great spangs, crying that there was a boat coming round the point running against the tide, with two men rowing. I turned the glass on the boat as she came, and was soon able to pick her up.
‘It’s your mither, Andrew Allison,’ I said, ‘an’ yours, Jerry, my lad. They’ll be gettin’ anxious to see ye!’
‘Guid save us,’ said Andrew; ‘I’m awa’ to hide!’
‘Awa’ wi’ ye, then,’ I said; ‘but dinna inform me where, that I may not have more lies to tell than are just and needful.’
I was well aware that there was some business for me to do during the next hour, for neither Mistress Allison that was a baillie’s wife, nor yet Mistress MacWhirter, were canny women with their tongues when they got a subject to do them justice.
But my father set me on a capital plan, having regard to the tongue of a scolding woman. I know not how it would work if you had her always in the house with you. I misdoubt that in that case my father’s receipt might need application and reinforcement from a hazel rod; but against the tongues of orra folk that you have only to stand for a while at a time, it is altogether infallible. My father had a great respect for Scripture, and he had Scripture warrant for this.
‘Mind ye, Paitrick,’ he used to say, ‘that the Good Book says, “A soft answer turneth away wrath.” Now keep your temper, laddie. Never quarrel wi’ an angry person, specially a woman. Mind ye, a soft answer’s aye best. It’s commanded – and forbye, it makes them far madder than onything else ye could say.’
As we looked the boat sped nearer, and, peering through the prospect-glass again, I could see that it was rowed by a pair of folk – a lassie and a man. It was the Craigdarroch boat – white with a green stripe about it, very genteel. So that I did not need to be a prophet or other than my father’s son to know that it was my daft Maxwell lass, whom they call May Mischief, that was oaring the wives across.
Now it made me vexed sore to think that she should hear all the on-ding of their ill tongues. Not that I cared for May Maxwell, or any like her, only it was galling to let a lass like that, who was for ever gibing and jeering, get new provision of powder and shot for her scoffs and fleers. The last time I saw her, when I went over to Craigdarroch myself for the milk – one day that it blew hard and I could not send the younger ones – she had a new word for me. She would call me no word but ‘Adullam’. Well, any name was better than ‘Sheep’, for when I saw her forming her mouth to say ‘Baa’, I could have run and left her in fair anger. But this she did but seldom.
‘Noo, Adullam,’ she cried, as soon as ever I could get near the onstead for yowching dogs, ‘this is a bonny business. I suppose ye think that ye are a great captain, like King David in the cave; and that a’ that are discontented and a’ that are in distress wull gather in till ye, an’ ye’ll be a captain ower them. A bonny-like captain, Adullam. There’s a braw big hoose up in Enbra’, I hear, that’s fu’ o’ sic captains. They pit strait-jackets on them there, an’ tie them up wi’ rapes.’
This I did not answer, remembering my father’s prescription.
‘O, ye think ye’re a braw lad,’ said the impudent besom. ‘Ye’re a’ braw lads, by your ain accounts, but some knotty twigs o’ the bonny birk wad fit ye better than so mony “captains.” I’ll speak to my faither about that!’ she said, making believe to go off.
Now when she spoke in this fashion I got a great deal of comfort just from saying over and over to myself, ‘Ye impudent besom! Ye impudent besom!’ So before I was aware, out the words came; and then in a moment I was horrified at the sound of my own voice.
I had never so spoken to a young woman before; indeed seldom to the breed at all. For my father and I kept ourselves very close to ourselves in Rathan Isle as long as he lived.
But instead of being offended the daft lassie threw back her head and laughed. She had close curls like a boy, and her way of laughing was strange, and smote me as though some elf were tapping down at the bottom of my throat with his forefinger. There was something witching about her laughter.
‘Weel dune, Adullam, ye’ll be nane sic a sumph some day, when ye get the calf conceit ta’en oot o’ ye and your hair cut,’ said she.
‘Let my hair alane – my hair’s no meddlin’ you!’ I said, so coltish and stupid that I fair hated the lass for humbling me that way – me that had so good an opinion of myself from living much alone.
So it was small wonder that the thought of her hearing what the pair of old randy wives had to say to me for leading their precious sons astray was like gall and wormwood.
THE BOAT WAS coming quickly in, and I could see that Mistress Allison, who had the steering, knew nothing at all of the matter, so that the boat, in spite of the efforts of the rowers, was in danger of being carried past the landing-place on the northward side where the beautiful beaches of shell-sand are.
Now, though I wished the whole crew far enough, yet I did not want a drowning match on the Rathan heuchs, so I ran down alone, the better to pilot them in. The lads had fled; and, indeed, their room was better than their company. Only little Jerry MacWhirter sat calmly finishing his perspective drawing on the hilltop.
‘Tell my mither I’ll be doon the noo!’ he cried after me as I ran. But I thought he was joking, and went on without reply.
At last the keep grated on the beach, and I pulled the boat ashore. Even as I did so the daft Maxwell lass that I was so angry with unshipped her oar, put her hand on my shoulder, and leaped on the shingle like a young goat. The two old wives were speechless with black anger.
‘Good-day to you, Mistress Allison and Mistress MacWhirter, and to you, May Maxwell,’ I said, lifting my bonnet to each, and speaking as I ought, just to show that I was none so rough and landward.
‘Guid-day to ye, Adullam!’ says she; but the two old wives said neither ‘Fair-guid-e’en’ nor ‘Fair-guid-day’, but only sat and gloomed and better gloomed. I stood at the side of the boat to offer them a hand; but Mistress Allison waved me away, and asked the great stot of a farm lad that was at the oar to jump out and help them ashore.
‘No, an’ I’ll no, eyther!’ said that youth, pleasantly. ‘Wull Maxwell said that I was to bide by the boat – an’ so I’ll bide. Ye can loup!’
So help he would not. But he was willing to give his reasons.
‘Wull is my maister, an’ he’s a man to be mindit, I’m tellin’ ye!’ he said, and that was all they could get out of him.
So the old wives, who could have eaten all they liked of me with pleasure and ease, had perforce to accept my helping hand to get them out of the boat, which had grounded high on the shell-sand and now coggled upon an uneven keel.
‘Think on the honour o’t, Mistress Allison,’ cried that randy lass May Maxwell, standing with her hands on her sides and her elbows crooked out in a fashion of her own. (I cannot think what made me notice these things, for I fair hated the lass.) ‘Think,’ says she, ‘on the honour of being handed oot by a laird on
