you are using your +money in a very dull way. You see, you're so dashed _helpful_. What +makes you want to think all the time about slum children?... I think +you'd better present your money all in a lump to the Government as a +drop in the ocean of the National Debt." + +"I'll not give it to the Government," said Jean, "but we may count +ourselves lucky if they don't thieve it from us. I'm at one with Bella +Bathgate when she says, 'I'm no verra sure aboot thae politicians +Liberal _or_ Tory.' I think she fears that any day they may grab +Hillview from her." + +"Anyway," David persisted, "we might have a car. I learned to drive at +Oxford. It would be frightfully useful, you know, a little car." + +"Useful!" laughed Jean. "Have you written any more, Davie?" + +David explained that the term had been a very busy one, and that his +time had been too much occupied for any outside work, and Jean +understood that the stimulus of poverty having been removed David had +fallen into easier ways. And why not--at nineteen? + +"We must think about a car. Do you know all about the different makes? +We mustn't be rash." + +David assured her that he would make all inquiries and went out of the +room whistling blithely. Jean, left alone, sat thinking. Was the money +to be a treasure to her or the reverse? It was fine to give David what +he wanted, to know that Jock and Mhor could have the best of everything, +but their wants would grow and grow; simple tastes and habits were +easily shed, and luxurious ways easily learned. Would the possession of +money spoil the boys? She sighed, and then smiled rather ruefully as she +thought of David and his smart maids and motors and his desire to turn +her into a modern girl. It was very natural and very boyish of him. +"He'll have the face ett off me," said Jean, quoting the Irish R.M.... +Richard Plantagenet hadn't minded her being old-fashioned. + +It was odd how empty her life felt when it ought to feel so rich. She +had the three boys beside her, Pamela was next door, she had all manner +of schemes in hand to keep her thoughts occupied--but there was a great +want somewhere. Jean owned to herself that the blank had been there ever +since Lord Bidborough went away. It was frightfully silly, but there it +was. And probably by this time he had quite forgotten her. It had amused +him to imagine himself in love, something to pass the time in a dull +little town. She knew from books that men had a roving fancy--but even +as she said it to herself her heart rebuked her for disloyalty Richard +Plantagenet's eyes, laughing, full of kindness and honest--oh, honest, +she was sure!--looked into hers. She thrilled again as she seemed to +feel the touch of his hand and heard his voice saying, "Oh, +Penny-plain, are you going to send me away?" Why hadn't he written to +congratulate her on the fortune? He might have done that, surely.... And +Pamela hardly spoke of him. Didn't seem to think Jean would be +interested. Jean, whose heart leapt into her throat at the mere casual +mention of his name. + +Jean looked up quickly, hearing a step on the gravel. It was Pamela +sauntering in, smiling over her shoulder at Mhor, who was swinging on +the gate with Peter by his side. + +"Oh, Pamela, I am glad to see you. David says I am using the money in +such a stuffy way. Do you think I am?" + +"What does David want you to do?" Pamela asked, as she threw off her +coat and knelt before the fire to warm her hands. + + "'To eat your supper in a room + Blazing with lights, four Titians on the wall + And twenty naked girls to change your plate?'" + +Jean laughed. "Something like that, I suppose. Anyway he wants a smart +parlour-maid at once, and a motor-car. Also he wants me to wear +earrings, and talk slang, and wear the newest sort of clothes." + +"Poor Penny-plain, are you going to be forced into being twopence +coloured? But I think you should get another maid; you have too much to +do. And a car would be a great interest to you. Jock and Mhor would love +it too: you could go touring all round in it. You must begin to see the +world now. I think, perhaps, David is right. It is rather stuffy to +stick in the same place (even if that place is Priorsford) when the +whole wide world is waiting to be looked at.... I remember a dear old +curé in Switzerland who, when he retired from his living at the age of +eighty, set off to see the world. He told me he did it because he was +quite sure when he entered heaven's gate the first question God would +put to him would be, 'And what did you think of My world?' and he wanted +to be in a position to answer intelligently.... He was an old dear. When +you come to think of it, it is a little ungrateful of you, Jean, not to +want to taste all the pleasures provided for the inhabitants of this +earth. There is no sense in useless extravagance, but there is a certain +fitness in things. A cottage is a delicious thing, but it is meant for +the lucky people with small means; the big houses have their uses too. +That's why so many rich people have discontented faces. It's because to +them £200 a year and a cottage is 'paradise enow' and they are doomed to +the many mansions and the many servants." + +Jean nodded. "Mrs. M'Cosh often says, 'There's mony a lang gant in a +cairriage,' and I dare say it's true. I don't want to be ungrateful, +Pamela. I think it's about the worst sin one can commit--ingratitude. +And I don't want to be stuffy, either, but I think I was meant for small +ways." + +"Poor Penny-plain! Never mind. I'm not going to preach any more. You +shall do just as you please with your life. I was remembering, Jean, +your desire to go to the Shakespeare Festival at Stratford in April. Why +not motor there? It is a lovely run. I meant to take you myself, but I +expect you would enjoy it much better if you went with the boys. It +would be great fun for you all, and take you away from your +philanthropic efforts and let you see round everything clearly." + +Jean's eyes lit with interest, and Pamela, seeing the light in them, +went on: + +"Everybody should make a pilgrimage in spring: it's the correct thing to +do. Imagine starting on an April morning, through new roads, among +singing birds and cowslips and green new leaves, and stopping at little +inns for the night--lovely, Jean." + +Jean gave a great sigh. + +"Lovely," she echoed. Lovely, indeed, to be away from housekeeping and +poor people and known paths for a little, and into leafy Warwick lanes +and the rich English country which she had never seen. + +"And then," Pamela went on, "you would come back appreciating Priorsford +more than you have ever done. You would come back to Tweed and Peel +Tower and the Hopetoun Woods with a new understanding. There's nothing +so makes you appreciate your home as leaving it.... Bother! That's the +bell. Visitors!" + +It was only one visitor--Lewis Elliot. + +"Cousin Lewis!" cried Jean. "Where in the world have you been? Three +whole months since you went away and never a word from you. You didn't +even write to Mrs. Hope." + +"No," said Lewis; "I was rather busy." He greeted Pamela and sat down. + +"Were you so very busy that you couldn't write so much as a post card? +And I don't believe you know that I'm an heiress?" + +"Yes; I heard that, but only the other day. It was a most unexpected +windfall. I was delighted to hear about it." Jean looked at him and +wondered if he were well. His long holiday did not seem to have improved +his spirits; he was more absent-minded than usual and disappointingly +uninterested. + +"I didn't know you were back in Priorsford," he said, addressing Pamela, +"till I met your brother in London. I called on you just now, and Miss +Bathgate sent me over here." + +"Is Biddy amusing himself well?" Pamela asked. + +"I should think excellently well. I dined with him one night and he +seemed in great spirits. He seemed to be very much in request. He wanted +to take me about a bit, but I've got out of London ways. I don't seem to +know what to talk about to this new generation and I yawn. I'm better at +home at Laverlaw among the sheep." + +Mrs. M'Cosh came in to lay the tea, and Jean said: "You'll have tea +here, Cousin Lewis, though this isn't my visit, and then you can go over +to Hillview with Pamela and pay your visit to her. You mustn't miss the +opportunity of killing two birds with one stone. Besides, Pamela's time +in Priorsford is so short now, you mayn't have another chance of paying +a visit of ceremony." + +"Well, if I may--" + +"Yes, do come. I expect Jean has had enough of me for one day. I've been +lecturing her.... By the way, where are the boys to-day? Mhor was +swinging on the gate as I came in. He told me he was going somewhere, +but his speech was obstructed by a large piece of toffee, and I couldn't +make out what he said." + +"He was waiting for Jock," said Jean. "Did you notice that he was very +clean, and that his hair was sleeked down with brilliantine? They are +invited to bring Peter to tea at the Miss Watsons', and are in great +spirits about it. They generally hate going out to tea, but Jock +discovered recently that the Watsons had a father who was a sea captain. +That fact has thrown such a halo round the two ladies that he can't keep +away from them. They have allowed him to go to the attic and rummage in +the big sea-chests which, he says, are chockful of treasures like +ostrich eggs and lumps of coral and Chinese idols. It seems the Miss +Watsons won't have these treasures downstairs as they don't look genteel +among the 'new art' ornaments admired in Balmoral. All the treasures are +to be on view to-day (Jock has great hopes of persuading the dear ladies +to give him one to bring home, what he calls a 'Chinese scratcher'--it +certainly sounds far from genteel) and a gorgeous spread as well--Jock +confided to me that he thought there might even be sandwiches; and Peter +being invited has filled Mhor's cup of happiness to the brim. So few +people welcome that marauder." + +"I wish I could be there to hear the conversation," said Pamela. "Jock +with his company manners is a joy." + +An hour later Lewis Elliot accompanied Pamela back to Hillview. + +"It's rather absurd," he protested. "I'm afraid I'm inflicting myself on +you, but if you will give me half an hour I shall be grateful." + +"You must tell me about Biddy," Pamela said, as she sat down in her +favourite chair. "Draw up that basket chair, won't you? and be +comfortable. You look as if you were just going to dart away again. Did +Biddy say anything in particular?" + +"He told me to come and see you.... I won't take a chair, thanks. I +would rather stand. ....Pamela, I know it's the most frightful cheek, +but I've cared for you exactly twenty-five years. You never had a notion +of it, I know, and of course I never said anything, for to think of your +marrying a penniless, dreamy sort of idiot was absurd--you who might +have married anybody! I couldn't stay near you loving you as I did, so I +went right out of your life. I don't suppose you ever noticed I had +gone, you had always so many round you waiting for a smile.... I used to +read the lists of engagements in the _Times_, dreading to see your name. +No, that's not the right word, because I loved you well enough to wish +happiness for you whoever brought it. I sometimes heard of you from one +and another, and I never forgot--never for a day. Then my uncle died and +my cousin was killed, and I came back to Priorsford and settled down at +Laverlaw, and was content and quite fairly happy. The War came, and of +course I offered my services. I wasn't much use but, thank goodness, I +got out to France, and got some fighting--a second-lieutenant at forty! +It was the first time I had ever felt myself of some real use.... Then +that finished and I was back at Laverlaw among my sheep--and you came to +Priorsford The moment I saw you I knew that my love for you was as +strong and young as it was twenty years ago...." + +Pamela sat fingering a fan she had taken up to protect her face from the +blaze and looking into the fire. + +"Pamela. Have you nothing to say to me?" + +"Twenty-five years is a long time," Pamela said slowly. "I was fifteen +then and you were twenty. Twenty years ago I was twenty and you were +twenty-five--why didn't you speak then, Lewis? You went away and I +thought you didn't care. Does a man never think how awful it is for a +woman who has to wait without speaking? You thought you were noble to go +away.... I suppose it must have been for some wise reason that the good +God made men blind, but it's hard on the women. You might at least have +given me the chance to say No." + +"I was a coward. But it was unbelievable that you could care. You never +showed me by word or look." + +"Was it likely? I was proud and you were blind, so we missed the best. +We lost our youth and I very nearly lost my soul. After you left, +nothing seemed to matter but enjoying myself as best I could. I hated +the thought of growing old, and I looked at the painted, restless faces +round me and wondered if they were afraid too. Then I thought I would +marry and have more of a reason for living. A man offered himself--a man +with a great position--and I accepted him and it was worse than ever, so +I fled from it all--to Priorsford. I loved it from the first, the little +town and the river and the hills, and Bella Bathgate's grim honesty and +poor cookery! And you came into my life again and I found I couldn't +marry the other man and his position...." + +"Pamela, can you really marry a fool like me? ... It's my fault that +we've missed so much, but thank God we haven't missed everything. I +think I could make you happy. I wouldn't ask you to stay at Laverlaw for +more than a month or two at a time. We would live in London if you +wanted to. I could stick even London if I had you." + +Pamela looked at him with laughter in her eyes. + +"And you couldn't say fairer than that, my dear. No, no, Lewis. If I +marry you we'll live at Laverlaw I love your green glen already; it's a +place after my own heart. We won't trouble London much, but spend our +declining years among the sheep--unless you become suddenly ambitious +for public honours and, as Mrs. Hope desires, enter Parliament." + +"There's no saying what I may do now. Already I feel twice the man I +was." + +They talked in the firelight and Pamela said: "I'm not sure that our +happiness won't be the greater because it has come twenty years late. +Twenty years ago we would have taken it pretty much as a matter of +course. We would have rushed at our happiness and swallowed it whole, so +to speak. Now, with twenty lonely, restless years behind us we shall go +slowly, and taste every moment and be grateful. Years bring their +compensation.... It's a funny world. It's a _nice,_ funny world." + +"I think," said Lewis, "I know something of what Jacob must have felt +after he had served all the years and at last took Rachel by the hand--" + +"'Served' is good," said Pamela in mocking tones. + +But her eyes were tender. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + "It was high spring, and, all the way + Primrosed and hung with shade...." + + HENRY VAUGHAN. + + "There is no private house in which people can enjoy themselves so + well as at a capital tavern.... No, Sir, there is nothing which has + yet been contrived by man by which so much happiness is produced as + by a good tavern or inn."--DR. JOHNSON. + + + +Pamela and David between them carried the day, and a motor-car was +bought. It was not the small useful car talked about at first, but one +which had greatly taken the fancy of the Jardine family in the +showroom--a large landaulette of a well-known make, upholstered in +palest fawn, fitted with every newest device, very sumptuous and very +shiny. + +They described it minutely to Pamela before she went with them to see it +and fix definitely. + +"It runs beautifully," said David. + +"It's about fifty horse-power," said Jock. + +"And, Honourable," said Mhor, "it's got electric light inside, just like +a little house, and all sorts of lovely things--a clock and--" + +"And, I suppose, hot and cold water laid on," said Pamela. + +"The worst thing about it," Jean said, "is that it looks _horribly_ +rich--big and fat and purring--just as if it were saying, 'Out of the +way, groundlings' You know what an insolent look big cars have." + +"Your small deprecating face inside will take away from the effect," +Pamela assured her; "and you need a comfortable car to tour about in. +When do you go exactly?" + +"On the twentieth," Jean told her. "We take David first to Oxford, or +rather he takes us, for he understands maps and can find the road; then +we go on to Stratford. I wrote for rooms as you told me, and for seats +for the plays, and I have heard from the people that we can have both. I +do wish you were coming, Pamela--won't you think better of it?" + +"My dear, I would love it--but it can't be done. I must go to London +this week. If we are to be married on first June there are simply +multitudes of things to arrange. But I'll tell you what, Jean. I shall +come to Stratford for a day or two when you are there. I shouldn't be a +bit surprised if Biddy were there too. If he happened to be in England +in April he always made a pilgrimage to the Shakespeare Festival. +Mintern Abbas isn't very far from Stratford, and Mintern Abbas in spring +is heavenly. _That's_ what we must arrange--a party at Mintern Abbas. +You would like that, wouldn't you, Jock?" + +"Would Richard Plantagenet be there? I would like awfully to see him +again. It's been so dull without him." + +Mhor asked if there were any railways near Mintern Abbas, and was +rather cast down when told that the nearest railway station was seven +miles distant. It amazed him that anyone should, of choice, live away +from railways. The skirl of an engine was sweeter to his ears than horns +of elf-land faintly blowing, and the dream of his life was to be allowed +to live in a small whitewashed shanty which he knew of, on the +railway-side, where he could spend ecstatic days watching every +"passenger" and every "goods" that rushed shrieking, or dawdled +shunting, along the permanent way. To him each different train had its +own features. "I think," he told Jean, "that the nine train is the most +good-natured of the trains; he doesn't care how many carriages and +horse-boxes they stick on to him. The twelve train has always a cross, +snorty look, but the five train"--his voice took the fondling note that +it held for Peter and Barrie, the cat--"that little five train goes much +the fastest; he's the hero of the day!" + +Pamela's engagement to Lewis Elliot had made, what Mrs. M'Cosh called, +"a great speak" in Priorsford. On the whole, it was felt that she had +done well for herself. The Elliots were an old and honoured family, and +the present laird, though shy and retiring, was much liked by his +tenants, and respected by everyone. Pamela had made herself very popular +in Priorsford, and people were pleased that she should remain as lady of +Laverlaw. + +"Ay," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "he's waited lang, but he's waled weel in the +end. He's gotten a braw leddy, and she'll no' be as flighty as a young +yin, for Mr. Elliot likes quiet ways. An' then she has plenty siller, +an' that's a help. A rale sensible marriage!" + +Bella Bathgate agreed. "It'll mak' a big differ at Laverlaw," she said, +"for she's the kind o' body that makes hersel' felt in a hoose. I didna +want her at Hillview wi' a' her trunks and her maid and her fal-lals an' +her fykey ways, but, d'ye ken, I'll miss her something horrid. She was +an awfu' miss in the hoose when she was awa' at Christmas-time; I was +fair kinna lost wi'out her. It'll be rale nice for Maister Elliot havin' +her aye there. It's mebbe a wakeness on ma pairt, but I whiles mak' +messages into the room juist to see her sittin' pittin' stitches into +that embroidery, as they ca' it, an' hear her gie that little lauch o' +hers! She has me fair bewitched. There's a kinna _glawmour_ aboot her. +An' I tell ye I culdna stand her by onything at the first.... I even +think her bonnie noo--an' she's no' that auld. I saw a pictur in a paper +the ither day of a new-mairit couple, an' _baith o' them had the +auld-age pension._" + +Jean looked on rather wistfully at her friend's happiness. She was most +sincerely glad that the wooing--so long delayed--should end like an old +play and Jack have his Jill, but it seemed to add to the empty feeling +in her own heart. Pamela's casual remark about her brother perhaps being +at Stratford had filled her for the moment with wild joy, but hearts +after leaps ache, and she had quickly reminded herself that Richard +Plantagenet had most evidently accepted the refusal as final and would +never be anything more to her than Pamela's brother. It was quite as it +should be, but life in spite of April and a motor-car was, what Mhor +called a minister's life, "a dullsome job." + +That year spring came, not reluctantly, as it often does in the uplands, +but generously, lavishly, scattering buds and leaves and flowers and +lambs, and putting a spirit of youth into everything. The days were as +warm as June, and fresh as only April days can be. The Jardines +anxiously watched the sun-filled days pass, wishing they had arranged to +go earlier, fearful lest they should miss all the good weather. It +seemed impossible that it could go on being so wonderful, but day +followed day in golden succession and there was no sign of a break. + +David spent most of his days at the depôt that held the car, there being +no garage at The Rigs, and Jock and Mhor worshipped with him. A +chauffeur had been engaged, one Stark, a Priorsford youth, a steady +young man and an excellent driver. He had never been farther than +Edinburgh. + +The 20th came at last. Jock and Mhor were up at an unearthly hour, +parading the house, banging at Mrs. M'Cosh's door, and imploring her to +rise in case breakfast was late, and thumping the barometer to see if it +showed any inclination to fall. The car was ordered for nine o'clock, +but they were down the road looking for it at least half an hour before +it was due, feverishly anxious in case something had happened either to +it or to Stark. + +The road before The Rigs was quite crowded that April morning. Mrs. +M'Cosh stood at the gate beside the dancing daffodils and the tulips and +the opening wallflowers in the border, her hands folded on her spotless +white apron, her face beaming with its accustomed kind smile, and +watched her family depart. + +"Keep a haud o' Peter, Mhor," she cautioned. "Ye needna come back here +if ye lose him." The safety of the rest of the party did not seem to +concern her. + +Mr. and Mrs. Jowett were there, having breakfasted an hour earlier than +usual, thus risking the wrath of their cherished domestics. Mrs. Jowett +was carrying a large box of chocolates as a parting gift to the boys, +while Mr. Jowett had a bottle of lavender water for Jean. + +Augusta Hope had walked up from Hopetoun with her mother's love to the +travellers, a basket of fruit for the boys, and a book for Jean. + +The little Miss Watsons hopped forth from their dwelling with an +offering of a home-baked cake, "just in case you get hungry on the road, +you know." + +Bella Bathgate was there, looking very saturnine, and counselling Mhor +as to his behaviour. "Dinna lean oot o' the caur. Mony a body has lost +their heid stickin' it oot of a caur. Here's some tea-biscuits for +Peter. You'll be ower prood for onything but curranty-cake, I suppose." + +Mhor assured her he was not, and gratefully accepted the biscuits. +"Isn't it fun Peter's going? I couldn't have gone either if he hadn't +been allowed, but I expect I'll have to hold him in my arms a lot. +He'll want to jump out at dogs." + +And Mr. and Mrs. Macdonald were there--Mrs. Macdonald absolutely weighed +down with gifts. "It's just a trifle for each of you," she explained. +"No, no, don't thank me; it's nothing." + +"I've brought you nothing but my blessing, Jean," the minister said. +"You'll never be better than I wish you." + +"Don't talk as if I were going away for good," said Jean, with a lump in +her throat. "It's only a little holiday." + +"Who can tell?" sighed Mrs. Macdonald. "It's an uncertain world. But +we'll hope that you'll come back to us, Jean. Are you sure you are +warmly clad? Remember it's only April, and the evenings are cold." + +David packed Jean, Jock, and Mhor into the car. Peter was poised on one +of the seats that let down, a cushion under him to protect the pale fawn +cloth from his paws. All the presents found places, the luggage was put +on the top, Stark took his seat, David, his coat pocket bulging with +maps, got in beside him; and amid a chorus of good-byes they were off. + +Jean, looking back rather wistfully at The Rigs, got a last sight of +Mrs. M'Cosh shaking her head dubiously at the departing car. + +One of the best things in life is to start on a spring morning for a +holiday. To Jock and Mhor at least life seemed a very perfect thing as +the car slid down the hill, over Tweed Bridge, over Cuddy Bridge, and +turned sharp to the left up the Old Town. Soon they were out of the +little grey town that looked so clean and fresh with its shining morning +face, and running through the deep woods above Peel Tower. Small +children creeping unwillingly to school stopped to watch them, and Mhor +looked at them pityingly. School seemed a thing so far removed from his +present happy state as not to be worth remembering. Somewhere, +doubtless, unhappy little people were learning the multiplication table, +and struggling with the spelling of uncouth words, but Mhor, sitting in +state in "Wilfred the Gazelle" (for so David had christened the new +car), could only spare them a passing thought. + +He looked at Peter sitting self-consciously virtuous on the seat +opposite, he leaned across Jean to send a glance of profound +satisfaction to Jock, then he raked from his pocket a cake of +butter-scotch and sank back in his seat to crunch in comfort. + +They followed Tweed as it ran by wood and field and hamlet, and as they +reached the moorlands of the upper reaches Jean began to notice that +Wilfred the Gazelle was not running as smoothly as usual. Perhaps it was +imagination, Jean thought, or perhaps it was the effect of having +luggage on the top, but in her inmost heart she knew it was more than +that, and she was not surprised. + +Jean was filled with a deep-seated distrust of motors. She felt that +every motor was just waiting its chance to do its owner harm. She had +started with no real hope of reaching any destination, and expected +nothing less than to spend the night camping inside the car in some +lonely spot. She had all provisions made for such an occurrence. + +Jock said suddenly, "We're not going more than ten miles an hour," and +then the car stopped altogether and David and Stark got down. Jean +leaned out and asked what was wrong, and David said shortly that there +was nothing wrong. + +Presently he and Stark got back into their places and the car was +started again. But it went slowly, haltingly, like a bird with a broken +wing. They made up on a man driving a brown horse in a wagonette--a man +with a brown beard and a cheerful eye--and passed him. + +The car stopped again. + +Again David and Stark got out and stared and poked and consulted +together. Again Jean's head went out, and again she received the same +short and unsatisfactory answer. + +The brown-bearded man and his wagonette made up on them, looked at the +car in an interested way, and passed on. + +Again the car started, passed the wagonette, and went on for about a +mile and stopped. + +Again Jean's head went out. + +"David," she said, "what _is_ the matter?" and it goes far to show how +harassed that polished Oxonian was when he replied, "If you don't take +your face out of that I'll slap it." + +Jean withdrew at once, feeling that she had been tactless and David had +been unnecessarily rude--David who had never been rude to her since they +were children, and had told each other home-truths without heat and +without ill-feeling on either side. If this was to be the effect of +owning a car-- + +"Wilfred the Gazelle's dead," said Mhor, and got out, followed by Jock, +and in a minute or two by Jean. + +They all sat down in the heather by the road-side. + +Dead car nowithstanding, it was delicious sitting there in the spring +sunshine. Tweed was nearing its source and was now only a trickling +burn. A lark was singing high up in the blue. The air was like new wine. +The lambs were very young, for spring comes slowly up that way, and one +tottering little fellow was found by Mhor, and carried rapturously to +Jean. + +"Take it; it's just born," he said. "Jock, hold Peter tight in case he +bites them." + +"Did you ever see anything quite so new?" Jean said as she stroked the +little head, "and yet so independent? Sheep are far before mortals. Its +eyes look so perplexed, Mhor. It's quite strange to the world and +doesn't know what to make of it. That's its mother over there. Take it +to her; she's crying for it." + +David came up and stood looking gloomily at the lamb. Perhaps he envied +it being so young and careless and motor-less. + +"Stark's busy with the car," he announced, rather needlessly, as the +fact was apparent to all. "I'm dashed if I know what's the matter with +the old bus.... Here's that man again...." + +Jean burst into helpless laughter as the wagonette again overtook them. +The driver flourished his whip and the horse broke into a canter--it +looked like derision. + +There was a long silence--then Jean said: + +"If it won't go, it's too big to move. We shall have to train ivy on it +and make it a feature of the landscape." + +"Or else," said David, savagely and irreverently--"or else hew it in +pieces before the Lord." + +Stark got up and straightened himself, wiped his hands and his forehead, +and came up to David. + +"I've found out what's wrong," he said. "She'll manage to Moffat, but +we'll have to get her put right there. It's...." He went into technical +details incomprehensible to Jean. + +They got back into the car and it sprang away as if suddenly endowed +with new life. In a trice they had passed the wagonette, leaving it in a +whirl of scornful dust. They ate the miles as a giant devours sheep. +They passed the Devil's Beef Tub--Jock would have liked to tarry there +and investigate, but Jean dared not ask Stark to stop in case they could +not start again--and soon went sliding down the hill to Moffat. Hot +puffs of scented air rose from the valley, they had left the moorlands +and the winds, and the town was holding out arms to welcome them. They +drove along the sunny, sleepy, midday High Street and stopped at a +hotel. + +Except David, no member of the Jardine family had ever been inside a +hotel, and it was quite an adventure for them to go up the steps from +the street, enter the swinging doors, and ask a polite woman with +elaborately done hair if they might have luncheon. Yes, they might, and +Peter, at present held tightly in Mhor's arms, could be fed in the +kitchen if that would suit. + +Stark had meantime taken the car to a motor-repairing place. + +It was half-past three before the car came swooping up to the hotel +doors. Jean gazed at it with a sort of fearful pride. It looked very +well if only it didn't play them false. Stark, too, looked well--a fine, +impassive figure. + +"Will it be all right, Stark?" she ventured to inquire, but Stark, who +rarely committed himself, merely said, "Mebbe." + +Stark had no manners, Jean reflected, but he had a nice face and was a +teetotaller, and one can't have everything. + +To Mhor's joy the road now ran for a bit by the side of the railway line +where thundered great express trains such as there never were in +Priorsford. They were spinning along the fine level road, making up for +lost time, when a sharp report startled them and made Mhor, who was +watching a train, lose his balance and fall forward on to Peter, who was +taking a sleep on the rug at their feet. + +It was a tyre gone, and there was no time to mend it if they were to be +at Carlisle in time for tea. Stark put on the spare wheel and they +started again. + +Fortune seemed to have got tired of persecuting them, and there were no +further mishaps. They ran without a pause through village after village, +snatching glimpses of lovely places where they would fain have +lingered, forgetting them as each place offered new beauties. + +The great excitement to Jock and Mhor was the crossing of the Border. + +"I did it once," said Mhor, "when I came from India, but I didn't notice +it." + +"Rather not," said Jock; "you were only two. I was four, wasn't I, Jean? +when I came from India, and I didn't notice it." + +"Is there a line across the road?" Mhor asked. "And do the people speak +Scots on one side and English on the other? I suppose we'll go over with +a bump." + +"There's nothing to show," Jock told him, "but there's a difference in +the air. It's warmer in England." + +"It's very uninterested of Peter to go on sleeping," Mhor said in a +disgusted tone. "You would think he would feel there was something +happening. And he's a Scots dog, too." + +The Border was safely crossed, and Jock professed to notice at once a +striking difference in air and landscape. + +"There's an English feel about things now," he insisted, sniffing and +looking all round him; "and I hear the English voices.... Mhor, this is +how the Scots came over to fight the English, only at night and on +horseback--into Carlisle Castle." + +"And I was English," said Mhor dreamily, "and I had a big black horse +and I pranced on the Castle wall and killed everyone that came." + +"You needn't boast about being English," Jock said, looking at Mhor +coldly. "I don't blame you, for you can't help it, but it's a pity." + +Mhor's face got very pink and there was a tremble in his voice, though +he said in a bragging tone, "I'm glad I'm English. The English are as +brave as--as--" + +"Of course they are," said Jean, holding Mhor's hand tight under the +rug. She knew how it hurt him to be, even for a moment, at variance with +Jock, his idol. "Mhor has every right to be proud of being English, +Jock. His father was a soldier and he has ancestors who were great +fighting men. And you know very well that it doesn't matter what side +you belong to so long as you are loyal to that side. You two would have +had some great fights if you had lived a few hundred years ago." + +"Yes," said Mhor. "I'd have killed a great many Scots--but not Jock." + +"Ho," said Jock, "a great many Scots would have killed you first." + +"Well, it's all past," said Jean; "and England and Scotland are one and +fight together now. This is Carlisle. Not much romance about it now, is +there? We're going to the Station Hotel for tea, so you will see the +train, Mhor, old man." + +"Mhor," said Jock, "that's one thing you would have missed if you'd +lived long ago--trains." + +The car had to have a tyre repaired and that took some time, so after +tea the Jardines stood in the station and watched trains for what was, +to Mhor at least, a blissful hour. It was thrilling to stand in the +half-light of the big station and see great trains come in, and the +passengers jump out and tramp about the platform and buy books and +papers from the bookstall, or fruit, or chocolate, or tea and buns from +the boys in uniform, who went about crying their wares. And then the +wild scurrying of the passengers--like hens before a motor, Jock +said--when the flag was waved and the train about to start. Mhor hoped +fervently, and a little unkindly, that at least one might be left +behind, but they all got in, though with some it was the last second of +the eleventh hour. There seemed to be hundreds of porters wheeling +luggage on trolleys, guards walked about looking splendid fellows, and +Mhor's eyes as he beheld them were the eyes of a lover on his mistress. +He could hardly be torn away when David came to say that Stark was +waiting with the car and that they could not hope to get farther than +Penrith that night. + +The dusk was falling and the vesper-bell ringing as they drove into the +town and stopped before a very comfortable-looking inn. + +It was past Mhor's bedtime, and it seemed to that youth a fit ending for +the most exciting day of his whole seven years of life, to sit up and +partake of mutton chops and apple-tart at an hour when he should have +been sound asleep. + +He saw Peter safely away in charge of a sympathetic "boots" before he +and Jock ascended to a bedroom with three small windows in the most +unexpected places, a bright, cheery paper, and two small white beds. + +Next morning the sun peeped in at all the odd-shaped windows on the two +boys sprawled over their beds in the attitudes in which they said they +best enjoyed slumber. + +It was another crystal-clear morning, with mist in the hollows and the +hilltops sharp against the sky. When Stark, taciturn as ever, came to +the door at nine o'clock, he found his party impatiently awaiting him on +the doorstep, eager for another day of new roads and fresh scenes. + +Jean asked him laughingly if Wilfred the Gazelle would live up to its +name this run, but Stark received the pleasantry coldly, having no use +for archness in any form. + +It was wonderful to rush through the morning air still sharp from a +touch of frost in the night, ascending higher and higher into the hills. +Mhor sang to himself in sheer joy of heart, and though no one knew what +were the words he sang, and Jock thought poorly of the tune, Peter +snuggled up to him and seemed to understand and like it. + +The day grew hot and dusty as they ran down from the Lake district, and +they were glad to have their lunch beside a noisy little burn in a green +meadow, from the well-stocked luncheon-basket provided by the Penrith +inn. Then they dipped into the black country, where tall chimneys +belched out smoke, and car-lines ran along the streets, and pale-faced, +hurrying people looked enviously at the big car with its load of youth +and good looks. Everything was grim and dirty and spoiled. Mhor looked +at the grimy place and said solemnly: + +"It reminds me of hell." + +"Haw, haw!" laughed Jock. "When did you see hell last?" + +"In the _Pilgrim's Progress_," said Mhor. + +One of the black towns provided tea in a café which purported to be +Japanese, but the only things about it that recalled that sunny island +overseas were the paper napkins, the china, and two fans nailed on the +wall; the linoleum-covered floor, the hard wooden chairs, the fly-blown +buns being peculiarly and bleakly British. + +Before evening the grim country was left behind. In the soft April +twilight they crossed wide moorlands (which Jock was inclined to resent +as being "too Scots to be English") until, as it was beginning to get +dark, they slid softly into Shrewsbury. + +The next day was as fine as ever. "Really," said Jean, as they strolled +before breakfast, watching the shops being opened and studying the old +timbered houses, "it's getting almost absurd: like Father's story of the +soldier who greeted his master every morning in India with 'Another hot +day, sirr.' We thought if we got one good day out of the three we were +to be on the road we wouldn't grumble, and here it goes on and on.... We +must come back to Shrewsbury, Davie. It deserves more than just to be +slept in...." + +"Aren't English breakfasts the best you ever tasted?" David asked as +they sat down to rashers of home-cured ham, corpulent brown sausages, +and eggs poached to a nicety. + +So far David had made an excellent guide. They had never once diverged +from the road they meant to take, but this third day of the run turned +out to be somewhat confused. They started off almost at once on the +wrong road and found themselves riding up a deep green lane into a +farmyard. Out again on the highway David found the number of cross-roads +terribly perplexing. Once he urged Stark to ask directions from a +cottage. Stark did so and leapt back into his seat. + +"Which road do we take?" David asked, as five offered themselves. + +"Didna catch what they said," Stark remarked as he chose a road at +random. + +"Didna catch it," was Stark's favourite response to everything. Later on +they came to the top of a steep hill ornamented by an enormous +warning-post with this alarming notice--"Cyclists dismount. Many +accidents. Some fatal." Stark went on unconcernedly, and Jean shouted at +him, holding desperately to the side of the car, as if her feeble +strength would help the brakes. "Stark! Stark! Didn't you see that +placard?" + +"Didna catch it," said Stark, as he swung light-heartedly down an almost +perpendicular hill into the valley of the Severn. + +"I do think Stark's a fool," said Jean bitterly, wrathful in the +reaction from her fright. "He does no damage on the road, and of course +I'm glad of that. I've seen him stop dead for a hen, and the wayfaring +man, though a fool, is safe from him; but he cares nothing for what +happens to the poor wretched people _inside_ the car. As nearly as +possible he had us over the parapet of that bridge." + +And later, when they found from the bill at lunch-time that Stark's +luncheon had consisted of "one mineral," she thought that the way he had +risked all their lives must have taken away his appetite. + +The car ran splendidly that day--David said it was getting into its +stride--and they got to Oxford for tea and had time to go and see +David's rooms before they left for Stratford. But David would let them +see nothing else. "No," he said; "it would be a shame to hurry over your +first sight. You must come here after Stratford. I'll take rooms for you +at the Mitre. I want to show you Oxford on a May morning." + +It was quite dark when they reached Stratford. To Jean it seemed strange +and delicious thus to enter Shakespeare's own town, the Avon a-glimmer +under the moon, the kingcups and the daisies asleep in the meadows. + +The lights of the Shakespeare Hotel shone cheerily as they came forward. +A "boots" with a wrinkled, whimsical face came out to help them in. +Shaded lights and fires (for the evenings were chilly) made a bright +welcome, and they were led across the stone-paved hall with its oaken +rafters, gate-legged tables, and bowls of spring flowers, up a steep +little staircase hung with old prints of the plays, down winding +passages to the rooms allotted to them. Jean looked eagerly at the name +on her door. + +"Hurrah! I've got 'Rosalind.' I wanted her most of all." + +Jock and Mhor had a room with two beds, rather incongruously called +"Anthony and Cleopatra." Jock was inclined to be affronted, and said it +was a silly-looking thing to put him in a room called after such an +amorous couple. If it had been Touchstone or Mercutio, or even Shylock, +he would not have minded, but the pilgrims of love got scant sympathy +from that sturdy misogynist. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + "It was a lover and his lass, + With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino, + That o'er the green corn-fields did pass, + In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time...." + + _As You Like It_. + + +Next morning Jean's eyes wandered round the dining-room as if looking +for someone, but there was no one she had ever seen before among the +breakfasters at the little round tables in the pretty room with its low +ceiling and black oak beams. To Jean, unused to hotel life and greatly +interested in her kind, it was like a peep into some thrilling book. She +could hardly eat her breakfast for studying the faces of her neighbours +and trying to place them. + +Were they all Shakespeare lovers? she wondered. + +The people at the next table certainly looked as if they might be: a +high-browed, thin-faced clergyman with a sister who was clever (from her +eye-glasses and the way her hair was done, Jean decided she must be very +clever), and a friend with them who looked literary--at least he had a +large pile of letters and a clean-shaven face; and they seemed, all +three, like Lord Lilac, to be "remembering him like anything." + +There were several clergymen in the room; one, rather fat, with a smug +look and a smartly dressed wife, Jean decided must have married an +heiress; another, with very prominent teeth and kind eyes, was +accompanied by an extremely aged mother and two lean sisters. + +One family party attracted Jean very much: a young-looking father and +mother, with two girls, very pretty and newly grown up, and a boy like +Davie. They were making plans for the day, deciding what to see and what +to leave unseen, laughing a great deal, and chaffing each other, parents +and children together. They looked so jolly and happy, as if they had +always found the world a comfortable place. They seemed rather amused to +find themselves at Stratford among the worshippers. Jean concluded that +they were of those "not bad of heart" who "remembered Shakespeare with a +start." + +Jock and Mhor were in the highest spirits. It seemed to them enormous +fun to be staying in a hotel, and not an ordinary square up-and-down +hotel, but a rambling place with little stairs in unexpected places, and +old parts and new parts, and bedrooms owning names, and a long, +low-roofed drawing-room with a window at the far end that opened right +out to the stable-yard through which pleasantries could be exchanged +with grooms and chauffeurs. There was a parlour, too, off the hall--the +cosiest of parlours with cream walls and black oak beams and supports, +two fireplaces round which were grouped inviting arm-chairs, tables with +books and papers, many bowls of daffodils. And all over the house hung +old prints of scenes in the plays; glorious pictures, some of +them--ghosts and murders over which Mhor gloated. + +They went before luncheon to the river and sailed up and down in a small +steam-launch named _The Swan of Avon_. Jean thought privately that the +presence of such things as steam-launches were a blot on Shakespeare's +river, but the boys were delighted with them, and at once began to plan +how one might be got to adorn Tweed. + +In the afternoon they walked over the fields to Shottery to see Anne +Hathaway's cottage. + +Jean walked in a dream. On just such an April day, when shepherds pipe +on oaten straws, Shakespeare himself must have walked here. It would be +different, of course; there would be no streets of little mean houses, +only a few thatched cottages. But the larks would be singing as they +were to-day, and the hawthorn coming out, and the spring flowers abloom +in Anne Hathaway's garden. + +She caught her breath as they went out of the sunshine into the dim +interior of the cottage. + +This ingle-nook ... Shakespeare must have sat here on winter evenings +and talked. Did he tell Anne Hathaway wonderful tales? Perhaps, when he +was not writing and weaving for himself a garment of immortality, he was +just an everyday man, genial with his neighbours, interested in all the +small events of his own town, just Master Shakespeare whom the children +looked up from their play to smile at as he passed. + +"Oh, Jock," Jean said, clutching her brother's sleeve. "Can you really +believe that _he_ sat here?--actually in this little room? Looked out of +the window--isn't it _wonderful_, Jock?" + +Jock, like Mr. Fearing, ever wakeful on the enchanted ground, rolled his +head uncomfortably, sniffed, and said, "It smells musty!" Both he and +Mhor were frankly much more interested in the fact that ginger-beer and +biscuits were to be had in the cottage next door. + +They mooned about all afternoon vastly content, and had tea in the +garden of a sort of enchanted cottage (with a card in the window which +bore the legend, "_We sell home-made lemonade, lavender, and pot-pourri +_"), among apple trees and spring flowers and singing birds, and ate +home-made bread and honey, and cakes with orange icing on them. A girl +in a blue gown, who might have been Sweet Anne Page, waited on them, and +Jean was so distressed at the amount they had eaten and at the smallness +of the bill presented that she slipped an extra large tip under a plate, +and fled before it could be discovered. + +It was a red-letter day for all three, for they were going to the +theatre that night for the first time. Jean had once been at a play with +her father, but it was so long ago as to be the dimmest memory, and she +was as excited as the boys. Their first play was to be _As You Like It_. +Oh, lucky young people to see, for the first time on an April evening, +in Shakespeare's own town, the youngest, gayest play that ever was +written! + +They ran up to their rooms to dress, talking and laughing. They could +not be silent, their hearts were so light. Jean sang softly to herself +as she laid out what she meant to wear that evening. Pamela had made her +promise to wear a white frock, the merest wisp of a frock made of lace +and georgette, with a touch of vivid green, and a wreath of green leaves +for the golden-brown head. Jean had protested. She was afraid she would +look overdressed: a black frock would be more suitable; but Pamela had +insisted and Jean had promised. + +As she looked in the glass she smiled at the picture she made. It was a +pity Pamela couldn't see how successful the frock was, for she had +designed it.... Lord Bidborough had never seen her prettily dressed. Why +did Pamela never mention him? Jean realised the truth of the old saying, +"Speak weel o' ma love, speak ill o' ma love, but aye speak o' him." + +She looked into the boys' room when she was ready and found them only +half dressed and engaged in a game of cock-fighting. Having admonished +them she went down alone. She went very slowly down the last flight of +stairs (she was shy of going into the dining-room)--a slip of a girl +crowned with green leaves. Suddenly she stopped. There, in the hall +watching her, alone but for the "boots" with the wrinkled, humorous face +and eyes of amused tolerance, was Richard Plantagenet. + +Behind her where she stood hung a print of _Lear_--the hovel on the +heath, the storm-bent trees, the figure of the old man, the shivering +Fool with his "Poor Tom's a-cold." Beside her, fastened to the wall, +was a letter-box with a glass front full of letters and picture-cards +waiting to be taken to the evening post. Tragedy and the commonplace +things of life--but Jean, for the moment, was lifted far from either. +She was seeing a new heaven and a new earth. Words were not needed. She +looked into Richard Plantagenet's eyes and knew that he wanted her, and +she put her hands out to him like a trusting child. + + * * * * * + +When Jock and Mhor reached the dining-room and found Richard Plantagenet +seated beside Jean they were rapturous in their greetings, pouring +questions on him, demanding to know how long he meant to stay. + +"As long as you stay," he told them. + +"Oh, good," Jock said. "Are you _fearfully_ keen on Shakespeare? Jean's +something awful. It gives me a sort of hate at him to hear her." + +"Oh, Jock," Jean protested, "surely not. I'm not nearly as bad as some +of the people here. I don't haver quite so much.... I was in the +drawing-room this morning and heard two women talking, an English woman +and an American. The English woman remarked casually that Shakespeare +wasn't a Christian, and the American protested, 'Oh, don't say. He had a +great White Soul.'" + +"Gosh, Maggie!" said Jock. "What a beastly thing to say about anybody! +If Shakespeare could see Stratford now I expect he'd laugh--all the +shops full of little heads, and pictures of his house, and models of his +birthplace ... it's enough to put anybody off being a genius." + +"I was dreadfully snubbed in a shop to-day," said Jean, smiling at her +lover. "It was a very nice mixed-up shop with cakes and crucifixes and +little stucco figures, presided over by a dignified lady with black lace +on her head. I remembered Mrs. Jowett's passion for stucco saints in her +bedroom, and picked one up, remarking that it would be a nice +remembrance of Stratford. 'Oh, surely not, madam,' said the shocked +voice of the shop-lady, 'surely a nobler memory'--and I found _it was a +figure of Christ_." + +"Jean simply rushed out of the shop," said Jock, "and she hadn't paid, +and I had to go in again with the money." + +"See what I've got," Mhor said, producing a parcel from his pocket. He +unwrapped it, revealing a small bust of Shakespeare. + +"It's a wee Shakespeare to send to Mrs. M'Cosh--and I've got a card for +Bella Bathgate--a funny one, a pig. Read it." + +He handed the card to Lord Bidborough, who read aloud the words issuing +from the mouth of the pig: + + "You may push me, + You may shove, + But I never will be druv + From Stratford-on-Avon." + +"Excellent sentiment, Mhor--Miss Bathgate will be pleased." + +"Yes," said Mhor complacently. "I thought she'd like a pig better than +a Shakespeare one. She said she wondered Jean would go and make a fuss +about the place a play-actor was born in. She says she wouldn't read a +word he wrote, and she didn't seem to like the bits I said to her.... +This isn't the first time, Richard Plantagenet, I've sat up for dinner." + +"Isn't it?" + +"No. I did it at Penrith and Shrewsbury and last night here." + +"By Jove, you're a man of the world now, Mhor." + +"It mustn't go on," said Jean, "but once in a while...." + +"And d'you know where I'm going to-night?" Mhor went on. "To a theatre +to see a play. Yes. And I shan't be in bed till at least eleven o'clock. +It's the first time in my life I've ever been outside after ten o'clock, +and I've always wanted to see what it was like then." + +"No different from any other time," Jock told him. But Mhor shook his +head. He knew better. After-ten-o'clock Land _must_ be different.... + +"This is a great night for us all," Jean said. "Our first play. You have +seen it often, I expect. Are you going?" + +"Of course I'm going. I wouldn't miss Jock's face at a play for +anything.... Or yours," he added, leaning towards her. "No, Mhor. +There's no hurry. It doesn't begin for another half-hour ... we'll have +coffee in the other room." + +Mhor was in a fever of impatience, and quite ten minutes before the +hour they were in their seats in the front row of the balcony. Oddly +enough, Lord Bidborough's seat happened to be adjoining the seats taken +by the Jardines, and Jean and he sat together. + +It was a crowded house, for the play was being played by a new company +for the first time that night. Jean sat silent, much too content to +talk, watching the people round her, and listening idly to snatches of +conversation. Two women, evidently inhabitants of the town, were talking +behind her. + +"Yes," one woman was saying; "I said to my sister only to-day, 'What +would we do if there was a sudden alarm in the night?' If we needed a +doctor or a policeman? You know, my dear, the servants are all as old as +we are. I don't really believe there is anyone in our road that can +_run_." + +The other laughed comfortably and agreed, but Jean felt chilled a +little, as if a cloud had obscured for a second the sun of her +happiness. In this gloriously young world of unfolding leaves and +budding hawthorns and lambs and singing birds and lovers, there were +people old and done who could only walk slowly in the sunshine, in whom +the spring could no longer put a spirit of youth, who could not run +without being weary. How ugly age was! Grim, menacing: Age, I do abhor +thee.... + +The curtain went up. + +The youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys, the young Orlando, "a youth +unschooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts +enchantingly beloved," talked to old Adam, and then to his own most +unnatural brother. The scene changed to the lawn before the Duke's +palace. Lord Bidborough bade Jean observe the scenery and dresses. "You +see how simple it is, and vivid, rather like Noah's Ark scenery? And the +dresses are a revolt against the stuffy tradition that made Rosalind a +sort of principal boy.... Those dresses are all copied from old +missals.... I rather like it. Do you approve?" + +Jean was not in a position to judge, but said she certainly approved. + +Rosalind and Celia were saying the words she knew so well. Touchstone +had come in--that witty knave; Monsieur le Beau, with his mouth full of +news; and again, the young Orlando o'er-throwing more than his enemies. + +And now Rosalind and Celia are planning their flight.... It is the +Forest of Arden. Again Orlando and Adam speak together, and Adam, with +all his years brave upon him, assures his master, "My age is as a lusty +winter, frosty but kindly." + +The words came to Jean with a new significance. How Shakespeare _knew_ +... why should she mourn because Age must come? Age was beautiful and +calm, for the seas are quiet when the winds give o'er. Age is done with +passions and discontents and strivings. Probably those women behind her +who had sighed comfortably because nobody in their road could run, whom +she pitied, wouldn't change with her to-night. They had had their life. +It wasn't sad to be old, Jean told herself, for as the physical sight +dims, the soul sees more clearly, and the light from the world to come +illumines the last dark bit of the way.... + +They went out between the acts and walked by the river in the moonlight +and talked of the play. + +Jock and Mhor were loud in their approval, only regretting that +Touchstone couldn't be all the time on the stage. Lord Bidborough asked +Jean if it came up to her expectations. + +"I don't know what I expected.... I never imagined any play could be so +vivid and gay and alive.... I've always loved Rosalind, and I didn't +think any actress could be quite my idea of her, but this girl is. I +thought at first she wasn't nearly pretty enough, but she has the kind +of face that becomes more charming the more you look at it, and she is +so graceful and witty and impertinent." + +"And Rabelaisian," added her companion. "It really is a very good show. +There is a sort of youthful freshness about the acting that is very +engaging. And every part is so competently filled. Jaques is +astonishingly good, don't you think? I never heard the 'seven ages' +speech so well said." + +"It sounded," Jean said, "as if he were saying the words for the first +time, thinking them as he went along." + +"I know what you mean. When the great lines come on it's a temptation to +the actor to draw himself together and clear his throat, and rather +address them to the audience. This fellow leaned against a tree and, as +you say, seemed to be thinking them as he went along. He's an uncommonly +good actor ... I don't know when I enjoyed a show so much." + +The play wore on to its merry conclusion; all too short the Jardines +found it. Jock's wrath at the love-sick shepherd knew no bounds, but he +highly approved of Rosalind because, he said, she had such an impudent +face. + +"Who did you like best, Richard Plantagenet?" Mhor asked as they came +down the steps. + +"Well, I think, perhaps the most worthy character was 'the old religious +man' who converted so opportunely the Duke Frederick." + +"Yes," Jean laughed. "I like that way of getting rid of an objectionable +character and enriching a deserving one. But Jaques went off to throw in +his lot with the converted Duke. I rather grudged that." + +"To-morrow," said Mhor, who was skipping along, very wide awake and +happy in After-ten-o'clock Land--"to-morrow I'm going to take Peter to +the river and let him snowk after water-rats. I think he's feeling +lonely--a Scots dog among so many English people." + +"Stark's lonely too," said Jock. "He says the other chauffeurs have an +awful queer accent and it's all he can do to understand them." + +"Oh, poor Stark!" said Jean. "I don't suppose he would care much to see +the plays." + +"He told me," Jock went on, "that one of the other chauffeurs had asked +him to go with him to a concert called _Macbeth_. When I told him what +it was he said he'd had an escape. He says he sees enough of +Shakespeare in this place without going to hear him. He's at the +Pictures to-night, and there's a circus coming--" + +"And oh, Jean," cried Mhor, "it's the _very one_ that came to +Priorsford!" + +"Take a start, Mhor," said Jock, "and I'll race you back." + +Lord Bidborough and Jean walked on in silence. + +At the garden where once had stood New Place--that "pretty house in +brick and timber"--the shadow of the Norman church lay black on the +white street and beyond it was the velvet darkness of the old trees. + +"This," Jean said softly, "must be almost exactly as it was in +Shakespeare's time. He must have seen the shadow of the tower falling +like that, and the trees, and his garden. Perhaps it was on an April +night like this that he wrote: + + On such a night + Stood Dido with a willow in her hand + Upon the wild sea-banks and waft her lover + To come again to Carthage." + +They had both stopped, and Jean, after a glance at her companion's face, +edged away. He caught her hands and held her there in the shadow. + +"The last time we were together, Jean, it was December, dripping rain +and mud, and you would have none of me. To-night--in such a night, Jean, +I come again to you. I love you. Will you marry me?" + +"Yes," said Jean--"for I am yours." + +For a moment they stood caught up to the seventh heaven, knowing +nothing except that they were together, hearing nothing but the beating +of their own hearts. + +Jean was the first to come to herself. + +"Everyone's gone home. The boys'll think we are lost.... Oh, Biddy, have +I done right? Are you sure you want me? Can I make you happy?" + +"_Can you make me happy_? My blessed child, what a question! Don't you +know that you seem to me almost too dear for my possessing? You are far +too good for me, but I won't give you up now. No, not though all the +King's horses and all the King's men come in array against me. My Jean +... my little Jean." + +Jock's comment on hearing of his sister's engagement was that he did +think Richard Plantagenet was above that sort of thing. Later on, when +he had got more used to the idea, he said that, seeing he had to marry +somebody, it was better to be Jean than anybody else. + +Mhor, like Gallio, cared for none of these things. + +He merely said, "Oh, and will you be married and have a bridescake? What +fun!... You might go with Peter and me to the station and see the London +trains pass. Jock went yesterday and he says he won't go again for three +days. Will you, Jean? Oh, _please_--" + +David, at Oxford, sent his sister a letter which she put away among her +chiefest treasures. Safely in his room, with a pen in his hand, he would +write what he was too shy and awkward to say: he could call down +blessings on his sister in a letter, when face to face with her he would +have been dumb. + +Pamela, on hearing the news, rushed down from London to congratulate +Jean and her Biddy in person. She was looking what Jean called +"fearfully London," and seemed in high spirits. + +"Of course I'm in high spirits," she told Jean. "The very nicest thing +in the world has come to pass. I didn't think there was a girl living +that I could give Biddy to without a grudge till I saw you, and then it +seemed much too good to be true that you should fall in love with each +other." + +"But," said Jean, "how could you want him to marry me, an ordinary girl +in a little provincial town?--he could have married _anybody_." + +"Lots of girls would have married Biddy, but I wanted him to have the +best, and when I found it for him he had the sense to recognise it. +Well, it's all rather like a fairy-tale. And I have Lewis! Jean, you +can't think how different life in London seems now--I can enjoy it +whole-heartedly, fling myself into it in a way I never could before, not +even when I was at my most butterfly stage, because now it isn't my +life, it doesn't really matter, I'm only a stranger within the gates. My +real life is Lewis, and the thought of the green glen and the little +town beside the Tweed." + +"You mean," said Jean, "that you can enjoy all the gaieties tremendously +because they are only an episode; if it was your life-work making a +success of them you would be bored to death." + +"Yes. Before I came to Priorsford they were all I had to live for, and +I got to hate them. When are you two babes in the wood going to be +married? You haven't talked about it yet? Dear me!" + +"You see," Jean said, "there's been such a lot to talk about." + +"Philanthropic schemes, I suppose?" + +Jean started guiltily. + +"I'm afraid not. I'd forgotten about the money." + +"Then I'm sorry I reminded you of it. Let all the schemes alone for a +little, Jean. Biddy will help you when the time comes. I see the two of +you reforming the world, losing all your money, probably, and ending up +at Laverlaw with Lewis and me. I don't want to know what you talked +about, my dear, but whatever it was it has done you both good. Biddy +looks now as he looked before the War, and you have lost your anxious +look, and your curls have got more yellow in them, and your eyes aren't +like moss-agates now; they are almost quite golden. You are infinitely +prettier than you were, Jean, girl.... Now, I'm afraid I must fly back +to London. Jock and Mhor will chaperone you two excellently, and we'll +all meet at Mintern Abbas in the middle of May." + +One sunshine day followed another. Wilfred the Gazelle and the excellent +Stark carried the party on exploring expeditions all over the +countryside. In one delicious village they wandered, after lunch at the +inn, into the little church which stood embowered among blossoming +trees. The old vicar left his garden and offered to show them its +beauties, and Jean fell in love with the simplicity and the feeling of +homeliness that was about it. + +"Biddy," she whispered, "what a delicious church to be married in. You +could hardly help being happy ever after if you were married here." + +Later in the day, when they were alone, he reminded her of her words. + +"Why shouldn't we, Penny-plain? Why shouldn't we? I know you hate a +fussy marriage and dread all the letters and presents and meeting crowds +of people who are strangers to you. Of course, it's frightfully good of +Mrs. Hope to offer to have it at Hopetoun, but that means waiting, and +this is the spring-time, the real 'pretty ring-time.' I would rush up to +London and get a special licence. I don't know how in the world it's +done, but I can find out, and Pam would come, and David, and we'd be +married in the little church among the blossoms. Let's say the +thirtieth. That gives us four days to arrange things...." + +"Four days," said Jean, "to prepare for one's wedding!" + +"But you don't need to prepare. You've got lovely clothes, and we'll go +straight to Mintern Abbas, where it doesn't matter what we wear. I tell +you what, we'll go to London to-morrow and see lawyers and things--do +you realise you haven't even got an engagement ring, you neglected +child? And tell Pam--Mad? Of course, it's mad. It's the way they did in +the Golden World. It's Rosalind and Orlando. Be persuaded, Penny-plain." + +"Priorsford will be horrified," said Jean. "They aren't used to such +indecorous haste, and oh, Biddy, I _couldn't_ be married without Mr. +Macdonald." + +"I was thinking about that. He certainly has the right to be at your +wedding. If I wired to-day, do you think they would come? Mrs. +Macdonald's such a sportsman, I believe she would hustle the minister +and herself off at once." + +"I believe she would," said Jean, "and having them would make all the +difference. It would be almost like having my own father and mother...." + +So it was arranged. They spent a hectic day in London which almost +reduced Jean to idiocy, and got back at night to the peace of Stratford. +Pamela said she would bring everything that was needed, and would arrive +on the evening of the 29th with Lewis and David. The Macdonalds wired +that they were coming, and Lord Bidborough interviewed the vicar of the +little church among the blossoms and explained everything to him. The +vicar was old and wise and tolerant, and he said he would feel honoured +if the Scots minister would officiate with him. He would, he said, be +pleased to arrange things exactly as Jean and her minister wanted them. + +By the 29th they had all assembled. + +Pamela arriving with Lewis Elliot and Mawson and a motor full of +pasteboard boxes found Jean just home from a picnic at Broadway, flushed +with the sun and glowing with health and happiness. + +"Well," said Pamela as she kissed her, "this is a new type of bride. Not +the nerve-shattered, milliner-ridden creature with writer's cramp in +her hand from thanking people for useless presents! You don't look as if +you were worrying at all." + +"I'm not," said Jean. "Why should I? There will be nobody there to +criticise me. There are no preparations to make, so I needn't fuss. +Biddy's right. It's the best way to be married." + +"I needn't ask if you are happy, my Jean girl?" + +Jean flung her arms round Pamela's neck. + +"After having Biddy for my own, the next best thing is having you for a +sister. I owe you more than I can ever repay." + +"Ah, my dear," said Pamela, "the debt is all on my side. You set the +solitary in families...." + +Mhor here entered, shouting that the car was waiting to take them to the +station to meet the Macdonalds, and Jean hurried away. + +An hour later the whole party met round the dinner-table. Mhor had been +allowed to sit up. Other nights he consumed milk and bread and butter +and eggs at 5.30, and went to bed an hour later, leaving Jock to change +his clothes and descend to dinner and the play, an arrangement that +caused a good deal of friction. But to-night all bitterness was +forgotten, and Mhor beamed on everyone. + +Mrs. Macdonald was in great form. She had come away, she told them, +leaving the spring cleaning half done. "All the study chairs in the +garden and Agnes rubbing down the walls, and Allan's men beating the +carpet.... In came the telegram, and after I got over the shock--I +always expect the worst when I see a telegraph boy--I said to John, 'My +best dress is not what it was, but I'm going,' and John was delighted, +partly because he was driven out of his study, and he's never happy in +any other room, but most of all because it was Jean. English Church or +no English Church he'll help to marry Jean. But," turning to the bride +to be, "I can hardly believe it, Jean. It's only ten days since you left +Priorsford, and to-morrow you're to be married. I think it was the War +that taught us such hurried ways...." She sighed, and then went on +briskly: "I went to see Mrs. M'Cosh before I left. She had had your +letter, so I didn't need to break the news to her. She was wonderfully +calm about it, and said that when people went away to England you might +expect to hear anything. She said I was to tell Mhor that the cat was +asking for him. And she is getting on with the cleaning. I think she +said she had finished the dining-room and two bedrooms, and she was +expecting the sweep to-day. She said you would like to know that the man +had come about the leak in the tank, and it's all right. I saw Bella +Bathgate as I was leaving The Rigs. She sent you and Lord Bidborough her +kind regards.... She has a free way of expressing herself, but I don't +think she means to be disrespectful." + +"Has she got lodgers just now?" Pamela asked. + +"Oh yes, she told me about them. One she dismissed as 'an auldish, +impident wumman wi' specs'; and the other as 'terrible genteel.' Both of +them 'a sair come-down frae Miss Reston.' Now you are gone you are on a +pedestal." + +"I wasn't always on a pedestal," said Pamela, "but I shall always have +a tenderness for Bella Bathgate and her parlour." She smiled to Lewis +Elliot as she said it. + +Jean, sitting beside Mr. Macdonald, thanked him for coming. + +"Happy, Jean?" he asked. + +"Utterly happy," said Jean. "So happy that I'm almost afraid. Isn't it +odd how one seems to cower down to avoid drawing the attention of the +Fates to one's happiness, saying, 'It is naught, it is naught,' in case +disaster follows?" + +"Don't worry about the Fates, Jean," Mr. Macdonald advised. "Rejoice in +your happiness, and God grant that the evil days may never come to +you.... What, Jock? Am I going to the play? I never went to a play in my +life and I'm too old to begin." + +"Oh, but, Mr. Macdonald," Jean broke in eagerly, "it isn't like a real +theatre; it's all Shakespeare, and the place is simply black with +clergymen, so you wouldn't feel out of place. You know you taught me +first to care for Shakespeare, and I'd love to sit beside you and see a +play acted." + +Mr. Macdonald shook his head at her. + +"Are you tempting your old minister, Jean? I've lived for sixty-five +years without seeing a play, and I think I can go on to the end. It's +not that it's wrong or that I think myself more virtuous than the rest +of the world because I stay away. It's prejudice if you like, +intolerance perhaps, narrowness, bigotry--" + +"Well, I think you and Mrs. Macdonald are better to rest this evening +after your journey," Pamela said. + +"Wouldn't you rather we stayed at home with you?" Jean asked. "We're +only going to the play for something to do. We thought Davie would like +it." + +"It's _Romeo and Juliet_," Jock broke in. "A silly love play, but +there's a fine scene at the end where they all get killed. If you're +sleeping, Mhor, I'll wake you up for that." + +"I would like to stay with you," Jean said to Mrs. Macdonald. + +"Never in the world. Off you go to your play, and John and I will go +early to bed and be fresh for to-morrow. When is the wedding?" + +"At twelve o'clock in the church at Little St. Mary's," Lord Bidborough +told her. "It's about ten miles from Stratford. I'm staying at the inn +there to-night, and I trust you to see that they are all off to-morrow +in good time." He turned to Mr. Macdonald. "It's most extraordinarily +kind, sir, of you both to come. I knew Jean would never feel herself +properly married if you were not there. And we wondered, Mrs. Macdonald, +if you and your husband would add to your kindness by staying on here +for a few days with the boys? You would see the country round, and then +you would motor down with them and join us at Mintern Abbas for another +week. D'you think you can spare the time? Jean would like you to see her +in her own house, and I needn't say how honoured I would feel." + +"Bless me," said Mrs. Macdonald. "That would mean a whole fortnight +away from Priorsford. You could arrange about the preaching, John, but +what about the spring cleaning? Agnes is a good creature, but I'm never +sure that she scrubs behind the shutters; they're the old-fashioned +kind, and need a lot of cleaning. However," with a deep sigh, "it's very +kind of you to ask us, and at our age we won't have many more +opportunities of having a holiday together, so perhaps we should seize +this one. Dear me, Jean, I don't understand how you can look so bright +so near your wedding. I cried and cried at mine. Have you not a qualm?" + +Jean shook her head and laughed, and Mr. Macdonald said: + +"Off with you all to your play. It's an odd thing to choose to go to +to-night-- + + "'For never was there such a tale of woe + As this of Juliet and her Romeo.'" + +Mrs. Macdonald shook her head and sighed. + +"I can't help thinking it's a poor preparation for a serious thing like +marriage. I often don't feel so depressed at a funeral. There at least +you know you've come to the end--nothing more can happen." Then her eyes +twinkled and they left her laughing. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + "'My lord, you nod: you do not mind the play.' + "'Yes, by Saint Anne, do I.... Madam lady.... _Would 'twere done_!'" + + _The Taming of the Shrew._ + + +Jean awoke early on her wedding morning and lay and thought over the +twenty-three years of her life, and wondered what she had done to be so +blessed, for, looking back, it seemed one long succession of sunny days. +The dark spots seemed so inconsiderable looking back as to be hardly +worth thinking about. + +Her window faced the east, and the morning sun shone in, promising yet +another fine day. Through the wall she could hear Mhor, who always woke +early, busy at some game--possibly wigwams with the blankets and +sheets--already the chamber-maid had complained of finding the sheets +knotted round the bed-posts. He was singing a song to himself as he +played. Jean could hear his voice crooning. The sound filled her with an +immense tenderness. Little Mhor with his naughtiness and his endearing +ways! And beloved Jock with his gruff voice and surprised blue eyes, so +tender hearted, so easily affronted. And David--the dear companion of +her childhood who had shared with her all the pleasures and penalties +of life under the iron rule of Great-aunt Alison, who understood as no +one else could ever quite understand, not even Biddy.... But as she +thought of Biddy, she sprang out of bed, and leaning out of the window +she turned her face to Little St. Mary's, where her love was, and where +presently she would join him. + +Five hours later she would stand with him in the church among the +blossoms, and they would be made man and wife, joined together till +death did them part. Jean folded her hands on the window-sill She felt +solemn and quiet and very happy. She had not had much time for thinking +in the last few days, and she was glad of this quiet hour. It was good +on her wedding morning to tell over in her mind, like beads on a rosary, +the excellent qualities of her dear love. Could there be another such in +the wide world? Pamela was happy with Lewis Elliot, and Lewis was kind +and good and in every way delightful, but compared with Richard +Plantagenet--In this pedestrian world her Biddy had something of the old +cavalier grace. Also, he had more than a streak of Ariel. Would he be +content always to be settled at home? He thought so now, but--Anyway, +she wouldn't try to bind him down, to keep him to domesticity, making an +eagle into a barndoor fowl; she would go with him where she could go, +and where she would be a burden she would send him alone and keep a high +heart, till she could welcome him home. + +But it was high time that she had her bath and dressed. It would be a +morning of dressing, for about 10.30 she would have to dress again for +her wedding. The obvious course was to breakfast in bed, but Jean had +rejected the idea as "stuffy." To waste the last morning of April in bed +with crumbs of toast and a tray was unthinkable, and by 9.30 Jean was at +the station giving Mhor an hour with his beloved locomotors. + +"You will like to come to Mintern Abbas, won't you, Mhor?" she said. + +Mhor considered. + +"I would have liked it better," he confessed, "if there had been a +railway line quite near. It was silly of whoever built it to put it so +far away." + +"When Mintern Abbas was built railways hadn't been invented." + +"I'm glad I wasn't invented before railways," said Mhor. "I would have +been very dull." + +"You'll have a pony at Mintern Abbas. Won't that be nice?" + +"Yes. Oh! there's the signal down at last. That'll be the express to +London. I can hear the roar of it already." + +Pamela's idea of a wedding garment for Jean was a soft white cloth coat +and skirt, and a close-fitting hat with Mercury wings. Everything was +simple, but everything was exquisitely fresh and dainty. + +Pamela dressed her, Mrs. Macdonald looking on, and Mawson fluttering +about, admiring but incompetent. + + "'Something old and something new, + Something borrowed and something blue,'" + +Mrs. Macdonald quoted. "Have you got them all, Jean?" + +"I think so. I've got a lace handkerchief that was my mother's--that's +old. And blue ribbon in my under-things. And I've borrowed Pamela's +prayer-book, for I haven't one of my own. And all the rest of me's new." + +"And the sun is shining," said Pamela, "so you're fortified against +ill-luck." + +"I hope so," said Jean gravely. "I must see if Mhor has washed his face +this morning. I didn't notice at breakfast, and he's such an odd child, +he'll wash every bit of himself and neglect his face. Perhaps you'll +remember to look, Mrs. Macdonald, when you are with him here." + +Mrs. Macdonald smiled at Jean's maternal tone. + +"I've brought up four boys," she said, "so I ought to know something of +their ways. It will be like old times to have Jock and Mhor to look +after." + +Mhor went in the car with Jean and Pamela and Mrs. Macdonald. The others +had gone on in Lord Bidborough's car, as Mr. Macdonald wanted to see the +vicar before the service. The vicar had asked Jean about the music, +saying that the village schoolmistress who was also the organist, was +willing to play. "I don't much like 'The Voice that breathed o'er +Eden,'" Jean told him, "but anything else would be very nice. It is so +very kind of her to play." + +Mhor mourned all the way to church about Peter being left behind. +"There's poor Peter who is so fond of marriages--he goes to them all in +Priorsford--tied up in the yard; and he knows how to behave in a +church." + +"It's a good deal more than you do," Mrs. Macdonald told him. "You're +never still for one moment. I know of at least one person who has had to +change his seat because of you. He said he got no good of the sermon +watching you bobbing about." + +"It's because I don't care about sermons," Mhor replied, and relapsed +into dignified silence--a silence sweetened by a large chocolate poked +at him by Jean. + +They walked through the churchyard with its quiet sleepers, into the +cool church where David was waiting to give his sister away. Some of the +village women, with little girls in clean pinafores clinging to their +skirts, came shyly in after them and sat down at the door. Lord +Bidborough, waiting for his bride, saw her come through the doorway +winged like Mercury, smiling back at the children following ... then her +eyes met his. + +The first thing that Jean became aware of was that Mr. Macdonald was +reading her own chapter. + +"The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them: and the +desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose.... + +"And an highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called The +Way of Holiness: the unclean shall not pass over it: but it shall be for +those: the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein.... + +"No lion shall be there, nor any ravenous beast shall go up thereon, it +shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. + +"And the ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion with songs +and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and +gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away." + +The schoolmistress had played the wedding march from _Lohengrin_, and +was prepared to play Mendelssohn as the party left the church, but when +the service was over Mrs. Macdonald whispered fiercely in Jean's ear, +"You _can't_ be married without 'O God of Bethel,'" and ousting the +schoolmistress from her place at the organ she struck the opening notes. + +They knew it by heart--Jean and Davie and Jock and Mhor and Lewis +Elliot--and they sang it with the unction with which one sings the songs +of Zion by Babylon's streams. + + "Through each perplexing path of life + Our wandering footsteps guide; + Give us each day our daily bread, + And raiment fit provide. + + O spread Thy covering wings around + Till all our wanderings cease, + And at our Father's loved abode + Our souls arrive in peace." + +Out in the sunshine, among the blossoms, Jean stood with her husband and +was kissed and blessed. + +"Jean, Lady Bidborough," said Pamela. + +"Gosh, Maggie!" said Jock, "I quite forgot Jean would be Lady +Bidborough. What a joke!" + +"She doesn't look any different," Mhor complained. + +"Surely you don't want her different," Mrs. Macdonald said. + +"Not _very_ different," said Mhor, "but she's pretty small for a +Lady--not nearly as tall as Richard Plantagenet." + +"As high as my heart," said Lord Bidborough. "The correct height, Mhor." + +The vicar lunched with them at the inn. There were no speeches, and no +one tried to be funny. + +Jock rebuked Jean for eating too much. "It's not manners for a bride to +have more than one help." + +"It's odd," said Jean, "but the last time I was married the same thing +happened. D'you remember Davie? You were the minister and I was the +bride, and I had my pinafore buttoned down the front to look grown up, +and Tommy Sprott was the bridegroom. And Great-aunt Alison let us have a +cake and some shortbread, and we made strawberry wine ourselves. And at +the wedding-feast Tommy Sprott suddenly pointed at me and said, 'Put +that girl out; she's eating all the shortbread.' Me--his new-made +bride!" + + * * * * * + +The whole village turned out to see the newly-married couple leave, +including the blacksmith and three dogs. It hurt Mhor afresh to see the +dogs barking happily while Peter, who would so have enjoyed a fight with +them, was spending a boring day in the stable-yard, but Jean comforted +him with the thought of Peter's delight at Mintern Abbas. + +"Will Richard Plantagenet mind if he chases rabbits?" + +"You won't, will you, Biddy?" Jean said. + +"Not a bit. If you'll stand between me and the wrath of the keepers +Peter may do any mortal thing he likes." + +As they drove away through the golden afternoon Jean said: "I've always +wondered what people talked about when they went away on their wedding +journey?" + +"They don't talk: they just look into each other's eyes in a sort of +ecstasy, saying, 'Is it I? Is it thou?'" + +"That would be pretty silly," said Jean. "We shan't do that anyway." + +Her husband laughed. + +"You are really very like Jock, my Jean.... D'you remember what your +admired Dr. Johnson said? 'If I had no duties I would spend my life in +driving briskly in a post-chaise with a pretty woman, but she should be +one who could understand me and would add something to the +conversation.' Wise old man! Tell me, Penny-plain, you're not fretting +about leaving the boys? You'll see them again in a few days. Are you +dreading having me undiluted?" + +"My dear, you don't suppose the boys come first now, do you? I love them +as dearly as ever I did, but compared with you--it's so different, +absolutely different--I can't explain. I don't love you like people in +books, all on fire, and saying wonderful things all the time. But to be +with you fills me with utter content. I told you that night in Hopetoun +that the boys filled my life. And then you went away, and I found that +though I had the boys my life and my heart were empty. You are my life, +Biddy." + +"My blessed child." + + * * * * * + +About four o'clock they came home. + +An upland country of pastures and shallow dales fell quietly to the +river levels, and on a low spur that was its last outpost stood Mintern +Abbas, a thing half of the hills and half of the broad valleys. At its +back, beyond the home-woods, was a remote land of sheep walks and +forgotten hamlets; at its feet the young Thames in lazy reaches wound +through water-meadows. Down the slopes of old pasture fell cascades of +daffodils, and in the fringes of the coppices lay the blue haze of wild +hyacinths. The house was so wholly in tune with the landscape that the +eye did not at once detect it, for its gables might have been part of +wood or hillside. It was of stone, and built in many periods and in many +styles which time had subtly blended so that it seemed a perfect thing +without beginning, as long descended as the folds of downs which +sheltered it. The austere Tudor front, the Restoration wing, the offices +built under Queen Anne, the library added in the days of the Georges, +had by some alchemy become one. Peace and long memories were in every +line of it, and that air of a home which belongs only to places that +have been loved for generations. It breathed ease and comfort, but yet +had a tonic vigour in it, for while it stood knee-deep in the green +valley its head was fanned by moorland winds. + +Jean held her breath as she saw it. It seemed to her the most perfect +thing that could be imagined. + +She walked in shyly, winged like Mercury, to be greeted respectfully by +a row of servants. Jean shook hands with each one, smiling at them with +her "doggy" eyes, wishing all the time for Mrs. M'Cosh, who was not +specially respectful, but always homely and humorous. + +Tea was ready in a small panelled room with a view of the lawns and the +river. + +"I asked them to put it here," Lord Bidborough said. "I thought you +might like to have this for your own sitting-room. It's just a little +like the room at The Rigs." + +"Oh, Biddy, it is. I saw it when I came in. May I really have it for my +own? It feels as if people had been happy in it. It has a welcoming air. +And what a gorgeous tea!" She sat down at the table and pulled off her +gloves. "Isn't life frightfully well arranged? Every day is so full of +so many different things, and meals are such a comfort. No, I'm not +greedy, but what I mean is that it would be just a little 'stawsome' if +you had nothing to do but _love_ all the time." + +"I'm Scots, partly, but I'm not so Scots as all that. What does +'stawsome' mean exactly?" + +"It means," Jean began, and hesitated--"I'm afraid it means--sickening." + +Her husband laughed as he sat down beside her. + +"I'm willing to believe that you mean to be more complimentary than you +sound. I'm very certain you would never let love-making become +'stawsome.' ... There are hot things in that dish--or would you rather +have a sandwich? This is the first time we've ever had tea alone, Jean." + +"I know. Isn't it heavenly to think that we shall be together now all +the rest of our lives? Biddy, I was thinking ... if--if ever we have a +son I should like to call him Peter Reid. Would you mind?" + +"My darling!" + +"It wouldn't go very well with the Quintins and the Reginalds and all +the other names, but it would be a sort of Thank you to the poor rich +man who was so kind to me." + +"All the same, I sometimes wish he hadn't left you all that money. I +would rather have given you everything myself." + +"Like King Cophetua. I've no doubt it was all right for him, but it +can't have been much fun for the beggar maid. No matter how kind and +generous a man is, to be dependent on him for every penny can't be nice. +It's different, I think, when the man is poor. Then they both work, the +man earning, the woman saving and contriving.... But what's the good of +talking about money? Money only matters when you haven't got any." + +"O wise young Judge!" + +"No, it's really quite a wise statement when you think of it.... Let's +go outside. I want to see the river near." She turned while going out at +the door and looked with great satisfaction on the room that was to be +her own. + +"I _am_ glad of this room, Biddy. It has such a kind feeling. The other +rooms are lovely, but they are meant for crowds of people. This says +tea, and a fire and a book and a friend--the four nicest things in the +world." + +They walked slowly down to the river. + +"Swans!" said Jean, "and a boat!" + +"In Shelley's dreams of Heaven there are always a river and a boat--I +read that somewhere.... Well, what do you think of Mintern Abbas? Did I +overpraise?" + +Jean shook her head. + +"That wouldn't be easy. It's the most wonderful place ... like a dream. +Look at it now in the afternoon light, pale gold like honey. And the odd +thing is it's in the very heart of England, and yet it might almost be +Scotland." + +"I thought that would appeal to you. Will you learn to love it, do you +think?" + +"I shan't have to learn. I love it already." + +"And feel it home?" + +"Yes ... but, Biddy, there's just one thing. I shall love our home with +all my heart and be absolutely content here if you promise me one +thing--that when I die I'll be taken to Priorsford.... I know it's +nonsense. I know it doesn't matter where the pickle dust that was me +lies, but I don't think I could be quite happy if I didn't know that +one day I should lie within sound of Tweed.... You're laughing, Biddy." + +"My darling, like you I've sometimes wondered what people talked about +on their honeymoon, but never in my wildest imaginings did I dream that +they talked of where they would like to be buried." + +Jean hid an abashed face for a moment against her husband's sleeve; then +she looked up at him and laughed. + +"It sounds mad--but I mean it," she said. + +"It's all the fault of your Great-aunt Alison. Tell me, Jean, girl--no, +I'm not laughing--how will this day look from your death-bed?" + +Jean looked at the river, then she looked into her husband's eyes, and +put both her hands into his. + +"Ah, my dear love," she said softly, "if that day leaves me any +remembrance of what I feel to-day, I'll be so glad to have lived that +I'll go out of the world cheering." + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Penny Plain, by Anna Buchan (writing as O. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/12768-8.zip b/old/12768-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..52340d6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12768-8.zip diff --git a/old/12768.txt b/old/12768.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4287a9e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12768.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10878 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Penny Plain, by Anna Buchan (writing as O. Douglas) + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Penny Plain + +Author: Anna Buchan (writing as O. Douglas) + +Release Date: June 28, 2004 [EBook #12768] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PENNY PLAIN *** + + + + +Produced by Karen Lofstrom and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +PENNY PLAIN + +BY + +O. DOUGLAS + + + +TO MY BROTHER WALTER + + + + +SHOPMAN: "You may have your choice--penny plain or twopence coloured." + +SOLEMN SMALL BOY: "Penny plain, please. It's better value for the +money." + + + + +CHAPTER I + + "The actors are at hand, + And by their show + You shall know all that you are like to know." + _Midsummer Night's Dream_. + + +It was tea-time in Priorsford: four-thirty by the clock on a chill +October afternoon. + +The hills circling the little town were shrouded with mist. The wide +bridge that spanned the Tweed and divided the town proper--the Highgate, +the Nethergate, the Eastgate--from the residential part was almost +deserted. On the left bank of the river, Peel Tower loomed ghostly in +the gathering dusk. Round its grey walls still stood woods of larch and +fir, and in front the links of Tweed moved through pleasant green +pastures. But where once ladies on palfreys hung with bells hunted with +their cavaliers there now stood the neat little dwellings of prosperous, +decent folk; and where the good King James wrote his rhymes, and +listened to the singing of Mass from the Virgin's Chapel, the Parish +Kirk reared a sternly Presbyterian steeple. No need any longer for Peel +to light the beacon telling of the coming of our troublesome English +neighbours. Telegraph wires now carried the matter, and a large bus met +them at the trains and conveyed them to that flamboyant pile in red +stone, with its glorious views, its medicinal baths, and its +band-enlivened meals, known as Priorsford Hydropathic. + +As I have said, it was tea-time in Priorsford. + +The schools had _skailed_, and the children, finding in the weather +little encouragement to linger, had gone to their homes. In the little +houses down by the riverside brown teapots stood on the hobs, and +rosy-faced women cut bread and buttered scones, and slapped their +children with a fine impartiality; while in the big houses on the Hill, +servants, walking delicately, laid out tempting tea-tables, and the +solacing smell of hot toast filled the air. + +Most of the smaller houses in Priorsford were very much of one pattern +and all fairly recently built, but there was one old house, an odd +little rough stone cottage, standing at the end of a row of villas, its +back turned to its parvenu neighbours, its eyes lifted to the hills. A +flagged path led up to the front door through a herbaceous border, which +now only held a few chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies (Perdita would +have scorned them as flowers for the old age), but in spring and in +summer blazed in a sweet disorder of old-fashioned blossoms. + +This little house was called The Rigs. + +It was a queer little house, and a queer little family lived in it. +Jardine was their name, and they sat together in their living-room on +this October evening. Generally they all talked at once and the loudest +voice prevailed, but to-night there was not so much competition, and +Jean frequently found herself holding the floor alone. + +David, busy packing books into a wooden box, was the reason for the +comparative quiet. He was nineteen, and in the morning he was going to +Oxford to begin his first term there. He had so long looked forward to +it that he felt dazed by the nearness of his goal. He was a good-looking +boy, with honest eyes and a firm mouth. + +His only sister, Jean, four years older than himself, left the table and +sat on the edge of the box watching him. She did not offer to help, for +she knew that every man knows best how to pack his own books, but she +hummed a gay tune to prove to herself how happy was the occasion, and +once she patted David's grey tweed shoulder as he leant over her. +Perhaps she felt that he needed encouragement this last night at home. + +Jock, the other brother, a schoolboy of fourteen, with a rough head and +a voice over which he had no control, was still at the tea-table. He was +rather ashamed of his appetite, but ate doggedly. "It's not that I'm +hungry just now," he would say, "but I so soon get hungry." + +At the far end of the room, in a deep window, a small boy, with a dog +and a cat, was playing at being on a raft. The boy's name was Gervase +Taunton, but he was known to a large circle of acquaintances as "the +Mhor," which, as Jean would have explained to you, is Gaelic for "the +great one." Thus had greatness been thrust upon him. He was seven, and +he had lived at The Rigs since he was two. He was a handsome child with +an almost uncanny charm of manner, and a gift of make-believe that made +his days one long excitement. + +He now stood like some "grave Tyrian trader" on the table turned upside +down that was his raft, as serious and intent as if it had been the navy +of Tarshish bringing Solomon gold and silver, ivory and apes and +peacocks. With one arm he clutched the cat and assured that unwilling +voyager, "You're on the dangerous sea, me old puss. You don't want to be +drowned, do you?" The cat struggled and scratched. "Then go--to your +doom!" + +He clasped his hands behind him in a Napoleonic manner and stood +gloomily watching the unembarrassed progress of the cat across the +carpet, while Peter (a fox-terrier, and the wickedest dog in Priorsford) +crushed against his legs to show how faithful he was compared to any +kind of cat. + +"Haven't you finished eating yet, Jock?" Jean asked. "Here is Mrs. +M'Cosh for the tea-things." + +The only servant The Rigs possessed was a middle-aged woman, the widow +of one Andrew M'Cosh, a Clyde riveter, who had drifted from her native +city of Glasgow to Priorsford. She had a sweet, worn face, and a neat +cap with a black velvet bow in front. + +Jock rose from the table reluctantly, and was at once hailed by the Mhor +and invited on to the raft. + +Jock hesitated, but he was the soul of good nature. "Well, only for five +minutes, remember. I've a lot of lessons to-night." He sat down on the +upturned table, his legs sprawling on the carpet, and hummed "Tom +Bowling," but the Mhor leaned from his post as steersman and said +gravely, "Don't dangle your legs, Jock; there are sharks in these +waters." So Jock obediently crumpled his legs until his chin rested on +his knees. + +Mrs. M'Cosh piled the tea-things on a tray and folded the cloth. "Ay, +Peter," she said, catching sight of that notorious character, "ye look +real good, but I wis hearin' ye were efter the sheep again the day." + +Peter turned away his head as if deeply shocked at the accusation, and +Mrs. M'Cosh, with the tea-cloth over her arm, regarded him with an +indulgent smile. She had infinite tolerance for Peter's shortcomings. + +"Peter was kinna late last night," she would say, as if referring to an +erring husband, "an' I juist sat up for him." She had also infinite +leisure. It was no use Jean trying to hurry the work forward by offering +to do some task. Mrs. M'Cosh simply stood beside her and conversed until +the job was done. Jean never knew whether to laugh or be cross, but she +generally laughed. + +Once when the house had been upset by illness, and trained nurses were +in occupation, Jean had rung the bell repeatedly, and, receiving no +answer, had gone to the kitchen. There she found the Mhor, then a very +small boy, seated on a chair playing a mouth-organ, while Mrs. M'Cosh, +her skirts held coquettishly aloft, danced a few steps to the music. +Jean--being Jean--had withdrawn unnoticed and slipped upstairs to the +sick-room much cheered by the sight of such detachment. + +Mrs. M'Cosh had been eight years with the Jardines and was in many ways +such a treasure, and always such an amusement, that they would not have +parted from her for much red gold. + +"Bella Bathgate's expectin' her lodger the morn." The tea-tray was ready +to be carried away, but Mrs. M'Cosh lingered. + +"Oh, is she?" said Jean. "Who is it that's coming?" + +"I canna mind the exact name, but she's ca'ed the Honourable an' she's +bringin' a leddy's maid." + +"Gosh, Maggie!" ejaculated Jock. + +"I asked you not to say that, Jock," Jean reminded him. + +"Ay," Mrs. M'Cosh continued, "Bella Bathgate's kinna pit oot aboot it. +She disna ken how she's to cook for an Honourable--she niver saw yin." + +"Have you seen one?" Jock asked. + +"No' that I know of, but when I wis pew opener at St. George's I let in +some verra braw folk. One Sunday there wis a lord, no less. A shaughly +wee buddy he wis tae. Ma Andra wud hae been gled to see him sae oorit." + +The eyes of the Jardines were turned inquiringly on their handmaid. It +seemed a strange reason for joy on the part of the late Andrew M'Cosh. + +"Weel," his widow explained, "ye see, Andra wis a Socialist an' thocht +naething o' lords--naething. I used to show him pictures o' them in the +_Heartsease Library_--fine-lukin' fellays wi' black mustacheys--but he +juist aye said, 'It's easy to draw a pictur', and he wouldna own that +they wis onything but meeserable to look at. An', mind you, he wis +richt. When I saw the lord in St. George's, I said to masel', I says, +'Andra wis richt,' I says." She lifted up the tray and prepared to +depart. "Weel, he'll no' be muckle troubled wi' them whaur he's gone, +puir man. The Bible says, Not many great, not many noble." + +"D'you think," said Mhor in a pleasantly interested voice, "that Mr. +M'Cosh is in heaven?" (Mhor never let slip an opportunity for +theological discussions.) "I wouldn't care much to go to heaven myself, +for all my friends are in"--he stopped and cast a cautious glance at +Jean, and, judging by her expression that discretion was the better part +of valour, and in spite of an encouraging twinkle in the eyes of Jock, +finished demurely--"the Other Place." + +"Haw, haw," laughed Jock, who was consistently amused by Mhor and his +antics. "I'm sorry for your friends, old chap. Do I know them?" + +"Well," said Mhor, "there's Napoleon and Dick Turpin and Graham of +Claverhouse and Prince Charlie and----" + +"Mhor--you're talking too much," said David, who was jotting down +figures in a notebook. + +"It's to be hoped," said Jean to Mrs. M'Cosh, "that the honourable lady +will suit Bella Bathgate, for Bella, honest woman, won't put herself +about to suit anybody. But she's been a good neighbour to us. I always +feel so safe with her near; she's equal to anything from a burst pipe to +a broken arm.... I do hope that landlord of ours in London will never +take it into his head to come back and live in Priorsford. If we had to +leave The Rigs and Bella Bathgate I simply don't know what we'd do." + +"We could easy get a hoose wi' mair conveniences" Mrs. M'Cosh reminded +her. She had laid down the tray again and stood with her hands on her +hips and her head on one side, deeply interested "Thae wee new villas in +the Langhope Road are a fair treat, wi' a pantry aff the dining-room an' +hot and cold everywhere." + +"_Villas_," said Jean--"hateful new villas! What are conveniences +compared to old thick walls and queer windows and little funny stairs? +Besides, The Rigs has a soul." + +"Oh, mercy!" said Mrs. M'Cosh, picking up the tray and moving at last to +the door, "that's fair heathenish!" + +Jean laughed as the door shut on their retainer, and perched herself on +the end of the big old-fashioned sofa drawn up at one side of the fire. +She wore a loose stockinette brown dress and looked rather like a wood +elf of sorts with her golden-brown hair and eyes. + +"If I were rich," she said, "I would buy an annuity for Mrs. M'Cosh of +at least L200 a year. When you think that she once had a house and a +husband, and a best room with an overmantel and a Brussels carpet, and +lost them all, and is contented to be a servant to us, with no prospect +of anything for her old age but the workhouse or the charity of +relations, and keeps cheery and never makes a moan and never loses her +interest in things ..." + +"But you're _not_ rich," said Jock. + +"No," said Jean ruefully. "Isn't it odd that no one ever leaves us a +legacy? But I needn't say that, for it would be much odder if anyone +did. I don't think there is a single human being in the world entitled +to leave us a penny piece. We are destitute of relations.... Oh, well, I +daresay we'll get on without a legacy, but for your comfort I'll read to +you about the sort of house we would have if some kind creature did +leave us one." + +She dived for a copy of _Country Life_ that was lying on the sofa, and +turned to the advertisements of houses to let and sell. + +"It is good of Mrs. Jowett letting us have this every week. It's a great +support to me. I wonder if anyone ever does buy these houses, or if they +are merely there to tantalize poor folk? Will this do? 'A finely +timbered sporting estate--seventeen bedrooms----'" + +"Too small," said Jock from his cramped position on the raft. + +"'A beautiful little property----' No. Oh, listen. 'A characteristic +Cotswold Tudor house'--doesn't that sound delicious? 'Mullioned windows. +Fine suite of reception-rooms, ballroom. Lovely garden, with +trout-stream intersecting'--heavenly. 'There are vineries, peach-houses, +greenhouses, and pits'--what do you do with pits?" "Keep bears in them, +of course," said Jock, and added vaguely--"bear baiting, you know." + +"It isn't usual to keep bears," David pointed out. + +"No, but if you _had_ them," Jock insisted, "you would want pits to keep +them in." + +"Jock," said Jean, "you are like the White Knight when Alice told him it +wasn't likely that there would be any mice on the horse's back. 'Not +very likely, perhaps, but if they _do_ come I don't choose to have them +running all about.' But I agree with the White Knight, it's as well to +be provided for everything, so we'll keep the pits in case of bears." + +"They had pits in the Bible," said Mhor dreamily, as he screwed and +unscrewed his steering-wheel, which was also the piano stool, "for +Joseph was put in one." + +Jean turned over the leaves of the magazine, studying each pictured +house, gloating over details of beauty and of age, then she pushed it +away with a "Heigh-ho, but I wish we had a Tudor residence." + +"I'll buy you one," David promised her, "when I'm Lord Chancellor." + +"Thank you, David," said Jean. + +By this time the raft had been sunk by a sudden storm, and Jock had +grasped the opportunity to go to his books, while Mhor and Peter had +laid themselves down on the rug before the fire and were rolling on each +other in great content. + +Jean and David sat together on the sofa, their arms linked. They had +very little to say, for as the time of departure approaches +conversation dies at the fount. + +Jean was trying to think what their mother would have said on this last +evening to her boy who was going out into the world. Never had she felt +so inadequate. Ought she to say things to him? Warn him against lurking +evils? (Jean who knew about as much of evil as a "committed linnet"!) +But David was such a wise boy and so careful. It always pinched Jean's +heart to see him dole out his slender stock of money, for there never +was a Jardine born who did not love to be generous. + +She looked at him fondly. "I do hope you won't find it too much of a +pinch, David. The worst of it is, you will be with people who have heaps +of money, and I'm afraid you'll hate to feel shabby." + +"It's no crime to be poor," said David stoutly. "I'll manage all right. +Don't you worry. What I hate is thinking you are scrimping to give me +every spare penny--but I'll work my hardest." + +"I know you'll do that, but play too--every minute you can spare. I +don't want you to shut yourself up among books. Try and get all the good +of Oxford. Remember, Sonny, this is your youth, and whatever you may get +later you can never get that back." She leaned back and gave a great +sigh. "How I wish I could make this a splendid time for you, but I +can't, my dear, I can't.... Anyway, nobody will have better china. I've +given you six of Aunt Alison's rosy ones; I hope the scout won't break +them. And your tablecloths and sheets and towels are all right, thanks +to our great-aunt's stores.... And you'll write as often as you can and +tell us everything, if you get a nice scout, and all about your rooms, +and if cushions would be any use, and oh, my dear, _eat_ as much as you +can--don't save on food." + +"Of course not," said David. "But several nights a week I'll feed in my +own room. You don't need to go to Hall to dinner unless you like." + +He got up from the sofa and went and stood before the fire, keeping his +head very much in the air and his hands in his pockets. He was feeling +that home was a singularly warm, kind place, and that the great world +was cold and full of strangers; so he whistled "D'ye ken John Peel?" and +squared his shoulders, and did not in the least deceive his sister Jean. + +"Peter, me faithful hound," said the Mhor, hugging the patient dog. +"What would you like to play at?" + +Peter looked supremely indifferent. + +"Red Indians?" + +Peter licked the earnest face so near his own. + +The Mhor wiped his face with the back of his hand (his morning's +handkerchief, which he alluded to as "me useful little hanky," being +used for all manner of purposes not intended by the inventor of +handkerchiefs, was quite unpresentable by evening) and said: + +"I know. Let's play at 'Suppose.' Jean, let's play at 'Suppose.'" + +"Don't worry, darling," said Jean. + +The Mhor turned to Jock, who was sitting at a table with his head bent +over a book. "Jock, let's play at 'Suppose.'" + +"Shut up," said Jock. + +"David." The Mhor turned to his last hope. "_Seeing_ it's your last +night." + +David never could resist the Mhor when he was beseeching. + +"Well, only for ten minutes, remember." + +Mhor looked fixedly at the clock, measuring with his eye the space of +ten minutes, then nodded, murmuring to himself, "From there to there. +You begin, Jean." + +"I can't think of anything," said Jean. Then seeing Mhor's eager face +cloud, she began: "Suppose when David was in the train to-morrow he +heard a scuffling sound under the seat, and he looked and saw a grubby +little boy and a fox-terrier, and he said, 'Come out, Mhor and Peter.' +And suppose they went with him all the way to Oxford, and when they got +to the college they crept upstairs without being seen and the scout was +a kind scout and liked dogs and naughty boys and he gave them a splendid +supper----" + +"What did he give them?" Mhor asked. + +"Chicken and boiled ham and meringues and sugar biscuits and lemonade" +(mentioning a few of Mhor's favourite articles of food), "and he tucked +them up on the sofa and they slept till morning, and got into the train +and came home, and that's all." + +"Me next," said Mhor. "Suppose they didn't come home again. Suppose they +started from Oxford and went all round the world. And I met a +magician--in India that was--and he gave me an elephant with a gold +howdah on its back, and I wasn't frightened for it--such a meek, gentle, +dirty animal--and Peter and me sat on it and it pulled off cocoanuts +with its trunk and handed them back to us, and we lived there always, +and I had a Newfoundland pup and Peter had a golden crown because he was +king of all the dogs, and I never went to bed and nobody ever washed my +ears and we made toffee every day, every single day...." His voice +trailed away into silence as he contemplated this blissful vision, and +Jock, wooed from his Greek verbs by the interest of the game, burst in +with his unmanageable voice: + +"Suppose a Russian man-of-war came up Tweed and started shelling +Priorsford, and the parish church was hit and the steeple fell into +Thomson's shop and scattered the haddocks and kippers and things all +over the street, and----" + +"Did you pick them up, Jock?" squealed Mhor, who regarded Jock as the +greatest living humorist, and now at the thought of the scattered +kippers wallowed on the floor with laughter. + +Jock continued: "And another shell blew the turrety thing off The Towers +and blew Mrs. Duff-Whalley right over the West Law and landed her in +Caddon Burn----" + +"Hurray!" yelled Mhor. + +Jock was preparing for a further flight of fancy, when Mrs. M'Cosh, +having finished washing the dishes, came in to say that Thomson had +never sent the sausages for Mr. David's breakfast, and she could not +see him depart for England unfortified by sausages and poached eggs. + +"I'll just slip down and get them," she announced, being by no means +averse to a stroll along the lighted Highgate. It was certainly neither +Argyle Street nor the Paisley Road, but it bore a far-off resemblance to +those gay places, and for that Mrs. M'Cosh was thankful. There was a +cinema, too, and that was a touch of home. Talking over Priorsford with +Glasgow friends she would say, "It's no' juist whit I wud ca' the deid +country--no juist paraffin-ile and glaury roads, ye ken. We hev gas an' +plain-stanes an' a pictur hoose." + +When Mrs. M'Cosh left the room Jock returned to his books, and the Mhor, +his imagination fermenting with the thought of bombs on Priorsford, +retired to the window-seat to think out further damage. + + * * * * * + +Some hours later, when Jock and Mhor were fast asleep and David, his +packing finished, was preparing to go to bed, Jean slipped into the +room. + +She stood looking at the open trunk on the floor, at the shelves from +which the books had been taken, at the empty boot cupboard. + +Two large tears rolled over her face, but she managed to say quite +gaily, "December will soon be here." + +"In no time at all," said David. + +Jean was carrying a little book, which she now laid on the +dressing-table, and, giving it a push in her brother's direction, "It's +a _Daily Light_," she explained. + +David did not offer to look at the gift, which was the traditional +Jardine gift to travellers, a custom descending from Great-aunt Alison. +He stood a bit away and said, "All right." + +And Jean understood, and said nothing of what was in her heart. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + "They have their exits and their entrances." + _As You Like It_. + + +The ten o'clock express from Euston to Scotland was tearing along on its +daily journey. It was that barren hour in the afternoon when luncheon is +over and forgotten, and tea is yet far distant, and most of the +passengers were either asleep or listlessly trying to read light +literature. + +Alone in a first-class carriage sat Bella Bathgate's lodger--Miss Pamela +Reston. A dressing-bag and a fur-coat and a pile of books and magazines +lay on the opposite seat, and the lodger sat writing busily. An envelope +lay beside her addressed to + +THE LORD BIDBOROUGH, + c/o KING, KING, & Co., + BOMBAY. + +The letter ran: + +"DEAR BIDDY,--We have always agreed, you and I (forgive the abruptness +of this beginning), that we would each live our own life. Your idea of +living was to range over the world in search of sport, mine to amuse +myself well, to shine, to be admired. You, I imagine from your letters +(what a faithful correspondent you have been, Biddy, all your wandering +life), are still finding zest in it: mine has palled. You will jump +naturally to the brotherly conclusion that _I_ have palled--that I cease +to amuse, that I find myself taking a second or even a third place, I +who was always first; that, in short, I am a soured and disappointed +woman. + +"Honestly, I don't think that is so. I am still beautiful: I am more +sympathetic than in my somewhat callous youth, therefore more popular: I +am good company: I have the influence that money carries with it, and I +could even now make what is known as a 'brilliant' marriage. Did you +ever wonder--everybody else did, I know--why I never married? Simply, my +dear, because the only man I cared for didn't ask me ... and now I am +forty. (How stark and almost indecent it looks written down like that!) +At forty, one is supposed to have got over all youthful fancies and +disappointments, and lately it has seemed to me reasonable to +contemplate a common-sense marriage. A politician, wise, honoured, +powerful--and sixty. What could be more suitable? So suitable that I ran +away--an absurdly young thing to do at forty--and I am writing to you in +the train on my way to Scotland.... You see, Biddy, I quite suddenly saw +myself growing old, saw all the arid years in front of me, and saw that +it was a very dreadful thing to grow old caring only for the things of +time. It frightened me badly. I don't want to go in bondage to the fear +of age and death. I want to grow old decently, and I am sure one ought +to begin quite early learning how. + + "'Clear eyes do dim at last + And cheeks outlive their rose: + Time, heedless of the past, + No loving kindness knows.' + +Yes, and 'youth's a stuff will not endure,' and 'golden lads and girls +all must like chimney-sweepers come to dust.' The poets aren't at all +helpful, for youth--poor brave youth--won't listen to their warnings, +and they seem to have no consolation to offer to middle age. + +"The odd thing is that up to a week or two ago I greatly liked the life +I led. You said it would kill you in a month. Was it only last May that +you pranced in the drawing-room in Grosvenor Street inveighing against +'the whole beastly show,' as you called it--the freak fashions, the ugly +eccentric dances, the costly pageant balls, the shouldering, +the striving, the worship of money, the gambling, the +self-advertisement--all the abject vulgarity of it? And my set, the +artistic, soulful literary set, you said was the worst of all: you +actually described the high-priestess as looking like a 'decomposing +cod-fish,' and added by way of a final insult that you thought the woman +had a kind heart. + +"And I laughed and thought the War had changed you. It didn't change me, +to my shame be it said. I thought I was doing wonders posing about in a +head-dress at Red Cross meetings, and getting up entertainments, and +even my neverceasing anxiety about you simply seemed to make me more +keen about amusing myself. + +"Do you remember a story we liked when we were children, _The Gold of +Fairnilee_? Do you remember how Randal, carried away by the fairies, +lived contented until his eyes were touched with the truth-telling +water, and then Fairyland lost its glamour and he longed for the old +earth he had left, and the changes of summer and autumn, and the streams +of Tweed and his friends? + +"Is it, do you suppose, because we had a Scots mother that I find, deep +down within me, that I am 'full of seriousness'? It is rather +disconcerting to think oneself a butterfly and find out suddenly that +one is a--what? A bread-and-butter fly, shall we say? Something quite +solid, anyway. + +"As I say, I suddenly became deadly sick of everything. I simply +couldn't go on. And it was no use going burying myself at Bidborough or +even dear Mintern Abbas; it would have been the same sort of trammelled, +artificial existence. I wanted something utterly different. Scotland +seemed to call to me--not the Scotland we know, not the shooting, +yachting, West Highland Scotland, but the Lowlands, the Borders, our +mother's countryside. + +"I remembered how Lewis Elliot (I wonder where he is now--it is ages +since I heard of him) used to tell us about a little town on the Tweed +called Priorsford. It was his own little town, his birthplace and I +thought the name sung itself like a song. I made inquiries about rooms +and found that in a little house called Hillview, owned by one Bella +Bathgate, I might lodge. I liked the name of the house and its owner, +and I hope to find in Priorsford peace and great content. + +"Having been more or less of a fool for forty years, I am now going to +try to get understanding. It won't be easy, for we are told that 'it +cannot be gotten with gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the +price thereof.... No mention shall be made of coral and pearls: for the +price of wisdom is above rubies.' + +"I am going to walk on the hills all day, and in the evening I shall +read the Book of Job and Shakespeare and Sir Walter. + +"In one of the Jungle Books there was a man called Sir Purun Dass--do +you remember? Sir Purun Dass, K.C.I.E., who left all his honours and +slipped out one day to the sun-baked highway with nothing but an +ochre-coloured garment and a beggar's bowl. I always envied that man. +Not that I could rise to such Oriental heights. The beggar's bowl +wouldn't do for me. I cling to my comforts: also, I am sure Sir Purun +Dass left himself no loophole whereby he might slip back to his official +position whereas I-----Well, the Politician thinks I have gone for a +three months' rest cure, and at sixty one is not impatient. You will +say, 'How like Pam!' Yes, isn't it? I always was given to leaving myself +loopholes; but, all the same, I am not going to face an old age +bolstered up by bridge and cosmetics. There must be other props, and I +mean to find them. I mean to possess my soul. I'm not all froth, but, if +I am, Priorsford will reveal it. I feel that there will be something +very revealing about Miss Bella Bathgate. + +"Poor Biddy, to have such an effusion hurled at you! + +"But you'll admit I don't often mention my soul. + +"I doubt if you will be able to read this letter. If you can make it +out, forgive it being so full of myself. The next will be full of quite +other things. All my love, Biddy.--Yours, PAM." + + * * * * * + +Three hours later the express stopped at the junction. The train was +waiting on the branch line that terminated at Priorsford, and after a +breathless rush over a high bridge in the dark Pamela and her maid, +Mawson, found themselves bestowed in an empty carriage by a fatherly +porter. + +Mawson was not a real lady's maid: one realised that at once. She had +been a housemaid for some years in the house in Grosvenor Street, and +Pamela, when her own most superior maid flatly refused to accompany her +on this expedition, had asked Mawson to be her maid, and Mawson had +gladly accepted the offer. She was a middle-aged woman with a small +brown face, an obvious _toupee_, and an adventurous spirit. + +She now tidied the carriage violently, carefully hiding the book Pamela +had been reading and putting the cushion on the rack. Finally, tucking +the travelling-rug firmly round her mistress, she remarked pleasantly, +"A h'eight hours' journey without an 'itch!" + +"Certainly without an aitch," thought Pamela, as she said, "You like +travelling, Mawson?" + +"Oh yes, m'm. I always 'ave 'ad a desire to travel. Specially, if I may +say so, to see Scotland, Miss. But, oh, ain't it bleak? Before it was +dark I 'ad me eyes glued to the window, lookin' out. Such miles of +'eather and big stones and torrents, Miss, and nothing to be seen but a +lonely sheep--'ardly an 'ouse on the 'orizon. It gave me quite a turn." + +"And this is nothing to the Highlands, Mawson." + +"Ain't it, Miss? Well, it's the bleakest I've seen yet, an' I've been to +Brighton and Blackpool. Travelled quite a lot, I 'ave, Miss. The lydy +who read me 'and said I would, for me teeth are so wide apart." Which +cryptic saying puzzled Pamela until Priorsford was reached, when other +things engaged her attention. + + * * * * * + +There was another passenger for Priorsford in the London express. He was +called Peter Reid, and he was as short and plain as his name. Peter Reid +was returning to his native town a very rich man. He had left it a youth +of eighteen and entered the business of a well-to-do uncle in London, +and since then, as the saying is, he had never looked over his shoulder; +fortune showered her gifts on him, and everything he touched seemed to +turn to gold. + +While his mother lived he had visited her regularly, but for thirty +years his mother had been lying in Priorsford churchyard, and he had not +cared to keep in touch with the few old friends he had. For forty-five +years he had lived in London, so there was almost nothing of Priorsford +left in him--nothing, indeed, except the desire to see it again before +he died. + +They had been forty-five quite happy years for Peter Reid. Money-making +was the thing he enjoyed most in this world. It took the place to him of +wife and children and friends. He did not really care much for the +things money could buy; he only cared to heap up gold, to pull down +barns and build greater ones. Then suddenly one day he was warned that +his soul would be required of him--that soul of his for which he had +cared so little. After more than sixty years of health, he found his +body failing him. In great irritation, but without alarm, he went to see +a specialist, one Lauder, in Wimpole Street. + +He supposed he would be made to take a holiday, and grudged the time +that would be lost. He grudged, also, the doctor's fee. + +"Well," he said, when the examination was over, "how long are you going +to keep me from my work?" + +The doctor looked at him thoughtfully. He was quite a young man, tall, +fair-haired, and fresh-coloured, with a look about him of vigorous +health that was heartening and must have been a great asset to him in +his profession. + +"I am going to advise you not to go back to work at all." + +"_What!_" cried Peter Reid, getting very red, for he was not accustomed +to being patient when people gave him unpalatable advice. Then +something that he saw--was it pity?--in the doctor's face made him white +and faint. + +"You--you can't mean that I'm really ill?" + +"You may live for years--with care." + +"I shall get another opinion," said Peter Reid. + +"Certainly--here, sit down." The doctor felt very sorry for this hard +little business man whose world had fallen about his ears. Peter Reid +sat down heavily on the chair the doctor gave him. + +"I tell you, I don't feel ill--not to speak of. And I've no time to be +ill. I have a deal on just now that I stand to make thousands out +of--thousands, I tell you." + +"I'm sorry," James Lauder said. + +"Of course, I'll see another man, though it means throwing away more +money. But"--his face fell--"they told me you were the best man for the +heart.... Leave my work! The thing's ridiculous Patch me up and I'll go +on till I drop. How long do you give me?" + +"As I said, you may live for years; on the other hand, you may go very +suddenly." + +Peter Reid sat silent for a minute; then he broke out: + +"Who am I to leave my money to? Tell me that." + +He spoke as if the doctor were to blame for the sentence he had +pronounced. + +"Haven't you relations?" + +"None." + +"The hospitals are always glad of funds." + +"I daresay, but they won't get them from me." + +"Have you no great friends--no one you are interested in?" + +"I've hundreds of acquaintances," said the rich man, "but no one has +ever done anything for me for nothing--no one." + +James Lauder looked at the hard-faced little man and allowed himself to +wonder how far his patient had encouraged kindness. + +A pause. + +"I think I'll go home," said Peter Reid. + +"The servant will call you a taxi. Where do you live?" + +Peter Reid looked at the doctor as if he hardly understood. + +"Live?" he said. "Oh, in Prince's Gate. But that isn't home.... I'm +going to Scotland." + +"Ah," said James Lauder, "now you're talking. What part of Scotland is +'home' to you?" + +"A place they call Priorsford. I was born there." + +"I know it. I've fished all round there. A fine countryside." + +Interest lit for a moment the dull grey eyes of Peter Reid. + +"I haven't fished," he said, "since I was a boy. Did you ever try the +Caddon Burn? There are some fine pools in it. I once lost a big fellow +in it and came over the hills a disappointed laddie.... I remember what +a fine tea my mother had for me." He reached for his hat and gave a +half-ashamed laugh. + +"How one remembers things! Well, I'll go. What do you say the other +man's name is? Yes--yes. Life's a short drag; it's hardly worth +beginning. I wish, though, I'd never come near you, and I would have +gone on happily till I dropped. But I won't leave my money to any +charity, mind that!" + +He walked towards the door and turned. + +"I'll leave it to the first person who does something for me without +expecting any return.... By the way, what do I owe you?" + +And Peter Reid went away exceeding sorrowful, for he had great +possessions. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + "It is the only set of the kind I ever met with in which you are + neither led nor driven, but actually fall, and that imperceptibly + into literary topics; and I attribute it to this, that in that house + literature is not a treat for company upon invitation days, but is + actually the daily bread of the family."--Written of Maria + Edgeworth's home. + + +Pamela Reston stood in Bella Bathgate's parlour and surveyed it +disconsolately. + +It was papered in a trying shade of terra-cotta and the walls were +embellished by enlarged photographs of the Bathgate family--decent, +well-living people, but plain-headed to a degree. Linoleum covered the +floor. A round table with a red-and-green cloth occupied the middle of +the room, and two arm-chairs and six small chairs stood about stiffly +like sentinels. Pamela had tried them all and found each one more +unyielding than the next. The mantelshelf, painted to look like some +uncommon kind of marble, supported two tall glass jars bright blue and +adorned with white raised flowers, which contained bunches of dried +grasses ("silver shekels" Miss Bathgate called them), rather dusty and +tired-looking. A mahogany sideboard stood against one wall and was +heavily laden with vases and photographs. Hard lace curtains tinted a +deep cream shaded the bow-window. + +"This is grim," said Pamela to herself. "Something must be done. First +of all, I must get them to send me some rugs--they will cover this awful +floor--and half a dozen cushions and some curtains and bits of +embroidery and some table linen and sheets and things. Idiot that I was +not to bring them with me!... And what could I do to the walls? I don't +know how far one may go with landladies, but I hardly think one could +ask them to repaper walls to each stray lodger's liking." + +Miss Bathgate had not so far shown herself much inclined for +conversation. She had met her lodger on the doorstep the night before, +had uttered a few words of greeting, and had then confined herself to +warning the man to watch the walls when he carried up the trunks, and to +wondering aloud what anyone could want with so much luggage, and where +in the world it was to find room. She had been asked to have dinner +ready, and at eight o'clock Pamela had come down to the sitting-room to +find a coarse cloth folded in two and spread on one-half of the round +table. A knife, a fork, a spoon lay on the cloth, flanked on one side by +an enormous cruet and on the other by four large spoons, laid crosswise, +and a thick tumbler. An aspidistra in a pot completed the table +decorations. + +The dinner consisted of stewed steak, with turnip and carrots, and a +large dish of potatoes, followed by a rice pudding made without eggs and +a glass dish of prunes. + +Pamela was determined to be pleased. + +"How _right_ it all is," she told herself--"so entirely in keeping. All +so clean and--and sufficient. I am sure all the things we hang on +ourselves and round ourselves to please and beautify are very +clogging--this is life at its simplest," and she rang for coffee, which +came in a breakfast-cup and was made of Somebody's essence and boiling +water. + +Pamela had gone to bed very early, there being absolutely nothing to sit +up for; and the bed was as hard as the nether millstone. As she put her +tired head on a cast-iron pillow covered by a cotton pillow-slip, and +lay crushed under three pairs of hard blankets, topped by a patchwork +quilt worked by Bella's mother and containing samples of the clothes of +all the family--from the late Mrs. Bathgate's wedding-gown of +puce-coloured cashmere to her youngest son's first pair of "breeks," the +whole smelling strongly of naphtha from the _kist_ where it had +lain--regretful thoughts of other beds came to her. She felt she had not +fully appreciated them--those warm, soft, embracing beds, with +satin-smooth sheets and pillow-cases smelling of lavender and other +sweet things, feather-light blankets, and rose-coloured eiderdowns. + +She came downstairs in the morning to the bleak sitting-room filled with +a distaste for simplicity which she felt to be unworthy. For breakfast +there was a whole loaf on a platter, three breakfast rolls hot from the +baker, and the family toast-rack full of tough, damp toast. A large +pale-green duck's egg sat heavily in an egg-cup, capped, but not +covered, by a strange red flannel thing representing a cock's head, +which Pamela learned later was called an "egg-cosy" and had come from +the sale of work for Foreign Missions. A metal teapot and water-jug +stood in two green worsted nests. + +Pamela poured herself out some tea. "I'm almost sure I told her I wanted +coffee in the morning," she murmured to herself, "but it doesn't +matter." Already she was beginning to hold Bella Bathgate in awe. She +took the top off the duck's egg and looked at it in an interested way. +"It's a beautiful colour--orange--but"--she pushed it away--"I don't +think I can eat it." + +She drank some tea and ate a baker's roll, which was excellent; then she +rang the bell. + +When Bella appeared she at once noticed the headless but uneaten egg, +and, taking it up, smelt it. + +"What's wrang wi' the egg?" she demanded. + +"Oh, nothing," said Pamela quickly. "It's a lovely egg really, such a +beautiful colour, but"--she laughed apologetically--"you know how it is +with eggs--either you can eat them or you can't. I always have to eat +eggs with my head turned away so to speak. There is something about the +yolk so--so----" Her voice trailed away under Miss Bathgate's stolid, +unsmiling gaze. + +There was no point in going on being arch about eggs to a person who so +obviously regarded one as a poor creature. But a stand must be taken. + +"Er--Miss Bathgate----" Pamela began. + +There was no answer from Bella, who was putting the dishes on a tray. +Had she addressed her rightly? + +"You _are_ Miss Bathgate, aren't you?" + +"Ou ay," said Bella. "I'm no' mairret nor naething o' that kind." + +"I see. Well, Miss Bathgate, I wonder if you would mind if Mawson--my +maid, you know--carried away some of those ornaments and photographs to +a safe place? It would be such a pity if we broke any of them, for, of +course, you must value them greatly. These vases now, with the pretty +grasses, it would be dreadful if anything happened to them, for I'm sure +we could never, never replace them." + +"Uch ay," Bella interrupted. "I got them at the pig-cairt in exchange +for some rags. He's plenty mair o' the same kind." + +"Oh, really," Pamela said helplessly. "The fact is, a few things of my +own will be arriving in a day or two--a cushion or two and that sort of +thing--to make me feel at home, you know, so if you would very kindly +let us make room for them, I should be so much obliged." + +Bella Bathgate looked round the grim chamber that was to her as the +apple of her eye, and sighed for the vagaries of "the gentry." + +"Aweel," she said, "I'll pit them in a kist until ye gang awa'. I've +never had lodgers afore." And as she carried out the tray there was a +baleful gleam in her eye as if she were vowing to herself that she would +never have them again. + +Pamela gave a gasp of relief when the door closed behind the ungracious +back of her landlady, and started when it opened again, but this time it +was only Mawson. + +She hailed her. "Mawson, we must get something done to this room. Lift +all these vases and photographs carefully away. Miss Bathgate says she +will put them somewhere else in the meantime. And we'll wire to +Grosvenor Street for some cushions and rugs--this is too hopeless. Are +you quite comfortable Mawson?" + +"Yes, Miss. I 'ave me meals in the kitchen, Miss, for Miss Bathgate +don't want to keep another fire goin'. A nice cosy kitchen it is, Miss." + +"Then I wish I could have my meals there, too." + +"Oh, Miss!" cried Mawson in horror. + +"Does Miss Bathgate talk to you, Mawson?" + +"Not to say talk, Miss. She don't even listen much; says she can't +understand my 'tongue.' Funny, ain't it? Seems to me it's 'er that +speaks strange. But I expect we'll be friends in time, Miss. You do 'ave +to give the Scotch time: bit slow they are.... What I wanted to h'ask, +Miss, is where am I to put your things? That little wardrobe and chest +of drawers 'olds next to nothing." + +"Keep them in the trunks," said Pamela. "I think Miss Bathgate would +like to see us departing with them to-day, but I won't be beat. In +Priorsford we are, in Priorsford we remain.... I'll write out some wires +and you will explore for a post office. I shall explore for an +upholsterer who can supply me with an arm-chair not hewn from the +primeval rock." + +Mawson smiled happily and departed to put on her hat, while Pamela sat +down to compose telegrams. + +These finished, she began, as was her almost daily custom, to scribble a +letter to her brother. + +"c/o Miss B. BATHGATE, + HILLVIEW, PRIORSFORD, + SCOTLAND. + +"BIDDY DEAR,--The beds and chairs and cushions are all stuffed with +cannon-balls, and the walls are covered with enlarged photographs of men +with whiskers, and Bella Bathgate won't speak to me, partly because she +evidently hates the look of me, and partly because I didn't eat the +duck's egg she gave me for breakfast. But the yolk of it was orange, +Biddy. How could I eat it? + +"I have sent out S.O.S. signals for necessaries in the way of rugs and +cushions. Life as bald and unadorned as it presents itself to Miss +Bathgate is really not quite decent. I wish she would speak to me, but I +fear she considers me beneath contempt. + +"What happens when you arrive in a place like Priorsford and stay in +lodgings? Do you remain seated alone with your conscience, or do people +call? + +"Perhaps I shall only have Mawson to converse with. It might be worse. I +don't think I told you about Mawson. She has been a housemaid in +Grosvenor Street for some years, and she maided me once when Julie was +on holiday, so when that superior damsel refused to accompany me on this +trek I gladly left her behind and brought Mawson in her place. + +"She is really very little use as a maid, but her conversation is +pleasing and she has a most cheery grin. She reads the works of Florence +Barclay, and doesn't care for music-halls--'low I call them, Miss.' I +asked her if she were fond of music, and she said, 'Oh yes, Miss,' and +then with a coy glance, 'I ply the mandoline.' I think she is about +fifty, and not at all good-looking, so she will be a much more +comfortable person in the house than Julie, who would have moped without +admirers. + +"Well, at present Mawson and I are rather like Robinson Crusoe and Man +Friday on the island...." + + * * * * * + +Pamela stopped and looked out of the window for inspiration. Miss +Bathgate's parlour was not alluring, but the view from it was a +continual feast--spreading fields, woods that in this yellowing time of +the year were a study in old gold, the winding river, and the blue hills +beyond. Pamela saw each detail with delight; then, letting her eyes come +nearer home, she studied the well-kept garden belonging to her landlady. +On the wall that separated it from the next garden a small boy and a dog +were seated. + +Pamela liked boys, so she smiled encouragingly to this one, the boy +responding by solemnly raising his cap. + +Pamela leaned out of the window. + +"Good morning," she said. "What's your name?" + +"My name's Gervase Taunton, but I'm called 'the Mhor.' This is Peter +Jardine," patting the dog's nose. + +"I'm very glad to know you," said Pamela. "Isn't that wall damp?" + +"It is rather," said Mhor. "We came to look at you." + +"Oh," said Pamela. + +"I've never seen an Honourable before, neither has Peter." + +"You'd better come in and see me quite close," Pamela suggested. "I've +got some chocolates here." + +Mhor and Peter needed no further invitation. They sprang from the wall +and in a few seconds presented themselves at the door of the +sitting-room. + +Pamela shook hands with Mhor and patted Peter, and produced a box of +chocolates. + +"I hope they're the kind you like?" she said politely. + +"I like any kind," said Mhor, "but specially hard ones. I don't suppose +you have anything for Peter? A biscuit or a bit of cake? Peter's like +me. He's always hungry for cake and _never_ hungry for porridge." + +Pamela, feeling extremely remiss, confessed that she had neither cake +nor biscuits and dared not ask Miss Bathgate for any. + +"But you're bigger than Miss Bathgate," Mhor pointed out. "You needn't +be afraid of her. I'll ask her, if you like." + +Pamela heard him cross the passage and open the kitchen door and begin +politely, "Good morning, Miss Bathgate." + +"What are ye wantin' here wi' thae dirty boots?" Bella demanded. + +"I came in to see the Honourable, and she has nothing to give poor Peter +to eat. Could he have a tea biscuit--not an Abernethy one, please, he +doesn't like them--or a bit of cake?" + +"Of a' the impidence!" ejaculated Bella. "D'ye think I keep tea biscuits +and cake to feed dowgs wi'? Stan' there and dinna stir." She put a bit +of carpet under the small, dirty boots, and as she grumbled she wiped +her hands on a coarse towel that hung behind the door, and reached up +for a tin box from the top shelf of the press beside the fire. + +"Here, see, there's yin for yerself, an' the broken bits are for Peter. +Here he comes snowkin'," as Peter ambled into the kitchen followed by +Pamela. That lady stood in the doorway. + +"Do forgive me coming, but I love a kitchen. It is always the nicest +place in the house, I think; the shining tins are so cheerful, and the +red fire." She smiled in an engaging way at Bella, who, after a second, +and, as it were, reluctantly, smiled back. + +"I see you have given the raider some biscuits," Pamela said. + +"He's an ill laddie." Bella Bathgate looked at the Mhor standing +obediently on the bit of carpet, munching his biscuit, and her face +softened. "He has neither father nor mother, puir lamb, but I must say +Miss Jean never lets him ken the want o' them." + +"Miss Jean?" + +"He bides at The Rigs wi' the Jardines--juist next door here. She's no a +bad lassie, Miss Jean, and wonderfu' sensible considerin'.... Are ye +finished, Mhor? Weel, wipe yer feet and gang ben to the room an' let me +get on wi' ma work." + +Pamela, feeling herself dismissed, took her guest back to the +sitting-room, where Mhor at once began to examine the books piled on the +table, while Peter sat himself on the rug to await developments. + +"You've a lot of books," said Mhor. "I've a lot of books too--as many as +a hundred, perhaps. Jean teaches me poetry. Would you like me to say +some?" + +"Please," said Pamela, expecting to hear some childish rhymes. Mhor took +a long breath and began: + + "'O take me to the Mountain O, + Past the great pines and through the wood, + Up where the lean hounds softly go, + A whine for wild things' blood, + And madly flies the dappled roe. + O God, to shout and speed them there + An arrow by my chestnut hair + Drawn tight, and one keen glittering spear-- + Ah, if I could!'" + +For some reason best known to himself Mhor was very sparing of breath +when he repeated poetry, making one breath last so long that the end of +the verse was reached in a breathless whisper--in this instance very +effective. + +"So that is what 'Jean' teaches you," said Pamela. "I should like to +see Jean." + +"Well," said Mhor, "come in with me now and see her. I should be doing +my lessons anyway, and you can tell her where I've been." + +"Won't she think me rather pushing?" Pamela asked. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Mhor carelessly. "Jean's kind to +everybody--tramps and people who sing in the street and little cats with +no homes. Hadn't you better put on your hat?" + +So Pamela obediently put on her hat and coat and went with her new +friends down the road a few steps and up the flagged path to the front +door of the funny little house that kept its back turned to its parvenu +neighbours, and its eyes lifted to the hills. + +In Mhor led her, Peter following hard behind, through a square, +low-roofed entrance-hall with a polished floor, into a long room with +one end coming to a point in an odd-shaped window, rather like the bow +of a ship. + +A girl was sitting in the window with a large basket of darning beside +her. + +"Jean," cried Mhor as he burst in, "here's the Honourable. I asked her +to come in and see you. She's afraid of Bella Bathgate." + +"Oh, do come in," said Jean, standing up with the stocking she was +darning over one hand. "Take this chair; it's the most comfortable. I do +hope Mhor hasn't been worrying you?" + +"Indeed he hasn't," said Pamela; "I was delighted to see him. But +please don't let me interrupt your work." + +"The boys make such big holes," said Jean, picking up a damp +handkerchief that lay beside her; and then with a tremble in her voice, +"I've been crying," she added. + +"So I see," said Pamela. "I'm sorry. Is anything wrong?" + +"Nothing in the least wrong," Jean said, swallowing hard, "only that I'm +so silly." And presently she found herself pouring out her troubled +thoughts about David, about the lions that she feared stood in his path +at Oxford, about the hole his going made in the little household at The +Rigs. It was a comfort to tell it all to this delightful-looking +stranger who seemed to understand in the most wonderful way. + +"I remember when my brother Biddy went to Oxford," Pamela told her. "I +felt just as you do. Our parents were dead, and I was five years older +than my brother, and took care of him just as you do of your David. I +was afraid for him, for he had too much money, and that is much worse +than having too little--but he didn't get changed or spoiled, and to +this day he is the same, my own old Biddy." + +Jean dried her eyes and went on with her darning, and Pamela walked +about looking at the books and talking, taking in every detail of this +girl and her so individual room, the golden-brown hair, thick and wavy, +the golden-brown eyes, "like a trout-stream in Connemara," that sparkled +and lit and saddened as she talked, the mobile, humorous mouth, the +short, straight nose and pointed chin, the straight-up-and-down belted +brown frock, the whole toning so perfectly with the room with its +polished floor and old Persian rugs, the pale yellow walls (even on the +dullest day they seemed to hold some sunshine) hung with coloured prints +in old rosewood frames--"Saturday Morning," engraved (with many +flourishes) by T. Burke, engraver to His Serene Highness the Reigning +Landgrave of Hesse Darmstadt; "The Cut Finger," by David Wilkie--those +and many others. The furniture was old and good, well kept and well +polished, so that the shabby, friendly room had that comfortable air of +well-being that only careful housekeeping can give. Books were +everywhere: a few precious ones behind glass doors, hundreds in low +bookcases round the room. + +"I needn't ask you if you are fond of reading," Pamela said. + +"Much too fond," Jean confessed. "I'm a 'rake at reading.'" + +"You know the people," said Pamela, "who say, 'Of course I _love_ +reading, but I've no time, alas!' as if everyone who loves reading +doesn't make time." + +As they talked, Pamela realised that this girl who lived year in and +year out in a small country town was in no way provincial, for all her +life she had been free of the company of the immortals. The Elizabethans +she knew by heart, poetry was as daily bread. Rosalind in Arden, Viola +in Illyria, were as real to her as Bella Bathgate next door. She had +taken to herself as friends (being herself all the daughters of her +father's house) Maggie Tulliver, Ethel Newcome, Beatrix Esmond, Clara +Middleton, Elizabeth Bennet---- + +The sound of the gong startled Pamela to her feet. + +"You don't mean to say it's luncheon time already? I've taken up your +whole morning." + +"It has been perfectly delightful," Jean assured her. "Do stay a long +time at Hillview and come in every day. Don't let Bella Bathgate +frighten you away. She isn't used to letting her rooms, and her manners +are bad, and her long upper lip very quelling; but she's really the +kindest soul on earth.... Would you come in to tea this afternoon? Mrs. +M'Cosh--that's our retainer--bakes rather good scones. I would ask you +to stay to luncheon, but I'm afraid there mightn't be enough to go +round." + +Pamela gratefully accepted the invitation to tea, and said as to +luncheon she was sure Miss Bathgate would be awaiting her with a large +dish of stewed steak and carrots saved from the night before--so she +departed. + + * * * * * + +Later in the day, as Miss Bathgate sat for ten minutes in Mrs. M'Cosh's +shining kitchen and drank a dish of tea, she gave her opinion of the +lodger. + +"Awfu' English an' wi' a' the queer daft ways o' gentry. 'Oh, Miss +Bathgate,' a' the time. They tell me Miss Reston's considered a beauty +in London. It's no' ma idea o' beauty--a terrible lang neck an' a wee +shilpit bit face, an' sic a height! I'm fair feared for ma gasaliers. +An' forty if she's a day. But verra pleasant, ye ken. I aye think there +maun be something wrang wi' folk that's as pleasant as a' that--owre +sweet to be wholesome, like a frostit tattie! ... The maid's ca'ed Miss +Mawson. She speaks even on. The wumman's a fair clatter-vengeance, an' I +dinna ken the one-hauf she says. I think the puir thing's _defeecient_!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + " ... Ruth, all heart and tenderness + Who wept, like Chaucer's Prioress, + When Dash was smitten: + Who blushed before the mildest men, + Yet waxed a very Corday when + You teased the kitten." + + AUSTIN DOBSON. + + +Before seeking her stony couch at the end of her first day at +Priorsford, Pamela finished the letter begun in the morning to her +brother. + + * * * * * + +" ... I began this letter in the morning and now it is bedtime. Robinson +Crusoe is no longer solitary: the island is inhabited. My first visitors +arrived about 11 a.m.--a small boy and a dog--an extremely good-looking +little boy and a well-bred fox-terrier. They sat on the garden wall +until I invited them in, when they ate chocolates and biscuits, and the +boy offered to repeat poetry. I expected 'Casabianca' or the modern +equivalent, but instead I got the song from Hippolytus, 'O take me to +the Mountains, O.' It was rather surprising, but when he invited me to +go with him to his home, which is next door, it was more surprising +still. Instead of finding another small villa like Hillview with a +breakneck stair and poky little rooms, I found a real old cottage. The +room I was taken into was about the nicest I ever saw. I think it would +have fulfilled all your conditions as to the proper furnishing of a +room; indeed, now that I think of it, it was quite a man's room. + +"It had a polished floor and some good rugs, and creamy yellow walls +with delicious coloured prints. There were no ornaments except some fine +old brass: solid chairs and a low, wide-seated sofa, and books +everywhere. + +"The shape of the room is delightfully unusual. It is long and rather +low-ceilinged, and one end comes almost to a point like the bow of a +ship. There is a window with a window-seat in the bow, and as the house +stands high on a slope and faces west, you look straight across the +river to the hills, and almost have the feeling that you are sailing +into the sunset. + +"In this room a girl sat, darning stockings and crying quietly to +herself--crying because her brother David had gone to Oxford the day +before, and she was afraid he would find it hard work to live on his +scholarship with the small help she could give him, afraid that he might +find himself shabby and feel it bitter, afraid that he might not come +back to her the kind, clear-eyed boy he had gone away. + +"She told me all about it as simply as a child. Didn't seem to find it +in the least odd to confide in a stranger, didn't seem at all impressed +by the sudden appearance of my fashionably dressed self! + +"People, I am often told, find themselves rather in awe of me. I know +that they would rather have me for a friend than an enemy. You see, I +can think of such extraordinarily nasty things to say about people I +don't like. But this little girl treated me as if I had been an older +sister or a kind big brother, and--well, I found it rather touching. + +"Jean Jardine is her funny little name. She looks a mere child, but she +tells me she is twenty-three and she has been head of the house since +she was nineteen. + +"It is really the strangest story. The father, one Francis Jardine, was +in the Indian Civil Service--pretty good at his job, I gather--and these +three children, Jean and her two brothers, David and Jock, were brought +up in this cottage--The Rigs it is called--by an old aunt of the +father's, Great-aunt Alison. The mother died when Jock was a baby, and +after some years the father married again, suddenly and +unpremeditatedly, a beautiful and almost friendless girl whom he met in +London when home on leave. Jean offered no comment on the wisdom or the +unwisdom of the match, but she told me the young Mrs. Jardine had sent +for her (Jean was then a schoolgirl of fourteen) and had given her a +good time in London before she sailed with her husband for India. Rather +unusual when you come to think of it! It isn't every young wife who has +thought on the honeymoon for schoolgirl stepdaughters, and Jean had seen +that it was kind and unselfish, and was grateful. The Jardines sailed +for India, and were hardly landed when Mr. Jardine died of cholera. The +young widow stayed on--I suppose she liked the life and had little to +bring her back to England--and when the first year of her widowhood was +over she married a young soldier, Gervase Taunton. I'm almost sure I +remember meeting him about--good-looking, perfect dancer, crack polo +player. They seem, in spite of lack of money, to have been supremely +happy for about three years, when young Taunton was killed playing polo. +The poor girl broke her heart and slipped out of life, leaving behind +one little boy. She had no relations, and Captain Taunton had no one +very near, and when she was dying she had left instructions. 'Send my +boy to Scotland. Ask Jean to bring him up. She will understand.' I +suppose she had detected even in the schoolgirl of fourteen Jean's most +outstanding quality, steadfastness, and entrusted the child to her +without a qualm. + +"So the baby of two was sent to the child of eighteen, and Jean glows +with gratitude and tells you how good it was of her at-one-time +stepmother to think of her! That is how she seems to take life: no +suspecting of motives: looking for, therefore perhaps finding, kindness +on every side. It is rather absurd in this wicked world, but I shouldn't +wonder if it made for happiness. + +"The Taunton child has, of course, no shadow of claim on the Jardines, +but he is to them a most treasured little brother. 'The Mhor,' as they +call him, is their great amusement and delight. He is quite absurdly +good-looking, with great grave green eyes and a head most wonderfully +set on his shoulders. He has a small income of his own, which Jean +keeps religiously apart so that he may be able to go to a good school +when he is old enough. + +"The great-aunt who brought up the Jardines must have been an uncommon +old woman. She died (perhaps luckily) just as the young Gervase Taunton +came on the scene. + +"It seems she always dressed in rustling black silk, sat bolt upright on +the edge of chairs for the sake of her figure, took the greatest care of +her hands and complexion, and was a great age. She had, Jean said, 'come +out at the Disruption.' Jean was so impressive over it that I didn't +like to ask what it meant. Do you suppose she made her debut then? + +"Perhaps 'the Disruption' is a sort of religious _tamasha_. Anyway, she +was frightfully religious--a strict Calvinist--and taught Jean to regard +everything from the point of view of her own death-bed. I mean to say, +the child had to ask herself, 'How will this action look when I am on my +death-bed?' Every cross word, every small disobedience, she was told, +would be a 'thorn in her dying pillow.' I said, perhaps rather rudely, +that Great-aunt Alison must have been a horrible old ghoul, but Jean +defended her hotly. She seems to have had a great admiration for her +aged relative, though she owned that her death was something of a +relief. Unfortunately most of her income died with her. + +"I think perhaps it was largely this training that has given Jean her +particular flavour. She is the most happy change from the ordinary +modern girl. Her manners are delightful--not noisy, but frank and gay +like a nice boy's. She neither falls into the Scylla of affectation nor +the Charybdis of off-handness. She has been nowhere and seen very +little; books are her world, and she talks of book-people as if they +were everyday acquaintances. She adores Dr. Johnson and quotes him +continually. + +"She has no slightest trace of accent, but she has that lilt in her +voice--I have noticed it once or twice before in Scots people--that +makes one think of winds over heathery moorlands, and running water. In +appearance she is like a wood elf, rather small and brown, very light +and graceful. She is so beautifully made that there is great +satisfaction in looking at her. (If she had all the virtues in the world +I could never take any interest in a girl who had a large head, or short +legs, or thick ankles!) She knows how to dress, too. The little brown +frock was just right, and the ribbon that was tied round her hair. I'll +tell you what she reminded me of a good deal--Romney's 'Parson's +Daughter.' + +"What a find for my first day at Priorsford! + +"I went to tea with the Jardines and I never was at a nicer tea-party. +We said poems to each other most of the time. Mhor's rendering of +Chesterton's 'The Pleasant Town of Roundabout' was very fine, but Jock +loves best 'Don John of Austria.' You would like Jock. He has a very +gruff voice and such surprised blue eyes, and is fond of weird +interjections like 'Gosh, Maggie!' and 'Earls in the streets of Cork!' +He is a determined foe to sentiment. He won't read a book that contains +love-making or death-beds. 'Does anybody marry?' 'Does anybody die?' are +his first questions about a book, so naturally his reading is much +restricted. + +"The Jardines have the lovable habit of becoming suddenly overpowered +with laughter, crumpled up, and helpless. You have it, too; I have it; +all really nice people have it. I have been refreshing myself with +_Irish Memories_ since dinner. Do you remember what is said of Martin +Ross? 'The large conventional jest had but small power over her; it was +the trivial absurdity, the inversion of the expected the sublimity +getting a little above itself and failing to realise that it had taken +that fatal step over the border--those were the things that felled her, +and laid her, wherever she might be, in ruins....' + +"Bella Bathgate, I must tell you, remains unthawed. She hinted to me +to-night that she thought the Hydropathic was the place for me--surely +the unkindest cut of all. People dress for dinner every night there, she +tells me, and most of them are English, and a band plays. Evidently she +thinks I would be at home in such company. + +"Some day I think you must visit Priorsford and get to know Miss +Bathgate.--Yours, + +"PAM. + +"I forgot to tell you that for some dark reason the Jardines call their +cat Sir J.M. Barrie. + +"I asked why, but got no satisfaction. + +"'Well, you see, there's Peter,' Mhor said vaguely. + +"Jock looked at the cat and observed obscurely, 'It's not a sentimental +beast either'--while Jean asked if I would have preferred it called Sir +Rabindranath Tagore!" + + + + +CHAPTER V + + "O, the land is fine, fine, + I could buy it a' for mine, + For ma gowd's as the stooks in Strathairlie." + + _Scots Song._ + + +When Peter Reid arrived at Priorsford Station from London he stood for a +few minutes looking about him in a lost way, almost as if after thirty +years he expected to see a "kent face" coming to meet him. He had no +-notion where to go; he had not written for rooms; he had simply obeyed +the impulse that sent him--the impulse that sends a hurt child to its +mother. It is said that an old horse near to death turns towards the +pastures where he was foaled. It is true of human beings. "Man wanders +back to the fields which bred him." + +After a talk with a helpful porter he found rooms in a temperance hotel +in the Highgate--a comfortable quiet place. + +The next day he was too tired to rise, and spent rather a dreary day in +his rooms with the _Scotsman_ for sole companion. + +The landlord, a cheery little man, found time once or twice to talk for +a few minutes, but he had only been ten years in Priorsford and could +tell his guest nothing of the people he had once known. + +"D'you know a house called The Rigs?" he asked him. + +The landlord knew it well--a quaint cottage with a pretty garden. Old +Miss Alison Jardine was living in it when he came first to Priorsford; +dead now, but the young folk were still in it. + +"Young folk?" said Peter Reid. + +"Yes," said the landlord, "Miss Jean Jardine and her brothers. Orphans, +I'm told. Father an Anglo-Indian. Nice people? Oh, very. Quiet and +inoffensive. They don't own the house, though. I hear the landlord is a +very wealthy man in London. By the way, same name as yourself, sir." + +"Do I look like a millionaire?" asked Peter Reid, and the landlord +laughed pleasantly and non-committally. + +The next day was sunny and Peter Reid went out for a walk. It was a +different Priorsford that he had come back to. A large draper's shop +with plate-glass windows occupied the corner where Jenny Baxter had +rolled her toffee-balls and twisted her "gundy," and where old Davy +Linton had cut joints and weighed out mince-collops accompanied by wise +weather prophecies, a smart fruiterer's shop now stood furnished with a +wealth of fruit and vegetables unimagined in his young days. There were +many handsome shops, the streets were wider and better kept, unsightly +houses had been demolished; it was a clean, prosperous-looking town, but +it was different. + +Peter Reid (of London) would have been the first to carp at the +tumbledown irregular old houses, with their three steps up and three +steps down, remaining, but Peter Reid (of Priorsford) missed them. He +resented the new shops, the handsome villas, the many motors, all the +evidences of prosperity. + +And why had Cuddy Brig been altered? + +It had been far liker the thing, he thought--the old hump-backed bridge +with the grass and ferns growing in the crannies. He had waded in Cuddy +when he was a boy, picking his way among the broken dishes and the tin +cans, and finding wonderful adventures in the dark of the bridge; he had +bathed in it as it wound, clear and shining, among the green meadows +outside the town, and run "skirl-naked" to dry himself, in full sight of +scandalised passengers in the Edinburgh train; he had slid on it in +winter. The memory of the little stream had always lain in the back of +his mind as something precious--and now to find it spanned by a staring +new stone bridge. Those Town Councils with their improvements! + +Even Tweed Bridge had not been left alone. It had been widened, as an +inscription in the middle told the world at large. He leant on it and +looked up the river. Peel Tower was the same, anyway. No one had dared +to add one cubit to its grey stature. It was a satisfaction to look at +something so unchanging. + +The sun had still something of its summer heat, and it was pleasant to +stand there and listen to the sound of the river over the pebbles and +see the flaming trees reflected in the blue water all the way up +Tweedside till the river took a wide curve before the green slope on +which the castle stood. A wonderfully pretty place, Priorsford, he told +himself: a home-like place--if one had anyone to come home to. + +He turned slowly away. He would go and look at The Rigs. His mother had +come to it as a bride. He had been born there. Though occupied by +strangers, it was the nearest he had to a home. The house in Prince's +Gate was well furnished, comfortable, smoothly run by efficient +servants, but only a house when all was said. He felt he would like to +creep into The Rigs, into the sitting-room where his mother had always +sat (the other larger rooms, the "good room" as it was called, was kept +for visitors and high days), and lay his tired body on the horsehair +arm-chair by the fireside. He could rest there, he thought. It was +impossible, of course. There would be no horsehair arm-chair, for +everything had been sold--and there was no mother. + +But, anyway, he would go and look at it. There used to be primroses--but +this was autumn. Primroses come in the spring. + +Thirty years--but The Rigs was not changed, at least not outwardly. Old +Mrs. Reid had loved the garden, and Great-aunt Alison, and Jean after +her, had carried on her work. + +The little house looked just as Peter Reid remembered it. + +He would go in and ask to see it, he told himself. + +He would tell these Jardines that the house was his and he meant to live +in it himself. They wouldn't like it, but he couldn't help that. +Perhaps he would be able to persuade them to go almost at once. He would +make it worth their while. + +He was just going to lift the latch of the gate when the front door +opened and shut, and Jean Jardine came down the flagged path. She +stopped at the gate and looked at Peter Reid. + +"Were you by any chance coming in?" she asked. + +"Yes," said Mr. Reid; "I was going to ask if I might see over the +house." + +"Surely," said Jean. "But--you're not going to buy it, are you?" + +The face she turned to him was pink and distressed. + +"Did you think of buying it yourself?" Peter Reid asked. + +"_Me_? You wouldn't ask that if you knew how little money I have. But +come in. I shall try to think of all its faults to tell you--but in my +eyes it hasn't got any." + +They went slowly up the flagged path and into the square, low-roofed +hall. This was not as his mother had it. Then the floor had been covered +with linoleum on which had stood two hard chairs and an umbrella-stand. +Now there was an oak chest and a gate-table, old brass very well rubbed +up, a grandfather clock with a "clear" face, and a polished floor with a +Chinese rug on it. + +"It is rather dark," said Jean, "but I like it dark. Coming in on a hot +summer day it is almost like a pool; it is so cool and dark and +polished." Mr. Reid said nothing, and Jean was torn between a desire to +have her home appreciated and a desire to have this stranger take an +instant dislike to it, and to leave it speedily and for ever. + +"You see," she pointed out, "the little staircase is rather steep and +winding, but it is short; and the bedrooms are charming--not very big, +but so prettily shaped and with lovely views." Then she remembered that +she should miscall rather than praise, and added, "Of course, they have +all got queer ceilings; you couldn't expect anything else in a cottage. +Will you go upstairs?" + +Mr. Reid thought not, and asked if he might see the sitting-rooms. +"This," said Jean, opening a door, "is the dining-room." + +It was the room his mother had always sat in, where the horsehair +arm-chair had had its home, but it, too, had suffered a change. Gone was +the arm-chair, gone the round table with the crimson cover. This room +had an austerity unknown in the room he remembered. It was small, and +every inch of space was made the most of. An old Dutch dresser held +china and acted as a sideboard; a bare oak table, having in its centre a +large blue bowl filled with berries and red leaves, stood in the middle +of the room; eight chairs completed the furniture. + +"This is the least nice room in the house," Jean told him, "but we are +never in it except to eat. It looks out on the road." + +"Yes," said Peter Reid, remembering that that was why his mother had +liked it. She could sit with her knitting and watch the passers-by. She +had always "infused" the tea when she heard the click of the gate as he +came home from school. + +"You will like to see the living-room," said Jean, shivering for the +effect its charm might have on a potential purchaser. She led him in, +hoping that it might be looking its worst, but, as if in sheer +contrariness, the fire was burning brightly, a shaft of sunlight lay +across a rug, making the colours glow like jewels, and the whole room +seemed to hold out welcoming hands. It was satisfactory (though somewhat +provoking) that the stranger seemed quite unimpressed. + +"You have some good furniture," he said. + +"Yes," Jean agreed eagerly. "It suits the room and makes it beautiful. +Can you imagine it furnished with a 'suite' and ordinary pictures, and +draped curtains at the windows and silver photograph frames and a grand +piano? It would simply be no sort of room at all. All its individuality +would be gone. But won't you sit down and rest? That hill up from the +town is steep." + +Peter Reid sank thankfully into a corner of the sofa, while Jean busied +herself at the writing-table so that this visitor, who looked so tired, +need not feel that he should offer conversation. + +Presently he said, "You are very fond of The Rigs?" + +Jean came and sat down beside him. + +"It's the only home we have ever known," she said. "We came here from +India to live with our great-aunt--first me alone, and then David and +Jock. And Father and Mother were with us when Father had leave. I have +hardly ever been away from The Rigs. It's such a very _affectionate_ +sort of house--perhaps that is rather an absurd thing to say, but you do +get so fond of it. But if I take you in to see Mrs. M'Cosh in the +kitchen she will tell you plenty of faults. The water doesn't heat well, +for one thing, and the range simply eats up coal, and there is no proper +pantry. Your wife would want to know about these things." + +"Haven't got a wife," said Peter Reid gruffly. + +"No? Well, your housekeeper, then. You couldn't buy a house without +getting to know all about the hot water and pantries." + +"There is no question of my buying it." + +"Oh, isn't there?" cried Jean joyfully. "What a relief! All the time +I've been showing you the house I've been picturing us removing sadly to +a villa in the Langhope Road. They are quite nice villas as villas go, +but they have only tiny strips of gardens, and stairs that come to meet +you as you go in at the front door, and anyway no house could ever be +home to us after The Rigs--not though it had hot and cold water in every +room and a pantry on every floor." + +"Dear me," said Peter Reid. + +He felt perplexed, and annoyed with himself for being perplexed. All he +had to do was to tell this girl with the frank eyes that The Rigs was +his, that he wanted to live in it himself, that if they would turn out +at once he would make it worth their while. Quite simple--They were nice +people evidently, and would make no fuss. He would say it now--but Jean +was speaking. + +"I think I know why you wanted to see through this house," she was +saying. "I think you must have known it long ago when you were a boy. +Perhaps you loved it too--and had to leave it." + +"I went to London when I was eighteen to make my fortune." + +"Oh," said Jean, and into that "Oh" she put all manner of things she +could not say. She had been observing her visitor, and she was sure that +this shabby little man (Peter Reid cared not at all for appearances and +never bought a new suit of clothes unless compelled) had returned no +Whittington, Lord Mayor of London. Probably he was one of the "faithful +failures" of the world, one who had tried and missed, and had come back, +old and tired and shabby, to see his boyhood's home. The tenderest +corner of Jean's tender heart was given to shabby people, and she longed +to try to comfort and console, but dared not in case of appearing +impertinent. She reflected dismally that he had not even a wife to be +nice to him, and he was far too old to have a mother. + +"Are you staying in Priorsford?" she asked gently. + +"I'm at the Temperance Hotel for a few days. I--the fact is, I haven't +been well. I had to take a rest, so I came back here--after thirty +years." + +"Have you really been away for thirty years? Great-aunt Alison came to +The Rigs first about thirty years ago. Do you, by any chance, know our +landlord in London? Mr. Peter Reid is his name." + +"I know him." + +"He's frightfully rich, they say. I don't suppose you know him well +enough to ask him not to sell The Rigs? It can't make much difference to +him, though it means so much to us. Is he old, our landlord?" + +"A man in his prime," said Peter Reid. + +"That's pretty old, isn't it?" said Jean--"about sixty, I think. Of +course," hastily, "sixty isn't really old. When I'm sixty--if I'm +spared--I expect I shall feel myself good for another twenty years." + +"I thought I was," said Peter Reid, "until I broke down." + +"Oh, but a rest at Priorsford will put you all right." + +Could he afford a holiday? she wondered. Even temperance hotels were +rather expensive when you hadn't much money. Would it be very rash and +impulsive to ask him to stay at The Rigs? + +"Are you comfortable at the Temperance?" she asked. "Because if you +don't much care for hotels we would love to put you up here. Mhor is apt +to be noisy, but I'm sure he would try to be quiet when he knew that you +needed a rest." + +"My dear young lady," gasped Peter Reid. "I'm afraid you are rash. You +know nothing of me. I might be an impostor, a burglar--" + +Jean threw back her head and laughed. "Do forgive me, but the thought +of you with a jemmy and a dark lantern is so funny." + +"You don't even know my name." + +"I don't," said Jean, "but does that matter? You will tell it me when +you want to." + +"My name is Reid, the same as your landlord." + +"Then," said Jean, "are you a relative of his?" + +"A connection." It was not what he meant to say, but he said it. + +"How odd!" said Jean. She was trying to remember if she had said +anything unbecoming of one relative to another. "Oh, here's Jock and +Mhor," as two figures ran past the windows; "you must stay and have tea +with us, Mr. Reid." + +"But I ought to be getting back to the hotel. I had no intention of +inflicting myself on you in this way." He rose to his feet and looked +about for his hat. "The fact is--I must tell you--I am----" + +The door burst open and Mhor appeared. He had forgotten to remove his +cap, or wipe his muddy boots, so eager was he to tell his news. + +"Jean," he shouted, oblivious in his excitement of the presence of a +stranger--"Jean, there are six red puddock-stools at the bottom of the +garden--bright red puddock-stools." He noticed Mr. Reid and, going up to +him and looking earnestly into his face, he repeated, "Six!" + +"Indeed," said Peter Reid. + +He had no acquaintance with boys, and felt extremely ill at ease, but +Mhor, after studying him for a minute, was seized with a violent fancy +for this new friend. + +"You're going to stay to tea, aren't you? Would you mind coming with me +just now to look at the puddock-stools? It might be too dark after tea. +Here is your hat." + +"But I'm not staying to tea," cried the unhappy owner of The Rigs. Why, +he asked himself had he not told them at once that he was their +landlord? A connection! Fool that he was! He would say it now--"I only +came--" + +"It was very nice of you to come," said Jean soothingly. "But, Mhor, +don't worry Mr. Reid. Everybody hasn't your passion for puddock-stools." + +"But you would like to see them," Mhor assured him. "I'm going to fill a +bowl with chucky-stones and moss and stick the puddock-stools among them +and make a fairy garden for Jean. And if I can find any more I'll make +one for the Honourable; she is very kind about giving me chocolates." + +They were out of doors by this time, and Mhor was pointing out the +glories of the garden. + +"You see, we have a burn in our garden with a little bridge over it; +almost no one else has a burn and a bridge of their very own. There are +minnows in it and all sorts of things--water-beetles, you know. _And +here are my puddock-stools._" + +When Mr. Reid came back from the garden Mhor had firm hold of his hand +and was telling him a long story about a "mavis-bird" that the cat had +caught and eaten. + +"Tea's ready," he said, as they entered the room; "you can't go away +now, Mr. Reid. See these cookies? I went for them myself to Davidson +the baker's, and they were so hot and new-baked that the bag burst and +they all fell out on the road." + +"_Mhor_! You horrid little boy." + +"They're none the worse, Jean. I dusted them all with me useful little +hanky, and the road wasn't so very dirty." + +"All the same," said Jean, "I think we'll leave the cookies to you and +Jock. The other things are baked at home, Mr. Reid, and are quite safe. +Mhor, tell Jock tea's in, and wash your hands." + +So Peter Reid found himself, like Balaam, remaining to bless. After all, +why should he turn these people out of their home? A few years (with +care) was all the length of days promised to him, and it mattered little +where he spent them. Indeed, so little profitable did leisure seem to +him that he cared little when the end came. Mhor and his delight over a +burn of his own, and a garden that grew red puddock-stools, had made up +his mind for him. He would never be the angel with the flaming sword who +turned Mhor out of paradise. He had not known that a boy could be such a +pleasant person. He had avoided children as he had avoided women, and +now he found himself seated, the centre of interest, at a family +tea-table, with Jean, anxiously making tea to his liking, while Mhor +(with a well-soaped, shining face, but a high-water mark of dirt where +the sponge had not reached) sat close beside him, and Jock, the big +schoolboy, shyly handed him scones: and Peter walked among the feet of +the company, waiting for what he could get. + +Peter Reid quite shone through the meal. He remembered episodes of his +boyhood, forgotten for forty years, and told them to Jock and Mhor, who +listened with most gratifying interest. He questioned Jock about +Priorsford Grammar School, and recalled stories of the masters who had +taught there in his day. + +Jean told him about David going to Oxford, and about Great-aunt Alison +who had "come out at the Disruption"--about her father's life in India, +and about her mother, and he became every minute more human and +interested. He even made one or two small jokes which were received with +great applause by Jock and Mhor, who were grateful to anyone who tried, +however feebly, to be funny. They would have said with Touchstone, "It +is meat and drink to me to see a clown." + +Jean watched with delight her rather difficult guest blossom into +affability. "You are looking better already," she told him. "If you +stayed here for a week and rested and Mrs. M'Cosh cooked you light, +nourishing food and Mhor didn't make too much noise, I'm sure you would +feel quite well again. And it does seem such a pity to pay hotel bills +when we want you here." + +Hotel bills! Peter Reid looked sharply at her. Did she imagine, this +girl, that hotel bills were of any moment to him? Then he looked down at +his shabby clothes and recalled their conversation and owned that her +mistake was not unjustifiable. + +But how extraordinary it was! The instinct that makes people wish to +stand well with the rich and powerful he could understand and commend, +but the instinct that opens wide doors to the shabby and the +unsuccessful was not one that he knew anything about: it was certainly +not an instinct for this world as he knew it. + +Just as they were finishing tea Mrs. M'Cosh ushered in Miss Pamela +Reston. + +"You did say I might come in when I liked," she said as she greeted +Jean. "I've had tea, thank you. Mhor, you haven't been to see me +to-day." + +"I would have been," Mhor assured her, "but Jean said I'd better not. Do +you invite me to come to-morrow?" + +"I do." + +"There, Jean," said Mhor. "You can't _un_-vite me after that." + +"Indeed she can't," said Pamela. "Jock, this is the book I told you +about.... Please, Miss Jean, don't let me disturb you." + +"We've finished," said Jean. "May I introduce Mr. Reid?" + +Pamela shook hands and at once proceeded to make herself so charming +that Peter Reid was galvanised into a spirited conversation. Pamela had +brought her embroidery-frame with her, and she sat on the sofa and +sorted out silks, and talked and laughed as if she had sat there off and +on all her life. To Jean, looking at her, it seemed impossible that two +days ago none of them had beheld her. It seemed--absurdly enough--that +the room could never have looked quite right when it had not this +graceful creature with her soft gowns and her pearls, her +embroidery-frame and heaped, bright-hued silks sitting by the fire. + +"Miss Jean, won't you sing us a song? I'm convinced that you sing Scots +songs quite perfectly." + +Jean laughed. "I can sing Scots songs in a way, but I have a voice about +as big as a sparrow's. If it would amuse you I'll try." + +So Jean sat down to the piano and sang "Proud Maisie," and "Colin's +Cattle," and one or two other old songs. + +"I wonder," said Peter Reid, "if you know a song my mother used to +sing--'Strathairlie'?" + +"Indeed I do. It's one I like very much. I have it here in this little +book." She struck a few simple chords and began to sing: it was a +lilting, haunting tune, and the words were "old and plain." + + "O, the lift is high and blue, + And the new mune glints through, + On the bonnie corn-fields o' Strathairlie; + Ma ship's in Largo Bay, + And I ken weel the way + Up the steep, steep banks o' Strathairlie. + + When I sailed ower the sea, + A laddie bold and free, + The corn sprang green on Strathairlie! + When I come back again, + It's an auld man walks his lane + Slow and sad ower the fields o' Strathairlie. + + O' the shearers that I see + No' a body kens me, + Though I kent them a' in Strathairlie; + An' the fisher-wife I pass, + Can she be the braw lass + I kissed at the back o' Strathairlie? + O, the land is fine, fine, + I could buy it a' for mine, + For ma gowd's as the stooks in Strathairlie; + But I fain the lad would be + Wha sailed ower the saut sea + When the dawn rose grey on Strathairlie." + +Jean rose from the piano. Jock had got out his books and had begun his +lessons. Mhor and Peter were under the table playing at being cave-men. +Pamela was stitching at her embroidery. Peter Reid sat shading his eyes +from the light with his hand. + +Jean knelt down on the rug and held out her hands to the blazing fire. + +"It must be sad to be old and rich," she said softly, almost as if she +were speaking to herself. "It is so very certain that we can carry +nothing out of this world.... I read somewhere of a man who, on every +birthday, gave away some of his possessions so that at the end he might +not be cumbered and weighted with them." She looked up and caught the +gaze of Peter Reid fixed on her intently. "It's rather a nice idea, +don't you think, to give away all the superfluous money and lands, +pictures and jewels, everything we have, and stand stripped, as it were, +ready when we get the word to come, to leap into the beyond?" + +Pamela spoke first. "There speaks sweet and twenty," she said. + +"Yes," said Jean. "I know it's quite easy for me to speak in that lordly +way of disposing of possessions, for I haven't got any to dispose of." + +"Then," said Pamela, "we are to take it that you are ready to spring +across any minute?" + +"So far as goods and gear go; but I'm rich in other things. I'm pretty +heavily weighted by David, and Jock, and Mhor." + +Then Peter Reid spoke, still with his hand over his eyes. + +"Once you begin to make money it clings. How can you get rid of it?" + +"I'm saving up for a bicycle," the Mhor broke in, becoming aware that +the conversation turned on money. "I've got half a crown and a +thru-penny-bit and fourpence-ha'penny in pennies: and I've got a duster +to clean it with when I've got it." + +Jean stroked his head. "I don't think you'll ever be overburdened with +riches, Mhor, old man. But it must be tremendous fun to be rich. I love +books where suddenly a lawyer's letter comes saying that someone has +left them a fortune." + +"What would you do with a fortune if you got it?" Peter Reid asked. + +"Need you ask?" laughed Pamela. "Miss Jean would at once make it over to +David and Jock and Mhor." + +"Oh, well," said Jean, "of course they would come _first_, but, oh, I +would do such a lot of things! I'd find out where money was most needed +and drop it on the people anonymously so that they wouldn't be bothered +about thanking anyone. I would creep about like a beneficent Puck and +take worried frowns away, and straighten out things for tired people, +and, above all, I'd make children smile. There's no fun or satisfaction +got from giving big sums to hospitals and things--that's all right for +when you're dead. I want to make happiness while I'm alive. I don't +think a million pounds would be too much for all I want to do." + +"Aw, Jean," said Mhor, "if you had a million pounds would you buy me a +bicycle?" + +"A bicycle," said Jean, "and a motor and an aeroplane and a Shetland +pony and a Newfoundland pup. I'll make a story for you in bed to-night +all about what you would have if I were rich." + +"And Jock, too?" + +Being assured that Jock would not be overlooked Mhor grabbed Peter round +the neck and proceeded to babble to him about bicycles and aeroplanes, +motors and Newfoundland pups. + +Jean looked apologetically at her guests. + +"When you're poor you've got to dream," she said. "Oh, must you go, Mr. +Reid? But you'll come back to-morrow, won't you? We would honestly like +you to come and stay with us." + +"Thank you," said Peter Reid, "but I am going back to London in a day or +two. I am obliged to you for your hospitality, especially for singing me +'Strathairlie.' I never thought to hear it again. I wonder if I might +trouble you to write me out the words." + +"But take the book," said Jean, running to get it and pressing it into +his hands. "Perhaps you'll find other songs in it you used to know and +like. Take it to keep." + +Pamela dropped her embroidery-frame and watched the scene. + +Mhor and Peter stood looking on. Jock lifted his head from his books to +listen. It was no new thing for the boys to see Jean give away her most +treasured possessions: she was a born "Madam Liberality." + +"But," Peter Reid objected, "it is rather a rare book. You value it +yourself." + +"Of course I do," said Jean, "and that is why I am giving it to _you_. I +know you will appreciate it." + +Peter Reid took the book as if it was something fragile and very +precious. Pamela was puzzled by the expression on his face. He did not +seem so much touched by the gift as amused--sardonically amused. + +"Thank you," he said. And again, "Thank you!" + +"Jock will go down with you to the hotel," Jean said, explaining, when +the visitor demurred, that the road was steep and not very well lighted. + +"I'll go too," said Mhor, "me and Peter." + +"Well, come straight back. Good-bye, Mr. Reid. I'm so glad you came to +see The Rigs, but I wish you could have stayed...." + +"Is he an old friend?" Pamela asked, when the cavalcade had departed. + +"I never saw him before to-day. He once lived in this house and he came +back to see it, and he looks ill and I think he is poor, so I asked him +to come and stay with us for a week." + +"My dear child, do you invite every stranger to stay with you if you +think he is poor?" + +"Of course not. But he looked so lonely and lost somehow, and he doesn't +seem to have anyone belonging to him, and I was sorry for him." + +"And so you gave him that song-book you value so much?" + +"Yes," said Jean, looking rather ashamed. "But," she brightened, "he +seemed pleased, don't you think? It's a pretty song, 'Strathairlie,' but +it's not a _pukka_ old one--it's early Victorian." + +"Miss Jean, it's a marvel to me that you have anything left belonging to +you." + +"Don't call me Miss Jean!" + +"Jean, then; but you must call me Pamela." + +"Oh, but wouldn't that be rather familiar? You see, you are so--so--" + +"Stricken in years," Pamela supplied. + +"No--but--well, you are rather impressive, you know. It would be like +calling Miss Bathgate 'Bella' to her face. However--Pamela--" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + "For 'tis a chronicle of day by day." + + _The Tempest_. + + +About this time Jean wrote a letter to David at Oxford. It is wonderful +how much news there is when people write every other day; if they wait +for a month there is nothing that seems worth telling. + +Jean wrote: + +" ... You have been away now for four days, and we still miss you badly. +Nobody sits in your place at the table, and it gives us such a horrid +bereaved feeling when we look at it. Mhor was waiting at the gate for +the post yesterday and brought your letter in in triumph. He was +particularly interested in hearing about your scout, and has added his +name to the list he prays for. You will be glad to hear that he has got +over his prejudice against going to heaven. It seems it was because +someone told him that dogs couldn't go there, and he wouldn't desert +Micawber--Peter, in other words. Jock has put it right by telling him +that the translators of the Bible probably made a slip, and Mhor now +prays earnestly every night: 'Let everyone in The Rigs go to heaven,' +hoping thus to smuggle in his dear companion. + +"It is an extraordinary thing, but almost the very minute you left +Priorsford things began to happen. + +"I told you in the note I wrote the day you left that Bella Bathgate's +lodger had arrived and that I had seen her, but I didn't realise then +what a difference her coming would make to us. I never knew such a +friendly person; she comes in at any sort of time--after breakfast, a +few minutes before luncheon, for tea, between nine and ten at night. Did +I tell you her name is Pamela Reston, and her brother, who seems to be +ranging about India somewhere, is Lord Bidborough ('A lord-no-less,' as +Mrs. M'Cosh would say). She calls him Biddy, and seems devoted to him. + +"Although she is horribly rich and an 'honourable,' and all that sort of +thing, she isn't in the least grand. She never impresses one with her +opulence as, for instance, Mrs. Duff-Whalley does. Her clothes are +beautiful, but so much a part of her personality that you never think of +them. Her pearls don't hit you in the face as most other people's do. +Because she is so unconscious of them, I suppose. I think she is lovely. +Jock says she is like a greyhound, and I know what he means--it is the +long, swift, graceful way she has of moving. She says she is forty. I +always thought forty was quite old, but now it seems to me the very +prettiest age. Age doesn't really matter at all to people who have got +faces and figures and manners like Pamela Reston. They will always make +whatever age they are seem the perfect age. + +"I do wonder what brings her to Priorsford! I rather think that having +been all her life so very 'twopence coloured' she wants the 'penny +plain' for a change. Perhaps that is why she likes The Rigs and us. +There is no mistake about our 'penny-plainness'--it jumps to the eye! + +"I am just afraid she won't stay very long. There are so many pretty +little houses in Priorsford, and so many kind and forthcoming +landladies, it was bad luck that she should choose Hillview and Bella +Bathgate. Bella is almost like a stage-caricature of a Scotswoman, so +dour she is and uncompromising and she positively glories in the drab +ugliness of her rooms. Ugliness means to Bella respectability; any +attempt at adornment is 'daft-like.' + +"Pamela (she has asked me to call her that) trembles before her, and +that makes Bella worse. She wants someone to stand up to her, to laugh +at her grimness; she simply thinks when Pamela is charming to her that +she is a poor creature. + +"She is charming to everyone, this lodger of Bella's. Jock and Mhor and +Mrs. M'Cosh are all at her feet. She brings us books and papers and +chocolates and fruit, and makes us feel we are conferring the favour by +accepting them. She is a real charmer, for when she speaks to you she +makes you feel that no one matters to her but just you yourself. +And she is simple (or at least appears to be); she hasn't that +Now-I-am-going-to-be-charming manner that is so difficult to bear. It is +such fun talking to her, for she is very--pliable I think is the word I +want. Accustomed to converse with people who constantly pull one up +short with an 'Ah, now I don't agree,' or 'There, I think you are quite +wrong,' it is wonderfully soothing to discuss things with someone who +has the air of being convinced by one's arguments. It is weak, I know, +but I'm afraid I agree with Mrs. M'Cosh, who described a friend as 'a +rale nice buddy. She clinks wi' every word ye say.' + +"I am thinking to myself how Great-aunt Alison would have dreaded +Pamela's influence. She would have seen in her the personification of +the World, the Flesh, and the Devil--albeit she would have been much +impressed by her long descent: dear Aunt Alison. + +"All the same, Davie, it is odd what an effect one's early training has. +D'you remember how discouraged G.-A. Alison was about our +levity--especially mine? She once said bitterly that I was like the +ell-woman--hollow--because I laughed in the middle of the Bible lesson. +And how antiquated and stuffy we thought her views, and took pleasure in +assuring ourselves that we had got far beyond them, and you spent an +evening tea-less in your room because you said you would rather be a +Buddhist than a Disruption Worthy--do you remember that? + +"Yes, but Great-aunt Alison had builded better than she knew. When +Pamela laughs 'How Biblical!' or says in her pretty, soft voice that +our great-aunt's religion must have been a hard and ugly thing, I get +hot with anger and feel I must stick unswervingly to the antiquated +views. Is it because poor Great-aunt isn't here to make me? I don't +know. + +"Mhor is really surprisingly naughty. Yesterday I heard angry shouts +from the road, and then I met Mhor sauntering in, on his face the +seraphic expression he wears when some nefarious scheme has prospered, +and in his hand the brass breakfast kettle. He had been pouring water on +the passers-by from the top of the wall. 'Only,' he explained to me, 'on +the men who wore hard black hats, who could swear.' + +"I told him the police would probably visit us in the course of the +afternoon, and pointed out to him how ungentleman-like was his +behaviour, and he said he was sorry; but I'm afraid he will soon think +of some other wickedness. + +"He thinks he can do anything he hasn't been told not to do, but how +could I foresee that he would want to pour water on men with hard black +hats, capable of swearing? + +"I had almost forgotten to tell you, an old man came yesterday and +wanted to see over the house. You can imagine what a scare I got--I made +sure he wanted to buy it; but it turned out that he had lived at The +Rigs as a boy, and had come back for old sake's sake. He looked ill and +rather shabby, and I don't believe life had been very good to him. I did +want to try and make up a little, but he was difficult. He was staying +at the Temperance, and it seemed so forlorn that he should have no one +of his own to come home to. He didn't look as if anybody had ever made a +fuss of him. I asked him to stay with us for a week, but he wouldn't. I +think he thought I was rather mad to ask him, and Pamela laughed at me +about it.... She laughs at me a good deal and calls me a +'sentimentalist.' ... + +"There is the luncheon bell. + +"We are longing for your letter to-morrow to hear how you are settling +down. Mrs. M'Cosh has baked some shortbread for you, which I shall post +this afternoon. + +"Love from each of us, and Peter.--Your + +"JEAN." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + "Is this a world to hide virtues in?" + + _Twelfth Night._ + + +"You should never wear a short string of beads when you are wearing big +earrings," Pamela said. + +"But why?" asked Jean. + +"Well, see for yourself. I am wearing big round earrings--right. I put +on the beads that match--quite wrong. It's a question of line." + +"I see," said Jean thoughtfully. "But how do you learn those things?" + +"You don't learn them. You either know them, or you don't. A sort of +instinct for dress, I suppose." + +Jean was sitting in Pamela's bedroom. Pamela's bedroom it was now, +certainly not Bella Bathgate's. + +The swinging looking-glass had been replaced by one which, according to +Pamela, was at least truthful. "The other one," she complained, "made me +look pale green and drowned." + +A cloth of fine linen and lace covered the toilet-table which was spread +with brushes and boxes in tortoiseshell and gold, quaint-shaped bottles +for scent, and roses in a tall glass. + +A jewel-box stood open and Pamela was pulling out earrings and +necklaces, rings and brooches for Jean's amusement. + +"Most of my things are at the bank," Pamela was saying as she held up a +pair of Spanish earrings made of rows of pearls. "They generally are +there, for I don't care a bit about ordinary jewels. These are what I +like--odd things, old things, things picked up in odd corners of the +world, things that have a story and a meaning. Biddy got me these +turquoises in Tibet: that is a devil charm: isn't that jade delicious? I +think I like Chinese things best of all." + +She threw a string of cloudy amber round Jean's neck and cried, "My +dear, how it becomes you. It brings out all the golden lights in your +hair and eyes." + +Jean sat forward in her chair and looked at her reflection in the glass +with a pleased smile. + +"I do like dressing-up," she confessed. "Pretty things are a great +temptation to me. I'm afraid if I had money I would spend a lot in +adorning my vile body." + +"I simply don't know," said Pamela, "how people who don't care for +clothes get through their lives. Clothes are a joy to the prosperous, a +solace to the unhappy, and an interest always--even to old age. I knew a +dear old lady of ninety-four whose chief diversion was to buy a new +bonnet. She would sit before the mirror discarding model after model +because they were 'too old' for her. One would have thought it difficult +to find anything too old for ninety-four." + +Jean laughed, but shook her head. + +"Doesn't it seem to you rather awful to care about bonnets at +ninety-four?" + +"Not a bit," said Pamela. She was powdering her face as she spoke. "I +like to see old people holding on, not losing interest in their +appearance, making a brave show to the end.... Did you never see anyone +use powder before, Jean? Your eyes in the glass look so surprised." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Jean, in great confusion, "I didn't mean +to stare--" She hastily averted her eyes. + +Pamela looked at her with an amused smile. + +"There's nothing actively immoral about powdering one's nose, you know, +Jean. Did Great-aunt Alison tell you it was wrong?" + +"Great-aunt Alison never talked about such things," Jean said, flushing +hotly. "I don't think it's wrong, but I don't see that it's an +improvement. I couldn't take any pleasure in myself if my face were made +up." + +Pamela swung round on her chair and laid her hands on Jean's shoulders. + +"Jean," she said, "you're within an ace of being a prig. It's only the +freckles on your little unpowdered nose, and the yellow lights in your +eyes, and the way your hair curls up at the ends that save you. +Remember, please, that three-and-twenty with a perfect complexion has no +call to reprove her elders. Just wait till you come to forty years." + +"Oh," said Jean, "it's absurd of you to talk like that. As if you didn't +know that you are infinitely more attractive than any young girl. I +never know why people talk so much about _youth_. What does being young +matter if you're awkward and dull and shy as well? I'd far rather be +middle-aged and interesting." + +"That," said Pamela, as she laid her treasures back in the box, "is one +of the minor tragedies of life. One begins by being bored with being +young, and as we begin to realise what an asset youth is, it flies. +Rejoice in your youth, little Jean-girl, for it's a stuff will not +endure.... Now we'll go downstairs. It's too bad of me keeping you up +here." + +"How you have changed this room," said Jean. "It smells so nice." + +"It is slightly less forbidding. I am quite attached to both my rooms, +though when Mawson and I are both here together I sometimes feel I must +poke my arms out of the window or thrust my head up the chimney like +Bill the Lizard, in order to get room. It is a great disadvantage to be +too large for one's surroundings." + +The parlour was as much changed as the bedroom. + +The round table with the red-and-green cover that filled up the middle +of the room had been banished and a small card-table stood against the +wall ready to be brought out for meals. A Persian carpet covered the +linoleum and two comfortable wicker-chairs filled with cushions stood by +the fireside. The sideboard had been converted into a stand for books +and flowers. The blue vases had gone from the mantelshelf and two tall +candlesticks and a strip of embroidery took their place. A writing-table +stood in the window, from which the hard muslin curtains had been +removed; there were flowers wherever a place could be found for them, +and new books and papers lay about. + +Jean sank into a chair with a book, but Pamela produced some +visiting-cards and read aloud: + + "MRS. DUFF-WHALLEY. + MISS DUFF-WHALLEY. + + THE TOWERS, + PRIORSFORD. + +"Who are they, please? and why do they come to see me?" + +Jean shut her book, but kept her finger in as if hoping to get back to +it soon, and smiled broadly. + +"Mrs. Duff-Whalley is a wonderful woman," she said. "She knows +everything about everybody and simply scents out social opportunities. +Your name would draw her like a magnet." + +"Why is she called Duff-Whalley? and where does she live? I'm +frightfully intrigued." + +"As to the first," said Jean, "there was no thought of pleasing either +you or me when she was christened--or rather when the late Mr. +Duff-Whalley was christened. And I pointed out the house to you the +other day. You asked what the monstrosity was, and I told you it was +called The Towers." + +"I remember. A staring red-and-white house with about thirty +bow-windows and twenty turrets. It denies the landscape." + +"Wait," said Jean, "till you see it close at hand. It's the most naked, +newest thing you ever saw. Not a creeper, not an ivy leaf is allowed to +crawl on it; weather seems to have no effect on it: it never gets to +look any less new. And in summer it is worse, for then round about it +blaze the reddest geraniums and the yellowest calceolarias and the +bluest lobelias that it's possible to imagine." + +"Ghastly! What is the owner like?" + +"Small, with yellowish hair turning grey. She has a sharp nose, and her +eyes seem to dart out at you, take you all in, and then look away. She +is rather like a ferret, and she has small, sharp teeth like a ferret. +I'm never a bit sure she won't bite. She really is rather a wonderful +woman. She hasn't been here very many years, but she dominates everyone. +At whatever house you meet her she has the air of being hostess. She +welcomes you and advises you where to sit, makes suitable conversation +and finally bids you good-bye, and you feel yourself murmuring to her +the grateful 'Such a pleasant afternoon,' that was due to the real +hostess. She is in constant conflict with the other prominent matrons in +Priorsford, but she always gets her own way. At a meeting she is quite +insupportable. She just calmly tells us what we are to do. It's no good +saying we are busy; it's no good saying anything. We walk away with a +great district to collect and a pile of pamphlets under one arm.... Her +nose is a little on one side, and when I sit and look at her presiding +at a meeting I toy with the thought that someone goaded to madness by +her calm persistence had once heaved something at her, and wish I had +been there to see. Really, though, she is rather a blessing in the +place; she keeps us from stagnation. I read somewhere that when they +bring tanks of cod to this country from wherever cod abound, they put a +cat-fish in beside them, and it chases the cod round all the time, so +that they arrive in good condition. Mrs. Duff-Whalley is our cat-fish." + +"I see. Has she children?" + +"Three. A daughter, married in London--Mrs. Egerton-Thomson--a son at +Cambridge, and a daughter, Muriel, at home. I think it must be very bad +for the Duff-Whalleys living in such a vulgar, restless-looking house." + +Pamela laughed. "Do you think all the little pepper-pot towers must have +an effect on the soul? I doubt it, my dear." + +"Still," said Jean, "I think more will be expected at the end from the +people who have all their lives lived in and looked at lovely places. It +always worries me, the thought of people who live in the dark places of +big cities--children especially, growing up like 'plants in mines that +never saw the sun.' It is so dreadful that sometimes I feel I _must_ go +and help." + +"What could you do?" + +"That's what common sense always asks. I could do nothing alone, but if +all the decent people tried their hardest it would make a difference.... +It's the thought of the cruelty in the world that makes me sick. It's +the hardest thing for me to keep from being happy. Great-aunt Alison +said I had a light nature. Even when I ought to be sad my heart jumps up +in the most unreasonable way, and I am happy. But sometimes it feels as +if we comfortable people are walking on a flowery meadow that is really +a great quaking morass, and underneath there is black slime full of +unimagined horrors. A paragraph in the newspaper makes a crack and you +see down: women who take money for keeping little babies and allow them +to die, men who torture: tales of horror and terror. The War made a +tremendous crack. It seemed then as if we were all to be drawn into the +slime, as if cruelty had got its fangs into the heart of the world. When +you knelt to pray at nights you could only cry and cry. The courage of +the men who grappled in the slime with the horrors was the one thing +that kept one from despair. And the fact that they could _laugh_. You +know about the dying man who told his nurse some joke and finished, +'This is _the_ War for laughs.'" + +Pamela nodded. "It hardly bears thinking of yet--the War and the +fighters. Later on it will become the greatest of all sagas. But I want +to hear about Priorsford people. That's a clean, cheerful subject. Who +lives in the pretty house with the long ivy-covered front?" + +"The Knowe it is called. The Jowetts live there--retired Anglo-Indians. +Mr. Jowett is a funny, kind little man with a red face and rather a +nautical air. He is so busy that often it is afternoon before he reads +his morning's letters." + +"What does he do?" + +"I don't think he does anything much: taps the barometer, advises the +gardener, fusses with fowls, potters in the garden, teaches the dog +tricks. It makes him happy to feel himself rushed, and to go carrying +unopened letters at tea-time. They have no children. Mrs. Jowett is a +dear. She collects servants as other people collect prints or old china +or Sheffield plate. They are her hobby, and she has the most wonderful +knack of managing them. Even now, when good servants seem to have become +extinct, and people who need five or six are grubbing away miserably +with one and a charwoman, she has four pearls with soft voices and +gentle ways, experts at their job. She thinks about them all the time, +and considers their comfort, and dresses them in pale grey with the +daintiest spotted muslin aprons and mob caps. It is a pleasure to go to +the Jowetts for a meal, everything is so perfect. The only drawback is +if anyone makes the slightest mark on the cloth one of the silver-grey +maids brings a saucer of water and wipes it off, and it is apt to make +one nervous. I shall never forget going there to a children's party with +David and Jock. Great-aunt Alison warned us most solemnly before we left +home about marking the cloth, so we went rather tremblingly. There was a +splendid tea in the dining-room with silver candlesticks and pink +shades, and lovely china, and a glittering cloth, and heaps of good +things to eat--grown-up things like sandwiches and rich cakes, such as +we hardly ever saw. Jock was quite small and loved his food even more +than he does now, dear lamb. A maid handed round the egg-shell china--if +only they had given us mugs--and as she was putting down Jock's cup he +turned round suddenly and his elbow simply shot it out of her hand, and +sent it flying across the table. As it went it spattered everything with +weak tea and then smashed itself against one of the candlesticks. + +"I wished at that moment that the world would come to an end. There +seemed no other way of clearing up the mess. I was so ashamed, and so +sorry for my poor Jock, I couldn't lift my eyes, but Mr. Jowett rose to +the occasion and earned my affection and unending gratitude. He +pretended to find it a very funny episode, and made so many jokes about +it that stiffness vanished from the party, and we all became riotously +happy. And Mrs. Jowett, whose heart must have been wrung to see the +beautiful table ruined at the outset, so mastered her emotion as to be +able to smile and say no harm had been done.... You must go with me and +see Mrs. Jowett, only don't tell her anything in the very least sad: she +weeps at the slightest provocation." + +"Tell me more," said Pamela--"tell me about all the people who live in +those houses on the hill. It's like reading a nice _Cranfordy_ book." + +"But," Jean objected, "we're not in the least like people in a book. I +often wonder why Priorsford is so unlike a story-book little town. We're +not nearly interested enough in each other for one thing. We don't +gossip to excess. Everyone goes his or her own way. In books people do +things or are suspected of doing things, and are immediately cut by a +feverishly interested neighbourhood. I can't imagine that happening in +Priorsford. No one ever does anything very striking, but if they did I'm +sure they wouldn't be ostracised. Nobody would care much, except perhaps +Mrs. Hope, and she would only be amused." + +"Mrs. Hope?" + +"Have you noticed a whitewashed house standing among trees about half a +mile down Tweed from the bridge? That is Hopetoun, and Mrs. Hope and her +daughter live there." + +"Nice?" + +Jean nodded her head like a wise mandarin. "You must meet Mrs. Hope. To +describe her is far beyond my powers." + +"I see. Well, go on with the houses on the hill. Who lives in the one at +the corner with the well-kept garden?" + +"The Prestons. Mr. Preston is a lawyer, but he isn't much like a lawyer +in appearance--not yellow and parchmenty, you know. He's a good shot and +an ardent fisher, what Sir Walter would have called 'a just leevin' man +for a country writer.' There are several daughters, all musical, and it +is a very hospitable, cheerful house. Next the Prestons live the +Williamsons. Ordinary nice people. There is really nothing to say about +them.... The house after that is Woodside, the home of the two Miss +Speirs. They are not ordinary. Miss Althea is a spiritualist. She sees +visions and spends much of her time with spooks. Miss Clarice is a +Buddhist. Their father, when he lived, was an elder in the U.F. Church. +I sometimes wonder what he would say to his daughters now. When he died +they left the U.F. Church and became Episcopalians, then Miss Clarice +found that she couldn't believe in vicarious sacrifice and went over to +Buddhism. She took me into her bedroom once. There was a thick yellow +carpet, and a bed with a tapestry cover, and almost no furniture, +except--is it impious to call Buddha furniture?--a large figure of +Buddha with a lamp burning before it. It all seemed to me horribly +unfresh. Both ladies provide much simple amusement to the townsfolk with +their clothes and their antics." + +"I know the Speirs type," said Pamela. "Foolish virgins." + +"Next to Woodside is Craigton," went on Jean, "and there live three +spinsters--the very best brand of spinsters--the Duncans, Miss Mary, +Miss Janet, and Miss Phemie. I don't know what Priorsford would do +without these good women. Spinsters they are, but they are also real +mothers in Israel. They have time to help everyone. Benign Miss Mary is +the housekeeper--and such a housekeeper! Miss Janet is the public one, +sits on all the Committees. Miss Phemie does the flowers and embroiders +beautiful things and is like a tea-cosy, so soft and warm and +comfortable. Somehow they always seem to be there when you want them. +You never go to their door and get a dusty answer. There is the same +welcome for everyone, gentle and simple, and always the bright fire, and +the kind, smiling faces, and tea with thick cream and cake of the +richest and freshest.... You know how some people beg you to visit them, +and when you go they seem to wear a surprised look, and you feel +unexpected and awkward? The Duncans make you feel so pleased with +yourself. They are so unselfishly interested in other people's concerns; +and they are grand laughers. Even the dullest warm to something +approaching wit when surrounded by that appreciative audience of three. +They don't talk much themselves, but they have made of listening a fine +art." + +"Jean," said Pamela, "do you actually mean to tell me that everybody in +Priorsford is nice? Or are you merely being charitable? I don't know +anything duller than your charitable person who always says the kind +thing." + +Jean laughed. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid the Priorsford people are all +more or less nice. At least, they seem so to me, but perhaps I'm not +very discriminating. You will tell me what you think of them when you +meet them. All these people I've been telling you about are rich people, +'in a large way,' as Priorsford calls it. They have all large motor-cars +and hothouses and rich things like that. Mrs. M'Cosh says Priorsford is +a 'real tone-y wee place,' and we do fancy ourselves a good deal. It's a +community largely made up of women and middle-aged retired men. You see, +there is nothing for the young men to do; we haven't even mills like so +many of the Tweedside towns." + +"Will people call on me?" Pamela asked. "Is Priorsford sociable?" + +Jean pursed up her mouth in an effort to look worldly wise. "I think +_you_ will find it sociable, but if you had come here obscure and +unknown, your existence would never have been heard of, even if you had +taken a house and settled down. Priorsford hardly looks over its +shoulder at a newcomer. Some of the 'little' people might call and ask +you to tea--the kind 'little' people--but--" + +"Who do you call the 'little' people?" + +"All the people who aren't 'in a large way,' all the dwellers in the +snug little villas--most of Priorsford in fact." Jean got up to go. +"Dear me, look at the time! The boys will be home from school. May I +have the book you spoke of? Priorsford would be enraged if it heard me +calmly discussing its faults and foibles." She laughed softly. "Lewis +Elliot says Priorsford is made up of three classes--the dull, the daft, +and the devout." + +Pamela, looking for the book she wanted to lend to Jean, stopped and +stood still as if arrested by the name. + +"Lewis Elliot!" + +"Yes, of Laverlaw. D'you know him, by any chance?" + +"I used to know a Lewis Elliot who had some connection with Priorsford, +but I thought he had left it years ago." + +"Our Lewis Elliot inherited Laverlaw rather unexpectedly some years +ago. Before that he was quite poor. Perhaps that is what makes him so +understanding. He is a sort of distant cousin of ours. Great-aunt Alison +was his aunt too--at least, he called her aunt. It will be fun if he +turns out to be the man you used to know." + +"Yes," said Pamela. "Here is the book, Jean. It's been so nice having +you this afternoon. No, dear, I won't go back with you to tea. I'm going +to write letters. Good-bye. My love to the boys." + +But Pamela wrote no letters that evening. She sat with a book on her +knee and looked into the fire; sometimes she sighed. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + "I have, as you know, a general prejudice against all persons who do + not succeed in the world."--JOWETT OF BALLIOL. + + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley was giving a dinner-party. This was no uncommon +occurrence, for she loved to entertain. It gave her real pleasure to +provide a good meal and to see her guests enjoy it. "Besides," as she +often said, "what's the use of having everything solid for the table, +and a fine house and a cook at sixty pounds a year, if nobody's any the +wiser?" + +It will be seen from this remark that Mrs. Duff-Whalley had not always +been in a position to give dinner-parties; indeed, Mrs. Hope, that +terror to the newly risen, who traced everyone back to their first rude +beginnings (generally "a wee shop"), had it that the late Mr. +Duff-Whalley had begun life as a "Johnnie-a'-things" in Leith, and that +his wife had been his landlady's daughter. + +But the "wee shop" was in the dim past, if, indeed, it had ever existed +except in Mrs. Hope's wicked, wise old head, and for many years Mrs. +Duff-Whalley had ruffled it in a world that asked no questions about +the origin of money so obviously there. + +Most people are weak when they come in contact with a really +strong-willed woman. No one liked Mrs. Duff-Whalley, but few, if any, +withstood her advances. It was easier to give in and be on calling and +dining terms than to repulse a woman who never noticed a snub, and who +would never admit the possibility that she might not be wanted. So Mrs. +Duff-Whalley could boast with some degree of truth that she knew +"everybody," and entertained at The Towers "very nearly the highest in +the land." + +The dinner-party I write of was not one of her more ambitious efforts. +It was a small and (with the exception of one guest) what she called "a +purely local affair." That is to say, the people who were to grace the +feast were culled from the big villas on the Hill, and were not +"county." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley was an excellent manager, and left nothing to chance. +She saw to all the details herself. Dressed and ready quite half an hour +before the time fixed for dinner, she had cast her eagle glance over the +dinner-table, and now sailed into the drawing-room to see that the fire +was at its best, the chairs comfortably disposed, and everything as it +should be. Certainly no one could have found fault with the comfort of +the room this evening. A huge fire blazed in the most approved style of +grate, the electric light (in the latest fittings) also blazed, lighting +up the handsome oil-paintings that adorned the walls, the many +photographs, the china in the cabinets, the tables with their silver +treasures. Everywhere stood vases of heavy-scented hothouse flowers. +Mrs. Duff-Whalley approved of hothouse flowers; she said they gave a +tone to a room. + +The whole room glittered, and its mistress glittered with it as she +moved about in a dress largely composed of sequins, a diamond necklace, +and a startling ornament in her hair. + +She turned as the door opened and her daughter came into the room, and +looked her carefully up and down. She was a pretty girl dressed in the +extreme of fashion, and under each arm she carried a tiny barking dog. + +Muriel was a good daughter to her mother, and an exemplary character in +every way, but the odd thing was that few people liked her. This was the +more tragic as it was the desire of her heart to be popular. Her +appearance was attractive, and strangers usually began acquaintance with +enthusiasm, but the attraction rarely survived the first hour's talk. +She was like a very well-coloured and delightful-looking apple that is +without flavour. She was never natural--always aping someone. Her +enthusiasms did not ring true, her interest was obviously feigned, and +she had that most destroying of social faults, she could not listen with +patience, but let her attention wander to the conversation of her +neighbours. It seemed as if she could never talk at peace with anyone +for fear of missing something more interesting in another quarter. + +"You look very nice, Muriel! I'm glad I told you to put on that dress, +and that new way of doing your hair is very becoming." One lovable thing +about Mrs. Duff-Whalley was the way she sincerely and openly admired +everything that was hers. "Now, see and do your best to make the evening +go. Mr. Elliot takes a lot of amusing, and the Jowetts aren't very +lively either." + +"Is that all that's coming?" Muriel asked. + +"I asked the new Episcopalian parson--what's his name?--yes--Jackson--to +fill up." + +"You don't often descend to the clergy, mother." + +"No, but Episcopalians are slightly better fitted for society than +Presbyterians, and this young man seems quite a gentleman--such a +blessing, too, when they haven't got wives. Dear, dear, I told Dickie +not to send in any more of that plant--what d'you call it?" (It was a +peculiarity of Mrs. Duff-Whalley that she never could remember the names +of any but the simplest flowers.) "I don't like its perfume. What was I +saying? Of course, I only got up this dinner on the spur of the moment, +so to speak, when I met Mr. Elliot in the Highgate. He comes and goes so +much you never know when he's at Laverlaw; if you write or telephone +he's always got another engagement. But when I met him face to face I +just said, 'Now, when will you dine with us, Mr. Elliot?' and he hummed +and hawed a bit and then fixed to-night." + +"Perhaps he didn't want to come," Muriel suggested as she snuggled one +of the small dogs against her face. "And did it love its own mummy, +then, darling snub-nose pet?" + +Her mother scouted the idea. + +"Why should he not want to come? Do put down those dogs, Muriel. I never +get used to see you kissing them. A good dinner and everything +comfortable, and you to play the piano to him taught by the best +masters--he's ill to please. And he's not very well off, though he does +own Laverlaw. It's the time the family has been there that gives him the +standing. I must say, he isn't in the least genial, but he gets that +from his mother. A starchier old woman I never met. I remember your +father and I were staying at the Hydro when old Elliot died, and his son +was killed before that, shooting lions or something in Africa, so this +Lewis Elliot, who was a nephew, inherited. We thought we would go and +ask if by any chance they wanted to sell the place, so we called in a +friendly way, though we didn't know them, of course. It was old Mrs. +Elliot we saw, and my word, she was cold. As polite as you like, but as +icy as the North Pole. Your father had some vulgar sayings I couldn't +break him off, and he said as we drove out of the lodge gates, 'Well, +that old wife gave us our heads in our laps and our lugs to play wi'.'" + +"Why, mother!" Muriel cried, astonished. Her mother was never heard to +use a Scots expression and thought even a Scots song slightly vulgar. + +"I know--I know," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley hastily. "It just came over me +for a minute how your father said it. He was a very amusing man, your +father, very bright to live with, though he was too fond of low Scots +expressions for my taste; and he _would_ eat cheese to his tea. It kept +us down, you know. I've risen a lot in the world since your father left +us, though I miss him, of course. He used to laugh at Minnie's ideas. It +was Minnie got us to send Gordon to an English school and then to +Cambridge, and take the hyphen. Your father had many a laugh at the +hyphen, and before the servants too! You see, Minnie went to a +high-class school and made friends with the right people, and learned +how things should be done. She had always assurance, had Minnie. The way +she could order the waiters about in those grand London hotels! And then +she married Egerton-Thomson. But you're better-looking, Muriel." + +Muriel brushed aside the subject of her looks. + +"What made you settle in Priorsford?" she asked. + +"Well, we came out first to stay at the Hydro--you were away at school +then--and your father took a great fancy to the place. He was making +money fast, and we always had a thought of buying a place. But there was +nothing that just suited us. We thought it would be too dull to be right +out in the country, at the end of a long drive--exclusive you know, but +terribly dreary, and then your father said, 'Build a house to suit +ourselves in Priorsford, and we'll have shops and a station and +everything quite near.' His idea was to have a house as like a +hydropathic as possible, and to call it The Towers. 'A fine big red +house, Aggie,' he often said to me, 'with plenty of bow-windows and +turrets and a hothouse off the drawing-room and a sweep of gravel in +front and a lot of geraniums and those yellow flowers--what d'you call +'em?--and good lawns, and a flower garden and a kitchen garden and a +garage, and what more d'you want?' Well, well, he got them all, but he +didn't live long to enjoy them. I think myself that having nothing to do +but take his meals killed him. I hear wheels! That'll be the Jowetts. +They're always so punctual. Am I all right?" + +Muriel assured her that nothing was wrong or lacking, and they waited +for the guests. + +The door opened and a servant announced, "Mr. and Mrs. Jowett." + +Mrs. Jowett walked very slowly and delicately, and her husband pranced +behind her. It might have been expected that in their long walk together +through life Mr. Jowett would have got accustomed to his wife's +deliberate entrances, but no--it always seemed as if he were just on the +point of giving her an impatient push from behind. + +She was a gentle-looking woman with soft, white hair and a +pink-and-white complexion--the sort of woman one always associates with +old lace. In her youth it was said that she had played the harp, and one +felt that the "grave, sweet melody" would have well become her. She was +dressed in pale shades of mauve, and had a finely finished look. The +Indian climate and curries had affected Mr. Jowett's liver, and made his +temper fiery, but his heart remained the sound, childlike thing it had +always been. He quarrelled with everybody (though never for long), but +people in trouble gravitated to him naturally, and no one had ever +asked him anything in reason and been refused; children loved him. + +Mr. Jackson, the Episcopalian clergyman, followed hard behind the +Jowetts, and was immediately engaged in an argument with Mr. Jowett as +to whether or not choral communion, which had recently been started and +which Mr. Jowett resented, as he resented all new things, should be +continued. + +"Ridiculous!" he shouted--"utterly ridiculous! You will drive the people +from the church, sir." + +Then Mr. Elliot arrived. Mrs. Duff-Whalley greeted him impressively, and +dinner was announced. + +Lewis Elliot was a man of forty-five, tall and thin and inclined to +stoop. He had shortsighted blue eyes and a shy, kind smile. He was not a +sociable man, and resented being dragged from his books to attend a +dinner-party. Like most people he was quite incapable of saying No to +Mrs. Duff-Whalley when that lady desired an answer in the affirmative, +but he had condemned himself roundly to himself as a fool as he drove +down the glen from Laverlaw. + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley always gave a long and pretentious meal, and expected +everyone to pay for their invitation by being excessively bright and +chatty. It was not in the power of the present guests to be either the +one thing or the other. Mrs. Jowett was pensive and sweet, and inclined +to be silent; her husband gave loud barks of disagreement at intervals; +Mr. Jackson enjoyed his dinner and answered when spoken to, while Lewis +Elliot was rendered almost speechless by the flood of talk his hostess +poured over him. + +"I'm very sorry, Mr. Elliot," she remarked in a pause, "that the people +I wanted to meet you couldn't come. I asked Sir John and Lady Tweedie, +but they were engaged--so unfortunate, for they are such an acquisition. +Then I asked the Olivers, and they couldn't come. You would really +wonder where the engagements come from in this quiet neighbourhood." She +gave a little unbelieving laugh. "I had evidently chosen an unfortunate +evening for the County." + +It was trying for everyone: for Mr. Elliot, who was left with the +impression that people were apt to be engaged when asked to meet him; +for the Jowetts, who now knew that they had received a "fiddler's +bidding," and for Mr. Jackson, who felt that he was only there because +nobody else could be got. + +There was a blank silence, which Lewis Elliot broke by laughing +cheerfully. "That absurd rhyme came into my head," he explained. "You +know: + + "'Miss Smarty gave a party, + No one came. + Her brother gave another, + Just the same.'" + +Then, feeling suddenly that he had not improved matters, he fell silent. + +"Oh," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, rearing her head like an affronted hen, +"the difficulty, I assure you, is not to find guests but to decide which +to select." + +"Quite so, quite so, naturally," murmured Mr. Jackson soothingly; he +had laughed at the rhyme and felt apologetic. Then, losing his head +completely under the cold glance his hostess turned on him, he added, +"Go ye into the highways and hedges and compel them to come in." + +Mrs. Jowett took a bit of toast and broke it nervously. She was never +quite at ease in Mrs. Duff-Whalley's company. Incapable of an unkind +thought or a bitter word, so refined as to be almost inaudible, she felt +jarred and bumped in her mind after a talk with that lady, even as her +body would have felt after bathing in a rough sea among rocks. Realising +that the conversation had taken an unfortunate turn, she tried to divert +it into more pleasing channels. + +Turning to Mr. Jackson, she said: "Such a sad thing happened to-day. Our +dear old dog, Rover, had to be put away. He was sixteen, very deaf and +rather cross, and the Vet. said it wasn't _kind_ to keep him; and of +course after that we felt there was nothing to be said. The Vet. said he +would come this morning at ten o'clock, and it quite spoilt my +breakfast, for dear Rover sat beside me and begged, and I felt like an +executioner; and then he went out for a walk by himself--a thing he +hadn't done since he had become frail--and when the Vet. came there was +no Rover." + +"Dear, dear!" said Mr. Jackson, helping himself to an entree. + +"The really dreadful thing about it," continued Mrs. Jowett, refusing +the entree, "was that Johnston--the gardener, you know--had dug the +grave where I had chosen he should lie, dear Rover, and--you have heard +the expression, Mr. Jackson--a yawning grave? Well, the grave _yawned_. +It was too heartrending. I simply went to my room and cried, and Tim +went in one direction and Johnston in another, and the maids looked too, +and they found the dear doggie, and the Vet.--a most obliging man called +Davidson--came back ... and dear Rover is _at rest_." + +Mrs. Jowett looked sadly round and found that the whole table had been +listening to the recital. + +Few people have not loved a dog and known the small tragedy of parting +with it when its all too short day was over, and even the "lamentable +comedy" of Mrs. Jowett's telling of the tale made no one smile. + +Muriel leant forward, genuinely distressed. "I'm so frightfully sorry, +Mrs. Jowett; you'll miss dear old Rover dreadfully." + +"It's a beastly business putting away a dog," said Lewis Elliot. "I +always wish they had the same lease of life as we have. 'Threescore and +ten years do sum up' ... and it's none too long for such faithful +friends." + +"You must get another, Mrs. Jowett," her hostess told her bracingly. +"Get a dear little toy Pekinese or one of those Japanese +what-do-you-call-'ems that you can carry in your arms: they are so +smart." + +"If you do, Janetta," her husband warned her, "you must choose between +the brute and me. I refuse to live in the same house with one of those +pampered, trifling little beasts. If we decide to fill old Rover's +place I suggest that we get a rough-haired Irish terrier." He rolled the +"r's" round his tongue. "Something robust that can bark and chase cats, +and not lie all day on a cushion, like one of those dashed Chinese ..." +His voice died away in muttered thunder. + +Again Mrs. Duff-Whalley reared her head, but Muriel interposed, +laughing. "You mustn't really be so severe, Mr. Jowett. I happen to +possess two of the 'trifling beasts,' and you must come and apologise to +them after dinner. You can't imagine more perfect darlings, and of +_course_ they are called Bing and Toutou. You won't be able to resist +their little sweet faces--too utterly darling!" + +"Shan't I?" said Mr. Jowett doubtfully. "Well, I apologise. Nobody likes +to hear their dog miscalled.... By the way, Jackson, that's an +abominable brute of yours. Bit three milk-girls and devastated the +Scotts' hen-house last week, I hear." + +"Yes," said Mr. Jackson. "Four murdered fowls they brought to me, and I +had to pay for them; and they didn't give me the corpses, which I felt +was too bad." + +"What?" said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, deeply interested. "Did you actually pay +for the damage done and let them keep the fowls?" + +"I did," Mr. Jackson owned gloomily, and the topic lasted until the +fruit was handed round. + +"I wonder," said Mrs. Jowett to her hostess, as she peeled a pear, "if +you have met a newcomer in Priorsford--Miss Reston? She has taken Miss +Bathgate's rooms." + +"You mean the Honourable Pamela Reston? She is a daughter of the late +Lord Bidborough of Bidborough Manor, Surrey, and Mintern Abbas, +Oxfordshire, and sister of the present peer: I looked her up in Debrett. +I called on her, feeling it my duty to be civil to a stranger, but it +seems to me a very odd thing that a peer's daughter would care to live +in such a humble way. Mark my words, there's something shady about it. +As likely as not, she's an absconding lady's-maid--but a call commits +one to nothing. She was out anyway, so I didn't see her." + +"Oh, indeed," said Mrs. Jowett, blushing pink, "Miss Reston is no +impostor. When you have seen her you will realise that. I met her +yesterday at the Jardines'. She is the most delightful creature, _so_ +charming to look at, so wonderfully graceful--" + +"I think," said Lewis Elliot, "that that must be the Pamela Reston I +used to know. Did you say she was living in Priorsford?" + +"Yes, in a cottage called Hillview, next to The Rigs, you know," Mrs. +Jowett explained. "Mhor made friends with her whenever she arrived, and +took her in to see Jean. You can imagine how attractive she found the +whole household." + +"The Jardines are very unconventional," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, "if you +call that attractive. Jean doesn't know how to keep her place with +people at all. I saw her walking beside a tinker woman the other day, +helping her with her bundle; and I'm sure I've simply had to give up +calling at The Rigs, for you never knew who you would have to shake +hands with. I'm sorry for Jean, poor little soul. It seems a pity that +there is no one to dress her and give her a chance. She's a plain little +thing at best, but clothes might do wonders for her." + +"There I totally disagree," shouted Mr. Jowett. "Jean, to my mind, is +the best-looking girl in Priorsford. She walks so well and has such an +honest, jolly look. I'm glad there's no one to dress her and make an +affected doll of her.... She's the kind of girl a man would like to have +for a daughter." + +"But what," asked Mrs. Duff-Whalley, "can Miss Reston have in common +with people like the Jardines? I don't believe they have more than L300 +a year, and such a plain little house, and one queer old servant. Miss +Reston must be accustomed to things so very different. We must ask her +here to meet some of the County." + +"The County!" growled Mr. Jowett. "Except for Elliot here, and the Hopes +and the Tweedies and the Olivers, there are practically none of the old +families left. I tell you what it is--" + +But Mrs. Duff-Whalley had had enough for the moment of Mr. Jowett's +conversation, so she nodded to Mrs. Jowett, and with an arch admonition +to the men not to stay too long, she swept the ladies before her to the +drawing-room. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + "I will the country see + Where old simplicity, + Though hid in grey, + Doth look more gay + Than foppery in plush and scarlet clad." + + THOMAS RANDOLPH, 1605-35. + + +A letter from Pamela Reston to her brother. + +" ... It was a tremendous treat to get your budget this morning after +three mails of silence. I got your cable saying you were back before I +knew you contemplated going, so I never had to worry. I think the War +has shaken my nerves in a way I hadn't realised. I never used to worry +about you very much, knowing your faculty of falling on your feet, but +now I tremble. + +"Sikkim must be marvellous, and to try an utterly untried route was +thrilling, but what uncomfortable times men do give themselves! To lie +in a tiny tent in the soaking rain with your bedding crawling with +leeches, 'great, cold, well-nourished fellows.' Ugh! And yet, I suppose +you counted the discomforts as nothing when you gazed at Everest while +yet the dawn 'walked tiptoe on the mountains' (will it ever be climbed, +I wonder!), and even more wonderful, as you describe it, must have been +the vision from below the Alukthang glacier, when the mists slowly +unveiled the face of Pandim to the moon.... + +"And I shall soon hear of it all by word of mouth. It is the best of +news that you are coming home. I don't think you must go away again +without me. I have missed you dreadfully these last six months. + +"Besides, you ought to settle at home for a bit now, don't you think? +First, your long exploring expedition and then the War: haven't you been +across the world, away long enough to make you want to stay at home? You +are one of the very worst specimens of an absentee landlord.... After +profound calculations I have come to the conclusion that you will get +two letters from me from Priorsford before you leave India. I am sending +this to Port Said to make sure of not missing you. You will have lots of +time to read it on board ship if it is rather long. + +"Shall I meet you in London? Send me a wire when you get this. What I +should like to do would be to conduct you personally to Priorsford. I +think you would like it. The countryside is lovely, and after a week or +two we could go somewhere for Christmas. The Champertouns have asked me +to go to them, and of course their invitation would include you. They +are second or third cousins, and we've never seen them, but they are our +mother's people, and I have always wanted to see where she was brought +up. However, we can settle all that later on.... + +"I feel myself quite an old resident in Priorsford now, and have become +acquainted with some of the people--well-to-do, hospitable, not at all +interesting (with a few exceptions), but kind. + +"The Jardines remain my great interest. What a blessing it is when +people improve by knowing--so few do. I see the Jardines once every day, +sometimes oftener, and I like them more every time I see them. + +"I've been thinking, Biddy, you and I haven't had a vast number of +people to be fond of. There was Aunt Eleanor, but I defy anyone to be +fond of her. Respect her one might, fear her we did, but love her--it +would have been as discouraging as petting a steam road-roller. We +hadn't even a motherly old nurse, for Aunt Eleanor liked machine-made +people like herself to serve her. I don't think it did you much harm, +you were such a sunny-tempered, affectionate little boy, but it made me +rather inhuman. + +"As we grew up we acquired crowds of friends and acquaintances, but they +were never like real home-people to whom you show both your best and +your worst side, and who love you simply because you are you. The +Jardines give me that homey feeling. + +"The funny thing is I thought I was going to broaden Jean, to show her +what a narrow little Puritan she is, bound in the Old Testament thrall +of her Great-aunt Alison--but not a bit of it. She is very receptive, +delighted to be told about people and clothes, cities, theatres, +pictures, but on what she calls 'serious things' she is an absolute +rock. It is like finding a Roundhead delighting in Royalist sports and +plays, or a Royalist chanting Roundhead psalms--if you can imagine an +evangelical Royalist. Anyway, it is rather a fine combination. + +"I only wish I could help to make things easier for Jean. I have far +more money than I want; she has so little. I'm afraid she has to plan +and worry a good deal how to clothe and feed and educate those boys. I +know that she is very anxious that David should not be too scrimped for +money at Oxford, and consequently spends almost nothing on herself. A +warm coat for Jock; no evening gown for Jean. David finds that he must +buy certain books and writes home in distress. 'That can easily be +managed,' says Jean, and goes without a new winter hat. She and Mrs. +M'Cosh are wonders of economy in housekeeping, and there is always +abundance of plain, well-cooked food. + +"I told you about Mrs. M'Cosh? She is the Jardines' one servant--an +elderly woman, a widow from Glasgow. I like her way of showing in +visitors. She was a pew-opener in a church at one time, which may +account for it. When you ask if Jean is in, she puts her head on one +side in a considering way and says, 'I'm no' juist sure,' and ambles +away, leaving the visitor quite undecided whether she is intended to +remain on the doorstep or follow her in. I know now that she means you +to remain meekly on the doorstep, for she lately recounted to me with +glee of another caller, 'I'd went awa' up the stair to see if Miss Jean +wis in, an' whit d'ye think? When I lukit roond the wumman wis at ma +heels.' The other day workmen were in the house doing something, and +when Mrs. M'Cosh opened the door to me she said, 'Ye see the mess we're +in. D'ye think ye should come in?' leaving it to my better nature to +decide. + +"She is always serene, always smiling. The great love of her life is +Peter, the fox-terrier, one of the wickedest and nicest of dogs. He is +always in trouble, and she is sorely put to it sometimes to find excuses +for him. 'He's a great wee case, is Peter,' she generally finishes up. +'He means no ill' (this after it has been proved that he has chased +sheep, killed hens, and bitten message-boys); 'he's juist a wee thing +playful.' + +"Peter attends every function in Priorsford--funerals, marriages, +circuses. He meets all the trains and escorts strangers to the objects +of interest in the neighbourhood. He sees people off, and wags his tail +in farewell as the train moves out of the station. + +"He and Mhor are fast friends, and it is an inspiring sight to see them +of a morning, standing together in the middle of the road with the whole +wide world before them, wondering which would be the best way to take +for adventures. Mhor has had much liberty lately as he has been +infectious after whooping-cough, but now he has gone back to the little +school he attends with some twenty other children. I'm afraid he is a +very unwilling scholar. + +"You will be glad to hear that Bella Bathgate (I'm taking a liberty +with her name I don't dare take in speaking to her) is thawing to me +slightly. It seems that part of the reason for her distaste to me was +that she thought I would probably demand a savoury for dinner! If I did +ask such a thing--which Heaven forbid!--she would probably send me in a +huge pudding dish of macaroni and cheese. Her cooking is not the best of +Bella. + +"She and Mawson have become fast friends. Mawson has asked Bella to call +her Winifred, and she calls Miss Bathgate 'Beller.' + +"Miss Bathgate spends any leisure moments she has in doing long strips +of crochet, which eventually become a bedspread, and considers it a +waste of time to read anything but the Bible, the _Scotsman_ and the +_Missionary Magazine_ (she is very keen on Foreign Missions), but she +doesn't object to listening to Mawson's garbled accounts of the books +she reads. I sometimes overhear their conversations as they sit together +by the kitchen fire in the long evenings. + +"'And,' says Mawson, describing some lurid work of fiction, 'Evangeline +was left shut up in the picture-gallery of the 'ouse.' + +"'D'ye mean to tell me hooses hev picture-galleries?' says Bella. + +"'Course they 'ave--all big 'ouses.' + +"'Juist like the Campbell Institution--sic a bother it must be to dust!' + +"'Well,' Mawson goes on, 'Evangeline finds 'er h'eyes attracted--' + +"Again Bella interrupts. 'Wha was Evangeline? I forget aboot her.' + +"'Oh, don't you remember? The golden-'aired 'eroine with vilet eyes.' + +"'I mind her noo. The yin wi' the black hair was the bad yin.' + +"'Yes, she was called 'Ermione. Well, Evangeline finds 'er h'eyes +attracted to the picture of a man dressed like a cavalier.' + +"'What's that?' + +"'I don't rightly know,' Mawson confesses. 'Kind of a fancy dress, I +believe, but anyway 'er h'eyes were attracted to the picture, and as she +fixed 'er h'eyes on it the _h'eyes in the picture_ moved.' + +"'Oh, murder!' says Bella, much thrilled. + +"'You may say it. Murder it was, h'attempted murder, I should say, for +of course it would never do to murder the vilet-h'eyed 'eroine. As it +'appened ...' and so on ... + +"One of the three months gone! Perhaps at the beginning of the year I +shall have had more than enough of it, and go gladly back to the +fleshpots of Egypt and the Politician. + +"It is a dear thing a little town, 'a lovesome thing, God wot,' and +Priorsford is the pick of all little towns. I love the shops and the +kind, interested way the shopkeepers serve one: I have shopped in most +European cities, but I never realised the full delight of shopping till +I came to Priorsford. You can't think what fun it is to order in all +your own meals, to decide whether you will have a 'finnan-haddie' or a +'kipper' for breakfast--much more exciting than ordering a ball gown. + +"I love the river, and the wide bridge, and the old castle keeping watch +and ward, and the _pends_ through which you catch sudden glimpses of the +solemn round-backed hills. And most of all I love the lights that +twinkle out in the early darkness, every light meaning a little home, +and a warm fireside and kindly people round it. + +"To live, as you and I have done all our lives, in houses where all the +difficulties of life are kept in oblivion, and existence runs on +well-oiled wheels is very pleasant, doubtless, but one misses a lot. I +love the _nearness_ of Hillview, to hear Mawson and B.B. converse in the +kitchen, to smell (this is the most comfortable and homely smell) the +ironing of clean clothes, and to know (also by the sense of smell) what +I am going to have for dinner hours before it comes. + +"Of course you will say, and probably with truth, that what I enjoy is +the _newness_ of it, that if I knew that my life would be spent in such +surroundings I would be profoundly dissatisfied. + +"I dare say. But in the meantime I am happy--happy in a contented, quiet +way that I never knew before. + +"It is strange that our old friend Lewis Elliot is living near +Priorsford, at a place called Laverlaw, about five miles up Tweed from +here. Do you remember what good times we used to have with him when he +came to stay with the Greys? That must be more than twenty years +ago--you were a little boy and I was a wild colt of a girl. I don't +think you have ever seen much of him since, but I saw a lot of him in +London when I first came out. Then he vanished. Some years ago his uncle +died and he inherited Laverlaw. He came to see me the other day, not a +bit changed, the same dreamy, unambitious creature--rather an angel. I +sometimes wonder if little Jean will one day go to Laverlaw. It would be +very nice and fairy-tale-ish!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + + "You that are old," Falstaff reminds the Chief Justice, "consider + not the capacities of us that are young." + + +One afternoon Jean called for Pamela to take her to see Mrs. Hope. + +It was a clear, blue-and-white day, with clouds scudding across the sky, +and a cold, whistling wind that blew the fallen leaves along the dry +roads--a day that made people walk smartly and gave the children +apple-red cheeks and tangled curls. + +Mhor and Peter were seated on The Rigs garden wall as Pamela and Jean +came out of Hillview gate. Peter wagged his tail in recognition, but +Mhor made no sign of having seen his sister and her friend. + +"Aren't you cold up there?" Pamela asked him. + +"Very cold," said Mhor, "but we can't come down. We're on sentry duty on +the city wall till sundown," and he shaded his eyes with his hand and +pretended to peer into space for lurking foes. + +Peter looked wistfully up at him and hunched himself against the +scratched bare knees now blue with cold. + +"When the sun touches the top of West Law," said Jean, pointing to a +distant blue peak, "it has set. See--there.... Now run in, sonny, and +tell Mrs. M'Cosh to let you have some currant-loaf for tea. Pamela and I +are going to tea at Hopetoun." + +"Aw," said Mhor, "I hate when you go out to tea. So does Jock. So does +Peter. Look out! I'm going to jump." + +He jumped and fell prostrate, barking his chin, but no howl came from +him, and he picked himself up with dignity, merely asking for the loan +of a handkerchief, his own "useful little hanky," as he explained, +having been used to mop up a spilt ink-bottle. + +Fortunately Jean had a spare handkerchief, and Pamela promised that on +her return he should have a reel of sticking-plaster for his own use, +so, battered but content, he returned to the house, Peter remaining +behind to investigate a mole-heap. + +"What a cheery day for November," Pamela remarked as they took the road +by Tweedside. "Look at that beech tree against the blue sky, every black +twig silhouetted. Trees are wonderful in winter." + +"Trees are wonderful always," said Jean. "'Solomon spake of trees'--I do +wonder what he said. I suppose it would be the cedars of Lebanon he +'spake' of, and the hyssop that grows in the walls, and sycamores, but +he would have been worth hearing on a rowan tree flaming red against a +blue September sky. Look at that newly ploughed field so softly brown, +and the faded gold of the beech hedge. November _is_ a cheery time. The +only depressing time of the year to me is when the swallows go away. I +can't bear to see them wheeling round and preparing to depart. I want so +badly to go with them. It always brings back to me the feeling I had as +a child when people read Hans Andersen to me--the storks in _The Marsh +King's Daughter_, talking about the mud in Egypt. Imagine Priorsford +swallows in Egypt!... As the song says: + + "'It's dowie at the hint o' hair'st + At the way-gaun o' the swallow.'" + +"What a lovely sound Lowland Scots has," said Pamela. "I like to hear +you speak it. Tell me about Mrs. Hope, Jean. I do hope we shall see her +alone. I don't like Priorsford tea-parties; they are rather like a +foretaste of eternal punishment. With no choice you are dumped down +beside the most irrelevant sort of person, and there you remain. I went +to return Mrs. Duff-Whalley's call the other day, and fell into one. +Before I could retreat I was wedged into a chair beside a woman whom I +hope I shall never see again. She was one of those bleak people who make +the thought of getting up in the morning and dressing quite +insupportable. I don't think there was a detail in her domestic life +that she didn't touch on. She told me all her husband could eat and +couldn't eat; she called her children 'little tots,' and said she +couldn't get so much as a 'serviette' washed in the house. I thought +nobody talked of serviettes outside Wells and Arnold Bennett. Mrs. +Duff-Whalley rescued me in the nick of time before I could do anything +desperate, and then _she_ cross-examined me as to my reasons for coming +to Priorsford." + +Jean laughed. "What a cheery afternoon! But it will be all right to-day. +Mrs. Hope never sees more than one or two people at a time. She is +pretty old, you see, and frail, though she has such an extraordinary +gift of being young. I do hope you will like each other. She has an edge +to her tongue, but she is an incomparable friend. The poor people go to +her in flocks, and she scolds them roundly, but always knows how to help +them in the only wise way. Her people have been in Priorsford for ages; +she knows every soul in the place, and is vastly amused at all the +little snobberies that abound in a small town. But she laughs kindly. +Pretentious people are afraid of her; simple people love her." + +"Am I simple, Jean?" + +Jean laughed and refused to give an opinion on the subject, beyond +quoting the words of Autolycus--"How blessed are we that are not simple +men." + +They were in the Hopetoun Woods now, and at the end of the avenue could +see the house standing on a knoll by the river, whitewashed, dignified, +home-like. + +"Talk to Mrs. Hope about the view," Jean advised "She is as proud of the +Hopetoun Woods as if she had made them. Isn't it a nice place? Old and +proud and honourable--like Mrs. Hope herself." + +"Are there sons to inherit?" + +Jean shook her head. "There were three sons. Mrs. Hope hardly ever +talks about them, but I've seen their photographs, and of course I have +often been told about them--by Great-aunt Alison, and others--and heard +how they died. They were very clever and good-looking and +well-liked--the kind of sons mothers are very proud of, and they all +died imperially, if that is an expression to use. Two died in India, +one--a soldier--in one of the Frontier skirmishes: the other--an I.C.S. +man--from over-working in a famine-stricken district. The youngest fell +in the Boer War ... so you see Mrs. Hope has the right to be proud. Aunt +Alison used to tell me that she made no moan over her wonderful sons. +She shut herself up for a short time, and then faced the world again, +her kindly, sharp-tongued self. She is one of those splendid people who +take the slings and arrows thrown at them by outrageous fortune and bury +them deep in their hearts and go on, still able to laugh, still able to +take an interest. Only, you mustn't speak to her of what she has lost. +That would be too much." + +"Yes," said Pamela. "I can understand that." + +She stopped for a minute and stood looking at the river full of "wan +water from the Border hills," at the stretches of lawn ornamented here +and there by stone figures, at the trees _thrawn_ with winter and rough +weather, and she thought of the three boys who had played here, who had +lived in the whitewashed house (she could see the barred nursery +windows), bathed and fished in the Tweed, thrown stones at the grey +stone figures on the lawn, climbed the trees in the Hopetoun Woods, and +who had gone out with their happy young lives to lay them down in a far +country. + +Mrs. Hope was sitting by the fire in the drawing-room, a room full of +flowers and books, and lit by four long windows. Two of the windows +looked on to the lawns, and the stone figures chipped by generations of +catapult-owning boys; the other two looked across the river into the +Hopetoun Woods. The curtains were not drawn though the lamps were lit, +for Mrs. Hope liked to keep the river and the woods with her as long as +light lasted, so the warm bright room looked warmer and brighter in +contrast with the cold, ruffled water and the wind-shaken trees outside. + +Mrs. Hope had been a beautiful woman in her day, and was still an +attractive figure, her white hair dressed high and crowned with a square +of lace tied in quaint fashion under her chin. Her black dress was soft +and becoming to her spare figure. There was nothing unsightly about her +years; she made age seem a lovely, desirable thing. Not that her years +were so very many, but she had lived every minute of them; also she had +given lavishly and unsparingly of her store of sympathy and energy to +others: and she had suffered grievously. + +She kissed Jean affectionately, upbraiding her for being long in coming, +and turned eagerly to Pamela. New people still interested her vividly. +Here was a newcomer who promised well. + +"Ah, my dear," she said in greeting, "I have wanted to know you. I'm +told you are the most interesting person who ever came to this little +town." + +Pamela laughed. "There I am sure you have been misled. Priorsford is +full of exciting people. I expected to be dull, and I have rarely been +so well amused." + +Mrs. Hope studied the charming face bent to her own. Her blue eyes were +shrewd, and though she stood so near the end of the way she had lost +none of her interest in the comings and goings of Vanity Fair. + +"Is Priorsford amusing?" she said. "Well" (complacently), "we have our +points. As Jane Austen wrote of the Misses Bingley, 'Our powers of +conversation are considerable--we can describe an entertainment with +accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at our acquaintances +with spirit.'" + +"Laugh!" Jean groaned. "Pamela, I must warn you that Mrs. Hope's +laughter scares Priorsford to death. We speak her fair in order that she +won't give us away to our neighbours, but we have no real hope that she +doesn't see through us. Have we, Miss Augusta?" addressing the daughter +of the house, who had just come into the room. + +"Ah," said Mrs. Hope, "if everyone was as transparent as you, Jean." + +"Oh, don't," Jean pleaded. "You remind me that I am quite uninteresting +when I am trying to make believe that I am subtle, or 'subtile,' as the +Psalmist says of the fowler's snare." + +"Absurd child! Augusta, my dear, this is Miss Reston." + +Miss Hope shook hands in her gentle, shy way, and busied herself putting +small tables beside her mother and the two guests as the servant brought +in tea. Her life was spent in doing small services. + +Once, when Augusta was a child, someone asked her what she would like to +be, and she had replied, "A lady like mamma." She had never lost the +ambition, though very soon she had known that it could not be realised. +It was difficult to believe that she was Mrs. Hope's daughter, for she +had no trace of the beauty and sparkle with which her mother had been +endowed. Augusta had a long, kind, patient face--a drab-coloured +face--but her voice was beautiful. She had never been young; she was +born an anxious pilgrim, and now, at fifty, she seemed infinitely older +than her ageless mother. + +Pamela, watching her as she made the tea, saw all Augusta's heart in her +eyes as she looked at her mother, and saw, too, the dread that lay in +them--the dread of the days that she must live after the light had gone +out for her. + +During tea Mrs. Hope had many questions to ask about David at Oxford, +and Jean was only too delighted to tell every single detail. + +"And how is my dear Jock? He is my favourite." + +"Not the Mhor?" asked Pamela. + +"No. Mhor is 'a'body's body.' He will never lack for admirers. But Jock +is my own boy. We've been friends since he came home from India, a +white-headed baby with the same surprised blue eyes that he has now. He +was never out of scrapes at home, but he was always good with me. I +suppose I was flattered by that." + +"Jock," said Jean, "is very nearly the nicest thing in the world, and +the funniest. This morning Mrs. M'Cosh caught a mouse alive in a trap, +and Jock, while dressing, heard her say she would drown it. Down he +went, like an avalanche in pyjamas, drove Mrs. M'Cosh into the scullery, +and let the mouse away in the garden. He would fight any number of boys +of any size for an ill-treated animal. In fact, all his tenderness is +given to dumb animals. He has no real liking for mortals. They affront +him with their love-making and their marriages. He has to leave the room +when anything bordering on sentiment is read aloud. 'Tripe,' he calls it +in his low way. _Do_ you remember his scorn of knight-errants who +rescued distressed damsels? They seemed to him so little worth +rescuing." + +"I never cared much for sentiment myself," said Mrs. Hope. "I wouldn't +give a good adventure yarn for all the love-stories ever written." + +"Mother remains very boyish," said Augusta. "She likes something vivid +in the way of crime." + +"And now," said her mother, "you are laughing at an old done woman, +which is very unseemly. Come and sit beside me, Miss Reston, and tell me +what you think of Priorsford." + +"Oh," said Pamela, drawing a low chair to the side of her hostess, +"it's not for me to talk about Priorsford. They tell me you know more +about it than anyone." + +"Do I? Well, perhaps; anyway, I love it more than most. I've lived here +practically all my life, and my forbears have been in the countryside +for generations, and that all counts. Priorsford ... I sometimes stand +on the bridge and look and look, and tell myself that I feel like a +mother to it." + +"I know," said Pamela. "There is something very appealing about a little +town: I never lived in one before." + +"But," said Mrs. Hope, jealous as a mother for her own, "I think there +is something very special about Priorsford. There are few towns as +beautiful. The way the hills cradle it, and Peel Tower stands guard over +it, and the links of Tweed water it, and even the streets aren't +ordinary, they have such lovely glimpses. From the East Gate you look up +to the East Law, pine trees, grey walls, green terraces; in the Highgate +you don't go many yards without coming to a _pend_ with a view of blue +distances that takes your breath, just as in Edinburgh when you look +down an alley and see ships tacking for the Baltic.... But I wish I had +known Priorsford as it was in my mother's young days, when the French +prisoners were here. The genteel supper-parties and assemblies must have +been vastly entertaining. It has changed even in my day. I don't want to +repeat the old folks' litany, 'No times like the old times,' but it does +seem to me--or is it only distance lending enchantment?--that the +people I used to know were more human, more interesting; there was less +worship of money, less running after the great ones of the earth, +certainly less vulgarity. We were content with less, and happier." + +"But, Mrs. Hope," said Pamela, laying down her cup, "this is most +depressing hearing. I came here to find simplicity." + +"You needn't expect to find it in Priorsford. We aren't so provincial as +all that. I just wish Mrs. Duff-Whalley could hear you. Simplicity +indeed! I'm not able to go out much now, but I sit here and watch +people, and I am astonished at the number of restless eyes. So many +people spend their lives striving to keep in the swim. They are +miserable in case anyone gets before them, in case a neighbour's car is +a better make, in case a neighbour's entertainments are more +elaborate.... Two girls came to see me this morning, nice girls, pretty +girls, but even my old eyes could see the powder on their faces and +their touched-up eyes. And their whole talk was of daft-like dances, and +bridge, and absurdities. If they had been my daughters I would have +whipped them for their affected manners. And when I think of their +grandmother! A decent woman was Mirren Somerville. She lived with her +father in that ivy-covered cottage at our gates, and she did sewing for +me before she married Banks. She wasn't young when she married. I +remember she came to ask my advice. 'D'you care for him, Mirren?' I +asked. 'Well, mem, it's no' as if I were a young lassie. I'm forty, and +near bye caring. But he's a dacent man, and it's lonely now ma faither's +awa, an' I'm a guid cook, an' he would aye come in to a clean fireside.' +So she married him and made a good wife to him, and they had one son. +And Mirren's son is now Sir John Banks, a baronet and an M.P. Tuts, the +thing's ridiculous.... Not that there's anything wrong with the man. +He's a soft-tongued, stuffed-looking butler-like creature, with a lot of +that low cunning that is known as business instinct, but he was good to +his mother. He didn't marry till she died, and she kept house for him in +his grand new house--the dear soul with her caps and her broad +south-country accent. She managed wonderfully, for she had great natural +dignity, and aped nothing. It was the butler killed her. She could cope +with the women servants, but when Sir John felt that his dignity +required a butler she gave it up. I dare say she was glad enough to +go.... 'Eh, mem, I am effrontit,' she used to say to me if I went in and +found her spotless kitchen disarranged, and I thought of her to-day when +I saw those silly little painted faces, and was glad she had been spared +the sight of her descendants.... But what am I raging about? What does +it matter to me, when all's said? Let the lassies dress up as long as +they have the heart; they'll have long years to learn sense if they're +spared.... Miss Reston, did you ever see anything bonnier than Tweed and +Hopetoun Woods? Jean, my dear, Lewis Elliot brought me a book last night +which really delighted me. Poems by Violet Jacob. If anyone could do for +Tweeddale what she has done for Angus I would be glad...." + +"You care for poetry, Miss Reston? In Priorsford it's considered rather +a slur on your character to care for poetry. Novels we may discuss, +sensible people read novels, even now and again essays or biography, but +poetry--there we have to dissemble. We pretend, don't we, Jean?--that +poetry is nothing to us. Never a quotation or an allusion escapes us. We +listen to tales of servants' misdeeds, we talk of clothes and the +ongoings of our neighbours, and we never let on that we would rather +talk of poetry. No. No. A daft-like thing for either an old woman or a +young one to speak of. Only when we are alone--Jean and Augusta and +Lewis Elliot and I--we 'tire the sun with talking and send it down the +sky.' ... Miss Reston, Lewis Elliot tells me he knew you very well at +one time." + +"Yes, away at the beginning of things. I adored him when I was fifteen +and he was twenty. He was wonderfully good to me and Biddy--my brother. +It is delightful to find an old friend in a new place." + +"I'm very fond of Lewis," said Mrs. Hope, "but I wish to goodness he had +never inherited Laverlaw. He might have done a lot in the world with his +brain and his heart and his courage, but there he is contentedly settled +in that green glen of his, and greatly absorbed in sheep. Sheep! The +country is run by the Sir John Bankses, and the Lewis Elliots think +about sheep. It's all wrong. It's all wrong. The War wakened him up, +and he was in the thick of it both in the East and in France, but never +in the limelight, you understand, just doggedly doing his best in the +background. If he would marry a sensible wife with some ambition, but +he's about as much sentiment in him as Jock. It would take an earthquake +to shake him into matrimony." + +"Perhaps," said Pamela, "he is like your friend Mirren--'bye caring.'" + +"Nonsense," said Mrs. Hope briskly. "He's 'bye' the fervent stage, if he +ever was a prisoner in that cage of rushes, which I doubt, but there are +long years before him, I hope, and if there isn't a fire of affection on +the hearth, and someone always about to listen and understand, it's a +dowie business when the days draw in and the nights get longer and +colder, and the light departs." + +"But if it's dreary for a man," said Pamela, "what of us? What of the +'left ladies,' as I heard a child describe spinsters?" + +Mrs. Hope's blue eyes, callously calm, surveyed the three spinsters +before her. + +"You will get no pity from me," she said. "It's practically always the +woman's own fault if she remains unmarried. Besides, a woman can do fine +without a man. A woman has so much within herself she is a constant +entertainment to herself. But men are helpless souls. Some of them are +born bachelors and they do very well, but the majority are lost without +a woman. And angry they would be to hear me say it!... Are you going, +Jean?" + +"Mhor's lessons," said Jean. "I'm frightfully sorry to take Pamela +away." + +"May I come again?" Pamela asked. + +"Surely. Augusta and I will look forward to your next visit. Don't tire +of Priorsford yet awhile. Stay among us and learn to love the place." +Mrs. Hope smiled very kindly at her guest, and Pamela, stooping down, +kissed the hand that held her own. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + "Lord Clinchum waved a careless hand. A small portion of blood royal + flows in my veins, he said, but it does not worry me at all and + after all, he added piously, at the Day of Judgment what will be the + Odds? + + "Mr. Salteena heaved a sigh. I was thinking of this world, he + said."--_The Young Visiters_. + + +"I would like," said Pamela, "to get to know my neighbours. There are +six little houses, each exactly like Hillview, and I would like to be +able to nod to the owners as I pass. It would be more friendly." + +Pamela and Jean, with Mhor and Peter, were walking along the road that +contained Hillview and The Rigs. + +"Every house in this road is a twin," said Mhor, "except The Rigs. It's +different from every other house." + +They were coming home from a long walk, laden with spoils from the +woods: moss for the bowls of bulbs, beautiful bare branches such as Jean +loved to stand in blue jars against the creamy walls. Mhor and Peter had +been coursing about like two puppies, covering at least four times the +ground their elders covered, and were now lagging, weary-footed, much +desiring their midday meal. + +"I don't know," said Jean, pondering on the subject of neighbours, "how +you could manage to be friends with them. You see, they are busy people +and--it sounds very rude--they haven't time to be bothered with you. +Just smile tentatively when you see them and pass the time of day +casual-like; you would soon get friendly. There is one house, the one +called 'Balmoral,' with the very much decorated windows and the basket +of ferns hanging in the front door, where the people are at leisure, and +I know would deeply value a little friendliness. Two sisters live in +it--Watson is the name--most kindly and hospitable creatures with enough +to live on comfortably and keep a small servant, and ample leisure after +they have, what Mrs. M'Cosh calls, 'dockit up the hoose,' to entertain +and be entertained. They are West country--Glasgow, I think, or +Greenock--and they find Priorsford just a little stiff. They've been +here about three years, and I'm afraid are rather disappointed that they +haven't made more progress socially. I love them personally. They are so +genteel, as a rule, but every little while the raciness natural to the +West country breaks out." + +"You are nice to them, Jean, I am sure." + +"Oh yes, but the penalty of being more or less nice to everyone is that +nobody values your niceness: they take it for granted. Whereas the +haughty and exclusive, if they do condescend to stoop, are hailed as +gods among mortals." + +"Poor Jean!" laughed Pamela. "That is rather hard. It's a poor thing +human nature." + +"It is," Jean agreed. "I went to the dancing-class the other day to see +a most unwilling Mhor trip fantastically, and I saw a tiny girl take the +hand of an older girl and look admiringly up at her. The older child, +with the awful heartlessness of childhood wriggled her hand away and +turned her back on her small admirer. The poor mite stood trying not to +cry, and presently a still tinier mite came snuggling up to her and took +her hand. 'Now,' I thought, 'having learned how cruel a thing a snub is, +will she be kind?' Not a bit of it. With the selfsame gesture the older +girl had used she wriggled away her hand and turned her back." + +"Cruel little wretches," said Pamela, "but it's the same with us older +children. Apart from sin altogether, it must be hard for God to pardon +our childishness ... But about the Miss Watsons--d'you think I might +call on them?" + +"Well, they wouldn't call on you, I'm sure of that. Suppose I ask them +to meet you, and then you could fix a day for them to have tea with you? +It would be a tremendous treat for them, and pleasant for you too--they +are very entertaining." + +So it was arranged. The Miss Watsons were asked to The Rigs, and to +their unbounded satisfaction spent a most genial hour in the company of +Miss Reston, whose comings and goings they had watched with breathless +interest from behind the elegant sash curtain of Balmoral. On their way +home they borrowed a copy of Debrett and studied it all evening. + +It was very confusing at first, but at last they ran their quarry to +earth. "Here she is ... She's the daughter (dau. must mean daughter) of +Quintin John, 10th Baron Bidborough. And this'll be her brother, Quintin +Reginald Feurbras--what names! _Teenie_, her mother was an earl's +daughter!" + +"Oh, mercy!" wailed Miss Teenie, quite over-come. + +"Yes, see here. 6th Earl of Champertoun--a Scotch earl too! Lady Ann was +her name. Fancy that now!" + +"And her so pleasant!" said Miss Teenie. + +"It just lets you see," said Miss Watson, "the higher up you get in the +social scale, the pleasanter and freer people are. You see, they've been +there so long they're accustomed to it; their position never gives them +a thought: it's the people who have climbed up who keep on wondering if +you're noticing how grand they are." + +"Well, Agnes," said Miss Teenie, "it's a great rise in the world for you +and me to be asked to tea with an earl's granddaughter. There's no +getting over that. I'm thinking we'll need to polish up our manners. +I've an awful habit of drinking my tea with my mouth full. It seems more +natural somehow to give it a _synd_ down than to wait to drink till your +mouth's empty." + +"Of course it's more natural," said her sister, "but what's natural's +never refined. That's a queer thing when you think of it." + +The Miss Watsons called on all their friends in the next few days, and +did not fail to mention in each house, accidentally, as it were, that on +Wednesday they expected to take tea with Miss Reston, and led on from +that fact to glowing details of Miss Reston's ancestry. + +The height of their satisfaction was reached when they happened to meet +Mrs. Duff-Whalley, who, remembering yeoman service rendered by the +sisters at a recent bazaar, stopped them and, greatly condescending, +said, "Ah, er--Miss Watson--I'm asking a few local ladies to The Towers +on Wednesday afternoon to discuss the subject of a sale of work for the +G.F.S. A cup of tea, you understand, and a friendly chat in my own +drawing-room You will both join us, I hope?" Her tone held no doubt of +their delighted acceptance, but Miss Watson, who had suffered much from +Mrs. Duff-Whalley, who had been made use of and then passed unnoticed, +taken up when needed and dropped, replied with great deliberation, "Oh, +thank you, but we are going to tea with Miss Reston that afternoon. I +dare say we shall hear from someone what is decided about the sale of +work." + +The epoch-making Wednesday dawned at last. + +Great consultations had gone on between The Rigs and Hillview how best +to make it an enjoyable occasion. Pamela wanted Jean to be present, but +Jean thought it better not to be. "It would take away from the glory of +the occasion. I'm only a _chota Miss_, and they are too accustomed to +me. Ask Mrs. Jowett. She wouldn't call on the Watsons--the line must +be drawn somewhere even by the gentle Mrs. Jowett--but she will be very +sweet and nice to them. And Miss Mary Dawson. She is such a kind, +comfortable presence in a room--I think that would be a nice little +party." + +Pamela obediently promised to do as Jean suggested. + +"I've sent to Fullers' for some cakes, though I don't myself consider +them a patch on the Priorsford cakes, but they will be a change and make +it more of an occasion. Mawson can make delicious sandwiches and Bella +Bathgate has actually offered to bake some scones. I'll make the room +look as smart as possible with flowers." + +"You've no photographs of relations? They would like photographs better +than anything." + +"People they never heard of before," cried Pamela. "What an odd taste! +However, I'll do what I can." + +By 11 a.m. the ladies in Balmoral had laid out all they meant to +wear--skirts spread neatly on beds, jackets over chair-backs, even to +the very best handkerchiefs on the dressing-table waiting for a sprinkle +of scent. + +At two o'clock they began to dress. + +Miss Teenie protested against this disturbance of their afternoon rest, +but her sister was firm. + +"It'll take me every minute of the time, Teenie, for I've all my +underclothing to change." + +"But, mercy me, Miss Reston'll not see your underclothes!" + +"I know that, but when you've on your very best things underneath you +feel a sort of respect for yourself, and you're better able to hold your +own in whatever company you're in. I don't know what you mean to do, but +I'm going to change _to the skin_." + +Miss Teenie nearly always followed the lead of her elder sister, so she +meekly went off to look out and air her most self-respecting under +garments, though she protested, "Not half aired they'll be, and as +likely as not I'll catch my death," and added bitterly, "It's not all +pleasure knowing the aristocracy." + +They were ready to the last glove-button half an hour before the time +appointed, and sat stiffly on two high chairs in their little +dining-room. "I think," said Miss Watson, "we'd be as well to think on +some subjects to talk on. We must try to choose something that'll +interest Miss Reston. I wish I knew more about the Upper Ten." + +"I'd better not speak at all," said Miss Teenie, who by this time was in +a very bad temper. "I never could mind the names of the Royal Family, +let alone the aristocracy. I always thought there was a weakness about +the people who liked to read in the papers and talk about those kind of +folk. I'm sure when I do read about them they're always doing something +kind of indecent, like getting divorced. It seems to me they never even +make an attempt to be respectable." + +She looked round the cosy room and thought how pleasant it would have +been if she and her sister had been sitting down to tea as usual, with +no need to think of topics. It had been all very well to tell their +obviously surprised friends where they were going for tea, but when it +came to the point she would infinitely have preferred to stay at home. + +"She'll not likely have any notion of a proper tea," Miss Watson said. +"Scraps of thin bread and butter, mebbe, and a cake, so don't you look +disappointed Teenie, though I know you like your tea. Just toy with it, +you know." + +"No, I don't know," said Miss Teenie crossly. "I never 'toyed' with my +tea yet, and I'm not going to begin. It'll likely be China tea anyway, +and I'd as soon drink dish-water." + +Miss Watson looked bitterly at her sister. + +"You'll never rise in the world, Teenie, if you can't _give_ up a little +comfort for the sake of refinement Fancy making a fuss about China tea +when it's handed to you by an earl's granddaughter." + +Miss Teenie made no reply to this except to burst--as was a habit of +hers--into a series of violent sneezes, at which her sister's wrath +broke out. + +"That's the most uncivilised sneeze I ever heard. If you do that before +Miss Reston, Teenie, I'll be tempted to do you an injury." + +Miss Teenie blew her nose pensively. "I doubt I've got a chill changing +my underclothes in the middle of the day, but 'a little pride and a +little pain,' as my mother used to say when she screwed my hair with +curl-papers.... I suppose it'll do if we stay an hour?" + +Things are rarely as bad as we anticipate, and, as it turned out, not +only Miss Watson, but the rebellious Miss Teenie, looked back on that +tea-party as one of the pleasantest they had ever taken part in, and +only Heaven knows how many tea-parties the good ladies had attended in +their day. + +They were judges of china and fine linen, and they looked appreciatively +at the table. There were the neatest of tea-knives, the daintiest of +spoons, jam glowed crimson through crystal, butter was there in a lordly +dish, cakes from London, delicate sandwiches, Miss Bathgate's best and +lightest in the way of scones, shortbread crisp from the oven of Mrs. +M'Cosh. + +And here was Miss Reston looking lovely and exotic in a wonderful +tea-frock, a class of garment hitherto unknown to the Miss Watsons, who +thrilled at the sight. Her welcome was so warm that it seemed to the +guests, accustomed to the thus-far-and-no-further manner of the +Priorsford great ladies, almost exuberant. She led Miss Teenie to the +most comfortable chair, she gave Miss Watson a footstool and put a +cushion at her back, and talked so simply, and laughed so naturally, +that the Miss Watsons forgot entirely to choose their topics and began +on what was uppermost in their minds, the fact that Robina (the little +maid) had actually managed that morning to break the gazogene. + +Pamela, who had not a notion what a gazogene was, gasped the required +surprise and horror and said, "But how did she do it?" which was the +safest remark she could think of. + +"Banged it in the sink," said Miss Watson, with a dramatic gesture, "and +the bottom came out. I never thought it was possible to break a +gazogene with all that wire-netting about it." + +"Robina," said Miss Teenie gloomily, "could break a steam-roller let +alone a gazogene." + +"It'll be an awful miss," said her sister. "We've had it so long, and it +always stood on the sideboard with a bottle of lemon-syrup beside it." + +Pamela was puzzling to think what this could be that stood on a +sideboard companioned by lemon-syrup and compassed with wire-netting +when Mawson showed in Mrs. Jowett, and with her Miss Mary Dawson, and +the party was complete. + +The Miss Watsons greeted the newcomers brightly, having met them on +bazaar committees and at Red Cross work parties, and having always been +treated courteously by both ladies. They were quite willing to sink at +once into a lower place now that two denizens of the Hill had come, but +Pamela would have none of it. + +They were the reason of the party; she made that evident at once. + +Miss Teenie did not attempt the impossible and "toy" with her tea. There +was no need to. The tea was delicious, and she drank three cups. She +tried everything on the table and pronounced everything excellent. Never +had she felt herself so entertaining such a capital talker as now, with +Pamela smiling and applauding every effort. Mrs. Jowett too, gentle +lady, listened with most gratifying interest, and Miss Mary Dawson threw +in kind, sensible remarks at intervals. There was no arguing, no +disagreeing, everybody "clinked" with everybody else--a most pleasant +party. + +"And isn't it awful," said Miss Watson in a pause, "about our minister +marrying?" + +Pamela waited for further information before she spoke, while Mrs. +Jowett said, "Don't you consider it a suitable match?" + +"Oh, well," said Miss Watson, "I just meant that it was awful +unexpected. He's been a bachelor so long, and then to marry a girl +twenty years younger than himself and a 'Piscipalian into the bargain." + +"But how sporting of him," Pamela said. + +"Sporting?" said Miss Watson doubtfully, vague thoughts of guns and +rabbits floating through her mind. "Of course you're a 'Piscipalian too, +Miss Reston, so is Mrs. Jowett: I shouldn't have mentioned it." + +"I'm afraid I'm not much of anything," Pamela confessed, "but Jean +Jardine has great hopes of making me a Presbyterian. I have been going +with her to hear her own most delightful parson--Mr. Macdonald." + +"A dear old man," said Mrs. Jowett; "he does preach so beautifully." + +"Mr. Macdonald's church is the old Free Kirk, now U.F., you know," said +Miss Watson in an instructive tone. "The Jardines are great Free Kirk +people, like the Hopes of Hopetoun--but the Parish is far more class, +you know what I mean? You've more society there." + +"What a delightful reason for worshipping in a church!" Pamela said. +"But please tell me more about your minister's bride--does she belong to +Priorsford?" + +"English," said Miss Teenie, "and smokes, and plays golf, and wears +skirts near to her knees. What in the world she'll look like at the +missionary work party or attending the prayer meeting--I cannot think. +Poor Mr. Morrison must be demented, and he is such a good preacher." + +"She will settle down," said Miss Dawson in her slow, sensible way. +"She's really a very likeable girl; and if she puts all the energy she +uses to play games into church-work she will be a great success. And it +will be an interest having a young wife at the manse." + +"I don't know," said Miss Watson doubtfully. "I always think a +minister's wife should have a little money and a strong constitution and +be able to play the harmonium." + +Miss Watson had not intended to be funny, and was rather surprised at +the laughter of her hostess. + +"It seems to me," she said, "that the poor woman _would_ need a strong +constitution." + +"Well, anyway," said Miss Teenie, "she would need the money; ministers +have so many claims on them. And they've a position to keep up. Here, of +course, they have manses, but in Glasgow they sometimes live in flats. I +don't think that's right. ... A minister should always live in a villa, +or at least in a 'front door.'" + +"Is your minister's bride pretty?" Pamela asked. + +Miss Watson got in her word first. "Pretty," she said, "but not in a +ministerial way, if you know what I mean. I wouldn't call her ladylike." + +"What would you call 'ladylike'?" Pamela asked. + +"Well, a good height, you know, and a nice figure and a pleasant face +and tidy hair. The sort of person that looks well in a grey coat and +skirt and a feather boa." + +"I know exactly. What a splendid description!" + +"Now," continued Miss Watson, much elated by the praise, "Mrs. Morrison +is very conspicuous looking. She's got yellow hair and a bright colour, +and a kind of bold way of looking." + +"She's a complex character," sighed Mrs. Jowett; "she wears snakeskin +shoes. But you must be kind to her, Miss Watson. I think she would +appreciate kindness." + +"Oh, so we are kind to her. The congregation subscribed and gave a grand +piano for a wedding-present. Wasn't that good? She is very musical, you +know, and plays the violin beautifully. That'll be very useful at church +meetings." + +"I can't imagine," said Miss Dawson, "why we should consider a +minister's wife and her talents as the property of the congregation. A +doctor's wife isn't at the beck and call of her husband's patients, a +lawyer's wife isn't briefed along with her husband. It doesn't seem to +me fair." + +"How odd," said Pamela; "only yesterday I was talking to Mrs. +Macdonald--Jean's minister's wife--and I said just what you say, that it +seems hard that the time of a minister's wife should be at the mercy of +everyone, and she said, 'My dear, it's our privilege, and if I had my +life to live again I would ask nothing better than to be a hard-working +minister's hard-working wife.' I stand hat in hand before that couple. +When you think what they have given all these years to this little +town--what qualities of heart and head. The tact of an ambassador (Mrs. +Macdonald has that), the eloquence of a Wesley, a largesse of sympathy +and help and encouragement, not to speak of more material things to +everyone in need, and all at the rate of L250 per annum. Prodigious!" + +"Yes," said Miss Dawson, "they have been a blessing to Priorsford for +more than forty years. Mr. Macdonald is a saint, but a saint is a great +deal the better of a practical wife. Mrs. Macdonald is an example of +what can be accomplished by a woman both in a church and at home. I sit +rebuked before her." + +"Oh, my dear," said Mrs. Jowett, "no one could possibly be more helpful +than you and your sisters. It's I who am the drone.... Now I must go." + +The Miss Watsons outstayed the other guests, and Pamela, remembering +Jean's advice, produced a few stray photographs of relations which were +regarded with much interest and some awe. The photograph of her brother, +Lord Bidborough, they could hardly lay down. Finally, Pamela presented +them with flowers and a basket of apples newly arrived from Bidborough +Manor, and they returned to Balmoral walking on air. + +"Such _pleasant_ company and _such_ a tea," said Miss Watson. "She had +out all her best things." + +"And Mrs. Jowett and Miss Dawson were asked to meet _us_," exulted Miss +Teenie. + +"And very affable they were," added her sister. But when the sisters had +removed their best clothes and were seated in the dining-room with the +cloth laid for supper, Miss Teenie said, "All the same, it's fine to be +back in our own house and not to have to heed about manners." She pulled +a low chair close to the fire as she spoke and spread her skirt back +over her knee and, thoroughly comfortable and at peace with the world, +beamed on her sister, who replied: + +"What do you say to having some toasted cheese to our supper?" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + "I hear the whaups on windy days + Cry up among the peat + Whaur, on the road that spiels the braes, + I've heard ma ain sheep's feet. + An' the bonnie lambs wi' their canny ways + And the silly yowes that bleat." + + _Songs of Angus_. + + +Mhor, having but lately acquired the art of writing, was fond of +exercising his still very shaky pen where and when he could. + +One morning, by reason of neglecting his teeth, and a few other toilet +details, he was able to be downstairs ten minutes before breakfast, and +spent the time in the kitchen, plaguing Mrs. M'Cosh to let him write an +inscription in her Bible. + +"What wud ye write?" she asked suspiciously. + +"I would write," said Mhor--"I would write, 'From Gervase Taunton to +Mrs. M'Cosh.'" + +"That wud be a lee," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "for I got it frae ma sister +Annie, her that's in Australia. Here see, there's a post-caird for ye. +It's a rale nice yin.--Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow. There's Annackers' +shope as plain's plain." + +Mhor looked discontentedly at the offering. "I wish," he said +slowly--"I wish I had a post-card of a hippopotamus being sick." + +"Ugh, you want unnaitural post-cairds. Think on something wise-like, +like a guid laddie." + +Mhor considered. "If you give me a sheet of paper and an envelope I +might write to the Lion at the Zoo." + +For the sake of peace Mrs. M'Cosh produced the materials, and Mhor sat +down at the table, his elbows spread out, his tongue protruding. He had +only managed "Dear Lion," when Jean called him to go upstairs and wash +his teeth and get a clean handkerchief. + +The sun was shining into the dining-room, lighting up the blue china on +the dresser, and catching the yellow lights in Jean's hair. + +"What a silly morning for November," growled Jock. "What's the sun going +on shining like that for? You'd think it thought it was summer." + +"In winter," said Mhor, "the sky should always be grey. It's more +suitable." + +"What a couple of ungrateful creatures you are," Jean said; "I'm ashamed +of you. And as it happens you are going to have a great treat because of +the good day. I didn't tell you because I thought it would very likely +pour. Cousin Lewis said if it was a good day he would send the car to +take us to Laverlaw to luncheon. It's really because of Pamela; she has +never been there. So you must ask to get away at twelve, Jock, and I'll +go up with Pamela and collect Mhor." + +Mhor at once left the table and, without making any remark, stood on +his head on the hearthrug. Thus did his joy find vent. Jock, on the +other hand, seemed more solemnised than gleeful. + +"That's the first time I've ever had a prayer answered," he announced. +"I couldn't do my Greek last night, and I prayed that I wouldn't be at +the class--and I won't be. Gosh, Maggie!" + +"Oh, Jock," his sister protested, "that's not what prayers are for." + +"Mebbe not, but I've managed it this time," and, unrepentant, Jock +started on another slice of bread and butter. + +Jean told Pamela of Jock's prayer as they went together to fetch Mhor +from school. + +"But Mhor is a much greater responsibility than Jock. You know where you +are with Jock: underneath is a bedrock of pure goodness. You see, we +start with the enormous advantage of having had forebears of the very +decentest--not great, not noble, but men who feared God and honoured the +King--men who lived justly and loved mercy. It would be most uncalled +for of us to start out on bypaths with such a straight record behind us. +But Mhor, bless him, is different. I haven't a notion what went to the +making of him. I seem to see behind him a long line of men and women who +danced and laughed and gambled and feasted, light-hearted, charming +people. I sometimes think I hear them laugh as I teach Mhor _What is the +chief end of man?_ ... I couldn't love Mhor more if he really were my +little brother, but I know that my hold over him is of the frailest. +It's only now that I have him. I must make the most of the present--the +little boy days--before life takes him away from me." + +"You will have his heart always," Pamela comforted her. "He won't +forget. He has been rooted and grounded in love." + +Jean winked away the tears that had forced their way into her eyes, and +laughed. + +"I'm bringing him up a Presbyterian. I did try him with the Creed. He +listened politely, and said carelessly, 'It all seems rather sad--Pilate +is a nice name, but not Pontius.' Then Jock laughed at him learning, +'What is your name, A or B?' and Mhor himself preferred to go to the +root of the matter with our Shorter Catechism, and answer nobly if +obscurely--_Man's chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him for +ever_. Indeed, he might be Scots in his passion for theology. The other +night he went to bed very displeased with me, and said, 'You needn't +read me any more of that narsty Bible,' but when I went up to say +good-night he greeted me with, '_How_ can I keep the commandments when I +can't even remember what they are?' ... This is Mhor's school, or rather +Miss Main's school." + +They went up the steps of a pretty, creeper-covered house. + +"It once belonged to an artist," Jean explained. "There is a great big +light studio at the back which makes an ideal schoolroom. It's an ideal +school altogether. Miss Main and her young stepsister are born teachers, +full of humour and understanding, as well as being brilliantly +clever--far too clever really for this job; but if they don't mind we +needn't complain. They get the children on most surprisingly, and teach +them all sorts of things outside their lessons. Mhor is always +astonishing me with his information about things going on in the +world.... Yes, do come in. They won't mind. You would like to see the +children." + +"I would indeed. But won't Miss Main object to us interrupting--" + +Miss Main at once reassured her on that point, and said that both she +and the scholars loved visitors. She took them into the large schoolroom +where twenty small people of various sizes sat with their books, very +cheerfully imbibing knowledge. + +Mhor and another small boy occupied one desk. + +Jean greeted the small boy as "Sandy," and asked him what he was +studying at that moment. + +"I don't know," said Sandy. + +"Sandy," said Miss Main, "don't disgrace your teachers. You know you are +learning the multiplication table. What are three times three?" + +Sandy merely looked coy. + +"Mhor?" + +"Six," said Mhor, after some thought. + +"Hopeless," said Miss Main. "Come and speak to my sister Elspeth, Miss +Reston." + +"My sister Elspeth" was a tall, fair girl with merry blue eyes. + +"Do you teach the Mhor?" Pamela asked her. + +"I have that honour," said Miss Elspeth, and began to laugh. "He always +arrives full of ideas. This morning he had thought out a plan to stop +the rain. The sky, he said, must be gone over with glue, but he gave it +up when he remembered how sticky it would be for the angels.... He has +the most wonderful feeling for words of any child I ever taught. He +can't, for instance, bear to hear a Bible story told in everyday +language. The other children like it broken down to them, but Mhor +pleads for 'the real words.' He likes the swing and majesty of them.... +I was reading them Kipling's story, _Servants of the Queen_, the other +day. You know where it makes the oxen speak of the walls of the city +falling, 'and the dust went up as though many cattle were coming home.' +I happened to look up, and there was Mhor with lamps lit in those +wonderful green eyes of his, gazing at me. He said, 'I like that bit. +It's a nice bit. I think it should be at the end of a sad story.' And he +uses words well himself, have you noticed? The other day he came and +thrust a dead field-mouse into my hand. I squealed and dropped it, and +he said, 'Afraid? And of such a calm little gentleman?'" + +Pamela asked if Mhor's behaviour was good. + +"Only fair," said pretty Miss Elspeth. "He always means to be good, but +he is inhabited by an imp of mischief that prompts him to do the most +improbable things. He certainly doesn't make for peace in the school, +but he keeps 'a body frae languor.' I like a naughty boy myself much +better than a good one. He's the 'more natural beast of the twain.'" + +Outside, with the freed Mhor capering before them, Pamela was +enthusiastic over the little school and its mistresses. + +"Miss Main looks like an old miniature, with her white hair and her +delicate colouring, and is wise and kind and sensible as well; and as +for that daffodil girl, Elspeth, she is a sheer delight." + +"Yes," Jean agreed. "Hasn't she charming manners? It is so good for the +children to be with her. She is so polite to them that they can't be +anything but gentle and considerate in return. Heaps of girls would +think school-marming very dull, but Elspeth makes it into a sort of +daily entertainment. They manage, she and her sister, to make the +dullest child see some glimmer of reason in learning lessons. I do wish +I had had a teacher like that. I had a governess who taught me like a +parrot. She had no notion how to make the dry bones live. I thought I +scored by learning as little as I possibly could. The consequence is I'm +almost entirely illiterate.... There's the car waiting, and Jock +prancing impatiently. Run in for your thick coat, Mhor. No, you can't +take Peter. He chased sheep last time and fought the other dogs and made +himself a nuisance." + +Mhor was now pleading that he might sit in the front beside the +chauffeur and cry "Honk, honk," as they went round corners. + +"Well," said Jean, "choose whether it will be going or coming back. Jock +must sit there one time." + +Mhor, as he always did, grasped the pleasure of the moment, and +clambered into the seat beside the chauffeur, an old and valued friend, +whom he greeted familiarly as "Tam." + +The road to Laverlaw ran through the woods behind Peel, dipped into the +Manor Valley and, emerging, made straight for the hills, which closed +down round it as though jealous of the secrets they guarded. It seemed +to a stranger as if the road led nowhere, for nothing was to be seen for +miles except bare hillsides and a brawling burn. Suddenly the road took +a turn, a white bridge spanned the noisy Laverlaw Water, and there at +the opening of a wide, green glen stood the house. + +Lewis Elliot was waiting at the doorstep to greet them. He had been out +all morning, and with him were his two dogs, Rab and Wattie. Jock and +Mhor threw themselves on them with many-endearing names, before they +even looked at their host. + +"Is luncheon ready?" was Mhor's greeting. + +"Why? Are you hungry?" + +"Oh yes, but it's not that. I wondered if there would be time to go to +the stables. Tam says there are some new puppies." + +"I'd keep the puppies for later, if I were you," Lewis Elliot advised. +"You'd better have luncheon while your hands are fairly clean. Jean will +be sure to make you wash them if you go mucking about in the stables." + +Mhor nodded. He was no Jew, and took small pleasure in the outward +cleansing of the cup and platter. Soap and water seemed to him almost +quite unnecessary, and he had greatly admired and envied the Laplanders +since Jock had told him that that hardy race rarely, if ever, washed. + +"I hope you weren't cold in that open car," Lewis Elliot said as he +helped Pamela and Jean to remove their wraps. "D'you mind coming into my +den? It's warm, if untidy. The drawing-room is so little used that it's +about as cheerful as a tomb." + +He led them through the panelled hall, down a long passage hung with +sporting prints, into what was evidently a much-liked and much-used +room. + +Books were everywhere, lining the walls, lying in heaps on tables, some +even piled on the floor, but a determined effort had evidently been made +to tidy things a little, for papers had been collected into bundles, +pipes had been thrust into corners, and bowls of chrysanthemums stood +about to sweeten the tobacco-laden atmosphere. + +A large fire burned on the hearth, and Lewis pulled up some +masculine-looking arm-chairs and asked the ladies to sit in them, but +Jean along with Jock and Mhor were already engrossed in books, and their +neglected host looked at them with disgust. + +"Such are the primitive manners of the Jardine family," he said to +Pamela. "If you want a word out of them you must lock up all printed +matter before they approach. Thank goodness, that's the gong! They can't +read while they're feeding." + +"Honourable," said Mhor, as they ate their excellent luncheon. "Isn't +Laverlaw a lovely place?" + +Pamela agreed. "I never saw anything so indescribably green. It wears +the fairy livery. I can easily picture True Thomas walking by that +stream." + +"Long ago," said Jock in his gruff voice, "there was a keep at Laverlaw +instead of a house, and Cousin Lewis' ancestors stole cattle from +England, and there were some fine fights in this glen. Laverlaw Water +would run red with blood." + +"Jock," Jean protested, "you needn't say it with such relish." + +Pamela turned to her host. + +"Priorsford seems to think you find yourself almost too contented at +Laverlaw. Mrs. Hope says you are absorbed in sheep." + +Lewis Elliot looked amused. "I can imagine the scorn Mrs. Hope put into +her voice as she said 'sheep.' But one must be absorbed in +something--why not sheep?" + +"I like a sheep," said Jock, and he quoted: + + "'Its conversation is not deep, + But then, observe its face.'" + +"You may be surprised to hear," said Lewis, "that sheep are almost like +fine ladies in their ways: they have megrims, it appears. I found one +the other day lying on the hill more or less dead to the world, and I +went a mile or two out of my way to tell the shepherd. All he said was, +'I ken that yowe. She aye comes ower dwamy in an east wind.' ... But +tell me, Jean, how is Miss Reston conducting herself in Priorsford?" + +"With the greatest propriety, I assure you," Pamela replied for herself. +"Aren't I, Jean? I have dined with Mrs. Duff-Whalley and been +introduced to 'the County.' You were regrettably absent from that august +gathering, I seem to remember. I have lunched with the Jowetts, and left +the table without a stain either on the cloth or my character, but it +was a great nervous strain. I thought of you, Jock, old man, and deeply +sympathised with your experience. I have been to quite a lot of +tea-parties, and I have given one or two. Indeed, I am becoming as +absorbed in Priorsford as you are in sheep." + +"You have been to Hopetoun, I know." + +"Yes, but don't mix that up with ordinary tea-parties That is an +experience to keep apart. She holds the imagination, that old woman, +with her sharp tongue, and her haggard, beautiful eyes, and her dead +sons. To know Mrs. Hope and her daughter is something to be thankful +for." + +"I quite agree. The Hopes do much to leaven the lump. But I expect you +find it rather a lump." + +"Honestly, I don't. I'm not being superior, please don't think so, or +charitable, or pretending to find good in everything, but I do like the +Priorsford people. Some of them are interesting, and nearly all of them +are dears." + +"Even Mrs. Duff-Whalley?" + +"Well, she is rather a caricature, but there are oddly nice bits about +her, if only she weren't so overpoweringly opulent. The ospreys in her +hat seem to shriek money, and her furs smother one, and that house of +hers remains so starkly new. If only creepers would climb up and hide +its staring red-and-white face, and ivy efface some of the decorations, +but no--I expect she likes it as it is. But there is something honest +about her very vulgarity. She knows what she wants and goes straight for +it; and she isn't a fool. The daughter is. She was intended by nature to +be a dull young woman with a pretty face, but not content with that she +puts on an absurdly skittish manner--oh, so ruthlessly bright--talks +what she thinks is smart slang, poses continually, and wears clothes +that would not be out of place at Ascot, but are a positive offence to +the little grey town. I hadn't realised how gruesome provincial +smartness could be until I met Muriel Duff-Whalley." + +"Oh, poor Muriel!" Jean protested. "You've done for her anyway. But +you're wrong in thinking her stupid. She only comes to The Rigs when she +isn't occupied with smart friends and is rather dull--I don't see her in +her more exalted moments; but I assure you, after she has done talking +about 'the County,' and after the full blast of 'dear Lady Tweedie' is +over, she is a very pleasant companion, and has nice delicate sorts of +thoughts. She's really far too clever to be as silly as she sometimes +is--I can't quite understand her. Perhaps she does it to please her +mother." + +"Jean's disgustingly fond of finding out the best in people," Pamela +objected. + +"Priorsford is a most charming town," said Mr. Elliot, "but I never find +its inhabitants interesting." + +"No," Jean said, "but you don't try, do you? You stay here in your +'wild glen sae green,' and only have your own friends to visit you--" + +"Are you," Pamela asked Lewis, "like a woman I know who boasts that she +knows no one in her country place, but gets her friends and her fish +from London?" + +"No, I'm not in the least exclusive, only rather _blate_, and, I +suppose, uninterested. Do you know, I was rather glad to hear you begin +to slang the unfortunate Miss Duff-Whalley. It was more like the Pamela +Reston I used to know. I didn't recognise her in the tolerant, +all-loving lady." + +"Oh," cried Pamela, "you are cruel to the girl I once was. The years +mellow. Surely you welcome improvement, even while you remind me of my +sins and faults of youth." + +"I don't think," Lewis Elliot said slowly, "that I ever allowed myself +to think that the Pamela Reston I knew needed improvement. That would +have savoured of sacrilege.... Are we finished? We might have coffee in +the other room." + +Pamela looked at her host as she rose from the table, and said, "Years +have brought clearer eyes for faults." + +"I wonder," said Lewis Elliot, as he put a large chocolate into Mhor's +ever-ready mouth. + +Before going home they went for a walk up the glen. Jean and the boys, +very much at home, were in front, while Lewis named the surrounding +hills and explained the lie of the land to Pamela. They fell into talk +of younger days, and laughed over episodes they had not thought of for +twenty years. + +"And, do you know, Biddy's coming home?" Pamela said. "I keep +remembering that with a most delightful surprise. I haven't seen him for +more than a year--my beloved Biddy!" + +"He was a most charming boy," Lewis said. "I suppose he would be about +fifteen when last I saw him. How old is he now?" + +"Thirty-five. But such a young thirty-five. He has always been doing the +most youth-preserving things, chasing over the world after adventures, +like a boy after butterflies, seeing new peoples, walking in untrodden +ways. If he had lived in more spacious days he would have sailed with +Francis Drake and helped to singe the King of Spain's beard. Oh, I do +think you will still like Biddy. The charm he had at fifteen he hasn't +lost one little bit. He has still the same rather shy manner and slow +way of speaking and sudden, affection-winning smile. The War has changed +him of course, emptied and saddened his life, and he isn't the +light-foot lad he was six years ago. When it was all over he went off +for one more year's roving. He has a great project which I don't suppose +will ever be accomplished--to climb Everest. He and three great friends +had arranged it all before the War, but everything of course was +stopped, and whatever happens he will never climb it with those three +friends. They had to scale greater heights than Everest. It is a sober +and responsible Biddy who is coming back, to settle down and look after +his places, and go into politics, perhaps--" + +They walked together in comfortable silence. + +Jean, in front, turned round and waved to them. + +"I'm glad," said Lewis, "that you and Jean have made friends. Jean--" He +stopped. + +Pamela stood very still for a second, and then said, "Yes?" + +"Jean and her brothers are sort of cousins of mine. I've always been +fond of them, and my mother and I used to try to give them a good time +when we could, for Great-aunt Alison's was rather an iron rule. But a +man alone is such a helpless object, as Mrs. Hope often reminds me. It +isn't fair that Jean shouldn't have her chance. She never gets away, and +her youth is being spoiled by care. She is such a quaint little person +with her childlike face and motherly ways! I do wish something could be +done." + +"Jean must certainly have her chance," said Pamela. She took a long +breath, as if she had been under water and had come to the surface. +"I've said nothing about it to anyone, but I am greatly hoping that some +arrangement can be made about sending the boys away to school and +letting me carry off Jean. I want her to forget that she ever had to +think about money worries. I want her to play with other boys and girls. +I want her to marry." + +"Yes, that would be a jolly good scheme." Lewis Elliot's voice was +hearty in its agreement. "It really is exceedingly kind of you. You've +lifted a weight from my mind--though what business I have to push my +weights on to you.... Yes, Jean, perhaps we ought to be turning back. +The car is ordered for four o'clock. I wish you would stay to tea, but I +expect you are dying to get back to Priorsford. That little town has you +in its thrall." + +"I wish," said Jock, "that The Rigs could be lifted up by some magician +and plumped down in Laverlaw Glen." + +"Oh, Jock, wouldn't that be fine?" sighed the Mhor. "Plumped right down +at the side of the burn, and then we could fish out of the windows." + +The sun had left the glen, the Laverlaw Water ran wan; it seemed +suddenly to have become a wild and very lonely place. + +"Now I can believe about the raiders coming over the hills in an autumn +twilight," said Pamela. "There is something haunted about this place. In +Priorsford we are all close together and cosy: that's what I love about +it." + +"You've grown quite suburban," Lewis taunted her. "Jean, I was told a +story about two Priorsford ladies the other day. They were in London and +went to see Pavlova dance at the Palace, for the first time. It was her +last appearance that season, and the curtain went down on Pavlova +embedded in bouquets, bowing her thanks to an enraptured audience, the +house rocking with enthusiasm. The one Priorsford lady turned to the +other Priorsford lady and said, 'Awfully like Mrs. Wishart!'" + +As the car moved off, Jock's voice could be heard asking, "And who _was_ +Mrs. Wishart?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + "Hast any philosophy in thee?" + + _As You Like It_. + + +Miss Bella Bathgate was a staunch supporter of the Parish Kirk. She had +no use for any other denomination, and no sympathy with any but the +Presbyterian form of worship. Episcopalians she regarded as beneath +contempt, and classed them in her own mind with "Papists"--people who +were more mischievous and almost as ignorant as "the heathen" for whom +she collected small sums quarterly, and for whom the minister prayed as +"sitting in darkness." Miss Bathgate had developed a real, if somewhat +contemptuous, affection for Mawson, her lodger's maid, but she never +ceased to pour scorn on her "English ways" and her English worship. If +Mawson had not been one of the gentlest of creatures she would not have +tolerated it for a day. + +One wet and windy evening Bella sat waiting for Mawson to come in to +supper. She had gone to a week-night service at the church, greatly +excited because the Bishop was to be present. The supper was ready and +keeping hot in the oven, the fire sparkled in the bright range, and +Bella sat crocheting and singing to herself, "From Greenland's icy +mountains." For Bella was passionately interested in missions. The needs +of the heathen lay on her heart. Every penny she could scrape together +went into "the box." The War had reduced her small income, and she could +no longer live without letting her rooms, but whatever she had to do +without her contributions to missions never faltered; indeed, they had +increased. Missions were the romance of her life. They put a scarlet +thread into the grey. The one woman she had ever envied was Mary Slessor +of Calabar. + +Mawson came in much out of breath, having run up the hill to get out of +the darkness. + +"Weel, and hoo's the Bishop?" Bella said in jocular tones. + +"Ow, 'e was lovely. 'E said the Judgment was 'anging over all of us." + +"Oh, wumman," said Bella, as she dumped a loaf viciously on the platter, +"d'ye need a Bishop to tell ye that? I'm sure I've kent it a' ma days." + +"It gives me the creeps to think of it. Imagine standin' h'up before +h'all the earth and 'aving all your little bits o' sins fetched out +against you! But"--hopefully--"I don't see myself 'ow there'll be time." + +"Ay, there'll be time! There'll be a' Eternity afore us, and as far as I +can see there'll be naething else to do." + +"Ow," Mawson wailed. "You do make it sound so 'orrid, Bella. The Bishop +was much more comfortable, and 'e 'as such a nice rosy face you can't +picture anything very bad 'appening to 'im. But I suppose Bishops'll be +judged like everyone else." + +"They will that." Bella's tone was emphatic, almost vindictive. + +"Oh, well," said Mawson, who looked consistently on the bright sides, "I +dare say they won't pay much h'attention to the likes of us when they've +Kings and Bishops and M.P.'s and London ladies to judge. Their sins will +be a bit more interestin' than my little lot.... Well, I'll be glad of a +cup of tea, for it's thirsty work listening to sermons. I'll just lay me +'at and coat down 'ere, if you don't mind, Bella. Now, this is cosy. I +was thinkin' of this as I came paddin' over the bridge listening to the +sound of the wind and the water. A river's a frightenin' sort of thing +at night and after 'earin' about the Judgment too." + +Miss Bathgate took a savoury-smelling dish from the oven and put it, +along with two hot plates, before Mawson, then put the teapot before +herself and they began. + +"Whaur's Miss Reston the nicht?" Bella asked, as she helped herself to +hot buttered toast. + +"Dinin' with Sir John and Lady Tweedie. She's wearin' a lovely new gown, +sort of yellow. It suited her a treat. I must say she did look noble. +She is 'andsome, don't you think?" + +"Terrible lang and lean," said Miss Bathgate. "But I'm no denyin' that +there's a kind o' look aboot her that's no common. She would mak' a guid +queen if we had ony need o' anither." "She makes a good mistress +anyway," said loyal Mawson. + +"Oh, she's no bad," Bella admitted. "An' I must say she disna gie much +trouble--but it's an idle life for ony wumman. I canna see why Miss +Reston, wi' a' her faculties aboot her, needs you hingin' round her. +Mercy me, what's to hinder her pu'in ribbons through her ain +underclothes, if ribbons are necessary, which they're not. There's Mrs. +Muir next door, wi' six bairns, an' a' the wark o' the hoose to dae an' +washin's forbye, an' here's Miss Reston never liftin' a finger except to +pu' silk threads through a bit stuff. That's what makes folk +Socialists." + +Mawson, who belonged to that fast disappearing body, the real servant +class, and who, without a thought of envy, delighted in the possession +of her mistress, looked sadly puzzled. + +"But, Beller, don't you think things work out more h'even than they +seem? Mrs. Muir next door works very 'ard. I've seen her put out a +washin' by seven o'clock in the morning, but then she 'as a good 'usband +and an 'ealthy family and much pleasure in 'er work. Miss Reston lies +soft and drinks her mornin' tea in comfort, but she never knows the +satisfied feelin' that Mrs. Muir 'as when she takes in 'er clean +clothes." + +"Weel, mebbe you're right. I'm nae Socialist masel'. There maun aye be +rich and poor, Dives in the big hoose and Lazarus at the gate. But so +long as we're sure that Dives'll catch it in the end, and Lazarus lie +soft in Abraham's bosom, we can pit up wi' the unfairness here. An' +speakin' about Miss Reston, I dinna mind her no' working. Ye can see by +the look of her that she never was meant to work, but just to get +everything done for her. Can ye picture her peelin' tatties? The verra +thocht's rideeclus. She's juist for lookin' at, like the floors and a' +the bonnie things ... But it's thae new folk that pit up ma birse. That +Mrs. Duff-Whalley, crouse cat! Rollin' aboot wrap up in furs in a great +caur, patronisin' everybody that's daft enough to let theirselves be +patronised by her. Onybody could see she's no used to it. She's so ta'en +up wi' hersel'. It's kinda play-actin' for her ... An' there's naebody +gives less to charitable objects. I suppose when ye've paid and fed sae +mony servants, and dressed yersel' in silks and satins, and bocht every +denty ye can think of, and kept up a great big hoose an' a great muckle +caur, there's no' that much left for the kirk-plate, or the heathen, or +the hospitals ... Oh, it's peetifu'!" + +Mawson nodded wisely. "There's plenty Mrs. Duff-Whalleys about; you be +thankful you've only one in the place. Priorsford is a very charitable +place, I think. The poor people here don't know they're born after +London, and the clergy seem very active too." + +"Oh, they are that. I daur say they're as guid as is gaun. Mr. Morrison +is a fine man if marriage disna ruin him." + +"Oh, surely not!" + +"There's no sayin'," said Bella gloomily. "She's young and flighty, but +there's wan thing, she has no money. I kent a minister--he was a kinda +cousin o' ma father's--an' he mairret a heiress and they had late +denner. I tell ye that late denner was the ruin o' that man. It fair got +between him an' his jidgment. He couldna veesit his folk at a wise-like +hour in the evening because he was gaun to hev his denner, and he +couldna get oot late because his leddy-wife wanted him to be at hame +efter denner. There's mony a thing to cause a minister to stumble, for +they're juist human beings after a', but his rich mairrage was John +Allison's undoing." + +"Marriage," sighed Mawson, "is a great risk. It's often as well to be +single, but I sometimes think Providence must ha' meant me to 'ave an +'usband--I'm such a clingin' creature." + +Such sentiments were most distasteful to Miss Bathgate, that +self-reliant spinster, and she said bitterly: + +"Ma wumman, ye're ill off for something to cling to! I never saw the man +yet that I wud be pitten up wi'." + +"Ho! I shouldn't say that, but I must say I couldn't fancy a +h'undertaker. Just imagine 'im 'andlin' the dead and then 'andlin' me!" + +"Eh, ye nesty cratur," said Bella, much disgusted "But I suppose ye're +meaning _English_ undertakers--men that does naething but work wi' +funerals--a fearsome ill job. Here it's the jiner that does a' thing, so +it's faur mair homely." + +"Speakin' about marriages," said Mawson, who preferred cheerful +subjects, "I do enjoy a nice weddin'. The motors and the bridesmaids and +the flowers. Is there no chance of a weddin' 'ere?" + +Miss Bathgate shook her head. + +"Why not Miss Jean?" Mawson suggested. + +Again Miss Bathgate shook her head. + +"Nae siller," she said briefly. + +"What! No money, you mean? But h'every gentleman ain't after money." +Mawson's expression grew softly sentimental as she added, "Many a one +marries for love, like the King and the beggar-maid." + +"Mebbe," said Bella, "but the auld rhyme's oftener true: + + "'Be a lassie ne'er sae black, + Gie her but the name o' siller, + Set her up on Tintock tap + An' the wind'll blaw a man till her. + + Be a lassie ne'er sae fair, + Gin she hinna penny-siller, + A flea may fell her in the air + Ere a man be evened till her.' + +"I would like fine to see Miss Jean get a guid man, for she's no' a bad +lassie, but I doot she'll never manage't." + +"Oh, Beller, you do take an 'opeless view of things. I think it's +because you wear black so much. Now I must say I like a bit o' bright +colour. I think it gives one bright thoughts." + +"I aye wear black," said Bella firmly, as she carried the supper dishes +to the scullery, "and then, as the auld wifie said, 'Come daith, come +sacrament, I'm ready!'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + "Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon, may a man buy for a + remuneration?"--_Comedy of Errors_. + + +The living-room at The Rigs was the stage of many plays. Its uses ranged +from the tent of a menagerie or the wigwam of an Indian brave to the +Forest of Arden. + +This December night it was a "wood near Athens," and to Mhor, if to no +one else, it faithfully represented the original. That true Elizabethan +needed no aids to his imagination. "This is a wood," said Mhor, and a +wood it was. "Is all our company here?" and to him the wood was peopled +by Quince and Snug, by Bottom the weaver, by Puck and Oberon. Titania +and her court he reluctantly admitted were necessary to the play, but he +did not try to visualise them, regarding them privately as blots. The +love-scenes between Hermia and Lysander, Helena and Demetrius, were +omitted, because Jock said they were "_awful_ silly." + +It was Friday evening, so Jock had put off learning his lessons till the +next day, and, as Bully Bottom, was calling over the names of his cast. + +"Are we all met?" + +"Pat, pat," said Mhor, who combined in his person all the other parts, +"and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal; this green +plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tiring-house; and we +will do it in action as we will do it before the duke." + +Pamela Reston, in her usual place, the corner of the sofa beside the +fire, threaded her needle with a bright silk thread, and watched the +players amusedly. + +"Did you ever think," she asked Jean, who sat on a footstool beside +her--a glowing figure in a Chinese coat given her by Pamela, engaged +rather incongruously in darning one of Jock's stockings--"did you ever +think what it must have been like to see a Shakespeare play for the +first time? Was the Globe filled, I wonder, with a quite unexpectant +first night audience? And did they realise that the words they heard +were deathless words? Imagine hearing for the first time: + + 'When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver + white....' + +and then--'The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.' +Did you ever try to write, Jean?" + +"Pamela," said Jean, "if you drop from Shakespeare to me in that sudden +way you'll be dizzy. I have thought of writing and trying to give a +truthful picture of Scottish life--a cross between _Drumtochty_ and _The +House with the Green Shutters_--but I'm sure I shall never do it. And if +by any chance I did accomplish it, it would probably be reviewed as a +'feebly written story of life in a Scots provincial town,' and then I +would beat my pen into a hatpin and retire from the literary arena. I +wonder how critics can bear to do it. I couldn't sleep at nights for +thinking of my victims--" + +"You sentimental little absurdity! It wouldn't be honest to praise poor +work." + +Jean shook her head. "They could always be a little kind ... Pamela, I +love myself in this coat. You can't think what a delight colours are to +me." She stopped, and then said shyly, "You have brought colour into all +our lives. I can see now how drab they were before you came." + +"Oh dear, no, Jean, your life was never drab. It could never be drab +whatever your circumstances, you have so much happiness within yourself. +I don't think anything in life could ever quite down you, and even +death--what of death, Jean?" + +Jean looked up from her stocking. "As Boswell said to Dr. Johnson, 'What +of death, Sir?' and the great man was so angry that the little +twittering genius should ask lightly of such a terrifying thing that he +barked at him and frightened him out of the room! I suppose the ordinary +thing is never to think about death at all, to keep the thought pushed +away. But that makes people so _afraid_ of it. It's such a bogey to +them. The Puritans went to the other extreme and dressed themselves in +their grave-clothes every day. Wasn't it Samuel Rutherford who advised +people to 'forefancy their latter end'? I think that's where Great-aunt +Alison got the idea; she certainly made us 'forefancy' ours! But apart +from what death may mean to each of us--life itself gets all its meaning +from death. If we didn't know that we had all to die we could hardly go +on living, could we?" + +"Well," said Pamela, "it would certainly be difficult to bear with +people if their presence and our own were not utterly uncertain. And if +we knew with surety when we rose in the morning that for another forty +years we would go on getting up, and having a bath and dressing, we +would be apt to expire with ennui. We rise with alacrity because we +don't know if we shall ever put our clothes on again." + +Jean gave a little jump of expectation. "It's frightfully interesting. +You never do know when you get up in the morning what will happen before +night." + +"Most people find that a little wearing. It isn't always nice things +that happen, Jean." + +"Not always, of course, but far more nice things than nasty ones." + +"Jean, I'm afraid you're a chirping optimist. You'll reduce me to the +depths of depression if you insist on being so bright. Rather help me to +rail against fate, and so cheer me." + +"Do you realise that Davie will be home next week?" said Jean, as if +that were reason enough for any amount of optimism. "I think, on the +whole, he has enjoyed his first term, but he was pretty homesick at +first. He never actually said so, but he told us in one letter that he +smelt the tea when he made it, for it was the one thing that reminded +him of home. And another time he spoke with passionate dislike of the +pollarded trees, because such things are unknown on Tweedside. I'm so +glad he has made quite a lot of friends. I was afraid he might be so shy +and unforthcoming that he would put people off, but he writes +enthusiastically about the men he is with. It is good for him to be made +to leave his work, and play games; he is keen about his footer and they +think he will row well! The man who has rooms on the same staircase +seems a very good sort. I forget who he is--it's quite a well-known +family--but he has been uncommonly kind to Davie. He wants him to go +home with him next week, but of course Davie is keen to get back to +Priorsford. Besides, you can't visit the stately homes of England on +thirty shillings, and that's about Davie's limit, dear lamb! Jock and +Mhor are looking forward with joy to hear him speak. They expect his +accent to have suffered an Oxford change, and Jock doesn't think he will +be able to remain in the room with him and not laugh." + +"I expect Jock will be 'affronted,'" said Pamela. "But you aren't the +only one who is expecting a brother, Jean, girl. Any moment I may hear +that Biddy is in London. He wired from Port Said that he would come +straight to Priorsford. I wonder whether I should take rooms for him in +the Hydro, or in one of these nice old hotels in the Nethergate? I wish +I could crush him into Hillview, but there isn't any room, alas!" + +"I wish," said Jean, and stopped. She had wanted in her hospitable way +to say that Pamela's brother must come to The Rigs, but she checked the +impulse with a fear that it was an absurd proposal. She was immensely +interested in this brother of Pamela's. All she had heard of him +appealed to her imagination, for Jean, cumbered as she was with domestic +cares, had an adventurous spirit, and thrilled to hear of the perils of +the mountains, the treks behind the ranges for something hidden, all the +daring escapades of an adventure-loving young man with time and money at +his disposal. She had made a hero of Pamela's "Biddy," but now that she +was to see him she shrank from the meeting. Suppose he were a +supercilious sort of person who would be bored with the little town and +the people in it. And the fact that he had a title complicated matters, +Jean thought. She could not imagine herself talking naturally to Lord +Bidborough. Besides, she thought, she didn't know in the least how to +talk to men; she so seldom met any. + +"I expect," she broke out after a silence, "your brother will take you +away?" + +"For Christmas, I think," said Pamela, "but I shall come back again. Do +you realise that I've been here two months, Jean?" + +"Does it seem so short to you?" + +"In a way it does; the days have passed so pleasantly. And yet I seem to +have been here all my life; I feel so much a part of Priorsford, so akin +to the people in it. It must be the Border blood in my veins. My mother +loved her own country dearly. I have heard my aunt say that she never +felt at home at Bidborough or Mintern Abbas. I am sure she would have +wanted us to know her Scots home, so Biddy and I are going to +Champertoun for Christmas. My mother had no brothers, and everything +went to a distant cousin. He and his wife seem friendly people and they +urge us to visit them." + +"That will mean a lovely Christmas for you," Jean said. + +Here Mhor stopped being an Athenian reveller to ask that the sofa might +be pushed back. The scene was now the palace of Theseus, and Mhor, as +the Prologue, was addressing an imaginary audience with--"Gentles, +perchance you wonder at this show." + +Pamela and Jean removed themselves to the window-seat and listened while +Jock, covered with an old skin rug, gave a realistic presentment of the +Lion, that very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. + +The 'tedious brief' scene was drawing to an end, when the door opened +and Mrs. M'Cosh, with a scared look in her eyes and an excited squeak in +her voice, announced, "Lord Bidborough." + +A slim, dark young man stood in the doorway, regarding the dishevelled +room. Jock and Mhor were still writhing on the floor, the chairs were +pushed anyway, Pamela's embroidery frame had alighted on the bureau, the +rugs were pulled here and there. + +Pamela gave a cry and rushed at her brother, forgetting everything in +the joy of seeing him. Then, remembering her hostess, she turned to +Jean, who still sat on the window-seat, her face flushed and her eyes +dark with excitement, the blood-red mandarin's coat with its embroidery +of blue and mauve and gold vivid against the dark curtains, and said, +"Jean, this is Biddy!" + +Jean stood up and held out a shy hand. + +"And this is Jock--and Mhor!" + +"Having a great game, aren't you?" said the newcomer. + +"Not a game," Mhor corrected him, "a play, _Midsummer Night's Dream_." + +"No, are you? I once played in it at the O.U.D.S. I wanted to be Bully +Bottom, but I wasn't much good, so they made me Snug the joiner. I +remember the man who played Puck was a wonder, about as light on his +feet and as swift as the real Puck. A jolly play." + +"Biddy," said his sister, "why didn't you wire to me? I have taken no +rooms." + +"Oh, that's all right--a porter at the station, a most awfully nice +chap, put me into a sort of fly and sent me to one of the hotels--a +jolly good little inn it is--and they can put me up. Then I asked for +Hillview, mentioning the witching name of Miss Bella Bathgate, and they +sent a boy with me to find the place. Miss Bathgate sent me on here. +Beautifully managed, you see." + +He smiled lazily at his sister, who cried: + +"The same casual old Biddy! What about dinner?" + +"Mayn't I feed with you? I think Miss Bathgate would like me to. And I'm +devoted to stewed beef and carrots. After cold storage food it will be a +most welcome change. But," turning to Jean, "please forgive me arriving +on you like this, and discussing board and lodgings. It's the most +frightful cheek on my part, but, you see, Pam's letters have made me so +well acquainted with The Rigs and everyone in it that I'm afraid I don't +feel the need of ceremony." + +"We wouldn't know what to do with ceremony here," said Jean. "But I do +wish the room had been tidier. You will get a bad impression of our +habits--and we are really quite neat as a rule. Jock, take that rug back +to Mrs. M'Cosh and put the sofa right. And, Mhor, do wash your face; +you've got it all smeared with black." + +As Jean spoke she moved about, putting things to rights, lifting +cushions, brightening the fire, brushing away fallen cinders. + +"That's better. Now don't stand about so uncomfortably Pamela, sit in +your corner; and this is a really comfortable chair, Lord Bidborough." + +"I want to look at the books, if I may," said Lord Bidborough. "It's +always the first thing I do in a room. You have a fine collection here." + +"They are nearly all my father's books," Jean explained. "We don't add +to them, except, of course, on birthdays and at Christmas, and never +valuable books." + +"You have some very rare books--this, for instance." + +"Yes. Father treasured that--and have you seen this?" + +They browsed among the books for a little, and Jean, turning to Pamela, +said, "I remember the first time you came to see us you did this, too, +walked about and looked at the books." + +"I remember," said Pamela; "history repeats itself." + +Lord Bidborough stopped before a shelf. "This is a catholic selection." + +"Those are my favourite books," said Jean--"modern books, I mean." + +"I see." He went along the shelf, naming each book as he came to it. +"_The Long Roll_ and _Cease Firing_. Two great books. I should like to +read them again now." + +"Now one could read them," said Jean. "Through the War I tried to, but I +had to stop. The writing was too good--too graphic, somehow...." + +"Yes, it would be too poignant.... _John Splendid_. I read that one +autumn in Argyle--slowly--about two chapters a day, making it last as +long as I could." + +"Isn't it fine?" said Jean. "John Splendid, who never spoke the truth +except to an enemy! Do you remember the scene with the blind widow of +Glencoe? And John Splendid was so gallant and tactful: 'dim in the +sight,' he called her, for he wouldn't say 'blind'; and then was +terrified when he heard that plague had been in the house, and would +have left without touching the outstretched hand, and Gordon, the +harsh-mannered minister, took it and kissed it, and the blind woman +cried, 'O Clan Campbell, I'll never call ye down--ye may have the guile +they claim for ye, but ye have the way with a woman's heart,' and poor +John Splendid went out covered with shame." + +Jean's eyes were shining, and she had forgotten to be awkward and +tongue-tied. + +"I remember," said Lord Bidborough. "And the wonderful descriptions--'I +know corries in Argyle that whisper silken' ... do you remember that? +And the last scene of all when John Splendid rides away?" + +"Do you cry over books, Jean?" Pamela asked. She was sitting on the end +of the sofa, her embroidery frame in her hand and her cloak on, ready to +go when her brother had finished looking at Jean's treasures. + +Jean shook her head. "Not often. Great-aunt Alison said it was the sign +of a feeble mind to waste tears over fiction, but I have cried. Do you +remember the end of _The Mill on the Floss_? Tom and Maggie have been +estranged, and the flood comes, and Tom goes to save Maggie. He is +rowing when he sees the great mill machinery sweeping down on them, and +he takes Maggie's hand, and calls her the name he had used when they +were happy children together--'_Magsie_!'" + +Pamela nodded. "Nothing appeals to you so much as family affection, +Jean, girl. What have you got now, Biddy? _Nelly's Teachers_?" + +"Oh, that," said Jean, getting pink--"that's a book I had when I was a +child, and I still like it so much that I read it through every year." + +"Oh, Jean, you babe!" Pamela cried. "Can you actually still read +goody-goody girls' stories?" + +"Yes," said Jean defiantly, "and enjoy them too." + +"And why not?" asked Lord Bidborough. "I enjoy _Huckleberry Finn_ as +much now as I did when I was twelve; and I often yearn after the books I +had as a boy and never see now. I used to lie on my face poring over +them. _The Clipper of the Clouds_, and _Sir Ludar_, and a fairy story +called _Rigmarole in Search of a Soul_, which, I remember, was quite +beautiful, but can't lay hands on anywhere." + +Jean looked at him gratefully, and thought to herself that he wasn't +going to be a terrifying person after all. For his age--Jean knew that +he was thirty-five, and had expected something much more mature--he +seemed oddly boyish. He had an expectant young look in his eyes, as if +he were always waiting for some chance of adventure to turn up, and +there were humorous lines about his mouth which seemed to say that he +found the world a very funny place, and was exceedingly well amused. + +He certainly seemed very much at home at The Rigs, fondling the rare old +books with the hands of a book lover, inspecting the coloured prints, +chaffing Jock and Mhor, who fawned round him like two puppy dogs. Peter +had at once made friends with him, and Mrs. M'Cosh, coming into the room +on some errand, edged her way out backwards, her eyes fixed on the +newcomer with an approving stare. As she told Jean later: "For a' Andra +pit me against lords, I canna see muckle wrang wi' this yin. A rale +pleasant fellow I tak' him to be, lord or no lord. If they were a' like +him, we wudna need to be Socialists. It's queer I've aye hed a hankerin' +after thae high-born kinna folk. It's that interestin' to watch them. Ye +niver ken whit they'll dae next, or whit they'll say--they're that +audacious. We wud mak' an awfu' dull warld o' it if we pit them a' awa +to Ameriky or somewhere. I often tell't Andra that, but he said it wud +be a guid riddance ... I'm wonderin' what Bella Bathgate thinks o' him. +It'll be great to hear her breath on't. She's quite comin' roond to Miss +Reston. She was tellin' me she disna think there's onything veecious +about her, and she's gettin' quite used to her manners." + + * * * * * + +When Pamela departed with her brother to partake of a dinner cooked by +Miss Bathgate (a somewhat doubtful pleasure), Mhor went off to bed, and +Jock curled himself up on the sofa with Peter, for his Friday night's +extra hour with a story-book, while Jean resumed her darning of +stockings. + +Her thoughts were full of the sister and brother who had just left. +"Queer they are!" she thought to herself. "If Davie came back to me +after a year in India, I wouldn't have liked to meet him in somebody +else's house. But they seemed quite happy to look at books, and talk +about just anything and play with Jock and Mhor and tease Peter. Now I +expect they'll be talking about their own affairs, but I would have +rushed at the pleasure of hearing all about everything--I couldn't have +waited. Pamela has such a leisured air about everything she does. It's +nice and sort of aloof and quiet--but I could never attain to it. I'm +little and bustling and Martha-like." + +Here Jean sighed, and put her fingers through a large hole in the toe of +a stocking. + +"I'm only fit to keep house and darn and worry the boys about washing +their ears.... Anyway, I'm glad I had on my Chinese coat." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + "Her gown should be of goodliness + Well ribboned with renown, + Purfilled with pleasure in ilk place, + Furred with fine fashion. + + Her hat should be of fair having, + And her tippet of truth, + Her patclet of good pansing, + Her neck ribbon of ruth. + + Her sleeves should be of esperance + To keep her from despair: + Her gloves of the good governance + To guide her fingers fair. + + Her shoes should be of sickerness + In syne she should not slide: + Her hose of honesty I guess + I should for her provide." + + _The Garment of Good Ladies_, 1568. + + +Jock and Mhor looked back on the time Lord Bidborough spent in +Priorsford as one long, rosy dream. + +It is true they had to go to school as usual, and learn their home +lessons, but their lack of attention in school-hours must have sorely +tried their teachers, and their home lessons were crushed into the +smallest space of time so as not to interfere with the crowded hours of +glorious living that Lord Bidborough managed to make for them. + +That nobleman turned out to be the most gifted player that Jock and +Mhor had ever met. There seemed no end to the games he could invent, and +he played with a zest that carried everyone along with him. + +Mhor's great passion was for trains. He was no budding engineering +genius; he cared nothing about knowing what made the wheels go round; it +was the trains themselves, the glorious, puffing, snorting engines, the +comfortable guards' vans, and the signal-boxes that enchanted him. He +thought a signalman's life was one of delirious happiness; he thrilled +at the sight of a porter's uniform, and hoped that one day he too might +walk abroad dressed like that, wheel people's luggage on a trolley and +touch his hat when given tips. It was his great treat to stand on the +iron railway-bridge and watch the trains snorting deliriously +underneath, but the difficulty was he might not go alone, and as +everyone in the house fervently disliked the task of accompanying him, +it was a treat that came all too seldom for the Mhor. + +It turned out that Lord Bidborough also delighted in trains, and he not +only stood patiently on the bridge watching goods-trains shunting up and +down, but he made friends with the porters, and took Mhor into +prohibited areas such as signal-boxes and goods sheds, and showed him +how signals were worked, and ran him up and down on trolleys. + +One never-to-be-forgotten day a sympathetic engine-driver lifted Mhor +into the engine and, holding him up high above the furnace, told him to +pull a chain, whereupon the engine gave an anguished hoot. Mhor had no +words to express his pleasure, but in an ecstasy of gratitude he seized +the engine-driver's grimy hand and kissed it, leaving that honest man, +who was not accustomed to such ongoings considerably confused. + +Jock did not share Mhor's interest in "base mechanic happenings"; his +passion was for the world at large, his motto, "For to admire and for to +see." He had long made up his mind that he must follow some profession +that would take him to far places. Mrs. Hope suggested the Indian Army, +while Mr. Jowett loyally recommended the Indian Civil Service, though he +felt bound in duty to warn Jock that it wasn't what it was in his young +days, and was indeed hardly fit now for a white man. + +Jock felt that Mrs. Hope and Mr. Jowett were wise and experienced, but +they were old. In Lord Bidborough he found one who had come hot foot +from the ends of the earth. He had seen with his own eyes, and he could +tell Jock tales that made the coveted far lands live before him; and +Jock fell down and worshipped. + +Through the day, while the two boys were interned in school, Pamela took +her brother the long walks over the hills that had delighted her days in +Priorsford. Jean sometimes went with them, but more often she stayed at +home. It was her mission in life, she said, to stay at home and have +meals ready for people when they returned, and it was much better that +the brother and sister should have their walks alone, she told herself. +Excessive selfconfidence was not one of Jean's faults. She was much +afraid of boring people by her presence, and shrank from being the third +that constitutes "a crowd." + +One afternoon Lewis Elliot called at The Rigs. + +"Sitting alone, Jean? Well, it's nice to find you in. I thought you +would be out with your new friends." + +"Lord Bidborough has motored Pamela down Tweed to see some people," Jean +explained. "They asked me to go with them, but I thought I might perhaps +be in the way. Lord Bidborough is frightfully pleased to be able to hire +a motor to drive. On Saturday he has promised to take the boys to +Dryburgh and to the Eildon Hills. Mhor is very keen to see for himself +where King Arthur is buried, and make a search for the horn!" + +"I see. It's a pity it isn't a better time of year. December days are +short for excursions.... Isn't Biddy a delightful fellow?" + +"Yes. Jock and Mhor worship him. One word from him is more to them than +all the wisdom I'm capable of. It isn't quite fair. After all, I've had +them so long, and they've only known him for a day or two. No, I don't +think I'm jealous. I'm--I'm hurt!" and to Lewis Elliot's great +discomfort Jean took out her handkerchief and openly wiped her eyes, and +then, putting her head on the table, cried. + +He sat in much embarrassment, making what he meant to be comforting +ejaculations, until Jean stopped crying and laughed. + +"It's wretched of me to make you so uncomfortable. I don't know what's +happened to me. I've suddenly got so silly. And I don't think I like +charming people. Charm is a merciless sort of gift ... and I know he +will take Pamela away, and she made things so interesting. Every day +since he came I seem to have got lonelier and lonelier, and the sight of +your familiar face and the sound of your kind voice finished me.... I'm +quite sensible now, so don't go away. Tea will be in in a minute, and +the boys. Isn't it fine that Davie will be home to-morrow? D'you think +he'll be changed?" + +Lewis Elliot stayed to tea, and Jock and Mhor fell on him with +acclamation, and told him wonderful tales of their new friend, and never +noticed the marks of tears on Jean's face. + +"Jean, what is Lord Bidborough's Christian name?" Jock asked. + +"Oh, I don't know. Richard Plantagenet, I should think." + +"Really, Jean?" + +"Why not? But you'd better ask him. Are you going, Cousin Lewis? When +will you come and see Davie?" + +"Let me see. I'm lunching at Hillview on Friday May I come in after +luncheon? Thanks. You must all come up to Laverlaw one day next week. +The puppies are growing up, Mhor, and you're missing all their +puppyhood; that's a pity." + +Later in the evening, just before Mhor's bedtime Lord Bidborough came to +The Rigs. Pamela was resting, he explained, or writing letters, or +doing something else, and he had come in to pass the time of day with +them. + +"The time of night, you mean," said Mhor ruefully "In ten minutes I'll +have to go to bed." + +"Had you a nice time this afternoon?" Jean asked. + +"Oh, ripping! Coming up by Tweed in the darkening was heavenly. I wish +you had been with us, Miss Jean. Why wouldn't you come?" + +"I had things to do," said Jean primly. + +"Couldn't the things have waited? Good days in December are precious, +Miss Jean--and Pam and I are going away next week. Promise you will go +with us next time--on Saturday, to the Eildon Hills." + +"What's your Christian name, please?" Jock broke in suddenly, +remembering the discussion. "Jean says it's Richard Plantagenet--_is_ +it?" + +Jean flushed an angry pink, and said sharply: + +"Don't be silly, Jock. I was only talking nonsense." + +"Well, what is it?" Jock persisted. + +"It's not quite Richard Plantagenet, but it's pretty bad. My name given +me by my godmother and godfathers is--Quintin Reginald Fuerbras." + +"Gosh, Maggie!" ejaculated Jock. "Earls in the streets of Cork!" + +"I knew," said Jean, "that it would be something very +twopence-coloured." + +"It's not, I grant, such a jolly name as yours," said Lord +Bidborough--"Jean Jardine." + +"Oh, mine is Penny-plain," said Jean hurriedly. + +"Must we always call you Lord?" Mhor asked. + +"Of course you must," Jean said. "Really, Mhor, you and Jock are +sometimes very stupid." + +"Indeed you must not," said Lord Bidborough. "Forgive me, Miss Jean, if +I am undermining your authority, but, really, one must have some say in +what one is to be called. Why not call me Biddy?" + +"That might be too familiar," said Jock. "I think I would rather call +you Richard Plantagenet." + +"Because it isn't my name?" + +"It sort of suits you," Jock said. + +"I like long names," said Mhor. + +"Will you call me Richard Plantagenet, Miss Jean?" + +The yellow lights in Jean's eyes sparkled. "If you'll call me +Penny-plain," she said. + +"Then that's a bargain, though I don't think either of us is well +suited. However--now that we are really friends, what did you do this +afternoon that was so very important?" + +"Talked to Lewis Elliot for one thing: he came to tea." + +"I see. An excellent fellow, Lewis. He's a relation of yours, isn't he?" + +"A very distant one, but we have so few relations we are only too glad +to claim him. He has been a very good friend to us always.... Mhor, you +really must go to bed now." + +"Oh, all right, but I don't think it's very polite to go to bed when a +visitor's in. It might make him think he ought to go away." + +Lord Bidborough laughed, and assured Mhor that he appreciated his +delicacy of feeling. + +"There's a thing I want to ask you, anyway," said Mhor.--"Yes, I'm going +to bed, Jean. Whether do you think Quentin Durward or Charlie Chaplin +would be the better man in a fight?" + +Lord Bidborough gave the matter some earnest thought, and decided on +Quentin Durward. + +"I told you that," said. Jock to Mhor. "Now, perhaps, you'll believe +me." + +"I don't know," said Mhor, still doubtful. "Of course Quentin Durward +had his sword--but you know that way Charlie has with a stick?" + +"Well, anyway, go to bed," said Jean, "and stop talking about that +horrible little man. He oughtn't to be mentioned in the same breath as +Quentin Durward." + +Mhor went out of the room still arguing. + +The next day David came home. + +The whole family, including Peter, were waiting on the platform to +welcome him, but Mhor was too interested in the engine and Jock too +afraid of showing sentiment to pay much attention to him, and it was +left to Jean and Peter to express joy at his return. + +At first it seemed to Jean that it was a different David who had come +back. There was an indefinable change even in his appearance. True, he +wore the same Priorsford clothes that he had gone away in, but he +carried himself better, with more assurance. His round, boyish face had +taken on a slightly graver and more responsible look, and his accent +certainly had an Oxford touch. Enough, anyhow, to send Jock and Mhor +out of the room to giggle convulsively in the lobby. To Jean's relief +David noticed nothing; he was too busy telling Jean his news to trouble +about the eccentric behaviour of the two boys. + +David would hardly have been human if he had not boasted a little that +first night. He had often pictured to himself just how it would be. Jean +would sit by the fire and listen, and he would sit on the old +comfortable sofa and recount all the doings of his first term, tell of +his friends, his tutors, his rooms, the games, the fun--all the details +of the wonderful new life. And it had happened just as he had pictured +it--lucky David! The room had looked as he had known it would look, with +a fire that sparkled as only Jean's fire ever sparkled, and Jean's +eyes--Jean's "doggy" eyes, as Mhor called them--were lit with interest; +and Jock and Mhor and Peter crept in after a little and lay on the rug +and gazed up at him, a quiet and most satisfactory audience. + +Jean felt a little in awe of this younger brother of hers, who had +suddenly grown a man and spoke with an air of authority. She had an ache +at her heart for the Davie who had been a little boy and content to +lean; she seemed hardly to know this new David. But it was only for a +little. When Jock and Mhor had gone to bed, the brother and sister sat +over the fire talking, and David forgot all his new importance and +ceased to "buck," and told Jean all his little devices to save money, +and how he had managed just to scrape along. + +"If only everyone else were poor as well," said Jean, "then it wouldn't +matter." + +"That's just it; but it's so difficult doing things with men who have +loads of money. It never seems to occur to them that other people +haven't got it. Of course I just say I can't afford to do things, but +that's awkward too, for they look so surprised and sort of ashamed, and +it makes me feel a prig and a fool. I think having a lot of money takes +away people's imagination." + +"Oh, it does," Jean agreed. + +"Anyway," David went on, "it's up to me to make some money. I hate +sponging on you, old Jean, and I'm not going to do it. I've been trying +my hand at writing lately and--I've had two things accepted." + +Jean all but fell into the fire in her surprise and delight. + +"Write! You! Oh, Davie, how utterly splendid!" + +A torrent of questions followed, which David answered as well as he +could. + +"Yes, they are printed, and paid for, and what's more I've spent the +money." He brought out from his pocket a small leather case which he +handed to his sister. + +"For me? Oh, David!" Her hands shook as she opened the box and disclosed +a small brooch, obviously inexpensive but delicately designed. + +"It's nothing," said David, walking away from the emotion in his +sister's face. "With the rest of the money I got presents for the boys +and Mrs. M'Cosh and Peter, but they'd better be kept out of sight till +Christmas Day." + +Truth to tell, he had meant to keep the brooch also out of sight till +Christmas, but the temptation to see Jean's pleasure had been too +strong. This Jean divined and, with happy tears in her eyes, handed it +back to him to keep till the proper giving-day arrived. + +The next day David was introduced to Pamela and her brother, and was +pleased to pronounce well of them. He had been inclined to be +distrustful about the entrance of such exotic creatures as they sounded +into the quiet of Priorsford, but having seen and talked to them he +assured his sister they were quite all right. + +Why, Lord Bidborough had been at David's own college--that alone was +recommendation enough. His feats, too, were still remembered, not feats +of scholarship--oh no, but of mountaineering on the college roofs. He +had not realised when Jean mentioned Lord Bidborough in her letters that +it was the same man who was still spoken of by undergraduates with bated +breath. + +Of Pamela, David attempted no criticism. How could he? He was at her +feet, and hardly dared lift his eyes to her face. A smile or two, a few +of Pamela's softly spoken sentences, and David had succumbed. Not that +he allowed her--or anyone else--to know it. He kept at a respectable +distance, and worshipped in silence. + +One evening while Pamela sat stitching at her embroidery in the little +parlour at Hillview her brother laid down the book he was reading, lit a +cigarette, and said suddenly, "What of the Politician, Pam?" + +Pamela drew the thread in and out several times before she answered. + +"The Politician is safe so far as I'm concerned. Only last week I wrote +and explained matters to him. He wrote a very nice letter in reply. I +think, on the whole, he is much relieved, though he expressed polite +regret. It must be rather a bore at sixty to become possessed of a wife, +even though she might be able to entertain well and manage people.... It +was a ridiculous idea always; I see that now." + +Lord Bidborough regarded his sister with an amused smile. "I always did +regard the Politician as a fabulous monster. But tell me, Pam, how long +is this to continue? Are you so enamoured of the simple life that you +can go on indefinitely living in Miss Bathgate's parlour and eating +stewed steak and duck's eggs?" + +Pamela dropped her embroidery-frame, looked at her brother with a +puzzled frown, and gave a long sigh. + +"Oh, I don't know," she said--"I don't know. Of course it can't go on +indefinitely, but I do hate the thought of going away and leaving it +all. I love the place. It has given me a new feeling about life; it has +taught me contentment: I have found peace here. If I go back to the old +restless, hectic life I shall be, I'm afraid, just as restless and +feverishly anxious to be happy as I used to be. And yet, I suppose, I +must go back. I've almost had the three months I promised myself. But +I'm going to try and take Jean with me. Lewis Elliot and I mean to +arrange things so that Jean can have her chance." + +"Why should Lewis Elliot have anything to do with it?" + +Her brother's tone brought a surprised look into Pamela's eyes. + +"Lewis is a relation as well as a very old friend. Naturally he is +interested. I should think it could easily be managed. The boys will go +to school, Mrs. M'Cosh will stay on at The Rigs, Jean will see something +of the world. Imagine the joy of taking Jean about! She will make +everything worth while. I don't in the least expect her to be what is +known as a 'success.' I can picture her at a ball thinking of her latter +end! Up-to-date revues she will hate, and I can't see her indulging in +whatever is the latest artistic craze of the moment. She is a very +_select_ little person, Jean. But she will love the plays and pictures, +and shops and sights. And she has never been abroad--picture that! There +are worlds of things to show her. I find that her great desire--a very +modest one--is to go some April to the Shakespeare Festival at +Stratford-on-Avon. She worships Shakespeare hardly on this side of +idolatry." + +"Won't she be disappointed? There is nothing very romantic about +Stratford of to-day." + +"Ah, but I think I can stage-manage so that it will come up to her +expectations. A great many things in this world need a little +stage-management. Oh, I hope my plans will work out. I _do_ want Jean." + +"But, Pamela--I want Jean too." + +Lord Bidborough had risen, and now stood before the fire, his hands in +his pockets, his head thrown back, his eyes no longer lazy and amused, +but keen and alert. This was the man who attempted impossible +things--and did them. + +It is never an easy moment for a sister when she realises that an adored +brother no longer belongs to her. + +Pamela, after one startled look at her brother, dropped her eyes and +tried to go on with her embroidery, but her hand trembled, and she made +stitches at random. + +"Pam, dear, you don't mind? You don't think it an unfriendly act? You +will always be Pam, my only sister; someone quite apart. The new love +won't lessen the old." + +"Ah, my dear"--Pamela held out her hands to her brother--"you mustn't +mind if just at first.... You see, it's a great while ago since the +world began, and we've been wonderful friends all the time, haven't we, +Biddy?" They sat together silent for a minute, and then Pamela said, +"And I'm actually crying, when the thing I most wanted has come to pass: +what an idiot! Whenever I saw Jean I wanted her for you. But I didn't +try to work it at all. It all just happened right, somehow. Jean's +beauty isn't for the multitude, nor her charm, and I wondered if she +would appeal to you. You have seen so many pretty girls, and have been +almost surfeited with charm, and remained so calm that I wondered if you +ever would fall in love. The 'manoeuvring mamaws,' as Bella Bathgate +calls the ladies with daughters to marry, quite lost hope where you were +concerned; you never seemed to see their manoeuvres, poor dears.... And +I was so thankful, for I didn't want you to marry the modern type of +girl.... But I hardly dared to hope you would come to Priorsford and +love Jean at sight. It's all as simple as a fairy-tale." + +"Oh, _is_ it? I very much doubt if Jean will look at me. I sometimes +think she rather avoids me. She keeps out of my way, and hardly ever +addresses a remark to me." + +"She has never mentioned you to me," said Pamela, "and that's a good +sign. I don't say you won't have to wait. I'm pretty certain she won't +accept you when you ask her. Even if she cares--and I don't think she +realises yet that she does--her sense of duty to the boys, and other +things, will hold her back, and your title and possessions will tell +against you. Jean is the least mercenary of creatures Ask her before you +leave, and if she refuses you appear to accept her refusal. Don't say +you will try again and that sort of thing: it gives a girl a caged +feeling. Go away for a while and make no sign. I know what I'm talking +about, Biddy ... and she is worth waiting for." + +"I would serve for her as Jacob served for Rachel, and not grudge one +minute of the time, but the nuisance is I'm twelve years older than she +is. I can't afford to wait. I'm afraid she will think me too old." + +"Nonsense, a boy would never do for Jean. Although she looks such a +child, she is a woman, and a woman with a brain. Otherwise she would +never do for you. You would tire of a doll in a week, no matter how +curly the hair or flawless the complexion.... You realise, of course, +that Jean is an uncompromising little Puritan? Mercy is as plain as +bread and honour is as hard as stone to Jean--but she has a wide +tolerance for sinners. I can imagine it won't always be easy to be +Jean's husband. She is so full of compassion that she will want to help +every unfortunate, and fill the house with the broken and the +unsuccessful. But she won't be a wearisome wife. She won't pall. She +will always be full of surprises, and an infinite variety, and find such +numbers of things to laugh about.... You know how she mothers those +boys--can't you see Jean with babies of her own?... To me she is like a +well of spring-water a continual refreshment for weary souls." + +Pamela stopped. "Am I making too much of an ordinary little country +girl, Biddy?" + +Her brother smiled and shook his head, and after a minute he said: + +"A garden enclosed is my love." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + "What's to be said to him, lady? He is fortified against any + denial."--_Twelfth Night_. + + +The day before Pamela and her brother left Priorsford for their visit to +Champertoun was a typical December day, short and dark and dirty. + +There was a party at Hopetoun in honour of David's home-coming, and +Pamela and her brother were invited, along with the entire family from +The Rigs. + +They all set off together in the early darkening, and presently Pamela +and the three boys got ahead, and Jean found herself alone with Lord +Bidborough. + +Weather had little or no effect on Jean's spirits, and to-day, happy in +having David at home, she cared nothing for the depressing mist that +shrouded the hills, or the dank drip from the trees on the carpet of +sodden leaves, or the sullen swirl of Tweed coming down big with spate, +foaming against the supports of the bridge. + +"As dull as a great thaw," she quoted to her companion cheerfully. "It +does seem a pity the snow should have gone away before Christmas. Do +you know, all the years of my life I've never seen snow on Christmas. I +do wish Mhor wouldn't go on praying for it. It's so stumbling for him +when Christmas comes mild and muggy. If we could only have it once as +you see it in pictures and read about it in books--" + +She broke off to bow to Miss Watson and her sister, Miss Teenie, who +passed Jean and her companion with skirts held well out of the mud, and +eyes, after the briefest glance, demurely cast down. + +"They are going out to tea," Jean explained to Lord Bidborough. "Don't +they look nice and tea-partyish? Fur capes over their best dresses and +snow boots over their slippers. Those little black satin bags hold their +work, and I expect they have each a handkerchief edged with Honiton lace +and scented with White Rose. Probably they are going to Mrs. +Henderson's. She gives wonderful teas, and they will be taken to a +bedroom to take off their outer coverings, and they'll stay till about +eight o'clock and then go home to supper." + +Lord Bidborough laughed. "I begin to see what Pam means when she talks +of the lovableness of a little town. It is cosy, as she says, to see +people go out to tea and know exactly where they are going, and what +they'll do when they get there." + +"I should think," said Jean, "that it would rather appeal to you. Your +doings have always been on such a big scale--climbing the highest +mountains in the world, going to the very farthest places--that the tiny +and the trivial ought to be rather fascinating by contrast." + +Lord Bidborough admitted that it was so, and silence fell between them. + +"I wonder," said Jean politely, having cast round in her mind for a +topic that might interest--"I wonder what you will attempt next? Jock +says you want to climb Everest. He is frightfully excited about it, and +wishes you would wait a few years till he is grown up and ready." + +"Jock is a jewel, and he will certainly go with me when I attempt +Everest, if that time ever comes." + +They had reached the entrance to Hopetoun: the avenue to the house was +short. "Would you mind," said Lord Bidborough, "walking on with me for a +little bit?..." + +"But why?" asked Jean, looking along the dark, uninviting road. "They'll +wonder what's become of us, and tea will be ready, and Mrs. Hope doesn't +like to be kept waiting." + +"Never mind," said Lord Bidborough, his tone somewhat desperate. "I've +got something I want to say to you, and this may be my only chance. +Jean, could you ever--I mean, d'you think it possible--oh, Jean, will +you marry me?" + +Jean backed away from him, her mouth open, her eyes round with +astonishment. She was too much surprised to be anything but utterly +natural. + +"Are you asking me to marry you? But how _ludicrous_!" + +The answer restored them both to their senses. + +Lord Bidborough laughed ruefully and said, "Well, that's not a pretty +way to take a proposal," while Jean, flushed with shame at her own +rudeness, and finding herself suddenly rather breathless, gasped out, +"But you shouldn't give people such frights. How could I know you were +going to say anything so silly? And it's my first proposal, and I've +_got on goloshes_!" + +"Oh, Jean! What a blundering idiot I am! I might have known it was a +wrong moment, but I'm hopelessly inexperienced, and, besides, I couldn't +risk waiting; I so seldom see you alone. Didn't you see, little blind +Jean, that I was head over ears in love with you? The first night I came +to The Rigs and you spoke to me in your singing voice I knew you were +the one woman in the world for me." + +"No," said Jean. "No." + +"Ah, don't say that. You're not going to send me away, Penny-plain?" + +"Don't you see," said Jean, "I mustn't _let_ myself care for you, for +it's quite impossible that I could ever marry you. It's no good even +speaking about such a thing. We belong to different worlds." + +"If you mean my stupid title, don't let that worry you. A second and the +Socialists alter that! A title means nothing in these days." + +"It isn't only your title: it's everything--oh, can't you _see_?" + +"Jean, dear, let's talk it over quietly. I confess I can't see any +difficulty at all--if you care for me a little. That's the one thing +that matters." + +"My feelings," said Jean, "don't matter at all. Even if there was +nothing else in the way, what about Davie and Jock and the dear Mhor? I +must always stick to them--at least until they don't need me any +longer." + +"But Jean, beloved, you don't suppose I want to take you away from them? +There's room for them all.... I can see you at Mintern Abbas, Jean, and +there's a river there, and the hills aren't far distant--you won't find +it unhomelike--the only thing that is lacking is a railway for the +Mhor." + +"Please don't," said Jean. "You hurt me when you speak like that. Do you +think I would let you burden yourself with all my family? I would never +be anything but a drag on you. You must go away, Richard Plantagenet, +and take your proper place in the world, and forget all about Priorsford +and Penny-plain, and marry someone who will help you with your career +and be a fit mistress for your great houses, and I'll just stay here. +The Rigs is my proper setting." + +"Jean," said Lord Bidborough, "will you tell me--is there any other +man?" + +"No. How could there be? There aren't any men in Priorsford to speak +of." + +"There's Lewis Elliot." + +Jean stared. "You don't suppose _Lewis_ wants to marry me, do you? Men +are the _stupidest_ things! Don't you know that Lewis...." + +"What?" + +"Nothing. Only you needn't think he ever looks the road I'm on. What a +horrid conversation this is! It's a great mistake ever to mention love +and marriage. It makes the nicest people silly. I simply daren't think +what Jock would say if he heard us. He would be what Bella Bathgate +calls 'black affrontit.'" + +"Jean, will it always matter to you more than anything in the world what +David and Jock and Mhor think? Will you never care for anyone as you +care for them?" + +"But they are my charge," Jean explained. "They were left to me. Mother +said, before she went away that last time, 'I trust you, Jean, to look +after the boys,' and when father didn't come back, and Great-aunt Alison +died, they had only me." + +"Can't you adopt me as well? Do you know, Penny-plain, I believe it is +all the fault of your Great-aunt Alison. You are thinking that on your +death-bed you will like to feel that you sacrificed yourself to +others--" + +"Oh," cried Jean, "did Pamela actually tell you about Great-aunt Alison? +That wasn't quite fair." + +"She wasn't laughing. She only told me because she knew I was interested +in every detail of your life, and Great-aunt Alison explains a lot of +things about her grand-niece." + +Jean pondered on this for a little and then said: + +"Pam once said I was on the verge of being a prig, and I'm not sure that +she wasn't right, and it's a hateful thing to be. D'you think I'm +priggish, Richard Plantagenet? Oh no, don't kiss me. I hate it.... Why +do you want to behave like that? It isn't nice." + +"I'm sorry, Jean." + +"And now your voice sounds as if you did think me a prig ... Here we +are at last, and I simply don't know what to say kept us." + +"Don't say anything: leave it to me. I'll be sure to think of some lie. +Do you realise that we are only ten minutes behind the others?" + +"Is that all?" cried Jean, amazed. "It seems like _hours_." + +Lord Bidborough began to laugh helplessly. + +"I wonder if any man ever had such a difficult lady," he said, "or one +so uncompromisingly truthful?" + +He rang the bell, and as they stood on the doorstep waiting, the light +from the hall-door fell on his face, and Jean, looking at him, suddenly +felt very low. He was going away, and she might never see him again. The +fortnight he had been in Priorsford had given her an entirely new idea +of what life might mean. She had not been happy all the time: she had +been afflicted with vague discontents and jealousies such as she had not +known before, but at the back of them all she was conscious of a shining +happiness, something that illuminated and gave a new value to all the +commonplace daily doings. Now, as in a flash, while they waited for the +door to open, Jean knew what had caused the happiness, and realised that +with her own hand she was shutting the door on the light, shutting +herself out to a perpetual twilight. + +"If only you hadn't been a man," she said miserably, "we might have been +such friends." + +A servant opened the door and they went in together. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + "When icicles hang by the wall, + And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, + And Tom bears logs into the hall, + And milk comes frozen home in pail, + When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul, + Then nightly sings the staring owl, + Tu whit, + Tu whu, a merry note + While greasy Joan doth keel the pot." + + +Mhor began to look forward to Christmas whenever the days began to +shorten and the delights of summer to fade; and the moment the +Hallowe'en "dooking" for apples was over he and Jock were deep in +preparations. + +As is the way with most things, the looking forward and preparing were +the best of it. It meant weeks of present-making, weeks of wrestling +with delicious things like paints and pasteboard and glue. Then came a +week or two of walking on tiptoe into the little spare room where the +presents were stored, just to peep, and make sure that they really were +there and had not been spirited away, for at Christmas-time you never +knew what knavish sprites were wandering about. The spare room became +the most interesting place in the house. It was all so thrilling: the +pulling out of the drawer, the breathless moment until you made sure +that the presents were safe, the smell that came out of the drawer to +meet you, an indescribable smell of lavender and well-washed linen, of +furniture polish and cedar-wood. The dressing-table had a row of three +little drawers on either side, and in these Jean kept the small eatables +that were to go into the stockings--things made of chocolate, packets of +almonds and raisins, big sugar "bools." To Mhor a great mystery hung +over the dressing-table. No mortal hand had placed those things there; +they were fairy things, and might vanish any moment. On Christmas +morning he ate his chocolate frog with a sort of reverence, and sucked +the sugar "bools" with awe. + +A caller at The Rigs had once exclaimed in astonishment that an +intelligent child like the Mhor still believed in Santa Claus, and Jean +had replied with sudden and startling ferocity, "If he didn't believe I +would beat him till he did." Happily there was no need for such extreme +measures: Mhor believed implicitly. + +Jock had now grown beyond such beliefs, but he did nothing to undermine +Mhor's trust. He knew that the longer you can believe in such things the +nicer the world is. + +The Jardines always felt about Christmas Day that the best of it was +over in the morning--the stockings and the presents and the postman, +leaving long, over-eaten, irritable hours to be got through before +bedtime and oblivion. + +This year Jock had drawn out a time-table to ensure that the day held +no longueurs. + + 7.30 Stockings. + 8.30 Breakfast. + 9 Postman. + 10-12 Deliver small presents to various friends. + 1 Luncheon at the Jowetts'. + 4 Tea at home and present-giving. + 5-9 Devoted to supper and variety entertainment. + +This programme was strictly adhered to except by the Mhor in the matter +of his stocking, which was grabbed from the bed-post and cuddled into +bed beside him at least two hours before the scheduled time; and by the +postman, who did not make his appearance till midday, thereby greatly +disarranging things. + +The day passed very pleasantly: the luncheon at the Jowetts' was +everything a Christmas meal should be, Mrs. M'Cosh surpassed herself +with bakemeats for the tea, the presents gave lively satisfaction, but +_the_ feature of the day was the box that arrived from Pamela and her +brother. It was waiting when the family came back from the Jowetts', +standing in the middle of the little hall with a hammer and a +screw-driver laid on the top by thoughtful Mrs. M'Cosh--a large white +wooden box which thrilled one with its air of containing treasures. Mhor +sank down beside it, hardly able to wait until David had taken off his +coat and was ready to tackle it. Off came the lid, out came the packing +paper on the top, and in Jock and Mhor dived. + +It was really a wonderful box. In it there was something for everybody, +including Mrs. M'Cosh and Peter, but Mhor's was the most striking +present. No wonder the box was large. It contained a whole railway--a +train, lines, signal-boxes, a station, even a tunnel. + +Mhor was rendered speechless with delight. Jean wished Pamela had been +there to see the lamps lit in his green eyes. Mrs. M'Cosh's beautiful +tea was lost on him: he ate and drank without being aware of it, his +eyes feasting all the time on this great new treasure. + +"I wish," he said at last, "that I could do something for the Honourable +and Richard Plantagenet. I only sent her a wee poetry-book. It cost a +shilling. It was Jean's shilling really, for I hadn't anything left, and +I wrote in it, 'Wishing you a pretty New Year.' I forgot about 'happy' +being the word; d'you think she'll mind?" + +"I think Pamela will prefer it called 'pretty,'" Jean said. "You are +lucky, aren't you?--and so is Jock with that gorgeous knife." + +"It's an explorer's knife," said Jock. "You see, you can do almost +everything with it. If I was wrecked on a desert island I could pretty +nearly build a house with it. Feel the blades--" + +"Oh, do be careful. I would put away the presents in the meantime and +get everything ready for the charade. Are you quite sure you know what +you're going to do? You mustn't just stand and giggle." + +Jean had asked three guests to come to supper--three lonely women who +otherwise would have spent a solitary evening--and Mrs. M'Cosh had +asked Bella Bathgate to sup with her and afterwards to witness what she +dubbed "a chiraide." + +The living-room had been made ready for the entertainment, all the +chairs placed in rows, the deep window-seat doing duty for a stage, but +Jean was very doubtful about the powers of the actors, and hoped that +the audience would be both easily amused and long-suffering. + +Jock and Mhor protested that they had chosen a word for the charade, and +knew exactly what they meant to say, but they would divulge no details, +advising Jean to wait patiently, for something very good was coming. + +The little house looked very festive, for the boys had decorated +earnestly, the square hall was a bower of greenery, and a gaily coloured +Chinese lantern hanging in the middle added a touch of gaiety to the +scene. The supper was the best that Jean and Mrs. M'Cosh could devise, +the linen and the glass and silver shone, the flowers were charmingly +arranged Jean wore her gay mandarin's coat, and the guests--when they +arrived--found themselves in such a warm and welcoming atmosphere that +they at once threw off all stiffness and prepared to enjoy the evening. + +The entertainment was to begin at eight, and Mrs. M'Cosh and Miss +Bathgate took their seats "on the chap," as the latter put it. The two +Miss Watsons, surprisingly enough, were also present. They had come +along after supper with a small present for Jean, had asked to see her, +and stood lingering on the doorstep refusing to come farther, but +obviously reluctant to depart. + +"Just a little bag, you know, Miss Jean, for you to put your work in if +you're going out to tea, you know. No, it's not at all kind. You've been +so nice to us. No, no, we won't come in; we don't want to disturb +you--just ran along--you've friends, anyway. Oh, well, if you put it +that way ... we might just sit down for five minutes--if you're sure +we're not in the way...." And still making a duet of protest they sank +into seats. + +A passage had been arranged, with screens between the door and the +window-seat, and much traffic went along that way; the screens bumped +and bulged and seemed on the point of collapsing, while smothered +giggles were frequent. + +At last the curtains were jerked apart, and revealed what seemed to be a +funeral pyre. Branches were piled on the window-seat, and on the top, +wrapped in an eiderdown quilt, with a laurel wreath bound round his +head, lay David. Jock, with bare legs and black boots, draped in an +old-fashioned circular waterproof belonging to Mrs. M'Cosh, stood with +arms folded looking at him, while Mhor, almost denuded of clothing, and +supported by Peter (who sat with his back to the audience to show his +thorough disapproval of the proceedings), stood at one side. + +When the murmured comments of the spectators had ceased, Mhor, looking +extraordinarily Roman, held up his hand as if appealing to a raging mob, +and said, "Peace, ho! Let us hear him," whereupon Jock, breathing +heavily in his brother's face, proceeded to give Antony's oration over +Caesar. He did it very well, and the Mhor as the Mob supplied +appropriate growls at intervals; indeed, so much did Antony's eloquence +inspire Mhor that, when Jock shouted, "Light the pyre!" (a sentence +introduced to bring in the charade word), instead of merely pretending +with an unlighted taper, Mhor dashed to the fire, lit the taper, and +before anyone could stop him thrust it among the dry twigs, which at +once began to light and crackle. Immediately all was confusion. "Mhor!" +shouted Jean, as she sprang towards the stage. "Gosh, Maggie!" Jock +yelled, as he grabbed the burning twigs, but it was "Imperial Caesar, +dead and turned to clay," who really put out the fire by rolling on it +wrapped in an eiderdown quilt. + +"Eh, ye ill callant," said Bella Bathgate. + +"Ye wee deevil," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "ye micht hev had us a' burned where +we sat, and it Christmas too!" + +"What made you do it, sonny?" Jean asked. + +"It made it so real," Mhor explained, "and I knew we could always throw +them out of the window if they really blazed. What's the use of having a +funeral pyre if you don't light it?" + +The actors departed to prepare for the next performance Jock coming back +to put his head in at the door to ask if they had guessed the first part +of the word. + +Jean said she thought it must be incendiarism. + +"Funeral," said Miss Watson brightly. + +"Huch," said Jock; "it's a word of one syllable." + +"I think," Jean said as the door shut on Jock--I think I know what the +word is--pyre." + +"Oh, really," said Miss Watson, "I'm all shaking yet with the fright I +got. He's an awful bad wee boy that--sort of regardless. He needs a man +to look after him." + +"I'll never forget," said Miss Teenie, "once I was staying with a friend +of ours, a doctor; his mother and our mother were cousins, you know, and +when I looked--I was doing my hair at the time--I found that the curtain +had blown across the gas and was blazing. If I had been in our own house +I would just have rushed out screaming, but when you're away from home +you've more feeling of responsibility and I just stood on a chair and +pulled at the curtain till I brought it down and stamped on it. My hands +were all scorched, and of course the curtain was beyond hope, but when +the doctor saw it, he said, 'Teenie,' he said--his mither and ours were +cousins, you know--'you're just a wee marvel.' That was what he said--'a +wee marvel.'" + +Jean said, "You _were_ brave," and one of the guests said that presence +of mind was a wonderful thing, and then the next act was ready. + +The word had evidently something to do with eating, for the three actors +sat at a Barmecide feast and quaffed wine from empty goblets, and carved +imaginary haunches of venison. So far as could be judged from the +conversation, which was much obscured by the smothered laughter of the +actors, they seemed to belong to Robin Hood's merry men. + +The third act took place on board ship--a ship flying the Jolly +Roger--and it was obvious to the meanest intelligence that the word was +pirate. + +"Very good," said Miss Teenie, clapping her hands; "but," addressing the +Mhor, "don't you go lighting any more funeral pyres. Boys who do that +have to go to jail." + +Mhor looked coldly at her, but made no remark, while Jean said hastily: + +"You must show everyone your wonderful present, Mhor. I think the hall +would be the best place to put it up in." + +The second part of the programme was of a varied character. Jean led off +with the old carol: + + "There comes a ship far sailing then, + St. Michael was the steersman," + +and Mhor followed with a poem, "In Time of Pestilence," which had +captivated his strange small boy's soul, and which he had learned for +the occasion. Everyone felt it to be singularly inappropriate, and Miss +Watson said it gave her quite a turn to hear the relish with which he +knolled out: + + "Wit with his wantonness + Tasteth death's bitterness: + Hell's executioner + Hath no ears for to hear + What vain art can reply! + I am sick, I must die-- + God have mercy on us." + +She regarded him with disapproving eyes as a thoroughly uncomfortable +character. + +One of the guests sang a drawing-room ballad in which the words "dear +heart" seemed to occur with astonishing frequency. Then the +entertainment took a distinctly lower turn. + +David and Jock sang a song composed by themselves and set to a hymn +tune, a somewhat ribald production. Mhor then volunteered the +information that Mrs. M'Cosh could sing a song. Mrs. M'Cosh said, "Awa +wi' ye, laddie," and "Sic havers," but after much urging owned that she +knew a song which had been a favourite with her Andra. It was sung to +the tune of "When the kye come hame," and was obviously a parody on that +lyric, beginning: + + "Come a' ye Hieland pollismen + That whustle through the street, + An' A'll tell ye a' aboot a man + That's got triple expansion feet. + He's got braw, braw tartan whuskers + That defy the shears and kaim: + There's an awfu' row in Brigton + When M'Kay comes hame." + +It went on to tell how: + + "John M'Kay works down in Singers's, + He's a ceevil engineer, + But his wife's no verra ceevil + When she's had some ginger-beer. + When he missed the last Kilbowie train + And had to walk hame lame, + There wis Home Rule wi' the poker + When M'Kay cam hame." + +Mrs. M'Cosh sang four verses and stopped, in spite of the rapturous +applause of a section of the audience. + +"There's aboot nineteen mair verses," she explained "an' they get kinna +worse as they gang on, so I'd better stop," which she did, to Jean's +relief, for she saw that her guests were feeling that this was not an +entertainment such as the Best People indulged in. + +"And now Miss Bathgate will sing," said Mhor. + +"I will not sing," said Miss Bathgate. "I've mair pride than make a fool +o' mysel' to please folk." + +"Oh, come on," Jock begged. "Look at Mrs. M'Cosh!" + +Miss Bathgate snorted. + +"Ay," said Mrs. M'Cosh, with imperturbable good-humour, "she seen me, +and she thinks yin auld fool is enough at a time. Never heed, Bella, +juist gie us a verse." + +Miss Bathgate protested that she knew no songs, and had no voice, but +under persuasion she broke into a ditty, a sort of recitative: + + "Gang further up the toon, Geordie Broon, Geordie Broon, + Gang further up the toon, Geordie Broon: + Gang further up the toon + Till ye's spent yer hale hauf-croon, + And then come singin' doon, + Geordie Broon, Geordie Broon." + +"I remember that when I was a child," Jean said. "We used to be put to +sleep with it; it is very soothing. Thank you so much, Miss Bathgate +... Now I think we should have a game." + +"Forfeits," Miss Teenie suggested. + +"That's a silly game," said Mhor; "there's kissing in it." + +"Perhaps we might have a quiet game," Jean said. "What was that one we +played with Pamela, you remember, Jock? We took a subject, and tried who +could say the most obvious thing about it." + +"Oh, nothing clever, for goodness' sake," pleaded Miss Watson. "I've no +head for anything but fancy-work." + +"'Up Jenkins' would be best," Jock decreed; so a table was got in, and +"up Jenkins" was played with much laughter until the clock struck ten, +and the guests all rose in a body to go. + +"Well," said Miss Watson, "it's been a very pleasant evening, though I +wouldn't wonder if I had a nightmare about that funeral pyre ... I +always think, don't you, that there's something awful pathetic about +Christmas? You never know where you may be before another." + +One of the guests, a little music-teacher, said: + +"The worst of Christmas is that it brings back to one's mind all the +other Christmasses and the people who were with us then...." + +Bella Bathgate's voice was heard talking to Mrs. M'Cosh at the door: "I +dinna believe in keeping Christmas; it's a popish festival. New Year's +the time. Ye can eat yer currant-bun wi' a relish then. Guid-nicht, +then, and see ye lick that ill laddie for near settin' the hoose on +fire. It's no' safe, I tell ye, to live onywhere near him noo that he's +begun thae tricks. Baith Peter an' him are fair Bolsheviks ... Did I +tell ye that Miss Reston sent me a grand feather-boa--grey, in a +present? I've aye had a notion o' a feather-boa, but I dinna ken how she +kent that. And this is no' yin o' the skimpy kind; it's fine and fussy +and soft ... Here, did the Lord send Miss Jean a present?... I doot he's +aff for guid. Weel, weel, guid-nicht." + +With a heightened colour Jean said good-night to her guests, separated +Mhor from his train, and sent him with Jock to bed. + +As she went upstairs, Bella Bathgate's words rang in her ears dismally: +"I doot he's aff for guid." + +It was what she wanted, of course; she had told him so. But she had half +hoped that he might send her a letter or a little remembrance on +Christmas Day. + +Better not, perhaps, but it would have been something to keep. She +sometimes wondered if she had not dreamt the scene in the Hopetoun +Woods, and only imagined the words that were constantly in her ears. It +was such a very improbable thing to happen to such a commonplace person. + +Her room was very restful-looking that night to Jean, tired after a long +day's junketing. It was a plain little upper chamber, with white walls +and Indian rugs on the floor. A high south wind was blowing (it had been +another of poor Mhor's snow-less Christmasses!), making the curtains +billow out into the room, and she could hear through the open window +the sound of Tweed rushing between its banks. On the dressing-table lay +a new novel with a vivid paper cover. Jean gave it a little disgusted +push. Someone had lent it to her, and she had been reading it between +Christmas preparations, reading it with deep distaste. It was about a +duel for a man between a woman of forty-five and a girl of eighteen. The +girl was called Noel, and was "pale, languid, passionate." The older +woman gave up before the end, and said Time had "done her in." There +were pages describing how she looked in the mirror "studying with a +fearful interest the little hard lines and markings there beneath their +light coating of powder, fingered and smoothed the slight looseness and +fullness of the skin below her chin," and how she saw herself going down +the years, "powdering a little more, painting a little more, touching up +her hair till it was all artifice, holding on by every little +device...." + +A man had written that. What a trade for a man, Jean thought. + +She was glad she lived among people who had the decency to go on caring +for each other in spite of lines and wrinkles--comfortable couples whose +affection for each other was a shelter in the time of storm, a shelter +built of common joys, of "fireside talks and counsels in the dawn," +cemented by tears shed over common sorrows. + +She smiled to herself as she remembered a little woman who had told her +with great pride that, to celebrate their silver wedding, her husband +was giving her a complete set of artificial teeth. "And," she had +finished impressively, "you know what teeth cost now." + +And why not? It was as much a token of love as a pearl necklace, and, +looked at in the right way, quite as romantic. + +"I'd better see how it finishes," Jean said to herself opening the book +a few pages from the end. + +Oh yes, there they were at it. Noel, "pale, languid passionate," and the +man "moved beyond control." "He drew her so close that he could feel the +throbbing of her heart ..." And the other poor woman with the hard lines +and marking beneath the light coating of powder, where had she gone? + +Jean pushed the book away, and stood leaning on the dressing-table +studying her face in the glass. This was no heroine, "pale, languid, +passionate." She saw a fresh-coloured face with a pointed chin, +wide-apart eyes as frank and sunny as a moorland burn, an innocent +mouth. It seemed to Jean a very uninteresting face. She was young, +certainly, but that was all--not beautiful, or brilliant and witty. Lord +Bidborough must see scores of lovely girls. Jean seemed to see them +walking past her in a procession--girls who had maids to do their hair +in the most approved fashion, constantly renewed girls whose clothes +were a dream of daintiness all charming, all witty, all fitted to be +wife to a man like Lord Bidborough. What was he doing now, Jean +wondered. Perhaps dancing, or sitting out with someone. Jean could see +him so clearly, listening, smiling, with lazy, amused eyes. By now he +must be thankful that the penny-plain girl at Priorsford had not +snatched at the offer he had made her, but had had the sense to send him +away. It must have been a sudden madness on his part. He had never said +a word of love to her--then suddenly in the rain and mud, when she was +looking her very plainest, muffled up in a thick coat, clogged by +goloshes, to ask her to marry him! + +Jean nodded at the girl in the glass. + +"What you've got to do is to put him out of your head, and be thankful +that you have lots to do, and a house to keep, and boys to make happy, +and aren't a heroine writhing about in a novel." + +But she sighed as she turned away. Doing one's duty is a dreary business +for three-and-twenty. It goes on for such a long time. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + "It was told me I should be rich by the fairies."--_A Winter's + Tale._ + + +January is always a long, flat month: the Christmas festivities are +over, the bills are waiting to be paid, the weather is very often of the +dreariest, spring is yet far distant. With February, hope and the +snowdrops begin to spring, but January is a month to be _warstled_ +through as best we can. + +This January of which I write Jean felt to be a peculiarly long, dull +month. She could not understand why, for David was at home, and she had +always thought that to have the three boys with her made up the sum of +her happiness. She told herself that it was Pamela she missed. It made +such a difference knowing that the door would not open to admit that +tall figure; the want of the embroidery frame seemed to take a +brightness from the room, and the lack of that little gay laugh of +Pamela's left a dullness that the loudest voices did nothing to dispel. + +Pamela wrote that the visit to Champertoun had been a signal success. +The hitherto unknown cousins were delightful people, and she and her +brother were prolonging their stay till the middle of January. Then, +she said, she hoped to come back to Priorsford for a little, while Biddy +went on to London. + +How easy it all sounded, Jean thought. Historic houses full of all +things lovely, leisured, delightful people, the money, and the freedom +to go where one listed: no pinching, no striving, no sordid cares. + +David's vacation was slipping past; and Jean was deep in preparations +for his departure. She longed vehemently for some money to spend. There +were so many things that David really needed and was doing without, so +many of the things he had were so woefully shabby. Jean understood +better now what a young man wanted; she had studied Lord Bidborough's +clothes. Not that the young man was anything of a dandy, but he had +always looked right for every occasion. And Jean thought that probably +all the young men at Oxford looked like that--poor David! David himself +never grumbled. He meant to make money by his pen in spare moments, and +his mind was too full of plans to worry much about his shabby clothes. +He sometimes worried about his sister, and thought it hard that she +should have the cares of a household on her shoulders at an age when +other girls were having the time of their lives, but he solaced himself +with the thought that some day he would make it up to Jean, that some +day she should have everything that now she was missing, full measure +pressed down and running over. It never occurred to the boy that Jean's +youth would pass, and whatever he might be able to give her later, he +could never give her that back. + +Pamela returned to Hillview in the middle of the month, just before +David left. + +Bella Bathgate owned that she was glad to have her back. That +indomitable spinster had actually missed her lodger. She was surprised +at her own pleasure in seeing the boxes carried upstairs again, in +hearing the soft voice talking to Mawson, in sniffing the faint sweet +scent that seemed to hang about the house when Miss Reston was in it, +conquering the grimmer odour of naphtha and boiled cabbage which +generally held sway. + +Bella had missed Mawson too. It was fine to have her back again in her +cosy kitchen, enjoying her supper and full of tales of the glories of +Champertoun. Bella's face grew even longer than it was naturally as she +heard of the magnificence of that ancient house, of the chapel, of the +ballroom, of the number of bedrooms, of the man-servants and +maid-servants, of the motors and horses. + +"Forty bedrooms!" she said, in scandalised tones. "The thing's +rideeclous. Mair like an institution than a private hoose." + +"Oh, it's a _gentleman's_ 'ouse," said Mawson proudly--"the sort of +thing Miss Reston's accustomed to. At Bidborough, I'm told, there's +bedrooms to 'old a regiment, and the same at Mintern Abbas, but I've +never been there yet. It was all the talk in the servants' 'all at +Champertoun 'oo would be Lady Bidborough. There were several likely +young ladies there, but 'e didn't seem partial to any of them." + +"Whaur's he awa to the noo?" + +"Back to London for a bit, I 'eard, and later on we're joining 'im at +Bidborough. Beller, I was thinking to myself when they were h'all +talking, what if Lady B. should be a Priorsford lady? His lordship did +seem h'attentive in at The Rigs. Wouldn't it be a fine thing for Miss +Jean?" + +Miss Bathgate suddenly had a recollection of Jean as she had seen her +pass that morning--a wistful face under a shabby hat. + +"Hut," she said, tossing her head and lying glibly. "It's ma opeenion +that the Lord askit Miss Jean when he was in Priorsford, and she simply +sent him to the right about." + +She took a drink of tea, with a defiant twirl of her little finger, and +pretended not to see the shocked expression on Mawson's face. To Mawson +it sounded like sacrilege for anyone to refuse anything to his lordship. + +"Oh, Beller! Miss Jean would 'ave jumped at 'im!" + +"Naething o' the kind," said Miss Bathgate fiercely, forgetting all +about her former pessimism as to Jean's chance of getting a man, and +desiring greatly to champion her cause. "D'ye think Miss Jean's sitting +here waitin' to jump at a man like a cock at a grossit? Na! He'll be a +lucky man that gets her, and weel his lordship kens it. She's no pented +up to the een-holes like thae London Jezebels. Her looks'll stand wind +and water. She's a kind, wise lassie, and if she condescends to the +Lord, I'm sure I hope he'll be guid to her. For ma ain pairt I wud faur +rather see her marry a dacent, ordinary man like a minister or a +doctor--but we've nane o' thae kind needin' wives in Priorsford the noo, +so Miss Jean 'll mebbe hev to fa' back on a lord...." + +On the afternoon of the day this conversation took place in Hillview +kitchen, Jean sat in the living-room of The Rigs, a very depressed +little figure. It was one of those days in which things seem to take a +positive pleasure in going wrong. To start with, the kitchen range could +not go on, as something had happened to the boiler, and that had +shattered Mrs. M'Cosh's placid temper. Also the bill for mending it +would be large, and probably the landlord would make a fuss about paying +it. Then Mhor had put a newly-soled boot right on the hot bar of the +fire and burned it across, and Jock had thrown a ball and broken a +precious Spode dish that had been their mother's. But the worst thing of +all was that Peter was lost, had been lost for three days, and now they +felt they must give up hope. Jock and Mhor were in despair (which may +have accounted for their abandoned conduct in burning boots and breaking +old china), and in their hearts felt miserably guilty. Peter had wanted +to go with them that morning three days ago; he had stood patiently +waiting before the front door, and they had sneaked quietly out at the +back without him. It was really for his own good, Jock told Mhor; it was +because the gamekeeper had said if he got Peter in the Peel woods again +he would shoot him, and they had been going to the Peel woods that +morning--but nothing brought any comfort either to Jock or Mhor. For two +nights Mhor had sobbed himself to sleep openly, and Jock had lain awake +and cried when everyone else was sleeping. + +They scoured the country in the daytime, helped by David and Mr. Jowett +and other interested friends, but all to no purpose. + +"If I knew God had him I wouldn't mind," said Mhor, "but I keep seeing +him in a trap watching for us to come and let him out. Oh, Peter, +_Peter_...." + +So Jean felt completely demoralised this January afternoon and sat in +her most unbecoming dress, with the fire drearily, if economically, +banked up with dross, hoping that no one would come near her. And Mrs. +Duff-Whalley and her daughter arrived to call. + +It was at once evident that Mrs. Duff-Whalley was on a very high horse +indeed. Her accent was at its most superior--not at all the accent she +used on ordinary occasions--and her manner was an excellent imitation of +that of a lady she had met at one of the neighbouring houses and greatly +admired. Her sharp eyes were all over the place, taking in Jean's poor +little home-made frock, the shabby slippers, the dull fire, the +depressed droop of her hostess's shoulders. + +Jean was sincerely sorry to see her visitors. To cope with Mrs. +Duff-Whalley and her daughter one had to be in a state of robust health +and high spirits. + +"We ran in, Jean--positively one has time for nothing these days--just +to wish you a Happy New-Year though a fortnight of it is gone. And how +are you? I do hope you had a very gay Christmas, and loads of presents. +Muriel quite passed all limits. I told her I was quite ashamed of the +shoals of presents, but of course the child has so many friends. The +Towers was full for Christmas. Dear Gordon brought several Cambridge +friends, and they were so useful at all the festivities. Lady Tweedie +said to me, 'Mrs. Duff-Whalley, you really are a godsend with all these +young men in this unmanned neighbourhood.' Always so witty, isn't she? +dear woman. By the way, Jean, I didn't see you at the Tweedies' dance, +or the Olivers' theatricals." + +"No, I wasn't there. I hadn't a dress that was good enough, and I didn't +want to be at the expense of hiring a carriage." + +"Oh, really! We had a small dance at The Towers on Christmas night--just +a tiny affair, you know, really just our own house-party and such old +friends as the Tweedies and the Olivers. We would have liked to ask you +and your brother--I hear he's home from Oxford--but you know what it is +to live in a place like Priorsford: if you ask one you have to ask +everybody--and we decided to keep it entirely County--you know what I +mean?" + +"Oh, quite," said Jean; "I'm sure you were wise." + +"We were so sorry," went on Mrs. Duff-Whalley, "that dear Lord +Bidborough and his charming sister couldn't come. We have got so fond of +both of them. Muriel and Lord Bidborough have so much in common--music, +you know, and other things. I simply couldn't tear them away from the +piano at The Towers. Isn't it wonderful how simple and pleasant they are +considering their lineage? Actually living in that little dog-hole of a +Hillview. I always think Miss Bathgate's such an insolent woman; no +notion of her proper place. She looks at me as if she actually thought +she was my equal, and wasn't she positively rude to you, Muriel, when +you called with some message?" + +"Oh, frightful woman!" said Muriel airily. "She was most awfully rude to +me. You would have thought that I wanted to burgle something." She gave +an affected laugh. "I simply stared through her. I find that irritates +that class of person frightfully ... How do you like my sables, Jean? +Yes--a present." + +"They are beautiful," said Jean serenely, but to herself she muttered +bitterly, "Opulent _lumps_!" + +"David goes back to Oxford next week," she said aloud, the thought of +money recalling David's lack of it. + +"Oh, really! How exciting for him," Mrs. Duff-Whalley said. "I suppose +you won't have heard from Miss Reston since she went away?" + +"I had a letter from her a few days ago." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley waited expectantly for a moment, but as Jean said +nothing more she continued: + +"Did she talk of future plans? We simply must fix them both up for a +week at The Towers. Lord Bidborough told us he had quite fallen in love +with Priorsford and would be sure to come back. I thought it was so +sweet of him. Priorsford is such a dull little place." + +"Yes," said Jean; "it was very condescending of him." + +Then she remembered Richard Plantagenet, her friend, his appreciation of +everything, his love for the Tweed, his passion for the hills, his +kindness to herself and the boys--and her conscience pricked her. "But I +think he meant it," she added. + +"Well," Muriel said, "I fail to see what he could find to admire in +Priorsford. Of all the provincial little holes! I'm constantly +upbraiding Mother for letting my father build a house here. If they had +gone two or three miles out, but to plant themselves in a little dull +town, always knocking up against the dull little inhabitants! Positively +it gets on my nerves. One can't go out without having to talk to Mrs. +Jowett, or a Dawson, or some of the villa dwellers. As I said to Lady +Tweedie yesterday when I met her in the Eastgate, 'Positively,' I said, +'I shall _scream_ if I have to say to anyone else, "Yes, isn't it a nice +quiet day for the time of year?"' I'm just going to pretend I don't see +people now." + +"Muriel, darling, you mustn't make yourself unpopular. It's not like +London, you know, where you can pick and choose. I quite agree that the +Priorsford people need to be kept in their places, but one needn't be +rude. And some of the people, the aborigines, as dear Gordon calls them, +are really quite nice. There are about half a dozen men one can ask to +dinner, and that new doctor--I forget his name--is really quite a +gentleman. Plays bridge." + +Jean laughed suddenly and Mrs. Duff-Whalley looked inquiringly at her. + +"Oh," she said, blushing, "I remembered the definition of a gentleman in +the _Irish R.M._--'a man who has late dinner and takes in the London +_Times_.' ... Won't you stay to tea?" + +"Oh no, thank you, the car is at the gate. We are going on to tea with +Lady Tweedie. 'You simply must spare me an afternoon, Mrs. +Duff-Whalley,' she said to me the other day, and I rang her up and said +we would come to-day. Life is really such a rush. And we are going +abroad in February and March. We must have some sunshine. Not that we +need it for our health, for we're both as strong as ponies. I haven't +been a day in bed for years, and Muriel the same, I'm thankful to say. +We've never had to waste money on doctors. And the War kept us so cooped +up, it's really pleasant to feel we can get about again. I thought on +our way south we would make a tour of the battlefields. I think one owes +it to the men who fought for us to go and visit their graves--poor +fellows! I saw Mrs. Macdonald--you go to their church, don't you?--at a +meeting yesterday, and I said if she would give me particulars I'd try +and see her boy's grave. They won't be able to go themselves, poor +souls, and I thought it would be a certain consolation to them to know +that a friend had gone. I must say, I think she might have shown more +gratitude. She was really quite off-hand. I think ministers' wives have +often bad manners; they deal so much with the working classes...." + +Jean thought of a saying she had read of Dr. Johnson's: "He talked to me +at the Club one day concerning Catiline's conspiracy--so I withdrew my +attention and thought about Tom Thumb." When she came back to Mrs. +Duff-Whalley that lady was saying: + +"Did you say, Jean, that Miss Reston is coming back to Priorsford soon?" + +"Yes, any day." + +"Fancy! And her brother too?" + +Jean said she thought not: Lord Bidborough was going to London. + +"Ah! then we shall see him there. I don't know when I met anyone with +whom I felt so instantly at home. He has such easy manners. It really is +a pleasure to meet a gentleman. I do wish my boy Gordon had seen more of +him. I'm sure they would have been friends. So good for a boy, you know, +to have a man of the world to go about with. Well, good-bye, Jean. You +really look very washed out. What you really need is a thorough holiday +and change of scene. Why, you haven't been away for years. Two months in +London would do wonders for you--" + +The handle of the door turned and a voice said, "May I come in?" and +without waiting for permission Pamela Reston walked in, bare-headed, +wrapped in a cloak, and with her embroidery-frame under her arm, as she +had come many times to The Rigs during her stay at Hillview. + +When Jean heard the voice it seemed to her as if everything was +transformed. Mrs. Duff-Whalley and Muriel, their sables and their +Rolls-Royce, ceased to be great weights crushing life and light out of +her, and became small, ordinary, rather vulgar figures; she forgot her +own home-made frock and shabby slippers; and even the fire seemed to +feel that things were brightening, for a flame struggled through the +backing and gave promise of future cheerfulness. + +"Oh, Pamela!" cried Jean. There was more of relief and appeal in her +voice than she knew, and Pamela, seeing the visitors, prepared to do +battle. + +"I thought I should surprise you, Jean, girl. I came by the two train, +for I was determined to be here in time for tea." She slipped off her +coat and took Jean in her arms. "It is good to be back.... Ah, Mrs. +Duff-Whalley, how are you? Have you kept Priorsford lively through the +Christmas-time, you and your daughter?" + +"Well, I was just telling Jean we've done our best. My son Gordon, and +his Cambridge friends, delightful young fellows, you know, _perfect_ +gentlemen. But we did miss you and your brother. Is dear Lord Bidborough +not with you?" + +"My brother has gone to London." + +"Naturally," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, nodding her head knowingly. "All +young men like London, so gay, you know, restaurants and theatres and +night-clubs--" + +"Oh, I hope not," laughed Pamela. "My brother's rather extraordinary; +he cares very little for London pleasures. The open road is all he +asks--a born gipsy." + +"Fancy! Well, it's a nice taste too. But I would rather ride in my car +than tramp the roads. I like my comforts. Muriel and I are going to +London shortly, on our way to the Continent. Will you be there, Miss +Reston?" + +"Probably, and if I am Jean will be with me. Do you hear that, Jean?" +and paying no attention to the dubious shake of Jean's head she went on: +"We must give Jean a very good time and have lots of parties. Perhaps, +Mrs. Duff-Whalley, you will bring your daughter to one of Jean's parties +when you are in London? You have been so very kind to us that we should +greatly like to have an opportunity of showing you some hospitality. Do +let us know your whereabouts. It would be fun--wouldn't it, Jean?--to +entertain Priorsford friends in London." + +For a moment Mrs. Duff-Whalley looked very like a ferret that wanted to +bite; then she smiled and said: + +"Well, really, it's most kind of you. I'm sure Jean should be very +grateful to you. You're a kind of fairy godmother to this little +Cinderella. Only Jean must remember that it isn't very nice to come back +to drudgery after an hour or two at the ball," and she gave an +unpleasant laugh. + +"Ah, but you forget your fairy tale," said Pamela. "Cinderella had a +happy ending. She wasn't left to the drudgery, but reigned with the +prince in the palace." + +"It's hardly polite surely," Muriel put in, "to liken poor little Jean +to a cinder-witch." + +Jean laughed and held out a foot in a shabby slipper. "I've felt like +one all day. It's been such a grubby day, no kitchen range on, no hot +water, and Mrs. M'Cosh actually out of temper. Now you've come, Pamela, +it will be all right--but it has been wretched. I hadn't the spirit to +change my frock or put on decent slippers, that's why I've reminded you +all of Cinderella.... Are you going, Mrs. Duff-Whalley? Good-bye." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley had, with an effort, regained her temper, and was now +all smiles. + +"We must see you often at The Towers while you are in Priorsford, dear +Miss Reston. Muriel and I are on our way to tea with Lady Tweedie. She +will be so excited to hear you are back. You have made quite a _place_ +for yourself in our little circle. Good-bye, Jean, we shall be seeing +you some time. Come, Muriel. Well--t'ta." + +When the visitors had rolled away in their car Jean told Pamela about +Peter. + +"I couldn't tell you before those opulent, well-pleased people. It's +absolutely breaking our hearts. Mrs. M'Cosh looks ten years older, and +Jock and Mhor go about quite silent thinking out wicked things to do to +relieve their feelings. David has gone over all the hills looking for +him, but he may be lying trapped in some wood. Come and speak to Mrs. +M'Cosh for a minute. Between Peter and the boiler she is in despair." + +They found Mrs. M'Cosh baking with the gas oven. + +"It's a scone for the tea. When I seen Miss Reston it kinna cheered me +up. Hae ye tell't her aboot Peter?" + +"He will turn up yet, Mrs. M'Cosh," Pamela assured her. "Peter's such a +clever dog, he won't let himself be beat. Even if he is trapped I +believe he will manage to get out." + +"It's to be hoped so, for the want o' him is something awful." + +A knock came to the back door and a boy's voice said, "Is Peter in?" It +was a message boy who knew all Peter's tricks--knew that however +friendly Peter was with a message boy on the road, he felt constrained +to jump out at him when he appeared at the back door with a basket. The +innocent question was too much for Mrs. M'Cosh. + +"Na," she said bitterly. "Peter's no' in, so ye needna hold on to the +door. Peter's lost. Deid, as likely as not." She turned away in +bitterness of heart, leaving Jean to take the parcels from the boy. + +The boys came in quietly after another fruitless search. They did not +ask hopefully, as they had done at first, if Peter had come home, and +Jean did not ask how they had fared. + +The sight of Pamela cheered them a good deal. + +"Does she know?" Jock asked, and Jean nodded. + +Pamela kept the talk going through tea, and told them so many funny +stories that they had to laugh. + +"If only," said Mhor, "Peter was here now the Honourable's back we +would be happy." + +"There's a big box of hard chocolates behind that cushion," Pamela said, +pointing to the sofa. + +It was at that moment that the door opened, and Mrs. M'Cosh put her head +in. Her face wore a broad smile. + +"The wanderer has returned," she said. + +At that moment Jean thought the Glasgow accent the most delightful thing +on earth and the smile on Mrs. M'Cosh's face the most beautiful. With a +shout they all made for the kitchen. + +There was Peter, thin and dirty, but in excellent spirits, wagging his +tail so violently that his whole body wagged. + +"See," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "he's been in a trap, but he's gotten out. +Peter's a cliver lad." + +Jock and Mhor had no words. They lay on the linoleum-covered floor while +Mrs. M'Cosh fetched hot milk, and crushed their faces against the little +black-and-white body they had thought they might never see again, while +Peter licked his own torn paw and their faces in turn. + + * * * * * + +It was wonderfully comfortable to see Pamela settle down in the corner +of the sofa with her embroidery and ask news of all her friends. Jean +had been a little shy of meeting Pamela, wondering if Lord Bidborough +had told her anything, wondering if she were angry that Jean should have +had such an offer, or resentful that she had refused it. But Pamela +talked quite naturally about her brother, and gave no hint that she +knew of any reason why Jean should blush when his name was mentioned. + +"And how are all the people--the Jowetts and the Watsons and the +Dawsons? And the dear Macdonalds? I picked up a book in Edinburgh that I +think Mr. Macdonald will like. And Lewis Elliot--have you seen him +lately, Jean?" + +"He's away. Didn't you know? He went just after you did. He was in +London at Christmas--at least, that was the postmark on the parcels, but +he has never written a word. He was always a bad correspondent, but +he'll turn up one of these days." + +Mrs. M'Cosh came in with the letters from the evening post. + +"Actually a letter for me," said Jean, "from London. I expect it's from +that landlord of ours. Surely he won't be giving us notice to leave The +Rigs. Pamela, I'm afraid to open it. It looks like a lawyer's letter." + +"Open it then." + +Jean opened it slowly and read the enclosure with a puzzled frown; then +she dropped it with a cry. + +Pamela looked up from her work to see Jean with tears running down her +face. Jock and Mhor stopped what they were doing and came to look at +her. Peter rubbed himself against her legs by way of comfort. + +"My dear," said Pamela, "is there anything wrong?" + +"Oh, do you remember the little old man who came one day to look at the +house and stayed to tea and I sang 'Strathairlie' to him? He's dead." + +Jean's tears flowed afresh as she said the words. "How I wish I had +been kinder to him. I somehow felt he was ill." + +"And why have they written to tell you?" Pamela asked. + +Jean picked up the letter which had fallen on the floor. + +"It's from his lawyer, and he says he has left me money.... Read it, +Pamela. I don't seem able to see the words." + +So Pamela read aloud the letter that converted poverty-stricken Jean +into a very wealthy woman. + +Jean's face was dead white, and she lay back as if stunned, while Jock +gave solemn utterance to the most complicated ejaculation he had yet +achieved: "Goodness-gracious-mercy-Moses-Murphy-mumph-mumph-mumph!" + +Mhor said nothing, but stared with grave green eyes at the stricken +figure of the heiress. + +"It's awful," Jean moaned. + +"But, my dear," said Pamela, "I thought you wanted to be rich." + +"Oh--rich in a gentle way, a few hundreds a year--but this--" + +"Poor Jean, buried under bullion." + +"You're all looking at me differently already," cried poor Jean. "Mhor, +it's just the same me. Money can't make any real difference. Don't stare +at me like that." + +"Will Peter have a diamond collar now?" Mhor asked. + +"Awful effect of sudden riches," said Pamela. + +"Bear up, Jean--I've no doubt you'll be able to get rid of your money. +Just think of all the people you will be able to help. You needn't spend +it on yourself you know." + +"No, but suppose it's the ruin of the boys! I've often heard of sudden +fortunes making people go all wrong." + +"Now, Jean, does Jock look as if anything so small as a fortune could +put him wrong? And David--by the way, where is David?" + +"Out," said Jock, "getting something at the stationer's. Let me tell him +when he comes in." + +"Then I'll tell Mrs. M'Cosh," cried Mhor, and, followed by Peter, he +rushed from the room. + +The colour was beginning to come back to Jean's face, and the stunned +look to go out of her eyes. + +"Why in the world has he left it to me?" she asked Pamela. + +"You see the lawyer suggests coming to see you. He will explain it all. +It's a wonderful stroke of luck, Jean. No wonder you can't take it in." + +"I feel like the little old woman in the nursery-rhyme who said, 'This +is none of I.' I'm bound to wake up and find I've dreamt it.... Oh, Mrs. +M'Cosh!" + +"It's the wee laddie Scott to say his mother canna come and wash the +morn's mornin'; she's no weel. It's juist as weel, seein' the biler's +gone wrang. I suppose I'd better gie the laddie a piece?" + +"Yes, and a penny." Then Jean remembered her new possessions. "No, give +him this, please, Mrs. M'Cosh." + +Mrs. M'Cosh received the coin and gasped. "Hauf a croon!" she said. + +"Silver," said Pamela, "is to be no more accounted of than it was in the +days of Solomon!" + +"D'ye ken whit ye'll dae?" demanded Mrs. M'Cosh. "Ye'll get the laddie +taen up by the pollis. Gie him thruppence--it's mair wise-like." + +"Oh, very well," said Jean, thwarted at the very beginning of her +efforts in philanthropy. "I'll go and see his mother to-morrow and find +out what she needs. Have you heard the news, Mrs. M'Cosh?" + +Mrs. M'Cosh came farther into the room and folded her hands on her +snow-white apron. + +"Weel, Mhor came in and tell't me some kinna story aboot a lot o' money, +but I thocht he was juist bletherin'. Is't a fac'?" + +"It would seem to be. The lawyer in London writes that Mr. Peter +Reid--d'you perhaps remember an old man who came here to tea one day in +October?--he came from London and lived at the Temperance--has left me +all his fortune, which is a large one. I can't think why.... And I +thought he was so poor, I wanted to have him here to stay, to save him +paying hotel bills. Poor man, he must have been very friendless when he +left his money to a stranger." + +"It's a queer turn up onyway. I juist hope it's a' richt. But I would +see it afore ye spend it. I wis readin' a bit in the papers the ither +day aboot a wumman who got word o' a fortune sent her, and went and got +a' sorts o' braw claes and things ower the heid o't, and here it wis a' +a begunk. And a freend o' mine hed a husband oot aboot Canada somewhere, +and she got word o' his death, and she claimed the insurance, and got +verra braw blacks, and here wha should turn up but his lordship, as +leevin' as you or me! Eh, puir thing, she wis awfu' annoyed.... You be +carefu', Miss Jean, and see the colour o' yer money afore ye begin +giein' awa' hauf-croons instead o' pennies." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + "O, I wad like to ken--to the beggar-wife says I-- + Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid to fry, + An' siller, that's sae braw to get, is brawer still to gie. + --_It's gey an' easy speirin'_, says the beggar-wife to me." + + R.L.S. + + +It is always easier for poor human nature to weep with those who weep +than to rejoice with those who rejoice. Into our congratulations to our +more fortunate neighbour we often manage to squeeze something of the +"hateful rind of resentment," forgetting that the cup of life is none +too sweet for any of us, and needs nothing of our bitterness added. + +Jean had not an enemy in the world, almost everyone wished her well, but +in very few cases was there any marked enthusiasm about her inheritance. +"Ridiculous," was the most frequent comment: or "Fancy that little +thing!" It seemed absurd that such an unimportant person should have had +such a large thing happen to her. + +Pamela was frankly disgusted with the turn things had taken. She had +intended giving Jean such a good time; she had meant to dress her and +amuse her and settle her in life. Peter Reid had destroyed all her +plans, and Jean would never now be dependent on her for the pleasures of +life. + +She wrote to her brother: + +"Jean seems to be one of the people that all sorts of odd things happen +to, and now fortune has played one of her impish tricks and Jean has +become a very considerable heiress. And I was there, oddly enough, when +the god in the car alighted, so to speak, at The Rigs. + +"One afternoon, just after I came to Priorsford, I went in after tea and +found the Jardines entertaining a shabby-looking elderly man. They were +all so very nice to him that I thought he must be some old family +friend, but it turned out that none of them had seen him before that +afternoon. He had asked to look over the house, and told Jean that he +had lived in it as a boy, and Jean, remarking his rather shabby clothes +and frail appearance, jumped to the conclusion that he had failed in +life and--you know Jean--was at once full of tenderness and compassion. +At his request she sang to him a song he had heard his mother sing, and +finished by presenting him with the song-book containing it--a somewhat +rare collection which she valued. + +"This shabby old man, it seems, was one Peter Reid, a wealthy London +business man, and owner of The Rigs, born and bred in Priorsford, who +had just heard from his doctor that he had not long to live, and had +come back to his childhood's home meaning to die there. He had no +relations and few friends, and had made up his mind to leave his money +to the first person who did anything for him without thought of payment. +(He seems to have been a hard, suspicious type of man who had not +attracted kindness.) So Fate guided his steps to Jean, and this is the +result. Yes, rather far-fetched, I agree, but Fate is often like a +novelette. + +"Mr. Peter Reid had meant to ask the Jardines to leave The Rigs and let +him settle there, but--there must have been a soft part somewhere in the +hard little man--he hadn't the heart to do it when he found how attached +they were to the place. + +"I was at The Rigs when the lawyer's letter came. Jean as an heiress is +very funny and, at the same time, horribly touching. At first she could +think of nothing but that the lonely old man she had tried to be kind to +was dead, and wept bitterly. Then as she began to realise the fact of +the money she was aghast, suffocated with the thought of her own wealth. +She told us piteously that it wouldn't change her at all. I think the +poor child already felt the golden barrier that wealth builds round its +owners. I don't think Mr. Peter Reid was kind, though perhaps he meant +to be. Jean is such a conscientious, anxious pilgrim at any time, and +I'm afraid the wealth will hang round her neck like the Ancient +Mariner's albatross. + +" ... I have been wondering, Biddy, how this will affect your chances. I +know you felt as I did how nice it would be to give Jean all the things +that she has never had and which money can buy. I admit I am horribly +disappointed about it, but I'm not at all sure that this odd trick of +fortune's won't help you. Her attitude was that marriage with you was +unthinkable; you had so much and she had so little. Well, this evens +things up. _Don't come. Don't write._ Leave her alone to try her wings. +She will want to try all sorts of schemes for helping people, and I'm +afraid the poor child will get many bad falls. So long as she remains in +Priorsford with people like Mrs. Hope and the Macdonalds to watch over +her she can't come to any harm. Don't be anxious. Honestly, Biddy, I +think she cares for you. I'm glad you asked her when she was poor." + + * * * * * + +When the news of Jean's fortune broke over Priorsford, tea-parties had +no lack of material for conversation. + +Miss Watson and Miss Teenie, much more excited than Jean herself, ranged +gaily round the circle of their acquaintances, drank innumerable cups of +tea, and discussed the matter in all its bearings. + +"Isn't it strange to think of Miss Jean as an heiress? Such a plain +little thing--in her clothes, I mean, for she has a bit sweet wee face. +I don't know how she'll ever do in a great big house with butlers and +things. I expect she'll leave The Rigs now. It's no place for an +heiress. Perhaps she'll build a house like The Towers. No; you're right: +she'll look for an old house; she always had such queer ideas about +liking old things and plain things.... Well, when she had a wee house it +had a wide door. I hope when she gets a big house it won't have a +narrow door. Money sometimes changes people's very natures.... It's a +funny business; you never really know what'll happen to you in this +world. Anyway, I don't grudge it to Miss Jean, though, mind you, I don't +think myself that she'll carry off money well. She hasn't presence +enough, if you know what I mean. She'll never look the thing in a big +motor, and you can't imagine her being haughty to people poorer than +herself. She has such a way of putting herself beside folk--even a +tinker-body on the road!" + +Miss Bathgate heard the news with sardonic laughter. + +"So that's the latest! Miss Jean's gaun to be upsides wi' the best o' +them! Puir lamb, puir lamb! I hope the siller 'll bring her happiness, +but I doot it ... I yince kent some folk that got a fortune left them. +He was a beadle in the U.F. Kirk at Kirkcaple, a dacent man wi' a wife +and dochter, an' by some queer chance they came into a heap o' siller, +an' a hoose--a mansion hoose, ye ken. They never did mair guid, puir +bodies. The hoose was that big that the only kinda cosy place they could +see to sit in was the butler's pantry, an' they took to drink, fair for +want o' anything else to dae. I've heard tell that they took whisky to +their porridges, but that's mebbe a lee. Onyway, the faither and mither +sune died off, and the dochter went to board wi' the minister an' his +wife, to see if they could dae onything wi' her. I mind seein' her +yince. She was sittin' horn-idle, an' I said to her, 'D'ye niver tak' up +a stockin'?' and she says, 'I dinna _need_ to dae naething.' 'But,' I +says, 'a stockin' keeps your hands busy, an' keeps ye frae wearyin',' +but she juist said, 'I tell ye I dinna need to dae naething. I whiles +taks a ride in a carriage.' ... It was a sorry sicht, I can tell ye, to +see a dacent lass ruined wi' siller.... Weel, Miss Jean 'll get a man +noo. Nae fear o' that," and Miss Bathgate repeated her cynical lines +about the lass "on Tintock tap." + +Mrs. Hope was much excited when she heard, more especially when she +found who Jean's benefactor was. + +"Reids who lived in The Rigs thirty years ago? But I knew them. I know +all about them. It was I who suggested to Alison Jardine that the +cottage would suit her. She had lost a lot of money and wanted a small +place.... Why, bless me, Augusta, Mrs. Reid, this man's mother, came +from Corlaw; her people were tenants of my father's. What was the name? +I used to be taken to their house by my nurse and get an oatcake with +sugar sprinkled on it--a great luxury, I thought. Yes, of course, +Laidlaw. She was Jeannie Laidlaw. When I married and came to Hopetoun I +often went to see Mrs. Reid. She reminded me of Corlaw, and could talk +of my father, and I liked that.... Her husband was James Reid. He must +have had some money, and I think he was retired. He had a beard and came +from Fife. I remember the east-country tone in his voice. They went to +the Free Kirk, and I overheard, one day, a man say to him as we came out +of church (where a retiring collection for the next Sunday had been +announced), 'There's an awfu' heap o' collections in oor kirk,' and +James Reid replied, 'Ou ay, but ma way is to pay no attention.' When I +told your father he was delighted and said that he must take that for +his motto through life--'Ma way is to pay no attention.'" + +Mrs. Hope took off her glasses and smiled to herself over her +recollections.... "Mrs. Reid was a nice creature, 'fair bigoted,' as +they say here, on her son Peter. He was her chief topic of conversation. +Peter's cleverness, Peter's kindness to his mother, Peter's good looks, +Peter's fine voice: when I saw him--well, I thought we should all thank +God for our mothers, for no one else will ever see us with such kind +eyes.... And it's this Peter Reid--Jeannie Laidlaw's son--who has +enriched Jean. Well, Augusta, I must say I consider it rather a +liberty." + +Augusta looked at her mother with an amused smile. + +"Yes, Augusta, it was a pushing, interfering sort of thing to do. What +is the child to do with a great fortune? I'm not afraid of her being +spoiled. Money won't vulgarise Jean as it does so many people, but it +may turn her into a very burdened, anxious pilgrim. She is happier poor. +The pinch of too little money is a small thing compared to the burden of +too much. The doing without is good for both body and soul, but the +great possessions are apt to harden our hearts and make our souls small +and meagre. Who would have thought that little Jean would have had the +hard hap to become heir to them. But she has a high heart. She may make +a success of being a rich woman! She has certainly made a success of +being a poor one." + +"I think," said Augusta, in her gentle voice, "that Peter Reid was a +wise man to leave his money to Jean. Only the people who have been poor +know how to give, and Jean has imagination and an understanding heart. +Haven't you noticed what a wonderful way she has with the poor people? +She is always welcome in the cottages.... And think what a delight she +will have in spending money on the boys! But I hope Pamela Reston will +do as she had planned and carry Jean off for a real holiday. I should +like to see her for a little while spend money like water, buy all +manner of useless lovely things, and dine and dance and go to plays." + +Mrs. Hope put up her glasses to regard her daughter. + +"Dear me, Augusta, am I hearing right? Who is more severe than you on +the mad women who dance, and sup, and frivol their money away? But +there's something in what you say. The bairn needs a playtime.... To +think that Jeannie Laidlaw's son should change the whole of Jean's life. +Preposterous!" + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley was having tea with Mrs. Jowett when the news was +broken to her. It was a party, but only, as Mrs. Duff-Whalley herself +would have put it, "a purely local affair," meaning some people on the +Hill. + +Mrs. Jowett sat in her soft-toned room, pouring out tea into fragile +cups with hands that seemed to demand lace ruffles, so white were they +and transparent. The room was like herself, exquisitely fresh and +dainty; white walls hung with pale water-colours in gilt frames, Indian +rugs of soft pinks and blues and greys, plump cushions in worked muslin +covers that looked as if they were put on fresh every morning. +Photographs stood about of women looking sweetly into vacancy over the +heads of pretty children, and books of verses, bound daintily in white +and gold, lay on carved tables. + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley did not care for Mrs. Jowett's tea-parties, and she +always felt irritated by her drawing-room. The gentle voice of her +hostess made her want to speak louder than usual, and she thought the +conversation insipid to a degree. How could it be anything but insipid +with Mrs. Jowett saying only "How nice," or "What a pity" at intervals? +She did not even seem to care to hear Mrs. Duff-Whalley's news of "the +County," and "dear Lady Tweedie," merely murmuring, "Oh, really," when +told the most interesting and even startling facts. + +"Uninterested idiot," thought Mrs. Duff-Whalley to herself as she turned +from her hostess to Miss Mary Duncan, who at least had some sense, +though both she and her sisters had a lamentable lack of style. + +Miss Duncan's kind face beamed pleasantly. She was quite willing to +listen to Mrs. Duff-Whalley as long as that lady pleased. She thought +she needed soothing, so she agreed with everything she said, and made +sensible little remarks at intervals. Mrs. Jowett was pouring out a +second cup of tea for Mrs. Duff-Whalley when she said, "And have you +heard about dear little Jean Jardine?" + +"Has anything happened to her? I saw her the other day and she was all +right." + +"She's quite well, but haven't you heard? She has inherited a large +fortune." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley said nothing for a minute. She could not trust herself +to speak. Despised Jean, whom she had not troubled to ask to her +parties, whom she had always felt she could treat anyhow, so poor was +she and of no account. It had been bad enough to know that she was on +terms of intimacy with Pamela Reston and her brother: to hear Miss +Reston say that she meant to take her to London and entertain for her +and to hear her suggest that Muriel might go to Jean's parties had been +galling, but she had thrust the recollection from her, reflecting that +fine ladies said much that they did not mean, and that probably the +promised visit to London would never materialise. And now to be told +this! A fortune: Jean--it was too absurd! + +When she spoke, her voice was shrill with anger in spite of her efforts +to control it. + +"It can't be true. The Jardines have no relations that could leave them +money." + +"This isn't a relation," Mrs. Jowett explained. "It's someone Jean was +kind to quite by chance. I think it is _so_ sweet. It quite makes one +want to cry. _Dear_ Jean!" + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley looked at the sentimental woman before her with bitter +scorn. + +"It would take more than that to make me cry," she snorted. "I wonder +what fool wanted to leave Jean money. Such an unpractical creature! +She'll simply make ducks and drakes of it, give it away to all and +sundry, pauperise the whole neighbourhood." + +"Oh, I don't think so," Miss Duncan broke in. "She has had a hard +training, poor child. Such a pathetic mite she was when her great-aunt +died and left her with David and Jock and the little Gervase Taunton! No +one thought she could manage, but she did, and she has been so plucky, +she deserves all the good fortune that life can bring her. I'm longing +to hear what Jock says about this. I do like that boy." + +"They are, all three, dear boys," said Mrs. Jowett. "Tim and I quite +feel as if they were our own. Tim, dear," to that gentleman, who had +bounced suddenly and violently into the room, "we are talking about the +great news--Jean's fortune--" + +"Ah yes, yes," said Mr. Jowett, distributing brusque nods to the women +present. "What I want is a bit of thick string." (His wife's delicate +drawing-room hardly seemed the place to look for such a thing.) "No, no +tea, my dear. I told you I wanted a bit of _thick string_.... Yes, +let's hope it won't spoil Jean, but I think it's almost sure to. Fortune +hunters, too. Bad thing for a girl to have money.... Yes, yes, I asked +the servants and Chart brought me the string basket, but it was all thin +stuff. I'll lose the post, but it's always the way. Every day more +rushed than another. Remind me, Janetta, to get some thick string +to-morrow. I've no time to go down to the town to-day. Why, bless me, my +morning letters are hardly looked at yet," and he fussed himself out of +the room. + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley rose to go. + +"Then, Mrs. Jowett, I can depend on you to look after that collecting? +And please be firm. I find that collectors are apt to be very lazy and +unconscientious. Indeed, one told me frankly that in her district she +only went to the people she knew. That isn't the way to collect. The +only way is to get into each house--to stand on the doorstep is no use, +they can so easily send a maid to refuse--and sit there till they give a +subscription. Every year since I took it on there has been an increase, +and I'll be frightfully disappointed if you let it go back." + +Mrs. Jowett looked depressed. She knew herself to be one of the worst +collectors on record. She was guiltily aware that she often advised +people not to give; that is, if she thought their circumstances +straitened! + +"I don't know," she began, "I'm afraid I could never sit in a stranger's +house and insist on being given money. It's so--so high-handed, like a +highwayman or something." + +"Think of the cause," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, "not of your own +feelings." + +"Yes, of course, but ... well, if there is a deficit, I can always raise +my own subscription to cover it." She smiled happily at this solution of +the problem. + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley sniffed. + +"'The conies are a feeble folk,'" she quoted rudely. "Well, good-bye. I +shall send over all the papers and collecting books to-morrow. Muriel +and I go off to London on Friday _en route_ for the south. It will be +pleasant to have a change and meet some interesting people. Muriel was +just saying it's a cabbage's life we live in Priorsford. I often wonder +we stay here...." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley went home a very angry woman. After dinner, sitting +with Muriel before the fire in the glittering drawing-room, she +discussed the matter. + +"I know what'll be the end of it," she said. "You saw what a fuss Miss +Reston made of Jean the other day when we called? Depend upon it, she +knew the money was coming. I dare say she and her brother are as poor as +church mice--those aristocrats usually are--and Jean's money will come +in useful. Oh, we'll see her Lady Bidborough yet.... I tell you what it +is, Muriel, the way this world's managed is past speaking about." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley was knitting a stocking for her son Gordon (her hands +were seldom idle), and she waved it in her exasperation as she talked. + +"Here are you, meant, as anyone can see, for the highest position, and +instead that absurd little Jean is to be cocked up, a girl with no more +dignity than a sparrow, who couldn't keep her place with a washerwoman. +I've heard her talking to these cottage women as if they were her +sisters." + +Muriel leant back in her chair and seemed absorbed in balancing her +slipper on her toe. + +"My dear mother," she said, "why excite yourself? It isn't clever of you +to be so openly annoyed. People will laugh. I don't say I like it any +better than you do, but I hope I have the sense to purr congratulations. +We can't help it anyway. You and I aren't attracted to Jean, but there's +no use denying most people are. And what's more, they keep on liking +her. She isn't a person people get easily tired of. I wish I knew her +secret. I suppose it is charm--a thing that can't be acquired." + +"What nonsense, Muriel! I wonder to hear you. I'd like to know who has +charm if you haven't. It is a silly word anyway." + +Muriel shook her head. "It's no good posing when we are by ourselves. As +a family we totally lack charm. Minnie tries to make up for it by a +great deal of manner and a loud voice. Gordon--well, it doesn't matter +so much for a man, but you can see his friends don't really care about +him much. They take his hospitality and say he isn't a bad sort. They +know he is a snob, and when he tries to be funny he is often offensive, +poor Gordon! I've got a pretty face, and I play games well, so I am +tolerated, but I have hardly one real friend. The worst of it is I know +all the time where I am falling short, and I can't help it. I feel +myself jar on people. I once heard old Mrs. Hope say that it doesn't +matter how vulgar we are, so long as we know we are being vulgar. But +that isn't true. It's not much fun to know you are being vulgar and not +be able to help it." + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley gave a convulsed ejaculation, but her daughter went +on. + +"Sometimes I've gone in of an afternoon to see Jean, and found her +darning stockings in her shabby frock, with a look on her face as if she +knew some happy secret; a sort of contented, brooding look--and I've +envied her. And so I talked of all the gaieties I was going to, of the +new clothes I was getting, of the smart people we know, and all the time +I was despising myself for a fool, for what did Jean care! She sat there +with her mind full of books and poetry and those boys she is so absurdly +devoted to; it was nothing to her how much I bucked; and this fortune +won't change her. Money is nothing--" + +Mrs. Duff-Whalley gasped despairingly to hear her cherished daughter +talking, as she thought, rank treason. + +"Oh, Muriel, how you can! And your poor father working so hard to make a +pile so that we could all be nice and comfortable. And you were his +favourite, and I've often thought how proud he would have been to see +his little girl so smart and pretty and able to hold her own with the +best of them. And I've worked too. Goodness knows I've worked hard. It +isn't as easy as it looks to keep your end up in Priorsford and keep the +villa-people in their places, and force the County to notice you. If I +had been like Mrs. Jowett you would just have had to be content with the +people on the Hill. Do you suppose I haven't known they didn't want to +come here and visit us? Oh, I knew, but I _made_ them. And it was all +for you. What did I care for them and their daft-like ways and their +uninteresting talk about dogs and books and things! It would have been +far nicer for me to have made friends with the people in the little +villas. My! I've often thought how I would relish a tea-party at the +Watsons'! Your father used to have a saying about it being better to be +at the head of the commonalty than at the tail of the gentry, and I know +it's true. Mrs. Duff-Whalley of The Towers would be a big body at the +Miss Watsons' tea-parties, and I know fine I'm only tolerated at the +Tweedies' and the Olivers' and all the others." + +"Poor Mother! You've been splendid!" + +"If you aren't happy, what does anything matter? I'm fair disheartened, +I tell you. I believe you're right. Money isn't much of a blessing. I've +never said it to you because you seemed so much a part of all the new +life, with your accent and your manners and your little dogs, but over +and over when people snubbed me, and I had to talk loud and brazen +because I felt so ill at ease, I've thought of the old days when I +helped your father in the shop. Those were my happiest days--before the +money came. I had a girl to look after the house and you children, and I +went between the house and the shop, and I never had a dull minute. Then +we came into some money, and that helped your father to extend and +extend. First we had a house in Murrayfield--and, my word, we thought we +were fine. But I aimed at Drumsheugh Gardens, and we got there. Your +father always gave in to me. Eh, he was a hearty man, your father. If +it's true what you say that none of you have charm, though I'm sure I +don't know what you mean by it, it's my blame, for your father was +popular with everyone. He used to laugh at me and my ambition, for, mind +you, I was always ambitious, but his was kindly laughter. Often and +often when I've been sitting all dressed up at some dinner-party, like +to yawn my head off with the dull talk, I've thought of the happy days +when I helped in the shop and did my own washing--eh, I little thought I +would ever live in a house where we never even know when it's washing +day--and went to bed tired and happy, and fell asleep behind your +father's broad back...." + +"Oh, Mother, don't cry. It's beastly of me to discourage you when you've +been the best of mothers to me. I wish I had known my father better, and +I do wish I could remember when we were all happy in the little house. +You've never been so very happy in The Towers, have you, Mother?" + +"No, but I wouldn't leave it for the world. Your father was so proud of +it. 'It's as like a hydro as a private house can be,' he often said, in +such a contented voice. He just liked to walk round and look at all the +contrivances he had planned, all the hot-rails and things in the +bathrooms and cloakrooms, and radiators in every room, and the wonderful +pantries--'tippy,' he called them. He couldn't understand people making +a fuss about old houses, and old furniture, grey walls half tumbling +down and mouldy rooms. He liked the new look of The Towers, and he said +to me, 'Mind, Aggie, I'm not going to let you grow any nonsense like ivy +or creepers up this fine new house. They're all very well for holding +together tumbledown old places, but The Towers doesn't need them. And +I'm sure he would be pleased to-day if he saw it. The times people have +advised me to grow ivy--even Lady Tweedie, the last time she came to +tea--but I never would. It's as new-looking as the day he left it.... +You don't want to leave The Towers, Muriel?" + +"No--o, but--don't you think, Mother, we needn't work quite so hard for +our social existence? I mean, let's be more friendly with the people +round us, and not strive so hard to keep in with the County set. If Miss +Reston can do it, surely we can." + +"But don't you see," her mother said, "Miss Reston can do it just +because she is Miss Reston. If you're a Lord's daughter you can be as +eccentric as you like, and make friends with anyone you choose. If we +did it, they would just say, 'Oh, so they've come off their perch!' and +once we let ourselves down we would never raise ourselves again. I +couldn't do it, Muriel. Don't ask me." + +"No. But we've got to be happier somehow. Climbing is exhausting work." +She stooped and picked up the two small dogs that lay on a cushion +beside her. "Isn't it, Bing? Isn't it, Toutou? You're happy, aren't you? +A warm fire and a cushion and some mutton-chop bones are good enough for +you. Well, we've got all these and we want more.... Mother, perhaps Jean +would tell us the secret of happiness." + +"As if I'd ask her," said Mrs. Duff-Whalley. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + "Marvell, who had both pleasure and success, who must have enjoyed + life if ever man did, ... found his happiness in the garden where he + was."--From an article in _The Times Literary Supplement._ + + +Mrs. M'Cosh remained extremely sceptical about the reality of the +fortune until the lawyer came from London, "yin's errand to see Miss +Jean," as she explained importantly to Miss Bathgate, and he was such an +eminently solid, safe-looking man that her doubts vanished. + +"I wud say he wis an elder in the kirk, if they've onything as +respectable as an elder in England," was her summing up of the lawyer. + +Mr. Dickson (of Dickson, Staines, & Dickson), though a lawyer, was a +human being, and was able to meet Jean with sympathy and understanding +when she tried to explain to him her wishes. + +First of all, she was very anxious to know if Mr. Dickson thought it +quite fair that she should have the money. Was he _quite_ sure that +there were no relations, no one who had a real claim? + +Mr. Dickson explained to her what a singularly lonely, self-sufficing +man Peter Reid had been, a man without friends, almost without +interests--except the piling up of money. + +"I don't say he was unhappy; I believe he was very content, absolutely +absorbed in his game of money-making. But when he couldn't ignore any +longer the fact that there was something wrong with his health, and went +to the specialist and was told to give up work at once, he was +completely bowled over. Life held nothing more for him. I was very sorry +for the poor man ... he had only one thought--to go back to Priorsford, +his boyhood's home." + +"And I didn't know," said Jean, "or we would all have turned out there +and then and sat on our boxes in the middle of the road, or roosted in +the trees like crows, rather than keep him for an hour out of his own +house. He came and asked to see The Rigs and I was afraid he meant to +buy it: it was always our nightmare that the landlord in London would +turn us out.... He looked frail and shabby, and I jumped to the +conclusion that he was poor. Oh, I do wish I had known...." + +"He told me," Mr. Dickson went on, "when he came to see me on his +return, that he had come with the intention of asking the tenants to +leave The Rigs, but that he hadn't the heart to do it when he saw how +attached you were to the place. He added that you had been kind to him. +He was rather gruff and ashamed about his weakness, but I could see that +he had been touched to receive kindness from utter strangers. He was +amused in a sardonic way that you had thought him a poor man and had +yet been kind to him; he had an unhappy notion that in this world +kindness is always bought.... He had no heir, and I think I explained to +you in my letter that he had made up his mind to leave his whole fortune +to the first person who did anything for him without expecting payment. +You turned out to be that person, and I congratulate you, Miss Jardine, +most heartily. I would like to tell you that Mr. Reid planned everything +so that it would be as easy as possible for you, and asked me to come +and see you and explain in person. He seemed very satisfied when all was +in order. I saw him a few days before he died and I thought he looked +better, and told him so. But he only said, 'It's a great load off my +mind to get everything settled, and it's a blessing not to have an heir +longing to step into my shoes, and grudging me a few years longer on the +earth.' Two days later he passed away in his sleep. He was a curious, +hard man, whom few cared about, but at the end there was something +simple and rather pathetic about him. I think he died content." + +"Thank you for telling me about him," Jean said, and there was silence +for a minute. + +"And now may I hear your wishes?" said Mr. Dickson. + +"Can I do just as I like with the money? Well, will you please divide it +into four parts? That will be a quarter for each of us--David, Jock, +Mhor, me." + +Jean spoke as if the fortune was a lump of dough and Mr. Dickson the +baker, but the lawyer did not smile. + +"I understood you had only two brothers?" + +"Yes, David and Jock, but Mhor is an adopted brother. His name's Gervase +Taunton." + +"But--has he any claim on you?" + +Jean's face got pink. "I should think he has. He's _exactly_ like our +own brother." + +"Then you want him to have a full share?" + +"Of course. It's odd how people will assume one is a cad! When Mhor's +mother died (his father had died before) he came to us--his mother +_trusted him_ to us--and people kept saying, 'Why should you take him? +He has no claim on you.' As if Mhor wasn't the best gift we ever got.... +And when you have divided it, I wonder if you would take a tenth off +each share? We were brought up to give a tenth of any money we had to +God. I'm almost sure the boys would give it themselves. I _think_ they +would, but perhaps it would be safer to take it off first and put it +aside." + +Jean looked very straight at the lawyer. "I wouldn't like any of us to +be unjust stewards," she said. + +"No," said the lawyer--"no." + +"And perhaps," Jean went on, "the boys had better not get their shares +until they are twenty-five David could have it now, so far as sense +goes, but it's the responsibility I'm thinking about." + +"I would certainly let them wait until they are twenty-five. Their +shares will accumulate, of course, and be very much larger when they get +them." + +"But I don't want that," said Jean. "I want the interest on the money +to be added to the tenths that are laid away. It's better to give more +than the strict tenth. It's so horrid to be shabby about giving." + +"And what are the 'tenths,' to be used for?" + +"I'll tell you about that later, if I may. I'm not quite sure myself. I +shall have to ask Mr. Macdonald, our minister. He'll know. I'm never +quite certain whether the Bible means the tenth to be given in charity, +or kept entirely for churches and missions.... And I want to buy some +annuities, if you will tell me how to do it. Mrs. M'Cosh, our +servant--perhaps you noticed her when you came in? I want to make her +absolutely secure and comfortable in her old age. I hope she will stay +with us for a long time yet, but it will be nice for her to feel that +she can have a home of her own whenever she likes. And there are others +... but I won't worry you with them just now. It was most awfully kind +of you to come all the way from London to explain things to me, when you +must be very busy." + +"Coming to see you is part of my business," Mr. Dickson explained, "but +it has been a great pleasure too.... By the way, will you use the house +in Prince's Gate or shall we let it?" + +"Oh, do anything you like with it. I shouldn't think we would ever want +to live in London, it's such a noisy, overcrowded place, and there are +always hotels.... I'm quite content with The Rigs. It's such a comfort +to feel that it is our own." + +"It's a charming cottage," Mr. Dickson said, "but won't you want +something roomier? Something more imposing for an heiress?" + +"I hate imposing things," Jean said, very earnestly "I want to go on +just as we were doing, only with no scrimping, and more treats for the +boys. We've only got L350 a year now, and the thought of all this money +dazes me. It doesn't really mean anything to me yet." + +"It will soon. I hope your fortune is going to bring you much happiness, +though I doubt if you will keep much of it to yourself." + +"Oh yes," Jean assured him. "I'm going to buy myself a musquash coat +with a skunk collar. I've always wanted one frightfully. You'll stay and +have luncheon with us, won't you?" + +Mr. Dickson stayed to luncheon, and was treated with great respect by +Jock and Mhor. The latter had a notion that somewhere the lawyer had a +cave in which he kept Jean's fortune, great casks of gold pieces and +trunks of precious stones, and that any lack of manners on his part +might lose Jean her inheritance. He was disappointed to find him dressed +like any ordinary man. He had had a dim hope that he would look like Ali +Baba and wear a turban. + +After Mr. Dickson had finished saying all he had come to say, and had +gone to catch his train, Jean started out to call on her minister. +Pamela met her at the gate. + +"Well, Jean, and whither away? You look very grave. Are you going to +tell the King the sky's falling?" + +"Something of that kind. I'm going to see Mr. Macdonald. I've got +something I want to ask him." + +"I suppose you don't want me to go with you? I love an excuse to go and +see the Macdonalds. Oh, but I have one. Just wait a moment, Jean, while +I run back and fetch something." + +She joined Jean after a short delay, and they walked on together. Jean +explained that she was going to ask Mr. Macdonald's advice how best to +use her money. + +"Has the lawyer been?" Pamela asked, "Do you understand about things?" + +Jean told of Mr. Dickson's visit. + +"It's a fearful lot of money, Pamela. But when it's divided into four, +that's four people to share the responsibility." + +"And what are you going to do with your share?" + +"I'll tell you what I'm not going to do. I'm not going to take a house +and fill it with guests who will be consistently unpleasant, as the +Benefactress did. And I'm not going to build a sort of fairy palace and +commit suicide from the roof like the millionaire in that book _Midas_ +something or other. And I _hope_ I'm not going to lose my imagination +and forget what it feels like to be poor, and send a girl with a small +dress allowance half a dozen muslin handkerchiefs at Christmas." + +"I suppose you know, Jean--I don't want to be discouraging--that you +will get very little gratitude, that the people you try to help will +smarm to your face and blackguard you behind your back? You will be +hurt and disappointed times without number.... You see, my dear, I've +had money for quite a lot of years, and I know." + +Jean nodded. + +They were crossing the wide bridge over Tweed and she stopped and, +leaning her arms on the parapet, gazed up at Peel Tower. + +"Let's look at Peel for a little," she said. "It's been there such a +long time and must have seen so many people trying to do their best and +only succeeding in making mischief. It seems to say, 'Nothing really +matters: you'll all be in the tod's hole in less than a hundred years. I +remain, and the river and the hills.'" + +"Yes," said Pamela, "they are a great comfort, the unchanging +things--these placid round-backed hills, and the river and the grey +town--to us restless mortals.... Look, Jean, I want you to tell me if +you think this miniature is at all like Duncan Macdonald. You remember I +asked you to let me have that snapshot of him that you said was so +characteristic and I sent it to London to a woman I know who does +miniatures well. I thought his mother would like to have it. But you +must tell me if you think it good enough." + +Jean took the miniature and looked at the pictured face, a laughing +boy's face, fresh-coloured, frank, with flaxen hair falling over a broad +brow. + +When, after a minute, she handed it back she assured Pamela that the +likeness was wonderful. + +"She has caught it exactly, that look in his eyes as if he were telling +you it was 'fair time of day' with him. Oh, dear Duncan! It's fair time +of day with him now, I am sure, wherever he is.... He was twenty-two +when he fell three years ago.... You've often heard Mrs. Macdonald speak +of her sons. Duncan was the youngest by a lot of years--the baby. The +others are frighteningly clever, but Duncan was a lamb. They all adored +him, but he wasn't spoiled.... Life was such a joke to Duncan. I can't +even now think of him as dead. He was so full of abounding life one +can't imagine him lying still--quenched. You know that odd little poem: + + "'And Mary's the one that never liked angel stories, + And Mary's the one that's dead....' + +Death and Duncan seem such a long way apart. Many people are so dull and +apathetic that they never seem more than half alive, so they don't leave +much of a gap when they go. But Duncan--The Macdonalds are brave, but I +think living to them is just a matter of getting through now. The end of +the day will mean Duncan. I am glad you thought about getting the +miniature done. You do have such nice thoughts, Pamela." + +The Macdonalds' manse stood on the banks of Tweed, a hundred yards or so +below Peel Tower, a square house of grey stone in a charming garden. + +Mr. Macdonald loved his garden and worked in it diligently. It was his +doctor, he said. When his mind got stale and sermon-writing difficult, +when his head ached and people became a burden, he put on an old coat +and went out to dig, or plant or mow the grass. He grew wonderful +flowers, and in July, when his lupins were at their best, he took a +particular pleasure in enticing people out to see the effect of their +royal blue against the silver of Tweed. + +He had been a minister in Priorsford for close on forty years and had +never had more than L250 of a salary, and on this he and his wife had +brought up four sons who looked, as an old woman in the church said, "as +if they'd aye got their meat." There had always been a spare place at +every meal for any casual guest, and a spare bedroom looking over Tweed +that was seldom empty. And there had been no lowering of the dignity of +a manse. A fresh, wise-like, middle-aged woman opened the door to +visitors, and if you had asked her she would have told you she had been +in service with the Macdonalds since she was fifteen, and Mrs. Macdonald +would have added that she never could have managed without Agnes. + +The sons had worked their way with bursaries and scholarships through +school and college, and now three of them were in positions of trust in +the government of their country. One was in London, two in India--and +Duncan lay in France, that Holy Land of our people. + +It was a nice question his wife used to say before the War (when hearts +were lighter and laughter easier) whether Mr. Macdonald was prouder of +his sons or his flowers, and when, as sometimes happened he had them all +with him in the garden, his cup of content had been full. + +And now it seemed to him that when he was in the garden Duncan was +nearer him. He could see the little figure in a blue jersey marching +along the paths with a wheelbarrow, very important because he was +helping his father. He had called the big clump of azaleas "the burning +bush." ... He had always been a funny little chap. + +And it was in the garden that he had said good-bye to him that last +time. He had been twice wounded, and it was hard to go back again. There +was no novelty about it now, no eagerness or burning zeal, nothing but a +dogged determination to see the thing through. They had stood together +looking over Tweed to the blue ridge of Cademuir and Duncan had broken +the silence with a question: + +"What's the psalm, Father, about the man 'who going forth doth mourn'?" + +And with his eyes fixed on the hills the old minister had repeated: + + "'That man who bearing precious seed + In going forth doth mourn, + He, doubtless, bringing back the sheaves + Rejoicing will return.'" + +And Duncan had nodded his head and said, "That's it. 'Rejoicing will +return.'" And he had taken another long look at Cademuir. + +Many wondered what had kept such a man as John Macdonald all his life in +a small town like Priorsford. He did more good, he said, in a little +place; he would be of no use in a city; but the real reason was he knew +his health would not stand the strain. For many years he had been a +martyr to a particularly painful kind of rheumatism. He never spoke of +it if he could help it, and tried never to let it interfere with his +work, but his eyes had the patient look that suffering brings, and his +face often wore a twisted, humorous smile, as if he were laughing at his +own pain. He was now sixty-four. His sons, so far as they were allowed, +had smoothed the way for their parents, but they could not induce their +father to retire from the ministry. "I'll give up when I begin to feel +myself a nuisance," he would say. "I can still preach and visit my +people, and perhaps God will let me die in harness, with the sound of +Tweed in my ears." + +Mrs. Macdonald was, in Bible words, a "succourer of many." She was a +little stout woman with the merry heart that goes all the way, combined +with heavy-lidded, sad eyes, and a habit of sighing deeply. She affected +to take a sad view of everything, breaking into irrepressible laughter +in the middle of the most pessimistic utterances, for she was able to +see the humorous side of her own gloom. Mrs. Macdonald was a born giver; +everything she possessed she had to share. She was miserable if she had +nothing to bestow on a parting guest, small gifts like a few new-laid +eggs or a pot of home-made jam. + +"You know yourself," she would say, "what a satisfied feeling it gives +you to come away from a place with even the tiniest gift." + +Her popularity was immense. Sad people came to her because she sighed +with them and never tried to cheer them; dull people came to her +because she was never in offensive high spirits or in a boastful +mood--not even when her sons had done something particularly +striking--and happy people came to her, for, though she sighed and +warned them that nothing lasted in this world, her eyes shone with +pleasure, and her interest was so keen that every detail could be told +and discussed and gloated over with the comfortable knowledge that Mrs. +Macdonald would not say to her next visitor that she had been simply +_deaved_ with talk about So-and-so's engagement. + +Mrs. Macdonald believed in speaking her mind--if she had anything +pleasant to say, and she was sometimes rather startling in her frankness +to strangers. "My dear, how pretty you are," she would say to a girl +visitor, or, "Forgive me, but I must tell you I don't think I ever saw a +nicer hat." + +The women in the congregation had no comfort in their new clothes until +Mrs. Macdonald had pronounced on them. A word was enough. Perhaps at the +church door some congregational matter would be discussed; then, at +parting, a quick touch on the arm and--"Most successful bonnet I ever +saw you get," or, "The coat's worth all the money," or, "Everything new, +and you look as young as your daughter." + +Pamela and Jean found the minister and his wife in the garden. Mr. +Macdonald was pacing up and down the path overlooking the river, with +his next Sunday's sermon in his hand, while Mrs. Macdonald raked the +gravel before the front door (she liked the place kept so tidy that her +sons had been wont to say bitterly, as they spent an hour of their +precious Saturdays helping, that she dusted the branches and wiped the +faces of the flowers with a handkerchief) and carried on a conversation +with her husband which was of little profit, as the rake on the stones +dimmed the sense of her words. + +"Wasn't that right, John?" she was saying as her husband came near her. + +"Dear me, woman, how can I tell? I haven't heard a word you've been +saying. Here are callers. I'll get away to my visiting. Why! It's Jean +and Miss Reston--this is very pleasant." + +Mrs. Macdonald waved her hand to her visitors as she hurried away to put +the rake in the shed, reappearing in a moment like a stout little +whirlwind. + +"Come away, my dears. Up to the study, Jean; that's where the fire is +to-day. I'm delighted to see you both. What a blessing Agnes is baking +pancakes It seemed almost a waste, for neither John nor I eat them, but, +you see, they had just been meant for you.... I wouldn't go just now, +John. We'll have an early tea and that will give you a long evening." + +Jean explained that she specially wanted to see Mr. Macdonald. + +"And would you like me to go away?" Mrs. Macdonald asked. "Miss Reston +and I can go to the dining-room." + +"But I want you as much as Mr. Macdonald," said Jean. "It's your advice +I want--about the money, you know." + +Mrs. Macdonald gave a deep sigh. "Ah, money," she said--"the root of all +evil." + +"Not at all, my dear," her husband corrected. "The love of money is the +root of all evil--a very different thing. Money can be a very fine +thing." + +"Oh," said Jean, "that's what I want you to tell me. How can I make this +money a blessing?" + +Mr. Macdonald gave his twisted smile. + +"And am I to answer you in one word, Jean? I fear it's a word too wide +for a mouth of this age's size. You will have to make mistakes and learn +by them and gradually feel your way." + +"The most depressing thing about money," put in his wife, "is that the +Bible should say so definitely that a rich man can hardly get into +heaven. Oh, I know all about a needle's eye being a gate, but I've +always a picture in my own mind of a camel and an ordinary +darning-needle, and anything more hopeless could hardly be imagined." + +Mrs. Macdonald had taken up a half-finished sock, and, as she disposed +of the chances of all the unfortunate owners of wealth, she briskly +turned the heel. Jean knew her hostess too well to be depressed by her, +so she smiled at the minister, who said, "Heaven's gate is too narrow +for a man and his money; that goes without saying, Jean." + +Jean leant forward and said eagerly, "What I really want to know is +about the tenth we are to put away as not being our own. Does it count +if it is given in charity, or ought it to be given to Church things and +missions?" + +"Whatever is given to God will 'count,' as you put it--lighting, where +you can, candles of kindness to cheer and warm and lighten." + +"I see," said Jean. "Of course, there are heaps of things one could +slump money away on, hospitals and institutions and missions, but these +are all so impersonal. I wonder, would it be pushing and _furritsome_, +do you think, if I tried to help ministers a little?--ministers, I mean, +with wives and families and small incomes shut away in country places +and in the poor parts of big towns? It would be such pleasant helping to +me." + +"Now," said Mrs. Macdonald, "that's a really sensible idea, Jean. +There's no manner of doubt that the small salaries of the clergy are a +crying scandal. I don't like ministers to wail in the papers about it, +but the laymen should wail until things are changed. Ministers don't +enter the Church for the loaves and fishes, but the labourer is worthy +of his hire, and they must have enough to live on decently. Living has +doubled. I couldn't manage as things are now, and I'm a good manager, +though I says it as shouldn't.... The fight I've had all my life nobody +will ever know. Now that we have plenty, I can talk about it. I never +hinted it to anybody when we were struggling through; indeed, we washed +our faces and anointed our heads and appeared not unto men to fast! The +clothes and the boots and the butcher's bills! It's pleasant to think of +now, just as it's pleasant to look from the hilltop at the steep road +you've come. The boys sometimes tell me that they are glad we were too +poor to have a nurse, for it meant that they were brought up with their +father and me. We had our meals together, and their father helped them +with their lessons. Indeed, it's only now I realise how happy I was to +have them all under one roof." + +She stopped and sighed, and went on again with a laugh. "I remember one +time a week before the Sustentation Fund was due, I was down to one +six-pence And of course a collector arrived! D'you remember that, +John?... And the boys worked so hard to educate themselves. All except +Duncan. Oh, but I am glad that my little laddie had an easy time--when +it was to be such a short one." + +"He always wanted to be a soldier," Mr. Macdonald said. "You remember, +Anne, when you tried to get him to say he would be a minister? He was +about six then, I think. He said, 'No, it's not a white man's job,' and +then looked at me apologetically afraid that he had hurt my feelings. +When the War came he went 'most jocund, apt, and willingly,' but without +any ill-will in his heart to the Germans. + + "'He left no will but good will + And that to all mankind....'" + +Mrs. Macdonald stared into the fire with tear-blurred eyes and said: "I +sometimes wonder if they died in vain. If this is the new world it's a +far worse one than the old. Class hatred, discontent, wild extravagance +in some places, children starving in others, women mad for pleasure, +and the dead forgotten already except by the mothers--the mothers who +never to their dying day will see a fresh-faced boy without a sword +piercing their hearts and a cry rising to their lips, 'My son! My son!'" + +"It's all true, Anne," said her husband, "but the sacrifice of love and +innocence can never be in vain. Nothing can ever dim that sacrifice. The +country's dead will save the country as they saved it before. Those +young lives have gone in front to light the way for us." + +Mrs. Macdonald took up her sock again with a long sigh. + +"I wish I could comfort myself with thoughts as you can, John, but I +never had any mind. No, Jean, you needn't protest so politely. I'm a +good house-wife and I admit my shortbread is 'extra,' as Duncan used to +say. Duncan was very sorry as a small boy that he had left heaven and +come to stay with us. He used to say with a sigh, 'You see, heaven's +extra.' I don't know where he picked up the expression. But what I was +going to say is that people are so wretchedly provoking. This morning I +was really badly provoked. For one thing, I was very busy doing the +accounts of the Girls' Club (you know I have no head for figures), and +Mrs. Morton strolled in to see me, to cheer me up, she said. Cheer me +up! She maddened me. I haven't been forty years a minister's wife +without learning patience, but it would have done me all the good in the +world to take that woman by her expensive fur coat and walk her rapidly +out of the room. She sat there breathing opulence, and told me how hard +it was for her to live--she, a lone woman with six servants to wait on +her and a car and a chauffeur! 'I am not going to give to this War +Memorial,' she said. 'At this time it seems rather a wasteful +proceeding, and it won't do the men who have fallen any good.' ... I +could have told her that surely it wasn't _waste_ the men were thinking +about when they poured out their youth like wine that she and her like +might live and hug their bank books." + +Mr. Macdonald had moved from his chair in the window, and now stood with +one hand on the mantelshelf looking into the fire. "Do you remember," he +said, "that evening in Bethany when Mary took a box of spikenard, very +costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, so that the odour of the +ointment filled the house? Judas--that same Judas who carried the bag +and was a robber--was much concerned about the waste. He said that the +box might have been sold for three hundred pence and given to the poor. +And Jesus, rebuking him, said, 'The poor always ye have with you, but Me +ye have not always.'" + +He stopped abruptly and went over to his writing-table and made as +though he were arranging papers. Presently he said, "Anne, you've been +here." His tone was accusing. + +"Only writing a post card," said his wife quickly. "I can't have made +much of a mess." She turned to her visitors and explained: "John is a +regular old maid about his writing-table; everything must be so tidy +and unspotted." + +"Well, I can't understand," said her husband, "why anyone so neat handed +as you are should be such a filthy creature with ink. You seem +positively to sling it about." + +"Well," said Mrs. Macdonald, changing the subject "I like your idea of +helping ministers, Jean. I've often thought if I had the means I would +know how to help. A cheque to a minister in a city-charge for a holiday; +a cheque to pay a doctor's bill and ease things a little for a worn-out +wife. You've a great chance, Jean." + +"I know," said Jean, "if you will only tell me how to begin." + +"I'll soon do that," said practical Mrs. Macdonald "I've got several in +my mind this moment that I just ache to give a hand to. But only the +very rich can help. You can't in decency take from people who have only +enough to go on with.... Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll see if Agnes is +getting the tea. I want you to taste my rowan and crab-apple jelly, Miss +Reston, and if you like it you will take some home with you." + + + * * * * * + +As they left the Manse an hour later, laden with gifts, Pamela said to +Jean, "I would rather be Mrs. Macdonald than anyone else I know. She is +a practising Christian. If I had done a day's work such as she has done +I think I would go out of the world pretty well pleased with myself." + +"Yes," Jean agreed. "If life is merely a chance of gaining love she +will come out with high marks. Did you give her the miniature?" + +"Yes, just as we left, when you had walked on to the gate with Mr. +Macdonald. She was so absurdly grateful she made me cry. You would have +thought no one had ever given her a gift before." + +"The world," said Jean, "is divided into two classes, the givers and the +takers. Nothing so touches and pleases and surprises a 'giver' as to +receive a gift. The 'takers' are too busy standing on their hind legs +(like Peter at tea-time) looking wistfully for the next bit of cake to +be very appreciative of the biscuit of the moment." + +"Bless me!" said Pamela, "Jean among the cynics!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + "The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, + Lets in the light through chinks that time has made: + Stronger by weakness wiser men become + As they draw near to their eternal home: + Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view + That stand upon the threshold of the new." + + EDMUND WALLER. + + +One day Pamela walked down to Hopetoun to lunch with Mrs. Hope. Augusta +had gone away on a short visit and Pamela had promised to spend as much +time as possible with her mother. + +"You won't be here much longer," Mrs. Hope had said, "so spend as much +time with me as you can spare, and we'll talk books and quote poetry, +and," she had finished defiantly, "I'll miscall my neighbours if I feel +inclined." + +It was February now, and there was a hint of spring in the air. The sun +was shining as if trying to make up for the days it had missed, the +green shoots were pushing daringly forth, and a mavis in a holly-bush +was chirping loudly and cheerfully. To-morrow they might be plunged back +into winter, the green things nipped and discouraged, the birds +silent--but to-day it was spring. + +Pamela lingered by Tweedside listening to the mavis, looking back at +the bridge spanning the river, the church steeple high against the pale +blue sky, the little town pouring its houses down to the water's edge. +Hopetoun Woods were still bare and brown, but soon the larches would get +their pencils, the beeches would unfurl tiny leaves of living green, and +the celandines begin to poke their yellow heads through the carpet of +last year's leaves. + +Mrs. Hope was sitting close to the window that looked out on the +Hopetoun Woods. The spring sunshine and the notes of the mavis had +brought to her a rush of memories. + + "For what can spring renew + More fiercely for us than the need of you." + +Her knitting lay on her lap, a pile of new books stood on the table +beside her, but her hands were idly folded, and she did not look at the +books, did not even notice the sunshine; her eyes were with her heart, +and that was far away across the black dividing sea in the last +resting-places of her three sons. Wild laddies they had been, never at +rest, never out of mischief, and now--"a' quaitit noo in the grave." + +She turned to greet her visitor with her usual whimsical smile. She had +grown very fond of Pamela; they were absolutely at ease with each other, +and could enjoy talking, or sitting together in silence. + +To-day the conversation was brisk between the two at luncheon. Pamela +had been with Jean to Edinburgh and Glasgow on shopping expeditions, and +Mrs. Hope was keen to hear all about them. + +"I could hardly persuade her to go," Pamela said. "Her argument was, +'Why get clothes from Paris if you can get them in Priorsford?' She only +gave in to please me, but she enjoyed herself mightily. We went first to +Edinburgh--my first visit except just waiting a train." + +"And weren't you charmed? Edinburgh is our own town, and we are +inordinately proud of it. It's full of steep streets and east winds and +high houses, and you can't move a step without treading on a W.S., but +it's a fine place for all that." + +"It's a fairy-tale place to see," Pamela said. "The castle at sunset, +the sudden glimpses of the Forth, Holyrood dreaming in the mist--these +are pictures that will remain with one always. But Glasgow--" + +"I know almost nothing of Glasgow," said Mrs. Hope, "but I like the +people that come from it. They are not so devoured by gentility as our +Edinburgh friends; they are more living, more human...." + +"Are Edinburgh people very refined?" + +"Oh, some of them can hardly see out of their eyes for gentility. I +delight in it myself, though I've never attained to it. I'm told you see +it in its finest flower in the suburbs. A friend of mine was going out +by train to Colinton, and she overheard two girls talking. One said, 'I +was at a dence lest night.' The other, rather condescendingly, replied, +'Oh, really! And who do you dence with out at Colinton?' 'It depends,' +said the first girl. 'Lest night, for instance, I was up to my neck in +advocates.' ... Priorsford's pretty genteel too. You know the really +genteel by the way they say 'Good-bai.' The rest of us who +pride ourselves on not being provincial say--you may have +noticed--'Good-ba--a.'" + +Pamela laughed, and said she had noticed the superior accent of +Priorsford. + +"Jean and I were much interested in the difference between Edinburgh and +Glasgow shops. Not in the things they sell--the shops in both places are +most excellent--but in the manner of selling. The girls in the Edinburgh +shops are nice and obliging--the war-time manner doesn't seem to have +reached shop-assistants in Scotland, luckily--but quite Londonish with +their manners and their 'Moddom.' In Glasgow, they give one such a +feeling of personal interest. You would really think it mattered to them +what you chose. They delighted Jean by remarking as she tried on a hat, +'My, you look a treat in that!' We bought a great deal more than we +needed, for we hadn't the heart to refuse what was brought with such +enthusiasm. 'I don't know what it is about that hat, but it's awful nice +somehow Distinctive, if you know what I mean. I think when you get it +home you'll like it awful well--' Who would refuse a hat after such a +recommendation?" + +"Who indeed! Oh, they're a hearty people. Has Jean got the fur coat she +coveted?" + +"She hasn't. It was a great disappointment, poor child. She was so +excited when she saw them being brought in rich profusion, but when she +tried them on all desire to possess one left her: they became her so +ill. They buried her, somehow. She said herself she looked like 'a mouse +under a divot,' whatever that may be, and they really did make her look +like five out of any six women one meets in the street. Fur coats are +very levelling things. Later on when I get her to London we'll see what +can be done. Jean needs careful dressing to bring out that very real but +elusive beauty of hers. I persuaded her in the meantime to get a soft +cloth coat made with a skunk collar and cuffs.... She was so funny about +under-things. I wanted her to get some sets of _crepe-de-Chine_ things, +but she was adamant. She didn't at all approve of them, and said she +liked under-things that would _boil_. She has always had very dainty +things made by herself; Great-aunt Alison taught her to do beautiful +fine sewing.... Jean is a delightful person to do things with; she +brings such a freshness to everything is never bored, never blase. I was +glad to see her so deeply interested in new clothes. I confess to having +a deep distrust of a woman who is above trying to make herself +attractive. She is an insufferable thing." + +"I quite agree, my dear. A woman deliberately careless of her appearance +is an offence. But, on the other hand, the opposite can be carried too +far. Look at Mrs. Jowett!" + +"Oh, dear Mrs. Jowett, with her lace and her delicate, faded tints; and +her tears of sentiment and her marvellous maids!" + +"A good woman," said Mrs. Hope, "but silly. She fears a draught more +than she does the devil. I'm always reminded of her when I read _Weir of +Hermiston._ She has many points in common with Mrs. Weir--'a dwaibly +body.' Of the two, I really prefer Mrs. Duff-Whalley. _Her_ great +misfortune was being born a woman. With all that energy and perfect +health, that keen brain and the indomitable strain that never knows when +it is beaten, she might have done almost anything. She might have been a +Lipton or a Coats, or even gone out and discovered the South Pole, or +contested Lloyd George's Welsh seat in the Conservative interest. As a +woman she is cribbed and cabined. What she has set herself to do is to +force what she calls 'The County' to recognise her, and marry off her +girl as well as possible. She has accomplished the first part through +sheer perseverance, and I've no doubt she will accomplish the second; +the girl is pretty and well dowered. I have a liking for the woman, +especially if I haven't seen her for a little. There is some bite in her +conversation. Mrs. Jowett is a sweet woman, but to me she is like a +vacuum cleaner. When I've talked to her for ten minutes my head feels +like a cushion that has been cleaned--a sort of empty, yet swollen +feeling. I never can understand how Mr. Jowett has gone through life +with her and kept his reason. But there's no doubt men like sweet, +sentimental women, and I suppose they are restful in a house.... Shall +we have coffee in the drawing-room? It's cosier." + +In the drawing-room they settled down before the fire very contentedly +silent. Pamela idly reached out for a book and read a little here and +there as she sipped her coffee, while her hostess looked into the fire. +The room seemed to dream in the spring sunshine. Generations of Hopes +had lived in it, and each mistress had set her mark on the room. +Beautiful old cabinets stood against the white walls, while beaded +ottomans worked in the early days of Victoria jostled slender +Chippendale chairs and tables. A large comfortable Chesterfield and +down-cushioned arm-chairs gave the comfort moderns ask for. Nothing +looked out of place, for the room with its gracious proportions took all +the incongruities--the family Raeburns, the Queen Anne cabinets, the +miniatures, the Victorian atrocities, the weak water-colour sketches, +the framed photographs of whiskered gentlemen and ladies with bustles, +and made them into one pleasing whole. There is no charm in a room +furnished from showrooms, though it be correct in every detail to the +period chosen. Much more human is the room that is full of things, ugly, +perhaps, in themselves but which link one generation to another. The +ottoman worked so laboriously by a ringleted great-aunt stood with its +ugly mahogany legs beside a Queen Anne chair, over whose faded wool-work +seat a far-off beauty had pricked her dainty fingers--and both of the +workers were Hopes: while by Pamela's side stood a fire-screen stitched +by Augusta, the last of the Hopes. "I wonder," said Mrs. Hope, breaking +the silence, "what has become of Lewis Elliot? I haven't heard from him +since he went away. Do you know where he is just now?" + +Pamela shook her head. + +"Why don't you marry him, Pamela?" + +"For a very good reason--he hasn't asked me." + +"Hoots!" said Mrs. Hope, "as if that mattered!" + +Pamela lifted her eyebrows. "It is generally considered rather +necessary, isn't it?" she asked mildly. + +"You know quite well that he would ask you to-morrow if you gave him the +slightest encouragement The man's afraid of you, that's what's wrong." + +Pamela nodded. + +"Is that why you have remained Pamela Reston? My dear, men are fools, +and blind. And Lewis is modest as well. But ...forgive me blundering. +I've a long tongue, but you would think at my age I might keep it +still." + +"No, I don't mind your knowing. I don't think anyone else ever had a +suspicion of it. And I thought myself I had long since got over it. +Indeed when I came here I was contemplating marrying someone else." + +"Tell me, did you know Lewis was here when you came to Priorsford?" + +"No--I'd completely lost trace of him. I was too proud ever to inquire +after him when he suddenly gave up coming near us. Priorsford suggested +itself to me as a place to come to for a rest, chiefly, I suppose, +because I had heard of it from Lewis, but I had no thought of seeing +him. Indeed, I had no notion that he had still a connection with the +place. And then Jean suddenly said his name. I knew then I hadn't +forgotten; my heart leapt up in the old unreasonable way. I met him--and +thought he cared for Jean." + +"Yes. I used sometimes to wonder why Lewis didn't fall in love with +Jean. Of course he was too old for her, but it would have been quite a +feasible match. Now I know that he cared for you all the time. Oh, I'm +not surprised that he looked at no one else. But that you should have +waited.... There must have been so many suitors...." + +"A few. But some people are born faithful. Anyway, I'm so glad that when +I thought he cared for Jean it made no difference in my feelings to her. +I should have felt so humiliated if I had been petty enough to hate her +for what she couldn't help. My brother Biddy wants to marry Jean, and +I've great hopes that it may work out all right." + +Mrs. Hope sat forward in her chair. + +"I had my suspicions. Jean has changed lately; nothing to take hold of, +but I have felt a difference. It wasn't the money--that's an external +thing--the change was in Jean herself, a certain reticence where there +had been utter frankness; a laugh more frequent, but not quite so gay +and light-hearted. Has he spoken to her?" + +"Yes, but Jean wouldn't hear of it." + +"Dear me! I could have sworn she cared." + +"I think she does, but Jean is proud. What a silly thing pride is! +However, Biddy is very tenacious, and he isn't at all down-hearted about +his rebuff. He's quite sure that Jean and he were meant for each other, +and he has great hopes of convincing Jean. I've never mentioned the +subject to her, she is so tremendously reticent and shy about such +things. I talk about Biddy in a casual way, but if I hadn't known from +Biddy I would have learned from Jean's averted eyes that something had +happened. The child gives herself away every time." + +"This, I suppose, happened before the fortune came. What effect will the +money have, I wonder?" + +"I wonder too," said Pamela. "Now that Jean feels she has something to +give it may make a difference. I wish she would speak to me about it, +but I can't force her confidence." + +"No," said Mrs. Hope. "You can't do that. As you say, Jean is very +reticent. I think I'm rather hurt that she hasn't confided in me. She is +almost like my own.... She was a little child when the news came that +Sandy, my youngest boy, was gone.... I'm reticent too, and I couldn't +mention his name, or speak about my sorrow, and Jean seemed to +understand. She used to garden beside me, and chatter about her baby +affairs, and ask me questions, and I sometimes thought she saved my +reason...." + +Pamela sat silent. It was well known that no one dared mention her sons' +names to Mrs. Hope. Figuratively she removed her shoes from off her +feet, for she felt that it was holy ground. + +Mrs. Hope went on. "I dare say you have heard about--my boys. They all +died within three years, and Augusta and I were left alone. Generally I +get along, but to-day--perhaps because it is the first spring day, and +they were so young and full of promise--it seems as if I must speak +about them. Do you mind?" + +Pamela took the hand that lay on the black silk lap and kissed it. "Ah, +my dear," she said. + +"Archie was my eldest son. His father and I dreamed dreams about him. +They came true, though not in the way we would have chosen. He went into +the Indian Civil Service--the Hopes were always a far-wandering +race--and he gave his life fighting famine in his district.... And Jock +would be nothing but a soldier--_my_ Jock with his warm heart and his +sudden rages and his passion for animals! (Jock Jardine reminds me of +him just a little.) There never was anyone more lovable and he was +killed in a Frontier raid--two in a year. Their father was gone, and for +that I was, thankful; one can bear sorrow oneself, but it is terrible to +see others suffer. Augusta was a rock in a weary land to me; nobody +knows what Augusta is but her mother. We had Sandy, our baby, left, and +we managed to go on. But Sandy was a soldier too, and when the Boer War +broke out, of course he had to go. I knew when I said good-bye to him +that whoever came back it wouldn't be my laddie. He was too +shining-eyed, too much all that was young and innocent and brave to win +through.... Archie and Jock were men, capable, well equipped to fight +the world, but Sandy was our baby--he was only twenty.... Of all the +things the dead possessed it is the thought of their gentleness that +breaks the heart. You can think of their qualities of brain and heart +and be proud, but when you think of their gentleness and their youth you +can only weep and weep. I think our hearts broke--Augusta's and +mine--when Sandy went.... He had been, they told us later, the life of +his company. His spirits never went down. It was early morning, and he +was singing 'Annie Laurie' when the bullet killed him--like a lark shot +down in the sun-rising.... His great friend came to see us when +everything was over. He was a very honest fellow, and couldn't have made +up things to tell us if he had tried. He sat and racked his brains for +details, for he saw that we hungered and thirsted for anything. At last +he said, 'Sandy was a funny fellow. If you left a cake near him he ate +all the currants out of it.' ... My little boy, my little, _little_ boy! +I don't know why I should cry. We had him for twenty years. Stir the +fire, will you, Pamela, and put on a log--I don't like it when it gets +dull. Old people need a blaze even when the sun is outside." + +"You mustn't say you are old," Pamela said, as she threw on a log and +swept the hearth, shading her eyes, smarting with tears, from the blaze. +"You must stay with Augusta for a long time. Think how everyone would +miss you. Priorsford wouldn't be Priorsford without you." + +"Priorsford would never look over its shoulder. Augusta would miss me, +yes, and some of the poor folk, but I've too ill-scrapit a tongue to be +much liked. Sorrow ought to make people more tender, but it made my +tongue bitter. To an unregenerate person with an aching heart like +myself it is a relief to slash out at the people who annoy one by being +too correct, or too consciously virtuous. I admit it's wrong, but there +it is. I've prayed for charity and discretion, but my tongue always runs +away with me. And I really can't be bothered with those people who never +say an ill word of anyone. It makes conversation as savourless as +porridge without salt. One needn't talk scandal. I hate scandal--but +there is no harm in remarking on the queer ways of your neighbours: +anyone who likes can remark on mine. Even when you are old and done and +waiting for the summons it isn't wrong surely to get amusement out of +the other pilgrims--if you can. Do you know your _Pilgrim's Progress_, +Pamela? Do you remember where Christiana and the others reach the Land +of Beulah? It is the end of the journey, and they have nothing to do but +to wait, while the children go into the King's gardens and gather there +sweet flowers.... It is all true. I know, for I have reached the Land of +Beulah. 'How welcome is death,' says Bunyan, 'to them that have nothing +to do but to die.' For the last twenty-five years the way has been +pretty hard. I've stumbled along very lamely, followed my Lord on +crutches like Mr. Fearing, but now the end is in sight and I can be at +ease. All these years I have never been able to read the letters and +diaries of my boys--they tore my very heart--but now I can read them +without tears, and rejoice in having had such sons to give. I used to be +tortured by dreams of them, when I thought I held them and spoke to +them, and woke to weep in agony, but now when they come to me I can wake +and smile, satisfied that very soon they will be mine again. Sorrow is a +wonderful thing. It shatters this old earth, but it makes a new heaven. +I can thank God now for taking my boys. Augusta is a saint and +acquiesced from the first, but I was rebellious. I see that Heaven and +myself had part in my boys; now Heaven has all, and all the better is it +for the boys. I hope God will forgive my bitterness, and all the grief I +have given with words. 'No suffering is for the present joyous +... nevertheless afterwards....' When the Great War broke out and the +terrible casualty lists became longer and longer, and 'with rue our +hearts were laden,' I found some of the 'peaceable fruits' we are +promised. I found I could go without impertinence into the house of +mourning, even when I hardly knew the people, and ask them to let me +share their grief, and I think sometimes I was able to help just a +little." + +"I know how you helped," said Pamela; "the Macdonalds told me. Do you +know, I think I envy you. You have suffered much, but you have loved +much. Your life has meant something. Looking back I've nothing to think +on but social successes that now seem very small and foolish, and years +of dressing and talking and dancing and laughing. My life seems like a +brightly coloured bubble--as light and as useless." + +"Not useless. We need the flowers and the butterflies and the things +that adorn.... I wish Jean would give herself over to pleasure for a +little. Her poor little head is full of schemes--quite practical schemes +they are too, she has a shrewd head--about helping others. I tell her +she will do it all in good time, but I want her to forget the woes of +the world for a little and rejoice in her youth." + +"I know," said Pamela. "I was astonished to find how responsible she +felt for the misery in the world. She is determined to build a heaven in +hell's despair! It reminds one of Saint Theresa setting out holding her +little brother's hand to convert the Moors!... Now I've stayed too long +and tired you, and Augusta will have me assassinated. Thank you, my very +dear lady, for letting me come to see you, and for--telling me about +your sons. Bless you...." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + "For never anything can be amiss + When simpleness and duty tender it." + + _As You Like It_. + + +The lot of the conscientious philanthropist is not an easy one. The kind +but unthinking rich can strew their benefits about, careless of their +effect on the recipients, but the path of the earnest lover of his +fellows is thorny and difficult, and dark with disappointment. + +To Jean in her innocence it had seemed that money was the one thing +necessary to make bright the lives of her poorer neighbours. She +pictured herself as a sort of fairy godmother going from house to house +carrying sunshine and leaving smiles and happiness in her wake. She soon +found that her dreams had been rosy delusions. Far otherwise was the +result of her efforts. + +"It's like something in a fairy-tale," she complained to Pamela. "You +are given a fairy palace, but when you try to go to it mountains of +glass are set before you and you can't reach it. You can't think how +different the people are to me now. The very poor whom I thought I could +help don't treat me any longer like a friend to whom they can tell +their troubles in a friendly way. The poor-spirited ones whine, with an +eye on my pocket, and where I used to get welcoming smiles I now only +get expectant grins. And the high-spirited ones are so afraid that I'll +offer them help that their time is spent in snubbing me and keeping me +in my place." + +"It's no use getting down about it," Pamela told her. "You are only +finding what thousands have found before you, that's it the most +difficult thing in the world to be wisely charitable. You will never +remove mountains. If you can smooth a step here and there for people and +make your small corner of the world as pleasant as possible you do very +well." + +Jean agreed with a sigh. "If I don't finish by doing harm. I have awful +thoughts sometimes about the dire effects money may have on the boys--on +Mhor especially. In any case it will change their lives entirely. It's a +solemnising thought," and she laughed ruefully. + +Jean plodded on her well-doing way, and knocked her head against many +posts, and blundered into pitfalls, and perhaps did more good and earned +more real gratitude than she had any idea of. + +"It doesn't matter if I'm cheated ninety-nine times if I'm some real +help the hundredth time," she told herself. "Puir thing," said the +recipients of her bounty, in kindly tolerance, "she means weel, and it's +a kindness to help her awa' wi' some o' her siller. A' she gies us is +juist like tippence frae you or me." + +One woman, at any rate, blessed Jean in her heart, though her stiff, +ungracious lips could not utter a word of thanks. Mary Abbot lived in a +neat cottage surrounded by a neat garden. She was a dressmaker in a +small way, and had supported her mother till her death. She had been +very happy with her work and her bright, tidy house and her garden and +her friends, but for more than a year a black fear had brooded over her. +Her sight, which was her living, was going. She saw nothing before her +but the workhouse. Death she would have welcomed, but this was shame. +For months she had fought it out, as her eyes grew dimmer, letting no +one know of the anxiety that gnawed at her heart. No one suspected +anything wrong. She was always neatly dressed at church, she always had +her small contribution ready for collectors, her house shone with +rubbing, and as she did not seem to want to take in sewing now, people +thought that she must have made a competency and did not need to work so +hard. + +Jean knew Miss Abbot well by sight. She had sat behind her in church all +the Sundays of her life, and had often admired the tidy appearance of +the dressmaker, and thought that she was an excellent advertisement of +her own wares. Lately she had noticed her thin and ill-coloured, and +Mrs. Macdonald had said one day, "I wonder if Miss Abbot is all right. +She used to be such a help at the sewing meeting, and now she doesn't +come at all, and her excuses are lame. When I go to see her she always +says she is perfectly well, but I am not at ease about her. She's the +sort of woman who would drop before she made a word of complaint...." + +One morning when passing the door Jean saw Miss Abbot polishing her +brass knocker. She stopped to say good morning. + +"Are you keeping well, Miss Abbot? There is so much illness about." + +"I'm in my usual, thank you," said Miss Abbot stiffly. + +"I always admire the flowers in your window," said Jean. "How do you +manage to keep them so fresh looking? Ours get so mangy. May I come in +for a second and look at them?" + +Miss Abbot stood aside and said coldly that Jean might come in if she +liked, but her flowers were nothing extra. + +It was the tidiest of kitchens she entered. Everything shone that could +be made to shine. A hearthrug made by Miss Abbot's mother lay before the +fireplace, in which a mere handful of fire was burning. An arm-chair +with cheerful red cushions stood beside the fire. It was quite +comfortable, but Jean felt a bareness. There were no pots on the +fire--nothing seemed to be cooking for dinner. + +She admired the flowers and got instructions from their owner when to +water and when to refrain from watering, and then, seating herself in a +chair with an assurance she was far from feeling, she proceeded to try +to make Miss Abbot talk. That lady stood bolt upright waiting for her +visitor to go, but Jean, having got a footing, was determined to remain. + +"Are you very busy just now?" she asked. "I was wondering if you could +do some sewing for me? I don't know whether you ever go out by the day?" + +"No," said Miss Abbot. + +"We could bring it you here if you would do it at your leisure." + +"I can't take in any more work just now. I'm sorry." + +"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. Perhaps later on.... I'm keeping you. It's +Saturday morning, and you'll want to get on with your work." + +"Yes." + +There was a silence, and Jean reluctantly rose to go. Miss Abbot had +turned her back and was looking into the fire. + +"Good morning, Miss Abbot. Thank you so much for letting me know about +the flowers." Then she saw that Miss Abbot was crying--crying in a +hopeless, helpless way that made Jean's heart ache. She went to her and +put her hand on her arm. "Won't you tell me what's wrong? Do sit down +here in the arm-chair. I'm sure you're not well." + +Miss Abbot allowed herself to be led to the arm-chair Having once given +way she was finding it no easy matter to regain control of herself. + +"Is it that you aren't well?" Jean asked. "I know it's a wretched +business trying to go on working when one is seedy." + +Miss Abbot shook her head. "It's far worse than that. I have to refuse +work for I can't see to do it. I'm losing my sight and ...and there is +nothing before me but the workhouse." + +Over and over again in the silence of the night she had said those +words to herself: she had seen them written in letters of fire on the +walls of her little room: they had seemed seared into her brain, but she +had never meant to tell a soul, not even the minister, and here she was +telling this slip of a girl. + +Jean gave a cry and caught her hands. "Oh no, no! Never that!" + +"I've no relations," said Miss Abbot. She was quiet now and calm, and +hopeless. "And if I had I couldn't be a burden on them. Nobody wants a +penniless, half-blind woman. I've had to use up all my savings this +winter ...it will just have to be the workhouse." + +"But it shan't be," said Jean. "What's the use of me if I'm not to help? +No. Don't stiffen and look at me like that. I'm not offering you +charity. Perhaps you may have heard that I've been left a lot of +money--in trust. It's your money as much as mine; if it's anybody's it's +God's money. I felt I just couldn't pass your door this morning, and I +spoke to you, though I was frightfully scared--you looked so +stand-offish.... Now listen. All I've got to do is to send your name to +my lawyer--he's in London, and he knows nothing about anybody in +Priorsford, so you needn't worry about him--and he will arrange that you +get a sufficient income all your life. No, it isn't charity. You've +fought hard all your life for others, and it's high time you got a rest. +Everyone should get a rest and a competency when they are sixty. (Not +that you are nearly that, of course.) Some day that happy state of +affairs will be. Now the kettle's almost boiling, and I'm going to make +you a cup of tea. Where's the caddy?" + +There was a spoonful of tea in the caddy, but in the cupboard there was +only the heel of a loaf--no butter, no cheese, no jam. + +"I'm at the end of my tether," Miss Abbot admitted. "And unless I touch +the money laid away for my rent, I haven't a penny in the house." + +"Then," said Jean, "it was high time I turned up." She heated the teapot +and poked the bit of coal into a blaze. "Now here's your tea"--she +reached for her bag that lay on the table--"and here's some money to go +on with. Oh, please don't let's go over it all again. Do, my dear, be +reasonable." + +"I doubt it's charity," said poor Miss Abbot, "but I cannot refuse. +Indeed, I don't seem to take it in.... I've whiles dreamed something +like this, and cried when I wakened. This last year has been something +awful--trying to hide my failing eye-sight and pretending I didn't need +sewing when I was near starving, and always seeing the workhouse before +me. When I got up this morning there seemed to be a high wall in front +of me, and I knew I had come to the end. I thought God had forgotten +me." + +"Not a bit of it," said Jean. "Put away that money like a sensible body, +and I'll write to my lawyer to-day. And the next thing to do is to go +with me to an oculist, for your eyes may not be as bad as you think. +You know, Miss Abbot, you haven't treated your friends well, keeping +them all at arm's length because you were in trouble. Friends do like to +be given the chance of being useful.... Now I'll tell you what to do. +This is a nice fresh day. You go and do some shopping, and be sure and +get something nice for your supper, and fresh butter and marmalade and +things, and then go for a walk along Tweedside and let the wind blow on +you, and then drop in and have a cup of tea and a gossip with one of the +friends you've been neglecting lately, and you see if you don't feel +heaps better.... Remember nobody knows anything about this but you and +me. I shan't even tell Mr. Macdonald.... You will get papers and things +to sign, I expect, from the lawyer, and if you want anything explained +you will come to The Rigs, won't you? Perhaps you would rather I didn't +come here much. Good morning, Miss Abbot," and Jean went away. "For all +the world," as Miss Abbot said to herself, "as if lifting folk from the +miry clay and setting their feet on a rock was all in the day's work." + + * * * * * + +The days slipped away and March came and David was home again; such a +smart David in new clothes and (like Shakespeare's Town Clerk) +"everything handsome about him." + +He immediately began to entice Jean into spending money. It was absurd, +he said, to have no one but Mrs. M'Cosh: a smart housemaid must be got. + +"She would only worry Mrs. M'Cosh," Jean protested "and there isn't +room for another maid, and I hate smart maids anyway. I like to help in +the house myself." + +"But that's so absurd," said David, "with all your money. You should +enjoy life now." + +"Yes," said Jean meekly, "but smart maids wouldn't help me to--quite the +opposite.... And don't you get ideas into your head about smartness, +Davie. The Rigs could never be smart: you must go to The Towers for +that. So long as we live at The Rigs we must be small plain people. And +I hope I shall live here all my life--and so that's that!" + +David, greatly exasperated, bounded from his chair the better to +harangue his sister. + +"Jean, anybody would think you were a hundred to hear you talk! You'll +get nothing out of life except perhaps a text on your tombstone, 'She +hath done what she could,' and that's a dull prospect.... Why aren't you +more like other girls? Why don't you do your hair the new way, all sort +of--oh, I don't know, and wear earrings ... you know you don't dress +smartly." + +"No," said Jean. + +"And you haven't any tricks. I mean you don't try and attract attention +to yourself." + +"No," said Jean. + +"You don't talk like other girls, and you're not keen on the new dances. +I think you like being old-fashioned." + +"I'm afraid I'm a failure as a girl," Jean confessed, "but perhaps I'll +get more charming as I get older. Look at Pamela!" + +"Oh, _Miss Reston_," said David, in the tone that he might have said +"Helen of Troy." ... "But seriously, Jean, I think you are using your +money in a very dull way. You see, you're so dashed _helpful_. What +makes you want to think all the time about slum children?... I think +you'd better present your money all in a lump to the Government as a +drop in the ocean of the National Debt." + +"I'll not give it to the Government," said Jean, "but we may count +ourselves lucky if they don't thieve it from us. I'm at one with Bella +Bathgate when she says, 'I'm no verra sure aboot thae politicians +Liberal _or_ Tory.' I think she fears that any day they may grab +Hillview from her." + +"Anyway," David persisted, "we might have a car. I learned to drive at +Oxford. It would be frightfully useful, you know, a little car." + +"Useful!" laughed Jean. "Have you written any more, Davie?" + +David explained that the term had been a very busy one, and that his +time had been too much occupied for any outside work, and Jean +understood that the stimulus of poverty having been removed David had +fallen into easier ways. And why not--at nineteen? + +"We must think about a car. Do you know all about the different makes? +We mustn't be rash." + +David assured her that he would make all inquiries and went out of the +room whistling blithely. Jean, left alone, sat thinking. Was the money +to be a treasure to her or the reverse? It was fine to give David what +he wanted, to know that Jock and Mhor could have the best of everything, +but their wants would grow and grow; simple tastes and habits were +easily shed, and luxurious ways easily learned. Would the possession of +money spoil the boys? She sighed, and then smiled rather ruefully as she +thought of David and his smart maids and motors and his desire to turn +her into a modern girl. It was very natural and very boyish of him. +"He'll have the face ett off me," said Jean, quoting the Irish R.M.... +Richard Plantagenet hadn't minded her being old-fashioned. + +It was odd how empty her life felt when it ought to feel so rich. She +had the three boys beside her, Pamela was next door, she had all manner +of schemes in hand to keep her thoughts occupied--but there was a great +want somewhere. Jean owned to herself that the blank had been there ever +since Lord Bidborough went away. It was frightfully silly, but there it +was. And probably by this time he had quite forgotten her. It had amused +him to imagine himself in love, something to pass the time in a dull +little town. She knew from books that men had a roving fancy--but even +as she said it to herself her heart rebuked her for disloyalty Richard +Plantagenet's eyes, laughing, full of kindness and honest--oh, honest, +she was sure!--looked into hers. She thrilled again as she seemed to +feel the touch of his hand and heard his voice saying, "Oh, +Penny-plain, are you going to send me away?" Why hadn't he written to +congratulate her on the fortune? He might have done that, surely.... And +Pamela hardly spoke of him. Didn't seem to think Jean would be +interested. Jean, whose heart leapt into her throat at the mere casual +mention of his name. + +Jean looked up quickly, hearing a step on the gravel. It was Pamela +sauntering in, smiling over her shoulder at Mhor, who was swinging on +the gate with Peter by his side. + +"Oh, Pamela, I am glad to see you. David says I am using the money in +such a stuffy way. Do you think I am?" + +"What does David want you to do?" Pamela asked, as she threw off her +coat and knelt before the fire to warm her hands. + + "'To eat your supper in a room + Blazing with lights, four Titians on the wall + And twenty naked girls to change your plate?'" + +Jean laughed. "Something like that, I suppose. Anyway he wants a smart +parlour-maid at once, and a motor-car. Also he wants me to wear +earrings, and talk slang, and wear the newest sort of clothes." + +"Poor Penny-plain, are you going to be forced into being twopence +coloured? But I think you should get another maid; you have too much to +do. And a car would be a great interest to you. Jock and Mhor would love +it too: you could go touring all round in it. You must begin to see the +world now. I think, perhaps, David is right. It is rather stuffy to +stick in the same place (even if that place is Priorsford) when the +whole wide world is waiting to be looked at.... I remember a dear old +cure in Switzerland who, when he retired from his living at the age of +eighty, set off to see the world. He told me he did it because he was +quite sure when he entered heaven's gate the first question God would +put to him would be, 'And what did you think of My world?' and he wanted +to be in a position to answer intelligently.... He was an old dear. When +you come to think of it, it is a little ungrateful of you, Jean, not to +want to taste all the pleasures provided for the inhabitants of this +earth. There is no sense in useless extravagance, but there is a certain +fitness in things. A cottage is a delicious thing, but it is meant for +the lucky people with small means; the big houses have their uses too. +That's why so many rich people have discontented faces. It's because to +them L200 a year and a cottage is 'paradise enow' and they are doomed to +the many mansions and the many servants." + +Jean nodded. "Mrs. M'Cosh often says, 'There's mony a lang gant in a +cairriage,' and I dare say it's true. I don't want to be ungrateful, +Pamela. I think it's about the worst sin one can commit--ingratitude. +And I don't want to be stuffy, either, but I think I was meant for small +ways." + +"Poor Penny-plain! Never mind. I'm not going to preach any more. You +shall do just as you please with your life. I was remembering, Jean, +your desire to go to the Shakespeare Festival at Stratford in April. Why +not motor there? It is a lovely run. I meant to take you myself, but I +expect you would enjoy it much better if you went with the boys. It +would be great fun for you all, and take you away from your +philanthropic efforts and let you see round everything clearly." + +Jean's eyes lit with interest, and Pamela, seeing the light in them, +went on: + +"Everybody should make a pilgrimage in spring: it's the correct thing to +do. Imagine starting on an April morning, through new roads, among +singing birds and cowslips and green new leaves, and stopping at little +inns for the night--lovely, Jean." + +Jean gave a great sigh. + +"Lovely," she echoed. Lovely, indeed, to be away from housekeeping and +poor people and known paths for a little, and into leafy Warwick lanes +and the rich English country which she had never seen. + +"And then," Pamela went on, "you would come back appreciating Priorsford +more than you have ever done. You would come back to Tweed and Peel +Tower and the Hopetoun Woods with a new understanding. There's nothing +so makes you appreciate your home as leaving it.... Bother! That's the +bell. Visitors!" + +It was only one visitor--Lewis Elliot. + +"Cousin Lewis!" cried Jean. "Where in the world have you been? Three +whole months since you went away and never a word from you. You didn't +even write to Mrs. Hope." + +"No," said Lewis; "I was rather busy." He greeted Pamela and sat down. + +"Were you so very busy that you couldn't write so much as a post card? +And I don't believe you know that I'm an heiress?" + +"Yes; I heard that, but only the other day. It was a most unexpected +windfall. I was delighted to hear about it." Jean looked at him and +wondered if he were well. His long holiday did not seem to have improved +his spirits; he was more absent-minded than usual and disappointingly +uninterested. + +"I didn't know you were back in Priorsford," he said, addressing Pamela, +"till I met your brother in London. I called on you just now, and Miss +Bathgate sent me over here." + +"Is Biddy amusing himself well?" Pamela asked. + +"I should think excellently well. I dined with him one night and he +seemed in great spirits. He seemed to be very much in request. He wanted +to take me about a bit, but I've got out of London ways. I don't seem to +know what to talk about to this new generation and I yawn. I'm better at +home at Laverlaw among the sheep." + +Mrs. M'Cosh came in to lay the tea, and Jean said: "You'll have tea +here, Cousin Lewis, though this isn't my visit, and then you can go over +to Hillview with Pamela and pay your visit to her. You mustn't miss the +opportunity of killing two birds with one stone. Besides, Pamela's time +in Priorsford is so short now, you mayn't have another chance of paying +a visit of ceremony." + +"Well, if I may--" + +"Yes, do come. I expect Jean has had enough of me for one day. I've been +lecturing her.... By the way, where are the boys to-day? Mhor was +swinging on the gate as I came in. He told me he was going somewhere, +but his speech was obstructed by a large piece of toffee, and I couldn't +make out what he said." + +"He was waiting for Jock," said Jean. "Did you notice that he was very +clean, and that his hair was sleeked down with brilliantine? They are +invited to bring Peter to tea at the Miss Watsons', and are in great +spirits about it. They generally hate going out to tea, but Jock +discovered recently that the Watsons had a father who was a sea captain. +That fact has thrown such a halo round the two ladies that he can't keep +away from them. They have allowed him to go to the attic and rummage in +the big sea-chests which, he says, are chockful of treasures like +ostrich eggs and lumps of coral and Chinese idols. It seems the Miss +Watsons won't have these treasures downstairs as they don't look genteel +among the 'new art' ornaments admired in Balmoral. All the treasures are +to be on view to-day (Jock has great hopes of persuading the dear ladies +to give him one to bring home, what he calls a 'Chinese scratcher'--it +certainly sounds far from genteel) and a gorgeous spread as well--Jock +confided to me that he thought there might even be sandwiches; and Peter +being invited has filled Mhor's cup of happiness to the brim. So few +people welcome that marauder." + +"I wish I could be there to hear the conversation," said Pamela. "Jock +with his company manners is a joy." + +An hour later Lewis Elliot accompanied Pamela back to Hillview. + +"It's rather absurd," he protested. "I'm afraid I'm inflicting myself on +you, but if you will give me half an hour I shall be grateful." + +"You must tell me about Biddy," Pamela said, as she sat down in her +favourite chair. "Draw up that basket chair, won't you? and be +comfortable. You look as if you were just going to dart away again. Did +Biddy say anything in particular?" + +"He told me to come and see you.... I won't take a chair, thanks. I +would rather stand. ....Pamela, I know it's the most frightful cheek, +but I've cared for you exactly twenty-five years. You never had a notion +of it, I know, and of course I never said anything, for to think of your +marrying a penniless, dreamy sort of idiot was absurd--you who might +have married anybody! I couldn't stay near you loving you as I did, so I +went right out of your life. I don't suppose you ever noticed I had +gone, you had always so many round you waiting for a smile.... I used to +read the lists of engagements in the _Times_, dreading to see your name. +No, that's not the right word, because I loved you well enough to wish +happiness for you whoever brought it. I sometimes heard of you from one +and another, and I never forgot--never for a day. Then my uncle died and +my cousin was killed, and I came back to Priorsford and settled down at +Laverlaw, and was content and quite fairly happy. The War came, and of +course I offered my services. I wasn't much use but, thank goodness, I +got out to France, and got some fighting--a second-lieutenant at forty! +It was the first time I had ever felt myself of some real use.... Then +that finished and I was back at Laverlaw among my sheep--and you came to +Priorsford The moment I saw you I knew that my love for you was as +strong and young as it was twenty years ago...." + +Pamela sat fingering a fan she had taken up to protect her face from the +blaze and looking into the fire. + +"Pamela. Have you nothing to say to me?" + +"Twenty-five years is a long time," Pamela said slowly. "I was fifteen +then and you were twenty. Twenty years ago I was twenty and you were +twenty-five--why didn't you speak then, Lewis? You went away and I +thought you didn't care. Does a man never think how awful it is for a +woman who has to wait without speaking? You thought you were noble to go +away.... I suppose it must have been for some wise reason that the good +God made men blind, but it's hard on the women. You might at least have +given me the chance to say No." + +"I was a coward. But it was unbelievable that you could care. You never +showed me by word or look." + +"Was it likely? I was proud and you were blind, so we missed the best. +We lost our youth and I very nearly lost my soul. After you left, +nothing seemed to matter but enjoying myself as best I could. I hated +the thought of growing old, and I looked at the painted, restless faces +round me and wondered if they were afraid too. Then I thought I would +marry and have more of a reason for living. A man offered himself--a man +with a great position--and I accepted him and it was worse than ever, so +I fled from it all--to Priorsford. I loved it from the first, the little +town and the river and the hills, and Bella Bathgate's grim honesty and +poor cookery! And you came into my life again and I found I couldn't +marry the other man and his position...." + +"Pamela, can you really marry a fool like me? ... It's my fault that +we've missed so much, but thank God we haven't missed everything. I +think I could make you happy. I wouldn't ask you to stay at Laverlaw for +more than a month or two at a time. We would live in London if you +wanted to. I could stick even London if I had you." + +Pamela looked at him with laughter in her eyes. + +"And you couldn't say fairer than that, my dear. No, no, Lewis. If I +marry you we'll live at Laverlaw I love your green glen already; it's a +place after my own heart. We won't trouble London much, but spend our +declining years among the sheep--unless you become suddenly ambitious +for public honours and, as Mrs. Hope desires, enter Parliament." + +"There's no saying what I may do now. Already I feel twice the man I +was." + +They talked in the firelight and Pamela said: "I'm not sure that our +happiness won't be the greater because it has come twenty years late. +Twenty years ago we would have taken it pretty much as a matter of +course. We would have rushed at our happiness and swallowed it whole, so +to speak. Now, with twenty lonely, restless years behind us we shall go +slowly, and taste every moment and be grateful. Years bring their +compensation.... It's a funny world. It's a _nice,_ funny world." + +"I think," said Lewis, "I know something of what Jacob must have felt +after he had served all the years and at last took Rachel by the hand--" + +"'Served' is good," said Pamela in mocking tones. + +But her eyes were tender. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + "It was high spring, and, all the way + Primrosed and hung with shade...." + + HENRY VAUGHAN. + + "There is no private house in which people can enjoy themselves so + well as at a capital tavern.... No, Sir, there is nothing which has + yet been contrived by man by which so much happiness is produced as + by a good tavern or inn."--DR. JOHNSON. + + + +Pamela and David between them carried the day, and a motor-car was +bought. It was not the small useful car talked about at first, but one +which had greatly taken the fancy of the Jardine family in the +showroom--a large landaulette of a well-known make, upholstered in +palest fawn, fitted with every newest device, very sumptuous and very +shiny. + +They described it minutely to Pamela before she went with them to see it +and fix definitely. + +"It runs beautifully," said David. + +"It's about fifty horse-power," said Jock. + +"And, Honourable," said Mhor, "it's got electric light inside, just like +a little house, and all sorts of lovely things--a clock and--" + +"And, I suppose, hot and cold water laid on," said Pamela. + +"The worst thing about it," Jean said, "is that it looks _horribly_ +rich--big and fat and purring--just as if it were saying, 'Out of the +way, groundlings' You know what an insolent look big cars have." + +"Your small deprecating face inside will take away from the effect," +Pamela assured her; "and you need a comfortable car to tour about in. +When do you go exactly?" + +"On the twentieth," Jean told her. "We take David first to Oxford, or +rather he takes us, for he understands maps and can find the road; then +we go on to Stratford. I wrote for rooms as you told me, and for seats +for the plays, and I have heard from the people that we can have both. I +do wish you were coming, Pamela--won't you think better of it?" + +"My dear, I would love it--but it can't be done. I must go to London +this week. If we are to be married on first June there are simply +multitudes of things to arrange. But I'll tell you what, Jean. I shall +come to Stratford for a day or two when you are there. I shouldn't be a +bit surprised if Biddy were there too. If he happened to be in England +in April he always made a pilgrimage to the Shakespeare Festival. +Mintern Abbas isn't very far from Stratford, and Mintern Abbas in spring +is heavenly. _That's_ what we must arrange--a party at Mintern Abbas. +You would like that, wouldn't you, Jock?" + +"Would Richard Plantagenet be there? I would like awfully to see him +again. It's been so dull without him." + +Mhor asked if there were any railways near Mintern Abbas, and was +rather cast down when told that the nearest railway station was seven +miles distant. It amazed him that anyone should, of choice, live away +from railways. The skirl of an engine was sweeter to his ears than horns +of elf-land faintly blowing, and the dream of his life was to be allowed +to live in a small whitewashed shanty which he knew of, on the +railway-side, where he could spend ecstatic days watching every +"passenger" and every "goods" that rushed shrieking, or dawdled +shunting, along the permanent way. To him each different train had its +own features. "I think," he told Jean, "that the nine train is the most +good-natured of the trains; he doesn't care how many carriages and +horse-boxes they stick on to him. The twelve train has always a cross, +snorty look, but the five train"--his voice took the fondling note that +it held for Peter and Barrie, the cat--"that little five train goes much +the fastest; he's the hero of the day!" + +Pamela's engagement to Lewis Elliot had made, what Mrs. M'Cosh called, +"a great speak" in Priorsford. On the whole, it was felt that she had +done well for herself. The Elliots were an old and honoured family, and +the present laird, though shy and retiring, was much liked by his +tenants, and respected by everyone. Pamela had made herself very popular +in Priorsford, and people were pleased that she should remain as lady of +Laverlaw. + +"Ay," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "he's waited lang, but he's waled weel in the +end. He's gotten a braw leddy, and she'll no' be as flighty as a young +yin, for Mr. Elliot likes quiet ways. An' then she has plenty siller, +an' that's a help. A rale sensible marriage!" + +Bella Bathgate agreed. "It'll mak' a big differ at Laverlaw," she said, +"for she's the kind o' body that makes hersel' felt in a hoose. I didna +want her at Hillview wi' a' her trunks and her maid and her fal-lals an' +her fykey ways, but, d'ye ken, I'll miss her something horrid. She was +an awfu' miss in the hoose when she was awa' at Christmas-time; I was +fair kinna lost wi'out her. It'll be rale nice for Maister Elliot havin' +her aye there. It's mebbe a wakeness on ma pairt, but I whiles mak' +messages into the room juist to see her sittin' pittin' stitches into +that embroidery, as they ca' it, an' hear her gie that little lauch o' +hers! She has me fair bewitched. There's a kinna _glawmour_ aboot her. +An' I tell ye I culdna stand her by onything at the first.... I even +think her bonnie noo--an' she's no' that auld. I saw a pictur in a paper +the ither day of a new-mairit couple, an' _baith o' them had the +auld-age pension._" + +Jean looked on rather wistfully at her friend's happiness. She was most +sincerely glad that the wooing--so long delayed--should end like an old +play and Jack have his Jill, but it seemed to add to the empty feeling +in her own heart. Pamela's casual remark about her brother perhaps being +at Stratford had filled her for the moment with wild joy, but hearts +after leaps ache, and she had quickly reminded herself that Richard +Plantagenet had most evidently accepted the refusal as final and would +never be anything more to her than Pamela's brother. It was quite as it +should be, but life in spite of April and a motor-car was, what Mhor +called a minister's life, "a dullsome job." + +That year spring came, not reluctantly, as it often does in the uplands, +but generously, lavishly, scattering buds and leaves and flowers and +lambs, and putting a spirit of youth into everything. The days were as +warm as June, and fresh as only April days can be. The Jardines +anxiously watched the sun-filled days pass, wishing they had arranged to +go earlier, fearful lest they should miss all the good weather. It +seemed impossible that it could go on being so wonderful, but day +followed day in golden succession and there was no sign of a break. + +David spent most of his days at the depot that held the car, there being +no garage at The Rigs, and Jock and Mhor worshipped with him. A +chauffeur had been engaged, one Stark, a Priorsford youth, a steady +young man and an excellent driver. He had never been farther than +Edinburgh. + +The 20th came at last. Jock and Mhor were up at an unearthly hour, +parading the house, banging at Mrs. M'Cosh's door, and imploring her to +rise in case breakfast was late, and thumping the barometer to see if it +showed any inclination to fall. The car was ordered for nine o'clock, +but they were down the road looking for it at least half an hour before +it was due, feverishly anxious in case something had happened either to +it or to Stark. + +The road before The Rigs was quite crowded that April morning. Mrs. +M'Cosh stood at the gate beside the dancing daffodils and the tulips and +the opening wallflowers in the border, her hands folded on her spotless +white apron, her face beaming with its accustomed kind smile, and +watched her family depart. + +"Keep a haud o' Peter, Mhor," she cautioned. "Ye needna come back here +if ye lose him." The safety of the rest of the party did not seem to +concern her. + +Mr. and Mrs. Jowett were there, having breakfasted an hour earlier than +usual, thus risking the wrath of their cherished domestics. Mrs. Jowett +was carrying a large box of chocolates as a parting gift to the boys, +while Mr. Jowett had a bottle of lavender water for Jean. + +Augusta Hope had walked up from Hopetoun with her mother's love to the +travellers, a basket of fruit for the boys, and a book for Jean. + +The little Miss Watsons hopped forth from their dwelling with an +offering of a home-baked cake, "just in case you get hungry on the road, +you know." + +Bella Bathgate was there, looking very saturnine, and counselling Mhor +as to his behaviour. "Dinna lean oot o' the caur. Mony a body has lost +their heid stickin' it oot of a caur. Here's some tea-biscuits for +Peter. You'll be ower prood for onything but curranty-cake, I suppose." + +Mhor assured her he was not, and gratefully accepted the biscuits. +"Isn't it fun Peter's going? I couldn't have gone either if he hadn't +been allowed, but I expect I'll have to hold him in my arms a lot. +He'll want to jump out at dogs." + +And Mr. and Mrs. Macdonald were there--Mrs. Macdonald absolutely weighed +down with gifts. "It's just a trifle for each of you," she explained. +"No, no, don't thank me; it's nothing." + +"I've brought you nothing but my blessing, Jean," the minister said. +"You'll never be better than I wish you." + +"Don't talk as if I were going away for good," said Jean, with a lump in +her throat. "It's only a little holiday." + +"Who can tell?" sighed Mrs. Macdonald. "It's an uncertain world. But +we'll hope that you'll come back to us, Jean. Are you sure you are +warmly clad? Remember it's only April, and the evenings are cold." + +David packed Jean, Jock, and Mhor into the car. Peter was poised on one +of the seats that let down, a cushion under him to protect the pale fawn +cloth from his paws. All the presents found places, the luggage was put +on the top, Stark took his seat, David, his coat pocket bulging with +maps, got in beside him; and amid a chorus of good-byes they were off. + +Jean, looking back rather wistfully at The Rigs, got a last sight of +Mrs. M'Cosh shaking her head dubiously at the departing car. + +One of the best things in life is to start on a spring morning for a +holiday. To Jock and Mhor at least life seemed a very perfect thing as +the car slid down the hill, over Tweed Bridge, over Cuddy Bridge, and +turned sharp to the left up the Old Town. Soon they were out of the +little grey town that looked so clean and fresh with its shining morning +face, and running through the deep woods above Peel Tower. Small +children creeping unwillingly to school stopped to watch them, and Mhor +looked at them pityingly. School seemed a thing so far removed from his +present happy state as not to be worth remembering. Somewhere, +doubtless, unhappy little people were learning the multiplication table, +and struggling with the spelling of uncouth words, but Mhor, sitting in +state in "Wilfred the Gazelle" (for so David had christened the new +car), could only spare them a passing thought. + +He looked at Peter sitting self-consciously virtuous on the seat +opposite, he leaned across Jean to send a glance of profound +satisfaction to Jock, then he raked from his pocket a cake of +butter-scotch and sank back in his seat to crunch in comfort. + +They followed Tweed as it ran by wood and field and hamlet, and as they +reached the moorlands of the upper reaches Jean began to notice that +Wilfred the Gazelle was not running as smoothly as usual. Perhaps it was +imagination, Jean thought, or perhaps it was the effect of having +luggage on the top, but in her inmost heart she knew it was more than +that, and she was not surprised. + +Jean was filled with a deep-seated distrust of motors. She felt that +every motor was just waiting its chance to do its owner harm. She had +started with no real hope of reaching any destination, and expected +nothing less than to spend the night camping inside the car in some +lonely spot. She had all provisions made for such an occurrence. + +Jock said suddenly, "We're not going more than ten miles an hour," and +then the car stopped altogether and David and Stark got down. Jean +leaned out and asked what was wrong, and David said shortly that there +was nothing wrong. + +Presently he and Stark got back into their places and the car was +started again. But it went slowly, haltingly, like a bird with a broken +wing. They made up on a man driving a brown horse in a wagonette--a man +with a brown beard and a cheerful eye--and passed him. + +The car stopped again. + +Again David and Stark got out and stared and poked and consulted +together. Again Jean's head went out, and again she received the same +short and unsatisfactory answer. + +The brown-bearded man and his wagonette made up on them, looked at the +car in an interested way, and passed on. + +Again the car started, passed the wagonette, and went on for about a +mile and stopped. + +Again Jean's head went out. + +"David," she said, "what _is_ the matter?" and it goes far to show how +harassed that polished Oxonian was when he replied, "If you don't take +your face out of that I'll slap it." + +Jean withdrew at once, feeling that she had been tactless and David had +been unnecessarily rude--David who had never been rude to her since they +were children, and had told each other home-truths without heat and +without ill-feeling on either side. If this was to be the effect of +owning a car-- + +"Wilfred the Gazelle's dead," said Mhor, and got out, followed by Jock, +and in a minute or two by Jean. + +They all sat down in the heather by the road-side. + +Dead car nowithstanding, it was delicious sitting there in the spring +sunshine. Tweed was nearing its source and was now only a trickling +burn. A lark was singing high up in the blue. The air was like new wine. +The lambs were very young, for spring comes slowly up that way, and one +tottering little fellow was found by Mhor, and carried rapturously to +Jean. + +"Take it; it's just born," he said. "Jock, hold Peter tight in case he +bites them." + +"Did you ever see anything quite so new?" Jean said as she stroked the +little head, "and yet so independent? Sheep are far before mortals. Its +eyes look so perplexed, Mhor. It's quite strange to the world and +doesn't know what to make of it. That's its mother over there. Take it +to her; she's crying for it." + +David came up and stood looking gloomily at the lamb. Perhaps he envied +it being so young and careless and motor-less. + +"Stark's busy with the car," he announced, rather needlessly, as the +fact was apparent to all. "I'm dashed if I know what's the matter with +the old bus.... Here's that man again...." + +Jean burst into helpless laughter as the wagonette again overtook them. +The driver flourished his whip and the horse broke into a canter--it +looked like derision. + +There was a long silence--then Jean said: + +"If it won't go, it's too big to move. We shall have to train ivy on it +and make it a feature of the landscape." + +"Or else," said David, savagely and irreverently--"or else hew it in +pieces before the Lord." + +Stark got up and straightened himself, wiped his hands and his forehead, +and came up to David. + +"I've found out what's wrong," he said. "She'll manage to Moffat, but +we'll have to get her put right there. It's...." He went into technical +details incomprehensible to Jean. + +They got back into the car and it sprang away as if suddenly endowed +with new life. In a trice they had passed the wagonette, leaving it in a +whirl of scornful dust. They ate the miles as a giant devours sheep. +They passed the Devil's Beef Tub--Jock would have liked to tarry there +and investigate, but Jean dared not ask Stark to stop in case they could +not start again--and soon went sliding down the hill to Moffat. Hot +puffs of scented air rose from the valley, they had left the moorlands +and the winds, and the town was holding out arms to welcome them. They +drove along the sunny, sleepy, midday High Street and stopped at a +hotel. + +Except David, no member of the Jardine family had ever been inside a +hotel, and it was quite an adventure for them to go up the steps from +the street, enter the swinging doors, and ask a polite woman with +elaborately done hair if they might have luncheon. Yes, they might, and +Peter, at present held tightly in Mhor's arms, could be fed in the +kitchen if that would suit. + +Stark had meantime taken the car to a motor-repairing place. + +It was half-past three before the car came swooping up to the hotel +doors. Jean gazed at it with a sort of fearful pride. It looked very +well if only it didn't play them false. Stark, too, looked well--a fine, +impassive figure. + +"Will it be all right, Stark?" she ventured to inquire, but Stark, who +rarely committed himself, merely said, "Mebbe." + +Stark had no manners, Jean reflected, but he had a nice face and was a +teetotaller, and one can't have everything. + +To Mhor's joy the road now ran for a bit by the side of the railway line +where thundered great express trains such as there never were in +Priorsford. They were spinning along the fine level road, making up for +lost time, when a sharp report startled them and made Mhor, who was +watching a train, lose his balance and fall forward on to Peter, who was +taking a sleep on the rug at their feet. + +It was a tyre gone, and there was no time to mend it if they were to be +at Carlisle in time for tea. Stark put on the spare wheel and they +started again. + +Fortune seemed to have got tired of persecuting them, and there were no +further mishaps. They ran without a pause through village after village, +snatching glimpses of lovely places where they would fain have +lingered, forgetting them as each place offered new beauties. + +The great excitement to Jock and Mhor was the crossing of the Border. + +"I did it once," said Mhor, "when I came from India, but I didn't notice +it." + +"Rather not," said Jock; "you were only two. I was four, wasn't I, Jean? +when I came from India, and I didn't notice it." + +"Is there a line across the road?" Mhor asked. "And do the people speak +Scots on one side and English on the other? I suppose we'll go over with +a bump." + +"There's nothing to show," Jock told him, "but there's a difference in +the air. It's warmer in England." + +"It's very uninterested of Peter to go on sleeping," Mhor said in a +disgusted tone. "You would think he would feel there was something +happening. And he's a Scots dog, too." + +The Border was safely crossed, and Jock professed to notice at once a +striking difference in air and landscape. + +"There's an English feel about things now," he insisted, sniffing and +looking all round him; "and I hear the English voices.... Mhor, this is +how the Scots came over to fight the English, only at night and on +horseback--into Carlisle Castle." + +"And I was English," said Mhor dreamily, "and I had a big black horse +and I pranced on the Castle wall and killed everyone that came." + +"You needn't boast about being English," Jock said, looking at Mhor +coldly. "I don't blame you, for you can't help it, but it's a pity." + +Mhor's face got very pink and there was a tremble in his voice, though +he said in a bragging tone, "I'm glad I'm English. The English are as +brave as--as--" + +"Of course they are," said Jean, holding Mhor's hand tight under the +rug. She knew how it hurt him to be, even for a moment, at variance with +Jock, his idol. "Mhor has every right to be proud of being English, +Jock. His father was a soldier and he has ancestors who were great +fighting men. And you know very well that it doesn't matter what side +you belong to so long as you are loyal to that side. You two would have +had some great fights if you had lived a few hundred years ago." + +"Yes," said Mhor. "I'd have killed a great many Scots--but not Jock." + +"Ho," said Jock, "a great many Scots would have killed you first." + +"Well, it's all past," said Jean; "and England and Scotland are one and +fight together now. This is Carlisle. Not much romance about it now, is +there? We're going to the Station Hotel for tea, so you will see the +train, Mhor, old man." + +"Mhor," said Jock, "that's one thing you would have missed if you'd +lived long ago--trains." + +The car had to have a tyre repaired and that took some time, so after +tea the Jardines stood in the station and watched trains for what was, +to Mhor at least, a blissful hour. It was thrilling to stand in the +half-light of the big station and see great trains come in, and the +passengers jump out and tramp about the platform and buy books and +papers from the bookstall, or fruit, or chocolate, or tea and buns from +the boys in uniform, who went about crying their wares. And then the +wild scurrying of the passengers--like hens before a motor, Jock +said--when the flag was waved and the train about to start. Mhor hoped +fervently, and a little unkindly, that at least one might be left +behind, but they all got in, though with some it was the last second of +the eleventh hour. There seemed to be hundreds of porters wheeling +luggage on trolleys, guards walked about looking splendid fellows, and +Mhor's eyes as he beheld them were the eyes of a lover on his mistress. +He could hardly be torn away when David came to say that Stark was +waiting with the car and that they could not hope to get farther than +Penrith that night. + +The dusk was falling and the vesper-bell ringing as they drove into the +town and stopped before a very comfortable-looking inn. + +It was past Mhor's bedtime, and it seemed to that youth a fit ending for +the most exciting day of his whole seven years of life, to sit up and +partake of mutton chops and apple-tart at an hour when he should have +been sound asleep. + +He saw Peter safely away in charge of a sympathetic "boots" before he +and Jock ascended to a bedroom with three small windows in the most +unexpected places, a bright, cheery paper, and two small white beds. + +Next morning the sun peeped in at all the odd-shaped windows on the two +boys sprawled over their beds in the attitudes in which they said they +best enjoyed slumber. + +It was another crystal-clear morning, with mist in the hollows and the +hilltops sharp against the sky. When Stark, taciturn as ever, came to +the door at nine o'clock, he found his party impatiently awaiting him on +the doorstep, eager for another day of new roads and fresh scenes. + +Jean asked him laughingly if Wilfred the Gazelle would live up to its +name this run, but Stark received the pleasantry coldly, having no use +for archness in any form. + +It was wonderful to rush through the morning air still sharp from a +touch of frost in the night, ascending higher and higher into the hills. +Mhor sang to himself in sheer joy of heart, and though no one knew what +were the words he sang, and Jock thought poorly of the tune, Peter +snuggled up to him and seemed to understand and like it. + +The day grew hot and dusty as they ran down from the Lake district, and +they were glad to have their lunch beside a noisy little burn in a green +meadow, from the well-stocked luncheon-basket provided by the Penrith +inn. Then they dipped into the black country, where tall chimneys +belched out smoke, and car-lines ran along the streets, and pale-faced, +hurrying people looked enviously at the big car with its load of youth +and good looks. Everything was grim and dirty and spoiled. Mhor looked +at the grimy place and said solemnly: + +"It reminds me of hell." + +"Haw, haw!" laughed Jock. "When did you see hell last?" + +"In the _Pilgrim's Progress_," said Mhor. + +One of the black towns provided tea in a cafe which purported to be +Japanese, but the only things about it that recalled that sunny island +overseas were the paper napkins, the china, and two fans nailed on the +wall; the linoleum-covered floor, the hard wooden chairs, the fly-blown +buns being peculiarly and bleakly British. + +Before evening the grim country was left behind. In the soft April +twilight they crossed wide moorlands (which Jock was inclined to resent +as being "too Scots to be English") until, as it was beginning to get +dark, they slid softly into Shrewsbury. + +The next day was as fine as ever. "Really," said Jean, as they strolled +before breakfast, watching the shops being opened and studying the old +timbered houses, "it's getting almost absurd: like Father's story of the +soldier who greeted his master every morning in India with 'Another hot +day, sirr.' We thought if we got one good day out of the three we were +to be on the road we wouldn't grumble, and here it goes on and on.... We +must come back to Shrewsbury, Davie. It deserves more than just to be +slept in...." + +"Aren't English breakfasts the best you ever tasted?" David asked as +they sat down to rashers of home-cured ham, corpulent brown sausages, +and eggs poached to a nicety. + +So far David had made an excellent guide. They had never once diverged +from the road they meant to take, but this third day of the run turned +out to be somewhat confused. They started off almost at once on the +wrong road and found themselves riding up a deep green lane into a +farmyard. Out again on the highway David found the number of cross-roads +terribly perplexing. Once he urged Stark to ask directions from a +cottage. Stark did so and leapt back into his seat. + +"Which road do we take?" David asked, as five offered themselves. + +"Didna catch what they said," Stark remarked as he chose a road at +random. + +"Didna catch it," was Stark's favourite response to everything. Later on +they came to the top of a steep hill ornamented by an enormous +warning-post with this alarming notice--"Cyclists dismount. Many +accidents. Some fatal." Stark went on unconcernedly, and Jean shouted at +him, holding desperately to the side of the car, as if her feeble +strength would help the brakes. "Stark! Stark! Didn't you see that +placard?" + +"Didna catch it," said Stark, as he swung light-heartedly down an almost +perpendicular hill into the valley of the Severn. + +"I do think Stark's a fool," said Jean bitterly, wrathful in the +reaction from her fright. "He does no damage on the road, and of course +I'm glad of that. I've seen him stop dead for a hen, and the wayfaring +man, though a fool, is safe from him; but he cares nothing for what +happens to the poor wretched people _inside_ the car. As nearly as +possible he had us over the parapet of that bridge." + +And later, when they found from the bill at lunch-time that Stark's +luncheon had consisted of "one mineral," she thought that the way he had +risked all their lives must have taken away his appetite. + +The car ran splendidly that day--David said it was getting into its +stride--and they got to Oxford for tea and had time to go and see +David's rooms before they left for Stratford. But David would let them +see nothing else. "No," he said; "it would be a shame to hurry over your +first sight. You must come here after Stratford. I'll take rooms for you +at the Mitre. I want to show you Oxford on a May morning." + +It was quite dark when they reached Stratford. To Jean it seemed strange +and delicious thus to enter Shakespeare's own town, the Avon a-glimmer +under the moon, the kingcups and the daisies asleep in the meadows. + +The lights of the Shakespeare Hotel shone cheerily as they came forward. +A "boots" with a wrinkled, whimsical face came out to help them in. +Shaded lights and fires (for the evenings were chilly) made a bright +welcome, and they were led across the stone-paved hall with its oaken +rafters, gate-legged tables, and bowls of spring flowers, up a steep +little staircase hung with old prints of the plays, down winding +passages to the rooms allotted to them. Jean looked eagerly at the name +on her door. + +"Hurrah! I've got 'Rosalind.' I wanted her most of all." + +Jock and Mhor had a room with two beds, rather incongruously called +"Anthony and Cleopatra." Jock was inclined to be affronted, and said it +was a silly-looking thing to put him in a room called after such an +amorous couple. If it had been Touchstone or Mercutio, or even Shylock, +he would not have minded, but the pilgrims of love got scant sympathy +from that sturdy misogynist. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + "It was a lover and his lass, + With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino, + That o'er the green corn-fields did pass, + In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time...." + + _As You Like It_. + + +Next morning Jean's eyes wandered round the dining-room as if looking +for someone, but there was no one she had ever seen before among the +breakfasters at the little round tables in the pretty room with its low +ceiling and black oak beams. To Jean, unused to hotel life and greatly +interested in her kind, it was like a peep into some thrilling book. She +could hardly eat her breakfast for studying the faces of her neighbours +and trying to place them. + +Were they all Shakespeare lovers? she wondered. + +The people at the next table certainly looked as if they might be: a +high-browed, thin-faced clergyman with a sister who was clever (from her +eye-glasses and the way her hair was done, Jean decided she must be very +clever), and a friend with them who looked literary--at least he had a +large pile of letters and a clean-shaven face; and they seemed, all +three, like Lord Lilac, to be "remembering him like anything." + +There were several clergymen in the room; one, rather fat, with a smug +look and a smartly dressed wife, Jean decided must have married an +heiress; another, with very prominent teeth and kind eyes, was +accompanied by an extremely aged mother and two lean sisters. + +One family party attracted Jean very much: a young-looking father and +mother, with two girls, very pretty and newly grown up, and a boy like +Davie. They were making plans for the day, deciding what to see and what +to leave unseen, laughing a great deal, and chaffing each other, parents +and children together. They looked so jolly and happy, as if they had +always found the world a comfortable place. They seemed rather amused to +find themselves at Stratford among the worshippers. Jean concluded that +they were of those "not bad of heart" who "remembered Shakespeare with a +start." + +Jock and Mhor were in the highest spirits. It seemed to them enormous +fun to be staying in a hotel, and not an ordinary square up-and-down +hotel, but a rambling place with little stairs in unexpected places, and +old parts and new parts, and bedrooms owning names, and a long, +low-roofed drawing-room with a window at the far end that opened right +out to the stable-yard through which pleasantries could be exchanged +with grooms and chauffeurs. There was a parlour, too, off the hall--the +cosiest of parlours with cream walls and black oak beams and supports, +two fireplaces round which were grouped inviting arm-chairs, tables with +books and papers, many bowls of daffodils. And all over the house hung +old prints of scenes in the plays; glorious pictures, some of +them--ghosts and murders over which Mhor gloated. + +They went before luncheon to the river and sailed up and down in a small +steam-launch named _The Swan of Avon_. Jean thought privately that the +presence of such things as steam-launches were a blot on Shakespeare's +river, but the boys were delighted with them, and at once began to plan +how one might be got to adorn Tweed. + +In the afternoon they walked over the fields to Shottery to see Anne +Hathaway's cottage. + +Jean walked in a dream. On just such an April day, when shepherds pipe +on oaten straws, Shakespeare himself must have walked here. It would be +different, of course; there would be no streets of little mean houses, +only a few thatched cottages. But the larks would be singing as they +were to-day, and the hawthorn coming out, and the spring flowers abloom +in Anne Hathaway's garden. + +She caught her breath as they went out of the sunshine into the dim +interior of the cottage. + +This ingle-nook ... Shakespeare must have sat here on winter evenings +and talked. Did he tell Anne Hathaway wonderful tales? Perhaps, when he +was not writing and weaving for himself a garment of immortality, he was +just an everyday man, genial with his neighbours, interested in all the +small events of his own town, just Master Shakespeare whom the children +looked up from their play to smile at as he passed. + +"Oh, Jock," Jean said, clutching her brother's sleeve. "Can you really +believe that _he_ sat here?--actually in this little room? Looked out of +the window--isn't it _wonderful_, Jock?" + +Jock, like Mr. Fearing, ever wakeful on the enchanted ground, rolled his +head uncomfortably, sniffed, and said, "It smells musty!" Both he and +Mhor were frankly much more interested in the fact that ginger-beer and +biscuits were to be had in the cottage next door. + +They mooned about all afternoon vastly content, and had tea in the +garden of a sort of enchanted cottage (with a card in the window which +bore the legend, "_We sell home-made lemonade, lavender, and pot-pourri +_"), among apple trees and spring flowers and singing birds, and ate +home-made bread and honey, and cakes with orange icing on them. A girl +in a blue gown, who might have been Sweet Anne Page, waited on them, and +Jean was so distressed at the amount they had eaten and at the smallness +of the bill presented that she slipped an extra large tip under a plate, +and fled before it could be discovered. + +It was a red-letter day for all three, for they were going to the +theatre that night for the first time. Jean had once been at a play with +her father, but it was so long ago as to be the dimmest memory, and she +was as excited as the boys. Their first play was to be _As You Like It_. +Oh, lucky young people to see, for the first time on an April evening, +in Shakespeare's own town, the youngest, gayest play that ever was +written! + +They ran up to their rooms to dress, talking and laughing. They could +not be silent, their hearts were so light. Jean sang softly to herself +as she laid out what she meant to wear that evening. Pamela had made her +promise to wear a white frock, the merest wisp of a frock made of lace +and georgette, with a touch of vivid green, and a wreath of green leaves +for the golden-brown head. Jean had protested. She was afraid she would +look overdressed: a black frock would be more suitable; but Pamela had +insisted and Jean had promised. + +As she looked in the glass she smiled at the picture she made. It was a +pity Pamela couldn't see how successful the frock was, for she had +designed it.... Lord Bidborough had never seen her prettily dressed. Why +did Pamela never mention him? Jean realised the truth of the old saying, +"Speak weel o' ma love, speak ill o' ma love, but aye speak o' him." + +She looked into the boys' room when she was ready and found them only +half dressed and engaged in a game of cock-fighting. Having admonished +them she went down alone. She went very slowly down the last flight of +stairs (she was shy of going into the dining-room)--a slip of a girl +crowned with green leaves. Suddenly she stopped. There, in the hall +watching her, alone but for the "boots" with the wrinkled, humorous face +and eyes of amused tolerance, was Richard Plantagenet. + +Behind her where she stood hung a print of _Lear_--the hovel on the +heath, the storm-bent trees, the figure of the old man, the shivering +Fool with his "Poor Tom's a-cold." Beside her, fastened to the wall, +was a letter-box with a glass front full of letters and picture-cards +waiting to be taken to the evening post. Tragedy and the commonplace +things of life--but Jean, for the moment, was lifted far from either. +She was seeing a new heaven and a new earth. Words were not needed. She +looked into Richard Plantagenet's eyes and knew that he wanted her, and +she put her hands out to him like a trusting child. + + * * * * * + +When Jock and Mhor reached the dining-room and found Richard Plantagenet +seated beside Jean they were rapturous in their greetings, pouring +questions on him, demanding to know how long he meant to stay. + +"As long as you stay," he told them. + +"Oh, good," Jock said. "Are you _fearfully_ keen on Shakespeare? Jean's +something awful. It gives me a sort of hate at him to hear her." + +"Oh, Jock," Jean protested, "surely not. I'm not nearly as bad as some +of the people here. I don't haver quite so much.... I was in the +drawing-room this morning and heard two women talking, an English woman +and an American. The English woman remarked casually that Shakespeare +wasn't a Christian, and the American protested, 'Oh, don't say. He had a +great White Soul.'" + +"Gosh, Maggie!" said Jock. "What a beastly thing to say about anybody! +If Shakespeare could see Stratford now I expect he'd laugh--all the +shops full of little heads, and pictures of his house, and models of his +birthplace ... it's enough to put anybody off being a genius." + +"I was dreadfully snubbed in a shop to-day," said Jean, smiling at her +lover. "It was a very nice mixed-up shop with cakes and crucifixes and +little stucco figures, presided over by a dignified lady with black lace +on her head. I remembered Mrs. Jowett's passion for stucco saints in her +bedroom, and picked one up, remarking that it would be a nice +remembrance of Stratford. 'Oh, surely not, madam,' said the shocked +voice of the shop-lady, 'surely a nobler memory'--and I found _it was a +figure of Christ_." + +"Jean simply rushed out of the shop," said Jock, "and she hadn't paid, +and I had to go in again with the money." + +"See what I've got," Mhor said, producing a parcel from his pocket. He +unwrapped it, revealing a small bust of Shakespeare. + +"It's a wee Shakespeare to send to Mrs. M'Cosh--and I've got a card for +Bella Bathgate--a funny one, a pig. Read it." + +He handed the card to Lord Bidborough, who read aloud the words issuing +from the mouth of the pig: + + "You may push me, + You may shove, + But I never will be druv + From Stratford-on-Avon." + +"Excellent sentiment, Mhor--Miss Bathgate will be pleased." + +"Yes," said Mhor complacently. "I thought she'd like a pig better than +a Shakespeare one. She said she wondered Jean would go and make a fuss +about the place a play-actor was born in. She says she wouldn't read a +word he wrote, and she didn't seem to like the bits I said to her.... +This isn't the first time, Richard Plantagenet, I've sat up for dinner." + +"Isn't it?" + +"No. I did it at Penrith and Shrewsbury and last night here." + +"By Jove, you're a man of the world now, Mhor." + +"It mustn't go on," said Jean, "but once in a while...." + +"And d'you know where I'm going to-night?" Mhor went on. "To a theatre +to see a play. Yes. And I shan't be in bed till at least eleven o'clock. +It's the first time in my life I've ever been outside after ten o'clock, +and I've always wanted to see what it was like then." + +"No different from any other time," Jock told him. But Mhor shook his +head. He knew better. After-ten-o'clock Land _must_ be different.... + +"This is a great night for us all," Jean said. "Our first play. You have +seen it often, I expect. Are you going?" + +"Of course I'm going. I wouldn't miss Jock's face at a play for +anything.... Or yours," he added, leaning towards her. "No, Mhor. +There's no hurry. It doesn't begin for another half-hour ... we'll have +coffee in the other room." + +Mhor was in a fever of impatience, and quite ten minutes before the +hour they were in their seats in the front row of the balcony. Oddly +enough, Lord Bidborough's seat happened to be adjoining the seats taken +by the Jardines, and Jean and he sat together. + +It was a crowded house, for the play was being played by a new company +for the first time that night. Jean sat silent, much too content to +talk, watching the people round her, and listening idly to snatches of +conversation. Two women, evidently inhabitants of the town, were talking +behind her. + +"Yes," one woman was saying; "I said to my sister only to-day, 'What +would we do if there was a sudden alarm in the night?' If we needed a +doctor or a policeman? You know, my dear, the servants are all as old as +we are. I don't really believe there is anyone in our road that can +_run_." + +The other laughed comfortably and agreed, but Jean felt chilled a +little, as if a cloud had obscured for a second the sun of her +happiness. In this gloriously young world of unfolding leaves and +budding hawthorns and lambs and singing birds and lovers, there were +people old and done who could only walk slowly in the sunshine, in whom +the spring could no longer put a spirit of youth, who could not run +without being weary. How ugly age was! Grim, menacing: Age, I do abhor +thee.... + +The curtain went up. + +The youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys, the young Orlando, "a youth +unschooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts +enchantingly beloved," talked to old Adam, and then to his own most +unnatural brother. The scene changed to the lawn before the Duke's +palace. Lord Bidborough bade Jean observe the scenery and dresses. "You +see how simple it is, and vivid, rather like Noah's Ark scenery? And the +dresses are a revolt against the stuffy tradition that made Rosalind a +sort of principal boy.... Those dresses are all copied from old +missals.... I rather like it. Do you approve?" + +Jean was not in a position to judge, but said she certainly approved. + +Rosalind and Celia were saying the words she knew so well. Touchstone +had come in--that witty knave; Monsieur le Beau, with his mouth full of +news; and again, the young Orlando o'er-throwing more than his enemies. + +And now Rosalind and Celia are planning their flight.... It is the +Forest of Arden. Again Orlando and Adam speak together, and Adam, with +all his years brave upon him, assures his master, "My age is as a lusty +winter, frosty but kindly." + +The words came to Jean with a new significance. How Shakespeare _knew_ +... why should she mourn because Age must come? Age was beautiful and +calm, for the seas are quiet when the winds give o'er. Age is done with +passions and discontents and strivings. Probably those women behind her +who had sighed comfortably because nobody in their road could run, whom +she pitied, wouldn't change with her to-night. They had had their life. +It wasn't sad to be old, Jean told herself, for as the physical sight +dims, the soul sees more clearly, and the light from the world to come +illumines the last dark bit of the way.... + +They went out between the acts and walked by the river in the moonlight +and talked of the play. + +Jock and Mhor were loud in their approval, only regretting that +Touchstone couldn't be all the time on the stage. Lord Bidborough asked +Jean if it came up to her expectations. + +"I don't know what I expected.... I never imagined any play could be so +vivid and gay and alive.... I've always loved Rosalind, and I didn't +think any actress could be quite my idea of her, but this girl is. I +thought at first she wasn't nearly pretty enough, but she has the kind +of face that becomes more charming the more you look at it, and she is +so graceful and witty and impertinent." + +"And Rabelaisian," added her companion. "It really is a very good show. +There is a sort of youthful freshness about the acting that is very +engaging. And every part is so competently filled. Jaques is +astonishingly good, don't you think? I never heard the 'seven ages' +speech so well said." + +"It sounded," Jean said, "as if he were saying the words for the first +time, thinking them as he went along." + +"I know what you mean. When the great lines come on it's a temptation to +the actor to draw himself together and clear his throat, and rather +address them to the audience. This fellow leaned against a tree and, as +you say, seemed to be thinking them as he went along. He's an uncommonly +good actor ... I don't know when I enjoyed a show so much." + +The play wore on to its merry conclusion; all too short the Jardines +found it. Jock's wrath at the love-sick shepherd knew no bounds, but he +highly approved of Rosalind because, he said, she had such an impudent +face. + +"Who did you like best, Richard Plantagenet?" Mhor asked as they came +down the steps. + +"Well, I think, perhaps the most worthy character was 'the old religious +man' who converted so opportunely the Duke Frederick." + +"Yes," Jean laughed. "I like that way of getting rid of an objectionable +character and enriching a deserving one. But Jaques went off to throw in +his lot with the converted Duke. I rather grudged that." + +"To-morrow," said Mhor, who was skipping along, very wide awake and +happy in After-ten-o'clock Land--"to-morrow I'm going to take Peter to +the river and let him snowk after water-rats. I think he's feeling +lonely--a Scots dog among so many English people." + +"Stark's lonely too," said Jock. "He says the other chauffeurs have an +awful queer accent and it's all he can do to understand them." + +"Oh, poor Stark!" said Jean. "I don't suppose he would care much to see +the plays." + +"He told me," Jock went on, "that one of the other chauffeurs had asked +him to go with him to a concert called _Macbeth_. When I told him what +it was he said he'd had an escape. He says he sees enough of +Shakespeare in this place without going to hear him. He's at the +Pictures to-night, and there's a circus coming--" + +"And oh, Jean," cried Mhor, "it's the _very one_ that came to +Priorsford!" + +"Take a start, Mhor," said Jock, "and I'll race you back." + +Lord Bidborough and Jean walked on in silence. + +At the garden where once had stood New Place--that "pretty house in +brick and timber"--the shadow of the Norman church lay black on the +white street and beyond it was the velvet darkness of the old trees. + +"This," Jean said softly, "must be almost exactly as it was in +Shakespeare's time. He must have seen the shadow of the tower falling +like that, and the trees, and his garden. Perhaps it was on an April +night like this that he wrote: + + On such a night + Stood Dido with a willow in her hand + Upon the wild sea-banks and waft her lover + To come again to Carthage." + +They had both stopped, and Jean, after a glance at her companion's face, +edged away. He caught her hands and held her there in the shadow. + +"The last time we were together, Jean, it was December, dripping rain +and mud, and you would have none of me. To-night--in such a night, Jean, +I come again to you. I love you. Will you marry me?" + +"Yes," said Jean--"for I am yours." + +For a moment they stood caught up to the seventh heaven, knowing +nothing except that they were together, hearing nothing but the beating +of their own hearts. + +Jean was the first to come to herself. + +"Everyone's gone home. The boys'll think we are lost.... Oh, Biddy, have +I done right? Are you sure you want me? Can I make you happy?" + +"_Can you make me happy_? My blessed child, what a question! Don't you +know that you seem to me almost too dear for my possessing? You are far +too good for me, but I won't give you up now. No, not though all the +King's horses and all the King's men come in array against me. My Jean +... my little Jean." + +Jock's comment on hearing of his sister's engagement was that he did +think Richard Plantagenet was above that sort of thing. Later on, when +he had got more used to the idea, he said that, seeing he had to marry +somebody, it was better to be Jean than anybody else. + +Mhor, like Gallio, cared for none of these things. + +He merely said, "Oh, and will you be married and have a bridescake? What +fun!... You might go with Peter and me to the station and see the London +trains pass. Jock went yesterday and he says he won't go again for three +days. Will you, Jean? Oh, _please_--" + +David, at Oxford, sent his sister a letter which she put away among her +chiefest treasures. Safely in his room, with a pen in his hand, he would +write what he was too shy and awkward to say: he could call down +blessings on his sister in a letter, when face to face with her he would +have been dumb. + +Pamela, on hearing the news, rushed down from London to congratulate +Jean and her Biddy in person. She was looking what Jean called +"fearfully London," and seemed in high spirits. + +"Of course I'm in high spirits," she told Jean. "The very nicest thing +in the world has come to pass. I didn't think there was a girl living +that I could give Biddy to without a grudge till I saw you, and then it +seemed much too good to be true that you should fall in love with each +other." + +"But," said Jean, "how could you want him to marry me, an ordinary girl +in a little provincial town?--he could have married _anybody_." + +"Lots of girls would have married Biddy, but I wanted him to have the +best, and when I found it for him he had the sense to recognise it. +Well, it's all rather like a fairy-tale. And I have Lewis! Jean, you +can't think how different life in London seems now--I can enjoy it +whole-heartedly, fling myself into it in a way I never could before, not +even when I was at my most butterfly stage, because now it isn't my +life, it doesn't really matter, I'm only a stranger within the gates. My +real life is Lewis, and the thought of the green glen and the little +town beside the Tweed." + +"You mean," said Jean, "that you can enjoy all the gaieties tremendously +because they are only an episode; if it was your life-work making a +success of them you would be bored to death." + +"Yes. Before I came to Priorsford they were all I had to live for, and +I got to hate them. When are you two babes in the wood going to be +married? You haven't talked about it yet? Dear me!" + +"You see," Jean said, "there's been such a lot to talk about." + +"Philanthropic schemes, I suppose?" + +Jean started guiltily. + +"I'm afraid not. I'd forgotten about the money." + +"Then I'm sorry I reminded you of it. Let all the schemes alone for a +little, Jean. Biddy will help you when the time comes. I see the two of +you reforming the world, losing all your money, probably, and ending up +at Laverlaw with Lewis and me. I don't want to know what you talked +about, my dear, but whatever it was it has done you both good. Biddy +looks now as he looked before the War, and you have lost your anxious +look, and your curls have got more yellow in them, and your eyes aren't +like moss-agates now; they are almost quite golden. You are infinitely +prettier than you were, Jean, girl.... Now, I'm afraid I must fly back +to London. Jock and Mhor will chaperone you two excellently, and we'll +all meet at Mintern Abbas in the middle of May." + +One sunshine day followed another. Wilfred the Gazelle and the excellent +Stark carried the party on exploring expeditions all over the +countryside. In one delicious village they wandered, after lunch at the +inn, into the little church which stood embowered among blossoming +trees. The old vicar left his garden and offered to show them its +beauties, and Jean fell in love with the simplicity and the feeling of +homeliness that was about it. + +"Biddy," she whispered, "what a delicious church to be married in. You +could hardly help being happy ever after if you were married here." + +Later in the day, when they were alone, he reminded her of her words. + +"Why shouldn't we, Penny-plain? Why shouldn't we? I know you hate a +fussy marriage and dread all the letters and presents and meeting crowds +of people who are strangers to you. Of course, it's frightfully good of +Mrs. Hope to offer to have it at Hopetoun, but that means waiting, and +this is the spring-time, the real 'pretty ring-time.' I would rush up to +London and get a special licence. I don't know how in the world it's +done, but I can find out, and Pam would come, and David, and we'd be +married in the little church among the blossoms. Let's say the +thirtieth. That gives us four days to arrange things...." + +"Four days," said Jean, "to prepare for one's wedding!" + +"But you don't need to prepare. You've got lovely clothes, and we'll go +straight to Mintern Abbas, where it doesn't matter what we wear. I tell +you what, we'll go to London to-morrow and see lawyers and things--do +you realise you haven't even got an engagement ring, you neglected +child? And tell Pam--Mad? Of course, it's mad. It's the way they did in +the Golden World. It's Rosalind and Orlando. Be persuaded, Penny-plain." + +"Priorsford will be horrified," said Jean. "They aren't used to such +indecorous haste, and oh, Biddy, I _couldn't_ be married without Mr. +Macdonald." + +"I was thinking about that. He certainly has the right to be at your +wedding. If I wired to-day, do you think they would come? Mrs. +Macdonald's such a sportsman, I believe she would hustle the minister +and herself off at once." + +"I believe she would," said Jean, "and having them would make all the +difference. It would be almost like having my own father and mother...." + +So it was arranged. They spent a hectic day in London which almost +reduced Jean to idiocy, and got back at night to the peace of Stratford. +Pamela said she would bring everything that was needed, and would arrive +on the evening of the 29th with Lewis and David. The Macdonalds wired +that they were coming, and Lord Bidborough interviewed the vicar of the +little church among the blossoms and explained everything to him. The +vicar was old and wise and tolerant, and he said he would feel honoured +if the Scots minister would officiate with him. He would, he said, be +pleased to arrange things exactly as Jean and her minister wanted them. + +By the 29th they had all assembled. + +Pamela arriving with Lewis Elliot and Mawson and a motor full of +pasteboard boxes found Jean just home from a picnic at Broadway, flushed +with the sun and glowing with health and happiness. + +"Well," said Pamela as she kissed her, "this is a new type of bride. Not +the nerve-shattered, milliner-ridden creature with writer's cramp in +her hand from thanking people for useless presents! You don't look as if +you were worrying at all." + +"I'm not," said Jean. "Why should I? There will be nobody there to +criticise me. There are no preparations to make, so I needn't fuss. +Biddy's right. It's the best way to be married." + +"I needn't ask if you are happy, my Jean girl?" + +Jean flung her arms round Pamela's neck. + +"After having Biddy for my own, the next best thing is having you for a +sister. I owe you more than I can ever repay." + +"Ah, my dear," said Pamela, "the debt is all on my side. You set the +solitary in families...." + +Mhor here entered, shouting that the car was waiting to take them to the +station to meet the Macdonalds, and Jean hurried away. + +An hour later the whole party met round the dinner-table. Mhor had been +allowed to sit up. Other nights he consumed milk and bread and butter +and eggs at 5.30, and went to bed an hour later, leaving Jock to change +his clothes and descend to dinner and the play, an arrangement that +caused a good deal of friction. But to-night all bitterness was +forgotten, and Mhor beamed on everyone. + +Mrs. Macdonald was in great form. She had come away, she told them, +leaving the spring cleaning half done. "All the study chairs in the +garden and Agnes rubbing down the walls, and Allan's men beating the +carpet.... In came the telegram, and after I got over the shock--I +always expect the worst when I see a telegraph boy--I said to John, 'My +best dress is not what it was, but I'm going,' and John was delighted, +partly because he was driven out of his study, and he's never happy in +any other room, but most of all because it was Jean. English Church or +no English Church he'll help to marry Jean. But," turning to the bride +to be, "I can hardly believe it, Jean. It's only ten days since you left +Priorsford, and to-morrow you're to be married. I think it was the War +that taught us such hurried ways...." She sighed, and then went on +briskly: "I went to see Mrs. M'Cosh before I left. She had had your +letter, so I didn't need to break the news to her. She was wonderfully +calm about it, and said that when people went away to England you might +expect to hear anything. She said I was to tell Mhor that the cat was +asking for him. And she is getting on with the cleaning. I think she +said she had finished the dining-room and two bedrooms, and she was +expecting the sweep to-day. She said you would like to know that the man +had come about the leak in the tank, and it's all right. I saw Bella +Bathgate as I was leaving The Rigs. She sent you and Lord Bidborough her +kind regards.... She has a free way of expressing herself, but I don't +think she means to be disrespectful." + +"Has she got lodgers just now?" Pamela asked. + +"Oh yes, she told me about them. One she dismissed as 'an auldish, +impident wumman wi' specs'; and the other as 'terrible genteel.' Both of +them 'a sair come-down frae Miss Reston.' Now you are gone you are on a +pedestal." + +"I wasn't always on a pedestal," said Pamela, "but I shall always have +a tenderness for Bella Bathgate and her parlour." She smiled to Lewis +Elliot as she said it. + +Jean, sitting beside Mr. Macdonald, thanked him for coming. + +"Happy, Jean?" he asked. + +"Utterly happy," said Jean. "So happy that I'm almost afraid. Isn't it +odd how one seems to cower down to avoid drawing the attention of the +Fates to one's happiness, saying, 'It is naught, it is naught,' in case +disaster follows?" + +"Don't worry about the Fates, Jean," Mr. Macdonald advised. "Rejoice in +your happiness, and God grant that the evil days may never come to +you.... What, Jock? Am I going to the play? I never went to a play in my +life and I'm too old to begin." + +"Oh, but, Mr. Macdonald," Jean broke in eagerly, "it isn't like a real +theatre; it's all Shakespeare, and the place is simply black with +clergymen, so you wouldn't feel out of place. You know you taught me +first to care for Shakespeare, and I'd love to sit beside you and see a +play acted." + +Mr. Macdonald shook his head at her. + +"Are you tempting your old minister, Jean? I've lived for sixty-five +years without seeing a play, and I think I can go on to the end. It's +not that it's wrong or that I think myself more virtuous than the rest +of the world because I stay away. It's prejudice if you like, +intolerance perhaps, narrowness, bigotry--" + +"Well, I think you and Mrs. Macdonald are better to rest this evening +after your journey," Pamela said. + +"Wouldn't you rather we stayed at home with you?" Jean asked. "We're +only going to the play for something to do. We thought Davie would like +it." + +"It's _Romeo and Juliet_," Jock broke in. "A silly love play, but +there's a fine scene at the end where they all get killed. If you're +sleeping, Mhor, I'll wake you up for that." + +"I would like to stay with you," Jean said to Mrs. Macdonald. + +"Never in the world. Off you go to your play, and John and I will go +early to bed and be fresh for to-morrow. When is the wedding?" + +"At twelve o'clock in the church at Little St. Mary's," Lord Bidborough +told her. "It's about ten miles from Stratford. I'm staying at the inn +there to-night, and I trust you to see that they are all off to-morrow +in good time." He turned to Mr. Macdonald. "It's most extraordinarily +kind, sir, of you both to come. I knew Jean would never feel herself +properly married if you were not there. And we wondered, Mrs. Macdonald, +if you and your husband would add to your kindness by staying on here +for a few days with the boys? You would see the country round, and then +you would motor down with them and join us at Mintern Abbas for another +week. D'you think you can spare the time? Jean would like you to see her +in her own house, and I needn't say how honoured I would feel." + +"Bless me," said Mrs. Macdonald. "That would mean a whole fortnight +away from Priorsford. You could arrange about the preaching, John, but +what about the spring cleaning? Agnes is a good creature, but I'm never +sure that she scrubs behind the shutters; they're the old-fashioned +kind, and need a lot of cleaning. However," with a deep sigh, "it's very +kind of you to ask us, and at our age we won't have many more +opportunities of having a holiday together, so perhaps we should seize +this one. Dear me, Jean, I don't understand how you can look so bright +so near your wedding. I cried and cried at mine. Have you not a qualm?" + +Jean shook her head and laughed, and Mr. Macdonald said: + +"Off with you all to your play. It's an odd thing to choose to go to +to-night-- + + "'For never was there such a tale of woe + As this of Juliet and her Romeo.'" + +Mrs. Macdonald shook her head and sighed. + +"I can't help thinking it's a poor preparation for a serious thing like +marriage. I often don't feel so depressed at a funeral. There at least +you know you've come to the end--nothing more can happen." Then her eyes +twinkled and they left her laughing. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + "'My lord, you nod: you do not mind the play.' + "'Yes, by Saint Anne, do I.... Madam lady.... _Would 'twere done_!'" + + _The Taming of the Shrew._ + + +Jean awoke early on her wedding morning and lay and thought over the +twenty-three years of her life, and wondered what she had done to be so +blessed, for, looking back, it seemed one long succession of sunny days. +The dark spots seemed so inconsiderable looking back as to be hardly +worth thinking about. + +Her window faced the east, and the morning sun shone in, promising yet +another fine day. Through the wall she could hear Mhor, who always woke +early, busy at some game--possibly wigwams with the blankets and +sheets--already the chamber-maid had complained of finding the sheets +knotted round the bed-posts. He was singing a song to himself as he +played. Jean could hear his voice crooning. The sound filled her with an +immense tenderness. Little Mhor with his naughtiness and his endearing +ways! And beloved Jock with his gruff voice and surprised blue eyes, so +tender hearted, so easily affronted. And David--the dear companion of +her childhood who had shared with her all the pleasures and penalties +of life under the iron rule of Great-aunt Alison, who understood as no +one else could ever quite understand, not even Biddy.... But as she +thought of Biddy, she sprang out of bed, and leaning out of the window +she turned her face to Little St. Mary's, where her love was, and where +presently she would join him. + +Five hours later she would stand with him in the church among the +blossoms, and they would be made man and wife, joined together till +death did them part. Jean folded her hands on the window-sill She felt +solemn and quiet and very happy. She had not had much time for thinking +in the last few days, and she was glad of this quiet hour. It was good +on her wedding morning to tell over in her mind, like beads on a rosary, +the excellent qualities of her dear love. Could there be another such in +the wide world? Pamela was happy with Lewis Elliot, and Lewis was kind +and good and in every way delightful, but compared with Richard +Plantagenet--In this pedestrian world her Biddy had something of the old +cavalier grace. Also, he had more than a streak of Ariel. Would he be +content always to be settled at home? He thought so now, but--Anyway, +she wouldn't try to bind him down, to keep him to domesticity, making an +eagle into a barndoor fowl; she would go with him where she could go, +and where she would be a burden she would send him alone and keep a high +heart, till she could welcome him home. + +But it was high time that she had her bath and dressed. It would be a +morning of dressing, for about 10.30 she would have to dress again for +her wedding. The obvious course was to breakfast in bed, but Jean had +rejected the idea as "stuffy." To waste the last morning of April in bed +with crumbs of toast and a tray was unthinkable, and by 9.30 Jean was at +the station giving Mhor an hour with his beloved locomotors. + +"You will like to come to Mintern Abbas, won't you, Mhor?" she said. + +Mhor considered. + +"I would have liked it better," he confessed, "if there had been a +railway line quite near. It was silly of whoever built it to put it so +far away." + +"When Mintern Abbas was built railways hadn't been invented." + +"I'm glad I wasn't invented before railways," said Mhor. "I would have +been very dull." + +"You'll have a pony at Mintern Abbas. Won't that be nice?" + +"Yes. Oh! there's the signal down at last. That'll be the express to +London. I can hear the roar of it already." + +Pamela's idea of a wedding garment for Jean was a soft white cloth coat +and skirt, and a close-fitting hat with Mercury wings. Everything was +simple, but everything was exquisitely fresh and dainty. + +Pamela dressed her, Mrs. Macdonald looking on, and Mawson fluttering +about, admiring but incompetent. + + "'Something old and something new, + Something borrowed and something blue,'" + +Mrs. Macdonald quoted. "Have you got them all, Jean?" + +"I think so. I've got a lace handkerchief that was my mother's--that's +old. And blue ribbon in my under-things. And I've borrowed Pamela's +prayer-book, for I haven't one of my own. And all the rest of me's new." + +"And the sun is shining," said Pamela, "so you're fortified against +ill-luck." + +"I hope so," said Jean gravely. "I must see if Mhor has washed his face +this morning. I didn't notice at breakfast, and he's such an odd child, +he'll wash every bit of himself and neglect his face. Perhaps you'll +remember to look, Mrs. Macdonald, when you are with him here." + +Mrs. Macdonald smiled at Jean's maternal tone. + +"I've brought up four boys," she said, "so I ought to know something of +their ways. It will be like old times to have Jock and Mhor to look +after." + +Mhor went in the car with Jean and Pamela and Mrs. Macdonald. The others +had gone on in Lord Bidborough's car, as Mr. Macdonald wanted to see the +vicar before the service. The vicar had asked Jean about the music, +saying that the village schoolmistress who was also the organist, was +willing to play. "I don't much like 'The Voice that breathed o'er +Eden,'" Jean told him, "but anything else would be very nice. It is so +very kind of her to play." + +Mhor mourned all the way to church about Peter being left behind. +"There's poor Peter who is so fond of marriages--he goes to them all in +Priorsford--tied up in the yard; and he knows how to behave in a +church." + +"It's a good deal more than you do," Mrs. Macdonald told him. "You're +never still for one moment. I know of at least one person who has had to +change his seat because of you. He said he got no good of the sermon +watching you bobbing about." + +"It's because I don't care about sermons," Mhor replied, and relapsed +into dignified silence--a silence sweetened by a large chocolate poked +at him by Jean. + +They walked through the churchyard with its quiet sleepers, into the +cool church where David was waiting to give his sister away. Some of the +village women, with little girls in clean pinafores clinging to their +skirts, came shyly in after them and sat down at the door. Lord +Bidborough, waiting for his bride, saw her come through the doorway +winged like Mercury, smiling back at the children following ... then her +eyes met his. + +The first thing that Jean became aware of was that Mr. Macdonald was +reading her own chapter. + +"The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them: and the +desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose.... + +"And an highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called The +Way of Holiness: the unclean shall not pass over it: but it shall be for +those: the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein.... + +"No lion shall be there, nor any ravenous beast shall go up thereon, it +shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. + +"And the ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion with songs +and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and +gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away." + +The schoolmistress had played the wedding march from _Lohengrin_, and +was prepared to play Mendelssohn as the party left the church, but when +the service was over Mrs. Macdonald whispered fiercely in Jean's ear, +"You _can't_ be married without 'O God of Bethel,'" and ousting the +schoolmistress from her place at the organ she struck the opening notes. + +They knew it by heart--Jean and Davie and Jock and Mhor and Lewis +Elliot--and they sang it with the unction with which one sings the songs +of Zion by Babylon's streams. + + "Through each perplexing path of life + Our wandering footsteps guide; + Give us each day our daily bread, + And raiment fit provide. + + O spread Thy covering wings around + Till all our wanderings cease, + And at our Father's loved abode + Our souls arrive in peace." + +Out in the sunshine, among the blossoms, Jean stood with her husband and +was kissed and blessed. + +"Jean, Lady Bidborough," said Pamela. + +"Gosh, Maggie!" said Jock, "I quite forgot Jean would be Lady +Bidborough. What a joke!" + +"She doesn't look any different," Mhor complained. + +"Surely you don't want her different," Mrs. Macdonald said. + +"Not _very_ different," said Mhor, "but she's pretty small for a +Lady--not nearly as tall as Richard Plantagenet." + +"As high as my heart," said Lord Bidborough. "The correct height, Mhor." + +The vicar lunched with them at the inn. There were no speeches, and no +one tried to be funny. + +Jock rebuked Jean for eating too much. "It's not manners for a bride to +have more than one help." + +"It's odd," said Jean, "but the last time I was married the same thing +happened. D'you remember Davie? You were the minister and I was the +bride, and I had my pinafore buttoned down the front to look grown up, +and Tommy Sprott was the bridegroom. And Great-aunt Alison let us have a +cake and some shortbread, and we made strawberry wine ourselves. And at +the wedding-feast Tommy Sprott suddenly pointed at me and said, 'Put +that girl out; she's eating all the shortbread.' Me--his new-made +bride!" + + * * * * * + +The whole village turned out to see the newly-married couple leave, +including the blacksmith and three dogs. It hurt Mhor afresh to see the +dogs barking happily while Peter, who would so have enjoyed a fight with +them, was spending a boring day in the stable-yard, but Jean comforted +him with the thought of Peter's delight at Mintern Abbas. + +"Will Richard Plantagenet mind if he chases rabbits?" + +"You won't, will you, Biddy?" Jean said. + +"Not a bit. If you'll stand between me and the wrath of the keepers +Peter may do any mortal thing he likes." + +As they drove away through the golden afternoon Jean said: "I've always +wondered what people talked about when they went away on their wedding +journey?" + +"They don't talk: they just look into each other's eyes in a sort of +ecstasy, saying, 'Is it I? Is it thou?'" + +"That would be pretty silly," said Jean. "We shan't do that anyway." + +Her husband laughed. + +"You are really very like Jock, my Jean.... D'you remember what your +admired Dr. Johnson said? 'If I had no duties I would spend my life in +driving briskly in a post-chaise with a pretty woman, but she should be +one who could understand me and would add something to the +conversation.' Wise old man! Tell me, Penny-plain, you're not fretting +about leaving the boys? You'll see them again in a few days. Are you +dreading having me undiluted?" + +"My dear, you don't suppose the boys come first now, do you? I love them +as dearly as ever I did, but compared with you--it's so different, +absolutely different--I can't explain. I don't love you like people in +books, all on fire, and saying wonderful things all the time. But to be +with you fills me with utter content. I told you that night in Hopetoun +that the boys filled my life. And then you went away, and I found that +though I had the boys my life and my heart were empty. You are my life, +Biddy." + +"My blessed child." + + * * * * * + +About four o'clock they came home. + +An upland country of pastures and shallow dales fell quietly to the +river levels, and on a low spur that was its last outpost stood Mintern +Abbas, a thing half of the hills and half of the broad valleys. At its +back, beyond the home-woods, was a remote land of sheep walks and +forgotten hamlets; at its feet the young Thames in lazy reaches wound +through water-meadows. Down the slopes of old pasture fell cascades of +daffodils, and in the fringes of the coppices lay the blue haze of wild +hyacinths. The house was so wholly in tune with the landscape that the +eye did not at once detect it, for its gables might have been part of +wood or hillside. It was of stone, and built in many periods and in many +styles which time had subtly blended so that it seemed a perfect thing +without beginning, as long descended as the folds of downs which +sheltered it. The austere Tudor front, the Restoration wing, the offices +built under Queen Anne, the library added in the days of the Georges, +had by some alchemy become one. Peace and long memories were in every +line of it, and that air of a home which belongs only to places that +have been loved for generations. It breathed ease and comfort, but yet +had a tonic vigour in it, for while it stood knee-deep in the green +valley its head was fanned by moorland winds. + +Jean held her breath as she saw it. It seemed to her the most perfect +thing that could be imagined. + +She walked in shyly, winged like Mercury, to be greeted respectfully by +a row of servants. Jean shook hands with each one, smiling at them with +her "doggy" eyes, wishing all the time for Mrs. M'Cosh, who was not +specially respectful, but always homely and humorous. + +Tea was ready in a small panelled room with a view of the lawns and the +river. + +"I asked them to put it here," Lord Bidborough said. "I thought you +might like to have this for your own sitting-room. It's just a little +like the room at The Rigs." + +"Oh, Biddy, it is. I saw it when I came in. May I really have it for my +own? It feels as if people had been happy in it. It has a welcoming air. +And what a gorgeous tea!" She sat down at the table and pulled off her +gloves. "Isn't life frightfully well arranged? Every day is so full of +so many different things, and meals are such a comfort. No, I'm not +greedy, but what I mean is that it would be just a little 'stawsome' if +you had nothing to do but _love_ all the time." + +"I'm Scots, partly, but I'm not so Scots as all that. What does +'stawsome' mean exactly?" + +"It means," Jean began, and hesitated--"I'm afraid it means--sickening." + +Her husband laughed as he sat down beside her. + +"I'm willing to believe that you mean to be more complimentary than you +sound. I'm very certain you would never let love-making become +'stawsome.' ... There are hot things in that dish--or would you rather +have a sandwich? This is the first time we've ever had tea alone, Jean." + +"I know. Isn't it heavenly to think that we shall be together now all +the rest of our lives? Biddy, I was thinking ... if--if ever we have a +son I should like to call him Peter Reid. Would you mind?" + +"My darling!" + +"It wouldn't go very well with the Quintins and the Reginalds and all +the other names, but it would be a sort of Thank you to the poor rich +man who was so kind to me." + +"All the same, I sometimes wish he hadn't left you all that money. I +would rather have given you everything myself." + +"Like King Cophetua. I've no doubt it was all right for him, but it +can't have been much fun for the beggar maid. No matter how kind and +generous a man is, to be dependent on him for every penny can't be nice. +It's different, I think, when the man is poor. Then they both work, the +man earning, the woman saving and contriving.... But what's the good of +talking about money? Money only matters when you haven't got any." + +"O wise young Judge!" + +"No, it's really quite a wise statement when you think of it.... Let's +go outside. I want to see the river near." She turned while going out at +the door and looked with great satisfaction on the room that was to be +her own. + +"I _am_ glad of this room, Biddy. It has such a kind feeling. The other +rooms are lovely, but they are meant for crowds of people. This says +tea, and a fire and a book and a friend--the four nicest things in the +world." + +They walked slowly down to the river. + +"Swans!" said Jean, "and a boat!" + +"In Shelley's dreams of Heaven there are always a river and a boat--I +read that somewhere.... Well, what do you think of Mintern Abbas? Did I +overpraise?" + +Jean shook her head. + +"That wouldn't be easy. It's the most wonderful place ... like a dream. +Look at it now in the afternoon light, pale gold like honey. And the odd +thing is it's in the very heart of England, and yet it might almost be +Scotland." + +"I thought that would appeal to you. Will you learn to love it, do you +think?" + +"I shan't have to learn. I love it already." + +"And feel it home?" + +"Yes ... but, Biddy, there's just one thing. I shall love our home with +all my heart and be absolutely content here if you promise me one +thing--that when I die I'll be taken to Priorsford.... I know it's +nonsense. I know it doesn't matter where the pickle dust that was me +lies, but I don't think I could be quite happy if I didn't know that +one day I should lie within sound of Tweed.... You're laughing, Biddy." + +"My darling, like you I've sometimes wondered what people talked about +on their honeymoon, but never in my wildest imaginings did I dream that +they talked of where they would like to be buried." + +Jean hid an abashed face for a moment against her husband's sleeve; then +she looked up at him and laughed. + +"It sounds mad--but I mean it," she said. + +"It's all the fault of your Great-aunt Alison. Tell me, Jean, girl--no, +I'm not laughing--how will this day look from your death-bed?" + +Jean looked at the river, then she looked into her husband's eyes, and +put both her hands into his. + +"Ah, my dear love," she said softly, "if that day leaves me any +remembrance of what I feel to-day, I'll be so glad to have lived that +I'll go out of the world cheering." + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Penny Plain, by Anna Buchan (writing as O. 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