A Knight of the Nets | Page 4

orphanage had placed her
in the care of an aunt who carried on a dress and bonnet making
business in Largo, and she had turned the little fisher-maid into a girl
after her own heart and wishes.
Sophy, indeed, came frequently to visit her people in Pittendurie; but
she had gradually grown less and less like them, and there was no
wonder Mistress Binnie asked herself fearfully, "what kind of a wife at
all Sophy would make for a Fife fisherman?" She was so small and
genty, she had such a lovely face, such fair rippling hair, and her gown
was of blue muslin made in the fashion of the day, and finished with a
lace collar round her throat, and a ribbon belt round her slender waist.
"A bonnie lass for a carriage and pair," thought Janet Binnie; "but
whatever will she do with the creel and the nets? not to speak of the
bairns and the housework?"
Andrew was too much in love to consider these questions. When he
was six years old, he had carried Sophy in his arms all day long; when
he was twelve, they had paddled on the sands, and fished, and played,
and learned their lessons together. She had promised then to be his wife
as soon as he had a house and a boat of his own; and never for one
moment since had Andrew doubted the validity and certainty of this
promise. To Andrew, and to Andrew's family, and to the whole village
of Pittendurie, the marriage of Andrew Binnie and Sophy Traill was a
fact beyond disputing. Some said "it was the right thing," and more said

"it was the foolish thing," and among the latter was Andrew's mother;
though as yet she had said it very cautiously to Andrew, whom she
regarded as "clean daft and senselessly touchy about the girl."
But she sent the young people out of the house while she redd up the
disorder made by the evening meal; though, as she wiped her teacups,
she went frequently to the little window, and looked at the four sitting
together on the bit of turf which carpeted the top of the cliff before the
cottage. Andrew, as a privileged lover, held Sophy's hand; Christina sat
next her brother, and facing Jamie Logan, so it was easy to see how her
face kindled, and her manner softened to the charm of his merry
conversation, his snatches of breezy sea-song, and his clever bits of
mimicry. And as Janet walked to and fro, setting her cups and plates in
the rack, and putting in place the tables and chairs she did what we
might all do more frequently and be the wiser for it--she talked to
herself, to the real woman within her, and thus got to the bottom of
things.
In less than an hour there began to be a movement about the pier, and
then Andrew and Jamie went away to their night's work; and the girls
sat still and watched the men across the level sands, and the boats
hurrying out to the fishing grounds. Then they went back to the cottage,
and found that Mistress Binnie had taken her knitting and gone to chat
with a crony who lived higher up the cliff.
"We are alone, Sophy" said Christina; "but women folk are often that."
She spoke a little sadly, the sweet melancholy of conscious, but
unacknowledged love being heavy in her heart, and she would not have
been sorry, had she been quite alone with her vaguely happy dreams.
Neither of the girls was inclined to talk, but Christina wondered at
Sophy's silence, for she had been unusually merry while the young men
were present.
Now she sat quiet on the door step, clasping her left knee with little
white hands that had no sign of labour on them but the mark of the
needle on the left forefinger. At her side, Christina stood, her tall
straight figure fittingly clad in a striped blue and white linsey petticoat,
and a little josey of lilac print, cut low enough to show the white, firm

throat above it. Her fine face radiated thought and feeling; she was on
the verge of that experience which glorifies the simplest life. The
exquisite glooming, the tender sky, the full heaving sea, were all in
sweetest sympathy; they were sufficient; and Sophy's thin, fretful voice
broke the charm and almost offended her.
"It is a weary life, Christina. How do you thole it?"
"You are just talking, Sophy. You were happy enough half an hour
since."
"I wasn't happy at all."
"You let on like you were. I should think you would be as fear'd to act a
lie, as to tell one."
"I'll be going away from Pittendurie in the morning."