CHAPTER XXXI. THE WOODRANGER SURPRISES MR. MACDONALD ......270
HOUGH the Woodranger started away from the scene of the burned wigwam with Norman, he lingered somewhat in sight of the place, as if loath to depart. Even after he passed down the road from sight of the spot, he cast anxious glances back, as if he were looking for the homeless Pennacook.
" I must try and see him, and counsel with him," he said, aloud. " I am sure the whites will gladly make his loss good to him. But, alack a man! it is not that. It is the arrow o' wrong which will enter his heart. He cannot understand that one Gunwad does not represent the white population, as a red may represent a whole tribe o' his race."
As the Woodranger came in sight of Mr. MacDonald's home, he saw the old Highlander standing in the middle of the road, looking anxiously in the direction whence he was coming. At sight of him, the other started to retreat toward the house; then, as if thinking better of it, he remained by the side of the highway, saying, as the forester approached:
" What means yon fire, Maister Woodranger ? I felt it was a hame burnin'."
" So it was, my good man, and no home less than that of Christo, the praying Indian."
" I'm sad for Christo, though I ne'er felt weel acquaint wi' the strange coloured man. Say, Maister Woodranger, I houp there was nae unfair work in it."
" So do I, Mr. MacDonald. I trust that Gunwad has passed by in peace ? "
" He did, maister. I dinna like that man."
" Not the best o' company, sir. I trust you are feeling well to-day."
" As weel as an auld man should expect. This weather is tryin' on sic' a broken-doon frame as mine."
" Nay, my good friend, you are not one who should talk o' a broken-down frame. You are ne'er an ol' man."
"Auld in sorrow, sir, if nae in years."
" That is because you live too much in the past, my good friend. Live so the light o' the futur' shall build beacon-fires along your trail. He who lives in the past lives a life o' double sorrow. It makes him ol' in his prime. It has made you ol' in your sixties, when sich a stalwart frame as thine should be erect as the pine."
There was truth in the bold declaration, and even in the bitterness of his heart the old Highlander knew it. But to be told the fact in that sudden manner amazed him. It was some time before he could manage to exclaim :
" Who taught thee that, man ?"
" I did not have to look to man to l'arn it. The leetle, nimble-footed squirrel, his merry heart the target for every thoughtless youth, taught me the blessed secret. The bird has retold it in his song. I read it in the heart o' natur'. Man don't want to go to the school o' civilisation to be told the things which make life worth living. Your days have been all yesterdays. You have fought the battle o' Glencoe till you have wrung your heart dry ! "
" Ye lie, man! I hae a mind to beat the truth into yer thick heid wi' my staff. What dae ye ken o' sorrow ?"
The Woodranger, appearing perfectly indifferent to his excitement, replied in his slow, simple manner :
" All that any man knows who has seen all that is dear to him slip away, — his heart plucked out by piecemeal, and put back all bleeding and torn, to heal as it might. Man is a poor, misguided fool who continually prods his wounds, that he may let others see 'em bleed. Do not think me ungrateful, sir. I love thee as a son might a father."
" I canna understand you!" muttered the old Highlander. "I — I think ye be a MacDonald! "
" As if that was the highest compliment you could pay me. I have no knack o' dissembling; if you mean I'm lacking in common sense, then out with it, man. What availed all the boasts o' your MacDonalds ? They were the weakest in their strength, the most foolish in their wisdom! You remind me o' an oak, which one stroke o' the lightning blasted while it stood proudly defying its wrath. Pardon me again, sir, for my tongue does babble like a brook, which to be made useful, must be dammed."
Mr. MacDonald, used all his life to speak his mind without being contradicted, was dumfounded. At first, he was angered, then perplexed, and then he finally managed to say, though his words were scarcely in keeping with the trend of the conversation :
" Ye're a Scotchman ? "
" If I am, it was my birthright; if I am not, I do not bewail the fact."
"A Scotchman," resumed the Highlander, "and yet gaun amang the boastful Britons, an' carryin' a French gun;" as if this last fact was the greatest sin.
"The oak growing beside the poplar, sir, is none the less an oak. I've seen a birch growing from the rotten side o' a maple, where a seed had somehow lodged, but it was still a birch, as pure as the mother stock. I habitate with all men equally, and not less with my red brother whose ways are peaceful. As to carrying a French rifle, I cannot dissemble. Did they make one more to my liking I should not be above carrying one. As to the weapon I have here, which I am free to confess is a loved companion, it is a bit o' a consait o' mine. The stock, it may be, was made by a Frencher, as I took it from the hand o' Father Ralle, as the red-hearted priest fell on the day his horde was routed at Norridgewock. The barrel was sadly twisted, and not liking the thing, I had one wrought by the cunning o' Old Seth. It may be he did follow something the Frencher's style, but he was not ashamed to put his mark on it. That tells whether it be French or not," holding up, as he spoke, the firearm so Mr. MacDonald could read, engraved on a tablet sunk into the stock, the initials "S. P."
Those letters stood for the name of the best known man in New England at that time, Seth Pomroy, " the Gunmaker of Northampton," afterwards noted as a soldier in the Indian wars and the Revolution. Many of the brave men of the Woodranger's days carried rifles of his make, which were not excelled by any that could be found.
At that moment, Rilma, who had been watching the two from the door, rushed forward with childish impetuosity to greet the Woodranger, but her grandfather would fain have kept her back.
" Bide in the hoose, lassie. I will soon cum in mysel'."
" But I want to speak to Woodranger, grandfather."
" Back, I say! A man who openly boasts o' seekin' the companionship o' wild beasts in preference to men is nae fit company for sic a wee lassie as thee."
Rilma retreated, as ordered, though she could not help showing her disappointment. The Woodranger turned silently away, and without another word started down the road. But Mr. MacDonald called to him :
" Had on, man! I havena said my last wird wi' ye yet. I wud question ye much more."
The forester stopped, saying in his simple, straightforward way :
" Your incivility surprises me, sir. It is true I have habitated with the wild creatur's o' the forest, but in all my perambulating I ne'er met wolf with less o' humanity, nor bear with more o' brute than you exhibit in chiding the child o' thy only son. It may be I'm unsuited to mingle in the genteel ways o' civilisation, but I've l'arned what you have not, that the finest natur' has the most sensitive heart. I may have forgotten the leetle book I'arning I got, but I have picked up a leetle o' the wisdom that wells from the springs o' natur'. An' while man's I'arning is e'er open to error, natur' is ne'er at fault."
The Highlander showed that he felt the merited rebuke, and his next words were milder:
" If I ought to cane ye for yer insolence I'll overlook ye. If ye care to speak to the strange man, lassie, who is a saint or a devil, ye may."
" I do want to speak to him, grandfather. I love him as if he was my own father."
At the utterance of this simple speech, which was but the honest conviction of an unsophisticated heart, she ran swiftly to his side, and to the amazement of the old Highlander he clasped her in his arms. While he stood there trembling between suppressed excitement and wonder he seemed to have suddenly become possessed of a new idea, for he asked with great earnestness :
" Ye're a Scotchman! Did ye ken my son Alick ?"
" I may have met him, sir!" was the surprising reply.
" May have met him, man ?" fairly shrieked the other. " Can ye say that and be so quiet ? My Alick was a bonnie boy, the noblest o' the MacDonalds."
" Which may be a poor meed o' praise, sir. But I do not wish to pain a father's heart. Nothing that I can say will mend the broken dish. There, child, I must be gone."
The latter sentence was addressed to Rilma, and, kissing her, he tenderly disengaged her hands, and before she or her grandfather could speak had disappeared around a turn in the road below the house.
" Run after him, lassie! " cried the Highlander. " Tell him to cum back. I fain wud ask him mair o' Alick."
Nothing loath she obeyed, but when she reached the place where he had last been seen, the Woodranger was not in sight. Disappointed she returned to the house.
" I dinna read him!" muttered the old man. " An' ye say there was tears in his e'en as he let ye go, lassie ? A strange man surely." Then, after a pause, he added : " He maun be a MacDonald ! "
| T |
HOUGH the Woodranger started away from the scene of the burned wigwam with Norman, he lingered somewhat in sight of the place, as if loath to depart. Even after he passed down the road from sight of the spot, he cast anxious glances back, as if he were looking for the homeless Pennacook.
" I must try and see him, and counsel with him," he said, aloud. " I am sure the whites will gladly make his loss good to him. But, alack a man! it is not that. It is the arrow o' wrong which will enter his heart. He cannot understand that one Gunwad does not represent the white population, as a red may represent a whole tribe o' his race."
As the Woodranger came in sight of Mr. MacDonald's home, he saw the old Highlander standing in the middle of the road, looking anxiously in the direction whence he was coming. At sight of him, the other started to retreat toward the house; then, as if thinking better of it, he remained by the side of the highway, saying, as the forester approached:
" What means yon fire, Maister Woodranger ? I felt it was a hame burnin'."
" So it was, my good man, and no home less than that of Christo, the praying Indian."
" I'm sad for Christo, though I ne'er felt weel acquaint wi' the strange coloured man. Say, Maister Woodranger, I houp there was nae unfair work in it."
" So do I, Mr. MacDonald. I trust that Gunwad has passed by in peace ? "
" He did, maister. I dinna like that man."
" Not the best o' company, sir. I trust you are feeling well to-day."
" As weel as an auld man should expect. This weather is tryin' on sic' a broken-doon frame as mine."
" Nay, my good friend, you are not one who should talk o' a broken-down frame. You are ne'er an ol' man."
"Auld in sorrow, sir, if nae in years."
" That is because you live too much in the past, my good friend. Live so the light o' the futur' shall build beacon-fires along your trail. He who lives in the past lives a life o' double sorrow. It makes him ol' in his prime. It has made you ol' in your sixties, when sich a stalwart frame as thine should be erect as the pine."
There was truth in the bold declaration, and even in the bitterness of his heart the old Highlander knew it. But to be told the fact in that sudden manner amazed him. It was some time before he could manage to exclaim :
" Who taught thee that, man ?"
" I did not have to look to man to l'arn it. The leetle, nimble-footed squirrel, his merry heart the target for every thoughtless youth, taught me the blessed secret. The bird has retold it in his song. I read it in the heart o' natur'. Man don't want to go to the school o' civilisation to be told the things which make life worth living. Your days have been all yesterdays. You have fought the battle o' Glencoe till you have wrung your heart dry ! "
" Ye lie, man! I hae a mind to beat the truth into yer thick heid wi' my staff. What dae ye ken o' sorrow ?"
The Woodranger, appearing perfectly indifferent to his excitement, replied in his slow, simple manner :
" All that any man knows who has seen all that is dear to him slip away, — his heart plucked out by piecemeal, and put back all bleeding and torn, to heal as it might. Man is a poor, misguided fool who continually prods his wounds, that he may let others see 'em bleed. Do not think me ungrateful, sir. I love thee as a son might a father."
" I canna understand you!" muttered the old Highlander. "I — I think ye be a MacDonald! "
" As if that was the highest compliment you could pay me. I have no knack o' dissembling; if you mean I'm lacking in common sense, then out with it, man. What availed all the boasts o' your MacDonalds ? They were the weakest in their strength, the most foolish in their wisdom! You remind me o' an oak, which one stroke o' the lightning blasted while it stood proudly defying its wrath. Pardon me again, sir, for my tongue does babble like a brook, which to be made useful, must be dammed."
Mr. MacDonald, used all his life to speak his mind without being contradicted, was dumfounded. At first, he was angered, then perplexed, and then he finally managed to say, though his words were scarcely in keeping with the trend of the conversation :
" Ye're a Scotchman ? "
" If I am, it was my birthright; if I am not, I do not bewail the fact."
"A Scotchman," resumed the Highlander, "and yet gaun amang the boastful Britons, an' carryin' a French gun;" as if this last fact was the greatest sin.
"The oak growing beside the poplar, sir, is none the less an oak. I've seen a birch growing from the rotten side o' a maple, where a seed had somehow lodged, but it was still a birch, as pure as the mother stock. I habitate with all men equally, and not less with my red brother whose ways are peaceful. As to carrying a French rifle, I cannot dissemble. Did they make one more to my liking I should not be above carrying one. As to the weapon I have here, which I am free to confess is a loved companion, it is a bit o' a consait o' mine. The stock, it may be, was made by a Frencher, as I took it from the hand o' Father Ralle, as the red-hearted priest fell on the day his horde was routed at Norridgewock. The barrel was sadly twisted, and not liking the thing, I had one wrought by the cunning o' Old Seth. It may be he did follow something the Frencher's style, but he was not ashamed to put his mark on it. That tells whether it be French or not," holding up, as he spoke, the firearm so Mr. MacDonald could read, engraved on a tablet sunk into the stock, the initials "S. P."
Those letters stood for the name of the best known man in New England at that time, Seth Pomroy, " the Gunmaker of Northampton," afterwards noted as a soldier in the Indian wars and the Revolution. Many of the brave men of the Woodranger's days carried rifles of his make, which were not excelled by any that could be found.
At that moment, Rilma, who had been watching the two from the door, rushed forward with childish impetuosity to greet the Woodranger, but her grandfather would fain have kept her back.
" Bide in the hoose, lassie. I will soon cum in mysel'."
" But I want to speak to Woodranger, grandfather."
" Back, I say! A man who openly boasts o' seekin' the companionship o' wild beasts in preference to men is nae fit company for sic a wee lassie as thee."
Rilma retreated, as ordered, though she could not help showing her disappointment. The Woodranger turned silently away, and without another word started down the road. But Mr. MacDonald called to him :
" Had on, man! I havena said my last wird wi' ye yet. I wud question ye much more."
The forester stopped, saying in his simple, straightforward way :
" Your incivility surprises me, sir. It is true I have habitated with the wild creatur's o' the forest, but in all my perambulating I ne'er met wolf with less o' humanity, nor bear with more o' brute than you exhibit in chiding the child o' thy only son. It may be I'm unsuited to mingle in the genteel ways o' civilisation, but I've l'arned what you have not, that the finest natur' has the most sensitive heart. I may have forgotten the leetle book I'arning I got, but I have picked up a leetle o' the wisdom that wells from the springs o' natur'. An' while man's I'arning is e'er open to error, natur' is ne'er at fault."
The Highlander showed that he felt the merited rebuke, and his next words were milder:
" If I ought to cane ye for yer insolence I'll overlook ye. If ye care to speak to the strange man, lassie, who is a saint or a devil, ye may."
" I do want to speak to him, grandfather. I love him as if he was my own father."
At the utterance of this simple speech, which was but the honest conviction of an unsophisticated heart, she ran swiftly to his side, and to the amazement of the old Highlander he clasped her in his arms. While he stood there trembling between suppressed excitement and wonder he seemed to have suddenly become possessed of a new idea, for he asked with great earnestness :
" Ye're a Scotchman! Did ye ken my son Alick ?"
" I may have met him, sir!" was the surprising reply.
" May have met him, man ?" fairly shrieked the other. " Can ye say that and be so quiet ? My Alick was a bonnie boy, the noblest o' the MacDonalds."
" Which may be a poor meed o' praise, sir. But I do not wish to pain a father's heart. Nothing that I can say will mend the broken dish. There, child, I must be gone."
The latter sentence was addressed to Rilma, and, kissing her, he tenderly disengaged her hands, and before she or her grandfather could speak had disappeared around a turn in the road below the house.
" Run after him, lassie! " cried the Highlander. " Tell him to cum back. I fain wud ask him mair o' Alick."
Nothing loath she obeyed, but when she reached the place where he had last been seen, the Woodranger was not in sight. Disappointed she returned to the house.
" I dinna read him!" muttered the old man. " An' ye say there was tears in his e'en as he let ye go, lassie ? A strange man surely." Then, after a pause, he added : " He maun be a MacDonald ! "
posted by Don at 8:28 AM
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