robert falconer-第52节

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fiddle　for　her。　　An'　ye　maunna　touch　this　ane；　grannie；　for　though

ye　way　think　it　richt　to　burn　fiddles；　ither　fowk　disna；　and　this

has　to　do　wi'　ither　fowk；　grannie；　it's　no　atween　you　an'　me；　ye

ken；'　Robert　went　on；　fearful　lest　she　might　consider　herself

divinely　commissioned　to　extirpate　the　whole　race　of　stringed

instruments；'for　I　maun　sell　't　for　her。'



'Tak　it　oot　o'　my　sicht；'　said　Mrs。　Falconer；　and　said　no　more。



He　carried　the　instrument　up　to　his　room；　laid　it　on　his　bed；　locked

his　door；　put　the　key　in　his　pocket；　and　descended　to　the　parlour。



'He's　deid；　is　he？'　said　his　grandmother；　as　he　re…entered。



'Ay　is　he；　grannie；'　answered　Robert。　'He　deid　a　repentant　man。'



'An'　a　believin'？'　asked　Mrs。　Falconer。



'Weel；　grannie；　I　canna　say　'at　he　believed　a'　thing　'at　ever　was；

for　a　body　michtna　ken　a'　thing。'



'Toots；　laddie！　　Was　't　savin'　faith？'



'I　dinna　richtly　ken　what　ye　mean　by　that；　but　I'm　thinkin'　it　was

muckle　the　same　kin'　o'　faith　'at　the　prodigal　had；　for　they　baith

rase　an'　gaed　hame。'



''Deed；　maybe　ye're　richt；　laddie；'　returned　Mrs。　Falconer；　after　a

moment's　thought。　'We'll　houp　the　best。'



All　the　remainder　of　the　evening　she　sat　motionless；　with　her　eyes

fixed　on　the　rug　before　her；　thinking；　no　doubt；　of　the　repentance

and　salvation　of　the　fiddler；　and　what　hope　there　might　yet　be　for

her　own　lost　son。



The　next　day　being　Saturday；　Robert　set　out　for　Bodyfauld；　taking

the　violin　with　him。　　He　went　alone；　for　he　was　in　no　mood　for

Shargar's　company。　　It　was　a　fine　spring　day；　the　woods　were

budding；　and　the　fragrance　of　the　larches　floated　across　his　way。

There　was　a　lovely　sadness　in　the　sky；　and　in　the　motions　of　the

air；　and　in　the　scent　of　the　earthas　if　they　all　knew　that　fine

things　were　at　hand　which　never　could　be　so　beautiful　as　those　that

had　gone　away。　　And　Robert　wondered　how　it　was　that　everything

should　look　so　different。　　Even　Bodyfauld　seemed　to　have　lost　its

enchantment；　though　his　friends　were　as　kind　as　ever。　　Mr。　Lammie

went　into　a　rage　at　the　story　of　the　lost　violin；　and　Miss　Lammie

cried　from　sympathy　with　Robert's　distress　at　the　fate　of　his　bonny

leddy。　　Then　he　came　to　the　occasion　of　his　visit；　which　was　to　beg

Mr。　Lammie；　when　next　he　went　to　Aberdeen；　to　take　the　soutar's

fiddle；　and　get　what　he　could　for　it；　to　help　his　widow。



'Poor　Sanny！'　said　Robert；　'it　never　cam'　intil　's　heid　to　sell　her；

nae　mair　nor　gin　she　had　been　the　auld　wife　'at　he　ca'd　her。'



Mr。　Lammie　undertook　the　commission；　and　the　next　time　he　saw

Robert；　handed　him　ten　pounds　as　the　result　of　the　negotiation。　　It

was　all　Robert　could　do；　however；　to　get　the　poor　woman　to　take　the

money。　　She　looked　at　it　with　repugnance；　almost　as　if　it　had　been

the　price　of　blood。　　But　Robert　having　succeeded　in　overcoming　her

scruples；　she　did　take　it；　and　therewith　provide　a　store　of

sweeties；　and　reels　of　cotton；　and　tobacco；　for　sale　in　Sanny's

workshop。　　She　certainly　did　not　make　money　by　her　merchandise；　for

her　anxiety　to　be　honest　rose　to　the　absurd；　but　she　contrived　to

live　without　being　reduced　to　prey　upon　her　own　gingerbread　and

rock。









CHAPTER　IV。



THE　ABERDEEN　GARRET。



Miss　St。　John　had　long　since　returned　from　her　visit；　but　having

heard　how　much　Robert　was　taken　up　with　his　dying　friend；　she　judged

it　better　to　leave　her　intended　proposal　of　renewing　her　lessons

alone　for　the　present。　　Meeting　him；　however；　soon　after　Alexander's

death；　she　introduced　the　subject；　and　Robert　was　enraptured　at　the

prospect　of　the　re…opening　of　the　gates　of　his　paradise。　　If　he　did

not　inform　his　grandmother　of　the　fact；　neither　did　he　attempt　to

conceal　it；　but　she　took　no　notice；　thinking　probably　that　the　whole

affair　would　be　effectually　disposed　of　by　his　departure。　　Till　that

period　arrived；　he　had　a　lesson　almost　every　evening；　and　Miss　St。

John　was　surprised　to　find　how　the　boy　had　grown　since　the　door　was

built　up。　　Robert's　gratitude　grew　into　a　kind　of　worship。



The　evening　before　his　departure　for　Bodyfauldwhence　his

grandmother　had　arranged　that　he　should　start　for　Aberdeen；　in　order

that　he　might　have　the　company　of　Mr。　Lammie；　whom　business　drew

thither　about　the　same　timeas　he　was　having　his　last　lesson；　Mrs。

Forsyth　left　the　room。　　Thereupon　Robert；　who　had　been　dejected　all

day　at　the　thought　of　the　separation　from　Miss　St。　John；　found　his

heart　beating　so　violently　that　he　could　hardly　breathe。　　Probably

she　saw　his　emotion；　for　she　put　her　hand　on　the　keys；　as　if　to

cover　it　by　showing　him　how　some　movement　was　to　be　better　effected。

He　seized　her　hand　and　lifted　it　to　his　lips。　　But　when　he　found

that　instead　of　snatching　it　away；　she　yielded　it；　nay　gently

pressed　it　to　his　face；　he　burst　into　tears；　and　dropped　on　his

knees；　as　if　before　a　goddess。



'Hush；　Robert！　　Don't　be　foolish；'　she　said；　quietly　and　tenderly。

'Here　is　my　aunt　coming。'



The　same　moment　he　was　at　the　piano　again；　playing　My　Bonny　Lady

Ann；　so　as　to　astonish　Miss　St。　John；　and　himself　as　well。　　Then　he

rose；　bade　her　a　hasty　good…night；　and　hurried　away。



A　strange　conflict　arose　in　his　mind　at　the　prospect　of　leaving　the

old　place；　on　every　house　of　whose　streets；　on　every　swell　of　whose

surrounding　hills　he　left　the　clinging　shadows　of　thought　and

feeling。　　A　faintly　purpled　mist　arose；　and　enwrapped　all　the　past；

changing　even　his　grayest　troubles　into　tales　of　fairyland；　and　his

deepest　griefs　into　songs　of　a　sad　music。　　Then　he　thought　of

Shargar；　and　what　was　to　become　of　him　after　he　was　gone。　　The　lad

was　paler　and　his　eyes　were　redder　than　ever；　for　he　had　been

weeping　in　secret。　　He　went　to　his　grandmother　and　begged　that

Shargar　might　accompany　him　to　Bodyfauld。



'He　maun　bide　at　hame　an'　min'　his　beuks；'　she　answered；　'for　he

winna　hae　them　that　muckle　langer。　　He　maun　be　doin'　something　for

himsel'。'



So　the　next　morning　the　boys　partedShargar　to　school；　and　Robert

to　BodyfauldShargar　left　behind　with　his　desolation；　his　sun　gone

down　in　a　west　that　was　not　even　stormy；　only　gray　and　hopeless；　and

Robert　moving　towards　an　east　which　reflected；　like　a　faint

prophecy；　the　west　behind　him　tinged　with　love；　death；　and　music；

but　mingled　the　colours　with　its　own　saffron　of　coming　dawn。



When　he　reached　Bodyfauld　he　marvelled　to　find　that　all　its　glory

had　returned。　　He　found　Miss　Lammie　busy　among　the　rich　yellow　pools

in　her　dairy；　and　went　out　into　the　garden；　now　in　the　height　of　its

summer。　　Great　cabbage　roses　hung　heavy…headed　splendours　towards

purple…black　heartseases；　and　thin…filmed　silvery　pods　of　honesty；

tall　white　lilies　mingled　with　the　blossoms　of　currant　bushes；　and

at　their　feet　the　narcissi　of　old　classic　legend　pressed　their

warm…hearted　paleness　into　the　plebeian　thicket　of　the　many…striped

gardener's　garters。　　It　was　a　lovely　type　of　a　commonwealth　indeed；

of　the　garden　and　kingdom　of　God。　His　whole　mind　was　flooded　with　a

sense　of　sunny　wealth。　　The　farmer's　neglected　garden　blossomed　into

higher　glory　in　his　soul。　　The　bloom　and　the　richness　and　the　use

were　all　there；　but　instead　of　each　flower　was　a　delicate　ethereal

sense　or　feeling　about　that　flower。　　Of　these　how　gladly　would　he

have　gathered　a　posy　to　offer　Miss　St。　John！　but；　alas！　he　was　no

poet；　or　rather　he　had　but　the　half　of　the　poet's　inheritancehe

could　see：　he　could　not　say。　　But　even　if　he　had　been　full　of　poetic

speech；　he　would　yet　have　found　that　the　half　of　his　posy　remained

ungathered；　for　although　we　have　speech　enough　now　to　be　'cousin　to

the　deed；'　as　Chaucer　says　it　must　always　be；　we　have　not　yet　enough

speech　to　cousin　the　tenth　part　of　our　feelings。　　Let　him　who　doubts

recall　one　of　his　own　vain　attempts　to　convey　that　which　made　the

oddest　of　dreams　entrancing　in　lovelinessto　convey　that　aroma　of

thought；　the　conscious　absence　of　which　made　him　a　fool　in　his　own

eyes　when　he　spoke　such　silly　words　as　alone　presented　themselves

for　the　service。　　I　can　no　more　describe　the　emotion　aroused　in　my

mind　by　a　gray　cloud　parting　over　a　gray　stone；　by　the　smell　of　a

sweetpea；　by　the　sight　of　one　of　those　long　upright　pennons　of

striped　grass　with　the　homely　name；　than　I　can　tell　what　the　glory

of　God　is　who　made　these　things。　　The　man　whose　poetry　is　like

nature　in　this；　that　it　produces　individual；　incommunicable　moods

and　conditions　of　minda　sense　of　elevated；　tender；　marvellous；　and

evanescent　existence；　must　be　a　poet　indeed。　　Every　dawn　of　such　a

feeling　is　a　light…brushed　bubble　rendering　visible　for　a　moment　the

dark　unknown　sea　of　our　being　which　lies　beyond　the　lights　of　our

consciousness；　and　is　the　stuff　and　region　of　our　eternal　growth。

But　think　what　language　must　become　before　it　will　tell

dreams！before　it　will　convey　the　delicate　shades　of　fancy　that

come　and　go　in　the　brain　of　a　child！before　it　will　let　a　man　know