Love came at dawn when hope's wings fanned the air,
And murmured, "I am life."
Love came at even when the day was done,
Love came at eve, shut out the sinking sun,
And whispered, "I am rest."
—WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL.
And just as Scotty entered manhood a wonderful thing happened in the Highlands, something that amazed the neighbours and convinced them of the instability of all things, particularly of a woman's resolution, for Kirsty John promised to marry the Weaver6. All these weary years, as faithful as the sun and as untiring, Jimmie had been climbing the hills to the Oa to shed the beams of his devotion unheeded at Kirsty's doorstep; but now the long period of Jacob-like service was over, for he had at last won his Rachel.
Some declared that this was only a new method Kirsty had found for tormenting7 her hapless lover, and that after they were tied up she would lead him a dog's life. But Long Lauchie's girls—there were still girls at Long Lauchie's, though a goodly number of matrons looked back to the place as their old home—declared that Jimmie no longer dodged8 when Kirsty passed him, and that he even entered her house without knocking. And Big Malcolm's wife would shake her head smilingly at all the dark predictions and declare in her quiet, firm way that indeed they need never fear for Jimmie.
And she was right; the Weaver was not undertaking9 any such hazardous10 enterprise as the neighbours supposed. For a change had come over Kirsty the winter she lost the frail11 little mother, and only Big Malcolm's wife knew its depth. All Kirsty's bold courage, all her fearless fight with poverty, had had for its inspiration the poor sufferer on the bed in the corner of the little shanty12, and when the spring of action was removed there went also the daughter's dauntless spirit, and nowhere was the change so strongly evinced as in this promise to marry the Weaver.
Kirsty's grief had no bitterness in it. It had softened13 her greatly, for the little mother's death had been as beautiful as her patient, pain-filled life. And wonderful it seemed that, like that other woman who had suffered so long before, just eighteen years of pain had been completed when the Master called her to Him and said in His infinite love, "Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity."
"But you will surely not be leaving me," pleaded Kirsty brokenly when her mother told her the end could not be far off. "Ah've nobody but you."
"Eh, ma lassie, ye'll be better wi'oot such a puir auld14 buddie, jist a burden to ye a' these years."
"Eh, eh, lass! There, there! It's naething but the best Ah could say to ye, Kirsty." The weak old hand was fumbling16 feebly for Kirsty's bowed head. "For, eh, ye've jist been that guid to yer mither, the Lord'll reward ye; Ah've nae fear o' ye, Kirsty, He'll reward ye." There was a long silence in the little room. The fire flared17 up in the old chimney, the clock's noisy pendulum18 went tap, tap, tap, loud and clear in the stillness. "Read it tae me jist once mair, Kirsty," she whispered. Kirsty arose and fetched the old yellow-leaved Bible from the dresser. She did not need to be told what she was to read.
"Aye," whispered the old woman with a gleam of triumph in her eyes, "aye, He called her; an' it's jist eighteen year. Aye, eighteen! Eh, it's been a long time, Kirsty," she continued as her daughter seated herself at the bedside again, "eh, a weary time, an' the pain's been that bad, whiles, Ah wished He would tak' it awa, but Ah didna ask Him. No, no! She didna ask Him, an' Ah jist waited like her, an' it's eighteen year, and Ah think He'll be callin' me.... Read it, Kirsty."
Kirsty opened the Book; her eyes were blinded with tears, but she had so often read that passage that she knew it by heart. She was faltering19 through it when a timid step sounded, a crunch20, crunch on the snow outside the door, and a low tap, scarcely audible above the noise of the clock, announced Weaver Jimmie. Old Collie, lying before the fire, so accustomed to Jimmie's approach, merely uttered a gruff snort, as though to apprise21 all that he was well aware that someone had arrived, but did not consider the visitor worthy22 of his notice. But as Kirsty opened the door he thumped23 his tail upon the hearthstone.
For the first time in his life Weaver Jimmie realised that Kirsty was glad to see him, and his heart leaped. But he choked at the sight of her grief-stricken face, and could only stand and look down at his great "shoepacks" in the snow.
"Will ye bring Big Malcolm's Marget," whispered Kirsty, "mother's——" She stopped, unable to say more, but more was unnecessary, for, eager to do her bidding, Jimmie was already off across the white clearing and was lost to view before she could shut the door.
Kirsty went softly back to the bed.
"Was it Jimmie?" whispered her mother.
"Yes."
"He's a kind chiel, Kirsty. Ye must marry puir Jimmie, ma lassock, he's got a guid hert, an' he'll mak' ye a kind man, an' Ah'll no be fearin' for ye." She paused, and then came the whisper, "Read it." So Kirsty read it to her for the last time, the sweet old story that had comforted the poor, pain-racked woman and upheld her in patience and fortitude24 for eighteen weary years of suffering. And when at the end of the story came those gracious words bearing a world of love and divine compassion25, "And Jesus called her to Him and said unto her, Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity," Kirsty paused. Her mother always interrupted there, always broke in with a word of triumph, a renewal26 of the firm faith that for eighteen years had forbidden her to ask for relief. But as she waited now there came no sound, and, looking up, she saw that the Divine Healer had loosed this other woman from her infirmity and made her straight and beautiful in His kingdom of happiness.
And so Kirsty, always kind and true-hearted, had been made better and more womanly by her trial; and although she kept her faithful suitor waiting for a couple of years more, she yielded at last and the Weaver received his reward.
As if to be in keeping with the time of life at which the bride and groom27 had arrived, the wedding day was set in the autumn; the soft vaporous October days when the Oro forests were all aflame.
Kirsty had refused to leave her little farm; so Jimmie, well content, had a fine new frame house built close to her old home; and as soon as the wedding was over he was to bring his loom2 from the Glen and they would begin their new life together.
Kirsty declared that he might bring the loom any day, for there was to be no nonsense at her wedding; they would drive to the minister's in the Glen by themselves, and she would be home in time to milk the cows in the evening.
But when she saw the bitter disappointment a quiet wedding would be to the prospective28 groom, she had not the heart to insist. For years Jimmie had buoyed29 up his sorely-tried courage by the ecstatic picture of himself and Kirsty dancing on their wedding night, he the envy of all the MacDonald boys, she the pattern for all the girls; and though neither he nor his bride were any longer young, he still cherished his youthful dream. And then Long Lauchie's girls came over in a body and demanded a wedding and a fine big dance, and even Big Malcolm's wife declared it would hardly be right not to have some public recognition of the fact that there was a wedding among the MacDonalds.
And so, laughing at what she called their foolishness, Kirsty yielded, and the girls came over and sewed and scrubbed and baked, and Scotty and Peter Lauchie gathered in the apples and turnips30 and potatoes and raked away all the dead leaves and made everything neat and tidy for the great event.
And the day actually dawned, in spite of Weaver Jimmie's anticipation31 that some dire32 catastrophe33 would befall to prevent it. A radiant autumn day it was, a Canadian autumn day, when all the best days of the year seem combined to crown its close. The dazzling skies belonged to June, the air was of balmiest May, and the earth was clothed in hues34 of the richest August blooms. The forest was a blaze of colour. The sumachs and the woodbine made flaming patches on the hills and in the fence-corners. The glossy35 oaks, with their polished bronze leaves, and the pale, yellow elms softened the glow and blended with the distant purple haze36. But Canada's own maple37 made all the rest of the forest look pale, where it lined the road to the bride's house, in rainbows of colour, rose and gold and passionate38 crimson.
Early in the afternoon high double buggies, waggons39, and buckboards began clattering41 up the lane to Kirsty's dwelling42. And such a crowd as they brought! In the exuberance43 of his joy Weaver Jimmie had bidden all and sundry44 between the two lakes. And besides, everyone in the Oa went to a MacDonald wedding, anyway. Invitations were always issued in a rather haphazard45 fashion, and if one did not get a direct call, it mattered little in this land of prodigal46 hospitality, for one always bestowed47 a compliment upon one's host by attending.
Long Lauchie's girls took the whole affair out of Kirsty's hands and arranged everything to their hearts' desire. The cooking and washing of dishes was to be done in the old house, while the double ceremony of the marriage and the wedding dinner was to be performed in the new establishment.
This place was gaily48 decorated with the aromatic49 boughs50 of the cedar51, dressed with scarlet52 berries and crimson maple leaves. A table at one end held the wedding presents. This was the work of the Lauchie girls, too, for Kirsty felt it was nothing short of ostentation53 to put up to the public gaze all the fine quilts and blankets and hooked mats the neighbours had given her towards the furnishing of the new home. But the girls had their way in this as in all other arrangements, and most conspicuous54 in the fine array were a Bible from the minister and a set of fine gilt-edged china dishes from Captain Herbert's family.
And amidst all this splendour sat the bride, sedate55 and happy, arrayed in a bright blue poplin dress and the regulation white cap.
Beside her sat Jimmie, his arm about her in proper bridegroom fashion, but loosely, for Kirsty was not to be trifled with, even on her wedding day. He sat up, erect56 and stiff, strangling ecstatically in a flaring57 white collar, and striving manfully to keep his broad smiles from overflowing58 into loud laughter, for poor Jimmie's belated joy bordered on the hysterical59. His magnificent appearance almost eclipsed the bride. He wore a coat of black, such as the minister himself might have envied, a saffron waistcoat, and a pair of black and white trousers of a startlingly large check. His hair was oiled and combed up fiercely, his red whiskers waged a doubtful warfare60 for first place with the white collar, his big feet were doubly conspicuous in a pair of red-topped, high-heeled boots which, unfortunately, met the trousers halfway61 and swallowed up much of their glory. But as both could not be exposed, Jimmie, evidently believing in the survival of the fittest, had allowed the boots the place of honour.
Scotty drove his grandmother over to Kirsty's early in the morning, for the bride said she must have her mother's old friend with her all day; and when he returned in company with Hamish, his grandfather, and Old Farquhar, it was almost the hour set for the ceremony.
The wedding guests had already gathered in large numbers, many of them standing62 about the door or in the garden—matrons in gay plaid shawls, with here and there a fantastic "Paisley" brought out, for this festive63 occasion, from the seclusion64 of some deep sea-chest; men, weather-beaten and stooped, in grey flannel65 shirtsleeves, showing an occasional genteel Sabbath coat from the Glen; bright-eyed lasses, with gay touches of finery to brighten their young beauty; youths in heavy boots and homespun clothing, gathered in laughing groups as far from the house as possible; and everywhere babies of all sizes.
Scotty left a crowd of his friends at the barn and went up to the house to look for Monteith. The schoolmaster had spent the preceding Saturday and Sunday with his friends at Lake Oro, but had promised Jimmie faithfully that he would not miss the wedding. As the young man swung open the little garden gate and came up the pathway between rows of Kirsty's asters he caught sight of his friend standing in the doorway66 of the new house, and gave a gay whistle. Monteith looked up quickly, but instead of answering he turned to someone inside the house.
"Here he is at last," he called, "come and see if you think he's grown any."
And the same instant a vision flashed into the little doorway, a vision that nearly took away Scotty's breath—a tall young lady in a blue velvet67 gown with a sweet, laughing face and a crown of golden hair overshadowed by a big plumed68 hat, a lady who looked as if she had just stepped out of a book of romance; a high-born princess, very remote and unapproachable, and yet, somehow, strangely, enchantingly familiar.
The vision apparently69 did not want to be remote, for it came down the steps in a little, headlong rush, casting a pair of gloves to one side and a cape70 to the other, and caught hold of both Scotty's hands.
"Scotty! Oh, oh, Scotty, dear!" it cried; and then it was no longer an unapproachable heroine from a story-book, but just Isabel; Isabel, his old chum, and something more, something strangely wonderfully new.
Scotty did not return her welcome with the warmth he would have shown a few years earlier. He stood gazing down at her as if in a dream, and then the red came up under the dark tan of his cheek and overspread his face. He dropped her hands and looked around hastily, as if he wanted to escape. But Isabel dragged him up the garden path in her old way, deluging71 him with questions for which she never waited an answer. She had seen Granny Malcolm and Betty and Peter, and she had been afraid he wasn't coming. And, oh, wasn't it an awfully72 long time since she had seen any of them? And didn't he think he was very unkind not to have answered her last two letters? And she had been away at school all this endless time, not home to the Grange even in the summer! And, oh, how glad she was to get back! And how he had grown! Why, he was a giant! And had he missed her? She had missed him just awfully, for Harold was away all the time now. And wasn't it just too perfectly73 lovely for anything that Kirsty and Jimmie were getting married, and that he and she were together at the wedding?
Scotty stood and listened to these ecstatic outpourings, his head swimming. He was enveloped74 in a rose-coloured mist, a mist in which blue velvet and golden hair and dancing eyes surrounded and dazzled him. One moment he was a child again, and his little playmate had come back, and the next he was a man and Isabel was the lady of romance. And while he stood in this delightful75 daze76 someone came and took the vision away; he thought it was Mary Lauchie, but was not sure. When she had disappeared into the new house he awoke sufficiently77 to notice that Monteith was standing at the door regarding him with twinkling eyes, and for the second time that afternoon he blushed.
The crowd was beginning to gravitate towards the new house, and Scotty soon found an excuse to enter also. It hadn't been a dream after all, for she was there, sitting close by Kirsty, holding her hand, and surrounded by the people who made up the more genteel portion of society in the Oa and the Glen. A little space seemed to divide them from the common crowd, and she sat, the recognised centre of the group. Scotty noticed, too, that even Mrs. Cameron, the minister's wife, treated the young lady with bland78 deference79, quite unlike her manner of kind condescension80 towards the MacDonald girls. As he watched the graceful81 gestures and easy well-bred air of his late comrade, Scotty was suddenly smitten82 with a sense of his own shortcomings; he was rough, uncouth83, awkward. Isabel belonged to a different sphere; she was far removed from him and his people. It was the first time he had realised the difference, and he felt it just at the moment that it first had power to hurt him. He experienced a sudden return of the old wild ambition that used to shake him in his childhood when Rory played a warlike air. And then he wanted to slip out and go away from the wedding feast and never see Isabel again. He glanced at her again, and felt resentfully that she must surely be guilty of the sin of "pride," which so characterised the class to which she belonged.
But he had soon to change his mind. The blue eyes had been glancing eagerly about the room, and as soon as they spied him their owner arose and came crushing through the throng84 towards him. For though Scotty was distrustful, Isabel's frank simplicity85 of nature had not changed in her years of absence. Her happiest days had been spent in the Oa, and her return to her old home with its sense of welcome and freedom meant more to the lonely girl than he could realise. Practically she had been brought up among the MacDonalds, and at heart she was one of them.
Scotty saw her approach in combined joy and embarrassment86, and just as he was trying to efface87 himself in a corner he found her at his side. She wanted to talk about the good old times, she whispered, as she pulled him down beside her on the low window sill. "They were just the loveliest old times, weren't they, Scotty? And don't you hate to be grown up?" she asked.
Hate it? Scotty gloried in it. It was a new birth. He tried to say so, but Isabel shook her head emphatically.
"Well, I don't, and you wouldn't in my place, for I can't run in the bush any more. Aunt Eleanor bewails me; she says I've been spoiled by Kirsty, for I can't settle down to a proper life in the city. The backwoods is the best place, isn't it, Scotty?"
He drew a long breath. "Do you mean you'd really like to come here and live with—with Kirsty again?" he asked.
"Oh, wouldn't I?" she cried, her eyes sparkling so that Scotty had to look away. "It was never dull here. Don't you wish I'd come back, too?"
"You don't know?" she echoed indignantly. "Scotty MacDonald, how can you say such a mean thing?"
Scotty looked up with a sudden desperate boldness.
"Because I wouldn't be doing any work if you were here," he exclaimed with a recklessness that appalled90 even himself.
Isabel laughed delightedly. "That's lovely," she cried. "Do you know, I was beginning to be afraid, almost, that you weren't just very glad to see me, and—and you always used to be. You are glad I came, aren't you, Scotty?"
Like a timid swimmer, who, having once plunged91 in, discovers his own strength and gains courage, Scotty struck out boldly into the conversational92 sea.
"It was the best thing that ever happened in all my life," he answered deliberately93.
She was prevented from receiving this important declaration with the consideration it deserved by a sudden silence falling over the room. The minister was standing up in the centre of the room, clearing his throat and looking around portentously94. The ceremony was about to commence, and all conversation was instantly hushed. Mothers quieted their babies, and the men came clumsily tiptoeing indoors. Whenever possible the more ceremonious precincts of the house were left to the more adaptable96 sex, the masculine portion of such assemblies always retiring to the greater freedom of the barn and outbuildings. Now they came crowding in, however, obviously embarrassed, but when the minister stood up, book in hand, and a hush95 fell over the room, the affair took on a religious aspect and everyone felt more at home.
Mr. Cameron moved to a little open space in the centre of the room, and bade Kirsty and Weaver Jimmie stand before him. Mary Lauchie, pale and drooping97 as she always was now, stood at Kirsty's side, and Jimmie had the much needed support of Roarin' Sandy's Archie, now the most fashionable young man in the Oa, who was resplendent in aromatic hair oil and a flaming tie. Jimmie was white and trembling, but Kirsty was calm. Only once did she show any emotion, when she had to search for her neatly98-folded handkerchief in the pocket of her ample skirt to wipe away a tear—a tear that, all the sympathetic onlookers99 knew, was for the little mother who had said so confidently she had no fears for Kirsty's future.
At last the minister pronounced them one, and the friends gathered about them with their congratulations, and, to the delight of all, what should Miss Herbert do, after hugging the bride, but fling her arms about the bridegroom's neck also and give him a sounding kiss! If anything could have added to Jimmie's pride and joy at that moment, this treatment by Kirsty's little girl would certainly have done so.
And then came the wedding supper, the tables set out with the precious new china dishes and weighed down and piled up with everything good the MacDonald matrons knew how to cook. The bride and groom sat close together at the head of the long table, Jimmie's affectionate demonstrations100 partially101 hidden by the huge wedding cake. The minister sat at the foot, and after a long and fervent102 grace had been said everyone drew a deep breath and proceeded to enjoy himself.
There was a deal of clatter40 and noise and laughter and running to and fro of waiters. In the old house where the work was going on, and where there was no minister to put a damper on the proceedings103, there were high times indeed; for Dan Murphy was there, and wherever Dan was there was sure to be an uproar104. Scotty was responsible for the young man's presence; he had invited Mr. Murphy on the strength of his own relationship to both contracting parties, knowing a warm welcome was assured. So, with an apron105 tied round his waist, Dan was making a fine pretence106 of helping107 Betty Lauchie wash dishes, his chief efforts, however, being directed towards balancing pots of boiling water in impossible positions, twirling precious plates in the air, and other outlandish feats108 that added a great deal to the enjoyment109, but very little to the competence110, of the assembled cooks.
Scotty joined the army of workers in the shanty, but he had left the blue vision seated at the table between his grandparents, and his culinary efforts were not much more successful than Dan's. His chum tried to rally him on his absent looks, and made a sly allusion111 to the effusive112 greeting of the young lady from Lake Oro. But Scotty met his well-meant raillery with such unwonted ferocity that he very promptly113 subsided115.
In the new house, where the elder guests were gathered about the table, affairs were much more ceremonious, for all the genteel folk the neighbourhood could boast were there, and Jimmie's face shone with pride as he glanced down the splendid array.
The bridegroom's joy seemed to permeate116 the whole feast. There was much talk and laughter, and, among the elder women, a wonderful clatter of Gaelic. For only on such rare occasions as this had they a chance to meet, and there were many lengthy117 recountings of sicknesses, deaths, and burials.
Long Lauchie, as usual, was full of vague and ominous118 prophecies. His remarks were chiefly concerning the wedding feast to which those who were bidden refused to come, with dark reference to the man who had not on the wedding garment; neither of which allusions119, surely, pointed120 to either Weaver Jimmie or his marriage festivities. Near him, in a little circle where English was spoken, Praying Donald and the minister were leading a discussion on the evidences of Christianity. There was only one quarter in which there were signs of anything but perfect amity121, and that was where a heated argument had arisen between Old Farquhar and Peter Sandy Johnstone upon the respective merits of Ossian and Burns; a discussion which, in spite of the age of the disputants, would certainly have ended in blows, had it been in the old days when a marriage was scarcely considered binding122 without a liberal supply of whiskey.
But Kirsty's wedding, happily, belonged to the new era, and the minister, glancing round the well conducted assemblage and recalling the days, not so far past, when most of the Highlanders enlivened any and every social function, from a barn-raising to a burial, with spirits, heaved a great sigh of gratitude123. And Store Thompson unconsciously voiced his sentiments when he declared, in a neatly turned little speech, that the occasion was "jist an auspicious124 consummation-like."
There were several other speakers besides the minister and Store Thompson, and each made the kindliest allusions to both bride and groom; but, like the true Scots they were, carefully refrained from paying compliments. There were songs and stories, too, stirring Scottish choruses, and tales of the early days and of the great doings in the homeland. Then Big Malcolm's Farquhar, who had long ago come to regard himself in the light of the old itinerant125 bards126, sang, like Chibiabos, to make the wedding guests more contented127. He had but a single English song in his repertoire128, one which he rendered with much pride, and only on state occasions. This was a flowery love-lyric, entitled "The Grave of Highland5 Mary," and was Farquhar's one tribute to the despised Burns. It consisted of a half-dozen lengthy stanzas130, each followed by a still lengthier131 refrain, and was sung to an ancient and erratic132 air that rose and fell like the wail88 of the winter winds in the bare treetops. The venerable minstrel sang with much fervour, and only in the last stanza129 did the swelling133 notes subside114 in any noticeable degree. This was not because the melancholy134 words demanded, but because the singer was rather out of breath. So he sang with some breathless hesitation135:
"Yet the green simmer saw but a few sunny mornings
Till she, in the bloom of her beauty and pride,
Was laid in her grave like a bonnie young flower
In Greenock kirkyard on the banks of the Clyde."
But, when he found himself launched once more upon the familiar refrain, he rallied his powers and sang out loudly and joyfully136:
"Then bring me the lilies and bring me the roses,
And bring me the daisies that grow in the dale,
And bring me the dew of the mild summer evening,
And bring me the tear of a fond lover's e'e,
And I'll pour them a' doon on thy grave, Highland Mary,
For the sake o' thy Burns who sae dearly loved thee!"
It did not seem the kind of song exactly suited to a hymeneal feast, but everyone listened respectfully until the old man had wavered through to the end and called, for the last time, for the lilies, the roses and the daisies; and before he had time to start another Fiddlin' Archie struck up "Scots Wha Hae," and the whole company joined.
When everyone, even to the last waiter in the old shanty, had been fed and the tables were all cleared away, Scotty deserted139 Monteith, and once more took up his station on the window sill where he could catch glimpses of Isabel's golden head through the crowd. He could see she was the object of many admiring glances; the MacDonald girls stood apart whispering wondering remarks concerning the beauty of her velvet gown, and even Betty Lauchie seemed shy of her old playmate. Nevertheless, when, upon spying him in his corner, Isabel came again and seated herself beside him, Scotty forgot all differences between them and blossomed out into friendliness140 under the light of her eyes. For she had clear, honest eyes that looked beneath the rough exterior141 of her country friends and recognised the true, leal hearts beneath. Yes, she was the same old Isabel, Scotty declared to himself, and something more, something he hardly dared think of yet.
He sat and chatted freely with her of all that had happened since they had last met, her life in a ladies' boarding school and his progress under Monteith's instruction, and he found that with all her schooling142 he was far ahead of her in book knowledge. Then there were past experiences to recall; the playhouse they had built beneath the Silver Maple, the mud pies they had made down by the edge of the swamp, the excursions down the Birch Creek143, and the part they had played in poor Callum's sad romance.
"And what are you going to be, Scotty?" she asked. "Don't you remember it was always either an Indian or a soldier, a 'Black Watcher' you used to call it? You ought to go to college, you must be more than prepared for it since you've learned so much from Mr. Monteith."
Scotty's eyes glowed. A college course was the dream of his life, sleeping or waking. But he shook his head.
"I'd like it," he said, trying to keep the gloom out of his voice, "but there's not much chance."
"Oh, dear," sighed the girl, "things seem to be all wrong in this world. There's Harold now; Uncle Walter fairly begged him to go to college, but he went only one year."
"Where is your cousin now?"
"He's in the English navy, and poor Uncle frets144 for him. He's an officer too. I can't imagine Hal making anybody mind him. I always used to be the 'party in power,' as Uncle Walter used to say when Hal was home."
Scotty laughed. "I expect he'd have a hard time if he didn't let you have your own way," he said slyly.
"Now, Scotty, you know you didn't let me have my own way, now, did you? But somehow, I think I was always in a better humour at Kirsty's here, I didn't have anyone to bother me."
"I know what I'd like most to be," said Scotty, with a sudden burst of feeling.
"What?"
"A Prince!"
"A Prince! Why, in all the world?"
"Because you are just like all the Princesses I have ever read about." Scotty was making headlong progress in a subject to which he had never been even introduced by Monteith.
The girl looked up at him with an expression of half-amused wonder in her eyes.
"Why, Scotty," she declared, "you're as bad as any society man for paying compliments. But you will be something great some day, I know. Mr. Monteith says so."
Scotty's face lit up. "If I'm ever worth anything I'll owe it all to him," he exclaimed enthusiastically. "Isn't he fine?"
"He's just a dear. If it hadn't been for his help I should never have been able to come for this visit. But he told Aunt Eleanor that we would elope if I wasn't allowed to come. Isn't he funny? And just think, Scotty, I'm going to stay a whole month, perhaps two!"
Scotty was speechless.
"Now, I'm sure you're glad! Yes, I'm to stay at the manse for about two weeks, until poor Jimmie and Kirsty have a little honeymoon145 by themselves, and then I'm coming here. Auntie and Uncle have been invited to spend a month with friends in Toronto, and I didn't want to go because"—she hesitated and then laughed softly—"well, because I have to be so horribly proper all the time, so I begged to come here instead, and as Mrs. Cameron had invited me and Mr. Monteith coaxed146 too, Uncle Walter consented. And there's a possibility they might not be back till Christmas. Oh, I wish they wouldn't! Am I not wicked?"
"I've got a colt of my own," Scotty burst forth147 with apparent irrelevance148, "he's a fine driver."
Isabel seemed to understand.
"I hope Mrs. Cameron will let me go," she said, though there had been no invitation. She glanced around the room and found that lady making rather anxious motions in her direction.
The minister's wife had been taking note of the fact that Miss Herbert and one of the young MacDonald men had been renewing their acquaintance in a rather headlong fashion. Mrs. Cameron was a lady who had an eye for the fitness of things, and, being responsible for young Miss Herbert, she decided149 it was high time to take her home. So, when the girl looked up her hostess beckoned150 her, and announced rather sedately151 that they must be going, as the minister had already begun his round of handshaking.
"And when will I see you again?" Scotty asked forlornly, as the girl came downstairs dressed for her drive.
Isabel was intent on buttoning her glove. "I—I suppose you sometimes come to the Glen?" she suggested, without looking up.
Scotty hastened to asseverate152 that he spent almost all his waking hours there, and that he was a daily visitor at the Manse; and before Mrs. Cameron could get through bidding the neighbours good-bye, he had secured permission to come with his black colt the next day, and with Mrs. Cameron's consent they would drive up to the Oa to see how the Silver Maple looked in its autumn dress.
No sooner had the minister and the elder guests turned their backs, than the young folk who remained made a joyous153 rush for the furniture. Chairs and benches were piled helter-skelter in the corners and a unanimous demand arose for Fiddlin' Archie's Sandy to bestir his lazy bones and tune154 up!
Thus importuned155, the musician, who had fearfully concealed156 his unholy instrument from the minister's eyes all afternoon, mounted upon a table, and after much screwing up and letting down and strumming of notes, now high and squeaky, now low and buzzing, banged his bow down upon all the strings157 at once, and in stentorian158 tones gave forth the electrifying159 command: "Take—yer—partners!"
This was the signal for a general stampede, not out upon the floor, but back to the walls, leaving a clear space down the middle of the room; for dancing before company was a serious business not to be entered upon lightly, and it required no small courage to be the first to step out into the range of the public eye.
Balls were generally opened by a couple of agile160 young men dashing madly into the middle of the floor to execute a clattering step dance opposite each other, and under cover of this sortie the whole army would sweep simultaneously161 into the field.
Dan Murphy and Roarin' Sandy's Archie were the two who this night first ventured into the jaws162 of public opinion. Jimmie's best man, as became the dandy of the countryside, could disport163 himself with marvellous skill on the terpsichorean164 floor, and Dan Murphy was at least warranted to make plenty of noise. The two young men flung aside their coats and went at their task, heel and toe, with a right good will and a tremendous clatter. They pranced165 before each other, stepping high, like thoroughbred horses, they slapped the floor with first one foot, then the other, they reeled, they twirled, they shuffled166 and double-shuffled, and pounded the floor, as though they would fain tramp their way through to Kirsty's new cellar; while, in his efforts to keep pace with them, the fiddler nearly sawed his instrument asunder167.
But just when they were in the midst of the most intricate part of the gyrations, the spirit of the dance seized the spectators, and the next moment the performers were engulfed168 in the whirl of the oncoming flood.
But Roarin' Sandy's Archie was not the sort to lose his identity in the vulgar throng. He was the most famous "caller-off" in the township of Oro, as everyone knew; and staggering out of the maelstrom169, he seized Betty Lauchie and was soon in the midst of his double task, his face set and tense, for it was no easy matter to manage one's own feet and at the same time guide the reckless movements of some twenty heedless and bouncing couples who acted as though a dance was an affair of no moment whatever.
Scotty did not remain for the dance, but accompanied his uncle home. He wanted to be alone to think over the wonderful events of the day and of the joys of the morrow. There were not many youths who followed his example. When the dance broke up the majority of them merely retired170 to the edge of the clearing to return half an hour later armed with guns, horns, tin pans, old saws from the mill, and all other implements171 warranted to produce an uproar and annihilate172 peace. With these they proceeded to make the night hideous173 by serenading the bridal pair until the late autumn dawn chased them to the cover of the woods. This last festivity gave no offence, however, being quite in accordance with the custom of the country and the expectations of the bride and groom.
And so Weaver Jimmie's wedding passed off just as, through the long years of waiting, he had dreamed it would; and one young man, who had been a guest at their marriage feast, entered that day upon a new life, as surely as did the bride and groom.
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1
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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rife
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| adj.(指坏事情)充斥的，流行的，普遍的 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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weaver
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| n.织布工；编织者 | |
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tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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17
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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pendulum
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| n.摆，钟摆 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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crunch
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| n.关键时刻；艰难局面；v.发出碎裂声 | |
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apprise
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| vt.通知，告知 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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23
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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26
renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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27
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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28
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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29
buoyed
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| v.使浮起( buoy的过去式和过去分词 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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30
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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31
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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32
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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33
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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34
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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35
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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36
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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37
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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38
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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39
waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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40
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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41
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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42
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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43
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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44
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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45
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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46
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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47
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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49
aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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50
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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51
cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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52
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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53
ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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54
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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55
sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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56
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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57
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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58
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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59
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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60
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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61
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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62
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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63
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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64
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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65
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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66
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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67
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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68
plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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69
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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70
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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71
deluging
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| v.使淹没( deluge的现在分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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72
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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73
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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74
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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76
daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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77
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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78
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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79
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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80
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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81
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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82
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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83
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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84
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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85
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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86
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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efface
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| v.擦掉，抹去 | |
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88
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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89
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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90
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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91
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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92
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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93
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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94
portentously
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95
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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96
adaptable
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| adj.能适应的，适应性强的，可改编的 | |
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97
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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98
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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99
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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100
demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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101
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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102
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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103
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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104
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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105
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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106
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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107
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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108
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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109
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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110
competence
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| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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111
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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112
effusive
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| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
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113
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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114
subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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115
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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116
permeate
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| v.弥漫，遍布，散布；渗入，渗透 | |
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117
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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amity
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| n.友好关系 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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bards
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| n.诗人( bard的名词复数 ) | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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repertoire
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| n.(准备好演出的)节目，保留剧目；(计算机的)指令表，指令系统， <美>(某个人的)全部技能；清单，指令表 | |
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stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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stanzas
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| 节，段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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lengthier
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| adj.长的，漫长的，啰嗦的( lengthy的比较级 ) | |
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erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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frets
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| 基质间片； 品丝（吉他等指板上定音的）( fret的名词复数 ) | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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irrelevance
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| n.无关紧要；不相关；不相关的事物 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sedately
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| adv.镇静地，安详地 | |
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asseverate
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| v.断言 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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importuned
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| v.纠缠，向（某人）不断要求( importune的过去式和过去分词 )；（妓女）拉（客） | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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electrifying
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| v.使电气化( electrify的现在分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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disport
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| v.嬉戏，玩 | |
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terpsichorean
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| adj.舞蹈的；n.舞蹈家 | |
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pranced
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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maelstrom
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| n.大乱动；大漩涡 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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