Chapter VII: The Love-Darg--The Ball at Kilbuie

Home with Sandie to his rural residence went Willie Munro. Willie had invited himself. Willie would not be denied. It was all in vain that Sandie had told him flatly that he would be a stranger to all luxury, that he would have to live on milk, oatmeal, sheep’s-head broth, and new-laid eggs, and sleep in a closet not big enough to swing a cat in.

“I don’t care,” cried Willie determinedly; “I’m going. Rural fare will be a delightful change, and I don’t want to swing a cat, so I’m going, Sandie. Besides,” he added demurely, “I want to get some fishing, and to hear your sister play the zither.”

There had been no gainsaying such arguments as these; so on the evening of a bright clear day in October, Sandie’s mother was bidding her son and his friend a right hearty welcome in the best parlour.

If ever there was a real city lad, that lad was Willie Munro. His total ignorance of country and farm life was delightfully refreshing to Sandie and his sister. Of course Willie knew that potatoes did not grow on trees, but that was about the extent of his agricultural knowledge; and as to natural history and the lives of birds, moths, beetles, &c., he really knew nothing. Had any one told him that the rook built its nest in a bush of broom, and that the lark built high in a swaying ash-tree, Willie would have taken it for truth.

Willie’s ignorance of country life did not, however, detract in the least from his enjoyment thereof. He had come out from town with the intention of being jolly and happy, and he determined he should be so.

He was not long in confiding to Sandy that his sister Elsie was an angel, and that his mother was an angel’s mother. Elsie was quite as much pleased with Willie as Willie was with her, and it gave her very great pleasure to play the zither and sing to him in the evening.

Well, then, they paid a visit to the manse together. Mackenzie was much pleased to see Sandie once again, and to hear of his success, and Willie seemed to fall head over heels in love with Maggie May. But Maggie May was severely demure, very much to Sandie’s delight, and he felt that the child loved no one half so well as she loved him--that is, after her father, of course.

They all went fishing together, and wonderful to relate, Willie succeeded in catching a trout, a real live trout, that capered and jumped about on the green grassy bank at a fine rate, turning up its silvery sides to the sun till in mercy Sandie put it out of pain.

But Willie was not really happy until, that same evening, he had written home a long account of the capture of that fish and his hopes of catching more.

The day after that was a big day at Kilbuie, for the love-darg in ploughing came off. Almost before the dawn, horses and ploughs and ploughmen began to arrive at the farm from all directions, and when all were assembled, it was found there were no fewer than two-and-twenty pairs. With such a force, long before sundown every ridge of stubble or grass on Kilbuie would be turned over.

Not only the ploughmen themselves, but in many cases the farmer-owners of the horses had come over, and these farmers had made up between them several prizes to be awarded to the men who did the best work.

So the ploughing went merrily on. It was a fine sight too to see all those gallant horses in their light but polished harness, and gay with silken ribbons of every colour, and brass bradoons, walking majestically to and fro the ridges, the gaily dressed honest-faced ploughmen holding the stilts and quietly but earnestly trying to do their best.

Willie Munro was delighted. But he and Sandie had something else to do that day than simply look on at the ploughing match; for that evening, in Kilbuie’s largest grain loft, there was going to take place a grand country ball, and the decorations of the room devolved upon Sandie, Willie freely offering to help.

Well, the first thing was to get the place thoroughly swept out and cleaned. This was a dusty job, but it was finished at last. It also had been a thirsty job, but Sandie’s sister Elsie had brought the boys a whole gallon of delicious butter-milk, and thirst was kept in abeyance. Geordie Black, the orra man, had been busy for days in making wooden sconces for candles, and these were nailed up all around the hall, and tall candles placed in them.

Off now to the woods went Sandie and Willie to cut down green boughs for the purpose of decoration. They made many such journeys to and fro, and did not spare their backs, so that by the time the frugal mid-day meal was on the board, they had conveyed home nearly enough. Elsie was too busy in the house, so the whole work devolved upon the two boys; but right cheerily it went on.

The last part of the room to be decorated was the orchestra. This was simply a raised bench close to the wall in the middle of the room, so that dancers at either end could have an equal chance of hearing the music.

The band was to consist of three small fiddles, one double-bass, and a clarionet. They were all volunteers, and would not charge Mr. M‘Crae a brass farthing for their services. This was the band proper, but during the evening they would be relieved occasionally by a couple of Highland pipers--

“All plaided and plumed in their tartan array.”

Well, then, when the work was at last finished, they paused to look at it.

“I think it will do well,” said Sandie.

“And I say it is just too awfully scrumptious for anything,” said Willie.

“I think we ought to receive a vote of thanks.”

“And I think we can live a long time without having the proud satisfaction glowing within our manly buzzoms that we have done it all.”

“But come, I’m hungry,” said Sandie.

“_Et ego quoque_,” quoth Willie.

“There is cold beef about, I know. Let us go and hunt up Jeannie.”

Jeannie was easily found, and produced in the kitchen, _sans cérémonie_, not only cold beef, but freshly boiled mashed potatoes and two huge beakers of milk.

“Fa’ tee,” she said, meaning “Fall to.” “Fa’ tee, laddies.”

The laddies didn’t require a second bidding.

That evening at six o’clock, after bread and cheese and a dram, the ploughman chiels took their horses home. They would need all their time to dress and get back to the ball; but the farmers themselves were entertained in Kilbuie’s biggest room to a plain but substantial dinner. They sat down at half-past six o’clock, and it was nine before they rose to go.

By this time the hall was beginning to fill with buxom lads and lasses gay. There were forms by way of seats arranged all around the walls, and the lasses sat religiously on one side, and the lads on the other.

The dresses of the girls were all simple, chiefly white, with coloured ribbons in their hair, and light silken plaids of tartan thrown prettily over the shoulder. Many of the lads wore the Highland dress.

An Englishman would have been utterly surprised and taken aback at the display of beauty on the female side of the room. The girls were nearly all young and regular in feature, while their bright eyes, ruddy lips, and splendid complexions left nothing to be desired.

Couple after couple now began to arrive rapidly enough, the lads leading their partners to the female side of the house, bowing, and leaving them.

Anon, the fiddles began to tune up, every note striking a joy-chord in the hearts of the younger girls and boys, bringing a brighter flush to their cheeks, a more gleesome glitter to their eyes.

But as yet dancing had not commenced. Presently, however, there entered M‘Crae with his buxom wife, followed by a posse of sturdy farmers. They were received with a true Highland cheer, and it was felt by all that the ball would now begin.

M‘Crae first made a little speech, bidding everybody heartily welcome to the winter ball at Kilbuie, and especially thanking the farmers and their bold ploughmen for their kind and thoughtful love-darg. His own dancing days being over, he said, his son, and a friend of his, would open the ball with the Reel of Tulloch, to which the pipers would vouchsafe music.

Now Willie and Sandie take the floor. Willie leads up Sandie’s shy but smiling sister, Elsie, who is dressed in white, with a M‘Crae tartan plaid, and a single blood-red rose in her dark hair. Sandie wears the kilt, but he has yet to look for a partner.

There are a good many downcast looks, and not a few palpitating hearts, as he walks gaily along the ladies’ benches. He is simply looking for the prettiest girl he can find.

He is satisfied at last, and leads her blushing to the floor. The pipers take their stand, and, after a few preliminary skirls, strike straight into the Reel o’ Hoolachan.

Anon the dance begins, and such dancing! Don’t call waltzing or the quadrille dancing, reader. Unless you have seen the Reel of Tulloch danced well, as it is at, say, the balls at Balmoral Castle, you have never known what a dance is in your life.

After this wild reel, the ice may be said to be fairly broken, and dance after dance succeeds each other without intermission, accompanied by much cracking of thumbs and “hooching.”

It is a merry scene--the merriest of the merry. No English tourist, who wants to learn anything about the Scot at home, should neglect seeing a rural ball, if he should be fortunate enough to get the chance of securing a ticket. I think he would retire south with kindlier thoughts of the Scottish people than are usually entertained in the southern counties at the present day.

One chief feature of the ball I must not forget to mention, namely, the sweetie-wives. No one knows where these women gather from, but there they are, to the number of a dozen or more, sitting in two rows, just outside the door. At their feet stand huge baskets, filled with packets of Scotch confectionery, and the lads during all the evening are constant in their attendance, buying sweets, to treat their partners withal.

Some of the more pretty girls have really not pockets enough to contain all the sweets they receive from their admiring partners of the dance, and so distribute them with a liberal hand to their less fortunate neighbours, thus making room for more.

Some time after midnight there is a lull in the dancing, and bread and cheese, with pailfuls of steaming punch or toddy, are handed round twice. During this interval for refreshment, several bonnie old Scotch songs are sung, to the sweet accompaniment of fiddle and clarionet.

After this, the fun may be said to become fast and furious, and the ball is kept up without intermission till long past three o’clock. But now weary eyes begin, to long for sleep; so shawls and big Highland plaids are got out, and one by one the couples melt away, and presently the band descends from its perch, helps itself to more bread and cheese and the remainder of the now cold punch, then puts up its instruments in green baize bags, and seeks the outer air.

The ball is over, but through the length and breadth of the country next day it is freely admitted that no night’s enjoyment ever remembered could compare with the glorious ball, the gleesome rant, at the farm of old Kilbuie.