A Daughter of Fife | Page 7

fair woman with her hand
upon the big wheel, and her face, sensitive and questioning, turned
toward her brother.
"David Promoter."
"Ay, sir." He moved slowly like a man awakening from a sleep, but
very quickly shook off the intense personality of his mood, and turned
to the stranger with a shy and yet keen alertness.
"I dinna ken your name, sir, or I wad call you by it."

"My name is Allan Campbell."
"Sit down, sir. You are vera welcome. Can I do aught to pleasure you?"
"I want my trunk from Largo. Yesterday the sea was too heavy to bring
it. Can you get it for me to-morrow?"
"An' the sea be willing, sir."
"There is a box of books also, but they are very heavy."
"Books! We'll try and bring them ony way."
"You love books then?"
"Better than bread."
"What have you read?"
"I have read my Bible, and The Institutes, and the Scot's Worthies, and
pairt o' the Pilgrim's Progress. But I didna approve o' John Bunyan's
doctrine. It's rank Armenianism."
"I have just finished a volume of Scott's poems. Have you read any of
them?"
"Na, na; I hae nae skill o' poetry, sir, an' it be na the Psalms o' David."
"Let me read you a stanza, that I think you will enjoy."
He went for his book and drew a chair beside the little light, and read
with a great deal of fire and feeling some passages from "The Lay of
the Last Minstrel." He was soon sensible that he was gradually stirring
in these two untutored souls, feelings of which they had hitherto been
unconscious. He put more and more passion into the words, finally he
threw down the book, and standing erect, recited them with
outstretched arms and uplifted face. When he ceased, David was
listening like one entranced; and Maggie's knitting had fallen to the
floor: for she had unconsciously risen, and was gazing at the speaker

with a face that reflected every change of his own. It was as if the
strings of a harp had snapped, and left the souls of the listeners in
mid-air. With an effort the enthusiasm was put aside, and after a
minute's pause, David said, "I ne'er heard words like them words.
Mony thanks to you, sir. I'm right glad it was a Scot wrote them," and
he murmured softly--
"O Caledonia stern and wild! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood."
Still it was Maggie's shy, tremulous glance and luminous face, that
Thanked and pleased Campbell most, and he lifted the book and went
away, almost as much under the spell of the poet, as the two simple
souls who had heard his music for the first time. There was a moment
or two in which life seemed strange to the brother and sister. They had
much the same feeling as those who awaken from a glorious dream and
find sordid cares and weary pains waiting for them. David rose and
shook himself impatiently, then began to walk about the narrow room.
Maggie lifted her stocking and made an effort to knit, but it was a
useless one. In a few minutes she laid it down, and asked in a low voice,
"Will you have a plate o' parritch, Davie?"
"Ay; I'm hungry, Maggie; and he'll maybe like one too."
So the pan was hung over the fire, and the plates and bowls set; and
while Maggie scattered in the meal, and went for the milk, Davie tried
to Collect his thoughts, and get from under the spell of the Magician of
his age. And though poetry and porridge seem far enough apart
Campbell said a hearty "thank you" to the offer of a plate full. He
wanted the food, and it was also a delight to watch Maggie spread his
cloth, and bring in the hot savory dish of meal, and the bowl of milk.
For her soul was still in her beautiful face, her eyes limpid and bright as
stars, and the simple meal so served reminded him of the plain
dignified feasts of the old rural deities. He told himself as he watched
her, that he was living a fairer idyl than ever poet dreamed.
"Gude night, sir," she said softly, after she had served the food, "you
took me into a new life the night, and thank you kindly, sir."

"It was a joy to me, Maggie. Good night."
She was a little afraid to speak to David; afraid of saying more than he
would approve, and afraid of saying anything that would clash with the
subject of his meditations. But she could not help noticing his
restlessness and his silence; and she was wondering to herself, "why
men-folk would be sae trying