one day during robert’s early convalescence, souter, after having finished his chores, sauntered leisurely through the vegetable garden. it was a peaceful nook, and there were household odors of mint, and thyme, and boy’s love, which were pleasant to the soul of souter johnny, and reminded him of stewed rabbit, which he dearly loved, with all its attendant delicacies. he paced the path slowly, the light of the sinking sun blazing gloriously upon the brilliant gown of his companion, who was simpering along beside him, her little gray eyes looking down on him with flattering interest as she listened with apparent delight to his tales of daring adventure. finally their conversation drifted to the sick man within.
“poor bonnie laddie,” sighed eppy dolefully. “to think of him being so ill. we all loved him dearly in edinburgh.”
“he hasna’ been the same lad since he returned from there,” replied souter. “he had many great disappointments in his young life, i tell ye,” and he shook his head dismally. “an’ noo everything has gone to the dogs wi’ him, ever since he has been in ellisland. ’twas a sorry day when he became an[299] exciseman, say i.” he paused a moment reflectively, then continued earnestly, “but no matter what anybody says different, he has always done his duty faithfully, always on the tramp in all kinds of weather, till at last his robust constitution has given out, an’ he bowled over, so to speak.” he loyally refrained from mentioning that robert’s illness was partly due to his imprudent way of living.
eppy sighed again. “and he the bard of scotland,” she returned commiseratingly. “how i pity him. isn’t it sad mr. macdougall?”
“aye,” replied souter, with a quick look from under his shaggy eyebrows. “ye hae a kind heart in ye, miss mckay,” he observed after a pause.
“do you really think so?” she simpered. “i fear you are a base flatterer, mr. macdougall. in edinburgh there were so many who flattered me, who sought for my favors, that i became wearied of it all, and longed for a change. that is why i came here to ayrshire and purchased the farm adjoining, that i might rest during the summer.”
“and then ye’ll be leaving us?” asked souter with a deep sigh.
“perhaps not,” and she looked at him coquettishly. “would anyone care if i did return to town?” she insinuated slyly.
“’tis a wonder that such a bonnie lassie as ye should still be a maiden,” he observed abruptly with a sly look out of the corner of his eye.
[300]
“oh, i have had many offers,” she answered airily, though her heart fluttered with a newly-born hope.
“do ye ne’er get lonely, miss mckay?”
she sighed and cast down her eyes. “yes, i do,” she declared plaintively, “and i’m lonely now in that great big house with only a servant for company.”
“souter johnny,” said souter to himself, “this is the chance of your lifetime; go in and win a home.” having arrived at this resolution, he cleared his throat and pausing in his walk, faced the simpering old lady. “mum, ye see before ye,” he remarked, not without some nervousness, “a single man, like yoursel’. not from necessity, och nae; souter johnny, before he lost his handsome looks, could hae had his pick o’ any o’ the lassies, but i hae waited till noo——” he paused impressively.
“till now, mr. macdougall?” she repeated breathlessly, eager to have him continue.
“weel, noo i hae found her,” he answered, “an’ she’s what i hae been lookin’ for a’ my life.”
“how romantic you are,” she cried soulfully, with an admiring look.
“aye, that i am, ’tis born in me,” he responded. “do ye mind if i smoke, mum?” he asked carelessly. he took out of his waistcoat pocket his old black pipe and held it in his hand.
“oh, no,” she gushed. “i love to see you smoke, ’tis so manly.”
[301]
having lighted his pipe and got it drawing to his satisfaction, he turned to her once more, and remarked casually, “would ye call me too old to get married? i’m askin’ your advice noo.” he looked at her quizzically.
she shook her head vigorously in the negative. “age does not matter at all,” she observed sagely. “the question is do you feel peart?” and she regarded him with anxious eyes.
a grim smile played around souter’s lips. removing his pipe, he replied with convincing firmness, “never was sick in my life, strong and healthy. feel my muscle!” and he held out his doubled arm to the timid eppy, who shrank away bashfully. “it willna’ hurt ye,” he declared. thus encouraged, she gingerly touched it with one finger. “fine, isn’t it?” he asked proudly. before she could answer he continued, “i have a fine appetite, mum, an’ i dinna’ feel my age. noo i ask ye, am i too ugly to be looked at, mum? dinna’ be afraid to tell me the truth.” he held up his head, straightened his bent shoulders and stood awaiting her reply.
she eyed him a moment in silence. “well, mr. macdougall,” she said doubtfully, after a pause, “i must confess you’re no beauty.” a look of disappointment came over souter’s face, seeing which she hastened to reassure him. “but i care not for looks, mr. macdougall,” she cried earnestly. “one could get used to you. i’ve heard it said that one[302] can get used to anything in time,” and she smiled sweetly into his downcast face.
he gave her a quick look.
“is it as bad as that?” he returned reflectively. “weel, looks is all a matter of taste. and noo let’s get down to business.” eppy gave a start and her hands fluttered about nervously, as she waited for his next words. “do ye think, mum, this sweet, lovely lassie i hae in my mind would hae me for a husband?” he insinuated softly.
she gave a little gasp. “this is so sudden,” she simpered, then broke off abruptly—he hadn’t asked her yet. “er—why don’t you ask the beautiful lassie. she might think of it.” she coyly looked down upon him from under her big bonnet.
souter threw down his pipe in his earnestness. “i will,” he ejaculated quickly, his eyes sparkling with triumph. “’tis your ain bright sel’ for whom my heart is yearnin’. will ye hae me, eppy?”
eppy closed her eyes in blissful content. “my first proposal,” she thought joyfully. opening her eyes, she gazed at him fondly. “oh, i don’t want to make a mistake now,” she cried, half frightened, but she had no intention of refusing him, however.
“dinna’ fear,” replied souter eagerly. “i’ll attend to that; there’ll be no mistake made, i’ll warrant ye.”
“you’re such a masterful man,” she exclaimed, with an admiring look, “and—well, there’s no[303] gainsaying you. i must confess a real live man about the house would be most comforting—to my sister, sibella—and—and me, so i—i’ll have you, souter,” and she threw herself into his arms with a cry of joy and thankfulness.
“thank ye, thank ye, mum,” said souter gratefully. “i feel as if i had won the prize ticket in a grand lottery.” he heaved a great sigh of blissful content as he thought of the big house across the way. “there noo, my pipe is out again,” he observed, after a little pause, and he calmly turned his back and proceeded to relight it, leaving eppy regarding him with reproachful eyes and pouting lips.
“souter,” she finally faltered, “i—i thought you were more romantic. we haven’t sealed our engagement by a—a——”
“a—what?” asked souter concernedly. “is there something mair to do?”
she sidled up to him, giggling bashfully, and after turning to see if they were observed, she put her arm around his neck and said pensively:
“gin a body meet a body comin’ thro’ the rye,
gin a body kiss a body, need a body cry.”
a comical look of comprehension dawned on souter’s face. “o—oh! i see, ’tis a kiss ye mean,” he answered lightly. “weel, noo, i’ll na’ stop ye[304] if ye want to kiss me. if you can stand it, i can,” and he held his face up to hers, for she towered a foot above him. with a sudden dart, a downward sweep of her head, she glued her lips to the little man’s, then with a resounding smack she released him, with a sigh of absolute content upon her homely face. “weel, noo, that’s not half bad,” observed souter, smacking his lips reflectively.
“now, souter,” declared eppy decidedly, after they had walked a few paces in quiet, “since you are a highlander, you must wear the kilt, to please me; and it must be the tartan of our clan.”
souter threw up his hands in amazed horror. “oh, dearie, dinna’ ask me to do that; i canna’ wear the kilt; i am na’ built that way,” and he looked down at his legs with whimsical seriousness.
“then i’ll not marry you,” she declared with apparent firmness.
souter hurriedly explained in trembling fear. “i’ll tell ye the truth, dearie: when i last wore the kilt the laddies laughed at my crooked legs an’ called me a scarecrow, an’ i swore then i’d ne’er show my bare legs to mortal man again. would ye hae me expose my miserable defects, womman?”
she stood off and let her eyes rove slowly down his nether extremities with the air of a connoisseur. “i protest they do not look so badly,” she observed encouragingly.
“‘keep on turning,’ she commanded.”
“looks are deceivin’, lassie,” quickly replied[305] souter, who objected seriously to kilts. “my legs are na’ my beauty point, for a’ that; they are just twa wee bones, i tell ye, so be prepared for the worst,” and he shook his head dolefully.
“oh, well, as mr. burns says, ‘a man’s a man, for a’ that!’” she replied sweetly. then after a moment’s reflection, she asked with tender solicitude, “are they so very wee, souter?”
“aye, ye should see them,” he replied eagerly, hoping to convince her as to his unfitness to wear the dress.
eppy held up her hands before her face in horror. “whatever are you saying, souter?”
“weel, my legs are a maist sensitive subject wi’ me, my dear,” he returned apologetically.
“turn around,” she commanded. he did so in wonder. “keep on turning,” she commanded. “i think, mayhap, they’re not so bad,” she observed after a critical inspection. “however, after we are wed i can decide better whether ye can wear the kilt or not.”
souter regarded her in meek astonishment, then he humbly rejoined, “weel, if ye can stand their looks, i’ll na’ complain, but it’s o’er chilly at times,” and he shivered apprehensively.
she laughed gayly. “now, souter, i must go home. come over soon, you masterful man!”
“aye, the first thing in the morning,” retorted souter calmly, “an’ i’ll bring the minister wi’ me.”
[306]
“the minister! why bring him?” asked eppy in amazement.
“to marry us, my dear,” replied souter quietly.
“you must be daft man!” she cried in sudden alarm.
souter shook his head. “ye’d better take no chances,” he retorted calmly. “i may change my mind,” and he carefully knocked the ashes out of his pipe and put it in his pocket.
“you impatient man!” fluttered eppy. “i—i—come over and we’ll talk about it. good-by, laddie,” and she tripped daintily off down the path toward the gate.
then souter sat down on the seat under the big tree beside the house. “souter johnny,” he said to himself, “ye’re a devil with the wimmen, mon,” and a smile of self-satisfaction stole over his wrinkled face.
“souter johnny!” panted eppy, running back to him breathlessly, “i’ve changed my mind.”
souter jumped to his feet in sudden terror. had he lost her after all, or rather, had he lost the home across the way? “w—what, do you mean?” he stammered.
“i mean—you—you—may bring the minister,” she gasped, and away she fluttered down the walk before he could recover from his astonishment.
“hurrah! your fortune is made, souter johnny!” he cried aloud, when the meaning of her words had[307] dawned upon him, and he threw his bonnet high in the air. “ye’ll nae hae to cobble shoes any mair, noo, for ye’ll be lord of the manor house, wi’ servants to wait on ye. oh, the power of money! ye’ll ride out in your fine carriage, souter, and as ye drive by, all the neighbors will be bowing and scraping to ye. i can see them noo. ’twill be ‘mr. macdougall, will ye do us the honor to call at the castle; her ladyship would be pleased to see you.’ then i’ll say to them that snubbed me when i was poor, ‘weel, noo, ’tis very busy i am, attending to my estates and other social duties. tell her grace that mr. and mrs. macdougall will be pleased to have her visit us at macdougall house, if she cares to meet us.’” and he stalked along majestically to the house with his head held proudly erect. “noo, i’ll find the minister and make sure of my bird.” arriving at the door of the cottage, he stopped, and addressing an imaginary butler, said pompously, “james, open the door, your master wishes to enter! thank ye! noo take my hat! noo ye may go!” with a chuckle of delight he quietly opened the door and composing his features into their natural expression, entered the cottage and made his way to the kitchen, where he found a bowl of porridge awaiting him, which he hungrily devoured.
meanwhile in the other room robert lay tossing feverishly upon his bed. jean sat beside him smoothing his pillow from time to time, and soothing[308] his anguished mind with words of love and encouragement.
“blessings on your faithful head, jean,” he murmured gratefully. “you’re the best, truest wife that erring mortal man ever had.” she flushed with pleasure at his words of praise. “oh, this accursed rheumatism,” he groaned. “how it shackles one, making one as much a prisoner as though a ball and chain were attached to his ankle.”
“but you are much better to-day,” said jean brightly.
“for a while only. i fear me this is my fatal illness,” he replied despondently.
“don’t say that, robert; you’ll be on your feet in a few days now,” and she looked hopefully into his worn and haggard face.
he pressed her hand gently. “i haven’t been the best of husbands, lass,” he said after a pause. “i have sore tried your patience and your love ofttimes, by my unfaithfulness, my unworthiness.”
“i do not complain, robert,” she answered quietly.
“no, ye have never done that,” he said with a tender smile, “frequent though my lapses in sobriety and propriety have been.” he paused thoughtfully; presently he continued in mournful reflection, “but i was punished for those sins afterward, for then came remorse, shame, regret, the three hell hounds that ever dog my steps and bay at my heels.”
[309]
“if it is god’s will——” began jean, but he interrupted her.
“ah, no, jean,” he replied bitterly. “’tis not god’s will that i should be here, racked with pain and tortured by the sins that come staring me in the face, each one telling a more bitter tale than his fellow. ’tis only the result of my own headstrong folly.” she wiped away the drops of perspiration from his brow with tender fingers, while he lay panting from the excitement that the recital of his sorrows had occasioned.
“there, do not distress yourself with such bitter thoughts,” she told him gently. “what is done, is done, and all our sins will be blotted out in that other life.”
“that other life,” he repeated dreamily. “can it be possible that when i resign this feverish being i shall find myself in conscious existence, enjoying and enjoyed? would to god i as firmly believed it as i ardently wish it. if there is another life,” he continued with a flash of his old whimsical brightness, “it must be for the just, the benevolent, the amiable only, and the good. i’m sore afraid rob burns will na’ be able to get even a peep through the pearly gates.”
“hush, dear,” replied jean with tender reproach. “’twill be open to all. ‘let whosoever will, come and have eternal life,’ the master said.”
he mused a while on that sweet thought. “ah, weel, just noo,” he returned with a sigh, “this life[310] is what we must face, and which i must cling to as long as i can for the sake of my little flock. poverty and misfortune must be overcome, and at once. our salvation now lies in my getting the supervisorship and increased salary; then we need have no fear of the future; we can laugh at fate.”
“you sent your last poem, ‘prettiest maid on devon’s bank,’ to mr. thompson, didn’t ye, laddie?” asked jean anxiously.
“aye,” he replied, closing his eyes wearily. “and i implored him for god’s sake to send me a few pounds to tide me over the present, till i got my promotion. i am not asking a loan, ’tis a business transaction,” he continued proudly, “and i ken he will send whatever he is able to spare. he is a good friend, and it grieves me bitterly to be obliged to ask help of him to keep us from starving. but,” and a note of independence crept into his voice, “my song is worth whatever he sends.”
“hunger and want can humble the most independent spirit,” returned jean sadly. she rose and walked to the window and looked out into the twilight with searching, anxious eyes. “posty should bring us an answer to-night,” she murmured.
“an’ he will,” cried robert hopefully, “for thompson willna’ disappoint me, for he kens i am in sore straits.”
“heaven bless him!” cried jean fervently.
