I moved over beside Billy, whose eyes were following Mrs. Mavor as she went to speak to Mr. Craig. 'Well,' I said; 'you all seem to have a high opinion of her.'
'An 'igh hopinion,' he replied, in deep scorn. 'An 'igh hopinion, you calls it.'
'What would you call it?' I asked, wishing to draw him out.
'Oi don't call it nothink,' he replied, spreading out his rough hands.
'She seems very nice,' I said indifferently.
He drew his eyes away from Mrs. Mavor, and gave attention to me for the first time.
'Nice!' he repeated with fine contempt; and then he added impressively, 'Them as don't know shouldn't say nothink.'
'You are right,' I answered earnestly, 'and I am quite of your opinion.'
He gave me a quick glance out of his little, deep-set, dark-blue eyes, and opened his heart to me. He told me, in his quaint speech, how again and again she had taken him in and nursed him, and encouraged him, and sent him out with a new heart for his battle, until, for very shame's sake at his own miserable weakness, he had kept out of her way for many months, going steadily down.
'Now, oi hain't got no grip; but when she says to me to-night, says she, "Oh, Billy"--she calls me Billy to myself' (this with a touch of pride)--'"oh, Billy," says she, "we must 'ave a total habstinence league to-night, and oi want you to 'elp!" and she keeps a-lookin' at me with those heyes o' hern till, if you believe me, sir,' lowering his voice to an emphatic whisper, 'though oi knowed oi couldn't 'elp none, afore oi knowed oi promised 'er oi would. It's 'er heyes. When them heyes says "do," hup you steps and "does."'
I remembered my first look into her eyes, and I could quite understand Billy's submission. Just as she began to sing I went over to Geordie and took my seat beside him. She began with an English slumber song, 'Sleep, Baby, Sleep'--one of Barry Cornwall's, I think,--and then sang a love-song with the refrain, 'Love once again'; but no thrills came to me, and I began to wonder if her spell over me was broken. Geordie, who had been listening somewhat indifferently, encouraged me, however, by saying, 'She's just pittin' aff time with thae feckless sangs; man, there's nae grup till them.' But when, after a few minutes' pause, she began 'My Ain Fireside,' Geordie gave a sigh of satisfaction. 'Ay, that's somethin' like,' and when she finished the first verse he gave me a dig in the ribs with his elbow that took my breath away, saying in a whisper, 'Man, hear till yon, wull ye?' And again Ifound the spell upon me. It was not the voice after all, but the great soul behind that thrilled and compelled. She was seeing, feeling, living what she sang, and her voice showed us her heart.
The cosy fireside, with its bonnie, blithe blink, where no care could abide, but only peace and love, was vividly present to her, and as she sang we saw it too. When she came to the last verse--'When I draw in my stool On my cosy hearth-stane, My heart loups sae licht I scarce ken't for my ain,'
there was a feeling of tears in the flowing song, and we knew the words had brought her a picture of the fireside that would always seem empty. I felt the tears in my eyes, and, wondering at myself, I cast a stealthy glance at the men about me; and I saw that they, too, were looking through their hearts' windows upon firesides and ingle-neuks that gleamed from far.
And then she sang 'The Auld Hoose,' and Geordie, giving me another poke, said, 'That's ma ain sang,' and when I asked him what he meant, he whispered fiercely, 'Wheesht, man!' and I did, for his face looked dangerous.
In a pause between the verses I heard Geordie saying to himself, 'Ay, I maun gie it up, I doot.'
'What?' I ventured.
'Naething ava.' And then he added impatiently, 'Man, but ye're an inqueesitive buddie,' after which I subsided into silence.
