'Yes; but I have some notion of what it's about, I think.Just lend it to me; and by the time we have our next lesson, you will see whether I'm not able to show you I understand it.I shall take good care of it,' she added, with a smile, seeing Robert's reluctance to part with it.'It doesn't matter my having it, you know, now that you've read it to me, I want to make you do it justice.--But it's quite time I were going home.Besides, I really don't think you can see to read any more.'
'Weel, it's better no to try, though I hae them maistly upo' my tongue: I might blunder, and that wad blaud them.--Will you let me go home with you?' he added, in pure tremulous English.
'Certainly, if you like,' she answered; and they walked towards the town.
Robert opened the fountain of his love for Ericson, and let it gush like a river from a hillside.He talked on and on about him, with admiration, gratitude, devotion.And Miss St.John was glad of the veil of the twilight over her face as she listened, for the boy's enthusiasm trembled through her as the wind through an ?olian harp.
Poor Robert! He did not know, I say, what he was doing, and so was fulfilling his sacred destiny.
'Bring your manuscripts when you come next,' she said, as they walked along--gently adding, 'I admire your friend's verses very much, and should like to hear more of them.'
'I'll be sure an' do that,' answered Robert, in delight that he had found one to sympathize with him in his worship of Ericson, and that one his other idol.
When they reached the town, Miss St.John, calling to mind its natural propensity to gossip, especially on the evening of a market-day, when the shopkeepers, their labours over, would be standing in a speculative mood at their doors, surrounded by groups of friends and neighbours, felt shy of showing herself on the square with Robert, and proposed that they should part, giving as a by-the-bye reason that she had a little shopping to do as she went home.Too ****** to suspect the real reason, but with a heart that delighted in obedience, Robert bade her good-night at once, and took another way.
As he passed the door of Merson the haberdasher's shop, there stood William MacGregor, the weaver, looking at nothing and doing nothing.
We have seen something of him before: he was a remarkable compound of good nature and bad temper.People were generally afraid of him, because he had a biting satire at his command, amounting even to wit, which found vent in verse--not altogether despicable even from a literary point of view.The only person he, on his part, was afraid of, was his own wife; for upon her, from lack of apprehension, his keenest irony fell, as he said, like water on a duck's back, and in respect of her he had, therefore, no weapon of offence to strike terror withal.Her dulness was her defence.He liked Robert.When he saw him, he wakened up, laid hold of him by the button, and drew him in.
'Come in, lad,' he said, 'an' tak a pinch.I'm waitin' for Merson.'
As he spoke he took from his pocket his mull, made of the end of a ram's horn, and presented it to Robert, who accepted the pledge of friendship.While he was partaking, MacGregor drew himself with some effort upon the counter, saying in a half-comical, half-admonitory tone,'Weel, and hoo's the mathematics, Robert?'
'Thrivin',' answered Robert, falling into his humour.
'Weel, that's verra weel.Duv ye min', Robert, hoo, whan ye was aboot the age o' aucht year aul', ye cam to me ance at my shop aboot something yer gran'mither, honest woman, wantit, an' I, by way o'
takin' my fun o' ye, said to ye, "Robert, ye hae grown desperate;ye're a man clean; ye hae gotten the breeks on." An' says ye, "Ay, Mr.MacGregor, I want naething noo but a watch an' a wife"?'
'I doobt I've forgotten a' aboot it, Mr.MacGregor,' answered Robert.'But I've made some progress, accordin' to your story, for Dr.Anderson, afore I cam hame, gae me a watch.An' a fine crater it is, for it aye does its best, an' sae I excuse its shortcomin's.'
'There's just ae thing, an' nae anither,' returned the manufacturer, 'that I cannot excuse in a watch.Gin a watch gangs ower fest, ye fin' 't oot.Gin she gangs ower slow, ye fin' 't oot, an' ye can aye calculate upo' 't correck eneuch for maitters sublunairy, as Mr.
Maccleary says.An' gin a watch stops a'thegither, ye ken it's failin', an' ye ken whaur it sticks, an' a' 'at ye say 's "Tut, tut, de'il hae 't for a watch!" But there's ae thing that God nor man canna bide in a watch, an' that's whan it stan's still for a bittock, an' syne gangs on again.Ay, ay! tic, tic, tic! wi' a fair face and a leein' hert.It wad gar ye believe it was a' richt, and time for anither tum'ler, whan it's twal o'clock, an' the kirkyaird fowk thinkin' aboot risin'.Fegs, I had a watch o' my father's, an'
I regairdit it wi' a reverence mair like a human bein': the second time it played me that pliskie, I dang oot its guts upo' the loupin'-on-stane at the door o' the chop.But lat the watch sit:
whaur's the wife? Ye canna be a man yet wantin' the wife--by yer ain statement.'
'The watch cam unsoucht, Mr.MacGregor, an' I'm thinkin' sae maun the wife,' answered Robert, laughing.
'Preserve me for ane frae a wife that comes unsoucht,' returned the weaver.'But, my lad, there may be some wives that winna come whan they are soucht.Preserve me frae them too!--Noo, maybe ye dinna ken what I mean--but tak ye tent what ye're aboot.Dinna ye think 'at ilka bonnie lass 'at may like to haud a wark wi' ye 's jist ready to mairry ye aff han' whan ye say, "Noo, my dawtie."--An' ae word mair, Robert: Young men, especially braw lads like yersel', 's unco ready to fa' in love wi' women fit to be their mithers.An'
sae ye see--'
