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sunlight which burned on the brown clay floor。 All was still as
death。 And he felt the white…washed walls even more desolate than
if they had been smoke…begrimed。
Looking about him； he found over his head something which he did not
understand。 It was as big as the stump of a great tree。 Apparently
it belonged to the structure of the cottage； but he could not； in
the imperfect light； and the dazzling of the sun…spot at which he
had been staring； make out what it was； or how it came to be up
thereunsupported as far as he could see。 He rose to examine it；
lifted a bit of tarpaulin which hung before it； and found a rickety
box； suspended by a rope from a great nail in the wall。 It had two
shelves in it full of books。
Now； although there were more books in Mr。 Lammie's house than in
his grandmother's； the only one he had found that in the least
enticed him to read； was a translation of George Buchanan's History
of Scotland。 This he had begun to read faithfully； believing every
word of it； but had at last broken down at the fiftieth king or so。
Imagine； then； the moon that arose on the boy when； having pulled a
ragged and thumb…worn book from among those of James Hewson the
cottar； he； for the first time； found himself in the midst of The
Arabian Nights。 I shrink from all attempt to set forth in words the
rainbow…coloured delight that coruscated in his brain。 When Jessie
Hewson returned； she found him seated where she had left him； so
buried in his volume that he did not lift his head when she entered。
'Ye hae gotten a buik；' she said。
'Ay have I；' answered Robert； decisively。
'It's a fine buik； that。 Did ye ever see 't afore？'
'Na； never。'
'There's three wolums o' 't about； here and there；' said Jessie； and
with the child on one arm； she proceeded with the other hand to
search for them in the crap o' the wa'； that is； on the top of the
wall where the rafters rest。
There she found two or three books； which； after examining them； she
placed on the dresser beside Robert。
'There's nane o' them there；' she said； 'but maybe ye wad like to
luik at that anes。'
Robert thanked her； but was too busy to feel the least curiosity
about any book in the world but the one he was reading。 He read on；
heart and soul and mind absorbed in the marvels of the eastern
skald； the stories told in the streets of Cairo； amidst gorgeous
costumes； and camels； and white…veiled women； vibrating here in the
heart of a Scotch boy； in the darkest corner of a mud cottage； at
the foot of a hill of cold…loving pines； with a barefooted girl and
a baby for his companions。
But the pleasure he had been having was of a sort rather to expedite
than to delay the subjective arrival of dinner…time。 There was；
however； happily no occasion to go home in order to appease his
hunger； he had but to join the men and women in the barley…field：
there was sure to be enough； for Miss Lammie was at the head of the
commissariat。
When he had had as much milk…porridge as he could eat； and a good
slice of swack （elastic） cheese； with a cap （wooden bowl） of ale；
all of which he consumed as if the good of them lay in the haste of
their appropriation； he hurried back to the cottage； and sat there
reading The Arabian Nights； till the sun went down in the
orange…hued west； and the gloamin' came； and with it the reapers；
John and Elspet Hewson； and their son George； to their supper and
early bed。
John was a cheerful； rough； Roman…nosed； black…eyed man； who took
snuff largely； and was not careful to remove the traces of the
habit。 He had a loud voice； and an original way of regarding
things； which； with his vivacity； made every remark sound like the
proclamation of a discovery。
'Are ye there； Robert？' said he； as he entered。 Robert rose；
absorbed and silent。
'He's been here a' day； readin' like a colliginer；' said Jessie。
'What are ye readin' sae eident （diligent）； man？' asked John。
'A buik o' stories； here；' answered Robert； carelessly； shy of being
supposed so much engrossed with them as he really was。
I should never expect much of a young poet who was not rather
ashamed of the distinction which yet he chiefly coveted。 There is a
modesty in all young delight。 It is wild and shy； and would hide
itself； like a boy's or maiden's first love； from the gaze of the
people。 Something like this was Robert's feeling over The Arabian
Nights。
'Ay；' said John； taking snuff from a small bone spoon； 'it's a gran'
buik that。 But my son Charley； him 'at 's deid an' gane hame； wad
hae tell't ye it was idle time readin' that； wi' sic a buik as that
ither lyin' at yer elbuck。'
He pointed to one of the books Jessie had taken from the crap o' the
wa' and laid down beside him on the well…scoured dresser。 Robert
took up the volume and opened it。 There was no title…page。
'The Tempest？' he said。 'What is 't？ Poetry？'
'Ay is 't。 It's Shackspear。'
'I hae heard o' him；' said Robert。 'What was he？'
'A player kin' o' a chiel'； wi' an unco sicht o' brains；' answered
John。 'He cudna hae had muckle time to gang skelpin' and sornin'
aboot the country like maist o' thae cattle； gin he vrote a' that；
I'm thinkin'。'
'Whaur did he bide？'
'Awa' in Englan'maistly aboot Lonnon； I'm thinkin'。 That's the
place for a' by…ordinar fowk； they tell me。'
'Hoo lang is 't sin he deid？'
'I dinna ken。 A hunner year or twa； I s' warran'。 It's a lang
time。 But I'm thinkin' fowk than was jist something like what they
are noo。 But I ken unco little aboot him； for the prent 's some
sma'； and I'm some ill for losin' my characters； and sae I dinna win
that far benn wi' him。 Geordie there 'll tell ye mair aboot him。'
But George Hewson had not much to communicate； for he had but lately
landed in Shakspere's country； and had got but a little way inland
yet。 Nor did Robert much care； for his head was full of The Arabian
Nights。 This； however； was his first introduction to Shakspere。
Finding himself much at home； he stopped yet a while； shared in the
supper； and resumed his seat in the corner when the book was brought
out for worship。 The iron lamp； with its wick of rush…pith； which
hung against the side of the chimney； was lighted； and John sat down
to read。 But as his eyes and the print； too； had grown a little dim
with years； the lamp was not enough； and he asked for a
'fir…can'le。' A splint of fir dug from the peat…bog was handed to
him。 He lighted it at the lamp； and held it in his hand over the
page。 Its clear resinous flame enabled him to read a short psalm。
Then they sang a most wailful tune； and John prayed。 If I were to
give the prayer as he uttered it； I might make my reader laugh；
therefore I abstain； assuring him only that； although full of long
wordsamongst the rest； aspiration and ravishmentthe prayer of
the cheerful； joke…loving cottar contained evidence of a degree of
religious development rare； I doubt； amongst bishops。
When Robert left the cottage； he found the sky partly clouded and
the air cold。 The nearest way home was across the barley…stubble of
the day's reaping； which lay under a little hill covered with
various species of the pine。 His own soul； after the restful day he
had spent； and under the reaction from the new excitement of the
stories he had been reading； was like a quiet； moonless night。 The
thought of his mother came back upon him； and her written words； 'O
Lord； my heart is very sore'； and the thought of his father followed
that； and he limped slowly home； laden with mournfulness。 As he
reached the middle of the field； the wind was suddenly there with a
low sough from out of the north…west。 The heads of barley in the
sheaves leaned away with a soft rustling from before it； and Robert
felt for the first time the sadness of a harvest…field。 Then the
wind swept away to the pine…covered hill； and raised a rushing and a
wailing amongst its thin…clad branches； and to the ear of Robert the
trees were singing over again in their night solitudes the air sung
by the cottar's family。 When he looked to the north…west； whence
the wind came； he saw nothing but a pale cleft in the sky。 The
meaning； the music of the night awoke in his soul； he forgot his
lame foot； and the weight of Mr。 Lammie's great boots； ran home and
up the stair to his own room； seized his violin with eager haste；
nor laid it down again till he could draw from it； at will； a sound
like the moaning of the wind over the stubble…field。 Then he knew
that he could play the Flowers of the Forest。 The Wind that Shakes
the Barley cannot have been named from the barley after it was cut；
but while it stood in the field： the Flowers of the Forest was of
the gathered harvest。
He tried the air once over in the dark； and then carried his violin
down to the room where Mr。 and Miss Lammie sat。