Betty Grier Part 9

and he placed his hat on Betty's kitchen dresser, fastened a b.u.t.ton in his coat, and stood on the defensive.

'And I _am_ pleased with the job, Boyes,' I replied. 'You and your men have worked well, and--and whistled well,' I added, with a laugh; 'and in attending to this work just now you have suited my convenience.'

'Well--but--does it no' look as if ye werena pleased when ye're payin'

me so soon?'

'No, no, Boyes, you mustn't think that. I happen just now to have the money beside me, and now that the work is completed it is yours, not mine.'

'Oh, that puts a different complexion on the face o't, as the monkey said when he pented the cat green;' and he gave a cough of relief, and surrept.i.tiously bit off a chew of brown twist. 'It's no' often that money's put doon on my pastin'-table, as it were, an' it's braw an'

welcome, I a.s.sure you. I'll no' forget ye wi' leebral disc.o.o.nt, let me tell ye.' When he came back to receipt the account he borrowed a penny stamp from Betty, and with great deliberation and no little ceremony drew his pen several times through the pence column, completely obliterating the 8-1/2d. 'Ye see, sir, when a gentleman treats me weel, I'm no' feart. We'll let the eichtpence ha'penny go to the deevil, an'

that'll be five pounds six shillin's--nate, as it were.' He stowed the notes away down in his trousers-pocket, unb.u.t.toned and reb.u.t.toned his coat, and jocosely informed me that the price of liquid drier was on the rise, and he would now lay in a stock before the market was too high. An hour afterwards I saw him emerge from the side-door of the inn, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and the term 'liquid drier' was to me stripped of any technical vagueness it had previously possessed.

I have rearranged all the old dining-room pictures so that, without discarding any of them, I shall have sufficient s.p.a.ce for the painting of Nith Bridge which the Laurieston minister looked upon as a valuable a.s.set to his bazaar. One day, when I was confined to bed upstairs, I pencilled a note to my confidential clerk in Edinburgh, asking him to find out in which of the five Lauriestons, noted in the Post-Office Directory, a bazaar was to be held, and to make sure of purchasing thereat a certain oil-painting of which I gave full particulars.

Ormskirk is a cute, long-headed chap; and, knowing the man well, I was really not surprised when, yesterday morning, I received a letter from him advising me that, without any difficulty, he had 'struck' the right Laurieston, and that through our corresponding agent in Falkirk the picture in question had been secured. Following out my instructions, he is getting it suitably framed; so I trust shortly to see the s.p.a.ce filled which I am reserving for it.

Poor Betty has put herself to no end of trouble over the modernising of this room. She has planned and worked unceasingly; and as she couldn't be in two places or do two things at once, Nathan and I these last few days have been in a manner neglected. I was sorry to know of her toiling on late and early, and I told her to get a woman in to help her; but all she said, and that with a sniff, too, was, 'It may happen;' and for the first time I saw Betty's nose in the air. And now that everything is done that she recommended, she is regretting all the expense I have been put to, and bewailing the fact that 'efter a' it was hardly worth while.' 'It's a braw, braw room, Maister Weelum,' she said, as she surveyed it for the twentieth time from the doorway--'a braw room indeed, and I trust ye'll lang be spared to enjoy it. Ay, I do that;'

and she sighed.

I looked keenly and quickly at her.

'No, no, Maister Weelum, I dinna mean that. I'm no' a dabbler amang leaf-mould;' and she laughed cheerily. 'A' the same, an' jokin' apairt, I trust ye'll live to get the guid o' a' your ootlay. At ony rate, ye'll be gey bien here ower the winter. An' when ye're weel again, an' away back to yer wark in Embro', ye'll no' forget that ye have sic a place here. Somewey, I think ye'll get marrit sune--hoo I think sae I canna tell, but the look's comin' to your e'e--an' whaever the lucky leddy may be, ye needna be feart to bring her here, for it's a room fit for a d.u.c.h.ess.'

The early fall of snow, which I shall ever a.s.sociate with the doctor's love-story, was, after all, very slight, and except in the uplands, where it lies in the crevices gleaming white in the wintry sun, it has almost entirely disappeared. I have been allowed outside again, and, but for a little stiffness, due, the doctor says, to inaction, I am feeling wonderfully strong and even vigorous.

John Kellock the butcher is the nominal owner of an old bobtailed collie which rejoices in the name of Bang. Bang carries with him into old age many mementos of his pugilistic days, not the least obvious of which are a tattered and limp ear and a short, deformed foreleg. He is long past active service, and only barks now from the shop-door when sheep pa.s.s along the village street; but he dearly loves a quiet saunter down the pavement and along the country road with any one who has a mind to chum with him and can keep step with his. John Sterling the shoemaker is also the nominal owner of a dog, a Dandie Dinmont named Jip, which was long a doughty antagonist of Bang, but he is now on the pension list too, and glad of congenial company of limited locomotive capabilities. So the three of us--all more or less 'crocks,' and mutually sympathetic--take a const.i.tutional together almost every day. I have mentioned Jip last, but really it was he who made friends with me first. His master made no demur to Jip's frequent strolls with me, as the shoemaker himself leads a sedentary life, and no man knows better than he that a dog should get exercise; but since Jip has on more than one occasion taken French leave and remained overnight with me, I am afraid jealousy is springing up in the shoemaker's breast. Bang noted the ripening acquaintanceship, and girned disapproval as we pa.s.sed the butcher's shop; but I never neglected an opportunity of scratching his s.h.a.ggy underjaw and talking coaxingly in a 'doggie' way to him, and so it came to pa.s.s that after following us bit by bit, day by day, he agreed with Jip to bury the hatchet, and we are now a happy trio and the very best of friends.

As companions in a country walk I prefer Bang and Jip to any man I know.

I can be silent and meditative, and they don't feel neglected or out of it; and when I am minded to talk, they, in the wag of the tail and the intelligent look of the eye, respond and approve. But they never trespa.s.s upon my attention or disturb my vein of thought.

At first, after our walk, when I reached Betty's door, I asked them to come inside, but they stood with a dubious look in their eyes and with heads turned sideways. Then Jip evidently remembered that John Sterling had paid his license, and that he was in duty bound to make some show of recognition, so he walked sedately and with fixed purpose across the street; while Bang, with recurrent memories of truant acts a.s.sociated with ash-plants, limped his way to Kellock's door. Now, however, they have both flung discretion and fears to the winds, and accompany me to my fireside with an 'at home' sort of air, and just as if Betty's abode were their own.

Betty has a cat, a very nice, comfortable-looking cat, with a glossy, well-cared-for fur, and a strong masculine face; and she often wonders why I take no notice of Jessie, as she, in her simplicity, misnames him. The truth is, G.o.d's creatures, great and small, interest and appeal to me, but I cannot love cats. I admire their graceful movements, their agility, their cleanliness so far as their fur is concerned; but their eyes cannot draw me lovingly to them as a dog's can, and I have the feeling that they are capable of loving only those who minister to their wants, and that they are putting up with domesticity because it a.s.sures them of food and shelter without putting them to the trouble and inconvenience of seeking it for themselves. I am sorry I cannot love Jessie, but it can't be helped. Jessie, I know, never loved me; and since Bang and Jip have got entry to the house I know 'she' positively hates me.

This afternoon Bang and Jip accompanied me as usual in my stroll, and after I had leisurely surveyed all the countryside around, and the two dogs had to their hearts' content explored every rat-run in the roots of the bordering hedgerows, we turned for home. For a little while I halted at Hastie's gate, and watched with interest the northward rush of the afternoon express. I remembered how, when a boy, I used to stand at this coign of vantage, with my eyes riveted on the speeding trains, following them in imagination and desire through distant fields and woods, past towns I knew of only through my geography, on and away to the busy, bustling terminus on the Clyde, with its big houses, its long streets, and attractive shops. How I envied the driver on the footplate, and how I longed to be a pa.s.senger with him _en route_ to the city which was then to me unknown and unexplored! _Experientia docet_; the express in its flight was as interesting to me as it was then, but the desire and longing to be in it were lacking. 'No, no,' I said to myself; 'no bustling city for me at present. Here around me is life without veneer; here is the peace I crave; here, I feel, is the goal.' The sound of approaching footsteps cut short my reverie. I turned my head, and for the second time I looked into the eyes of my dream-lady.

Had I had time to gather my wits and consider the situation, I should probably have recognised her presence by merely raising my hat, but this was denied me; and, acting on a sudden impulse, I went forward to meet her with my hand outstretched. With a look of surprise and, I imagined, annoyance, she stopped and regarded me earnestly for a moment. In a flash it came to me that we had never been introduced, and I blushed awkwardly and retreated a step, muttering an incoherent apology. Then ensued a long pause, an awkward silence. It was Bang who came to the rescue, and saved the situation. Wagging his scraggy apology for a tail, he sidled up to her, and in an ingratiating, wheedling way which only a dog possesses, he claimed her attention. She spoke to him, and stroked his s.h.a.ggy head. Then Jip ventured forward, demanding his share of her favours, and she bent down and asked him his name. I remained tongue-tied and ill at ease, and was wishing myself a hundred miles away, when she suddenly looked toward me and smiled.

'I consider a collie and a Dandie Dinmont ideal companions,' she said.

'They are evidently very much attached to you, and old friends are the best friends.'

'Friends, yes; but they don't belong to me,' I replied. 'Bang here is an old pensioner of the village butcher, and wee Jip is the apple of our local shoemaker's eye. We've been good chums since I came down here, and I seldom go for a walk without them.'

'They weren't with you that day in Nithbank Wood?'

'No.'

'By the way,' she hastily interposed, as if glad of an opening, 'I am pleased to have met you again, and to see you are none the worse of your indiscretion in venturing so far when you weren't feeling fit. You have only one walking-stick now, instead of two; so I argue you are making good progress. Do you know,' she continued, and she gave me a look which set my heart thumping, 'I have, time and again, reproached myself for leaving you as I did. You acknowledged you had attempted too much, and you looked so helpless, so--so'----and she hesitated. 'What _is_ that very expressive Scots word, now? So'----

'Forfaughten,' I hazarded.

'That's it--forfaughten; and you must have felt forfaughten, otherwise the word wouldn't have appealed to you as suitable.'

'Well, I admit now, I was, but at the time I didn't wish you, a lady and a stranger, to know it. Besides, you had already done a good deal for me, which, allow me to repeat, I shall not readily forget.'

I was gradually regaining the confidence I had lost, and felt inclined to say more, and to tell her of my dream and what her presence meant to me; but I restrained myself; and, pointing to the paint-box she carried, I changed the subject by asking her if she was finding much inspiration in our beautiful surroundings.

'Yes--oh yes!' she replied; 'it is a beautiful countryside, and the longer I live in it the more I see in it to admire. A wooded locality, such as this, looks at its best--at least from an artist's standpoint--in the late autumn, when sufficient foliage is shed to allow the gray-purple of the branches to mingle with the yellow and russet of the leaves. I am fortunate in being here at this particular time, and I have made quite a number of sketches, which I may work up later. But I am not really an artist. I am only a humble amateur, though I may to an extent have the eye of an artist--to appreciate all the beautiful sights, you know, and that, after all, is something. But I must be going. Good-afternoon; and I'm glad that you are getting on so nicely.--Good-bye, Bang.--Good-bye, Jip;' and she gave them a parting pat, and with a smile on her face which I long remembered, she walked slowly away.

It is a very slender hair to make a tether with, but somehow the fact of her remembering the dogs by name is a consoling thought, and a source of peculiar satisfaction to me.

CHAPTER XI.

When I got home, and was comfortably seated in my arm-chair by the fire, Betty came in to set my tea, and I wasn't long in noticing that, from her abstracted air and the listless way she was moving about, she had something on her mind. She looked for a moment or two at Bang and Jip lying comfortably curled up on the hearthrug. 'Thae dugs are braw an'

snug lyin' there,' she said; 'an' my puir Jessie's sittin' in the cauld stick-hoose in the huff. No' that I grudge them their warm bed, for I'm gled--he'rt gled--to see them peaceable at last wi' yin anither. It's nae time since they were girnin' an' fechtin' an' tumblin' ower each ither frae the Cross to the Gill, an' noo, haith, they canna get ower cheek-for-chowie. Ye maun ha'e a wonderfu' wey wi' dugs, Maister Weelum.

It's a peety ye couldna exert it in ither weys.'

I know Betty too well to venture a.s.sistance, and I had the feeling that she would soon work her way round to her subject without my aiding and abetting.

'The kettle will soon be through the boil, an' ye'll get your tea in a jiffy,' she said. 'Imphm! it's a gey comfortable-lookin' chair, that yin opposite ye, Maister Weelum; an', d'ye ken, I met a leddy the day that I wad like to see sittin' in it.'

'Indeed, Betty!'

'Ay. I dinna ken when I was sae much impressed wi' onybody at first sicht as I was this day; an' when I was sittin' lookin' at her, an'

listenin' to her voice, something whispered in my ear, "That's the wife for my boy."'

'My goodness, Betty, you're forcing the pace!' I laughingly said. 'First you wish to see this lady sitting in my chair, and in your next breath you say you wish to see her my wife! Where did you meet this paragon?'

'Weel, this efternoon, when you an' the dugs were away yer walk, I slippit in next door juist for a meenit to see hoo they were a' gettin'

on, an', as I usually do, I opened the door withoot knockin' an' walked strecht ben to the kitchen, an' there, Maister Weelum, sittin' on the wee laich nursin'-chair at the fireside, was the leddy I speak o'. I gaed to gang back into the lobby; but Mrs Jardine wadna hear o't, an'

she made me step in, an' she introduced me, quite the thing, mind you.

Ye see, Tom's wife was toon bred, an' she kens a' the weys o't, an' she mentioned me by name an' the leddy by name; an' if she had been staunin' in a drawin'-room on a Turkey carpet, an' cled in brocade, she couldna ha'e dune it better. I juist didna catch the leddy's name, for, what wi' the suddenness, her bonny face, an' ae thing an' anither, I was sairly flabbergasted an' putten aboot. It seems, hooever, that she's in the picter-pentin' line, an' she's ta'en a great fancy to wee Isobel, an' she's makin' a portrait o' her. A week or twae bygane she saw the wee la.s.s staunin' at the door as she was pa.s.sin', an' she was so struck wi' her bonny wee face an' her lang fair hair that she spoke to her an'

asked to see her mither. Weel, the upshot o' this was that, as I've said, she is pentin' her, an' a capital picter she's makin'. It's hardly finished yet. I ken fules an' bairns should never see hauf-dune wark, an' I'm no' a judge, into the bargain; but I'll say this, photographin'

micht be quicker an' mair o' a deid likeness, but it's no' in it wi' yon for naturalness and bonny life-like colour. But that's by the wey, as it were. Her work is guid, withoot a doot, but she hersel's a perfect picter.'

I felt my heart beginning to thump and throb, and my breath getting catchy. 'Pity you missed her name, Betty,' I said with forced unconcern.

'Ay, as I telt ye, I was putten aboot, an' missed it; but I'll speir at Mrs Jardine again, 'at will I.'

'And--and what is the lady like?' I asked, with as much indifference as I could command.

'Weel, Maister Weelum, I juist canna exactly tell ye. She's yin o' the few folks ye meet in a lifetime that ye canna judge o' or scrutinise bit by bit. It's impossible to do that wi' her; you've to tak' her in a' at aince, as it were; ye ken what I mean--eh?'

I did, and I didn't; but I nodded as if I understood.

'What struck me mair than ocht else,' she continued, 'was her couthie, affable mainner. To look at her ye wad think that she's a' drawn thegether--prood-like, ye ken, wi' an almichty set apairt kind o' an air; but whenever she speaks an' looks at ye, ye've the feelin' that she's a' roon aboot ye, an' that there's only her an' you in the whole world. An' she was so composed an' calm, so weel-bred withoot bein'