Annie o' the Banks o' Dee. Stables Gordon

Gives himself a mighty deal too much side, he does. Young men are mostly fools – I’ll go into the house and smoke a pipe with my aged friend, McLeod.”

      Shufflin’ Sandie seemed to spring from the earth right in front of him.

      A queer little creature was Sandie, soul and body, probably thirty years old, but looking older; twinkling ferrety eyes and red hair, a tuft of which always stuck up through a hole on the top of the broad Prince Charlie bonnet he wore; a very large nose always filled with snuff; and his smile was like the grin of a vixen.

      Sandie was the man-of-all-work at Bilberry. He cleaned knives and boots in-doors, ran errands, and did all kinds of odd jobs out of doors. But above all Sandie was a fisherman. Old as he was, Squire McLeod, or Laird, as he was most often called, went to the river, and Sandie was always with him. The old man soon tired; then Sandie took the rod, and no man on all Deeside could make a prettier cast than he. The salmon used to come at his call.

      “Hullo!” said Laird Fletcher, “where did you come from?”

      “Just ran round, sir, to see if you wanted your horse.”

      “No, no, Sandie, not for another hour or two.”

      The truth is that Sandie had been behind the arbour, listening to every word that was said.

      Sandie slept in a loft above the stable. It was there he went now, and threw himself on his bed to think.

      “Folks shouldn’t speak aloud to themselves,” he thought, “as Laird Fletcher does. Wants Farmer Nicol got out of the way, does he? The old rascal! I’ve a good mind to tell the police. But I think I’d better tell Craig Nicol first that there is danger ahead, and that he mustn’t wear his blinkers. Poor man! Indeed will I! Then I might see what the Laird had to say as well. That’s it, Sandie, that’s it. I’ll have twa strings to my bow.”

      And Sandie took an enormous pinch of snuff and lay back again to muse.

      I never myself had much faith to put in an ignorant, deformed, half-dwarfed creature, and Shufflin’ Sandie was all that, both physically and morally.

      I don’t think that Sandie was a thief, but I do believe he would have done almost anything to turn an honest penny. Indeed, as regards working hard there was nothing wrong with Sandie. Craig Nicol, the farmer, had given him many a half-crown, and now he saw his way, or thought he did, to earn another.

      Well, Sandie, at ten o’clock, brought round Laird Fletcher’s horse, and before mounting, the Laird, who, with all his wealth, was a wee bit of a niggard, gave him twopence.

      “The stingy, close-fisted, old tottering brute. Tuppince, eh!”

      Shufflin’ Sandy shook his fist after the Laird.

      “You marry our bonnie Annie?” he said, half-aloud. “Man, I’d sooner see the dearie floating down the Dee like a dead hare than to see her wedded to an old fossil like you.”

      Sandie went off now to his bed in the loft, and soon all was peace around Bilberry Hall, save when the bloodhounds in their kennels lifted up their bell-like voices, giving warning to any tramp, or poacher that might come near the Hall.

      Annie knelt reverently down and said her prayers before getting into bed.

      The tears were in her eyes when she got up.

      “Oh,” she said to her maid, “I hope I haven’t hurt poor Mr Fletcher’s feelings! He really is a kind soul, and he was very sincere.”

      “Well, never mind, darling,” said Jeannie; “but, lor, if he had only asked my price I would have jumped at the offer.”

      Chapter Two.

      “There is Danger in the Sky.”

      “What!” said Annie Lane, “would you really marry an old man?”

      “Ay, that would I,” said the maid. “He’s got the money. Besides, he is not so very old. But let me sing a bit of a song to you – very quietly, you know.”

      Jeannie Lee had a sweet voice, and when she sang low, and to Annie alone, it was softer and sweeter still, like a fiddle with a mute on the bridge. This is the little song she sang:

      “What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,

          What can a young lassie do with an old man?

      Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie

          To sell her poor Jenny for silver and land.

      “He’s always complaining from morning till eenin’,

          He coughs and he hobbles the weary day long;

      He’s stupid, and dozin’, his blood it is frozen —

          Oh! dreary’s the night wi’ a crazy old man!

      “He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers —

          I never can please him, do all that I can;

      He’s peevish and jealous of all the young fellows —

          Oh! grief on the day I met wi’ an old man!

      “My old Aunty Kitty upon me takes pity:

          I’ll do my endeavour to follow her plan;

      I’ll cross him and rack him until I heart-break him,

          And then his old brass will buy a new pan!”

      “But, oh, how cruel!” said Annie. “Oh, I wish you would marry that Laird Fletcher – then he would bother me no more. Will you, Jeannie, dear?”

      Jeannie Lee laughed.

      “It will be you he will marry in the long run,” she said; “now, I don’t set up for a prophet, but remember my words: Laird Fletcher will be your husband, and he will be just like a father to you, and your life will glide on like one long and happy dream.”

      It will be observed that Jeannie could talk good English when she cared to. When speaking seriously – the Scots always do – the Doric is for the most part of the fireside dialect.

      “And now, darling,” continued Annie’s maid, “go to sleep like a baby; you’re not much more, you know. There, I’ll sing you a lullaby, an old, old one:

      “‘Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber,

          Holy angels guard thy bed;

      Countless blessings without number

          Gently falling on thy head.’”

      The blue eyes tried to keep open, but the eyelids would droop, and soon Annie o’ the Banks o’ Dee was wafted away to the drowsy land.

      Shufflin’ Sandie was early astir next morning. First he fed and attended to his horses, for he loved them as if they had been brothers; then he went to the kennels to feed the hounds, and in their joy to see him they almost devoured him alive.

      This done, Sandie had a big drink of water from the pump, for Sandie had had a glass too much the night before.

      He was none the worse, however; so he hied him to the kitchen.

      There were lots of merry Scotch lassies here, and they delighted to torment and tease Sandie.

      “Sandie,” said one, “I’ve a good mind to tie the dish-cloth round your head.”

      “Tie it round your own,” said Sandie. “Anything becomes a good-looking face, my bonnie Betsy.”

      “Sandie,” said another buxom girl, “you were drunk last night. I’m sure of it.”

      “No, not so very full, Fanny. I hadn’t enough to get happy and jolly on.”

      “But wouldn’t you like a hair of the doggie that bit you this morning?”

      “Indeed would I, Fanny. I never say no to a drop of good Scotch.”

      “Well,