MYSIE MACDONALD

"O blessed vision, happy child,
Thou art so exquisitely wild,
I thought of thee with many fears
Of what might be thy lot in future years."
Wordsworth.

THREE days afterwards, Mysie made her appearance again.

Rowena found her very good company. She was full of Highland folk-lore and superstition; and was a combination of childish trust in the improbable, and old-fashioned sagacity and shrewdness.

"Have you ever seen any fairies?" she asked Rowena.

"I've heard about them," answered Rowena.

"Yes," sighed the child; "but all the nice things happened long ago. People say now that the fairies have gone away; I'm always watching for them. I went to Inverness one day with Nan. We saw two beautiful things there. One was the statue of Flora Macdonald with her dog—only I wish she'd had her kilt on—I believe she used to wear it when she was quite big! And the other was the Tom na hurisch. And when I saw that I said to myself I'd have one for everything that dies."

"What is it?" asked Rowena. "I have never seen Inverness."

"Tom na hurisch is the Fairies' Hill, and they've buried people all over it now. I hope the fairies like it. I think they like people's souls better than their bodies. You know it used to be rather dangerous for people to walk over their hills. They stole their souls out of them. A minister was found one day—at least his body was—and they thought he had had a fit; he wouldn't speak or look or eat, and they took him home; he had been walking round Tom na hurisch—and the fairies kept him out of his body for three days, and then they brought him back. I can't think why he couldn't have remembered what they did with him; he would never talk about it, but he would never go near a Tom na hurisch again—never—all his life long! I wish the fairies would take me one day."

"I would rather not have the experience," Rowena said, laughing. "Who tells you all these stories?"

"Oh, Angus—him and me, we walk over the hills together; and he talks and I listen. Nan laughs at his stories. Nan is an unbeliever! I lie down under the bracken sometimes and watch for the little folk, but I never see them. I thought I did once."

"You will one day! I wonder if you have heard the story of the laird out hunting. He was coming through his glen when he heard the most beautiful pipes playing; and he hid himself behind a tree; and he saw the fairies marching by, and their pipes playing as they went. The pipes shone in the sun, they were silver pipes with glass at the end of them. And the laird suddenly sprang out and threw his bonnet at them, and seized one of the pipes, calling out, 'Mine to yours, and yours to me!' And he wrapped the pipes up in his plaid and took them carefully home, and when he opened them there were some wisps of grass and a puff-ball at the end of them!"

Mysie listened breathlessly.

"Of course they wouldn't have been fairy pipes, if they hadn't been able to change. Fairies always play tricks like that. Did he never get his bonnet back again? I expect the fairies used it to sleep in. It would keep them warm on a wet night. Do tell me some more stories."

So Rowena produced all the fairy stories she could think of, and Mysie drank them in like water.

One day she arrived over in a breathless state of excitement.

"Dad is coming to-morrow. He has been ill since the war, and he's been from one hospital to another; and now he's well again, only he wants to get away from people, and have a rest and quiet. He told Nan so in a letter. She's to get the house ready, and she's not to tell anyone that he's coming."

"And here have you told me!"

"So I have! What a pity! But you're in your prison. I call you the prisoner of Tarlie. You won't tell anybody, will you? It's to be a secret. And I've quite made up my mind to get into his house and see him one day. I shan't mind if he points a pistol at me!"

"At his own child! Is he a pirate king?"

"No—but he's a Macdonald."

Here the child threw her curls back and raised her head almost haughtily. "Angus tells me stories of all that the Macdonalds have said and done. He is one himself, so he kens well. And they never let anyone defy them or get the better of them, and Dad doesn't want to see me. He has said it when Nan has asked him. He would like me swept away!" Here she threw out her small arms tragically. "But I mean to know him. I shall make him speak to me. I ought to be living in his house, not with Nan."

Rowena looked at her with wonder.

"You are growing," she said; "but you are still a baby in years, and your father knows it. Do you want to be sent to school? I suppose by rights you ought to be there now. I can't think how you have escaped the school authorities!"

"But I told you; I learn lessons with the schoolmaster."

"Oh, so you do; I had forgotten. Well, I hope you and your father will have a happy meeting."

With a little wistfulness in her eyes, Mysie went down on her knees beside Rowena's couch. Putting her arms round her neck she whispered:

"Do you think it could happen that he might love me?"

"I think it more than likely," said Rowena, kissing her as she spoke.

And then Mysie sprang up and danced out into the sunshine.

"I have ridden over to tell you, and now I am going back to Nan; for I am going to help her get his house ready."

Rowena lay on her bed looking out on the still blue and trying to recall the Hugh Macdonald she had once seen at her brother's table. It was long ago before he had married, and he was then a thin eager-faced youth, with stern features and a very decided will of his own. He had been abroad for a good many years since then. And his marriage had altered him, people said. She had a dim recollection of a walk round the loch after dinner; but she was quite a young girl at the time. He had not impressed her, except perhaps that he had been too old in his ideas her then.

"If he doesn't own that child, he ought to be ashamed of himself!" she muttered, and then a sudden restless fit took possession of her.

"I am like a mummy. I cannot stay indoors longer. It is breathless to-day. I will write to Noddy and demand release."

She wrote; and by return received 'the usual kind letter from the old doctor, saying that he had written to a local practitioner and had asked him to call and see her and give her his advice. The very next day the doctor appeared. He was a young man and arrived in his car, for he lived about fifteen miles away from her.

Rowena felt impatient as he put her through a regular catechism as to the beginning of the trouble.

"I have been pulled about by all the specialists in town," she said. "I was not going to give up my freedom without a struggle; but they one and all said the same thing—that I must lie on my back for at least a year. I am not rebellious about that; but I can lie on my back out-of-doors as well as indoors, and I am an out-of-door sort of person."

"There is not the slightest reason why you should not do it," the young doctor said decidedly; "didn't you say you had an invalid chair? Let me look at it."

"Mrs. Mactavish will show it to you."

He went out and was some time inspecting it. Then he came in.

"Your chair can be adapted easily to your needs. I know a clever young carpenter, and I'll send him over to tinker it up, and lower the back, till you can lie flat upon it; then you can be out all day."

"I want to vary my life, and sometimes lie out in the boat," said Rowena. "Can you manage that for me?"

"Easily. You must have a flat-bottomed punt and a mattress. Have you anyone who can carry you? We want to prevent the jar to your spine that would be the result of your putting your feet to the ground."

"I have two men who will manage that. Well—you have given me new life! I am very grateful."

Young George Sturt looked at her with a smile.

"I should say you enjoy every moment of your existence," he said, "from your looks."

"My looks are deceptive," Rowena assured him. "I am eaten up at times with an overwhelming envy for every one who can get about on his two legs. And I rage at my fate, and make myself furiously disagreeable to all who come my way."

He laughed, gave her a little sound advice and took his departure. Rowena seized hold of Shags and hugged him.

"Shags, my angel, you and I are going to be Dryads. Wet or fine we will live out-of-doors. My hopes are now fixed upon the carpenter; only I mustn't land poor Ted in too much expense over me. Otherwise I should wire to Glasgow for a flat-bottomed punt immediately. It's a pity we don't possess one."

But when she interviewed Duncan a little later, she was reassured on that point, for he told her he knew a man who owned one and who would be glad to hire it to her for the season.

Mr. Sturt was as good as his word. The carpenter appeared and in a couple of days had done all that was required to her chair. It was a happy moment when she was lifted upon it and wheeled out upon the lawn. The weather was perfect: still and warm with an occasional gentle breeze from the lake.

Rowena lay still, inhaling the sweet air in a state of blissful content. Granny was delighted to see her there; and for three days from nine o'clock in the morning till nine at night, Rowena enjoyed life in her cushioned chair. On the third afternoon about half-past three, just at the drowsiest time in the whole of that summer's day, a stranger walked briskly up the drive and rang at the front door. Rowena was fast asleep; she had neither seen nor heard his approach. She was roused by Granny's gentle voice at her side.

"If you please, mem, 'tis the laird himself—he hav' come over on a question about his shootin' at Tarlie Bottom. He was onawares any of the family were here, so maybe ye'll be answerin' him ye'self. It's wanting to know if it's let, he is."

"Is he here, Granny?" Rowena asked, rousing herself.

"He's waitin' i' the hoose."

"Then ask him to come out here."

In a few moments a tall dark-featured man was standing by Rowena's chair, looking down on her with pity and concern in his eyes.

Rowena held out her hand and smiled in her radiant fashion.

"I am an old crock, but I can talk if I can do nothing else. We do know each other, though it is many years since we met. May I welcome you back? You have been away a long time, have you not?"

"I remember you well," was his prompt reply. "I only saw you once, but your eyes haunted me. I have never seen such joyous ones since; and they are still the same. What has happened to you, may I ask?"

"A spill out riding."

"But you're not alone here? Where's your brother?"

"In India. I am carrying out my doctor's directions. I have no temptations in this quiet spot to evade them. Will you sit down?"

He took the garden chair close to her.

"I am sorry for you," he said with feeling in his tone, "I was a crock for eighteen months in hospital after 1915, so I know what bed is. I never left it for twelve solid months."

"That is my time—a year—and then I hope I shall be cured."

His whole face softened.

"Ah," he said, "when you've suffered yourself, you can feel for others."

"Yes—and I dare say I was in need of a more sympathetic spirit," said Rowena thoughtfully. "I have always laughed too much. I laugh at myself now. You want to know about our shooting. Ted has let it, I am afraid."

They began to talk over estate matters, and then about sport in general. He seemed in no hurry to go; and presently began to revert to his own state of health.

"I am only here to patch myself up," he said. "But they've chucked me out of the army—let me retire as Major-General. I suppose I ought to feel my life is over; but my brain is sound, and it makes me rage at times. What shall I do with myself here? Only vegetate."

"Oh, no; if you are a reader, you won't do that. It's wonderful how much fuller we can store our brains than we do! I cannot fill my empty cells fast enough! Have you any hobbies?"

He shook his head.

"I'm a reader of sorts. I couldn't have lived through my eighteen months without books."

Then Rowena said suddenly: "Have you seen your child?"

His brows contracted.

"No. I've told her nurse I'll see her in a day or two. I've been busy. Children aren't in my line."

"She's a little person of much character," said Rowena slowly. "I don't want to be an interfering meddler, but you'll gain by her acquaintance. I have."

He raised his eyebrows and then smiled.

"I am talking to you like an old friend. If you had been well and jolly, I should have cut and run. I have taken a dislike to my fellow-creatures, especially the sound and healthy ones. And to my disgust I'm nervy—children would get on my nerves. I'll see her when I feel fitter. You consider me an inhuman parent, I can see."

"No, only an ignorant one," said Rowena. "Your little daughter has made some of my worst days very bright."

"Women always worship babies."

"She is companionable, you will find."

His brows did not relax; he leant back in his chair and drew a long breath.

"Her existence brings back some bad times. Her mother hated me, you know. It was the first thing she said to me after the birth of the child. We couldn't pull together, though God knows I tried hard. And poor Evie was forced by her mother to marry me, I heard afterwards. Well, she didn't have a long time with me, poor soul!"

Then he pulled himself up. "I am getting garrulous. I don't generally give way to such personal reminiscences, but I want to explain my want of interest in the child. I was always told she was the picture of her mother."

"But my good man," said Rowena quickly, "bodies may resemble each other, but very seldom souls. And Mysie is—well, I will leave you to find out. This much I will tell you, that she is hungering for your interest and affection. Give her a chance—and yourself too."

He did not reply for a few minutes; then he said rather irrelevantly: "You say you're a reader. Have you enough books to keep you occupied? Because my father bequeathed to me a very fine library. I have been overhauling it and can lend you anything you want."

"Oh, how truly kind!"

With animation Rowena began discussing books, and half an hour slipped by before her visitor attempted to make a move.

He would not stay to tea. As he stood up, he looked down at Rowena with some softness in his grey eyes.

"You don't want to be bucked up," he said, "for you are the essence of cheerfulness. When I have my bad bouts of pain, I think of the thousands of paralysed bedridden young men who have had their health and strength taken from them with one fell swoop in the war, and feel an old crock like myself has no right to grouse. I have done my work, and am wanted by no one!"

"You are wanted by your child!" said Rowena firmly.

He gave a short laugh.

"What a pertinacious woman you are! Are you bored by visitors? May I walk over again, and bring you the books you want?"

"Yes, certainly. I shall be delighted. And then you can give me your impressions of Mysie!"

He departed, but Rowena gave a little sigh as she looked after him and noted the tired bend of his shoulders, and his rather uncertain steps.

"Poor lonely unhappy man!" she murmured. "Why, Shags, you and I must try to bring some zest for living into his soul. I rather fancy Mysie will have a say in that."

Shags cocked one ear and looked wise. He had already had some experience of Mysie. She had certainly contributed towards his pleasure, for she and he invariably had a romp together when she came over.

Two or three days passed. Then one morning Mysie arrived over on her pony. She threw herself upon Rowena in her usual impulsive fashion.

"Haven't you longed to see me! It's been such an exciting time! And I heard Dad say he was coming to see you this afternoon, so I thought I would get over first."

"Now sit up and tell me all about it from the very beginning," demanded Rowena.

"The beginning," said Mysie importantly, "was when Nan came back from the house and said I was to go up and see Dad in the morning. Of course I'd seen him lots of times before that, but I took care that he shouldn't see me. I wanted to find out if I'd like him for a father. I saw him with his gun, he shot two pigeons, and I clapped my hands once. I was behind a tree, and he looked round quickly, but he didn't see me. When Nan wanted to dress me up, I said, No—I would go in my kilt. I hate girls' frocks, and so I ran straight away from her, and walked into the house by myself. And fancy! It was eleven o'clock, and Dad was eating his breakfast!"

"And what did you say?"

"I said, 'Good morning, Dad; may I have some of your bacon?' and I sat down and he laughed, and gave me a big plateful, and told them to bring me a cup of coffee. And then he said:"

"'I don't know whether I'm looking at a boy or a girl,' and then I told him, very earnest, that I had a boy's heart and a girl's body, and then I gave him my present I had brought with me. It was two darling little trout I had caught the day before with Angus. And he was quite pleased and asked me whether I liked fishing, and I told him I liked everything he did, and so we settled up then that we would do things together, and then I told him he'd better let me have a bedroom in his house so that I needn't be running backwards and forwards all day long—and he said yes to that. After that we talked like anything. Why, he's almost as good to talk to as you are!"

"He must be good then!" said Rowena, laughing. "I think he is a delightful father to have, Flora."

"Oh, yes; and we talked about my name—he doesn't like the name of Flora. I said I'd rather be called Macdonald than Mysie, and he thinks he can manage to call me Mac. But he doesn't care to talk all day long, he says, so I've left him. I dare say he'll get used to me after a bit, but he finds me stranger than I do him, you know. For I've always talked to Angus—he's a man, of course, but Dad says he isn't used to children, and doesn't understand them!"

Mysie paused for breath; her eyes glowed as she went on:

"If Dad and I live together and do things together, I shall thank God truly! I've prayed to have a proper father since I was a baby. And after breakfast I went upstairs and told Dad the room I would like to sleep in. Nan says I can't leave her, and Dad doesn't mean it. But he and me mean it very certainly!"

"Ah," said Rowena, "I can see that you're going to have a real good time now. But don't worry a man when he's seedy. Your Dad will have days when he wants to be alone."

Mysie was too full of her own thoughts to take this in.

"I told him there was a prisoner on the loch and that I went to see her, and he seemed to guess at once, and he told Angus he was coming over here this afternoon."

Mysie chattered on: she described her father's appearance with minute details; she said she would like him best in a kilt and hoped he would soon wear it. And she finally departed apologizing for her short visit.

"I feel I don't want to stay away from him too long," she said; "in case he may forget me again."

In the afternoon General Macdonald appeared with his pockets bulging with books. Rowena received him and his books with much pleasure.

"I have seen my child," he said abruptly. "She is bigger and older than I thought. She means to take possession of me. I fancy she ought to be at school, ought she not?"

"Oh, don't worry over school just yet. Get to know her, and get her to know you. What do you think of her?"

He drew up a chair and sat down upon it. Rowena waited for him to speak, and he kept her waiting for three or four minutes, then he said slowly:

"I am a little afraid of her."

"What nonsense!"

"I am afraid of her personality. She does not mean to remain in the background. And when I came down here, a child did not enter into my calculations."

"But I really think she ought to have done so. May I congratulate you upon having such a child?"

He looked at her and smiled.

"I see she has won your heart. A man is handicapped when he has to train a girl child. And she wants training. If she had been a boy, I would have found the task easier."

"Oh, don't take her so heavily," said Rowena. "Let her trot round with you, and do things with you. She'll learn from your talk what is right and wrong."

"Will she? I'm a poor specimen at the best; and I know nothing of women and their ways."

"Bring her up as a boy, then," said Rowena, laughing at his forlorn tone. "She is, as she says, half a boy already. Don't act the heavy father. Of course she will have to be educated later on. But let her have a holiday with you now. Do you know she has prayed that she might have a 'proper father' from the time she was a baby? Don't disappoint her. And when she worries you, send her over to me. Shags and I understand her."

"May I smoke?" the General asked.

Rowena looked at him with laughter in her eyes, as he slowly produced a favourite pipe out of his pocket.

"I suppose," he said reflectively, "you can't mould children as you wish. They resist now, more than they used to do. I should like to mould her after the pattern of my mother. I don't want to have one of these self-assertive modern young women as my daughter, later on."

"I am afraid Mysie has too much character to be shaped into another person's mould. But she is warm-hearted, and if a girl loves, she can be governed through her love."

There was silence between them.

Then Rowena said:

"We might be two old spinster governesses sitting up and discussing the character of our pupils! Look over the loch at the afternoon shadows on the hills. Sweep your small daughter out of your mind for a moment or two—and tell me if that sky doesn't bring delight to your soul?"

General Macdonald gave a short quick sigh, but as he looked across the blue loch, the lines about his lips relaxed.

"Ah," he said, "it's good to get back to it again. There's no place like the Highlands in the world."

"To-morrow," said Rowena blithely, "I am going to extend my horizon. If you see a doubtful-looking craft upon the surface of the loch, it will be me, lying on my back in a flat-bottomed punt. We may fly a scarlet sail. Colin will be with me. But I assure you it will be a red-letter day in my life—therefore the red flag, you see!"

"I congratulate you. But don't put me off my child, for I assure you I hardly slept last night for thinking about her. Knocking about in hospitals, as I have done, I have seen all sorts and conditions of women. I have been bossed by some, and petted by others, and the audacity of some young women filled my soul with awe. Do you think that women—girls, I should say—ought to be trained to earn their own living, so as to be independent of our sex? As I heard some of the nurses declaiming against their dull homes, I gave a thought sometimes to their dull old parents. I shall be one of them when my girl grows up. How can I expect her to stay at home with me, if all the young world is out and away from their homes?"

"By the time Mysie is grown-up the swing of the pendulum will be back the home way again," said Rowena. "I have had great longings for work, you know, and tried to break away from my brother's house more than once. I did leave them for eight months once, but was called back again by my sister-in-law's serious illness. Nothing will keep a girl at home if she wants to leave it, except circumstances. As I say, be a chum and companion to Mysie and she'll never want to leave you, until a possible husband turns up. She is prepared to idealize and worship you. Let her do it, and do, if you want to win her heart quickly, call her 'Flora'!"

General Macdonald laughed.

"Ah, we've fallen out already over that. 'Mysie' was my mother's pet name."

"Then keep it sacred," said Rowena, "and call your small girl by the name she adores and loves!"

They talked on; gradually Rowena got his mind upon other subjects. When he left her, he gripped her hand until she could have cried with the pain of it.

"You have helped me enormously," he said. "I am not going to fight shy of my responsibility as a father any longer."

"Shags," said Rowena, taking hold of a golden brown ear, "am I a hundred years old? Is it always the role of a person on her back to dole out advice to her visitors? Am I, a single woman, to occupy my leisure thoughts in studying a child's character, and the suitable training for her? I am going now to read the most frivolous book I have by me, just to forget the moralities and gravity of life, and to imagine myself a young dog like yourself."