Chapter Twenty-Six.
SCENE AT THE SPITTAL.
Within an hour after I had left him, Waster Lunny walked into theschool-house and handed me his snuff-mull, which I declined politely.It was with this ceremony that we usually opened our conversations.
"I've seen the post," he said, "and he tells me there has been a queerploy at the Spittal. It's a wonder the marriage hasna been turned intoa burial, and all because o' that Highland stirk, Lauchlan Campbell."
Waster Lunny was a man who had to retrace his steps in telling a storyif he tried short cuts, and so my custom was to wait patiently whilehe delved through the ploughed fields that always lay between him andhis destination.
"As you ken, Rintoul's so little o' a Scotchman that he's no mucklebetter than an Englisher. That maun be the reason he hadna mair sensethan to tramp on a Highlandman's ancestors, as he tried to tramp onLauchlan's this day."
"If Lord Rintoul insulted the piper," I suggested, giving the farmer ahelping hand cautiously, "it would be through inadvertence. Rintoulonly bought the Spittal a year ago, and until then, I daresay, he hadseldom been on our side of the Border."
This was a foolish interruption, for it set Waster Lunny off in a newdirection.
"That's what Elspeth says. Says she, 'When the earl has grand estatesin England, what for does he come to a barren place like the Spittalto be married? It's gey like,' she says, 'as if he wanted themarriage to be got by quietly; a thing,' says she, 'that no woman canstand. Furthermore,' Elspeth says, 'how has the marriage beenpostponed twice?' We ken what the servants at the Spittal says tothat, namely, that the young lady is no keen to take him, but Elspethwinna listen to sic arguments. She says either the earl had growntimid (as mony a man does) when the wedding-day drew near, or else hissister that keeps his house is mad at the thocht o' losing her place;but as for the young leddy's being sweer, says Elspeth, 'an earl's anearl however auld he is, and a lassie's a lassie however young she is,and weel she kens you're never sure o' a man's no changing his mindabout you till you're tied to him by law, after which it doesna somuckle matter whether he changes his mind about you or no.' Ay,there's a quirk in it some gait, dominie; but it's a deep waterElspeth canna bottom."
"It is," I agreed; "but you were to tell me what Birse told you of thedisturbance at the Spittal."
"Ay, weel," he answered, "the post puts the wite o't on her littleleddyship, as they call her, though she winna be a leddyship till themorn. All I can say is that if the earl was saft enough to do sic athing out of fondness for her, it's time he was married on her, sothat he may come to his senses again. That's what I say; but Elspethconters me, of course, and says she, 'If the young leddy was socareless o' insulting other folks' ancestors, it proves she has naneo' her ain; for them that has china plates themsel's is the maistcareful no to break the china plates of others.'"
"But what was the insult? Was Lauchlan dismissed?"
"Na, faags! It was waur than that. Dominie, you're dull in the uptakecompared to Elspeth. I hadna telled her half the story afore shejaloused the rest. However, to begin again; there's great feasting andrejoicings gaen on at the Spittal the now, and also a banquet, whichthe post says is twa dinners in one. Weel, there's a curran Ogilvysamong the guests, and it was them that egged on her little leddyshipto make the daring proposal to the earl. What was the proposal? It wasno less than that the twa pipers should be ordered to play 'The BonnyHouse o' Airlie.' Dominie, I wonder you can tak it so calm when youken that's the Ogilvy's sang, and that it's aimed at the clan o'Campbell."
"Pooh!" I said. "The Ogilvys and the Campbells used to be mortalenemies, but the feud has been long forgotten."
"Ay, I've heard tell," Waster Lunny said sceptically, "that Airlie andArgyle shakes hands now like Christians; but I'm thinking that's justafore the Queen. Dinna speak now, for I'm in the thick o't. Her littleleddyship was all hinging in gold and jewels, the which winna be herain till the morn; and she leans ower to the earl and whispers to himto get the pipers to play 'The Bonny House.' He wasna willing, forsays he, 'There's Ogilvys at the table, and ane o' the pipers is aCampbell, and we'll better let sleeping dogs lie.' However, theOgilvys lauched at his caution; and he was so infatuated wi' herlittle leddyship that he gae in, and he cried out to the pipers tostrike up 'The Bonny House.'"
Waster Lunny pulled his chair nearer me and rested his hand on myknees.
"Dominie," he said in a voice that fell now and again into a whisper,"them looking on swears that when Lauchlan Campbell heard thesemonstrous orders his face became ugly and black, so that they kent ina jiffy what he would do. It's said a' body jumped back frae him in asudden dread, except poor Angus, the other piper, wha was busy tuningup for 'The Bonny House.' Weel, Angus had got no farther in the tunethan the first skirl when Lauchlan louped at him, and ripped up thestartled crittur's pipes wi' his dirk. The pipes gae a roar o' agonylike a stuck swine, and fell gasping on the floor. What happened nextwas that Lauchlan wi' his dirk handy for onybody that micht try tostop him, marched once round the table, playing 'The Campbells areComing,' and then straucht out o' the Spittal, his chest far aforehim, and his head so weel back that he could see what was going onahint. Frae the Spittal to here he never stopped that fearsome tune,and I'se warrant he's blawing away at it at this moment through thestreets o' Thrums."
Waster Lunny was not in his usual spirits, or he would have repeatedhis story before he left me, for he had usually as much difficulty incoming to an end as in finding a beginning. The drought was to him asserious a matter as death in the house, and as little to be forgottenfor a lengthened period.
"There's to be a prayer-meeting for rain in the Auld Licht kirk thenight," he told me as I escorted him as far as my side of theQuharity, now almost a dead stream, pitiable to see, "and I'm gaen;though I'm sweer to leave thae puir cattle o' mine. You should see howthey look at me when I gie them mair o' that rotten grass to eat. It'seneuch to mak a man greet, for what richt hae I to keep kye when Icanna meat them?"
Waster Lunny has said to me more than once that the great surprise ofhis life was when Elspeth was willing to take him. Many a time,however, I have seen that in him which might have made any weaver'sdaughter proud of such a man, and I saw it again when we came to theriver side.
"I'm no ane o' thae farmers," he said, truthfully, "that's aye girdingat the weather, and Elspeth and me kens that we hae been dealt wi'bountifully since we took this farm wi' gey anxious hearts. Thatwoman, dominie, is eneuch to put a brave face on a coward, and it'sno langer syne than yestreen when I was sitting in the dumps, lookingat the aurora borealis, which I canna but regard as a messenger o'woe, that she put her hand on my shoulder and she says, 'Waster Lunny,twenty year syne we began life thegither wi' nothing but the claetheson our back, and an it please God we can begin it again, for I hae youand you hae me, and I'm no cast down if you're no.' Dominie, is theremony sic women in the warld as that?"
"Many a one," I said.
"Ay, man, it shamed me, for I hae a kind o' delight in angeringElspeth, just to see what she'll say. I could hae ta'en her on my kneeat that minute, but the bairns was there, and so it wouldna hae dune.But I cheered her up, for, after all, the drought canna put us so farback as we was twenty years syne, unless it's true what my fathersaid, that the aurora borealis is the devil's rainbow. I saw it saxtimes in July month, and it made me shut my een. You was out admiringit, dominie, but I can never forget that it was seen in the yeartwelve just afore the great storm. I was only a laddie then, but Imind how that awful wind stripped a' the standing corn in the glen inless time than we've been here at the water's edge. It was called thedeil's besom. My father's hinmost words to me was, 'It's time eneuchto greet, laddie, when you see the aurora borealis.' I mind he was socomplete ruined in an hour that he had to apply for relief frae thepoor's rates. Think o' that, and him a proud man. He would tak'nothing till one winter day when we was a' starving, and syne I gaedwi' him to speir for't, and he telled me to grip his hand ticht, sothat the cauldness o' mine micht
gie him courage. They were doling outthe charity in the Town's House, and I had never been in't afore. Icanna look at it now without thinking o' that day when me and myfather gaed up the stair thegither. Mr. Duthie was presiding at thetime, and he wasna muckle older than Mr. Dishart is now. I mind hespeired for proof that we was needing, and my father couldna speak. Hejust pointed at me. 'But you have a good coat on your back yoursel','Mr. Duthie said, for there were mony waiting, sair needing. 'It waslended him to come here,' I cried, and without a word my father openedthe coat, and they saw he had nothing on aneath, and his skin blue wi'cauld. Dominie, Mr. Duthie handed him one shilling and saxpence, andmy father's fingers closed greedily on't for a minute, and syne itfell to the ground. They put it back in his hand, and it slipped outagain, and Mr. Duthie gave it back to him, saying, 'Are you so cauldas that?' But, oh, man, it wasna cauld that did it, but shame o' beingon the rates. The blood a' ran to my father's head, and syne left itas quick, and he flung down the siller and walked out o' the TownHouse wi' me running after him. We warstled through that winter, Godkens how, and it's near a pleasure to me to think o't now, for, rainor no rain, I can never be reduced to sic straits again."
The farmer crossed the water without using the stilts which were nolonger necessary, and I little thought, as I returned to theschool-house, what terrible things were to happen before he couldoffer me his snuff-mull again. Serious as his talk had been it wasneither of drought nor of the incident at the Spittal that I sat downto think. My anxiety about Gavin came back to me until I was like aman imprisoned between walls of his own building. It may be that mypresentiments of that afternoon look gloomier now than they were,because I cannot return to them save over a night of agony, blackenough to darken any time connected with it. Perhaps my spirits onlyfell as the wind rose, for wind ever takes me back to Harvie, and whenI think of Harvie my thoughts are of the saddest. I know that I satfor some hours, now seeing Gavin pay the penalty of marrying theEgyptian, and again drifting back to my days with Margaret, until thewind took to playing tricks with me, so that I heard Adam Dishartenter our home by the sea every time the school-house door shook.
I became used to the illusion after starting several times, and thuswhen the door did open, about seven o'clock, it was only the windrushing to my fire like a shivering dog that made me turn my head.Then I saw the Egyptian staring at me, and though her suddenappearance on my threshold was a strange thing, I forgot it in thewhiteness of her face. She was looking at me like one who has asked aquestion of life or death, and stopped her heart for the reply.
"What is it?" I cried, and for a moment I believe I was glad she didnot answer. She seemed to have told me already as much as I couldbear.
"He has not heard," she said aloud in an expressionless voice, and,turning, would have slipped away without another word.
"Is any one dead?" I asked, seizing her hands and letting them fall,they were so clammy. She nodded, and trying to speak could not.
"He is dead," she said at last in a whisper. "Mr. Dishart is dead,"and she sat down quietly.
At that I covered my face, crying, "God help Margaret!" and then sherose, saying fiercely, so that I drew back from her, "There is noMargaret; he only cared for me."
"She is his mother," I said hoarsely, and then she smiled to me, sothat I thought her a harmless mad thing. "He was killed by a pipercalled Lauchlan Campbell," she said, looking up at me suddenly. "Itwas my fault."
"Poor Margaret!" I wailed.
"And poor Babbie," she entreated pathetically; "will no one say, 'PoorBabbie'?"