fain to leave the country for fear that waur had come of it.”
“Can this be really true?” said I.
“Pate swears it’s as true as that his ellwand is a yard lang —(and so it is, just bating an inch, that it may meet the English measure)— And when the chield had said his warst, there was a terrible cry for names, and out comes he wi’ this man Morris’s name, and your uncle’s, and Squire Inglewood’s, and other folk’s beside” (looking sly at me)—“And then another dragon o’ a chield got up on the other side, and said, wad they accuse the best gentleman in the land on the oath of a broken coward?— for it’s like that Morris had been drummed out o’ the army for rinning awa in Flanders; and he said, it was like the story had been made up between the minister and him or ever he had left Lunnun; and that, if there was to be a search-warrant granted, he thought the siller wad be fund some gate near to St. James’s Palace. Aweel, they trailed up Morris to their bar, as they ca’t, to see what he could say to the job; but the folk that were again him, gae him sic an awfu’ throughgaun about his rinnin’ awa, and about a’ the ill he had ever dune or said for a’ the forepart o’ his life, that Patie says he looked mair like ane dead than living; and they cou’dna get a word o’ sense out o’ him, for downright fright at their growling and routing. He maun be a saft sap, wi’ a head nae better than a fozy frosted turnip — it wad hae ta’en a hantle o’ them to scaur Andrew Fairservice out o’ his tale.”
“And how did it all end, Andrew? did your friend happen to learn?”
“Ou, ay; for as his walk is in this country, Pate put aff his journey for the space of a week or thereby, because it wad be acceptable to his customers to bring down the news. It’s just a’ gaed aft like moonshine in water. The fallow that began it drew in his horns, and said, that though he believed the man had been rubbit, yet he acknowledged he might hae been mista’en about the particulars. And then the other chield got up, and said, he caredna whether Morris was rubbed or no, provided it wasna to become a stain on ony gentleman’s honour and reputation, especially in the north of England; for, said he before them, I come frae the north mysell, and I carena a boddle wha kens it. And this is what they ca’ explaining — the tane gies up a bit, and the tither gies up a bit, and a’ friends again. Aweel, after the Commons’ Parliament had tuggit, and rived, and rugged at Morris and his rubbery till they were tired o’t, the Lords’ Parliament they behoved to hae their spell o’t. In puir auld Scotland’s Parliament they a’ sate thegither, cheek by choul, and than they didna need to hae the same blethers twice ower again. But till’t their lordships went wi’ as muckle teeth and gude-will, as if the matter had been a’ speck and span new. Forbye, there was something said about ane Campbell, that suld hae been concerned in the rubbery, mair or less, and that he suld hae had a warrant frae the Duke of Argyle, as a testimonial o’ his character. And this put MacCallum More’s beard in a bleize, as gude reason there was; and he gat up wi’ an unco bang, and garr’d them a’ look about them, and wad ram it even doun their throats, there was never ane o’ the Campbells but was as wight, wise, warlike, and worthy trust, as auld Sir John the Graeme. Now, if your honour’s sure ye arena a drap’s bluid a-kin to a Campbell, as I am nane mysell, sae far as I can count my kin, or hae had it counted to me, I’ll gie ye my mind on that matter.”
“You may be assured I have no connection whatever with any gentleman of the name.”
“Ou, than we may speak it quietly amang oursells. There’s baith gude and bad o’ the Campbells, like other names, But this MacCallum More has an unco sway and say baith, amang the grit folk at Lunnun even now; for he canna preceesely be said to belang to ony o’ the twa sides o’ them, sae deil any o’ them likes to quarrel wi’ him; sae they e’en voted Morris’s tale a fause calumnious libel, as they ca’t, and if he hadna gien them leg-bail, he was likely to hae ta’en the air on the pillory for leasing-making.”
So speaking, honest Andrew collected his dibbles, spades, and hoes, and threw them into a wheel-barrow,— leisurely, however, and allowing me full time to put any further questions which might occur to me before he trundled them off to the tool-house, there to repose during the ensuing day. I thought it best to speak out at once, lest this meddling fellow should suppose there were more weighty reasons for my silence than actually existed.
“I should like to see this countryman of yours, Andrew and to hear his news from himself directly. You have probably heard that I had some trouble from the impertinent folly of this man Morris” (Andrew grinned a most significant grin), “and I should wish to see your cousin the merchant, to ask him the particulars of what he heard in London, if it could be done without much trouble.”
“Naething mair easy,” Andrew observed; “he had but to hint to his cousin that I wanted a pair or twa o’ hose, and he wad be wi’ me as fast as he could lay leg to the grund.”
“O yes, assure him I shall be a customer; and as the night is, as you say, settled and fair, I shall walk in the garden until he comes; the moon will soon rise over the fells. You may bring him to the little back-gate; and I shall have pleasure, in the meanwhile, in looking on the bushes and evergreens by the bright frosty moonlight.”
“Vara right, vara right — that’s what I hae aften said; a kail-blade, or a colliflour, glances sae glegly by moonlight, it’s like a leddy in her diamonds.”
So saying, off went Andrew Fairservice with great glee. He had to walk about two miles, a labour he undertook with the greatest pleasure, in order to secure to his kinsman the sale of some articles of his trade, though it is probable he would not have given him sixpence to treat him to a quart of ale. “The good will of an Englishman would have displayed itself in a manner exactly the reverse of Andrew’s,” thought I, as I paced along the smooth-cut velvet walks, which, embowered with high, hedges of yew and of holly, intersected the ancient garden of Osbaldistone Hall.
As I turned to retrace my steps, it was natural that I should lift up my eyes to the windows of the old library; which, small in size, but several in number, stretched along the second story of that side of the house which now faced me. Light glanced from their casements. I was not surprised at this, for I knew Miss Vernon often sat there of an evening, though from motives of delicacy I put a strong restraint upon myself, and never sought to join her at a time when I knew, all the rest of the family being engaged for the evening, our interviews must necessarily have been strictly tete-a’-tete. In the mornings we usually read together in the same room; but then it often happened that one or other of our cousins entered to seek some parchment duodecimo that could be converted into a fishing-book, despite its gildings and illumination, or to tell us of some “sport toward,” or from mere want of knowing where else to dispose of themselves. In short, in the mornings the library was a sort of public room, where man and woman might meet as on neutral ground. In the evening it was very different and bred in a country where much attention is paid, or was at least then paid, to biense’ance, I was desirous to think for Miss Vernon concerning those points of propriety where her experience did not afford her the means of thinking for herself. I made her therefore comprehend, as delicately as I could, that when we had evening lessons, the presence of a third party was proper.
Miss Vernon first laughed, then blushed, and was disposed to be displeased; and then, suddenly checking herself, said, “I believe you are very right; and when I feel inclined to be a very busy scholar, I will bribe old Martha with a cup of tea to sit by me and be my screen.”
Martha, the old housekeeper, partook of the taste of the family at the Hall. A toast and tankard would have pleased her better than all the tea in China. However, as the use of this beverage was then confined to the higher ranks, Martha felt some vanity in being asked to partake of it; and by dint of a great deal of sugar, many words scarce less sweet, and abundance of toast and butter, she was sometimes prevailed upon to give us her countenance. On other occasions, the servants almost unanimously shunned the library after nightfall, because it was their
