Maisie Warden

Front matter

BY J. D. HUTCHESON ALEXANDER GARDNER }3uf_ltaf)f-r to 3l>er f-Slajcatp tljr (&uem PAISLEY ; and 26 PATERNOSTER SQUARE, LONDON CONTENTS HAl'TER. I. — Auchmead, --.... g II. — "Love's Young Dream," 23 III. — " The Heart's Misgiving," - - - 36 IV. — Stephen Wingate, ----- 49 V. — Highland Games at Auchmead, - - 61 VI.—" My Ain Lass," 70 VII. — A Sprained Ankle, - - - - 90 VIII. — A Sair Job, - - - - -no IX. — Tam Barbour, - - - - - - 130 X. — A Stolen Kiss, - - - - - -144 XI. — A Night Surprise, ----- XII. — A Wet Jacket, ------ 175 XIII. — Mrs. Maitland Visits the Mill, - - 1S9 XIV. — Alan Determines to Leave Home, - 205 XV. — Stephen's Revenge, - - - - - 217 XVI. — The Shot in the Wood, - 230 XVII. — Suspicion, - - - 247 XVIII. — The Family at the Mill, - - - VI contents.

Chapter. 1

'AGE. XIX. — "The Hue and Cry," - - 275 XX. — The Fugitive, - - - - -' - 290 XXI. — At the Roman Bridge, - - - 302 XXII.— A Well-Wisher, - - - 312 XXIII. — Detection,- - - - - 326 XXIV.— "Nemesis,"- - 340 XXV. — Alan's Return,- 356 XXVI. — Knutall Rectory, - - - - - 372 XXVII. — End of the Miller's Opposition, - - 391 XXVIII. — Conclusion, MAISIE WARDEN.

CHAPTER I.

Auchmead. /~7N a bright summer afternoon, the sky overhead ■without a cloud, the road hot and dusty, the figure of a man might have been seen walking leisurely down Auchmead glen. He had left the open, breezy moorland behind, and ftvas slowly passing down the gentle slope towards Warden's Mill and the old Roman bridge which spanned the brawling Vennel. The bridge ftvas a great source of attraction to all visitors to the neighbourhood of Auchmead, both on account of its rare state of preservation and the pic turesque beauty of its surroundings. The river leaped and foamed round many a boulder before it took the sudden sweep, which, with a graceful curve, enclosed the mill and its garden between its waters and the road down the glen. When the traveller reached the Roman bridge, he paused and absently regarded the slender graceful arch, carpeted with moss and lichen and smothered in many a briar and bramble tangle — the trysting place of who can tell how many generations of lovers.

Continuing his way down the glen, his walk degenerated into a mere saunter while passing the mill, on which his eyes rested in wistful, longing gaze. The old mill presented a perfect picture of rest and peacefulness, the red tiled roof and grey walls stretched long and low, the miller's house at the upper end yet lower. The leaded diamond panes of the small win dows glittered in the sunlight, while roses climbed and nestled and seemed lovingly to embrace the little case ments. The doorway, which opened on the garden with three or four snowy steps, was festooned round with luxuriant clematis. The garden, which lay between the road and the mill and stretched along the river bank, was traversed by a moss-grown wooden aqueduct, rich in soft velvet tones, held upon trestles some eight feet from the ground.

This aqueduct, passing between the house and river, poured its crystal flood in a sparkling cascade upon the slowly revolving wheel, forming as it fell the very poetry of beneficent force drawn from nature A UCHAIEAD. 11 herself to turn the kindly gifts of that same goddess to the use of man. Around the upright pillars of this primitive water-way grew great loose sheaves of sweet peas and scarlet runners, while marshalled along its length stood rows of gorgeous dahlias of every hue, some white, some almost black. Across the river the dark pine-clad bank formed a background which threw the bright scene into still bolder relief. Beyond the mill the glen widened out like a fan and ftvas thickly wooded for some distance on either side. The banks by the roadside were densely strewn with ferns and flowers of luxuriant growth ; wild straftvberries and blackberries attracted many a village urchin, and not a lew were tempted to "plunk frae schule," and spend long summer days in eager quest of nature's most attrac tive fruit.

The Vennel sometimes leapt and tumbled, sometimes babbled, and again lay in deep solemn pools of inky black, into which the running water fell with sonorous boom. After passing the mill, the young man continued to stroll listlessly along, as if lost in meditation, until he reached the braehead, where the road made an abrupt descent towards the main street of the village which lay nestling at the foot of the hill. Here the landscape opened out into a wide sweep of fertile undulating hill and glen. Turning to one side of the road, he leant over a broken stile, and while watching the foaming river beneath, began softly whistling to himself " My love is like the red red rose." Still absorbed he turned and looked about him, but was evidently far too deep in reverie to be conscious of the lovely landscape.

Rousing himself at length, he struck out down the hill at a brisk rate, as with the return of memory, he pulled himself together and evidently meant to waste no more time. He was a fine, tall, broad-shouldered young fellow of some three or four and twenty ; with keen, clear, grey eyes, dark brown hair and whiskers which reached but a short way below the ear. His features were straight and regular, the mouth large but firm. Square of jaw, with wide and open forehead, his expression was frank and manly ; while the whole face indicated considerable character. His step, tho' firm and solid, lacked, in great measure, the elasticity and swing so characteristic of the true mountaineer. From his dress, he might have been a countryman of any kind, save for the cut of his A UCHMEAD. 13 coat ; his heavy, hobnailed boots, leather leggings and corduroy breeches were all of ordinary country type.

But his homespun coat had that width and depth of skirt so suggestive of the gamekeeper, it seemed so well adapted for cosily stowing away a hare or other bulky object of the chase. It was not only the cut of the coat, but a certain hang or set it had, evidently acquired from habitually covering something more than the body of its wearer. When he had reached the main street of the village he walked on a short distance and then, suddenly was lost to view as he turned up a side opening or loan. Auchmead ftvas a village of no great pretensions ; it consisted of a Main Street, in which were situated the shops where the farmers of the neighbourhood got their regular supplies of the ordinary necessaries of life. The saddler of Auchmead had his shop in a side street, as also the soutar or shoemaker.

The soutar himself, Rab Stronach, was the chief newsmonger, gossip, and political and religious disputant in the village. He was strong in his dissent from the National Established Kirk, and excused his absence from public worship on Sabbath by his conscientious disbelief in the Westminster Confession of Faith and the Shorter Catechism, as mere works o' frail men. This however was not generally accepted as a very valid reason, as, being a devoted follower of the angle, he had been caught fishing in forbidden waters on Sabbath morning and fined more than once, "just for meditating on God's ways the quiet waters by ; " he irreverently tried to make out, but as the magistrate failed to see the necessity for his carrying a fishing rod to assist him in his meditations, Rab's plea did not serve him.

The principal building, of public interest, in Main Street, was the village Inn, " The Buck's Head," which was kept by one Daniel M'Whirter, who informed the public generally, by a notice on his sign-board beneath the picture of a very apple cheeked Buck's head, that he had "accommodation for man and beast." The latter part of the statement might readily be proved to demonstration by simply paying a visit to the parlour of the Inn upon any Saturday night, when beast was the only term properly applicable to many of M'Whirter's patrons. The Church, surrounded by the Kirk-yard — the tomb stones in which bore many interesting records of dead and gone generations of the inhabitants of Auchmead — was situated at the bottom of Main Street ; and not far A UCHAsEAD. 15 off the Manse stood apart in a meadow closely hemmed in by trees.

The side streets were numerous, though most of them were short, narrow, and often tortuous. In these side streets were situated two storied houses, the upper flat reached by stone stairs rising against the wall, and terminating in a large flat stone slab which constituted the landing by the doorway, and formed a species of porch ovei the door of the flat below. Any attempt at sidepaths was rendered entirely out of the question by the projecting stairs. These houses were occupied, for the most part, by agricultural labourers, odd job men, foresters on the adjoining estate, and a few by men working at the tan-yard which closed the end of one of those wynds, and lent a characteristic aroma to the whole village. This tanyard was the one industry of Auch mead, and was carried on in but a fitful manner.

Up one of the loans, where the saddler's shop stood, were situated the village carpenter and wheelwright's shop and yard, and the blacksmith's smithy and shed, with an open space in front of them. The two dwelling houses, occupied by the smith and joiner, stood together each having its own appropriate workshop at its own end. These premises belonged to the laird, Mr. Polmont of Braxtonlea, the chief landed proprietor in the district ; and were occupied by their respective tenants rent free, the only condition being that the laird's work — whether shoeing his horses, making or mending gates, fences and hinges, or anything upon the estate which required their handicrafts — should take precedence of every other job in hand, and be attended to without delay. The young man who had come down past the mill, turned into the smithy where the blacksmith was busy at his anvil ; he turned the red, glowing iron with his tongs while he made the shop ring and the sparks fly with the lusty, well directed blows of his deftly handled hammer.

A young lad stood by, leaning on the long handle of a heavy sledge, ready to strike for his father when called upon. " Weel, Alan," said the smith, addressing the new comer, " So ye hae gotten hame again. Did ye get the bits o' tools an' sic like ? " " Ay faither, I dinna think that I hae forgotten onything." " An' wha wad ye be for seein' at Highburn ? " " Oh, a wheen o' folk, but no' mony as we ken ; I A UCHMEAD. 17 saw uncle Jock's laddie, Archie, him as is at the schule vet." What was he sayin' till ye ; onything o' his faither ? " No' muckle, but he tell't me as he was gaun tae the college next winter of a'. Here's thae shoein' things. My ! but I'm gled tae get my pooches toom again, thae things hae near haun' wraxed the vera coat aff my back, flip floppin' at every step I gaed." " Ye werena' stoppin at the mill, were ye noo ; did ye see onybody as ye cam' by ?

" " No' as muckle's a cat or a hen even, the wheel wasna gaun, an' I'm thinkin' they maun a' hae been oot." At this point the conversation was rudely interrupted by a high pitched strident voice enquiring from the doorway of the smithy : — "Alan Maitland? -what for are ye stanin' there clavering wi' yer faither like an auld fishwife ; an' yer kail stewin awa tae naething this twa hours an' mair back ? Gae ben the hoose wi' ye I'm tellin' ye, or deil the drap o' veetals will ye get the day." " Haud that lang tongue o' yours, Peggy, ye auld randy, or I'll tak' my tangs tae stap that auld thrapple o' yours frae makin' mair o' its deil's music," said the blacksmith, annoyed at the interruption ofthe gossip he AIAISIE HARDEN had meant to have with his son, about Highburn and his friends there. " Ye can keep yer breath tae cool yer brose wi', Rab Maitland.

Dae ye no' think shame o' yersel man, tae staun' bletherin' there wi' yer hauns forenenst ye, whan there's wark afore ye. Siccan a like way tae bring up thae twa laddies o' yours, makin' reglar street en' clypes o' them baith." " Devauld ye auld hizzy, an' gang ben tae yer mistress wi' ye." " Dinna ye gae for tae ca' me names, I was as weel brocht up as ye were, an' mebbe a hantle better. Puir Janet ! ca' her mistress indeed, she's mair like a slave tae a wheen muckle ram stam bullies o' men." With this parting shot, given with the utmost venom she could throw into her words and voice, Peggy Strachan took herself off, and returned to the house muttering and grumbling to herself. Peggy was both general servant and guest in the blacksmith's family, and was furthermore — as Mrs. Maitland often explained — " a kin o' cousin o' my ain, ye ken, on the faither's side."

But on whose father's side, her own or Peggy's father, had hitherto not been clearly defined. Peggy was considered an adept in the art of cooking " parritch," " kail," " haggis," and AUCHMEAD. 19 other national dishes ; her tongue was no less nimble than her fingers, and she bore the character of being the most fluent scold in all Auchmead, and certainly loved not to hide her light under a bushel. The conversation in the smithy having been disturbed it flagged, so Alan very shortly followed the angry abigail, to appease her wrath by praising the broth which she had been keeping hot for him, and even more effectually by imparting to her, indirectly, all that he had seen and done that day in Highburn, under the guise of telling his mother the news. Notwithstanding Peggy's tongue, and much hard -work at the forge, the blacksmith's family >vas a happy one ; if the smithy was black and dusty, the house was clean and cheerful.

Mrs. Maitland, notwithstanding the tone of commiseration old Peggy affected in alluding to her mistress in the smithy, was a blythe and buxom body, and, for the matter of that, the only person of whom that ancient relative and handmaiden really stood in awe. Alan was his mother's favourite, if indeed she favoured one son more than the other, he was her first born, and older by a couple of years than his brother Andrew ; but that had not so much to do with her partiality, it was rather due to his greater stature, breadth, and strength, of which she was very proud ; and the often recalled prediction that he would grow up to be " a fine lusty man," she cherished as evidence of far seeing motherly instinct on her own part. Andrew was not so tall, by a couple of inches, as his elder brother, and had never been so robust.

As a child he had been prone to contract different infantile complaints, especially those that were of a " catchin natur." The ailments of child hood, with the constant attention necessary, usually have the effect of making a weakly child the mother's pet ; but Mrs. Maitland, always well and hearty herself, and accustomed all her life to see nothing but rude health in those about her, looked on Andrew's delicacy as some what in the nature of a reflection upon his parents, if not indeed an actual disgrace. The blacksmith himself was a typical specimen of a village son of Vulcan. A naturally powerful frame had, from the exercise of his calling, been clothed with muscles like steel, and perfect immunity from all the ills that attack the generality of men who lead laborious days. The blacksmith's boys had both received the ordinary sound education for which Scottish youth owes a national debt of gratitude to the old parish school.

Jamie A UCHAIEAD. 21 Polmont, the laird's son, had laid the foundation of his education at the parish school likewise, and, while there, he and Alan Maitland had been fast friends, and fre quently fellow malefactors. Alan, being an expert in the ways of all wild animals, such as rats and rabbits, and most cunning in the contrivance of all manner of traps and snares, it is to be feared led the young laird not seldom into mischief, and the neglect of school work, to illicit sport in his father's woods. When the laird's son left for an English school, there to pursue his studies, Alan soon after was taken into the smithy to learn his trade by striking for his father. The blacksmith soon discovered that Alan was too fond of going to the woods to amuse himself birdnesting, and to escape his task at the anvil.

Not being a harsh man, he thought his boy would do better, and turn out a smarter workman if brought up under a stricter master, so Alan was bound 'prentice to an old acquaintance of his father, in Glasgoftv, where a great variety of work was carried out on a large scale. Alan, on his return from his apprenticeship, fully justified the wisdom of the course which his father had thought well to adopt. He had turned out a neat and skilful workman, and his residence in a great city had rubbed off a good deal of the awkwardness characteristic of the purely country-bred mechanic. While he proved of great assistance to his father, he, at the same time, took an active pleasure in the improvement of his younger brother, whose great ambition was to handle his tools like Alan. "LOVE'S YOUNG DREAAI." 23

Chapter II

"Love's Young Dream 'T'HE mill, in Auchmead Glen, past which Alan Mait land strolled, on his way home from Highburn, was owned by Robert Warden, who worked it himself ; he had inherited it from his father, whose father before him had been miller at Auchmead. It was patronised by the farmers for many miles round, and known to the whole country side as Warden's Mill. Robert Warden was respected as an upright and thoroughly industrious man, though his manners were somewhat gruff and surly, and he was reckoned as dour as a " cuddy." His family was but a small one, consist ing, as it did, of his wife and an only daughter, Marion, or, as she was more usually called, Maisie, with the addition of an aged, maternal aunt of his own, called Girzy Hamilton. Aunt Girzy was a great peacemaker, and was the refuge invariably sought by Maisie in troubles of all kinds.

She had a wonderful command not only over MAISIE WARDEN. 24 her own gentle temper, but over that of the whole family at the mill. She exercised somehow a soothing influence on the turbulent passions of others. If the miller, as was often the case, was disposed to grumble or scold, a judicious word or two from old Aunt Girzy put him into better humour, and things flowed on again as smoothly as did the mill race above the house. The miller was accounted, and not without reason, to be a "bein bit body."* The mill, with a couple of fields near at hand, was his own property, and his savings considerable. This, no doubt, conduced to render him more independent in his manner, and more off hand in his treatment of others than he might otherwise have been by nature. AVorldly gear is apt to lend an air of importance to the de meanour of the partially educated, commensurate with the adulation it commands from their less fortunate neighbours.

Mrs. Warden was a delicate and not very strong minded woman, who, in all difficulties, like her daughter Maisie, lent on Aunt Girzy for moral support and assistance. * Anglic,', comfortably nff. "LOVE'S YOUNG D RE AAL." 25 Maisie -was the belle of the neighbourhood, and well might she lay claim to the proud title ; pretty girls, without doubt, and in fair number, there were in and about Auchmead, but not one of them could compare with the merry, saucy daughter ofthe miller. Slight and graceful of figure, her elastic step and upright carriage would strike a stranger at a distance even, but on a nearer approach it would soon be recognised that it was not on mere beauty of outline and grace of movement that her title to be called the belle of .\u000cad, rested. Her face, besides its regularity of feature, was. endowed with a piquancy and vivacity of expression, and a delicacy of colouring in its pure complexion which were truly captivating ; while the mischief lurking in her hazel eyes, and the sunny glow in her rich auburn hair formed a tout ensemble not readily imagined and quite impossible to adequately describe.

An old bachelor of the most confirmed and unromantic description might have had his head turned, and his blood sent leaping and bounding through his veins from a palpitating heart by the sight of Maisie in all her fresh young loveliness ; what wonder then that every gallant swain, among the young formers, for many a mile round, was love sick fur the miller's daughter. AIALSLE WARDEN. 26 Of all Maisie's admirers, the oldest, and certainly by far the most ardent, was Alan Maitland. He had been her devoted slave ever since her schooldays. A^lan had occasional opportunities of seeing Maisie at the mill, as whenever repairs to the machinery of that establishment became necessary he was invariably sent for. The miller not only held his skill to be superior to that of his father, but he came with a promptness and alacrity that the blacksmith himself could not, or would not, display at all times ; and it was a serious thing for the mill to be kept idle when there was corn to grind.

On these occasions Alan usually managed to get a bit crack (chat) with Maisie. On Sunday evenings he almost invariably waylaid her as she came out of the kirk, where she taught a class in the Sabbath school, and escorted her up the brae as far as the mill. The miller meeting them as they reached the gate, on more than one occasion, was not very well pleased to see them on such evident terms of intimacy, but, as yet, had said nothing about it. He considered himself, and his family, a good many degrees higher in the social scale than the blacksmith ; and on Saturday evenings if he went into " The Buck's Head," which he very occasion ally did, it was to take his glass of whisky toddy with some of the larger and better-off farmers in the neighbourhood, and not just to hob nob with the village blacksmith.

The idea then of Alan meaning anything more than just seeing Maisie home from the kirk out of respect to her, and more especially towards himself and his position, had, as yet, not occurred to him. .\lan, being a fine handsome young fellow, Maisie, oblivious of any social distinction, was not at all averse to being seen with her old schoolfellow and champion. Being a good bit of a coquette, she fully enjoyed the annoyance she knew some of her less favoured suitors, among the farmers, felt at seeing her thus bestowing such small favours on the stalwart young blacksmith. The Sunday following that on which we saw Alan returning from Highburn, he was, as if quite by accident, leisurely sauntering past the kirk door as the Sabbath school children began to come streaming forth, with a noise and haste characteristic of their enfranchised condition, and in a manner very different from the decorum which they had observed in leaving the sacred building earlier in the day, when under the severe eyes of their solemn, not to say glum faced, parents.

When Maisie at length made her appearance, Alan's face softened with a smile, the sweetness of which one would hardly have expected to see on so resolute a face. Joining her in the most natural manner, the two young people shook hands, and then began to walk slowly up Main Street, on their way towards the glen. "Weel, Maisie,'' Alan began, "you must hae been fair roasted in the kirk this afternoon, an' wi' a' thae bairns kickin' up a stour, an' botherin' you by no' kenin' their catechisms ; I wunner you can be fashed wi' them ! " " For shame on you, Alan ! wha's tae hear the bits o' things their lessons on the Sabbath, I'd like tae ken, if it's no' idle young folk like oursels ? I am sure their mithers, puir bodies, maun be glad tae hae them keepit quiet for a wee, tae hae a bit spell till themselves ; after haein' them knockin' aboot amang their feet a' the week through."

"What were their mithers made for, if it wasna tae tak' care o' their ain bairns, I wad like tae ken ? " " Wheesht, wheesht .Man ! you are just tryin' tae mak' fun o' me, an' ye ken that's no' richt on the Sabbath. Gae awa wi' ye ! I can go hame fine mysel' ; I am no' needin' you tae come wi' me." Alan broke out into a hearty laugh. "Oh Maisie !" he continued, "don't get your birstles up like that ; you'll be settin' up for ane o' the unco guid soon, an' ye ken you're ower young for that, and ower bonnie forbye." "Noo, Alan, nae mair o' thae havers, or I'll just send you back, an' no' speak tae you again." " You wad surely no' be sae cruel ; and don't tell me, Maisie, that a braw lassie doesna' like tae be tell't that she's bonnie, however weel she may ken it hersel' ; but there 1 it a' depends on wha tells her.

There is only a'e voice sweet tae ilka lassie, an' I'm ower feared that mine is nae mair tae you, Maisie, than the clack o' your faither's wheel." At this speech of Alan's, Maisie was silent. She neither wished to encourage him to pursue the line of complimentary and lover-like remarks he had started, nor, on the other hand, did she desire to be unduly ungracious. She did not wish to drive him away ; he was the means of keeping off more demonstrative, and much less agreeable, suitors ; furthermore, she had a vague consciousness that the walk home from the Sab bath school would be but a very dismal affair in any other company, or if it had to be taken alone. After a short silence Alan nearly took her breath away by suddenly remarking, " I wonder what the miller wad say if I were tae ask him tae let us twa get married ?

" Maisie, when she had somewhat recovered herself, but still flushed crimson, burst out with : " Alan Maitland, you are an impudent callant ! Wha tell't you that I wad hae onything tae say tae the likes o' you ? You micht hae waited till your chickens were hatched afore ye began sortin' the cocks frae the hens." "Weel, Maisie, that's just what I was comin' tae. Surely you'll no' say me no ; I hae been tryin' tae mak' up my mind tae speak out this lang while, but I never could get a beginning like ; but noo I maun tell you how I hae lo'ed ye lang and weel, and, Maisie, you do care a wee thocht for me, although I'm only a blacksmith, wi'oot a fire an' a bellows o' my ain ? " They had reached the braehead by this time, and come to a standstill. Maisie hung down her head and tried to fix her eyes on the tumbling waters of the Vennel, which were tossing and foaming in the rocky channel below ; when Alan had finished speaking, she slowly raised her face, and looking sadly and wistfully at him, said : " Oh !

Alan, I wish ye hadna' said a' that just now - I canna tell you, I canna tell you what I think. But "LOVE'S YOUNG D RE A AL" 31 say nae mair about it noo ; I maun be getting hame, or they'll be thinkin' I hae gotten mysel' lost. No, no ; you mustna come ony further the nicht," as .Alan showed symptoms of resuming the walk towards the mill. Silently shaking hands, Maisie went on up the hill alone, her thoughts strangely confused and strongly moved ; her heart beating fast, and her breath coming and going in irregular gasps. Alan watched her slowly" receding figure, his heart filled with a vague hope that she would turn and wave him some sort of message of hope and encouragement ; but she did not even once pause till she was lost to view round a slight bend in the road. Alan remained standing by the stile, where he had just declared his love, and where we saw him, a few days ago, lost in reverie.