Part 2

Than country, or clan, or feud, or strife, The young man went to woo a wife.

He listened, did Neil, with scanty grace, Haughty gloom on his handsome face,

While the old man told him where to go, And what to say, and what to do.

"The morrow ye'll go for a lang, lang stay Wi' your rich uncle, Donald Gray.

"He'll gie ye a welcome wairm and true, And mate his only child wi' you.

"She's weel worth winning, for in her hand She hauds the deed o' a' his land.

"She's far frae haun'some--a homely lass, As you will see--but let that pass."

"Why should I wed a woman that's plain? You didn't yourself." McLeod was vain.

He smiled and he smirked, "Ah, true, Neil, true, But I was haun'somer nor you.

"Juist coort this cousin, and never mind Squint or freckle, since luve is blind--

"Or ought tae be in sic case as this-- 'Tis no a chance I'd hae ye miss.

"Jane's na sae braw as her cousin Kate, But 'tis wi' Jane I'd hae ye mate;

"For Kate, poor lassie, she hasna land-- Her face is her fortune, understand.

"Gie her guid day when ye chance tae meet, But Jane, remember, your fain tae greet

"Wi' warmer words, and a gallant air. Go, win a wife--and a warld o' care!"

Neil listened closest to what was said Of Kate, the poor but pretty maid.

And when he reached his good uncle's place 'Twas Kate that in his eyes found grace,

The while Jane simpered with conscious pride, As if to say: "Behold your bride!"

In this home he dwelt for many a day, A favorite, he, of Donald Gray.

They walked together over the hill, Or through the valleys solemn and still,

And the old man showed him acres wide That would be Jane's dower as a bride,

Then spoke of the cousin, poor but fair, Her eyes of blue and her golden hair.

"She'll hae na flocks, and she'll hae na laund, She'll hae na fortune rich and graund,

"But gin she stood in her scanty dress, Would man o' mettle luve her less?"

The lad's heart warmed to the logic old. What worth has land? What worth has gold?

Compared with the light in Katie's eyes, What worth was aught beneath the skies?

Jane courted briskly day by day, If he walked out she walked his way.

Did he sit him down to rest awhile, She looked his way with tender smile.

Did he try to get a word with Kate, Jane was there like the hand of fate.

One day it chanced, as he rode to mill, He met with Kate just under the hill.

Would she mount beside him, ride along? Yes, if he felt 'twould not be wrong.

He helped her up with a trembling arm; Surely the day is close and warm.

Whoa, mare! steady! there's no need for haste With two soft arms about his waist.

Neil--shame on him!--pressed Kate's finger-tips, Then turned about and pressed her lips.

All over the road the blossoms white Scattered themselves in sheer delight.

A bird flew singing a tender rhyme Of meadow, mate, and nesting time.

The world looked beautiful in the glow That heaven flung on the hills below.

Ah me, if that ride could but last a week, Her gold hair blowing against his cheek!

The road to the mill, says worldly wise-- Nay, nay, the road to Paradise!

Travel it once if you wish to know Something of heaven here below.

Though your eyes grow dim, and locks grow white, You'll not forget this journey--quite.

But Neil must go to the old home place, Meet his stern father face to face.

Altho' his cheek was a trifle pale, Boldly enough he told his tale.

He would marry Kate--and Kate alone-- He could not love the other one.

Her eyes were crooked, her hair was red, Freckles over her face were spread,

And the whole world held no lass for him But Kate. Then laughed the old man grim.

"Your mither, she was a stubborn lass, Self-willed, handsome--but let that pass.

"In a' oor battles 'twas she who won, And Neil, you're juist your mither's son.

"But I hae na lived these mony days Wi'oot walking in wisdom's ways.

"I saw your Kate, and like't her weel-- In luiks she's like your mither, Neil;

"The same blue een, and the same gowd hair-- But no sae fair, Neil, no sae fair.

"I tou'd your uncle to let Kate be The lassie poor, o' low degree,

"And gie ye at once to understand 'Twas Jane who owned baith flocks and land.

"Why gie mysel' sic a senseless task? I wunner, lad, ye've hairt tae ask.

"Gin ye was driven ye wouldna' move, Too stubborn to even fa' in luve!

"Like a' the Campbells, ye'll hae your way-- Your mither has hers every day.

"'Tis prood ye should be, upon my word, Tak' time to yoursel' and thank the Lord

For plans that gat ye a bonny bride-- An' heaps o' wardly gear beside."

Ah! thankful enough was Neil that day-- Joy flashed in his eager eyes of gray.

'Twas not for the land, not for the gold, Not for the flocks that slept in fold,

Not for the wealth--the worldly gear-- But something wonderful, sweet and dear.

"Thank heaven," he cried, with a glow and thrill, "Thank heaven for the day I rode to mill!"

THE OLD MAN'S VISIT.

Joe lives on the farm, and Sam lives in the city, I haven't a daughter at all--more's the pity, For girls, to my mind, are much nicer and neater; Not such workers as boys, but cuter and sweeter. Sam has prospered in town, has riches a-plenty, Big house, fine library--books written by Henty, And Kipling, and Cooper, and all those big writers-- Swell pictures and busts of great heroes and fighters. His home is a fine one from cellar to garret, But not to my notion--in fact, I can't bear it. I'm not hard to please, but of all things provoking Is a woman around who sniffs when you're smoking.

Last springtime Sam said: "Now, Father, how is it I can't coax you oftener up on a visit?" I couldn't think up any plausible reason, So off I went with him to stop for a season. Sam said with a laugh as we stepped from the ferry, "You won't mind my wife; she's particular, very." It wasn't like home, that house in the city, Our Sam took his fun at the club--more's the pity.

It is in his own house, when he has the leisure, A man should find comfort and freedom and pleasure. It wasn't so bad for me in the daytime, Sam took me all over and made it a playtime; But evenings were awful--we sat there so proper, While Sam's wife, if nobody came in to stop her, Read history to us, or, column by column, A housekeeping journal, or other dry volume. I used to wish someone would give me a prodding, My eyes would go shut and head fall a-nodding. She's an awful good housewife, nothing gets musty, Or littered about, or untidy, or dusty; But a little disorder never did fret me, And these perfect women they always upset me. I can stand her dusting, her shining, her poking, But wilt like a leaf when she sniffs when I'm smoking.

I got so blamed homesick I couldn't be jolly; I wanted our Joe, and his little wife, Molly, My old corner at home, and all the old places; I wanted the youngsters--who cared if their faces Were smeared up a trifle? I didn't, a penny. Molly tends to 'em, though she has so many. I was tickled to death when I got a letter From Joe, which ran: "Dear Dad, I think you had better Get back to the farm in pretty short order. Molly's papered your room and put on a border; The baby, she says, has two new teeth to show you-- If you don't hustle back the dear thing won't know you. She says to inform you that Bob, Sue, and Mary Are good as can be, but your namesake's contrary, Wants granddaddy's story, and granddaddy's ditty-- And granddaddy off on a trot to the city." I packed my belongings. They tried to dissuade me-- Sam's wife said so proper: "I'm really afraid we Have not succeeded in our entertaining." "Oh, yes!" said I--some things won't stand much explaining. She really meant well, but of all things provoking Is a woman so perfect she sniffs when you're smoking.

I was glad to get home; it made me quite silly To hear the loud whinny of Starling and Billy; And here was the farm with its orchards and meadows, The big maple trees all throwing their shadows, The stubble-fields yellow, the tall stacks of clover, The wag of the stub of a tail on old Rover. And here came dear Mary, her hat on her shoulder, With Sue trying hard to catch her and hold her; Here came Tommy and Joe, always foot in their classes, And Bob, with his features all crumbs and molasses, Carrying a basin with fishworms and dirt in-- Oh, that scalawag, Bob, I'm morally certain Is a chip of the old block--it just seemed to strike me They'd named the boy rightly, for he was so like me-- All laughing and calling: "Here's grandpa to play with!" And Bob supplementing: "And sleep 'ith and _stay_ 'ith!" And then such a hugging, with Molly behind me, The tears came so fast that they threatened to blind me. My heart overflowed with sorrow and pity For the boy I had left back there in the city. His lot is a hard one--indeed, I'm not joking-- He lives with a woman who sniffs when he's smoking.

The supper we had, sir, and when it was over The walk round the homestead close followed by Rover, Who's most like a human. You'd fancy him saying: "See those stacks? Oh, yes, we have finished the haying! That colt should be broken. Old friend, I'd just mention This farm stands in need of our closest attention." And when, the lamp lighted, with Mary's beside me, The boys at my feet, and Bob up astride me, I felt like a king--I really can't write it-- Molly must take my pipe and fill it and light it, Then plump herself down in her own little rocker For a visit with me. Oh, she is a talker Worth the listening to. The threshing was over, Joe had got ten dollars a ton for the clover, Deacon Hope had had a sharp tiff with the preacher Over immersion, and the pretty school-teacher Intended to marry--resigned her position. Yes, most of the church folks had signed the petition Against granting a license to Baker's saloon, The Thanksgiving service would be coming on soon, The neighbors were hearty, had every one missed me-- Right here Molly stood on her tip-toes and kissed me. Sho! Sam's wife is handsome and cultured and clever, But she's not the woman that Molly is--never. Molly's smile is so kind, and her hair is so glossy, Her brown eyes look at you so sweet and so saucy! Yes, Joe's richer than Sam, though Joe's but a farmer, For his home atmosphere is brighter and warmer. Sam has lots of money, there's no use denying; Has made himself wealthy, and that without trying; But what chance has a man--indeed, I'm not joking-- Who lives with a woman who sniffs when he's smoking!

JACK.

Jack's dead an' buried; it seems odd, A deep hole covered up with sod Lyin' out there on the hill, An' Jack, as never could keep still, A sleepin' in it. Jack could race, And do it at a good old pace, Could sing a song, an' laugh so hard That I could hear him in our yard When he was half a mile away. Why, not another boy could play Like him, or run, or jump so high, Or swim, no matter how he'd try; An' I can't get it through my head At all, at all, that Jack is dead.

Jack's mother didn't use to be So awful good to him and me, For often when I'd go down there On Saturdays, when it was fair, To get him out to fish or skate, She'd catch me hangin' round the gate And look as cross as some old hen, An' tell me, "Go off home again. It's not the thing for boys," she'd say, "A hangin' round the creek all day; You go off home and do your task-- No, Jack can't go, you needn't ask." And when he got in scrapes, why, she Would up and lay it on to me, An' wish I lived so far away Jack couldn't see me every day.

But last night when I'd done the chores It seemed so queer-like out of doors, I kept a listenin' all the while, An' looking down the street a mile; I couldn't bear to go inside, The house is lonesome since he died. The robber book we read by turns Is lyin' there--an' no boy learns All by himself, 'cause he can't tell How many words he'll miss or spell, Unless there's some one lookin' on To laugh at him when he gets done.

An' neighbor women's sure to come A visitin' a feller's home, An' talkin', when they look at me, 'Bout how thick us two used to be, A stealin' off from school, an' such, An' askin' do I miss him much, 'Till I sneak off out doors--you see, They just can't let a feller be! Well, I walked down the road a bit. Smith's dog came out. I throwed at it, An', do you know, it never howled Same as it always did, or growled; It seemed to say, "Why, Jim's alone! I wonder where's that other one?"

Afore I knew it I was down 'Way at the other end of town, A hangin' round in the old way For someone to come out and play. There wasn't no one there to look, So I slipped into our old nook. I found his knife down in the grass Where we'd been Zulus at the pass. The can of bait, the hook and line Were lyin' with the ball of twine, An' "Jim," I seemed to hear him say, "The fish will suffer some to-day."

'Twas more than I could stand just then; I got up to go off home, when Someone kissed me on the cheek, An' hugged me so I couldn't speak. You wouldn't believe it, like as not, But 'twas Jack's mother, an' a lot Of great big tears came stealin' down Right on my face. She didn't frown A single bit--kept sayin' low, "My blue-eyed boy, I loved you so!" Of course, I knew just right away That she meant Jack. My eyes are gray, But Jack, he had the bluest eyes, Blue like you see up in the skies, An' shine that used to come and go-- One misses eyes like his, you know.

An' by-an'-by she up an' tried To tell me that she'd cried an' cried A thinkin' of the times that she Had scolded Jack an' scolded me, An' other things that I won't tell To anyone, because--Oh, well, Boys can't do much, but they can hold Tight on to secrets till they're old. She's Jack's relation, that's why she Feels kind of lovin' like to me. But when she called me her own lad, Oh, say, I felt just awful bad; My head it went round in a whirl-- I up an' cried just like a girl.

But say, if Jack could see us two He'd laugh a little, don't you know; For if I'd ever brag around That I'd lick some one safe an' sound, He'd laugh an' say, "Jim, hold your jaw! You know you're scared to death of maw." Oh, I'd give all this world away If I could hear him laugh to-day! I get so lonesome, it's so still, An' him out sleepin' on that hill; There's nothin' seems just worth the while A doin' up in the old style; 'Cause everything we used to do Seemed allus just to need us two. My throat aches till I think 'twill crack-- I don't know why--it must be Jack. There ain't no fun, there ain't no stir. His mother--well, it's hard on her, But she can knit an' sew, an' such-- Oh, she can't miss him half as much!

AT THE SICK CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

A little crippled figure, two big pathetic eyes, A face that looked unchildish, so wan it was and wise; I watched her as the homesick tears came chasing down each cheek. "I had to come," she whispered low, "I was so tired and weak. My spine, you know! I used to be so strong, and tall, and straight! I went to school and learned to read and write upon a slate, And add up figures--such a lot, and play with all my might, Until I hurt my back--since then I just ache day and night. 'Tis most a year since I could stand, or walk around at all; All I am good for now, you see, is just to cry and crawl." Poor, pale-faced thing! there came to us the laughter gay and sweet Of little ones let out from school, the sound of flying feet. She listened for a moment, then turned her to the wall To hide the tears. "Oh, me!" she cried, "I'm tired of it all. I feel so hurt and useless, why can't I run about As others do?" "Some day, please God, you will," I said, but doubt Was in the eyes she turned on mine, and doubt was in her tone. "Perhaps," she faltered, then the pain grew harsh; the plaintive moan Smote sharply on my heart. I knew she had but lately come From mother's care and father's love, and all the joys of home. "I wished I'd lived on earth," she sobbed, "a long, long time ago, When Jesus came at eventide, because He loved folks so, And just by stretching out His hand made all the sick folks well. If it were now, oh, wouldn't I creep close to Him, and tell All that I wanted Him to do. I'd kneel down low and say: 'It is my back, dear Jesus, please cure it right away. I'm tired of being weak and sick, I want to jump and run, And play at games, and laugh out loud, and have such heaps of fun! Be good to your poor crippled girl,' and He would touch me--so-- And every atom of the pain and crookedness would go." I held her close, and kissed her, and soothed her off to rest, So frail she was, so homesick for the ones she loved the best!

* * * * *

But yesterday I saw her, and would have passed her by Had I not caught the greeting smile, the glance so bright and shy. "Can this be you?" I questioned. She laughed, "O yes, I thought You'd hardly know me when you came, I've changed, oh, such a lot! For see how tall and straight I am! My back don't hurt at all, And I can stand and I can walk--I never have to crawl. I'll tell you, it's a secret, I raced with nurse last night. Just think of it! I raced and won," and then, in sheer delight, She laughed so loudly and so long the nurse looked in to say, "Is not this little girl of ours quite boisterous to-day?" "They are so good to me," she said, "I know I'll want to cry When I start off for home next week, and have to say good-bye. What if I hadn't come at all?"--the sweet blue eyes grew wet-- "My back would ache and throb and hurt--I'd be a cripple yet. For folks as poor as my folks are, they haven't much to spare For nurse's bills, and doctor's bills, and all--but won't they stare When I go home, red-cheeked and straight, and fat as I can be? My daddy, he will never take his dear eyes off of me; My mamma, she will cry some tears, and bend her head and pray, While all the others kiss and hug; then I can hear her say: 'Give me my girlie, she's been gone so many long months--five,' And hold me close--oh, I will be the gladdest thing alive!"

CHRISTY AND THE PIPERS.

'Twas a score of years since I'd heard the pipes, But the other night I heard them; There are sweet old memories in my heart, And the music woke and stirred them.

In the armories, at the big parade The highland regiment was giving, A half-dozen pipers piping away-- Ah! 'twas music, as sure as your living.

Donald's lowland, he shook his head at me, And glowered with every feature, And a pretty young lassie just behind Said: "Oh, what a funny old creature!"

But the skirl o' the pipes got in my ears, In my eyes, and made them misty; I laughed and I cried, and Donald said low: "Dinna act so daft, noo, Christy!"

"Do ye no see the elder sitting there? Dinna act sae daft, my wooman. Can ye no hear the airs o' auld lang syne Wi'oot fashin' yersel' sae, wooman?"

But the skirl o' the pipes got in my heart, It got in my throat and choked me, It got in my feet, and tapped my toes, And my shame-faced Donald poked me.

"But isn't it grand? O, isn't it grand?" "Ay, a fine auld player is Mylands, But the pipes' wild sound disna stir my bluid"-- He was not born in the highlands.

Do you know what I saw as I sat there? I saw the hills and the heather, The green, and the lads and the lassies there All dancing the reels together.

I saw our glen, half hid, and the rocks Standing guard like grim old watchmen. Oh, the land o' heather and hill and loch Must e'en be dear to a Scotchman.

And I saw, too, the soldiers blithe and brave Their flag to the breeze unfurling, As they marched away on a morning fair To the bagpipes' merry skirling.

My brother was one. As he kissed my cheek, I could hear him proudly saying: "Ho! you'll know when we come marching home, For you'll hear our pipers playing."

Oh, the bonniest lads in kilt and hose-- Braver men, you cannot find them-- And few, so few, came marching home To the loved ones left behind them.

'Twas a loyal heart, and a strong right arm, With a stubborn foe before them; A soldier's grave in a far off land, And God's blue sky bending o'er them.

As I hearkened to sweet old martial airs I could hear my brother saying: "Ho! you'll know when we come marching home, For you'll hear our pipers playing."

There are only harps in heaven, I'm told, And maybe I shouldn't say it, For a harp of gold's a wondrous thing In a hand that's skilled to play it.

But those highland lads, 'twas the pibroch's call They heard morning, noon, and even, And the pibroch's call, I believe in my heart, They will hear in the streets of heaven.

They marched to the old beloved airs 'Mid the bullets' hail and rattle; 'Twas the last sweet sound that fell on their ears 'Mid the clamor and clang of battle.

O a harp when an angel strikes the strings Is softer and sweeter, but try As I will, I cannot fancy a harp In the hands of, say, Peter MacKay.

And were an angel to proffer him one, Methinks I can hear him saying: "'Twas not on an instrument like the same That Pete MacKay will be playing,

"For she neffer set eyes on it before, Isn't quick to learn, or cleffer; She'd break the strings if she took it in hand, She couldn't do it, whateffer.

"So please be excusing old Pete MacKay-- But hark! bring the chanter to me, I'll play the 'March o' the Cameron Men,' And afterward 'Bonnie Dundee.'"

I told this to Donald late that night; He said, as he sipped his toddy, "Do ye ken ye shocked the elder the night? Yersel' is the doited body.

"And are ye speaking o' bagpipes in Heaven? Ah, Christy, I'm that astoonded I'll hae the guid meenister speak tae ye, For, Christy, ye're no weel groonded."

Well, if it is heresy to believe In the promise of the Father, "Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard," I am heretical, rather.

I believe when the last loud trump shall sound, The old flag again unfurling, My highland lads will come marching home To the bagpipes grandly skirling.

THE STABLE-BOY'S GUEST.

The Wise Men came to the inn that night, "Now open to us," they cried, "We have journeyed far that we might kneel To One who doth here abide."

The door was opened with eager haste. "Of whom do ye come in quest? Can it be that a lord of high degree Is with us this night as guest?"

The Wise Men answered: "The eastern sky Is luminous still, and clear, With the radiance of a golden star That hath led our footsteps here.