Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science, Volume 26 December, 1880. by Various None (smart ebook reader .txt) 📕

Weary Occupants Were Safely Asleep: Then She Sat Up In bed. The

Moonlight Was Streaming Into The Room Through The Uncurtained Window,

And Lit Up Her Tumbled Head And Hot Face. After A Cautious Pause She

Stepped Out On The Floor And Went Round The Foot Of Her Bed To The

Window. She Knelt Down On The Floor,  As If She Were In Search Of

Something,  And Began Feeling With Her Hand On The Lower Part Of The

Shutter. Then,  Close To The Floor,  And In a Place Where They Were Likely

To Escape Detection,  She Marked Clearly And Distinctly Eight Deep,  Short

Scratches In an Even Line On The Yellow-Painted Woodwork. She Ran Her

Fingers Over Them Until She Could Feel Each Scratch Distinctly. Eight!

She Counted Them Thrice To Make Sure,  Then Jumped Back Into Bed,  And In

A Few Minutes Was As Fast Asleep As Her Neighbors.

The Days Wore Into Weeks,  And The Weeks Had Soon Made A Month,  And Time,

As It Went,  Left Baubie More Demure,  Quieter And More Diligent--Diligent

Apparently At Least,  For The Knitting,  Though It Advanced,  Showed No

Sign Of Corresponding Improvement,  And The Rest Of Her Work Was Simply

Scamped. March Had Given Way To April,  And The Late Edinburgh Spring At

Last Began To Give Signs Of Its Approach. The Chestnuts Showed Brown

Glistening Tips To Their Branch-Ends,  And Their Black Trunks Became

Covered With An Emerald-Colored Mildew; The Rod-Like Branches Of The

Poplars Turned A Pale Whitish-Green And Began To Knot And Swell; The

Water Of Leith Overflowed,  And Ran Bubbling And Mud-Colored Under The

Bridge; And The Grass By Its Banks,  And Even That In The Front Green Of

The Refuge,  Showed Here And There A Red-Eyed Daisy. The Days Grew Longer

And Longer,  And Of A Mild Evening The Thrush'S Note Was To Be Heard

Above The Brawling Of The Stream From The Thickets Of Dean Terrace

Gardens.

Baubie Wishart Waited Passively. Every Day Saw Her More Docile And

Demure,  And Every Day Saw A New Scratch Added To Her Tally On The

Window-Shutter Behind Her Bed.

May Came,  And The Days Climbed With Longer Strides To Their Goal,  Now

Close; On Reaching Which They Return Slowly And Unwillingly,  But Just As

Surely; And To Her Joy,  About,  The Third Week In May,  Baubie Wishart

Counted One Warm,  Clear Night Fifty-Nine Scratches On The Shutter.

Fifty-Nine! She Knew The Number Well Without Counting Them.

Whether She Slept Or Watched That Night Is Not Known,  But The Next

Morning At Four Saw Baubie Make A Hasty And Rather More Simple Toilette

Than Usual,  Insomuch As She Forgot To Wash Herself,  Brush Her Hair Or

Put On Her Shoes And Stockings. Barefooted And Bareheaded,  Much As She

Had Come,  She Went. She Stole Noiselessly As A Shadow Through The Outer

Dormitory,  Passing The Rows Of Sleepers With Bated Breath,  And Not

Without A Parting Glance Of Triumph At The Bed Where Her Rival,

Elizabeth Grant,  Was Curled Up. Down The Wooden Stair,  Her Bare Feet

Waking No Echoes,  Glided Baubie,  And Into The School-Room,  Which Looked

Out On The Front Green. She Opened The Window Easily,  Hoisted Herself On

The Sill,  Crept Through And Let Herself Drop On The Grass Below. To

Scramble Up The Trunk Of One Of The Chestnuts And Swing Herself Over The

Wall Was Quickly Done,  And Then She Was Once More On The Flagged Path Of

The Street,  And The World Lay Before Her.

As She Stood For One Moment,  Breathless With Her Haste And Excitement,

She Was Startled By The Sudden Apparition Of The House Cat,  Who Was On

His Way Home As Surreptitiously As She Was On Hers Abroad. He Had One

Bloody Ear And A Scratched Nose,  And Stared At Her As He Passed: Then,

Probably In The Hope Of Finding An Open Door After Her,  He Jumped Over

The Wall Hurriedly. Baubie Was Seized With A Sudden Panic Lest The Cat

Should Waken Some One In The House,  And She Took To Her Heels And Ran

Until She Reached The Bridge. The Morning Sun Was Just Beginning To

Touch The Tall Tops Of The Houses,  And The Little Valley Through Which

The Water Of Leith Ran Lay Still In a Kind Of Clear Grayish Light,  In

Which The Pale Tender Hues Of The Young Leaves And The Flowering Trees

Were All The More Vividly Beautiful. The Stream Was Low,  And It Hurried

Along Over Its Stony Bed,  As If It Too Were Running Away,  And In as

Great A Hurry To Be Free Of All Restraints As Truant Baubie Wishart,

Whose Red Frock Was Now Climbing The Hilly Gray Street Beyond.

She Could Hear,  As She Strained Herself To Listen For Pursuing Voices,

The Rustle And Murmur Of The Water With An Odd Distinctness As It Rose

Upon The Still Air Of The Summer Morning.

Not A Creature Was To Be Seen As She Made Her Way Eastward,  Shaping Her

Course For Princes Street,  And Peering,  With A Gruesome Fear Of The

School-Board Officer,  Round Every Corner. That Early Bird,  However,  Was

Not So Keenly On The Alert As She Gave Him The Credit Of Being,  And She

Reached Her Goal Unchallenged After Coasting Along In Parallel Lines

With It For Some Time.

The Long Beautiful Line Of Princes Street Was Untenanted As The Rob Roy

Tartan Tacked Cautiously Round The Corner Of St. David Street And Took A

Hasty Look Up And Down Before Venturing Forth.

The Far-Reaching Pale Red Beams Of The Morning Sun Had Just Touched And

Kindled As With A Flame The Summit Of The Rock,  And The Windows Of The

Castle Caught And Flashed Back The Greeting In a Dozen Ruddy

Reflections. The Gardens Below Lay Partly Veiled In a Clear Transparent

Mist,  Faintly Blue,  That Hovered Above The Trees And Crept Up The Banks,

And Over Which The Grand Outlines Of The Rock Towered As It Lifted Its

Head Majestically Into The Gold Halo That Lay Beyond.

Not A Sound Or Stir,  Even The Sparrows Were Barely Awake,  As Baubie

Darted Along. Fixing Her Eye On That Portion Of The High School Which Is

Visible From Princes Street,  She Pushed Along At A Pace That Was Almost

A Run,  And A Brief Space Saw Her Draw Up And Fall Exhausted On The Steps

That Lead Up To The Calton Hill.

Right Before Her Was The Jail-Gate.

The Child'S Feet,  Unused Now For Some Time To Such Hardships,  Were Hot

And Bruised,  For She Had Not Stopped To Pick Her Footing In Her Hasty

Course,  And She Was So Out Of Breath And Heated That It Seemed To Her As

If She Would Never Get Cool Or Her Heart Cease Fluttering As If It Would

Choke Her. She Shrank Discreetly Against The Stone Wall At Her Side,  And

There For Three Long Hours She Remained Crouched,  Watching And Waiting

For The Hour To Chime When The Grim Black Gate Opposite Would Open.

The Last Tinge Of Crimson And Purple Had Faded Before The Golden Glories

Of The Day As The Sun Climbed Higher And Higher In The Serene Blue Sky.

The Red Cliffs Of Salisbury Crags Glared With A Hot Lustre Above The

Green Slopes Of The Hill,  And In The White Dust Of The High-Road A

Million Tiny Stars Seemed To Sparkle And Twinkle Most Invitingly To

Baubie'S Eyes. The Birds Had Long Been Awake And Busy In The Bushes

Above Her Head,  And From Where She Sat She Could See,  In The Distant

Glitter Of Princes Street,  All The Stir Of The Newly-Raised Day.

It Was A Long Vigil,  And Her Fear And Impatience Made It Seem Doubly

Longer. At Last The Clock Began To Chime Eight,  And Before It Was Half

Done The Wicket In The Great Door Opened With A Noisy Clang After A

Preliminary Rattle.

First Came A Boy,  Who Cast An Anxious Look Round Him,  Then Set Off At A

Run; Next A Young Woman,  For Whom Another Was Waiting Just Out Of Sight

Down The Road; Last Of All (There Were Only Three Released),  Baubie,

Whose Heart Was Beginning To Beat Fast Again With Anxiety,  Saw The

Familiar,  Well-Known Figure Shamble Forth And Look Up And Down The Road

In A Helpless,  Undecided Way. The Next Moment The Wicket Had Clapped To

Again. Wishart Glanced Back At It,  Sighed Once Or Twice,  And Blinked His

Eyes As Though The Sunlight Were Too Strong For Them.

Baubie,  Scarce Breathing,  Watched Him As A Cat Watches Just Before She

Springs.

After A Second Of Hesitation He Began To Move Cityward,  Obeying Some

Sheep-Like Instinct Which Impelled Him To Follow Those Who Had Gone On

Before. Baubie Saw This,  And,  Just Waiting To Let Him Get Well Under Way

And Settle Into His Gait,  She Gathered Herself Up And Sprang Across The

Road Upon Him With The Suddenness And Rapidity Of A Flash.

He Fairly Staggered With Surprise. There She Was,  Exactly As He Had Left

Her,  Dusty,  Barefooted And Bareheaded. The Wind Had Tossed Up Her Hair,

Which Indeed Was Only Too Obedient To Its Will,  And It Clustered All The

More Wildly About Her Face Because Of Having Been Cropped To The

Regulation Length Of The Refuge.

"Lassie,  Is'T You?" He Ejaculated,  Lost In astonishment. Then,  Realizing

The Fact,  He Gave Expression To His Feeling By Grinning In a Convulsive

Kind Of Way And Clapping Her Once Or Twice On The Shoulder Next Him.

"Od! I Niver! Didna The Leddy--"

Baubie Cut Him Short. "Sed I Widna Bide," She Observed Curtly And

Significantly.

Gestures And Looks Convey,  Among People Like The Wisharts,  Far More

Meaning Than Words,  And Baubie'S Father Perfectly Understood From The

Manner And Tone Of Her Pregnant Remark That She Had Run Away From

School,  And Had Severed The Connection Between Herself And The "Kind

Leddy," And That In consequence The Situation Was Highly Risky For Both.

They Remained Standing Still For A Moment,  Looking At Each Other. The

Boy And The Woman Were Already Out Of Sight,  And The White,  Dusty

High-Road Seemed All Their Own Domain.

Wishart Shuffled With His Feet Once More,  And Looked In The Direction

Of Princes Street,  And Then At Baubie Inquiringly. It Was For Her,  As

Usual,  To Decide. Baubie Had Been His Providence For As Long As He Had

Memory For--No