In Glenoran

Front matter

BY M. B. FIFE EDINBURGH OLIPHANT ANDERSON & FERRIER 24 St Giles Street 188S PRINTED ET MORRISON AND GIBB, EDINBURGH, FOR OLIPHANT, ANDERSON, & FERRIER. LONDON : HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. GLENORAN, 7 II. IN THE VILLAGE SHOP, 16 III. THE CAMPBELLS OF GLEN CKOFT, .... 22 iv. janet's grievance, 29 V. RETROSPECTIVE, ....... 42 vi. Allan's courtship, 45 VII. a rift in the lute, 54 VIII. a day's haymaking, -65 IX. ALLAN REAPS HIS REWARD, ..... 76 X. KATE CAMERON, 83 XI. KATE HAS SOME WORDS WITH THE LAIRD, . . 91 XII. NEWS FROM ABROAD, '99 XIII. 'THE WAY OF TRANSGRESSORS IS HARD,'. . . IoS XIV. ALLAN AND PHEEMIE, IlS XV. ABERORAN MARKET-DAY, 1 27 XVI. KATE AND HER STEPMOTHER, 139 XVII. THE WEDDING, 1 CONTENTS. CHAP. PACE XVIII. THE LAIRD AND RONALD, 160 XIX. RONALD AND PHEEMIE l6S XX.

MARY IN CHURCH, 177 XXI. A CATASTROPHE l8S XXII. A CONFESSION, 202 XXIII. DUNCAN, 213 XXIV. THE LAIRD MAKES AMENDS, 221 XXV. LEAVING THE CROFT, 230 ■S XXVI. MARY AND ALLAN, 239 XXVII. FAREWELL,

Chapter I. Glenoran

HE early summer had been hot and dry that year in Glenoran, so the hay was in stack by the end of July, and there was little doing in the parish in the hot August weather. Not that there was ever any great hurry or bustle of work thereabouts. The wheels of life revolved slowly, and the farmers and crofters of Glenoran knew a great deal better than to take the savour out of life by over-exertion. In the busiest time of harvest there was always a half-hour or so, now and then, when one could lean upon some convenient implement and gossip with a passing neighbour. To-day's sunshine might be but a passing glint before to-morrow's downpour, but no farmer in Glenoran was unreasonable enough to hurry his labourers on that account ; besides, he probably enjoyed the luxury of rest himself, and felt a pious confidence that, as the crops were never very heavy in these parts, Providence would see to the getting of them in somehow.

This spirit of lazy content ment was at its height one sunny August afternoon, when Kate Cameron came to the manse door and looked out upon the hot and sleepy world. The manse and the small white church stood at the end of the irregular row of houses which was dignified by the name of Glenoran village. The village proper consisted of these few houses, the church, the manse, the little inn, the general merchant's shop, which was also the post office, and an opposition shop, where boot-laces, sweets, and candles were sold. A little behind the village there was the ruined gable of the old church, and round this was gathered a collection of thatched huts, known as the Clachan, and in these the dwellers were extremely poor. The present parish church was in the middle of the graveyard, which was only separated from the manse garden by a low wall with a stile in it.

Beyond the shrubs at the end of the garden was the turnpike road, on the GLENORAN. 11 other side of which, fields stretched down to the Oran, and on the opposite side of the river the hills shut in the view. Behind the manse, too, there were hills, steep enough to pass for mountains elsewhere, but mere hillocks compared to those mighty giants that lifted their great black heads on either side of Glenoran, — the glen from which the parish took its name, and which extended from the narrow pass a mile or so from the village for many miles of splendid desolation, till it lost itself in the mountains. As Kate looked from the doorway, the lazy collie, who was basking in the sun, blinked his eyes, and made believe he did not see her, for Moss had no opinion of activity on such a day as this ; the comfortable fowls, too, flapped their wings lazily in the dust, and turned over on their sides for another siesta.

But Kate was tired of the shadowed dulness of the drawing-room and of the endless click click of her stepmother's knitting-needles ; and, moreover, she had heard some news that morning that had made her anxious to be out and astir ; so, calling to the reluctant Moss, she stepped on to the lawn, opened the gate, and was soon walking at a brisk pace towards the glen. The even, steady pace at which she walked, and the energy which brought her out when other folk IN GLENORAN. 12 were enjoying their afternoon leisure, were a fair indication of a character which had in it a good deal of determination and energy, and very little of self-indulgence or of sloth. The face, too, that looked so pleasantly at the women and children at the cottage doors was possessed of a certain shrewd kindliness, which endeared its owner to her poorer neighbours.

It had been a very pretty face a few years ago, and it was a handsome face still ; but there was a restraint in it, which gave a hardness to the eyes, while the lines of care about the mouth and brow told their own tale of mental conflict. Miss Cameron was already past the sunny period of a woman's life known as her first youth ; but she was a young woman still, and the weight of years had had comparatively little to do with the pencilling of those lines that are so often the result of worry rather than of age. It is possible, in her case, that that restless energy of hers, which was so superfluous a quality in Glenoran, may have had something to do with their existence. On this occasion the lines deepened into a decided wrinkle between the eyes, as she left the village behind her, and the solitude of the road allowed her to give the reins to her thoughts.

The road was a very beautiful one, and it became GLENORAN. 13 every moment more beautiful, as it left the scenes of civilization and turned abruptly through a narrow pass of rocks above the river into the glen itself. In front, peak upon peak of hills raised their great summits towards the cloudless sky, blushing crimson down their rugged sides, as the rich flush of the sunlight fell upon the heather. Far below the level of the road, and seen through a thick green network of trees, the Oran dashed and foamed in its rocky bed. On either side of the narrow gorge rich clumps of trees clothed the hillsides, till far up their slopes beech and chestnut, oak and larch, gave place to a few hardy birches and firs. And on the north side of the road, high above even the firs and birches, the great grey ridge of Craigoran met the sky-line with an unbroken front of rock.

Grand old Craigoran ! you saw him from far and near, and his rugged head seemed the very per sonification of latent strength. In all the eight and-twenty years of her life — all of which had been lived almost in his shadow — Kate Cameron had looked upon Craigoran as a personal friend, a stalwart protector ; and very rarely, as she passed along the road at his base, did she fail to lift her eyes to the familiar giant. Mist-capped or sun kissed, it was all one to her ; she knew his every mood, and loved it ; and his many changes from LN GLENORAN. 14 calm to storm suited the varying phases of her own changeful mind. But to-day she was preoccupied, and sunlight and shadow fell in vain upon the rugged slopes, as she hurried on, forgetful alike of the beauty of her surroundings and the growing steepness of the road.

It was a steep pull up to the cottage, and Moss felt it hard upon him that his mistress should pay so little attention to the persistent lolling of his tongue, as he trotted in front of her, and endeavoured, by every art known among dogs, to show that a slower pace or a seat in the shade would be acceptable. Moss was a dog of discrimination, who knew human nature thoroughly — even feminine human nature, which we all know is quite an extraordinary affair, and not to be read easily, like any common riddle ; and he felt that, for the credit of humanity, his mistress must in time pity such very evident distress as his, if he only made himself look sufficiently fatigued. But ' the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley,' the poet tells us, and how can a dog hope to be infallible ? So on this occasion Moss was wrong in his calculations, for his mistress did not even notice him, much less pity him ; and he was left with the poor consolation of the hypocrite, that his well-meant endeavours to look exhausted had been so very well done that GLENORAN. 15 they had only ended in making him really feel so.

A poor satisfaction enough it is truly, for dog or man, when he has overacted his part in the world, and there is nothing left to him but to accept the consequences.

Chapter II. In The Village Shop

;g|^&fcS Miss Cameron passed the village shop, SW Miss Macnab left her position behind syiys» the counter to look after her, and as she did so she encountered her friend Mrs. Murray, the wife of the farmer at Oranside, coming in at the door with her weekly basket of butter and eggs. ' Good-day to you, Miss Macnab,' the new-comer remarked, as she put her basket in a place of safety and applied a large pocket-handkerchief to her heated brow. ' Miss Kate is keen of a walk to be away up the glen this hot day.' ' You may say that, Mrs. Murray, but she will be away to get the news from Janet Campbell ; ' and the IN THE VILLAGE SHOP. 17 sniff of disdain with which Miss Macnab accompanied the words spoke volumes. 'Like enough ; but I'm thinking even Janet's tongue will no be sharp enough to take the blame of Allan in this business.

There's a deal of talk, Miss Macnab, a deal of talk ! ' ' It is no wonder, Mrs. Murray, and as long as folk talk of them that deserve it, and leave the name of my niece Mary out of the story, I will be glad to hear them speak ill of Allan Campbell. Janet, poor woman, I feel for, but she has sorely over-indulged that lad. A decent lass like my Mary takes ill with such usage, Mrs. Murray, and I may say, between friends, if it had been a well-doing industrious lad like your Alastair now, the like of this could not have happened.' And Miss Macnab gave emphasis to the compliment to Alastair's good up-bringing by graciously offering her visitor a chair. ' Ay ! my Alastair is just fairly upset about it, Miss Macnab, thinking of Mary as he does too ! He says, as I told you before, you might have knocked him down with a feather, so you might, when he saw the philandering with that lass up the way at Connacher's farm.

No girl of spirit would put up with such conduct, and your Mary is well rid of Allan. It's not long she will B have to look for a better man either, I am thinking.' And then the gossips looked slyly at each other and smiled ; for, if it is good to be off with the old love before you are on with the new, it is certainly good to have the new ready to take up when required, and Alastair Murray's admiration for Mary was no secret to his mother and Miss Macnab, and commended itself to the favour of both. ' But Mary is for away, Mrs. Murray,' Miss Macnab remarked somewhat ruefully ; ' she has heard of a place at Perth from Mrs. Cameron, down by at the manse, and she is for away to try a change. Indeed you cannot wonder at it, though with her prospects as my niece I am sorely against her returning to service at all ; however, it is but natural she would Hke to go away in the meantime till folk stop speaking about this.' 'Quite natural, indeed it is, and she will be the better of it.

I'll tell Alastair to give her a call when he is down at the cattle-show,' Mrs. Murray said with a smile. ' It is very natural, as I was saying ; it's not many young women could stand the folks' talk and live it down as Miss Kate has done. All this just reminds me of the speak there was when Mr. Duncan, poor lad, went away. Eight years come September, and not a word from him, they IN THE VILLAGE SHOP. 19 say. Dear heart ! but it is no wonder she is aged like.' 'And a bonnie young creature she was, Mrs. Murray, and a kindly, though that she is still after all. You'll mind, Mrs. Murray, what a handsome pair they were. Mr. Duncan, God bless him ! was freer spoken than Mr. Ronald ; it never seemed to me there could be any truth in yon story. It wasna like the poor young gentleman. But there ! what can be said when the laird takes a thing in his head ! ' ' You may say that ; he is a terrible man the laird — like you, the master and me always thought he was over hasty with the lad.

Poor young things ! but we live in a world of sorrow, and are all frail creatures at the best,' added Mrs. Murray, who was inclined to look at things solemnly, and to season her conversation with a religious flavour. Just then the shop door opened, and an old man from the Clachan came in for snuff, so the conversation was interrupted. ' It's fine weather for the crops, mem,' said the new-comer, as he handed a much used snuff-mull over the counter to Miss Macnab. ' It is indeed, John ; we have every reason to be thankful.' ' We have that whatever. It'll be leading ye'll be at Oranside to-morrow, Mrs. Murray.' 'Just that, John, and the master he is looking to have you round in yer usual to give him a hand.' ' I thank ye kindly, mem. I'll be there prime and early. Yon is a fine field down by the Oranside, it is — as fine a field as there is between this and Inveroran.' ' It is that, John ; but there is a fine harvest, if so be we are but granted a spirit of thanksgiving.' ' That is true indeed,' said John, as he went slowly to the door sorely disappointed, for he would have gladly heard the opinion of the ladies on the all important topic that was exercising the gossips, to the total exclusion of the harvest ; but as they evidently did not intend to volunteer him any in formation, John knew his social position better than to ask for it.

The butter and egg basket was now uncovered, and as the quality of Oranside butter was above suspicion, and the fine large eggs gave Miss Macnab full satisfaction, the extra penny on the price of each asked by Mrs. Murray, because the summer visitors at Inveroran were sending up the prices, was readily granted. As soon as the bargain was over, the friends adjourned to the parlour above the shop to take a cup of tea and finish their conversation ; and IN THE VILLAGE SHOP. 21 Mary, about whom there was so much speculation in local circles at present, having kindly taken her aunt's place behind the counter, they were at liberty to return to the discussion of her affairs without fear of further interruption. A

Chapter III. The Campbells Of Glen Croft

I^M^BOVE the pass of the Oran, a gap in the trees showed in the distance the whitewashed walls and the blue roof of a pretty cottage, which, with its outhouses, lay closely sheltered by the hill behind it and the thick wood at its side. Beside it there was a small thatched cottage of three rooms, and, except for the old shepherd who lived there, the inhabitants of the Glen Croft, as the cottage was called, were absolutely without neighbours, for a distance of two miles on either side separated them from the nearest house. But solitude was nothing unusual in the glens, and the Campbells at the cottage were perfectly satisfied with its situation. Indeed, it would have been difficult to find a more THE CAMPBELLS OF GLEN CROFT. 23 beautiful one. Hereditary custom, too, endeared it to its inmates, whose forefathers, time out of mind, had held the croft, and in the low-roofed shoe-shop behind the house had made shoes for all the glens men in a radius of many miles.

The place could not justly be called dull either, for the only road which led to the farms and hamlets of the glen passed the door, and there was a constant passing and repassing of gigs and carts and foot-passengers, all of whom stopped as if by instinct to have a chat with the shoemakers, who were in consequence in the earliest possession of the latest news from all quarters. The household at the Glen Croft consisted of Allan Campbell, his sister Janet, young Allan their nephew, and Ewen Mackay, the journeyman shoe maker. Ewen, according to the old custom, lived with the family, and had grown to be like one of themselves since the days when he and Allan learnt their trade together from the old father who had been dead now these ten years. Ewen was older by five years than Allan, and, though nominally the workman, had in reality the control of the business, for he was sharp at his work, industrious and trust worthy, while Allan would stand by the door with his hands in his pockets, or loiter away his evenings gossiping in the village shop, leaving Ewen and the apprentice to take care of the shoes, and his sister Janet to look after the Croft.

And Janet had a head on her shoulders, folk said, and was very well able for the task imposed upon her. As you looked at her honest brown face and clear, keen eyes, you felt that it was almost a pity she and her brother could not change places ; she would not have been the worse for some of his indolent gentleness, and he would have been greatly the better for a little of her strength of mind and steadfastness of purpose. Janet had a sharp tongue and a quick way with her that made the neighbours say it was ill giving offence to Miss Campbell, for she did not let you forget it in a hurry. There was one soft spot in her, however, in which she was wholly feminine. She simply idolized that lazy brother of hers, who was several years her junior, and in her eyes perfection. It might have been better for him if she had treated him to some of the bitter home-truths she was so fond of giving to other people ; possibly it might have roused him from his selfishness a little, and stirred him up to take his part more manfully in the work of life.

But there seems to be a nameless something about those weak and indolent natures that appeals to women stronger than themselves, and there is sure to be a mother, sister, or wife to make a hero THE CAMPBELLS OF GLEN CROFT. 25 of the common clay that other men think so little of. Ewen, who had a great respect for Janet, could never understand her weakness in the matter of Allan, but, being a wise man, he kept his own counsel on the subject, and wasted no words on it. There was one thing which troubled Janet desperately, however, and that was that Allan affected to despise the Croft and the shoe-shop, and talked loftily at times of leaving it all, and going to seek his fortune in the south country, where he felt sure there was a royal road to wealth, and where, too, he thought that he would be more appreciated than he was at home.

A prophet, we all know, has no honour in his own country, and Allan knew that his graceful poetic fancies and his marvellous conversational powers were held in little esteem by the douce folk of Glenoran. It would have been hard for Janet to part from Allan in any case, but there was a worse thing than that. The Croft was only held from year to year, and on the condition that the man of the family stayed at home to work it and to keep on the shoe-shop, which was the only one on the Stewart estates in Glenoran, and consequently a necessity, for people could not comfortably go a distance of eighteen or twenty miles to have their shoes mended. There had never till now been any difficulty about the tenure, sor father and son had always settled down contentedly in the old place ; besides, there had been more sons to choose from in those days, whereas now Janet and Allan were the last representatives of the race.

Janet felt bitterly the uncertainty of her tie to the home which she loved if anything more intensely than she loved Allan ; she resented a little, too, even in her idol, that callousness to the natural feelings of pride and i ffection which she felt for the old house and the fan iliar work. As she did the best of the work already, she knew in her heart that the place would be none the worse if Allan went away, so she felt it hard when she heard the laird's verdict, that as it had been arranged in the unwritten law of past times so it must stand now : if Allan left the Croft, she too must go and find a home elsewhere, for the laird would put somebody else in the place. Janet had no affection for the old laird, though similarity of character gave her a certain grudging respect for him. She was wont to characterize him as ' a dour man, and as hard as he was dour ; ' a description which nobody in Glenoran felt greatly moved to dispute, for Mr. Stewart took little pains to make himself popular among his neighbours.

They very justly called him a hard and a bitter THE CAMPBELLS OF GLEN CROFT. 27 man ; but, had they known him a little better, they might have added that he was a heart-broken and a disappointed one also, and so perhaps have pitied him a little, but as it was, they only hated him. And he, under the hard crust of a surly exterior, felt their dislike keenly, and treated them with the scanter courtesy that he knew them to be capable of wounding him, for he felt that even the blame of his cottagers roughened the raw edges of the sore that was so long in healing, and that made his lonely life so hideous to him, and left him so little pleasure in the society of his favourite nephew when that young gentleman saw fit to bestow it upon him. And Janet, unknown perhaps to herself, had dormant in her much of the same unforgiving spirit which had made the heart and life of the old laird so desolate, and his beautiful home so solitary.

Her idol, if once she saw it as it appeared to other people, would have in all probability but sorry treatment at her hands. Upright and well-doing herself, she had very little sympathy with the peccadilloes and derelictions of others, and condon ing a sin and pitying a sinner were weaknesses which she was prepared to reprobate with the full strength of a singularly one-sided nature. She felt that the laird's decree in the matter of the cottage was hard certainly, but she knew that it was only fulfilling the letter of the law, as it were, so it would never occur to her to question its justice, even while she grumbled at it. Had the positions been re versed, and she in the laird's place, she felt that his decision would have been hers, and, though it made a constant dread in her daily life, she respected it accordingly.

But of late this fear of hers had decreased wonderfully, for Allan's shifting moods had under gone a change, and the power of a greater attraction than his sister's had shown him a new merit in the old home and in the certain sufficiency of daily bread that was secured by the humble and despised trade. So during the spring and summer Janet had possessed her soul in patience and had been content.

Chapter IV

janet's grievance. (^Jp^XvSUT as Kate Cameron came up to the SI EmI?! gate of the garden that August after &krssr(M noon, Janet Campbell was sweeping the doorstep, with a very dark cloud on her face. The brush was moving, too, with quick, impatient jerks, which sent clouds of dust in wrong direc tions, as the condition of the laurel leaves amply testified. 'Well, Janet?' said Kate, as she came up the walk. 'Well, say you, Miss Kate? I'm thinking there is very little wrell about it. You'll have heard the news, I am thinking, or you would not have come up this hot day.' Yes, I have heard something of it, Janet ; but I came to you in the hope that you would be able to contradict it.' ' Contradict it, say you ? me contradict it ! There's no such luck. It is just the beginning of evil, it seems to me.

But come away in, Miss Kate ; it ill sets me to keep you at the door, when ye're so kind as come this length to see me.' Janet entered the house, and Kate followed her into the cool shady parlour, with its polished oak table and corner cupboard, its pillared chest of drawers with the bookcase on the top, and its half dozen chairs and sofa of slippery black haircloth. There was a carpet on the floor and a sheepskin mat at the fireplace, and the grate and fire-irons were of a quaint though rough brass-work, that would have made a bric-a-brac hunter die of envy. On the narrow mantelpiece and on the top shelf of the polished cupboard, too, there were one or two curious china jugs and cups which were surely worth a ransom, so hideous and so ancient were they. The stiffness and the formality of the place were depressing, but the coolness was delicious, and the honeysuckle and the old-fashioned white roses that peeped in at the little window filled the room with a charming fragrance.

As she looked round it from her seat in the great arm - chair, Kate realized, with a keen pang of JANET'S GRIEVANCE. 31 sympathy, what the place in its old - fashioned respectability must be to the hard-featured woman before her — a part of her life, the centre of all her hopes and aims, and, with the preservation in honour of the unstained name of her honest forefathers, the object for which she lived. It was all that and more to Janet truly, and Kate Cameron was near enough in heart and life to her father's parishioners to understand and feel for her. Janet was the first to break the silence. ' Yes, he has broken with her, Miss Kate, and nothing will serve him but he must go away at once whatever ! It wouldn't be decent for him to stay in the same parish with her, to offend her eyes with the sight of him, forsooth !

Poor fellow, he is weak and fanciful, but he might have thought of all that before. She was willing enough to have had him if he had but known his own mind.' ' He has brought it on himself, Janet, by his own shilly-shallying. The girl was driven in self defence to take up young Murray, and Allan, of all people, had no right to be offended at it. She broke with him too, I rather think, not he with her, if all were known, and she had good cause to do so. It would be more manly of him to own to it' " Janet's brow darkened, but Miss Kate was a privileged person, so she said nothing, and Kate went on, — ' But he need not go, Janet, for she is going. Mrs. Cameron has got her a place in Perth. She came to the manse this morning to tell us that she wished one, just after Mrs. Cameron had got the letter from her friend, and Mary agreed willingly to the terms of the place, so she will go next week.

It was from Mrs. Cameron I heard the news ; I did not see Mary ; so I came straight here to ask you the rights of it' 'And is she going indeed, Miss Kate? Well, you have heartened me a bit. Maybe he will hear reason now, and bide where he is. But the shame of it, Miss Kate ! to have our name in the folk's mouths as it will be, for they were to have been married at Martinmas, and the neighbours will talk, as well they may ! And she was a well-doing young woman too, and had good plenishings, besides being her aunt's own niece, and Miss Macnab has a bein doun-sittin', it is well known, and there is none to come after her but Mary. Eh, but it's a bad business, a bad business!' and Janet relapsed into a state of bitter gloom as she thought of the brilliant prospects her brother had lost. Miss Macnab's carefully hoarded savings would have /.