Morag Part 3

"Oh, my! what have we got here, Miss Blanche? You don't mean to say you've ben a sittin' all the morning with that creature?" burst forth the flurried Ellis, as she caught a glimpse of Morag seated on the grey rock.

"A regular tramp, I declare! Miss Prosser would take a fit if she saw you, missie. Come along, this instant," shrieked the excited maid.

Blanche was by her side in a moment, whispering, with a face of distress--

"Hush, Ellis! don't speak so loud. She will hear, and you'll hurt her feelings. Besides, I'm sure she isn't a tramp--if that's anything bad.

She's such a dear nice little girl, and so clever. I'll tell you all about her presently," added Blanche, nodding confidentially.

"Well, you've got to come home this instant, missie. There's somebody awaitin' for you," said Ellis, mysteriously.

"Oh! then, it isn't Miss Prosser who thinks I've stayed too long," said Blanche in a relieved tone. "Go on, Ellis, and I'll come after you in a minute. I must first say good-bye to Morag."

Ellis, thus commanded, good-naturedly obeyed, while Blanche went to rejoin her new acquaintance, whom she found still seated silently at work.

"I'm so sorry I must go now, Morag, but I'll come back again to-morrow.

I shall find you here, shan't I? Good-bye, Morag; I must really run now, or Ellis will be cross."

She waited for some reply, but none came, only the soft eyes looked up wistfully into her face for a moment, and the little girl went quietly on with her work again.

Blanche was soon at Ellis's side prattling about her morning experiences, and trying to convince her maid of the irreproachable respectability of her new acquaintance. But the smart Ellis shook her head skeptically; she shared Miss Kilmansegg's opinion (of golden-leg fame), that "them as has naught is naughty," and she would continue to insist, in spite of Blanche's eloquent expostulations, that the little bare-legged tattered native must necessarily be a dangerous tramp, the off-shoot from a whole gang lurking near; and Ellis looked fearfully around, as if out of every bracken might spring a gypsy, and felt sure that had it not been for her opportune appearance on the scene, her little mistress would certainly have been kidnapped.

As soon as the strangers were gone a little distance, Morag laid down her work, and gliding up to the old fir-tree where she had stood to listen to Blanche's hymn, she leant against it, and shading her eyes with her hand she gazed wistfully after them as they disappeared among the pillars of pine. "The bonnie wee leddy, she's awa'. They'll no be lettin' her speak wi' the like o' me anither time," soliloquised Morag, who, like most solitary people, had the habit of speaking her thoughts aloud when alone. "That gran' like woman thocht I was a tramp. I'm thinkin' I'll look some like ane," she murmured, looking down with a new feeling of discomfort on her tattered little garment. "I'll men' it up some the nicht, though, and mak' it look a wee bit better afore the morn. She said she would be back again. Who will the Lord be she was singin' aboot, that died upo' the green hill? I never heard tell o'

Him. It surely canna hae been on oor ain hills here aboot," continued Morag, as she gathered up the scattered materials for her hook-making, and wandered slowly away towards her home among the crags.

In the meantime Blanche had reached the castle, and discovered the mysterious "somebody" who awaited her, of whom she could not persuade Ellis to divulge anything. In the cool shadow of the grey tower there stood, awaiting her inspection, a lovely little Shetland pony, one of the blackest, roundest, daintiest of his breed. Blanche sprang forward with a cry of delight.

"Oh, what a little darling! You don't mean to say he is for me?" The little fellow turned his bright black eyes on her, and shook his s.h.a.ggy mane, as if to say, "So you are my little mistress! Let's have a look at you. I hope you are inclined to be pleasant!"

Blanche returned his gaze by throwing her arms round his neck and hugging him heartily, greatly to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the Highlander who had brought him, and was standing by.

"What lovely eyes he has got, hasn't he, Ellis? Do you know, they remind me of"--Morag's she was going to say; but she remembered that was a forbidden name. Presently she ran to find Miss Prosser, that she might come and admire the new favorite.

"He looks so perfectly good and quiet, quite like a dog. I'm sure I may sometimes ride him alone, mayn't I, Miss Prosser?"

"I shall never sanction such a step, and I cannot think that your papa will consider it either wise or proper for you to ride alone," replied her governess, shocked by the suggestion.

"What's his name?" asked Blanche, turning to the owner of the pony, anxious to change a subject which she saw had not met with approval.

"Anything my little leddy pleases; she be not got any name to hersel yet;" and turning to Miss Prosser, he said, evidently anxious to establish the character of his late possession, "She's as quiet's a lamb, leddy, and there isna a foot o' the Glen she doesna know as weel's mysel'."

But Miss Prosser shook her head incredulously under her sunshade, as she moved away.

"Nonsense, Blanche, you silly child! Don't you know that horse-dealers are proverbial cheats? The animal is probably the greatest vixen under the sun. Those small ponies are most dangerous and tricky always."

But Blanche, nothing daunted by the alleged bad character of her new favorite, set her little brain to work to find a name for him. As Miss Prosser disapproved of any lady's name being bestowed on one of the lower animals, the selection became more limited. After searching through several volumes of history, ancient and modern, and various volumes of lighter literature, with an a.s.siduity worthy of a better cause, her governess remarked, Blanche decided that, after all, no name seemed to suit the little fellow so well as the one which had at first suggested itself, but was set aside as being too commonplace, that of s.h.a.g. So off she trotted to inform the little Shetlander that he was no longer nameless, and to see what he was thinking of his new quarters.

The next day, to Blanche's great delight, her papa announced that he was not going to the moors, and meant to take his little daughter out for a ride. The horses had been ordered round at twelve o'clock, and Blanche spent the morning in aimless wanderings round the castle, wishing that the hour for starting would arrive; a ride with her papa was such a rare piece of happiness, that the prospect quite sufficed for her morning's entertainment, without setting anything else on foot.

At last a practical difficulty presented itself, which she had not thought of before, and she ran off to find her maid to remind her that her riding-habit had been left at home, for she remembered hearing Miss Prosser say that there was no need of including it in the Highland wardrobe, since the little Neige was to be left behind in his London stables.

"Well now, missie, did you never think of that till this time of day? A pretty job it would have been for you if everybody else had been so forgetful," said the maid, smiling, as she took from a drawer a pretty new tartan riding-habit, all ready to wear.

"There now, Miss Blanche, that's what has kept me so busy for the last two days. I've just this minute finished runnin' it up. It's a queer color for a habit, I must say, but it's the best thing to be found at the village shop."

"Oh! you dear good Ellis, how kind of you to make it in such a hurry! It is such a beauty, much prettier than my dark blue at home. Don't you think I might put it on now, just to see how it looks?"

So the riding-habit was rather prematurely donned, and Chance with his mistress were waiting in the hall some time before the little s.h.a.g and his stately bay companion appeared in the court-yard. Blanche was already mounted when Mr. Clifford emerged from the library with his budget of letters ready for the post-bag.

"What a regular Highland la.s.sie it is, to be sure!" said he, glancing at Blanche's gay-colored habit as he mounted his horse.

"It is certainly most unsuitable," apologized Miss Prosser, who had come out to see them start. "But it was really the only material procurable in these uncivilized regions."

"It's a first-rate attire--quite in keeping, I a.s.sure you, Miss Prosser.

Come along, Blanchie; you will quite charm the deer and the moor-fowl by having got yourself up in their native tartan."

On the riders went, soon leaving the shady birch-avenue far behind, and getting among breezy moors. It was a perfect autumn day, the sky was serene and bright, and a pleasant heathery perfume filled the air.

Blanche's long fair curls floated in the breeze, and her face glowed with pleasure as she swept on alongside her father, the little Shetlander cantering as fast as it could lay its short legs to the ground, trying to keep pace with the swinging trot of the long-limbed hunter.

"s.h.a.g, as you call him, is quite a success, Blanchie," said Mr.

Clifford, as he reined his horse in at last. "I'm afraid he will prove even a rival to Neige."

"Oh no, papa; there's no fear of that; my heart is big enough to love a dozen ponies. s.h.a.g is a perfect darling, though. He seems so good and quiet, too; don't you think I might ride him alone, papa?"

"Ride quite alone? I am not so sure about that, p.u.s.s.y. Don't you think you'd feel like the damsel all forlorn. I think you must be satisfied with Lucas when I can't come. Poor old fellow! he prefers his carriage-box to his saddle nowadays, he is getting so asthmatic; but I don't think I can trust you with anybody else."

"O papa! please don't send Lucas with me; he's so old and stupid, and wheezes so dreadfully; and he always says so solemnly, 'Take care missie,' when we begin to go fast. I'd much rather wait till you can come, if I mayn't go alone."

As Blanche cantered on by her father's side, she suddenly remembered her promise to meet Morag in the fir-wood, which she had forgotten in the excitement of the morning. She was hesitating whether she should tell her papa about her new acquaintance, and wondering if he would call her a dangerous gypsy as Ellis did, when her thoughts were diverted by coming within sight of a human habitation of some kind; the first they had seen since leaving the castle, so Blanche viewed it with some curiosity. She wondered whether all the cottages that studded the valley looked as neat and pretty as this one, which stood in its little fenced-in garden, growing out of the bleak moorland, where flourished gooseberry and currant bushes, besides drills of cabbage and potatoes.

The late summer flowers were still gay and sweet, and creeping rose-bushes grew on the white wall under the brown thatch, which looked thick and trim, all studded over with thick, green moss as soft as velvet. The little windows were bright and shining, and the tiny muslin curtains looped up behind them looked spotless and dainty.

"O papa! what a lovely little cottage; it looks quite like a doll's house!" exclaimed Blanche.

"It is certainly a wonderful abode to find in such a wild spot," said Mr. Clifford, glancing at the well-kept garden. "The occupants, whoever they are, have certainly contrived to make the wilderness blossom."

Behind the cottage, and evidently belonging to it, was a little patch of cornfield, that lay yellow and shining in the sun, quite ripe for harvest; indeed it was partly cut down, though there appeared to be only one reaper in the field. Blanche slackened her pony's rein to look at the old woman who was bending over a sheaf which she had been binding, with no other help than her frail trembling fingers. Attracted by the unusual sound of pa.s.sers-by, she looked up from her work, and caught a glimpse of the little girl's face, who had lingered behind her papa, and was looking pityingly across the old grey d.y.k.e on the lonely reaper at her toilsome afternoon's work. "They'll be the new folk that's come til the castle, I'm thinkin'. She's a richt bonnie bit leddy that, though,"

soliloquised the old woman, as she shaded her quiet gray eyes with her long thin fingers, and gazed after the riders. "May the Lord himsel'

keep her bonnie in His ain e'en, as she's fair til see;" and stooping down, she lifted her hook, and went on with her work again.

Blanche and her father soon left the pretty cottage far behind, as they cantered on in the delicious breeze, which wafted all manner of pleasant odors and thoughts to the little girl, who rode gaily on in the sunshine; but it did not waft to her ears the prayer which had gone up to G.o.d for her, that afternoon, from one of His true servants, the lowly bent woman on whom the blue eyes of the little maiden had been so pityingly cast.

V.

_A DISCOVERY._

THE day after Blanche's ride was very stormy. The peaceful Glen seemed suddenly thrown into a wild tumult. Now and then a long low rattle of thunder sounded along the mountains, and the great fir-trees creaked and swung, making all manner of weird choruses among the aisles of pine. The rain had fallen in torrents during the night, and there seemed still an inexhaustible supply in the gray sheets of mist that hovered over the nearer hills. The little mountain rills hurried white and foaming to the river, which moaned and raged along the valley, carrying with it on its wild way to the sea more than one wooden bridge which had been wrenched from its frail moorings by the _spate_. It was a true Highland storm, the first Blanche had ever seen, and she stood watching it with mingled feelings of interest and disappointment. She knew well what she meant to do with this holiday, if only the sun had kept its golden promises of last night. But this storm had upset all her plans, and she was filled with remorse at the thought of the neglected tryst in the fir-wood, and felt out of sorts with herself and all the world. Her last hope of any fun that afternoon departed as she stood in the old hall, and watched her father and his guests get into their waterproofs and prepare to start on an expedition to see the swollen river. She would gladly have accepted an invitation, laughingly given by the old Major, that she should join the party, but Miss Prosser had been quite shocked by the suggestion. "It was improper at any time for a young lady to go out in rain, and in a deluge like the present, quite out of the question," she replied, from the side of the school-room fire, where she sat shivering.