Читать книгу Over the Hills - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 4

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I heard it first of a bright midsummer night in the dark coppice beyond the Ten-acre meadow; a sound of faerie, marvellous wild yet very sweetly mournful; a sound that seemed to echo the sighing of wind amid desolate trees, the gurgling sob of misty waters; a sound, indeed, that seemed to hold for me a magic and mystery, like stars and moon and the deep wonder of this brooding night—and yet this sound no more than a man's whistling.

Presently, as I stood thralled by these tender, silvery notes, the plaintive melody changed to a happy, lilting measure that ended in a merry, flute-like trill; and so came silence, save for the rustle of leaves astir in the soft night-wind. And then the whistle rose again, a run of bubbling, liquid notes oft-repeated, until, guessing this a summons to myself, I whistled them back as well as I might, whereupon was more leafy rustling, and forth of the underbrush stepped a tall man.

I remember that despite his wild aspect and great size I felt nothing fearful of him, by reason of the merry glance of his eyes and good-humoured curve of his lips. A comely-faced man he was, young, and of a grace and pride of bearing, for all his draggled garments, as he stepped lightly forth of the shadows into the full radiance of the moon.

"What, ma wee mannie," says he in voice methought vastly pleasing, "ye'll no hae aboot ye the noo aught a man may stay his hunger on whateffer?"

"No, sir," I answered, pulling off my cap with due respect.

"Aweel, 'tis the waefu' luck o't!" he sighed. "But tell me hae ye by chance spied a man hereaboots the day, a slim, quick, dark-eyed gentleman in a Ramillie wig and braw, green riding-coat?"

"No, sir," I answered again. "No indeed!"

"Hum!" quoth he, glancing furtively round about. "Then will ye hae heard mention o' sic a name as Keith, or, say—Weaver or Weir?"

"No, sir, but there were soldiers——"

"Ay, ay!" says he, with another keen glance up and around, "I ken that right weel."

"Are you very hungry, sir?" I questioned, staring up into his haggard face.

"Laddie, I am that!" says he with whimsical look, "I'm sae empty that ma puir wame plays flip-flappit wi' my back-bane whilk is no juist a canny feeling—I'm sae clammed I'd gie a gowden guinea for twa-three bannocks an' a dish o' brose ... I'll be meaning," he explained in very exact and careful English, "I would expend a whole guinea for a loaf of bread, crusty forbye, and a whang of cheese."

"A guinea is a lot of money, sir," says I, glancing towards the far distant, twinkling lights of the village.

"Ay, it is so!" he agreed, very readily. "Dod, 'tis wise y'are, ma wee mannie—mebbe I was ower hasty wi' my guinea! And yet, when a man's clammed wi' hunger he's apt to be gey reckless."

"I might contrive to steal you my supper, sir——"

"Could ye so, laddie, could ye so?" cries he, clapping hand upon my shoulder, a gentle hand for all its size.

"I will, sir!" said I, the solitary, unhappy soul of me thrilling responsive to that so friendly touch. "There's only old Betty, in the house to-night, this is why I was able to get away to this moonlight and the wonder of it all."

"The wonder, ay!" he repeated. "There's aye the wonder o' moon and stars and silent woods as few hae eyes for—had I ma pipes I'd play 'em tae ye, but I left 'em ower the Border—ay, ower the Hills and Far Away, and mysel' here famishing so—fetch me your supper and we'll ca' it a guinea, though 'tis a wheen o' money—aweel rin, laddie, rin—awa' wi' ye!"

Staying for no more, away I sped, nor stayed until I had reached the village and could descry the loom of that particular house, its dark gables frowning austerely upon its humbler brethren, which had ever proved for me a place of misery, humiliation and suffering. Climbing the fence which enclosed its precise garden, I stole cautiously until I might peep into the kitchen, clean and comfortless, where burned a small fire, beside which old Betty slumbered in the elbow chair, as was her custom at this hour. Hardby upon the table lay my supper, a flake of cheese, a stale crust and tankard of small beer; beholding the which miserable viands, and minding the wonderful man for whom they were destined, I felt myself glowing with shame and humiliation.

Silently I drew the latch and crept across the floor, then paused trembling in sudden joyous trepidation to see a certain door stood ajar—it seemed for once old Betty had forgotten to lock the pantry. Next moment I was inside breathing an air redolent of such delectable cakes as never came my way; here also hung divers baskets very proper to my purpose. Stealthily, and with feverish haste, I began to fill one of these with such things as came to hand, objects hard to distinguish in the dimness, thus whatsoever my hand chanced upon, that clutched I, and thrust into my basket; bottles there were and meat, with other shapeless things—in they went pell-mell until the basket was full—and then I stood suddenly rigid, for old Betty, choking upon a snore, groaned, sighed and I heard the creak of her chair as she rose, mumbling to herself ... in another moment I should be caught, and bethinking me of my master's crab-tree staff, I shivered in a panic while ever old Betty's shambling step drew nearer. Here then, in sheer desperation I snatched an empty basket, clapped it over my head and, thus masked, caught up my burden and burst from the cupboard howling very horridly.

Through the meshes of my enveloping basket I saw old Betty stagger backward to the elbow-chair wherein she fell heavily, goggling at me and gasping ... then I leapt across the kitchen and was out and away, pursued by the old woman's wailing outcries.

I found my wonderful man where I had left him.

"Aha!" cries he, perceiving my burden. "Wha' hae ye gotten there, ma mannie?" For answer I thrust the basket upon him and sank panting upon the grass.

"Bottles!" quoth he. "Oho, a bonnie lad!" and, drawing one from the basket, whipped out a short, heavy knife, and, striking off the neck very featly, raised the bottle to eager lips. What then was my horrified amaze to hear him choke suddenly, to see him cast away the bottle and spit wildly.

"Vinegar!" he gasped. "Vinegar, ye deil's imp!" At this I trembled, and nothing to say whiles he, having spit forth such as he had not swallowed, cautiously essayed another bottle, looked at it, shook it and having tasted, sighed, nodded and drank deep. He now proceeded to unload the basket, and seemed overwhelmed by the amount of its contents—as indeed so was I. First came a bone miserably scant of meat, whereat he scowled; next the better part of a ham, whereat he smiled; followed three or four sausages (raw), a capon (the same though trussed for the oven); a jar of pickled onions; a loaf; a good-sized piece of cheese and a small pasty.

"Losh!" exclaimed my companion, staring at these many and varied edibles. "Save us a'—d'ye always eat siccan vasty supper, ma bonnie wee lad?"

"No, sir!" I answered bitterly, and recounted the manner of my theft, to his no small joy, the which manifested itself in fits of strange, silent laughter, though his keen eyes were continually glancing hither and thither. And now, his merriment subsiding, he insisted I must eat with him, the which I did, something timidly, yet gladly enough. So thus, side by side upon the grass, we supped together, and the moon very bright above us. At last, his hunger appeased, he dived hand into pocket and, fetching out a net-purse (woefully light, by its looks), took thence a guinea which, having looked at and sighed over, he tendered to me on his broad, open palm.

"'Tis an unco' deal o' money!" says he.

"Yes, sir!" I answered.

"And ye're but a wee bit laddie!" he nodded and back into purse went the guinea but, in the act of pocketing it, he paused to rub smooth-shaven chin and eye me askance:

"Aweel," sighed he at last, "a ham's a ham, a bargain's a bargain, and McLeod o' McLeod is the McLeod!" and, seizing my arm in powerful gripe, he placed the coin in my unwilling fingers and fell to his supper again.

"Sir," said I, "pray take back your money, I—I don't want it."

"Hoots laddie," he exclaimed, "there's nought wrang wi' it, 'tis honest gold."

"Yes, sir, but ... please ... I won't have it."

"And why for no?"

"Because I fear 'tis your last and——"

"Ye leein' gomeril!" cried he, frowning. "D'ye tak' the McLeod for a beggar body wi' but ae guinea in's breeks?"

"No, sir, but pray take your money," said I, and laid the coin beside his knee.

"Eh?" quoth he, staring at me. "The laddie'll no tak' it! Losh, it's no canny!" Here, taking up the guinea, he fobbed it, and went on eating, eyeing me the while.

"Laddie," he questioned suddenly, "what might your name be?"

"They call me Adam, sir, because, like Adam, I had no father or mother."

"Dooms me!" he exclaimed, staring at me with a piece of ham on his knife-point. "But we all hae parents——"

"No, sir," says I, miserably. "I was found on a Thursday under the hedge of this very field by old Zachary Trent, the sexton, so they call me Adam Thursday. And they've bound me to Master Bragg, the attorney ... pens and ink ... and I would be out in the world doing great things ... teaching myself to be brave and bold to adventure.... Ah, sir, do you laugh at me like all the rest?"

"Na, na, laddie!" cried he, his features comically twisted, however. "I'm no juist what ye'd ca' laughing, no, no!"

"'Tis true I'm not big or strong, sir," says I, clenching my fists and scowling down through bitter tears at my puny person, "oh, I know that indeed——"

"Why, ye're no exactly a Goliath o' Gath," he nodded. "But—whisht, laddie, never greet! Nay, what's thy grief, friend?" says he in his careful English, and set his long arm about me, very kindly.

"I'm so ... miserable!" I gasped, striving not to sob outright. "My master beats me, the village lads mock me ... I've never a friend in the world save Zachary and old Penelope. And ... I'm so small and can do nothing well save run and swim ... and ... my hateful red hair!"

"Red hair—hoot toot, never let that fash ye, ma mannie—red hair's a fighting colour, 'tis ware o' the lad wi' the red poll, ay, and lassie, too. Whatever o't, I've seen a man wi' red hair, ay, a littlish man nae higher than ma shoulder, set three muckle great loons rinning for their dear lives, the fourth man couldna rin whateffer, him being dead as mutton! Sae if ye hair be red tak' joy therefore. And as for size, 'tis no a muckle body as maketh the man, 'tis the great heart o' him. Think o' this little man wi' the red hair, forbye he covers it wi' modish wig—him as bested four men wi' his single blade nane sae langsyne, and be joco."

"He must have been a wonderful man, sir!" cried I.

"Ou, ay, he is that—black be his fa'!"

"What was his name, sir, not Adam, for sure?"

"'Tis Keith, laddie, Hector Keith o' Inverkeith; 'tis also Weir and Weaver, and sometimes MacFarlane, for he goeth by many names 'twixt here, France and bonnie Scotland. And now," says my companion, leaping nimbly afoot, "I'll awa'—guid nicht t'ye——"

"Must you go, sir?" cried I, rising also. "Ah, pray where?"

"Hither and yon, laddie, wheres the wind blaws, ower the hills and awa'."

"Oh, sir," cried I, passionately, "pray take me with you?"

"Losh!" quoth he, staring down on me as I supplicated thus upon my knees amid the wrack of our supper.

"Sir—sir," I pleaded, reaching up my arms to him, "I am so friendless ... solitary. Suffer me to follow you, serve you——" my voice broke and I covered my face.

"Now, by the Good Being," says he, touching my bowed head, "I'd tak' ye, lad, but there's reasons, scores of 'em in red coats, do forbid. No, faith, I must gang my lane—forbye death's on the heels o' me."

And very heroical I thought him as he crowned himself with belaced hat and stood smiling down on me, very gallant and a little swaggering.... Then, even as I looked, his handsome face was suddenly transfigured, his eyes glared, his shapely mouth grew hard and fierce, his whole aspect became strangely terrible; and all this for no reason unless it were a faint, far sound that throbbed intermittently upon the stilly night, yet a sound that, presently, even my inexperienced ears knew for the roll of a drum. All at once he had me by the collar and his broad knife glittered at my throat.

"Ha, was it you?" he demanded in harsh whisper. "Was it ye'sel' brought the soldiers on me?" And then, as I shrank trembling from the steel, he loosed me.

"Forgi'e me, lad," quoth he with his kindly smile, "you've honest eyes, and are too young to hae learned sic dupleecity." Then, stooping, he whipped up a great sword whence it had lain hidden in a bush, and with it in his hand stood hearkening to that distant throb of sound that now seemed nearer and dreadfully ominous.

"They are coming!" I whispered, clutching his arm in trembling hands.

"Ay!" he nodded. "The county will be thick wi' red-coats ere dawn, I doubt. Aweel, aweel, 'tis long sword and short heels. And hey, laddie, yon was a bonnie supper!" So saying, he thrust the purse into my unready hand and turned away. "Tak' it, laddie, tak' it," he cried cheerily, seeing I hesitated, "'tis like to be more use tae you than me by the look o' things."

"Ah—you mean because of the soldiers, sir!"

"I mean the hempen cravat, ma wee man, axe, block and jibbet—one or all. Howandever, should they question ye lee your best for me. And so Guid keep ye, lad Adam, dinna forget the pibroch o' the McLeod and—live up tae your red hair, your bonnie red hair!" And so, with a merry smile and flourish of his hand, he strode into the wood and vanished amid the shadows.