VI
SWEETS TO THE SWEETS
I HAD never dreamed I would live to see masel' keepin' appintments wi' twa separate young men on the same night, and if I hadna chanced to be born modest I might ha'e let masel' get puffed up wi' thinkin' on ma popularity. A' the same, I would as soon think o' refusin' a respectable compliment as I would a new laid egg, both o' which was scarce owin' to the war.
Like the girl in a story I had been readin', I lingered ower ma toilet that Sunday afternune. I was glad it was summer time, and I could wear ma pink frock, which was new laundried and sweet-smellin'. When I looked at masel' in the glass, I couldna but confess that I had seen uglier. I doubt ma fayther would ha'e had a word to say aboot vanity, especially as I was bound first for the Kirk, but I ken ma mither would ha'e smiled and smoothed him doon. Ma mither's bonny yet, though fat.
The cook wagged her head when she seen me gaun oot, and told me I would catch ma death o' cauld frae the sea air, and speired if I would tak' a cup o' double-strong cocoa to ma supper.
So I had to tell her I wouldna be in for ma supper, and left her throwin' up her hands and cryin': "Sirs, the day! In ma youth I aye was in for ma supper! "
I near said: "And ye look it!"—but she's no' a bad auld thing, and I had to thank her for an extra night oot.
I needna trouble ye wi' an account o' the sermon. I took a note o' the text so that I could report it to ma fayther; he aye likes to ken. I would say it was a vera guid sermon on the whole, though rayther complicated for ma taste; the bits o' poetry in it was far frae catchy. Hooever, I'll admit I wasna an extra attentive listener that day; there was a young man in the gallery which behove hissel' rael badly, squintin' at me every minute and tryin' to catch ma eye, which I'm glad to say he didna manage often. Still, that wasna the only thing to worry me. I was feart I would find Frederick waitin' for me when the Kirk skailed. But after a', he wasna there. Somehow, I wasna as pleased as I fancied I would ha'e been. I would ha'e liked him to be there, but no' to see me. Aweel, as ma fayther says, "We canna expect Providence to oblige us both ways."
I strolled along the shore road till I cam' to the Sunnyburn road, appearin' to be interested in naething but the Firth o' Clyde, which was lookin' as nice as ever I seen it. Several young men favoured me wi' approvin' glances, which was not returned.
As I gaed up the Sunnyburn Road, I had a keek through the hedge o' the garden o' "Seaview," and spied the Colonel sittin' on a seat wi' Miss Tinto. I could ha'e heaved a turnip at the auld blighter! Even the scratch on his nose, which was still red, had failed to touch his faithless heart and turn his thoughts to love's young dream o' long ago! I put oot ma tongue at him, and went on ma way. But next minute, takin' another keek, I spied Mr. Parkins in the summer hoose, snoozin' as usual. "Miserable wretch!" I says to him ablow ma breath, "can ye no' think shame to live on your wife the way ye're daein'—loafin' aboot day after day, and lettin' her work like a slave? Oh, that a bumbee would sting that neb o' yours and mak' ye jump!"
I waited to see if ma prayer would be granted, but evidently none o' the numerous bumbees was sick o' life, and at last I walked on, wonderin' if ma own fayther and mither was the only pair in the world to be happy though married. I never was as near vowin' to be single for a' eternity.
The Sunnyburn Road has fine high hedges, and it never runs straight for long. I was glad o' that, for it's embrassin' when ye catch sight o' a chap aboot a mile awa' on a straight, flat road. I believe it's worse for the chap, for girls is cleverer at pretendin' they're blin' and congealin' their feelin's; but the chap, as a rule, commences to smile and lifts his hat far ower early, and by the time he comes up to ye, he jist looks silly—and kens it, which causes him to look sillier.
But, to tell ye the truth, I didna recognise the porter when he cam' round a corner, till I noticed his game leg. He was sich a swell in a bright broon suit and a pink tie, and he had a new yellowish-green golfin' bonnet wi' a skep that would ha'e kept his feet dry if it had been rainin'.
I canna say that ma colour didna deepen slightly, like the girl's I had been readin' aboot, but a tomato would ha'e been a ghost alongside him. Still, he wasna so backward when it cam' to speakin'.
"It's yoursel' at last," says he. "I was fearin' I would ha'e to gi'e up hope—been up and doon this road a score o' times. 'Deed and I'm glad to see ye, Jemima! And hoo are ye keepin'?"
"Fairly weel, thank ye," I says, "and I'll be obliged if ye'll let go ma hand, no' to mention ma best glove."
He didna look so happy then, and he stood there as dumb as a telegraph pole.
After a while I says:—
"It's a fine evenin', and this is a bonny spot, but I ha'e nae notion o' becomin' rooted to it."
"Will ye come for a walk?" he says.
"If I'm back here in half an hour."
"Is that a'?" he cries.
"Three-quarters at the ootside."
We started to walk but he was still lookin' glum.
"Hoo's the railway?" I asks, thinkin' to cheer him.
"Aw, dinna speak aboot the railway," he says. "It's nae job for a chap wi' ambeetion. Hoo are ye gettin' on at 'Seaview'?"
"Fine!"
That seemed to surprise him.
"Are ye no' terrible hard wrought?" he enquires.
"I canna complain when the mistress works hard hersel'," says I.
"And what aboot the boarders? Are they a' in ill-health?" he asks.
"They're a' a bit daft, I think, but no' unhealthy."
"Mad?" he cries.
"Ay, but no' dangerous,"
He shook his head.
"I doubt ye'll no' be stoppin' another month."
"I couldna say."
After that he was dumb till we cam' to a seat on the roadside.
"Ye'll be needin' a rest," he says.
"They're braw shoes ye've got on," I remarks.
"Oh, criffens!" says he, "I'll no' deny they're hurtin' me."
"Then we'll sit doon," I says kindly. "I couldna bear to see a monkey sufferin'."
"Ye've a tender heart," says he, gaun eagerly to the seat.
He sat that close I had to tell him to leave me room to grow. He shifted aboot an inch awa', and groaned.
It wasna vera excitin', and, to tell ye the truth, I was wonderin' when I was gaun to see the colour o' his chocolates—no' that I'm greedy; only a promise is a promise, and I was gettin' hungry.
But there was nae word o' them or o' onything else. When he had groaned for aboot the tenth time, I says:—
"Is't your feet?"
"Oh, no!" says he. "It's no' ma feet, Jemima, though they're bad enough. Oh, dear!"
I didna like to speir what it was, but I couldna help wonderin' if he had devoured a' the chocolates afore ma arrival, and was noo troubled by mair nor his conscience.
"Na, it's no' ma feet," he sighs again.
"Weel, that's a mercy," says I.
For a while he sat like a statue glowerin' at the grass; then he says suddenly:—
"Jemima!"
"What's ado?" says I.
"I hope ye believe it's no' ma feet. Dae ye?"
I was gettin' fed up, and I told him ma time had come.
"Oh, dinna gang," he says, and took a grip o' ma hand.
I pulled it frae him, sayin':—
"Touch not, taste not, handle not," and got up.
He cam' after me, cryin':—
"Dinna gang yet. I want to speak to ye."
But I kept movin'.
"I ken the road back," I says.
"Are ye offended?" he asks, wi' a face like a fiddle. "Oh, Jemima, I never seen a girl I liked as weel as you!"
This was more excitin', but I merely replies:—
"Cheer up! Ye're young yet!"
"I've seen ye but the twicet," says he, so red I was vexed for him; "but it was—it was love at first sight."
"Oh, help!" says I, and I doubt I was red masel'.
Jist then, wha should come up ahint us but the station master and his wife. I was glad to see them. I stuck close to them till we cam' to "Seaview." I waited in the garden till they was oot o' sight, and then I made tracks for the cottage o' Frederick's mither.
She's an extraor'uary kind woman, and I was glad to be in her hoose, though Frederick was awfu' quiet that night. It was a nice supper, and he cracked aboot a heap o' things, but I noticed, as I had done the other times, that neither o' them ever said a word aboot the war. I can be discreet when I like, and I never mentioned it either.
Aweel, when it was time to gang, Frederick escorted me doon to "Seaview." I'm no' sure that I wouldna ha'e told him wha's company I had been in that evening if he had speired—but he didna.
"I've been wonderin'," says he at last, "hoo the Colonel cam' by that mark on his nose. I canna think it was Mrs. Beadle."
"Dae ye think it was me?" says I.
He gi'ed a bit laugh.
"I've a guid mind to tell ye, jist to prove ye was wrang aboot him ha'ein' a better nature," I says.
And I told him. He was fair amused. "Keep on tryin', Jemima," he says. "Ye ha'ena proved onything except that roses ha'e thorns. Has he said onything to Mrs. Parkins? "
"Ay; he said he had got a pin in his pillow—the auld coward! She was upset, puir body."
"He wasna a coward in his day," says Frederick, "and maybe the falsehood has saved ye trouble, Jemima,"—and then we kept argufyin' till we cam' to "Seaview."
I bid him a cauld guidnicht.
Inside I found the cook a' smiles, and at first I thought she was off her onion. But she made the cocoa in the ordinar' way and gi'ed me a cup withoot ony nonsense.
Then she says:—
"What dae ye think? I've had an adventure this night!"
"An adventure!" says I. "Ha'e ye been doon at the wilks after a'?"
"Listen!" she says. "I was sittin' here, in this vera chair, aboot half past eight, thinkin' aboot ma health, and no' vera happy, when I heard a wee noise at the window. Bein' daylight, I wasna feart, and gaed ower and opened. There was naebody there, but a parcel was lyin' on the sill. On the paper was wrote: 'With fond love from a true admirer.' And inside was a braw box o' chocolates! Was that no' a fine adventure?"
"'Deed, ay!" I says, feelin' kin' o' dizzy. "Was they nice ones?"
"Maistly scrumptious. Aboot a dozen was ower hard for me, but maybe your teeth'll manage them—eh?" And she gi'ed me them done up in a bit o' newspaper. "Noo I must get ma night's rest," she says, and gaed off, wi' her cocoa, to her room.
There is times when it's nae use sayin' onything.