CHAPTER IX.
"Och, wumman, I'm no' heedin' aboot Mrs. M'Ostrich an' her pairty," said John, as he folded a strip of newspaper with which to light his pipe.
"Aw, but ye'll gang, John?" said Lizzie, persuasively.
"Are ye wantin' to gang yersel'?"
"Weel, ye see, it's no' as if I wis oot every ither nicht, an'"
"Dod, then, we'll jist gang. I doot I whiles furget ye're in the hoose a' day; an' ye've had a gey sair time wi' wee Jeannie fur twa-three weeks. Ay, we'll jist gang."
Lizzie looked pleased. "When Mrs. M'Ostrich wis in this mornin' to get the len' o' ma bew vazes, an' the mauve tidy wi' the yella paurrit on it, an' a wheen ither things, she says to me, says she: 'Mrs. Robinson, ye're weel aff wi' yer man'; and then she says"
"Hoots!" interrupted John, "I'm thinkin' Mrs. M'Ostrich is an auld blether."
"Auld blethers whiles says a true word," observed his wife. Then, fearing perhaps she was expressing too much in the way of sentiment, she became suddenly practical. "I've a braw sark ready fur ye. I done it up the day."
"Am I to pit on ma guid claes?"
"Oh ay, John."
"But no' a staun'-up collar?"
"Aw, John! An' I've a beauty jist waitin' fur ye. Ye luk that smairt in a staun'-up collar. I wis thinkin' o' that when I wis ernin' it, an' if ye had jist seen hoo carefu'"
"Ach, Lizzie, ye get ower me every time! If ye wis tellin' me to gang to Mrs. M'Ostrich's pairty wi' yin o' wee Jeannie's rid flannen goonies on, I wud jist ha'e to dae 't!"
"Havers!" cried his wife, laughing the laugh of a woman who gains her point. "We'd best be gettin' ready shin."
"But whit aboot the weans?" asked John.
"Macgreegor's comin' wi' you an' me. Mrs. M'Ostrich said we wis to bring him, fur I tell 't her I wis sweirt to leave him in the hoose."
"That's guid!" said her husband, with a smile of satisfaction. "Macgreegor likes pairties."
"I hope he'll no' affront us, John."
"Aw, the wean's fine, Lizzie. An' whit aboot wee Jeannie?"
"She'll sleep soon, an' Mrs. M'Faurlan's comin' to sit in the hoose till we get back."
"I see ye've arranged it a'," he said, good-humoredly. "Whit wud ye ha'e dune if I had said I wudna gang?"
"Ah, but I kent ye wud gang.... Ye micht rin doon the stair the noo an' get a haud o' Macgreegor. He's ootbye playin' wi' Wullie Thomson. They've baith got sookers, an' they like fine when the streets is kin' o' wat. I dinna think sookers is vera nice things to play wi'."
"I yinst had yin masel', an' I near got the nick for pu'in' the stanes oot the streets.... Weel, I'll awa' an' see efter Macgreegor."
Later in the evening the trio set out for the abode of Mrs. M'Ostrich, who, as Lizzie was wont to remark, "hadna muckle in her hoose, puir thing, but wis that fond o' comp'ny." Mrs. M'Ostrich, however, never had the least hesitation in borrowing from her friends any decorative article she did not possess, so that her little parlor on the occasion of one of her parties was decorated in quite gorgeous style. Her chief trouble was her husband, who, being a baker, retired to the kitchen bed early in the evening, and snored with such vigor and enthusiasm that the company in the other room heard him distinctly. Mrs. M'Ostrich had tried many devices, including that of a clothes-pin jammed on the snorer's proboscis, but all without avail. In the case of the clothes-pin, Mr. M'Ostrich, who had meekly submitted to its being fixed, had shortly after suffered from a sort of nightmare, and, half awake, had startled a party in the parlor by frantic beatings on the wall and weird yellings to the effect that some one was trying to suffocate him. After that he was allowed to snore in peace, and Mrs. M'Ostrich had to explain to any new visitors the meaning of the disturbance. This she did to John and Lizzie immediately on their arrival.
They were the last of the guests to appear, the six others being already seated round the parlor, doing a little talking and a good deal of staring at the decorations, the number and glory of which seemed to have quite paralyzed a little woman who sat in the window.
"Maw," whispered Macgregor, who had been accommodated with a hassock at his mother's feet, "thon bew vazes is awfu' like oor yins."
"Whisht!" said Lizzie.... "As ye wis sayin', Mrs. M'Ostrich"
"Maw, there a tidy wi' a yella paurrit on thon"
"Whisht, Macgreegor!" said Lizzie, giving her son a severe look.
"He's a shairp laddie," observed Mrs. M'Ostrich, who did not really mind, so long as her guests recognized only their own particular contributions to the grandeur of her surroundings.
"Awa' an' sit aside yer paw, Macgreegor," said Lizzie.... "John, see if you can keep Macgreegor quate."
The boy dumped his hassock over the feet of two of the company, and squatted beside his father. He felt rather out of his element among so many adults, most of them elderly, and he was disturbed at seeing his father looking so stiff and solemn.
A dreary half-hour went by, at the end of which he could keep silence no longer.
"Paw," he said to his parent, who was listening conscientiously to the long story of a Mrs. Bowley concerning her husband's baldness—"paw, whit's that noise?"
"Aw, never heed, ma mannie," replied John, aware that the noise proceeded from the slumbering Mr. M'Ostrich. "It's jist a noise."
"It's awfu' like a big grumphy, paw."
"Sh! Ye're no' to speak the noo."
"If I had a big grumphy"
"Whit's the laddie sayin'?" inquired Mrs. Bowley, smiling so kindly that Macgregor accepted her as a friend there and then.
"It's a grumphy," he explained, confidentially. "Dae ye no' hear it?"
Mrs. Bowley laughed, and patted his head. "Ye mauna speak aboot grumphies the noo, dearie," she whispered. "Here's a bit sweetie fur ye."
Macgregor put the dainty in his mouth, and drew the hassock a trifle nearer to Mrs. Bowley. "Ye're awfu' kind," he said, in a hoarse undertone, and he and the good lady entertained each other for quite a long time, much to John's relief.
About half-past nine the company drew as near to the oval table as their numbers permitted, and did justice to the light refreshments which the hostess had provided. Macgregor, ignoring his mother's glances, and evidently forgetting there was such a fluid in the world as castor-oil, punished the pastry with the utmost severity, and consumed two whole bottles of lemonade.
"It's an awfu' nice pairty, paw," he whispered, when the chairs had been put back to the walls. "Are we gaun hame noo?"
Before John could reply, Mrs. M'Ostrich requested the attention of the company to a song by Mr. Pumpherston. All eyes were turned on a large, middle-aged man in one corner of the room, who wiped his brow repeatedly, and appeared very uneasy.
"Come awa', Mr. Pumpherston," said Mrs. M'Ostrich, encouragingly. "Jist ony sang ye like. Ye needna be feart. We're nane o' us musical crickets."
"Ay, come awa', Mr. Pumpherston," murmured several of the guests, clapping their hands.
"Is he a comic, paw?" inquired Macgregor.
"Whisht!" said Lizzie, sighting danger ahead, and giving John, beside whom she was now sitting, a nudge with her elbow.
Mr. Pumpherston shuffled his chair an inch forward, fixed his eyes on the ceiling, and hummed, "Do, me, so, do, soh, me, do."
"Ay, he's a comic!" said Macgregor, in a delighted whisper.
Some one sniggered, and John gently but firmly put his hand over his son's mouth.
"He's jist lukin' fur the key, as it were," observed Mrs. Pumpherston, the little lady who had been overcome by Mrs. M'Ostrich's parlor decorations. "He's whiles gey slow at catchin' the richt key, but he'll be gettin' it in a wee," she added, as her husband continued his "Do, me, so, do, soh, me, do," to the intense enjoyment of Macgregor, who quaked on the hassock in enforced silence.
At last Mr. Pumpherston started "Ye Banks and Braes," but when half through the first verse was compelled to stop and make search for a lower key.
"It's aye the way wi' him," explained his wife. "But when yinst he gets the richt key he sings it weel eneugh, if he disna furget the words.... Ha'e ye got the richt key noo, ordie?"
"I wis near it; but ye've pit me aff it. But I'll get it yet," quoth Mr. Pumpherston, determinedly. And he did get it eventually, and regaled the company in a voice surprisingly small for such a large man.
Macgregor was much disappointed, if not indignant, at being deceived, as he believed, by Mr. Pumpherston; but presently, feeling drowsy, he climbed into his father's arms and dropped into a peaceful little doze. So he rested while several guests contributed songs, not all, by the way, such efforts as that of Mr. Pumpherston.
"Lizzie and John were congratulating themselves upon their son's good behavior during the evening, and Mrs. Bowley and another lady had just finished telling them what a "braw laddie" they were so fortunate as to possess, when Macgregor awoke, rubbed his eyes, and stared about him.
"Puir mannie, he's jist deid wi' sleep," remarked kindly Mrs. Bowley.
"He is that," assented the other lady. "Are ye wearit, dearie?"
"There's no' mony weans wud behave theirsel's like him," observed Mrs. M'Ostrich.
Mrs. Pumpherston said nothing, but smiled sourly. Probably the youngster's opinion that her husband was a "comic" still rankled.
"It's time ye wis hame, Macgreegor," said Lizzie, rising.
But Macgregor heard none of the foregoing observations. With a dreamy look in his eyes, he was listening intently. "I hear it, I hear it," he muttered.
"He's no' hauf wauken yet," Mrs. M'Ostrich.
"Whit dae ye hear, daurlin'?" inquired Mrs. Bowley.
Macgregor rubbed his eyes again. "I hear it!... It's in the hoose!... It's ben the hoose!... Paw, tak' me ben till I see the big grumphy!"
For a moment there was a dead silence. But laughter was inevitable. Poor Mrs. M'Ostrich, her face crimson, had to join in, but, as Mrs. Bowley remarked to a friend next day, she was evidently "sair pit oot."
As for Lizzie, after a hasty apology and good-bye, she hurried John from the house, and never opened her mouth till they were in their own kitchen. On the departure of Mrs. M'Farlane, who had taken good care of wee Jeannie, Macgregor, three parts asleep, was put to bed with scant ceremony, after which Lizzie collapsed into a chair and looked long at her husband.
"Weel?" she said, at last.
"Weel, Lizzie?" he returned, trying to smile. "Ye've had yer nicht oot."
"Ay. An' it's the last!"
"Toots, havers!"
"John, I've been affrontit afore, but never like the nicht. Macgreegor"
"Aw, the wean didna mean ony hairm. He sud ha'e been tell 't aboot Mrs. M'Ostrich's man."
"Oh, ye've aye an excuse fur Macgreegor. I'm—I'm naebody!"
"Lizzie, wumman!" He got up and went beside her. "Ye're jist a boney wee blether."
"Ah, I'm no' to be cajoled that wey, John."
John said nothing; but he tried several other ways, and did succeed in "cajoling" her at last. She heaved a great sigh and smiled back at him.
"But, dearie, whit are we to dae wi' the wean?" she asked.
"Guid kens," said John.
And suddenly they both fell a-laughing.