Oh! Christina!/Chapter 14

ISTEN to this, auntie!"

Miss Purvis was engaged in opening a parcel of periodicals, which had arrived by the evening steamer and which Christina had just fetched from the pier.

"Listen to this, auntie!"

"I am listening."

Christina proceeded to read from a mustard-coloured handbill the following—

Grand Moonlight Cruise to Rothesay Bay, by the North British Coy.'s Steamer Marmion,'' on Friday evening, 23rd August (weather permitting). Steamer leaves Kilmabeg at 1.20, returning about 10 p.m. Music on board. Fare—one shilling.''

She paused impressively.

"Indeed," said Miss Purvis absently.

"What price a moonlight cruise, auntie?" Christina's excitement was ill-suppressed.

"Didn't you say it was one shilling?" the spinster returned, beginning to count the items in the parcel.

"Tits!... Are ye on for a moonlight cruise, auntie? My, it wud be rare fun? Eh?"

"There is a Boudoir Companion short here," murmured Miss Purvis, "and a Christian Dispatch too many."

"What's the odds? I'm askin' ye if ye're on for a moonlight cruise on Friday."

"Oh yes, of course—I mean no, certainly not," said Miss Purvis, who happened to have a headache. "I do not think such a cruise would be very nice, Christina."

"Ha'e ye ever been a moonlight cruise?"

"Not since I was very young."

"Aboot ma age, eh?"

"Oh no; not quite so young as you, my dear."

"It strikes me," Christina observed gloomily, "that I'll never be the richt age for enjeyin' masel'. I'm ower young the noo; an' when I'm no' ower young, I'll be ower auld. Oh, what a life!"

"Hush, Christina! You are talking nonsense. There's a time for everything." The spinster passed her hand over her forehead and sighed wearily.

The girl looked at her.

"Ha'e ye a sair heid, auntie?"

"I'm afraid I have, dear."

"That's a peety." Christina's tone was quite sympathetic, even when she added, "I suppose it was the crab ye had to yer supper last nicht that done it. Ye're aye upset efter ye've ett a crab. I ken ye're passionately fond o' crabs, but ye should learn to say 'No,' auntie. Is yer heid awfu' bad?"

"No; it is not really very bad. I dare say it will pass off after tea."

"I'll mak' the tea the noo," Christina said briskly.

"That would be very nice," her aunt responded with a grateful smile. "You are a kind, thoughtful girl, Christina."

"Hooch, ay! Jist you sit quate an' never heed yer Boodwar Companions an' Dispatches the noo. Wud ye like a dose o' meddicine—eh? No? Aweel, jist as ye please. It's for you to say.... I'll ha'e the tea ready in twa shakes. Ye better no' tak' hot toast the nicht—dry toast'll suit ye better. Noo, dinna stir till I cry on ye."

With the utmost enthusiasm Christina set about preparing the meal. She regretted her aunt's suffering, but she did enjoy taking charge. Having put the kettle on the fire, she proceeded to lay the table, singing as she did so—

She repeated the verse several times in a moderately soft voice, but thereafter her singing grew louder and louder till—

"Christina!" called her aunt.

"Hullo!" she replied, going to the door.

"Do not sing that dreadful song, please."

"Did it hurt yer heid, auntie?"

"No; but Mrs. MacBean, who was in the shop a moment ago, was perfectly shocked."

"She's easy shocked. What was she buyin'?"

"Mrs. MacBean was collecting for the Foreign Missions."

"Oh, weel, I hope she didna collect onything aff you! I wudna gi'e her a maik—the auld goat-faced kangaroo!"

"Christina!"

"Aw, I forgot aboot yer heid, auntie. I'm sorry. The tea'll be ready in a jiffy. Oh, mercy! there the kettle bilin' ower!" And Christina fled back to her duty.

An hour later Miss Purvis admitted that the tea had done her a world of good, and by eight o'clock, when business was over, she expressed herself as quite better.

Happening to raise her eyes above the mantelpiece, she caught sight of the yellow hand-bill, which Christina had pinned to the oleograph of "The Stag at Bay."

"I do not think that is an ornament, my dear," she mildly remarked.

"I didna mean it for an ornament. I stuck it up so we wudna forget the moonlight cruise on Friday, auntie."

"But, my dear girl"

"You an' me's gaun to ha'e an' awfu' skite, eh, auntie?"

"Nonsense, Christina! I would never think of going to such a thing."

"I suppose I'll ha'e to gang masel'," said Christina carelessly.

"Certainly not!"

"But I've decidet to gang. I've nae money, but I'll gang as a stowaway."

Miss Purvis held her peace.

"Come on, auntie, say ye'll gang. It wud be an awfu' disgrace to you if I was catched bein' a stowaway, an"

"Do not say catched, Christina."

"Nabbit, then. It wud be an awfu' disgrace, wud it no'? But I ken ye'll come. I'll promise to behave masel', auntie, an' ye'll enjey it fine—if ye're carefu' what ye eat afore ye start. It'll remind ye o' yer young days, eh?"

"I never heard of such an idea!" said Miss Purvis. "What makes you want to go?"

"Oh, weel, near everybody in Kilmabeg has been to moonlight cruises except us. An' Friday's the last this year."

"Well, perhaps, next year"

"Some time, never!" groaned Christina. "That's the wey folk miss their chances. We'll maybe no' be leevin' next year."

"Hush!" Miss Purvis spoke reprovingly. "This is only Monday. I must think over it."

"It wud save ye a heap o' thinkin', auntie, if ye decided noo."

"You must not be impertinent, Christina."

"It was jist the truth. I didna mean for to be impiddent. D'ye think ye'll ha'e made up yer mind by the morn's nicht, auntie?"

"It is impossible to say."

Christina heaved a sigh and relapsed into silence. Miss Purvis knitted steadily.

At the end of ten minutes Christina rose, went into the shop, and returned with a gaudily covered novelette.

Wife or No Wife was the title, and she repeated it aloud.

"I forbid you to read that," said her aunt.

"What wey?"

"Because you are too young."

"What am to read?"

Miss Purvis reflected. At last she said, in her primmest voice, "I have been thinking lately that it would be very pleasant if you were to read something aloud to me every evening, my dear."

"Richt ye are!" said Christina, opening the novelette.

"No; not that kind of reading. I mean good reading. Now, if you go to the shelf, you will find a little book—a little green book—called Gems of Poesie. You might bring it to me."

Christina rose without much eagerness, and brought her aunt the volume mentioned.

"I got this as a prize when I was at school, Christina."

"It's no' much o' a prize; what did ye get it for? Punctuality, eh?"

"For good conduct, Christina."

"Come on, noo! Ye're tryin to cod me!"

"To what?"

"Och, never heed. I beg yer paurdon. I see 'for good conduct' on the front page, richt enough. Is't poetry?"

"The finest of poetry. That is why it is called Gems of Poesie. Now, what will you read to me?"

"You read first, auntie," said Christina, backing away.

"Certainly," said Miss Purvis agreeably. She turned over the pages. "Ah! here is a beautiful poem. Sit down, Christina, and pay great attention."

Christina sat down and began to whistle softly.

"Hush! Listen to this beautiful poem. It is by William Wordsworth. It is called 'We are Seven.'" Miss Purvis emitted several delicate coughs.

"Did ye say seven or seventy, auntie?" inquired her niece.

"Seven, Christina. 'We are Seven.' Now attend!—

"Och, I ken that!" Christina interrupted. "It was in ma last year's reader. I ken it fine."

"Then, perhaps, since you know it so well," said Miss Purvis, somewhat snappily, "you can tell me what comes after the two lines I have just read."

"Hooch, ay!—

And Christina laughed heartily.

"Christina!" gasped her aunt. "I'm surprised at you!"

"That was the wey yin o' the lassies used to say it. Is there nae love-poetry in that prize o' yours?"

Miss Purvis ignored the inquiry. "If you are going to make mock of these beautiful verses, I shall not read another line."

"Oh, read anither, please, auntie."

After some hesitation the spinster began—

"Same here," said Christina. "But fire awa'."

Miss Purvis shut the book, laid it aside, and resumed her knitting.

A minute went slowly past.

"Auntie!"

"Yes?" very coldly.

"Auntie!"

"What is it?"

"I—I didna mean to offend ye. Gi'e's anither chance. I couldna help kennin' aboot the little cottage girl an' Miss Gray. They were baith in ma lesson book. Read anither, if ye please, auntie. I'll haud ma tongue this time."

Miss Purvis relaxed from the stiff attitude she had assumed.

"Well, Christina, if you will promise not to interrupt, I might read you 'Lord Ullin's Daughter.' It is by Thomas Campbell"

"That's the name o' the sclater in Kilmabeg."

"Never mind that. 'Lord Ullin's Daughter' is an exceedingly fine poem."

"Was she young or auld?"

"She was young"

"As young as me?"

"Oh no; she was a young lady who ran away with her lover"

"Her lover! Oh, my! Please read it, auntie," cried Christina, and, curling one leg round the other, settled herself to listen.

Miss Purvis read the whole tale without suffering a single interruption, and at its conclusion her niece was pleased to say—

"That's a champion pome, auntie. I like it rale weel. But what a peety they got droondit, an' what an auld besom the fayther was! I wish ye wud read it again. Please, auntie."

Miss Purvis was frankly delighted.

"Now, I'm sure that such a poem is far more worth reading than trashy novels, my dear. How would you like to learn 'Lord Ullin's Daughter' by heart?"

Christina smiled doubtfully.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," cried Miss Purvis, with a sudden inspiration. "If you can repeat the poem correctly to me by Thursday night, I'll take you to the moonlight cruise on Friday—provided that the weather is very fine. Now, what do you say to that?"

The girl jumped up. "I'm on!" she shouted, and fell upon her aunt's neck.

She spent the rest of the evening in studying "Lord Ullin's Daughter," and went to bed in a fever of anticipation.

About 3 a.m. Miss Purvis was roused from her slumbers.

"Auntie! Auntie!"

"What is it? Don't you feel well?" Miss Purvis sniffed violently, and was relieved at the absence of perfume.

"D'ye think it'll be fine on Friday?"

"Friday? Oh yes—yes, I hope it will be fine. Go to sleep, dear."

"I'm thinkin' it'll be a queer suck for me if Friday's wat. I canna unlearn the pome."