CHAPTER IIIA COACH-AND-FIVEARCHIEsat in his bedroom at a table. The window was open, for it was a soft October afternoon, and he looked out meditatively at the prospect before him.The wind that had howled in the night had spent itself towards morning, and by midday the tormented sky had cleared and the curtain of cloud rolled away, leaving a mellow sun smiling over the Basin of Montrose. He had never been within some miles of Balnillo, and the aspect of this piece of the country being new to him, his painter’s eye rested appreciatively on what he saw.Two avenues of ancient trees ran southward, one on either side of the house, and a succession of grass fields sloped away before him between these bands of timber to the tidal estuary, where the water lay blue and quiet with the ribbon of the South Esk winding into it from the west. Beyond it the low hills with their gentle rise touched the horizon; nearer at hand the beeches and gean-trees, so dear to Lord Balnillo’s heart, were red and gold. Here and there, where thegale had thinned the leaves, the bareness of stem and bough let in glimpses of the distant purple which was the veil of the farther atmosphere. To the east, shut out from his sight by all this wood, was the town of Montrose, set, with its pointed steeple, like the blue silhouette of some Dutch town, between the Basin and the North Sea.A pen was in Flemington’s hand, and the very long letter he had just written was before him.“BALNILLOHOUSE.“MADAM,MYDEARGRANDMOTHER,“I beg you to look upon the address at the head of this letter, and to judge whether fortune has favoured your devoted grandson.“I amon the very spot, and, what is more, seem like to remain there indefinitely. Could anything in this untoward world have fallen out better? Montrose is a bare three miles from where I sit, and I can betake myself there on business when necessary, while I live as secluded as I please, cheek by jowl with the very persons whose acquaintance I had laid so many plots to compass. My dear grandmother, could you but have seen me last night, when I lay down after my labours, tricked out in my worshipful host’s nightshirt! Though the honest man is something of a fop in his attire, his arms are not so long as mine, and the fine ruffles on the sleeves did little more than adorn my elbows, which made me feel like a lady till I looked at my skirts. Then I felt more like a highlandman.But I am telling you only effects when you are wanting causes.“I changed horses at Brechin, having got so far in safety just after dark, and went on towards Montrose, with the wind rising and never a star to look comfort at me through the coach window. Though I knew we must be on the right road, I asked my way at every hovel we passed, and was much interested when I was told that I was at the edge of my Lord Balnillo’s estate, and not far from his house.“The road soon afterwards took a plunge into the very vilest place I ever saw—a steep way scarcely fit for a cattle-road, between a mass of trees. I put out my head and heard the rushing of water. Oh, what a fine thing memory is! I remembered having heard of the Den of Balnillo and being told that it was near Balnillo house, and I judged we must be there. Another minute and we were clattering among stones; the water was up to the axle and we rocked like a ship. One wheel was higher than the other, and we leaned over so that I could scarcely sit. Then I was inspired. I threw myself with all my weight against the side, and dragged so much of my cargo of canvases as I could lay hold of with me. There was a great splash and over we went. It was mighty hard work getting out, for the devil caused the door to stick fast, and I had to crawl through the window at that side of the coach which was turned to the sky, like a roof. I hope I may never be colder. Weturned to and got the horses out and on to dry ground, and the postilion, a very frog for slime and mud, began to shout, which soon produced a couple of men with a lantern. I shouted too, and did my poor best in the way of oaths to give the affair all the colour of reality I could, and I believe I was successful. The noise brought more people about us, and with them my lord’s brother, Captain Logie, hurrying to the rescue with a fellow who had run to the house with news of our trouble. The result was that we ended our night, the coach with a cracked axle and a hole in the panel, the postilion in the servants’ hall with half a bottle of good Scots whisky inside him, the horses—one with a broken knee—in the stable, and myself, as I tell you, in his lordship’s nightshirt.“I promise you that I thought myself happy when I got inside the mansion—a solemn block, with a grand manner of its own and Corinthian pillars in the dining-room. His lordship was on the hearthrug, as solemn as his house, but with a pinched, precise look which it has not got. He was no easy nut to crack, and it took me a little time to establish myself with him, but the good James, his brother, left us a little while alone, and I made all the way I could in his favour. I may have trouble with the old man, and, at any rate, must be always at my best with him, for he seems to me to be silly, virtuous and cunning all at once. He is vain,too, and suspicious, and has seen so many wicked people in his judicial career that I must not let him confound me with them. I could see that he had difficulty in making my occupation and appearance match to his satisfaction. He wears a mouse-coloured velvet coat, and is very nice in the details of his dress. I should like you to see him—not because he would amuse you, but because it would entertain me so completely to see you together.“James, his brother, is cut to a very different pattern. He is many years younger than his lordship—not a dozen years older than myself, I imagine—and he has spent much of his life with Lord Orkney’s regiment in Holland. There is something mighty attractive in his face, though I cannot make out what it is. It is strange that, though he seems to be a much simpler person than the old man, I feel less able to describe him. I have had much talk with him this morning, and I don’t know when I have liked anyone better.“And now comes the triumph of well-doing—the climax to which all this faithful record leads. I am to paint his lordship’s portrait (in his Judge’s robes), and am installed here definitely for that purpose! I shall be grateful if you will send me my chestnut-brown suit and a couple of fine shirts, also the silk stockings which are in the top shelf of my cupboard, and all you can lay hands on in the matter of cravats. My valise was soaked through and through, and,though the clothes I am wearing were dried in the night, I am rather short of good coats, for I expected to end in an inn at Montrose rather than in a gentleman’s house. Though I am within reach of Ardguys, and might ride to fetch them in person, I do not want to be absent unnecessarily. Anyimportantletters that I may send you will go by a hand I know of. I shall go shortly to Montrose by way of procuring myself some small necessity, and shall search for that hand. Its owner should not be difficult to recognize, by all accounts. And now, my dear grandmother, I shall write myself“Your dutiful and devoted grandson,“ARCHIBALDFLEMINGTON.”Archie sealed his letter, and then rose and leaned far out of the window. The sun still bathed the land, but it was getting low; the tree-tops were thrusting their heads into a light which had already left the grass-parks slanting away from the house. The latter part of his morning had been taken up by his host’s slow inspection of his canvases, and he longed for a sight of his surroundings. He knew that the brothers had gone out together, and he took his hat and stood irresolute, with his letter in his hand, before a humble-looking little locked case, which he had himself rescued the night before from among his submerged belongings in the coach, hesitating whether he should commit the paper to it or keep it upon his own person. It seemed to be a matterfor some consideration. Finally, he put it into his pocket and went out.He set forth down one of the avenues, walking on a gorgeous carpet of fallen leaves, and came out on a road running east and west, evidently another connecting Brechin with Montrose. He smiled as he considered it, realizing that, had he taken it last night, he would have escaped the Den of Balnillo and many more desirable things at the same time.As he stood looking up and down, he heard a liquid rush, and saw to his right a mill-dam glimmering through the trees, evidently the goal of the waters which had soused him so lately. He strolled towards it, attracted by the forest of stems and golden foliage reflected in the pool, and by the slide down which the stream poured into a field, to wind, like a little serpent, through the grass. Just where it disappeared stood a stone mill-house abutting on the highway, from which came the clacking of a wheel. The miller was at his door. Archie could see that he was watching something with interest, for the man stood out, a distinct white figure, on the steps running up from the road to the gaping doorway in the mill-wall.Flemington was one of those blessed people for whom common sights do not glide by, a mere meaningless procession of alien things. Humanity’s smallest actions had an interest for him, for he had that love of seeing effect follow cause, which is at once priceless and childish—pricelessbecause anything that lifts from us the irritating burden of ourselves for so much as a moment is priceless; and childish because it is a survival of the years when all the universe was new. Priceless yet again, because it will often lead us down unexpected side-tracks of knowledge in a world in which knowledge is power.He sat down on the low wall bounding the mill-field, for he was determined to know what the miller was staring at. Whatever it was, it was on the farther side of a cottage built just across the road from the mill.He was suddenly conscious that a bare-footed little girl with tow-coloured hair had appeared from nowhere, and was standing beside him. She also was staring at the house by the mill, but with occasional furtive glances at himself. All at once the heavy drone of a bagpipe came towards them, then the shrill notes of the chanter began to meander up and down on the blare of sonorous sound like a light pattern running over a dark background. The little girl removed her eyes from the stranger and cut a caper with her bare feet, as though she would like to dance.It was evident that the sounds had affected Flemington, too, but not in the same way. He made a sharp exclamation under his breath, and turned to the child.“Who is that playing?” he cried, putting out his hand.She jumped back and stood staring.“Who is that playing?” he repeated.She was still dumb, scrubbing one foot against her bare ankle after the manner of the shoeless when embarrassed.Archie was exasperated. He rose, without further noticing the child, and hurried towards the mill. When he had reached the place where the stream dived through a stone arch under the road he found she was following him. He heard the pad, pad, of her naked soles in the mud.All at once she was moved to answer his question.“Yon’s Skirlin’ Wattie!” she yelled after him.But he strode on, taking no notice; fortune was playing into his hand so wonderfully that he was ceasing to be surprised.In the little yard of the cottage he found a small crowd of children, two women, and the miller’s man, collected round the strangest assortment of living creatures he had ever seen. The name ‘Skirlin’ Wattie’ had conveyed something to him, and he was prepared for the extraordinary, but his breath was almost taken away by the oddness of what he saw.In the middle of the group was a stout wooden box, which, mounted on very low wheels, was transformed into the likeness of a rough go-cart, and to this were yoked five dogs of differing breeds and sizes. A half-bred mastiff in the wheel of the team was taking advantage of the halt and lay dozing, his jowl on his paws, undisturbed by the blast of sound which poured over his head, whilst his companion, a large, smooth-hairedyellow cur, stood alert with an almost proprietary interest in what was going on awake in his amber eyes. The couple of collies in front of them sniffed furtively at the bystanders, and the wire-haired terrier, which, as leader, was harnessed singly in advance of the lot, was sharing a bannock with a newly-breeched man-child, the sinister nature of whose squint almost made the dog’s confidence seem misplaced.The occupant of the cart was an elderly man, whom accident had deprived of the lower part of his legs, both of which had been amputated just below the knee. He had the head of Falstaff, the shoulders of Hercules, and lack of exercise had made his thighs and back bulge out over the sides of his carriage, even as the bag of his pipes bulged under his elbow. He was dressed in tartan breeches and doublet, and he wore a huge Kilmarnock bonnet with a red knob on the top. The lower half of his face was distended by his occupation, and at the appearance of Flemington by the gate, he turned on him, above the billows of crimson cheek and grizzled whisker, the boldest pair of eyes that the young man had ever met. He was a masterly piper, and as the tune stopped a murmur of applause went through the audience.“Man, ye’re the most mountaineous player in Scotland!” said the miller’s man, who was a coiner of words.“Aye, dod, am I!” replied the piper.“Hae?” continued the miller’s man, holding out an apple.The beggar took it with that silent wag of the back of the head which seems peculiar to the east coast of Scotland, and dropped it into the cart.Archie handed him a sixpence.“Ye’ll hae to gie us mair noo!” cried the squinting child, whose eyes had seen straight enough, and who seemed to have a keen sense of values.“Aye, a sang this time,” added its mother.“Ye’ll get a pucklie meal an’ a bawbee gin’ ye sing ‘The Tod,’”*chimed in an old woman, who had suddenly put her head out of the upper story of the cottage.The beggar laid down his pipes and spat on earth. Then he opened his mouth and gave forth a voice whose volume, flexibility, and extreme sweetness seemed incredible, considering the being from whom it emanated.“There’s a tod aye blinkin’ when the nicht comes doon,Blinkin’ wi’ his lang een, and keekin’ round an’ roun’,Creepin’ by the farm-yaird when gloamin’ is to fa’,And syne there’ll be a chicken or a deuk awa’.Aye, when the guidwife rises there’s a deuk awa’!“There’s a lass sits greetin’ ben the hoose at hame,For when the guidwife’s cankered she gie’s her aye the blame,And sair the lassie’s sabbin’, and fast the tears fa’,For the guidwife’s tynt a bonnie hen, and it’s awa’.Aye, she’s no sae easy dealt wi’ when her gear’s awa’!“There’s a lad aye roamin’ when the day gets late,A lang-leggit deevil wi’ his hand upon the gate,And aye the guidwife cries to him to gar the toddie fa’,For she canna thole to let her chicks an’ deuks awa’.Aye, the muckle bubbly-jock himsel’ is ca’ed awa’!“The laddie saw the tod gae by, an’ killed him wi’ a stane,And the bonnie lass wha grat sae sair she sits nae mair her lane,But the guidwife’s no contented yet—her like ye never saw,Cries she, ‘This time it is the lass, an’ she’s awa’!’Aye, yon laddie’s waur nor ony tod, for Jean’s awa’!”Archie beat the top rail of the paling with so much enthusiasm that the yellow cur began to bark. The beggar quieted him with a storm of abuse.The beldame disappeared from the window, and her steps could be heard descending the wooden stair of the cottage. She approached the cart with a handful of meal on a platter which Skirling Wattie tilted into an old leather bag that hung on his carriage.“Whaur’s the bawbee?” cried the squinting child.A shout of laughter went up, led by Archie.“He kens there’s nae muckle weicht o’ meal, and wha’ should ken it better?” said the beggar, balancing the bag on his palm and winking at the miller’s man.The latter, who happened to be the child’s unacknowledged parent, disappeared behind the house.“One more song, and I will supply the bawbee,” said Archie, throwing another coin into the cart.Skirling Wattie sent a considering glance at his patron; though he might not understand refinement, he could recognize it; and much of his local success had come from his nice appraisement of audiences.“I’ll gie ye Logie Kirk,” said he.“O Logie Kirk, among the braesI’m thinkin’ o’ the merry daysAfore I trod the weary waysThat led me far frae Logie.“Fine do I mind when I was young,Abune thy graves the mavis sung,And ilka birdie had a tongueTo ca’ me back to Logie.“O Logie Kirk, tho’ aye the same,The burn sings ae remembered name,There’s ne’er a voice to cry ‘Come hameTo bonnie Bess at Logie!’“Far, far awa’ the years declineThat took the lassie wha was mineAnd laid her sleepin’ lang, lang syneAmong the braes at Logie.”His voice, and the wonderful pathos of his phrasing, fascinated Archie, but as the last cadences fell from his mouth, the beggar snatched up the long switch with which he drove his team and began to roar.“A’m awa’!” he shouted, making every wall and corner echo. “Open the gate an’ let me through, ye misbegotten bairns o’ Auld Nick! Stand back, ye clortie-faced weans, an’ let me out! Round about an’ up the road! Just round about an’ up the road, a’ tell ye!”The last sentences were addressed to the dogs who were now all on their legs and mindful of the stick whirling in the air above them.Archie could see that he was not included in the beggar’s general address, but, being nearest to the gate, he swung it open and the whole equipagedashed through, the dogs guided with amazing dexterity between the posts by their master’s switch. The rapid circle they described on the road as they were turned up the hill towards Brechin seemed likely to upset the cart, but the beggar leaned outwards so adroitly that none of the four wheels left the ground. As they went up the incline he took up his pipes, and leaving the team to its own guidance, tuned up and disappeared round the next bend in a blast of sound.Flemington would have given a great deal to run after him, and could easily have overtaken the cart, for its pace was not very formidable. But the whole community, including the tow-headed little girl, was watching Skirling Wattie out of sight and speculating, he knew, upon his own identity. So he walked leisurely on till the road turned at the top of the hill, and he was rewarded at the other side of its bend by the sight of the beggar halting his team by a pond at which the dogs were drinking. He threw a look around and behind him; then, as no human creature was to be seen, he gave a loud whistle, holding up his arm, and began to run.Skirling Wattie awaited him at the pond-side, and as Archie approached, he could almost feel his bold eyes searching him from top to toe. He stopped by the cart.“My name is Flemington,” said he.“A’ve heard worse,” replied the other calmly.“And I have a description of you in my pocket,”continued Archie. “Perhaps you would like to see it.”The beggar looked up at him from under his bushy eyebrows, with a smile of the most robust and genial effrontery that he had ever seen on a human face.“A’d need to,” said he.Archie took a folded paper from his pocket.“You see that signature,” he said, putting his forefinger on it.The other reached up to take the paper.“No, no,” said Flemington, “this never goes out of my hand.”“That’s you!” exclaimed the beggar, with some admiration. “Put it back. A’ ken it.”He unhooked his leather bag, which hung inside the cart on its front board. This Archie perceived to be made, apparently for additional strength, of two thicknesses of wood. Skirling Wattie slid the inner plank upwards, and the young man saw a couple of sealed letters hidden behind it, one of which was addressed to himself.“Tak’ yon,” said the beggar, as the sound of a horse’s tread was heard not far off, “tak’ it quick an’ syne awa’ ye gang! Mind ye, a gang ilka twa days frae Montrose to Brechin, an a’m aye skirlin’ as a gang.”“And do you take this one and have it sent on from Brechin,” said Archie hurriedly, handing him the letter he had written to Madam Flemington.The other wagged the back of his head, and laid a finger against the rim of his bonnet.Archie struck into the fields by the pond, and had time to drop down behind a whin-bush before an inoffensive-looking farmer went by on his way between the two towns.The beggar continued his progress, singing to himself, and Flemington, who did not care to face the mill and the curious eyes of the tow-headed little girl again, took a line across country back to Balnillo.He hated the tow-headed little girl.*Fox.
ARCHIEsat in his bedroom at a table. The window was open, for it was a soft October afternoon, and he looked out meditatively at the prospect before him.
The wind that had howled in the night had spent itself towards morning, and by midday the tormented sky had cleared and the curtain of cloud rolled away, leaving a mellow sun smiling over the Basin of Montrose. He had never been within some miles of Balnillo, and the aspect of this piece of the country being new to him, his painter’s eye rested appreciatively on what he saw.
Two avenues of ancient trees ran southward, one on either side of the house, and a succession of grass fields sloped away before him between these bands of timber to the tidal estuary, where the water lay blue and quiet with the ribbon of the South Esk winding into it from the west. Beyond it the low hills with their gentle rise touched the horizon; nearer at hand the beeches and gean-trees, so dear to Lord Balnillo’s heart, were red and gold. Here and there, where thegale had thinned the leaves, the bareness of stem and bough let in glimpses of the distant purple which was the veil of the farther atmosphere. To the east, shut out from his sight by all this wood, was the town of Montrose, set, with its pointed steeple, like the blue silhouette of some Dutch town, between the Basin and the North Sea.
A pen was in Flemington’s hand, and the very long letter he had just written was before him.
“BALNILLOHOUSE.“MADAM,MYDEARGRANDMOTHER,“I beg you to look upon the address at the head of this letter, and to judge whether fortune has favoured your devoted grandson.“I amon the very spot, and, what is more, seem like to remain there indefinitely. Could anything in this untoward world have fallen out better? Montrose is a bare three miles from where I sit, and I can betake myself there on business when necessary, while I live as secluded as I please, cheek by jowl with the very persons whose acquaintance I had laid so many plots to compass. My dear grandmother, could you but have seen me last night, when I lay down after my labours, tricked out in my worshipful host’s nightshirt! Though the honest man is something of a fop in his attire, his arms are not so long as mine, and the fine ruffles on the sleeves did little more than adorn my elbows, which made me feel like a lady till I looked at my skirts. Then I felt more like a highlandman.But I am telling you only effects when you are wanting causes.“I changed horses at Brechin, having got so far in safety just after dark, and went on towards Montrose, with the wind rising and never a star to look comfort at me through the coach window. Though I knew we must be on the right road, I asked my way at every hovel we passed, and was much interested when I was told that I was at the edge of my Lord Balnillo’s estate, and not far from his house.“The road soon afterwards took a plunge into the very vilest place I ever saw—a steep way scarcely fit for a cattle-road, between a mass of trees. I put out my head and heard the rushing of water. Oh, what a fine thing memory is! I remembered having heard of the Den of Balnillo and being told that it was near Balnillo house, and I judged we must be there. Another minute and we were clattering among stones; the water was up to the axle and we rocked like a ship. One wheel was higher than the other, and we leaned over so that I could scarcely sit. Then I was inspired. I threw myself with all my weight against the side, and dragged so much of my cargo of canvases as I could lay hold of with me. There was a great splash and over we went. It was mighty hard work getting out, for the devil caused the door to stick fast, and I had to crawl through the window at that side of the coach which was turned to the sky, like a roof. I hope I may never be colder. Weturned to and got the horses out and on to dry ground, and the postilion, a very frog for slime and mud, began to shout, which soon produced a couple of men with a lantern. I shouted too, and did my poor best in the way of oaths to give the affair all the colour of reality I could, and I believe I was successful. The noise brought more people about us, and with them my lord’s brother, Captain Logie, hurrying to the rescue with a fellow who had run to the house with news of our trouble. The result was that we ended our night, the coach with a cracked axle and a hole in the panel, the postilion in the servants’ hall with half a bottle of good Scots whisky inside him, the horses—one with a broken knee—in the stable, and myself, as I tell you, in his lordship’s nightshirt.“I promise you that I thought myself happy when I got inside the mansion—a solemn block, with a grand manner of its own and Corinthian pillars in the dining-room. His lordship was on the hearthrug, as solemn as his house, but with a pinched, precise look which it has not got. He was no easy nut to crack, and it took me a little time to establish myself with him, but the good James, his brother, left us a little while alone, and I made all the way I could in his favour. I may have trouble with the old man, and, at any rate, must be always at my best with him, for he seems to me to be silly, virtuous and cunning all at once. He is vain,too, and suspicious, and has seen so many wicked people in his judicial career that I must not let him confound me with them. I could see that he had difficulty in making my occupation and appearance match to his satisfaction. He wears a mouse-coloured velvet coat, and is very nice in the details of his dress. I should like you to see him—not because he would amuse you, but because it would entertain me so completely to see you together.“James, his brother, is cut to a very different pattern. He is many years younger than his lordship—not a dozen years older than myself, I imagine—and he has spent much of his life with Lord Orkney’s regiment in Holland. There is something mighty attractive in his face, though I cannot make out what it is. It is strange that, though he seems to be a much simpler person than the old man, I feel less able to describe him. I have had much talk with him this morning, and I don’t know when I have liked anyone better.“And now comes the triumph of well-doing—the climax to which all this faithful record leads. I am to paint his lordship’s portrait (in his Judge’s robes), and am installed here definitely for that purpose! I shall be grateful if you will send me my chestnut-brown suit and a couple of fine shirts, also the silk stockings which are in the top shelf of my cupboard, and all you can lay hands on in the matter of cravats. My valise was soaked through and through, and,though the clothes I am wearing were dried in the night, I am rather short of good coats, for I expected to end in an inn at Montrose rather than in a gentleman’s house. Though I am within reach of Ardguys, and might ride to fetch them in person, I do not want to be absent unnecessarily. Anyimportantletters that I may send you will go by a hand I know of. I shall go shortly to Montrose by way of procuring myself some small necessity, and shall search for that hand. Its owner should not be difficult to recognize, by all accounts. And now, my dear grandmother, I shall write myself“Your dutiful and devoted grandson,“ARCHIBALDFLEMINGTON.”
“BALNILLOHOUSE.
“MADAM,MYDEARGRANDMOTHER,
“I beg you to look upon the address at the head of this letter, and to judge whether fortune has favoured your devoted grandson.
“I amon the very spot, and, what is more, seem like to remain there indefinitely. Could anything in this untoward world have fallen out better? Montrose is a bare three miles from where I sit, and I can betake myself there on business when necessary, while I live as secluded as I please, cheek by jowl with the very persons whose acquaintance I had laid so many plots to compass. My dear grandmother, could you but have seen me last night, when I lay down after my labours, tricked out in my worshipful host’s nightshirt! Though the honest man is something of a fop in his attire, his arms are not so long as mine, and the fine ruffles on the sleeves did little more than adorn my elbows, which made me feel like a lady till I looked at my skirts. Then I felt more like a highlandman.But I am telling you only effects when you are wanting causes.
“I changed horses at Brechin, having got so far in safety just after dark, and went on towards Montrose, with the wind rising and never a star to look comfort at me through the coach window. Though I knew we must be on the right road, I asked my way at every hovel we passed, and was much interested when I was told that I was at the edge of my Lord Balnillo’s estate, and not far from his house.
“The road soon afterwards took a plunge into the very vilest place I ever saw—a steep way scarcely fit for a cattle-road, between a mass of trees. I put out my head and heard the rushing of water. Oh, what a fine thing memory is! I remembered having heard of the Den of Balnillo and being told that it was near Balnillo house, and I judged we must be there. Another minute and we were clattering among stones; the water was up to the axle and we rocked like a ship. One wheel was higher than the other, and we leaned over so that I could scarcely sit. Then I was inspired. I threw myself with all my weight against the side, and dragged so much of my cargo of canvases as I could lay hold of with me. There was a great splash and over we went. It was mighty hard work getting out, for the devil caused the door to stick fast, and I had to crawl through the window at that side of the coach which was turned to the sky, like a roof. I hope I may never be colder. Weturned to and got the horses out and on to dry ground, and the postilion, a very frog for slime and mud, began to shout, which soon produced a couple of men with a lantern. I shouted too, and did my poor best in the way of oaths to give the affair all the colour of reality I could, and I believe I was successful. The noise brought more people about us, and with them my lord’s brother, Captain Logie, hurrying to the rescue with a fellow who had run to the house with news of our trouble. The result was that we ended our night, the coach with a cracked axle and a hole in the panel, the postilion in the servants’ hall with half a bottle of good Scots whisky inside him, the horses—one with a broken knee—in the stable, and myself, as I tell you, in his lordship’s nightshirt.
“I promise you that I thought myself happy when I got inside the mansion—a solemn block, with a grand manner of its own and Corinthian pillars in the dining-room. His lordship was on the hearthrug, as solemn as his house, but with a pinched, precise look which it has not got. He was no easy nut to crack, and it took me a little time to establish myself with him, but the good James, his brother, left us a little while alone, and I made all the way I could in his favour. I may have trouble with the old man, and, at any rate, must be always at my best with him, for he seems to me to be silly, virtuous and cunning all at once. He is vain,too, and suspicious, and has seen so many wicked people in his judicial career that I must not let him confound me with them. I could see that he had difficulty in making my occupation and appearance match to his satisfaction. He wears a mouse-coloured velvet coat, and is very nice in the details of his dress. I should like you to see him—not because he would amuse you, but because it would entertain me so completely to see you together.
“James, his brother, is cut to a very different pattern. He is many years younger than his lordship—not a dozen years older than myself, I imagine—and he has spent much of his life with Lord Orkney’s regiment in Holland. There is something mighty attractive in his face, though I cannot make out what it is. It is strange that, though he seems to be a much simpler person than the old man, I feel less able to describe him. I have had much talk with him this morning, and I don’t know when I have liked anyone better.
“And now comes the triumph of well-doing—the climax to which all this faithful record leads. I am to paint his lordship’s portrait (in his Judge’s robes), and am installed here definitely for that purpose! I shall be grateful if you will send me my chestnut-brown suit and a couple of fine shirts, also the silk stockings which are in the top shelf of my cupboard, and all you can lay hands on in the matter of cravats. My valise was soaked through and through, and,though the clothes I am wearing were dried in the night, I am rather short of good coats, for I expected to end in an inn at Montrose rather than in a gentleman’s house. Though I am within reach of Ardguys, and might ride to fetch them in person, I do not want to be absent unnecessarily. Anyimportantletters that I may send you will go by a hand I know of. I shall go shortly to Montrose by way of procuring myself some small necessity, and shall search for that hand. Its owner should not be difficult to recognize, by all accounts. And now, my dear grandmother, I shall write myself
“Your dutiful and devoted grandson,
“ARCHIBALDFLEMINGTON.”
Archie sealed his letter, and then rose and leaned far out of the window. The sun still bathed the land, but it was getting low; the tree-tops were thrusting their heads into a light which had already left the grass-parks slanting away from the house. The latter part of his morning had been taken up by his host’s slow inspection of his canvases, and he longed for a sight of his surroundings. He knew that the brothers had gone out together, and he took his hat and stood irresolute, with his letter in his hand, before a humble-looking little locked case, which he had himself rescued the night before from among his submerged belongings in the coach, hesitating whether he should commit the paper to it or keep it upon his own person. It seemed to be a matterfor some consideration. Finally, he put it into his pocket and went out.
He set forth down one of the avenues, walking on a gorgeous carpet of fallen leaves, and came out on a road running east and west, evidently another connecting Brechin with Montrose. He smiled as he considered it, realizing that, had he taken it last night, he would have escaped the Den of Balnillo and many more desirable things at the same time.
As he stood looking up and down, he heard a liquid rush, and saw to his right a mill-dam glimmering through the trees, evidently the goal of the waters which had soused him so lately. He strolled towards it, attracted by the forest of stems and golden foliage reflected in the pool, and by the slide down which the stream poured into a field, to wind, like a little serpent, through the grass. Just where it disappeared stood a stone mill-house abutting on the highway, from which came the clacking of a wheel. The miller was at his door. Archie could see that he was watching something with interest, for the man stood out, a distinct white figure, on the steps running up from the road to the gaping doorway in the mill-wall.
Flemington was one of those blessed people for whom common sights do not glide by, a mere meaningless procession of alien things. Humanity’s smallest actions had an interest for him, for he had that love of seeing effect follow cause, which is at once priceless and childish—pricelessbecause anything that lifts from us the irritating burden of ourselves for so much as a moment is priceless; and childish because it is a survival of the years when all the universe was new. Priceless yet again, because it will often lead us down unexpected side-tracks of knowledge in a world in which knowledge is power.
He sat down on the low wall bounding the mill-field, for he was determined to know what the miller was staring at. Whatever it was, it was on the farther side of a cottage built just across the road from the mill.
He was suddenly conscious that a bare-footed little girl with tow-coloured hair had appeared from nowhere, and was standing beside him. She also was staring at the house by the mill, but with occasional furtive glances at himself. All at once the heavy drone of a bagpipe came towards them, then the shrill notes of the chanter began to meander up and down on the blare of sonorous sound like a light pattern running over a dark background. The little girl removed her eyes from the stranger and cut a caper with her bare feet, as though she would like to dance.
It was evident that the sounds had affected Flemington, too, but not in the same way. He made a sharp exclamation under his breath, and turned to the child.
“Who is that playing?” he cried, putting out his hand.
She jumped back and stood staring.
“Who is that playing?” he repeated.
She was still dumb, scrubbing one foot against her bare ankle after the manner of the shoeless when embarrassed.
Archie was exasperated. He rose, without further noticing the child, and hurried towards the mill. When he had reached the place where the stream dived through a stone arch under the road he found she was following him. He heard the pad, pad, of her naked soles in the mud.
All at once she was moved to answer his question.
“Yon’s Skirlin’ Wattie!” she yelled after him.
But he strode on, taking no notice; fortune was playing into his hand so wonderfully that he was ceasing to be surprised.
In the little yard of the cottage he found a small crowd of children, two women, and the miller’s man, collected round the strangest assortment of living creatures he had ever seen. The name ‘Skirlin’ Wattie’ had conveyed something to him, and he was prepared for the extraordinary, but his breath was almost taken away by the oddness of what he saw.
In the middle of the group was a stout wooden box, which, mounted on very low wheels, was transformed into the likeness of a rough go-cart, and to this were yoked five dogs of differing breeds and sizes. A half-bred mastiff in the wheel of the team was taking advantage of the halt and lay dozing, his jowl on his paws, undisturbed by the blast of sound which poured over his head, whilst his companion, a large, smooth-hairedyellow cur, stood alert with an almost proprietary interest in what was going on awake in his amber eyes. The couple of collies in front of them sniffed furtively at the bystanders, and the wire-haired terrier, which, as leader, was harnessed singly in advance of the lot, was sharing a bannock with a newly-breeched man-child, the sinister nature of whose squint almost made the dog’s confidence seem misplaced.
The occupant of the cart was an elderly man, whom accident had deprived of the lower part of his legs, both of which had been amputated just below the knee. He had the head of Falstaff, the shoulders of Hercules, and lack of exercise had made his thighs and back bulge out over the sides of his carriage, even as the bag of his pipes bulged under his elbow. He was dressed in tartan breeches and doublet, and he wore a huge Kilmarnock bonnet with a red knob on the top. The lower half of his face was distended by his occupation, and at the appearance of Flemington by the gate, he turned on him, above the billows of crimson cheek and grizzled whisker, the boldest pair of eyes that the young man had ever met. He was a masterly piper, and as the tune stopped a murmur of applause went through the audience.
“Man, ye’re the most mountaineous player in Scotland!” said the miller’s man, who was a coiner of words.
“Aye, dod, am I!” replied the piper.
“Hae?” continued the miller’s man, holding out an apple.
The beggar took it with that silent wag of the back of the head which seems peculiar to the east coast of Scotland, and dropped it into the cart.
Archie handed him a sixpence.
“Ye’ll hae to gie us mair noo!” cried the squinting child, whose eyes had seen straight enough, and who seemed to have a keen sense of values.
“Aye, a sang this time,” added its mother.
“Ye’ll get a pucklie meal an’ a bawbee gin’ ye sing ‘The Tod,’”*chimed in an old woman, who had suddenly put her head out of the upper story of the cottage.
The beggar laid down his pipes and spat on earth. Then he opened his mouth and gave forth a voice whose volume, flexibility, and extreme sweetness seemed incredible, considering the being from whom it emanated.
“There’s a tod aye blinkin’ when the nicht comes doon,Blinkin’ wi’ his lang een, and keekin’ round an’ roun’,Creepin’ by the farm-yaird when gloamin’ is to fa’,And syne there’ll be a chicken or a deuk awa’.Aye, when the guidwife rises there’s a deuk awa’!“There’s a lass sits greetin’ ben the hoose at hame,For when the guidwife’s cankered she gie’s her aye the blame,And sair the lassie’s sabbin’, and fast the tears fa’,For the guidwife’s tynt a bonnie hen, and it’s awa’.Aye, she’s no sae easy dealt wi’ when her gear’s awa’!“There’s a lad aye roamin’ when the day gets late,A lang-leggit deevil wi’ his hand upon the gate,And aye the guidwife cries to him to gar the toddie fa’,For she canna thole to let her chicks an’ deuks awa’.Aye, the muckle bubbly-jock himsel’ is ca’ed awa’!“The laddie saw the tod gae by, an’ killed him wi’ a stane,And the bonnie lass wha grat sae sair she sits nae mair her lane,But the guidwife’s no contented yet—her like ye never saw,Cries she, ‘This time it is the lass, an’ she’s awa’!’Aye, yon laddie’s waur nor ony tod, for Jean’s awa’!”
“There’s a tod aye blinkin’ when the nicht comes doon,Blinkin’ wi’ his lang een, and keekin’ round an’ roun’,Creepin’ by the farm-yaird when gloamin’ is to fa’,And syne there’ll be a chicken or a deuk awa’.Aye, when the guidwife rises there’s a deuk awa’!
“There’s a tod aye blinkin’ when the nicht comes doon,
Blinkin’ wi’ his lang een, and keekin’ round an’ roun’,
Creepin’ by the farm-yaird when gloamin’ is to fa’,
And syne there’ll be a chicken or a deuk awa’.
Aye, when the guidwife rises there’s a deuk awa’!
“There’s a lass sits greetin’ ben the hoose at hame,For when the guidwife’s cankered she gie’s her aye the blame,And sair the lassie’s sabbin’, and fast the tears fa’,For the guidwife’s tynt a bonnie hen, and it’s awa’.Aye, she’s no sae easy dealt wi’ when her gear’s awa’!
“There’s a lass sits greetin’ ben the hoose at hame,
For when the guidwife’s cankered she gie’s her aye the blame,
And sair the lassie’s sabbin’, and fast the tears fa’,
For the guidwife’s tynt a bonnie hen, and it’s awa’.
Aye, she’s no sae easy dealt wi’ when her gear’s awa’!
“There’s a lad aye roamin’ when the day gets late,A lang-leggit deevil wi’ his hand upon the gate,And aye the guidwife cries to him to gar the toddie fa’,For she canna thole to let her chicks an’ deuks awa’.Aye, the muckle bubbly-jock himsel’ is ca’ed awa’!
“There’s a lad aye roamin’ when the day gets late,
A lang-leggit deevil wi’ his hand upon the gate,
And aye the guidwife cries to him to gar the toddie fa’,
For she canna thole to let her chicks an’ deuks awa’.
Aye, the muckle bubbly-jock himsel’ is ca’ed awa’!
“The laddie saw the tod gae by, an’ killed him wi’ a stane,And the bonnie lass wha grat sae sair she sits nae mair her lane,But the guidwife’s no contented yet—her like ye never saw,Cries she, ‘This time it is the lass, an’ she’s awa’!’Aye, yon laddie’s waur nor ony tod, for Jean’s awa’!”
“The laddie saw the tod gae by, an’ killed him wi’ a stane,
And the bonnie lass wha grat sae sair she sits nae mair her lane,
But the guidwife’s no contented yet—her like ye never saw,
Cries she, ‘This time it is the lass, an’ she’s awa’!’
Aye, yon laddie’s waur nor ony tod, for Jean’s awa’!”
Archie beat the top rail of the paling with so much enthusiasm that the yellow cur began to bark. The beggar quieted him with a storm of abuse.
The beldame disappeared from the window, and her steps could be heard descending the wooden stair of the cottage. She approached the cart with a handful of meal on a platter which Skirling Wattie tilted into an old leather bag that hung on his carriage.
“Whaur’s the bawbee?” cried the squinting child.
A shout of laughter went up, led by Archie.
“He kens there’s nae muckle weicht o’ meal, and wha’ should ken it better?” said the beggar, balancing the bag on his palm and winking at the miller’s man.
The latter, who happened to be the child’s unacknowledged parent, disappeared behind the house.
“One more song, and I will supply the bawbee,” said Archie, throwing another coin into the cart.
Skirling Wattie sent a considering glance at his patron; though he might not understand refinement, he could recognize it; and much of his local success had come from his nice appraisement of audiences.
“I’ll gie ye Logie Kirk,” said he.
“O Logie Kirk, among the braesI’m thinkin’ o’ the merry daysAfore I trod the weary waysThat led me far frae Logie.“Fine do I mind when I was young,Abune thy graves the mavis sung,And ilka birdie had a tongueTo ca’ me back to Logie.“O Logie Kirk, tho’ aye the same,The burn sings ae remembered name,There’s ne’er a voice to cry ‘Come hameTo bonnie Bess at Logie!’“Far, far awa’ the years declineThat took the lassie wha was mineAnd laid her sleepin’ lang, lang syneAmong the braes at Logie.”
“O Logie Kirk, among the braesI’m thinkin’ o’ the merry daysAfore I trod the weary waysThat led me far frae Logie.
“O Logie Kirk, among the braes
I’m thinkin’ o’ the merry days
Afore I trod the weary ways
That led me far frae Logie.
“Fine do I mind when I was young,Abune thy graves the mavis sung,And ilka birdie had a tongueTo ca’ me back to Logie.
“Fine do I mind when I was young,
Abune thy graves the mavis sung,
And ilka birdie had a tongue
To ca’ me back to Logie.
“O Logie Kirk, tho’ aye the same,The burn sings ae remembered name,There’s ne’er a voice to cry ‘Come hameTo bonnie Bess at Logie!’
“O Logie Kirk, tho’ aye the same,
The burn sings ae remembered name,
There’s ne’er a voice to cry ‘Come hame
To bonnie Bess at Logie!’
“Far, far awa’ the years declineThat took the lassie wha was mineAnd laid her sleepin’ lang, lang syneAmong the braes at Logie.”
“Far, far awa’ the years decline
That took the lassie wha was mine
And laid her sleepin’ lang, lang syne
Among the braes at Logie.”
His voice, and the wonderful pathos of his phrasing, fascinated Archie, but as the last cadences fell from his mouth, the beggar snatched up the long switch with which he drove his team and began to roar.
“A’m awa’!” he shouted, making every wall and corner echo. “Open the gate an’ let me through, ye misbegotten bairns o’ Auld Nick! Stand back, ye clortie-faced weans, an’ let me out! Round about an’ up the road! Just round about an’ up the road, a’ tell ye!”
The last sentences were addressed to the dogs who were now all on their legs and mindful of the stick whirling in the air above them.
Archie could see that he was not included in the beggar’s general address, but, being nearest to the gate, he swung it open and the whole equipagedashed through, the dogs guided with amazing dexterity between the posts by their master’s switch. The rapid circle they described on the road as they were turned up the hill towards Brechin seemed likely to upset the cart, but the beggar leaned outwards so adroitly that none of the four wheels left the ground. As they went up the incline he took up his pipes, and leaving the team to its own guidance, tuned up and disappeared round the next bend in a blast of sound.
Flemington would have given a great deal to run after him, and could easily have overtaken the cart, for its pace was not very formidable. But the whole community, including the tow-headed little girl, was watching Skirling Wattie out of sight and speculating, he knew, upon his own identity. So he walked leisurely on till the road turned at the top of the hill, and he was rewarded at the other side of its bend by the sight of the beggar halting his team by a pond at which the dogs were drinking. He threw a look around and behind him; then, as no human creature was to be seen, he gave a loud whistle, holding up his arm, and began to run.
Skirling Wattie awaited him at the pond-side, and as Archie approached, he could almost feel his bold eyes searching him from top to toe. He stopped by the cart.
“My name is Flemington,” said he.
“A’ve heard worse,” replied the other calmly.
“And I have a description of you in my pocket,”continued Archie. “Perhaps you would like to see it.”
The beggar looked up at him from under his bushy eyebrows, with a smile of the most robust and genial effrontery that he had ever seen on a human face.
“A’d need to,” said he.
Archie took a folded paper from his pocket.
“You see that signature,” he said, putting his forefinger on it.
The other reached up to take the paper.
“No, no,” said Flemington, “this never goes out of my hand.”
“That’s you!” exclaimed the beggar, with some admiration. “Put it back. A’ ken it.”
He unhooked his leather bag, which hung inside the cart on its front board. This Archie perceived to be made, apparently for additional strength, of two thicknesses of wood. Skirling Wattie slid the inner plank upwards, and the young man saw a couple of sealed letters hidden behind it, one of which was addressed to himself.
“Tak’ yon,” said the beggar, as the sound of a horse’s tread was heard not far off, “tak’ it quick an’ syne awa’ ye gang! Mind ye, a gang ilka twa days frae Montrose to Brechin, an a’m aye skirlin’ as a gang.”
“And do you take this one and have it sent on from Brechin,” said Archie hurriedly, handing him the letter he had written to Madam Flemington.
The other wagged the back of his head, and laid a finger against the rim of his bonnet.
Archie struck into the fields by the pond, and had time to drop down behind a whin-bush before an inoffensive-looking farmer went by on his way between the two towns.
The beggar continued his progress, singing to himself, and Flemington, who did not care to face the mill and the curious eyes of the tow-headed little girl again, took a line across country back to Balnillo.
He hated the tow-headed little girl.
*Fox.