CHAPTER TEN.
A WILDISH CHAPTER.
It was the habit of our three friends--Bob Mabberly, John Barret, andGiles Jackman--during their residence at Kinlossie, to take a strolltogether every morning before breakfast by the margin of the sea, forthey were fond of each other's company, and Mabberly, as a yachtsman,had acquired the habit of early rising. He had also learned toappreciate the early morning hours as being those which present Naturein her sweetest, as well as her freshest, aspect--when everything seems,more than at other periods of the day, to be under the direct influenceof a benignant Creator.
It was also the habit of Captain McPherson and his man, James McGregor,to indulge daily in similar exercise at about the same hour, but, owingprobably to their lives having been spent chiefly on the sea, they werewont to ramble up a neighbouring glen in preference to sauntering on theshore.
One bright calm morning, however, when the sky was all blue and the lochwas like a mirror, the two seamen took it into their heads to desert theglen and ramble along the shore. Thus it came to pass that, onreturning homeward, they encountered our three friends.
"It iss fery strange that we should foregather this mornin', MrMabberly," said the skipper, after greeting the young men; "for Shamesan' me was jist speakin' aboot ye. We will be thinkin' that it issfoolishness for hum an' me to be stoppin' here wastin' our time when weought to be at oor work."
"Nonsense, Captain," said Mabberly; "surely you don't think that takinga holiday in a pleasant place like this is wasting time. Besides, Idon't consider you free from your engagement to me. You were hired forthe trip, and that includes land as well as water, so I won't give youyour discharge till you have had a long rest, and recruited yourselvesafter the shock to your nervous systems occasioned by the wreck and theswim to shore!"
A grim smile played on the skipper's iron features when reference wasmade to his nerves, and a flicker of some sort illumined the woodenvisage of McGregor.
"You are fery kind, sir," returned the skipper; "but we don't like to bereceivin' pay for doin' nothin'. You see, neither Shames nor me caresmuch for fushin' in the burns, or goin' after the deer, an' there's nochance o' raisin' the yat from the pottom o' the sea, so, if you hev noobjection, sir, we will be goin' by the steamer that arrives to-morrow.I thought I would speak to you to-day, for we will hev to start early inthe mornin', before you're up, for it iss a long way we'll hev to go.Iss it not so, Shames?"
"Oo, ay," replied the seaman, with more than ever of the nasal twang;"it iss a coot many miles to where the poat comes in--so the poy Tonal'wass tellin' me, what-e-ver."
Mabberly tried to persuade the men to remain a little longer, but theywere obdurate, so he let them go, knowing well that his father, who wasa wealthy merchant and shipowner, would see to the interests of the menwho had suffered in his son's service.
As they retraced their steps to the house the skipper gave Giles Jackmansome significant glances, which induced him to fall behind the others.
"You want to speak with me privately, I think, skipper?"
"Yes, sir, I do," replied the seaman, with some embarrassment. "But itiss not fery easy nor pleesant to do so. A man does not like to speakof another man's failin's, you see, but as I am goin' away I'm obleegedto do it. You will hev noticed, sir, that Ivor Tonalson iss raitherfond of his tram?"
"I'm afraid that I have observed that--poor fellow."
"He is a goot man, sir, is Tonalson--a fery goot man--when he iss sober,but he hes got no power to resist the tram. An' whiles he goes on thespree, an' then he gits wild wi' D.T. you know, sir. Noo, ever since wecam' here, Ivor an' me hes been great friends, an' it hes been heavy onmy mind to see him like that, for he's a fine man, a superior person, isIvor, if he would only let alone the whusky. So I hev spoken to himwance or twice--serious like, you know. At first he was not pleased,but the last time I spoke, he took it kindly, an' said he would thinkaboot what I had been sayin'. Noo, it's heavy on me the thoucht o'goin' away an' leavin' him in that state, so I thoucht that maybe yewould tak the metter up, sir, an' see what ye can do wi' him. Git him,if ye can, to become a total abstainer, nothin' less than that wull dowi' a man in that condeetion."
Jackman was greatly surprised, not only at the tenor of the skipper'sremarks, but at the evidently deep feeling with which he spoke, for upto that time the reticence and quiet coolness of the man had inclinedhim to think that his mind and feelings were in harmony with his ruggedand sluggish exterior. It was, therefore, with something of warmth thathe replied,--"I shall be only too happy to do as you wish, Captain; allthe more that I have had some serious thoughts and feelings in thatdirection. Indeed, I have made up my mind, as it happens, to speak toIvor on that very subject, not knowing that you were already in thefield. I am particularly sorry for his poor old mother, who hassuffered a great deal, both mentally and physically, on his account."
"Ay, that's the warst o' it," said the skipper. "It wass the sicht o'the poor wumin ailin' in body an' broken heartit that first set me atIvor."
"But how comes it, Captain, that you plead so earnestly for _total_abstinence?" asked Jackman with a smile. "Have I not heard you defendthe idea of moderate drinking, although you consented to sail in ateetotal yacht?"
"Mr Jackman," said the skipper, with almost stern solemnity, "it issall fery weel for men to speak aboot moderate drinkin', when theirfeelin's iss easy an' their intellec's iss confused wi' theories an'fancies, but men will change their tune when it iss brought home tothemselves. Let a man only see his brither or his mither, or hisfaither, on the high road to destruction wi' drink, an' he'll change hisopeenion aboot moderate drinkin'--at least for hard drinkers--ay, an'he'll change his practice too, unless he iss ower auld, or his stamick,like Timothy's, canna git on withoot it. An' that minds me that I wouldtak it kind if ye would write an' tell me how he gets on, for I hevpromised to become a total abstainer if _he_ wull."
That very afternoon, while out shooting on the hills, Jackman opened thecampaign by making some delicate approaches to the keeper on thesubject, in a general and indirect way, but with what success he couldnot tell, for Ivor was respectfully reserved.
About the same time John Barret went off alone for a saunter in one ofthe nearest and most picturesque of the neighbouring glens. He haddeclined to accompany his comrades that day, for reasons best known tohimself. After writing a few letters, to keep up appearances, and toprevent his being regarded as a mere idler, he went off, as we havesaid, to saunter in the glen.
He had not sauntered far when he came upon a sight which is calculated,whenever seen, to arouse sentiments of interest in the most callousbeholder--a young lady painting! It would be wrong to say he wassurprised, but he was decidedly pleased, to judge from the expression ofhis handsome face. He knew who the lady was, for by that time he hadstudied the face and figure of Milly Moss until they had been indeliblyphotographed on his--well, on the sensitive-plate of his soul, whereverthat lay.
Milly had quite recovered from her accident by that time and had resumedher favourite pursuits.
"I'm very glad to have caught you at work at last, Miss Moss," he said,on coming up to the picturesque spot on which her easel was erected. "Iwish much to receive that lesson which you so kindly promised to giveme."
"I thought it was just the other way. Did you not say that you wouldteach me some of those perplexing rules of perspective which my booklays down so elaborately--and, to me, so incomprehensibly?"
"I did, but did not you promise to show me how to manipulate oils--inregard to which I know absolutely nothing? And as practice is ofgreater importance than theory, you must be the teacher and I thepupil."
Upon this point they carried on a discussion until Milly, declaring shewas wasting her time and losing the effects of light and shade, wentseriously to work on the canvas before her. Barret, whose naturalcolour was somewhat heightened, stood at a respectful distance, lookingon.
"You are quite sure, I hope," said the youth, "that i
t does not disturbyou to be overlooked? You know I would not presume to do so if you hadnot promised to permit me. My great desire, for many a day, has been toobserve the process of painting in oils by one who understands it."
How he reconciled this statement with the fact that he was not lookingat the picture at all, but at the little white hand that was deftlyapplying the brush, and the beautiful little head that was moving itselfso gracefully about while contemplating the work, is more than we canexplain.
Soon the painter became still more deeply absorbed in her work, and thepupil more deeply still in the painter. It was a magnificent sweep oflandscape that lay before them--a glen glowing with purple and green,alive with flickering sunlight and shadow, with richest browns and redsand coolest greys in the foreground; precipices, crags, verdant slopesof bracken, pine and birch woods hanging on the hillsides, in the middledistance, and blue mountains mingling with orange skies in thebackground, with MacRummle's favourite stream appearing here and therelike a silver thread, running through it all. But Barret saw nothing ofit. He only saw a pretty hand, a blushing cheek and sunny hair!
The picture was not bad. There was a good deal of crude colour in theforeground, no doubt, without much indication of form; and there wasalso some wonderfully vivid green and purple, with impossible forms andamazing perspective--both linear and aerial--in places, and Turneresqueconfusion of yellow in the extreme distance. But Barret did not notethat--though by means of some occult powers of comprehension hecommented on it freely! He saw nothing but Milly Moss.
It was a glorious chance. He resolved to make the most of it.
"I had no idea that painting in oils was such a fascinating occupation,"he remarked, without feeling quite sure of what he said.
"I delight in it," returned the painter, slowly, as she touched in adistant sheep, which--measured by the rules of perspective, and regardbeing had to surrounding objects--might have stood for an averagecathedral.
Milly did not paint as freely as usual that afternoon. There wassomething queer, she said, about the brushes. "I _can't_ get it to lookright," she said at last, wiping out an object for the third time andtrying again.
"No doubt," murmured the youth, "a cottage like that must be difficultto--"
"Cottage!" exclaimed Milly, laughing outright; "it is not a cottage atall; it's a cow! Oh! Mr Barret, that is a very poor compliment to mywork and to your own powers of discernment."
"Nay, Miss Moss," retorted the pupil, in some confusion, "but you havewiped it out twice, confessing, as you did so, that you could not paintit! Besides, my remark referred to the cottage which I _thought_ youwere going to paint--not to your unsuccessful representations of thecow."
The poor youth felt that his explanation was so lame that he wassomewhat relieved when the current of their thoughts was diverted by aloud shouting in the road farther down the glen. A shade of annoyance,however, rested for a moment on the face of his companion, for sherecognised the voices, and knew well that the quiet _tete-a-tete_ withher willing and intelligent pupil must now be interrupted.
"My cousins," she remarked, putting a touch on the cow that stamped thatanimal a _lusus naturae_ for all time coming.
Another whoop told that the cousins were drawing near. In a few minutesthey appeared in the path emerging from a clump of hazel bushes.
"They are evidently bent on a photographic expedition," remarked Barret,as the boys approached, Junkie waving his hat with hilarious good-willwhen he discovered the painters.
"And Flo is with them," said Milly, "from which I conclude that they arehaving what Junkie calls a day of it; for whenever they are allowed totake Flo, they go in for a high holiday, carrying provisions with them,so as to be able to stay out from morning till night."
The appearance of the young revellers fully bore out Milly's statement,for they were all more or less burdened with the means or signs ofenjoyment. Archie carried his box of dry plates in his left hand, andhis camera and stand over his right shoulder; Eddie bore a colour-boxand sketching-book; Junkie wielded a small fishing-rod, and had afishing-basket on his back; and Flo was encircled with daisy chains andcrowned with laurel and heather, besides which, each of the boys had asmall bag of provisions slung on his shoulder.
"Hooray! hooray! Out for the day!"
sang, or rather yelled, Junkie, as he approached.
"Ramble and roam-- Never go home!"
added Archie, setting down his camera, and beginning to arrange it.
"All of us must Eat till we bust!
"Junkie teached me zat," said innocent Flo, with a look of gravesurprise at the peals of laughter which her couplet drew from herbrothers.
"Yes, that's what we're goin' to do," said Junkie; "we've had lunch atthe foot of Eagle Glen, and noo we are going up to Glen Orrack to dine,and fish, an' paint, an' botanise. After that we'll cross over theSwan's Neck, an' finish off the bustin' business with supper on thesea-shore. Lots of grub left yet, you see."
He swung round his little wallet as he spoke, and held it up to view.
"Would you like some, Cousin Milly?" asked Eddie, opening his bag. "Allsorts here. Bread, cheese, ginger snaps, biscuits, jam--Oh! I say, thejam-pot's broken! Whatever shall we do?"
He dipped his fingers into his wallet as he spoke, and brought them outmagenta!
Their hilarity was dissipated suddenly, and grave looks were bestowed onEddie's digits, until Flo's little voice arose like a strain of sweetmusic to dissipate the clouds.
"Oh! never mind," she said; "I's got anuzzer pot in my bag."
This had been forgotten. The fact was verified by swift examination,and felicity was restored.
"What are you going to photograph?" asked Milly, seeing that Archie wasbusy making arrangements.
"_You_, Cousin Milly. You've no notion what a splendid couple you andMr Barret look--stuck up so picturesquely on that little mound, withits rich foreground of bracken, and the grey rock beside you, and thepeep through the bushes, with Big Ben for a background; and the easel,too--so suggestive! There, now, I'm ready. By the way, I might takeyou as a pair of lovers!"
Poor Milly became scarlet, and suddenly devoted herself to the _lususnaturae_! Barret took refuge in a loud laugh, and then said:
"Really, one would suppose that you were a professional, Archie; youorder your sitters about with such self-satisfied presumption."
"Yes, they always do that," said Milly, recovering herself, and lookingcalmly up from the cow--which now resembled a megatherium--"but you mustremember, Cousin Archie, that I am a _painter_, and therefore understandabout attitudes, and all that, much better than a mere photographer.So, if I condescend to sit, you must take your orders from _me_!"
"Fire away then with your orders," cried the impatient amateur.
"See, sir, I will sit thus--as if painting," said Milly, who wasdesperately anxious to have it over, lest Archie should make someawkward proposition. "Mr Barret will stand behind me, lookingearnestly at the picture--"
"Admiringly," interposed Barret.
"Not so--earnestly, as if getting a lesson," said Milly, with ateacher's severity; "and Flo will sit thus, at my feet, taking care(hold it, dear,) of my palette."
"More likely to make a mess of it," said Junkie.
"Now, are you ready? Steady! Don't budge a finger," cried Archie,removing the little leather cap.
In her uncertainty as to which of her fingers she was not to budge, Flonervously moved them all.
"You're movin', Flo!" whispered Junkie.
"No, I'm not," said Flo, looking round indignantly.
"There, I knew you couldn't hold your tongue, Junkie," cried thephotographer, hastily replacing the cap. "However, I think I had itdone before she moved."
"And look--you've got the nigger in!" cried Junkie, snatching up theblack doll, which had been lying unobserved on its owner's knee all thetime.
"Never mind, that'll do no harm. Now, then, soldiers, form up, an'quick march," said Archie, clos
ing up his apparatus. "We have gotplenty of work before us, and no time to waste."
Obedient to this rather inaccurately given word of command, Archie'stroops fell into line, and, with a whooping farewell, continued theirmarch up the glen.
During the remainder of that beautiful afternoon, the artist and pupilcontinued at their "fascinating" work. Shall we take advantage of ourknowledge to lift the curtain, and tell in detail how Milly introduced afew more megatheriums into her painting, and violated nearly all therules of perspective, to say nothing of colour and chiaro-oscuro? Shallwe reveal the multitude of absurd remarks made by the pupil, in his wildattempts at criticism of an art, about which he knew next to nothing?No; it would be unwarrantable--base! Merely remarking that painter andpupil were exceedingly happy, and that they made no advance whatever inthe art of painting, we turn to another scene in the neighbourhood ofKinlossie House.
It was a wide grass-field from which the haycocks had recently beenremoved, leaving it bare and uninteresting. Nevertheless, there weretwo points of interest in that field which merit special attention. Onewas a small black bull, with magnificent horns, the shaggiest of coats,and the wickedest of eyes. The other was our friend MacRummle, taking ashort cut through the field, with a basket on his back, a rod in onehand, and an umbrella in the other.
We may at once account for the strange presence of the latter article,by explaining that, on the day before--which was rainy--the laird, hadwith an umbrella, accompanied his friend to his first pool in the river,at which point their roads diverged; that he had stayed to see MacRummlemake his first two or three casts, during which time the sky cleared,inducing the laird to close his umbrella, and lean it against the bank,after which he went away and forgot it. Returning home the next day ourangler found and took charge of it.
That he had been successful that day was made plain, not only by theextra stoop forward, which was rendered necessary by the weight of hisbasket, and the beaming satisfaction on his face, but by the protrudingtail of a grilse which was too large to find room for the whole ofitself, inside.
"You're a lucky man to-day, Dick," murmured the enthusiastic angler tohimself, as he jogged across the field.
Had he known what was in store for him, however, he would have arrivedat a very different estimate of his fortunes!
The field, as we have said, was a large one. MacRummle had reached thecentre of it when the black bull, standing beside the wall at its mostdistant corner, seemed to feel resentment at this trespass on itsdomain.
It suddenly bellowed in that low thunderous tone which is so awfullysuggestive of conscious power. MacRummle stopped short. He wasnaturally a brave man, nevertheless his heart gave his ribs an unwontedthump when he observed the bull in the distance glaring at him. Helooked round in alarm. Nothing but an unbroken flat for a hundred yardslay around him in all directions, unrelieved by bush, rock, or tree, andbounded by a five-foot wall, with only one gate, near to where the bullstood pawing the earth and apparently working itself into a rage.
"Now, Dick," murmured the old gentleman, seriously, "it's do or die withyou if that brute charges, for your legs are not much better thanpipe-stems, and your wind is--Eh! he comes!"
Turning sharply, he caused the pipe-stems to wag with amazing velocity--too fast, indeed, for his toe, catching on something, sent him violentlyto the ground, and the basket flew over his head with such force thatthe strap gave way. He sprang up instantly, still unconsciously holdingon to rod and umbrella.
Meanwhile, the bull, having made up its mind, came charging down thefield with its eyes flashing and its tail on high.
MacRummle looked back. He saw that the case was hopeless. He wasalready exhausted and gasping. A young man could scarcely have reachedthe wall in time. Suddenly he came to a ditch, one of those narrow opendrains with which inhabitants of wet countries are familiar. The sightof it shot a blaze of hope through his despair! He stopped at once,dropped his rod, and, putting up his umbrella, laid it on the ground.It was a large cotton one of the Gamp description. Under the shelter ofit he stepped quietly into the ditch, which was not much more thanknee-deep, with very little water in it.
Placing the umbrella in such a position that it came between himself andthe bull, he laid himself flat down in the drain. The opening was fartoo narrow to admit his broad shoulders, except when turned sidewise.The same treatment was not applicable to other parts of his person, but,by dint of squeezing and collapsing, he got down, nestled under thebank, and lay still.
On came the bull till it reached the basket, which, with a deft toss, ithurled into the air and sent the silvery treasure flying. A moment moreand it went head foremost into the umbrella. Whether it was surprisedat finding its enemy so light and unsubstantial, or at the slipping ofone of its feet into the drain, we cannot tell, but the result was thatit came down and turned a complete somersault over the drain, carryingthe umbrella along with it in its mad career!
When the bull scrambled to its feet again, and looked round in somesurprise, it found that one of its legs and both its horns were throughand entangled with the wrecked article.
It was a fine sight to witness the furious battle that immediatelyensued between the black bull and that cotton umbrella! Rage at the manwas evidently transmuted into horror at the article. The bull prancedand shook its head and pawed about in vain efforts to get rid of itstormenter. Shreds of the wreck flapped wildly in its eyes. Spider-likeribs clung to its massive limbs and poked its reeking sides, while theswaying handle kept tapping its cheeks and ears and nose, as if tauntingthe creature with being held and badgered by a thing so flimsy andinsignificant!
Happily this stirring incident was not altogether unwitnessed. Far upthe valley it was observed by four living creatures, three of whomimmediately came tearing down the road at racing speed. Gradually theirdifferent powers separated them from each other. Archie came first,Eddie next, and Junkie brought up the rear. On nearing the field thefirst wrenched a stake out of a fence; the second caught up a rake, thathad been left by the haymakers; and the last, unscrewing the butt of hisrod, broke the line, and flourished the weapon as a cudgel. They allthree leaped into the field one after another, and bore courageouslydown on the bull, being well accustomed to deal with animals of thesort.
Separating as they drew near, they attacked him on three sides at once.Short work would he have made with any of them singly; together theywere more than his match. When he charged Junkie, Archie ran in andbrought the stake down on his skull. When he turned on his assailant,Eddie combed his sides with the rake. Dashing at the new foe he wascaught by the tail by Junkie, who applied the butt of his rodvigorously, the reel adding considerable weight to his blows. At lastthe bull was cowed--if we may venture to say so--and drivenignominiously into a corner of the field, where he vented his rage onthe remnants of the umbrella, while the victors returned to the field ofbattle.
"But what's come of MacRummle?" said the panting Junkie as they gatheredup the fish and replaced them in the basket. "I never saw him get overthe wall. Did you?"
"No," replied Archie, looking round in surprise.
"I dare say he ran off while we were thumpin' the bull," suggestedEddie.
"I'm here, boys! I'm here, Junkie," cried a strange sepulchral voice,as if from the bowels of the earth.
"Where?" asked the boys gazing down at their feet with expressions ofawe.
"He's i' the drain!" cried Junkie with an expanding mouth.
"Ay--that's it! I'm in the drain! Lend a hand, boys; I can hardlymove."
They ran to him instantly, but it required the united powers of allthree to get him out, and when they succeeded he was found to be coatedall over one side with thick mud.
"What a muddle you've made of yourself, to be sure!" exclaimed Junkie."Let me scrape you."
But MacRummle refused to be scraped until they had placed the five-footwall between himself and the black bull. Then he submitted with aprofound sigh.