Wee Macgreegor/Chapter 3

Robinsons were on their way to tea at Aunt Purdie's, and the anxious Lizzie was counselling her son regarding his behavior at the table of that excellent lady.

"Noo, Macgreegor," she said, "ye' re no' to affront me. Yer Aunt Purdie's rale genteel, an' awfu' easy offendit."

"Dod, ay!" said John, "ye'll ha'e to mind yer Q.P.'s the day, as the sayin' is."

"Dod, ay!" said Macgregor.

"I've tell 't ye dizzens o' times, Macgreegor, ye're no' to say that," said his mother.

"I furgot, maw."

"If yer Aunt Purdie wis hearin' ye speak that wey she wud be sair pit oot. An', John," turning to her husband, "ye sud be mair carefu' whit ye say afore the wean. He's jist like a paurrit fur pickin' up words."

"Dod, ay!" said John, seriously, "I'll ha'e to be carefu', Lizzie."

"Ye're an awfu' man," said his wife, frowning and smiling.

"Wull I get a tert at Aunt Purdie's?" inquired Macgregor.

"Ye'll see whit ye'll get when ye get it," replied his mother. "An' mind, Macgreegor, ye're no' to be askin' fur jeely till ye've ett twa bits o' breed-an'-butter. It's no' mainners; an' yer Aunt Purdie's rale parteeclar. An' yer no' to dicht yer mooth wi' yer cuff—mind that. Ye're to tak' yer hanky an' let on ye're jist gi'ein' yer nib a bit wipe. An' ye're no' to scale yer tea nor sup the sugar if ony's left in yer cup when ye're dune drinkin'. An' if ye drap yer piece on the floor, ye're no' to gang efter it; ye're jist to let on ye've ett it. An' ye're no'"

"Deed, Lizzie," interposed her husband, "ye're the yin to think aboot things!"

"Wed, John, if I dinna tell Macgreegor hoo to behave hissel', he'll affront me. It's maybe a sma' maitter to a man, John, but a wumman disna like to be pit oot afore her guid sister. An', John, ye're to try an' be discreet yersel', an' think afore ye mak' a bit joke, fur she's a rale genteel wumman, an' awfu' easy offendit."

"But yer brither likes a lauch, Lizzie."

"Ay, Rubbert's a herty man; but a' the same, John, ye're no' to gar him lauch abin his breith. An' yer no' to lauch yersel' if Macgreegor tries to be smairt."

"A' richt, Lizzie," said her husband, good-humoredly. "Dod, I'm thinkin' ye're jist aboot as feart fur me as fur the wean."

"Havers, John! I'm no' finnin' fau't wi' you. It's jist that ye whiles furget yer"

"Ma Q.P.'s."

"Ay, yer Q.P.'s, as ye ca' it. I aye thocht Q.P.'s wis a kin' o' fit-ba'."

Her husband was about to explain when Macgregor exclaimed that Aunt Purdie's dwelling was in sight.

"Ay, it's the third close," remarked John, proceeding to plug his pipe with a scrap of newspaper. After that he pulled up his collar, tightened his tie, cocked his hat a little over one eye, winked at his wife, and chucked wee Jeannie under the chin.

"I wud jist as shin be at home, Lizzie," he observed, as they turned into the close.

"Whisht, John! Mrs. Purdie's a rale dacent wumman, an'—an' we needna wait ower lang. See if ye can gi'e Macgreegor's hair a bit tosh up. It's awfu' ill to lie.... Noo, John, ye'll gang furrit an' ring the bell. Mind, ye're to speir if Mrs. Purdie is in afore ye gang ower the doorstep."

"But she wudna ha'e askit us to wur tea if she had been fur gaun oot," said John.

"Tits, man! Mrs. Purdie keeps a wee servant lass, an' ye maun speir at her if her mistress is in. Mind, yer no' to say 'it's a fine day,' or onythin' like that; ye're jist to speir if Mrs. Purdie's in. D' ye see?"

"Weel, weel, witmman, onythin' fur peace." And John pulled the bell-handle. "I ken she's in," he whispered. "I hear her roarin' at somebody."

"Sh! John. Jist dae whit I tell 't ye."

The door was opened, and John bashfully repeated the formula.

"Will you please step in?" said the domestic, a small, rosy-cheeked girl, who still showed her ankles, though she had put her hair up.

"Dicht yer feet, Macgreegor, dicht yer feet," said Lizzie, in a quick, loud whisper. "See, dicht them on the bass."

Macgregor obeyed with great vigor, and followed the others into the lobby.

"Paw, we've a brawer nock nor that yin," he remarked, in a husky undertone, pointing at a grandfather's clock in a corner.

"Whisht!" said his mother, nervously.

"Wull I pit ma bunnet in ma pooch, maw?" asked the boy.

"Na, na! John, put his bunnet up aside yer ain."

Just then Mrs. Purdie appeared and bade them welcome; and presently they were gathered in the parlor, the table of which was already laid for tea. Mr. Purdie was getting on well in the world—his grocery establishment was gaining new customers daily—and Mrs. Purdie was inclined, alas! to look down on her homely relatives, and to regard their manners and speech as vulgar, with the result that her own manners were frequently affected, while her speech was sometimes a strange mixture.

"And how are you to-day, Macgregor?" she asked the boy as they sat round the fire.

"I'm fine," replied Macgregor, glancing at the good things on the table.

"Fine what?" said Aunt Purdie.

"Ye sud say, 'Fine, thenk ye," whispered his mother, giving him a nudge.

"Fine, thenk ye," said Macgregor, obediently. "I wis at the Zoo.".

"Oh, indeed. And what did you see at the Zoo?"

"Beasts, thenk you," said Macgregor.

"An' hoo's Rubbert?" asked Lizzie, with some haste.

"Robert is keeping well, thank you; but he's sorry he cannot leave the shop this evening. His young man was unfortunately rin over by an electric-caur yesterday."

"Oh, thae caurs!" said Lizzie. "I'm aye feart fur Macgreegor gettin' catched, an' comin' hame wantin' a leg."

"Robert's young man got conclusion of the brain," said Aunt Purdie, with great solemnity. "He was carrying a dizzen of eggs an' a pun' of the best ham when the melancholy accident occurred."

"Dae ye tell me that?" exclaimed Lizzie. "An' wis the eggs a' broke?"

"With two exceptions." And Aunt Purdie went on to describe the accident in detail to Lizzie, while John and Macgregor looked out of the window, and wee Jeannie, who had been put on the floor to "play herself," found amusement in pulling to pieces a half-knitted stocking which she discovered in a basket under the sofa.

Soon the little, rosy-cheeked maid entered with the teapot, and they all took their places at table, wee Jeannie being lifted on to her mother's knee and warned not to touch the knife.

"Mr. Robinson," said Aunt Purdie, looking very hard at John, "kindly ask a blessing."

John turned red and mumbled something, at the end of which he wiped his brow and loudly blew his nose.

The hostess, after looking for a moment as if she thought it rather an inferior "blessing," commenced her duties.

"I'm no' wantin' a joog, maw," said Macgregor to his mother, as he observed Aunt Purdie filling a mug with milk and hot water.

"It's fur wee Jeannie," whispered Lizzie. "But ye're jist to tak' whit ye get."

Conversation flagged for the first five minutes. Then Mrs. Purdie broke the silence.

"Have you been going out much this winter, Mr. Robinson?" she inquired, in her best style.

For an instant John gaped. "Dod, Mrs. Purdie, I'm gled to say I've no' been aff ma work a day since the New Year."

"I mean out to entertainments, parties, and conversonies," said Mrs. Purdie, with a pitying smile.

"Oh, ay. Aweel, Lizzie an' me likes the fire-side, but we've been to the Zoo an' the pantymine an' twa-three surees,"

"I like surees," observed Macgregor, digging into a pot of jam. By a strange mischance he had already dropped two pieces of plain bread-and-butter on the floor, but to his credit it must be recorded that he had remembered his mother's injunction not to attempt to recover them.

"Ay, Macgreegor's the yin fur surees," said John. "He cam' hame frae the Sawbath-schule suree the ither nicht wi' fower orangers an' guid kens hoo mony pokes o' sweeties."

"An' he had to get ile i' the mornin'," said Lizzie, whose time was chiefly occupied in feeding wee Jeannie.

"Do you like oil?" said Mrs. Purdie, smiling sourly at Macgregor.

"Naw," returned the boy, with his mouth full. "Dae you like ile, Aunt Purdie?"

"Whisht!" said his mother, reprovingly.

"Assist yourself to a cookie, Mr. Robinson," said Mrs. Purdie, a trifle confused. "And pass your cup. Mrs. Robinson, is your tea out?"

"Thenk you," said Lizzie. "This is rale nice cake, Mrs. Purdie."

"It was recommended to me by Mrs. M'Cluny, the doctor's wife. Mrs. M'Cluny is very highly connected, quite autocratic, in fact. Her and me is great friends. I expect to meet her at the Carmunnock conversonie on Monday night—a very select gathering. Her an' me"

"Paw, I want a tert."

"Na, John," said Lizzie, "he's had yin."

"I want anither, maw."

"Ye canna ha'e anither, Macgreegor. Weel, Mrs. Purdie, ye wis sayin'"

"I was observing"

"Paw, gi'e 's a curran'-cake," said Macgregor, in a whisper.

John winked at his son, and stealthily moved the dish of dainties in his direction.

The two ladies were discussing the coming "conversonie" and appeared oblivious to what was going on. The plate came nearer and nearer, and at last Macgregor's eager paw went cautiously toward it. The currant-cake was secured, but as the boy drew back his hand his mother detected him.

"Macgreegor!" she exclaimed.

The hapless youngster started guiltily. Over went the jam-pot, spreading its contents on the cloth; over went Macgregor's teacup, which was smashed to atoms on the floor. Wee Jeannie, with a gurgle of delight, evidently under the impression that something in the way of entertainment was expected of her, tipped her mug after the cup, while her father, rising in confusion, sent a plate and five cookies to swell the wreckage.

John stood helpless; Lizzie sat speechless and pale; wee Jeannie, discovering that it wasn't a joke, after all, set up a dismal wailing; and Macgregor, with quivering lip and misty eye, stared at the ruin he had wrought. No one dared to look at Aunt Purdie. Her expression was grim—very grim, indeed. When she did speak, her words were few but incisive. They had reference to the bringing-up of children, of which, she thanked Providence, she had none. Poor Lizzie apologized for her son, expressed herself "fair affrontit" at his conduct, and declared that she would "sort" him when they got home. The hour following tea was an uncomfortable one, and John did not conceal his relief at being out of the house.

"She'll no' ask us back," he observed.

Lizzie said nothing.

"Macgreegor's sayin' he's gey an' sorry," said John, presently.

"Muckle need," muttered Lizzie.

"He's sayin' he'll tak' ile if ye like," went on her husband.

"He'll get mair nor ile!"

"Aw, wumman, the wean cudna help it. It wis a' an accident. Let him off this time, Lizzie. I broke a plate masel', ye ken, an' wee Jeannie broke a joog. Are we a' to get ile an'—an' the ither thing, dearie?"

"Och, John, ye aye get ower me."

And so peace reigned again.

Ten minutes later John noticed that Macgregor was lagging behind. He went back a couple of steps and took his son's hand.

"Whit's that ye're pittin' in yer gab, Macgreegor?" he asked, suddenly.

Macgregor drew something from his pocket. "I'll gi'e ye a bit, paw," he said, generously. "It's a curran'-cake."