CHAPTER IV.
SANDY GORDON COMES OVER THE HILL ALL ALONE.
The House of Earlstoun sits bonny above the water-side, and there arefew fairer waters in this land than the Ken water. Also it looks itsbonniest in the early morning when the dew is on all sides, and astillness like the peace of God lies on the place. I do not expect theKingdom of Heaven very much to surpass Earlstoun on a Sabbath morning inJune when the bees are in the roses. And, indeed, I shall be wellcontent with that.
But there was no peace in Earlstoun that morning--no, nor for many amorning to come. I was at the door watching for their coming, beforeever a grouse cock stirred among the short brown heather on the side ofArdoch Hill. I told my mother over and over that without doubt Sandy wasbringing father home.
"Gay Garland was aye a reesty beast!" I said. "Doubtless he started whenmy faither had his foot in the stirrup, and has come hame by himsel'!"
But I said nothing about the finger in the holster.
"Anither beast micht," said my mother, looking wistfully from the littlewindow on the stair, from which she did not stir, "but never GayGarland!"
And right well I knew she spake the truth. Gay Garland had carried myfather over long to reest with him at the hinderend.
"Can ye no see them?" cried my mother again, from the room whereordinarily she sat.
Even Jean Hamilton, who had been but three years a wife, was not asrestless that fair morning of midsummer as my mother, for she had herbabe at her breast. In which she was the happier, because when he cried,at least she had something to think about.
Three weeks before, in the midst of the sunny days of that noble June,my father, William Gordon of Airds and Earlstoun, and my elder brotherAlexander had ridden away to fight against King Charles. It took a longarm in those days to strive with the Stuarts. And as I saw them rideover the brae with thirty Glenkens blue bonnets at their tail, I knewthat I was looking upon the beginning of the ruin of our house. Yet Iwent and hid my face and raged, because I was not permitted to ridealong with them, nor to carry the Banner of Blue which my mother theLady of Earlstoun, and Jean Hamilton, Sandy's wife, had broidered forthem--with words that stirred the heart lettered fair upon it in threadsof gold, and an Andrew's cross of white laid on the bonny blue of itsfolds.
My mother would have added an open Bible on the division beneath, but myfather forbade.
"A sword, gin ye like, but no Bible!" he said.
So they rode away, and I, that was called William Gordon for my father,clenched hands and wept because that I was not counted worthy to ridewith them. But I was never strong, ever since Maisie Lennox and I rodehome from the Tinklers' Loup; and my mother said always that she hadmore trouble at the rearing of me than with all her cleckin'. By whichshe meant, as one might say, her brood of chickens.
To me my father cried out as he rode out of the yard:
"Abide, William, and look to your mother--and see that the beasts gettheir fodder, for you are the master of Earlstoun till I return."
"An' ye can help Jean to sew her bairn-clouts!" cried my brother Sandy,whom we called the Bull, in that great voice of his which could cry fromArdoch to Lochinvar over leagues of heather.
And I, who heard him with the water standing in my eyes because theywere going out in their war-gear while I had to bide at home,--couldhave clouted him with a stone as he sat his horse, smiling and shavingthe back of his hand with his Andrea Ferrara to try its edge.
O well ken I that he was a great fighter and Covenant man, and did tentimes greater things than I, an ill-grown crowl, can ever lay my nameto. But nevertheless, such was the hatred I felt at the time towardshim, being my brother and thus flouting me.
But with us, as I have said, there abode our cousin Maisie Lennox fromthe Duchrae, grown now into a douce and sonsy lass, with hair that waslike spun gold when the sun shone upon it. For the rest, her face ratherwanted colour, not having in it--by reason of her anxiety for herfather, and it may be also by the nature of her complexion--so much ofred as the faces of Jean Hamilton and other of our country lasses. Butbecause she was my comrade, I saw naught awanting, nor thought of red orpale, since she was indeed Maisie Lennox and my friend and gossip ofthese many years.
Also in some sort she had become a companion for my mother, for she hada sedate and dependable way with her, solate and wise beyond her years.
"She is not like a flichty young body aboot a hoose," said my mother.
But in this I differed, yet said nothing. For no one could have been tome what young Maisie of the Duchrae was.
After Sandy and my father had ridden away, and I that was left to keepthe house, went about with a hanging head because I had not ridden also,Maisie Lennox grew more than ordinarily kind. Never had a feckless ladlike me, such a friend as Maisie of the Duchrae. It was far beyond thatlove which the maids chatter about, and run out to the stackyard in thegloaming to find--oft to their sorrow, poor silly hempies.
Yet Maisie May and I greeted in the morning without observance, butrather as brothers whom night has not parted. In the day we spoke butseldom, save to ask what might be needful, as the day's darg and dutydrifted us together. But at even, standing silent, we watched the lightfade from the hills of the west and gather behind those of the east. AndI knew that without speech her heart was trying to comfort mine, becauseI had not been judged worthy to ride for the Covenants with her fatherand mine, and in especial because Sandy had openly flouted me beforeher. This was very precious to me and kept up my manhood in mine owneyes--a service far above rubies.
Thus they rode away and left the house of the Earlstoun as empty andunfriendly as a barn in hay harvest. From that day forward we spent asmuch time looking out over the moor from the house, as we did at ourappointed tasks. I have already told of the happenings of the night ofthe twenty-second of June, and of my mother's strange behaviour--which,indeed, was very far from her wont. For she seldom showed her heart tomy father, but rather faulted him and kept him at a stick's end,especially when he came heedlessly into her clean-swept rooms with hisgreat moss-splashed riding-boots.
Of this time I have one thing more to tell. It was between the hours often and eleven of the day following this strange night, that my mother,having set all her house maidens to their tasks with her ordinary careand discretion, took down the bake-board and hung the girdle above aclear red fire of peat. Sometimes she did this herself, especially whenmy father was from home. For she was a master baker, and my father oftenvowed that he would have her made the deacon of the trade in Dumfries,where he had a house. He was indeed mortally fond of her girdle-cakes,and had wheaten flour ground fine at a distant mill for the purpose ofmaking them.
"Mary Hope," he used to say to her in his daffing way, "your scones arebetter than your father's law. I wonder wha learned ye to bake abootCraigieha'--tho', I grant, mony's the puir man the faither o' ye haskeepit braw and het on a girdle, while he stirred him aboot wi' histongue."
This he said because my mother was a daughter of my Lord Hope ofCraigiehall, who had been President of the Court of Session in his time,and a very notable greatman in the State.
So, as I say, this day she set to the baking early, and it went to myheart when I saw she was making the wheaten cakes raised with sourbuttermilk that were my father's favourites.
She had not been at it long before in came Jock o' the Garpel, hot-footfrom the hill.
"Maister Alexander!" he cried, panting and broken-winded with haste,"Maister Alexander is comin' ower the Brae!"
There was silence in the wide kitchen for a moment, only the sound of mymother's roller being heard, "dunt-dunting" on the dough.
"Is he by his lane?" asked my mother without raising her head from thebake-board.
"Ay," said Jock o' the Garpel, "a' by his lane. No a man rides ahinthim."
And again there was silence in the wide house of Earlstoun.
My mother went to the girdle to turn the wheaten cakes that were myfather's favourites, and as she bent over the fire, ther
e was a sound asif rain-drops were falling and birsling upon the hot girdle. But it wasonly the water running down my mother's cheeks for the love of heryouth, because now her last hope was fairly gone.
Then in the middle of her turning she drew the girdle off the fire, nothastily, but with care and composedness.
"I'll bake nae mair," she cried, "Sandy has come ower the hill hislane!"
And I caught my mother in my arms.