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diff --git a/75546-h/75546-h.htm b/75546-h/75546-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a5d8978 --- /dev/null +++ b/75546-h/75546-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,997 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The Real MacKay | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} +/* Heading Styles */ + h1,h3 { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + clear: both; + font-weight: bold; + page-break-before: avoid;} + +h1 { /* use for book title */ + margin: 1em 5% 1em; + font-size: 180%;} + +h3 { + margin: 2em 5% 1em; + font-size: 140%;} + +.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} /* use with h2 for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; + margin-top: 4em;} + +/* Paragraph styles */ +p {text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em;} + +.unindent {text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em;} + +p.hanging {margin-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +p.hanginglist {margin-left: 7em; + text-indent: -3em; + margin-top: -.5em;} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.indent3 {margin-left: 3em; text-indent: 0em;} +.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em;} + +/* Font styling */ +.smcap {font-style: normal; font-variant: small-caps;} +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} +.muchlarger {font-size: 150%;} +.u {text-decoration: underline;} +span.lock {white-space: nowrap;} + +abbr { border:none; text-decoration:none; font-variant:normal; } + +/* Rules */ +hr { /*default rule across entire width */ + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;}} + +/* Footnotes and Anchors */ + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em; text-decoration: none;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none; + white-space: nowrap; /* keeps footnote on same line as referenced text */ +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin: .25em 5% .25em 5%;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75546 ***</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="u unindent"><i>Reprinted from “The Dunedin Magazine”</i></p> + +<h1 class="nobreak">THE REAL MACKAY</h1> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +(<i>All Rights Reserved</i>)<br> +<br> +<span class="allsmcap">ONE ACT PLAY</span><br> +<br> +<span class="smcap muchlarger">By Donald A. Mackenzie</span><br> +</p> + +<p class="p2 center"><i>Characters</i></p> +<br> +<p class="hanginglist"><span class="smcap">Widow Mackay</span>, <i>tenant of Balree Croft</i>.</p> +<p class="hanginglist"><span class="smcap">Màiri<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Mackay</span>, <i>her daughter, a domestic servant</i>.</p> +<p class="hanginglist"><span class="smcap">“Sandy” Speedwell</span>, <i>artist and poet, of Edinburgh</i>.</p> +<p class="hanginglist"><span class="smcap">Mrs Speedwell</span>, <i>his mother</i>.</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>: <i>The “best room” in a crofter’s cottage in the Scottish +Highlands. To the left a small open window, round which honeysuckle +clings and blooms, affords a glimpse of a blue loch, softly +screened by the drooping branches of a silver birch, and glistening +in bright sunshine. Beside the window Màiri Mackay sits knitting +a white shawl. A folding table, with the leaves down, occupies the +centre of the room and is covered with a Mackay tartan plaid. Upon +it stands a dark blue bowl filled with wild roses. Widow Mackay +sits to the right, at her spinning wheel, between the table and a wide, +open fire-place. Peat smoulders in the grate. To the left of the +fire-place is an “easy chair” (a plain arm-chair with a cushion), and +to the right a nursing chair with short legs; a stool is tilted in front +on a deerskin rug. Against the wall, between the little window and +a bedroom door, is a dark mahogany chest of drawers, on which lies a +bulky family Bible between two gaudy vases. Three chairs are ranged +against the wall to the left, and the floor is covered with flowery waxcloth, +brilliantly new. The walls are adorned with framed portraits +of John Knox, John Bunyan, William Ewart Gladstone, and a Free +Church minister. On the high mantelpiece squat two white porcelain +dogs with black noses, and above it is a set of bagpipes. A “wag-at-the-wa” +clock ticks leisurely to the right of the fireplace.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Time</span>: <i>Early afternoon: a sunny day in late June.</i></p> + + +<p class="p2 hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>stops spinning and looks towards her daughter over her +glasses</i>). You’ll be sitting in a draught, Màiri. Shut the +window or you will maybe catch a cheel<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>—you that looks so +delicate.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Oh! there’s no fear of me, mother. If you won’t be +minding, I would rather have the window open. I love to +breathe the fresh air from the loch. (<i>Takes a deep breath.</i>) +It’s so refreshing after being in a stuffy city, and the honeysuckle +smells so sweet. How quiet it is here; you can listen +to the quietness, so to speak.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Well, well, my treasure, have your own way with it. +Balree is indeed a sweet place, and God’s world is very beautiful. +(<i>Stops spinning.</i>) Màiri, that honeysuckle was planted out +there by your dear father, nineteen years ago, on the very day +you came into the world. He’ll be at his rest now three +years come Martinmas, and every summer his beautiful +flower will be growing and spreading and blooming. The +smell of it goes to my heart like a sweet thought of him. (<i>Sighs +and resumes her work at the spinning wheel, drawing out a thread +and adjusting it.</i>) It’s your own father that would be proud +of you, Màiri, if he was still with us, but the Lord appointed +otherwise. (<i>Sighs.</i>) His will be done. (<i>Goes on spinning.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Màiri rises from her chair, draws a tendril of honeysuckle through +the window and smells it: then she plucks a blossom and puts +it in her blouse. Musing, she leans her elbow on the window, +chin on hand, gazing towards the loch. Her mother stops spinning, +looks up and watches her daughter for a few seconds in silence.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> You are very quiet, Màiri. How you have changed!</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> I was only thinking to myself—just thinking a little.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> It’s me that sees a great difference in you—you that used +to be such a cheery lassie, always laughing and teasing one +and making the jokes. Many times, when you’re away, I +will be smiling here my lone self, thinking o’ the things you +used to be saying and doing. Now, I’ll notice, and I canna’ +help noticing it, that you’re changed so much. I suppose it’s +the city that does it. You’ll have many things, no doubt, +to be thinking over, and maybe, yes, maybe, you’re feeling +just a little dull, now, in this quiet place.... You’ll often +be sitting thinking to yourself in that way. Surely nosing<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> +will be troubling you, m’eudail<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>?</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Màiri does not answer. She sits down, hangs her head and resumes +knitting. Her mother rises, grasping her chin between her +fingers, a look of concern on her face; goes over to the window +and sits besides her daughter.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> And something is troubling you, Màiri, my own. You +canna’ hide it from me. There will be tears in your eyes, +Ochone! what will you be hiding in the deep heart of you? +You shouldn’t be hiding anysing at all, at all, from me, your +own mother.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Màiri shakes her head, takes out her handkerchief and dries her +eyes.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>very softly</i>). You are all I have left in this world—your +father dead, your brother killed in the war in a foreign +land far away. It would break my heart to think you would +be keeping anysing from me. What is it? Tell me (<i>strokes +the girl’s hair</i>), dove of my heart! my fair love!... Màiri +(<i>entreatingly</i>).</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri</span> (<i>resuming her knitting</i>). It was only a foolish thought +(<i>pause</i>)—a thought about one I shouldn’t maybe be thinking +of, now that I’m here.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Ah! has he—has <i>he</i> ... turned false to you, now?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri</span> (<i>quickly</i>). Well, not what you would call false, not that +altogether.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> A lovers’ quarrel, no doubt. You’re young, you’re young, +but the young heart can feel sore. I mind well. I was +once like you, Màiri. Your father and I had once a lover’s +quarrel. But it came all right. Lovers’ quarrels are sometimes +sweet to remember afterwards.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> It’s not what you would call a quarrel either. But we’ve +parted—parted for ever. But don’t be worrying, mother, +I’ll maybe no’ be caring so much as you would think.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Well, well, it’s the way of the world. Maybe you’ll +change your mind yet. Maybe you wass just a little bit to +blame yourself, now, eh? I wouldn’t say you wass, Màiri, +no, no. But girls—bonnie girls like yourself, my dove, will +sometimes be doing things and saying things they’ll no’ quite +intend altogether, and then they’ll be thinking afterwards +that it’s maybe a pity it wasn’t otherwise.... Is he a good +lad, Màiri, steady at his work, no drinking, and always attending +the church? Is he what you would call handsome, now,—big +and manly like your father?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri</span> (<i>smiling</i>). No doubt he would have pleased you. If looks +were everything, you’d be quite satisfied. He’s a gentleman +in every way.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> A Highland lad, too, maybe, and of a good clan?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Well, no’ exactly what you would call Highland; but +his grandfather was a Ross and he’s proud of it.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> So well he might be. There were some fine Rosses, +although they were never like the Mackays, or my own clan, +the great clan Donald. I would like to see your young man, +Màiri. You’ll make it up all right with him yet, eh?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> No, no; it’s all past. He’s fickle, mother—a poppy in +the corn—a butterfly—one you would maybe like to look at, +but not to depend on—changeable as the wind, and cruel +without knowing it—aye! (<i>Sighs.</i>) But don’t be speaking +about him. It’s time I was beginning to forget there’s such +a one in the world.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Aye, so.... (<i>Looking through the window</i>). There’s +Sandy coming.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri</span> (<i>rising quickly in alarm</i>). Who—who?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> It’s only Sandy, oor neighbour. He’s coming to sow the +turnips for me. Ah! Màiri, the neighbours will be very good +to me since your father’s death. Every one of them comes to +do his share o’ work on the croft and keep a roof above my +head. I’ll better be speaking to Sandy. (<i>Exit.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Sandy.... Why should I have thought it was him? +He does not know where I live, and, besides, he wouldn’t come +if he knew, except maybe to wound my heart deeper without +knowing what he was doing.... Why did I tell mother? I +can’t explain everything to her. She cannot understand. +Did Sandy’s mother not tell me that he is not in my station +of life, and that she would be disgraced if he married a servant—a +servant in his mother’s house. Oh! it’s her that wounded +my pride—her thinking she was better than me! a shopkeeper’s +wife (as if that were something great) and me a real +Mackay, with lords and bards and great chiefs in my line.... +Oh! if I only had the money, she wouldn’t despise me so. +But what’s money? Money will not make one a lady.... I +must forget, forget what was—forget Sandy and his mother +and the rest.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>enters</i>). Sandy was asking when you will be going away. +(<i>Sighs.</i>) I said I wasn’t very sure. He’s wondering you haven’t +been down to see his wife who was so ill last winter. Haste +you, my dear, and be calling on her at once. She has been +a good kind friend to me, Màiri.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> I’ll go down just now, mother. But don’t be speaking about +me going away. (<i>Smiles.</i>) I have made up my mind to stay +here with you always after this. You’re getting old and +canna’ be left alone.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> I wish you could aye be here, as you say. (<i>Sighs.</i>) But +we’re too poor, Màiri. It canna’ be. We must bear our +burdens in this world though our hearts should be breaking.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> I have a plan, mother, that will bring us money, and I’m +going to give you a little surprise.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> How can you make money here, lassie? Now, tell me +that.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Keeping visitors. Letting the house. I’ve thought of +it for a long time, and that’s why I brought you things for the +house—the waxcloth, the new blankets, and the rest.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>amazed</i>). Keeping veesitors?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> I saw how it was done last summer when we were holidaying +near Oban. Oh! the people in the west are clever at making +the money in the summer.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Don’t tell me they’re cleverer in the west than in the north. +Who ever heard of such a thing? They haven’t such land +as our land.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> I know a widow near Oban—a Macdougall she is. Her +son has a bicycle and her daughter has a piano. The croft is +a poorer croft than our croft, and they have a slated roof, +a porch at the door, registered grates, water taps in the kitchen, +and a carpet in the best room.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> How did they manage it?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> The visitors, of course.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> The veesitors!</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Ailie Macdougall is a nice girl, and she hasn’t to go to +service the whole year round like me. You see, they get so +much money from the visitors that it keeps them and pays +the rent.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> I’m sure it’s very good of the veesitors. But, Màiri, I +wouldn’t be beholden to anybody. I wouldn’t take charity +money, although I’m a poor widow, from any stranger, +man or woman, however grand. No, no I couldn’t think +of it.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> You don’t understand. The money is payment for rent +and attendance. We’ll let the house to visitors or take in +lodgers, and charge maybe £12 a month with attendance.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> But we canna’ afford to slate the roof and get a piano and +all the rest. You couldn’t ask gentry to stay here, Màiri.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> You’re wrong there, mother. It’s fashionable for the city +gentry to be staying now for holidays in “crofters’ cottages,” +as they call them. They think houses like this are most +artistic. They’re quite right too. This is a finer house +than any in a city—not so grand, of course, but more sweet +and homely in every way. The gentry are beginning to know +that. Oh! mother, you would be surprised to see how they +imitate us.... In the house where I was serving they had +a spinning wheel and a three-legged pot in the drawing-room, +cruisies in the dining-room, horn spoons and wooden ladles, +and old plates and bowls here and there and everywhere as +ornaments. They will pay a lot of money for things we will +just be throwing away.... Maybe they’ll buy the old bagpipes. +(<i>Laughs.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> My grandfather’s bagpipes—the bagpipes of a Gaelic +bard? No, no; I’d sooner starve than part with a thing in +this house. Everything is covered with memories of my +heart.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> I spoke to the Postmaster about letting the house. I +wanted to give you a surprise.... I’ll better be going to see +Sandy’s wife. Now, mother, if the visitors call when I’m +out, you’ll keep them speaking till I return. Don’t take the +first offer. Ask the highest terms you can. (<i>Draws a knitted +shawl over her head.</i>) Now I’ll be off.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Will you not be putting on your feather hat and your +Sunday costume? The like o’ that hat is no’ to be seen in the +glen.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> The shawl is sweeter. If I put on my best hat, people +would think I was getting too proud. (<i>Exit.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>sits at spinning wheel</i>). It’s a queer notion the lassie +will have got into her head. But I must humour her. And +so she’s got a lad; and him and her have had a cast out. +Poor lass! That’ll no’ last long. Blessings be on the dear +heart of her! Any lad <i>my</i> Màiri would keep company with +must be a good lad, and any lad that once set his eyes on <i>my</i> +Màiri will no’ be wanting to lose her. The treasure!... It’s +myself would be thankful to see her married decently and +well.... I’m getting old, as her dear self would be saying. +(<i>Sighs.</i>) My time will no’ be long now.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Enter Mrs Speedwell, attired in summer costume. Of middle age. +Has come from Edinburgh and is staying at the village hotel, +a mile distant from Balree Croft. Looks at the widow, who is +spinning.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> (<i>aside</i>). What a charming picture! How Sandy would +love to paint her! This is the very house for Sandy.... +(<i>Aloud</i>) Good afternoon, Mrs Mackay (<i>smiles</i>)—you’re Mrs +Mackay?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Pardon me, mem, I wass busy, and wouldn’t be seeing you. +Would you kindly sit down?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> Thank you. (<i>Sits down.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Will you be feeling the draught? I’ll—I’ll shut the +window.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> (<i>aside</i>). A charming woman. (<i>Aloud.</i>) No thank you. +The air is so delicately fresh here. This is a delightful district, +Mrs Mackay.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> It is very kind of you to be saying that. Balree has +been my home for five and twenty years. When my man +took me here I thought it the sweetest place on earth, +next to my own glen, of course, and I’ll be content to end my +days in his house, the Lord willing.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> The Postmaster tells me you have rooms to let. My son +is anxious to stay in the country, and I think your cottage will +suit him. He doesn’t know I am here; the Postmaster wired +to him yesterday saying he could get suitable rooms. My son +wants to work in the Highlands during the summer and +autumn.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> To work here? Well (<i>pause</i>), it’s not easy to find work +here. What will his business be?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs. S.</span> Oh! he’s a painter.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Indeet! Well, (<i>pause</i>) he will not get very much +painting to do in this poor place, unless, maybe, of course, +at the shooting lodge, but I’m afraid that it was painted in +the spring.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> (<i>laughing</i>). He’s not a house painter, but an artist. He +paints pictures, you understand.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Oh! yes, yes; I see, I see. I’ll understand.... I’ll be +noticing some gentlemen drawing wonderful pictures here +about in the summer, and some ladies also. And very clever +they are, too. It’s a gift—yes, a great gift, just like making +songs and playing the pipes.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs. S.</span> My son makes songs too—he’s a poet, you know; not +that I can understand his poetry; it’s all Greek to me, but it +amuses him, and that’s everything.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> He must be very clever. My grandfather was a fine poet.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs. S.</span> Oh! really. Sandy will be delighted. He’ll be sure to +buy a copy of your grandfather’s book.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> There is no book: his songs were never put in a book, +but everybody sings them from Reay to Lochaber.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs. S.</span> How interesting! I’m sure you will be very friendly +with my son. Perhaps you will make more of him than I can. +His manner is irritating to me, and we’re not very good friends +at present.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> I hope he’s no’ taking the drink.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> Oh, no! but the poor boy has a temperament.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> A bad temper?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> No, he’s not bad tempered, but very moody, inclined to be +melancholy at times. And he’s so unconventional. He wants +to return to Nature, he says, and in trying to be natural he +has grown quite eccentric. He’s not like an ordinary city man +at all.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Gentlemen are often strange in their ways. They have +so little to do that they cannot help taking queer notions.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Perhaps. He’s tiresome at home but he’s +absolutely unbearable on a holiday; he won’t even dress +himself decently. He makes one climb dreadful hills to see +the sun setting or the moon rising, and is continually drawing +one’s attention to the light falling here and there. He’s in +love with Nature, of course.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> With whom did you say?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> He’s in love with the country, the fine scenery, and so on.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> And why for no?... God’s beautiful world.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> I admire the country very much in the summer. It’s so +restful and sets one up so. But I can’t understand how you +exist during the winter season in this solitary place.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> It’s as beautiful in winter as in summer. Many times I +will be looking through the window there to see the moon +rising over the loch on a winter’s night when the ground is +white and sparkling and all the world is at peace. It is like +a dream of Heaven.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> You have an eye for the beautiful, Mrs Mackay; but you +don’t always get moonlight nights and clear days in the winter. +(<i>Shrugging her shoulders.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Every day is different and every day has its own beauty, +mem.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> You will get on splendidly with my son. I’m so glad I +have come here. You set my mind at ease. I can quite see +you will have a strong influence over him. So I had better +let you into my little secret, and perhaps you will help me. +My son is in love, Mrs Mackay, terribly in love. At least +he thinks he is.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Indeet!</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> I shouldn’t mind that so much. But he is in love with a +girl far below him in rank. It worries me very much.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> I see.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> (<i>confidentially</i>). Do you know he actually wanted to +marry one of my servants—the tablemaid.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Surely she must be a very attractive girl.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> That’s it. A pretty girl, naturally refined, an excellent +servant, but not a suitable wife for a rich husband. A foolish +marriage would ruin my son’s social prospects. I could never +hold up my head again if such a thing happened. So I had +to put my foot down. I sent the girl away and told her my +son had asked me to do so, but I told my son the girl had left +of her own accord to free herself of his undesired attentions. +It was a terrible thing to have to do.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> A very terrible thing, indeet, to be telling what was maybe +not true.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> Yes, it cost me a pang or two of conscience, but I knew +it was for the best. The poor boy has suffered, but, as his +sister says, he is recovering slowly. A spell of hard work +will do him a lot of good. I hope you will help me by encouraging +him to work, Mrs Mackay. Praise his work and keep +him at it. Tell him he is improving every day. He likes to be +praised. All artists and poets do; they live on praise or the +hope of praise. They prefer praise to money, poor fellows.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> There are more desirable things in this world than +money; all we require of it is just a little for our daily needs.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> Which vary, of course. I hope you’ll do your best to help +me, Mrs Mackay. I feel I can trust you.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> If I can do anything to help you, I’ll do it, I’m sure. +But it’s little I can talk to him about, I’m afraid.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Discuss his soul with him. He is great on his +soul.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> I’m glad to hear that, mem, yes, I am indeet. I’ll speak +to our new minister about him; he’s a very earnest lad.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> I don’t quite mean that. When my son speaks about his +soul, he means his artistic impulses or his affections, or, perhaps, +his affectations. For instance, when he is painting a picture, +he talks about painting his soul. He says his poetry is full of +soul. And, do you know, he called that servant girl “the +companion of his soul.”</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>sighs</i>). Ochone! It’s a terrible way to be speaking about +his eternal soul. (<i>Rocks herself with clasped hands.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> Yes, rather absurd, isn’t it? We old-fashioned people +keep our souls for our religious life, of course; for the church, +not for the studio. But do not heed his little ways and his +absurd remarks. Humour him and flatter him judiciously. +That’s what I always do. (<i>Rises.</i>) I think I’ll walk to the station +to meet him. He’ll get a surprise to see me here. I want to be +reconciled to the dear boy before I go on holiday myself. How +far is it to the station, Mrs Mackay?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> It’s two miles round by the road, but there’s a short cut +across the moor. (<i>Looking through the window.</i>) If you will +ask the postman, who is just coming, to show you the way, +he’ll put you right. It’s just a little over half a mile to the +station by the short cut.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> Thank you so much. Good evening, Mrs Mackay. I’ll +see you later on. (<i>Exit.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> A nice lady, but one that’s needing to be spoken to very +seriously about her own soul. I wonder what sort o’ minister +she’ll be sitting under. She’s no’ afraid to be telling lies to +her son and her servant for fear they will get married, and +maybe they’ll be very fond of one another. It’s doing the +devil’s work to come between young people in love; and if +they’re meant for one another it’s no’ her or anybody else will +keep them apart.... I wonder what Màiri will say when I +tell her.... And, oh! dear me, Màiri will not be pleased +with me. I never said a word about money. I never thought +on such a thing. And worst of all, I never asked the lady +her name. Am I no’ the stupid one?</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Motor horn sounds in the distance.</i>]</p> + +<p class="indent3">I wonder who that will be. The doctor, very likely. Somebody +must be ill. (<i>Looking through the window.</i>) It’s no’ the doctor, +but a strange gentleman coming this way. It canna’ be the +lady’s son, for he’s coming by train. This will be another +veesitor, but he’s too late. I wish Màiri was here. I’m no’ +fit to be speaking to the veesitors.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Enter Sandy Speedwell.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Good day to you, sir, I’m ferry glad to see you, indeet. +Will you be taking a chair?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> I’m your lodger, Mrs Mackay. I had a wire from the +Postmaster and motored here with a friend. This is a +beautiful glen.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> I hope there’s no mistake. Will you be the gentleman +who is a painter and a poet too?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy</span> (<i>astonished</i>). Really you surprise me, madam. What +little bird has been carrying tales about me? I thought I +had reached the back of the world.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> A lady called here, sir, and was telling me. <span class="lock">But——</span></p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> A lady? What lady? (<i>Anxiously.</i>) Your niece, your +daughter, your cousin—who is she, what is she? A young lady +or an old lady?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>smiling</i>). No relation of mine, sir. You’ll soon be +seeing her yourself. Maybe I’ll better go and tell her you +are here. She’s neither young nor old, but somesing between +the two. (<i>Aside.</i>) I musn’t be telling him it was his own mother.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> No, don’t go. I’m in no mood to meet any of my acquaintances. +(<i>Aside.</i>) Those prying gossips! One can’t go a +step for them. (<i>Aloud.</i>) I prefer to talk to yourself, Mrs +Mackay, but I must ask you to do me a special favour.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> I’m at your service, sir.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> <i>Don’t</i> call me “sir.” My name is Sandy.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Indeet. A very homely name indeet, <i>sir</i>—I beg your +pardon—there will be one or two Sandys in this same glen +already.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Splendid! I’ll be able to hide myself. If anybody calls +here asking for Sandy, you’ll send them to some other Sandy.... +(<i>Gazes steadfastly at Mrs Mackay.</i>) Look through the +window, Mrs Mackay.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>alarmed</i>). What is it?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Sit down, please, don’t move. You make an excellent +picture. Just look towards the window. (<i>Widow looks +nervously.</i>) Ah! wonderful; she was Spring, you are late +September. (<i>Sighs.</i>) I must paint you.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>astonished</i>). Paint me?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> I will paint your portrait and present it to you afterwards.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>aside</i>). Màiri said the veesitors were so kind to people. +(<i>Aloud.</i>) That’s very good of you, <span class="lock">Mr——</span></p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Sandy.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Mr Sandy.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> No, simply Sandy. (<i>Laughs.</i>) Simple Sandy, if you like, +or just Sandy.</p> + +<p class="hanging">Widow (<i>aside</i>). So simple and plain; he must be a born gentleman. +(<i>Aloud.</i>) I’ll be trying to remember. (<i>Smiles.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy</span> (<i>musingly</i>). What is there in you Highland people that +makes you seem all alike, I wonder? When you smile, you +remind me of—of someone I knew. A Highland lady also. +(<i>Aside.</i>) Ah! dear me, can I never get her out of my mind?—Màiri, +Màiri, my soul calls you. You haunt me night and +day. (<i>Aloud.</i>) This is a very beautiful little house. What a +rare window! And this fire-place! (<i>Sits down on a +stool.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Take the easy chair, if you please. I’m sure you’re +feeling tired.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Is that your most comfortable chair, Mrs Mackay?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>stiffly</i>). Yes, it will be, but maybe by next <span class="lock">year——</span></p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Then come and sit in it, please, and speak to me. I’m +dull, madam. (<i>Sighs.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>pokes up the peat</i>). It’s a poor fire, indeet, and there’s +nothing so cheery as a bright fire. I hope you’ll be excusing +the old fire-place, but maybe by next year we’ll have a +registered grate. (<i>Sits down.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> (<i>standing up</i>). Heavens! don’t speak about such a thing, +never think of changing your grate. It’s perfect, madam. +(<i>Smiles.</i>) I must paint this fire-place, and you must sit beside +it at your spinning wheel. (<i>Glances round the room.</i>) I will +give you some pictures to hide those on the wall—those +frowning fellows—pah!</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>aside</i>). I must mind to be humouring him. (<i>Aloud.</i>) +You are too kind, indeet. But first I will give you something +to eat. (<i>Rises.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Sit down, Mrs Mackay. I’m not hungry. Please do not +go away. (<i>Gazes in her face.</i>) Do sit down. (<i>Aside.</i>) How +like Màiri she is. I seem to see Màiri everywhere, yet I +cannot see her.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> I’m afraid you’ll have to be excusing me. I have to go +for a little message, but I’ll not be long. I’m sure you will +be excusing me, now.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> I beg your pardon, Mrs Mackay. It’s selfish of me to +detain you.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>smiling.</i>) I’ll soon be back. (<i>Aside.</i>) I must hurry after +his mother and tell her. The poor lad is eating out his heart +because he has quarrelled with her. (<i>Aloud.</i>) Be amusing +yourself till I return, Mr Sandy—I mean Sandy. (<i>Aside.</i>) I’ll +better hurry and get back before Màiri comes. (<i>Exit.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy</span> (<i>Alone. Sits before the fire on the low stool. Elbows on +knees and face between his hands.</i>) I cannot escape Màiri. +Everywhere I go I think of Màiri. (<i>Takes a sheet of notepaper +from his pocket and reads</i>):</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indent0">Star of my soul, can I forget?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I dreamed not that my star would set.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ah! now my heaven is dim and bare,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou wert so bright, thou wert so fair—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dwells falsehood in such eyes as thine?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Came poison from thy lips divine?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My soul is——</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="indent3">Pah! What mockery—jingling mockery!</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Flings his poem in the fire. As the flame leaps up the door opens +and Màiri enters. Sandy looks round, utters an exclamation +of surprise: stands up, faces Màiri. The lovers gaze at one +another, amazed and silent for a few seconds.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Màiri.... You?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri</span> (<i>with emotion</i>). Why—why have you—have you followed +me here?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> I have been searching for you everywhere, <span class="lock">but——</span></p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Oh! leave me alone. Why, why?—Have you seen my +mother? Where is she?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> She has just gone out, but will return soon.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> I’ll go after her.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy</span> (<i>strides forward and seizes Màiri’s hand</i>). Oh! do not +leave me like that, Màiri. Will you not speak to me, if not +for my own sake, at least for the sake of old times?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Why should you want to be speaking to me? Your +mother told me what you said. Do you think I can forget +so soon? Let me go....</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Màiri, what do you mean? What did my mother tell you?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Ah! do not be fooling me. You may have fooled me in +<i>your</i> mother’s house, but you’ll never fool me in <i>my</i> mother’s +house.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Fooling you? I don’t understand.... Is this your +home, Màiri?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri</span> (<i>raising herself stiffly</i>). Well you know whose house you +are in. (<i>Drawing her hand away.</i>) Now, leave it! and never +darken our door again. I am not your servant any longer, sir.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> If you ask me to go, I certainly will. But before I do, +let me tell you this, Màiri: I have never asked my mother +to say anything to you about me.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Perhaps not. But she told me all.... Are you going now?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy</span> (<i>brokenly</i>). Màiri, do not break my heart. Do not spurn +me, as if I were a leper. Oh, Màiri, if you must send me away, +once again, let us part as friends.... Why, oh why, did you +not tell me yourself that you had grown tired of me? Why +did you ask my mother to repeat your cruel words?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Your mother? My cruel words? I never gave any +message to your mother.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Never gave.... Has my mother lied to me?... +When I returned from my holiday and found you had gone, +I was broken-hearted, and what I felt most and feel most is +that you never even left a letter for me. If only you had, +I should have been better able to bear it....</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> I’ll just ask you one question before you go. What did +you tell your mother to say to me?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Nothing! I never spoke to her about you after I told +her we were engaged, until that black evening when she seared +my soul with your message—the message she said you left +for me.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Màiri sinks in a chair, covers her eyes with her hand, and sobs.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Màiri, Màiri, I love you more than ever. Forgive me if +I have offended you! Have pity on me! I have never +loved another. I will never love another. (<i>Kneels before +her.</i>) If you cannot love me, do not despise me. If you wish +me to go away, do not let us part except as old friends. (<i>Entreatingly.</i>) +Màiri, speak to me, Màiri.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Màiri suddenly takes his head in her hands and kisses his forehead.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> My love, I cannot leave you now.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>They gaze at one another in silence.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Then it is not true that you wished to leave me?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> No, no, Màiri. And it’s not true that you had grown +tired of me?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Tired of you, Sandy? The heart of me has been hungering +for you day and night since last we parted.</p> + +<p class="indent3">[<i>Voices are heard outside.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> Your mother is coming. (<i>Looks through the window.</i>) +Heavens! my mother is with her.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> Your mother?... Oh! let me hide myself.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy.</span> I don’t wish to see her either. I shall never speak to her +again. Where can we go?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri.</span> To the kitchen. We can slip out after they come in here.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Exit Sandy and Màiri. Enter Mrs Mackay supporting Mrs +Speedwell, who is limping; she has met with an accident and is +slightly hysterical.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> Be sitting down, mem. Try to compose yourself.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> Thank you, Mrs Mackay, you are so kind—oh! dear, +dear, where is my son?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow.</span> He must have gone out to look at the scenery. He’ll +soon be back, I’m sure. Just you settle down nicely now, +mem. I’ll bathe your foot for you. I’ll better be putting +the big kettle on the kitchen fire. (<i>Exit. Voices heard +within</i>....) Are <i>you</i> here, Màiri dear? And Mr Sandy, +too?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> (<i>starting</i>). Sandy and Màiri. Can it <span class="lock">be?——</span></p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>re-enters</i>). I’m sorry, mem, but—but (<i>with agitation</i>) +I cannot understand—your son refuses to come in.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> (<i>rising</i>). Then I will go to my son.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Limps towards the door, sees her son and Màiri.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> Sandy ... Màiri ... come here—come here at once. +Do not go out and leave me in misery. I wish to speak to +you both.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Sandy and Màiri enter. Both look stern and defiant.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> Let me sit down. I want to speak to my son and Màiri.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Widow assists her towards the arm-chair.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>addressing her daughter</i>). Is this your young man, Màiri +dear?</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Màiri</span> (<i>hiding her face in Sandy’s arm</i>). Yes, mother (<i>faintly</i>).</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>nervously</i>). I think I will better be putting the big +kettle on the kitchen fire. (<i>Walks towards the door.</i>)</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> No, no, come back; please sit down, Mrs Mackay. I +wish you to hear all I have got to say.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Mrs Mackay sits opposite Mrs Speedwell, who is in the “easy +chair.” Sandy and Màiri stand beside the table, arm in arm.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> (<i>addressing Mrs Mackay</i>). When you found me lying +helplessly on the moor, my sprained ankle sinking into a +bog, I thanked you and you said, “It’s not me you should +be thanking, but Providence.” You were right there, Mrs +Mackay. The hand of Providence arranges all things. +Providence brought me here to be punished for my sin; Providence +brought these two together (<i>pointing to Sandy and +Màiri</i>) at the same time.... When I was lying on that +dreadful lonely moor, expecting to meet an awful death—to +die there alone—the thoughts that were uppermost in +my mind were about my sin against your daughter and my +own son. Now I am going to ask their forgiveness.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy</span> (<i>impulsively, hastening towards her</i>). No, no. Don’t +ask my forgiveness (<i>kisses her</i>), but Màiri’s only.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> (<i>turning to Màiri</i>). Màiri dear (<i>entreatingly and softly</i>).</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Sandy goes towards Màiri and leads her to his mother.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> Kiss me, my ... daughter.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Sandy grasps Mrs Mackay’s hand. The old woman rises to her +feet.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy</span> (<i>gleefully</i>). My mother has robbed you of your daughter. +Let me take her place and be your son.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Widow</span> (<i>with emotion</i>). Be you a good man to <i>my</i> Màiri, for +<i>my</i> Màiri has been a good daughter to me.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Màiri comes forward and kisses her mother.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Sandy</span> (<i>taking Màiri’s arm</i>). Come on! hurry, hurry! Let us +boil the big kettle on the kitchen fire.</p> + +<p class="hanging">[<i>Màiri smiles radiantly and Mrs Speedwell laughs. The widow +sinks into a chair.</i>]</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Mrs S.</span> Dear Mrs Mackay, but for my sore foot I think I would +dance to you. (<i>Màiri and Sandy turn at the door and laugh. +The widow smiles.</i>)</p> + + +<p class="p2 center"> +(<span class="smcap">Curtain</span>)<br> +</p> + + +<p class="p2 footnote"><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> <abbr title="pronounced">pron.</abbr> Mah’ri.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> chill.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> nothing.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> <abbr title="pronounced">pron.</abbr> mai’tl, <abbr title="Gaelic"><i lang="gd">Gael.</i></abbr>, my treasure.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h3>Transcriber’s Note:</h3> +</div> + +<p>Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent +hyphenation in the text and were not changed. Jargon, dialect, +obsolete, and alternative spellings were not changed. Inconsistent +punctuation after "Mrs" was not changed.</p> + +<p>Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the +end of the book.</p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75546 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |