The Washington times., 1912-06-16
CHAPTER /.
The Sea Takes Toll.

lNdE BcnOolndsIer, jamie DaiBieioh, |
was in his 'stewdy," as his do
II mestic sanctum was called. He
was in his usual "stewdious'' at |
mfude-nat on his stomach on the rag
mat, his elbows for props. his hands
Tor chin crutches, and the fender for
reading-desk. A peat fire in the open
hearth cast grotesque shadow OF MS
head upon the wall behind.
A tin windmill, nailed to an apple |
, tree in the kailyard shrieked like
scurrying wrath. The sleety gale from
the Atlantic drove up against the
whining and shuddering. From. the
foot Of the hill upon which the doml-
MES square, whitewashed house stood,
came the swelling roar and snarling
But the middle-aged man with the
hewn face, the shaggy head, the tense
blue eyes and the outstanding brows
had little mind for the weather, save
his ferce dream. For jamie Dalgleish
was rabidly Scotch, and Caledonia,
stern and Wild" was but the outward
and visible semblance of the mans
soul. The breakers tearing on the reefs
OF the Hebrides, the storm shrieking
over the moors. the sheep bleating
piteously at the folds, the rugged
jeerng In the teeth Sf ens
hunched all were the reflection of
Jamie Dalgleish, as the soul Of jamie
hunched-all were the. reflection OF
them and the echo of their turbulence.
For the dominic was Scotch to the
marrow. He was a present body, har-
boring a mind Of the pest His dreams
approached no nearer the age than the
year 1745, when the last of Scotland's
princes abandoned the lost cause of
the Jacobite on Culloden Field. But
st was never abandoned to jamie Dalg-
lieish, who could resurrect and recon-
struct in q fash Of imagination the
whole wariike story from bloody Mac
beth and Malcolm Canmore to the last
of the resurrected past, the dominie's 8
inauguration, stepped in history, racial
poetry and devotion to the lost cause,
sweep the English forces into the peat
UP from the Atlantic swept a terrific
blast The schoolmaster, hitched him
looking eyes never left the glowing
peat The hailstone that fell down the
chimney. and sputtered in the fire was
whine Of the wind around the gables
was the drone of the Cameron's slo-
gan. The square. whitewashed house
ieiSS safed .ns and ssne snorted. e Let a It
shakel Scotland had been shaken
many a time before, but 1t still stood.
rugged and immovable. Scotland
From the kitchen came a diminish
ing clatter of spoons and dishes. Mar
garet would be finished .''redding up"
the tea things" She would be in pres
entity. Then the picture wiuId be com
plete-the dominic dreaming, or reading
the stun that his dreams were made of,
nat on the rag mat; and Margaret, his
lass. sitting in her dead mother chair.
darning old hose or playing a tune on
the bookshelf.
night" said Margaret, pausins in the
doorway OF the "stewdy' to give her
hands a last wipe on her apron.
AYE, aye" said the dominic, turn
He surveyed her for a while, and into
his eyes crept a loving realization Of
her presence and identity. They have
sesn ss eage'tRE g sRfEes1 It foF nsnd hass and
Kerry drives fast, it will be a storm"
There came a iull of the wind-rath-
er a veering. which abruptly let in
gust of sound from another, point af
the compass. From the rough. cobbied
street by the eastern side of the house
came a clatter of hurried feet.
THE Maclartys will be going to draw
Up the boats.' said Margaret. Every
sound in Inverlachie. By night or by
Gay, meant something-precisely some
thing and nothing else.
Dalgleish shifted uneasily on his ell
bows. He was of mind to continue
ut will no be time" he grumbled.
1.-The wind will go to the north afore
morning. Iney Will just De BOlIlB u
take look He chuckled amusedly
IF Gabriel blew his horn. the Mac
larty's would go to the shore for a
peek at the sky, with view to draw
ing UP the boats; Play US a tune, lass
fut" fuf E grand night i0f something mourn
"Mournful!" exclaimed Margaret, hei
brown-eyed face a-dimple with laugh
the wind whistllng around the gables
'Hootr he interrupted, when ye are
feeling romantic. play romantic tunes
or read Scott. When ye are 1eehhi
glum as the rock O. Ailsa on a we
night. play a funeral march. or reat
tragedy. or go down to the shore anc
sing back at the sea. Then ye get thu
feel O. the thing that's in your heart
Where's the sense of playing Lively
lands, or away with the ghosts. It's {
waste of good emotion, Margaret"
Margaret smiled and tuned up tn
fiddle. Presently she began to play an
of the old Jacobite airs that mean 81
much to the Celtic temperament.
Charlie will come again some day,
over the sea to Skye.
The dominic Immediately relapsed in
TO the dream. In the air and in hi
Imagination was tale OF Scotland an
Prince Charlie. red coats and clansmen
fiery crossed that waved In the night
beacons that f1ared on northern crag!
and the wall of the pibroch in wind
swept glens. AS the Jacobite air sighe
through the room, a sheen of moistur
filled the old mans eyes.
Tears for the tragedy OF Scotland an
the Stuart-for the crown that cam
with a lass-winsome Mary, Queen G
Scots-and went with a lass-good Quee
Anne. Was 1t not one of themselve
who had made that prophecy? And
had come true, Anne had been tn
last reigning Stuart of all that naples
house, from Mary, who had been led
the bic ok, through the scholarly Jamse
and the gallant Charleses down to tins
exiled king who had made vain a.
tempt in 1715 to drive the House {
Hanover off the throne of Scotland an
That was the Old Pretender, who's
standard had fallen at Sherfmuir bt
fore the traitorous Duke of Argyll: An
thirty years later his son, the Youn
Pretender-Bonnie Prince Charlie. II
King o. the Hielands-had sunere
similar defeat before the charge {
Cumberland's dragons at Cunodel
The stuart cause was lost for all tim
but-And the air Margaret was playin
found echo in the soul of the sanguir
dreamer
Charlie will come again some day,
Over the sea to Skye.