The Scotch Twins
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7 THE SCOTCH TWINS
By Lucy Fitch Perkins
ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
Geographical Series
THE DUTCH TWINS PRIMER. Grade I.
THE DUTCH TWINS Grade III.
THE ESKIMO TWINS. Grade II.
THE JAPANESE TWINS. Grade IV.
THE IRISH TWINS. Grade V.
THE SCOTCH TWINS. Grades V and VI.
THE MEXICAN TWINS. Grade VI.
THE BELGIAN TWINS. Grade VI.
THE FRENCH TWINS. Grade VII.
Historical Series
THE CAVE TWINS. Grade IV.
THE SPARTAN TWINS. Grades V-VI.
Each volume is illustrated by the author
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY LUCY PITCH PERKINS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
I. THE LITTLE GRAY HOUSE ON THE BRAE
II. THE RABBIT AND THE GAMEKEEPER
III. THE SABBATH
IV. THE NEW BOY
V. EVENING IN THE WEE BIT HOOSIE
VI. TWO DISCOVERIES
VII. THE CLAN
VIII. THE POACHERS
IX. A RAINY DAY
X. ON THE TRAIL
XI. ANGUS NIEL AND THE CANNY CLAN
XII. NEWS
XIII. THE NEW LAIRD
GLOSSARY
SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS
THE SCOTCH TWINS
I.
THE LITTLE GRAY HOUSE ON THE BRAE
If you had peeped in at the window of a little gray house on a
heathery hillside in the Highlands of Scotland one Saturday
morning in May some years ago, you might have seen Jean Campbell
"redding up" her kitchen. It was a sight best seen from a safe
distance, for, though Jean was only twelve years old, she was a
fierce little housekeeper every day in the week, and on Saturday,
when she was getting ready for the Sabbath, it was a bold person
indeed who would venture to put himself in the path of her broom.
To be sure, there was no one in the family to take such a risk
except her twin brother Jock, her father, Robin Campbell, the
Shepherd of Glen Easig, and True Tammas, the dog, for the Twins'
mother had "slippit awa'" when they were only ten years old,
leaving Jean to take a woman's care of her father and brother and
the little gray house on the brae.
On this May morning Jean woke up at five o'clock and peeped out
of the closet bed in which she slept to take a look at the day.
The sun had already risen over the rocky crest of gray old Ben
Vane, the mountain back of the house, and was pouring a stream of
golden sunlight through the eastern windows of the kitchen. The
kettle was singing over the fire in the open fireplace, a pan of
skimmed milk for the calf was warming by the hearth, and her
father was just going out, with the pail on his arm, to milk the
cow. She looked across the room at the bed in the corner by the
fireplace to see if Jock were still asleep. All she could see of
him was a shock of sandy hair, two eyes tight shut, and a
freckled nose half buried in the bed-clothes.
"Wake up, you lazy laddie," she called out to him, "or when I get
my clothes on I'll waken you with a wet cloth! Here's the sun
looking in at the windows to shame you, and Father already gone
to the milking."
Jock opened one sleepy blue eye.
"Leave us alone, now, Jeanie," he wheedled. "I was just having a
sonsie wee bit of a dream. Let me finish, and syne I'll tell you
all about it."
"Indeed, and you'll do nothing of the kind" retorted Jean, with
spirit. "Up with you, mannie, or I'll be dressed before you, and
I ken very well you'd not like to be beaten by a lassie, and her
your own sister, too."
Jock cuddled down farther into the blankets without answering,
and Jean began putting on her clothes. It seemed but a moment
before she slid to the floor, rolled her sleeves high above a
pair of sturdy elbows, and went to finish her toilet at the
basin. There she washed her face and combed her hair, while Jock,
cautiously opening one eye again, observed her from his safe
retreat. He watched her part her hair, wet it, plaster it
severely back from her brow, and tie it firmly in place with a
piece of black ribbon. Jock could read Jean's face like print,
and in this stern toilet he foresaw a day of unrelenting house-
cleaning.
"Aye," he said to himself bitterly, "she's putting on her
Saturday face. There's trouble brewing, I doubt! It'll be Jock
this and Jock that both but and ben all day long, and whatever is
the use of all this tirley-wirly I can't see, when on Monday the
house will look as if it had never seen the sight of a besom!
I'll just bide where I am." He closed his eyes and pretended to
be asleep.
It is true that Jean's Saturday face had such a housekeepery
pucker between the eyes and such a severe arrangement of the
front hair that any one who did not peep behind the black ribbon
might have thought her a very stern young person indeed, but
behind the black ribbon Jean's true character stood revealed!
However prim and smooth she might make it look in front, where
the cracked glass enabled her to keep an eye on it, behind her
back, where she couldn't possibly see it, her hair broke into the
jolliest little waves and curls, which bobbed merrily about even
on the worst Saturday that ever was; and spoiled the effect
whenever she tried to be severe.
When she had given a final wipe with the brush, she took another
look at Jock. There was still nothing to be seen of him but the
shock of sandy hair and a series of bumps under the blanket. Jock
could feel Jean looking at him right through the bed-clothes.
"Jock," said Jean,--and her voice had a Saturday sound to it,--
"You can't sleep in this day! Get up!"
There was no answer. Jock might well have known that Jean was in
no mood for trifling, but, having decided on his course of
action, he stuck to it like a true Scotchman and neither moved
nor opened his eyes. Jean was driven to desperate measures. She
took a few drops of water in the dipper, marched firmly to the
bedside, and stood with it poised directly above Jock's nose.
"Jock," she said solemnly, "I'm telling you! Don't ever say I
didn't. If you don't stir yourself before I count five, you'll be
sorry. One, two, three!" Still no move from Jock. "Four, five,"
and, without further parley, she emptied the dipper on his
freckled nose.
There was a wrathful snort and a violent convulsion of the
blankets, and an instant later Jock was tearing about the kitchen
like a cat in a fit, but by this time Jean was out of doors and
well beyond reach.
"Come here, you limmer!" he howled. But Jean knew better than to
accept his invitation. Instead she skipped laughing down the path
from the door to the brook which ran bubbling and gurgling by the
house. Even in her hasty exit from the cottage, Jean had had the
presence of mind to take the pail with her, and now she stopped
to fill it from the clear, sparkling water of the burn. It was
such a wonderful bright spring morning that, having filled it,
she stopped for a moment to look about her at the dear familiar
surroundings of her home.
There was the little gray house itself, with the peat smoke
curling from the chimney straight up into the blue sky. Back of
it was the garden-patch with its low stone wall, and back of that
were the fowl-yard and the straw-covered byre for the cow.
Beyond, and to the north lay the moors, covered with heather and
dotted with grazing sheep. Jean could hear the tinkle of their
bells, the bleating of the lambs, and the comforting maternal
answers of the ewes. Above the dark forest which spread itself
over the slopes of the foot-hills toward the south and east a
lave rock was singing, and she could hear the cry of whaups
wheeling and circling over the moors. They were pleasant morning
sounds, dear and familiar to Jean's ear, and oh, the sparkle of
the dew on the bracken, and the smell of the hawthorn by the
garden wall! Jean lifted her pail of water and went singing with
it up the hill-slope to the house for sheer joy that she was
alive.
"The Campbells are coming, O ho, O ho!" she sang, and the hills,
taking up the refrain, echoed "O ho, O ho!"
True Tammas, who had slept all night under the straw-stack by the
byre, came bounding down the little path to meet her, wagging his
tail and barking his morning greeting. They reached the door
together, but Jock, mindful of his injuries, had shut and barred
it, and was grinning at them through the window. Jean sat placidly
down upon the step with True Tammas beside her and continued her
song. Her calmness irritated Jock.
"Aye," he shouted through the crack, "the Campbells may be
coming, but they'll not get in this house! You can just sit there
blethering all day, and I'll never unbar the door."
Jean stopped singing long enough to answer: "You'll get no
breakfast, then, you mind, unless you'll be getting it yourself,
for the porridge is not cooked and the kettle's nearly boiled
away. I've the water-pail with me, and there's not a drop else in
the house."
She left him to consider this and resumed her song. For several
minutes she and True Tammas sat there gazing westward across the
valley with the little river flowing through it, to the hills
swimming in the blue distance beyond.
At last she called over her shoulder, "Jock, Father's coming,"
and Jock, seeing that his cause was hopelessly lost, unfastened
the door. Jean, her father, and True Tammas all came into the
kitchen together, and the moment she was in the room again you
should have seen how she ordered things about!
"Set the milk right down here, Father," she said, tapping the
table with her finger as she flew past to get the strainer and a
pan, "and you, Jock, fill the kettle. It's almost dry this
minute. And stir up the fire under it. Tam,"--that was what they
called the dog for short,--"go under the table or you'll get
stepped on!"
You should have seen how they all minded!--even the father, who
was six feet tall, with a jaw like a nut-cracker and a face that
would have looked very stern indeed if it hadn't been for his
twinkling blue eyes. When the milk was strained and put away in
the little shed room back of the kitchen chimney, Jean got out
the oatmeal-kettle and hung the porridge over the fire, and while
that was cooking she set three places at the tiny table and
scalded the churn. Meanwhile Jock went out to feed the fowls. By
half past six the oatmeal was on the table and the little family
gathered about it, reverently bowing their heads while the
Shepherd of Glen Easig asked a blessing upon the food.
There was only porridge and milk for breakfast, so it took but a
short time to eat it, and then the real work of the day began.
The Shepherd put on his Kilmarnock bonnet and called Tam, who had
had his breakfast on the hearth, and the two went away to the
hills after the sheep. Jock led the cow to a patch of green turf
near the bottom of the hill, where she could find fresh pasture,
and Jean was left alone in the kitchen of the little gray house.
Ah, you should have seen her then! She washed the dishes and put
them away in the cupboard, she skimmed the milk and put the cream
into the churn, she swept the hearth and shook the blankets out
of doors in the fresh morning air. Then she made the beds, and
when the kitchen was all in order, she "went ben"--that was the
way they spoke of the best room--and dusted that too. There
wasn't really a bit of need of dusting the room, for it was
never, never used except on very important occasions, such as
when the minister called. The little house was five miles from
the village, so the minister did not come often, but Jean kept it
clean all the time just to be on the safe side.
There wasn't so very much work to do in the room after all, for
there was nothing in it but the fireplace, a little table with
the Bible, the Catechism, and a copy of Burns's poems on it, and
three chairs. The kitchen was a different matter: There were the
beds, and they were hard for a small girl to manage, and the
cupboard with its shelves of dishes. There were three stools, and
a big chair for the Shepherd, and the great chest where the
clothes were kept, and besides all these things there was the wag-
at-the-wall clock on the mantel-shelf which had to be wound every
Saturday night. If you want to know just where these things
stood, you have only to look at the plan, where their places are
so plainly marked that, if you were suddenly to wake up in the
middle of the night and find yourself in the little gray house,
you could go about and put your hand on everything in it in the
dark.
Jock stayed with the cow as long as he dared, and went back to
the house only when he knew he couldn't postpone his tasks any
longer. Jean was sweeping the doorstep as he came slowly up the
hill.
"Come along, Grandfather," she called out, her brow sternly
puckered in front and her curls bobbing gaily up and down behind.
"A body'd think you were seventy-five years old and had the
rheumatism to see you move! Come and work the churn a bit. 'Twill
limber you up."
Jock knew that arguments were useless. His father had told him,
girl's work or not, he was to help Jean, so he slowly dragged
into the house and slowly began to move the dasher up and down.
"Havers!" said Jean, when she could stand it no longer. "It's
lucky there's a cover to the churn else you'd drop to sleep and
fall in and drown yourself in the buttermilk! The butter won't be
here at this rate till to-morrow, when it would break the Sabbath
by coming!"
She seized the dasher, as she spoke, and began to churn so
vigorously that the milk splashed up all around the handle. Soon
little yellow specks began to appear; and when they had formed
themselves into a ball in the churn, she lifted it out with a
paddle and put it in a pan of clear cold water. Then she gave
Jock a drink of buttermilk.
"Poor laddie!" she said. "You are all tired out! Take a sup of
this to put new strength in you, for you've got to go out and
weed the garden. I looked at the potatoes yesterday, and the
weeds have got the start of them already."
"If I must weed the garden, give me something to eat too," begged
Jock. "This milk'll do no more than slop around in my insides to
make me feel my emptiness."
Jean opened the cupboard door and peeped within.
"There's nothing for you, laddie," she said, "but this piece of a
scone. I'll have to bake more for the Sabbath, and you can have
this to give yourself a more filled-up feeling. And now off with
you!"
She took him by the collar and led him to the door; and there on
the step was Tam.
"What are you doing here?" cried Jean, astonished to see him.
"You should be with Father, watching the sheep! It's shame to a
dog to be lolling around the house instead of away on the hills
where he belongs."
Tam flattened himself out on his stomach and dragged himself to
her feet, rolling his eyes beseechingly upward, and if ever a dog
looked ashamed of himself, that dog was Tam. Jean shook her head
at him very sternly, and oh, how the jolly little curls bobbed
about
"Tam," she said, "you're as lazy as Jock himself. Whatever shall
I do with the two of you?"
Jock had already finished his scone and he thought this a good
time to disappear. He slipped round the corner of the house and
whistled. All Tam's shame was gone in an instant. He gave a
joyous bark and bounded away after Jock, his tail waving gayly in
the breeze.
II. THE RABBIT AND THE GAMEKEEPER
Out in the garden a rabbit had for some time been enjoying
himself nightly in the potato-patch, biting off the young sprouts
which were just sticking their heads through the ground. When the
rabbit heard Tam bark she dashed out of sight behind a burdock
leaf and sat perfectly still. Now if Tam and Jock had come into
the garden by the wicket gate, as they should have done, this
story might never have been written at all, because in that case
the rabbit would perhaps have got safely back to her burrow in
the woods without being seen, and there wouldn't have been any
story to tell.
But Tam and Jock didn't come in by the gate. They jumped over the
wall. Jock jumped first and landed almost on top of the rabbit,
but when Tam, a second later, landed in the same place, she was
running for dear life toward the hole in the stone wall where she
had got in. Shouting and barking, Jock and Tam tore after her.
Round and round the garden they flew, but just as they thought
they had her cornered, the rabbit slipped through the hole in the
wall and ran like the wind for the woods. Jock and Tam both
cleared the wall at a bound and chased after her, making enough
noise to be heard a mile away.
It happened that there was some one much less than a mile away to
hear it. And it happened, too, that he was the one person in all
the world that Jock would most wish not to hear it, for he was
gamekeeper to the Laird of Glen Cairn, and the Laird of Glen
Cairn owned all the land for miles and miles about in every
direction. He owned the little gray house and the moor, the
mountain, and the forest, and even the little brook that sang by
the door. To be sure, the Laird seemed to care very little for
his Highland home. He visited it but once in a great while, and
then only for a few days' hunting. The rest of the year his great
stone castle was occupied only by Eppie McLean, the housekeeper,
and two or three other servants. The Laird did not know his
tenants, and they did not know him. The rents were collected for
him by Mr. Craigie, his factor, who lived in the village, and
Angus Niel was appointed to see that no one hunted game on the
estate.
Angus was a man of great zeal in the performance of his duty, to
judge by his own account of it. He was always telling of heroic
encounters with poachers in the forests, and though he never
seemed to succeed in catching them and bringing them before the
magistrate, his tales were a warning to evil-doers and few people
dared venture into the region which he guarded. He was often seen
creeping along the outskirts of the woods, his gun on his
shoulder, his round eyes rolling suspiciously in every direction,
or even loitering around the cow byres as if he thought game
might be secreted there.
At the very moment when Jock and Tam came flying over the fence
and down the hill like a cyclone after the rabbit, Angus was
kneeling beside the brook to get a drink. His lips were pursed up
and he was bending over almost to the surface of the water, when
something dashed past him, and an instant later something else
struck him like a thunderbolt from behind, and drove him
headforemost into the brook! It wasn't Tam that did it. It was
Jock! Of course, it was an accident, but Angus thought he had
done it on purpose, and he was probably the most surprised as
well as the angriest man in Scotland at that moment. He lifted
his head out of the brook and glared at Jock as fiercely as he
could with little rills of water pouring from his hair and nose,
and trickling in streams down his neck.
"I'll make you smart for this, you young blatherskite," he roared
at Jock, who stood before him frozen with horror. "I'll teach you
where you belong! You were running after that rabbit, and your
dog is yelping down a hole after her this minute!" He was such a
funny sight as he knelt there, dripping and scolding, that,
scared as he was, Jock could not help laughing. More than ever
enraged, Angus made a sudden lunge forward and seized Jock by the
ear.
"You come along o' me," he said. His invitation was so urgent
that Jock felt obliged to accept it, and together the two started
up the slope to the little gray house. Tam, meanwhile, had given
up the chase and joined them, his tail at half-mast.
When they reached the house Angus bumped the door open without
knocking, and stamped into the kitchen. Jean was bending over the
fire turning a scone on the girdle, when the noise at the door
made her jump and look around. She was so amazed at the sight
which met her eye that for an instant she stood stock-still, and
Angus, seeing that he had only two children to deal with, gave
Jock's ear a vicious tweak and began to bluster at Jean.
But, you see, he didn't know Jean. When she saw that great fat
man abusing her brother and tracking mud all over her kitchen
floor at the same time, instead of being frightened, as she
should have been, Jean shook her cooking-fork at Angus Niel and
stamped her foot smartly on the floor.
"You let go of my brother's ear this instant," she shouted, "and
take your muddy boots out of my kitchen!"
Angus let go of Jock's ear for sheer surprise, and Jock at once
sprang to his sister's side, while Tam, seeing that trouble was
brewing, gave a low growl and bared his teeth. Angus gave a look
at Tam and decided to explain.
"This young blatherskite here," he began, in a voice that caused
the rafters to shake, "has been trespassing. He was after a
rabbit. I caught him in the very act. I'll have the law on him!
He rammed me into the burn!"
"I didn't mean to," shouted Jock, "I thought you were a stone,
and I just meant to step on you and jump across the burn."
"You meant to step on me, did you?" roared Angus. "Me! Do you
know who I am?" Jock knew very well, but he didn't have time to
say so before Angus, choking with rage, made a furious lunge for
his ear and left two more great spots of mud on the kitchen
floor. It was not to be borne. Jean pointed to his feet.
"You're trespassing yourself," she screamed. "You've no right in
this house, And you take yourself out of it this minute! Just
look at the mud you've tracked on my floor!"
Angus did look. He looked not only at the floor but at Tam, for
Tam was now slowly approaching him, growling as he came.
Angus thought best to do exactly as Jean said and as quickly as
possible. He reached the door in two jumps with Tam leaping after
him and nipping his heels at each jump, and in another instant
found himself on the doorstep with the door shut behind him.
Angus considered himself a very important man. He wasn't used to
being treated in this way, and it's no wonder he was angry. He
swelled up like a pouter pigeon; and shook his fist at the door.
"You just mind who I am," he shouted. "If ever I catch you
poaching again, I'll have you up before the bailie as sure as
eggs is eggs!"
But the door didn't say a word, and it seemed beneath his dignity
to scold a door that wouldn't even answer back, so he stamped
away growling. The children watched him until he disappeared in
the woods, and when at last they turned from the window, the
scone on the girdle was burned to a cinder and had to be given to
the chickens!
You might have thought that by this time Jean had done enough
work even for Saturday, but there was still the broth to make for
supper and for the Sabbath, and the kitchen floor to be scrubbed,
and, last of all, the family baths! When the little kitchen was
as clean as clean could be, Jean got the wash-tub and set it on
the hearth. Jock knew the signs and decided he'd go out behind
the byre and look for eggs, but Jean had her eye on him.
"Jock Campbell," said she, "you go at once and get the water."
In vain Jock assured her he was cleaner than anything and didn't
need a bath. Jean was firm. She made him fill the kettles, and
when the water was hot, she shut him up in the kitchen with soap
and a towel while she took all the shoes to the front steps to
polish for Kirk on the morrow. When at last Jock appeared before
her he was so shiny clean that Jean said it dazzled her eyes to
look at him, so she sent him for the cow while she took her turn
at the tub.
By four o'clock, Tam, who had spent an anxious afternoon by the
hole in the garden wall watching for the rabbit, suddenly
remembered his duties and started away over the moors to meet the
Shepherd and round up any sheep that might have strayed from the
flock, and at five Jock, returning from the byre, met his father
coming home with Tam at his heels.
The regular evening tasks were finished just as the sun sank out
of sight behind the western hills, and the birds were singing
their evening songs, and when they went into the kitchen a bright
fire was blazing on the hearth, the broth was simmering in the
kettle, and Jean had three bowls of it ready for them on the
table.
While they ate their supper Jock told their father all about the
rabbit and Angus Niel and his ducking in the burn, and when Jock
told about Jean's ordering him out of the kitchen, and of his
jumping to the door with Tam nipping at his heels, the Shepherd
slapped his knee and laughed till he cried. Tam, sitting on the
hearth with his tongue lolling out, looked as if he were
laughing, too.
"Havers!" cried the Shepherd, "I wish I'd been here to see that
sight! Angus is that swollen up with pride of position, he's like
to burst himself. He needed a bit of a fall to ease him of it,
but I'd never have picked out Jean Campbell to trip him up!
You're a spirited tid, my dawtie, and I'm proud of you."
"But, Father," said Jock, "whatever shall we do about the
rabbits? The woods are full of them, and there'll not be a sprig
of green left in the garden. They can hop right over the wall,
even if we do stop up the hole."
"Aye," answered his father solemnly, "and that's a serious
question, my lad. They get worse every year, and syne we'll have
no tatties for the winter, let alone other vegetables. A deer
came into Andrew Crumpet's garden one night last week and left
not a green sprout in it by the morning. The creatures must live
that idle gentlemen may shoot them for pleasure, even though they
eat our food and leave us to go hungry." His brow darkened and a
long-smouldering wrath burst forth into words. "There's no
justice in it," he declared, thumping the table with his fist
till the spoons danced, "Lairds or no Lairds, Anguses or no
Anguses."
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