HOME AGAIN.
When Robert opened the door of his grandmother's parlour, he found the old lady seated at breakfast.She rose, pushed back her chair, and met him in the middle of the room; put her old arms round him, offered her smooth white cheek to him, and wept.Robert wondered that she did not look older; for the time he had been away seemed an age, although in truth only eight months.
'Hoo are ye, laddie?' she said.'I'm richt glaid, for I hae been thinkin' lang to see ye.Sit ye doon.'
Betty rushed in, drying her hands on her apron.She had not heard him enter.
'Eh losh!' she cried, and put her wet apron to her eyes.'Sic a man as ye're grown, Robert! A puir body like me maunna be speykin to ye noo.'
'There's nae odds in me, Betty,' returned Robert.
''Deed but there is.Ye're sax feet an' a hairy ower, I s'
warran'.'
'I said there was nae odds i' me, Betty,' persisted Robert, laughing.
'I kenna what may be in ye,' retorted Betty; 'but there's an unco'
odds upo' ye.'
'Haud yer tongue, Betty,' said her mistress.'Ye oucht to ken better nor stan' jawin' wi' young men.Fess mair o' the creamy cakes.'
'Maybe Robert wad like a drappy o' parritch.'
'Onything, Betty,' said Robert.'I'm at deith's door wi' hunger.'
'Rin, Betty, for the cakes.An' fess a loaf o' white breid; we canna bide for the parritch.'
Robert fell to his breakfast, and while he ate--somewhat ravenously--he told his grandmother the adventures of the night, and introduced the question whether he might not ask Ericson to stay a few days with him.
'Ony frien' o' yours, laddie,' she replied, qualifying her words only with the addition--'gin he be a frien'.--Whaur is he noo?'
'He's up at Miss Naper's.'
'Hoots! What for didna ye fess him in wi' ye?--Betty!'
'Na, na, grannie.The Napers are frien's o' his.We maunna interfere wi' them.I'll gang up mysel' ance I hae had my brakfast.'
'Weel, weel, laddie.Eh! I'm blythe to see ye! Hae ye gotten ony prizes noo?'
'Ay have I.I'm sorry they're nae baith o' them the first.But Ihae the first o' ane an' the third o' the ither.'
'I am pleased at that, Robert.Ye'll be a man some day gin ye haud frae drink an' frae--frae leein'.'
'I never tellt a lee i' my life, grannie.'
'Na.I dinna think 'at ever ye did.--An' what's that crater Shargar aboot?'
'Ow, jist gaein' to be a croon o' glory to ye, grannie.He vroucht like a horse till Dr.Anderson took him by the han', an' sent him to the schuil.An' he's gaein' to mak something o' 'im, or a' be dune.
He's a fine crater, Shargar.'
'He tuik a munelicht flittin' frae here,' rejoined the old lady, in a tone of offence.'He micht hae said gude day to me, I think.'
'Ye see he was feart at ye, grannie.'
'Feart at me, laddie! Wha ever was feart at me? I never feart onybody i' my life.'
So little did the dear old lady know that she was a terror to her neighbourhood!--simply because, being a law to herself, she would therefore be a law to other people,--a conclusion that cannot be concluded.
Mrs.Falconer's courtesy did not fail.Her grandson had ceased to be a child; her responsibility had in so far ceased; her conscience was relieved at being rid of it; and the humanity of her great heart came out to greet the youth.She received Ericson with perfect hospitality, made him at home as far as the stately respect she showed him would admit of his being so, and confirmed in him the impression of her which Robert had given him.They held many talks together; and such was the circumspection of Ericson that, not saying a word he did not believe, he so said what he did believe, or so avoided the points upon which they would have differed seriously, that although his theology was of course far from satisfying her, she yet affirmed her conviction that the root of the matter was in him.This distressed Ericson, however, for he feared he must have been deceitful, if not hypocritical.
It was with some grumbling that the Napiers, especially Miss Letty, parted with him to Mrs.Falconer.The hearts of all three had so taken to the youth, that he found himself more at home in that hostelry than anywhere else in the world.Miss Letty was the only one that spoke lightly of him--she even went so far as to make good-natured game of him sometimes--all because she loved him more than the others--more indeed than she cared to show, for fear of exposing 'an old woman's ridiculous fancy,' as she called her predilection.--'A lang-leggit, prood, landless laird,' she would say, with a moist glimmer in her loving eyes, 'wi' the maist ridiculous feet ye ever saw--hardly room for the five taes atween the twa! Losh!'
When Robert went forth into the streets, he was surprised to find how friendly every one was.Even old William MacGregor shook him kindly by the hand, inquired after his health, told him not to study too hard, informed him that he had a copy of a queer old book that he would like to see, &c., &c.Upon reflection Robert discovered the cause: though he had scarcely gained a bursary, he had gained prizes; and in a little place like Rothieden--long may there be such places!--everybody with any brains at all took a share in the distinction he had merited.
Ericson stayed only a few days.He went back to the twilight of the north, his fishy cousin, and his tutorship at Sir Olaf Petersen's.
Robert accompanied him ten miles on his journey, and would have gone further, but that he was to play on his violin before Miss St.
John the next day for the first time.