CHAPTER LIII
A LITTLE GLEAM AFAR
It was late in the autumn of that year, and upon a lonely moor inScotland, that a poor old woman stood shivering in the cold wind. She wasoutside of a miserable little hut, in the doorway of which stood two men.
For five or six years she had lived alone in that little hut.
It was a very poor place, but it kept out the wind and the rain and thesnow, and it was a home to her, and for the greater part of these yearsin which she had lived there alone, she had received, at irregular andsometimes long intervals, sums of money, often very small and neverlarge, from her son, who was a sailorman upon seas of which she did noteven know the name.
But for many months no money had come from this wandering son, and it wasvery little that she had been able to earn. Sometimes she might havestarved, had it not been for the charity of others almost as poor as she.As for rent, it had been due for a long time, and at last it had been dueso long that her landlord felt that further forbearance would be not onlyunprofitable, but that it would serve as a bad example to his othertenants. Consequently, he had given orders to eject the old woman fromher hut. She was now a pauper, and there were places where paupers wouldbe taken care of.
The old woman stood sadly shivering. Her poor old eyes, a little dimmedwith tears, were directed southward toward the far-away vanishing-pointof the rough and narrow road which meandered over the moor and lostitself among the hills.
She was waiting for the arrival of a cart which a poor neighbor hadpromised to borrow, to take her and her few belongings to the nearestvillage, where there was a good road over which she might walk to a placewhere paupers were taken care of. A narrow stream, which roared andrushed around or over many a rock, ran at several points close to theroad, and, swelled by heavy rains, had overflowed it to the depth of afoot or more. The old woman and the two men in the doorway of the hutstood and waited for the cart to come.
As they waited, heavy clouds began to rise in the north, and there wasalready a drizzle of rain. At last they saw a little black spot upon theroad, which soon proved to be a cart drawn by a rough pony. On it came,until they could almost hear it splashing through the water where thestream had passed its bounds, or rattling over the rough stones in otherplaces. But, to their surprise, there were two persons in the cart.Perhaps the boy Sawney had with him a traveller who was on his way north.
This was true. Sawney had picked up a traveller who was glad to find aconveyance going across the moor to his destination. This man was aquick-moving person in a heavy waterproof coat with its collar turned upover his ears.
As soon as the cart stopped, near the hut, he jumped down and approachedthe two men in the doorway.
"Is that the widow McLeish?" he said, pointing to the old woman.
They assured him that he was correct, and he approached her.
"You are Mrs. Margaret McLeish?" said he.
She looked at him in a vague sort of way and nodded. "That's me," saidshe. "Is it pay for the cart you're after? If that's it, I must walk."
"Had you a son, Mrs. McLeish?" said the man.
"Ay," said she, and her face brightened a little.
"And what was his name?"
"Andy," was the answer.
"And his calling?"
"A sailorman."
"Well, then," said the traveller in the waterproof, "there is no doubtthat you are the person I came here to see. I was told I should find youhere, and here you are. I may as well tell you at once, Mrs. McLeish,that your son is dead."
"That is no news," she answered. "I knew that he must be dead."
"But I didn't come here only to tell you that. There is money comingto you through him--enough to make you comfortable for the rest ofyour life."
"Money!" exclaimed the old woman. "To me?"
The two men who had been standing in the doorway of the hut drew near,and Sawney jumped down from the cart. The announcement made by thetraveller was very interesting.
"Yes," said the man in the waterproof, pulling his collar up a littlehigher, for the rain was increasing, "you are to have one hundred andfour pounds a year, Mrs. McLeish, and that's two pounds a week, you know,and you will have it as long as you live."
"Two pounds a week!" cried the old woman, her eyes shining out of herweazened old face like two grouse eggs in a nest. "From my Andy?"
"Yes, from your son," said the traveller. And as the rain was now muchmore than a drizzle, and as the wind was cold, he made his tale as shortas possible.
He told her that her son had died far away in South America, and, fromwhat he had gained there, one hundred and four pounds a year would becoming to her, and that she might rely on this as long as she lived. Hedid not state--for he was not acquainted with all the facts--that Shirleyand Burke, when they were in San Francisco hunting up the heirs of theCastor's crew, had come upon traces of the A. McLeish whose body they hadfound in the desert, lying flat on its back, with a bag of gold claspedto its breast--that they had discovered, by means of the agent throughwhom McLeish had been in the habit of forwarding money to his mother, theaddress of the old woman, and, without saying anything to Captain Horn,they had determined to do something for her.
The fact that they had profited by the gold her son had carried away fromthe cave, was the main reason for this resolution, and although, asShirley said, it might appear that the Scotch sailor was a thief, it wastrue, after all, he had as much right to a part of the gold he had takenas Captain Horn could have. Therefore, as they had possessed themselvesof his treasure, they thought it but right that they should provide forhis mother. So they bought an annuity for her in Edinburgh, thinking thisbetter than sending her the total amount which they considered to be hershare, not knowing what manner of woman she might be, and they arrangedthat an agent should be sent to look her up, and announce to her her goodfortune. It had taken a long time to attend to all these matters, and itwas now late in the autumn.
"You must not stand out in the rain, Mrs. McLeish," said one of the men,and he urged her to come back into the hut. He said he would build a firefor her, and she and the gentleman from Edinburgh could sit down and talkover matters. No doubt there would be some money in hand, he said, out ofwhich the rent could be paid, and, even if this should not be the case,he knew the landlord would be willing to wait a little under thecircumstances.
"Is there money in hand for me?" asked the old woman.
"Yes," said the traveller. "The annuity was to begin with October, and itis now the first of November, so there is eight pounds due to you."
"Eight pounds!" she exclaimed, after a moment's thought. "It must be morethan that. There's thirty-one days in October!"
"That's all right, Mrs. McLeish," said the traveller. "I will pay you theright amount. But I really think you had better come into your house, forit is going to be a bad afternoon, and I must get away as soon as I can.I will go, as I came, in the cart, for you won't want it now."
Mrs. McLeish stood up as straight as she could, and glanced from thetraveller to the two men who had put her out of her home. Then, in thestrongest terms her native Gaelic would afford, she addressed these twomen. She assured them that, sooner than enter that contemptible littlehut again, she would sleep out on the bare moor. She told them to go totheir master and tell him that she did not want his house, and that hecould live in it himself, if he chose--that she was going in the cart toKillimontrick, and she would take lodgings in the inn there until shecould get a house fit for the habitation of the mother of a man like herson Andy; and that if their master had anything to say about the rentthat was due, they could tell him that he had satisfied himself byturning her out of her home, and if he wanted anything more, he couldwhistle for it, or, if he didn't choose to do that, he could send hisfactor to whistle for it in the main street of Killimontrick.
"Come, Sawney boy, put my two bundles in the cart, and then help me in.The gentleman will drive, and I'll sit on the seat beside him, and youcan sit behind in the straw, and-
-you're sure it's two pounds a week,sir?" she said to the traveller, who told her that she was right, andthen she continued to Sawney, "I'll make your mother a present which willhelp the poor old thing through the winter, and I'm sure she needs it."
With a heavier load than he had brought, the pony's head was turnedhomeward, and the cart rattled away over the rough stones, and splashedthrough the water on the roadway, and in the dark cloud which hung overthe highest mountain beyond the moor, there came a little glint oflighter sky, as if some lustre from the Incas' gold had penetrated eveninto this gloomy region.
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