Chapter IX: “o My Poor, Dear Father!” Cried Sandie

What a pleasant voyage that was to Sydney! Our heroes had nothing to do but talk and read, and laze dreamily in the sparkling sunshine, or under the quarter-deck awning.

The ladies on board, and there were several young and not-quite-so-young, appeared determined to make heroes of Sandie and Willie. Moreover, they treated the former as somewhat of an invalid, Willie having told them all his story, so they gave up a deck-chair to him. They wrapped him in rugs at eventide. During the day they brought to him cunningly concocted drinks, and when the shades of night fell they made him drink fragrant coffee, fortified with condensed milk, plus a modicum of preserved cream. Preserved fruits, too, were his. The only drawback to all this enjoyment rested in the fact that these kind-intentioned ladies made him swallow half-an-ounce of cod-liver oil three times every day; and Sandie didn’t like it.

Sydney has the most beautiful and extensive harbour in the world. I feel in duty bound to make that remark, because everybody else says the same thing, and because I know it will please the Sydneyites, and the Australians in general. You see, I mean to visit Sydney one of these days, and I wish to have a Highland welcome.

“Have you anywhere in particular to stay?” asked the most matronly lady of our young heroes.

“No,” was the candid reply.

“Oh, then I shall carry you off.”

And she did.

A very pleasing time she gave them, too, for over two months. Then somebody else carried them away for another month, and as this was repeated, it may be presumed that during their stay in Sydney their keep did not cost them much.

But the matronly lady got hold of them again, and being a widow with plenty of means, she could do as she pleased. So she made up her mind to show Sandie and Willie something of Australia and Australian life.

Some men inform us that this world is all bad and vile. For my own part, I have not found it so. I still am a believer in human nature. Well, for example, persons like this matronly lady, who had taken so great an interest in our heroes, are not such _raræ aves_ as certain pessimists would have us believe; and they obtain their own happiness by bringing about and enjoying the happiness of others.

Mrs. Maxwell was this dear lady’s name, and her eyes positively sparkled with delight when she witnessed the admiration and wonderment exhibited by Sandie and Willie on first beholding the weird and awful beauty of, for instance, the gum-tree forests.

City views, though very grand and rich, failed to impress them. Had they not seen Edinburgh and Glasgow? But the wild sylvan loveliness of the green silent country, ah! that indeed sent a thrill of pleasure to their hearts.

“As long as I live, Mrs. Maxwell,” Sandie told the lady when at long last he had to bid her adieu, “I shall never forget this visit to Australia, nor all the disinterested kindness you have shown us. Yes, we will write.”

“Good-bye, boys, and God bless you!”

“God bless _you_, Mrs. Maxwell.”

There was tears in Sandie’s eyes, and I think in Willie’s too.

Yes, their time was up, they had to go. In two days’ time one of Mr. Tomlison’s ships--a bonnie clipper barque and sister vessel to the lost _Boo-boo-boo_--would leave Sydney harbour, going home round the Cape of Good Hope instead of the Straits of Magellan, or the still more stormy Horn, and not only were Sandie and Willie going by her, but Captain D’Acre and the first mate as well.

It was the month of March, or autumn, when the good barque--_Fairy Queen_ was her name--reached Cape Town and cast anchor in the bay.

“What a lovely spot!” were Willie’s first words to Sandie, when both went on deck next morning.

“It is indeed beautiful!”

It was not, however, the town they were admiring, but the grand romantic mountainous scenery in its rear.

After breakfast they went on shore for a ramble. They soon found a Malay guide, who for a trifle agreed to show them everything.

That word “everything” included all the public buildings, but best of all the Botanical Gardens, which both our heroes agreed were a veritable fairyland. Surely no such palms or flowers as these flourished or bloomed anywhere else in the world!

When they had lingered long here, they came reluctantly away, and their guide then took them to the hills.

And what hills! They were everywhere ablaze with flowers and the rarest of heaths, that at home in Britain can only be kept alive in the hothouse. Gorgeous geraniums were everywhere, and wherever there was a patch of ground uncovered by these or by heaths, it would be closely overgrown by a compact little flower of inexpressible sweetness, and in shape not unlike a cineraria. These were principally crimson and white.

The only drawback to perfect enjoyment during this long hillside ramble was the constant presence of snakes. The little sand-snake wriggled about where least expected--on damp ground a great black snake lay coiled. Sometimes when stooping down to cull flowers where the grass grew greenest, the long thin dark whip-snake would glide out and away from among their very fingers, very much to their horror. But worse than all was the hooded cobra, the most deadly of all Cape snakes, and of these they saw far more than they desired to.

Nevertheless, on the whole, they enjoyed their visit to the capital of the Cape, and got on board at last, laden with botanical specimens, and quite as hungry as there was any need to be.

* * * * *

The _Fairy Queen_ was once more at sea, and the weather was all that could be desired.

With the exception, therefore, of a visit to the romantic and beautiful island of St. Helena, the so-called sea-girt rock on which Napoleon was imprisoned and died, the voyage was altogether uneventful.

The last letter received from home reached Sandie and Willie just before they left Sydney. At that time all their friends and relations were well.

Alas! though, in this world of sorrow much may happen in two or three months.

The news of the arrival of the _Fairy Queen_ in Aberdeen docks spread like wildfire, and on the very next morning Sandie’s mother and Elsie came off to welcome him home.

They were both dressed in the deepest mourning.

“O my poor, dear father!” cried Sandie in an agony of grief.

And what could his mother do but weep with him.

Yes, M‘Crae, the honest farmer of Kilbuie, had been called away.

What a change!

The farm itself was not kept on by Sandie’s mother. Everything had been sold, and she and Elsie had come to live at a pretty little granite cottage on the outskirts of Aberdeen.

So this, then, would be Sandie’s new home.

But as soon as the first great wave of grief had passed over his soul, leaving it sad and chastened, Sandie determined to live but for his mother and sister alone.

He was now well and strong, and could resume his studies without fear.

But he would not have to tax his brain so much in future. For the study of Divinity presents no such difficulties as do Greek, Latin, and Mathematics.

The cottage in which Mrs. M‘Crae had settled down, though by no means an expensive one, was very pretty. It stood at the Rubislaw end of Union Street, quite on the outskirts, and had a pretty little bit of garden in front, and a long one behind.

Of course both Elsie and her brother missed the fields with their wild-flowers, missed the golden furze and the yellow tasselled broom, missed too the whisper of the wind in the dark waving pine-trees, the croodle of the cushat, the mellow notes of the mavis, and plaintive song of the blackbird; but Sandie told Elsie all these things would come again when he got his church, which was bound to be in the country, and in one of the most romantic parts of the country too. Meanwhile they must live in hope.

You may be sure that Sandie had not been long at home ere he paid a visit to the manse of Belhaven, and his friend Willie went with him. Sandie would not--could not--go near Kilbuie; his grief was far too recent.

He found Mackenzie not one whit altered. Maggie May came forward with a smile and a bonnie blush to welcome Sandie back; but she gave him no kiss. She was altered. She was a child no more.

But she paid him a compliment.

“How you have improved!” she said. “And how red and burned you are!”

That night, while discussing a delightful dinner, Sandie and Willie held Mackenzie and Maggie May spellbound as they related all the adventures of their perilous voyage.

Next day, by way of bringing back sweet memories of Auld Lang Syne, the young folks went fishing and picnicking; and a very happy, pleasant day they spent, bringing home, too, an excellent bag.

They stayed nearly a week at the manse, then, promising faithfully soon to come again, they said “Adieu!” and shortly were back once more in the Granite City.

I must not forget to mention that Sandie brought back with him from sea, not only his dear friend Tyro, but that beautiful young red tabby cat, and that they speedily made themselves perfectly at home at Kilbuie Cottage.

During the summer that ensued, Sandie devoted much of his time to coaching young students for the University. This was a kind of work that was congenial to his tastes, and that really paid fairly well.

But when the winter session commenced, and he entered Divinity Hall, as it is phrased, he threw up teaching. He was determined to do nothing now to endanger his health.

Willie had entered a stockbroker’s office, so the two sincere friends did not see quite so much of each other all the week. But there were always the Saturday afternoons, and the Sundays to boot. Indeed, at such times, if Willie was not at Kilbuie Cottage, it was because Sandie and he both were at the Provost’s beautiful home in King Street.

And so the time passed by quickly and happily enough; this winter flew away, and summer came again.

Then Sandie renewed his coaching.

“Monday is Bank holiday,” said Willie, one Saturday afternoon, as he with Elsie and Sandie sat in the back summer-house, listening to the sweet sad song of a merle perched upon a crimson-flowered May-tree. “Yes, Sandie, Monday is Bank holiday, and do you know what I should dearly like to do?”

“No.”

“Guess.”

“Go to Mackenzie’s?”

“Ah! Sandie, Mackenzie’s is a good deal in your head.”

What made Sandie blush, I wonder, and slightly alter his position?

“No, my friend, I like Mackenzie’s very well indeed, but it is too far away. Now what say you to a dogcart drive up to the Loch of Skene, and dinner at the old-fashioned cosy inn of Straik?”

“Delightful!” said Sandie.

“Will you go?” said Willie, turning suddenly round to Elsie. “Mind,” he added, “we don’t mean to go without you.”

“In which case,” replied Elsie, laughing, “I shall be your humble servant.”

“No, Elsie, our sweet companion, the partner of our joys and sorrows, our bites and nibbles. So it is arranged.”

Monday was a delightful summer’s day, with just enough breeze to cool the air, and cause a ripple on the water.

How delicious it was to stop in the dark woods of Hazelhead, and hear that same breeze sigh and whisper through the lofty pine-trees, and to listen to the wild glad melody of the birds.

“Oh,” cried Sandie, who was ever romantic, “this is heavenly; does it not put you in mind of that grand old Scotch song, ‘The bonnie woods o’ Craigielee’?”

“Everything puts you in mind of a song,” said Willie, “but sing it, Sandie, sing it.”

“Help me, then.”

And sweetly in the morning air, in that dark wood, rose those tuneful voices three.

I dare only give one verse.

“Far down thy dark green plantin’ shade
The cushat croodles am’rouslie,
The mavis in the buchtin’ glade
Mak’s echo ring frae tree to tree.

Thou bonnie wood o’ Craigielee,
Thou bonnie wood o’ Craigielee,
In thee I spent life’s early day,
An’ won my Mary’s heart in thee.”

The landlady of the little inn knew the young men, and was delighted to see them. She promised, if they would leave the matter to her, to provide a dinner, she felt sure, would not only please them, but the winsome young lady too. And would they have the boy, their old guide? Of course they would. Without him they could not be sure of anything like a bag.

Well, the boy came, and he carried the luncheon that was to be eaten by the burnside, and the bottle of delicious heather-ale.

It was, on the whole, a heavy burden, but this lad’s back seemed just made for heavy burdens, tiny and all though he was.

The trout to-day were very kind, and even before luncheon-time they had succeeded in making a fairly good bag.

After luncheon they completed their “take,” then spent the rest of their time in wandering through the woods and fields, and by the Loch side, collecting wild-flowers. Then back to the inn in good time for dinner.

The tablecloth was spotlessly white, the knives and forks shone like silver, though they weren’t, and through the open window, as they dined, blew the soft west wind, laden with the odour of roses. Roast duck and tender green peas, what could be better, but the whole associations made that dinner, simple though it was, far more delightful than if it had been eaten in the banqueting hall of a palace.

Low over the greenery of the woods the sun was declining when, bidding good-bye to the kindly landlady, they mounted once more and drove off.

But the gloaming star was shining sweet and clear long before they reached once more the bonnie woods of Hazelhead.