The Lilac Sunbonnet: A Love Story
comes to see me. I had the word o' baith o' them for't. Ralph
Peden says that he comes to see me, an' sae did the faither o'
him--"
Again Mistress Skirving paused, for she was aware that her husband
had turned on her one of his silent looks.
"Drive on aboot yer faither an' John Rorrison," she said; "it's
verra entertainin'."
"Bairdieson," said Winsome, correctingly.
Ralph, now reassured that he was interesting Winsome as well, went
on more briskly. Winsome had slipped down beside her grandmother,
and had laid her arm across her grandmother's knees till the full
curve of her breast touched the spare outlines of the elder woman.
Ralph wondered if Winsome would ever in the years to come be like
her grandmother. He thought that he could love her a thousand
times more then.
"My father," said Ralph, "is a man much beloved by his
congregation, for he is a very father to them in all their
troubles; but they give him a kind of adoration in return that
would not be good for any other kind of man except my father. They
think him no less than infallible. 'Dinna mak' a god o' yer
minister,' he tells them, but they do it all the same."
Winsome looked as if she did not wonder.
"When I kenned yer faither," said the old dame, "he wad hae been
nocht the waur o' a pickle mair o' the auld Adam in him. It's a
rale usefu' commodity in this life--"
"Why, grandmother--" began Winsome.
"Noo, lassie, wull ye haud yer tongue? I'm sair deeved wi' the din
o' ye! Is there ony yae thing that a body may say withoot bern'
interruptit? Gin it's no you wi' yer 'Grandmither!' like a
cheepin' mavis, it's him ower by lookin' as if ye had dung doon
the Bible an' selled yersel' to Sawtan. I never was in sic a
hoose. A body canna get their tongue rinnin' easy an' comfortable
like, but it's 'Woman, silence!' in a yoice as graund an' awfu' as
'The Lord said unto Moses'--or else you wi' yer Englishy peepin'
tongue, 'Gran'mither!' as terrible shockit like as if a body were
gaun intil the kirk on Sabbath wi' their stockin's doon aboot
their ankles!"
The little outburst seemed mightily to relieve the old lady.
Neither of the guilty persons made any signs, save that Winsome
extended her elbow across her grandmother's knee, and poised a
dimpled chin on her hand, smiling as placidly and contentedly as
if her relative's words had been an outburst of admiration. The
old woman looked sternly at her for a moment. Then she relented,
and her hand stole among the girl's clustering curls. The little
burst of temper gave way to a semi-humorous look of feigned
sternness.
"Ye're a thankless madam," she said, shaking her white-capped
head; "maybe ye think that the fifth commandment says nocht aboot
grandmithers; but ye'll be tamed some day, my woman. Mony's the
gamesome an' hellicat [madcap] lassie that I hae seen brocht to
hersel', an' her wings clippit like a sea-gull's i' the yaird,
tethered by the fit wi' a family o' ten or a dizzen--"
Winsome rose and marched out of the room with all the dignity of
offended youth at the suggestion. The old lady laughed a hearty
laugh, in which, however, Ralph did not join.
"Sae fine an' Englishy the ways o' folk noo," she went on; "ye
mauna say this, ye mauna mention that; dear sirse me, I canna mind
them a'. I'm ower auld a Pussy Bawdrous to learn new tricks o'
sayin' 'miauw' to the kittlins. But for a' that an' a' that, I
haena noticed that the young folk are mair particular aboot what
they do nor they waur fifty years since. Na, but they're that nice
they manna say this and they canna hear that."
The old lady had got so far when by the sound of retreating
footsteps she judged that Winsome was out of hearing. Instantly
she changed her tone.
"But, young man," she said, shaking her finger at him as if she
expected a contradiction, "mind you, there's no a lass i' twunty
parishes like this lassie o' mine. An' dinna think that me an' my
guidman dinna ken brawly what's bringin' ye to Craig Ronald. Noo,
it's richt an' better nor richt--for ye're yer faither's son, an'
we baith wuss ye weel. But mind you that there's sorrow comin' to
us a'. Him an' me here has had oor sorrows i' the past, deep
buried for mair nor twenty year."
"I thank you with all my heart," said Ralph, earnestly. "I need
not tell you, after what I have said, that I would lay my life
down as a very little thing to pleasure Winsome Charteris. I love
her as I never thought that woman could be loved, and I am not the
kind to change."
"The faither o' ye didna change, though his faither garred him
mairry a Gilchrist-an' a guid bit lass she was. But for a' that he
didna change. Na, weel do I ken that he didna change."
"But," continued Ralph, "I have no reason in the world to imagine
that Winsome thinks a thought about me. On the contrary, I have
some reason to fear that she dislikes my person; and I would not
be troublesome to her--"
"Hoot toot! laddie, dinna let the Whig bluid mak' a pulin' bairn
o' ye. Surely ye dinna expect a lass o' speerit to jump at the
thocht o' ye, or drap intil yer moo' like a black-ripe cherry aff
a tree i' the orchard. Gae wa' wi' ye, man! what does a blithe
young man o' mettle want wi' encouragement--encouragement, fie!"
"Perhaps you can tell me--" faltered Ralph. "I thought--"
"Na, na, I can tell ye naething; ye maun juist find oot for
yersel', as a young man should. Only this I wull say, it's only a
cauldrife Whigamore that wad tak' 'No' for an answer. Mind ye that
gin the forbears o' the daddy o' ye was on the wrang side o'
Bothwell Brig that day--an' guid Westland bluid they spilt, nae
doot, Whigs though they waur--there's that in ye that rode doon
the West Port wi' Clavers, an' cried:
'Up wi' the bonnets o' bonny Dundee!'"
"I know," said Ralph with some of the stiff sententiousness which
he had not yet got rid of, "that I am not worthy of your
granddaughter in any respect--"
"My certes, no," said the sharp-witted dame, "for ye're a man, an'
it's a guid blessin' that you men dinna get your deserts, or it
wad be a puir lookoot for the next generation, young man. Gae wa'
wi' ye, man; mind ye, I'll no' say a word in yer favour, but
raither the ither way--whilk," smiled Mistress Skirving in the
deep still way that she sometimes had in the midst of her
liveliness, "whilk will maybe do ye mair guid. But I'm speakin'
for my guid-man when I say that ye hae oor best guid-wull. We
think that ye are a true man, as yer faither was, though sorely he
was used by this hoose. It wad maybes be some amends," she added,
as if to herself.
Then the dear old lady touched her eyes with a fine handkerchief
which she took out of a little black reticule basket on the table
by her side.
As Ralph rose reverently and kissed her hand before retiring,
Walter Skirving motioned him near his chair. Then he drew him
downward till Ralph was bending on one knee. He laid a nerveless
heavy hand on the young man's head, and looked for a minute--which
seemed years to Ralph--very fixedly on his eyes. Then dropping his
hand and turning to the window, he drew a long, heavy breath.
Ralph Peden rose and went out.
CHAPTER XXIV.
LEGITIMATE SPORT.
As Ralph Peden went through the flower-decked parlour in which he
had met Jess Kissock an hour before, he heard the clang of
controversy, or perhaps it is more correct to say, he heard the
voice of Meg Kissock raised to its extreme pitch of command.
"Certes, my lass, but ye'll no hoodwink me; ye hae dune no yae
thing this hale mornin' but wander athort [about] the hoose wi'
that basket o' flooers. Come you an' gie us a hand wi' the kirn
this meenit! Ye dinna gang a step oot o' the hoose the day!"
Ralph did not think of it particularly at the time, but it was
probably owing to this utilitarian occupation that he did not
again see the attractive Jess on his way out. For, with all her
cleverness, Jess was afraid of Meg.
Ralph passed through the yard to the gate which led to the hill.
He was wonderfully comforted in heart, and though Winsome had been
alternatively cold and kind, he was too new in the ways of girls
to be uplifted on that account, as a more experienced man might
have been. Still, the interview with the old people had done him
good.
As he was crossing the brook which flows partly over and partly
under the road at the horse watering-place, he looked down into
the dell among the tangles of birch and the thick viscous foliage
of the green-berried elder. There he caught the flash of a light
dress, and as he climbed the opposite grassy bank on his way to
the village, he saw immediately beneath him the maiden of his
dreams and his love-verses. Now she leaped merrily from stone to
stone; now she bent stealthily over till her palms came together
in the water; now she paused to dash her hair back from her
flushed face. And all the time the water glimmered and sparkled
about her feet. With her was Andra Kissock, a bare-legged,
bonnetless squire of dames. Sometimes he pursued the wily burn
trout with relentless ferocity and the silent intentness of a
sleuthhound. Often, however, he would pause and with his finger
indicate some favourite stone to Winsome. Then the young lady,
utterly forgetful of all else and with tremulous eagerness,
delicately circumvented the red-spotted beauties.
Once throwing her head back to clear the tumbling avalanches of
her hair, she chanced to see Ralph standing silent above. For a
moment Winsome was annoyed. She had gone to the hill brook with
Andra so that she might not need to speak further with Ralph
Peden, and here he had followed her. But it did not need a second
look to show her that he was infinitely more embarrassed than she.
This is the thing of all others which is fitted to make a woman
calm and collected. It allows her to take the measure of her
opportunity and assures her of her superiority. So, with a gay and
quipsome wave of the hand, in which Ralph was conscious of some
faint resemblance to her grandmother, she called to him:
"Come down and help us to catch some trout for supper."
Ralph descended, digging his heels determinedly into the steep
bank, till he found himself in the bed of the streamlet. Then he
looked at Winsome for an explanation. This was something he had
not practised in the water of Leith. Andra Kissock glared at him
with a terrible countenance, in which contempt was supposed to
blend with a sullen ferocity characteristic of the noble savage.
The effect was slightly marred by a black streak of mud which was
drawn from the angle of his mouth to the roots of his hair. Ralph
thought from his expression that trout-fishing of this kind did
not agree with him, and proposed to help Winsome instead of Andra.
This proposal had the effect of drawing a melodramatic "Ha! ha!"
from that youth, ludicrously out of keeping with his usual
demeanour. Once he had seen a play-acting show unbeknown to his
mother, when Jess had taken him to Cairn Edward September fair.
So "Ha! ha!" he said with the look of smothered desperation which
to the unprejudiced observer suggested a pain in his inside. "You
guddle troot!" he cried scornfully, "I wad admire to see ye! Ye
wad only fyle [dirty] yer shune an' yer braw breeks!"
Ralph glanced at the striped underskirt over which Winsome had
looped her dress. It struck him with astonishment to note how she
had managed to keep it clean and dry, when Andra was apparently
wet to the neck.
"I do not know that I shall be of any use," he said meekly, "but I
shall try."
Winsome was standing poised on a stone, bending like a lithe maid,
her hands in the clear water. There had been a swift and noiseless
rush underneath the stone; a few grains of sand rose up where the
white under part of the trout had touched it as it glided beneath.