Chapter 5: Friendly Talks

“Faith alone is the master-key
To the strait gate and narrow road,
The others but skeleton pick-locks be,
And you never shall pick the locks of God.”
Walter Smith.

ROWENA did not see her friends for ten days, for a week of storm and rain set in, and she managed to catch a cold which settled on her chest, and forced her to remain indoors and be nursed by Granny. She was solaced by a budget of Indian letters, and she straightway replied to her brother:

“DEAR OLD TED, —”

“It was good to see your fist again. I am as hoarse as a raven, and Granny has got full possession of me. You know what a dragon she is. I suppose the knowledge of her superior power keeps her from feeling the pellets of abusive epithets with which I pelt her! Shags, my devoted one, lies at the bottom of my bed, ready for the least spark of fun that can be got out of his mistress. He and I, of course, hold long conversations together. I don’t know which speaks most intelligently—his stumpy tail, his two wicked little ears, or his sparkling brown eyes. I sometimes wish humans had that eighth sense, a tail! It would give one away too much, I expect! I often wonder whether it is entirely under Shags’ control or whether it gives an independent wag of its own on occasions. If so, it must be rather unpleasant to poor Shags.”

“Well, I must try to write sober sense if I can. I congratulate you on your polo match. I sometimes get a strong yearning to leave my prison, and get some movement into my slow torpid existence. No—I am not torpid. I feel my brain is keener than ever. You will laugh at a literary effort of mine. I was reading a minister’s account of his village, historically, botanically, geologically, and legendarily. So I’ve started a book on our loch and neighbourhood, and I can’t tell you what an interest it is. I have routed out some of your old books here, and I’ve sent to Mudie’s for a few more, and I hope to borrow some from Hugh Macdonald, who has become quite friendly. I can see he thinks me harmless, so has accepted my friendship accordingly. I am also getting hold of a lot of old folk-lore from Donald, who, though grimly sceptical of certain traditions, holds others fast and firm. The Frasers are here, and have paid me one visit. I don’t think they will trouble me much. Granny told me this morning that the pretty cottage at the top of our glen has just been taken by a single lady, a Miss Falconer. She is a connection of the Grants, Granny says. I don’t know where she gets her information from! Our garden here is a dream. Colin is a good hard-working boy. Picture our herbaceous border a riot of pink and white and blue colour. The phloxes are luxuriant, so are the delphiniums. And our roses go on and on, blooming for ever! I lie here and enjoy nature, and I’m learning an awful lot about the birds and insects. Hugh Macdonald has quite adopted his child, and amuses me by his high ideas of training and education. She is too independent for him. He said to me the other day: ‘But she’s a girl—why is she so assertive, and so strong-willed and fearless?’ I reminded him that our sex is that way inclined nowadays, and he must make the best of it. But he didn’t see it. I think she wakes him up and keeps him lively. Anne has given up the charge of her rather unwillingly, but still keeps a motherly eye on her, and there is jealousy between her and his housekeeper.”

“This won’t interest you. Oh, Ted, do you, from the depths of your heart, believe that I am going to be a sound member of humanity again? I am beginning to doubt it. My spinal cord has gone to smithereens! I can’t sit up for five minutes without feeling it, and it makes me rant and roar against fate in general.”

“This is the lament of Brer Tarrypin ‘Loungin’ round an’ sufferin’.’ If you were to walk in at this moment, you would grin broadly, and tell me that I know how to do myself! For I’m in my green room with a cheerful wood fire. Bowls of flowers are everywhere, and an appetizing lunch of beef-tea and crisp toast has just appeared and I’ve written myself into a smiling humour again. My fits of depression don’t last long. I’m as happy as I can be away from you all. Good-bye—a thousand kisses to the bunch of you.”

“ROWENA.”

As Rowena was finishing this letter, Granny came into the room.

“‘Tis the minister and his mither called to speir for ye. I telled them ye were just lyin’ by, and wud na’ be seein’ folk for a wee bit.”

“Oh, I should like to see Mrs. Macintosh. I promise not to talk more than I do to you, Granny. Don’t be a dragon. Bring her in.”

Granny shook her head doubtfully; but presently ushered in the visitor, raising a warning finger at her as she did so.

“Ye’ll no mak’ me young leddy force her speech. She micht bring on inflammation o’ the lungs an’ throat, for she’s sair vexed wi’ hoarseness just noo.”

“My dear, I am sorry for you,” said Mrs. Macintosh, taking the seat Granny had placed for her. “I have been long in coming, but I have been laid up for six weeks with a severe bout of my enemy, rheumatic-gout, and am only just able to get about again.”

“Bodies are troublesome items,” said Rowena; “but I’m quite convalescent again. Granny makes the worst of me, for she dreads my going out-of-doors before I’m perfectly well. Tell me all the news of the neighbourhood, and I’ll lie and listen. I quite understand how bedridden folk are entranced to hear that there has been a quarrel between Mr. and Mrs. Black, and that Mr. White’s cat has stolen Mrs. Green’s cream, and that Billy Smith saw John Wood and Mary Tibbs walking out together! Tell me all and everything that has happened to the outside world since I left it.”

Mrs. Macintosh laughed.

“It is so easy to gossip,” she said; “and I’ll do it with a right good will. Of course the first bit of news is that the Macdonald child is living with her father. They have been to the kirk every Sabbath, and very well behaved the little lassie is. But she stopped Robert last Sabbath when she saw him come out of the kirk.”