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diff --git a/23152-8.txt b/23152-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef9a508 --- /dev/null +++ b/23152-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8653 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The McBrides, by John Sillars + + +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: The McBrides + A Romance of Arran + + +Author: John Sillars + + + +Release Date: October 22, 2007 [eBook #23152] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MCBRIDES*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +THE McBRIDES + +A Romance of Arran + +by + +JOHN SILLARS + +Fifth Impression + + + + + + + +The Ryerson Press, Toronto +William Blackwood and Sons +Edinburgh and London +1922 + + + + +TO + +_MY MOTHER_ + + + + + LIST OF GAELIC NAMES AND EXPRESSIONS. + + Crotal, lichen. + "A traill," you sluggard. + Cleiteadh mor, big ridge of rocks. + Bothanairidh, summer sheiling. + Birrican, a place name. + Rhuda ban, white headland. + Bealach an sgadan, Herring slap. + Skein dubh, black knife. + Crubach, lame. + Mo ghaoil, my darling. + Direach sin, (just that), (now do you see). + Lag 'a bheithe, hollow of the birch. + Mo bhallach, my boy. + Ceilidh, visit (meeting of friends); ceilidhing; ceilidher. + Cha neil, negative, no. + Mo leanabh, my child. + Cailleachs, old women. + Og, young. + Mhari nic Cloidh, Mary Fullarton. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +PART I. + +CHAP. + + I. WHICH TELLS OF THE COMING OF THE GIPSY + II. MAKES SOME MENTION OF ONE JOCK McGILP, AND TELLS HOW BELLE + BROUGHT THE WEAN IN THE TARTAN SHAWL INTO THE HOUSE OF NOURN + III. IN WHICH I CHASE DEER AND SEE STRANGE HORSEMEN ON THE HILL, + AND A LIGHT FLASHING ON THE SEA + IV. I MEET JOCK McGILP AND HIS MATE McNEILAGE AT THE TUBS' INN, + AND LEARN WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE WEAN IN THE TARTAN SHAWL + V. MIRREN STUART'S ERRAND + VI. WE TRAMP THROUGH THE SNOW TO McKELVIE'S INN + VII. WE SAIL IN McKELVIE'S SKIFF TO THE HOLY ISLAND + VIII. THE DEATH OF McDEARG, THE RED LAIRD + IX. MIRREN STUART BIDS HER DOG LIE DOWN + X. DOL BEAG IS FLUNG INTO A FIRE + XI. THE BLAZING WHINS + XII. McALLAN'S LOCKER + XIII. DAN McBRIDE SAILS FROM LOCH BANZA + XIV. WE RETURN + XV. THE STRANGER ON THE MOORS + XVI. I HAVE SOME TALK WITH McGILP IN McKINNON'S KITCHEN + + +PART II. + + XVII. I TURN SCHOOLMASTER + XVIII. THE FIRST MEETING + XIX. THE RIDERS ON THE MOOR + XX. "THE LOVE SECRET" + XXI. DOL BEAG LAUGHS + XXII. THE SHAMELESS LASS + XXIII. HELEN AND BRYDE McBRIDE REST AT THE FOOT OF THE URIE + XXIV. THE HALFLIN'S MESSAGE + XXV. I RIDE AGAIN TO McALLAN'S LOCKER + XXVI. A WEDDING ON THE DOORSTEP + XXVII. MARGARET McBRIDE KISSES HELEN + XXVIII. IN WHICH BETTY COMPLAINS OF GROWING-PAINS + XXIX. THE RAKING BLACK SCHOONER + XXX. TELLS WHERE BRYDE MET HAMISH OG + XXXI. BRYDE AND MARGARET + XXXII. BRYDE AND HELEN + XXXIII. HOW JOHN McCOOK HEARS OF THE PLOY AT THE CLATES + XXXIV. WHAT CAME OF THE PLOY + XXXV. DOL BEAG LAUGHS AGAIN + + + + +THE McBRIDES. + + +PART I. + +CHAPTER I. + +WHICH TELLS OF THE COMING OF THE GIPSY. + +It was April among the hills, waes me, the far-away days of my youth, +when the hills were smiling through the mists of their tears, and the +green grasses thrusting themselves through the withered mat of the +pasture like slender fairy swords. April in the hills, with the +curlews crying far out on the moorside, past the Red Ground my +grandfather wrought, and where again the heather will creep down, rig +on rig, for all the stone dykes, deer fences, and tile drains that ever +a man put money in. I never knew why it was they called it "Red +Ground," for it was mostly black peaty soil, but my grandfather would +be saying, "It will be growing corn. Give it wrack, and it will be +growing corn for evermore." + +They tell me he was a great farmer for all he was laird, and never +happier than at his own plough tail, breaking a colt to work in chains; +and he it was who improved the stock in cattle and horse in our glens, +for he would be aye telling the young farmers, "Gie the quey calves +plenty o' milk, as much as they'll lash into themselves. Be good to +them when the baby flesh is on them, and they'll grow and thrive, and +your siller'll a' come back in the milking." + +The countryside clavered and havered when he bought his pedigree bulls +and his pedigree mares. "It's money clean wasted," said the old +farmers, "for a calf's a calf no odds what begets it, and a horse that +can work in chains and take its turn on the road is horse enough for +any man, without sinking money in dumb beasts, and a' this sire-and-dam +pother." It would anger the old man that talk, ay, even when he was +the old frail frame of what once he was,--like a dead and withered +ash-tree, dourly awaiting the death gale to send it crashing down, to +lie where once its shade fell in the hot summer days of its youth,--and +the blood would rise up on his neck, where the flesh had shrunk like +old cracked parchment, and left cords and pipes of arteries and veins, +gnarled like old ivy round a tree. + +Querulous he was and ill-tempered with the scoffers. "Man, if I had +twenty more years I would grow hoofs on your horse and udders on your +in-coming queys." Well, well, I'm fond of this farming, but I have set +out to tell a tale, which in my poor fancy should even be like a +rotation of crops, from the breaking in of the lea to the sowing out in +grass, with the sun and winds and sweet rains to ripen and swell the +grain--the crying of the harvesters and the laughing of lassies among +the stocks in the gloaming, the neighing of horse and the lowing of +kine in the evening. + +On that morning so long ago Dan and I were ploughing stubble, and I +followed my horses in all joy, laughing to see them snap as I turned +them in at the head-rigs, and coaxing them as they threw their big +glossy shoulders into the collar on the brae face. So the morning wore +on as I ploughed, with maybe a word now and then to Dick, and a touch +of the rein to Darling, and the sea-gulls screaming after us as the +good land was turned over. The sun came glinting through the hill +mist, and the green buds were bursting in the hedgerows for very +gladness. + +I was free from the college, free from the smoke-wrack and the grime of +the town, free to hear the birds awake and singing in the planting +behind the stackyard, and I breathed great gulps of air and felt clean +and purged of all the evil of the town; for if there is vice in the +country, it is to my mind evil without sordidness. + +I remember my foolish thoughts were something like these, even though +my reading should have taught me better, for the Garden of Eden was a +fine place to sin in by all accounts, yet the environment did not +mitigate the punishment. In these young days, when my body glowed from +a swim and my eyes were clear, I thought the minister too hard on that +original iniquity. + +It was coming on for dinner-time--lowsin' time, as we say in the +field--when Dan shouted-- + +"Hamish," says he, "who'll yon be that's travellin' so fast above the +Craig-an-dubh?" + +"I will be telling you that, Dan, when she's half a mile nearer." + +"Ye hinna the toon mirk rubbed out your een yet, Hamish, or ye would +ken the bonny spaewife. I've been watchin' her this last three 'bouts." + +"Dan, Dan," said I, "do you think of nothing but women and horses? +Have ye never learned the lesson of Joseph?" + +"Man, Hamish," says he, with a whimsical smile and a hand at his +moustache, "ye should put a' things in their proper order. Horses and +weemen noo. It's not a bad thing--a while wi' a lass after the horses +are bedded and foddered, but horses first; and as for Joseph"--his +smile broadened until I could see his teeth--"if it had been Dauvit the +leddy had met on the stair, the meenisters wid never hiv heard a cheep +about it. . . . + +"It's a fine lesson yon, I aye think, for auld men to be preaching, but +deevil a word about their ain youthfu' rants. Ye're a lusty lad +yirsel', and there's many a cheery nicht among the lasses wi' +petticoats and short-goons, and I'll teach ye hoo tae whistle them oot +if ye would leave your books and come raking wi' Dan." + +We had unyoked the horses and got astride, and when we came to the gate +there was the bonny spaewife carrying a bairn in a tartan shawl. Dan +drew up, and I also; so there we stood, the horses in an impatient +semi-circle on the road, Dan and I on horseback, and the woman looking +up at us. + +She had the blackest eyes I ever saw, and hair black and curly as a +water-dog's clustered over her head, and the wee rain-drops clung about +the curls round her ears and brow. Her nose was delicate and +faultless, and her complexion was that born of sun and rain and wind. +There seemed a smile to play round her red lips, and a sombreness about +her eyes (so that she held mine fixed), until Dan spoke. + +"I think, Belle," said he, "you're gettin' bonnier, and if it wasna for +the wean I would leave a kiss on your bonny red mouth." + +Round the pupils of her black eyes a little ring began to glow, as +though a light came from a great distance through darkness, her white +teeth bit on her under lip, and she stepped closer to Dan's horse. + +"Haud away, woman, haud away, for the love o' your Maker; the stallion +canna thole weemen about him." + +I fear me the town had taken some of the game out of me, for when I saw +the big dark horse flatten his ears, the wicked eyes rolling, and the +great fore-hoofs drumming on the road, ready to leap and batter the +woman and her bairn to a bloody pulp fornent me, my stomach turned, as +we say, and I felt sick and giddy. Many a morning had I stood at the +loose-box door and watched the devil in the horse and the devil in the +man battle for mastery, and aye the horse was cowed. Even on the +mornings when I heard Dan's step, soft and wary on the cobbles, before +the sun was up, and knew by the look of him, and the gruffness in his +voice, that he had travelled many a weary mile from his light-o'-love, +and that sleep had not troubled him, I would hear the stable door +opening and Dan whistling like the cheery early bird as he opened the +corn-kist. After the morning feed the battle began, for Chieftain had +a devil, but I think Dan had seven of that ilk. + +"It's him or me, Hamish," he would croon, "him or me, but I'm likin' +myself a' the time"; and he kept the lathering, plunging devil off +himself, whiles with his fists, and whiles with a short stick. + +"I'll handle him were he twice as big and twice as bad. I'll hae nae +gentlemen among the horse when there's lea to plough!" and the fight +would go on. But Dan was the only man who could handle Chieftain, and +there seemed a kind of laughing comradeship between them. + +I have digressed that you might see with my eyes the queer uncanny +thing that happened on the road there between the woman and the horse. +I have told you the spaewife--if spaewife you would call her, for I +think sorceress fitted her better--I have said she came close to +Chieftain's head, her black eyes fairly lowing; and as the brute, his +skin twitching, gathered himself to rear on her, she hit him full on +the mouth with her little brown hand, and hissed a word at him in her +own tongue. As the word struck my ears I felt myself tingle to my +finger-tips, and the world seemed to go quiet all round me. The +horse's ears went forward, and he stretched his great neck, and there +he was quiet as an old pony, nibbling with his lips at the woman's +shawl and hair. + +And the woman looked at Dan. + +A kind of half laugh, half sigh, left his lips. + +"I wish," said he, "I had your gait o' handlin' horse. It's desperate +sudden, but it's sure, as our friend Hamish wid observe. Maybe, my +dear, you'll hiv a spell tae turn the horse tae himsel' again and +something extra, an' I'm no' sayin' but what I would be likin' him +better, for sittin' here on a quate beast that sould be like the +ravening devil o' holy writ is no' canny." + +"Spell," said the girl, for indeed she was little more, and under her +brown skin I could see the darker red rising. "Spell, ye night-hawk!" +and her broad bosom heaved with the rage in her, and her body trembled +with living anger. + +"I come o' folk, ye reiver, that lay down and rose up among their +horse, in the black tents, that loved and hated among their horse, that +lived and died among their horse, and ye would talk to me o' spells. +Did I but say the word to that black horse, not you nor any o' the folk +ye cam' crooked among would straddle him and live to boast o' it after." + +Dan sat his horse like a statue. It makes my old eyes moist and my +throat choky to this day to think of it, for I loved him through +everything. Could he have had command of heavy horse, and won his rest +on some glorious field, brave, headstrong, devil-may-care Dan; but +there he sat and looked on the Cassandra, and his eyes were laughing +from his stern face as he took a turn on the rope reins. + +"Back, my bonny horse," said he to Chieftain, and there was a kind of +joyous lilt in his voice. "Draw away your pair, Hamish, and this lan' +horse o' mine. We'll miss our dinner maybe, but I've an unco hankering +after this word." + +Away down in my heart I knew what was coming, and I watched the woman +loosen her tartan shawl and lay her infant in a neuk among the hedge +roots. + +"I'm waitin' now, my dear," said Dan, "and in case I dee I'll tell ye I +think I could break you in, for I like the devil temper bleezin' in +your bonny black een, and your lips would warm a deein' man. My dear, +I think I could be your man for a' ye say I cam' crooked; for spaewife +or no--God's life, ye're awfu' bonny, Belle." + +The gipsy gave a little lilting laugh. + +"You," says she--"you. I'm not saying but you're a pretty man, and +I've good looks enough for baith--if I loved ye; but, man, my love +would be a flame. Wid ye burn with me, lad; wid ye burn?" + +"I think I would too," said he, "for your een have started the bleeze +a'ready, and I'm dootin' it'll finish in brimstane." + +"Ay, ay, Dan; I'm spaein' true. I jibed at you, although you did not +say the word o' the glens o' the wee creatur' under the hedge there, as +ye might have. Ye've good blood in ye, lad, and I'm loving your +spirit, but I'm the Belle o' your death, Dan, the Death-Bell. Now!" + +No words of mine can convey my impression of that scene. There were +the hills, silent and grandly contemptuous, there was a rabbit loping +across the road to the hedge foot, and there the road the woman had +come stretched upwards; but as she spoke some subtle essence seemed to +flood her veins, her sombre eyes flashed, her cheeks glowed darkly, and +she trembled so that I could see her clenched hands flutter like +segans.[1] It was not excitement, but to my mind as though some vital +powerful force had taken possession of her body and shook it, as an +aspen quivers in a gale. + +The power seemed to grow stronger and stronger as she spoke, until with +her word it seemed to break free and envelop us. + +Where I have written "Now" she leaned rigidly towards Chieftain and +almost hissed, so sharply came a word between her teeth. With some +such sound, I think, will the devil unshackle his hounds. Well for me +that my horses were rugging at the hedge, or I had never been troubled +more with headache. + +For the stallion reared his huge bulk into the air with a scream of +brute rage. I have never heard such a sound since, and never wish to +again. He turned like an eel, his mouth agape, and the veins round his +nostrils like cord. His great gleaming teeth snapped like a trap at +his rider's legs, and snapped again after he had a blow on the head +that might have stunned him, and at the hollow sound of it I felt my +teeth take an edge to them. Twice he reared and fell backwards, and +twice Dan was astride as he rose. I could see the sweat running down +his face and the bulging of the muscles as his knees pressed and clung +to the heaving spume-spattered flanks. I think he knew he was fighting +for his life, but his smile seemed graven on his face, though it looked +like the smile of a man in sore distress. I knew every muscle felt +red-hot, and time would give the victory to the stronger brute. And +then I saw the change like a lightning-flash. Dan's shoulders haunched +themselves, his head was low and stretched forward, and a look of the +most devilish ferocity came over his face, his lips were pulled down, +and his eyes almost hidden under the bunched and corrugated brows. + +There was a knotted rope rein in his hand, and his arm, brown and bare +to the elbow, and hard as an oak branch, rose, and I saw his teeth +clench till the muscles on his jaws stood out like crab-apples. + +"Ye wid fecht wi' me," he crooned--"me, damn ye, me." At every +reiterated word the rein fell, and the weals rose on the stallion's +neck and flank, and he snorted and screamed with rage. + +"Woman," said I, having led the other horses away and returned--"woman +or devil, whatever you are, ye have made a horse mad this day, and now +the man's mad. Will ye put an end to this business before worse +happens, for the horse is worth siller if the man's regardless, and +there's many a lass will greet herself to sleep till the fires of her +youth are burnt out if harm comes to Dan McBride. Have ye no pity for +your ain sex?" + +"Peety," she cries--"peety for a wheen licht-heided hussies that lo'e +the man best that tells the bonniest lees, or speaks them fairest. Na, +na, ma lad, nae peety. I'm watchin' a man that has tied their strings +and kissed their bonny ankles, when he should have let them dry his +sweat wi' their hair an' his feet wi' their braws.[2] Oh, why, why," +she kind of wailed--"why will the King aye gang the cadger's road, and +ken himsel' a king, and the cadger a cadger." The horse, panting and +grunting at every breath, had breenged to the knowe on the roadside, +and still the knotted rein fell; and then with a mighty plunge he +reared up, balanced an instant on hind-legs, and then crashed backwards +and lay, and I felt my heart give a mighty beat as Dan sprang on the +brute's head and lay there, horse and man done. + +"Come, you," snarled the man, as though he spoke to a dog; and the girl +went to him. + +"Quate the brute," said he, "for he's trimmlin' sair, and I like his +temper a' the better for no' bein' broken." + +"Ay, I'll quate the brute, easy as I wid yoursel'." + +You may think you know a man till something happens, and you find him a +stranger, and so I found, for at her words the man sprang to his feet +as she soothed the horse. + +"Say ye so," said he, and took her by the shoulder--"say ye so. I've +broken many a horse afore this ane, and, Belle, I'll break you," and I +watched the swarthy flush rise on the girl's face, and looked at the +man's eyes and saw the reason of it. + +"Wheest, lad, wheest," she cried; "let me go to the wean." + +"Wean--ye never had a wean. . . ." + +And then she did a queer thing. She bent her dark head till I could +not see her eyes, but only the smooth eyelids and dark lashes, and she +put her little brown hand over the man's eyes and stood a picture of +humility, with a sad little smile on her face. + +"Don't break me . . . yet," she murmured, and I saw Dan kiss her hand +as she slid it down over his lips, and her face brightened like a +flower in sunlight. + +And there were the horses, rugging at the hedge where I had tethered +them; and Chieftain on his feet, shaky and foam-flecked, and trembling +at his knees; and the gipsy lass's wean greetin' at the hedge foot, +with one wee bare arm clear of the shawl, seeming to beckon all the +world to its aid. + +And Belle the gipsy lass lifted the child and wrapped her in the shawl, +and took the road in front of us. I had mind of Belle when she was the +bonniest lass among a wheen of black-avised Eastern folk, that camped +for many's the year on the ground of Scaurdale, where my uncle's +friend, John o' Scaurdale, farmed land; but I was not prepared for her +strange powers on horse, or for the beauty of her, and I think Dan was +of my way of thinking also, for at the stable door says he: "I think, +Hamish, a fee from John o' Scaurdale would not be such a bad thing with +a lass like Belle to be seeing in the gloaming." + + +[1] Ires--"flags." + +[2] Costly apparel. + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MAKES SOME MENTION OF ONE JOCK McGILP, AND TELLS HOW BELLE BROUGHT + THE WEAN IN THE TARTAN SHAWL INTO THE HOUSE OF NOURN. + +Nourn was home to me in my holidays and vacations from the college, and +here I was back again for good, having become Magister Artium and well +acquainted with the plane-stanes and glaber of the town of +Glasgow--back again to the green countryside on my uncle's land of +Nourn, concerned more about horses and cattle beasts than with the +Arts, and with enough siller left me by my parents to be able to follow +my inclinations. + +My uncle--the Laird of Nourn, as he was called--had married kind of +late, a common habit where the years bring strength and not eld; and +Dan, his brother Ewan the soldier's son, had been at Nourn since he +could creep, being early left an orphan. + +On the Sunday after the coming of Belle the gipsy I lay long abed. In +those days my cousin Dan and I made a practice of sleeping above the +horses, "to be near them," as Dan said; but for myself I aye thought it +would be that he might the easier slip out at night, and in again in +the morning, and nobody the wiser. + +In the years I would be at the college Dan had become airt and pairt of +every wildness in the countryside, and in these times every man with +red blood in him was concerned with the smuggling or the distilling of +whisky,--and that is the reason that mothers were wishful that their +sons should be able to "take a horse by the head and a boat by the +helm," for these would be very needful attributes in a handy lad. + +And lying there in bed I minded how I once fell in with Jock McGilp, +the captain of the smuggler _Seagull_, a man that sailed the _Gull_ +like a witch, and cracked his fingers at the Revenue cutters, and this +was the way of it. + +When I was a lonely boy, dreaming dreams of ages past and long ago, I +had a favourite haunt. I made my way to the graveyard and lay among +the long lush grass, for the grass grew nowhere so long or so full of +sap as in the graveyard, and I thought of all the great warriors of our +glens whose bones had been laid in this place, and shivered to think of +the hot red blood stilled in death, and the grass roots creeping +downwards like tentacles into the chinks of the wood, and sending up +great fat greasy blades that sweated in the sun. I hated the grass +roots, and dreamed horribly of them piercing into my heart, and drawing +the life-blood to feed the bloated sweaty leaves, but the graveyard had +an awful fascination for me. Sometimes old men would wander inside the +dyke and move slowly to a rude stone and sit there, and I would hear +great sighs bursting into the quiet afternoon, when the sun always beat +down. But I liked the old men for being there when the ivy rustled on +the ruined old chapel wall when the wind was lost, and the starlings +flew affrighted from their nests over the mural tablet that told all +men to-- + + FIR GOD + 16-- + +And I feared God very much, and spoke to Him often in my lonely +wanderings, when I saw wee men in green coats among the heather, but +oftener on the soft green turfy bits on the hill. And one awful time +when the hill road was all silent and the grasshoppers hidden and +quiet, an eerie humming came into my ears like a language I could not +understand, and I felt myself waiting for something. Round the turn of +the hill before you come to the old quarry it came, and I stopped +stricken as a rabbit when a snake sways before it, for there came +towards me a thing like a dog--but such a dog--its shaggy coat was +white and its ears only were black, and as it passed its tongue lolled +out, and it looked at me through blue eyes with black rims, and I think +I feared that thing more than God. But always before I left the +graveyard for my hill road home I crept up to a window, and looked into +a part of the chapel that was walled off and dark. Great brambles grew +in this space and nettles of phenomenal size, with ugly fleshy-looking +clots of seeds on them. A gnarled ash-tree had grown and broken the +wall, but over against the broken wall were great stones, and one of +these I liked best of all, for it made the blood tingle down my back +and my eyes see visions. On a warm Sunday I lay half in the window +resting on the sill, for the walls were very thick, and I gazed at the +foot of the great stone where a plumed helmet was carved, and a sword +in its sheath; and round the helmet and sword battle-gear lay as though +the warrior had flung down his harness as he rested. In imagination I +had girt me with the sword, the plumed helmet was on my head, when my +feet were seized and a rumbling voice cried-- + +"Can ye read?" + +"Ay." + +"Read that stane. I'm no' a bawkin." + + "BLENHEIM. + BAMILLIES. + OUDENARDE. + MALPLAQUET." + + +"Thayse the battles; read the man's name. + + "MAJOR EWAN McBRIDE." + + +"Ay, ay; come oot," and I was pulled out of the window, and an enormous +man stood before me, looking at me with a queer smile, and scratching +his neck till I could hear the hairs of his whiskers crickle and snap +like breaking twigs. + +"D'ye ken who Major Ewan McBride was?" + +"No." + +"Well--Dan's faither; he was kilt; he's no in there at a'--it's a +peety, for things wid hiv been different. + +"Eat ye your pease-brose and keep clear o' the weemen, and ye'll be as +great a man as him, but never say a word tae Dan. Says you, when ye go +home and see him wi' nobody aboot, says you: 'Jock McGilp was saying +the turf's in and the gull's a bonny bird.' Mind it noo; '_The turfs +in_' and '_the gull's a bonny bird_.'" + +And that night so long ago, when Dan and I kneeled on the stone-flagged +floor beside one another and listened to my uncle pray and pray and +pray in Gaelic, I whispered-- + +"Dan." + +"What?" + +"Jock McGilp was saying . . ." + +Uncle gave a great pause after asking "a clean heart," and Dan +whispered-- + +"Come nearer, ye devil, and don't speak so loud, or a' the servants 'll +be damned and sent to hell for lack o' attention." + +"Jock McGilp was saying the turf was in and the seagull's a bonny bird." + +"Wheest noo and listen, ye graceless deevil. . . ." + +For a week after that I never saw Dan, but my uncle got sterner and +sterner, and when Dan returned, loud voices I heard in the night and +slamming doors, but Dan was whistling among his horses at cock-crow, +and told me I took after my mother's folk and would be a man yet. . . . + +But on this April Sunday, after the week of ploughing stubble, we lay +long and listened to the pleasant rattling of horse chains, and +rustling of bedding, when the horses pawed for their morning meal. +There was the sun, well up on his day's journey, and a whole day to be +and enjoy him in. And we rose and took our breakfast, and daunered to +the far fields, and inspected the young beasts, picking out the good +ones with many a knowing observation on heads and pasterns and hocks, +and then round the wrought land, and over the fields where a drain had +choked, and the rushes marked its course. We mapped out how this +should be mended and strolled back to the stable, and lay in an empty +stall where some hay had been left, and waited until dinner, with the +shepherd's dogs lying watching their masters, and the herds and +ploughmen telling terrible stories of one Mal-mo-Hollovan. Into this +peaceful scene came rushing a lass with the word that the Laird was at +church, as he should be, and Belle the gipsy wanted speech wi' the +mistress. + +"An' why no', my lass?" said Dan; "she'll no' bite the mistress." + +"The black eyes o' her, and the air o' her,--speech wi' the mistress, +indeed--the tinker!" + +"Jean," said Dan, "be canny wi' Belle, or she'll put such a spell on ye +that ye'll no' hear your lad whistling ootside your window, and the +first thing ye'll ken he'll be inside, and you maybe in your sark." + +"Ye ken too much aboot sich truck and trollop and the wey in by +windows," cried Jean, her face like the heart o' the fire; for her lad +was looking sheepishly at her from the corn-kist. + +"Well, well, let Belle alane, or I'll be puttin' mysel' in Tam's +place," and poor Tam could only grin with a very red face. + +And so it came that Belle made her way to the old room where the +mistress, my uncle's wife, was abed, after the birth of her son, about +whom the women-folk talked and laughed in corners, and looked so +disdainful at poor men-folk, that Dan said-- + +"It's a peety for the wean, wi' a' these weemen waitin' till he grows +up. I'm dootin' he'll be swept oot o' his ain hoose wi' petticoats, +and take up wi' the dark-skinned beauties in the far glens, like Esau." + +And sorely put out were the women when Dan, referring to the heir, said +he'd come in time for the best o' the grass. + +"If the colt has got plenty o' daylight below him, and middlin' clean +o' the bane, he'll thrive right enough!" The heir of all Nourn a leggy +colt! There was nothing but black looks and pursed-up lips till even +the easy-going cause o' the change said drily enough: "They're damned +ill tae leeve wi' whiles, a man's ain weemen-folk, Hamish, an' I meant +the bairn nae ill either." + +Well, Belle was ta'en to the old room where the mistress, my uncle's +wife, lay abed--her they ca'ed the Leddy, a fine strapping woman, with +kindly hands to man and beast and a wheedling, coaxing way with her, +though she could be cold and haughty at times, for she came of fighting +stock, and could not thole clavering and fussing, and I think she would +not hasten her stately step to be in time for the Last Judgment, for +the pride of her. + +The room was fine and cool, with a wood fire spluttering in the great +stone fireplace, and the light playing on the carved pillars of the +canopied bed, and blinking on the oak panels; but it was a fine room, +with deerskin rugs here and there on the floor, and space to move about +without smashing trumpery that women collect round them, God knows why, +except to hide the lines of the building. + +My aunt lay there on the great bed, her dark hair damp and clinging to +the white brow, and one arm crooked round her child, and she was gazing +at his head where the hair was already thickening, when Belle came to +the bedside. + +"It's not red," said my aunt. "I feared it would be red, for there are +red ones here and there in his house . . . look, woman, it's not red; +it will not be red." + +"Na, na, it's fair, Leddy--fair and fause; but it'll darken wi' the +years, never fear. What ails ye at rid, Leddy--the prettiest man in +these parts is rid enough?" + +"Poor Dan," cried my aunt, with a bright smile and no hesitation. "The +Laird tells me he's wasted enough keep for many bullocks laying the +yard with straw lest his horses should wake me in the mornings, but +I've missed his songs lying here. They were merry enough too in the +fine spring mornings if the words were . . ." And a delicate flush +crept over her neck and face, and she smiled a little as at the fault +of some wayward boy. + +The door was opened softly, and a tall woman entered--a tall woman with +a world of sorrow in her wise old eyes, and years of patience in the +clasp of her hands. + +"Betty," cried the patient--"Betty, is everything done well, now I'm +tied to my son," and she put her cheek to the downy head. + +"The weemen are flighty and the lads are quate, and the hoose will no' +be itsel' till ye will be moving about again, an' Miss Janet's lad +will . . ." + +"I will not have Dan called that, Betty," says my aunt. "Ewan +McBride's lad he is, if ye must deave me with his forebears . . ." + +"My dearie, my ain dearie, did I not nurse his mother when she grat +ower his wee body and a' the warl' was turned on her, and her man at +the great wars. Ech, ech, a weary time, and her crying to him in the +nicht, and throwin' oot her white arms in the stillness and crying: 'My +brave fierce lad, my brave wild lover, come back and let me dee wi' +your arms aboot me.' Ay, and her wild lad, her kindly lad, lying stark +on yon bluidy field and the corbies maybe at his bonny blue een. I +love Dan, for I took him frae his mither's caul' breast; but ech, why +will he be shaming his name, and shaming his ain sel'--but I shouldna +be haverin', my dearie . . . and here's your soup now." + +Jean--she of the stable raid--with a haughty look at the gipsy, who had +stood in a corner by the fire all this time, came with the bowl of +soup, but Belle slid forward noiselessly. + +"Is it soup, Jean?" says she, and the wench stopped. "Skim the fat off +it, then, for I saw a hussy like you gi'e her mistress soup like +that--and she died." My aunt sat up in her bed, her face very stern +when Betty talked of Dan shaming himself and his name. + +"I will know this," she cried. "I am not ill any more--who is the +woman?" + +Jean would have spoken at this, but the gipsy whispered: "Begone, or +I'll turn your hair white as the driven snaw," and the wench fled with +her soup, and spilled most of it in the stone-flagged corridor leading +to the kitchen, where she sat and trembled and grat her fill, every now +and again catching her yellow locks to make sure no change had started +yet. + +So here we have Betty whispering-- + +"Don't vex yoursel', my Leddy; it's juist the lassie's clavers, for +Jean cam' in frae the stable, where she had nae right to be, except to +be seein' her lad--they ha'e lads on the brain the lassies noo--and +greetin' that young Dan had shamed her before the men, and a' because +o' a tinker body like Belle here, although the great folk will treat +her so kindly; no' that I mean her any harm," she added (erring on the +safe side, for Belle's eyes had begun to glow finely); "and then in +came Kate and Leezie wi' a tale o' a wean, tied in a tartan shawl, +lying in a biss in the wee byre. Then and there they faithered and +mithered the bairn, the useless hussies. . . ." The mother's haughty +eyes turned to the gipsy. + +"I never found you lying, Belle. Is this story true?--a bonny family +is this to be among," she cried, her hand pressing the child closer, +and maybe she pressed him too tightly, for the boy doubled his baby +fist, his wee voice whimpered, and his outflung arm struck his mother +in the face. + +"Oh, oh," she cried; "will you turn on me too, and leave me for +farmer's wenches and tinker women like the lave of your folk?" + +The gipsy lass was on her knees at the bedside. + +"Lady," she cries, and her face was finely aglow, "nae wonder ye +grieved aboot the colour o' the bairn's hair. Are ye a' Dan mad?" +Then when she saw the anger in the mother's eyes she cries-- + +"Ye'll maybe be in a mood to listen to the truth now." + +"I'm in a fine mood to have ye whipped from my doors, ye +shameless . . ." + +"Ay, shameless, madam, if I love I'll be that, but if I have a man I'll +share him wi' nane, and you'll not be yourself to be believing these +false tales; and you, Betty, I had thought ye had seen sorrow enough +without brimming your cup over. It's true I left a wean sleeping in +the sweet hay; was there harm in that? She's lain wi' me in the stable +lofts and outlying barns these many nights, but the wean is nane o' +mine. It's an ill bird that fouls its ain nest, Betty, and when a' the +auld wives are shakin' their mutches at the end o' peat stacks and +sayin', 'This'll be another o' _his_; ye might have asked yourself +_how_? The poor wee mitherless mite; her feet will be on the neck o' +her enemies, and, mistress, maybe I can tell ye why. I hinna leed tae +ye yet, and ye can whip me from your doors if ye will, but hard, hard +will it fa' on them that raise the scourge." + +Such a look passed between these two, so full of meaning, that my aunt +told Betty to leave her. + +"And keep better manners among your wenches," said she, "for I will not +have Dan tormented with the baggage; and tell him I hope my son will +grow tall and strong like him, for I will be mindful of his kindness." + +"Indeed, indeed, he would be very good, my dearie," cried Betty, +anxious to make amends. "When ye were taken ill he lay in the kitchen +the lang night through, and his horse saddled and bridled ready in his +stall; ay, and he would not go to bed for the Laird himsel'. Indeed, +many a wild night he galloped through, and him oot in the morning when +the doctor had left." + +Belle had slipped out as the old woman was speaking, and now came back +with her tartan bundle; and when Betty had left the room the gipsy took +from the shawl a wean that cried so lustily that it wakened the heir to +all Nourn. + +As the women whispered and crooned over the bairns, their cries +resounded through the house, and made it no place for men-folk. + +But crossing the yard, Betty beckoned me with a crooked forefinger. + +"Who's wean is that, think ye, Hamish, that Belle brought here?" + +"I think you should be asking Belle," said I. + +"Ask here or ask there," says Betty, "the wean has a look o'--dinna be +feart, my lad--the wean has the look o' John o' Scaurdale. And that," +says she, "would be fair scandalous." + +But after Betty's jalousing I had a word or two with Dan McBride, my +cousin. + +"Wean," says he, "and Betty thinks the bairn has a look o' John o' +Scaurdale. It beats me, the cleverness of that woman. This is the +story I got from Belle, Hamish. It's a little dreich, but it will be +as well that ye should ken." + +"Well," says Dan, "when ye were at the College in the toon and learning +yer tasks, there was a lass came to stop at Scaurdale, a niece she was +to the Laird there (a sister's wean, I am thinking), very prim and +bonny she was, and fu' o' nonsensical book-lore. She took a liking to +the place, and there are some that pretend to ken, that say she took +mair than a liking to the Laird's son. I would not say for that; he +was a brisk lad for so douce a lady. Well, well, Hamish, they cast +out, and away goes the lass in a huff to her ain folk, and then back +comes the word o' her wedding (some South-country birkie her man was, +o' the name o' Stockdale, if I mind it right), and when that word came, +John o' Scaurdale's son was like to go out at the rigging. We'll say +naething about that, Hamish; ye ken what came on him: his horse threw +him at the Laird's Turn yonder, and he never steered--he was by wi' it." + +"What has this to do with Belle's wean?" said I. + +"Belle's wean! Man, Belle never had a wean. That bairn is +Stockdale's; and I'm hearing," said he, "that Scaurdale's niece, the +mother of it, sent word to her uncle to take away the bairn, for her +man turned out an ill-doer, and it's like she would be feart. But I +ken this much, Hamish, Belle is waiting word from Scaurdale, and," says +he, "they ken all the outs and ins of it, our friends here, and +whenever it will be safe the wean will go to John o' Scaurdale." + +"Scaurdale is not so far from here," said I. "Could Belle not have +taken the bairn there at the first go off?" + +"I thought ye had mair heid, Hamish. There's aye plenty o' gossips in +the world, and Scaurdale will want this business kept quiet." + +"In plain words," said I, "the wean has been stolen away from her +father with the mother's help." + +"That's just it precisely, Hamish; and what better place could she be +hidden than here, with Scaurdale and your uncle so very friendly, and +this so quiet a place?" + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +IN WHICH I CHASE DEER AND SEE STRANGE HORSEMEN ON THE HILL, + AND A LIGHT FLASHING ON THE SEA. + +The corn was in the stackyard and the stacks thatched, and all that +summer Belle and her wean stayed with us, the lass working at the +weeding and the harvesting, and the wean well cared for, for the +mistress remained not long abed after the spaewife's coming. Belle's +wean might be "a tinker's brat" in whispered corners in byres and +hay-sheds, where the wenches could claver out of hearing, but the +Laird's son got no better attention than the tinker's brat when the +mistress was near. + +And now that the corn was secure and the stackyard full, the deer came +down from the hills and lay close to till nightfall, and then wrought +havoc in the turnip-drills, and I noticed that, like cows in a field of +grain, they spoiled more crop than they ate, both of potatoes and +turnips; and, indeed, it angered a man to see his good root-crops +haggled and thrawn with the thin-flanked beasts, like the lean cattle, +and I thought to go round the hill dyke with the dogs on an October +evening, and harry them back to their heather and bracken again. + +It was early in the evening, so I took my stick and daunered to the +hay-shed (which was next to the planting) behind the stackyard, for I +liked the noise of the wood, and would lie on the hay and listen to the +scurry of the rabbits, the rippling note of the cushats in the +tree-tops, and watch for the coming of the white owls that flitted +among the trees. And as I lay on the sweet-smelling clovery hay there +came over me a drowsiness, for I had been early abroad, and I dovered +and dovered till sleep and waking were mingled, and strange voices came +into my ears; and then I knew the voices, and felt myself go hot all +over, for I could not move or I would be discovered with the rustling +of the hay. + +"I have waited long for ye, my bonny dark lass, waited when I was +shivering to take ye in my arms," and I could see Dan lean forward and +look into Belle's black eyes, one great arm round her shoulders and his +hand below her chin, and she was bonny, bonny in the blink o' the moon. + +"Ye were a good lad," says she, smiling up at him; "it whiles made me +angry ye would be so good, and I would be lying at night thinking ye +had forgotten the gipsy lass, and would be assourying[1] wi' +red-cheeked, long-legged farmer lassies; and then ye would be coming to +my window and knocking, and I was glad, and listened and listened for +ye to be coming, although ye would not be knowing from me at all, and I +would be cold, cold to ye. . . ." + +"My dear, it's news to me," cried he, in great wonder, "for never a +knock did I knock," and his eyes were laughing down at her. + +"What!" she cries; "what! And who would be daring?" + +"That's just what I cannot say, for the lads think ye're no' canny some +way, but maistly because the weemen hiv them under their thumbs, so I'm +thinkin' it must just have been Hamish." + +It was on the tip of my tongue to cry out at that, but I saw by his +face that he could not help hurting gently whatever he liked, and he +had no thought for me at all, but waited for the girl to speak. The +great sombre eyes were looking up at him, and the moon glintin' on her +teeth as, her red lips parted, a brown hand fluttered about the man's +breast. + +"You would be knocking. I am wantin' you to be knocking," she cried, +"for I am only a wicked gipsy lass. . . ." + +I saw the man stretch her back with a straightening of his arm; I saw +the limber length of him, the lean flank and the curve of his chest, as +he half lay on the hay. + +"I am wishing ye to be knocking," he mimicked in a half-fierce, +half-laughing voice, "for I am only a wicked gipsy lass"; and again, +"My dear, my dear, I'm not seeing much wickedness in a' this, and so I +must be creeping out and knockin' on a lass that will not be saying a +civil word to me, let alone a kiss in the gloamin'." + +"Oh," she lilted, "oh, so you would be knocking to that unkind lass;" +and then in a far-away voice, "Will you be remembering that place where +I found you, when I would be running a wild thing like a young +foal? . . ." + +"Bonnily, Belle, bonnily I mind ye--a long-legged, black-maned filly ye +were, and the big eyes o' ye, I began to love ye then. . . ." + +"It would be terrible and you lying in the stall beside your horse at +that place, and them not going near you, and you only a boy. I will be +dreaming of the horse tramping your face yet." + +"I'll teach ye something better to be dreaming than that, dear lass, +for I was only a boy then, and I was carrying a man's share o' French +brandy, more shame to me. I had nae sense at all, to be lying beside +the horse, and him a kittle brute too; but I'll aye be mindin' ye +coorieing ower me, and greetin' for a' that, when the men o' the +_Seagull_ were feart tae venture into the stall, being sailors and +strange wi' horse." + +Among the hay there I remembered the loud voices and the slamming of +doors in the night, and Jock McGilp and his message about the "turf +being in"; and here it was coming round that these two had met then, +and I somehow had helped to bring them together. + +"I will be asking you to do me a service the night," I heard the girl +say. + +"I'm thinkin' that, my dear, will it be ridin' for the priest, for +indeed you're such a _wicked_ lass I see nae ither way for it. I canna +aye be knockin' when your wickedness keeps me in the caul' . . . ." + +"Come," she cried, rising, "come, for we will have been dallying too +long, and I did give my word to Scaurdale. I will not be listening any +more to your talk." + +"Where fell ye across that grizzly dog, John, Laird o' Scaurdale?" said +Dan as they rose. + + * * * * * * + +So I waited until the hay was all quiet and the lovers gone, and I got +the dogs and went after the deer. + +Outside the dyke I found them herded, their sentinels posted like an +army resting, and away they headed, the collies at their heels, and me +racing through bracken and heather and burn, after seeing them clearing +a rise and disappearing, the big antlers like branching trees. Away +and away I followed, till the dogs' barking was faint in the night and +the three lonely hills were looming before me, and I saw the wild-fire +glimmer on the peat-bogs and the moon going down as I whistled and +whistled for the dogs. + +And as I waited I heard the thud, thud, thud of horses galloping, and +then the jangle of bridle-chains, and I lay down in the heather. Two +horsemen passed me, wrapped in their riding-cloaks, and after a while a +light jumped out on the hillside, and I knew the horsemen had stopped +at the old empty shepherd's house, and I made my way there, for since +old McCurdy died the house had been empty. I could hear the dogs +barking away among the hills, and the rustle of the night-folks among +the dry heather as I cautiously rounded the "but and ben," and there at +the door were the two horses that had passed me. Quietly I crawled +into a clump of heather and lay a-watching, and turned in my mind +everything I might be a witness to, and found no answer. Then, away +behind me, I heard a horse neigh, and the tethered horses answered, and +a gaunt figure, white-haired and martial, stalked through the door, and +I knew John, Laird of Scaurdale, waited, he and his man. + +I heard a laughing voice on the night wind. + +"It's a great thing to have a lass on the saddle wi' ye, Belle, ye can +kiss her at every stride," and Belle's answer must have been kissed +into silence, for I never heard it. + +There came Dan on our best horse, an upstanding raking bay, and in +front of him was Belle with the wean in the tartan shawl. The servant +lifted Belle from the saddle, and Dan, looking awkward in the glow from +the window, held the tartan bundle, then handed it to the gipsy, and +all of them went in, and I was left alone on my heather tussock. Maybe +ten minutes passed, and the servant came out and led the horses to the +back, where there was a sheepfold and a well, and I heard him drawing +water, and in a little time he entered the house, an empty sack in his +hand, and I knew the horses were at their feed, and crawled up to the +lighted window and peered in. The Laird was striding up and down the +narrow room, his fierce old face twitching, the body-servant stood by +the door like a wooden man, and Dan, as though the ploy pleased him, +smiled at the gipsy, who held the wean. + +The Laird's words came clearly-- + +"She would have the false knave, she was afraid o' my stern lad and +would have the carpet-knight--the poor wee lass; but she minded her +cousin--she minded my boy at the end o' a' when she hated the +Englishman. I ken fine how her pride suffered before she sent me word, +but the word cam' at the hinder end. Belle," said he, stopping his +march, "ye have done finely wi' your lad an' a'." + +"It's not me he'll be lookin' at, sir," wi' a toss of her head. + +"The bigger fool him; it was a' grist that cam' to my mill when I was +mowing down the twenties." + +"Ay, Laird," says Dan wi' a bold look, "I've heard it said ye kept the +ministers in texts for many a day, and the sins o' the great made the +poor folks' teeth water from wan Sunday till the next." + +"I had thought them more concerned wi' brewing their whisky and +poaching than in the inside o' a kirk," growled the Laird, for he was +choleric when reminded of his past by any but his own conscience, which +had turned in on itself, and grown morbid as a result. + +"It's a grand place the kirk, sir; I've seen and heard enough there to +keep me cheery a' week. There was the time when we walked there in +droves, and would be takin' a look at the beasts in the parks as we +went, and often the beasts would be turned on the roadside, for a man +might buy on Monday what he only saw on Sunday. Once, going by +Hector's, the lassies wi' their shoon in their hands, were walkin' +easier barefit and savin' shoe leather, and a young Embro' leddy, wi' a +hooped skirt wi' the braidin' like theek rope on a stack, and +high-heeled shoon, looked disdainfu' at them. Well, well, the pigs +were on the roadside at Hector's, and they kent the barefit lassies; +but the grand lady they didna ken at all, and one caught her gown by +the braidin' and scattered away reivin' and tearin', and set the lady +spinning like a peerie, and the lassies laughed and cried 'suckie, +suckie,' and put on their boots to go into the kirk, well put on, and +in a rale godly frame o' mind." + +Belle had the wean wrapped in the cloak the servant had provided and +was croonin' ower it, and the body-servant was waitin' for orders, and +there stood Dan and the Laird as though loath to part, and them on +business that might mean worse than burnin' stackyards. And it came to +me that Scaurdale was not the man to be cherishing any tinker's whelp, +not even if he had fair claim to. + +"And what lesson did ye get that day, Sir Churchman?" + +"Pride goeth before a fall," says Dan, "but that was a bad day for me." + +"And how?" cried Scaurdale, and I could see he was wasting time on +purpose. + +"Indeed it was no fault o' mine, for between the shepherds' dogs +huntin' aboot till the church scaled, and the pigs lookin' for +diversion, a kind o' hunt got up, and a pig came into the church wi' a' +the collies in full cry and made a bonny to-do among the Elect. The +poor beast made a breenge and got a hat on its snout, and then a fling +o' its heid ended matters, and there was the pig in the deacon's hat, +and sair pit aboot was the pig, and sairer the deacon. + +"Aweel, I was reproved and reminded o' the time when I had had a sermon +a' tae masel'; but the end crowned a', for I had killed an adder that +morning on the road, and put the beast in my pouch for Hamish. In the +middle o' the sermon, after the Gadarene swine and the dogs were +outside, the adder somewie cam' alive and crawled on to the aisle, and +the minister eyed it, and then me, and I felt hot and caul', for I +didna ken o' any new evil that might hiv reached him, and I didna see +the beast till the preacher stopped and pointed. + +"'Man o' evil,' he cried, 'take the image o' your father and go hence,' +and so I'm clean lost," said Dan, wi' a comical sigh. + +I had just time to lay myself flat in the heather before the servant +came out and walked to the top o' the rise. I could see the loom o' +him against the skyline, for the moon was now very low, and then he +whistled, and Dan came leading the horses, and the gipsy carrying the +wean. I crawled to the rise but farther away, and prayed that the dogs +had gone home and would not get wind o' me. For a while they stood, +Dan and the body-servant at the horses' heads, and the Laird a little +apart, and then I heard Dan-- + +"Yon's him at last," says he, and I saw a light glimmer for a little +away out at sea, and the servant ran back to the hut and brought the +lighted lantern, and three times he covered it with his cloak, and +three times he swung it bare, and I saw the long black shadow of the +horses' legs start away into the darkness, and then away out to sea a +flare glimmered three times and all was dark. + +"Easy going," says Dan; "McGilp has nae wind to come close in, and it's +a long pull to the cove." + +The Laird swung himself to the saddle, and as the servant mounted, +Belle made to give him the tartan bundle, but John, Laird o' Scaurdale, +trusted none but himself on a night ride over the road to Scaurdale. + +"Give me the wean," says he, and loosened his cloak. Belle held the +wee bundle to him, and he put it in the crook of his arm. + +"Ye will be a great one and whip the tinkers from your door, my dear," +whispered Belle to the sleeping infant, "but ye've lain in the heather, +and listened tae the noises o' the hill nights, and the burns, and the +clean growing things, and maybe ye'll mind them dimly in your heart and +be kind when ye come to your kingdom." + +At that Scaurdale leant over his saddle. + +"Ye'll never be in want if ye knock at my door, so long as the mortar +holds the stanes thegither." + +"Good night to you, Sir Churchman; I'm in nae swither whether I would +change places wi' ye the night, but weemen are daft craturs, poor +things, and I've had my day." + +Then there came the swish, swish o' galloping hoofs in dry bracken, for +Scaurdale was a bog-trooper and born wi' spurs on, and I heard the +whimper o' the wean, and a gruff voice petting. Belle was greetin' +softly, and as Dan made to lift her in the saddle-- + +"I will not be sitting that way again," she cried; and I know, because +her heart was sore, she must be sharp with a man that had done nothing +to anger her that I could see. + +"Aweel, I was aye a bonny rinner," says Dan. "When I was herdin' and +the beasts lay down behind the black hill in the forenoon, I could rin +tae the Wineport and back before they were rising." I laughed to think +how we estimate time in the college by the rules of Physics, and how +the herd on the moorside did, and wondered who but he could say how +long a cow beast would lie and chew her cud, and how many miles a man +could run in the time she took to chew it. + +"I will not be having you running at all, and, indeed, you have been +kind and good to me. But why should I be going back to that place when +the thing is done I came to be doing? I will go away to my own folk, +and you will be forgetting me." + +"I'll never be forgettin' you," says he, calling her pet words that +made me wish myself far enough away, for I was shy of lovers' talk, and +he held her to his breast and spoke quickly, and turned and caught the +bridle of his horse. + +"No," cried the lass--"no, I will not be staying here," and I was glad +the moon was clouded at her words, "and you will not be seeing me till +I am grown old and wrinkled like a granny." + +At that he gathered her in his arms, and for a while I saw only his +head and not her face at all, except just a blur that looked pale, and +then I heard her say-- + +"You will be saying that to all these other women, for you will be +wicked." + +"Not wicked any more, lass. I'll just be loving you, and why are ye +turned soft; where is the lass that asked me would I burn?" + +"Indeed, it is just with you I will be too gentle, I think, all my +days, for ye will be a brute and a baby, all in one, and yet you would +be aye kind to me. I could not be tholing another man after ye." + +"I think I would not be tholing that either, my dear," cried he in a +fierce voice, "but the lantern has to be lighted and the fire. Maybe +ye'll let me do that much for you," and this time I saw her smiling, +and clinging to him with both her hands. + +At the door she waited till he had made the horse comfortable in the +stone fanks,[2] and when he joined her she stretched her arms up and +pulled his head down. + +"I am wishing to do this," she said, and kissed him on the mouth. "You +will not be loving any more but me," and she struck him lightly but +with fierce abandon on the cheek, and I heard him laughing, and then +the door opened and closed, and I had all the hills to myself. A great +loneliness came over me, and I wished the dogs had waited. + +And as I made my way home, I thought of that little whimpering wean in +the crook of Scaurdale's arm, and wondered how she would fare on board +the _Gull_, for by Dan's word I kent McGilp had shone the flare away +seaward. Scaurdale, it seemed, would be hiding the wean in fair +earnest now, and McGilp I kent would whiles be on the French coast. +But never a word did I get from Dan for many's the day about Belle, or +McGilp, or Scaurdale--we talked of horses and sheep, until the coming +of Neil Beg. + + +[1] Courting, clandestine courtship. + +[2] Sheepfold. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +I MEET JOCK McGILP AND HIS MATE McNEILAGE AT THE TURF INN, AND + LEARN WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE WEAN IN THE TARTAN SHAWL. + +We were at common work enough, Dan and me, in the Blair Mhor when the +night clouds were banking behind the Blackhill to swoop down on the +fast flying winter afternoon. Indeed, it was a matter of a braxy ewe, +and the poor beast lay at the hedge-side and the blood clotting at her +throat, for Dan had bled her, and the briars o' many a brake trailed +behind her. + +"Braxy and oatmeal, Hamish," says he, "there's many a lusty lad reared +on worse; but we'll be hivin' tatties and herrin' for a change, and +plenty o' sour milk tae slocken the drouth o' it." + +And as he stooped to tie the ewe's clits together to make her a handier +load, I looked round me at the cold bare trees, asleep till the spring +would waken them with sap. The hills were bleak and barren, the rocks +harsh and cold with no warm crotal on them, and just the reek from the +houses rising into the frosty sky. + +The night was just down on us, when I heard the lilt o' a whistle, +clear as a whaup's, and with a great melody. To us there came +whistling a kilted lad, his knees red as collops, for he had waded the +burn, and the cheeks o' him glowing like wild roses. + +"Ah-ha, Neil Veg," cries Dan, for he made a work wi' weans always, "is +it stravagin' after the lassies ye are this bonny nicht?" + +"Indeed no, it iss not that; it's yourself I'll be after," shrilled the +lad, wi' a burning face. + +"And what for will ye be after me, Neil Veg?" + +"I will be tellin' you by yourself alone, for my father will be sayin' +to me, 'Did you find him, and him alone? '" + +At that Dan took him a step aside, with a wink to me not to be minding, +and the lad delivered his message in Gaelic and sped away, and his +clear whistle came back to us. + +"A brave lad, Hamish," says Dan; "he'll have listened to a' the ghost +and bogle and bawkin stories since he could creep, and yet he'll +whistle himsel' safe ower the hill and be too proud tae run, an' I'm +thinkin' every muircock that craws, and every whaup that cries, out on +the peat-hags, will be a bogle in his childish mind." + +"There's truth in that," said I, "and I wish I could be hearin' the +stories, for you have not the way o' telling them. Ye will not be +believing them." + +"Come ye raikin' wi' me the night and maybe ye'll be hearing some o' +them," says Dan, and so when the horses were bedded and the kye +fothered, we slipped through the planting and took the old peat road +for it, and that I was to hear stories was all that he would tell me. + +We came out on the old road to the cove, and rough enough passage we +made, for a hill burn that crossed the bare rock o' the road had frozen +and melted and frozen again, so that on the worst o' the hill we took +our hands and knees for it, and even that comedown to a hillman was +better than breaking our necks over the rocks on the low side, for the +track was whiles no more than a scratch along a precipice. + +When we came on to good heather again Dan stopped me. + +"Bide a wee, bide a wee, James," and he took a step from me, and there +came at my very ear the lone night-cry of a gull, so weird and +melancholy a sound, that but for a low laugh beside me again I would +have sworn the bird had passed in the darkness. + +"Listen," says he; "I startled ye first with your Christian name, and +ye were so made up wi' it, ye wid believe a gull brushed your lug; but +listen, Hamish, listen." + +From out of the night came the answer, and in my mind there came the +picture I had often watched, the grey night seas and the lonely gull +flying low, and ever and anon voicing its cry as though it mourned the +lost spirit of the deep. + +"There's just the two roads, you see, the shore road and the hill road, +and a strange foot carries far, and there's aye a lad on the watch when +the 'turf's in.'" + +So that was Wee Neil's message; McGilp and his crew would be ashore, as +many as could be spared from the schooner, and we were making for the +Turf Inn, and as we travelled I asked why it came to be called that. +"It's a long story," said Dan, "but maybe ye'll have noticed a hole in +a smiddy wall, where they will be throwing out the ashes. Well, in +this lonely place here, there werena many to trouble, and it cam' to be +known that a man could get a dram if he paid for it, and as much as he +liked to be payin' for. Well, well, a stranger cam' in one day and +asked refreshment and got it, and then he plankit down a gowden guinea +and waited for his change, for the stranger was a ganger, and here was +a capture just waitin' for him. + +"Well, he waited and waited and cracked away wi' the lass, for there +seemed nobody about but just Meg the gleevitch, and she had talk eno' +for five men, and a trim pair o' ankles forbye. + +"'I'll be goin' now, mistress,' says the stranger, rising. + +"'I'm sorry for that,' says Meg, and looked as if she meant it. + +"'If ye'll just give me my change. . . .' + +"'Change!' she cries, 'God save us, change; we sell naething here,' and +she lifted the guinea oot the old jug on the shelf and handed it back. +'I thought it was just a present,' says she, makin' eyes at him, 'for a +thankfu' man's free wi' his siller. Ye were lucky to get the only drop +o' drink in the hoose,'--and that was true enough, for the time they +had been talkin' and Meg kiltin' her skirt tae kind o' divert the +stranger's attention, the lads had the keg in a safe place. Aweel, and +so he had just to take shank's mare for it. I'll come back tae the +hole in the wa'. There was one in the old house, and Meg cut a divot +and stuffed the hole wi' it if there was nae danger, and if she had +word o' excisemen or gaugers on the lookout for smuggling she took the +turf oot, and that's how the place got it's name (and why we pass the +word that the 'turf's in' if there's word o' a run), but it must have +hurt Meg to gie back the guinea, for she's a wild long eye for siller." + +We were now close to a white house, stone built and thatched, set among +big plane-trees, and looking to the sea. At the door I heard Gaelic +songs and great laughing, and then we went inside. At first I saw +nothing but two ship's lanthorns, swung from hooks such as we use to +hang hams on, and the blazing fire, where a ship's timber burned with +wee blue flames licking out, as the fire got at the salt of the seven +seas. Then I made out the swarthy faces turned to us, and heard Dan's +name voiced by the revellers, and a woman, stout built and perky but +still young, that I took to be Meg the gleevitch, from her bird-like +way of making little rushes, or, as we express it, "fleein' at things," +brought us steaming glasses of toddy, so strong that I think she had +watered the whisky with more whisky, for the tears started to my eyes +as I drank my first drink. But I felt fine and warm inside for all +that. Captain McGilp, as tough a looking seaman as ever shook out a +reef, hoisted himself beside Dan. He had not mind of me, I think. + +"We did yon business o' Scaurdale's," he whispered, "and got the len' +of a cow to keep the wean in milk, and I'll no' say but I forget where +the beast came frae, for it's in the barrel now, what's left o't. The +wean's in France in a convent among the nuns, where I'm envying her her +innocence," and the captain became so wild and heedless in his speech +that I drew away. "Ho, my cockerel," says he, "Miss Mim-mou +(mim-mouth), that's the bonniest wie I ken o' gettin' yir wesan cut," +and to Dan, "There's a lot o' the stallion to that colt." This would +mean that I resembled my father, the minister now dead, for he survived +my mother, the Laird's sister, by but a few years. + +"Let the lad be, Jock McGilp, or you and me'll be cuttin' wesands," +says Dan, and I could have flown at the burly smuggler's throat for the +joy of Dan's backing. + +"It'll be his first night, hey? Well, look at McNeilage there; he's +been drunk fifteen flaming years." + +"A bonny mate that--fifteen flaming years." + +The mate slowly lifted his head, which had sunk on his massive chest, +and as I saw his face I grew amazed, for he resembled nothing so much +as a good-living, well-fed minister. + +"I ha' used the sea, Cap'n, in my time. I loved the nuns and the +virgins in San Iago afore we made a bonfire o' it, ay the holy nuns, +but they skirled. Here's tae them, they were good while they lasted," +and the unholy wretch smacked his lips as though he relished the memory +more than the drink. + +"Sanny McNeilage, they ca' me. I've seen what I've seen and what ye'll +never see--I've seen the decks red for a week and all hands drunk;" and +then he turned to me, and his face shone with kindliness, "Are ye any +man wi' a cutlass, my lad?" + +"No," says I, for my blood boiled at the thought of the nuns, "I wish I +were." + +"So do I," says he in a pitiful voice. + +"All that was before your mother died," says a young lad at his elbow, +fierce Ronny McKinnon, and the mate put his head in his arms and his +shoulders shook with his greetin', while nods and winks went round the +godless crew. + +"She was English, my poor old mother," he cried, "and I would lay down +my damned soul for her, but she died fifteen year ago, and she could +not say 'wee tatties' in the English when she slipped her cable, for +she turned into Gaelic--yes," and he looked up, the tears in his eyes +and rolling down his cheeks. I think I never saw anything so hateful, +but then I saw his hand at his hanger and his big shoulders haunching. +"Will any o' ye be denying it?" he murmured in his pitiful voice, and +then through the tears I saw the devil mocking, and knew why the crew +hastened to reassure him. + +Meg, the gleevitch, kept the drink going and threw more wood on the +fire. "Drink up," she cries, "it's a rid tinker's night this." + +"Why red tinkers, Meg?" says Dan, raising his head from close confab +wi' the captain. + +"Ye ken the story fine," says she, "how the weans hiv the red hair tae +keep them warm maybe, lying oot." + +"Not me, my lass," says Dan; "sit down here beside me and tell us." + +And as we took our drink she told us of the red tinkers and when they +took to the road. + +"Indeed, and that will be a good story too," said an old shepherd by +the fireside, with his dogs at his feet, "and I will be tellin' you +another, if you will be caring. . . ." + +It wore on to the small hours of the morning, and cocks began to crow, +and yet we sat. Indeed, by that time I was seeing two fires, and I +knew that most of the crew slept as they sat or sprawled, and the mate +was again weeping and leering round for some one to fight, as though +his seeming gentleness would entice a stranger. Dan was parrying with +Meg, for in her story she had made great stress on a gipsy lass, and +all with knowing looks in Dan's direction; but at last we made our +homeward way, of which I remember little, except that Dan had me on his +back on the worst of the road, and I was singing. + +Next morning I was ill, and black looks I got at the breakfast, +although my aunt was kind enough and I caught her smiling at me, for I +suppose I must have cut a queer enough figure, but my uncle was very +stern. After I had made some pretence of eating, I rose, and he asked +me, in his grandest manner, to come to him in an hour. + +He was among his books, for he was more of a bookworm than his folks, +and standing in front of the fire as I entered. + +"Hamish," said he, "I thought more of ye. Dan is no model to follow," +says he; "forbye, your head is not so strong, if that be any excuse for +drink and devilry on his pairt. I ken of his ongoings, but I hold my +peace, for he minds his work, and I have a promise to his father, my +brother, that's lying far frae his kith and kin in the field of +Malplaquet. Let this be a warning to ye, Hamish, for this morning ye +were looking lamentable," says he, "just lamentable." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +MIRREN STUART'S ERRAND. + +The shame of my first night's ploy at the Turf Inn lay heavy on me for +a while, and then I would be thinking of the swarthy crew with their +knives and their fierce oaths at the cards, of the spluttering glowing +fire and the old men of the glens in the glow of it, and when I heard +the wind moan and cry in the planting in the night, I longed to hear +the old dread stories of a people long dead who had raised great stones +on our wind-swept moors, and marked their heroes' resting-places with +cairns. + +Something of this I told to Dan as we gathered in the sheep from the +far hills on the day before the big storm. I mind it fine, the grey +heavy sky, the bursts of wind that rose ever and anon in the hills, and +died away with an eerie cry, and made me think that all the winds had +word to gather somewhere, and were hastening to the feast like corbies +to a dying ewe. + +There was the smell of snow in the air, and the moss pools were frozen +hard, and beautiful it was to see the stag-horn moss entombed in the +clear ice, and the wee water-plants, pale and cold and pitiful, at the +bottom of the pools. Round the far marches we gathered--the wild shy +wethers, seeing the dogs, paused as if to question the right of the +intruders, and then bounded away like goats, and in my mind's eye I see +yet the whitey-yellow wool where the wind ruffled the fleeces. Dan was +very quiet that day, speaking seldom except to the dogs. + +"There's something no canny coming, Hamish," said he; "I feel it in my +banes. We're but puir craturs when a's said and done. A pig can see +the wind, and there's them that can hear the grass growing, but a man +just breenges on, blin', blin', and fou o' pride." + +And again, "Ye've a terrible hankerin' for bawkins,[1] Hamish. I +whiles think ye will be some old Druid priest come back that's +forgotten the word o' power, but kens dimly in his mind that the white +glistening berries o' the oak and the old standing stanes are freens. +Ye're no feart o' bawkins, and ye're never tired o' hearing about them. +Aweel, it's a kind o' bravery I envy ye, for weel I mind that first +time I heard the Black Hound o' Nourn bay. I can feel the tingle of +fear run in my bones yet when I think o' the dogs leaving me alane in +that unchancey wood, and that devil beast near me in the dark." + +By this time we were at Bothanairidh, maybe a heather mile from +Craignaghor, the flock heading quietly in and the dogs at heel, and at +a bare hawthorn tree Dan stopped. + +"An' this, Hamish, will be another o' your freens," said he. "There's +many a lilting laugh hidden in the ears o' this old tree, for here it +was the cailleachs cam' tae spin in the long summer forenights, when +everybody left their hames and took their beasts tae the hill for the +summer. There were no dykes or hedges in those days, and the beasts +had to be herded on the hill if the crops were to come to anything. +Aweel, the men a' went to the fishing and a' the weemen stayed at +Bothanairidh, and in the evenings the young lassies would be making +great laughing while the cailleachs span; and once, long long ago, when +the crotal was young on the rocks on the moors, there came a swarthy +lad and said fareweel tae his lass under this tree. There was red wild +blood in the boy, and before he came back he had seen a many men swing +from the yard-arm. Ay, when he did return, he met a red bride, for +another had awaited his coming. + +"'This will be the bride ye are seeking,' snarled he that waited, and +gave the sailor the dagger where the throat dimples above the +collar-bone. And they say the swarthy lad writhed him up against the +old tree and laughed. + +"'As long as this tree stands,' he cried, 'you'll never hold to your +coward heart the lass ye have done the dirty killin' for,' and died. +Well, Hamish, I'm no' hand at stories, but the old hawthorn had aye +flourished white until then, and after that the flourish was fine rich +red, and when he that slew the swarthy lad sought to tear the tree +down, his hair changed colour in a night, and the strange folks' mark +was on him, and he wandered in the hills and died." + +As we stood, I fitted into Dan's brief story--for his tale seemed to me +to resemble more the headings of a story than a real story,--I fitted +in a background of great wind-swept spaces, of bare rocks and cold +heather and that poor love-maddened outcast wandering alone, and +wondered what black pool cooled his brow at the last of it, and there +came to my ears a distant cry, and so sure was I that I had imagined +it, that I never turned to look, till Dan's laugh roused me. + +"Come away from the standin' stanes and the heroes' graves. That wasna +the skirl o' a ghost, but a hail frae a sonsy lass--but what gars her +risk her bonny legs in yon daft-like wie beats me." + +"I think," says I, "yon'll be Finlay Stuart's Uist powny; there's none +here has the silver mane and tail. . . ." + +"Imphm," says Dan; "imphm, Hamish, as Aul' Nick said when his mouth was +fu'. Yon's Finlay's beast, and I'm thinkin' o' a' Finlay's lassies, +there's just wan wid bother her noddle tae come here away, and that's +Mirren; but wae's me," said he, with his droll smile, "she's set her +cap at the excise-man, they tell me." + +The lass drew up her pony beside us, and, man, they were a picture, +these two--her hair, blown all loose, rippling like a wave, and the +flush of youth glowing in her face and neck, and her eyes shining, and +the noble Hieland pony, with his great curved neck and round dark +barrel, and the flowing silver mane and tail. To me she bowed coldly +enough, but with all the grace of one whose men-folk called themselves +Royal, or maybe from Appin--especially in their cups. Although it +seems the Royal Stuart race were none too particular whatever, but Dan +had always his own way with the lassies. + +"Has the de'il run away wi' the excise-man, Mirren, that you're risking +horseflesh among the peat-bogs?" + +"No," she cries, "no, but I wish he would be taking the whole dollop o' +them to his hob, and then maybe decent folks would be having peace." + +"That would stamp ye Finlay's lass if I didna ken already," says Dan. + +"Ken me," cried the maid; "I'm well kent as a bad sixpence--a lass that +should ha' been a lad wi' work to do or fighting, instead o' +sitting--sitting like a peat stack, or"--with a fine flare o' +colour--"like a midden waiting to be 'lifted.'" + +"Ye're hard to please, my dear; there's many a lad wid be sair put oot +if ye took to the breeks. . . ." + +"It will not be this gab clash I came to be hearin', Dan McBride, but a +most private business." + +"Oh, don't be minding Hamish, my lass; he canna pass a rick o' barley +but his eyes and mouth water. It's _just lamentable_," said he. + +Her red lips took a curl at that, and then her speech came all in a +rush. + +"I've heard--oh, do not be asking me how I will be hearing these +things, but the preventive men are lying at the cove waiting for the +_Gull_, and I thought maybe if she came the night, wi' a storm comin' +from the southard and them trying to make the port, they might all be +taken away and transported, and he would be among them. . . ." + +"Gilchrist the exciseman, Mirren?" + +"Why will ye be naming that man to me?" she cried, in a burst of +passion. "Is it not bad enough to be doing that I let him tell me +their plans, and him not knowing where I carry them." + +"I might have kent the breed o' ye wouldna be content wi' an exciseman, +Mirren. Aweel, Hamish and me will just be having a sail this night, +storm or no', and the _Gull_ can coorie into mony's the neuk among the +rocks; but whit bates me is how they fun' oot the cove." + +"It would just be Dol Bob that told," whispered Mirren. + +"The dirty slink," cried Dan. "I'm thinking there will be some talk +between that man and me soon; but I'm no good enough looking to be +thinking ye rade here to warn me, Mirren, so I'll be tellin' Ronny +McKinnon tae keep his heart up yet when the _Seagull's_ here, but ye'll +hiv a big handfu' wi' Ronny." + +"I would not be having him less," she cried, a little pleased as I +thought; and then, as she turned to go, "There's a bonny wild lass at +McCurdy's old hut, Dan, and she told me where to look for ye. Ye might +tell her Mirren Stuart was speiring for her kindly, and thinking +naething of Dan McBride, for the look she gied me out o' her black een +made me grue." [2] + +So Belle was still at McCurdy's hut. But Dan was thoughtful again, and +never spoke till we had the sheep in the low sheltered fields. + +But coming home he was whimsical. "Are they not droll now, the +lassies, Hamish--here's Mirren Stuart, namely for her good looks, and +for the bold spirit of her. Many's the house she has saved with that +same Hielan' pony, for Gilchrist, a game lad among gangers, canna keep +anything from Mirren, and here she is among the heather wi' word o' +treachery, and d'ye ken who she will be doing it for?" + +"No," said I, "except this McKinnon ye spoke of." + +"Ay, McKinnon, just wild Ronny, that she cast out wi' years ago when he +was a decent farmer's son, close to her own place in the Glen yonder at +the far end o' Lamlash, before he slipped away on the _Seagull_." + +"I am wishing, Dan," said I, "that ye kent less about the smugglers." + +"A man must be doing something, Hamish, to get any pith out o' life. +This is what I am thinking we will be doing the night. We will tell +the Laird that it will be as well that somebody should be giving an eye +to the sheep he has wintering at Lamlash and the South End, and then we +will make for McKelvie's Inn at Lamlash and get a boat across to the +Holy Island, and gie McGilp a signal frae the seaward side o' it, where +it will not be seen except in the channel. McKelvie at the Quay Inn +will ken a' about that. There's a man in the island ye will be glad to +meet if he's in his ordinar--McDearg they ca' him--and after that, +Hamish, we will stravaig to the South End and see the sheep there and +come back hame again. Are ye game for it?" says he. + +"Ay, Dan, but there's just this--who is this Dol Beag?" + +"Dol Beag has a boat and a wife and weans, and he's a sour riligous +man, keen for siller at any price. Well, I'm hoping the gangers have +paid him well by this time, for I am thinking he will not enjoy it +long." + + +[1] Fearsome apparitions. + +[2] Shiver involuntarily. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +WE TRAMP THROUGH THE SNOW TO McKELVIE'S INN. + +With the afternoon came snow, round hard flakes like wee snowballs, dry +and silent and all-pervading, and the hills were changed, and there +came on the sea that queer mysterious snow light, and then the wind +rose skirling, sweeping the uplands bare and filling the quiet hollows. + +At supper-time the gale was at its height, the roar from the iron-bound +shore was like giants in battle, and I knew that on the black rocks the +spray was rising in drifting white smoke, and the rocks trembling to +the onset of the seas. + +Behind the stackyard, in the old trees, the crows were complaining +bitterly with their hard clap-clap tongues, and now and then a great +crashing warned of the death of some old storm-scarred veteran of the +wood. But it was fine, the music of the storm, the blatter of the snow +and the wailing cry of the wind, before a great devastating blast came. + +Fine to think that the stackyard was safe and sheltered, and the beasts +warm and well, were tearing away at their fodder all unconcerned, and +that the sheep were in the low ground of many sheltering knowes and +sturdy whin-bushes, comfortable as sheep could well be, and the thought +came to me of how Belle was faring in her lonely sheiling. When the +supper was made a meal of and the horn spoons of the lads still busy, +Dan had a word with my uncle, for my aunt was mainly taken up watching +each new trick of her bairn these days. + +"This snaw," says Dan, "will likely haud, and I would like fine to ken +if a' these hogs ye hiv wintering over the hill will be getting enough +keep.[1] I'm thinking Hamish and me will be as well tae inquire the +night before it gets worse outside, for worse it'll be, and we'll be +back as soon as the weather betters." + +At this my uncle takes a turn round his room with a thoughtful frown on +his brow. + +"No pranks," says he; "I'll have no gallivanting, but I ken fine ye +have an interest in the beasts. . . . Ye can go," and as we turned to +leave the room, he wheeled round with outstretched arm and his white +finger pointing. + +"No pranks, mind. I'll have no pranks." + +"God's life," says Dan, as we muffled ourselves for our tramp--"God's +life, Hamish, he's queer names for things, that uncle o' yours; there's +nae prank in my heid this night--a queer prank it would be no' tae warn +McGilp,"--and as we tramped through the kitchen where the lassies were +coorieing over the fire telling bawkin stories, and edging closer to +the farm lads for comfort when the gale moaned and whined in the wide +chimney--as we tramped through, old Betty took Dan by the sleeve. + +"Let go, ye old randy," cried he, in a great pretence of terror. "I'm +thinking the old ones are perkier than the young ones these days. . . ." + +"Och, my bairn, my bairn," cried the old woman, her two hands on him, +"will ye not be stopping in this night, this devil's night? It's nae +hogs that's taking ye trakin' weary miles this very night, and fine ye +ken the hogs are weel, but ye're just leadin' the young lad astray +efter some quean that'll be stickin' tae him like the buttons on his +coat. + +"Wae's me, wae's me, will ye not have enough truck wi' the wenches +already that ye mak' me lie eching and pechin' and listening for the +death-watch on sic a nicht,"--and at that Jean giggled hysterically and +crept closer to Tam, and the old dame turned on her like a flash. + +"Wheest, ye besom, wi' your deleries; there's trouble enough aboot the +night without you skirling like a craking hen. It's no' your kind I'm +feared for, ye useless one, but these wild hill lassies, for when the +devil is loose among the hills, he gars the wild blood leap in their +veins, and the wind tae loose the knot o' their lang hair--ay, and +he'll bring the man that'll gar them tingle at his touch, and send the +red blood flaming in their cheeks." + +Dan's smile was broader and broader, and I noticed the red blood +flaming in the cheeks of our own sonsy dairy lassies, Liz and +Betty. . . . + +"Ye were bred in the hills yourself, old mother," says Dan, and put an +arm round the withered old neck, "and I'm kissing you for that," and we +went out into the smother of the snowstorm. + +At the byre end the old rowan-trees were creaking and groaning to the +violence of the gale, the bourtree bushes were flattened near to the +ground, and everywhere was white. The driven snow melted on my tongue +as I gasped, and I felt the flakes melt in my eyes; but we followed the +road by instinct, for where the hedges should have been only a black +blur showed. On the low road it was not so bad; but when we took the +hill road again, I fain would have turned my back to the gale, and +stood like a stirk on a wet day, but I powled on after Dan, thinking +shame of my coward heart. Below us the sea roared like a cold, cold, +cruel hell; the maddened anger of the breakers made me shiver with +dread, and the gloating, horrible grumbling as the seas rumbled into +the coves made a cold sweat break on my back and limbs. But I bent my +head before the gale and clawed my way upwards with numbed fingers +clutching like talons to the heather, and prayed that the roots might +hold. So we toiled upwards, Dan always leading, and sometimes I saw +him turning and knew he was speaking; but the wind cut the words as +they left his lips, and bore them tearing and shrieking to the sea +below. + +Before we gained the top of the hill I saw Dan climbing upwards from +the old peat track, and I followed dumbly as he led me into an old +quarry, long since disused except by the sheep on the warm summer days, +and there we lay almost exhausted, content just to know that the storm +rushed over our pitiful retreat, and it seems droll to me now that I +spoke scarcely above my breath; but then it seemed as though the +storm-king might hear me if I raised my voice. + +But when Dan spoke the black anger was trembling in his voice. + +"They're lying there snug and dry in our cove, d---n them, and that +poor _Gull_ straining and crying out there, reaching for her hame, and +them ready to pounce on her crew, the crawling slinks,"--and I knew he +was thinking of the Preventive men. + +In a while we crawled to the path again, and clawed our way to the top +of the hill, and there below us was a wondrous sight. The sea ran +inwards in a noble bay, and the bay was almost landlocked with an +island, but down below us was a myriad twinkling lights, hundreds of +them, rising and falling. The snow had taken off for a little, and a +hazy moon hurrying behind grey clouds showed us the ships tossing and +straining at their cables. Some of the lights seemed to move slowly +past the others, and these I took to be vessels dragging their anchors. + +We stood looking down a while, for with the stopping of the snow a +weight seemed to be lifted from us, and then made our way downwards +towards the sea. After our fight upwards, the descent seemed easy and +almost calm, although the wind was howling still; but we were close to +farmed land now, and company, and once in a field sheltered by the wood +of the Point, we came on sheep, standing and lying close in by the +trees, and Dan bawled into my ear, "The hogs are doing finely, Hamish; +I hadna expected to see them," and I remembered that we were wintering +sheep with old Hector of the Point as well as Easdale and Birrican. We +struck the shore road and passed the big rock, and the sea was washing +over the road, carrying spars, and bamboos, and sailors' beds, and +leaving them high and dry on the fields by the roadside. + +Groups of noisy seamen passed us with a great clop-clopping of +sea-boots, and many little thatch houses we hurried by, until we came +to the Quay Inn, where there were many people gathered, and pushed +ourselves through drunken, quarrelling sailors to the counter. + + +[1] Forage. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +WE SAIL IN McKELVIE'S SKIFF TO THE HOLY ISLAND. + +Through the throng of bearded sailors we strode and made our way to the +kitchen of the Quay Inn. A place sacred to kenspeckle folk it was, and +from its smoke-stained rafters hung many pieces of bacon and dried +shallots, and there were also bunches of centaury, and camomile, and +dandelion root, and bogbean, for the goodman's wife was cunning in +medicines of the older-fashioned sort. In this place the noise from +the common room was not so plainly heard, and indeed it gave me the +impression of a haven from the boisterous spirit there. + +As I stood before the blazing fire, guiltily conscious of the puddle of +water at my feet where the snow had melted, Dan left the kitchen by a +door leading to a yard and stables, and I heard him speaking to some +one; and then when he came back there was the goodwife with him, and +Dan cried for a long hot drink, for the flesh was frozen on his bones. +At that the goodwife, with many "to be sures" and "of courses," hurried +herself here and there, and all the time she would be talking of the +sheep in this terrible weather, and of our long tramp across the hill; +and then she handed us the drink, and would not be having any payment +at all for it, for were we not freens of her ain folk (however far +out), and strangers too, moreover? And then the low door opened, and +the innkeeper entered from the taproom, a dark man, very heavy across +the shoulders, and a little bent on his legs like a sailor. I had seen +him as we entered, black-bearded, silent, with his two swarthy sons, +eyeing his company from below pent-house brows. His eyes, blue and +keen, took us in from stem to stern, as the sailors say, and he came +close to Dan before the fire, and-- + +"Ay," says he, "it'll be the boat again," and his voice was a growl. + +"Just that," says Dan, sipping his drink, and then he talked quickly, +and I heard him tell of Mirren Stuart's message and of Dol Rob Beag's +treachery (for he had taken the word to the Preventives of where McGilp +kept his cargo in the cove above the Snib before it was carted inland, +or stowed in many an innocent-looking smack bound for the mainland). + +"Dol Rob Beag will be slipping his cable one of these fine nights," +growled the listener; and then, "There's just the caves at the Rhu +Ban," [1] says he. + +"I had that in my head," says Dan, "for the gangers are in the Cove at +Bealach an sgadan, and McGilp will be in the Channel. McDearg o' the +Isle House is in this to his oxters. There's just nothing for it but +to show a glim on the seaward side o' the Isle, and McGilp will take +the _Gull_ to the Rhu Ban when the wind takes off; but, man, it's +risky, devilish risky, wi' the bay fou o' boats." + +"It's the deil's own night," agreed the innkeeper, "black as pitch and +blowing smoke, but the snow will be helping us too," and then we sat +before the fire all silent for a while, the goodwife busy with her +infusions and brews. + +"Will ye be remembering the night they pressganged McKillop?" thus +suddenly to Dan. + +"A droll night's work yon." + +"Ye see," turning to me, "this Neil McKillop would be a likely lad, +clever on the boats, and clever wi' the snares--ay, clever, clever--and +kept his mother well. Ay--well, there came a night like this, but not +so much wind, and the pressgang boat slipped into the bay, and nobody +knowing, and ashore came the crew o' her, and many's the likely lad +they took, and among them Neil McKillop. The boat would just be +shoving off from the old Stone Quay when his mother came there in her +white mutch. + +"'Give me back my son, my only son,' she cried, standing on the +quay-head; 'you will not be taking away the one that keeps me in meat +and drink, me an old, old woman. Och, bring him back, my lad, and I'll +be blessing ye and praying for ye in your bloody wars.' + +"At that a tarry breeks up with an oar and skelps a splash o' water at +the old woman, and laughed at her with the wind blowing her skirts, and +showing her lean shanks. + +"'Go back to your weeds and your snakes, ye witch," he cries in the +Gaelic; 'we'll make a sailor-man out o' your whelp,' and the oars began +to plash. + +"Down on her knees went the old _cailleach_. 'Bring him to me, ye +hounds, before I put a curse on ye,' and she tore her coorie from her +head, and the wind tore through the strands of her white hair, and they +rose like elf-locks. High above her head she threw her arm, her +fingers stiff and pointing, there on the quay-head, an awesome sight in +the mirk of a half moon. + +"Then slowly, slowly, softly she began-- + +"'Cursed be ye all, seed, breed, and generations o' ye. The madness o' +the sea come on ye in the still night watches, friendless, friendless +on the face o' the waters be your lives, and your deaths too foul for +the sea to be giving you a cleanly burial.' Then in a skirl o' rage, +her face working, 'The foul things o' the deep shall reive the flesh +from ye in your death, and in your lives ye shall mourn for the quiet +streams o' fresh water and the sight of green things growing--and +never, never, never get nigh them. . . .' + +"In the boat the men lay on their oars, with faces white below the tan +o' wind and weather, and then hurriedly she came astern, and Neil +McKillop sprang on the quay, and to his mother, and the pressgang boat +shot into the haze off the land, and the mother and son went back to +the croft on the hillside." + +His tale finished, McKelvie drained his glass at a gulp, and his lips +pressed together as though he were unwilling that even the volatile +essence might escape, and then-- + +"We'll go," says he. "Robin!" + +At his word one of the swarthy sons entered and stood waiting, and +through the open door to the common room I saw groups of sailors, +asleep on the floor before the fire, and asleep on the benches where +they sat; yet some hardened drinkers kept the drink going. + +"Ye see, Hamish," Dan whispered, "there's a big sea running, and these +sailor boys would rather risk the floor than their wee boats." + +I felt a sinking at my heart, for I knew that the sailors were sweirt +to risk their lives, yet there was not one timid face among them, but +many bold and truculent--men used to risk their lives, and maybe +enjoying the risk. But I held my peace, for I thought shame of my +terror, and before Dan too. So the four of us went out quietly the +back way and came to the quay, where we found a boat on the lee side, +afloat, and with the mast stepped, and all ready for hoisting the sail, +and I wondered if Dan's talking to the goodwife in the inn yard had had +anything to do with it, for the boats at that time of the year were +mostly upturned on the beach, and indeed most of the dingies and gigs +from the ships were also drawn up. + +Robin McKelvie slipped down the quay-wall as nimbly as a cat, and +busied himself with the sail, doing what I know not, though I prayed he +might not loosen any reef, and his father followed, more slowly, for he +was a heavier man, but wonderfully active in a boat. Then Dan bade me +climb down, and I scrambled down and found my feet on a gunwale just as +I expected to feel the water, so I sat down in the boat suddenly, and +Dan was beside me in a wee while. + +Robin had the sail up, and made fast, as his father cast off and took +the tiller, and the roar of the sea all round me as we sailed from the +lee of the quay at first filled me with fear, but soon I felt the skiff +rise to the first sea, and I forgot my terror in watching the helmsman. + +"Ay, ay," he spoke softly; "they're coming now, the three sisters," and +his eyes seemed to pierce the gloom for the three rolling curling waves +as he shouldered the skiff over them. Sometimes I watched the water +curling over the gunwale, and wondered if ever again I would reach the +land, and then a wave would break somewhere near, and the helmsman +would mutter-- + +"I ken ye; I will be hearing your whispering," and it seemed to me as +if he were a cunning old warrior in the midst of well-tried foes, wary +and courageous, and always winning through. But in the middle of the +bay the waves rose madly round us, the stout skiff was tossed like a +cork, now perched giddily on the crest, and now racing madly to the +trough, and then to the crest again with a horrible side motion (which +I think seamen call yawing), most fearful of all. But McKelvie spoke +to his boat as I have heard horsemen speak to their horses. + +When a squall struck us and the skiff lay down to it, he would croon +softly-- + +"You will not be killing yourself, lass--easy, easy,--oh, but you are +eager for the sea," and I knew that I was watching a master hand, a man +cunning in the moods of the sea; but as I sat he bade me bale the water +out of the boat, for it was slushing about high over the floor-boards, +and these had come adrift, and were moving with every motion, so I +baled with a will, glad for something mechanical to do, to keep my eyes +off the menacing waves which seemed to rush up to devour us, and as if +we were too poor a prey, spurned us away. Then I saw that we were in +calmer water, and the steep shore of the Isle seemed close to, and the +light of the white house clear, and in a little time the sail came +rattling down, and the skiff's keel grated on the flat gravel, and we +sprang ashore and put the anchor on the beach though the tide was going +back. + +And as we made our way over the gravelly shore I saw a crouching figure +rise from among the wrack and come to us. + +"Oh, oh; have ye come for me, father? Have ye come for me at last?" +and a girl flung herself into McKelvie's arms, and hung there crying. + +"Wheest, lass, wheest," commanded the innkeeper sternly. + +"Oh, I just crept as near the sea as I could go, for oh, yon hoose is +no' canny, and a' day the ravens from the Red Rocks have walked in at +the doors, fluttering and croaking, and the Red Man is crying that he's +gaun tae his hame the night; and McRae piping to him a' day, and him +drinking and blaspheming. . . ." + +"If McDearg's gaun the night, we'll maybe hae news tae stop him, my +dear," said Dan. "Anywie, ye're surely no' feart of a raven's +croaking?" + +With that we started for the Isle House, the whitewash of it looking +yellowish against the snow, and all about us the flapping of wings and +the crying of sea-birds as our feet scrunched on the gravel. + +"I canna go there," cried the lass. "I just canna; let me bide in the +boat," and then, as she saw her brother take the lantern from the bows, +she ran to him. + +"Take me wi' ye, Robin. I'll speil tae the Goat's Ledge wi' ye; but +oh, do not be making me go back there. . . ." + +"Wheest, my lassie, my poor wee lassie," said her father; "there's nae +harm will come on you, wi' your father and Robin beside ye; but you +will not be mentioning any Goat's Ledge, for the devil himself will +carry word to the Preventives." + +So, standing some way from the skiff, we held a council of war, and at +length Robin took his lantern and left us to climb to the Goat Ledge +and make the warning signal, should M'Gilp be in the channel, and we +others made for an outhouse, where we left McKelvie's lass content +enough wi' two collies, for she was at her service in the Isle House, +and they kent her. We left her there sitting on a bag of corn and the +dogs at her feet, and made our way through the yard to the house. + + +[1] Bhuda ban=white headland. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE DEATH OF McDEARG, THE RED LAIRD. + +While we were still in the yard the door opened, throwing a scad of +light over the snow, and a high screiching voice came to us-- + +"Come in, lads, come in; the lassies are weary waiting for their lads, +the poor bit things, sair negleckit on this weary isle, wi' nane to see +their ankles but scarts[1] and solangeese." + +And as we entered she held out a dry wrinkled hand. + +"Prosperous New Year, Young Dan. Six bonny sons Auld Kate wishes ye, +tall braw lads that'll no feel the weight o' your coffin; but if a' +tales be true, you'll no' be in want. Ech, they're clever, clever, +your lassies. Same to you, McKelvie. Your lass has ta'en the rue the +day. Happy New Year, young sir; you'll be a McBride too," and the old +withered crone peered at me through eyes bleared, as it seemed to me, +with the peat reek of a hundred winters. + +I was sore amazed at our welcome, for it was not near New Year, and I +wondered if the scad of light on the snow, shining on us, had taken the +old woman back to her younger days, but Dan took me out of my amazement. + +"Humour her, Hamish; humour the weemen. A new face is New Year to Auld +Kate that keeps house tae McDearg." + +"Och, it's the lassies will be the pleased ones, coiling the blankets +round them; it's Auld Kate that kens," and then she gave a screitchy +hooch and began to sing in her cracked thin voice-- + + 'The man's no' born and he never will be, + The man's no born that will daunton me.' + +It's that I used to be singing to your grandfather, Dan, when I was at +my service in Nourn. He had a terrible grip, your grandfather, and the +devil was in him; but he's deid, they're a' deid but Auld Kate. But +we'll have a dram, and you'll be seeing the Red Laird." And in a +little I saw that there was more than old age the matter. + +There came the noise of piping in that strange house, and we tramped +along a stone-flagged passage, and entered a room looking to the sea, +and there, before a great fire, was McDearg, an old man, with evil +looking from his eyes. He sat in his great chair, his head on his +breast, and his shepherd, with the pipes on his knee, sat listening. + +"A brave night, a brave night, and the devil on the roof-tree, McBride. +What seek ye o' the Red Laird? The _Gull_, say ye; the Preventives--to +hell wi' the Preventives; there's a bonny cove at the Rhu Ban, lads; +but ye're in good time to see the devil coming for Red Roland." + +A terrible squall struck the house and moaned round the gables, and the +lowes blew into the room. + +"D'ye hear him, the laughing o' him, and his blackbirds spying all +day--ay, the Ravens from the Red Rocks; but they have nae terrors for +Roland McDearg." + +A long time he was silent, and then slowly the words came-- + +"McRae, McRae (for the McRaes were all pipers), play me back, back till +I hear my mother laughing, in the evening, till I see the grass, green, +green and beautiful in the sun, and the golden ben-weeds swaying to the +breeze, and I am a boy again--I, Red Roland, searching among the +heather, with the scent o' wild honey around me, searching for the shy +white heather to bring coyly to my lass, and bravely the sun shines +among the hills, and the hawk's brown wings flutter in the blue vault. +Play me back, McRae, till I hear the water wimpling on the hill burns, +when I lie flat to drink, the brown peaty water, McRae, and the sheep +looking at me before they run. The sun and the sea and the wild winds +o' my youth, McRae; bring them back to me before I go." + +As he spoke, the Red Laird lolled his head on the back of his chair. +His eyes were closed, and his mind looked backwards; and as he cried +for the sun and the growing grass and the wave of the wind in the hay, +his hand rose and fell. And McRae, McRae the piper, looked long into +the glowing fire, looked till his harsh face softened and the smiling +came round his eyes, and softly, softly he played. And in his playing +I saw the goodman bend over his wife and whisper. I saw her face glow +in the evening sun, and I heard her laughter, clear and sweet like +diamonds ajingle, as she struck him playfully, and walked stately and +slow to the green where her children played on the lush grass, and ever +and ever she looked over her shoulder for her man, because he was her +lover still. And I saw a boy moving among the crags, the honey dust +round his knees, and ever and ever his eyes searched the heather, and I +heard his cry of gladness as he fell down beside the lucky heather, +white and chaste as a virgin. + +And I looked at Dan and saw him far away in his youth, and even +McKelvie looked not comfortable. But the Laird was all happy, a boy +again with all his days before him, and when McRae made an end of his +piping, said Dan with a queer sigh-- + +"A great gift, Hamish, to be drowned in drink," and as I watched the +piper gulp his usquebach I kent what he meant. + +But at his stopping, the Laird rose. "Let be the days o' innocence, +McRae. The March, The March, now, and the onset o' battle. Dirl it +out, dirl it out, for Red Roland was first in the charge, and the cries +o' fear made the blood tingle in his back, the women screaming, and the +men crying, and the red blood flowing, and my father's sword dauntless +in the van--bring it back, McRae. Make my cauld blood hot as in my +manhood." + +When he cried for the battle-music, his clenched fist beat the air, his +long locks tossed like an old lion's mane, and the war love shone in +his eyes. A great change came on the piper. He stood his full height, +as straight as a young larch tree, and a cold deadly pride came on his +face, and then with a great swing he threw the drones to his shoulder, +his arm caressed the bag, and his foot beat, beat, beat like a restive +horse, till he got the very swing of his pibroch. + +Then with that fine prideful swing of his shoulders he started to +march, and I saw the clansmen gather, wet from the mountain torrents, +with knees red-scarred by the briars of many a wood. I heard the +clamour of their talk, and the high note of their anger, and then +swiftly, silently, below a pale moon I saw their ranks lock and the +grim march begin, onward, onward to the southlands. + +And then I heard the wail of the southern mothers, and the laughing cry +of the clansmen as the foemen stood to arms, the wild devilish lilt of +it for glory or a laughing death, and all around a black, black land, +lighted alone with blazing farms, and the broad red swathe where the +hillmen trailed. Came the very struggle, the gasping for breath, the +cry of the fallen, the hand-to-hand grip, and then the great blare of +triumph, and the Red Laird yelled aloud-- + +"Through, by God, through!" + +"I've lived my life, McBride, my ain wild life, and the sadness is +coming on me, to leave my bonny hills and the cold splash o' a summer's +sea. The sadness o' the silent peaks and the gloom o' the hidden +valleys, McBride--ay, but it's fine, the sadness, better than the +heated joys o' the south." And again McRae played, looking into the +heart of the fire, and the far-away look in his eyes, and as he played +I felt a lump rise in my throat, for a sorrow I kent not, except that +the wind moaned eerily through the thatch, and grey and gurly grew the +sea, with the black jackdaws flying low inshore. The uneasy cattle +were lowing in the byre, and the rain fell in great drops from the +leafless trees--fell on the cold wet earth, and the fire on the hearth +was out, and cold white ash marked where nevermore would peat be +lighted; and oh! I heard the wail of the mourners, and saw the sobbing +daughter cling to her mother, and the youngest son leave for the wars, +the last of his house and name, and his name forgotten in the glens +already. + +"Stop him, stop him," I cried; "there's cold death at my very side, and +his breath on my cheek like an east wind," and I would have run from +the room. + +"Death," cried the Red Laird--"death. I flouted him in my youth; I +wrestled with him and flung him from me. I laughed at his cold eyes +across a naked sword, and spurned him on the heather; but now in my +age, when my bones are brittle and my arms shrunk, he creeps behind me +again, sure, sure o' his prey," and as he spoke he crouched like a +stealthy enemy, one groping hand outstretched. Then he flung himself +upright, his eyes flashing, dauntless as a lion. + +"Come then, Death, to the last grips wi' Red Roland; ay, your cold hand +is at my throat, old warrior--ay, but mine is firmer yet. The Onset, +the Onset, the blare o' it, the madness o' it for Red Roland's last +fight," and at his words the swinging lamp went out with the last great +gust of the gale, and in the darkness came the crash of a fallen man, +and Red Roland lay dead in the red glow of his own fire. And as we +stood there, Robin McKelvie came in with the word that the _Gull_ was +battling in the channel. + + * * * * * * + +And they carried the dead man and laid him decently on his bed. + +Behind Robin, the house servants, stout dairymaids from the mainland, +stood awhisper, their sonsy red cheeks pale and mottled with fear, and +among them came the bullock-feeders; for the Red Laird fattened stock +for the mainland markets, and had his own quay, where the carrying +vessels moored in these days, and from the kitchen came the moaning of +old Kate. + +"Ochone, ochone, he's gone, the strong one, and I mind me when his back +was like a barn door and the love-locks curling on his brow," and she +came into the chamber wringing pitiful, toil-worn hands, and the +servants after her, ashiver to be left alone in the dim passage. Round +the fire they huddled, none speaking except in whispers, as though they +feared the great unseen Presence; and as they sat in that eerie silence +there came the hollow clop-clop of sea-boots in the passage, and I saw +the serving maids stiffen and straighten as they sat, and a look of +terrible fear came on their faces. + +And McKelvie's lass skirled, "He's coming," and cooried back in a +corner. + +"Can ye not hear the tramping?" and she thrust an arm before her head +as a bairn will to escape a cuff. + +With that the door opened, and McKelvie entered in high sea-boots, but +the fear did not leave them, for the Laird was wont to wear sea-boots +when the weather was bad on his rocky isle; and with their minds all +a-taut for warnings and signs, the tramping in the flagged passage was +fearsome enough. Indeed, I breathed the more freely myself when +McKelvie entered with Dan at his heels. + +Dan had a stone jar in his hand, and he poured a stiff jorum, and held +it to auld Kate, greetin' at the fireside. + +"The Red Laird's gone tae his ain folk, cailleach," says Dan, standing +straight and manly beside the huddled old woman. "Good points he had +and bad, but he's finished his last rig and taken the long fee. + +"Drink tae the memory o' him, Kate: ye kent him weel, and he had aye a +dram for a ceilidher." + +"Ou ay, Dan, mo leanabh, ou ay; but I cannot thole the thought o' his +spirit fleeing among the cauld clear stars, for there's nae heaven for +him if his ain piper is no there to cheer him, or mak' him wae. Och, +ay, I'll tak' the dram, but I'll be sore afraid there's plenty o' +pipers in hell wi' the devils dancing on hot coals tae their springs, +and he'll maybe be well enough." + +As Dan put round the drink the doleful mood lifted a wee, and the lads +started to tell stories. + +"I mind me," said Donald, the shepherd--"I mind o' a night I had on the +hills at the time o' the lambing, and in the grey o' the morning, when +the rocks are whispering one to another, and will be just back in their +places when a man comes near them, and when ye hear voices speaking not +plainly, because o' the scish o' the burn on the gravelly mounds, but +if ye listen till the burn is quiet a wee, ye'll be hearing the +laughing o' the Wee Folk at their games. + +"Mora, in the grey o' the morning, I would be just among the sprits[2] +above the loch-side, when there came an eerie '_swish, swish_' at my +side, slow and soft. I thought it would be a hare, and I stopped to +let her get away, for I would not be crossing her path, but see her I +could not, and I turned round to speak to 'Glen,' and there was no dog +there at all. + +"Ay, well, I whistled and I whistled in that dreary place till the +noise of it put a fear on me, and I started on again, and there at my +side was the swish, swish in the sprits, and I would be poking my crook +among them, but when I would be stopping it would be stopping, and I +felt my hair bristle on my neck for the fear on me; but I pushed on, +looking at my feet and all round me, till something inside of myself +made me be looking up, and there was something before me, wi' eyes +glowering at me--oh, big, big it was, as a stack o' hay, and it was in +my path, and I shut my eyes and stood, for it would kill me. And when +nothing would be happening I opened my two eyes, and it was not there, +and then I looked round with just my head, and aw!"--and a shudder went +through the shepherd, and he gulped at his drink,--"it was just at my +own very shoulder grinning at me. And I ran and ran, skirling like a +hare, and it behind me--ran till I felt my heart beating in my throat, +and ran through burn and briars and hedges till I ran into the barn and +fell on the straw, and remembered no more." + +"And why," says I, "did you not run into your ain house?" + +"Are you not knowing that?" says Donald. "If I had run to my house and +the door shut, I would just be fallin' dead on the doorstep." + +"There's McGilp," says Dan. "He aye carries a sail needle in his kep +lining, and he'll say it's just to be handy, but it's aye been in the +same place. An' what will it be for, Neil Crubach?" + +Neil looked up, his blue eyes hazy with dreaming things out of the +past. His face was very beautiful, and his body massive and strong, +but he halted on his leg, and could walk but lamely. + +"Oh," says Neil, with a kindly smile, "you will be knowing that surely, +and you a McBride, and reared among the rocks and the bonnie heather. + +"It will just be that when our forefathers would be among the hill sat +night, many and many's the time the evil one would be coming to them +and speaking, and sometimes he would be coming in the form of a black +dog, like the Black Hound o' Nourn, wi' a red tongue lolling from his +mouth, and sometimes he would be a wild cat louping among the rocks, +hissing and spitting wi' his eyes lowin', and the old wise ones in the +far glen found the power in the unknown places in the hills, and they +said to the young hunters and warriors, 'Aye be carrying steel, for +steel will sever all bargains,' but a skein-dubh is the best to be +carrying in the hills, for a devil will not come near the black-hefted +knife wi' a strong bright blade--no," and Neil Crubach smiled, and +looked among the red embers for his dreams. + +And then, still looking into the embers, he began to speak in his +soft-voiced way-- + +"They're bonnie wee things, the Wee Folk, and merry as the lambs in +June. + +"When my leg would be troubling me sorely in my mind, and me a lad fit +to break a man's back, and to fling the great stone from me like a +chuckle--ay, in these long-ago days, there was a lass, and, och, she +was just to me in my mind like the sun rising from the sea on a summer +morning, and I could have taken her away in my own arms, for I would be +fierce like my folk, in their hate and their love, and whiles I would +be feeling in me the wish to be killing her nearly just to watch her +eyes opening like the sky when the white woolly clouds are drifting +apart, and among the hills when I wandered I would be dreaming of +holding her in my arms, for they would be great arms in these old days; +and one day she came, and I told her all that was in my heart, and she +said never a word, but just put her white round arms on my shoulder and +her head on my breast." + +For a long time he was silent, and I saw the servant lassies look at +one another, their terrors all forgot in the beauty of his picture, for +there was colour in his very tone. + +"I would be carrying her in my arms, for was she not but a mountain +flower, but when I would have taken her up I saw her eyes with a great +pity in them for my lameness, and I felt hell rising in my heart, for +were not my folk straight in their limbs, and nimble as goats among the +rocks? and then she saw my face, and I think there would be black +murder in it, but for myself, not for my white flower, for Neil Crubach +I hated when my love looked on this poor limb (it was only a little +shorter, but I knew the pride that was in his race). + +"Then my love looked into my soul. + +"'Neil,' she said, and drew my head down to her--'Neil, my hero, take +me up,' and I took her up, and she lay curled in my arms, with her lips +at my neck, and then she whispered, 'Neil, you will not be angry if I +say it now.' + +"'Never angry, mo ghaoil,' and my heart stopped to be listening. + +"'I wish--I just wish, Neil, mo ghaoil, that you would be more lame, for +my mother will be seeing us too soon, and I want aye to stay here.'" +Neil was just thinking aloud. + +"A year, just a wee year, with her smiling at her spinning, and +running to meet me in the far fields to be carried home--ay, she would +be calling my arms 'home,'--and when we would be ceilidhing she would +be saying, 'Neil, it will be time your lass was "home," and her eyes +would be laughing at me, and no one else would be knowing at all.' + +"A year, a wee year, and she lay like a white flower, still and cold, +and all my love could not make her hear. + +"And I sat by her silent spinning-wheel and waited till she should come +back night by night; I forgot the old kirkyard, for how would the earth +be keeping my love from coming to me, and as I sat came my old mother, +and she was wise and gentle to her lame son. + +"'My son, if you would be lying behind the wee hill when the moon is +young, maybe you would be forgiving your old mother'--for when she was +sad she blamed herself for the fall that left me lame, even when I +laughed and made nothing of it in her hearing. + +"Behind the wee hill I lay when the moon was young and the grass was +cool on my brow, and I would be hearing the breathings of the hills in +the silence as they slept, and the moon sailed behind a black cloud and +all the world was dark, and I heard a great laughing in the dark near +me like diamonds and pearls sparkling, so wee was the sound and so +bright the laughing, and then the moon sailed out clear silver in a +blue sky, and there were all the Wee Folk at their games on the short +turf. Bravely, bravely were they dressed in their green coats, and +near me, sitting and looking with longing eyes I saw my own love, and +she was looking down a wee, wee track in the grass, but it seemed to me +hundreds of miles. And my love cried and waved as she looked down the +path, and I heard her laughing, my own love, and then, 'Hurry fast, +Neil, and take me home'; and again I heard her laughing joyously, and +then in the track of grass, away and away, I saw a-coming one that +halted on his foot, and he was away and away, but my love clapped her +hands, and ran down the path with her arms stretched out to be carried +home, and I saw all the Wee Folk run to welcome the one that halted on +his foot, and I knew that the path that they were travelling so fast +was just Time, and slowly, slowly only can Neil Crubach march, but she +is running to meet me--my love." + +By this time old Kate had forgotten her troubles, and was away back in +her youth, when, if all accounts be true, there were few, few fit to +hold a candle to her wild beauty or devilry. + +"Och, the nights like this would not be hindering the ploys when my leg +was the talk o' a parish, and my cheeks like the wild red rose. We had +a' the lads to pick and choose among, Bell and me; and mora, it was not +gear they cam' courting for. + +"There was a time we slept in the bochan to be nearer the beasts, we +would be telling the old ones, but maybe it was not for that at all, +for your grandfather was raiking then, Dan McBride, it kinna runs in +the breed o' ye. Ay, well, we were in bed, Bell and me, when the Laird +o' Nourn whistled low outside. 'The devil take ye, Kate,' Bell would +be crying, 'he'll be in,' for there was only divots in the window in +the bochan. 'He will that,' says I, and I saw the divots tumbling, and +in he came assourying wi' two o' us, and us feart when he gied his +great nicker o' a laugh, for fear he would be awakening the old folks, +or rouse the dogs, although they kent him well enough, a rake like +themselves." + +"Was he no' the auld devil?" says Dan with a laugh; "two o' ye, and the +best-looking lassies in the countryside." + +"He wasna aul'," cried Kate--"aul'; he was as like you as two trout. +He got us two suits o' sailors' claes and he cam' tae see us dressed in +them, and bonny sailors we made, Bell and me, and we went to the Glen +and called on our uncles. It was dark inside, and they were sitting +ower the fire talking slow and loud, and we went in. + +"'What will you be wantin' here in God's name?' said Angus. + +"'We've nae money and nae meat,' said I, 'and our ship has sailed +without us, and we're starving.' + +"'Starving, John, starving, will ye be hearin' the poor sailor lads. +We have not got any money, John, to be giving, but gie the lads an egg +apiece, John, an egg apiece; and John brought us an egg, and then Bell +winked at me, and 'Ye hard old scart,' says I in the Gaelic, and he got +up on his feet, for he would be knowing my voice, and he could not be +understanding it at all, and when we had finished our devilry I gave +him the egg what I was fit and ran, and Angus would be crying-- + +"'Give me the graip, John; give me the graip. Angus will kill boas +(both).' + +"So an' on the night wore through; whiles we would be telling old +stories, and there would be times when we sat silent except for auld +Kate whimpering at the fireside. + +"These were the days and these were the nights, ochone and ochone, for +the like o' them we'll be seeing nevermore." + +And in the morning the women made a meal, moving stealthily about the +house and keeping together when the men went out to their beasts--for +birth or death, wedding or christening, the beasts must be looked to, +and that's good farming. The seas were breaking white in the bay and +the ships lay at the stretch of their cables, but although we searched +long and ardently, we could not find the _Seagull_. We were downcast +and silent, and no man looked at his neighbour, for the fear was on all +of our hearts that McGilp and his crew were lost, and at last I voiced +my dread to the innkeeper. + +"Ye do not ken McGilp to be speaking that way," said he, and his voice +was hoarse as a raven's croak. "We could not have run a cargo last +night wi' the sea like a boiling pot; and if the _Gull_ had anchored +off the Rhu Ban Cove there would be plenty to be wondering why she was +there. No, no, my lad; there's sailor men on the _Gull_, and a wee +thing will not frighten them. She just ran before it, man, and she's +standing off and on till the night." + +And so it proved, for that night McGilp himself was rowed ashore, and +his eyes were red as a rabbit's wi' the lashing o' the sea, and the +white salt was dried on his beard. + +With him was McNeilage, his mate, his face red and shining like a +well-fed minister, and the drink to his thrapple. + +"A great night last night," said he. "Och, a night like the old +roaring times when every ship on God's seven seas was a fortune for the +lifting." + +We were on the shore at the Rhu Ban, working and toiling at the cargo +with the oars muffled, and no man speaking above his breath, and when +we had the cargo in the coves, and the seaweed and trash from the shore +concealing it, we made our way to the outhouse where McKelvie's lass +had waited, for there were friends of the dead Laird's in the house, +and new men are hard to trust in the smuggling. And at the outhouse I +spoke to fierce Ronny McKinnon as he stood among the crew. + +"Ronny," said I, "there was a bonny lass putting herself about for ye, +or ye might have been listening to mice cheeping instead o' the waves +out there." + +"I've been in many's the ploy," says Ronny, "and the lassies liked me +well enough, except just one." + +"Would her name be Mirren now?" said I. + +"I'll no' say but it might just be that," says Ronny, with a thinking +look in his eyes. + +"There was a lass o' that name, on a Hielan' pony, met Dan and me at +Bothanairidh the day before the snow," says I. "She talked about ye +for a while." + +"She would be having nothing good to be saying," says he with a laugh. +"For everything I did was a fault except just I would be sitting at +home with my old mother, and so I just fell in wi' McGilp, and left the +lassies to claver among themsel's for a year or two, for they will have +too many cantrips for a simple man." + +"It would just be that lass that told us about the Preventives lying in +the cove near the Snib, and she was sore feart a lad Ronny McKinnon +would be transported." + +"And would she be saying just that," says Ronny. + +"She would just," says I. + +"It's no like her temper at a', but I'll be thanking her for that kind +thought," says he, and commenced to his whistling o' pipers' tunes. + + +[1] Cormorants. + +[2] Boghay. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +MIRREN STUART BIDS HER DOG LIE DOWN. + +It was after the burial of the Red Laird that we returned to the Quay +Inn in McKelvie's skiff, and this time we had McKelvie's lass and Ronny +McKinnon with us. The _Seagull_ was at anchor now over near Donal's +Point, for McGilp had much business to attend to. Little skiffs had +flitted in the night through the darkness of the bay. The cove was +empty, and in the sand ballast of many a smack sailing for the mainland +ports, there was that hidden that the smacksmen prized more than their +honest cargoes of coal or potatoes. Ronny McKinnon had been aye about +the cove, concealed in the daytime and busy in the night, for McGilp +trusted him much, and McKelvie's skiff had made a run with only the +innkeeper and swart Robin on board, except for a keg or two concealed +beneath a sail and a tangled long line. At the Quay Inn Mrs McKelvie +made a great work with her lass, and would not be letting her do a +hand's turn, but just sit and be resting, and every one was very merry +about the place. The two sons were scattering clean sand on the floor, +and the fine scent of cooking in the kitchen was wafted to the tap-room +and made my very teeth water for a square meal, for the sea had made me +hungry. Ronny left us at the inn and made his way homewards, and I +would be hearing his cheery cries to the folk he passed, for he would +be everybody's fair-headed laddie, and maybe Mirren Stuart would be +feeling surer of her man when he would be sitting at home with his old +mother, for it seemed to me that the lassies that would be passing had +very bright eyes, and that they would be looking back often too. + +We sat down to a meal in the kitchen, Dan and me, and he kept them all +in crack. For the mistress he promised to gather bog-bean when the +time came, and she was in her very element; and there sat Dan McBride +with Gude kens what evil in his head, his eyes smiling at the old dame +and listening how she cured a young lass of a stomach complaint with +the wee round caps of the wilks--"for mind you," says she, "each wee +round cap will lift its ain weight o' poison frae the stomach." + +"And the coosp,[1] now, mistress; Hamish here will no' be believing me, +but there's de'il the halt better for the coosp than"--and so his talk +went on, and him not believing one word. And when her mother would be +rattling among the plates on the dresser, Dan would be bending over and +speaking to the lass, and looking into her eyes, and the gruff old +father saying never a word, and the two sons arguing where it was that +Dan had jumped the Nourn burn when the bridge was carried away with the +big spate. And when we had our fill o' eating, we followed Ronny up +the Glen, for Dan would ken how the hogs were doing there now he was +this length, and so we tracked through the Glen, leaving Finlay +Stuart's house behind us. As we passed I saw a lass in the stable, and +I wondered if Ronny had seen his mother yet. + +It was just the long weary road to the South End that Dan and me +travelled, so the reader can follow Ronny, for he told me his story +long after of his coming when we needed him most. And this was the +story that he told me:-- + +"Man," said Ronny, "when I took my leave o' ye at the Quay I just +thought yon day would see it settled between Mirren and me, once and +for all, and I'll no' be denying a queer happy feeling, for I felt I +could be conquering everything that day; but maybe it was because o' +the siller I had in my spluchan to be giving to my old mother, for if +the want o' it will not be making a lad miserable, the having o' it +will aye keep his spirits up. + +"I would be thinking, inside of myself, that she would be sitting in +the kitchen, my old mother, and shooing the wee white hen away from +layin' in the bed, and then I would be coming in so quiet, and be +putting my hands over her eyes, and she would be kenning me, and +laughing, and greeting, for that I was back. Then I would be making +her spread her brat over her knees, and be throwing the siller into her +lap and listening to the cries o' her. But whiles among these thoughts +I would be making pictures o' a limber long-legged lass that could work +horse like a man, and would be on the hill after sheep when her +neighbours would be stretching themselves in bed, and rubbing the sleep +from their eyes. And I was seeing her standing on the top of the hill, +wi' the morning breeze playing with her brown hair, wi' the clear +sparkle in her eyes and her lips curled to whistle on the dogs, and aye +I would be wondering if I would get a sight o' her when I passed her +father's place. + +"When I came near, there was the great barking o' dogs, and a +black-and-tan collie came at me wi' the burses ridged on his back and +his white teeth showing. + +"'Chance, ye old fool,' said I, and at that he gave a yelp, and came at +me daft to be seeing me, and jumping to be licking my face. I got him +to heel, although, mind you, it did my heart good, his welcome, for we +were long friends, and there were few, few that Chance would welcome. +But I would aye be liking the dog since the first time I put my arm +round Mirren, and that was years ago. She would have thrown it from +her that time, for she was like a quick-tempered boy, but at her angry +movement the old dog girned at me, and the rumble o' his growl made us +look, and there he was ready to spring at me, and it makes me laugh +yet; for Mirren, my own quick-tempered lass, fondled my hand at her +waist to quieten him. + +"'Mirren,' said I, and I took my arm away, 'there's just nothing for it +but you should put your arm round me, for I can see you will only be +tholing mine for the sake o' my skin.' + +"'There will be many a blue sea below your feet before Mirren Stuart +will be doing that,' said she, and I let her go a step in front of me, +maybe to see the fine swing o' her, and her free mountain stride. + +"I was thinking o' that time when we came to the gate o' Finlay's +place, Chance and me, and the snow had been cleared from before the +stable, and when I looked, there was the Uist pony standing at the door +and Mirren busy at the grooming o' him, and her hair was tousled a wee +and curled at the nape o' her neck, and her sleeves turned back. + +"I put my arms on the gate and stood watching her, for many a night I +would be thinking of her and me away, and then maybe because she would +be feeling an eye on her, she turned round. + +"'Will ye aye be my lass yet, Mirren?' and I was proud to see the red +flush rise to her cheeks. + +"'How many would that be making, Ronny?' she cried, and came half way +and stopped. + +"'Just the one, Mirren,' said I, and opened the gate and came beside +her. + +"'Ye will have changed then since last I kent ye.' + +"'Indeed, and I think ye're bonnier yoursel', lass, and I would not be +believing that possible,' and we walked to the stable door wi' old +Chance at our heels. + +"'They will have surely been teaching you nice talk, the stranger +lassies, Ronny.' + +"'Mirren, dear,' said I, and put my hand on her shoulder, 'we will not +be talking that way any more, you and me,' and at the stable door o' +Finlay Stuart's place I put my arm round the shoulders of his proud +lass Mirren, and held her back, and made her look at me. + +"'My lass,' said I, 'in a wee while I will be kissing my trysted wife.' + +"'Look at the dog, Ronny, first,' said Mirren, but her eyes were +laughing. + +"'I will be hearing him without looking away from you,' said I. + +"And with that I bent my head to kiss her, but her face was turned away +from me, and even then I was hearing the growling o' the collie, and +wondering where he would be fastening on me. Then with my head quite +close to her, I whispered-- + +"'Will it not have been any good at all, dear, all my love for you? +Will you be sending me away from you after all?' + +"Then as I waited, she said a queer thing-- + +"'Chance! Chance! _lie down_!' and at that the laughing came on me, +and my own lass turned her dear face to me glowing, and with a look of +mingled pride and shame she looked at me and put her arms round my neck. + +"'I will not be a great hand at saying love talk, Ronny,' she +whispered. 'I can just be holding you tight, but take me if ye will be +having so poor a lass, for I will have been loving you all to myself +all the time.' + +"And when a wee while was passed and we found ourselves in the stable +(for a lass has always an eye for who may be looking), Mirren Stuart +gave me a look of great scorn, but playfully. + +"'It will be as well that one o' us is farmer enough to mind the +beasts,' said she, and went out and took the garron into his stall, for +he had been clean forgot, and stood looking longingly into his stable +and the wind raising a pook o' hair on his tail." + + * * * * * * + +"Well, when the lassies, Mirren's sisters, were by wi' teasing us, I +sat down to a meal in Finlay's kitchen, and when I rose on my legs to +be going, my lass flung a shawl round her, and wondrous bonny she was +in that shawl, and we left by the back road to be seeing my mother, and +the lassies flung bachles at us 'for luck.' And although Mirren was +not out o' my sight in the house, yet I will be quite sure they kent we +were for the marrying, for I got a glimpse o' Peggy, a rollicking +tomboy o' a lass, rubbing herself against Mirren's shawl and crying, +'It's me that will be going off next.' + +"And Anne, a ruddy lass, whispered-- + +"'Now that you will have the lad you were speaking about through your +sleep, Mirren, maybe ye'll be giving me your garters,' and between one +and the other o' them, it was a red-faced, brave-looking lass that +stood wi' me in my mother's kitchen. + +"And my mother, that I had been wearying for a sight o' for three years +past, my old mother, kissed the lass first, and then-- + +"'You will have managed to bring him to his senses at last, Mirren +dear,' said she; and then I found that these two had been having the +great confabs when I would be away, and my wife has told me since, when +she was new-fangled wi' me, and very loving, that she would just be +going there to be listening to my mother's stories about me, when I +would be a wean; and although I will be telling her that the things I +am remembering most are the skelpings I would be getting, she just will +be laughing at me. + +"'It is not one half of what you would be deserving, my man,' she says. + +"So and on, there we sat wi' the red glow of the fire shining on my old +mother's face, making her look hearty and well in her white mutch, and +glinting on Mirren's eyes when she turned to speak, and lowing in the +copper o' her hair, and I would be content to sit and listen to these +two, till Mirren had to be going. On the road home she made no +complaints when I put my arm round her, for was she not my own lass +now. Moreover, it was dark. We were at our first good-night under the +rowan-trees beside the byre, for rowans will keep the fairies away, and +it is good farming to have them where the beasts will be walking under +them every day. We were loath to part, Mirren and me, and she would be +lying against my breast, when there came the figure of a man running, +and I kent him for Gilchrist the excise-man. + +"'Stop a wee, my lad; stop,' says I. 'What will be hurrying ye?' + +"'That damned McGilp has escaped us again,' said he, 'and Dan McBride +has killed Dol Rob Beag.' + +"'Run, Ronny, run,' cried Mirren, and pulled me to the stable. 'Dan +will be needing all his friends before the morning,' and she had the +bridle on the garron, and I was on his back like a flash, and making +for the Quay Inn before she was done speaking." + + +[1] Coosp=chilblain on the heel. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +DOL BEAG IS FLUNG INTO A FIRE. + +And now you will be coming to meet Dan and me on the long road back +from the South End, and coming on with us like a good comrade, for Dan +that day walked like a man that was fey, and I, who would be thinking I +kent him, might just as weel have been walking with a stranger. Below +the shoulder o' the big black hill, before ye come to the Laird's Turn, +he halted. + +"Man, Hamish, the hills are just vexed wi' me this day," said he, "and +I ken a' their moods, as weel as a bairn kens his mother." + +"To me," said I, and I would be searching about in my mind for the +right words, like a pedant, for was I not college-bred--"to me," said +I, "they aye look just grandly contemptuous," and, mind you, my heart +went out to the great strong man at my side because of the soft place +in his warm heart for the grim old hills, for I would aye be feared to +talk that way to him, for fear of his laughing. + +"I ken what ye mean by grandly contemptuous too," said he. "I have +felt that way when I would be gathering sheep, and looking up at the +crags and the rocks above me, and the head o' the hill would be turned +from me in disdain, and I would be feeling like the wee red ant +crawling on the beard o' a warrior, asleep on a glorious battlefield. +I canna just be putting the right words to it, but, man, I feel it +inside o' me. + +"There's days in the early summer mornings before the heat-haze has +lifted when a man can see the hills lying on their backs wi' their +faces to the sun, like giants resting, and he can see the smile on the +brow o' them when the sun beats down, and it's fine to be imagining +that they're laughing to one another; and on these days the hills are +aye friendly to a man, and when he lies down among the heather the +spirit o' the hills will be knowing him, and his forebears, since the +hills were established; but ah! they will be glooming at me the day. + +"There's a frown on the brow o' the Urie, and his face is hidden from +me, and listen to the grumbling and flyting o' the burn. They're a' +vexed, Hamish, but we're to have company down through the glen, for +yonder will be Sandy Nicol driving his stots to the bay." + +We made up on the drover, a wild unkempt man with a great red beard +wagging on his broad chest, and fierce blue eyes that seldom winked, +and it seemed to me that his dogs--for two deep-chested, lean-flanked +black collies slunk at his heel--it seemed to me that they kent his +mind before he spoke a word, for they worked the wild hill-bred stots +like the dogs the old folk will be telling about. + +"Ye would be looking to the hogs," said he, as if he had kent us from +the hillside and no greeting was needed; and as he spoke I thought of +an old door swinging on rust-eaten hinges, for his voice was deep and +harsh, as though he opened his mouth seldom to speak; and indeed such +was the case, for he lived on his farm among the hills alone with his +dogs. + +"It's no great day this to be travelling beasts," said Dan, as we +walked at the tails o' the little herd. + +"Ay, but this is just the day for Sandy. Nae fears o' the evil eye wi' +the snaw on the road, for there's something clean aboot snaw, and auld +wives are at their firesides, wi' their ill wishes and evil eyes." + +"You will ken the Red Laird's deid and buried, Sandy?" + +For a wee while after Dan's question we three walked in silence, and +then the drover turned his wild face to us. + +"We watched the devil coming for him yon night; we watched his coming, +ay, away far out on the sea, the black stallions stretched to the +gallop like racing hounds, and the hoofs o' them striking white fire +frae the water, and the flames o' hell curling and twisting round the +wheels o' his chariot. Ay, we watched oor lane, the dogs and me, and +his whip was forked lightning, and his voice drooned the roar o' the +gale." + +I felt a grue slither through me when the man stopped, for his harsh +voice intoned his words like some dreadful chant. + +"Ye would be late out that night," said Dan, and again we were silent +till the drover spoke, and the thought came to me that he arranged all +his words in his mind, and then loosed his tongue to them. + +"They were round us, that night, evil spirits and evil beasts, and they +would be lifting the thatch from the roof; and we went out, the dogs +and me, and a' the great rocks on the hillside would be jumbling and +jarring thegether, for all the evil ones were loose from the pit, and +tumbling the hills, and setting them straight, and the blue lowes were +rissling on the hill-tops. But I would be holding my steel in my hand, +and we sat and watched, the dogs and me." + +"Was it the skein-dubh you would be holding?" + +"It would not be the black knife, Dan McBride; it would just be this." + +At that Sandy Nicol showed us a small object, which seemed to me to be +a twisted horse-shoe nail wrapped round about with wool; but he would +not be letting it go from his palm, and when I would have examined it +closer he put it past. + +"It's not Sandy that would be droving without his steel," he cried. + +"Would you aye be carrying that?" said I; for he looked so wild and +lawless that it was not in me to be believing that he trusted to aught +save his dirk. + +"There was a time no, mo bhallach," said Sandy Nicol, "a time when I +would be selling back-calvers and stots to the Red Laird for the +mainland markets; and it would just be the wee Broon Lass o' Ardbennan +that saved the beasts--for, ye see, I did not always stay ma lane, and +when my mother would be failin' and her joints stiffening like a' aged +beasts, the milking would aye be done and the byre mucked when she got +up in the morning. Oh, but she was the wise one, for she would be +leaving the best o' the cream in a basin, and maybe a bannock, for the +wee Broon Lass, for my mother would be seeing her flitting among the +battens. And before she went away she would be telling me: 'Never be +offering her boots or claes when the snaw comes, Sandy, for the Broonie +o' Lag 'a bheithe[1] left in sore anger for that they pitied her in the +snaw.' + +"Direach sin, it was a fine day I started to drive the back-calvers and +stots, and the sun red wi' a fine-weather haze, and the roads hard and +dry, and it was maybe two hours I was on the road and the beasts +settled, when there came a woman on the road and a shawl about her +head, and I kent her for a devil's black bairn that could be telling +her ain folk when the rain would come in the harvest, and when the +butter would come on at the kirning. + +"A bad unchancy woman; ye'll ken the breed o' them, for they will be +sore feart o' clean burn-water, but they'll be coorieing ower a fire a' +day, and talking to the black cat, and I had it in my mind to be +turning when I saw her, for did she not come into the byre at Dyke-end +when the beasts were at their fother, and she stood and she eyed them. + +"'So bonny,' says she, 'so bonny and fat and glossy, and the wee bit +speckled quey calves they'll be leaving,' and with that she walked up +the byre and ran her hand over the tors of the beasts, crooning away to +herself; and another month saw the last of the kye pic calved. + +"Well, well, I stood when she came to me, and she smirked at me. +'Seven braw beasts, and not a lame yin among them,' says she, and +tittered a wee bit laugh that set the dogs girning through their bare +teeth; and then she went her way, and her laughing coming back to me, +and we would not be far on when the first of the beasts was hirpling; +and one after the other the lameness came on them, till I could just +have sat down and grat that I had not set the dogs on the witch. + +"I would just be turning the beasts on the road for a wee, when there +came the wee Broon Lass among the bracken on the hillside, and then I +left the road and took the dogs with me, and we hid on the low side, +for fear to anger the wee Broon Lass. She went among the beasts, and +they would be kenning her, and lowing quietly like calves, and she +would be lifting their feet, and then there would be a hole in the +clits o' them a'. And the wee Broon Lass, she blew and she blew into +the hole, and went on to the next, and in a wee the beasts were walking +sound, and taking a bite at the sprits and the scrog on the roadside, +and I lay close till I saw the wee one near the rise o' the hill, and +started the beasts again, and the lameness came near them not any more, +but aye I would be carrying the steel after that." + +In the middle of the glen we left Sandy Nicol with his dogs and his +travelling beasts, and before we turned the bend where the nut-trees +were I looked back, and there he came on slowly with the sunset light +on him as he came, and I saw him looking to the great rocks on his left +hand as though he waited the coming of something not of this world; and +again he would be looking down through the bare trees to the dark glen +where the burn was muttering and grumbling coldly, and it was strange +to me that these wild men, so terrible in their anger, would be +believing all these old stories, until the thought came to me that it +would just be the poetry and imaginings of the Celt, alone among the +hills that are aye on the very point of speaking to their children; for +a man, and a bold man, will be seeing and hearing strange things among +the hills, when the mist comes down, when he will have listened to the +stories of hate and love and clan feuds of his folks since he could be +listening, clapped on his creepie stool close to his mother's skirt, +and his head against her knees. + + * * * * * * + +There was great company gathered at the Quay Inn when we entered, +although many of the ships had sailed, but there were sailors too, for +the bay was not handy for owners to come at, and the Quay Inn was a +favourite, so that it was no uncommon thing for ships to be wind-bound +for days, and even weeks, and there would be the great fights between +the men from the ships and the lads from the glens. But there was no +trouble when we entered at all, for with the snow and the hard frost +outside, the great fire was the cheery place to be sitting at, and +indeed there must needs be ill blood between men if they will not be +agreeing over the best of drink, and fine company to be drinking it +with. + +But it was as if every one was well pleased and with no worries, for I +saw no men whispering, with heads close, but every one happy to +recklessness, and already there was the darker red flush on the faces +that told of drink taken, and then I saw that many of the men gathered, +had been to the cove at the Rhu Ban in their skiffs, and were met here +to celebrate the run in their ain way. A great shouting they made when +Dan stood among them, his eyes shining, for a ploy of this kind was +meat and drink to him, and they made room for us by the fire; while +McKelvie brought steaming glasses, and winked and nodded, and would be +looking wise as though we might ken something about his wares that he +would not be telling everybody, till indeed I could not keep back the +laughing to see the grave stern man so far gone with his own liquor. + +And as we sat I would be watching a sailor with a knife at his hip, and +the lithe swing of the mountaineer in his carriage--a Skye man, I was +thinking; but he stood silent against the jamb of the fireplace, and +his eyes were dreamy and sad, and in myself I knew he was seeing his +own place, and him outward bound. When the night was wearing on it +came his turn to sing, and with his song I knew that my thinking was +right, for his song was a farewell to Skye. Now I know not the words, +but the air will haunt me whiles when the days are shortening, and the +pictures he painted will never be leaving my mind. + +For I saw the dark sad hills of Coulin, and the sun blood-red on the +peaks, and the heavy dark night clouds tinged and burnished with gold, +and the sea was all silent, with the wee waves rippling on the shore. +And on the shore was a maiden looking away and away to sea, and the +nets all unheeded at her feet, and the seagulls not heeding her at all, +and the great sorrow was in her eyes, in the very poise of her; and I +wondered where was the lithe lad she should be having to love her, for +her eyes would aye be looking at the empty sea. . . . + +When my mind was wandering on pictures of sadness, of an empty sea and +great grim silent hills, the inn door was pushed open, and the cold +swirl of frosty night air made the roysterers turn, and in there came a +thick-set junk of a man. Always to my mind, Dol Rob Beag, for he it +was, had a look of a Joonie doorie, being all run to shoulders, and no +neck on him at all. His arms hung well to his knee, giving the man the +appearance of a powerful animal. His face was brown as a smack's sail, +and his eyes red and shifty as a ferret's. + +"What is it ye waant here?" growled McKelvie with a lowerin' look, and +there was silence from the others; and the men put their drink down +where it would not spill if there should be a scrimmage. Dol Beag put +a hand to his beard, and his shifty eyes fixed on the innkeeper. + +"Ceevility," says he, "from a man in the public. I'm wantin' that, and +I'll be payin' for whatever drink I'll tak. Put a refreshment before +me, McKelvie, and go back again to your affairs." + +There's no denying the man had a cold-steel bravery in him, and a grim +smile flickered on his face as he watched McKelvie, for no Hielan'man +born can thole being likened to a menial, and the dark blood of hatred +glowed on the innkeeper's face. + +"I ken the ceevility I would like to be giving to you, Dol Beag," says +he, and put a drink on the table, and lifting the coin tendered in +payment he hurled it behind the fire. "I would not be thinking myself +clean if I kept your money." + +Dol Beag was on him before his words were out. + +"The hell take you," he girned through clenched teeth, and his knife +left his hip. "Ye'll lick where that lay, McKelvie, ye--ye--maker of +meats for sailors," and the sweat rolled off his brow, and his voice +was a skirl of rage. + +McKelvie grabbed a horse-pistol from among his kegs. + +"Ye hound, I'll put a hole in ye that will be hurrying the gaugers tae +fill wi' siller," and as quick as light he levelled the pistol and drew +the trigger. The room was filled with brimstone smoke that gripped the +back of the throat, but Dol Beag was unhurt, and creeping like a +powerful beast on his enemy. (The heavy bullet had smashed through the +eight-day clock.) McKelvie was retreating warily to his barrels again, +and I wondered if he had another pistol, when Dan laid his hand on Dol +Beag. + +"Stop a minute," said he; "there's some talk due to me before ye kill +McKelvie." + +"Ay, ay, wan at a time, McBride; I'll be feenishing the stickin' o' +this pig before I will start on you, and you can be countin' your +bastards again," and with that he whipped round on Dan like an eel with +his dirk hand high. But a spring took Dan clear, and before Dol Beag +could follow, Dan had him in the air spitting like a cat. + +"Ashes to ashes," says he, "dhust to dhust," says he, in a thick blind +rage, and hurled Dol smash between the stone jambs to the back of the +fire. + +I saw Dol Rob Beag's neck take the corner of the jamb, and heard the +wrench, and then the singeing smell started, and I pulled him out from +the fire and the Skye man flung a stoup of water on him. + +"Give him the whisky quick," cried swart Robin McKelvie; "put it down +his throat," but Dol Beag lay still. + +A young man at the door--the same exciseman, Gilchrist, that trotted at +Mirren Stuart's coat-tails--cried in a thin voice, "Christ, he's deid; +ye'll swing for this, Dan McBride," and disappeared in the night. With +that the sailors made for the door, driven by that fear of the law with +the long arm and the ruthless grasp; but Dan stood for a while looking +on his handiwork in dour silence. + +"He brought it on himself, Hamish," says he; "but, man, I'm sorry for +his wife's sake." + +"Out, man, out," I cried at him; "there's nae time for sorrow," and +there came the clop-clop of a galloping horse on the frozen road, and +Ronny McKinnon flung himself among us. + +"The back door, damnation, the back door," he cried, and pushed Dan +before him. "Will ye wait till that wasp's bink is buzzin' aboot yer +lugs?" + +We followed McKinnon through the kitchen and into the yard behind the +inn, and a great fear came on me, for the yard was overhung with a +bush-covered precipice, and the long icicles glittering, and there was +only the track round to the main road open. + +"We're trapped, Dan; we're trapped." + +"Trapped nane. Follow me, ye gomeril; there's a track up the broo," +whispered McKinnon, and swung himself among the lowest of the bushes, +and we followed. + +"I ken the very branches to put my hand on," says he, "and where every +stane is, for many's the night I ran the cutter for the auld wives." +We were half-way up before Dan spoke. + +"I never kilt a man before," says he in a low whisper. + +"Ye did weel for a beginner," says that wild young sea-hawk. "Nobody +will be blaming ye for botching the work." And as we struggled up he +hissed a fierce sea oath at me, when my clumsier boot dislodged an +icicle that tinkled like breaking glass in the yard below us. + +"On, man, on," he whispered. "Ye'll need a' your start, for the gang +will hunt ye doon like a mad dog." + +"Fareweel, Hamish," says Dan, and put his hand to mine on the cliff +head. "I'll harrow my ain ploughing." + +"Go on, man, go on," I cried; "they're coming," for lights were +flashing on the road, and loud voices raised. We had gained a bare +half-mile on the cliff face, for the road up was "round about," and +Ronny was impatient. + +"Och, will ye wait for the hangman's rope?" in a fierce whisper below +his breath. "There's a hidie-hole I ken, but little good it'll dae ye +when the hitch is on your thrapple." And we started the long race to +the hills, picking out the patches behind the dykes where the ground +was bare. + + +[1] Lag 'a bheithe=the hollow of the birch. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE BLAZING WHINS. + +McKinnon was first in that long race and I next to him, for Dan would +not let me out of his sight lest I should lag behind and get rough +handling, although indeed, except the gaugers would yelp questions at +me which I might not find easy to answer, there was little I had to +fear, but it was always in Dan's mind that he had the charge of me. +The land was cultivated on a stey[1] face of maybe a half-mile before +the hill common started, and over the common (where in the summer the +cattle and hens were taken) the heather was patchy with bog hay, and +short crisp turf in places. It was this wrought land I feared most, +for the snow was not swept in wreaths, leaving darker patches, but lay +like a white napkin over the land, and a black object could be seen +from a great distance. But there was a belting of beech-trees and +Scots firs marching two farms; and coorieing in sheuchs, where the ice +crinkled in metallic splinters under our feet, we crawled to the +belting, and were able to stand upright again, at which I breathed a +sigh of relief, for my back had a pain like a band of hot iron with the +long bending. We scrambled among the trees, and lay a moment, for +there was a roughness of bushes and briars, and the snow had been blown +off the branches, so there was little likelihood of our being seen. We +lay breathing hard and peering through the bushes for signs of pursuit +(for the exciseman who cried the news at Finlay Stuart's, not knowing +his listener, would have roused his pack by this time), and that Rob +Beag was in their pay secretly there was now little doubt. It would be +short shrift for Dan if he were caught. Maybe two minutes we lay, and +I could have counted every beat of my heart, as it rose with a great +thud against my chest, and I felt the blood throb in my head like a +prisoner dashing against his cell. The noise of a fall of snow from +the fir branches seemed loud as thunder, although we must have been +quiet enough, for I mind me of the rabbits loping from the burrows +daintily, and sitting up very boldly, almost under reach of a +shepherd's crook from me. + +"They will have taken roun' the road," says Ronny; "they'll be on us +before we see them if we lie here." + +On we went in single file in the belting. Briars swung back and cut me +across the face, branches tore at us in passing all unheeded, and once +my leg, to the knee, sunk into a hole and threw me bodily; but I pulled +myself out, and was lame for six steps maybe, and forgot about it. +When we were half-way to the hill common there came sharp and clear +through the night the neigh of a horse. + +"The doited fules," cries Ronny. "They've ta'en the horses to ride a +man doon among the hills." + +"Let me once win the peat bink," says Dan, "and I'll wander the devil +himsel'." And from the ring in his voice I kent his dark mood had +passed, and waited to see him take the lead; but no, he herded me from +behind, but cheerily now. We had crossed a high road, and entered the +belting of trees again, and along this road the gangers would come, and +our spoor was written plain. + +"There will be the collieshangie when they see our marks in the snaw, +but they'll founder their horses on the brae and ill-use time tae nae +purpose, if just we get ower the common." + +From the high ground we could see the road for half a mile and the +hunters in full cry, some on horseback and some afoot. + +"Horse and foot," says Dan at my ear. "A grim chase, Hamish. I wish +ye had left me, lad." + +A terrible curse from Ronny made me think our flank was already turned. +"The devil blast them. The whuns, I clean forgot the whuns," and he +called on the Almighty to blast and destroy every whin-bush that ever +grew. + +Amidst the torrent of oaths that buzzed around me I remembered hearing +of the whin planting. In these days keep for beasts was scarce, and +the crofters would be cutting green whins, and pounding them between +flat stones and feeding cattle and horse with them. Indeed, to this +day you'll see the flat stone yet at many a byre-end, although it is +never used now except maybe to set a boyne on on washing days; but the +poor cow beasts were terribly fond of the whins, and they'll tell you +yet, the old folks, that when they were herding in their young days, +when the beasts got scattered, they would take a whin bush and light it +to windward, and let the whin smoke drift down the wind, and the beasts +would come running, for they liked the charred whins with the sap still +in the jags. Here and there they planted whins, for at one time they +had to go all the way to the castle for them, and on one side the +common was a great dense bank of them, thick as corn, and well grown. + +"They'll be round us like collies round a marrow bane," said Ronny, and +as he spoke there was a shout from the highroad, and Dan laughed. + +"This is where the kirn starts," and looking over my shoulder as I ran +I saw the horsemen spread out like a fan (on either side the belting) +where we crossed the road, and the men on foot were on our heels. + +They knew of the bank of whins we must struggle through, and relied on +their horses' speed to take them round the planting and catch us coming +out while the men on foot harried our rear. It was 'twixt devil and +deep sea, and the smuggler cursed himself for leading us into the clove +hitch. + +Between us and the whins was a burn with steep earthy banks, and too +wide and deep to risk horses over. So the horsemen on our left made +for a slap[2] where a rough peat-track crossed the burn, but those on +our right kept straight on, like the road to Imachar. At the lower end +of the whins the burn was shallower and the banks low. + +We flung across the stream, carrying down an avalanche of loose earth +and stones after us, and breenged into the maze of prickly bushes, +winding through those that the snow had been blown off. But mostly the +bushes were dry and bare of snow, and this indeed proved our safety. +We were nearly through the clumps when the horsemen on our right +crossed the burn with a great floundering and splashing, and those on +our left came galloping over the peat-track, and the first horseman +galloped past us, so close that I heard the squeak of the saddle +leather. We were crouched in a wee burn winding among the bushes; for +they grew strongly on either side, and left a little tunnel which one +could creep through without much hindrance, and as the riders drove +their unwilling beasts among the whins we crawled upwards like cats. +While the men on foot beat for us, and the horsemen kept wary eyes for +a movement to betray us, we crept from the whins and crawled like +adders belly flat up the little stream, over which dry bracken still +hung and straggling whin bushes, like soldiers marching away from the +main body. We had crawled maybe fifty yards, when McKinnon turned his +face to me, and the blood was drying on his cheeks and brow where the +whins had marked him. + +"Stop," his lips only moved; and I stopped and turned to Dan, for he +still had the rear-guard. + +The burn had worn out a round hole under our bank, and we crawled in +and lay there, and never, never will I forget the cold of that pool and +the streak of light above us, for we lay in a brook that a sheep could +walk over, and indeed its very narrowness was our safety, for it surely +had been watched else. And while we lay in the frozen cold of the +pool, the water tinkled and gurgled and laughed, and went plout-plout +at my knees, as though it was a hot summer day and we were stooping to +drink. + +"We must just lie here like rats," whispered the smuggler, and I held +my chin to stop the chattering of my teeth, "for this burn gets +narrower than a sheep drain. We must just steep in the water and think +of the whisky." + +We could hear the swishing among the whins, and the shouts of the +rabble behind us, and the clatter of horses' hoofs on the shingle of +the burn, and the splashing. + +"They're in there like rabbits in a patch of corn in the harvest," +cried one man. + +"By God, if I could only get that Ronny McKinnon under my bonny blue +hanger," said Gilchrist, the ganger that had the soft side for Mirren +Stuart. + +"One good prog wid pay for this night's daftness," growled his leader, +and again came Gilchrist's voice-- + +"Was I tae ken McKinnon was ootside Finlay Stuart's and a dozen o' ye +in the kitchen." + +"Umph," sniffed Ronny, "it's the great company that gathers at +Finlays," and indeed Mirren Stuart saved many's the house at that time, +for the gangers and excisemen went after her sisters, while old Finlay +smiled grimly, and Mirren got hold of the secrets. + +"If a man runnin' like that Gilchrist can blurt oot the news and keep +runnin', it's maistly truth, but if he stops and begins to walk, and +twist his mouth before he speaks, he's makin' lies," said McKinnon, and +turned himself in the water. + +The searchers were beginning to tire of beating. + +"Roast the devil oot." "Ay, gie McBride a taste o' the fire." + +"I'm thanking God for a fool," said Dan, "if the whins will just burn, +but whins are dour revengefu' bushes." + +"Burn," says Ronny--"burn; they'll hiv a bleeze ye'll see for twenty +miles--we're bate, Dan." + +"Na, na," says Dan. "Wait you, yonder's a twinkle, anither. Man, +they'll mak' a bonny lowe, and waste a heap of good keep." + +Men were rushing hither and thither with flaming branches, and already, +when the breeze freshened, you could hear the roar and crackle. The +great lilac flames leapt ten feet in the air, and the night rained +stars. The sparks fell above us like fire-flakes, and some came down +and sizzled out in our pool. + +When the flames were roaring like a hurricane, Dan spoke softly-- + +"We'll go now." + +"Are ye daft?" said Ronny. + +"Ye don't ken the effect o' a fire like that," said Dan. "A man must +look at it, and see the lowes ploofin' into the sky, and the sparks +fleein'. He canna help himsel'. The horses will be needing a lot o' +handling too, and the men on the low side'll just hiv tae run tae +winward or lie in the burn, for the heat o' whuns is terrible. They'll +a' face the flames waitin' till we run oot like bleezin' deevils, and +they're sae sure that we will start every moment, they will not lift +their eyes for fear they will be missing the sight o' us." + +"We must just risk it," said I, "for I'm like to freeze here." + +Dan put his head out of our hole and crawled out, and I followed, and +Ronny last. We could feel the air warm, and the night was clear as +day, and yet the searchers stood gazing at their fire as Dan had said. +We crawled flat like snakes, keeping among dark patches as much as we +could, till we came to the turf dyke, and still our pursuers tended the +fire. Slowly and softly we crossed into heather, and lay for a minute. +Then, looking down across the common, Dan threw back his head and +laughed in his silent fashion. + +"We're among our ain heather now, Hamish," says he. "In an hour we'll +be among the peat hags. I've a mind tae whistle them up." + +"I've lain long enough in the water, Dan," said I. + +"Aweel," says he, "we'll just make McAllan's Locker for it; eh, Ronny?" +And again we started to run, zigzagging to the dark bits till we +crossed the first rise, and we stood looking back. The whins were all +ablaze and the trees in the belting standing out clear, and the little +figures still running with the torches. + + +[1] Steep. + +[2] Opening. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +McALLAN'S LOCKER. + +Over the first rise of the hills was a long dreary waste--treeless, +awesome, desolate. Whiles, as we ran, a curlew would rise, and its +long whirling cry rose in the night, filling the ears and leaving an +emptiness afterwards in the silence, for things not canny to be +filling. Once we startled a herd of red-deer feeding round the mossy +lips of a frozen pool, and away they galloped. One lordly stag wheeled +with antlers high, gazed at our flight, and vanished, leaving us in +that dreadful stillness, and a cold eerie wind whined and sighed over +us. We spoke little, having no breath to spare, for the ground was +growing more steep and broken towards the second rise, up which we +clambered, sliding and falling, grasping frozen heather till we reached +the top. The hill was now a riddle of peat hags and binks, like a +bee's skep, a place of treachery and slimy death, although the frost +would have most of the sinking pools in its iron hand; but we never +stopped the long stride that seemed so slow to me at first. Dan bent +and twisted through the peat banks like a hound on the trail. Here was +a place where folk had wrought, cutting their fuel for generations; and +God knows what memories were lurking here from the old days, what +ghosts of love and hatred, what spirits of tears and laughter. Would +the race never end? My tongue, dry and swollen, stuck raspily against +the roof of my mouth. Round my lips was a hot fire, for I had grasped +a handful of snow and melted it in my mouth as I ran. We were past the +peat hags, and the ground fell away under our feet; the heather got +scantier and sprits more common, until we had descended, maybe, five +hundred feet into a wide valley with a level plain at its heart, with +many clumps of stunted birches and hardy firs. Here was the great +grazing for young beasts in the summer, away here in the glen, but now +only stillness and desolation. A wide burn rumbled and splashed on its +gravelly banks in front of us, and we could hear the deep noise of a +waterfall. + +"Hold in to the fall," cried McKinnon, and his voice was hoarse as a +raven's. + +"I ken this like the back o' my hand," said Dan, and led us, with never +a break, to an easy crossing. + +And now we took the greatest care of our going, for a great hill rose +before us steep, as it seemed to me, as the wall of a house, and then +all our care was made useless, for the snow began again. + +Slowly, blindly we clambered and spelled up the hillside, now numb with +cold, now fiery hot, Dan always in the lead, and me groaning at his +hurdie. + +"Keep a stout heart, Hamish; this is the last o't." + +We were now, as it were, on a ladder on the hill face, for there were a +succession of great holes like steps, on each of which three men could +stand--the giant's steps, the old folks called them. + +At the back of the step where we three lay was a grey rock, as though +the earth had been worn away, leaving the rock partly bare. As we lay +Dan struck it three times with a stone about the size of a +putting-ball, and a great low baying sounded, and my blood ran cold, +and then the grey rock moved inch by inch, and I heard a great rift of +Gaelic, and Dan went crawling like a snake through the hole, and myself +and McKinnon at his heels. + +"Welcome, hearty welcome; whatever drives ye sae fast. Welcome to +McAllan's Locker." + +"It's latish for ceilidhing," said Dan. "I'm hoping me and my friends +are not putting ye out in any ways, but just a shakedown o' breckans is +all we're asking, and thankful for it." + +"Better the bottom o' the locker than the end o' the cable. Sit ye +doon and warm yourself." + +I was sore done wi' the long running, and lay on the rook floor with my +head on my arms, and I felt as a hound feels after a long chase, till +the caveman answered Dan. At the first I thought his tongue had been +malformed as he stood in the light, for a growling and grumbling came +from his throat; and as he growled, from the darkness of the chamber a +great brindled dog stalked to his side and stretched his fore-paws, +opened a mouth like a red pit, and whined with outstretched curling +tongue. + +"He would tear down a stag, him," says Dan, nodding at the brute. +Again came the growling rumbling from the stranger. + +"Hark tae him, Marr; hark tae him--a stag. Ho, ho, ho! He would tear +a man's throat oot at his first leap," and man and dog rumbled and +growled in devilish mirth. "Sing tae me, dog--sing," and the man threw +his head up, and there came the long greeting howl of a dog baying the +moon, and dog and man howled in unison, with swaying bodies and heads +thrown upwards. + +"God, but the open hill's a bonny place," said McKinnon, and a shiver +went over him. In this terrible place we lay the night--a great gloomy +forbidding place in the belly of the hill. Shiver on shiver went +through me as I looked round me. The walls were rock, bare and dry, +converging high up in the gloom; for there was just the peat fire and a +cruisie alight. Once, as though disturbed in its sleep, I heard a +rock-pigeon "rookatihoo coo-a" away above me in some cranny that must +open on the hill face. The smoke curled up in a rude dry-stone chimney +for about five or six feet against the rock, and the bulk of it still +ascended in a column, although the chimney stopped, but a waving pall +hung over the cave, swaying and undulating in long waves and streamers, +and the air below was cool and fresh. There were great carvings on the +walls--warriors and ships, galleys and horses a-rearing, and on a flat +stone projecting from the chimney, and serving as the brace or +mantelpiece, were models of ships made from the breast-bones of birds, +some quite large and others very small, and needing an infinite deal of +patience. There were rough stools and a table, all of which must have +been made inside the cave, and, indeed, the bark was dry and brittle on +the legs. Great bundles of heather, fashioned like narrow beds, lay +along the wall in the firelight, and like a dark unwinking eye the +light glimmered on a pool. There were square steps cut in the rock +down to the pool, which was shaped like a horn spoon with the handle +cut off short, and the water entering it from a crack in the rock, +noiselessly as oil, trickled silently away in a little sloping gutter +to the back of the cavern. Who first discovered the cavern I never +knew, but by the fire lay, twisted and blackened, the hilt and half of +a sword, and in a corner a black and rust-pitted breastplate. The back +part of the cave narrowed, and through a passage the Nameless Man +passed to bring us meat and drink. Have you walked on a bare moor road +in the pit mirk wi' a drizzle of soft mist in a silence you could hear? +Have you felt the fear coming over you, like a cold hand on your heart, +when ye knew that a thing gibbered and mouthed at your side? Well, the +thought o' that man, the Nameless Man, brings fear to me in a lighted +room. + +For he was a dead white man, his hair, lank and white, hung round his +shoulders, his beard was slimy and soft as a white hare's, face and +hands cold, dead white, and his features were frozen. + +No trace of any feeling showed on his face. His voice and his laughter +rumbled from his throat, leaving his face unchanged, only his pupils +waxed and waned like a cat's in the dark. He was covered with a +patchwork of skins and tatters of cloth, and as he set meat before us, +venison, it came to me that he must hunt his food in the dark, always +in the dark. That cold whiteness was not of the good God's sunlight. +As we ate, Dan told him some of our story, and the Nameless Man sat, a +handful of his beard in his hand, his elbow on the table, and his eyes +growing and fading. + +"I'm sair feart I left him deid," said Dan. "If they come for us, dog, +when we're lying at the still and the good water turnin' to fine +whisky--and the good nice water, trickling and dripping through the +rocks for a hundred years--if they creep upon us, dog, what will we be +doing, you and me, Marr? Ho--ho--ho! killing them, eh? Leaving their +bones wi' the white bones away in there--the old, old bones," and dog +and man made a howling of laughter. I knew then that this was the +watcher of a smugglers' still; for let the gang o' Preventives do their +worst, whisky would still be made in the hills. + +It came to me then why the folk would be leaving peats for the wee +folks, as they said, when they would be taking down the creels from the +hills; for the Nameless Man threw more on the fire from some hidden +store, likely nearer his worm, when we had finished eating. The great +dog lay at the rock by which we entered, and I saw that the stone was +swung on a balance; but if there was a way to open from the outside I +never knew till long after. McKinnon and Dan lay talking, but I was +silent for the most part, thinking of the sword and the armour, and of +the people who fashioned the well, and wondering about the old, old +bones away through the dark passage into the heart of the hill. The +far, far-away stories were in my mind of Finn and his warriors, of his +great dogs and his queens. Did Ossian the bard tune his harp to great +deeds, and to lovely women of the land of the Ever Young, in the cave +of the past? Into my musings--for sleep had nearly come over me--broke +the voice of the Nameless Man. + +"I gave her to drink of the foamy milk--warm, and the bubbles of froth +in it. 'Drink, my lost lass,' said I, 'for ye loved me well once,' and +all the time I would be telling her that death was coming with the +white milk. And she took up the fine nice milk and drank, because she +had loved me well once, she that loved me yet but feared--the coward, +the soft, soft, white coward that would lie on another man's heart +after I had keeled her for myself. Ay, she took up the milk and drank, +and I took my ways, and they came running to Glen Darruach to tell me +she had died. + +"Oh, oh! the dark, the dark, and never more the sun shining on the +bonny blooms of dark Darruach, never mair the white lambs running, and +the gleam on the wing of the moorcock. + +"Ay, they would be for the killing of me, and I lay among the rafters, +under the thatch of my mother's house, and listened to them miscalling +me, the black killer--the bloody man that had the black art and the +evil eye; and it came over my heart to catch them by the hair, and pull +them up to me as they were speaking, and let my black knife kiss their +hearts. It was all red, red before me, up there under the thatch, and +them down below, and my sisters shaking when they saw me watching down +in the dark. It's droll, droll--because a soft white coward died--they +would kill me, me that would kill a man when I drew my dirk--ho, ho, ho! + +"I lay hid among the rocks above the Herring Slap, alane day and night, +and the blue rockdoos left their nestlings and circled above my lair, +till I was feart that folk wid see them, and come peering down and get +me. But a herrin' skiff took me away from that place in the dark of +the night, and I drifted to the warm South Seas and the darkling women +and the white glistening houses; but she came with me, she that had +died. I would be seeing her rising before the bows o' the ship, rising +from the sea, and waving on me to follow, and the weather was worse and +worse at her every coming. An' there was a man o' the Western Isles in +the crew, and he had the sight, and would be telling o' the woman +rising from the sea, and her hair blowing over the yeast o' the waves, +and her eyes staring, staring, and the waving of her hand when I was at +the tiller; and so bad the weather got, and the sickness among the +crew, that the captain swore he would send the woman's man to her, and +he lay aft in his cabin, and drank rum till his boy was feart to +venture near him; and then he came on deck--a fine wild man, all in his +finery o' lace and golden earrings, and he called his sailors aft to +make choice of the woman's man. There was many there that would have +been making choice of me, but my hand was quick on the dirk, and no man +spoke above a whisper, and then I looked over the bows, and I would be +seeing her coming, and the man of the Western Isles cried out in his +fear-- + +"'She's wavin', she's wavin', Chrisht's mercy.' He was pointing to the +grey seas, and the froth was on his lips. + +"And as he was standing gazing I creeped round behind him like a cat, +so quiet, and I had my arms round him before his eyes were winking. + +"'Go to your wet love,' I cried, and I flung him over the rail by the +poop, and the captain was at the laughing. + +"'The curse is lifted, my lads,' he roared. 'Crowd the sail on her. +Heigh-ho for the North and the gay adventures!' But after that there +were two to be watching in the darkness when I took the tiller--ay, and +I crawled from the sea at last, and came to the hills again--in the +dark. + +"Oh, the dark, the dark, and never mair the sun shining on the heather +howes of dark Glen Darruach." As we lay on the heather beds the +Nameless Man wandered through the cave, and the booming of his voice +rumbled in the heart of the hill, as he wandered through unknown +galleries in the dark. The day came at last, and I saw a wee shaft of +light filter down some way on the cavern walls, but we could only lie +still till the dusk would come again, and we might make our way among +the hills, for after our sleeping Dan and Ronny and me had a great +confab. + +"I canna lie here like a rat in a hole a' my days," said Dan. + +"Ye'll never sleep sound till there's many a mile o' blue sea between +you and Dol Beag's hunters," said I. "If we could pass the word for a +skiff. . . ." + +"We're daft, we're clean daft," cried Ronny. "McGilp is lying at the +north end, standing off and on. If we can just make Loch Ranza, ye're +safe." + +"Ay," said Dan. "I'm thinking it's the Low Country now for me, Hamish. +Whatever money is due me, ye'll leave wi' McGilp, and he'll find a way +for sending it on. I'm sair sweirt tae part frae my bonny horses for +yon mauk's sake. . . . And there's the bonny spaewife, Hamish; if +anything comes wrong tae that lass I'll be relying on you." And then +for a long time he sat brooding at the fire. + +In the afternoon a change came over the Nameless Man. He crawled on +his knees about the cave, whining and howling like a beast. He glared +at the black pool, and pointed. + +"She's there in the water." And then with a yell to the dog, "Had her, +Marr; tear her sinery; rive her sinery, good Marr." And he hissed the +hound on to his vision, and the dog, frenzied at his crying, breenged +into the pool, and the man whined with joy, and caressed the soaking +coat. Later on in the day, after we had had a meal, he sat at the +passage-way and eyed us, and the dog girned and showed his teeth. + +"They'll no come creepin' into the dim places where the queer things +are hidden, no--spying and spying." And when we paid no heed to his +ravings, except that we kept the fire bright and had armed ourselves, +he lay down and slept across the passage-way, his head on the hound's +flank. At every movement of our bodies the growling rumbled to our +ears, and the bristles rose on the dog's back. But when it was nearly +dark the sleeper wakened, and we left the dreadful place called +McAllan's Locker, and took to the hills again. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +DAN McBRIDE SAILS FROM LOCH RANZA. + +For a while we lay silent on the giant's step of McAllan's Locker, and +I felt my spirits lighten to be outside of that place. The hills were +silent, but from the cave came a baying and growling of dog and man, at +first as from a distance, and growing louder and louder, as though the +Nameless Man and his grim hound ranged through the unknown caverns. We +three sprauchled upwards, for we had no relish to meet these two, and +as we neared the rise of the hill the baying filled the night, and +suddenly the great hound bounded down the hillside with great twisting +leaps, and at his heels the wild figure of his master followed. In the +valley they played like gambolling puppies, rushing at one another and +wrestling, with whiles the brute worrying the man playfully, and whiles +the man kneeling on the dog; then away they would dash separately, +wheeling and leaping and rubbing their flanks in the snow. For a long +time the game went on, and then the players slunk closer, the shaggy +heads thrust skywards, and the long whining cry rose on the night; then +away they ranged, running flank to flank through the peat hags and over +the rise of the hill we had crossed the night before. + +"He'll be a bold man that shepherds these hills in the lambing," said +Dan. + +All through this night we held our course a little to the west of the +pole-star, though McKinnon and Dan had travelled the way before. We +were now in the middle of the great barren range, frowning mountains +menaced our path, and burns rumbled in the darkness; and when Dan spoke +his voice was thick with anger-- + +"I lifted a snipe o' a man, and I flung him the back of the fire. What +is there in that to be running from? + +"If the man has freens, I'll meet them a' wherever they like; but this +running sticks in my gizzard. It's just ain brother tae caul' fear," +and we marched on in grim silence. + +On the mountains my feet were almost without feeling at all with the +cold, and my clothes sticking to my shoulders with sweat; and on the +last of the hills McKinnon clapped like a startled hare. + +"Look at yon," he whispered; "they're to win'ward o' us after a'." + +Far below us a little light flickered and blinked on the hillside, and +we watched it, hardly breathing, and again I heard my heart begin to +pound. + +After some wee while of watching, Dan grunted-- + +"Umph!" says he. "Ye see droll things in the hills when ye're rinnin' +for dear life. Yon's just Tchonie Handy Ishable and his lantern." + +"I never would be believing that story," said Ronny. + +"Man, if I had the time I would get his secret this night," says Dan. +"Ye see, Hamish, yon's an old man down yonder, and they'll be saying he +pays the Duke's rent in the big money. They've the story of how he +found a hoard o' it among the hills; and it's likely enough, for many's +the bold stark lad took to the Southern Seas from these glens. Och, +an' I ken folk mysel' that found an iron pot o' doubloons in the peat +bink; but aul' Tchonie, he just takes what he will be needin', and he +takes it at night when the folks are abed. They used to be following +him, but he was skilly among the rocks, and they would maybe come on +his lantern sitting lighted, and once they found a dagger stuck at the +entrance to a cave to keep the wee folk from shuttin' it when a man was +inside; but they were never able to get the secret, for Tchonie Handy +Ishable would be sittin' over his peat fire when the lads came back in +the mornin'." + +At the screich o' day we came from Glen Chalmadale into the thatched +village of Loch Ranza. At a house some way back from the others +McKinnon stopped us. + +"The man that lives here is a farmer and a fisherman," said he, "and a +very po-lite man in his taalk moreover, for I know him well," and he +mimicked the Loch Ranza speech, which, indeed, is very proper speech, +and I was very startled at one time to hear the very weans with the +polite way of it. + +"Ye will be havin' the dogs on us," says Dan in a low voice; "and +there's folks here that are unfreens o' mine." + +"Alaister Jock has weans enough to do without the dogs," says Ronny, +"for dogs are unchancy beasts in the smuggling nights, and Alaister +himsel' will be always up wi' the drake's dridd." + +In a little time Ronny came back to us, and we made our way into +Alastair's house, a place where a grown man could stand broad-soled on +the clay floor and touch the rafters of the roof with the flat of his +palms. The peat fire was smouldering on the floor, and the reek made +its way out at the rigging. Alastair himself, a tall stooped man with +a red beard and a thin beak of a nose, brought peats and threw them on +the fire. + +"There was one came for you in the night yesterday," says he to Dan in +his very proper polite way. "I would not be having her in my house at +all, for I am a reeleegious man with a family to rear before the Lord. +I put her into the byre with the kye, for she is of the land of Egypt, +the house of bondage; and my wife sprinkled a little meal and a little +saut over the rumps of the kye to keep away her spells, for we must +meet spell with spell--not that I will be believing in these evil-doers +of the Black Art." + +"Och, I kent, I kent," cried Dan, long before Alastair had done with +his speaking, and disappeared through a door which gave me a glimpse of +a cow's head looking over its biss, and it struck me that the byre was +the handy place to get at in Loch Ranza. Ronny and Alastair were +thrang at the talking, with the farmer laying off with his hands, and +wagging his head like a minister in the pulpit, and all in a voice so +raised in tone that I believed from hearing him what our folks say, +that when two farmers are ploughing at the north end they can talk +comfortably across three fields, and they are great at the handling of +their skiffs and bold sailors. I heard Dan-- + +"Och, my lass, my ain lass; it went sair against my heart to be leaving +without seein' you at all." + +I heard her brave voice with a crooning quiver like a mother's. + +"I ran, I ran all the long road, for I kent it all from the first o' +it," and in the dimness of the byre I could see these two clinging to +each other. + +"Is it the sight[1] ye think ye have now, my droll dark lass?" says +Dan, looking down at her, one arm holding her away from him and the +great love in his eyes. + +"There's whiles I come near to hating you when you will be talking like +that," said the swarthy girl. "Mirren Stuart brought me word." + +"You'll be glad to be rid o' me then. You'll be forgetting me soon," +and the man let his arm drop from her shoulders, and the cold +intolerant pride of his voice stung like a whip-lash, for he never +could thole that the woman he loved could even have a thought different +from his own, let alone a love-hatred. + +I expected a proud heart-breaking lie from the sombre beauty, but for +all his answer she crept close, and clung to him with both hands, and +hid her face on his breast; then holding him at the stretch of her arms +she raised her head, and looked Dan in his eyes. + +"Oh, man," she cried, "I have that that will keep me in mind o' ye, +shameless, shameless that I am," and two great tears rose in her eyes, +the first tears I ever saw there, but Dan lifted her in his arms like a +baby. + +"Was ever there such a mother for a bold man's son," I heard him cry in +a voice of love and pride and laughter. + +In Alastair's kitchen the thought came to me then what will the son of +these two be--the father strong as a mountain ash, and with the cruel +arrogant pride of a long-bred race behind him, his own will his only +law, and the queer twist of tenderness for old stories and old songs +and his love for all nature--a stark man, who would reach out and take +what he desired; and the mother fiercely tender, wildly, passionately +loving her chosen man, all the dark East in her black eyes, all the +deadly South in her blazing angers--a graceful, hard, blue steel blade +of Damascus, with jewel-encrusted hilt and sheath of velvet. What was +the son of these to be? + +Alastair slipped out quietly, and Ronny and me sat at the fireside. + +"We'll manage," said McKinnon, "for the gomerils have let us slip at +their bonfire and lost us. The goodman here is McGilp's man, and his +skiff's ready, and the _Gull_ will be close in behind the point at high +water. It will just be good-bye to Dan McBride wi' the turn o' the +tide." + +"But how can this godly man be a smuggler?" said I, more to make talk +than anything else. + +"Godly men must live like ither folk," said Ronny. + +For a while we sat there till Dan and Belle joined us, and the lass +could not be letting go of her man, the brave proud lass. I watched +her hand quivering in his great brown one, and her eyes following his +every change of look, and her face was all sorrow. I came near to +hating Dan McBride too. + +In the grey of the morning we made our way stealthily to the shore by +the point. + +Dan and the gipsy stood some way from us, on the cold dark shore head, +and I think we had all a lowness of spirits, for that place is more sad +and mournful than any place I have ever seen. + +"You'll set McCurdy's hut to rights for my dark wife," said Dan to me, +"and let it be her own place, and the money that is lying with my +uncle, you'll be giving her when she needs it," and there he went on, +keeping up her heart with his talk, and his eyes were straining +longingly to the loom of hills in the dimness, like a man saying +farewell, and I think the gangers and Dol Beag were clean forgot. + +There came to our ears the low swish-sch of a boat gliding and +slithering over wrack, and the beating of wings in the air as the +sea-birds left the beach, and Alastair's boat grated on the gravel of +the shore. + +"Will ye no' come wi' me, my dear," cried Dan to the lass as she clung +to him, and I had a twinge of jealousy that I was all forgot. + +"Oh, fain, fain wid I be to travel wi' ye, my man, the cool long roads +and the waving green meadows; but oh! ye hivna the nature o' my +folk--there will be the great battles calling ye, and I would be trying +to keep ye beside me, till ye grew weary o' me. But you will remember +always and always in your wanderings you will never be thinking of me, +but just that I will be loving you somewhere," and with a great cry, +"Have I no' loved ye--can I ever be forgetting ye?" + +When Dan would have taken her to his heart, she sprang away, her eyes +blazing. + +"Do not be petting me," she cries. "I am not a bairn to be quieted. +Tell me ye love me--I want my ain fierce lover that wid make me kneel +to him because he loved me--the love in his eyes and the strength o' +his hands,--oh, I have loved a man." And then the man answered, and +she saw the sorrow of parting in his face. + +"My ain brave lass" . . . and at his words she came to him--"I will be +waiting for you all the long days, for I will be with you again; but +oh! it were better for all that ye never set your boot on these shores, +for then the storm-clouds will gather, and the lightning will leap in +the scarred mountains--my love, my love; but my heart cannot be brave +enough to forbid you to come back to me." And for an instant the wild +fierce woman clung to her lover, then fled from the shore. Dan stepped +into the waiting boat in silence, his head on his breast, and a word +from McKinnon or me, I think, would have kept him; but we said our +farewells, and Alastair set to the sculling, and we watched the +receding boat from the shore head until she drew close to the +_Seagull_, and we saw Dan climb on board, and the skiff returning. + +As we walked back to Alastair's, we saw Belle standing on a ridge of +high ground, with the morning light behind her--dark against the light, +and her eyes straining to the sea; and as we came closer I spoke, +thinking to take her away from her sorrow, but her dark eyes remained +fixed on the schooner, as though she had never heard me. There was a +little mist hanging over the sea. + +We sat down to a meal of salted herrings in Alastair's kitchen, the +weans round us still sleepy and barefooted, and with tousled red locks, +which they flung from their eyes with a gesture very like a spirited +Hielan' pony tossing its mane; and when I looked from the door +again--which I was glad enough to do, for the reek was a little nippy +to my eyes--as I looked from the door I saw Belle returning, and with +her no other than Robin McKelvie of the Quay Inn. There was no sign of +the _Seagull_, for a fog had come down on the firth, and even the +melancholy pleasure of seeing Dan's ship again was taken from me. + +McKelvie stood at the door, and his face was red with running, and +streaked with white in places with fatigue. + +"My father thought ye would make for this place. Rob Beag's no' dead," +he said; "the devil has more for him to do yet." + + +[1] Second sight. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +WE RETURN. + +We made the great to-do in Alastair's kitchen between the exceeding +gladness of the news and the foolishness of our flight, and Alastair +himself was rowing in the fog after the _Gull_--only Belle said no +word, but went quietly behind a rick of peats close to the house, and +I, following her in my slow useless way, came on her suddenly, her arms +outstretched to the empty sea, and such a look of anguish on her face +that I was silent. No words at all came from her, but her bosom rose +and fell as she battled with her sorrow. + +"The man's not deid," said I, for I felt that was the great news, but +little did I know the woman. + +"Dead," she cries--"dead," and laughed. "Would that dog's death have +brought a tear to my eyes. Hamish, Hamish, I have lost my man." + +And wondrous fierce and beautiful she was as I left her. + +We made our way back by the drove road, Ronny McKinnon and me, and we +were silent for the most part, for there was that in my throat to keep +me from speaking, for Dan was gone, and no rowing would get him back, +and who could get word to him. + +There was the whiteness and stillness of snow over everything, and I +mind me how my mind would cling to wee things, like the footprints of +rabbits, and the wee bits of grey fur here and there, and the flight of +cushies in the trees, to come back with a start to the _Gull_ away out +in the Firth, and Dan on board of her. + +Silently we ate our bannocks at a little burn under some stunted trees +and close to the shore, and wearily trailed on; and just at the +darkness I made out the lights of the big house, and came into the +kitchen, where Ronald McKinnon had a meal. He took away over the hill +for his mother's house then, as he said, but I'm thinking maybe Mirren +Stuart would have another way of it, and at his going I went to that +grim man, the Laird. + +He was with his back to a red fire of peats, and looked dourly at me. + +"What new devilry is this?" says he, and bit his lip. "Here are women +and men gane gyte wi' the tellin' o' death and murder--and where is Dan +McBride?" + +"There is nae murder that I ken," said I, "and the hogs are doing +finely." + +I believe the man had clean forgot about the sheep. + +"Hogs," quo' he; "deil tak' the braxy beasts. Sir, where is Dan +McBride?" and at that I told him. + +"And there's more yet," said I, for I had passed my word. "There's +more to tell yet." + +"Ay," said he, "there will be. Well, tell on." + +And I told him of Belle and the old hut. He was not so very +ill-pleased. + +"See that the woman has what she will be needing," said he--"a cow and +such-like, Hamish, and peats and gear and plenishings. Poor lass, poor +lass. Hech, sirs, this will no' make bonny tellin' to the mistress. +The mistress will no' be pleased wi' this--she'll be in need o' siller +too." + + * * * * * * + +So it was on the first good day, with the sun red through a frosty +haze, and the snow melted for the most part, we yoked the horses to the +creels, and took gear and plenishing and peats to McCurdy's hut away in +the hills over beyond the peat hags, and it was a weary cow beast that +trailed behind, tied to the spars. + +When we came over the last rise and stood to breathe the horses, I saw +Belle at her door, shading her eyes under her flattened palms from the +rays of the sun, and watching for us; and the horses looked in wonder +to see a house so far among the hills, and tossed their ropy manes. + +Man, they were the great little horses we had these days, with little +heads such as I have seen in the paintings of Arab steeds, and an alert +eager look to them, broad forehead, and soft neat muzzle. Close +coupled they were, with a great girth, broad chest and sloping +shoulders, and legs like iron. But it was the pride and the strength +of them I never tired of, and it may be there was truth in the talk of +the old folk, that the Hielan' horse was come off Spanish or Moorish +horses of the Armada. But none could tell me if these Arab horses +would be having the silver tail and mane of our little horses. And as +I stood looking, I thought me it was a dreary wild place for a lass to +be living her lane, with the muirfowl for company and the great geese +flying north in the spring, and the bleating of sheep in the mist. + +So all that winter I worked by the cottage; on the dry days thatching +and building, keeping a little horse to take me over the peat road in +the gloaming. + +In the mornings I would be at it with mattock and spade delving hard at +the founds, and I had the great days sliping stones. Indeed, I became +so strong and proud of myself that you will see to this day on that +hillside the dents I struck on great boulders, that now I would be +sweir to move. I had with me an old man from the Lowlands, very good +at the building of dry-stone dykes, a knowledgeable man in many ways, +but especially in trees and gardens and such-like. The byre we built +was not very big, and very dark, but it was cosy, too, under the +crooked joists, and covered with heather scraws and thatch. In the +loft I put flat boards across the joists, and made a square hole in the +doorway, and brought hens and cocks to be making the place more +homelike. + +All this was on my uncle's hill land, but I had my way of it, and +jaloused maybe that the mistress was putting in her good word, for she +had aye a soft side for young Dan. When I told him about breaking in +from the moor, he hummed and hawed and gloomed at me. "This will mean +the less sheep," says he. + +"There's a wean coming," said I, and felt the blood rise in my face to +be saying it. "Has he to be put in the heather, and die maybe in a +sheuch like a braxy ewe." + +"Tut," says he, his colour rising a bit; "these are no words to be in +the mouth of a boy," but I kent I had him on the soft side. "A man +must be dacent to his ain blood," said he, and that was the last of it. + +So we had the great days at the burning of heather, and when I would be +running with a kindling here and there, and watching the lowes lick +into the dry scrog with a hiss before the breeze, I would be thinking +much of Dan and Ronny McKinnon and me in the blazing whins, and the +gangers and excisemen and riff-raff of that kidney hallooing round us. +Belle loved this burning and the very fierceness of the flames, with +the eerie gloaming falling, and she would not be heeding the cries of +Old Betty (for Betty was much with her these days for company) to be +keeping indoors. + +"Hamish," she would say, coming close to me in the ruddy light, and the +dark cheeks of her glowing and her eyes flashing--"Hamish, I have that +in the heart of me." And as she stood thus pointing to the fires, all +lit up and wild and beautiful, I thought there must surely have been +away back in her story a priestess who tended fires in some far Eastern +land. + +Well, well, it's fine to be thinking back on these far-off days, and +the work we made at the dyke-building round the first park, and how we +gathered the lying stones and rousted out the deeper-set ones; and the +dyker made all grist that came to his mill, for he would split up +considerable boulders with great exactness and skill, a feat that never +came easily to me. Then there were the stone drains to be making, and +the great talking about the run of the water, and the lie of the land, +and the niceness with which we laid those drains! They were all joys +to me. I dreamed green meadows and well-kept dykes and good beasts. + +And then the ploughing--a sair job ploughing heather roots--and the +furrows I drew would have brought the laughing to Dan McBride; but the +soil was not so black, but where the rabbits had burrowed there was +good green grass among the red scrapings. The sowing and the harrowing +were the easy job after that, and I mind me how I leaned on that dyke +and gazed on the first three acres won out of the hill, when the green +breard was showing, as a man might gaze on his first-born son. In +these night trakings in the hills I learned the shape of every stunted +bush and tree, and the place of every rock on either hand, and many's +the droll ploy I came into. Ye'll still see the track yet down from +the peat hags like a scar on the hillside, but the stories of the road +are lost in the swirling mists, and carried away in the winter gales. + +There was a burn running over the road down from the little loch with +the green rush islands, where the sea-birds build, and the staghorn +moss is boot-deep, and in that little plouting burn there was grand +water to be making the whisky. And in the gloaming have I seen a +lonely man with his dog at heel, hurrying by the burn-side, through the +bare birch trees, and disappearing to his night watch in some cunning +place on the hillside. And once at the place where there is now a +little holly-tree, gnarled and full of years, I met the limber lads +with the kegs on their backs, and carrying the worm and all the gear +for the whisky-making. And we buried everything in the peat hags below +the three hills, for the excisemen were close on us, and there they +lie, kegs and stoups, to this day; and would not the whisky be fine to +be drinking now, but maybe a little peaty. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE STRANGER ON THE MOORS. + +It would be well on into May, for the men were thrang with work, and +the lassies at the big house haining a bit of bannock to be putting +under their pillows for fear of hearing the cuckoo, when first I heard +the strange whistling. It is not a very lucky thing to be hearing the +cuckoo and you wanting food, and I think this is just a haver of the +old folk to be making the young ones rise early on the fine clear +mornings; but many's the first bite I ken was taken from below the +pillows, and the cuckoo crying like all that. + +There was a thick bit of a wood behind the stackyard at the big house, +and as I lay listening to the sounds of the early morning there came +often of late this clear melody, not loud but sweet and thrilling, as I +had heard Ronny McKinnon whistle and Dan too, and the words of that +tune are not to be talked about; but when I went quietly to the +planting one morning there was only the little moving of birds in the +greyness of the morning and the stillness of the wood. + +I came back to the kitchen and rummaged the aumary for something to be +eating, and made my way to the stable and put a feed before my beast, +and watched him hard at it and the other beasts stamping and rattling +at their chains in their impatience. + +We were on the hill road before the sun, for there was the matter of a +calf to be seeing to, and it was fine to be alone in the fresh day with +the dew still heavy on the green grass and wetting the horse to the +fetlocks; and the sun was coming up in the East, and here and there the +curl of blue smoke rising up from far-out clachans. I would maybe be +on the other side of the black hill and going finely, and relishing the +green of the new growth, when there came to me that sweet whistling +again, and cooried by the roadside beside a grey stone I saw a man +sitting. He was the droll figure of a man, with outlandish garb and +wee gold earrings. His teeth showed white as milk against his swarthy +face, and he had many colours about him, at his throat and his waist, +and useless tatters and tassels, but withal he had the proud bearing of +mountain folk, and level black brows. + +Abreast of him we came and he bended low, but with such grace and so +much dignity that it were as though he were a king receiving a vassal. + +"Have you the Gaelic?" said I in the old tongue. + +"Cha nail, cha nail, cha nail," cried he, so quickly and with such +gestures of his hands that I was startled. + +"Geelp," said he--"Geelp." + +"Are you McGilp's man?" said I. + +"Man, yass," says he, and all his body would seem to be very glad; and +then I questioned him of his whistling, and got his story from him. + +By his way of it, he had been a camp-follower or servant to a +horse-soldier in the Low Countries, which was maybe true, for I will +not be denying these wandering folk have the way of horse, and he made +a play of himself to be showing how he was beaten often with the +stirrup-leather. Some time in his wanderings in the Low Countries he +fell in with "les Ecossais," and he was at the play-acting again with +his hands to be describing the Scotch soldiers, and then from some +pouch or hidie-hole about his outlandish garb he brought Dan's letter. + +At that I sat on the roadside, and the Eastern man, with the rein loose +in his hand, crouched on his hunkers before me like an image. + +There was much of sadness in that letter, and much of Belle the gipsy +lass, and of many wanderings from France to the Low Countries, + +"Hamish, man, I'm minding the very stanes in the hill dykes and the +track o' the sheep on the hillside." Why he had been kind to the +Egyptian he told me. "Ye'll ken fine, Hamish, for what lass's +sake,"--and sent him into France with a Scotch soldier he kent, +returning there, with directions to wait at the little town on the +coast where McGilp would whiles be, and "bring you this word o' me and +a wheen things for Belle." He was asking me to see McGilp too. The +last of it was like Dan. "I'm thinking, Hamish, if the houris in his +paradise kenned the words o' the spring I've been deaving him wi', the +Egyptian would be very greatly thought of." + +When I was by with the reading of Dan's news, "Ye'll have another +letter," said I, making signs at the pagan. + +"Yass," and at that he put it in my hands. It was for Belle. + +We got on the road again, the pony trotting now and the messenger +running easily, one brown hand at the stirrup-leather, and very many +times he would be saying "Geelp," till it came on me that McGilp would +be wishing to be seeing me at once. + +At Belle's cottage door I dismounted, and with the clatter of the horse +there came old Betty, with that queer look on her face of disdain and +mystery, and just itching to be at the talking. + +"_The wean's hame_," said she, and slammed the door with a last nod of +her old head and her lips pursed up; and then there came the snuffling +ill-natured greeting of a wean that made me grue as I made my way to +the byre, for till then my mind had clean forgot the calf I was to be +seeing that day. + +In the byre we sat, the heathen and me--for we were but simple men in +this affair--and the byre was a dark place to be sitting, and in a +while old Betty came, havering at hens and talking to herself. As she +came and stood in the doorway and looked closely within, with her back +bent and her hand on the lintel, her eyes fell on the messenger, and +she let a great cry from her in the Gaelic. To be putting it in +English is not so good, but it would be like this, "What dost thou +require of me, father of devils?" and she fell on her knees. Well, +well, I can laugh at that sight yet. But she "came to" in a little, +and took me into the sunlight, and said the gipsy lass would be seeing +me for a little time; and I was taken to Belle's sleeping-place, and +her arm was round her wean, and she was lying on her back, and her +black hair a little damp curling on the pillow. + +"You have been very good," said she. "My man, your kinsman, will be +owing you thanks." And at that her eyes suffused, and two great tears +gathered and glittered, and she smiled up to me, and I gave her the +letter and turned away. + +In a long while she cried, proud and piteous-- + +"Bring me the messenger; he will have his father's gift for my son." +And the lilt of joy in her voice made me think shame to be a man at +all. Silently the messenger came, his eyes on the ground, and kneeled, +and at that they were at it in their own Gaelic, and Belle raised the +wean a little, and I saw his face wrinkled and red, and his blue +staring eyes. And the man laid a long blue blade across the bed, and +the little groping fingers of the child fluttered a moment, and then +closed on the hilt, and when I lifted the gleaming snake-like sword, +from the hilt scroll with a tinkling fell a ring, and it fell on the +bosom of the mother--and she lay and smiled. + + * * * * * * + +But I made a safe place for that sword and scabbard (for the messenger +gave that last into my hands), and for many nights in my dreams the +little dimpled hand fluttered and closed on the hilt. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +I HAVE SOME TALK WITH McGILP IN McKINNON'S KITCHEN. + +In the gloaming I left the sheiling, and took my way through the hill, +as we say, for McKinnon's house by the glen on the road to Birrican, +and the first of that road is just plain guessing, but after, maybe, a +mile there rises up the Mulloch Mhor, the big peak of the Island, and +with that, a little to a man's left hand, the road to the sea is easy. +There is a road crossing that way that you'll still see running in +through the Planting above the Letter, and through by the Little +Clearing, and joining the road to the castle. + +To the left of me I could hear the kye at the Bothanairidh, where there +was a common grazing, for by this time it was well to have the beasts +away from the steadings, because there was no great fencing in these +days, and the weans would be put to the herding, out on the hillside. +You'll see yet the wee turf byres where the kye were milked, and the +founds of the bochans where the old folk had their summer, with the +hens and beasts about them. And many's the story I could be telling +about these summer quarters when the lassies and old wives would be at +the spinning. + +All the glen on the right of me was a McBride place, but you will not +get that name there any more now, and nothing belonging to them but the +trees, old and straggling, that they would be planting long ago, and +the furs on the side of the hill where they had rigs about, and +lazy-beds. + +There were not many houses on the shore in these days, except maybe at +a place they would be calling Clamperton, not very far from McKelvie's +Inn. + +Ronny was the pleased man to welcome me to his house, and Mirren, his +wife, was at her best to be showing what a thrifty goodwife she was +making, and she was very kind, and spoke good words to me; so, thinks +I, Ronny will have been telling her about the talk we had yon day on +the Isle. + +"They will be saying," says Mirren, "that yon dark lass has her trouble +past her." + +"I am hoping that," said I, and looked at Ronny's mother sitting very +bright and perky by the fire, with a clean white mutch on her head and +the strings not tied. + +"It is goot," says she, "to have a boy whatever--a boy iss a good +thing, no matter which way he will be got," and she ended her little +talk with a very brisk demand. "Gif me a dram, Mirren; yes"--and that +set us to the laughing, for the young wife was setting the drink before +us and not making signs of giving the old one any. + +We sat down to a meal of roasted fowl, very tasty, and a very good drop +of spirits to it, and I would be laughing inside of myself because of +the boldness of McKinnon to be praising his wife's cooking before his +ain mother, and Mirren was greatly pleased too; indeed, many's the time +I will be thinking that the road to a quiet lass's heart will be to +praise her cooking. When we had made an end of the eating I gave +McKinnon the story of the stranger that came whistling at uncanny +hours, and asked him where I would be like to find McGilp, for it +appeared the man wanted speech with me. + +"You are on the right tack," says he, "for I am waiting for his hand on +the sneck any time this two hours past," and the dishes were hardly +cleared away when the smuggler bent his head to be coming in the door, +for in these days there were no locks in the Isle of the Peaks. + +There came in with the man a kind of waft of the sea as he threw off +his great-coat and clattered his cutlass in a corner--a fine figure of +a man, towering up to the rafters, and his voice held in as though it +would be more comfortable to hurl an order in the teeth of a gale. + +"Ha!" says he, looking from McKinnon to his wife; "she has brought you +to port finely." But he was mightily complimentary, and gave many good +wishes with his glass in his great hand. + +"And how are you, Mister Hamish?" says he. "Every plank sailing--in +fine trim--and that's good hearing these days." + +With that McKinnon got his fiddle, and played us many sprightly airs, +for he was a very creditable performer, and the smuggler would be +asking for this or that one, and nodding his head with great spirit. + +"You would have speech with the Pagan," said he, when the night was +wearing on. "An' cold eneuch he was when I picked him up at the mouth +o' the Rouen river, for I had an express from a compatriot, Mr Hamish, +serving overseas"--this with a very grand air. + +"Were you wanting speech with me?" said I, for I could see the drink +was going to his head. + +"It's a wee thing private," says he; "but tak' up your dram. I canna +thole a man that loiters wi' drink till the pith is out of it." + +At that we drew our chairs close before the fire. + +"Many's the time we would be talking about ye, Mr Hamish," says he, +"Dan and myself; yon time we left ye in the haar at Loch Ranza--a +senseless job, too, by all accounts, and Alastair rowing to the +suthard, and us creeping out to the nor'west; he'll be hard to find +now, by Gully--ay, Dan will be hard to find. + +"I am hoping you are not close-hauled for time," says he, "for it's +hard to come at my tale, Mr Hamish; but ye see, Dan McBride had some +notion o' what might occur--I am thinking ye will see with me there. + +"I am giving you the man's words, ye see, for he had great faith in ye. + +"'Ye'll say to Hamish,' says he, and I'm telling you he was a sober +man--'ye'll say, I am not wanting the wean to grow up like a cadger's +dog, to be running from kicks and whining for a bone.' + +"I am no' great hand at this wean business, Mr Hamish, but McBride was +a fine man." + +At that I made mention of the wean he had taken to the convent in +France. + +"I'm with you there," says he. "I was paid good money for that job, +and I ken what I ken, and mair--what I've found out. Ye'll no' hiv +great mind o' Scaurdale's son? No? Aweel, he was a bog-louper, and +wild, wild at that, but he fell in wi' some south-country lady--a +cousin o' his ain, that stopped for years at Scaurdale--a young thing +that was feart to haud the man, but fond o' him too. I canna mind the +name o' her. The long and short of it was jeest this--she married on +an Englishman, a landed man and weel bred--Stockdale they ca'ed +him--but he turned oot ill after a', and the first wean was a lass +instead o' a boy. And I'm jalousin' she would be getting her +keel-haulings for that, poor lady. Ye ken weel that young Scaurdale +broke his neck, and ye ken where. + +"'I'll be in hell or hame,' says he, 'in forty minutes.' At the Quay +Inn it was, and his horse lathered and foaming and wild wi' fear. +Aweel, Mr Hamish, he's no _hame_ yet. + +"Things were going from bad to worse with the lass he lost, and her man +aye at the bottle, and sometimes she would be finding him lookin' at +the wean and cursing, so what does she do but get word to the old Laird +o' Scaurdale, who was fond o' her and a just man. I'll wager ye, he +did not hang long in irons. The thing was done circumspectly, mind +you--nae high-handedness--but Belle's folk were about Glen Scaur, a +droll wandering band, claiming great descent from Eastern folk, and +with horses and dogs and spaewife among them; and Belle (as they will +be calling her) was the daughter o' the Chief, a very proud man. + +"They were a wandering tribe, Mr Hamish, and they wandered into the +south country, and I'm thinking ye saw the bonny spaewife coming back +her lane, except for a wean, on a morning ye ploughed stubble. + +"But here's the droll bit," says he. "Stockdale was kilt an his horse, +too, in his ain park, for he scoured the place like a madman after the +wean was lost. Weel, weel, that finished the lady, poor body. Ye'll +see how things are now, Mr Hamish," says he. + +"Yon's an heiress. An' that's a' I'll be saying," says he, for +McKinnon came in from his stable, "but the Laird, your uncle, was in +the ploy," says he, "or I'm sair mistaken, and the Mistress too." + +With that we rose to be going, and had a glass, and the captain's last +words were--"Ye'll mind yon: 'I'm not wanting the wean to grow up like +a cadger's dog.'" + +As I was walking home that night the thought came into my head of the +wisdom of Betty at the big house. + +I minded her saying to me on the Sunday that Belle took the wean in the +tartan shawl to the Mistress--her very words came back to me-- + +"The wean has the look o' John o' Scaurdale." + + + + +PART II. + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +I TURN SCHOOLMASTER. + +There were many things to be doing in these days--peats to be cutting +and carted home and built into tidy stacks, just as you can see them +to-day, and the sprits and bog hay to be saving, for we were not good +at growing hay, and then, when the boys grew up, there was the +schooling of them. It was the boys we would aye be calling them, Dan's +boy and the Laird's son, and they were fine boys. + +Bryde McBride, that was the name of Dan's son, and Hugh, with a wheen +other names, was the young Laird, who was schooled in Edinburgh and was +not long back to us, and there was a lass Margaret, his sister. They +would be with me everywhere on the long summer days, and me with the +books by me; but mostly in the summer we would hold school at the Wee +Hill, for there was a green place as level as the page of a book, and a +little turf dyke enclosing it nearly, that we called the Wee Hill. +Wae's me, now they have hens scarting about the place, and the +greenness is gone from it. + +There was the stone of twenty-two snails close by, for that was the +number we found on it, a thing I have many times thought about; and +great games we had, Bryde with his black hair and swarthy skin and wild +blue eyes, with laughter just ready in them, and the speed and grace of +a wild cat; and Hugh, ruddy like his folks, and dour too and very +loyal; and the lass Margaret, who could turn Bryde with her little +finger, and gloried in the doing of it. Ay, they grew up with me, and +would be swimming with me in the sea, and every path in the hills we +would be riding over, and we were happy together. These were the +happiest hours of all, ochone; the sun shone more brightly and the days +were longer. + +And in his mother's eyes there was none like Bryde. The sun rose and +set on him, his every little mannerism was a joy, and I have watched +her gazing at him for long without speech, and suddenly rise and press +his head against her heart, and her happiness was when he looked up +from his task and smiled. I think never was a hand laid on him in +anger. + +There was something elemental about the lad. He would stand mother +naked in the dim morning light below the little fall, and his pony +awaiting him, and he kent every horse and dog within twenty miles. +Indeed, there was a time when he would have slept with his horses. + +"They might be needing me in the night," said he. + +In these days we grew hay in a droll fashion. If there was a field +namely for good grass, we would be getting green divots from it and +putting them in our own parks, and scattering good rich earth round the +divots. And when the grass was blown about by the winds, the seeds +would fall and strike on the loose scattered earth, so that these +divots were the leaven that leavened the whole field. But when he was +sixteen and man grown, a fair scholar and expert with the sword, Bryde +would be laughing at the notion. And he was strong and tough like the +mountain ash. + +"Hill land," said he, "will only be growing hill grass," and he set his +folk and he went himself and took the seeds from the hill grasses. +Guid kens how long it took him, but he sowed his hill grasses with his +corn, and the seeds came, as we say, and he cut it and threshed it with +the flails; and after that he had hay-stacks in his yard, and his +beasts were well done by, so that at the fair he got great prices both +for stots and back-calvers. And, indeed, it was at the fair that first +I saw the mettle in the boy, although his eyes had always dancing +devils in them. There was much drink in these days, and the mainland +dealers had not the head for it that the boys from the glens had. The +young boys would be holding saddle beasts from the early morning and +making the easy money. Aweel, on this fair day, Margaret the maid, the +sister of Hugh, had craked and craked to be seeing the beasts and the +ferlies, and her mother, the Lady, and her father, the Laird, were sore +against it. + +"I will be with Bryde, my cousin," said she; "and who will meddle me." +(I was clean forgotten.) + +"He is not a real cousin, Margaret," said the mother. + +"He is a fine lad; you will go, my lass," said the Laird, for blood was +more to him than a stroke left-handed across a shield, and that day she +rode with Hugh and me--Margaret, the Flower of Nourn. Tall she was and +limber like a lance, her eyes like blue forget-me-nots that grow by the +burn mhor, fearless and daring, with long black lashes. Her brown hair +curled at her white neck, and her white chin was strong like a man's, +but very soft and beautiful; her lips red, and her teeth like pearls. + +She was silent for the most part on the road that day, though whiles +she would be quizzing her brother about the lassies in the college +town, for he had two years of the College at St Andrews. He was the +great hand with the lassies by all accounts, Hugh, and many's the time +his mother would be havering about them, but that man, my uncle, would +wink as though he would be amused. + +But when we passed McKelvie's Inn and saw old McKelvie there, stout and +hearty, but very white about the head, and had a salutation from Ronald +McKinnon thrang with the dealers, and Mirren not far off still +sonsy--when we passed there I saw that Margaret was all trembling; and +when we saw Bryde, tall and swarthy, coming to us, I saw the smiling in +her eyes and her face aglow. + +"What was that, my dear lass?" said I, looking at her. + +"That would be my heart leaping," said she, with a laugh and a blush. + +And Bryde lifted her from her little horse, and her hands were never +tired to be touching him. She was all tremulous with laughter and +eager-eyed, and the red was flaming in her cheeks, and she would be +ordering Bryde like a queen, but pleadingly withal. + +"You will stable my little horse," said she, and when Bryde, smiling +down at her, took the bridle, "But--but I will be coming with you," she +cried, "or surely you will be forgetting to halter him, or letting him +run off and leave me," and as those two with the proud little horse +moved to the inn, I saw her look up at the boy with all her heart in +her eyes and her lips smiling a little pitifully. + +"Do you think I would be caring, Bryde, if he ran off--if you were left +with me?" + +Ah, she was brave in her loving, was the Flower of Nourn. + +Mirren McKinnon, that was once Mirren Stuart, was dowie that day, and +her eyes red with greeting, for her son had gone to the sea, as his +father had long ago. "I will be missing his step," she said softly, +"when my man is on the hill," but Ronny would not be listening. + +"It will make a man of the lad," said he; "there's something clean and +fine about the sea." + +Bryde had sold his beasts well, and it was his pleasure to be showing +Margaret the bonniest foals, rough-haired and tousled as they were, and +Hugh and me would be passing judgment. There was a mob of mares and +foals and yearlings gathered in one place, and the mainland dealers +bargaining with the farmers--always on the point of fighting by their +way of it, and laughing to scorn the offered prices, as you will see to +this day when folks are dealing in horse. + +And as we stood a little way off, a great burly red-faced man--a +Lowland dealer, strong as a tree, and a wit in a coarse way--turned his +round drink-reddened eyes on us a time or two, and whispered behind his +hand to his cronies, and I heard the titter of Dol Beag's laughing as +Hugh pointed to a bonny yearling colt, and we stepped away, but not so +far that I heard the dealer's words. + +"Ou ay," says he, looking at Bryde, "Dan's is he? I've heard tell o' +him, but whitna queen is't that's lookin' at him like a motherless +foal?" + +At that Bryde put Margaret in my hands. His face was like a devil's +and his teeth showed as though his mouth were dry. To Hugh he gave one +word. "Stop!" said he, and the word was a snarl. + +Never another word he spoke, but leapt among the bargainers, and slid +through the great flailing arms of the bucolic wit, and his right hand +sank into the man's red throat. I see him still, his left hand behind +the man's back, the shoulders raised, all the lithe length of him as he +stood on his toes, his eyes like blue flame. I saw him shake his enemy +as a dog shakes a rabbit. The great red face took a blae colour--the +tongue protruded from his mouth and the eyes stared wildly. Men would +have dragged Bryde off, but he hissed a "begone" through clenched teeth +(it was a word of his mother), and they fell back as from a +sword-stroke. + +"Go down, go down, ye beast, if ye never come up," he girned, and flung +the man from him to the earth, where he lay. + +I heard no word, and no look that I saw passed between, but Margaret +left us and ran to Bryde. + +"Put your foot on that cur, my lady," says he, cold as an icicle, and +his head bare. Her two white hands trembled at his sleeve and she +turned her face from the groaning man in horror, and then she raised +her great blue eyes in one long look, and then her little foot but +touched the man's shoulder. + +A grim smile came over the face of Bryde McBride, like sunlight in a +dark pool. "A brave lass," said he, and I only heard her reply, and +saw her colour rise at his praise. + +"Take me home," she whispered, "Bryde--Bryde _dear_." + +"Drink," cried the man on the ground, "drink. God, I wis near hand it +that time." + +On the road home we pretended to be very merry, for nothing would +please Margaret but Bryde would ride to her father's house. On the +hill road she set spurs to her horse with a challenge to Bryde, and +they left us some way behind, Hugh and me. + +"Man," said Hugh, and his face was troubled, "this will not do." + +"No," said I, and hated myself, "for the boy's as good as you or me." + +"Good!" cries Hugh; "he's like the mountains--he's granite, and what +are we but dressed sandstone--and the lass kens it," says he. "God +help us." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THE FIRST MEETING. + +When we made our way indoors the dogs were bounding and frolicking +round Margaret, and she was all laughter. Her eyes were dancing, and +her wind-whipped cheeks glowed darkly; then she turned, one dainty +finger at her lips, and we kent that no word of her doings that day was +for the ears of her parents. + +There was a bustle of women-folk about the house, and the noise of +crockery, and booming into the corridors came the voice of John, Laird +of Scaurdale. + +"Chick or child," says he, "she's all I have--a wee Frenchified, Laird, +but she'll learn the wie o' the Scots yet." + +And as Margaret entered, a little startled, and us at her heels, "Come +ben, my dear," he cries, "I've a new friend for ye," and beside the +mistress I saw Helen Stockdale. + +I was always the great one for watching faces, and as these two maidens +approached, I saw the glowing cheeks of Margaret pale a little, her +lips press together, and her chin become a little proud, but her eyes +never wavered; but Mistress Helen beats me to be describing. There was +an elegance about her and an air of languor, maybe from her sombre dark +eyes, yet her every movement was graceful, and her smile a thing to be +looking for, and she was slender as the stalk of a bluebell. The Laird +of Scaurdale was in great humour, well on to seventy, his teeth still +strong and white, and his shoulders with but a horseman's stoop. + +"Kiss, my dearies," says he; "was ever such dainty ladies? Hugh, man, +where are your manners, and you such a namely man among the Saint Andra +lassies. Hoots, man, this blateness does not become ye; ye've slept +wi' the lass before. Ha, Saint Bryde o' the Mountains," says he to +Bryde, "well done, sir," for Mistress Helen, with a quick flashing +upward glance, had rendered her little hand for salutation. + +And at his words I saw, like a flash, a look of cold hate leap in the +blue eyes of Margaret McBride. + +I did much thinking while the others would be talking, and I thought of +the day, fresh from the college, when we ploughed the stubble and Belle +brought the wean in the tartan shawl,--the wean that grat beside Hugh +in the old room when Belle carried her from the wee byre--the wean that +was carried to McCurdy's hut with Belle and Dan McBride, and had lain +in the crook of the arm of John of Scaurdale that night when McGilp had +shown a light away seaward. + +And there she was before me, Helen Stockdale, and I minded McGilp's +words, "Yon's an heiress." + +And sitting there in dour silence, there came on me such a longing for +Dan McBride that I could have wept. Eighteen years had I watched the +ploughing and the harvesting, the cutting of the peats and the carting +of hay, and never a word of Dan since the queer outlandish messenger +carried my word to him to come home. The boys were grown men, the +Laird and his Lady getting on in years, and the old folk going away +with every winter, and never a word. + +McGilp and his _Seagull_ were not so often at the cove these last +years, and yet McKinnon had a crack with him in Tiree, where he was +buying a horse or two. + +"Young Dan's deid," said McKinnon, "and Dol Beag will be hirpling aboot +and eating his kail broth for many's the day." + +There was one that never doubted--Belle, and after eighteen years she +was little changed, a weary look sometimes in her eyes, for was she not +like a wild thing chained, but more like a sister to Bryde than a +mother. + +And old Betty, Betty of eighty winters, sat by the fireside and would +look at Bryde with her old, old eyes, hardly seeing, and whiles she +would be calling the boy "Young Dan," and whiles havering of Miss +Janet, his grandmother. + +"You will be clever, clever," she would be saying to Belle, "and you +will get another man yet. . . ." + +And one night as I stood at the door--a clear night, I mind, with a +harvest moon--"Hamish," said Belle, and her hand was at her heart, "I +could go to him barefoot, for is he not always with me in the night?" + +As I sat dreaming and listening in a kind of a way to the talk round +me, it came on me that Margaret kept near to her mother, and once only +did I see her look at Bryde, a hurried puzzled look,--but Hugh was +ardent already, his face flushed and his laugh merry, and Mistress +Helen was happy too. + +There was the great struggling with our language, and she had a droll +taking way of it that Hugh would be correcting in his college manner; +but Bryde sat back, listening mostly, his face proud and swarthy in the +shadows, and sometimes smiling to Mistress Helen, for her eyes would +come back to him often. + +When the moon was up, Bryde rose. + +"With your leave," said he, "I will be on the road." + +Margaret came over beside me and put her hand into mine. + +"You're early, sir, you're early," cried Scaurdale; "it's asourying wi' +the lasses ye will be at." + +The mistress looked not so ill-pleased at that, but it seemed to me +Margaret's hand tightened in mine with a little tremble. + +"I'm thinking, Scaurdale, we will be getting a pair of colours for +Bryde," said my uncle. "Would he not make a slashing light dragoon?" + +At that Mistress Helen clapped her hands. "I think yes," said she, +"but yes, certainly." + +"I would be going to the sea," said Bryde, "like Angus McKinnon--the +tall ships and the strange countries, the white sails in the moonlight, +and the black cannon and the cutlasses," said he, and then with a sort +of shame, "and all that," but his eyes were full of longing and his +cheek flushed. + +"Ah oui," cried Helen, "I am seeing all that, M'sieu." + +And Hugh McBride looked glumly at Bryde as he left. + +"I am forgetting," said Margaret, "I am wanting Bryde. Take me, +Hamish," and her hand was pressing mine. But I thought to be teaching +her a lesson, and sat still a little. + +"What is it you will have been forgetting, Margaret?" said I. + +"Oh--oh," says she, her face all suffused, "it will just be about a pup +he was to be bringing me. . . ." + +At that I took her with me. "Pup," said I; "pup, Margaret. What tale +is this?" + +"Cat or dog, or--or anything," she cried. "I am wanting him." + +Bryde was at his horse's girths, and old Tam with a lanthorn. + +"Bryde," cried the lass, "I am wanting you." + +He had the horse out by this time, and I went away a little, but I +heard her say-- + +"You never kissed my hand, sir--no, not in all your life." + +"No, Mistress Margaret," said the boy. + +"But why, why, why?" said she, and I laughed to see her stamp. + +"Ye see," said he, and mounted, then bending over his saddle, "Ye see, +my dear, I was loving your hand all that time," and the clatter of his +horse's feet on the cobbles brought me to my senses. + +"Pup," said I. + +"But, Hamish," whispered the lass, "I am wanting him." + +"For what now?" + +"I am wanting him _to keep_," said she, and put her head against my +arm--the brave lass. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +THE RIDERS ON THE MOOR. + +I would be seeing very little of Bryde for many a day after that, for +there was aye work to be doing at his hill farm, and hard work will be +bringing sound sleep. + +But Hugh was become the great gallant, with old Tam rubbing his +stirrups with sand from the sand-brae, that and wet divots, till the +irons shone like silver. + +"Hoch-a-soch," he would say, "the young Laird is ta'en wi' the weemen. +I will be at the polishing o' his horse's shoes next, and it iss the +fine smells he will be haffin' on his claes--fine smells for the +leddies, yess." + +"Tush, man," said the Laird, "ye smell o' my Lady's bower. Your +forebears had the reek o' peats about them, or a waft o' ships. . . ." + +But the road to Scaurdale would be drawing Hugh. + +"It is Mistress Helen that will be having the dainty lad, Hugh, my +dear," his sister would be flashing; "your folk would not be hanging so +long at a lassie's coat-tails, if old stories will be true." + +But he had an answer for her. + +"What tails will Bryde be hanging at, my lass?" + +"His plough-tail, my dainty lad," said Margaret, and laughed to be +provoking him. + +"Maybe ay, Meg," says he, "and maybe no." + +It was not long after that when Margaret would be wheedling me to be on +the hill. + +"See, Hamish, my little brown horse is wearying for the air o' the +hills and the spring water," and she would smile with her brows raised +a little and her lips pouting. + +When we were on the brow of the black hill-- + +"I am thinking we will ride to the peat hags," said Margaret, "and +we'll maybe be seeing Bryde," and she laughed in my face, and, indeed, +after that she was always at the laughing. + +"What would his father be like, Hamish--Bryde's father?" + +"A fine man he was, Margaret, but a little wild." + +"Ay," said she, "he would be spoiled with the lasses." + +And for a while she was thoughtful. Bryde was at his plough-tail on an +outlying bit, but his horses were standing at the head-rig, and Bryde +was laughing and talking to a lady, and when I saw the serving-man +holding a pair of Scaurdale's horse, I kent the lass. + +"I am wondering," said I, "where is Hugh, and Mistress Helen so far +from hame; but ye were in the right of it, Margaret, for Bryde is at +his plough-tail." + +"He will have good company even there, it seems," said the lass. + +But in a little Helen and she were at the talking. + +"And where would you be leaving all your cavaliers, Helen," said +Margaret, for Hugh had been telling us of the young sparks at Scaurdale. + +"Cavaliers, Margaret!" with a very dainty moving of the shoulders. "Of +these I am weary this day, and so I inflict myself on the dragoon," and +here she bowed very low and gracefully to the ploughman, and there was +a little devilry in her black eyes. + +Bryde was at his furrow again when Hugh joined us with his very braw +clothes, and he was a little dour-looking. + +"We're all on the moor these days," says he, "and keeping a man from +his work seemingly." + +"But now you have come we will ride to Scaurdale," said Helen, but +Margaret would not be heeding. + +"I am to see my cousin's wife," says she, "in the house yonder, with +Hamish here; but here is Hugh on edge to be on the Scaurdale road, and +Bryde eager to be ploughing." So Margaret and I made our way to the +house, and it was hard to be knowing where the shepherd's hut was among +the outbuildings of the steading, and as we turned into the stackyard +and watched Hugh and Mistress Helen ride on, Margaret turned to me. + +"Is it not droll," said she, "that a man o' my folk, my own brother, +cannot be putting a ring on the finger of an easy lass like that?" + +"Are you thinking she is easy?" said I. + +"I am thinking she is a merry lass and wants a bold man--she will be +loving a bold man." + +"I think that too." + +"Who is it?" said Margaret, like a flash. + +"Oh, just Hugh." + +"Hamish," said the lass, "ye never lied to me before." + +A halflin lad took the horses and we came to the house, and there was +Belle to meet us, smiling to Margaret, and her eyes wandering to where +her son was at the ploughing. + +Now it was a droll thing to me to watch these two, for Margaret McBride +had the pride of her mother, and there were many times when she would +be very haughty, and yet in this moorland farmhouse she would be all +softness and the quiet laughter of gladness, and talking very wisely to +Belle about homely things. And I would often be laughing at Margaret +and her talk of milk, and fowls, and calves, and lambs, but she would +be very serious. + +"A woman should be knowing these things, Hamish," she would say. + +But Belle was the slave of Margaret since the days when Hugh and Bryde +and the little wild lass would be playing in the heather, and climbing +for jackdaw's eggs or young rock-pigeons in Dun Dubh. But that day +Margaret was beside old Betty, and making her comfortable in the chair +by the fire of red peats. + +"Will you be very wise, old Betty?" said she, looking down on the old +one. + +"Yess, yess, Betty has the wisdom, and Betty kens the secrets o' the +hill folks, but ye will not be needing to ken the secrets, for will you +not be keeping the lads away from ye with a stick. Na, na, ye will not +be needing the love secret." + +"My motherless lass!" cried Margaret, with a droll laugh, "and is there +a secret way of it?" + +"Yess, yess, a very goot way, mo leanabh; you will chust be scraping a +little from the white of your nail and putting it in his dram, yess, +and he will be yours through all the worlds. . . ." + +"But what," said I, "if he'll not be taking a dram?" + +"I could always be wheedling him, Hamish," she laughed. At that I +looked at her. + +"I am thinking of Hugh," says she, "Hugh and Mistress Helen," but she +had the grace to be shamed a little. + +"Indeed," said Belle, "they are a bonny pair, the young Laird and the +young lady. She will be riding here many times, for the Laird of +Scaurdale will have been telling her old tales of the place." + +"Will they be making a match of it?" said I. + +"I am hoping that, Hamish," said Belle--"and, indeed, she is liking the +hills and the folk, and fond of the horses too, and will be keen to be +seeing Bryde breaking the young beasts, and watching him for long. She +will whiles be putting the old tartan shawl round her." + +At that Margaret went out of the house, and in a while I saw her with +Bryde, walking step for step with him on the lea he was breaking, and +her hand would sometimes be beside his on the stilt of the plough. + +On the home road that day I would be showing her the road we had +travelled that night of the whin-burning, and where in the hills was +McAllan's Locker, and wondering what had come to the Killer, the dead +white man. And I would be minding a story of a dog that howled in the +night and slunk by in the darkness of Lag 'a bheithe, and I wondered if +the Nameless Man had gone to his love that beckoned in the pool, or if +the ravens had got him at the last of it, and if the pigeons built +still away in the cranny of the Locker, and there was a sadness in me. + +She had not been speaking, the lass beside me, and her merriness was +all gone, for she was aye merry with Bryde, and at last-- + +"Hamish," said she, "there is something will happen." + +And on top of my own mood I was startled, and the words did not come to +me. + +"Am I not the daft lassie?" said she, and started to the singing of +merry airs; but before we saw the rowan-tree that grows on the face of +the black hill, her songs were sad again. + +"He will be lonesome away there, Bryde," said she, looking back. + +"He will be looking for a lass one of these nights," said I, a little +angry, "and there are bonny lasses here and there, between here and +Scaurdale." + +"I am wishing, Hamish, I could be at the herding and the kelp-burning +with the other lasses," said she, looking at me, and there was a little +smile at her lips, and a kind of eagerness I did not understand. + +"Do you think Bryde will be looking at these wenches," said I in great +scorn (for I feared he did). + +"No, Hamish, no," she cried amidst her laughter, and I understood then. + +"Mistress Margaret," said I, "I am not a match for you in wit, it +seems, but since we are agreed he canna just be suited with these +lassies, there will just be two left by your way of it." + +"Between here and Scaurdale, Hamish," said she, "it is your own words I +am giving you." + +"Bryde is a fine lad," said I, "but he's like to be spoiled, and," said +I, "your mother will have told you he has not even a name." At that +the dull anger I had been choking down most of that day broke over me. +"Damn the whole affair," said I, and dismounted. + +When I lifted her from her horse, she was laughing and blinking tears +from her lashes, and she put her arms very tightly about my neck. + +"Oh, Hamish, Hamish," said she, "I will have been doing that this +while." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +"THE LOVE SECRET." + +Lassies are droll creatures, and will tell many things the one to the +other in the way of a ploy, and Margaret McBride made great work with +old Betty's love potion, and that to Helen alone. + +"I will be trying it on Hugh," said she, "when I have you sleeping, for +I will get scraping the white of your nail then." + +And now this is the droll thing that came about. We had a day after +the otters at the Bennan, a wet cold day, with little that was +laughable in it, except that a man of the Macdonalds took an otter home +over his shoulders, and the beast dead, as we thought; but coming in at +his own door it gripped him by the back of his hip, and at the start he +got he let a great cry to his wife in the Gaelic. + +"Fell the beast, fell the beast," and the wife, with a beetle in her +hand, and in a flurry of excitement to be felling the beast, came a +dour on her man's head that felled him, poor man, and we left them +then, the otter killed at last, and the man and wife demented with the +suddenness of the happenings, and came to the house of Scaurdale. + +Now the lassies, Margaret and Helen, were in the mood for a ploy, and +Margaret it was who scraped the little white powder from Helen's +polished nail. "A wee tashte," she laughed, "old Betty would be +saying, 'chust a wee tashte.'" And when the boys came in red-faced and +with sparkling eyes (for I was watching the prank), "Now," said +Margaret, "I will be giving poor Hugh his dram, and then everything +will do finely." + +"But," said Helen, "I will be my own cup-bearer, or maybe the charm +will be a useless thing." And she took the old glass--a rummer it +was--and she carried it very daintily to the boys and bowed. + +"Here is refreshment, my tired hunter," said she, and gave the glass +into Bryde's hand, and that swarthy hillman raised the glass to the +cup-bearer and drained it. + +"I will not be very clever, it seems, Hamish," said Margaret. + +But I had admiration for Helen, for she came back, laughing very +softly. "Now we shall prove your charm, Mistress Margaret," said she; +"for truly M'sieu Hugh did not require it, but Bryde--he is cold and +hard like his own hills with me." + +And that very night it was as though old Betty's havers were potent +spells, for Bryde was the fair-haired laddie with the Laird of +Scaurdale always, and as the evening wore on he grew a little flushed +with wine, so that all his silence left him, and he was very shyly bold +and very gallant; but Margaret was stately and proud like her mother, +and smiled but little. And Hugh gloomed and laughed by turns, and had +an air of patronage to his cousin that was hurtful for me to be seeing +in him. + +Hugh and Margaret were stopping at Scaurdale, but when the moon was +well up Bryde was for the road. At that there was an outcry, for he +was the soul of the place. The Laird of Scaurdale would have hindered +his going, and Helen made much ado, but his horse was brought, and we +came to the door to be seeing him off. + +There was a brave moon, and the hillside very plain, and the noise of +the burn rumbling--a fine night to be out. + +"I could be riding home too," said Margaret. + +Bryde slipped his boot from the stirrup. + +"Jump," said he, "and in two hours you'll be home, if Hamish and Hugh +will be allowing it." + +I think she would have liked to go, for I saw the flash in her eyes, +and her quick smile, but then-- + +"No," said she; "it is a little cold here," and turned to go in. + +Helen was at the Laird's side. + +"But I have never ridden so," said she. "Would Monsieur take me to the +bridge--a little way and back," but before the Laird had given his +assent she was in the saddle and off with a wave of her arm; and I +thought of the night when she had ridden that way once before, with the +father of Bryde on the big roadster, and the Laird was thinking the +same thing. + +They were back in a little; indeed, the hoof-beats were very plain all +the time, but Helen was white as she dismounted, and her good-bye was +very low, and she listened to the klop-to-klop of the hoofs for a long +time before she came in. + +That night she came into Margaret's room (for the lass told me +everything), and sat down wearily by the bedside. + +"Your spell works, Mistress Margaret," said she. + +I think Margaret would raise herself on her pillows. + +"Ah," said she, "have you brought Bryde to heel, Helen?" + +"The spell works," said Helen, "but I think backwards. Margaret, ma +belle, he brings me to heel, it seem." + +"They all have that knack, my men-folk," said Margaret--"mostly." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +DOL BEAG LAUGHS. + +To town-bred folk the country in the winter time is an arid waste. +There is no throng of folk, no lighted ways, nor much amusement by +their way of it; but to the countryman the winter is the time--the long +dark nights for ceilidhing, the days after the rabbits and hares, and +the cosiness about a steading, with the beasts at their straw and +turnips, and the lassies to be coming home with, and the old stories +that will make the hair rise on a man's head. Och, these are the +nights to be enjoying. + +I would whiles take a stick and the dogs and over the hill for it to +McKinnon's for a crack with Ronald and Mirren, and then we would go to +the Quay Inn and listen to the singing, or talk to McGilp--for McGilp +had left the sea and settled at McKelvie's, where he was very much +respected as a moneyed man, having sold the _Seagull_ to McNeilage, his +mate. He was much exercised by the morals of the place, and very +religious, except when in drink, which would be mostly every night. + +On such a night, with Ronald and myself at the table and McGilp +opposite, the door opened, and in came Bryde and Hugh with a cold swirl +of sleet, and sat down beside us, and Robin McKelvie brought their +drink, and old McKelvie came ben to be doing the honours. We were +close by the fire, for McGilp liked to be hearing the sough of the wind +in the lum, and him snug and warm. On the other side of the fire was +Dol Beag, a man well over fifty, very silent, and I could not thole the +look of his crooked back. But there was with him one of his own +kidney, and he began to let his tongue wag. + +"We had many's the ploy in the old days," says he, "and wild nights +too. It will chust be twenty years off an' on since I was swundged +behin' that fire like a sheep's heid--yes. + +"I will haf forgotten what ploy that was--I was aalways fighting." + +"Dol Beag, can ye no' be quate before dacent folk?" said Ronald. + +"Ou ay, Ronald, I was chust thinking of the old ploys--I see you have +strangers with you." + +Then he turned to Bryde-- + +"You will be a stronger man than your father, and he wass a fine man, +but you would kill a man too. Yes, but we will not be talking of +killing when it's the lassies you will be thinking about, and I'm +hearing the southern leddy is very chief with you," and he sniggered +and went out. + +"God's blood," said Hugh in a white rage, "do you let any drunken rogue +blackguard a lady?" + +"I am not to be touching that man," said Bryde, and his face was dark +red. + +"Have I to live to see one of my name a coward--a bastard and a coward?" + +"By the living God, you lie, Hugh McBride," said Bryde through his +teeth, and struck Hugh on the mouth with the back of his hand. + +"That will be all that is needful," says Hugh with a bow; "there's a +yard outside, and maybe McKelvie will be giving us a couple of +lanthorns." + +Never a word said Bryde, but the breath whistled through his nostrils, +and we made our way through the kitchen, for it was easier to stop the +big burn in spate than these two. There were cutlasses on the wall +crossed like the sign of a battle on a map, and Hugh had them down. + +"I think they are marrows," says he, trying to be calm, but his very +voice shook with rage. + +"Outside," said Bryde. + +There was a puddly yard, squelched with the feet of cow beasts. The +scad of light from the door and the two lanterns lit up the yellow +trampled glaur, and both the boys stripped in silence and stood on +guard, and then started. + +McGilp and McKinnon and the McKelvies were there only, and if these had +not been my own boys I could have enjoyed the business, for they were +matched to a hair, and tireless as tigers. + +The blue blades sprang from cut to parry like live things, and in the +light I saw the same cruel smile, line for line, in both faces. The +snow was falling in big wet flakes, and the fight went on, neither +giving an inch, and then from behind came a thin voice-- + +"The McBrides are at it, hammer and tongs--the Laird and the bastard, +te-he," cried Dol Beag from the dark. + +At that word Bryde's blade seemed to waver an instant, and Hugh's bit +into his thigh, but like a flash I saw Bryde recover, and a lightning +stroke and Hugh's cutlass was clattering on the cobbles, and then I saw +Bryde whirl his sword round his head, and raise himself uplifted for a +dreadful blow that would have cleft his cousin to the chest, and the +cruel smile was still on both faces, and then Bryde stopped. + +"It's no' true, Hughie," said he, and lowered his hand and walked back +to the kitchen, swayed a minute, and thrust his arms out blindly, and +fell on the flagstones. + +"Have I killed him, Hamish?" cried Hugh--"have I killed Bryde? God, +what will Margaret say to this?" + +"I do not know what you have done," said I. "It would be maybe better +if he is dead, for I think you will have killed his spirit." + +We would have had him to bed in the inn, but he came to himself. + +"Hamish," said he, "take me home to my"--and in a brave voice--"to my +mother." + +And Hugh went out of the room, and I knew he would never be a boy again. + +McKelvie's wife was at the doctoring of the wound with her concoctions, +and I made what job I could of it, and then we put Bryde in a peat +creel, with straw and blankets, and took him to his mother. + +"It was just a daft prank," said he to Belle, who leant over him like +some wild fierce creature. "It was just a mad ploy, mother." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE SHAMELESS LASS. + +I left Bryde sleeping at last and restless, with Belle wide-eyed by his +bedside, and traked down to the big house very bitter at heart against +Hugh, for the quarrel had been of his seeking; and when I came under +the rowan-trees and past the moss-covered stone horse-trough, the grey +day was coming in. And at the little window of Margaret's room I saw a +white face peering, and there in a bare stone-flagged lobby she came to +me, a stricken white thing, and dumb. She had no words at all, but +stood gazing at my face, her hands twisting and twisting, and a strange +moving in her white throat. + +"Come, my lass," said I, and took her up and carried her to my room, +where there was still a glow of red in the wide fireplace, and I kicked +the charred wood together, and threw dry spills on that and made a +blaze, and set her in my chair in the glow of it, for she was stiff +with cold, being but half clothed or maybe less. Then I brought from +an aumery some French spirit, and she took a little, shivering and +making faces, but it lifted the cold from her heart. Yet in her eyes +was a dreadful look, as of one who had gazed all night over bottomless +chasms of nameless fear. + +"And now, Mistress Margaret McBride," said I in as blithe a voice as I +could be mustering, "why am I to be finding you in cold lobbies, and +carrying you to my chamber like the ogre?" + +At that came the saddest little smile over her face, and all her body +seemed to relax. + +"Tell me," said she, "there would not be laughing in your voice and +him--away," and even then I was thinking she would be afraid to say +that grim word. + +"Bryde will have a sned from a hanger," said I, making light of it. +"You will have seen deeper in a turnip, and I left him sleeping." + +"The dear," said she--"the dear," and then looking at me, "Oh, Hamish, +Hamish, be good to me; I will not can help it." + +"Where is Hugh?" said I. + +"He came into us," said the lass, "like a wraith." + +"'I have provoked my cousin,' he said, 'and wounded and maybe killed +him, and I am owing him my life forbye,' and I ran to be waiting for +you, and locked my door on all of them, even my mother." + +She had a droll coaxing way with her, Margaret--a way of saying, "Will +you tell me?" and then of repeating it, and she started now. + +"Hamish," said she, "will you tell me one thing? Will you tell me?" + +I nodded. + +"Would it be--will you tell me--truly?" and she waited for my assent. + +"Would it be Helen the boys were fighting over?" + +"It would not," said I, and she said nothing more after that; but as I +took her to the door she pulled my head down. + +"I am thinking often, Hamish," said she, "you are the best one of us +all." + + * * * * * * + +Now I will say this--that Bryde was like a wean in bed, fretful and +ill-natured and restless, and his mother had to be beside him when folk +came in, and I think in his new knowledge he feared she might suffer +some indignity. + +And he lashed his pride with a new-found humbleness, and railed at +himself. I can hear his words on that day I brought Margaret to be +seeing him, and she had many dainty dishes to be describing. + +"It is very kind of you indeed," said he, "to be minding a poor body +like me, and kind of your people to be allowing you to visit my mother +and myself." + +And at the sound of these words the poor lass was red and white time +about, and at last fell all aback like a little ship in the wind's eye. + +"Oh, Bryde," cried she, "what is this talk of my people? Are not my +people your own people also?" + +"I have my mother's word for it," said he, with his arm over his eyes, +and the dark blood surging upwards over throat and cheeks. + +The lass was on her knees by his bedside at that. + +"Do you think," she cried--"do you think _that_ would weigh with me; I +have kent that long syne." + +"It was news to me," said he, turning his face away; "bonny news to me." + +"This will be news to me also," said she, her face hidden, "for I would +be thinking in the night-time--in the dark--I would be thinking it +would maybe be _me_ you differed over. + +"You, Mistress Margaret," cried he. "What could I ever be to such as +you--but a servant?" + +"Bryde McBride, do you ken what there is in my heart to be doing to +you," and her eyes were all alight, and her breath coming fast--her +face close to his and her arms round him: "I could be kissing your hurt +till it was healed. I am wanting your head _here_, here at my heart, +for I am yours--I will be yours--I will be yours." + +"Some day," said Bryde in a soft whisper, with amazement in his +tones--"some day you will find a man worthy of that great love. . . ." + +But she was at her wheedling now. + +"Will you tell me, Bryde--will you tell me truly?" and she put her lips +to his ear. "I love you, Bryde--did ye not know? Am I not a shameless +lass?" + +"There never was maiden like you before, Margaret," said he. "I am +always loving you, always. . . ." + +"But tell me," she cried--"tell me," and she put her ear close to his +mouth, and her eyes were closed and a smiling gladness on her face. + +"Love you," he cried in a great voice. "The good God will maybe be +knowing the love in my heart for you," and his face was grey with pain, +but at his words she pressed her face to his gently. + +"Now," she said, "I will be happy again." + +And when I came into the room there was the lass standing very proud +with her hand on his brow. + +"Is he not a restless boy, our Bryde?" said she, and there was pride +and love and tears and laughter in her tones, and she left us together. + +"Hamish," said he, "you will not be bringing her here again ever--I +will not be strong enough lying here . . ." and then in a lower voice, +"My mother has a ring," said he. "I could not be asking her, my +mother, and who is there to turn to but you," and I told him of the +messenger who came from the Low Countries with Dan's letters and his +mother's ring. + +"And your baby fist closed on the sword," said I. + +"The sword," said he. "Where is my father's gift?" + +At that I went to the old byre where the heathen had sat that day, and +I digged the cobbles from a corner of a biss close to the trough, and +there, wrapped in a sheep's skin in a box, was the sword as I had +buried it long ago, and I brought it to Dan's son. + +He took it with a kind of joy, and his eyes all lit up. + +"My father would be knowing," said he, and drew the blade. "This will +clear the tangles." + +There were flowers very beautifully let into the blade in thin gold. +"Is she not a maiden richly dowered?" said Bryde--"a slim grey maiden, +a faithful maiden, who will be lying at my side, and fierce to be +defending me?" + +Belle hated that sword from the first day, but Bryde had it by him at +his bedside always. + +There were many folk coming and going these days, and Ronny McKinnon +and McGilp would be sitting with Bryde, and they would have the great +tales of ships and the sea, and whiles Ronny would have his fiddle and +play, and whiles it would be the old stories they would be telling. + +There was a day too when Hugh McBride and Helen came a-riding on the +moors, and the thought came to me that both were a little sobered, and +the lass had not the same gaiety about her; but I was thinking maybe +she would be anxious about the Laird of Scaurdale, for there was word +that he would not be keeping so very well of late. + +There was a sternness about Hugh as of a man that would be carrying a +grim load, but Bryde made very much of him always, and I am thinking +that was not the least of his troubles, for there were some words +between us after the fight. + +"Yon was a dirty business," said Hugh. "I am not fit to stand in the +same park with my cousin, and I will have told him that," for his +mother would aye be warning Bryde never to lay hands on Dol Beag all +his days. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +HELEN AND BRYDE McBRIDE REST AT THE FOOT OF THE URIE. + +There was a long time that Bryde was lame and weak, for he had lost +much blood, but his strength came back to him, and it is droll to think +that he had grown in his bed. When he was out he could not be having +enough of the hills, and the fields and the sun. He would be talking +to the very beasts about the place in his gladness, and Hugh would be +giving him an arm, and they would often be at the laughing like +brothers; but for long was Margaret, his sister, cold to Hugh. + +And in the month of May, Bryde came down to the big house, and the +Laird and his Lady welcomed him at the door, and Margaret behind them +very sedate by her way of it. + +And the Laird gave Bryde a good word that day in my hearing. + +"You will not be minding that tale, my lad," said he, with his hand on +Bryde's shoulder. "We will whiles be a little careless in the +marrying, our folk," said he, "but the blood is strong enough, and we +hold together." + +But for all that I kent that there would be something strange about +Dan's son since he rose from his bed, and I think that Margaret kent it +too, for I would be seeing a wistful look in her eyes when no one would +be near her. + +And then there was a day when Hugh brought Helen to the house, and she +was closeted a long time with Margaret. + +"Your cousin Bryde will be leaving us ver' soon," said she. + +I will never be the one to deny that Mistress Helen came fast to the +bit. + +"Will Hugh have been telling you that?" said Margaret in a certain tone. + +"Hugh--no. I meet Bryde ver' often. He is good to be meeting--there +is a fire and dash about him," and at that she spread out her white +hands with a fine gesture, and took a turn to the window, her +riding-switch at her teeth. + +Now there was an intolerance about Margaret which you will find often +with a proud spirit, and that Bryde should be happy away from her hurt +her like a lash. The women maybe will have a name for it, for there +was a smile in Helen's eyes as Margaret spoke-- + +"I am glad," said she, "he will have so good a friend as you. Maybe he +will be staying if you were to ask him." + +"And you, Margaret?" + +"I do not come of folk who ask," said Margaret, with great unconcern; +then for no reason seemingly (but maybe thinking of a certain time when +she all but asked) her neck and face and forehead grew dark with +mantling blood. + +"Is he then not of your people who are slow to ask--favours?" said +Helen. "I think so, yes. Do you remember I ride with him a little way +from Scaurdale? There is a moon, and the hills ver' clear and we +gallop." + +"I am minding," said Margaret. + +"'It is Romance,' I say to him, and he will be carrying me away off to +the hills, and he is laughing. + +"'An unwilling captive,' he says. + +"'Not ver' unwilling,' I say, for he looked ver' gallant. + +"'But a willing captive, she would kiss me,' said Bryde, your cousin, +and then I make no movement of my head, but my eyes are looking at his +laughing down at me--_asking favours_, ma belle, and still I not move, +and he throw back his head (comme ça), and say-- + +"'I do not beg--even kisses,' very proudly he looks, ma belle, and his +blue eyes laughing. . . ." + +"I am remembering that the charm was working, Helen," said Margaret, in +a voice like the north wind for coldness. + +"Ah oui," cried Helen, "backwards it work--I kiss _him_ la la," and she +laughed like silver bells a-tinkle. + +Now that was a daftlike tale to be telling, but Margaret was for ever +cleaving me with Helen after that. "She is beautiful," she would tell +me, "and merry and a great lady, and I think any man will be loving +her," but there were many nights when Margaret lay wide-eyed, for all +that she drove Bryde from her with jest and laughter. But I think it +was well that she never kent of the meeting of Bryde and Helen +Stockdale at the ford in the burn yonder at the foot of the Urie. + +On a summer morning that was, with the heat-haze hardly lifted and long +slender threads of spider webs clinging to the leaves of the birches by +the burnside, and the bracken green and strong, with the white cuckoo +spittals on them that will leave a mark like froth on the knees of a +horse. To the pebbly ford above the "Waulk Mill" came Bryde, riding +loosely with slack rein, for he was thinking much these days. In the +burn his horse halted to drink, and then rested a little from the +water--his head high and his ears forward--Bryde looking to his path +for the South End, for he was on some errand of grazing beasts. Then +there came that fine sound, the distant neigh of a horse, and the horse +in the burn answered gallantly, and came splashing on, passaging and +side-stepping a little, with curved crest. And there by the burnside +they met, Bryde and Helen. + +Their words at the meeting were formal enough, for there were houses at +a little distance from the crossing; but you will only be seeing the +founds of them now, and the plum-trees gone to wood, and the straggling +hawthorns and the heather growing to the very burnside by the +Lagavile.[1] But at the meeting there was a rich glowing colour in the +face of the maid, and her lips were parted in a little smile, and her +great eyes, sombre often, but now alight with love a-laughing in them, +rested on the man like a caress. + +"Ha, well met, my swarthy dragoon," said she, "or are we sailors this +merry morning?" + +"There's aye the night for dreams, Mistress Helen, but in the daytime I +will be but a plain farming body, concerned about bestial. . . ." + +"Bestial," quo' she, as they rode in the old track by the burnside that +you'll see yet from the other road, "my horse is a-lathered, and I too +am concerned about bestial. We will let us down," said she, "in the +shade yonder, and rest the horses, and be good farmers together--yes?" + +Bryde slacked the girths and tied the horses, and then joined the lass +on a little mound of green like a couch. + +"And now," cried Helen Stockdale--"now, sir, here are we in the green +wood with neither page nor groom--squire and dame--and I am loving it," +said she, and her little brown capable hand took one of his great hard +ones. + + + +[1] Laga vile=hollow of the tree. + + +"You have fine hands, M'sieu Bryde," said she, her fingers over his to +be comparing them, "great and strong and well-tried." + +And there fell a silence between them, and as both strove to break that +silence their eyes met, and there came a quick changing of colour on +the face of Helen, and Bryde's hand closed over hers. And as she sat +by his side her eyes lowered, and the curling lashes sweeping her +cheek, it came to the man how very beautiful she was, her pride all +forgotten. He felt her hand trembling in his, and then she raised her +head with a questioning little sound at her lips, and looked at him, +and smiled, pouting. + +"And must _I_ beg," she whispered. + +"I think," said Bryde, "that the horses are rested." + +The light left her eyes, as the sea darkens when a cloud comes over the +sun. Red surged the blood over throat and face and brow. She sprang +to her feet, twisting her whip in her brown hands. By the horses she +turned-- + +"Am I lame, or blind, or ugly?" she cried. "Oh, man, I could kill you +. . . but some day, Monsieur, some day I shall laugh when that proud +Mistress Margaret flouts your love . . ." She laughed, mocking. + +"'It will be no concern of mine whether Bryde McBride goes or stays,' +says the Lady Margaret. 'I do not beg--and what is he to me.'" + +"You are a droll lass," said Bryde, with a frown on his face--"a droll +lass, and very beautiful--so Mistress Margaret . . ." but Helen broke +into his talk. + +"Am I beautiful to you, M'sieu? I am honoured," but her eyes were +soft--"but what would the proud Margaret say to that?" + +"We will forget her, Mistress Helen--what have I to be doing except to +be a loyal kinsman to her?" and here the drollest laughing came over +Helen. + +"I am sure she will be loving _that_," said she, "a loyal kinsman." + +And although her breath was still flurried with her swift rage, her +eyes were laughing at the man. + +"I can never be in anger with you, Bryde," said she. "I wish it were +not so." + +"Are you wishing to be angry with me now?" said he in a deep voice, +with one great arm round her shoulder, and his face bent to her. And +as she looked at him a sort of fierceness came over Helen. She flung +her arms round the man, and stood on tiptoe to be reaching up to him. + +"Some day I will be forgetting my convent teaching," said she, "and +then I will make you love me, and you will be mine _altogether_." + +"There will be something in that," said Bryde, and laughed a loud +ringing laugh, as the drollness of the business came on him. And when +he looked down, there was the lass all humbled, and tears standing in +her eyes, and a pitiful little mouth on her. + +"You are laughing at me, Bryde," said she in a little voice, shakily. + +"No, dear, no," said he, "I would be thinking of the Laird of Scaurdale +if he kent, and me with a name to be making. Do not be greetin'," said +he, "there will be nothing at all to be greeting for," and he set her +on her horse gently, and they rode on by the burnside, and watched the +brown trout flash in below the boulders, and darting across the amber +pools, just as they do to-day. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +THE HALFLIN'S MESSAGE. + +I mind that there was a good back-end that year, as we say, with plenty +of keep for the beasts, and the stacks under thatch of sprits by the +end of September, and I would be standing in the stackyard as a man +will, just pleased to be seeing things as they were, and swithering if +I should be taking a step to the Quay Inn, when the halflin lad from +Bryde's place came up to me. + +"He is not yonder," said he, in a daft-like way. "He will not be in +his own place any more." + +And then I got at him with the questions. + +"The mother will be sitting all day and not greeting terrible," says +he, "and Betty will be oching and seching like a daith in the house; +and I came to be telling you--and he will have the thin sword with him." + +And the lad lisped and boggled at the English, till I shook the Gaelic +into him--and there was the story. + +It would be two nights ago that Bryde McBride came into the loft where +the halflin was sleeping, and bade him dress. + +"He would be all in his good claes," said the lad, "and the sword on +him," and he told me how the two of them had carried a kist through the +hill and down behind the Big House--"there would still be a light in +the young leddy's chamber," for Bryde McBride had stood looking at it, +and talking in the Gaelic. "And," said the lad, looking over his +shoulder half fearfully, "he said, 'If ever there is a word comes out +of your mouth about this, Homish, I will be ramming three feet o' blue +steel through your gizzard,' and we would be carrying the kist down to +the herrin' slap (Bealach an agadan) and to the shore. There was a +skiff lying there all quiet and three men waiting, and when we would be +among them they took the kist, and wan of the sailors wass saying they +would be in Fowey soon, but the master turned on me, and he had money +for me. + +"'You will be minding the place until I come back to you,' he said, 'or +I'll reive the skin from you for a bridle,' and he made me go away from +the rocks and to be going back, but I lay among the trees, and I would +be seeing the men put the kist on board, and then they rowed away with +the master sitting at the stern and looking back, for I would be seeing +his face white in the moon," and at that the poor lad was so near the +greetin' that I took him to the kitchen for a meal of meat, and it all +came plain to me as I sat there among the serving bodies and the dogs. + +I minded the way the boy had taken the sword from me, as he lay in his +bed. "This will be clearing the way," he had said, and now he would be +started to the clearing, and then there was Margaret. + +"You will not be bringing her here again, for I am not strong enough +lying here." + +That would be at the time he would be lying with Hugh's sword-stroke in +his thigh, and calling himself a misbegot, and not fit to be speaking +to decent folk. And I minded the pride of him, and kent the very +feelings that had sent him away, but I was wishing he could have stayed +for all that, for his mother's sake. + +At that time I had no word of what had happened at the ford of the burn +at Lagavile, or that Mistress Helen in her rage had turned Margaret's +words to her own purpose, but that I got later from Margaret herself. + +Well, I went into the house and told them, and there was the tiravee; +and Margaret like to go out at the rigging, for indeed she was a little +spoiled. And Hugh it was that got the rough edge of her tongue, until +"I will go and fetch him back," said he. + +"You!" says she, "you! As well might the hoodie-craw bring back the +kestrel," and at that the mother bridled. + +"What kind of talk is this in my house?" said she, "and to your +brother. Mend your manners, mistress. What is this fly-by-night (to +say nothing worse) to you?" + +"He will be all the man ever I will have," said Margaret, standing up, +and her eyes flashing, and at that her father, roused by her bravery, +laughed aloud. + +"Capital," he cried, "capital,"--and then, "Hoot, my wee lass," said +he, "you're young yet. Come away wi' me," and she went out with him, +leaving us sitting mumchance. + +"The best thing that could have happened," said the mistress, and made +her way to the kitchen, for if things were not right she must have some +work on her hands. + +The very next day I made my way to the stable and found Margaret's +horse gone. + +"She is away like the devil spinning heather," said old Tam. "She'll +be at Bothanairidh by noo," and so it was, for when I came to the farm +on the moor there was Margaret, thrang at the talking to the halflin, +and looking blither than I had thought to see her; and thinks I to +myself, he will have been telling her about Bryde and the lighted +window--and that I was right I know, although Margaret would never be +telling me what it was that Bryde said that night; and the halflin I +would not be asking, but I would be telling the lass about the three +feet of blue steel in the lad's gizzard, and at that she would laugh at +me. + +"I will be giving him a golden guinea for every foot o' blue steel," +said she, "and when I will have Bryde back he will be giving him the +double of it, for telling me these good words," and I believe the daft +lassie did just that. + +But Belle would be fit for nothing but sitting and mourning. "Oh, why +did I leave my own folk and the tents and the horses, the laughter o' +the little ones, and the winding roads, to be left desolate on this +weary moor--desolate, desolate, and mourning like the Israelitish +women--the father is not, and now is the son gone from me." + +And when Margaret would have comforted her, "Are not you of the same +folk, maiden?" she cried, turning her eyes bright and hard and dry on +the lass, "the same cruel proud breed"; and then again, "He was a good +son--there never was woman blessed with such a son, kind and brave and +loving, the very beasts would come to his whistle." + +"But this will not be the finish," said I; "the dogs are not howling," +and at that old Betty brisked herself. + +"Yess, yess, the dogs will not be greeting Belle, woman, and that is a +sure sign," said she, wonderfully cheered. "Bryde will be coming back +a great man, and bringing old Betty a silk dress and good whisky--yess." + +"Where is Fowey, Hamish?" said Margaret. + +"On the coast of England, a place the smugglers frequent," said I. + +"Bryde will be with the smuggling laads," cried Betty, clapping her +hands. "Is he not the brisk lad, and he will be bringing the whisky +sure--maybe it will be brandy moreover." + +And we left them a little cheered that day, and Margaret still looked +happy with her thoughts. + +It was in October, the fair day, that Mistress Helen came to visit +Margaret, and Hugh had carried her the news of Bryde's going. + +"Your cousin has gone to his tall ships," said she to Margaret, "the +tall ships and the black cannon and the cutlasses, you remember, ma +belle." + +"Bryde has gone away truly," said Margaret, and then the two retired to +their confidences. But the next day it was that Margaret told me of +the meeting by the ford. + +"I am hating that woman, Hamish," said she, "with her bravery and her +beauty, and her charms that will be working backwards. . . ." + +"Who was it that started these same spells?" says I. "Was it not in +your mind to be trying these havers on Bryde yourself?" + +"It was not in my mind that Helen Stockdale should be trying them on +him," said she, "at any rate." + +And at my laughing she left me in a pet, but not long after she would +be telling me-- + +"There is something fine and brave about that woman, too, Hamish," she +would say, "for she would be telling lies to Bryde McBride of what I +had said about his going, and yet she told me all these lies. I could +not be doing that," said Margaret. "No, I could not be owning to a +thing like that--myself." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +I RIDE AGAIN TO McALLAN'S LOCKER. + +There came a weariness of the spirit over me that long dreary winter, +and all nature was there to be seconding my dismal thoughts. For +months never did I awake but my first thought would be, "What is there +not right?" and then I would be remembering that Bryde was not any more +on the moorlands. + +It seemed to me that always there was a drizzle of soft rain and a +blanket of cold mist, that would be half hiding the friendly places, +that the very hills were become the abode of strange uncanny beasts +instead of decent ewes and fat wethers, and that the mists would be +hiding the revels of the folk a man does not care to be speaking of. +The trees would be dreary and sad--the sea always grey and gurly and +ochone, the very roads had the look of bareness and emptiness, as +though all a man's friends had marched over them, never to return. + +Margaret, the Flower of Nourn, had taken to walking alone in the rain, +under the trees by the burnside, or maybe I would be seeing her on the +shore, and looking to the sea, and her songs were sad--ay, when she +tried to be at her gayest. And once I am minding, when she was with me +on the shore-head watching the men at the wrack-carting-- + +"I am wondering," said she, dipping her hands in the little waves, "I +am wondering if these little waves will maybe once have swirled under +the forefoot of his ship," and I had not the heart to be giving her a +lesson on physics, and a little understanding of the laws that will be +governing the waves. + +And Hugh that was the gallant would be interesting himself in all the +matters of farming, and seldom riding out with his clean stirrups and +polished leathers, and there were times when I was sore put to it to be +keeping my hands off him, because he would be so douce and agreeable. + +I would be trying the drink often, and took my glass with the Laird, my +uncle, but it would not be bettering me any, and a man that drink will +not be making merrier company of is in no good way. + +At the farm in the hills the halflin would be doing finely--a little +lavish with the feeding, as a body will be when the keep is not his +own, but the beasts would be looking well, and the steading clean and +tidy. Belle, it seemed to me, was a little dazed for many a long day, +and whiles I would be finding her with some wee childish garb of +Bryde's, and greeting and laughing at it in her hands, and old Betty +yammering by the fireside, mixing her stories of bawkins and wee folk, +and the ploys she would be having in her young days at the peats. + +There was a moon at the New Year, I mind, and me standing in front of +Belle's house, and Belle herself at the open door, with the light +behind her, when there came to my ears the sound of a shod beast +walking, and, thinks I to myself, this will be a horse broke loose. +Then I saw the beast, and after a little wheedling and coaxing I was +able to get my hand on his bridle. He was a great horse, bigger than +any of ours, and a weight-carrier; but it was the gear on him that I +could not be understanding, for there was on him a heavy saddle with a +high pommel and cantle, and his bridle would have strange contrivances +on it, but especially a spare curb chain strapped to the headpiece, and +the bit was altogether new to me, resembling the bit with the long +curving bars that the old crusaders would be using long ago. + +He was thin and drawn up at the belly, but his eye was full and fiery, +and I kent this was no serving-man's beast, but I took him to the +stable and gave him a stall, with dry bracken for a bedding, and a +measure of corn and peas, and the halflin came from the loft and got at +the rubbing of him down, gabbling all the time about pasterns and +withers, and Belle watched me, saying no word. + +"There will be word for him in the morning," said I; "this will surely +be a beast from the Castle," and at that Belle went into the house, and +I left the halflin still watching the strange horse and made my way on +foot across the hill. The peewits were circling over me with eerie +cries, and now and then on the moor-side the curlews would be crying +into the night--lonely as I was lonely; and in every heather tussock I +would be seeing shapes, and dreading the thought of the Nameless Man +and his brindled hunter, till my hair was like to rise on my head, and +I would feel it in my legs to be running, but that I kent my folk, dead +and gone, would be laughing at me, in their own place, for our past +folk are not so much dead as just away, and maybe watching; and maybe I +would be comforting myself with the thought that the Killer would be +dead long syne in the course of nature--he and his great dog--but for +all that I had a twig of rowan in my hand, for the night was not canny. +And there came a kind of lifting of my spirit when I got the glint of +the lights of the Big House, and kent there would be folks to be +talking to and dogs to give a man heart. + +When I was come to the stable door, there was old Tam, thrang with his +bottles of straw for the horses' last bite (a thing to bring a man to +himself it is to listen to horse beasts riving at straw and crunching +into turnips), but Tam laid down his bundle and came close to me. + +"There was a man here," says he, "in the gloaming after you would be +leaving for your ceilidhing, and he would be giving me a _festner_," +says he, with a toothless grin and his old eyes gleaming; "ay, a noble +_festner_," says he, "_from the bottle_. He would be wanting speech +with you." + +"Whatna man was he?" said I. + +"A red-faced man and very clean," says he, "and his face shining like a +wean's. Och, he might be wan of the Elect but for the glint in the +eyes o' him and free wi' the bottle--a great _performer_ with the +bottle." + +"Would he be leaving any word?" said I, for I would be wearying to come +at the man's business. + +"He kind o' let on tae some knowledge o' a place McEilin's Locker or +that," says Tam. "Ye would be expected there the night. I am minding +he would be calling himself McNeilage--the mother o' him was Sassenach." + +"Would he be speaking o' the _Gull_?" said I. + +"No, man, but a party told me," said the old rascal, "a party told me +that the skiffs were below Bealach an sgadan before the moon was up, +and Tam is thinking that there will be some fine, fine water on the +mainland side before the morning--afore the more-nin," says he. + +There was a strange thumping at my ribs when I had the garron at the +door, and would be tramping the long yellow straw from his forefeet, +and I led him out of the yard and we were on the shoulder of the black +hill when the moon was beginning to go down. And now there were no +thoughts of ghosts or bawkins in my head, and I would be laughing when +the moor-birds would be rising with a quick whirring of wings under the +horse's feet in the heather. At a long loping canter we crossed the +peat hags, and slithered into the valley on the other side and made the +burn. I mind I stood the horse in the burn to his knees, and he cooled +a little, and then started to be pawing at the water, and snoring at it +glinting past his legs, and tinkling and laughing down the glen. The +heather was dark and withered, and at the banks of the stream I am +seeing yet the long tufts of white grass, like an old man's beard, +shaking with a dry rustle, and there was the sparkle of the last of the +moon making a granite boulder gleam into jewel points, and then we made +our way to the Locker. I was not very sure of the place, but I made +the three long whistles on my fingers that the boys will be using when +there is help needed. From the hillside I got the answer, clear and +piercing like a shepherd's, and then all would be silent except for the +swishing of the heather and the thumping at the ribs of me, for I would +be sure now that Bryde was in the Locker on some mad ploy. When I was +come near the entrance I dismounted and left the beast loose, for I +kent he would make his way home to his stable. As I was clambering up +the last of it, a voice came to me. + +"Oh man, Hamish, hurry," and it was not the voice of Bryde, but I kent +the voice, and the eagerness of it and the gladness. + +"Dan," I cried, "och, Dan," and after that I am not remembering. How I +came to be sitting in the Locker with Dan beside me, and the smoke +eddying up, and the droll-shaped pond and the queer carving all there, +as it would be yon daft night twenty years ago, I am not remembering. + +But there was Dan McBride with a sabre slash from his ear to the point +of his chin, and a proud set to his head, and a way of bending from his +hips like a man reared in the saddle. A great martial moustache curled +at the corners of his mouth. Dan McBride that was away for twenty +years, and mair. He was arrayed in some outlandish soldier rig, with +great boots and prodigious spurs. + +"The lass," says he at the first go-off, "what came o' the lass that +will be my wife?" says he, with a great breath. "Is all things right +with Belle?" + +"Finely," says I; "you will be seeing her with the daylight." + +"Man, I will have been needing that word," says he. + +"What am I to be calling ye, man?" + +"Hooch," says he, and his words were sharper and fiercer than of yore. +"My father's rank will be good enough for me, but ye will call me Dan +McBride and naething else. Major I was in the Low Countries, and the +warrant's in my saddle-bags," says he. "Wae's me, for I've lost that, +horse and all." + +But I had a word to say to that. + +"The horse will be sleeping in the stable," said I, "and I will be the +man that's put him there," and told him about the strange horse. + +"Yon crater, Dol Beag, didna just dee," says he after a while. + +"Nor a drop out of his lug," says I, "if ye will be overlooking a +crooked back. I sent ye that word with the heathen." + +"The heathen--the skemp--yon was the last o' the heathen--hilt or hair +o' him that I saw, and me mixed up wi' daftlike wars--it was a packet +that reached me--in Dantzig," says he, "after lying a year, frae some +sensible wench calling hersel' Helen Stockdale. . . ." + +I was dumb at that, but I was remembering the lass asking of the Scot +that took the Pagan to the mouth of the Rouen river. "Ay, a priest +gave the packet to a Scots friend o' mine in Rouen, and then it came to +me at a tavern in Dantzig. I didna bide long there. I was landed wi' +the smugglers at Fowey," says he, "and McNeilage put me ashore last +night at the Point and was to leave word for ye. It was a thought +gruesome here," says he, "wi' McAllan and the dog among the bones ben +there--deid? Ay, deid twenty years, Hamish, by the look o' things. +Tell me about Belle," said he, "Belle and the boy, Hamish. The lass +that wrote had a great word o' the boy, and she wanted me hame. I am +not sure why--weemen are such droll . . . Is she religious?" says he. + +"Ye'll be seeing," says I. + +And then again, "I had to have a crack wi' ye, Hamish, before I could +be doing anything; it's no' canny coming in on folk after a matter o' +twenty years." + +All that night we sat before a fire with no other light, and many a +time I would be thinking of the Killer dying in there in the dark, and +the dog beside him; the Nameless Man was not in Dan's mind, but the +length of the night. + +"Belle and the boy--'a likely lad,' ye say. Hoch, he'll come hame, +Hamish, never fear--the lasses will be taking him hame at his age." + +And when we were stretched before the red glow of the fire he would +still be at the talking, and the last I am minding was his voice. + +"I will have lain beside the fire on the battlefield and seen the eyes +o' the wolves glowering through the lowes, Hamish; but, man, it was a +king to this weary waiting, a king to this." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +A WEDDING ON THE DOORSTEP. + +It was at the drakes' dridd that Dan roused me, and we left McAllan's +Locker behind us with its gruesome keepers, and came down the hillside +to the burn. I mind that there was a raven above us in the morning +air, and his vindictive croak-croak was the only living sound that came +to us as we marched. + +At the burn I saw the track of the garron where he had crossed in the +night, and at the burnside Dan stopped. + +"Many a time have I wearied for the sight o' a burn, Hamish, cold and +sweet and clean, when we would be drinking water that was stinking," +and he made preparations to splash his face; and it was droll to see +the bronze of his face stop at the throat, and the skin below like a +leek for whiteness. + +There were many things to be telling the wanderer--that he had got some +notion of from McNeilage of the _Seagull_, but for the most part it was +hard to talk to a man walking fast. + +We came up over the last of the three lonely hills, with bare moorlands +and peat hags fornent us, and away below the sea, and I held on for the +house on the moor that once was McCurdy's hut. The first beast we saw +was a raddy, a droll sheep with four daft-like horns, and there came a +great crying of curlews; and then, when we came near to the house +without yet seeing it, there was a look of wonder in Dan's face. + +"There was nae grass here when I left hame," says he; "this will be +your work, Hamish. Ye were aye a great hand for grass." + +As he spoke, it seemed to me that the voice was the same voice that I +kent when I was a boy, but I was at the walking now and hurried him on. + +"Grass," said I; "look at yon," and I pointed to the parks and the +steading, with the smoke rising straight from the lums into the frosty +morning air. + +"That was the young lad's work," said I. + +"He will be a farmer at all events . . ." and there was on Dan's face +as he spoke a look of pride and pity all mixed. + +"Belle will not be knowing you are here." + +"Ay, but she will that, Hamish--ye don't ken Belle; look, man, look, +she's at the doorstep now." And if ever a man had it in his bones to +run it was Dan, and at the door they met--the very door where the woman +had kissed her man and smote him on the cheek, when I lay in the +heather, and the Laird of Scaurdale rode with the wean in the crook of +his arm--the same Helen that had brought them there then, had brought +also this happy meeting. It was a picture I would be aye wishing I +could be painting--Belle, her dark face flushed, her eyes suffused, the +pride, the love, the longing of her, and her hands twisting and +clasping, and her lips trembling, without words coming to them. The +heaving breast and the little flutter at the delicate nostril, what man +can be telling of these things; and Dan, his brows pulled down, and the +scar red on his cheek, and his arms half outstretched--Dan took his +woman into his arms as a man lifts a wean, and I saw his head bend to +her face, and the wild clasp of her arms round him, and her lips +parting as she raised them to his. + +I did a daftlike thing then, for I put the saddle on the great +horse--and he was a mettle beast, with many outlandish capers--and I +rode through the hill to the kirk, and left word that the minister +would be doing well to ceilidh at the house on the moor. + +And indeed it was well on in the afternoon when that grave man +dismounted a little stiffly from his pony, and I made bold to search +for Dan and Belle, and tell my errand. It would maybe be a chancy +business, but these two were like bairns then--and on the doorstep they +were married. And when the minister's little pony was on its road +home, and the sun still red to the west, and we three still standing at +the door, Belle with with her two hands on Dan's arm, said he-- + +"I had clean forgot, my dear, but Hamish would always be remembering +the due observances o' the sacraments." + +A wedding, it seems to me, will be waking the devil of speech in all +women, and old Betty would be havering like all that. + +"What would I be telling ye?" she would say. "Has he not had the wale +of all the weemen, and never the wan could be keeping him but you. And +you a young thing yet--there will be time for a scroosch of weans; it +is Betty that kens, and Bryde the lad will be daidlin' his brother on +his knee. + +"Ye could have been waiting," says she, "till the lad would be home, +and standing under his mother's shawl before the minister, but ye would +be that daft to be at the marrying--hoot, toot." + + * * * * * * + +Dan came back to his farming as a boy returns to his play, and it was +droll whiles at the head-rig to see him straighten his back from the +plough stilts, with also a quick far-seeing look to right and left of +him, and an upward tilt to his chin that brought back the soldier in a +moment; and then ye would hear the canny coaxing to get the horses into +the furrow again, and the lost years were all forgotten. + +My uncle took the news of the wedding finely. + +"I'll not be denying Belle is a clever woman," says he, "a managing +two-handed lass--imphm. There might have been more of a splore," says +he, "and no harm done--a wheen hens and a keg would not have been out +of place." + +But my aunt was not in his way of thinking. + +"There would surely be no occasion," said she (when Margaret was not +there), "the woman was well enough done by already." + +"You would not have him live there in open scandal?" said I. + +"An old song now," says she; "we always kind of put a face on things, +but if Dan would be making a decent woman of Belle, there is nothing to +be said." + +I rode with Hugh and Margaret to be seeing Dan for the first time, and +he had his soldier garb on him when we sat down to meat; and Margaret +kept close to him at the table, and their talk was of the Low Countries +and a soldier's life, and yet for all that he would be telling her how +the lassies would be dressing themselves, or the manner of the braiding +of their hair, and for Hugh and me he would be giving a great insight +into the working of soils and manures, and the different kinds of +cattle beasts and horse; and very little talk of war we got from him, +unless, maybe, it would be a story he would be telling that would give +us an inkling of the business. He would aye be harping on the waste of +land, and indeed if there was nothing else to be doing, he would be +having good red earth carted from useless places and scattered on his +own fields, which I think the old monks would be doing round their +monasteries long ago, a practice maybe learned from Rome in the early +days, but I have no sure knowledge of it. + +It was that day that Helen came to the moor house, and among us, with +word from John of Scaurdale for Dan to be coming to see him, and I saw +that the very sight of her made a difference; for the face of Hugh +flushed as he stood to greet her, and Margaret took to the talking in a +vivacious manner that was not like her. + +And Dan had many words for his visitor. "For," says he, in a grand +fashion, "were it not for you, madam, I might be finding myself lying +in harness, with the half o' Europe between me and this bonny place;" +and again, after a quizzing look, "I will not be the one to think you +will be overly religious either"; but I am thinking I was the only one +that would be getting the meaning of that saying. + +"But why did you not return--many years?" said Helen. + +"Just precisely that I would never be the one to see one o' my name +dangling at the end o' a cart tether," said Dan, "or jingling at a +cross-roads on a wuddy. Many a night I would be at this place," says +he, with a smile to his wife, "but there was no word for me, and the +years came and went, and there would be fighting to be going on +with--och, it was a weary waiting when there was no little war +somewhere, but it's by wi' now, the great thing is that it's by +with. . . ." + +Hugh and Mistress Helen went their own road, and we watched them from +the doorstep, and Dan himself put the saddle gear on Margaret's little +horse, and walked a bit of the way with us on the home road. + +"I am liking that man too," said Margaret, when we were alone, "but I +am thinking there was a liking for the wandering, and the fighting in +him, or else he had been back long syne." + +"He would have his happy days these twenty years," said she, "in new +towns and among new folk, and Belle kind of chained to the moor +here--it is that silent woman I will be liking the best of all, Hamish." + +"My dear," said I, "you are not understanding the pride of your ain +folk. Yon was the God's truth and nothing else he told Mistress Helen; +the hangman's rope is no decent to be coiled about a man's folk. It's +just the cleverness of Helen Stockdale I will be made up with--the +simple sending of a screed of news; what beats me is why she did it." + +"And that's easy to me," says Margaret. "It would just be a gift to +Belle, Hamish." + +"To Belle," says I. + +"There are maybe more ways o' killing a cat than choking it with +butter," said the lass, "but that will be a very effective way, and +even the cat might like it, I am thinking. Ye'll mind, Hamish, that +Belle is the mother o' Bryde McBride, and what could not but be +pleasing to the mother, would be like enough to please the lad, that +doted on her a' his days." + +"I think I am seeing it," said I. + +"Ay, but Helen never would be seeing it like that, Hamish. She saw it +like a flash, and sent the letter that brought back Dan, and I am not +sure but Bryde would be here yet, if the mail had but come to hand +sooner." + +"Margaret," said I, "are there none among the young sparks coming about +the place that you could be tholing about ye?" + +"No," says she, with a smile; "there is a word among the kitchen +wenches that whiles comes into my mind, Hamish." + +"The kitchen wenches' conversation will be doing finely for me," says +I, a little put out. + +"It is none such a bad saying either, Hamish. This is it," said she, +"and there's no great occasion to be in a black mood with a lass-- + +"A clean want, Hamish, is better than a dirty breakfast. That's what +the lassies say, whiles, in the kitchen." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +MARGARET McBRIDE KISSES HELEN. + +It would always be a great pleasure for me to be watching Dan, the way +he would be toiling against the heather, and draining in the moss in +the seasons, and rearing his horses, for his great war-horse sired many +foals, and maybe to this day you will see the traces of that breed in +the little crofts where the horses and cattle beasts are as long bred +as the names of the folk that own them. They were black for the most +part, the breed of the war-horse, and very proud in their bearing, but +bigger beasts than the native breed, and not so much cow-hocked +(although that is a hardy sign), nor so scroggy at the hoof--ay, and +they would trot for evermore. You will maybe hear to this day a farmer +saying of a mare of that strain: "She is one of the old origineels." +But whiles the twenty years of his soldiering would come over the man, +and ye would be hearing him at his camp-songs in the French language, +and there would come a prideful swing to his body, and a quick way of +speech, and an overbearing look, as though maybe the common work was +galling, and the sheep and beasts nothing better than for boiling in a +soldier's camp-kettle. These times would maybe be after a fair or a +wedding, and indeed he was not to be interfered with except by his own +native folk, for he would ride at a ganger or an exciseman for the +pleasure of seeing them run like dafties when the mood was on him--or a +drop too much in him--and for no ill-nature whatever; but it was +fearsome to see the big black horse stretch to the gallop, with flying +mane and wicked eye a-rolling. But Belle could tame her man, and she +kent his every mood and his every look. It was droll and laughable too +to see her hand his little son to Dan (for old Betty was right: there +was another son to Belle--not a "scroosch," as the old one said, but +one boy, and they put Hamish on him for a name: Hamish Og they called +him, and he ruled that house). + +"Here is your son to be holding for a little, my man," that dark woman +Belle would be saying, and Dan, in his big moods, would be answering-- + +"Have I not held the sword in my hand for twenty years, and what were +weans to me in these days?" + +"Very little--I am hoping, Dan," his wife would answer with a straight +dark look, and the beginning of a laugh in her eyes, for always Dan +would be remembering the first boy this wife of his had reared in those +years, and a kind of shame would come over him, and Belle would laugh +for that she had her man back, and her laughter was a thing to gladden +the heart, and Dan would never be tired of hearing it. So the big mood +would pass, and the hard-fighting farmer would be at work again; but +whiles, after the laughing, the old longing, half-fierce look would be +in Belle's eyes, and I kent it was not Dan or Hamish Og she was +thinking of, but her first-born, Bryde. + +And as the years wore on there was another thing to be watching in +Belle. She would take the wean in a shawl swathed round her limber +figure, and only the little head of him outside of it, and his eyes +seeing things, like a young bird, and she would walk to the rise where +old John of Scaurdale's man waved the lanthorn to McGilp on the night +when I chased the deer, and there she would stand for long, looking +seaward and crooning to the wean. This she would be doing every night +before the gloaming. + +"He will come on yon road," she would sometimes be telling Hamish Og, +and point to the grey sea away to the suthard. + +Now these freits are very catchy, and will follow folks that put faith +in them, and there are many such folk to this day; and even Margaret +McBride would always be putting great faith in the crowing of a cock--a +noble fellow he was, of the Scots Grey breed. At the feeding-time +Margaret would be thrang with her white hands in a measure of grain, +and I would be hearing her speaking to the chanticleer. If he would be +crowing once, it was not good, and she would be coaxing him. + +"Have you not better word than that?" she would flyte at him at the +second cry; and if the bird would crow the three times, she would be +lavish with the feeding and grow cheerful. And there was a time when +Mistress Helen was with her at this task, and curious at all the +talking. + +"If he will cry three times--is it that something happens?" said Helen. + +"It will be good news." + +"Perhaps a lover comes?" + +"I am not to have a man, it seems," says Margaret. + +"If my lover comes," murmured Helen softly, with her slow smile, "I +will know--another way." + +"In what way?" says Margaret, throwing the last of the grain to the +fowls about her feet. + +"Something will _leap up_ here, ma belle, where my heart is." + +And for some reason Margaret, the Flower of Nourn, dropped her grain +dish and kissed her guest. + +Now there is little to be telling when little things only are in the +memory, and yet the days with little to be remembering are the happy +days, that go past quickly like youth, and leave but vague memories of +sunshine and laughter--of nights, and song, and dance. And there were +great nights of happiness, for in these days the folk had the time to +be knowing one the other, and neighbourly. And maybe in an evening +there would be gathered at Dan's place all the old friends of his +youth. You would be seeing Ronald McKinnon and Mirren, sitting in the +circle round the fire, thrang at the knitting--both man and +wife--kemping as they called it: that is, each would tie a knot in the +worsted and make a race of it, who would be finished first. And Jock +McGilp too would be there, standing off and on, between the stories of +his wild seafaring days and the ghost stories of his youth; and Robin +McKelvie and his sister that met us on the shore head of the isle that +night the Red Laird passed; and there was no Red Roland in her mind +these days, for she had weans to her oxter. And maybe, perched on a +table like a heathen god, the tailor would be working; and if there +were young lassies with their lads, ye would have the fiddle going, and +the hoochin' and the dancing. + +And even in the cottars' houses the good-wife would have a meal on such +a night, and it would be pork and greens, or herring and potatoes; and +then when it was bedtime in the morning, the ceilidhers would take the +road, with maybe a piper at the head of them, and it would be at +another house they would be meeting on the next night. Wae's me, these +days are fast going, and there are bolts and bars on the doors now. +The story of a winter's ceilidhing would be a great book for fine +stories. + +And into a meeting of this kind, when the evening was well on, came +Hugh McBride, and there was the great scraping of chairs and stools +back from the fire, and Belle would have been putting a fire in a +better room; but Dan had been too long in the field for these capers, +for all that Hugh would be Laird and very grand above common folk. Dan +waved him to a chair in his polite way, and made him very welcome. But +Hugh was not seeing chairs that night, much less sitting quietly. +There was a sparkle in his eye and a flush on his cheeks, and his smile +was for everybody, and when the lave of the folk were on the road he +told us the news. + +"Mistress Helen will be having me," says he. "Och, I will have been +singing every love-song I was remembering since I left the gate at +Scaurdale." + +And we made a great "to-do" about it, and we were not any the better +maybe for what we drank to his luck, and the lass's luck; and on the +hill-road home he was at the singing again. + +"She is a fine lass, Hamish--my wife that will be; is she no'?" + +"A fine lass." + +"For a while--a long while the night,--it was in my mind that she would +not be caring to have me, for she has the wale of brisk Ayrshire lads +to pick from, and she swithered long." + +"'We were babies together,' says she, 'in your mother's house?' + +"I heard tell of that from my mother." + +"'And Bryde, he was not born yet--Bryde, your relative?'" + +"He was born in the hill house yonder, beside the 'three lonely ones,' +Helen." + +"'Three lonely ones, Hugh,' said she, very low--'three lonely ones. I +feel it in my bones that always there will be three lonely ones.' + +"Till the frost and the rain of a million years level the hills," said +I. + +"'A million years, Hugh! It is long to wait.' + +"It will not be so long as I have waited, Helen; and she smiled at +that, Hamish, and then-- + +"'You have a very old name in this place, my guardian says.' + +"Ay, an old name, Helen. + +"'Then,' said she, 'I think--I think I will be, what they say, "all in +the family."'" + +"What would she mean by that, Hugh?" + +"I am not sure," said he, "but I ken that John o' Scaurdale and my +father are set on a weddin', and the lass kens it too, and I am +thinking it is the land she is thinking of; it will be all in the +family when we make a match of it." + +"Just that," said I; but in my mind there was another thought that I +never was telling, and this was it-- + +Mistress Helen was thinking that Bryde would never have Margaret, +because of a fault that was none of his making, and that would leave +two lonely ones; and maybe, too, she was thinking that she herself +would never be having Bryde (for another reason), and that would make +three lonely ones. As for being all in the family--well, if she could +not be having Bryde, she could be having his cousin, and I'm thinking +that not the half of an acre of land was even in her mind at all. But +it would not do to be telling that to a man that would just have left +his trysted wife. + +When Margaret had the word there were tears standing in her eyes. + +"I am wondering if there would be something to leap up when Helen +promised herself to our Hugh," said she. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +IN WHICH BETTY COMPLAINS OF GROWING-PAINS. + +It was the Halflin that brought me word that Betty was not so well, and +would I be coming to see her. + +"What is her complaint?" said I. + +"It iss the growing-pains, in her old legs, and in the top of her +oxters--wild, bad, ay, terrible bad." + +There was a great change in the old one, it seemed to me, when I was +seeing her. She would be so very wee-looking in her bed, and her +spirits so low. She looked at the lotions and mixtures I had fetched +with me, and then shook her head sadly, and cried in the Gaelic, "The +hour of my departure is come. Hamish, Hamish, is the whisky to be not +any more use?" + +"There are the good words I could be saying," says she in a whisper, +"but the minister is no' for them." + +"Whatna good words?" + +"Och, chust to be calling on the saints, St Peter and St Paul--mora, +but Paul wass the lad," and she brisked up a wee at that, and +whispered, "There are them I could be naming, Hamish, that St Paul +would be curing. Ay, bodies and beasts I have seen the good words +working a cure on, but wae's me, Hamish, I will never be hearing the +cuckoo again. I am loath to part wi' this bonny place, calm and +peaceful for a body's old age, and I will be missing the fine smell of +the grass when it will be newly cut, and the clink of the stones on the +cutting-hooks." + +"Well, Betty, it will be the road we all must go at the hinder end--a +fine road, Betty, from the point at the Gorton to the Island; for it +was in her mind to be in the old burial-ground, and you will be lying +there among your folk, on yon holy place, with the sun beating down and +the cool blue sea at your feet, and all the friends sitting on the +Mount of Weeping above the Brae, thrang at the greeting; and maybe on +an east-wind night the spirit of ye will be hearing the rattle of +halyards and the plash of the anchors, when the boats come in for +shelter--and Bryde's among them. . . ." + +"Bryde, Hamish--och, the limber lad. . . . Are you thinking it is all +over wi' Betty, Hamish?" + +"Ay, Betty." + +"_Well, it's no'_--give me a little spirits," said she, a look of +indomitable courage on her face, and pursing her lips into a thin line. + +When I put the spirits into her hand she sipped a little, and coughed +politely at the strength of it, and then turned herself towards me. + +"A grain o' water," said she. "You will be liking it plain yourself, +but I would aye be liking a little water--after it. Many's the day +have I been waiting for the coming of Bryde, the dear one, the limber +lad, and I will be tholing yet a wee, for I will be seeing him before I +will be going to my own place." + +And with that Margaret came to be speaking to the old one, and for +myself I made my way outside to where I could be laughing in comfort, +for the sight of Betty's face when she had made up her mind to be +tholing a little longer was too much for me. + +It was after this visit to Betty that Margaret would be asking me to be +taking the dogs and catching her a pair or two, maybe, of young +rabbits, for they were well grown, and she took butter in the blade of +a kail, and such-like truck, and went to see Mhari nic Cloidh. + +She was come of a great race this Mhari nic Cloidh, a race that has +given the old names to glens and to burns, a race that led the +Brandanes of the Kings; but she was old and lived alone, except maybe +when the young lassies would be doing the scouring of her blankets, +tramping like all that, and among the lassies was the saying that Mhari +nic Cloidh had the gift. + +Well, for that I will not be saying, but she would aye have a dram for +kent folk, and Dan McBride took me with him there many a time. Well, +well, the young boys would be tormenting the old lady--they would be +lighting green branches in the fire in her sleeping-place, to smeek her +out, not meaning any ill, but just for a ploy, and to see her lindging +at them with the stick from her bed, and craking and raging at them +time about, to be taking the divot off the top of the lum. And that +was the great diversion for them; but when Margaret went to her this +time she was thrang at the building of her stack of peat, and there was +with her a younger woman, and Mhari nic Cloidh was not in good wind, +for the first of her words came to us: "A traill," says she to her +helper. "Traill," it seems to me, would be meaning in the English, +"lazy, useless, bedraggled"; but there is no word in English that would +be giving the contempt of that word, which I am thinking would have +some connection with the Norse word "troll," but I am not sure of it. +But there was no end to her kindness for Margaret. + +"It was in me that you would be coming, mo leanabh, fresh and beautiful +like the bloom on the hawthorn, a maiden of the morning, bringing gifts +in her hands." + +So I left them in the house, and tried my hand at the building of the +peats till I was seeing that the traill was well contented to be +sitting watching me and doing nothing; and at that I left the rick, for +I cannot put up with idleness; besides, I was not making a very good +hand at the building. When I put my head into the room again, Mhari +nic Cloidh was thrang at the talking in a droll sing-song voice, and +this was the air of it-- + +"The word will come over the water--soon it will be coming--ay, +soon--there will be one coming from the sea." + +Now I was jalousing that Margaret was like the lave of lassies, very +keen to be at the probing into the future, a thing that is not canny to +be having any belief in, and not in accordance with the Scriptures; but +for all that-- + +"What havers was it the old one would be telling you, and me outside at +the peats?" + +"She will be getting old and thinking droll thoughts, Hamish--just old +wives' havers, about the crops and the wars that will be coming. . . ." + +"And the word from the sea, Margaret? Will that be news of a battle +maybe?" + +"I am not sure I was understanding that," said she, looking away. "I +am thinking that would be not anything at all," but I could see her +hiding a smile. + +"I am hoping there is no harm come to Bryde," said I, "and the word +coming home on a ship." + +At that the sly smile (for it was sly) was quick to vanish from the +lass's face, and she turned to me then. + +"I am hating you when you croak like a raven, wishing evil," she +cried--"there will be no harm to Bryde. I will be having news of him +soon, and I will be going on a journey with him. . . ." + +"Well, my lass, could you not have been telling me" (for she was angry +and nearly weeping), "instead of talking about crops and wars," said I. + +"Are you not always telling me it is havers," she cried out, "and not +for sensible folk to be listening to, and putting belief in. I am +thinking you are worse than me," and at that she left me in a fine +flare of temper. + + * * * * * * + +Now on the shore from Bealach an sgadan till you come well below the +rise of the hill of the fort there is a roughness of grass and sprits +that will put a fine skin on grazing beasts, maybe from the strength of +the salt in the ground and the wrack, for with high tides the place is +often flooded. We would graze young beasts there all the summer with a +herd-boy at the watching of them. A lonely eerie place for a night +vigil, with nothing but waterfowl and cushies for company; and on a +Sabbath I went there (for a man must see his beasts, no matter for the +evil example of stravaging on the Lord's Day), and when I would be +through with the queys I walked on the little path, on the short turf +well past the grazing, to the place where the rocks on the shore are +very large, and set in droll positions, as though maybe a daft giant of +the old days had cocked them up for his play, and at this place, lying +curled between the smaller boulders, was a man twisting a bit of +tattered rope into fantastic knots, and eyeing his work with a droll +half-pleased look, and his head a little to one side. + +I gave him good-day, and he started round suddenly all alert, like a +man well used to handling himself. + +"Ay," said he, "there will be mackerel there," and he pointed to the +sea, all a-louping with the fish, and then he unravelled his knots, and +smoothed the strands with hands brown as a bark sail, and hard-looking +as an oak. + +"You will be following the sea?" + +"Just that," said he, "this long while--seven years maybe. I was at +the herdin' before that with my father--it is a homely thing to be +hearing the crying o' the sheep in the hills. Many's the time I would +be thinking on that when the fog would be round us, and naething to be +listening for but the creaking o' a block in the rigging. Maist +sailor-men have the notion o' a farm," says he, "when they will be at +sea. I am thinking it will come to that wi' me too, when my father is +old and my mother." + +"Where is your place?" said I. "Are you from these parts?" for there +was a look about him I kent, and yet could not be naming it. + +"Ronald McKinnon is my father," said he. + +"And you went to sea years ago," I cried at him, "just before the fair +on the green. You are Angus McKinnon, and Ronald, your father, will be +the proud man." + +"Yea, I was thinking you would be kennin' me soon," said he, laughing; +"and my father was telling me you would be walking here on a Sunday. +It will be very sedate in our house this day, and McGilp, that was +master of the _Gull_, waling the Bible for stories of sailing craft; +and my father reading about Jacob, and yon droll tricks he would be +doing with the cattle o' his mother's brother--yon was sailin' near the +win'. + +"I was seein' beasts like yon, speckled and spotted and runnin' wild" +(he would be thinking of Laban's herd), "in an island in the Indies," +said Ronald's son after a while. + +"A herd?" + +"A herd--ay, kye in legions. We made a slaughter o' them and +smoke-cured the flesh for the harnish casks--the Frenchmen are the +clever ones at that work--'boucan,' they would be saying; and, man, it +aye minded me o' a bochan wi' the smoke and that"; and I was thinking +while Angus McKinnon was speaking of the wee black huts that our folk +will be calling bochans to this day, and wondering if the French had +put that name on them, for smoky they are indeed. + +"It was _that_ I was coming to," said the sailor; "it would be there I +fell in with your kinsman." + +"Ay," said I, sitting up and thinking of Mhari nic Cloidh; "is it Bryde +McBride you are meaning?" + +"Just that," said he, looking far to sea; "a devil o' a man yon, with +eyes that would drill a hole in an oak timber. He came there in a +privateer--Captain Cook, I think, was master of her, Bryde McBride +mate--lieutenant, the crew would be saying, for the schooner carried +letters o' marque--a fast ship and well found; the _Spray_ was the name +of her." + +"And Bryde McBride--had you speech with him?" + +"I had that--ay, we yarned for long and long, him in his fine clothes +an' all, and very pressing with the rum. He would be speaking about +you, and telling me if I was seeing you ever to be saying he would be +doing finely, and very full of notions about growing fine crops when he +would be back again. It was droll to be listening to him yarning about +his crops, and me with all the stories I would be hearing from the crew +of his schooner." + +"Ay, man; but what like is the boy?" + +"The boy," says he, and laughed. "Lord, he is a boy, ye may weel say +it, quiet and smiling, and fond of throwing back the head of him and +laughing. He will aye be doing that; but there is no man will run foul +o' him, drunk or sober, in these seas, and there are bold sailor-men in +the Indies, ay, bold stark men. He carries a long lean sword wi' a +bonny grip--the maiden, he will be calling her,--she will have kissed +many, they were saying. . . ." + +"And is he coming home?" + +"He would be settling that," said the sailor; "but there were stories +o' bonny bright eyes in Jamaica and the towns there-away--ay there is +dancing and devilry in these bonny places"; and McKinnon's son sighed +in a way that would have brought no pleasure to the ears of his mother, +Mirren Stuart, that used to ride the Uist pony in her young days. + +The grass was wet with dew when I left the sailor and made my road +home, and I mind that I looked away to the suthard for a sail, and +there was a queer gladness and a sorrow in me, and a grave doubt about +that old woman Mhari nic Cloidh and her havers. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +THE RAKING BLACK SCHOONER. + +I met Belle and Dan with the boy with them at the big stones away below +the peat hags where the sea lies open to a man's look, and I took the +young boy on my shoulder and laughed at Belle when she would be saying +he was too big to be carried, and there was the look of pride in the +swarthy face, pride and tenderness, as she stood, her hand on the arm +of her man. But Dan kent me better. + +"Out with it, Hamish. What good news gars ye giggle like a lass?" + +"Man," I said, "have ye no' heard?--McKinnon's son is home, and has +word o' Bryde. Betty will be seeing him with this boy in his arms yet. +Bryde is coming home." + +Belle's hands came to her heart for a little, and then her arms were +round Dan like a wild thing. + +"Oh, man, man, are you not glad?" she cried--"are you not glad?" + +"Glad!" said Dan, and swallowed hard. "Ay, lass, glad is not the +word," and then he kept shaking my hand, and looking at me without +words, but Belle was afire. + +"Hamish," she cried, clinging to me with her daftlike foreign ways, +"will you always be bringing me good news till I am old and ugly?" + +That night old Betty forgot her growing-pains and sang to the boy, +Hamish Og, and it was a mercy that he had not much of the Gaelic so +far, for the songs were not very douce, and not what a body might be +expecting from an old woman that had seen much sorrow; but I am often +thinking that she would have her good days too, for she would be +enjoying her biting, and putting a pith into it that made Dan himself +stare in wonder. + +And I told my uncle and my aunt the news when Margaret was not by, for +I kept mind of her talk of old wives' havers, and I kent the mother of +Margaret would not be telling her, nor the Laird either for that part, +for he was a good deal under her thumb in these matters; but for all +that I might have been sparing myself the bother, for this is what came +of it. + +We were gathered for the reading and Hugh a little late, as was usual +when he went 'sourrying--God forbid that he should--when he went +courting, and after the reading there was a little time to talk, and, +said he, stretching his legs-- + +"Helen was telling me Bryde will be home one of these days." + +Now here, thinks I, is a bonny kettle of fish, for Margaret was sitting +with us, but for all the suddenness of it she never geed her beaver, +and I kent then that she had word some way. + +"Mistress Helen has quick news," said I. + +"She has a maid yonder, Dol Beag's lass, and she brought the word frae +McKinnon's son, it seems; Kate Dol Beag had the news." + +"Imphm," said I, for Margaret was looking down and smiling in a way +that angered me a little--"imphm," said I. "Did she say was he +bringing his wife with him?" + +"Wife?" said Hugh with a start. + +Margaret was not smiling now, but I will say this; she was making a +brave try at it. + +"Some lady in Jamaica," said I, "wi' bonny bright eyes, young McKinnon +was thinking." + +At that Hugh left us, smiling. + +"Hamish," said Margaret, "you are not being kind to me any more--it is +not true." + +"Margaret, when did you see Ronald's son?" + +"Oh, I was looking for a sailor coming home," said she, "since yon day +we went to old Mhari nic Cloidh's, and then the lassies told me +Ronald's boy was home--and--and the night you were at Dan's they +brought him here--a nice quiet boy--and I _happened_ to go into the +kitchen when he was there . . . and, Hamish, it is not nice to be +unfriends like this, you and me, and I would not be meaning yon I said +to you about old wives' havers--_now_," and after that she came and sat +beside me, and put an arm round my neck. + +"Will you tell me this, Hamish?" says she in her wheedling voice. +"Will you tell me truly?" + +"What is it?" said I. + +"Did McKinnon's son say anything about bonny bright eyes?" + +"He said there were bonny bright eyes in Jamaica and the towns +thereabout, Margaret, and he kind o' looked as though maybe he was +wearying to be back there." + +"Poof!" said she, "and was that all. I am thinking I would maybe be +like that myself, if the Lord had made me a boy." + +"Well, my lass, there's nane will deny that Bryde was a little that way +himself--he would aye have a quick eye for a likely lass from what I +can mind." + +"Well," said she, being very merry and bold, and showing herself before +me, "am not I a likely lass, Hamish, my dear?" + +Now the old folk will use that expression with a very definite meaning, +and when I thought of that I was feeling my face smiling, and me trying +not to, as I looked at the lass. + +"Hamish," she cried, "did you ever look at a lass like that before--it +is a wonder to me you are not married long ago," and then with a frown +on her face, but half laughing yet, "I ken," she cried, "she was +married already, poor Hamish--was it Belle?" + +But I was thinking it was time to be putting an end to her daffing. + +"Listen, my dear," said I; "I ken another likely lass." + +"Oh?" + +"Helen," said I. + +"Likely," she cried--"likely, the likeliest lass I will ever be seeing, +Hamish--_for a sister_." + +But for all that she would be jibing at Hugh and his marriage. +"Hughie," she would cry, "the fine sunny days are passing. When I get +a man I am thinking it will be half the joy of it to be out with him on +the hills and among the trees, and maybe on the sea. You will be +waiting till the rainy days come, and that will not be so lucky." + +"Och," said Hugh, "I will be sitting inside with the lass I marry on +the wet days." + +"Yes, Hugh; but I would be liking to be out with him in the rain and +laughing at it and loving it, because I would be with him." + +"The Lord should have made you a man," said I, "for you would be +kissing your lass on some hill-top with the rain in her brown face and +clinging to her curls, Margaret." + +"Brown face and curls," she cried. "I wonder. Would my lass have been +like that, Hamish, like Belle, or with a look--like Mistress Helen +maybe; but I would be loving the kissing anyway," said she. + +And Helen Stockdale was often with us, whiles, to my thinking, a little +skeich[1] with Hugh, as though maybe she would rouse the temper in him, +for that she seemed to delight in, but never would she be telling us +what her man should be like. + +"Husban'," she would say, with a shrug of her shoulder, "_il faut +necessaire_--one must, I think, be sensible; is it not so?--perrhaps in +anozer world one may know from the beginning," and I often wondered if +she had forgotten how something should leap up at her heart. She would +talk to Margaret about her gowns, using terms that never before had I +heard tell of, and sending as far as Edinburgh for her braws, which, I +am thinking, was a waste of good money, but I kept my thumb on that. +For the wedding was to come off at the back-end, and I would be hoping +that the weather would keep up, and the harvest be well got, wedding or +not. + +And in these long summer evenings very often I would be taking one of +the men with me and a net, and taking the boat from the beach we would +go out with the splash-net, for I would be fond of the sport as well as +of the daintiness of the eating in salmon trout. In the dusk we would +be leaving, and whiles not coming in till it was two or three o'clock +in the morning. + +I am thinking that maybe long ago the folk on the island would be +watching for an enemy landing from the water, for with the sea as calm +as a mill-pond and just the loom of the land--maybe through a haze--the +senses will become very alert, and any little noise without the boat a +man will be hearing, and wondering about, as well as listening to the +splash of a fish falling into the water after a gladsome leap, and the +noise of splashing of the oars to frighten the salmon-trout into the +meshes. + +On an August evening we were in the little bay near the rock at the +mouth of the wee burn that passes the great granite stone on the +shore--for that is a namely place for trout. There was a bright golden +gleam as the oars dipped, and a swirl of phosphor fire at the stern +like little wandering stars, when I heard the noise of oars and the +creak of thole-pins, and I turned to look, thinking maybe some other +was at the fishing, but the boat was heading for the port at the +Point--wrack-grown now, and only to be seen at low tide. + +In the bay at anchor was a schooner, a low raking black schooner, with +the gleam of her riding light reflecting a long way over the water +toward the shore--a sign of rain, we say. In a little I heard a gruff +voice in the English, for the words came to me plainly-- + +"Easy, starbo'd; easy, all," and then the scrunch of a keel on sand, +and after a little time I heard a boat being shoved off and the thrust +of oars, and then the same voice again-- + +"Give way together," and it came to me that the quick command had the +ring of a Government ship, and I was wondering if the _Gull_ was making +for her home port, for my heart somehow warmed to the _Gull_, and +McNeilage, when I would be looking at the loom of that raking black +schooner, and hearing the quick short strokes of the oars of the +row-boat with no singing or any laughter. We had a good catch of fish +when we got started to row back to the place where we beached the +little boat, and it would be the best of an hour's rowing to get there. +Little we spoke passing round the Point, except maybe to voice a wonder +that a boat should come in there. And never another word was said till +such times as we would be going gently, feeling, as it were, for the +little gut in the rock, where we made a habit of coming ashore. + +The sky was clearing to the eastward, the light giving a droll shape to +the bushes, and showing a little mist hanging low when the keel grated +on the gravel, and there on the shore-head was a man standing, a +sea-coat, as I think they name it, round him. The eeriness of the dim +light, the wild squawks of the sea-birds in the ears, and that great +dark figure standing motionless, put a dread on the serving-man. + +"In the name of God," said he, "cho-sin (who is it)?" + +"If he is Finn himself," said I, trying to be bold, "he will be giving +us a hand with the skiff whatever." + +There came a ringing laugh from the stranger. + +"Well done, Hamish; ye'll aye make good your putt--a bonny lan' tack +they would make wanting you." + +"It is he," cried the serving-man. + +"Bryde," I cried, "what is it makes you come back this way and at this +time of the night?" + +These were the daftlike words I had for him, and me holding his hand +and clapping him on the back, as if he were a wean again. + +"It was a notion I had," said he, "to come back the way I would be +leaving yon time--in the dark." + + +[1] Frisky. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +TELLS WHERE BRYDE MET HAMISH OG. + +What would you be having me tell you now?--of how we carried the fish +home from the skiff, of how we walked slowly up the shore road, with +Bryde standing to look at the places he would have been remembering. + +"I have been in many places," said he, "but I am not remembering so +bonny a place as this." + +Would it be pleasing you to hear that when we came to the Big House, +Bryde left me standing, and went through the wood behind the stackyard +and stood on the knowe and looked at the window where the Flower of +Nourn slept. + +"Now," said he after that, "I will go to my mother." + +"She will be awaiting," said I, "your mother and the boy Hamish--your +brother." + +"And who," said he stopping, "who is the father of my brother?" and +there was a whistling of his breath in his nostrils. + +"Your father," said I. + +"Ah," said he, "is that man home?" and his pace was quicker and there +was a line deep in his brows. "How long has my father been in this +place?" + +"It would be soon after you would be following the seas, and they were +married." + +"He was a little behind the fair, it seems," and the bitterness in his +voice was not good to be hearing. We were silent until we came in +sight of the white stone below the house on the moor on the road to the +three lonely ones, and then I cried, pointing-- + +"She is waiting." + +"I see her," said he, "and the boy with her," and I looked at the +far-seeing sailor eyes with the little wrinkles at the corners that +seamen and hillmen have, and he left me. When I reached the stone they +were there, the son comforting the mother, and the little boy Hamish +standing a little way off, affrighted. + +"Take me," he cried, his arms out, "Hamish is feared of the great black +man," and I would have taken him, but Bryde was before me. + +"Come, little dear," said he, and smiled, and the boy came to him +slowly, the mother watching, and then Bryde swung his little brother on +his shoulder. + +"We will be doing finely now," said he; "and you kent I was coming," +said he to the mother, smiling at her. + +"I saw her sailing in the Firth, your black schooner, the neatness of +her, and the pride, and I said, 'It is my son's ship you are'; and when +she was at an anchor in the calm water I was watching for the little +boat to be coming to the shore, but the darkness was down and your +father took me away. Morning and evening," said she, "rain or fine, I +would be looking for you since Angus McKinnon came home." + +"What--is he home then? I forgathered with him, I mind. I was mate on +the _Spray_," said Bryde. "Well, he would be telling you I was lucky. +I have word that I can be sailing a King's ship if I will be going +back." + +At the door of the place that was old McCurdy's hut, Dan McBride was +standing. The white was streaking in the redness of his face, and he +was shaking. Bryde put the boy in his mother's arms, and it is droll, +but Belle went to the side of her man. + +"Dan," said she, "I have brought you your son," and she looked from one +to the other, her lips quivering. Bryde opened his mouth to speak, +looking at his father--a long level look. + +"You are a fine man," said he, "my father." + +At the words Dan took a great gulp of a breath and his eyes were +filling. + +"I will have a great son," said he, and cried aloud on his Maker. "My +son, oh, my son, can you be forgiving your father?" + +"There is no ill in my heart for you," said the son, "only pity and a +strange love since the day that Hamish put your gift to me into my +hand. I will have been carving my own name with that sword, and it is +kindness in you to be lending your name to me." + +"My name and all that I have," cried the father, and took his son into +the house. + +Well, well, it is easy to be writing of that meeting, but the dread of +it that was on me I kent afterwards when we were at meat, when we had +all laughed together. It would be Betty that brought the laughing on +us, for she would be crying to us to ken who was the stranger. + +And when Bryde went to her bedside, she scrambled up among her pillows. + +"Will you have been fetching a silk dress for Betty?" she cried at him. + +"Silk and lace and more," said Bryde. + +"Not brandy," says she, her lips pursed up. + +"Just brandy." + +"Come and be kissing me first," said she, a little tremulously, "and +then we will maybe be having a drop of it." + +The halflin, a stout man now, and clever with horse, came in to the +house to be seeing Bryde. + +"Ye can be riving the skin off my bones," said he, "for I was telling +her about yon." + +"About what?" said Bryde, but I think that he kent, for his face was +dark. + +"About the words ye would be telling her yon night ye left wi' the +kist, and her not there to be hearing. She would be giving me siller," +said the halflin. + +I am thinking he would get mair siller. And most of that day, it would +be nothing but questions, Bryde sitting with his brother on his knee, +and Dan going out of himself with little kindnesses. + +"Hugh is not married, ye tell me. What ails the man?" + +"Och," said I, "his days o' freedom will be getting fewer, for they +will be at the marrying soon." + +"We will be having a spree then," said Bryde. "I am thinking I have a +present for Mistress Helen in my traps." + +And his kists and bags and droll cases came from the stone quay in the +evening, and I was greatly taken with the cunningness of the cases of +leather, fashioned likely from a cow belly, and with the hair still +sticking, although maybe a little bare and worn, and the corners +clamped with iron, making a box of leather of a handy shape for a pack +beast, or easy to be stored in a ship. + +And the cries of Betty when she had her dress (all of fine black silk +with much lace, fine like cobwebs), the cries of her were heartening in +a body so old, but maybe a little foolish. For his mother he had a +host of things--a chain of fine gold with a pearl here and there at +intervals, and a watch for me of chased silver, very large and +handsome. To his father he gave a bridle of plaited hair and +ornamented with silver, a very fine bit of work, and too beautiful for +everyday use, but Dan sat with it on his knee, and indeed it was hung +in the place of honour beside his great sword. + +And we sat long listening to Bryde when the strangeness wore off him, +and he was telling us of how he came on board a King's ship and worked +and fought until his officers were proud of him, and of how he became +an officer on board a frigate, a position most difficult to attain to +in those days (although there are other men from the island who have +done the like, as a man can be reading in the records). He told us of +his sailing days in the privateer _Spray_ in the Indies, and of his +meeting with Angus McKinnon, but of these things I will not be writing +at any length in this story. + +The father and son left me a good way on the home road, and I made my +way indoors with no noise, and there was not so much as a dog barking, +and when I was in my own place I sat thinking for a long time. + +And it came on me that Bryde was the wise one to be going away with his +sword, and to be making a name for himself, and siller. For the Bryde +that was fit to command a King's ship would be far different from the +boy on a moorside farm, and I was weaving dreams like a lass at her +spinning when the door was opened behind me and Margaret stood looking +in, a light held high in her hand and her arm bare. + +"When will he be coming?" said she. It would likely be the man that +was with me at the splash-net that would be telling her the news. + +"He has been here already," said I, "and you sound sleeping." + +"I will be easy wakened, Hamish; a chuckle stone at the window would +not have been putting you out of your road. Will he be changed in his +features?" says she, "and was he asking for all of us?" + +"Indeed he was all questions," said I; "but I am not remembering that +he spoke of you, my lass." + +"My motherless lass! am I clean forgot then?" + +"I would not say that either," said I, and told her about the window +gazing. + +"He will be a little blate for such a namely man," said Margaret, but I +could see there was a glow of pleasure over her. + +"It will be long past time for the bedding," said I. + +"There is no sleep will come to me this night"; and then, "I wonder +will the daylight never be coming?" + +"Margaret," said I, and I am glad always that I said this--"Margaret," +said I, "Bryde will be coming here in the morning; you will be meeting +your kinsman on the road," said I, "and that will be doing him a +kindness. + +"Maybe he will not be for me to be meeting him, Hamish?" + +"There's aye that, Margaret, but I would be risking it." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +BRYDE AND MARGARET. + +I think truly there was not much sleep for Margaret, even as she said, +for did not I hear her moving, and I would be thinking of her turning +and twisting fornent the image-glass. + +And I will tell you where the place is that they met, Bryde and +Margaret, on the hill where the cairn stands and no man knows who would +be the builders. For the lass walked easy and slow to the Hill of the +Fort, as we will be calling it, and then turned to the ridge that runs +to the right hand, for that way one can be seeing all the valley. And +she sat by the foot of the cairn. I am thinking that the far-seeing +blue eyes of Bryde would be watching every rise and hollow, or why else +would he have made the cairn, for that is not just the nearest road to +the Big House. + +To her he came there and stood before her, and she rose to be meeting +him, but had no words of greeting. It is like she would be rehearsing +in her mind how this meeting should go, but for all that she rose, and +her hands clasped and pressed themselves hard at her heart, and she +turned herself a little away from him, only her eyes holding his. + +"Br--Bryde," was the word that came softly between her lips like a +whisper. + +But the man took two strides and was at her side, his hands not yet +touching her, and there came a trembling on the lass. + +"If you cannot be loving me and keeping me for ever," said she, "do not +be touching me, for if you will be touching me I am lost," and there +was a dignity in her bearing, although her lips were quivering. + +"I am not fit to be touching you, for I have no right folk," said he. + +"Do you think it is heeding _that_ I will be, if it is me and no other +that has your heart?" + +"But that has aye been yours, little lass, from the beginning, for +there is sunshine and gladness where you are." + +"Then," she cried, "then, my darling, I will not can wait any longer," +and he held her close and looked down into her eyes. There was a place +of flat rocks a little way off, and he carried her there, and a white +swirl of mist hung around them, and the wind blowing it away, and the +sun licking up the trailing white wreaths. + +"We are on the high ground," he cried; "look, my dear, the sea below +us, and the woods and the heather, the sun and the mist and the winds +are round us--it is here that I would be loving to kiss you." + +"Kiss me, then," she cried, "for I have been dreaming of such?" + +Always when I am on the hill I will be looking at that little rocky +place, and seeing these two, brave and proud and young and loving, +seeing them clasped heart to heart on that high wind-swept space +against the sky, with the little curls and whirls of mist and the sun +licking up the floating wreaths. So must the young gods have loved. + +And they sat there with the wild-fowl only and the sheep to be seeing +them. + +"Bryde," cried the girl, looking at her man with great starry eyes and +her cheeks aglow, "Bryde, will it anger you if I will be telling +something." + +For answer he smiled down at her. + +"Mhari nic Cloidh did tell me this would come, and there is more to +come. There is to be a journey we will be making together--and listen, +for these will be her words, 'And his hand will be over yours at the +rough places, and he will lead you to the land of the pleasant ways, +the wide green meadows, starred with flowers and the blue of sparkling +seas,'--are not these good words?" + +"My heart would be in such a land," said he. "My dear, could you be +trusting yourself to me in the great new land, for the farming is in +the very marrow of my bones. Would you be grieving for your own folk, +and your own hills, in that new land, where the cattle would be grazing +knee-deep in grass, and the horses roaming in herds, long-tailed and +with great tangled manes--roaming on the great pastures?" + +"I would be loving that place!" she cried. + +"There would be the house-building. By a stream the house would be, +where there would be fishing, and the byres and the stables and the +dykes to be building, and you would be loving to see the little foals +near to you, and the young calves in the joy of living, running +daftlike races in the sunshine." + +"Bryde, is it not the land of the Ever Young you will be showing me?" + +"It is a young land, a land for strong youth. I could be getting +ground there," said he, "in that far America; but would you not be +vexed when the years went by--vexed at the strange faces, and yearning +for the cold splash of the sea in summer, and the green of the waving +bracken, the purple of the hills, and the sound of voices that you +would be knowing?" + +"Would I not be having you, Bryde? Is there anything I could be +wishing for more than that? I am loving that land, and," she +whispered, snuggling her head close to his side, "when we are grown old +and our--our--children gone from us, maybe if you would be wearying for +this place, we could be coming back and lying down yonder," said she, +pointing to the old kirk, "among our folk." + +"There would maybe be some of the boys here coming with us,--Angus +McKinnon and Guy Hamilton and Pate Currie," says Bryde, "and we could +be talking of this place and remembering it when it would be New Year, +and telling the old stories again." + +"Do you know who I think will be coming?" cried Margaret. "I am +thinking Hamish will be coming too." + +When they rose to leave the place--and they were loath to leave--the +face of Margaret was changed; there was a glamour of joy over her, and +her eyes were not seeing very well, but rather looking away into that +happy future, and she clung to Bryde. + +"Will I be too happy?" she whispered fearfully, and made the sign that +wards off the spirit of evil. "Bryde, we will not be telling this for +a wee while,--I am to be holding my happiness in my hands, holding it +to my heart, and nobody knowing." + + * * * * * * + +It will whiles make me smile to think of the coming of Bryde and +Margaret to the Big House that day, for with all her cleverness the +eyes of Margaret could not be leaving her man, and her mouth would +tremble into a smile, and her cheeks glow at a word; but Bryde that day +was all-conquering. + +To my aunt--the Leddy, as they will be naming her--to her he was all +courtesy, all deference, yet he would be surprising her into quick +laughing--indeed, I will always be remembering her words. + +"My dear," said she, and her voice trembling, "I am glad to welcome +you--I am glad to be proud of you, for I will have loved you like my +own son," and she kissed him very heartily and wept a little, and the +Laird, my uncle, broke out-- + +"Hoots, what is it for--this greetin'; the lad kens he's welcome. +King's ship or no', and we will be having a bottle of the wine of +Oporto," says he, and came back with it himself, handling the dusty +age-crusted bottle with great skill, and we drank Bryde McBride his +health. "'To the day when you will be slaying a deer,'" said the +Laird, "'and to the day when you will not be slaying a deer,' and I'm +thinking, Bryde, to-day you will have had a very good hunting." + +And at that we drained our glasses, and Mistress Margaret and the +mother of her would be looking with new eyes at the Laird, for there +was a double twist to the thrust, and so it was that Bryde took up his +life among us again, after his wandering to the sea. But he would be +better for the wandering, having made himself a milled man in the hard +school of the world. + +You will be thinking of him on the farm on the moor, with that great +red man his father and the brother Hamish that came so late, and Belle, +that silent woman, watching with dark soft eyes. Margaret, the Flower +of Nourn, was there often and none to gainsay her, for Bryde did not +long keep his love a secret, but bearded the Laird, and won, for all +that the old man opened the business with a great sternness. + +"You will be over sib to the lass," says he at the first go-off, "but +her mother will be telling me she will have set her heart on you, and, +Bryde McBride," said he, at the finish of it, "as you do to the lass, +so may God deal wi' you." + +And in all that time, although he would be in every house mostly, and +Hugh and he often thrang at the talking, and on the hill together and +among the crops, in all that time till the wedding of Hugh, never did I +hear that Helen Stockdale had speech with Bryde McBride. But I was to +have word of it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +BRYDE AND HELEN. + +And this is how the matter fell out. There will be to this day a love +of stravaging among the young men, and maybe in the old ones as well, +and I kent that Bryde would whiles be ceilidhing, and often he and Dan, +his father, would be at McKinnon's, where Angus would be trying his +hand at the farming, and it was the fine sight to be seeing old McGilp +on the hill with Angus, and thrang at the working of sheep. + +I am minding once that I was seeing them and Angus working a young +collie bitch, Flora, he would be calling her, and she would not be +working any too well, and that would be angering McGilp. There was a +steep knowe where they were and a wheen sheep on it, and the bitch +would not be understanding how to gather, and at the last of it McGilp +gave a great roar out of him. + +"Lay aloft, ye bitch," he roared in exasperation, "lay aloft, damn ye," +and at that great sea voice Flora made off and left them, and I am not +wondering at it, for surely never was a dog so ordered; but Robin +McKinnon was telling me that when he was at the ploughing and McGilp +walking with him step for step, the smuggler would be crying to the +horses, and them turning in at the head-rig-- + +"Luff," he would cry, "luff, luff, and come to win'ward and we'll give +you the weight o' the mainsail down the hill." + +It would be doing a man's heart good to be hearing Bryde making a mock +of the old captain at these times, and the good laughter of him that +would start a houseful o' folk to laugh also. It was when he was for +McKinnon's that he fell in with Helen. + +The stubble was white in the fields, and the leaves red and brown and +yellow, still holding here and there to the trees, a great night with a +touch of frost for the kail, and the half of a gale coming out the +nor'west. + +Bryde was on his road for a crack with McGilp and Angus, and the road +was swept bare and dry and the night clear as a bell, when there came +that fine sound, the clatter and klop of riding-horse. They were on +him at the bend above the Waulk Mill, Helen on her black horse, +Hillman, and the serving-man hard put to keep with her. You see her +there--the black on his haunches and the breath of him like a white +cloud, and Bryde standing and his sea-coat flapping in the wind. There +was no greeting from her, but her arms stretched out. + +"Take me down," she said, and he lifted her. + +Then to the serving-man-- + +"Walk the horses; but no--your mother's cottage is at the burnside. Go +there and I will come soon," and the lad walked the horses away, and +these two stood watching. Then Helen turned to Bryde and looked at +him, her black eyes flashing, her cheeks wind-whipped, her hair a +disarray with the speed of her travelling, and her lips smiling. If +ever there would be beauty in a woman in the white night with a half +gale, it was in Helen. She took his two hands and stood back from him +a little and looked, and then from her white throat there came +laughter, bubbling laughter, like a little brook in summer, joy and +happiness and content was in her laughing. + +"Dear," she cried, "dear," to the great dark man, and in her tones were +the sounds you will hear in the voice of a mother. "But God is kind +that I see you again before I am wife to your cousin. And you too," +and her laughter came again, "your cousin will be wife to you. It is +droll," and she had always a taking way of that word. "Listen, my +friend, here is this good night with a great strong wind and the moon +clear like the fire of the Bon Dieu, and the little stars merry and +twinkling, and the great white road. Are not we the children of this +night? Are not we the frien's of the night peoples?" + +Bryde nodded, still looking. + +"Then this is mine--all this night, this good night. Come." + +On the dry bracken, a little way from the roadside, he spread his coat +to make a resting-place for her. + +"Now," she cried, "tell me." + +"This is not right, Helen," and then-- + +"I care not for right," she cried, and her laughing came again, but he +waved her words aside. + +"It will be only days now and you will be the wife of Hugh." + +"No--no--no," she clasped her arms round herself. "All this will be +his, but my heart--my heart will be waiting, but this one night my +heart is mine. See," she cried, "he beat--beat--beat for joy. Once I +tell you I will forget my convent ways, and I will make you forget. +See, my mother love one man and marry another, and I am born, and all +in me cry for that hill man--it is the cry from my mother in me." + +Her hand was holding his arm. "Hugh tells me you will go to America +with Margaret. It is not true--tell me." + +"It is true, Helen," said Bryde; "I am loving her for that, God bless +her." + +"Ah, but will not Helen be blessed a little too," said the lass, and +for the first time there were tears in her eyes, and one great drop +fell like a white pearl in the moonlight. "Dear, this is not you, so +calm--that is like Hugh,--you are cold. Why do I cry and you not +comfort me?" She pouted her lips. "One kiss, and I will remember +always." + +"One kiss," said Bryde, laughing, "and I will never be forgetting." +And at that they laughed. + +"Ah, now it is Bryde--come, we will go to the horses," and she sprang +to her feet. + +With the serving-man at his mother's door she had a word-- + +"You will come home in the morning--to-night you will stay with your +mother." + +On the road, with Bryde mounted alongside of her on the servant's +beast, she set spurs to her horse Hillman, and he reared, and as he +pawed in the air she laughed, and she pointed with her whip +outstretched-- + +"Take me over that hill, and we will not come back ever, ever again." + +And after the first mad gallop-- + +"I will tell you--you love Margaret, why--because Margaret is here +always since you were ver' little boy, always Margaret. . . ." + +"Helen, I am loving Margaret because--I will not can tell why, but +there is peace and a great happiness in me when she is near me." + +"I understand; it is that so great calm--me, I would kill you if you +love me and become cold; but she--she would smile and her heart be +breaking." + +"I am thinking that too," said Bryde, and his eyes were soft. The +horses were walking side by side, snapping a little playfully, for they +were loving the night. + +"Mon coeur," whispered the lass, and her voice was low and her face +half-shamed, but very brave. "We would have so great a son," said she, +and hung her head low after one long look at the man. At the jerk on +the rein, the horses stopped. + +"You are the bravest lass I will ever meet," said Bryde, and there was +a fire of admiration in his eyes, and a ring in his voice. Her hands +groped out to his blindly, and she swayed to him. + +"It is heaven to be here," said she, and pressed her face against his +breast, her eyes wide and dark, and her face half hidden. "Dear,"--her +whole body quivered at the word,--"there is not any word a man can say +will be telling how much I am loving the bravery of you for that word. +It is in me to hold you here against my heart for the bravery of it." + +"Take me," she whispered--"see, I am ready," and she opened her arms +wide and held her face upwards. Her eyes were fast shut and the long +lashes dark on her cheek. There came a look of infinite tenderness on +the fierce swarthy face of Bryde McBride. + +"And afterwards, my brave lass?" + +"Ah, then, I could not let you go. Jesu aid me . . . you are mine from +the beginning; it is not right that you love that other. Be kind to +me, Bryde, let me whisper--je t'adore, always I love you--thus," she +cried, and kissed him wildly in a kind of madness. "I think," said +she, "when I am standing with Hugh to be married, I think I will run to +you," and then-- + +"Take me home now," all brokenly she spoke, "my brave night is +finished." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +HOW JOHN McCOOK HEARS OF THE PLOY AT THE CLATES. + +There is a fate that stalks in the hills and plays with the lives of +the folk in the valleys. "You will stop with your mother,"--these were +the words that Helen gave her serving-man, John McCook, that night she +rode with Bryde, and McCook stayed for a little in his mother's house, +and then, being young and of good spirit, he made his way to the inn to +be seeing his friends. And he sat with them in McKelvie's place above +the quay, and now and then when Robin would be bringing drink into a +room a little apart, he would be hearing gusts of laughter, and whiles +the snatches of words. + +And McCook was wanting to know who would be in the room, to be telling +his news when he reached Scaurdale, and he moved his stool so that his +ear was near to the crack of the door, and he could see a little into +the place. There was great company in that room--McGilp and Dan +McBride were there, and Ronald McKinnon and his son Angus, and two or +three of the men of the old names who would be sailor-men too, and +there was great argument, for the men would be sailing their boats, and +their glasses on the table representing the sloops. Once there came +high voices and deep oaths when a Kelso luffed his vessel so close to +his rival's that he spilled Charleach Ian's glass, but Rob McKelvie +righted the vessel and loaded her again with spirits, and the racing +would be continued. + +As the time went on the voices were none so loud, but still he could +hear, and it was Ronny McKinnon that was speaking most, and the tale +that came to McCook was this:-- + +"There would be folk at the South End," said Ronald, "bien folk of his +own name some of them, and the harvest was very good for this year, and +there would be a considerable of spirit and salt to be taken across +quietly. It will be hidden well," said Ronald, "at the Cleiteadh mor, +and the _Gull_ will be there in the offing, and send her boats ashore. +There will be none to expect a ploy that night, for it will be the +night that Hugh McBride will be married on the English lady, and that +will be a diversion." + +For, indeed, on such an occasion the half of a parish would be merry +with the eating of hens and drinking of spirit, and the piping and +dancing. + +"I will be there," said Dan, "and my son Bryde. It's long since I will +have been at the smuggling," and then there came singing of Gaelic +songs that you can be hearing yet, and at that McCook took off his dram +and went out at the door, for he would be early on the road the next +day. + + * * * * * * + +There is a fate that stalks in the hills and plays with the lives of +the folk in the valley. + +Kate Dol Beag, as ye ken, was a lass at her service at Scaurdale, a +bonny dark ruddy lass and keen for the marrying, and the lad she had +her eye on was the serving-man, McCook. And when these two were in the +stackyard at Scaurdale and well hidden behind the ricks on the next +night, she yoked on him. + +"It is not me you are liking," said she, and put his hand from her +neck, "for last night you did not come home and me waiting." + +"I could not be coming home, my lass," said he, "for the young mistress +made me stop at my mother's, and Bryde McBride, the sailor, rode with +her." + +"Ay," said Kate, "she came home like a lass that goes to her +grave-claes instead o' her braws, and never a word from her, but a +white hue round her lips and her eyes staring. . . . Did you go to my +father's," said Kate, for she was of a jealous nature. + +"No, I was at McKelvie's for a wee after I would be with my mother, and +I was thinking Dol Beag your father would be there too." + +"There was no lass you were with, then?"--this a little more softly and +her body came closer to his. + +"There was no lass that I saw," said McCook, "but there were many +people at the inn," said he. + +"Give me the news, then," she cried, and put an arm round his neck now +that she kent he would not have been with another woman. And then he +told her how the South End folk would be at the smuggling on the night +of the wedding, and all that he had heard, meaning no ill, and the lass +was laughing, and her kindness came back to her. + +"I will not have been good to you," said she, and lay back against the +stack, "and I am wearying this long while for your arms round me, and +the jagging of your hair on my face." + +And as she sat there was more of her ankle showing than she would maybe +be liking in strange company. + +"Ye have the fine legs," said John, looking at them, for he would be a +great gallant by his way of it; but the lass just smiled and pulled +them under her. + +"It will be as well ye should ken, my man," said she, "and I will be +needing them the morn, for I am to be walking hame and seeing my folk." + +And there they were in each other's arms, and he promised to meet her +well on, on the road home, for she was feart of the giant that lived in +the glen and was killed by the folk long ago--but that is an old wife's +tale. + + * * * * * * + +They were good to her at hame the next day when she was seated with her +folk at a meal, and after that she was with her mother for a while, a +little red in the face, but brave enough. + +"He will be marrying me, mother," said she; "I ken he will be coming to +you soon, and--and there will be no cutty-stool either," said she, "for +he is a nice lad and dacent, if he will be a little game," maybe +thinking of the stackyard. + +"Time will be curing that," said her mother. + +"I daresay that," and then with a hearty laugh and her head flung back, +"Kate will be helping too," said she, and ran into the kitchen. + +Dol Beag, her father, was baiting a long line, his crook back throwing +a great black shadow on the wall. + +"There will be great doings at your place soon, Kate," said he. + +"Ay, there's nae talk but marrying yonder. I am thinking the mistress +would rather be having the other man," said she, and rose to put peat +on the fire. + +"Whatever other man is it?" says the mother. + +"Kate will be meaning Dan McBride's bastard," says Dol Beag, and his +hand shook a little on the hook. + +"He is free with his money whatever, and a fine man they are saying." + +"Ay, ay, the father o' him was free with his gifts too," said her +father. "They will all be thonder, I am thinking. Laird and leddies +and bastards, the whole clamjamfry. We will be hoping for a good day +at the time o' the year." + +"John McCook would be telling me there will be a ploy that night at the +Cleiteadh mor," said the lass; "the folk will have a cargo ready. +McBride and his son will be there for the ploy," said the lass, "but he +said no' to be speaking of it." + +Her father stopped a little at his baiting. + +"They were aye the great hands for a ploy," said he, and twitched his +shoulder, and the black shadow on the wall wobbled and was still. +There came a long whistle as you will hear a shepherd call. + +"That will be himsel'," said Kate. + +"Fetch the lad in," said the mother, and went to the fire. + +Dol Beag took down the great Bible. "We will worship the Lord," said +he, "before you will be leaving," and he opened the Book and read, and +the voice of him rolled in relish of the Gaelic, and then they kneeled +on the bare floor and Dol Beag prayed before his God, and John McCook, +opening his eyes, saw his lass smiling to him. + +The lad and lass took the hill road in the moonlight, and the mother +watching them. + + * * * * * * + +Dol Beag lay in his bed long, turning and turning like a man not at his +ease, and then he rose and put his clothes on him. + +"Where will you be going at this hour?" said his wife. + +"Woman," said he, "I will have forgotten if the skiff is high on the +shore-head, for the wind is away to the west'ard," and he went out into +the night. + +In an hour maybe he was in again and the cruisie lighted, and again he +fell on his knees by the side of the bed and prayed aloud, and his wife +would be hearing in her sleep. + +"Lord, look on Thy servant. Was not I the straight one before Thee, +straight like a young tree, and strong before Thee. Lord, look then +from that great mountain. Thy home and Thy dwelling-place, and see me, +Thy servant, twisted and gnarled like the roots of a fallen tree. It +will be in Thy hands to raise up or cast down, and the wicked are +before Thee. Strike, God of Battle, and the raging sea, strike and +spare not the wicked, for Thy servant will have waited long." + + * * * * * * + +Gilchrist, who was now the head of the gangers and preventives, turned +on his pillow after Dol Beag had crept out. + +"Ay, Mirren Stuart," said he, "Mirren Stuart that rade the Uist pony +and laughed at me in my young days--maybe, Mirren, ye will come to my +door yet--my _back_ door." + + * * * * * * + +And those two that took the road up through the Glen by the burnside +past the very trees where Bryde and Helen sat on yon June morning when +the spider-webs were floating--John and Kate that dawdled on the road, +for never was a road too long for young folk in love--these two would +be making but the one shadow on the road, for the lass had thrown her +shawl over them both, and for a long time they were in the heather, not +far from Birrican, at a place they will be calling Oliver's garden--the +wherefore I will not know, unless maybe some of Cromwell's men would be +killed there, for I have heard the old folk say that Cromwell's +garrison at the Castle would be put to the sword; but I have no sure +knowledge of the garrison, or of the place of the killing, although I +am hoping that the folk did bravely, for it is never in me to be +forgiving the Drove at Dunbar. But it was not Dunbar that these lovers +were heeding about--ye will have been in the heather with a lass maybe, +so you will be guessing that. + +"Would you be telling the mother of you that we would be for marrying, +Kate?" + +"Yes," said the lass in a whisper, and put her head against the curve +of his breast. "I could be sleeping here." + +"Och, my lass, it is fine to be sleeping in the heather. My father and +his brother would be lying out like the kye in the summer, when they +would be at the smuggling, they will be often telling me. And, Kate," +said he, "you would not be saying any word o' the ploy at the Cleiteadh +mor, for your father, Dol Beag, is not very chief with Dan McBride." + +"It will not be spoken of," said she; but the lass held her man the +closer. "You will not be thinking of going to that place. I could not +be letting you go there now." + +"It will be the rent o' the crofts and steadings, the smuggling money," +said he, "and sair wrocht for, and if they will not be hindering me, I +will be going there. I was hearing at hame that Gilchrist is mad for a +new hoose, and he will have the promise of it if he can be putting +hands on a still, or 'making seizure,' as they will be naming it." + +A shiver went over the lass. "What is it makes ye grue?" + +"I am wishing to greet to think you will be leaving me on that night." + +"Come hame, lass," said McCook, and shook himself as a horse will shake +on a cold day; "there is a goose on my grave too," said he, and laughed +and kissed her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +WHAT CAME OF THE PLOY. + +Bryde and Margaret would be aye at their planning, and the lass with a +glamour of joy at the sewing and marking of linen; and whiles it would +seem that Bryde himself was forgot, but there would be times when they +would be away for hours together, the lass with her two arms clinging +to his, and laughing up into his face, and the folk would be smiling to +be just seeing her, for it was as though her love was so good and great +a power that she must be kind to the whole world. + +"Why will you be loving me?" she would cry, and stand, her great blue +eyes all loving. + +"My dear," Bryde would say, "the day grows brighter when you are with +me; there is peace in my heart and gladness. The flowers are more +beautiful and the sea is grander. Och, I cannot be telling you in +words." + +"I will be content and listen; this is the way of it with me," and she +put her hand to her breast. "There is something here that will grow +when you are near me, and I am telling myself that will be my happiness +choking me. Am I not the daft lass?" + +And little Hamish would be with them often, and Dan and Belle were +proud folk, but walking soberly for fear of too much happiness; but +once when we watched the father and his two sons coming home, and the +young boy between them, begging to be lifted and swung across little +pools. Belle spoke-- + +"Hamish, keep guard," she said in that droll fashion that belonged to +her. "Once when I was young there was a dream of evil came on me, but +I am forgetting it--I am forgetting." + +"I will be loath to part with Bryde," said Dan. "We were long +strangers; but, Hamish, my heart cannot hold the love I will have for +him, and maybe when Hamish Og is grown he will go to Bryde's place, and +Bryde will be coming home. I would be wishing to see a grandson." + +And at the Big House it would be Bryde this and Bryde that, till I am +thinking poor Hugh would be near demented. + +And the night before the wedding Bryde stayed with us, and we had a +great night of it, for Hugh would not be having any other for his best +man, as they will be calling it, and Margaret was to be helping the +lass Helen, and was at Glenscaur already with the Laird and her mother, +and that night Hugh slept with Bryde like boys again, and I would be +hearing the laughing of them. + +In the morning Bryde was up and crying that the sun was shining, and +that it would be time to be on the road. + +"You will not be last at your ain wedding," he would say to Hugh, for +the boy was not very clever with his fingers that day; but we gave him +a good jorum, and he brisked up at that, and we got on the horses and +away, with the bauchles raining round our lugs and the horses sketch. +On all the road the folk would be walking to be seeing the couple, and +it was all we could be doing to be holding the horses, for there would +be salutes from blunderbusses, and flags on the trams of creels, old +flags and tattered from many's the sea, and we came to Scaurdale, and +smuggled Hugh into the house like a thief, for fear he would be seeing +Helen, and got at the dressing of him. + +It was Bryde who had mind of all the freits. + + "Something old and something new, + Something borrowed and something blue," + +he would be singing, for it will not be lucky to be married without the +due observance of these old sayings. + +I would be sitting with Hugh in his room, and Bryde away to be seeing +if all things were ready, and to have a word with Margaret, for this +wedding would be putting things into his head maybe. At last back he +came, tall and swarthy and smiling. + +"She is a beautiful wife you will be getting, Hughie," said he; "and +Margaret and the old women will have her imprisoned, so you will be +coming with me,"--and we took Hugh out under the trees where the place +was made ready, and the guests were gathered, and in a little Helen +came to his side and Margaret with her, and the marrying was begun. + +And the Laird of Scaurdale was lifted out in his chair, very white, but +with a good spirit in him yet. + +It would be Helen I would be watching, for her hand was tight clenched, +and she swayed a little as a flower sways, but she spoke bravely. It +would be a long business, a marriage in these days. + +But when the ring was on her finger and Margaret had lifted the veil, +she turned to her man, and held him to be kissing her. + +"You are kind to me, Hugh," said she in a little low voice. + +And when it would be Bryde's turn to be at the kissing, she kissed his +cheek. + +"I am your cousin now, is it not?" said she, with a little smile, and I +caught her as she swayed, and all her body would be a-quiver like a +fiddle-string. + +There would be a great spread there in the open--pasties of mutton from +black-faced ewes, very sweet and good to be remembering, and fish too, +and fowls roasted and browned, and the crop of them bursting with +stuffing. There was sirloin and pork, and dishes of every kind. There +was ale, good strong ale, that puts flesh on a man if he will be having +the rib to be carrying it. For dainty folk foreign wine, and for grown +men brandy and usquebach. It would be a goodly feast, with much +laughing and neighbourliness among the guests, and there is a droll +thing I am remembering, and that is the good clothes of the folk. If +you will be taking time and rummaging about in some old kist, you will +be finding these clothes to this day, with the infinite deal of sewing +on them, and the beautiful buttons, and you will likely be finding too +an old lease maybe, with all the stipulations anent the burning of kelp. + +I am wishing that you could be with us on the road on such a day, for +every man would be stopping and getting his dram, and giving his good +wishes to the pair before he would be going on with his business. + +And Hugh would be speaking for his wife and himself, and giving his +thanks to the folk for their well-wishing. And the old Laird of +Scaurdale made the lassies keep their faces lowered, for he would be a +bluff hearty man, with little false modesty in him, if indeed he would +be having any of any kind. + +"There is nothing," says he, "will be taming a lass like skelping a +wean, or curing him o' the hives, and it's weans I will be wanting +about the place," says he. + +I will not be telling too much about the talk, for these would be +wilder days than now, as you can be seeing if you will be looking at +the Session Records. + +Then in the evening the dancing would be going on, with the pipers in +their own place, three of them abreast, and piping until their faces +would be shining with the joy of it. Och, the great joyousness of the +dancing, with the lassies taking a good hold of their skirts and +lifting them to be getting the bonny steps in, and the boys from the +glens hooching with upthrown arm, now this and now that, and their +shoes beating out the time as though the music and the dancing was in +the very blood of them, and indeed so it was. + +And there would be fiddlers too, and step-dancing, and singing and +everything to be making merry the heart of a man. + +Hugh and Helen would be leaving the dance at last, and there was a buzz +of laughing, although nobody would be knowing where the pair of them +were to be that night; and it was then that Margaret would be at her +good-nights to Bryde, for they could not be having enough of each other +all that day. + +"It will be you and me next," said Bryde, "Margaret, my little +darling," and she crept closer to him. + +"Take me somewhere," said she, "where the folk will not be seeing." + +And then, "I will have been mad to be doing this all this night," said +she, and pulled his head down to her and kissed him. "Tell me, Bryde, +oh, tell me." + +"I am loving you," said he, and his eyes burning, "loving the grace and +the beauty and the bravery in you," and he lifted her into his arm like +a wean, and his face was bent to hers and her white arms round him. +Her eyes were softly closed, and a little white smile on her face. + +"For ever and ever, my great dark man," she whispered. + +"Darling," said Bryde, "little darling, for ever and ever," and with a +face all laughing and her eyes like stars she ran from him to her room. + +And coming from her door--for he had followed her, laughing at her +dainty finger raised in smiling command--coming from her closed door +with her love about him like a cloud, there met him his cousin's wife, +and he could hear the crying of the dancers below, and Hugh's voice +forbidding pursuit. + +"Good-night," said Helen, and gave him her hand--it was very cold. +"Good-night," and then with a half sob, "Jus' _won_ kiss," she +whispered . . . I am often wondering. . . . + + * * * * * * + +I would be with Belle when Bryde came among the dancers again. Her +eyes were yearning over him. + +"I am wishing I had you home--you will be too happy, my wild boy." + +"There are none to be wishing evil this night," said Bryde, and laughed +down at his mother; and then, "There is no lass so bonny as my mother, +Hamish," and he put his arm round her. "I will be behaving, little +mother," said he, and then Dan came to us and took Belle away. + + * * * * * * + +It made high-water at five in the morning, and there was the last of a +moon showing the darkness on the shore and throwing a gleam on the sea. + +There were folk moving on the beach, all silently except maybe you +would be hearing a sech of a breath, as when a man will be stretching +himself after resting from a load. There would come now and then the +howling of a dog, an eerie sound, and then he would be at the barking a +long way through the night. Sometimes a little horse would come out of +the darkness with a pack-load on his back, and men would be lifting the +load and laying it on the beach, and there would be quiet whispering, +and the little horse be led away and swallowed up in the dark among the +scrog and bushes. And in a while there came the soft noise of muffled +oars, a sound very faint that will be stirring the blood of a man, and +a little knot of folk gathered round the barrels on the beach. + +"That will be the boats now," said Dan McBride. + +"It will be all quiet," said Ronald McKinnon, "and Gilchrist will not +be having his new hoose yet for a wee." + +And Gilchrist--if Ronny had only kent--Gilchrist and his men shifted a +little among the bushes, and old Dol Beag was there among them +trembling a little and his mouth praying. + +John McCook came close to Bryde McBride, and pointed to the very place +where the gangers were lying waiting. + +"Would there be something moving there among the bushes?" said he. + +"A sheep maybe," said Bryde. + +"I am wishing I had the dogs with me," said John. + +There were silent figures of women, with shawls tight about their +shoulders, and they looked a little fearfully to the dark places. + +Margaret was in her first sleep and dreaming, and it was a daft dream, +and her lips curled softly and parted a little, for in her dreams Bryde +would be knocking and knocking at her door. + +"I am just thinking this," she was saying to her dreaming self, +"because he would be tormenting me to be kissing him again," and she +opened her arms and her lips pouted, and then again came the knocking, +low at the first of it, and then growing louder, until at last she +became broad awake, and there would be only a little moonlight in her +room. + +"Who is it?" she said, standing a little fearfully behind her door, and +her heart beating. + +"Let me in; oh, let me in," she could hear a woman's voice, and opened +the door, and a lass flung herself inside. + +"He will be away to the smuggling, mistress," cried the lass, "and I +will be feart, I will be feart, for I told my father--I told my father." + +"Go back to your bed, Kate," said Margaret; "it is the nightmare. Who +will be gone to the smuggling?--there will not be any smuggling." + +"At the Clates, mistress--my man is there, the man I am to be marrying, +and your man, mistress, and his father," and then she got her words. +"It is my father I am dreading," said she. "Dol Beag is my father. I +am thinking he is a little wrong in the head, and to-day my mother came +to be telling me to keep my man beside me. Oh, if my own mistress +would be free I would be telling her, and what would be frightening +her, my poor mistress--with the wrong man in her bed." + +"Out of my way," said Margaret, and she started to her dressing. "Away +from me, with your wicked thoughts, ye traitor." + +"Go, you fool," for she was in a royal rage--"go to the stable and +waken the men. Hurry," she cried--"hurry," and shoved the wench before +her and came to my door, and it was not long until I had the horses +saddled. + + * * * * * * + +Margaret was on Helen's black horse Hillman, her face a white mask and +her lips a thin line. Ye will have heard that Mistress Helen was a +bold rider, but you were not seeing Margaret that night. It has come +to me since that she would be like Bryde in her rage. She had the +black at the stretch of his gallop, and cutting him with the whip, and +a ruthlessness like cold iron was in her voice when she spoke to him. +I do not like to be thinking of her then, for it would not be thus she +would be using horse. + + * * * * * * + +Round a bend of the road in this mad ride we smashed into Hugh and +Helen, their horses walking quietly, and I learned afterwards that they +were to spend their bridal night at the village called Lagg, and had +made their escape quietly. + +I have often wondered why Helen was not on her own black horse that +night, and I think it was that she had put all thoughts of Bryde from +her mind--for Bryde was fond of the black, and would be praising and +petting him often. + +But she kent her horse in the passing, and well she kent his rider. + +"Come on," I cried to Hugh, and gathered my horse under me, for I was +all but thrown. + +"No, no; _they're married_," cried Margaret, and cut again at the +black, although he was half maddened already. + +As he leapt from the lash I heard Helen-- + +"Ah, Hillman," she cried (now Hillman was a by-name for Bryde), and +then, "Where is the so great calm of Margaret?" + +"The gaugers are at the Clates--Gilchrist and Dol Beag and Bryde and +Dan. Can ye not see what will come of it?" I know not what I cried to +Hugh as we galloped. + +But at my words Helen leaned forward on her saddle, and coaxed her +horse in a whisper, and he stretched to the gallop like a hound. + +"A droll beginning this," said Hugh. "Helter-skelter ower the +countryside for a wheen gangers. What sort o' bridal night is this? +Could they no' keep their dirty fighting out o' my marriage. . . ." + +"Ye were not meant to ken, Hugh." + +"And I wish I did not ken. God, look at Helen--look at my wife--look +at yon." + +For Helen was abreast of Margaret and leaning from her saddle, and +speaking to the black horse, and he kent her voice and swerved to his +mistress. + +"Do-you-know-who-he-is-like, my brave Hillman?" said Helen. + +"He is like his mist . . . he is like the devil," said Margaret. + +Sometimes yet I can see Helen's face clear-cut upraised against the +sky, her curling black hair flying loose, and never, never will I +forget her laughing--the devilry and the joy of it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +DOL BEAG LAUGHS AGAIN. + +Angus McKinnon stretched himself on the shore at the Clates. "I am not +liking this waiting," said he to Dan McBride; "McNeilage might have +been standing closer in." + +"It will be the Revenue cutter he is feared of, Angus," said his father. + +"The Revenue boat is lying off the White Rock in Lamlash," said Angus. +"McNeilage will be getting old and sober." + +"Wait a wee, Angus--wait a wee, my boy." It was another McKinnon, a +friend of his own, that spoke. "Things are just right; the wee boats +will be in 'e noo. It is a good park of barley I had, yes, and the +best of it in the kegs." + +"Angus is right, father," said a tall lass with a shawl about her head, +not hiding the bonny boyish face of her. + +"Hooch ay, lass; Angus will be always right by your way of it,--it is +in your bed you should be." + +The wee boats were close inshore now, and the _Gull_ well off, for the +Clates is not a nice place if the wind will be shifting to the suthard. +With the grating of the keel of the first boat on the beach the men +made a start to be lifting the kegs, and carrying them to the boat and +wading, for it is not very safe to let a boat go hard aground if there +will be a hurry to be shoving her off again. + +Into this mix-up of bending and hurrying folk came the voice of +Gilchrist the gauger. + +"In the King's name," he roared, and his men sprang forward. + +And these were the words that I heard when Helen and Margaret flung +themselves from the horses and ran forward into the press of people. + +There was the dropping of kegs and the straightening of folk at the +voice, but I saw the great figure of Dan cooried beside the boat. Then +came Gilchrist's voice again-- + +"Touch nothing--you scoundrels will touch nothing--I mak' seizure in +the King's name. Get roon' them, lads, with your pieces ready," and +the excisemen made a circle of the smugglers. The second small boat +was nearing the shore. + +The lass McKinnon, with the bonny boyish face, stooped to pick up her +shawl, and Gilchrist was jumping and shouting. "A bonny catch," he +cried--"a bonny catch," and at that the boyish lass straightened +herself. "The boats ahoy," she cried, "ahoy, the boat; the gaugers are +on us." + +"Stop the bitch," screamed Gilchrist, and sprang at the lass with his +fist raised. + +"Back, ye damned kerrigan," and Bryde's voice was high like a +bugle-note, and he sprang forward. + +"Dan McBride has the sailors on us," came a shout from Dol Beag, and +then Dan's great voice, laughing, "Fall on, lads; fall on. Into them +with the steel." + +"Fire," screamed Gilchrist--"fire, or we're by wi' it," and the pieces +burst and spattered round us in a wild confusion. With the blaze of +the pieces I saw Dol Beag spring at Bryde as a wild cat springs; +crooked and bestial he was, and his knife flashing, but swifter than +the knife-flash was the love of the maid, who fell as Bryde fell. Into +the bedlam of smoke and noise and groaning men, came the horrible +laughter of a man, wild and high and devilish. + +"McBride, Dan McBride, McBride, Dan McBride, look at the bonny bastard; +look at your bonny bastard." Dol Beag was crawling and writhing on the +beach like a beast, and then suddenly the breath left him. At that +terrible sound, scream and scream of laughing, the excisemen drew back, +and the sailors stood fidgeting and looking half afeared, and there +came the sharp crack of a signal gun from the _Gull_ and the rattling +cr-a-ik, cr-a-ik of halyards. + +"Back on the boats," cried Ronald McKinnon, for well he kent McNeilage +would make sail for only one thing, and that was the Government ship; +and the sailors drew off quickly with their wounded. The excisemen +stood reloading the flintlocks, and Gilchrist, in a flutter of fear, +gave no orders until the skiffs were offshore and rowing hard for the +_Gull_, waiting with her sails all aback. + +But for me, at that laughing I turned, and I saw the ruddy face of Dan +McBride blench like linen, his legs become weak like a man that has a +mortal blow, and he came to his son. Bryde was on his back at his full +stretch on the shore, and his right arm under his head, with a little +switch of hazel in his hand; and lying against his breast with her arms +round his neck was Helen. + +Margaret McBride was on her knees, and her hand held in the fast grip +of her man. + +They brought lanterns round us now, and I would have lifted Helen, for +the dark stain on her back was growing and growing. + +"Let me be," she whispered; "I am happy." + +And then there came on the face of Bryde a slow smile, and his eyes +opened wide. + +"I think I am not hurt--my shoulder--a lass came between----" and then +in a loud voice of terror, "Margaret, Margaret." + +"I am s-safe, Bryde--safe--it is Helen." Margaret was weeping, and at +these words Helen spoke to Bryde, even as we were staunching her wound. + +"My Bryde," said she with a little smile, "and--I--was--almost--the +bride--of Hugh. It--is--droll--poor Hugh." + +Margaret would have taken the proud dark head to her breast, but +Helen's voice came faintly, "J'y suis, j'y reste. Be very good to +Bryde, Margaret, ma belle, while he is with you--you bring him peace +and a great contentment and a so _great calm_." I wonder could she be +smiling. "When he come to me he will 'ave no great calm--no great +contentment--only--only--a great love." + +So passed that proud spirit. + +And her serving-man, John McCook, would be with her on the journey, for +his body was cold on the shore-head, and all the gameness out of it, +for a ganger's bullet found his heart, for all that Kate Dol Beag +thought she had it. But because John McCook was come of good folk, I +took the dagger from Dol Beag's hand in the darkness, and wiped it +clean, and put it back into the sheath, while folk were seeing to the +wound on Bryde's shoulder, for a bullet had passed through it, even as +Helen robbed Dol Beag of his vengeance. + +And of the folk, only those who dressed Helen for her last journey knew +that her death was a dagger-wound, these and our own people. + +The daylight was strong when we would be blowing out the lanterns, and +the _Gull_ was away to the westward of the Craig, and the Revenue boat +hard on her heels, but making little of it; and then came folk and +lifted Dol Beag, and his back would not lie evenly on the board, but +gave his body a cant to one side, and there was no wound on him, for I +think he died of his laughing, and when he would be passing, Dan +McBride covered his face. . . . + +It is after the dark wet days of winter that the sun comes again, +bringing greenness to the world and joy into the voices of birds, and +so came happiness to Bryde and Margaret in the old house of Nourn, for +Hugh could not thole his native place for many years, and indeed did +great things in America. And Margaret McBride would take her sons to +the wee hill and tell them the great tales and the old stories, and her +arm would be on the shoulder of her man, and her eyes resting on him. + +And at night, after the reading, when the boys would be sent scampering +to bed, you would see Bryde carrying a little lass to her +sleeping-place, and Margaret, his wife, following--and they would stand +by the bedside and listen to the laughing--and you will know the name +of that brave little lass. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MCBRIDES*** + + +******* This file should be named 23152-8.txt or 23152-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/1/5/23152 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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