MRS.FALCONER.
Meantime Robert was seated in the parlour at the little dark mahogany table, in which the lamp, shaded towards his grandmother's side, shone brilliantly reflected.Her face being thus hidden both by the light and the shadow, he could not observe the keen look of stern benevolence with which, knowing that he could not see her, she regarded him as he ate his thick oat-cake of Betty's skilled manufacture, well loaded with the sweetest butter, and drank the tea which she had poured out and sugared for him with liberal hand.It was a comfortable little room, though its inlaid mahogany chairs and ancient sofa, covered with horsehair, had a certain look of hardness, no doubt.A shepherdess and lamb, worked in silks whose brilliance had now faded half-way to neutrality, hung in a black frame, with brass rosettes at the corners, over the chimney-piece--the sole approach to the luxury of art in the homely little place.Besides the muslin stretched across the lower part of the window, it was undefended by curtains.There was no cat in the room, nor was there one in the kitchen even; for Mrs.Falconer had such a respect for humanity that she grudged every morsel consumed by the lower creation.She sat in one of the arm-chairs belonging to the hairy set, leaning back in contemplation of her grandson, as she took her tea.
She was a handsome old lady--little, but had once been taller, for she was more than seventy now.She wore a plain cap of muslin, lying close to her face, and bordered a little way from the edge with a broad black ribbon, which went round her face, and then, turning at right angles, went round the back of her neck.Her gray hair peeped a little way from under this cap.A clear but short-sighted eye of a light hazel shone under a smooth thoughtful forehead; a straight and well-elevated, but rather short nose, which left the firm upper lip long and capable of expressing a world of dignified offence, rose over a well-formed mouth, revealing more moral than temperamental sweetness; while the chin was rather deficient than otherwise, and took little share in indicating the remarkable character possessed by the old lady.
After gazing at Robert for some time, she took a piece of oat-cake from a plate by her side, the only luxury in which she indulged, for it was made with cream instead of water--it was very little she ate of anything--and held it out to Robert in a hand white, soft, and smooth, but with square finger tips, and squat though pearly nails.
'Ha'e, Robert,' she said; and Robert received it with a 'Thank you, grannie'; but when he thought she did not see him, slipped it under the table and into his pocket.She saw him well enough, however, and although she would not condescend to ask him why he put it away instead of eating it, the endeavour to discover what could have been his reason for so doing cost her two hours of sleep that night.She would always be at the bottom of a thing if reflection could reach it, but she generally declined taking the most ordinary measures to expedite the process.
When Robert had finished his tea, instead of rising to get his books and betake himself to his lessons, in regard to which his grandmother had seldom any cause to complain, although she would have considered herself guilty of high treason against the boy's future if she had allowed herself once to acknowledge as much, he drew his chair towards the fire, and said:
'Grandmamma!'
'He's gaein' to tell me something,' said Mrs.Falconer to herself.
'Will 't be aboot the puir barfut crater they ca' Shargar, or will 't be aboot the piece he pat intil 's pooch?'
'Weel, laddie?' she said aloud, willing to encourage him.
'Is 't true that my gran'father was the blin' piper o' Portcloddie?'
'Ay, laddie; true eneuch.Hoots, na! nae yer grandfather, but yer father's grandfather, laddie--my husband's father.'
'Hoo cam that aboot?'
'Weel, ye see, he was oot i' the Forty-five; and efter the battle o'
Culloden, he had to rin for 't.He wasna wi' his ain clan at the battle, for his father had broucht him to the Lawlands whan he was a lad; but he played the pipes till a reg'ment raised by the Laird o'
Portcloddie.And for ooks (weeks) he had to hide amo' the rocks.
And they tuik a' his property frae him.It wasna muckle--a wheen hooses, and a kailyard or twa, wi' a bit fairmy on the tap o' a cauld hill near the sea-shore; but it was eneuch and to spare; and whan they tuik it frae him, he had naething left i' the warl' but his sons.Yer grandfather was born the verra day o' the battle, and the verra day 'at the news cam, the mother deed.But yer great grandfather wasna lang or he merried anither wife.He was sic a man as ony woman micht hae been prood to merry.She was the dother (daughter) o' an episcopalian minister, and she keepit a school in Portcloddie.I saw him first mysel' whan I was aboot twenty--that was jist the year afore I was merried.He was a gey (considerably)auld man than, but as straucht as an ellwand, and jist pooerfu'
beyon' belief.His shackle-bane (wrist) was as thick as baith mine;and years and years efter that, whan he tuik his son, my husband, and his grandson, my Anerew--'
'What ails ye, grannie? What for dinna ye gang on wi' the story?'
After a somewhat lengthened pause, Mrs.Falconer resumed as if she had not stopped at all.
'Ane in ilka han', jist for the fun o' 't, he kneipit their heids thegither, as gin they hed been twa carldoddies (stalks of ribgrass).But maybe it was the lauchin' o' the twa lads, for they thocht it unco fun.They were maist killed wi' lauchin'.But the last time he did it, the puir auld man hostit (coughed) sair efterhin, and had to gang and lie doon.He didna live lang efter that.But it wasna that 'at killed him, ye ken.'
'But hoo cam he to play the pipes?'
'He likit the pipes.And yer grandfather, he tuik to the fiddle.'
'But what for did they ca' him the blin' piper o' Portcloddie?'