Flora Lyndsay Volume I Part 26

"In my case, however, she proved herself to be no prophet. I was to marry a sea-faring gentleman-a tall, black-eyed, pa.s.sionate man-with whom I was to travel to foreign parts, and die in a foreign land. I was to have no children; and he was to be very jealous of me. 'And yet, for all that,' quoth the gipsy, drawing close up to me, and whispering in my ear, but not so low, but that all the rest heard her concluding speech, 'you shall wear the breeches.'"

"She did not bargain that you were to marry a Scotchman," said Lyndsay, laughing.

"Nor did she know, with all her pretended art, that my husband was to be a soldier, fair-haired, and blue-eyed, and that this little la.s.s would give a direct contradiction to her prophecy," and Flora kissed fondly Josey's soft cheek. "Well, I was so tormented about that last clause in my fortune, that I determined it should never come to pa.s.s; that whatever portion of my husband's dress I coveted, I would scrupulously avoid even the insertion of a toe into his nether garments."

"You forget, Flora, your trip to the mountain, without my consent?"

whispered Lyndsay, mischievously.

Flora coloured, stammered, and at last broke into a hearty laugh,-"I was too great a coward, John, to wear them with becoming dignity. If that was wearing the breeches, I am sure I disgraced them with my worse than womanish fears. I will never put them on again."

"My dear wife, I'll take good care you shan't. When a Scotchman has any breeks to wear, he likes to keep them all to himself."

"Ah! we well know what a jealous, monopolising set you are. Let any one attempt to interfere with your rights, and, like your st.u.r.dy national emblem, you are armed to the teeth," said Flora, as she ran off to order tea.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A VISIT TO THE s.h.i.+P OWNERS.

Early in the afternoon of the following day our family party set off to pay their promised visit. The weather was delightful, and Flora was in an ecstasy of high spirits, as they turned from the narrow streets of Leith into a beautiful lane, bounded on each side by hawthorn hedges, redolent with the perfume of the sweetbrier and honeysuckle. The breath of new-mown hay floated on the air, and the lilac and laburnum, in full blossom, waved their graceful boughs above the white palings which surrounded many a pleasant country retreat, in which the tired citizen, after the toils of the day in the busy marts of commerce, returned to enjoy a comfortable dish of tea with his family.

A walk of half-a-mile brought them to the suburban retreat of the worthy Mr. Gregg, and he was at the green garden-gate to receive his guests, his honest, saucy face, radiant with an honest welcome.

"I was fearful ye wud not keep your promise," said he: "my youngsters ha' been on the look-out for you for this hour."

Here he pushed the giggling youngsters forward, in the shape of two bouncing, rosy-faced school-girls, who were playing at bo-peep behind papa's broad blue back, and whose red cheeks grew crimson with blushes as he presented them to his guests.

James Hawke seemed to think the merry girls, who were of his own age, well worth looking at, if you might judge by the roguish sparkling of his fine black eyes, as he bounded off with them to be introduced to the strawberry-beds, and all the other attractions of the worthy citizen's garden.

It was a large, old-fas.h.i.+oned house, which had seen better days, and stood on a steep sloping hill, commanding a beautiful view of Edinburgh.

The grand old mountain loomed in the distance, and the bright Forth, with all its wealth of white sails, glittered in the rays of the declining sun.

"What a delightful situation!" exclaimed Flora, as her eye ranged over the beautiful scene.

"Ay, 'tis a bonnie place," said Mr. Gregg, greatly exalted in his own eyes, as master of the premises;-"an' very healthy for the bairns. I often walked past this old house when I was but a 'prentice lad in the High-street, o' Sunday afternoons, and used to peep through the pales, and admire the old trees, an' fruits, an' flowers; an' I thought if I had sic a braw place of my ain, I should think mysel richer than a crow'ed king. I was a puir callant in those days. It was only a dream, a fairy dream; yet here I am, master of the auld house, and the pretty gardens. Industry and prudence, my dear madam-industry and prudence, has done it all, and converted my air-built castle into substantial brick and stane."

Flora admired the old man's honest pride. She had thought him coa.r.s.e and vulgar, while in reality he was only what the Canadians term _homely_; for his heart was brimful of kindly affections and good feeling. There was not a particle of pretence about him,-of forced growth or refined cultivation; a genuine product of the soil, a respectable man in every sense of the word. Proud of his country, and doubly proud of the wealth he had acquired by honest industry. A little vain and pompous, perhaps, but most self-made men are so: they are apt to overrate the talents which have lifted them out of obscurity, and to fancy that the world estimates their worth and importance by the same standard as they do themselves.

In the house, they were introduced to Mrs. Gregg, who was just such a person as her husband had described: a cheerful, middle-aged woman, very short, very stout, and very hospitable. Early as it was, the tea-table was loaded with good cheer. Large strawberries preserved whole, and that pet sweetmeat of the Scotch, orange marmalade, looked tempting enough, in handsome dishes of cut gla.s.s, flanked by delicious home-made bread and b.u.t.ter, cream, cheese, and sweet curds.

A tall, fine-looking woman, very gaily dressed, was presented to the Lyndsays as Mrs. M'Nish, a married daughter. Her husband was a loud-voiced, large-whiskered consequential-looking young man, whose good humour and admiration of himself, his wife, his father and mother-in-law, and the big house, appeared inexhaustible. His young wife seemed to look upon him as something super-human; and to every remark she made, she appealed to Wullie, as she called him, for his verdict of approval.

Little Josey, who made one of the party, was soon on the most intimate terms with the family group. The young married woman, after bestowing upon her many kisses, pa.s.sed her over to her husband, telling him, with a little laugh, "that she wondered if he would make a good nurse: it was time for him to commence practising." Then she blushed and giggled, and the old man chuckled and rubbed his knees, and the mother looked up with a quiet smile as the jolly bridegroom burst into a loud laugh. "Ay, Jean my woman, it's time enough to think o' troubles when they come." And then he tossed Miss Josey up to the ceiling with such vigorous jerks, that Flora watched his gymnastics in nervous fear lest the child should fall out of his huge grasp and break her neck.

Not so Josey; she never was better pleased in her life; she crowed and screamed with delight, and rewarded her Scotch nurse, by tangling her tiny white fingers in his bushy red whiskers, and pulling his long nose.

"Haut! you're a speretted la.s.s. Is that the way you mean to lead the men?" he said, as he bounced her down into his wife's lap, and told her, "that it was her turn to mak' a trial o' that kind o' wark, an' see how it wud fit: he was verra' sure he sud sune be tired o't." And this speech was received with another giggle, followed by a loud laugh.

The old gentleman was impatient to discuss the important business of tea-drinking; after which he proposed to have the pleasure of showing his visitors the garden, and some other grand sight of which he would not speak now, but which he was certain must be appreciated by every person, who possessed a half-pennyworth of taste.

Flora sat down to the table, wondering what they could be.

Big Wullie stepped to the hall-door, and summoned the children to the evening meal with a loud hallo! which was answered from among the trees by a jovial shout, and in a few minutes the young folks poured into the room, some of them looking rather dull, from their protracted visit to the strawberry-beds.

The fresh air and exercise had given Mrs. Lyndsay an unusual appet.i.te.

She enjoyed her meal, but this did not satisfy the overflowing hospitality of her entertainers, who pressed her in every possible manner to take more, till she felt very much inclined to answer with the poor country girl, "Dear knows, I can't eat another bit."

There was no way of satisfying the entreaties of the Greggs, but by making a retreat from the table, and even then they persisted in declaring their guests had been starved, and would not do the least justice to their good cheer.

This mistaken kindness brought to Flora's mind a story she had heard Lyndsay tell of a merchant of Edinburgh who went to the north of Scotland to visit some country folk who were his near relations. The good people were outrageously glad to see him, and literally killed the fatted calf, and concocted all sorts of country dainties in order to celebrate the advent of their distinguished guest, who it seems, in this case, was in less danger of starving than of being stuffed to death.

Having partaken at dinner of all, and perhaps of rather more than he required, he did his best to resist their further importunities for him to eat _more_, but finding his refusal to do so increased their anxiety to force upon him the good things they had to bestow, he spread a large silk pocket-handkerchief upon his knees, under cover of the table-cloth, into which he contrived dexterously to empty the contents of his plate, whenever the eye of his watchful hostess was off him. At last, even her importunities for him to continue the feast grew fainter, and she wound up by exclaiming, "You ha' made a verra puir dinner, Sir; ye ha' just eaten nothing ava'."

At this speech, hardly able to keep his gravity, he placed his handkerchief upon the table, and displayed its contents of fish, flesh, fowl, and confectionaries, to his astonished entertainers, exclaiming, as he did so, "My dear Madam, think what would have become of me, had I eaten all this!"

It was no feast of reason, at the honest Greggs; the entertainment was of the most animal kind, and Flora felt relieved when it was over, and the whole party issued once more into the pure air.

She was just hastening to a parterre, gay with roses, to rifle some of its sweets, when the old gentleman came panting hard upon her track. "Ye must come an' see my raree-show, before the sun gangs doun," he cried; and Flora turned and followed him back into the house. In the hall the whole family party were collected.

"I'll gang first, father, and open the door," cried a merry boy of fourteen, and beckoning to Jim, they both clattered after each other up the old-fas.h.i.+oned stairs.

Old houses in Edinburgh and its vicinity are so high, one would think the people in those days wished to build among the stars; at least to emulate the far-famed wonders of that language-confounding tower, which caused the first emigration, by scattering the people over the face of the earth.

They went up, and up, and up, until there seemed no end to the broad, short steps. On the last flight, which led to the roof, the staircase had so greatly contracted its proportions, that fat Mr. Gregg could scarcely force himself up it, and he so completely obscured the light which peered down upon them from a small trap-door, opening upon the leads, that Flora, who followed him, found herself in a dim twilight, and expected every moment the panting mountain, which had come between her and the sky, would lose the centre of gravity, and suffocate her in its fall.

No such tragic misfortune, however, occurred. The old gentleman forced himself, after much squeezing and puffing off steam, through the narrow aperture, and very gallantly lent a hand to a.s.sist Flora on to the leads.

"This is a strait gate, on a narrow way," he cried. "But tell me, if it does na' gie ye a glimpse o' heaven?"

The old man was right. Flora stood entranced, as it were, with the glorious spectacle which burst upon her sight, the moment she stepped upon the roof of that old house. Edinburgh, and the world of beauty that lies around it, lay at her feet, bathed in the golden light of a gorgeous June sunset. To those who have beheld that astonis.h.i.+ng panorama, all description must prove abortive. It is a sight to be daguerreotyped upon the heart.

"Weel, was it not worth toiling up yon weary stair, to get sic a glimpse as that, of the brave auld town?" said honest P. Gregg. "I'm jest thinkin' I must enlarge the stair, or diminish mysel, before I can venture through that narrow pa.s.s again. An', my dear leddy, I can do neither the one nor the other. So this mayhap may be my last glint o'

the bonnie auld place."

Then he went on, after his quaint fas.h.i.+on, to point out to Mistress Lyndsay all the celebrated spots in the neighbourhood, which every Scot knows by heart, and Flora was so much amused and interested by his narration, that she was sorry when the deepening shades of approaching night warned the old man that it required daylight to enable him to descend the narrow stair, and they reluctantly left the scene.

CHAPTER XXV.

FLORA'S DINNER.

Lyndsay had some literary friends in Edinburgh, whose kindly intercourse greatly enhanced the pleasure of a month's residence near the metropolis of Scotland. The foremost among these was M--, the poet, who, like Lyndsay, was a native of the Orkney Islands. Having been entertained at the house of this gentleman, he naturally wished to return his courtesy.