CHAPTER VIII.

THE CONSPIRATORS--A DEED OF DARKNESS--A FEAST TO FOLLOW--STRANGE SCHOOL-CUSTOMS--A FIGHT IN THE FOREST--LAST DAYS AT SCHOOL.

My grandfather grew, and kept on growing.

But Ian grew not merely in height, as some lads, who never take exercise nor the cold morning-tub, do, till they become lanky and thin and lantern-jawed, or fat and pasty, with faces like half-cooked dumplings, but in strength as well.

And though he was wild enough when free, he stuck to his books and slates at school.

He continued, however, to fight his way to the top of the school. But, though he was often tawsed, he was never kept in again.

This was very satisfactory, for that terrible adventure in the chimney he never could forget. The tawsing, however, was far from pleasant, and so when one day Tonal, the boy whom the teacher thrashed so unmercifully as to make the lad bear malice, came up to my grandfather in the play-ground, and said mysteriously that he wanted him that evening to go with him to the dark forest, where he would tell him something, a ready consent was given; for even at this early age my grandfather was fond of adventure.

Tonal, who was a great friend of Ian's, led him that night into a gloomy defile before he uttered a word. Then after looking around him, as if he feared they had been followed, he whispered words in grandfather's ears that made him start.

"You don't mean it surely?"

"I do," said Tonal, nodding.

"And the other boys are afraid?"

Tonal nodded again.

"You and I are friends, Tonal, aren't we?"

"Better than brothers."

"Then I will help you."

The two young rascals then shook hands in a most tragical way, as if the deed they were about to commit were nothing less than arson at the least.

Just three days after this, Tonal drew a caricature of the dominie, with a bottle of whisky sticking out of his pocket. This he held up for the inspection of the other boys, who tittered and laughed; then down flew the tawse, and Tonal picked it up and marched boldly to the front.

But the slate also had to be produced.

This was mutiny. Ten pandés on each hand, and to be kept in!

It was early spring, and night fell about eight o'clock, and a dark night it was.

Tonal would have been very much afraid in the lonesome schoolroom, had not the thoughts of what was to come buoyed him up.

At long last, the key turned softly in the door, and a mysterious voice gave the watchword:

"Hist!"

"I've got it," said Tonal, touching Ian's hand with the cold, snaky tawse.

"Well, come on then; I'll run and give the key back to little Rachel."

"Wasn't it in the door?"

"No."

Rachel was waiting at the peat-stack. She was trembling with fear.

"O, you good little Rachel," said my grandfather.

Then a sudden impulse caused him to take her in his arms and give her a rough kind of a hug. He had never gone so far in his sweethearting before, and now, though it was too dark to see it, his face was as red as a Christmas turkey's.

Rachel hurried back to hang up the key, and the boys flew off to the forest.

In a little glade a fire had already been laid, and soon its gleams were illuminating the brown stems of the pine-trees, and sparks like golden snow were carried high aloft in the rolling smoke.

With much pomp and ceremony, the conspirators laid the tawse on the gleaming wood, and sat down in silence, like a couple of stoical Indians, to see it consumed.

It had always felt like a snake; how like one it seemed now, and how it twisted and writhed, and twined and turned. It settled down at last into a fiery serpent, then it gradually crumbled away and disappeared.

After this the boys gave three such wild cheers that the very birds were scared, and some flew, screaming, away into the black darkness beyond.

A little feast now followed. They had provided themselves with bannocks and butter, with potatoes to roast, and a huge mountain trout to grill over the clear embers.

There is no doubt about one thing, they were entirely happy around this camp-fire, and, boy-like, must commence to talk about their prospects. Tonal was two years older than grandfather, and he was determined to be a soldier.

"I can beat the drum a little, you know, so they are sure to take me. And I may be a drum-major yet, you know."

"Well, I'm going to be a farmer," said my grandfather, "and have as many sheep as there are pine-trees in the forest. Then----"

"Then what?"

"Well then, you know, I'll marry Rachel."

Poor boys! Little did they know that

"There is a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough hew them as we will."

* * * * * *

The events that immediately succeeded their feast in the forest may soon be told.

1st. Tonal had already told his father, a very humble and poor cottar, that he would enlist.

"If it be the will of Heaven, go, my boy, and the Lord be ever with you."

This was of course spoken in Gaelic.

So Tonal did not go back to school to face the dominie's wrath. He would rather face the French.

2ndly. My grandfather did go back to school.

3rdly. The dominie went straight to Beauly and bought a bran-new tawse. But O, the irony of fate, my grandfather was the very first it was tried upon. And he didn't like it either.

Nevertheless, in spite of his frequent tawsings, this ancestor of mine continued to grow. It is just possible I am showing the worst side of his character. Perhaps I shouldn't. For he must always have been good-hearted. The boy is the father of the man; the boy I might say is the grandfather of the man.

I know one thing for certain, and that is this: he dearly loved his father and mother, and brothers and sister. He had only one sister.

The farm on the Braes was a good one and prolific, and Ian's sturdy father was revered and respected, an elder of the church, and one who brought up his children in the fear and admonition of the Lord, as it was termed. Every evening there were prayers, and morning prayers also. But this was quite the reverse of making the children restricted or sad.

Many a jovial dance was got up in the long winter evenings at Robertson's house, and on such occasions the father was as merry as the young people, and if he wasn't dancing among them he was beating time to the music of fiddle or bagpipe.

In the Highlands of Scotland the winters are usually long and stormy, but the peasantry and farmers have many pleasant ways of making it pass; so that, when at length he went out into the world, my grandfather had a very happy home to look back to.

School life, despite an occasional tawsing, was far indeed from unbearable.

There were one or two strange customs connected with the little Highland school that do not prevail nowadays. How would my reader like, for instance, to carry a peat to school with him every winter's morning? But this was what my grand-dad and all the other boys had to do. The girls were exempt.

If a boy forgot to bring his peat, he had his hands well warmed with the tawse, and he was not likely to forget next day.

These peats kept up not only the school fire but the dominie's family fire also.

Well, there was no disgrace in bringing a peat to school. Even the minister's son had to do it.

But the other custom I only mention to condemn.

It was a great cock-fight that took place before Christmas, or Old Yule rather, every year.

Every boy on this great day brought a cock to school with him, and the boy whose cock should be victor was proclaimed king of the school for the whole year, and was exempt from tawsing, except for specially aggravating conduct.

The cocks that were killed became the property of the dominie.

The fight, I am sorry to say, created considerable excitement in the parish, and the boys' parents came from far and near to witness it. I have been told, though I can scarcely believe it, that even the minister himself came to see the fun.

Sad fun; yes, and cowardly, cruel fun!

Nevertheless, when, on the evening of a great fight, my grandfather was duly crowned king, no prouder boy perhaps ever lived.

Even the cock that won him the honour and glory clapped his wings and crew over and over again, and to complete my grand-dad's happiness, little Rachel looked upon her hero as sweetly as an angel could have looked, though it could only be an angel of darkness who would attend a cock-fight.

As he sat next Rachel that evening, at a party which the dominie got up for the occasion, Ian felt his cup of bliss was not only full but overflowing. Rachel had on a lovely snow-white frock and scarf of Fraser tartan, and Ian was dressed in his Sunday's kilt with an eagle's feather in his bonnet.

As king he was asked to open the ball, and of course choose his partner.

Now duty whispered to him, "Ask Mrs. Freeschal to dance."

But duty was left in the lurch for once. One glance at Rachel's bonnie face, and next moment both were whirling through that very mazy dance--the Reel of Tulloch.

Tom Grahame, a much bigger and older boy than Ian, looked on at the dance with the green eye of jealousy.

When it was over, and the king was escorting his little queen back to her seat, Tom stole up behind his majesty and whispered darkly in his ear.

And these were the words he whispered:

"It's myself that will thrash you to-morrow within an inch of your life."

"Sure, then, Tom Grahame," was young Ian Robertson's reply, "the threat that you throw on me won't keep me awake, and when I sleep it isn't dreaming about you I'll be. Good-night till the morning."

That was a happy evening anyhow, and when he went to school next day my grandfather had almost forgotten all about the coming battle.

Boys will be boys, and they were just as combative in those days as now. Perhaps more so.

At this school, when any pitched battle was to be fought, the belligerents and their friends betook themselves to the forest.

There were no rules of the ring. A fall decided the end of a round; but if the two fell together, they were allowed to fight it out on the ground like a couple of bears.

"Is it to be hitting in the face or not?" said big Tom Grahame.

"As the fight is for a lady," replied my gallant grandfather, "I'm going to hit wherever I can, and you may do the self-same."

That was really the most terrible school-combat that had taken place for years.

Tom Grahame was a vengeful tyke, and fought with fearful fury. But Ian was more skilful, and punished his adversary so well that the fight would have ended in his favour, had not Tom used his foot in a most unhandsome fashion.

Down rolled poor Ian, and while the other boys shouted "Unfair!" Tom threw himself on top of my little progenitor, and mauled him terribly.

Then in desperation Ian pulled out his kilt pin, and popped it straight into his big antagonist's chest.

This decided the fight. It nearly decided the fate of Tom Grahame also. The big pin had done its work so well--or ill--that Tom was confined to bed for a whole month.

Filled with remorse, my grandfather went every day to see him, and so did the doctor, till he was out of danger.

But Ian became Tom's nurse, in a manner of speaking, all throughout his illness, and, strange to say, between those two boys sprang up a friendship that lasted for many and many a year, until deep seas rolled between, and, as will be seen as we go on, years after this. Ever after, however, as long as my grandfather remained at school, he was known by the nickname of Preen Mhor.*

* Big pin.

* * * * *

One day, and well did my grandfather remember it Mr. Freeschal paid a visit to the farm, and was kindly welcomed in.

"It's about your boy I've come to speak," said the dominie.

"Why, surely, he hasn't gotten into any more mischief, has he?"

"O, no, and if it was that same, it isn't complaining to you I'd be; I'd tawse him well."

Robertson senior held out his snuff-box, and the dominie, after tapping the lid in a sociable kind of way, took a hearty pinch, and returned the mull.

Meanwhile Mrs. Robertson was bustling about getting ready the evening meal, for Highlanders are nothing unless sociable.

"Your boy," said the dominie, "is about past my lore. He knows about as much as his master."

"It's myself that is delighted, Mr. Freeschal!"

"Yes, I've done well for him, and there isn't a boy in all Great Britain, France, or Ireland, who can beat him at figures or grammar, and his writing is just copper-plate itself, only, if anything, better. I could teach him Latin and Greek, you know, if it is a parson you'd be making of him. If not, I tell you, as an honest man should, that it would be taking your money for nothing to keep him longer with me. And that's what I've come to tell you."

"Well, well, Mr. Freeschal, you have made us all happy, and of course you'll stop to supper?"

There was some pretty play for nearly a minute after this, the dominie expostulating, the farmer's wife beseeching. But it ended in the dominie staying, which he had meant to do from the first.

By-and-by the minister himself dropped in and took a friendly chair and a friendly bit of food.

During the evening, which was a very jovial one, young Ian's future prospects were freely discussed, but nothing definite was arrived at, except that to educate my grandfather any further would only tend to weaken his brain.

Strange reasoning this was, only it contented those simple souls, and that was enough. There is a good deal of truth in Pope's lines--

"From ignorance our comfort flows, The only wretched are the wise."

This would be considered somewhat dangerous doctrine nowadays.

* * * * *

Grandfather's last days at school soon arrived, and both teacher and his companions were better to him than ever; and Rachel, now a demure little maiden of fourteen, told Ian in confidence that he was going away out into the world now, and that it just felt to her like death or growing old, neither of which she considered very desirable.

When the very, very last evening came, she bade him good-bye at the corner of the old peat-stack, and though my grandfather did all he could think of to comfort her, he had to part from her at last in sorrow and tears.