Whats Mines Mine, vol 2 | Page 5

soldier," answered Ian, "not a clergyman. But I have heard my
father tell such a story from the pulpit."
Ian imagined himself foiled in his attempt to interest the maiden. If he
was, it would not be surprising. He had not the least desire to commend
HIMSELF to the girl; and he would not talk rubbish even to a child.
There is sensible and senseless nonsense, good absurdity and bad.
As Mercy recounted to her sister the story Ian had told her, it certainly
was silly enough. She had retained but the withered stalk and leaves;
the strange flower was gone. Christina judged it hardly a story for a
gentleman to tell a lady.
They returned almost in silence to find the table laid, a plentiful supper
spread, and the company seated. After supper came singing of songs,
saying of ballads, and telling of tales. I know with what in- credulity
many highlanders will read of a merry-making in their own country at
which no horn went round, no punch-bowl was filled and emptied
without stint! But the clearer the brain, the better justice is done to the
more etherial wine of fthe soul. Of several of the old songs Christina

begged the tunes, but was disappointed to find that, as she could not
take them down, so the singers of them could not set them down. In the
tales she found no interest. The hostess sang to her harp, and made to
revering listeners eloquent music, for her high clear tones had not yet
lost their sweetness, and she had some art to come in aid of her much
feeling: loud murmurs of delight, in the soft strange tongue of the songs
themselves, followed the profound silence with which they were heard,
but Christina wondered what there was to applaud. She could not
herself sing without accompaniment, and when she left, it was with a
regretful feeling that she had not distinguished herself. Naturally, as
they went home, the guests from the New House had much fun over the
queer fashions and poverty--stricken company, the harp and the
bagpipes, the horrible haggis, the wild minor songs, and the
unintelligible stories and jokes; but the ladies agreed that the Macruadh
was a splendid fellow.

CHAPTER II
ROB OF THE ANGELS.

Among the peasantry assembled at the feast, were two that had neither
danced, nor seated themselves at the long table where all were welcome.
Mercy wondered what might be the reason of their separation. Her first
thought was that they must be somehow, she could not well imagine
how, in lower position than any of the rest --had perhaps offended
against the law, perhaps been in prison, and so the rest would not keep
company with them; or perhaps they were beggars who did not belong
to the clan, and therefore, although fed, were not allowed to eat with it!
But she soon saw she must be wrong in each conjecture; for if there
was any avoiding, it was on the part of the two: every one, it was clear,
was almost on the alert to wait upon them. They seemed indeed rather
persons of distinction than outcasts; for it was with something like
homage, except for a certain coaxing tone in the speech of the
ministrants, that they were attended. They had to help themselves to
nothing; everything was carried to them. Now one, now another, where

all were guests and all were servants, would rise from the table to offer
them something, or see what they would choose or might be in want of,
while they partook with the same dignity and self-restraint that was to
be noted in all.
The elder was a man about five-and-fifty, tall and lean, with a wiry
frame, dark grizzled hair, and a shaven face. His dress, which was in
the style of the country, was very poor, but decent; only his plaid was
large and thick, and bright compared with the rest of his apparel: it was
a present he had had from his clan-some giving the wool, and others the
labour in carding, dyeing, and weaving it. He carried himself like a
soldier-which he had never been, though his father had. His eyes were
remarkably clear and keen, and the way he used them could hardly fail
to attract attention. Every now and then they would suddenly fix
themselves with a gaze of earnest inquiry, which would either grow to
perception, or presently melt away and let his glance go gently roving,
ready to receive, but looking for nothing. His face was very brown and
healthy, with marked and handsome features. Its expression seemed at
first a little severe, but soon, to reading eyes, disclosed patience and
tenderness. At the same time there was in it a something indescribably
unlike