Wee Macgreegor Enlists by John Joy Bell (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📕

Pride was in abeyance. She was all tenderness.

At the Robinson's house she received a warm welcome. Mrs. Robinson had almost got over her secret fear of her future daughter-in-law. Jeannie admired her intensely, and wee Jimsie frankly loved her. Aunt Purdie's were not the only gifts she delivered.

'Ye're hame suner nor ye intended,' said Mrs. Robinson, during tea, which was partaken of without Mr. Robinson, who was 'extra busy' over munitions. 'Was Miss Tod wantin' ye?'

'Macgreegor was wantin' her,' piped Jimsie. 'So was I.'

'Whisht, Jimsie,' Jeannie murmured, blushing more than Christina.

'We jist got hame frae Rothesay last nicht,' said Mrs. Robinson, 'so we ha'ena seen the laddie for a while.'

'He hasna wrote this week,' remarked Jeannie. 'But of course _you'll_ ha'e heard frae him, Christina'--this with respectful diffidence.

'He's been busy at the shooting' Christina replied, wishing she had more news to give.

'I wisht I had a gun,' observed Jimsie. 'I wud shoot the whuskers aff auld Tirpy. Jings, I wud that!'

'Dinna boast,' said his mother.

'What wud you shoot, Christina, if you had a gun?'

'I think I wud practise on a cocoa-nut, Jimsie,' she said, with a small laugh.

After tea Mrs. Robinson took Christina into the parlour while Jeannie tidied up. Presently the door bell rang, and Jimsie rushed to meet the postman.

'It's for Macgreegor,' he announced, returning and handing a parcel to his mother.

'I wonder wha's sendin' the laddie socks,' she said, feeling it. 'I best open it an' put his name on them. Maybe they're frae Mistress McOstrich.' She removed the string and brown paper. 'Vera nice socks--- a wee thing to the lairge side--but vera nice socks, indeed. But wha----'

'Here's a letter!' cried Jimsie, extracting a half-sheet of white paper from the crumpled brown, and giving it to his dear Christina.

In bold, untidy writing she read--

'With fondest love from Maggie.'


XVIII


PITY THE POOR PARENTS!

'It's a peety Macgreegor didna see his intended the nicht,' Mr. Robinson observed when his son, after a couple of hours at the parental hearth, had gone to bed, 'but we canna help trains bein' late.'

Mrs. Robinson felt that it was perhaps just as well the two young people had not met that night, but refrained from saying so. 'Hoo dae ye think Macgreegor's lookin,' John?' she asked after a pause.

'I didna notice onything wrang wi' him. He hadna a great deal to say for hissel'; but that's naething new. Queer hoo a noisy, steerin' wean like he was, grows into a quiet, douce young man.'

'He's maybe no as douce as ye think,' said Lizzie under her breath.

'What's that?'

'Naething, John.' She sighed heavily.

'What's wrang, wife?'

'I was wishin' we had a niece called Maggie. . . . I suppose it's nae use askin' if ye ever heard o' Macgreegor ha'ein' an acquaintance o' that name.'

'Maggie? Weel, it's no what ye would call a unique name. But what----'

'Listen, John. When Christina was here the day, a wee paircel cam' for Macgreegor, an' when I opened it, there was a pair o' socks wi'--wi' fondest love from Maggie.'

'Hurray for Maggie!

'But, John, Christina read the words!'

'Oho!' John guffawed. 'She wudna like that--eh?'

'Man, what are ye laughin' at? Ye ken Christina's terrible prood.'

'No ony prooder nor Macgreegor is o' her. Lizzie.'

'That's no what I meant. Christina wud never put up wi' Macgreegor lookin' at anither lass.'

'Weemen was born jealous; but it's guid for them.'

'John Robi'son! ha'e ye the face to tell me ye wud approve o' Macgreegor cairryin' on wi' anither lass when he's engaged to Christina?'

'Of course I wudna exac'ly approve o' it.' Mr. Robinson scratched his head. 'But surely ye're raisin' an awfu' excitement ower a pair o' socks.'

'It wasna the socks, ye stupid: it was the fondest love!'

John laughed again, but less boisterously,

'Maggie's no blate, whaever she is. Did ye no speir at Macgreegor aboot her?'

'Oh, man! ha'e ye nae sense?' I jist tied up the paircel again an' left it on his bed.'

'Weel, that ends it,' John said comfortably. 'But'--with a wink--'let it be a lesson to ye never to tamper wi' yer son's correspondence. Ye're pretty sure to find mair nor ye expec'.'

Mrs. Robinson clasped her hands. 'Oh, dear! hoo can ye joke aboot it? What if Christina breaks her engagement.'

'What?' he cried, suddenly alarmed. 'Break her engagement! Surely ye dinna mean that! Did she say onything? Did she seem offended? Did she----'

'Never a word--but her look was different. But whatever stupid thing the laddie may ha'e done, his heart's set on Christina. It wud break his heart if----'

'This is bad,' said John, all dismayed. 'I didna think it wud be that serious. But I'll tell ye what I'll dae, Lizzie. I'll gang the morn and see Christina an' tell her----'

'What'll ye tell her?'

'Dear knows! What wud ye say yersel'?'

'Neither you nor me can say onything. Macgreegor'll ha'e to explain--if he can.'

Mr. Robinson groaned, then brightened. 'I yinst had a cousin called Maggie,' he said; 'unfortunately she's been deid for fifteen year. Still----'

'It's time ye was in yer bed, John. Ye canna dae onything, ma man, excep' hope for the best.'

* * * * *


At dead of night--

'Lizzie!'

Silence.

'_Lizzie_!'

'Eh?--what is 't, John?'

'I was thinkin', wife; I was thinkin' it's no sae bad since her name's Maggie. Ye see, if it had been Henrietta, or Dorothea, or----'

'Mercy! Are ye talkin' in yer sleep?'

'I was gaun for to say that a Henrietta an' so forth wud be easier traced nor a Maggie, Maggies bein' as common as wulks at Dunoon, whereas----'

'D'ye imagine Christina--oh, dinna be silly, man!'

'But, Maggie--I mean Lizzie----'

'Oh, for ony favour gang to sleep an' rest yer brains.'

* * * * *


When Macgregor, alone save for the slumbering Jimsie, had opened the parcel he muttered savagely: 'Oh, dash it! I wish she had kep' her rotten socks to hersel'!'--and stuffed the gift behind the chest of drawers. The message he tore into a hundred fragments. Then he went to bed and slept better, perhaps, than he deserved. He expected there would be a letter in the morning, for Christina had left no message with his mother.

But there was no letter, so, after breakfast, he made a trip to the camp on the chance, and in the hope, that one might be lying there. Another blow! Managing to dodge Willie, he hurried home to meet the second morning delivery. Nothing again! . . . His mother's anxious questions as to his health irritated him, and he so far lost his temper as to ask his sister why she was wearing a face like a fiddle. Poor Jeannie! For half the night she had been weeping for her hero and wishing the most awful things for the unknown Maggie.

'Ye'll be back for yer denner, laddie?' his mother called after him as he left the house.

'I dinna ken,' he replied over his shoulder.

Mrs. Robinson felt that her worst forebodings were about to be realized.

'Never again!' she muttered in the presence of her daughter, who was helping her with the housework.

'What, mither?'

'Never again will I open a paircel that's no addressed to me.'

'But it--it might ha'e been a--a fish,' said Jeannie, who would have sought to comfort the most sinful penitent in the world. 'Some girls,' she went on, 'dinna mean onything special by "fondest love." They dinna mean onything mair nor "kind regairds."'

Mrs. Robinson sighed. 'I wud gi'e something if it had been a fish wi' kind regairds. I wonder what he did wi' the socks.'

'I got them at the back o' the chest o' drawers. Weel, mither, that proves he doesna care for her.'

'That's no the p'int, dearie.' Mrs. Robinson paused in her work. 'I'm beginnin' to think I should ha'e tell't him aboot the paircel bein' open when Christina was here. It's maybe no fair to let him gang to her----'

'I'll run efter him,' said Jeannie promptly. 'I'll maybe catch him afore he gets to Miss Tod's shop.'

'Ay; run, Jeannie; run as quick's ye can!'

So Jeannie threw off her apron, tidied her hair with a couple of touches, and flew as though a life depended on her speed.

And, panting, she came in sight of Miss Tod's shop just in time--just in time to see the beloved kilted figure disappear into the doorway.


XIX


A SERIOUS REVERSE

The fact that Christina had not written was a paralyzing blow to Macgregor's self-confidence and left him altogether uncertain of his ground. For the time being his sense of guilt as well as that of injury was almost swamped by the awful dread that she had simply grown tired of him. He entered the shop with foreboding--and received another blow.

A smartly dressed young man was lounging at the counter, apparently basking in Christina's smiles. As a matter of fact, the young man was merely choosing a notebook, and until the moment of Macgregor's entrance had been treated with the slightly haughty politeness which Christina made a point of administering to males under fifty. But with amazing abruptness she became so charming that the young man, a sensitive, susceptible creature, decided that an ordinary penny note-book would not do.

'Well,' said Christina sweetly, 'here are some at twopence, threepence and sixpence. The sixpenny ones are extremely reliable.'

After some desultory conversation in low tones, during which Macgregor writhed with frequently averted gaze, the young man chose a sixpenny one and put down a florin, regretfully remarking that he had to catch a confounded train.

With a delicious smile Christina handed him his change, and with a graceful salute he fled without counting it. Immediately the door had closed Christina realized that she had given him one and ninepence. A small matter at such a time, yet it may have been the last straw. She had no word for Macgregor as he came to the counter, his uncertainty increased by that delicious smile given to another.

'Weel, ye've got back,' was all he could utter, and her attitude stopped him in the first movement of offering his hand.

'Yesterday afternoon,' she returned coldly.

'Ay, I ken. I wish ye had sent me word,' he managed to say after a slight pause.

'It did not seem necessary. I suppose your mother told you.'

'I heard it first frae Aunt Purdie. I missed ye by less nor an 'oor. It