CHAPTER SEVEN.

BUYING THE BONNIE THINGS.

To say that Annie was not now in grief would be wrong. Still hope told a flattering tale. And that tale sufficed to keep her heart up.

He must have been wrecked somewhere, but had she not prayed night and day for him? Yes, he was safe--must be. Heaven would protect him. Prayers are heard, and he _would_ return safe and sound, to defy his enemies and his slanderers as well.

Fletcher had been received back into favour. Somewhat penurious he was known to be, but so kind and gentle a man as he could never kill. Had she not seen him remove a worm from the garden path lest it might be trodden upon by some incautious foot?

He kept her hopes up, too, and assured her that he believed as she did, that all would come right in the end. If everybody else believed that the _Wolverine_ was a doomed ship, poor Annie didn't.

There came many visitors to the Hall, young and middle-aged, and more than one made love to Annie. She turned a deaf ear to all. But now an event occurred that for a time banished some of the gloom that hung around Bilberry Hall.

About two months before this, one morning, after old Laird McLeod had had breakfast, Shufflin' Sandie begged for an audience.

"Most certainly," said McLeod. "Show the honest fellow in."

So in marched Sandie, bonnet in hand, and determined on this occasion to speak the very best English he could muster.

"Well, Sandie?"

"Well, Laird. I think if a man has to break the ice, he'd better do it at once and have done with it. Eh? What think _you_?"

"That's right, Sandie."

"Well, would you believe that a creature like me could possibly fall in love over the ears, and have a longing to get married?"

"Why not, Sandie? I don't think you so bad-looking as some other folks call you."

Sandie smiled and took a pinch.

"Not to beat about the bush, then, Laird, I'm just awfully gone on Fanny."

"And does she return your affection?"

"That she does, sir; and sitting on a green bank near the forest one bonnie moonlit night, she promised to be my wife. You wouldn't turn me away, would you, sir, if I got married?"

"No, no; you have been a faithful servant for many a day."

"Well, now, Laird, here comes the bit. I want to build a bit housie on the knoll, close by the forest, just a but and a ben and a kennel. Then I would breed terriers, and make a bit out of that. Fanny would see to them while I did your work. But man, Laird, I've scraped and scraped, and saved and saved, and I've hardly got enough yet to begin life with."

"How much do you need?"

"Oh, Laird, thirty pounds would make Fanny and me as happy as a duke and duchess."

"Sandie, I'll lend it to you. I'll take no interest. And if you're able some time to pay it back, just do it. That will show you are as honest as I believe you are."

The tears sprang, or seemed to spring, to Sandie's eyes, and he had to take another big noseful of snuff to hide his emotions.

"May the Lord bless ye, Laird! I'll just run over now and tell Fanny."

It does not take so long to build a Highland cot as it would to erect a Crystal Palace, and in three weeks' time Shufflin' Sandie's house was complete and furnished. He had even laid out a garden or kail-yard, and planted a few suitable trees. Then, when another month had passed away, Sandie once more sought audience of the good Laird, and formally begged for Fanny's hand.

Next the wedding-day was settled, and the minister's services requisitioned. And one day Shufflin' Sandie set off for Aberdeen by train to buy the "bonnie things," as they are termed.

Perhaps there are no more beautiful streets in Great Britain than Union Street and King Street, especially as seen by moonlight. They then look as if built of the whitest and purest of marble. While the beautiful villas of Rubislaw, with their charming flower-gardens, are of all sorts of architecture, and almost rival the snow in their sheen.

Fanny was charmed. Strange to say this simple servant lassie had never been to the city before. It was all a kind of fairyland to her, and, look wherever she might, things of beauty met her eyes. And the windows--ah, the windows! She must pull Sandie by the sleeve every other minute, for she really could not pass a draper's shop nor a jeweller's without stopping to glance in and admire.

"Oh!" she would cry, "look, look, Sandie, dear, at the chains and the watches, and the bracelets and diamonds and pearls. Surely all the gold in Ophir is there!"

One particularly well-dressed window--it was a ladies' drapery shop-- almost startled her. She drew back and blushed a little as her eyes fell on a full-length figure of a lady in fashionable array.

"Oh, Sandie, is she living?"

"De'il a living?" said Sandie. "Her body's timber, and her face and hands are made out of cobbler's wax. That's how living she is."

"But what a splendid dress! And yonder is another. Surely Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these!"

"Well, Fanny, lassie, beautiful though this shop be, it is a pretty cheap one, so we'll buy your marriage dress here."

The shop-walker was very obsequious. "Marriage dress, sir. Certainly, sir. Third counter down, my lady."

Fanny had never been so addressed before, and she rose several inches in her own estimation.

"I--that is, she--is needing a marriage dress, missie."

"Ready-made?"

"Ay, that'll do, if it isn't over dear. Grand though we may look in our Sunday clothes, we're not o'er-burdened with cash; but we're going to be married for all that."

Sandie chuckled and took snuff, and Fanny blushed, as usual.

"I'm sure I wish you joy," said the girl in black.

"I'm certain ye do. You're a bit bonnie lassie yerself, and some day ye'll get a man. Ye mind what the song says:

"`Oh, bide ye yet, and bide ye yet, Ye little know what may betide ye yet; Some bonnie wee mannie may fa' to your lot, So ay be canty and thinkin' o't.'"

The girl in black certainly took pleasure in fitting Fanny, and, when dressed, she took a peep in the tall mirror--well, she didn't know herself! She was as beautiful as one of the wax figures in the window. Sandy was dazed. He took snuff, and, scarce knowing what he was doing, handed the box to the lassie in black who was serving them.

Well, in an hour's time all the bonnie things that could be purchased in this shop were packed in large pasteboard boxes, and dispatched to the station waiting-room.

But before sallying forth Sandie and Fanny thought it must be the correct thing to shake hands with the girl in black, much to her amusement.

"Good-bye, my lady; good-bye, sir. I hope you were properly served." This from the shop-walker.

"That we were," said Sandie. "And, man, we'll be married--Fanny and me--next week. Well, we're to be cried three times in one day from the pulpit. To save time, ye see. Well, I'll shake hands now, and say good-day, sir, and may the Lord be ay around you. Good-bye."

"The same to you," said the shop-walker, trying hard to keep from laughing. "The same to you, sir, and many of them."

There were still a deal of trinkets to be bought, and many gee-gaws, but above all the marriage ring. Sandie did feel very important as he put down that ten shillings and sixpence on the counter, and received the ring in what he called a bonnie wee boxie.

"Me and Fanny here are going to be married," he couldn't help saying.

"I'm sure I wish ye joy, sir, and"--here the shopman glanced at Fanny--"I envy you, indeed I do."

Sandie must now have a drop of Scotch. Then they had dinner. Sandie couldn't help calling the waiter "sir," nor Fanny either.

"Hold down your ear, sir," Sandie said, as the waiter was helping him to Gorgonzola. "We're going to be married, Fanny and I. Cried three times in one Sunday. What think ye of that?"

Of course, the waiter wished him joy, and Sandie gave him a shilling.

"I hope you'll not be offended, sir, but just drink my health, you know."

The joys of the day ended up with a visit to the theatre. Fanny was astonished and delighted.

Oh, what a day that was! Fanny never forgot it. They left by a midnight train for home, and all the way, whenever Fanny shut her eyes, everything rose up before her again as natural as life--the charming streets, the gay windows, and the scenes she had witnessed in the theatre, and the gay crowds in every street. And so it was in her dreams, when at last she fell asleep.

But both Fanny and Sandie went about their work next day in their week-day clothes as quietly as if nothing very extraordinary had happened, or was going to happen in a few days' time.

Of course, after he had eaten his brose, Sandie must "nip up," as he phrased it, to have a look at the cottage.

Old Grannie Stewart--she was only ninety-three--was stopping here for the present, airing it, burning fires in both rooms, for fear the young folks might catch a chill.

"Ah, grannie!" cried Sandie, "I'm right glad to see you. And look, I've brought a wee drappie in a flat bottle. Ye must just taste. It'll warm your dear old heart."

The old lady's eyes glittered.

"Well," she said, "it's not much of that comes my way, laddie. My blood is not so thick as it used to be. For--would you believe it!--I think I'm beginnin' to grow auld."

"Nonsense," said Sandie.

Old or young the old dame managed to whip off her drop of Scotch, though it brought the water to her eyes.

And now all preparations were being made for the coming marriage.

For several days Sandie had to endure much chaff and wordy persecution from the lads and lasses about his diminutive stature and his uncouth figure.

Sandie didn't mind. Sandie was happy. Sandie took snuff.