Christine - Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (the kiss of deception read online TXT) 📗

with its knives and forks and spoons, and its gilt rimmed teacups, was in itself a symbol of hospitality. The Domine looked at it, and then said, "Margot, you are baking sea trout. I told you never to do that again, when I was coming, unless you intended asking me to help in the eating of it."

"Today, they were cooked special for you, Sir, and I hope you will hae the good will to pleasure me in the eating o' them."

"Certainly, Margot, certainly! I could not resist your invitation."

Hearing these words, Ruleson rose, and said, "Colonel, if you will join the Domine at the meal God has gi'en us, James Ruleson will gladly break bread with you."

After these preliminaries, Christine served the meal, and then waited on her parents and their guests. They ate the fish with great enjoyment. It was to the Colonel a gastronomical discovery. No anchovy, no sauces of any kind, just the delicate fish, baked with a few slices of Ayrshire ham, and served with potatoes boiled in their jackets so skillfully that the jackets dropped from them when touched. It was a dish pure and simple, and captivated every palate. Nothing more was needed that Christine's quiet service and the animated conversation did not supply. As to Margot, she was kept busy filling small cups with that superexcellent tea we get in Scotland, and find it next to impossible to get anywhere else.

After the fish was fully eaten, Christine--almost without notice--cleared the table, and brought on a rice pudding, and a large pitcher of cream. The men ate the whole of it. Perhaps they did so unconsciously, for they were talking about the school in an enthusiastic manner, while it was disappearing. Then James Ruleson lit his pipe, and the Colonel his cigar, and they sat down at the fireside. The Domine, with a smile of perfect happiness, sat between them, and every remnant of dinner silently disappeared.

During the hour following the Domine drafted the principal items to be discussed and provided for, and it was further resolved to call a village meeting in the Fishers' Hall, for the next evening. Then the Colonel's carriage was waiting, and he rose, but really with some reluctance. He cast his eyes over the comfortable room, and looked with admiration on the good man who called it home, on the bright, cheery woman, whose love made it worth the name, and on the girl who filled it with her beauty; and he said to Margot, "Mrs. Ruleson, I have eaten today the very best of dinners. I enjoyed every mouthful of it."

"Indeed, the dinner was good, Colonel; and we were proud and glad o' your company."

"And you will meet us in the Hall tomorrow night, and bring all the women you can with you?"

"I'll do my best, Sir, but our women are a dour lot. They lay out their ain way, and then mak' the taking o' it a point o' duty."

And all the way to Ballister House the Colonel wondered about his dinner--no flowers on the table, no napkins, no finger bowls, no courses, no condiments or pickles, no wine, not even a thimbleful of whiskey, nothing but excellently cooked fresh fish and potatoes, a good cup of tea with it, and then a rice pudding and plenty of cream. "Wonderful!" he ejaculated. "Upon my word, things are more evenly balanced than we think. I know noblemen and millionaires that are far from being as happy, or as well fed, as Ruleson's family."

The next morning the bellman went through the village calling men and women together at half-past seven, in the Fishers' Hall; and there was great excitement about the matter. Even the boys and girls here took a noisy part in the discussion, for and against, the argument in this class being overwhelmingly in favor of the school.

Among the adults, opinion was also divided. There were lazy mothers who could not do without their girls' help, and greedy fathers who expected their little lads to make, or at least save them a few shillings a week; and Christine feared the gift would be ungraciously taken. Ruleson had a long talk with big Peter Brodie, and Peter told him not to fash himsel' anent a lot o' ignorant women and men folk. If they were such fools, as not to ken a blessing when it was put into their vera hands, they ought to be made to understand the fact; and with a peculiar smile he intimated that he would take great satisfaction in gieing them as many lessons as they required.

The meeting was, however, crowded, and when the Colonel and the Domine stepped on the platform, the audience were just in the mood to give them a rousing cheer. It opened the Domine's mouth, and he said:

"Friends, I have great and good news for you. Colonel Ballister is going to build us a school of our own. We shall want some of you as Trustees, and others will have to form an executive board. We are going to have a women's board as well. The men's board will look after the management of the school. The women's board will look after the bairns, and see that they get fair play in every respect. A women's board will be a new thing, but Culraine is not afraid of new ways, if they be better ways." Then he went into particulars, which we need not do, and concluded by telling them that James Ruleson had given land both for the school and the playground, and that it was hoped James' approval would stand for many, and much. "We will now take the vote of both men and women for, or against, the school."

Then a man in the center of the crowded hall stood up. It was Peter Brodie.

"Gentlemen," he said, "a vote is outside necessity. We dinna vote as to whether we want sunshine, or fish, or bread. We are sure o' the matter. The school is mental bread and meat and sunshine to our lads and lasses. We thank God for it. There would be a deal o' trouble i' getting and counting names, and the like o' that. Let us vote, gentlemen, as our forefathers voted for the Solemn League and Covenant, by just lifting their right hands above their heads. The Domine could gie us the word, and if after it there is man or woman with baith hands down, Peter Brodie will be asking the reason why."

This speech was received with acclamation, and when the tumult had subsided, the Domine called for the silent vote of approval, that had ratified their immortal compact with their kirk. He described in picturesque words that wonderful scene in the Greyfriars' kirkyard, when sixty thousand right hands rose as promptly as one hand for the True Religion, and he told them that after the kirk, their first duty was the school. Then he stood still a moment, and there was a profound silence. After it came the word:

"Stand!"

Men and women rose as by one impulse.

"Those who are in favor of a school in Culraine, and grateful to God and man for it, let them lift up their right hands above their heads."

Every right hand was lifted. There was not a protesting hand, and Peter Brodie observed that if there had been one, it ought to be cut off, and cast into the fire, with a' the lave o' useless members.

The meeting was then practically over, but many remained. The room was warm and lighted, and it seemed unreasonable not to have a song and story, and dance out of it. Christine was entreated to remain, but she said her mither wasna feeling well, and she be to gae hame wi' her. In truth she was much depressed because Angus had not come with his uncle. She did not like to ask why, and her heart was full of unhappy surmises. But she put the trouble aside while with her mother, and gave herself willingly to the discussion of Peter Brodie's ill-bred and forwardsome behavior.

"I perfectly thought shame of his interference," said Margot. "Mercifully he spoke some kind o' Scotch, for I hae heard him--special when he was angry--rave in his native Gaelic, and then he got his ain way, for nae decent man or woman could answer his unpronounceable words. They were just a vain babblement."

"Jean Pollok was a' for the school tonight; this morning she was raving against it."

"That was to be looked for. There is as much two-facedness in some women, as there's meat in an egg."

"But for all disputing, Mither, everyone seemed to think the school would be a good thing."

"It is this, and that, and what not, and how it will end nobody knows. Some folks are ill to please, even when they get their ain way."

"You could hardly make Mary Leslie keep her sitting. She wanted to stand up, and ask the Domine how she was to cook and wash and clean and sew and nurse her baby, without the help o' her girls, Jess and Flora. She said there was eleven in her family, and she wanted to know how it was to be managed. It was hard to keep her still."

"It was vera barefaced o' her. But she put up her hand wi' the rest."

"Ay, Mither. She was feared for Peter Brodie quarreling with her man. That's Peter's way o' managing women; he mak's their husbands responsible for a' they say, and do; he says, 'the husbands ought to hae brought up their wives better.' He has done it, you know, Mither, several times."

Margot laughed. "Ay," she said, "for Tamson's wife. Naebody blamed him. Anne Tamson has a parfectly unruly tongue, and her husband, Watty, got the licking for what she said anent Frazer and his wife. I wouldna fear the man mysel', and the maist o' our women could gie him as much--and mair--than he sends."

So they talked until the cottage was reached, and the day was over. Christine went gladly to her room. A crusie was burning on the table, and she removed her gown and uncoiled her long, brown hair. Then all was still, and she let herself think, and her decision was, "if Angus had wanted to come, he would have done so.

"It isna my place," she continued, "to tak' care on the subject. I'll no mak' mysel' and ithers miserable anent him, forbye Angus Ballister is clear outside me, and my life."

Then she rose and took a large copy book from a drawer, and sitting down at the table, took pen and ink and wrote:

November second. I was a little troubled all day about Angus. He didna come, and he didna send, and there was neither sign nor sight o' him. Weel, my warld went on wanting the lad, and the school talk filled the day, and at night I went wi' Mither to the meeting about it. From this hour I begin to forget Angus. I will ask God to keep my heart from all love's care and sorrow.

Then she put the book away, turned out the light and lay down. But the old mysterious, hungering sound of the sea had an angry sough in it; and she went to sleep fearing it, and thinking of it as a deep starless darkness, hanging over the dreamlike figures of dead sailors and fishers. At midnight she awoke, the storm her father had predicted was roaring over the great waters. She went to