hands and one full glowing cheek grimed by smoke and coal dust, and his knees somewhat soiled by soot, he nevertheless surveyed his masterpiece with supreme approval, and cried, 'Look at that, now! What did I tell ye! There's a fire for ye fit to roast an ox. Ye couldna be cold at a blaze like that. On wi’ the work now that ye’ve got your fire. There's not many a man would take such a trouble for his daughter, so don't let a’ my bother be wasted. On ye go. Stick into the lessons.'
Following his exhortation he seemed loath to get up and remained gazing at the leaping flames appreciatively, murmuring from time to time, 'A beautiful fire; It's a bonnie blaze!' But eventually he heaved himself up, and kicking the shovel to one side, muttered, 'I'll away and bring my dram in beside ye', and went out of the room. As he departed, Nessie who fully realised from the unnatural manner of his conduct that her father was once again drunk threw a quick glance, deeply charged with apprehension, at his retreating back. She had not done a stroke of work all evening and was now becoming thoroughly alarmed at her father's extraordinary behaviour. Although his treatment of her had lately been more peculiar acts of sudden and unaccountable indulgence interpolating his perpetual coercion of her to study she had never seen him so odd as he appeared to-night. At the sound of his step, when he returned with the remainder of the bottle of whisky, she sat rigid, pretending, with pale moving lips, to be engrossed in her work, although she could not see the page which she held so closely before her.
'That's right,' he muttered. 'I see you're at it. I've done my bit for ye now you do yours for me. That's another thing doun on my account for ye to settle when ye win the Latta.' He subsided in a chair by the fireside and began again to drink. It seemed to him now that the evening had been long, as long even as a year, during which he had experienced a variety of profound and moving sensations, a period which had been a delightful prolongation of accomplishment and anticipation to be capped shortly by his reunion with Nancy. He became more joyful than ever. He wanted to sing! Fragments of tunes ran deliciously through his head, making him nod extravagantly and beat time with his foot and hand to this internal harmony. His small eyes seemed to protrude from his head as the) roamed the room, seeking some outlet for his culminating beatitude. Suddenly they lit upon the piano. Laud's sake! He told himself, what was the good of that if it wasn't to be used, that fine burr walnut instrument that had come from Murdoch's bought and paid for these twenty years! It was a scandal to see it lying idle there, when a man had spent money on music lessons for his daughter.
'Nessie,' he shouted, making her jump with fright. 'You've got a' that book off by heart now. Put it away. You're goin' to have your music lesson now and I'm the teacher.' He guffawed, then corrected himself. 'No! I'm not the teacher- I'm the vocalist.' He threw out his arm with a sweeping gesture. 'We'll have some guid Scotch songs. Away away over and give us 'O' a' the airts the wind can blaw' for a start.'
Nessie slipped off her chair and looked at him doubtfully, knowing that he had forbidden the piano to be opened for months, feeling that she must obey, yet fearful of doing so; but as she stood indecisively he cried vehemently:
'Come on! Come on! What are ye waitin' for? 'O' a' the airts the wind can blaw.' I tell ye! I ha vena felt like this for months. I'm ripe for a sang!'
It was after ten o'clock and, as it was past her bedtime and she was worn by the strain of the long evening, she felt exhausted, but she was too terrified, too much in awe of him, to protest; she went therefore, to the piano, opened it, found the Scottish Song Book that had been Mary's, sat down, and began to play. Her small trembling fingers brought out as best they could the air that he demanded, whilst from the seat by the fire, waving his pipe in undulating curves, Brodie sang the words boisterously.
'O' a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly lo'e the west.
It's there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo'e best.'
'Louder! Louder !' he shouted. 'Hit it harder! I'm singin' about my Nancy. We maun give it pith! 'By day and nicht my fancy's flicht is ever with my Jean!' ' he roared at the pitch of his voice. 'By God! That was good. If we call her Jean ye're none the wiser. Come on. Give us the second verse again and sing yourself. Sing! Sing! Are ye ready! One, two, three!
'I see her in the dewy flower.'
She had never seen him like this before and in a panic of shame and fear she joined her quavering voice to his bellow so that together they sang the song.
'That was graund!' he cried, when they had finished. 'I hope they heard us at the Cross! Now we'll have, 'My Love is like a Red, Red Rose', although mind ye she's more like a bonnie white rose. Have ye not found it yet? You're awfu' slow and clumsy the nicht. I'm as light as a feather though. I could sing till dawn.'
She struck painfully into the song, which he made her play and sing twice, and after that she was forced through 'The Banks and Braes', 'O Rowan Tree', and 'Annie Laurie', until, with her hands so cramped and her head so giddy that she felt she must fall from the stool, she turned imploringly and with tears in her eyes, cried:
'Let me go, Father. Let me go to my bed. I'm tired.'
He frowned upon her heavily, her interruption cutting in rudely upon his blissful state. 'So ye can't even play for your father,' he exclaimed, 'and after he's taken all the trouble to go and put on a fire for ye too. The minute it's on ye want away to your bed. That's gratitude for you. Well, if ye'll not do it for right, you'll do it for might. Play! Play till I tell ye to stop, or I'll take the strap to ye. Play my first song over again!'
She turned again to the piano and wearily, with eyes blinded by tears, began again, 'O' a' the airts the wind can blaw,' while he sang, emphasising every discord which her agitation led her to produce by a black look directed towards her bowed and inoffensive back.
They had proceeded halfway through the song when suddenly the parlour door opened and Nancy her eyes sparkling, the cream of her cheek tinted by a faint colour from the cold, her hair crisping under her attractive toque, the neat fur tippet setting off her firm bust to perfection Nancy his Nancy, stood before him. With mouth wide open and pipe poised in mid-air he stopped singing, regarding her stupidly, realising that he had failed to hear the opening of the
front door, and he continued to stare thus while the unconscious Nessie, as though accompanying his silent astonishment and admiration, played through the song to its end, when silence descended upon the room.
At length Brodie laughed, a trifle uncomfortably. 'We were just singin' a wee song to ye, Nancy; and troth, ye deserve it, for you're lookin' as bonnie as a picture.'
Her eyes sparkled more frostily and her lips tightened as she replied:
'The noise comin' up the road was enough to draw a crowd around the house and lights blazin' out o' every window. And you've been at your soakin' again and then ye've the impertinence to make me the grounds for it a'! You're a disgrace! Look at your hands and your face. You're like an auld coal-heaver. What a thing for me to come home to, after an elevatin' evenin' like I've had.'
He looked at her humbly, yet drinking in, even at its coldest, the freshness of her young beauty, and in an attempt to change the subject, he murmured heavily:
'Did ye have a nice time at your aunt's? I've missed you, Nancy. It's like a year since I saw ye last. Ye were a long time comin' to me.'
'And I wish I had made it longer,' she exclaimed, with a hard glance at him. 'When I want music I know where to get it. Don't bawl at me and don't drink to me ye black-faced drunkard.'
At these terrible words Nessie, sitting petrified upon the piano stool, shrank back, expecting her father to rise and fling himself upon the madwoman who had uttered them; but to her amazement he remained passive, drooping his lip at Nancy and muttering:
'I tell ye I've been missin' you, Nancy. Don't turn on a man that's so fond o' ye.'
Disregarding his daughter's presence entirely, he continued blatantly, with an almost maudlin' sentiment, 'You're my white, white rose, Nancy. You're the breath in my body. I had to pass the time somehow! Away up and take off your things and dinna be cross wi' me. I'll I'll be up mysel' in a minute.'
'Oh! you will!' she cried, with a toss of her head. 'You're drinkin' like a fish, you rough, big bully. Go up any time ye like for all I care. It make no odds to me as you'll soon see,' and she flounced up the stairs out of his sight.
With lowered head he sat quite still, filled by the melancholy thought that she was angry with him, that when he went upstairs he would have to appease her, pacify her, before she manifested her kindness towards him. In the
