|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 79
The sun was on the green and flowery slope of Greyfriars, warming
the weathered tombs and the rear windows of the tenements. The
Grand Leddy found a great deal there to interest her beside Bobby
and the robin that chirped and picked up crumbs between the little
dog's paws. Presently the gate was opened again and' a housemaid
from some mansion in George Square came around the kirk. Trained by
Mistress Jeanie, she was a neat and pretty and pleasant-mannered
housemaid, in a black gown and white apron, and with a frilled cap
on her crinkly, gold-brown hair that had had more than "a lick or
twa the nicht afore."
"It's juist Ailie," Bobby seemed to say, as he stood a moment with
crested neck and tail. "Ilka body kens Ailie."
The servant lassie, with an hour out, had stopped to speak to
Bobby. She had not meant to stay long, but the lady, who didn't
look in the least grand, began to think friendly things aloud.
"The windows of the tenements are very clean."
"Ay. The bairnies couldna see Bobby gin the windows warna washed."
The lassie was pulling her adored little pet's ears, and Bobby was
nuzzling up to her.
"In many of the windows there is a box of flowers, or of kitchen
herbs to make the broth savory."
"It wasna so i' the auld days. It was aye washin's clappin' aboon
the stanes. Noo, mony o' the mithers hang the claes oot at nicht.
Ilka thing is changed sin' I was a wean an' leevin' i' the auld
Guildhall, the bairnies haen Bobby to lo'e, an' no' to be
neglectet." She continued the conversation to include Tammy as he
came around the kirk on his tapping crutches.
"Hoo mony years is it, Tammy, sin' Bobby's been leevin' i' the auld
kirkyaird? At Maister Traill's snawy picnic ye war five gangin' on
sax." They exchanged glances in which lay one of the happy memories
of sad childhoods.
"Noo I'm nineteen going on twenty. It's near fourteen years syne,
Ailie." Nearly all the burrs had been pulled from Tammy's tongue,
but he used a Scotch word now and then, no' to shame Ailie's less
cultivated speech.
"So long?" murmured the Grand Leddy. "Bobby is getting old, very
old for a terrier."
As if to deny that, Bobby suddenly shot down the slope in answer to
a cry of alarm from a song thrush. Still good for a dash, when he
came back he dropped panting. The lady put her hand on his rippling
coat and felt his heart pounding. Then she looked at his worn down
teeth and lifted his veil. Much of the luster was gone from Bobby's
brown eyes, but they were still soft and deep and appealing.
From the windows children looked down upon the quiet group and,
without in the least knowing why they wanted to be there, too, the
tenement bairns began to drop into the kirkyard. Almost at once it
rained--a quick, bright, dashing shower that sent them all flying
and laughing up to the shelter of the portico to the new kirk.
Bobby scampered up, too, and with the bairns in holiday duddies
crowding about her, and the wee dog lolling at her feet, the Grand
Leddy talked fairy stories.
She told them all about a pretty country place near London. It was
called Holly Lodge because its hedges were bright with green leaves
and red berries, even in winter. A lady who had no family at all
lived there, and to keep her company she had all sorts of pets.
Peter and Prince were the dearest dogs, and Cocky was a parrot that
could say the most amusing things. Sir Garnet was the llama goat,
or sheep--she didn't know which. There was a fat and lazy old pony
that had long been pensioned off on oats and clover, and--oh
yes--the white donkey must not be forgotten!
"O-o-o-oh! I didna ken there wad be ony white donkeys!" cried a
big-eyed laddie.
"There cannot be many, and there's a story about how the lady came
to have this one. One day, driving in a poor street, she saw a
coster--that is a London peddler--beating his tired donkey that
refused to pull the load. The lady got out of her carriage, fed the
animal some carrots from the cart, talked kindly to him right into
his big, surprised ear, and stroked his nose. Presently the poor
beast felt better and started off cheerfully with the heavy cart.
When many costers learned that it was not only wicked but foolish
to abuse their patient animals, they hunted for a white donkey to
give the lady. They put a collar of flowers about his neck, and
brought him up on a platform before a crowd of people. Everybody
laughed, for he was a clumsy and comical beast to be decorated with
roses and daisies. But the lady is proud of him, and now that
pampered donkey has nothing to do but pull her Bath chair about,
when she is at Holly Lodge, and kick up his heels on a clover
pasture."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|