Chapter 6

'I'll tell ye what it means, onyway,' said Lance-corporal Jake; 'it means that we'll be gettin' a move on afore we're mony days aulder.'

Macgregor did not enter into any of the discussions which followed. Having hurriedly made himself as smart as possible, he took car for Glasgow, and there caught the ten o'clock train for Aberdeen. He spent the ensuing four hours in wondering--not so much what he should say to Christina as what she would say to him. For himself, he was determined to make a clean breast of it; at the same time, he was not going to absolve Christina of all responsibility. He had behaved like a fool, he admitted, but he still had a just grievance. Yet it was with no very stout heart that he alighted in the big station, where everything was strange except the colour of khaki, and found his way to the quiet hotel where his friends had rooms.

And there on the steps was Uncle Purdie sunning himself and smoking a richly-banded cigar--by order of his spouse.

'Preserve us!' exclaimed Uncle Purdie in sheer astonishment at the sight of his nephew. 'Preserve us!' he repeated in quite another tone--that of concern. 'But I'm rael glad to see ye, lad,' he went on somewhat uneasily, 'an' yer aunt'll be unco pleased. Come awa' in, come awa' in! Ye've gotten a bit leave, I preshume. An' ye'll be needin' yer denner--eh? But we'll sune see to that. 'Mphm! Ay! Jist so! Eh--I suppose ye hadna time to write or wire--but what's the odds? Ye're welcome, Macgreegor, rael welcome.'

'Jist got leave this mornin'--three days,' Macgregor explained, not a little relieved to have found his uncle alone to begin with.

'So I catched the first train I could.'

'Jist that, exactly so,' said Mr. Purdie with a heavy sigh that seemed irrelevant. 'Weel, ma lad,' he resumed hurriedly, 'if ye tak' a sate here, I'll awa' up the stair an' get yer aunt. She generally has a bit snooze aboot this time--efter her meal, ye ken--but----'

'Dinna fash her aboot me, Uncle Purdie.'

'Oh, but it--it's necessary to get her doon here. She'll maybe be able to break--I meant for to say----' Mr. Purdie stopped short and wiped perspiration from his face.

'Jist a meenute,' he said abruptly, and bolted upstairs.

Macgregor gazed after the retreating burly figure. Never before had he seen his uncle nervous. Was Aunt Purdie not so well? It was news to hear of her napping in the middle of the day. Then a likelier explanation dawned on Macgregor, and he smiled to himself. Uncle Purdie had been too shy to mention it, and now he had retired simply to allow of Christina's coming down by herself. So Macgregor prepared to meet his love.

And while he meditated, his aunt and uncle appeared together.

'Yer aunt'll explain,' said Mr. Purdie, looking most unhappy. 'I couldna dae it.'

'How do you do, Macgregor?' said Aunt Purdie, shaking hands with stiff kindliness. 'I am delighted to perceive you in Aberdeen. But what a deplorable catastrophe!--what a dire calamity!--what an ironical mishap!----'

'She means----' began Mr. Purdie, noting his nephew's puzzled distress.

'Hush, Robert! Allow me. I must break it gently to the boy. What a cruel fiascio!--what a vexatious disappintment!----'

'Whaur's Christina?' Macgregor demanded.

'Courage, boy!' said Aunt Purdie in lofty tones. 'Remember you are a sojer--soldier--of the Queen--or rather, King!'

'But----'

'Christina left for Glasgow per the 1.10 p.m. train, one short hour before you arrived.'

'Weel, I'm----'

'She decided very suddenly this morning. She did not hand me the letter, or p.c., for my perusual, but I understood her to observe that Miss Tod was not feeling so able and desired her presence. We were real sorry to let her go----'

'Ma impression,' Mr. Purdie put in, 'is that she was wearyin' for her lad. But for ill-luck this is the maist confounded, dampest----'

'Robert, behave yourself!'

'Weel, it's a fair sickener. But there's nae use talkin' aboot it. Come awa', lad, an' ha'e something to eat. Ye canna keep up yer heart on a toom kyte.'

They were very kind to him and pressed him to remain overnight, but he was bent on leaving by the 3.40 express, which is due at Glasgow about 7.30. With good luck, he told himself, he might catch Christina at Miss Tod's. Meanwhile youth and health compelled him to enjoy his dinner, during which Aunt Purdie insisted on refunding the cost of his futile journey.

'Ye're ower guid to me,' he said awkwardly.

'Not at all, not at all, Macgregor. It is quite unmentionable,' she returned with a majestic wave. 'Robert, give Macgregor some of your choice cigars.'

In the train he smoked one of them, but finding it a trifle heady, preserved the rest for presentation to his sergeant, whom he greatly admired.

* * * * *

At 5.30 Christina was in Glasgow. Mrs. Purdie had commissioned her to deliver two small parcels--'presents from Aberdeen'--to Macgregor's sister and little brother, and she decided to fulfil the errand before going home. Perhaps the decision was not unconnected with a hope of obtaining some news of Macgregor. His postcard had worried her. She felt she had gone too far and wanted to tell him so. She would write to him the moment she got home, and let her heart speak out for once. Pride was in abeyance. She was all tenderness.

At the Robinson's house she received a warm welcome. Mrs. Robinson had almost got over her secret fear of her future daughter-in-law. Jeannie admired her intensely, and wee Jimsie frankly loved her. Aunt Purdie's were not the only gifts she delivered.

'Ye're hame suner nor ye intended,' said Mrs. Robinson, during tea, which was partaken of without Mr. Robinson, who was 'extra busy' over munitions. 'Was Miss Tod wantin' ye?'

'Macgreegor was wantin' her,' piped Jimsie. 'So was I.'

'Whisht, Jimsie,' Jeannie murmured, blushing more than Christina.

'We jist got hame frae Rothesay last nicht,' said Mrs. Robinson, 'so we ha'ena seen the laddie for a while.'

'He hasna wrote this week,' remarked Jeannie. 'But of course _you'll_ ha'e heard frae him, Christina'--this with respectful diffidence.

'He's been busy at the shooting' Christina replied, wishing she had more news to give.

'I wisht I had a gun,' observed Jimsie. 'I wud shoot the whuskers aff auld Tirpy. Jings, I wud that!'

'Dinna boast,' said his mother.

'What wud you shoot, Christina, if you had a gun?'

'I think I wud practise on a cocoa-nut, Jimsie,' she said, with a small laugh.

After tea Mrs. Robinson took Christina into the parlour while Jeannie tidied up. Presently the door bell rang, and Jimsie rushed to meet the postman.

'It's for Macgreegor,' he announced, returning and handing a parcel to his mother.

'I wonder wha's sendin' the laddie socks,' she said, feeling it. 'I best open it an' put his name on them. Maybe they're frae Mistress McOstrich.' She removed the string and brown paper. 'Vera nice socks--- a wee thing to the lairge side--but vera nice socks, indeed. But wha----'

'Here's a letter!' cried Jimsie, extracting a half-sheet of white paper from the crumpled brown, and giving it to his dear Christina.

In bold, untidy writing she read--

'With fondest love from Maggie.'

XVIII

PITY THE POOR PARENTS!

'It's a peety Macgreegor didna see his intended the nicht,' Mr. Robinson observed when his son, after a couple of hours at the parental hearth, had gone to bed, 'but we canna help trains bein' late.'

Mrs. Robinson felt that it was perhaps just as well the two young people had not met that night, but refrained from saying so. 'Hoo dae ye think Macgreegor's lookin,' John?' she asked after a pause.

'I didna notice onything wrang wi' him. He hadna a great deal to say for hissel'; but that's naething new. Queer hoo a noisy, steerin' wean like he was, grows into a quiet, douce young man.'

'He's maybe no as douce as ye think,' said Lizzie under her breath.

'What's that?'

'Naething, John.' She sighed heavily.

'What's wrang, wife?'

'I was wishin' we had a niece called Maggie. . . . I suppose it's nae use askin' if ye ever heard o' Macgreegor ha'ein' an acquaintance o' that name.'

'Maggie? Weel, it's no what ye would call a unique name. But what----'

'Listen, John. When Christina was here the day, a wee paircel cam' for Macgreegor, an' when I opened it, there was a pair o' socks wi'--wi' fondest love from Maggie.'

'Hurray for Maggie!

'But, John, Christina read the words!'

'Oho!' John guffawed. 'She wudna like that--eh?'

'Man, what are ye laughin' at? Ye ken Christina's terrible prood.'

'No ony prooder nor Macgreegor is o' her. Lizzie.'

'That's no what I meant. Christina wud never put up wi' Macgreegor lookin' at anither lass.'

'Weemen was born jealous; but it's guid for them.'

'John Robi'son! ha'e ye the face to tell me ye wud approve o' Macgreegor cairryin' on wi' anither lass when he's engaged to Christina?'

'Of course I wudna exac'ly approve o' it.' Mr. Robinson scratched his head. 'But surely ye're raisin' an awfu' excitement ower a pair o' socks.'

'It wasna the socks, ye stupid: it was the fondest love!'

John laughed again, but less boisterously,

'Maggie's no blate, whaever she is. Did ye no speir at Macgreegor aboot her?'

'Oh, man! ha'e ye nae sense?' I jist tied up the paircel again an' left it on his bed.'

'Weel, that ends it,' John said comfortably. 'But'--with a wink--'let it be a lesson to ye never to tamper wi' yer son's correspondence. Ye're pretty sure to find mair nor ye expec'.'

Mrs. Robinson clasped her hands. 'Oh, dear! hoo can ye joke aboot it? What if Christina breaks her engagement.'

'What?' he cried, suddenly alarmed. 'Break her engagement! Surely ye dinna mean that! Did she say onything? Did she seem offended? Did she----'

'Never a word--but her look was different. But whatever stupid thing the laddie may ha'e done, his heart's set on Christina. It wud break his heart if----'

'This is bad,' said John, all dismayed. 'I didna think it wud be that serious. But I'll tell ye what I'll dae, Lizzie. I'll gang the morn and see Christina an' tell her----'

'What'll ye tell her?'

'Dear knows! What wud ye say yersel'?'

'Neither you nor me can say onything. Macgreegor'll ha'e to explain--if he can.'

Mr. Robinson groaned, then brightened. 'I yinst had a cousin called Maggie,' he said; 'unfortunately she's been deid for fifteen year. Still----'

'It's time ye was in yer bed, John. Ye canna dae onything, ma man, excep' hope for the best.'

* * * * *

At dead of night--

'Lizzie!'

Silence.

'_Lizzie_!'

'Eh?--what is 't, John?'

'I was thinkin', wife; I was thinkin' it's no sae bad since her name's Maggie. Ye see, if it had been Henrietta, or Dorothea, or----'

'Mercy! Are ye talkin' in yer sleep?'

'I was gaun for to say that a Henrietta an' so forth wud be easier traced nor a Maggie, Maggies bein' as common as wulks at Dunoon, whereas----'

'D'ye imagine Christina--oh, dinna be silly, man!'

'But, Maggie--I mean Lizzie----'

'Oh, for ony favour gang to sleep an' rest yer brains.'

* * * * *

When Macgregor, alone save for the slumbering Jimsie, had opened the parcel he muttered savagely: 'Oh, dash it! I wish she had kep' her rotten socks to hersel'!'--and stuffed the gift behind the chest of drawers. The message he tore into a hundred fragments. Then he went to bed and slept better, perhaps, than he deserved. He expected there would be a letter in the morning, for Christina had left no message with his mother.

But there was no letter, so, after breakfast, he made a trip to the camp on the chance, and in the hope, that one might be lying there. Another blow! Managing to dodge Willie, he hurried home to meet the second morning delivery. Nothing again! . . . His mother's anxious questions as to his health irritated him, and he so far lost his temper as to ask his sister why she was wearing a face like a fiddle. Poor Jeannie! For half the night she had been weeping for her hero and wishing the most awful things for the unknown Maggie.

'Ye'll be back for yer denner, laddie?' his mother called after him as he left the house.

'I dinna ken,' he replied over his shoulder.

Mrs. Robinson felt that her worst forebodings were about to be realized.

'Never again!' she muttered in the presence of her daughter, who was helping her with the housework.

'What, mither?'

'Never again will I open a paircel that's no addressed to me.'

'But it--it might ha'e been a--a fish,' said Jeannie, who would have sought to comfort the most sinful penitent in the world. 'Some girls,' she went on, 'dinna mean onything special by "fondest love." They dinna mean onything mair nor "kind regairds."'

Mrs. Robinson sighed. 'I wud gi'e something if it had been a fish wi' kind regairds. I wonder what he did wi' the socks.'

'I got them at the back o' the chest o' drawers. Weel, mither, that proves he doesna care for her.'

'That's no the p'int, dearie.' Mrs. Robinson paused in her work. 'I'm beginnin' to think I should ha'e tell't him aboot the paircel bein' open when Christina was here. It's maybe no fair to let him gang to her----'

'I'll run efter him,' said Jeannie promptly. 'I'll maybe catch him afore he gets to Miss Tod's shop.'

'Ay; run, Jeannie; run as quick's ye can!'

So Jeannie threw off her apron, tidied her hair with a couple of touches, and flew as though a life depended on her speed.

And, panting, she came in sight of Miss Tod's shop just in time--just in time to see the beloved kilted figure disappear into the doorway.

XIX

A SERIOUS REVERSE

The fact that Christina had not written was a paralyzing blow to Macgregor's self-confidence and left him altogether uncertain of his ground. For the time being his sense of guilt as well as that of injury was almost swamped by the awful dread that she had simply grown tired of him. He entered the shop with foreboding--and received another blow.

A smartly dressed young man was lounging at the counter, apparently basking in Christina's smiles. As a matter of fact, the young man was merely choosing a notebook, and until the moment of Macgregor's entrance had been treated with the slightly haughty politeness which Christina made a point of administering to males under fifty. But with amazing abruptness she became so charming that the young man, a sensitive, susceptible creature, decided that an ordinary penny note-book would not do.

'Well,' said Christina sweetly, 'here are some at twopence, threepence and sixpence. The sixpenny ones are extremely reliable.'

After some desultory conversation in low tones, during which Macgregor writhed with frequently averted gaze, the young man chose a sixpenny one and put down a florin, regretfully remarking that he had to catch a confounded train.

With a delicious smile Christina handed him his change, and with a graceful salute he fled without counting it. Immediately the door had closed Christina realized that she had given him one and ninepence. A small matter at such a time, yet it may have been the last straw. She had no word for Macgregor as he came to the counter, his uncertainty increased by that delicious smile given to another.

'Weel, ye've got back,' was all he could utter, and her attitude stopped him in the first movement of offering his hand.

'Yesterday afternoon,' she returned coldly.

'Ay, I ken. I wish ye had sent me word,' he managed to say after a slight pause.

'It did not seem necessary. I suppose your mother told you.'

'I heard it first frae Aunt Purdie. I missed ye by less nor an 'oor. It was gey hard lines.'

Christina stared.

'I got leave yesterday mornin' an' catched the first train to Aberdeen----'

'Oh! . . . What on earth took you to Aberdeen?'

'Christina,' he exclaimed, 'dinna speak like that! I gaed to Aberdeen because I couldna thole it ony mair.'

'Thole what?'

'Oh, ye ken! . . . Maybe I had nae business to be vexed at ye for gaun wi' Aunt Purdie, but oh, Christina dear, I wisht ye hadna gaed.'

He dropped his gaze and continued: 'I'm tellin' ye I gaed to Aberdeen because something seemed to ha'e come betwixt us, because I----' He stuck. Confession in the face of stern virtue is not so easy, after all.

'Pity you had the long journey,' she said airily, 'but you ought to have stopped for a day or two when you were there. Aberdeen is a delightful city.' She turned and surveyed the shelves above her.

His look then would have melted the heart of any girl, except this one who loved him.

'Christina,' he said piteously, 'it wasna a' ma fau't.'

Leisurely she faced him.

'May I ask what you are referring to?'

'Ye never said ye was sorry to leave me; yer letters wasna like ye, an' I didna ken what to think. An' then the cocoa-nut fairly put the lid on. I tell ye, a chap has to dae _something_ when a girl treats him like that.'

'Has he?'

He winced. 'But I forgive ye----'

'Thanks!'

'--because I'm gaun to tell ye a' aboot it, Christina, an' ask ye kindly to forgive me. Ay, I'm gaun to tell ye everything--everything! But I canna think,' he blundered on, 'I'm sayin', I canna think hoo I happened to get yer monkey up to begin wi'----'

'Excuse me!' she cried, indignant. 'My monkey up, indeed!'

'Weel, maybe it wasna exac'ly yer monkey up; but I want to ken what way ye didna write a nicer letter afore ye gaed awa'. Nae doobt ye was in a hurry, but it jist seemed as if ye didna care a button for me. Maybe ma letter to you wasna the thing, either, but I was that hurt when I wrote it, an' ye might ha'e understood hoo I was feelin'. Christina, tell me what was wrang that ye gaed awa' like yon. Was ye--was ye fed up wi' me?'

Christina took up a pencil and began to spoil it with a patent sharpener. 'Really, it is not worth while discussing,' she said.

'What? No worth while? Oh, hoo can ye say a thing like that! . . . But maybe I best tell ye ma ain story first.'

'Many thanks. But I'm afraid I'm not deeply interested in any story of yours.' She was almost sorry the next moment. It was just as if she had struck him.

Presently he recovered a little. 'Christina,' he said quietly, 'that's no true.'

'Hoo daur ye!' she cried, forgetting her 'fine English' as well as her haughty pose.

'If it was true, it wud mean that ye've been judgin' me unfair, kennin' it was unfair, an' I'll never believe ye wud dae that. . . . So, Christina dear, listen to me an' gi'e me a chance.'

'Oh, what's the use,' she sighed with sudden weariness, 'what's the use o' pretendin', Macgreegor?'

'Wha's pretendin'?'

'You! What's the use o' pretendin' ye're hurt? Fine ye ken I'm no the--the only girl in the world.'

'There's no anither like ye!'

'Weel,' she said drily, 'that means variety, does it no?' She drew a long breath and moved back from the counter. 'I want to be as fair as I can, so perhaps I'd best ask ye a straight question.'

'Ask it!' he said eagerly.

'Wha's Maggie?'

He was taken aback, but less so than she had expected, and possibly that increased her bitterness.

'She's a girl,' he began.

'I could ha'e guessed that much. What sort o' girl?' she demanded, and wished she had held her tongue.

'She--she's kin' o' fat----'

'Fat!' Christina uttered the word with as much disgust as she would have evinced had she been handed a pound of streaky bacon without the paper. 'How delightful! Anything else in the way of charms?'

'Christina, gi'e me a chance, an' I'll tell ye a' aboot it.'

'Not another word! How long have you enjoyed the young lady's acquaintance?'

'Only a couple o' evenin's, but----'

'Case of love at first sight, I suppose!'

He flared up. 'If ye hadna left me I wud never ha'e met her. If ye had wrote me a dacent letter----'

'Whisht, man!' she said in momentary pity. 'Ye're talkin' like a wean.'

'I canna help it. I'm that fond o' ye. An' it's no as if I had done a black crime. It was a pure accident----'

'Jist like a penny novel,' she interrupted merciless again. 'Weel, I'm sure ye're welcome to ha'e as mony girls as ye like--only, ye'll ha'e to leave me oot. That's a'!' She took out her purse and from it something small which, stepping forward, she laid on the counter near him. Her engagement ring!

After a moment of strained silence--'Christina!' he gasped; 'Christina! ye canna mean it serious!'

'Good-bye,' she said stiffly, stepping back.

'But--but ye ha'ena heard ma story. It's no fair----'

'Oh,' she cried harshly, 'dinna keep on at that tune!'

All at once he drew himself up. 'Noo I see what ye mean,' he said in an almost even voice. 'Ye had made up yer mind to be quit o' me. Still, it wud ha'e been honester to say ye was fed up to ma face. Weel, I'm no blamin' ye, an' I canna force ye to listen to ma story, no that it wud be worth ma while noo to shame masel' wi' the tellin'. I'll no even ask ye hoo ye cam' to hear aboot Maggie. Maggie's jist an or'nar' girl, an' I'm jist an or'nar' chap that done a stupid thing because he couldna think what else to dae. Weel, ye'll sune forget me, an' maybe I'll sune forget you--wi' the help o' a bullet----'

'Oh, dinna!' she whispered.

'An' as for this'--he picked up the ring and let it drop on the floor--'to hell wi' sich nonsense!'--and ground it under his heel. 'So long!' he said, and went out quickly.

XX

THE REAL THING AT LAST

For an appreciable number of seconds after the door had closed Christina continued to gaze in its direction, her head well up, her face stern and rather pale. Then, quite suddenly, her bosom gave a quick heave, her lips parted, trembling, her eyes blinked, her whole attitude became lax. But she was not going to cry; certainly not! She was far too angry for tears; angry with herself no less than Macgregor. He had actually departed without being dismissed; worse still, he had had the last word! An observer--the thought struck her--would have assumed that she, weak wretch, had humbly allowed him to go and leave her in the wrong! Her maiden pride had somehow failed her, for she ought to have sent him forth crushed. And yet, surely, she had hurt, punished, humiliated him. Oh, no doubt of that! And for a moment her illogical heart wavered. She drew out her hanky, muttering 'how I hate him!'--and blew her pretty nose. Then she clenched her hands and set her teeth. Then she went lax again. Then--oh, dear! he had even insulted her by leaving her to pick up the cast-off ring!--for, of course, she could not leave it there for Miss Tod or a customer to see.

Haughtily she moved round the counter and with scornful finger-tips took up the tiny wreckage of a great hope. The gold was twisted and bruised, the little pearls were loose in their places. All at once she felt a horrid pain in her throat. . . .

Miss Tod appeared, fresh from the joys of strong tea.

'Oh, lassie, ha'e ye hurted yersel'?'

Christina choked, recovered herself and cried: 'I've sold a blighter a sixpenny notebook for threepence, an' I'll never get over it as long as I live. B--but I hope that'll no be long!'

Just then Heaven sent a customer.

* * * * *

And perhaps Heaven sent the telegram that Macgregor found on his return home, rather late in the afternoon. The war has changed many things and people, but mothers most of all. Mrs. Robinson made no mention of the 'extra special' dinner prepared so vainly in her son's honour. 'Yer fayther missed ye,' was her only reference to his absence from the meal.

The telegram was an order to return to duty. The mother and sister saw his eyes change, his shoulders stiffen.

'Maybe something's gaun to happen at last,' he said; and almost in the same breath, though in a different voice--'Christina's finished wi' me. It was ma ain fau't. Ye needna speak aboot it. I--I'm no heedin'--greatly.' He cleared his throat. 'I'll awa' up to the works an' say guid-bye to father. Jimsie can come, if he likes. Ye needna tell him the noo--what I tell't ye.'