One day during Robert’s early convalescence, Souter, after having finished his chores, sauntered leisurely through the vegetable garden. It was a peaceful nook, and there were household odors of mint, and thyme, and boy’s love, which were pleasant to the soul of Souter Johnny, and reminded him of stewed rabbit, which he dearly loved, with all its attendant delicacies. He paced the path slowly, the light of the sinking sun blazing gloriously upon the brilliant gown of his companion, who was simpering along beside him, her little gray eyes looking down on him with flattering interest as she listened with apparent delight to his tales of daring adventure. Finally their conversation drifted to the sick man within. “Poor bonnie laddie,” sighed Eppy dolefully. “To think of him being so ill. We all loved him dearly in Edinburgh.”
“He hasna’ been the same lad since he returned from there,” replied Souter. “He had many great disappointments in his young life, I tell ye,” and he shook his head dismally. “An’ noo everything has gone to the dogs wi’ him, ever since he has been in Ellisland. ’Twas a sorry day when he became an[299] exciseman, say I.” He paused a moment reflectively, then continued earnestly, “But no matter what anybody says different, he has always done his duty faithfully, always on the tramp in all kinds of weather, till at last his robust constitution has given out, an’ he bowled over, so to speak.” He loyally refrained from mentioning that Robert’s illness was partly due to his imprudent way of living.
Eppy sighed again. “And he the Bard of Scotland,” she returned commiseratingly. “How I pity him. Isn’t it sad Mr. MacDougall?”
“Aye,” replied Souter, with a quick look from under his shaggy eyebrows. “Ye hae a kind heart in ye, Miss McKay,” he observed after a pause.
“Do you really think so?” she simpered. “I fear you are a base flatterer, Mr. MacDougall. In Edinburgh there were so many who flattered me, who sought for my favors, that I became wearied of it all, and longed for a change. That is why I came here to Ayrshire and purchased the farm adjoining, that I might rest during the summer.”
“And then ye’ll be leaving us?” asked Souter with a deep sigh.
“Perhaps not,” and she looked at him coquettishly. “Would anyone care if I did return to town?” she insinuated slyly.
“’Tis a wonder that such a bonnie lassie as ye should still be a maiden,” he observed abruptly with a sly look out of the corner of his eye.
[300]
“Oh, I have had many offers,” she answered airily, though her heart fluttered with a newly-born hope.
“Do ye ne’er get lonely, Miss McKay?”
She sighed and cast down her eyes. “Yes, I do,” she declared plaintively, “and I’m lonely now in that great big house with only a servant for company.”
“Souter Johnny,” said Souter to himself, “this is the chance of your lifetime; go in and win a home.” Having arrived at this resolution, he cleared his throat and pausing in his walk, faced the simpering old lady. “Mum, ye see before ye,” he remarked, not without some nervousness, “a single man, like yoursel’. Not from necessity, och nae; Souter Johnny, before he lost his handsome looks, could hae had his pick o’ any o’ the lassies, but I hae waited till noo——” he paused impressively.
“Till now, Mr. MacDougall?” she repeated breathlessly, eager to have him continue.
“Weel, noo I hae found her,” he answered, “an’ she’s what I hae been lookin’ for a’ my life.”
“How romantic you are,” she cried soulfully, with an admiring look.
“Aye, that I am, ’tis born in me,” he responded. “Do ye mind if I smoke, mum?” he asked carelessly. He took out of his waistcoat pocket his old black pipe and held it in his hand.
“Oh, no,” she gushed. “I love to see you smoke, ’tis so manly.”
[301]
Having lighted his pipe and got it drawing to his satisfaction, he turned to her once more, and remarked casually, “Would ye call me too old to get married? I’m askin’ your advice noo.” He looked at her quizzically.
She shook her head vigorously in the negative. “Age does not matter at all,” she observed sagely. “The question is do you feel peart?” and she regarded him with anxious eyes.
A grim smile played around Souter’s lips. Removing his pipe, he replied with convincing firmness, “Never was sick in my life, strong and healthy. Feel my muscle!” and he held out his doubled arm to the timid Eppy, who shrank away bashfully. “It willna’ hurt ye,” he declared. Thus encouraged, she gingerly touched it with one finger. “Fine, isn’t it?” he asked proudly. Before she could answer he continued, “I have a fine appetite, mum, an’ I dinna’ feel my age. Noo I ask ye, am I too ugly to be looked at, mum? Dinna’ be afraid to tell me the truth.” He held up his head, straightened his bent shoulders and stood awaiting her reply.
She eyed him a moment in silence. “Well, Mr. MacDougall,” she said doubtfully, after a pause, “I must confess you’re no beauty.” A look of disappointment came over Souter’s face, seeing which she hastened to reassure him. “But I care not for looks, Mr. MacDougall,” she cried earnestly. “One could get used to you. I’ve heard it said that one[302] can get used to anything in time,” and she smiled sweetly into his downcast face.
He gave her a quick look.
“Is it as bad as that?” he returned reflectively. “Weel, looks is all a matter of taste. And noo let’s get down to business.” Eppy gave a start and her hands fluttered about nervously, as she waited for his next words. “Do ye think, mum, this sweet, lovely lassie I hae in my mind would hae me for a husband?” he insinuated softly.
She gave a little gasp. “This is so sudden,” she simpered, then broke off abruptly—he hadn’t asked her yet. “Er—why don’t you ask the beautiful lassie. She might think of it.” She coyly looked down upon him from under her big bonnet.
Souter threw down his pipe in his earnestness. “I will,” he ejaculated quickly, his eyes sparkling with triumph. “’Tis your ain bright sel’ for whom my heart is yearnin’. Will ye hae me, Eppy?”
Eppy closed her eyes in blissful content. “My first proposal,” she thought joyfully. Opening her eyes, she gazed at him fondly. “Oh, I don’t want to make a mistake now,” she cried, half frightened, but she had no intention of refusing him, however.
“Dinna’ fear,” replied Souter eagerly. “I’ll attend to that; there’ll be no mistake made, I’ll warrant ye.”
“You’re such a masterful man,” she exclaimed, with an admiring look, “and—well, there’s no[303] gainsaying you. I must confess a real live man about the house would be most comforting—to my sister, Sibella—and—and me, so I—I’ll have you, Souter,” and she threw herself into his arms with a cry of joy and thankfulness.
“Thank ye, thank ye, mum,” said Souter gratefully. “I feel as if I had won the prize ticket in a grand lottery.” He heaved a great sigh of blissful content as he thought of the big house across the way. “There noo, my pipe is out again,” he observed, after a little pause, and he calmly turned his back and proceeded to relight it, leaving Eppy regarding him with reproachful eyes and pouting lips.
“Souter,” she finally faltered, “I—I thought you were more romantic. We haven’t sealed our engagement by a—a——”
“A—what?” asked Souter concernedly. “Is there something mair to do?”
She sidled up to him, giggling bashfully, and after turning to see if they were observed, she put her arm around his neck and said pensively:
“Gin a body meet a body comin’ thro’ the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body, need a body cry.”
A comical look of comprehension dawned on Souter’s face. “O—oh! I see, ’tis a kiss ye mean,” he answered lightly. “Weel, noo, I’ll na’ stop ye[304] if ye want to kiss me. If you can stand it, I can,” and he held his face up to hers, for she towered a foot above him. With a sudden dart, a downward sweep of her head, she glued her lips to the little man’s, then with a resounding smack she released him, with a sigh of absolute content upon her homely face. “Weel, noo, that’s not half bad,” observed Souter, smacking his lips reflectively.
“Now, Souter,” declared Eppy decidedly, after they had walked a few paces in quiet, “since you are a Highlander, you must wear the kilt, to please me; and it must be the tartan of our clan.”
Souter threw up his hands in amazed horror. “Oh, dearie, dinna’ ask me to do that; I canna’ wear the kilt; I am na’ built that way,” and he looked down at his legs with whimsical seriousness.
“Then I’ll not ma............