Ardtaraig

her lifting me out of bed, and carrying me, wrapped up in a shawl, into a room where I think Uncle Maclean was conducting family worship. I thought it very cosy to lie in her lap, watching the window-panes against the evening sky, and hearing words, which to me had no meaning, and only lulled me off into forgetfulness. I have also one equally selfish remembrance of Aunt Grace, and that is of her making matters very disagreeable with reference to myself and the poultry. She presumed to object strongly to my catching the hens and holding them in a tight though loving squeeze; also to my handling and kissing the young chickens and soft downy ducklings. Her interference went so far as to prevent the dear little young cocks from fighting, on several occasions just when I was gloating, with true juvenile ferocity, over the delightful spectacle. These infringements of my rights and privileges as a guest in my grandfather’s house were resented, and not forgiven for many a day.
I must ask pardon for indulging in so much that is personal. I am giving the reins to my memory, and following where it leads, believing that, by so doing, the story will be more faithful, seeing that at present I am giving my own impressions. After a time I hope to drop into the background.
The aunts were supposed to keep house for the old couple, and at least they tried to do so, as far as grandmamma would permit; but to the end of her days she held to her sceptre. She was a very lively old lady.
George Maclean, one of our cousins, recalls an incident of this period. Grandpapa had discovered either a goose or a turkey straying into the garden, and to frighten it away, threw his stick at it. Grandmamma, indignant at such treatment of a valuable bird, sprang forward, and seizing the stick, broke it in two. The story is quite characteristic of both the dear old people.
And now, let me introduce another member of the family – Miss Barbara Campbell, or, as she preferred to be called, “Miss Campbell.” She was grandmamma’s younger and only sister, but by a freak of nature was in all respects her very opposite. She had lived for many years with her uncle, Dr Ivie Campbell, at Strachur, and had presided over his bachelor establishment. On his death, her parents also being dead, she came, as a matter of course, to the ever-open door of Ardtarig. She remained a member of the family, to the end of her life. Apropos of the dissimilarity between the sisters, it has been told that one evening, walking with her Uncle Ivie in the garden at Strachur, which was a very beautiful one, and the pride of the old doctor’s heart, she called to him, “Do uncle, come here; did you ever see two flowers on one stem so unlike each other?” “Oh yes, my dear, I have,” replied the old gentleman; “I have seen you and your sister!” Poor Aunt Barbara! Perhaps she was not born sweet, possibly the events of her life embittered her – it is hard to say, but as the years passed she grew more and more unlovable. Rumour had it that there was a romance in her early life, a painful one (the hero a young officer), but that under the trial she behaved with much courage, and with spirit of a right sort.
She doubtless had her latter-day crosses. It must have been a trying position to live in her married sister’s house, growing into what was, in those days, that terrible thing, “an old maid”; while a bevy of young nieces were blossoming into womanhood around her, and, no doubt, like so many other young creatures at times, in “the insolence of youth” thoughtlessly cruel. All outward forms of respect, however, were paid to her. In the circle and at table she had an honoured place, let the guests be whom they might. Her own room was very cosy, and this apartment was never invaded (but once), however full to overflowing the house might be; and she certainly was never known to offer a share of it to any living soul, no matter what straits the household might be in. The intrusion I refer to was perpetrated by my brother Pat, who, with another grand-nephew, Alick Brown, was honoured by her special favour. He not only entered unbidden, but went to bed in this sacred apartment, on the occasion of a great crowding of guests, and sweetly made welcome the horrified spinster when she arrived for the night. Shocked by her selfishness, he had determined to give her a lesson. I don’t know how far he had settled in his strange quarters, but he had certainly wound up his watch and placed it under a pillow. There was a fearful commotion, of course; the intruder was speedily expelled, where to sleep this historian cannot tell, for during the day he had declined having a bed made up for him, saying that he was all right and comfortably provided for! Still, the perverse old lady freely forgave him for the affront, and dearly loved him and his Cousin Alick to the end of her days.