A Daughter of Fife Part 11
Allan laughed; he could not help laughing, he was so happy. Maggie was growing nearer to him every moment; and it was a real joy to be again upon the sea, to feel the fresh wind blowing through his hair, and the cradling motion of the wide swell of the waves. Early in the morning they arrived at Pittenloch. There was the brown pier, and the blue water, and the s.p.a.ces of yellow sand, and the sea-weed and tangle all populous with birds whose shrill cries filled the air. There were the white cottages, and the men strolling off to the boats and the women in the open doors watching them away.
There was the Promoters cottage. It was closed and Allan was disappointed.
Surely Maggie should have felt him coming. Every moment as he went toward it, he expected the door to open, and a sense of unkindness was chilling his heart, when he heard a swift, light step behind him. He turned, and there stood Maggie. She had the dew of the sea on her face, her cheeks were like a rose, pink and wet before sunrise. Her eyes had a glint as of the morning star in them, she was trembling and panting with her surprise and rapid motion.
He had thought of the sweetest words to greet her with, he had imagined that he might find it possible to take her in his arms and kiss his welcome from her lips. But in spite of her evident gladness, something in her manner restrained him; also, there was Christie Buchan, and half a dozen other women watching them. So what he said and did, was only to hold out his hand, and ask, "Are you well, Maggie? Are you glad to see me?"
"Weel, and right happy, sir."
"And David?"
"He is weel and happy too, sir. He likes the early hours for study, and I aye try to tak' a walk and let him hae the house place quiet, and to himsel'."
"He should have used my room. Students are tyrants, Maggie, if you give in to them, they will stop the clock and make you breathe with your fingers on your lips."
Smiling, she opened the door and said, "Step inside, sir; there's nae foot welcomer."
"I thocht you wad come! I said you wad come!" cried David joyfully. "Noo I'm the proudest man in Fife! Maggie, let us hae some tea, and a kippered herring, and toast the oat cake crisp. I'll no call the king my cousin to-day! Mr. Campbell, you are just the answer to my heart's desire."
"Thank you, David. It is pleasant to be made so much of"--and he opened the door of his room, and cried out, "O how nice it is, Maggie! I will just wash the salt off my face and then come and breakfast with you; and toast me a couple of herring, Maggie, for I am as hungry as a fisherman, and I have not tasted a herring since I left Pittenloch."
Three at a little round table, and only some tea, and fish, and oat cake; and yet, never was there a gayer meal. After it was over, David was eager to show Allan what he had accomplished, and the young men went together into Allan's room to examine lexicons and exercises.
David was full of quick interest, and Allan deserved credit for affecting a sympathy it was impossible for him to feel. In a little while, some one began to sing and the voice was singularly clear, and sweetly penetrating.
Allan put down the papers in his hand, and listened like one entranced.
"It's just Maggie, and I'm mair astonished at her. She hasna sung a word since fayther's death. What for is she singing the noo? It's no kind o'
her, and me wi' yoursel' and the books;" said David very fretfully; for he did not like to be interrupted in his recitations.
"Hush! hush! I would not lose a syllable for all the Latin language, David."
[Footnote: Words and air by Alexander Nicholson, LL. O.]
[Ill.u.s.tration: Musical notation omitted.]
"My heart is yearning to thee, O Skye, Dearest of islands!
There first the sunshine gladdened my eye, On the sea spark-ling; There doth the dust of my dear ones lie, In the old graveyard.
[Musical notation omitted.]
Bright are the golden green fields to me Here in the lowlands; Sweet sings the mavis in the thorn tree Snowy with fragrance; But oh for a breath of the great North sea Girdling the mountains!
Good is the smell of the brine that laves Black rock and skerry; Where the great palm-leaved tangle waves Down in the green depths, And round the craggy bluff, pierced with caves, Sea-gulls are screaming.
Many a hearth round that friendly sh.o.r.e Giveth warm welcome; Charms still are there, as in days of yore, More than of mountains; But hearths and faces are seen no more Once of the brightest.
Many a poor black cottage is there Grimy with peat smoke; Sending up in the soft evening air Purest blue incense, While the low music of psalm and prayer Rises to heaven.
Kind were the voices I used to hear Round such a fireside, Speaking the mother tongue old and dear, Making the heart beat With endless tales of wonder and fear, Of plaintive singing.
Reared in those dwellings have brave ones been; Brave ones are still there; Forth from their darkness on Sunday I've seen Conning pure linen, And, like the linen, the souls were clean Of them that wore it.
Blessings be with ye, both now and aye, Dear human creatures!
Yours is the love no gold can buy.
Nor time wither.
Peace be to thee and thy children, O Skye!
Dearest of Islands!"
"That is not one of your fisher songs, David?"
"Na, na; it is a sang made aboot Skye, and our mither was a Skye woman; sae Maggie learned it to please her. I dinna think much o' it."
"It is the most touching thing I ever heard." The melody was Gaelic, slow and plaintive, and though Maggie gave the English words with her own patois, the beauty and simplicity of the song was by no means injured.
"Put by the books, David," said Allan. "I have no heart now for dry-as-dust lessons. Let us speak of Maggie. How is she going to live when you go to Glasgow?"
"She will just bide where she is. It is her ain hame, and she is amang her ain folk."
"Surely she will not live alone?"
"Na, na, that wed gie occasion for ill tongues to set themsel's to wark.
Aunt Janet Caird is coming to be company for her. She is fayther's sister, and no quite beyond the living wi'. I thocht o' taking the boat the morn, and going for her."
"Where to?"
"About twenty miles to the nor'ward, to a bit hamlet, thae call Dron Point."
"What kind of a woman is she, David? I hope she is kind and pleasant."
"We can hope sae, sir; but I really dinna expect it. Aunt Janet had a bad name wi' us, when we were bairns, but bairns' judgment isn't to lippen to."
"I think it is. If you have any fear about Aunt Janet being good to live with, don't go for her."
"The thing is a' settled between her and oursel's. Maggie and I talked it o'er and o'er. There wasna any other thing to do. All o' oor kin but Aunt Janet hae big families o' their ain to look after. Maggie willna hear tell o' leaving the cottage, and she canna stay in it her lane. Sae, she must tak' the ill and gude thegither."
"For my own sake I am glad she stays in the cottage, because I wish to keep possession of my room. Your face need not cloud, David; I am not coming here at all; but it is inconvenient for me to remove my books, and the many sea-treasures I gathered during my stay with you. If I did remove them, I should have to store them in some other place, so it will be a kindness, if you will continue to rent me the room."
"Your foot is aye welcome in my house, sir; and when you are wanting a week's fishing, there is naething to prevent you taking it, if Aunt Janet is here. She is a vera strict pairson; the deil himsel' wouldna be suspected o' wrang-doing, if she were watching him."
"Poor Maggie! David, it does seem a hard lookout for her; especially when you will be so happy with your books, and I am going on a two years'
pleasure trip to America."
David's face brightened involuntarily, and Allan could see that the thought of his certain absence was not at all displeasing. But he did not blame him for a fear so brotherly and natural; he was, however, dissatisfied with the arrangements made for Maggie's comfort, and he asked, "Can she not go to Glasgow with you, David? It would be a fine thing to have a little home for yourself there, and Maggie to look after your comfort. You would study better."
"I wad do naething o' the sort. I wad be keepit back by ony woman. There is many a ceevil word to say to them, that is just time and strength ta'en from study. Maggie kens weel, that when I hae my kirk, she'll be first and foremost wi' me. I'll count nae honor or pleasure worth the having she doesna share. Forbye, sir, when you hae a hame, and the plenishing o' it, folk should think lang ere they scatter it to the four winds. It is easy to get rid o' household things; whiles, it is maist impossible to get them thegither again. I might die, and Maggie be left to fight her ain battle.
If it should come to that, Hame is a full cup; Hame is a breastwark; you can conquer maist things on your ain hearthstone."
"Perhaps you are right, David."
"I ken weel I am right. Maggie and I hae thocht o' every thing; her gude name, and her happiness is my first wish. She is vera dear to me. She is a' I have, sir."