Auld, gray, and grizzled; yellow een;A nose as brown's a berry;A wit as sharp as ony preen—That's my wee chieftain Harry.Lord sakes!—the courage of the man!The biggest barn-yard ratten,He'll snip him by the neck, o'er-han',As he the deil had gatten.And when his master's work on hand,There's none maun come anear him;The biggest Duke in all Scotland,My Harry's teeth would fear him.But ordinar' wise like fowl or freen,He's harmless as a kitten;As soon he'd think o' worryin'A hennie when she's sittin'.But Harry, lad, ye're growin' auld;Your days are gettin' fewer;And maybe Heaven has made a fauldFor such wee things as you are.And what strange kintra will that be?And will they fill your coggies?And whatna strange folk there will seeThere's water for the doggies?Ae thing I brawly ken; it's this—Ye may hae work or play there;But if your master once ye miss,I'm bound ye winna stay there.It was the last verse that struck home. It was through no failure of devotion on the part of the faithful Harry that he was now at Inver-Mudal; it was his master that had played him false, and severed the old companionship. And he kept thinking about the little terrier; and wondering whether he missed his master as much as his master missed him; and wondering whether Meenie had ever a word for him as she went by—for she and Harry had always been great friends. Nay, perhaps Meenie might not take it ill if Maggie wrote to her for news of the little dog; and then Meenie would answer; and might not her letter take a wider scope, and say something about the people there, and about herself? Surely she would do that; and some fine morning the answer—in Meenie's handwriting—would be delivered in Abbotsford Place; and he knew that Maggie would not be long in apprising him of the same. Perhaps, indeed, he might himself become possessed of that precious missive; and bring it away with him; and from time to time have a glance at this or that sentence of it—in Meenie's own actual handwriting—when the long dull work of the day was over, and his fancy free to fly away to the north again, to Strath-Terry and Clebrig and Loch Naver, and the neat small cottage with the red blinds in the windows. It seemed to him a long time now since he had left all of these; he felt as though Glasgow had engulfed him: while the day of his rescue—the day of the fulfilment of his ambitious designs—was now growing more and more distant and vague and uncertain, leaving him only the slow drudgery of these weary hours. But Meenie's letter would be a kind of talisman; to see her handwriting would be like hearing her speak; and surely this dull little lodging was quiet enough, so that in the hushed silence of the evening, he, reading those cheerful phrases, might persuade himself that it was Meenie's voice he was listening to, with the quiet, clear, soft laugh that so well he remembered.And so these first days went by; and he hoped in time to get more accustomed to this melancholy life; and doggedly he stuck to the task he had set before him. As for the outcome of it all—well, that did not seem quite so facile nor so fine a thing as it had appeared before he came away from the north; but he left that for the future to decide; and in the meantime he was above all anxious not to perplex himself by the dreaming of idle dreams. He had come to Glasgow to work; not to build impossible castles in the air.CHAPTER XI.KATE.And yet it was a desperately hard ordeal; for this man was by nature essentially joyous, and sociable, and fitted to be the king of all good company; and the whole of his life had been spent in the open, in brisk and active exercise; and sunlight and fresh air were to him as the very breath of his nostrils. But here he was, day after day, week after week, chained to these dismal tasks; in solitude; with the far white dream of ambition becoming more and more distant and obscured; and with a terrible consciousness ever growing upon him that in coming away from even the mere neighbourhood of Meenie, from the briefest companionship with her, he had sacrificed the one beautiful thing, the one precious possession, that his life had ever held for him or would hold. What though the impalpable barrier of Glengask and Orosay rose between him and her? He was no sentimental Claude Melnotte; he had common sense; he accepted facts. Of course Meenie would go away in due time. Of course she was destined for higher things. But what then? What of the meanwhile? Could anything happen to him quite so wonderful, or worth the striving for, as Meenie's smile to him as she met him in the road? What for the time being made the skies full of brightness, and made the pulses of the blood flow gladly, and the day become charged with a kind of buoyancy of life? And as for these vague ambitions for the sake of which he had bartered away his freedom and sold himself into slavery—towards what did they tend? For whom? The excited atmosphere the Americans had brought with them had departed now: alas! this other atmosphere into which he had plunged was dull and sad enough, in all conscience; and the leaden days weighed down upon him; and the slow and solitary hours would not go by.One evening he was coming in to the town by way of the Pollokshaws road; he had spent the afternoon hard at work with Mr. Weems, and was making home again to the silent little lodging in the north. He had now been a month and more in Glasgow; and had formed no kind of society or companionship whatever. Once or twice he had looked in at his brother's; but that was chiefly to see how the little Maggie was going on; his sister-in-law gave him no over-friendly welcome; and, indeed, the social atmosphere of the Reverend Andrew's house was far from being congenial to him. As for the letter of introduction that Meenie had given him to her married sister, of course he had not had the presumption to deliver that; he had accepted the letter, and thanked Meenie for it—for it was but another act of her always thoughtful kindness; but Mrs. Gemmill was the wife of a partner in a large warehouse; and they lived in Queen's Crescent; and altogether Ronald had no thought of calling on them—although to be sure he had heard that Mrs. Gemmill had been making sufficiently minute and even curious inquiries with regard to him of a member of his brother's congregation whom she happened to know. No; he lived his life alone; wrestling with the weariness of it as best he might; and not quite knowing, perhaps, how deeply it was eating into his heart.Well, he was walking absently home on this dull gray evening, watching the lamp-lighter adding point after point to the long string of golden stars, when there went by a smartly appointed dog-cart. He did not particularly remark the occupants of the vehicle, though he knew they were two women, and that one of them was driving; his glance fell rather on the well-groomed cob, and he thought the varnished oak dog-cart looked neat and business-like. The next second it was pulled up; there was a pause, during which time he was of course drawing nearer; and then a woman's voice called to him—'Bless me, is that you, Ronald?'He looked up in amazement. And who was this, then, who had turned her head round and was now regarding him with her laughing, handsome, bold black eyes? She was a woman apparently of five-and-thirty or so, but exceedingly well preserved and comely; of pleasant features and fresh complexion; and of rather a manly build and carriage—an appearance that was not lessened by her wearing a narrow-brimmed little billycock hat. And then, even in this gathering dusk, he recognised her; and unconsciously he repeated her own words—'Bless me, is that you, Mrs.—Mrs.—Menzies—' for in truth he had almost forgotten her name.'Mrs. This or Mrs. That!' the other cried. 'I thought my name was Kate—it used to be anyway. Well, I declare! Come, give us a shake of your hand—auntie, this is my cousin Ronald!—and who would hae thought of meeting you in Glasgow, now!''I have been here a month and more,' Ronald said, taking the proffered hand.'And never to look near me once—there's friendliness! Eh, and what a man you've grown to—ye were just a bit laddie when I saw ye last—but aye after the lasses, though—oh aye—bless me, what changes there hae been since then!''Well, Katie, it's not you that have changed much anyway,' said he, for he was making out again the old familiar girlish expression in the firmer features of the mature woman.'And what's brought ye to Glasgow?' said she—but then she corrected herself: 'No, no; I'll have no long story wi' you standing on the pavement like that. Jump up behind, Ronald, lad, and come home wi' us, and we'll have a crack thegither——''Katie, dear,' said her companion, who was a little, white-faced, cringing and fawning old woman, 'let me get down and get up behind. Your cousin must sit beside ye——'But already Ronald had swung himself on to the after seat of the vehicle; and Mrs. Menzies had touched the cob with her whip; and soon they were rattling away into the town.'I suppose ye heard that my man was dead?' said she presently, and partly turning round.'I think I did,' he answered rather vaguely.'He was a good man to me, like Auld Robin Gray,' said this strapping widow, who certainly had a very matter-of-fact way in talking about her deceased husband. 'But he was never the best of managers, poor man. I've been doing better ever since. We've a better business, and not a penny of mortgage left on the tavern.''Weel ye may say that, Katie,' whined the old woman. 'There never was such a manager as you—never. Ay, and the splendid furniture—it was never thought o' in his time—bless 'm! A good man he was, and a kind man; but no the manager you are, Katie; there's no such another tavern in a' Glesca.'Now although the cousinship with Ronald claimed by Mrs. Menzies did not exist in actual fact,—there was some kind of remote relationship, however,—still, it must be confessed that it was very ungrateful and inconstant of him to have let the fate and fortunes of the pretty Kate Burnside (as she was in former days) so entirely vanish from his mind and memory. Kate Burnside was the daughter of a small farmer in the Lammermuir district; and the Strangs and Burnsides were neighbours as well as remotely related by blood. But that was not the only reason why Ronald ought to have remembered a little more about the stalwart, black-eyed, fresh-cheeked country wench who, though she was some seven or eight years or more his senior, he had boldly chosen for his sweetheart in his juvenile days. Nay, had she not been the first inspirer of his muse; and had he not sung this ox-eyed goddess in many a laboured verse, carefully constructed after the manner of Tannahill or Motherwell or Allan Cunningham? The 'lass of Lammer Law' he called her in these artless strains; and Kate was far from resenting this frank devotion; nay, she even treasured up the verses in which her radiant beauties were enumerated; for why should not a comely East Lothian wench take pleasure in being told that her cheeks outshone the rose, and that the 'darts o' her bonnie black een' had slain their thousands, and that her faithful lover would come to see her, ay, though the Himalayas barred his way? But then, alas!—as happens in the world—the faithful lover was sent off into far neighbourhoods to learn the art and mystery of training pointers and setters; and Kate's father died, and the family dispersed from the farm; Kate went into service in Glasgow, and there she managed to capture the affections of an obese and elderly publican whom—she being a prudent and sensible kind of a creature—she forthwith married; by and by, through partaking too freely of his own wares, he considerately died, leaving her in sole possession of the tavern (he had called it a public-house, but she soon changed all that, and the place too, when she was established as its mistress); and now she was a handsome, buxom, firm-nerved woman, who could and did look well after her own affairs; who had a flourishing business, a comfortable bank account, and a sufficiency of friends of her own way of thinking; and whose raven-black hair did not as yet show a single streak of gray. It was all this latter part of Kate Burnside's—or rather, Mrs. Menzies's—career of which Ronald was so shamefully ignorant; but she speedily gave him enough information about herself as they drove through the gas-lit streets, for she was a voluble, high-spirited woman, who could make herself heard when she chose.'Ay,' said she, at length, 'and where have ye left the good wife, Ronald?''What goodwife?' said he.'Ye dinna tell me that you're no married yet?''Not that I know of,' said he.'What have ye been about, man? Ye were aye daft about the lasses; and ye no married yet? What have ye been about, man, to let them a' escape ye?''Some folk have other things to think of,' said he evasively.'Dinna tell me,' she retorted. 'I ken weel what's upper-most in the mind o' a handsome lad like you. Weel, if ye're no married, ye're the next door to it, I'll be bound. What's she like?''I'll tell ye when I find her,' said he drily.'Ye're a dark one; but I'll find ye out, my man.'She could not continue the conversation, for they were about to cross the bridge over the Clyde, and the congested traffic made her careful. And then again Jamaica Street was crowded and difficult to steer through; but presently she left that for a quieter thoroughfare leading off to the right; and in a few moments she had pulled up in front of a large tavern, close by a spacious archway.'Auntie, gang you and fetch Alec to take the cob round, will ye?' said she; and then Ronald, surmising that she had now reached home, leapt to the ground, and went to the horse's head. Presently the groom appeared, and Kate Menzies descended from her chariot.Now in Glasgow, for an establishment of this kind to be popular, it must have a side entrance—the more the merrier, indeed—by which people can get into the tavern without being seen; but besides this it soon appeared that Mrs. Menzies had a private right of way of her own. She bade Ronald follow her; she went through the archway; produced a key and opened a door; and then, passing along a short lobby, he found himself in what might be regarded as the back parlour of the public-house, but was in reality a private room reserved by Mrs. Menzies for herself and her intimate friends. And a very brilliant little apartment it was; handsomely furnished and shining with stained wood, plate glass, and velvet; the gas-jets all aglow in the clear globes; the table in the middle laid with a white cloth for supper, all sparkling with crystal and polished electro-plate. Moreover (for business is business) this luxurious little den commanded at will complete views of the front premises; and there was also a door leading thither; but the door was shut, and the red blinds were drawn over the two windows, so that the room looked quite like one in a private dwelling.'And now, my good woman,' said Mrs. Menzies, as she threw her hat and cloak and dog-skin gloves into a corner, 'just you mak' them hurry up wi' supper; for we're just home in time; and we'll want another place at the table. And tell Jeannie there's a great friend o' mine come in, if she can get anything special—Lord's sake, Ronald, if I had kent I was going to fall in with you I would have looked after it mysel'.''Ye need not bother about me,' said he, 'for supper is not much in my way—not since I came to the town. Without the country air, I think one would as lief not sit down to a table at all.''Oh, I can cure ye o' that complaint,' she said confidently; and she rang the bell.Instantly the door was opened, and he caught a glimpse of a vast palatial-looking place, with more stained wood and plate glass and velvet, and with several smartly-dressed young ladies standing or moving behind the long mahogany counters; moreover, one of these—a tall and serious-eyed maiden—now stood at the partly opened door.'Gin and bitters, Mary,' said Mrs. Menzies briskly—she was at this moment standing in front of one of the mirrors, complacently smoothing her hair with her hands, and setting to rights her mannish little necktie.The serious-eyed handmaiden presently reappeared, bringing a small salver, on which was a glass filled with some kind of a fluid, which she presented to him.'What's this?' said he, appealing to his hostess.'Drink it and find out,' said she; 'it'll make ye jump wi' hunger, as the Hielanman said.'He did as he was bid; and loudly she laughed at the wry face that he made.'What's the matter?''It's a devil of a kind of thing, that,' said he; for it was a first experience.'Ay, but wait till ye find how hungry it will make ye,' she answered; and then she returned from the mirror. 'And I'm sure ye'll no mind my hair being a wee thing camstrairy, Ronald; there's no need for ceremony between auld freens, as the saying is——''But, look here, Katie, my lass,' said he—for perhaps he was a little emboldened by that fiery fluid, 'I'm thinking that maybe I'm making myself just a little too much at home. Now, some other time, when ye've no company, I'll come in and see ye——'But she cut him short at once, and with some pride.'Indeed, I'll tell ye this, that the day that Ronald Strang comes into my house—and into my own house too—that's no the day that he's gaun out o't without eating and drinking. Ma certes, no! And as for company, why there's none but auld mother Paterson—I ca' her auntie; but she's no more my auntie than you are—ye see, my man, Ronald, a poor, unprotected helpless widow woman maun look after appearances—for the world's unco given to leein', as Shakespeare says. There, Ronald, that's another thing,' she added suddenly—'ye'll take me to the theatre!—my word, we'll have a box!'But these gay visions were interrupted by the reappearance of Mrs. Paterson, who was followed by a maidservant bearing a dish on which was a large sole, smoking hot. Indeed, it soon became apparent that this was to be a very elaborate banquet, such as Ronald was not at all familiar with; and all the care and flattering attention his hostess could pay him she paid him, laughing and joking with him, and insisting on his having the very best of everything, and eager to hand things to him—even if she rather ostentatiously displayed her abundant rings in doing so. And when mother Paterson said—'What will ye drink, Katie dear? Some ale—or some porter?'The other stormily answered—'Get out, ye daft auld wife! Ale or porter the first day that my cousin Ronald comes into my own house? Champagne's the word, woman; and the best! What will ye have, Ronald—what brand do ye like?—Moett and Shandon?'Ronald laughed.'What do I know about such things?' said he. 'And besides, there's no reason for such extravagance. There's been no stag killed the day.''There's been no stag killed the day,' she retorted, 'but Ronald Strang's come into my house, and he'll have the best that's in it, or my name's no Kate Burnside—or Kate Menzies, I should say, God forgie me! Ring the bell, auntie.'This time the grave-eyed barmaid appeared.'A bottle of Moett and Shandon, Mary.''A pint bottle, m'm?''A pint bottle—ye stupid idiot?' she said (but quite good-naturedly). 'A quart bottle, of course!'And then when the bottle was brought and the glasses filled, she said—'Here's your health, Ronald; and right glad am I to see you looking so weel—ye were aye a bonnie laddie, and ye've kept the promise o't—ay, indeed, the whole o' you Strangs were a handsome family—except your brother Andrew, maybe——''Do ye ever see Andrew?' Ronald said; for a modest man does not like to have his looks discussed, even in the most flattering way.Then loudly laughed Kate Menzies.'Me? Me gang and see the Reverend Andrew Strang? No fears! He's no one o' my kind. He'd drive me out o' the house wi' bell, book, and candle. I hae my ain friends, thank ye—and I'm going to number you amongst them so long as ye stop in this town. Auntie, pass the bottle to Ronald!'And so the banquet proceeded—a roast fowl and bacon, an apple-tart, cheese and biscuits and what not following in due succession; and all the time she was learning more and more of the life that Ronald had led since he had left the Lothians, and freely she gave him of her confidences in return. On one point she was curiously inquisitive, and that was as to whether he had not been in some entanglement with one or other of the Highland lasses up there in Sutherlandshire; and there was a considerable amount of joking on that subject, which Ronald bore good-naturedly enough; finding it on the whole the easier way to let her surmises have free course.'But ye're a dark one!' she said at length. 'And ye would hae me believe that a strapping fellow like you hasna had the lasses rinnin' after him? I'm no sae daft.''I'll tell ye what it is, Katie,' he retorted, 'the lasses in the Highlands have their work to look after; they dinna live a' in clover, like the Glasgow dames.''Dinna tell me—dinna tell me,' she said.And now, as supper was over and the table cleared, she went to a small mahogany cabinet and opened it.'I keep some cigars here for my particular friends,' said Mrs. Menzies, 'but I'm sure I dinna ken which is the best. Come and pick for yourself, Ronald lad; if you're no certain the best plan is to take the biggest.''This is surely living on the fat of the land, Katie,' he protested.'And what for no?' said she boldly. 'Let them enjoy themselves that's earned the right to it.''But that's not me,' he said.'Well, it's me,' she answered. 'And when my cousin Ronald comes into my house, it's the best that's in it that's at his service—and no great wonder either!'Well, her hospitality was certainly a little stormy; but the handsome widow meant kindly and well; and it is scarcely to be marvelled at if—under the soothing influences of the fragrant tobacco—he was rather inclined to substitute for this brisk and business-like Kate Menzies of these present days the gentler figure of the Kate Burnside of earlier years, more especially as she had taken to talking of those times, and of all the escapades the young lads and lasses used to enjoy on Hallowe'en night or during the first-footing at Hogmanay.'And now I mind me, Ronald,' she said, 'ye used to be a fine singer when ye were a lad. Do ye keep it up still?''I sometimes try,' he answered. 'But there's no been much occasion since I came to this town. It's a lonely kind o' place, for a' the number o' folk in it.''Well, now ye're among friends, give us something!''Oh, that I will, if ye like,' said he readily; and he laid aside his cigar.And then he sang—moderating his voice somewhat, so that he should not be heard in the front premises—a verse or two of an old favourite—'The sun rase sae rosy, the gray hills adorning,Light sprang the laverock, and mounted sae high,'and if his voice was quiet, still the clear, penetrating quality of it was there; and when he had finished Kate Menzies said to him—after a second of irresolution—'Ye couldna sing like that when ye were a lad, Ronald. It's maist like to gar a body greet.'But he would not sing any more that night; he guessed that she must have her business affairs to attend to; and he was resolved upon going, in spite of all her importunacy. However, as a condition, she got him to promise to come and see her on the following evening. It was Saturday night; several of her friends were in the habit of dropping in on that night; finally, she pressed her entreaty so that he could not well refuse; and, having promised, he left.And no doubt as he went home through the great, noisy, lonely city, he felt warmed and cheered by this measure of human companionship that had befallen him. As for Kate Menzies, it would have been a poor return for her excessive kindness if he had stopped to ask himself whether her robustcamaraderiedid not annoy him a little. He had had plenty of opportunities of becoming acquainted with the manners and speech and ways of refined and educated women; indeed, there are few gamekeepers in the Highlands who have not at one time or another enjoyed that privilege. Noble and gracious ladies who, in the south, would as soon think of talking to a door-mat as of entering into any kind of general conversation with their butler or coachman, will fall quite naturally into the habit—when they are living away in the seclusion of a Highland glen with the shooting-party at the lodge—of stopping to have a chat with Duncan or Hector the gamekeeper when they chance to meet, him coming along the road with his dogs; and, what is more, they find him worth the talking to. Then, again, had not Ronald been an almost daily spectator of Miss Douglas's sweet and winning manners—and that continued through years; and had not the young American lady, during the briefer period she was in the north, made quite a companion of him in her frank and brave fashion? He had almost to confess to himself that there was just a little too much of Mrs. Menzies's tempestuous good nature; and then again he refused to confess anything of the kind; and quarrelled with himself for being so ungrateful. Why, the first bit of real, heartfelt friendliness that had been shown him since he came to this great city; and he was to examine it; and be doubtful; and wish that the keeper of a tavern should be a little more refined!'Ronald lad,' he was saying to himself when he reached his lodging in the dusky Port Dundas Road, 'it's over-fed stomachs that wax proud. You'll be better minded if you keep to your books and plainer living.'CHAPTER XII.A SOCIAL EVENING.Looking forward to this further festivity he worked hard at his studies all day, and it was not until nearly nine o'clock in the evening that he went away down through the roaring streets to keep his engagement with Kate Menzies. And very snug and comfortable indeed did the little parlour look, with its clear glass globes and warmly-cushioned seats and brilliant mirrors and polished wood. Kate herself (who was quite resplendent in purple velvet and silver necklace and bangles) was reading a sporting newspaper; old mother Paterson was sewing; there were cigar-boxes on the table.'And what d'ye mean,' cried the handsome widow gaily, when he made his appearance, 'by coming at this hour? Did not I tell ye we would expect ye to supper?''Would ye have me eat you out o' house and home, woman?' he said. 'Besides, I had some work to get through.''Well, sit down and make yerself happy; better late than never; there's the cigars—'I would as lief smoke a pipe, Katie, if ye don't object—only that I'm shamed to smoke in a fine place like this——''What is't for, man? Do ye think I got it up for an exhibition—to be put in a glass case! And what'll ye drink now, Ronald—some Moett and Shandon?''Indeed no,' said he. 'If I may light my pipe I want nothing else.''But I canna bear an empty table,' said she. 'Here, auntie, get your flounces and falderals out o' the road—bless us, woman, ye make the place look like a milliner's shop! And bring out the punch-bowl frae the chiffonnier—I want ye to see it, Ronald, for it was gien to my gudeman by an auld freend o' his in Ayr, that got it from the last of the lairds o' Garthlie. And if ane or twa o' them happen to come in to-night we'll try a brew—for there's naething so wholesome, after a', as the wine o' the country, and I can gie ye some o' the real stuff. Will ye no try a drop the noo?''No thank ye, no thank ye,' said he, for he had lit his pipe, and was well content.'Well, well, we'll have one o' the lasses in to set the tumblers and the glasses, for I canna thole to see a bare table; and in the meantime, Ronald, you and me can hae a crack be oursels, and ye can tell me what ye mean to do when ye get your certificate——''If I get it, ye mean, lass.''No fears,' she said confidently; 'ye were aye one o' the clever ones; I'll warrant ye there's na skim-milk in your head where the brains should be. But I want to ken what ye're ettling at after you've got the certificate, and what's your plans, and the like; for I've been thinking about it; and if there was any kind o' a starting needed—the loan of a bit something in the way of a nest-egg, ye see—weel, I ken a place where ye might get that, and ye wouldna have to whistle long at the yett either.'Now there was no mistaking the generosity of this offer, however darkly it might be veiled by Kate Menzies's figurative manner of speech; and it was with none the less gratitude that he answered her and explained that a head-forester traded with the capital of his employer, though, to be sure, he might on entering a new situation have to find sureties for him.'Is it caution-money ye mean, Ronald?' she said frankly.'Well, if a man had no one to speak for him—no one whose word they would take,' he said to her (though all this was guess-work on his part), 'they might ask him for security. There would be no payment of money, of course, unless he robbed his employer; and then the sureties would have to make that good as far as they had undertaken. But it's a long way off yet, Katie, and hardly worth speaking about. I daresay Lord Ailine would say a word for me.''And is that a'?' she said, with a laugh. 'Is that a' the money's wanted for—to guarantee the honesty o' one o' the Strangs o' Whittermains? Weel, I'm no a rich woman, Ronald—for my money's maistly sunk in the tavern—and doing weel enough there too—but if it's a surety ye want, for three hunder pounds, ay, or five hunder pounds, just you come to me, and the deil's in't if we canna manage it somehow.''I thank ye for the offer anyway; I'm sure you mean it,' said he.'That lawyer o' mine,' she continued, 'is a dour chiel; he'll no let me do this; and he's grumbling at that; and a poor widow woman is supposed to hae nae soul o' her ain. I'm sure the fuss that he makes about that cob, and only fifty-five guineas, and come o' the best Clydesdale stock——''But it was no the expense, it was no the expense, Katie dear,' whined the old woman, 'it was the risk to your life frae sae high-mettled a beast. Just think o't, at your time o' life, wi' a grand business, and yoursel' the manager o' it, and wi' sae mony freends, think what it would be if ye broke your neck——''Broke your grandmother's fiddlestrings!' said she. 'The beast's as quiet's a lamb. But that auld man, Peter Gunn. I suppose he's a good lawyer—indeed, every one says that—but he's as pernickety as an auld woman; and he'd mak' ye think the world was made o' silk paper, and ye daurna stir a step for fear o' fa'in through. But you just give me the word, Ronald, when the security's wanted; and we'll see if auld Peter can hinder me frae doing what I ought to do for one o' my own kith and kin.'They were thus talking when there came a knock at the outer door; then there was a clamour of voices in the little lobby; and presently there were ushered into the room three visitors, who were forthwith introduced to Ronald, with a few words of facetious playfulness from the widow. There was first a Mr. Jaap, a little old man with Jewish features, bald on the top of his head, but with long, flowing gray hair behind; a mild-looking old man, but with merry eyes nevertheless—and indeed all of them seemed to have been joking as they came in. Then there was a Mr. Laidlaw, a younger man, of middle height, and of a horsey type; stupid-looking, rather, but not ill-natured. The third was Captain M'Taggart, a large heavy man, with a vast, radiant, Bardolphian face, whose small, shrewd, twinkling blue eyes had the expression rather of a Clyde skipper given to rough jesting and steady rum-drinking (and he was all that) than of the high-souled, child-hearted sailor of romance.'Sit ye down, sit ye down,' their hostess said gaily. 'Here, captain, is a job for ye; here's the punch-bowl that we only have on great days, ye ken; and your brew is famous—whether wi' old Jamaica or Long John. Set to work now—here's the sugar and the lemons ready for ye—for ye maun a' drink the health o' my cousin here that's come frae Sutherland.''Frae Sutherland, say ye, Mistress?' the big skipper said, as he reached over for the lemons. 'Ye should ca' him your kissin frae the Hielans then. Do ye ken that story, Laidlaw? D'ye ken that yin about the Hielan kissins, Jaap? Man, that's a gude yin! have ye no heard it? Have ye no heard it, Mistress?''Tell us what it is first, and we'll tell you afterwards,' said she saucily.'Weel, then,' said he—and he desisted from his preparations for the punch-making, for he was famous along the Broomielaw as a story-teller, and liked to keep up his reputation, 'it was twa young lasses, twa cousins they were, frae the west side o' Skye—and if there's ony place mair Hielan than that, it's no me that ever heard o't—and they were ta'en into service in an inn up about the Gairloch or Loch Inver, or one o' they lochs. Both o' them were good-looking lasses, mind ye; but one o' them just unusual handsome. Well, then, there happened to come to the inn an English tourist—a most respectable old gentleman he was; and it was one o' they two lasses—and no the brawest o' them either—that had to wait on him: but he was a freendly auld man; and on the mornin' o' his gaun awa he had to ring for something or other, and when she brought it to him, he said to her, jist by way o' compliment, ye ken, "You are a very good-looking girl, do you know, Flora?" And of course the lass was very well pleased; but she was a modest lassie too; and she said, "Oh no, sir; but I hef heard them say my kissin was peautiful!" "Your what?" said he. "My kissin, sir—" "Get away, you bold hussy! Off with you at once, or I'll ring for your master—you brazen baggage!"—and to this very day, they tell me, the poor lass do'esna ken what on earth it was that made the auld man into a madman; for what harm had she done in telling him that her cousin was better-looking than herself?'This recondite joke was received with much laughter by the company; and even Ronald had to admit that the Clyde skipper's imitation of the Highland accent was very fairly well done. But joke-making is dull work with empty glasses; and so Captain M'Taggart set himself seriously to the business of brewing that bowl of punch, while Kate Menzies polished the silver ladle to an even higher extreme of brilliancy.Now these three old cronies of the widow's had betrayed a little surprise on finding a stranger installed in their favourite howf; and perhaps they might have been inclined to resent the intrusion had not Kate Menzies very speedily intimated her views upon the subject in unmistakable language. Her 'cousin Ronald' was all her cry; it was Ronald this and Ronald that; and whatever Ronald said, that was enough, and decisive. For, of course, after a glass or so of punch, the newcomers had got to talking politics—or what they took to be politics; and Ronald, when he was invited to express his opinion, proved to be on the unpopular side; nor did he improve his position by talking with open scorn of a great public agitation then going on—indeed, he so far forgot himself as to define stump-oratory as only another form of foot-and-mouth disease. But at least he had one strenuous backer, and neither Mr. Laidlaw nor Mr. Jaap nor the big skipper was anxious to quarrel with a controversialist who had such abundant stores of hospitality at her command. Moreover, Kate Menzies was in the habit of speaking her mind; was it not better, for the sake of peace and quietness, to yield a little? This cousin of hers from the Highlands could parade some book-learning it is true; and he had plenty of cut-and-dried theories that sounded plausible enough; and his apparent knowledge of the working of American institutions was sufficiently good for an argument—so long as one could not get at the real facts; but they knew, of course, that, with time to get at these facts and to furnish forth replies to his specious reasonings, they could easily prove their own case. In the meantime they would be magnanimous. For the sake of good fellowship—and to oblige a lady—they shifted the subject.Or rather she did.'I suppose you'll be going to the Harmony Club to-night?' she said.'For a while, at least,' replied the captain. 'Mr. Jaap's new song is to be sung the nicht; and we maun get him an encore for't. Not that it needs us; "Caledonia's hills and dales" will be a' ower Glasgow before a fortnight's out; and it's young Tam Dalswinton that's to sing it. Tam'll do his best, no fear.''It's little ye think,' observed Mrs. Menzies, with a kind of superior air, 'that there's somebody not a hundred miles frae here that can sing better than a' your members and a' your professionals put thegither. The Harmony Club! If the Harmony Club heardhim, they might tak tent and learn a lesson.''Ay, and wha's he when he's at hame, Mistress?' Captain M'Taggart said.'He's not fifty miles away frae here anyway,' she said. 'And if I was to tell ye that he's sitting not three yards away frae ye at this meenit?''Katie, woman, are ye daft?' Ronald said, and he laughed, but his forehead grew red all the same.'No, I'm no,' she answered confidently. 'I ken what I'm saying as weel as most folk. Oh, I've heard some o' the best o' them—no at the Harmony Club, for they're too high and mighty to let women bodies in—but at the City Hall concerts and in the theatres; and I've got a good enough ear, too; I ken what's what; and I ken if my cousin Ronald were to stand up at the Saturday Evening Concerts, and sing the song he sung in this very room last night, I tell ye he would take the shine out o' some o' them!''He micht gie us a screed now,' Mr. Laidlaw suggested—his somewhat lack-lustre eyes going from his hostess to Ronald.'Faith, no!' Ronald said, laughing, 'there's been ower great a flourish beforehand. The fact is, Mrs. Menzies here——''I thought I telled ye my name was Kate?' she said sharply.'Kate, Cat, or Kitten, then, as ye like, woman, what I mean to say is that ower long a grace makes the porridge cold. Some other time—some other time, lass.''Ay, and look here, Mr. Jaap,' continued the widow, who was determined that her cousin's superior qualifications should not be hidden, 'ye are aye complaining that ye canna get anything but trash to set your tunes to. Well, here's my cousin; I dinna ken if he still keeps at the trade, but as a laddie he could just write ye anything ye liked right aff the reel, and as good as Burns, or better. There's your chance now. Everybody says your music's jist splendid—and the choruses taken up in a meenit—but you just ask Ronald there to gie ye something worth while making a song o'.'Now not only did the old man express his curiosity to see some of Ronald's work in this way, and also the gratification it would give him to set one of his songs to music, but Ronald was likewise well pleased with the proposal. His own efforts in adapting tunes to his verses he knew were very amateurish; and would it not be a new sensation—a little pride commingled with the satisfaction perhaps—to have one of his songs presented with an original air all to itself, and perhaps put to the test of being sung before some more or less skilled audience? He knew he had dozens to choose from; some of them patriotic, others convivial, others humorous in a kind of way: from any of these the musician was welcome to select as he liked. The love songs about Meenie were a class apart.And now that they had got away from the thrashed-out straw of politics to more congenial themes, these three curiously assorted boon-companions proved to be extremely pleasant and good-natured fellows; and when, at length, they said it was time for them to be off to the musical club, they cordially invited Ronald to accompany them. He was nothing loth, for he was curious to see the place; and if Mrs. Menzies grumbled a little at being left alone she consoled herself by hinting that herprotégécould teach them a lesson if he chose to do so.'When ye've listened for a while to their squalling, Ronald, my man, jist you get up and show them how an East Lothian lad can do the trick.''What's that, Mistress? I thought ye said your cousin was frae the Hielans,' the skipper broke in.'Frae the Hielans? Frae East Lothian, I tell ye; where I come frae mysel'; and where ye'll find the brawest lads and lasses in the breadth o' Scotland,' she added saucily.'And they dinna stay a' at hame either,' remarked the big skipper, with much gallantry, as the visitors prepared to leave.They went away through the noisy, crowded, glaring streets, and at length entered a spacious dark courtyard, at the head of which was a small and narrow entrance. The skipper led the way; but as they passed up the staircase they became aware of a noise of music overhead; and when they reached the landing, they had to pause there, so as not to interrupt the proceedings within. It was abundantly clear what these were. A man's voice was singing 'Green grow the rashes, O' to a smart and lively accompaniment on the piano; while at the end of each verse joined in a sufficiently enthusiastic chorus:
Auld, gray, and grizzled; yellow een;A nose as brown's a berry;A wit as sharp as ony preen—That's my wee chieftain Harry.Lord sakes!—the courage of the man!The biggest barn-yard ratten,He'll snip him by the neck, o'er-han',As he the deil had gatten.And when his master's work on hand,There's none maun come anear him;The biggest Duke in all Scotland,My Harry's teeth would fear him.But ordinar' wise like fowl or freen,He's harmless as a kitten;As soon he'd think o' worryin'A hennie when she's sittin'.But Harry, lad, ye're growin' auld;Your days are gettin' fewer;And maybe Heaven has made a fauldFor such wee things as you are.And what strange kintra will that be?And will they fill your coggies?And whatna strange folk there will seeThere's water for the doggies?Ae thing I brawly ken; it's this—Ye may hae work or play there;But if your master once ye miss,I'm bound ye winna stay there.
Auld, gray, and grizzled; yellow een;
A nose as brown's a berry;
A nose as brown's a berry;
A wit as sharp as ony preen—
That's my wee chieftain Harry.
That's my wee chieftain Harry.
Lord sakes!—the courage of the man!
The biggest barn-yard ratten,
The biggest barn-yard ratten,
He'll snip him by the neck, o'er-han',
As he the deil had gatten.
As he the deil had gatten.
And when his master's work on hand,
There's none maun come anear him;
There's none maun come anear him;
The biggest Duke in all Scotland,
My Harry's teeth would fear him.
My Harry's teeth would fear him.
But ordinar' wise like fowl or freen,
He's harmless as a kitten;
He's harmless as a kitten;
As soon he'd think o' worryin'
A hennie when she's sittin'.
A hennie when she's sittin'.
But Harry, lad, ye're growin' auld;
Your days are gettin' fewer;
Your days are gettin' fewer;
And maybe Heaven has made a fauld
For such wee things as you are.
For such wee things as you are.
And what strange kintra will that be?
And will they fill your coggies?
And will they fill your coggies?
And whatna strange folk there will see
There's water for the doggies?
There's water for the doggies?
Ae thing I brawly ken; it's this—
Ye may hae work or play there;
Ye may hae work or play there;
But if your master once ye miss,
I'm bound ye winna stay there.
I'm bound ye winna stay there.
It was the last verse that struck home. It was through no failure of devotion on the part of the faithful Harry that he was now at Inver-Mudal; it was his master that had played him false, and severed the old companionship. And he kept thinking about the little terrier; and wondering whether he missed his master as much as his master missed him; and wondering whether Meenie had ever a word for him as she went by—for she and Harry had always been great friends. Nay, perhaps Meenie might not take it ill if Maggie wrote to her for news of the little dog; and then Meenie would answer; and might not her letter take a wider scope, and say something about the people there, and about herself? Surely she would do that; and some fine morning the answer—in Meenie's handwriting—would be delivered in Abbotsford Place; and he knew that Maggie would not be long in apprising him of the same. Perhaps, indeed, he might himself become possessed of that precious missive; and bring it away with him; and from time to time have a glance at this or that sentence of it—in Meenie's own actual handwriting—when the long dull work of the day was over, and his fancy free to fly away to the north again, to Strath-Terry and Clebrig and Loch Naver, and the neat small cottage with the red blinds in the windows. It seemed to him a long time now since he had left all of these; he felt as though Glasgow had engulfed him: while the day of his rescue—the day of the fulfilment of his ambitious designs—was now growing more and more distant and vague and uncertain, leaving him only the slow drudgery of these weary hours. But Meenie's letter would be a kind of talisman; to see her handwriting would be like hearing her speak; and surely this dull little lodging was quiet enough, so that in the hushed silence of the evening, he, reading those cheerful phrases, might persuade himself that it was Meenie's voice he was listening to, with the quiet, clear, soft laugh that so well he remembered.
And so these first days went by; and he hoped in time to get more accustomed to this melancholy life; and doggedly he stuck to the task he had set before him. As for the outcome of it all—well, that did not seem quite so facile nor so fine a thing as it had appeared before he came away from the north; but he left that for the future to decide; and in the meantime he was above all anxious not to perplex himself by the dreaming of idle dreams. He had come to Glasgow to work; not to build impossible castles in the air.
CHAPTER XI.
KATE.
And yet it was a desperately hard ordeal; for this man was by nature essentially joyous, and sociable, and fitted to be the king of all good company; and the whole of his life had been spent in the open, in brisk and active exercise; and sunlight and fresh air were to him as the very breath of his nostrils. But here he was, day after day, week after week, chained to these dismal tasks; in solitude; with the far white dream of ambition becoming more and more distant and obscured; and with a terrible consciousness ever growing upon him that in coming away from even the mere neighbourhood of Meenie, from the briefest companionship with her, he had sacrificed the one beautiful thing, the one precious possession, that his life had ever held for him or would hold. What though the impalpable barrier of Glengask and Orosay rose between him and her? He was no sentimental Claude Melnotte; he had common sense; he accepted facts. Of course Meenie would go away in due time. Of course she was destined for higher things. But what then? What of the meanwhile? Could anything happen to him quite so wonderful, or worth the striving for, as Meenie's smile to him as she met him in the road? What for the time being made the skies full of brightness, and made the pulses of the blood flow gladly, and the day become charged with a kind of buoyancy of life? And as for these vague ambitions for the sake of which he had bartered away his freedom and sold himself into slavery—towards what did they tend? For whom? The excited atmosphere the Americans had brought with them had departed now: alas! this other atmosphere into which he had plunged was dull and sad enough, in all conscience; and the leaden days weighed down upon him; and the slow and solitary hours would not go by.
One evening he was coming in to the town by way of the Pollokshaws road; he had spent the afternoon hard at work with Mr. Weems, and was making home again to the silent little lodging in the north. He had now been a month and more in Glasgow; and had formed no kind of society or companionship whatever. Once or twice he had looked in at his brother's; but that was chiefly to see how the little Maggie was going on; his sister-in-law gave him no over-friendly welcome; and, indeed, the social atmosphere of the Reverend Andrew's house was far from being congenial to him. As for the letter of introduction that Meenie had given him to her married sister, of course he had not had the presumption to deliver that; he had accepted the letter, and thanked Meenie for it—for it was but another act of her always thoughtful kindness; but Mrs. Gemmill was the wife of a partner in a large warehouse; and they lived in Queen's Crescent; and altogether Ronald had no thought of calling on them—although to be sure he had heard that Mrs. Gemmill had been making sufficiently minute and even curious inquiries with regard to him of a member of his brother's congregation whom she happened to know. No; he lived his life alone; wrestling with the weariness of it as best he might; and not quite knowing, perhaps, how deeply it was eating into his heart.
Well, he was walking absently home on this dull gray evening, watching the lamp-lighter adding point after point to the long string of golden stars, when there went by a smartly appointed dog-cart. He did not particularly remark the occupants of the vehicle, though he knew they were two women, and that one of them was driving; his glance fell rather on the well-groomed cob, and he thought the varnished oak dog-cart looked neat and business-like. The next second it was pulled up; there was a pause, during which time he was of course drawing nearer; and then a woman's voice called to him—
'Bless me, is that you, Ronald?'
He looked up in amazement. And who was this, then, who had turned her head round and was now regarding him with her laughing, handsome, bold black eyes? She was a woman apparently of five-and-thirty or so, but exceedingly well preserved and comely; of pleasant features and fresh complexion; and of rather a manly build and carriage—an appearance that was not lessened by her wearing a narrow-brimmed little billycock hat. And then, even in this gathering dusk, he recognised her; and unconsciously he repeated her own words—
'Bless me, is that you, Mrs.—Mrs.—Menzies—' for in truth he had almost forgotten her name.
'Mrs. This or Mrs. That!' the other cried. 'I thought my name was Kate—it used to be anyway. Well, I declare! Come, give us a shake of your hand—auntie, this is my cousin Ronald!—and who would hae thought of meeting you in Glasgow, now!'
'I have been here a month and more,' Ronald said, taking the proffered hand.
'And never to look near me once—there's friendliness! Eh, and what a man you've grown to—ye were just a bit laddie when I saw ye last—but aye after the lasses, though—oh aye—bless me, what changes there hae been since then!'
'Well, Katie, it's not you that have changed much anyway,' said he, for he was making out again the old familiar girlish expression in the firmer features of the mature woman.
'And what's brought ye to Glasgow?' said she—but then she corrected herself: 'No, no; I'll have no long story wi' you standing on the pavement like that. Jump up behind, Ronald, lad, and come home wi' us, and we'll have a crack thegither——'
'Katie, dear,' said her companion, who was a little, white-faced, cringing and fawning old woman, 'let me get down and get up behind. Your cousin must sit beside ye——'
But already Ronald had swung himself on to the after seat of the vehicle; and Mrs. Menzies had touched the cob with her whip; and soon they were rattling away into the town.
'I suppose ye heard that my man was dead?' said she presently, and partly turning round.
'I think I did,' he answered rather vaguely.
'He was a good man to me, like Auld Robin Gray,' said this strapping widow, who certainly had a very matter-of-fact way in talking about her deceased husband. 'But he was never the best of managers, poor man. I've been doing better ever since. We've a better business, and not a penny of mortgage left on the tavern.'
'Weel ye may say that, Katie,' whined the old woman. 'There never was such a manager as you—never. Ay, and the splendid furniture—it was never thought o' in his time—bless 'm! A good man he was, and a kind man; but no the manager you are, Katie; there's no such another tavern in a' Glesca.'
Now although the cousinship with Ronald claimed by Mrs. Menzies did not exist in actual fact,—there was some kind of remote relationship, however,—still, it must be confessed that it was very ungrateful and inconstant of him to have let the fate and fortunes of the pretty Kate Burnside (as she was in former days) so entirely vanish from his mind and memory. Kate Burnside was the daughter of a small farmer in the Lammermuir district; and the Strangs and Burnsides were neighbours as well as remotely related by blood. But that was not the only reason why Ronald ought to have remembered a little more about the stalwart, black-eyed, fresh-cheeked country wench who, though she was some seven or eight years or more his senior, he had boldly chosen for his sweetheart in his juvenile days. Nay, had she not been the first inspirer of his muse; and had he not sung this ox-eyed goddess in many a laboured verse, carefully constructed after the manner of Tannahill or Motherwell or Allan Cunningham? The 'lass of Lammer Law' he called her in these artless strains; and Kate was far from resenting this frank devotion; nay, she even treasured up the verses in which her radiant beauties were enumerated; for why should not a comely East Lothian wench take pleasure in being told that her cheeks outshone the rose, and that the 'darts o' her bonnie black een' had slain their thousands, and that her faithful lover would come to see her, ay, though the Himalayas barred his way? But then, alas!—as happens in the world—the faithful lover was sent off into far neighbourhoods to learn the art and mystery of training pointers and setters; and Kate's father died, and the family dispersed from the farm; Kate went into service in Glasgow, and there she managed to capture the affections of an obese and elderly publican whom—she being a prudent and sensible kind of a creature—she forthwith married; by and by, through partaking too freely of his own wares, he considerately died, leaving her in sole possession of the tavern (he had called it a public-house, but she soon changed all that, and the place too, when she was established as its mistress); and now she was a handsome, buxom, firm-nerved woman, who could and did look well after her own affairs; who had a flourishing business, a comfortable bank account, and a sufficiency of friends of her own way of thinking; and whose raven-black hair did not as yet show a single streak of gray. It was all this latter part of Kate Burnside's—or rather, Mrs. Menzies's—career of which Ronald was so shamefully ignorant; but she speedily gave him enough information about herself as they drove through the gas-lit streets, for she was a voluble, high-spirited woman, who could make herself heard when she chose.
'Ay,' said she, at length, 'and where have ye left the good wife, Ronald?'
'What goodwife?' said he.
'Ye dinna tell me that you're no married yet?'
'Not that I know of,' said he.
'What have ye been about, man? Ye were aye daft about the lasses; and ye no married yet? What have ye been about, man, to let them a' escape ye?'
'Some folk have other things to think of,' said he evasively.
'Dinna tell me,' she retorted. 'I ken weel what's upper-most in the mind o' a handsome lad like you. Weel, if ye're no married, ye're the next door to it, I'll be bound. What's she like?'
'I'll tell ye when I find her,' said he drily.
'Ye're a dark one; but I'll find ye out, my man.'
She could not continue the conversation, for they were about to cross the bridge over the Clyde, and the congested traffic made her careful. And then again Jamaica Street was crowded and difficult to steer through; but presently she left that for a quieter thoroughfare leading off to the right; and in a few moments she had pulled up in front of a large tavern, close by a spacious archway.
'Auntie, gang you and fetch Alec to take the cob round, will ye?' said she; and then Ronald, surmising that she had now reached home, leapt to the ground, and went to the horse's head. Presently the groom appeared, and Kate Menzies descended from her chariot.
Now in Glasgow, for an establishment of this kind to be popular, it must have a side entrance—the more the merrier, indeed—by which people can get into the tavern without being seen; but besides this it soon appeared that Mrs. Menzies had a private right of way of her own. She bade Ronald follow her; she went through the archway; produced a key and opened a door; and then, passing along a short lobby, he found himself in what might be regarded as the back parlour of the public-house, but was in reality a private room reserved by Mrs. Menzies for herself and her intimate friends. And a very brilliant little apartment it was; handsomely furnished and shining with stained wood, plate glass, and velvet; the gas-jets all aglow in the clear globes; the table in the middle laid with a white cloth for supper, all sparkling with crystal and polished electro-plate. Moreover (for business is business) this luxurious little den commanded at will complete views of the front premises; and there was also a door leading thither; but the door was shut, and the red blinds were drawn over the two windows, so that the room looked quite like one in a private dwelling.
'And now, my good woman,' said Mrs. Menzies, as she threw her hat and cloak and dog-skin gloves into a corner, 'just you mak' them hurry up wi' supper; for we're just home in time; and we'll want another place at the table. And tell Jeannie there's a great friend o' mine come in, if she can get anything special—Lord's sake, Ronald, if I had kent I was going to fall in with you I would have looked after it mysel'.'
'Ye need not bother about me,' said he, 'for supper is not much in my way—not since I came to the town. Without the country air, I think one would as lief not sit down to a table at all.'
'Oh, I can cure ye o' that complaint,' she said confidently; and she rang the bell.
Instantly the door was opened, and he caught a glimpse of a vast palatial-looking place, with more stained wood and plate glass and velvet, and with several smartly-dressed young ladies standing or moving behind the long mahogany counters; moreover, one of these—a tall and serious-eyed maiden—now stood at the partly opened door.
'Gin and bitters, Mary,' said Mrs. Menzies briskly—she was at this moment standing in front of one of the mirrors, complacently smoothing her hair with her hands, and setting to rights her mannish little necktie.
The serious-eyed handmaiden presently reappeared, bringing a small salver, on which was a glass filled with some kind of a fluid, which she presented to him.
'What's this?' said he, appealing to his hostess.
'Drink it and find out,' said she; 'it'll make ye jump wi' hunger, as the Hielanman said.'
He did as he was bid; and loudly she laughed at the wry face that he made.
'What's the matter?'
'It's a devil of a kind of thing, that,' said he; for it was a first experience.
'Ay, but wait till ye find how hungry it will make ye,' she answered; and then she returned from the mirror. 'And I'm sure ye'll no mind my hair being a wee thing camstrairy, Ronald; there's no need for ceremony between auld freens, as the saying is——'
'But, look here, Katie, my lass,' said he—for perhaps he was a little emboldened by that fiery fluid, 'I'm thinking that maybe I'm making myself just a little too much at home. Now, some other time, when ye've no company, I'll come in and see ye——'
But she cut him short at once, and with some pride.
'Indeed, I'll tell ye this, that the day that Ronald Strang comes into my house—and into my own house too—that's no the day that he's gaun out o't without eating and drinking. Ma certes, no! And as for company, why there's none but auld mother Paterson—I ca' her auntie; but she's no more my auntie than you are—ye see, my man, Ronald, a poor, unprotected helpless widow woman maun look after appearances—for the world's unco given to leein', as Shakespeare says. There, Ronald, that's another thing,' she added suddenly—'ye'll take me to the theatre!—my word, we'll have a box!'
But these gay visions were interrupted by the reappearance of Mrs. Paterson, who was followed by a maidservant bearing a dish on which was a large sole, smoking hot. Indeed, it soon became apparent that this was to be a very elaborate banquet, such as Ronald was not at all familiar with; and all the care and flattering attention his hostess could pay him she paid him, laughing and joking with him, and insisting on his having the very best of everything, and eager to hand things to him—even if she rather ostentatiously displayed her abundant rings in doing so. And when mother Paterson said—
'What will ye drink, Katie dear? Some ale—or some porter?'
The other stormily answered—
'Get out, ye daft auld wife! Ale or porter the first day that my cousin Ronald comes into my own house? Champagne's the word, woman; and the best! What will ye have, Ronald—what brand do ye like?—Moett and Shandon?'
Ronald laughed.
'What do I know about such things?' said he. 'And besides, there's no reason for such extravagance. There's been no stag killed the day.'
'There's been no stag killed the day,' she retorted, 'but Ronald Strang's come into my house, and he'll have the best that's in it, or my name's no Kate Burnside—or Kate Menzies, I should say, God forgie me! Ring the bell, auntie.'
This time the grave-eyed barmaid appeared.
'A bottle of Moett and Shandon, Mary.'
'A pint bottle, m'm?'
'A pint bottle—ye stupid idiot?' she said (but quite good-naturedly). 'A quart bottle, of course!'
And then when the bottle was brought and the glasses filled, she said—
'Here's your health, Ronald; and right glad am I to see you looking so weel—ye were aye a bonnie laddie, and ye've kept the promise o't—ay, indeed, the whole o' you Strangs were a handsome family—except your brother Andrew, maybe——'
'Do ye ever see Andrew?' Ronald said; for a modest man does not like to have his looks discussed, even in the most flattering way.
Then loudly laughed Kate Menzies.
'Me? Me gang and see the Reverend Andrew Strang? No fears! He's no one o' my kind. He'd drive me out o' the house wi' bell, book, and candle. I hae my ain friends, thank ye—and I'm going to number you amongst them so long as ye stop in this town. Auntie, pass the bottle to Ronald!'
And so the banquet proceeded—a roast fowl and bacon, an apple-tart, cheese and biscuits and what not following in due succession; and all the time she was learning more and more of the life that Ronald had led since he had left the Lothians, and freely she gave him of her confidences in return. On one point she was curiously inquisitive, and that was as to whether he had not been in some entanglement with one or other of the Highland lasses up there in Sutherlandshire; and there was a considerable amount of joking on that subject, which Ronald bore good-naturedly enough; finding it on the whole the easier way to let her surmises have free course.
'But ye're a dark one!' she said at length. 'And ye would hae me believe that a strapping fellow like you hasna had the lasses rinnin' after him? I'm no sae daft.'
'I'll tell ye what it is, Katie,' he retorted, 'the lasses in the Highlands have their work to look after; they dinna live a' in clover, like the Glasgow dames.'
'Dinna tell me—dinna tell me,' she said.
And now, as supper was over and the table cleared, she went to a small mahogany cabinet and opened it.
'I keep some cigars here for my particular friends,' said Mrs. Menzies, 'but I'm sure I dinna ken which is the best. Come and pick for yourself, Ronald lad; if you're no certain the best plan is to take the biggest.'
'This is surely living on the fat of the land, Katie,' he protested.
'And what for no?' said she boldly. 'Let them enjoy themselves that's earned the right to it.'
'But that's not me,' he said.
'Well, it's me,' she answered. 'And when my cousin Ronald comes into my house, it's the best that's in it that's at his service—and no great wonder either!'
Well, her hospitality was certainly a little stormy; but the handsome widow meant kindly and well; and it is scarcely to be marvelled at if—under the soothing influences of the fragrant tobacco—he was rather inclined to substitute for this brisk and business-like Kate Menzies of these present days the gentler figure of the Kate Burnside of earlier years, more especially as she had taken to talking of those times, and of all the escapades the young lads and lasses used to enjoy on Hallowe'en night or during the first-footing at Hogmanay.
'And now I mind me, Ronald,' she said, 'ye used to be a fine singer when ye were a lad. Do ye keep it up still?'
'I sometimes try,' he answered. 'But there's no been much occasion since I came to this town. It's a lonely kind o' place, for a' the number o' folk in it.'
'Well, now ye're among friends, give us something!'
'Oh, that I will, if ye like,' said he readily; and he laid aside his cigar.
And then he sang—moderating his voice somewhat, so that he should not be heard in the front premises—a verse or two of an old favourite—
'The sun rase sae rosy, the gray hills adorning,Light sprang the laverock, and mounted sae high,'
'The sun rase sae rosy, the gray hills adorning,
Light sprang the laverock, and mounted sae high,'
and if his voice was quiet, still the clear, penetrating quality of it was there; and when he had finished Kate Menzies said to him—after a second of irresolution—
'Ye couldna sing like that when ye were a lad, Ronald. It's maist like to gar a body greet.'
But he would not sing any more that night; he guessed that she must have her business affairs to attend to; and he was resolved upon going, in spite of all her importunacy. However, as a condition, she got him to promise to come and see her on the following evening. It was Saturday night; several of her friends were in the habit of dropping in on that night; finally, she pressed her entreaty so that he could not well refuse; and, having promised, he left.
And no doubt as he went home through the great, noisy, lonely city, he felt warmed and cheered by this measure of human companionship that had befallen him. As for Kate Menzies, it would have been a poor return for her excessive kindness if he had stopped to ask himself whether her robustcamaraderiedid not annoy him a little. He had had plenty of opportunities of becoming acquainted with the manners and speech and ways of refined and educated women; indeed, there are few gamekeepers in the Highlands who have not at one time or another enjoyed that privilege. Noble and gracious ladies who, in the south, would as soon think of talking to a door-mat as of entering into any kind of general conversation with their butler or coachman, will fall quite naturally into the habit—when they are living away in the seclusion of a Highland glen with the shooting-party at the lodge—of stopping to have a chat with Duncan or Hector the gamekeeper when they chance to meet, him coming along the road with his dogs; and, what is more, they find him worth the talking to. Then, again, had not Ronald been an almost daily spectator of Miss Douglas's sweet and winning manners—and that continued through years; and had not the young American lady, during the briefer period she was in the north, made quite a companion of him in her frank and brave fashion? He had almost to confess to himself that there was just a little too much of Mrs. Menzies's tempestuous good nature; and then again he refused to confess anything of the kind; and quarrelled with himself for being so ungrateful. Why, the first bit of real, heartfelt friendliness that had been shown him since he came to this great city; and he was to examine it; and be doubtful; and wish that the keeper of a tavern should be a little more refined!
'Ronald lad,' he was saying to himself when he reached his lodging in the dusky Port Dundas Road, 'it's over-fed stomachs that wax proud. You'll be better minded if you keep to your books and plainer living.'
CHAPTER XII.
A SOCIAL EVENING.
Looking forward to this further festivity he worked hard at his studies all day, and it was not until nearly nine o'clock in the evening that he went away down through the roaring streets to keep his engagement with Kate Menzies. And very snug and comfortable indeed did the little parlour look, with its clear glass globes and warmly-cushioned seats and brilliant mirrors and polished wood. Kate herself (who was quite resplendent in purple velvet and silver necklace and bangles) was reading a sporting newspaper; old mother Paterson was sewing; there were cigar-boxes on the table.
'And what d'ye mean,' cried the handsome widow gaily, when he made his appearance, 'by coming at this hour? Did not I tell ye we would expect ye to supper?'
'Would ye have me eat you out o' house and home, woman?' he said. 'Besides, I had some work to get through.'
'Well, sit down and make yerself happy; better late than never; there's the cigars—
'I would as lief smoke a pipe, Katie, if ye don't object—only that I'm shamed to smoke in a fine place like this——'
'What is't for, man? Do ye think I got it up for an exhibition—to be put in a glass case! And what'll ye drink now, Ronald—some Moett and Shandon?'
'Indeed no,' said he. 'If I may light my pipe I want nothing else.'
'But I canna bear an empty table,' said she. 'Here, auntie, get your flounces and falderals out o' the road—bless us, woman, ye make the place look like a milliner's shop! And bring out the punch-bowl frae the chiffonnier—I want ye to see it, Ronald, for it was gien to my gudeman by an auld freend o' his in Ayr, that got it from the last of the lairds o' Garthlie. And if ane or twa o' them happen to come in to-night we'll try a brew—for there's naething so wholesome, after a', as the wine o' the country, and I can gie ye some o' the real stuff. Will ye no try a drop the noo?'
'No thank ye, no thank ye,' said he, for he had lit his pipe, and was well content.
'Well, well, we'll have one o' the lasses in to set the tumblers and the glasses, for I canna thole to see a bare table; and in the meantime, Ronald, you and me can hae a crack be oursels, and ye can tell me what ye mean to do when ye get your certificate——'
'If I get it, ye mean, lass.'
'No fears,' she said confidently; 'ye were aye one o' the clever ones; I'll warrant ye there's na skim-milk in your head where the brains should be. But I want to ken what ye're ettling at after you've got the certificate, and what's your plans, and the like; for I've been thinking about it; and if there was any kind o' a starting needed—the loan of a bit something in the way of a nest-egg, ye see—weel, I ken a place where ye might get that, and ye wouldna have to whistle long at the yett either.'
Now there was no mistaking the generosity of this offer, however darkly it might be veiled by Kate Menzies's figurative manner of speech; and it was with none the less gratitude that he answered her and explained that a head-forester traded with the capital of his employer, though, to be sure, he might on entering a new situation have to find sureties for him.
'Is it caution-money ye mean, Ronald?' she said frankly.
'Well, if a man had no one to speak for him—no one whose word they would take,' he said to her (though all this was guess-work on his part), 'they might ask him for security. There would be no payment of money, of course, unless he robbed his employer; and then the sureties would have to make that good as far as they had undertaken. But it's a long way off yet, Katie, and hardly worth speaking about. I daresay Lord Ailine would say a word for me.'
'And is that a'?' she said, with a laugh. 'Is that a' the money's wanted for—to guarantee the honesty o' one o' the Strangs o' Whittermains? Weel, I'm no a rich woman, Ronald—for my money's maistly sunk in the tavern—and doing weel enough there too—but if it's a surety ye want, for three hunder pounds, ay, or five hunder pounds, just you come to me, and the deil's in't if we canna manage it somehow.'
'I thank ye for the offer anyway; I'm sure you mean it,' said he.
'That lawyer o' mine,' she continued, 'is a dour chiel; he'll no let me do this; and he's grumbling at that; and a poor widow woman is supposed to hae nae soul o' her ain. I'm sure the fuss that he makes about that cob, and only fifty-five guineas, and come o' the best Clydesdale stock——'
'But it was no the expense, it was no the expense, Katie dear,' whined the old woman, 'it was the risk to your life frae sae high-mettled a beast. Just think o't, at your time o' life, wi' a grand business, and yoursel' the manager o' it, and wi' sae mony freends, think what it would be if ye broke your neck——'
'Broke your grandmother's fiddlestrings!' said she. 'The beast's as quiet's a lamb. But that auld man, Peter Gunn. I suppose he's a good lawyer—indeed, every one says that—but he's as pernickety as an auld woman; and he'd mak' ye think the world was made o' silk paper, and ye daurna stir a step for fear o' fa'in through. But you just give me the word, Ronald, when the security's wanted; and we'll see if auld Peter can hinder me frae doing what I ought to do for one o' my own kith and kin.'
They were thus talking when there came a knock at the outer door; then there was a clamour of voices in the little lobby; and presently there were ushered into the room three visitors, who were forthwith introduced to Ronald, with a few words of facetious playfulness from the widow. There was first a Mr. Jaap, a little old man with Jewish features, bald on the top of his head, but with long, flowing gray hair behind; a mild-looking old man, but with merry eyes nevertheless—and indeed all of them seemed to have been joking as they came in. Then there was a Mr. Laidlaw, a younger man, of middle height, and of a horsey type; stupid-looking, rather, but not ill-natured. The third was Captain M'Taggart, a large heavy man, with a vast, radiant, Bardolphian face, whose small, shrewd, twinkling blue eyes had the expression rather of a Clyde skipper given to rough jesting and steady rum-drinking (and he was all that) than of the high-souled, child-hearted sailor of romance.
'Sit ye down, sit ye down,' their hostess said gaily. 'Here, captain, is a job for ye; here's the punch-bowl that we only have on great days, ye ken; and your brew is famous—whether wi' old Jamaica or Long John. Set to work now—here's the sugar and the lemons ready for ye—for ye maun a' drink the health o' my cousin here that's come frae Sutherland.'
'Frae Sutherland, say ye, Mistress?' the big skipper said, as he reached over for the lemons. 'Ye should ca' him your kissin frae the Hielans then. Do ye ken that story, Laidlaw? D'ye ken that yin about the Hielan kissins, Jaap? Man, that's a gude yin! have ye no heard it? Have ye no heard it, Mistress?'
'Tell us what it is first, and we'll tell you afterwards,' said she saucily.
'Weel, then,' said he—and he desisted from his preparations for the punch-making, for he was famous along the Broomielaw as a story-teller, and liked to keep up his reputation, 'it was twa young lasses, twa cousins they were, frae the west side o' Skye—and if there's ony place mair Hielan than that, it's no me that ever heard o't—and they were ta'en into service in an inn up about the Gairloch or Loch Inver, or one o' they lochs. Both o' them were good-looking lasses, mind ye; but one o' them just unusual handsome. Well, then, there happened to come to the inn an English tourist—a most respectable old gentleman he was; and it was one o' they two lasses—and no the brawest o' them either—that had to wait on him: but he was a freendly auld man; and on the mornin' o' his gaun awa he had to ring for something or other, and when she brought it to him, he said to her, jist by way o' compliment, ye ken, "You are a very good-looking girl, do you know, Flora?" And of course the lass was very well pleased; but she was a modest lassie too; and she said, "Oh no, sir; but I hef heard them say my kissin was peautiful!" "Your what?" said he. "My kissin, sir—" "Get away, you bold hussy! Off with you at once, or I'll ring for your master—you brazen baggage!"—and to this very day, they tell me, the poor lass do'esna ken what on earth it was that made the auld man into a madman; for what harm had she done in telling him that her cousin was better-looking than herself?'
This recondite joke was received with much laughter by the company; and even Ronald had to admit that the Clyde skipper's imitation of the Highland accent was very fairly well done. But joke-making is dull work with empty glasses; and so Captain M'Taggart set himself seriously to the business of brewing that bowl of punch, while Kate Menzies polished the silver ladle to an even higher extreme of brilliancy.
Now these three old cronies of the widow's had betrayed a little surprise on finding a stranger installed in their favourite howf; and perhaps they might have been inclined to resent the intrusion had not Kate Menzies very speedily intimated her views upon the subject in unmistakable language. Her 'cousin Ronald' was all her cry; it was Ronald this and Ronald that; and whatever Ronald said, that was enough, and decisive. For, of course, after a glass or so of punch, the newcomers had got to talking politics—or what they took to be politics; and Ronald, when he was invited to express his opinion, proved to be on the unpopular side; nor did he improve his position by talking with open scorn of a great public agitation then going on—indeed, he so far forgot himself as to define stump-oratory as only another form of foot-and-mouth disease. But at least he had one strenuous backer, and neither Mr. Laidlaw nor Mr. Jaap nor the big skipper was anxious to quarrel with a controversialist who had such abundant stores of hospitality at her command. Moreover, Kate Menzies was in the habit of speaking her mind; was it not better, for the sake of peace and quietness, to yield a little? This cousin of hers from the Highlands could parade some book-learning it is true; and he had plenty of cut-and-dried theories that sounded plausible enough; and his apparent knowledge of the working of American institutions was sufficiently good for an argument—so long as one could not get at the real facts; but they knew, of course, that, with time to get at these facts and to furnish forth replies to his specious reasonings, they could easily prove their own case. In the meantime they would be magnanimous. For the sake of good fellowship—and to oblige a lady—they shifted the subject.
Or rather she did.
'I suppose you'll be going to the Harmony Club to-night?' she said.
'For a while, at least,' replied the captain. 'Mr. Jaap's new song is to be sung the nicht; and we maun get him an encore for't. Not that it needs us; "Caledonia's hills and dales" will be a' ower Glasgow before a fortnight's out; and it's young Tam Dalswinton that's to sing it. Tam'll do his best, no fear.'
'It's little ye think,' observed Mrs. Menzies, with a kind of superior air, 'that there's somebody not a hundred miles frae here that can sing better than a' your members and a' your professionals put thegither. The Harmony Club! If the Harmony Club heardhim, they might tak tent and learn a lesson.'
'Ay, and wha's he when he's at hame, Mistress?' Captain M'Taggart said.
'He's not fifty miles away frae here anyway,' she said. 'And if I was to tell ye that he's sitting not three yards away frae ye at this meenit?'
'Katie, woman, are ye daft?' Ronald said, and he laughed, but his forehead grew red all the same.
'No, I'm no,' she answered confidently. 'I ken what I'm saying as weel as most folk. Oh, I've heard some o' the best o' them—no at the Harmony Club, for they're too high and mighty to let women bodies in—but at the City Hall concerts and in the theatres; and I've got a good enough ear, too; I ken what's what; and I ken if my cousin Ronald were to stand up at the Saturday Evening Concerts, and sing the song he sung in this very room last night, I tell ye he would take the shine out o' some o' them!'
'He micht gie us a screed now,' Mr. Laidlaw suggested—his somewhat lack-lustre eyes going from his hostess to Ronald.
'Faith, no!' Ronald said, laughing, 'there's been ower great a flourish beforehand. The fact is, Mrs. Menzies here——'
'I thought I telled ye my name was Kate?' she said sharply.
'Kate, Cat, or Kitten, then, as ye like, woman, what I mean to say is that ower long a grace makes the porridge cold. Some other time—some other time, lass.'
'Ay, and look here, Mr. Jaap,' continued the widow, who was determined that her cousin's superior qualifications should not be hidden, 'ye are aye complaining that ye canna get anything but trash to set your tunes to. Well, here's my cousin; I dinna ken if he still keeps at the trade, but as a laddie he could just write ye anything ye liked right aff the reel, and as good as Burns, or better. There's your chance now. Everybody says your music's jist splendid—and the choruses taken up in a meenit—but you just ask Ronald there to gie ye something worth while making a song o'.'
Now not only did the old man express his curiosity to see some of Ronald's work in this way, and also the gratification it would give him to set one of his songs to music, but Ronald was likewise well pleased with the proposal. His own efforts in adapting tunes to his verses he knew were very amateurish; and would it not be a new sensation—a little pride commingled with the satisfaction perhaps—to have one of his songs presented with an original air all to itself, and perhaps put to the test of being sung before some more or less skilled audience? He knew he had dozens to choose from; some of them patriotic, others convivial, others humorous in a kind of way: from any of these the musician was welcome to select as he liked. The love songs about Meenie were a class apart.
And now that they had got away from the thrashed-out straw of politics to more congenial themes, these three curiously assorted boon-companions proved to be extremely pleasant and good-natured fellows; and when, at length, they said it was time for them to be off to the musical club, they cordially invited Ronald to accompany them. He was nothing loth, for he was curious to see the place; and if Mrs. Menzies grumbled a little at being left alone she consoled herself by hinting that herprotégécould teach them a lesson if he chose to do so.
'When ye've listened for a while to their squalling, Ronald, my man, jist you get up and show them how an East Lothian lad can do the trick.'
'What's that, Mistress? I thought ye said your cousin was frae the Hielans,' the skipper broke in.
'Frae the Hielans? Frae East Lothian, I tell ye; where I come frae mysel'; and where ye'll find the brawest lads and lasses in the breadth o' Scotland,' she added saucily.
'And they dinna stay a' at hame either,' remarked the big skipper, with much gallantry, as the visitors prepared to leave.
They went away through the noisy, crowded, glaring streets, and at length entered a spacious dark courtyard, at the head of which was a small and narrow entrance. The skipper led the way; but as they passed up the staircase they became aware of a noise of music overhead; and when they reached the landing, they had to pause there, so as not to interrupt the proceedings within. It was abundantly clear what these were. A man's voice was singing 'Green grow the rashes, O' to a smart and lively accompaniment on the piano; while at the end of each verse joined in a sufficiently enthusiastic chorus: