The Complete Works of J. M. Barrie (With Illustrations). James Matthew Barrie
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found herself on another road, along which Rob had trudged earlier in the day with a saw on his shoulder, but he had gone east, and the child's face was turned westward. It is a muddy road even in summer, and those who use it frequently get into the habit of lifting their legs high as they walk, like men picking their way through beds of rotting leaves. The light had faded from her baby face now, but her mouth was firm-set, and her bewildered eyes were fixed straight ahead.
The last person to see Davy was Tammas Haggart, who, with his waistcoat buttoned over his jacket, and garters of yarn round his trousers, was slowly breaking stones, though the road swallowed them quicker than he could feed it. Tammas heard the child approaching, for his hearing had become very acute, owing to his practice when at home of listening through the floor to what the folks below were saying, and of sometimes joining in. He leant on his hammer and watched her trot past.
The strength went gradually from Tammas's old arms, and again resting on his hammer he removed his spectacles and wiped them on his waistcoat. He took a comprehensive glance around at the fields, as if he now had an opportunity of seeing them for the first time during his sixty years' pilgrimage in these parts, and his eyes wandered aimlessly from the sombre firs and laughing beeches to the white farms that dot the strath. In the foreground two lazy colts surveyed him critically across a dyke. To the north the frowning Whunny hill had a white scarf round its neck.
Something troubled Tammas. It was the vision of a child in a draggled pinafore, and stepping into the middle of the road he looked down it in the direction in which Davy had passed.
'Chirsty Angus's lassieky,' he murmured.
Tammas sat down cautiously on the dyke and untied the red handkerchief that contained the remnants of his dinner. When he had smacked his lips over his flagon of cold kail, and seen the last of his crumbling oatmeal and cheese, his uneasiness returned, and he again looked down the road.
'I maun turn the bairn,' was his reflection.
It was now, however, half an hour since Davy had passed Tammas Haggart's cairn.
To Haggart, pondering between the strokes of his hammer, came a mole-catcher who climbed the dyke and sat down beside him.
'Ay, ay,' said the new-comer; to which Tammas replied abstractedly—
'Jamie.'
'Hae ye seen Davy Dundas?' the stone-breaker asked, after the pause that followed this conversation.
The mole-catcher stared heavily at his corduroys.
'I dinna ken him,' he said at last, 'but I hae seen naebody this twa 'oors.'
'It's no a him, it's a her. Ye canna hae been a' winter here withoot kennin' Rob Angus.'
'Ay, the saw-miller. He was i' the wud the day. I saw his cart gae hame. Ou, in coorse I ken Rob. He's an amazin' crittur.'
Tammas broke another stone as carefully as if it were a nut.
'I dinna deny,' he said, 'but what Rob's a curiosity. So was his faither afore 'im.'
'I've heard auld Rob was a queer body,' said Jamie, adding incredulously, 'they say he shaved twice i' the week an' wore a clean dickey ilka day.'
'No what ye wad say ilka day, but oftener than was called for. Rob wasna naturally ostentatious; na, it was the wife 'at insistit on't. Nanny was a terrible tid for cleanness. Ay, an' it's a guid thing in moderation, but she juist overdid it; yes, she overdid it. Man, it had sic a hand on her 'at even on her deathbed they had to bring a basin to her to wash her hands in.'
'Ay, ay? When there was sic a pride in her I wonder she didna lat young Rob to the college, an' him sae keen on't.'
'Ou, he was gaen, but ye see auld Rob got gey dottle after Nanny's death, an' so young Rob stuck to the saw-mill. It's curious hoo a body misses his wife when she's gone. Ay, it's like the clock stoppin'.'
'Weel, Rob's no gettin' to the college hasna made 'im humble.'
'Ye dinna like Rob?'
'Hoo did ye find that oot?' asked Jamie, a little taken aback. 'Man, Tammas,' he added admiringly, 'ye're michty quick i' the uptak.'
Tammas handed his snuff-mull to the mole-catcher, and then helped himself.
'I daursay, I daursay,' he said thoughtfully.
'I've naething to say agin the saw-miller,' continued Jamie, after thinking it out, 'but there's something in's face at's no sociable. He looks as if he was takkin ye aff in's inside.'
'Ay, auld Rob was a sarcestic stock too. It rins i' the blood.'
'I prefer a mair common kind o' man, bein' o' the common kind mysel.'
'Ay, there's naething sarcestic about you, Jamie,' admitted the stone-breaker.
'I'm an ord'nar man, Tammas.'
'Ye are, Jamie, ye are.'
'Maybe no sae oncommon ord'nar either.'
'Middlin' ord'nar, middlin' ord'nar.'
'I'm thinkin' ye're braw an' sarcestic yersel, Tammas?'
'I'd aye that repootation, Jeames. 'Am no an everyday sarcesticist, but juist noos an' nans. There was ae time I was speakin' tae Easie Webster, an' I said a terrible sarcestic thing. Ay, I dinna mind what it was, but it was michty sarcestic.'
'It's a gift,' said the mole-catcher.
'A gift it is,' said Tammas.
The stone-breaker took his flagon to a spring near at hand and rinsed it out. Several times while pulling it up and down the little pool an uneasy expression crossed his face as he remembered something about a child, but in washing his hands, using sand for soap, Davy slipped his memory, and he returned cheerfully to the cairn. Here Jamie was wagging his head from side to side like a man who had caught himself thinking.
'I'll warrant, Tammas,' he said, 'ye cudna tell's what set's on to speak aboot Rob Angus?'
'Na, it's a thing as has often puzzled me hoo we select wan topic mair than anither. I suppose it's like shootin'; ye juist blaze awa at the first bird 'at rises.'
'Ye was sayin', had I seen a lass wi' a lad's name. That began it, I'm thinkin'.'
'A lass wi' a lad's name? Ay, noo, that's oncommon. But mebbe ye mean Davy Dundas?'
'That's the name.'
Tammas paused in the act of buttoning his trouser pocket.
'Did ye say ye'd seen Davy?' he asked.
'Na, it was you as said 'at ye had seen her.'
'Ay, ay, Jamie, ye're richt. Man, I fully meant to turn the bairn, but she ran by at sic a steek 'at there was nae stoppin' her. Rob'll mak an awfu' ring-ding if onything comes ower Davy.'
'Is't the litlin 'at's aye wi' Rob?'
'Ay, it's Chirsty Angus's bairn, her 'at was Rob's sister. A' her fowk's deid but Rob.'
'I've seen them i' the saw-mill thegither. It didna strick me 'at Rob cared muckle for the crittury.'
'Ou, Rob's a reserved stock, but he's michty fond o' her when naebody's lookin'. It doesna do, ye ken, to lat on afore company at ye've a kind o' regaird for yere ain fowk. Na, it's lowerin'. But if it wasna afore your time, ye'd seen the cradle i' the saw-mill.'
'I never saw ony cradle, Tammas.'
'Weel, it was unco ingenious o' Rob. The bairn's father an' mither was baith gone when Davy was nae age, an' auld Rob passed awa sune efter. Rob had it all arranged to ging to the college—ay, he'd been workin' far on into the nicht the hale year to save up siller to keep 'imsel at Edinbory, but ye see he promised Chirsty to look after Davy an' no send her to the parish. He took her to the saw-mill an' brocht her up 'imsel. It was a terrible disappointment to Rob, his mind bein' bent on becomin' a great leeterary genius, but he's been michty guid to the bairn. Ay, she's an extr'or'nar takkin dawty, Davy, an' though I wudna like it kent, I've a fell notion o' her mysel. I mind ance gaen