# Wee Macgreegor/Chapter 13

pp. 161–176.

### CHAPTER XIII.

The Robinson family were spending the week end at old Mr. Purdie's Rothesay residence, but, much to their disappointment, the weather had completely broken down an hour after their arrival. Macgregor stood at the window, gazing disconsolately at the misty bay, while his elders—wee Jeannie having been put to bed—talked of matters which seemed to him totally void of interest.
"Can I get gaun ootbye noo?" he inquired at last of his mother, who was busily knitting and talking to Grandma Purdie.
Lizzie glanced at the window. "Deed, Macgreegor, ye needna be speirin' aboot gaun oot the nicht."
"It's no' sae wat noo, maw."
"I'm thinkin' it cudna be muckle waur, dearie. Ye wud be fair drookit in hauf a meenit. Jist content yersel' in the hoose, an' ye'll maybe get a fine day the morn."
"I want to gang to the pier an' see the steam-boats comin' in, maw."
"Aweel, I'm rale vexed fur ye, but ye're no' gaun ower the door the nicht. Whaur's yer graun' pictur'-book?"
"I seen a' the pictur's."
"Puir laddie," said Grandma Purdie, "it's no' vera cheery fur him sittin' in the hoose a' nicht. John, can ye no' divert the wean a wee? Gi'e him a bit ride on yer fit, man."
"Come on, Macgreegor!" his father cried, willingly. "Come awa' and ha'e a ride on ma fit."
"Ach, he's ower big fur that kin' o' gemm," said Grandpa Purdie, noticing that Macgregor did not appear to appreciate the invitation. "Are ye no', ma mannie?"
"Ay," muttered Macgregor.
"Wud ye like to build hooses wi' the dominoes?" inquired the old gentleman.
Macgregor shook his head.
"Weel, wud ye like to build castels wi' the draughts?"
Macgregor shook his head again, and looked gloomier and more ill-used than ever.
"I ken whit Macgreegor wud like," put in John. "Him an' me kens a fine gemm. I'll be a draygon, an' hide in ma den ablow the table, and Macgreegor 'll hunt me. I'll mak' him a spear oot o' ma Evenin' Times, an' he'll stab me till I'm deid. Eh, Macgreegor?"
"Fine!" exclaimed Mr. Purdie.
"Preserve us a'!" cried Mrs. Purdie.
"Oh, John and Macgreegor whiles ha'e fine gemms at the draygon," said Lizzie, pleasantly. "But it's unco sair on John's breeks; an' he's got on his guid claes the nicht.... Pu' them up a wee, John, sae as no' to spile the knees."
"A' richt, wumman," replied John, as he rolled his newspaper into a harmless weapon. Presently he handed it to his son, and disappeared under the table, where he covered his head with a red woolen tidy.
"Come on, Macgreegor; I'm ready fur ye noo!" he shouted, and immediately proceeded to emit fearsome noises.
"It bates a'!" Grandma Purdie cried, quite excitedly. "Whit a gemm!"
"John," said Lizzie, "did ye pu' up yer breeks?"
"Hoo can a draygon pu' up breeks?" returned her husband; and he resumed his growlings and groanings, while Macgregor began to stalk his prey with great caution and stealth.
"See an' no' pit oot yer paw's een," said old Mrs. Purdie, a trifle nervously.
"Gi'e the draygon a bit jab, an' gar him come oot his den," said Mr. Purdie. "Dod, if I wis jist a wee thing soopler, Macgreegor, I wud mak' ye anither draygon."
Just then the dragon made a claw at the leg of the hunter, who let out a piercing yell and lunged wildly with his spear, without, however, getting it home. The fun became fast and furious.
"Come oot yer den, ye auld draygon, till I bore a hole in ye!" yelled the bold Macgregor.
"Gurr—gurr!" said the dragon, suddenly appearing on the other side of the table.
At this point the door opened, and Aunt Purdie stepped in. "What's ado, what's ado?" she inquired, rather sourly. John rose from the floor, trying to look at his ease, and Macgregor, the spirit of play being abruptly chilled, shook hands dutifully with his relative and straightway retired to the window.
Aunt Purdie, whose husband's grocery business was rapidly increasing, had taken rooms in Rothesay, not far from the old folks, for July and August. She was much too superior and proper a person for the Robinsons, and she was Macgregor's pet aversion. As Lizzie was wont to say, she was "rale genteel, but awfu' easy offendit."
"I was intending to go to the pier for to meet Robert," she observed, as she sat down, "but it was that wet I jist came in to wait."
"Ye're rale welcome," said Grandma Purdie, kindly. "Whit boat is Rubbert comin' wi'?"
"Robert is coming in the seven o'clock p.m. train from Glasgow. He cannot leave the shope any earlier the now."
"Weel, he'll no' be compleenin' if trade's guid," said Mrs. Purdie, brightly. "He'll ken to come here for ye the nicht, nae doot."
"Yes," said Aunt Purdie. Then turning to Lizzie, but speaking so that every one in the room might hear, she said, "I've jist received a letter from my friend, Mrs. M'Cluny."
"Ha'e ye?" returned Lizzie, politely. She knew that she was about to be treated to news of her sister-in-law's grand acquaintances, in whom she had not the slightest interest.
"M'Cluny!" exclaimed old Mr. Purdie. "Dod, but that's a queer-like name to gang to the kirk wi'! It's liker Gartnavel."
"It is very old Highland," said Aunt Purdie, with dignity.
"Ten year in botle," muttered John, with a snigger, whereat Mr. Purdie slapped his knee and laughed loudly.
"Mrs. M'Cluny," went on Aunt Purdie, "informs me that Dr. M'Cluny has got to leave Glasgow."
"Wha's he been killin'?" asked Mr. Purdie, and John stifled a guffaw.
"Haud yer tongue, man," whispered old Mrs. Purdie, fearing lest her son's wife should take offence, as she had done too often before.
"Dr. M'Cluny," the visitor continued, "has received an appointment in England. It is a very good appointment, but I'm sure I don't know what we are to do wanting Mrs. M'Cluny when the winter season begins."
"Dis she gi'e awa' coals an' blankets?" inquired Mr. Purdie, with a serious face.
The lady glanced at him sharply. "I was referring to Mrs. M'Cluny's social—a—poseetion," she said, stiffly. "We shall miss her greatly at our parties and conversonies. She was that genteel—I might even say autocratic. Her and me is great friends, and we have been often complimented for our arrangements at entertainments when we was on the commytee. Everybody says Mrs. M'Cluny is a capital organism."
"Deed, ye'll jist ha'e to tak' her place when she's awa'," said Mr. Purdie, winking at John.
"Well, I must do my best," returned Aunt Purdie, modestly. "Of course, it has always been against Mrs. M'Cluny that her husband kep' a doctor's shope," she added.
"Bless me, wumman, whit's wrang wi' that? If a man's gaun to tell folk to tak' pooshun, he micht as weel sell it," cried the old man.
"It is not conseedered the proper thing by the best people."
"Havers! Ye're ain man keeps a shope."
"A grocery establishment," said Aunt Purdie, "is a very different thing from a doctor's shope. I've never heard tell of a man with a doctor's shope getting a title from the hands of his Royal Majesty."
Mr. Purdie burst out laughing. "Ca' canny, wumman, ca' canny! I doot oor Rubbert's no' the lad to heed aboot titles. Hoots, toots!... Come ower here, Macgreegor, an' gi'e's yer crack," he said, anxious to get Aunt Purdie off her high horse.
Macgregor came over from the window and leaned against the old man's knees. "Dae a recite, granpaw," he whispered.
"Eh? Recite?" The old man was pleased, however. "Weel, I'll gi'e ye a bit readin', if ye like, Macgreegor," he said, putting on his specs and taking an ancient and somewhat battered Bell's Reciter from a shelf at his elbow. "Whit 'll I read ye, ma mannie?"
"Read aboot the man that wis lockit in the kist till he wis a—a—a skeletin, an' loupit oot on the ither man."
"'The Uncle'?"'
"Ay. I like that yin awfu'," said Macgregor, with a shudder of anticipation.
"Whit's that?" cried Lizzie. "Aw, yer no' to read him that yin, fayther. He had an unco bad nichtmare the last time."
"It wisna the skeletin done it, maw," appealed the boy. "It wis the peasebrose I had to ma supper. I aye dream when I get peasebrose—an' ile."
"He's sleepin' wi' me the nicht," put in John. "Ye'll no' be feart wi' me, wull ye, Macgreegor?"
"Naw."
After some discussion Lizzie reluctantly gave in, and Mr. Purdie proceeded with the reading, which, as a matter of fact, had little interest for Macgregor until the final tragedy was reached. Then, while the old man, short of breath, gasped the lines and gesticulated in frightsome fashion, did Macgregor stand with rising hair, open mouth, and starting eyeballs, guaking with delicious terror. And hardly had the words "a sinner's soul was lost" left the reader's lips when the boy was exclaiming:
"Dae anither recite, granpaw, dae anither recite!"
"Na, na, laddie. Nae mair."
"Aw, ay. Jist anither. Dae the yin aboot the man that stabbit the ither man wi' a jaggy knife, an' hut him wi' a stane, an' pit him in the watter, an' wis fun' oot, an' got the nick. Dae that yin."
After a little rest Grandpa Purdie was prevailed upon to read "Eugene Aram's Dream," at the close of which he suggested that Macgregor should give a recitation.
"I'll gi'e ye a penny, Macgreegor," he said, encouragingly.
"An' I'll gi'e ye anither," said John.
"An' I've a poke o' mixed ba's," added Grandma Purdie.
"Naw, I canna," said Macgregor.
"Come awa', ye can dae it fine," said his father. "Dae the recite yer maw teached ye aboot the laddie on the burnin' boat."
"It wis an awfu' job gettin' him to learn it," remarked Lizzie.
"Weel, let's hear a' aboot it," said Mr. Purdie.
"Och, it's a daft recite, an' I canna mind it," returned Macgregor.
"Ah, but we're a' wantin' to hear it," said Grandma Purdie. "Come awa', like a clever laddie."
"Ye can mind it fine," remarked Lizzie. "Ye needna be sae blate."
"I've a thrupny-pit in ma purse," said Mr. Purdie.
"Dod, I've yin, tae," said John.
The bribery was too much for Macgregor. "I'll dae 't!" he exclaimed.
Every one applauded except Aunt Purdie, who muttered something about "bringing up children foolishly." Whereupon Lizzie murmured something about "talkin' o' bringin' up weans when ye hivna got ony," an observation which the other pretended she did not hear.
"I'll no' dae the yin aboot the burnin' boy," said Macgregor, suddenly.
"Weel, dae anither," said his grandfather.
"He disna ken anither," his mother interposed. "It tuk me six month to learn him the——"
"Ay, I ken anither. I learnt it frae Wullie Thomson," her son interrupted.
"Whit's it aboot?"
"I'll no' tell till I recite it."
"Recite it, then."
Macgregor put his hands behind his back, and, after several false starts and giggles, delivered the following:
"Yin, twa, three— My mither catched a flea.
We roastit it, an' toastit it,
An' had it to wur tea."
"That's a' I ken," he concluded, bursting out laughing.
His grandparents and his father laughed, too, and Lizzie would have joined them had it not been for Aunt Purdie.
With a face of disgust, that lady, holding up her hands, exclaimed, "Sich vulgarity!"
Lizzie appeared to swallow something before she quietly said: "Micht I be as bold as to speir, Mrs. Purdie, if ye refer to ma son, Macgreegor, or to the words o' the pome he recitit the noo?"
"T—to the words, of course, Mrs. Robinson," returned Aunt Purdie, hastily.
"That's a' richt, Mrs. Purdie," Lizzie said, with disagreeable pleasantness. "I'm gled to hear ye referred to the words. H'm! Ay!"
Aunt Purdie opened her mouth, but fortunately the arrival of her husband just then prevented her speaking.
Robert Purdie was a big, genial man, and he had Macgregor up on his shoulder before he had been in the room a minute. The boy loved his uncle, and always associated him with large bags of what are known to some people as "hair-ile" mixtures—softish sweets with pleasant flavors, reminiscent of a barber's saloon.
"Ha'e ye been behavin' yersel', Macgreegor?" inquired Uncle Purdie, presently.
"Ay," replied the youngster, while his aunt glowered.
"Aweel," said the big man, putting him gently on the floor, "awa' an' see whit ye can fin' in ma coat pooch oot in the lobby."
With a cry of rapture Macgregor fled from the parlor. He was sampling the "poke" when his mother joined him, having announced her intention to the company of seeing if wee Jeannie slept. "Dearie, ye're no' to say thon again," she said.
"Whit, maw?"
"Thon pome, dearie."
"Whit wey, maw?"
"Jist because I dinna want ye to say 't."
"Weel, I'll no'," replied Macgregor, with his mouth full.
"That's ma ain laddie."
"Maw, d' ye ken whit I wud like to gi'e Aunt Purdie?"
"A pickle sweeties," suggested Lizzie, trying to smile.
"Naw. I wud like to gi'e her a daud on the neb twicet."