Annie o' the Banks o' Dee Part 10

"No, no; you have been a faithful servant for many a day."

"Well, now, Laird, here comes the bit. I want to build a bit housie on the knoll, close by the forest, just a but and a ben and a kennel. Then I would breed terriers, and make a bit out of that. f.a.n.n.y would see to them while I did your work. But man, Laird, I've sc.r.a.ped and sc.r.a.ped, and saved and saved, and I've hardly got enough yet to begin life with."

"How much do you need?"

"Oh, Laird, thirty pounds would make f.a.n.n.y and me as happy as a duke and d.u.c.h.ess."

"Sandie, I'll lend it to you. I'll take no interest. And if you're able some time to pay it back, just do it. That will show you are as honest as I believe you are."

The tears sprang, or seemed to spring, to Sandie's eyes, and he had to take another big noseful of snuff to hide his emotions.

"May the Lord bless ye, Laird! I'll just run over now and tell f.a.n.n.y."

It does not take so long to build a Highland cot as it would to erect a Crystal Palace, and in three weeks' time Shufflin' Sandie's house was complete and furnished. He had even laid out a garden or kail-yard, and planted a few suitable trees. Then, when another month had pa.s.sed away, Sandie once more sought audience of the good Laird, and formally begged for f.a.n.n.y's hand.

Next the wedding-day was settled, and the minister's services requisitioned. And one day Shufflin' Sandie set off for Aberdeen by train to buy the "bonnie things," as they are termed.

Perhaps there are no more beautiful streets in Great Britain than Union Street and King Street, especially as seen by moonlight. They then look as if built of the whitest and purest of marble. While the beautiful villas of Rubislaw, with their charming flower-gardens, are of all sorts of architecture, and almost rival the snow in their sheen.

f.a.n.n.y was charmed. Strange to say this simple servant la.s.sie had never been to the city before. It was all a kind of fairyland to her, and, look wherever she might, things of beauty met her eyes. And the windows--ah, the windows! She must pull Sandie by the sleeve every other minute, for she really could not pa.s.s a draper's shop nor a jeweller's without stopping to glance in and admire.

"Oh!" she would cry, "look, look, Sandie, dear, at the chains and the watches, and the bracelets and diamonds and pearls. Surely all the gold in Ophir is there!"

One particularly well-dressed window--it was a ladies' drapery shop-- almost startled her. She drew back and blushed a little as her eyes fell on a full-length figure of a lady in fas.h.i.+onable array.

"Oh, Sandie, is she living?"

"De'il a living?" said Sandie. "Her body's timber, and her face and hands are made out of cobbler's wax. That's how living she is."

"But what a splendid dress! And yonder is another. Surely Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these!"

"Well, f.a.n.n.y, la.s.sie, beautiful though this shop be, it is a pretty cheap one, so we'll buy your marriage dress here."

The shop-walker was very obsequious. "Marriage dress, sir. Certainly, sir. Third counter down, my lady."

f.a.n.n.y had never been so addressed before, and she rose several inches in her own estimation.

"I--that is, she--is needing a marriage dress, missie."

"Ready-made?"

"Ay, that'll do, if it isn't over dear. Grand though we may look in our Sunday clothes, we're not o'er-burdened with cash; but we're going to be married for all that."

Sandie chuckled and took snuff, and f.a.n.n.y blushed, as usual.

"I'm sure I wish you joy," said the girl in black.

"I'm certain ye do. You're a bit bonnie la.s.sie yerself, and some day ye'll get a man. Ye mind what the song says:

"'Oh, bide ye yet, and bide ye yet, Ye little know what may betide ye yet; Some bonnie wee mannie may fa' to your lot, So ay be canty and thinkin' o't.'"

The girl in black certainly took pleasure in fitting f.a.n.n.y, and, when dressed, she took a peep in the tall mirror--well, she didn't know herself! She was as beautiful as one of the wax figures in the window.

Sandy was dazed. He took snuff, and, scarce knowing what he was doing, handed the box to the la.s.sie in black who was serving them.

Well, in an hour's time all the bonnie things that could be purchased in this shop were packed in large pasteboard boxes, and dispatched to the station waiting-room.

But before sallying forth Sandie and f.a.n.n.y thought it must be the correct thing to shake hands with the girl in black, much to her amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Good-bye, my lady; good-bye, sir. I hope you were properly served."

This from the shop-walker.

"That we were," said Sandie. "And, man, we'll be married--f.a.n.n.y and me--next week. Well, we're to be cried three times in one day from the pulpit. To save time, ye see. Well, I'll shake hands now, and say good-day, sir, and may the Lord be ay around you. Good-bye."

"The same to you," said the shop-walker, trying hard to keep from laughing. "The same to you, sir, and many of them."

There were still a deal of trinkets to be bought, and many gee-gaws, but above all the marriage ring. Sandie did feel very important as he put down that ten s.h.i.+llings and sixpence on the counter, and received the ring in what he called a bonnie wee boxie.

"Me and f.a.n.n.y here are going to be married," he couldn't help saying.

"I'm sure I wish ye joy, sir, and"--here the shopman glanced at f.a.n.n.y--"I envy you, indeed I do."

Sandie must now have a drop of Scotch. Then they had dinner. Sandie couldn't help calling the waiter "sir," nor f.a.n.n.y either.

"Hold down your ear, sir," Sandie said, as the waiter was helping him to Gorgonzola. "We're going to be married, f.a.n.n.y and I. Cried three times in one Sunday. What think ye of that?"

Of course, the waiter wished him joy, and Sandie gave him a s.h.i.+lling.

"I hope you'll not be offended, sir, but just drink my health, you know."

The joys of the day ended up with a visit to the theatre. f.a.n.n.y was astonished and delighted.

Oh, what a day that was! f.a.n.n.y never forgot it. They left by a midnight train for home, and all the way, whenever f.a.n.n.y shut her eyes, everything rose up before her again as natural as life--the charming streets, the gay windows, and the scenes she had witnessed in the theatre, and the gay crowds in every street. And so it was in her dreams, when at last she fell asleep.

But both f.a.n.n.y and Sandie went about their work next day in their week-day clothes as quietly as if nothing very extraordinary had happened, or was going to happen in a few days' time.

Of course, after he had eaten his brose, Sandie must "nip up," as he phrased it, to have a look at the cottage.

Old Grannie Stewart--she was only ninety-three--was stopping here for the present, airing it, burning fires in both rooms, for fear the young folks might catch a chill.

"Ah, grannie!" cried Sandie, "I'm right glad to see you. And look, I've brought a wee drappie in a flat bottle. Ye must just taste. It'll warm your dear old heart."

The old lady's eyes glittered.

"Well," she said, "it's not much of that comes my way, laddie. My blood is not so thick as it used to be. For--would you believe it!--I think I'm beginnin' to grow auld."

"Nonsense," said Sandie.