and bootsin-doors, ran errands, and did all kinds of odd jobs out of doors. Butabove all Sandie was a fisherman. Old as he was, Squire McLeod, orLaird, as he was most often called, went to the river, and Sandie wasalways with him. The old man soon tired; then Sandie took the rod, andno man on all Deeside could make a prettier cast than he. The salmonused to come at his call.
"Hullo!" said Laird Fletcher, "where did _you_ come from?"
"Just ran round, sir, to see if you wanted your horse."
"No, no, Sandie, not for another hour or two."
The truth is that Sandie had been behind the arbour, listening to everyword that was said.
Sandie slept in a loft above the stable. It was there he went now, andthrew himself on his bed to think.
"Folks shouldn't speak aloud to themselves," he thought, "as LairdFletcher does. Wants Farmer Nicol got out of the way, does he? The oldrascal! I've a good mind to tell the police. But I think I'd bettertell Craig Nicol first that there is danger ahead, and that he mustn'twear his blinkers. Poor man! Indeed will I! Then I might see what theLaird had to say as well. That's it, Sandie, that's it. I'll have twastrings to my bow."
And Sandie took an enormous pinch of snuff and lay back again to muse.
I never myself had much faith to put in an ignorant, deformed,half-dwarfed creature, and Shufflin' Sandie was all that, bothphysically and morally.
I don't think that Sandie was a thief, but I do believe he would havedone almost anything to turn an honest penny. Indeed, as regardsworking hard there was nothing wrong with Sandie. Craig Nicol, thefarmer, had given him many a half-crown, and now he saw his way, orthought he did, to earn another.
Well, Sandie, at ten o'clock, brought round Laird Fletcher's horse, andbefore mounting, the Laird, who, with all his wealth, was a wee bit of aniggard, gave him twopence.
"The stingy, close-fisted, old tottering brute. Tuppince, eh!"
Shufflin' Sandy shook his fist after the Laird.
"_You_ marry our bonnie Annie?" he said, half-aloud. "Man, I'd soonersee the dearie floating down the Dee like a dead hare than to see herwedded to an old fossil like you."
Sandie went off now to his bed in the loft, and soon all was peacearound Bilberry Hall, save when the bloodhounds in their kennels liftedup their bell-like voices, giving warning to any tramp, or poacher thatmight come near the Hall.
Annie knelt reverently down and said her prayers before getting intobed.
The tears were in her eyes when she got up.
"Oh," she said to her maid, "I hope I haven't hurt poor Mr Fletcher'sfeelings! He really is a kind soul, and he was very sincere."
"Well, never mind, darling," said Jeannie; "but, lor, if he had onlyasked _my_ price I would have jumped at the offer."
CHAPTER TWO.
"THERE IS DANGER IN THE SKY."
"What!" said Annie Lane, "would you really marry an old man?"
"Ay, that would I," said the maid. "He's got the money. Besides, he isnot so very old. But let me sing a bit of a song to you--very quietly,you know."
Jeannie Lee had a sweet voice, and when she sang low, and to Anniealone, it was softer and sweeter still, like a fiddle with a mute on thebridge. This is the little song she sang:
"What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, What can a young lassie do with an old man? Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie To sell her poor Jenny for silver and land.
"He's always complaining from morning till eenin', He coughs and he hobbles the weary day long; He's stupid, and dozin', his blood it is frozen-- Oh! dreary's the night wi' a crazy old man!
"He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers-- I never can please him, do all that I can; He's peevish and jealous of all the young fellows-- Oh! grief on the day I met wi' an old man!
"My old Aunty Kitty upon me takes pity: I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan; I'll cross him and rack him until I heart-break him, And then his old brass will buy a new pan!"
"But, oh, how cruel!" said Annie. "Oh, I wish you would marry thatLaird Fletcher--then he would bother me no more. Will you, Jeannie,dear?"
Jeannie Lee laughed.
"It will be you he will marry in the long run," she said; "now, I don'tset up for a prophet, but remember my words: Laird Fletcher will be yourhusband, and he will be just like a father to you, and your life willglide on like one long and happy dream."
It will be observed that Jeannie could talk good English when she caredto. When speaking seriously--the Scots always do--the Doric is for themost part of the fireside dialect.
"And now, darling," continued Annie's maid, "go to sleep like a baby;you're not much more, you know. There, I'll sing you a lullaby, an old,old one:
"`Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed; Countless blessings without number Gently falling on thy head.'"
The blue eyes tried to keep open, but the eyelids would droop, and soonAnnie o' the Banks o' Dee was wafted away to the drowsy land.
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Shufflin' Sandie was early astir next morning. First he fed andattended to his horses, for he loved them as if they had been brothers;then he went to the kennels to feed the hounds, and in their joy to seehim they almost devoured him alive.
This done, Sandie had a big drink of water from the pump, for Sandie hadhad a glass too much the night before.
He was none the worse, however; so he hied him to the kitchen.
There were lots of merry Scotch lassies here, and they delighted totorment and tease Sandie.
"Sandie," said one, "I've a good mind to tie the dish-cloth round yourhead."
"Tie it round your own," said Sandie. "Anything becomes a good-lookingface, my bonnie Betsy."
"Sandie," said another buxom girl, "you were drunk last night. I'm sureof it."
"No, not so very full, Fanny. I hadn't enough to get happy and jollyon."
"But wouldn't you like a hair of the doggie that bit you this morning?"
"Indeed would I, Fanny. I never say no to a drop of good Scotch."
"Well, ye'll have to go to the village. Ye'll get none here. Just makeyour brose, and be content."
Sandie did as he was bidden. Into a huge wooden bowl, called a "caup,"he put three large handfuls of fine oatmeal and a modicum of salt. Thekettle was boiling wildly on the fire, so the water was poured on andstirred, and the "brose" was made.
A huge piece of butter was placed in the centre, and the bowl wasflanked by a quart of new milk.
And this was Shufflin' Sandie's breakfast, and when he had finished allsave the bit he always left for Collie and the cat, he gave a sigh ofcontentment, and lit his pipe.
And now the lasses began their banter again.
"That's the stuff to make a man of you," said Fanny.
"Make a man of an ill-shapen dwarf like him," said Maggie Reid. "Well!well! well!"
"Hush, Mag," cried Fanny, "hush! God could have made you just asmisshapen as poor Sandie."
But Sandie took no heed. He was thinking. Soon he arose, and beforeFanny could help herself, he had kissed her. Fanny threw the dish-clothafter him, but the laugh was all against her.
The Laird would be downstairs now, so Sandie went quietly to thebreakfast-room door and tapped.
"Come in, Sandie," cried the Laird. "I know it is you."
The Laird had a good Scotch breakfast before him. Porridge, freshherrings and mashed potatoes, with ducks' eggs to follow and marmaladeto finish off with.
"Will you have a thistle, Sandie?"
"Indeed I will, sir, and glad to."
"Well, there's the bottle, and yonder's the glass. Help yourself, lad."
Sandie did that, right liberally, too.
"Horses and hounds all well, Sandie?"
"All beautiful, Laird. And I was just going to ask if I could have thebay mare, Jean, to ride o'er to Birnie-Boozle (Craig Nicol's fa
rmpossessed that euphonic name). I've news for the fairmer."
"All right, Sandie. Take care you don't let her down, though."
"I'll see to her, Laird."
And away went Sandie exultant, and in ten minutes more was clatteringalong the Deeside road.
It was early autumn, and the tints were just beginning to show red andyellow on the elms and sycamores, but Sandie looked at nothing save hishorse's neck.
"Was the farmer at home?"
"Yes; and would Sandie step into the parlour for a minute. Mary