# Just Jemima/Chapter 5

pp. 63–75.

### V
#### THE ROSEBUD

IF I ha'ena said much aboot the boarders at "Seaview," it's no' because I ha'ena been thinkin' aboot them, ay, and observin' them. As ye ha'e maybe noticed, I'm o' a canny disposition, and I try to keep mind o' ma fayther's advice, never to judge folk frae their ootsides, nae matter hoo ill-favoured they are.
But at the end o' three weeks I must say what I think o' Col. Beetle, or burst. Oh, yon's no' a nice man! The other mornin', when me and Mrs. Parkins was makin' the beds, I says to her:—
"It's a pity the Colonel doesna treat his lady kinder. I wonder he doesna think shame o' hissel'."
"I hardly think it is any business of yours, Jemima," says Mrs. Parkins, but no' angrily.
"Maybe no', mem," I says; "but I canna help takin' an interest in the folk stoppin' in your hoose."
"That is well enough," she says. "Still, you are not expected to express opinions of them. I may tell you, however, that Colonel Beadle's manner used to worry me a good deal, but after a while I came to the conclusion that he could not help it—it is only his way. You know, we all have our little peculiarities."
"Ye're ower tender, mem," I tells her. "I believe ye would ha'e an excuse for a man that killed his granny for a shillin'."
"Really, Jemima!" she exclaims.
"It's no' as if the Colonel was ill-natured to everybody," I says. "He's as sweet as treacle to the other ladies—and dear knows they're far frae lovely."
"That will do," says she, takin' oot her hanky and blawin' her nose several times.
"I hope ye're no' catchin' the flue, mem," I says anxiously, but she didna answer, and I couldna get her on to the Colonel again, though I was keen to learn mair aboot the man.
The same day I speired at Frederick aboot him.
"I believe he was a fine sojer in his day," says Frederick.
"Ay, but what's your opinion o' him noo?" says I.
"I think he'a no' a bad sort."
"Gracious heavens!" says I, "are ye blin' and deaf? Ha'e ye never noticed hoo he jumps on puir Mrs. Beetle?"
"Oh, ye'll soon get used to that, Jemima," he says carelesslike. "It's jist his way."
For aboot half a second I was speechless. Then I says, slow and solemn:—
"Did ye never feel like takin' him by the scruff o' the neck and shovin' his face in his soup?"
Frederick stared at me.
"Or clappin' the cheese puddin' on his wicked auld head?" says I.
"No," says he, "I never did! But if he's said onything to offend you, Jemima——"
I waved him awa'.
"I'm disappinted in ye, and I ha'e nae mair to say on the subject."
And I made him leave it at that.
At night, the cook bein' in extra low spirits, owin' to the boarders ha'ein' devoured a' the green peas but five, I took her oot for some fresh air jist afore bedtime—she hadna been oot o' the hoose since she arrived—and we had a ten minutes' stroll along the shore. Oh, me! I never understood till then why the sea waves was called sad. Betwixt broodin' on the green peas and wishin' she was in her bed, she wasna cheery company. I wanted to get her opinion o' the Colonel, but a' she would say was that she supposed he was nae wickeder nor other men, and that we a' had oor burdens to bear. So I changed the subject, enquirin' hoo she was enjoyin' oor adventure by the ocean.
"Oh dear, oh dear," says she, "I think the niff o' the salt water doesna agree wi' me, and the sight o' them wilk and other creepin' things gi'es me a grue—and if I had only dreamt the greedy folk was gaun to shift a' the peas like that, I would ha'e kept back ma own portion. Come awa' hame, lassie, and we'll ha'e a cup o' cocoa afore we gang to oor beds, and try to forget the greed o' folk and the cauld air o' this place."
I tell ye I was fair depressed when I cam' to say ma prayers that night. I could ha'e done fine wi' a sight o' the inside o' ma fayther's hoose. Hooever, I was a' right again in the mornin', and fit for onything.
At breakfast the Colonel was savager nor ever, cryin' "fiddlesticks" and the like at everything his lady said. I think the others was annoyed at him, except, maybe, Miss Tinto, which let oot a giggle as if it was funny. The only thing I could dae was to see that he got the wee-est egg—I would ha'e gi'ed sixpence if it had been a rank bad yin—and keep shiftin' the marmalade, which he was daft for, to the other side o' the table.
Afterwards I told Frederick what I had done, but he said he couldna see that I had done onything that wouldna mak' the man crosser to his wife,
"And what would you ha'e done?" says I.
"Naething," says he. "If I couldna appeal to his better nature, I would let him be."
"I dinna believe he's got ony better nature; I would as soon look for that in a Hun," says I.
"Weel, ye mightna look in vain, if ye gaed deep enough," he says.
Somehow he angered me.
"What dae you ken aboot Huns?" I asks him. "Ye never was oot yonder."
I was sorry the minute I said it.
He got red and turned away frae me.
Later on, Mrs. Parkins sent me oot to the garden to gather roses for the table, and there I seen Mrs. Beetle sittin' by hersel' readin' a book. She had her hanky oot, but whether it was for to wipe her eyes or her nose, or to frighten the flies, I couldna be sure. But, oh, I was vexed for her! What a cruel fate to be cemented for life to sich a savage character! And yet, nae doubt, there had been a day when he would ha'e stood on his head and eaten grass to win her cauldest smile! Oh, men, men!
It was then that I minded the words o' Frederick aboot better natures. "What," says I to masel', "if Colonel Beetle has a bit left, after a'!" It's queer hoo one notion leads to another. As I pulled the beauteous roses keepin' a sharp lookout for bumbees, etc., ma head got full o' them—notions, I mean—and when I gaed back to the hoose, I felt like cryin' "Eureka," that bein' the name o' the party which invented hot baths by accident in the days o' Julius Ceasar, or thereaboots, and got a stove polish called ever after him. Sich is fame!
The first chance I got, I apologised to Frederick for ma sharpness to him.
"It's merely a temporary apology," I says. "Maybe I'll ha'e to tak' it back, the morn's mornin'; but in the meantime I'm admittin' that ye might be right aboot Col. Beetle's better nature."
"My, ye're a comic, Jemima," says he. "What dae ye expect to happen the morn's morning?"
"Ha, ha!" says I, "wait and see!"
He wasna jist as curious as I could ha'e wished.
"Jemima," he says, when I was for leavin' him, "I've been ha'ein' a word wi' the cook."
"Flirtin' again!" I remarks.
He laughed.
"It appears that she doesna want to gang oot on Sunday evenin', so there's nae reason for you stoppin' in, although it's no' your turn for gaun oot. Ma mither," he says, seriouslike, "would be rael pleased to see ye."
"But she seen me last Sunday," says I. "She was extra kind, and I wouldna like her to get fed up wi' me."
"That'll never happen!" he says. "Last Sunday done her a heap o' guid. As ye ken, she's been an invalid. Say ye'll come, Jemima."
I didna ken what to say. I had had another note frae the porter, upbraidin' me for bein' stuck up and so forth, and tellin' hoo he had tramped the road in a new pair o' shoes for four immortal hours, hopin' for a sight o' ma sweet smile, but a' in vain. It said he had endured great agony o' mind and body, and though I didna believe that—the mind bit, at ony rate—I had nae special desire to hurt his feelings, nor to let the chocolates rot, as he declared they would. Sweeties is no' that easy come by nooadays.
"I'll meet ye comin' oot o' the Kirk," says Frederick.
"Na," I says, "that would be ower pinted. If your mither really wants me, I'll come up an hour after that."
"But ye dinna need to come back here for your supper," he says. "That'll be waitin' for ye at oor hoose."
I said it was vera kind o' his mither, but I really couldna come direct frae the Kirk. I was feart he would start speirin' what for no', but he jist gi'ed a sort o' nod to hissel', and said I would be welcome when I cam'. He didna look offended; a' the same, I wasna entirely satisfied.
At night, when I made ma round o' turnin' doon the beds, I took a bonny wee rosebud wi' me. When I laid oot the Colonel's pyjameses, which must ha'e made him look like a demented zebra, I slipped the rosebud into the pocket beside his hanky. At first I had meant for to put a note wi' it, sayin' "Wi' fondest love," but I didna ken Mrs. Beetle's front name, and I didna want to create a scandal wi' makin' him imagine it was maybe frae Miss Tinto. So I left the bud to speak for itsel', and gaed doonstairs tryin' to feel hopeful that it would mind him o' the balmy days when he coorted his wife.
What wi' worryin' aboot this, and aboot Frederick and the porter, I didna enjoy ma usual repose, and the lark had a big start next mornin'. The cook had likewise slept in, after a bad dream aboot some haricot beans that turned into earwigs, and Mrs. Parkins had rose on her wrong side; so if it hadna been for Frederick, the boarders would ha'e had to whistle a while for their breakfasts. Hooever, we managed to provide it up to time, and doon they cam', maistly lookin' as if they hadna seen food for a fortnight.
The Colonel was late, though, and I was on the tenterhooks to see if the rosebud had worked. I couldna see ony difference in Mrs. Beetle, but it wasna to be expected that her face would become glad in a night after a' them years o' misery.
When the Colonel cam' doon at last, Frederick, which happened to be aside me at the sideboard, gi'ed me a nudge, but I hadna the courage to look then. And when I did look, I felt like daein' a swoon on the lino.
The Colonel's face was as black as thunder, and doon the side o' his big nose was a long red scratch.