Jess & Co./Chapter 3

RS. WALLACE found Jess sitting in the cottage porch darning her husband's socks.

"Ye didna expec' to see me the day," she said, shaking hands and taking the chair which Jess had vacated.

"But I'm glad to see you, Aunt Wallace. How are the lodgers getting on?" Jess spoke hurriedly. Her thoughts had not been entirely with the socks.

"The ludgers is gettin' on fine," said Mrs. Wallace, sourly. "But they're gettin' aff the morn's mornin', an', as ye see, I'm no' whit ye wud ca' consumed wi' grief. Hoo are ye gettin' on yersel', lass?"

"First rate."

"Mphm! I see ye're at the darnin'."

"It's got to be done, Aunt Wallace."

"That's whit ye'll be sayin' fifty year efter this, if ye're spared. But ye'll no' say it as cheery like. Na!"

Jess laughed, not altogether freely. "After all, it's not such an awful business," she remarked.

"There's naethin' awfu' but a boat capsizin' or a railway collusion," returned Mrs. Wallace, austerely. "As ye say, the darnin' o' yer man's socks is no' an awfu' business. An' it keeps ye oot o' mischief. It's better fur ye nor fleein' aboot an' crackin' wi' yer neebors."

It occurred to Jess to offer the old lady a few undarned socks to take home with her, but she refrained.

"'Deed, ay!" went on Mrs. Wallace. "I'm gled ye've aye plenty to dae. There's plenty clatterin' tongues in Kinlochan wi'oot addin' to them. As I wis comin' alang the road the noo I seen Mistress Foulis leanin' ower the hedge ha'ein' a crack wi' Mistress McGreegor. an' ye wud ha'e thocht the twa o' them wis tryin' fur a prize fur the yin that cud get oot the maist words in a meenit. I wisht ye had heard the gabblin', Jess!—fur it wis jist gabblin' an' naethin' else."

"Were they quarrelling?"

"Na, na. If they had been quarrellin' there micht ha'e been some excuse. I'm kin' o' quick wi' ma tongue masel' when I'm pit oot. But the twa of them wis jist ha'ein' a bit crack aboot naethin' in parteeclar. An' when folk stairt to crack aboot naethin', there's naethin' can stop them. Na!"

"Which deserved the prize, d'you think?" Jess asked, for the sake of saying something.

"Aweel, I wudna like to say. But I doot Mistress Foulis wud win in the end, fur Mistress McGreegor's that stoot an' gets oot o' breith after an 'oor or twa. It's practice that keeps her up, fur her an' Mistress Foulis are aye at it. I never come alang the road wi'oot hearin' them. An' I'm shair I hope ye'll never be like either o' them, ma lass."

"I hope not, Aunt Wallace," said the niece, with a smile.

"But ye're nane the waur o' a bit warnin'. Ye never ken whit's afore ye. I've seen mony a quate young yin like yersel' turn intil a haverin' buddy jist frae sheer want o' plenty to dae. So it's a' fur yer guid if yer man's sair on his socks."

Here Mrs. Wallace picked up one of the articles in question and examined it critically.

"I'm afraid I'm not a very neat darner," said Jess, partly irritated and partly amused.

"I wud be tellin' a lee if I said ye wis," returned her aunt. "Maybe ye've heard tell o' the man—I canna mind whether he wis a saint or a eediot—that gaed aff on a pilgrimage wi' peas in his shoes. Eh?"

Mrs. Houston laughed good-naturedly. "I've heard that he boiled the peas first, aunt."

"Mphm!... I suppose ye're intendin' fur to bile yer, man's socks? Ha! ha! ha! ... Tits, lassie, I'm no' meanin' to hurt yer feelin's. Yer darnin' isna jist as bad as a' that. See! Gi'e's yer needle fur a meenit." And the old woman proceeded to give the young one a, short object-lesson in darning.

"I don't know how you do it, Aunt Wallace," cried Jess, at last, her slight resentment giving place to honest admiration. "You could hardly tell it was a darn!"

"Havers!" muttered Mrs. Wallace, trying not to look pleased. "But ye see hoo it's dune? Eh?"

The young woman nodded.

"Ma guidman used to say he preferred the darns to the rest o' the sock. He wis an' unco blether, wis ma guidman, when he wis leevin'," said Mrs. Wallace, smiling a little less coldly than her wont. "Ay, ay. He wis aye peyin' compliments or makin' complaints. Ye'll hardly mind yer Uncle Wallace, Jess?"

"Not very well."

"Ah, ye canna be expec'it to mind him. But fur a man he wisna bad—na, he wisna bad. In fac', I micht say I never kent a better man. An', efter a', his complainin' micht ha'e been waur, an' his compliments cudna ha'e been better. Ye see, he aye peyed a compliment jist afore he made a complaint, so I wis aye ready fur the complaint, an' I jist never heedit. There's naething cures a man's complaints quicker nor peyin' nae attention to them. Yer uncle never complained twice aboot the same thing. He aye had something new, an' that kep' him frae gettin' tiresome. 'Deed, ay; he wisna bad fur a man.... Has yer ain man begood to complain yet?"

Jess laughed and shook her head.

"Aweel, there's time enough yet. But when he begins, dinna fash yersel'. Noo an' then ye can gi'e him a saft answer like whit I used to gi'e whiles to yer uncle. I mind yinst he slep in i' the mornin', an' cam' in late to his breakfast. 'Whit kep' ye?' says I.... 'Oh,' says he, smilin' that sweetlike, 'I cudna help turnin' ower an' ha'ein' anither wee bit dream aboot ye, ma dear.'... That wis the compliment, Jess, an' I kent fine there wis mair to come. ... 'This ham's hauf cauld,' he says, lukin' at me across the table.... That wis the complaint, ye see!... 'Weel,' says I, wi'oot lossin' ma temper, 'if ye dinna eat it quick it 'll be quite cauld.'... He never spoke aboot ham again. An', as I wis sayin', a saft answer's worth tryin' noo an' then."

Mrs. Wallace paused for a few seconds. Then in her usual abrupt fashion she said, "An' whit tuk David to Glesca the day?"

Jess started. Her husband had gone to town by the early steamer, and she had been hoping that her aunt was unaware of the fact. "Did you see Davie, Aunt Wallace?" she inquired, stooping to pick up the sock she had dropped.

"Ogilvy, the grocer, wis tellin' me he seen him gaun on board the boat, an' twa-three ither folk in Kinlochan wis speirin' if I kent whit his business wis."

Mrs. Houston flushed angrily. "His business is none of theirs, anyhow!" she said, quickly.

"Och, ye needna flee up, Jess," said the old woman, soothingly, but with a curious glance at her niece. "It's jist the Kinlochan wey. Ye micht ken that by this time."

"It's a horrible way!" cried the other, her lip quivering.

"Toots, havers! There's naethin' horrible but murder an' earthquakes. Ye see, the folk thocht it wis kin' o' queer fur yer man to gang to Glesca the day, when he micht ha'e waitit till Setturday an' got the chape tucket."

"But this is only Tuesday."

"Ah, but the Kinlochan folk thinks it maun be gey important business or pleesure if it canna wait twa-three days."

"I don't care what the Kinlochan folk think!"

"Weel, weel, it's jist their curiosity, an' I suppose they dinna mean ony hairm, though I wudna like to be aye curious aboot ither folk's business like some o' them. Ma motto is to mind yer ain business. Ay!"

In spite of her worry Jess nearly laughed.

"'Deed, ay!" continued Mrs. Wallace. "It's a sad job when folk is aye wunnerin' an' speirin' aboot yin anither.... I suppose ye're expec'in' David hame the nicht?"

"Oh yes. I think he'll be here with the next boat."

"Ye wud be rale prood that he got the job o' the Arden greenhooses."

"Yes, of course," Mrs. Houston answered, trying to smile.

"I wis hearin' the Fairport jiner wis wild at no' gettin' the job. He had been ower shair o' gettin' it, an' he had laid in a heap o' wudd, an' noo he disna ken whit to dae wi' the wudd, the stupit buddy! Ye can be ower smairt as well as ower slow in this warld. I dinna think David Houston wud ha'e made a mistak' that wey. Nae doot it's the wudd that tuk him to Glesca the day."

"Yes," said Jess, wondering miserably how her husband had succeeded in his interview with Hardy & Son.

"I kin' o' thocht it wis the wudd," said Mrs. Wallace, secretly delighted at having extracted her desired information. For once she had got ahead of Mr. Ogilvy, the village oracle, who had been inclined to think that the joiner had gone to town merely on pleasure, seeing that he had worn a felt hat, and not the customary cloth cap.

"Weel, I maun gang noo," she announced, preparatory to rising. "I suppose yer man hasna been talkin' in his sleep lately?"

"No," said Mrs. Houston, a little puzzled.

"I thocht he micht ha'e mentioned a lock fur ma coal-cellar door. Of coorse, ye ken, I dinna want to hurry him, but I've a kin' o' ambeetion, as it were, to see a lock on that door afore I dee. But maybe it's whit the story-books ca' a wild an' hopeless ambeetion. Hooever, ye can tell David I'm no' thinkin' o' deein' fur a year or twa yet, an'— Mercy me! wha's this comin' to see ye?"

A lady was bidding another good-bye at the gate, and was evidently about to enter.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Jess. "It's Miss Perk, from Point View."

"If it's her," said Mrs. Wallace, rising, "she's gotten a new hat, an' a daftlike yin furbye. Weel, I canna thole Miss Perk, hat or nae hat; so I'll bid ye—"

"Don't go, Aunt Wallace, please don't go," the young wife implored. "If you stay she won't wait long. If she catches me alone, she'll wait till Davie comes home, and I—I don't want that."

"Ye dinna mean to tell me ye're feart fur her!"

"I am—I am. At least, I'm not exactly afraid, but—but—I don't care about her. She's always coming to lecture me about Davie."

"D'ye tell me that? She better leave that to me, the impiddent auld maid! She thinks she's a kin' o' queen amang the Kinlochan folk because she bides here through the winter an' tak's the front place at a' the sewin'-meetin's an' the like. An' the warst o' it is that the Kinlochan folk boo doon to her—no' fur love, fur she never gi'ed awa' onythin' dearer nor advice that naebody wants, but jist fur— Aw, here she's comin'." Mrs. Wallace's voice sank to a whisper. "Never heed, Jess. I'll no' desert ye."

Mrs. Houston threw her relative a grateful glance, and left the porch to meet her visitor, who came briskly up the path with a business-like air and a somewhat patronizing smile.

Miss Perk, who, with an aged mother, lived "on her money" at Point View, might have been anything between forty and sixty years of age, to judge by her appearance. Let us call it fifty. She was middle-sized in every way, mentally as well as physically, but among the Kinlochan natives she had gained the reputation of being "mair nor or'nar' clever fur a wumman," and was held in considerable awe, if not respect. She had gained her reputation for cleverness by the simple method of talking a deal and doing nothing. And yet it would be unfair to deny that she meant well. But she was a woman given to such phrases as "quite a lady" and "a terribly common person"; and, though overflowing with good advice for her humbler fellow-beings, she was practically void of sympathy. She forced herself upon the Kinlochan folk, who were too simple and kindly to tell her to mind her own business. As a young man once put it—vulgarly, perhaps—she tried to elevate the masses like balloons—with gas.

She shook hands with Jess as if she were conferring a favor. "I thought I would just pop in and see how you were getting on after our last little chat, Mrs. Houston," she said, graciously. "Has your husband come home yet?"

"No, Miss Perk," Jess replied, adding, "my aunt is with me this afternoon."

"Oh, indeed," said Miss Perk, shortly, and at that moment she caught sight of Mrs. Wallace sitting in the porch, her face wearing its grimmest expression.

Miss Perk was annoyed, but, assuming her platform smile, she stepped forward and shook hands with the older woman. "How do you do, Mrs. Wallace? Is this not a beautiful day?"

"I'm pretty middlin', thenk ye; an' I'm no' sayin' onythin' agin the weather.... Jess, ye micht bring a sate here fur yer veesitor. I ken ye canna ask her into the hoose the day."

As a matter of fact, the cottage had never been tidier, but Mrs. Wallace had the presentiment that, out of politeness, her niece might be weak enough to invite Miss Perk to sit in the parlor.

Jess brought a chair, which Miss Perk accepted, though she would rather have gone in-doors, leaving Mrs. Wallace to herself. Still, she was not going to allow the presence of a "common old woman" to interfere with the object of her visit.

"Would you take a cup of tea?" Mrs. Houston hospitably inquired.

"Oh no, thank you. I had tea at Mrs. Spright's a few minutes ago."

Here Mrs. Wallace scored again. "Thenk ye, ma dear," she said, calmly, to Jess, "I cud dae wi' a dish o' tea fine. An' I'll tak it oot here when it's ready. Maybe yer veesitor 'll change her mind."

"No, thank you," said Miss Perk, stiffly.

"Please excuse me leaving you," said Jess.

"Oh, certainly. We can have our little chat presently."

Mrs. Wallace's lips tightened. "Maybe," she said, to herself.

Mrs. Houston, almost alarmed by her aunt's temerity in braving such an important person as Miss Perk, left the ill-assorted twain and retired to the kitchen.

A silence brooded in the porch till at last Miss Perk, smothering her irritation, remarked, with forced pleasantness:

"I don't think I ever see you at any of our meetings, Mrs. Wallace."

"I daur say that, ma'am."

"The winter is approaching again, and we expect to have some delightful and, I think I may add, really helpful meetings. I am preparing a series of lectures on 'The first year of married life,' which 1 hope will—"

"Weel, I doot that's a wee thing juvenile fur me, ma'am. An', furbye, I'm better at gi'ein' a bit lectur' masel' nor listenin' to yin," said Mrs. Wallace, with a dry smile.

The other attempted a laugh as she returned: "Still, Mrs. Wallace, I think you would find it worth your while to attend, and persuade Mrs. Houston and her husband to attend also."

Mrs. Wallace did not respond.

"I may say I take a great interest in your niece," continued Miss Perk.

"I micht say the same, ma'am."

"Yes, yes. No doubt," said Miss Perk, with an impatient movement of her hand. "And I may say further that I consider her quite a capable young woman, whose mind has been cultivated, considering her station in life, to a considerable extent.... What did you say, Mrs. Wallace?"

"I didna say onythin'," said the old woman, apparently swallowing something.

"Well, as I was about to observe. I feel it would be a pity if that cultivation were now to cease. No doubt her husband is an estimable man, though I could wish him more industrious. I heard that he went to town this morning, obviously for a day's pleasure, and I hear many complaints of his dilatoriness in executing the orders entrusted to him. Personally I should not dream of asking him to perform any repairs on my account."

Miss Perk was so taken up with herself that she failed to notice the countenance of Mrs. Wallace. "Now," she went on, "I've no doubt that if you would induce Mr. and Mrs. Houston to attend our meetings, they would both benefit considerably. As I said, the husband is doubtless an estimable man, but there is certainly room for improvement, mentally if not morally. You, Mrs. Wallace, must naturally be anxious about your niece's welfare, and, of course, it is your duty to influence the young couple in the right direction."

Mrs. Wallace, with a tremendous effort, restrained her temper, but her speech was rather thick, while beads of perspiration broke out on her wrinkled forehead. "I canna say I see muckle wrang wi' Jess an' her man. They're kind to yin anither, an' they're happy thegither, an', efter a', it's nae great maitter if yin or twa o' the gentry aboot here gangs to the jiners at Kilmabeg an' Fairport."

"Yes, yes," returned Miss Perk, in some confusion. "Of course, I never meant to imply that there was anything wrong; nor did I suggest that they were not kind and happy. But is kindness and happiness sufficient?"

"Deed, ay! if ye ha'e them in plenty."

Miss Perk shook her head pityingly. "It is the duty of every human being to improve his or her intellect, Mrs. Wallace."

"D'ye mean books, ma'am? Fur Jess is a great reader when she gets the time, and her man's no' jist as eegnorant as some micht suppose."

"Books are certainly good, but I hold that the spoken word is more effective."

"Mphm!... Whiles... But I doot guid books is easier got nor guid speakers, ma'am."

"Good speakers, as you suggest, are no doubt comparatively rare," said Miss Perk, modestly. "But one must do one's best." She was going to say a good deal more, but Mrs. Wallace, who could endure no more, sat up in her chair and bawled through the doorway:

"Jess! Is ma tea no' ready yet?"

"Just coming," came the reply.

"I suppose it is time you were getting home, Mrs. Wallace. I understand you have some young men lodging with you," Miss Perk remarked, pleasantly. She had a satisfied feeling that she had impressed the old woman, yet looked forward to getting rid of her.

"Oh, I'm in plenty of time fur ma ludgers, thenk ye. But I dinna want to keep Jess frae gettin' ready fur her man comin' hame. I sudna ha'e askit fur the tea, I doot."

"I should much like to have a word with Mr. Houston," said the visitor.

"Weel, ye 'll get him in the shope near every day. He'll be busy fur a while at the Arden greenhooses.... Oh, ye didna hear he had gotten that job? 'Deed, it wis a fine compliment to him! But, ye see, he's an extra fine workman; an' if folk wants a thing dune weel—no' chape, ye ken—they gang to David Houston."

At this juncture Jess arrived with the tea, and Mrs. Wallace, having helped herself, said, with unusual geniality:

"I'm vexed fur gi'ein' ye a' this trouble, ma lass, fur ye'll need to be gettin' ready fur yer man.... Hech! but I near burnt ma mooth. I'll tak a drappie mair mulk, an' drink it quick." She gulped her tea in a fashion that Miss Perk thought extremely vulgar. "Weel, that wis maist refreshin'! An' noo it's time I wis awa'. Ye better see aboot yer man's tea. I'm shair yer veesitor 'll excuse ye."

Mrs. Houston felt and looked uncomfortable as Miss Perk rose, red with anger, and said, coldly:

"I fear I must be going, but I shall hope to have a little chat with you on an important matter ere long. I trust it may be at a more convenient season. Good-bye, Mrs. Houston. Remember me to your husband. Good-bye, Mrs. Wallace—"

"Oh, we'll gang to the gate thegither," said Mrs. Wallace, with the utmost cheerfulness. "Come awa', Jess."

Miss Perk did not wait for a second good-bye at the gate, but marched off without delay.

"I wis feart she micht slip back efter I wis awa'," said Mrs. Wallace, with a chuckle.

"Oh, aunt," cried Jess, "I hope you didn't offend her. I shouldn't have left her like yon. But I—I couldn't bear her to-day, and I'm so thankful to you."

"Havers, lass! Never you heed her. She's jist a bletherin' buddy. Aff ye gang an' get yer man's tea ready. I'll maybe see ye the morn when I'm quit o' ma ludgers. Guid-bye, ma dearie."

It was a very dejected husband that came home that evening. Jess was in the porch waiting for him, and at the sight of him coming up the path from the gate, without the meerest [sic] glance at the flower-beds, all the hope in her heart went out like a flash.

He laid his hand for an instant on her shoulder, and walked past her into the kitchen. She brushed away a tear, and followed him.

"Your tea's ready, Davie," she said, quietly.

"Ay," he returned, indifferently, seating himself at the neatly arranged table.

He made a poor meal, but she made a poorer.

"Have your smoke, Davie," she said, when he had pushed away his plate.

He followed her suggestion in silence, keeping his eyes lowered. Indeed, he had not faced her since his return.

At length Jess spoke. "Would they not give you what you wanted, Davie?" she asked, softly.

"Jist that," he muttered.

"Poor lad! Did you see Mr. Hardy himself?"

David shook his head. "The auld man that ma fayther did business wi' is deid an' gone. I'm thinkin' it wud ha'e been different if he had been there, Jess," he added, sadly.

"And who did you see?"

"The managin' director, I was tell't. But I dinna mind his name."

"And he wouldn't oblige you?"

"No' wi' a penny's worth. An' I had to gi'e him a bill at three months for the accoont."

"A bill—at three months? Oh, Davie!"

"Ye may weel be ashamed o' yer man, Jess," he groaned, miserably.

"Ashamed! I'll never be that. Did you try any of the other wood merchants?"

"I hadna the hert. Ye see it was sic a lot o' wudd that was needit. They wud ha'e wantit cash, or a reference, enywoy.... I'll jist ha'e to fling up the Arden job. I cudna ask for money in advance, though I've nae doot I wud get it. But I cudna dae't... I'm rale vexed for ye, ma lass."

"Oh, Davie! You're not to talk that way! Indeed, you're not to talk about it at all for a little, and then we'll see what's to be done. I'm quite sure you won't have to fling up the Arden job. You'll get wood somehow.... Away out to the garden till I get the dishes washed."

He obeyed silently, and his wife, neglecting the dishes, sat down in the arm-chair and thought hard. She had an idea, but she was afraid to mention it to him lest it should prove unworkable. But at last she made up her mind, and followed him to the garden, where he was already interested in some of his flowers.

"Davie," she began, nervously, "is there anything special about this wood you require? Would it do for anything besides greenhouses?"

"No' for mony things. The wudd wantit for Arden is a special sort an' a special size. But what dae ye—"

"Are there many big greenhouses about Fairport?"

"Na! Nane ava'. But—"

"Who is the joiner at Fairport, Davie?"

"Jamie Proudfoot."

"Do you know him?"

"Fine. He used to work for ma fayther."

"But are you and he quite friendly?"

"What for no'? But, Jess—"

"But he was tryin' for the Arden job, wasn't he? That wasn't very friendly, surely."

"Och, that was a' in the wey o' business. But what are ye speirin' for, Jess?"

Jess summoned all her courage. "Well, I was just wondering if—if you couldn't get the wood from Jamie Proudfoot. He would trust you, wouldn't he?"

"I'm shair he wud dae that, lass," said David, sadly; "but, ye see, he's no' a merchant. He hasna got the wudd I need."

"But he has!" cried she, a note of hope in her voice. And she told David the little bit of news she had heard from her aunt.

"Weel, weel," said David, when he understood. "If I had kent that, I wud never ha'e gaed to Glesca the day."

"It was me that made you go to Glasgow," she sighed. "Poor Davie!"

"Ma dear! It was the richt thing to dae," he said, half in sorrow, half in shame.

"And will you go and see the Fairport man now?" she asked, eagerly.

"The nicht?"

She nodded. "It won't take you long on your bicycle. An'—an', Davie, make him think you're doing him a favor taking the wood off his hands, for that's just what you are doing, and tell him straight that you won't pay him for a little yet; d'you understand?"

"Ay," he said, after a moment. His eyes, alight with admiration, were turned to her.

She touched him lightly on the cheek. "Get your bicycle," she said.

A minute later she watched him ride away on his old solid-tired machine. "Good luck, Davie!" she called after him.

By the next afternoon Jamie Proudfoot's wood was in David Houston's yard, and, in spite of the bill at three months, Jess went about her work singing.