'No, no, Maister Weelum, I dinna mean that. I'm no' a dabbler amang leaf-mould;' and she laughed cheerily. 'A' the same, an' jokin' apairt, I trust ye'll live to get the guid o' a' your ootlay. At ony rate, ye'll be gey bien here ower the winter. An' when ye're weel again, an' away back to yer wark in Embro', ye'll no' forget that ye have sic a place here. Somewey, I think ye'll get marrit sune—hoo I think sae I canna tell, but the look's comin' to your e'e—an' whaever the lucky leddy may be, ye needna be feart to bring her here, for it's a room fit for a duchess.'
The early fall of snow, which I shall ever associate with the doctor's love-story, was, after all, very slight, and except in the uplands, where it lies in the crevices gleaming white in the wintry sun, it has almost entirely disappeared. I have been allowed outside again, and, but for a little stiffness, due, the doctor says, to inaction, I am feeling wonderfully strong and even vigorous.
John Kellock the butcher is the nominal owner of an old bobtailed collie which rejoices in the name of Bang. Bang carries with him into old age many mementos of his pugilistic days, not the least obvious of which are a tattered and limp ear and a short, deformed foreleg. He is long past active service, and only barks now from the shop-door when sheep pass along the village street; but he dearly loves a quiet saunter down the pavement and along the country road with any one who has a mind to chum with him and can keep step with his. John Sterling the shoemaker is also the nominal owner of a dog, a Dandie Dinmont named Jip, which was long a doughty antagonist of Bang, but he is now on the pension list too, and glad of congenial company of limited locomotive capabilities. So the three of us—all more or less 'crocks,' and mutually sympathetic—take a constitutional together almost every day. I have mentioned Jip last, but really it was he who made friends with me first. His master made no demur to Jip's frequent strolls with me, as the shoemaker himself leads a sedentary life, and no man knows better than he that a dog should get exercise; but since Jip has on more than one occasion taken French leave and remained overnight with me, I am afraid jealousy is springing up in the shoemaker's breast. Bang noted the ripening acquaintanceship, and girned disapproval as we passed the butcher's shop; but I never neglected an opportunity of scratching his shaggy underjaw and talking coaxingly in a 'doggie' way to him, and so it came to pass that after following us bit by bit, day by day, he agreed with Jip to bury the hatchet, and we are now a happy trio and the very best of friends.
As companions in a country walk I prefer Bang and Jip to any man I know. I can be silent and meditative, and they don't feel neglected or out of it; and when I am minded to talk, they, in the wag of the tail and the intelligent look of the eye, respond and approve. But they never trespass upon my attention or disturb my vein of thought.
At first, after our walk, when I reached Betty's door, I asked them to come inside, but they stood with a dubious look in their eyes and with heads turned sideways. Then Jip evidently remembered that John Sterling had paid his license, and that he was in duty bound to make some show of recognition, so he walked sedately and with fixed purpose across the street; while Bang, with recurrent memories of truant acts associated with ash-plants, limped his way to Kellock's door. Now, however, they have both flung discretion and fears to the winds, and accompany me to my fireside with an 'at home' sort of air, and just as if Betty's abode were their own.
Betty has a cat, a very nice, comfortable-looking cat, with a glossy, well-cared-for fur, and a strong masculine face; and she often wonders why I take no notice of Jessie, as she, in her simplicity, misnames him. The truth is, God's creatures, great and small, interest and appeal to me, but I cannot love cats. I admire their graceful movements, their agility, their cleanliness so far as their fur is concerned; but their eyes cannot draw me lovingly to them as a dog's can, and I have the feeling that they are capable of loving only those who minister to their wants, and that they are putting up with domesticity because it assures them of food and shelter without putting them to the trouble and inconvenience of seeking it for themselves. I am sorry I cannot love Jessie, but it can't be helped. Jessie, I know, never loved me; and since Bang and Jip have got entry to the house I know 'she' positively hates me.
This afternoon Bang and Jip accompanied me as usual in my stroll, and after I had leisurely surveyed all the countryside around, and the two dogs had to their hearts' content explored every rat-run in the roots of the bordering hedgerows, we turned for home. For a little while I halted at Hastie's gate, and watched with interest the northward rush of the afternoon express. I remembered how, when a boy, I used to stand at this coign of vantage, with my eyes riveted on the speeding trains, following them in imagination and desire through distant fields and woods, past towns I knew of only through my geography, on and away to the busy, bustling terminus on the Clyde, with its big houses, its long streets, and attractive shops. How I envied the driver on the footplate, and how I longed to be a passenger with him en route to the city which was then to me unknown and unexplored! Experientia docet; the express in its flight was as interesting to me as it was then, but the desire and longing to be in it were lacking. 'No, no,' I said to myself; 'no bustling city for me at present. Here around me is life without veneer; here is the peace I crave; here, I feel, is the goal.' The sound of approaching footsteps cut short my reverie. I turned my head, and for the second time I looked into the eyes of my dream-lady.
Had I had time to gather my wits and consider the situation, I should probably have recognised her presence by merely raising my hat, but this was denied me; and, acting on a sudden impulse, I went forward to meet her with my hand outstretched. With a look of surprise and, I imagined, annoyance, she stopped and regarded me earnestly for a moment. In a flash it came to me that we had never been introduced, and I blushed awkwardly and retreated a step, muttering an incoherent apology. Then ensued a long pause, an awkward silence. It was Bang who came to the rescue, and saved the situation. Wagging his scraggy apology for a tail, he sidled up to her, and in an ingratiating, wheedling way which only a dog possesses, he claimed her attention. She spoke to him, and stroked his shaggy head. Then Jip ventured forward, demanding his share of her favours, and she bent down and asked him his name. I remained tongue-tied and ill at ease, and was wishing myself a hundred miles away, when she suddenly looked toward me and smiled.
'I consider a collie and a Dandie Dinmont ideal companions,' she said. 'They are evidently very much attached to you, and old friends are the best friends.'
'Friends, yes; but they don't belong to me,' I replied. 'Bang here is an old pensioner of the village butcher, and wee Jip is the apple of our local shoemaker's eye. We've been good chums since I came down here, and I seldom go for a walk without them.'