CHAPTER XVII.
To get to the house one takes a steamer to the head of the loch, andfrom there old Hughie drives one in the coach, and deposits one at thecross-roads where the turf, short and green, is cut into the shape of aheart. On this green heart, in the old days, the girls and men of theglen were married. They stood side by side on the upper part of theheart, which is indented, and the minister stood at the point andwedded the pair. Here one leaves the coach, and a "machine" must takeone on to the little house. A red creeper grows up its white walls,and from the terrace in front of the house one looks down upon thelittle Presbyterian church and the village, and these in their turnlook on to the loch and the hills on the other side.
The people in the village afford one a good deal of amusement, but wehave observed that the conversation is always about theology or theRoyal Family. There is one story of the late Queen and the crown ofScotland which I have heard repeated many times with the utmost gravityin the Highlands.
"A gran' wumman," say the old villagers, "but we were no gaein' tae gieher the croon o' Scotland. Na, na. She would hae liked fine tae hevgotten it, but we were no gaein' tae gie her the croon o' Scotland.Ye'll mind when she went tae Scotland, it was the foremost thing thatshe spiered tae see. And when they showed it tae her, 'I would likefine tae pit it on ma heid,' said she. But they said '_No_.' And syneshe says, 'Wad ye no let me haud it in ma haund?' But they say '_No_.''Weel,' she says, 'juist haud it aboon ma heid, and let me staun'underneath it.' But they said, '_No_.'"
The villagers formed our only society until Evan Sinclair's tenants,who were known as "the folk at the big hoose," came to call upon us.It was very difficult indeed, and for some time we could hardly believethat these were the Finlaysons whom we had met at Clarkham, and who, wenow remembered, had told us that they were going to take a place inScotland. The change in the Finlaysons is startling and complete. Ithas taken them exactly two months to become Highlanders, and it is nottoo much to affirm that now the whole family may be said to reek oftartan. Only Mrs. Finlayson is unaffected by her life in theHighlands, although she says that she knows it is fashionable to beScottish. "And so written up as it is at present," she adds; "and allthe best people taking the deer-moors. Papa and the girls think allthe world of Scotland. But no one can say it is comfortable, I'm sure."
The Finlaysons have a piper, and young Mr. Finlayson wears a kilt, andI think they are, without exception, the most strenuous supporters ofScottish customs I have ever met. The young ladies, who had alwaysbeen associated in our mind with silk dresses and thin shoes, came tocall clad in the very shortest and roughest tweed skirts that I haveever seen; and old Mr. Finlayson, whose mother was a Robinson, hasdiscovered that that is pretty much the same as being a Robertson, andthat therefore, in some mysterious way, he is entitled to wear theMacdonald tartan. They asked us to tea in a very polite and friendlyway, and the old rooms were shown off to us with a good deal of pride.The architecture of the house seemed to throw a reflected glory on Mr.Finlayson.
"Pure Early Scottish," he said, pointing to the tall narrow windowswith their shelving ledges.
"So dangerous," said Mrs. Finlayson, "for the servants cleaning thewindows."
The drawing-room vases were all filled with heather, and the room smeltof damp dog and herrings. The Miss Finlaysons came in to tea in thickskirts and brogues, and they wore tartan tam-o'-shanters verybecomingly placed upon their heads, and affixed to their hair withornamental bonnet-pins. They ate cake with damp red hands, and seemedto pride themselves upon the fish-scales which still clung to theirskirts, and imparted the rather unpleasant odour which I noticed in theroom. Young Finlayson in his kilt showed a great expanse of red knee,and told tales of remarks made to him by the boatmen, which heconsidered equal to anything in Ian Maclaren's books.
Mrs. Finlayson took us out after tea to see the garden and tennis-courtand the game-larder. "I always like a walled garden," she said; "it isso stylish." Mr. Finlayson found a reflected glory even in the lochand the hills, and he waved his fat hand towards them, and said: "Weare able to do you a nice bit of view here, aren't we?"
"I tell papa," said Mrs. Finlayson, "that he will ruin the girls foranything else after this. The only thing we regret is the want ofsociety. However, a few of the best people round about have called,and we are giving quite an informal little dinner-party to-morrownight."
Mrs. Finlayson then invited us to dinner, and when we hesitated, on theplea that we should have one or two friends with us, Mrs. Finlayson, inthe most hospitable manner possible, said that she always had a"profusion on their own table," so there was nothing for it but toaccept her invitation.
The dinner was one of those rather purposeless feasts which are givenin the country, and the Finlaysons' neighbours who had been bidden toit bore upon their faces the peculiarly homeless look which oneobserves in the expressions of one's men friends especially, when theygo out to a rural dinner--the look that says as plainly as possiblethat they are moving about in worlds not realized nor foundparticularly comfortable, and that they would infinitely prefer theirown armchairs at home.
The minister took Palestrina in to dinner, and occupied himselfthroughout the evening by putting the most searching questions to herof an inquisitive nature. He asked how many servants we had, whetherwe were satisfied with our cook, where we came from, and why we hadcome. And he did it all with such keen interest and intelligence thatPalestrina admitted that she really had felt flattered rather thanprovoked. His friend Evan Sinclair, who, having let his house to theFinlaysons, is living on a little farm close by, contradictedeverything that the minister said, and the two quarrelled the wholeevening.
Old Tyne Drum, who lives a good many miles away, but who with his wifehad already been to call upon us, brewed himself the very largestglasses of whisky-toddy that I have ever seen, even on a big night atmess, and he proposed healths and drank the steaming mixture throughoutdinner in a very commendable national spirit. His piper, who stoodbehind his chair, refused at last to pour out any further libations,and I heard him mutter to himself, "Ye'll no need tae say that SandyMacnichol ever helpit ye tae the deil."
Young Finlayson is always very jocose upon the subject of whisky, asbefits his ideas about the Highlands; and even the Misses Finlayson, intheir faithful loyalty to all things Scottish, were quite pleased withTyne Drum's performance, and would have scorned to look as though awhisky-drinking laird was a novelty to them.
Mrs. Finlayson told Thomas, in a very severe manner, and in herplatform voice which I always find so impressive, that she consideredintemperance a sin, but that that was what came of all this nonsenseabout Scotland. She gave him quite a lecture upon the subject, asthough he, being Scottish born, was responsible for the old laird'sbacksliding.
When the unfortunate old gentleman came into the drawing-room to jointhe ladies and sat down next him, Mrs. Finlayson looked at Thomas asthough she thought he was in some sort to blame for this behaviour.
Tyne Drum dropped heavily on to the ottoman, and I heard him say, "Doyou know my wife?"
"Yes," replied Thomas. "I have met her several times since we came tothe cottage."
"Hoo old should ye think she was?" (Tyne Drum is always broadly Doricin his speech.) Thomas calculated that the lady must be a long way thewrong side of sixty, and humbly suggested that she might perhaps beforty-five.
"Presairve us!" said the Laird. "This lad here says my wife isforty-five!" He began to sob bitterly, and, putting his handkerchiefto his eyes, cried, "My pretty wee Jeannie, my bonnie wee wife, whadaurs tae say ye was forty-five!"
Thomas was so sorry for him and for what he had done that he did hisbest to cheer him up by telling him that what he had meant to say wastwenty-five; but Tyne Drum was inconsolable, and went to sleep with thetear-drops on his cheeks.
When we got home in the evening Palestrina said, "We are far behind theFinlaysons in all things Scottish. I shall buy a Harris tweed skirt,and you and Thomas must buy
something too." So we drove down in thecoach to the ferry on a very wet and windy day to cross over to the"toon."
Our place on the coach was shared with a Scot, who was the mosttruculent defender of the Free Kirk I have ever met. He argued everysingle point of his creed, and became quite abusive at last, as hedenounced the "Established" and all who belong to it.
The wind was high as we drove in the coach, and the rain fell heavilyonce or twice, but the voice of the gentleman rose higher and higher asthe rain descended. Hughie, the coachman, chided him with no stint ofwords, and at every burst of eloquence on the passenger's part heremarked, "Anither worrd, and I'll pit ye in the ditch!"
This method of treating the argumentative passenger suggested thepossibility of the coach being overturned in order to punish him, andPalestrina grew alarmed.
"I do hope," she said to Hughie, "that you will remember that we arenot all Wee Frees, and that therefore we do not all require the sametreatment meted out to us."
The guard at the back of the coach here showed his head over the pileof boxes covered with tarpaulin on the roof, and called out, "Pit himinside the coach wi' Mrs. Macfadyen, and she'll sort him! She'll giehim the Gaelic!"
Hughie chuckled and remarked, "Ay, she's the gran' wumman wi' hertongue!" And during the rest of the drive his threats to the eloquentpassenger took the form of, "Anither worrd, and I'll pit ye in wi' Mrs.Macfadyen!"
There was a marked improvement in our friend's behaviour after this.He was in great difficulties when he came to get into the ferry-boat.It was easy enough to throw his first leg over the side while holdingon by a thole-pin, but the balance required to convey the remaininglimb into the boat was quite out of his power. And having made one ortwo ineffectual hops on the beach with the shore-loving member, heturned to the boatmen, and said gravely,--
"Lift in my leg, Angus! Juist gie me a hand wi' ma last leg!"
Palestrina chose the tweed for our coats and her skirt, and then wewalked up to the Castle and called on the Melfords, who told us thatMrs. Fielden was coming to stay with them. They sang her praises, asmost people do; she has heaps of friends. Then Palestrina did someshopping at the "flesher's" and the baker's, and we went down to theferry again--a boy behind us laden with queer-looking parcelscontaining provisions, and Alloa yarn to knit into stockings, andpaper-bags with ginger-bread cakes in them. When we got in and satdown under the brown sail of the heavy boat, the two sailors remainedin their places, and did not show the least sign of getting under way.Thomas said to the elder of the two men, a fine old fellow with a facesuch as one connects with stories of the Covenanters,--
"Why don't you get off?"
And the old man replied unmoved, "I'm waiting for the Lord."
Palestrina, who is sympathetic in every matter, put on an expression ofdeep religious feeling, and we thought of the Irvingites, and wishedthat we had Eliza Jamieson with us "to look it up." As far as we knew,the Irvingites wait to perform every action until inspired to performit. We had heard that in the smallest matter, such as beginning to eattheir dinner, they will wait until this inspiration, as I suppose onemust call it, is given to them. The question then arose, how longwould it be before we would be likely to get under way? The twosailors sat on without moving, and the elder of them cut a wedge oftobacco and was filling his pipe, preparing to smoke. We wondered ifthe Irvingites often waited for an inspiration in this contented way.The big red-funnelled steamer from Greenock was, meanwhile, preparingto depart. It had poured its daily output of tourists for theirhalf-hour's run in the town, which time they employ in buying mementoesof the place, and we had hurried down to the sailing-boat to escapethis influx.
Thomas endeavoured to assist inspiration by saying it didn't seem muchuse waiting any longer, and that as time was getting on, did not ourfriend (the gray-bearded Covenanter) think that it was time to bemoving? The Covenanter wrinkled up his nose, which already was a gooddeal wrinkled, and gazed upwards at the sail, or, as we interpreted it,to Heaven. Palestrina pressed Thomas's hand, and said gently, "Don'turge him, dear; we shall get off in time." And the younger sailorsaid, "We are waiting for the Lord." So we knew that they were bothIrvingites, and the only scepticism that intruded itself upon us wasthis: Suppose inspiration never came, how should we get home?
The steamer now began to move away from the pier, with a great churningand hissing of water, and seething white foam fizzing round the staplesof the pier. A band began to play on board, and the paddles broke thewater with a fine sweep. Two youngsters on shore, to whom "thestimmer" is a daily excitement, then called out in shrill, high voices,"There's the Lord! She's aff!"
The _Lord of the Isles_ had moved off on her return journey toGreenock, and the notes on Scottish religion which Palestrina wascarefully preparing were hastily destroyed. The _Lord_ had departed,and we sailed across the loch without waiting any longer.
When we got home, we found the minister awaiting us in thedrawing-room, he having suggested that as we were not at home, he hadbetter stay till our return. I found out, in the course ofconversation, that he is a distant relation of old CaptainJamieson--the Jamiesons' father--so we had quite a long talk about ourfriends. The minister is one of those Scots whose nationalcharacteristics are always stronger than individual character. Takeaway his nationality from him, and Mr. Macorquodale would be nothing atall. His qualities being entirely Scottish, it is only logical toassume that if Mr. Macorquodale were not Scottish, he would benon-existent.
Palestrina came out on to the little terrace where we were sitting, andI explained to her that the minister was a cousin of the Jamiesons.
"How interesting!" said Palestrina in her usual kind way.
"Why?" said the minister. He has sandy hair and very round gray eyes,and looks like a football player.
"Oh, I don't know," said my sister; "it's always interesting, isn't it,to find that people are related?"
"Every one must have some relations," said Mr. Macorquodale; "and if mychoice had been given me, I do not think I should have chosen thosefive gurrls."
"We like them so much," Palestrina said, smiling.
"Is that the truth?" said Mr. Macorquodale; and she replied firmly thatit was.
"Um umph!" he said, as though considering a perfectly new problem, andthen added: "Well, each man to his taste. How many of them have gothusbands?"
I replied that Kate was married and Gracie engaged.
"Gracie?" said the minister simply. "Was that the one with a nose likea scone?"
We considered Grade's nose silently for a moment, and then admittedthat perhaps the simile was not unjust.
"How did she get him?" said the minister presently.
The minister has a curious way of eating, which fascinates one to lookat, while all the time there is a distinct feeling that an accident mayhappen at any moment. When tea was brought out he accepted some, andfilled his mouth very full of cookie, stowing into it nearly a wholeone at a time, and then raised his tea-cup to his lips. He persists inkeeping his spoon in his cup as he drinks, and he prevents it fromtumbling out by holding it with his thumb. A long draught of tea isthen partaken of with a gurgling sound, and the minister swallowsaudibly. It is almost impossible to prevent one's self watching thisprocess of eating and drinking during the whole of tea-time. For itseems so uncertain whether the spoon will remain in its place, and thecookie and the tea.
The minister is a very young man, with the pugnacity of an EdinburghHigh School boy, and with the awful truthfulness which distinguisheshis nation, but which is accentuated in such an alarming degree in aminister of the Kirk.
"I sent Kate a scent-bottle when she married," he remarked. "I won itat a bazaar for sixpence, so it was not expensive. I don't disapproveof raffles," he added, although he had not been asked for this piece ofinformation--"that is, if ladies do not cheat over it, as they oftendo." Palestrina bristled at the insinuation, and the minister consoledher by saying: "Women sin in such wee ways--that's what I can'tunder
stand about them. However," he said, "I have never known a womansteal a thing yet that a man has not reaped some benefit by it. I canquote authority for my views from Adam and Eve downwards, to thenewspapers of yesterday. I am engaged to be married myself, and I findthe subject of feminine ethics absorbing. Good-bye," he saidpresently; "I hope you will not be disappointed with the clothes I hearyou've ordered."
Alas! the tweed coat and skirt in which my sister hoped to rival theMiss Finlaysons proved an utter misfit, and she drove round the loch onthe following day to take the garments back. Palestrina had prepared asevere reprimand for the tailor, but the old man took the wind out ofher sails by stopping in amazement at the first word of annoyance whichshe uttered, and standing in the middle of the little fitting-room,with a yellow tape measure round his neck, and a piece of chalk in hishand, he shook his gray beard at us with something of apostolicfervour, and thus addressed us:--
"I'm amazed at ye! Do ye ever consider the system of planets, and thatthis world is one of the lesser points of light in space, and that evenhere there are countless millions of human beings, full of greatresolves and high purposes. Get outside yourselves, ladies andgentlemen, and realize in the magnitude of the universe, and theimmeasurable majesty of the planetary system, how small a thing is theill-fit of a jacket."
We felt much humbled, Palestrina and I. And it was only when we weredriving home afterwards that it even dimly suggested itself to us thatwe had right on our side at all. "After all," Palestrina said, "thecoats did not fit; I really do not think he need have lectured us soseverely."
At the time, however, I confess that our feelings were distinctlyapologetic.
One wonders how a tailor who advanced the planetary system as a reproofto complaining customers would get on in London, and one realizes thatEnglish people have a great deal still to learn.
A Lame Dog's Diary Page 17
