CHAPTER XXXII.
PLAIN WORDS UPON MEN.
"Heighty-teighty," said Jean Gordon, of the Shirmers, coming in to mewith a breakfast piece one morning as soon as she heard that I wasawake. "The silly folks keep on bletherin' that I cam' awa' here to deefor love. Weel, I hae leeved forty year in Jean's cot o' the Garpel andI'm no dead yet. I wat no! I cam' here to be oot o' the men's road. Noo,there's my sister ower by at Barscobe. She was muckle the better o' aman, was she no? Never sure whether he wad come hame sober and weelconditioned frae kirk or market. In the fear o' her life every time thatshe heard the soond o' his voice roarin' in the yaird, to ken what wascrossin' him, and in what fettle the wee barn-door Almichty wad bepleased to come ben-the-hoose in! Wadna the like o' that be a bonnyexchange for the peace and quaitness o' the Garpel side?"
And the old lady shook the white trimmings of her cap, which wasdaintily and fairly goffered at the edges. "Na, na," she said, "yincebitten, twice shy. I hae had eneuch o' men--nesty, saucy, ill-favouredcharacters. Wi' half a nose on ye, ye can tell as easy gin yin o' thembe in the hoose, as gin he hed been a tod!"
"And am I not a man, Aunty Jean?" I asked, for indeed she had been verykind to me.
"Hoot, a laddie like you is no a man. Nae beard like bristles, naeluntin' stinkin' pipes an' a skin like my lady's--that's no a man. By mysilk hose and shoe strings, gin I get as muckle as the wind o' a manbody atween me and the Bogue road, I steek baith the inner and the outerdoors to keep awa' the waff o' the brock. Foul fa' them every yin!"
This made me laugh, indeed; but after all it did not please me greatlyto hear that I was taken for less than a man.
"Now there's Sandy," she went on, for she ever loved to talk, "he's agreat senseless sturdy o' a craitur. Yet he could get a' the wives hewants, by just coming doon like a tod aff the hill, and takin' yin belowhis oxter. An' the puir bit bleatin' hizzie wad think she likit it.Lord! some folk tak' a man as they tak' a farm, by the acre. But nome--no me. Na! Gin I was thinkin' o' men, the bonny ticht lad is the ladfor me; the lad wi' the cockade set in his bonnet an' a leg weel shapit;neither bowed out frae the knees like haystack props, nor yet bent inlike a cooper ridin' on the riggin' o' a barrel."
"But what for did ye no tak' yin then?" I said, speaking through thedoor of the spence as she moved about the house, ordering theporridge-making and keeping an eye on the hen's meat as well.
It eased my heavy thought, to hear the heartsome clip of her tongue--forall the world like a tailor's shears, brisker when it comes to theselvage. So when Jean Gordon got in sight of the end of her sentence,she snipped out her words with a glibness beyond any Gordon that ever Iheard of. For the Gordons are, according to proverb, slow people withtheir tongues, save as they say by two and two at the canny hour ofe'en.
But never slow at morn or mirk was our Aunt Jean of Wa's by the Garpelburn.
"It's a strange thing," she said, looking through the hall door at me,"that you an' me can crack like twa wives that hae gotten their men outo' the hearin'. My lad, I fear ye will creep into women's hearts becauseye make them vexed for ye. Ye hae sic innocent ways. Oh, I doot na butit's the guile o' ye; but it was ever sae.
"Mony a mewlin', peuterin' body has great success wi' the weemen folk.They think it's a peety that he should be so innocent, an' they tak'haud o' the craitur, juist to keep off the ither designin' weeman. Oh,I'm far frae denyin' that we are a pack o' silly craiturs. A'thing thatwears willy-coats; no yin muckle to better anither!"
"But aboot yoursel', Aunty Jean?" I ventured, in order to stir her toreckless speech, which was like fox-hunting to me.
"Wha? Me? Certes, no! I gat the stoor oot o' my e'en braw an' early. Itook the cure-all betimes, as the lairds tak' their mornin' o' Frenchbrandy. When Tam Lindsay gaed aff wi' his fleein' flagarie o' amuckle-tochered Crawford lass, _I_ vowed that I wad hae dune wi' men.An' so I had!
"Whenever a loon cam' here in his best breeks, and a hingin' look in thee'e o' the craitur that meant courtin', faith, I juist set the dowgs onthe scullion. I keepit a fearsome tyke on purpose, wi' a jaw ontill himlike Jonah's whale. Aye, aye, mony's the braw lad that has gane doonthat brae, wi' Auld Noll ruggin' an' reevin' at the hinderlands o'him--bonny it was to see!"
"Did ye think, as ye watched them gang, that it was your Lindsay, AuntyJean?" I asked; for, indeed, her well-going talk eased my heart in themidst of so many troubles. For I declare that during these thirty yearsin Scotland, and especially in the Glenkens, folk had almost forgottenthe way to laugh.
"Na, na, callant," so she would say to me in return, "I ne'er blamed himsair ava'. Tam Lindsay was never sair fashed wi' sense a' the days o'his life--at least no to hurt him, ony mair nor yersel', as yin michtsay. It was the Crawford woman and her weel-feathered nest that led himawa', like a bit silly cuddie wi' a carrot afore his nose. But I'llnever deny the randy that she was clever; for she took the craitur'ssize at the first look, as neat as if she had been measurin' him for asuit o' claes. But she did what I never did, or my name had been JeanLindsay this day. The Lord in His mercy be thankit continually that itis as it is, and that I hae nae auld dotard, grumphin' an' snortin' atthe chimley lug. She cuitled Tam Lindsay an' flairdied him an' spak' himfair, till the poor fathom o' pump water thocht himsel' the brawest ladin braid Scotland. Faith, I wadna sae bemean mysel' to get the king ooto' Whitehall--wha they tell me is no that ill to get, gin yin had thechance--and in muckle the same way as Tam Lindsay. Oh, what a set o'blind, brainless, handless, guid-for-naethings are men!"
"It was with that ye began, Aunty Jean," I said.
"Aye, an' I shall end wi' it too," she answered. "I'm no theologylearned, but it looks terribly like as if the rib story were gye nearthe truth. For the poorest o' weemen can mak' a great muckle oot o' avery little, an' the best o' men are sadly troubled wi' a sair want. Imisdoot that Aydam maun hae missed mair nor the rib when he waukened."
My pleasant time in the cottage by the Garpel came all too soon to anend. It is, indeed, a rare and heartsome place to bide in on a summer'sday. There is the sound of the birds singing, the plash of the waterinto the pool beneath the Holy Linn, where the ministers held the greatbaptizing of bairns, when the bonny burn water dropped of its own accordon their brows as their fathers held them up. There are the leavesrubbing against one another with a pleasant soughing noise. These keptmy heart stirring and content as long as I abode in the Glen of theGarpel.
There is in particular one little hill with a flat top, from which onemay spy both up and down the Glen, yet be hidden under the leaves. HereI often frequented to go, though Sandy warned me that this would be mydeath. Yet I liked it best of all places in the daytime, and lay thereprone on my belly for many hours together, very content, chewing sorrel,clacking my heels together, and letting on that I was meditating. But,indeed, I never could look at water slipping away beneath me, withoutletting it bear my thoughts with it and leave me to the dreaming. Andthe Garpel is an especially pleasant burn to watch thus running fromyou. I have had the same feelings in church when the sermon ranrippleless and even over my head.
The only thing that annoyed me was that on the Sabbath days the Garpelbecame a great place for lovers to convene. And above all, at one anglebehind Jean Gordon's cot, there is a bower planted with wildflowers--pleasant and retired doubtless, for them that are equipped witha lass. But as for me, I pleased myself by thinking that one day Ishould shape to bring Maisie Lennox there to see my hiding-place, for,as a little maid, she ever loved woods that rustle and waters that flowsoftly. So chiefly on the Sabbath I kept close in my covert with a book;but whether from motives of safety or envy, it misliketh me to tell.