From the huge, low ceilinged kitchen of Castle Montgomery, which was ablaze with light, came the gladsome sound of mirth and revelry, for “Some merry countre folks togither did convene,
To burn their nits and pou’ their stocks, and hold their hallowe’en,
For blythe that night.”
For miles around the annual invitations had been sent broadcast, and to-night the capacious kitchen was taxed to its utmost. It was, however, a singularly good-natured, if over-hilarious, gathering that had assembled to do justice to old Bess’s cooking, and to test their fate through the medium of the many charms so well known to all the peasantry.
There was Poosie Nancy in her stiffly-starched frilled cap and her new kirtle, complacently nodding here and there to all of her acquaintances as they flocked about her. Poosie Nancy was a merry old soul. For years she had been the mistress of the Arms Inn, the public house on the high road, where Souter and Tam O’Shanter were wont to idle away their time and, incidentally, their “siller.” Standing on one foot behind her was Molly Dunn. Molly was consciously resplendent in a new plaid frock, made by her own unskilled hands, and while it was certainly[87] not a thing of beauty, it surely was a joy forever, to the lassies, who laughingly twitted her about her handiwork. But she heeded not their good-natured jibes. She was admiringly watching Daddy Auld, the little old minister, who sat in the midst of an admiring group of his parishioners at the other side of the room, who evidently stood in no awe of him, judging from the bursts of laughter which greeted his frequent attempts at jocularity.
“Where is Tam O’Shanter, Souter Johnny?” suddenly asked old Bess, who was proudly doing the honors as mistress of ceremonies. Souter was assiduously paying court to the comely Poosie Nancy in the opposite corner with an eye to future possibilities.
“He willna be here till late,” he replied impatiently, addressing the crowd. “I left him at the Arms Inn, an’ if he drinks much mair whisky, he will na’ be here at all, I’m thinkin’,” and he turned eagerly to his inamorata, who was fanning herself indifferently with a plantain leaf.
“He’ll fall into the Doon some night an’ be drowned, sure as fate,” said she, carelessly dismissing the subject.
“Take your partners for the reel!” shouted big Malcolm Macr? stentoriously, at this juncture. Old Donald tuned up his fiddle with gleeful alacrity.
Souter ceremoniously offered Poosie his arm, which she condescendingly accepted, and majestically[88] they walked to the middle of the floor. With much laughing and joking and good-natured rivalry, they were all quickly paired off, and soon the rafters rang with the happy voices of the hilarious dancers as they merrily sang to the tune that blind Donald was scratching out on his old and faithful, though unmelodious, fiddle.
Mary had taken no part in the merrymaking, for she felt heavy and sad at heart. From her seat in the corner, where the light was the dimmest, she had watched the door with patient anxiety, hoping against hope that Robert would come, but she had waited in vain, and now the evening was nearly spent and soon they would be going home, happy and tired after their sport and entertainment, while she would steal away to her quarters over the kitchen and cry herself to sleep, as she had done for many nights past. Souter Johnny, who was in his element and the merriest of them all, had tried vainly to induce her to join the revelers in their sport, and many an honest laddie had sought her hand in the dance, only to be shyly refused. So gradually she was left in peace, and soon forgotten amid the excitement of their diversions. They had tried some of the famous charms, which decided the destinies of many of the lads and lassies that night, and now old Bess brought forth her long-hoarded bag of nuts, which she divided among them. Amid shouts of mirth and laughter, they proceeded to test the most famous of all the charms. As they rushed pell-mell to the fireplace[89] and laid each particular nut in the fire, for which they had named the lad or lassie of their choice, and stood there eagerly watching, open-mouthed, to see how they would burn, Mary, with a quickly beating heart, stole unperceived close to the front row of watchers, and with a little prayer, quietly threw her pair into the fire. For a moment they burned slowly side by side, then with a hop and a jump they popped madly about, and finally at opposite sides of the fireplace they glowed redly for a time, then expired altogether. With a little, suppressed sob, unheeded in the general excitement, she hurried back to her seat, pale and trembling. It was as she had feared: the course of their love was never again to run smoothly, the charm had spoken. It had never been known to predict wrongly. Why had she sought to find out her fate? she asked herself pathetically. Unheeding the merry songs and dances going on around her, of which they never seemed to weary, and the unco tales and funny jokes, she sat there thinking her sweet, sad thoughts, and patiently waiting till they should depart for their homes, that she might seek the quiet of her bed, where her aching heart might find relief in the tears which nowadays were so hard to control. Suddenly the laughter subsided, and Mary with a start raised her head to see all eyes turned on her.
“Mary, come here, lass,” called Souter Johnny, who was fanning himself vigorously.
“It’s your turn noo, Mary,” they cried boisterously.[90] “So gie us a dance or a song,” and they all pressed around her with good-natured suggestions.
Old Bess took the shrinking girl by the hand, and leading her forward, with a deep courtesy announced, “Hieland Mary will favor us wi’ a song,” then she left Mary standing in the center of the room suffering agonies of dread as she raised her frightened eyes to the group of laughing, good-natured, gaping faces about her.
“I canna’ sing, I canna’ sing, Souter,” she faltered, turning to him beseechingly.
“Yes, ye can, dearie, just a—a verse, there’s a girlie,” he answered encouragingly. “Come and stand beside me, if that’s any inspiration to ye,” he added, smiling good-humoredly.
She ran to his side, and clutching him by the arm, tried to muster up her courage, for the good-natured audience were clamorously demanding a song. With a frightened little gasp she began to sing the first thing that came to her mind. “Oh, where, and oh, where is my Highland laddie gone?” she faltered out. A little titter passed through the crowd, for they knew that “Rab Burns was nae longer sweet on Mary Campbell,” as they told each other in loud whispers. At the cruel sound Mary, whose lips had trembled ominously as she thought of her recreant lover, with an indignant look at the thoughtless ones, burst into a flood of tears. Quickly Souter led her[91] sobbing to a seat, while the others anxiously crowded round, conscience-stricken at their thoughtless levity.
“What’s happent? what’s happent? Has she fainted?” they asked in helpless confusion, gazing from one to the other.
“She’s only a wee bittie tired,” answered old Souter, tenderly smoothing the hair of the sorrowing lass. “Let her alone an’ she’ll be all right. Donald,” he called, “start your fiddle; we’re gang to hae anither dance.”
The blind old patriarch smiled serenely, and raising his fiddle to his chin began to play, and soon the mirth and fun grew fast and furious as the dancers reeled and set, and crosst and cleekit.
While old Donald was playing, and the dance was well started, Souter quietly led Mary out in the open air, and sitting down on the doorstep, he drew her gently beside him. “Noo, Mary, what is the matter?” he inquired kindly. “Winna ye tell old Souter Johnny your trouble?”
“Ye ken why I am unhappy, Souter Johnny,” answered Mary apathetically. He sighed and remained silent.
“Have ye an’ Robert quarreled?” he asked presently.
“No,” she answered sadly.
“Weel, come tell old Souter; it may ease your mind, lassie,” and he drew her plaid about her shoulders, for the night air was keen.
[92]
“Well, ye ken, Souter,” she faltered, a pitiful little break in her voice, “Robbie an’ I were to be married after the plantin’ was o’er, and ’tis noo harvest time, but ne’er a word has he spoke of our marriage since that day. He is so changed, Souter, I—I canna understand him at all,” and she leaned wearily against his shoulder like a tired child.
“That Armour lass is at the bottom of it all, I ken,” thought Souter angrily, drawing her close to him.
“Perhaps,” continued Mary sadly, “perhaps he has grown tired of his Highland Mary.” She plucked idly at the fringe of her plaid, a look of resignation on her sweet face.
“Tired o’ ye?” repeated Souter incredulously. “A man would be a most fearful fool to gie up such a bonnie, sweet lassie as ye are. Noo, if I were only younger, Robbie Burns wouldna hae things all his own way, I tell ye,” and he nodded his head vigorously.
“I ken he has some trouble,” said Mary, not heeding his jocular efforts to cheer her, “that makes him so unhappy like; if he would only let me share that trouble wi’ him, whate’er it is, how gladly I would do it.”
Souter rubbed his bearded chin reflectively.
“Weel, Mary, ye ken Robert’s a genius,” he answered soberly. “An’ ye can ne’er tell how a genius is gang to act, therefore ye must ne’er be[93] surprised, Mary, at whate’er he does, for genius is but anither name for eccentricity an’—an’ perverseness,” and he sighed deeply, his kind old face wrinkled with perplexity.
“I feel, Souter,” she continued, pathetically calm, “that I am slowly, but surely, drifting out o’ his life forever.” She gazed suddenly into the face bending over her solicitously.
“Dinna ye know the cause, Souter?” she asked beseechingly.
He brushed his hand across his eyes and slowly shook his head. She sighed patiently and turned away her head and gazed listlessly into space. For a few moments there was deep silence, broken only by the bursts of laughter which came to them at intervals from within.
“Lassie, listen to me,” finally said the old man, his voice cheery and hopeful once more. “Ye mustna be so down-hearted; there is a cause for everything in this world, an’ I ken Robert loves ye wi’ all his heart, just the same as ever. Why, ye can see the glimmer o’ love in his e’e whene’er he looks at ye.” He smiled approvingly as Mary’s face brightened, then continued decidedly, “Robert is well-nigh daft that he hasna heard frae Lord Glencairn all this time; that is why he is sae worrid an’ nervous, sae moody an’ neglectful; noo cheer thee, lassie, it’ll all come right in time,” and he patted her shoulder lovingly.
[94]
“Oh, I feel sae much better, Souter,” she murmured, pressing his hand gratefully. “An’ noo I’ll na borrow trouble any mair, thinkin’ Robert doesna’ love me.” She smiled happily and jumped lightly to her feet.
“Whist, Mary, why dinna ye make sure o’ that?” whispered Souter, looking around him mysteriously. She looked at him wonderingly. “’Tis Hallowe’en, ye ken, an’ a’ the witches an’ fairies are about this night an’ will grant any wish made. Try a charm, lassie.”
“I did try one,” replied Mary with a sigh. “I burned the nuts, but it didna’ come out right; that’s what made me sad.”
“Ah, weel, try anither; go pull a stock.”
“Oh, nay, I’m afraid to go out in the field at night,” she replied timidly, drawing back. “But I’ll go if ye’ll come wi’ me.” She held out her hand to him.
“Nay, thank ye, Mary,” he said grimly. “I dinna’ care to see the face o’ my future wife just yet; I fear I couldna’ stand the shock.”
“Well, I darena’ go alone,” answered Mary decidedly, her hand on the latch. “Think of anither charm, one I can do indoors.”
“An’ do ye think the fairies will come around where ’tis light?” he cried in amazement. “Och, no, ye must go to the darkest place ye can find.”[95] His little round eyes gazed into hers with solemn earnestness.
Mary shivered with apprehension and peered into the darkness. “Oh, Souter, think o’ the witches,” she said nervously.
“They willna’ hurt ye,” he answered a little impatiently. “Ye maun sow a handful of hempseed an’ harrow it o’er wi’ anything ye can draw after ye, an’ repeat o’er and o’er,” assuming a guttural monotone:
“Hempseed, I sow thee; hempseed, I sow thee,
And him that is to be my true love,
Come after me and draw thee.”
“And will I see him then?” whispered Mary eagerly, drawing near to him.
“Aye,” returned Souter hoarsely. “Look over your left shoulder an’ ye’ll see your future husband pullin’ hemp. Noo, off wi’ ye; ye’ll find some seed in the barn.” Mary tried to summon up her courage, for she was highly superstitious, like all the peasantry, and was anxious to test the potency of the charm, and finally succeeded in taking a few faltering footsteps in the direction of the barn, when suddenly the door behind them opened, and Molly Dunn appeared in the doorway. She held in one hand a lighted candle, while in the other she carried a broken piece of looking-glass, into which she[96] was gazing intently, her eyes fixed and staring. Behind her, crowding through the doorway, followed the now noiseless revelers, who were stifling their laughter to breathlessly watch the outcome of the well-known charm, whose power Molly had decided to put to a test, though believing staunchly in its potency. Molly majestically walked down the steps and across to the well, where, depositing her mirror on the curbing, she took from the pocket of her skirt a round, red apple, from which she bit a goodly piece and began vigorously to chew upon it, the while holding her candle above her head and anxiously watching her reflection in the mirror.
“Molly’s eatin’ the apple at the glass,” chuckled Souter to Mary softly. “She’s lookin’ for the face o’ her future husband. Let’s hae some fun wi’ her.” He motioned to them all to keep silent, and stealing softly over to the unconscious Molly, intoned in a deep sepulchral voice, “Molly Dunn, if ye would see your future husband, dinna’ ye dare tur............