Wee Macgreegor Enlists | Page 4

yer mither
that, if ye like.'
Macgregor was used to the paternal helping word at awkward moments,
but he had never valued it so much as now. As a matter of fact, he
dreaded his mother's frown less than her smile. Yet he need not have
dreaded either on this occasion.
He found her in the kitchen, busy over a heap of more or less woolly
garments belonging to himself. Jimsie was at afternoon school; Jeannie
sat in the little parlour knitting as though life depended thereby.
He sat down in his father's chair by the hearth and lit a cigarette with
fingers not quite under control.
'I'll ha'e to send a lot o' things efter ye,' Lizzie remarked. 'This semmit's
had its day.'
'I'll be gettin' a bit leave afore we gang to the Front,' said Macgregor, as
though the months of training were already nearing an end.
'If ye dinna get leave sune, I'll be up at the barracks to ha'e a word wi'
the general.'
'It'll likely be a camp, mither.'
'Aweel, camp or barracks, see an' keep yer feet cosy, an' dinna smoke
ower mony ceegarettes.' She fell to with her needle.
At the end of a long minute, Macgregor observed to the kettle: 'I tell't
fayther what I done wi' the twa pound.'
'Did ye?'
'Ay. He--he was awfu' pleased.'

'Was he?'
Macgregor took a puff at his cold cigarette, and tried again. 'He said I
was to tell ye he was pleased.'
'Oh, did he?'
'Never pleaseder in his life.'
'That was nice,' commented Lizzie, twirling the thread round the
stitching of a button.
He got up, went to the window, looked out, possibly for inspiration,
and came back with a little box in his hand.
'That's what I done,' he said, dropped it on her sewing, and strolled to
the window again.
After a long time, as it seemed, he felt her gaze and heard her voice.
'Macgreegor, are ye in earnest?'
'Sure.' He turned to face her, but now she was looking down at the ring.
'It'll be Mistress Baldwin's niece,' she said, at last.
'Hoo did ye ken?'
'A nice lass, but ower young like yersel'. An' yet'--she lifted her eyes to
his--'ye're auld enough to be a sojer. Does she ken ye've enlisted?'
He nodded, looking away. There was something in his mother's eyes. . .
'Aweel,' she said, as if to herself, 'this war'll pit auld heids on some
young shouthers.' She got up, laid her seam deliberately on the table,
and went to him. She put her arm round him. 'Wi' yer King an' yer
Country an' yer Christina,' she said, with a sort of laugh, 'there winna
be a great deal o' ye left for yer mither. But she's pleased if you're
pleased--this time, at ony rate.' She released him. 'I maun tell Jeannie.'
she said, leaving the kitchen.
Jeannie came, and for once that sensible little person talked nonsense.
In her eyes, by his engagement, her big brother had simply out-heroed
himself.
'Aw, clay up, Jeannie,' he cried at last, in his embarrassment. 'Come on
oot wi' me, an' I'll stan' ye a dizzen sliders.'

III
FIRST BLOOD
Macgregor, his countenance shining with lover's anticipation and
Lever's soap, was more surprised than gratified to find Willie Thomson
awaiting him at the close-mouth. For Willie, his oldest, if not his

choicest friend, had recently jeered at his intention of becoming a
soldier, and they had parted on indifferent terms, though Willie had
succeeded in adding to a long list of borrowings a fresh item of
twopence.
Willie and prosperity were still as far apart as ever, and even Willie
could hardly have blamed prosperity for that. He had no deadly vices,
but he could not stick to any job for more than a month. He was out of
work at present. Having developed into a rather weedy, seedy-looking
young man, he was not too proud to sponge on the melancholy maiden
aunt who had brought him up, and whose efforts at stern discipline
during his earlier years had seemingly proved fruitless. Macgregor was
the only human being he could call friend.
'Ye're in a hurry,' he now observed, and put the usual question: 'Ha'e ye
a fag on ye?'
Macgregor obliged, saying as kindly as he could, 'I'll maybe see ye later,
Wullie.'
'Thon girl again, I suppose.'
'So long,' said Macgregor, shortly.
'Haud on a meenute. I want to speak to ye. Ha'e ye done it?'
'Ay, this mornin'. . . . An' I'm gey busy.'
'Ye should leave the weemen alane, an' then ye wud ha'e time to spare.'
'What ha'e ye got to speak aboot?' Macgregor impatiently demanded,
though he was in good time for his appointment.
'I was thinkin' o' enlistin',' said Willie.
'Oh!'