The Brownie of Bodsbeck, and Other Tales Volume Ii Part 8

"Ay, it's weel o' you to say sae; but he's a douse, respectable man, and he's no disgraced in his son."

Barnaby rose with his bicker in his hand; gave it a graceful swing, as a gentleman does his hat when he meets a lady, made a low bow, and set down Nimrod his share of the paritch.

When they went to the river Barnaby sat him down on the bank, and Meg went into the running stream, and began with great agility, and much splas.h.i.+ng, to wash up her clothes. Barnaby perceived her smiling to herself, and was sure that a volley of some stuff or other was forthcoming. She cast her eyes towards the laird's house, then looked up the water, then down, in case any one might be angling on it; and after perceiving that there was n.o.body within a mile of them, she spoke as follows to Barnaby, in a half whisper, lest any one should overhear her.

"Gude sauf us to the day, Barny man! What think ye o' our laird?"

"Very muckle. I think him a decent worthy lad."

"Decent! Shame fa' _his_ decency!--I watna what will be count.i.t _un_decent soon! Sae ye haena heard o' his shamfu' connection wi' the bit prodigal, dinnagood la.s.sie, that was here?"

"Never."

"It's a' ower true though; but say nae a word about it. My billy Rob was obliged to chase her out o' the country for it; an' a burnin shame an' a disgrace it was to the laird to take up wi' the likes o' her.--Deil a bit o' her has the pith o' a pipe-stapple!--Fich, fy! Away wi' your spindle-shankit babyclouts--they're no the gear."

"As ye say, Meg. I like nane o' the women that _stand pon trifles_."

"Stand on trifles!--Ha! ha! that's real good! that's devilish clever for a--young man! Ha! ha!--Tut! that water's weetin' a' my claes.--Wad ye hae made sic a choice, Barny?"

"D'ye think that I'm blind? or that I dinna ken what's what?--Na, na, Meg! let me alane; I'm no sae young a cat but I ken a mouse by a feather."

"If a' our young men had the sense o' you, Barny, some o' them might get a pock an' a wheen rust.i.t nails to jingle in't; they might get something better than a bit painted doll, wi' a waist like a thread-paper, an' hae nought ado foreby but to draw in the chair an' sit down; but _they'll_ rin after a wheen clay-cakes baken i' the sun, an' leave the good substantial ait-meal bannocks to stand till they moul, or be pouched by them that draff an' bran wad better hae mensed!--Tut! I'm ower deep into the stream again, without ever thinkin' o't."

"That's a' ower true that ye hae been sayin', Meg--ower true, indeed!

But as to your news about the laird and Jane, I dinna believe a word o't."

"Oh! it's maybe no true, ye ken! It's very likely a lee! There's naething mair likely, than that a' their correspondence was as pure as the morning snaw. For a laird, ye ken, worth three thousand pund o'

yearly rental, to frequent the house o' a bit la.s.sie for an hour ilka day, an' maybe ilka night to, wha kens; ye ken it's a' fair! there's nought mair likely than that they're _very_ innocent! An' _sic_ a ane too as she is! little better, I trow, than she should be, gin a' war kend. To be sure she has a son, _that_ may arguy _something_ for her decency. But after a', I dinna blame _her_, for I ken by mysel----"

"Haud your tongue now, Meg, my bonny quean; for I ken ye are gaun to lee on yoursel, an' speak nonsense into the bargain."

"Ah! Barny! but ye are a queer ane!" (then in a whisper.) "I say--Barny--What do ye think o' the bit farm o' Hesperslack? How wad ye like to be tenant there yoursel, an' hae servants o' your ain?"

"I haena thought about that yet; but yonder's my master keekin ower the knowe; he'll be thinkin I'm stayin unco lang frae my sheep."

"Ah! is my billy Rob yonder?--No a _word_ ye ken now, Barny. No a cheip aboon your breath about yon."

Sad and heavy were Barnaby's reflections that day as he herded his sheep all alone. "And _this_ is the girl that I have taken and recommended so warmly to my parents! I do not believe the hateful slander; but I will go and inform them of all. It is proper they should know all that I know, and then let them judge for themselves. Poor luckless Jeany! I fear she is a ruined creature, be she as innocent and harmless as she will!"

Barnaby was resolved to go, but day past on after day, and still he had not the heart to go and tell his parents, although every whisper that he heard tended rather to strengthen suspicion than dispel it.

On the very day that we left Lindsey in such distress for the loss of his amiable Wool-gatherer, Barnaby and he met by the side of the stream, at the foot of the Todburn-Hope. They were both alike anxious to speak to one another, but neither of them had the courage to begin, although both were burning to talk on the same theme. Lindsey fished away, swimming the fly across the ripple as dexterously and provokingly as he was able. Barnaby stood and looked on in silence; at length a yellowfin rose. "Aigh, that was a great chap! I wish your honour had hookit that ane."

"It was better for him that I did not. Do you ever fish any?"

"O yes. I gump them whiles."

"_Gump_ them? pray what mode of fis.h.i.+ng is that?"

"I guddle them in aneath the stanes an' the braes like."

"I do not exactly understand the terms nor the process. Pray will you be so good," continued he, holding out the fis.h.i.+ng-rod to Barnaby, "as give me a specimen how you _gump_ the fish?"

"Od bless you, sir, I can do naething wi' that goad; but if ye'll gang wi' me a wee piece up the Todburn-Hope, or up to the Rowntree-Linn, I'll let ye see gumping to perfection."

On being a.s.sured that it was not above half a mile to either of the places, the laird accompanied Barnaby without hesitation, to witness this pastoral way of fis.h.i.+ng. By the way their converse became very interesting to both parties, but we cannot interrupt the description of such a favourite rural sport just now. Let it suffice that their discourse was all concerning a fair unfortunate, of whom the reader has heard a good deal already, and of whom he shall hear more in due time.

They crossed over a sloping ground, at the bottom of a green steep hill, and soon came into the Todburn-Hope. It was a narrow level valley between two high hills, and terminated in the haunted linn, above the sheep-house formerly mentioned. Down this narrow vale the Tod Burn ran with a thousand beautiful serpentine windings, and at every one of these turns there were one or two clear deep pools, overhung by little green banks. Into the first of these pools Barnaby got with his staff, plunging and poaching to make all the fish take into close cover; then he threw off his ragged coat, tucked up the sleeves of his s.h.i.+rt to the shoulders, tying them together behind, and into the pool he got again, knees and elbows, putting his arms in below the green banks, into the closest and most secret recesses of the trouts. There was no eluding him; he threw them out one after another, sometimes. .h.i.tting the astonished laird on the face, or any other part of the body without ceremony, for his head being down sometimes close with the water, and sometimes below it, he did not see where he flung them. The trouts being a little startled at this momentary change from one element to another, jumped about on the gra.s.s, and cast so many acute somersets, that the laird had greater difficulty in getting hold of them the second time to put them into his basket, than Barnaby had at first; and when the latter had changed the scene of plunder to a new pool, Lindsey was commonly to be seen beside the old one, moving slowly about on his hands and knees.

"I think ye're pinched to catch them on the dry grund, sir," said Barnaby to him.

"No, no," returned he, with the utmost simplicity; "but I was looking lest some of them had made their way among the long gra.s.s and eluded me; and besides they are so very active and slippery that I seldom can keep the hold of them that I get."

As they were going from one of these little pools to another, he said to our shepherd, "So this is what you call _gumping_?"

"Yes, sir, this is gumping, or _guddling_, ony o' them ye like to ca't."

"I do not think this is altogether a fair way of fis.h.i.+ng."

"Now, I think it is muckle fairer than the t.i.ther way, sir. Your way is founded on the lowest artifice and deceit, but I come as an avowed enemy, and let them escape me if they can. I come into a family as a brave mountain robber or free-booter; but you come as a deceitful friend, promising to treat the family with all good things, that you may poison them every one unawares. A mountaineer's sports are never founded on cunning; it's a' sheer and main force wi' us."

Lindsey confessed that the shepherd's arguments had some foundation in nature and truth, but that they savoured of a period exempt from civilization and the fine arts. "At all events," said he, "it is certainly the most downright way of fis.h.i.+ng that I ever beheld." In short, it was not long till the laird was to be seen wading in the pools, and _gumping_ as busily as the other; and, finally, he was sometimes so intent on his prey, that the water was running over his back, so that when he raised himself up it poured in torrents from his fine Holland s.h.i.+rt and stained cambrick ruffles. "Ye hae settled the pletts o' your sark," said Barnaby. Never did the family of Earlhall behold such a basket of trouts; and never had its proprietor such a day's sport at the fis.h.i.+ng, as he had at the _gumping_ or _guddling_ the trouts among the links of the Todburn-Hope.

Though the sport occupied their minds completely during the time they were engaged in it, yet it was only a relaxation from concerns of a more serious nature. From Barnaby's information the laird now saw exactly how the land lay; and though he got no hint of the part that his mother had acted in it, yet he rather suspected, for he well knew her sentiments regarding all the young and beautiful part of her own s.e.x. Barnaby gave him no notice that he had ever seen the girl after her dismissal, or that he knew to what part of the world she had retired; and before they parted he desired him to tell his master to come down and speak with him that night.

Robin came as appointed; Lindsey and his mother were sitting by themselves in the parlour when the servant announced him; he was ordered to join them, and as soon as he came in Lindsey said, "Come away, Robin.

I had a piece of information within these few days of you, that has somewhat distressed me, and I sent for you to make enquiry concerning it. What reasons had you for turning away the poor stranger girl and child from her cot before the term of your agreement expired?"

Robin looked to the window, then to the lady, and then to the window again, and finally looked down to the carpet, twirled his bonnet with both hands, and remained silent. Though a strong and speaking look of appeal was turned on the old lady by Robin from time to time, yet she, hearing her son speak in that determined manner, likewise sat still without opening her lips.

"Why don't you answer me?" continued Lindsey. "I ask you simply what were your reasons for turning her away? you certainly must be able to state them."

"Hem! We war feared, sir--we war feared that she was a bad ane."

"You were _afraid_ she was bad? Had you no other proofs of her badness farther than your own fears?"

"Indeed, sir, I never saw ony ill behaviour about the la.s.sie. But ye ken weel enough that ane wha had forsaken the paths o' virtue and honesty sae early as it appears she had done, wi' sic an enchanting manner, an'

weelfaurd face into the boot, was rather a dangerous neighbour for sae mony young chiels."

"I think what Robin says is very true, and good sense," said the old lady.

"You certainly ought to have taken all these things into consideration before you bargained with her at first, Robin," said Lindsey. "I suppose you cannot argue that she is either grown younger or more beautiful since that period? I rather suspect, Robin, that you have used this young woman extremely ill; and if you cannot give any better reasons for your severity towards her, I can find out a method of forcing you to make an ample retribution."

"Indeed then, sir, sin' I maun tell the truth, I will tell the truth; it was my lady, your worthy mother there, that persuaded, and _ordered_ me to turn her away; for we had observed how great a favourite she was with you, and dreaded the consequences."

"It is then exactly as I suspected. You two have done me a great injury, and one that will not be easily wiped away. I hope neither of you intended it; but I would gladly know what trait in my character justified the conclusion you made? I think you might both have known my dispositions better than to have so readily believed that I would injure youth and beauty, that had already been unfortunate in the world--that I would add to her state of wretchedness, by annihilating for ever that innate principle of virtue and modesty, inherent in every young female's breast, which never man loved more, or delighted more to view, exerting all its primitive and untainted sway. If you had reflected at all, you could not have believed me capable of it. You have taken the readiest means in your power of injuring my character in the eyes of the world. It must naturally be concluded, that there was a profligate and criminal intercourse subsisting between us, which rendered such an act of cruelty and injustice necessary. You have hurt my honour and my feelings, and wronged a defenceless and amiable young woman. It is on my account that she is thus innocently suffering, and I am determined, for my own satisfaction, to see her righted, as far as redress is in my power, though equivalent for an injured reputation there is none; but every vile insinuation on my account shall be fairly dispelled. To make, therefore, an end of all reflections at once, I warn you, Robin, that if she is not found, and restored to her rights, in less than a fortnight at farthest, you need not be surprised if _you_ are some day removed on as short notice as you gave to her."

The old lady and farmer had an inward view of matters in a different light: They perceived that the world would say he had brought her back to keep her there as his mistress, but this elegant and inflated harangue they were unable to answer. The young man's conscience was hurt, and they were no casuists. The lady, it is true, uttered some involuntary sounds as he was speaking, but it was not easy to determine whether they were groans or hems of approbation. If one might have judged from her countenance, they were like the former, but the sounds themselves were certainly modulations of the latter. She was dependant on her son! Robin was studying a friendly reply, by way of remonstrance, all the time of the speech; but Robin was a widower, had a good farm, a large family, and was a tenant at will, and the conclusion of the said speech was a stumbling-block to Robin.

Pray, gentle reader, did you ever see a country maiden baking pease-meal bannocks? If you ever did you must have noted, that before she committed them one by one to the gridiron, she always stood straight up, with her head gracefully turned to one side, and moulded them with her two hands to an orb, as nearly resembling the full moon as she could. You must likewise have remarked, that while engaged in this becoming part of her avocation, she was never once looking at her work, but that while her head had that sly cast to the one side, her eyes were ever and anon fixed on the window, noting what was going on without, looking perhaps for her lad coming from the hill, or whistling at the plough. If you have ever seen this, you can easily comprehend the att.i.tude I mean--if you have never, it is a great pity!