“I’ll struggle hard to keep them there, brother,” replied Robert simply. His brother’s coldness had chilled his extraordinarily sensitive nature. He walked slowly back to his seat.
“I ken ye’d rather be writin’ love verses than farmin’, eh, Robert?” chimed in Souter thoughtlessly.
“’Tis only a waste of time writin’ poetry, my lad,” sighed Mrs. Burns, shaking her head disapprovingly.
“I canna’ help writin’, mother,” answered the lad firmly, a trifle defiantly. “For the love of poesy was born in me, and that love was fostered at your ain knee ever since my childhood days.”
She sighed regretfully. “I didna’ ken what seed I was sowing then, laddie,” she answered thoughtfully.
“Dinna’ be discouraged,” cried Mary eagerly, going to him. “I’ve faith in ye, laddie, and in your poetry, too.” She put her hand on his shoulder lovingly, as he sat beside the table, looking gloomy and dejected. “Some day,” she continued, a thrill of pride in her voice, “ye’ll wake to find your name on everybody’s lips. You’ll be rich and famous, mayhap. Who kens, ye may even become the Bard o’ Scotland,” she concluded in an awestruck tone.
“Nay, Mary, I do not hope for that,” replied Robert, his dark countenance relaxing into a smile of tenderness at her wild prophecy, although in his own heart he felt conscious of superior talents.
“Waesucks,” chuckled Souter reminiscently. “Do you mind, Robbie, how, a year ago, ye riled up the community, an’ the kirk especially, over your verses called ‘Holy Willie’s Prayer’? Aye, lad, it was an able keen satire, and auld Squire Armour recognized the truth of it, for he threatened to hae ye arrested for blaspheming the kirk and the auld licht religion. He’ll ne’er forgive ye for that,” and he shook his head with conviction.
“He’s an auld Calvinistic hypocrite,” replied Robert carelessly, “and he deserved to be satirized alang wi’ the rest of the Elders. Let us hope the verses may do them and the kirk some good. They are sadly in need of reform.” Then with a gay laugh he told them a funny anecdote concerning one of the Elders, and for over an hour they listened to the rich tones of his voice as he entertained them with jest and song and story, passing quickly from one to the other, as the various emotions succeeded each other in his mind, assuming with equal ease the expression of the broadest mirth, the deepest melancholy or the most sublime emotion. They sat around him spellbound. Never had they seen him in such a changeable mood as to-night.
“And noo, laddie, tell us about your life in Irvine and Mauchline,” said Mrs. Burns.