by J. J. Bell
BREAKING IT GENTLY
The quest of the right ring occupied the whole of the forenoon, andMacgregor reached his home in bare time for the family dinner. Hedesired to break his news as gently as possible, so, after making,to his mother's annoyance, a most wretched meal, he said to hisfather, who was lighting his pipe, in a voice meant to be natural:
'I got five pound frae Aunt Purdie the day.'
'Ye what!' Mr. Robinson dropped the match, and shouted to hiswife, who, assisted by their daughter, was starting to wash up.'Lizzie! Did ever ye hear the like? Macgreegor's got five poundfrae his Aunt Purdie! Dod, but that's a braw birthday----'
'She said it was for accidental expenses,' stammered the son.
Lizzie turned and looked at him. 'What ails ye the day, laddie?'
'Uncle Purdie's gaun to keep ma place for me,' he floundered.
'Keep yer place for ye!' cried John. 'What's a' this abootaccidental expenses? Ha'e ye got hurt?'
Mrs. Robinson came over and laid a damp hand on her boy's shoulder.'Macgreegor, ye needna be feart to tell us. We can thole it.' Sheglanced at her husband, and said, in a voice he had not oftenheard: 'John, oor wee Macgreegor has growed up to be a; sojer'--andwent back to her dishes.
Later, and just when he ought to be returning to his work, Mr.Robinson, possibly for the mere sake of saying something, requesteda view of the five pounds.
'Ay,' seconded Lizzie, cheerfully, whilst her hand itched to grabthe money and, convey it to the bank, 'let's see them, laddie.'And sister Jeannie and small brother Jimsie likewise gathered roundthe hero.
With a feeble grin, Macgregor produced his notes.
'He's jist got three!' cried Jimsie.
'Whisht, Jimsie!' whispered Jeannie.
'Seems to ha'e been a bad accident already!' remarked John,laughing boisterously.
'John,' said Lizzie, 'ye'll be late. Macgreegor'll maybe walk abit o' the road wi' ye.'
They were well on their way to the engineering works, where Mr.Robinson was foreman, when Macgregor managed to say:
'I burst the twa pound on a ring.'
'Oho!' said John, gaily; then solemnly, 'What kin' o' a ring,Macgreegor?'
'An engagement yin,' the ruddy youth replied.
Mr. Robinson laughed, but not very heartily. 'Sae lang as it's noa waddin' ring. . . . Weel, weel, this is the day for news.' Hetouched his son's arm. 'It'll be the young lass in the stationeryshop--her that ye whiles see at yer Uncle Purdie's hoose--eh?'
'Hoo did ye ken?'
'Oh, jist guessed. It's her?'
'Maybe. . . . She hasna ta'en the ring yet.'
'But ye think she will, or ye wudna ha'e tell't me. Weel, I'm sureI wish ye luck, Macgreegor. She's a bonny bit lass, rael clever, Iwud say, an'--an' gey stylish.'
'She's no that stylish--onyway, no stylish like Aunt Purdie.'
'Ah, but ye maunna cry doon yer Aunt Purdie----'
'I didna mean that. But ye ken what I mean, fayther.'
'Oh, fine, fine,' Mr. Robinson replied, thankful that he had notbeen asked to explain precisely what _he_ had meant. 'She bides wi'her uncle an' aunt, does she no?' he continued, thoughtfully. 'I'mwonderin' what they'll say aboot this. I doobt they'll say ye'refaur ower young to be thinkin' o' a wife.'
It was on Macgregor's tongue to retort that he had never thought ofany such thing, when his father went on----
'An' as for yer mither, it'll be a terrible surprise to her. Isuppose ye'll be tellin', her as sune's ye get back ?'
'Ay. . . . Are ye no pleased about it?'
'Me?' Mr. Robinson scratched his head. 'Takin' it for grantedthat ye're serious aboot the thing, I was never pleaseder. Ye cantell yer mither that, if ye like.'
Macgregor was used to the paternal helping word at awkward moments,but he had never valued it so much as now. As a matter of fact, hedreaded his mother's frown less than her smile. Yet he need nothave dreaded either on this occasion.
He found her in the kitchen, busy over a heap of more or lesswoolly garments belonging to himself. Jimsie was at afternoonschool; Jeannie sat in the little parlour knitting as though lifedepended thereby.
He sat down in his father's chair by the hearth and lit a cigarettewith fingers not quite under control.
'I'll ha'e to send a lot o' things efter ye,' Lizzie remarked.'This semmit's had its day.'
'I'll be gettin' a bit leave afore we gang to the Front,' saidMacgregor, as though the months of training were already nearing anend.
'If ye dinna get leave sune, I'll be up at the barracks to ha'e aword wi' the general.'
'It'll likely be a camp, mither.'
'Aweel, camp or barracks, see an' keep yer feet cosy, an' dinnasmoke ower mony ceegarettes.' She fell to with her needle.
At the end of a long minute, Macgregor observed to the kettle: 'Itell't fayther what I done wi' the twa pound.'
'Did ye?'
'Ay. He--he was awfu' pleased.'
'Was he?'
Macgregor took a puff at his cold cigarette, and tried again. 'Hesaid I was to tell ye he was pleased.'
'Oh, did he?'
'Never pleaseder in his life.'
'That was nice,' commented Lizzie, twirling the thread round thestitching of a button.
He got up, went to the window, looked out, possibly forinspiration, and came back with a little box in his hand.
'That's what I done,' he said, dropped it on her sewing, andstrolled to the window again.
After a long time, as it seemed, he felt her gaze and heard hervoice.
'Macgreegor, are ye in earnest?'
'Sure.' He turned to face her, but now she was looking down at thering.
'It'll be Mistress Baldwin's niece,' she said, at last.
'Hoo did ye ken?'
'A nice lass, but ower young like yersel'. An' yet'--she liftedher eyes to his--'ye're auld enough to be a sojer. Does she kenye've enlisted?'
He nodded, looking away. There was something in his mother'seyes. . .
'Aweel,' she said, as if to herself, 'this war'll pit auld heids onsome young shouthers.' She got up, laid her seam deliberately onthe table, and went to him. She put her arm round him. 'Wi' yerKing an' yer Country an' yer Christina,' she said, with a sort oflaugh, 'there winna be a great deal o' ye left for yer mither. Butshe's pleased if you're pleased--this time, at ony rate.' Shereleased him. 'I maun tell Jeannie.' she said, leaving the kitchen.
Jeannie came, and for once that sensible little person talkednonsense. In her eyes, by his engagement, her big brother hadsimply out-heroed himself.
'Aw, clay up, Jeannie,' he cried at last, in his embarrassment.'Come on oot wi' me, an' I'll stan' ye a dizzen sliders.'
