Nancy Stair Part 23

"Ay," Patsy answered.

"Well, I'm put here to tell ye that her house fell into the cellar of itself the morn, and she's at the 'King's Arms,' where 'tis her wish your young lady should be fetched at once."

Amazed at this sudden announcement, Patsy drove a short distance farther, where, as directed by the stranger, he stopped before a small two-story dwelling, unpretentious, but exceedingly clean and respectable in appearance, where Mrs. Todd, the landlady, showed Nancy into the living room.

It was a quaint old chamber, with wooden walls, beamed ceiling and a great stone fireplace, the lugs coming out on each side to form a seat, with candles lighted in a row upon the mantel-shelf. There was a spinet in one corner; a set of shelves filled with s.h.i.+ning cups and saucers between the low white-curtained windows; while a fire from huge logs filled the chimney place and threw a dancing light over the polished floor, half hidden by a thick home-spun carpet, and as was the custom of the time, lighted candles had been set between the drawn white curtains to guide any uncertain traveller to his destination.

When Nancy entered, blinded by the sudden light, it was her thought that the apartment was empty, but here the devil had taken his throw in the game, for sitting in the far corner at a small table, with a jug and writing materials between them, were two men, the darker of whom would every little while scribble something off, handing that which he had written to the other, who would roar aloud and clap him on the shoulder, and both would drink again.

Nancy stood irresolute before the fire, not knowing what to do, when the darker man came forward from his place, as though to offer a.s.sistance, but at sight of her he drew back in amazement, and as Mrs.

Todd bustled into the room at the moment, with many courtesies, to escort her up to Mrs. McGillavorich, no word pa.s.sed between the two; but the man stood watching after her as she ascended the winding stairs.

"We're in a frightful state, my dear," Mrs. McGillavorich cried to her from the landing. "A frightful state. But the house went down too late to let ye know that for your own comfort ye'd best stay at home. We'll make ourselves comfortable here; and I've ordered a chicken pie for you, which is browned to a turn, and a jelly stir-about; and this evening we'll have a merry time, for they say Burns is in the house this instant."

"Ah," she went on, peering from the window, "ye got here just in the nick of time; for the wind's roaring from the west, and when a storm comes from that direction it's like to set by us for a long time."

After the supper, served in her own apartment, was by with, the strange old lady went on:

"And now we'll go down to the spence, where ye can meet Mr. Burns. And because your father's a kent man in these parts and your own name sounding through the country as well, I'll give out that ye're my niece, and it's in that way ye can be known."

So, attended by d.i.c.kenson, carrying her many wraps and comforters, with Nancy following, Mrs. McGillavorich entered upon Burns and his companion, whom they found drinking and writing exactly as Nancy had left them.

"I'd like to make you known to my niece, Miss McGillavorich," said Mrs.

Janet, advancing toward him. "From Edinburgh," she added.

He threw a hasty unconvinced glance at Nancy, but bowed low as one used to gentle ways.

"I am new come from Edinburgh myself," he said, after presenting his friend, whom he named Mr. Hamilton. "It's a braw town. Have ye lived there long?" he asked.

"Some years," Nancy answered; "although I was not born there."

"There are fine country places all about it, too," he continued, "out the Pentland way."

"Yes," she answered; "I've seen them."

"And do you know many people in the city? I've met in with some notable folk on my sojourn there. The Monboddos, the Glencairns, and the Gordons are grand people."

"I've heard their names," Nancy returned, in a non-committal way.

"They've been kind to me," he went on, with a bit of conceit in his manner, "most kind. The ladies especially," he added.

"So?" said Nancy. "That must be very comforting to you," she added, with a twinkle in her eye.

"It is," was the unexpected answer, given with a droll look. "And I like to hear them sing my songs. Have ye heard Bonnie Dundee? It's not printed yet."

"No," she answered, "but I could catch it. I sing a little. Could ye sooth it to me, Mr. Burns?"

"Nay, nay," said Janet, "no music or singing yet; not till Mr. Burns has given us something of his own. We'll have d.i.c.kenson brew us a bowl of lemon punch, and we'll draw the curtains and gather the fire, and Mr. Burns will line us the Cotter's Sat.u.r.day Night, the sensiblest thing writ for a long time, before ye sing us a song, my dear."

And the old lady being set, there was nothing to do but to abide her way of it; and thus by the fire, with the elements raising a din outside, the five of them listened to the great man, who was not too great, however, to turn the whole battery of his compelling personality upon Nancy Stair, nor to look at her from the uplifted region in which he dwelt during the recital to see what effect he had upon her, for he had already learned "his power over ladies of quality."

G.o.d knows if any of those, even Burns himself, who were gathered about the fire that night dreamed that, as I believe now, those lines would echo down the ages, nor that the time was coming when that evening might be a thing to boast upon and hand the memory of to children and to children's children as a precious heirloom:

"November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh: The shortening winter-day is at its close; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh, The black'ning trains o'craws to their repose:----"

And at the end, fed perhaps by the adulation of their faces, as well as their spoken words, he laid some open flattery to himself upon the way he'd been received in town and at the noise his name was making there at the time, and stirred Nancy's sense of humor, which, Heaven is a witness, needed little to move it at any time.

"A'weel, a'weel," she said at length, "I make verses myself, Mr.

Burns."

"Say you so!" he cried; "and that's a surprise to me! Would you word us one of your poems?" he asked, laughingly.

"I sing mine," she says, going over to the spinet.

"And that's finer still!" he cried.

"They're not like yours," an apology in her voice; "just off-hand rhymes like, that come to my head on the moment. If you could sooth me Bonnie Dundee now, I might rhyme something to it," and the minute he began, she said:

"Oh! I know that--'tis an old tune, like this"--and striking a chord or two, she was off before the rest had any guess of her intention, with a merry devil in her eye and her face glowing like a flower in the firelight:

"At 'The King's Arms' in Mauchline, Rab Burns said to me, 'I'm just back from Edinbro' as you may see, Where all the gay world has been bowin' to me, For I am the lad who wrote _Bonnie Dundee_!

And just for a smile or a glance of my eye The la.s.sies are ready to lie down and die; So don't give yourself airs, but just bow before me, For I am the lad who wrote _Bonnie Dundee_!'

"Now a'weel, Mr. Burns, I have somewhat to say I've sweethearts as many as you any day; And I've eyes of my own, as you've noticed, maybe, If you've glanced from the author of _Bonnie Dundee_!

And Duncan of Monteith my suitor has been, And Stewart of MacBride's, who has served to the Queen.

And if any one bows, it will sure not be me, For I don't give a groat who wrote _Bonnie Dundee_!"

The laugh which followed this found Burns at her side, every pa.s.sion in his inflammable nature alight.

"Aye," he cried, "ye have the verse makin'. But the e's are easy. Why didn't ye try the Doon. 'Tis as celebrate."

"Sure," she answered, "there are rhymes begging for that. Tune, soon, rune, June----"

"And loon," Burns threw in, daffing with her. "Ye wouldn't be forgetting that."

"It was not my intention to be leaving the author of the piece out of it," she threw back at him, laughing, at which Burns gave her a look.

"You'd better mend your manners," he cried, gaily, "or some day I'll take my pen in hand to you, and _then_, may the Lord have mercy on your soul!" adding low, "_Mistress Nancy Stair!_"

Some consternation followed upon this, for it was unknown by any of them that he had seen Nancy in Edinbro', and after the talk was readjusted a bit to the news, the five of them, with Mrs. Todd listening on the other side of the door, sat till hard upon one o'clock, with uplifted minds, insensible to time or weather.

The extreme disorder caused by the wind, for the storm had risen, at length recalled them to themselves, and Mrs. Todd, who wors.h.i.+ped the great poet, came in.

"You must lie here to-night, Mr. Burns," she said hospitably; and as the poet lighted Nancy up the stair:

"Good night," he cried, "good night!" and then, because there was a devil in the man whenever he looked at a pretty woman, "I'll have no sleep to-night. I'm in some far-up region where poems are made and where all the women are like you!"

For three days the horrid weather kept them housebound; three days in which Nancy and Robert Burns lived in dangerous nearness to each other, considering her youth, her temperament, and the pa.s.sion of admiration which she held for him; three days of poetry and folk-tales and ballad-singing, with the man's dangerous magnetism at work between them.