sick cow, an’ ’twas there they found him in the morning.’
So my last link with Wauprigg was cut behind me. All the life I had now was here in Place of Paisley stable-yard. But before that day was over, I had something else to think about; for a while later, when I was currying Dundonel’s big grey, a shadow darkened the doorway of the loose-box, and when I looked up, it was Willie Sempill himself. ‘Ye can leave that,’ said he, ‘my lady Jean wants ye in the privy garden.’
And as I looked doubtfully at the curry-comb in my hand, he took it from me. ‘Off wi’ ye now, my mannie, would ye keep herself waiting all day?’
And he fell to, hissing away between his teeth, on the grey’s coat.
I spared a moment for my face and hands at the horse-trough, and went, just as I was, for the day was warm and I had left my jacket in the loft, pulling down my shirtsleeves as I went, and raking wet fingers through my hair.
The privy garden was the bonniest place, with knot-beds full of pinks and heartsease, and tall clippedhedges to keep out the rest of the world; and that day the tall flamed and feathered Low Countries’ tulips were coming into flower, and the first buds swelling on the little white briar roses against the old sun-warmed house walls, and a thrush was singing in the mulberry tree that was the heart of the place. And on the turf seat under the mulberry tree my lady Jean was sitting; and she half lost in the billows of some wonderful embroidered stuff that she was working at; one edge of it drawn over her knees, and white sheets spread all about her on the grass to save the wonderful thing, whatever it was, from getting stained or muddied. There was a creepy stool with no one sitting on it now, and a gay tangle of silks and wools beside it, facing her as it were, across the beautiful stuff spread between them like a peacock’s train; from which I guessed that whatever she was at, Mistress Ruthven had been sharing the labour with her but a little while before.
She did not look up, but went on stitching carefully, frowning at the stitches as she drew the long rose-coloured thread in and out. I walked nearer, until I came right beside the creepy stool; and then I saw that the great piece of green velvet was worked with the figure of a naked man and woman standing hand in hand beneath an apple tree, and wee bright birds fluttering among the branches, and all about them leafy bushes and flowering plants, and beasties – a silent running of beasties; a deer under the leaves, and rabbits and a little lap-dog and a lion. And twisted about the trunk, with its head coming out from among the apple branches, a wicked jewel-bright serpent.
And then I understood. I had never seen such a thing before, but I knew that Adam and Eve in the Garden was the proper pattern for the coverlid of a weddingbed. This one was old, old and faded; my, but it was bonnie; and in places the stitching of the fine embroidery was gone, and in places there showed the brighter colours of new silks where the damage had been made good. It was one such place, the breast of a chaffinch, that my lady was stitching at that moment, the stitches, truth to tell, somewhat larger than those round about it. She pulled through a last stitch, and looked with a sigh, and smiled at me, somewhat ruefully.
‘Oh, Hugh,’ said she, ‘I shall never be the needlewoman my grandmother was in her day.’
‘It’s bonnie,’ I said. ‘Did my lady your grandmother make it, then?’
‘Och, no. It was old even when she was young; but she mended it when she brought it with her, and again for every wedding that has been among us since, and ye cannot see where her mending is. I do not think you can see so well where Mistress Mary has been helping me, either – but ye can see where I have been at it, all too plain.’
‘Where would be the use,’ said I staunchly, ‘taking all that trouble, and no one to see where the work was done?’
She laughed, ‘Oh,
So my last link with Wauprigg was cut behind me. All the life I had now was here in Place of Paisley stable-yard. But before that day was over, I had something else to think about; for a while later, when I was currying Dundonel’s big grey, a shadow darkened the doorway of the loose-box, and when I looked up, it was Willie Sempill himself. ‘Ye can leave that,’ said he, ‘my lady Jean wants ye in the privy garden.’
And as I looked doubtfully at the curry-comb in my hand, he took it from me. ‘Off wi’ ye now, my mannie, would ye keep herself waiting all day?’
And he fell to, hissing away between his teeth, on the grey’s coat.
I spared a moment for my face and hands at the horse-trough, and went, just as I was, for the day was warm and I had left my jacket in the loft, pulling down my shirtsleeves as I went, and raking wet fingers through my hair.
The privy garden was the bonniest place, with knot-beds full of pinks and heartsease, and tall clippedhedges to keep out the rest of the world; and that day the tall flamed and feathered Low Countries’ tulips were coming into flower, and the first buds swelling on the little white briar roses against the old sun-warmed house walls, and a thrush was singing in the mulberry tree that was the heart of the place. And on the turf seat under the mulberry tree my lady Jean was sitting; and she half lost in the billows of some wonderful embroidered stuff that she was working at; one edge of it drawn over her knees, and white sheets spread all about her on the grass to save the wonderful thing, whatever it was, from getting stained or muddied. There was a creepy stool with no one sitting on it now, and a gay tangle of silks and wools beside it, facing her as it were, across the beautiful stuff spread between them like a peacock’s train; from which I guessed that whatever she was at, Mistress Ruthven had been sharing the labour with her but a little while before.
She did not look up, but went on stitching carefully, frowning at the stitches as she drew the long rose-coloured thread in and out. I walked nearer, until I came right beside the creepy stool; and then I saw that the great piece of green velvet was worked with the figure of a naked man and woman standing hand in hand beneath an apple tree, and wee bright birds fluttering among the branches, and all about them leafy bushes and flowering plants, and beasties – a silent running of beasties; a deer under the leaves, and rabbits and a little lap-dog and a lion. And twisted about the trunk, with its head coming out from among the apple branches, a wicked jewel-bright serpent.
And then I understood. I had never seen such a thing before, but I knew that Adam and Eve in the Garden was the proper pattern for the coverlid of a weddingbed. This one was old, old and faded; my, but it was bonnie; and in places the stitching of the fine embroidery was gone, and in places there showed the brighter colours of new silks where the damage had been made good. It was one such place, the breast of a chaffinch, that my lady was stitching at that moment, the stitches, truth to tell, somewhat larger than those round about it. She pulled through a last stitch, and looked with a sigh, and smiled at me, somewhat ruefully.
‘Oh, Hugh,’ said she, ‘I shall never be the needlewoman my grandmother was in her day.’
‘It’s bonnie,’ I said. ‘Did my lady your grandmother make it, then?’
‘Och, no. It was old even when she was young; but she mended it when she brought it with her, and again for every wedding that has been among us since, and ye cannot see where her mending is. I do not think you can see so well where Mistress Mary has been helping me, either – but ye can see where I have been at it, all too plain.’
‘Where would be the use,’ said I staunchly, ‘taking all that trouble, and no one to see where the work was done?’
She laughed, ‘Oh,
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