Barr Amelia E.
An Orkney Maid
“Who else do I love? There is none but thee.”
“Then with some one thou ought to be angry.”
“Is it with Boris Ragnor I should be angry?”
“Yes! It is with Boris Ragnor. Not once did he ask me to dance. Watching him and me were all the girls. They saw how he slighted me, and made little nods and laughs about it.”
“It was thy own fault. When Boris came into the room, he looked for thee. With McLeod thou wert dancing. With that Scot thou wert dancing! The black look on his face, I saw it, thou should have seen it and have given him a smile–Pshaw! Women know so much–and do so little. By storm thou ought to have taken the whole affair for thy own. I am disappointed in thee–yes, I am disappointed.”
“Why, Grandfather?”
“An emergency thou had to face, and thou shirked it. When Boris entered the room, straight up to him thou should have gone; with an outstretched hand and a glad smile thou should have said: ‘I am waiting for thee, Boris!’ Then thou had put all straight that was crooked, and carried the evening in thy own hands.”
“I will pay Boris for this insult. Yes, I will, and thou must help me.”
“To quarrel with Boris? To injure him in any way? No! that I will not do. It would be to quarrel also with my old friend Conall. Not thee! Not man or woman living, could make me do that! Sit down and I will tell thee a better way.”
“No, I will not sit down till thou say ‘yes’ to what I ask”; for some womanly instinct told her that while Adam was cowering over the hearth blaze and she stood in all her beauty and splendour above him, she controlled the situation. “Thou must help me!”
“To what or whom?”
“I want to marry Boris.”
“Dost thou love him?”
“Better than might be. When mine he is all mine, then I will love him.”
“That is little to trust to.”
“Thou art wrong. It is of reasons one of the best and surest. Not three months ago, a little dog followed thee home, an ugly, half-starved little mongrel, not worth a shilling; but it was determined to have thee for its master, and thou called it thy dog, and now it is petted and pampered and lies at thy feet, and barks at every other dog, and thou says it is the best dog on the Island. It is the same way with husbands. Thou hast seen how Mary Minorie goes on about her bald, scrimpy husband; yet she burst out crying when he put the ring on her finger. Now she tells all the girls that marriage is ‘Paradise Regained.’ When Boris is my husband it will be well with me, and not bad for him. He will be mine, and we love what is our own.”
“Why wilt thou marry any man? Thou wilt be rich.”
“One must do as the rest of the world does–and the world has the fashion of marrying.”
“Money rules love.”
“No!”
“Yes! Bolon Flett had only scorn for his poor little wife until her uncle left her two thousand pounds. Since then, no word is long enough or good enough for her excellencies. Money opens the eyes as well as the heart. What then, if I make Boris rich?”
“Boris is too proud to take money from thee and I will not be sold to any man!”
“Wilt thou wait until my meaning is given thee–flying off in a temper like a foolish woman!”
“I am sorry–speak thy meaning.”
“Sit down. Thou art not begging anything.”
“Not from thee. I have thy love.”
“And thine is mine. This is my plan. Above all things Boris loves a stirring, money-making business. I am going to ask him to take me as his partner. Tired am I of living on my past. How many boats has Boris?”
“Thou knowest he has but one, but she is large and swift, and does as much business as McLeod’s three little sloops.”
“Schooners.”
“Schooners, then–little ones!”
“Well then, there is a new kind of boat which thou hast never seen. She is driven by steam, not wind, she goes swiftly, all winds are fair to her, and she cares little for storms.”
“I saw a ship like that when I was in Edinburgh. She lay in Leith harbour, and the whole school went to Leith to see her come in.”
“If Boris will be my partner, I will lay my luck to his, and I will buy a steam ship, a large coaster–dost thou see?”
Then with a laugh she cried: “I see, I see! Then thou can easily beat the sloops or schooners, that have nothing but sails. Good is that, very good!”
“Just so. We can make two trips for their one. No one can trade against us.”
“McLeod may buy steam ships.”
“I have learned all about him. His fortune is in real estate, mostly in Edinburgh. It takes a lifetime to sell property in Edinburgh. We shall have got all there is to get before McLeod could compete with Vedder and Ragnor.”
“That scheme would please Boris, I know.”
“A boat could be built on the Clyde in about four months, I think. Shall I speak to Boris?”
“Yes, Boris will not fly in the face of good fortune; but mind this–it is easier to begin that reel than it will be to end it. One thing I do not like–thou wert angry with Boris, now thou wilt take him for a partner.”
“At any time I can put my anger under my purse–but my anger was mostly against thee. Now shall I do as I am minded?”
“That way is more likely than not! I think this affair will grow with thee–but thou may change thy mind–”
“I do not call my words back. Go now to thy bed and forget everything. This is the time when sleep will be better than either words or deeds. Of my intent speak to no one. In thy thoughts let it be still until its hour arrives.”
“In the morning, very early, I am going to see Thora. When the enlisting ship sails northward, there will be a crowd to see her off. Boris and Thora and Macrae will be among it. I also intend to be there. Dost thou know at what hour she will leave?”
“At ten o’clock the tide is full.”
“Then at ten, she will sail.”
“Likely enough, is that. Our talk is now ended. Let it be, as if it had not been.”
“I have forgotten it.”
Vedder laughed, and added: “Go then to thy bed, I am tired.”
“Not tired of Sunna?”
“Well then, yes, of thee I have had enough at present.”
She went away as he spoke, and then he was worried. “Now I am unhappy!” he ejaculated. “What provokers to the wrong way are women! Her mother was like her–my beloved Adriana!” And his old eyes filled with sorrowful tears as he recalled the daughter he had lost in the first days of her motherhood. Very soon Sunna and Adriana became one and he was fast asleep in his chair.
In the morning Sunna kept her intention. She poured out her grandfather’s coffee, and talked of everything but the thing in her heart and purpose. After breakfast she said: “I shall put the day past with Thora Ragnor. Thy dinner will be served for thee by Elga.”
“Talking thou wilt be–”
“Of nothing that ought to be kept quiet. Do not come for me if I am late; I intend that Boris shall bring me home.”
Sunna dressed herself in a pretty lilac lawn frock, trimmed with the then new and fashionable Scotch open work, and fresh lilac ribbons. Her hair was arranged as Boris liked it best, and it was shielded by one of those fine, large Tuscan hats that have never, even yet, gone out of fashion.
“Why, Sunna!” cried Thora, as she hastened to meet her friend, “how glad am I to see thee!”
“Thou wert in my heart this morning, and I said to it ‘Be content, in an hour I will take thee to thy desire.’” And they clasped hands, and walked thus into the house. “Art thou not tired after the dance?”
“No,” replied Thora, “I was very happy. Do happy people get tired?”
“Yes–one can only bear so much happiness, then it is weariness–sometimes crossness. Too much of any good thing is a bad thing.”
“How wise thou art, Sunna.”
“I live with wisdom.”
“With Adam Vedder?”
“Yes, and thou hast been living with Love, with Mr. Macrae. Very handsome and good-natured he is. I am sure that thou art in love with him! Is that not the case?”
“Very much in love with me he is, Sunna. It is a great happiness. I do not weary of it, no, indeed! To believe in love, to feel it all around you! It is wonderful! You know, Sunna–surely you know?”
“Yes, I, too, have been in love.”
“With Boris–I know. And also Boris is in love with thee.”
“That is wrong. No longer does Boris love me.”
“But that is impossible. Love for one hour is love forever. He did love thee, then he could not forget. Never could he forget.”
“He did not notice me last night. Thou must have seen?”
“I did not notice–but I heard some talk about it. The first time thou art alone with him, he will tell thee his trouble. It is only a little cloud–it will pass.”
“I suppose the enlisting ship sails northaway first?”
“Yes, to Lerwick, though they may stop at Fair Island on the way. Boris says they could get many men there–and Boris knows.”
“Art thou going to the pier to see them leave? I suppose every one goes. Shall we go together?”
“Why, Sunna! They left this morning about four o’clock. Father went down to the pier with Boris. Boris sailed with them.”
“Thora! Thora! I thought Boris was to remain here until the naval party returned from Shetland?”
“The lieutenant in command thought Boris could help the enlisting, for in Lerwick Boris has many friends. Thou knows my sisters Anna and Nenie live in Lerwick. Boris was fain to go and see them.”
“But they will return here when their business is finished in Lerwick?”
“They spoke of doing so, but mother is not believing they will return. They took with them all the men enlisted here and the men are wanted very much. Boris did not bid us a short ‘good-bye.’ Mother was crying, and when he kissed me his tears wet my cheeks.”
Sunna did not answer. For a few minutes she felt as if her heart had suddenly died. At last she blundered out:
“I suppose the officer was afraid that–Boris might slip off while he was away.”
“Well, then, thou supposes what is wrong. When a fight is the question, Boris needs no one either to watch him or to egg him on.”
“Is that youngster, Macrae, going to join? Or has he already taken the Queen’s shilling? I think I heard such a report.”
“No one could have told that story. Macrae is bound by a contract to McLeod for this year and indeed, just yet, he does not wish to go.”
“He does not wish to leave thee.”
“That is not out of likelihood.”
“Many are saying that England is in great stress, and my grandfather thinks that so she is.”
“My father says ‘not so.’ If indeed it were so, my father would have gone with Boris. Mother is cross about it.”
“About what then is she cross?” asked Sunna.
“People are saying that England is in stress. Mother says such words are nothing but men’s ‘fear talk.’ England’s sons are many, and if few they were, she has millions of daughters who would gladly fight for her!” said Thora.
“Well, then, for heroics there is no present need! I surely thought Boris loved his business and would not leave his money-making.”
“Could thou tell me what incalculable sum of money a man would take for his honour and patriotism?” asked Thora.
“What has honour to do with it?”
“Everything; a man without honour is not a man–he is just ‘a body’; he has no soul. Robert Burns told Andrew Horner how such men were made!” replied Thora.
“How was that? Tell me! A Burns’ anecdote will put grandfather in his finest temper, and I want him in that condition for I have a great favour to ask from him.”
“The tale tells that when Burns was beginning to write, he had a rival in a man called Andrew Horner. One day they met at the same club dinner, and they were challenged to each write a verse within five minutes. The gentlemen guests took out their watches, the poets were furnished with pencils and paper. When time was up Andrew Horner had not written the first line but Burns handed to the chairman his verse complete.”
“Tell me. If you know it, tell me, Thora!”
“Yes, I know it. If you hear it once you do not forget it.”
“Well then?”
“It runs thus:
“‘Once on a time
The Deil gat stuff to mak’ a swine
And put it in a corner;
But afterward he changed his plan
And made it summat like a man,
And ca’ed it Andrew Horner.’”
“That is good! It will delight grandfather.”
“No doubt he already knows it.”
“No, I should have heard it a thousand times, if he knew it.”
“Well, then, I believe it has been suppressed. Many think it too ill-natured for Burns to have written; but my father says it has the true Burns ring and is Robert Burns’ writing without doubt.”
“It will give grandfather a nice long job of investigation. That is one of his favourite amusements, and all Sunna has to do is to be sure he is right and everybody else wrong. Now I will go home.”
“Stay with me today.”
“No. Macrae will be here soon.”
“Uncertain is that.”
“Every hair on thy head, Thora, every article of thy dress, from the lace at thy throat to the sandals on thy feet, say to me that this is a time when my absence will be better than my company.”
“Well, then, do as thou art minded.”
“It is best I do so. A happy morning to thee! What more is in my heart shall lie quiet at this time.”
Sunna went away with the air of a happy, careless girl, but she said many angry words to herself as she hasted on the homeward road. “Most of the tales tell how women are made to suffer by the men they love–but no tale shall be made about Sunna Vedder! No!No! It is Boris Ragnor I shall turn into laughter–he has mocked my very heart–I will never forgive him–that is the foolish way all women take–all but Sunna Vedder–she will neither forgive nor forget–she will follow up this affair–yes!”
By such promises to herself she gradually regained her usual reasonable poise, and with a smiling face sought her grandfather. She found him in his own little room sitting at a table covered with papers. He looked up as she entered and, in spite of his intention, answered her smile and greeting with an equal plentitude of good will and good temper.
“But I thought then, that thou would stay with thy friend all day, and for that reason I took out work not to be chattered over.”
“I will go away now. I came to thee because things have not gone as I wanted them. Thy counsel at such ill times is the best that can happen.”
Then Vedder threw down his pencil and turned to her. “Who has given thee wrong or despite or put thee out of the way thou wanted to take?”
“It is Boris Ragnor. He has sailed north with the recruiting company–without a word to me he has gone. He has thrown my love back in my face. Should thy grandchild forgive him? I am both Vedder and Fae. How can I forgive?”
Vedder took out his watch and looked at the time. “We have an hour before dinner. Sit down and I will talk to thee. First thou shalt tell me the very truth anent thy quarrel with Boris. What did thou do, or say, that has so far grieved him? Now, then, all of it. Then I can judge if it be Boris or Sunna, that is wrong in this matter.”
“Listen then. Boris heard some men talking about me–that made his temper rise–then he heard from these men that I was dancing at McLeod’s and he went there to see, and as it happened I was dancing with McLeod when he entered the room, and he walked up to me in the dance and said thou wanted me, and he made me come home with him and scolded me all the time we were together. I asked him not to tell thee, and he promised he would not–if I went there no more. I have not danced with McLeod since, except at Mrs. Brodie’s. Thou saw me then.”
“Thou should not have entered McLeod’s house–what excuse hast thou for that fault?”
“Many have talked of the fault, none but thou have asked me why or how it came that I was so foolish. I will tell thee the very truth. I went to spend the day with Nana Bork–with thy consent I went–and towards afternoon there came an invitation from McLeod to Nana to join an informal dance that night at eight o’clock. And Nana told me so many pleasant things about these little dances I could not resist her talk and I thought if I stayed with Nana all night thou would never know. I have heard that I stole away out of thy house to go to McLeod’s. I did not! I went with Nana Bork whose guest I was.”
“Why did thou not tell me this before?”
“I knew no one in Kirkwall would dare to say to thee this or that about thy grandchild, and I hoped thou would never know. I am sorry for my disobedience; it has always hurt me–if thou forgive it now, so much happier I will be.”
Then Adam drew her to his side and kissed her, and words would have been of all things the most unnecessary. But he moved a chair close to him, and she sat down in it and laid her hand upon his knee and he clasped and covered it with his own.
“Very unkindly Boris has treated thee.”
“He has mocked at my love before all Kirkwall. Well, then, it is Thora Ragnor’s complacency that affronts me most. If she would put her boasting into words, I could answer her; but who can answer looks?”
“She is in the heaven of her first love. Thou should understand that condition.”
“It is beyond my understanding; nor would I try to understand such a lover as Ian Macrae. I believe that he is a hypocrite–Thora is so easily deceived–”
“And thou?”
“I am not deceived. I see Boris just as he is, rude and jealous and hateful, but I think him a far finer man than Ian Macrae ever has been, or ever will be.”
“Yes! Thou art right. Now then, let this affair lie still in thy heart. I think that he will come to see thee when the boats return from Shetland–if not, then I shall have something to say in the matter. I shall want my dinner very soon, and some other thing we will talk about. Let it go until there is a word to say or a movement to make.”
“I will be ready for thee at twelve o’clock.” With a feeling of content in her heart, Sunna went away. Had she not the Burns story to tell? Yet she felt quite capable of restraining the incident until she got to a point where its relation would serve her purpose or her desire.
CHAPTER VI
THE OLD, OLD TROUBLE
From reef and rock and skerry, over headland, ness and roe,
The coastwise lights of England watch the ships of England go.
… a girl with sudden ebullitions,
Flashes of fun, and little bursts of song;
Petulant, pains, and fleeting pale contritions,
Mute little moods of misery and wrong.
Only a girl of Nature’s rarest making,
Wistful and sweet–and with a heart for breaking.
The following two weeks were a time of anxiety concerning Boris. The recruiting party with whom he had gone away had said positively they must return with whatever luck they had in two weeks; and this interval appeared to Sunna to be of interminable length. She spent a good deal of the time with Thora affecting to console her for the loss of Ian Macrae, who had left Kirkwall for Edinburgh a few days after the departure of Boris.
“We are ‘a couple of maidens all forlorn,’” she sang, and though Thora disclaimed the situation, she could not prevent her companion insisting on the fact.
Thora, however, did not feel that she had any reason for being forlorn. Ian’s love for her had been confessed, not only to herself, but also to her father and mother, and the marriage agreed to with a few reservations, whose wisdom the lovers fully acknowledged. She was receiving the most ardent love letters by every mail and she had not one doubt of her lover in any respect. Indeed, her happiness so pervaded her whole person and conduct that Sunna felt it sometimes to be both depressing and irritating.
Thora, however, was the sister of Boris, she could not quarrel with her. She had great influence over Boris, and Sunna loved Boris–loved him in spite of her anger and of his neglect. Very slowly went the two weeks the enlisting ships had fixed as the length of their absence, but the news of their great success made their earlier return most likely, and after the tenth day every one was watching for them and planning a great patriotic reception.
Still the two weeks went slowly away and it was a full day past this fixed time, and the ships were not in port nor even in sight, nor had any late news come from them. In the one letter which Rahal had received from her son he said: “The enlistment has been very satisfactory; our return may be even a day earlier than we expected.” So Sunna had begun to watch for the party three days before the set time, and when it was two days after it she was very unhappy.
“Why do they not come, Thora?” she asked in a voice trembling with fear. “Do you think they have been wrecked?”
“Oh, no! Nothing of the kind! They may have sailed westward to Harris. My father thinks so.” But she appeared so little interested that Sunna turned to Mistress Ragnor and asked her opinion.
“Well, then,” answered Rahal, “they are staying longer than was expected, but who can tell what men in a ship will do?”
“They will surely keep their word and promise.”
“Perhaps–if it seem a good thing to them. Can thou not see? They are masters on board ship. Once out of Lerwick Bay, the whole world is before them. Know this, they might go East or West, and say to no man ‘I ask thy leave.’ As changeable as the sea is a sailor’s promise.”
“But Boris is thy son–he promised thee to be home in two weeks. Men do not break a promise made on their mother’s lips. How soon dost thou expect him?”
“At the harbour mouth he might be, even this very minute. I want to see my boy. I love him. May the good God send those together who would fain be loved!”
“Boris is in command of his own ship. He was under no man’s orders. He ought not to break his promise.”
“With my will, he would never do that.”
“Dost thou think he will go to the war with the other men?”
“That he might do. What woman is there who can read a man’s heart?”
“His mother!”
“She might, a little way–no further–just as well ‘no further.’ Only God is wise enough, and patient enough, to read a human heart. This is a great mercy.” And Rahal lifted her face from her sewing a moment and then dropped it again.
Almost in a whisper Sunna said “Good-bye!” and then went her way home. She walked rapidly; she was in a passion of grief and mortification, but she sang some lilting song along the highway. As soon, however, as she passed inside the Vedder garden gates, the singing was changed into a scornful, angry monologue:
“These Ragnor women! Oh, their intolerable good sense! So easy it is to talk sweetly and properly when you have no great trouble and all your little troubles are well arranged! Women cannot comfort women. No, they can not! They don’t want to, if they could. Like women, I do not! Trust them, I do not! I wish that God had made me a man! I will go to my dear old grandad!–He will do something–so sorry I am that I let Thora see I loved her brother–when I go there again, I shall consider his name as the bringer-on of yawns and boredom!”
An angry woman carries her heart in her mouth; but Sunna had been trained by a wise old man, and no one knew better than Sunna Vedder did, when to speak and when to be silent. She went first to her room in order to repair those disturbances to her appearance which had been induced by her inward heat and by her hurried walk home so near the noontide; and half an hour later she came down to dinner fresh and cool as a rose washed in the dew of the morning. Her frock of muslin was white as snow, there was a bow of blue ribbon at her throat, her whole appearance was delightfully satisfying. She opened her grandfather’s parlour and found him sitting at a table covered with papers and little piles of gold and silver coin.
“Suppose I was a thief, Grandfather?” she said.
“Well then, what would thou take first?”
“I would take a kiss!” and she laid her face against his face, and gave him one.
“Now, thou could take all there is. What dost thou want?”
“I want thee! Dinner is ready.”
“I will come. In ten minutes, I will come–” and in less than ten minutes he was at the dinner table, and apparently a quite different man from the one Sunna had invited there. He had changed his coat, his face was happy and careless, and he had quite forgotten the papers and the little piles of silver and gold.
Sunna had said some things to Thora she was sorry for saying; she did not intend to repeat this fault with her grandfather. Even the subject of Boris could lie still until a convenient hour. She appeared, indeed, to have thrown off her anger and her disappointment with the unlucky clothing she had worn in her visit to Thora. She had even assured herself of this change, for when it fell to her feet she lifted it reluctantly between her finger and thumb and threw it aside, remarking as she did so, “I will have them all washed over again! Soda and soap may make them more agreeable and more fortunate.”
And perhaps if we take the trouble to notice the fact, clothing does seem to have some sort of sympathy or antagonism with its wearers. Also, it appears to take on the mood or feeling predominant, looking at one time crisp and perfectly proper, at another time limp and careless, as if the wearer informed the garment or the garment explained the wearer. It is well known that “Fashions are the external expression of the mental states of a country, and that if its men and women degenerate in their character, their fashions become absurd.” Surely then, a sympathy which can affect a nation has some influence upon the individual. Sunna had noticed even in her childhood that her dresses were lucky and unlucky, but the why or the wherefore of the circumstance had never troubled her. She had also noticed that her grandfather liked and disliked certain colours and modes, but she laid all their differences to difference in age.
This day, however, they were in perfect accord. He looked at her and nodded his head, and then smilingly asked: “How did thou find thy friend this morning?”
“So much in love that she had not one regret for Boris.”
“Well, then, there is no reason for regret. Boris has taken the path of honour.”
“That may be so, but for the time to come I shall put little trust in him. Going such a dubious way, he might well have stopped for a God Bless Thee!”
“Would thou have said that?”
“Why should we ask about things impossible? Dost thou know, Grandfather, at what time the recruiting party passed Kirkwall?”
“Nobody knows. I heard music out at sea three nights ago, just after midnight. There are no Shetland boats carrying music. It is more likely than not to have been the recruiting party saluting us with music as they went by.”
“Yes! I think thou art right. Grandfather, I want thee to tell me what we are fighting about.”
“Many times thou hast said ‘it made no matter to thee.’”
“Now then, it is different. Since Boris and so many of our men went away, Mistress Ragnor and Thora talk of the war and of nothing but the war. They know all about it. They wanted to tell me all about it. I said thou had told me all that was proper for me to know, and now then, thou must make my words true. What is England quarrelling about? It seems to me, that somebody is always looking at her in a way she does not think respectful enough.”
“This war is not England’s fault. She has done all she could to avoid it. It is the Great Bear of Russia who wants Turkey put out of Europe.”
“Well, then, I heard the Bishop say the Turks were a disgrace to Europe, and that the Book of Common Prayer had once contained a petition for delivery from the Devil, the Turks, and the comet, then flaming in the sky and believed to be threatening destruction to the earth.”
“Listen, and I will tell thee the truth. The Greek population of Turkey, its Syrians and Armenians, are the oldest Christians in the world. They are also the most numerous and important class of the Sultan’s subjects. Russia also has a large number of Russian Christians in Turkey over whom she wants a protectorate, but these two influences would be thorns in the side of Turkey. England has bought favour for the Christians she protects, by immense loans of money and other political advantages, but neither the Turk nor the English want Russia’s power inside of Turkey.”
“What for?”
“Turkey is in a bad way. A few weeks ago the Czar said to England, ‘We have on our hands a sick man, a very sick man. I tell you frankly, it will be a great misfortune if one of these days he should slip away from us, especially if it were before all necessary arrangements were made. The Czar wants Turkey out of his way. He wants Constantinople for his own southern capital, he wants the Black Sea for a Russian lake, and the Danube for a Russian river. He wants many other unreasonable things, which England cannot listen to.”
“Well then, I think the Russian would be better than the Turk in Europe.”
“One thing is sure; in the hour that England joins Russia, Turkey will slay every Christian in her territories. Dost thou think England will inaugurate a huge massacre of Christians?”
“That is not thinkable. Is there nothing more?”
“Well then, there is India. The safety of our Indian Empire would be endangered over the whole line between East and West if Russia was in Constantinople. Turkey lies across Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor and Armenia, and above all at Constantinople and the Straits. Dost thou think England would ask Russia’s permission every time she wished to go to India?”
“No indeed! That, itself, is a good reason for fighting.”
“Yes, but the Englishman always wants a moral backbone for his quarrel.”
“That is as it should be. The Armenian Christians supply that.”
“But, Sunna, try and imagine to thyself a great military despotic Power seating itself at Constantinople, throwing its right hand over Asia Minor, Syria and Egypt; and its left holding in an iron grip the whole north of two continents; keeping the Dardanelles and the Bosphorus closed whenever it was pleased to do so, and building fleets in Egypt; and in Armenia, commanding the desirable road to India by the Euphrates.”
“Oh, that could not be suffered! Impossible! All the women in Kirkwall would fight against such a condition.”
“Well, so matters stand, and we had been at sword points a year ago but for Lord Aberdeen’s cowardly, pernicious love of peace. But he is always whining about ‘war destroying wealth and commerce’–as if wealth and commerce were of greater worth than national honour and justice and mercy.”
“Yet, one thing is sure, Grandad; war is wasteful and destructive–”
“And one thing is truer still–it is this–that national wealth is created by peace for the very purpose of defending the nation in war. Bear this in mind. Now, it seems to me we have had enough of war. I see Elga coming with a dish of good Scotch collops, and I give thee my word that I will not spoil their savour by any unpleasant talk.” Then he poured a little fine Glenlivet into a good deal of water and said: “Here’s first to the glory of God! and then to the honour of England!” And Sunna touched his glass with her glass and the little ceremony put both in a very happy mood.
