into the dim woods full of the tombs
of the dead trees soft in their sepulchres,
where the pensive throats of the shy birds hidden
pipe to us strangely entering unbidden,
and tenderly still in the tremulous glooms
the trilliums scatter their white-winged stars.
—abchibald lampman.
winter passed, and then came the spring, with its fresh, warm winds coming up from lake simcoe and sweeping away the ice and snow in a mad, joyous rush of water.
scotty went barefoot just as soon as there was enough bare ground to step upon. he seemed for a time to cast aside all restraint with his shoes and stockings, and when not in school lived a freebooter's life in the forest.
he and bruce spent much time wandering, plundering and exploring from the edge of the corduroy road where the musk and marigolds and fleur-de-lis grew in glorious profusion all through the green and golden depths to where the river oro slipped from its sweet enthralment of reeds and water lilies to go bounding away down the valley to lake simcoe. the whole place was a plantation of treasures and teemed with sounds of life: the blue-jay, the song-sparrow, the robin, the noisy, red-winged black-bird, the plaintive pee-wee, the far-off, clear-ringing whitethroat, the jolly woodpecker, the noisy squirrel, and the shy raccoon—scotty knew them all intimately, learned their ways and lived their life.
he was given to much idle roaming through the swamp, on the way to and from school, too, and when he went to bring home the cows he remained longer than even granny could excuse. for that simple task should have been performed in a very short time. he could trace the cattle through the woods with the sure instinct of a sleuth-hound, could distinguish spotty's tracks from cherry's, and might have found his own little heifer's in the midst of the public highway. but his skill did not help to make him any more expeditious, for he often forgot his errand and would lie full length upon the ground, gazing up into the restless, swishing, green sea above, and dreaming wonderful dreams. callum declared he was a lazy little beggar and ought to be cowhided to make him move, though where one could be found to perform that necessary operation the macdonald family were not prepared to say.
that he did not altogether develop into a little savage was entirely due to granny's tender care. nowhere was the influence of her beautiful character felt so strongly as by the little grandson. she, who could command her grown-up sons by her mere presence, and who was slowly but surely transforming big malcolm's wild nature, was quietly moulding the boy's character. scotty early learned the great lessons of life, the lessons of truth and right, and was well grounded in the knowledge of the things that are eternal. he could read the bible before he ever entered school, and could repeat the shorter catechism with a rapidity that sometimes alarmed granny, as savouring of irreverence. he learned a verse of scripture by heart every evening of his life, and the sabbath was a grand review day.
sunday was always a red-letter day in scotty's life, for he generally had granny to himself. not that the others were away; for big malcolm, who generally ruled his household rather laxly, sternly forbade sabbath visiting. but the boys wandered off to the barn or the woods after morning prayers, and big malcolm dozed, or smoked, or read his bible. and then granny and her boy would climb the little hillock beside the house and sit under the silver maple. this was a fine position, for one could see lake oro, stretched out there blue and sparkling in its ring of forest, and far away to the south, a glittering string of diamonds and turquoise where lake simcoe lay smiling in the sun, and now and then, where a clearing opened the view, the blue flash of the river. and there, with the soft rustle of the green and silver canopy above, and around the scent of the clover and the basswood blossoms, scotty lay with his head in granny's lap and heard wonderful stories of one who sat on a hill and spoke to the multitude as never man yet spake. and never afterwards, though he sometimes wandered from granny's teachings, did those sabbath days lose their hold upon his life.
and so the spring slipped into summer, and one evening a new element came into his life. he was lying on the doorstone, his feet in the cool, dewy grass, dreamily watching the fireflies sparkling away down in the pasture by the woods, and listening to the hoarse cry of the night hawks as they swooped overhead. it was a warm evening, and the leaves of the silver maple, still touched by the hot glow of the sunset, hung motionless in the still air.
rory came out with his fiddle, and, sitting with his chair tilted against the house, droned out a low, sweet, yearning song for bonny prince charlie who would return no more, no more. grandaddy sat near on a bench smoking contentedly. since the day of the first prayer meeting at long lauchie's, big malcolm had lived a life of peace, and had once more regained his attitude of happy, kind complacency. old farquhar was gone; he had disappeared when the silver maple was putting forth its buds, and had gone "a kiltin' owre the brae," as he musically expressed it to scotty; but everyone knew that he would come back in the autumn as surely as the wild ducks went south. indoors, close to the candle, sat hamish poring over "waverley," and callum could be heard tramping about in the loft, preparing to go off for the evening. callum took great pains with his toilette these evenings, scotty noticed, though the boys did not tease him any more about going to see mary lauchie; indeed, there were no more good-natured allusions to his courtship. instead, scotty had overheard rory tell callum, in the barn one day, that "he'd go sparkin' old teenie mccuaig, though she was seventy and hadn't a tooth in her head, before he'd be seen going down to the flats to see an irish girl." and callum had seized him by the shoulders and flattened him up against the wall until he roared for mercy. there was always something in the home atmosphere when callum started off of an evening now that vaguely reminded scotty of those terrible days following grandaddy's fight in the glen. he felt anxiously that his hero was doing something of which his family disapproved, and wondered fearfully what it might be.
his mind was turned from the contemplation of these difficulties by a sudden change in rory's tune. he stopped in the midst of his low, wailing dirge and struck up loudly the lively air that told again and again of the mirth produced when "jinny banged the weaver." scotty raised his head and looked across the pasture-field. that tune always ushered weaver jimmy upon the stage, and there he was, coming over the field, easily recognisable by his huge feet. before he reached them, the macdonalds could see that his face was shining with unusual joy.
"come away, jimmie, man," called big malcolm, "it will be a warm night, whatever."
but the weaver was too happy to notice anything wrong with the weather. "hoots, it will be a fine night for all that, a fine night; and how will you be yourself, mrs. macdonald?"
"perhaps you'll find it chilly enough if you go round by kirsty's, jimmie," suggested rory.
"hooch!" jimmie flung one leg over the other with more than usual vigour. "and that is jist where you will be mistaken, rory malcolm, i will jist be coming from there," he admitted with an embarrassed quiver.
"that's what you're generally doin'; how fast did you come?"
"whisht, whisht, rory," cried his mother. "it's the foolish lad he is, jimmie, don't be listening to him. and indeed it's kirsty john will be the fine girl, so good and so kind to her poor mother. and how would the mother be to-night, jimmie?"
"oh, jist about the same, jist about the same; but," he lowered his voice confidentially, "what do you suppose she would be doin' the night?" "she" was understood to mean kirsty; for jimmie never dared take her name upon his tongue.
"giving you a clout on the head, most like," ventured rory.
the weaver did not deign to notice him. "she would be sending me over here on a message!" he cried, and his face shone as if illuminated from within.
"hech! yon's good news, jimmie!" cried big malcolm. "you're comin' on!"
"she'll be sendin' you on a message to another world some o' these days," said callum coming to the door, looking very handsome, ready for departure.
"oh, indeed it's yourself had better be lookin' after your own sparkin', callum fiach!" cried weaver jimmie jovially. "you'll not be likely to find it as easy as i will, whatever."
callum turned away with an embarrassed laugh, rory following him. he did not answer weaver jimmie's raillery, as he would have done under other circumstances, for he had caught a look on his father's face that betokened trouble. big malcolm's eyes flashed angrily and he took his pipe from his mouth as though to call after his son; but his wife's gentle voice interposed. she had, so far, by her quiet tact, kept the father and son from an open rupture.
"and what would kirsty be doing?" she asked, striving to keep her anxiety from showing in her voice. a spasm of joy jerked one of the weaver's legs over the other.
"she would be sending me over here on a message. a good sign, i will be thinkin'," he added, lowering his voice, for the young men were scarcely out of earshot. "yes, indeed, a good sign, i will be thinkin'. the wee lady from the captain's came the other day and she would be sending me to get scotty to come and play with her."
scotty raised his head. "hoh!" he scoffed, "play with a girl!"
big malcolm laughed indulgently. "see yon, jimmie!" he said, "he'll not be so anxious to go to kirsty's as some people, indeed."
jimmie grinned delightedly. nothing pleased him more than to be twitted about his devotion to his lady.
"oh, but he must be going," said granny. "the little girl would be lonely and i would be promising kirsty last winter that he would go."
"grandaddy don't like her uncle, anyhow," said scotty. big malcolm took his pipe from his mouth. the boy had mentioned a fact for which his grandfather had excellent reasons, but he did not choose that it should be made so apparent to the general public.
"that will be none o' your business, lad," he said sternly, "an' when kirsty wants ye, ye'll go." scotty made no reply; he was not quite so chagrined as he would have others think. he really wanted to see the little girl with the yellow curls and the big, blue eyes, and demonstrate to her that he was not english, no not one whit.
so the next morning he set off across the swamp towards kirsty john's clearing. it was a relief that grandaddy and the boys had gone for a day's work to the north clearing. this was a tract of timber on the shore of lake oro which was partially cleared, and upon which callum hoped some day to settle. the distance to it was some miles, and they had taken their dinner and supper; so scotty felt his disgraceful secret was safe.
he was a long time on the way, of course, for bruce had gone to the north clearing too and his master had to do double work in racing after chipmunks. then he loitered purposely, for he was going for the first time in his life to pay a formal visit, and that to a girl. the situation was such as no discreet person would plunge into without due deliberation.
so the sun was high in the heavens when at last he saw ahead of him the golden light that betokened a clearing, and heard the sound of farm life echoing down the forest avenues.
kirsty john's farm was a small, rough clearing near the scotch line. there were two or three fields, and in the centre of them a log shanty and a small stable. everything about the place was very neat; for kirsty's mother was a lowlander and one of the most particular of that great race of housekeepers. the little barnyard, ingeniously fenced off with rough poles, the small patch of grass around the doorway, the neat little flower garden, all showed signs of a woman's tasteful hand. but kirsty could do the man's part as well. black john macdonald had died some years before, leaving his invalid wife to the care of their only child. and kirsty's care had been of the tenderest; and if in the rough battle of life she became a little rough and masculine, the poor crippled mother felt none of it. kirsty managed everything with a strong, capable hand, from felling trees to spinning yarn and making butter. she received plenty of help, of course; big malcolm and long lauchie were her nearest neighbours, and their families vied with each other in seeing who could do the most for her. weaver jimmie, too, would have been willing to let the weaving industry go to ruin if kirsty would but let him so much as carry in a stick of firewood on a winter evening; but kirsty kept her despised suitor so busy saving himself from violent bodily injury, when in her presence, that his assistance was not material.
scotty could see her now as he came down the forest path. she was working in the little rough hayfield, pitching up the forkfuls of hay on to a little oxcart with masculine energy. her skirt was turned up, showing a striped, homespun petticoat, and beneath it her strong bare ankles. her pink calico sunbonnet made a dash of colour against the cool green of the woods.
scotty took a leap at the low brush fence that surrounded the clearing and went over it in one bound. then he stood stock still with sudden surprise; for there, right in front of him, seated on a low stump with an air of patient expectancy, was a small figure almost enveloped in a big, blue sunbonnet.
"oh!" cried scotty in amazement.
"oh!" echoed the blue sunbonnet. it came suddenly to life, leaped from the stump and pitched itself upon him. "oh, oh! i've been watching for you just hours and hours, and i thought you weren't never, never coming!"
the visitor did not know what to say. he was scarcely prepared for such an effusive welcome, and was suddenly seized with a fit of shyness.
"you're scotty, aren't you?" she asked. he nodded and the vision laughed aloud and clapped its small hands. the blue sunbonnet toppled off, showing a shower of riotous golden curls, tumbled about in delightful confusion; her eyes, big and blue, danced with joy. "oh, oh, i'm so glad!" she cried. "i 'membered you ever since i saw you in that funny little shop!"
scotty stared still harder. to hear store thompson's establishment designated by such terms was beyond belief.
"i 'membered your eyes!" she added, nodding confidentially. her baby way of saying "'member" restored scotty's confidence in himself.
"well, i will remember you, too," he admitted sedately.
she laughed again and capered about him, while he stood and looked at her rather puzzled. he did not see anything to laugh at, and did not yet comprehend that here was a creature so joyous by nature that she must laugh and dance about from sheer spontaneous delight.
"oh, i'm so glad!" she reiterated for the tenth time. "i'll race you to the house!"
she darted down the hill like a swallow, her golden hair blown back, her little white bare feet twinkling over the grass. but scotty was a very greyhound for speed. he leaped after her and in a moment forged ahead. when he had gone sufficiently far to show her how fast he could run, he looked back to find her limping slowly after him. the boy's tender heart, always quick to respond to the sight of pain, suddenly smote him. he ran swiftly back. "what's the matter?" he asked.
"a fisel," she said plaintively, dropping upon the grass and showing him the sole of her tender little foot. running barefoot was not even to be mentioned at home, and she had not yet grown accustomed to the "freedom of the sod." scotty, whose sturdy little brown feet were shod with leather of their own making, stared contemptuously; she must certainly be a baby to be hurt so easily. nevertheless, he bent down and extracted the tormentor with the skill acquired in many summers' apprenticeship. then he regarded her with half-disdainful amusement, his shyness all vanished.
"can't you say thistle?" he inquired.
the big blue eyes regarded him innocently. "i did say fisel," she declared wonderingly.
"no, you didn't, you would jist be saying 'fisel.'"
she stared a moment, then laughed aloud, a clear little bubbling irresistible laugh, and this time scotty laughed with her.
he seated himself cross-legged upon the grass and proceeded to catechise her.
"your name will be isabel, won't it?"
"imph—n—n," the blue bonnet nodded emphatically, "isabel douglas herbert, an' my mamma was scotch, an' my uncle walter says i'm his scotch lassie."
scotty nodded approval. he could not quite understand, however, how she could be scotch and live with the english gentry on the shores of lake oro instead of in the oa.
"where does your mother live?" he inquired dubiously.
"in heaven," said the little one simply, "an' my papa lives there too."
"oh," said scotty, "an' my father and mother will be living there too, whatever." he was not to be outdone by her in the matter of ancestry.
"do they? oh, isn't that nice? i guess they visit each other every day. an' you live with your granma, don't you?"
scotty nodded. "have you got a granny too?"
"no, only granma macdonald here, but i've got an auntie an' an uncle, an' a cousin. his name's harold. have you got a cousin?"
"no." scotty's face fell. "no, i don't think i will be having any, unless mebby callum an' rory an' hamish would be my cousins, whatever."
"who's callum?" scotty sat up straight, his eyes shining. callum! why, he was the most wonderful man in all the township of oro; and thereupon he proceeded to give her a detailed account of the wonderful achievements of "the boys"; how callum was so big and so strong and could run the logs down the river better than anyone else; how rory could play the fiddle and dance; and, oh, the stories hamish could tell!
the blue eyes opposite him grew bigger. "oh," their owner exclaimed delightedly, "i'm going over to your place to see you some day, an' we'll get hamish to tell us 'bout fairies an' things, won't we? you'll let me come, won't you?"
scotty hesitated. a girl at home might be a great inconvenience and at best would certainly be an embarrassment; but his whole life's training had taught him that one's home must ever be at the disposal of all who would enter, and anyone who would not must be urged, even though that person were the niece of captain herbert. so he answered cordially, "oh, yes, 'course, if you want to come."
miss isabel sighed happily. "oh, i think you're awful nice!" she exclaimed. "and is your name just scotty?"
"yes!" cried scotty, very emphatically, "scotty macdonald."
"but that isn't all, is it? there's sumpfin' more?"
"no!" exploded scotty, "there ain't! some bad folks would be saying that would be my name; but it will be jist scotty, whatever. and," he looked threatening, "i don't ever be playing with anybody that would be calling me that nasty english name."
his listener seemed properly impressed. "i won't never call you anything but just scotty!" she promised solemnly.
a call from the house summoned them; kirsty had hurried in and was searching the milk-house for bannocks and maple syrup. the children ran through the little barnyard, causing a terrible commotion among the fowl, and up the flower-bordered path to the shanty door. scotty had not been at kirsty's since the summer before, when granny took him to see the poor sick woman who lay in bed weary month after weary month, and now he drew shyly behind his little hostess.
"come away, scotty man!" called kirsty heartily. "come away, mother's wantin' to see ye!"
the door of the little log shanty stood open, revealing a bare, spotless room with whitewashed walls. there were a couple of old chairs and a rough bench scrubbed a beautiful white like the floor; a curtain of coarse muslin, white and glistening, draped the little window, and a picture of bobby burns in a frame made from the shells of lake oro, and another of the youthful queen victoria and the prince consort in a frame ingeniously wrought from pine cones hung on the wall. a tall cupboard and an old clock with its long hanging weights looked quite familiar and home-like to scotty. but over in the corner by the window was a sight that struck him painfully and made him draw back. an old four-post bed stood against the log wall and in it lay the shrivelled little figure of kirsty's mother propped up with pillows. she was bent and twisted with rheumatism, like a little old tree that had been battered by storms. but her face was brave and bright, and from it shone a pair of brown eyes with a pathetic inquiry in them as of a dumb, uncomprehending creature in pain. she wore a stiff white cap on her thin grey hair, a snowy mutch covered her poor crooked shoulders, and everything about her was beautifully neat and clean, showing her daughter's loving care.
"heh, mother!" cried kirsty cheerfully, "here's marget malcolm's boy at last. come, scotty, and mother will be seeing how big you are."
the old woman took the boy's sturdy brown hand in her own poor crooked ones as well as she was able, and peered eagerly into his face.
"eh, eh!" she cried musingly. "he will be some like marget's lass, but he's his faether's bairn; eh, he's got the set an' the look o' yon fine english callant, forbye the macdonald eyes."
the aforementioned macdonald eyes drooped and the rosy macdonald lips pouted at the word english.
"he's awful nice, isn't he, granma macdonald?" whispered the little girl.
the old woman gazed at the little fair face, and then back at the boy.
"strange, strange," she murmured, half audibly. "it's a queer warld, a queer warld, the twa here thegither, an' ane has a', an' the ither has naething. mebby the good lord will be settin' it right. och, aye, he'll set it richt some way."
the children gazed uncomprehendingly at her, but just then kirsty came forward with a plate of bannocks soaked in maple syrup, and for a time they gave it their absorbed attention.
then kirsty soon had to leave them for her work, and after giving the children the freedom of the clearing, provided they did not go near the well, she rearranged her mother's pillows very gently and returned to the field.
the two sat silent by the bedside. now that their feast was over, the little girl looked with longing eyes through the doorway; but scotty felt constrained to wait a few minutes, for granny had said that kirsty's mother was sick and lonely and needed comforting.
the old woman looked up with sudden brightness in her eyes. "can ye read?" she asked eagerly. oh, yes, scotty could read, had been able to do so for a very long time.
"i can read too, can't i, granma macdonald?" cried the little girl. "i read to you sometimes, don't i?"
"yes, yes, lassie, ye're jist a wee bit o' sunshine. eh, what would yer puir auld granny do if ye didna come to see her in the simmer? but ah want the laddie to read me the wee bit that kirsty reads me; ye ken it, bairnie?"
she pointed to the old worn bible lying on the window sill, with a drowsy blue-bottle fly droning about it. the little girl tripped over and brought it to scotty.
"i know the place, granma, don't i?" she chattered; "it's got the blue mark in it. there!" her rosy finger pointed to a well-worn page, marked by a piece of woven scented grass.
"aye!" said the old woman, with a satisfied look, "that's the bright bit, lassie; kirsty leaves a mark for ah canna read. eh, ah wish ah could jist read yon bit. ah wouldna mind ony ither, but jist yon. ah'd like to see hoo it looks." her wrinkled face quivered pitifully, but she made a brave attempt to smile. "read it, laddie," she whispered.
scotty took the book and read where his little friend indicated. he read the bible every day, and this extract was quite familiar; one wonderful story among the many of the master's love and tenderness towards all the suffering; luke's beautiful tale of the poor woman who was bent nearly double and was made whole by the potency of a divine word. the boy droned laboriously on, and as he came to the words, "and jesus called her to him," the old woman put out her feeble hand and caught his arm, her bright brown eyes shining, her withered face flushed. "aye!" she whispered eagerly, "d'ye hear yon? d'ye hear yon? he called her! aye!" she continued with an air of triumph, "that's it! sometimes ah canna quite believe it, but ilka buddy reads it jist the same; that's it! he called her himself. aye, an' a' the ither buddies fleein' aefter him, an' botherin' him, but no her, no her! eh, wasna yon graund! go on, laddie, go on!" she made a feeble attempt to wipe away the tear that coursed down her wrinkled cheek.
"eh, isna it bonny!" she cried as the boy finished. "isna it bonny! ah suppose ah'm too auld to learn to read, but ah'd jist like to read yon bit," she said wistfully.
little isabel went softly to her, and tenderly wiped away the tears from the poor old face. "there now, granma macdonald," she said in the tender tones she had heard kirsty use, "you mustn't cry. maybe jesus'll come and make you straight too, won't he?"
"eh, lassie," she whispered, "ah'm jist waitin' for it. ah'm houpin' he will. ah'm jist a burden to puir kirsty, an' whiles the pain's that bad. eh, but ah wish he would. surely he'd think as much o' me as o' yon auld buddy. don't ye think he micht, lassie?"
"course!" cried the little one with the hopefulness of childhood, "course he will, won't he, scotty?"
scotty hung his head shyly.
"if granny was here, she would be tellin' you, whatever," he whispered.
"aye, that's true, mannie," said the old woman brightening, "marget mcneil kens aboot him, aye, she kens fine. eh, but mebby he will," she whispered. she lay back and gazed through the little window, away over the forest-clad hills and dales to where lake oro's shining expanse sparkled through the jagged outline of the treetops. her lips moved, "he called her to him," she whispered, "an' he said unto her, 'woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity.'" she lay very still, a happy light shining in her eyes; the children waited a moment, and then slipped softly out of doors.
when he found himself alone once more with his new acquaintance, scotty suddenly became shy again. but his diffidence was put to flight in a summary manner. the young lady gave him a smart slap in the face and darted away. "last tag!" she screamed back over her shoulder. scotty stood for an instant petrified with indignation, and then he was after her like the wind. as they tore through the little barnyard kirsty called to them not to go near the well, but neither of them heard. into the woods they dashed, over mossy logs and stones, tearing through the undergrowth and crashing among fallen boughs. in spite of her fleetness scotty caught his tormentor as she dodged round a tree; he held her in a sturdy grip and shook her for her impudence until her sunbonnet fell off. he was somewhat disconcerted to find her accept this treatment with the utmost good humour. betty would have wailed dismally, but this girl wrenched herself free and laughed derisively.
"you can't hurt like hal," she said rather disdainfully, "he pulls my hair."
"well, i'll be doing that too if you slap me again," said scotty, grateful for the suggestion.
"no, you won't," she declared triumphantly, "'cause then i wouldn't play with you. i'd just go right back to granma macdonald and leave you all alone in the bush. an' i wouldn't show you all the places here. there's a king's castle an' a hole where the goblins comes out of, an' a tree where a bad, bad dwarf lives, an'—an'," she was whispering now, "an' heaps of dreadfuller things than that 'way down there." she pointed into the green depths with an air of proprietorship. scotty felt a deep respect rising in his heart.
he had thought he knew the forest as the chipmunks know it, but here it was in a new and romantic aspect.
"where are they?" he inquired quite humbly; and, satisfied with his demeanour, his mentor led the way. though the royal castle proved to be only a rock and the other enchanted places equally familiar to scotty, she clothed them with such an air of mystery and related such amazing tales concerning each, vouched for by no less an authority than weaver jimmie, that her listener regarded them and their exponent with something like awe.
they journeyed on, every new turn revealing untold wonders and giving an added stimulus to the leader's lively imagination. and indeed the forest was a place in which anyone might expect to meet a fairy or a goblin behind every tree. the happy sense of unreality lent by the uncertainty of distances, the airy unsubstantial appearance of the leaf-grown earth; the dazzling splashes of golden light on the green, the sudden appearance of open glades choked with blossoms; and through all the ringing harmony of a hundred songsters combined to make the woods a veritable fairyland.
and scotty soon found to his joy that he was to have his part in interpreting its beauties too, for isabel came to the end of her tales at last and was full of questions. what was that sad little "tee-ee-ee," somebody was always saying away far off. it must be a fairy too. but scotty had come down to realities now, and felt more at home. that? why, that was only a whitethroat. didn't she hear how it said, "hard-times-in-canady!" she laughed aloud and imitated the song, setting all the woods a-ring with her clear notes. and what made those bells ring up in the tree? those weren't bells, they were just veerys, and they said, "ting-a-ling-a-lee!" but the bobolinks had bells; they would go back to the clearing and hear them ring in the hayfield, and there was a meadow-lark's nest there, and lots of plovers; yes, and if she would come down to the creek that ran across the scotch line he would show her a mud turtle, and they could catch some fish, and there was a boiling spring there, where the water was so cold you couldn't put your feet into it, and it bubbled all the time, even in the winter.
and then they found flowers, oh, so many flowers, big, pink, bobbing ladles' slippers, and delicate orchids and great flaming swamp lilies; and there were wonderful pitcher-plants, too, with their tall crimson blossoms. scotty explained the workings of the perfidious little vessels, and they sat down and watched with absorbed interest the poor foolish insects slip happily down the silken stairway to certain death. and under isabel's magic touch the little green pitchers became dungeons, presided over by a wicked giant, and filled with helpless prisoners.
and so they might have rambled in this enchanted land all day had not the woman nature asserted itself. isabel had had enough of fairies and goblins. they must give up this wandering life and settle down, she declared. they would build a house in the fence corner and carpet it with moss and have clam shells from the creek for dishes. scotty had fallen quite meekly into the unaccustomed rôle of follower and was willing that they should go housekeeping, provided he was allowed to play the man's part. he would be big wind, the indian who lived down by lake simcoe, and he would go off shooting bears and lowlanders all day, and she would stay at home and be his squaw and make baskets. but miss isabel would be nothing of the kind. she did not like "scraws"; they were very dirty, and came to the back door and sold their baskets. but scotty might be a great hunter if he wanted, and she would be the lady who lived in the house, and she would cook the dinner and go to the door and call "hoo-hoo" when it was ready, the way kirsty did when long lauchie's boys worked in her fields.
"i see kirsty now!" she called, seating herself upon a log which formed one side of their mansion. "i see her 'way over yonder!" scotty seated himself beside her, flushed and heated with the unwonted exertions of house-building.
"oh, don't you love kirsty," she cried, giving him an ecstatic shake. "i do; an' i love you, too, scotty, you're a dear!" scotty looked slightly uncomfortable, but not wholly displeased.
"don't you love to run away off in the bush like this, and have nobody to bother you?" she inquired next.
"yes." scotty could cordially assent to that. "when i get a man," he said, in a sudden burst of confidence, "i'm goin' to live in a wigwam like big wind an' shoot bears!"
"oh, my!" she cried in delight. "i wish i could live with you, only i don't want to be an ugly scraw, i want to be like kirsty when i grow big, an' live up here in the oa, an' pile hay; but i'll have to be like auntie eleanor an' wear a black silk dress, oh, dear!"
"wouldn't you be liking a silk dress?" asked scotty in surprise.
"no!" she cried disdainfully. "you've always got to take care of it. i want a red petticoat like kirsty wears, and i want to go in my bare feet all the time, and live in the bush."
"don't you go in your bare feet at home?" inquired scotty in amazement.
"no," she admitted mournfully. "auntie eleanor says 'tisn't nice for little girls, an' i have to play the piano every morning, an' not make any noise round the house, 'cause you know my poor auntie has headaches all the time. do you know what's the matter with my auntie?"
"no."
"well, don't you tell, it's a big secret; she's got the heartbreak!"
"the what?" cried scotty in alarm.
"the heartbreak. brian told me. brian's our coachman, an' i heard him tell mary morrison, the cook, and he told me not to never, never tell; but i'll just tell you, and you won't tell, will you, scotty?"
"no, never. will it be like the rheumatics granny has?"
"no-o, i 'spect not; it's when you have headaches an' don't smile nor eat much; not even pie!" she gazed triumphantly into scotty's interested countenance. "that's what my auntie's got."
"would she be catching it at school?" he inquired feelingly, moved by recollections of an epidemic of measles that had raged in number nine the winter preceding.
"no, she just got it all by herself. she was going to be married in the church, 'way over in england, and she had a beautiful satin dress and a veil and everything, and he didn't come!"
"who?" demanded scotty.
"why, the gempleman; he was a soldier-man with a grea' big sword, an' he got bad an' went away, an' my auntie got the heartbreak. an' that's why she's sick an' doesn't want me to make a noise or jump."
scotty looked at her in deep sympathy. "won't she be letting you jump?" he asked in awe.
"not much," she said with a fine martyr-like air. "she says 'tisn't lady-like, an' she's going to send me to a school in toronto when i get big, where it's all girls, and not one of them ever, ever jumps once!"
they stared at each other in mutual amazement at the conception of a whole jumpless school.
"i wouldn't be going!" cried scotty firmly. "i'd jump—i'd jump out of the window an' run away, whatever!"
her eyes sparkled. "oh, p'raps i could do that too! i'd run away an' come to kirsty. she doesn't mind if i jump an' make a noise, an' kirsty never makes me sew. oh, scotty, you don't ever have to sew, do you?"
"noh!" cried scotty in disdain, "that's girls' work."
she sighed deeply. "i wish i was a boy! harold never has to sew, but harold goes to school 'way in toronto all the time an' maybe they don't let him jump there. i'd jump!" she cried, springing from the log and laughing joyously, "oh, wouldn't i! last tag, scotty!" and she was once more off into the woods and scotty after her.
such a happy day as it was, but it was over at last, and after they had eaten their supper, where kirsty served it to them in their playhouse, scotty went to the house to bid the old woman good-bye, and started for home.
the little girl followed him sadly and slowly to the edge of the clearing.
"when'll you come back again?" she asked pleadingly.
"i'll not know," said scotty patronisingly, "i don't often play with girls."
the blue sunbonnet drooped; its owner's assurance and independence had all vanished. "you might come next saturday," she suggested humbly.
"well," said scotty handsomely, "mebby i'll be coming."
"i'm going to ask kirsty if i can't go to school with you some day!" she cried audaciously.
scotty looked alarmed. in reality he was most eager to return and resume housekeeping in the fence-corner, but to have this stranger go to school with him would never do. the boys would laugh at him, and already he had sufficient trials with betty lauchie since peter stopped going to school.
"oh, it's too far!" he cried hastily, "an' there will be an awful cross master there!"
"i don't care, you wouldn't let him touch me, would you?"
"if you don't ask kirsty, i'll come over all next saturday, an' mebby she'll be letting you come to my place; it's nicer than school."
so thus comforted, isabel climbed the stump and swung her sunbonnet as long as the slanting sunlight showed the little figure running down the fast darkening forest-pathway; and just before the shadows swallowed him up, he turned and waved his cap in farewell.
