But to Margaret he fretted not a little. "Fourteen hun'red pounds a'
thegither, dawtie," he said in a tearful voice. "I warked early an' late
through mony a year for it; an' it is gane a' at once, though I hae
naught but words an' promises for it. I ken, Margaret, that I am an auld
farrant trader, but I'se aye say that it is a bad well into which are
must put water."
When Ronald went, the summer went too. It became necessary to remove at
once to their rock-built house in one of the narrow streets of
Kirkwall. Margaret was glad of the change; her father could come into
the little parlor behind the shop any time in the day and smoke his pipe
beside her. He needed this consolation sorely; his son's conduct had
grieved him far more deeply than he would allow, and Margaret often saw
him gazing southward over the stormy Pentland Frith with a very mournful
face.
But a good heart soon breaks bad fortune and Peter had a good heart,
sound and sweet and true to his fellow-creatures and full of faith in
God. It is true that his creed was of the very strictest and sternest;
but men are always better than their theology and Margaret knew from the
Scriptures chosen for their household worship that in the depth and
stillness of his soul his human fatherhood had anchored fast to the
fatherhood of God.
Arcadean winters are long and dreary, but no one need much pity the
Arcadeans; they have learned how to make them the very festival of
social life. And, in spite of her anxiety about Ronald, Margaret
thoroughly enjoyed this one--perhaps the more because Captain Olave
Thorkald spent two months of it with them in Kirkwall. There had been a
long attachment between the young soldier and Margaret; and having
obtained his commission, he had come to ask also for the public
recognition of their engagement. Margaret was rarely beautiful and
rarely happy, and she carried with a charming and kindly grace the full
cup of her felicity. The Arcadeans love to date from a good year, and
all her life afterward Margaret reckoned events from this pleasant
winter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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