Annie o' the Banks o' Dee. Stables Gordon

had really a capital day of it, for the sun shone brightly and the birds laid close.

      Gordon setters are somewhat slow, and need a drink rather often, but they are wondrous sure, and Bolt, the retriever, was fleet of foot to run down a wounded bird. So just as the sun was sinking behind the forests of the west, and tingeing the pine trees with crimson, they wended their way homeward, happy – happy with the health that only the Highland hills can give.

      Shufflin’ Sandie had had several drops from Craig’s flask, but he had also had good oatcakes and cheese, so he was as steady as a judge of session.

      When near to Bilberry Hall, Nicol and Annie emptied their guns in the air, and thus apprised of their approach, white-haired old McLeod came out to bid them welcome.

      A good dinner!

      A musical evening!

      Prayers! The tumblers! Then, bidding Annie a fond adieu, away rode the jolly young farmer.

      Shufflin’ Sandie’s last words to him were these:

      “Mind what I told you. There’s danger in the sky. Good-night, and God be with you, Farmer Craig.”

      Chapter Three.

      Sandie Tells the Old, Old Story

      “I wonder,” said Craig Nicol to himself that night, before going to bed, and just as he rose from his knees, “if there can be anything in Shufflin’ Sandie’s warning. I certainly don’t like old Father Fletcher, close-fisted as he is, and stingy as any miser ever I met. I don’t like him prowling round my darling Annie either. And he hates me, though he lifts his hat and grimaces like a tom-cat watching a bird whenever we meet. I’ll land him one, one of these days, if he can’t behave himself.”

      But for quite a long time there was no chance of “landing the Laird one,” for Fletcher called on Annie at times when he knew Craig was engaged.

      And so the days and weeks went by. Laird Fletcher’s wooing was carried on now on perfectly different lines. He brought Annie many a little knick-knack from Aberdeen. It might be a bracelet, a necklet of gold, or the last new novel; but never a ring. No; that would have been too suggestive.

      Annie accepted these presents with some reluctance, but Fletcher looked at her so sadly, so wistfully, that rather than hurt his feelings she did receive them.

      One day Annie, the old Laird and the younger started for Aberdeen, all on good horses – they despised the train – and when coming round the corner on his mare, whom should they meet face to face but Craig Nicol? And this is what happened.

      The old man raised his hat.

      The younger Laird smiled ironically but triumphantly.

      Annie nodded, blushed, and smiled.

      But the young farmer’s face was blanched with rage. He was no longer handsome. There was blood in his eye. He was a devil for the present. He plunged the spurs into his horse’s sides and went galloping furiously along the road.

      “Would to God,” he said, “I did not love her! Shall I resign her? No, no! I cannot. Yet —

      “‘Tis woman that seduces all mankind;

      By her we first were taught the wheedling arts.’”

      Worse was to follow.

      Right good fellow though he was, jealousy could make a very devil of Craig.

      “For jealousy is the injured woman’s hell.”

      And man’s also. One day, close by the Dee, while Craig was putting his rod together previous to making a cast, Laird Fletcher came out from a thicket, also rod in hand.

      “Ah, we cannot fish together, Nicol,” said the Laird haughtily. “We are rivals.”

      Then all the jealousy in Nicol’s bosom was turned for a moment into fury.

      “You —you! You old stiff-kneed curmudgeon! You a rival of a young fellow like me! Bah! Go home and go to bed!”

      Fletcher was bold.

      “Here!” he cried, dashing his rod on the grass; “I don’t stand language like that from anyone!”

      Off went his coat, and he struck Craig a well-aimed blow under the chin that quite staggered him.

      Ah! but even skill at fifty is badly matched by the strength and agility of a man in his twenties. In five minutes’ time Fletcher was on the grass, his face cut and his nose dripping with blood.

      Craig stood over him triumphantly, but the devil still lurked in his eyes.

      “I’m done with you for the time,” said Fletcher, “but mark me, I’ll do for you yet!”

      “Is that threatening my life, you old reprobate? You did so before, too. Come,” he continued fiercely, “I will help you to wash some of that blood off your ugly face.”

      He seized him as he spoke, and threw him far into the river.

      The stream was not deep, so the Laird got out, and went slowly away to a neighbouring cottage to dry his clothes and send for his carriage.

      “Hang it!” said Craig aloud; “I can’t fish to-day.”

      He put up his rod, and was just leaving, when Shufflin’ Sandie came upon the scene. He had heard and seen all.

      “Didn’t I tell ye, sir? He’ll kill ye yet if ye don’t take care. Be warned!”

      “Well,” said Craig, laughing, “he is a scientific boxer, and he hurt me a bit, but I think I’ve given him a drubbing he won’t soon forget.”

      “No,” said Sandie significantly; “he – won’t – forget. Take my word for that.”

      “Well, Sandie, come up to the old inn, and we’ll have a glass together.”

      For a whole fortnight Laird Fletcher was confined to his rooms before he felt fit to be seen.

      “A touch of neuralgia,” he made his housekeeper tell all callers.

      But he couldn’t and dared not refuse to see Shufflin’ Sandie when he sent up his card – an old envelope that had passed through the post-office.

      “Well,” said the Laird, “to what am I indebted for the honour of this visit?”

      “Come off that high horse, sir,” said Sandie, “and speak plain English. I’ll tell you,” he added, “I’ll tell you in a dozen words. I’m going to build a small house and kennels, and I’m going to marry Fanny – the bonniest lassie in all the world, sir. Ah! won’t I be happy, just!”

      He smiled, and took a pinch, then offered the box to the Laird.

      The Laird dashed it aside.

      “What in thunder?” he roared, “has your house or marriage to do with me?”

      “Ye’ll soon see that, my Laird. I want forty pounds, or by all the hares on Bilberry Hill I’ll go hot-foot to the Fiscal, for I heard your threat to Craig Nicol by the riverside.”

      Half-an-hour afterwards Shufflin’ Sandie left the Laird to mourn, but Sandie had got forty pounds nearer to the object of his ambition, and was happy accordingly.

      As he rode away, the horse’s hoofs making music that delighted his ear, Sandie laughed aloud to himself.

      “Now,” he thought, “if I could only just get about fifty pounds more, I’d begin building. Maybe the old Laird’ll help me a wee bit; but I must have it, and I must have Fanny. My goodness! how I do love the lassie! Her every look or glance sends a pang to my heart. I cannot bear it; I shall marry Fanny, or into the deepest, darkest kelpie’s pool in the Dee I’ll fling myself.

      “‘O love, love! Love is like a dizziness,

      That winna let a poor body go about his bus-i-ness.’”

      Shufflin’