Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing TimesMacKenna, Robert William
History
Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing Times
MacKenna, Robert William
Adventure stories; Covenanters -- Scotland -- Fiction; Love stories; Scotland -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction
The afternoon was drawing to a close when the village of New Abbey
appeared in sight. Criffel now stood before us, a great mountain,
heather clad and beautiful, like a sentinel above the little township.
By the side of the stream, which divided our path from the village, we
stopped, and Hector putting down his pack and taking off his coat
proceeded to wash his face and hands. Nothing loth I followed suit.
As he was about to hoist his pack on to his shoulder again, he picked up
his stick, and handing it to me said: "Feel the wecht o’ that." I took
it and found it strangely heavy. "It’s loaded, ye see," he said--"three
and a half ounces o’ guid lead let into the heid o’t. Juist three and a
half ounces--fower is ower muckle; three would be ower little--and ye
saw for yersel’ what it can dae. A trusty frien’, I can tell ye.
Naebody kens it’s loaded but me and you and the Almichty, forby a wheen
sodgers that ha’e felt the wecht o’t. I ca’ it ’Trusty.’ Come on,"
and, slipping the weighted head of the stick through the strap, he swung
the pack on to his shoulders and we made for the village.
When we came to the inn the packman led the way through a flagged
passage into a garden at the back. There, underneath a pear-tree, stood
a green-painted bench with a table before it. Laying his pack upon the
end of the bench, he sat down and pushed his bonnet back; I seated
myself beside him.
"Noo," he said, "we maun ha’e something to eat. What will ye ha’e?"
Not knowing what might be available, I hesitated. Guessing the cause of
my hesitation, he said: "Dinna be feared: it’s a guid meat-hoose and its
’tippenny’ is the best in the country-side. As for me, I’m for a pint
o’ ’tippenny,’ and a fry o’ ham and eggs. The King himsel’ couldna dae
better than that."
As he spoke a young girl had come through the door and now stood before
us.
"What ha’e ye got for twa tired travellers?" asked Hector. "We want the
best; we’re worthy o’t, and quite able to pay for it forby."
As the packman had foretold, ham and eggs were forthcoming; and having
given our order Hector produced his pipe and proceeded to fill it.
When it was drawing satisfactorily he proceeded to point out the
beauties of the scene. To the right were visible great grey walls,
moss-grown in places, with here and there a bush springing among their
ruins.
"That," he said, "is part o’ the wall o’ the old Abbey. There,"
pointing to the right, "is a’ that remains o’ the Abbey itsel’. By and
by we’ll gang and tak’ a look at it."
Soon the girl returned with our food. When we had finished our meal
Hector said:
"And noo I maun go and see my frien’ the miller. Meantime, I’ll leave
you in chairge o’ the pack, and if onybody should want to buy, you can
mak’ the sale. I hope ye’ll prove yersel’ a guid packman,"--with which
he stumped off.
In a moment or two the girl came to clear the table. When she had done
so, she returned, and looking at me half shyly, said: "Are ye a packman
tae?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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