Transcribers note: An upper case letter A with breve is represented by [)A] and a lower case letter a with breve is represented by [)a] in this e-text. PENELOPE'S PROGRESS by KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN * * * * * BY MRS. WIGGIN. THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS CAROL. Illustrated. Square 12mo, 50 cents. THE STORY OF PATSY. Illustrated. Square 12mo, 60 cents. A SUMMER IN A CAÑON. A California Story. Illustrated. 16mo, $1. 25. TIMOTHY'S QUEST. A Story for Anybody, Young or Old, who cares to readit. 16mo, $1. 00. THE SAME. Holiday Edition. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1. 50. A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP, AND PENELOPE'S ENGLISH EXPERIENCES. Illustrated. 16mo, $1. 00. PENELOPE'S PROGRESS. In unique Scottish binding. 16mo, $1. 25. POLLY OLIVER'S PROBLEM. Illustrated. 16mo, $1. 00. THE SAME. In Riverside School Library. 60 cents, net. THE VILLAGE WATCH-TOWER. 16mo, $1. 00. MARM LISA, 16mo, $1. 00. NINE LOVE SONGS, AND A CAROL. Music by Mrs. WIGGIN. Words byHerrick, Sill, and others. Square 8vo $1. 25. BY MRS. WIGGIN AND MISS SMITH. THE STORY HOUR. A Book for the Home and Kindergarten. By Mrs. Wiggin and Nora A. Smith. Illustrated. 16mo, $1. 00. CHILDREN'S RIGHTS. By Mrs. Wiggin and Nora A. Smith. A Book ofNursery Logic. 16mo, $1. 00. THE REPUBLIC OF CHILDHOOD. By Mrs. Wiggin and Nora A. Smith. In three volumes, each, 16mo, $1. 00. I. FROEBEL'S GIFTS. II. FROEBEL'S OCCUPATIONS. III. KINDERGARTEN PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE. HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, Boston and New York. * * * * * PENELOPE'S PROGRESS Being Such Extracts fromthe Commonplace Bookof Penelope HamiltonAs Relate to HerExperiences inScotland by KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN Boston and New YorkThe Riverside Press Boston And New YorkHoughton, Mifflin and Company The Riverside Press, Cambridge 1899 Copyright, 1897 and 1898, by Houghton, Mifflin and CompanyCopyright, 1898, by Kate Douglas RiggsAll Rights Reserved Thirtieth Thousand TO G. C. R. CONTENTS PART FIRST. IN TOWN PAGE I. A Triangular Alliance 1 II. "Edina, Scotia's Darling Seat" 12 III. A Vision in Princes Street 18 IV. Susanna Crum couldna say 29 V. We emulate the Jackdaw 38 VI. Edinburgh Society, Past and Present 48 VII. Francesca meets th' Unconquer'd Scot 60 VIII. "What made th' Assembly shine?" 70 IX. Omnia Presbyteria est Divisa in Partes Tres 82 X. Mrs. M'collop as a Sermon-Taster 93 XI. Holyrood awakens 101 XII. Farewell to Edinburgh 117 XIII. The Spell of Scotland 124 PART SECOND. IN THE COUNTRY XIV. The Wee Theekit Hoosie in the Loaning 137 XV. Jane Grieve and her Grievances 147 XVI. The Path that led to Crummylowe 161 XVII. Playing Sir Patrick Spens 168 XVIII. Paris comes to Pettybaw 182 XIX. Fowk o' Fife 190 XX. A Fifeshire Tea-Party 207 XXI. International Bickering 214 XXII. Francesca entertains the Green-Eyed Monster 224 XXIII. Ballad Revels at Rowardennan 234 XXIV. Old Songs and Modern Instances 244 XXV. A Treaty between Nations 255 XXVI. "Scotland's burning! Look out!" 260 XXVII. Three Magpies and a Marriage 265 PENELOPE'S PROGRESS PART FIRST. IN TOWN I "Edina, Scotia's darling seat! All hail thy palaces and towers!" Edinburgh, April, 189-. 22, Breadalbane Terrace. We have traveled together before, Salemina, Francesca, and I, and weknow the very worst there is to know about one another. After thispoint has been reached, it is as if a triangular marriage had takenplace, and, with the honeymoon comfortably over, we slip along inthoroughly friendly fashion. I use no warmer word than "friendly"because, in the first place, the highest tides of feeling do not visitthe coast of triangular alliances; and because, in the second place, "friendly" is a word capable of putting to the blush many a morepassionate and endearing one. Every one knows of our experiences in England, for we wrote volumes ofletters concerning them, the which were widely circulated among ourfriends 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 lawyerwhom for six months she had been advising to marry somebody "moreworthy than herself" was at last about to do it. This was somewhat inthe nature of a shock, for Francesca has been in the habit, ever sinceshe was seventeen, of giving her lovers similar advice, and up to thistime no one of them has ever taken it. She therefore has had the notunnatural hope, I think, of organizing at one time or another allthese disappointed and faithful swains into a celibate brotherhood;and perhaps of driving by the interesting monastery with her husbandand calling his attention modestly to the fact that these poor monkswere filling their barren lives with deeds of piety, trying toremember their Creator with such assiduity that they might, in time, forget Her. Her chagrin was all the keener at losing this last aspirant to herhand in that she had almost persuaded herself that she was as fond ofhim as she was likely to be of anybody, and that, on the whole, shehad better marry 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 dispatched 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 sacrificewas over. Salemina says she was somewhat constrained for a week and a triflecynical for a fortnight, but that afterwards her spirits mounted onever ascending spirals to impossible heights, where they have sinceremained. It appears from all this that although she was piqued atbeing taken at her word, her heart was not in the least damaged. Itnever was one of those fragile things which have to be wrapped incotton, and preserved from the slightest blow--Francesca's heart. Itis made of excellent stout, durable material, and I often tell herwith the care she takes of it, and the moderate strain to which it issubjected, it ought to be as good as new a hundred years hence. As for me, the scene of my own love story is laid in America andEngland, and has naught 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 dangerousillness, and then her death, have kept my dear boy a willing prisonerin Cannes, his heart sadly torn betwixt his love and duty to hismother and his desire to be with me. The separation is virtually overnow, and we two, alas, have ne'er a mother or a father between us, sowe shall not wait many months before beginning to comfort each otherin good earnest. Meantime Salemina and Francesca have persuaded me to join theirforces, and Mr. Beresford will follow us to Scotland in a few shortweeks, when we shall have established ourselves in the country. We are overjoyed at being together again, we three women folk. As Isaid before, we know the worst of one another, and the future has noterrors. 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 Victoria. 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 theseequally. Salemina likes history. Francesca loves fiction. Penelope adorespoetry and 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 comfortablepot of anything, but are confronted instead with a caravan of silverjugs, china jugs, bowls of hard and soft sugar, hot milk, cold milk, hot water, and cream, while each in her secret heart wishes that theother two were less _exigeante_ in the matter of diet. 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 Hotelbehind, and drove to the station to take the Flying Scotsman, weindulged in floods of reminiscence over the joys of travel we hadtasted together in the past, and talked with lively anticipation ofthe new experiences awaiting 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 heart-rending 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, youunderstand, 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, snatching the ticketsfrom her duenna, exclaimed, "'I know that I can save the country, andI know no other man can!' as William Pitt said to the Duke ofDevonshire. I have had enough of this argument. For six months of lastyear we discussed traveling third class and continued to travel first. Get into that clean, hard-seated, ill-upholstered third-class carriageimmediately, both of you; save room enough for a mother with twobabies, a man carrying a basket of fish, and an old woman with fivepieces of hand-luggage and a dog; meanwhile I will exchange thetickets. " 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 thatunexpected turning 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 traveling third for once, and the money is saved, or atleast 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. I told him they were bought by a very inexperienced American lady(that is you, Salemina) who knew almost nothing of the distinctionsbetween first and third class, and naturally took the best, believingit to be none too good for a citizen of the greatest republic on theface of the earth. He said the tickets had been stamped on. I said soshould I be if I returned without exchanging them. He was a very denseperson, and didn't see my joke at all, but then, it is true, therewere thirteen men in line behind me, with the train starting in threeminutes, and there is nothing so debilitating to a naturally weaksense of humor as selling tickets behind a grating, so I am not reallyvexed with him. There! we are quite comfortable, pending the arrivalof the babies, the dog, and the fish, and certainly no vender ofperiodic literature will dare approach us while we keep these books inevidence. " She had Laurence Hutton's "Literary Landmarks" and "Royal Edinburgh, "by Mrs. Oliphant; I had Lord Cockburn's Memorials of his Time; andsomebody had given Salemina, at the moment of leaving London, a workon "Scotia's darling seat, " in three huge volumes. When all thisprinted matter was heaped on the top of Salemina's hold-all on theplatform, the guard had asked, "Do you belong to these books, mam?" "We may consider ourselves injured in going from London to Edinburghin a third-class carriage in eight or ten hours, but listen to this, "said Salemina, who had opened one of her large volumes at random whenthe train started. "'The Edinburgh and London Stage-Coach begins on Monday, 13th October, 1712. All that desire ... Let them repair to the _Coach and Horses_ atthe head of the Canongate every Saturday, or the _Black Swan_ inHolborn every other Monday, at both of which places they may bereceived in a coach which performs the whole journey in thirteen dayswithout any stoppage (if God permits) having eighty able horses. Eachpassenger paying £4 10s. For the whole journey, alowing each 20 lbs. Weight and all above to pay 6d. Per lb. The coach sets off at six inthe morning' (you could never have caught it, Francesca!), 'and isperformed by Henry Harrison. ' And here is a 'modern improvement, 'forty-two years later. In July, 1754, the 'Edinburgh Courant'advertises the stage-coach drawn by six horses, with a postilion onone of the leaders, as a 'new, genteel, two-end glass machine, hung onsteel springs, exceeding light and easy, to go in ten days in summerand twelve in winter. Passengers to pay as usual. Performed (if Godpermits) by your dutiful servant, Hosea Eastgate. _Care is taken ofsmall parcels according to their value. _'" "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 thebrighter. "Anne was on the throne, " she went on, with serene dignity. "What Anne?" "I know the Anne!" exclaimed Francesca excitedly. "She came from theMidnight Sun country, or up that way. She was very extravagant, andhad something to do with Jingling Geordie in 'The Fortunes of Nigel. 'It is marvelous how one's history comes back to one!" "Quite marvelous, " said Salemina dryly; "or at least the state inwhich it comes back is marvelous. I am not a stickler for dates, asyou know, but if you could only contrive to fix a few periods in yourminds, girls, just in a general way, you would not be so shamefullybefogged. Your Anne of Denmark, Francesca, was the wife of James VI. Of Scotland, who was James I. Of England, and she died a hundred yearsbefore the Anne I mean, --the last of the Stuarts, you know. My Annecame after William 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 decidewhether "b. 1665" meant born or beheaded. II The weather that greeted us on our unheralded arrival in Scotland wasof the 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 heavendid manifestlie speak what comfort was brought to this country withhir--to wit, sorrow, dolour, darkness and all impiety--for in thememorie of man never was seen a more dolorous face of the heavens thanwas at her arryvall ... The myst was so thick that skairse micht onieman espy another; and the sun was not seyn to shyne two days befoirnor two days after. " We could not see Edina's famous palaces and towers because of the_haar_, that damp, chilling, drizzling, dripping fog or mist which theeast wind summons from the sea; but we knew that they were there, shrouded in the heart of that opaque mysterious grayness, and thatbefore many hours our eyes would feast upon their beauty. Perhaps it was the weather, but I could think of nothing but poorQueen Mary! She had drifted into my imagination with the _haar_, sothat I could fancy her homesick gaze across the water as she murmured, "_Adieu, ma chère France! Je ne vous verray jamais plus!_"--couldfancy her saying as in 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"serenade of 500 rascals with vile fiddles and rebecks;" that singing, "in bad accord, " of Protestant psalms by the wet crowd beneath thepalace windows, while the fires on Arthur's Seat shot flickeringgleams of welcome through the dreary fog. What a lullaby for poorMary, half Frenchwoman 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 Brantôme's account, with its "vile fiddles" and "discordantpsalms, " although his judgment was doubtless a good deal depressed bywhat he called the _si grand brouillard_ that so dampened the spiritsof Mary's French 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 butnineteen; that, though already a widow, she did not mourn her younghusband as one who could not be comforted; and that she must soon havebeen furnished with merrier music than the psalms, for another of thesour comments of the time is, "Our Queen weareth the dule [weeds], butshe can dance daily, 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, and drew up to an invisible house with a visible number 22 gleamingover a door which gaslight transformed into a probability. Wealighted, and though we could scarcely see the driver's outstretchedhand, he was quite able to discern a half-crown, and demanded threeshillings. 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 acheery (one-and-sixpenny) fire crackled in the grate. Our privatedrawing-room was charmingly furnished, and so large that, notwithstanding the presence of a piano, two sofas, five small tables, cabinets, desks, and chairs, --not forgetting a dainty five-o'clock teaequipage, --we might have 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; thefire may be included in the rent of the apartment, and the piano maynot be taken away to-morrow to enhance the attractions of thedining-room floor. " (It was Francesca, you remember, who had"warstled" with the itemized accounts at Smith's Private Hotel inLondon, and she who was always obliged to turn pounds, shillings, andpence into dollars and cents 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 couldna 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 thepleasure she has received from Miss Hamilton's pictures. Lady Bairdwill give herself the pleasure of calling to-morrow; meantime shehopes that Miss Hamilton and her party will dine with her some eveningthis 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 itsbest clothes, polish its mental jewels, and endeavor in every possibleway not to injure the gifted Miss Hamilton's reputation among theScottish nobility. " 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 couldna 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 couldna 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, "to find 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, nota consonant omitted. I said so when first I saw her, and weeks ofintimate acquaintance only deepened my reverence for the parentalgenius that had so described her to the world. III When we awoke next morning the sun had forgotten itself and wasshining in 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 as transitory as a martyr'ssmile; but its faintest gleam, or its most puerile attempt to gleam, is admired and recorded by its well-disciplined constituency. Not onlythat, but at the first timid blink of the sun the true Scotsmanremarks smilingly, "I think now we shall be having settled weather!"It is a pathetic optimism, beautiful but quite groundless, and leadsone to believe in the story that when Father Noah refused to takeSandy into the ark, he sat down philosophically outside, saying, witha glance at the clouds, "Aweel! the day's jist aboot the ord'nar', an'I wouldna won'er if we saw 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 tothe sombre beauty of that old gray town of the North? "Gray! why, itis gray, or gray and gold, or gray and gold and blue, or gray and goldand blue and green, or gray and gold and blue and green and purple, according as the heaven pleases and you choose your ground! But takeit when it is most sombrely gray, where is another such gray 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 times 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 outfor a walk into the great unknown, perhaps the most pleasurablesensation in the world. Francesca was ready first, and, havingmentioned the fact several times ostentatiously, she went into thedrawing-room to wait and read "The Scotsman. " When we went thither afew minutes later we found that 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 ifwe would 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 couldna s--" "Certainly, of course you couldn't; but I wonder if Mrs. M'Collop sawher?" Mrs. M'Collop appeared from the basement, and vouchsafed theinformation that she had seen "the young leddy rinnin' after theregiment. " "Running after the regiment!" repeated Salemina automatically. "What areversal 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 themoff somewhere. They may be going into battle, and if so my heart'sblood is at their service. It is one of those experiences that comeonly once in a lifetime. There were pipes and there were kilts! (Ididn't suppose they ever really wore them outside of the theatre!)When you have seen the kilts swinging, Salemina, you will never be thesame woman afterwards! You never expected to see the Olympian godswalking, did you? Perhaps you thought they always sat on practicablerocks and made stiff gestures from the elbow, as they do in the Wagneroperas? Well, these gods walked, if you can call the inspired gait awalk! If there is a single spinster left in Scotland, it is becausenone of these ever asked her to marry him. Ah, how grateful I ought tobe that I am free to say 'yes, ' if a kilt ever asks me to be his! PoorPenelope, yoked to your commonplace trousered Beresford! (I wish thetram would go faster!) You must capture one of them, by fair means orfoul, Penelope, and Salemina and I will hold him down while you painthim, --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 CastleHill to the Esplanade like a long, glittering snake; the streamers oftheir Highland bonnets waving, their arms glistening in the sun, andthe bagpipes playing "The March of the Cameron Men. " The pipersthemselves were mercifully hidden from us on that first occasion, andit was well, for we could never have borne another feather's weight ofecstasy. 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 thatinterdict of the Court of Sessions in 1774, which prevented theGradgrinds of the day from erecting buildings along its south side, --asordid scheme that would have been the very superfluity ofnaughtiness. It was an envious Glasgow body who said grudgingly, as he came out ofWaverley Station, and gazed along its splendid length for the firsttime, "_Weel, wi' a' their haverin', it's but half a street, onyway!_"--which always reminded me of the Western farmer who camefrom his native plains to the beautiful Berkshire hills. "I've alwaysheard o' this scenery, " he said. "Blamed if I can find any scenery;but if there was, nobody could see it, there's so much high ground inthe way!" To think that not so much more than a hundred years ago Princes Streetwas naught 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 hills, and Calton Heights, andSalisbury Crags, and finally that stupendous bluff of rock thatculminates so majestically in Edinburgh Castle. There is somethingelse which, like Susanna Crum's name, is absolutely and ideally right!Stevenson calls it one of the most satisfactory crags in nature--aBass rock upon dry land, rooted in a garden, shaken by passing trains, carrying a crown of battlements and turrets, and describing itswarlike shadow over the liveliest and brightest thoroughfare of thenew town. It dominates the whole countryside from water and land. Themen who would have the courage to build such a castle in such a spotare all dead; all dead, and the world is infinitely more comfortablewithout them. They are all gone, and no more like unto them will everbe born, and we can most of us count upon dying safely in our beds, ofdiseases bred of modern civilization. But I am glad that those oldbarbarians, those rudimentary creatures working their way up into thedivine likeness, when they were not hanging, drawing, quartering, torturing, and chopping their neighbors, and using their heads inconventional patterns on the tops of gate-posts, did devote theirleisure intervals to rearing fortresses like this. Edinburgh Castlecould not be conceived, much less built, nowadays, when all our energyis consumed in bettering the condition of the "submerged tenth"! Whatdid they care about the "masses, " that "regal race that is now nomore, " when they were hewing those blocks of rugged rock and pilingthem against the sky-line on the top of that great stone mountain! Itamuses me to think how much more picturesque they left the world, andhow much better we shall leave it; though if an artist were requestedto distribute individual awards to different generations, you couldnever persuade him to give first prizes to the centuries that producedsteam laundries, trolleys, X rays, and sanitary plumbing. 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 toomuch for my imagination. I was mounted and off and away from the firstmoment I gazed upon its embattled towers, heard the pipers in thedistance, and saw the Black Watch swinging up the green steeps wherethe huge fortress "holds its state. " The modern world had vanished, and my steed was galloping, galloping, galloping back into theplace-of-the-things-that-are-past, traversing centuries at everyleap. "To arms! Let every banner in Scotland float defiance to the breeze!"(So I heard my newborn imaginary spirit say to my real one. ) "Yes, andlet 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 ofgreat strength! All men in arms west of Edinburgh muster there! Alleastward, at Haddington! And every Englishman caught in Scotland islawfully the prisoner of whoever takes him!" (What am I saying? I loveEnglishmen, but the spell is upon me!) "Come on, Macduff!" (The onlysuitable and familiar challenge my warlike tenant can summon at themoment. ) "I am the son of a Gael! My dagger is in my belt, and withthe guid broadsword at my side I can with one blow cut a man in twain!My bow is cut from the wood of the yews of Glenure; the shaft is fromthe wood of Lochetive, the feathers from the great golden eagles ofLochtreigside! My arrowhead was made by the smiths of the race ofMacphedran! 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 willencamp to-night? At dusk the prince will hold a council of his chiefsand nobles (I am a chief and a noble), and at daybreak we shall marchthrough the old hedgerows and woods of Duddingston, pipes playing andcolors 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 sowell, but they would end by buying dirk hat-pins and claymore broochesfor their wives, their daughters would all run after the kiltedregiment and marry as many of the pipers as asked them, and beforenight they would all be shouting with the noble Fitz-Eustace, "Where's the coward who would not dare To fight for such a land?" While I was rhapsodizing, 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, and thistle belt-buckles, and bluebell penwipers, with which weafterwards inundated our native land. When my warlike mood had passed, I sat down upon the steps of the Scott monument and watched thepassers-by in a sort of waking dream. I suppose they were the usualprofessors and doctors and ministers who are wont to walk up and downthe Edinburgh streets, with a sprinkling of lairds and leddies of highdegree and a few Americans looking at the shop windows to choose theirclan-tartans; but for me they did not exist. In their places stalkedthe ghosts of kings and queens and knights and nobles: Columba, Abbotof Iona; Queen Margaret and Malcolm--she the sweetest saint in all thethrong; King David riding towards Drumsheugh forest on Holy Rood-day, with his horns and hounds and huntsmen following close behind; Anne ofDenmark and Jingling Geordie; Mary Stuart in all her girlish beauty, with the four Maries in her train; and lurking behind, Bothwell, "thatower sune stepfaither, " and the murdered Rizzio and Darnley; JohnKnox, in his black Geneva cloak; Bonnie Prince Charlie and FloraMacdonald; lovely Annabella Drummond; Robert the Bruce; George Heriotwith a banner bearing on it the words "I distribute chearfully;" JamesI. Carrying The King's Quair; Oliver Cromwell; and a long line ofheroes, martyrs, humble saints, and princely knaves. Behind them, regardless of precedence, came the Ploughman Poet and theEttrick 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 sohumanly dear that the very street-laddies could have named and greetedthem as they passed by? IV Life at Mrs. M'Collop's apartments in 22, Breadalbane Terrace is aboutas simple, 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 asMiss Diggity. We afterwards learned that this is spelled Dalgety, butit is not considered good form, in Scotland, to pronounce the names ofpersons and places as they are written. When, therefore, I allude tothe cook, which will be as seldom as possible, I shall speak of her asMiss Diggity-Dalgety, so that I shall be presenting her correctly bothto the eye and to the ear, and giving her at the same time ahyphenated name, a thing which is a secret object of aspiration inGreat 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. On theground floor are the Misses Hepburn-Sciennes (pronouncedHebburn-Sheens); on the floor above us are Miss Colquhoun (Cohoon) andher cousin Miss Cockburn-Sinclair (Coburn-Sinkler). As soon as theHepburn-Sciennes depart, Mrs. M'Collop expects Mrs. Menzies ofKilconquhar, of whom we shall speak as Mrs. Mingess of Kinyukkar. There is not a man in the house; even the Boots is a girl, so that 22, 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, "soyou can give us just the ordinary dishes, --no doubt you are accustomedto them: scones, baps or bannocks with marmalade, finnan-haddie orkippered herrings for breakfast; tea, --of course we never touch coffeein the morning" (here Francesca started with surprise); "porridge, andwe like them well boiled, please" (I hope she noted the pluralpronoun; Salemina did, and blanched with envy); "minced collops forluncheon, or a nice little black-faced chop; Scotch broth, peas broseor cockyleekie soup, at dinner, and haggis now and then, with a coldshape for dessert. That is about the sort of thing we are accustomedto, --just plain Scotch living. " 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 favorite 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 isour principal object in life. Miss Diggity-Dalgety's forbears 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" as an_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 of_gâteau_, as was _bel_ for _beau_. Susanna, on her part, speaks of thewardrobe in my bedroom as an "awmry. " It certainly contains noweapons, so cannot be an armory, and we conjecture that her word mustbe a corruption 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'son my way home, and saw a sign with 'Prime Black-faced Mutton' printedon it. 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-containedresidential flat' for twenty pounds a month. We are such anenthusiastic trio that a self-contained flat would be everything tous; and if it were not fully furnished, here is a firm that wishes tosell a 'composite bed' for six pounds, and a 'gent's stuffed easy' forfive. Added to these inducements there is somebody who advertises thatparties who intend 'displenishing' at the Whit Term would do well toconsult him, as he makes a specialty of second-handed furniture and'cyclealities. ' What are 'cyclealities, ' Susanna?" (She had just comein with coals. ) "I couldna 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 sheis painfully inadequate. Barring this single limitation she seems tobe a treasure-house of all good practical qualities; and being thusclad and panoplied in virtue, why should she be so timid andself-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 fearthat prompts her eternal "I couldna say, " or is it perchance Scotchcaution and prudence? Is she afraid of projecting her personality tooindecently far? Is it the influence of the "catecheesm" on her earlyyouth? Is it the indirect effect of heresy trials on her imagination?Does she remember the thumb-screw of former generations? At allevents, she will neither affirm nor deny, and I am putting her to allsorts of tests, hoping to discover finally whether she is an accident, an exaggeration, or a type. Salemina thinks that our American accent may confuse her. Of courseshe means Francesca's and mine, for she has none; although we havetempered ours so much for the sake of the natives, that we canscarcely understand each other any more. As for Susanna's own accent, she comes from the heart of Aberdeenshire, and her intonation isbeyond my power to reproduce. We naturally wish to identify all the national dishes; so, "Is thiscockle soup, Susanna?" I ask her, as she passes me the plate atdinner. "I couldna say. " "This vegetable is new to me, Susanna; is it perhaps sea-kail?" "I canna say, mam. " Then finally, in despair, as she handed me a boiled potato one day, Ifixed 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, "Icouldna say, mam. " This was too much! Her mother may have been frightened, very badlyfrightened, but this was more than 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. Iam 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 anapparent 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 andnational liberty? She subjected the potato to a second carefulscrutiny, and answered, "I wouldna 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 defense 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 wasso shattered by the bulk and force of this outgo, so fearful that insome way she had imperiled her life or reputation, so anxiousconcerning the effect that her unwilling testimony might have uponunborn generations, that she was of no real service the rest of theday. I wish that the Lord Advocate, or some modern counterpart ofBraxfield, the hanging judge, would summon Susanna Crum as a witnessin an important case. He would need his longest plummet to sound thedepths of her consciousness. I have had no legal experience, but I can imagine the scene. "Is the prisoner your father, Susanna Crum?" "I couldna say, my lord. " "You have not understood the question, Susanna. Is the prisoner yourfather?" "I couldna 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, andclothing during your infancy and early youth. You have seen him onannual visits to your home, and watched him as he performed the usualparental functions for your younger brothers and sisters. I thereforerepeat, is the prisoner your father, Susanna Crum?" "I wouldna 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 thumb-screws. I do not wish to be understood as defending these uncomfortableappliances. They would never have been needed to elicit informationfrom me, for I should have spent my nights inventing matter to confessin the 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 thumb-screwmight not have been more necessary with some nations than withothers. V Invitations had been pouring in upon us since the delivery of ourletters of introduction, and it was now the evening of our début inEdinburgh society. Francesca had volunteered to perform the task ofleaving cards, ordering a private victoria for the purpose, andarraying herself in purple and fine linen. "Much depends upon the first impression, " she had said. "MissHamilton's 'party' may not be gifted, but it is well dressed. My hopeis that some of our future hostesses will be looking from thesecond-story front windows. If they are, I can assure them in advancethat I shall be a 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, andorder, to save time, one of the public cabs from the stand in theTerrace. "Would you mind having the lamiter, being first in line?" askedSusanna of 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 humble maidservant 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. Hewas covered, however, as Salemina had supposed, and the occurrencegave us a precious opportunity of chaffing that dungeon of learning. He was tolerably alert and vigorous, too, although he certainly didnot impart elegance to a vehicle, and he knew every street in thecourt end of Edinburgh, and every close and wynd in the Old Town. Onthis our first meeting with him, he faltered only when Francesca askedhim last of all to drive to "Kildonan House, Helmsdale;" supposing, not unnaturally, that it was as well known an address as MorningsideHouse, Tipperlinn, whence she had just come. The lamiter had neverheard of Kildonan House nor of Helmsdale, and he had driven in thestreets of Auld Reekie for thirty years. None of the drivers whom heconsulted could supply any information; Susanna Crum couldna say thatshe had ever heard of it, nor could Mrs. M'Collop nor MissDiggity-Dalgety. It was reserved for Lady Baird to explain thatHelmsdale was two hundred and eighty miles north, and that KildonanHouse was ten miles from the Helmsdale railway station, so that thepoor lamiter would have had a weary drive even had he known the way. The friends who had given us letters to Mr. And Mrs. Jameson-Inglis(Jimmyson-Ingals) must have expected us either to visit John o'Groats on the northern border, and drop in on Kildonan House _enroute_, 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, ifthey should visit America, they would enjoy tales of their ownstupidity as hugely as they did the tales of ours, but they reallywere very appreciative in this particular, and it is but justice toourselves to say 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 invitationagain, we discovered that the dinner-hour was eight o'clock, notseven-thirty. Susanna did not happen to know the exact or approximatedistance to Fotheringay Crescent, but the maiden Boots affirmed thatit was only two minutes' drive, so we sat down in front of the fire tochat. It was Lady Baird's birthday feast to which we had been bidden, and wehad done our best to honor the occasion. We had prepared a largebouquet tied with the Maclean tartan (Lady Baird is a Maclean), andhad printed in gold letters on one of the ribbons, "Another forHector, " the battle-cry of the clan. We each wore a sprig of holly, because it is the badge of the family, while I added a girdle andshoulder-knot of tartan velvet to my pale green gown, and borrowedFrancesca's emerald necklace, persuading her that she was too young towear such jewels in the old country. Francesca was miserably envious that she had not thought of tartansfirst. "You may consider yourself 'gey an' fine, ' all covered overwith Scotch plaid, but I wouldn't be so 'kenspeckle' for worlds!" shesaid, using expressions borrowed from Mrs. M'Collop; "and as fordisguising your nationality, do not flatter yourself that you looklike anything but an American. I forgot to tell you the conversation Ioverheard in the tram this morning, between a mother and daughter, whowere talking about us, I dare say. 'Have they any proper frocks for solarge a party, Bella?' asked the mother. "'I thought I explained in the beginning, mamma, that they areAmericans. ' "'Still, you know they are only traveling, --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 likehiding your diminished head! It is my belief that if an American ladytakes a half-hour journey in a tram she carries full evening dress anda diamond necklace, in case anything should happen on the way. I amnot in the least nervous about their appearance. I only hope that theywill not be too exuberant; American girls are so frightfully vivaciousand informal, I always feel as if I were being taken by the throat!'" "A picturesque, though rather vigorous expression; however, it does noharm 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 allwell bred, and that one of us is intelligent, it will be the morecredit to the 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 youradvantage--away from home!" Francesca is inflexibly, almost aggressively American, but Salemina isa citizen of the world. If the United States should be involved in awar, I am confident that Salemina would be in front with the otherGatling guns, for in that case a principle would be at stake; but inall lesser matters she is extremely unprejudiced. She prefers Germanmusic, Italian climate, French dressmakers, English tailors, Japanesemanners, and American--American something, --I have forgotten justwhat; it is either the ice-cream soda or the form of government, --Ican't remember which. "I wonder why they named it 'Fotheringay' Crescent, " mused Francesca. "Some association with Mary Stuart, of course. Poor, poor, prettylady! A free queen only six years, and think of the number of beds sheslept in, and the number of trees she planted; we have already seen, Iam afraid to say how many. When did she govern, when did she scheme, above all when did she flirt, with all this racing and chasing overthe country? Mrs. M'Collop calls Anne of Denmark a 'sad scattercash'and Mary an 'awfu' gadabout, ' and I am inclined to agree with her. Bythe way, when she was making my bed this morning, she told me that hermother claimed descent from the Stewarts of Appin, whoever they maybe. She apologized for Queen Mary's defects as if she were a distantfamily connection. If so, then the famous Stuart charm has been lostsomewhere, for Mrs. M'Collop certainly possesses no alluring curves oftemperament. " "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. How nice it would be to select one's own after one had arrived atyears of discretion, or to adopt different ones according to thecountry one chanced to be visiting! I am going to do it; it isunusual, but there must be a pioneer in every good movement. Let methink: do help me, Salemina! I am a Hamilton to begin with; I might bedescended from the logical Sir William himself, and thus become theidol of the university set!" "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 Sessions, andall sorts of fine things. He was the one King James used to call 'Tamo' the Cowgate. '" "Perfectly delightful! I don't care so much about his other titles, but 'Tam o' the Cowgate' is irresistible. I will take him. He wasmy--what was 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's, --she was a Hamilton, too, ifyou fancy 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 honorable and really show relationship, as I did withJenny and 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, anyway. It is sure to bestiff and ceremonious, and the man who takes me in will ask me thepopulation of Chicago and the amount of wheat we exported lastyear, --he always does. " "I can't see why he should, " said I. "I am sure you don't look as ifyou knew. " "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 believe inthat 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. My Redfern gown will beunappreciated, and my Worth evening frocks worse than wasted!" "There are a few thousand medical students, " I said encouragingly, "and all the young advocates, and a sprinkling of military men, --theyknow Worth frocks. " "And, " continued Salemina bitingly, "there will always be, even in anintellectual city like Edinburgh, a few men who continue to escape allthe developing influences about them, and remain commonplace, conventional manikins, devoted to dancing and flirting. Never fear, they will find you!" This sounds harsh, but nobody minds Salemina, least of all Francesca, who well knows she is the apple of that spinster's eye. But at thismoment Susanna opens the door (timorously, as if there might be apanther behind it) and announces the cab (in the same tone in whichshe would announce the beast); we pick up our draperies, and arewhirled off by the lamiter to dine with the Scottish nobility. VI It was the Princess Dashkoff who said, in the latter part of theeighteenth century, that of all the societies of men of talent she hadmet 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 theCrochallan Fencibles, those famous groups of famous men who met forrelaxation (and intoxication, I should think) at the old Isle of ManArms or in Dawney's Tavern in the Anchor Close. These groups includedsuch shining lights as Robert Fergusson the poet, and Adam Fergusonthe historian and philosopher, Gavin Wilson, Sir Henry Raeburn, DavidHume, Erskine, Lords Newton, Gillies, Monboddo, Hailes, Kames, HenryMackenzie, and the Ploughman Poet himself, who has kept alive thememory of the Crochallans in many a jovial verse like that in which hedescribes Smellie, the eccentric 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 fora time in 1789. The "Willies, " by the way, seem to be especiallyinspiring to 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 quiteas gay 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, there is doubtless joined with modern sobriety a _soupçon_ of moderndullness and discretion. To an American the great charm of Edinburgh is its leisurelyatmosphere: "not the leisure of a village arising from the deficiencyof ideas and motives, but the leisure of a city reposing grandly ontradition and history; which has done its work, and does not requireto weave its own clothing, to dig its own coals, or smelt its owniron. " We were reminded of this more than once, and it never failed todepress us properly. If one had ever lived in Pittsburg, Fall River, or Kansas City, I should think it would be almost impossible tomaintain self-respect in a place like Edinburgh, where the citizens"are released from the vulgarizing dominion of the hour. " Whenever oneof Auld Reekie's great men took this tone with me, I always felt asthough I were the germ in a half-hatched egg, and he were an aged andlordly cock gazing at me pityingly through my shell. He, luckycreature, had lived through all the struggles which I was to undergo;he, indeed, was released from "the vulgarizing dominion of the hour;"but I, poor thing, must grow and grow, and keep pecking at my shell, in order to achieve existence. Sydney Smith says in one of his letters, "Never shall I forget thehappy days passed there [in Edinburgh], amidst odious smells, barbarous sounds, bad suppers, excellent hearts, and the mostenlightened and cultivated understandings. " His only criticism of theconversation of that day (1797-1802) concerned itself with theprevalence of that form of Scotch humor which was called _wut_, andwith the disputations and dialectics. We were more fortunate thanSydney Smith, because Edinburgh has outgrown its odious smells, barbarous sounds, and bad suppers, and, wonderful to relate, has keptits excellent hearts and its enlightened and cultivatedunderstandings. As for mingled _wut_ and dialectics, where can onefind a better foundation for dinner-table conversation? The hospitable board itself presents no striking differences from ourown, 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 "savory" and"cold shape, " and the unusual grace and skill with which the hostesscarves. Even at very large dinners one occasionally sees a lady ofhigh degree severing the joints of chickens and birds most daintily, while her lord looks on in happy idleness, thinking, perhaps, howgreatly times 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 mancould be as respectable as he looks, not even an elder of the kirk, whom he resembles closely. He hands your plate as if it were acontribution-box, and in his moments of ease, when he stands behindthe "maister, " I am always expecting him to pronounce a benediction. The English butler, when he wishes to avoid the appearance oflistening to the conversation, gazes with level eye into vacancy; theScotch butler looks distinctly heavenward, as if he were brooding onthe principle of coördinate jurisdiction with mutual subordination. Itwould be impossible for me to deny the key of the wine-cellar to abeing so steeped in sanctity, but it has been done, I am told, incertain 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 announcednext morning that a circumstance had occurred which rendered itindispensable to return without delay to their seat in Selkirkshire. This was the only explanation given, but it was afterwards discoveredthat Lord Napier's valet had committed the grievous mistake of packingup a set of neck-cloths which did not correspond _in point of date_with the shirts they accompanied! The ladies of the "smart set" in Edinburgh wear French fripperies and_chiffons_, as do their sisters everywhere, 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 thatcharacterize 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 kindsof Presbyterianism 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 likea ship 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 swandoes its plumage. She would take possession of the centre of a largesofa, and at the same moment, without the slightest visible exertion, cover the whole of it with her bravery, the graceful folds seeming tolay themselves over it, like summer waves. The descent from hercarriage, too, where she sat like a nautilus in its shell, was adisplay which no one in these days could accomplish or even fancy. Themulberry-colored coach, apparently not too large for what itcontained, though she alone was in it; the handsome, jolly coachmanand his splendid hammer-cloth loaded with lace; the two respectfulliveried footmen, one on each side of the richly carpeted step, --thesewere lost sight of amidst the slow majesty with which the Lady ofInverleith came down and touched the earth. " My right-hand neighbor at Lady Baird's dinner was surprised at myquoting 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 thattime; but that detail, according to my theories, makes no realdifference. The woman who knows how and when to "read up, " who readsbecause she wants to be in sympathy with a new environment; the womanwho has wit and perspective enough to be stimulated by novelconditions and kindled by fresh influences, who is susceptible to thevibrations of other people's history, is safe to be fairly intelligentand extremely agreeable, if only she is sufficiently modest. I thinkmy neighbor found me thoroughly delightful after he discovered mypoint of view. He was an earl; and it always takes an earl a certainlength of time to understand me. I scarcely know why, for I certainlyshould not think it courteous to interpose any real barriers betweenthe nobility and that portion of the "masses" represented in my humbleperson. 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 quarreling 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 toWillie Beresford and prefer him to any earl in Britain, but one'sself-respect demands something in the way of food. I could seeSalemina at the far end of the table radiant with success, the W. S. At her side bending ever and anon to catch the (artificial) pearls ofthought that dropped from her lips. "Miss Hamilton appears simple" (Ithought I heard her say); "but in reality she is as deep as the CurrieBrig!" Now where did she get that allusion? And again, when the W. S. Asked her whither she was going when she left Edinburgh, "I hardlyknow, " she replied pensively. "I am waiting for the shade of Montroseto direct me, as the Viscount Dundee said to your Duke of Gordon. " Theentranced Scotsman little knew that she had perfected this style ofconversation by long experience with the Q. C. 's of England. Talkabout my being as deep as the Currie Brig (whatever it may be);Salemina is deeper than the Atlantic Ocean! I shall take pains toinform her Writer to the Signet, after dinner, that she eats sugar onher porridge every morning; that will show him her nationalityconclusively. 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 forbears 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 toldhim he was quite safe in making the proposition, for we had alreadyhad the fine day, and we understood that the climate had exhausteditself and retired for the season. The gentleman on my right, a distinguished Dean of the Thistle, gaveme a few moments' discomfort by telling me that the old custom of"rounds" of toasts still prevailed at Lady Baird's on formaloccasions, and that before the ladies retired every one would becalled 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 neighbor easily. "They are not quite as formal andhackneyed now as they were in the olden time, when some of thefavorite toasts were 'May the pleasure of the evening bear thereflections of the morning!' 'May the friends of our youth be thecompanions of our old age!' 'May the honest heart never feeldistress!' 'May the hand of charity 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 readhymns and recite verses of Scripture at family dinners in Edinburghand I hope I am always prepared to do that; but nobody warned me thatI should have to evolve epigrammatic sentiments on the spur of themoment. " My confusion was so evident that the good dean relented and confessedthat he was imposing upon my ignorance. He made me laugh heartily atthe story of a poor dominie at Arndilly. He was called upon in histurn, at a large party, and having nothing to aid him in an exerciseto which he was new save the example of his predecessors, lifted hisglass after much writhing and groaning and gave, "The reflection ofthe moon in the cawm bosom of the lake!" At this moment Lady Baird glanced at me, and we all rose to go intothe drawing-room; but on the way from my chair to the door, whitherthe earl escorted me, he said gallantly, "I suppose the men in yourcountry do not take champagne at dinner? I cannot fancy their cravingit when dining 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 recognized as fine; atthe same time his remark would have been more flattering if it hadbeen less sweeping. When I remember that he offered me his ancestors, asked me to drivetwo hundred and eighty miles, and likened me to champagne, I feelthat, with my heart already occupied and my hand promised, I couldhardly have accomplished more in the course of a single dinner-hour. VII Francesca's experiences were not so fortunate; indeed, I have neverseen her more out of sorts than she was during our long chat over thefire, 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 ofa chair. "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 herfavorite 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 ifone punctured 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 mustbe insufferable. " "I suppose you repeated the remark you made at luncheon, that theladies you 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 articles offood, but that after their complexions were established, so to speak, their parents often allowed them pickles and native claret to vary thediet. " "What did he say to that?" I asked. "Oh, he said, 'Quite so, quite so;' that was his invariable responseto all my witticisms. Then when I told him casually that the shopslooked very small and dark and stuffy here, and that there were not asmany tartans 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 saidit did not appear to be stirring much at present, and that everythingin Scotland seemed a little slow to an American; that he could have noidea of push or enterprise until he visited a city like Chicago. Heretorted that, happily, Edinburgh was peculiarly free from the taintof the ledger and the counting-house; that it was Weimar without aGoethe, Boston without its twang!" "Incredible!" cried Salemina, deeply wounded in her local pride. "Henever could have said 'twang' unless you had tried him beyondmeasure!" "I dare say I did; he is easily tried, " returned Francesca. "I askedhim, sarcastically, if he had ever been in Boston. 'No, ' he said, 'itis not necessary to _go_ there! And while we are discussing thesematters, ' he went on, 'how is your American dyspepsia thesedays, --have you decided 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 thatone Scotsman of his type would upset the national digestion anywhere, but I restrained myself. " "I am glad you did restrain yourself--once, " exclaimed Salemina. "Whata tactful person the Reverend Ronald must be, if you have reported himfaithfully! Why didn't you give him up, and turn to your otherneighbor?" "I did, as soon as I could with courtesy; but the man on my left wasthe type that always haunts me at dinners; if the hostess hasn't oneon her visiting-list, she imports one for the occasion. He asked me atonce of what material the Brooklyn Bridge is made. I told him I reallydidn't know. Why should I? I seldom go over it. Then he asked mewhether it was a suspension bridge or a cantilever. Of course I didn'tknow; I am not an engineer. " "You are so tactlessly, needlessly candid, " I expostulated. "Whydidn't you say boldly that the Brooklyn Bridge is a wooden cantilever, with gutta-percha braces? He didn't know, or he wouldn't have askedyou. He couldn't find out until he reached home, and you would neverhave seen him again; and if you had, and he had taunted you, you couldhave laughed vivaciously and said you were chaffing. That is mymethod, and it is the only way to preserve life in a foreign country. Even my earl, who did not thirst for information (fortunately), askedme the population of the Yellowstone Park, and I simply told him threehundred thousand, at a venture. " "That would never have satisfied my neighbor, " said Francesca. "Finding me in such a lamentable state of ignorance, he explained theprinciple of his own stupid Forth Bridge to me. When I said Iunderstood perfectly, just to get into shallower water, where wewouldn't need any bridge, the Reverend Ronald joined in theconversation, and asked me to repeat the explanation to him. NaturallyI couldn't, and he knew that I couldn't when he asked me, so thebridge man (I don't know his name, and don't care to know it) drew adiagram of the national idol on his dinner-card and gave a dull andelaborate lecture upon it. Here is the card, and now that three hourshave intervened I cannot tell which way to turn the drawing so as tomake the bridge right side up; if there is anything puzzling in theworld, it is these architectural plans and diagrams. I am going to pinit to the wall and ask the Reverend Ronald which 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 of one thing: that before I finish with him I will widen hishorizon so that he will be able to see something beside Scotland andhis little insignificant Fifeshire parish! I told him our countryparishes in America were ten times as large as his. He said he hadheard that they covered a good deal of territory, and that theministers' salaries were sometimes paid in pork and potatoes. Thatshows you the style of his retorts!" "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 gave him a diagramof Breadalbane Terrace, and a plan of the hall and staircase, on mydinner-card. He was distinctly ungrateful; in fact, he remarked thathe had been born in this very house, but would not trust himself tofind his way upstairs with my plan as a guide. He also said theAmerican vocabulary was vastly amusing, so picturesque, unstudied, andfresh. " "That was nice, surely, " I interpolated. "You know perfectly well that it was an insult. " "Francesca is very like the young man, " laughed Salemina, "who, whenever he engaged in controversy, seemed to take off his flesh andsit in his nerves. " "I'm not supersensitive, " replied Francesca, "but when one'svocabulary is called picturesque by a Britisher, one always knows heis thinking of cowboys and broncos. However, I shifted the weight intothe other scale by answering, 'Thank you. And your phraseology is justas unusual to us. ' 'Indeed?' he said with some surprise. 'I supposedour method of expression very sedate and uneventful. ' 'Not at all, ' Ireturned, 'when you say, as you did a moment ago, that you never eatpotato to your fish. ' 'But I do not, ' he urged obtusely. 'Verylikely, ' I argued, 'but the fact is not of so much importance as thepreposition. Now I eat potato _with_ my fish. ' 'You make a mistake, 'he said, and we both laughed in spite of ourselves, while he murmured, 'eating potato _with_ fish, --how extraordinary. ' Well, the bridge manmay not add perceptibly to the gayety of the nations, but he is betterthan the Reverend Ronald. I forgot to say that when I chanced to bespeaking of doughnuts, that 'unconquer'd Scot' asked me if a doughnutresembled a peanut! Can you conceive 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 Ishould not confess it to you save that I am afraid Lady Baird willcomplain of me; but I was dreadfully rude to the Reverend Ronald! Icouldn't help it; he roused my worst passions. It all began with hissaying he thought international marriages presented even moredifficulties to the imagination than the other kind. _I_ hadn't saidanything about marriages nor thought anything about marriages of anysort, but I told him _instantly_ I considered that every internationalmarriage involved two national suicides. He said that he shouldn'thave put it quite so forcibly, but that he hadn't given much thoughtto the subject. I said that _I_ had, and I thought we had gone on longenough filling the coffers of the British nobility with Americangold. " "_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 getin these hard times, and asked if we had not cherished some intentionin the States, lately, of bestowing it in greenbacks instead of gold!I threw all manners to the winds after that and told him that therewere no husbands in the world like American men, and that foreignersnever seemed to have any proper consideration for women. Now, were myremarks any 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 everhave an opportunity to make amends, which I doubt, you should devoteyourself to showing the Reverend Ronald the breadth of your ownhorizon instead of trying so hard to broaden his. As you are extremelypretty, you may possibly succeed; man is human, and I dare say in amonth you will be advising him to love somebody more worthy thanyourself. (He could easily do it!) Now don't kiss me again, for I amdispleased with you; I hate 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-mindedman who cannot see anything outside of his own country. But he isawfully good-looking, --I will say that for him; and if you don'texplain me to Lady Baird, I will write to Mr. Beresford about theearl. There was no bickering there; it was looking at you two thatmade us think of international marriages. " "It must have suggested to you that speech about filling the coffersof the British nobility, " I replied sarcastically, "inasmuch as theearl has twenty thousand pounds a year, probably, and I could barelybuy two gold hairpins to pin on the coronet. There, do go away andleave me in peace!" "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!" VIII 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 returned toKilconquhar, which she calls Kinyukkar; Miss Cockburn-Sinclair haspurchased her wedding outfit and gone back to Inverness, where shewill be greeted as Coburn-Sinkler; the Hepburn-Sciennes will beleaving to-morrow, just as we have learned to pronounce their names;and the sound of the scrubbing-brush is heard in the land. In cornerswhere all was clean and spotless before, Mrs. M'Collop is digging withthe broom, and the maiden Boots is following her with a damp cloth. The stair carpets are hanging on lines in the back garden, andSusanna, with her cap rakishly on one side, is always to be seenpolishing the stair rods. Whenever we traverse the halls we areobliged to leap over pails of suds, and Miss Diggity-Dalgety has givenus two dinners which bore a curious resemblance to washing-day repastsin 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 differentapartments. The hall table is sprinkled with letters, visiting-cards, and programmes which seem to have had the alphabet shaken out uponthem, for they bear the names of professors, doctors, reverends, andvery reverends, and fairly bristle with A. M. 's, M. A. 's, A. B. 's, D. D. 's, and LL. D. 's. The voice of family prayer is lifted up from thedining-room floor, and Paraphrases and hymns float down the stairsfrom above. Their Graces the Lord High Commissioner and theMarchioness of Heatherdale will arrive to-day at Holyrood Palace, there to reside during the sittings of the General Assembly of theChurch of Scotland, and to-morrow the Royal Standard will be hoistedat Edinburgh Castle from reveille to retreat. His Grace will hold alevee at eleven. Directly His Grace leaves the palace after the levee, the guard of honor will proceed by the Canongate to receive him on hisarrival at St. Giles' Church, and will then proceed to Assembly Hallto receive him on his arrival there. The Sixth Inniskilling Dragoonsand the First Battalion Royal Scots will be in attendance, and therewill be unicorns, carricks, pursuivants, heralds, mace-bearers, ushers, and pages, together with the Purse-bearer, and the LyonKing-of-Arms, and the national anthem, and the royal salute; for thepalace has awakened and is "mimicking its past. " "_Should the weather be wet the troops will be cloaked at thediscretion of the commanding officers. _" They print this instructionas a matter of form, and of course every man has his mackintosh ready. The only hope lies in the fact that this is a national function, and"Queen's weather" is a possibility. The one personage for whom theScottish climate will occasionally relax is Her Majesty QueenVictoria, who for sixty years has exerted a benign influence onBritish skies and at least secured sunshine on great parade days. Suchwomen 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 traveling 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 a 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 are nomore 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, andeven an ex-Moderator under our roof, and they are equally dividedbetween the Free 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 shedoesna care aboot their releegious principles. " Miss Diggity-Dalgetyis the sole representative of United Presbyterianism in the household, and she is somewhat gloomy in Assembly time. To belong to a dissentingbody, and yet to cook early and late for the purpose of fatteningone's religious rivals, is doubtless trying to the temper; and thenshe 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 tothe population of Edinburgh is believed to induce rain, --or perhaps Ishould say, 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 holdingit back, they would not be so susceptible to the depressing influencesof visiting ministers. This is Francesca's theory as stated to theReverend Ronald, who was holding an umbrella over her ungrateful headat the time; and she went on to boast of a convention she onceattended in San Francisco, where twenty-six thousand ChristianEndeavorers were unable to dim the California sunshine, though theystayed ten days. "Our first duty, both to ourselves and to the community, " I continuedto Salemina, "is to learn how there can be three distinct kinds ofproper Presbyterianism. Perhaps it would be a graceful act on our partif we should each espouse a different kind; then there would be nofeeling among our Edinburgh friends. And again, what is this 'union'of which we hear murmurs? Is it religious or political? Is it an echoof the 1707 Union you explained to us last week, or is it a new one?What is Disestablishment? What is Disruption? Are they the same thing?What is the Sustentation Fund? What was the Non-Intrusion Party? Whatwas the Dundas Despotism? What is the argument at present going onabout taking the Shorter Catechism out of the schools? What is theShorter Catechism, anyway, --or at least, what have they left out ofthe Longer Catechism to make it shorter, --and is the length of theCatechism one of the points of difference? Then when we have looked upChalmers and Candlish, we can ask the ex-Moderator and the Professorof Biblical Criticism to tea; separately, of course, lest there shouldbe ecclesiastical quarrels. " Salemina and Francesca both incline to the Established Church, I leaninstinctively toward the Free; but that does not mean that we have anyknowledge of the differences that separate them. Salemina is aconservative in all things; she loves law, order, historicassociations, old customs; and so when there is a regularlyestablished national church, --or, for that matter, a regularlyestablished anything, --she gravitates to it by the law of her being. Francesca's religious convictions, when she is away from her ownminister and native land, are inclined to be flexible. The church thatenters Edinburgh with a marquis and a marchioness representing theCrown, the church that opens its Assembly with splendid processionsand dignified pageants, the church that dispenses generous hospitalityfrom Holyrood Palace, --above all, the church that escorts its LordHigh Commissioner from place to place with bands and pipers, --that isthe church to which she pledges her constant presence and enthusiasticsupport. 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 notyet had time to study the question, but as I lack all knowledge of theother two branches of Presbyterianism, I am enabled to sayunhesitatingly that I belong to the Free Kirk. To begin with, the veryword "free" has a fascination for the citizen of a republic; and thenmy theological training was begun this morning by a gifted youngminister of Edinburgh whom we call the Friar, because the first timewe saw him in his gown and bands (the little spot of sheer whitenessbeneath the chin, that lends such added spirituality to a spiritualface) we fancied that he looked like some pale brother of the Churchin the olden time. His pallor, in a land of rosy redness and milkywhiteness; his smooth, fair hair, which in the light from thestained-glass window above the pulpit looked reddish gold; theSouthern heat of passionate conviction that colored his slow Northernspeech; the remoteness of his personality; the weariness of hisdeep-set eyes, that bespoke such fastings and vigils as he probablynever practiced, --all this led to our choice of the name. As we walked toward St. Andrew's Church and Tanfield Hall, where heinsisted on taking me to get the "proper historical background, " hetold me about the great Disruption movement. He was extremelyeloquent, --so eloquent that the image of Willie Beresford totteredcontinually on its throne, and I found not the slightest difficulty ingiving an unswerving allegiance to the principles presented by such anorator. We went first to St. Andrew's, where the General Assembly met in 1843, 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 ofcertain heritors or patrons, who might appoint any minister theywished, without consulting the congregation. Needless to say, as afree-born American citizen, and never having had a heritor in thefamily, my blood easily boiled at the recital of such tyranny. In 1834the Church had passed a law of its own, it seems, ordaining that nopresentee to a parish should be admitted, if opposed by the majorityof the male communicants. That would have been well enough could theState have been made to agree, though I should have gone further, personally, and allowed the female communicants to have some voice inthe 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 theresult. No one believed that any large number of ministers wouldrelinquish livings and stipends and cast their bread upon the watersfor what many thought a "fantastic principle. " Yet when the Moderatorleft his place, after reading a formal protest signed by one hundredand twenty ministers and seventy-two elders, he was followed first byDr. Chalmers, and then by four hundred and seventy men, who marched ina body to Tanfield Hall, where they formed themselves into the GeneralAssembly of the Free Church of Scotland. When Lord Jeffrey was told ofit an hour later, he exclaimed, "Thank God for Scotland! There is notanother country on earth where such a deed could be done!" And theFriar reminded 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, sothe 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 thatpulpit again; that he had joined the Free Protesting Church ofScotland, and, God willing, would speak the next Sabbath morning atthe manse door to as many as cared to follow him. "What affectingleave-takings there must have been!" the Friar exclaimed. "When mygrandfather left his church that May morning, only fifteen membersremained behind, and he could hear the more courageous say to thetimid ones, 'Tak' your Bible an' come awa' mon!' Was not all this asplendid testimony to the power of principle and the sacred demands ofconscience?" I said "Yea" most heartily, for the spirit of JennyGeddes stirred within me that morning, and under the spell of theFriar's kindling eye and eloquent voice I positively gloried in thevaliant achievements of the Free Church. It would always be easier fora woman to say "Yea" than "Nay" to the Friar. When he left me inBreadalbane Terrace I was at heart a member of his congregation ingood (and irregular) standing, ready to teach in his Sunday-school, sing in his choir, visit his aged and sick poor, and especially tostand between him and a too admiring feminine constituency. When I entered the drawing-room, I found that Salemina had justenjoyed an hour's conversation with the ex-Moderator of the oppositechurch wing. "Oh, my dear, " she sighed, "you have missed such a treat! You have noconception of these Scottish ministers of the Establishment, --suchculture, such courtliness of manner, such scholarship, suchspirituality, such wise benignity of opinion! I asked the doctorto explain the Disruption movement to me, and he was most interestingand lucid, and most affecting, too, when he described themisunderstandings and misconceptions that the Church suffered in thoseterrible days of 1843, when its very life-blood, as well as itsintegrity and unity, was threatened by the foes in its ownhousehold; when breaches of faith and trust occurred on all sides, and dissents and disloyalties shook it to its very foundation! Yousee, Penelope, I have never fully understood the disagreementsabout heritors and livings and state control before, but here is thewhole matter in a nut-sh--" "My dear Salemina, " I interposed, with dignity, "you will pardon me, Iam 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 piercingglance. "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, the otherfive and sixty. Even this is to my credit after all, for if one can bepersuaded so quickly and fully by a young and comparativelyinexperienced man, it shows that one must be extremely susceptible tospiritual influences or--something. IX Religion in Edinburgh is a theory, a convention, a fashion (bothhumble and aristocratic), a sensation, an intellectual conviction, anemotion, a dissipation, a sweet habit of the blood; in fact, it is, itseems to me, 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 churchon the corner; and millions, simply millions and trillions, are comingin the 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 andI only secured the last two seats in the aisle, and Francesca wasobliged to sit on the steps of the pulpit or seek a sermon elsewhere. It amused me greatly to see Francesca sitting on pulpit steps, herParis gown and smart toque in close juxtaposition to the rusty bonnetand bombazine 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, to ourentire 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 forhis first 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've 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 andhopping about from Haggai to Philemon, Habakkuk to Jude, and Micah toTitus, in their readings, and then settling on seventh Nahum, sixthZephaniah or second Calathumpians for the sermon, I do nothing butsearch the Scriptures in the Edinburgh churches, --search, search, search, until some Christian by my side or in the pew behind menotices my hapless plight, and hands me a Bible opened at the text. Last Sunday it was Obadiah first, fifteenth, 'For the day of the Lordis near upon all the heathen. ' It chanced to be a returned missionarywho was preaching on that occasion; but the Bible is full of heathen, and why need he have chosen a text from Obadiah, poor little Obadiahone page long, slipped in between Amos and Jonah, where nobody but anelder could find him?" If Francesca had not seen with wicked delightthe Reverend Ronald's expression of anxiety, she would never havespoken of second Calathumpians; but of course he has no means ofknowing how unlike herself she is when in his company. To go back to our first Sunday worship in Edinburgh. The churchofficer closed the door of the pulpit on the Reverend Ronald, and Ithought I heard the clicking of a lock; at all events, he returned atthe close of the services to liberate him and escort him back to thevestry; for the entrances and exits of this beadle, or "minister'sman, " as the church officer is called in the country districts, forman impressive part of the ceremonies. If he did lock the minister intothe pulpit, it is probably only another national custom, like theoccasional locking in of the passengers in a railway train, and may bepositively necessary in the case of such magnetic and popularpreachers as Mr. Macdonald or the Friar. I have never seen such attention, such concentration, as in thesegreat congregations of the Edinburgh churches. As nearly as I canjudge, it is intellectual rather than emotional; but it is not atribute paid to eloquence alone, it is habitual and universal, and isyielded loyally to insufferable dullness when occasion demands. When the text is announced, there is an indescribable rhythmicmovement forward, followed by a concerted rustle of Bible leaves; notthe rustle of a few Bibles in a few pious pews, but the rustle of allof them in all the pews, --and there are more Bibles in an EdinburghPresbyterian church than one ever sees anywhere else, unless it be inthe warehouses of 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 atwo-hour "wearifu' dreich" sermon, but these church-goers are not tobe caught napping. They wear, on the contrary, a keen, expectant, critical look, which must be inexpressibly encouraging to theminister, if he has anything to say. If he has not (and this is apossibility in Edinburgh, as it is everywhere else), then I am sure itis wisdom for the beadle to lock him in, lest he flee when he meetsthose 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 everyone recognizes 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 tobe, but as if they were to pass an examination on the subjectafterwards; 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; notforgetting the all-embracing one with which we are perfectly familiarin our native land, in which the preacher commends to the Fatherlycare every animate and inanimate thing not mentioned specifically inthe foregoing supplications. It was in the middle of this compendiouspetition, "the lang prayer, " that rheumatic old Scottish dames used tomake a practice of "cheengin' the fit, " as they stood devoutly throughit. "When the meenister comes to the 'ingetherin' o' the Gentiles, ' Iken weel it's time to cheenge legs, for then the prayer is jist halfdune, " said a good 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 mostfrequently. There is a certain quaint solemnity, a beautifulausterity, in the unaccompanied singing of hymns that touches meprofoundly. I am often carried very high on the waves of splendidchurch music, when the organ's thunder rolls "through vaulted aisles"and the angelic voices of a trained choir chant the aspirations of mysoul for me; but when an Edinburgh congregation stands, and theprecentor leads in that noble Paraphrase, "God of our fathers, be the God Of their succeeding race, " there is a certain ascetic fervor in it that seems to me theperfection of worship. It may be that my Puritan ancestors are mainlyresponsible for this feeling, or perhaps my recently adopted JennyGeddes is a factor in it; of course, if she were in the habit offlinging fauldstules at Deans, she was probably the friend of truthand the foe of beauty, so far as it was in her power to separatethem. There is no music during the offertory in these churches, and this, too, pleases my sense of the fitness of things. It cannot soften thewoe of the people who are disinclined to the giving away of money, andthe cheerful givers need no encouragement. For my part, I like to sit, quite undistracted by soprano solos, and listen to the refined tinkleof the sixpences and shillings, and the vulgar chink of the penniesand ha'pennies, in the contribution-boxes. Country ministers, I amtold, develop such an acute sense of hearing that they can estimatethe amount of the collection before it is counted. There is often ahuge pewter plate just within the church door, in which the offeringsare placed as the worshipers enter or leave; and one always notes thepreponderance of silver at the morning, and of copper at the eveningservices. It is perhaps needless to say that before Francesca had beenin Edinburgh a fortnight she asked Mr. Macdonald if it were true thatthe Scots continued coining the farthing for years and years, merelyto have a piece 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, than whichthere is usually no more infallible test. On our first Sunday weattended the Free Kirk in the morning, and the Established in theevening. The bonnets of the Free Kirk were so much the more elegantthat we said to one another, "This is evidently the church of society, though the adjective 'Free' should by rights attract the masses. " Onthe second Sunday we reversed the order of things, and found theEstablished bonnet much finer than the Free bonnets, which was asource of mystification to us, until we discovered that it was aquestion of morning or evening service, not of the form ofPresbyterianism. We think, on the whole, that, taking town and countrycongregations together, millinery has not flourished underPresbyterianism, --it seems to thrive better in the Romish atmosphereof France; but the Disruption, at least, has had nothing to answer forin the matter, as it appears simply to have parted the bonnets ofScotland in twain, as Moses divided the Red Sea, and left good andevil 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 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 is fromthere they march in detachments to the church of their choice. Areligion they must have, and if, when called up and questioned aboutit, they have forgotten to provide themselves, or have no preferenceas to form of worship, they are assigned to one by the person inauthority. When the regiments are assembled on the parade-ground of aSunday morning, the first command is, "Church of Scotland, right aboutface, quick march!"--the bodies of men belonging to otherdenominations standing fast until their turn comes to move. It is saidthat a new officer once gave the command, "Church of Scotland, rightabout face, quick march! Fancy releegions, stay where ye are!" Just as we were being told this story by an attendant squire, therewas a burst of scarlet and a blare of music, and down Castle Hill andthe Lawnmarket into Parliament Square marched hundreds of redcoats, the Highland pipers (otherwise the Olympian gods) swinging in front, leaving the American female heart prostrate beneath their victorioustread. The strains of music that in the distance sounded so martialand triumphant we recognized in a moment as "Abide with me, " and neverdid the fine old tune seem more majestic than when it marked a measurefor the steady tramp, tramp, tramp, of those soldierly feet. As "TheMarch of the Cameron Men, " piped from the green steeps of Castle Hill, had aroused in us thoughts of splendid victories on the battlefield, so did this simple hymn awake the spirit of the church militant; a noless stern, but more spiritual soldiership, in which "the fruit ofrighteousness is sown in peace 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'to the strains of "Abide with me;" the voice of the Reverend Ronaldringing out with manly insistence: "It is aspiration that counts, notrealization; 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 lethis kingdom come; we ask it for the King's sake, Amen. " X 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 realize that earlier Edinburgh, where, we learned from old parochial records of 1605, MargaretSinclair was cited by the Session of the Kirk for being at the Burnefor water on the Sabbath; that Janet Merling was ordered to makepublic repentance for concealing a bairn unbaptized in her house forthe space of twenty weeks and calling said bairn Janet; that PatRichardson had to crave mercy for being found in his boat in time ofafternoon service; and that Janet Walker, accused of having visitorsin her house in sermon-time, had to confess her offense and on herknees crave mercy of God _and_ the Kirk Session (which no doubt wasmuch worse) under penalty of a hundred pounds Scots. Possibly thereare people yet who would prefer to pay a hundred pounds rather thanhear 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 virtuoustragedy written, to the dismay of all Scotland, by a minister of theKirk. That the world, even the theological world, moves with tolerablerapidity when once set in motion, is evinced by the fact that on Mrs. Siddons' second engagement in Edinburgh, in the summer of 1785, vastcrowds gathered about the doors of the theatre, not at night alone, but in the day, to secure places. It became necessary to admit themfirst at three in the afternoon, and then at noon, and eventually "theGeneral Assembly of the Church then in session was compelled toarrange its meetings with reference to the appearance of the greatactress. " How one would have enjoyed hearing that Scotsman say, afterone of her most splendid flights of tragic passion, "That's no bad!"We have read of her dismay at this ludicrous parsimony of praise, buther self-respect must have been restored when the Edinburgh ladiesfainted by dozens during her impersonation of Isabella in "The FatalMarriage. " 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 ofengraved invitations of every conceivable sort, all equally unfamiliarto our American eyes. "The Purse-Bearer is commanded by the Lord High Commissioner and theMarchioness of Heatherdale to invite Miss Hamilton to a Garden Partyat the Palace of Holyrood House, on the 27th of May. _Weatherpermitting_. " "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 Scotlandis At Home in the Library of the New College on Saturday, the 22d 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 of May at DunedinHotel. " 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 thedistinctively religious side of the proceedings we sought advice fromMrs. M'Collop, while we went to Lady Baird for definite information onsecular matters. We also found an unexpected ally in the person of ourown ex-Moderator's niece, Miss Jean Dalziel (Deeyell). She has beeneducated in Paris, but she must always have been a delightfully breezyperson, quite too irrepressible to be affected by Scottish _haar_ ortheology. "Go to the Assemblies, by all means, " she said, "and be sureand get places for the heresy case. These are no longer what they oncewere, --we are getting lamentably weak and gelatinous in ourbeliefs, --but there is an unusually nice one this year; the heretic isvery young and handsome, and quite wicked, as ministers go. Don't failto be presented at the Marchioness's court at Holyrood, for it is acapital preparation for the ordeal of Her Majesty and BuckinghamPalace. 'Nothing fit to wear'? You have never seen the people who go, or you wouldn't say that! I even advise you to attend one of thebreakfasts; it can't do you any serious or permanent injury so long asyou eat something before you go. Oh no, it doesn't matter, --whicheverone you choose, you will cheerfully omit the other; for I avow as aScottish spinster, and the niece of an ex-Moderator, that to astranger and a foreigner the breakfasts are worse than Arcticexplorations. If you do not chance to be at the table of honor"-- "The gifted Miss Hamilton is always at the table of honor; 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, and flee up the Mound to whichever Assembly is the Mecca of yoursoul!" "My niece's tongue is an unruly member, " said the ex-Moderator, whowas present at this diatribe, "and the principal mistake she makes inher judgment of these clerical feasts is that she criticises them asconventional repasts, whereas they are intended to be informalmeetings together of people who wish to be better acquainted. " "Hot bacon and eggs would be no bar to friendship, " answered MissDalziel, with an affectionate _moue_. "Cold bacon and eggs is better than cold piety, " said theex-Moderator, "and it may be a good discipline for fastidious youngladies who have been 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" after wegain our own experience. She never misses hearing one sermon on aSabbath, 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 hearthe Sawbath that's bye? Dr. A? Ay, I ken him ower weel; he's beenthere for fifteen years an' mair. Ay, he's a gifted mon--_off an'on_!" with an emphasis showing clearly that, in her estimation, thetimes when he is "off" outnumber those when he is "on. "... "Ye have naheard auld Dr. B yet?" (Here she tucks in the upper sheet tidily atthe foot. ) "He's a graund strachtforrit mon, is Dr. B, forbye he'sgrowin' maist awfu' dreich in his sermons, though when he's thatwearisome a body canna heed him wi' oot takin' peppermints to thekirk, he's nane the less, at seeventy-sax, a better mon than the newasseestant. Div ye ken the new asseestant? He's a wee-bit, finger-fedmannie, ower sma' maist to wear a goon! I canna thole him, wi' hislang-nebbit words, explainin' an' expoundin' the gude Book as if ithad jist come oot! The auld doctor's nae kirk-filler, but he gies usfu' meesure, pressed doun an' rinnin' over, nae bit-pickin's like thehaverin' asseestant; it's my opeenion he's no soond, wi' hisparleyvoos an' his clish-maclavers!... Mr. C?" (Now comes the shakingand straightening and smoothing of the first blanket. ) "Ay, he's weeleneuch! I mind ance he prayed for our Free Assembly, an' then heturned roun' an' prayed for the Estaiblished, maist in the samebreath, --he's a broad, leeberal mon is Mr. C!... Mr. D? Ay, I ken himfine; he micht be waur, though he's ower fond o' the kittle pairts o'the Old Testament; but he reads his sermon from the paper, an' it's anauld sayin', 'If a meenister canna mind [remember] his ain discoorse, nae mair can the congregation be expectit to mind it. '... Mr. E? He'smy ain meenister. " (She has a pillow in her mouth now, but though sheis shaking it as a terrier would a rat, and drawing on the linen slipat the same time, she is still intelligible between the jerks. )"Susanna says his sermon is like claith made o' soond 'oo [wool] wi' agude twined thread, an' wairpit an' weftit wi' doctrine. Susanna kensher Bible weel, but she's never gaed forrit. " (To "gang forrit" is totake the communion. ) "Dr. F? I ca' him the greetin' doctor! He's ayedingin' the dust oot o' the poopit cushions, an' greetin' ower thesins o' the human race, an' eespecially of his ain congregation. He'swaur syne his last wife sickened an' slippit awa. ' 'Twas a chastenin'he'd put up wi' twice afore, but he grat nane the less. She was abonnie bit body, was the thurd Mistress F! E'nbro could 'a' betterspared 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 bolsterand laid 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!" XI 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 likecoping with the Reverend Ronald to-night!" (Lady Baird was to take usunder her wing, and her nephew was to escort us, Sir Robert being inInveraray. ) "Sally, my dear, " I said, as Francesca left the room with a bottle ofsmelling-salts somewhat ostentatiously in evidence, "methinks thedamsel doth protest too much. In other words, she devotes a good dealof time and discussion to a gentleman whom she heartily dislikes. Asshe is under your care, I will direct your attention to the followingpoints:-- "Ronald Macdonald is a Scotsman; Francesca disapproves ofinternational alliances. "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 assuperficial observation goes, so entirely unsuited to each other, arequite likely to drift into marriage unless diverted by watchfulphilanthropists. " "Nonsense!" returned Salemina brusquely. "You think because you areunder the spell of the tender passion yourself that other people arein constant 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 ifit be 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 naught?Don't you remember Charles Reade said that the Scotch are icebergs, with volcanoes underneath; thaw the Scotch ice, which is very cold, and you shall get to the Scotch fire, warmer than any sun of Italy orSpain. I think 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 forme to make you nervous. " "Some people are singularly omniscient. " "Others are singularly deficient"--And at this moment Susanna Crumcame in to announce Miss Jean Dalziel, who had come to see sights withus. 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 whichwould descend by the force of gravity if pitched from the window ordoor; so the wayfarer, especially after dusk, would be greeted withcries of "Get out o' the gait!" or "Gardy loo!" which was in theFrench "_Gardez l'eau_, " and which would have been understood in anylanguage, I fancy, after a little experience. The streets then werefilled with the debris flung from a hundred upper windows, whilecertain ground-floor tenants, such as butchers and candlemakers, contributed their full share to the fragrant heaps. As for these tooseldom used narrow turnpike stairs, imagine the dames of fashiontilting their vast hoops and silken show-petticoats up and down inthem! 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 tobring home his "darrest spous" Anne of Denmark, wrote to the Provost, "For God's sake see a' things are richt at our hame-coming; a kingwith a new-married wife doesna come hame ilka day. " Had it not been for these royal home-comings and visits ofdistinguished foreigners, now and again aided by something still moresalutary, an occasional outbreak of the plague, the easy-goingauthorities would never have issued any "cleansing edicts, " and thestill easier-going inhabitants would never have obeyed them. It wasthese dark, tortuous wynds and closes, nevertheless, that made up theCourt End of Old Edinbro'; for some one writes in 1530, "Via vaccarumin quâ habitant patricii et senatores urbis" (The nobility and chiefsenators of the city dwell in the Cowgate). And as for the Canongate, this Saxon _gaet_ or way of the Holyrood canons, it still sheltered in1753 "two dukes, sixteen earls, two dowager countesses, seven lords, seven lords of session, thirteen baronets, four commanders of theforces in Scotland, and five eminent men, "--fine game indeed for MallyLee! "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 McAllister. Rather dull they must have been, those old Scotchballs, where Goldsmith saw the ladies and gentlemen in two dismalgroups divided 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 helpresenting the fact that women were hanging washing from the Countessof Eglinton's former windows, and popping their unkempt heads out ofthe Duchess of Gordon'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" tohalt while he showed us the site of the Black Turnpike, from whosewindows Queen Mary saw the last of her kingdom's capital. "Here was the Black Turnpike, Miss Hamilton!" he cried; "and from hereMary 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 making ourbest republican bow in the Gallery of the Kings! How I wish Mr. Beresford and Francesca were with us! What do you suppose was her realreason 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 beforethe Marchioness sees them? Do you believe we shall look as well asanybody? Privately, I think we must look better than anybody; but Ialways think that on my way to a party, never after I arrive. " Mrs. M'Collop had asserted that I was "bonnie eneuch for ony court, "and I could not help wishing that "mine ain dear Somebody" might seeme in my French frock embroidered with silver thistles, and my "showerbouquet" of Scottish bluebells tied loosely together. Salemina worepinky-purple velvet; a real heather color 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 splendidstaircases, past powdered lackeys without number, and, divested of ourwraps, joined another throng on our way to the throne-room, Saleminaand I pressing those cards with our names "legibly written on them"close to our palpitating breasts. At last the moment came when, Lady Baird having preceded me, I handedmy bit of pasteboard to the usher; and hearing "Miss Hamilton" calledin stentorian accents, I went forward in my turn, and executed agraceful and elegant but not too profound curtsy, carefully arrangedto suit the semi-royal, semi-ecclesiastical occasion. I had notdivulged the fact even to Salemina, but I had worn Mrs. M'Collop'scarpet quite threadbare in front of the long mirror, and had curtsiedto myself so many times in its crystal surface that I had developed asort of fictitious reverence for my reflected image. I had only begunmy well-practiced obeisance when Her Grace the Marchioness, to mymingled surprise and embarrassment, extended a gracious hand andmurmured my name in a particularly kind voice. She is fond of LadyBaird, and perhaps chose this method of showing her friendship; or itmay be that she noticed my silver thistles and Salemina'sheather-colored velvet, --they certainly deserved special recognition;or it may be that I was too beautiful to pass over in silence, --in mystate of exaltation I was quite equal to the 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 andless distinguished, who had dined at the palace, and who were standingbehind the receiving party in a sort of sacred group. This indeed wasa ground of vantage, and one could have stood there for hours, watching all sorts and conditions of men and women bowing before theLord High Commissioner and the Marchioness, who, with herCleopatra-like beauty and scarlet gown, looked like a gorgeouscardinal-flower. Salemina and I watched the curtsying narrowly, with the view at firstof improving our own obeisances for Buckingham Palace; but truth tosay we 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, andwhom we often met at dinners; then "Miss Rowena Colquhoun;" and then, in the midst, we fancied, of an unusual stir at the entrancedoor--"Miss Francesca Van Buren Monroe. " I involuntarily touched theReverend Ronald's shoulder in my astonishment, while Salemina liftedher tortoiseshell lorgnette, and we gazed silently at our recreantcharge. After presentation, each person has fifteen or twenty feet of awfulspace to traverse in solitary and defenseless majesty; scannedmeanwhile by the maids of honor (who, if they were truly honorable, would turn their eyes another way), ladies-in-waiting, the sacredgroup in the rear, and the Purse-Bearer himself. I had supposed thatthis functionary would keep the purse in his upper bureau drawer athome, when he was not paying bills, but it seems that when onprocessional duty he carries a bag of red velvet quite a yard longover his arm, where it looks not unlike a lady's opera-cloak. It wouldhold the sum total of the moneys disbursed, even if they were reducedto 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, otherstrip 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 backgroundfor anything lovelier or more high-bred than that untitled slip of agirl from "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, and the one spot of color about her was the single American Beautyrose she carried. There is a patriotic florist in Paris who growsthese long-stemmed empresses of the rose-garden, and Mr. Beresfordsends some to me every week. Francesca had taken the flower withoutpermission, and I must say she was as worthy of it as it of her. She curtsied deeply, with no exaggerated ceremony, but with a sort ofinnocent and childlike gravity, while the satin of her gown spreaditself like a great blossom over the floor. Her head was bowed untilthe dark lashes swept her crimson cheeks; then she rose again from theheart of the shimmering lily, with the one splendid rose glowingagainst all her dazzling whiteness, and floated slowly across thedreaded space to the door of exit as if she were preceded by invisibleheralds and followed 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 anyrate, he was biting his under lip nervously and I believe he was infancy laying 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, one that 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 thingsof mind and soul conform to it; but deliver me from all forlornattempts to make my beauty of character speak through a large mouth, breathe through a fat nose, and look at my neighbor through crossedeyes!" Mr. Macdonald agreed with me, with some few ministerial reservations. He always 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 Ican comprehend. Francesca, escorted by Lord Colquhoun, appeared presently in ourgroup, but Salemina did not even attempt to scold her. One cannotscold an imperious young beauty in white satin and pearls, particularly if she is leaning nonchalantly on the arm of a peer ofthe 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 lastvestige of headache disappeared under the temptation of appearing atcourt with all the éclat of unexpectedness. She dispatched a note ofacceptance to Lord Colquhoun, summoned Mrs. M'Collop, Susanna, and themaiden Boots to her assistance, spread the trays of her Saratogatrunks about our three bedrooms, grouped all our candles on herdressing-table, and borrowed any little elegance of toilette which wechanced to have left behind. Her own store of adornments is muchgreater than ours, but we possess certain articles for which she has achildlike admiration: my white satin slippers embroidered with seedpearls, Salemina's pearl-topped comb, Salemina's Valencienneshandkerchief and diamond belt-clasp, my pearl frog with ruby eyes. Weidentified our property on her impertinent young person, and the listof her borrowings so amused the Reverend Ronald that he forgot hisinjuries. "It is really an ordeal, that presentation, no matter how strong one'ssense of humor 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 hascome unexpectedly and has no idea of what is to happen. I was agitatedat the supreme moment, because, at the entrance of the throne-room, Ihad just shaken hands reverently with a splendid person who proved tobe a footman. Of course I took him for the Commander of the Queen'sGuards, or the Keeper of the Dungeon Keys, or the Most Noble Custodianof the Royal Moats, Drawbridges, and Portcullises. When he put out hishand I had no idea it was simply to waft me onward, and so naturally Ishook it, --it's a mercy that I didn't kiss it! Then I curtsied to theRoyal Usher, and overlooked the Lord High Commissioner altogether, having no eyes for any one but the beautiful scarlet Marchioness. Ionly hope they were too busy to notice my mistakes, otherwise I shallbe banished from Court at the very moment of my presentation. --Do youstill banish nowadays?" turning the battery of her eyes upon aparticularly insignificant officer who was far too dazed to answer. "Did you see 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!" XII 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;but she disliked four of them, and I couldn't endure the other four, though I considered some of those that fell under her disapproval asquite delightful 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-by to people and places and things, andwishing the sun would not shine and thus make our task the harder. Wehave looked our last on the old gray 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, and Arthur's Seat, which you cannot see from Arthur's Seat. We havetaken a farewell walk to the Dean Bridge, to gaze wistfully eastwardand marvel for the hundredth time to find so beautiful a spot in theheart of a city. The soft flowing Water of Leith winding over pebblesbetween grassy banks and groups of splendid trees, the roof of thelittle temple to Hygeia rising picturesquely among green branches, theslopes of emerald velvet leading up to the gray stone of thehouses, --where, in all the world of cities, can one find a view toequal it in peaceful loveliness? Francesca's "bridge-man, " who, by theway, proved to be a distinguished young professor of medicine in theuniversity, says that the beautiful cities of the world should beranked thus, --Constantinople, Prague, Genoa, Edinburgh; but havingseen only one of these, and that the last, I refuse to credit anysliding scale of comparison 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 wordshad taken my fancy captive, and I am sure I could not have sung withmore vigor 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 oure 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. [Transcriber's Note: A brief musical score appears in the text here, with the lyrics:: Wi' a hun-dred pi-pers an' a', an' a', Wi' a hun-dredpi-pers an' a', an' a', We'll up an' gie them a blaw, a blaw, Wi'a hundred pi-pers 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 we werealways at the piano, hurling incendiary sentiments into theair, --sentiments set to such stirring melodies that no one couldresist them. "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 hesitated outside thedoor for sheer delight, and had to be coaxed in with the tea-things. On the heels of the tea-things came the Dominie, another dear oldfriend of six weeks' standing; and while the doctor sang "Jock o'Hazledean" with such irresistible charm that we all longed to elopewith somebody on the instant, Salemina dispensed buttered toast, marmalade sandwiches, and the fragrant cup. By this time we werethoroughly cosy, and Mr. Macdonald made himself and us very much athome by stirring the fire; whereupon Francesca embarrassed him bybegging him not to touch it unless he could do it properly, which, sheadded, seemed quite unlikely, from the way in which he handled thepoker. "What will Edinburgh do without you?" he asked, turning towards uswith flattering sadness in his tone. "Who will hear our Scotchstories, never suspecting their hoary old age? Who will ask usquestions to which we somehow always know the answers? Who will makeus study and reverence anew our own landmarks? Who will keep warm ournational and local pride by judicious enthusiasm?" "I think the national and local pride may be counted on to existwithout any artificial stimulants, " dryly observed Francesca, whosespirit is not in the least quenched by approaching departure. "Perhaps, " answered the Reverend Ronald; "but at any rate, you, MissMonroe, 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 Francescais getting 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 now 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. Andrewon his breast, a blue ribbon over his shoulder, and the famous bluevelvet bonnet and white cockade. He must have looked so brave andhandsome and hopeful at that moment, and the moment was so sadlybrief, that when the band played the plaintive air I kept hearing thewords, -- '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 playingthe requiem for his lost cause and buried hopes. " I looked towards the fire to hide the moisture that crept again intomy eyes, and my glance fell upon Francesca sitting dreamily on ahassock in front of the cheerful blaze, her chin in the hollow of herpalm, and the Reverend Ronald standing on the hearth-rug gazing ather, the poker in his hand, and his heart, I regret to say, in such anexposed position on his sleeve that even Salemina could have seen ithad she turned her eyes that 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. "It isall 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. " XIII "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;"when you care for a place you grow porous, as it were, until after atime you are precisely like blotting-paper. Now, there was Italy, forexample. After eight weeks in Venice you were completely Venetian, from your fan to the ridiculous little crepe shawl you wore because anItalian prince had told you that centuries were usually needed toteach a woman how to wear a shawl, but that you had been born with theart, and the shoulders! Anything but a watery street was repulsive toyou. Cobblestones? 'Ordinario, dúro, brútto! A gondola? Ah, bellissima! Let me float forever thus!' You bathed your spirit insunshine and color; I can hear you murmur now, 'O Venezia benedetta!non ti voglio lasciar!'" "It was just the same when she spent a month in France with theBaroness de Hautenoblesse, " continued Salemina. "When she returned toAmerica it is no flattery to say that in dress, attitude, inflection, manner, she was a thorough Parisienne. There was an elegantsuperficiality and a superficial elegance about her that I can neverforget, nor yet her extraordinary volubility in a foreignlanguage, --the fluency with which she expressed her inmost soul on alltopics without the aid of a single irregular verb, for these she wasnever able to acquire; oh, it was wonderful, but there was noaffectation about it; she had simply been a kind of blotting-paper, asMiss Monroe says, and France had written itself 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 finishedyour psychologic investigation the subject may be allowed to explainherself from the inside, so to speak. I won't deny the spell of Italy, but I think the spell that Scotland casts over one is quite adifferent thing, more spiritual, more difficult to break. Italy'scharm has something physical in it; it is born of blue sky, sunlitwaves, soft atmosphere, orange sails and yellow moons, and appealsmore to the senses. In Scotland the climate certainly has naught to dowith it, but the imagination is somehow made captive. I am notenthralled by the past of Italy or France, for instance. " "Of course you are not at the present moment, " said Francesca, "because you are enthralled by the past of Scotland, and even youcannot be the slave 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 flavor 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 ofScots, --and where, tell me where, is there a Pretender like BonniePrince Charlie? Think of the spirit in those old Scottish matrons whocould 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 braid sword, 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?"she went on; "and isn't it a curious fact, as Mr. Macdonald told me amoment ago, that though the whole country was vocal with songs for thelost cause and the fallen race, not one in favor of the victors everbecame popular?" "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 befoisted on the American girl, " retorted Francesca loftily, "unless, indeed, it is a determined attempt to find spots upon the sun for fearwe shall worship 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 backinto the topic to avert any further recrimination. "I suppose we feelit even now, and if I had been alive in 1745 I should probably havemade myself ridiculous. 'Old maiden ladies, ' I read this morning, 'were the last leal Jacobites in Edinburgh; spinsterhood in itsloneliness remained ever true to Prince Charlie and the vanisheddreams 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 McVicar in St. Cuthbert's?" asked Mr. Macdonald. "It was in 1745, after the victoryat Prestonpans, when a message was sent to the Edinburgh ministers, inthe name of 'Charles, Prince Regent, ' desiring them to open theirchurches next day as usual. McVicar preached to a large congregation, many of whom were armed Highlanders, and prayed for George II. , andalso for Charles Edward, in the following fashion: 'Bless the king!Thou knowest what king I mean. May the crown sit long upon his head!As for that young man who has come among us to seek an earthly crown, we beseech Thee to take him to Thyself and give him a crown ofglory!'" "Ah, what a pity the Bonnie Prince had not died after his meteorvictory at Falkirk!" exclaimed Jean Dalziel, when we had finishedlaughing at Mr. 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 diedwith it! By the way, doctor, we must not sit here eating goodies andsipping tea until the dinner-hour, for these ladies have doubtlessmuch to do for 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. "Shehas lived and toiled only for this moment, and the poem is in herpocket. " "Delightful!" said the doctor flatteringly. "Has she favored youalready? Have you heard it, Miss Monroe?" "Have we heard it!" ejaculated that young person. "We have heardnothing else all the morning! What you will take for local color isnothing but our mental life-blood, which she has mercilessly drawn tostain her verses. We each tried to write a Scottish poem, and as MissHamilton's was better, or perhaps I might say less bad, than ours, weencouraged her to develop and finish it. I wanted to do an imitationof 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_, _and away_ should be _fu'_, _awfu'_, _ca'_, _ba'_, _ha'_, _an'awa'_. This alone gives great charm and character to a poem; but wewere also to change all words ending in _ow_ into _aw_. This doesn'tinjure the verse, you see, as _blaw_ and _snaw_ rhyme just as well as_blow_ and _snow_, beside bringing tears to the common eye with theirpoetic associations. Similarly, if we had _daughter_ and _slaughter_, we were to write them _dochter_ and _slauchter_, substituting in allcases _doon_, _froon_, _goon_, and _toon_, for _down_, _frown_, _gown_, 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 thefirst list; it lengthened speedily: thistle, tartan, haar, haggis, kirk, claymore, parritch, broom, whin, sporran, whaup, plaid, scone, collops, whiskey, mutch, cairngorm, oatmeal, brae, kilt, brose, heather. Salemina and I were too devoted to common sense to succeed inthis weaving process, so Penelope triumphed and won the first prize, both for that and also because she brought in a saying given us byMiss Dalziel, about the social classification of all Scotland into'the gentlemen of the North, men of the South, people of the West, fowk o' Fife, and the Paisley bodies. ' We think that her success camechiefly from her writing the verses with a Scotch plaid lead-pencil. What effect the absorption of so much red, blue, and green paint willhave I cannot fancy, but she ate off--and up--all the tartan glazebefore finishing the poem; it had a wonderfully stimulating effect, but the end is not yet!" Of course there was a chorus of laughter when the young wretchexhibited my battered pencil, bought in Princes Street yesterday, itsgay Gordon tints sadly disfigured by the destroying tooth, not ofTime, but of a bard in the throes of composition. "We bestowed a consolation prize on Salemina, " continued Francesca, "because she succeeded in getting _hoots_, _losh_, _havers_, and_blathers_ into one line, but naturally she could not maintain such anideal standard. Read your verses, Pen, though there is little hopethat our friends will enjoy them as much as you do. Whenever MissHamilton writes anything of this kind, she emulates her distinguishedancestor Sir William Hamilton, who always fell off his own chair infits of laughter when he was composing verses. " With this inspiring introduction I read my lines as follows:-- AN AMERICAN LADY'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 hide 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 'Stablished, 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 fowk 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 McKinley'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'd fight! An' (whiles) I'd fight for a' that's Scotch, Save whuskey 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, "Extremelypretty; but a mutch, you know, is an article of _woman's_ apparel. " Mr. Macdonald flung himself gallantly into the breach. He is such adear fellow! So quick, so discriminating, so warm-hearted! "Don't pick flaws in Miss Hamilton's finest line! That picture of afair American, clad in a kilt and mutch, decked in heather and scones, and brandishing a claymore, will live forever in my memory. Don't clipthe wings of her imagination! You will be telling her soon that onedoesn't tie one's hair with thistles, nor couple collops withcairngorms. " Somebody sent Francesca a great bunch of yellow broom, late thatafternoon. There was no name in the box, she said, but at night shewore the odorous tips in the bosom of her black dinner-gown, andstanding erect in her dark hair like golden aigrettes. When she came into my room to say good-night, she laid the prettyfrock in one of my trunks, which was to be filled with the garments offashionable society and left behind in Edinburgh. The next moment Ichanced to look on the floor, and discovered a little card, a bentcard, with two lines written 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 next themoist 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 let a puir body Gang aboot his business. " PART SECOND. IN THE COUNTRY XIV "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 traveled many miles in railway trains, andmany in various other sorts of wheeled vehicles, while the ideal everbeckoned us onward. I was determined to find a romantic lodging, Salemina a comfortable one, and this special combination of virtues isnext to impossible, as every one knows. Linghurst was too much of atown; Bonnie Craig had no respectable inn; Whinnybrae was strugglingto be a watering-place; Broomlea had no golf course within ten miles, and we intended to go back to our native land and win silver gobletsin mixed foursomes; the "new toun o' Fairloch" (which looked centuriesold) was delightful, but we could not find apartments there; PinkieLeith was nice, but they were tearing up the "fore street" and layingdrain-pipes in it. Strathdee had been highly recommended, but itrained when we were in Strathdee, and nobody can deliberately settlein a place where it rains during the process of deliberation. No trainleft this moist and dripping hamlet for three hours, so we took acovered trap and drove onward in melancholy mood. Suddenly the cloudslifted and the rain ceased; the driver thought we should be havingsettled weather now, and put back the top of the carriage, sayingmeanwhile that it was a verra dry simmer this year, and that the cropssairly 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 whisperedto Salemina; "though, so far as I can see, the Strathdee crops are upto their knees in mud. Here is another wee village. What is thisplace, driver?" "Pettybaw, mam; a fine toun!" "Will there be apartments to let there?" "I couldna 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 ofdaylight, although it was five o'clock, and we refreshed ourselveswith a delicious cup of tea before looking for lodgings. We consultedthe greengrocer, the baker, and the flesher, about furnishedapartments, and started on our quest, not regarding the little postingestablishment as a possibility. Apartments we found to be very scarce, and in one or two places that were quite suitable the landlady refusedto do any cooking. We wandered from house to house, the sun shiningbrighter and brighter, and Pettybaw looking lovelier and lovelier; andas we were refused shelter again and again, we grew more and moreenamored, as is the manner of human kind. The blue sea sparkled, andPettybaw Sands gleamed white a mile or two in the distance, the prettystone church raised its carved spire from the green trees, the mansenext door was hidden in vines, the sheep lay close to the gray stonewalls and the young lambs nestled close beside them, while the song ofthe burn, tinkling merrily down the glade on the edge of which westood, and the cawing of the rooks in the little wood, were the onlysounds 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 inn-keeper's heart, " I answered. "Let us go back there and passthe night, trying thus the bed and breakfast, with a view to seeingwhat they are like, --though they did say in Edinburgh that nobodythinks of living 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. Inquire Within. " Inquiring within with all possible speed, we foundthe draper selling winseys, the draper's assistant tidying theribbon-box, the draper's wife sewing in one corner, and the draper'sbaby playing on the clean floor. We were impressed favorably, andentered into negotiations without 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 thisparticular is 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, andeking out a comfortable income by renting his hearthstone to thesummer visitor. 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 afireplace and a microscopic piano; a dining-room adorned withportraits of relatives who looked nervous when they met my eye, forthey knew that they would be turned face to the wall on the morrow;four bedrooms, a kitchen, and a back garden so filled with vegetablesand flowers that we exclaimed with astonishment and admiration. "But we cannot keep house in Scotland, " objected Salemina. "Think ofthe care! 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 Walter inthe hall, and the chromo of Melrose Abbey by moonlight! Look at thelintel over the front door, with a ship, moon, stars, and 1602 carvedin the 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, thather spirits 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 isa house-agent as well as a draper, and went on to tell us that when hehad a cottage he could rent in no other way he planted plenty ofcreepers in front of it. "The baker's hoose is no sae bonnie, " hesaid, "and the linen and cutlery verra scanty, but there is a yellowlaburnum growin' by the door: the leddies see that, and forget to askaboot the linen. It depends a good bit on the weather, too; it is easyto let a hoose when the sun shines upon it. " "We hardly dare undertake regular housekeeping, " I said; "do yourtenants ever take meals at the inn?" "I couldna say, mam. " (Dear, dear, the Crums are a large family!) "If we did that, we should still need a servant to keep the housetidy, " said Salemina, as we walked away. "Perhaps housemaids are to behad, 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 dispatched a telegram to Mrs. M'Collop at Breadalbane Terrace, asking her if she could send areliable general servant to us, capable of cooking simple breakfastsand caring for 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 the effect that her sister's husband's niece, Jane Grieve, could join us on the morrow if desired. The relationship was aninteresting fact, though we scarcely thought the information worth theadditional threepence we paid for it in the telegram; however, Mrs. M'Collop's comfortable assurance, together with the quality of therhubarb tart and mutton-chops, brought us to a decision. Before goingto sleep we rented the draper's house, named it Bide-a-Wee Cottage, engaged daily luncheons and dinners for three persons at the PettybawInn and Posting Establishment, telegraphed to Edinburgh for JaneGrieve, to Callender for Francesca, and dispatched a letter to Parisfor Mr. Beresford, telling him we had taken a "wee theekit hoosie" andthat the "yett was ajee" whenever he chose to come. "Possibly it would have been wiser not to 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 ofWillie Beresford's place of residence. He expects to be somewherewithin easy walking or cycling distance, --four or five miles atmost. " "He won't be desolate even if he doesn't have a thatched roof, a pansygarden, and a blossoming shrub, " said Salemina sleepily, for ourbusiness arrangements and discussions had lasted well into theevening. "What he will want is a lodging where he can have frequentsight and speech of you. How I dread him! How I resent his sharing ofyou with us! I don't know why I use the word 'sharing, ' forsooth!There is nothing half so fair and just in his majesty's greedy mind. Well, it's the way of the world; only it is odd, with the universe ofwomen to choose from, that he must needs take you. Strathdee seems themost desirable place for him, if he has a mackintosh and rubber boots. Inchcaldy is another town near here that we didn't see at all, --thatmight do; the draper's wife says that we can send fine linen to thelaundry there. " "Inchcaldy? Oh yes, I think we heard of it in Edinburgh--at least Ihave some association with the name: it has a fine golf course, Ibelieve, and very likely we ought to have looked at it, though for mypart I have no regrets. Nothing can equal Pettybaw; and I am sopleased to be a Scottish householder! Aren't we just like Bessie Belland 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 realbox-bed in the wall for little Jane Grieve! She will have red-goldhair, blue eyes, and a pink cotton gown. Think of our own cat! Thinkhow Francesca will admire the 1602 lintel! Think of our back garden, with our own 'neeps' and vegetable marrows growing in it! Think howthey will envy us at home when they learn that we have settled downinto Scottish yeowomen! '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 weedthe turnips and pluck the marrows that grow by our ain wee theekithoosie!" "Penelope, you appear slightly intoxicated! Do close the window andcome to bed. " "I am intoxicated with the caller air of Pettybaw, " I rejoined, leaning on the window-sill and looking at the stars, while I thought:"Edinburgh was beautiful; it is the most beautiful gray city in theworld; it lacked one thing only to make it perfect, and Pettybaw willhave that before 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. '" XV "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 mostfatiguing that I ever spent. Salemina and I moved every article offurniture in our wee theekit hoosie from the place where it originallystood to another and a better place: arguing, of course, over theprecise spot it should occupy, which was generally upstairs if thething were already down, or downstairs if it were already up. We hidall the more hideous ornaments of the draper's wife, and folded awayher most objectionable tidies and table-covers, replacing them withour own pretty draperies. There were only two pictures in thesitting-room, and as an artist I would not have parted with them forworlds. The first was The Life of a Fireman, which could only remindone of the explosion of a mammoth tomato, and the other was The Spiritof Poetry Calling Burns from the Plough. Burns wore whiteknee-breeches, military boots, a splendid waistcoat with lace ruffles, and carried a cocked hat. To have been so dressed he must have knownthe Spirit was intending to come. The plough-horse was a magnificentArabian, whose tail swept the freshly furrowed earth, while the Spiritof Poetry was issuing from a practicable wigwam on the left, and was alady of such ample dimensions that 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. )These ladies and gentlemen were too numerous to remove, so we obscuredthem with trailing branches; reflecting that we only breakfasted inthe room, and the morning meal is easily digested when one lives inthe open air. We arranged flowers everywhere, and bought potted plantsat a little nursery hard by. We apportioned the bedrooms, givingFrancesca the hardest bed, --as she is the youngest, and wasn't here tochoose, --me the next hardest, and Salemina the best; Francesca thelargest looking-glass and wardrobe, me the best view, and Salemina thebiggest bath. We bought housekeeping stores, distributing ourpatronage equally between the two grocers; we purchased aprons anddusters from the rival drapers, engaged bread and rolls from thebaker, milk and cream from the plumber, who keeps three cows, interviewed the flesher about chops; in fact, no young couple facinglove in a cottage ever had a busier or happier time than we; and atsundown, when Francesca arrived, we were in the pink of order, standing under our own lintel, ready to welcome her to Pettybaw. As tobeing strangers in a strange land, we had a bowing acquaintance witheverybody on the main street of the tiny village, and were on terms ofconsiderable 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 thought asperfect, 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 thering is drawn up and down over a series of nicks, making a raspingnoise. The lovers and ghaists in the old ballads always "tirled at thepin, " you remember; that is, touched it gently. Francesca brought us letters from Edinburgh, and what was my joy, inopening Willie's, to learn that he begged us to find a place inFifeshire, and as near St. Rules or Strathdee as convenient; for inthat case he could accept an invitation he had just received to visithis friend Robin Anstruther, at Rowardennan Castle. "It is not the visit at the castle I wish so much, you may be sure, "he wrote, "as the fact that Lady Ardmore will make everything pleasantfor you. You will like my friend Robin Anstruther, who is LadyArdmore's youngest brother, and who is going to her to be nursed andcoddled after a baddish accident in the hunting-field. He is verysweet-tempered, and will 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 hadin Edinburgh; but if my remembrance serves me, she always enrolls agoodly number of victims, whether she has any immediate use for themor 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 throwninto forced intimacy with a castle" (Salemina spoke of it as if it hadfangs and a lashing tail), "what shall we do in this draper's hut?" "Salemina!" I expostulated, "the 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, the young Ardmores, Robin Anstruther, and Willie Beresford callingupon us in this sitting-room! We ourselves would have to sit in thehall and talk 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 toknow any better. Besides, the gifted Miss Hamilton is an artist, andthat covers a multitude of sins against conventionality. When thecastle people 'tirl at the pin, ' I will appear as the maid, if youlike, 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, nor as if Bide-a-Wee Cottage were cheap, " I continued. "Think of therent we pay and keep your head high. Remember that the draper's wifesays there is nothing half so comfortable in Inchcaldy, although thatis twice as large a town. " "_Inchcaldy!_" ejaculated Francesca, sitting down heavily upon thesofa and 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 liberty ofchoice, and why you need have pitched upon Pettybaw, and brought mehere, 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?" Iasked. "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. For my part, I was always in such a tremor of anxiety during hisvisits lest one or both of you should descend to blows that I rememberno details of his conversation. Besides, we did not choose Pettybaw;we discovered it by chance as we were driving from Strathdee to St. Rules. How were we to know that it was near this fatal Inchcaldy? Ifyou think it best, we will hold no communication with the place, andMr. Macdonald need never know 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, though 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 ofhis being 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 shallsay, 'Dear me, is it Mr. Macdonald! What brought you to our quiethamlet?' (I shall put the responsibility on him, you know. ) 'That isthe worst of these small countries, --fowk are aye i' the gait! When wepart forever in America, we are able to stay parted, if we wish. ' Thenhe will say, 'Quite so, quite so; but I suppose even you, Miss Monroe, will allow that a minister may not move his church to please a lady. ''Certainly not, ' I shall reply, 'eespecially when it is Estaiblished!'Then he will laugh, and we shall be better friends for a few moments;and then I shall tell him my latest story about the Scotchman whoprayed, 'Lord, I do not ask that Thou shouldst give me wealth; onlyshow 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 caroled 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 downagain only to help us receive Jane Grieve, who arrived at eighto'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 thediscipline of sinful human flesh are always successful, and this wasno exception. We had sent a "machine" from the inn to meet her, and when it drew upat the door we went forward to greet the rosy little Jane of ourfancy. An aged person, wearing a rusty black bonnet and shawl, andcarrying what appeared to be a tin cake-box and a baby's bath-tub, descended rheumatically from the vehicle and announced herself as MissGrieve. She was too old to call by her Christian name, too sensitiveto call by her surname, so Miss Grieve she remained, as announced, tothe end of the chapter, and our rosy little Jane died before she wasactually born. The man took her curious luggage into the kitchen, andSalemina escorted her thither, while Francesca and I fell into eachother's arms and laughed hysterically. "Nobody need tell me that she is Mrs. M'Collop's sister's husband'sniece, " she whispered, "though she may possibly be somebody'sgrandaunt. 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 seeMrs. M'Collop just as our telegram arrived. She was living with an'extremely nice family' in Glasgow, and only broke her engagement inorder to try Fifeshire air for the summer; so she will remain with usas long as she is benefited by the climate. " "Can't we 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 teaand show her the box-bed?" "Yes; she said she was muckle obleeged to me, but the coals were sopoor and hard she couldna batter them up to start a fire the nicht, and she would try the box-bed to see if she could sleep in it. I amglad to remember that it was you who telegraphed for her, Penelope. " "Let there be no recriminations, " I responded; "let us stand shoulderto shoulder in this calamity, --isn't there a story called 'CalamityJane?' We might live at the inn, and give her the cottage for a summerresidence, but I utterly refuse to be parted from our cat and the 1602lintel. " After I have once described Miss Grieve I shall not suffer her tobegloom these pages as she did our young lives. She is so exactly likeher kind in America that she cannot be looked upon as a national type. Everywhere we go we see fresh, fair-haired, sonsie lassies; why shouldwe have been visited with 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 atthe next grievance. Whenever we hear this, which is whenever we are inthe sitting-room, we amuse ourselves by chanting lines of melancholypoetry which correspond to the sentiments she seems to be uttering. Itis the only way the infliction can be endured, for the sitting-room isso small we cannot keep the door closed habitually. The effect of thisplan is 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 bed to see the time. " _We_. "The broken hairt it kens Nae second spring again!" _She_. "There are not eneuch jugs i' the hoose. " _We_. "I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, -- In troth I'm like to greet!" _She_. "The sink drain is na 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 body to 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 a wearifu' 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' sic a mess i' the hoose 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 aloss for appropriate quotations to match them. The poeticinterpolations are introduced merely to show the general spirit of herconversation. They take the place of her sighs, which are by theirnature unprintable. Many times each day she is wont to sink into onelow chair, and, extending her feet in another, close her eyes andmurmur undistinguishable plaints which come to us in a kind ofrhythmic way. She has such a shaking right hand we have been obligedto give up coffee and have tea, as the former beverage became toounsettled on its journey from the kitchen to the breakfast-table. Shesays she kens she is a guid cook, though salf-praise is sma'racommendation (sma' as it is she will get no other!); but we havelittle opportunity to test her skill, as she prepares only ourbreakfasts of eggs and porridge. Visions of home-made goodies haddanced before our eyes, but as the hall clock doesna strike she isunable to rise at any exact hour, and as the range draft is bad, andthe 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. XVI "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, youwill have 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 shillingsa week, but will not give much attendance, as she is slightlyasthmatic, and the house is always as clean as it is this minute, andthe view from the window looking out on Pettybaw Bay canna besurpassed at ony money. Then comes the little house where Will'amBeattie's sister Mary died in May, and there wasna a bonnier woman inFife. Next is the cottage with the pansy garden, where the lady in thewidow's cap takes five o'clock tea in the bay window, and a snuglittle supper at eight. She has for the first scones and marmalade, and her tea is in a small black teapot under a red cozy with a whitemuslin cover drawn over it. At eight she has more tea, and generally akippered herring, or a bit of cold mutton left from the noon dinner. We note the changes in her bill of fare as we pass hastily by and feeladmitted quite into the family secrets. Beyond this bay window, whichis so redolent of simple peace and comfort that we long to go in andsit down, is the cottage with the double white tulips, the cottagewith the collie on the front steps, the doctor's house with the yellowlaburnum tree, and then the house where the Disagreeable Woman lives. She has a lovely baby, which, to begin with, is somewhat remarkable, as disagreeable women rarely have babies; or else, having had them, rapidly lose their disagreeableness, --so rapidly that one has not timeto notice it. The Disagreeable Woman's house is at the end of the row, and across the road is a wicket gate leading--Where did it lead?--thatwas the very point. Along the left, as you lean wistfully over thegate, there runs a stone wall topped by a green hedge; and on theright, first furrows of pale fawn, then below, furrows of deeperbrown, and mulberry, and red ploughed earth stretching down to wavingfields of green, and thence to the sea, gray, misty, opalescent, melting into the pearly white clouds, so that one cannot tell wheresea ends 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 "PrivateWay, " "Trespassers Not Allowed, " or other printed defiance to thestranger, we were considering the opening of the gate, when weobserved two female figures coming toward us along the path, andpaused until they should come through. It was the Disagreeable Woman(though we knew it not) and an elderly friend. We accosted the friend, feeling instinctively that she was framed of softer stuff, and askedher if the path were a private one. It was a question that had nevermet her ear before, and she was too dull or too discreet to deal withit on the instant. To our amazement, she did not even manage tofalter, "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 tosee the end. " "It goes only to the Farm, and you can reach that by the highroad; itis only a half-mile farther. 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 playedwith the lovely undeserved baby. But that was not the end of thematter. We found ourselves there next day, Francesca and I, --Salemina was tooproud, --drawn by an insatiable longing to view the beloved andforbidden scene. We did not dare to glance at the Disagreeable Woman'swindows, lest our courage should ooze away, so we opened the gate andstole through 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, and the herd-laddies and plough-boys still sweeten their labors withthe old classic melodies. We walked on and on, determined to come every day; and we settled thatif we were accosted by any one, or if our innocent business weredemanded, Francesca should ask, "Does Mrs. Macstronachlacher livehere, 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-tiledroofs, --dairy-houses, workmen's cottages, comely rows of haystacks(towering yellow things with peaked tops); a little pond with ducksand geese chattering together as they paddled about, and foradditional music the trickling of two tiny burns making "a singan din"as they wimpled through the bushes. A speckle-breasted thrush perchedon a corner of the gray wall and poured his heart out. Overhead therewas a chorus of rooks in the tall trees, but there was no sound ofhuman voice save that of the plough-laddie whistling "My Nannie'sawa'. " 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 us, and turned, conscience-stricken, though we had 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 possibleshelter for a Mrs. Macstronachlacher within a quarter of a mile. Whatmade the remark more unfortunate was the fact that, though she had ona different dress and bonnet, the person interrogated was theDisagreeable Woman; but Francesca is particularly slow in discerningresemblances. She would have gone on mechanically asking for new-laideggs, had I not caught her eye and held it sternly. The foe looked atus suspiciously for a moment (Francesca's hats are not easilyforgotten), and then vanished up the path, to tell the people atCrummylowe, I suppose, that their grounds were infested by maraudingstrangers whose curiosity was manifestly the outgrowth of a republicangovernment. As she disappeared in one direction, we walked slowly in the other;and just as we reached the corner of the pasture where two stone wallsmeet, and where a group of oaks gives grateful shade, we heardchildren's voices. "No, no!" cried somebody: "it must be still higher at this end, forthe tower, --this is where the king will sit. Help me with this heavyone, Rafe. Dandie, mind your foot. Why don't you be making the flagfor the ship?--and do keep the Wrig away from us till we finishbuilding!" XVII "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 youngerchildren, were busily engaged in building a castle. A great pile ofstones had been hauled to the spot, evidently for the purpose ofmending the wall, and these were serving as rich material for sport. The oldest of the company, a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked boy in an Etonjacket and broad white collar, was obviously commander-in-chief; andthe next in size, whom he called Rafe, was a laddie of eight, inkilts. These two looked as if they might be scions of the aristocracy, while Dandie and the Wrig were fat little yokels of another sort. Theminiature castle must have been the work of several mornings, and wasworthy of the respectful but silent admiration with which we gazedupon it; but as the last stone was placed in the tower, the masterbuilder looked up and spied our interested eyes peering at him overthe wall. We were properly abashed and ducked our heads discreetly atonce, but were reassured by hearing him run rapidly toward us, calling, "Stop, if you please! Have you anything on just now, --are youbusy?" We answered that we were quite at leisure. "Then would you mind coming in to help us to 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. Howcan we 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 promptDandie, and the Wrig can only say two lines, she's so little. " (Herehe produced some tattered leaves torn from a book of ballads. ) "We'vedone it many a time, but this is a new Dunfermline Castle, and we aretrying the play in a different way. Rafe is the king, and Dandie isthe 'eldern knight, '--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 combher hair and weep at the right time. " The forgetful and placid Wrig (I afterwards learned that this is aScots word for the youngest bird in the nest) was seated on the grass, with her fat hands full of pink thyme and white wild woodruff. The sunshone on her curly flaxen head. She wore a dark blue cotton frock withwhite dots, and a short-sleeved pinafore; and though she was utterlyuseless from a dramatic point of view, she was the sweetest littleScotch dumpling I ever looked upon. She had been tried and foundwanting in most of the principal parts of the ballad, but when leftout of the performance altogether she was wont to scream so lustilythat all Crummylowe rushed to her assistance. "Now let us practice 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 tome, "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 endeavoring 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 on the faem! The King's daughter of Noroway, 'T is 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 SirPat until it comes to 'Ye lee! ye lee!'" "No, that won't do, Rafe. We have to mix up everybody else, but it'stoo bad to spoil Sir Patrick. " "Well, I'll give him to you, then, and be the king. I don't mind somuch now that we've got such a good tower; and why can't I stop upthere even after the ship sets sail, and look out over the sea with atelescope? 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 Wrigfor a Scots lord, and her forgetting to be dead!" Sir Apple-Cheek then essayed the hard part "chucked up" by Rafe. Itwas rather difficult, I confess, as the first four lines were inpantomime and required great versatility:-- "The first word that Sir Patrick read, Fu' loud, loud laughéd 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 dune 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 ship. The groundwith a few boards spread upon it was the deck. Tarpaulin sheets werearranged on sticks to represent sails, and we located the vessel socleverly that two slender trees shot out of the middle of it andserved as the tall topmasts. "Now let us make believe that we've hoisted our sails on 'Monondaymorn' and been in Noroway 'weeks but only twae, '" said our leadingman; "and your 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 ye 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 weil, 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 onthe turf and embracing Sir Patrick's knees, with which touch ofmelodrama he was enchanted. Then came a storm so terrible that I can hardly trust myself todescribe its fury. The entire _corps dramatique_ personated theelements, and tore the gallant ship in twain, while Sir Patrickshouted in the teeth of the gale, -- "'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 am I, 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, as our captain bade us; we wapped them into our ship's side and letnathe sea come in; but in vain, in vain. Laith were the gude Scots lordsto weet their cork-heeled shune, but they did, and wat their hatsabune; 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 tarpaulinsand personate the disheveled 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, andyou never do it on time!" The Wrig made ready to howl with offended pride, but we soothed her, and she tore her yellow curls with her chubby hands. "And lang, lang may the maidens sit Wi' their gowd kaims i' their 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, and gave explicit ante-mortemdirections to the other Scots lords to spread themselves out in likemanner. "Half ower, half ower to Aberdour, 'T is 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 theking and see it all from Dunfermline tower! Could you be Sir Patrickonce, do you think, now that I have shown you how?" he askedFrancesca. "Indeed I could!" she replied, glowing with excitement (and smallwonder) at being chosen for the principal rôle. "The only trouble is that you do look awfully like a girl in thatwhite frock. " 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 gownfrom the hedge, Rafe. You see, Mistress Ogilvie of Crummylowe lent usthis old gown for a sail; she's doing something to a new one, and thiswas her pattern. " Francesca slipped it on over her white serge, and the Pettybaw parsonshould have seen her with the long veil of her dark locks floatingover his 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 gownfloated behind in the breeze, we all cheered with enthusiasm, and, having rebuilt the ship, began the play again from the moment of thegale. The wreck was more horribly realistic than ever, this time, because of our rehearsal; and when I crawled from under the masts andsails to seat myself on the beach with the Wrig, I had scarcelystrength enough to remove the cooky from her hand and set hera-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, the Highland bonnet came off, and her hair floated over a haphazardpillow of Jessie's wild flowers. "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 onelittle dead Scots lord; if we only had one more person, young or old, if he was ever 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 honors, 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 ofAmerica. " Sir Apple-Cheek bowed respectfully. "Let me present theHonorable Ralph Ardmore, also from the castle, together with DandieDinmont and the Wrig from Crummylowe. Sir Patrick, it is indeed apleasure to see you again. Must you take off my gown? I had thought itwas past use, but it never looked so well before. " "_Your_ gown?" The counterfeit presentment of Sir Patrick vanished as the longdrapery flew to the hedge whence it came, and there remained only anoffended young goddess, who swung her dark mane tempestuously to oneside, plaited it in a thick braid, tossed it back again over her whiteserge shoulder, and crowded on her sailor hat with unnecessaryvehemence. "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 themartyred Sir Patrick Spens. Now I happen to love"-- Francesca hung out a scarlet flag in each cheek, and I was about tosay, "Don't mind me!" when he continued:-- "As I was saying, I happen to love 'Sir Patrick Spens, '--it is myfavorite 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 MotherEarth and her tresses were much disheveled, but she looked lovely, after all, in comparison with me, the humble "supe" andlightning-change artist; yet I kept my temper, --at least I kept ituntil the Reverend Ronald observed, after escorting us through the gapin the wall, "By the way, Miss Hamilton, there was a gentleman fromParis at your cottage, and he is 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 ship-builder, and a gallantsailorman; I have been a gurly sea and a towering gale; I have crawledfrom beneath broken anchors, topsails, and mizzenmasts to a strandwhere I have been a suffering lady plying a gowd kaim. My skirt ofblue drill has been twisted about my person until it trails in front;my collar is wilted, my cravat untied; I have lost a stud and asleeve-link; my hair is in a tangled mass, my face is scarlet anddusty--and a gentleman from Paris is walking down the road to meetme! XVIII "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 neighborhood together, and whichever path we takewe think it lovelier than the one before. This morning we drove toPettybaw 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 wildpartridges whirring about in pairs; the farm-boy seated on the cleanstraw in the bottom of his cart, and cracking his whip in mere wantonjoy at the sunshine; the pretty cottages, and the gardens with rows ofcurrant and gooseberry bushes hanging thick with fruit that suggestsjam and tart in every delicious globule. It is a love-coloredlandscape, we know it full well; and nothing in the fair world aboutus is half as beautiful as what we see in each other's eyes. Ah, thememories of these first golden mornings together after our longseparation. I shall sprinkle them with lavender and lay them away inthat dim chamber of the heart where we keep precious things. We allknow the chamber. It is fragrant with other hidden treasures, for allof them are sweet, though some are sad. This is the reason why we puta finger on the lip and say "Hush, " if we open the door and allow anyone 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 oldbench and watch him in happy idleness. The "white-blossomed slaes"sweetened the air, and the distant hills were gay with golden whin andbroom, or flushed with the purply-red of the bell heather. We heard the note of the cushats from a neighboring bush. They used tobuild 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, "Come noo, 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 theyear round, sowing, weeding, planting, even ploughing in the spring, and in winter working at threshing or in the granary. An old man, leaning on his staff, came tottering feebly along, andsank down on the bench beside me. He was dirty, ragged, unkempt, andfeeble, but quite sober, and pathetically anxious for human sympathy. "I'm achty-sax year auld, " he maundered, apropos of nothing, "achty-sax year auld. I've seen five lairds o' Pettybaw, sax placedmeenisters, an' seeven doctors. I was a mason an' a stoot mon i' thaedays, but it's a meeserable life now. Wife deid, bairns deid! I sit bymy lane, an' smoke my pipe, wi' naebody to gi'e me a sup o' water. Achty-sax is ower auld for 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 tobacco forhis 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 heartto shelter all the little loves and great loves that craveadmittance? 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 theyused in the olden time, for then the kirk bell of St. Monan's had itstongue tied when the "draive" was off the coast, lest its knell shouldfrighten away the shining myriads of the deep. We climbed the shoulder of a great green cliff until we could sit onthe rugged rocks at the top and overlook the sea. The bluff is wellnamed Nirly Scaur, and a wild, desolate spot it is, with graylichen-clad boulders and stunted heather on its summit. In a stormhere, the wind buffets and slashes and scourges one like invisiblewhips, and below, the sea churns itself into foaming waves, drivingits "infinite squadrons of wild white horses" eternally toward theshore. It was calm and blue to-day, and no sound disturbed the quietsave the incessant shriek and scream of the rock birds, thekittiwakes, black-headed gulls, and guillemots that live on the sidesof these high, sheer craigs. Here the mother guillemot lays her singleegg, and here, on these narrow shelves of precipitous rock, she holdsit in place with her foot until the warmth of her leg and overhangingbody hatches it into life, when she takes it on her back and fliesdown to the sea. Motherhood under difficulties, it would seem, and theeducation of the baby guillemot is carried forward on Spartanprinciples; for the moment he is out of the shell he is swept downwardhundreds of feet and plunged into a cold ocean, where he can sink orswim as instinct serves him. In a life so fraught with anxieties, exposures, and dangers, it is not strange that the guillemots keep upa ceaseless clang of excited conversation, a very riot and wrangle ofaltercation and argument which the circumstances seem to warrant. Theprospective father is obliged to take turns with the prospectivemother and hold the one precious egg on the rock while she goes for afly, a swim, a bite, and a sup. As there are five hundred otherparents on the same rock, and the eggs look to be only a couple ofinches apart, the scene must be distracting, and I have no doubt weshould find, if statistics were gathered, that thousands of guillemotsdie of nervous prostration. Willie and I interpreted the clamor somewhat as follows:-- [_Between parent birds. _] "I am going to take my foot off. Are you ready to put yours on? Don'tbe clumsy! 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 am afraid I shoved your wife off the rock lastnight. " "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 favorite, the corner cottage in the row. It hasbeautiful narrow garden strips in front, --solid patches of color 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 boxof blossoming plants surrounded by a miniature green picket fence. Outside, looming white among the gillyflowers, is Sir Walter, and nearhim is still another and a larger bust on a cracked pedestal a foothigh, perhaps. We did not recognize the head at once, and asked thelittle woman who it was. "Homer, the graund Greek poet, " she answered cheerily; "an' I'm tohave anither o' Burns, as tall as Homer, when my daughter comes hamefrae E'nbro'. " If the shade of Homer keeps account of his earthly triumphs, I thinkhe is proud of his place in that humble Scotchwoman's gillyflowergarden, with his head under the drooping petals of granny's whitemutches. What do you think her "mon" is called in the village? John o' Mary!But he 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 ought tocongregate, 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's head had been accidentally broken off by the children, and wefelt as though we had lost a friend; but Scotch thrift, and loyalty tothe dear Ploughman Poet, came to the rescue, and when we returned, Robbie's plaster head had been glued to his body. He smiled at usagain from between the two scarlet geraniums, and a tendril of ivy hadbeen gently curled about his neck to hide the cruel wound. After such long, lovely mornings as this, there is a late luncheonunder the shadow of a rock with Salemina and Francesca, an idle chat, or the chapter of a book, and presently Lady Ardmore and her daughterElizabeth drive down to the sands. They are followed by RobinAnstruther, Jamie, and Ralph on bicycles, and before long the stalwartfigure of Ronald Macdonald appears in the distance, just in time for acup of tea, which we brew in Lady Ardmore's bath-house on the beach. XIX "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 notour intention. We gave Edinburgh as our last place of residence, withthe view of concealing our nationality, until such time as we shouldchoose to declare it; that is, when public excitement with regard toour rental of the house in the loaning should have lapsed into a stateof indifference. And yet, modest, economical, and commonplace as hasbeen the administration of our affairs, our method of life hasevidently been thought unusual, and our conduct not precisely theconduct of other summer visitors. Even our daily purchases, in manner, in number, and in character, seem to be looked upon as eccentric, forwhenever we leave a shop, the relatives of the greengrocer, flesher, draper, whoever it may be, bound downstairs, surround him in an eagercircle, and inquire the latest news. In an unwise moment we begged the draper's wife to honor us with avisit 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, witha view 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 conclusivelythat the trouble lay with the too-saft occupant of the bed, not withthe bed 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 thatthere was a good deal more passing up and down the loaning than whenwe first arrived. At dusk especially, small processions of childrenand young people walked by our cottage and gave shy glances at thewindows. 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 onthe curtains; it might be the guitars and banjos; it might be thebicycle crate; it might be the profusion of plants; it might be thecontinual feasting and revelry; it might be the blazing fires in aPettybaw summer. She thought a much more likely reason, however, wasbecause it had become known in the village that we had moved everystick of furniture in the house out of its accustomed place and takenthe dressing-tables away from the windows, --"thae windys, " she calledthem. I discussed this matter fully with Mr. Anstruther 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 itsplace, back to the window, and putting it anywhere else in a room. Hewould be frank, he said, and acknowledge that it suggested anundisciplined and lawless habit of thought, a disregard for authority, a lack of reverence for tradition, and a riotous and unbridledimagination. This view of the matter gave us exquisite enjoyment. "But why?" Iasked laughingly. "The dressing-table is not a sacred object, even toa woman. Why treat it with such veneration? Where there is but onegood light, and that immediately in front of the window, there isevery excuse for the British custom, but when the light is welldiffused, why not place the table wherever it looks well?" "Ah, but it doesn't look well anywhere but back to the window, " saidMr. Anstruther artlessly. "It belongs there, you see; it has probablybeen there since the time of Malcolm Canmore, unless Margaret was toopious to look in a mirror. With your national love of change, youcannot conceive how soothing it is to know that whenever you enteryour gate and glance upward, you will always see the curtains parted, and between them, like an idol in a shrine, the ugly wooden back of alittle oval or oblong looking-glass. It gives one a sense ofpermanence in a world where all is fleeting. " The public interest in our doings seems to be entirely of a friendlynature, and if our neighbors 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 gleam tentimes daily in her humid eye, than lead a cotillion with WillieBeresford. I would rather do the marketing for our humble breakfastsand teas, or talk over the day's luncheons and dinners with MistressBrodie of the Pettybaw Inn and Posting Establishment, than go to theopera. 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 galoshes, take my umbrella, and trudge up and down the littlestreets and lanes on real, and if need be, imaginary errands. The Dukeof Wellington said, "When fair in Scotland, always carry an umbrella;when it rains, please yourself, " and I sometimes agree withStevenson's shivering statement, "Life does not seem to me to be anamusement adapted to this climate. " I quoted this to the doctoryesterday, but he remarked with some surprise that he had not missed aday's golfing for weeks. The chemist observed as he handed me a cakeof soap, "Won'erful blest in weather, we are, mam, " simply because, the rain being unaccompanied with high wind, one was enabled to holdup an umbrella without having it turned inside out. When it ceaseddripping for an hour at noon, the greengrocer said cheerily, "Anothergrand day, mam!" I assented, though I could not for the life of meremember when the last one occurred. However, dreary as the weathermay be, one cannot be dull when doing one's morning round of shoppingin Pettybaw or Strathdee. I have only to give you thumb-nail sketchesof our favorite tradespeople to convince you of that fact. * * * * * We bought our first groceries of Mrs. Robert Phin, of Strathdee, simply because she is an inimitable conversationalist. She isexpansive, too, about family matters, and tells us certain of her"mon's" faults which it would be more seemly to keep in the safeshelter of her own bosom. Rab takes a wee drappie too much, it appears, and takes it so oftenthat he has little time to earn an honest penny for his family. Thisis bad enough; but the fact that Mrs. Phin has been twice wed before, and that in each case she innocently chose a ne'er-do-weel for a mate, makes her a trifle cynical. She told me that she had laid twa husbandsin the kirkyard near which her little shop stands, and addedcheerfully, as I made some sympathetic response, "An' I hope it'll nobe lang afore I box Rab!" Salemina objects to the shop because it is so disorderly. Soap andsugar, tea and bloaters, starch and gingham, lead pencils andsausages, lie side by side cosily. Boxes of pins are kept on top ofkegs of herrings. Tins of coffee are distributed impartially anywhereand everywhere, 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 winseysseeking 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 riskof losing it to one of the other children or to the dogs, who, witheager eye and reminding paw, gather round the hospitable board, licking their chops 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 thetea-box 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 thrangto luik!" This anecdote was too rich to keep to myself, but its unconscioushumor made no impression upon Salemina, who insisted upon thewithdrawal of our patronage. I have tried to persuade her that, whatever may be said of 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 whereRab will lie when Mrs. Phin has "boxed" him, is a sleepy little placeset on a gentle slope of ground, softly shaded by willow and yewtrees. It is inclosed by a stone wall, into which an occasionalancient tombstone is built, its name and date almost obliterated bystress of time and weather. We often walk through its quiet, myrtle-bordered paths on our way tothe other end of the village, where Mrs. Bruce, the flesher, keeps anunrivaled assortment of beef and mutton. The headstones, many of themlaid flat upon the graves, are interesting to us because of theirquaint inscriptions, in which the occupation of the deceased is oftenstated with modest pride and candor. One expects to see theachievements of the soldier, the sailor, or the statesman carved inthe stone that marks his resting-place, but to our eyes it is strangeenough to read that the subject of eulogy was a plumber, tobacconist, maker of golf-balls, or a golf champion; in which latter case there isa spirited etching or bas-relief of the dead hero, withknickerbockers, cap, and clubs complete. 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 every-day sort stood a little back from theroad and bore over its front door a sign announcing that Mrs. Bruce, Flesher, carried on her business within; and indeed one could lookthrough the windows and see ruddy joints hanging from beams, and pilesof pink and white steaks and chops lying neatly on the counter, crying, "Come, eat me!" Nevertheless, one's first glance would bearrested neither by Mrs. Bruce's black-and-gold sign, nor by theenticements of her stock in trade, because one's attention is knockedsquarely between the eyes by an astonishing shape that arises from thepatch of lawn in front of the cottage, and completely dominates thescene. Imagine yourself face to face with the last thing you wouldexpect to see in a modest front dooryard, --the figurehead of a ship, heroic in size, gorgeous in color, majestic in pose! A femalepersonage it appears to be from the drapery, which is the only key theartist furnishes as to sex, and a queenly female withal, for she wearsa crown at least a foot high, and brandishes a forbidding sceptre. Allthis is seen from the front, but the rear view discloses the fact thatthe lady terminates in the tail of a fish which wriggles artisticallyin mid-air and is of a brittle sort, as it has evidently been thricebroken 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'shusband should have been the gallant captain of a bark which founderedat sea and sent every man to his grave on the ocean bed. The ship'sfigurehead should have been discovered by some miracle, brought to thesorrowing widow, and set up in the garden in eternal remembrance ofthe dear departed. This was the story in my mind, but as a matter offact the rude effigy was wrought by Mrs. Bruce's father for a ship tobe called the Sea Queen, but by some mischance, ship and figureheadnever came together, and the old wood-carver left it to his daughter, in lieu of other property. It has not been wholly unproductive, Mrs. Bruce fancies, for the casual passers-by, like those who came to scoffand remained to pray, go into the shop to ask questions about the SeaQueen and buy chops 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 stockof shop-worn articles, --pins, needles, threads, sealing-wax, pencils, and sweeties for the children, all disposed attractively upon a singleshelf behind the window. Across the passage, close to the other window, sits day after day anold woman of eighty-six summers who has lost her kinship with thepresent and gone back to dwell forever in the past. A small tablestands in front of her rush-bottomed chair, the old family Bible restson it, and in front of the Bible are always four tiny dolls, withwhich the trembling old fingers play from morning till night. They arecheap, common little puppets, but she robes and disrobes them withtenderest care. They are put to bed upon the Bible, take their walksalong its time-worn pages, are married on it, buried on it, and thedirest punishment they ever receive is to be removed from its sacredcovers and temporarily hidden beneath the dear old soul's black alpacaapron. She is quite happy with her treasures on week days; but onSundays--alas and alas! the poor old dame sits in her lonely chairwith the furtive tears dropping on her wrinkled cheeks, for it is aGod-fearing household, and it is neither lawful nor seemly to playwith 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 bethe baker, but he dwells in the regions below the shop and only issuesat rare intervals, beneath the friendly shelter of a huge tin trayfilled with scones and baps. If you saw Mrs. Nicolson's kitchen with the firelight gleaming on itsbright copper, its polished candlesticks, and its snowy floor, youwould think her an admirable housewife, but you would get no clue tothose shrewd and masterful traits of character which reveal themselveschiefly behind the counter. Miss Grieve had purchased of Mrs. Nicolson a quarter section of veryappetizing ginger cake to eat with our afternoon tea, and I stopped 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 piecesuch as my maid bought the other day. " Then ensued a discourse which I cannot render in the vernacular, more's the pity, though I understood it all too well for my comfort. The substance of it was this: that she couldna and wouldna tak' it inhand to give me a quarter section of cake when the other threequarters might gae dry in the bakery; that the reason she sold thesmall piece on the former occasion was that her daughter, herson-in-law, and their three children came from Ballahoolish to visither, and she gave them a high tea with no expense spared; that at thisfunction they devoured three fourths of a ginger cake, and just as shewas mournfully regarding the remainder my servant came in and took itoff her hands; that she had kept a bakery for thirty years and hermother before her, and never had a two-shilling ginger cake been soldin pieces before, nor was it likely ever to occur again; that if I, under Providence so to speak, had been the fortunate gainer by thetransaction, why not eat my six-pennyworth in solemn gratitude oncefor all, and not expect a like miracle to happen the next week? Andfinally, that two-shilling ginger cakes were, in the very nature ofthings, designed for large families; and it was the part of wisdom forsmall families to fix their affections on something else, for shecouldna and wouldna tak' it in hand to cut a rare and expensivearticle 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, I couldna tak' it in hand to sell six pennyworth of that ginger cakeand let 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 foryou, 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 thedear old graybeard 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 tradenow banished 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 colored ravelings. Sometimes when they have proved themselves wise and prudent littlevirgins, they are even allowed to touch the hanks of pink and yellowand blue yarn that lie in rainbow-hued confusion on the long dealtable. 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 winseys. We have grown to be good friends, David and I, and I have beenpermitted the signal honor 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 welldeserves and little suspects. In my foreground sit Meg and Jean andElspeth playing with thrums and wearing the fruit of David's loom intheir gingham frocks. David himself sits on his wooden bench behindthe maze of 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 solutionso many sweet though humble virtues of patience, temperance, self-denial, honest endeavor, that my brush falters in the attempt tofix the radiant whole upon the canvas. Fashions come and go, modernimprovements transform the arts and trades, manual skill gives way tothe cunning of the machine, but old David Robb, after more than fiftyyears of toil, still sits at his hand-loom and weaves his winseys forthe Pettybaw bairnies. David has small book-learning, so he tells me; and indeed he had needto tell me, for I should never have discovered it myself, --one missesit so little when the larger things are all present! A certain summer visitor in Pettybaw (a compatriot of ours, by theway) bought a quantity of David's orange-colored winsey, and findingthat it wore like iron, wished to order more. She used the word"reproduce" in her telegram, as there was one pattern and one colorshe specially liked. Perhaps the context was not illuminating, but atany rate the word "reproduce" was not in David's vocabulary, andputting back his spectacles he told me his difficulty in decipheringthe exact meaning of his fine-lady patron. He called at the Free kirkmanse, --the meenister was no at hame; then to the library, --it wasclosed; then to the Established manse, --the meenister was awa'. Atlast he obtained a glance at the schoolmaster's dictionary, andturning to "reproduce" found that it meant "_naught but mak' oweragain;_"--and with an amused smile at the bedevilments of language heturned once more to his loom and I to my canvas. Notwithstanding his unfamiliarity with lang-nebbit words, David hasabsorbed a deal of wisdom in his quiet life; though so far as I cansee, his only books have been the green tree outside his window, aglimpse of the 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, the daily task, one's own heart-beats, and one's neighbor's, --theseteach us in good time to interpret Nature's secrets, and man's, andGod's as well. XX "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 delightfulfunction. It is served by a ministerial-looking butler and ajust-ready-to-be-ordained footman. They both look as if they hadbeen nourished on the Thirty-Nine Articles, but they know theirbusiness as well as if they had been trained in heathenlands, --which is saying a good deal, for everybody knows that heathenservants wait upon one with idolatrous solicitude. However, from thequality of the cheering beverage itself down to the thickness of thecream, the thinness of the china, the crispness of the toast, and theplummyness of the cake, tea at Rowardennan Castle is perfect in everydetail. 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 traveler, 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 butunsuccessful soda biscuit of the New England sort. Stevenson, inwriting of that dense black substance, inimical to life, called Scotchbun, says that the patriotism that leads a Scotsman to eat it willhardly desert him in any emergency. Salemina thinks that the sconeshould be bracketed with the bun (in description, of course, never inthe human stomach), and says that, as a matter of fact, "th'unconquer'd Scot" of old was not only clad in a shirt of mail, butwell fortified within when he went forth to warfare after a meal ofoatmeal and scones. She insists that the spear which would pierce theshirt of mail would be turned aside and blunted by the ordinary sconeof commerce; but what signifies the opinion of a woman who eats sugaron 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 to theplumber's for sixpenny worth 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 domesticcrises; and then, too, her temper has to be kept as unruffled aspossible, so that she will cut the bread and butter thin. This shegenerally does if she has not been "fair doun-hadden wi' wark;" butthe washing of her own spinster cup and plate, together with theincident sighs and groans, occupies her till so late an hour that sheis not always dressed for callers. Willie and I were reading "The Lady of the Lake, " the other day, inthe back garden, surrounded by the verdant leafage of our ownkail-yard. It is a pretty spot when the sun shines, a trifle domesticin its air, perhaps, but restful: Miss Grieve's dish-towels and apronsdrying on the currant bushes, the cat playing with a mutton-bone or afishtail on the grass, and the little birds perching on the rims ofour wash-boiler and water-buckets. It can be reached only by way ofthe kitchen, which somewhat lessens its value as a pleasure-ground ora rustic retreat, but Willie and I retire there now and then for aquiet chat. On this particular occasion Willie was declaiming the exciting verseswhere FitzJames 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, --thatis, one that can be easily heard by a thousand persons, --"the castlepeople and the ladies from Pettybaw House; and Mr. Macdonald is comingdown the loaning; but Calamity Jane is making her toilette in thekitchen, and you cannot take Mr. Beresford through into thesitting-room at present. She says this hoose has so few conveniencesthat 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 therows of 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. Macdonaldand Miss Macrae to the bakery for gingerbread, to gain time, andpossibly I can think of a way to rescue you. If I can't, are youtolerably comfortable? Perhaps Miss Grieve won't mind Penelope, andshe can come through the kitchen any time and join us; but naturallyyou don't want to be separated, that's the worst of being engaged. Ofcourse I can lower your tea in a tin bucket, and if it should rain Ican throw out umbrellas. Would you like your golf-cape, Pen?'Won'erful blest in weather ye are, mam!' The situation is not so badas it might be, " she added consolingly, "because in case Miss Grieve'stoilette should last longer than usual, your wedding need not beindefinitely postponed, for Mr. Macdonald can marry you from thiswindow. " Here she disappeared, and we had scarcely time to take in the fullhumor 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 tosuccor 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, atleast all your guests, --there are no strangers present, --and MissMonroe is already collecting sixpence a head for the entertainment, tobe given, she says, to Mr. Macdonald's sustentation 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 ofall, amidst the acclamations of the on-lookers, a select company ofsix or eight persons. When Miss Grieve formally entered the sitting-room bearing thetea-tray, she was buskit braw in black stuff gown, clean apron, andfresh cap trimmed with purple ribbons, under which her white lockswere neatly dressed. She deplored the coolness of the tea, but accounted for it to me in anaside 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 circumscribedhalls. Lady Ardmore insists that the rescue was the most unique episode sheever witnessed, and says that she never understood America until shemade 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 [dovecotes] 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 quarreling as towhich of certain Fifeshire towns should be the seat of a projectedlunatic asylum, a new resident arose and suggested that the buildingof a 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. XXI "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 crowdsomebody touched me on the shoulder and a plaintive voice behind mesaid, 'You're such a big man, and I am so little, will you pleasehelp me to save my life? My mother was separated from me in the crowdsomewhere as we were trying to reach the Berkeley, and I don't knowwhat to do. ' I was a trifle nonplused, but I did the best I could. Shewas a tiny thing, in a marvelous frock and a flowery hat and a silvergirdle and chatelaine. In another minute she spied a second man, anofficer, a full head taller than I am, broad shoulders, splendidly putup altogether. Bless me! if she didn't turn to him and say, 'Oh, you're so nice and big, you're even bigger than this other gentleman, and I need you both in this dreadful crush. If you'll be good enoughto stand on either side of me, I shall be awfully obliged. ' Weexchanged amused glances of embarrassment over her blonde head, butthere was no resisting the irresistible. She was a small person, butshe had the soul of a general, and we obeyed orders. We stood guardover her little ladyship for nearly an hour, and I must say sheentertained us thoroughly, for she was as clever as she was pretty. Then I got her a seat in one of the windows of my club, while theother man, armed with a full description, went out to hunt up themother; and by Jove! he found her, too. She would have her mother, andher mother she had. They were awfully jolly people; they came toluncheon in my chambers at the Albany afterwards, and we grew to begreat 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 your saying Bark, and not half as odd as your callingit [)A]lbany, " I interpolated, to help Francesca. "Quite so, " said Mr. Anstruther; "but how do you say [)A]lbany inAmerica?" "Penelope and I allways call it Allbany, " responded Francescanonsensically, "but Salemina, who has been much in England, [)a]lwayscalls it [)A]lbany. " This anecdote was the signal for Miss Ardmore to remark (apropos ofher own discrimination and the American accent) that hearing a ladyask for a certain med'cine in a chemist's shop, she noted theintonation, and inquired of the chemist, when the fair stranger hadretired, if she were not an American. "And she was!" exclaimed theHonorable Elizabeth triumphantly. "And what makes it the more curious, she had been over here twenty years, and of course spoke English quiteproperly. " In avenging fancied insults, it is certainly more just to heappunishment on the head of the real offender than upon his neighbor, and it is a trifle difficult to decide why Francesca should chastiseMr. Macdonald for the good-humored sins of Mr. Anstruther and MissArdmore; yet she does so, nevertheless. The history of these chastisements she recounts in the nightlyhalf-hour which she spends with me when I am endeavoring to composemyself for sleep. Francesca is fluent at all times, but once seated onthe foot of my 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;"at all events, the most foolish fools I have ever known stayed stilland didn'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 togo to sleep; I wonder you do not tire of making these futile protests. As a matter of fact, we began this literary discussion yesterdaymorning, but were interrupted; and knowing that it was sure to come upagain, I prepared for it with Salemina. She furnished the ammunition, so to speak, 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 andits æons of stirring history. I am so weary of the venerableness ofthis country. How old will it have to be, I wonder, before it getsused to it? If it's the province of art to conceal art, it ought to bethe province of age to conceal age, and it generally is. 'Everythingdoesn't improve with years, ' I observed sententiously. "'For instance?' he inquired. "Of course you know how that question affected me! How I do dislike anappetite for specific details! It is simply paralyzing 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 youhave to name one while he counts ten? If a beast has been requested, you can think of one fish and two birds, but no beasts. If he says'_Fish_, ' all the beasts in the universe stalk through your memory, but not one finny, scaly, swimming thing! Well, that is the effect of'For instance?' on my faculties. So I stumbled a bit, and succeeded inrecalling, as objects which do not improve with age, mushrooms, women, and chickens, and he was obliged to agree with me, which nearly killedhim. Then I said that although America is so fresh and blooming thatpeople persist in calling it young, it is much older than it appearsto the superficial eye. There is no real propriety in dating us as anation from the Declaration of Independence in 1776, I said, nor evenfrom the landing of the Pilgrims in 1620; nor, for that matter, fromColumbus's discovery in 1492. It's my opinion, I asserted, that someof us had been there thousands of years before, but nobody had had thesense to discover us. We couldn't discover ourselves, --though if wecould have foreseen how the sere and yellow nations of the earth wouldtaunt us with youth and inexperience, we should have had to dosomething 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 barelegged savages roaming over the hills and stealingcattle. It was a very bad habit of yours, that cattle-stealing, andone which 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 avice, and ours a sin; or I mean it would have been a sin had we doneit; but in reality we didn't steal land; we just _took_ it, reservingplenty for the Indians to play about on; and for every hunting-groundwe took away we gave them in exchange a serviceable plough, or aschool, or a nice Indian agent, or something. That was land-grabbing, if you like, but it is a habit you Britishers have still, while wegave it up when we reached 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, he began to belittle American literature, the poetry especially. Ofcourse he waxed eloquent about the royal line of poet-kings that hadmade his country famous, and said the people who could claimShakespeare had reason to be the proudest nation on earth. 'Doubtless, ' I said. 'But do you mean to say that Scotland has anynearer claim upon Shakespeare than we have? I do not now allude to thefact that in the large sense he is the common property of theEnglish-speaking world' (Salemina told me to say that), 'butShakespeare died in 1616, and the union of Scotland with Englanddidn't come about till 1707, nearly a century afterwards. You reallyhaven't anything to do with him! But as for us, we didn't leaveEngland until 1620, when Shakespeare had been perfectly dead fouryears. We took very good care not to come away too soon. Chaucer andSpenser were 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 gayly, 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 werestill alive; Bacon's Novum Organum was just coming out; and in thirtyor forty years you could have had L'Allegro, Il Penseroso, andParadise Lost; Newton's Principia, too, in 1687. Perhaps these wereall too serious and heavy for your national taste; still, onesometimes likes to claim things one cannot fully appreciate. And then, too, if you had once begun to stay, waiting for the great things tohappen and the great books to be written, you would never have gone, for there would still have been Browning, Tennyson, and Swinburne todelay you. ' "'If we couldn't stay to see out your great bards, we certainlycouldn't afford to remain and welcome your minor ones, ' I answeredfrigidly; 'but we wanted to be well out of the way before Englandunited with Scotland, knowing that if we were uncomfortable as thingswere, it would be a good deal worse after the Union; and we had tocome home, anyway, and start our own poets. Emerson, Whittier, Longfellow, Holmes, and Lowell had to be 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 ofhonor. ' "'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 inAmerica, 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!'" "Oh, Francesca!" I exclaimed, sitting bolt upright among my pillows. "How _could_ you give him that chance! How could you! What did yousay?" "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 wasas expressive and interesting a beam as ever darted from a woman'seye. The combination of elements involved in it, if an abstract thingmay be conceived as existing in component parts, was something likethis:-- One half, mystery. One eighth, triumph. One eighth, amusement. One sixteenth, pride. One sixteenth, shame. One sixteenth, desire to confess. 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 hardlyblame him! XXII "'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 sendingthe document to certain chosen spirits in our own country, who werepleased to be facetious concerning our devotion to Scotland. Itcontained, in sooth, little that was new, and still less that wastrue, for we were confined to a very small vocabulary which we wereobliged to supplement now and then by a dip into Burns and AllanRamsay. 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 ascreed, but there was aye something that cam' i' the gait. It wisnathat I couldna be fashed, for aften hae I thocht o' ye and my hairthas been wi' ye mony's the day. There's no muckle fowk frae Amerikyhereawa; they're a' jist Fife bodies, and a lass canna get her tongueroun' their thrapple-taxin' words ava, so it's like I may een drap a'the sweetness o' my good mither-tongue. 'Tis a dulefu' nicht, and an awful blash is ragin' wi'oot. Fanny'sawa' at the gowff rinnin' aboot wi' a bag o' sticks after a wee bitba', and Sally and I are hame by oor lane. Laith will the lassie be toweet her bonny shoon, but lang ere the play'll be o'er, she'll wat herhat aboon. A gust o' win' is skirlin' the noo, and as we luik ower thefaem, the haar is risin', weetin' the green swaird wi' misty shoo'rs. Yestreen was a calm simmer gloamin', sae sweet an' bonnie that whilethe sun was sinkin' doon ower Pettybaw Sands, we daundered ower themuir. As we cam' through the scented birks, we saw a trottin' burniewimplin' 'neath the white-blossomed slaes and hirplin' doon thehillside; an' while a herd-laddie lilted ower the fernie brae, acushat crooed leesomely doon i' the dale. We pit aff oor shoon, saeblithe were we, kilted oor coats a little aboon the knee and paidilti' the burn, gettin' gey an' weet the while. Then Sally pu'd thegowans wat wi' dew an' twined her bree wi' tasseled broom, while I hada wee crackie wi' Tibby Buchan, the flesher's dochter frae AuldReekie. Tibby's nae giglet gawky like the lave, ye ken, --she's asonsie maid, as sweet as ony hinny pear, wi' her twa pawky een an' hercockernony snooded up fu' sleek. We were unco gleg to win hame when a' this was dune, an' aftersteekin' the door, to sit an' taist oor taes at the bit blaze. Micklethocht we o' the gentles ayont the sea an' sair grat we for a' frien'swe knew lang syne in oor ain countree. Late at nicht, Fanny, the bonny gypsy, cam' ben the hoose an' tirledat the pin of oor bigly bower door, speirin' for baps and bannocks. "Hoots, lassie!" cried oot Sally, "th' auld carline i' the kitchen isi' her box-bed an' weel aneuch ye ken is lang syne cuddled doon. " "Oo, ay!" said Fanny, straikin' her curly pow, "then fetch me parritchan' dinna be lang wi' 'em, for I've lickit a Pettybaw lass at thegowff, an' I could eat twa guid jints o' beef gin I had 'em!" "Losh, girl, " said I, "gie ower makin' sic a mickle din. Ye ken verraweel ye'll get nae parritch the nicht. I'll rin an' fetch ye a 'piece'to stap awee the soun'. " "Blathers an' havers!" cried Fanny, but she blinkit bonnily the while, an' when the tea was weel maskit, she smoored her wrath an' stappither mooth wi' a bit o' oaten cake. We aye keep that i' the hoose, forth' auld servant-body is gey an' bad at the cookin' an' she's sae douran' 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 thetwal'. 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 tosee great ideas loom through a mist of words?" "The words are misty enough in this case, " she said, "and I do wishyou would not tell the world that I paddle in the burn, or 'twine mybree wi' tasseled 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 fireplace and the table isFrancesca's favorite "putting green. " She wishes to become more deadlyin the matter of approaches, and thinks her tee shots weak; so thesetwo deficiencies she is trying to make good by home practice ininclement weather. She turns a tumbler on its side on the floor, and"puts" the ball into it, or at it, as the case may be, from theopposite side of the room. It is excellent discipline, and as thetumblers are inexpensive the breakage really does not matter. WheneverMiss Grieve hears the shivering of glass, she murmurs, not withoutreason, "It is not 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 match 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 safeground of subsequent knowledge I perceive that it had a certain amountof influence upon Francesca's history. The suggestion would havecarried no weight with me for two reasons. In the first place, Salemina is far-sighted. If objects are located at some distance fromher, she sees them clearly; but if they are under her very nose sheoverlooks them altogether, unless they are sufficiently fragrant oraudible to address other senses. This physical peculiarity she carriesover into her mental processes. Her impression of the Disruptionmovement, for example, would be lively and distinct, but herperception of a contemporary lovers' quarrel (particularly if it werefought at her own apron-strings) would be singularly vague. If shesuggested, therefore, that Elizabeth Ardmore was interested in Mr. Beresford, who is the rightful captive of my bow and spear, I shouldbe 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; butthough Francesca has witnessed scores of plays and read hundreds ofnovels, it did not apparently strike her as a theatrical or literarysuggestion that Lady Ardmore's daughter should be in love with Mr. Macdonald. The effect of the new point of view was most salutary, onthe whole. She had come to think herself the only prominent figure inthe Reverend Ronald's landscape, and anything more impertinent thanher tone with him (unless it is his with her) I certainly never heard. This criticism, however, relates only to their public performances, and I have long suspected that their private conversations are of akindlier character. When it occurred to her that he might simply besharpening his mental sword on her steel, but that his heart had atlast wandered into a more genial climate than she had ever providedfor it, she softened unconsciously; the Scotsman and the Americanreceded into a truer perspective, and the man and the woman approachedeach 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 thehall to try long drives. (There is a good deal of excitement in this, as Miss 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 haveknown each other only a little over two months; when would you havehad me interfere, 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'twish them to fall in love with each other, you should have kept one ofthem away 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 hisside, he has succeeded in piquing her into thinking of himcontinually, though solely, as she fancies, for the purpose ofcrossing swords with him. If they ever drop their weapons for aninstant, and allow the din of warfare to subside so that they canlisten to their own heart-beats, they will discover that they loveeach 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 uponlove you 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 swellthe sum of human ignorance on that subject that my teaching would beforever vain. " "Very clever indeed! Well, what will Mr. Monroe say to me when I landin New York without his daughter, or with his son-in-law?" "He has never denied Francesca anything in her life; why should hedraw the line at a Scotsman? I am much more concerned about Mr. Macdonald's congregation. " "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 poundsa year. " "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 wellthat Love is a master architect. Francesca is full of beautifulpossibilities if Mr. Macdonald is the man to bring them out, and I aminclined to think 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, and she will be the sunshine playing in the branches. " "Salemina, dear, " I said penitently, kissing her gray hair, "Iapologize: you are not absolutely ignorant about Love, after all, whenyou call him the master architect; and that is very lovely and verytrue about the oak-tree and the sunshine. " XXIII "'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 intoour little circle. I suppose it was playing "Sir Patrick Spens" thatset us thinking about it, for one warm, idle day when we were all inthe Glen we began a series of ballad-revels, in which each of usassumed a favorite character. The choice induced so much argument anddisagreement that Mr. Beresford was at last appointed head of theclan; and having announced himself formally as the Mackintosh, he wasplaced on the summit of a hastily arranged pyramidal cairn. He wasgiven an ash wand and a rowan-tree sword; and then, according toancient custom, his pedigree and the exploits of his ancestors wererecounted, and he was exhorted to emulate their example. Now it seemsthat a Highland chief of the olden time, being as absolute in hispatriarchal authority as any prince, had a corresponding number ofofficers attached to his person. He had a bodyguard, who fought aroundhim in battle, and independent of this he had a staff of officers whoaccompanied him wherever he went. These our chief proceeded to appointas follows:-- Henchman, Ronald Macdonald; bard, Penelope Hamilton; spokesman orfool, Robin Anstruther; sword-bearer, Francesca Monroe; piper, Salemina; piper's attendant, Elizabeth Ardmore; baggage gillie, JeanDalziel; running footman, Ralph; bridle gillie, Jamie; ford gillie, Miss Grieve. The ford gillie carries the chief across fords only, andthere are no fords in the vicinity; so Mr. Beresford, not liking toleave a member of our household out of office, thought this the bestpost for Calamity Jane. 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 onthe eve of the Queen's Jubilee, there was to be a gay party at thecastle. All this occurred days ago, and yesterday evening the ballad-revelscame off, and Rowardennan was a scene of great pageant and splendor. Lady Ardmore, 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 rôles. Salemina was Lady Maisry, --she whom all the lords of the northcountrie came 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 whenher lover declared himself to be "Lord Ronald Macdonald, a chieftainof high degree. " 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 of 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 tosing the ballad behind the scenes. Mr. Beresford naturally thoughtthat Mr. Macdonald would take the opposite part in the tableau, inasmuch as the hero bears his name; but he positively declined toplay Lord Ronald Macdonald, 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 forLadye Jeanie in Glenlogie. (She had meantime confided to me thatnothing could induce her to appear in Glenlogie; it was far toopersonal. ) Mr. Macdonald offended Francesca by sending her his cast-off gown andbegging her to be Sir Patrick Spens; and she was still more gloomy (soI imagined) because he had not proffered his six feet of manly beautyfor the part of the captain in Mary Ambree, when the only other personto take it was Jamie's tutor. He is an Oxford man and a delightfulperson, but very bow-legged; added to that, by the time the rehearsalshad ended 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, color, or relations. But the guests knew nothing of these trivialdisagreements, and at ten o'clock last night it would have beendifficult to match Rowardennan Castle for a scene of beauty andrevelry. Everything went merrily till we came to Hynde Horn, theconcluding tableau, and the most effective and elaborate one on theprogramme. At the very last moment, when the opening scene was nearlyready, Jean Dalziel fell down a secret staircase that led from thetapestry chamber into Lady Ardmore's boudoir, where the rest of uswere dressing. It was a short flight of steps, but, as she held acandle and was carrying her costume, she fell awkwardly, spraining herwrist and ankle. Finding that she was not maimed for life, LadyArdmore turned with comical and unsympathetic haste to Francesca, socompletely do amateur theatricals dry the milk of kindness in thehuman breast. "Put on these clothes at once, " she said imperiously, knowing nothingof the volcanoes beneath the surface. "Hynde Horn is already on thestage, and somebody must be Jean. Take care of Miss Dalziel, girls, and ring for more maids. Hélène, help me dress Miss Monroe: put on herslippers while I lace her gown; run and fetch more jewels, --morestill, --she can carry off any number; not any rouge, Hélène, --she hastoo much color now; pull the frock more off the shoulders, --it's apity to cover an inch of them; pile her hair higher, --here, take mydiamond tiara, child; hurry, Hélène, fetch the silver cup and thecake--no, they are on the stage; take her train, Hélène. MissHamilton, run and open the doors ahead of them, please. I won't godown for this tableau. I'll put Miss Dalziel right, and then I'll slipinto the drawing-room, to be ready for the guests when they come in. " We hurried breathlessly through an interminable series of rooms andcorridors. I gave the signal to Mr. Beresford, who was nervouslywaiting for it in the wings, and the curtain went up on Hynde Horndisguised as the auld beggar man at the king's gate. Mr. Beresford wasreading the ballad, and we took up the tableaux at the point whereHynde Horn has come from a far countrie to see why the diamonds in thering given him by his own true love have grown pale and wan. He hearsthat the king's daughter Jean has been married to a knight these ninedays 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 theking's palace, where he petitions the porter for a cup of wine and abit of cake 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 flashingfrom her crimson satin gown, Lady Ardmore's rubies glowing on herwhite arms and throat; not Miss Dalziel, as had been arranged, butFrancesca, rebellious, reluctant, embarrassed, angrily beautiful andbeautifully angry! 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 chang'd 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 ever mair. '" 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 chang'd, 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 gratefullyreceived the choruses of congratulation that were ready to be offeredduring the supper and dance that followed. Instead of that, whathappened? Francesca drove home with Miss Dalziel before the quadrilled'honneur, and when Willie bade me good-night at the gate in theloaning he said, "I shall not be early to-morrow, dear. I am going tosee 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, andif she 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!" XXIV "He set her on a coal-black steed, Himsel 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 Jubileehumor, next day. Willie had intended to come at nine, but of coursedid not appear. Francesca took her breakfast in bed, and camelistlessly into the sitting-room at ten o'clock, looking like a ghost. Jean's ankle was much better, --the sprain proved to be not even astrain, --but her wrist was painful. It was drizzling, too, and we hadpromised Miss Ardmore and Miss Macrae to aid with the last Jubileedecorations, the distribution of medals at the church, and thechildren's games and tea on the links in the afternoon. We had determined not to desert our beloved Pettybaw for themetropolis on this great day, but to celebrate it with the dear fowko' Fife who had 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 tocarry out a dazzling scheme of decoration that would proclaim ouraffectionate respect for the "little lady in black" on her DiamondJubilee. But would it stop raining?--that was the question. The draperwasna certain that so licht a shoo'r could richtly be called rain. Thevillage weans were yearning for the hour to arrive when they might siton the wet golf-course and have tea; manifestly, therefore, it couldnot be a bad day for Scotland; but if it should grow worse, what wouldbecome of our mammoth subscription bonfire on Pettybaw Law, --thebonfire that Brenda Macrae was to light, as the lady of the manor? There were no deputations to request the honor of Miss Macrae'sdistinguished services on this occasion; that is not the way theself-respecting villager comports himself in Fifeshire. The chairmanof the local committee, a respectable gardener, called upon MissMacrae at Pettybaw House, and said, "I'm sent to tell ye ye're to havethe pleesure an' the honor of lightin' the bonfire the nicht! Ay, it'sa grand chance ye're havin', miss; ye'll remember it as long as yelive, I'm thinkin'!" When I complimented this rugged soul on his decoration of thetriumphal arch under which the schoolchildren were to pass, I said, "Ithink if her Majesty could see it, she would be pleased with ourvillage to-day, James. " "Ay, ye're richt, miss, " he replied complacently. "She'd see thatInchcawdy canna compeer wi' us; we've patronized her weel inPettybaw!" Truly, as Stevenson says, "he who goes fishing among the Scotspeasantry with condescension for a bait will have an empty basket byevening. " At eleven o'clock a boy arrived at Bide-a-Wee with an interesting-lookingpackage, which I promptly opened. That dear foolish lover of mine(whose foolishness is one of the most adorable things about him) makesme only two visits a day, and is therefore constrained to send me somereminder of himself in the intervening hours, or minutes, --a book, aflower, or a note. Uncovering the pretty box, I found a long, slender--something--of sparkling silver. "What is it?" I exclaimed, holding it up. "It is too long and not wideenough for a paper-knife, although it would be famous for cuttingmagazines. Is it a _bâton_? Where did Willie find it, and what can itbe? There is something engraved on one side, something that looks likebirds on a twig, --yes, three little birds; and see the lovelycairngorm set in the end! Oh, it has words cut in it: '_To Jean: FromHynde Horn_'--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, I thought, and went up into my little painting and writing room toaddress a programme of the Pettybaw celebration to Lady Baird, watchfor the first glimpse of Willie coming down the loaning, and see if Icould discover where 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 additionaltrace of herself--if one were needed--in a book of old Scottishballads, open at Hynde Horn. I glanced at it idly while I was waitingfor her to return. I was not familiar with the opening verses, andthese were the first 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, to call it a "sceptre of rule over fair Scotland;" and the three birdswere three singing laverocks "to mind her of him when he was gone!" But the real Hynde Horn in the dear old ballad had a true love who wasnot captious and capricious and cold like Francesca. His love gave hima gay 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 whodied when she was a wee child. Truly a very pretty modern ballad to besung in these unromantic, degenerate days! Francesca came in at the door behind me, saw her secret reflected inmy telltale face, saw the sympathetic moisture in my eyes, and, flinging herself into my willing arms, burst into tears. "Oh, Pen, dear, dear Pen, I am so miserable and so happy; so afraidthat he won't come back, so frightened for fear that he will! I senthim away because there were so many lions in the path, and I didn'tknow how to slay them. I thought of my f-father; I thought of myc-c-country. I didn't want to live with him in Scotland, I knew that Icouldn't live without him in America, and there I was! I didn't thinkI was s-suited to a minister, and I am not; but oh! this p-particularminister is so s-suited to me!" and she threw herself on the sofa andburied her head in 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 tableaux 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?"I asked 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 tohave some other king's daughter; that is, that it would be lesspersonal. And I never, never would have been in the tableau, if I haddared refuse Lady Ardmore, or could have explained; but I had no timeto think. And then, naturally, he thought by my being there as theking's daughter that--that--the lions were slain, you know; instead ofwhich they were roaring 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. "But in 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 hebelieves in the Christian religion. The idea of calling such a man aforeigner!" "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 continuedingenuously, "I feared that if I accepted him it would look, overhere, as if the home supply of husbands were of inferior quality; andthen we had such disagreeable discussions at the beginning, I simplycould not bear to leave my nice new free country, and ally myself withhis æons of tiresome history. But it came to me in the night, a weekago, that after all I should hate a man who didn't love hisfatherland; and in the illumination of that new idea Ronald'scharacter assumed a different outline in my mind. How could he loveAmerica when he had never seen it? How could I convince him thatAmerican women are the most charming in the world in any better waythan by letting him live under the same roof with a good example? Howcould I expect him to let me love my country best unless I permittedhim to love his best?" "You needn't offer so many apologies for your infatuation, my dear, " Ianswered dryly. "I am not apologizing 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 willrepeat everything to Willie Beresford within the hour! You think hehas gone on and on loving me against his better judgment. You believehe has fought against it because of my unfitness, but that I, poor, weak, trivial thing, am not capable of deep feeling and that I shallnever appreciate the sacrifices he makes in choosing me! Very well, then, I tell you plainly that if I had to live in a damp manse therest of my life, drink tea and eat scones for breakfast, and--and buymy hats of the Inchcaldy milliner, I should still glory in thepossibility of being Ronald Macdonald's wife, --a possibility hourlygrowing more uncertain, I am sorry to say!" "And the extreme aversion with which you began, " I asked, --"what hasbecome of that, and when did it begin to turn in the oppositedirection?" "Aversion!" she cried, with convincing and unblushing candor. "Thataversion was a cover, clapped on to keep my self-respect warm. Iabused him a good deal, it is true, because it was so delightful tohear you and Salemina take his part. Sometimes I trembled for fear youwould agree with me, but you never did. The more I criticised him, thelouder you sang his praises, --it was lovely! The fact is, --we might aswell throw light upon the whole matter, and then never allude to itagain; and if you do tell Willie Beresford, you shall never visit mymanse, nor see me preside at my mothers' meetings, nor hear me addressthe infant class in the Sunday-school, --the fact is I liked him fromthe beginning at Lady Baird's dinner. I liked the bow he made when heoffered me his arm (I wish it had been his hand); I liked the top ofhis head when it was bowed; I liked his arm when I took it; I likedthe height of his shoulder when I stood beside it; I liked the way heput me in my chair (that showed chivalry), and unfolded his napkin(that was neat and businesslike), and pushed aside all his wineglassesbut one (that was temperate); I liked the side view of his nose, theshape of his collar, the cleanness of his shave, the manliness of histone, --oh, I liked him altogether, you must know how it is, Penelope, --the goodness and strength and simplicity that radiated fromhim. And when he said, within the first half-hour, that internationalalliances presented even more difficulties to the imagination thanothers, I felt, to my confusion, a distinct sense of disappointment. Even while I was quarreling with him, I said to myself, 'You poordarling, you cannot have him even if you should want him, so don'tlook at him much!'--But I did look at him; and what is worse, helooked at me; and what is worse yet, he curled himself so tightlyround my heart that if he takes himself away, I shall be cold the restof 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!" XXV "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 thestair. Francesca sat up straight in a big chair, and dried her eyeshastily with her poor little wet ball of a handkerchief; for she knowsthat Willie is a privileged visitor in my studio. The door opened (itwas ajar), and Ronald Macdonald strode into the room. I hope I maynever have the same sense of nothingness again! To be young, pleasing, gifted, and to be regarded no more than a fly upon the wall, is deathto one's self-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 color 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, andfar, far more. I meant all that a girl can say to a man when she loveshim, and wants to be everything she is capable of being to him, to hiswork, 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 toleap over 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. Ioffered 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 has leftbehind. ' 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 himdetained by the sudden illness of one of his elders. I rode over againto take him the little parcel. Of course I don't know what itcontained; by its size and shape I should judge it might be a thimble, or a collar-button, or a sixpence; but, at all events, he must haveneeded the thing, for he certainly did not let the grass grow underhis feet after he received it! Let us go into the sitting-room untilthey come down, --as they will have to, poor wretches, sooner or later;I know that I am always being brought down against my will. Saleminawants your advice about the number of her Majesty's portraits to behung on the front of the cottage, and the number of candles to beplaced in each window. " It was a half-hour later when Mr. Macdonald came into the room, andwalking directly up to Salemina kissed her hand respectfully. "Miss Salemina, " he said, with evident emotion, "I want to borrow oneof your 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 ofprinciple, " he argued; "but in truth I fear I am not thinking of herMajesty--God bless 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 afeminine diplomat; she wishes to be on hand to enforce the MonroeDoctrine properly, in case her government's accredited ambassadorsrelax in the performance of their duty. " "Salemina!" called a laughing voice outside the door. "I am won'erfullifted 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 andmutinous mouth 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). "Itrust, 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 those 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!" XXVI "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 theafternoon wore on the skies looked a trifle more hopeful. It would be"saft, " no doubt, climbing the Law, but the bonfire must be lighted. Would Pettybaw be behind London? Would Pettybaw desert the Queen inher hour of need? Not though the rain were bursting the well-heads onCawda; not though the swollen mountain burns drowned us to the knee!So off we started as the 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 rumors of war, as was thebeacon-fire on the old gray battlements of Edinburgh Castle in thedays of yore, but a message of peace and good will. Pausing at a huton the side of the great green mountain, we looked north toward Helva, white-crested with a wreath of vapor. (You need not look on your mapof Scotland 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 upbuilt 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 climbingthe mountain side would have acknowledged it; to us the good name ofthe kingdom of Fife and the glory of the British Empire depended onPettybaw fire. Some of us had misgivings, too, --misgivings foundedupon Miss Grieve's dismal prophecies. She had agreed to put ninelighted candles in each of our cottage windows at ten o'clock, but haddeclined to go out of her kitchen to see a procession, hear a band, orlook at a bonfire. She had had a sair sickenin' day, an amount of worktoo wearifu' for one person by her lane. She hoped that the bonfirewasna built o' Mrs. Sinkler's coals nor Mr. Macbrose's kindlings, norsoaked with Mr. Cameron's paraffine; and she finished with thecustomary but irrelative and exasperating allusion to the exceedinglynice family with whom she had lived 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, butwould doubtless rather be assisted. Her gypsy face shone radiant outof her black cloth hood, and Ronald's was no less luminous. I havenever seen two beings more love-daft. They comport themselves as ifthey had read the manuscript of the tender passion, and were moving inexalted superiority through a less favored world, --a world waitingimpatiently for 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 answeredfrom all 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. BrendaMacrae approached the sacred pile, and, tremulous from the effect ofmuch contradictory 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!And we cheered lustily, too, you may be sure! It was more for thewoman than the monarch; it was for the blameless life, not for thesplendid monarchy; but there was everything hearty, and nothing alienin our tone, when we sang "God Save the Queen" with the rest of thePettybaw villagers. 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 plainsbelow, with all the village streets sparkling with light, with rocketsshooting into the air and falling to earth in golden rain, with redlights flickering on the gray lakes, and with one beacon-fire afteranother gleaming from the hilltops, till we could count more thanfifty answering one another from the wooded crests along the shore, some of them piercing the rifts of low-lying clouds till they seemedto be burning in mid-heaven. Then, one by one, the distant fires faded, and as some of us still satthere silently, far, far away in the gray east there was a faint flushof carmine where the new dawn was kindling in secret. Underneath thatviolet 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 rosygray. The wings of the morning stirred and trembled; and in thedarkness and chill and mysterious awakening, eyes looked into othereyes, hand sought hand, and cheeks touched each other in mute caress. XXVII "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 theywere about, and great is the excitement in our little circle. I am tobe married to-morrow, and married in Pettybaw, and Miss Grieve saysthat in Scotland the number of magpies one sees is of infinitesignificance: that one means sorrow; two, mirth; three, a marriage;four, a birth, and we now recall as corroborative detail that we sawone magpie, our first, on the afternoon of her arrival. Mr. Beresford has been cabled for, and must return to America at onceon important business. He persuaded me that the Atlantic is an owerlarge body of water to roll between two lovers, and I agreed with allmy heart. A wedding was arranged, mostly by telegraph, in six hours. TheReverend Ronald and the Friar are to perform the ceremony; a dear oldpainter friend of mine, a London R. A. , will come to give me away;Francesca will be my maid of honor; Elizabeth Ardmore and JeanDalziel, my bridemaidens; Robin Anstruther, the best man; while Jamieand Ralph will be kilted pages-in-waiting, and Lady Ardmore will givethe breakfast at the 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, itis one of Salemina's gifts, chosen as much in a spirit of fun asaffection. 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 (itis, in truth, a building beautiful enough to tempt an æsthete tocrime), and a much more fitting symbol for a wedding-cake, --unless, indeed, she adds, Salemina intends her gift to be a monument to myfolly. 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, andspirited "o'er the border an' awa'" by my dear Jock o' Hazledean. Unhappily, all is quite regular and aboveboard; no "lord of Langleydale" contests the prize with the bridegroom, but the marriage is atleast unique and unconventional; no one can rob me of that sweetconsolation. So "gallop down the westlin skies, " dear Sun, but, prythee, gallopback to-morrow! "Gang soon to bed, " an you will, but rise againbetimes! Give me Queen's weather, dear Sun, and shine a benison uponmy wedding morn! [_Exit Penelope into the ballad-land of maiden dreams. _] The Riverside Press CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS, U. S. A. ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND CO.