By Alfred T. Story

Part II.

With these words the wise servitor withdrew. Barely had he gone out of one door ere the other opened, and the same lady he had seen before, leaning on the arm of the gentleman he likewise remembered, appeared before friend Tam. They were both dressed much more richly than when he had previously seen them, the lady having a brilliant star on her breast, and the gentleman wearing a silken sash over his shoulder.

For a moment the boy was confused, but he recovered himself sufficiently to recollect that he had to make an "obeisance." He had omitted to ask the Highland gentleman what that was, but he thought it must be something like the soldier's salute, and so he stood perfectly upright and saluted.

"So you have come, my lad, to see her Majesty about the position of donkey-boy?" said the gentleman.

"Yes, sir—your Royal Highness," replied Tam. Only when he had got out the word "sir" did it flash upon him that he was standing before the Queen and her Royal Consort.

"Well, her Majesty has caused inquiries to be made about you, and she finds that, although you are a little wayward and sometimes disobedient to your grandparents, you are not on the whole a bad boy."

"No, your Royal Highness," said Tam.

"Does that mean that you are not a bad boy, or that you do not sometimes disobey your grandparents?"

This question, though backed by a genial smile, somewhat disconcerted the would-be donkey-boy. He was silent for a moment, then he answered, looking first at one and then at the other, with that straight glance of his, "I hae sometimes been disobedient to my grandparents, but I think I have learned better now."

"I am glad to hear that," said the Prince.

Then, speaking for the first time, the Queen said, "Well, Tam, if I make you my donkey-boy, will you promise to be obedient to all my slightest wishes and commands? Do not answer lightly. I am a severe mistress in that I expect the strictest obedience and attention to duty. But I, in return, am strict in doing my duty to those I employ."

"And if you prove a worthy and trustworthy servant," added the Prince, "your position is secure for life."

"Not, however, as a mere donkey-boy all your days," put in the Queen with a smile.

Said Tam with a faltering tongue: "If ye'll try me, your Majesty, I'll do my best, and," he added, as though struck with a sudden thought, "I'll no need to lick the donkeys, 'cos I ken hoo ta mek 'em run 'thout the stick."

"And how do you do that?" asked the Prince with a smile.

"I meks 'em carry a bunch o' thistles afore 'em."

"Well, we will see," replied her Majesty, smiling. "Now you may run home and tell your grandparents you are to be ready to begin duty this day week. But before you go you will see the gentleman who spoke to you a minute or two ago."

With these words and a kindly smile the Sovereign and her Royal Consort withdrew.

The one door closed, the other immediately opened, and again entered the Highland gentleman. "Sae ye hae been engagit ta look after ta cuddies, eh?" he questioned.

Tam said he had.

"Aweel, it's a verra guid step in life for a young callant to begin wi', an' if ye tek heed there's nae telling whereto it may lead—ablins even to the primiership, if ye ken what that is. For ye mun know, the gift o' the heaven-made Prime Minister is just to ken hoo ta manage a' th' human cuddies that are sent to Parliament to bother 'em. But mebbe a' that's a wee bit abune yer understanding as yet, and sae we'll just leave it an' speer aboot yer claes."

Needless to say how surprised Donal and Yetta were to hear Tam's story, how thankful to reflect that their boy was to have such a start in life. He reported to them what had been said, and the promise he had given, and they believed that, like the Jamison he was, he would be true to his word. All the same, they did not omit to pray for that guidance and support for him without which his own efforts would be vain.

The evening before Tam's week was up a parcel was delivered at Jamison's door, addressed to his grandson. It contained a complete new suit, as the Highland gentleman had said, "from the skin outwards." Never was seen such a brave outfit, to Tam's thinking. He turned it over and admired it, article by article, for at least a couple of hours, but would not try it on, or any part of it, until he had had a good wash. The tub was never a thing he was shy of, but on this occasion it was used as though he intended to wash out his every fault, as well as all the merely superficial smuts and stains that had accumulated, so as to appear before his Queen a spotlessly clean cuddy-tender.

When the operation was completed, Tam indued himself in his new garments and went on parade, so to speak, before his grandmother. Yetta was busy stirring the matutinal porridge when he walked into the ben and said:

"How do I look, granny?"

Yetta, turning round, threw up her hands in amaze. She hardly knew him, so great was the transformation effected by the new clothes and the scrubbing he had given himself. Donal was no less surprised when he came in from his morning milking. Tam looked two inches taller and a lot sprucer.

"Ye mind me of yer puir father," said the old man as he sat down to breakfast.

That was a note of sad recollection which brought tears to Yetta's eyes; but a smile was soon gleaming through them when Tam, getting sight of Meg, who was eyeing him as it were askance, said drily, "Meg looks as if she hardly kenned what ta mek of her handiwark; for the beginning o't was a' her doing."

Just then the noise of wheels was heard on the road, and as the messenger who brought the clothes left word that one of the Queen's carriages would pick him up on the morrow, Tam thought surely this was the one. But it was not. Indeed, he ran to the door at least twenty times ere, towards eleven o'clock, his vehicle arrived. It was a quaint affair, half carriage, half wash-basket, drawn by two asses, creatures as beautiful of their kind as could be found. It was driven by her whom he knew, and by her side were several bright little faces, while the Highland gentleman, riding behind on one pony, as sturdy and Hielan' as himself, led another by the bridle.

Donal and Yetta came out and with bowed heads thanked the august though simple-hearted lady for the great kindness she had shown to their boy. She replied with a kindly smile:

"There appears to be the making of a good man in him, and, with God's help, we will do our best to make him one."

Little more was said, and, mounting the led pony, Tam rode off by the side of the faithful retainer, who never got further away from the carriage than the dust raised by its wheels.

Thus commenced Tam's career in life. Though he served the noblest lady in the land, he did not find his way one altogether of buttered parsnips and cream. The one thing abhorrent to his royal mistress was idleness and indifference. The motto of her establishment—of all her establishments—was "The diligent eye." In this principle she found not only the best interests of her own house, but the best interests also of those who served her.

Tam could not be called idle, nor could he be called exactly indifferent; but during the years of his tending of cattle and sheep on the brae-side he had got into the habit of liking to loll about, to saunter and dream, and then to make up, or try to make up, the leeway of work or duty by a spurt of energy. Another fault he had was to leave things about—for others to "side" or put in order. This arose, no doubt, from the narrow dimensions of his home, where there was hardly room for everything to have its particular place. It was, however, neither a very grievous nor a deeply rooted fault; and a little sharp drilling, not unfrequently at the hands of the Highland gentleman—a sort of major of the household, who possessed "the diligent eye" par excellence—soon corrected Tam's delinquency in this regard.

But the other fault was more deeply rooted and cost the young donkey-boy many a bad quarter of an hour. Indeed, on one occasion it nearly cost him his place. He had been given a task to do, and in place of doing it with all diligence he had been found with his feet growing to the ground, as it were. The consequence was an interview with the Highland gentleman, who told him, "Tam, ye have either ta pe punisht or to leave her Majesty's service: which shall it pe?"

"I'll tek the punishment, sir, if you please," he answered.

"Tam, ye are a wise poy, an' we'll mebby mek a man o' ye yet," said the major-domo.

Tam took his punishment, and was the better for it; but he still failed to come up to his royal mistress's ideal of a servant. Like his fellow-servitors, he had plenty of time for rest and recreation: hours of labour were by no means long. So much time had he, indeed, for himself, that the Highland gentleman put suitable books before him, and counselled him to improve his mind by reading and study. He failed, however, to profit by the advice, and was presently made aware of his error by a violent thunder-clap.

He was in attendance on his royal mistress one day, when she and the children were out for a drive. A poor body was met, in apparent distress, by the wayside. Inquiry was made as to her condition, present help was extended, and a promise of future beneficence given if further investigation should warrant its bestowal. Hence the necessity arose for an address to be written down, and Tam, who was that day the only person in attendance, was requested to do it.

When Tam entered the royal service he could read a bit and write very imperfectly; but there had been time, had he followed the counsel given him, to have greatly improved himself in both those accomplishments. Not having done so, he fumbled egregiously over the task set him, and, in short, made such a hash of it that an eye of wrath was turned upon him.

Tam had seen that eye in all its moods—of laughter and smiles, of grief, of earnestness, of affection, even of solemnity and awe, but he had never as yet beheld it flash in indignant wrath. He felt as though the muscles of his knees had been cut away and the ground was sinking from under his feet. What would he not have given to be miles away! But he had to face the storm, and it came in this way:

"Were not books and paper and ink put before you? And were you not advised to improve your reading and writing?"

Tam falteringly admitted that such was the case.

"Why did you not attend to the advice?"

"I—I——" stammered the ease-loving Tam.

"Had you not the time?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you not do as you were wished?"

Tam hung his head in shame.

"Tam Jamison, listen to me. I will have those in my employ attend to my wishes, and attend to them with all their might. Do you wish to be ignorant all your life, when the time and the means for improvement are placed at your command? In three months' time I shall expect you to read and write in such a way that you will be able to fulfil in a creditable manner a simple duty like that you have to-day so grievously failed in. Now we'll go on."

Tam Jamison wanted no more speaking to. He was now thoroughly awake: and he went to work with all his might to do the behest of his mistress and Sovereign, and, in truth, he made prodigious progress; so that when it happened one day—he being then in attendance on her Majesty in another part of the country—that she required the names of several rare plants to be written down for her future use, he did it so cleverly that he was rewarded with a pleased smile.

Tam felt that he had acquired wings that afternoon, and the strangest part of the affair was, that when he came to reckon up precisely, he discovered that it was three months to a day since his "royal earwigging," as the Highland gentleman called it.

To that worthy man Jamison communicated his delight. "Ah," said he, "ye thocht, like many anither, that ye were doing a great service to her gracious Majesty by your few hours of daily labour; but, guid faith, she does a mighty deal mair for ye than ye, or ony the likes o' ye, can do for her. Serve 'maist onybody else in the kintra, an' they'll take yer service an' gie ye yer wage, an' there's an end. But when her Majesty teks ye intil her household she teks ye to mek a man o' ye—if it's in ye, ye ken. An' weel she knows hoo ta do it—nane better. Sae ye just go on as ye've begun, Tam Jamison, an' ye'll mebbe no bide a feckless cuddy-callant till ye're auld an' blind."

Jamison did not need to be taught his lesson a second time. He made diligent use of his opportunities, and improved so much and so visibly that when he was fifteen he was raised to the position of page. A greater mark of appreciation could hardly be given to one in the royal employ; for her Majesty's pages are amongst the most trusted of her servants.

At first the humbler duties of a page fell to his lot; but as he improved in thoughtfulness and intelligence, and in his knowledge of the manifold and delicate duties which fell to his care—in which he had the aid and instruction of one of her Majesty's oldest and most experienced pages, a man who had been in her service ever since she ascended the throne—he rose higher and higher in the royal service and the royal consideration, until at last his services were rarely required except on State and exceptional occasions only.

Scarcely a week passed that he did not recall the words of him we have called the Highland gentleman, when he said that the Queen did more for those in her service than they could ever do for her, in that she not only made men and women of them, but treated them more as gentlemen and ladies than as mere domestics. There were no servants in her employ, no matter how humble their sphere, but she knew them by name and had their welfare at heart; and if they served her well, she never lost sight of them, or forgot them—no, not even when the grave took them into its transitional embrace.

Jamison had had abundant opportunities to note and set these things down in his heart, but he was never so much impressed by her Majesty's deep regard for those who served her faithfully and well as when, one dripping autumn day, he was required to accompany her to the churchyard of a rural village, halfway betwixt London and Windsor—in which, a day or two before, the aged servant above referred to had been buried—in order that she might lay a wreath upon his grave. It bore the words, "In grateful remembrance of a devoted and faithful servant, V.R.," and as she bent down to place it with her own hand upon the grave a tear fell upon the flowers that outshone the brightest jewel of her crown.