HE next week was pretty dull. But for a new boarder arrivin', and cook drappin' the tureen o' lentil soup twa minutes afore dinner, there would ha'e been next to naething to put in ma bography aboot "Seaview."
The new boarder was a lady, single—and likely to remain that—which had lately had the flue, and could talk o' naething except her simpsons, or something o' the sort. She drank bilin' water till I was feart she would turn into a steam engine. The tureen was a total loss, and vera little o' the soup was saved. The boarders had to get what Mrs. Parkins called Emergency Soup—it was maistly seasonin'—and cook was highly depressed that night, and dreamed she was torpedoed along wi' Colonel Beetle, which saved hissel' by pinchin' the kitchen table and leavin' her to droon, after hittin' her ower the nut wi' a spurtle that was his oar. But I couldna believe the Colonel would really dae sich a thing, even to his wife. As ma fayther says, aye think the best o' folk in this world, and maybe ye'll be saved a heap o' apologisin' in the next.
Ay, it was a pretty dull week, and the weather was terrible close and maistly wet—which meant afternoon tea for the boarders every blessed day, for they was a' ower up in years to excurse theirsel's in the rain. I tried to keep cheery, but something seemed to ha'e gaed wrang wi' ma spirits, though I managed to eat ma usual without ony great difficulty.
Frederick never referred to that unlucky night, except that he speired for ma health the mornin' after—and got a frozen answer. Maybe he deserved it, but someway I couldna prove to masel' that he did; for though he hadna exactly apologised, he had said he was sorry. He seemed to be jist the same as afore, but I kent there was a difference. I didna gang to his mither's on the Sunday. I gaed up the Sunnyburn Road, but I didna meet the porter, and I heard afterwards that there had been a special train that day. Of course, it was right that the traffic o' the railway should be carried on. In ony case, I merely wanted to tell the porter that I couldna meet him again—for a long while, onyway. He wrote me a letter upbraidin' me in the richest language—I was sure he had got it frae a book—and I sent him a short note biddin' him cheer up and pay attention to his duty, and maybe he would live to die a station master.
There was naething daein', as far as I could see, in the love line betwixt Mr. Shark and Miss Tinto, but I wasna despairin', for at their time o' life folk dinna usually jump at marriage like a hungry cat at a finnan haddie. They keep gaun back and forward and round aboot, sniffin'-like, and whiles naething comes o' it at a'. Ye really canna dae onything to help them, and they're that easy scared.
"We must jist ha'e patience," I remarks to Mrs. Parkins, one morning at the end of the week.
"What on earth are you talking about?" says she.
I drawn her attention at the window to Miss Tinto switherin' at the garden gate leadin' to the shore, and then to Mr. Shark, which was walkin', doubled up, along the sand as if he was lookin' for his lunch.
"Still," says I, "I believe Cupid'll triumph ower the wilks in the long run, mem, and we'll live to see a weddin' at 'Seaview.'"
"Don't be absurd, Jemima," she says. "You should try to interest your mind in things that concern yourself."
"It's jist that I would like to see everybody happy, mem"
"And do you imagine," she says, "that marriage is the only thing to make people happy?"
"Single folk imagines it is," says I, and then I minded Mr. Parkins, and was rael glad when cook cam' up the stair wi' a wire.
That would ha'e been Frederick's duty, but he hadna turned up that mornin'; he wasna comin' till the afternoon, Mrs. Parkins had told cook, though she hadna mentioned what he was awa' for. If I had been curious, I would ha'e wondered mair nor I did, no' that there was much time for wonderin' in the mornin' at "Seaview."
"No answer," says Mrs. Parkins to cook, which respectfully scooted, and to me she says:—
"We must prepare the white room for a new guest—Captain Smith, a nephew of Colonel Beadle—who will arrive in time for dinner. Captain Smith, I believe, is recovering from an illness got in the war."
"A real sojer!" I cries. "He'll be young, I suppose, mem."
"Probably he is," says she, "but I hardly see how his age can concern you, Jemima. Come now, get busy!"
"Wi' pleasure!" says I, for I was feelin' quite set up wi' the thought o' a young face in the dinin'-room.
When I got doon to the kitchen I cries: