Big Game Part 12

At times he declared that he was tired out and must turn back, but hardly were the words out of his mouth, than, lo, he was dancing an impromptu hornpipe with astonishing nimbleness and dexterity! He took a lively interest in all that his companions did and said, and did not hesitate to put question after question in order to arrive at a fuller understanding of any case in point; but London, and all that took place in London, remained a forbidden topic. He was the Elgood of Elgood, and they were "his bonnie men," and life outside the Highlands had ceased to exist.

Margot was delighted that the little man should have a chance of seeing Ronald in one of his lightest, most boyish moods, for from the expression of his face she feared that he had not so far previously been favourably impressed by the lad's personality. Now it was impossible not to admire and laugh as Ron played imaginary bagpipes on the end of his walking-stick, or droned out lugubrious ballads in imitation of a strolling minstrel who had visited the inn the night before. The ballad dramatised the circ.u.mstances of the moment: the perilous ascent, the wandering of three strangers across the moor, the flowing bowl which was to refresh and strengthen them for the return journey. Ron's knowledge of the native dialect was so slight that he fell back upon the more stately phraseology of the early English poets, introducing a strange Scotch term now and again with irresistibly comic effect.

The two listeners cheered him on with bursts of delighted laughter, while at an unexpected clever turn, or apt stringing together of words, the Chieftain would clap his hands and caper with delight.

"Good! good!" he would cry. "Neat! neat!" while his twinkling eyes surveyed the boy with increasing respect. "Do you often improvise?" he asked, when the ballad came to an end, and when Ron replied truthfully enough in the negative, "Well, I have heard many fellows do it worse!"

was his flattering comment.

Margot had expected more, and felt that more was deserved, for the ballad had been quite a brilliant effort to be rattled off on the spur of the moment, but she could only hope that, in conclave with his brother, the Chieftain might be more enthusiastic, and manage to impress upon that absent-minded genius that the boy was worthy of his notice and study.

In due time--a very short time, as it appeared--the cottage was reached owned by the "guid-wife," who was ready to give--not sell--draughts of b.u.t.termilk to the pa.s.sers-by. Margot was a little chary of the first taste, but the keen moorland air had done its work, and she too found it as nectar to the palate. The guid-wife "had no English," but the two women conversed eloquently with the language of the eyes, concerning the sleeping baby in its cradle, and the toddling urchins around the door.

Here in the solitude this brave woman of the people reared her family, made their garments, tended them when they were sick, cooked for them, baked for them, washed for them, mended for them, and kept the three- roomed cot as exquisitely clean as hands could make it. The girl who dusted the drawing-room and arranged a few vases of flowers as her duty in life, gazed at her with awe, and felt ashamed of her own idle existence!

The b.u.t.termilk quaffed, Mr Elgood led the way to a thick patch of heather some few hundred yards nearer home, came to a standstill, and, spreading his handkerchief under his head, lay down with great deliberation and crossed his arms in beatific content.

"Now, if you want to discover what comfort means, find a soft patch for yourselves, and take a nap before we start for home. No upholsterer on earth ever manufactured a mattress to equal a bed of heather. If you don't want to sleep, kindly keep your distance, and enjoy yourselves with discretion, for if I'm awakened in the middle of my siesta, nothing short of murder will appease me!"

He shut his eyes even as he spoke, and composed himself with a sigh of content. Margot, nothing loath, took off her cap, and, spreading her cape over the bushes, nestled contentedly into its folds. Ron scorned the idea of sleep, but as he was curious to test the comforts of the heather, down he lay in his turn; and so soft, so springy, so eminently luxurious did the new bed appear, that he felt no desire to rise.

Presently his eyes dropped, rose heavily once or twice, and rose no more. Margot's head burrowed more deeply into her cape. Deep regular snores sounded from the bush where Mr Elgood reposed. All three were fast asleep!

The sun shone on them; the hum of a thousand insects rose from the gra.s.s; high in the air a lark trilled his triumphant song. It was rest indeed to sleep and dream in such surroundings!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE TRUE CHURCH.

Life flowed on very quietly and uneventfully at the Nag's Head during the next few days. The clergyman and his son were determined walkers, who set out each morning on a new expedition over the countryside, and at the evening dinner boasted of the number of miles they had traversed.

What they had seen appeared to be of secondary importance, and they were correspondingly depressed or elated according as they had fallen short of, or surpa.s.sed previous records of distance.

Mr Macalister sat in the garden, reading day-old editions of the "_Glasga He-rald_" from the front page to the last, while his wife made pilgrimages to the village shop to buy infinitesimal articles of drapery, and exchange details of domestic history with the good lady in charge of the emporium.

Mr George Elgood went out fishing in a river two or three miles distant, accompanied sometimes by his brother, but for the most part by himself. He also sat at his bedroom window, writing by the hour together, and always and at all times he avoided his fellow-guests with a quiet persistence which could not be gainsaid. By the time that Margot had been in the inn for four days, he had advanced to the point of bidding her good-night and good morning, staring steadily at a point about a yard above her head, while on one historic occasion he even brought himself to remark that it was a fine day. Once also, looking up suddenly at dinner, she met his eyes fixed upon her with an expression of intent scrutiny; but he turned aside in evident perturbation at being discovered, and though the little puss thereafter wore her prettiest dresses, and took special pains with the arrangement of her hair, the incident was never repeated.

Goaded thereto by his sister's entreaties, Ronald had proposed himself as the companion of a morning's fishing expedition, but he returned home bored and irritated, and could not be persuaded to repeat the experiment. As Mr Elgood had left him at one point in the stream, and himself repaired to another some two hundred yards distant, the opportunities for conversation had been limited, while not even a twitch of the line had rewarded his amateur efforts.

Margot coaxed, reasoned, and finally stormed, but to no avail. In a quiet, amiable fashion, Ronald could be as obstinate as a mule, and he was plainly determined to go his own way. The sun shone; the surroundings were magnificent; he was free from the jarring dissensions of home; in easy, light-hearted manner he was content to live for the moment, and shut his eyes to troubles ahead.

"Remember what the Chieftain said to as the first day we were here!" he protested vigorously. "We ought to cultivate the spirit of children; to rejoice in the present, and trust for the future; whereas you want me to begin worrying the very first thing. I do call it stupid of you, Margot!"

"But, my dear boy--remember September! September is coming, and if you don't bestir yourself to take advantage of this last chance, you will be bemoaning your hard fate, and calling out that your life is ruined! Do, for goodness' sake, descend from the clouds and be practical for once!

I'd help you if I could, but how can I, when the man refuses even to look at me?"

Margot's voice took a plaintive tone as she uttered those last words.

She was so unaccustomed to be ignored, that the editor's avoidance rankled in her mind. She found her thoughts persistently returning to him in every period of leisure; when he was near, she was acutely conscious of his presence; when he was absent, her mind followed after him, wondering where he was, what he was doing, and of what he was thinking. Having once seen a glimpse of the real man when, in the character of Elspeth, she had looked into his face, sparkling with youth, kindliness, and humour, she understood that the abstracted figure which sat at the table at meal-times was but the sh.e.l.l of the real George Elgood, and that, if the barriers of shyness and reserve could once be overcome, he would prove an even more fascinating companion than his brother. The desire to know him grew daily in intensity, while, unconsciously to herself, the personal element slowly predominated the thought of Ron and Ron's future.

Now, as the brother and sister argued together, they were hurrying along by the edge of the tarn on their way to service at the kirk, for this was Sunday morning, the fifth day after their arrival at the Glen.

Ron, as usual, had been late in starting, and before the village was reached his watch showed that it was already five minutes past the time when service began. They had been sternly directed by Mrs McNab to go to the kirk at the far end of the village, and inquire for the inn pew, but as it would take several minutes longer to traverse the length of the straggling street, Margot suggested that it would be wise to attend the nearer of the two churches.

"There can be no difference. They are both Presbyterian," quoth she, in her ignorance; so in they went, to be met in the doorway by an elder in his Sabbath "blacks," his solemn face surrounded by a fringe of sandy whisker. The pews were very narrow and very high, shut in a box-like seclusion by wooden doors; the minister, in his pulpit, was just giving out the number of the psalm, and the precentor, after tapping his tuning-fork and holding it to his ear, burst forth into wailing notes of surprising strength and volume. Margot rose automatically to her feet, to subside in confusion, as the seated congregation gazed at her in stolid rebuke. In this kirk it was the custom to sit while singing, and stand during prayers--a seemly and decorous habit which benighted Southerners had difficulty in understanding.

The singing of the metrical psalm sounded strangely in unaccustomed ears. Of melody there seemed little or none. The notes ascended and fell, and quavered into odd, unexpected trills and shakes, but it was sung with an earnestness and an intensity which could not fail to be impressive. The women, clean and tidy in their Sabbath bravery, sat with eyes fixed unwaveringly on their books; the children piped l.u.s.tily by their sides; at the door of the pews the heads of the different families peered over their spectacles at the printed words, their solemn, whiskered faces drawn out to abnormal length.

In a corner by himself sat a weather-beaten old shepherd, singing with closed eyes, his s.h.a.ggy head waving to and fro in time with the strain.

Up in this lonesome glen those words had been his stay and comfort during a life of hardship. Like David of old, he had sung them on the mountainside, and they had been as a guide unto his feet, a lamp unto his eyes. He needed no book and no spectacles to enable him to join his note to the strain. Margot looked at him with a thrill of understanding and reverence. A saint of G.o.d, a lowly dweller on earth, for whom was waiting one of the "higher" places in the kingdom of heaven.

The sermon was long and rambling, and somewhat difficult for Southern ears to follow; there was a solemn collection taken in small boxes secured to long wooden handles, thrust in turns down the various pews with somewhat comical effect; then the service was over, and Margot and Ron came out into the village street, to find themselves face to face with a stream of worshippers who were returning from the farther kirk.

Foremost among the number was Mrs McNab, large and imposing to behold in her Sabbath best, with her small husband ambling meekly by her side.

Margot smiled at her in friendly fashion, and was dismayed to receive in return a glare of incredulous anger. What had she done to offend? She could not imagine what was wrong, and continued to stare blankly after the unbending figure, until presently her eye encountered another well- known face bent upon her with a smile. The Chieftain and his brother were close behind; so close that even the Editor's shyness could not attempt an escape. In another moment they were walking together, Margot between the two men, Ron on the outside, a few paces apart from the rest.

Margot glanced from one to the other with puzzled eyes. The Chieftain beamed upon her frankly. The Editor looked, and looked away, knitting his brows in embarra.s.sment.

"What have I done?" she cried eagerly. "Why is Mrs McNab so cross?

All was peace and joy when we left the inn. I had done my very best to help her, and now--you saw how she scowled! How can I possibly have offended her in this short time?"

The Chieftain chuckled softly.

"A good deal, I'm afraid! I'm sorry for you, after all your efforts at conciliation. It's bad luck that you should have stumbled upon an unforgivable offence. I'm afraid that there is no doubt that you will be turned out of the inn, neck and crop. Not to-day, perhaps, as she won't send out the trap, but certainly to-morrow morning."

"I shan't go!" protested Margot defiantly. If eviction had been probable, she did not believe that the Chieftain would have taken it in so unperturbed a fashion; but it was evident that she had committed some offence, and that he was aware of its nature. "But what have I done?"

she continued urgently. "That's what I want to discover. There can't be any harm in going to church!"

"Oh, can't there, just? That's the whole crux of the matter. You went to the wrong church!"

There was a pause of stunned surprise while Margot gasped, and Ron's sleepy eyes brightened with curiosity.

"The wrong church! How can that be? They are both Scotch Presbyterians? There is no difference between them?"

"Only this difference, that the members of one kirk are hardly on speaking terms with the members of the other! That their leaders are at law together in the Courts, and that feeling runs so high, even in this sleepy hollow, that Mrs McNab, being a Free, refuses to sell milk to the 'Wees,' and is shamed to the heart to think that a guest living under her house-roof should have condescended to attend their service.

It will be all over the Glen this afternoon that the bonny lady fra the inn chose to give her offering of siller to the 'Wees,' and they will bear themselves haughtily in consequence. Mrs McNab feels that she has been humiliated the day in the eyes of the neighbourhood. No wonder she looks coldly upon you!"

Margot flushed with resentment and indignation, but before she could speak Ron burst into impetuous speech.

"They quarrel? Up here? A handful of men and women among the great mountains? How can they do it? How can they harbour ill-feeling?

"And what can they quarrel about? There must be such tiny, trivial differences. I am thankful I am not a Dissenter!" cried Margot proudly.

"There are so many sects that one gets muddled among them all, and even in the same one it appears that there are differences! I am thankful that I belong to the Church."

The Chieftain looked at her quietly.

"To which Church?"

"The Church of England, of course."

"Oh!" He elevated his light eyebrows expressively. "Because its members have no quarrels with one another?"