CHAPTER TWELVE.
A MOORLAND WALK.
A second time that day Margot came into close contact with Mr GeorgeElgood. She was strolling slowly up and down the road with "theChieftain," waiting for Ron to make his appearance before starting for aramble over the countryside, when through the doorway of the inn outdashed the "Editor," making in the same direction, in the headlong,unseeing fashion which was plainly a characteristic. When about twentyyards distant, he lifted his eyes from the ground, became suddenlyconscious of the two figures slowly strolling towards him, stopped shortin the middle of the path, and, wheeling round, darted quickly in theopposite direction.
The cut was too glaring to be ignored. Margot's cheeks flamed withannoyance, which the sound of a low chuckle by her side did not help tosubdue. She reared her little head to its haughtiest angle, and spokein frosty accents.
"I am afraid I am in the way. Pray don't let me interfere with yourplans. Won't you join your brother before he goes too far? He iswalking very fast--"
There was a note of satire in the last words which made the Chieftainchuckle once more.
"Not I," he replied easily. "I can have his society any time I like.Yours is infinitely more refreshing. Keeps up a pretty good pace, don'the? Scared, you know. Scared to death! Running to cover like afrightened hare!"
"Scared of what?"
"Of you?"
Margot had known the answer to the question before she had put it, but,woman-like, was none the less affronted. Accustomed to be sought afterand admired by mankind in general, it was a disagreeable experience tofind herself repelled by the man of all others whom she was most anxiousto ingratiate. Her face stiffened, and her rounded little chinprojected itself proudly, the while her companion looked on withtwinkling amusement.
"That makes you feel pretty mad, don't it?" he inquired genially. "Youare not accustomed to that sort of treatment. Most of 'em run the otherway, don't they? I should, in their place! But you mustn't be hard onold George. When I said `you,' I used the word as a plural, not asapplying with any special significance to your charming self. It iswomankind as a whole which he finds terrifying. Run a mile any dayrather than meet a woman face to face! You must not imagine that thereis anything unusual in his avoidance of yourself. It's always the sametale."
Margot paused a moment, to reflect dismally that in this case there wassmall hope for the fulfilment of her scheme, then ventured the naturalfeminine question--
"Has he been crossed in love?"
"Who? George?" George's brother appeared to find somethingmysteriously ludicrous in the suggestion, for he shook with delightedlaughter. "Rather not! Never had enough to do with a woman to givehimself a chance. He's an old hermit of a bachelor, Miss Vane, absorbedin his work, and becoming more of a slave to it every year of his life.Even on a holiday he can't take it easy like other folks. He has somewriting on hand just now--a paper of sorts which he has undertaken tohave ready by a certain time, and it appears to his benighted intellectthat a holiday is an excellent opportunity of getting it through. Mad,you see; stark, staring mad, but an excellent fellow all the same. Oneof the very best. I have a large experience of men, but I've never metone to compare with him for all-round goodness and simplicity of heart.We all have our failings, and there are worse things than a littleshyness and reserve. If he avoids you like the plague, try to pity himfor the loss it entails upon himself, and take no offence! As I saidbefore, it's not a personal matter. He knows that you are a strangerand a woman, but I don't suppose he has the most glimmering idea of whatyou are really like!"
"Oh yes, he has. I was sitting in the kitchen this morning, and he cameand spoke to me under the impression that I was Elspeth! The impressionlasted until he got quite near. I was wearing an apron, but still,--Iwasn't pleased! When he saw my face instead of hers, he fled for hislife. But he _did_ see it! He knows quite well what I am like."
"And in the depths of your little girl heart you think he is a strangefellow, not to want to see you again! You can't understand why heshould go out of his way to be kind to Elspeth, and avoid some oneinfinitely more attractive. Don't be offended, but that's a wrong viewto take of the case. In my brother's eyes Elspeth is more attractivethan yourself, for she is poor, you see, and ugly, and leads a life ofall work and no play. He might be able to do her a good turn. Besides,he has known her for several years, and has had time to becomereconciled to her existence, so to speak. Custom goes a long way withshy people. George would rather beard a den of lions than face thecompany in the inn parlour on a wet evening, but he is a welcome guestin the kitchen, and Mrs McNab adores him to the extent of submitting tomuddy boots without a murmur. He cracks jokes with her in a free-and-easy manner which strikes awe into the heart of tremblers like myself.It's my first visit to the Nag's Head, and I'm still in the stage ofabject submission. She's a wonderful woman!"
Margot smiled with returning composure. She divined her companion'sdesire to change the subject of conversation, and was quite willing tofurther his efforts. What she had already heard concerning GeorgeElgood supplied ample food for meditation.
Viewed in dispassionate light, it was not wholly disconcerting, for ifthe citadel could but once be stormed, there seemed a certainty ofgaining sympathy and consideration. She must be content to wait inpatience, until the hermit had become reconciled to her existence; butRon, as a fellow-man, could venture on advances on his own account.
She must talk to Ron in private, and try to instil into him some of herown energy and enterprise. He was a dear, wonderful fellow, butabsolutely wanting in initiative. Poets, she supposed, were alwaysdreamy, impracticable creatures, unfitted to attend to practicalinterests, and dependent upon the good offices of some adoring womanworking meekly in the background.
Her eyes brightened eloquently as she watched her brother's approachalong the winding path. What a handsome young figure of manhood he madein his Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, the close-fitting deerstalkercap showing the light chestnut hair, from which no barber's shears couldsucceed in banishing the natural kink and curl. No one would suspect,to look at him, that he cherished poetical ambitions! Margot wasEnglish enough to be thankful for this fact, illogical as it may appear.She was proud to realise that he looked a thorough sportsman, and inabsolute harmony with his surroundings, and instinctively her pride andaffection voiced themselves in words. The Chieftain might not be therose, but he was at least near the rose, and it would be well to enlisthis interest as well as that of his brother.
"Doesn't he look splendid?"
Mr Elgood started, and for a moment his round face expressed theblankest bewilderment, then his eyes lit upon Ron, and comprehensiondawned.
"Ah, yes," he returned indifferently, "nice-looking lad! Pity he hasn'tmore to say for himself. What's he supposed to do? Business orprofession?"
"It's not decided. He has not long come down from Cambridge. He isquiet, but he is very clever, all the same. Much cleverer than mostboys of his age."
"Humph!" The Chieftain's tone was distinctly sceptical. "Yes! Gooddegree?"
Margot's colour heightened in embarrassment.
"Nothing special. Only a pass. It isn't in _that_ way that hiscleverness shows."
"Just so! Just so! I've met men like that before. Well, don't spoilhim, that's all. Worship him in your heart, but not to his face. Looksto me as if he needed hardening up. A bit moony and sentimental. What?Don't mind my saying so, do you?"
"Not a bit!" returned Margot proudly; but she cared horribly, all thesame, and for the moment her liking for her companion suffered adistinct eclipse. "I know him, you see, and understand him as nostranger can do. He needs appreciation, for he is too apt to lose faithin himself, and he is not sentimental at all. He has plenty ofsentiment, but that's a different thing!"
"Yes--Um!" responded the Chieftain mischievously, his little eyestwinkling with amusement as they scanned the girl's flushed, injuredface. "Quite s
o! Sorry I spoke. He is, without doubt, an unusuallygifted young man." He bowed towards Margot, with an inference tootransparent to be mistaken, and at which she was obliged to laugh,despite herself.
Ronald joined them at this moment, and looked from one to the other withhis big, dreamy eyes. Margot was irritated to see that he looked evenmore absent-minded than usual, just when she was anxious that he shouldshow to most advantage. He asked no questions in words, however, butMr Elgood hastened to reply to the unspoken query in his eyes.
"Your sister and I have been having an argument. I don't know how itcame about. Hate arguments myself, especially on a holiday. Besides,it's a waste of time. Whoever knew any one converted by an argument?Each one goes away more satisfied than ever that he is in the right, andthat his opponent is talking rubbish; present company excluded, ofcourse. So far as I can remember, we were discussing cleverness. Ifyou were asked for a definition of a clever man, what would you say?How would you describe him?"
Ronald stood in the centre of the road, his hands clasped behind hisback, his brows knitted in thought. Ninety-nine people out of a hundredwould have answered such a question off-hand with a few light words; Ronbent the weight of his mind to it, with whole-hearted earnestness.
"Cleverness!" he repeated slowly. "It's a poor word! There's no depthin it. When a man is called clever, it means, I think, more an abilityto display a superficial knowledge than any real, stored-up wisdom. Itmay even be a double-edged compliment!"
"Scored!" cried the Chieftain gaily, as he waved his stick in the air,and led the way forward with a jaunty tread. "Proposed, seconded, andcarried that cleverness is a delusion to be sedulously avoided! Justwhat I always said. I've known clever people in my day--squillions ofthem, and, my hat! how stupid they were! That little lass dabbling inthe lake is wiser than the whole crowd." He pointed to a fair-hairedchild wading by the side of the tarn. "The spirit of childhood--that'swhat we want! the spirit of joy in present blessings, and untroubledtrust for the future. That little lass has a life of hardship and toilahead--but what does she care? The sun shines to-day, and the funny weemannie fra the inn is going to gie her a bawbee for goodies. It's a badhabit which he has fallen into; a shocking bad habit, but he canna curehimself of it." He threw a penny to the smiling, expectant child, thenturning sharply to the left, led the way across the low-lying groundtowards the base of the nearest hill.
Margot noticed that, as he went, he turned from time to time quick,scrutinising glances at Ron's face, as though trying to satisfy a doubt,and classify him in his own mind. Evidently the lad's serious, somewhatpedantic manner of replying had invested him with a new interest, butwhen he spoke again it was only in reference to the afternoon'sexpedition itself.
"I am not going to take you far," he announced. "I object to walking,on principle. What I maintain is, that we were never intended to walk!If we had been, we should have had four legs, instead of two. I neverwalk if I can possibly induce something else to carry me. And climbingis another mistake. What is it that one admires about mountains? Theirheight and grandeur! Very well, then, where is the point of vantagefrom which to view them? The base, of course. Climb up to the top, andyou lose the whole effect, to say nothing of chucking away your valuablebreath. See that little path winding up the slope? That leads to themoors, and when you are once on the moors you can walk about on thelevel all day long, if you are so disposed, and the air goes to the headof even a lazy old fellow like myself, and makes me quite gay andfrisky. You two youngsters can go on ahead and engage in lightconversation, while I puff along in the rear. At my age and bulk eventhe most witty conversation palls when climbing a hillside. When youget to the end of the footpath sit down and wait till I arrive, and takeno notice of me till I get my wind. Then we'll start fair. Off withyou!"
Margot ran forward, laughing, and she and Ron were soon scrambling upthe hillside, side by side.
"That's a good fellow. I like him! He will be very interesting whenone gets beneath the surface," pronounced the boy thoughtfully.
Margot nodded emphatically.
"I'm going to love him! I feel it in my bones, and he is going to loveme too, but unfortunately he's the wrong man. He says that his brotherhates women, and will do all he can to avoid me, so you must take thingsinto your own hands, Ron! I can't help you, so you must help yourself.You will have to cultivate his acquaintance, and get him to take youabout, and talk to him, and try to get intimate. You will, won't you?Promise me that you will!"
She looked with anxiety into the lad's face as she spoke, for previousexperience had proved that Ron possessed the full share of thosefailings which are most characteristic of his temperament: a suddencooling of interest at critical moments; a shirking of responsibility,an inclination to drift. It was a part of the artistic nature, whichhad an irritating effect on more practical mortals. Now, as she feared,he remained as placidly unmoved by the intelligence as if it had nobearing whatever on his own prospects.
"Oh, all right. I'll see! You can't rush things, if a fellow keeps outof your way. Our opening will come in time, if we leave it to chanceand don't worry. I believe I am going to do really good work here,Margot! I had an idea last night, after you had gone to bed, and I waswatching the stars through the pines. I won't read it to you yet, forit wants working up, but it's good--I am sure it is good! And thatlittle stream along from the house; I found a song motif inthat,--`_Clear babbling over amber bed_!' How's that for a word-picture? Shows the whole thing, doesn't it? The crystal clearness ofthe water; the music of its flow, the curious golden colour of therocks. I'm always pleased when I can hit off a description in a line.I'm glad we came, Margot! There's inspiration in this place."
But for once Margot refused to be sympathetic.
"You did not come for inspiration, you came for a definite, practicalpurpose; and if you write a hundred poems, it won't make up forneglecting it. Now, Ron, wake up! I shall be angry with you if youdon't do all you can for yourself. Promise me that you will try!"
"All right! All right! Do let us be happy while we have the chance,Margot. We had enough worry at home, and this place is perfect. Let usbe wise children, and take no thought for the morrow. What would Elgoodthink of you, beginning to worry about the future, the moment his backwas turned? She was a pretty illustration, wasn't she?--that littlebare-headed child. Did you notice her hair? Almost white against therusset of her skin."
Margot grunted unsympathetically. She was out of breath with scramblingup the hillside, a trifle out of temper also, and consequently not inthe mood to enthuse over artistic contrasts. She did not speak againuntil the summit was reached, and she threw herself on the ground torest, and wait the arrival of the Chieftain. His gasps and grunts couldalready be heard in the distance, for, notwithstanding his varioushandicaps, he was surprisingly nimble, and in a few moments a roundscarlet face hove into sight, and a round grey body rolled over on theground by her side.
"Piff! piff! whew-w! Don't look at me, please--I don't like--beingstared at by ladies--when my--complexion is flushed!" he gaspedbrokenly, mopping his face with a large silk handkerchief. "Everytime--I--come up here--I vow I'll--never come again; but when _I'm_ onceup, I--never want to go down!"
He flourished his handkerchief to the left, pointing out the widemoorland, beautiful in colouring with its bright rank greens, and thebloomy purple of heather undulating gently up and down like the waves ofan inland sea.
The pure rarefied air fanned the heated faces of the climbers, and withevery moment seemed to instil fresh life and vigour. It was easy tobelieve that, once started, one would wander on and on over thiswonderful moorland, feeling no fatigue, possessed with the desire to gofarther and farther, to see what surprise lay beyond the next hillock.
After all, it was Mr Elgood who made the first start. One moment helay still, puffing and blowing, bemoaning past youth, and bewailing lossof strength; the next, like an indiarubber ball, he had bounced to hi
sfeet, and was strutting forward, waving his short arms in the air, thewhite silk handkerchief streaming behind him like a flag.
"_Allons, mes enfants_! No lolling allowed on the moors. Keep your eyeon that green peak to the right, and make for it as straight as a die.A few hundred yards away is a cottage where, if we are very polite andask prettily, the guid-wife will give us a cup of buttermilk, the Gaelicsubstitute for afternoon tea. In a certain spot, which shall benameless, I should as soon think of drinking poison in glassfuls, butafter a stretch on the moors it tastes like nectar! Take my word forit, and try!"
That was the first walk which Ron and Margot had ever taken over aScotch moor, and to the last day of their lives they remembered it withjoy. The air went to their heads so that they grew "fey," and sang, andlaughed, and teased each other like a couple of merry-hearted children,while the Chieftain was the biggest child of the three.
At times he declared that he was tired out and must turn back, buthardly were the words out of his mouth, than, lo, he was dancing animpromptu hornpipe with astonishing nimbleness and dexterity! He took alively interest in all that his companions did and said, and did nothesitate to put question after question in order to arrive at a fullerunderstanding of any case in point; but London, and all that took placein London, remained a forbidden topic. He was the Elgood of Elgood, andthey were "his bonnie men," and life outside the Highlands had ceased toexist.
Margot was delighted that the little man should have a chance of seeingRonald in one of his lightest, most boyish moods, for from theexpression of his face she feared that he had not so far previously beenfavourably impressed by the lad's personality. Now it was impossiblenot to admire and laugh as Ron played imaginary bagpipes on the end ofhis walking-stick, or droned out lugubrious ballads in imitation of astrolling minstrel who had visited the inn the night before. The balladdramatised the circumstances of the moment: the perilous ascent, thewandering of three strangers across the moor, the flowing bowl which wasto refresh and strengthen them for the return journey. Ron's knowledgeof the native dialect was so slight that he fell back upon the morestately phraseology of the early English poets, introducing a strangeScotch term now and again with irresistibly comic effect.
The two listeners cheered him on with bursts of delighted laughter,while at an unexpected clever turn, or apt stringing together of words,the Chieftain would clap his hands and caper with delight.
"Good! good!" he would cry. "Neat! neat!" while his twinkling eyessurveyed the boy with increasing respect. "Do you often improvise?" heasked, when the ballad came to an end, and when Ron replied truthfullyenough in the negative, "Well, I have heard many fellows do it worse!"was his flattering comment.
Margot had expected more, and felt that more was deserved, for theballad had been quite a brilliant effort to be rattled off on the spurof the moment, but she could only hope that, in conclave with hisbrother, the Chieftain might be more enthusiastic, and manage to impressupon that absent-minded genius that the boy was worthy of his notice andstudy.
In due time--a very short time, as it appeared--the cottage was reachedowned by the "guid-wife," who was ready to give--not sell--draughts ofbuttermilk to the passers-by. Margot was a little chary of the firsttaste, but the keen moorland air had done its work, and she too found itas nectar to the palate. The guid-wife "had no English," but the twowomen conversed eloquently with the language of the eyes, concerning thesleeping baby in its cradle, and the toddling urchins around the door.Here in the solitude this brave woman of the people reared her family,made their garments, tended them when they were sick, cooked for them,baked for them, washed for them, mended for them, and kept the three-roomed cot as exquisitely clean as hands could make it. The girl whodusted the drawing-room and arranged a few vases of flowers as her dutyin life, gazed at her with awe, and felt ashamed of her own idleexistence!
The buttermilk quaffed, Mr Elgood led the way to a thick patch ofheather some few hundred yards nearer home, came to a standstill, and,spreading his handkerchief under his head, lay down with greatdeliberation and crossed his arms in beatific content.
"Now, if you want to discover what comfort means, find a soft patch foryourselves, and take a nap before we start for home. No upholsterer onearth ever manufactured a mattress to equal a bed of heather. If youdon't want to sleep, kindly keep your distance, and enjoy yourselveswith discretion, for if I'm awakened in the middle of my siesta, nothingshort of murder will appease me!"
He shut his eyes even as he spoke, and composed himself with a sigh ofcontent. Margot, nothing loath, took off her cap, and, spreading hercape over the bushes, nestled contentedly into its folds. Ron scornedthe idea of sleep, but as he was curious to test the comforts of theheather, down he lay in his turn; and so soft, so springy, so eminentlyluxurious did the new bed appear, that he felt no desire to rise.Presently his eyes dropped, rose heavily once or twice, and rose nomore. Margot's head burrowed more deeply into her cape. Deep regularsnores sounded from the bush where Mr Elgood reposed. All three werefast asleep!
The sun shone on them; the hum of a thousand insects rose from thegrass; high in the air a lark trilled his triumphant song. It was restindeed to sleep and dream in such surroundings!