White Heather: A Novel (Volume 2 of 3)

'Meenie, Love Meenie,
What must one pay?'
'Good stranger, the market's
Not open to-day!'

He looked at the verses again and again; and the longer he looked at them the less he liked them – he scarcely knew why. Perhaps they were a little too literary? They seemed to lack naturalness and simplicity; at all events, they were not true to Meenie; why should Meenie figure as a flippant coquette? And so he threw them away and turned to his books – not the scientific ones – to hunt out something that was like Meenie. He came near it in Tannahill, but was not quite satisfied. A verse or two in Keats held his fancy for a moment. But at last he found what he wanted in Wordsworth —

'A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye;
– Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.'

Yes; that was liker Meenie – who 'dwelt among the untrodden ways.'

CHAPTER V

A LESSON IN FLY-FISHING

Miss Carry Hodson returned from Paris in a very radiant mood; she had had what she called a real good time, and everything connected with the wedding had gone off most successfully. Her dress, that she had ordered long before she came to the Highlands, was a perfect fit; Lily Selden made the most charming and beautiful of brides; and no less a person than a prince (rather swarthy, and hailing from some mysterious region east of the Carpathians) had proposed the health of the bridesmaids, and had made especial mention of the young ladies who had travelled long distances to be present on the auspicious occasion.

However, on the morning after her return to Inver-Mudal her equanimity was somewhat dashed. When she went along the passage to the little hall – to see what the morning was like outside – she found waiting there a respectable-looking elderly Highlander, with grizzled locks, who touched his cap to her, and who had her waterproof over his arm. This last circumstance made her suspicious; instantly she went back to her father.

'Who is that man?' she asked.

'What man?'

'Why, an old man, who is waiting there, and he has got my waterproof slung over his arm.'

'Well, I suppose that is the new gillie.'

'Isn't Ronald going down?' she said, with very evident disappointment.

'Of course not,' her father said, with some sharpness. 'I think you have taken up enough of his time. And just now, when he is getting ready to go away, do you think I could allow him to waste day after day in attending to us? Seems to me it would be more to the point if you put your small amount of brain into devising some means of squaring up with him for what he has done already.'

'Oh, very well,' she said – or rather, what she did really say was 'Oh, vurry well' – and the pretty, pale, attractive face resumed its ordinary complacency, and she went off to make friends with the new gillie. She was on good terms with the old Highlander in about a couple of minutes; and presently they were on their way down to the loch, along with the lad John. Her father was to follow as soon as he had finished his letters.

But she was now to discover, what she had never discovered before, that salmon-fishing on a loch is a rather monotonous affair, unless the fish are taking very freely indeed. For one thing, the weather had settled down into a fine, clear, spring-like calm and quiet that was not at all favourable to the sport. It was very beautiful, no doubt; for sometimes for hours together the lake would be like a sheet of glass – the yellow shores and purple birch-woods all accurately doubled, with nearer at hand the faint white reflections of the snow-peaks in the north stretching out into the soft and deep blue; and when a breath of wind, from some unexpected point of the compass, began to draw a sharp line of silver between earth and water, and then came slowly across the loch to them, ruffling out that magic inverted picture on its way, the breeze was deliciously fresh and balmy, and seemed to bring with it tidings of the secret life that was working forward to the leafiness of summer. They kept well out into the midst of this spacious circle of loveliness, for old Malcolm declared they would be doing more harm than good by going over the fishing-ground; so she had a sufficiently ample view of this great panorama of water and wood and far mountain-slopes. But it grew monotonous. She began to think of Paris, and the brisk, busy days – a hurry of gaiety and pleasure and interest using up every possible minute. She wished she had a book – some knitting – anything. Why, when Ronald was in the boat – with his quick sarcastic appreciation of every story she had to tell, or every experience she had to describe – there was always enough amusement and talking. But this old man was hopeless. She asked him questions about his croft, his family, his sheep and cows; and he answered gravely; but she took no interest in his answers, as her father might have done. She was unmistakably glad to get ashore for lunch – which was picturesque enough, by the way, with that beautiful background all around; and neither her father nor herself was in any hurry to break up the small picnic-party and set to work again.

Nor did they do much better in the afternoon – though her father managed to capture a small eight-pounder; and so, in the evening, before dinner, she went along to Ronald to complain. She found him busy with his books; his gun and cap and telescope lying on the table beside him, showed that he had just come in.

'Ay,' said he, 'it's slow work in weather like this. But will ye no sit down?' and he went and brought her a chair.

'No, I thank you,' said she; 'I came along to see if you thought there was likely to be any change. Is your glass a good one?'

'First-rate,' he answered, and he went to the small aneroid and tapped it lightly. 'It was given me by a gentleman that shot his first stag up here. I think he would have given me his head, he was so pleased. Well, no, Miss Hodson, there's not much sign of a change. But I'll tell ye what we'll do, if you're tired of the loch, we'll try one or two of the pools on the Mudal.'

'You mean the river down there?'

'There's not much hope there either – for the water's low the now; but we might by chance get a little wind, or there are some broken bits in the stream —

'But you mean with a fly – how could I throw a fly?' she exclaimed.

'Ye'll never learn younger,' was the quiet answer. 'It there's no change to-morrow I'll take ye up the river myself – and at least ye can get some practice in casting – '

'Oh no, no,' said she hurriedly, 'thank you very much, but I must not take up your time – '

'I'm no so busy that I cannot leave the house for an hour or two,' said he – and she understood by his manner that he was 'putting his foot down,' in which case she knew she might just as well give in at once. 'But I warn ye that it's a dour river at the best, and not likely to be in good ply; however, we might just happen on one.' And then he added, by way of explanation, 'If we should, it will have to be sent to Lord Ailine, ye understand.'

'Why?'

'Because the river doesna belong to your fishing; it goes with the shooting.'

'Oh,' said she, somewhat coldly. 'And so, when Lord Ailine gives any one a day's fishing he claims whatever fish they may catch?'

'When his lordship gives a day's fishing he does not; but when the keeper does – that's different,' was the perfectly simple and respectful answer.

'Oh, I beg your pardon,' said she hastily, and sincerely hoping she had said nothing to wound his feelings. Apparently she had not, for he proceeded to warn her about the necessity of her putting on a thick pair of boots; and he also gently hinted that she might wear on her head something less conspicuous than the bright orange Tam o' Shanter of which she seemed rather fond.

Accordingly, next morning, instead of sending him a message that she was ready, she walked along to the cottage, accoutred for a thorough stiff day's work. The outer door was open, so she entered without ceremony; and then tapped at the door of the little parlour, which she proceeded to open also. She then found that Ronald was not alone; there was a young man sitting there, who instantly rose as she made her appearance. She had but a momentary glimpse of him, but she came to the conclusion that the gamekeepers in this part of the world were a good-looking race, for this was a strongly-built young fellow, keen and active, apparently, with a rather pink and white complexion, closely-cropped head, bright yellow moustache, and singularly clear blue eyes. He wore a plain tweed suit; and as he rose he picked up a billycock hat that was lying on the table.

'I'll see you to-night, Ronald,' said he, 'I'm going off by the mail again to-morrow.'

And as he passed by Miss Carry, he said, very modestly and respectfully —

'I hope you will have good sport.'

'Thank you,' said she, most civilly, for he seemed a well-mannered young man, as he slightly bowed to her in passing, and made his way out.

Ronald had everything ready for the start.

'I'm feared they'll be laughing at us for trying the river on so clear a day,' said he, as he put his big fly-book in his pocket. 'And there's been no rain to let the fish get up.'

'Oh I don't mind about that,' said she, as he held the door open, and she went out, 'it will be more interesting than the lake. However, I've nothing to say against the lake fishing, for it has done such wonders for my father. I have not seen him so well for years. Whether it is the quiet life, or the mountain air, I don't know, but he sleeps perfectly, and he has entirely given up the bromide of potassium. I do hope he will take the shooting and come back in the autumn.'

'His lordship was saying there were two other gentlemen after it,' remarked Ronald significantly.

'Who was saying?'

'His lordship – that was in the house the now when ye came in.'

'Was that Lord Ailine?' she said – and she almost paused in their walk along the road.

'Oh yes.'

'You don't say! Why, how did he come here?'

'By the mail this morning.'

'With the country people?'