Alec Forbes of Howglen | Page 3

mem. The deid'll hear ye,
an' no lie still."
"Supperstitious quean! Gang an' do as I tell ye this minute. What
business hae ye to gang greetin aboot the hoose? He was no drap's
bluid o' yours!"
To this the girl made no reply, but left the room in quest of Annie.
When she reached the door, she stood for a moment on the threshold,
and, putting her hand over her eyes, shouted "Annie!" But, apparently
startled at the sound of her own voice where the unhearing dead had so
lately passed, she let the end of the call die away in a quaver, and,
without repeating it, set off to find the missing child by the use of her
eyes alone. First she went into the barn, and then through the barn into
the stack-yard, and then round the ricks one after another, and then into
the corn-loft; but all without avail. At length, as she was beginning to
feel rather alarmed about the child, she arrived, in the progress of her
search, at the door of one of the cow-houses. The moment she looked
round the corner into the stall next the door, she stood stock-still, with
her mouth wide open. This stall was occupied by a favourite
cow--brown, with large white spots, called therefore Brownie. Her
manger was full of fresh-cut grass; and half-buried in this grass, at one
end of the manger, with her back against the wall, sat Annie, holding
one of the ears of the hornless Brownie with one hand and stroking the
creature's nose with the other.

She was a delicate child, about nine years old, with blue eyes, half full
of tears, hair somewhere between dark and fair, gathered in a silk net,
and a pale face, on which a faint moon-like smile was glimmering. The
old cow continued to hold her nose to be stroked.
"Is na Broonie a fine coo, Betty?" said the child, as the maid went on
staring at her. "Puir Broonie! Naebody mindit me, an' sae I cam to you,
Broonie."
And she laid her cheek, white, smooth, and thin, against the broad, flat,
hairy forehead of the friendly cow. Then turning again to Betty, she
said--
"Dinna tell auntie whaur I am, Betty. Lat me be. I'm best here wi'
Broonie."
Betty said never a word, but returned to her mistress.
"Whaur's the bairn, Betty? At some mischeef or ither, I'll wad."
"Hoot! mem, the bairn's weel eneuch. Bairns maunna be followed like
carr (calves)."
"Whaur is she?"
"I canna jist doonricht exackly tak upo' me to say," answered Betty;
"but I hae no fear aboot her. She's a wise bairn."
"Ye're no the lassie's keeper, Betty. I see I maun seek her mysel'. Ye're
aidin' an' abettin' as usual."
So saying, Auntie Meg went out to look for her niece. It was some time
before the natural order of her search brought her at last to the byre. By
that time Annie was almost asleep in the grass, which the cow was
gradually pulling away from under her. Through the open door the
child could see the sunlight lying heavy upon the hot stones that paved
the yard; but in here it was so dark-shadowy and cool, and the cow was
such good, kindly company, and she was so safe hidden from auntie, as

she thought--for no one had ever found her there before, and she knew
Betty would not tell--that, as I say, she was nearly asleep with comfort,
half-buried in Brownie's dinner.
But she was roused all at once to a sense of exposure and insecurity.
She looked up, and at the same moment the hawk-nose of her aunt
came round the door-cheek. Auntie's temper was none the better than
usual that it had pleased the Almichty to take the brother whom she
loved, and to leave behind the child whom she regarded as a painful
responsibility. And now with her small, fierce eyes, and her big, thin
nose--both red with suppressed crying--she did not dawn upon the
sense of Annie as an embodiment of the maternity of the universe.
"Ye plaguesome brat!" cried Auntie; "there has Betty been seekin' ye,
and I hae been seekin' ye, far an' near, i' the verra rottan-holes; an' here
ye are, on yer ain father's buryin' day, that comes but ance--takin' up wi'
a coo."
But the causes of Annie's preference of the society of Brownie to that
of Auntie might have been tolerably clear to an onlooker, without word
spoken. For to Annie and her needs, notwithstanding the humble
four-footedness of Brownie, there was in her large mild eyes, and her
hairy, featureless face, all nose and no nose, more of the divine than in
the human form of Auntie Meg. And there was something of an