"I"m but a wee la.s.sie, ower young to think o" wedding this mony a day,"
she replied.
"And so ye might be, gin I were a f.e.c.kless laddie, like Rob Ainslee, or Tam o" the Glen; but I hae riches, ye ken. Ye"ll never need to fash yoursel" wi" wark, but just sing like the lane-rock, fra morn till e"en."
"Little care I for your riches," said Nannie, who, for reasons of her own, was vexed at this allusion to Rob Ainslee. "Does na the Scripture say a gude name is better to be chosen than gold?"
"And wha says aught against my gude name?" exclaimed he, with lowering brow.
"Andy Ferguson," said Nannie, pausing and looking him in the face, "it grieves me to gi" you or ony creature pain; but ye maun speak to me nae mair o" love or marriage--no, never. Ye maun gang your ain gait an"
leave me to gae mine. As to your gude name, does na everybody ken--an"
sorry I am to say it--where your evenings are spent, and what sort o"
company ye keep?"
At this Andy laughed a loud, scornful laugh. "Nae doubt everybody kens that for the maist part my evenings are spent at the "Twa Dogs"; and as to the company there, there is nae sae frequent guest as your honored father."
"And wha led him into sic ways but your ain sel"? Weel does the Bible say a man canna touch pitch and not be defiled therewith."
"Just to hear her quote Scripture! Ane wad tak her for the minister, or a holy elder, at least. But leuk you here, la.s.sie, say it was I that put the cup to my neebor"s lips, for you see I can quote Scripture, too. Wha was it taught him to be a thief?"
"Gang awa, Andy Ferguson, awa, for I will na listen to sic words anent my ain dear father. Awa, I say," she repeated, waving her little hand, as he seemed inclined to follow her.
"Sin" ye will na believe me, gae ask him what he has done wi" the laird"s siller and gowd. Just speir him that," called Andy after her, and then he strode away down the glen.
She hastened on, and leaving her few sheep to wander at their will, she sought her father. She found him sitting on a knoll behind the byre, leaning his head on his hands. Throwing herself on the gra.s.s beside him, she told him of her interview with Andy, his offer of marriage and her refusal.
"I hope ye did na anger him," said he, hastily.
"Why, father, what ill can his anger do us? Ye wad na ha"e me marry a ne"er-do-weel, like Andy. And, father, I ha"e na told ye all. He called ye a thief, father, a thief. I knew it was a lee, a wicked lee. Dinna think your little Nannie believed it. And then he bade me speir what ye had done wi" the laird"s siller and gowd."
To her great grief and surprise, her father sunk his face in his hands again with a low groan, but answered not a word.
"Winna ye speak to me and tell me what it a" means?" said she, twining her arms over his shoulder.
"Sin" ye maun know, then, it is true; a" true that he tauld ye. O, my bonnie bairn!" said he, in a tone of ineffable sadness. And then he told her how he had found the treasure, and of the sinful compact he had made with Andy.
"But ye ha"e kept it a" safe, dear father?" cried Nannie, joyfully.
"A" safe. I ha"e not sae much as ta"en it frae the box."
"Then there is naught to do but take it back to the laird and tell him here is his treasure, safe and sound."
"And then he"ll speir me how I came by it, and wherefore I kept it sae lang, and a" about it. And then, belike, he"ll shut me up in prison. O, la.s.sie, ye dinna think what ye"re saying. Could ye bear to see your puir father shut up in a prison? Could ye ever hold up your head again for the shame o"t?"
"Better, far better be innocent and in prison, than guilty and go free.
O, for my sake, for your wee lammie"s sake, take back the laird"s siller and gowd."
"Or, if he should na imprison me," he continued, "he will take frae me the place that has been mine, and my father"s, and my grandfather"s afore me. I shall na ha"e where to lay my head, na shelter for you, my bairn, an" Davie Cameron"s name will be cast out as evil. Ha"e ye weel considered a" that, Nannie?"
"The future nane can foresee," replied she; "but this I know, that it is always safe to do the thing that is right. Then will the gude G.o.d care for us as He cares for the wee birdie that is lilting sae sweetly on yonder thorn. And of this be certain, dear father, that come honor or shame, come weal, come woe, your little Nannie will cleave to you as long as life shall last."
"Then, my blessed bairn, it shall be as you say." And even as Davie uttered these words, the clouds lifted. All the misery and uncertainty were gone, to be succeeded by calmness and resolution.
Rising up from the ground, he paused only for a kiss from Nannie, and went without delay to restore the chest to its rightful owner.
Simply and truthfully he told his story from first to last; adding, "And now I ha"e brought back wi" me the treasure I wrangfully took. Do wi" me as ye list."
The laird was overjoyed to recover this ancient and valuable family relic, and instead of greeting Davie with anger and threats of punishment, as he had expected, came near overwhelming him with grat.i.tude, addressing him as "my good man."
"But ye dinna understand," said the bewildered Davie. "I ha"e na been gude. I e"en had it in my heart to be a thief, a wicked, pawkie thief."
"What you _intended_ to do matters less to me than what you have really done," answered the good-natured laird.
"Are ye na going to put me in prison, or turn me out o" my place?"
"On the contrary, I am going to reward you for the service you have rendered."
"That maun na be," cried Davie, drawing back. "Dinna ask me. I seek na reward but to feel that I can once mair look my fellow-creatures in the face, _an honest man_. An" the story o" what I ha"e suffered shall aye be a warning to me, and to my bairns after me, _to flee frae temptation_."
A happy circle was that which gathered round Davie"s ingle that night, the ingle from which the ale-house never again had power to allure him.
Jean, the gudewife, with her sewing in her hand, and the old gray cat at her feet, shall be the central figure. Grandmother sits on one side of the fireplace, spinning flax--ever and anon bursting out into some old Jacobite song--and Davie himself in the arm-chair, on the other side, with Jamie on his knee. On a low seat close by him is Nannie--now looking into her father"s face, and now glancing beyond--for there sits Robbie Ainslee.
And so we drop the curtain.
LLOYD"S FIRE ON THE BEACH.
Lloyd and Jem were squatted up among the rocks, watching a vessel out to sea.
It was a cold evening,--Christmas eve,--the night coming on fast. No vessel had any business to be out there among the breakers, running in straight on the bar; that is, if any man aboard of her knew what he was about.
So Lloyd and Jem said, at least, and they had a right to know, as they had been born and bred on that bit of rocky island, and knew every foot of the sea within a mile, as well as they knew their own crab-boats and drag-nets.
The vessel was a small schooner, such as ran down to the island from town in summer with flour, and took back crabs and fish.
"But what can she want now?" said Jem.
"She don"t know the coast," said Lloyd. "She"ll be on the rocks in an hour, if she don"t tack."
Jem went to school over on the mainland in winter. There was no need for him to work so hard, either. The money he made by gunning or fishing he spent for tops and kites. But Lloyd"s mother, Mrs. Wells, who lived in a little brown cottage back of the rocks, was not able to keep him and herself without his help. For two or three years he had worked as hard as any man on the island. There had been another son of Mrs. Wells, older than Lloyd, a young man called John. But he had been mate on the _Swallow_, that was wrecked on the Irish coast four years ago, when all the crew were lost--never heard of again.
So there was n.o.body left but Lloyd. In winter, when there was no fishing, he whittled crosses and paper-knives out of the cedars, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g them with lichen, and sent them over to town for sale.
In the evenings he would go out for a run and whiff of fresh air. He and Jem were cruising about when they spied the schooner.