Heather and Snow | Page 8

She was a peasant, he a gentleman! Her bare head and yet more her bare feet emphasized the contrast. But which was by nature and in fact the superior, no one with the least insight could have doubted.
He stood and looked at her, but neither spoke. She cast at length a glance upward, and said,
'Weel?'
Francis did not open his mouth. He seemed irresolute. Nothing in Kirsty's look or carriage or in the tone of her one word gave sign of consciousness that she was treating him, or he her, strangely. With complete self-possession she left the initiative to the one who had sought the interview: let him say why he had come!
In his face began to appear indication of growing displeasure. Two or three times he turned half away with a movement instantly checked which seemed to say that in a moment more, if there came no change, he would mount and ride: was this all his welcome?
At last she appeared to think she must take mercy on him: he used to say thirty words to her one!
'That's a bonny powny ye hae,' she remarked, with a look at the creature as he fed.
'He's a' that,' he answered dryly.
'Whaur did ye get him?' she asked.
'My mither coft (_bought_) him agen my hame-comin,' he replied.
He prided himself on being able to speak the broadest of the dialect.
'She maun hae a straucht e'e for a guid beast!' returned Kirsty, with a second glance at the pony.
'He's a bonny cratur and a willin,' answered the youth. 'He'll gang skelp throuw onything--watter onygait;--I'm no sae sure aboot fire.'
A long silence followed, broken this time by the youth.
'Winna ye gie me luik nor word, and me ridden like mad to hae a sicht o' ye?' he said.
She glanced up at him.
'Weel ye hae that!' she answered, with a smile that showed her lovely white teeth: 'ye're a' dubs (_all bemired_)! What for sud ye be in sic a hurry? Ye saw me no three days gane!'
'Ay, I saw ye, it's true; but I didna get a word o' ye!'
'Ye was free to say what ye likit. There was nane by but my mither!'
'Wud ye hae me say a'thing afore yer mither jist as I wud til ye yer lane (_alone_)?' he asked.
Ay wud I,' she returned. 'Syne she wad ken, 'ithoot my haein to tell her sic a guse as ye was!'
Had he not seen the sunny smile that accompanied her words he might well have taken offence.
'I wuss ye war anither sic-like!' he answered simply.
'Syne there wud be twa o' 's!' she returned, leaving him to interpret.
Silence again fell.
'Weel, what wud ye hae, Francie?' said Kirsty at length.
'I wud hae ye promise to merry me, Kirsty, come the time,' he answered; 'and that ye ken as well as I du mysel!'
'That's straucht oot ony gait!' rejoined Kirsty. 'But ye see, Francie,' she went on, 'yer father, whan he left ye a kin' o' a legacy, as ye may ca' 't, to mine, hed no intention that I was to be left oot; neither had my father whan he acceppit o' 't!'
'I dinna unerstan ye ae styme (_one atom_)!' interrupted Gordon.
'Haud yer tongue and hearken,' returned Kirsty. 'What I'm meanin 's this: what lies to my father's han' lies to mine as weel; and I'll never hae 't kenned or said that, whan my father pu't (_pulled_) ae gait, I pu't anither!'
'Sakes, lassie! what are ye haverin at? Wud it be pu'in agen yer father to merry me?'
'It wud be that.'
'I dinna see hoo ye can mak it oot! I dinna see hoo, bein sic a freen' o' my father's, he sud objeck to my father's son!'
'Eh, but laddies ir gowks!' cried Kirsty. 'My father was your father's freen' for his sake, no for his ain! He thinks o' what wud be guid for you, no for himsel!'
'Weel, but,' persisted Gordon, 'it wud be mair for my guid nor onything ither he cud wuss for, to hae you for my wife!'
Kirsty's nostrils began to quiver, and her lip rose in a curve of scorn.
'A bonnie wife ye wud hae, Francie Gordon, wha, kennin her father duin ilk mortal thing for the love o' his auld maister and comrade, tuik the fine chance to mak her ain o' 't, and haud her grip o' the callan til hersel!--Think ye aither o' the auld men ever mintit at sic a thing as fatherin baith? That my father had a lass-bairn o' 's ain shawed mair nor onything the trust your father pat in 'im! Francie, the verra grave wud cast me oot for shame 'at I sud ance hae thoucht o' sic a thing! Man, it wud maist drive yer leddy-mither dementit!'
'It's my business' Kirsty, wha I merry!'
'And I houp yer grace 'll alloo it's pairt my