Kitabı oku: «White Heather: A Novel (Volume 2 of 3)», sayfa 11

CHAPTER XIV
ENTANGLEMENTS

And then came along the great evening on which the first of Ronald's songs that Mr. Jaap had set to music was to be sung at the Harmony Club. Ronald had unluckily got into the way of going a good deal to that club. It was a relief from weary days and vain regrets; it was a way of escape from the too profuse favours that Kate Menzies wished to shower upon him. Moreover, he had become very popular there. His laugh was hearty; his jokes and sarcasms were always good-natured; he could drink with the best without getting quarrelsome. His acquaintanceship rapidly extended; his society was eagerly bid for, in the rough-and-ready fashion that prevails towards midnight; and long after the club was closed certain of these boon-companions would 'keep it up' in this or the other bachelor's lodgings, while through the open window there rang out into the empty street the oft-repeated chorus —

 
'We are na fou', we're nae that fou',
But just a drappie in our e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,
And aye we'll taste the barky bree!'
 

The night-time seemed to go by so easily; the daytime was so slow. He still did his best, it is true, to get on with this work that had so completely lost all its fascination for him; and he tried hard to banish dreams. For one thing, he had gathered together all the fragments of verse he had written about Meenie, and had added thereto the little sketch of Inver-Mudal she had given him; and that parcel he had resolutely locked away, so that he should no longer be tempted to waste the hours in idle musings, and in useless catechising of himself as to how he came to be in Glasgow at all. He had forborne to ask from Maggie the answer that Meenie had sent to her letter. In truth, there were many such; for there was almost a constant correspondence between these two; and as the chief subject of Maggie's writings was always and ever Ronald, there were no doubt references to him in the replies that came from Inver-Mudal. But he only heard vaguely of these; he did not call often at his brother's house; and he grew to imagine that the next definite news he would hear about Meenie would be to the effect that she had been sent to live with the Stuarts of Glengask, with a view to her possible marriage with some person in their rank of life.

There was a goodly to-do at the Harmony Club on the evening of the production of the new song; for Ronald, as has been said, was much of a favourite; and his friends declared that if Jaap's music was at all up to the mark, then the new piece would be placed on the standard and permanent list. Mr. Jaap's little circle, on the other hand, who had heard the air, were convinced that the refrain would be caught at once; and as the success of the song seemed thus secure, Mrs. Menzies had resolved to celebrate the occasion by a supper after the performance, and Jimmy Laidlaw had presented her, for that purpose, with some game which he declared was of his own shooting.

'What's the use o' making such a fuss about nothing?' Ronald grumbled.

'What?' retorted the big skipper facetiously. 'Naething? Is bringing out a new poet naething?'

Now this drinking song, as it turned out, was a very curious kind of drinking song. Observe that it was written by a young fellow of eight-and-twenty; of splendid physique, and of as yet untouched nerve, who could not possibly have had wide experience of the vanities and disappointments of human life. What iron had entered into his soul, then, that a gay and joyous drinking song should have been written in this fashion? —

 
Good friends and neighbours, life is short,
And man, they say, is made to mourn;
Dame Fortune makes us all her sport,
And laughs our very best to scorn:
Well, well; we'll have, if that be so,
A merry glass before we go.
 
 
The blue-eyed lass will change her mind,
And give her kisses otherwhere;
And she'll be cruel that was kind,
And pass you by with but a stare:
Well, well; we'll have, if that be so,
A merry glass before we go.
 
 
The silly laddie sits and fills
Wi' dreams and schemes the first o' life;
And then comes heap on heap o' ills,
And squalling bairns and scolding wife:
Well, well; we'll have, if that be so,
A merry glass before we go.
 
 
Come stir the fire and make us warm;
The night without is dark and wet;
An hour or twa 'twill do nae harm
The dints o' fortune to forget:
So now will have, come weal or woe,
Another glass before we go.
 
 
To bonny lasses, honest blades,
We'll up and give a hearty cheer;
Contention is the worst of trades —
We drink their health, both far and near:
And so we'll have, come weal or woe,
Another glass before we go.
 
 
And here's ourselves! – no much to boast;
For man's a wean that lives and learns;
And some win hame, and some are lost;
But still – we're all John Thomson's bairns!
So here, your hand! – come weal or woe,
Another glass before we go!
 

'And some win hame, and some are lost' – this was a curious note to strike in a bacchanalian song; but of course in that atmosphere of tobacco and whisky and loud-voiced merriment such minor touches were altogether unnoticed.

'Gentlemen,' called out the rubicund chairman, rapping on the table, 'silence, if you please. Mr. Aikman is about to favour us with a new song written by our recently-elected member, Mr. Ronald Strang, the music by our old friend Mr. Jaap. Silence – silence, if you please.'

Mr. Aikman, who was a melancholy-looking youth, with a white face, straw-coloured hair, and almost colourless eyes, stepped on to the platform, and after the accompanist had played a few bars of prelude, began the song. Feeble as the young man looked, he had, notwithstanding, a powerful baritone voice; and the air was simple, with a well-marked swing in it; so that the refrain – at first rather uncertain and experimental – became after the first verse more and more general, until it may be said that the whole room formed the chorus. And from the very beginning it was clear that the new song was going to be a great success. Any undercurrent of reflection – or even of sadness – there might be in it was not perceived at all by this roaring assemblage; the refrain was the practical and actual thing; and when once they had fairly grasped the air, they sang the chorus with a will. Nay, amid the loud burst of applause that followed the last verse came numerous cries for an encore; and these increased until the whole room was clamorous; and then the pale-faced youth had to step back on to the platform and get through all of the verses again.

 
'So here, your hand! – come weal or woe,
Another glass before we go!'
 

roared the big skipper and Jimmy Laidlaw with the best of them; and then in the renewed thunder of cheering that followed —

'Man, I wish Kate Menzies was here,' said the one; and —

'Your health, Ronald, lad; ye've done the trick this time,' said the other.

'Gentlemen,' said the chairman, again calling them to silence, 'I propose that the thanks of the club be given to these two members whom I have named, and who have kindly allowed us to place this capital song on our permanent list.'

'I second that, Mr. Chairman,' said a little, round, fat man, with a beaming countenance and a bald head; 'and I propose that we sing that song every night just afore we leave.'

But this last suggestion was drowned amidst laughter and cries of dissent. 'What? – instead of "Auld Lang Syne"?' 'Ye're daft, John Campbell.' 'Would ye hae the ghost o' Robbie Burns turning up?' Indeed, the chairman had to interpose and suavely say that while the song they had just heard would bring any such pleasant evenings as they spent together to an appropriate close, still, they would not disturb established precedent; there would be many occasions, he hoped, for them to hear this production of two of their most talented members.

In the interval of noise and talk and laughter that followed, it seemed to Ronald that half the people in the hall wanted him to drink with them. Fame came to him in the shape of unlimited proffers of glasses of whisky; and he experienced so much of the delight of having become a public character as consisted in absolute strangers assuming the right to make his acquaintance off-hand. Of course they were all members of the same club; and in no case was very strict etiquette observed within these four walls; nevertheless Ronald found that he had immediately and indefinitely enlarged the circle of his acquaintance; and that this meant drink.

'Another glass?' he said, to one of those strangers who had thus casually strolled up to the table where he sate. 'My good friend, there was nothing said in that wretched song about a caskful. I've had too many other ones already.'

However, relief came; the chairman hammered on the table; the business of the evening was resumed; and the skipper, Jaap, Laidlaw, and Ronald were left to themselves.

Now there is no doubt that this little circle of friends was highly elated over the success of the new song; and Ronald had been pleased enough to hear the words he had written so quickly caught up and echoed by that, to him, big assemblage. Probably, too, they had all of them, in the enthusiasm of the moment, been somewhat liberal in their cups; at all events, a little later on in the evening, when Jimmy Laidlaw stormily demanded that Ronald should sing a song from the platform – to show them what East Lothian could do, as Kate Menzies had said – Ronald did not at once, as usual, shrink from the thought of facing so large an audience. It was the question of the accompaniment, he said. He had had no practice in singing to a piano. He would put the man out. Why should he not sing here – if sing he must – at the table where they were sitting? That was what he was used to; he had no skill in keeping correct time; he would only bother the accompanist, and bewilder himself.

'No, I'll tell ye what it is, Ronald, my lad,' his friend Jaap said to him. 'I'll play the accompaniment for ye, if ye pick out something I'm familiar wi'; and don't you heed me; you look after yourself. Even if ye change the key – and that's not likely – I'll look after ye. Is't a bargain?'

Well, he was not afraid – on this occasion. It was announced from the chair that Mr. Ronald Strang, to whom they were already indebted, would favour the company with 'The MacGregors' Gathering,' accompanied by Mr. Jaap; and in the rattle of applause that followed this announcement, Ronald made his way across the floor and went up the couple of steps leading to the platform. Why he had consented he hardly knew, nor did he stay to ask. It was enough that he had to face this long hall, and its groups of faces seen through the pale haze of the tobacco smoke; and then the first notes of the piano startled him into the necessity of getting into the same key. He began – a little bewildered, perhaps, and hearing his own voice too consciously —

 
'The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,
And the clan has a name that is nameless by day.'
 

'Louder, man, louder!' the accompanist muttered, under his breath.

Whether it was this admonition, or whether it was that he gained confidence from feeling himself in harmony with the firm-struck notes of the accompaniment, his voice rose in clearness and courage, and he got through the first verse with very fair success. Nay, when he came to the second, and the music went into a pathetic minor, the sensitiveness of his ear still carried him through bravely —

 
'Glenorchy's proud mountains, Colchurn and her towers,
Glenstrae and Glen Lyon no longer are ours —
We're landless, landless, landless, Gregalach.'
 

All this was very well done; for he began to forget his audience a little, and to put into his singing something of the expression that had come naturally enough to him when he was away on the Clebrig slopes or wandering along Strath-Terry. As for the audience – when he had finished and stepped back to his seat – they seemed quite electrified. Not often had such a clear-ringing voice penetrated that murky atmosphere. But nothing would induce Ronald to repeat the performance.

'What made me do it?' he kept asking himself. 'What made me do it? Bless me, surely I'm no fou'?'

'Ye've got a most extraordinarily fine voice, Mr. Strang,' the chairman said, in his most complaisant manner, 'I hope it's not the last time ye'll favour us.'

Ronald did not answer this. He seemed at once moody and restless. Presently he said —

'Come away, lads, come away. In God's name let's get a breath o' fresh air – the smoke o' this place is like the bottomless pit.'

'Then let's gang down and have a chat wi' Kate Menzies,' said Jimmy Laidlaw at once.

'Ye're after that supper, Jimmy!' the big skipper said facetiously.

'What for no? Would ye disappoint the woman; and her sae anxious to hear what happened to Strang's poetry? Come on, Ronald – she'll be as proud as Punch. And we'll tell her about "The MacGregors' Gathering"' – she said East Lothian would show them something.'

'Very well, then – very well; anything to get out o' here,' Ronald said; and away they all went down to the tavern.

The widow received them most graciously; and very sumptuous indeed was the entertainment she had provided for them. She knew that the drinking song would be successful – if the folk had common sense and ears. And he had sung 'The MacGregors' Gathering' too? – well, had they ever heard singing like that before?

'But they have been worrying you?' she said, glancing shrewdly at him. 'Or, what's the matter – ye look down in the mouth – indeed, Ronald, ye've never looked yoursel' since the night ye came in here just before the grouse-shooting began. Here, man, drink a glass o' champagne; that'll rouse ye up.'

Old mother Paterson was at this moment opening a bottle.

'Not one other drop of anything, Katie, lass, will I drink this night,' Ronald said.

'What? A lively supper we're likely to have, then!' the widow cried. 'Where's your spunk, man? I think ye're broken-hearted about some lassie – that's what it is! Here, now.'

She brought him the foaming glass of champagne; but he would not look at it.

'And if I drink to your health out o' the same glass?'

She touched the glass with her lips.'

'There, now, if you're a man, ye'll no refuse noo.'

Nor could he. And then the supper came along; and there was eating and talking and laughing and further drinking, until a kind of galvanised hilarity sprang up once more amongst them. And she would have Ronald declare to them which of the lasses in Sutherlandshire it was who had broken his heart for him; and, in order to get her away from that subject, he was very amenable in her hands, and would do anything she bade him, singing first one song and then another, and not refusing the drinking of successive toasts. As for the others, they very prudently declined having anything to do with champagne. But Ronald was her pet, her favourite; and she had got a special box of cigars for him – all wrapped up in silverfoil and labelled; and she would have them tell her over and over again how Ronald's voice sounded in the long hall when he sang —

 
'Glenstrae and Glen Lyon no longer are ours?
 

and she would have them tell her again of the thunders of cheering that followed —

 
'Well, well; we'll have, if that be so,
Another glass before we go.'
 

Nay, she would have them try a verse or two of it there and then – led by Mr. Jaap; and she herself joined in the chorus; and they clinked their glasses together, and were proud of their vocalisation and their good comradeship. Indeed, they prolonged this jovial evening as late as the law allowed them; and then the widow said gaily —

'There's that poor man thinks I'm gaun to allow him to gang away to that wretched hole o' a lodging o' his, where he's just eating his heart out wi' solitariness and a wheen useless books. But I'm not. I ken better than that, Ronald, my lad. Whilst ye've a' been singing and roaring, I've had a room got ready for ye; and there ye'll sleep this night, my man – for I'm not going to hae ye march away through the lonely streets, and maybe cut your throat ere daybreak; and ye can lock yourself in, if ye're feared that any warlock or bogle is likely to come and snatch ye; and in the morning ye'll come down and have your breakfast wi' auntie Paterson and me – and then – what then? What do ye think? When the dog-cart's at the door, and me gaun to drive ye oot to Campsie Glen? There, laddie, that's the programme; and wet or dry is my motto. If it's wet we'll sing "Come under my plaidie"; and we'll take a drop o' something comfortable wi' us to keep out the rain.'

'I wish I was gaun wi' ye, Mistress,' the big skipper said.

'Two's company and three's none,' said Kate Menzies, with a frank laugh. 'Is't a bargain, Ronald?'

'It's a bargain, lass; and there's my hand on't,' he said. 'Now, where's this room – for I don't know whether it has been the smoke, or the singing, or the whisky, or all o' them together, but my head's like a ship sailing before the wind, without any helm to steer her.'

'Your head!' she said proudly. 'Your head's like iron, man; there's nothing the matter wi' ye. And here's Alec – he'll show you where your room is; and in the morning ring for whatever ye want; mind ye, a glass o' champagne and angostura bitters is just first-rate; and we'll have breakfast at whatever hour ye please – and then we'll be off to Campsie Glen.'

The little party now broke up, each going his several way; and Ronald, having bade them all good-night, followed the ostler-lad Alec along one or two gloomy corridors until he found the room that had been prepared for him. As he got to bed he was rather sick and sorry about the whole night's proceedings, he scarcely knew why; and his thinking faculty was in a nebulous condition; and he only vaguely knew that he would rather not have pledged himself to go to Campsie Glen on the following morning. No matter – 'another glass before we go,' that was the last of the song they had all shouted: he had forgotten that other line – 'and some win hame, and some are lost.'

CHAPTER XV
CAMPSIE GLEN

The next morning, between nine and ten o'clock, there was a rapping at his door, and then a further rapping, and then he awoke – confused, uncertain as to his whereabouts, and with his head going like a threshing machine. Again there came the loud rapping.

'Come in, then,' he called aloud.

The door was opened, and there was the young widow, smiling and jocund as the morn, and very smartly attired; and alongside of her was a servant-lass bearing a small tray, on which were a tumbler, a pint bottle of champagne, and some angostura bitters.

'Bless me, woman,' he said, 'I was wondering where I was. And what's this now? – do ye want to make a drunkard o' me?'

'Not I,' said Kate Menzies blithely, 'I want to make a man o' ye. Ye'll just take a glass o' this, Ronald, my lad; and then ye'll get up and come down to breakfast; for we're going to have a splendid drive. The weather's as bright and clear as a new shilling; and I've been up since seven o'clock, and I'm free for the day now. Here ye are, lad; this'll put some life into ye.'

She shook a few drops of bitters into the tumbler, and then poured out a foaming measure of the amber-coloured wine, and offered it to him. He refused to take it.

'I canna look at it, lass. There was too much o' that going last night.'

'And the very reason you should take a glass now!' she said. 'Well, I'll leave it on the mantelpiece, and ye can take it when ye get up. Make haste, Ronald, lad; it's a pity to lose so fine a morning.'

When they had left, he dressed as rapidly as possible, and went down. Breakfast was awaiting him – though it did not tempt him much. And then, by and by, the smart dog-cart was at the door; and a hamper was put in; and Kate Menzies got up and took the reins. There was no sick-and-sorriness about her at all events. She was radiant and laughing and saucy; she wore a driving-coat fastened at the neck by a horse-shoe brooch of brilliants, and a white straw hat with a wide-sweeping jet-black ostrich feather. It was clear that the tavern was a paying concern.

'And why will ye aye sit behind, Mr. Strang?' old mother Paterson whined, as she made herself comfortable in front. 'I am sure Katie would rather have ye here than an auld wife like me. Ye could talk to her ever so much better.'

'That would be a way to go driving through Glasgow town,' he said, as he swung himself up on the back seat; 'a man in front and a woman behind! Never you fear; there can be plenty of talking done as it is.'

But as they drove away through the city – and even Glasgow looked quite bright and cheerful on this sunny morning, and there was a stirring of cool air that was grateful enough to his throbbing temples – it appeared that the buxom widow wanted to have most of the talking to herself. She was very merry; and laughed at his penitential scorn of himself; and was for spurring him on to further poetical efforts.

'East Lothian for ever!' she was saying, as they got away out by the north of the town. 'Didna I tell them? Ay, and ye've got to do something better yet, Ronald, my lad, than the "other glass before we go." You're no at that time o' life yet to talk as if everything had gone wrong; and the blue-eyed lass – what blue-eyed lass was it, I wonder, that passed ye by with but a stare? Let her, and welcome, the hussy; there's plenty others. But no, my lad, what I want ye to write is a song about Scotland, and the East Lothian part o't especially. Ye've no lived long enough in the Hielans to forget your ain country, have ye? and where's there a song about Scotland nowadays? "Caledonia's hills and dales"? – stuff! – I wonder Jaap would hae bothered his head about rubbish like that. No, no; we'll show them whether East Lothian canna do the trick! – and it's no the Harmony Club but the City Hall o' Glasgow that ye'll hear that song sung in – that's better like! Ye mind what Robbie says, Ronald, my lad? —

 
'E'en then a wish, I mind its power —
A wish that to my latest hour
Shall strongly heave my breast —
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake,
Some usefu' plan or book could make,
Or sing a sang at least.'
 

That's what ye've got to do yet, my man.'

And so they bowled along the wide whinstone road, out into this open landscape that seemed to lie behind a thin veil of pale-blue smoke. It was the country, no doubt; but a kind of sophisticated country; there were occasional grimy villages and railway-embankments and canals and what not; and the pathway that ran alongside the wide highway was of black ashes – not much like a Sutherlandshire road. However, as they got still farther away from the town matters improved. There were hedges and woods – getting a touch of the golden autumn on their foliage now; the landscape grew brighter; those hills far ahead of them rose into a fairly clear blue sky. And then the brisk motion and the fresher air seemed to drive away from him the dismal recollections of the previous night; he ceased to upbraid himself for having been induced to sing before all those people; he would atone for the recklessness of his potations by taking greater care in the future. So that when in due course of time they reached the inn at the foot of Campsie Glen, and had the horse and trap put up, and set out to explore the beauties of that not too savage solitude, he was in a sufficiently cheerful frame of mind, and Kate Menzies had no reason to complain of her companion.

They had brought a luncheon basket with them; and as he had refused the proffered aid of a stable-lad, he had to carry this himself, and Kate Menzies was a liberal provider. Accordingly, as they began to make their way up the steep and slippery ascent – for rain had recently fallen, and the narrow path was sloppy enough – he had to leave the two women to look after themselves; and a fine haphazard scramble and hauling and pushing – with screams of fright and bursts of laughter – ensued. This was hardly the proper mood in which to seek out Nature in her sylvan retreats; but the truth is that the glen itself did not wear a very romantic aspect. No doubt there were massive boulders in the bed of the stream; and they had to clamber past precipitous rocks; and overhead was a wilderness of foliage. But everything was dull-hued somehow, and damp-looking, and dismal; the green-mossed boulders, the stems of the trees, the dark red earth were all of a sombre hue; while here and there the eye caught sight of a bit of newspaper, or of an empty soda-water bottle, or perchance of the non-idyllic figure of a Glasgow youth seated astride a fallen bough, a pot-hat on his head and a Manilla cheroot in his mouth. But still, it was more of the country than the Broomielaw; and when Kate and her companion had to pause in their panting struggle up the slippery path, and after she had recovered her breath sufficiently to demand a halt, she would turn to pick ferns from the dripping rocks, or to ask Ronald if there were any more picturesque place than this in Sutherlandshire. Now Ronald was not in the least afflicted by the common curse of travellers – the desire for comparison; he was well content to say that it was a 'pretty bit glen'; for one thing his attention was chiefly devoted to keeping his footing, for the heavy basket was a sore encumbrance.

However, after some further climbing, they reached certain drier altitudes; and there the hamper was deposited, while they looked out for such trunks or big stones as would make convenient seats. The old woman was speechless from exhaustion; Kate was laughing at her own breathlessness, or miscalling the place for having dirtied her boots and her skirts; while Ronald was bringing things together for their comfort, so that they could have their luncheon in peace. This was not quite the same kind of a luncheon party as that he had attended on the shores of the far northern loch – with Miss Carry complacently regarding the silver-clear salmon lying on the smooth, dry greensward; and the American talking in his friendly fashion of the splendid future that lay before a capable and energetic young fellow in the great country beyond the seas; while all around them the sweet air was blowing, and the clear light shining, and the white clouds sailing high over the Clebrig slopes. Things were changed with him since then – he did not himself know how much they had changed. But in all circumstances he was abundantly good-natured and grateful for any kindness shown him; and as Kate Menzies had projected this trip mainly on his account, he did his best to promote good-fellowship, and was serviceable and handy, and took her raillery in excellent part.

'Katie dear,' whimpered old mother Paterson, as Ronald took out the things from the hamper, 'ye jist spoil every one that comes near ye. Such extravagance – such waste – many's the time I wish ye would get married, and have a man to look after ye – '

'Stop your havering – who would marry an auld woman like me?' said Mrs. Menzies with a laugh. 'Ay, and what's the extravagance, noo, that has driven ye oot o' your mind?'

'Champagne again!' the old woman said, shaking her head. 'Champagne again! Dear me, it's like a Duke's house – '

'What, ye daft auld craytur? Would ye have me take my cousin Ronald for his first trip to Campsie Glen, and bring out a gill o' whisky in a soda-water bottle?'

'Indeed, Katie, lass, ye needna have brought one thing or the other for me,' he said. 'It's a drop o' water, and nothing else, that will serve my turn.'

'We'll see about that,' she said confidently.

Her provisioning was certainly of a sumptuous nature – far more sumptuous, indeed, than the luncheons the rich Americans used to have carried down for them to the lochside, and a perfect banquet as compared with the frugal bit of cold beef and bread that Lord Ailine and his friends allowed themselves on the hill. Then, as regards the champagne, she would take no refusal – he had to submit. She was in the gayest of moods; she laughed and joked; nay, at one point, she raised her glass aloft, and waved it round her head, and sang —

 
'O send Lewie Gordon hame,
And the lad I daurna name;
Though his back be at the wa',
Here's to him that's far awa'!'
 

'What, what, lass?' Ronald cried grimly. 'Are ye thinking ye're in a Highland glen? Do ye think it was frae places like this that the lads were called out to follow Prince Charlie?'

'I carena – I carena!' she said; for what had trivial details of history to do with a jovial picnic in Campsie Glen? 'Come, Ronald, lad, tune up! Hang the Harmony Club! – give us a song in the open air!'

'Here goes, then —

 
'It was about the Martinmas time,
And a gay time it was then, O,
That our guidwife had puddins to mak',
And she boiled them in the fan, O' —
 

and then rang out the chorus, even the old mother Paterson joining in with a feeble treble —

 
'O the barrin' o' our door, weel, weel, weel,
And the barrin' o' our door, weel!'
 

'Your health and song, Ronald!' she cried, when he had finished – or rather when they all had finished. 'Man, if there was just a laddie here wi' a fiddle or a penny whistle I'd get up and dance a Highland Schottische wi' ye – auld as I am!'

After luncheon, they set out for further explorations (having deposited the basket in a secret place) and always Kate Menzies's laugh was the loudest, her jokes the merriest.

'Auld, say ye?' mother Paterson complained. 'A lassie – a very lassie! Ye can skip about like a twa-year-auld colt.'

By and by they made their devious and difficult way down the glen again; and they had tea at the inn; and then they set out to drive back to Glasgow – and there was much singing the while. That is, up to a certain point; for this easy homeward drive, as it turned out, was destined to be suddenly and sharply stopped short, and that in a way that might have produced serious consequences. They were bowling merrily along, taking very little heed of anything on either side of them, when, as it chanced, a small boy who had gone into a field to recover a kite that had dropped there, came up unobserved behind the hedge, and threw the kite over, preparatory to his struggling through himself. The sudden appearance of this white thing startled the cob; it swerved to the other side of the road, hesitated, and was like to rear, and then getting an incautious cut from Kate's whip, away it tore along the highway, getting completely the mastery of her. Ronald got up behind.