Linmill Stories. Robert McLellanЧитать онлайн книгу.
ο his way, and syne into the paurlor. That was anither place I couldna keep oot o, for there was a gless case there abune a kist ο drawers wi a tod in it staunin on a stane, and aneth there was a rabbit, lookin gey feart, and ahint the rabbit a weasel wi a bad look in its ee. I wantit aye to hit the weasel ower the back wi a stick, but I wad hae broken the gless.
I dinna ken hou lang I stude in the paurlor, but afore I cam oot I had forgotten the weasel athogither, and was thinkin ο the harness, and the bogie, and my minnie’s pownie. I keepit wishin Willie Mitchell hadna come alang and speylt my grannie’s bakin.
I heard the front door shut and gaed ower to the winnock. The packman gaed doun the Stanebyres side ο the front orchard and took the Clyde road for the Falls. I creepit doun the stairs and back into the kitchen. My grannie was rollin anither scone.
‘Grannie?’
‘Awa and play. I’m taiglet.’
‘I want to ask ye something.’
‘Awa and play, I tell ye!’
I didna like her whan she spak like that. It aye made me want to gang hame to my minnie. But I didna greit. I gaed into a corner and had a wee dwam, and in the dwam I drave the bogie to Kirkfieldbank for the messages, the same as my minnie had dune.
Whan my grandfaither cam in for his tea my grannie was still crabbit, and I didna daur speak, and efter we had aa dune I was putten to my bed in the truckle by the kitchen closet, and whan the lamp was lichtit I gaed to sleep. Afore I dozed aff, though, I heard him say in he was gaun to Lanark in the mornin to the mercat to buy a quey in cauf, and she telt him to be shair and no come hame fou. He was queer whan he was fou, my grandfaither, and my grannie aye yokit on to him, but I likit him fou weill eneuch, for he aye gied me bawbees.
It was wat the neist day again, and I had anither dowie time ο it, inbye, playin wi this thing and that and aye turnin tired ο it, and wonerin whan my grandfaither wad come hame. Sanny and the ither daft men had their denner at the side table and gaed awa oot to saw wuid in the auld byre again, and still he didna come, and my grannie and I sat doun to oor kail withoot him, my grannie wi her lips ticht, for she was beginnin to ken he wad be fou.
It faired whan we had feenished and I grew cheerie, for I kent that gin he was fou I wad hae siller to ware, and I thocht that gin it bade fair I micht be alloued alang to the shop at the Falls for a luckie-bag. I gaed doun the Kirkfieldbank side ο the front orchard and played at the road-end, aye lookin oot for him, but there was nae sign ο him aa efternune, and I gaed through the hedge into the orchard and huntit for auld nests I had kent in the simmer. Syne my wame began to rummle and I gaed inbye and priggit at my grannie for a piece.
She was in gey ill fettle by that time, and flytit me sair for the glaur on my shune, but she spread me a haill muckle scone wi reid-curran jeelie. And nae suner had she haudit it ower than my grandfaither cried my name frae the back entry, and we baith kent by his cry that he was fou by the ordinar.
I didna rin oot, for I didna feel shair ο him, and truith to tell whan he cam in frae the scullery he had a look in his ee like the lowe of a caunle. He stachert forrit and pat oot his haund.
‘Gie me yer piece, Rab.’
I took haud ο my grannie’s apron and grippit my piece ticht, but he played grab at it and poued awa hauf o it. Syne he gaed to the door and held it oot, and in cam a wee black sheltie.
He had bocht me my pownie.
I lookit to my grannie for fear she wad be mad, but the sheltie was sic a bonnie wee craitur, and sae dentie wi its piece, that she hadna the hairt.
‘Ye muckle big sumph,’ she said.
THE STEADIN AT Linmill was ane ο the auld-farrant kind gaun back to the days whan fermers likit to hae aa their gear and stock safe at nicht ahint a lockit yett. The hoose and biggins lay in a square roun a cobblet closs, and save for the hoose front door there was nae wey in bune a wide entry in the middle ο the lang biggin on the sooth side ο the square. The rufe of this biggin ran its haill length, but the biggin itsell was dividit into twa ends, a stable and a byre, wi the entry atween, and the entry gat the name ο the closs mou. It was on the ootside ο the closs mou that the muckle yett stude, and it and the hoose front door were lockit ilka nicht by my grandfaither, drunk or sober, afore he gaed to bed.
The closs mou was a grand place for a bairn on a wat day, no juist for its rufe and the shelter it gied frae the rain, for the same wad hae been true ο the barn and the cairt sheds. The barn could be desertit for weeks, though, and the cairt sheds, save by the hens, for days, but the closs mou, gin there was ony wark daein aboot the ferm at aa, gat aye its share ο the steer.
No, mind ye, that it wasna a grand place ein on the Saubbath, whan aa wark was sinfou and the closs lay as still as daith, and if there was eir a luckie Saubbath whan it was ower wat to gang to the kirk, though sic came but seldom, it was aye to the closs mou that I gaed to play. For if I wantit to be by my lane, and I did aye on the Saubbath, wi the auld folk sae frichtenin in their black claes. I climmed up the closs mou lether to ane or ither ο the hey-lafts.
The hey-lafts lay aneth the rufe abune the stable and the byre, their doors facin ane anither heich in the closs mou waas, and gin ye werena forkin in hey aff a load on the cairt whan the parks were bein mawn in the simmer, ye had to sclim to the doors by a lang lether, keepit by the yett for that very job.
Aye on a wat Saubbath I sclimmed that lether.
It didna look a bad sclim frae the grun, but by the time ye were hauf wey to the tap ye began to trummle at the knees and woner if the lether wuid was soond, for ye could feel it bendin aneth yer wecht, and ye felt faur frae safe. But efter takin fricht ance or twice, and comin back doun wi my tail atween my legs, I syne ae day managed, and efter that haurdly gied the sclim a thocht.
Ae wat Saubbath in strawberry time, whan the berry-pickers in the barn bothy were sleepin aff their last nicht’s dram, and my grannie and grandfaither were noddin in their chairs by the fire in the fermhoose paurlor, I sclimmed to the laft abune the stable to sit on the hey aneth the skylicht and look doun on the fields ootbye. Ye gat a grand view frae the hey-laft skylichts, and in strawberry time it was fun to watch the daft men frichtening the craws aff the berry beds, for though the feck ο folk had to rest on the Saubbath, the daft men didna. Denner-Time Davie, the pairish meenister, didna seem to think the daft men maittert.
The skylicht in the stable hey-laft lookit ower ae field that lay in the corner whaur the Clyde road met the road frae Lesmahagow. There were big new strawberries in that field caaed Scarlet Queens, and the first crap was ready for the pouin. Daft Sanny had been sent to keep the craws aff it, and there he was, wi a parritch spurtle in ae haund an a tin tray in the ither, walkin up and doun the beds and clatterin for aa he was worth. He was haein a sair time ο it, though, for there was a raw ο beeches aside the Clyde road, and as sune as he scared the craws aff the near end ο the field, anither lot wad flee aff the beeches and land on the faur ane.
There was a wind blawin doun aff the upland ferms that lay abune Tam ο Law’s, and whan Daft Sanny was at the faur end ο the field I could haurdly hear the spurtle on the tray, for the wind took the soond awa to Clyde. And ance, when he gaed faurer ower nor ordinar, richt into the corner at the Lesmahagow road-end, I lost the soond ο the spurtle athegither.
It was then I heard a new soond close at haund. It seemed to come frae somewhaur inbye, amang the hey in the corner ο the laft abune the loose-box, I wadit through the hey to the corner to see whit was whaat.
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