Chapter I: Arms and the Maid

II BREAKING IT GENTLY
III FIRST BLOOD
IV THE RING
V IN UNIFORM
VI MRS. McOSTRICH ENTERTAINS
VII WILLIE STANDS UP
VIII CORRESPONDENCE
IX THE FAT GIRL
X THE ALARM
XI AN INVITATION
XII A TEA-PARTY
XIII MISS TOD RETURNS
XIV AUNT PURDIE INTERVENES
XV THE FAT GIRL AGAIN
XVI CONSCIENCE AND A COCOA-NUT
XVII 'FONDEST LOVE FROM MAGGIE'
XVIII PITY THE POOR PARENTS!
XIX A SERIOUS REVERSE
XX THE REAL THING AT LAST
XXI 'HULLO, GLESCA HIELANDERS!
XXII NO HERO, YET HAPPY

ARMS AND THE MAID

Through the gateway flanked by tall recruiting posters came rather hurriedly a youth of no great stature, but of sturdy build and comely enough countenance, including bright brown eyes and fresh complexion. Though the dull morning was coldish, perspiration might have been detected on his forehead. Crossing the street, without glance to right or left, he increased his pace; also, he squared his shoulders and threw up his head with an air that might have been defiance at the fact of his being more than an hour late for his day's work. His face, however, betrayed a certain spiritual emotion not suggestive of anticipated trouble with employer or foreman. As a matter of fact, the familiar everyday duty had ceased to exist for him, and if his new exaltation wavered a little as he neared the warehouse, fifteen minutes later, it was only because he would have to explain things to the uncle who employed him, and to other people; and he was ever shy of speaking about himself.

So he hurried through the warehouse without replying to the chaffing inquiries of his mates, and ran upstairs to his uncle's office. He was not afraid of his uncle; on the other hand, he had never received or expected special favour on account of the relationship.

Mr. Purdie was now a big man in the grocery trade. He had a cosy private room with a handsome desk, a rather gorgeous carpet and an easy-chair. He no longer attended at the counter or tied up parcels--except when, alone on the premises late in the evening, he would sometimes furtively serve imaginary customers, just for auld lang syne, as he excused to himself his absurd proceeding.

'But what kep' ye late, Macgreegor?' he inquired, with a futile effort to make his good-humoured, whiskered visage assume a stern expression. 'Come, come, oot wi' it! An 'unce o' guid reasons is worth a pun' o' fair apologies.'

'The recruitin' office,' said Macgregor, blushing, 'wasna open till nine.'

'The recruitin' office! What--what--guidsake, laddie! dinna tell me ye've been thinkin' o' enlistin'!'

'I've enlisted.'

Mr. Purdie fell back in his chair.

'The 9th H.L.I.,' said Macgregor, and, as if to improve matters if possible, added, 'Glesca Hielanders--Kilts.'

The successful grocer sat up, pulled down his waistcoat and made a grimace which he imagined to be a frown. 'Neither breeks nor kilts,' he declared heavily, 'can cover deceit. Ye're under age, Macgreegor. Ye're but eichteen!'

'Nineteen, Uncle Purdie.'

'Eh? An' when was ye nineteen?'

'This mornin'.'

Mr. Purdie's hand went to his mouth in time to stop a guffaw. Presently he soberly inquired what his nephew's parents had said on the matter.

'I ha'ena tell't them yet.' 'Ah, that's bad. What--what made ye enlist?'

Macgregor knew, but could not have put it in words.

'Gettin' tired o' yer job here?'

'Na, Uncle Purdie.'

'H'm!' Mr. Purdie fondled his left whisker. 'An' when--a--ha'e ye got to--a--jine yer regiment?'

'The morn's mornin'. I believe we're gaun into camp immediately.'

'Oho! So ye'll be wantin' to be quit o' yer job here at once. Weel, weel, if ye feel it's yer duty to gang, lad, I suppose it's mines to let ye gang as cheery as I can. But--I maun tell yer aunt.' Mr. Purdie rose.

Macgregor, smiled dubiously. '_She'll_ no' be pleased onyway.'

'Aw, ye never can tell what'll please yer aunt. At least, that's been ma experience for quarter o' a century. But it'll be best to tell her--through the 'phone, of course. A handy invention the 'phone. Bide here till I come back.'

In a few minutes he returned suppressing a smile.

'I couldna ha'e presumed frae her voice that she was delighted,' he reported; 'but she commanded me to gi'e ye five pound for accidental expenses, as she calls them, an' yer place here is to be preserved for ye, an' yer wages paid, even supposin' the war gangs on for fifty year.'

With these words Mr. Purdie placed five notes in his astonished nephew's hand and bade him begone.

'Ye maun tell yer mither instanter. I canna understan' what way ye didna tell her first.'

'I--I was feart I wud maybe be ower wee for the Glesca Hielanders,' Macgregor explained.

'Ye seem to me to be a heid taller since yesterday. Weel, weel. God bless ye an' so forth. Come back an' see me in the efternune.'

Macgregor went out with a full heart as well as a well-filled pocket. It is hardly likely that the very first 'accidental expense' which occurred to him could have been foreseen by Aunt Purdie--yet who shall discover the secrets of that august lady's mind?

On his way home he paused at sundry shop windows--all jewellers'. And he entered one shop, not a jeweller's, but the little stationery and fancy goods shop owned by Miss M. Tod, and managed, with perhaps more conscience than physical toil, by the girl he had been courting for two years without having reached anything that could be termed a definite understanding, though their relations were of the most friendly and confidential nature.

'Mercy!' exclaimed Christina, at his entrance at so unusual an hour; 'is the clock aff its onion, or ha'e ye received the sack?'

He was not quick at answering, and she continued: 'Ye're ower early, Mac. Yer birthday present'll no be ready till the evenin'. Still, here's wishin' ye many happies, an' may ye keep on improvin'.'

He smiled in a fashion that struck her as unfamiliar.

'What's up, Mac?' she asked, kindly. 'Surely ye ha'ena cast oot wi' yer uncle?'

'I've enlisted,' he softly exploded.

She stared, and the colour rose in her pretty face, but her voice was calm. 'Lucky you!' said she.

He was disappointed. Involuntarily he exclaimed: 'Ye're no a bit surprised!'

'What regiment?'

He told her, and she informed him that he wouldn't look so bad in the kilt. He announced that he was to report himself on the morrow, and she merely commented, 'Quick work.'

'But, Christina, ye couldna ha'e guessed I was for enlistin',' he said, after a pause.

'I was afraid--I mean for to say, I fancied ye were the sort to dae it. If I had kent for sure, I wud ha'e been knittin' ye socks instead o' a silly tie for yer birthday.'

'Ha'e ye been knittin' a tie for me?'

'Uh-ha--strictly platonic, of course.'

She had used the word more than once in the past, and he had not derived much comfort from looking it up in the dictionary. But now he was going--he told himself--to be put off no longer. Seating himself at the counter, he briefly recounted his uncle's kindness and his aunt's munificence. Then he attempted to secure her hand.

She evaded his touch, asking how his parents had taken his enlistment. On his answering----

'Dear, dear!' she cried, with more horror than she may have felt, 'an here ye are, wastin' the precious time in triflin' conversation wi' me!'

'It's you that's daein' the triflin',' he retorted, with sudden spirit; 'an' it's your fau't I'm here noo instead o' at hame.'

'Well, I never!' she cried. 'I believe I gave ye permission to escort me from these premises at 8 p.m.,' she proceeded in her best English, which he hated, 'but I have not the slightest recollection of inviting ye to call at 10 a.m. However, the 8 p.m. appointment is hereby cancelled.'

'Cancel yer Auntie Kate!' he rejoined, indignant. 'Hoo can ye speak like that when dear knows when I'll see ye again?'

'Oh, ye'll no be at the Front for a week or so yet, an' we'll hope for the best. Still, I'll forgive ye, seein' it's yer nineteenth birthday. Only, I'm thinkin' yer parents 'll be wantin' ye to keep the hoose the nicht.'

Macgregor's collar seemed to be getting tight, for he tugged at it as he said: 'I'll tell them I'm gaun oot to see _you_.'

'That'll but double the trouble,' she said, lightly.

Their eyes met, and for the first time in their acquaintance, perhaps, hers were first to give way.

'Christina,' he said, abruptly, 'I want to burst that five pound.'

'Ye extravagant monkey!'

'On a--a ring.'

'A ring! Ha'e ye enlisted as a colonel?' But her levity lacked sparkle.

As for Macgregor, he had dreamed of this moment for ages. 'Ye'll tak' it, Christina?' he whispered. 'Gi'e me yer size--a hole in a bit pasteboard. . . .' Speech failed him.

'Me?' she murmured--and shook her head. 'Ye're ower young, Mac,' she said, gently.

'I'm a year aulder nor you . . . Christina, let's get engaged afore I gang--say ye will!'

She moved a little way up the counter and became engrossed in the lurid cover of a penny novel. He moved also until he was directly opposite.

'Christina! . . . Yer third finger is aboot the same as ma wee yin.'

'Ay; but ye needna remind me o' ma clumsy han's.'

'Play fair,' he said. 'Will ye tak' the ring?'

'I dinna ken, Mac.'

But her hand was in his.

Too soon they heard Miss Tod stirring in the back room.

'If ye spend mair nor a pound on a ring,' said Christina, 'I'll reconsider ma decision!'

'Ye've decided!' he almost shouted.

'No yet,' she said, with a gesture of dismissal as Miss Tod entered.

BREAKING IT GENTLY

The quest of the right ring occupied the whole of the forenoon, and Macgregor reached his home in bare time for the family dinner. He desired to break his news as gently as possible, so, after making, to his mother's annoyance, a most wretched meal, he said to his father, who was lighting his pipe, in a voice meant to be natural:

'I got five pound frae Aunt Purdie the day.'

'Ye what!' Mr. Robinson dropped the match, and shouted to his wife, who, assisted by their daughter, was starting to wash up. 'Lizzie! Did ever ye hear the like? Macgreegor's got five pound frae his Aunt Purdie! Dod, but that's a braw birthday----'

'She said it was for accidental expenses,' stammered the son.

Lizzie turned and looked at him. 'What ails ye the day, laddie?'

'Uncle Purdie's gaun to keep ma place for me,' he floundered.

'Keep yer place for ye!' cried John. 'What's a' this aboot accidental expenses? Ha'e ye got hurt?'

Mrs. Robinson came over and laid a damp hand on her boy's shoulder. 'Macgreegor, ye needna be feart to tell us. We can thole it.' She glanced at her husband, and said, in a voice he had not often heard: 'John, oor wee Macgreegor has growed up to be a; sojer'--and went back to her dishes.

Later, and just when he ought to be returning to his work, Mr. Robinson, possibly for the mere sake of saying something, requested a view of the five pounds.

'Ay,' seconded Lizzie, cheerfully, whilst her hand itched to grab the money and, convey it to the bank, 'let's see them, laddie.' And sister Jeannie and small brother Jimsie likewise gathered round the hero.

With a feeble grin, Macgregor produced his notes.

'He's jist got three!' cried Jimsie.

'Whisht, Jimsie!' whispered Jeannie.

'Seems to ha'e been a bad accident already!' remarked John, laughing boisterously.

'John,' said Lizzie, 'ye'll be late. Macgreegor'll maybe walk a bit o' the road wi' ye.'

They were well on their way to the engineering works, where Mr. Robinson was foreman, when Macgregor managed to say:

'I burst the twa pound on a ring.'

'Oho!' said John, gaily; then solemnly, 'What kin' o' a ring, Macgreegor?'

'An engagement yin,' the ruddy youth replied.

Mr. Robinson laughed, but not very heartily. 'Sae lang as it's no a waddin' ring. . . . Weel, weel, this is the day for news.' He touched his son's arm. 'It'll be the young lass in the stationery shop--her that ye whiles see at yer Uncle Purdie's hoose--eh?'

'Hoo did ye ken?'

'Oh, jist guessed. It's her?'

'Maybe. . . . She hasna ta'en the ring yet.'

'But ye think she will, or ye wudna ha'e tell't me. Weel, I'm sure I wish ye luck, Macgreegor. She's a bonny bit lass, rael clever, I wud say, an'--an' gey stylish.'

'She's no that stylish--onyway, no stylish like Aunt Purdie.'

'Ah, but ye maunna cry doon yer Aunt Purdie----'

'I didna mean that. But ye ken what I mean, fayther.'

'Oh, fine, fine,' Mr. Robinson replied, thankful that he had not been asked to explain precisely what _he_ had meant. 'She bides wi' her uncle an' aunt, does she no?' he continued, thoughtfully. 'I'm wonderin' what they'll say aboot this. I doobt they'll say ye're faur ower young to be thinkin' o' a wife.'

It was on Macgregor's tongue to retort that he had never thought of any such thing, when his father went on----

'An' as for yer mither, it'll be a terrible surprise to her. I suppose ye'll be tellin', her as sune's ye get back ?'

'Ay. . . . Are ye no pleased about it?'

'Me?' Mr. Robinson scratched his head. 'Takin' it for granted that ye're serious aboot the thing, I was never pleaseder. Ye can tell yer mither that, if ye like.'

Macgregor was used to the paternal helping word at awkward moments, but he had never valued it so much as now. As a matter of fact, he dreaded his mother's frown less than her smile. Yet he need not have dreaded either on this occasion.

He found her in the kitchen, busy over a heap of more or less woolly garments belonging to himself. Jimsie was at afternoon school; Jeannie sat in the little parlour knitting as though life depended thereby.

He sat down in his father's chair by the hearth and lit a cigarette with fingers not quite under control.

'I'll ha'e to send a lot o' things efter ye,' Lizzie remarked. 'This semmit's had its day.'

'I'll be gettin' a bit leave afore we gang to the Front,' said Macgregor, as though the months of training were already nearing an end.

'If ye dinna get leave sune, I'll be up at the barracks to ha'e a word wi' the general.'

'It'll likely be a camp, mither.'

'Aweel, camp or barracks, see an' keep yer feet cosy, an' dinna smoke ower mony ceegarettes.' She fell to with her needle.

At the end of a long minute, Macgregor observed to the kettle: 'I tell't fayther what I done wi' the twa pound.'

'Did ye?'

'Ay. He--he was awfu' pleased.'

'Was he?'

Macgregor took a puff at his cold cigarette, and tried again. 'He said I was to tell ye he was pleased.'

'Oh, did he?'

'Never pleaseder in his life.'

'That was nice,' commented Lizzie, twirling the thread round the stitching of a button.

He got up, went to the window, looked out, possibly for inspiration, and came back with a little box in his hand.

'That's what I done,' he said, dropped it on her sewing, and strolled to the window again.

After a long time, as it seemed, he felt her gaze and heard her voice.

'Macgreegor, are ye in earnest?'

'Sure.' He turned to face her, but now she was looking down at the ring.

'It'll be Mistress Baldwin's niece,' she said, at last.

'Hoo did ye ken?'

'A nice lass, but ower young like yersel'. An' yet'--she lifted her eyes to his--'ye're auld enough to be a sojer. Does she ken ye've enlisted?'

He nodded, looking away. There was something in his mother's eyes. . .

'Aweel,' she said, as if to herself, 'this war'll pit auld heids on some young shouthers.' She got up, laid her seam deliberately on the table, and went to him. She put her arm round him. 'Wi' yer King an' yer Country an' yer Christina,' she said, with a sort of laugh, 'there winna be a great deal o' ye left for yer mither. But she's pleased if you're pleased--this time, at ony rate.' She released him. 'I maun tell Jeannie.' she said, leaving the kitchen.

Jeannie came, and for once that sensible little person talked nonsense. In her eyes, by his engagement, her big brother had simply out-heroed himself.

'Aw, clay up, Jeannie,' he cried at last, in his embarrassment. 'Come on oot wi' me, an' I'll stan' ye a dizzen sliders.'