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Updated: June 19, 2025
At that Scaurdale leant over his saddle. "Ye'll never be in want if ye knock at my door, so long as the mortar holds the stanes thegither." "Good night to you, Sir Churchman; I'm in nae swither whether I would change places wi' ye the night, but weemen are daft craturs, poor things, and I've had my day."
And that very night it was as though old Betty's havers were potent spells, for Bryde was the fair-haired laddie with the Laird of Scaurdale always, and as the evening wore on he grew a little flushed with wine, so that all his silence left him, and he was very shyly bold and very gallant; but Margaret was stately and proud like her mother, and smiled but little.
"But now you have come we will ride to Scaurdale," said Helen, but Margaret would not be heeding. "I am to see my cousin's wife," says she, "in the house yonder, with Hamish here; but here is Hugh on edge to be on the Scaurdale road, and Bryde eager to be ploughing."
"The wean has the look o' John o' Scaurdale." There were many things to be doing in these days peats to be cutting and carted home and built into tidy stacks, just as you can see them to-day, and the sprits and bog hay to be saving, for we were not good at growing hay, and then, when the boys grew up, there was the schooling of them.
"Mistress Margaret," said I, "I am not a match for you in wit, it seems, but since we are agreed he canna just be suited with these lassies, there will just be two left by your way of it." "Between here and Scaurdale, Hamish," said she, "it is your own words I am giving you."
But crossing the yard, Betty beckoned me with a crooked forefinger. "Who's wean is that, think ye, Hamish, that Belle brought here?" "I think you should be asking Belle," said I. "Ask here or ask there," says Betty, "the wean has a look o' dinna be feart, my lad the wean has the look o' John o' Scaurdale. And that," says she, "would be fair scandalous."
Then there came the swish, swish o' galloping hoofs in dry bracken, for Scaurdale was a bog-trooper and born wi' spurs on, and I heard the whimper o' the wean, and a gruff voice petting. Belle was greetin' softly, and as Dan made to lift her in the saddle
Her eyes were dancing, and her wind-whipped cheeks glowed darkly; then she turned, one dainty finger at her lips, and we kent that no word of her doings that day was for the ears of her parents. There was a bustle of women-folk about the house, and the noise of crockery, and booming into the corridors came the voice of John, Laird of Scaurdale.
And McCook was wanting to know who would be in the room, to be telling his news when he reached Scaurdale, and he moved his stool so that his ear was near to the crack of the door, and he could see a little into the place.
I had mind of Belle when she was the bonniest lass among a wheen of black-avised Eastern folk, that camped for many's the year on the ground of Scaurdale, where my uncle's friend, John o' Scaurdale, farmed land; but I was not prepared for her strange powers on horse, or for the beauty of her, and I think Dan was of my way of thinking also, for at the stable door says he: "I think, Hamish, a fee from John o' Scaurdale would not be such a bad thing with a lass like Belle to be seeing in the gloaming."
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