The Motor Maids by Rose, Shamrock and Thistle Part 30

"I ha' been livin' in the family this monie and monie a year," she said, "an' I know the tale well, Miss. It's the auld, auld story of the twa bonnie la.s.sies and a braw laddie who could not decide which he liked best, blue eyes or brown. It was back and forth he was from one to other, 'til they was all three half distracted like, and there was a grand quarrel amongst 'em. Then one went awa' to the wars, and one went to her hame across the seas and one stayed in her ain countree. An'

that's the sum and gist of it. And if the three hearts bracht, it was even so G.o.d's will and the decree of Providence."

"It doesn't sound like three brachet hearts," remarked Billie, as the noise of talk and laughter floated down the hall.

Presently they were summoned back to the drawing-room where they were duly presented to Mr. David Ramsay. And a superb-looking old gentleman he was, indeed, as handsome as a picture. Not one of the Motor Maids but felt a special thrill, when he smiled and pressed her hand.

They talked until late in the afternoon and the party did not break up until Elinor had been prevailed upon to sit down at the tinkling little old piano, and, accompanying herself, sing:

"'Should auld acquaintance be forgot And never brought to min'?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot And days of auld lang syne?

"'We twa ha' rin aboot the braes An' pu'd the gowans fine, But we've wandered monie a weary fit Sin' auld lang syne.'"

CHAPTER XIX.-A RUN-DOWN HEEL AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

The Motor Maids had tasted the fine flavor of an old romance, and that in the very heart of the most romantic city in the world. And now, with the three friends united at last after nearly half a century's obstinate separation, they all departed on a wonderful excursion to the Scotch lakes. For nearly a week they lingered in that enchanting and historic country and quite forgot the affairs of the outside world.

The mystery that enshrouded Marie-Jeanne and her strange mother; their old friend, Telemac Kalisch, whom they liked and still half feared; Maria Cortinas and the handsome Lord Glenarm; Beatrice Colchester; and last of all the kidnapping of little Arthur,-all these persons and the incidents with which they somehow had been connected had been relegated to the backs of their minds.

On the day before they had departed to the lake country Feargus O'Connor, the one link which bound them to the early a.s.sociations of their journey, had resigned from his position as courier and general factotum and hastily left Edinburgh.

So it was that, having cut loose from all former connections, they returned to Edinburgh one Sat.u.r.day morning near the end of June, their minds crammed full of legends and history and scenery.

A disagreeable, drizzling rain was falling and the prospects from the hotel window were not of a cheerful character.

"Just the time for taking a nap," Miss Campbell remarked after lunch and proceeded to retire to her room and lock the door.

Mary and Elinor followed her example, but those two indefatigable travelers, Billie and Nancy, were determined not to spend their last day in Edinburgh shut up in a hotel bedroom.

"With overshoes on, and a mackintosh and an umbrella, I could face a cloudburst," Billie observed.

"When I am prepared for it, I really like the rain," said Nancy.

"That's because your hair curls naturally. It's only people who have straight hair and try to curl it who dislike rain. Now, I don't mind it, because I don't bother to curl my hair. Once, years ago, a lady asked papa why he didn't have my hair curled, and he said, 'What! make a martyr of my daughter? You'll be asking me to have her ears pierced next."

"I don't call it being martyred to have one's ears pierced," said Nancy with subdued indignation.

Billie laughed. It was a great joke among the Motor Maids that Nancy had secretly had her ears pierced and bought a pair of pearl earrings.

"Confess, now, Nancy-Bell, didn't it hurt like forty?"

"Whither shall we go?" answered the other, pretending not to have heard the question. "Shall we do the pictures and churches again or go to Holyrood Palace and nose around among old murders?"

"Heavens, no! Let's do the Old Town. Don't you think it would be rather interesting to skulk about that old place in the rain?"

Nancy a.s.sented and the two girls climbed up the steep slippery streets on a slumming expedition which Miss Campbell would certainly have forbidden had she been informed. The fine rain washed against their faces and the breeze from, the ocean tasted salty on their lips.

"This is truly a city built upon a hill," said Billie. "And what shall we do now we are here, Nancy? Can't you think of some excuse?"

"Let's do the first thing that suggests itself. The spirit moves me to go into this old courtyard and look about."

They turned through an archway leading into a quadrangular court, the pavings of which were worn into uneven surfaces. Ragged children peeped at them from the windows and doors of the rickety houses forming the quadrangle, and from the window of the nearest house a sallow-faced woman, washing clothes, gave them a sour glance and silently went about her work. An ugly visaged man scowled at them from over her shoulder.

Feeling a little frightened, the two girls hastened toward an arched entrance to a hallway where hung several signs conspicuously placed.

"Billie, I have an inspiration," whispered Nancy. "Suppose we get Mr. A.

Ritchie, Cobbler, to straighten the heel on my left shoe."

Having reached a decision as soon as the suggestion was made, they entered the hallway on what Billie always termed afterward "Nancy's left-heel adventure."

Up an interminable flight of steps they began their climb, and those they met on the way, mostly sandy-haired children with sad, hungry eyes and thin gaunt women with sullen faces, scarcely noticed them at all. On each landing they paused and searched for Mr. Ritchie's sign, which had been one of those at the entrance, but evidently his abode was still higher.

"Would you be kind enough to tell me where Mr. Ritchie, the cobbler, has his-shop?" Billie asked hesitatingly of a woman who had opened a door and was peering into the hallway.

"Since you hae na' found it at the bottom, I hae no doot ye'll find it at the top," she answered and banged the door to.

"Crusty isn't the word to describe her," remarked Nancy. "I hae no doot either since we are verra near the top,-we are there, in fact," she added as they reached the last landing at the end of seven flights of stairs.

And there indeed was Mr. Ritchie's sign and a symbol of his labor in the form of a wooden Wellington boot.

They knocked timidly and a voice shouted angrily:

"Well, well, canna ye read? Dinna ye ken this is a shop and there's nae necessity to go bangin' and rappin' at the door?"

"Let's run, Billie. I'm afraid," whispered Nancy.

They grasped hands and were making for the stairs at the far end of the corridor when an old man opened the door and glared out into the pa.s.sage. He carried a thick knotted stick in one hand and his face was distorted with rage. What he said it was impossible to understand, a volley of words that all seemed to end in "cht." But he ran so nimbly after them down the steps and was so close on their heels that on the floor below, without pausing to consider, the terrified girls opened the nearest door and rushed inside. There was a key in the lock and Billie promptly turned it.

Bang! went the club on the door.

"I hope he won't burst it in," whispered Billie, crouching on the floor, and Nancy, kneeling beside her, was too frightened to reply. But they presently heard steps retreating along the hall and up the stairs, and Mr. A. Ritchie returned to his lair like an angry lion.

The girls, who had been too intent on one danger to think of another, now stood up and looked about them fearfully. They found themselves in a very comfortable, clean kitchen. A kettle hummed on the little stove. On the shelves were rows of dark blue china dishes and underneath on nails hung a glistening array of tins. A white cloth was spread on the kitchen table, which was set for three, and in the center stood a bowl of wild flowers. Muslin curtains were at the windows, and near one stood a big easy chair and a small table on which were books and papers. In the brief instant in which they paused to examine this rather surprising interior, there was a step outside the door and some one lifted the latch. Finding the door bolted, there was a tap, a pause, and two more taps like a signal. The girls held a whispered conference.

"We'll have to open the door, Nancy," whispered Billie.

She turned the key, the latch was lifted, the door opened, and Marie-Jeanne walked into the room! There was an expression of amazed relief on the faces of all three; then they fell on each other's necks, all laughing at once.

"But where did you get my address?" faltered Marie-Jeanne.

"We didn't have it. It was purely accidental like the last time,"

answered Billie, and they explained how they happened to wander into the tenement house, and take refuge in that room.

"Old Ritchie wouldn't really have harmed you," said Marie-Jeanne. "He carries on, but he never does anything. He's quite nice when you get to know him."