Penelope's Experiences in Scotland

  ‘“Good porter, I pray, for Saints Peter and Paul,
    And for sake of the Saviour who died for us all,
    For one cup of wine and one bit of bread,
    To an auld man with travel and hunger bestead.

    And ask the fair bride, for the sake of Hynde Horn,
    To hand them to me so sadly forlorn.”
     Then the porter for pity the message convey’d,
    And told the fair bride all the beggar man said.’

The curtain went up again. The porter, moved to pity, has gone to give the message to his lady. Hynde Horn is watching the staircase at the rear of the stage, his heart in his eyes. The tapestries that hide it are drawn, and there stands the king’s daughter, who tripped down the stair—

  ‘And in her fair hands did lovingly bear
   A cup of red wine, and a farle of cake,
   To give the old man for loved Hynde Horn’s sake.’

The hero of the ballad, who had not seen his true love for seven long years, could not have been more amazed at the change in her than was Ronald Macdonald at the sight of the flushed, excited, almost tearful king’s daughter on the staircase, Lady Ardmore’s diamonds flashing from her crimson satin gown, Lady Ardmore’s rubies glowing on her white arms and throat; not Miss Dalziel, as had been arranged, but Francesca, rebellious, reluctant, embarrassed, angrily beautiful and beautifully angry!

In the next scene Hynde Horn has drained the cup and dropped the ring into it.

  ‘“Oh, found you that ring by sea or on land,
    Or got you that ring off a dead man’s hand?”
    “Oh, I found not that ring by sea or on land,
    But I got that ring from a fair lady’s hand.

    As a pledge of true love she gave it to me,
    Full seven years ago as I sail’d o’er the sea;
    But now that the diamonds are changed in their hue,
    I know that my love has to me proved untrue.”’

I never saw a prettier picture of sweet, tremulous womanhood, a more enchanting, breathing image of fidelity, than Francesca looked as Mr. Beresford read:—

  ‘“Oh, I will cast off my gay costly gown,
    And follow thee on from town unto town;
    And I will take the gold kaims from my hair,
    And follow my true love for evermair.”’

Whereupon Hynde Horn lets his beggar weeds fall, and shines there the foremost and noblest of all the king’s companie as he says:—

  ‘“You need not cast off your gay costly gown,
    To follow me on from town unto town;
    You need not take the gold kaims from your hair,
    For Hynde Horn has gold enough and to spare.”

    Then the bridegrooms were changed, and the lady re-wed
    To Hynde Horn thus come back, like one from the dead.’

There is no doubt that this tableau gained the success of the evening, and the participants in it should have modestly and gratefully received the choruses of congratulation that were ready to be offered during the supper and dance that followed. Instead of that, what happened? Francesca drove home with Miss Dalziel before the quadrille d’honneur, and when Willie bade me good night at the gate in the loaning, he said, “I shall not be early to-morrow, dear. I am going to see Macdonald off.”

“Off!” I exclaimed. “Where is he going?”

“Only to Edinburgh and London, to stay till the last of next week.”

“But we may have left Pettybaw by that time.”

“Of course; that is probably what he has in mind. But let me tell you this, Penelope: Macdonald is fathoms deep in love with Francesca, and if she trifles with him she shall know what I think of her!”

“And let me tell you this, sir: Francesca is fathoms deep in love with Ronald Macdonald, little as you suspect it, and if he trifles with her he shall know what I think of him!”

Chapter XXIV. Old songs and modern instances

  ‘He set her on a coal-black steed,
     Himself lap on behind her,
   An’ he’s awa’ to the Hieland hills
     Whare her frien’s they canna find her.’

Rob Roy.

The occupants of Bide-a-Wee Cottage awoke in anything but a Jubilee humour, next day. Willie had intended to come at nine, but of course did not appear. Francesca took her breakfast in bed, and came listlessly into the sitting-room at ten o’clock, looking like a ghost. Jean’s ankle was much better—the sprain proved to be not even a strain—but her wrist was painful. It was drizzling, too, and we had promised Miss Ardmore and Miss Macrae to aid with the last Jubilee decorations, the distribution of medals at the church, and the children’s games and tea on the links in the afternoon.

We have determined not to desert our beloved Pettybaw for the metropolis on this great day, but to celebrate it with the dear fowk o’ Fife who had grown to be a part of our lives.

Bide-a-Wee Cottage does not occupy an imposing position in the landscape, and the choice of art fabrics at the Pettybaw draper’s is small, but the moment it should stop raining we were intending to carry out a dazzling scheme of decoration that would proclaim our affectionate respect for the ‘little lady in black’ on her Diamond Jubilee. But would it stop raining?—that was the question. The draper wasna certain that so licht a shoo’r could richtly be called rain. The village weans were yearning for the hour to arrive when they might sit on the wet golf-course and have tea; manifestly, therefore, it could not be a bad day for Scotland; but if it should grow worse, what would become of our mammoth subscription bonfire on Pettybaw Law—the bonfire that Brenda Macrae was to light, as the lady of the manor?

There were no deputations to request the honour of Miss Macrae’s distinguished services on this occasion; that is not the way the self-respecting villager comports himself in Fifeshire. The chairman of the local committee, a respectable gardener, called upon Miss Macrae at Pettybaw House, and said, “I’m sent to tell ye ye’re to have the pleasure an’ the honour of lichtin’ the bonfire the nicht! Ay, it’s a grand chance ye’re havin’, miss, ye’ll remember it as long as ye live, I’m thinkin’!”

When I complimented this rugged soul on his decoration of the triumphal arch under which the school-children were to pass, I said, “I think if her Majesty could see it, she would be pleased with our village to-day, James.”

“Ay, ye’re richt, miss,” he replied complacently. “She’d see that Inchcawdy canna compeer wi’ us; we’ve patronised her weel in Pettybaw!”

Truly, as Stevenson says, ‘he who goes fishing among the Scots peasantry with condescension for a bait will have an empty basket by evening.’

At eleven o’clock a boy arrived at Bide-a-Wee with an interesting-looking package, which I promptly opened. That dear foolish lover of mine (whose foolishness is one of the most adorable things about him) makes me only two visits a day, and is therefore constrained to send me some reminder of himself in the intervening hours, or minutes—a book, a flower, or a note. Uncovering the pretty box, I found a long, slender—something—of sparkling silver.

“What is it?” I exclaimed, holding it up. “It is too long and not wide enough for a paper-knife, although it would be famous for cutting magazines. Is it a baton? Where did Willie find it, and what can it be? There is something engraved on one side, something that looks like birds on a twig,—yes, three little birds; and see the lovely cairngorm set in the end! Oh, it has words cut in it: ‘To Jean: From Hynde Horn’—Goodness me! I’ve opened Miss Dalziel’s package!”

Francesca made a sudden swooping motion, and caught box, cover, and contents in her arms.