Adventures of Hamish and Mirren by Moira Miller

Author:Moira Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781782502234
Publisher: Floris Books

For three days and nights the wind raged and the voices moaned in the chimney. Each night Hamish, Mirren and the old lady took it in turns to sit by the cradle, keeping a wakeful and watchful eye on Torquil. Sometimes the baby would waken and, howling loudly, reach out a little hand towards the door.

“Aye, that bairn has his father’s voice, right enough,” said the old lady. “The noisiest child in Camusbuie, but we must be careful. They’re still after him for all that.”

***

On the fourth evening the wind died back, there was a glimmer of sunset out over the sea and the black clouds rolled away from the top of the Ben. The weather was lifting and with it the raging water of the burn settled to a thick brown hurlygush.

“I’ll mend the bridge in the morning,” yawned Hamish. “Then we can take wee Torquil down to Camusbuie Kirk for the christening.”

“I’ll not be happy until then,” grumbled his mother. She shook her fist up the chimney. “Away you go, back to your own folk, you little devils!” A tiny giggle floated down to them. “Impertinent craturs!” she grumbled. “You be sure and lock up properly tonight, Hamish. I’m away to my bed.”

But Hamish was tired and although he remembered to push the door shut, he forgot to slip the heavy iron bolt into the hasp.

Late that night, when everyone was asleep, the wind suddenly arose in a last furious gust. The door crashed open sending sparks flying up the chimney. The cat flew, squalling, from the hearthrug, and the enamel milk jug toppled off the table and rolled with a clang across the floor. The old lady struggled out of bed. Hamish jumped up, with Mirren close behind him, and together they managed to slam shut the door against the storm. Only wee Torquil lay peacefully in his cradle by the fire as if nothing had happened.

“Fancy him just sleeping through all that!” said Mirren.

“Aye, just fancy,” said the old lady doubtfully, peering into the cradle.

***

Everything seemed quite normal when Hamish set out early next morning to mend the bridge. But that evening when he returned he found Mirren still sitting by the cradle, looking worried.

“It’s very odd,” she whispered. “He hasn’t cried all day.”

“Thank goodness for that,” said Hamish, flopping into a chair. “Maybe we’ll all get some sleep tonight.”

And indeed the baby slept right through until morning when Mirren went to lift him for his feed.

“It’s really very odd,” she said. “His eyes were blue, but they seem to be green now. They do say a baby’s eyes change colour sometimes. Is that right, Mother?”

“Aye, it can be,” said the old lady, warily.

***

During the next few days, while Hamish mended the bridge, his mother and Mirren watched the baby uneasily. He lay, still and silent, and the little bright eyes watched them in a knowing, clever way. At last the old lady, who had been sitting thinking, put down her knitting and studied him closely.

“I’m beginning to wonder if the Wee Folk are maybe away with our Torquil right enough,” she said.

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