CHAPTER VIII.
Now is the May of life.
ROGERS.
“Eh, Violet! there’s twa men-servants, and twa maids!” said little Katie Calder.
Katie was short and stout, with a plump, good-humoured face, and wealth of long fair hair, and a bright-printed frock, bought for her by Uncle Sandy himself, to replace the faded liveries of Miss Jean. Katie had no turn for literature or poetry, like her little kinswoman; but to make up for that, she was stout-hearted and adventurous, redoubtable in winter slides and summer rambles, and with as honest and “aefauld” a child’s heart as ever looked through blue eyes. Miss Jean Calder and her penurious oppression had subdued Katie, but they had not crushed her; for Katie was not given to solitary thoughts or plaintive resignation. So instead of standing shyly by, as Violet might have done, and looking on with a longing wish to join the plays of happier children, Katie made bold dashes among them, content rather to pay for her play by a good fit of crying, when summoned in to the invariable scold, than to want altogether the wholesome “fun” which was the child’s natural breath. So now, being prepared by a few days’ freedom in Uncle Sandy’s house at Ayr, for the liberty and kindliness, though scarcely for the grandeur of Allenders, Katie’s happy spirit had entirely thrown off the fear and bondage of Miss Jean. She was sitting on a low stool half-dressed, plaiting the long hair which streamed over her plump shoulders, and looking with great admiration at the new chintz frock carefully spread out upon a chair, which she had worn for the first time yesterday.
“Eh, Katie! if you only saw how the sun’s rising behind yon muckle hill!” answered Violet from the window.
“And you never saw such a fine kitchen,” pursued Katie, “a’ the walls glittering with things, and as big as folk could dance in; and such a room with books down the stair. Did you think there was as mony in the world, Lettie?”
“But they’re no for reading,” said Violet disconsolately, “for I tried them last night; and I would rather have Mr. Sim’s library in the Cowcaddens.”
“Were there stories in it? Eh, Violet, do you think there’s ony fairy tales down the stair? for I like them,” said Katie Calder; “but if I put on my new frock the day, it’ll no be clean on Sabbath to gang to the kirk.”
“There’s Rose down in the garden—and there’s the old man that Harry calls Dragon,” cried Violet. “Come, Katie, and see the Forth and our boat.”