The Heather-Moon
Going on to Aberdeen, we ran along a fine coast dotted with ruined
castles--Dunottar for one, where the Regalia was hidden once.
We stopped at Arbroath, which Doctor Johnson admired, to see the
great shell of an Abbey, red as dried blood; and all the old town
is built out of it, so no wonder there isn't much left but an
immense nave. But just think, Arbroath is Sir Walter Scott's
'Fairport,' and I must read "The Antiquarian" again, all about the
caves and the secret treasure found in them. As for the treasure of
the Abbey, it is nothing less than the heart of William the Lion.
He had it nicely buried near the high altar, as long ago as the
twelfth century, wasn't it? But in 1810 they dug it up, found it
had ossified, and now they simply have it lying about in a glass
case, practically mixed up with the bones of a lady who left money
to the Abbey (she wouldn't, if she'd known what they'd do!) and the
singularly long thigh bones of a particularly wicked earl. It was
an earl who married a sister of the Lion's, and, because he was
jealous, threw her out of the window.
We had to go through Montrose, where the great Marquis was born,
and where Sir James Douglas set sail with the Bruce's heart (what a
lot of hearts there were travelling about then!) and where now the
most curiously exciting things are the Bridie Shops. I _had_ to
know what a 'bridie' meant, so we stopped to see; but it's only a
rolled meat pasty they love in Forfarshire; and brides are supposed
to batten on them at their weddings. To please me, Basil would have
made a detour to see 'Thrums,' which is really Kerriemuir, you
know. And we should have had to pass through Forfar--the 'Witches
Har'--and go on the road that leads to mysterious, wonderful
Glamis. I was longing to do it, but Mrs. Vanneck wanted to arrive
in Aberdeen in time to do some shopping! I gave up like a lamb,
almost hating her inwardly; but afterward I felt better about it,
for the Aberdeen shops are so nice. They sell pink pearls, out of
Scottish rivers--perfect beauties. I bought you a brooch, and I do
hope you'll like it. I don't know much about such things; and of
course you have gorgeous jewellery; but this pearl is such a
wonderful colour, like snow touched with sunrise.
My eyes and hair were full of granite by the time we got to
Aberdeen, because the road is made of it, and the dust sparkles
like diamonds.
So does Aberdeen sparkle like diamonds. I shouldn't have thought a
city all gray like that, could be so handsome. But it is a gray
bright and silky as the wings of doves, and in some lights pale as
moonbeams. Sunset was beginning when we arrived, and on the houses
and bridges and river, and even on the pavements of the broad
streets, there was the same gray-pink sheen as on the pearl I
bought for you.
In the morning we went to see the University, and the Cathedral
with its lovely rose-pink pillars, and old painted Scandinavian
ceiling. Everything would have passed off charmingly, if Basil had
not begun to be rather foolish and unlike himself, while he and I
were in the Cathedral together. Fortunately, an old friend of his
he hadn't seen for years, appeared unexpectedly at the critical
moment, and invited us to visit him near Aboyne. I hadn't quite
time to say 'no' to Basil definitely, and we haven't gone back to
the subject since, so I am hoping for the best. I used to think it
would be _heavenly_ to have a proposal, but now, I realize that it
is much overrated.
Your loving
BARRIE,
Who hopes she hasn't bored you.
LETTER FROM BARRIE TO SOMERLED
DEAR SIR KNIGHT: I must write to tell you what a surprise
I had in Aberdeen. Basil took us all to a biograph theatre--the
first one I ever saw--and one set of pictures was labelled, 'A
Gretna Green Wedding of the Olden Days.' How my heart beat!--and
not for nothing, because, oh, Sir Knight, it was _our_ wedding! My
face never showed once, but the hair looked like mine; and _your_
face was just like yours and nobody else's, in spite of the
old-fashioned costume. Basil said out loud, 'By Jove!' and the
Vannecks recognized you, and asked all sorts of questions. I had to
tell them the story, but I didn't mind a bit. In fact, I think I
was proud. The pictures were coloured, so perhaps that was one
reason they guessed, for my hair was so red. I told Basil I always
wanted to be married at Gretna Green, and now I _have_ been. But he
had the air of being rather _shocked_. I shouldn't have thought he
was that kind of person.
Afterward, he was afraid that he had offended me; but I hadn't
cared at all. However, he has been kinder than ever since, as if to
make up. Walking about in the Cathedral next day, we met a
delightful man, actually the _Head of a Clan_, who had been in
Canada and had known Basil there. He invited us to visit at his
place near Aboyne, on Deeside--just think, not far from where
Macbeth was killed!--and of course that enchanted Mrs. Vanneck, who
has an insatiable yearning to see the inside of Scottish houses.
His is a beautiful house. I must tell you about it. Maybe you
remember the road from Aberdeen to Aboyne, through lovely forests
and mountains, and how by and by you come to Deeside, and the
Grampians. The Chieftain we went to visit owns a whole mountain,
and many miles of land besides; and when you arrive at his estate
there are no gates to drive into. You wind on and on, along an
exquisite avenue through the woods, and you would not know you were
on any one's property if you hadn't been told beforehand, though it
is all beautifully kept--not too smart and trim, but just right to
be picturesque and romantic. There's no impression of 'This is
mine, not yours. _You_ are here only on sufferance!' Instead, the
trees and hills and heather seem to say gently, 'This is a part of
the world where our master lives, because it is lovely and he loves
it. He makes you welcome to come and go as you will, whoever you
are, as if it were your own.' Don't you think that is a charming
impression? And afterward we found out that the doors of this
Chieftain's house are never locked. Mostly in the summer they stand
wide open all night, although he has beautiful old silver, and
quantities of valuable pictures and things which have been in his
family more or less ever since there was a Scotland. It is a dear
old sixteenth-century house, with networks of black oak beams, and
lots of quaint bow-windows that look out on lovely lawns and
flower-gardens, and box or holly hedges, and yew trees cut in
fantastic shapes.
We stayed one whole day and two nights. Wasn't it good of him to
have us? In all the corridors there are carpets and curtains of the
Chieftain's hunting tartan. I loved it. I do hope you have dogs'
heads and antlers, and tartan curtains and carpets and things at
your castle at Dhrum? It is yours, you know! I wonder if I shall
ever see it?
I can't tell you how excited I was when the Chieftain and several
other Highland men he had staying in his house-party wore the kilt
to dinner. All their knees were baked to exactly the right brown;
but he was the smartest of the men (though some were very young and
handsome), because he, being the head of the Clan, had a green
velvet coat. Poor Basil and Mr. Vanneck in their ordinary evening
things looked like _nothing at all_. I was quite sorry for them,
but so glad I hadn't to sit by one at the table, as I wanted only
to talk to the kilted men. I wore that white frock you chose for
me--do you remember?--and a sash of the MacDonald of Dhrum dress
tartan, which I found in Aberdeen. All during dinner the pipers
piped, and I was so thrilled I could scarcely eat. Afterward there
was an impromptu dance in a bare, tartan-draped room, where it
seemed that Macbeth could quite well have been entertained. I
thought I should have to look on, of course, as I've never learned
to dance; but that dear Chieftain taught me the 'Petronella,' which
is very pretty and easy to pick up. It seems as if one could not
help dancing to the music of the pipes; don't you find it so? Queen
Mary is supposed to have introduced the Petronella to Scotland, the
tallest man with the brownest knees told me; and Francis I brought
it from Spain to France. It is quite a Spanish sort of dance,
though Scotland has adopted it. I learned a lovely Highland
schottische, too; and after I had seen others dancing the reels
(ought I to say foursomes or eightsomes?) I tried those too, and
got on well, everybody said. But the reel is a dance you can dance
_only_ with your own hair. Mine, which I had pinned up very neatly,
came down. And one of the girls had a curl come _off_. Luckily she
didn't seem to care. She said that accidents would happen on the
best regulated heads.
I do so wonder, by the way, what a Highlander would do if he
happened to be born with legs so crooked that he couldn't wear the
kilt? I suppose he would have to emigrate when very young, or else
stop in bed all his life.
In the morning a dignified piper named Donal played us awake,
walking round and round the house. It delayed my dressing
dreadfully, pausing to gaze him out of sight every time he passed
under my window. I could have cried when he stopped; but he played
more while we had breakfast. I sat next to an Englishman, and would
you believe it, the loveliest lament got on his horrid nerves, and
he said in a low voice, 'Shall I be able to _live_ through it?' If
I had been engaged to him I should have broken it off at once.
The Chieftain has a friend who is a Princess--not a little
'pretend' princess like me, but a real one with a capital 'P'--and
he introduced us to her at a big garden party he was having at his
place on our day there. 'They are going on to Braemar to-morrow,'
he said; and she being as kind and hospitable as he, promptly
invited us to lunch with her at Braemar Castle. Mrs. Vanneck was
pale with joy!
We left from the Chieftain's early in the morning, and Donal
played us away, on the best run Blunderbore has given us yet,
through what I am sure is true Highland scenery. There are castles
dotted about everywhere; and I saw my first Highland
cattle--adorable little shaggy beasts with forelocks like sporans,
and innocent short faces. Their eyes were so wide apart it seemed
that they might be able to see round all the corners. A cherubic
bull tried to charge Blunderbore, but changed his mind at the last
moment owing to the persuasions of his female friends. The rough,
dark brown forms somehow emphasized the beauty of the wild
background, the hills painted golden and purple with bracken and
heather, the mountains (for there seem always to be mountains in
the distance in Scotland) looking exactly the colour of violets
against the hyacinth blue of the sky. All sorts of Highland things
got in our way, counting deer; and I made up rules for creatures
which it would be very useful if they could be taught to obey.