Yet, riches were his in that the enchantment of literature held him captive, and his imagination gained for him treasures incomparably greater than the solid wealth prized by worldly minds. His father had possessed about a dozen good books, among others such familiar Scottish household favorites as "Wilson"s Tales of the Borders," "Mansie Waugh,"
by "Delta," "Scots Worthies," Allan Ramsay"s "Gentle Shepherd," Scott"s "Rob Roy" and "Old Mortality," and the well-thumbed and dog-eared copy of Robert Burns" Poems.
"Gae awa", man Robin," his mother would say sometimes to him, as he sat devouring Wilson"s "Tales" or weeping over the tragic end of Wallace"s wife Marion as recounted in Jean Porter"s entrancing "Scottish Chiefs."
"Gang awa" oot an" tak" a walk. Ither laddies are a" oot playin" at something, an" forby it"s no" healthy to sit too long aye readin"."
"Ach. I canna" be bothered," he would answer. "I"d raither read."
"What is"t you"re readin" noo?" she would enquire. "Oh, it"s the "Scottish Chiefs," an" I"m jist at the bit aboot Wallace"s wife being murdered by Hazelrig. My! It"s awfu" vexin"."
"Ay, it"s a fine book, Robin. Ye might read that bit oot to me."
"A" richt," and he would start to read while Nellie sat down to listen.
Soon both were engrossed in the sad story, so powerfully told, and the tears would be running from the mother"s eyes as her fancy pictured the sorrows of Wallace, while Robert"s voice would break, and a sob come into his throat, as he proceeded. When finally the pa.s.sage was reached where the brutal blow was struck, the book would have to be put down, while mother and son both cried as if the grief depicted were their own.
"It"s an awfu" gran" book, Rob," she would say after a time, while she strove to subdue the sobs in her breast. "Puir Wallace! It maun ha"e been an awfu" blow to him, when he heard that Marion was killed. But you maun read on a bit far"er, for I"m no" gaun tae work ony mair till I see that dirty beast Hazelrig get his deserts. He has wrocht for it, sae jist gang on noo till you feenish the bit aboot him gettin" killed wi"
Wallace. He deserves it for killin" a woman."
Thus Robert would have to go on, until the incident in question had been reached in the story, and as it unfolded itself his voice would grow firmer and stronger as he became infected with the narrative, while his mother"s eyes would glow, and her body be tense with interest, and an expectant expression would creep over her face, betraying her excitement. In the interview between Wallace and Hazelrig in the house in the Wellgate in Lanark, when Wallace dramatically draws his sword in answer to the supplication for mercy, and says: "Ay, the same mercy as you showed my Marion," Robert"s voice would thunder forth the words with terrible sternness, while Nellie would gasp and catch her breath in a quick little sob of excitement, as the feeling of satisfied justice filled her heart. And when the blow fell that laid the English governor low, she would burst out: "Serves him richt, the dirty tyrant. He"s got what he deserved, an" it serves him right!"
On another occasion Robert would suddenly burst out laughing, when reading Delta"s chronicle of the adventures of Mansie Waugh, the Scottish "Handy Andy."
"What are you laughing at, Robin?" Nellie would enquire, a smile breaking over her face also.
"Oh, it"s Mansie Waugh, mither. Oh, but it"s a gran" bit. Listen to this," and he would begin to read the pa.s.sage, where Mansie, simple soul that he was, was described as going into the byre in the morning to learn if the cow had calved during the night, and finding, on opening the door, the donkey of a traveling tinker, he turned and ran into the house, crying: "Mither! Mither! The coo has calved, an" it"s a cuddy!"
Whenever he reached this part of the story, his mother would go off into a fit of uncontrollable laughter which left her helpless and crumpled up in a heap upon the nearest chair. Her laugh was very infectious; it began with a low, mirthful ripple, well down in the throat, and rose in rapid leaps of musical joy till it had traveled a whole octave of bubbling happy sounds, when it culminated in a peal of double forte shakes and trills, that made it a joy to hear, and finally it died out in an "Oh, dear me! What a callan Mansie was!"
As Robert approached manhood, he took more and more to the moors, wandering alone among the haunts of the whaup and other moor birds, wrestling with problems to which older heads never gave a thought, trying to understand life and to build from his heart and experience something that would be satisfying. Silent, thoughtful, "strange" to the neighbors, a problem to everyone, but a bigger one to himself, life staggered him and appalled his soul.
Earnestly he worked and tested his thought against the thought of others, st.u.r.dily refusing everything which did not ring true and meet his standard. Old religious conceptions, the orthodoxy of his kith and kin, were fast tested in the crucible of his mind and flung aside as worthless. The idea of h.e.l.l and the old Morrisonian notion of the Hereafter appeared crude and barbarous. His father"s fate and the condition of the family left to welter in poverty, the cruelty of life as it presented itself to the great ma.s.s of the working cla.s.s, could not be reconciled with the Church"s teaching of an all-loving and omniscient Father.
With the audacity of youth, he felt that he could easily have constructed a better universe. He felt that h.e.l.l could have no terrors for people condemned to such hardship and suffering as he saw around him. Life was colorless for them; stinted of pleasure and beauty, with merely the joys of the "gill-stoup" on a Sat.u.r.day night at the local "store" to look forward to, there was in it no real satisfaction either for the body or the mind. Would he, indeed, have to wait till after death before knowing anything of real happiness or comfort? His mind refused to accept this doctrine so frequently expounded to working cla.s.s congregations by ministers, who were themselves comparatively well endowed with "treasures upon earth."
Life was good, life was glorious if only it could be made as he dreamed it. This fair earth need be no vale of tears. There were the blue skies, the white tapestry of cloudland ever varying; there was the wind upon his face and the sweet rain; there was the purl of mountain brook, the graceful sweep of the river, the smile of the flowers, the songs of the birds; the golden splendor of the day and the silver radiance of the night.
But above and beyond all there was an ever-increasing love of his fellows, there were n.o.ble women like his mother to reverence, and there were sweet children to cherish. Surely life was good, and never was meant to be the mean, sordid thing that too often was the lot of people like himself. Heaven could and should be realized here and now. At twenty, he finished by accepting Humanity as it is, to be understood and loved, to be served, and, if necessary, to die for it.
Though thus naturally reserved and meditative, yet he was not unloved.
There was no more popular lad in the village. Everyone in a tight corner came to him for help and advice. He was private secretary to half the village and father confessor to the other half. He served everyone, and in return all loved him more or less. In the course of time he came to occupy the place his father had held before him as president of the local branch of the Union, which had been recently revived. His duties as a Union official forced him more and more into mixing with others, and into taking a larger interest in the affairs of the locality.
Gradually with the activities of public life his moodiness gave place to a healthy cheerfulness, and his enthusiasm soon led him into taking part in nearly every form of sport which gave life more zest. His interest being roused, he was wholehearted in his application, whether as a member of the executive of any local sports a.s.sociation, or as a partic.i.p.ant in the game itself. He was elected to the committee responsible for organizing the Lowwood Annual Games, but resigned because having taken up racing as his pet pastime for the time being, he wanted to compete in some of the items.
At last the "Sports" day arrived. The pits were idle, for this was one of the recognized holidays. Everyone looked forward eagerly to this day, and prepared for it, each in his or her own way. For weeks before it the children practiced racing, and trained themselves in jumping, football, quoiting and such sports. Young men stole away to secret places in the moor to train and harden themselves, timing their performances and concentrating on the strenuous day ahead when they would compete with one another in fair tests of speed, strength, skill and endurance.
One event was always a special attraction, even to professional racers all over the country. This was known as the "Red Hose Race," about which many legends were told. The most popular of these was to the effect that the stockings were knitted each year by the Laird"s wife, and if no one entered for the race, the Laird must run it himself, or forfeit his extensive estate to the Crown. In addition to the Red Hose, there was a substantial money prize. To win the race was looked upon as the greatest achievement of the year, for it was one of the oldest sporting events and had been run for so many years that its origin seemed lost in the mists of antiquity. Robert made up his mind to win the Red Hose in this particular year. Mrs. Graydon, of Graydon House, had intimated that she herself would be present and would hand over the stockings to the proud winner in person, but it was not by any means on this account that Robert was so keen to win. It was the older lure that brought every year athletes of fame to run in the historic race.
"So you are going to run in the Red Hose," said a voice behind Robert while the people were all gathering to watch the preliminary races of the boys and girls. Robert turned from the group of young men who had been discussing the event with him, and met the smiling face of Peter Rundell, dressed in immaculate style and looking as fresh and fine a specimen of young manhood as anyone could wish to see.
"Yes," he said with a smile, "and I intend to win it."
"Do you?" returned Peter light-heartedly. "I have also entered for it, though I had no intention of doing so when I came over; but Mr. Walker, who, as you know, is on the committee, pressed me to go in, and so I consented."
"Oh!" said Robert, in surprise, "I thought after last year"s success you were not going to run again." Then, in a bantering tone, and with a smile upon his lips, "I suppose we"ll be rivals in this, then; but I gi"e you fair warning that I"m gaun to lift the Red Hose if I get a decent chance at all."
"Well, I have set my mind on winning it, too," replied Peter. "I"d like to lift it, just to be able to say in after years that I had done so."
"That"s just hoo I feel aboot the matter too," lightly answered Robert.
"I"d like jist to be able to say that I had won the Red Hose. I feel in good form for it, so you"d better be on your mettle."
"Well, I shall give you the race of your life for it," said Peter, entering into the same light spirited boasting. "I hear Mair and Todd and Semple are also entered, but with a decent handicap I won"t mind these, even with their international reputation."
"All right," said Robert. "I suppose I shall have the greater pleasure in romping home before you all. Are the handicaps out yet?"
"Yes, I saw the list just before I spoke to you. Semple and Mair are scratch, with Todd at five yards. You start at twenty-five, and I get off at the limit forty."
"Oh!" said Robert, a note of surprise in his voice. "Walker has surely forgotten who are the runners! Why, last year you won nearly all the confined events, and you were second in the Red Hose with twenty-five yards. He means you to romp home this year!" and there was heat in Robert"s voice as he finished.
"Well, I daresay it is a decent handicap," said Peter, "and even though Semple is among the crowd, I should manage, I think, to pull it off with anything like luck."
"I should think so," said Robert. "Walker has just made you a present of the race. But I suppose it can"t be helped, though it isn"t fair.
Anyhow, I"ll give you a chase for it."
"All right. Half an hour and we shall be on," and Peter went on round the field, exchanging greetings with most of the villagers.
He was finishing his education at a Technical College in Edinburgh, and at present was home on holidays. He was a well set up young man, and though popular with most people, yet he brought with him an air of another world among the villagers, which made them feel uncomfortable.
They recognized that his life was very different from their own, and while they talked to him when he spoke to them, and were agreeable enough to him, they felt awed and could not break down the natural reserve they always had towards people of another station of life. He was perhaps a little too thoughtless and impulsive, though generous-hearted enough. He drifted into things, rather than shaped them to his own ideas, and was often not sufficiently careful of the positions in which he found himself as a consequence of thoughtless acts.
The week before he had caught and kissed Mysie Maitland, who was now serving at Rundell House, merely because he was taken with her pretty face. From that Peter already believed himself in love with her, because she had not resented his action. He had even walked over with her from the village, when she had been home visiting her parents one night, and had felt more and more the witchery of her pretty face and the lure of her fine little figure.
Up to this time Mysie had always believed herself in love with Robert--Robert who was always so strange from the rest of young men. He had always been her hero, her protector; but there was something about him for which she could not account and which she could not have defined. Such was her admiration that she believed it was in his power to do anything he cared to attempt; it was just possible that it was this strange sense of unknown power which fascinated her. They had never been lovers in the accepted sense of the word. They had never "walked out" as young people in their social station usually do, but yet had always felt that they were meant for one another.
Only once had Robert kissed her, and that moment ever lived with her a glowing memory. She had been home and was returning through a moorland pa.s.s, when she came across him lying upon the rough heather, his thoughts doubtless full of her, for he had seen her in the village, and knew she must return that way.
"Oh, Rob!" she cried, her face flushing with excitement as she saw him.
"Ye nearly frichted me oot o" my wits the noo."
"Did I, Mysie?" he answered, springing to his feet. "I didna mean to dae that. Ye"ll be getting back, I suppose."
"Ay," she returned simply, and a silence fell upon them, in which both seemed to lose the power of speaking.
Robert looked at her as she stood there, her full, curved b.r.e.a.s.t.s rising and falling with the excitement of the unexpected meeting, the long lashes of her eyes sweeping her flushed cheeks, as she stood with downcast eyes before him. The last rays of the setting sun falling upon her brown hair touched it with a rare strange beauty. Her red lips like dew-drenched roses--luscious, pure, alluring, were parted a little in a half smile. But it was the fascinating movement of the breast, full, round and sensuous, that stirred and made an overpowering appeal to every pulse within him. It seemed so soft, so tender, so wonderfully alluring. At the moment he could not understand himself or her. There was a strange, surging impetus raging through him that he felt absolutely powerless to subdue, and he swayed a little as he stood.
"Oh, Mysie!" he cried, leaping forward and clasping her in his strong, young arms, and crushing her against him, holding her there, gasping, powerless but happy.
"You are mine, Mysie. Mine!" and he kissed her budded lips in an ecstasy of pa.s.sion and warm-blooded feeling, while a thousand fevers seemed to course through him as he felt the contact of her body and her warm, eager lips on his. Blinded and delirious, he kissed her again and again in an impa.s.sioned burst of fervor, pa.s.sion scorching his blood and filling his whole heart with the enjoyment of possession. She closed her eyes, and her head touched his shoulder, while the faint scent of her hair and its soft caressing touch upon his cheek maddened him to a fury of love.
"Say you are mine, Mysie! Say you are mine!" he cried, and his voice was strange and hoa.r.s.e and dry with the desire within him. He felt her body yielding as it relaxed in his arms, as if in answer to some unspoken demand, and in a moment he realized himself and started back, hot shame surging over his face and conquering the pa.s.sion in his blood. In that strange mad moment he had felt capable of anything--powerful, overmastering, relentless in his desires; and now--weak, shame-stricken and helpless. Ere he could say anything, Mysie had come to herself with a shock, and started away over the moor as if possessed by something that was mysterious and terrible.