Having thus rendered my cottage weather-proof, I next turned my
attention to furnishing it. To which end I, in turn, and with
infinite labor, constructed a bedstead, two elbow-chairs, and a
table; all to the profound disgust of Donald, who could by no
means abide the rasp of my saw, so that, reaching for his pipes,
he would fill the air with eldrich shrieks and groans, or drown
me in a torrent of martial melody.
It was about this time--that is to say, my second bedstead was
nearing completion, and I was seriously considering the building
of a press with cupboards to hold my crockery, also a shelf for
my books--when, chancing to return home somewhat earlier than
usual, I was surprised to see Donald sitting upon the bench I had
set up beside the door, polishing the buckles of that identical
pair of square-toed shoes that had once so piqued my curiosity.
As I approached he rose, and came to meet me with the brogues in
his hand.
"Man, Peter," said he, "I maun juist be gangin'."
'"Going!" I repeated; "going where?"
"Back tae Glenure--the year is a'most up, ye ken, an' I wadna'
hae ma brither Alan afore me wi' the lassie, forbye he's an unco
braw an' sonsy man, ye ken, an' a lassie's mind is aye a kittle
thing."
"True," I answered, "what little I know of woman would lead me to
suppose so; and yet--Heaven knows! I shall be sorry to lose you,
Donald."
"Ay--I ken that fine, an' ye'll be unco lonesome wi'out me an'
the pipes, I'm thinkin'."
"Very!"
"Eh, Peter, man! if it wasna' for the lassie, I'd no hae the
heart tae leave ye. Ye'll no be forgettin' the 'Wullie Wallace
Lament'?"
"Never!" said I.
"Oh, man, Peter! it's in my mind ye'll no hear sic pipin' again,
forbye there's nae man--Hielander nor Lowlander--has juist the
trick o' the 'warblers' like me, an' it's no vera like we shall
e'er meet again i' this warld, man, Peter. But I'll aye think o'
ye--away there in Glenure, when I play the 'Wullie Wallace' bit
tune--I'll aye think o' ye, Peter, man."
After this we stood awhile, staring past each other into the
deepening shadows.
"Peter," said he at last, "it's no a vera genteel present tae be
makin' ye, I doot," and he held up the battered shoes. "They're
unco worn, an' wi' a clout here an' there, ye'll notice, but the
buckles are guid siller, an' I hae naething else to gi'e ye. Ay,
man! but it's many a weary mile I've marched in these at the head
o' the Ninety-Second, an' it's mony a stark fecht they've been
through--Vittoria, Salamanca, Talavera, tae Quatre Bras an'
Waterloo; tak' 'em, Peter, tak' 'em--tae mind ye sometimes o'
Donal' Stuart. An' now--gi'e us a grup o' ye hand. Gude keep
ye, Peter, man!"