CHAPTER I. – HOPE TOLD A FLATTERING TALE
Had you been in the beautiful and wild forest of Glenvoie on that bright and blue-skied September morning-on one of its hills, let us say-and heard the music of those two boys' voices swelling up towards you, nothing that I know of could have prevented you from joining in. So joyous, so full of hope were they withal, that the very tune itself, to say nothing of the words, would have sent sorrow right straight away from your heart, if there had been any to send.
"Cheer, boys, cheer, no more of idle sorrow,
Courage, true hearts, shall bear us on our way;
Hope flies before, and points the bright to-morrow,
Let us forget the dangers of to-day."
There was a pause just here, and from your elevated situation on that rocky pap, looking down, you would have rested your eyes on one of the prettiest rolling woodland scenes in all broad Scotland.
It was a great waving ocean of foliage, and the sunset of autumn was over it all, lying here and there in patches of crimson, brown, and yellow, which the solemn black of pine-trees, and the funereal green of dark spruces only served to intensify.
Flap-flap-flap! huge wood-pigeons arise in the air and go sailing over the woods. They are frightened, as well they may be, for a moment afterwards two guns ring out almost simultaneously, and so still is the air that you can hear the dull thud of fallen game.
"Hurrah, Conal! Why, that was a splendid shot! I saw you take aim."
"No, Duncan, no; the bird is yours. You fired first."
"Only at random, brother. But come, let us look at him. What a splendid creature! Do you know, Conal, I could almost cry for having killed him."
"Oh! so could I, Duncan, for that matter, but the capercailzie1 is game, mind, and won't father be pleased. Why do they call it a wild turkey?"
"Because it isn't a turkey. That is quite sufficient reason for a gamekeeper. The capercailzie is the biggest grouse there is, you know, and sometimes weighs very many pounds."
"And didn't we find the nest of one in a spruce tree last spring."
"Ay, and six eggs that we didn't touch; and I've never put any faith again in that ignoramus of a book, that would have us believe the birds always build on the bare ground."
"Written by an Englishman, no doubt, Duncan, who had never placed a foot on our native heath. But now let us get back to breakfast. I wonder where our little sister Flora is."
"I heard her gun about ten minutes ago; she can't be far off. Besides Viking is with her, so she is safe enough. Give the curlew's scream and she'll soon appear."
"Like the wild scream of the curlew,
From crag to crag the signal flew."
Duncan threw down his gun beside the dead game, and, placing his fingers in his mouth, gave a perfect imitation of this strange bird's cry:
"Who-o-o-eet, who-o-o-eet (these in long-drawn notes, then quicker and quicker), who-eet, who-eet, wheet, wheet, wheet, wheet, who-ee!"
The boys did not have long to wait for an answer. For Duncan, the elder, who was about sixteen, with a stalwart well-knit frame, and even a budding moustachelet, had hardly finished, when far down in a dark spruce thicket sounded the barking of a dog, which could only belong to one of a very large breed.
He entered the glade in which the brothers stood not many seconds after. He entered with a joyous bound and bark, his great shaggy coat, black as the raven's wing, afloat on his shoulders and back; his white teeth flashing; and a yard or two, more or less, of a red ribbon of a tongue hanging out of his mouth.
Need I say he was a noble Newfoundland.
He stopped short and looked at the 'cailzie, then snuffed at it, and immediately after licked his master's cheek. To do so he had to put a paw on each of Duncan's shoulders, and his weight nearly bore him to the ground.
But see, here comes little Flora herself-she is only twelve; her brothers are both dressed in the kilt of hill tartan, and Flora's frock is but a short one, showing to advantage a pair of batten legs encased in galligaskins; fair hair, streaming like a shower of gold over her shoulders; blue eyes, and a lively very pretty face. But across that independent wee nose of hers is quite a bridge of freckles, which extends half-way across her cheeks.
Now a child of her tender years would, in many parts of England, be treated quite as a child. It was quite the reverse at Glenvoie. Flora was in reality a little model of wisdom, and many a bit of good advice she gave her brothers-not that they bothered taking it, though both loved her dearly.
Flora carried a little gun-a present from her father, who was very proud of her exploits and worldly wisdom, and across her shoulders was slung a bag, which appeared to be well filled.
"Hillo, Siss!" cried Duncan. "Any cheer?"
"Oh, yes, three wild pigeons! But what a lovely great wild turkey! I'm sure, Duncan, it was a pity to kill him!"
"Sport, Sissie, sport!" said Duncan.
Yet as he looked at the splendidly plumaged bird which his gun had laid low in death, he smothered a sigh. He half repented now having killed the 'cailzie.
