Heather and Snow | Page 9

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 business wha ye sail not
merry--and that's me, Francie!'
Gordon sprang to his feet with such a look of wrath and despair as for a
moment frightened Kirsty who was not easily frightened. She thought
of the terrible bog-holes on the way her lover had come, sprang also to
her feet, and caught him by the arm where, his foot already in the
stirrup, he stood in the act of mounting.
'Francie! Francie!' she cried, 'hearken to rizzon! There's no a body, man
or wuman, I like better nor yersel to du ye ony guid or turn o'
guid--'cep' my father, of coorse, and my mither, and my ain Steenie!'
'And hoo mony mair, gien I had the wull to hear the lang bible-chapter
o' them, and see mysel comin in at the tail o' them a', like the hin'most
sheep, takin his bite as he cam? Na, na! it's time I was hame, and had
my slip (_pinafore_) on, and was astride o' a stick! Gien ye had a score
o' idiot-brithers, ye wud care mair for ilk are o' them nor for me! I
canna bide to think o' 't.'
'It's true a' the same, whether ye can bide to think o' 't or no, Francie!'
returned the girl, her face, which had been very pale, now rosy with
indignation. 'My Steenie's mair to me nor a' the Gordons thegither,
Bow-o'-meal or Jock-and-Tam as ye like!'
She drew back, sat down again to the stocking she was knitting for
Steenie, and left her lover to mount and ride, which he did without
another word.
'There's mair nor ae kin' o' idiot,' she said to herself, 'and Steenie's no
the kin' that oucht to be ca'd ane. There's mair in Steenie nor in sax
Francie Gordons!'
If ever Kirsty came to love a man, it would be just nothing to her to die
for him; but then it never would have been anything to her to die for
her father or her mother or Steenie!
Gordon galloped off at a wild pace, as if he would drive his pony

straight athwart the terrible moss, taking hag and well-eye as it came.
But glancing behind and seeing that Kirsty was not looking after him,
he turned the creature's head in a safer direction, and left the moss at
his back.

CHAPTER IV
DOG-STEENIE
She sat for some time at the foot of the hill, motionless as itself, save
for her hands. The sun shone on in silence, and the blue butterflies
which haunted the little bush of bluebells, that is harebells, beside her,
made no noise; only a stray bee, happy in the pale heat, made a little
music to please itself--and perhaps the butterflies. Kirsty had an
unusual power of sitting still, even with nothing for her hands to do. On
the present occasion, however, her hands and fingers went faster than
usual--not entirely from eagerness to finish her stocking, but partly
from her displeasure with Francis. At last she broke her 'worset,' drew
the end of it through the final loop, and, drawing it, rose and scanned
the side of the hill. Not far off she spied the fleecy backs of a few
feeding sheep, and straightway sent out on the still air a sweet, strong,
musical cry. It was instantly responded to by a bark from somewhere
up the hill. She sat down, clasped her hands over her knees, and waited.
She had not to wait long. A sound of rushing came through the heather,
and in a moment or two, a fine collie, with long, silky, wavy coat of
black and brown, and one white spot on his face, shot out of the heather,
sprang upon her, and, setting his paws on her shoulders, began licking
her face. She threw her arms round him, and addressed him in words of
fondling rebuke:--
'Ye ill-mennered tyke!' she said; 'what richt hae ye to tak the place o'
yer betters? Gang awa doon wi' ye, and wait. What for sud