“Poor thing! I pitied her. The old people couldn’t make out half she said, and mother wouldn’t allow me, who was the only person she could talk to, to have any conversation with her if she could help it. It is a bad thing to distrust young people, it makes them artful at last; and I really believe it had that effect on me to a certain extent. The unfortunate girl often had to set up late ironing, or something or another. And if you will believe it now, mother never would let me sit up with her to keep her company and talk to her; but before she went to bed herself, always saw me off to my own room. Well, it’s easy to make people go to bed, but it ain’t just quite so easy to make them stay there. So when I used to hear the old lady get fairly into hers, for my room was next to father’s, though we went by different stairs to them, I used to go down in my stocking feet, and keep her company; for I pitied her from my heart. And then we would sit in the corner of the fire-place and talk Gaelic half the night. And you can’t think how pleasant it was. You laugh, Miss Janet, but it really was delightful; they were the happiest hours I almost ever spent.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she said, “of course they were.”
“If you think so, Miss,” said I, “p’raps you would finish the lessons with me this evening, if you have nothing particular to do.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she said, laughing like anything. “I can speak English sufficient for my purpose, and I agree with your mother, Gaelic in this country is of no sort of use whatever; at least I am so artless and unsophisticated as to think so. But go on, Sir.”
“Well, mother two or three times came as near as possible catching me, for she was awful afraid of lights and fires, she said, and couldn’t sleep sound if the coals weren’t covered up with ashes, the hearth swept, and the broom put into a tub of water, and she used to get up and pop into the room very sudden; and though she warn’t very light of foot, we used to be too busy repeating words to keep watch as we ought.”
“What an artless couple,” said Janet; “well I never! how you can have the face to pretend so, I don’t know! Well, you do beat all!’
“A suspicious parent,” sais I, “Miss, as I said before, makes an artful child. I never knew what guile was before that. Well, one night; oh dear, it makes my heart ache to think of it, it was the last we ever spent together. Flora was starching muslins, mother had seen me off to my room, and then went to hers, when down I crept in my stockin feet as usual, puts a chair into the chimney corner, and we sat down and repeated our lessons. When we came to the word Pog (kiss), I always used to forget it; and it’s very odd, for it’s the most beautiful one in the language. We soon lost all caution, and it sounded so loud and sharp it started mother; and before we knew where we were, we heard her enter the parlour which was next to us. In an instant I was off and behind the entry door, and Flora was up and at work. Just then the old lady came in as softly as possible, and stood and surveyed the room all round. I could see her through the crack of the door, she actually seemed disappointed at not finding me there.
“‘What noise was that I heard, Flora?’ she said, speakin’ as mild as if she was actilly afraid to wake the cat up.
“Flora lifted the centre of the muslin she was starching with one hand, and makin’ a hollow under it in the palm of the other, she held it close up to the old woman’s face, and clapped it; and it made the very identical sound of the smack she had heard, and the dear child repeated it in quick succession several times. The old lady jumped back the matter of a foot or more, she positively looked skared, as if the old gentleman would think somebody was a kissin’ of her.
“Oh dear, I thought I should have teeheed right out. She seemed utterly confounded, and Flora looked, as she was, the dear critter, so artless and innocent! It dumbfoundered her completely. Still she warn’t quite satisfied.