Читать книгу Aunt Jo - A Love Story of the Cedar Scrubs - Edward S Sorenson - Страница 6

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Ethel had just turned from the gate, and was picking a bouquet for herself, when she was joined by Mr M'Gurren.

"Weel? lassie, are ye na ready for the dance ta-nicht?"

"No, Mr M'Gurren, I'm not ready. I'm not quite decided whether I'll go or not."

"Not gang to the dance! Oots, lassie! What nonsense have ye got in yer hud noo?" Mr M'Gurren exclaimed, no little astonished at the change in Ethel; for, until this evening, she had been all enthusiasm regarding the ball.

"You may call it nonsense, Mr M'Gurren," answered Ethel, "but I'd rather stay at home. I'm sure I wouldn't enjoy myself a bit if I went."

"An' whee not?" He bent forward, and his bushy brows knitted.

"I expected Liola Battye over; but at the last moment she sent word that she was going with my cousin Leonard. Then Mark told me just now that he wouldn't be there. So I am disappointed."

"I see!" said M'Gurren, with that strained look on his face that comes of trying to appear unconcerned when something has gone against the grain.

"I wasna 'ware th' lad Keaton cam ta Fairymede," he added.

"He passed here on his way home," Ethel explained.

M'Gurren looked doubtful. "Ye' mither dinna ken ye meetit?" he said, his glance half questioning, half reproachful.

"Perhaps you will tell her, Mr M'Gurren," said Ethel, with a defiant challenge in her eyes. He flicked a pebble hard with his walking stick. It flew through the palings and knocked a fowl's eye out.

"You have only to mention it, you know," Ethel went on, "to stop Mark from coming through here."

"Ye spek varra familiarly o' th' mon, lassie," rasped M'Gurren. "Om I ta understund ye are abboot ta mak a match o' it?"

"There no reason for you to do so, Mr M'Gurren," said Ethel, tartly. "I have known Mr Keaton all my life; and I have always called him Mark. Why shouldn't I? We were children together."

"That's a' varra weel, lassie. Buit ye never call me Aleck. Ye ha' kent me syne ye wur a wee thing in short frocks, an' mony's th' time I dancit ye on my knee, an' sung ye ta sleep. Da ye ken hoo glud ye used tae be whun I singit 'Bonnie Doon' an' 'My Luv She's Buit a Lassie Yet'? Ye liked them, lassie, ye liked them. Ye didna look awa owre the hielans whun I'd have a wad wi' ye, buit ye'd rin am' sit yesel' doon on' my knee. Ye wur a buxom lassie then, buit I'm afeart something's gang agley wi' ya o' late. What is it, lassie? Come, mak a clean breast o' it. Dinna fear I'll telt ony one."

"There is nothing to tell, Mr M'Gurren," Ethel answered. "I am only disappointed."

"Aye, an' a' on account o' young Keaton, not ganging awa' wi' ye ta th' dance. Ye're foolish, lassie, verra foolish. I've naething ta sey agin th' lad, buit, for a' that, I wadna like ta see ye marrit ta him."

"Why not?" she asked, subduing the rebellious spirit that rose to demand what it was to him whom she married.

"Because ye've been used ta luxury an' gude coompany. Ye'd want ta be amang cheerfu' folk, an' in a gude hame. He cudna gi' ye ony o' them, hooever muckle he'd like ta. He's verra poor, an' ye ken he spends ta muckle o' his time wi' his books. If th' lad wad gang awa' an' ploo his lan' and graw something, 'twad be better for him thon a' his books. He 'll ne'er mak a bawbee wi' his scribblin', ne'er a bawbee." And Mr M'Gurren shook his head, and drummed his fingers on the palisading.

Ethel offered no comment. She was a patient little soul, and preferred to await developments rather than to argue with a stubborn man, for M'Gurren was stubborn, and no amount of reasoning could change his opinions once they were formed. He had a secret dislike, as before stated, for Mark, and did his best, in his own cunning way, to prejudice Mrs Keaton against her son's literary efforts. Ethel knew this, and so the futility of attempting to defend him. Besides, she did not wish the Scotchman to know that she took an interest in the doings of Mark Keaton. M'Gurren had long been an admirer, and had the full sympathy and support of Mrs Lethcote, who put it pretty plainly to the girl that she would be better pleased with her room than with her company, and that marriage with him would make them all rich.

At that moment Miss Monaugh put her head—adorned with curl papers—out of the window and called to Ethel.

"Gang awa', lassie, an' get yesel' ready," said M'Gurren. "Dinna fear, there 'll na be plenty o' laddies there wi'oot Mark Keaton. I'll dreeve ye there an' bock safe an' soond, an' maybe I'll do a hop wi' ye mesel' afore th' nicht is owre—if ye wul gi' me one. Eh?"

"Certainly if I go. I'll see what Aunt Jo says."

"A'richt, lassie. I ken she'll bring ye alang wi' her. She wadna like ta gang alone wi' me, as that wad set folks talkin' aboot us."

"And might they not talk about you and me?"

"Not at a'. Dinna be afeart o' that. Ye're a wee laesie yet, an' they'll ken ye're ta young ta be coortin' for a wee. An' Mistress Jo wul be wi' us. 'Twul be protection in their e', ye ken. An' I'm only th' dreever. Sa get yesel' ready, an' I'll gang awa' an' help ye' faither wi' th' dog-cart."

Lethcote was already engaged in harnessing up the horse at the stables. Ethel saw now that she had spoken too late. She feared a scolding from her stepmother if she made known her wish to stay at home, for that worthy dame had arranged with M'Gurren that they two should go together, and Aunt Jo— at her own invitation—was to accompany them as chaperon.

It was not her first dance; but her father had taken her on all previous occasions.

M'Gurren walked round the trap and the horse, tugging at a strap here, and altering a buckle there, making a purring noise the while with his lips, which was the nearest approach he could get to a whistle. Old Myles inwardly resented his interference, and eyed him in the way that a snake looks at a goana when they meet in a hollow log. He was nominally lord and master of all Fairymede, including the trap and the bob-tail nag; but, according to M'Gurren's demeanour, he was only a flunkey, and the Scotchman was boss. It was his thoughtless way.

"Has he hud a drink, mon?" asked Mac, patting the horse.

"Take un down an' try un," growled Myles, giving the bellyband a savage jerk that made the horse jump, and the point of the shaft prodded M'Gurren in the ribs before he could get out of the way.

"Carefu', be carefu'!" he cautioned, while Myles glared. He caught hold of the off wheel and shook it; then went round and treated the near side wheel in the same way.

"A drap o' ile wadna do her ony 'arm, Lethcote," he suggested.

"Put'n on then, put'n on," snapped Myles, and he bustled round as though he had suddenly received a new consignment of energy. Mac examined the stop, and said it wanted screwing up. Myles gasped, and his eyes almost shed sparks.

Mac wasn't done yet. He surveyed the turnout as a whole, standing back and looking under it and round it. "I maun sey it's a dirty trop ta gae ta toon wi'," he remarked, cheerfully. "A drap o' water—"

Myles didn't hear any more. He remembered an engagement elsewhere, and left in a great hurry. Mac completed the arrangements, and tied Bobtail to a post, wondering what had come over Myles to make him so "onfreendly."

"I dunno the reason on't, Jo, but Biddy—she try to shove me in th' corner when old Mac's here," Mr Lethcote explained, seating himself shortly afterwards on the verandah and lighting his pipe. He was an Englishman and, to look at him, one would take him to be a perfect gentleman; but, as Miss Monaugh averred, he spoke like a thrall, and was, to those not used to him, difficult to understand. He was a silent member, for the most part. He liked to sit in a quiet corner, with his pipe, and listen. But he was not to be ignored. He took umbrage if the speakers did not occasionally look or direct a word his way. Not that he desired to take any part in the conversation. He did not want them to talk to him individually, only to talk at him now and again to show that he was included in the company. M'Gurren was a constant offender in this respect; his manner was such as to imply that he was ignorant of the old man's existence.

"Baint as I care for meself; baint fair to Etty," he went on. "I be her father, Jo."

"So you are," Jo admitted.

"Doant want to have nowt to do wi' un but . . . if un come pokin' arter Etty, I'll crack un bald head for un, I'll warrant!" And the old gentleman shook a formidable fist at the atmosphere.

"You are ridiculous, Myles," said Miss Monaugh. "Mr M'Gurren has no such intentions."

"I hope not, Jo; but . . . drat un, what un allers comin' here for? Dratty nigh live here now," Myles exclaimed, scowling across his shoulder.

"He's an old friend of Biddy's, and comes here simply for company. There's nobody at Tillalee but his man-servant. (And Biddy thinks there's no one in this place when Mr M'Gurren's not here.) But don't be alarmed, Myles. He's not infatuated with Biddy—nor with Etty either. You forget that I am one of the household."

Myles gazed thoughtfully at the grass trying to understand the situation. When he looked round again she was gone.