never a word said I out loud, but in to myself I kept saying, ‘Ill-tongued hizzy!’ And that I said over and over.
But she was not yet done and went on, ‘Is’t a captain or a general ye are, Adullam? My memory’s failin’. I think ye mentioned it the last time ye were ower by at Craigdarroch. Or is it nothing less than to be a king that’ll serve ye? My faith,’ she added, looking round, ‘I’m thinkin’ that your standing airmy’s a’ run awa’!’
She laughed elvishly here, though I, that am as full of appreciation of humour as any man, could see nothing whatever to laugh at.
‘Here’s the standing airmy, Mistress May Mischief!’ cried Jerry MacWhirter, upstanding as bold as brass on the edge of the sea cliff which rose above the white sands of the bay.
‘Guid mornin’ to ye, mither,’ he said, lifting his blue bonnet politely; ‘and my service to you, Mistress Allison. Your son Andrew sent his love till ye.’
‘Ye impudent vaigabond!’
At the word both of the women made a rush at him with so angry a countenance that, though a man grown, with (some) hair on my face, I gave back a pace myself. But as for little Jerry, he never turned a hair, but only sat down on the edge of the cliff, looking now at the group and now at his drawing. It was as pretty as a play.
‘Dinna be in a hurry, mither,’ he said; ‘it’s bad for the disjeestion; an’ this bank’s ower steep for twenty stone, Mistress Allison. Try roon to the left. There’s a bonnier road there.’
His mother’s tongue got vent.
‘Ye sorra’ and vexation,’ she cried, ‘ye disgrace to a’ oor hoose, that was aye decent grocers! Wait till I get ye hame. I’ll wile ye hame wi’ the strong hand, my lad, and lay on ye wi’ a stout stick when I get ye there. Ye shall suffer for this if there’s hazel oil in Dumfries, gibin’ an’ jeerin’ at your ain blood-kin.’
Little Jerry had a piece of paper on his knee, and he made marks on it with a callevine as if he were drawing a map. I admired greatly to see him.
‘Na, mither,’ he said; ‘nae ill word did I ever speak to you, or aboot you. I did but advise ye for your health no to excite or overexert yersel’, for, as ye ken, Doctor Douglas tells ye that it’s ill for the bowel complaint. But my respects to my stepfaither the Doctor. I hope ye left him weel.’
‘I tell ye that as sure as my name’s Sarah MacWhirter, ye’ll get sic a lickin’ as ye’ll no get ower for a month when ye come back to Dumfries. I’ll get the burgh hangman to attend to ye, gin I haena the strength o’ airm to gar ye lowp mysel’.’
At this fearful threat I looked for Jerry to lower his colours, but he seemed more than usual calm, and turned his head sideways to look this way and that at his map, like a wild bird on a bough when it is not sure about you.
‘Na, mither, lickin’s dune noo! It’s a’ by wi’,’ says he; ‘so it’s no for me to say whether or no yer name’s properly Sarah MacWhirter or Sarah Douglas. I wasna at either o’ your waddin’s – at least, that I mind o’ – but whether or no, strap, taws, birk, an’ hazel, are a’ by wi’; and I’ll come nae mair hame till ye promise to let me alane.’
‘Ye ken, richt weel, ye vaigabond, that ye wad be let alane. Aye, an’ made muckle o’ gin ye wad consent to be a decent grocer in the Wynd, an’ succeed yer faither in the shop.’
‘Na, mither, I’ll never be grocer nor yet chandler. The provision line is a guid trade, but it’s no for me. I was aye that hungrysome that I wad eat a’ the profits. I wad cadge keel first, mither, like Silver Sand. Can ye no let me alane?’
His mother and Mistress Allison, quite aghast at the turn affairs were taking, had retreated, and were for making their way up the cliff by themselves. May Mischief had gone back again to the boat, and was lifting something heavy out of it. I went down to help her, for I never could abide to see a woman do man’s work, even if I had reason to dislike her, as I had right good reason to do this lass from Craigdarroch; though, to tell truth, I had some better reasons also to think well of her, as I owned to myself, remembering the night by the tomb of the MacLurgs in the kirkyard of Kirk Oswald.
Then I heard little Jerry say from his post on the top of the cliff, ‘Might I trouble ye, Mistress Allison, juist to stan’ still till I get your figure drawed? It disna look bonny withoot the head, especially as I hadna aneuch paper to mak’ your feet.’
I began to see that though Jerry might be an exceedingly useful ally with the tongue, his answers, though soft enough to satisfy Solomon himself, were not such as to turn away wrath. On the contrary, if the two ladies were angry when they came seeking their sons on my island, Jerry had made them ten times worse now.
All this time I was helping May Maxwell out of the boat with something heavy, wrapped in a white cloth. Whatever it was it gave out a rare good smell to me, who had breakfasted some hours before on plain flounders tramped on the flats at three in the morning.
Overhead the two good dames were labouring upward, Mistress Allison crying as she went: ‘Andra! Jock! Wait till I catch ye!’
This mode of address struck me as, to say the least of it, unwise, and as one might say injudicious.
On the hillside Mistress MacWhirter made ineffective swoops at her erring son, who evaded her as easily as a swallow gets out of the way of a cow.
‘And, my certes,’ cried the good dame, exceedingly irate, ‘you are michty wasterfu’, my laddie! What for are ye wearin’ your best claes, I wad like to ken?’
‘Because I hae nae better!’ said her obedient son, for all the answer that was requisite.
The reasoning was excellent. Had he had better, he would have had them on. He had done his best.
I came up the path in the sunlight, carrying the Maxwell lass’s packet under my arm, and mighty weighty it seemed to be. It was very hot underfoot with the sun reflected from the rocks. It was a clear, coppery sky overhead.
‘What are ye gaun to say to them?’ May Maxwell asked, looking across atme inaway that I thought kindlier.
‘That I do not ken,’ said I; ‘I was thinkin’ o’ lettin’ them get it a’ their ain way for the sake o’ peace.’
‘Man, Adullam, for a lad that sets up to be a general, ye hae little contrivance aboot ye. That’s a’ weel eneuch for a while, an’ when there’s but yin o’ them. But there’s twa auld wives’ tongues here, an’ it’s a’thegither useless, for as sune as the breath o’ yin gaes oot, the ither yin ’ll tak’ up the tale, and the deevin’ will juist be eternal.’
‘But what will I do then, May Maxwell?’ said I.
‘Misca’ their bairns to their face. Misca’ them for a’ the sornin’ tinklers – the lazy, ill-contrivin’ loons i’ the country. Gin that disna gar their mithers change their tunes, my name’s no May Maxwell.’
‘Your name’s May Mischief, I see that weel!’ I said, roguishly.
‘What, ho, Adullam!’ she cried, making a pretty, mocking mouth, ‘this will never do. Twa o’ a trade will never agree. Dinna you set up to be waggish, like oor dog
