Read Ebook: Up in Ardmuirland by Barrett Michael

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Ebook has 735 lines and 48618 words, and 15 pages

"That is the way with her, boys," said the simple pastor, as she left them, "always thoughtful for others."

At this moment Rahel burst rather noisily into the room, bringing the sweet fragrance of the fields along with her.

"Where is Alide?" she asked, without noticing the stranger.

"Rahel," said the pastor, in a tone of reproof, "here is a visitor, Dr. Steck; that is hardly the way to greet him."

"I beg your pardon, papa," said the young girl, with heightened color, "and yours too, sir, whom I am happy to welcome," extending her hand with almost as little embarrassment and as much cordiality as her mother. "But, papa, I am uneasy about Alide; she should have been home long ago. I must go seek her." And she hastened away.

"We are all rather foolish about our Alide," said the pastor, apologetically; "she is the youngest of us,--but I have no fear for her. You will soon see them all, Dr. Steck, and I am particularly anxious for you to know my boy Otto; he is a lad of much promise, though a trifle reserved, and if he can but select such companions as yourself and Waldstein, I shall rest content."

"I shall be proud to know them all," said Steck, with sincerity, "for I do not remember when before I have been so happy in a family circle." And his eyes wandered to the door in search of the youngest daughter, whose prolonged absence created such a stir in the household, and occasioned an agreeable flutter of expectation in his own breast.

As he looked, the door was slowly opened, and Madame Duroc re-entered, bearing a tray with a flask of home-made wine, a china basket filled with the fruits of their orchard and vineyard, and a dish of her own sweet-cakes. Waldstein, who was quite at home in the family, cleared one of the tables and helped Madame Duroc to set the plates and glasses, and they all placed themselves around it.

"Kitty is proud of her Rheinwein," said the pastor, as he filled Steck's goblet, "and the surest way to her heart is to show your appreciation of it." And he clinked his own glass against Steck's and raised it to his lips.

"That she may well be," responded the youth, as he quaffed a long draught. "It is a most delicious vintage."

"You know," said Madame Duroc, with assumed modesty, "the parson's wine is always supposed to have a peculiar flavor."

"Never mind, K?thchen," said the pastor; "we will hold our own opinion still. The last time you tasted it, Max, was the evening young Vogel was here paying his court to Rahel. It seemed rather bitter in your mouth then, eh, Waldstein?"

"It not the wine, sir," answered honest Max, with a girl's blush overspreading his face. Just then Rahel herself returned.

"I cannot imagine what has become of Alide!" she cried. "I have been half-way across the meadow without catching a glimpse of her. None of the servants have seen her, and I have been waiting at the porch ever since. It is really provoking, for I suppose she will come in soon with some ridiculous excuse for having made us all so uneasy."

"Is Goetz with her?" asked the mother, rising and looking anxiously from the window.

"Yes," replied Rahel, "or I should be really worried instead of vexed."

"It is indeed provoking!" said Madame Duroc, nervously. "I cannot understand where the child has gone. She seems to be always either loitering behind us or running out of sight ahead. I shall forbid her to leave us at this hour again; she is far too wild and fearless for her years. She seems to forget she is no longer a child."

"Let her alone," said the father, with great composure; "she has already come back."

All eyes were turned to where he pointed as he spoke, and there, under the low doorway, with the soft light from the western window falling full upon her face, stood Alide.

ALIDE

She did not look over sixteen, but it was maidenhood, not childhood, that glanced forth from the gray-blue eyes and sent a rosy flush rippling over the sweet, wistful face as she heard herself so freely criticised before the two young men. Her neck seemed almost too delicate for the large fair braids on her elegant little head. They were twisted loosely like a crown above her brow, and again looped in long thick plaits around either ear. These, indeed, formed her chief beauty, in color no less than in luxuriance and texture, for they had not the lustreless, flaxen hue most frequent in Germany, but a warm, glossy gold, nearer auburn than yellow. It was the indescak through the stillness which would stir their hearts with renewed hope. The cry of a child! Weak and faint, indeed, but telling of the continuance of life! But again and again, after scaling heights or creeping down comes, they were doomed to disappointment. It was but the bleat of a strayed lamb! That night a larger party set out with lanterns and torches, and once more ranged the hills shouting for the child; but once again morning dawned upon disappointed hopes.

Then every one who could be of any possible use was pressed into the service. The people flocked out of their homes from all that district, and hand in hand they started in a long line stretching across a wide tract of country, and moving slowly on until every inch of ground in their way had been thoroughly explored.

It was after three nights and three days had passed that they came upon the weak little body, lying stark and still under an overhanging rock, and half buried in the heather. Moss was clutched in her clenched hand, and shreds of moss were on her cold lips; the poor little bairn had hungered for food, and had seized that which first came to hand to satisfy her craving. She was quite dead.

The bereaved mother mourned her darling with a grief that none but a mother can know. But the child had been her father's special pet of all his little flock.

"His heart," said Bell, the rising tears witnessing to the sadness of the memories called back by her story, "was well-nigh broke. He burst into tears at the sight of her wee white face, and sobbed like a bairn wi' the rest of us."

And poor little Peggy! How touching the story! She never ceased to reproach herself for what she considered her carelessness in losing sight of Jessie on that fatal day. No single creature attached a shadow of blame to her; on the contrary, it was the dearest wish of all to try to console her and assure her of her innocence in that respect. But it was of no avail. Her unceasing grief fretted away her strength, and six months later she was borne to St. Mungo's ancient burying ground to share Jessie's grave.

"It's nigh on sixty years sin'," said Bell apologetically, as she wiped her streaming eyes with her apron; "but the thocht o' that time brings the tears up yet."

ARCHIE

"Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie."

He was an unusually wretched semblance of a man. A tattered coat--some one's cast-off overcoat--green, greasy, mud-stained, clung round his shaking knees; trousers which might have been of any hue originally, but were now "sad-colored," flapped about his thin legs and fringed his ankles; shoes, slashed across the front for ease, revealed bare feet beneath; an antique and dirty red woolen muffler swathed his neck almost to the ears. Surmounting these woeful garments appeared a yellow, wrinkled face surrounded by a straggling fringe of gray whisker; gray locks strayed from an old red handkerchief tied round the brows under a dilapidated wide-awake hat. To add to his woe-begone aspect, the poor wretch was streaming with wet, for a Scottish mist had been steadily falling all the morning.

Leaning on his stick, the man slowly shuffled up the central path toward the porch in which I was sitting, striving to get the nearest possible approach to an open-air pipe. Touching his sorry headgear, he looked at me with mild eyes of faded blue, and smiled benignly as he asked:

"Could I see himsel'?"

I had not long come to that part of the country, and I was not thoroughly conversant with the terminology of the people, but it flashed upon me what he meant.

"Did you wish to see the priest?" I rejoined.

"Aye," replied the old vagrant--for so I deemed him. The smile seemed stereotyped, for it never faded. His face, when one regarded it attentively, had a quite attractive pleasantness.

"I'm sorry to say he's out just now," I said. "But you may go round to the back and get something to eat, if you wish."

It struck me as strange that he did not ask for money, but thanked me profusely and politely, as he touched his wretched hat once more and shuffled off toward the kitchen quarters.

He did not reappear for so long a time that I began to think it would be prudent to investigate. Traveling gentry of such a class are not always desirable visitors when the kitchen happens to be unoccupied for the nonce. As I made my way in that direction through the little hall I heard voices through the half-open door beyond.

"It'll be all right, Archie," Penny was saying. "The priest shall have the money as soon as he comes in, and if he can't say the Mass to-morrow, I'll take care to send you word by Willy. Now, mind you get a bit of fire lighted when you get back home. You must be wet through!"

"Thank ye kindly, Mistress Spence," came the slow response in the quavering voice of the old man. "It's yersel' that's aye kind and thochtful!"

I waited till I heard the door close upon the supposed "tramp" before venturing to make the inquiries that rushed to my lips. And even then I paused a while. When needing information from Penny, one has to be circumspect; she has a way of shutting off the supply with ruthless decision, yet with a seeming absence of deliberate purpose, whenever she suspects a "pumping" operation.

"I'm one that won't be drove," I've often heard her say. So we old fellows are often obliged to have recourse to diplomacy in dealing with our old nurse.

Consequently I lounged casually, as it were, into Penny's domain with the remark, "That poor old chap looked awfully wet, Penny."

"Wet enough he was, Mr. Edmund," replied the unsuspecting Penny, "and I have just been giving him a good hot cup of tea; for he never touches wine or spirits."

She was evidently betrayed by my apparent lack of inquisitiveness into a relation of the details I was longing to hear.

"To think," she continued, "of the creature walking down in such weather, and he such a frail old mortal, too, just to make sure of Mass to-morrow for his wife's anniversary. I can't help thinking, Mr. Edmund, that some of us might take an example in many things from poor old Archie McLean!"

"Does he live far away?" I asked--just to encourage the flow of the narrative.

"A good three miles--and his rheumatism something hawful," exclaimed Penny, now thoroughly started on her recital. I had but to lend an ear, and my curiosity would be satisfied.

Archie, it appeared, had been a soldier in his young days, but when he came to settle in Ardmuirland his time of service had expired; that was long ago, for he was now quite an elderly man. He took up his residence in a deserted mill, by the Ardmuir Burn. As he proved to be thoroughly quiet and inoffensive, the neighbors--true to their national character, not speedily attracted by strangers--began in course of time to make his acquaintance, and he eventually became a great favorite with all. When younger, Penny had been told, he had been "a wonderful good gardener," and for trifling payment, or in return for a meal, would always "redd-up" the gardens of the district. Thus he acquired the designation of "Airchie Gairdener," and by that was usually known.

What his neighbors could not comprehend was how Archie spent these small earnings, but more especially to what use he had put his army pension, which every one knew he once received regularly. He had no occasion to buy food, for kindly neighbors would always exchange for meal or eggs the varied produce of his well-cultivated garden. His clothes cost him nothing; for he had worn the same old garments for years past, and though no self-respecting tramp would have accepted them, he never seemed anxious to replace them. If any others were given him, he would use them for a time, out of compliment to the donor, but the ancient attire would always reappear after a short interval.

"As to where his money goes," summed up Penny, "I've a notion that his Reverence knows more than any one else except Archie himself. Poor Archie often asks for the priest, and I've heard his Reverence speaking to him in quite an angry way--for him," she added quickly; "but there's never any change in Archie's way of living. Some of the people here think he's a perfect saint, and I'm not so sure that they're far wrong! However, I think he ought to take ordinary care of his 'ealth; that seems to me a duty even for saints!"

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