Kirsteen: The Story of a Scotch Family Seventy Years AgoOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
Kirsteen: The Story of a Scotch Family Seventy Years Ago
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Domestic fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
There was however a moment of mute despair when they all came back and
looked at each other for an explanation of the mystery. Then the
children burst out crying one after the other, the boys resisting the
impulse till nature was too strong for them, and producing a louder and
more abrupt explosion from the fact of the attempted restraint. Their
father stood looking round upon them all, his fierce eyes blazing,
looking for some way of venting the rage that was in him. The lass
disappeared, confound her! And Glendochart drawing back, the devil flee
away with him! Drumcarro was indeed in evil case. When Jock, who was the
last to give way, burst out without a moment’s notice into a violent
boo-hoo, his father caught him suddenly a box on the ear which sent him
spinning across the room. “Haud your confounded tongue, can’t ye--and no
wake your mother.” “Eh, my poor laddie! Ye need not punish him for me,
for here I am, and what is the matter with everybody?” said the weak
voice of Mrs. Douglas at the door. She had been left alone during all
this excitement, and her repeated calls had brought nobody. So that
querulous, displeased, and full of complaining, unable to bear the
silence and the want of information, the poor soul had wrapped herself
in the first garments she could find, and tottered down stairs. She
appeared a curious mass of red flannel, chintz, and tartan, one wrapped
over the other. “What is the matter?” she said, looking eagerly round
upon the troubled family. “Oh, mother,” cried little Jeanie weeping,
running to her and hiding her face and her tears in one of these
confused wrappings. “Kirsteen has gone away. She’s _run_ away,” said
Jeanie, afraid not to be believed--and then the commotion was increased
by a wail from the mother, who sank in a state of collapse into her
large chair, and by the rush of Marg’ret from the kitchen, who
perceiving what had happened flew to give the necessary help. “Could you
not all hold your tongues, and let her get her night’s rest in peace?”
Marg’ret cried. The scene was dismal enough, and yet had thus a rude
comedy mingled with its real pain. Drumcarro stalked away when this
climax of confusion was reached. “I was a fool ever to mind one of
them,” he said. “Ye little whinging deevil, get out o’ my way. You’re no
better than a lassie yourself.”
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.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account