'Ye've often wondered that, have ye? Imphm!' And she sat down again. 'Weel, as the wean I nursed an' the man I'm prood o', ye'll no' be denied an answer. No, Nathan's no' the only sweethe'rt I ever had. I loved anither man before I loved Nathan. I was aboot nineteen year auld at the time, an' if onybody had telt me then that Robert Frizzel wad never be mine I wad ha'e gane demented. Nineteen's a careless, haveral kind o' an age; but the he'rt can be awfu' glad an' joyous then, an' I must confess I had spurts o' happiness which carried me aff my feet in a wey I couldna understand later. The sun was aye shinin'; the birds were aye whusslin'. I gaed to my bed singin', an' I wakened singin'. Oh, I mind it a' weel. The mistress—your mother—somewey was against it; but I thocht I kenned best, an' mony a sweet bit stolen oor I had up at that same gate at the heid o' the gairden there. He was a nice-lookin' man, was Robert, a bonny singer, an' a great toss amang the lassies, an' to be singled oot frae amang them a' was in my estimation something to be prood o'. Weel, I heard something aboot him no' to his credit—something mean an' dishonourable. Nathan was comin' aboot the gairden even then; an', though he had never said ocht to me, I could see, an'—an' I jaloused, an' it struck me that he wadna ha'e dune the same. Weel, the first chance I got I asked Robert aboot it, an' he juist laughed an' made licht o't. I telt him I never wanted to speak to him again, an'—an' I gaed to my bed that nicht an' grat the sairest greet I ever had in my life. Ay, I juist put him oot o' my he'rt an' steekit the door. An' then Nathan somewey opened it again, an'——Michty me, Maister Weelum, your broth's stane-cauld!' And, without another word, she lifted the soup-tureen and went ben to the kitchen.
I never for a moment suspected Betty of having had a calf-love affair, and her characteristic recital of the episode was as unexpected as it was interesting. I asked the question which led up to it almost without premeditation, and not so much out of curiosity as from a desire to wean her pessimistic mind away from Nathan's indisposition. Poor body, she was always prone to meet her troubles halfway, and I feel so sure that her fears regarding Nathan are groundless that I do not reproach myself for interrupting her brooding thoughts.
After dinner I went through to Nathan's bedroom and had a short chat with him. He was assiduously reading The Christian Herald when I looked past the curtain of his bed, but on recognising me he at once stopped and took off his spectacles. 'Oh, it's you, Maister Weelum,' he said, as he laid aside his paper. 'I—I thocht it micht be Betty.'
At the back of the bed, and only partly hidden, was a copy of The Gardening World. I looked first at one paper, then at the other, and remembering his predilection for secular literature, I smiled. Nathan smiled also. I made no remark; neither did Nathan; but somehow I am surer now than ever that Betty is wrong in thinking that he considers his condition serious.
With Nathan in normal health and at his own fireside it is a difficult matter to keep the crack going; but with Nathan indisposed and abed it is well-nigh impossible. True, he answers any questions I put to him, but he never introduces a subject of conversation, and at his bedside, talking to him, I have always the strange feeling that he wants to put his head underneath the bedclothes.
When I had exhausted my news, and was wondering what next to say, Joe came in, and he had still the serious expression in his eyes I had noticed on meeting him on my way to the bank.
Joe is of great assistance to Betty at present, and his knowledge of housework, combined with his readiness to help, places him on a pedestal and makes him indispensable. I took the opportunity of thanking him for what he had done, and commended him strongly for his kindly services; and when I was going out, as an inducement to further exertions, I quietly slipped something into his hand that brought him to the salute with a most pronounced jerk.
Nathan was eyeing the stiff-as-starch Joe in surprise, as I gave him a good-afternoon nod. 'What's wrang wi' ye, Benjy?' I heard him say. 'Maister Weelum's no' an offisher; he's a gentleman.'
'That's exactly why I saluted him, Nathan,' said Joe very patly; and I was laughing quietly to myself as I re-entered my room.
Betty was what she calls 'bankin'' my fire; and, on looking round and catching the smile on my face, she wiped her fingers on her dust-cloth and smiled too.