Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood - George MacDonald (latest novels to read .txt) 📗

of her own free will, she would not have run away from him, let the sea have kept calling her ever so much."

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The next evening, I looked for Elsie as usual, but did not see her. How blank and dull the schoolroom seemed! Still she might arrive any moment. But she did not come. I went through my duties wearily, hoping ever for the hour of release. I could see well enough that Turkey was anxious too. The moment school was over, we hurried away, almost without a word, to the cottage. There we found her weeping. Her grandmother had died suddenly. She clung to Turkey, and seemed almost to forget my presence. But I thought nothing of that. Had the case been mine, I too should have clung to Turkey from faith in his help and superior wisdom.

There were two or three old women in the place. Turkey went and spoke to them, and then took Elsie home to his mother. Jamie was asleep, and they would not wake him.

How it was arranged, I forget, but both Elsie and Jamie lived for the rest of the winter with Turkey's mother. The cottage was let, and the cow taken home by their father. Before summer Jamie had got a place in a shop in the village, and then Elsie went back to her mother.


CHAPTER XXXIV

An Evening Visit


I now saw much less of Elsie; but I went with Turkey, as often as I could, to visit her at her father's cottage. The evenings we spent there are amongst the happiest hours in my memory. One evening in particular appears to stand out as a type of the whole. I remember every point in the visit. I think it must have been almost the last. We set out as the sun was going down on an evening in the end of April, when the nightly frosts had not yet vanished. The hail was dancing about us as we started; the sun was disappearing in a bank of tawny orange cloud; the night would be cold and dark and stormy; but we cared nothing for that: a conflict with the elements always added to the pleasure of any undertaking then. It was in the midst of another shower of hail, driven on the blasts of a keen wind, that we arrived at the little cottage. It had been built by Duff himself to receive his bride, and although since enlarged, was still a very little house. It had a foundation of stone, but the walls were of turf. He had lined it with boards, however, and so made it warmer and more comfortable than most of the labourers' dwellings. When we entered, a glowing fire of peat was on the hearth, and the pot with the supper hung over it. Mrs. Duff was spinning, and Elsie, by the light of a little oil lamp suspended against the wall, was teaching her youngest brother to read. Whatever she did, she always seemed in my eyes to do it better than anyone else; and to see her under the lamp, with one arm round the little fellow who stood leaning against her, while the other hand pointed with a knitting-needle to the letters of the spelling-book which lay on her knee, was to see a lovely picture. The mother did not rise from her spinning, but spoke a kindly welcome, while Elsie got up, and without approaching us, or saying more than a word or two, set chairs for us by the fire, and took the little fellow away to put him to bed.

"It's a cold night," said Mrs. Duff. "The wind seems to blow through me as I sit at my wheel. I wish my husband would come home."

"He'll be suppering his horses," said Turkey. "I'll just run across and give him a hand, and that'll bring him in the sooner."

"Thank you, Turkey," said Mrs. Duff as he vanished.

"He's a fine lad," she remarked, much in the same phrase my father used when speaking of him.

"There's nobody like Turkey," I said.

"Indeed, I think you're right there, Ranald. A better-behaved lad doesn't step. He'll do something to distinguish himself some day. I shouldn't wonder if he went to college, and wagged his head in a pulpit yet."

The idea of Turkey wagging his head in a pulpit made me laugh.

"Wait till you see," resumed Mrs. Duff, somewhat offended at my reception of her prophecy. "Folk will hear of him yet."

"I didn't mean he couldn't be a minister, Mrs. Duff. But I don't think he will take to that."

Here Elsie came back, and lifting the lid of the pot, examined the state of its contents. I got hold of her hand, but for the first time she withdrew it. I did not feel hurt, for she did it very gently. Then she began to set the white deal table in the middle of the floor, and by the time she had put the plates and spoons upon it, the water in the pot was boiling, and she began to make the porridge, at which she was judged to be first-rate-in my mind, equal to our Kirsty. By the time it was ready, her father and Turkey came in. James Duff said grace, and we sat down to our supper. The wind was blowing hard outside, and every now and then the hail came in deafening rattles against the little windows, and, descending the wide chimney, danced on the floor about the hearth; but not a thought of the long, stormy way between us and home interfered with the enjoyment of the hour.

After supper, which was enlivened by simple chat about the crops and the doings on the farm, James turned to me, and said:

"Haven't you got a song or a ballad to give us, Ranald? I know you're always getting hold of such things."

I had expected this; for, every time I went, I tried to have something to repeat to them. As I could not sing, this was the nearest way in which I might contribute to the evening's entertainment. Elsie was very fond of ballads, and I could hardly please her better than by bringing a new one with me. But in default of that, an old one or a story would be welcomed. My reader must remember that there were very few books to be had then in that part of the country, and therefore any mode of literature was precious. The schoolmaster was the chief source from which I derived my provision of this sort. On the present occasion, I was prepared with a ballad of his. I remember every word of it now, and will give it to my readers, reminding them once more how easy it is to skip it, if they do not care for that kind of thing.

"Bonny lassie, rosy lassie,
Ken ye what is care? Had ye ever a thought, lassie,
Made yer hertie sair?"

Johnnie said it, Johnnie luikin'
Into Jeannie's face; Seekin' in the garden hedge
For an open place.

"Na," said Jeannie, saftly smilin',
"Nought o' care ken I; For they say the carlin'
Is better passit by."

"Licht o' hert ye are, Jeannie,
As o' foot and ban'! Lang be yours sic answer
To ony spierin' man."

"I ken what ye wad hae, sir,
Though yer words are few; Ye wad hae me aye as careless,
Till I care for you."

"Dinna mock me, Jeannie, lassie,
Wi' yer lauchin' ee; For ye hae nae notion
What gaes on in me."

"No more I hae a notion
O' what's in yonder cairn; I'm no sae pryin', Johnnie,
It's none o' my concern."

"Well, there's ae thing, Jeannie,
Ye canna help, my doo- Ye canna help me carin'
Wi' a' my hert for you."

Johnnie turned and left her,
Listed for the war; In a year cam' limpin'
Hame wi' mony a scar.

Wha was that was sittin'
Wan and worn wi' care? Could it be his Jeannie
Aged and alter'd sair?

Her goon was black, her eelids
Reid wi' sorrow's dew: Could she in a twalmonth
Be wife and widow too?

Jeannie's hert gaed wallop,
Ken 't him whan he spak': "I thocht that ye was deid, Johnnie:
Is't yersel' come back?"

"O Jeannie, are ye, tell me,
Wife or widow or baith? To see ye lost as I am,
I wad be verra laith,"

"I canna be a widow
That wife was never nane; But gin ye will hae me,
Noo I will be ane."

His crutch he flang it frae him,
Forgetful o' war's harms; But couldna stan' withoot it,
And fell in Jeannie's arms.

"That's not a bad ballad," said James Duff. "Have you a tune it would go to, Elsie?"

Elsie thought a little, and asked me to repeat the first verse. Then she sung it out clear and fair to a tune I had never heard before.

"That will do splendidly, Elsie," I said. "I will write it out for you, and then you will be able to sing it all the next time I come."

She made me no answer. She and Turkey were looking at each other, and did not hear me. James Duff began to talk to me. Elsie was putting away the supper-things. In a few minutes I missed her and Turkey, and they were absent for some time. They did not return together, but first Turkey, and Elsie some minutes after. As the night was now getting quite stormy, James Duff counselled our return, and we obeyed. But little either Turkey or I cared for wind or hail.

I saw Elsie at church most Sundays; but she was far too attentive and modest ever to give me even a look. Sometimes I had a word with her when we came out, but my father expected us to walk home with him; and I generally saw Turkey walk away with her.

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CHAPTER XXXV

A Break in my Story


I am now rapidly approaching the moment at which I said I should bring this history to an end-the moment, namely, when I became aware that my boyhood was behind me.

I left home this summer for the first time, and followed my brother Tom to the grammar school in the county-town, in order afterwards to follow him to the University. There was so much of novelty and expectation in the change, that I did not feel the separation from my father and the rest of my family much at first. That came afterwards. For the time, the pleasure of a long ride on the top of the mail-coach, with a bright sun and a pleasant breeze, the various incidents connected with changing horses and starting afresh, and then the outlook for the first peep of the sea, occupied my attention too thoroughly.

I do not care to dwell on my experience at the grammar school. I worked fairly, and got on; but whether I should gain a scholarship remained doubtful enough. Before the time for the examination arrived, I went to spend a week at home. It was a great disappointment to me that I had to return again without seeing Elsie. But it could not