Penelope's Experiences in Scotland

by Kate Douglas Wiggin
To G.C.R.

Contents.
Part First--In Town.

I. A Triangular Alliance.
II. Edina, Scotia's Darling Seat.

III. A Vision in Princes Street.
IV. Susanna Crum cudna say.

V. We emulate the Jackdaw.
VI. Edinburgh society, past and present.

VII. Francesca meets th' unconquer'd Scot.
VIII. `What made th' Assembly shine?'.

IX. Omnia presbyteria est divisa in partes tres.
X. Mrs. M'Collop as a sermon-taster.

XI. Holyrood awakens.
XII. Farewell to Edinburgh.

XIII. The spell of Scotland.
Part Second--In the Country.

XIV. The wee theekit hoosie in the loaning.
XV. Jane Grieve and her grievances.

XVI. The path that led to Crummylowe.
XVII. Playing `Sir Patrick Spens.'

XVIII. Paris comes to Pettybaw.
XIX. Fowk o' Fife.

XX. A Fifeshire tea-party.
XXI. International bickering.

XXII. Francesca entertains the green-eyed monster.
XXIII. Ballad revels at Rowardennan.

XXIV. Old songs and modern instances.
XXV. A treaty between nations.

XXVI. `Scotland's burning! Look out!.'
XXVII. Three magpies and a marriage.

Chapter I. A Triangular Alliance.
`Edina, Scotia's Darling seat!

All hail thy palaces and towers!'
Edinburgh, April 189-.

22 Breadalbane Terrace.
We have travelled together before, Salemina, Francesca, and I, and

we know the very worst there is to know about one another. After
this point has been reached, it is as if a triangular marriage had

taken place, and, with the honeymooncomfortably over, we slip along
in thoroughly friendly fashion. I use no warmer word than`friendly'

because, in the first place, the highest tides of feeling do not
visit the coasts of triangular alliances; and because, in the second

place, `friendly' is a word capable of putting to the blush many a
more passionate and endearing one.

Every one knows of our experiences in England, for we wrote volumes
of letters concerning them, the which were widely circulated among

our friends at the time, and read aloud under the evening lamps in
the several cities of our residence.

Since then few striking changes have taken place in our history.
Salemina returned to Boston for the winter, to find, to her

amazement, that for forty odd years she had been rather
overestimating it.

On arriving in New York, Francesca discovered that the young lawyer
whom for six months she had been advising to marry somebody more

worthy than herself was at last about to do it. This was somewhat
in the nature of a shock, for Francesca had been in the habit, ever

since she was seventeen, of giving her lovers similar advice, and up
to this time no one of them has ever taken it. She therefore has

had the not unnatural hope, I think, of organising at one time or
another all these disappointed and faithful swains into a celibate

brotherhood; and perhaps of driving by the interesting monastery
with her husband and calling his attention modestly to the fact that

these poor monks were filling their barren lives with deeds of
piety, trying to remember their Creator with such assiduity that

they might, in time, forget Her.
Her chagrin was all the keener at losing this last aspirant to her

hand in that she had almost persuaded herself that she was as fond
of him as she was likely to be of anybody, and that on the whole she

had better marry him and save his life and reason.
Fortunately she had not communicated this gleam of hope by letter,

feeling, I suppose, that she would like to see for herself the light
of joy breaking over his pale cheek. The scene would have been

rather pretty and touching, but meantime the Worm had turned and
despatched a letter to the Majestic at the quarantine station,

telling her that he had found a less reluctant bride in the person
of her intimate friend Miss Rosa Van Brunt; and so Francesca's dream

of duty and sacrifice was over.
Salemina says she was somewhat constrained for a week and a trifle

cynical for a fortnight, but that afterwards her spirits mounted on
ever ascending spirals to impossible heights, where they have since

remained. It appears from all this that although she was piqued at
being taken at her word, her heart was not in the least damaged. It

never was one of those fragile things which have to be wrapped in
cotton, and preserved from the slightest blow--Francesca's heart.

It is made of excellent stout, durable material, and I often tell
her with the care she takes of it, and the moderatestrain to which

it is subjected, it ought to be as good as new a hundred years
hence.

As for me, the scene of my own love-story is laid in America and
England, and has nought to do with Edinburgh. It is far from

finished; indeed, I hope it will be the longest serial on record,
one of those charming tales that grow in interest as chapter after

chapter unfolds, until at the end we feel as if we could never part
with the delightful people.

I should be, at this very moment, Mrs. William Beresford, a highly
respectable young matron who painted rather good pictures in her

spinster days, when she was Penelope Hamilton of the great American
working-class, Unlimited; but first Mrs. Beresford's dangerous

illness and then her death, have kept my dear boy a willing prisoner
in Cannes, his heart sadly torn betwixt his love and duty to his

mother and his desire to be with me. The separation is virtually
over now, and we two, alas! have ne'er a mother or a father between

us, so we shall not wait many months before beginning to comfort
each other in good earnest.

Meantime Salemina and Francesca have persuaded me to join their
forces, and Mr. Beresford will follow us to Scotland in a few short

weeks, when we shall have established ourselves in the country.
We are overjoyed at being together again, we three women folk. As I

said before, we know the worst of one another, and the future has no
terrors. We have learned, for example, that--

Francesca does not like an early morning start. Salemina refuses to
arrive late anywhere. Penelope prefers to stay behind and follow

next day.
Francesca scorns to travel third class. So does Salemina, but she

will if urged.
Penelope hates a four-wheeler. Salemina is nervous in a hansom.

Francesca prefers a barouche or a landau.
Salemina likes a steady fire in the grate. Penelope opens a window

and fans herself.
Salemina inclines to instructive and profitable expeditions.

Francesca loves processions and sightseeing. Penelope abhors all of
these equally.

Salemina likes history. Francesca loves fiction. Penelope adores
poetry and detests facts.

Penelope likes substantial breakfasts. Francesca dislikes the sight
of food in the morning.