Wi’ a kyte like a bailie’s, shug shugging before him;
Wi’ a face like the moon, sober sonsy, and douce,
And a back, for its breadth, like the side o’ a house!
And Jessie laughed, not at all indisposed to think of her husband in such prosperous circumstances. There is always a little spice of worldly economy, on both sides, in these country marriages. As I do not think that love can be supported without porridge and milk, I regard such a state of things in a favourable light. Pastorella with a crook, and Strephon with a cracked lute, are all very well in Arcadia and in Don Quixote’s imagination; but in real life, individuals so constituted for doing nothing would bring both themselves and their sheep to grief. I am sure that Jessie would have married Jock even had he been in less prosperous circumstances; but perhaps she would not have done so with so much confident alacrity. This in passing.
Jessie hummed the lines above quoted, and ended with another laugh. But Mrs. Cameron bit her lips to keep her vexation within bounds, as she said, sharply:
“The deil’s in the bairn, I’m thinking! Awa’ wi’ your douce dreams, Jessie. Ye’ll marry nae Jock till ye’re aulder and wiser. You’re owre young.”
Jessie started, surprised less by the words themselves than by the unusual tone in which they were uttered. She fixed her eyes inquiringly on her stepmother, who crimsoned to the temples.
“Owre young, mither! Ye hae said yoursel’—”
“I hae said naething o’ the sort, and I’m no’ gaun to gang demented and say it now.”
“But, mither—”
“Dinna ‘but’ me, but mind what I’m telling ye. Marry Jock if you please, but dinna blame me if ye repent o’t. Tak’ my warning, and hae naething to dae wi’ the minister till Jock’s richer and you’re aulder. Dinna gang the lang gait wi’ him. Mind that, bairn, or ye’ll repent o’t. Na, na! tell me nane o’ your nonsense; but be wise-like, and wait a wee. He’s as puir as Lazarus, in spite o’ a’ ye hae said.”
Jessie made no answer, but her heart throbbed quickly in her bosom, and her head began to swim. This outburst of her step-mother was beyond her simple comprehension. She left the house to look after the cow, trying hard to fathom the mystery. Outside the door she saw her lover, who was about to open business for the day. He nodded to her with a merry smile from the opposite side of the way, and she answered the greeting with as pleasant a look as possible. She passed round to the back of the cottage, keeping her tears down with an effort; but when fairly out of sight she began to weep bitterly. She grew calmer by and by, as she walked on in the fresh morning; and at last the tears ceased altogether, leaving a residuum of bitter determined thoughts.
“She’s no’ my ain mither, and she’s gaun clean daft” (thus ran the girl’s reflections). “I ken o’ naething that she’s done for me or mine; and I’m no’ bound to mak’ mysel’ miserable for her sake. What if she did marry my faither; that’s nae reason that she should undae my faither’s dochter. Na, na! I’ll no’ lose my lad by waiting and waiting for her bidding! Jock wants a wife, I ken, and maybe he might tak’ up wi’ another lass if I kept him on the wrang side. Na, na! mither. I’m auld enough to ken my ain gait without your bidding.”
As people are bound to think in the language in which they speak, I give the substance of Jessie’s thoughts in the Doric familiar to her tongue. Those thoughts were not in the strict spirit of ethics, perhaps; but they were very natural, for all that. Poor lassie! could she have seen a very little bit into the future, she would have changed her tactics. There was a demon in that dull-eyed step-mother of hers, which time and opportunity were to develop in all its quaint proportions.
The reader has probably guessed the truth. Mrs. Cameron was still a young and good-looking woman; and if her dull blood was moved to love anything or anybody—it was to love John Macintyre the blacksmith. She has practised all her arts on him—she had done all she could to catch his eye; but Jock never so much as dreamed of her in the character of a wife. He noticed none of her hints and advances; nor did Jessie. Perhaps he was blinded a little by the mere fact that she was Jessie’s mother; a fact which would unconsciously be suggestive of age and undemonstrative matronhood. This indifference had the effect of making the smouldering passion flash out in bitter anger and fierce sin. The dull-eyed woman was not beaten yet; and, if she herself could not marry him, had not the slightest intention of allowing Jessie to take her place.
When Jessie returned to the house, her face was very calm and pale, and her lips were tightly clenched. She was a Scotch girl, with a will of her own, and she had made up her mind to assert her right to the matrimonial goods she coveted. She found Mrs. Cameron quite calm and listless, as if nothing very important had occurred.
“Hae ye thought o’ my words, Jessie?” said the dull-eyed woman.
The girl faced about, and eyed the speaker with a look as calm as ice.
“Ay, woman!” she said firmly; “I hae thocht o’ your words, and they’re fause and wrangfu’ words: I’ll hae nae mair o’ them. You’re no’ my ain mither, and you’re no’ just in your clean senses. I’ll marry Jock Macintyre when he says the word, whether ye will it or no’. He’s the lad o’ my heart; I’ll no’ lose him. I hae said it, woman, and I’ll stand by it tho’ I dee!”
This, to say the least of it, was not respectful; but Jessie’s blood was up, and she could not mince the matter. Mrs. Cameron made a movement, as if she would have risen and struck the girl; but she conquered the impulse and relapsed into her old self. She repeated some of her former words quite coldly; but that was all. Thus the matter ended for the time being.
Jessie told Jock of this unaccountable whim of her step-mother; but he made light of it. It did not interfere with their plans, though the girl felt rather uneasy at breaking the filial law, and could not quite conquer her scruples by the sophism that Mrs. Cameron was her relation only by marriage. She was determined, however. The
