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Updated: June 6, 2025
Miss Bathgate protested that she knew no songs, and had no voice, but under persuasion she broke into a ditty, a sort of recitative: "Gang further up the toon, Geordie Broon, Geordie Broon, Gang further up the toon, Geordie Broon: Gang further up the toon Till ye's spent yer hale hauf-croon, And then come singin' doon, Geordie Broon, Geordie Broon."
What a horrid conversation this is! It's a great mistake ever to mention love and marriage. It makes the nicest people silly. I simply daren't think what Jock would say if he heard us. He would be what Bella Bathgate calls 'black affrontit." "Jean, will it always matter to you more than anything in the world what David and Jock and Mhor think? Will you never care for anyone as you care for them?"
The roads became sloughs, our feet were drawn heavily out of the clay, the burns and brooks raged from bank to brae, and the horses swithered at the fords, in so much, that towards the gloaming, when we were come to Bathgate, several of our broken legions were seen far behind; and when we halted for the night, scarcely more than half the number with whom we had that morning left Lanerk could be mustered, and few of those who had fallen behind came up.
Don't let Bella Bathgate frighten you away. She isn't used to letting her rooms, and her manners are bad, and her long upper lip very quelling; but she's really the kindest soul on earth.... Would you come in to tea this afternoon? Mrs. M'Cosh that's our retainer bakes rather good scones. I would ask you to stay to luncheon, but I'm afraid there mightn't be enough to go round."
The 'manoeuvring mamaws, as Bella Bathgate calls the ladies with daughters to marry, quite lost hope where you were concerned; you never seemed to see their manoeuvres, poor dears.... And I was so thankful, for I didn't want you to marry the modern type of girl.... But I hardly dared to hope you would come to Priorsford and love Jean at sight. It's all as simple as a fairy-tale." "Oh, is it?
The Elizabethans she knew by heart, poetry was as daily bread. Rosalind in Arden, Viola in Illyria, were as real to her as Bella Bathgate next door. The sound of the gong startled Pamela to her feet. "You don't mean to say it's luncheon time already? I've taken up your whole morning." "It has been perfectly delightful," Jean assured her. "Do stay a long time at Hillview and come in every day.
She said you would like to know that the man had come about the leak in the tank, and it's all right. I saw Bella Bathgate as I was leaving The Rigs. She sent you and Lord Bidborough her kind regards.... She has a free way of expressing herself, but I don't think she means to be disrespectful." "Has she got lodgers just now?" Pamela asked. "Oh yes, she told me about them.
Miss Bathgate sent me on here. Beautifully managed, you see." He smiled lazily at his sister, who cried: "The same casual old Biddy! What about dinner?" "Mayn't I feed with you? I think Miss Bathgate would like me to. And I'm devoted to stewed beef and carrots. After cold storage food it will be a most welcome change.
Jock yelled, as he grabbed the burning twigs, but it was "Imperial Caesar, dead and turned to clay," who really put out the fire by rolling on it wrapped in an eiderdown quilt. "Eh, ye ill callant," said Bella Bathgate. "Ye wee deevil," said Mrs. M'Cosh, "ye micht hev had us a' burned where we sat, and it Christmas too!" "What made you do it, sonny?" Jean asked.
It was his own little town, his birthplace and I thought the name sung itself like a song. I made inquiries about rooms and found that in a little house called Hillview, owned by one Bella Bathgate, I might lodge. I liked the name of the house and its owner, and I hope to find in Priorsford peace and great content.
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