Chapter VIII: Back at the Dear Old Farm

The close of the session had come. Soon the streets, that had all winter long been rendered so gay and cheerful by the flash of the scarlet togas and the merry laugh of the wearers, would know neither toga nor wearer any more for six long months.

The session had ended, and spring had come. There was balm in the breath of the breeze that now blew over the Broad Hill and swept along the wide golf links. The breakers thundered less often in fury upon the yellow sand. They preferred now to roll in more slowly, and to lisp and to sing as they curled in long lines of foam upon the beach. Trees were all in bud, birds were in fullest song, people were busy in their gardens, where tulips, hyacinths, polyanthuses, and the sweet-faced primroses were already blooming side by side with the blue-eyed, gentle myosotis or forget-me-not.

There is always more or less of sadness in the hearts of students at this the time of parting with the comrades they have sat in the same class-rooms with all the winter, have walked with, played with, nay, even fought with mayhap. But now all is forgiven, if, indeed, there be anything to forgive, and in a week’s time the classes are scattered to the four winds of heaven. The majority, it is true, live in Aberdeenshire, but this county is broad and wide stretching--we may say, from the Bullers of Buchan to the rolling Dee, and from the far-off heathy hills of Braemar in the west, to the sea that laves its sand-girt eastern shore.

Some men had gone away into the Highlands of Inverness, and during all the summer would delve and dig or hold the plough. Others away to wild romantic Skye--the Isle of Wings, and others again far North to that _Ultima Thule_, Shetland, which some one has likened to “a sea-girdled peat-moss.” It is rather, however, a series of sea-girdled peat-mosses, for the islands are very numerous indeed, their shores, when the purple mantle of summer is thrown like a veil of gauze over them, as romantic as they are lonesome and wild.

And Sandie and Willie had parted. But they would think of each other constantly, and they would write almost every day.

Willie was going south to the Riviera with his mother and one of his sisters, but as soon as he should return, his first visit would be up Deeside to the dear old farm of Kilbuie.

So Sandie went home alone. But how delighted his parents and Elsie were to see him, I need not tell the reader!

* * * * *

Since Sandie had been at home last, a little change had taken place near the farm. He noticed this as he came slowly down the long loaning, and just as Elsie and dear old Tyro came running delightedly to meet him. A little cottage had sprung up, a cottage consisting only of a butt and a ben, that is, dear English reader, one of two rooms, namely, a room at each side of the door, a best room and a living room or kitchen.

“But what did it mean?” Sandie asked himself. There was even a garden laid out before the door, the door itself had a rustic porch, and the cottage was prettily stob-thatched with straw.

As soon as Tyro’s first wild greetings were over, and Elsie had welcomed her brother back, he pointed to the cottage and asked for an explanation.

“Oh,” cried Elsie, “I meant to have written and told you, but Jamie and Jeannie beseeched me not to. They thought it much better it should come as a surprise to you when you returned home.”

“Well,” said Sandie, “I begin to smell a rat. They are going to be married. Is it not so?”

“Yes.”

“Sly old Jamie Duncan! I never knew he was soft in that direction. Won’t I roast him just?”

“Oh no, dear Sandie, you mustn’t. It really isn’t sly he is, so much as shy.”

But nevertheless, as soon as Sandie saw Jamie, and the first greetings were over, he tackled him on the forthcoming great event in his life.

“So,” said Sandie, “I’ve got to rub shoulders with you, have I?”

For the information of the Southern reader, I may explain that to rub shoulders with a bridegroom is supposed to bring the rubber great good luck.

“I’m no goin’ to deny it,” replied Jamie, his cheeks like the rosy beet.

“Man!” he added by way of excuse, “I lo’oed Jeannie a lang, lang time, though she didna ken (didn’t know), but at last I had to tell her, or lay me doon and dee, as the auld sang says.”

“And she has been kind enough to promise to marry you?”

“Ay, that has she, Sandie, and sealed the bargain wi’ a kiss. And a richt bonnie and usefu’ wifie she’ll mak’ to a poor chiel like me. Oh, man, it is a fine thing to hae a bit hoose o’ your ain, to come hame at even to your little cot, and find your firie burnin’, your supper ready, and your winsome wifie a’ smiles and saft, saft words!”

“Well,” said Sandie, “I’m sure, Jamie, I wish you all the happiness you deserve, and Jeannie too.”

Jamie’s wedding took place just a week after Sandie’s return.

It was an exceedingly quiet one, but Jeannie made a bonnie bride, and Jamie a sturdy independent bridegroom.

Mr. Mackenzie himself, though it was not his parish, was asked to perform the ceremony, and came over on purpose to do so, after which there was a right merry and jolly breakfast, then the happy pair set out together to spend their honeymoon.

And how long, think you, did this honeymoon last? Why, just one day. They went off to see the sights in the Granite City, and next day at gloaming, they came linking down the long loanings arm-in-arm, looking as happy, quite as the yellow-billed blackbird and his wife who lived in yonder thicket of spruce.

Geordie Black, the orra man, had lit a fire in the cottage, and it was burning brightly; Elsie had laid the table, and tea and dinner combined were ready, just as the happy pair came over the threshold.

“Oh,” cried Jamie, “this is truly delichtfu’.”

The occasion even required verse, and Jamie was equal to it. As he threw himself into the easy-chair with a kind of tired but contented sigh, he carolled forth--

“Mid pleasures and palaces
Where’er we may roam,
Be it ever so humble,
There’s no place like home.”

* * * * *

Now to return to our hero Sandie: his experiences of pupil-teaching had not been to him bliss unalloyed. It took him away from his studies, it was a loss of time, and a terrible worry, and the pay was hardly commensurate. Besides, as at the close of next session he meant to compete for a great prize for mathematics of sixty pounds, tenable for the two last sessions of the curriculum, he would really need all his time for preparation.

So in his own mind he began to cast about for some means of making a little money during the summer, to help him through the weary winter. A little would do; but that little must be earned.

He must help his father with the harvest work, free, gratis. Many and many a year and day that dear old father, whose hair was now silvered with age, had helped him.

Then, as if he had received a flash of inspiration, the herring-fishery came into his mind.

Now, in Scotland, it will do my Southern reader no harm to know, the herring come to the coast months before they reach the shores of, say, Norfolk and Suffolk. In the Land o’ Cakes they come in with the new potatoes in June, and a most delicious dish fresh herring and new potatoes make.

Well, Sandie could have two months at this industry before his father’s harvest came on.

When he mentioned his determination to his mother and Elsie next day, with tears in their eyes, they tried to dissuade him from his purpose. It was rash, they alleged, and it was highly dangerous. But Sandie stood firm as a rock.

Our hero now resumed, to a certain extent, his old life on the farm. With the exception of a forenoon, spent about twice a week with his old friend Mackenzie, and his little favourite, Maggie May, with whom he frequently went fishing, he worked with his father’s servants. The horses’ holiday time had come round again once more, and once more they were wading pastern-deep in the daisied grass, as happy as the day was long; but there was plenty to do for the men in thinning turnips, weeding and hoeing potatoes, and other things.

In the evening, however, immediately after supper, he retired to his little grain-loft study, and there bent all his energies to the elucidation of the mysteries of mathematics till far on into the night.

He did not find mathematics so very hard after all, when he fairly set himself to tackle it. The problems looked dreadfully dark and difficult a little way off, just as a black cloud does that is approaching the moon, but the moon soon brightens it. And in the same way, Sandie’s determination and study soon illuminated the darkest clouds of mathematics.

Indeed, Sandie was really pleased with his prowess and advancement, but well he knew, nevertheless, that he would have to study steadily, hard and long, if he was to have the slightest chance of capturing that great prize of £60 for two years. Why, such a haul would render him independent.

Well, he determined to work and trust in Providence.

Sandie, however, did not neglect his health. He ate and drank well, and every fine evening his sister Elsie and he went up the hill through the long sweet-scented yellow broom for a walk.

Delicious hours those! To have seen Elsie hanging on to her brother’s arm, and he smiling as he looked fondly down into her sweet face, a stranger would have taken them for lovers.

Then what castles in the air they did build to be sure! What day-dreams were theirs! Of the time when he should be minister of some beautiful old church by the banks of a stream, and she, Elsie, his housekeeper. Already, in imagination, they could hear the church-bell tolling of a Sunday morning, and see the well-dressed congregation slowly wending their way through the auld kirkyard to the door.

And Sandie’s sermons should be such rousing ones; couched in eloquent language, that should go straight to the heart of every hearer, and sometimes even bring tears to the eyes of the listeners.

Of course, dear old father and mother would be in the manse pew. Then the manse itself, an old-fashioned house, with fine old-fashioned gardens, and rare old-fashioned flowers, gardens in which, in the spring-time, the mavis and the blackbird would all day long fill the air with their charming melody, and the lark sing above till past the midnight hour.

Oh, they had it all cut and dry, I assure you; but dear me, what a long time they would have to wait yet before there was a chance of those dreams coming true!

Never mind! were they not young? Ah! hope beats high in youthful hearts.

So back they would saunter through the golden-tasselled broom, and then Sandie would begin his lucubrations.

* * * * *

Just the very day before Sandie had intended starting north and east to get an engagement as a herring-fisher, he was agreeably startled by a visit from Willie, who had just returned from the Riviera.

“Had you been a day later,” Sandie said, as he grasped his friend’s hand, “you would not have found me.”

“Inasmuch as to wherefore?” said Willie, raising his brows.

“I’m off to-morrow to join the herring-fleet.”

“What! you? You turn a herring-fisher?”

“Yes, Willie.”

Then Sandie told him all the reader already knows.

“I’d ten times sooner catch herring,” he ended, “than teach that young blockhead the rudiments of Latin grammar.”

“Well, then,” said Willie, “I shall go with you for a day, just to see you settled.”

“I’ll be delighted, I’m sure.”

So bidding his father and mother and Elsie adieu--he had already said good-bye to Mackenzie and Maggie May--on the very next morning, Sandie started in company with Willie for the fishing village of Blackhive.

_N.B._--I call it Blackhive because that is not its name. Its real title I have reasons for keeping secret.

They found the little town already very busy indeed. All hands were getting their nets on board the great sturdy open boats, in which these hardy fishermen venture far to sea and encounter many a storm.

The boats have a bit of a close deck fore and aft, but all betwixt and between is a well. Here lie the nets, and here are stowed the herring when caught.

Our heroes found the village swarming with foreigners, in the shape of men from the far Hebrides, especially Skye, who had come to join the fishery, and if possible to make a little money to carry them on for another year.

If the fishing should be good, there was no doubt about making money, for they were not only paid good wages, but a certain percentage on the takes or crans.

There was no great hurry, so Willie and Sandie sauntered about for hours, looking at the strange and busy scene, which was so unlike anything they had ever witnessed before.

Not only young men had swarmed into the town, but modest-looking young lassies too. These latter would be employed in gutting the herring, in salting them, and packing them in barrels for the Southern markets.

And the coopers or barrel-makers were very busy indeed already, and had been so for weeks; their fires burned in every direction, while the clanging of their hammers was incessant.

Our heroes found themselves at last at a cosy little inn.

Yes, they could have dinner, nice new potatoes, fresh butter, and fresh herrings and milk. “Hurrah!” cried Willie, “what could be better?” So they dined delectably.