Morag: A Tale of the Highlands of Scotland

by Janet Milne Rae

Alaster Dingwall was many years older than Kenneth, though a great friendship sprang up between the two. Dingwall had been under-gamekeeper at some distance from the Glen, but he had lost his situation, and returned to lounge about the village, on the outlook for work. He admired the bold, reckless young Kenneth, and the boy was greatly attracted by his older companion, and felt flattered by his appreciation. Kirsty noticed that the companionship only served to foster Kenneth's idle habits, and she did all she could to discourage it, but in vain.

One Sunday evening Kenneth had been induced to stay quietly indoors, and sat reading to his mother, who was feeling intensely happy in having him with her. But presently she heard a whistle outside, which she had learned to know and dread, for she knew that it was a summons for her boy to join his idle companions.

"That's Dingwall's whustle; I ken it fine. Dinna gang out til him, Kenny—bide wi' me the nicht, my laddie. He'll no want ye for ony guid."

But the warning, "My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not," fell unheeded on the foolish Kenneth's ear, and a sorrowful reaping-time for all after-life was the result of this brief sowing-time of folly.

"It's only for a bit o' a walk, mother. There's no ill," pleaded Kenneth, as he hurriedly shut the book; and taking his bonnet, he prepared to go out. "I'll no be long, mother," he added, as he went out whistling, and Kirsty could hear through the clear frosty air his merry laugh re-echoing among his companions, and stood listening to it at the door of the cottage till the sound died away in the distance. Then the mother went back to the empty room, and prayed for her son till the grey morning broke, and still he did not return.

At last she crept away to bed, and in the morning she was awakened from her troubled slumbers by a loud knocking. On opening the door, she saw Kenneth standing, pale and haggard, with blood-besmeared clothes, between two strange men. One of them stepped forward, and said to the bewildered Kirsty—

"Sorry for it, missus; but this chap must go with me. Found a snare set in the larch plantation yonder—all but caught him at it, in fact. It's not the first offence, I'm thinking. There's been a deal of poaching lately in the neighborhood; but we've caught the thief at last."

"Mother, I didna do it! I never set the snare! I didna even ken that it was amang the grass!" gasped Kenneth, looking pleadingly at his mother, as if he cared more that she should not think him guilty of the deed than for the serious consequences which seemed to threaten him, whether he was guilty or not. And his mother looked into his eyes and knew that he was innocent, as indeed he was. He had been simply used as a tool by his false friend.

Since he had been out of employment, Dingwall had gained his livelihood by poaching. But, having reason to suspect at last that he was being watched, he resolved to shift the suspicions on Kenneth by enlisting him in the service, and offering him a share of the gains. He thought, too, that if the offence were discovered, it was more likely to be lightly treated if the offender were a mere boy, like Kenneth, so he resolved on that evening to divulge the plan to his boy-friend, who, as yet, was entirely ignorant of the way in which Dingwall gained a livelihood, and little guessed on what mission he was being led into the larch plantation.

Kenneth had seated himself on the lichen-spotted dyke to smoke, while the more cautious, because guilty, Dingwall stood darkly by, having slipped his pipe into his pocket long before they reached the wood. He was pondering how he should best confide his secret to Kenneth, and was about to propose that he would show him the snare which he had set, when his keen eye detected traces of danger and discovery. He immediately crept away in base silence to hide himself, and presently his innocent boy-friend was seized by the emissaries of the law. Then Kenneth understood that he had been betrayed; but he would not betray in return. He simply asserted that he had not set the snare, and knew nothing whatever about it.