The Rutherfurd Saga. Anna Buchan

      CHAPTER XII

       Table of Contents

      “It is a gallant child, one that makes old hearts fresh.”

       The Winter’s Tale.

      On the morning of the Thursday that he had been invited to tea with the Rutherfurds, Alastair and his friend and attendant, Annie, disported themselves among the boats at the Harbour. It was not usual for them to be down on the shore in the morning. Generally, Annie “did” the nursery, and Alastair played in the garden, and then they went for a walk; but to-day Miss Symington had gone after breakfast to Langtoun, the sun was shining, and Alastair had begged so hard for the Harbour that Annie had skirmished rapidly through her work, cast care to the winds, and raced with him down the brae.

      It was exceedingly fortunate, Alastair felt, that his aunt had gone away that day, for his friend Mr. Beckett had given him a repeater pistol complete with ammunition (caps), and, also, there was a Norwegian boat in the Harbour manned by strange-speaking but wonderfully friendly sailors. He and Annie had been invited on board and had sat in a fascinating cabin and drunk strong black tea out of gaily-painted bowls. It was a good thing Miss Symington had been spared the sight, but it had all been so novel and exciting that neither had ever thought for a moment they were doing wrong.

      Now they were pirates. Alastair was a quaint figure in an overcoat made for his growth, inclined to be humpy at the back, and a dark grey felt hat; but if his appearance suggested a lay preacher rather than a law breaker, his spirit left nothing to be desired. As he stamped about shouting hoarsely what he fondly believed to be curses, Annie said he made her blood run cold. That damsel’s idea of the behaviour of a pirate was an odd one. She leant languidly over the side of the boat and sang a song which she was much addicted to, beginning, “When the spring-time comes, gentle Annie.”

      Alastair was firing his new pistol so recklessly after what he called a “retreating craft,” that he did not notice Nicole Rutherfurd until she leant over and shouted to him:

      “I know who you are. You’re Paul Jones. He was a tremendous pirate and he came from these parts.”

      “Oh?” said Alastair politely. “Would you care to see my pistol? It goes on firing as long as there are any caps.”

      “And then what happens?”

      “It stops. I’m coming to your house this afternoon.”

      “You are,” said Nicole.

      “Yes. I was going to ask you, only Annie wouldn’t let me ring your bell, would you mind if Mr. Beckett came with me rather than Aunt Janet?”

      “But—does Mr. Beckett want to come?”

      “No,” said Alastair truthfully, looking very straight into Nicole’s eyes, “he hates tea-parties, but he might come if he was asked. He says you can’t very well not accept, when ladies ask you. That’s why he went to Mrs. Heggie’s.”

      “I see. And what about your Aunt Janet? Would she rather stay at home too?”

      “She’d stay at home if you asked her to,” Alastair said, and received a prod in the back from Annie, who was struggling with suppressed giggles. “Give over this meenit,” she whispered hoarsely, “or I’ll tell yer aunt.” Then, to Nicole, “Please be so good as not to heed him, Miss”; and again to her charge, “Come awa’ hame, ye ill laddie.”

      But Alastair heeded her not, for, walking along the shore, he spied his friend Mr. Beckett and flew to him like an arrow from a bow.

      Nicole and Annie followed, the latter apologising incoherently as they went.

      “Naebody pits the things he says into his heid: he juist oots wi’ them afore ye ken whaur ye are. He’s daft aboot Maister Beckett—— Ye see, he’s fair seeck o’ weemen, for he sees nothing else. He didna mean to be impident to you, for he’s an awfu’ polite laddie. I dinna ken whaur he gets his manners, they’re no’ Kirkmeikle anes onyway.”

      Nicole shook hands with Simon Beckett, and remarked on the freshness of the morning.

      “Yes, too good to work in. The mornings have been so good lately and the afternoons so bad, that I’m trying the plan of walking in the morning and writing the rest of the day.”

      “Oh, you write?” said Nicole with lively interest.

      “Not to say write. . . . I’m doing a job—trying to write an account . . . an unholy mess I’m making of it.” He looked so embarrassed and ashamed of himself that Nicole changed the subject by asking him if he would give them the pleasure of his company at tea that afternoon.

      The tall young man looked suspiciously at Alastair, while Alastair looked out to sea, and Nicole said, “I know it’s too bad to ask you, for like all men I expect you loathe tea-parties, but if you would come and support Alastair in a household of women you would be doing a kindness. . . . Then we may expect you? Why, Alastair, we’ll have quite a party, shan’t we? You and your aunt and Mr. Beckett and three of ourselves—enough to play musical chairs!”

      Before four o’clock another man had been added to the party.

      Lady Jane, who had taken a liking for Mrs. Brodie, the woman with the nine children, had gone along with something for the baby and had found the household in trouble. The eldest boy had been brought in with a bad cut on his forehead and a broken arm. The doctor was with him, a clean-shaven elderly man with a weather-beaten face.

      Mrs. Brodie was standing near, holding her youngest, the “wee horse,” under one arm. “Eh my!” she said, wiping her face with her apron, “folk gets awfu’ frichts in this warld. Ye’re niver lang wi’oot something—a family’s a sair trauchle. I was juist thinkin’ we were a’ quat o’ the measles an’ here we are again!”

      “Wull I dee? Wull I dee?” wailed the patient, a freckled fair boy of fourteen.

      “Not you,” said the doctor, “but you deserve to, hanging on carts as I’ve seen you do fifty times. If you had dropped off before a motor instead of a gig where would you have been, I’d like to know? . . . Now, then, Mrs. Brodie, he’ll do all right if you keep him quiet. Don’t let him sit up on any account. I’ll look in again before bedtime. Be thankful he’s got off so easy.” He pinched the cheek of the baby. “That’s a fine child. He’s the best you’ve got, and they’re not a bad-looking lot taking them as a whole. Good day to you.”

      Lady Jane and the doctor went out into the street together. “Which is your way?” he asked.

      “Down here—to the Harbour House.”

      “Ho! so you are one of the new-comers? My sister called on you—Kilgour’s the name—but she found you out. I think you must be Lady Jane Rutherfurd?”

      “I am, and I’m hoping to meet your sister soon—— What a nice place Kirkmeikle is!”

      “I’m glad you like it. I’ve lived here all my life and I think there’s no place to compare with it. Are you interested in old things? No one is about here; like the ancient Athenians they follow after new things, and they don’t know their own old town. I haven’t much time, being an Insurance slave, but there’s a spare hour or two nearly every