PENELOPE'S EXPERIENCES IN SCOTLAND

Being extracts from the commonplace book of Penelope Hamilton

By Kate Douglas Wiggin

1913 Gay and Hancock edition

 To G. C. R. 

Contents. 

 Part First--In Town. 

 I. A Triangular Alliance. II. Edina, Scotia's Darling Seat. III. A Vision in Princes Street. IV. Susanna Crum cudna say. V. We emulate the Jackdaw. VI. Edinburgh society, past and present. VII. Francesca meets th' unconquer'd Scot. VIII. 'What made th' Assembly shine?'. IX. Omnia presbyteria est divisa in partes tres. X. Mrs. M'Collop as a sermon-taster. XI. Holyrood awakens. XII. Farewell to Edinburgh. XIII. The spell of Scotland. 

 Part Second--In the Country. 

 XIV. The wee theekit hoosie in the loaning. XV. Jane Grieve and her grievances. XVI. The path that led to Crummylowe. XVII. Playing 'Sir Patrick Spens. ' XVIII. Paris comes to Pettybaw. XIX. Fowk o' Fife. XX. A Fifeshire tea-party. XXI. International bickering. XXII. Francesca entertains the green-eyed monster. XXIII. Ballad revels at Rowardennan. XXIV. Old songs and modern instances. XXV. A treaty between nations. XXVI. 'Scotland's burning! Look out!. ' XXVII. Three magpies and a marriage. 

Chapter I. A Triangular Alliance. 

 'Edina, Scotia's Darling seat! All hail thy palaces and towers!'

Edinburgh, April 189-. 

22 Breadalbane Terrace. 

We have travelled together before, Salemina, Francesca, and I, and weknow the very worst there is to know about one another. After this pointhas been reached, it is as if a triangular marriage had taken place, and, with the honeymoon comfortably over, we slip along in thoroughlyfriendly fashion. I use no warmer word than'friendly' because, in thefirst place, the highest tides of feeling do not visit the coasts oftriangular alliances; and because, in the second place, 'friendly' isa word capable of putting to the blush many a more passionate andendearing one. 

Every one knows of our experiences in England, for we wrote volumesof letters concerning them, the which were widely circulated amongour friends at the time, and read aloud under the evening lamps in theseveral cities of our residence. 

Since then few striking changes have taken place in our history. 

Salemina returned to Boston for the winter, to find, to her amazement, that for forty odd years she had been rather overestimating it. 

On arriving in New York, Francesca discovered that the young lawyer whomfor six months she had been advising to marry somebody more worthy thanherself was at last about to do it. This was somewhat in the nature ofa shock, for Francesca had been in the habit, ever since she wasseventeen, of giving her lovers similar advice, and up to this time noone of them has ever taken it. She therefore has had the not unnaturalhope, I think, of organising at one time or another all thesedisappointed and faithful swains into a celibate brotherhood; andperhaps of driving by the interesting monastery with her husband andcalling his attention modestly to the fact that these poor monks werefilling their barren lives with deeds of piety, trying to remember theirCreator with such assiduity that they might, in time, forget Her. 

Her chagrin was all the keener at losing this last aspirant to her handin that she had almost persuaded herself that she was as fond of him asshe was likely to be of anybody, and that on the whole she had bettermarry him and save his life and reason. 

Fortunately she had not communicated this gleam of hope by letter, feeling, I suppose, that she would like to see for herself the lightof joy breaking over his pale cheek. The scene would have been ratherpretty and touching, but meantime the Worm had turned and despatched aletter to the Majestic at the quarantine station, telling her that hehad found a less reluctant bride in the person of her intimate friendMiss Rosa Van Brunt; and so Francesca's dream of duty and sacrifice wasover. 

Salemina says she was somewhat constrained for a week and a triflecynical for a fortnight, but that afterwards her spirits mounted on everascending spirals to impossible heights, where they have since remained. It appears from all this that although she was piqued at being taken ather word, her heart was not in the least damaged. It never was one ofthose fragile things which have to be wrapped in cotton, and preservedfrom the slightest blow--Francesca's heart. It is made of excellentstout, durable material, and I often tell her with the care she takes ofit, and the moderate strain to which it is subjected, it ought to be asgood as new a hundred years hence. 

As for me, the scene of my own love-story is laid in America andEngland, and has nought to do with Edinburgh. It is far from finished;indeed, I hope it will be the longest serial on record, one of thosecharming tales that grow in interest as chapter after chapter unfolds, until at the end we feel as if we could never part with the delightfulpeople. 

I should be, at this very moment, Mrs. William Beresford, a highlyrespectable young matron who painted rather good pictures in herspinster days, when she was Penelope Hamilton of the great Americanworking-class, Unlimited; but first Mrs. Beresford's dangerous illnessand then her death, have kept my dear boy a willing prisoner in Cannes, his heart sadly torn betwixt his love and duty to his mother and hisdesire to be with me. The separation is virtually over now, and we two, alas! have ne'er a mother or a father between us, so we shall not waitmany months before beginning to comfort each other in good earnest. 

Meantime Salemina and Francesca have persuaded me to join their forces, and Mr. Beresford will follow us to Scotland in a few short weeks, whenwe shall have established ourselves in the country. 

We are overjoyed at being together again, we three women folk. As I saidbefore, we know the worst of one another, and the future has no terrors. We have learned, for example, that--

Francesca does not like an early morning start. Salemina refuses toarrive late anywhere. Penelope prefers to stay behind and follow nextday. 

Francesca scorns to travel third class. So does Salemina, but she willif urged. 

Penelope hates a four-wheeler. Salemina is nervous in a hansom. Francesca prefers a barouche or a landau. 

Salemina likes a steady fire in the grate. Penelope opens a window andfans herself. 

Salemina inclines to instructive and profitable expeditions. Francescaloves processions and sightseeing. Penelope abhors all of these equally. 

Salemina likes history. Francesca loves fiction. Penelope adores poetryand detests facts. 

Penelope likes substantial breakfasts. Francesca dislikes the sight offood in the morning. 

In the matter of breakfasts, when we have leisure to assert ourindividual tastes, Salemina prefers tea, Francesca cocoa, and I, coffee. We can never, therefore, be served with a large comfortable pot ofanything, but are confronted instead with a caravan of silver jugs, china jugs, bowls of hard and soft sugar, hot milk, cold milk, hotwater, and cream, while each in her secret heart wishes that the othertwo were less exigeante in the matter of diet and beverages. 

This does not sound promising, but it works perfectly well in practiceby the exercise of a little flexibility. 

As we left dear old Dovermarle Street and Smith's Private Hotel behind, and drove to the station to take the Flying Scotsman, we indulged infloods of reminiscence over the joys of travel we had tasted togetherin the past, and talked with lively anticipation of the new experiencesawaiting us in the land of heather. 

While Salemina went to purchase the three first-class tickets, Isuperintended the porters as they disposed our luggage in the van, andin so doing my eye lighted upon a third-class carriage which was, fora wonder, clean, comfortable, and vacant. Comparing it hastily withthe first-class compartment being held by Francesca, I found that itdiffered only in having no carpet on the floor, and a smaller numberof buttons in the upholstering. This was really heartrending when thedifference in fare for three persons would be at least twenty dollars. What a delightful sum to put aside for a rainy day!--that is, be itunderstood, what a delightful sum to put aside and spend on the firstrainy day! for that is the way we always interpret the expression. 

When Salemina returned with the tickets, she found me, as usual, bewailing our extravagance. 

Francesca descended suddenly from her post, and, wresting the ticketsfrom her duenna, exclaimed, "'I know that I can save the country, and Iknow no other man can!' as William Pitt said to the Duke of Devonshire. I have had enough of this argument. For six months of last year wediscussed travelling third class and continued to travel first. Getinto that clean hard-seated, ill-upholstered third-class carriageimmediately, both of you; save room enough for a mother with two babies, and man carrying a basket of fish, and an old woman with five pieces ofhand-luggage and a dog; meanwhile I will exchange the tickets. "

So saying, she disappeared rapidly among the throng of passengers, guards, porters, newspaper boys, golfers with bags of clubs, youngladies with bicycles, and old ladies with tin hat-boxes. 

"What decision, what swiftness of judgment, what courage and energy!"murmured Salemina. "Isn't she wonderfully improved since that unexpectedturning of the Worm?"

Francesca rejoined us just as the guard was about to lock us in, andflung herself down, quite breathless from her unusual exertion. 

"Well, we are travelling third for once, and the money is saved, orat least it is ready to spend again at the first opportunity. The mandidn't wish to exchange the tickets at all. He says it is never done. Itold him they were bought by a very inexperienced American lady (that isyou, Salemina) who knew almost nothing of the distinctions between firstand third class, and naturally took the best, believing it to be nonetoo good for a citizen of the greatest republic on the face of theearth. He said the tickets had been stamped on. I said so should I beif I returned without exchanging them. He was a very dense person, anddidn't see my joke at all, but then, it is true, there were thirteen menin line behind me, with the train starting in three minutes, and thereis nothing so debilitating to a naturally weak sense of humour asselling tickets behind a grating, so I am not really vexed with him. There! we are quite comfortable, pending the arrival of the babies, thedog, and the fish, and certainly no vendor of periodic literature willdare approach us while we keep these books in evidence. "

She had Laurence Hutton's Literary Landmarks and Royal Edinburgh, byMrs. Oliphant; I had Lord Cockburn's Memorials of his Time; andsomebody had given Salemina, at the moment of leaving London, a work on'Scotias's darling seat, ' in three huge volumes. When all this printedmatter was heaped on the top of Salemina's hold-all on the platform, theguard had asked, "Do you belong to these books, ma'am?"

"We may consider ourselves injured in going from London to Edinburgh ina third-class carriage in eight or ten hours, but listen to this, " saidSalemina, who had opened one of her large volumes at random when thetrain started. 

"'The Edinburgh and London Stage-coach begins on Monday, 13th October1712. All that desire... Let them repair to the Coach and Horses at thehead of the Canongate every Saturday, or the Black Swan in Holborn everyother Monday, at both of which places they may be received in a coachwhich performs the whole journey in thirteen days without any stoppage(if God permits) having eighty able horses. Each passenger paying 4pounds, 10 shillings for the whole journey, allowing each 20 lbs. Weightand all above to pay 6 pence per lb. The coach sets off at six in themorning' (you could never have caught it, Francesca!), 'and is performedby Henry Harrison. ' And here is a 'modern improvement, ' forty-two yearslater. In July 1754, the Edinburgh Courant advertises the stage-coachdrawn by six horses, with a postilion on one of the leaders, as a 'new, genteel, two-end glass machine, hung on steel springs, exceedingly lightand easy, to go in ten days in summer and twelve in winter. Passengersto pay as usual. Performed (if God permits) by your dutiful servant, Hosea Eastgate. CARE IS TAKEN OF SMALL PARCELS ACCORDING TO THEIRVALUE. '"

"It would have been a long, wearisome journey, " said I contemplatively;"but, nevertheless, I wish we were making it in 1712 instead of acentury and three-quarters later. "

"What would have been happening, Salemina?" asked Francesca politely, but with no real desire to know. 

"The Union had been already established five years, " began Saleminaintelligently. 

"Which Union?"

"Whose Union?"

Salemina is used to these interruptions and eruptions of illiteracy onour part. I think she rather enjoys them, as in the presence of suchcomplete ignorance as ours her lamp of knowledge burns all the brighter. 

"Anne was on the throne, " she went on, with serene dignity. 

"What Anne?"

"I know all about Anne!" exclaimed Francesca. "She came from theMidnight Sun country, or up that way. She was very extravagant, and hadsomething to do with Jingling Geordie in The Fortunes of Nigel. It ismarvellous how one's history comes back to one!"

"Quite marvellous, " said Salemina dryly; "or at least the state in whichit comes back is marvellous. I am not a stickler for dates, as youknow, but if you could only contrive to fix a few periods in your minds, girls, just in a general way, you would not be so shamefully befogged. Your Anne of Denmark, Francesca, was the wife of James VI. Of Scotland, who was James I. Of England, and she died a hundred years before theAnne I mean, --the last of the Stuarts, you know. My Anne came afterWilliam and Mary, and before the Georges. "

"Which William and Mary?"

"What Georges?"

But this was too much even for Salemina's equanimity, and she retiredbehind her book in dignified displeasure, while Francesca and I meeklylooked up the Annes in a genealogical table, and tried to decide whether'b. 1665' meant born or beheaded. 

Chapter II. Edina, Scotia's Darling Seat. 

The weather that greeted us on our unheralded arrival in Scotland was ofthe precise sort offered by Edinburgh to her unfortunate queen, when, 'After a youth by woes o'ercast, After a thousand sorrows past, The lovely Mary once again Set foot upon her native plain. '

John Knox records of those memorable days: 'The very face of heaven didmanifestlie speak what comfort was brought to this country with hir--towit, sorrow, dolour, darkness and all impiety--for in the memorie of mannever was seen a more dolorous face of the heavens than was seen ather arryvall... The myst was so thick that skairse micht onie man espyanother; and the sun was not seyn to shyne two days befoir nor two daysafter. '

We could not see Edina's famous palaces and towers because of the haar, that damp, chilling, drizzling, dripping fog or mist which the east windsummons from the sea; but we knew that they were there, shrouded in theheart of that opaque, mysterious greyness, and that before many hoursour eyes would feast upon their beauty. 

Perhaps it was the weather, but I could think of nothing but poor QueenMary! She had drifted into my imagination with the haar, so that I couldfancy her homesick gaze across the water as she murmured, 'Adieu, machere France! Je ne vous verray jamais plus!'--could fancy her saying asin Allan Cunningham's verse:--

 'The sun rises bright in France, And fair sets he; But he hath tint the blithe blink he had In my ain countree. '

And then I recalled Mary's first good-night in Edinburgh: that 'serenadeof 500 rascals with vile fiddles and rebecks'; that singing, 'in badaccord, ' of Protestant psalms by the wet crowd beneath the palacewindows, while the fires on Arthur's Seat shot flickering gleams ofwelcome through the dreary fog. What a lullaby for poor Mary, halfFrenchwoman and all Papist!

It is but just to remember the 'indefatigable and undissuadable' JohnKnox's statement, 'the melody lyked her weill, and she willed the sameto be continewed some nightis after. ' For my part, however, I distrustJohn Knox's musical feeling, and incline sympathetically to the Sieurde Brantome's account, with its 'vile fiddles' and 'discordant psalms, 'although his judgment was doubtless a good deal depressed by what hecalled the si grand brouillard that so dampened the spirits of Mary'sFrench retinue. 

Ah well, I was obliged to remember, in order to be reasonably happymyself, that Mary had a gay heart, after all; that she was but nineteen;that, though already a widow, she did not mourn her young husband as onewho could not be comforted; and that she must soon have been furnishedwith merrier music than the psalms, for another of the sour commentsof the time is, 'Our Queen weareth the dule [weeds], but she can dancedaily, dule and all!'

These were my thoughts as we drove through invisible streets in theEdinburgh haar, turned into what proved next day to be a Crescent, anddrew up to an invisible house with a visible number 22 gleaming overa door which gaslight transformed into a probability. We alighted, andthough we could scarcely see the driver's outstretched hand, he wasquite able to discern a half-crown, and demanded three shillings. 

The noise of our cab had brought Mrs. M'Collop to the door, --good (orat least pretty good) Mrs. M'Collop, to whose apartments we had beencommended by English friends who had never occupied them. 

Dreary as it was without, all was comfortable within-doors, and a cheery(one-and-sixpenny) fire crackled in the grate. Our private drawing-roomwas charmingly furnished, and so large that, notwithstanding thepresence of a piano, two sofas, five small tables, cabinets, desks, andchairs, --not forgetting a dainty five-o'clock tea equipage, --we mighthave given a party in the remaining space. 

"If this is a typical Scotch lodging, I like it; and if it is Scotchhospitality to lay the cloth and make the fire before it is asked for, then I call it simply Arabian in character!" and Salemina drew off herdamp gloves, and extended her hands to the blaze. 

"And isn't it delightful that the bill doesn't come in for a wholeweek?" asked Francesca. "We have only our English experiences on whichto found our knowledge, and all is delicious mystery. The tea may be apresent from Mrs. M'Collop, and the sugar may not be an extra; the firemay be included in the rent of the apartment, and the piano may notbe taken away to-morrow to enhance the attractions of the dining-roomfloor. " (It was Francesca, you remember, who had 'warstled' with theitemised accounts at Smith's Private Hotel in London, and she who wasalways obliged to turn pounds, shillings, and pence into dollars andcents before she could add or subtract. )

"Come and look at the flowers in my bedroom, " I called, "four greatboxes full! Mr. Beresford must have ordered the carnations, because healways does; but where did the roses come from, I wonder?"

I rang the bell, and a neat white-aproned maid appeared. 

"Who brought these flowers, please?"

"I cudna say, mam. "

"Thank you; will you be good enough to ask Mrs. M'Collop?"

In a moment she returned with the message, "There will be a letter inthe box, mam. "

"It seems to me the letter should be in the box now, if it is ever tobe, " I thought, and I presently drew this card from among the fragrantbuds:--

'Lady Baird sends these Scotch roses as a small return for the pleasureshe has received from Miss Hamilton's pictures. Lady Baird will giveherself the pleasure of calling to-morrow; meantime she hopes that MissHamilton and her party will dine with her some evening this week. '

"How nice!" exclaimed Salemina. 

"The celebrated Miss Hamilton's undistinguished party presents itshumble compliments to Lady Baird, " chanted Francesca, "and having noengagements whatever, and small hope of any, will dine with her on anyand every evening she may name. Miss Hamilton's party will wear its bestclothes, polish its mental jewels, and endeavour in every possible waynot to injure the gifted Miss Hamilton's reputation among the Scottishnobility. "

I wrote a hasty note of thanks to Lady Baird, and rang the bell. 

"Can I send a message, please?" I asked the maid. 

"I cudna say, mam. "

"Will you be good enough to ask Mrs. M'Collop, please?"

Interval; then:--

"The Boots will tak' it at seeven o'clock, mam. "

"Thank you; is Fotheringay Crescent near here?"

"I cudna say, mam. "

"Thank you; what is your name, please?"

I waited in well-grounded anxiety, for I had no idea that she knew hername, or that if she had ever heard it, she could say it; but, to mysurprise, she answered almost immediately, "Susanna Crum, mam!"

What a joy it is in a vexatious world, where things 'gang aft agley, ' tofind something absolutely right. 

If I had devoted years to the subject, having the body of Susanna Crumbefore my eyes every minute of the time for inspiration, Susanna Crumis what I should have named that maid. Not a vowel could be added, not aconsonant omitted. I said so when first I saw her, and weeks of intimateacquaintance only deepened my reverence for the parental genius that hadso described her to the world. 

Chapter III. A vision in Princes Street. 

When we awoke next morning the sun had forgotten itself and was shiningin at Mrs. M'Collop's back windows. 

We should have arisen at once to burn sacrifices and offer oblations, but we had seen the sun frequently in America, and had no idea (poorfools!) that it was anything to be grateful for, so we accepted it, almost without comment, as one of the perennial providences of life. 

When I speak of Edinburgh sunshine I do not mean, of course, any suchburning, whole-souled, ardent warmth of beam as one finds in countrieswhere they make a specialty of climate. It is, generally speaking, ahalf-hearted, uncertain ray, as pale and transitory as a martyr's smile;but its faintest gleam, or its most puerile attempt to gleam, is admiredand recorded by its well-disciplined constituency. Not only that, but atthe first timid blink of the sun the true Scotsman remarks smilingly, 'I think now we shall be having settled weather!' It is a patheticoptimism, beautiful but quite groundless, and leads one to believe inthe story that when Father Noah refused to take Sandy into the ark, hesat down philosophically outside, saying, with a glance at the clouds, 'Aweel! the day's just aboot the ord'nar', an' I wouldna won'er if wesaw the sun afore nicht!'

But what loyal son of Edina cares for these transatlantic gibes, andwhere is the dweller within her royal gates who fails to succumb to thesombre beauty of that old grey town of the North? 'Grey! why, it is greyor grey and gold, or grey and gold and blue, or grey and gold and blueand green, or grey and gold and blue and green and purple, according asthe heaven pleases and you choose your ground! But take it when it ismost sombrely grey, where is another such grey city?'

So says one of her lovers, and so the great army of lovers would say, had they the same gift of language; for

 'Even thus, methinks, a city reared should be, ... Yea, an imperial city that might hold Five time a hundred noble towns in fee.... Thus should her towers be raised; with vicinage Of clear bold hills, that curve her very streets, As if to indicate, 'mid choicest seats Of Art, abiding Nature's majesty. '

We ate a hasty breakfast that first morning, and prepared to go out fora walk into the great unknown, perhaps the most pleasurable sensationin the world. Francesca was ready first, and, having mentioned the factseveral times ostentatiously, she went into the drawing-room to waitand read the Scotsman. When we went thither a few minutes later we foundthat she had disappeared. 

"She is below, of course, " said Salemina. "She fancies that we shallfeel more ashamed at our tardiness if we find her sitting on the hallbench in silent martyrdom. "

There was no one in the hall, however, save Susanna, who inquired if wewould see the cook before going out. 

"We have no time now, Susanna, " I remarked. "We are anxious to have awalk before the weather changes, if possible, but we shall be out forluncheon and in for dinner, and Mrs. M'Collop may give us anything shepleases. Do you know where Miss Francesca is?"

"I cudna s---"

"Certainly, of course you couldn't; but I wonder if Mrs. M'Collop sawher?"

Mrs. M'Collop appeared from the basement, and vouchsafed the informationthat she had seen 'the young leddy rinnin' after the regiment. '

"Running after the regiment!" repeated Salemina automatically. "Whata reversal of the laws of nature? Why, in Berlin, it was always theregiment that used to run after her!"

We learned in what direction the soldiers had gone, and pursuing thesame path found the young lady on the corner of a street near by. Shewas quite unabashed. "You don't know what you have missed!" she saidexcitedly. "Let us get into this tram, and possibly we can head them offsomewhere. They may be going into battle, and if so, my heart's blood isat their service. It is one of those experiences that come only oncein a lifetime. There were pipes and there were kilts! (I didn't supposethey ever really wore them outside of the theatre!) When you haveseen the kilts swinging, Salemina, you will never be the same womanafterwards! You never expected to see the Olympian gods walking, didyou? Perhaps you thought they always sat on practicable rocks and madestiff gestures, from the elbow, as they do in the Wagner operas? Well, these gods walked, if you can call the inspired gait a walk! If thereis a single spinster left in Scotland, it is because none of these everasked her to marry him. Ah, how grateful I ought to be that I am freeto say 'yes', if a kilt ever asks me to be his! Poor Penelope, yoked toyour commonplace trousered Beresford! (I wish the tram would go faster!)You must capture one of them, by fair means or foul, Penelope, andSalemina and I will hold him down while you paint him, --there they are, they are there somewhere, don't you hear them?"

There they were indeed, filing down the grassy slopes of the Gardens, swinging across one of the stone bridges, and winding up the Castlehillto the Esplanade like a long glittering snake; the streamers of theirHighland bonnets waving, their arms glistening in the sun, and thebagpipes playing 'The March of the Cameron Men. ' The pipers themselveswere mercifully hidden from us on that first occasion, and it was well, for we could never have borne another feather's weight of ecstasy. 

It was in Princes Street that we had alighted, --named thus for theprince who afterwards became George IV. --and I hope he was, and is, properly grateful. It ought never to be called a street, this mostmagnificent of terraces, and the world has cause to bless that interdictof the Court of Session in 1774 which prevented the Gradgrinds of theday from erecting buildings along its south side, --a sordid scheme thatwould have been the very superfluity of naughtiness. 

It was an envious Glasgow body who said grudgingly, as he came out ofWaverley Station, and gazed along its splendid length for thefirst time, "Weel, wi' a' their haverin', it's but half a streetonyway!"--which always reminded me of the Western farmer who came fromhis native plains to the beautiful Berkshire hills. "I've always heardo' this scenery, " he said. "Blamed if I can find any scenery; but ifthere was, nobody could see it, there's so much high ground in the way!"

To think that not so much more than a hundred years ago Princes Streetwas nought but a straight country road, the 'Lang Dykes' and the 'LangGait, ' as it was called. 

We looked down over the grassy chasm that separates the New from theOld Town; looked our first on Arthur's Seat, that crouching lion of amountain; saw the Corstorphine Hill, and Calton heights, and SalisburyCrags, and finally that stupendous bluff of rock that culminates somajestically in Edinburgh Castle. There is something else which, likeSusanna Crum's name, is absolutely and ideally right! Stevenson calls itone of the most satisfactory crags in nature--a Bass rock upon dryland, rooted in a garden, shaken by passing trains, carrying a crownof battlements and turrets, and describing its warlike shadow over theliveliest and brightest thoroughfare of the new town. It dominatesthe whole countryside from water and land. The men who would have thecourage to build such a castle in such a spot are all dead; all dead, and the world is infinitely more comfortable without them. They are allgone, and no more like unto them will ever be born, and we can mostof us count upon dying safely in our beds, of diseases bred of moderncivilisation. But I am glad that those old barbarians, those rudimentarycreatures working their way up into the divine likeness, when theywere not hanging, drawing, quartering, torturing, and chopping theirneighbours, and using their heads in conventional patterns on the topsof gate-posts, did devote their leisure intervals to rearing fortresseslike this. Edinburgh Castle could not be conceived, much less built, nowadays, when all our energy is consumed in bettering the conditionof the 'submerged tenth'! What did they care about the 'masses, ' that'regal race that is now no more, ' when they were hewing those blocksof rugged rock and piling them against the sky-line on the top of thatgreat stone mountain! It amuses me to think how much more picturesquethey left the world, and how much better we shall leave it; though ifan artist were requested to distribute individual awards to differentgenerations, you could never persuade him to give first prizes to thecenturies that produced steam laundries, trolleys, X rays, and sanitaryplumbing. 

What did they reck of Peace Congresses and bloodless arbitrations whenthey lighted the beacon-fires, flaming out to the gudeman and his sonsploughing or sowing in the Lang Dykes the news that their 'ancientenemies of England had crossed the Tweed'!

I am the most peaceful person in the world, but the Castle was too muchfor my imagination. I was mounted and off and away from the first momentI gazed upon its embattled towers, heard the pipers in the distance, andsaw the Black Watch swinging up the green steps where the huge fortress'holds its state. ' The modern world had vanished, and mysteed was galloping, galloping, galloping back into theplace-of-the-things-that-are-past, traversing centuries at every leap. 

'To arms! Let every banner in Scotland float defiance to the breeze!'(So I heard my new-born imaginary spirit say to my real one. ) 'Yes, and let the Deacon Convener unfurl the sacred Blue Blanket, under whichevery liege burgher of the kingdom is bound to answer summons! Thebale-fires are gleaming, giving alarm to Hume, Haddington, Dunbar, Dalkeith, and Eggerhope. Rise, Stirling, Fife, and the North! AllScotland will be under arms in two hours. One bale-fire: the Englishare in motion! Two: they are advancing! Four in a row: they are of greatstrength! All men in arms west of Edinburgh muster there! All eastward, at Haddington! And every Englishman caught in Scotland is lawfully theprisoner of whoever takes him!' (What am I saying? I love Englishmen, but the spell is upon me!) 'Come on, Macduff!' (The only suitable andfamiliar challenge my warlike tenant can summon at the moment. ) 'I amthe son of a Gael! My dagger is in my belt, and with the guid broadswordat my side I can with one blow cut a man in twain! My bow is cutfrom the wood of the yews of Glenure; the shaft is from the wood ofLochetive, the feathers from the great golden eagles of Locktreigside!My arrowhead was made by the smiths of the race of Macphedran! Come on, Macduff!'

And now a shopkeeper has filled his window with royal Stuart tartans, and I am instantly a Jacobite. 

 'The Highland clans wi' sword in hand, Frae John o' Groat's to Airly, Hae to a man declar'd to stand Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie. 

 'Come through the heather, around him gather, Come Ronald, come Donald, come a'thegither, And crown your rightfu' lawfu' king, For wha'll be king but Charlie?'

It is the eve of the battle of Prestonpans. Is it not under the Rockof Dunsappie on yonder Arthur's Seat that our Highland army will encampto-night? At dusk the prince will hold a council of his chiefs andnobles (I am a chief and a noble), and at daybreak we shall marchthrough the old hedgerows and woods of Duddingston, pipes playing andcolours flying, bonnie Charlie at the head, his claymore drawn and thescabbard flung away! (I mean awa'!)--

 'Then here's a health to Charlie's cause, And be't complete an' early; His very name my heart's blood warms To arms for Royal Charlie!

 'Come through the heather, around him gather, Come Ronald, come Donald, come a'thegither, And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king, For wha'll be king but Charlie?'

I hope that those in authority will never attempt to convene a PeaceCongress in Edinburgh, lest the influence of the Castle be too strongfor the delegates. They could not resist it nor turn their backs uponit, since, unlike other ancient fortresses, it is but a stone's-throwfrom the front windows of all the hotels. They might mean never so well, but they would end by buying dirk hat-pins and claymore brooches fortheir wives, their daughters would all run after the kilted regiment andmarry as many of the pipers as asked them, and before night they wouldall be shouting with the noble FitzEustace--

 'Where's the coward who would not dare To fight for such a land?'

While I was rhapsodising, Salemina and Francesca were shopping in theArcade, buying some of the cairngorms, and Tam O'Shanter purses, andmodels of Burns's cottage, and copies of Marmion in plaided covers, andthistle belt-buckles, and bluebell penwipers, with which we afterwardsinundated our native land. When my warlike mood had passed, I sat downupon the steps of the Scott monument and watched the passers-by ina sort of waking dream. I suppose they were the usual professors anddoctors and ministers who are wont to walk up and down the Edinburghstreets, with a sprinkling of lairds and leddies of high degree and afew Americans looking at the shop windows to choose their clan tartans;but for me they did not exist. In their places stalked the ghosts ofkings and queens and knights and nobles; Columba, Abbot of Iona; QueenMargaret and Malcolm--she the sweetest saint in all the throng; KingDavid riding towards Drumsheugh forest on Holy Rood day, with his hornsand hounds and huntsmen following close behind; Anne of Denmark andJingling Geordie; Mary Stuart in all her girlish beauty, with the fourMaries in her train; and lurking behind, Bothwell, 'that ower sunestepfaither, ' and the murdered Rizzio and Darnley; John Knox, in hisblack Geneva cloak; Bonnie Prince Charlie and Flora Macdonald; lovelyAnnabella Drummond; Robert the Bruce; George Heriot with a bannerbearing on it the words 'I distribute chearfully'; James I. CarryingThe King's Quair; Oliver Cromwell; and a long line of heroes, martyrs, humble saints, and princely knaves. 

Behind them, regardless of precedence, came the Ploughman Poet andthe Ettrick Shepherd, Boswell and Dr. Johnson, Dr. John Brown and ThomasCarlyle, Lady Nairne and Drummond of Hawthornden, Allan Ramsay and SirWalter; and is it not a proof of the Wizard's magic art, that side byside with the wraiths of these real people walked, or seemed to walk, the Fair Maid of Perth, Jeanie Deans, Meg Merrilies, Guy Mannering, Ellen, Marmion, and a host of others so sweetly familiar and so humanlydear that the very street-laddies could have named and greeted them asthey passed by?

Chapter IV. Susanna Crum cudna say. 

Life at Mrs. M'Collop's apartments in 22 Breadalbane Terrace is about assimple, comfortable, dignified, and delightful as it well can be. 

Mrs. M'Collop herself is neat, thrifty, precise, tolerably genial, and'verra releegious. '

Her partner, who is also the cook, is a person introduced to us as MissDiggity. We afterwards learned that this is spelled Dalgety, but it isnot considered good form, in Scotland, to pronounce the names of personsand places as they are written. When, therefore, I allude to the cook, which will be as seldom as possible, I shall speak of her as MissDiggity-Dalgety, so that I shall be presenting her correctly both to theeye and to the ear, and giving her at the same time a hyphenated name, athing which is a secret object of aspiration in Great Britain. 

In selecting our own letters and parcels from the common stock on thehall table, I perceive that most of our fellow-lodgers are hyphenatedladies, whose visiting-cards diffuse the intelligence that in theirsingle persons two ancient families and fortunes are united. Onthe ground floor are the Misses Hepburn-Sciennes (pronouncedHebburn-Sheens); on the floor above us are Miss Colquhoun (Cohoon)and her cousin Miss Cockburn-Sinclair (Coburn-Sinkler). As soon asthe Hepburn-Sciennes depart, Mrs. M'Collop expects Mrs. Menzies ofKilconquhar, of whom we shall speak as Mrs. Mingess of Kinyuchar. There is not a man in the house; even the Boots is a girl, so that22 Breadalbane Terrace is as truly a castra puellarum as was ever theCastle of Edinburgh with its maiden princesses in the olden time. 

We talked with Miss Diggity-Dalgety on the evening of our first day atMrs. M'Collop's, when she came up to know our commands. As Francescaand Salemina were both in the room, I determined to be as Scotch aspossible, for it is Salemina's proud boast that she is taken for anative of every country she visits. 

"We shall not be entertaining at present, Miss Diggity, " I said, "so youcan give us just the ordinary dishes, --no doubt you are accustomed tothem: scones, baps or bannocks with marmalade, finnan-haddie or kipperedherring for breakfast; tea, --of course we never touch coffee in themorning" (here Francesca started with surprise); "porridge, and we likethem well boiled, please" (I hope she noted the plural pronoun; Saleminadid, and blanched with envy); "minced collops for luncheon, or a nicelittle black-faced chop; Scotch broth, pease brose or cockyleekie soupat dinner, and haggis now and then, with a cold shape for dessert. Thatis about the sort of thing we are accustomed to, --just plain Scotchliving. "

I was impressing Miss Diggity-Dalgety, --I could see that clearly; butFrancesca spoiled the effect by inquiring, maliciously, if we couldsometimes have a howtowdy wi' drappit eggs, or her favourite dish, weegrumphie wi' neeps. 

Here Salemina was obliged to poke the fire in order to conceal hersmiles, and the cook probably suspected that Francesca found howtowdyin the Scotch glossary; but we amused each other vastly, and that is ourprincipal object in life. 

Miss Diggity-Dalgety's forebears must have been exposed to foreigninfluences, for she interlards her culinary conversation with Frenchterms, and we have discovered that this is quite common. A 'jigget' ofmutton is of course a gigot, and we have identified an 'ashet' asan assiette. The 'petticoat tails' she requested me to buy at theconfectioner's were somewhat more puzzling, but when they were finallypurchased by Susanna Crum they appeared to be ordinary little cakes;perhaps, therefore, petits gastels, since gastel is an old form ofgateau, as was bel for beau. Susanna, on her part, speaks of thewardrobe in my bedroom as an 'awmry. ' It certainly contains no weapons, so cannot be an armoury, and we conjecture that her word must be acorruption of armoire. 

"That was a remarkable touch about the black-faced chop, " laughedSalemina, when Miss Diggity-Dalgety had retired; "not that I believethey ever say it. "

"I am sure they must, " I asserted stoutly, "for I passed a flesher's onmy way home, and saw a sign with 'Prime Black-Faced Mutton' printed onit. I also saw 'Fed Veal, ' but I forgot to ask the cook for it. "

"We ought really to have kept house in Edinburgh, " observed Francesca, looking up from the Scotsman. "One can get a 'self-contained residentialflat' for twenty pounds a month. We are such an enthusiastic trio that aself-contained flat would be everything to us; and if it were not fullyfurnished, here is a firm that wishes to sell a 'composite bed' for sixpounds, and a 'gent's stuffed easy' for five. Added to these inducementsthere is somebody who advertises that parties who intend 'displenishing'at the Whit Term would do well to consult him, as he makes a specialtyof second-handed furniture and 'cyclealities. ' What are 'cyclealities, 'Susanna?" (She had just come in with coals. )

"I cudna say, mam. "

"Thank you; no, you need not ask Mrs. M'Collop; it is of noconsequence. "

Susanna Crum is a most estimable young woman, clean, respectful, willing, capable, and methodical, but as a Bureau of Information she ispainfully inadequate. Barring this single limitation she seems to be atreasure-house of all good practical qualities; and being thus clad andpanoplied in virtue, why should she be so timid and self-distrustful?

She wears an expression which can mean only one of two things: eithershe has heard of the national tomahawk and is afraid of violence onour part, or else her mother was frightened before she was born. Thisapplies in general to her walk and voice and manner, but is it fear thatprompts her eternal 'I cudna say, ' or is it perchance Scotch cautionand prudence? Is she afraid of projecting her personality too indecentlyfar? Is it the indirect effect of heresy trials on her imagination? Doesshe remember the thumbscrew of former generations? At all events, shewill neither affirm nor deny, and I am putting her to all sorts oftests, hoping to discover finally whether she is an accident, anexaggeration, or a type. 

Salemina thinks that our American accent may confuse her. Of course shemeans Francesca's and mine, for she has none; although we havetempered ours so much for the sake of the natives, that we can scarcelyunderstand each other any more. As for Susanna's own accent, she comesfrom the heart of Aberdeenshire, and her intonation is beyond my powerto reproduce. 

We naturally wish to identify all the national dishes; so, "Is thiscockle soup, Susanna?" I ask her, as she passes me the plate at dinner. 

"I cudna say. "

"This vegetable is new to me, Susanna; is it perhaps sea-kale?"

"I canna say, mam. "

Then finally, in despair, as she handed me a boiled potato one day, I fixed my searching Yankee brown eyes on her blue-Presbyterian, non-committal ones, and asked, "What is this vegetable, Susanna?"

In an instant she withdrew herself, her soul, her ego, so utterly thatI felt myself gazing at an inscrutable stone image, as she replied, "Icudna say, mam. "

This was too much! Her mother may have been frightened, very badlyfrightened, but this was more that I could endure without protest. Theplain boiled potato is practically universal. It is not only common toall temperate climates, but it has permeated all classes of society. I am confident that the plain boiled potato has been one of the chiefconstituents in the building up of that frame in which Susanna Crumconceals her opinions and emotions. I remarked, therefore, as an, apparent afterthought, "Why, it is a potato, is it not, Susanna?"

What do you think she replied, when thus hunted into a corner, pushedagainst a wall, driven to the very confines of her personal and nationalliberty? She subjected the potato to a second careful scrutiny, andanswered, "I wudna say it's no'!"

Now there is no inherited physical terror in this. It is theconcentrated essence of intelligent reserve, caution, and obstinacy;it is a conscious intellectual hedging; it is a dogged and determinedattempt to build up barriers of defence between the questioner and thequestionee: it must be, therefore, the offspring of the catechism andthe heresy trial. 

Once again, after establishing an equally obvious fact, I succeeded inwringing from her the reluctant admission, "It depends, " but she was soshattered by the bulk and force of this outgo, so fearful that in someway she had imperilled her life or reputation, so anxious concerning theeffect that her unwilling testimony might have upon unborn generations, that she was of no real service the rest of the day. 

I wish that the Lord Advocate, or some modern counterpart of Braxfield, the hanging judge, would summon Susanna Crum as a witness in animportant case. He would need his longest plummet to sound the depths ofher consciousness. 

I have had no legal experience, but I can imagine the scene. 

"Is the prisoner your father, Susanna Crum?"

"I cudna say, my lord. "

"You have not understood the question, Susanna. Is the prisoner yourfather?"

"I cudna say, my lord. "

"Come, come, my girl! you must answer the questions put you by thecourt. You have been an inmate of the prisoner's household since yourearliest consciousness. He provided you with food, lodging, and clothingduring your infancy and early youth. You have seen him on annualvisits to your home, and watched him as he performed the usual parentalfunctions for your younger brothers and sisters. I therefore repeat, isthe prisoner your father, Susanna Crum?"

"I wudna say he's no', my lord. "

"This is really beyond credence! What do you conceive to be the ideainvolved in the word 'father, ' Susanna Crum?"

"It depends, my lord. "

And this, a few hundred years earlier, would have been the natural andeffective moment for the thumbscrews. 

I do not wish to be understood as defending these uncomfortableappliances. They would never have been needed to elicit information fromme, for I should have spent my nights inventing matter to confess inthe daytime. I feel sure that I should have poured out such floodsof confessions and retractations that if all Scotland had been onelistening ear it could not have heard my tale. I am only wondering if, in the extracting of testimony from the common mind, the thumbscrewmight not have been more necessary with some nations than with others. 

Chapter V. We emulate the Jackdaw. 

Invitations had been pouring in upon us since the delivery of ourletters of introduction, and it was now the evening of our debut inEdinburgh society. Francesca had volunteered to perform the task ofleaving cards, ordering a private victoria for the purpose, and arrayingherself in purple and fine linen. 

"Much depends upon the first impression, " she had said. "Miss Hamilton's'party' may not be gifted, but it is well-dressed. My hope is thatsome of our future hostesses will be looking from the second-storyfront-windows. If they are, I can assure them in advance that I shall bea national advertisement. "

It is needless to remark that as it began to rain heavily as she wasleaving the house, she was obliged to send back the open carriage, and order, to save time, one of the public cabs from the stand in theTerrace. 

"Would you mind having the lamiter, being first in line?" asked Susannaof Salemina, who had transmitted the command. 

When Salemina fails to understand anything, the world is kept incomplete ignorance. --Least of all would she stoop to ask a humblemaidservant to translate the vernacular of the country; so she repliedaffably, "Certainly, Susanna, that is the kind we always prefer. Isuppose it is covered?"

Francesca did not notice, until her coachman alighted to deliver thefirst letter and cards, that he had one club foot and one wooden leg;it was then that the full significance of 'lamiter' came to her. He wascovered, however, as Salemina had supposed, and the occurrence gave usa precious opportunity of chaffing that dungeon of learning. He wastolerably alert and vigorous, too, although he certainly did not impartelegance to a vehicle, and he knew every street in the court end ofEdinburgh, and every close and wynd in the Old Town. On this our firstmeeting with him, he faltered only when Francesca asked him last of allto drive to 'Kildonan House, Helmsdale'; supposing, not unnaturally, that it was as well known an address as Morningside House, Tipperlinn, whence she had just come. The lamiter had never heard of Kildonan Housenor of Helmsdale, and he had driven in the streets of Auld Reekie forthirty years. None of the drivers whom he consulted could supply anyinformation; Susanna Crum cudna say that she had ever heard of it, norcould Mrs. M'Collop, nor could Miss Diggity-Dalgety. It was reserved forLady Baird to explain that Helmsdale was two hundred and eighty milesnorth, and that Kildonan House was ten miles from the Helmsdale railwaystation, so that the poor lamiter would have had a weary drive even hadhe known the way. The friends who had given us letters to Mr. And Mrs. Jameson-Inglis (Jimmyson-Ingals) must have expected us either to visitJohn o' Groats on the northern border, and drop in on Kildonan Houseen route, or to send our note of introduction by post and await aninvitation to pass the summer. At all events, the anecdote proved verypleasing to our Edinburgh acquaintances. I hardly know whether, if theyshould visit America, they would enjoy tales of their own stupidityas hugely as they did the tales of ours, but they really were veryappreciative in this particular, and it is but justice to ourselves tosay that we gave them every opportunity for enjoyment. 

But I must go back to our first grand dinner in Scotland. We weredressed at quarter-past seven, when, in looking at the invitation again, we discovered that the dinner-hour was eight o'clock, not seven-thirty. Susanna did not happen to know the exact approximate distance toFotheringay Crescent, but the maiden Boots affirmed that it was only twominutes' drive, so we sat down in front of the fire to chat. 

It was Lady Baird's birthday feast to which we had been bidden, andwe had done our best to honour the occasion. We had prepared a largebouquet tied with the Maclean tartan (Lady Baird is a Maclean), and hadprinted in gold letters on one of the ribbons, 'Another for Hector, ' thebattle-cry of the clan. We each wore a sprig of holly, because it is thebadge of the family, while I added a girdle and shoulder-knot oftartan velvet to my pale green gown, and borrowed Francesca's emeraldnecklace, --persuading her that she was too young to wear such jewels inthe old country. 

Francesca was miserably envious that she had not thought of tartansfirst. "You may consider yourself 'geyan fine, ' all covered over withScotch plaid, but I wouldn't be so 'kenspeckle' for worlds!" she said, using expressions borrowed from Mrs. M'Collop; "and as for disguisingyour nationality, do not flatter yourself that you look like anythingbut an American. I forgot to tell you the conversation I overheard inthe tram this morning, between a mother and daughter, who were talkingabout us, I dare say. 'Have they any proper frocks for so large a party, Bella?' asked the mother. 

"'I thought I explained in the beginning, mamma, that they areAmericans. '

"'Still, you know they are only travelling, --just passing through, asit were; they may not be familiar with our customs, and we do want ourparty to be a smart one. '

"'Wait until you see them, mamma, and you will probably feel like hidingyour diminished head! It is my belief that if an American lady takes ahalf-hour journey in a tram she carries full evening dress and a diamondnecklace, in case anything should happen on the way. I am not in theleast nervous about their appearance. I only hope that they will not betoo exuberant; American girls are so frightfully vivacious and informal, I always feel as if I were being taken by the throat!'"

"A picturesque, though rather vigorous expression; however, it doesno harm to be perfectly dressed, " said Salemina consciously, putting asteel embroidered slipper on the fender and settling the holly in thesilver folds of her gown; "then when they discover that we are all wellbred, and that one of us is intelligent, it will be the more credit tothe country that gave us birth. "

"Of course it is impossible to tell what country did give YOU birth, "retorted Francesca, "but that will only be to your advantage--away fromhome!"

Francesca is inflexibly, almost aggressively American, but Salemina is acitizen of the world. If the United States should be involved in a war, I am confident that Salemina would be in front with the other Gatlingguns, for in that case a principle would be at stake; but in all lessermatters she is extremely unprejudiced. She prefers German music, Italianclimate, French dressmakers, English tailors, Japanese manners, andAmerican--American something--I have forgotten just what; it is eitherthe ice-cream soda or the form of government, --I can't remember which. 

"I wonder why they named it 'Fotheringay' Crescent, " mused Francesca. "Some association with Mary Stuart, of course. Poor, poor, pretty lady!A free queen only six years, and think of the number of beds she sleptin, and the number of trees she planted; we have already seen, I amafraid to say how many. When did she govern, when did she scheme, above all when did she flirt, with all this racing and chasing over thecountry? Mrs. M'Collop calls Anne of Denmark a 'sad scattercash' andMary an 'awfu' gadabout, ' and I am inclined to agree with her. By theway, when she was making my bed this morning, she told me that hermother claimed descent from the Stewarts of Appin, whoever they may be. She apologised for Queen Mary's defects as if she were a distant familyconnection. If so, then the famous Stuart charm has been lost somewhere, for Mrs M'Collop certainly possesses no alluring curves of temperament. "

"I am going to select some distinguished ancestors this very minute, before I go to my first Edinburgh dinner, " said I decidedly. "It seemshard that ancestors should have everything to do with settling ournationality and our position in life, and we not have a word to say. Hownice it would be to select one's own after one had arrived at yearsof discretion, or to adopt different ones according to the country onechanced to be visiting! I am going to do it; it is unusual, but theremust be a pioneer in every good movement. Let me think: do help me, Salemina! I am a Hamilton to begin with; I might be descended from thelogical Sir William himself, and thus become the idol of the universityset!"

"He died only about thirty years ago, and you would have to be hisdaughter: that would never do, " said Salemina. "Why don't you takeThomas Hamilton, Earl of Melrose and Haddington? He was Secretary ofState, King's Advocate, Lord President of the Court of Session, and allsorts of fine things. He was the one King James used to call 'Tam o' theCowgate'!"

"Perfectly delightful! I don't care so much about his other titles, but'Tam o' the Cowgate' is irresistible. I will take him. He was my--whatwas he?"

"He was at least your great-great-great-great-grandfather; that is asafe distance. Then there's that famous Jenny Geddes, who flung herfauld-stule at the Dean in St. Giles', --she was a Hamilton too, if youfancy her!"

"Yes, I'll take her with pleasure, " I responded thankfully. "Of courseI don't know why she flung the stool, --it may have been veryreprehensible; but there is always good stuff in stool-flingers; it'sthe sort of spirit one likes to inherit in diluted form. Now, whom willyou take?"

"I haven't even a peg on which to hang a Scottish ancestor, " saidSalemina disconsolately. 

"Oh, nonsense! think harder. Anybody will do as a starting-point; onlyyou must be honourable and really show relationship, as I did with Jennyand Tam. "

"My aunt Mary-Emma married a Lindsay, " ventured Salemina hesitatingly. 

"That will do, " I answered delightedly. 

 "'The Gordons gay in English blude They wat their hose and shoon; The Lindsays flew like fire aboot Till a' the fray was dune. '

"You can play that you are one of the famous 'licht Lindsays, ' and youcan look up the particular ancestor in your big book. Now, Francesca, it's your turn!"

"I am American to the backbone, " she declared, with insufferabledignity. "I do not desire any foreign ancestors. "

"Francesca!" I expostulated. "Do you mean to tell me that you can dinewith a lineal descendant of Sir Fitzroy Donald Maclean, Baronet, ofDuart and Morven, and not make any effort to trace your genealogy backfurther than your parents?"

"If you goad me to desperation, " she answered, "I will wear anAmerican flag in my hair, declare that my father is a Red Indian, or apork-packer, and talk about the superiority of our checking system andhotels all the evening. I don't want to go, any way. It is sure tobe stiff and ceremonious, and the man who takes me in will ask me thepopulation of Chicago and the amount of wheat we exported last year, --healways does. "

"I can't see why he should, " said I. "I am sure you don't look as if youknew. "

"My looks have thus far proved no protection, " she replied sadly. "Salemina is so flexible, and you are so dramatic, that you enter intoall these experiences with zest. You already more than half believein that Tam o' the Cowgate story. But there'll be nothing for me inEdinburgh society; it will be all clergymen--"

"Ministers" interjected Salemina, --"all ministers and professors. MyRedfern gowns will be unappreciated, and my Worth evening frocks worsethan wasted!"

"There are a few thousand medical students, " I said encouragingly, "andall the young advocates, and a sprinkling of military men--they knowWorth frocks. "

"And, " continued Salemina bitingly, "there will always be, even in anintellectual city like Edinburgh, a few men who continue to escapeall the developing influences about them, and remain commonplace, conventional manikins, devoted to dancing and flirting. Never fear, theywill find you!"

This sounds harsh, but nobody minds Salemina, least of all Francesca, who well knows that she is the apple of that spinster's eye. But atthis moment Susanna opens the door (timorously, as if there might be apanther behind it) and announces the cab (in the same tone in which shewould announce the beast); we pick up our draperies, and are whirled offby the lamiter to dine with the Scottish nobility. 

Chapter VI. Edinburgh society, past and present. 

 'Wha last beside his chair shall fa' He is the king amang us three!'

It was the Princess Dashkoff who said, in the latter part of theeighteenth century, that of all the societies of men of talent shehad met with in her travels, Edinburgh's was the first in point ofabilities. 

One might make the same remark to-day, perhaps, and not depart widelyfrom the truth. One does not find, however, as many noted names as areassociated with the annals of the Cape and Poker Clubs or the CrochallanFencibles, those famous groups of famous men who met for relaxation (andintoxication, I should think) at the old Isle of Man Arms or in Dawney'sTavern in the Anchor Close. These groups included such shining lightsas Robert Fergusson the poet, and Adam Ferguson the historian andphilosopher, Gavin Wilson, Sir Henry Raeburn, David Hume, Erskine, Lords Newton, Gillies, Monboddo, Hailes, Kames, Henry Mackenzie, and thePloughman Poet himself, who has kept alive the memory of the Crochallansin many a jovial verse like that in which he describes Smellie, theeccentric philosopher and printer:--

 'Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came, The old cocked hat, the grey surtout the same, His bristling beard just rising in its might; 'Twas four long nights and days to shaving night';

or in the characteristic picture of William Dunbar, a wit of the time, and the merriest of the Fencibles:--

 'As I cam by Crochallan I cannily keekit ben; Rattlin', roarin' Willie Was sitting at yon boord en'; Sitting at yon boord en', And amang guid companie! Rattlin', roarin' Willie, Ye're welcome hame to me!'

or in the verses on Creech, Burns's publisher, who left Edinburgh for atime in 1789. The 'Willies, ' by the way, seem to be especially inspiringto the Scottish balladists. 

 'Oh, Willie was a witty wight, And had o' things an unco slight! Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight And trig and braw; But now they'll busk her like a fright-- Willie's awa'!'

I think perhaps the gatherings of the present time are neither quite asgay nor quite as brilliant as those of Burns's day, when

 'Willie brewed a peck o' maut, An' Rob an' Allan cam to pree';

but the ideal standard of those meetings seems to be voiced in thelines:--

 'Wha last beside his chair shall fa', He is the king amang us three!'

As they sit in their chairs nowadays to the very end of the feast, thereis doubtless joined with modern sobriety a soupcon of modern dulness anddiscretion. 

To an American the great charm of Edinburgh is its leisurely atmosphere:'not the leisure of a village arising from the deficiency of ideas andmotives, but the leisure of a city reposing grandly on tradition andhistory; which has done its work, and does not require to weave its ownclothing, to dig its own coals, or smelt its own iron. '

We were reminded of this more than once, and it never failed to depressus properly. If one had ever lived in Pittsburg, Fall River, orKansas City, I should think it would be almost impossible to maintainself-respect in a place like Edinburgh, where the citizens 'are releasedfrom the vulgarising dominion of the hour. ' Whenever one of AuldReekie's great men took this tone with me, I always felt as though Iwere the germ in a half-hatched egg, and he were an aged and lordly cockgazing at me pityingly through my shell. He, lucky creature, had livedthrough all the struggles which I was to undergo; he, indeed, wasreleased from 'the vulgarising dominion of the hour'; but I, poor thing, must grow and grow, and keep pecking at my shell, in order to achieveexistence. 

Sydney Smith says in one of his letters, 'Never shall I forget thehappy days passed there [in Edinburgh], amidst odious smells, barbaroussounds, bad suppers, excellent hearts, and the most enlightened andcultivated understandings. ' His only criticism of the conversation ofthat day (1797-1802) concerned itself with the prevalence of that formof Scotch humour which was called wut; and with the disputations anddialectics. We were more fortunate than Sydney Smith, because Edinburghhas outgrown its odious smells, barbarous sounds, and bad suppers and, wonderful to relate, has kept its excellent hearts and its enlightenedand cultivated understandings. As for mingled wut and dialectics, wherecan one find a better foundation for dinner-table conversation?

The hospitable board itself presents no striking differences fromour own, save the customs of serving sweets in soup-plates withdessert-spoons, of a smaller number of forks on parade, of theinvariable fish-knife at each plate, of the prevalent 'savoury' and'cold shape, ' and the unusual grace and skill with which the hostesscarves. Even at very large dinners one occasionally sees a lady of highdegree severing the joints of chickens and birds most daintily, whileher lord looks on in happy idleness, thinking, perhaps, how greatlytimes have changed for the better since the ages of strife andbloodshed, when Scottish nobles

 'Carved at the meal with gloves of steel, And drank their wine through helmets barred. '

The Scotch butler is not in the least like an English one. No man couldbe as respectable as he looks, not even an elder of the kirk, whom heresembles closely. He hands your plate as if it were a contribution-box, and in his moments of ease, when he stands behind the 'maister, ' I amalways expecting him to pronounce a benediction. The English butler, when he wishes to avoid the appearance of listening to the conversation, gazes with level eye into vacancy; the Scotch butler looks distinctlyheavenward, as if he were brooding on the principle of co-ordinatejurisdiction with mutual subordination. It would be impossible for me todeny the key of the wine-cellar to a being so steeped in sanctity, butit has been done, I am told, in certain rare and isolated cases. 

As for toilets, the men dress like all other men (alas, and alas, thatwe should say it, for we were continually hoping for a kilt!) thoughthere seems to be no survival of the finical Lord Napier's spirit. Perhaps you remember that Lord and Lady Napier arrived at Castlemilkin Lanarkshire with the intention of staying a week, but announced nextmorning that a circumstance had occurred which rendered it indispensableto return without delay to their seat in Selkirkshire. This was the onlyexplanation given, but it was afterwards discovered that Lord Napier'svalet had committed the grievous mistake of packing up a set ofneckcloths which did not correspond IN POINT OF DATE with the shirtsthey accompanied!

The ladies of the 'smart set' in Edinburgh wear French fripperiesand chiffons, as do their sisters every where, but the other women ofsociety dress a trifle more staidly than their cousins in London, Paris, or New York. The sobriety of taste and severity of style thatcharacterise Scotswomen may be due, like Susanna Crum's dubieties, tothe haar, to the shorter catechism, or perhaps in some degree to thepresence of three branches of the Presbyterian Church among them; thesociety that bears in its bosom three separate and antagonistic kinds ofPresbyterianism at the same time must have its chilly moments. 

In Lord Cockburn's time the 'dames of high and aristocratic breed'must have been sufficiently awake to feminine frivolities to be bothgorgeously and extravagantly arrayed. I do not know in all literaturea more delicious and lifelike word-portrait than Lord Cockburn givesof Mrs. Rochead, the Lady of Inverleith, in the Memorials. It is quiteworthy to hang beside a Raeburn canvas; one can scarce say more. 

'Except Mrs. Siddons in some of her displays of magnificent royalty, nobody could sit down like the Lady of Inverleith. She would sail like aship from Tarshish, gorgeous in velvet or rustling silk, done up inall the accompaniments of fans, ear-rings, and finger-rings, fallingsleeves, scent-bottle, embroidered bag, hoop, and train; managing allthis seemingly heavy rigging with as much ease as a full-blown swan doesits plumage. She would take possession of the centre of a large sofa, and at the same moment, without the slightest visible exertion, coverthe whole of it with her bravery, the graceful folds seeming to laythemselves over it, like summer waves. The descent from her carriage, too, where she sat like a nautilus in its shell, was a display which noone in these days could accomplish or even fancy. The mulberry-colouredcoach, apparently not too large for what it contained, though she alonewas in it; the handsome, jolly coachman and his splendid hammer-clothloaded with lace; the two respectful liveried footmen, one on each sideof the richly carpeted step, --these were lost sight of amidst the slowmajesty with which the Lady of Inverleith came down and touched theearth. '

My right-hand neighbour at Lady Baird's dinner was surprised atmy quoting Lord Cockburn. One's attendant squires here always seemsurprised when one knows anything; but they are always delighted, too, so that the amazement is less trying. True, I had read the Memorialsonly the week before, and had never heard of them previous to that time;but that detail, according to my theories, makes no real difference. Thewoman who knows how and when to 'read up, ' who reads because she wantsto be in sympathy with a new environment; the woman who has wit andperspective enough to be stimulated by novel conditions and kindled byfresh influences, who is susceptible to the vibrations of other people'shistory, is safe to be fairly intelligent and extremely agreeable, if only she is sufficiently modest. I think my neighbour found methoroughly delightful after he discovered my point of view. He was anearl; and it always takes an earl a certain length of time to understandme. I scarcely know why, for I certainly should not think it courteousto interpose any real barriers between the nobility and that portion ofthe 'masses' represented in my humble person. 

It seemed to me at first that the earl did not apply himself to thestudy of my national peculiarities with much assiduity, but wastedconsiderable time in gazing at Francesca, who was opposite. She iscertainly very handsome, and I never saw her lovelier than at thatdinner; her eyes were like stars, and her cheeks and lips a splendidcrimson, for she was quarrelling with her attendant cavalier about therelative merits of Scotland and America, and they apparently ceased tospeak to each other after the salad. 

When the earl had sufficiently piqued me by his devotion to his dinnerand his glances at Francesca, I began a systematic attempt to achievehis (transient) subjugation. Of course I am ardently attached to WillieBeresford and prefer him to any earl in Britain, but one's self-respectdemands something in the way of food. I could see Salemina at the farend of the table radiant with success, the W. S. At her side bending everand anon to catch the (artificial) pearls of thought that dropped fromher lips. "Miss Hamilton appears simple" (I thought I heard her say);"but in reality she is as deep as the Currie Brig!" Now where did sheget that allusion? And again, when the W. S. Asked her whither she wasgoing when she left Edinburgh, "I hardly know, " she replied pensively. "I am waiting for the shade of Montrose to direct me, as the ViscountDundee said to your Duke of Gordon. " The entranced Scotsman little knewthat she had perfected this style of conversation by long experiencewith the Q. C. 's of England. Talk about my being as deep as the CurrieBrig (whatever it may be); Salemina is deeper than the Atlantic Ocean! Ishall take pains to inform her Writer to the Signet, after dinner, thatshe eats sugar on her porridge every morning; that will show him hernationality conclusively. 

The earl took the greatest interest in my new ancestors, and approvedthoroughly of my choice. He thinks I must have been named for LadyPenelope Belhaven, who lived in Leven Lodge, one of the country villasof the Earls of Leven, from whom he himself is descended. "Does thatmake us relatives?" I asked. "Relatives, most assuredly, " he replied, "but not too near to destroy the charm of friendship. "

He thought it a great deal nicer to select one's own forebears than toallow them all the responsibility, and said it would save a world oftrouble if the method could be universally adopted. He added that heshould be glad to part with a good many of his, but doubted whether Iwould accept them, as they were 'rather a scratch lot. ' (I use his ownlanguage, which I thought delightfully easy for a belted earl. ) He wascharmed with the story of Francesca and the lamiter, and offered todrive me to Kildonan House, Helmsdale, on the first fine day. I told himhe was quite safe in making the proposition, for we had already had thefine day, and we understood that the climate had exhausted itself andretired for the season. 

The gentleman on my left, a distinguished Dean of the Thistle, gave me afew moments' discomfort by telling me that the old custom of 'rounds'of toasts still prevailed at Lady Baird's on formal occasions, and thatbefore the ladies retired every one would be called upon for appropriate'sentiments. '

"What sort of sentiments?" I inquired, quite overcome with terror. 

"Oh, epigrammatic sentences expressive of moral feelings or virtues, "replied my neighbour easily. "They are not quite as formal and hackneyednow as they were in the olden time, when some of the favourite toastswere 'May the pleasure of the evening bear the reflections of themorning!' 'May the friends of our youth be the companions of our oldage!' 'May the honest heart never feel distress!' 'May the hand ofcharity wipe the eye of sorrow!'"

"I can never do it in the world!" I ejaculated. "Oh, one ought never, never to leave one's own country! A light-minded and cynical Englishgentleman told me that I should frequently be called upon to read hymnsand recite verses of Scripture at family dinners in Edinburgh, and Ihope I am always prepared to do that; but nobody warned me that I shouldhave to evolve epigrammatic sentiments on the spur of the moment. "

My confusion was so evident that the good dean relented and confessedthat he was imposing upon my ignorance. He made me laugh heartily at thestory of a poor dominie at Arndilly. He was called upon in his turn, ata large party, and having nothing to aid him in an exercise to whichhe was new save the example of his predecessors, lifted his glass aftermuch writhing and groaning and gave, "The reflection of the moon in thecawm bosom of the lake!"

At this moment Lady Baird glanced at me, and we all rose to go into thedrawing-room; but on the way from my chair to the door, whither the earlescorted me, he said gallantly, "I suppose the men in your countrydo not take champagne at dinner? I cannot fancy their craving it whendining beside an American woman!"

That was charming, though he did pay my country a compliment at myexpense. One likes, of course, to have the type recognised as fine; atthe same time his remark would have been more flattering if it had beenless sweeping. 

When I remember that he offered me his ancestors, asked me to drive twohundred and eighty miles, and likened me to champagne, I feel that, with my heart already occupied and my hand promised, I could hardly haveaccomplished more in the course of a single dinner-hour. 

Chapter VII. Francesca meets th' unconquer'd Scot. 

Francesca's experiences were not so fortunate; indeed, I have never seenher more out of sorts than she was during our long chat over the fire, after our return to Breadalbane Terrace. 

"How did you get on with your delightful minister?" inquired Saleminaof the young lady, as she flung her unoffending wrap over the back of achair. "He was quite the handsomest man in the room; who is he?"

"He is the Reverend Ronald Macdonald, and the most disagreeable, condescending, ill-tempered prig I ever met!"

"Why, Francesca!" I exclaimed. "Lady Baird speaks of him as herfavourite nephew, and says he is full of charm. "

"He is just as full of charm as he was when I met him, " returned thegirl nonchalantly; "that is, he parted with none of it this evening. He was incorrigibly stiff and rude, and oh! so Scotch! I believe if onepunctured him with a hat-pin, oatmeal would fly into the air!"

"Doubtless you acquainted him, early in the evening, with theimmeasurable advantages of our sleeping-car system, the superiority ofour fast-running elevators, and the height of our buildings?" observedSalemina. 

"I mentioned them, " Francesca answered evasively. 

"You naturally inveighed against the Scotch climate?"

"Oh, I alluded to it; but only when he said that our hot summers must beinsufferable. "

"I suppose you repeated the remark you made at luncheon, that the ladiesyou had seen in Princes Street were excessively plain?"

"Yes, I did!" she replied hotly; "but that was because he said thatAmerican girls generally looked bloodless and frail. He asked if itwere really true that they ate chalk and slate pencils. Wasn't thatunendurable? I answered that those were the chief solid article of food, but that after their complexions were established, so to speak, theirparents often allowed them pickles and native claret to vary the diet. "

"What did he say to that?" I asked. 

"Oh, he said, 'Quite so, quite so'; that was his invariable response toall my witticisms. Then when I told him casually that the shops lookedvery small and dark and stuffy here, and that there were not as manytartans and plaids in the windows as we had expected, he remarkedthat as to the latter point, the American season had not opened yet!Presently he asserted that no royal city in Europe could boast tencenturies of such glorious and stirring history as Edinburgh. I said itdid not appear to be stirring much at present, and that everything inScotland seemed a little slow to an American; that he could have no ideaof push or enterprise until he visited a city like Chicago. He retortedthat, happily, Edinburgh was peculiarly free from the taint of theledger and the counting-house; that it was Weimar without a Goethe, Boston without its twang!"

"Incredible!" cried Salemina, deeply wounded in her local pride. "Henever could have said 'twang' unless you had tried him beyond measure!"

"I dare say I did; he is easily tried, " returned Francesca. "I askedhim, sarcastically, if he had ever been in Boston. 'No, ' he said, 'it isnot necessary to GO there! And while we are discussing these matters, 'he went on, 'how is your American dyspepsia these days, --have youdecided what is the cause of it?'

"'Yes, we have, ' said I, as quick as a flash; 'we have always taken inmore foreigners than we could assimilate!' I wanted to tell him that oneScotsman of his type would upset the national digestion anywhere, but Irestrained myself. "

"I am glad you did restrain yourself--once, " exclaimed Salemina. "Whata tactful person the Reverend Ronald must be, if you have reportedhim faithfully! Why didn't you give him up, and turn to your otherneighbour?"

"I did, as soon as I could with courtesy; but the man on my left was thetype that always haunts me at dinners; if the hostess hasn't one on hervisiting-list she imports one for the occasion. He asked me at once ofwhat material the Brooklyn Bridge is made. I told him I really didn'tknow. Why should I? I seldom go over it. Then he asked me whether it wasa suspension bridge or a cantilever. Of course I didn't know; I am notan engineer. "

"You are so tactlessly, needlessly candid, " I expostulated. "Why didn'tyou say boldly that the Brooklyn Bridge is a wooden cantilever, withgutta-percha braces? He didn't know, or he wouldn't have asked you. Hecouldn't find out until he reached home, and you would never haveseen him again; and if you had, and he had taunted you, you could havelaughed vivaciously and said you were chaffing. That is my method, andit is the only way to preserve life in a foreign country. Even myearl, who did not thirst for information (fortunately), asked me thepopulation of the Yellowstone Park, and I simply told him three hundredthousand, at a venture. "

"That would never have satisfied my neighbour, " said Francesca. "Findingme in such a lamentable state of ignorance, he explained the principleof his own stupid Forth Bridge to me. When I said I understoodperfectly, just to get into shallower water, where we wouldn't need anybridge, the Reverend Ronald joined in the conversation, and asked me torepeat the explanation to him. Naturally I couldn't, and he knew that Icouldn't when he asked me, so the bridge man (I don't know his name, and don't care to know it) drew a diagram of the national idol on hisdinner-card and gave a dull and elaborate lecture upon it. Here is thecard, and now that three hours have intervened I cannot tell which wayto turn the drawing so as to make the bridge right side up; if thereis anything puzzling in the world, it is these architectural plans anddiagrams. I am going to pin it to the wall and ask the Reverend Ronaldwhich way it goes. "

"Do you mean that he will call upon us?" we cried in concert. 

"He asked if he might come and continue our 'stimulating' conversation, and as Lady Baird was standing by I could hardly say no. I am sure ofone thing: that before I finish with him I will widen his horizon sothat he will be able to see something beside Scotland and his littleinsignificant Fifeshire parish! I told him our country parishes inAmerica were ten times as large as his. He said he had heard that theycovered a good deal of territory, and that the ministers' salaries weresometimes paid in pork and potatoes. That shows you the style of hisretorts!"

"I really cannot decide which of you was the more disagreeable, " saidSalemina; "if he calls, I shall not remain in the room. "

"I wouldn't gratify him by staying out, " retorted Francesca. "He isextremely good for the circulation; I think I was never so warm in mylife as when I talked with him; as physical exercise he is equal tobicycling. The bridge man is coming to call, too. I made him a diagramof Breadalbane Terrace, and a plan of the hall and staircase, on mydinner-card. He was distinctly ungrateful; in fact, he remarked that hehad been born in this very house, but would not trust himself to findhis way upstairs with my plan as a guide. He also said the Americanvocabulary was vastly amusing, so picturesque, unstudied, and fresh. "

"That was nice, surely, " I interpolated. 

"You know perfectly well that it was an insult. "

"Francesca is very like that young man, " laughed Salemina, "who, whenever he engaged in controversy, seemed to take off his flesh and sitin his nerves. "

"I'm not supersensitive, " replied Francesca, "but when one's vocabularyis called picturesque by a Britisher, one always knows he is thinking ofcowboys and broncos. However, I shifted the weight into the other scaleby answering 'Thank you. And your phraseology is just as unusual tous. ' 'Indeed?' he said with some surprise. 'I supposed our method ofexpression very sedate and uneventful. ' 'Not at all, ' I returned, 'whenyou say, as you did a moment ago, that you never eat potato to yourfish. ' 'But I do not, ' he urged obtusely. 'Very likely, ' I argued, 'butthe fact is not of so much importance as the preposition. Now I eatpotato WITH my fish. ' 'You make a mistake, ' he said, and we both laughedin spite of ourselves, while he murmured, 'eating potato WITH fish--howextraordinary. ' Well, the bridge man may not add perceptibly to thegaiety of the nations, but he is better than the Reverend Ronald. Iforgot to say that when I chanced to be speaking of doughnuts, that'unconquer'd Scot' asked me if a doughnut resembled a peanut? Can youconceive such ignorance?"

"I think you were not only aggressively American, but painfullyprovincial, " said Salemina, with some warmth. "Why in the world shouldyou drag doughnuts into a dinner-table conversation in Edinburgh? Whynot select topics of universal interest?"

"Like the Currie Brig or the shade of Montrose, " I murmured slyly. 

"To one who has ever eaten a doughnut, the subject is of transcendentinterest; and as for one who has not--well, he should be made to feelhis limitations, " replied Francesca, with a yawn. "Come, let us forgetour troubles in sleep; it is after midnight. "

About half an hour later she came to my bedside, her dark hair hangingover her white gown, her eyes still bright. 

"Penelope, " she said softly, "I did not dare tell Salemina, and I shouldnot confess it to you save that I am afraid Lady Baird will complain ofme; but I was dreadfully rude to the Reverend Ronald! I couldn't helpit; he roused my worst passions. It all began with his saying hethought international marriages presented even more difficulties to theimagination than the other kind. I hadn't said anything about marriagesnor thought anything about marriages of any sort, but I told himINSTANTLY I considered that every international marriage involvedtwo national suicides. He said that he shouldn't have put it quite soforcibly, but that he hadn't given much thought to the subject. I saidthat I had, and I thought we had gone on long enough filling the coffersof the British nobility with American gold. "

"FRANCES!" I interrupted. "Don't tell me that you made that vulgar, cheap newspaper assertion!"

"I did, " she replied stoutly, "and at the moment I only wished I couldmake it stronger. If there had been anything cheaper or more vulgar, Ishould have said it, but of course there isn't. Then he remarked thatthe British nobility merited and needed all the support it could get inthese hard times, and asked if we had not cherished some intention inthe States, lately, of bestowing it in greenbacks instead of gold! Ithrew all manners to the winds after that and told him that there wereno husbands in the world like American men, and that foreigners neverseemed to have any proper consideration for women. Now, were my remarksany worse than his, after all, and what shall I do about it anyway?"

"You should go to bed first, " I murmured sleepily; "and if you ever havean opportunity to make amends, which I doubt, you should devote yourselfto showing the Reverend Ronald the breadth of your own horizon insteadof trying so hard to broaden his. As you are extremely pretty, you maypossibly succeed; man is human, and I dare say in a month you willbe advising him to love somebody more worthy than yourself. (He couldeasily do it!) Now don't kiss me again, for I am displeased with you; Ihate international bickering!"

"So do I, " agreed Francesca virtuously, as she plaited her hair, "andthere is no spectacle so abhorrent to every sense as a narrow-minded manwho cannot see anything outside of his own country. But he is awfullygood-looking, --I will say that for him: and if you don't explain me toLady Baird, I will write to Mr. Beresford about the earl. There wasno bickering there; it was looking at you two that made us think ofinternational marriages. "

"It must have suggested to you that speech about filling the coffers ofthe British nobility, " I replied sarcastically, "inasmuch as the earlhas twenty thousand pounds a year, probably, and I could barely buy twogold hairpins to pin on the coronet. There, do go away and leave me inpeace!"

"Good night again, then, " she said, as she rose reluctantly from thefoot of the bed. "I doubt if I can sleep for thinking what a pity itis that such an egotistic, bumptious, pugnacious, prejudiced, insular, bigoted person should be so handsome! And who wants to marry him anyway, that he should be so distressed about international alliances?One would think that all female America was sighing to lead him to thealtar!"

Chapter VIII. 'What made th' Assembly shine?'

Two or three days ago we noted an unusual though subdued air ofexcitement at 22 Breadalbane Terrace, where for a week we had beenthe sole lodgers. Mrs. Menzies, whom we call Mingess, has returnedto Kilconquhar, which she calls Kinyuchar; Miss Cockburn-Sinclair haspurchased her wedding outfit and gone back to Inverness, where shewill be greeted as Coburn-Sinkler; the Hepburn-Sciennes will be leavingto-morrow, just as we have learned to pronounce their names; and thesound of the scrubbing-brush is heard in the land. In corners where allwas clean and spotless before, Mrs. M'Collop is digging with the broom, and the maiden Boots is following her with a damp cloth. The staircarpets are hanging on lines in the back garden, and Susanna, with hercap rakishly on one side, is always to be seen polishing the stair-rods. Whenever we traverse the halls we are obliged to leap over pails ofsuds, and Miss Diggity-Dalgety has given us two dinners which bore acurious resemblance to washing-day repasts in suburban America. 

"Is it spring house-cleaning?" I ask Mistress M'Collop. 

"Na, na, " she replies hurriedly; "it's the meenisters. "

On the 19th of May we are a maiden castle no longer. Black coats andhats ring at the bell, and pass in and out of the different apartments. The hall table is sprinkled with letters, visiting-cards, and programmeswhich seem to have had the alphabet shaken out upon them, for they bearthe names of professors, doctors, reverends, and very reverends, andfairly bristle with A. M. 's, M. A. 's, A. B. 's, D. D. 's, and LL. D. 's. Thevoice of family prayer is lifted up from the dining-room floor, andparaphrases and hymns float down the stairs from above. Their Graces theLord High Commissioner and the Marchioness of Heatherdale will arriveto-day at Holyrood Palace, there to reside during the sittings of theGeneral Assembly of the Church of Scotland, and to-morrow the RoyalStandard will be hoisted at Edinburgh Castle from reveille to retreat. His Grace will hold a levee at eleven. Directly His Grace leavesthe palace after the levee, the guard of honour will proceed by theCanongate to receive him on his arrival at St. Giles' Church, and willthen proceed to Assembly Hall to receive him on his arrival there. TheSixth Inniskilling Dragoons and the First Battalion Royal Scots willbe in attendance, and there will be Unicorns, Carricks, pursuivants, heralds, mace-bearers, ushers, and pages, together with thePurse-bearer, and the Lyon King-of-Arms, and the national anthem, andthe royal salute; for the palace has awakened and is 'mimicking itspast. '

'Should the weather be wet, the troops will be cloaked at the discretionof the commanding officer. ' They print this instruction as a matter ofform, and of course every man has his macintosh ready. The only hopelies in the fact that this is a national function, and 'Queen's weather'is a possibility. The one personage for whom the Scottish climate willoccasionally relax is Her Majesty Queen Victoria, who for sixty yearshas exerted a benign influence on British skies and at least securedsunshine on great parade days. Such women are all too few!

In this wise enters His Grace the Lord High Commissioner to open theGeneral Assembly of the Church of Scotland; and on the same day therearrives by the railway (but travelling first class) the Moderator ofthe Church of Scotland Free, to convene its separate supreme Courtsin Edinburgh. He will have no Union Jacks, Royal Standards, Dragoons, bands, or pipers; he will bear his own purse and stay at an hotel; butwhen the final procession of all comes, he will probably march besideHis Grace the Lord High Commissioner, and they will talk together, notof dead-and-gone kingdoms, but of the one at hand, where there areno more divisions in the ranks, and where all the soldiers are simply'king's men, ' marching to victory under the inspiration of a commonwatchword. 

It is a matter of regret to us that the U. P. 's, the third branch ofScottish Presbyterianism, could not be holding an Assembly during thissame week, so that we might the more easily decide in which flock wereally belong. 22 Breadalbane Terrace now represents all shades ofreligious opinion within the bounds of Presbyterianism. We have anElder, a Professor of Biblical Criticism, a Majesty's Chaplain, and evenan ex-Moderator under our roof, and they are equally divided between theFree and the Established bodies. 

Mrs. M'Collop herself is a pillar of the Free Kirk, but she has noprejudice in lodgers, and says so long as she 'mak's her rent she doesnacare aboot their releegious principles. ' Miss Diggity-Dalgety is thesole representative of United Presbyterianism in the household, and sheis somewhat gloomy in Assembly time. To belong to a dissenting body, andyet to cook early and late for the purpose of fattening one's religiousrivals, is doubtless trying to the temper; and then she asserts that'meenisters are aye tume [empty]. '

"You must put away your Scottish ballads and histories now, Salemina, and keep your Concordance and your umbrella constantly at hand. "

This I said as we stood on George IV. Bridge and saw the ministersglooming down from the Mound in a dense Assembly fog. As the presenceof any considerable number of priests on an ocean steamer is supposedto bring rough weather, so the addition of a few hundred parsons to thepopulation of Edinburgh is believed to induce rain, --or perhaps I shouldsay, more rain. 

Of course, when one is in perfect bodily health one can more readilyresist the infection of disease. Similarly if Scottish skies were notready and longing to pour out rain, were not ignobly weak in holding itback, they would not be so susceptible to the depressing influences ofvisiting ministers. This is Francesca's theory as stated to the ReverendRonald, who was holding an umbrella over her ungrateful head at thetime; and she went on to boast of a convention she once attended inCalifornia, where twenty-six thousand Christian Endeavourers were unableto dim the American sunshine, though they stayed ten days. 

"Our first duty, both to ourselves and to the community, " I continued toSalemina, "is to learn how there can be three distinct kinds of properPresbyterianism. Perhaps it would be a graceful act on our part if weshould each espouse a different kind; then there would be no feelingamong our Edinburgh friends. And again what is this 'union' of which wehear murmurs? Is it religious or political? Is it an echo of the1707 Union you explained to us last week, or is it a new one? What isDisestablishment? What is Disruption? Are they the same thing? What isthe Sustentation Fund? What was the Non-Intrusion party? What was theDundas Despotism? What is the argument at present going on about takingthe Shorter Catechism out of the schools? What is the Shorter Catechism, any way, --or at least what have they left out of the Longer Catechism tomake it shorter, --and is the length of the Catechism one of the pointsof difference? then when we have looked up Chalmers and Candlish, wecan ask the ex-Moderator and the Professor of Biblical Criticism to tea;separately, of course, lest there should be ecclesiastical quarrels. "

Salemina and Francesca both incline to the Established church, I leaninstinctively toward the Free; but that does not mean that we haveany knowledge of the differences that separate them. Salemina is aconservative in all things; she loves law, order, historic associations, old customs; and so when there is a regularly established nationalchurch, --or, for that matter, a regularly established anything, she gravitates to it by the law of her being. Francesca's religiousconvictions, when she is away from her own minister and native land, areinclined to be flexible. The church that enters Edinburgh with a marquisand a marchioness representing the Crown, the church that opens itsAssembly with splendid processions and dignified pageants, the churchthat dispenses generous hospitality from Holyrood Palace, --above all, the church that escorts its Lord High Commissioner from place to placewith bands and pipers, --that is the church to which she pledges herconstant presence and enthusiastic support. 

As for me, I believe I am a born protestant, or 'come-outer, ' as theyused to call dissenters in the early days of New England. I have not yethad time to study the question, but as I lack all knowledge of the othertwo branches of Presbyterianism, I am enabled to say unhesitatingly thatI belong to the Free Kirk. To begin with, the very word 'free' hasa fascination for the citizen of a republic; and then my theologicaltraining was begun this morning by a gifted young minister of Edinburghwhom we call the Friar, because the first time we saw him in his gownand bands (the little spot of sheer whiteness beneath the chin, thatlends such added spirituality to a spiritual face) we fancied thathe looked like some pale brother of the Church in the olden time. Hispallor, in a land of rosy redness and milky whiteness; his smooth, fairhair, which in the light from the stained-glass window above the pulpitlooked reddish gold; the Southern heat of passionate conviction thatcoloured his slow Northern speech; the remoteness of his personality;the weariness of his deep-set eyes, that bespoke such fastings andvigils as he probably never practised, --all this led to our choice ofthe name. 

As we walked toward St. Andrew's Church and Tanfield Hall, where heinsisted on taking me to get the 'proper historical background, ' he toldme about the great Disruption movement. He was extremely eloquent, --soeloquent that the image of Willie Beresford tottered continually on itsthrone, and I found not the slightest difficulty in giving an unswervingallegiance to the principles presented by such an orator. 

We went first to St. Andrew's, where the General Assembly met in1843, and where the famous exodus of the Free Protesting Church tookplace, --one of the most important events in the modern history of theUnited Kingdom. 

The movement was promoted by the great Dr. Chalmers and his party, mainly to abolish the patronage of livings, then in the hands of certainheritors or patrons, who might appoint any minister they wished, withoutconsulting the congregation. Needless to say, as a free-born Americancitizen, and never having had a heritor in the family, my blood easilyboiled at the recital of such tyranny. In 1834 the Church had passed alaw of its own, it seems, ordaining that no presentee to a parish shouldbe admitted, if opposed by the majority of the male communicants. Thatwould have been well enough could the State have been made to agree, though I should have gone further, personally, and allowed the femalecommunicants to have some voice in the matter. 

The Friar took me into a particularly chilly historic corner, and, leaning against a damp stone pillar, painted the scene in St. Andrew'swhen the Assembly met in the presence of a great body of spectators, while a vast throng gathered without, breathlessly awaiting the result. No one believed that any large number of ministers would relinquishlivings and stipends and cast their bread upon the waters for what manythought a 'fantastic principle. ' Yet when the Moderator left hisplace, after reading a formal protest signed by one hundred and twentyministers and seventy-two elders, he was followed first by Dr. Chalmers, and then by four hundred and seventy men, who marched in a body toTanfield Hall, where they formed themselves into the General Assemblyof the Free Church of Scotland. When Lord Jeffrey was told of it anhour later, he exclaimed, 'Thank God for Scotland! there is not anothercountry on earth where such a deed could be done!' And the Friarreminded me proudly of Macaulay's saying that the Scots had madesacrifices for the sake of religious opinion for which there was noparallel in the annals of England. On the next Sunday after theseremarkable scenes in Edinburgh there were heart-breaking farewells, so the Friar said, in many village parishes, when the minister, indismissing his congregation, told them that he had ceased to belong tothe Established Church and would neither preach nor pray in that pulpitagain; that he had joined the Free Protesting Church of Scotland, and, God willing, would speak the next Sabbath morning at the manse door toas many as cared to follow him. "What affecting leave-takings there musthave been!" the Friar exclaimed. "When my grandfather left his churchthat May morning, only fifteen members remained behind, and he couldhear the more courageous say to the timid ones, 'Tak' your Bible andcome awa', mon!' Was not all this a splendid testimony to the powerof principle and the sacred demands of conscience?" I said "Yea" mostheartily, for the spirit of Jenny Geddes stirred within me that morning, and under the spell of the Friar's kindling eye and eloquent voice Ipositively gloried in the valiant achievements of the Free Church. It would always be easier for a woman to say, "Yea" than "Nay" to theFriar. When he left me in Breadalbane Terrace I was at heart a member ofhis congregation in good (and irregular) standing, ready to teach inhis Sunday-school, sing in his choir, visit his aged and sick poor, and especially to stand between him and a too admiring feminineconstituency. 

When I entered the drawing-room, I found that Salemina had just enjoyedan hour's conversation with the ex-Moderator of the opposite churchwing. 

"Oh, my dear, " she sighed, "you have missed such a treat! You haveno conception of these Scottish ministers of the Establishment, --suchculture, such courtliness of manner, such scholarship, suchspirituality, such wise benignity of opinion! I asked the doctor toexplain the Disruption movement to me, and he was most interesting andlucid, and most affecting, too, when he described the misunderstandingsand misconceptions that the Church suffered in those terrible days of1843, when its very life-blood, as well as its integrity and unity, werethreatened by the foes in its own household; when breaches of faith andtrust occurred on all sides, and dissents and disloyalties shook it toits very foundation! You see, Penelope, I have never fully understoodthe disagreements about heritors and livings and state control before, but here is the whole matter in a nut-sh--"

"My dear Salemina, " I interposed, with dignity, "you will pardon me, I am sure, when I tell you that any discussion on this point would beintensely painful to me, as I now belong to the Free Kirk. "

"Where have you been this morning?" she asked, with a piercing glance. 

"To St. Andrew's and Tanfield Hall. "

"With whom?"

"With the Friar. "

"I see! Happy the missionary to whom you incline your ear, FIRST!"--which I thought rather inconsistent of Salemina, as she hadbeen converted by precisely the same methods and in precisely the samelength of time as had I, the only difference being in the ages of ourrespective missionaries, one being about five-and-thirty, and otherfive-and-sixty. Even this is to my credit after all, for if one canbe persuaded so quickly and fully by a young and comparativelyinexperienced man, it shows that one must be extremely susceptible tospiritual influences or--something. 

Chapter IX. Omnia presbyteria est divisa in partes tres. 

Religion in Edinburgh is a theory, a convention, a fashion (both humbleand aristocratic), a sensation, an intellectual conviction, an emotion, a dissipation, a sweet habit of the blood; in fact, it is, it seems tome, every sort of thing it can be to the human spirit. 

When we had finished our church toilettes, and came into thedrawing-room, on the first Sunday morning, I remember that we foundFrancesca at the window. 

"There is a battle, murder, or sudden death going on in the squarebelow, " she said. "I am going to ask Susanna to ask Mrs. M'Collop whatit means. Never have I seen such a crowd moving peacefully, with noexcitement or confusion, in one direction. Where can the people begoing? Do you suppose it is a fire? Why, I believe... It cannot bepossible... Yes, they certainly are disappearing in that big church onthe corner; and millions, simply millions and trillions, are coming inthe other direction, --toward St. Knox's. "

Impressive as was this morning church-going, a still greater surpriseawaited us at seven o'clock in the evening, when the crowd blocked thestreets on two sides of a church near Breadalbane Terrace; and thoughit was quite ten minutes before service when we entered, Salemina and Ionly secured the last two seats in the aisle, and Francesca was obligedto sit on the steps of the pulpit or seek a sermon elsewhere. 

It amused me greatly to see Francesca sitting on pulpit steps, her Parisgown and smart toque in close juxtaposition to the rusty bonnet andbombazine dress of a respectable elderly tradeswoman. The churchofficer entered first, bearing the great Bible and hymn-book, which hereverently placed on the pulpit cushions; and close behind him, toour entire astonishment, came the Reverend Ronald Macdonald, evidentlyexchanging with the regular minister of the parish, whom we had comeespecially to hear. I pitied Francesca's confusion and embarrassment, but I was too far from her to offer an exchange of seats, and throughthe long service she sat there at the feet of her foe, so near thatshe could have touched the hem of his gown as he knelt devoutly for hisfirst silent prayer. 

Perhaps she was thinking of her last interview with him, when shedescanted at length on that superfluity of naughtiness and Biblicalpedantry which, she asserted, made Scottish ministers preach fromout-of-the-way texts. 

"I have never been able to find my place in the Bible since I arrived, "she complained to Salemina, when she was quite sure that Mr. Macdonaldwas listening to her; and this he generally was, in my opinion, nomatter who chanced to be talking. "What with their skipping and hoppingabout from Haggai to Philemon, Habakkuk to Jude, and Micah to Titus, intheir readings, and then settling on seventh Nahum, sixth Zephaniah, or second Calathumpians for the sermon, I do nothing but search theScriptures in the Edinburgh churches, --search, search, search, untilsome Christian by my side or in the pew behind me notices my haplessplight, and hands me a Bible opened at the text. Last Sunday it wasObadiah first, fifteenth, 'For the day of the Lord is near upon all theheathen. ' It chanced to be a returned missionary who was preaching onthat occasion; but the Bible is full of heathen, and why need he havechosen a text from Obadiah, poor little Obadiah one page long, slippedin between Amos and Jonah, where nobody but an elder could find him?"If Francesca had not seen with wicked delight the Reverend Ronald'sexpression of anxiety, she would never have spoken of secondCalathumpians; but of course he has no means of knowing how unlikeherself she is when in his company. 

To go back to our first Sunday worship in Edinburgh. The church officerclosed the door of the pulpit on the Reverend Ronald, and I thought Iheard the clicking of a lock; at all events, he returned at the close ofthe services to liberate him and escort him back to the vestry; for theentrances and exits of this beadle, or 'minister's man, ' as the churchofficer is called in the country districts, form an impressive partof the ceremonies. If he did lock the minister into the pulpit, it isprobably only another national custom, like the occasional locking inof the passengers in a railway train, and may be positively necessary inthe case of such magnetic and popular preachers as Mr. Macdonald, or theFriar. 

I have never seen such attention, such concentration, as in these greatcongregations of the Edinburgh churches. As nearly as I can judge, itis intellectual rather than emotional; but it is not a tribute paid toeloquence alone, it is habitual and universal, and is yielded loyally toinsufferable dulness when occasion demands. 

When the text is announced, there is an indescribable rhythmic movementforward, followed by a concerted rustle of Bible leaves; not the rustleof a few Bibles in a few pious pews, but the rustle of all of them inall the pews, --and there are more Bibles in an Edinburgh Presbyterianchurch than one ever sees anywhere else, unless it be in the warehousesof the Bible Societies. 

The text is read twice clearly, and another rhythmic movement followswhen the books are replaced on the shelves. Then there is a delightfulsettling back of the entire congregation, a snuggling comfortably intocorners and a fitting of shoulders to the pews. --not to sleep, however;an older generation may have done that under the strain of a two-hour'wearifu' dreich' sermon, but these church-goers are not to be caughtnapping. They wear, on the contrary, a keen, expectant, critical look, which must be inexpressibly encouraging to the minister, if he hasanything to say. If he has not (and this is a possibility in Edinburgh, as it is everywhere else), then I am sure it is wisdom for the beadle tolock him in, lest he flee when he meets those searching eyes. 

The Edinburgh sermon, though doubtless softened in outline in theselater years, is still a more carefully built discourse than oneordinarily hears out of Scotland, being constructed on conventionallines of doctrine, exposition, logical inference, and practicalapplication. Though modern preachers do not announce the division oftheir subject into heads and sub-heads, firstlies and secondlies andfinallies, my brethren, there seems to be the old framework underneaththe sermon, and every one recognises it as moving silently below thesurface; at least, I always fancy that as the minister finishes onepoint and attacks another the younger folk fix their eagle eyes on himafresh, and the whole congregation sits up straighter and listens moreintently, as if making mental notes. They do not listen so much as ifthey were enthralled, though they often are, and have good reason to be, but as if they were to pass an examination on the subject afterwards;and I have no doubt that this is the fact. 

The prayers are many, and are divided, apparently, like those of theliturgies, into petitions, confessions, and aspirations; not forgettingthe all-embracing one with which we are perfectly familiar in our nativeland, in which the preacher commends to the Fatherly care everyanimate and inanimate thing not mentioned specifically in the foregoingsupplications. It was in the middle of this compendious petition, 'thelang prayer, ' that rheumatic old Scottish dames used to make a practiceof 'cheengin' the fit, ' as they stood devoutly through it. "When themeenister comes to the 'ingetherin' o' the Gentiles, ' I ken weel it'stime to cheenge legs, for then the prayer is jist half dune, " said agood sermon-taster of Fife. 

The organ is finding its way rapidly into the Scottish kirks (how canthe shade of John Knox endure a 'kist o' whistles' in good St. Giles'?), but it is not used yet in some of those we attend most frequently. There is a certain quaint solemnity, a beautiful austerity, in theunaccompanied singing of hymns that touches me profoundly. I am oftencarried very high on the waves of splendid church music, when theorgan's thunder rolls 'through vaulted aisles' and the angelic voicesof a trained choir chant the aspirations of my soul for me; and whenan Edinburgh congregation stands, and the precentor leads in that nobleparaphrase, 'God of our fathers, be the God Of their succeeding race, '

there is a certain ascetic fervour in it that seems to me the perfectionof worship. It may be that my Puritan ancestors are mainly responsiblefor this feeling, or perhaps my recently adopted Jenny Geddes isa factor in it; of course, if she were in the habit of flingingfauldstules at Deans, she was probably the friend of truth and the foeof beauty, so far as it was in her power to separate them. 

There is no music during the offertory in these churches, and this, too, pleases my sense of the fitness of things. It cannot soften the woeof the people who are disinclined to the giving away of money, and thecheerful givers need no encouragement. For my part, I like to sit, quiteundistracted by soprano solos, and listen to the refined tinkle ofthe sixpences and shillings, and the vulgar chink of the pennies andha'pennies, in the contribution-boxes. Country ministers, I am told, develop such an acute sense of hearing that they can estimate the amountof the collection before it is counted. There is often a huge pewterplate just within the church door, in which the offerings are placed asthe worshippers enter or leave; and one always notes the preponderanceof silver at the morning, and of copper at the evening services. It isperhaps needless to say that before Francesca had been in Edinburgha fortnight she asked Mr. Macdonald if it were true that the Scotscontinued coining the farthing for years and years, merely to have apiece of money serviceable for church offerings!

As to social differences in the congregations we are somewhat at sea. We tried to arrive at a conclusion by the hats and bonnets, thanwhich there is usually no more infallible test. On our first Sundaywe attended the Free Kirk in the morning, and the Established in theevening. The bonnets of the Free Kirk were so much the more elegant thatwe said to one another, "This is evidently the church of society, thoughthe adjective 'Free' should by rights attract the masses. " On thesecond Sunday we reversed the order of things, and found the Establishedbonnets much finer than the Free bonnets, which was a source ofmystification to us, until we discovered that it was a question ofmorning or evening service, not of the form of Presbyterianism. Wethink, on the whole, that, taking town and country congregationstogether, millinery has not flourished under Presbyterianism, --it seemsto thrive better in the Romish atmosphere of France; but the Disruptionat least, has had nothing to answer for in the matter, as it appearssimply to have parted the bonnets of Scotland in twain, as Moses dividedthe Red Sea, and left good and evil on both sides. 

I can never forget our first military service at St. Giles'. We leftBreadalbane Terrace before nine in the morning and walked along thebeautiful curve of street that sweeps around the base of the CastleRock, --walked on through the poverty and squalor of the High Street, keeping in view the beautiful lantern tower as a guiding-star, till weheard

 'The murmur of the city crowd; And, from his steeple, jingling loud, St. Giles's mingling din. '

We joined the throng outside the venerable church, and awaited theapproach of the soldiers from the Castle parade-ground; for it isfrom there they march in detachments to the church of their choice. Areligion they must have, and if, when called up and questioned about it, they have forgotten to provide themselves, or have no preference as toform of worship, they are assigned to one by the person in authority. When the regiments are assembled on the parade-ground of a Sundaymorning, the first command is, 'Church of Scotland, right about face, quick march!'--the bodies of men belonging to other denominationsstanding fast until their turn comes to move. It is said that a newofficer once gave the command, 'Church of Scotland, right about face, quick march! Fancy releegions, stay where ye are!'

Just as we were being told this story by an attendant squire, there wasa burst of scarlet and a blare of music, and down Castlehill and theLawnmarket into Parliament Square marched hundreds of redcoats, theHighland pipers (otherwise the Olympian gods) swinging in front, leavingthe American female heart prostrate beneath their victorious tread. Thestrains of music that in the distance sounded so martial and triumphantwe recognised in a moment as 'Abide with me, ' and never did the fineold tune seem more majestic than when it marked a measure for the steadytramp, tramp, tramp, of those soldierly feet. As 'The March of theCameron Men, ' piped from the green steeps of Castlehill, had aroused inus thoughts of splendid victories on the battlefield, so did this simplehymn awake the spirit of the church militant; a no less stern but morespiritual soldiership, in which 'the fruit of righteousness is sown inpeace of them that make peace. '

As I fell asleep on that first Sunday night in Edinburgh, after thesomewhat unusual experience of three church services in a single day, three separate notes of memory floated in and out of the fabric of mydreams; the sound of the soldiers' feet marching into old St. Giles' tothe strains of 'Abide with me'; the voice of the Reverend Ronaldringing out with manly insistence: 'It is aspiration that counts, notrealisation; pursuit, not achievement; quest, not conquest!'--and theclosing phrases of the Friar's prayer; 'When Christ has forgiven us, help us to forgive ourselves! Help us to forgive ourselves so fullythat we can even forget ourselves, remembering only Him! And so let Hiskingdom come; we ask it for the King's sake, Amen. '

Chapter X. Mrs. M'Collop as a sermon-taster. 

Even at this time of Assemblies, when the atmosphere is almostexclusively clerical and ecclesiastical, the two great church armiesrepresented here certainly conceal from the casual observer allrivalries and jealousies, if indeed they cherish any. As for the twodissenting bodies, the Church of the Disruption and the Church of theSecession have been keeping company, so to speak, for some years, witha distant eye to an eventual union. In the light of all this pleasanttoleration, it seems difficult to realise that earlier Edinburgh, where, we learned from old parochial records of 1605, Margaret Sinclair wascited by the Session of the Kirk for being at the 'Burne' for water onthe Sabbath; that Janet Merling was ordered to make public repentancefor concealing a bairn unbaptized in her house for the space of twentyweeks and calling said bairn Janet; that Pat Richardson had to cravemercy for being found in his boat in time of afternoon service; and thatJanet Walker, accused of having visitors in her house in sermon-time, had to confess her offence and on her knees crave mercy of God AND theKirk Session (which no doubt was much worse) under penalty of a hundredpounds Scots. Possibly there are people yet who would prefer to pay ahundred pounds rather than hear a sermon, but they are few. 

It was in the early seventeen hundred and thirties when Allan Ramsay, 'in fear and trembling of legal and clerical censure, ' lent out theplays of Congreve and Farquhar from his famous High Street library. In1756 it was, that the Presbytery of Edinburgh suspended all clergymenwho had witnessed the representation of Douglas, that virtuous tragedywritten, to the dismay of all Scotland, by a minister of the Kirk. Thatthe world, even the theological world, moves with tolerable rapiditywhen once set in motion, is evinced by the fact that on Mrs. Siddons'second engagement in Edinburgh, in the summer of 1785, vast crowdsgathered about the doors of the theatre, not at night alone, but in theday, to secure places. It became necessary to admit them first at threein the afternoon and then at noon, and eventually 'the General Assemblyof the Church then in session was compelled to arrange its meetings withreference to the appearance of the great actress. ' How one would haveenjoyed hearing that Scotsman say, after one of her most splendidflights of tragic passion, 'That's no bad!' We have read of her dismayat this ludicrous parsimony of praise, but her self-respect must havebeen restored when the Edinburgh ladies fainted by dozens during herimpersonation of Isabella in The Fatal Marriage. 

Since Scottish hospitality is well-nigh inexhaustible, it is notstrange that from the moment Edinburgh streets began to be crowdedwith ministers, our drawing-room table began to bear shoals of engravedinvitations of every conceivable sort, all equally unfamiliar to ourAmerican eyes. 

'The Purse-Bearer is commanded by the Lord High Commissioner and theMarchioness of Heatherdale to invite Miss Hamilton to a Garden Party atthe Palace of Holyrood House, on the 27th of May. WEATHER PERMITTING. '

'The General Assembly of the Free Church of Scotland admits MissHamilton to any gallery on any day. '

'The Marchioness of Heatherdale is At Home on the 26th of May from aquarter-past nine in the evening. Palace of Holyrood House. '

'The Moderator of the General Assembly of the Free Church of Scotland isAt Home in the Library of the New College on Saturday, the 22nd of May, from eight to ten in the evening. '

'The Moderator asks the pleasure of Miss Hamilton's presence at aBreakfast to be given on the morning of the 25th May at Dunedin Hotel. '

We determined to go to all these functions impartially, tracking thusthe Presbyterian lion to his very lair, and observing his home as wellas his company manners. In everything that related to the distinctivelyreligious side of the proceedings we sought advice from Mrs. M'Collop, while we went to Lady Baird for definite information on secular matters. We also found an unexpected ally in the person of our own ex-Moderator'sniece, Miss Jean Dalziel (Deeyell). She has been educated in Paris, but she must always have been a delightfully breezy person, quite tooirrepressible to be affected by Scottish haar or theology. "Go to theAssemblies, by all means, " she said, "and be sure and get places for theheresy case. These are no longer what they once were, --we are gettinglamentably weak and gelatinous in our beliefs, --but there is anunusually nice one this year; the heretic is very young and handsome, and quite wicked, as ministers go. Don't fail to be presented at theMarchioness's court at Holyrood, for it is a capital preparation for theordeal of Her Majesty and Buckingham Palace. 'Nothing fit to wear'?You have never seen the people who go or you wouldn't say that! I evenadvise you to attend one of the breakfasts; it can't do you any seriousor permanent injury so long as you eat something before you go. Oh no, it doesn't matter, --whichever one you choose, you will cheerfully omitthe other; for I avow, as a Scottish spinster, and the niece of anex-Moderator, that to a stranger and a foreigner the breakfasts areworse than Arctic explorations. If you do not chance to be at the tableof honour--"

"The gifted Miss Hamilton is always at the table of honour; unless sheis placed there she refuses to eat, and then the universe rocks to itscentre, " interpolated Francesca impertinently. 

"It is true, " continued Miss Dalziel, "you will often sit beside aminister or a minister's wife, who will make you scorn the sordidappetites of flesh, but if you do not, then eat as little as may be, andflee up the Mound to whichever Assembly is the Mecca of your soul!"

"My niece's tongue is an unruly member, " said the ex-Moderator, who waspresent at this diatribe, "and the principal mistakes she makes inher judgment of these clerical feasts is that she criticises them asconventional repasts, whereas they are intended to be informal meetingstogether of people who wish to be better acquainted. "

"Hot bacon and eggs would be no harm to friendship, " answered MissDalziel, with an affectionate moue. 

"Cold bacon and eggs is better than cold piety, " said the ex-Moderator, "and it may be a good discipline for fastidious young ladies who havebeen spoiled by Parisian breakfasts. "

It is to Mrs. M'Collop that we owe our chief insight into technicalchurch matters, although we seldom agree with her 'opeenions' afterwe gain our own experience. She never misses hearing one sermon ona Sabbath, and oftener she listens to two or three. Neither does sheconfine herself to the ministrations of a single preacher, but rovesfrom one sanctuary to another, seeking the bread of life, --often, however, according to her own account, getting a particularlyindigestible 'stane. '

She is thus a complete guide to the Edinburgh pulpit, and when she ismaking a bed in the morning she dispenses criticism in so large andimpartial a manner that it would make the flesh of the 'meenistry'creep were it overheard. I used to think Ian Maclaren's sermon-tastera possible exaggeration of an existent type, but I now see that she istruth itself. 

"Ye'll be tryin' anither kirk the morn?" suggests Mrs. M'Collop, spreading the clean Sunday sheet over the mattress. "Wha did ye hear theSawbath that's bye? Dr. A? Ay, I ken him ower weel; he's been therefor fifteen years an' mair. Ay, he's a gifted mon--AFF AN' ON!" with anemphasis showing clearly that, in her estimation, the times when he is'aff' outnumber those when he is 'on'... "Ye havena heard auld Dr. Byet?" (Here she tucks in the upper sheet tidily at the foot. ) "He'sa graund strachtforrit mon, is Dr. B, forbye he's growin' maist awfu'dreich in his sermons, though when he's that wearisome a body cannaheed him wi'oot takin' peppermints to the kirk, he's nane the less, atseeventy-sax, a better mon than the new asseestant. Div ye ken the newasseestant? He's a wee-bit, finger-fed mannie, ower sma' maist to weara goon! I canna thole him, wi' his lang-nebbit words, explainin' an'expoundin' the gude Book as if it had jist come oot! The auld doctor'snae kirk-filler, but he gies us fu' meesure, pressed doun an' rinnin'ower, nae bit-pickin's like the haverin' asseestant; it's my opeenionhe's no soond, wi' his parleyvoos an' his clishmaclavers!... Mr. C?"(Now comes the shaking and straightening and smoothing of the firstblanket. ) "Ay, he's weel eneuch! I mind aince he prayed for oor FreeAssembly, an' then he turned roon' an' prayed for the Estaiblished, maist in the same breath, --he's a broad, leeberal mon is Mr. C!... Mr. D? Ay, I ken him fine; he micht be waur, though he's ower fond o' thekittle pairts o' the Old Testament; but he reads his sermon frae thepaper, an' it's an auld sayin', 'If a meenister canna mind [remember]his ain discoorse, nae mair can the congregation be expectit to mindit. '... Mr. E? He's my ain meenister. " (She has a pillow in her mouthnow, but though she is shaking it as a terrier would a rat, and drawingon the linen slip at the same time, she is still intelligible betweenthe jerks). "Susanna says his sermon is like claith made o' soond 'oo[wool] wi' a guid twined thread, an' wairpit an' weftit wi' doctrine. Susanna kens her Bible weel, but she's never gaed forrit. " (To 'gangforrit' is to take the communion). "Dr. F? I ca' him the greetin'doctor! He's aye dingin' the dust oot o' the poopit cushions, an'greetin' ower the sins o' the human race, an' eespecially o' his aincongregation. He's waur sin his last wife sickened an' slippit awa'. 'Twas a chastenin' he'd put up wi' twice afore, but he grat nane theless. She was a bonnie bit body, was the thurd Mistress F! E'nboro could'a' better spared the greetin' doctor than her, I'm thinkin'. "

"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, according to His good willand pleasure, " I ventured piously, as Mrs. M'Collop beat the bolster andlaid it in place. 

"Ou ay, " responded that good woman, as she spread the counterpane overthe pillows in the way I particularly dislike, --"ou ay, but whiles Ithink it's a peety he couldna be guidit!"

Chapter XI. Holyrood awakens. 

We were to make our bow to the Lord High Commissioner and theMarchioness of Heatherdale in the evening, and we were in a state ofrepublican excitement at 22 Breadalbane Terrace. 

Francesca had surprised us by refusing to be presented at thissemi-royal Scottish court. "Not I, " she said. "The Marchionessrepresents the Queen; we may discover, when we arrive, that she hasraised the standards of admission, and requires us to 'back out' ofthe throne-room. I don't propose to do that without London training. Besides, I detest crowds, and I never go to my own President'sreceptions; and I have a headache, anyway, and I don't feel like copingwith the Reverend Ronald to-night!" (Lady Baird was to take us under herwing, and her nephew was to escort us, Sir Robert being in Inveraray). 

"Sally, my dear, " I said, as Francesca left the room with a bottle ofsmelling-salts somewhat ostentatiously in evidence, "methinks the damseldoth protest too much. In other words, she devotes a good deal of timeand discussion to a gentleman whom she heartily dislikes. As she isunder your care, I will direct your attention to the following points:--

"Ronald Macdonald is a Scotsman; Francesca disapproves of internationalalliances. 

"He is a Presbyterian; she is a Swedenborgian. 

"His father was a famous old-school doctor; Francesca is ahomoeopathist. 

"He is serious; Francesca is gay. 

"I think, under all the circumstances, their acquaintance will bearwatching. Two persons so utterly dissimilar, and, so far as superficialobservation goes, so entirely unsuited to each other, are quite likelyto drift into marriage unless diverted by watchful philanthropists. "

"Nonsense!" returned Salemina brusquely. "You think because you areunder the spell of the tender passion yourself that other people are inconstant danger. Francesca detests him. "

"Who told you so?"

"She herself, " triumphantly. 

"Salemina, " I said pityingly, "I have always believed you a spinsterfrom choice; don't lead me to think that you have never had anyexperience in these matters! The Reverend Ronald has also intimated tome as plainly as he dared that he cannot bear the sight of Francesca. What do I gather from this statement? The general conclusion that if itbe true, it is curious that he looks at her incessantly. "

"Francesca would never live in Scotland, " remarked Salemina feebly. 

"Not unless she were asked, of course, " I replied. 

"He would never ask her. "

"Not unless he thought he had a chance of an affirmative answer. "

"Her father would never allow it. "

"Her father allows what she permits him to allow. You know thatperfectly well. "

"What shall I do about it, then?"

"Consult me. "

"What shall WE do about it?"

"Let Nature have her own way. "

"I don't believe in Nature. "

"Don't be profane, Salemina, and don't be unromantic, which is worse;but if you insist, trust in Providence. "

"I would rather trust Francesca's hard heart. "

"The hardest hearts melt if sufficient heat be applied. Did I take youto Newhaven and read you Christie Johnstone on the beach for nought?Don't you remember Charles Reade said that the Scotch are icebergs, withvolcanoes underneath; thaw the Scotch ice, which is very cold, and youshall get to the Scotch fire, warmer than any sun of Italy or Spain. Ithink Mr. Macdonald is a volcano. "

"I wish he were extinct, " said Salemina petulantly; "and I wish youwouldn't make me nervous. "

"If you had any faculty of premonition, you wouldn't have waited for meto make you nervous. "

"Some people are singularly omniscient. "

"Others are singularly deficient--" And at this moment Susanna Crum camein to announce Miss Jean Dalziel, who had come to see sights with us. 

It was our almost daily practice to walk through the Old Town, and wewere now familiar with every street and close in that densely-crowdedquarter. Our quest for the sites of ancient landmarks never grewmonotonous, and we were always reconstructing, in imagination, theCowgate, the Canongate, the Lawnmarket, and the High Street, until wecould see Auld Reekie as it was in bygone centuries. In those days ofcontinual war with England, people crowded their dwellings as near theCastle as possible, so floor was piled upon floor, and flat upon flat, families ensconcing themselves above other families, the tendencybeing ever skyward. Those who dwelt on top had no desire to spendtheir strength in carrying down the corkscrew stairs matter which woulddescend by the force of gravity if pitched from the window or door; sothe wayfarer, especially after dusk, would be greeted with cries of'Get oot o' the gait!' or 'Gardy loo!' which was in the French 'Gardezl'eau, ' and which would have been understood in any language, I fancy, after a little experience. The streets then were filled with the debrisflung from a hundred upper windows, while certain ground-floor tenants, such as butchers and candlemakers, contributed their full share to thefragrant heaps. As for these too seldom used narrow turnpike stairs, imagine the dames of fashion tilting their vast hoops and silkenshow-petticoats up and down in them!

That swine roamed at will in these Elysian fields is to be presumed, since we have this amusing picture of three High Street belles andbeauties in the Traditions of Edinburgh:--

'So easy were the manners of the great, fabled to be so stiff anddecorous, ' says the author, 'that Lady Maxwell's daughter Jane, whoafterward became the Duchess of Gordon, was seen riding a sow up theHigh Street, while her sister Eglantine (afterwards Lady Wallace ofCraigie) thumped lustily behind with a stick. '

No wonder, in view of all this, that King James VI. , when about to bringhome his 'darrest spous, ' Anne of Denmark, wrote to the Provost, 'ForGod's sake see a' things are richt at our hame-coming; a king with anew-married wife doesna come hame ilka day. '

Had it not been for these royal home-comings and visits of distinguishedforeigners, now and again aided by something still more salutary, anoccasional outbreak of the plague, the easy-going authorities wouldnever have issued any 'cleaning edicts, ' and the still easier-goinginhabitants would never have obeyed them. It was these dark, tortuouswynds and closes, nevertheless, that made up the Court End of OldEdinbro'; for some one writes in 1530, 'Via vaccarum in qua habitantpatricii et senatores urbis' (The nobility and chief senators of thecity dwell in the Cowgate). And as for the Canongate, this Saxon gaetor way of the Holy rood canons, it still sheltered in 1753 'two dukes, sixteen earls, two dowager countesses, seven lords, seven lords ofsession, thirteen baronets, four commanders of the forces in Scotland, and five eminent men, '--fine game indeed for Mally Lee!

 'A' doun alang the Canongate Were beaux o' ilk degree; And mony ane turned round to look At bonny Mally Lee. And we're a' gaun east an' west, We're a' gaun agee, We're a' gaun east an' west Courtin' Mally Lee!'

Every corner bristles with memories. Here is the Stamp Office Close, from which the lovely Susanna, Countess of Eglinton, was wont to issueon assembly nights; she, six feet in height, with a brilliantly faircomplexion, and a 'face of the maist bewitching loveliness. ' Her sevendaughters and stepdaughters were all conspicuously handsome, and itwas deemed a goodly sight to watch the long procession of eight gildedsedan-chairs pass from the Stamp Office Close, bearing her and herstately brood to the Assembly Room, amid a crowd that was 'hushed withrespect and admiration to behold their lofty and graceful figures stepfrom the chairs on the pavement. '

Here itself is the site of those old assemblies, presided over at onetime by the famous Miss Nicky Murray, a directress of society affairs, who seems to have been a feminine premonition of Count d'Orsay and ourown M'Allister. Rather dull they must have been, those old Scotchballs, where Goldsmith saw the ladies and gentlemen in two dismal groupsdivided by the length of the room. 

 'The Assembly Close received the fair-- Order and elegance presided there-- Each gay Right Honourable had her place, To walk a minuet with becoming grace. No racing to the dance with rival hurry, Such was thy sway, O famed Miss Nicky Murray!'

It was half-past nine in the evening when Salemina and I drove toHolyrood, our humble cab-horse jogging faithfully behind Lady Baird'sbrougham, and it was the new experience of seeing Auld Reekie bylamplight that called up these gay visions of other days, --visions anddays so thoroughly our mental property that we could not help resentingthe fact that women were hanging washing from the Countess of Eglinton'sformer windows, and popping their unkempt heads out of the Duchess ofGordon's old doorway. 

The Reverend Ronald is so kind! He enters so fully into our spirit ofinquiry, and takes such pleasure in our enthusiasms! He even spranglightly out of Lady Baird's carriage and called to our 'lamiter' to haltwhile he showed us the site of the Black Turnpike, from whose windowsQueen Mary saw the last of her kingdom's capital. 

"Here was the Black Turnpike, Miss Hamilton!" he cried; "and fromhere Mary went to Loch Leven, where you Hamiltons and the Setons camegallantly to her help. Don't you remember the 'far ride to the Solwaysands?'"

I looked with interest, though I was in such a state of deliciousexcitement that I could scarce keep my seat. 

"Only a few minutes more, Salemina, " I sighed, "and we shall be in thepalace courtyard; then a probable half-hour in crowded dressing-rooms, with another half-hour in line, and then, then we shall be makingour best republican bow in the Gallery of the Kings! How I wish Mr. Beresford and Francesca were with us! What do you suppose was herreal reason for staying away? Some petty disagreement with our youngminister, I am sure. Do you think the dampness is taking the curl outof our hair? Do you suppose our gowns will be torn to ribbons before theMarchioness sees them? Do you believe we shall look as well as anybody?Privately, I think we must look better than anybody; but I always thinkthat on my way to a party, never after I arrive. "

Mrs. M'Collop had asserted that I was 'bonnie eneuch for ony court, ' andI could not help wishing that 'mine ain dear Somebody' might see mein my French frock embroidered with silver thistles, and my 'showerbouquet' of Scottish bluebells tied loosely together. Salemina worepinky-purple velvet; a real heather colour it was, though the Lord HighCommissioner would probably never note the fact. 

When we had presented our cards of invitation at the palace doors, wejoined the throng and patiently made our way up the splendid staircases, past powdered lackeys without number, and, divested of our wraps, joinedanother throng on our way to the throne-room, Salemina and I pressingthose cards with our names 'legibly written on them' close to ourpalpitating breasts. 

At last the moment came when, Lady Baird having preceded me, I handedmy bit of pasteboard to the usher; and hearing 'Miss Hamilton' called instentorian accents, I went forward in my turn, and executed a gracefuland elegant, but not too profound curtsy, carefully arranged to suit thesemi-royal, semi-ecclesiastical occasion. I had not divulged that facteven to Salemina, but I had worn Mrs. M'Collop's carpet quite threadbarein front of the long mirror, and had curtsied to myself so many times inits crystal surface that I had developed a sort of fictitious reverencefor my reflected image. I had only begun my well-practisedobeisance when Her Grace the Marchioness, to my mingled surprise andembarrassment, extended a gracious hand and murmured my name in aparticularly kind voice. She is fond of Lady Baird, and perhaps chosethis method of showing her friendship; or it may be that she noticed mysilver thistles and Salemina's heather-coloured velvet, --they certainlydeserved special recognition; or it may be that I was too beautiful topass over in silence, --in my state of exaltation I was quite equal tothe belief. 

The presentation over, we wandered through the spacious apartments, leaning from the open windows to hear the music of the band playing inthe courtyard below, looking at the royal portraits, and chatting withgroups of friends who appeared and reappeared in the throng. FinallyLady Baird sent for us to join her in a knot of personages more or lessdistinguished, who had dined at the palace, and who were standing behindthe receiving party in a sort of sacred group. This indeed was a groundof vantage, and one could have stood there for hours, watching all sortsand conditions of men and women bowing before the Lord High Commissionerand the Marchioness, who, with her Cleopatra-like beauty and scarletgown, looked like a gorgeous cardinal-flower. 

Salemina and I watched the curtsying narrowly, with the view at first ofimproving our own obeisances for Buckingham Palace; but truth to saywe got no added light, and plainly most of the people had not wornthreadbare the carpets in front of their dressing-mirrors. 

Suddenly we heard a familiar name announced, 'Lord Colquhoun, ' adistinguished judge who had lately been raised to the peerage, and whomwe often met at dinners; then 'Miss Rowena Colquhoun'; and then inthe midst, we fancied, of an unusual stir at the entrance door--'MissFrancesca Van Buren Monroe. ' I involuntarily touched the ReverendRonald's shoulder in my astonishment, while Salemina lifted hertortoise-shell lorgnette, and we gazed silently at our recreant charge. 

After presentation, each person has fifteen or twenty feet of awfulspace to traverse in solitary and defenceless majesty; scanned meanwhileby the maids of honour (who if they were truly honourable, would turntheir eyes another way), ladies-in-waiting, the sacred group in therear, and the Purse-Bearer himself. I had supposed that this functionarywould keep the purse in his upper bureau drawer at home, when he was notpaying bills, but it seems that when on processional duty he carriesa bag of red velvet quite a yard long over his arm, where it looks notunlike a lady's opera-cloak. It would hold the sum-total of all moneysdisbursed, even if they were reduced to the standard of vulgar copper. 

Under this appalling fire of inspection, some of the victims waddle, some hurry; some look up and down nervously, others glance over theshoulder as if dreading to be apprehended; some turn red, others pale, according to complexion and temperament; some swing their arms, othertrip on their gowns; some twitch the buttons of a glove, or tweak aflower or a jewel. Francesca rose superior to all these weaknesses, and I doubt if the Gallery of the Kings ever served as a background foranything lovelier or more high-bred than that untitled slip of a girlfrom 'the States. ' Her trailing gown of pearl-white satin fell inunbroken lustrous folds behind her. Her beautiful throat and shouldersrose in statuesque whiteness from the mist of chiffon that encircledthem. Her dark hair showed a moonbeam parting that rested the eye, wearied by the contemplation of waves and frizzes fresh from thecurling-tongs. Her mother's pearls hung in ropes from neck to waist, andthe one spot of colour about her was the single American Beauty roseshe carried. There is a patriotic florist in Paris who grows theselong-stemmed empresses of the rose-garden, and Mr. Beresford sends someto me every week. Francesca had taken the flower without permission, andI must say she was as worthy of it as it of her. 

She curtsied deeply, with no exaggerated ceremony, but with a sortof innocent and childlike gravity, while the satin of her gown spreaditself like a great blossom over the floor. Her head was bowed until thedark lashes swept her crimson cheeks; then she rose again from the heartof the shimmering lily, with the one splendid rose glowing against allher dazzling whiteness, and floated slowly across the dreaded spaceto the door of exit as if she were preceded by invisible heralds andfollowed by invisible train-bearers. 

"Who is she?" we heard whispered here and there. "Look at the rose!""Look at the pearls! Is she a princess or only an American?"

I glanced at the Reverend Ronald. I imagined he looked pale; at any ratehe was biting his under lip nervously, and I believe he was in fancylaying his serious, Scottish, allopathic, Presbyterian heart atFrancesca's gay, American, homoeopathic, Swedenborgian feet. 

"It is a pity Miss Monroe is such an ardent republican, " he said, withunconcealed bitterness; "otherwise she ought to be a duchess. I neversaw a head that better suited a coronet, nor, if you will pardon me, onethat contained more caprices. "

"It is true she flatly refused to accompany us here, " I allowed, "butperhaps she has some explanation more or less silly and serviceable;meantime, I defy you to tell me she isn't a beauty, and I implore youto say nothing about its being only skin-deep. Give me a beautifulexterior, say I, and I will spend my life in making the hidden things ofmind and soul conform to it; but deliver me from all forlorn attempts tomake my beauty of character speak through a large mouth, breathe througha fat nose, and look at my neighbour through crossed eyes!"

Mr. Macdonald agreed with me, with some few ministerial reservations. Healways agrees with me, and why he is not tortured at the thought ofmy being the promised bride of another, but continues to squander hisaffections upon a quarrelsome and unappreciative girl is more than I cancomprehend. 

Francesca, escorted by Lord Colquhoun, appeared presently in our group, but Salemina did not even attempt to scold her. One cannot scold animperious young beauty in white satin and pearls, particularly if she isleaning nonchalantly on the arm of a peer of the realm. 

It seems that shortly after our departure (we had dined with LadyBaird), Lord Colquhoun had sent a note to me, requiring an answer. Francesca had opened it, and found that he offered an extra card ofinvitation to one of us, and said that he and his sister would gladlyserve as escort to Holyrood, if desired. She had had an hour or two ofsolitude by this time, and was well weary of it, while the last vestigeof headache disappeared under the temptation of appearing at court withall the eclat of unexpectedness. She despatched a note of acceptance toLord Colquhoun, summoned Mrs. M'Collop, Susanna, and the maiden Boots toher assistance, spread the trays of her Saratoga trunks about our threebedrooms, grouped all our candles on her dressing-table, and borrowedany trinket or bit of frippery which we chanced to have left behind. Her own store of adornments is much greater than ours, but we possesscertain articles for which she has a childlike admiration: my whitesatin slippers embroidered with seed pearls, Salemina's pearl-toppedcomb, Salemina's Valenciennes handkerchief and diamond belt-clasp, mypearl frog with ruby eyes. We identified our property on her impertinentyoung person, and the list of her borrowings so amused the ReverendRonald that he forgot his injuries. 

"It is really an ordeal, that presentation, no matter how strong one'ssense of humour may be, nor how well rooted one's democracy, " chatteredFrancesca to a serried rank of officers who surrounded her to thetotal routing of the ministry. "It is especially trying if one has comeunexpectedly and has no idea of what is to happen. I was agitated at thesupreme moment, because, at the entrance of the throne-room, I hadjust shaken hands reverently with a splendid person who proved to be afootman. Of course I took him for the Commander of the Queen's Guards, or the Keeper of the Dungeon Keys, or the Most Noble Custodian of theRoyal Moats, Drawbridges, and Portcullises. When he put out his hand Ihad no idea it was simply to waft me onward, and so naturally I shookit, --it's a mercy that I didn't kiss it! Then I curtsied to the RoyalUsher, and overlooked the Lord High Commissioner altogether, having noeyes for any one but the beautiful scarlet Marchioness. I only hope theywere too busy to notice my mistakes, otherwise I shall be banishedfrom Court at the very moment of my presentation. --Do you stillbanish nowadays?" turning the battery of her eyes upon a particularlyinsignificant officer who was far too dazed to answer. "And did yousee the child of ten who was next to me in line? She is Mrs. Macstronachlacher; at least that was the name on the card she carried, and she was thus announced. As they tell us the Purse-Bearer is mostrigorous in arranging these functions and issuing the invitations, Ipresume she must be Mrs. Macstronachlacher; but if so, they marry veryyoung in Scotland, and her skirts should really have been longer!"

Chapter XII. Farewell to Edinburgh. 

It is our last day in 'Scotia's darling seat, ' our last day inBreadalbane Terrace, our last day with Mrs. M'Collop; and though everyone says that we shall love the life in the country, we are loath toleave Auld Reekie. 

Salemina and I have spent two days in search of an abiding-place, andhave visited eight well-recommended villages with that end in view; butshe disliked four of them, and I couldn't endure the other four, thoughI considered some of those that fell under her disapproval as quitedelightful in every respect. 

We never take Francesca on these pilgrimages of disagreement, as threeconflicting opinions on the same subject would make insupportable whatis otherwise rather exhilarating. She starts from Edinburgh to-morrowfor a brief visit to the Highlands with the Dalziels, and will join uswhen we have settled ourselves. 

Mr. Beresford leaves Paris as soon after our decision as he ispermitted, so Salemina and I have agreed to agree upon one ideal spotwithin thirty-six hours of our quitting Edinburgh, knowing privatelythat after a last battle-royal we shall enthusiastically support thejoint decision for the rest of our lives. 

We have been bidding good-bye to people and places and things, andwishing the sun would not shine and thus make our task the harder. We have looked our last on the old grey town from Calton Hill, of allplaces the best, perhaps, for a view; since, as Stevenson says, fromCalton Hill you can see the Castle, which you lose from the Castle, andArthur's Seat, which you cannot see from Arthur's Seat. We have taken afarewell walk to the Dean Bridge, to gaze wistfully eastward and marvelfor the hundredth time to find so beautiful a spot in the heart ofa city. The soft-flowing Water of Leith winding over pebbles betweengrassy banks and groups of splendid trees, the roof of the little templeto Hygeia rising picturesquely among green branches, the slopes ofemerald velvet leading up to the grey stone of the houses, --where, inall the world of cities, can one find a view to equal it in peacefulloveliness? Francesca's 'bridge-man, ' who, by the way, proved to be adistinguished young professor of medicine in the University, saysthat the beautiful cities of the world should be rankedthus, --Constantinople, Prague, Genoa, Edinburgh; but having seen onlyone of these, and that the last, I refuse to credit any sliding scale ofcomparison which leaves Edina at the foot. 

It was nearing tea-time, an hour when we never fail to have visitors, and we were all in the drawing-room together. I was at the piano, singing Jacobite melodies for Salemina's delectation. When I came tothe last verse of Lady Nairne's 'Hundred Pipers, ' the spirited words hadtaken my fancy captive, and I am sure I could not have sung with morevigour and passion had my people been 'out with the Chevalier. '

 'The Esk was swollen sae red an' sae deep, But shouther to shouther the brave lads keep; Twa thousand swam owre to fell English ground, An' danced themselves dry to the pibroch's sound. Dumfounder'd the English saw, they saw, Dumfounder'd they heard the blaw, the blaw, Dumfounder'd they a' ran awa', awa', Frae the hundred pipers an' a', an' a'!'

By the time I came to 'Dumfounder'd the English saw, ' Francesca lefther book and joined in the next four lines, and when we broke into thechorus Salemina rushed to the piano, and although she cannot sing, shelifted her voice both high and loud in the refrain, beating time thewhile with a dirk paper-knife. 

 'Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a', Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a', We'll up an' gie them a blaw, a blaw, Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'!'

Susanna ushered in Mr. Macdonald and Dr. Moncrieffe as the last 'blaw'faded into silence, and Jean Dalziel came upstairs to say that theycould seldom get a quiet moment for family prayers, because wewere always at the piano, hurling incendiary sentiments into theair, --sentiments set to such stirring melodies that no one could resistthem. 

"We are very sorry, Miss Dalziel, " I said penitently. "We reserve anhour in the morning and another at bedtime for your uncle's prayers, but we had no idea you had them at afternoon tea, even in Scotland. Ibelieve that you are chaffing, and came up only to swell the chorus. Come, let us all sing together from 'Dumfounder'd the English saw. '"

Mr. Macdonald and Dr. Moncrieffe gave such splendid body to the music, and Jean such warlike energy, that Salemina waved her paper-knife in amanner more than ever sanguinary, and Susanna, hesitating outside thedoor for sheer delight, had to be coaxed in with the tea-things. On theheels of the tea-things came the Dominie, another dear old friend of sixweeks' standing; and while the doctor sang 'Jock o' Hazeldean' withsuch irresistible charm that we all longed to elope with somebody on theinstant, Salemina dispensed buttered toast, marmalade sandwiches, and the fragrant cup. By this time we were thoroughly cosy, and Mr. Macdonald made himself and us very much at home by stirring the fire;whereupon Francesca embarrassed him by begging him not to touch itunless he could do it properly, which, she added, seemed quite unlikely, from the way in which he handled the poker. 

"What will Edinburgh do without you?" he asked, turning towards us withflattering sadness in his tone. "Who will hear our Scotch stories, neversuspecting their hoary old age? Who will ask us questions to which wesomehow always know the answers? Who will make us study and reverenceanew our own landmarks? Who will keep warm our national and local prideby judicious enthusiasm?"

"I think the national and local pride may be counted on to exist withoutany artificial stimulants, " dryly observed Francesca, whose spirit isnot in the least quenched by approaching departure. 

"Perhaps, " answered the Reverend Ronald; "but at any rate, you, Miss Monroe, will always be able to reflect that you have never beenresponsible even for its momentary inflation!"

"Isn't it strange that she cannot get on better with that charmingfellow?" murmured Salemina, as she passed me the sugar for my secondcup. 

"If your present symptoms of blindness continue, Salemina, " I said, searching for a small lump so as to gain time, "I shall write you aplaintive ballad, buy you a dog, and stand you on a street corner! Ifyou had ever permitted yourself to 'get on' with any man as Francesca isgetting on with Mr. Macdonald, you would now be Mrs. --Somebody. "

"Do you know, doctor, " asked the Dominie, "that Miss Hamilton shedreal tears at Holyrood the other night, when the band played 'BonnieCharlie's noo awa'?'"

"They were real, " I confessed, "in the sense that they certainly werenot crocodile tears; but I am somewhat at a loss to explain them froma sensible, American standpoint. Of course my Jacobitism is purelyimpersonal, though scarcely more so than yours, at this late day; atleast it is merely a poetic sentiment, for which Caroline, BaronessNairne, is mainly responsible. My romantic tears came from a vision ofthe Bonnie Prince as he entered Holyrood, dressed in his short tartancoat, his scarlet breeches and military boots, the star of St. Andrew onhis breast, a blue ribbon over his shoulder, and the famous blue velvetbonnet and white cockade. He must have looked so brave and handsome andhopeful at that moment, and the moment was so sadly brief, that when theband played the plaintive air I kept hearing the words--

 'Mony a heart will break in twa, Should he no come back again. '

He did come back again to me that evening, and held a phantom leveebehind the Marchioness of Heatherdale's shoulder. His 'ghaist' lookedbonnie and rosy and confident, yet all the time the band was playing therequiem for his lost cause and buried hopes. "

I looked towards the fire to hide the moisture that crept again into myeyes, and my glance fell upon Francesca sitting dreamily on a hassock infront of the cheerful blaze, her chin in the hollow of her palm, and theReverend Ronald standing on the hearth-rug gazing at her, the poker inhis hand, and his heart, I regret to say, in such an exposed position onhis sleeve that even Salemina could have seen it had she turned her eyesthat way. 

Jean Dalziel broke the momentary silence: "I am sure I never hear thelast two lines--

 'Better lo'ed ye canna be, Will ye no' come back again?'

without a lump in my throat, " and she hummed the lovely melody. "Itis all as you say, purely impersonal and poetic. My mother is anEnglishwoman, but she sings 'Dumfounder'd the English saw, they saw'with the greatest fire and fury. "

Chapter XIII. The spell of Scotland. 

"I think I was never so completely under the spell of a country as Iam of Scotland. " I made this acknowledgment freely, but I knew that itwould provoke comment from my compatriots. 

"Oh yes, my dear, you have been just as spellbound before, only youdon't remember it, " replied Salemina promptly. "I have never seen aperson more perilously appreciative or receptive than you. "

"'Perilously' is just the word, " chimed in Francesca delightedly; "whenyou care for a place you grow porous, as it were, until after a time youare precisely like blotting-paper. Now, there was Italy, for example. After eight weeks in Venice, you were completely Venetian, from your fanto the ridiculous little crepe shawl you wore because an Italian princehad told you that centuries were usually needed to teach a woman howto wear a shawl, but that you had been born with the art, andthe shoulders! Anything but a watery street was repulsive to you. Cobblestones? 'Ordinario, duro, brutto! A gondola? Ah, bellissima! Letme float for ever thus!' You bathed your spirit in sunshine andcolour; I can hear you murmur now, 'O Venezia benedetta! non ti vogliolasciar!'"

"It was just the same when she spent a month in France with the Baronessde Hautenoblesse, " continued Salemina. "When she returned to America, itis no flattery to say that in dress, attitude, inflection, manner, shewas a thorough Parisienne. There was an elegant superficiality and asuperficial elegance about her that I can never forget, nor yet herextraordinary volubility in a foreign language, --the fluency with whichshe expressed her inmost soul on all topics without the aid of a singleirregular verb, for these she was never able to acquire; oh, it waswonderful, but there was no affectation about it; she had simply beena kind of blotting-paper, as Miss Monroe says, and France had writtenitself all over her. "

"I don't wish to interfere with anybody's diagnosis, " I interposed atthe first possible moment, "but perhaps after you've both finished yourpsychologic investigation the subject may be allowed to explain herselffrom the inside, so to speak. I won't deny the spell of Italy, but Ithink the spell that Scotland casts over one is quite a different thing, more spiritual, more difficult to break. Italy's charm has somethingphysical in it; it is born of blue sky, sunlit waves, soft atmosphere, orange sails, and yellow moons, and appeals more to the senses. InScotland the climate certainly has nought to do with it, but theimagination is somehow made captive. I am not enthralled by the past ofItaly or France, for instance. "

"Of course you are not at the present moment, " said Francesca, "becauseyou are enthralled by the past of Scotland, and even you cannot be theslave of two pasts at the same time. "

"I never was particularly enthralled by Italy's past, " I argued withexemplary patience, "but the romance of Scotland has a flavour all itsown. I do not quite know the secret of it. "

"It's the kilts and the pipes, " said Francesca. 

"No, the history. " (This from Salemina. )

"Or Sir Walter and the literature, " suggested Mr. Macdonald. 

 "Or the songs and ballads, " ventured Jean Dalziel. 

"There!" I exclaimed triumphantly, "you see for yourselves you havenamed avenue after avenue along which one's mind is led in charmedsubjection. Where can you find battles that kindle your fancy likeFalkirk and Flodden and Culloden and Bannockburn? Where a sovereignthat attracts, baffles, repels, allures, like Mary Queen of Scots, --andwhere, tell me where, is there a Pretender like Bonnie Prince Charlie?Think of the spirit in those old Scottish matrons who could sing--

 'I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel, My rippling-kame and spinning-wheel, To buy my lad a tartan plaid, A braidsword, durk and white cockade. '"

"Yes, " chimed in Salemina when I had finished quoting, "or that otherverse that goes--

 'I ance had sons, I now hae nane, I bare them toiling sairlie; But I would bear them a' again To lose them a' for Charlie!'

Isn't the enthusiasm almost beyond belief at this distance of time?" shewent on; "and isn't it a curious fact, as Mr. Macdonald told me a momentago, that though the whole country was vocal with songs for the lostcause and the fallen race, not one in favour of the victors ever becamepopular?"

"Sympathy for the under dog, as Miss Monroe's countrywomen would saypicturesquely, " remarked Mr. Macdonald. 

"I don't see why all the vulgarisms in the dictionary should be foistedon the American girl, " retorted Francesca loftily, "unless, indeed, itis a determined attempt to find spots upon the sun for fear we shallworship it!"

"Quite so, quite so!" returned the Reverend Ronald, who has had reasonto know that this phrase reduces Miss Monroe to voiceless rage. 

"The Stuart charm and personal magnetism must have been a powerfulfactor in all that movement, " said Salemina, plunging hastily back intothe topic to avert any further recrimination. "I suppose we feel it evennow, and if I had been alive in 1745 I should probably have made myselfridiculous. 'Old maiden ladies, ' I read this morning, 'were the lastleal Jacobites in Edinburgh; spinsterhood in its loneliness remainedever true to Prince Charlie and the vanished dreams of youth. '"

"Yes, " continued the Dominie, "the story is told of the last of thoseJacobite ladies who never failed to close her Prayer-Book and standerect in silent protest when the prayer for 'King George III. And thereigning family' was read by the congregation. "

"Do you remember the prayer of the Reverend Neil M'Vicar in St. Cuthbert's?" asked Mr. Macdonald. "It was in 1745, after the victory atPrestonpans, when a message was sent to the Edinburgh ministers, in thename of 'Charles, Prince Regent' desiring them to open their churchesnext day as usual. M'Vicar preached to a large congregation, many ofwhom were armed Highlanders, and prayed for George II. , and also forCharles Edward, in the following fashion: 'Bless the king! Thou knowestwhat king I mean. May the crown sit long upon his head! As for thatyoung man who has come among us to seek an earthly crown, we beseechThee to take him to Thyself, and give him a crown of glory!'"

"Ah, what a pity the Bonnie Prince had not died after his meteor victoryat Falkirk!" exclaimed Jean Dalziel, when we had finished laughing atMr. Macdonald's story. 

"Or at Culloden, 'where, quenched in blood on the Muir of Drummossie, the star of the Stuarts sank forever, '" quoted the Dominie. "There iswhere his better self died; would that the young Chevalier had died withit! By the way, doctor, we must not sit here eating goodies and sippingtea until the dinner-hour, for these ladies have doubtless much to dofor their flitting" (a pretty Scots word for 'moving'). 

"We are quite ready for our flitting so far as packing is concerned, "Salemina assured him. "Would that we were as ready in spirit! MissHamilton has even written her farewell poem, which I am sure she willread for the asking. "

"She will read it without that formality, " murmured Francesca. "She haslived and toiled only for this moment, and the poem is in her pocket. "

"Delightful!" said the doctor flatteringly. "Has she favoured youalready? Have you heard it, Miss Monroe?"

"Have we heard it!" ejaculated that young person. "We have heard nothingelse all the morning! What you will take for local colour is nothingbut our mental life-blood, which she has mercilessly drawn to stain herverses. We each tried to write a Scottish poem, and as Miss Hamilton'swas better, or perhaps I might say less bad, than ours, we encouragedher to develop and finish it. I wanted to do an imitation of Lindsay's

 'Adieu, Edinburgh! thou heich triumphant town, Within whose bounds richt blithefull have I been!

but it proved too difficult. Miss Hamilton's general idea was that weshould write some verses in good plain English. Then we were to takeout all the final g's, and indeed the final letters from all the wordswherever it was possible, so that full, awful, call, ball, hall, andaway should be fu', awfu', ca', ba', ha', an' awa'. This alone givesgreat charm and character to a poem; but we were also to change allwords ending in ow into aw. This doesn't injure the verse, you see, asblaw and snaw rhyme just as well as blow and snow, beside bringing tearsto the common eye with their poetic associations. Similarly, if we haddaughter and slaughter, we were to write them dochter and slauchter, substituting in all cases doon, froon, goon, and toon, for down, frowngown, and town. Then we made a list of Scottish idols, --pet words, national institutions, stock phrases, beloved objects, --convinced ifwe could weave them in we should attain 'atmosphere. ' Here is the firstlist; it lengthened speedily: thistle, tartan, haar, haggis, kirk, claymore, parritch, broom, whin, sporran, whaup, plaid, scone, collops, whisky, mutch, cairngorm, oatmeal, brae, kilt, brose, heather. Saleminaand I were too devoted to common-sense to succeed in this weavingprocess, so Penelope triumphed and won the first prize, both for thatand also because she brought in a saying given us by Miss Dalziel, aboutthe social classification of all Scotland into 'the gentlemen of theNorth, men of the South, people of the West, fowk o' Fife, and thePaisley bodies. ' We think that her success came chiefly from her writingthe verses with a Scotch plaid lead-pencil. What effect the absorptionof so much red, blue, and green paint will have I cannot fancy, but sheate off--and up--all the tartan glaze before finishing the poem; it hada wonderfully stimulating effect, but the end is not yet!"

Of course there was a chorus of laughter when the young wretch exhibitedmy battered pencil, bought in Princes Street yesterday, its gay Gordontints sadly disfigured by the destroying tooth, not of Time, but of abard in the throes of composition. 

"We bestowed a consolation prize on Salemina, " continued Francesca, "because she succeeded in getting hoots, losh, havers, and blethers intoone line, but naturally she could not maintain such an ideal standard. Read your verses, Pen, though there is little hope that our friends willenjoy them as much as you do. Whenever Miss Hamilton writes anything ofthis kind, she emulates her distinguished ancestor Sir William Hamilton, who always fell off his own chair in fits of laughter when he wascomposing verses. "

With this inspiring introduction I read my lines as follows:--

 AN AMERICAN GIRL'S FAREWELL TO EDINBURGH

 The muse being somewhat under the influence of the Scottish ballad

 I canna thole my ain toun, Sin' I hae dwelt i' this; To bide in Edinboro' reek Wad be the tap o' bliss. Yon bonnie plaid aboot me hap, The skirlin' pipes gae bring, With thistles fair tie up my hair, While I of Scotia sing. 

 The collops an' the cairngorms, The haggis an' the whin, The 'Staiblished, Free, an' U. P. Kirks, The hairt convinced o' sin, -- The parritch an' the heather-bell, The snawdrap on the shaw, The bit lam's bleatin' on the braes, -- How can I leave them a'?

 How can I leave the marmalade An' bonnets o' Dundee? The haar, the haddies, an' the brose, The East win' blawin' free? How can I lay my sporran by, An' sit me doun at hame, Wi'oot a Hieland philabeg Or hyphenated name?

 I lo'e the gentry o' the North, The Southern men I lo'e, The canty people o' the West, The Paisley bodies too. The pawky folk o' Fife are dear, -- Sae dear are ane an' a', That e'en to think that we maun pairt Maist braks my hairt in twa. 

 So fetch me tartans, heather, scones, An' dye my tresses red; I'd deck me like th' unconquer'd Scots, Wha hae wi' Wallace bled. Then bind my claymore to my side, My kilt an' mutch gae bring; While Scottish lays soun' i' my lugs M'Kinley's no my king, --

 For Charlie, bonnie Stuart Prince, Has turned me Jacobite; I'd wear displayed the white cockade. An' (whiles) for him I'll fight! An' (whiles) I'd fight for a' that's Scotch, Save whusky an' oatmeal, For wi' their ballads i' my bluid, Nae Scot could be mair leal!

I fancied that I had pitched my verses in so high a key that no onecould mistake their burlesque intention. What was my confusion, however, to have one of the company remark when I finished, 'Extremely pretty;but a mutch, you know, is an article of WOMAN'S apparel, and would neverbe worn with a kilt!'

Mr. Macdonald flung himself gallantly into the breach. He is such a dearfellow! So quick, so discriminating, so warm-hearted!

"Don't pick flaws in Miss Hamilton's finest line! That picture of a fairAmerican, clad in a kilt and mutch, decked in heather and scones, andbrandishing a claymore, will live for ever in my memory. Don't clip thewings of her imagination! You will be telling her soon that one doesn'ttie one's hair with thistles, nor couple collops with cairngorms. "

Somebody sent Francesca a great bunch of yellow broom, late thatafternoon. There was no name in the box, she said, but at night she worethe odorous tips in the bosom of her black dinner-gown, and standingerect in her dark hair like golden aigrettes. 

When she came into my room to say good night, she laid the pretty frockin one of my trunks, which was to be filled with garments of fashionablesociety and left behind in Edinburgh. The next moment I chanced to lookon the floor, and discovered a little card, a bent card with two lineswritten on it:--

 'Better lo'ed ye canna be, Will ye no' come back again?'

We have received many invitations in that handwriting. I know it well, and so does Francesca, though it is blurred; and the reason for this, according to my way of thinking, is that it has been lying nextthe moist stems of flowers, and unless I do her wrong, very near tosomebody's warm heart as well. 

I will not betray her to Salemina, even to gain a victory over thatblind and deaf but much beloved woman. How could I, with my heartbeating high at the thought of seeing my ain dear laddie before manydays?

 Oh, love, love, lassie, Love is like a dizziness: It winna lat a puir body Gang aboot his business. '

Chapter XIV. The wee theekit hoosie in the loaning. 

 'Now she's cast aff her bonny shoon Made o' gilded leather, And she's put on her Hieland brogues To skip amang the heather. And she's cast aff her bonny goon Made o' the silk and satin, And she's put on a tartan plaid To row amang the braken. '

Lizzie Baillie. 

We are in the East Neuk o' Fife; we are in Pettybaw; we are neitherboarders nor lodgers; we are residents, inhabitants, householders, andwe live (live, mind you) in a wee theekit hoosie in the old loaning. Words fail to tell you how absolutely Scotch we are and how blissfullyhappy. It is a happiness, I assure you, achieved through greattribulation. Salemina and I travelled many miles in railway trains, andmany in various other sorts of wheeled vehicles, while the idealever beckoned us onward. I was determined to find a romantic lodging, Salemina a comfortable one, and this special combination of virtuesis next to impossible, as every one knows. Linghurst was too much of atown; Bonnie Craig had no respectable inn; Winnybrae was struggling tobe a watering-place; Broomlea had no golf-course within ten miles, andwe intended to go back to our native land and win silver goblets inmixed foursomes; the 'new toun o' Fairlock' (which looked centuries old)was delightful, but we could not find apartments there; Pinkie Leith wasnice, but they were tearing up the 'fore street' and laying drain-pipesin it. Strathdee had been highly recommended, but it rained when we werein Strathdee, and nobody can deliberately settle in a place where itrains during the process of deliberation. No train left this moist anddripping hamlet for three hours, so we took a covered trap and droveonward in melancholy mood. Suddenly the clouds lifted and the rainceased; the driver thought we should be having settled weather now, andput back the top of the carriage, saying meanwhile that it was a verradry simmer this year, and that the crops sairly needed shoo'rs. 

"Of course, if there is any district in Scotland where for any reasondroughts are possible, that is where we wish to settle, " I whispered toSalemina; "though, so far as I can see, the Strathdee crops are up totheir knees in mud. Here is another wee village. What is this place, driver?"

"Pettybaw, mam; a fine toun!"

"Will there be apartments to let there?"

"I cudna say, mam. "

"Susanna Crum's father! How curious that he should live here!" Imurmured; and at this moment the sun came out, and shone full, or atleast almost full, on our future home. 

"Pettybaw! Petit bois, I suppose, " said Salemina; "and there, to besure, it is, --the 'little wood' yonder. "

We drove to the Pettybaw Inn and Posting Establishment, and, alighting, dismissed the driver. We had still three good hours of daylight, although it was five o'clock, and we refreshed ourselves with adelicious cup of tea before looking for lodgings. We consulted thegreengrocer, the baker, and the flesher, about furnished apartments, andstarted on our quest, not regarding the little posting establishment asa possibility. Apartments we found to be very scarce, and in one or twoplaces that were quite suitable the landlady refused to do any cooking. We wandered from house to house, the sun shining brighter and brighter, and Pettybaw looking lovelier and lovelier; and as we were refusedshelter again and again, we grew more and more enamoured, as is themanner of human kind. The blue sea sparkled, and Pettybaw Sands gleamedwhite a mile or two in the distance, the pretty stone church raised itscurved spire from the green trees, the manse next door was hidden invines, the sheep lay close to the grey stone walls and the young lambsnestled beside them, while the song of the burn, tinkling merrily downthe glade on the edge of which we stood, and the cawing of the rooks inthe little wood, were the only sounds to be heard. 

Salemina, under the influence of this sylvan solitude, nobly declaredthat she could and would do without a set bath-tub, and proposedbuilding a cabin and living near to nature's heart. 

"I think, on the whole, we should be more comfortable living near tothe innkeeper's heart, " I answered. "Let us go back there and pass thenight, trying thus the bed and breakfast, with a view to seeing whatthey are like--although they did say in Edinburgh that nobody thinks ofliving in these wayside hostelries. "

Back we went, accordingly, and after ordering dinner came out andstrolled idly up the main street. A small sign in the draper's window, heretofore overlooked, caught our eye. 'House and Garden To Let InquireWithin. ' Inquiring within with all possible speed, we found the draperselling winceys, the draper's assistant tidying the ribbon-box, thedraper's wife sewing in one corner, and the draper's baby playing on theclean floor. We were impressed favourably, and entered into negotiationswithout delay. 

"The house will be in the loaning; do you mind, ma'am?" asked thedraper. (We have long since discovered that this use of the verb is abequest from the Gaelic, in which there is no present tense. Man neveris, but always to be blessed, in that language, which in this particularis not unlike old-fashioned Calvinism. )

We went out of the back door and down the green loaning, until we cameto the wee stone cottage in which the draper himself lives most of theyear, retiring for the warmer months to the back of his shop, and ekingout a comfortable income by renting his hearth-stone to the summervisitor. 

The thatched roof on the wing that formed the kitchen attracted myartist's eye, and we went in to examine the interior, which we foundsurprisingly attractive. There was a tiny sitting-room, with a fireplaceand a microscopic piano; a dining-room adorned with portraits ofrelatives who looked nervous when they met my eye, for they knew thatthey would be turned face to the wall on the morrow; four bedrooms, akitchen, and a back garden so filled with vegetables and flowers that weexclaimed with astonishment and admiration. 

"But we cannot keep house in Scotland, " objected Salemina. "Think of thecare! And what about the servants?"

"Why not eat at the inn?" I suggested. "Think of living in a realloaning, Salemina! Look at the stone floor in the kitchen, and theadorable stuffy box-bed in the wall! Look at the bust of Sir Walterin the hall, and the chromo of Melrose Abbey by moonlight! Look at thelintel over the front door, with a ship, moon, stars, and 1602 carved inthe stone! What is food to all this?"

Salemina agreed that it was hardly worth considering; and in truth somany landladies had refused to receive her as a tenant that day that herspirits were rather low, and she was uncommonly flexible. 

"It is the lintel and the back garden that rents the hoose, " remarkedthe draper complacently in broad Scotch that I cannot reproduce. He is ahouse-agent as well as a draper, and went on to tell us that when he hada cottage he could rent in no other way he planted plenty of creepersin front of it. "The baker's hoose is no sae bonnie, " he said, "and thelinen and cutlery verra scanty, but there is a yellow laburnum growin'by the door: the leddies see that, and forget to ask aboot the linen. Itdepends a good bit on the weather, too; it is easy to let a hoose whenthe sun shines upon it. "

"We hardly dare undertake regular housekeeping, " I said; "do yourtenants ever take meals at the inn?"

"I cudna say, mam. " (Dear, dear, the Crums are a large family!)

"If we did that, we should still need a servant to keep the house tidy, "said Salemina, as we walked away. "Perhaps housemaids are to be had, though not nearer than Edinburgh, I fancy. "

This gave me an idea, and I slipped over to the post-office whileSalemina was preparing for dinner, and despatched a telegram to Mrs. M'Collop at Breadalbane Terrace, asking her if she could send a reliablegeneral servant to us, capable of cooking simple breakfasts and caringfor a house. 

We had scarcely finished our Scotch broth, fried haddies, mutton-chops, and rhubarb tart when I received an answer from Mrs. M'Collop to theeffect that her sister's husband's niece, Jane Grieve, could join uson the morrow if we desired. The relationship was an interesting fact, though we scarcely thought the information worth the additional pennieswe paid for it in the telegram; however, Mrs. M'Collop's comfortableassurance, together with the quality of the rhubarb tart andmutton-chops, brought us to a decision. Before going to sleep we rentedthe draper's house, named it Bide-a-Wee Cottage, engaged dailyluncheons and dinners for three persons at the Pettybaw Inn and PostingEstablishment, telegraphed to Edinburgh for Jane Grieve, to Callanderfor Francesca, and despatched a letter to Paris for Mr. Beresford, telling him we had taken a 'wee theekit hoosie, ' and that the 'yett wasajee' whenever he chose to come. 

"Possibly it would have been wiser not send for them until we weresettled, " I said reflectively. "Jane Grieve may not prove a suitableperson. "

"The name somehow sounds too young and inexperienced, " observedSalemina, "and what association have I with the phrase 'sister'shusband's niece'?"

"You have heard me quote Lewis Carroll's verse, perhaps:--

 'He thought he saw a buffalo Upon the chimney-piece; He looked again and found it was His sister's husband's niece: "Unless you leave the house, " he said, "I'll send for the police!"'

The only thing that troubles me, " I went on, "is the question of WillieBeresford's place of residence. He expects to be somewhere within easywalking or cycling distance, --four or five miles at most. "

"He won't be desolate even if he doesn't have a thatched roof, apansy garden, and a blossoming shrub, " said Salemina sleepily, for ourbusiness arrangements and discussions had lasted well into the evening. "What he will want is a lodging where he can have frequent sight andspeech of you. How I dread him! How I resent his sharing of you with us!I don't know why I use the word 'sharing, ' forsooth! There is nothinghalf so fair and just in his majesty's greedy mind. Well, it's the wayof the world; only it is odd, with the universe of women to choose from, that he must needs take you. Strathdee seems the most desirable placefor him, if he has a macintosh and rubber boots. Inchcaldy is anothertown near here that we didn't see at all--that might do; the draper'swife says that we can send fine linen to the laundry there. "

"Inchcaldy? Oh yes, I think we heard of it in Edinburgh--at least I havesome association with the name: it has a fine golf-course, I believe, and very likely we ought to have looked at it, although for my part Ihave no regrets. Nothing can equal Pettybaw; and I am so pleased to be aScottish householder! Aren't we just like Bessie Bell and Mary Gray?

 'They were twa bonnie lassies; They biggit a bower on yon burnbrae, An' theekit it ower wi' rashes. '

Think of our stone-floored kitchen, Salemina! Think of the real box-bedin the wall for little Jane Grieve! She will have red-gold hair, blueeyes, and a pink cotton gown. Think of our own cat! Think how Francescawill admire the 1602 lintel! Think of our back garden, with our own'neeps' and vegetable marrows growing in it! Think how they will envyus at home when they learn that we have settled down into Scottishyeowomen!

 'It's oh, for a patch of land! It's oh, for a patch of land! Of all the blessings tongue can name, There's nane like a patch of land!'

Think of Willie coming to step on the floor and look at the bed andstroke the cat and covet the lintel and walk in the garden and weed theturnips and pluck the marrows that grow by our ain wee theekit hoosie!"

"Penelope, you appear slightly intoxicated! Do close the window and cometo bed. "

"I am intoxicated with the caller air of Pettybaw, " I rejoined, leaningon the window-sill and looking at the stars, while I thought: "Edinburghwas beautiful; it is the most beautiful grey city in the world; itlacked one thing only to make it perfect, and Pettybaw will have thatbefore many moons:--

 'Oh, Willie's rare an' Willie's fair An' Willie's wondrous bonny; An' Willie's hecht to marry me Gin e'er he marries ony. 

 'O gentle wind that bloweth south, From where my love repaireth, Convey a word from his dear mouth, An' tell me how he fareth. '"

Chapter XV. Jane Grieve and her grievances. 

 'Gae tak' awa' the china plates, Gae tak' them far frae me; And bring to me a wooden dish, It's that I'm best used wi'. And tak' awa' thae siller spoons, The like I ne'er did see, And bring to me the horn cutties, They're good eneugh for me. '

Earl Richard's Wedding. 

The next day was one of the most cheerful and one of the most fatiguingthat I ever spent. Salemina and I moved every article of furniturein our wee theekit hoosie from the place where it originally stood toanother and a better place: arguing, of course, over the precise spotit should occupy, which was generally upstairs if the thing were alreadydown, or downstairs if it were already up. We hid all the more hideousornaments of the draper's wife, and folded away her most objectionabletidies and table-covers, replacing them with our own pretty draperies. There were only two pictures in the sitting-room, and as an artist Iwould not have parted with them for worlds. The first was The Life ofa Fireman, which could only remind one of the explosion of a mammothtomato, and the other was The Spirit of Poetry calling Burns from thePlough. Burns wore white knee-breeches, military boots, a splendidwaistcoat with lace ruffles, and carried a cocked hat. To have beenso dressed he must have known the Spirit was intending to come. Theplough-horse was a magnificent Arabian, whose tail swept the freshlyfurrowed earth, while the Spirit of Poetry was issuing from apracticable wigwam on the left, and was a lady of such ample dimensionsthat no poet would have dared say 'no' when she called him. 

The dining-room was blighted by framed photographs of the draper'srelations and the draper's wife's relations; all uniformly ugly. Itseems strange that married couples having the least beauty to bequeathto their offspring should persist in having the largest families. Theseladies and gentlemen were too numerous to remove, so we obscured themwith trailing branches; reflecting that we only breakfasted in the room, and the morning meal is easily digested when one lives in the open air. We arranged flowers everywhere, and bought potted plants at a littlenursery hard by. We apportioned the bedrooms, giving Francesca thehardest bed, --as she is the youngest, and wasn't here to choose, --me thenext hardest, and Salemina the best; Francesca the largest looking-glassand wardrobe, me the best view, and Salemina the largest bath. We boughthousekeeping stores, distributing our patronage equally between the twogrocers; we purchased aprons and dust-cloths from the rival drapers, engaged bread and rolls from the baker, milk and cream from the plumber(who keeps three cows), interviewed the flesher about chops; in fact, noyoung couple facing love in a cottage ever had a busier or happier timethan we; and at sundown, when Francesca arrived, we were in the pink oforder, standing under our own lintel, ready to welcome her to Pettybaw. As to being strangers in a strange land, we had a bowing acquaintancewith everybody on the main street of the tiny village, and were on termsof considerable intimacy with half a dozen families, including dogs andbabies. 

Francesca was delighted with everything, from the station (PettybawSands, two miles away) to Jane Grieve's name, which she thoughtas perfect, in its way, as Susanna Crum's. She had purchased a'tirling-pin, ' that old-time precursor of knockers and bells, at anantique shop in Oban, and we fastened it on the front door at once, taking turns at risping it until our own nerves were shattered, andthe draper's wife ran down the loaning to see if we were in need ofanything. The twisted bar of iron stands out from the door and the ringis drawn up and down over a series of nicks, making a rasping noise. Thelovers and ghaists in the old ballads always 'tirled at the pin, ' youremember; that is, touched it gently. 

Francesca brought us letters from Edinburgh, and what was my joy, in opening Willie's, to learn that he begged us to find a place inFifeshire, and as near St. Rules or Strathdee as convenient; for in thatcase he could accept an invitation he had just received to visit hisfriend Robin Anstruther, at Rowardennan Castle. 

"It is not the visit at the castle I wish so much, you may be sure, " hewrote, "as the fact that Lady Ardmore will make everything pleasant foryou. You will like my friend Robin Anstruther, who is Lady Ardmore'syoungest brother, and who is going to her to be nursed and coddled aftera baddish accident in the hunting-field. He is very sweet-tempered, andwill get on well with Francesca--"

"I don't see the connection, " rudely interrupted that spirited youngperson. 

"I suppose she has more room on her list in the country than she had inEdinburgh; but if my remembrance serves me, she always enrolls a goodlynumber of victims, whether she has any immediate use for them or not. "

"Mr. Beresford's manners have not been improved by his residence inParis, " observed Francesca, with resentment in her tone and delight inher eye. 

"Mr. Beresford's manners are always perfect, " said Salemina loyally, "and I have no doubt that this visit to Lady Ardmore will be extremelypleasant for him, though very embarrassing to us. If we are thrown intoforced intimacy with a castle" (Salemina spoke of it as if it had fangsand a lashing tail), "what shall we do in this draper's hut?"

"Salemina!" I expostulated, "bears will devour you as they did theungrateful child in the fairy-tale. I wonder at your daring to use theword 'hut' in connection with our wee theekit hoosie!"

"They will never understand that we are doing all this for the noveltyof it, " she objected. "The Scottish nobility and gentry probably neverthink of renting a house for a joke. Imagine Lord and Lady Ardmore, theyoung Ardmores, Robin Anstruther, and Willie Beresford calling upon usin this sitting-room! We ourselves would have to sit in the hall andtalk in through the doorway. "

"All will be well, " Francesca assured her soothingly. "We shall bepardoned much because we are Americans, and will not be expected to knowany better. Besides, the gifted Miss Hamilton is an artist, and thatcovers a multitude of sins against conventionality. When the castlepeople 'tirl at the pin, ' I will appear as the maid, if you like, following your example at Mrs Bobby's cottage in Belvern, Pen. "

"And it isn't as if there were many houses to choose from, Salemina, noras if Bide-a-Wee cottage were cheap, " I continued. "Think of the rent wepay and keep your head high. Remember that the draper's wife says thereis nothing half so comfortable in Inchcaldy, although that is twice aslarge a town. "

"INCHCALDY!" ejaculated Francesca, sitting down heavily upon the sofaand staring at me. 

"Inchcaldy, my dear, --spelled CALDY, but pronounced CAWDY; thetown where you are to take your nonsensical little fripperies to belaundered. "

"Where is Inchcaldy? How far away?"

"About five miles, I believe, but a lovely road. "

"Well, " she exclaimed bitterly, "of course Scotland is a small, insignificant country; but, tiny as it is, it presents some libertyof choice, and why you need have pitched upon Pettybaw, and broughtme here, when it is only five miles from Inchcaldy, and a lovely roadbesides, is more than I can understand!"

"In what way has Inchcaldy been so unhappy as to offend you?" I asked. 

"It has not offended me, save that it chances to be Ronald Macdonald'sparish--that is all. "

"Ronald Macdonald's parish!" we repeated automatically. 

"Certainly--you must have heard him mention Inchcaldy; and how queerhe will think it that I have come to Pettybaw, under all thecircumstances!"

"We do not know 'all the circumstances, '" quoted Salemina somewhathaughtily; "and you must remember, my dear, that our opportunities forspeech with Mr. Macdonald have been very rare when you were present. Formy part, I was always in such a tremor of anxiety during his visits lestone or both of you should descend to blows that I remember no details ofhis conversation. Besides, we did not choose Pettybaw; we discovered itby chance as we were driving from Strathdee to St. Rules. How were weto know that it was near this fatal Inchcaldy? If you think it best, wewill hold no communication with the place, and Mr. Macdonald need neverknow you are here. "

I thought Francesca looked rather startled at this proposition. At allevents she said hastily, "Oh, well, let it go; we could not avoid eachother long, anyway, although it is very awkward, of course; you see, wedid not part friends. "

"I thought I had never seen you on more cordial terms, " remarkedSalemina. 

"But you weren't there, " answered Francesca unguardedly. 

"Weren't where?"

"Weren't there. "

"Where?"

"At the station. "

"What station?"

"The station in Edinburgh from which I started for the Highlands. "

"You never said that he came to see you off. "

"The matter was too unimportant for notice; and the more I think of hisbeing here, the less I mind it after all; and so, dull care, begone!When I first meet him on the sands or in the loaning, I shall say, 'Dearme, is it Mr. Macdonald! What brought you to our quiet hamlet?' (I shallput the responsibility on him, you know. ) 'That is the worst of thesesmall countries, --fowk are aye i' the gait! When we part for ever inAmerica, we are able to stay parted, if we wish. ' Then he will say, 'Quite so, quite so; but I suppose even you, Miss Monroe, will allowthat a minister may not move his church to please a lady. ' 'Certainlynot, ' I shall reply, 'especially when it is Estaiblished!' Then he willlaugh, and we shall be better friends for a few moments; and then Ishall tell him my latest story about the Scotchman who prayed, 'Lord, Ido not ask that Thou shouldst give me wealth; only show me where it is, and I will attend to the rest. '"

Salemina moaned at the delightful prospect opening before us, while Iwent to the piano and carolled impersonally--

 "Oh, wherefore did I cross the Forth, And leave my love behind me? Why did I venture to the north With one that did not mind me? I'm sure I've seen a better limb And twenty better faces; But still my mind it runs on him When I am at the races!"

Francesca left the room at this, and closed the door behind her withsuch energy that the bust of Sir Walter rocked on the hall shelf. Running upstairs she locked herself in her bedroom, and came down againonly to help us receive Jane Grieve, who arrived at eight o'clock. 

In times of joy Salemina, Francesca, and I occasionally have ourtrifling differences of opinion, but in hours of affliction we are asone flesh. An all-wise Providence sent us Jane Grieve for fear that weshould be too happy in Pettybaw. Plans made in heaven for the disciplineof sinful human flesh are always successful, and this was no exception. 

We had sent a 'machine' from the inn to meet her, and when it drew up atthe door we went forward to greet the rosy little Jane of our fancy. Anaged person, wearing a rusty black bonnet and shawl, and carryingwhat appeared to be a tin cake-box and a baby's bath-tub, descendedrheumatically from the vehicle and announced herself as Miss Grieve. Shewas too old to call by her Christian name, too sensitive to call by hersurname, so Miss Grieve she remained, as announced, to the end of thechapter, and our rosy little Jane died before she was actually born. Theman took her grotesque luggage into the kitchen, and Salemina escortedher thither, while Francesca and I fell into each other's arms andlaughed hysterically. 

"Nobody need tell me that she is Mrs. M'Collop's sister's husband'sniece, " she whispered, "although she may possibly be somebody'sgrand-aunt. Doesn't she remind you of Mrs. Gummidge?"

Salemina returned in a quarter of an hour, and sank dejectedly on thesofa. 

"Run over to the inn, Francesca" she said, "and order bacon and eggsat eight-thirty to-morrow morning. Miss Grieve thinks we had better notbreakfast at home until she becomes accustomed to the surroundings. "

"Shall we allow her to become accustomed to them?" I questioned. 

"She came up from Glasgow to Edinburgh for the day, and went to see Mrs. M'Collop just as our telegram arrived. She was living with an 'extremelynice family' in Glasgow, and only broke her engagement in order to tryFifeshire air for the summer; so she will remain with us as long as sheis benefited by the climate. "

"Can't you pay her for a month and send her away?"

"How can we? She is Mrs. M'Collop's sister's husband's niece, and weintend returning to Mrs. M'Collop. She has a nice ladylike appearance, but when she takes her bonnet off she looks seventy years old. "

"She ought always to keep it off, then, " returned Francesca, "for shelooked eighty with it on. We shall have to soothe her last moments, ofcourse, and pay her funeral expenses. Did you offer her a cup of tea andshow her the box-bed?"

"Yes; she said she was muckle obleeged to me, but the coals were so poorand hard she couldna batter them up to start a fire the nicht, and shewould try the box-bed to see if she could sleep in it. I am glad toremember that it was you who telegraphed for her, Penelope. "

"Let there be no recriminations, " I responded; "let us stand shoulder toshoulder in this calamity, --isn't there a story called Calamity Jane? Wemight live at the inn, and give her the cottage for a summer residence, but I utterly refuse to be parted from our cat and the 1602 lintel. "

After I have once described Miss Grieve I shall not suffer her tobegloom these pages as she did our young lives. She is so exactlylike her kind in America she cannot be looked upon as a national type. Everywhere we go we see fresh, fair-haired, sonsie lasses; why shouldwe have been visited by this affliction, we who have no courage in aforeign land to rid ourselves of it?

She appears at the door of the kitchen with some complaint, and standsthere talking to herself in a depressing murmur until she arrives at thenext grievance. Whenever we hear this, which is whenever we are in thesitting-room, we amuse ourselves by chanting lines of melancholy poetrywhich correspond to the sentiments she seems to be uttering. It is theonly way the infliction can be endured, for the sitting-room is so smallthat we cannot keep the door closed habitually. The effect of this planis something like the following:--

She. "The range has sic a bad draft I canna mak' the fire draw!"

 We. 'But I'm ower auld for the tears to start, An' sae the sighs maun blaw!'

She. "The clock i' the hall doesna strike. I have to get oot o' my bedto see the time. "

 We. 'The broken hairt it kens Nae second spring again!'

She. "There's no' eneuch jugs i' the hoose. "

 We. 'I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought-- In troth I'm like to greet!'

She. "The sink drain isna recht. "

 We. 'An' it's oh! to win awa', awa', An' it's oh! to win awa'!'

She. "I canna thole a box-bed!"

 We. 'Ay waukin O Waukin O an' weary. Sleep I can get nane, Ay waukin O!'

She. "It's fair insultin' to rent a hoose wi' so few convenience. "

 We. 'An' I'm ower auld to fish ony mair, An' I hinna the chance to droon. '

She. "The work is fair sickenin' i' this hoose, an' a' for ane puir bodyto do by her lane. "

 We. 'How can ye chant, ye little birds, An' I sae weary, fu' o' care?'

She. "Ah, but that was a fine family I lived wi' in Glasgy; an' it's awearifu' day's work I've had the day. "

 We. 'Oh why was I spared to cry, Wae's me!'

She. "Why dinna they leave floo'rs i' the garden makin' a mess i' thehoose wi' 'em? It's not for the knowin' what they will be after next!"

 We. 'Oh, waly waly up the bank, And waly waly doon the brae!'

Miss Grieve's plaints never grow less, though we are sometimes at a lossfor appropriate quotations to match them. The poetic interpolations areintroduced merely to show the general spirit of her conversation. Theytake the place of her sighs, which are by their nature unprintable. Manytimes each day she is wont to sink into one low chair, and, extendingher feet in another, close her eyes and murmur undistinguishable plaintswhich come to us in a kind of rhythmic way. She has such a shaking righthand we have been obliged to give up coffee and have tea, as the formerbeverage became too unsettled on its journey from the kitchen tothe breakfast-table. She says she kens she is a guid cook, thoughsalf-praise is sma' racommendation (sma' as it is she will get naeither!); but we have little opportunity to test her skill, as sheprepares only our breakfasts of eggs and porridge. Visions of home-madegoodies had danced before our eyes, but as the hall clock doesna strikeshe is unable to rise at any exact hour, and as the range draft is bad, and the coals too hard to batter up wi' a hatchet, we naturally have tocontent ourselves with the baker's loaf. 

And this is a truthful portrait of 'Calamity Jane, ' our one Pettybawgrievance. 

Chapter XVI. The path that led to Crummylowe. 

 'Gae farer up the burn to Habbie's Howe, Where a' the sweets o' spring an' simmer grow: Between twa birks, out o'er a little lin, The water fa's an' mak's a singan din; A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as glass, Kisses, wi' easy whirls, the bord'ring grass. '

The Gentle Shepherd. 

That is what Peggy says to Jenny in Allan Ramsay's poem, and if yousubstitute 'Crummylowe' for 'Habbie's Howe' in the first line, you willhave a lovely picture of the farm-steadin'. 

You come to it by turning the corner from the inn, first passing thecottage where the lady wishes to rent two rooms for fifteen shillings aweek, but will not give much attendance, as she is slightly asthmatic, and the house is always as clean as it is this minute, and the view fromthe window looking out on Pettybaw Bay canna be surpassed at ony money. Then comes the little house where Will'am Beattie's sister Mary died inMay, and there wasna a bonnier woman in Fife. Next is the cottage withthe pansy-garden, where the lady in the widow's cap takes five-o'clocktea in the bay-window, and a snug little supper at eight. She has forthe first, scones and marmalade, and her tea is in a small black teapotunder a red cosy with a white muslin cover drawn over it. At eight shehas more tea, and generally a kippered herring, or a bit of cold muttonleft from the noon dinner. We note the changes in her bill of fare as wepass hastily by, and feel admitted quite into the family secrets. Beyondthis bay-window, which is so redolent of simple peace and comfort thatwe long to go in and sit down, is the cottage with the double whitetulips, the cottage with the collie on the front steps, the doctor'shouse with the yellow laburnum tree, and then the house where theDisagreeable Woman lives. She has a lovely baby, which, to begin with, is somewhat remarkable, as disagreeable women rarely have babies; orelse, having had them, rapidly lose their disagreeableness--so rapidlythat one has not time to notice it. The Disagreeable Woman's house is atthe end of the row, and across the road is a wicket-gate leading--Wheredid it lead?--that was the very point. Along the left, as you leanwistfully over the gate, there runs a stone wall topped by a greenhedge; and on the right, first furrows of pale fawn, then below, furrowsof deeper brown, and mulberry, and red ploughed earth stretching down towaving fields of green, and thence to the sea, grey, misty, opalescent, melting into the pearly white clouds, so that one cannot tell where seaends and sky begins. 

There is a path between the green hedge and the ploughed field, and itleads seductively to the farm-steadin'; or we felt that it might thuslead, if we dared unlatch the wicket gate. Seeing no sign 'Private Way, ''Trespassers Not Allowed, ' or other printed defiance to the stranger, we were considering the opening of the gate, when we observed two femalefigures coming toward us along the path, and paused until they shouldcome through. It was the Disagreeable Woman (although we knew it not)and an elderly friend. We accosted the friend, feeling instinctivelythat she was framed of softer stuff, and asked her if the path were aprivate one. It was a question that had never met her ear before, andshe was too dull or too discreet to deal with it on the instant. To ouramazement, she did not even manage to falter, 'I couldna say. '

"Is the path private?" I repeated. 

"It is certainly the idea to keep it a little private, " said theDisagreeable Woman, coming into the conversation without beingaddressed. "Where do you wish to go?"

"Nowhere in particular. The walk looks so inviting we should like to seethe end. "

"It goes only to the Farm, and you can reach that by the highroad; it isonly a half-mile further. Do you wish to call at the Farm?"

"No, oh no; the path is so very pretty that--"

"Yes, I see; well, I should call it rather private. " And with this shedeparted, leaving us to stand on the outskirts of paradise, while shewent into her house and stared at us from the window as she played withthe lovely undeserved baby. But that was not the end of the matter. 

We found ourselves there next day, Francesca and I--Salemina was tooproud--drawn by an insatiable longing to view the beloved and forbiddenscene. We did not dare to glance at the Disagreeable Woman's windows, lest our courage should ooze away, so we opened the gate and stolethrough into the rather private path. 

It was a most lovely path; even if it had not been in a senseprohibited, it would still have been lovely, simply on its own merits. There were little gaps in the hedge and the wall, through which wepeered into a daisy-starred pasture, where a white bossy and a herd offlaxen-haired cows fed on the sweet green grass. The mellow ploughedearth on the right hand stretched down to the shore-line, and aplough-boy walked up and down the long, straight furrows whistling 'MyNannie's awa'. ' Pettybaw is so far removed from the music-halls thattheir cheap songs and strident echoes never reach its sylvan shades, andthe herd-laddies and plough-boys still sweeten their labours with theold classic melodies. 

We walked on and on, determined to come every day; and we settledthat if we were accosted by any one, or if our innocent business weredemanded, Francesca should ask, 'Does Mrs. Macstronachlacher live here, and has she any new-laid eggs?'

Soon the gates of the Farm appeared in sight. There was a cluster ofbuildings, with doves huddling and cooing on the red-tiled roofs, --dairyhouses, workmen's cottages, comely rows of haystacks (towering yellowthings with peaked tops); a little pond with ducks and geese chatteringtogether as they paddled about, and for additional music the tricklingof two tiny burns making 'a singan din, ' as they wimpled through thebushes. A speckle-breasted thrush perched on a corner of the grey walland poured his heart out. Overhead there was a chorus of rooks in thetall trees, but there was no sound of human voice save that of theplough-laddie whistling 'My Nannie's awa'. '

We turned our backs on this darling solitude, and retraced our stepslingeringly. As we neared the wicket gate again we stood upon a bit ofjutting rock and peered over the wall, sniffing the hawthorn buds withecstasy. The white bossy drew closer, treading softly on its daisycarpet; the wondering cows looked up at us as they peacefully chewedtheir cuds; a man in corduroy breeches came from a corner of thepasture, and with a sharp, narrow hoe rooted out a thistle or two thathad found their way into this sweet feeding-ground. Suddenly we heardthe swish of a dress behind, and turned, conscience-stricken, though wehad in nothing sinned. 

"Does Mrs. Macstronachlacher live here?" stammered Francesca like aparrot. 

It was an idiotic time and place for the question. We had certainlyarranged that she should ask it, but something must be left to thejudgment in such cases. Francesca was hanging over a stone wallregarding a herd of cows in a pasture, and there was no possible shelterfor a Mrs. Macstronachlacher within a quarter of a mile. What madethe remark more unfortunate was the fact that, although she had on adifferent dress and bonnet, the person interrogated was the DisagreeableWoman; but Francesca is particularly slow in discerning resemblances. She would have gone on mechanically asking for new-laid eggs, had I notcaught her eye and held it sternly. The foe looked at us suspiciouslyfor a moment (Francesca's hats are not easily forgotten), and thenvanished up the path, to tell the people at Crummylowe, I suppose, thattheir grounds were invested by marauding strangers whose curiosity wasmanifestly the outgrowth of a republican government. 

As she disappeared in one direction, we walked slowly in the other; andjust as we reached the corner of the pasture where two stone walls meet, and where a group of oaks gives grateful shade, we heard children'svoices. 

"No, no!" cried somebody; "it must be still higher at this end, for thetower--this is where the king will sit. Help me with this heavy one, Rafe. Dandie, mind your foot. Why don't you be making the flag for theship?--and do keep the Wrig away from us till we finish building!"

Chapter XVII. Playing Sir Patrick Spens. 

 'O lang, lang may the ladyes sit Wi' their face into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand. '

Sir Patrick Spens. 

We forced our toes into the crevices of the wall and peeped stealthilyover the top. Two boys of eight or ten years, with two younger children, were busily engaged in building a castle. A great pile of stones hadbeen hauled to the spot, evidently for the purpose of mending the wall, and these were serving as rich material for sport. The oldest of thecompany, a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked boy in an Eton jacket and broadwhite collar, was obviously commander-in-chief; and the next in size, whom he called Rafe, was a laddie of eight, in kilts. These two lookedas if they might be scions of the aristocracy, while Dandie and the Wrigwere fat little yokels of another sort. The miniature castle must havebeen the work of several mornings, and was worthy of the respectful butsilent admiration with which we gazed upon it; but as the last stonewas placed in the tower, the master builder looked up and spied ourinterested eyes peering at him over the wall. We were properly abashed, and ducked our heads discreetly at once, but were reassured by hearinghim run rapidly towards us, calling, "Stop, if you please! Have youanything on just now--are you busy?"

We answered that we were quite at leisure. 

"Then would you mind coming in to help us play 'Sir Patrick Spens'?There aren't enough of us to do it nicely. "

This confidence was touching, and luckily it was not in the leastmisplaced. Playing 'Sir Patrick Spens' was exactly in our line, littleas he suspected it. 

"Come and help?" I said. "Simply delighted! Do come, Fanny dear. How canwe get over the wall?"

"I'll show you the good broken place!" cried Sir Apple-Cheek; andfollowing his directions we scrambled through, while Rafe took off hisHighland bonnet ceremoniously and handed us down to earth. 

"Hurrah! now it will be something like fun! Do you know 'Sir PatrickSpens'?"

"Every word of it. Don't you want us to pass an examination before youallow us in the game?"

"No, " he answered gravely; "it's a great help, of course, to know it, but it isn't necessary. I keep the words in my pocket to prompt Dandie, and the Wrig can only say two lines, she's so little. " (Here he producedsome tattered leaves torn from a book of ballads. ) "We've done it manya time, but this is a new Dunfermline Castle, and we are trying theplay in a different way. Rafe is the king, and Dandie is the 'eldernknight, '--you remember him?"

"Certainly; he sat at the king's right knee. "

"Yes, yes, that's the one! Then Rafe is Sir Patrick part of the time, and I the other part, because everybody likes to be him; but there'snobody left for the 'lords o' Noroway' or the sailors, and the Wrig isthe only maiden to sit on the shore, and she always forgets to comb herhair and weep at the right time. "

The forgetful and placid Wrig (I afterwards learned that this is a Scotsword for the youngest bird in the nest) was seated on the grass, withher fat hands full of pink thyme and white wild woodruff. The sun shoneon her curly flaxen head. She wore a dark blue cotton frock with whitedots, and a short-sleeved pinafore; and though she was utterly uselessfrom a dramatic point of view, she was the sweetest little Scotchdumpling I ever looked upon. She had been tried and found wanting inmost of the principal parts of the ballad, but when left out of theperformance altogether she was wont to scream so lustily that allCrummylowe rushed to her assistance. 

"Now let us practise a bit to see if we know what we are going to do, "said Sir Apple-Cheek. "Rafe, you can be Sir Patrick this time. Thereason why we all like to be Sir Patrick, " he explained, turning to me, "is that the lords o' Noroway say to him--

 'Ye Scottishmen spend a' our King's gowd, And a' our Queenis fee';

and then he answers, --

 '"Ye lee! ye lee! ye leers loud, Fu' loudly do ye lee!"'

and a lot of splendid things like that. Well, I'll be the king, " andaccordingly he began:--

 'The King sits in Dunfermline tower, Drinking the bluid-red wine. "O whaur will I get a skeely skipper To sail this new ship o' mine?"'

A dead silence ensued, whereupon the king said testily, "Now, Dandie, you never remember you're the eldern knight; go on!"

Thus reminded, Dandie recited:--

 'O up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the King's right knee: "Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sailed the sea. "'

"Now I'll write my letter, " said the king, who was endeavouring to makehimself comfortable in his somewhat contracted tower. 

 'The King has written a braid letter And sealed it with his hand; And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand. '

"Read the letter out loud, Rafe, and then you'll remember what to do. "

 '"To Noroway! to Noroway! To Noroway o'er the faem! The King's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis thou maun bring her hame, "'

read Rafe. 

"Now do the next part!"

"I can't; I'm going to chuck up that next part. I wish you'd do SirPatrick until it comes to 'Ye lee! 'ye lee!'"

"No, that won't do, Rafe. We have to mix up everybody else, but it's toobad to spoil Sir Patrick. "

"Well, I'll give him to you, then, and be the king. I don't mind so muchnow that we've got such a good tower; and why can't I stop up there evenafter the ship sets sail and look out over the sea with a telescope?That's the way Elizabeth did the time she was king. "

"You can stay till you have to come down and be a dead Scots lord. I'mnot going to lie there as I did last time, with nobody but the Wrig fora Scots lord, and her forgetting to be dead!"

Sir Apple-Cheek then essayed the hard part 'chucked up' by Rafe. It wasrather difficult, I confess, as the first four lines were in pantomime, and required great versatility:--

 'The first word that Sir Patrick read, Fu' loud, loud laughed he: The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his e'e. '

These conflicting emotions successfully simulated, Sir Patrickresumed:--

 '"O wha is he has done this deed, And tauld the King o' me, -- To send us out, at this time o' the year, To sail upon the sea?"'

Then the king stood up in the unstable tower and shouted his ownorders:--

 '"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship maun sail the faem; The King's daughter o' Noroway, 'Tis we maun fetch her hame. "'

"Can't we rig the ship a little better?" demanded our stage-manager atthis juncture. "It isn't half as good as the tower. "

Ten minutes' hard work, in which we assisted, produced something atrifle more nautical and seaworthy than the first craft. The ground witha few boards spread upon it was the deck. Tarpaulin sheets were arrangedon sticks to represent sails, and we located the vessel so cleverly thattwo slender trees shot out of the middle of it and served as the talltopmasts. 

"Now let us make believe that we've hoisted our sails on 'Mononday morn'and been in Noroway 'weeks but only twae, '" said our leading man; "andyour time has come now, "--turning to us. 

We felt indeed that it had; but plucking up sufficient courage for thelords o' Noroway, we cried accusingly, --

 '"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our King's gowd, And a' our Queenis fee!"'

Oh but Sir Apple-Cheek was glorious as he roared virtuously:--

 '"Ye lee! ye lee! ye leers loud, Fu' loudly do you lee!

 "For I brocht as much white monie As gane my men and me, An' I brocht a half-fou o' gude red gowd Out ower the sea wi' me. 

 "But betide me well, betide me wae, This day I'se leave the shore; And never spend my King's monie 'Mong Noroway dogs no more. 

 "Make ready, make ready, my merry men a', Our gude ship sails the morn. "'

"Now you be the sailors, please!"

Glad to be anything but Noroway dogs, we recited obediently--

 '"Now, ever alake, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm? . . . . . . . And if ye gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm. "'

We added much to the effect of this stanza by flinging ourselves on theturf and embracing Sir Patrick's knees, with which touch of melodrama hewas enchanted. 

Then came a storm so terrible that I can hardly trust myself to describeits fury. The entire corps dramatique personated the elements, and torethe gallant ship in twain, while Sir Patrick shouted in the teeth of thegale--

 '"O whaur will I get a gude sailor To tak' my helm in hand, Till I get up to the tall topmast To see if I can spy land?"'

I knew the words a trifle better than Francesca, and thus succeeded inforestalling her as the fortunate hero--

 '"O here I am, a sailor gude, To tak' the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall topmast; But I fear ye'll ne'er spy land. "'

And the heroic sailor was right, for

 'He hadna gone a step, a step, A step but only ane, When a bout flew out o' our goodly ship, And the saut sea it came in. '

Then we fetched a web o' the silken claith, and anither o' the twine, asour captain bade us; we wapped them into our ship's side and letna thesea come in; but in vain, in vain. Laith were the gude Scots lords toweet their cork-heeled shune, but they did, and wat their hats abune;for the ship sank in spite of their despairing efforts, 'And mony was the gude lord's son That never mair cam' hame. '

Francesca and I were now obliged to creep from under the tarpaulins andpersonate the dishevelled ladies on the strand. 

"Will your hair come down?" asked the manager gravely. 

"It will and shall, " we rejoined; and it did. 

 'The ladies wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair. '

"Do tear your hair, Jessie! It's the only thing you have to do, and younever do it on time!"

The Wrig made ready to howl with offended pride, but we soothed her, andshe tore her yellow curls with her chubby hands. 

 'And lang, lang may the maidens sit Wi' there gowd kaims i' the hair, A' waitin' for their ain dear luves, For them they'll see nae mair. '

I did a bit of sobbing here that would have been a credit to SarahSiddons. 

"Splendid! Grand!" cried Sir Patrick, as he stretched himself fiftyfathoms below the imaginary surface of the water, and gave explicitante-mortem directions to the other Scots lords to spread themselves outin like manner. 

 'Half ower, half ower to Aberdour, 'Tis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. '

"Oh, it is grand!" he repeated jubilantly. "If I could only be the kingand see it all from Dunfermline tower! Could you be Sir Patrick once, doyou think, now that I have shown you how?" he asked Francesca. 

"Indeed I could!" she replied, glowing with excitement (and smallwonder) at being chosen for the principal role. 

"The only trouble is that you do look awfully like a girl in that whitefrock. "

Francesca appeared rather ashamed at her natural disqualifications forthe part of Sir Patrick. "If I had only worn my long black cloak!" shesighed. 

"Oh, I have an idea!" cried the boy. "Hand her the minister's gown fromthe hedge, Rafe. You see, Mistress Ogilvie of Crummylowe lent us thisold gown for a sail; she's doing something to a new one, and this washer pattern. "

Francesca slipped it on over her white serge, and the Pettybaw parsonshould have seen her with the long veil of her dark locks floating overhis ministerial garment. 

"It seems a pity to put up your hair, " said the stage managercritically, "because you look so jolly and wild with it down, but Isuppose you must; and will you have Rafe's bonnet?"

Yes, she would have Rafe's bonnet; and when she perched it on the sideof her head and paced the deck restlessly, while the black gown floatedbehind in the breeze, we all cheered with enthusiasm, and, havingrebuilt the ship, began the play again from the moment of the gale. Thewreck was more horribly realistic than ever, this time, because of ourrehearsal; and when I crawled from under the masts and sails to seatmyself on the beach with the Wrig, I had scarcely strength enough toremove the cooky from her hand and set her a-combing her curly locks. 

When our new Sir Patrick stretched herself on the ocean bed, she fellwith a despairing wail; her gown spread like a pall over the earth, theHighland bonnet came off, and her hair floated over a haphazard pillowof Jessie's wildflowers. 

"Oh, it is fine, that part; but from here is where it always goeswrong!" cried the king from the castle tower. "It's too bad to takethe maidens away from the strand where they look so bonnie, and Rafeis splendid as the gude sailor, but Dandie looks so silly as one littledead Scots lord; if we only had one more person, young or old, if he wasever so stupid!"

"WOULD I DO?"

This unexpected offer came from behind one of the trees that served astopmasts, and at the same moment there issued from that delightfullysecluded retreat Ronald Macdonald, in knickerbockers and a golf-cap. 

Suddenly as this apparition came, there was no lack of welcome on thechildren's part. They shouted his name in glee, embraced his legs, andpulled him about like affectionate young bears. Confusion reigned fora moment, while Sir Patrick rose from her sea grave all in a mist offloating hair, from which hung impromptu garlands of pink thyme andgreen grasses. 

"Allow me to do the honours, please, Jamie, " said Mr. Macdonald, whenhe could escape from the children's clutches. "Have you been properlypresented? I suppose not. Ladies, the young Master of Rowardennan. Jamie, Miss Hamilton and Miss Monroe from the United States of America. "Sir Apple-Cheek bowed respectfully. "Let me present the Honourable RalphArdmore, also from the castle, together with Dandie Dinmont and the Wrigfrom Crummylowe. Sir Patrick, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again. Must you take off my gown? I had thought it was past use, but it neverlooked so well before. "

"YOUR gown?"

The counterfeit presentment of Sir Patrick vanished as the long draperyflew to the hedge whence it came, and there remained only an offendedyoung goddess, who swung her dark mane tempestuously to one side, plaited it in a thick braid, tossed it back again over her white sergeshoulder, and crowded on her sailor hat with unnecessary vehemence. 

"Yes, MY gown; whose else could you more appropriately borrow, pray?Mistress Ogilvie of Crummylowe presses, sponges, and darns my bachelorwardrobe, but I confess I never suspected that she rented it out fortheatrical purposes. I have been calling upon you in Pettybaw; LadyArdmore was there at the same time. Finding but one of the threeAmerican Graces at home, I stayed a few moments only, and am nowreturning to Inchcaldy by way of Crummylowe. " Here he plucked the gownoff the hedge and folded it carefully. 

"Can't we keep it for a sail, Mr. Macdonald?" pleaded Jamie. "MistressOgilvie said it wasn't any more good. "

"When Mistress Ogilvie made that remark, " replied the Reverend Ronald, "she had no idea that it would ever touch the shoulders of the martyredSir Patrick Spens. Now, I happen to love--"

Francesca hung out a scarlet flag in each cheek, and I was about to say, 'Don't mind me!' when he continued--

"As I was saying, I happen to love 'Sir Patrick Spens, '--it is myfavourite ballad; so, with your permission, I will take the gown, andyou can find something less valuable for a sail!"

I could never understand just why Francesca was so annoyed at beingdiscovered in our innocent game. Of course she was prone on Mother Earthand her tresses were much dishevelled, but she looked lovely after all, in comparison with me, the humble 'supe' and lightning-change artist;yet I kept my temper, --at least I kept it until the Reverend Ronaldobserved, after escorting us through the gap in the wall, "By the way, Miss Hamilton, there was a gentleman from Paris at your cottage, and heis walking down the road to meet you. "

Walking down the road to meet me, forsooth! Have ministers no brains?The Reverend Mr. Macdonald had wasted five good minutes with hisobservations, introductions, explanations, felicitations, andadorations, and meantime, regardez-moi, messieurs et mesdames, s'ilvous plait! I have been a Noroway dog, a shipbuilder, and a gallantsailorman; I have been a gurly sea and a towering gale; I have crawledfrom beneath broken anchors, topsails, and mizzenmasts to a strand whereI have been a suffering lady plying a gowd kaim. My skirt of blue drillhas been twisted about my person until it trails in front; my collar iswilted, my cravat untied; I have lost a stud and a sleeve-link; my hairis in a tangled mass, my face is scarlet and dusty--and a gentleman fromParis is walking down the road to meet me!

Chapter XVIII. Paris comes to Pettybaw. 

 'There were three ladies in a hall-- With a heigh-ho! and a lily gay, There came a lord among them all-- As the primrose spreads so sweetly. '

 --The Cruel Brother. 

Willie Beresford has come to Pettybaw, and that Arcadian village hasreceived the last touch that makes it Paradise. 

We are exploring the neighbourhood together, and whichever path wetake we think it lovelier than the one before. This morning we droveto Pettybaw Sands, Francesca and Salemina following by the footpath andmeeting us on the shore. It is all so enchantingly fresh and green onone of these rare bright days: the trig lass bleaching her 'claes' onthe grass by the burn near the little stone bridge; the wild partridgeswhirring about in pairs; the farm-boy seated on the clean straw in thebottom of his cart, and cracking his whip in mere wanton joy at thesunshine; the pretty cottages; and the gardens with rows of currant andgooseberry bushes hanging thick with fruit that suggests jam and tartin every delicious globule. It is a love-coloured landscape, we know itfull well; and nothing in the fair world about us is half as beautifulas what we see in each other's eyes. Ah, the memories of these firstgolden mornings together after our long separation. I shall sprinklethem with lavender and lay them away in that dim chamber of the heartwhere we keep precious things. We all know the chamber. It is fragrantwith other hidden treasures, for all of them are sweet, though some aresad. That is the reason why we put a finger on the lip and say 'Hush, 'if we open the door and allow any one to peep in. 

We tied the pony by the wayside and alighted: Willie to gather somesprays of the pink veronica and blue speedwell, I to sit on an old benchand watch him in happy idleness. The 'white-blossomed slaes' sweetenedthe air, and the distant hills were gay with golden whin and broom, orflushed with the purply-red of the bell heather. 

We heard the note of the cushats from a neighbouring bush. They usedto build their nests on the ground, so the story goes, but the cowstrampled them. Now they are wiser and build higher, and their cry issupposed to be a derisive one, directed to their ancient enemies. 'Comenoo, Coo, Coo! Come noo!'

A hedgehog crept stealthily along the ground, and at a sudden soundcurled himself up like a wee brown bear. There were women working inthe fields near by, --a strange sight to our eyes at first, but nothingunusual here, where many of them are employed on the farms all the yearround, sowing weeding, planting, even ploughing in the spring, and inwinter working at threshing or in the granary. 

An old man, leaning on his staff, came tottering feebly along, and sankdown on the bench beside me. He was dirty, ragged, unkempt, and feeble, but quite sober, and pathetically anxious for human sympathy. 

"I'm achty-sax year auld, ' he maundered, apropos of nothing, "achty-saxyear auld. I've seen five lairds o' Pettybaw, sax placed meenisters, an'seeven doctors. I was a mason, an' a stoot mon i' thae days, but it's ameeserable life noo. Wife deid, bairns deid! I sit by my lane, an' smokemy pipe, wi' naebody to gi'e me a sup o' water. Achty-sax is ower auldfor a mon, --ower auld. "

These are the sharp contrasts of life one cannot bear to face when oneis young and happy. Willie gave him a half-crown and some tobaccofor his pipe, and when the pony trotted off briskly, and we left theshrunken figure alone on his bench as he was lonely in his life, wekissed each other and pledged ourselves to look after him as long aswe remain in Pettybaw; for what is love worth if it does not kindlethe flames of spirit, open the gates of feeling, and widen the heart toshelter all the little loves and great loves that crave admittance?

As we neared the tiny fishing-village on the sands we met a fishwifebrave in her short skirt and eight petticoats, the basket with its twohundred pound weight on her head, and the auld wife herself knittingplacidly as she walked along. They look superbly strong, these women;but, to be sure, the 'weak anes dee, ' as one of them told me. 

There was an air of bustle about the little quay, --

 'That joyfu' din when the boats come in, When the boats come in sae early; When the lift is blue an' the herring-nets fu', And the sun glints in a' things rarely. '

The silvery shoals of fish no longer come so near the shore as they usedin the olden time, for then the kirk bell of St. Monan's had its tonguetied when the 'draive' was off the coast, lest its knell should frightenaway the shining myriads of the deep. 

We climbed the shoulder of a great green cliff until we could sit on therugged rocks at the top and overlook the sea. The bluff is well namedNirly Scaur, and a wild desolate spot it is, with grey lichen-cladboulders and stunted heather on its summit. In a storm here, the windbuffets and slashes and scourges one like invisible whips, and below thesea churns itself into foaming waves, driving its 'infinite squadronsof wild white horses' eternally toward the shore. It was calm and blueto-day, and no sound disturbed the quiet save the incessant shriekand scream of the rock birds, the kittiwakes, black-headed gulls, andguillemots that live on the sides of these high sheer craigs. Here themother guillemot lays her single egg, and here, on these narrow shelvesof precipitous rock, she holds it in place with her foot until thewarmth of her leg and overhanging body hatches it into life, whenshe takes it on her back and flies down to the sea. Motherhood underdifficulties, it would seem, and the education of the baby guillemot iscarried forward on Spartan principles; for the moment he is out of theshell he is swept downward hundreds of feet and plunged into a coldocean, where he can sink or swim as instinct serves him. In a life sofraught with anxieties, exposures, and dangers, it is not strange thatthe guillemots keeps up a ceaseless clang of excited conversation, a very riot and wrangle of altercation and argument which thecircumstances seem to warrant. The prospective father is obliged to taketurns with the prospective mother, and hold the one precious egg on therock while she goes for a fly, a swim, a bite, and a sup. As there arefive hundred other parents on the same rock, and the eggs look to beonly a couple of inches apart, the scene must be distracting, and I haveno doubt we should find, if statistics were gathered, that thousands ofguillemots die of nervous prostration. 

Willie and I interpreted the clamour somewhat as follows:--

[Between parent birds. ]

"I am going to take my foot off. Are you ready to put yours on? Don't beclumsy! Wait a minute, I'm not ready. I'M NOT READY, I TELL YOU! NOW!!"

[Between rival mothers. ]

"Your egg is so close to mine that I can't breathe---"

"Move your egg, then, I can't move mine!"

"You're sitting so close, I can't stretch my wings. "

"Neither can I. You've got as much room as I have. "

"I shall tumble if you crowd me. "

"Go ahead and tumble, then! There is plenty of room in the sea. "

[From one father to another ceremoniously. ]

"Pardon me, but I'm afraid I shoved your wife off the rock last night. "

"Don't mention it. I remember I shoved off your wife's mother lastyear. "

We walked among the tiny whitewashed low-roofed cots, each with itssilver-skinned fishes tacked invitingly against the door-frame to dry, until we came to my favourite, the corner cottage in the row. It hasbeautiful narrow garden strips in front, --solid patches of colour insweet gillyflower bushes, from which the kindly housewife plucked anosegay for us. Her white columbines she calls 'granny's mutches'; andindeed they are not unlike those fresh white caps. Dear Robbie Burns, ten inches high in plaster, stands in the sunny window in a tiny box ofblossoming plants surrounded by a miniature green picket fence. Outside, looming white among the gillyflowers, is Sir Walter, and near him isstill another and a larger bust on a cracked pedestal a foot high, perhaps. We did not recognise the head at once, and asked the littlewoman who it was. 

"Homer, the graund Greek poet, " she answered cheerily; "an' I'm to haveanither o' Burns, as tall as Homer, when my daughter comes hame fraeE'nbro'. "

If the shade of Homer keeps account of his earthly triumphs, I think heis proud of his place in that humble Scotchwoman's gillyflower garden, with his head under the drooping petals of granny's white mutches. 

What do you think her 'mon' is called in the village! John o' Mary! Buthe is not alone in his meekness, for there are Jock o' Meg, Willieo' Janet, Jem o' Tibby, and a dozen others. These primitivefishing-villages are the places where all the advanced women oughtto congregate, for the wife is head of the house; the accountant, thetreasurer, the auditor, the chancellor of the exchequer; and thoughher husband does catch the fish for her to sell, that is accountedapparently as a detail too trivial for notice. 

When we passed Mary's cottage on our way to the sands next day, Burns'shead had been accidentally broken off by the children, and we felt asthough we had lost a friend; but Scotch thrift, and loyalty to thedear Ploughman Poet, came to the rescue, and when we returned, Robert'splaster head had been glued to his body. He smiled at us again frombetween the two scarlet geraniums, and a tendril of ivy had been gentlycurled about his neck to hide the cruel wound. 

After such long, lovely mornings as this, there is a late luncheon underthe shadow of a rock with Salemina and Francesca, an idle chat, or thechapter of a book, and presently Lady Ardmore and her daughter Elizabethdrive down to the sands. They are followed by Robin Anstruther, Jamie, and Ralph on bicycles, and before long the stalwart figure of RonaldMacdonald appears in the distance, just in time for a cup of tea, whichwe brew in Lady Ardmore's bath-house on the beach. 

Chapter XIX. Fowk o' Fife. 

 'To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways. '

The Cotter's Saturday Night. 

We have lived in Pettybaw a very short time, but I see that we havealready made an impression upon all grades of society. This was not ourintention. We gave Edinburgh as our last place of residence, with theview of concealing our nationality, until such time as we should chooseto declare it; that is, when public excitement with regard to ourrental of the house in the loaning should have lapsed into a state ofindifference. And yet, modest, economical, and commonplace as has beenthe administration of our affairs, our method of life has evidentlybeen thought unusual, and our conduct not precisely the conduct of othersummer visitors. Even our daily purchases, in manner, in number, and incharacter, seem to be looked upon as eccentric, for whenever we leave ashop, the relatives of the greengrocer, flesher, draper, whoever it maybe, bound downstairs, surround him in an eager circle, and inquire thelatest news. 

In an unwise moment we begged the draper's wife to honour us witha visit and explain the obliquities of the kitchen range and thetortuosities of the sink-spout to Miss Grieve. While our landlady wason the premises, I took occasion to invite her up to my own room, with aview of seeing whether my mattress of pebbles and iron-filings couldbe supplemented by another of shavings or straw, or some material lessprovocative of bodily injuries. She was most sympathetic, persuasive, logical and after the manner of her kind proved to me conclusively thatthe trouble lay with the too-saft occupant of the bed, not with thebed itself, and gave me statistics with regard to the latter whichestablished its reputation and at the same moment destroyed my own. 

She looked in at the various doors casually as she passed up and downthe stairs, --all save that of the dining-room, which Francesca hadprudently locked to conceal the fact that we had covered the familyportraits, --and I noticed at the time that her face wore an expressionof mingled grief and astonishment. It seemed to us afterward that therewas a good deal more passing up and down the loaning than when we firstarrived. At dusk especially, small processions of children and youngpeople walked by our cottage and gave shy glances at the windows. 

Finding Miss Grieve in an unusually amiable mood, I inquired theprobable cause of this phenomenon. She would not go so far as to giveany judicial opinion, but offered a few conjectures. 

It might be the tirling-pin; it might be the white satin ribbons on thecurtains; it might be the guitars and banjos; it might be the bicyclecrate; it might be the profusion of plants; it might be the continualfeasting and revelry; it might be the blazing fires in a Pettybawsummer. She thought a much more likely reason, however, was becauseit had become known in the village that we had moved every stickof furniture in the house out of its accustomed place and taken thedressing-tables away from the windows, --'the windys, ' she called them. 

I discussed this matter fully with Mr. Macdonald later on. He laughedheartily, but confessed, with an amused relish of his nationalconservatism, that to his mind there certainly was something radical, advanced, and courageous in taking a dressing-table away from its place, back to the window, and putting it anywhere else in a room. He would befrank, he said, and acknowledge that it suggested an undisciplined andlawless habit of thought, a disregard for authority, a lack of reverencefor tradition, and a riotous and unbridled imagination. 

This view of the matter gave us exquisite enjoyment. 

"But why?" I asked laughingly. "The dressing-table is not a sacredobject, even to a woman. Why treat it with such veneration? Where thereis but one good light, and that immediately in front of the window, there is every excuse for the British custom, but when the light is welldiffused, why not place the table where-ever it looks well?"

"Ah, but it doesn't look well anywhere but back to the window, " said Mr. Macdonald artlessly. "It belongs there, you see; it has probably beenthere since the time of Malcolm Canmore, unless Margaret was too piousto look in a mirror. With your national love of change, you cannotconceive how soothing it is to know that whenever you enter your gateand glance upward, you will always see the curtains parted, and betweenthem, like an idol in a shrine, the ugly wooden back of a little ovalor oblong looking-glass. It gives one a sense of permanence in a worldwhere all is fleeting. "

The public interest in our doings seems to be entirely of a friendlynature, and if our neighbours find a hundredth part of the charm andnovelty in us that we find in them, they are fortunate indeed, and wecheerfully sacrifice our privacy on the altar of the public good. 

A village in Scotland is the only place I can fancy where housekeepingbecomes an enthralling occupation. All drudgery disappears in a rosyglow of unexpected, unique, and stimulating conditions. I would rathersuperintend Miss Grieve, and cause the light of amazement to gleamten times daily in her humid eye, than lead a cotillion with WillieBeresford. I would rather do the marketing for our humble breakfasts andteas, or talk over the day's luncheons and dinners with Mistress Brodieof the Pettybaw Inn and Posting Establishment, than go to the opera. 

Salemina and Francesca do not enjoy it all quite as intensely as I, sothey considerately give me the lion's share. Every morning, after anexhilarating interview with the Niobe of our kitchen (who thinks meirresponsible, and prays Heaven in her heart I be no worse), I put onmy goloshes, take my umbrella, and trudge up and down the little streetsand lanes on real and, if need be, imaginary errands. The Duke ofWellington said, 'When fair in Scotland, always carry an umbrella;when it rains, please yourself, ' and I sometimes agree with Stevenson'sshivering statement, 'Life does not seem to me to be an amusementadapted to this climate. ' I quoted this to the doctor yesterday, but heremarked with some surprise that he had not missed a day's golfing forweeks. The chemist observed as he handed me a cake of soap, 'Won'erfulblest in weather, we are, mam, ' simply because, the rain beingunaccompanied with high wind, one was enabled to hold up an umbrellawithout having it turned inside out. When it ceased dripping for anhour at noon, the greengrocer said cheerily, 'Another grand day, mam!'I assented, though I could not for the life of me remember when the lastone occurred. However, dreary as the weather may be, one cannot be dullwhen doing one's morning round of shopping in Pettybaw or Strathdee. Ihave only to give you thumb-nail sketches of our favourite tradespeopleto convince you of that fact. 

 . . . . 

We bought our first groceries of Mrs. Robert Phin, of Strathdee, simplybecause she is an inimitable conversationalist. She is expansive, too, about family matters, and tells us certain of her 'mon's' faults whichit would be more seemly to keep in the safe shelter of her own bosom. 

Rab takes a wee drappie too much, it appears, and takes it so often thathe has little time to earn an honest penny for his family. This is badenough; but the fact that Mrs. Phin has been twice wed before, and thatin each case she innocently chose a ne'er-do-weel for a mate, makesher a trifle cynical. She told me that she had laid twa husbands in thekirk-yard near which her little shop stands, and added cheerfully, asI made some sympathetic response, 'An' I hope it'll no' be lang afore Ibox Rab!'

Salemina objects to the shop because it is so disorderly. Soap andsugar, tea and bloaters, starch and gingham, lead pencils and sausages, lie side by side cosily. Boxes of pins are kept on top of kegs ofherrings. Tins of coffee are distributed impartially anywhere andeverywhere, and the bacon sometimes reposes in a glass case withsmall-wares and findings, out of the reach of Alexander's dogs. 

Alexander is one of a brood, or perhaps I should say three broods, ofchildren which wander among the barrels and boxes and hams and winceysseeking what they may devour, --a handful of sugar, a prune, or asweetie. 

We often see the bairns at their luncheon or dinner in a little roomjust off the shop, Alexander the Small always sitting or kneeling on a'creepie, ' holding his plate down firmly with the left hand and eatingwith the right, whether the food be fish, porridge, or broth. In thePhin family the person who does not hold his plate down runs the risk oflosing it to one of the other children or to the dogs, who, with eagereye and reminding paw, gather round the hospitable board, licking theirchops hopefully. 

I enjoy these scenes very much, but, alas! I can no longer witness themas often as formerly. 

This morning Mrs. Phin greeted me with some embarrassment. 

"Maybe ye'll no' ken me, " she said, her usually clear speech a littleblurred. "It's the teeth. I've mislaid 'em somewhere. I paid far toomuch siller for 'em to wear 'em ilka day. Sometimes I rest 'em in theteabox to keep 'em awa' frae the bairns, but I canna find 'em theer. I'm thinkin' maybe they'll be in the rice, but I've been ower thrang toluik!"

This anecdote was too rich to keep to myself, but its unconscious humourmade no impression upon Salemina, who insisted upon the withdrawal ofour patronage. I have tried to persuade her that, whatever may be saidof tea and rice, we run no risk in buying eggs; but she is relentless. 

 . . . . 

The kirkyard where Rab's two predecessors have been laid, and where Rabwill lie when Mrs. Phin has 'boxed' him, is a sleepy little place set ona gentle slope of ground, softly shaded by willow and yew trees. It isenclosed by a stone wall, into which an occasional ancient tombstoneis built, its name and date almost obliterated by stress of time andweather. 

We often walk through its quiet, myrtle-bordered paths on our way tothe other end of the village, where Mrs. Bruce, the flesher, keeps anunrivalled assortment of beef and mutton. The headstones, many of themlaid flat upon the graves, are interesting to us because of their quaintinscriptions, in which the occupation of the deceased is often statedwith modest pride and candour. One expects to see the achievements ofthe soldier, the sailor, or the statesman carved in the stone that markshis resting-place, but to our eyes it is strange enough to read that thesubject of eulogy was a plumber, tobacconist, maker of golf-balls, ora golf champion; in which latter case there is a spirited etchingor bas-relief of the dead hero, with knickerbockers, cap, and clubscomplete. 

There, too, lies Thomas Loughead, Hairdresser, a profession far toolittle celebrated in song and story. His stone is a simple one, andbears merely the touching tribute:--

 He was lovely and pleasant in his life, the inference being, to one who knows a line of Scripture, that in hisdeath he was not divided. 

These kirkyard personalities almost lead one to believe in theauthenticity of the British tradesman's epitaph, wherein hispractical-minded relict stated that the 'bereaved widow would continueto carry on the tripe and trotter business at the old stand. '

 . . . . 

One day when we were walking through the little village of Strathdeewe turned the corner of a quiet side street and came suddenly uponsomething altogether strange and unexpected. 

A stone cottage of the everyday sort stood a trifle back from the roadand bore over its front door a sign announcing that Mrs. Bruce, Flesher, carried on her business within; and indeed one could look throughthe windows and see ruddy joints hanging from beams, and piles ofpink-and-white steaks and chops lying neatly on the counter, crying, 'Come, eat me!' Nevertheless, one's first glance would be arrestedneither by Mrs Bruce's black-and-gold sign, nor by the enticements ofher stock-in-trade, because one's attention is rapped squarely betweenthe eyes by an astonishing shape that arises from the patch of lawnin front of the cottage, and completely dominates the scene. Imagineyourself face to face with the last thing you would expect to see ina modest front dooryard, --the figurehead of a ship, heroic in size, gorgeous in colour, majestic in pose! A female personage it appears tobe from the drapery, which is the only key the artist furnishes as tosex, and a queenly female withal, for she wears a crown at least a foothigh, and brandishes a forbidding sceptre. All this seen from the front, but the rear view discloses the fact that the lady terminates in thetail of a fish which wriggles artistically in mid-air and is of abrittle sort, as it has evidently been thrice broken and glued together. 

Mrs Bruce did not leave us long in suspense, but obligingly came out, partly to comment on the low price of mutton and partly to tell thetale of the mammoth mermaid. By rights, of course, Mrs. Bruce's husbandshould have been the gallant captain of a bark which foundered at seaand sent every man to his grave on the ocean-bed. The ship's figureheadshould have been discovered by some miracle, brought to the sorrowingwidow, and set up in the garden in eternal remembrance of the deardeparted. This was the story in my mind, but as a matter of fact therude effigy was wrought by Mrs. Bruce's father for a ship to be calledthe Sea Queen, but by some mischance, ship and figurehead never cametogether, and the old wood-carver left it to his daughter, in lieu ofother property. It has not been wholly unproductive, Mrs. Bruce fancies, for the casual passers-by, like those who came to scoff and remainedto pray, go into the shop to ask questions about the Sea Queen and buychops out of courtesy and gratitude. 

 . . . . 

On our way to the bakery, which is a daily walk with us, we alwaysglance at a little cot in a grassy lane just off the fore street. Inone half of this humble dwelling Mrs. Davidson keeps a slender stock ofshop-worn articles, --pins, needles, threads, sealing-wax, pencils, andsweeties for the children, all disposed attractively upon a single shelfbehind the window. 

Across the passage, close to the other window, sits day after day an oldwoman of eight-six summers who has lost her kinship with the present andgone back to dwell for ever in the past. A small table stands in frontof her rush-bottomed chair, the old family Bible rests upon it, and infront of the Bible are always four tiny dolls, with which the tremblingold fingers play from morning till night. They are cheap, common littlepuppets, but she robes and disrobes them with tenderest care. They areput to bed upon the Bible, take their walks along its time-worn pages, are married on it, buried on it, and the direst punishment they everreceive is to be removed from its sacred covers and temporarily hiddenbeneath the dear old soul's black alpaca apron. She is quite happy withher treasures on week-days; but on Sundays--alas and alas! the poor olddame sits in her lonely chair with the furtive tears dropping on herwrinkled cheeks, for it is a God-fearing household, and it is neitherlawful nor seemly to play with dolls on the Sawbath!

 . . . . 

Mrs. Nicolson is the presiding genius of the bakery, she is more--sheis the bakery itself. A Mr. Nicolson there is, and he is known to be thebaker, but he dwells in the regions below the shop and only issues atrare intervals, beneath the friendly shelter of a huge tin tray filledwith scones and baps. 

If you saw Mrs. Nicolson's kitchen with the firelight gleaming on itsbright copper, its polished candlesticks, and its snowy floor, you wouldthink her an admirable housewife, but you would get no clue to thoseshrewd and masterful traits of character which reveal themselves chieflybehind the counter. 

Miss Grieve had purchased of Mrs. Nicolson a quarter section of veryappetising ginger-cake to eat with our afternoon tea, and I stepped into buy more. She showed me a large round loaf for two shillings. 

"No, " I objected, "I cannot use a whole loaf, thank you. We eat verylittle at a time, and like it perfectly fresh. I wish a small piece suchas my maid bought the other day. "

Then ensued a discourse which I cannot render in the vernacular, more'sthe pity, though I understood it all too well for my comfort. Thesubstance of it was this: that she couldna and wouldna tak' it in handto give me a quarter section of cake when the other three-quarters mightgae dry in the bakery; that the reason she sold the small piece on theformer occasion was that her daughter, her son-in-law, and their threechildren came from Ballahoolish to visit her, and she gave them ahigh tea with no expense spared; that at this function they devouredthree-fourths of a ginger-cake, and just as she was mournfully regardingthe remainder my servant came in and took it off her hands; that she hadkept a bakery for thirty years and her mother before her, and never hada two-shilling ginger-cake been sold in pieces before, nor was it likelyever to occur again; that if I, under Providence, so to speak, had beenthe fortunate gainer by the transaction, why not eat my six penny-worthin solemn gratitude once for all, and not expect a like miracle tohappen the next week? And finally, that two-shilling ginger-cakes were, in the very nature of things, designed for large families; and itwas the part of wisdom for small families to fix their affections onsomething else, for she couldna and wouldna tak' it in hand to cut arare and expensive article for a small customer. 

The torrent of logic was over, and I said humbly that I would take thewhole loaf. 

"Verra weel, mam, " she responded more affably, "thank you kindly; no, Icouldna tak' it in hand to sell six pennyworth of that ginger-cake andlet one-and-sixpence worth gae dry in the bakery. --A beautiful day, mam!Won'erful blest in weather ye are! Let me open your umbrella for you, mam!"

 . . . . 

David Robb is the weaver of Pettybaw. All day long he sits at hisold-fashioned hand-loom, which, like the fruit of his toil and the dearold greybeard himself, belongs to a day that is past and gone. 

He might have work enough to keep an apprentice busy, but where wouldhe find a lad sufficiently behind the times to learn a humble trade nowbanished to the limbo of superseded, almost forgotten things?

His home is but a poor place, but the rough room in which he works isbig enough to hold a deal of sweet content. It is cheery enough, too, to attract the Pettybaw weans, who steal in on wet days and sit on thefloor playing with the thrums, or with bits of coloured ravellings. Sometimes when they have proved themselves wise and prudent littlevirgins, they are even allowed to touch the hanks of pink and yellow andblue yarn that lie in rainbow-hued confusion on the long deal table. 

All this time the 'heddles' go up and down, up and down, with theirceaseless clatter, and David throws the shuttle back and forth as heweaves his old-fashioned winceys. 

We have grown to be good friends, David and I, and I have been permittedthe signal honour of painting him at his work. 

The loom stands by an eastern window, and the rare Pettybaw sunshinefilters through the branches of a tree, shines upon the dustywindow-panes, and throws a halo round David's head that he well deservesand little suspects. In my foreground sit Meg and Jean and Elspethplaying with thrums and wearing the fruit of David's loom in theirgingham frocks. David himself sits on his wooden bench behind the mazeof cords that form the 'loom harness. '

The snows of seventy winters powder his hair and beard. His spectaclesare often pushed back on his kindly brow, but no glass could whollyobscure the clear integrity and steadfast purity of his eyes; and asfor his smile, I have not the art to paint that! It holds in solution somany sweet though humble virtues of patience, temperance, self-denial, honest endeavour, that my brush falters in the attempt to fix theradiant whole upon the canvas. Fashions come and go, modern improvementstransform the arts and trades, manual skill gives way to the cunning ofthe machine, but old David Robb, after more than fifty years of toil, still sits at his hand-loom and weaves his winceys for the Pettybawbairnies. 

David has small book-learning, so he tells me; and indeed he had need totell me, for I should never have discovered it myself, --one misses it solittle when the larger things are all present!

A certain summer visitor in Pettybaw (a compatriot of ours, by the way)bought a quantity of David's orange-coloured wincey, and finding that itwore like iron, wished to order more. She used the word 'reproduce'in her telegram, as there was one pattern and one colour she speciallyliked. Perhaps the context was not illuminating, but at any rate theword 'reproduce' was not in David's vocabulary, and putting back hisspectacles he told me his difficulty in deciphering the exact meaning ofhis fine-lady patron. He called at the Free Kirk manse, --the meenisterwas no' at hame; then to the library, --it was closed; then to theEstaiblished manse, --the meenister was awa'. At last he obtained aglance at the schoolmaster's dictionary, and turning to 'reproduce'found that it meant 'nought but mak' ower again';--and with an amusedsmile at the bedevilments of language he turned once more to his loomand I to my canvas. 

Notwithstanding his unfamiliarity with 'langnebbit' words, David hasabsorbed a deal of wisdom in his quiet life; though so far as I can see, his only books have been the green tree outside his window, a glimpse ofthe distant ocean, and the toil of his hands. 

But I sometimes question if as many scholars are not made as marred inthis wise, for--to the seeing eye--the waving leaf and the far sea, thedaily task, one's own heart-beats, and one's neighbour's, --these teachus in good time to interpret Nature's secrets, and man's, and God's aswell. 

Chapter XX. A Fifeshire tea-party. 

 'The knights they harpit in their bow'r, The ladyes sew'd and sang; The mirth that was in that chamber Through all the place it rang. '

Rose the Red and White Lily. 

Tea at Rowardennan Castle is an impressive and a delightful function. It is served by a ministerial-looking butler and ajust-ready-to-be-ordained footman. They both look as if they had beennourished on the Thirty-Nine Articles, but they know their business aswell as if they had been trained in heathen lands, --which is saying agood deal, for everybody knows that heathen servants wait upon onewith idolatrous solicitude. However, from the quality of the cheeringbeverage itself down to the thickness of the cream, the thinness of thechina, the crispness of the toast, and the plummyness of the cake, teaat Rowardennan Castle is perfect in every detail. 

The scones are of unusual lightness, also. I should think they wouldscarcely weigh more than four, perhaps even five, to a pound; but I amaware that the casual traveller, who eats only at hotels, and never hasthe privilege of entering feudal castles, will be slow to believe thisestimate, particularly just after breakfast. 

Salemina always describes a Scotch scone as an aspiring but unsuccessfulsoda-biscuit of the New England sort. Stevenson, in writing of thatdense black substance, inimical to life, called Scotch bun, says thatthe patriotism that leads a Scotsman to eat it will hardly desert him inany emergency. Salemina thinks that the scone should be bracketed withthe bun (in description, of course, never in the human stomach), andsays that, as a matter of fact, 'th' unconquer'd Scot' of old was notonly clad in a shirt of mail, but well fortified within when he wentforth to warfare after a meal of oatmeal and scones. She insists thatthe spear which would pierce the shirt of mail would be turned asideand blunted by the ordinary scone of commerce; but what signifies theopinion of a woman who eats sugar on her porridge?

Considering the air of liberal hospitality that hangs about the castletea-table, I wonder that our friends do not oftener avail themselvesof its privileges and allow us to do so; but on all dark, foggy, orinclement days, or whenever they tire of the sands, everybody persistsin taking tea at Bide-a-Wee Cottage. 

We buy our tea of the Pettybaw grocer, some of our cups are cracked, the teapot is of earthenware, Miss Grieve disapproves of all socialtea-fuddles, and shows it plainly when she brings in the tray, and theroom is so small that some of us overflow into the hall or the garden;it matters not; there is some fatal charm in our humble hospitality. At four o'clock one of us is obliged to be, like Sister Anne, on thehousetop; and if company approaches, she must descend and speed tothe plumber's for six pennyworth extra of cream. In most well-orderedBritish households Miss Grieve would be requested to do this speeding, but both her mind and her body move too slowly for such domestic crises;and then, too, her temper has to be kept as unruffled as possible, sothat she will cut the bread and butter thin. This she generally does ifshe has not been 'fair doun-hadden wi' wark'; but the washing of herown spinster cup and plate, together with the incident sighs and groans, occupies her till so late an hour that she is not always dressed forcallers. 

Willie and I were reading The Lady of the Lake the other day, in theback garden, surrounded by the verdant leafage of our own kale-yard. It is a pretty spot when the sun shines, a trifle domestic in its air, perhaps, but restful: Miss Grieve's dish-towels and aprons drying on thecurrant bushes, the cat playing with a mutton-bone or a fish-tail on thegrass, and the little birds perching on the rims of our wash-boilerand water-buckets. It can be reached only by way of the kitchen, whichsomewhat lessens its value as a pleasure-ground or a rustic retreat, butWillie and I retire there now and then for a quiet chat. 

On this particular occasion Willie was declaiming the exciting verseswhere Fitz-James and Murdoch are crossing the stream

 'That joins Loch Katrine to Achray, '

where the crazed Blanche of Devan first appears:--

 'All in the Trosachs' glen was still, Noontide was sleeping on the hill: Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high-- "Murdoch! was that a signal cry?"'

"It was indeed, " said Francesca, appearing suddenly at an upper windowoverhanging the garden. "Pardon this intrusion, but the Castle peopleare here, " she continued in what is known as a stage whisper, --that is, one that can be easily heard by a thousand persons, --"the Castle peopleand the ladies from Pettybaw House; and Mr. Macdonald is coming down theloaning; but Calamity Jane is making her toilet in the kitchen, and youcannot take Mr. Beresford through into the sitting-room at present. Shesays this hoose has so few conveniences that it's 'fair sickenin'. '"

"How long will she be?" queried Mr. Beresford anxiously, putting TheLady of the Lake in his pocket, and pacing up and down between the rowsof cabbages. 

"She has just begun. Whatever you do, don't unsettle her temper, forshe will have to prepare for eight to-day. I will send Mr. Macdonald andMiss Macrae to the bakery for gingerbread, to gain time, and possiblyI can think of a way to rescue you. If I can't, are you tolerablycomfortable? Perhaps Miss Grieve won't mind Penelope, and she can comethrough the kitchen any time and join us; but naturally you don't wantto be separated, that's the worst of being engaged. Of course I canlower your tea in a tin bucket, and if it should rain I can throw outumbrellas. Would you like your golf-caps, Pen? 'Won'erful blest inweather ye are, mam!' The situation is not so bad as it might be, " sheadded consolingly, "because in case Miss Grieve's toilet should lastlonger than usual, your wedding need not be indefinitely postponed, forMr. Macdonald can marry you from this window. "

Here she disappeared, and we had scarcely time to take in the fullhumour of the affair before Robin Anstruther's laughing eyes appearedover the top of the high brick wall that protects our garden on threesides. 

"Do not shoot, " said he. "I am not come to steal the fruit, but tosuccour humanity in distress. Miss Monroe insisted that I should borrowthe inn ladder. She thought a rescue would be much more romantic thanwaiting for Miss Grieve. Everybody is coming out to witness it, at leastall your guests, --there are no strangers present, --and Miss Monroe isalready collecting sixpence a head for the entertainment, to be given, she says, for your dear Friar's sustenation fund. "

He was now astride of the wall, and speedily lifted the ladder to ourside, where it leaned comfortably against the stout branches of thedraper's peach vine. Willie ran nimbly up the ladder and bestrode thewall. I followed, first standing, and then decorously sitting down onthe top of it. Mr. Anstruther pulled up the ladder, and replaced it onthe side of liberty; then he descended, then Willie, and I last of all, amidst the acclamations of the onlookers, a select company of six oreight persons. 

When Miss Grieve formally entered the sitting-room bearing the tea-tray, she was buskit braw in black stuff gown, clean apron, and fresh captrimmed with purple ribbons, under which her white locks were neatlydressed. 

She deplored the coolness of the tea, but accounted for it to me inan aside by the sickening quality of Mrs. Sinkler's coals and Mr. Macbrose's kindling-wood, to say nothing of the insulting draft in thedraper's range. When she left the room, I suppose she was unable toexplain the peals of laughter that rang through our circumscribed halls. 

Lady Ardmore insists that the rescue was the most unique episode sheever witnessed, and says that she never understood America untilshe made our acquaintance. I persuaded her that this was fallaciousreasoning; that while she might understand us by knowing America, shecould not possibly reverse this mental operation and be sure of theresult. The ladies of Pettybaw House said that the occurrence was asFifish as anything that ever happened in Fife. The kingdom of Fife isnoted, it seems, for its 'doocots [dovecots] and its daft lairds, 'and to be eccentric and Fifish are one and the same thing. ThereuponFrancesca told Mr. Macdonald a story she heard in Edinburgh, to theeffect that when a certain committee or council was quarrelling asto which of certain Fifeshire towns should be the seat of a projectedlunatic asylum, a new resident arose and suggested that the building ofa wall round the kingdom of Fife would solve the difficulty, settleall disputes, and give sufficient room for the lunatics to exerciseproperly. 

This is the sort of tale that a native can tell with a genial chuckle, but it comes with poor grace from an American lady sojourning in Fife. Francesca does not mind this, however, as she is at present avengingfresh insults to her own beloved country. 

Chapter XXI. International bickering. 

 With mimic din of stroke and ward The broadsword upon target jarr'd. 

The Lady of the Lake. 

Robin Anstruther was telling stories at the tea-table. 

"I got acquainted with an American girl in rather a queer sort ofway, " he said, between cups. "It was in London, on the Duke of York'swedding-day. I'm rather a tall chap, you see, and in the crowd somebodytouched me on the shoulder, and a plaintive voice behind me said, 'You're such a big man, and I am so little, will you please help me tosave my life? My mother was separated from me in the crowd somewhere aswe were trying to reach the Berkeley, and I don't know what to do. 'I was a trifle nonplussed, but I did the best I could. She was a tinything, in a marvellous frock and a flowery hat and a silver girdle andchatelaine. In another minute she spied a second man, an officer, a fullhead taller than I am, broad shoulders, splendidly put up altogether. Bless me! if she didn't turn to him and say, 'Oh, you're so nice andbig, you're even bigger than this other gentleman, and I need you bothin this dreadful crush. If you'll be good enough to stand on eitherside of me, I shall be awfully obliged. ' We exchanged amused glancesof embarrassment over her blonde head, but there was no resisting theirresistible. She was a small person, but she had the soul of a general, and we obeyed orders. We stood guard over her little ladyship for nearlyan hour, and I must say she entertained us thoroughly, for she was asclever as she was pretty. Then I got her a seat in one of the windows ofmy club, while the other man, armed with a full description, went out tohunt up the mother; and, by Jove! he found her, too. She would have hermother, and her mother she had. They were awfully jolly people; theycame to luncheon in my chambers at the Albany afterwards, and we grew tobe great friends. "

"I dare say she was an English girl masquerading, " I remarkedfacetiously. "What made you think her an American?"

"Oh, her general appearance and accent, I suppose. "

"Probably she didn't say Barkley, " observed Francesca cuttingly; "shewould have been sure to commit that sort of solecism. "

"Why, don't you say Barkley in the States?"

"Certainly not; we never call them the States, and with us c-l-e-r-kspells clerk, and B-e-r-k Berk. "

"How very odd!" remarked Mr. Anstruther. 

"No odder than you saying Bark, and not half as odd as your calling itAlbany, " I interpolated, to help Francesca. 

"Quite so, " said Mr. Anstruther; "but how do you say Albany in America?"

"Penelope and I always call it Allbany, " responded Francescanonsensically, "but Salemina, who has been much in England, always callsit Albany. "

This anecdote was the signal for Miss Ardmore to remark (apropos of herown discrimination and the American accent) that hearing a lady ask fora certain med'cine in a chemist's shop, she noted the intonation, andinquired of the chemist, when the fair stranger had retired, if shewere not an American. "And she was!" exclaimed the Honourable Elizabethtriumphantly. "And what makes it the more curious, she had been overhere twenty years, and of course, spoke English quite properly. "

In avenging fancied insults, it is certainly more just to heappunishment on the head of the real offender than upon his neighbour, and it is a trifle difficult to decide why Francesca should chastise Mr. Macdonald for the good-humoured sins of Mr. Anstruther and Miss Ardmore;yet she does so, nevertheless. 

The history of these chastisements she recounts in the nightly half-hourwhich she spends with me when I am endeavouring to compose myself forsleep. Francesca is fluent at all times, but once seated on the foot ofmy bed she becomes eloquent!

"It all began with his saying--"

This is her perennial introduction, and I respond as invariably, "Whatbegan?"

"Oh, to-day's argument with Mr. Macdonald. It was a literary quarrelthis afternoon. "

"'Fools rush in--'" I quoted. 

"There is a good deal of nonsense in that old saw, " she interrupted; "atall events, the most foolish fools I have ever known stayed still anddidn't do anything. Rushing shows a certain movement of the mind, even if it is in the wrong direction. However, Mr. Macdonald is bothopinionated and dogmatic, but his worst enemy could never call him afool. "

"I didn't allude to Mr. Macdonald. "

"Don't you suppose I know to whom you alluded, dear? Is not your styleso simple, frank, and direct that a wayfaring girl can read it and noterr therein? No, I am not sitting on your feet, and it is not time to goto sleep; I wonder you do not tire of making those futile protests. As amatter of fact, we began this literary discussion yesterday morning, but were interrupted; and knowing that it was sure to come up again, I prepared for it with Salemina. She furnished the ammunition, so tospeak, and I fired the guns. "

"You always make so much noise with blank cartridges I wonder you everbother about real shot, " I remarked. 

"Penelope, how can you abuse me when I am in trouble? Well, Mr. Macdonald was prating, as usual, about the antiquity of Scotland and itsaeons of stirring history. I am so weary of the venerableness of thiscountry. How old will it have to be, I wonder, before it gets usedto it? If it's the province of art to conceal art, it ought to be theprovince of age to conceal age, and it generally is. 'Everything doesn'timprove with years, ' I observed sententiously. 

"'For instance?' he inquired. 

"Of course you know how that question affected me! How I do dislikean appetite for specific details! It is simply paralysing to a goodconversation. Do you remember that silly game in which some one pointsa stick at you and says, 'Beast, bird, or fish, --BEAST!' and you haveto name one while he counts ten? If a beast has been requested, you canthink of one fish and two birds, but no beast. If he says 'FISH, ' allthe beasts in the universe stalk through your memory, but not one finny, sealy, swimming thing! Well, that is the effect of 'For instance?' on myfaculties. So I stumbled a bit, and succeeded in recalling, as objectswhich do not improve with age, mushrooms, women, and chickens, and hewas obliged to agree with me, which nearly killed him. Then I said thatalthough America is so fresh and blooming that people persist in callingit young, it is much older than it appears to the superficial eye. Thereis no real propriety in dating us as a nation from the Declaration ofIndependence in 1776, I said, nor even from the landing of the Pilgrimsin 1620; nor, for that matter, from Columbus's discovery in 1492. It'smy opinion, I asserted, that some of us had been there thousands ofyears before, but nobody had had the sense to discover us. We couldn'tdiscover ourselves, --though if we could have foreseen how the sere andyellow nations of the earth would taunt us with youth and inexperience, we should have had to do something desperate!"

"That theory must have been very convincing to the philosophic Scotsmind, " I interjected. 

"It was; even Mr. Macdonald thought it ingenious. 'And so, ' I went on, 'we were alive and awake and beginning to make history when you Scotswere only bare-legged savages roaming over the hills and stealingcattle. It was a very bad habit of yours, that cattle-stealing, and onewhich you kept up too long. '

"'No worse a sin than your stealing land from the Indians, ' he said. 

"'Oh yes, ' I answered, 'because it was a smaller one! Yours was a vice, and ours a sin; or I mean it would have been a sin had we done it; butin reality we didn't steal land; we just TOOK it, reserving plenty forthe Indians to play about on; and for every hunting-ground we took awaywe gave them in exchange a serviceable plough, or a school, or a niceIndian agent, or something. That was land-grabbing, if you like, butit is a habit you Britishers have still, while we gave it up when wereached years of discretion. '"

"This is very illuminating, " I interrupted, now thoroughly wide awake, "but it isn't my idea of a literary discussion. "

"I am coming to that, " she responded. "It was just at this point that, goaded into secret fury by my innocent speech about cattle-stealing, hebegan to belittle American literature, the poetry especially. Of coursehe waxed eloquent about the royal line of poet-kings that had made hiscountry famous, and said the people who could claim Shakespeare hadreason to be the proudest nation on earth. 'Doubtless, ' I said. 'But doyou mean to say that Scotland has any nearer claim upon Shakespeare thanwe have? I do not now allude to the fact that in the large sense he isthe common property of the English-speaking world' (Salemina told me tosay that), 'but Shakespeare died in 1616, and the union of Scotland withEngland didn't come about till 1707, nearly a century afterwards. Youreally haven't anything to do with him! But as for us, we didn't leaveEngland until 1620, when Shakespeare had been perfectly dead four years. We took very good care not to come away too soon. Chaucer and Spenserwere dead too, and we had nothing to stay for!'"

I was obliged to relax here and give vent to a burst of merriment atFrancesca's absurdities. 

"I could see that he had never regarded the matter in that lightbefore, " she went on gaily, encouraged by my laughter, "but he bracedhimself for the conflict, and said 'I wonder that you didn't stay alittle longer while you were about it. Milton and Ben Jonson were stillalive; Bacon's Novum Organum was just coming out; and in thirty or fortyyears you could have had L'Allegro, Il Penseroso and Paradise Lost;Newton's Principia, too, in 1687. Perhaps these were all too serious andheavy for your national taste; still one sometimes likes to claim thingsone cannot fully appreciate. And then, too, if you had once begun tostay, waiting for the great things to happen and the great books tobe written, you would never have gone, for there would still have beenBrowning, Tennyson, and Swinburne to delay you. '

"'If we couldn't stay to see out your great bards, we certainly couldn'tafford to remain and welcome your minor ones, ' I answered frigidly; 'butwe wanted to be well out of the way before England united with Scotland, knowing that if we were uncomfortable as things were, it would be a gooddeal worse after the Union; and we had to come home anyway, and startour own poets. Emerson, Whittier, Longfellow, Holmes, and Lowell had tobe born. '

"'I suppose they had to be if you had set your mind on it, ' he said, 'though personally I could have spared one or two on that roll ofhonour. '

"'Very probably, ' I remarked, as thoroughly angry now as he intended Ishould be. 'We cannot expect you to appreciate all the American poets;indeed, you cannot appreciate all of your own, for the same nationdoesn't always furnish the writers and the readers. Take your preciousBrowning, for example! There are hundreds of Browning Clubs in America, and I never heard of a single one in Scotland. '

"'No, ' he retorted, 'I dare say; but there is a good deal in belongingto a people who can understand him without clubs!'"

"O Francesca!" I exclaimed, sitting bolt upright among my pillows. "Howcould you give him that chance! How COULD you! What did you say?"

"I said nothing, " she replied mysteriously. "I did something much moreto the point, --I cried!"

"CRIED?"

"Yes, cried; not rivers and freshets of woe, but small brooks andstreamlets of helpless mortification. "

"What did he do then?"

"Why do you say 'do'?"

"Oh, I mean 'say, ' of course. Don't trifle; go on. What did he saythen?"

"There are some things too dreadful to describe, " she answered, andwrapping her Italian blanket majestically about her she retired to herown apartment, shooting one enigmatical glance at me as she closed thedoor. 

That glance puzzled me for some time after she left the room. It was asexpressive and interesting a beam as ever darted from a woman's eye. The combination of elements involved in it, if an abstract thing may beconceived as existing in component parts, was something like this:--

One-half, mystery. One-eighth, triumph. One-eighth, amusement. One-sixteenth, pride. One-sixteenth, shame. One-sixteenth, desire toconfess. One-sixteenth, determination to conceal. 

And all these delicate, complex emotions played together in a circleof arching eyebrow, curving lip, and tremulous chin, --played together, mingling and melting into one another like fire and snow; bewildering, mystifying, enchanting the beholder!

If Ronald Macdonald did--I am a woman, but, for one, I can hardly blamehim!

Chapter XXII. Francesca entertains the green-eyed monster. 

 '"O has he chosen a bonny bride, An' has he clean forgotten me?" An' sighing said that gay ladye, "I would I were in my ain countrie!"'

Lord Beichan. 

It rained in torrents; Salemina was darning stockings in the inglenookat Bide-a-Wee Cottage, and I was reading her a Scotch letter whichFrancesca and I had concocted the evening before. I proposed sending thedocument to certain chosen spirits in our own country, who were pleasedto be facetious concerning our devotion to Scotland. It contained, insooth, little that was new, and still less that was true, for we wereconfined to a very small vocabulary which we were obliged to supplementnow and then by a dip into Burns and Allan Ramsay. 

Here is the letter:--

Bide-a-Wee Cottage, Pettybaw, East Neuk o' Fife. 

To my trusty fieres, Mony's the time I hae ettled to send ye a screed, but there was ayesomething that cam' i' the gait. It wisna that I couldna be fashed, foraften hae I thocht o' ye and my hairt has been wi' ye mony's the day. There's no' muckle fowk frae Ameriky hereawa; they're a' jist Fifebodies, and a lass canna get her tongue roun' their thrapple-taxin'words ava', so it's like I may een drap a' the sweetness o' my goodmither-tongue. 

'Tis a dulefu' nicht, and an awfu' blash is ragin' wi'oot. Fanny's awa'at the gowff rinnin' aboot wi' a bag o' sticks after a wee bit ba', andSally and I are hame by oor lane. Laith will the lassie be to weet herbonny shoon, but lang ere the play'll be ower she'll wat her hat aboon. A gust o' win' is skirlin' the noo, and as we luik ower the faem, thehaar is risin', weetin' the green swaird wi' misty shoo'rs. 

Yestreen was a calm simmer gloamin', sae sweet an' bonnie that when thesun was sinkin' doon ower Pettybaw Sands we daundered ower the muir. As we cam' through the scented birks, we saw a trottin' burnie wimplin''neath the white-blossomed slaes and hirplin' doon the hillside;an' while a herd-laddie lilted ower the fernie brae, a cushat cooedleesomely doon i' the dale. We pit aff oor shoon, sae blithe were we, kilted oor coats a little aboon the knee, and paidilt i' the burn, gettin' geyan weet the while. Then Sally pu'd the gowans wat wi' dew an'twined her bree wi' tasselled broom, while I had a wee crackie wi' TibbyBuchan, the flesher's dochter frae Auld Reekie. Tibby's nae giglet gawkylike the lave, ye ken, --she's a sonsie maid, as sweet as ony hinny pear, wi' her twa pawky een an' her cockernony snooded up fu' sleek. 

We were unco gleg to win hame when a' this was dune, an' after steekin'the door, to sit an' birsle oor taes at the bit blaze. Mickle thocht weo' the gentles ayont the sea, an' sair grat we for a' frien's we kentlang syne in oor ain countree. 

Late at nicht, Fanny, the bonny gypsy, cam' ben the hoose an' tirled atthe pin of oor bigly bower door, speirin' for baps and bannocks. 

"Hoots, lassie!" cried oot Sally, "th' auld carline i' the kitchen is i'her box-bed, an' weel aneuch ye ken is lang syne cuddled doon. "

"Oo ay!" said Fanny, strikin' her curly pow, "then fetch me parritch, an' dinna be lang wi' them, for I've lickit a Pettybaw lad at the gowff, an' I could eat twa guid jints o' beef gin I had them!"

"Losh girl, " said I, "gie ower makin' sic a mickle din. Ye ken verraweel ye'll get nae parritch the nicht. I'll rin and fetch ye a 'piece'to stap awee the soun'. "

"Blethers an' havers!" cried Fanny, but she blinkit bonnily the while, an' when the tea was weel maskit, she smoored her wrath an' stappit hermooth wi' a bit o' oaten cake. We aye keep that i' the hoose, for th'auld servant-body is geyan bad at the cookin', an' she's sae dour an'dowie that to speak but till her we daur hardly mint. 

In sic divairsions pass the lang simmer days in braid Scotland, but Icanna write mair the nicht, for 'tis the wee sma' hours ayont the twal'. 

Like th' auld wife's parrot, 'we dinna speak muckle, but we're deevilsto think, ' an' we're aye thinkin' aboot ye. An' noo I maun leave ye tomak' what ye can oot o' this, for I jalouse it'll pass ye to untauklethe whole hypothec. 

Fair fa' ye a'! Lang may yer lum reek, an' may prosperity attend oorclan!

Aye your gude frien', Penelope Hamilton. 

"It may be very fine, " remarked Salemina judicially, "though I cannotunderstand more than half of it. "

"That would also be true of Browning, " I replied. "Don't you love to seegreat ideas looming through a mist of words?"

"The words are misty enough in this case, " she said, "and I do wish youwould not tell the world that I paddle in the burn, or 'twine my breewi' tasselled broom. ' I'm too old to be made ridiculous. "

"Nobody will believe it, " said Francesca, appearing in the doorway. "They will know it is only Penelope's havering, " and with thisundeserved scoff, she took her mashie and went golfing--not on thelinks, on this occasion, but in our microscopic sitting-room. It istwelve feet square, and holds a tiny piano, desk, centre-table, sofa, and chairs, but the spot between the fire-place and the table isFrancesca's favourite 'putting-green. ' She wishes to become more deadlyin the matter of approaches, and thinks her tee-shots weak; so these twodeficiencies she is trying to make good by home practice in inclementweather. She turns a tumbler on its side on the floor, and 'putts' theball into it, or at it, as the case may be, from the opposite sideof the room. It is excellent discipline, and as the tumblers areinexpensive the breakage really does not matter. Whenever Miss Grievehears the shivering of glass, she murmurs, not without reason, 'It isnot for the knowing what they will be doing next. '

"Penelope, has it ever occurred to you that Elizabeth Ardmore isseriously interested in Mr. Macdonald?"

Salemina propounded this question to me with the same innocence that ababe would display in placing a lighted fuse beside a dynamite bomb. 

Francesca naturally heard the remark, --although it was addressed tome, --pricked up her ears, and missed the tumbler by several feet. 

It was a simple inquiry, but as I look back upon it from the safe groundof subsequent knowledge I perceive that it had a certain amount ofinfluence upon Francesca's history. The suggestion would have carriedno weight with me for two reasons. In the first place, Salemina isfar-sighted. If objects are located at some distance from her, she seesthem clearly; but if they are under her very nose she overlooks themaltogether, unless they are sufficiently fragrant or audible to addressother senses. This physical peculiarity she carries over into her mentalprocesses. Her impression of the Disruption movement, for example, wouldbe lively and distinct, but her perception of a contemporary lover'squarrel (particularly if it were fought at her own apron-strings) wouldbe singularly vague. If she suggested, therefore, that Elizabeth Ardmorewas interested in Mr. Beresford, who is the rightful captive of my bowand spear, I should be perfectly calm. 

My second reason for comfortable indifference is that frequently innovels, and always in plays, the heroine is instigated to violentjealousy by insinuations of this sort, usually conveyed by the villainof the piece, male or female. I have seen this happen so often in themodern drama that it has long since ceased to be convincing; but thoughFrancesca has witnessed scores of plays and read hundreds of novels, it did not apparently strike her as a theatrical or literary suggestionthat Lady Ardmore's daughter should be in love with Mr. Macdonald. Theeffect of the new point of view was most salutary, on the whole. She hadcome to think herself the only prominent figure in the Reverend Ronald'slandscape, and anything more impertinent than her tone with him (unlessit is his with her) I certainly never heard. This criticism, however, relates only to their public performances, and I have long suspectedthat their private conversations are of a kindlier character. When itoccurred to her that he might simply be sharpening his mental sword onher steel, but that his heart had at last wandered into a more genialclimate than she had ever provided for it, she softened unconsciously;the Scotsman and the American receded into a truer perspective, and theman and the woman approached each other with dangerous nearness. 

"What shall we do if Francesca and Mr. Macdonald really fall in lovewith each other?" asked Salemina, when Francesca had gone into the hallto try long drives. (There is a good deal of excitement in this, asMiss Grieve has to cross the passage on her way from the kitchen tothe china-closet, and thus often serves as a reluctant 'hazard' or'bunker. ')

"Do you mean what should we have done?" I queried. 

"Nonsense, don't be captious! It can't be too late yet. They have knowneach other only a little over two months; when would you have had meinterfere, pray?"

"It depends upon what you expect to accomplish. If you wish to stopthe marriage, interfere in a fortnight or so; if you wish to preventan engagement, speak--well, say to-morrow; if, however, you didn't wishthem to fall in love with each other, you should have kept one of themaway from Lady Baird's dinner. "

"I could have waited a trifle longer than that, " argued Salemina, "foryou remember how badly they got on at first. "

"I remember you thought so, " I responded dryly; "but I believe Mr. Macdonald has been interested in Francesca from the outset, partlybecause her beauty and vivacity attracted him, partly because he couldkeep her in order only by putting his whole mind upon her. On his side, he has succeeded in piquing her into thinking of him continually, thoughsolely, as she fancies, for the purpose of crossing swords with him. If they ever drop their weapons for an instant, and allow the din ofwarfare to subside so that they can listen to their own heart-beats, they will discover that they love each other to distraction. "

"Ye ken mair than's in the catecheesm, " remarked Salemina, yawning alittle as she put away her darning-ball. "It is pathetic to see youwaste your time painting mediocre pictures, when as a lecturer upon loveyou could instruct your thousands. "

"The thousands would never satisfy me, " I retorted, "so long as youremained uninstructed, for in your single person you would so swell thesum of human ignorance on that subject that my teaching would be forever in vain. "

"Very clever indeed! Well, what will Mr. Monroe say to me when I returnto New York without his daughter, or with his son-in-law?"

"He has never denied Francesca anything in her life; why should he drawthe line at a Scotsman? I am much more concerned about Mr. Macdonald'scongregation. "

"I am not anxious about that, " said Salemina loyally. "Francesca wouldbe the life of an Inchcaldy parish. "

"I dare say, " I observed, "but she might be the death of the pastor. "

"I am ashamed of you, Penelope; or I should be if you meant what yousay. She can make the people love her if she tries; when did she everfail at that? But with Mr. Macdonald's talent, to say nothing of hisfamily connections, he is sure to get a church in Edinburgh in a fewyears if he wishes. Undoubtedly, it would not be a great match in amoney sense. I suppose he has a manse and three or four hundred pounds ayear. "

"That sum would do nicely for cabs. "

"Penelope, you are flippant!"

"I don't mean it, dear; it's only for fun; and it would be so absurdif we should leave Francesca over here as the presiding genius of anInchcaldy parsonage--I mean a manse!"

"It isn't as if she were penniless, " continued Salemina; "she hasfortune enough to assure her own independence, and not enough tothreaten his--the ideal amount. I hardly think the good Lord's firstintention was to make her a minister's wife, but He knows very well thatLove is a master architect. Francesca is full of beautiful possibilitiesif Mr. Macdonald is the man to bring them out, and I am inclined tothink he is. "

"He has brought out impishness so far, " I objected. 

"The impishness is transitory, " she returned, "and I am speaking ofpermanent qualities. His is the stronger and more serious nature, Francesca's the sweeter and more flexible. He will be the oak-tree, andshe will be the sunshine playing in the branches. "

"Salemina, dear, " I said penitently, kissing her grey hair, "Iapologise: you are not absolutely ignorant about Love, after all, whenyou call him the master architect; and that is very lovely and very trueabout the oak-tree and the sunshine. "

Chapter XXIII. Ballad revels at Rowardennan. 

 '"Love, I maun gang to Edinbrugh, Love, I maun gang an' leave thee!" She sighed right sair, an' said nae mair But "O gin I were wi' ye!"'

Andrew Lammie. 

Jean Dalziel came to visit us a week ago, and has put new life into ourlittle circle. I suppose it was playing 'Sir Patrick Spens' that set usthinking about it, for one warm, idle day when we were all in theGlen we began a series of ballad-revels, in which each of us assumeda favourite character. The choice induced so much argument anddisagreement that Mr. Beresford was at last appointed head of the clan;and having announced himself formally as The Mackintosh, he was placedon the summit of a hastily arranged pyramidal cairn. He was given an ashwand and a rowan-tree sword; and then, according to ancient custom, hispedigree and the exploits of his ancestors were recounted, and he wasexhorted to emulate their example. Now it seems that a Highland chiefof the olden time, being as absolute in his patriarchal authority as anyprince, had a corresponding number of officers attached to his person. He had a bodyguard, who fought around him in battle, and independent ofthis he had a staff of officers who accompanied him wherever he went. These our chief proceeded to appoint as follows:--

Henchman, Ronald Macdonald; bard, Penelope Hamilton; spokesman or fool, Robin Anstruther; sword-bearer, Francesca Monroe; piper, Salemina;piper's attendant, Elizabeth Ardmore; baggage gillie, Jean Dalziel;running footman, Ralph; bridle gillie, Jamie; ford gillie, Miss Grieve. The ford gillie carries the chief across fords only, and there are nofords in the vicinity; so Mr. Beresford, not liking to leave a memberof our household out of office, thought this the best post for CalamityJane. 

With The Mackintosh on his pyramidal cairn matters went very muchbetter, and at Jamie's instigation we began to hold rehearsals forcertain festivities at Rowardennan; for as Jamie's birthday fell on theeve of the Queen's Jubilee, there was to be a gay party at the Castle. 

All this occurred days ago, and yesterday evening the ballad-revels cameoff, and Rowardennan was a scene of great pageant and splendour. LadyArdmore, dressed as the Lady of Inverleith, received the guests, and there were all manner of tableaux, and ballads in costume, andpantomimes, and a grand march by the clan, in which we appeared in ourchosen roles. 

Salemina was Lady Maisry--she whom all the lords of the north countriecame wooing. 

 'But a' that they could say to her, Her answer still was "Na. "'

And again:--

 '"O haud your tongues, young men, " she said, "And think nae mair on me!"'

Mr. Beresford was Lord Beichan, and I was Shusy Pye

 'Lord Beichan was a Christian born, And such resolved to live and dee, So he was ta'en by a savage Moor, Who treated him right cruellie. 

 The Moor he had an only daughter, The damsel's name was Shusy Pye; And ilka day as she took the air Lord Beichan's prison she pass'd by. '

Elizabeth Ardmore was Leezie Lindsay, who kilted her coats o' greensatin to the knee and was aff to the Hielands so expeditiously when herlover declared himself to be 'Lord Ronald Macdonald, a chieftain of highdegree. '

Francesca was Mary Ambree. 

 'When captaines couragious, whom death cold not daunte, Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt, They mustred their souldiers by two and by three, And the foremost in battle was Mary Ambree. 

 When the brave sergeant-major was slaine in her sight Who was her true lover, her joy and delight, Because he was slaine most treacherouslie, Then vow'd to avenge him Mary Ambree. '

Brenda Macrae from Pettybaw House was Fairly Fair; Jamie, Sir PatrickSpens; Ralph, King Alexander of Dunfermline; Mr. Anstruther, BonnieGlenlogie, 'the flower o' them a';' Mr. Macdonald and Miss Dalziel, Young Hynde Horn and the king's daughter Jean respectively. 

 '"Oh, it's Hynde Horn fair, and it's Hynde Horn free; Oh, where were you born, and in what countrie?" "In a far distant countrie I was born; But of home and friends I am quite forlorn. "

 Oh, it's seven long years he served the king, But wages from him he ne'er got a thing; Oh, it's seven long years he served, I ween, And all for love of the king's daughter Jean. '

It is not to be supposed that all this went off without any of thedifficulties and heart-burnings that are incident to things dramatic. When Elizabeth Ardmore chose to be Leezie Lindsay, she asked me to singthe ballad behind the scenes. Mr. Beresford naturally thought that Mr. Macdonald would take the opposite part in the tableau, inasmuch as thehero bears his name; but he positively declined to play Lord RonaldMacdonald, and said it was altogether too personal. 

Mr. Anstruther was rather disagreeable at the beginning, and upbraidedMiss Dalziel for offering to be the king's daughter Jean to Mr. Macdonald's Hynde Horn, when she knew very well he wanted her for LadyeJeanie in Glenlogie. (She had meantime confided to me that nothing couldinduce her to appear in Glenlogie; it was far too personal. )

Mr. Macdonald offended Francesca by sending her his cast-off gown andbegging her to be Sir Patrick Spens; and she was still more gloomy (so Iimagined) because he had not proffered his six feet of manly beauty forthe part of the captain in Mary Ambree, when the only other person totake it was Jamie's tutor. He is an Oxford man and a delightful person, but very bow-legged; added to that, by the time the rehearsals hadended she had been obliged to beg him to love some one more worthythan herself, and did not wish to appear in the same tableau with him, feeling that it was much too personal. 

When the eventful hour came, yesterday, Willie and I were the onlyactors really willing to take lovers' parts, save Jamie and Ralph, whowere but too anxious to play all the characters, whatever their age, sex, colour, or relations. But the guests knew nothing of thesetrivial disagreements, and at ten o'clock last night it would have beendifficult to match Rowardennan Castle for a scene of beauty and revelry. Everything went merrily till we came to Hynde Horn, the concludingtableau, and the most effective and elaborate one on the programme. At the very last moment, when the opening scene was nearly ready, JeanDalziel fell down a secret staircase that led from the tapestry chamberinto Lady Ardmore's boudoir, where the rest of us were dressing. It wasa short flight of steps, but as she held a candle, and was carrying hercostume, she fell awkwardly, spraining her wrist and ankle. Findingthat she was not maimed for life, Lady Ardmore turned with comical andunsympathetic haste to Francesca, so completely do amateur theatricalsdry the milk of kindness in the human breast. 

"Put on these clothes at once, " she said imperiously, knowing nothing ofthe volcanoes beneath the surface. "Hynde Horn is already on the stage, and somebody must be Jean. Take care of Miss Dalziel, girls, and ringfor more maids. Helene, come and dress Miss Monroe; put on her slipperswhile I lace her gown; run and fetch more jewels, --more still, --she cancarry off any number; not any rouge, Helene--she has too much colournow; pull the frock more off the shoulders--it's a pity to cover aninch of them; pile her hair higher--here, take my diamond tiara, child;hurry, Helene, fetch the silver cup and the cake--no, they are on thestage; take her train, Helene. Miss Hamilton, run and open the doorsahead of them, please. I won't go down for this tableau. I'll put MissDalziel right, and then I'll slip into the drawing-room, to be ready forthe guests when they come in. "

We hurried breathlessly through an interminable series of rooms andcorridors. I gave the signal to Mr. Beresford, who was nervously waitingfor it in the wings, and the curtain went up on Hynde Horn disguised asthe auld beggar man at the king's gate. Mr. Beresford was reading theballad, and we took up the tableaux at the point where Hynde Horn hascome from a far countrie to see why the diamonds in the ring given himby his own true love have grown pale and wan. He hears that the king'sdaughter Jean has been married to a knight these nine days past. 

 'But unto him a wife the bride winna be, For love of Hynde Horn, far over the sea. '

He therefore borrows the old beggar's garments and hobbles to the king'spalace, where he petitions the porter for a cup of wine and a bit ofcake to be handed him by the fair bride herself. 

 '"Good porter, I pray, for Saints Peter and Paul, And for sake of the Saviour who died for us all, For one cup of wine and one bit of bread, To an auld man with travel and hunger bestead. 

 And ask the fair bride, for the sake of Hynde Horn, To hand them to me so sadly forlorn. " Then the porter for pity the message convey'd, And told the fair bride all the beggar man said. '

The curtain went up again. The porter, moved to pity, has gone to givethe message to his lady. Hynde Horn is watching the staircase at therear of the stage, his heart in his eyes. The tapestries that hide itare drawn, and there stands the king's daughter, who tripped down thestair--

 'And in her fair hands did lovingly bear A cup of red wine, and a farle of cake, To give the old man for loved Hynde Horn's sake. '

The hero of the ballad, who had not seen his true love for seven longyears, could not have been more amazed at the change in her than wasRonald Macdonald at the sight of the flushed, excited, almost tearfulking's daughter on the staircase, Lady Ardmore's diamonds flashing fromher crimson satin gown, Lady Ardmore's rubies glowing on her whitearms and throat; not Miss Dalziel, as had been arranged, but Francesca, rebellious, reluctant, embarrassed, angrily beautiful and beautifullyangry!

In the next scene Hynde Horn has drained the cup and dropped the ringinto it. 

 '"Oh, found you that ring by sea or on land, Or got you that ring off a dead man's hand?" "Oh, I found not that ring by sea or on land, But I got that ring from a fair lady's hand. 

 As a pledge of true love she gave it to me, Full seven years ago as I sail'd o'er the sea; But now that the diamonds are changed in their hue, I know that my love has to me proved untrue. "'

I never saw a prettier picture of sweet, tremulous womanhood, a moreenchanting, breathing image of fidelity, than Francesca looked as Mr. Beresford read:--

 '"Oh, I will cast off my gay costly gown, And follow thee on from town unto town; And I will take the gold kaims from my hair, And follow my true love for evermair. "'

Whereupon Hynde Horn lets his beggar weeds fall, and shines there theforemost and noblest of all the king's companie as he says:--

 '"You need not cast off your gay costly gown, To follow me on from town unto town; You need not take the gold kaims from your hair, For Hynde Horn has gold enough and to spare. "

 Then the bridegrooms were changed, and the lady re-wed To Hynde Horn thus come back, like one from the dead. '

There is no doubt that this tableau gained the success of the evening, and the participants in it should have modestly and gratefully receivedthe choruses of congratulation that were ready to be offered duringthe supper and dance that followed. Instead of that, what happened?Francesca drove home with Miss Dalziel before the quadrille d'honneur, and when Willie bade me good night at the gate in the loaning, he said, "I shall not be early to-morrow, dear. I am going to see Macdonald off. "

"Off!" I exclaimed. "Where is he going?"

"Only to Edinburgh and London, to stay till the last of next week. "

"But we may have left Pettybaw by that time. "

"Of course; that is probably what he has in mind. But let me tell youthis, Penelope: Macdonald is fathoms deep in love with Francesca, and ifshe trifles with him she shall know what I think of her!"

"And let me tell you this, sir: Francesca is fathoms deep in love withRonald Macdonald, little as you suspect it, and if he trifles with herhe shall know what I think of him!"

Chapter XXIV. Old songs and modern instances. 

 'He set her on a coal-black steed, Himself lap on behind her, An' he's awa' to the Hieland hills Whare her frien's they canna find her. '

Rob Roy. 

The occupants of Bide-a-Wee Cottage awoke in anything but a Jubileehumour, next day. Willie had intended to come at nine, but of coursedid not appear. Francesca took her breakfast in bed, and came listlesslyinto the sitting-room at ten o'clock, looking like a ghost. Jean's anklewas much better--the sprain proved to be not even a strain--but herwrist was painful. It was drizzling, too, and we had promised MissArdmore and Miss Macrae to aid with the last Jubilee decorations, thedistribution of medals at the church, and the children's games and teaon the links in the afternoon. 

We have determined not to desert our beloved Pettybaw for the metropolison this great day, but to celebrate it with the dear fowk o' Fife whohad grown to be a part of our lives. 

Bide-a-Wee Cottage does not occupy an imposing position in thelandscape, and the choice of art fabrics at the Pettybaw draper's issmall, but the moment it should stop raining we were intending to carryout a dazzling scheme of decoration that would proclaim our affectionaterespect for the 'little lady in black' on her Diamond Jubilee. But wouldit stop raining?--that was the question. The draper wasna certain thatso licht a shoo'r could richtly be called rain. The village weanswere yearning for the hour to arrive when they might sit on the wetgolf-course and have tea; manifestly, therefore, it could not be a badday for Scotland; but if it should grow worse, what would become of ourmammoth subscription bonfire on Pettybaw Law--the bonfire that BrendaMacrae was to light, as the lady of the manor?

There were no deputations to request the honour of Miss Macrae'sdistinguished services on this occasion; that is not the way theself-respecting villager comports himself in Fifeshire. The chairman ofthe local committee, a respectable gardener, called upon Miss Macraeat Pettybaw House, and said, "I'm sent to tell ye ye're to have thepleasure an' the honour of lichtin' the bonfire the nicht! Ay, it's agrand chance ye're havin', miss, ye'll remember it as long as ye live, I'm thinkin'!"

When I complimented this rugged soul on his decoration of the triumphalarch under which the school-children were to pass, I said, "I think ifher Majesty could see it, she would be pleased with our village to-day, James. "

"Ay, ye're richt, miss, " he replied complacently. "She'd see thatInchcawdy canna compeer wi' us; we've patronised her weel in Pettybaw!"

Truly, as Stevenson says, 'he who goes fishing among the Scots peasantrywith condescension for a bait will have an empty basket by evening. '

At eleven o'clock a boy arrived at Bide-a-Wee with aninteresting-looking package, which I promptly opened. That dear foolishlover of mine (whose foolishness is one of the most adorable thingsabout him) makes me only two visits a day, and is therefore constrainedto send me some reminder of himself in the intervening hours, orminutes--a book, a flower, or a note. Uncovering the pretty box, I founda long, slender--something--of sparkling silver. 

"What is it?" I exclaimed, holding it up. "It is too long and notwide enough for a paper-knife, although it would be famous for cuttingmagazines. Is it a baton? Where did Willie find it, and what can it be?There is something engraved on one side, something that looks like birdson a twig, --yes, three little birds; and see the lovely cairngorm setin the end! Oh, it has words cut in it: 'To Jean: From HyndeHorn'--Goodness me! I've opened Miss Dalziel's package!"

Francesca made a sudden swooping motion, and caught box, cover, andcontents in her arms. 

"It is mine! I know it is mine!" she cried. "You really ought not toclaim everything that is sent to the house, Penelope--as if nobodyhad any friends or presents but you!" and she rushed upstairs like awhirlwind. 

I examined the outside wrapper, lying on the floor, and found, to mychagrin, that it did bear Miss Monroe's name, somewhat blotted by therain; but if the box were addressed to her, why was the silver thinginscribed to Miss Dalziel? Well, Francesca would explain the mysterywithin the hour, unless she had become a changed being. 

Fifteen minutes passed. Salemina was making Jubilee sandwiches atPettybaw House, Miss Dalziel was asleep in her room, I was beingdevoured slowly by curiosity, when Francesca came down without a word, walked out of the front door, went up to the main street, and enteredthe village post-office without so much as a backward glance. She wasa changed being, then! I might as well be living in a Gaboriau novel, Ithought, and went up into my little painting and writing room to addressa programme of the Pettybaw celebration to Lady Baird, watch for theglimpse of Willie coming down the loaning, and see if I could discoverwhere Francesca went from the post-office. 

Sitting down by my desk, I could find neither my wax nor my silvercandlestick, my scissors nor my ball of twine. Plainly Francesca hadbeen on one of her borrowing tours; and she had left an additional traceof herself--if one were needed--in a book of old Scottish ballads, openat 'Hynde Horn. ' I glanced at it idly while I was waiting for her toreturn. I was not familiar with the opening verses, and these were thefirst lines that met my eye:--

 'Oh, he gave to his love a silver wand, Her sceptre of rule over fair Scotland; With three singing laverocks set thereon For to mind her of him when he was gone. 

 And his love gave to him a gay gold ring With three shining diamonds set therein; Oh, his love gave to him this gay gold ring, Of virtue and value above all thing. '

A light dawned upon me! The silver mystery, then, was intended for awand--and a very pretty way of making love to an American girl, too, tocall it a 'sceptre of rule over fair Scotland'; and the three birds werethree singing laverocks 'to mind her of him when he was gone'!

But the real Hynde Horn in the dear old ballad had a truelove who wasnot captious and capricious and cold like Francesca. His love gave him agay gold ring--

 'Of virtue and value above all thing. '

Yet stay: behind the ballad book flung heedlessly on my desk was--whatshould it be but the little morocco case, empty now, in which ourFrancesca keeps her dead mother's engagement ring--the mother who diedwhen she was a wee child. Truly a very pretty modern ballad to be sungin these unromantic, degenerate days!

Francesca came in at the door behind me, saw her secret reflected in mytell-tale face, saw the sympathetic moisture in my eyes, and, flingingherself into my willing arms, burst into tears. 

"O Pen, dear, dear Pen, I am so miserable and so happy; so afraid thathe won't come back, so frightened for fear that he will! I sent him awaybecause there were so many lions in the path, and I didn't know howto slay them. I thought of my f-father; I thought of my c-c-country. Ididn't want to live with him in Scotland, I knew that I couldn't livewithout him in America, and there I was! I didn't think I was s-suitedto a minister, and I am not; but oh! this p-particular minister is sos-suited to me!" and she threw herself on the sofa and buried her headin the cushions. 

She was so absurd even in her grief that I had hard work to keep fromsmiling. 

"Let us talk about the lions, " I said soothingly. "But when did thetrouble begin? When did he speak to you?"

"After the tableau last night; but of course there had beenother--other--times--and things. "

"Of course. Well?"

"He had told me a week before that he should go away for a while, thatit made him too wretched to stay here just now; and I suppose that waswhen he got the silver wand ready for me. It was meant for the Jean ofthe poem, you know. Of course he would not put my own name on a giftlike that. "

"You don't think he had it made for Jean Dalziel in the first place?"--Iasked this, thinking she needed some sort of tonic in her relaxedcondition. 

"You know him better than that, Penelope! I am ashamed of you! We hadread Hynde Horn together ages before Jean Dalziel came; but I imagine, when we came to acting the lines, he thought it would be better to havesome other king's daughter; that is, that it would be less personal. And I never, never would have been in the tableau, if I had dared refuseLady Ardmore, or could have explained; but I had no time to think. Andthen, naturally, he thought by me being there as the king's daughterthat--that--the lions were slain, you know; instead of which they wereroaring so that I could hardly hear the orchestra. "

"Francesca, look me in the eye! Do--you--love him?"

"Love him? I adore him!" she exclaimed in good clear decisive English, as she rose impetuously and paced up and down in front of the sofa. "Butin the first place there is the difference in nationality. "

"I have no patience with you. One would think he was a Turk, anEsquimau, or a cannibal. He is white, he speaks English, and he believesin the Christian religion. The idea of calling such a man a foreigner!"

"Oh, it didn't prevent me from loving him, " she confessed, "but Ithought at first it would be unpatriotic to marry him. "

"Did you think Columbia could not spare you even as a rare specimen tobe used for exhibition purposes?" I asked wickedly. 

"You know I am not so conceited as that! No, " she continued ingenuously, "I feared that if I accepted him it would look, over here, as if thehome-supply of husbands were of inferior quality; and then we had suchdisagreeable discussions at the beginning, I simply could not bearto leave my nice new free country, and ally myself with his aeons oftiresome history. But it came to me in the night, a week ago, thatafter all I should hate a man who didn't love his Fatherland; and inthe illumination of that new idea Ronald's character assumed a differentoutline in my mind. How could he love America when he had never seen it?How could I convince him that American women are the most charming inthe world in any better way than by letting him live under the same roofwith a good example? How could I expect him to let me love my countrybest unless I permitted him to love his best?"

"You needn't offer so many apologies for your infatuation, my dear, " Ianswered dryly. 

"I am not apologising for it!" she exclaimed impulsively. "Oh, if youcould only keep it to yourself, I should like to tell you how I trustand admire and reverence Ronald Macdonald, but of course you will repeateverything to Willie Beresford within the hour! You think he has gone onand on loving me against his better judgment. You believe he has foughtagainst it because of my unfitness, but that I, poor, weak, trivialthing, am not capable of deep feeling and that I shall never appreciatethe sacrifices he makes in choosing me! Very well, then, I tell youplainly that if I had to live in a damp manse the rest of my life, drinktea and eat scones for breakfast, and--and buy my hats of the Inchcaldymilliner, I should still glory in the possibility of being RonaldMacdonald's wife--a possibility hourly growing more uncertain, I amsorry to say!"

"And the extreme aversion with which you began, " I asked--"whathas become of that, and when did it begin to turn in the oppositedirection?"

"Aversion!" she cried, with convincing and unblushing candour. "Thataversion was a cover, clapped on to keep my self-respect warm. I abusedhim a good deal, it is true, because it was so delightful to hear youand Salemina take his part. Sometimes I trembled for fear you wouldagree with me, but you never did. The more I criticised him, the louderyou sang his praises--it was lovely! The fact is--we might as well throwlight upon the whole matter, and then never allude to it again; and ifyou tell Willie Beresford, you shall never visit my manse, nor see mepreside at my mothers' meetings, nor hear me address the infant class inthe Sunday-school--the fact is, I liked him from the beginning at LadyBaird's dinner. I liked the bow he made when he offered me his arm (Iwish it had been his hand); I liked the top of his head when it wasbowed; I liked his arm when I took it; I liked the height of hisshoulder when I stood beside it; I liked the way he put me in my chair(that showed chivalry), and unfolded his napkin (that was neat andbusiness-like), and pushed aside all his wine-glasses but one (that wastemperate); I liked the side view of his nose, the shape of his collar, the cleanness of his shave, the manliness of his tone--oh, I liked himaltogether, you must know how it is, Penelope--the goodness and strengthand simplicity that radiated from him. And when he said, within thefirst half-hour, that international alliances presented even moredifficulties to the imagination than others, I felt, to my confusion, adistinct sense of disappointment. Even while I was quarrelling with him, I said to myself, 'Poor darling, you cannot have him even if you shouldwant him, so don't look at him much!'--But I did look at him; and whatis worse, he looked at me; and what is worse yet, he curled himself sotightly round my heart that if he takes himself away, I shall be coldthe rest of my life!"

"Then you are really sure of your love this time, and you have neveradvised him to wed somebody more worthy than yourself?" I asked. 

"Not I!" she replied. "I wouldn't put such an idea into his head forworlds! He might adopt it!"

Chapter XXV. A treaty between nations. 

 'Pale and wan was she when Glenlogie gaed ben, But red rosy grew she whene'er he sat doun. 

Glenlogie. 

Just here the front door banged, and a manly step sounded on the stair. Francesca sat up straight in a big chair, and dried her eyes hastilywith her poor little wet ball of a handkerchief; for she knows thatWillie is a privileged visitor in my studio. The door opened (it wasajar) and Ronald Macdonald strode into the room. I hope I may never havethe same sense of nothingness again! To be young, pleasing, gifted, and to be regarded no more than a fly upon the wall, is death to one'sself-respect. 

He dropped on one knee beside Francesca, and took her two hands in hiswithout removing his gaze from her speaking face. She burned, but didnot flinch under the ordeal. The colour leaped into her cheeks. Loveswam in her tears, but was not drowned there; it was too strong. 

"Did you mean it?" he asked. 

She looked at him, trembling, as she said, "I meant every word, and far, far more. I meant all that a girl can say to a man when she loves him, and wants to be everything she is capable of being to him, to his work, to his people, and to his--country. "

Even this brief colloquy had been embarrassing, but I knew that worsewas still to come and could not be delayed much longer, so I left theroom hastily and with no attempt at apology--not that they minded mypresence in the least, or observed my exit, though I was obliged to leapover Mr. Macdonald's feet in passing. 

I found Mr. Beresford sitting on the stairs, in the lower hall. 

"Willie, you angel, you idol, where did you find him?" I exclaimed. 

"When I went into the post-office, an hour ago, " he replied, "I metFrancesca. She asked me for Macdonald's Edinburgh address, saying shehad something that belonged to him and wished to send it after him. I offered to address the package and see that it reached him asexpeditiously as possible. 'That is what I wish, " she said, withelaborate formality. 'This is something I have just discovered, something he needs very much, something he does not know he hasleft behind. ' I did not think it best to tell her at the moment thatMacdonald had not yet deserted Inchcaldy. "

"Willie, you have the quickest intelligence and the most exquisiteinsight of any man I ever met!"

"But the fact was that I had been to see him off, and found him detainedby the sudden illness of one of his elders. I rode over again to takehim the little parcel. Of course I don't know what it contained; by itssize and shape I should judge it might be a thimble, or a collar-button, or a sixpence; but, at all events, he must have needed the thing, forhe certainly did not let the grass grow under his feet after he receivedit! Let us go into the sitting-room until they come down, --as they willhave to, poor wretches, sooner or later; I know that I am always beingbrought down against my will. Salemina wants your advice about thenumber of her Majesty's portraits to be hung on the front of thecottage, and the number of candles to be placed in each window. "

It was a half-hour later when Mr. Macdonald came into the room, and, walking directly up to Salemina, kissed her hand respectfully. 

"Miss Salemina, " he said, with evident emotion, "I want to borrow one ofyour national jewels for my Queen's crown. "

"And what will our President say to lose a jewel from his crown?"

"Good republican rulers do not wear coronets, as a matter of principle, "he argued; "but in truth I fear I am not thinking of her Majesty--Godbless her! This gem is not entirely for state occasions. 

 '"I would wear it in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine. "'

It is the crowning of my own life rather than that of the BritishEmpire that engages my present thought. Will you intercede for me withFrancesca's father?"

"And this is the end of all your international bickering?" Saleminaasked teasingly. 

"Yes, " he answered; "we have buried the hatchet, signed articles ofagreement, made treaties of international comity. Francesca stays overhere as a kind of missionary to Scotland, so she says, or as a femininediplomat; she wishes to be on hand to enforce the Monroe Doctrineproperly, in case her government's accredited ambassadors relax in theperformance of their duty. "

"Salemina!" called a laughing voice outside the door. "I amwon'erful lifted up. You will be a prood woman the day, for I am nowEstaiblished!" and Francesca, clad in Miss Grieve's Sunday bonnet, shawl, and black cotton gloves, entered, and curtsied demurely to thefloor. She held, as corroborative detail, a life of John Knox in herhand, and anything more incongruous than her sparkling eyes and mutinousmouth under the melancholy head-gear can hardly be imagined. 

"I am now Estaiblished, " she repeated. "Div ye ken the new asseestantfrae Inchcawdy pairish? I'm the mon' (a second deep curtsy here). "I trust, leddies, that ye'll mak' the maist o' your releegiouspreevileges, an' that ye'll be constant at the kurruk. --Have you givenpapa's consent, Salemina? And isn't it dreadful that he is Scotch?"

"Isn't it dreadful that she is not?" asked Mr. Macdonald. "Yet to mymind no woman in Scotland is half as lovable as she!"

"And no man in America begins to compare with him, " Francescaconfessed sadly. "Isn't it pitiful that out of the millions of our owncountrypeople we couldn't have found somebody that would do? What doyou think now, Lord Ronald Macdonald, of these dangerous internationalalliances?"

"You never understood that speech of mine, " he replied, with promptmendacity. "When I said that international marriages presented moredifficulties to the imagination than others, I was thinking of yourmarriage and mine, and that, I knew from the first moment I saw you, would be extremely difficult to arrange!"

Chapter XXVI. 'Scotland's burning! Look out!'

 'And soon a score of fires, I ween, From height, and hill, and cliff were seen; . . . . . . . Each after each they glanced to sight, As stars arise upon the night, They gleamed on many a dusky tarn, Haunted by the lonely earn; On many a cairn's grey pyramid, Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid. '

The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

The rain continued at intervals throughout the day, but as the afternoonwore on the skies looked a trifle more hopeful. It would be 'saft, ' nodoubt, climbing the Law, but the bonfire must be lighted. Would Pettybawbe behind London? Would Pettybaw desert the Queen in her hour of need?Not though the rain were bursting the well-heads on Cawda; not thoughthe swollen mountain burns drowned us to the knee! So off we started asthe short midsummer night descended. 

We were to climb the Law, wait for the signal from Cawda's lonelyheight, and then fire Pettybaw's torch of loyalty to the little ladyin black; not a blaze flaming out war and rumours of war, as was thebeacon-fire on the old grey battlements of Edinburgh Castle in the daysof yore, but a message of peace and good-will. Pausing at a hut onthe side of the great green mountain, we looked north toward Helva, white-crested with a wreath of vapour. (You need not look on your map ofScotland for Cawda and Helva, for you will not find them any morethan you will find Pettybaw and Inchcaldy. ) One by one the tops of thedistant hills began to clear, and with the glass we could discern thebonfire cairns up-built here and there for Scotland's evening sacrificeof love and fealty. Cawda was still veiled, and Cawda was to give thesignal for all the smaller fires. Pettybaw's, I suppose, was countedas a flash in the pan, but not one of the hundred patriots climbing themountain-side would have acknowledged it; to us the good name of thekingdom of Fife and the glory of the British Empire depended on Pettybawfire. Some of us had misgivings, too, --misgivings founded upon MissGrieve's dismal prophecies. She had agreed to put nine lighted candlesin each of our cottage windows at ten o'clock, but had declined togo out of her kitchen to see a procession, hear a band, or look ata bonfire. She had had a fair sickenin' day, an amount of work toowearifu' for one person by her lane. She hoped that the bonfire wasnabuilt o' Mrs. Sinkler's coals nor Mr. Macbrose's kindlings, nor soakedwith Mr. Cameron's paraffin; and she finished with the customary, butirrelative and exasperating, allusion to the exceedingly nice familywith whom she had live in Glasgy. 

And still we toiled upward, keeping our doubts to ourselves. Jean waslimping bravely, supported by Robin Anstruther's arm. Mr. Macdonaldwas ardently helping Francesca, who can climb like a chamois, but woulddoubtless rather be assisted. Her gypsy face shone radiant out of herblack cloth hood, and Ronald's was no less luminous. I have never seentwo beings more love-daft. They comport themselves as if they hadread the manuscript of the tender passion, and were moving in exaltedsuperiority through a less favoured world, --a world waiting impatientlyfor the first number of the story to come out. 

Still we climbed, and as we approached the Grey Lady (a curious rockvery near the summit) somebody proposed three cheers for the Queen. 

How the children hurrahed, --for the infant heart is easilyinflamed, --and how their shrill Jubilee slogan pierced the mystery ofthe night, and went rolling on from glen to glen to the Firth of Forthitself! Then there was a shout from the rocketmen far out on the openmoor, --'Cawda's clear! Cawda's clear!' Back against a silver sky stoodthe signal pile, and signal rockets flashed upward, to be answered fromall the surrounding hills. 

Now to light our own fire. One of the village committee solemnly tookoff his hat and poured on oil. The great moment had come. Brenda Macraeapproached the sacred pile, and, tremulous from the effect of muchcontradictory advice, applied the torch. Silence, thou Grieve andothers, false prophets of disaster! Who now could say that Pettybawbonfire had been badly built, or that its fifteen tons of coal andtwenty cords of wood had been unphilosophically heaped together?

The flames rushed toward the sky with ruddy blaze, shining with weirdeffect against the black fir-trees and the blacker night. Three cheersmore! God save the Queen! May she reign over us, happy and glorious! Andwe cheered lustily, too, you may be sure! It was more for the womanthan the monarch; it was for the blameless life, not for the splendidmonarchy; but there was everything hearty, and nothing alien in ourtone, when we sang 'God save the Queen' with the rest of the Pettybawvillagers. 

The land darkened; the wind blew chill. Willie, Mr. Macdonald, and Mr. Anstruther brought rugs, and found a sheltered nook for us where wemight still watch the scene. There we sat, looking at the plains below, with all the village streets sparkling with light, with rockets shootinginto the air and falling to earth in golden rain, with red lightsflickering on the grey lakes, and with one beacon-fire after anothergleaming from the hilltops, till we could count more than fiftyanswering one another from the wooded crests along the shore, someof them piercing the rifts of low-lying clouds till they seemed to beburning in mid-heaven. 

Then one by one the distant fires faded, and as some of us still satthere silently, far, far away in the grey east there was a faint flushof carmine where the new dawn was kindling in secret. Underneaththat violet bank of cloud the sun was forging his beams of light. Thepole-star paled. The breath of the new morrow stole up out of the rosygrey. The wings of the morning stirred and trembled; and in the darknessand chill and mysterious awakening eyes looked into other eyes, handsought hand, and cheeks touched each other in mute caress. 

Chapter XXVII. Three magpies and a marriage. 

 'Sun, gallop down the westlin skies, Gang soon to bed, an' quickly rise; O lash your steeds, post time away, And haste about our bridal day!'

The Gentle Shepherd. 

Every noon, during this last week, as we have wended our way up theloaning to the Pettybaw inn for our luncheon, we have passed threemagpies sitting together on the topmost rail of the fence. I am notprepared to state that they were always the same magpies; I only knowthere were always three of them. We have just discovered what they wereabout, and great is the excitement in our little circle. I am to bemarried to-morrow, and married in Pettybaw, and Miss Grieve says thatin Scotland the number of magpies one sees is of infinite significance:that one means sorrow; two, mirth; three, a marriage; four, a birth, andwe now recall as corroborative detail that we saw one magpie, our first, on the afternoon of her arrival. 

Mr. Beresford has been cabled for, and must return to America at once onimportant business. He persuaded me that the Atlantic is an ower largebody of water to roll between two lovers, and I agreed with all myheart. 

A wedding was arranged, mostly by telegraph, in six hours. The ReverendRonald and the Friar are to perform the ceremony; a dear old painterfriend of mine, a London R. A. , will come to give me away; Francescawill be my maid of honour; Elizabeth Ardmore and Jean Dalziel, mybridemaidens; Robin Anstruther, the best man; while Jamie and Ralph willbe kilted pages-in-waiting, and Lady Ardmore will give the breakfast atthe Castle. 

Never was there such generosity, such hospitality, such wealth offriendship! True, I have no wedding finery; but as I am perforce aScottish bride, I can be married in the white gown with the silverthistles in which I went to Holyrood. 

Mr. Anstruther took a night train to and from London to choose thebouquets and bridal souvenirs. Lady Baird has sent the veil, and awonderful diamond thistle to pin it on, --a jewel fit for a princess!With the dear Dominie's note promising to be an usher came an antiquesilver casket filled with white heather. And as for the bride-cake, it is one of Salemina's gifts, chosen as much in a spirit of funas affection. It is surely appropriate for this American weddingtransplanted to Scottish soil, and what should it be but a model, infairy icing, of Sir Walter's beautiful monument in Princes Street! Ofcourse Francesca is full of nonsensical quips about it, and says thatthe Edinburgh jail would have been just as fine architecturally (it is, in truth, a building beautiful enough to tempt an aesthete to crime), and a much more fitting symbol for a wedding-cake, unless, indeed, sheadds, Salemina intends her gift to be a monument to my folly. 

Pettybaw kirk is trimmed with yellow broom from these dear Scottishbanks and braes; and waving their green fans and plumes up and downthe aisle where I shall walk a bride, are tall ferns and bracken fromCrummylowe Glen, where we played ballads. 

As I look back upon it, the life here has been all a ballad from firstto last. Like the elfin Tam Lin, 'The queen o' fairies she caught me In this green hill to dwell, '

and these hasty nuptials are a fittingly romantic ending to thesummer's poetry. I am in a mood, were it necessary, to be 'ta'en bythe milk-white hand, ' lifted to a pillion on a coal-black charger, and spirited 'o'er the border an' awa'' by my dear Jock o' Hazeldean. Unhappily, all is quite regular and aboveboard; no 'lord o' Langleydale' contests the prize with the bridegroom, but the marriage isat least unique and unconventional; no one can rob me of that sweetconsolation. 

So 'gallop down the westlin skies, ' dear Sun, but, prythee, gallop backto-morrow! 'Gang soon to bed, ' an you will, but rise again betimes! Giveme Queen's weather, dear Sun, and shine a benison upon my wedding-morn!

[Exit Penelope into the ballad-land of maiden dreams. ]