Highland Mary: The Romance of a Poet / A Novel

by Clayton Mackenzie Legge

To burn their nits and pou’ their stocks, and hold their hallowe’en,

For blythe that night.”

For miles around the annual invitations had been sent broadcast, and to-night the capacious kitchen was taxed to its utmost. It was, however, a singularly good-natured, if over-hilarious, gathering that had assembled to do justice to old Bess’s cooking, and to test their fate through the medium of the many charms so well known to all the peasantry.

There was Poosie Nancy in her stiffly-starched frilled cap and her new kirtle, complacently nodding here and there to all of her acquaintances as they flocked about her. Poosie Nancy was a merry old soul. For years she had been the mistress of the Arms Inn, the public house on the high road, where Souter and Tam O’Shanter were wont to idle away their time and, incidentally, their “siller.” Standing on one foot behind her was Molly Dunn. Molly was consciously resplendent in a new plaid frock, made by her own unskilled hands, and while it was certainly not a thing of beauty, it surely was a joy forever, to the lassies, who laughingly twitted her about her handiwork. But she heeded not their good-natured jibes. She was admiringly watching Daddy Auld, the little old minister, who sat in the midst of an admiring group of his parishioners at the other side of the room, who evidently stood in no awe of him, judging from the bursts of laughter which greeted his frequent attempts at jocularity.

“Where is Tam O’Shanter, Souter Johnny?” suddenly asked old Bess, who was proudly doing the honors as mistress of ceremonies. Souter was assiduously paying court to the comely Poosie Nancy in the opposite corner with an eye to future possibilities.

“He willna be here till late,” he replied impatiently, addressing the crowd. “I left him at the Arms Inn, an’ if he drinks much mair whisky, he will na’ be here at all, I’m thinkin’,” and he turned eagerly to his inamorata, who was fanning herself indifferently with a plantain leaf.

“He’ll fall into the Doon some night an’ be drowned, sure as fate,” said she, carelessly dismissing the subject.

“Take your partners for the reel!” shouted big Malcolm Macræ stentoriously, at this juncture. Old Donald tuned up his fiddle with gleeful alacrity.

Souter ceremoniously offered Poosie his arm, which she condescendingly accepted, and majestically they walked to the middle of the floor. With much laughing and joking and good-natured rivalry, they were all quickly paired off, and soon the rafters rang with the happy voices of the hilarious dancers as they merrily sang to the tune that blind Donald was scratching out on his old and faithful, though unmelodious, fiddle.

Mary had taken no part in the merrymaking, for she felt heavy and sad at heart. From her seat in the corner, where the light was the dimmest, she had watched the door with patient anxiety, hoping against hope that Robert would come, but she had waited in vain, and now the evening was nearly spent and soon they would be going home, happy and tired after their sport and entertainment, while she would steal away to her quarters over the kitchen and cry herself to sleep, as she had done for many nights past. Souter Johnny, who was in his element and the merriest of them all, had tried vainly to induce her to join the revelers in their sport, and many an honest laddie had sought her hand in the dance, only to be shyly refused. So gradually she was left in peace, and soon forgotten amid the excitement of their diversions. They had tried some of the famous charms, which decided the destinies of many of the lads and lassies that night, and now old Bess brought forth her long-hoarded bag of nuts, which she divided among them. Amid shouts of mirth and laughter, they proceeded to test the most famous of all the charms. As they rushed pell-mell to the fireplace and laid each particular nut in the fire, for which they had named the lad or lassie of their choice, and stood there eagerly watching, open-mouthed, to see how they would burn, Mary, with a quickly beating heart, stole unperceived close to the front row of watchers, and with a little prayer, quietly threw her pair into the fire. For a moment they burned slowly side by side, then with a hop and a jump they popped madly about, and finally at opposite sides of the fireplace they glowed redly for a time, then expired altogether. With a little, suppressed sob, unheeded in the general excitement, she hurried back to her seat, pale and trembling. It was as she had feared: the course of their love was never again to run smoothly, the charm had spoken. It had never been known to predict wrongly. Why had she sought to find out her fate? she asked herself pathetically. Unheeding the merry songs and dances going on around her, of which they never seemed to weary, and the unco tales and funny jokes, she sat there thinking her sweet, sad thoughts, and patiently waiting till they should depart for their homes, that she might seek the quiet of her bed, where her aching heart might find relief in the tears which nowadays were so hard to control. Suddenly the laughter subsided, and Mary with a start raised her head to see all eyes turned on her.