An Orkney Maid. Amelia E. Barr

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      Thora had just entered the room with a clean table-cloth in her hands. Her mother gave her a quick glance of admiration and then said:

      “I thought thou wert looking for Boris home tonight.”

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      “Well, then, Mother, that is so. He said we must give him a little dance tonight, and I have asked the girls he likes best to come here. I thought this was known to thee. To call my words back now, will give great disappointment.”

      “No need is there to call any word back. Because of thy dress I feared there had been some word of delay. If likelihood rule, Maren and Helga Torrie will wear the best they have.”

      “That is most certain, but I am not minded to outdress the Torrie girls. Very hard it is for them to get a pretty frock, and it will make them happy to see themselves smarter than Thora Ragnor.”

      “Thou should think of thyself.”

      “Well, I am generally uppermost in my own mind. Also, in Edinburgh I was told that the hostess must not outdress her guests.”

      “Edinburgh and Kirkwall are not in the same latitude. Keep mind of that. Step forward and let me look at thee.”

      So Thora stood up before her mother, and the light from the window fell all over her, and she was beautiful from head to feet. Tall and slender, with a great quantity of soft brown hair very loosely arranged on the crown of her head; a 13 forehead broad and white; eyebrows, plentiful and well arched; starlike blue eyes, with a large, earnest gaze and an oval face tinted like a rose. Oh! why try to describe a girl so lovely? It is like pulling a rose to pieces. It is easier to say that she was fleshly perfect and that, being yet in her eighteenth year, she had all the bloom of opening flowers, and all their softness and sweetness.

      Apparently she owed little to her dress, and yet it would have been difficult to choose anything more befitting her, for though it was only of wine-coloured cashmere, it was made with a plain picturesqueness that rendered it most effective. The short sleeves then worn gave to her white arms the dark background that made them a fascination; the high waist, cut open in front to a point, was filled in with white satin, over which it was laced together with a thin silk cord of the same colour as the dress. A small lace collar completed the toilet, and for the occasion, it was perfect; anything added to it would have made it imperfect.

      This was the girl who, standing before her mother, asked for her approval. And Rahal Ragnor’s eyes were filled with her beauty, and she could only say:

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      “Dear thing! There is no need to change! Just as thou art pleases me!”

      Then with a face full of love Thora stooped and kissed her mother and anon began to set the table for the expected guests. With sandalled feet and smiling face, she walked about the room with the composure of a goddess. There was no hesitation concerning what she had to do; all had been arranged and settled in her mind previously, though now and then, the discussion of a point appeared to be pleasant and satisfying. Thus she thoughtfully said:

      “Mother, there will be thyself and father and Boris, that is three, and Sunna Vedder, and Helga and Maren Torrie, that makes six, and Gath Peterson, and Wolf Baikie and his sisters Sheila and Maren make ten, and myself, eleven––that is all and it is enough.”

      “Why not make it twelve?”

      “There is luck in odd numbers. I am the eleventh. I like it.”

      “Thou might have made it ten. There is one girl on thy list it would be better without.”

      “Art thou thinking of Sunna Vedder, Mother?”

      “Yes, I am thinking of Sunna Vedder.”

      “Well and good. But if Sunna is not here, 15 Boris would feel as if there was no one present. It is Sunna he wants to see. It is Sunna he wants to please. He says he is so sorry for her.”

      “Why?”

      “Because she has to live with old Vedder who is nothing but a bookworm.”

      “Vedder is a very clever man. The Bishop was saying that.”

      “Yes, in a way he was saying it, but–––”

      “The Bishop was not liking the books he was studying. He said they did men and women no good. Thy father was telling me many things. Yes, so it is! The Vedders are counted queer––they are different from thee and me, and––the Bishop.”

      “And the Dominie?”

      “That may well be. Thy father has a will for Boris to marry Andrina Thorkel.”

      “Boris will never marry Andrina. It would be great bad luck if he did. Many speak ill of her. She has a temper to please the devil. I was hearing she would marry Scot Keppoch. That would do; for then they would not spoil two houses.”

      “Tell thy father thy thought, and he will give thee thy answer;––but why talk of the Future and the Maybe? The Now is the hour of the wise, so 16 I will go upstairs and lay out some proper clothing and do thou get thy father to dress himself, as Conall Ragnor ought to do.”

      “That may not be easy to manage.”

      “Few things are beyond thy say-so.” Then she lifted her work-bag and left the room.

      During this conversation Conall Ragnor had been slowly making his way home, after leaving his warehouse when the work of the day was done. Generally he liked his walk through the town to his homestead, which was just outside the town limits. It was often pleasant and flattering. The women came to their doors to watch him, or to speak to him, and their admiration and friendliness was welcome. For many years he had been used to it, but he had not in the least outgrown the thrill of satisfaction it gave him. And often he wondered if his wife noticed the good opinion that the ladies of Kirkwall had for her husband.

      “Of course she does,” he commented, “but a great wonder it would be if my Rahal should speak of it. In that hour she would be out of the commodity of pride, or she would have forgotten herself entirely.”

      This day he had received many good-natured greetings––Jenny Torrie had told him that the 17 Sea Gull was just coming into harbour, and so heavy with cargo that the sea was worrying at her gunwale; then Mary Inkster––from the other side of the street––added, “Both hands––seen and unseen––are full, Captain, I’ll warrant that!”

      “Don’t thee warrant beyond thy knowledge, Mary,” answered Ragnor, with a laugh. “The Sea Gull may have hands; she has no tongue.”

      “All that touches the Sea Gull is a thing by itself,” cried pretty Astar Graff, whose husband was one of the Sea Gull’s crew.

      “So, then, Astar, she takes her own at point and edge. That is her way, and her right,” replied Ragnor.

      Thus up the narrow street, from one side or the other, Conall Ragnor was greeted. Good wishes and good advice, with now and then a careful innuendo, were freely given and cheerfully taken; and certainly the recipient of so much friendly notice was well pleased СКАЧАТЬ