Penelopes Experiences in Scotland | Page 8

settled weather!' It is a pathetic optimism,
beautiful but quite groundless, and leads one to believe in the story that
when Father Noah refused to take Sandy into the ark, he sat down
philosophically outside, saying, with a glance at the clouds, `Aweel!
the day's just aboot the ord'nar', an' I wouldna won'er if we saw the sun
afore nicht!'
But what loyal son of Edina cares for these transatlantic gibes, and
where is the dweller within her royal gates who fails to succumb to the
sombre beauty of that old grey town of the North? `Grey! why, it is
grey or grey and gold, or grey and gold and blue, or grey and gold and
blue and green, or grey and gold and blue and green and purple,
according as the heaven pleases and you choose your ground! But take
it when it is most sombrely grey, where is another such grey city?'
So says one of her lovers, and so the great army of lovers would say,
had they the same gift of language; for
`Even thus, methinks, a city reared should be, . . . Yea, an imperial city
that might hold Five time a hundred noble towns in fee. . . . Thus
should her towers be raised; with vicinage Of clear bold hills, that
curve her very streets, As if to indicate, `mid choicest seats Of Art,
abiding Nature's majesty.'
We ate a hasty breakfast that first morning, and prepared to go out for a
walk into the great unknown, perhaps the most pleasurable sensation in
the world. Francesca was ready first, and, having mentioned the fact
several times ostentatiously, she went into the drawing-room to wait
and read the Scotsman. When we went thither a few minutes later we
found that she had disappeared.
"She is below, of course," said Salemina. "She fancies that we shall feel
more ashamed at our tardiness if we find her sitting on the hall bench in
silent martyrdom."
There was no one in the hall, however, save Susanna, who inquired if

we would see the cook before going out.
"We have no time now, Susanna," I remarked. "We are anxious to have
a walk before the weather changes, if possible, but we shall be out for
luncheon and in for dinner, and Mrs. M'Collop may give us anything
she pleases. Do you know where Miss Francesca is?"
"I cudna s---"
"Certainly, of course you couldn't; but I wonder if Mrs. M'Collop saw
her?"
Mrs. M'Collop appeared from the basement, and vouchsafed the
information that she had seen `the young leddy rinnin' after the
regiment.'
"Running after the regiment!" repeated Salemina automatically. "What
a reversal of the laws of nature? Why, in Berlin, it was always the
regiment that used to run after her!"
We learned in what direction the soldiers had gone, and pursuing the
same path found the young lady on the corner of a street near by. She
was quite unabashed. "You don't know what you have missed!" she
said excitedly. "Let us get into this tram, and possibly we can head
them off somewhere. They may be going into battle, and if so, my
heart's blood is at their service. It is one of those experiences that come
only once in a lifetime. There were pipes and there were kilts! (I didn't
suppose they ever really wore them outside of the theatre!) When you
have seen the kilts swinging, Salemina, you will never be the same
woman afterwards! You never expected to see the Olympian gods
walking, did you? Perhaps you thought they always sat on practicable
rocks and made stiff gestures, from the elbow, as they do in the Wagner
operas? Well, these gods walked, if you can call the inspired gait a
walk! If there is a single spinster left in Scotland, it is because none of
these ever asked her to marry him. Ah, how grateful I ought to be that I
am free to say `yes', if a kilt ever asks me to be his! Poor Penelope,
yoked to your commonplace trousered Beresford! (I wish the tram
would go faster!) You must capture one of them, by fair means or foul,

Penelope, and Salemina and I will hold him down while you paint
him,--there they are, they are there somewhere, don't you hear them?"
There they were indeed, filing down the grassy slopes of the Gardens,
swinging across one of the stone bridges, and winding up the Castlehill
to the Esplanade like a long glittering snake; the streamers of their
Highland bonnets waving, their arms glistening in the sun, and the
bagpipes playing `The March of the Cameron Men.' The pipers
themselves were mercifully hidden from us on that first occasion, and it
was well, for we could never have borne another feather's