Heather and Snow

'Noo, Phemy,' she said, panting as she spoke, 'haud yer tongue like a guid lassie, and come awa upo' yer ain feet.'

Phemy took at once to her heels and her throat, and ran shrieking back toward the road, with Kirsty after her like a grayhound. Phemy had for some time given up struggling and trying to shriek, and was therefore in better breath than Kirsty whose lungs were pumping hard, but she had not a chance with her, for there was more muscle in one of Kirsty's legs than in Phemy's whole body. In a moment she had her in her arms again, and so fast that she could not even kick. She gave way and burst into tears. Kirsty relaxed her hold.

'What are you gaein to du wi' me?' sobbed Phemy.

'I'm takin ye to the best place I ken—hame to my mother,' answered Kirsty, striding on for home-heaven as straight as she could go.

'I winna gang!' cried Phemy, whose Scotch had returned with her tears.

'Ye are gaein,' returned Kirsty dryly; '—at least I'm takin ye, and that's neist best.'

'What for? I never did ye an ill turn 'at I ken o'!' said Phemy, and burst afresh into tears of self-pity and sense of wrong.

'Na, my bonny doo,' answered Kirsty, 'ye never did me ony ill turn! It wasna in ye. But that's the less rizzon 'at I sudna du you a guid ane. And yer father has been like the Bountiful himsel to me! It's no muckle I can du for you or for him, but there's ae thing I'm set upo', and that's haudin ye frae Francie Gordon the nicht. He'll be awa the morn!'

'Wha tellt ye that?' returned Phemy with a start.

'Jist yer ain aunt, honest woman!' answered Kirsty, 'and sair she grat as she telled me, but it wasna at his gaein!'

'She micht hae held the tongue o' her till he was gane! What was there to greit about!'

'Maybe she thocht o' her sister's bairn in a tribble 'at silence wadna hide!' answered Kirsty. 'Ye haena a notion, lassie, what ye're duin wi' yersel! But my mither 'll lat ye ken, sae that ye gangna blinlins intil the tod's hole.'

'Ye dinna ken Frank, or ye wudna speyk o' 'im that gait!'

'I ken him ower weel to trust you til him.'

'It's naething but ye're eenvious o' me, Kirsty, 'cause ye canna get him yersel! He wud never luik at a lass like you!'

'It's weel a'body sees na wi' the same een, Phemy! Gien I had yer Francie i' the parritch-pat, I wudna pike him oot, but fling frae me pat and parritch. For a' that, I hae a haill side o' my hert saft til him: my father and his lo'd like brithers.'

'That canna be, Kirsty—and it's no like ye to blaw! Your father was a common so'dier and his was cornel o' the regiment!'

'Allooin!' was all Kirsty's answer. Phemy betook herself to entreaty.

'Lat me gang, Kirsty! Please! I'll gang doon o' my knees til ye! I canna bide him to think I've played him fause.'

'He'll play you fause, my lamb, whatever ye du or he think! It maks my hert sair to ken 'at no guid will your hert get o' his.—He s' no see ye the nicht, ony gait!'

Phemy uttered a childish howl, but immediately choked it with a proud sob.

'Ye're hurtin me, Kirsty!' she said, after a minute or so of silence. 'Lat me doon, and I'll gang straucht hame to my father. I promise ye.'

'I'll set ye doon,' answered Kirsty, 'but ye maun come hame to my mither.'

'What'll my father think?'

'I s' no forget yer father,' said Kirsty.

She sent out a strange, piercing cry, set Phemy down, took her hand in hers, and went on, Phemy making no resistance. In about three minutes there was a noise in the heather, and Snootie came rushing to Kirsty. A few moments more and Steenie appeared. He lifted his bonnet to Phemy, and stood waiting his sister's commands.

'Steenie,' she said, 'tak the dog wi' ye, and rin doon to the toon, and tell Mr. Craig 'at Phemy here's comin hame wi' me, to bide the nicht. Ye winna be langer nor ye canna help, and ye'll come to the hoose afore ye gang to the hill?'

'I'll du that, Kirsty. Come, doggie,'

Steenie never went to the town of his own accord, and Kirsty never liked him to go, for the boys were rude, but to-night it would be dark before he reached it.

'Ye're no surely gaun to gar me bide a' nicht!' said Phemy, beginning again to cry.

'I am that—the nicht, and maybe the morn's nicht, and ony nummer o' nichts till we're sure he's awa!' answered Kirsty, resuming her walk.

Phemy wept aloud, but did not try to escape.

'And him gaein to promise this verra nicht 'at he would merry me!' she cried, but through her tears and sobs her words were indistinct.

Kirsty stopped, and faced round on her.

'He promised to merry ye?' she said.

'I didna say that; I said he was gaein to promise the nicht. And noo he'll be gane, and never a word said!'

'He promised, did he, 'at he would promise the nicht?—Eh, Francie! Francie! ye're no yer father's son!—He promised to promise to merry ye! Eh, ye puir gowk o' a bonny lassie!'

'Gien I met him the nicht—ay, it cam to that.'

All Kirsty's inborn motherhood awoke. She turned to her, and, clasping the silly thing in her arms, cried out—

'Puir wee dauty! Gien he hae a hert ony bigger nor Tod Lowrie's (the fox's) ain, he'll come to ye to the Knowe, and say what he has to say!'

'He winna ken whaur I am!' answered Phemy with an agonized burst of dry sobbing.

'Will he no? I s' see to that—and this verra nicht!' exclaimed Kirsty. 'I'll gie him ilka chance o' doin the richt thing!'

'But he'll be angert at me!'

'What for? Did he tell ye no to tell?'

'Ay did he.'

'Waur and waur!' cried Kirsty indignantly. 'He wad hae ye a' in his grup! He tellt ye, nae doobt, 'at ye was the bonniest lassie 'at ever was seen, and bepraised ye 'at yer ain minnie wouldna hae kenned ye! Jist tell me, Phemy, dinna ye think a hantle mair o' yersel sin' he took ye in han'?'

She would have Phemy see that she had gathered from him no figs or grapes, only thorns and thistles. Phemy made no reply: had she not every right to think well of herself? He had never said anything to her on that subject which she was not quite ready to believe.

Kirsty seemed to divine what was passing in her thought.

'A man,' she said, ''at disna tell ye the trowth aboot himsel 's no likly to tell ye the trowth aboot yoursel! Did he tell ye hoo mony lassies he had said the same thing til afore ever he cam to you? It maitered little sae lang as they war lasses as hertless and toom-heidit as himsel, and ower weel used to sic havers; but a lassie like you, 'at never afore hearkent to siclike, she taks them a' for trowth, and the leein sough o' him gars her trow there was never on earth sic a won'erfu cratur as her! What pleesur there can be i' leein 's mair nor I can faddom! Ye're jist a gey bonnie lassie, siclike as mony anither; but gien ye war a' glorious within, like the queen o' Sheba, or whaever she may happen to hae been, there wad be naething to be prood o' i' that, seem ye didna contrive yersel. No ae stane, to bigg yersel, hae ye putten upo' the tap o' anither!'

Phemy was nowise capable of understanding such statement and deduction. If she was lovely, as Frank told her, and as she saw in the glass, why should she not be pleased with herself? If Kirsty had been made like her, she would have been just as vain as she!