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There were two visitors at Glengail, which was altogether an unusual circumstance. Visitors of any sort interfered with the laird’s scheme of life: he preferred to be left alone. And aunt Janet, too, found they were apt to “turn the house upside down,” as she expressed it. So visitors of any sort were rather remarkable; and these particular sorts of visitors were even more so—a cavalry officer and a public-schoolboy. Moreover, they had nothing whatever to do with each other. Captain Field was an old friend of the laird’s; indeed, they had been schoolfellows. Their paths in life had led in very different directions, but when these did converge, they were unaffectedly glad to meet. The presence of the other visitor was, perhaps, more surprising. Aunt Janet had known Archie Melville’s mother before her marriage; she had liked her in the grim sort of way Aunt Janet did like; and when one summer she heard all Archie’s young brothers and sisters had elected to take measles just before his return from school, she came to the assistance of his distracted mother by offering an asylum free from infection to Archie. As Aunt Janet looked on all boys with a deep and dark distrust, it must be owned that this was very much to her credit. But then she was a woman who invariably faced her duty and did it. Evie made up her mind about the two visitors almost at once, as is the fashion of some women-kind; and she made it up rather rashly in regard to one of them, at least: also an occasional occurrence with her sex, particularly when young and inexperienced. Still, I must confess that Archie’s slighting treatment of her best doll was calculated to produce resentment in the breast of any doll-mother. She confided her opinions to Jim. “I like Captain Field,” she said; “I think he would make a good knight; he is courteous and chivalrous.” They were words Evie and Jim were fond of using; they found them in a good many of their readings. “He’s a soldier, you see,” said Jim, as though that were sufficient to account for all good things. “Yes,” said Evie, doubtfully; “but Archie is going to be a soldier too, and I don’t think he is courteous—not at all,” she concluded decidedly, as the line of conduct he had pursued towards her beloved Maryanne recurred to her. Archie, indeed, despised dolls and girls’ belongings generally; but a foolish mother, who encouraged this as a form of “manliness,” was to blame more than the lad himself. “He’s two years older than you, Jim, but he’s not any bigger, and I don’t believe he will make as good a soldier as you would. And, anyhow, I don’t like him,” making the conclusion of the whole matter very emphatic. Therefore, Jim was, on the whole, not particularly predisposed in favour of this young gentleman. Though, as he did not expect to have anything to do with him, he did not trouble his head much on the subject. But Archie Melville in the course of his wanderings one morning came upon Evie and Jim by the side of the Gail Water. Jim had brought back a copy of the “Iliad,” that had been lent to him, and he and Evie were discussing its merits rather eagerly when Archie appeared. “Hallo!” he said, affably, as he strolled up, and his eyes fell on Jim. “Who’s this?” Evie instinctively pressed Maryanne, whom she happened to be taking for an airing, closer to her breast, as she replied— “He’s my friend Jim.” “And who are you, Jim?” pursued Archie, seeking further information from the friend himself. “Jim Wallace. I belong to Miss Mercer, and I live at her house in the village,” responded Jim, civilly, describing himself as accurately as might be. “What do you do?” “Nothing just now,” said Jim, a little downcast, as the remembrance of a failure came over him. “And what are you doing here?” continued Archie, who had a general thirst for information, and always asked direct questions. “I came to see Miss Evie, and to bring back a book,” replied Jim, who always gave straightforward answers. “Books!” cried Archie, with a light and delicately contemptuous laugh. “What does she know about books? Dolls—dolls, that’s all she cares about.” And then by ill fortune his eyes fell upon the luckless Maryanne. “Hallo!” he cried. “Here’s one!” and he made a step towards Evie. Evie retreated. “You shan’t have her!” she said defiantly. “Oh, shan’t I?” said Archie, laughing. “Shan’t I, if I like?” and he caught hold of Maryanne’s blue-spotted muslin frock. Evie screamed, and clutched agonizingly at her child. “I’ll tell Aunt Janet!” she said. “I’ll tell Aunt Janet!” using the most awful threat she knew of. “So like a girl!” said Archie, still laughing. “Tell-tale-tit! So like a girl.” And he nearly got possession of Maryanne, whose frock gave way at the gathers. “Leave Miss Evie alone!” Both the assailed and the assailant turned round. Archie was not in the habit of being addressed in that tone, and Evie had never heard it from Jim in her life. “Leave Miss Evie alone, or——” “Or what?” inquired Archie. “Or I’ll thrash you,” concluded Jim, outwardly calm, but with an ominous twitch about his short upper lip. Archie broke into a gay peal of laughter. A village boy to thrash him! It was too amusing. A dextrous twitch, and Maryanne was torn from her parent’s arms; a turn of an arm and wrist used to bowl for the school Eleven, and the luckless one had landed in the middle of the Gail Water. “Try!” cried Archie. And Jim said nothing, but simply fell upon him. It was a fine opportunity for Evie to figure as the distressed damsel, with the true knight rescuing her from the assaults of the false one. But she was a long way past play-acting. Her cherished Maryanne was lying beyond her reach in about a foot of water, only not swept hopelessly away by the rush of the Gail, because her progress had been checked by a friendly boulder; and on the banks the two lads, with brown eyes flashing strangely alike, were locked in a vigorous and by no means friendly embrace. Evie could only clasp her hands and look on, trembling, at the conflict raging before her. Not that it raged long. Archie was two years older than Jim, but in strength and stature he had found his match. He ought to have had more science than his adversary, but perhaps Jim’s righteous wrath stood him in good stead. Anyhow, in five minutes Master Archie Melville had got the best thrashing he had ever had in his life, together with a remarkably promising black eye. And Jim, with a final effort of just indignation, wreathed his arms round him and cast him from him, not in anywise particular where he might land; which, as a matter of fact, proved to be the middle of the water in immediate proximity to Maryanne. “What’s going on here?” inquired a voice in the background, and turning, Evie and Jim beheld Captain Field. “We’ve had a fight,” Jim responded briefly, and rather superfluously, it being one of those facts obvious to the meanest capacity. “Jim beat him, because he teased me and threw Maryanne away,” Evie explained; “and—and,” relapsing into tears, “she’s in the water now.” Archie had returned to dry land, spluttering and shaking the water from his person like a novel species of Newfoundland. Obviously his immersion had cooled him. “By George,” he said, looking at Jim with something like admiration, “you can fight too!” There was nothing mean and ungenerous about the lad, and he naturally had a sunny temper. Amusement at his own downfall, and frank appreciation of the victor’s prowess, were the emotions which possessed him now. In spite of that little acquired unmanliness of teasing and tormenting the weaker sex, he possessed the true British quality of being able to take a licking like a man. “I’ll shake hands, if you will,” he went on now, addressing Jim. Jim folded his arms, and looked at him judicially. “Will you fetch the doll out of the water, and give it back to Miss Evie?” he said. Archie looked at the assembled company with a comic expression of doubt for a moment. Then, with a laugh, he turned, sprang into the water, recovered Maryanne, and, wringing out her skirts with, perhaps, no particular tenderness, he laid her at Evie’s feet. “Beg Miss Evie’s pardon, and promise not to do it again,” proceeded Jim, in a matter-of-fact tone. Archie paused. “If you’re a gentleman,” concluded Jim—he, the waif picked out of the Gailside ditch, to Archie Melville, younger of Stratharbuck! Archie turned and looked at Jim. Captain Field surveyed the couple with a half-smile. “If a gentleman,” he suggested, “so far forgets his gentlemanhood as to deliberately annoy a lady, the only to recover it is to apologize humbly for what he has done, and amend his ways in the future.” Archie looked at him quickly, as though a new idea had been presented to him. “I didn’t hurt her,” he said. “Of course, I wouldn’t lay a finger on a girl—no gentleman would.” “How about damaged feelings?” said Captain Field, dryly. “You seem to have succeeded fairly well in that direction.” Archie surveyed the tear-stained, miserable little object, clasping the dripping doll, and conscience convicted him. “It was a beastly shame,” he said quickly. And then he approached Evie, with an expression half shamefaced and half amused at finding himself in such a position. “I beg your pardon,” he said; “I’m sorry I did it. I won’t tease you again. If the doll is hurt, I’ll buy you a new one. I’ll ask Mr. Hamilton to let me drive into the town this afternoon, and get you a new one. I—I wasn’t like a gentleman.” It was a handsome apology, and Evie might have let him down easy, but she had suffered a good deal. She looked at him severely. “It is Jim,” she said, “who is the gentleman.” Archie coloured. And it was Jim in the background who said suggestively— “He’s sorry now, Miss Evie.” Then Evie bethought her of the knights given over to evil courses, who, overthrown by a preux chevalier and their lives spared on promise of amendment, had promptly reformed and ridden forth to redress wrongs and champion the weak, with equal energy to that formerly given in the other direction. She regarded Archie with as much queenly dignity as could be radiated from tear-stained eyes, whilst she said with a lofty graciousness— “I forgive you.” Then she relapsed into natural speech, as she turned to the damp Maryanne. “But I don’t want a new doll. No, no; I love Maryanne.” “I will get a nice one,” said Archie, who desired to make full amends, and did not understand the phase of mother-love with which he had to deal. But Evie threatened to dissolve into tears again. “No, no!” she cried. “No, no! I won’t have a new one! I love Maryanne.” Archie looked at Captain Field. “I want to make up for it,” he said. “We are always wanting to make up for it,” said the captain, whimsically; “and we never can—at least, that is my experience. Respect the lady Maryanne in the future, even in her damaged condition; that is all that remains for you to do now, I fear. Except to run back to the house, get into dry clothes, and have your facial organs attended to,” he added. Archie turned to Jim. “I say,” he said, “I like you; will you be friends? I want some one to go about with here; will you come with me to-morrow?” They stood opposite each other, looking full in each other’s eyes. “Yes,” said Jim, steadily, as he put out his hand and grasped Archie’s, “I’ll come; I will be friends.” “Be off!” cried Captain Field. And Archie fled back to the house for repairs.
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