be civil and cautious; and, to smooth the good woman, I slipped the promised piece into her hand. The acute organs of the blind man detected this little manoeuvre.
‘Are ye at it again wi’ the siller, ye jaud? I’ll be sworn ye wad rather hear ae twalpenny clink against another, than have a spring from Rory Dall, [Blind Rorie, a famous musician according to tradition.] if he was-coming alive again anes errand. Gang doun the gate to Lucky Gregson’s and get the things ye want, and bide there till ele’en hours in the morn; and if you see Robin, send him on to me.’
‘Am I no gaun to the ploy, then?’ said Maggie, in a disappointed tone.
‘And what for should ye?’ said her lord and master; ‘to dance a’ night, I’se warrant, and no to be fit to walk your tae’s-length the morn, and we have ten Scots miles afore us? Na, na. Stable the steed, and pit your wife to bed, when there’s night wark to do.’
‘Aweel, aweel, Willie hinnie, ye ken best; but oh, take an unco care o’ yoursell, and mind ye haena the blessing o’ sight.’
‘Your tongue gars me whiles tire of the blessing of hearing, woman,’ replied ‘Willie, in answer to this tender exhortation.
But I now put in for my interest. ‘Hollo, good folks, remember that I am to send the boy to Mount Sharon, and if you go to the Shepherd’s Bush, honest woman, how the deuce am I to guide the blind man where he is going? I know little or nothing of the country.’
‘And ye ken mickle less of my hinnie, sir,’ replied Maggie, ‘that think he needs ony guiding; he’s the best guide himsell that ye’ll find between Criffell and Carlisle. Horse-road and foot-path, parish-road and kirk-road, high-road and cross-road, he kens ilka foot of ground in Nithsdale.’
‘Aye, ye might have said in braid Scotland, gudewife,’ added the fiddler. ‘But gang your ways, Maggie, that’s the first wise word ye hae spoke the day. I wish it was dark night, and rain, and wind, for the gentleman’s sake, that I might show him there is whiles when ane had better want een than have them; for I am as true a guide by darkness as by daylight.’
Internally as well pleased that my companion was not put to give me this last proof of his skill, I wrote a note with a pencil, desiring Samuel to bring my horses at midnight, when I thought my frolic would be wellnigh over, to the place to which the bearer should direct him, and I sent little Benjie with an apology to the worthy Quakers.
As we parted in different directions, the good woman said, ‘Oh, sir, if ye wad but ask Willie to tell ye ane of his tales to shorten the gate! He can speak like ony minister frae the pu’pit, and he might have been a minister himsell, but’ —
‘Haud your tongue, ye fule!’ said Willie, – ‘But stay, Meg – gie me a kiss, ne maunna part in anger, neither.’ – And thus our society separated.
[It is certain that in many cases the blind have, by constant exercise of their other organs, learned to overcome a defect which one would think incapable of being supplied. Every reader must remember the celebrated Blind Jack of Knaresborough, who lived by laying out roads.]
LETTER XI
THE SAME TO THE SAME
You are now to conceive us proceeding in our different directions across the bare downs. Yonder flies little Benjie to the northward with Hemp scampering at his heels, both running as if for dear life so long as the rogue is within sight of his employer, and certain to take the walk very easy so soon as he is out of ken. Stepping westward, you see Maggie’s tall form and high-crowned hat, relieved by the fluttering of her plaid upon the left shoulder, darkening as the distance diminishes her size and as the level sunbeams begin to sink upon the sea. She is taking her quiet journey to the Shepherd’s Bush.
Then, stoutly striding over the lea, you have a full view of Darsie Latimer, with his new acquaintance, Wandering Willie, who, bating that he touched the ground now and then with his staff, not in a doubtful groping manner, but with the confident air of an experienced pilot, heaving the lead when he has the soundings by heart, walks as firmly and boldly as if he possessed the eyes of Argus. There they go, each with his violin slung at his back, but one of them at least totally ignorant whither their course is directed.
And wherefore did you enter so keenly into such a mad frolic? says my wise counsellor. – Why, I think, upon the whole, that as a sense of loneliness, and a longing for that kindness which is interchanged in society, led me to take up my temporary residence at Mount Sharon, the monotony of my life there, the quiet simplicity of the conversation of the Geddeses, and the uniformity of their amusements and employments, wearied out my impatient temper, and prepared me for the first escapade which chance might throw in my way.
What would I have given that I could have procured that solemn grave visage of thine, to dignify this joke, as it has done full many a one of thine own! Thou hast so happy a knack of doing the most foolish things in the wisest manner, that thou mightst pass thy extravagances for rational actions, even in the eyes of Prudence herself.
From the direction which my guide observed, I began to suspect that the dell at Brokenburn was our probable destination; and it became important to me to consider whether I could, with propriety, or even perfect safety, intrude myself again upon the hospitality of my former host. I therefore asked Willie whether we were bound for the laird’s, as folk called him.
‘Do ye ken the laird?’ said Willie, interrupting a sonata of Corelli, of which he had whistled several bars with great precision.
‘I know the laird a little,’ said I; ‘and therefore I was doubting whether I ought to go to his town in disguise.’
‘I should doubt, not a little only, but a great deal, before I took ye there, my chap,’ said Wandering Willie; ‘for I am thinking it wad be worth little less than broken banes baith to you and me. Na, na, chap, we are no ganging to the laird’s, but to a blithe birling at the Brokenburn-foot, where there will be mony a braw lad and lass; and maybe there may be some of the laird’s folks, for he never comes to sic splores himsell. He is all for fowling-piece and salmon-spear, now that pike and musket are out of the question.’
‘He has been at soldier, then?’ said I.
‘I’se warrant him a soger,’ answered Willie; ‘but take my advice, and speer as little about him as he does about you. Best to let sleeping dogs lie. Better say naething about the laird, my man, and tell me instead, what sort of a chap ye are that are sae ready to cleik in with an auld gaberlunzie fiddler? Maggie says ye’re gentle, but a shilling maks a’ the difference that Maggie kens between a gentle and a semple, and your crowns wad mak ye a prince of the blood in her een. But I am ane that ken full weel that ye may wear good claithes, and have a saft hand, and yet that may come of idleness as weel as gentrice.’
I told him my name, with the same addition I had formerly given to Mr. Joshua Geddes; that I was a law-student, tired of my studies, and rambling about for exercise and amusement.
‘And are ye in the wont of drawing up wi’ a’ the gangrel bodies that ye meet on the high-road, or find cowering in a sand-bunker upon the links?’ demanded Willie.
‘Oh, no; only with honest folks like yourself, Willie,’ was my reply.
‘Honest folks like me! How do ye ken whether I am honest, or what I am? I may be the deevil himsell for what ye ken; for he has power to come disguised like an angel of light; and besides he is a prime fiddler. He played a sonata to Corelli, ye ken.’
There was something odd in this speech, and the tone in which it was said. It seemed as if my companion was not always in his constant mind,
