Great Britain -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"Nay, uncle," said my cousin, "you do not put the matter fairly. For
myself, I believe there is none busier in Scotland than I, but, Gad, I
have always time to slip home to Eaglesham for a day or more. But my
father would care little though he never saw me but once in the year,
for each time I go back I get a long sermon on my conduct, with my
expenses for the year as a text, till I am fairly driven out of the
house for peace."
At this my father laughed. "Ay, ay," said he, "that’s like my brother
Gilbert. He was always a hard man at the siller. Man, I mind when we
were both the terrors o’ the place, but all the while not a thing would
he do, if it meant the loss of a bodle. Pity but I had taken after him
in that, and John would have been better supplied to-day."
"Oh," I answered, "I have all I need and more."
Hereupon my cousin spoke with a sneer in his voice. "A groat is enough
for a scholar, but the soldier must have a crown. Your scholar, as
doubtless John can tell, is content if he have a sad-coloured suit, some
musty books, and a stoup of bad wine; but your fine gentleman must have
his horses and servants, and dress himself like his quality for all the
maids to stare at, and have plenty of loose silver to fling to the
gaping crowd; and he is a poor fellow indeed if he do not eat and drink
the best that each tavern can give. As for me, I would as soon be a
clown in the fields as a scholar, with apologies to my cousin"; and he
made me another of his mocking bows.
I answered as gently as I could that gentrice did not consist in
daintiness of eating and drinking or boisterous display, and that in my
opinion nothing gave so fine a flavour to gentility as a tincture of
letters; but my father changed the conversation by asking Gilbert what
he had been after that day.
"’Faith, it would be hard to say," said he. "I got a gun from that
long-legged, sour-faced groom and went up the big hill above the trees
to have a shot at something. I killed a couple of hares and sprung an
old muirfowl; but the day grew warm and I thought that the wood would
make a pleasant shade, so I e’en turned my steps there and went to sleep
below a great oak, and dreamed that I ran a man through the bowels for
challenging my courage. It was an ill-omened dream, and I expected to
meet with some mishap to account for it ere I got back, but I saw
nothing except a lovely girl plucking primroses by the water side.
Zounds, Jock, what a fool you must be never to have found out this
beauty! She had hair like gold and eyes like sapphires. I’ve seen many
a good-looking wench, but never one like her."
"And what did you do?" I asked, with my heart beating wildly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account