Annie o' the Banks o' Dee. Stables Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ started to his feet, purple-faced and shaking with rage.

      “If you dare utter such an expression to me again,” he cried, banging his fist on the table, “I won’t miss you a kick till you’re on the Deeside road.”

      “Well, well, Laird,” said Sandie, rising to go, “I can take my leave without kicking, and so save your old shanks; but look here. I’m going to ride straight to Aberdeen and see the Fiscal.”

      Sandie was at the door, when Laird Fletcher cooled down and called him back.

      “Come, come, my good fellow, don’t be silly; sit down again. You must never say a word to anyone about this. You promise?”

      “I promise, if ye square me.”

      “Well, will a pound do it?”

      “Look here, Laird, I’m saving up money to buy a house of my own, and keep dogs; a pound won’t do it, but six might.”

      “Six pounds!”

      “Deuce a dollar less, Laird.” The Laird sighed, but he counted out the cash. It was like parting with his heart’s blood. But to have such an accusation even pointed at him would have damned his reputation, and spoilt all his chances with Annie o’ the Banks o’ Dee. Shufflin’ Sandie smiled as he stowed the golden bits away in an old sock. He then scratched his head and pointed to the decanter.

      The Laird nodded, and Sandie drank his health in one jorum, and his success with Miss Lane in another. Sly Sandie!

      But his eyes were sparkling now, and he rode away singing “Auld Lang Syne.”

      He was thinking at the same time about the house and kennels he should build when he managed to raise two hundred pounds.

      “I’ll save every sixpence,” he said to himself. “When I’ve settled down I’ll marry Fanny.”

      That same forenoon Craig called at Bilberry Hall. He was dressed for the hill in a dark tweed kilt, with a piece of leather on his left shoulder.

      He had early luncheon with McLeod, Annie presiding. In her pretty white bodice she never looked more lovely. So thought Craig.

      “Annie, come to the hill with me. Do.”

      “Annie, go,” added her uncle.

      “Well, I’ll go, and bring you some birds, uncle dear, and Sandie shall ghillie me.”

      “I have a ghillie,” said Craig.

      “Never mind. Two are better than one.”

      They had really a capital day of it, for the sun shone brightly and the birds laid close.

      Gordon setters are somewhat slow, and need a drink rather often, but they are wondrous sure, and Bolt, the retriever, was fleet of foot to run down a wounded bird. So just as the sun was sinking behind the forests of the west, and tingeing the pine trees with crimson, they wended their way homeward, happy – happy with the health that only the Highland hills can give.

      Shufflin’ Sandie had had several drops from Craig’s flask, but he had also had good oatcakes and cheese, so he was as steady as a judge of session.

      When near to Bilberry Hall, Nicol and Annie emptied their guns in the air, and thus apprised of their approach, white-haired old McLeod came out to bid them welcome.

      A good dinner!

      A musical evening!

      Prayers! The tumblers! Then, bidding Annie a fond adieu, away rode the jolly young farmer.

      Shufflin’ Sandie’s last words to him were these:

      “Mind what I told you. There’s danger in the sky. Good-night, and God be with you, Farmer Craig.”

      Chapter Three.

      Sandie Tells the Old, Old Story

      “I wonder,” said Craig Nicol to himself that night, before going to bed, and just as he rose from his knees, “if there can be anything in Shufflin’ Sandie’s warning. I certainly don’t like old Father Fletcher, close-fisted as he is, and stingy as any miser ever I met. I don’t like him prowling round my darling Annie either. And he hates me, though he lifts his hat and grimaces like a tom-cat watching a bird whenever we meet. I’ll land him one, one of these days, if he can’t behave himself.”

      But for quite a long time there was no chance of “landing the Laird one,” for Fletcher called on Annie at times when he knew Craig was engaged.

      And so the days and weeks went by. Laird Fletcher’s wooing was carried on now on perfectly different lines. He brought Annie many a little knick-knack from Aberdeen. It might be a bracelet, a necklet of gold, or the last new novel; but never a ring. No; that would have been too suggestive.

      Annie accepted these presents with some reluctance, but Fletcher looked at her so sadly, so wistfully, that rather than hurt his feelings she did receive them.

      One day Annie, the old Laird and the younger started for Aberdeen, all on good horses – they despised the train – and when coming round the corner on his mare, whom should they meet face to face but Craig Nicol? And this is what happened.

      The old man raised his hat.

      The younger Laird smiled ironically but triumphantly.

      Annie nodded, blushed, and smiled.

      But the young farmer’s face was blanched with rage. He was no longer handsome. There was blood in his eye. He was a devil for the present. He plunged the spurs into his horse’s sides and went galloping furiously along the road.

      “Would to God,” he said, “I did not love her! Shall I resign her? No, no! I cannot. Yet —

      “‘Tis woman that seduces all mankind;

      By her we first were taught the wheedling arts.’”

      Worse was to follow.

      Right good fellow though he was, jealousy could make a very devil of Craig.

      “For jealousy is the injured woman’s hell.”

      And man’s also. One day, close by the Dee, while Craig was putting his rod together previous to making a cast, Laird Fletcher came out from a thicket, also rod in hand.

      “Ah, we cannot fish together, Nicol,” said the Laird haughtily. “We are rivals.”

      Then all the jealousy in Nicol’s bosom was turned for a moment into fury.

      “You —you! You old stiff-kneed curmudgeon! You a rival of a young fellow like me! Bah! Go home and go to bed!”

      Fletcher was bold.

      “Here!” he cried, dashing his rod on the grass; “I don’t stand language like that from anyone!”

      Off went his coat, and he struck Craig a well-aimed blow under the chin that quite staggered him.

      Ah! but even skill at fifty is badly matched by the strength and agility of a man in his twenties. In СКАЧАТЬ