Home > Authors Index > George MacDonald > Malcolm > This page
Malcolm, a novel by George MacDonald |
||
Chapter 28. A Fisher Wedding |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XXVIII. A FISHER WEDDING When the next Saturday came, all the friends of the bride or bridegroom who had "gotten a call" to the wedding of Annie Mair and Charley Wilson, assembled respectively at the houses of their parents. Malcolm had received an invitation from both, and had accepted that of the bride. Whisky and oatcake having been handed round, the bride, a short but comely young woman, set out with her father for the church, followed by her friends in couples. At the door of the church, which stood on the highest point in the parish, a centre of assault for all the winds that blew, they met the bridegroom and his party: the bride and he entered the church together, and the rest followed. After a brief and somewhat bare ceremony, they issued--the bride walking between her brother and the groomsman, each taking an arm of the bride, and the company following mainly in trios. Thus arranged they walked eastward along the highroad, to meet the bride's firstfoot. They had gone about halfway to Portlossie, when a gentleman appeared, sauntering carelessly towards them, with a cigar in his mouth. It was Lord Meikleham. Malcolm was not the only one who knew him: Lizzy Findlay, only daughter of the Partan, and the prettiest girl in the company, blushed crimson: she had danced with him at Lossie House, and he had said things to her, by way of polite attention, which he would never have said had she been of his own rank. He would have lounged past, with a careless glance, but the procession halted by one consent, and the bride, taking a bottle and glass which her brother carried, proceeded to pour out a bumper of whisky, while the groomsman addressed Lord Meikleham. "Ye 're the bride's first fut, sir," he said. "What do you mean by that?" asked Lord Meikleham. "Here's the bride, sir: she'll tell ye." Lord Meikleham lifted his hat. "Allow me to congratulate you," he said. "Ye 're my first fut," returned the bride eagerly yet modestly, as she held out to him the glass of whisky. "This is to console me for not being in the bridegroom's place, I presume; but notwithstanding my jealousy, I drink to the health of both," said the young nobleman, and tossed off the liquor.-- "Would you mind explaining to me what you mean by this ceremony?" he added, to cover a slight choking caused by the strength of the dram. "It's for luck, sir," answered Joseph Mair. "A first fut wha wadna bring ill luck upon a new merried couple, maun aye du as ye hae dune this meenute--tak a dram frae the bride." "Is that the sole privilege connected with my good fortune?" said Lord Meikleham. "If I take the bride's dram, I must join the bride's regiment--My good fellow," he went on, approaching Malcolm, "you have more than your share of the best things of this world." For Malcolm had two partners, and the one on the side next Lord Meikleham, who, as he spoke, offered her his arm, was Lizzy Findlay. "No as shares gang, my lord," returned Malcolm, tightening his arm on Lizzie's hand. "Ye mauna gang wi' ane o' oor customs to gang agane anither. Fisher fowk 's ready eneuch to pairt wi' their whusky, but no wi' their lasses!--Na, haith!" Lord Meikleham's face flushed, and Lizzy looked down, very evidently disappointed; but the bride's father, a wrinkled and brown little man, with a more gentle bearing than most of them, interfered. "Ye see, my lord--gien it be sae I maun ca' ye, an' Ma'colm seems to ken--we're like by oorsel's for the present, an' we're but a rouch set o' fowk for such like 's yer lordship to haud word o' mou' wi'; but gien it wad please ye to come ower the gait ony time i' the evenin', an' tak yer share o' what's gauin', ye sud be walcome, an' we wad coont it a great honour frae sic 's yer lordship." "I shall be most happy," answered Lord Meikleham; and taking off his hat he went his way. The party returned to the home of the bride's parents. Her mother stood at the door with a white handkerchief in one hand, and a quarter of oatcake in the other. When the bride reached the threshold she stood, and her mother, first laying the handkerchief on her head, broke the oatcake into pieces upon it. These were distributed among the company, to be carried home and laid under their pillows. The bridegroom's party betook themselves to his father's house, where, as well as at old Mair's, a substantial meal of tea, bread and butter, cake, and cheese, was provided. Then followed another walk, to allow of both houses being made tidy for the evening's amusements. About seven, Lord Meikleham made his appearance, and had a hearty welcome. He had bought a showy brooch for the bride, which she accepted with the pleasure of a child. In their games, which had already commenced, he joined heartily, gaining high favour with both men and women. When the great clothesbasket full of sweeties, the result of a subscription among the young men, was carried round by two of them, he helped himself liberally with the rest; and at the inevitable game of forfeits met his awards with unflinching obedience; contriving ever through it all that Lizzy Findlay should feel herself his favourite. In the general hilarity, neither the heightened colour of her cheek, nor the vivid sparkle in her eyes attracted notice. Doubtless some of the girls observed the frequency of his attentions, but it woke nothing in their minds beyond a little envy of her passing good fortune. Meikleham was handsome and a lord; Lizzy was pretty though a fisherman's daughter: a sort of Darwinian selection had apparently found place between them; but as the same entertainment was going on in two houses at once, and there was naturally a good deal of passing and repassing between them, no one took the least notice of several short absences from the company on the part of the pair. Supper followed, at which his lordship sat next to Lizzy, and partook of dried skate and mustard, bread and cheese, and beer. Every man helped himself. Lord Meikleham and a few others were accommodated with knives and forks, but the most were independent of such artificial aids. Whisky came next, and Lord Meikleham being already, like many of the young men of his time, somewhat fond of strong drink, was not content with such sipping as Lizzy honoured his glass withal. At length it was time, according to age long custom, to undress the bride and bridegroom and put them to bed--the bride's stocking, last ceremony of all, being thrown amongst the company, as by its first contact prophetic of the person to be next married. Neither Lizzy nor Lord Meikleham, however, had any chance of being thus distinguished, for they were absent and unmissed. As soon as all was over, Malcolm set out to return home. As he passed Joseph Mair's cottage, he found Phemy waiting for him at the door, still in the mild splendour of her pearl-like necklace. "I tellt the laird what ye tellt me to tell him, Malcolm," she said. "An' what did he say, Phemy?" asked Malcolm. "He said he kent ye was a freen'." "Was that a'?" "Ay; that was a'." "Weel, ye're a guid lassie." "Ow! middlin'," answered the little maiden. Malcolm took his way along the top of the cliffs, pausing now and then to look around him. The crescent moon had gone down, leaving a starlit night, in which the sea lay softly moaning at the foot of the broken crags. The sense of infinitude which comes to the soul when it is in harmony with the peace of nature, arose and spread itself abroad in Malcolm's being, and he felt with the Galilaeans of old, when they forsook their nets and followed him who called them, that catching fish was not the end of his being, although it was the work his hands had found to do. The stillness was all the sweeter for its contrast with the merriment he had left behind him, and a single breath of wind, like the waft from a passing wind, kissed his forehead tenderly, as if to seal the truth of his meditations. _ |
||