In the meantime, soothed by a whiff of her pipe, Mistress Jamieson was getting on quite friendly terms with Allison, who had her good word from that day forth. For with the most respectful attention she sat listening to the all-embracing and rather dismal monologue of the old woman, as few were accustomed to do. Did she listen? She certainly did not understand all that was said, and she could not afterward have repeated a word of it. But she saw a face, wrinkled and grey, and not very happy—an old, tired face. And if she was thinking of troubles that had made deep lines in other faces, rather than of the cares and vexations which had saddened the lot and soured the temper of the schoolmistress, her silence and the softening look in her beautiful, sad eyes, and the grave “ay” or “no” that came in response to some more direct appeal, pleased and soothed the heart of the lonely old woman to a sense of comfort which came seldom enough to her.
And though Allison’s answers were of the briefest, when the mistress began to question her about herself and her life before she came to Nethermuir, they were civil, and they were quietly and readily given, and fortunately there was not much time for questions; for the bairns came straggling back by twos and threes as they had gone away. Each brought some treasure found in their wanderings, and Marjorie would have been buried beneath the offerings of flowers, and tender green bracken, and “bonny stanies” that were brought to her, if Annie Cairns had not taken possession of them all, promising to carry them safe to the manse.
There were still some stragglers for whom they must wait. There would have been little good in going to search for them, and there was no need to hurry home, for the afternoon was not far over—at least there would have been no need if the bairns had not been all so ravenously hungry. The “piece” which each had brought from home had been made away with by the greater number, before even the “Stanes” were in sight, and the additional supply which Allison had provided did not go very far among so many.
In these circumstances, imagine the shout of welcome which greeted the appearance of Robin with a bag upon his back—Robin’s bag, the bairns called it; but the treat of baps and buns was John Beaton’s, who took this way to celebrate his homecoming. And it is to be doubted whether he ever in all his life spent many other crown-pieces to better purpose, as far as the giving or the getting or pleasure was concerned.
Chapter Eight.
“Love sought is good, but love unsought is better.”
John Beaton came slowly up the height which hid for the moment the spot where the bairns had gathered, and Robin followed with his bag on his shoulder. Confusion reigned triumphant. Some of the little ones had become tired and fretful, and the elder girls were doing what they could to comfort and encourage them. But by far the greater number were as lively as when they set out in the morning, and by no means in haste to end their day of pleasure. Up the shelving side of one of the great grey stones they were clambering, and then, with shrill shrieks and laughter, springing over the other side to the turf below. Not the slightest heed was given to the voice of the mistress, heard amid the din, expostulating, warning, threatening “broken banes and bluidy noses, ere a’ was dane.” This was what Robin saw, and it was “a sight worth seeing.”
What John Beaton saw was Allison Bain standing apart, with Marjorie in her arms, and he saw nothing else for a while. Even Robin, with his bag on his shoulder, stopped a moment to gaze at “our lass,” as he called her in a whisper to his friend. She looked a very different lass from “our Allie” in the manse kitchen, with her downcast eyes, and her silence, and her utter engrossment with the work of the moment. Her big mutch had fallen off, and a mass of bright hair lay over the arm which the child had clasped about her neck. The air had brought a wonderful soft colour to her cheeks, and her lips were smiling, and so were her eyes, as she watched the wild play of the bairns, and her darling’s delight in it. There was not a sign of stooping or weariness.