your bravery, candour, and kindness, you are a mere novice in the affairs of life, and know less of men and of things than ever knight did.’
‘It is a great fault in women,’ said the knight, making his observation general, ‘that they will aye be meddling wi’ things they ken nought about. They think they ken every thing, an’ wad gar ane trow that they can see an inch into a fir deal––. Gude help them! It is just as unfeasible to hear a lady discussing the merits of warriors an’ yeomen, as it wad be to see me sitting nursing a wench-bairn.’
‘Foh, what an uncourtly term!’ said the lady; ‘What would King Robert think if he heard you speaking in that uncouth stile?’
‘I speak muckle better than him, wi’ his short clippit Highland tongue,’ said the chief: ‘But hush, here comes the redoubted Dickie o’ Dryhope.’
No sooner were the knight and his lady’s eyes turned so as to meet Dickie’s, than he whipped off his bonnet with a graceful swing, and made a low bow, his thin gray locks waving as he bowed. Dickie was a tall, lean, toothless, old bachelor, whose whole soul and body were devoted to the fair sex and the house of his chief. These two mighty concerns divided his attention, and often mingled with one another; his enthusiasm for the one, by any sudden change of subjects or concatenation of ideas, being frequently transferred to the other. Dickie approached with his bonnet in his hand, bowing every time the knight and lady lifted their eyes. When they met, Sir Ringan shook him heartily by the hand, and welcomed him to the castle of Mountcomyn.
‘Oh, you are so good and so kind, Sir Ringan, bless you, bless you, bless you, noble sir; how do you thrive, Sir Ringan? bless you, bless you. And my excellent and noble lady Mountcomyn, how is my noble dame?’
‘Thank you,’ said the lady coldly.
Dickie looked as if he would have shaken hands with her, or embraced her, as the custom then was, but she made no proffer of either the one or the other, and he was obliged to keep his distance; but this had no effect in checking his adulations. ‘I am so glad that my excellent lady is well, and the young squires and maidens all brisk and whole I hope?’
‘All well, cousin,’ said the chief.
‘Eh! all well?’ reiterated Dickie, ‘Oh the dear, delightful, darling souls, O bless them! If they be but as well as I wish them, and as good as I wish – If the squires be but half so brave as their father, and the noble young sweet dames half so beautiful as their lady mother – oh bless them, bless them.’ ‘And half so independent and honest as their cousin,’ said the lady, with a rebuking sneer.
‘Very pleasant! very pleasant, indeed!’ simpered Dickie, without daring to take his lips far asunder, lest his toothless gums should be seen.
‘Such babyish flummery!’ rejoined the lady with great emphasis. Dickie was somewhat abashed. His eyes, that were kindled with a glow of filial rapture, appeared as with flattened pupils; nevertheless the benignant smile did not altogether desert his features. The knight gave a short look off at one side to his lady. ‘It is a great fault in ladies, cousin,’ said he, ‘that they will always be breaking their jokes on those that they like best, and always pretending to keep at a distance from them. My lady thinks to blind my een, as many a dame has done to her husband afore this time; but I ken, an’ some mae ken too, that if there’s ane o’ a’ my kin that I durstna trust my lady wi’ when my back’s turned, that ane’s Dickie o’ Dryhope.’
‘H’m, h’m, h’m,’ neighed Dickie, laughing with his lips shut; ‘My lady’s so pleasant, and so kind, but – Oh – no, no – you wrong her, knight; h’m, h’m, h’m! But, all joking and gibing aside – my lady’s very pleasant. I came express to inform you, Sir Ringan, that the Douglasses are up.’
‘I knew it.’
‘And the Maxwells – and the Gordons – and the hurkle-backed Hendersons.’
‘Well.’
‘And Sir Christopher Seton is up – and the Elliots and the Laird of Tibbers is up.’
‘Well, well.’
‘I came expressly to inform you––’
‘Came with piper’s news,’ said the lady, ‘which the fiddler has told before you.’
‘That is very good,’ said Dickie, ‘My lady is so delightfully pleasant – I thought Sir Ringan would be going to rise with the rest, and came for directions as to raising my men.’
‘How many men can the powerful Laird of Dryhope muster in support of the warden?’ said Lady Mountcomyn.
‘Mine are all at his command; my worthy lady knows that,’ said Dickie, bowing: ‘Every one at his command.’
‘I think,’ said she, ‘that at the battle of Blakehope you furnished only two, who were so famished with hunger that they could not bear arms, far less fight.’
‘Very pleasant, in sooth; h’m, h’m! I declare I am delighted with my lady’s good humour.’
‘You may, however, keep your couple of scare-crows at home for the present, and give them something to eat,’ continued she; ‘the warden has other matters to mind than wasting his vassals that the Douglas may wive.’
‘Very true, and excellent good sense,’ said Dickie.
‘We’ll talk of that anon,’ said Sir Ringan. And with that they went into the castle, and sat down to dinner. There were twelve gentlemen and nine maidens present, exclusive of the knight’s own family, and they took their places on each side as the lady named them. When Sir Ringan lifted up his eyes and saw the station that Dickie occupied, he was dissatisfied, but instantly found a remedy. ‘Davie’s Pate,’ said he to the lad that waited behind him, ‘mak that bowiefu’ o’ cauld plovers change places wi’ yon saut-faut instantly, before meat be put to mouth.’ The order was no sooner given than obeyed, and the new arrangement placed Dickie fairly above the salt.
The dining apparatus at the castle of Mountcomyn was homely, but the fare was abundant. A dozen yeomen stood behind with long knives, and slashed down the beef and venison into small pieces, which they placed before the guests in wooden plates, so that there was no knife used at the dining board. All ate heartily, but none with more industry than Dickie, who took not even time all the while to make the complaisant observation, that ‘my lady was so pleasant.’
Dinner being over, the younger branches of the family retired, and all the kinsmen not of the first rank, pretending some business that called them away, likewise disappeared; so that none were left with the knight and his lady save six. The lady tried the effect of several broad hints on Dickie, but he took them all in good part, and declared that he never saw his lady so pleasant in his life. And now a serious consultation ensued, on the propriety of lending assistance to the Douglas. Sir Ringan first put the question to his friends, without any observation. The lady took up the argument, and reasoned strongly against the measure. Dickie was in raptures with his lady’s good sense, and declared her arguments unanswerable. Most of the gentlemen seemed to acquiesce in the same measure, on the ground that, as matters stood, they could not rise at the Douglas’ call on that occasion, without being considered as a subordinate family, which neither the king nor the Douglas had any right to suppose them; and so strongly and warmly ran the argument on that side, that it was likely to be decided on, without the chief having said a word on the subject. Simon of Gemelscleuch alone ventured to dissent; ‘I have only to remark, my gallant kinsmen,’
