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CONTENTS ■I ,J Tin: Stickit Mintstku's Wooinu , Tiii; SriCKiT Mimsteu Wins 'I'iikoi (jm (iiiiiiv Tin: Ki:i,, Stidkm in- Divinity DocTiiit GniNKio's Assistant Tin: (iATic OF TiiK Upi'Kit Gauokx 'i'ln: '1'koi iu,i;u of Isijakf, Cahnation's Mouninc; Jov . Jaimsii; Bkaih.i: and Martyr The Ri.ri: Evi;s of Ailie . Lowk's Skat ..... TiiK SriT o:- Hottle Guken A SCIKNTIFIC SiMrOSIFM The Hemimk's Love Story . The Little Ymh Man: L Seed Sown by the Wayside IL The ITuinblhig of Streiigth-o'-Ah-m IIL The Curate of Kirkclirist My Father's Love Story' . The ]\Lvn of Wrath Tn.E Lass in the Shop . The Respect of Drowdi.e . Tadmor in the Wilderness Peterson's Patient Two HCMOURXSTS . PAOK. 1 14 30 no 08 88 104 I'JO i;j4 15;) 109 188 202 210 2;;;5 249 205 270 288 301 3!.', 334 361 THE STICKIT MIXISTER'S WOOING' It was in the second year of my college life that T came home to find Robert Fraser, whom a whole coun- try-side called the '' Stickit Minister," distinctly worse, and indeed, set down upon his great chair in the corner as on a place from which he Avould never rise. A dour, grippy back-end it was, the soil stubborn and untoward with early frost. And a strauge sound it was to hear as I (Alexander McQuliirr) came down the L£ing Brae, the channel stones droniu- and dinnelling on the ice by the third of November ; a thing which had not happened in our parts since that fell year of the Six- teen Drifry Days, which has been so greatly talked about. I walked over to the Dullarg the very night I arrived from Edinburgh. I had a new volume of Tennyson with me, which I had bought with the thought that he would be pleased with it. For I loved Robert Fraser, and I will not deny that my heart beat with expectation as I went up the little loaning with the rough stone dyke upon either side — aye, as if it had been the way to Nether Neuk, and I going to see my sweetheart. " Come your ways in, Alec, man," his voice came from the inner room as he heard me pause to exchange banter 1 These stories have been edited chieHy from manuscripts supplit-.l to me by my friend Mr. Alexander MeQuhirr. M.D., of Cairn Edward in Galloway, of whose personal adventures 1 treated in the vrlunip called " Lad's Love." i have let my friend tell his tale in iii.s own way in almost every case. I 2 THE STICKIT MINISTER'S WOOING of a rural sort with the servant lasses in tlie kitchen ; " 1 have been waitin' for ye. I kenned ye \vad come the nicht ! " I went in. And there by the little peat fire, drowsing red and looking strangely out of place behind the ribs of the black-leaded "register" grate, I saw the Stickit Minister with a black-and-white check plaid about his knees. He smiled a strange sweet smile, at once wistful and distant, as I entered — like one who waves farewell through a mist of tears as the pier slides back and the sundering water seethes and widens about the ship. " You are better, Robert ! " I said, smiling too. Dully, and yet with dogged cheerfulness, I said it, as men lie to the dying — and are not beMeved. He stretched out his thin hand, the ploughman's horn clean gone from it, and the veins blue and convex upon the shrunk wrist. "Ave Clique vale, Alec, lad!" he answered. "That is what it has come to with Robert Eraser. But how are all at Drumquhat ? Ye will be on your road ower to the Nether Neuk?" This he said, though he knew different. "I have brought you this from Edinburgh," I said, giving him the little, thin, green volume of Tennyson. I had cut it to save him trouble, and written his name on the blank page before the title. I shall never forget the way he looked at it. He opened it as a woman unfolds a new and costly garment, with a lingering caress of the wasted finger-tips through which I could almost see the white of the paper, and a slow soft intake of the breath, like a lover's sigh. His eyes, of old blue and clear, had now a kind of THE STICKIT MIKISTEE'S WOOING 3 glaze over them, a veiling Indian summer mist, through which, however, still shone, all undimmed and fearless, the light of the simplest and manfulest spirit I have ever known. He turned the leaves and read a verse here and there with evident pleasure. He had a way of reading anything he loved as if listening inly to the cadences — a little half-turn of the head aside, and a still contented smile hovering about the lips, like one who catches the first returning fall of beloved footsteps. But all at once Eobert Eraser shut the book and let his hands sink wearily do\7ii upon his knee. He did not look at me, but kept his eyes on the red peat ash in the " register • ' grate. "It's bonnie," he murmured softly; "and it was a kind thing for you to think on me. But it's gane frae me. Alec — it's a' clean gane. Tak' you the book. Alec. The birdies will never sing again in ony spring for me to hear. I'm back upon the Word, Alec. There's nocht but That for me noo!" He laid his hand on a Bible that was open beside him on the stand which held his medicine bottles, and a stocking at which his wearied fingers occasionally knitted for a moment or two at a time. Then he gave the little green-clad Tennyson back to me with so motherly and lingering a regard that, had I not turned away, I declare I know not but that I had been clean done for. "Yet for a' that, Alec," he said, "do you take the book for my sake. And see — cut out the leaf ye hae written on and let me keep it here beside me." I did as he asked me, and with the leaf in hi:; hand he turned over the pages of his Bible carefully, like a THE STICKIT MINISTER'S WOOING minister looking for a text. He stopped at a yellowing envelope, as if uncertain whether to deposit the inscrip- tion in it. Then he lifted the stamped oblong and handed it to me with a kind of smile. " There, Alec," he said, *' you that has (so they tell me) a sweetheart o' your ain, ye will like to see that. This is the envelope that held the letter I gat frae Jessie Loudon — the nicht Sir James telled me at the Infirm- ary that ray days were numbered ! " "Oh, Robert!" I cried, all ashamed that he should speak thus to a young man like me, "dinna think o' that. You v/ill excite yourself — you may do yourself a hurt " But he waved me away, still smiling that slow misty smile, in which, strangely enougli, there was yet some of the humoursomeness of one who sees a situation from the outside. "Na, Alec, lad," he said softly, "that's gane too. Upon a dark day I made a pact wi' my Maker, and now the covenanted price is nearly paid. His messenger wi' the discharge is already on the road. I never hear a hand on the latch, but I look up to see Him enter — aye, and He shall be welcome, welcome as the bride- groom that enters into the Beloved's chamber!" I covered my brows with my palm, and pretended to look at the handwriting on the envelope, which was deli- cate and feminine. The Stickit Minister went on. " Aye, Alec," he said meditatively, with his eyes still on the red glow, " ye think that ye love the lass ye hae set your heart on; and doubtless ye do love her truly. But I pray God that there may never come a day when ye shall have spoken the last sundering word, and re- THE STICKIT IMIXLSTER'S WOOIXG turned her the written sheets faithfully every one. Ye hae heard the story, Alee. I will not hurt your young- heart by telling it again. But I spared Jessie Loudon aU I could, and showed her that she must not mate her young life with one no better than dead!" The Stickit Minister was silent a long time here. Doubtless old faces looked at him clear out of the red spaces of the fire. And when he began to speak again, it was in an altered voice. "Nevertheless, because power was given me, I pled with, and in some measure comforted her. For though the lassie's heart was set on me, it was as a bairn's heart is set, not like the heart of a woman ; and for that I praise the Lord — yes, I give thanks to His name ! " Then after that I came back to an empty house — and this ! " He caressed the faded envelope lovingly, as a miser his intimatest treasure. "I did not mean to keep it, Alec," he went on presently, "but I am glad I did. It has been a comfort to me ; and through all these years it has rested there where ye see it — upon the chapter where God answers Job out of the whirlwind. Ye ken yon great words." We heard a slight noise in the yard, the whoels of some light vehicle driven quickly. The Stickit Minister started a little, and when I looked at him again I saw that the red spot, the size of a crown-piece, which burned so steadfastly on his cheek-bone, had spread till now it covered bis brow. Then we listened, breathless, like men that wait for a marvel, and through the hush the peats on the grate suddenly fell inward with a startling sound, bringing my 6 THE STICKIT MINISTER'S WOOING heart into my mouth. Next we heard a voice without, loud and a little thick, in heated debate. « Thank God ! " cried the Stiokit Minister, fervently. " It's Henry — my dear brother ! For a moment I feared it had been Lawyer Johnston from Cairn Edv/ard. You know," he added, smiling with all his old swift gladsomeness, "I am now but a tenant at Avill. I sit here in the Dullarg on sufferance — that once was the laird of acre and onstead ! " He raised his voice to carry through the door into the kitchen. '^ Henry, Henry, this is kind — kind of you — to come so far to ses me on such a night ! " The Stickit Minister was on his feet by this time, and if I had thought that his glance had been warm and motherly for me, it was fairly on fire with affection now, I believe that Eobert Eraser once loved his betrothed faithfully and well ; but never will I believe that he loved woman born of woman as he loved his younger brother. And that is, perhaps, why these things fell out so. ^v "ff "fr W W ^ I had not seen Henry Eraser since the first year he had come to Cairn Edward. A handsome young man he was then, with a short, supercilious upper lip, and crisply curling hair of a fair colour disj)osed in masses about his brow. He entered, and at the first glimpse of him I stood astonished. His pale student's face had grown red and a trifle mottled. The lids of his blue eyes (the blue of his brother's) were injected. His mouth was loose and restless under a heavy moustache, and when he began to speak his voice came from him thick and throaty. « eag€ THE STICKIT MINISTER'S WOOIXG •i i "I wonder you do not keep your people iu better order, Robert," he said, before he was fairly within the door of tlie little sitting-room. " First I drove right into a farm-cart that had been left in the middle of the yard, and then nearly broke my shins over a pail some care- less slut of a byre-lass had thrown down at the kitchen- door." Robert Eraser had been standing up with the glad and eager look on his face. I think he had half stretched out his hand; but at his brother's querulous words he sank slowly back into his chair, and the gray tiredness slipped into his face almost as quickly as it had disappeared. "I am sorry, Henry," he said simply. *•' Somehow I do not seem to get about so readily as I did, and I dare- say the lads and lasses take some advantage." "They would not take advantage with me', I can tell you ! " cried the young doctor, throwing down his driv- ing-cape on the corner of the old sofa, and pulling a chair in to the fire. He bent forward and chafed his hands before the glowing peats, and as he did so I could see by a slight lurch and quick recovery that he had been drinking. I wondered if Robert Eraser noticed. Then he leaned back and looked at the Stickit Minister. "Well, Robert, how do you find yourself to-night? Better, eh ? " he said, speaking in his professional voice. His brother's face flushed again with the same swift pleasure, very pitiful to see. " It is kind of you to ask," he said ; " I think I do feel a betterness, Henry. The cough has certainly been less troublesome this last day or two." "I suppose there are no better prospects about the property," said Dr. Eraser, passing from the medical 8 THi-: .iriCKlT Ml^lLSTER'S WOOIMG question with no more than the words I have written down. I had already risen, and, with a muttered excuse, was passing into the outer kitclien, that I might leave the brothers alone. So I did not hear Robert Eraser's reply, but as I closed the door I caught the younger's loud retort: "I tell you what it is, liobert — say what you will — I have not beeu fairly dealt with in this matter — I have been swindled I " So I went out with my heart heavy within me for my friend, and though Bell Gregory, the bonniest of the farm lasses, ostentatiously drew her skirts aside and left a vacant place beside her in the ingle-nook, I shook my head and kept on my way to the door with no more than a smile and " Anither nicht, Bell." "Gie my love to Nance ower at the Nether Neuk," she cried back, with challenge in her tone, as 1 went out. But even Nance Chrystie was not ^n my thoughts that night. I stepped out, passing in front of the straw- thatched bee-hives which, with the indrawing days, had lost their sour-sweet summer smell, and so on into the loaning. From the foot of the little brae I looked back at the lights burning so warmly and steadily from the low windows of the DuUarg, and my mind went over all my father had told me of what the Stickit Minister had done for his brother: how he had broken off his own college career that Henry might go through his medi- cal classes with ease and credit; and how, in spite of his brother's rank ingratitude, he had bonded his little property in order to buy him old Dr. Aitkin's practice in Cairn Edward. Standing thus and thinking under the beeches at the foot a ligj over I par it « in m.1 THE STICKIT MINISTER'S WOOING 1) foot of the dark loaning, it gave me quite a start to find a figure close beside me. It was a woman with a shawl over her head, as is the habit of the cotters' wives in our parish. "Teil me," a voice, eager and hurried, panted almost in my ear, " is Dr. Fraser of Cairn Edward up there ? " " Yes," I said in reply, involuntarily drawing back a step — the woman was so near me— "he is this moment with his brother." " Then for God's sake will ye gang up and tell him to come this instant to the Earmark cothouses ? There are twa bairns there that are no like to see the niornin' licht if he doesna ! " " But who may you be ? " I said, for I did not want to return tc the Dullarg. <' And why do you not go in and tell him for yourself ? You can give him the particulars of the case better than I ! " She gave a little shivering moan. "I canna gang in there ! " she said, clasping her hands piteously ; " I darena. Not though I am Gilbert Bar- bour's wife — and the bairns' mither. Oh, sir, rin ! " And I ran. But when I had knocked and delivered my message, to my great surprise Dr. Henry Fraser received it very coolly. " They are only some cotter people," he said ; " they must just wait till I am on ray way back from the vil- lage. I will look in then. Robert, it is a cold night, let me have some whiskey before I get into that ice-box of a gig again." The Stickit Minister turned towards the wall-press where, ever since his mother's day, the "guardevin," or little rack of cut-glass decanters, had stood, always hos- la THE STICKIT MlNlSTEll'S WOOING pitably fall, but quite untouched by tlie master oi the house. I was still standing uncertainly by the door-cheek, and as Robert Fraser stepped across the little room 1 saw him stagger, and rushed forward to catch him. But ere 1 could reach him he liad commanded himself, and turned to me with a smile on his lips. Yet even his brother was struck by the ashen look on his face. " Sit down, Kobert," he said, " I will help my- self." But with a great effort the Stickit Minister set the tall narrow dram-glass on the table and ceremoniously filled out to his brother the stranger's " portion," as was once the duty of country hospitality in Scotland. But the doctor interrupted. '' Oh, I say ! " he exclaimed, when he saw what his brother was doing, " for heaven's sake not that thing — give me a tumbler." And without further ceremony he went to the cup- board; then he cried to Bell Gregory to fetch him some, hot water, and mixed himself a steaming glass. But the Stickit Minister did not sit down. He stood up by the mantelpiece all trembling. I noted particularly that his fingers spilled half the contents of the dram-glass as ho tried to pour them back into the decanter. " Oh, haste ye, H»^nry ! " he said, with a pleading anx- iety in his voice I had never heard there in any trouble of his ovm ; " take up your drink and drive as fast as ye can to succour the poor woman's bairns. It is not for nothing that she would come here seeking you at this time of night ! " mg I THE STK'KIT MINISTER'S WOOING 11 cup- him His brother laughed easily as ho reseated himself and drew the tumbler nearer to his elbow. ''Tliat's all you know, Tlobert," he said; "why, they come all the way to Cairn Edward after me if their little tinj,'er aches, let alone over here. I daresay some of the brats have got the mumps, and the mother saw me as I drove i)ast. No, indeed — she and they must just wait till I get through my business at Whinnyliggate ! " "I ask you, Henry," said his brother eagerly, "do this for my sake , it is not often that I ask you anything — nor will I have long time now wherein to ask ! " '• Well," grumbled the young doctor, rising and finish- ing the toddy as he stood, " I suppose I must, if you make a point of it. But I will just look in at Whinny- liggate on my way across. I>armark is a good two miles on my way home ! " " Thank you, Henry," said Robert Eraser, ••' I will not forget this kindness to me ! " With a brusque nod Dr. Henry Eraser strode out through the kitchen, among whose merry groups his com- ings and goings always created a certain hush of awe. In a few minutes more we could hear the clear clatter of the horse's shod feet on the hard " macadam " as he tui'ned out of the soft sandy loaning into tlie main road. The Stickit Minister sank back into his chair. " Thank God ! " he said, with a quick intake of breath almost like a sob. I looked down at him in surprise. " Robert, why are you so troubled about this woman's bairns ? " I asked. He did not answer for a while, lying fallen in upon himself in his great armchair of worn horsehair, as if 12 THE STK'KIT MINISTER'S WOOING the strain had been too great for his weak body. When he did reply it was in a curiously far-away voice like a man speaking in a dream. " They are Jessie Loudon's bairns,'' he said, " and a' the comfort she has in life ! " I sat down on the hearthrug beside him — a habit I had when we were alone together. It was thus that J used to read Homer and Horace to him in the long win- ter forenights, and wrangle for hap})y hours over a con- struction or the turning of a i)hrase in the translation. So now I simply sat and was silent, touching his knee lightly with my shoulder. I knew that in time he would tell me all he wished me to hear. The old eight-day clock in the corner (with *' John Gvpy, Julmaio's, 1701,'^ in italics across the brass face of it), ticked on inter- minably through ten minutes, and I heard the feet of the men come in from suppering the horse, before Robert said another word. Then he spoke: "Alec," he said, very quietly — he could hardly say or do any- thing otherwise (or rather I thought so before that night) — "I have this on my spirit — it is heavy like a load. When I broke it to Jessie Loudon that I could never marry her, as I told you, I did not tell you that she took it hard and high, speaking bitter words that are best forgotten. And then in a week or two she married Gib Barbtmr, a good-for-nothing, good-looking young ploughman, a great don at parish dances — no meet mate for her. And that I count the heaviest part of my punishment. "And since that day I have not passed word or saluta- tion with Jessie Loudon — that is, with Jessie Barbour. But on a Sabbath day, just before I was laid down last THE STICKIT MiNISTEK'S WOOING 13 year — a bonnie day in June— I met her as I passed through a bouiock fresh with the gowden broom, and the 'shilties' and Jennie Wrens singing on every brier. 1 had been hjokin' for a sheep that liad broken bounds. And there she sat wi' a youngling on ilka knee. There passed but ae blink o' the e'en between us — ane and nae mair. But oh, Alec, as I am a sinful man — married wife though she was, I kenned that she loved me, and she kenned that I loved her wi' the love that has nae ending!" There was a long pause here, and the elock struck with a long preparatory g-r-r-r, as if it were clearing its throat in order to apologise for the coming interruption. " And that," said Kobert Eraser, " was the reason why Jessie Loudon would not come up to the Dullarg this nicht ~ no, not even for her bairns' sake ! " THE STICKIT MINISTER WINS THEOUGH Yet Jessie Loudon did come to the Dullarg that night — and that for her children's sake. Strangely enough, iu writing of an evening so fruit- ful in incident, I cannot for the life of me remember what happened during the next two hours. The lads and lasses came in for the " Taking of the Book." So nuieh I do recall. But that was an exercise never omitted on any pretext in the house of the ex-divinity student. I remember this also, because after the brief prelude of the psalm-singing (it was the 103rd), the Stickit Minister pushed the Bible across to me, open at the thirty-eighth chapter of Job. The envelope was still there. Though it was turned sideways I could see the faintly written address : MJi. ROBERT FRASER, Student in Divinity, 50, iSt. Leonard's Street, Edinburgh. Even as I looked I seemed to hear again the woman's voice in the dark loaning — "I canna gang in there I" And in a lightning flash of illumination it came to me what the answer to that letter had meant to Jessie Lou- don, and the knowledge somehow made me older a* d sadder. U THE MINISTER WINS THROUGH 15 Then with a shaking voieo I read tlie mighty words before me: "When the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy.'' . . , But when I came to the verse which says : " Have the gates of dt^ath been opened unto thee ? Or hast thou seen the doors of the shadow of death?" I saw the Stickit Minister nod liis head three times very slightly, and a strange subtle smile came over his face as though ho could have an- swered, " Yea, Lord, verily I have seen them — they have l)een opened to me ! " And as the lads and lasses filed out in a kind of won- dering sdence after Robert luasev had prayed — not kneeling down, but sitting erect in his chair and looking out before him with wide-open eyes — we in the little sit- ting-room became conscious of a low knocking, persistent and remote, somewhere about the house of Dullarg. We could hear Bell Gregory open and then immediately close the kitchen door, having evidently found no one there. The knocking still continued. " I Delieve it is somebody at the front door," I said, turning in that direction. And then the Stickit Minister cried out in a curious excited voice: "Open to them — open. Alec! Quick, man ! " And his voice went through me with a kind of thrill, for I knew not who it 'ras he expected to enter, whether sheriff's officer or angry creditor — or as it might be the Angel of the Presence Himself come to summon his soul to follow. Nevertheless, with quaking heart enough, and resolv- ing in future to be a more religious man, I made bold to undo the door. %' 16 THE MINISTER WINS THROUGH The woman I had seen in the "lane stood before me, as it were, projected out of the dense darkness behind, her shawl fallen back from her face, and her features all pale and changeful in the flicker of the candle I had snatched up to take with me into the little hall. For the front door was only used on stp.te occasions, as when the parish minister came to call, and at funerals. "He has not come — and the bairns are dying! So I had to come back ! " she cried, more hoarsely and breathlessly than I had ever heard woman speak. But her eyes fairly blazed and her lips were parted wide for my answer. "Dr. Eraser left here more than an hour ago," I stammered. " Has he not been to see the children ? " "No — no, I tell you, no. And they are choking — dying — it is the trouble in the throat. They will die if he does not come — )) I heard a noise behind me, and the next moment I found myself put aside like a child, and Robert Eraser stood face to face with her that had been Jessie London. " Come in," he said. And when she drew back from him with a kind of shudder, and felt uncertainly for her shawl, he stepped aside and motioned her to enter with a certain large and commanding gesture I had never seen him use before. And as if accus- tomed to obey, the woman came slowly within the lighted room. Even then, however, she would not sit down, but stood facing us both, a girl prematurely old, her lips nearly as pale as her worn cheeks, her blown hair disordered and wispy about her forehead, and only the dark and tragic flashing of her splendid eyes telling of a bygone beauty. Th his h the might •3 THE MINISTER WINS TPIEOUGH 17 -'4 I 'I The Stickit ^Minister stood up also, and as he leaned his hand upon the table, I noticed that he gently shut the Bible which I had left open, that the woman's eye might not fall upon the faded envelope which marked the thirty-eighth of Job. ''Do I understand you to say," he began, in a voice clear, resonant, and full, not at all the voice of a stricken man, "that my brother has not yet visited your children? " *' He had not come when I ran out — they are much worse — dying, I think!" she answered, also in another voice and another mode of speech — yet a little stiffly, as if the more correct method had grown unfamiliar by disuse. For almost the only time in his life I saw a look, stern and hard, come over the countenance of the Stickit Minister, " Go home, Jessie," he said ; '- T will see that he is there as fast as horses can bring him ! " She hesitated a moment. " Is he not here?" she faltered. " Oh, tell me if he is — I meant to fetch him back. I dare not go back with- out him ! " The Stickit Minister went to the door with firm step, the woman following without (piestion or argument. " Fear not, but go, Jessie," he said ; " ni}'^ brother is not here, but he will be at the bairns' bedside almost as soon as you. I promise you." " Thank you, Robin," she stammered, adjusting the shawl over her head and instantly disappearing into the darkness. The old sweethearting name had risen uncon- sciously to her lips in the hour of her utmost need. I think neither of them noticed it. ^ 18 THE MINISTER WINS THROUGH " And now help me on with my coat," said Robert Eraser, turning to me. " I am going over to the village." " You must not," I cried, taking him by tlie arm ; "let me go — let me put in the pony; I will be there in ten minutes ! " " I have no pony now," he said gently and a little sadly, " I have no need of one. And besides, the quick- est way is across the fields." It was true. The nearest way to the village, by a great deal, was by a narrow foot-track that wound across the meadows. But, fearing for his life, I still tried to pre- vent him. " It will be your death ! " I said, endeavouring to keep him back. " Let me go alone ! " " If Henry is where I fear he is," he answered, calmly, " he would not stir for you. But ho will for me. And besides, I have passed my word to — to Jessie ! " The details of that terrible night journey I will not enter upon. It is sufficient to say that I bade him lean on me, and go slowly, but do what I would I could not keep him back. Indeed, he went faster than I co\ilil accompany him — for, m order lO support him a little, I had to walk unevenly along the ragged edges of tiie little field-path. All was dark gray above, beneath, and to the right of us. Only on the left hand a rough whinstone dyke stood up solidly black against the monotone of the sky. The wind came in cold swirls^ with now and then a fleck of snow that stung the face like hail. I had insisted on the Stickit Minister taking his plaid about him in addition to his overcoat, and the ends of it flick- ing into my eyes increased the difficulty. I have hardly ever been so thankful in my life, as when fat las I little cnorus. This wi I jovial bourho( two gro upon tl proud £ popular " Loc when ] squarin hope. Soth eyes wh of the « recount! the Lai] THE MINISTER WINS THROUGH 19 . Robert village." lie arm ; there in a little 16 qviick- 7 a great ;ross tlio i to pri'- j to kce|) I, calmly, :ie. And at last I saw the ligl^ts of the village gleam across the little bridge, as we emerged from the water-meadows and felt our feet firm themselves on the turnpike road. From that point the Stickit Minister went faster than ever. Indeed, he rushed forward, in spite of my restrain- ing arm, with some remaining flicker of the vigour which in youth had made him first on the hillside at the fox- hunt and first on the haystacks upon the great day of the inbringing of the winter's fodder. It seemed hardly a moment before we were at the door of the inn — the Red Lion the name of it, at that time in the possession of one "Jeems" Carter. Yes, Henry Frasor was there. His horse was tethered to an iron ring which was fixed in the whitewashed wall, and his voice could be heard at that very moment leading a rollicking criorus. Then I remembered. It was a " Cronies' " night. This was a kind of informal club recruited from the more jovial of the younger horsebreeding farmers of the neigh- bourhood. It included the local " vet.," a bonnet laird or two grown lonesome and thirsty by prolonged residence upon the edges of the hills, and was on all occasions proud and glad to welcome a guest so distinguished and popular as the young doctor of Cairn Edward. " Loose the beast and be ready to hand me the reins when I come out ! " commanded the Stickit Minister, squaring his stooped shoulders like the leader of a forlorn hope. So thus it happened that I did not see with my own eyes what happened when Robert Fraser opened the door of the " Cronies' " club-room. But I have heard it so often recounted that I know as well as if I had seen. It was the Laird of Butterhole who told me^ and he always said V 20 THE MINISTER WINS THROUGH that it made a sober man of him from that clay forth. It was (he said) like Lazarus looking' out of the sepul- chre after they had rolled away the stone. Suddenly in the midst of their jovial chorus some one said " Hash ! " — some one of themselves — and instinc- tively all turned towards the door. And lo ! there in the doorway, framed in the outer dark, his broad blue bonnet in his hand, his checked plaid waving back from his shoulders, stood a man, pale as if he had come to them up through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. With a hand white as bone, he beck- oned to his brother, who stood with his hands on the table smiling and swaying a little with tipsy gravity. " Why, Robert, what are you doing here ? " he was beginning. But the Stickit Minister broke in. " Come ! " he said, sternly and coldly, " the children you have neglected are dying — if they die through your carelessness you will be their murderer ! " And to the surprise of all, the tall and florid younger brother quailed before the eye of this austere shade. " Yes, I will come, Robert — I was coming in a mo- ment anyway ! " And so the Stickit Minister led him out. There was no great merriment after that in the "Cronies'" club that night. The members conferred chiefly in whispers, and presently emptying their glasses, they stole away home. But no mortal knows what Robert Eraser said to his brother during that drive — something mightily sobering at all events. Eor when the two reached the small clus- ter of cothouses lying under the lee of Barmark wood, the young man, though not trusting himself to articulate ,1 speech THE MINISTER WINS THROUGH 21 a mo pering clus- isi wood, I 3ulate speech, and somewhat over-tremulous of hand, was yet in other respects completely master of himself. I was not present at the arrival, just as I had not seen the startling apparition which broke up the " Cronies' " club. The doctor's gig held only two, and as soon as I handed llobert Eraser the reins, the beast sprang forward. But I was limber and a good runner in tliose days, and though the gray did his best I was not far behind. There is no ceremony at such a house in time of sick- ness. The door stood open to the wall. A bright light streamed through and revealed the inequalities of the little apron of causewayed cobblestones. I entered and saw Henry Eraser bending over a bed on which a bairn was lying. Robert held a candle at his elbow. The mother paced restlessly to and fro with another child in her arms. I could see the doctor touch again and again the back of the little girl's throat with a brush which he continually replenished from a phial in his left hand. Upon the other side of the hearthstone from the child's bed a strong country lout sat, sullenly " becking " his darned stocking feet at the clear embers of the fire. Then the mother laid the first child on the opposite bed, and turned to where the doctor was still operating. Suddenly Henry Eraser stood erect. There was not a trace of dissipation about him now. The tradition of his guild was as a mantle of dignity about him. "It is all right," he said as he took his brother's hand in a long clasp. " Thank you, Robert, thank you a thousand times — that you brought me here in time ! " "Nay, rather, thank God!" said Robert Eraser, solemnly. And even as he stood there the Stickit Minister swayed 22 THE MINISTER WINS TPIKOUGH sidelong, but the next moment he had recovered him- self with a hand on the bed-post. Tlien very swiftly he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and set it to his lips. His brother and I went toward him with a qnick appre- hension. But the Stickit Minister turned from us both to the woman, who took two swift steps towards him with her arras outstretched, and such a yearning of love on her face as I never saw before or since. The sullen lout by the lire drowsed on unheeding. "Jessie!" cried the Stickit Minister, and with that fell into her arms. She held him there a long moment as it had been jealously, her head bent down upon Lis. Then she delivered him up to me slowly and reluctantly. Henry Eraser put his hand on his heart and gave a great sob. " My brother is dead ! " he said. But Jessie Loudon did not utter a word. ll GIBBY THE EEL, STUDENT IN DIVINITY Naturalists have often remarked how little resem- jblance there is between the young of certain animals and [the adult specimen. Yonder tottering quadrangular ar- [rangement of chewed string, remotely and inade,^^|uately jconnected at the upper corners, is certainly the young of Ithe horse. But it does not even remotely suggest the hvar-hoi'se sniffing up the battle from afar. This irregu- llar yellow ball of feathers, with the steel-blue mask set Ibeiieath its half-opened eyelids, is most ridiculously unlike Itlie magnificent eagle, which (in books) stares unblinded jinto "^^e very eye of the noonday sun. In like manner the young of the learned professions lare by no moans like the full-fledged expert of the Iniysteries. If in such cases the child is the father of [the man, the parentage is by no means apparent. To how many medical students would you willingly lentrust the application of one square inch of sticking- rilaster to a cut finger, or the care of a half-guinea jumbrella ? What surgeon would you not, in an emer- Igency, trust with all you hold dear ? You may cherish Ipreferences and even prejudices, but as a whole the [repute of the profession is above cavil. There is, perhaps, more continuity above the legal [profession, but even there it is a notable fact that the [older and more successful a lawyer is, the more modest )'ou find him, and the more diffident of his own infalli- 23 I !A/ 24 GlBliV THE EEL bility. Indeed, several of tlie most eminent jndges arc in this matter quite as other men. But of all others, the divinity student is jjerhaps the most misunderstood. lie is wilfully misrepresented by those who ought to know him best. Nay, he misrepre- sents himself, and Avhen he dolfs tweeds and takes to collars which fasten behind and a long-skirted clerical coat, he is apt to disown his past self; and often succeeds in persuading himself that as he is now, diligent, sedate, zealous of good works, so was he ever. Only sometimes, when he has got his Sunday sermons off his mind and two or three of the augurs are gathered together, will the adult clerk in holy orders venture to lift the veil and chew the cud of ancient jest and prank not wholly sanctiiied. Now there ought to be room, in a gallery which con- tains so many portraits of ministers, for one or two Students of Divinity, faithfully portrayed.^ And of these the first and chief is Mr. Gilbert Den- holm, Master of Arts, Scholar in Theology — to his class-fellows more colloquially and generally known as " Gibby the Eel." At college we all loved Gilbert. He was a merry- hearted youth, and his mere bodily presence was enough to make glad the countenances of his friends. His father was a minister in the West with a large family to bring up, which he effected with success upon a 1 These studies I wrote down daring certain winters, when, to please my mother, I made a futile attempt to prepare myself " to wag my head in a pulpit." Saving a certain prolixity of statement (which the ill-affected call long-windedness) , they were all I carried away with me when I resolved to devote myself to the medical profession.— A. McQ. II ■I stinend keep h private Yet light-he jokes o Gilbert' himself taken fr This everythi Part lithe sli " Gibby amusing an exce] small am exits and that he keyhole, person w One of wanderin during tl fessor's j be sitting your note the most out of th( arise the would no( morning, GIBBY THE EEL 26 kcs to "^ ilerical cceeds sedate, :amily poll a '« J hen, to ; to wa;; (wbicli f% 'ay with |,| ssion.— -^ stinend of surprising' tonuity. So it lu'hoved Gilbert to keep himself at college by means of scholarships and private tuition. His pupils had a lively time of it. Vet his only fault obvious to the world "was a certain light-headed but winsome gaiety, and a tendency to jokes of the practical kind. I used often to restrain Gilbert's ardour by telling him that if he did not behave himself and walk more seemly, he would get his bursary taken from him by the Senatus. This would recall Gilbert to himself when almost everything else had failed. Part of Gilbert's personal equipment was the certain lithe slimness of figure which gained him the title of '' Gibby the Eel," and enabled him to practise many amusing pranks in the class-room. He would have made an exceptionally fine burglar, for few holes Avere too small and no window too secure for Gilbert to make his exits and er trances by. Without going so far as to say that he co. 'd wriggle himself through an ordinary keyhole, I wi.i affirm that if anybody ever could, that person was Giioert Denholm. One of the most ordinary of his habits was that of wandering here and there throughout the class-room during the hour of lecture, presuming upon the pro- fessor's purblindness or lack of attention. You would be sitting calmly writing a letter, drawing caricatures in your note-book, or otherwise improving your mind with the most laudable imitation of attention, when suddenly, out of the black and dusty depths about your feet would arise the startling apparition of Gibby the Eel. He would nod, casually inquire how you found yourself this morning, and inform you that lie only dropped in on his GIin^Y THE EEL way u\) to Bench Seventeen to see Biilhaldie, who owed him a sluUin^'. " Well, so Ioiijl;; ! " Again he would nod pleasantly, and sink into the nnknown abyss beneath tlK3 benches as noise- lessly and unobtrusively as a smile fades from a face. Sometimes, however, when in wanton mood, his prog- ress Balhaidie-wards could be guessed at by the chain of " Ouchs" and '' Ohs^' which indicated his subterranean career. The suddenness with which Gilbert could awaken to lively interest the most somnolent and indif- ferent student, by means of a long brass pin in the calf of the leg, had to bo felt to be appreciated. Thereupon ensued the sound of vigorous kicking, but generally by the time the injured got the range of his unseen foe, Gilbert could be observed two or three forms above intently studying a Greek Testament wrong side up, and looking the picture of meek reproachful innocence. In no class could Gilbert use so much freedom of errancy as in that of the venerable Professor Galbraith. Every afternoon this fine old gentleman undertook to direct our studies in New Testament exegesis, and inci- dentally afforded his students an hour of undisturbed repose after the more exciting labours of the day. No one who ever studied under Doctor Simeon Gal braith will forget that gentle droning voice overhead, that full-orbed moon-like countenance, over which two smaller moons of beamy spectacle seemed to be in per- petual transit, and in especial he will remember that blessed word " Hermeneutics," of v/hich (it is said) there was once one student who could remember the meaning. He died young, much respected by all who knew him. Dreamily the great word came to you, soothing and GIBBY THE EEL » grateful as mother's lullaby, recurrent as the wash of a qtiiet St . upon a beach of softest sand. '• Gt-'Utlcnicn. 1 will now proceed to call your attention ... to tlie study of Jlermeneutics . . . Hormeneut . . . Gegonbauer has affirmed . . . but in my opeenion, f^'cntleinen . . . Her- meneutics . . . !" (Hero you passed from the sub- conscious state into Nirvana.) And so on, and so on, till the collep;e bell clauLced in the quadrangle, and it was time to lile out for a wash and brush-u]-) before dinner in hall. Upon one afternoon every v.-eek, Professor (lalbraith read with his students the "Greek Oroeginal." He prescribed half-a-dozen cliapters of " Romans " or " He- brews," and expected us to prepare them carefully. I verily believe that he imagined we did. Tliis shows what a sanguine and amiable (;ld gentleman ho was. The beamy spectacle belied him not. The fact was that wt stumbled through our portions by the light of nature, aided considerably by a class copy of an ingenious work known hj the name of " Bagster," in which every Greek word had the English equivalent marked in plain figures underneath, and all the verbs fully parsed at the foot of the page. The use of this was not considered wicked, because, like the early Christians, in Professor Galbraith's class we had all things common. This was our one point of resemblance to the primitive Church. One day the Doctor, peering over his brown leather folio, discerned the meek face and beaming smile of Gilbert the Eel in the centre of Bench One, immediately beneath him. " Ah ! Mr. Denholm, will you read for us this morning 28 GIBBY THE EEL — beginning at the 29th verse — of the chapter under consideration ? " And he subsided expectantly into his lecture. Up rose Gilbert, signalling wildly with one hand for the class " Bagster " to be passed to him, and meantime grasping at the first Testament he could see about him. By the time he had read the Greek of half-a-dozen verses, the sharpness of the trouble was overpast. He held in his hands the Key of Knowledge, and translated and parsed like a Cunningham Fellow — or any other fellow. " \' airy well, Mr. Denholm ; vairy well indeed. You may now sit down while I proceed to expound the passage ! " Whereupon Gibby the Eel ungratefully pitched the faithful ''Bagster" on the bench and disappeared under the same himself on a visit to Nicholson McFeat, who sat in the middle of the class-room. For five minutes — ten — fifteen, the gentle voice droned on from the rostrum, the word " Hermeneutics " discharging itself at intervals with the pleasing gurgle of an intermittent spring. Then the Professor returned suddenly to his Greek Testament. "Mr. Denholm, you construed vairy well last time. Be good enough to continue at the place you left off. Mr. Denholm — where is Mister — IMister Den — holm ? " And the moon-like countenance rose from its eclipse behind six volumes of Owen (folio edition), while the two smaller moons in permanent transit directed them- selves upon the vacant place in Bench One, from which Gibby the Eel had construed so glibly with the efficient aid of " Bagster." GIBBY THE EEL 29 under ■ a Mister — Mist — er Denholra ? " The Professor knew that he was absent-minded, but (if the expression be allowable) he could have sworn " I am here, sir ! " Gibby the Eel, a little shamefaced and rumpled as to hair, was standing plump in the very middle of the class-room, in the place where he had been endeavour- ing to persuade Nick IMcFeat to lend him his dress clothes "to go to a conversazione in," which request Nick cruelly persisted in refusing, alleging first, that he needed the garments himself, and secondly, that the Eel desired to go to no " conversazione," but contrari- wise to take a certain Madge Kobertson to the theatre. At this moment the fateful voice of the Professor broke in upon them just as they were rising to the height of their great argument. "Mister — Den — holm, will you go on where yon left off?" Gibby rose, signalling wildly for "Bagster," and endeavouring to look as if he had been a plant of grace rooted and grounded on that very spot. Pro- fessor Galbraith gazed at Gibby in situ, then at the place formerly occupied by him, tried hard to orient the matter in his head, gave it up, and bade the trans- lation proceed. But "Bagster" came not, and Gilbert did not dis- tinguish himself this time. Indeed, far from it. "Will you parse the first verb, Mr. Denholm — -no, not that word! That has usually been considered a substantive, Mr. Denholm — the next word, ah, yes ! " "The first aorist, active of — confound you fellows, whereas f\c* ' Bagster ' ? / call it dashed mean — yes, sir, 30 GIBBY THE EEL it is connected with the former clause by the particle — have you vot found that hook yet ? Oh, you beasts! " (The italics, it is hardly necessary to say, were also spoken in italics, and were not an integral part of Gibby's examination as it reached the ear of Professor Galbraith.) "Ah, that will do, ls\v. Denliolm — not so well — not quite so well, sir — yet" (kindly) "not so vairy ill either." And Gilbert sat down to resume the discussion of the dress clothes. By this time, of course, he considered liimself quite safe from further molestation. The Pro- fessor had never been known to call up a man thrice in one day. So, finding Nick McFeat obdurate in the matter of the dress suit, Gilbert announced his intention of visiting Kenneth Kennedy, who, he said pointedly, was not a selfish and unclean animal of the kind ab- horred by Jews, but, contrariwise, a gentleman — one who would lend dress clothes for the asking. And Kennedy's were better clothes, anyway, and had silk linings. Furthermore, Nick need not think it, he (Mr. Gilbert Denholm) would not demean himself to put on his (]\rr. INfcFeat's) dirty "blacks," which had been feloniously filched from a last yeax's scarecrow that had been left out all the winter. And furthermore, he (I'ir said Gilbert) would take Madge Robertson to the theati!' in spite of him, and what was more, cut Nick McFeat out as clean as a leek. At this the latter laughed scornfully, affirming that the grapes had a faintly sub-acid flavour', and bade Gibby go his way. Gibby went, tortuously and subterraneously worming Gir.i5Y THE EEL ai I his way to the highost seats in the syiiagoguo, where Kenneth Kennedy, M.A., reposed at full leiigtii upon a vacant seat, having artistically bent a Highland cloak over a walking-stick to re}. resent scholastic meditation, if perchance the kindly siiectacle of the Professor should tm'u in his direction. Gibby gazed rapturously on his friend's sleep, contemplating him, as once in the Latmiau cave Diana gazed upon End,y niion. Ho was proceeding to ink his friend's face preparatory to upsetting him on the floor, when he remembered the dress suit just in time to desist. " E< .1, you are a most infamous pest — can't you let a fellov/ alone ? ^Yhat in the world do you want now ? " AVhereupon, with countenance of triple brass, Gibby entered into the question of the dress suit with subtlety and tact. There never was so good a chap as Kennedy, never one so generous. He (G.D.) would do as much for him again, and he would bring it back the next day, pressed by a tailor. Kennedy, hov/ever, was not quite so enthusiastic. There are several points of view in matters of this kind. Kenneth Kennedy did not, of course, care ''a dump" about IVIadge Kobertson, but he had the best interests of his silk-lined dress coat at heart. "That's all very well, Eel," he said, raising himself reluctantly to the perpendicular; "but you kiunv as well as I do that the last time I lent it to you^ you let sonie wax drop on the waistcoat, right on the pocket, and I have never been able to get it out since — >: Suddenly the pair became conscious that the gentle hmn of exegetical divinity from the rostrum had ceased. The word " Hermeneutics " no longer soothed and punc- 32 GTIUJY THE EEL tuated their oonverse at intervals of five minutes, like the look-out's " All's well " on a ship at sea. " Ah, Mis — ter Den — holm, perhaps you have recov- ered yourself by this time. Be good enough to continue where you left off — Mis — ter Den — holm — Mister Denholm — where in the world is Mr. Denholm ? " The spectacles were hardly beaming now. A cer- tain shrewd suspicion mixed with the wonder in their expression, as Dr. Galbraith gpzed from the Eel's posi- tion One to position Two, and back again to position One. Both were empty as the cloudless empyrean. His wonder culminated when Gilbert was finally dis- covered in position Three, high on the sky-line of Bench Twenty-four! How Gilbert acquitted himself on this occasion it is perhaps better not to relate. I will draw a kindly veil over the lamentable tragedy. It is sufficient to say that he lost his heatl completely — as completely even as the aforesaid IVEiss Madge Robertson could have wished. And all through the disastrous exhibition the Pro- fessor did not withdraw his gaze from the wretched Eel, but continued to rebuke him, as it seemed, for the astral and insubstantial nature of his body. No better proof can be adduced that the Eel had become temporarily deranged, than the fact that even now, when it was obvious that the long-latent sus- picions of the Gentle Hermeneut were at last aroused, he refused to abide in his breaches; but, scorning all entreaty, and even Kennedy's unconditioned promise of the dress suit, he proceeded to crawl down the gallery steps in order to regain position Number One in the front seat under the Professor's very nose. MeE ecstatil mga GTBBY THE EEL 33 il had even It sus- loused, |ng all ise of [allery the Quos Dens vult perclere, jyrius dementat. Meanwhile the class, at first raised to a state of ecstatic enjoyment by the Eel's misfortunes, then grow- ing a little anxious lest he should go too far, was again subsiding to its wonted peaceful hum, like that of a vast and well-contented bumblebee. Suddenly we became aware that the Professor was on his feet in the midst of a stern and awful silence. "My eye has fallen," he began solemnly, "on what I do not expect to see. I hope the — gentleman will remember where he is — and who I am ! " During the pronouncement of this awful allocution the professorial arm was extended, and a nnger, steady as th? finger of Fate, pointed directly at the unhappy Gibby, who, prone in the dust, appeared to be medi- tating a discourse upon the text, ''I am a worm and no man ! " His head was almost on the level of the floor and his limbs extended far up the gallery stairs. To say that his face was fiery red gives but a faint idea of its colour, while a black streak upon his nose proved that the charwomen of the college were not a whit more diligent than the students thereof. What happened after this is a kind of maze. I sup- pose that Gibby regained a seat somewhere, and that the lecture proceeded after a fashion; but I do not know for certain. Bursts of unholy mirth forced their way through the best linen handkerchiefs, rolled hard and used as gags. But there grew up a feeling among many that though doubtless there was humour in the case, the Eel had gone a little too far, and if Professor Galbraith were *. 34 OIBBY THE EEL genuinely angered he might biii)g the matter before the Senatus, with the result that Gilbert would not only lose his bursary, but be sent down as well, to his father's sorrow and his own loss. So when the class was at last over, half-a-dozen of us gathered round Gibby and represented to him that lie must go at once to the retiring-room and ask the Pro fessor's pardon. At first and for long the Eel was recalcitrant. He would not go. AVhat was ho to say? We instructed liim. We used argument, appeal, persuasion. We threatened torture. Finally, yielding to those heavier battalions on the side of which Providence is said to fight, Gibby v»-as led to the door with a captor at each elbow. We knocked ; he entered. Tlie door was shut ; behind him, but not wholly. Half-a-dozen ears lined ; the crack at intervals, like limpets clinging to a smootli ; streak on a tidal rock. "We could not hear the Eel's words. Only a vague murmur reached us, and I doubt if much more reached Professor Galbraith. The Eel s opped and there was a pause. We feared its ill omen. " Poor Eel, the old man's going to report him ! " we whispered to each other. And then we heard the words of the Angelical Scholiast. " Shake hands, Mr. Denholm. If, as ye say, this has been a lesson to vou, it has been no less a lesson i to me. Let us both endeavour to profit by it, unto greater | diligence and seemliness in our walk and conversation. We will say no more about the matter, if you please, Mr. Denholm." * * GIBBY THE EEL 35 We cheered the old man as he went out, till he ^vaved a kmdlj and tolerant hand bank at us, and there was more than a gleam of humour in the Idndly spee^v nles, as if our gentle Hermeneut ^v'ere neither so blind nor yet so dull in the uptake as we had been accustomed to think him. As for the Eel, he became a man from that day and to a limited extent, put away childish things- though' his heart will remain ever young and fresh. His story IS another story, and so far as this little study goes it IS enough to say that when at last the aged Professor of Hermeneutics passed to the region where all thin-^s are to be finally explicated, it was Gilbert Denholm who got up the memorial to his memory, which was sub- scribed to by every student without exception he had ever had. And it was he who wrote Dr. Galbraith's epitaph, of which the last line runs: "Gentle, a Peace-maker, a Lovek oe Good and OF God." H f DOCTOR GIRNIGO'S ASSISTANT " Off, ye lendings ! "' said Gibby the Eel to his heather-mixture knickerboeker suit, on the day when his Presbytery of Muirlands licensed him to preach the ,L,'Ospel. And within the self-same hour the Reverend Gilbert Denholm, M.A., Probationer, in correct ministerial garb, had the honour of dining with the Presbytery, and of witnessing the remarkable transformation which over- takes that august body as soon as it dips its collective spoon in the official soup. I knew a Presbytery once which tried to lunch on cold coffee and new bread. The sm'vivors unanimously took to drink. But the Presbytery of Muirlands were sage fathers and brethren, and they knew better than that. They dined together in a reasonable manner at the principal inn of the place. An enthusiast, who suggested that they should transfer their custom to the new Tem- perance Hotel up near the railway station, was asked if he had sent in his returns on Life and Work — and otherwise severely dealt with. Gilbert had been remitted to the Presbytery of Muir- lands from his own West Country one of Burnestown, ])ecause he had been appointed assistant to the Reverend Doctor Girnigo of Rescobie ; and it was considered more satisfactory that the Presbytery within whose bounds 36 ri he was diligent Soth the tee Muirlar did not who ha( with fly brother pleted ( single b erend D future G. It was compellei felt that more acci given to 1 of Joseph providing as a licer Dr. Gir had made would rat] tioner. A unfortunal in the Do and more procession of Session themselves ■mchalleng DOCTOE GIRNIGO'S ASSISTANT 37 ) his when h the Albert L garb, md of . over- lective ch on aously 'athers They .ncipal that Tem- asked — and Muir- stown, rerend more )0uuds he was to labour, should examine him ooneernin^' his diligence and zeal. So they asked him all the old posers whic^h had made the teeth of former examinees of the Presbytery of Muirlands chatter in their heads. But the Eel's teeth did not chatter. He had got a rough list from a friend who had been that way before, and so passed the bar with flying colours. The modest way in whieli the new brother (unattached) behaved himself at dinner com- pleted Gibby's conquest of the Brethren — with tlie single but somewhat important exception of the Rev- erend Doctor Joseph Girnigo of Rescobie, Gilbert's future chief. It was the cross of Dr. Girnigo's life that his Session compelled him to engage an assistant. Di-. Girnigo felt that here were three hundred pieces of silver (or more accurately, £G0 sterling) which ought to have been given to the poor — that is, to the right breeches' pocket of Joseph Girnigo — instead of being squandered in providing such a thorn in the flesh within the parish as a licensed assistant. Dr. Girnigo was in the habit of saying, whenever he had made it too hot for his acting assistant, that he would rather look after three parishes than one proba- 5 tioner. At first the engaging and dismission of these i unfortunate young men had been placed unreservedly in the Doctor's hands; but as the affair assumed more J iuid more the appearance and proportions of a mere procession to and from the railway station, the members of Session were compelled to assume the responsibility themselves. So long as the Doctor's sway continued ■mchallenged, the new assistant usually arrived in Nether 1 38 DOCTOR GIRNIGO'S ASSISTANT Balhaklie's "machine" on Saturday night, and depaited on Tuesday morning very early in the gig belonging to Upper Balhaldie. He preached on Sabhath, and Monday was spent in Dr. Girnigo's study, where it was explained to him : first, that he knew nothing; .lecondly, that whar he thought he knew was worse than nothing; thirdly, that there is nothing more hateful than a vain pretenct of earthly learning; and fourthly, that Paul and Sila> knew nothing of " Creeticism." No, they were better employed — aye, and it would be telling the young men of the day — the conclusion of the whole matter beiiii; that the present victim would never do at all for the parish of Resccbie and had better go. He went, in Upper Balhaklie's gig, and Watty Lear- mont, the tenant thereof, who could bo tnisted to know, said that the rejected probationers very seldom engaged j in prayer (to call prayer) on the road to the station. I do not know what Watty meant to insinuate, but that is what he said. He had that mode of speech to perfection which consists in saying one thing and giving the iiu-: pression that the speaker means another. But it was felt that this was a state of affairs which | could not continue. It amounted, indeed, to nothing less j than a scandal that the Session should be paying £6ii for an assistant, and that at the end of the year eight o: | these should only have spent exactly twenty-seven days in the parish, while the remaining three hundred and I thirty-eight days had been occupied by the Doctor in] filling the vacancies he had himself created. Besides, since he always insisted on a week's trial without salary I when he engaged his man (in order, as he said, to dis- cover where there was a likelihood of the parties being matuall Sc'ssiou hardly the ])0ss ft wa ^vhi('ll bi haid-hea JiaUlie, a liaving a ties. Bi stock of : " Wha meetin' i one Wedi "Is't tru( horse-whi No, it \ in it to mi uf j)ublic affair was The tm house of 1 sot't-voicecl m ''ad been ; he a surpri ou Wednej pictured t should han So he ma Ullage am soft voice, vent round DOCTOR GillNlGO'S ASSISTANT ;i9 better ig men | r being for the y Lcav- ) know, engaged M bion. 1 1 that is j fection j the iin- which ing less ig £6tM nght of '.n days ed am; ctor ii.| besides, salary | to di.' being! matually satisfied), tlu; shrewd business men of the Session saw more than a probal)ility of their good and hardly gathered sixty '' notes " still remaining intact iu the possession of their minister. It was, however, the affair of the i)]'ayer-meeting w'h'u'h brought the matter to a head. For after all, sueh li;ud-headed bargain-makers as Learmont, Senior of Bal- hiildie, and his coadjutoi'S on the Session, could not help having a sort of resi)ect for the Doctor's business quali- ties. But they could not bear to be made a laughing- stock of in the market of Drumfern. " What's this I hear aboot your new helper's prayer- meethi' up at Rescobie ? " Cochrane of Tatierigs cried one Wednesday across the mart ring to Up])er Balhaldie. " Is't true that that minister o' yours broke it up wi' a horse-whup ? " No, it was not true. But there was enough of truth ill it to make the members of Rescobie Session nervous of public appearances for a long time, indeed till the affair was forgotten. The tmth was that during the Doctor's absence at the house of his married son in Drumfern, Mr. Killigrew, a soft-voiced young man, who, being exceedingly meek, had been left in charge of the parish, thought it would he a surprise for his chief if he started a prayer-meeting on Wednesday evenings in the village schoolhouse. He pictured to himself his principal's delight when he should hand over the new departure as a going concern. So he made a house-to-house visitation of Rescobie village and neighbourhood, this young man with the soft voice. The popular appeal was favourable. He went round and saw the school-mistress. She was fond 40 DOCTOR GIKNIGO'S ASSISTANT of younp men with soft voices (and hats). She readily coii'^t'iitt'd to lend her hanaonium, aud to lead the siny- iug from u certain popalar hyiuu-book. The first meeting was an unqualified suecess, and the young man promptly began a .series of rousing addresses on the " Pilgrim's Progress." There were to be thirty in all. l^ut alas for the vanity of hmnan schemes, tin- st'coiid address (on the Slough of Despond) was scarcely under way when, like an avenging host, or Cromwell entering the Long Parliament, the Doctor strode into the midst, booted and spurred, as he had ridden over all the way from J)rumfern. He had a riding-whij) in his hand, which was the foundation of the Tatierigs story, but there is no record that he used it on any iu the meeting. The services closed without the benediction, and as the Doctor wrathfuUy clicked the key in t' lock, he said that he woiild see the school-mis in the morning. Then he turned to the young man in the soft hat. The remains left Rescobie early next morning in Upper Balhaldie's gig. Since this date it was enough to call out to a Rescobie man, " Ony mair Pilgrims up your way ? " in order to have him set his dogs on you or wrathfuUy bring down his herd's crook upon your crown. Being thus stirred to action, the Session wrestled with Dr. Girnigo, and prevailing by the unanswerable argu- ment of the purse-strings, it took the appointment and dismission of tlie " helpers " into its own hands. So Dr. Girnigo had to tiy other tactics. Usually he | gave the unfortunate " helper " delivered into his hands UUCTUll (JiKNlGO'S ASSISTANT 41 ii() pi'iice ni^'lit or day, till in despafr hv throw up his ;iii[)()iutiut'iit, and sliuuk the Kt'scijbie dust off the soles of his feet. First (undt'i- the uew W'fjhne) came Alexander Fair- l)()dv, a thoughtful, studious lad, whom the Doctor set to iligying toiKlressiug into his garden till his hands wm' blistered. He ^vould not allow him to preach, and as to praying, if he wanted to do that he could go to his bedroom. So Mr. Fairbody endured hardness for ten days, and then resigned in a wiitteu communi- cation, alleging as a reason that he had come to Rescobie to work in a spiritual and not in a material vineyard. The Doctor burked the docunu'ut, and the Reverend Robert Hegg reigned in the stead of Alexander Fairbody, resigned for cause. Mr. Begg was athletic. Him Dr. Cl'iiigo set to the work of arranging his old sermons, seven barrels full. He was to catalogue them under eighteen heads, and be prepared to give his reasons in every case. The first three classes were — " Sermons Enforcing the Duty of Respect for Ecclesiastical Superiors," " Sermons upon Christian Giving," and '• Sermons Inculcating Humility in the Young." The Reverend Robert Begg would have enjoyed the digging of the garden. He stood just one ' full week of the sermon-arranging. He declared that sixteen of the eighteen classes were cross divisions, and that the task of looking through the written matter per- manently enfeebled his intellect. Sympathetic friends consoled him with the reflection that nobody would ever find out. On the second Wednesday after his appointment he [departed, uttering sentiments which, were a perfect 42 DOCTOR GIKKIGO'S ASSISTANT guarantee of good faith (but wliicli were manifest ly not for publication) to ^Vatty Learmont as he journeyed to the railway station in the Upper Balhaldie gig. A new sun rose upon ilescobie with the coming of G'bby the Eel. Jle had known both of his predeets- sors at cclUige, and he had piiinj)ed them thorouglilv upon the life and doctrine of their former chief. In addition to which Gil])ert had taken to him a suit oi tweeds and a fishing-rod, and with a piece of Itroa.l and cheese in his po(iket, and guile in his heart, lie had gone up the Rescobie water, asking for drinks ut the farndiouses on the way, much as he used to per- ambulate Professor Galbraitlrs class-room in his o]', abandoned, unregenerate, sans-dog-collu,r days. Hitherto the hel])er, a luciv, transient bird-of-passaii,(\ had lodged wit!) ^Mistress lloueytongue, the wife di Hosea Honeytongue, the beadle and minister's man )f Rescobie. This brought the youth, as it were, under the shadow of the manse, and what was more to the point, under the eye of the minister. But Gilbert Don- holm had other aiuis. Ke took rooms in the village, quite three-quarters of | a ri)le from the manse, with one IMrs. Tennant, the widow of a medical man in the neighbourhood wliol had died without making ade(]uate ])rovision for his family. She had never taken a lodger before, but since j his investiture in clericals the Eel had filled out to| a handsome figure, and he certainly smiled a most irre- sistible smile as he stood on the doorstep. Gilbert arrived late one Friday night in Rescobie. | and speculation was rife in the parish as to whetlur he would preach on Sabbath or not. Most were of the I I pout; " ^ kee])ing i I !)}• tlio h( ] "Tlien J I shall f 1 letter to with Mvi Mrs. Ten: "Oh, J time ; ''■ s there to ti "I lov, Teunant 1 afternoon such a re"v Miss Gi DOCTOR G I UN [GO'S ASSISTANT 43 ncf'ativo opinion, but Watty Learmont, for reasons of his own, oftcred to wa<,'ev a new hat that ho Avould. On Saturday morninegg for for- getting the other fifteen divisions of Dr. Girnigo's sermons. "I could have made a much better appearance if that fellow Begg had had any sense I " he said to him- self. " But " (with a sigh) " I must just do the best I can with these." Nevertheless, Dr. Girnigo considered that Gibby had surpassed himself in his application. He showed ho^v DOCTOR GIRNTGO'S ASSISTANT 49 any gooti that he might do in the parish must not be set down to his credit, but to that of Another who had so long laboured among them; and how that he (the preacher), being but "as one entering upon an- other man's line of things," it behoved him above all things not to be boastful. "A very sound address — quite remarkable in one so young !'> was the Doctor's verdict as he met the Session after the close of Gilbert's first service. Tlie Session and congregation, however, did not approve quite so highly, having had a surfeit of similar teaching during the past forty years. But Walter Learmont, senior (sad to tell it of an Elder), winked the sober eye and remarked to his inti- mates: "Bide a wee — he kens his way aboot, thon yin. He wad juist be drawin' the auld man's leg ! " At any rate, certain it is that after this auspicious beginning Gibby the Eel (M.A.) remained longer in Reseobie than all his predecessors put together. But it was to Jemima Girnigo that he owed this. * ' h THE GATE OF THE UPPER GARDEN For the fiist six montlis that Gibby the Eel, othor- wise the Reverend Gilbert Denholm, M.A., acted as " helper " to Dr. Joseph Girnigo in the parish of Res- cobie, he was much pleased with himself. He laughed with his friend and classmate, Robertland, over the infatuation of the doctor's old maid daughter. The parish, reading tlie situation like a book, smiled broadly when the " helper " and Miss Jemima Girnigo were discerned on an opposite braeface, botanisiug together, or, with heads bent over some doubtful bloom, stood ^ silhouetted against the sunlit green of some glade in Kuockandrews wood. During this period Gibby hugged himself upon his cleverness, but the time came when he began to have his doubts. What to him was a light-heart prank, an "Eel's trick," like his college jest of squirming secretly under ciass-room benches, was obviously no jest to this pale-eyed, sharp-featured maiden of one- and-forty. Jemima Girnigo had never been truly young. Re- pressed and domineered over as a child, she had been suddenly promoted by hei- mother's death to the care of a household and the responsibility of training a bevy of younger brothers, all now out in the world and doing for themselves. Her life had grown more and more arid and self-contained. She had nourished her soul 60 THE GATP] OF THE UPPER GARDEN 61 L'luing ly no one- Re- boeu care bevy do ill, u' more soul on secret penances, setting herself liard liousehold tasks, and doing with only one small, untaught, slatternly maid from the village, in order that her father might be able to assist his sons into careers. She read dry theol- ogy to mortify a liking for novels, and shut up her soul from intercourse with her equals, conscious, jierhaps, that visitors would infallibly discover and laugh at her father's meannesses and peculiarities. Only her flowers kept her soul sweet and a human heart beating within that buekram-and-whalebone-fenced bosom. Then, all suddenly came Gilbert Denholm with his merry laugh, his ligiit-heart ways (which she openly re- proved, but secretly loved), his fair curls clustering about his brow, and his way of throwing back his head as if to shake them into place. Nothing so young, so winsome, or so gay had ever set foot within that solemn, dreich old manse. It was like a light-heart city beauty coming to change the life and disturb the melancholy of some stern woman-despising hermit. But Jemima Girnigo's case was infinitely worse, in that she was a woman and the disturber of her peace little better than a foolish boy. But Gilbert Denholm, kindly lad though he was, saw no harm. He was only, he thought, impressing himself upon the parish. He saw himself daily becoming more popular. No farmer's party was considered to be any- thing which wanted his ready wit and contagious merri- ment. Already there was talk among the Session of securing him as permanent assistant and successor. There were fair ways and clear sunlit vistas before Gilbert Denholm; and he liked his professional pros- pects all the better that he owed them to his own wit 52 THE GATE OF THE UlTEK GARDEN and knowledge of the world. He Avas a good i)reaclif'i. He made what is (ialled an excellent appearance in tin l)ulpit. He did not " read." His fluency of utteramv held sleepy ploughmen in a state of blinking attention for the better part of an hour. Even Dr. Girnigo com- mended, and Gibby, who had no more abundant or direct "spiritual gifts" than are the portion of most kind- hearted, well-brought-u]) Scottish youths, was uncon- scious of his lack of any higher qualifications for tlu Christian ministry. But Gibby was like hundreds, aye, thousands more, who break the bread and open unto men the Scripture- in all the churches. His office meant to him a career, not a call. His work was the expression of hearty human goodwill to all men — and so far helpful and godlike ; but he had never tasted sorrow, never drunken of the cup of remorse as a daily beverage, never " dreed '" the common weird of humanity. Sorely he needed a downsetting, He must endure hardness, be driven out of self to the knowledge that self is nowise sufficient for a sinful man. Even Jemima Girnigo was a far better servant of God than the man who had spent seven years in preparation for that service. In the shut deeps of her heart there were locked up infinite treasures of self-sacrifice. Lovf was pitifully ready to look forth from those pale eyes at whose corners the crow's feet were already clutching, And so it came to pass that, knowing her folly (and yet, in a way, defying it), this old maid of forty-one loved the handsome youth of four-and-twenty, the only human love-compelling thing that had ever come into her sombre life. i '■I, was hi ■I, i the cr( { young ■; starvet I within i head, It w heedles Yet ; paper-n wliore i had ha( From liegan i Tall ho outside " but-an rose ah (L'unmec ehanged stream The 1 f(jik, as easy-gui They \v morning the tidt youths THE GATK OF TIIK Uri'ER GARDEN .53 Vet theii' wine times when Jemima Giniigo's lu'art was bitter within her, even as there weri^ seasons when the crowding years fell away and she seenunl almost voung and fair. Jemima had never been either very pretty or remarkably attractive, but now when the starved instincts of her lost youth awoke untimeously within her, she inieonsciously smiled and tossed her head, to the full as eoqiiettishly as a youthful beauty just becoming conscious of her own i)Ower. It was all very pitiful. But CJibby passed on jiis heedless way and saw not, neither recked of his going. # # * # # # Vet a time came when his eyes were opened. A new jiaper-nnll had (^ome to Rescobie, migrating from some- wheri' in the East country, where the Messrs. ('oxon had had a serious quarrel with their ground landlord. From l)eing a quiet hamlet the village of Rescobie began rapidly to put on the airs of a growing town. Tall houses of three storeys, with many windows and outside stairs, usurped the place of little old-fashioned " but-and-bens.'' Red brick oblongs of mill frontage rose along the valley of the Rescobie "Water, which, (lammed and weired and carried along countless lades, ciianged the (dieerful brown limpidity of its youthful stream for a frothy mud colour below the mills. The new immigrants were mostly a sedate and sobei* folk, as indeed, nearly all [taper-makers are. To the easy-going villagers their diligence seemed phenomenal. They were flocking into the mill gates by six in the morning. It was well-nigh six in the evening before the tide flowed back toward the village. Among the youths and meu there was night-shift and day-shift, 'I 54 THE GATE OF THE THTER O.VRDEN -1} ri and a new and stmncfo pallor b(»gan to pervade 11m titivvA, and show itsolt', carefully washed, in the gallery of Kescohie Kirk. The villa^'o girls, iinding that tlicv could make theuiselves early independent, took thrii places in the loni,' " tinishin,Lj saal," while elderly women, for whom there luul been iu) outlook except the ])(jor- iiouse, found easy work and a living wage in ('oxon's rag-house. The increase of the congregation in the second year of Gilbert Denbolm's assistantship compelled the So- sion to bethink themselves of souie more permanent and satisfactory arrangenu'Ut. Finally', after many ]ii:- vate meetings they resolved to beard the lion in lii den and lay before Dr. Girnigo the ])r()i)osal that (Jil- bert should be officially called and ordained as the olc man's " colleague and successor." It was the ruling elder, called, after the name of lii^ farm. Upper lialhaldie, who belled the cat and mad- the fateful proposition. In so doing that shrewd and cautious man was considered to have excelled liimsclt. But Dr. Girnigo was far from being appeased. " Sirs," he said. •' I have been sole minister of the l)arish of Kescobie for forty years, and sole minister of it I shall die!" " Mr. Deuholm will be to you as a son ! " suggested lialhaldie. "I have sons of my body," said the old minister, looking full at the quiet men before him, who sat on the edges of their several chairs fingering the briiii> of their hats; "did I make any of them a minister Nay, sirs, and for this reason: because the parish of Rescobie has been so near my heart that I would not risk t'V aiul it! (luiftly ussui'cd Ol tll lister ■' ish ot Id not risk cvoii the fruit oF my body coming l)et\veeii me ;aul it!" "W'l! havo sounded Mr. Dcnliolm/' said Balhaldie, (liiictly ij^'uoring tlin sontinu'ntal, "and you may rest assured that you v.ill not he disturbed in your tenancy dl tlhi manse. Mr. Deuhobu has no tliouglit at present (if ciKUi.^'in;.,' his condition, and is quite content with Hiis lodging — and ;in eident earfu' woman is liis land- lady the doctor's \ve,e(h)\v ! "' " Aye, she is that ! " coneiirred several of the Session, sjieaie that he will serve you as faithfully as 1 have (lone ! I wish you a very good day, gentlenn^n ! " And with these words the old minister went out. leaving the Session to lind their way into the cold air as best they might. The day after the interview between the Session and the Doctor. (lilhert ])enholm (tailed at the manse. He came bounding up the little avenue between the lihic and rhododendron bushes. Jemima Girnigo heard his foot long ere he had n-ached the jjoreh. Nay, before he had set foot on the gravel she caught the click ol the gate latch, which was loose and would only open one way. This Gibby always forgot and rattled it liercelv till he remembered the trick of it. Then when she hoard the rat-tat-tat of Gibby's asli- plant on the panels of the door, she caught her hand to h.^r lieart and stood still among her j»lants. There was a bell, but Gibby was always in too great a hurry to ring it. " Perhaps lu iias come to " She did not finisli the sentence, but the blood, rising hotly Lo her pour withered cheel;s, finished it for her. "Oh, Miss Jemima!" cried Gibby, bursting in; "I came uj) to tell you first. 1 owe it all to you — e very bit of it. They are going to call me to be colleague — and — and — we can botanise any amount. Isn't it glorious '/ " He held her hand while he was speaking; and Jemima had been looking with hope into liis frank, enkindled, boyish eyes. Her eyelids fell at his announcement. THE GATE OF :MIE IJITEK GARDEN r.7 1 i <' Yes," she faltered after a pause, '* we can botaiiise ! " "And they wanted to know il' 1 wouhl like to liave the luanse — as if I would turn you out, who have been my Ix'st friend here ever since 1 came to Rescobie! Not very likely !" (lilbert had an honest liking for Jemima Girnigo, a li'.'ling, however, which was not in the least akin to love. Indeed, he would as soon have thought of marry- ing his grandmother or any other of the relationshi])S in the table of prohibited degrees printed at the beginning (if the Authorised Version, which he sometimes looked at fiutively when Dr. Girnigo was developing his ''four- l.Tiithly." '*You are happy where you are'."' said Jemima, smiling a little wistfully. " Oh, yes," cried Gibby enthusiastically ; " my landlady makes me perfectly comfortable. f^ha thinks I am a lost soul, I am afraid, but in the meantime she comforts mc with apples — hrst-rate they are in dumplings, too, 1 cuu tell you I " While he spoke Jemima Girnigo was much absorbed over a plant in a remote corner, and more than one drop of an alien dew glistened upon its leaves ere she turned again to the window. Gibby's enthusiasm was a little dainjied by her seeming indifference. " Are you not glad ? '' he asked anxiously ; *' 1 came to tell you first. I thought what good times we should iiave. We must go up Barstobrick Hill for the parsley fern before it gets too late."' *' Oh, yes," said Jemima Girnigo, holding out her hand, " I am very glad. No one is as glad as I — I want you to believe that ! " 58 THE GATE OF THE UlTER GAKDEN " Of course T do ! " cried Gibby ; " you always wero a good fellow, r)eiuima! We'll go up to Barstobrick t(f- morrow. j\Tind you are ready by nine. I have to be back for u meeting in the afternoon early. It is a hungry place. Put some 'prog' in the vaaculam ! '^ And as from th(! parlour -window she watched him down the gravel, he turned around and wrote ''9 A.i\i."' in large letters on the gravel with his ash plant, tossed his hand up at her in a gay salute, and was gone. ****** But Gilbert Penholm and Jemima TJirnigo did ro staunch a fighter in the wars of grace to discourage his son from any duty, how- pver dangerous. He thought next of — well, one or two girls he had known — and was glad now that it had gone uo furthei'. He did not know yet what was involved in the out- break or what might be demanded of him. Gilbert Denholm may have had few of the peculiar graces of spiritual religion, but he was a fine, manly, upstanding fiO TFTE GATE OF THE UPPER GARDEN young fellow, and he resolved that he would do his duty as if he had been heading a rush of boarders or standing in the deadly imminent breach. More exactly, perhajis. he did not resolve at all. It never occurred to him that he could do anything else. As soon as he had snatched a hasty breakfast aiui throAvn on hii coat, he hurried up to the house of l)r, Durie. A plain blunt man was John Durie — slim, paU'. with keen du-k eyes, and a j)ointed black beard slightly touched with gray. The doctor was not at home. He had not been in all night and the maid did not know where he was to be found. To the right-about went Gilbert, asking all and sundiy as he went where and Avhen tliey had seen the doctor Thomas Kyle, with his back against the angle of tin Railway Inn, averred that he had seen him " an 'om sype gangin' gye fast into Betty McGrath's — but thy say Betty is deid or this ! " he added, somewhat irrok- vantly. Cliairles Simson, tilting his bonnet over hi> brows in ord„r to scratch his head in a new and attrin- tive spot, deponed that about ten minutes before he had noticed " the tails o' the doctor's coat gaun roond the Mill-lands' corner like stoor on a windy day." Gibby tried Betty McGrath's first. Yes, Dr. Durie had ordered everybody out except the sick woman, wh< was tossing on her truckle bed, calling on the Virgin ami all the saints in a shrill Galway diah'ct, and her daughter Bridget, a heavy-featured girl of twenty, who stood di- consolately looking out at the window as if hope had wholly forsaken her heart. Gibby intpiired if the doctor had been there recently. " Oh, yes," said liridget ; '* as ye may see if ye'll l)e 1 s duty M mding i M rhaps, fM 11 that r "j 3t aui! , , J ightly 1 i. He ] know ; 7 lUndiy |; loctnr. ■ -J of til., p n 'our m^ t th.'v H (l>- iKi-; THE GATE OF THE UPPER GARDEN G1 troubled lookiir in the corner. He tore down all thini curtains off the box-bed. It'll break the ould woman's heart, that it will, if ever the craitur ij^ets over this." At the door Gibby met Father l^hil Kavannah, a tall yuuni,' man with honest peasant's eyes and a humorous luuuth. '• You and I, surr, will have to see this through between us," said Father Phil, grasi)ing his hand. <' It is a bad business," responded Gilbert ; " I fear it will run through the mills." " Worse than ye think," said the priest very gravely, "ten times worse — three-fourths of the workers have no ii'latives here, and there will be no one to nurse them. They've talked lashin's about the new village hosjiital, juid raised all Tipperary about where it is to stand and what it is to cost, but that's all that's done about it yet." Gilbert whistled a bar of "Annie Laurie," which he kept for emergencies. " Well," he said slowly, " it will be like serving a Sun- day-school i)icnic with half a loaf and one jar of marma- lade — but we'll just need to see how far we can make ourselves go round ! " " Right ! " said Father Phil with a wave of his hand as 111' stood with his fingers on the latch of Betty McGrath's tloor. (iilbert found the doctor in the great "saal" at the mills. He had his coat off and was scraping at bared arms for dear life. At each door stood a pair of stalwart sentinels, and several hundred mill workers were grouped about talking in low-voiced clusters. Only here and there one more diligent than the rest, or with quieter 62 THE GATE OF THE UPPER GAKDEN nerves, deftly passed sheets of white paper from hand to hand as if performing a {'.onjni'in.G: triek. The doctor spied Gilbert as he entered. They weiv excellent friends. " Man," he cried across the gnat room, looking down again instantly to his work, " rnn iiji to the surgery for another tubi' of vaccdne like this. Jt is in B cabinet, shelf 6. And as you come back, wire lor half-a-dozen more. You know where I get them ! " And Gilbert sped upon his first errand. After that he deserted his own lodgings, and he and Dr. Durie took hasty and informal meals when they could snatch a mo- ment from work. Sundry cold edibles stood perma- nently on the doctor's oaken sideboard, and of these Gilbert and his host partook without sitting down. Then on a couch, or more often on a few rugs thrown on the floor, one or the other would snatch a hurried sleep. There were twenty-six cases on Saturday — fifty-eight by the middle of the folloAving week. Within the same period nine had terminated fatally, and there were others who could not possibly recover. Nurses came in from the great city hospitals, as they could be spared, but tlie demand far exceeded the sui)ply and Gilbert was inde- fatigable. Yet his laugh Avas cheery as ever, and even the delirious would start into some faint consciousness of pleasure at the sound of his voice. But one day the young minister awoke with a racking head, a burning body, a dry throat, and the chill of ice in his bones. " This is nothing — I will work it off," said Gibby ; and, getting up, he dressed with haste and went out without touching food. The thought of eating was abhorrent to him. Nevertheless, he did his work all the for( necessa nights after TPIE GATE OF THE UVVER GARDEN 63 were '1 great ': ■ 111 HI, , ; . Jt f '3 -e fur at lie i -1 the forenoon, and went here and there with medicine and necessaries. He relieved a nurse who had been two nights on duty, while she slept for six hours. Then after that he set off home to catch Dr. Durie before he could be out again. For he had heard his host come in and throw himself down on the couch while ho was dressing. As he jiassed the front of Resoobie jVFanse, he looked up to wave a hand to Jemima, as he never forgot to do. Her father was still " indisposed," and Miss Girnigo was understood to be taking care of him. Yes, there she was among her flowers, and Gibby, luirdl}' knowing what he did — being light-headed and racked with pain — o])enly kissed Ids hand to her withu sight of half-a-scoro of Kescobie windows. Then, his feet somehow tangling themselves and his knees failing him, he fell all his length in the hot dust of the highway. ****** When Gilbert Denholm came to himself he found a white-capped nurse sitting by the window of a room he liad never before seen. There was a smell of disinfec- tants all about, which somehow seemed to have followed him through all the boundless interstellar spaces across wliich he had been wandering. " Where am I ? " said (ribby, as the nurse came to- ward the bed. " I have not seen ] Jetty McGrath this morning, and I promised Father Phil that I would."' " You must not ask questions,'' said the nurse quietly. "Dr. Durie will soon be here.'' And after that with a curious readiness Gibby slipped back into a drowsy dream of gathering llowers with 04 THE GATE OF THE UPPER GARDEN Jemima Girnigo ; but somehow it was another Jemima — so young she seemed, so fair. Crisp curls glanoed beneath her hat brim. Young blood mantled in change- ful blushes on her cheeks. Her pale eyes, which had always been a little watery, were now blue and bright as a mountain tarn on a day without clouds. He had never seen so fair and joyous a thing. "Jemima,'' he said, or seemed to himself to say. " what is the matter with you ? You are different somehow.-' " It is all because you love me, Gilbert," she answered, and smiled up at him. " Ever since you told me that, I have grown younger every hour ; and, do you know, I have found the Grass of Parnassus at last. It grows by the Gate into the Upper Garden.'' ****** " Hello, Denholm, clothed and in your right mind, eh ? That's right ! " It vras the cheerful voice of his friend, Dr. Durie, as he stood by Gibby's bedside. " What has been the matter with me, Durie ? " said Gilbert, though in his heart he knew. " You have had bad small-pox, my boy ; and have had a hot chance to find out whether you have been speak- ing the truth in your sermons." Gibby could hardly bring his lips to frame the next question. He was far from vain, but to a young man the thought was a terrible one. " Shall 1 be much disfigured ? " " Oh, a dimple or two — nothing to mar you on your marriage day. You have been well looked after." "You have saved my life, doctor." And which, "X(. " Th( " Xo, danger Gilbe liis pom Th.' hand. " Lie nothing. Hi! sa tonfdied in a low talking t " Ther! that he which he one (lay nursed h canglit h: drown hi Night ai weariness " And — her na Gibby'; " Jemi] also to a ' *' Wher her ! " cri( THE OATE OF TFIE UIM'ER GARDEN 60 Aiul (ribby strcnci to rciurh a tVebU' hand outward, which, howovor, the dootor did not seem to see. "Nut I — you owe tl'.at to some one else." "The nurse who went out just now ? "' queried (]ibby. "No, she has just been here a tVw days, alter all (lan.<,'er had passed." Gilbert strove to rise on his elbow and the red flushed his ])oor face. The doctor restrained him with a strong and gentle hand. " Lie back," he said, " or I will go away and tell you nothing." He sat down by the bedside, and with a soft sp(mge touched the convalescent's brow. As he did so he spoke ill a low and meditative tone as though he had been talking to himself. "There was once a foolish young man who thought that he could take twenty shillings out 01 a purse into which he had only put half a sovereign. He fell down one (lay on the street. A woman (tarried him in and inirsed him thrcmgh a fortnight's delirium. A woman caught him as he ran, with only a blanket about him, to dvown himself in the Black Pool of Rescobie Water. Night and day she watched him, sleepless, without weariness, without murmuring " " And this woman — who saved my life — what was — her name ? " Gibby's voice was very hoarse. " Jemima Girnigo ! " said the doctor, sinking his voice also to a whisper. *' Where is she — I want to see her — T want to thank her ! " cried Gibby. He was actually upon his elbow now. 66 THE GATE OF THE UPPER GARDEN Dr. Durie forced him ^'ently back upon the ])illows. " Yes, yes," he said soothingly, *'so you shall — if all tales be true ; but for that you must wait." " Why — why ? " cried impatient (iibby. " Why can- not I see her now ? She has done more for mo than ever I deserved — V "That is the way of women," said the doctor, "but you cannot thank her now. She is dead." " Dead — dead ! " gasjjei^i Gilbert, stricken to the heart ; "then she gave her life for me ! "' " Something like it," said the doctor, a triflo grimly. For though he was a wise man, the ways of women were dark to him. He thought that Gilbert, though a Ihif lad, was not worth all this. " Dead," muttered Gibby, " and I cannot even tell iipr — make it up to her - - " " She left you a message," said the doctor very quietly. " What was it ? " cried Gibby, eagerly. " Oh, nothing much," said Dr. Durie ; " there was ui hope from the first, and she knew it. Her mind Vcts clear all the three days, almost to the last. She may havp wandered a little then, for she told me to tell you " " What — what — oh, what ? Tell me quickly. 1 can- not wait." " That the flowers were blooming in the Upper Garden, and that she would meet you at the Gate ! " m * * * * * The Reverend Gilbert Denholra never married. He bears a scar or two on his open face — a face well belovoil among his people. There is a grave in Resoobie kirk- yard that he tends with his own hands. None else must coucii it. THE GATIO OF THE ri>I>KR GARDKX 07 ft is the restin^^-place of a womai, whom love made young aud Ix-autiful, and rd^out whose feet the flowers of I'arad.se are blooming, as, alone but not imiationt, she wails his coming by the Gate. THE TROUBLER OF ISRAEL Unless you happen to have made one of a group of five or six young men wlio every Sunday morning turnt*(l their stej)S towards the litthi meeting-house in Lady Nixon's Wynd, it is safe to say tliat you did not know either it or the Doctor of Divinity. That is to say, net unless you were born in the l*urph> and expert of Mir mysteries of the Kirk of the Covenants. The denomination was a small one, smaller even and poortir than is the wont of Scottish sects. liy the eternal process of splitting off, produced by the very faithfulness of the faithful, and the remorseless way in which they carried out their own logic, by individual protestings and testifyings, by the yet sadder losses in- flicted by the mammon of unrighteousness, when some. allured bj social wealth and position, turned aside to worship in some richer or more popular Zion, the Khk of the Covenants worshipping in Lady Nixon's Wynd had become but the shadow of its former self. Still, however, by two infallible signs you might know the faithful. They spoke of the " Boady " and of the " Coavenants " with a lengthening of that o which in it- self constituted a shibboleth, and their faces — grim and set mostly — lit up when you spoke of the "Doctor." But one — they had but one — Dr. Marcus Lawton of Lady Nixon's Wynd. He was their joy, their pride, their poetry ; the kitchen to their sour controversial bread, the TlIK TUOUllLER OF 18KAEL 09 ip of riH'il Liady enow , not I til.' 1 ami ' tlif vei'V niolUnv glory of Uicir dcnoniiiuttiou. (AKaiu you must broiuU'u the (/. indefinitely.) He had onee been a pro- feasur, but by the noblest of self-(lenyinj,' ordinances he hud extruded himself from his post for eonseience' sake. ■I Tliere was but one Hy in their upotheeary's ointment- jiot when my father grew too stiff to attend the Kirk of the Covenants even imce a year, and that was that the Doctor, unable to live aiul bring up a family on a sadly dwindling stipend (though every num and woman in the little kirk did abuost beyond their jiossible to in(!rease it), had been compelled to bind himself to spend part of the day in a secular pursuit. At least to the average mind his employment coidd hardly be called "secular," being notliing more than tlie Secretaryship of the Association for the Propagation of (rosjiel Literature ; but to the true covenant man this sonorous society was composed of mere Erastians, or what was little better, ex-Erastians and common Volun- tarieH. They all dated from 1089, and the mark of the beast was on their forehead — that is to say, the seal of the third William, the Dutchman, the revolutionary Gallio. Yet their Doctor, Avith his silver hair, his faith- ful tongue, his reverence, wisdom, and weight of indubi- table learning, had to sit silent in the company of such men, to take his orders from them, and even to record their profane inanities in black and white. The Doctor's office was at the corner of Victoria Street, as you turn down towards the Grassmarket. And when any of his flock met him coming or going thither, they turned away their heads — that is, if he had passed the entrance to Lady Nixon's Wynd when they met him. So far it was understood that he might be going to write his sermon in 70 THE TROUliLER OF ISKAEL the quiet of the vestry. After that there was no escape from the damning conclusion that he was on his way to the .slirine of Baal — and other Erastian diviniiies. So upon George Fourth Bridge the ('ovenaut folk turned away their heads and did not see their minister. Now this is hardly a story — certainly not a laic Only my heart being heavy, I know it would do me gt>0(l to turn it upon the Doctor. Dr. ISIarcus La^\'t.on was the son of Dr. Marcus Lawton. When fir.st he succeeded his father, which happened when he was little more tlinn a boy, and long before I was born, he was called "young Maister Lav/ton." Then it was that he lectured (Hi "The Revelation" on Sabbath evenings, his father sit- ting i)roudly behind hiiu. Then the guttering candles of Lady Nixon's looked down on such an array as bad never been seen before within her borders. College ])ro- fessors were there, ministers whose day's work was over — as it had been, Cretes and Arabians, heathen men and publicans. Edward Irving himself came once, in the weariful days before the great darkness. The little kirk was packed every night, floor and loft, aisle and pulpit stairs, entrance hall and window-sill, with su a a ciowd of stern, gra^e-visaged men as had never been gatlu^ied into any kirk in the town of Edinburgh since a certain little fair man called Rutherford preached there on his way to his place of exile in Aberdeen. So my father has oftL'n told me, and you may be siue he was there more than once, having made it a duty to do his business with my lord's factor at a time when bis soul also might have sure his I'oven IukU'v tlu' turnin.i,' away of faithful heads at the angit; ot me ('aiidleinaker-row. !No young family to be provided for, Doctorate noming at the Session's close from Ids own iinivcisity, J*rofessorshi}) on the horizon, a \niited Jiody (if the devout to miidster to! And u[) there in the i>ul- |iit a slim young man witli drawing power in the eyes of liiin, and a voice whi(!h even then was mellow as a black- liii'd'.s tlute, laying down thi; law of his Master like unto the great of old who t<»stilied fiom Cairntable even unto IV'iitland, and fi'ctiu the Session StaiiC at Shalloeh-on- Miiuuxdi to where the lion of London Hill looks dehant ;i(To,ss the green Howe of Drumelog. but when I began to attend Latly Nixon's regularly, things were sorely otherwise. The kirk was dwi lulled iiiid dwiiulling — in nieiulxuship, in iniluenee, most of ad ill rinanee. But not at all in devotion, not in enthu- siasm, not in till! sense of privilege that those who it'iuained were thought worthy to sit under such faithful Ministrations as those of the Doctor. There was no iii'ie any "young Maister Lawton." Nor was a com- [Kuison })ointed disj)aragingly l^y a ief(,'reuce to *• the Aiild Doctor, young Dr. ^Fareus's faither, ye ken." From the alert, keen-faced, loyal-hearted precentor (110 hireling he) to the grave and dignified " kirk-ofhcer " there were not two minds in all that little body of the faithful. You remember MacHaffie — a steadfast man Haffie — no more of his name ever used. Lideed, it was but lately that I even knew he owned tlui pr(d"atory Mae. He would give you a helpful liint oftentimes (after you 72 THE TROUKLER OF ISRAEL liad ])as.s('d the jilate), " 7^'.s' no ////».sW' tlie dni/ .' '' Or more waniiiigly and paiti(;ulai'ly, " Il'a a stmkht." TIu'l llaffie would cover your retreat, sometinies going Ww length of making a jjretence of conversation with you u.> far as the door, or on urgent occasions (as when tin- l>V)ctor was so far left to himself as to exchange with a certain "])o])ular ])rea(!her '') even taking you down- •stairs and letting you out secretly by a postern door which led, in the api»roven manner of ronuuKjes, into a siiie street down which, all unseen, you could escajie froiii your fate, liut liathe always kept an eye on you to .str that you did not abstract ycnir jienny from the jilate, That was the jiayment he exacted for his good offices; and as 1 could not aiford two ])eniiies on one Sunday morning, IlalHe's " private infornuition " usually drdVi- me to Arthur's Seat, or down to Granton for a smell (il the salt water; and 1 can only hope that this is set down to Haffie's account in the Looks of the recording; angel. I^ut all this was before the advent of Gullibraiul. You have heard of him, 1 doubt not — Gullibrand dt IJarker, Barker, & Gullibrand, provision merchants, with branches all over the thi'ee kingdoms. His name is on every blank wall. Gullibrand was not an Edinburgh man. He came. they say, from Leicester or some Midland English town, and brought a great reputation with him. He had been IMayor of his own city, a philanthropist almost by i)ro- fet-""ion, and the light find Uw gi\ er of his own particu- lar sect always. I have often wondered what brought him to Lady Nixon's Wynd. Perhai)S he was attracted by the smallness of our numbers, and by the thought THE TKOUBLER OF ISRAEL 73 that, in default of any congregation of his own peculiar sect in the northern metropolis, he could '* boss " the Kii-k of the ('o\'enants as he hafl of a long season "bossed" the Company of Apocalyptic Believers. It was said, with I know not what truth, that the first time Mr. Gullibrand came to the Kirk of the Covenants, the Doctor was lecturing in his ordinary way upon Daniel's Beast with Ten Horns. And, if tluit W so, our angelical Doctor had reason to rue to the end of his life that the discourse had been so faithful and soid-searching. Though Gidlibrand thought his interpretation of the ninth horn very deficient, and told him so. But he was so far satisfied that he intimated his intention of " sending in his lines " next week. At first; it was thought to be a great thing that the Kirk of the Covenants in Lady Nixon's Wynd should iK't'ive so wealthy and distinguished an adherent. *' Quite an acquisition, my dear," said the hard-pressed treasurer, thinking of the ever-increasing difficulty of collecting the stipend, and of the church expenses, which had a way of totalling up beyond all expectation. "Bide a wee, Henry," said his more cautious wife; "to see the colour o' the man's siller is no to ken the colour o' his heart." And to this she added a thoughtful rider. "And after a', what does a bursen Englisliy craitur like yon ken aboot the Kirk o' the Coa-venants ? '" And as good Mistress Walker })rophesied as she took her douce way homeward with her husband (honorary treasurer and unpaid precentor) down the Middle Meadow Walk, even so in the fulness of time it fell out. Mr. Jacob Gullibrand gave liberally, at which the 74 THE TllOUBLEK OF ISKAEL kindly lieart of the treasurer was elate within him. Mr, Jacob Gullibrand got a vacant seat in the front ot the gallery which had once belonged lo a great family from which, the faithful dying out, the refuse had dc- eliiicd \i\)on a certain Sadducean npinion calling itself J'^pisoopacy : and from this highest seat in the syna- gogue Mr. Jacob blinked with a pair of fishy eyes at the J)octor. Then in uhe fulness of time Mr. Jacob became a "manager," because it was considered right that he should have a say in tlie disposition of the temporalities of which he provided so great a i)art. Entry to the Session was more difficult. For the Session is a select and conservative body — an inner court, a defenced phice set about with thorns and not to be lightly approached ; but to such a man as Gullibnmd all doors in the religious world open too easily. Whence comeih upon the Church of God mookings and scorn, the strife of tongues — and after the vials have been poured out, at the door One with the sharp sword in His hand, the sword that hath two edges. • So after presiding at mnny Revival meetings and head- ing the lists of many subscriptions, Jacob Gullibrand became an elder in the Kirk of the Covenants and a power in Lady Nixon's Wynd. He had for some time been a leading Director of the Association for the l^ropagation of Gospel Literature; and so in both capacities he was Uie Doctor's master, Then, having gathered to him a party, recruited chietly from the busybodies in other men's matters and other women's characters, Jacob Gidlibrand turned him about, and set liimself to drive the minister and folk of the : 4 '.'1 THE TROUBLER OF ISRAEL u Kirk of the Covenant as he had been wont to drive his clerks a^^ii shop-assistants. He w' "> every Sabbath into the vestry after service to reprove and instruct Dr. Marcus Lawton. His ser- mons (so he toki liim) were too old-fashioaed. They did not " grip the people." They did not '* take hold of the man on the street." They were not •' in line with the present great movement." In sliort, they " lacked modernity." Dr. Marcus answered meekly. Man more modest than our dear Doctor there was not in ail the churches — no, nor outside of them. " I am conscious of my many imperfections," he said ; "my heart is heavy for the weakness and unworthiness of the messenger in presence of the greatness of the message ; but, sir, I do the best I can, and I only ask Him who luith the power, to give the increase." '•But how," asked Jacob Gullibrand, " can you expect any increase when I never «ee you preaching in the market-place, proclaiming at the streef/-c orners, denounc- ine; u]Jon a hundred platforms the sins of the times ? You should speak to the times, my good sir, you should speak to the times." '' As worthy Dr. Leighton, that root out of a dry ground, sayeth," murmured our Doctor with a sweet smile, " there be so many that are speaking to the time3, you might sui'ely allow one poor man to si)eak for eternity." But the quotation was thrown away upon Jacob Gullibrand. " I do not know thip Leighton — and 1 think I am acquainted with all the ministers who have the root of THE TROUBLER OF ISRAEL the matter in them in this and in other ities of the king- dom. And I call upon you, sir, to stir us up with rous- ing evangelical addresses instead of set sermons. We are asleep, and we need awakening." " I am all too conscious of it," said the Doctor ; " but it is not my talent." "Then, if you do know it, if your conscience tells yuii of your failure, why not get in some such preachers a? Boanerges Simpson of Maitlaud, or even throw open your pulpit to some earnest merchant-evangelist such as — well, as myself ? " But Mr. GuUibrand had gone a step too far. The Doctor could be a Boanerges also upon occasion, though he walked always in quiet ways and preferred the howe of life to the mountain tops. "No, sir,"' he said firmly; "no unqualified or unli- censed man shall ever preach in my pulpit so long as I am minister and teaching elder of a Coveuant-keepin;' Kirk ! " " We'll see about that ! " said Jacob GuUibrand, thrust- ing out his under lip over his upper half-way to his ijose. Then, seizing his tall hat and unrolled umbrella, he stalked angrily out. # * ♦ # # ^p And he kept his word. He did see about it. In Lady Nixon's Wynd there was division. On the one side were ranged the heads of families generally, the folk staid and set in the old ways — "gospel-hardened" the Gullibrandites called them. With the Doctor were the old standards of the Kirk, ^i^etting a little dried, maybe, with standing so long in their post-holes, but, so far as m them lay, faithfid unto death. THE TK0UI5LER OK ISRAEL 1 1 But the younger folk mostly followed the new light. There were any number of Societies, Gospel Bands, Armies of the Blue Ribbon, and of the White — all well and better than well in their places. But being mostly imported wholesale from ICngland, and all with- out exception begun, carried on, and ended in Gullibrand, tliey were out of keeping with the plain-song psalms of the Kirk of the Martyrs. There were teas also at '•!Mount Delectable," the residence of Gxillibraud, where, after the singing of many hymns and the superior blan- dishments of the Misses Gullibrand, it was openly said that if the Kirk in Lady Nixon's Wynd was to be pre- served, the Doctor must " go." He Avas in the way. He was a fossil. He had no modern light. He took no interest in the "\Vork." He would neither conduct a campaign of street-preaching nor allow an unordained evangelist into his pulpit. The Doctor must go. Mr. Gullibrand was sure that a majority of the congregation was with him. But there were qualms in many hearts which even three cups of Gullibrand's Coffee Essence warm could not cure. After all, the Doctor was the Doctor — and he had baptized the most part of those present. Besides, they minded that time when Death came into their houses — and also that Noble Presence, that saintly prayer, that uplifted hand of blessing ; but in the psychological moment, with meet introduction from the host, uprose the persecuted evangelist. " If he was unworthy to enter the pulpits of Laodicean ministers, men neither cold nor hot, whom every earnest evangelist should " (here he continued the quotation and illustrated it with an appropriate gesture) "he at least IS THE TK0U1U.ER OF ISRAEL thanked God that he was no Doctor of Divinity. Nor yet of those wlio wouhl permit themselves to be dictated to by self-appointed and self-styled ministers." And so on, and so on. The type does not vary. The petition or declaration already in Gullibraii(l'.s breast pocket was tlu'U pioduced, adopted, and many sii,'- natures of members and adherents were ai>])ended luult'i the inliuence of that stirrnig ai)]>eal. Great was Gulli- brand. The morning light brought counsel — but it \va.s too late. Gullibrand would erase no name. " You signed the document, did you not ? Of your own free will ? That is your handwriting ? Very well then 1 " * * * Hlf * * The blow fell on the Sabbath before the summer com- munion, always a great time in the little Zion in Lady NiAon's Wynd. A deputation of two, one being Jacob Gullibrand, elder, waited on Dr. Marcus Lawton after the first diet of wor- ship. They gave him a paper to read in which he was tepidly complimented u])on his long and faithful services, and liifvvimed that the undersigned felt so great an anxi- ety for his health that they besought him to retire to a well-earned leisure, and to permit a younger and more vigorous man to bear the burden and the heat of the day. (The choice of language was Gullibrand's.) No mentiou was made of any retiring allowance, nor yet of the manse, in Avhich his father before him had lived all his life, and in which he himself had been born. But these things >vere clearly enough understood. "What need has he of a manse or of an allowance either ? " said Gullibrand. " His family are mostly doing THE TKOUHLFR OF ISRAEL T9 ulev, wor- was decs, anxi- to a lUOl'li day. ntioD iau.se. aiul Uing> ranee loiug for themsc'lvos, and he lia.s no doabl: niado considerabln saving.s. IJcsidt'S wliicdi, ho hohl.s a ODnifortablo appoint- ment with a large sahiiy, a.s I ' i.c good roa.son to k low.'' " But.'' h« added to himself, ''he may not hold that very long either. I will teach any man living to cross Jacob Gulli brand ! " The Poctor .sat in the little vestry wit)' the tall Huo scroll spread out before him. The light of tho tiny sud- flenly seemed to have grown dim, and somehow ho could hardly see to smooth out the euiled edges. <'It is surely raining without,"' said the Doctor, and liL,'hted the gas with a shaking hand. Ho looked down the list of names of members and adherents appended to the request that he should retire. The written letters (laneed a little before his eyes, and he adjusted his glasses more firmly. "William Gilmour, elder," he murmured; "ah, his father Avas at .school with me ; I mind that I baptized William the year I was ordained. He was a boy at my ?)il)lc-class, a clever boy, too. 1 married him ; and he came in here and grat like a bairn when his first wife dieil, sitting on that chair. I called on the Lord to help William Gilmour — and now — he wants me away." "Jacob Gullibrand, elder." The Doctor passed the name of his persecutor without a comment. "Christopher Begbie, manager. He was kind to me the year the bairns died." (Such was Christopher's testimony. The year before I went to Edinburgh the Doctor had lost a well-beloved 9fi THE TROUKLER OF ISRAEL wife and two children, within a week of each other. He preached the Sahbuth after on the text, " All thy wavog liave gone over me!" (.'hristopher liegbie, manager, liad been kind then. Pass, Christopher !) "Robert Armstrong, manager. Mine own familiar friend in whom I trusted," said the Doctor, and stared at the lozenges of the window till coloured spots danoi'ii before his kind old eyes. "Robert Armstrong, for whose soul I wrestled even as Jaciol) with his Maker: RoVjert Armstrong that walked with me through t'lc years together, and with whom I have had so much sweet communion, even Robert also does not think luf longer fit to break the bread of life among thfsc people ! " Pass, Robert ! There is that on the blue foolseaji which the Doctor hastened to wipe away with his sleeve. Put it is doubtful if such drops are ever wholly wipoii away. "John Malcolm — ah, John, I do not wonder. Per- haps I was over faithful with thee, John. Hut it wa^ for thy soul's good. Yet I did not think that the sou nf thy father would bear malice ! " "Margaret Fountainhall, Elizabeth Fountainhall — the children of many prayers. Their mother Avas a godly woman indeed ; and you, too, Margaret and Eliza- beth, would sit under a yoimger man. I mind when I prepared you together for your first communion ! '" The Doctor sighed and bent his head lower upon tl.e- paper. " Ebenezer Redpath, James Bannatyne, Samuel Gardiner" — he passed the names rapidly, till he came to one — " Isobel Swan." The Doctor smiled at the woman's name. It was the THK TItOri'.LKIi OF ISRAEL 81 I first time lio Inul sinilod sinoo they p:avp liiin tho p;i[M'r and lin re.'ili'^otl what was written tlicro. "Ah, Isobel," he inunnurod, "once iu a far-off day vou did not thiuk as now you think I " And he saw himself, a slim stri[)liug in his father's pew, and across the aisle a girl who worshipped him with her eyes. And so the Doctor ]).issed from the name of Isobel Swan, still smiling — but kindly and gra- ciously, for our Doctor had it not iu him to be anything else. He glanced liis eye up and downi tin* list. He seemed to miss something. "Henry Walker, treasurer — 1 do not see thy name, Henry. Many is the hr d battle I have had ^^■ith the.? in the Session, Henry. Dost thou not -want thine old \dversary out of thy path once and for all ? And Mary, thy wife? Tart is ihy tongue, ^lary, but sweet as a hazel-nut in the front of October thy true heart ! " "Thomas Baillie — where art thou., true Thomas? I crossed thee in the matter of the giving out of the eleventh paraphrase, Thomas. Yet I dn not see thy name. Is it possible that thou hast forgotten the nearer ill and looked back on the days of old, when Allan Symington with Gilbert his brother, and thou and I, Thomas Baillie, went to the house of God in com- pany? No, these things are not forgotten. I thank God for that. The name of Thomas Baillie is not here." And the Doctor folded up the blue crackling pajier and placed it carefully between the '• leds " of the great pulpit Bible. " It is the beginning of tlie week of Communion," ho said; "it is not meet that I should mingle secular IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) ^- 1.0 I.I 1.25 ||||Z2 i 12.0 •^ m 1.4 1.8 1.6 % ^S ^Z' ^1 '^. c^l o 7 /A Photographic Sdences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WASTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 873-4503 \ V ^ :\ \ V .<;^ \ i 82 THE TPvOUBLER OF ISRAEL thoughts with the memory of the broken body ciiid tli(» slied blood. On your knees, Marcus Lawton, and ask forgiveness for your re])ining and discriminating aniciii,' the sheep of tlio flock wliom it is yours to feed on a com- ing Lord's day; and are they not all yours — yoiii responsibility, your care, aye, Marcus — even — even Jacob Gullibrand ? " * * * * * # It was the Sabbath of High Communion in the Kirk of the Covenants. Nixon's Wynd, ordinarily so grim and bare, so gritty underfoot and so n'^rrow overhead, now seemed to many a spacious way to heaven, dov.n which walked the elect of the Lord in a way literally narrow, and literally steep, and literally closed with a gate at which few, very few, went in. A full hour too soon they began to arrive, stravij,'^ quaint figures some of them, gathered from the nooks and corners of the old town. They arrived in twos and threes — the children's children of the young plants of grace who saw Claverhouse ride down the West Bow on his way to Killiecrankie. As far as Leith walk yov. might know them, bent a little, mostly coopers in th" Trongate, wa-ights in the Kirk Wynd, ships' carpenters at the Port. They had their little "King's Printtv" Bibles in the long tails of their blue coats — for bhvk had not vet come in to make uniform all the congro ^a- tions of every creed. But the mistress, walking a little behind, carried her l^ible decently wrapped in a wdiite napkin along wdth a sprig of southern-wood. All that Sabbath day there hung, palpable and almost visible, about Nixon's Wynd a sweet savour as of "Naphtali," and the Persecutions, and Last Toptimonies THE TllOUDLEll OF ISP A EL 83 in tlie Grassmarket ; but in the shrine itself thevo was nothing grim, but only graciousness and consolation and the sense of the living presence of the Hoj)e of Israel. For our Doctor was there sitting throned among his elders. The sun slume through the narrow windows, ami just over the wall, if it were your good fortune to be near those on the left-hand side, you could see the top of the Martyrs' monument in thj kirkyard of Old Greyfriars. It was great to see the Doctor on such days, great to hear him. Beneath, the Avhite cloths glimmered fair on the scarred bookboards, bleached clean in honour of the breaking of holy bread. The silver cups, ancient as Drumclog and Shalloch, so they said, shone on the table of communion, and we all looked at them when the Doctor said the solemn and mysterious words, " wine on the lees well refined." For there are no High Churchmen so truly high as the men of the little protesting covenaTitiug rem)\ants of the Eeformation Kirk of Scotlanc. ; none so jealoiiS in guard- ing the sacraments; none that can weave about them such a mantle of awe and reverence. The Doctor was concluding his after-table address. Very reverend and noble he looked, his white hair falling down on his shoulders, his hands ever and anon waver- ing to a blessing, his voice now rising sonorous as a trumpet; but mostly of flute-like sweetness in keeping with his words. He never spoke of any subject but one on such a day. That was, the love of Christ. " Fifty-one summer communions have I been with you in this place," so he concluded, " breaking the bread and speaking the word. Fifty-one years to-day is it sinco 84 THE TROUBLEK OF ISRAEL my father took me by the hand and led me up yonder to sit by his side. Few there be here in the flesh this day who saw that. But there are some. Of such I see around me three — ITenry Walker, and Robert Armstrong. and John j\Ialcohu. It is fitting that those who saw the be;^innin,'>; should see the end " At these words a kind of sough passed over the folk. You have seen the wind passing over a field of ripe bar- ley. Well, it was like that. From my place in the gallery I could see set faces whiten, shoulders sudde.ily stoop, as the whole congregation bent forward to catch every word. A woman sobbed. It was Isobel Swan. The white faces lurued angrily as if to chide a trouble- some child. "It has come upon me suddenly, dear friends," the Doctor went on, " even as I hope that Death itself will. Sudden as any death it hath been, and more bitter. For myself I was not conscious of failing energies, of natural strength abated. But you, dear friends, have seen clearer than I the needs of the Kirk of the Covenants. One hundred and six years Marcus Lawtons have ministered in this place. From to-day they shall serve tables no more. Once — and not so long ago, it seems, looking back — I had a son of my body, a plant reared amid hopes and prayers and watered with tears. The Lord gave. The Lord took. Blessed be the name of the Lord.'' There ensued a silence, deep, still — yet somehow also throbbing, expectant. Isobel Swan did not sob again. She had hidden her face. "And now my last word. After fifty-one years of service in this place, it is hard to come to the end of the THE TKOUBLEK OF ISRAEL 8." hindmost furrow, to drop the hand from the plough, never jnore to go forth in the morning as the sower sow- ing precious seed." "No — no — no !" It was not only Isobel Swan r.ow, but the whole con- gregation. Here and there, back and forth, subdued, repressed, ashamed, but irresistible, the mui-mur ran; but the Doctor's voice did not shake. "Fifty-one years of unworthy service, my friends -- what of that? — a moment in the eternity of God. Never again shall I meet you here as your minister; but I charge you that when we meet in That Day you will ])ear me witness whether I have loved houses or lands, or fatlier or mother, or wife or children better than you ! And now, fare you well. The memory of bygone com- munions, 01 hours of refreshment and prayer in this sacred place, of death-beds blessed and unforgottcix in your homes shall abide with me as they shall abide with you. The Lord send among you a worthier servant than AL.rcus Lawton, your fellow-labourer and sometime min- ister. Again, and for the last time, fare you well ! " ♦ * # « :* # It was a strange communion. The silver cups still stood on the table, battered, but glistening. The plates of bread that had been blessed were beside them. The elders sat around. A low inarticulate murmur of agony travelled about the little kirk as the Doctor sat down and covered his face with his hands, as was his custom after pronouncing the benediction. Then in the strange hush uprose the tall angular form of William Gilmour from the midst of the Session, liis bushy eye-brows working and twitching. 86 THE TROUBLER OF ISRAEL " Oh, sir," he said, in forceful jerks of speech, "dinna leave us. I signed the paper under a misapprehension. The Lord forgive me ! I withdraw my name. Jacob Gullibrand may dischairgc me if he lilies ! " He sat down as abruptly as he had risen. Then there was a kind of commotion all over the con- gregation. One after another rose and spoke after their kind, some vehemently^ some with shamed faces. " And I ! " " And I ! " " And I ! " cried a dozen at a time. " Bide with us, Doctor ! We cannot want you 1 Pray for us ! " Then Henry Walker, the white-haired, sharp-featnif d treasurer and precentor of Nixon's Wynd, stretched out his hand. The Doctor had been speaking, as is tho custom, not from the pulpit, but from the communioi, table about which the elders sat. He had held tlip Gullibrand manifesto in his hand; but ore he lifted them up in his final blessing he had dropped it. Henry Walker took it and stood up. " Is it your will that I tear this paper ? Those con- trary keep their seats — those agreeable, STAND UP ! " As one man the whole congregation stood up. All, that is, save Jacob Gullibrand. He sat a moment, and then amid a silence which could be felt, he rose and staggered out like a man suddenly smitten with soic sickness. He never set foot in Nixon's Wynd again. Henry Walker waited till the door had closed upon tin Troubler of Israel, the paper still in his hand. Tlieii very solemnly he tore it into shreds and trampled them under foot. He waited a moment for the Doctor to speak, but hp did not. THE TROUBLER OF ISRAEL 17 "And you, also, will withdraw your resignation and stay with us ? " he said. The Doctor could not ansA^er in words ; but he nodded liis head. It was, indeed, the desire of his heart. Then in a loud and surprising voice — jubilant, and yet with a kind of godly anger in it, Henry Walker gave out th« «losiug psalm. " All people that on earth do dwell, Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice ; Him serve with mirth, His praise forthtell, Come ye before Him and rejoice! " CARNATION'S MORNING JOY This is the story of the little white-washed cottage u' the top of the brae a mile or so before you eorne iuto Cairn Edward. It is a love story, a simple and unevent- ful one, quickly told. The cottage is not now what it was — I fear to say how many years ago — when I was wont to drive in tu the Cameronian Kirk on summer Sabbaths in the red farm cart. Then not only I, but every one used to waleb from far for the blue waft of reek going up as we sighted the Avhite gable-end far away. " Carnation's Cottage ! " we used to call it, and even my father, Cameronian elder as he was, smiled when h passed it. It was so named because a girl once lived there whosf- fame for worth and beauty had travelled very far. Hei name was Carnation Maybold, a combination which at once tells its tale of no countryside origin. Carnation's father was a railroad engineer who had come from Eng- land and married a farmer's daughter in a neighbouring parish. Then when Carnation's mother died in child- birth, he had called his one daughter by the name of his wife's favourite flower. " What for do ye no caa' her Jessie like her mither ? " said the ancient dame who had come to keep his house. "Because I never want to hear that name again!" 88 5 CAltNATlON'S MOKNING JOY 89 Engineer Maybold had said. For ho had been wrapped up in his wife. Carnation May bold lost her father, the imaginative man and second-rate engineer, when she was thirteen, a tall slim slip of a girl, with a face like a flower and a cheek that already had upon it the blush of her name. Old Tibbie Lockhart dwelt with her, and defenoed the orphan maid about more securely than a city set with walls. The girl went a mile to the Cairn Edward Acad- emy, where she was already in the first girls' clas.s, and John Charles Morrison carried the green bag which held her books. In addition to this, being strongly built, he thrashed any boy who laughed at him for doing so. John Charles was three years older than his girl frLnd, and had the distinct beginnings of a moustache in days when Carnation still wore her hair in a long plaited tail down her back -for in those days Gretchen braids were the fashion. It is curious to remember that, while all the other girls were Megs and Katies, Madges and Jennies, Carnation Maybold's first name knew uo diminutive. She was, and has remained, just Carnation. That is enough. She ^vas fifteen when John Charles was sent to college. After that she carried her own books both ways. She had offers from several would-be successors to the honourable service, but she accepted none. Besides, she was thinking of putting her hair up. When John Charles came home in the windy close of Ae following March, the first thing he did was to put the httle box which contained his class medal into his vest pocket, and hasten down the road to meet Carnation. His father was at mai-ket. His mother (a peevish, com- i>0 CARNATION'S MOKNlNd .JOY plaining, prettyish womfinj was in bed with sick head- ache, and not to be disturlx-il. J'lnt there I'^'niainfd C!arnation. The returned scliolar asked no better. The heart of John (!harles beat as he kept tlie wiclor side . i: tiie turns of the road tliat he nii,i,dit the sooner spy her iu front of him. She was only a slip of a school- girl and Ic a penniless student — but nevertheless \i[>. heart beat. Did he love her '.' No, he knew that he had nt;vir uttered the word in her hearing, and that if he had, she was too young to know its meaning. She was just (';ti- nation — and — and, how his heart beat! But still the wintry trees stood gaimt and spectral on either hand. He passed them as in a dream, his soul bout on the next tv;ist of the red-gray sandy ribbon ot road, that was flung so unscieutiiically about among the copses and pastures. There she was a,t last — taller, lissomer than ever, her green bag swinging in her hand and a gay lilt of a tune upon her lips. " Carnation ! " She did not answer him by any word. Instead, she stood silent with the song stilled mid-flight upon her lips. She smiled happily, however, as he came near. " Carnation ! " he cried again. And there was some- thing shining in the lad's eyes which she had never seen there before. She held out the green bag. Then she turned her elbow towards him with a certain defensive instinct. " Here, take my books, John Charles ! " she said, as if | he had never been away ; and with no more than that they began to walk homeward together. CARNATION'S MOHNlXa JOY 91 "Are you not ijlfid to see nic. ? " he asked presently. "Oh, yos, indeed — very ^hid I" she answered, looking at the ground; "you will be able to carry my books again, you see t " away " Who has carried them while " Carried them myself ! " « For true ? " " Honour ! " John Charles breathed so long a breath that it was almost a sigli. Carnation looked sii him curiously. " Why, you have grown a moustache." she said, smil- ing a quick, radiant smile. "And you — you are different, too. What is it?" lie returned, gazing openly at her, as indeed he had been doing ever since they met. She turned her face piq- uantly towards him. It was like a flower. A faint jxt- fumo seemed to breathe about the boy, making his brain whirl. "Not grown a moustache, anyway," Carnation said, tauntingly. And she roguishly twirled imaginary tips between her tiuger and thumb. "Let me see!" said John Charles, drawing nearer as if to examine into the facts. "Oh, no," said Carnation hastily, fending him off with a glancie, " I'm grown up now, and it's different ! Besides - )j And she glanced behind her along the red-gray ribbon of dusty road, along which for lack of com])any the March dust was dancing little jigs of its own. " Why different ? " began John Charles, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. 92 CARNATION'S MORNING JOY " Well, don't you see, stupid ? " she gave her head a pretty coquettish turu, ** I've got my hair up 1 " ♦ * * * * •' After this they walked somewhat moodily along a while. Or, at least the young man was moody and silent, while Carnation (mly smiled sedately, and some- thing, perhaps a certain bitter easting in the wind, made her cheeks more flowerlike and reminiscent of her name than ever. " Carnation," he said at last, " why are we not to be friends any more ? Why have you grown away from me? You are three years younger — and yet — you seem older somehow to-day — years and years older." " Well, what more do you want — aren't you carrying my bag ? " " Tell me about yourself — what have you been doing?" He changed the subject. "• Going to school — let me see, six twenties are a hun dred and twenty. Coming back another hundred and twenty times. Two hundred and forty trudges, and tlif bag growing heavier all the time ! It is quite time you came back, John Charles ! " "Carnation, dear," with trepidation he ventured the adjective, "I ha\e something to show you that nobody has seen — what will you give me if I show it you ? '" "I shan't give you anything; but you can show me and see," was the somewhat inconsequent repl}^. " Come here then, by the end of the house." They had arrived at Carnation's cottage, and the con- sciousness of the eye of Tibbie Lockhart out of the kitchen window was upon the youth. " I ehan't — show it to me here ! " said Carnation, l.'AKNATIU.NS M(»KMN(i .loV ^i) sw'iiijjjiug the 'oug of books ilirough the oj)en Front (loc>r in .1 1'asual and seliool-girlish manner. "[ can't. T don't want Tibbie to know about it — nobody but you must see it!" " Are you sure nobody has seen it — no girl in Ediu- l)uigh — nobody in Cairn Edward ? " "No one at all — not even my mother, not since 1 got it. I kept it for you, Carnation.'' <• Ts it very pretty ? " " Ves, very pretty ! Come in here ; you will be sorry if yon don't ! " " Well, I will come — just for a moment! " Tliey went round to the gable of the cottage where, being sheltered from the wind, a couple of sentinel Irish yews grew tall and erect. Between them there was a little bower. John Charles took the little flat box out of his pocket and opened it. A gold class medal lay within, not fitting very well on account of a thin blue ribbon which the proprietor had strung through a clasp at the top. "Oh," said Carnation with a gasp, "it is lovely. Is it gold ? Why, it has your name on. It is the medal of the class. How proud your father and mother will be ! " And she clasped her hands and gazed, but did not offer to take it in her fingers. "No, indeed, that they won't," said John Charles grimly ; " they won't ever know, and if they did they wouldn't care. I am not going to tell them or any one. I won it for you. All the time I was working I kept saying to myself, * If I win the medal I shall give it to Carnation to wear round her neck on a blue ribbon — because blue is her colour ' " 94 CARNATION'S MORNING JOY " Oh, but I could not ! " cried the girl, going back a step or two, " I dare not ! Any one might see and read — what is written on it." " You needn't wear it outside. Carnation," he pleaded, in a low tone • " see, I put the ribbon through it that you might." " It is pretty" — her face had a kind of inner shining upon it, and her eyes glittered darkly — "it was very nice of you to think about me — not that I believe for a moment you really did. But, indeed, indeed, I can't take it " The face of John Charles Morrison fell. His jaw, a singularly determined one, began to square itself. "Very well," lie said, flirting the ribbon out of the clasp and throwing the box on the ground, " do jt^ou see that pond down there ? As sure as daith " (he used the old school-boy oath of asseveration) "I'D. throw it in that pond if ye dinna tak' it ! " Something very like a sob came into the lad's throat, "And 1 worked so hard for it. And I thought you would have liked it ! " " I do like it — I do — I do I " cried Carnation, agonised and affrayed. " No, you don't ! " " Give it me, then — don't look ! " She turned her back upon him, and for a long moment her fingers were busy about her neck. She faced about, the light of a showery April in her eyes. She was smiling and blushing at the same time. There was just a faint gleam of blue ribbon where the division of the white collar came in front of her throat. CARXATION'S MORNING JOY 95 John Charles recognised that the moment for which he had striven all through the winter had come. Ho stooped and kissed her where she stood. Then he turned on his heel and walked silently away, leaving her three times Carnation and a school-girl no more. She watched him out of sight, the vivid blush slowly fading from her face, and then went demurely within. " Where gat ye that ribbon wi' the wee guinea piece at the end o't ? " said guardian Tibbie that night, sug- gestively. " I know; but I promised not to tell ! " quoth the witch, who, indeed, twisted the shrewish-tongued old woman ronid her finger. "But I think I can guess," said Tibbie shrewdly; "gin that blue ribbon wasna cot't in Edinbra toon, I'se string anither gowden guinea upon it ! " But Carnation Maybold only smiled and pouted her lips, as if at a pleasant memory. •ff "W "SF ^ W W From sixteen to twenty-six is more than a full half of the period of life to which we give the name of girlhood. But at twenty-six Carnation Alaybold was Carnation Maybold still. Yet there had been no breaking off, no failure in the steadfastness of that early affection which had sent John Charles along the dusty road to carry the school-bag of green baize. But the medallist never returned to college. During the early falling twilight of the next Hint o' Hairst (or end of harvest), his father, Gawain Morrison, driving homeward from market all too mellow, brake neck-bone over the crags of the Witch's pool. So, hifs mother being a feeble woman, though still S6 CARNATION'S MORNING JOY ::S young and buxom, John Charles had perforce to bide at home and shoulder the responsibilities of a farm ot two thousand pastoral acres and a rent of ,;^800, payable twice a year in Cairn Edward town. It was a sore burden for such younjf shoulders, but John Charles had grit in him, and, what made his heart glad, he could do most of his work, by lea rig and pasturage, within sight of a certain cottage where dwelt the maid with a ribbon of blue about her neck. There was no possibility of any marriage, nor, indeed, talk of any between them, and that for two good rea- sons: Gawain Morrison had died in debt. He was ** behindhand at the Bank," and his farm and stock were left to his widow at her own disposition, unless she should marry again, in which case they were willed to his son John Charles Morrison, presently student of arts in the University of Edinburgh. The will had been made during the one winter that son had spent away from home. John Charles' bitter hour in the bank at Cairn Edward was sweetened by the sympathy and kindliness of Henry Marchbanks, who, being one of the best judges of char- acter in Scotland, saw cause to give this young man a chance to discharge his father's liabilities. At twenty-five John Charles was once more a free man, and there was a substantial balance to his mother's credit in the bank of Cairn Edward. Penny of his own he had not received one for all his five years' work. But Mrs. Morrison was thnt most foolish of women- kind — an old woman striving to appear young. She had taken a strong dislike to the girl mistress of the white cottage at her gates, and was never tired of rail- CARNATION'S MORNING JOY 97 ing at her pretensions fo beauty, ab lier lightheadedness, and at the suitors who stayed their horses for a word or a flower from across the cropped yew hedge of Carnation Maybokl's cottage. But Jonn Charles, steadfast in all things, was particu- larly admirable in his silences. He let his mother rail on, and then, at the quiet hour of e'en stole down to the dyke-side for a " word." He never entered Carnation's dwelling, nor did he even pass the girdling hedge of yew and privet. But there was one place where the defences were worn low. Behind the well curb occurred this breach of continuity in the dead engineer's hedges, and to this place night after night through the years, that quiet steadfast lover, John Charles Morrison, came to touch the hand of his mistress. She did not alwa3's meet him. Sometimes she had girl friends with her in the cottage, sometimes she had been carried off to a merry-making in Cairn Edward, to return under suitable escort in the evening. But even then Carnation had a comfortable sense of safety, for ever since one unforgotten night, Carnation knew that in any danger she had only to raise her voice to bring to her rescue a certain tall broad-shouldered ghost, which with attendant collies haunted the gray hillsides. That night was one on which a tramp, denied an alms, had seized the girl by the arm within half a mile of her home. And at the voice of her sharp crying, a dif- ferent John Charles from any she had ever seen had swung himself over the hillside dyke, and descended like an avenging whirlwind upon the assailant. Yet so secretive is the country lover, that few save an 98 CAKNATTON'S MORNTNG JOY odd shepherd or two of his own suspected tlie eomradp. ship which existed between these two. Carnation -was in great request at concerts and chnrch bazaars in th little neighbouring town; she even went to a lor;,; " assembly " or two every winter, under the shelteriii: wing of a school friend who had married early. John Charles did not dance, so he was not asked t these. He was thought, indeed, to be rather a gniv young fellow, busied with his farm and his books. N. one connected his name with that of his fair and sprightly neighbour. Yet somehow, in spite of many opportunities, Carii;;- tion Maybold did not marry. She was bright, cultivatiii, winsome, and certainly the prettiest girl for miles arouuil. "Are you waiting for a prince?" little Mrs. Geoi^ Walter, her friend of the assemblies, had said to her iiio/ than once. " Yes," smiled Carnation, '' the true Prince ! " " I suppose that is why you always wear a ribbon c; true blue ? " retorted her friend. " Do let me see wlia: is at the end of it — ah, j'^ou will not? I think you an very mean. Carnation. All is over between us from tlii- moment. I'm sure I came and told you as soon as cvk George spoke ! " " But perhaps," said Carnation quietly, " my Gen;::: has not yet spoken ! " " Well, if he hasn't, why don't you make him," said her friend with vehemence, " or else Avhy have eyes like those been thrown away upon yo\i '/ " "I have worn this nearly ten years!" said Carnatior., a little wistfully. " Carnation Maybold," said her friend indignantlv, CARNATION'S MOKNING JOY 99 '•you ought to be asliamed ! And so it was for the sake of that school-girrs split six])ence that you refused Harry Foster, whose father has an estate of liis own, and Kenneth Walker, the surveyor, as well as — oh, I have !io patience with such silly sentiment ! " Carnation smiled even more quietly than usual. "Graoie," she said, "if I am content, I don't see what ditt'orence it can make to you." "You ought to be nuirried — you oughtn't to live alone with only an old woman to look after you. You are wasting the best years of your life " " Gracie, dear," said Carnation, " you mean to be kind ; lint I ask you not to say any more about this. There are worse things that may happen to a woman, than that she should wait and wait — aye, even if she should die waithig ! " It was the evening of the August day on which jNIrs. "Walter had spoken thus to Carnation that John Charles came cottage-wards slowly and gloomily. He had been thinking bitter thoughts, and at last had taken a resolve that "was likely to cost him dear. In the warm light of evening the girl, who stood at the farther side of the gap, seemed wondrously beautiful. Tlie school-girl look had long since passed away. Only ihe fresh rose on the cheeks, the depths in the eyes (as if a cloud shadowed them), the lissom bend of the young body towards him, were the same. But the hair was waved and plaited about the head in a larger and nobler fashion. The contours were a little fuller, and the lips, perfect as ever in shape, were stiller, and the smile on theui at once more assured and more sedate. 100 CARNATION'S MORNING JOY "Carnation, I cannot hold you any longer to your promise ! " " And why not, John ; are you tired of me ? " " I am not one of those who grow tired, dear," the young man's voice was so low none could hear it but the one listener. " I will never grow tired — you 'mow that, But I waste the best years of your life. You are beauti- ful, and the time is passing. You might marry anv one '' " Have you any particular one in your mind ? " The question at once spurred and startled him. He moved his feet on the soft grass of the meadow witli a certain embarrassment. " Yes, Carnation ; my mother was speaking to me to- night of Harry Foster of Carnsalioch. His father hf. told her of his love for you. She says I am keeping you from accepting him. I have come to release you from any promise. Carnation, spoken or implied." "There is no promise, John — save that I love you, and will never marry any one else." " But if I went away you might — you might change your mind. I am thinking of West Australia. I am making nothing of it here. All is as much my mother's as it was the day my father died ! I can get her a good 'grieve' to take charge, and go in the spring ! " The girl winced a little, but did not speak for a while. " Well," she said at last, '• you must do as you think best. I shall wait all the same. Thank God, there is no law against a woman waiting." " Carnation, do you mean it ? " The gap was a gap still ; but both the lovers were on one side of it, and the night was dark about them. In- CARNATION'S MORNING JOY mi deed, they were so close each to the other that there was no need of light. " If I go, I shall make a home for you ! " "However long it is, I shall be ready when you want me ! " " Carnation ! " '•John!" And so, as it was in the beginning, the old, old tale was retold beneath the breathing rustle of the orchard trees. Yet their hearts were sore when they parted, because the springtime was so near, and the home they longed for seemed so very far. * * ♦ * # # Carnation slept in a little garret room with a gable window. She had chosen it, because she liked to look down on John Charles' fields and on the low place in the hedge where he always stood waiting for her. The waning moon had risen late, and Carnation un- dressed without a candle. Having said her prayers, she stole into bed. But sleep would not come, and, her heart being right sore within her, the tears forced up her eye- lids instead, as it is woman's safety that they should. She lay and sobbed her heart out because John was going away. But through the tears that wet her pillow certain words she had been singing in the choir on Sun- day forced themselves : " Weeping may endure for a night, But joy cometli in the morning." Nevertheless, Carnation must have sobbed herself to sleep, for it was nigh the dawn when she was awakened by something that flicked her lattice at regular intervals. 102 CARNATION'S MORNING JOY It could not be a bird. It was too sharp and regular for that. Could it be ? Impossible ! He had never come before at such a time ! If it -were indeed he, there must be some terrible news to tell. Carnation rose hastily, and threw a loose cloak abo';: her shoulders. Then she went and o])ened the litr!.; French lattice with the criss-cross diamond panes. Tlif dawn was coming slowly up out of the east, and the gray fields were turning rosy beneath her. A dark figure filled up the low place in the hedge. " Carnation, I had something to tell you ! " " Is it bad news ? I cannot bear it, if it is." " No, the best of news ! I am not going at Whitsun- day to Australia. My mother told me last night that she is to be married at the New Year. He is a rich man — Harry Foster's father. She is going to live at Carnsalloch." " Well ? " said Carnation, doubtfully, not seeing all that this sudden change meant to them both. " Why, then, dearest,*' the voice of John Charles Mor- rison shook with emotion, " we can be married as soon as we like after that. The farm and everything on it is ours — yours and mine ! " Carnation's brain reeled, and she found herself with- out a word to say. Only the sound of the happy singing ran in her head : ^^ Joy Cometh in the morning — joy cometh in the morn- ing I " " Why don't you speak, Carnation ? Are you not glad?" CAKNATION'S MORNING JOY 103 The voice cltnrii at the gap was anxious now. " I am too far away from you to say anything, but I am glad, very glad, Jt-ar John ! "' " You will be ready by Whitsunday ? " '• I shall be ready by AMiitsunday ! " There was a pause. The light oame clearer in tlie . ;ist. John Charles could sec the girl's fresh complexion thrown up by the dark cloak, an edging of lace, white and dainty, just showing beneath. '•Carnation, I wish 1 could kiss you ! " he said. " Will this do instead ? " she answered him, smiling through the wetness of her eyes. And she lifted up the old worn class medal she had carried so long on its blue ribbon, and kissed it openly. And that had perforce to "do" John Charles — at least, for that time of asking. -■*L A* JATMSIB As I drove home the other day I saw that old lazy- bones Jacob Irving seated in the sun with a whole cove\ of boys round him. He had his pocket-knife iu hij hand, and was busy mending a " gird." The " gird," or wooden hoop, belonged to Will Bodden, and its prece- dence in medical treatment had been secured by VViirs fists. There was quite a little liospital ward behind, of toys all awaiting diagnosis in strict order of primacy. Here was Dick Dobie with a new blade to put into his shilling knife. A shilling knife, Jacob assured him, is not fitted for cutting down fishing-rods. It is, however, excellent as a saw when used on smaller timber. Next came Peter Cheesemonger, who was in waiting witli a model schooner, the rigging of which had met with an accident. And thero, hurrying down from the cottage on the Brae, was one of the younger Allan lasses with her mother's " wag-at-the-wa' " clock. The pendulum had wagged to such purpose that it had swung itself out of its right mind. After I had left behind me this vision of old Jacob Irving seated on the wall of the boys' playground at the village school, I fell into a muse upon the narrowness of the line which, in our Scottish parishes, divides the " Do-Every things " from the " Do-Nothings." I could give myself the more completely to this train of thought that I had finished my rounds for the day, 104 JATMSTE 105 ;iiid hail now nothing to do except to look forward to seeing Nance, and to the excellent dinner for which the shrewd airs of the moorland were providing internal accommodation of quite a superior character. The conditions of Scottish life are generally so strenu- ous, and the compulsions of " He that will not work, neither shall he eat" so absolute, that we cannot atford more than one local Do-Nothing in a village or rural cuinmunity. Equally certainly, however, one is neces- <[{Yy. The business of the commonweaHh could not be carried on without him. Besides, he is needed to point the indispensable moral. " There's that guid-for-naething Jacob Irviu' sittin' wi' a" the misleared boys o' the neighbourhood aboot him ! " 1 can hear a douce goodwife say to her gossip. " Guid peety his puir wife and bairns! Guidman, lay ye doon that paper an' awa' to your wark, or ye'll sune be nae better — wi' your Gledstane and your speeches and your siDokin' ! Think shame o' yersel', guidman." As the community grows larger, however, there is less and less room for the amiable Do-Nothing. He is, indeed; only seen to perfection in a village or rural parish. In Cairn Edward, for instance, which thinks itself quite a town, he does not attain the general es- teem aud almost affectionate reprobation which, in my native Whinnyliggate, follow Jacob Irving about like his shadow. In a town like Cairn Edward a local Do-Nothing is apt to attach himself to a livery stable, and there to acquire a fine coppery nose and a permanent " dither " about the knees. He is spoken of curtly and even disrespectfully as "that waister Jock Bell." In cities he becomes a 106 JAIMSIE mere matter for the police, and the facetious repoitpr chroiiioles his two-hundredth aj)pearancc before the mag- istrate. liut in AVhinnyliggate, in Dullarg, in Crosapatrick, and in the surrounding,' parishes, the conditions for the growth of the Do-Nothing approach as near perfection as any- thing merely mundane can be expected to do. Jacob Irving is hardly a typical specimen, for he has a trade. The genuine ])o-Nothing should have none. It is true that Jacob's children might reply, like the boy wIkmi asked if his father were a Christian, '' Yes, but he does not work at it much ! " Jacob is a shoe-maker — or rather shoe-mender. For I have never yet been able to trace an entire pair of Jacob's foot-gear on any human extremities. It does not fit his humour to be so utilitarian. He has, however, made an excellent toy pair for the feet of little Jcssi^ Lockhart's doll, with soles, heels, uppers, tongues, and lacing gear all complete. He spent, to my personal knowledge, an entire morning in showing her (on the front step of her father's manse) how to take them off and put them on again. And in the future he will never meet Jessie on the King's highway without stopping and gravely asking her if any repairs are yet requisite. When such are necessary they will, without doubt, receive bis best attention. I had not, however, made a study of Jacob Irving for any considerable period without exploding the vulgar opinion that the parish Do-Nothing is an idle or a lazy man. Nay, to repeat my initial paradox, the Do-Nothing is the only genuine Do-Everything. When on a recent occasion I gave Jacob, in return foi JAIMSIE 107 ring for a lazy [otbiug iturn foi thfi pleasure of his conversation, a " lift " in my doctor'n gig, he talked to me very confidentially of his " rounds." At fu'st 1 imagined in my ignoranco that, like the tailors of the parishes ronnd about, he went from farm to farm pruscruting his calling and cobbling the shoes of half thti country-side. I was liuttressed in this opinion by liis expressed pity or contempt for wearers of " clogs." '• Here's anither pnir body wi' a pair o' clogs on his feet," Jacob wonld say; "and to think that for verra liltle mair than the craitur paid for tliem, 1 wad fit him wi' as soond a pair o' leather-soled shoon as were ever ta'en frae amang tanners' bark ! " I had also seen him start out with a thin-bladed cob- bler's knife and the statutory ])iecc of "roset" or resin wrajjped in a palm's-breadth of soft leather. IJut, alas, all wns a vain show. The knife was to be used in deli- cate surgical work upon the deceased at a pig-killing, and tlie resin was for splicing fishing-rods. After a while I began by severe study to get at the bottom of a Do-Nothing's philosophy. To do the appointed task for the performance of wdiich duty calls, man waits, and money will be paid., that is work to be avoided by every means — by procrastination, by fallacious promise, by prevarication, and (sad to have to say it) by the l)laiiiest of plain lying. Whatever brings in money in the exercise of a trade, whatever must be finished within a given time, that needs the co-operation of others or prolonged and consec- utive effort on his own part, is merely anathema to the Do-Nothing. On the other hand, no house in the parish is too dis- tant for him to attend at the " settin' o' the yaird " (the 108 JAIMSIE delving must, however, be done previously). On sucli occasions the Do-Nothing revels in long wooden pins with string wrapped mysteriously about them. He can turn you out the neatest-shaped bed of " onions " and " syboes," the straightest rows of cabbages, and potato drills so level that the whole household feels that it must walk the straight path in order not to shame them, The wayfaring man, though a fool, looks over the dyko and says: "Thae dreels are Jacob's — there's naue like them in the country-side ! " This at least is Jacob's way of it. But though all this is by the way of introduction t.i the particular Do-Nothing I have in my eye, it is not of Jacob that I am going to write. Jacob is indeed ai: enticing subject, and from the point of view of his wife, might be treated very racily. But, though I afterwards made Margate living's acquaintance (and may one day put her opinions on record), I have other and higher game in my mind. This is none other than the Eeverend James Tacks- man, B.A., licentiate of the Original Marrow Kirk of Scotland. In fact, a clerical Do-Nothing of the highest class. Now, to begin with, I will aver that there is no scorn in all this. " aimsie " is more to me than many worthy religious publicists, beneficed, parished, churched, sti- pended, and sustentationed to the eyes. He was not a very great man. He was in no sense a successful man, but — he was " Jaimsie." I admit that my zeal is that of the pervert. It was not always thus with me when "Jaimsie" was alive, and perhaps my enthusiasm is so full-bodied from a sense JAIMSIE 109 that it is impossible for the gentle probationer to come aud quaiter himself upon Nance and myself for (say) a period of three months in the winter season, a thing he was (^uite capable oi doing when in the flesh. In the days before I was converted to higher views of human nature as represented in the person of " Jaimsie," I was even as the vulgar with regard to him. I admit it. I even openly scoffed, and retailed to many the >tory of Jamie and my father, Saunders McQuhirr of Druniquhat, with which I shall conclude. I used to tell it rather well at college, the men said. At least they laughod sufiRlciently. But now I shall not try to add, alter, amend, or extenuate, as is the story-teller's wont with his favourites. For in sackcloth and ashes I have repented me, and am at present engaged in making my honourable amend to " Jaimsie." For almost as long as I can remember the Reverend James Tacksman, B.A., was in the habit of coming to my father's house, and the news that he was in view on the " far brae-face " used to put my mother into such a tem- per that " dauded " heads and cuffed ears were the order of the day. The larger fry of us cleared out promptly to the barn aud stackyard till the first burst of the storm was over. Even my father, accustomed as he was to carry all matters ecclesiastical with a high hand, found it convenient to have some harness to clean in the stable, or the lynch-pin of a cart to i-e place in the little joiner's shop where he passed so much of his time. " I'll no hae the craitur aboot the hoose," my mother would cry ; " I telled ye sae the last time he was here — sax wef.' .s in harvest it was — and then had maist to be shown the door. (Hand oot o' my road, weans ! Can ye 110 JAIMSIE no keep frae rinnin' amang my feet like sae mony collie whaulps? Tak' ye tliat!) Hear ye this, guidman, if ye willna speak to the man, by my faith I wuU. j\Iaiv McQuhirr is no gaiin to hae the bread ta'en oot o' the mooths o' her innocent bairns (Where in the name o' fortune. Alec, are ye gaun \vi' that soda bannock ? Pit it doon this meenit, or I'll tak' the tings to ye !) Na, noi I will be run aff my feet to pleesure ony sic useless, t^uid- for-naething seef er as Jaimsie Tacksman ! " At this moment a faint rapping made itself audible at the front door, never opened except on the highest state occasions, as when the minister called, and at funerals. My mother (I can see her now) gave a hasty "tidy" to her gray hair and adjusted her white-frilled "mutch" about her still winsome brow. " And hoo are ye the day, Maister Tacksmav, an' Ws o lang, lavg season since we^ve had the pleasure o' a veesit frae you I" Could that indeed be my mother's voice, so lately upraised in denunciation over a stricken and cowering world ? I could not understand it then, and to tell the truth I don't quite yet. I have, however, asked her to explain, and this is what she says : " Weel, ye see, Alec, it was this way " (she is ploasoil when I reqaire any points for my "scribm','' thouira publicly she scoffs at them and declares it will ruin my practice if the thing becomes known), " ye see I had it in my mind to the last minute to deny the craitur. Br,t when I gaed to open the door, there stood Jaimsie wi' his wee bit shakin' hand oot an' his threadbare coatie hingin' laich aboot his peetifu' spindle shanks, and his weel-brushit hat, au' the white neck-claith that wanted JAIMSIE 111 doin' up. And I kenned that naebody could laundry it as weel as me. My fingers juist fair yeukit (itched) to be at the starchiu' o't. And faith, maybes there was something aboot the craitur too — he was sae cruppen in upon himsel', sae weebookit, sae waesonie and yet kindly aboot the e'en, that I juist couldna say him nay." That is my mother's report of her feelings in the mat- ter. She does not add that the ten minutes or quarter of an hour in which she had been able to give the fullest and most ')ublic expression to her feelings had allowed most of the steam of indignation to blow itself off. My father, who was a good judge, gave me, early in my mar- ried life, some excellent advice on this very jjoint, which I subjoin for the edification of the general public. '•Never bottle a woman up. Alee," he said medita- tively. "What Vesuvius and Etna and tha either vol- canoes are to this worl', the legeetimate exercise o' her tongue is to a woman. It's a uaitural function. Alec. Ye may bridle the ass or the m^ule, but — gie the tongue o' a woman (as it were) plenty o' ell)ow-room ! Gang oot o' the hoose — like Moses to the backside o' the wilderness gin ye like, and when ye come in she v/ill be as quaite as pussy; and if ever ye hae to contradick your mairried wife, Aiec, let it be in deeds, no in words. Gang your road gin ye hae made up your mind, im- movable like the sun, the mune, and the stars o' heeven in their courses — but, as ye value peace dinna be aye cryin' ' Aye,' when your wife cries ' No ' ! " Which things iiay be wisdom. But to the tale of our Jaimsie. Sometimes, moreover, even the natural man in my kiidly and long-suffering father uprose against the 112 JATMSIE preacher. Jaimsie knew when he was comfortable, and no mere hint of any delicate sort would make him cur- tail his visit by one day. I can remember him creeping about the farm of Drumquhat all that summer, a book in his hand, contemplating the works of God as wit- nessed chiefly in the growth of the " grosarts." (We always blamed him — quite unjustly, I believe — for eating the " silver-gray " gooseberries on the sly.) Now he would stand half an hour and gaze up among tlif branches of an elm, where a cushat was tirelessly coo- rooing to his mate. Anon you would see him appar- ently deeply engaged in counting the sugar-plums in the orchard. After a little he would be found seated on the red shaft of a ce.rt in the stackyard, jotting down in a shabby note-book ideas for the illustrations of sermons never to be written ; or if written, doomed never to he preached. His hat was always curled up at the ba;'k and pulled down at the front, and till my mother niadt' down an old pair of my father's Sunday trousers for him (and put them beside his bed while he slept), you could see in a good light the reflection of your hand on the knees of his "blacks." It is scarcely necessary to say that Jaimsie never referred to the transposition. nor, indeed, in all probability'-, so much as discovered it. Jaimsie was used to conduct family worship morning and evening in the house of his sojourn, as a kind of quit-rent for his meal of meat and his prophet's chamber, To the ordinary reading of the Word he was wont to sub- join an " exposeetion " of some disputed or prophetical passage. The whole exercises never took less than an hour, if Jaimsie were left to the freedom of his own will — which, as may be inferred, was extremely a wk- JAIMSIE 113 ward in a busy season when the jvn was dry in the stook or when the scythes flashed rhythmically like level silver flames among the lush meadoAv grass. Finally, therefore, a compromise had to be effected. Mv father took the morning diet of worship, but Jaimsie had his will of us in the evening. 1 can see them yet — those weariful sederunts, when even my father wrestled with sleep like Samson with the Philistines, while my mother periodically nodded forward with a lurch, and, recovering herself with a sta^t, the next moment looked round haughtily to see whicli of us was misbehaving. Meanwhile the kitchen was all dark, save where before Jaimsie the great Bible lay open between two candles, aud on the hearth the last peat of the evening glowed red. Many is the fine game of draughts I have had with my brother Rob and Christie Wilson, our herd lad. by putting the " dam-brod " behind the chimney jamb where my father and mother could not see it, and moving the pieces by the light of the red peat ash. T am ashamed to think on it now, but then it seemed the only thing to do which would keep us from sleep. And meantime Jaimsie prosed on, ias gentle sing-song working its wicked work on my mother like a lullaby, and my father sending his nails into the palms of his hands that he might not be shamed before us ail. I remember particularly how Jaimsie addressed us for a whole week on his favourite text in the Psalms, " The hill of God is as the hill of Bashan — an high hill, as the hill Bashan." And in the pauses of crowning our men and scuffling for the next place at the draught-board, we could cntfli U4 JAIMSIE strange words and phrases which come to me yet with a curious wistful thrilling of the heart. Such are " White as snow on Salmon" — "That mount Sinai in Arabia" — " Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew, neither let there be rain upon j'^ou, nor fields of offering." And as a concluding of the whole matter we sang this "verse out of Francis Roos's psalter: " Ye mountains great, wherefore waa it That ye did skip like rams ? And when^fore was it, little hills. That ye did leap like lambs ? " It was all double-Dutch to me then, but now I can see that Jaimsie must have been marshalling the mountains of Scripture to bear solemn witness against an evil aud exceedingly somnolent generation. Once when my mother snored audibly Jaimsie looked up, but at that very moment she awoke, and with great and remarkable presence of mind promptly cuffed Rob, who in his turn knocked the draught-board endways, just as I had his last man cornered, to our everlasting disgrace. My mother asked us next day pointedly where we thought we were going to, and if we were of opinion that there would be any dam-brods in hell. I offered no remarks, but Eob — who was always an impudent boy — got on the other side of the dyke from my mother and answered that there would be no snorers there either. From an early age he was a lad of singularly sound judgments, my brother Rob. He stayed out in the barn till after my mother was asleep that night. At last, however, even my father grew tired of Jaimsie. He stayed full three months on this occasion. Autum- JAIMSIE 116 nal harvest fields were bared of stocks, the frost began to glisten on the stiff turnip shaws, the wreathed nets were put up for the wintering sheep, and still the indefatigable Jaimsie stayed on. I remember ye^ the particular morning when, at long and last, Jaimsie left us. All night almost there had been in the house the noise as of a burn running over hol- low stones, with short solid interruptions like the sound of a distant mallet stricken on wood. It came from my father',3 and mother's room. I knew well what it meant. The sound like running water was my mother trying to persuade my father to something against his will, and the far-away mallet thuds were his monosyllabic replies. This time it was my mother who won. After the harvest bustle was over, Jaimsie had resumed his practice of taking worship in the mornings, but any of us who had urgent work jU. hand could obtain, by proper representation, a dispensing ordinance. These were much sought after, especially when Jaimsie started to tackle the Book of Daniel " in his ordinary," as he phrased it. But this Monday morning, to the general surprise, my father sat down in the chair of state himself and reached the Bible from the shelf. " I will take family worship this morning, Mr. Tacks- man," he said, with great sobriety. Then we knew that something extraordinary was com- ing, and I was glad I had not " threeped " to my mother that I had seen some of the Nether ISTeuk sheep in our High Park — which would have been quite true, for I had pat them there myself on purpose the night before. 116 JAIMSIE It was during the prayer that the blow fell. My father had a peculiarly distinct and solemn way with him in suriplication; and now the words fell distinct as hammer strokes on our ear. He prayed for the Church of God in all covenanted lands ; for all Christian peoples of every creed (here Jaimsie, faithful Abdiel, always said "Humph"); for the heathen without Cxod and without hope ; for the fam- ily now present and for those of the family afar oti. Then, as was his custom, he approached the stranger (Avho was no stranger) within our gates. " And dc Thou, Lord, this day vouchsafe journeying mercies to Thy servant who is about to leave us. Grant him favourable weather for his departure, good speed on his way, and a safe return to his own country ! " A kind of gasping sigh went all about the kitchen. I knew that my mother had her eye on my father to keep him to his pledged word of the night season. So I dared not look round. But we all ached to know how Jaimsie would take it. and we all joined fervently in the supplication which promised us a couple of hours more added to our day. Then came the Amen, and all rose to their feet. Jaimsie seemed a little dazed, but took the matter like a scholar and a gentleman. He held out his hand to my father with his usual benevolent smile. " I did not know that I had mentioned it," he said, " but I was thinking of leaving you to-day." And that was all he said, but forthwith went upstairs to pack his shabby little black bag. JAIMSIE 117 My father stood a while as if shamed ; then, when wo heard Jaimsie's feet trotting overhead, he turned some- what grimly to my mother. On his face was an expres- sion as if he had just taken ph\sic. " Well," he said, " you will be easier in your mind now, Mary." This he said, well knowing that the rat of remorse was already getting his incisors to work uj.ou his wife's conscience. She stamped her foot. *' Saunders McQuhirr," she said in suppressed tones, ''to be a Christian man, ye are the maist aggrevat- in' " But at that moment my father went out through the door, saying no further word. My mother shooed us all out of the house like intru- sive chickens, and I do not know for certain what slie did next. But Eob, looking througli the blind of the little room where she kept her house-money, saw her fumbling with her purse. And when at last Jaimsie, having addressed his bag to be sent with the Carsphairn carrier into Ayrshire (where dwelt the friends next on his visiting list), came out with his staff in one hand, he was dabbing his eyes with a clean handkerchief. Then, after that, all that I remember is the pathetic figure of the little probationer lifting up a hand in silent blessing upon the house which had sheltered him so long; and so taking his lonely way over the hillside towards the northern coach road. When my father came in from the sheep at mid-day, lie waited till grace was over, and then, looking directly at my mother, he said : " Weel, Mary, how mony o' your pound notes did he carry away in his briest-pocket this time?" 118 JAIMSIE I shall never forget the return and counter retn,t which followed. My mother was vexed — one of the few times that I can remember seeing her truly angered with her husband. " 1 would give you one advice, Saunders McQuhirr," she said, " and that is, from this forth, to be mindful of your own business." " I will tak' that advice, Mary," he answered slowly ; " but my heart is still sore within me this day because I took the last advice you gied me ! " And it was destined to be yet sorer for that samo cause, Jaimsie never was within our doors again. He abode in Ayrshire and the Upper Ward all that wiuter and spring, and it was not till the following back-end, and in reply to a letter and direct invitation from my conscience-stricken father, that he announced that, all being well and the Lord gracious, he would be with us the following Friday. But on the Thursday night a great snow storm came on, and the drift continued long unabated. We all said that Jaimsie would doubtless be safely housed, and ive did not look for him to arrive upon the day of his prom- ise. However, by Monday, when the coach was again running, my mother began to be anxious, and all tlie younger of us went forth to try and get news of him. We heard that he had left Carsphairn late on the Thurs- day forenoon, meaning to stop overnight at the shep- herd's shieling at the southern end of Loch Dee. But equally certainly he had never reached it. It was not till Tuesday morning early that Jaimsie was found under a rock near the very summit of the JAIMSIE 119 Dimpeon hill, his plaid about hiiu and his frozen hand clasping his pocket Bible. It was open, and his favour- ite text was thrice underscored. " Tlie hill of God is as the hill of Bashan — an high hill, as the h ill of Bashan. " Well, there is no doubt that the little forlorn " servant of God" has indeed gotten some new light shed upon the text, since the dark hour when he sat down to rest his weary limbs upon the snow-clad summit of the Dun- geon of Buchan. BEADLE AND MARTYR I 80METIMK8 givc it US a reason for a certain lack of imiforinity iu church attendance, that I cannot a\vu\ with the uew-faugled organs, hymns, and chaunts one mee(s wilh there. I h)ve them not, in comparisor, that is, with the old psalm tunes. They do not make the heart beat quicker and more proudly, like Kilmarnock and Coleshill, Duke Street and Old 124th. Nance, however, is so far left to herself as to say thar this is only an excuse, and that ray real reason is the pleasure I have in thinking that all the people must perforce listen to a sermon, while I can put my feet upon another chair and read anything I like. This, however, is rank insult, such as only wives long wedded dare to indulge in. Besides, it shows, by its imputation of motives, to what lengths a sordid and ill-regulated imagi- nation will go. Moreover, I have never grown accustomed to the hours of town churches, and I consider, both from a medical and from a spiritual point of view, that after- noon services in town churches are directly responsible for the spread of indigestion, as wall as of a spirit of religious infidelity throughout our beloved land. (Nance is properly scandalised at this last remark, and says that she hopes people will understand that I only believe about half of what I put down on paper when I get a pen in my hand. She complains that she 120 BEADLE AND MARTYR 121 IS often asked to explain some of my positious at after- noon teas. 1 say it '' ^rves her right for attending such ^';ltheringa of irresponsible gossip, tempered with boiled tannin. It is easy to have the last word with Nance — here.) But after all the chief thing that 1 mias when 1 go to , liurch is just Willie McNair. The sermon is nowadays both shorter and better. The sinpfing is good of its kind, and 1 can always read a jisahu or a paraphrase if the hymn prove too long, or, as IS ofteii the case, rather washy in sentiment. The chil- dren's address is really designed for children, and the prayers do not exceed five minutes in length. But — I look in vain for Willie McNair. Alas I Willie lies out yonder on the green knowe, his wife Betty by his side, and four feet of good black mould over his coffin-lid. Willie was just our beadle, and he ' ?.d a story. When 1 am setting down so many old things, if I forget thee, Willie iMcNair, may my right hand forget his cunning. Ah, Willie, though you never were a " church-officer," though you never heard the Word, it is you, you alone, that I miss. I just cannot think of the kirk without you. (irizzled, gnarled, bow-shouldered of week-days, what a dignity of port, what a solemnising awe, what a proces- >ioual tread was thine on Sabbaths ! We had only one service in the Kirk on the Hill in my youth. But, speaking in the vulgar tongue, that one was a " starcher." It included the " prefacing " of a psalm, often extend- ing over quite as long a period of time as an ordinary modern sermon, a " lecture," which as a rule (if " him- sel'" was in fettle) lasted about three quarters of an 122 BEADLE iVND MARTYR >* hour. Then after that the sermon proper was begun without loss of time. Now I cannot say, spetiking "from the heart to th- heart " (a favourite expression of Willie's), that I regret the loss of all this. I was but a boy, and the torinem of having to sit still for from two hours and a half h) three hours on a hard seat, close-packed and well-watciied to keep me out of mischief, has made even matrimony seem light and easy. How mere Episcopalians and other untrained persons get through the sorrows and disap- pointments incident to human life I do not know. It was not till the opening of the Sabbath-school bv Mr. Osbourne, however, that I came to know Willie well. Hitherto he had been as inaccessible and awe- striking as the minister's neckcloth. And of that I have a story to tell. I think what made me a sort of advanced thinker in these early days, was once being sent by my father to the lodgings of the minister wlio was to " supply " on a certain Sabbath morning. The manse must have been shut for repairs and " himsel" " on his holidays. At any rate, the minister was stopping with Miss Bella McBriar in the little white house below the Calmstone Brig. Miss Bella showed me in with my missive, and there, on the morning of the Holy Day, before a common unsanctified glass tacked to a wall, with a lathery razor in his hand, in profane shirt- sleeves, stood the minister, shaving himself ! His neck- cloth, that was to appear and shine so glorious above the cushions of the pulpit, hung limp and ignominious over the back of a chair. A clay pipe lay across the ends of it. This was the beginning of the mischief, and if I ever BEA.DLE AI^D MARTYR 123 take to a criminal career, here was tlie first and primal cause. Shortly after I -went to Sabbath-school, and having been well trained by my father in controversial divinity, and drilled by my mother in the Catechism, I found my- self in a fair way of distinguishing myself ; but for all that, I cannot truly say that I ever got over the neck- cloth on the back of Miss McBriar's chair. When I aired my free-thinking opinions before my :'ather, and he shut me off by an appeal to authority, I kept silence and hugged myself. " That may be a good enough argument," I said to my- self. " but — I have seen a minister's neckcloth hung over the back of a chrir, and shaving-soap on his chafts on Sabbath morning. How can you believe in revealed religion after that ? '^ 1/ut I had so much of solid common-sense, even in these my salad days, that I refrained from saying these things to my father. Indeed, I would not dare to say thv3m now, even if I believed them. Willie McNair regarded the Sabbath-school much as I did. To both of us it was simply an imposition. Willie thought so for two reasons — first and generally, because it was an innovation ; and secondly, because he liad to clean up the kirk after it. I agreed with him, because I was compelled to attend — the farm cart being delayed a whole hour in order that I might have the privilege c^ religious instruction by the senior licensed grocei of the little town. This gentleman had only one way of imparting knowledge. That was v/ilh the brass- edged binding of his pocket Bible. Even at that time I preferred the limp 0>./ rd morocco. And so would you. 124 BEADLE AND MARTYR if something so unsympathetic as brass corners were applied to the sides of your head two or three times every Sunday afternoon. After several years of this experience, I passed into Henry Marchbank's class and was happy. But that is quite another chapter, and has nothing to do with Willit McNair. Now, Sabbath-school was over about three o'clock, ami our conveyance did not start till four. That is the way I became attached to Willie. I used to stay and htlp him to clean the kirk. This is the way he did it. First, he unfrocked himself of his broadcloth dignity by hanging his coat upon a nail in the vestry. Then he put on an apron which covered him from gray chin-bean! to the cracks in the uppers of his shining shoes. Into the breast of this envelope he thrust a duster large enough for a sheet. It was, in fact, a section of a (Im- parted pulpit swathing. Then, muttering quite scriptural maledictions, anri couching them in language entirely Biblical, "VVillie pro ceeded to visit the pews occupied by each class, restorin,' the " bulks " he had previously piled at the head of each seat to their proper places on the book-board in front, and scrutinising the woodwork for inscriptions in lead- pencil. Then he swept the crumbs and apple-cores care- fully off the floor and delivered judgment at large. " I dinna ken what Maister Osbourne was thinkin' or. to begin sic a Popish whigmaleery as this Sabbath-schule ' A disgrace an' a mockin" in the hoose o' God! ^Vhat kens the like o' Saramle Borthwick aboot the divine decrees? When I, myseP, that has heard them treated on for forty year under a' the Elect Ministers o' the BEADLE AND MAKTYK 125 Land, can do no more than barely understand them to this day! And a wheen silly lasses, wi' gum-floo'ers in their bonnets to listen to bairns hummerin' ower ' Man's Chief End ' ! It's eneuch to gar decent Doctor Syminton turn in his grave! 'Man's Chief End' — faith — it's wum- iiian's chief end that they're thinkin' on, the madams ; they think I dinna see them shakin' their gum-floo'ers ;ind glancing their e'en in the direction o' the onmarriet teacher bodies " '' And such are all they that put their trust in them ! '' concluded Willie, somewhat irrelevantly. " Laddie, come doon out o' the pulpit. I canna lippeu (trust) ony body to dust that, bena mysel' I Gang and pick up the conversation lozengers aff the floor o' the Young Weemen's Bible Cless ! " Printed words can give small indication of the intense bitterness and mordant satire of Willie's speech as he uttered these last words. Yet Willie was far from being a hater of womenkind. Indeed, the end of all his moralising was ever the same. '' There's my ain guid wife — was there ever a woman like her ? Snod as a new preen, yet nocht gaudy, naeth- ing ricu-speckle. If only the young weemen nooadays we' ! I re Betty, they wad hae nae need o' gum-floo'ers an' uh jr abominations. Na, nor yet Bible clesses I Faith, set them up ! It wad better become them to sit them doon wi' their Bibles in their laps and the grace o' God in their hearts, an' tak' a lesson to themsel's oot o' Paaal ! " Here Willie dusted the pulpit cushions, vigorously shaking them as a terrier does a rat, and then carefully 126 BEADLE AKD MARTYR /■si brushing them all in one direction, in order that, as he said, " the fell may a' lie the yae way." Willie was no eye servant. No spider took hold with her hands and was in the I'alace of Willie's King. Dust had no habitation there, and if a man did not clean liis boots on the mat before entering, Willie went to liira personally and told him his probable chances of a hapi)y hereafter. These were but few and evil. Then having got the " shine " to fall as he wanted it, and the dark purple velvet overhang, pride of his heart, to sit to a nicety, Willie lifted up the heavy tassels, and at the same time resumed the thread of his discouiso, standing there in the pulpit with the very port of a minister, and in his speech a point and pith that was all his own. " Aye, Paul " (he always pronounced it PaaaT) — " a} e, Paaai, it's a peety ye never marriet and left nae faim'iv that we ken o'. For we liae sair need o' ye in thae days. But ye kenned better than to taigle yersel' wi' silly lasses. It was you that bade the young weemen to be keepers at hame — nae Bible clesses for Paaal — na, na ! "And 3''0u mind Peter — oh, Peter was juist as sooud on gum-floo'ers an' weemen's falderals as Paaal, ' Whose adorning, let it not be the outward adorning of plaitiii!,' the hair, and wearing of gold, and putting on of appaiel, but the ornament of a meek and quiet speerit ' " He stopped in the height of his discourse and waggled his hand down at me. " Here, bey ! " he cried, " what did ye do wi' thae con- versation lozengers ? " I indicated that I had them still in my pocket, for I BEADLE AND MARTYR 127 had meant to solace the long road home with the cleaner of tliem. "Let me see them ! " Somewhat unwillingly I handed them up to Willie as he stood in the pulpit, a different Willie, an accusing Willie, Nathan the Prophet with a large cloth-brush under his arm. " When this you see, remember me I " He read the printed words through his glasses deliberately. "Aye," he sneered, "that wad be Mag Kinstrcy. I saw Eob Cuthbert smirkin' ower at her when the minis- ter was lookin' up yon reference to Melchisadek. Aye, Meg, I'll remember ye — I'll no forget ye. And if ye mend not your ways " Vrillie did not conclude the sentence, but instead, he shook his head in the direction of the door of the Session house. He picked out another. " The rose is red — the violet's blue, But fairer far, my love, are you ! "' Willie opened the door of the pulpit. "Preserve me, what am I doin' ? It's fair profanation to be readin' sic balderdash in a place like this. Laddie, bear ye this, whatever ye hae to say to a lass, gang ye and say it to herseP, by yourseP. For valenteens are a vain thing, and conversation lozengers a mock and an abomination." Willie threatened me a moment with uplifted finger and then added his stereotyped conclusion : " And so are all such as put their trust in them ! " 128 BEADLE ANP MARTYR And through life I have acted strictly on Willie'g advice, and I am bound to admit that I have found it good. About this period, also, I began to take tea, not infre- quently, with Willie, and occasionally, but not often, I saw his wife, the incomparable Betty, whose prais(- Willie was never tired of singing. I am forced to say that, after these harangues, Betty disappointed me. She sat dumb and appeared singularly stupid, and tliis U a lad accustomed to a housewife like my mother, with her woman's wit keen as a razor, and a speech pointed to needlb fineness, appeared more than strange. But Willie's affection was certainly both lovely and lovable. He was a gnarled gray old man with a grim mouth, but for Betty he ran like a young lover, and served her with meat and drink, as it had been on bended knee. His smile was ready whenev3r she looked at him, and he watched her with anxious eyes, dwelling on her every word and movement with a curious pertur- bation. If she happened not to be in when he came to the door, he would fall to trembling like a leaf, and the bleached look on his face was sad to see. Willie McNair dwelt in a rickety old house at the bot- tom of the kirk hill, separated from the other village dwellings by the breadth of a field. There was a gar- den behind it, and a heathery common behind that, with whins growing to the very dyke of Willie's kail-yard. The first time that Betty was not in the house when we went home, it was to the hill behind that Willie ran first. Under a broom bush he found her, after a long search, and lifting her up in his arms he carried her to the house. * BEADLE AND MARTYR 129 "Poor Betty,'' he cried over his shouklei- as he went before me down the walk ; '•' she shouldna gang oot on sic a warm day. The sun has been ower niuckle for her. See, boy, rin doon to the Tinkler's well for some caller water. The can's at the gable end."' When I returned Betty was quietly in bed ; and Wil- lie had made the tea with ordinary water. He was somewhat more composed, but I could see his hand shake when he tried to pour out the first cup. Ho •'skailed" it all over the cloth, and then was angered with himself for what he called his " trimlin' auld banes." But I never knew or suspected ^Villie's secret till that awfid Sabbath day, when the cross that he had borne so long hidden from the eyes of men, was suddenly lifted high in air. Then all at once Willie towered like a giant, and the ijowed shoulders seemed to support a gray head about which had become visible an apparent aureole. It was the day of High Communion, and the solemn services were drawing to a yet more solemn close. The elements had been dispensed and the elders were back again in their places. Mr. Osbourne had Dr. Landsbor- ough of Portmarnock assisting him that day — a tall mail with a gracious manner, and the only man who could give an after-communion address without his words being resented as an intrusion. " It is always difficult," he said, '• to disturb the pecul- iarly sacred pause which rmcceeds the act of communion by any words of man " He had got no farther when he stopped, and the con- gregation regarded him with the strained attention ^hich a beautiful voice always comjjels. The beadle 130 BEADLE AND MARTYR was sitting in all the reasonable pride of his dignity in the iirst pew to the right of the Session. "When iJr. Landsborough stopped, the congregation followed tiie direction of his eyes. The door at the back of the kirk was seen to be open and a woman stood there, dishevelled, wild-eyed, a black bottle in her shaking hand, a red shawl about her head. It was Betty McNair. " Willie ! " she cried aloud in the awful silence. "Willie, come forth — you that lockit me in the back kitchen, an' thocht to stop me frae the saicrament — I hae deceived ye, Willie McNair, clever man as ye think yerseP ! " I was in the corner pew opposite Willie (being, of course, a non-communicant at that date), so that I could see his face. At the first sound of that voice his coun- tenance worked as if it would change its shape, but in a moment I saw him grip the bock-board and stand iqi, Then he went quietly down the aisle to where his wife stood, gabbling wild and wicked words, and laughinEf till it turned the blood cold to hear her in that sacred place, and upon that solemn occasion. Itirmly, but very gently, Willie took the woman by the arm, and led her out. She went like a lamb. He closed the door behind him, and after a quaking and dreadful pause, Dr. Landsborough took up the interrupted burden of his discourse. I was a great lad of twelve or thirteen at the time and unused to tears for many years. But I know that I wept all the time till the service was ended, thinking of Willie and wondering where he was and what he would be doing. BEADLE AND MARTYR 131 That same night 1 heard my father telling my mother about what came next. The Session were in their little square room after the service, counting the tokens. The minister was sitting iu his chair waiting to dismiss them with the benediction, when a rap came to the door. My father opened it, being nearest, and there without stood Willie McNair. " I wish to speak with the Session," he said lirmly. "Come in — come your ways in, William," said the iiinister, kindly, and the elders resumed their seats, not knowing what was to happen. 'Oloderator and ruling elders of this congregation," said Willie, who had not served tables so long without knowing the respect due to his spiritual superiors, '• I Lave come before you in the day of my .shame to demit the otlice I have held so long among you. Gentlemen, I lo not complain, I own I am well punished. These twenty years I have lived for my pride. I have lied to each one of you — to the minister, to the elders, and to the hale congregation, making a roose of my wife, and sicking at nothing to hide the shame of my house. •• Sirs, for these lying words, it behoves that ye deal Jtrictly with me, and I will submit willingly. But i'elieve me, sirs, it was through a godly jealousy that 1 liid it, that the Kirk of the New Testament might not be niade ashamed through me and mine. But for a' that I bve done wrong, grievous wrong. I aye kenned in my iieart that it w^ould come — though, God helping me, I never thocht that it would be like this ! "But noo I maun gang awa'," here he broke into dia- lect, " for i never could bear to see anither man carry up ilie Bulks and open the door for you, sir, to enter in. 132 BEADLE AND JMARTYR Forty years has William McNair been a hewer of wood and a drawer of water in this tabernacle. Let there be pity in your hearts for him this day. He hath borne himself with pi'ide, and for that the Lord hath brought him very low. And, oh ! sirs, pray for her — flesh of uit liesh, and bone of my bone, come to what ye saw this dav ! Tell me that He will forgie — be sure to tell me that He will forgie Betty — for what she has dune this day I " The minister reassured him in affectionate words, and the whole Session tried to get Willie to withdraw his decision. But in vain. The old man was firm. " No," he said, " Betty is noo my chairge. The hus- band of a drunkard is not a fit person to serve tables in the clean and halesome sanctuary. I will never leavf Betty till the day she dees ! " ****** And neither he did. It was not long. Willie nursed his wife with unremitting tenderness, breaking himself down as he did so. I did not see him again till the dav of Betty's funeral. I went with my father, feeling very important, as it was the first function I had been at in my new character of a man. When they were filling in the grave, Willie stood at the head with his hat in his hand, and his gray locks waving in the moderate wind. His lips were tremuloii?, but I do not think there were tears in his eyes. I went up to try to say something that might comfort him. I knew no better then. But. I think he did not wish me to speak about Betty, for with a strange uncer- tain kind of smile he lifted up his eyes till they rested upon the golden fields of ripening corn all about the little kirkyard. HEADLE A-SD MAKTYR l.s:; "I think it will be an early harvest," he said, in a commonplace tone. Then all suddenly he broke into a kind of eager sob- bing cry - a heart-prayer of ultimate agony "Oh, my God ! my God ! send that it be an early har. vest to puir Willie McNair." ***** # And It was, for before a sheaf of that heartsome y.l- low corn was gathered into barn, they laid Willie beside the woman he had watched so long, and sheltered so faithfully behind the barriei-s of his love. THE BLUE EYES OF AILIE When first I went to Cairn Edward as a medical man on my own account, I had little to do with the district of Glenkells. For one thing, there was a resident doctor there, Dr. Campbell — Ij;natius Campbell — and in tliose days professional boundaries were mure strictly observed than they have been in more recent years. But in tin; , whether owing to the natural spread of my practice, c through some small name which I got in the cuuiitry- side, owing to a successful treatment of tubercular case-^ I found myself oftener and oftener in the Glenkt And, indeed, ever since I began to be able to keep a stated assistant, it has been my custom to take dav about with him on the Glenkells round. But in what follows I speak of the very early yerav when I had still little actual connection with the m?- trict. The Glenkells folk are always in the habit it referring to themselves as a connnunity apart. Tli^y may, indeed, in extreme cases include the rest of th. United Kingdom — but, as it were, casnally. Thus. '•!; the storm continues it will be a sair winter in Glenkells, ayid the rest o' the country /" Or when some statesman conspicuously blundered, or a foreign nation involved themselves in superfluous dif- ficulties, you could not go into a farmhouse or traverse the length of the main street of the Clachan without 134 THE T.LrE EVES OF AILIE i^n hearini? the words: '* Tlie liko o' that couUl uevt'i- hao luppenoil i' the Glenkellsl" So there arose a proverb which, though of local orit,'iii, was not witliout a certain wider acceptation : '* As con- ipity as (Tlenkdls," or, in a more diffuse form: 'MJlen- kt'llrt cocks craw aye crooscst an' on a nuickler miiUUai I ' But Glenkclls wooted little of such shirs, or if il. niiiiileil at all took thcni for comj)liments with a solid and irrefutable foundation. On the other hand, it retorted upon the rest of the world in characteristic fas^.ion, visiting the sins of the fathers upon the chil- dren unto the tliird and fourth generation. As thus : ••Tiik'care o' him. lie's no to bo trustit. His grand- faithor cam' f rae Borgue ! " Or, more allusively : " Aye, a Nicholson aye needs watchin'. They a' como frao Kii'kfudbright, ichere the jail is /"' One peculiarity of the speech of this country within a country struck me more than all the others — perhaps lieciuise it came in the line of my own profession. More than once an applicant for my services would say, in answer to my question : " Have you called in the doctor ? " " Oh, no, it has no been so serious as that!" Succeedantly I would fmd that Dr. Ignatius Campbell had been in attendance for some time, and that I ought to have consulted with him before, as it were, jumping his claim. Dr. Campbell v/as a queer, r'usty, smoky old man who, when seen abroad, sat low in a kind of basket-phaeton — as it were, on the small of his back, and visited his patients in a kind of dreamy exaltation which many put ilown to drink. They were wrong. The doctor was something much harder to cure — an habitual opium- 13G THE BLUE EYE8 OF AILIE eater. Scinehow Dr. Cainp'oell had never taken the posi- tion in the Cjlenkellij t( which liis iibilities entitled him. He came from the North, and that was against him More than that, he sent in his bills promptly, and saw that they '■ eie settled. Worst of all, he took no interest in imaginary diseases. He openly laughed at calomel — which in the Glen- kells was looked upon as a kind of blaspheming of the Trinity. But he was a duly certified graduate of Edin- burgh like myself. His name was on the jSIedical List, and only his unfortunate habit and the dreamy idleness engendered by it kept him from making a very consid- erable name for himself in his profession. I found, for instance, after his death (he left his books, papers, and instruments tr me) that he had actually anticipated in his vague theoretical way some of the most applauded discoveries of more recent times, and that he was well versed in all the foreign literature of such subjects as interested him. But Dr. Ignatius Campbell, with his great pipe, his low- crowned hat, his seedy black clothes with the fluff sticking here and there upon them, was not the man to impress the Glenkells. For in Galloway the minister may go about in fishing-boots, shooting-jacket, and deerstalker if he will — nobody thinks the worse of him for it. The lawyer may look as if he bought his clothes from a slopshop The country gentleman may wear a suit of tweeds for ten years, till the leather gun-patch on the shoulder thi'eatens to pervade the whole man, back and front. But the doctor, if he would be successful, must perforce dress strictly by rule. Sunday and Saturday he must go buttoned up in his well-fitting surtout. His hat must be THE BLUE EYES OF AILIE 137 glossy, no matter what the weather may he (for myself I always kept a spare one in the box of tlio gig), and the whole man upon entering a sick-room mnst bring with him the fragrance of clean linen, good clothes, and per- sonal exactitude. And though naturally a little rebellious at first, I hereby subscribe to the Galloway view of the case. Nance converted me. " Is that a clean collar ? — no, sir, you don't ! Take it off this instant ! I think this tie will suit you better. It is a dull day and something light becomes you. I have ironed your other hat. See that you put it on ! Let me look at your cuffs. ^lind that you turn down your trousers before you come in sight of the house. John " (this to my driver), " see that Dr. McQuhirr turns (lowp his trousers and puts on his hat right side first. There is a dint at the back that I cannot quite get out ! " It is no wonder that 1 succeeded in Galloway, having such a — I mean being endowed with such professional talents ! I had not, however, been lonj; in Glenkells before I fomid out that there was another medical adviser on the scene — a kind of Brownie who did Dr. Campbell's work while he slept or dreamed his life away over his pij)e and his coloured diagrams, whose very name was never mentioned, to me at least — perhaps from some idea that as an orthodox professional man I might resent the. Brownie's intrusion. But matters came to a head one day when t found the bottle of medicine 1 had sent up from the (".lirn Edward apothecary standing untouched on the mantel- piece, while another and wholly unlicensed phial stood 138 THE BLUE EYES OF AILIE at the bed-head with a glass beside it, in which lingered a few drops of sonething which I knew well that I bad not prescribed. " What is this ? " I demanded. " Why have you not administered the medicine I sent you ? " The woman put her apron to her lips in some embar- rassment. " Oh, doctor — ye see the way o't was this," she said. " Jeems was ta'en that bad in the nicht that I had to caa' in — a neebour o' oors — an' he brocht this wi' him." I lifted my hat. " Good morning, Mrs. Landsborough," I said, ^vith immense dignity ; " I am sorry that I must retire from the case. It is impossible for me to go on if you disre- gard my instructions in that manner. No doubt Dr, Campbell " The good woman lifted up her hands in amazement and appeal. Even Jeems turned on his bed in quick alarm. " 'Deed, Dr. oNIa Whurr ! " she cried, " it wasna Dr. Cawmeli ava. We wadua think on sic a thing "' " Your faitiier's son will never gang oot o' a Mac- Landsborougli's hoose in anger, surely ? " said Jeems, making the final Galloway appeal to the clan spirit. This was conjuring with a name I could not disavow, and strongly against my first intentions I continued to attend the ease. Jeems got rapidly better, and my bottle diminished steadily day by day. But whether it went down Jeems's throat or mended the health of the back of the grate, it was better, perhaps, that I did not inquire too closely. On my way home I considered my THE BLUE EYES OF AILIE 139 own prescription, and recalled the ingredients which by taste and smell I discovered in the intruding bottle. " I am not sure but what — well, it might have been better. I wonder who the man is ? " This was as much as I could be brought to admit in those days, even to mvself. The doctor who in the first years of his prac- tice does not think more of the sacredness of his diag- nosis than of his married wife and all his family unto cousins six times removed, is not fit to be trusted — not so much as with the administering of one Beechanvs pill. Yet I own the matter troubled me. I had a rival who — no, he did not understantl more of the case than myself. But all the same, I wanted to find him out — in the interests of the Medical Register. But the riddle was resolved one day about a week afterwards in a rather remarkable manner. I. was pro- ceeding up the long main street of the Clachan, looking for a house in which Dr. Campbell (with whom of late I had grown strangely intimate) had told me that he would be found at a certain hour. As I went I noticed, what I had never spcn before, a little house, white and clean without, the ^jreopers clam- bering all over it. This agreed, so far, with the doctor's description. ] turned aside and went up two or three carefully reddeuod steps. A brass knocker blinked in the evening sunshine. I lifted it and knocked. " Is the doctor in ? " I said to a tall gaunt woman who opened the door an inch or two. As it was 1 could only see a lenticular section of her person, so that in describing her 1 draw upon later impressions. She hesi- tated a second or two, and then, rather grudgingly as I thought, opened the door. 140 THE BLUE EYES OF AILJE " Come in," she said. With no more greeting than that she ushered me into a small room crowded with books and apparatus, Ti;n table held a curious microscope, evidently home-made in most of its fittings. Pieces of mechanism, the purposf of which I could not even guess, were strewn about tin. floor. Castings were gripped angle-wise in vices, and at the end of an ordinary carpenter's bench stood a small blacksmith's furnace, with bellows and anvil all codi- plete. In the recess, half hidden by a screen, I couM catch a glimpse of a lathe. There was no carpet on tlie floor. The door opened and a small spare man stood before me, the deprecation of an offending dog in his beautiful brown eyes. He did not speak or offer to shake haivb, but only stood shyly looking up at me. It was some time before £ could find words. Nance often tells me that I need a push behind to enable me to take the lead in any conversation — except with herself, that is, u.id then I never get a chance. " I beg your pardon, doctor," said I, " I was seeking my friend Campbell. I did not know you had settled amongst us, or I should have been to call on you before this." I held out my hand cordially, for the man appealed tu me somehow. But he did not seem to notice it. " No, not ' doctor,' " he said, speaking in a quick agitated way. " Mister — Roger is my name." "I beg your pardon, I am sure," I stammered; ''in that case I do not know how to excuse my intrusion. 1 asked for the doctor, meaning Dr. Campbell, and your servant — j> THE »LUE EVKS OF AILIK 141 " My mother, sir ! " There was pride as v;ell as challenge in the brown eyes now, and I found myself liking the young man bet- ter than ever. "I beg your pardon — Mrs. Roger showed me in by mistake, I fear." "It was no mistake — I am sometimes called so in this place, though not by my own will ; I have no right to the title ! " '• Well," I said, as I looked round the room, " won't you shake hands with me ? You don't know what a pleas- ure it is to meet a man of science, as it is evident you are, here in these forlorn uplands ! " "Will you pardon me a moment till I inform you exactly of my status ? '' he said, " and when you clearly understand, if you still wish to shake my hand — well, with all my heart." He stood silent a moment, and then, suddenly recol- lecting himself, " Will you not sit down ? " he said. "Pray forgive my discourtesy." I sat down, displacing as I did so a box of tools which had been planted on the green rep of the easy-chair cover. " You may well be astonished that I wish to speak to you. Dr. McQuhirr," he said, beginning restlessly to pace the room, mechanically avoiding the various obstacles on the floor as he did so ; " but 1 have long wished to put myself right with a member of the profession, and now that chance has thrown us together, I feel that I must speak " " But there is Dr. Campbell — surely it cannot be that two men of such kindred tastes, in a small place like this, should not know each other ! " 142 THE BLUE EYES OF AILIE He flushed painfully, and turning to a stand near th? window, played with the flywheel of a small model, turn- ing it back and forward with his finger. " Dr. Campbell is the victim of a most unfortunate prejudice," he murmured softly, and for a space suid no more. It was so still in the room that through the quiet 1 could hear the tall eight-day clock ticking half-way up the stairs. He resumed his narrative and his pacing to and fro a: the same moment. "lam," he went on, "at heart of your profession. I have attended all the classes and earned the encomiums of my professors in the hospitals. I stood fairly well in the earlier written examinations, but at my first oral I broke down completely — a kind of aphasia came over me. My brain reeled, a dreadful shuddering took hold of my soul, and I fell into a dead faint. Eor months they feared for my reason, and though ultimately I recovered and completed my course of study, I was never able to sit down at an examination-table again. After my father's death my mother settled here, and gradually it has come about that in any emergency I have been asked to visit and prescribe for a patient. I believe the poor people call me ' doctor ' among themselves, but I have never cither countenanced the title, or on any occa- sion failed to rebuke the user. Neither have I ever ac- cepted fee or reward, whether for advice or medicine ! '" 1 held out my hand. " I care not a brass farthing about professional eti- quette," said I ; "it is my opinion that you are doing a noble work. And I know of one case, at least, where your diagnosis was better than mine 1 " THE liLUE ErES OF AILIE 143 More 1 could not say. He flushed redly and took my hand, shaking it warmly. Then all at once he dropped th3 somewhat strained elevation of manner in which he had told his story, and began to speak with the innocent confidence and unreserve of a child. He was obviously iinic'h pleased at my inferred compliment. '■Ah! " he said, "J know what you mean. But then, you see, you did not know James MacLandsborough's life history. He was my father's gardener. I knew his record and the record of his father before liini. It was noth'ng but an old complaint, for which I had treated him over and over again — working, that is, on the basis of a recent chill. In your place and with your (lata I should have done what you did. In fact, I ad- mired your treatment greatly.*' We talked a long while, so long, indeed, that I forgot all about Dr. Campbell, and it was dusk before I found myself at Mr. Koger's door saying '' Good-night." *'If I might venture to say so," he stammered, hold- ing my liand a moment in his qiuck nervous grasp, " I would advise you not to mention your visit here to your friend, Dr. Campbell." "I am afraid I must," I replied; "I had an appoint- ment with him which I have unfortunately forgotten in the interest of our talk ! " "Then I much fear that it is not 'Good-night' but 'Good-bye' between us! " he murmured sadly, and went within. And even as he had prophesied so it was. * * * * * iff "Sir," said Dr. Campbell, "I shall be sorry to lose your society, but you must choose between that house and 144 THE UliUE EYES OF AILIE mine. I have special and family reasons why I (•niiiiot be intimate with any visitor to Mr. ah, Roger ! "" I had found the doctor lying on his couch, as was his custom, his curious Oriental tray beside him, and an acrid tang in the air ; but at my first words about my visit he shook off his dreamy abstraction and sat up. "To tell you the truth, Campbell," I said as calmly ;;> possible, for, of course, I could not allow any one (cxcipr Nance) to dictate to me, " I was singularly interested in the young man, and — he told liis tale, as it seemed ti. me, quite frankly. If I am not to call upon him, I niib* ask you as to your reasons for a request so singular." 'Mt is not a request, ^LcQuhirr,'' said the doctor, pac- ing his hand across his brow as if to clear away iikjiv ture. "It is only a little information I give you fir your guidance. If you v/ish to visit this young man — well, I am deeply grieved, but I cannot receive you here. or have any intercourse v.'ith you professionally." "That is saying too much or too little," I repiie;: " you must tell me your reasons." Then he hesitated, looking from side to side in a semi-dazed way. "I would rather not — they are family reasons!'' h' stammered, as he spoke. " There is such a thing as the seal of the profession." I reminded him. " Well," he said at last, " I Avill tell you. That youn? man is my nephew, the son of my elder brother. Hi'^ name is not Roger, but Roger Campbell. His motlier was my poor brother's housekeeper. He married her some time after his first wife's death. This bov v.as their child, and, like a cuckoo in the nest, he tried front THE BLUE EYES OF AILIE 145 the first to oust his elder brother — the child of the dead woman. Indeed, but for my interference his mother and he would have done it between them ; for my brother was latterly wholly in their liands. « Finally this lad went to college, and coming here one summer after the breaking up of the classes he must needs fall in love with Ailie — my daughter, that is. What'.' — You never knew that I had a daughter! Ah, Alec, I Avas not always the man you see me — I too have had ambitions. But after — well, what use is there to speak of it? At any rate, young Roger rami)bell fell in love with my Ailie, and she, I suppose, liked it well enough, but like a sensible girl gave him no immediate answer. Then after that came his luilf-l>rother, who was heir to Uie little property on Loch Awpsido, and he too fell in love with Ailie. There was no girl like her in all the Glen of Kells ; and as for him, he was a tall, hand- some, fair lad, not crowled and misshapen like this one. Well, Ailie and he fell in love, and then Roger's mother moved heaven and earth to disinherit Archie. It was for this cause that I went up to Inchtaggart and watched my brother during the last weeks of his life. The woman fought like a wild cat f(»r her son, but I and Archie watched in turns. It was I who found the will by which Archie inherited all. In three months Ailie and he were married. Roger Campbell failed in his examina- tions the same year, and the next mother and son came back here to her native village to live on their savings. ''The mere choice of this place showed their spite against me, but that is not the worst. Ever since that day they have devoted themselves to discrediting me in my profession. And you, who know these people, know 146 THE BLUE EYES OF AILIE to what an oxtent they have succeeded. ^My practioo has shrunk to nothing — ahuost. Even the })atients 1 have, when they do call me in, send secretly for my cnemv before my feet are cold off the doorstep. Yet I ha\e im redress, for I have never been able to brinj,' a case of tak- ing fees home to him. Ah ! if only I could ! " Dr. Ignatius fell back exhausted, for towards the last he had been talking with a vehemence that shook tlin casements and set the prisms of the little old chandelier a-tingling, *' And that is why I say you must choose botwocr. us," he said. " Is it not enough ? Have I asktMl tou much?" " It is enough for me," I said ; '* I will do as you wish ! " Now I did not see anything in his story very miuli against the young man ; but, after all, the lad was noth- ing to me, and I had known Dr. Ignatius a long time. So I asked him how it came that the young man ■na^ called Roger and not Campbell. " Oh ! " he said, " that is the one piece of decent feel ing he has shown in the ^vhole affair. He called himself Campbell Roger when he came here. You are the only person who knows that he is my nephew." * * * * # liif, I was glad afterwards that I had made him the proii;- ise he asked for. I never saw him in life again. I'l Ignatius Campbell died two days after, being found dead in bed with his tiny pipe clutched iii his hand. I went up that same day, and in conjunction with Dr. Jolm Thoburn Brown of Drumfern, found that our colleague had long suifered from an acute form, of heart disease, and that it was wonderful how he had survived so lonof. THE DLUIO KYKS UF AILIK L47 The body was lyitiij at tho tini<' in the room whore ho (lied. The maid-servant had j^'oiie to stay with relatives ill the village, not being willing to remain all night in the house alone ; for which, all things considered, I did not greatly blame her. 1 asked if there was anything I could do, but was informed that all arrangements for the funeral had been made. It was to be on the Friday, two days after. I drove up the glen early that morning, and found a tall young man in tlu; house, opening drawi-rs and rum- maging among papers. I understood at once that this was Mr. Andiibald Campbell of Inchtaggart. I greeted him by that name, and lie responded heartily enough. " You are Dr. McQuhirr," he said ; " my father-in-law often spoke about you and how kind you were to him. Vou know that he has left all his books, papers, and sci- entific apparatus to you ? " " I did not know," I said ; " that is as unexpected as it is undeserved, and I hope you will act ])recisely as if such a bequest had not existed. You mu.st take all that cither you or your wife would care to possess." •'Oh I" he cried lightly, "Ailie could not come. She lias been ill lately, and as for me, I would not touch one "f the beastly things with a ten-foot pole. Come into ■lie garden and have a smoke." There ]\Ir. Archibald Campbell told me that he had ar- :aiiged for a sale of the doctor's house and all his effects as soon as possible. "Better to have it over," he said, " so you had as well bring up a conveyance and cart off all the scientific rub- bish you care about. I want all settled up and dona 'vith within the month." 148 Tin: HLUE KVKS OF AILIK He (Ifipartod the night after the funoral, leaving thf funeral (!X[U'nses unpaid. He was a hasty though well- meaning young man, and no doubt he forgot. When I came up on the Monday of the week following, I d\i- covered that the account had been paid. After I had made my selection of books and instru- ments, besides taking all the manuscripts (watched from room to room by the Drumfevn lawyer's sliarp eye), I strolled out, and my steps turned involuntarily towanls the little house covered with creepers where I had seen the young man Roger. T felt that deatli had al).solve(l me from my promise, and with a quick resolve I turned aside. The same woman opened the door an inch or two. I lifted my hat and asked if her son was in. She held the door open for me without speaking a word and ushered me into the model-strewn little par- lour. I cast my eyes about. On the table lay the dis- charged account for the funeral expenses of Dr. Ignatius Campucil ! In another moment the uoor opened and the youiii: man came in, paler than before, and with the slight halt in his gait exaggerated. "How do you do, Mr. Campbell?" I aaid quietly. holding out my hand. He gave back a step, almost as if I had struck hira. Then he smiled wanly. " Ah ! he told you. I expected he would ; and yet you have come ? " He spoke slowly. the words coming in jerks. I held out my hand and said heartily: "Of course I came." THE BLUK EVES OF AILIE 14'.) I did not think it necessary to tell him anythins^ about ray af^reeinunt with Dr. Campbell, lb', on his part, had ([iiietly possessed himself of ,b>hn Kwait's bill for the funeral expenses. We had a lonjj; talk, and I stayed so late that Nance had begun to get anxious about me bofore 1 arrived home. ]iut not one word, either in jus- tification of himself or of aecuKation agiiinst his uncle, (lid he utter, though he must have known well enough what his uncle had said of him. Nor was it till a couple of months afterwards that Kogf-r Campbell adverted again to the subject. I had licon to the churchyard to look at the headstone which had been erected, as I knew, at his expense. He had asked nie to write the inscription for it, and I had done so. Coming home, he had to stop several times on the hill to take breath. AVhen we got to the door he said : ** I have but one thing to pray for now, Dr. McQuhirr, and that is that I may outlive my mother. Give me your best skill and help me to do that." His prayer was answered. He lived just two days nftor his mother. And I was with him most of the time, while Nance stayed with my people at Drumquhat. it was a beautiful Sabbath evening, and the kirk folk were just coming home. Most who suffer from his par- tifular form of phthisis imagine themselves to be getting better to the very last, but he knew too much to have any illusions. I had put the pillows behind him, and he was sitting up making kindly comment on the people as they passed by, Bible in hand. He stopped suddenly and looked at me. " Doctor," he said, " what my uncle told you about me never made any difference to you ? " mm 150 THE BLTiE EYES OF AILIE " No," I said, rather sliamefacedly, " no differonrc ar all!" "No," he • '^ent on, meditatively, "no difforenr? Well, I want; you to brim two documents for me, lesr they fall into the wronj? haiuls — as they might befoiv thebe good folk go back kirkward again." He directed me with hii finger, at the same tiim handing me a key he wore upon his watchchain. " Even my poor mother up there," he said, pointing; t • the room above, " has never set eyes on what 1 am goin:; to show you. It is weak of me ; I ought not to do it. doctor, but I will not deny that it is some comfort t set myself right with one human soul b^^fore I go." I took out of a little drawer in a bureau a miniaturo. p. bundle of letters, and a broadly folded legal-looki'i- douument. 1 offered them to Roger, but he waved them away. " I do not want to look upon them — they are liere!" He iouclied his fore^^ead. "And one of them is here! He laid his hand on his heart with that freedom ( gesture v ''^ich often comes to the dying, especially tn those whc have repressed themselves all their lives. I locked down at the miniature and saw the picture cf a girl, very pretty, beautiful indeed, but with that width betveen the eyes which, in fair women, gives a double l"ok. " Ailie, my brother's wife! " he said, in answer to my glance. " These are her letters. Open them one by one and burn them." I did as he bade me, throwing my eyes out of focus so that 1 might not read a word. But out of one flutten'i a pressed flower. Tt was fixed on a card with a littk THE BLUE EYES OF AILIE 151 lock of yellow hair arranged about it for a frame, fresh and crisp. And as I picked it up I could not help catch- ing the prettily printed words : "TO DARLING ROGER, FROM HIS OWN AILIE." There was also a date. " Let me look at that ! " ho said quickly. I gave it to Lim. He looked at the flower — a quick painful glance, but as he handed me back the card he laughed a little. '* It is a ' Forget-me-not,' " he said. Then in a musing tone lie added : " Well, Ailie, I never have ! " So one by one the letters were burnt up, till only a black pile of ashes remained, in ludicrous contnist to the closely packed bundle I had taken from the drawer. "Now burn the ribbon that kept them together, and look at the other paper." I unfolded it. It was a will in holograph, the char- acters clear and strong, signed by Archibald Kuthven I'ampbell, of Inchtaggart, Argyleshire, devising all his estate and property to his son Roger, with only a bequest in money to his elder son ! I was dazed as I lookrd through it, and my lips tranied a question. The young man smiled. " My father's last will," he said, " dated a month before iiis death. She never knew it." (Again he indicated tilt* upper room where his mother's body lay.) " They I never knew it." (He looked at the girl's picture as it jiuiled up from the table where 1 had laid it.) " AFy lljrother Archie succeeded on a will older by twenty years. But when I lost Ailie, I lost all. Why shouhl she marry a failure? Besides, I truly believe that she loves my brother, at least as well as ever she loved me. It is her 162 THE BLUE EYES OF A I LIE nature. That shfi is infinitely liappier with him, I know." " Then yon were the heir all the time and never told it — not to any one!" I cried, getting up on my feet. He motioned me towards the grate again. " Burn it," he said, •• 1 have had a moment of weaknp>v It is over. 1 ought to have been consistent and not toL; even you. No, let the picture lie. 1 think it does m-' good. God bless you, Alec ! Now, good-night ; go hom^- to your Nance." ♦ . - » * * * ♦ He died the next forenoon while I was still on my rounds. And when 1 went in to look at him, tho pii- ture had disappeared. I questioned the old crone \\\\o had watched his last moments and afterwards prepara; him for burial. " Ke had something in his hand," she answered, "but I couldna steer it. His fingers grippit it like a smith'^ vice." I looked, and there from betAveen the clenched fingerj of the dead right hand the eyes of Ailie Campbell smiled out at me — blue and false as her own Forget-me-not. LOWE'S SEAT Elspeth did not mean to go to Lowe's Soat. She had indeed no business thide of the river where dwelt her father, where com- plained her maiden aunt, and w re after their kind racketed and stormed her roving vagabond bird-nesting bvothers. On the Picts' ^louud beside the kirk (an ancient Moothill, so they say. upon which justice of the rudest and readiest was of old disi)enHed^ there v/ere trees and green depths of shade. She might have stayed and read there — the " Antiquary '' perhaps, or " .loseph Andrews."' or her first favourite " Emma," all tlirough the long sweet drowsing summei-'s afternoon. But some- 103 154 LOWE'S SEAT •« how up at Lowe's Seat, the h-aves of the wood Uuighed to a different tune and the Airds woods were dearer than all swet't Kenside. So in spite of all Elspeth Stuart had erossed in her father's owr. skiiT, whieh he used for his longer miiiist-'- rial excursions "up the water," and her brothers Frauk and Sandy for perch-lishing and laying their "gtd'' lines. There was indeed a certain puddock in a liigli state of decomposition in a locker which sadly troubled Elspeth as she bent to the oars. And now she was at Lowe's Seat. It is strange to what the love of poetry will driven girl. Elspeth tossed back the fair curls which a liulit wind persisted in flicking ticklingly over her brow, With a coquettish, blushful, half-indignant gesture she thrust them back with her hand, as if they ought to have known better than to intrude upon a purpose so serious as hers in coming to Lowe's Seat. "Here was the place," she murmured to herself, e>;- I)lanatorily, " where the poor boy hid himself to write his poem -a hundred years ago. Was it really a hun- dred years ago ? " She looked about her, and the wind whispered and rustled and laughed a little down among the elms and the hazels, while out towards the river and on a level with her face the silver birches shook their pliinu'^ daintily as a pretty girl her wandering tresses, bt-nd- ing saucily towards the water as they did so. Then Elspeth said the first two verses of "Mary's Dream" over to herself. The poem was a favourite with her father, a hard stern man with a sentimental ba^je, as is indeed very common in Scotland. LOWE'S SEAT 155 " The moon had climbed the highest hill That rises o'er the source of Dee, And from the eastern summit shed Her silver light on tower and tree. When Mary laid her down to sleep, Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea, There soft and low a voice v/as heard, Saying, ' Mary, weep no more for me ! ' " Elspeth was young and she was not critical. Lowe's simple and to the modern mind somewhat obviotis verse seemed to her to contain the essence of truth and feeling. But on the other hand she looked adorable as she said tliem. For, strangely enough, a woman's critical judg- ment is generally in inverse ratio to her personal attrac- tions — though doubtless there are exceptions to the rule, As has been said, she did not go to Lowe's Seat for any particular purpose. She said so to herself as many as ten times while she was crossing in the skiff, and at least as often when she was pulling herself up the steep brae- face by the supple hazels and more stubborn young oaks. So Elspeth Stuart continued to hum a vagrant tune, more than half of the bars wholly silent, and the rest sometimes loud and sometimes soft, as slie glanced downwards out of her green garret high among the leaves. More than once she grew restive and })attored impa- tiently with her fingers on her lap as if expecting some one who did not come. Only occasionally she looked down towards the river. Indeed, she ])('rmitted her eyes to rove in every direction except immediately beneath her, where through a mist of leaves she could see the Dee kissing murmuringly the rushes on its marge. 156 LOWE'S SEAT A pretty girl — yes, surely. More than that, one win- some with the wilful brightness which takes ineu iiioie than beauty. And being withal only twenty years of her age, it may well be believed that Elspeth Stuart, the only daughter of the parish minister of Dullarg, did not move far without drawing the glances of men after her as a magnet attracts steel filings. Yet a second marvel appeared beneath. There was a young man moving along by the water's edge and lie did not look up. To all appearance Lowe's Seat might jii^t as well not have existed for him, and its pretty occupant might have been reading ]Misff Austen under the pines of the Kirk Knowe on the opposite side of Dee "Water. Eldpeth also appeared equally unconscious. Of coursp. how otherwise ? She had plucked a spray of bracken and was peeling away the fronds, unravelling the tough fibres of the root and rubbing off the underleaf seeds, so that they showed red on her fingers like iron rust. Wondrous busy had our maid become all suddenly. But though she had not smiled when the youth came in sight, she pouted when he made as if he would pass by without seeing her. Which is a strange thing when you come to think of it, considering that she herself had apparently not observed him. Suddenly, however, she sr»ng out loudly, a strong ring- ing stave like a blackbird from the copse as the sun rises above the hills. Whereat the young man started as if he had been shot. Hitherto he had held a fishing-rod in his hand and seemed intent only on the stream. But at the sound of Elspeth's voice he whirled about, and catching a glimpse of bright apparel through the green leaves, he eame straight up through the tangle with the LOWE'S SEAT 157 rod in his hand. Even at that nionieni it did nt)t escape Elspeth's eye that he held it a\vk\vardly, like one little used to Galloway burn-sides. She meant to show him better by-and-by. Having arrived, the surprise and mutual courtesies were simply overpowering. Elspeth had not dreamed — the merest impulse had led her — she had been reading Lowe's poem the night before. It was really the only coini)letely sheltered place tor miles, where one (!Ould muse in peace. He knew it was, did he nut ? But we must introduce this young man. If he had pussessed a card it would have said : " The Rev. Allan Syme, B.A." He was the new minister of the Caraeronian Kirk at Cairn Edward. He had just been "called," chiefly because the other two on the short leet had not been con- sidered sufficiently "firm" in their views concerning an "Erastian Establishment," as at the Kirk on the Hill they called the Church of Scotland nationally provided tor by the Revolution Settlement. In his trial discourses, however, Mr. Syme had proved categorically that no good had ever come out of any state-supported Church, that the ministers of the present establishment were little better than priests of the Scar- let Woman who sitteth on the Seven Hills, and that all those who trusted in them were even as the moles and the bats, children of darkness and travellers on the smoothly macadamised highway to destruction. Nevertheless, at that free stave of Elspeth's carol Allan Syme Avent up hill as fast as if he had never preached a sermon on the text, "And Elijah girded up his loins and ran before Ahab unto the entering in of Jezreel." 158 LOWE'S SEAT At half-past eleven by the clock the minister of the Caineronian Kirk sat down beside this daughter of au Erastian Establishment. Have you heard the leaves of beech and birch Uiugh as they clash and rustle ? That is how the wickc(l summer woods of Airds laughed that day about Lowe's Seat. # # # * # * Half a mile down the river there is a ferry-boat which at infrequent intervals pushes a fiat duck's bill across Dee Water. It is wide enough to take a loaded cart of hay, and long enough to accommodate two young horses tail to tail and yet leave room for the statutory flourish- ing of heels. Bess MacTaggart could take it across with any load upon it you pleased, pushing easily upon an iron lever. They use a wheel now, but it was much prettier in the old days when all for a penny you could watch Bess lift the toothed lever with a sharp movement of her shapely arm, wet and dripping from the chain, as it slowly dredged itself up from the river bed. It was half-past four when, in reply to repeated hails, the boat left the Dullarg shore with a company of three men on board, and in addition the sort of person who is called a " single lady." Two of the men stood together at one end of the ferry- boat, and after Bess had bidden one of them sharply to " get out of her road," she called him " Drows " to make it up, and asked him if he were going over to the lamb sale at Nether Airds. "If it's the Lord's wull!" Drows replied, with solemnity. LOWE'S SEAT 159 Both he and his roinpanion had commodious, clean- shaNon "liorso" faces, with an abundance of gray hair titanding out in a straggling semicircular aureole undor- iieatli the cliin. Canntronian was stamped upon tlieir faces with broad strong simplicity. The blue bonnet, already looking old-world among the universal '"ftdts" (oiiiinon to most adult manhood — the deep serious eyes, as it were withdrawn under the penthouse of bushy lirows, and looking upon all things (even land) sales) as flt'cting and transitory — the long upper lip and the mouth tightly compressed — these marked out John Allanson of Drows and Matthew Caruiont of Craigs as pillars of that Kirk which alone of all the fragments of I'resb^'tery is senior to the Established Church of Scotland. On the other side of the boat and somewhat apart stood Dr. Murdo Stuart, gazing gloomily at the black water as it rippled and clappered under the broad lip of the ferry-boat. A proud man, a Highland gentleman of old family, was the minister of ])ullarg. Ho kept his head erect, and for any notice he had taken of the Cameronian elders, they might just as well not have been on the boat at all. And in their turn the elders of the Cameronian Kirk compressed their li[)S more lirmly and their eyes seemed deeper set in their heads when their glances fell on this pillar of Erastianism. For nowhere is the racial antipathy of north and vSouth so strong as in Galloway. There, and there alone, the memory of the Highland Host has never died out, and every autumn when the hills glow red with heather from horizon to horizon verge, the story is told to Galloway childhood of how Lag and Clavers wasted the heritage 160 L(1\VE\S SKAT of tho Lord, and how from Ailsa to Sol way all the west of Scotland is '* flowered with the bluod of the Martyrs," The thin nervous woman kept close to the nuui.sit'r's elbow. " I tell you I saw her cross the water, Murdo," -^hf was saying as Dr. Stuart looked ahead, scanning keenly the low sandy shores they were nearing. " The bout is gone and she has not returned. It is ;i thing not proper for a young 'ady and a minister's daughter to be so long absent from honu; ! " "My daughter has been too well brought \\\) to dn aught that is improper ! " said Dr. Stuart, with gravt sententious dignity. " You need not pursue the subject. Mary!" There was just enough likeness between them to stamp the pair as brother . d sister. As the bo;it touched the edge of tlu sharply sloping shingle bank, the hinged gang-plank tilted itself up at a new an;;'.*'. The passengers paid their pennies to Bess MarTaggart and stepped sedately on shore. The boat-house stands in a water-girt peninsula, the Ken being on one sido broad and quiet, the Black Water on the other, sulky and turbulent. So that for half a mile there was but one road for this curiously assorted paii of pairs. And as they approached them the woods of Airds laughed even more mockingly, with a ripple of tossing; birch plumes like a woman when she is merry in the night and dares not laugh aloud. And the beeches responded with a dryish cackle that had something of irony in it, Listen and you will hear how it was tlif next time a beech-tree shakes out his leaves to dry tht^ dew off uheu'.. LOWE'S SEAT U'A [aggavt st;uitl> sulky Aird;' tossinj; I in the l)eeche> iiu'j; of ras till' Iry the The two eldnrs came to a juick turn of the road. There was a slile just beyoini A moiuoiit Ijofon- a young man had overleaped it, and now he was liolding up bis hands encouvaj^in^jly to a girl who smiled down upon him from above. It wa- a difficult stile. The dyke top was shaky. Two of the bottom stops were missing altogether. All who huvo once been young know the kind of stile — verily, a i)lace of infinite dan- ger to the unwary. So at least thought Elspeth Stuart, as for a long mouK'iit she stood dainty ing her skirts about her ankles un the perilous eopestone, and drawing her breath a little short at the sight of the steep descent into the road. The elders also stood still, and behind them the other pair came slowly up. And surely sonu- wicked trick- some Puck laughed unseen among the beech leaves. Elspeth Stuart had taken the young man's hand now, lie was lifting her down. There — it was done And -yes, you are right — something else happened — just v: at would have happened lo you and me, twenty, thirty, or is it forty years ago '.' Then with a clash and a rustle the beeches told the tale to the birches overall the wooded slopes of the hill of Airds. * # * * • « "Elspeth!" '•Elspeth Stuart!" ' Maister SymeT^ The names came from four pairs of horrified lips as the parties to the above mentioned transaction fell swiftly asunder, with sudden stricken horror on their 162 LOWE'S BEAT faces. The first cry came .shrill and keen, and vas accompanied by an out-throwing of fcMjiinine hands. The second fell stei-nly from the mouth of one who \va> at once a parent and a minister of the Establishinon! outra^'ed in his t-onderost foelin.ijs. lUit indubit;il)ly tin elders had it. For one thin.q, thoy were two to one. aini as thoy said for the secontl time with yet deeper pravit " Maister Syme /" it. a))i)eared at once that they, at;; only thoy, were able arlo(iuatoly to deal with tho n;i. precodented situation, liut the others did what tlnv could. Mistress Mary Stuart, the minister's maidon sisti^r. flew forward with an eager cry, the " soraich" of a dosporatc hen when she is on the wrong side of the fence and sees the " daich " disappearing down a hiindrea hungry throats. She clutched her niece by the arm. " Come away this moment ! " she cried. " ] )o you kucrv who this young num is ? " But Elspeth did not answer. She was looking at !;■: father. Dr. Stuart, who.se eyes were bent upon tL' young man. Very stern they were, the fierce su(l(V!. darkness of Celtic anger in them. l>ut the you: : Cameronian minister knew that he had far worse l' face than that, and met the frown of patcrn.il severit^v with shame indeed mantling on his cheek and neck, lir.t yet with a certain quiet of determination finning \l- heart within him. " Sir," he said, " that of which you have been witness was no more than an accident — the fault of inijmln' and young blood. But I own I was carried away. I ask the young lady's pardon and yours. 1 should have LOWES SEAT Uli 1(1 ^^^^^ lianiU, ho \vaj shnicu! il)ly tli^' )no. iind gravit ley, ai'rl the in- lat they n sistt^r. •h" of a .e of the i hunilreu you linoT at li'' ipon til'' suihlei. voui: worse 1' severity neck, l'''' nuiig li'^ 11 witllOss away. ^ )uhl have I spoken to you first, but now 1 will delay no longer. Sir, I love your daughter ! " Then came fur the first time a slight smile upon the pale fiee of his fellow-inilprit. She said in her heart, " Ali, \ll;ui, if ye had spoken tirst to my father, I'uint u kiss Aould ye ever have gotten from Elspeth Stuart! " Hut at the manful woi-ds of the young C\unoronian lie face of her father grt'w only the more stern, the two elders watching and biding their time by the roadside. They knew that it would come before long. At last after a long silence Dr. Stuart spoke. "Sir," he said grimly, *' L do not bandy words with a stranger upon the public highway. 1 myself have nothing to say to you. I forbid you ever again to speak to my daughter. Elspeth, follow me ! " And with no more than this he turned and stalked away. lUit his daughter also had the high Highland bluod in her veins. She shook off with one largo motion uf her arm the stringy clutch of her aunt's fingers. ''Heed you not, Allan," she said, speaking very oleady, so that all might hear ; " when ye want her, Elspeth Stuart will come the long road and the straight road to speak a word with you." It was a bold avowal to make, and a moment before I the girl had not meant to say anything of the kind. But jiliey had taken the wrong way with her. " Oh, unmaidenly — most unraaidenly ! " cried lier I aunt, " come away — ye are mad this day, Elspeth Stuart -he has but a hunder a year of stipend, and may lose that ony day ! " Rut Elspeth did not answer. She was holding out her [liand to Allan Syme. He bent quickly and kissed it. 164 LOWE'S SEAT This young man had had a mother who taught him gra cious ways, not at all in keeping with the staid maQi.firs of a son of the covenants. « * « * * * " And now, sir," said John Allanson of Drows, turnin,- grimly upon his minister, who stood watching Elspeths girlish figure disappear round the curve of the green- edged track, " what have you to say to us ? " Then Allan Syme s pulses leaped quick and light, to; he knew that of a surety the time of his visitation \n> at hand. Yet his heart did not fail within him. At th' last it was glad and high. " For after all " (he sniileil as he thought it), "after all — well, they cannot take thai from me." " Sir," said Matthew Garment, in a louder tone, " heard ye the quastion that your ruling elder hath \ntten til! ye?" "John and Matthew," said the young man, gently, '•}> are my elders, and I will not answer you as F did Ih Stuart." " The priest of Midian ! " said Matthew Carment. " The forswearer of covenants ! " said John Allan- son. " But I will speak with you as those who have bcp;: unto me as Aaron a'^d Hur for the upholding of miuf hand" " " Say, rather," said John Allanson, sternly, " as I'hii;- eas the son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron, the priest who thrust through the Midianitish woman in sight of all the congregation of Israel, as they stood weeping before the door of the tabernacle ! " " So the plague was stayed from the children of LOWE'S SEAT Ifia Israel,'' quoted Matthew Carment, gravely, tiuishing his friend's sentence. Allan Syme winced. The words had been his Sun- day's text. *' I tell you, gentlemen,'" he said quickly, " since God gave Eve to Adam there has not been on earth a sweeter, truer maid than this. Yon have heard me declare my love for her. Well, I love her more than I uare trust my tongue to utter ! " " And how about your love for the Covenants ? And for the Faithful Remnant of the persecuted Kirk of the Martyrs ? " said Drows, with a certain dreary persist- ence that wore on Allan Syme like prolonged ^,ooth- ache. Then Matthew Garment, who, though slower than the ruling elder, was not less sure, gave in his contribu- tion. " ' Like unto Eve,' said ye ? A true word — verily, •I most true word I I or did not we with our own eyes she spoken an ill word of any, ever sine .; I have known her ! " " And wherefore should she ? " said John Allansou or Drows, as dispassionately as a clerk reading an indict- ment. " Hath she not been clothed in fine linen and fared sumptuously every day ? Hath she not eaten >'i the fine Hour and the honey and the oil ? Hath she m,! been adorned w4th broidered work and shod with badger skin, and, even as her sisters Aholah and .ihoiibah ' old, hath not power i)een given unio her to hjad even the hearts of the elect captive ? " Then Allan Syme broke forth furiously. " Your tongues are evil ! " he said, " ye are not fit to take her name (m your lips. She is to me as the motlirr of ouv Lord — y^s, as Mary, the wife of Juseph \ii>' carpenter ! " " And indeed T never thocht sae muckle o' that yn. either," said IMatthew of Craigs, — " the Papishes nm ower great a to-do about her for my liking ! " " Matthew Cannent and John Allanson, I hid yoi; hearken to me," cried the young minister. "Aye, Allan Syme, we will hearken!" they answeri(i| frontinf him eye to eye. LOWES SEAT 167 "God judge between you and mo,'' he said, "He hath said that for this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and cleave unto his wifo. Now, 1 know wt'll that if ye like, you two can take from me my kirk and all my living. But T have .s[)oken, and \ will adherf . I have promised, and I will keep. Take this my parting message. Do your duty as it is revealed to you. 1 will go forth freely and willingly. Naked I came among vuu — naked will I go. The hearts of my ])e<)ple are dearer to me than life. Ye can twine them from mo if you will. Ye can out me from my kirk, send me forth of my manse — cast me upon the world as a man dis- ijvaoed. But, as I am a sinner answerable to God, there >,:■• two things you camiot do, ye cannot make me bi'eak my ]»lighted word nor make me other than ])roud of the love I have won from God's fairest ci-eature ujxm earth." Ami with these words he turned on his heel and strode straight up hill away from them in the direction of his distant home. The two men stood looking after him. Drows stroked his shaggy fringe of beard. Matthew Garment put his hand to his eyes and gazed under it as if he had been looking into the sunset. There was a long silence. At 1 :.st the two turned and looked at each other. " Weel, what think ye ? " said Drows, ruling elder and natural leader in debate. There was a still longer pause, for ^latthew Garment was a man slow by nature and slower by habit. " He's a fine lad ! " he said at last. Drows broke a twig elaborately from the hedge and chewed the ends. " So I was thinkin' I " he aus yered. 168 LOWE'S SEAT " 1 had it in iny mind at the tiniP he was speakinV began Matthew, and thou hesitated. ' " Aye, what was in your mind ? " " I was thinkin' on the days when 1 courted .Jean ! '" " Aye, man ! " There was another long silence. It was Drows who broke it this time, and he said; "T — I was thinkin' too, Mathy ! Aye, man, 1 wa? thinkin' ! " "Aboot Marget?" queried Matthew Carment. " Na, no ahool Munjet ! "' They were silent again. The ruling elder settled to another green sprig of hedge-thorn. It seemed palata- ble. He got on well with it. " Man," he said at last, " do ye ken, Mathy — when he turned on us like yon, I was kind o' prood o' him. .My heart burned within me. It was maybe no verra like a uiinister o' the Kirk. But, ch man, it was awesoni-' human ! '' "Then I judge we'll say nae mair aboot it I" said Matthew Carment, turning tjwards the farm where th-- lamb sale was by this time well under way. "Huo mony are ye thinkin' o' biddin' for the day, Drows ? "' THE SUIT OF BOTTLE GREEN At the Manse of Pullarg things did not go over well. Dr. Stuart, being by nature a ([tiick, passionate, and imperious Celt, had first of all ordered his daughter to promise never again to hold any connnunication with the young Cameronian minister of Cairn Edward. It was tlius that he himself had been taught to understand family discipline. He was the head of the clan, as his fatiier had been before him. He claimed to be Trovi- (lence to all within his gates. His hand of correction Aiis not withheld from his boys, Frank and Sandy, until thp day they ran away from home to escape him. He euuld not well adapt this plan to the present case, but when Elspeth refused point blank to give any promise, her father promptly convoyed his daughter to her own room and locked her up there. She would stay where she was till she clumged her mind. Her aunt would take up her meals, and he himself would undertake to inform her as to her duties and responsibilities at suit- able intervals. There was not the least doubt in the mind of Dr. Stuart as to the result of such a course of treat- ment. Had he not willed it ? That was surely enough. But his sister was not so sure, though she did not dare to say so to the Doctor more than once. ''She is a very headstrong girl. Murdo," she said tremulously, as she gathered Elr.peth's scanty breakfast oiutray next morning, "it might drive her to some rash 'act!" 169 170 THE SUIT OF BOTTLE GRE^'\ "Konsense," retorted her brother, sliarply, did not our father do exactly the same to you, to keep you fnim marrying young Camiibcll of Luib ? " Mary Stuart's wiutry-aj^jjle face twitched and flushed. " Yes — yes," she fluttered, with a quaver in her voice, as if deprecating further allusion to herself, " but Elspeth is not like me, Murdo. She has more of your spirit."' " Let me hear no more of the matter," said her brothor, turning away. "/ wish it, and besides, I have my sermon to write." But when the maiden aunt knocked at the door aini entered with Elspeth's breakfast, she was astonished tc find the girl sitting by the window dressed exactly a.« she had been on the previous evening. Her face wa? very ])ale, but her lips were compressed and her eyt? dry. "Elspeth," she said uncertainly, her woman's intuition in a moment detecting that which a man might not have discovered at all, "you have not had off your clothes all night. You have never been to bed ! " "No, .\unt Mary !" " But what will the Doctor say — think of your father — )) " I do not care what he will say. Let him come and compel me if he can. He can thrash me as he does Frank." "But — oh, Elspeth — Elspeth, dear," the old lady trembled so much that she just managed to lay the tny down on the untouched bed opposite the window, " wlia: will God say ? " "'Like as a father pitieth his children,' isn't that what it says ? " The words came out of the dei>*^hs of THE SUIT OV BOTTLE GREEN 171 the bitterness of that younj,' heart. " Well, if that be true, God will say nothing; for if He is like my father, He will not care ! " The old lady sat down on an old rocking-chair which Elspeth liked to kee}> in the window to sit in and read, half because it had been her mother's, and half (for ELsiieth was not usually a sentimental young woman) because it was comfortable. She ]mt her hands to her face and sobbed into tliem. Thni for the first time Elsp»^th looked at her. Hitherto she had been slaring straight out at the window. So she had seen the day pass and the night come. So she had seen and not seen, heard and not heard, the Hhadov,' of ni^'ht sweep across the broad river, the stars come out, the cue owls nu'W as they flashed past silent as insects on the wing, and last of all, the rooks clamour uj)wards from the tall trees at Ijreak of day. Now, however, she watched her aimt weeping with that curious sense of detachment which conies to the young along with a first great sorrow. " Why should she weep ? " Elspeth was asking her- self ; " she had nothing to cry for. There can be no sorrow in the world like my sorrow and shame — and his, that is, if he really cares. Perhaps he does not care. They say in books that men often pretend. J^ut no — he at lea.st never could do that. He is too true, too simple, too direct — and he loves me ! " So she watched her aunt rock to and fro and sob with- out any pity in her heart, but only with a growing wonderment — much as a condemned man might look at a companion who was comydaining of toothache. The loug vigil of the night liad made the girl's heart numb 172 THE SUIT OF liOTTLE GREEN '4' and (lead witliin her. At twenty sorrow and joy alike arrive in superlatives. Then quite suddenly a spasm of pity of a curious soit came to Elspeth Stuart. After all, it was worth while to love. He was suffering too. Aunt Mary had no one t(i love her — to suffer with her. Poor Aunt Mary! So she went quickly iua-oss and laid her hand on the thin shoulder. It felt angular even through the dress. The sobs shook it. •'Do not cry, auntie," she said, softly and kindly. •• 1 am sorry I vexed you. T did not know." The old lady looked up at her niece. Elspeth starttil at the sight of a tear stealing down a wrinkle. Tears on young faces arc in place. They can bo kissed away, Imt this seemed wrong somehow. She patted the thin cheek, wliich had already begun to take on the dry satiny feel of age, which is so different from the roseleaf bloom of j'outh. " Then you will obey your father V " The words came tremulously. The pale lips " wick- ered." The tear had tri(k^"'d thus far now, but Aunr Mary did not know it. It is only youth that tastes its own tears. And generally rather likes the flavour. Elspeth did not stop petting her aunt. She stroked the soft hair, thinning now and silvering. Then shf smiled a little. "No," she said, "I will not obey my father, Aunt Mary. I am no child to be put in the corner. 1 am a woman, and know what I want." Yet it was only during the past night watches that she had known it for certain. But yesterday her desirt to see ixllan Syme had been no more than a little acli? thj: suit of ijottlk (Juekn 173 deep down in hor heart. Now it had bocome all her lift-. So fp^tile a soil wherein to grow h- r. is injudicious opposi tiou. "But at any rate you will take your breakfast ?" ''To please you I will try, aunt ! '' Aunt Mary plucked up licart at once. This was better. She liad made a beginninj,'. The rest would i'ulli>w. When she went dowui^lairs lier brother eanie uiit of his study to ^'et the key of his daviglitei's room. She told him how tliat ELsjfeth had never gone to ))ed, and had barely picked at her breakfast. Dr. Stuart made no remark, lie turned and went into his study again to work at his sermon. He too thought that all went well. He held that belief which causes so much misery in the world, that woman's will must always bend before man's. 80 it does — provided the man is the right man. « « * # « 4 On the third day of her confinement Elspeth Stuart wiote a letter It began without ceremony, and ended without signature : " You told me that you loved me. Tell it me again — OP paper. I am very unhappy. My father keeps me lucked up to make me promise never to speak to you or write to you. 1 do not mind this, except that I cannot ;,'o to Lowe's Seat. But I must be assured that you con- tinue to love me. 1 know you do, but all the same J want to be told it. If you address, ' Care of the Widow 15arr, at the Village of Crosspatrick,' Frank will bring it safely." It was a simple epistle, without lofty aspiraHons or wise words. But it was a loving letter, and admirably 174 THE SUIT OF liOTTLE GREEN adapted to prove satisfactory to its rpcipient. Aiul had Allan Syme known wliat was on its way to him he would have lifted up his heart. Jle was completing,' his ])as- toral visitation, and with a sort of fixed despair await- ing the next meetins,' of Session. Eor neither his ruling elder nor yet that slow-spoken veteran, jNIatthew C'arment, had passed a word more to him concerning the vision they had seen upon the fringes of the Airds woods, on the day tliat had proved such a day of doom to his sweetheart and liimself. Frank Stuart, keenly sympathetic with Elspeth's suf- ferings though notably contemptuous of their cause, ■will- ingly performed what was required of him. Being as yot untouched by love, he thought Elspeth extremely silly. He had no interest in ministers. If Elspeth had fmllon in love with a soldier now — he meant to be a sailor himself, but a soldier was at least somebody in tl^^ scheme of things. Of course, his father was a minister — but then people must have fathers. This was differ- ent. However, it was not his business : girls were all silly. And on this broad principle Master Frank took liis stand. With equal breadth of view he conveyed the letter to the " Weedow's " at Crosspatrick, en route for the Cameronian manse at Cairn Edward. But before he set out, he must have his grumble. He was beneath the window of his sister's room at the time. His father had been under observation all the morning, and was now safely off on his visitations. By arrangement with Aunt Mary, Elspeth was allowed the run of the whole upper storey of the Dullai-g Manse during Dr. Stuart's THE SLIT OF luriTLE GREEN 17/5 daily absences. So, on parole, slu' caiiio to this littlo window in the liable end, where Frank and she could comtiuine without fear of foreign observation. " What for could yc no have promised my father ony- thiu!,' — and then no done it ! " The su^<,'estion betrayed Master Frank's own plan of ('aiiipait?n, and renders more e.\(;usable the Doctor's fre- queut appeal to the argument of the hazel. After this there ensued for Elspeth a long and weary time. Every day Frank, detaching himself from the untrustworthy Sandy, slid (>ff down the watersido to Crosspatrick. Every day 1: • returned empty-handed and contemptuous. This it was to love a minister, and one who was not even a "regular." Why had not Elspeth, if she must fall in love, chosen a sailor ? lu those days there was no regular postal delivery in the remoter country districts. The mails came in an amateurish sort of way by coach to Cairn Edward, and thereafter distributed themselves, as it were, auto- matically. When the postage was paid, the authorities had no more care in the matter. Yet there was a kind of system in the thing, too. It was understood that anyone being in Cairn Edward on business .should " give a look in " at the Post Office, and if there were any letters for his neighbourhood, and he happened to have in his pocket the necessary spare "siller" at the moment, he would pay the postage and bring them to the " Weedow Barr's " shop in the village of Crosspatrick. It may be observed that there were elements of nn- m IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // 1.0 !S> Hi 1^ I.I L25 |||j^ III M 111125 II 2.0 1= 1.6 Va ^ /a ^/. %. ^ w ^^ "^A '/ Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 ^^\^ ;\ Q \ \ ^f^. b '^< b -m.mmmtaSSm 176 THE SUIT OF BOTTLE GREEN (.ertainty inseparable from such au arrangement. And these told hard on our poor prisoner of fate during these great endless midsummer days. She pined and gr'iw pale, like a woodland bird shut suddenly in a close ca.sie at that season when mate begins to call to mate through all the copses of birch and alder. " He does not love me — oh, he cannot love me! " she moaned. But again, as she thought of the stile on the way to Lowe's Seat — " But he does love me ! " she snid. ****** Then, sudden as a falling star, Fear fell on that green summer world. There came a weird sough through all the valley, a crying of folk to each other across level holms, shrill answerings of herd to herd on the utmost hills. The scourge o'c God had come again ! The Chol- era — the Cholera I Dread word, which we in these times have almost forgot the thrill of in our flesh. Mys- teriously and inevitably the curse swept on. It was at Leith — at Glasgow — at Dumfries — at ('aim Edwairl. It was coming! coming! coming! Nearer, nearer — eve. nearer! And men at the long scythe, sweeping the luch moadow hay aside with that most prideful of all rustic gestures. fell suddenly chill and shuddered to their marrows. The sweat of endeavour dried on them, and left them chill. as if the night wind had stricken them. Women with child swarfed with fear at their own door cheeks, and there was a crying within long ere the posset-cup could ba made ready. Neighbour looked with sudden suspi- cion at neighbour, and men at friendly talk upon the leas mancBuvred to get to windward of each other. Death was coming — had come! And in his studv. THE SUTT OF BOTTLE (iREKN 177 ffiim and unmoved, l>r. iMurdo Smart sat preparincr his Sabbath's sermon on 1ho ttixt, "Therefore. . . beeause I will do this unto thee, prepare to meet thy Gofl, (> Israel!" But in the shut chamber r.bove Elspeth waited ami watched, the hope that is deferred making her young heart sicker and ever sicker. Still she had not heard. No answering word had reached her, and it was now the second week. He did not love her — lie could not. But still! They had told her nothing, and, indeed, dnrin,'.': that tirst time of fear and uncertainty, they knew nothiu'j: for certain, away up by themselves in the wide vrild moor parish of Dullarg- There were no market d;tys i)i Cairn Edward any more. So much the farmers kn'-w. The men of the landward parishes set guards with loaded Jims upon everj outgoing road. There was no local iiuthority in thos*^ days, and men in such cases had to :ook to themselves. The infected place, be it city, town, 1' village, farm-steading or cottage, was completely and bitterly isolated. None might come out or go in. Pro- visions, indeed, were left in a convenient spot ; but secretly and by night. And the bearer shot away again, bent half to the ground with eagerness, fear, and speed, a cloth to his mouth, for the very wind that passed over him was Death. It was not so much a disease as a cer- tain Fate. Whoso was smitten was taken. In fact, to all that rustic world it was the Visitation of Very God. In the main street of Cairn Edwnrd grass irrew ; yet the place was not unpopulous. With the revival of trade and industry during the later years of the great ^var a cotton mill had been erected in a side street. 178 THE SUIT OF BOTTLE GREEN The houses of the work iolk were strung out from it. Then parallel with this there was a more ancient main street of low beetle-browed houses, many of them en- tering by a step down off the uneven causeway. At the upper end, near the Cross, were some better-class Louses, some of them of two storeys, a change-house or two, and down on the damp marshy land towards the looh, the cluster of huts which had formed the original nucleus of the village — now fallen into disrepute and disrepair, and nominated, from .he nationality of many of its iuhal> itants, " Little Dublin." In ten days a third of the inhabitants of this suburb had died. There was but one minister within the strait bounds of the straggling village. The parish church and manse lay two miles away out on a braeface overlook- ing yellowing widths of corn-land. And the minister thereof abode in his breaches, every day giving GcJ thank that he was not shut up within those distant white streets, from which, day by day, the housewifely retk rose in fewer and fewer columns. But Allan Syme was within, and could not pause to marry or to give in marriage, to preach or to pray, so full of his Master's business was he. For he must nurse and succour by day and bury by night, week day and Holy Day. He it was who upheld the dying head. He swathed the corpse while it was yet warm. He tolled the death-bell in the steeple. He harnessed the horse to the rude farm-cart. Sometimes all alone he dug the grave in the soft marshy flowe, and laid the dead in the brown peat-mould. For it was no time to stand upon trifles this second time that the Scourge of God had come to Cairn Edward. THE SUIT OF BOTTLE GREEN 179 To the outer limit of the cordon of -watchers came the carriers and the farmers, the country lairds' servants, and less frequently the bien ■\vell-stoniaehed meal millers. In silence they deposited their goods, for the most part wit'ii no niggard hand. In silence they took the fumi- gated pound notes, smelling of sulphur, or the silver coin uf tlie realm, with the crumbles of quick-lime still stick- ing to the milling of the edges. So across a kind of neutral zone, fearful country and infected town stc d glowering at each other like em- "tattled enemieS) musket laid ready in the crook of elbow. And when one mad with the Fear tried to cross, he was hunted like a wild beast, or shot at like a rabbit running for its burrow. And the townsmen did in like man- ner. For ill as it might fare with them, there was deadlier yet to fear. In Cairn Edward they had the White Cholera, as it was called. The Black was at Diiraffies — so, at least, the tale ran. And as he went about his work, Allan Syrae called upon his God, and thought of Elspeth. But her letter never reached him, and he knew nothing of her vigils. The day before he might have known the Fear fell, and the door was shut. * * * * # « It was on Saturday afternoon that the tidings came to Elspeth Stuart, lonely watcher and loving heart. It was lier brother Sandy who brought them. He knew nothing of Elspeth's matters, being young and by nature unworthy of trust. He had been down to Crosspatrick on some errand, and now, having arrived back within hailing distance, he was retailing his experiences to his brother Frank. 180 THK SUIT OK BOTTLE GKEKN i " 1 got yon luttjr buck trap the Weedow — aii", as I wasna gangiii' bame, I gied it to iviy faither." " Whaf, letter ? " Elspeth could hear the sudden angry alarm in Frank's voice ; but she herself had no premonition of danger. " The letter ye took doon to Crosspatrick for Elspetli ten days syne. Ye'll catch it, my man ! " The girl's heart sank, and then leapt again within lur. Her father had her letter — he -would read it. Tt v i- plainly addressed in her handwriting to Allan .SyiH' What should she do? But wait — there was something else. With a quiili back-spang came the countering joy. " But then he has never got my letter, lie know? nothing of my unhappiness. He has not forgotten int- He loves me still. What care I for aught else kt that ? " There came up from the courtyard a sound of blows, and then Sandy's wail. " I'll tell my faither on ye, that 1 will. How was I to ken aboot Elspeth's letter ? And they say the minister- man it was wrote to is dead, at ony rate I " Elspeth heard unbelievingly. Dead — Allan dead! And she not know. Absurd ! It was only one ct Sandy's lies to irritate his brother because he had been thrashed. She knew Sandy. Nevertheless she threw up the window. Sandy was again at his parable. *' They buried twenty-five yesterday in the moss. Tlie minister was there wi' the last coffin, and fell senseless across it. He never spoke again. He is to be buried the morn if they can get the coffin made ! '' Then, so soon as she was convinced that Sandy was THE SUIT OF IJOTTLK GKEKN 181 not inventing, and that he had only repeated the gos- sip of the village, a kind of coUl calmness took hold of Elspeth. She called Frank in to her, and when he came, lol his face was far whiter than hers. She made him tell her all they had kept from her — of the dread plague that had fallen so suddeu and swift upon the townlet to which Allan had carried her heart. Tlien she thought a while fiercely, not wavering in her purpose, but only trying this way and that, like one who thrusts with his staff for the safest passage over a dan- !;erous bog. Frank watched her keenly, but could make nothing of her intent. At last she spoke : •' Go and get me the key of your box.'' ''What do ye want with the key of my box ? " queried her brother, astonished. •'Xever heed that," said Elspeth, clipping her words imperiously, as, in seasons of stress, she had a way of uoiug ; " do as I bid you ! " .\nd being accustomed to such obediences, and albeit sorry for her, Frank went out, only remarking ominously that he would have a job, for that Aunt Mary carried it Oh her bunch. He came back in exactly ten minutes, and threw the key on the floor. "Easier than I expected," he said triumphantly; "the old buzzer was asleep ! " •'Give me the key," said Elspeth, still in a brown study by the window. But this was too much for Frank. "Pick it up for yourself, Els," he said, "and mind ■on are to swear you found it ol the floor ! " Frank knew very well that if one is going to lie back 182 THE SUIT OF BOTTLE GKEEN M and forth (as he intended to do when questioned), it n well to be prepared with occasional little scraps of truth, They cheer one up so. Elspeth took the key, and hid it in her pocket. "Now you can go," she said, and sat down on the bd, staring out at the broad river quietly slipj)ing by. " Well, you might at least have said ' tluuik voi; ' " began Frank. But catching the expression ot her face, he suddenly desisted, and went out witliou: another word. ****** No, Allan Syme was not dead. But he staggered home that night certainly more dead than alive. A'.! day long he had moved in an atmosphere of the mii>- appalling pestilence. The reek of mortality seemed to solidify in his nostrils, and his heart for the first tin/ fainted within him. He knew that there would be no welcome for him in the dark and lonelj' manse ; no meal, no comfort, no liv- ing voice ; not so much as a dog to lick his hand. H:^ housekeeper, a mere hireling, had fled at the fii?t alarm. It was dusk as he thrust the key into the latch, as Le did so staggering against the lintel from sheer weariness. He stood a little while in the passage, shuddering witli the oncomings cf mortal sickness. Then with flint. steel, and laborious tinder box he coaxed a light for the solitary taper on the hall table. This done, he turned aside into the little sitting-room on the right hand, where he kept his divinity books. A slight figure came forward to meet him, with up- turned fa/Ce and clasped petitionary hands. The action THE SUIT OF BOTTLE GKEEN 183 was a ffirl's, but the dress and figure were those of a Imv. Upon the threshold the, minister stopped dead. He thought that this ^vas the first symptom of delirium — he had seen it in so many, and had watched for it in liimself. But the lad still came forward, and laid a hand on his arm. He wore a suit of bottle green with silver buttons, a world too wide for liis slim form. Knee breeches and buckled shoes completed his attire. Allan Syme stared ;vide-eyed, uncomprehending, his hand pressed to his aching brow in the effort to see truly. " You are not dead. Thank God ! " said the boy, in a voice that took him by the throat. " Who — who are you ? " The words came dry and gasping from the minister's parched lips. " / am Elspeth — do you not know me ? " "Elspeth — Elspeth — why did you come here — and thus?" "They told me you were dead — and my father locked me up ! And — what chance had a girl to pass the guards ? They fired at me — see ! " And lifting a wet curl from her brow, she showed a wound. "Elspeth — Elspeth — what is all this? What have they done to you ? " " Nothing — nothing — it is but a scratch. The man almost missed me altogether." " Beloved, what have you done with your hair ? " " I cut it off, that I might the better deceive them ! " *' Elspeth — you must go back ! This is no place for you!" " I will not go back home. I will die first I " ISA THE SLMT Uf HOTTLK GKKE.N *' But, Elspcth, think if any one saw you — what would they say ? '' " That I came to hoi]) you — to nurse you ! T do not care what they would say." "My deal' — iny dear, you 'annot bide here. I would to God you could ; but you cannot. 1 must think how to get you away. I must think — I must think ! " The minister, sick unto death, stood with his hand still pressed to his brow. At sight of him, and because, after all she had gone through for him, he had given hti neither welcome uor kiss, a swift spasm of anger flashed up into Elspeth's eyes. " You are ashamed of me, AlJan Syme — let me go. I will never see you more. You do not love me! 1 wili not trouble you. Open the door ! " " God knows I love you better than my soul ! " .said Allan ; " but let me think. Father in heaven — I v.aumi think! My brain runs round." He gave a slight lurch like a felled ox, and swayed forward. Instantly, as a lamp that the wind blows out, all the anger went out of Elspeth Stuart's eyes. She caught Allan in her strong young arms and laid him on the worn couch, displacing with a sweep of her hand a whole score of volumes as she laid him down. He lay a moment stiff and still. Then a spasm of pain contorted his features. He opened his eyes, and looked into his sweetheart's eyes. Then, with the swift astonish- ing clearness of the mortally stricken, he saw what must be done. "Allan, Allan, what is the matter — what shall I do for you ? " she mourned over him. THE SUIT OK BOTTLK GKEEN 18^ "Do this," answered the minister. ''Take the cloak out ot that cupboard there. 1 have never worn it. Gn straight to John Allauson. He is my Ruling Elder. He bides at his daughter's house close by the cotton mill. Tell him all, and bid him come to me.'' "The dreadful man who was so angry — that day at Lowe's Seat!" she objected, not fearing for herself, but for him. "He is not a dreadful man. Do as I bid you, childie; 1 am sick, but I judge not unto death I " " But you may die before I return ! ■ ' "Do as I bid you, Elspeth," said the minister, waving her away; "not a hundred choleras can deprive me of oue minute God has appointed mine I '' She bent over quickly, and kissed him on lips and brow. "There — and there! Now if you die, T will die too. Remember that ! And I do not care now. 1 will go ! " Saying this, she rushed from the room. ****** It was a strange visitor who came to the house of the Elder's daughter that evening, as the gloaming fell darker, her feet making no sound on the deserted and grass-grown streets. " A young laddie wants to see you, father," said John .Vllanson's married daughter, with whom he had been lodging for a night when the j)lague came, in a single hour putting a great gulf between town and country. Then, finding his minister alone, he was not the man to leave him to fight the battle single-handed. Shamefacedly Elspeth crept in. The old man and his daughter were by themselves, the husband not yet home 186 THE HUIT OF r.OTTLE OIJEEN from the joiner's shop, where the hammers went tap-tnj, at the phain deal colIins all day antl all night. '*The minister is dying — eomo and help him or hf will die ! " she cried, as they sat looking curionsly at her in the clear, leaping red of the iirelight. " Who are yon, laddie ? " said the elder. " I am no laddie," said Elspeth, redder than the peat ashes. '' Oh, I am shamed — I am shamed ! But I could not help it. And I am not sorry! They told iiir he was dead. I am Elspeth Stuart, of the J)ullar? Manse." The elder sat gazing at her, open-mouthed, loniiin: forward, his hands on his knees. But his dancflitpr, with the quick sympathy of woman, held out her arms. " My puir lassie ! " she said. She had ouce lost a bairn, her only one. And Elspeth wept on her bosom. The daughter waved her father to the door with one hand. " She will tell me easier ! " she said. And straightway the old man went out into the dark. * # # ^ m * It did not take long to tell, with Allan Syrae lying so near to the gates of death. Almost in less time than it needs to write it, Elspeth was arrayed, so far at least as outer seeming went, in the garments of her sex. A bas- ket was filled with the necessities which were kept ready for such an emergency in every house. " Come, father," the loving wife cried at the door ; " I will tell you as we gang ! " And before she had won third way through her story, John Allanson had taken Elspeth's hand in his. THE SUIT OF I50TT1J.] GllKEN 187 "%l)aini! my bairn!" lip said In this manner Elspoth came the second time to the Manse of Allan Syme. n„t tho third time was as tbo misfeL thornof. F„, she an, he eldo,-., dau.M.te.. nursed Allan Sy„,e through ,„to safety, lor tl.e very day tl,at Allan was strieke ,, :. K,.at ra,„ fe„ a„d a great wind l.low. The birds can, ^k to the gardens ot Cairn Edward, and the plague lifted. In tame, too, Dr. Stuart snbnutted w.th severe grac« to that which he could not Iielp "Indeed it was all n,y fault, father," Elspeth said; 1 .nade A Ian come back by the stile, 1 had made „; .yjnnd tnat he shouid. I knew he wou.d kiss me "Then I can only hope," answered her father, severel , l.ft.ng up h,s gold-knobbed cane and shaking it at her to ...1 .a.s,se h>s point, "that by this time your husband has learned the secret of making you obey hiu. U ' more than ever your father did ! " A SCIENTIFIC SYMPOSIUM (Being some Hitherto Unobserved Phenomena of Feminine Psychol- ogy from the notebook of A. McQuhirr, M.D. Edin.) These papers of miue have been getting out of liand of late. I am informed from various quarters that they an* becoming so exceedingly popular and discursive in their character, that they are enough to ruin the reputation of any professing man of science. I will therefore be severe with myself (and, incidentally, with my readers), and occupy one or two papers with a consideration of some of the minor characteristics common to the female sex. Indeed, upon a future occasion I may even devoti an entire work to this subject. I ha.ve mentioned before that my wife's younger sis- ter was called the " Hempie," ^ which, being interpreted signifies a wild girl. This had certainly been her char- act;ir at one time ; and though she deserves the name less now than of yore, all her actions are still marked by conspicuous decision and independence. For instance, the year after Nance and I were married. the Kempie abruptly claimed her share of her mother's money, and departed to Edinburgh " to get learning." Now it was a common thing enough in our part of the country for boys to go out on such a quest. It was un- 1 Some of the earlier and less reputable of the " Hemple's " adven- tures may be found in a certain uuscieutific work entitled " I-ad ' Love." 188 A SCIE^^TIKIC SYMPOSIUM lHiTlFIi; SVMroSlTM .sound box on the ear — ooming waking niu \\[) like that. when y(ni know 1 didn't have iiiovc than an hour's good sleep last night!" — this is the genuine ailido. Th( lady was asleep that time. The other kind iiuiy In- pretty enough to read about, but that is its only merit. It was Nanee who spoke lirst. I heard her drop the scissors and stoop to piek them up. I also gutlieml from the tone of her tirst words that she had a pin in her mouth. Yet she goes into a lit if baby tries u, imitate her, and wonders where he can learn such habit > This also is incomprehen.sible. " Have you left Craignesslin for good ? " said Nance. using a foolish expression for which 1 have ofteu reproved her. "I am going back," said the Hempie. I am not so well acquainted with the nuances of the Hempie's voice and habit as 1 am with those of her sister, but I should say that she was leaning back in her chair with hei hands clasped behind her head, and staring contentedly out at the window. " 1 thought perhaps the death of the old major would make a difference to you," said Nance. I knew by the mumbling sound that she was biting a thread. "It does make a difference," said the Hempie, dreamily, " and it will make a greater difference befori all be done ! " Nance was silent for a while. 1 knew she was hurt at her sister's lack of communicativeness. The rocking- chair was suddenly hitched sideways, and the stroking rose from fifty in the minute to about sixty or sixty-tive, according, as it were, to the pressure on the boiler. Still the Hempie did not speak a word. A SCIKNTIFIC SV.Ml'OSIl M 1^01 The rocking-(^h;iir \v;is tloiii^ js ^'ood .seventy now — but it was a spiiir, ;iu«l (;oul(l not last. *' P^lizabeth," saiil Xance, siuUlfMlv, •• ( did not think you could be so mean. I never behaved like this to you." "No?" said the Ilenipie, with serene interrogation, hut (lid not move, so i'ar as 1 loidd make out. The rocking-chair ceased. There was a pause, jiainlul even ti) 1110 in my little den. The strain on the other side of the wall must have been enormous. When Nance spoke it was in a curiously altered voice. It sounded even pleading. 1 wish the Hempie would teach nie her secret. "Who is it? — tell me, Hempie," said Nance, softly. I did not catch the answer, though obviously one was given. But the next moment I heard the unbalanced (latter of the abandoned rocker, and then Nance ^ voice saying : " No, it is impossible ! " Apparently it was not, however, for presently I heard the sound of more than one kiss, and I knew that my dear Mistress Impulsive had her sister in her arms. " Then you know all about it now, Hempie ? '* " All about what ? " "Don't pretend, — about love. You do love him very much, don't you ? " " I don't know. 1 have never told him so ! " " Hempie ! " " It is true, Nance ! " "Then why have you come home ? " " To get married ! " said the Hempie, calmly. THE HEMPIE'S LOVE STORY This is the somewhat remarkable story the Hempie told my wife as she sat sewing in the little parlour over- looking the garden, the day Master Alexander McQuhirr, Tertius, cut hie first tooth.* Elizabeth Chrystie was a free-spoken young woman. and she told her tale generally in the English of the schools, but sometimes in the plain country-side talk she had spoken when, a barefoot bare-legged lass, she hail scrieved the hills, the companion of every questing collie and scapegrace herd lad, 'twixt the Bennan and the Butt o' Benerick. " When I first got to Craignesslin," said the Hempie, " I thought I had better turn me about and come right back again. And if it had not been for pride, that is just what I should have done." " Were they not kind to you ? " asked Nance. " Kind ? Oh, kind enough — it was not that. I could easily have put an end to any unkindness by walking over the hill. But I could not. To tell the truth, the place took hold of me from the first hour. " Craignesslin, you know, is a great house, with many of the rooms unoccupied, sitting high up on the hills, a 1 Tliis, however, was not discovered till afterwards, and was then acclaimed as the reason why he cried so much on the arrival of his aunt Elizabeth. To his nearest relative on the father's side, however, the young gentleman's performances seemed entirtij normal. — A. McQ. 202 JTi THE HEMPIE\S LOVE STORY 203 place where all the winds blow, and where the trees are mostly scrubby scrunts of thorn, turning up their branches like skeleton hands asking for alms, or shriv- elled birches and cowering firs all bent away from the west. '' When first I saw the place I thought that I could never bide there a day — and now it looks as if I were going to live there all my life. "The hired man from the livery stables in Prumfern set my box down on the step of the front door, and drove off as fast as he could. He had a long way before him, he said, the first five miles with not so much as a cottage by the wayside. He meant a public-house. " He was a rude boor. And when I told him so he only laughed and said : ' For a' that ye'll maybe be glad to see me the next time I come — even if I bring a hearse for ye to ride to the kirkyaird in ! ' " And with that he cracked his whip and drove out of sight. I was left alone on the doorstep of the old House of Craignesslin. I looked up at the small windows set deep in the walls. Above one of them I made out the date 1658, and over the door were carven the letters, W.F. "Then I minded the tales my father used to tell in the winter forenights, of Wicked Wat Fergus of Craig- nesslin, how 1 V. used to rise from his bed and blow his horn and ride off to the Whig-hunting with Lag and Heiighan, how he kept a tally on his bed-post of the men he had slain on the moors, making a bigger notch all the way round for such as were preachers. "And while I was thinking all this, I stood knocking for admission. I could not hear a living thing move Mfc 204 THE HEMPIE'S LOVE STOKY about the place. The bell would not ring. At the first touch the brass pull came away in ray hands, and huii" by the wire almost to the ground. " Yet there was something pleasant about the plaoc too, and if it had not been for the uncanny silence, 1 would have liked it well enough. The hills ran steeply up on both sides, brown with heather on the dryer knolls, and the bogs yellow and green with bracken and moss. The sheep wandered everywhere, creeping white against the hill-breast or standing black against ♦^he skylino. The wluiups cried far and near. Snipe whinnied up in the lift. Magpies shot from thorn-bush to thorn-busL, and in the rose-bush by the door-cheek a goldfinch had built her nest. " Still no one answered my knocking, and at last 1 opened the door and went in. The door closed of its own accord behind me, and I found myself in a gie;it hall with tapestries all round, dim and rough, the bright colours tarnished with age and damp. There were suits of armour on the wall, old leathern coats, broad-swords basket-hilted and tasselled, not made into trophies, but depending from nails as if they might be needed the next moment. Two ancient saddles hung on huge pins, one on either side of the antique eight-day clock, whicl ticked on and on with a solemn sound in that still place. " I did not see a single thing of modern sort anywhere except an empty tin which had held McDowall's Sheep Dip. "Nance, you cannot think how that simple thing reassured me. I opened the door again and pulled uiy box within. Then I turned into the first room on the right. I could see the doors of se i^eral other rooms, but *» *>■: THE IIEMriKS LOVE STOKY 20o they were all dark and looked cavernous and threaten- ing as the mouths of cannon. "But the room to the right was bright and filled with the sunshine from end to end, though the furniture was old, the huge chairs uncovered and polished only by use, audthe great oak table in the centre hacked and chipped. From the windov; I could see an oblong of hillside with sheep coming and going upon it. I opened the lattice and looked out. There came from somewhere far under- neath, the scent of bees and honeycombs. I began to grow lonesome and eerie. Yet somehow I dared not for the life of me explore further, " It was a strange feeling to have in the daytime, and you know, Nance, 1 used to go up to the muir or down past the kirkyaird at any hour of the night. "I did not take off my things. 1 did not sit down, though there were many chairs, all of plain oak, massive and ancient, standing about at all sorts of angles. One had been overturned by the great empty fireplace, and a man's worn riding-glove lay beside it. "So I stood by the mantelpiece, wondering idly if this could be Major Fergus's glove, and what scuffle there had been in this strange place to overturn that heavy chair, when I hea^d a stirring somewhere in the house. It was a curious shuffling tread, halting and slow. A faint tinkling sound accompanied it, like nothing in the world so much as the old glass chandelier in the room at Xether Neuk, when we danced in the parlour above. "The sound of that shuffling tread came nearer, and I grew so terrified, that I think if I had been sure that the way to the door was clear, I should have bolted there i^nd then. But just at that moment I heard the foot 206 THE HEMPIE'S LOVE STORY trip. There was a muffled sound as of some one fall ing forward. The jingling sound became momentarilv louder than ever, to which succeeded a rasping and a fumbling. Something or some one had tripped over my box, and was now examining it in a blind way. " I stood turned to stone, with one hand on the cold mantelpiece and the other on my heart to still the pain- ful beating. •' Then 1 heard the shuffling coming nearer again, and presently the door lurched forward violently. It did net open as an intelligent being would have opened a door. The passage was gloomy without, and at first I saw nothing. But in a moment, out of the darkness, there emerged the face and figure of an old woman. She wore a white cap or ' mutch,' and had a broad and perfectly dead-white face. Her eyes also were white — o^ rather the colour of china ware — as though she had turned them up in agony and had never been able to get them back again. At her waist dangled a bundle of keys; and that was the reason of the faint musical tinkling I had heard. She wa"^ muttering rapidly to herself in an undertone as she shuffled forward. She felt with her hands till she touched the great oaken table in the centre. " As soon as she had done so, she turned to the win- dow, and with a much brisker step she went towards it. I think she felt the fresh breeze blow in from the heather. Her groping hand went through the little hinged lattice I had opened. She started back. "'Who has opened the window?' she said. 'Surely he has not been here ! Perhaps he has escaped ! Walter — Walter Fergus — come oot ! ' she cried. ' Ah, I see you, you are under the table ! ' THE HEMPIE'S LOVE STORY 207 "And .'ith surprising activity the blind old woman bent down and scrambled under the table. She ran hither and thither like a cut after a mouse, beating the floor with her hands and colliding with the legs of the table as she did so. " Once as she passed she rolled a wall-white eye up at me. Nance, I declare it was as if the week-old dead had looked at you ! "Then she darted back to the door, opened it, and with her fingers to her mouth, whistled shrilly. A great surly- looKing dog of a brown colour lumbered in. "< Here, Lagwine, he's lost. Seek him, Lagwine I Seek him, Lagwine ! ' "And now, indeed, I thought, 'Bess Chrystie, your last hour is come.' But though the dog must have scented me — nay, though he passed me within a foot, his nose down as if on a hot trail — he never so much as glanced in my direction, but took round the room over the tumbled chairs, and with a dreadful bay, ran out at the door. The old woman followed him, but most unfortunately (or, as it might be, fortunately) at that moment my foot slipped from the fender, and she turned upon me wiih a sharp cry. " ' Lagwine, Lagwine, he is here ! He is here ! ' she cried. " And still on all fours, like a beast, she rushed across the floor straight at me. She laid her hand on my shoe, and, as it were, ran up me like a cat, till her skinny hands fastened themselves about my throat. Then I gave a great cry and fainted. " At least, I must have done so, for Avhen I came to 208 THE HEMPIES LOVE STORY myself a young man was bending over me, with a white and anxious face. He liad on velveteen kniekerbooktTs, and a jacket with a strap round the waist. " ' Where is that dreadful old woman ? ' I cried, for I was still in mortal terror.'' "/ should have died," said Kance. And from the sound of her voice I judged that she had given up the attempt to continue her seam in order to listen tu the Hempie's tale, which not the most remarkable expo- sition of scientific truth on my part could induce her to do for a moment. "'It's all my fault — all my fault for not being at home to meet the trap,' I heard him murmur, as I sank vaguely back again into semi-unconsciousness. When I opened my eyes I found myself in a pleasant room, with modern furniture, and engravings on the wall of the * Death of Nelson ' and ' Washington crossing the Dela- ware.' " As soon as I could speak I asked where I was, and if the horrible old woman with the white eyes would come back. The young man did not answer me directly. but called out over his shoulder, ' Mother, she is coming to.' " And the next moment a placid, comfortable-looking lady entered, with the air of one who has just left the room for a moment. " ' My poor lassie/ she said, bending over me, ' this is a rough home-coming you have got to the house of Craignesslin. But when 3-0U are better I will tell you all. You are not fit to hear it now.' " But I sat up and protested that 1 Avas — that I must hear it all at once, and be done with it," THE HEMPIE'S LOVE STORY 209 " Of course," cried Nance, " you felt that you could not stay unless you kncv. And 1 would not have stopped another minute — not if they had brought down the Angel Gabriel to explain." " Not if Alec had been there ? " queried the Hempie, smiling. "Alec!" cried Nance, in great contempt. "Indeed, if Alec had been in such a place, 1 would have made Alec come away inside of three minutes — yes, and take me with him if he had to carry me out on his back ! Stop there for Alec's sake ? No fear ! " That is the way my married wife speaks of me behind my back. But, so far as I can see, there is no legal remedy. " Go on, Hempie ; you are dreadfully slow." "So," continued the Hempie, placidly, "the nice matronly woman bade me lie down on a sofa, and put lavender-water on my head. She petted nie as if I had been a baby, and I lay there curiously content — me, Elizabeth Chrystie, that never before let man or woman lay a hand on me " "Exactly," said Nance ; " was he very nice-looking ? " "Who?" "The young man in the velveteen suit, of course." "I don't know what you mean." " I mean, was he better-looking than Alec ? " " Better-looking than Alec ? Why, of course ; Alec isn't a bit " " Hempie ! " There was a pause, and then, to relieve the strain, the Hempie laughed. " Are you never going to get over it, Nance?" mmm 210 THE HEMPIE'S LOVE STOFY t' " Get on with your story, and be sensible." I ooiiM hear a thread bitten throngli. " So the lady began to talk to me in a quiet hushed tone, like a minister beside a sick-bed. She told me how some years ago her poor husband, ^AEajor Fergus. had had a dreadful accident. He was not only disfigmoil. but the shock had affected his brain. " ' At first,' she said, ' we thought of sending him tn an asylum, but we could not find one exactly suited to his case. Besides which, his old nurse, Betty Hear.se- man, who had ahvays had great influence with hiui, was wild to be allowed to look after him. She is not quitt- right in the head herself, but most faithful and kind. She cried out night and day that they Avere abusing him in the asyhim. So at last he was brought here and placed in the old wing of the house, into which Vdu l)enetrated by misadventure to-day.' " ' But the dog V ' I asked ; ' do they hunt the patient with a fierce dog like that ? ' " ' Ah, poor Lagwine,' she sighed, ' he is devoted to his old master. He would not hurt a hair of his head or of anybody's head. Only sometimes, when he finds the door open, my poor Roger will slip out, and then nobody else can find him on these weariful hills.' "Then I asked her of the younger children whom 1 had been engaged to teach. "'They are my grandchildren,' she said; 'you can hear them upstairs.' " And through the clamour of voices, that of the young man I had seen rang loudest of all. " ' They are playing with their father ? ' I said. " She shook her head. ' They are the children of my THE HEMPIE'S 1.0 VE STOKY 211 daiigliter Isobel,' she said. ' She married Captain Fer- gus, of the Engineers, her own cousin, and died on her way out to the West Indies. So Algernon brought them home, and here they are settled on us. And what with mv husband's wastefulness before he was laid aside, and the poor rents of the hill farms nowadays, I know not what we shall do. Indeed, if it were not for my dear sou Harry we could not live. He takes care of every- thing, and is most scrupulous and saving.' "So when she had told me all this, I lay still and thought. And the lady's hand went slower and slower across my head till it ceased altogether. '"I cannot expect you to remain with ns after this, Miss Chrystie,' she said, 'and yet I know not what I shall do without you. I think we should have loved one another.' " I told her that I was not going away — that I was not afraid at all. " ' But, to tell you the truth, my dear,' she said, * I do not rightly see where your wages are to come from.' "'That does not matter in the least, if I like the place hi other ways,' I said to her." "He must be very good-looking!" interjected Nance. " So I told her I would like to see the children. She ■vent up to call them, and presently down they came — ;i girl of six and a little boy of four. They had been liaving a rough-and-tumble, and their hair was all about their faces. So in a little we were great friends. They went up to the nursery with their grandmother, and I was following more slowly, when all at once, Harry — I mean the young man — came hurrying in, carrying a tray. He had an apron tied about him, and the bottom 212 TIIK HEMJMK'S LOVE STOKV t hem of it was tucked into the string at the wais*:. As soon as he saw mo he blushed, and n^'Uily dropped the tray he was carrying. I think he expected me to laugh, but I did not — » " Of course not," coincided Nance, with decision. " I just opened the top drawer in the sideboard and took out the cloth and spread it, while he stood with the tray still in his arms, not knowing, in his surprise, what to do with it. " ^ I thought you had gone upstairs with my mother.' he said. * Old John Hearseman is out on the hill with the lambs, and we have no other servants except the children's little nurse.' " And so — and so," said the Hempie, falteringly, " that is how it began."' I could hear a little scuffle — which, being interpreted, meant that Nance had dropped her workbasket and sew- ing on the floor in a heap and had clasped her sister in her arms. " Darling, cry all you want to ! " JXy heart would know that tone through six feet of kirkyard mould — aye, and leap to answer it. " I am not crying — 1 don't want to cry." It was the Hempie"s voice, but I had never heard it sound like that before. Then it took a stronger tone, with little pauses where the tears were wiped away. " And I found out that night from the children how good he was — how helpful and strong. He had to be out before break of day on the hills after the sheep. Often, with a game-bag over his shoulder, he would bring in all that there was for next day's dinner. Thon when Betsy, the small maid, was busy with his mother, he THE IIEMIUE'S LOVE STUllY 213 would bathe Ali^'ie and Madgf, and put tlieni to bod. For Mrs. Fergus, thouyh a kind \v»)niaii in lior way, liad been accustomed all her life to be waited on, and ac(!ei)ted everything from her son's hands witiiout so much as ' Thank you.' "So I did not say a word, but j:fot up early next morn- ing and went downstaii-s. And wluit do you think 1 found that blessed Harry doing — hlnckhi'j mij hoots!''' There was again a sound like kissing and quiet crying, though I cannot for the life of me tell why there should have bt'cn. Perhaps the women who read this will know. And then the Hemi)ie's voice began again, striving after its kind to be master of itself. '•So, of course, what could I do when his father died ■' He and I were with him night and day. P'or Betty Hcarseman being blind could not handle him at all, and Harry's mother was of no use. lnde(Ml. we did not say anything to alarm her till the very last morning. No, I cannot tell even you, Nance, what it was like. But we came through it together. That is all.'' Nance hnd not gone back to her sewing. So T could not make out what was her next question. It was spoken too near the Hempie's ear. But I heard the answer plainly enough. '* A month next Wednesday was what we thought of. It ought to be soon, for the children's sake, poor little things." "Oh, yes," echoed Nance, meaningly, "for the chil- dren's sake, of course." The Hempie ignored the tone of this remark. " Harry is having the house done up. The old part is to be made into a kitchen. Old John and Betty Hearse- tnan are to have a cottage down the glen." 214 THE IIETvIlME'S LOVE STORY "And you are to bo, all uloiio,'" cried Nance, clappin;' her hands, *' with only the old lady to look after ? Tlia will be like jjlayin^' at house." "Yes," said the Ilcmpie, ironically, "it would — without the playing. Oh no, I am going to have a i)air of decent moorland lasses to train to my ways, ainl Harry will have a first-rate herd to help him on the hill." Then she laughed a little, very low, to herself. "The best of it is that he still thiidis 1 am ])()or,'' she said. "I have never told him about mother's nionev, and I mean to ask father to give me as much as he gavn you and Grace." "Of course," said Nance, promptly. "I'll come up and help you to make him." There was a cheerful prospect in front of Mr. Petir Chrystie, of Nether Neuk, if he did not put his hand in his breeches' pocket to some purpose. " Will Alec let you come '/ " queried the Hempie, doubtfully. " He will miss you." " Oh, I'll tell him it is for the sake of baby's health." said Nance ; " and, besides, husbands are all the better for being left alone occasionally. Tliey are so nice whtii they get you back again." " What ! " cried the Hempie, " you don't mean to say that Alec has fits of temper? I never would have believed it of him." " Hush ! " said Nance. Theie was again that irri- tating whispered converse, from which emerged the Hempie's clear voice : " Oh, but my Harry will never be like that." " Wait — only wait," said Nance. " Hempie, they are THE IIEMPIE'S LOVE STORV ji^ all alike. And besides, they write you such nice letters .lion tliey are away. I suppose you get one every day v Ves, of course. What, he walks six miles over the hill to post if.' That is nice of hiuK Alec once came all the way from Edinbur-^h, and went back the next day just because he thouglit I was cross with him - ' "Oh, but my Harry never, never " (Left speaking.) if THE LITTLE FAIR MAN I. — Seed Sown by the Wayside « Notable among my father's papers was one bundlo quite by itself which he had always looked upon witii peculiar veneration. The manuscripts which composni it were written in crabbed hand-writing on ancient paper, very much creased at the folds, and bearing the iiuuks of diligent perusal in days past. My father could not read these, but had much reverence for them because of the great names which could be deciphered here aui there, such as " Mr. D. Dickson," " Mr. G. Gillespie, " and in especial " Mr. Samuel Rutherfurd." How these came into the possession of mj father's forbears, I have no information. They were always known in the family as " Peden's Papers," though so far as I can now make out, that celebrated Covenanter had nothing to do with them — or, at least, is never men- tioned in them by name. On the other hand I find from the family Bible, written as a note over against the entry of my great-grandmother's death, " Aprile the seventeeiir, 1731," the words, " Cozin to Mr. Patrick Walker, chap- man, of Bristo Port, Edinburgh." The letters and narratives are in many hands and vary considerably in date, some being as early as the high days of Presbytery, about 1638, whilst others in a 21G SEED S0\V:N liV THE WAYSIDE *il7 [ilaiuei' hand have manifestly l»een copied or rewritten in the first decade of last century. Now after I came from (;ollege and before my mar- riage, I had sometimes long forenighls with little to do. So having got some insight into ancient handwriting from my friend ]Mr. James Robh, of the College of Saint Mary, an expert in the same — a good golfer also, and a better fellow — I set me to work to decipher these man- uscripts both fcr my own satisfaction and for the fur- ther pleasure of reading them to my father on Saturday nights, when I was in the habit of driving over to see my mother at Drumquhat on my way from visiting my patients in the Glen of Kells. That which foUov.'s is from the first of these docu- ments which I read to my father, lie was so much taken by it that he begged me to ])ublish it, as he said, "as a corrective to the sinful compliances and shameless defections of the times." And though I am little san- guine of any good it may do from a high ecclesiastic jioiut of view, the facts nanated are interesting enough in themselves. The nuinus'-ript is clearly written out in a tall copy-book of stout bluish paper, without rulect lines, and is bound in a kind of gray sheepskin. The name " Harry AVedderburn " is upon the cover here and there, and within is a definitive title in floreated capitals, very ornately inscribed: "E^e Storg of tfje STuruing of mc, ^i|ariu ^[Eclititrburn, from 1Barfenc03 to iligbt, bo t^e mcnns mnti instrument of i^r. Samuel Eutberfutli of ^niuotf), Serljant of i^oti." Then the manuscript proceeds : " The Lord hath spared me, Harry Wedderburu, these 218 THE LITTLE FAIR MAN many years, delaying the setting of my sun till once more the grass grows green where I saw the blood Hi- red, and I wait in patience to lay my old head beneath the sod of a quiet land. " This is my story writ at the instance of good Mr. Patrick Walker, and to be ready at his next coming into our parts. The slack between hay and hai'vest of the Year of Deliverance, 1689, is the time of writing. " I, Harry Wedderburn, of Black Craig of Dee, in the country of Galloway, acknowledging the mercies of God, and repenting of my sins, set these things down in my own hand of write. Sorrow and shame are in my li-ait that my sun was so high in the heavens before I turned me from evil to seek after good. " We were a wild and froward set in those days in the backlands of the Kells. It was not long, indeed, since the coming of a law stronger than that of the Strong Hand. Our fathers had driven the cattle from the Eng- lish border — yea, even out of the fat fields of Niddis- dale, and over the flowe of Solway. And if a man were offended with another, he went his straightest way home and took gun and whinger to lie in wait for his enemy. Or he met him foot to foot with quarter-staff on the highway, if he were of ungentle hen.f. und possessed neither pistol nor musketoon. " I mind w^ell that year 1636, more than fifty years bygone — I being then in the twenty-second year of my age, a runagate castaway loon, without God and without hope in the world. My father had been in his day a douce sober man, yet he could do little to restrain myself or my brother John, who was, they said, 'ten waurs' than I. For there was a wild set in the Glen of Kells SEED SOWN BY THE WAYSIDE 219 in those clays, Lidderdale of Slogarie and Roaring Raif Pi'ingle of Kirkchi'ist being enough to poison a parish. We four used to forgather to drink the dark out and the light in, two or three times in the week, at the change house of the Clachan. ELspeth Vogie keeped it and no good name it got amimg those well-affected to religion — aye, or Elspeth herself either. "But these are vain thoughts, and I have had of a long season no pleasure in them. Yet will I not deny that Elspeth Vogie, though in some things sore left to herself, was a heartsome quean and well-favoured of her person. '• So at Elspeth's some half-dozen of us were drinking down the short dark hours of an August night. It was now the lull between the hay-winning and the corn-shear- ing. For hairst was late that year, and the weather mostly backward and dour. There had come, however, with the advent of the new month, a warm drowsy spell of wind- less days, the sun shining from morn to even through a kind of unwholesome mist, and the corn standing on the knowes with as little motion as the gray whinstane tourocks and granite cairns on the hilltaps. The farm- ers and cottiers looked at their scanty roods of plough- land, and prayed for a rousing wind from the Lord to winnow away the still dead easterly mist, and gar tlie corn reestle ear against ear so that it might fill and I'lpen for the ingathering. " But we that were hand-fasted to sin and bonded to iniquity, young plants of wrath, ill-doers and forlorn of grace, cared as little for the backward year as we did for the sad state of Scotland and the strifes that were quickly coming u[)on tliRt land. So long as our pint- 220 THE LITTLE FAIR MAN -r stoup was filled, and piack rattled on plack in tlie poucli sorrow the crack of the thumb we cared for harvest or sheep-shearing, king or bishop, Bible or incense-pot. "To us sitting thus on tlie Sabbath morning (when it had better set us to have been sleeping in our naked beds) there came in one Rab Aitkin of Auchen^^fusk. likeminded with us. Rab was seeking his ' morning ' or eye-opening draught of Frencli brandy, and to us bleared and leaden-eyed roisterers, he seemed to come fresli as the dew on the white thorn in the front of May. For liP had a clean sark upon him, a lace ruffle about his neck. and his hair was still wet with the good well water in which he had lately washen himself. " ^ Whither away, Rab ? ' we cried ; * is it to visit fair Meg o' the Gl'^n so early i' the morn in' ? ' " ' He is on his way to holy kirk ! ' cried another. daffingly. " * If so — 'tis to stand all day on the stool of re- pentance I ' declared another. Then in the ptecentor's whining voice he added : ' Robert Aitkin, deleted and discerned to compear at both diets of worship for tlK^ heinous crime of — and so forth ! ' This was an excel- lent imitation of the official method of summoning a culprit to stand his rebuke. It was Patie Robb of Ironmannoch who said this. And this same Patie had had the best opportunities for perfecting himself in the exercise, having stood the Session and received the open rebuke on three several occasions — two of them in one twelve-month, which is counted a shame even among shameless men. " ' No, Patie,' said Rab in answer, ' I am indeed head- ing for the kirk, but on no siccan gowk's errand as takes SKED S()\V>n' nV TJIE \VA\>;il)K 21' 1 yuu there twine in the year, my man. ! go to hear the Oo.spel preached. For there is to be a stranger frae tho south shore at the Ivirk of Kells this dav, and thev say he has a mi|.jhty power of words ; and though yo scoff and make light o' me, I care not. I am neither kirk-goer nor kirkdover, ye say. True, but there is a whisper in my heart that sends me there this day. I thank ye, bonny mistress ! ' "He took the pint-stoup, and with a bow of his head and an inclination of his body, he did his service to Mistress Elspeth. For that lady, looking fresh as him- self, had just come forth fi-om her chamber to relieve Jean ^IcCalmont, who, poor thing, had been going to sleep on her feet for many weary hours. "Tlion Roaring Raif Pringle cried out, 'Lads, wr will a" gang. I had news yestrt;en of this i>loy. The new Bishop, good luck to him, has outi d another uf the high-flying, jn-ating cushion-tlireshers. This man goes to Edinburgh to be tried before his betters. He is to jireach in Kells this very morn on the bygoing, for the minister thereof is likeminded with himself. We will all gang, and if he gets a hearin' for his rebel's cant — why, lads, you are not the men I tak' you for ! ' " So they cried out, ' Weel said, Roaring Raif I ' and got them ready to go as best they could. For some were red 'li face and some were ringed of eye, and all were touched with a kind of disgust for the roisterous spirit "f the night. But a dablde in the chill water of the spring and a rub of the rough-sjiun towel brought us mostly to some decent presentableness. For youth easily recovers itself while it lasts, though in the latter '^11(1 it pays for such things twice over. 22*2 THE LITTLE FAIR MAN « " We partook of as mickle breakfast as we could juan- age, and that was no great thing after such a ni;,'ht. But we each drank down a stirrup-cup and with various good-speeds to Elspeth Vogie and Jean her maid, we wan to horseback and so down the strath to tlie Kirk ol Kells. It sits on the summit of a little knowe with the whin golden about it at all times of the year, and tlit^ loch like a painted sheet spread below. " We could see the folk come flocking from far and near, from their mailings and forty-shilling lands, their farm-towns and cothouses in half-a-dozen parishes. " ' We are in luck's way, lads,' cried Lidderdale, called Ten-tass Lidderdale because he could drink that nuiuhur of stoups of brandy neat; * it is a great gathering of the godly. Lads, the shutting of this man's mouth will make such a din as will be heard of through all Gallo- way ! ' '' And so to our shame and my sorrow we made it up. We were to go the rounds of the meeting, and gather together all the likely lads who would stand with us. There were sure to be plenty such who had no goodwill to preachirsgs. And with these in one place v/e could easily shut the mouth of this fanatic railer against law and order. For so in our ignorance and folly we called him. Because all this sort (such as I myself was then) hated the very name of religion, and hoped to find things easier and better for them when the king should have his Avay, and when the bishops would present none to parishes but what we called ' good fellows ' — by whicli we meant men as careless of principle as ourselves— loose-livers and oath-swearers, such as in truth they mostly were themselves. SEED SOWN BY THE WAYSIDE 223 "But when we arrived that August morning at the Kirk of Kells, \o ! there before us was outspread such a sight as my eyes never beheld. The Kirk Knowe was fairly black with folk. A little way off you could see them pouring inward in bands like the spokes of a wheel. Further oft" yet, black dots straggled down hillsides, or up through glens, disentangling themselves from clumps of birches and scurry thorns for all the world like the ants of the wise king gathering home from their travels. "Then we were very well content and made it our business to go among the gay young blades who had come for the excitement, or, as it might be, because all the pretty lasses of the country-side were sure to be there in their best. And with them we arranged that we should keep silence till the fanatic minister was well under way with his treasonable paries. Then we would rush in with our swords drawn, carry him off down the steep and duck him for a traitorous loon in the loch beneath. " To this we all assented and shook hands upon the pact. For we knew right sickerly what would bo our fate, if in the battle -which was coming on the laiul, the Covenant men won the day. Perforce we must subscribe to deeds and religious engagements, attend kirks twice a day, lay aside gay colours, forsw^ear all pleasant daffing with such as Elspeth Vogie and Jean her maid (not that there was anything WTong in my own practice with such — I speak only of others). The merry clatter of dice would be heard no more. The cartes themselves, the knowledge of which then made the gentleman, would be looked upon as the ' deil's picture-books.' A good broad oath would mean a fine as broad. Instead of chanting mi THE LITTLE FAIR MAN loose catches we should have to listen to sermons five hours long, and be whipt for all the little pleasinjjf trans- gressions that mad(j life worth living. " So ' Hush,' we said — ' we will salt this preacher's kail for him. We will drill him, wand-hand and work- ing-hand, so that he cannot stir. We will make liiin drink his fill of Kells Loch this day ! ' " All this while we knew not so much as the name of the preacher — nor, indeed, cared. He came from the south, so much we knew, and he had a great re])ute for godliness and what the broad-bonnets called ' faithful- ness,' which, being interpreted, signified that he con- demned the king and the bishops, and held to the olil dull figments about doctrine, free grace, and the author- ity of Holy Kirk. " The man had not arrived when we reached the Kirk of Kells. Indeed, it was not long before the hour of ser- vice when up the lochside we saw a cavalcade a])i)roach. Then we were angry. For, as we said, ' This s]>oils our sport. These are doubtless soldiers of the king wlm have been sent to put a stop to the meeting. We shall have no chance this day. Our coin is spun and fallen edgewise between the stones. Let us go home ! ' " But I said : ' There may be some spirity work for all that, lads. Better bide and see ! ' " So they abode according to my word. "But when they came near we could see that these were no soldiers of the king, nor, indeed, any soldiers at all, though the men were armed with whingers and pis- tolets, and rode upon strong slow-footed horses like farmers going to market. There was a gentleman at the head of them, very tall and stout, whom Roaring SEED SOWN IJY THE WAYSIDE Raif, in an undertone, jjointed out as (iordon of Earl- stoun, and in the midst, the centre of the eoinijaii}-. roih- a Uttle fair man, shilpit and (hdicate, whom all deferred to, clad in black like a minister. Me rodr a lonjji-tailed sheltie like one well accustomed to the exercise and bore about with him the die-stamp of a gentleman. "This was the preacher, and these other riders were !!iostly his parishioners, come to convoy him through the dangerous and ill-affected districts to the great Pojjish and Prelatic city of Aberdeen, where for the time being he was to be interned. "Then Koaring Raif whispered amongst us that we had better have our swords easy in the sheath and our pistols primed, for that these men in the hodden gray would certainly fight briskly for their uiinister. " ' Gordon of Cardoness is there also,' he said, ' a stout angry carle. Him in the drab is Muckle Xinian Mure of Cassencarry. Beyond is Ugly l*eter of Kusco, and that'o Bailie Fullerton o' Kirkcudbright, th(^ man wi' the ^vame swaggin' and the bell-mouthed musket across his saddle-bow. There will be a rare tulzie, lads. This is mdeed worth leavin' Elspeth's fireside for. We will let oot some true blue Covenant bluid this holy day I ' "And when the Little Fair jNIan dismounted there was a rush of the folk and some deray. But we of the other faction kept in the back part and bided our time. "Then the Little Fair Man went up into the pulpit, ^vhich was a box on great broad, creaking, ungreased ^vheels, which they liad brought out from the burial tool- house as soon as they saw that the mighty concourse ''ould in nowise be contained in the kirk — no, not so ^iiucli as a tenth part of them I 226 THE LITTLE FAIR MAN i "After that there was a great husli wliiiOi la,stc(l at least a minute as the minister kneeh'd down witli Iii-, head in his hands. Then at last he rose up and save out the psalm to be sung. It was the ont; about tlic Israel- ites hanging their har])s on the trees of Babylon. Ami I mind that he j)refaeed it with several pithy s;iyin!,'s whieh I remembered long afterwards, though I ])!ii(l lit- tie heed to tliem at the time. ' This tree of l'-al)ylon i> a strange plant,' he said; Mt grows only in thosi- back- sides of deserts where Moses found it, or iy T.alicl streams where men Avalk in sorrow and exile. It is an ever-burning bush, yet no man hath seen the aslios of it.' "Then the people sang with a great voice, fnr-swollin:. triumphant, and the Little Fair ]\Ian led them in a kuul of ecstasy. I do not mind much about his prayer. I was no judge of prayers in those days. All I cared about them was that they should not be too long aiul sn keep me standing in one position. But I can recall of him that he inclined his face all the time he was speak- ing towards the sky, as if Some One Uj) There had been looking down upon him. At that I looked also, fiillow- ing the direction of his eyes. And so did several other?, but could see nothing. But I think it was not so witli the Little Fair IVLan. " Now it was not till the sermon was well begun tliat we were to break in and * skail ' the conventicle with o.r swords in our hands. I could hear Lidderdale beliinl me murmuring, ' How much longer are we to listen tu this treason-monger ? ' "*Let us give him five minutes by the watch, lads!' T said, 'the same as a man that is to be hanged hath SEED SOWN j;Y the WAYSIDE 227 heiore the topsmaii turns him off. And after that I am with you.' " Then Ivoaring Ilaif said in my i-ar, ' We liave them in tht! hollow of our hand. This will bi^ a groat day in the Ktdls. We will put the broad bonnets to rout, so ihat no one of them after this shall be able to show face uiiou the causeway of Dumfries. Tlicre are at least fifty >t.iuiich lads, good honest swearing blades, in and about the kirkyard of Kells this day ! ' "For even so we delighted to call ourselves in our iijnorance and headstrong folly — as the Bulk sayeth, glorying in our shame. "And according to my word we waited five minutes on the minister. He had that day a text that I will always niiiul, ' God is our refuge and our strength,' from the 4Gth I'salin — one that was ever afterwards a great favourite witli me. And when at first he began, 1 thought not muckle about what he said, but only of the great ploy and bloody fray that was before me. For we rejoiced in suchlike, and called it among ourselves a ' bloodletting of tlie whey-faced knaves ! ' '' Then the Little Fair JNIan began to warm to his work, and just when the five minutes drew on to their end, he 'vas telling of a certain Friend that he had. One that loved him and had been constantly with him f(jr years — >o that his married wife was not so near and dear. This Friend had delivered him, he said, from perils of great ^vaters and from the edge of the sword. He had also put up with all the evil things he had done to Him. Ofttimes he had cast this Friend off and buffeted Him, Out even then He would not go away from him or leave iiim desolate. 228 TIIK MTTLK KAIK MAN t' "So, as I liiul iHiver heard «>r such strange friendshiii, I was in a great sweat to find out who this Friend iui<,'ht be, so different from the eonira(h's I knew, who chvw their swords at a word and gave buffet for biiffoc a> quick as drawing a breath. "So I whispered again, '(Jive him another five minutes ! ' "And I conhl hear tlieni growl Ixdiind me, 'l\'un Morni of the Shields, called I'artan-face Tam, (Ilaikit (lih Morrison, and the others — 'What for are ye waitin'.' Let the gray-breeks liae it noo ! ' " l>ut since I was by much the strongest there, and in a manner the leader, they did not dare to counter mo, fearing thiit I might give them ' strength-o*-airni " as I did once in the vennel of Dumfries to Matthew Aird when he withstood me in the matt ■ of Bonny Betty Couphuul — a rencontre which was > to my credit from any point of view. " And then the Little Fair Man threw himself into a rapture like a man going o\it of the bod}-, and his voice sounded somehow uncanny and of the other wtjrld. F^r there was a ' scraich' in it like the snow-wind among tlw naked tree's of the wood at midnight. Yet for all it was not unpleasant, but only eerie and very affecting to the heart. " He told us how that he had shamed and grieved his Friend, how he had ofttnitimes wounded Him sore, auil once even crucified Him " Then when he said that I knew what the man was driving at, and if I had been left to myself I would have fallen away and thought no more of the matter. Hut at that moment, with a sudden calm, there fell a hush over SKKI) SOWN r.V TIIK WAVSIDK 'J'20 lilt' people. Tlu'y .sf.'ciuf'l to 1)" wiiitin.i; for soiiicthiiv;. Then the Little Fair Man k-aucd out of the pulpit and stretched liis arm towards nie, whcic I stood like Saul, taller by a head than any about nie. "• There is a great strong young man there,' ho said, •standing by the pillar, that hitlierto has used his strt'Ugth for the service of the devil, but from this for- ward he shall use it for the Lord. Even now he is plotting mischief. lie, too, hath wounded my l^ricnd, pven Jesus Christ, and smitten Ilim on the cheekbone Hut to-day lu' shall stand in the breaidi and tight lor llim. Voung man, I bid you come forward I ' •• And with that he continued, pointing at me with his tiii''er a little (U'ooked. At first I was angrv, and could have made his chafts ing with ni}' neive had 1 been iipar enough. Ikit presently something ui)rose in my lieart — great, and terrible, and melting all at once. 1 took a step forward. But my companions held me back. 1 could feel Lidderdale and Roaring Raif with each a hand on a coat tail. '''Harry,' they said, 'do not mind him — cry tlie wonl and we will fall on and pull the wizard down by the heels!' "'Come hither ! ' said the Little Fair ]VLan again, in a >tronger voice of command. ' Come up hither, friend. Thou didst come to this place to do evil; but the Spirit hatli thee now by the head, though well do I see that a pair of black deils have thee yet by the tail. Come hither, friend, resist not the Spirit ! ' "Then there arose a mighty flame in my heart, the like of which I never felt before. It was a very gale of the Spirit — a breaking down of dams that imprisoned 230 THE LITTLE FAIR MAN « 1*^ waters might flow free. Ami before I knew what I did I took my hand and dealt a buffet right and loft, so that Roaring Raif roared amain. And as for Jock Lidder- dale, I know not what became of him, for they canjcil him over the heads of the crowd and laid him under a 1 ree to come to himself again. *' ' Thou shalt know a Friend to-day, young man," tlin minister said, when, being thus enlarged, I came near. ' Thou shall be the firstfruits to the Lord in the Kells this day. There is to be a great ingathering of slieavts here, though some of them shall yet have bloody shocks. But thou, young sir, shalt be the lirst of all and shah stand the longest ! ' " Then on the outskirts of the crowd there arose a mighty turmoil. F'or all those that had been of my party made a rush forward, that the} might rescue uie from what they thought was rank witchci'aft. " ' Overturn ! Overtur.i ! ' they cried. ' Ding doon the wizard ! He hath bewitched " Plarry Strength-o'-Airm "'! Figlit, Harry — for thine own hand, and we will rescue thee ! ' "And so ardent was their onset that they had well- nigh opened a way to where the Little Fair Alan stood. as unmoved and smiling as if he had been sitting in hi> own manse. So great became the crowd that the very preaching-box rocked. The men of the cavalcade drew their swords and met the assailants hand lo hand. In another minute there had been bloodshed. " But by some strange providence there came into my hand the pole of a burying bier, whereon men bear cofiin^ to the kirkyard. I know not how it came there, unless. peradventure, they had used it to roll out the preaching- SEED SOWN BY THE WAYSIDE 231 at T did :, so that i Lidilev- y cari'ii'il I under a mau," the ame near, the Kells jf sheaves dy shocks, and shall ;re arose a leen of i"}' rescue uu' g doon the li-o'-Ainn"' Iwill rescue had weh- \ran stoo'l Iting in I'i^ lit the very llcade dre^\- baud, hi lue into my Ibear cofti"^ lere. uuh'SS. pvoachiug- box. But, in any casi', it made a i^oodly and gruesome weapon. " Then the Spirit of the Lord eanie upon nie, and I shouted aloud: '1 am on thej Little Fair jNIan's side — mid on the side of his Friend ! Peace ! Peace ! ' "And ■with that I laid about me as the Lord gave me strength, and I hoard Uiore than one sword snap, and more ilian one head crack. "Then, again, 1 cried louder than before: ' Let there be peace — and God heli) ye if ye come in Harry AVed- derhurn's road this day — all ye that are set on mis- chief!' " And lo ! by means of the bier-pole, a way was opened, a large and an effectual, before me; and, like Samst)n, I iinote and smote, and stayed not, till I A\as weavy. For none could stand against me, and such as could, ran out :o their horses. But the most part of them. T, with my .'rave-pole, caused to remain — that they, too, might be lunied to the Lord by the AVord of the preacher. '' So they came back, and I bade the Little Fair ^Man ';reach to them, while I kept guard. And at that he >:.iiled and said : ' Did I not say that thou also shouldst oe a soldier of God? Thine arm this day hath been in- ''M an arm of flesh. But thou shalt yet wield in thy 1 ■iiie the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God ! ' And of a truth, there was a great work and an effectual "Mtday in the Kells. For they say that more than four I itore turned them from their evil way, and i.iany of these "-lessed me thereafter for the breaking of their heads — |j«s, even upon their dying beds. 'Now I have myself backslidden since that, but have |iot altogether fallen away or shamed my first love. And 'i 232 THE LITTLE FAJH xMAN when the cavalcade lode away up the muir road, 1 heard them tell that the Little Fair Man, who had called lue- out of my heady folly, was no other than the famous Mr. Samuel llutherfurd, minister of Auwoth, on his way ti, his place of exile in Aberdeen, for conscience' sake. "That these things are verity I vouch for with inv soul. The truth is thus, neither less nor more. Which is the testimony of me, Harry Wedderburn, written in this year of Grace and a freed Israel, 1689." « THE LITTLE FAIR MAX n.-TiiK HuMBLixo OF Strkxgtii-o'-Airm Tl. conu-nuafion of tl,e A.rontnre of Mr. Ham, We,lMurn Alexander McQn/urr, M.D.) '^ "Ail this fell out exceeding well, ami the fact ,vas ueh bru. eel abroad throughout all the south-land of .al oway, how cliat with the tram of a bier I convertit tiN.ty-th.ee meu, iu and about the kirkyaird of Kells in -e .lay But (,vhat wa. not so g. „a, the K.t n.an ti.at A the head of was Roaring Raif Prfngle of Kirk- .11. s -and J was engaged in the bands of affection ™l. 1..S s.ste.. Rachel, expecting indeed to wed he" il.e hrst falling of the leaf "Now Roari..g R.if was so worshipfully smitten on tW pate, that b .ore he couH sit „p to hearken to t v".ce of the Little Fair Man, .Mr. Eutherfurd had .^^Id n rthwards on his way a.,d all Ins folk wi.h hin,. Now Leuat last Raif sat up and drew his ha,.d across' h Uve asked who had done this, and when th:; t Id m, that rt was his friend Harry Wedderbur.. of the BW Cra,g who h,rf broke his own fan.ilia,. head with t,.,uofthedeadbier,whobutR.if,>,,ng,ewasa man, and swore ,„ his nnhallowed wrath to shoot Tseehlr r'\™^* '"•' ^''"'""'' ''■'•'■'^-'"■iHt, either •» see his sister or for a.iy other i.u.pose : 2*1 234 THE LITTLE FAIR MAN " Now I was not anxious about Rachel herself. I knew that when it came to the point, she cared not a doit either for Roaring Raif or for Slee Tod Rringle, her cunning father. She was a fell clever lass, and hail always been a great toast among us — though continually urging me to forswear sitting drinking at the wine ^vitl) wild runagates in public places and change houses, if I hoped to stand well in her favour. But once, having been with her and Roaring Raif at Dumfries, it was iiiv good fortune to carry her across the ford at Holywood when Nith Water was rising fast, and since that Jay somehow she had always thought better than well of me. For we left the Roaring One on the Dumfries shore. " ' I will go over and bring him hither on my back,' said I. And would have plunged in again to do it. For I thought nothing of perils of waters, l^eing tall and a good swimmer to boot. But this Rachel would in no wise permit. She caught me by the arm and would not let me go back. " ' 'Deed will you do somewhat less, Harry Weddor- burn ; if Raif thinks so little of his sister as to convoy her home disguised in liquor, e'en let him stand there on the shore, or else take his way home by the Brig of Dumfries ! ' " And this I was very content to do, delivering Rachel into the hands of her uncle, Lancelot Pringle of Quarrel- wood, in due time — but a longer time mayhap than in ordinary circumstances it takes to traverse the distance between the fords of Holywood over against Netherholin and the mansion house of Quarrelwood. For the jileas- ure that I had in carrying of Rachel Pringle through the HUMBLING OF STRENGTH-O'-AIKM 2:55 water had gone to my head some little, and I was per- haps not so clear about my way as I might have been. " So, minding me on that heartsome and memorable night, together with other things more recent, I was not perhaps very anxious about the affection of Rachel Pringle. For 1 thought that it would take more than the word of Roaring Raif to change the heart of that little Rachel whom 1 had carried in my arms over the swellings of Nith Water. I minded me how tight she had held to me, and how, when we got over, she whispered in my ear, before I set her down, 'Harry, I like strong men!' Which saying somewhat delayed my putting of her down, for the ground grew exceedingly boggy and unstable just at that spot. "So, on the evening of the day after I had forsaken my ill courses at the bidding of the Little Fair Man, I set out from the onsteading of Black Craig of Dee, leav- ing all there in the keeping of my brother John, a stark upstanding lad, ond in those of Gilbert Grier, my chief hired herd. I told them not where 1 ..as going, but I think they knew well enough. For John brought me my father's broadsword, which he had sharpened, instead uf lay own smaller whing(;r, and Gib the herd took the pistols out of my belt and saw to their priming antnv. They were always very hjyal and sib to my heart, these two, and sped me on my lovo adventures without a word. "Now the turn or twist that I gat at the outdoor ser- vice before the Kirk of Kells was strange enough. It may seem that the conduct of a man can only be turned by the application of reason or argument. But it was not BO with me. The Little Fair Man crooked his finger 2m THE LITTLE FAIR MAN and said: 'C'omel' and 1 caiin'. So also was it with the others who were couvertit that day, aided maybe some- what by ]uy bhiek (quarter-staff. l)Ut I have since road in the Book that even so did ^Ir. Kutherfurd's Friend. when on the shores of the sea Wv called to Him His dis- ciples. 'Cornel' He said to tlie fishermen, and forth- Avith they left all and followed Him. " Now my call did not cause me to follow the Little Fair Man. It was not of such a sort. He did not bid me to that of it. lint those who have been my neigh- bours will bear me witness that I never was the ainw man again, but throu.'.^h many shortcomings and much warring of the flesh against the spirit, have ever sought after better things, during all tlie fifty-and-one years since that day. " So out I set on my road to Kirkehrist with a rose in my coat, the covenanted work of reformation in my heart — and my pistols primed. I knew it would need all three to win bonny Rachel Pringle out of the hand of the Slee Tod and his son Raif, the Roadng One. "Now Kirkehrist is one of the farm-towns of Gall"- way, many of which in the old days have been set like fortalices high on every defenced hill. Indeed, tlie ancient tower still stands at one angle of the scpiare nf houses, where it is used for a peat-shed. Buc by an out- side stair it is possible to get on the roof and view the country for miles round. On one side the Cooran burn runs down a deep ravine full of hazel copses featherin,:! to the meadow-edges, where big bumblebees have their bykes, and where I first courted Rachel, sitting behind a cole of hay on the great day of the meadow ingathering. On the other three sides the approach to Kirkehrist is as ■'\ JlL;MJ}Li.N(l UF STllEXGTll-O'-AIKM 237 bare as the i;alm of ray I'.and, all short springy turf, with not so much ;is a duisy on it, gi-azed over by Slee Tod's sheep, and cast up in places by conies, whose white tails are forever to be seen bunting about here and there among the warreny braes. ''Now somehow it never .struck me that Koaring Eaif would bear malice. What mattered a broken head that he should take otfv'uce at his an(nent friend ? Had 1 not had my f)wn scoiKie broke a scon* of times, and evci- luved the breaker better, iiraetising away with ffohn and Gib till I covdd brf ak his for him in i-cturn ? Why not tlms Raif Pringle '.' It was true tha*; he had gotten an uncouth clour from the bier-tram of i\ells, but 1 was will- ing to give him his revenge any day in the week — and, tor my part, bore no malice. '•'So in this frame of mind I strolled up towards Kiik- rihrist, when the reek of the peat fires was just beginning to go up into a still heaven from the cothouse in the dell, and the good cottier wives were putting on tlieir pots to make their Four-Hours. I was at peace with all the world, for since the Kirk of Tvclls there had been a marvellous lightening of my spirit. "Rachel is yonder, I thought within me, as I went up the hillside towards the low four-square homestead of Kirkchrist. Her hand will be laying the peat and blow- ing up the kindling. She will be looking out for me somewhere, most likely at yonder window in the gable end. '•Yes, so she was. For as I came in view of the yard gate I saw a white thing waved vehemently, and then suddenly withdrawn. '"Dear lass,' I thought, -she is watching, and thinks 238 THE LITTLE EAIK MAN thus to bid me wolcomo. She has doubtless ina(U' mv peace with the Roariiii^' One.' "And I smiled within myself, like a vain fool, well- content and secure. "Also I quiekened my steps a little, so that I iiiij^'ht arrive in time for the meal, bein.Lj hiin.t^er-slinri)eiied with my travel, and having out of e.xpeetance and forj^'etful- ness taken but little nooning provender with me fion) the Black Craig of Dee. " I watched the window eagerly, as I came nearer, for another glint of the kerchief. But not the beck of a head or the flutter of a little hand intimated that one of the bonniest lasses in Galloway was waiting within. Yet it struck me as strange that there were no clamorous dogs about, or indeed any sound of life whatever And ever and anon I seemed to hear my name called, but yet, when I stopped and listened, all was still again on the moment. " Now the entrance into the courtyard or inner square of Kirkchrist was by a ' yett ' or strong gate, closed when any raiders or doubtful characters were in the LBighbourhood, as Avell as in the night season. But now this ' yett ' stood wide open, and I could see the yellow- straw in the yard all freshly spread, the stray ears yet upon it — which last, together with the empty look of the crofts, told me that the oats had been gathered in that day. Where, then, were the men who had done the work ? It was a thing unheard of that they should de- part without making merry in the house-place, and drink- ing of the home-brewed ale, laced with a tass of brandy to each tankard. " The sun was low behind my back, and I was lookiiii: HUMBLING OF STKENGTH-O'-AIRM 239 lo'wanls the onstead of Kirkchrist, nvIipii suddenly I saw something glisten in one of the little three-cornered wicket-windows of the barn. It was bright, and shone like polished metal — a steel jiistol stock b(;like. But, nevertheless, I went on in the same dead, uncanny silence. " Suddenly ' Blaff! bluff! hhff!' Three or four shots went off in front of me and to the right. I heard the smooth hissing sound of lead bullets and the whistle of slugs. Something struck me on the muscle of the fore- arm, stunning me like a blow, then I felt a kind of ragged tear or searing of the flesh as with a hot iron. I cannot describe it better — not very ])ainful at first, but rather angering, and inclining me, but for my recent conversion, to stamp and swear like a king's trooper. " This, lK>wever, I had small time to do, even if I had wished it; for, after one glance at the barn, through the three-cornered wicks of which, as through the portholes of a ship in action, white wreaths of the smoke of gun- powder were curling, my right arm fell to my side, and I turned to run. Even as \ did so, a little cloud of men — perhaps half-a-dozen — came rushing out of the mickle •yett' with a loud shout, arul made for me aci'oss the level sward. Foremost of them was Roaring llaif. Then I was advertised indeed that he had not forgiven the clour cu the head he had gotten. I knew him by his height aiul by the white clout that was bound like a mutch about his brows. " ' Harry,' said I to myself, when I saw them thus take after me, ' the Black Craig will never see you more. Ye are as a dead man. You cannot run far with that arm draining the life from you, and there is no shelter within miles.' 240 THE LITTLE FAIR MAN « "Then I liciud the braiii.s^c of brfakin;:? glass Itcliind mo, and a voices: 'Tim liiiii — the linn, ITairv Wt'ddcr. burn; flee to the linn I It is ^our f)uts .of broken slate. I felt iiiv strength fast leaving me as I ran, and ever the enemy shouted nearer to my back. " ' Kill him ! Shoot him ! Put a bullet into him : " " Wondi'ous stimulating I found such remarks as those, made a hundred or two yards to leeward, with an dcca- sional pistol bullet whistling by to nuirk the sense, as in a printed book. This made me run as 1 think 1 ncv: i ran before. For, though I was a. changed nuin, 1 did imt want to die and go straight to that Abraham's bosom, of which the Little Fair ^lan had spoken as one tiiat had lain there of a long season. I did not surmise that the accommodation would suit me so well, Xo, not yet aAvhile, Avith Rachel Pringle praying for my life lialf-a- mile behind. So I ran and better ran, till the sweat of my brow ran into my eyes and well-nigh Idinded mo. Now in those days I was very young and limber. .Viid 1 am none so stiif yet for my age. " At all events, when I came to the taking off of tho linn I saw that there was nothing for it but my eal hint's monkey trick of letting myself down lilie a wh''el. 1 had often practised it on the heathery slopes of the 151ack Craig of Dee, so 1 caught myself behind the knees, and. with my head bent like a hoop, flung myself over tho HUMHT.IXff OF STREXCrrH-O'-AlKM LM1 I'llge I'lTSculIv I ft'lt iiiysclf t'iirinj; throu^ijh the copses ami pliuij,'iii,t,' into little durksonii' drlls. I vbouiided from tree trunks and hi uiscd invsclf lurainst rocks. Stones J had stalled sjian whizzing' about my cars, and I heard the risp and rattle ol' shot tired after nw from the margin of tiie liim. My wounded arm >eeiiied as if drawn from its socket. Thi?n 1 felt tlie cDol plash of water, and I know no more. •' I mi.ij;ht very w.ll have been drowned in Kirk<'hrist Limi that day, but it had not been to be. For it so '•hauced that I fell into the (b-epest pool for miles, and .vas carried downwards by the strou'^est current into the platv that is now called the ' Harry's Jaws.' This is 11 darksome spot, half-cavern, half-brid,t,'e, under the ^'loomy ai'ch of which the brown peat-water foams white as fresh-poured ale, and the noise of its thundevin;^ icafen.s the ear. When 1 came to myself 1 was lyin,i; lialf out of the water and half in. on the verge of a great :a!l where the Vjurn takes a leap tiiirty or forty feet into I Mack pool. I looked over, and there beneath me, with me of my own pistols in his hand, was Roaring Raif, a tfrrifying sight, with his bloody clout all awry about his head. He was looking at the pistol, drijiping wet as it liail gone over the fall when I came down like a run- way cart wheel into the Linn of Kirkehrist. '"He's farther doon the water, boys,' T heard him ery, and the sound was sweet to my ear. ' Here's the pistol iie has left behint him ! Scatter, boys, and a braw ^heltie to the man that first puts an ounce o' lead into him ! ' "A pleasant forgiving nature had this same Roaring '•ne. And I resolved that, though a converted man, 1 OAO THE LITTLE FAIR iMAX r ,4 would deal willi him accordin^jdy wlim I ^Mt liim \\\\u my clutches. " Tho place where 1 found inn was not uncoimiiodioiis, To make the most of it I crawled backwards till I cauu' to the end of tlu' rocks. Here was a little sti-ip of suml, and over that a dry re(!ess almost large unf)UKh fm ;i cave. Some li^dit filtered in I'rom unseen crevicis ulinv., so that I think it was not rooffd with solid rock I'V.f. head. Rather it was some falliuf; in of the sides of tlu- linn which hiid made the hidin^'-placi-. Here I was s;;!.' enough so long as the burn did not rise suddi'.ily, \u\- I knew well from the *glet ' on the stones and the hits nf stick and dried rushes that the waters of the linn tilled all the interior in time of Hood. " Then 1 made what shift 1 could to bind \\\) my aim. I was already faint from loss of blood, but 1 houinl a band tight about luy u[)per arm, twisting it with a stick till 1 almost cried out with the greatness of the imiii. Then I. tied a rag, torn from my shirt, about tlu3 WdUiiJ itself, which turned out to be in the Heshy part, vciv nd and angry. However, it had Ved freely, which, tlinii;,'li 'f made me faint at the time, together with the wuhliiii;' in the water of the linn, was probably the saving of lae. There Avas a soft fanning air as the night drew on, :uir thither. "So she examined my wound in ihe light of the moon, ^"hich shone in at one end as we sat on the inmost crutch ^'f the tree. Now Rachel had much skill in wounds, for, indeed, her house was never free of them, her brothers, Mer and the Roaring One, never both lieing skin-whole at the same time. And so, with a handsbreadth torn 246 THE LITTLE FATK MAN « from her white underskirt, she bathed and banda^'od the wound, telling me tor my comfort that the shot ajjiioared to have gone throu!j;h the Hoshy ])art without h)d^nnL'. so that most likely the wound would come together sweetly and heal by the tirst intention. ''Then, after this was done, we arrived at our first dif- ference. For Rachel vowed that she would in no vtIm' go back to the onstead of Kirkchrist, Init would stop aiul nurse me here in the linn ; whi(di thing, indeed, would have been mightily i)leasant to the natural man. I! •. being mindful of that which the Little Fair ^[an Imi said, and also of the censorious clatter of the country- side, 1 judged this to be impossible, and told Kachel su; who, in her turn, received it by no means with meek- ness, but rose and stamped her little foot, and said that she would go and never return — that she was sorry ti' her heart she liad ever come where she was so little thought of, with many other speeches of that kind, siu ;, as spirity maids use when they are affronted and in d;;::- ger of not getting their own sweet way with the men il their hearts. " Now it went sore against the grain thus to deal with Rachel. Aiul yet I could think of no way of appeasiii. her, but to feign a dwalm of faintness and pain from my wound. So when I staggered and apjjeared to hold my- self up by the roek with dilHcultv, she ..tayed in the full Hood of lier reproaches, and faltered, * What is the mat- ter, Harry ? ' " Then, because I made no answer, she kneeled down beside me, and, taking my head iu both of her hauds, she kissed my brow. "*I did not mean it — indeed,! did not, Harry,' she HUMBLING OF STUEXGTH-O'-AIRM 247 dd, with that delicious contrition which at all times sat so well on her — even after we were married, which is a strange thing and very uncommon. "So I touched her cheek with my fingers and forgave lier, as a man who has l)een in the wrong forgives a lov- ing woman who has not. (There is ever a touch of superiority in a man's forgiving — in a woman's there is only love and the desire for peace.) "'Then I may stay with you ? ' she said. " And I will not deny but she tempted me sore. •' But swift as the sunbeam that strikes from cloud to ;..;ltop, a thought came to me. '"Listen to me, Rachel,' I said. 'At the break of day or thereby all will be quiet. The Hoaring One and his crew will be snoring in bed ' "'Or '^n the floor,' said Rachel, with a quick and dainty sniff of distaste. "'Either will suffice,' I said. ' Then will we go dov/n and call up the minister. AVe will cause him to marry us, and then we will fear neither traitor nor slanderer.' "'But he will not!' she cried. 'Donald Bain is a bishop's hireling, and, besides, our Raif's boon com- panion.' "Then ^ drew my dirk and held it aloft, so that the moonliglit ran like molten silver down the blade. "'See,' said I, 'dear Rachel, if this docs not gar the curate of Kirkchrist nuirry lis to a galloping tune, Harry Weua»*rburn kens not the breed, that is all.' '"Content!' said she. '1 will do what you say, Harry ; only I will not go back to Kirkchrist nor will I part from you now when T have gotten you.' "Which thing 1 was most glad to hear fi-om her fair 248 THE LITTLH FAIR MAN I- and loving lips. And I thought, smilingly, that Kaohel's manner of speaking these words became her very well. " So there in the din of the water-cavern and iindei i he wheeling shafts of silver light as the moon swun;; overhead, we two abode well content, waiting for the dawn. '■'■ vVnd so, in this manner, and for all my brave words, the witch got her way." But how — we shall see. H « THE LITTLE FAIR MAN III, — The Curatk of Ktkkchrist " The inause of Kirkchrist parish was less than a mile down the glen. It had only a week or two before been taken possession of by one Donald Bain an ignorant fellow, so they said, intruded upon us by the new bishop. For Mr. Gilbert, our old and tried minister and servant of (Jod, had been removed, even as Mr. Kutherfurd had liien put out of Anwoth, and at about the same time. "Thither, then, we took our way, my dear betrothed aiitl I, with my wounded arm carried across me, the >leeve being pinned to my coat front so that 1 could not iiiove my hand. •' We kept entirely to the thickets by the water-side, Rachel leading the way. For she had played all her life ;it the game which had now become earnest and deadly. Hut we need not have troubled. For as we went, from tar away, light as a waft of wind blown athwart a meadow, we heard the chorus of the roisterers in the house of Kirkchrist, and emergent from the servile ruck, the voice uf her brother, the Roaring One, urging good fellows all to ' come drink with him.' Somewhat superfluously, mdced, to all appearance, for the good fellows all had apparently been ' come-drinking ' all night to the best uf their ability and opportunities. " After this Rae and I went a little more openly and wiftly. This chiefly for my sake, because the uneven 240 250 THE LITTLE FAIR MAN i^-i . .'*^ mi :#• ground and the little branehes of the hazel-bushes cauu'ht and \vliii)ped my wounded arm, making me more than once to wince with the pain. "And liachel kept a little beneath me on the brao. and bade me lean my well hand on her shoulder, savin,' that I could not press over-hard, and that tlu! mow I did so, the more would she know that 1 loved her. In this not unpleasing fashion we came to the house of the curate that had so lately been intruded upon the manse of godly Mr. Gilbert. *' The place was all dark, and the shutters put over the windows for fear of shots from without. Then ^vith my sword hilt I began to knock, and the noise of tho blows resounded through the house hollow and hjud. For the Highlandman had as yet put little furniture into it, save as they said a sheave or two of rushes for a l^eil for himself, and another for the wench that keeped house to him — his sister, as he averred. " In no long space of time his reverence set a shook head out of the window to ask what was the din. The which he did in a bold manner, as though he were tlie lord and master of the neighbourhood. But I tamed him, for I bade him do his curate's coat upon him, and bring his service book, for that he was to marry two people there and then. " ' Who be you that seek to be married so untimeous?' he asked. * Cannot ye be content till the morning? ' " ' That is just why we cannot be content,' I answered: * we must be far away by then ! ' " So in a little he rose up grumbling and came down. " ' Have you not also a maid in the house ? ' I asked of him. THE CURATE OF KIRKCHRIST 251 " ' Aye,' said he, very dried like, ' my sister Jeau ! * " • Bid her rise. We have need of a witness ! ' 1 bade him. " * And I, of some one to hohl the candle ! ' he added. " It was about four of the clock, and the east little more than graying, as we four stood in front of the manse of Kirkchrist. Had any been abroad to see us we had seemed a curious company. The curate in his white gown and black bands, his shambling nightgear ]iee])ing out above and under — a red peaked nightcap on his head, the tassel of which nodded continually over his right eye in a most ludicrous manner (only that none thought of m>th that night). Beside him, a dripjnng candle in her hand, stood his sister, a buxom quean, lilowsed with health and ruddy as the cherry. " Before these two I stood, ' a black towering hulk with one arm in a sling ' (Rachel's words), and beside me, my sweet bride, dainty and light as a butterfly at poise on a flower's lip. " Overhead among the trees the wind began to move, blowing thin and chill before the dawn. And even as the curate thumbed and mumbled beneath the flicker of tlie candle, I saw the light break behind the Black 'laig of Dee, and wondered if ever Rae and I should dwell in peace and content in the lee of it. " And because neither Rachel nor I knew that form of words, Jean Bain kept us right, promjjting us how to kneel here, and what to answer there, here to say our names over, and there promise to love each other — the last not necessary, for if we had not done that already, we had hardly been at the manse of Kirkchrist at four OKty THK LITTLE FAIR MAIs « of tlu* August moiiiing in order to he wed by an alien and luu^ovenanted priest. "But scarcely Lad the blessing' of Donald Hain madf us man and wife, wlien we heard the roisterers' ehonis again abroad on the hills, and Jean Bain came rushing' upon us wild with alarm. She guessed well enough wlio we were. Y^n• the searchers had been at the manse tln' night before swearing to have my life. "'Flee/ she said; 'take to tlie heather for vdin lives. They have sworn to kill your husband I ' " This I knew well enough ; but the perversity of f.uo which at that time clung to me, made me ready tn faint. "'I cannot go — I am dizzy with my wound I ' I said. and would have fallen but that Rachel and the youiij; Highland woman held me up in their arms. " All this time the shouting and hallooing liko the crying of hunters on the hills came nearer, and the day was breaking fast. " Rachel and I were, indeed, in a strait place. 1 bethought me on the Little Fair Man, and almost repented that his counsels had brought me to this. But even then, and in the house of the Philistine, he!;' came. " ' Come in with you both,' said Jean Bain in a fionv voice, as if daring contradiction. ' Donald, aff wi' your surplice and on wi' your coat. You must meet thera. and hold them in parley. It shall not be said that a bridegroom was slaughtered like an ox upon our doc;- step within an hour of his wedding.' " With that she bustled us upstairs to her own room. Truly enough, there was but one broad pallet of ht-atliT ,< * THK CL UATK OF KIKKCIIIUSr •>r,'» ..uvered with nislics spread on tln' lltjor, and no other furniture wliatever. " Near the bed-head there was the low door of a little closet or deep cupboard. Into tills she bade us enter, and told us that she would hang her clothing over it upon the woodim JK'gs which were there for the purpose. Since no ))etter might \)e we enteri'd, for my head was nnining round with my loss of blood :iud the pain in my wounded arm. 1 was glad to lie down anywhere. '•Then through the buzzing bees' byke in my skull I lould hear Jean Jiain giving her last orders to the curate. "'Hear ye, Donald, lee to them weel. Ye ha«' seen nocht — ken iiocht ; and if they offer to bide, tell them that it is the hour when ye engage in family worship. That will tlit them if nocht else will ! ' " And though I could hear the raucous voice of that '.'onieril brother-in-law of mine at the bottom of the stairs, T could not help laying my head on Uachel's shoulder, and whispering in her ear the words, ' Little wife ! ' To which she lesponded with no more than Hush ! ' So there we abode, crouching and cowering in that dark cupboard while a score of raging demons turned the curate's house upside down, crying for jugs of brandy and tasses of aquavity, while Jean ]>ain shrilly declared that no brandy could they expect in such a poverty-stricken land, but good home-brewed ale —and even that they should not have unless they i)eliaved themselves more seemly. " But ever as I lay the darkness seemed to stretch far above me, the walls to mount and then swiftly come together again; now I was upheaved on delicious bil- lows of caller air, and anon I fell earthward again 254 THE LITTLK VXUl MAN ,'''" .J"' throu<,'h the illimitablo vault, of hofiveii. Y^t every nnw and then I would awaku tor a luouiont to tind my hoad on a sweeter tlian Ahraluim's bosom, jiiul so fall to ciPii. temniug my folly. lUit ere I had time to realise my ha])piiu'S3 I was off aprr;iu rairrinj? the uuivorsc. or at eonverse with hundreds and hundreds of iiKM-kin!,' spirits that mop])ed and mowed about my path. F(ir I was just fall in;; into a fever, and my dear lass hiid to put her skirt about my mouth to keej) the nian-lnuitt-rs from hearing me moan and struggle in my phantasy. *' By nine of the clock they had drunken all that was in the curate's house, and poor J)onald l>ain had umic to convoy them on their way. They were going (so tlicy swore) to the Black Craig o' Dee to rout me out ot my den. And this made Kachel very sore afraid, foi' she knew well that if we were to go lyaek to the damp cavH in the linn 1 would never rise from my bed alivo. Ami now, as she thought, the way was shut to our oidy ])ort of refuge. Also she feared for John, my brother — not being acquaint with John, and conceiving that tliey might do him a mischief, together with the innocent plough lads and herds in the house. But this need imt have troubled her, for indeed no one about the Bhuk Craig o' Dee desired anything better than that Koar- ing Raif and his crew should come near at hand to receive the welccme prepared for him. "But in the very hour of the storm-breaking lliert' appeared a bieldy dyke-back to shelter two poor lust wandering lambs. For no sooner was Donald Bain out of the house with all the ungodly crew than Jean, liis sister, flew upstairs to us, with her gown all pulled awry as she had escaped from the hands of the roisterers. TilE CUK'.VTK OF K1UK( IIRIST 255 "'Come your ways out, you luiir yo>m<,' thing's,' she prit'd; they are ganc, and the foul ticiul ride ahint them. .May thoy never come this road attain, that kenned neither how to behave theins»'lves seemly in a manse iinr lid to conduct them hefore a decent lass. Faith, they little jalloused how near they w ''re to gettin' a airk between the ribs!' "But by the time Rachel aiul Jean Rain ,i;ot me out of that dark.some (doset 1 Avas fairly beside myself. The fever ran hi^h, and I rave(l about rivers of water.- and the sound of great Hoods, and threeped with them that I saw t!ie Little Fair jNI.in coming on the wings of seraphims and cherubinis and lifting me up out of the mire. And as soon as Jean Rain heard the yammer and yptter of my foolish running '>n, she went to the closet for some simple herbs, and i)ut them in a pot over the tire to steam. Then she bade Rachel help me down to the minister's chamber, and betwecMi them they un- dressed me, cutting the sleeve from my coat so as to save the poor wounded arm. They got me tinally between the blankets, and nuule me drink of this herb-tea and that, willy-nilly. For which, as 1 heard aftt.'rwards, I called them ' witeh-wives,' ' black crows of a foul nest,' with many other names. Rut .Jean lUiin held me by the arm that was whole, while Rachel fleeched with me through her streaming tears; and so in time they gat me to take down the naughty -tasting brew. Neverthe- less, ill a little it soothed me as a nujther's lullaby doth a fractious wean, and in time I fell on a refreshing sleep. " Yet Rachel would not be comforted, but mourned for me greatly, till Jean Rain told her of the yet sorer case 2m THE LITTLK FA I II MAN ill whicli slu' iind l)()ii;il(l luul hut. lately Ixm-ii. 'I'o which my lass rejoined, jirond of her ex(!e(Mliii,i,'ly recent witV. hood: 'All, but he is yonr l)rotlier — not your man I I would not ciire what became of Kaif, not if they hani;f'(l him on the (iallows hill, aiul tho eraws pyked his haiu'^:' " For she was an<;ry with her brothor. "Then all suddenly .Ic:in Hain set her head hetwcpii her hands, and be_i;an to L,Meet as if her poor Iiciiit wt'iv near the ijreakin;.,'. '• ' He is my man — he is my nmn I ' she cried. ' Ainl I wish we were back aj^nin in Itonny I'anff, him ;i h'l'l laddie an' me a herd lassie, and that we could hear a,i;:iiii the waves break amant; the rooks at Tarlairl "' Wedded — aye. that are we, firm and stniuich, — hut Donald daurna let f)n, or Uishop Sydserf w;id turn him awa". He will hae nae wedded priests isnianj,' them that he sets ower his })arochins, but. as he sjsys, men kin- less and ciunberless that are neither feared to stand ami tight or mount and ride. It came aboot this ;:;ate. When Donald was comin' awa' to get his lear, I was fair broken-lieartt'd. For we had herded lang thegether en the gowden braes, and lain mony a simmer day auiaii;' the broom wi' our een on the sheei», but our hearts vcriii close the yin to the ither. The bishop was o' our ( la;i and country-side, and he made Donald graund otters — siccan fat parishes as there were in the Lawlands — sti- pend — house and gear — guid faith, he dazzled a' ihi weel-doin' laddies there-aboot. And Donald gied lii> word to be a curate, for he was weel-learned and had been to the schule as mony as four winters, me i;anc:iii' wi' him, and carryin' his books when I could win clear •'" my mither. THK <'UKATI': OF K I KKCII UIST 2o7 '"So since I (•nul(ln;i liiilf lra( liiiii. Doii.ild hioclit iiic hero to tliis cauM, ill, ootlaml jilaco, wlicrt' wr l»itlt» iiiiiaiijj; fiTiiiit and nncd folk that liat»' ns. lUit we were niariicd Hi^t and foninost liv tlu' minister o' Deer, that, uns a third cousin «•' DnnaM's aunt's — and a solid man hat can keep his tunj^ue siit'e and siccar ahint his tu'th. " * Hut oh — this plaee that we tluxdit to be a ^'ar(hMi o' ii deliohts ;ind an orchurtl o' ;^'o\vden fruit is hard and un- kindly and hare. The jfear and pienishin' of this manse ire noclit but the lioathcr Ijeds that our ain tin,q:ers pu', ;uul the l)lankots we bioeht wi' u.- And f or meat we luie die lisli o" the stream an' the l»irds that. Donald wldles >'iii(its wi'his |L,'un — i)aitrieks and wild ducks on the ;"iiids. I'or no a penny's worth n" stoepend will they ■My. And the bishop's warrandice runs nae farther than ;iit' ran,u<' o' the i^nins o' his bodyt^uaid." "Su, after this expUmation, the two women mourned tO;2f('ther as ■ hey tendetl me, and ]»resently the jtoor (•urate, Donald Uain, canit! bi»k t<> tind iliem thus, and me raving at large, and tiy'n-;- to tear otf the bandages fioia my arm. '"So here in this house, ill-funuslied and cheerless, this kindly couple kei)t ns safely hid till the blast had over- lilown and the bitterest of the shower slacked. Tive we(»ks we abode tlnu'c Indore I could be moved, and even then I was still as weak as water. Hut for the last fortnight «>! lived in more comfort. l"^)r the curate went over on ;i sheltie which, as he said, he ' had far.d in a held,' to the lUaek ('raig of Dee, and there h.dd a long parley «ith my brother in the ',^ate, while John had all his '^ork to keep Gib Grier and his lierd-laddies Ironi shoot- 258 THE LITTLE FAIR MAX « *' ing the curate for a black hot die craw o' I'relacy, as tliov named him. " And .Jolin came back with his visitor to the manse of Kirkchrist on a beast with store of provend ujtoii it, together with good French wines and other comiort.s for the upbuiUling of the sick. " ' I dechire I will never s])eak against a curate iigain,' said John, when he heard that which we had to tell liim. And he kissed his new sister Kachel with great ami gracious goodwill, for John was ever fond of a boniiic lass. Besides, we had had no woman body al)()ut tlm Black Craig ever since our mother died, when wo wen- but wild laddies herding the craws off the corn in the long summer days, and hiding lest we should be made to go with the funeral that wimpled over the moor tu the Kirkyaird of Kells. "Likewise also he saluted Jean Bain, or she him — I am not sure which. For Jean was in no wise backward in affection, but of a liberal, Avilling, softish nature ; foiul of a talk with a lad over a ' yett,' and fond, too, of a kiss at i)arting. Which last she gave to John ^vith licaily goodwill, and that, too, in the presence of tiie curate. " And as W(> went slowly back over the heather, John walked on one side of the horse which carried me, and liacl\el rode on the sheltie on the other. John was silent for a long while, and then he all at once said : ' Dod, but I think I could fancy that Ileelant lass mysel' ! ' *' So Rachel began to tell him how it was with Donald Bain the curate and Jean his wife. For with a woman's love for a fair field and no favour in matters of love, she did not wish John to spend himself on that which could never be his. Then was John very doleful for a space. 'nm CUKATK OK KIRKCIIHIST 259 " Bnt in time ho, too, ('lianged his mind, and was most kind to poor Donald Bain and liis wife wiien in the year WAS he was outed from his parish in the same month that Sydscrf, his master, was set aside by the ])arliament and the people of Scotland. Then great evil mij^ht liave bffallen him but that, Ixnng lonij fully recovered from mv wound, (Jib (irier and I set out for the manse of Kirkclirist, and l)rouglit them both, Donald and Jean, to tlic Hlaek ("raig of Dee, where in the midst of our great moors and black moss-hags they were safe even as I had lu'en in their house. And in ou.r spare chaml)er, too, waa born to them a bahe, a tiling which, had it been kenned, would have caused great scandal all over the land for the wickedness of the curates. 15ut none knew (save John and (lib, who were sworn to secrecy) till we gat them convoyed away to the north again, where they did very well, and Donald became chaplain to my Lord of Suther- land. And every y»*ar for long and long the Edinburgh carrier brought us a cou[)h' of haunches of venison well smoked, which served us till Yule or I'asch, and very toothsome and sweet it was. This was a memorial from Donald Uain and Jean his wife. ''Douce vnd sober we lived, Kachel and I, we who had been so strangely joined. For the Slee Tod of Kirk- I'hrist was glad enough to have his daughter wed to one who asked neither dower nor wedding-gift, tocher nor house linen; and as for Ivoaring Kaif, he broke his neck- bone over the linn coming home one night from the rood- fair of Dumfries. 73ut I kept my mind steadfastly set to make my new life atone for the faults of the old — vrhich may be bad theology, but is good sound fact. And Rachel, like a valiant housewife, aided me in that liOO THK LITTLK FAIR MAN « ■A as iu all things. 80 that I bpcanie in time a iiiiiii ol mark, and was ehoseu au elder by the Session of the parish. But nevertheless the old Adam was not dead within me, but only kept close behind bars waiting to be quits with me. For as the years went by 1 was greatly taken up with my own righteousness, and so in excellent case to backslide. " Now it chanced that, being one day in the ciiuiiLje house of the clachan, I heard one speak lightly of our daughter Anne, tliat was now of marriageable age, and of a most innocent and merry heart. 80 anger took hold of me, and, unnrindful of my great strength, I dealt the young man such a buffet on the side of his head that he was carried out for dead, and indeed lay long at his father's house between life and death. "Now this was a mighty sorrow to me and to Eaoliel my wife. And though little was said because of the provocation 1 had (which all had heard), I thought it i:.y duty to resign my office of the eldership, confessing my hastiness and sin to my brethren, and offering puliin contrition. But for all that I gat no ease, but was under a great cloud of doubt, feeling myself once again without God and without hope in the world. '' Then it came to me that if T could but see the Little Fair Man again he would tell me what I should do. I knew that he had been of a long season regent of a enl- lege in the town of Sanct Anders. 80 I gave myself uu rest day nor night till my good wife, after vainly trying to settle me by her loving words, made all preparation of provend in saddle-bags, and guineas in pouch, and set me on a good beast at the louping-on stone by our dour. It was the first year of the restored King Charles, the TilE CUHATl': OK KiRKCHRlST 201 SeciMid of tluit name, and the darkness was jusi thicken- iug upon the hind, a (hirkncss greater tlian the first, when 1 set out to see Mr. Rntherfunh •' For tlie early part of my travel all went well, but when I was passing through the town of Ilaniilton, (•( r- tiiiu soldiers set upon me, asking for my pass, and eall- won me ' Westland Whig' and ' eanting rebel. Tl lev 1(1 have taken from me all that I had. h.;vin-- already turiunl ni}- saddle-bags outside in, and o]w of tlu'in even came near to thrust his hand into my ])oeket, wht'ii a eoa(;h drov(^ up with six horses and outriders mired to the shoulders. Then a [)air ot' grand servants sprang down from behind, and eried : ' Room for my Lord ISishopI' iVnd at this the soldiers desisted from laundering me to do their obeisanee. '• Then there eame forth first a I'osy Inixom woman, breathing heavily, and holding out a plumj) hand to the U)aii-servant. '* But when she saw me with a soldier at either side, >lni took one long look, and then cried out in a heart \ voice: 'What's this — what's this — my friend Harry Wedderburn in the gled's claws ? Let be, scullions I Donahl, here's our host frae the l^laek Craig o' Dee ! ' " \nd forthwith, the soldiers falling back abashed, the i'ishop's lady, she that had been ])oor Jean Bain, eame at me in her old reckless way, and flung her arms about my neck, kissing me soundly and heartily — as 1 had not Ijeen kissed of a long season by any save Rachel, me l)eing no nutre a young man. '•'And the bishop was no other than Donald himself, the same who had been curate of Kivkchris! — and a • i^rht reverend prelate he looked. B 262 THE LITTLE FAIR MAN " Tlien nothing would do Je;in and Donald lint I nnst get into tlio cari'iago with them, and have one ol tiitir men-servants ride my beast into Edinlmrgli. ><('iuitr excuse nor nay-fjay would my lady bishop take. So in this manner we travelled very comfortably, I sitting besides lier, and at Edinburgh we parted, 1 to S^ntt Anders, they to a lodging near my Lord of Sutlicrhuid's house, to whose influence with the king they owed their advancement. For they were hand and glove with him. And the njorning 1 was to ride away came their carriage to the door, and lo ! my lady again — this time \viih a safe-conduct and letter of certification from the J'rivv Council setting forth that I was a person n(jtab1y \\v]\. affected and staunch; that none Avere to hinder er molest n\o. or mine in body or estate ujider penalty of tiie King's displeasure. Which thing, in the troublous times to come, more than once or twice stood me in great stead. " But when I came to Sanct Anders, the first thing 1 heard Avas that i\Ir. Kutherfurd lay ti-dying in his col- lege of St. ^Mary's. 1 betook me thither, and lo! a guard of soldiers was about the doors, and would in no wise permit mo pass. They were burning a pile of looks, and I heard say that it was done by order of the parlia- ment, and that thereafter Mr. Kutherfurd was to be c:ir- ried out, alive or dead, and his bed set in the open street. Lex Hex w^as the name of ihe book I saw them turning' this way and that with sticks, so as to make the leaves burn faster. I know not why it was so dour to cateL. for out of curiosity I got me a copy afterwards, and the Lord knows it was dry enough — at least to mv tasto. " But after a while, showing the officer my Trivy Council letter, I prevailed on him that I had a mandate THE CUliATE OF KIUKCHIMST 263 from governiuont to soo Afr. lluthorfurd, and that I had mne directly and of ]nir[)t>st' iHmii Edinburgh to oversee the affair, and rcpoi't on thoso who wcro diligent. So at long and last they let nic go nj* thf, stair. '•And at the to]) T found jnany doois closed, but one open, and the sound of a voice 1 knew well speaking within. "And still it was telling the praises of the Friend — VPS, after a lifetime of struggle and suffering. Nor do 1 diiiik that, save for taking rest in sleep, the voice had tver been silent on that theme. "So though none knew me, I passed straight through the little company to the deatli-bed of the man who spoke. He was the Little Fair .Man no h)nger. But his scant white hair lay soft as silk on the pillow. His t;ice was pale as ivory, his cheeks fallen in ; only his eyes glowed like live coals deep-sunken in liis head. "'So, friend — you have come to see an old man die,' he said, when his eyes lighted on me ; ' what, a bairn of mine, saj'st thou — not after the flesh but after the spirit. Aye, I do mind that day at Kells. A gale from the Lord blew about us that day. So you are Harry of the Ilude Pland, and you have fallen into sin ? Ah, ycu must not come to me — you must to the Master ! You had better have gone to your closet, and worn the whin- stone a little with the knees of your bveeks. And yet 1 ken not. None hath been a greater sinner or known sTeator mercy than Samuel Kutherfurd. I am sum- moned by the Star Chamber — I go to tlie chamber of •"^tars. I will see the King. T will carry Ilini your iiiessagt, Harry. Fear not, the young man you smote v.ill recover. He Vvill yet bless you for laying a hand on L'Gl lilE LITTLK I-AIK MA^ him, even as this ty you acknowledge the unvvorthv servant who on tlu; greensward of Kells called you (jut of darkness into His marvellous light. " 'Sir, fare you well. (Jo home to your wife, notliiii;; doubting. This night shall close the door. At tive of the morning I will fasten my anchor within the veil." " And even as he said so it was. He i)assed away, and, as for me, sec\ire that he would carry my messa^'c to the Alone Forgiver of Sins i returned home to tiiKi the youth recovered and ])enitent. He afterwards Ir cauie a noted professor and held preachei, and tlied scal- ing his testimony with his blood on the victorious liel(i of Loudon Hill. '• This is the testimony of me, Harry Wedderliuni. sometime called Strength-o'-Airm, who now iu tin- val- ley of peace and a restored Israel wait the coald reply ; " discoursing of the heavens above, the "arth beneath, and the waters under the earth ! " "Havers," she would reply, her face, however, glancing at him bright as a new-milled shilling, "your t' ''hts ^vjre awa' on the mountains o' vainity ! Naething richt «aukens ye up but a minister to argue wi' ! " And, indeed, that was a true word. For though an 205 2(\(> MY FATIIKK'S LOVE STOUY '»* unusually silent man, my father, Alexander (or Saunders ) McQuhirr, liked nothiui? better than a minister to ar^'iie with — if one of tlit' Kirk of Scotland, well and ^ood. There was the Revolution Settlement, the I ,eadship of (-hrist, the Power of the Civil iMaj^dstrate. My fatliiT enjoyed himself thoroughly, and if the minster elKunnl to be worthy, so did he. Jiut it took a (-ameroniau or an Original S(!('ession divine really to rouse within him what my mother called ''his bowels of wi-ath." "There is a disiinct Brownist strain in your opinions. Alexander," Mr. Osbourne would say — his own minister from the Kirk on the IJ ill. " Your father's name was not Abel for nothing ! '' ^ Mr. Osbourne generally reminded him of this when ho had got the worse of some argument on the true inward- ness of the !^Iarrow Controversy. He did not like to be beaten, and my father was a dour arguer. Once it is recorded that the minister brought all the way up to Drumquhat on a Communion Friday — the " off-day '' as it were of the Scottish Holy Week — the great Dr. ]\I;u'cus Lawton himself from Edinburgh. It happened to be a wettish day in the lull between hay and harvest. ^Mv father was doing something in the outhous*^' vheiv la* kept his joinering tools, and the two ministers joined him there early in the forenoon. They were well into '• Free- will " before my father was at the end of the board he had been planing. " Predestination " was the overworJ of their conversation at the noonday meal, which all 1 " Abel," "Jacob," " Abraham," were not common names in Scut- land, and such as occurred in families during last century iiiiijlit generally be traced to the time of Cntmwelliiin occupation. Davil and Samuel were the only really common Old Testament names at that time. MY FATIIEU'.S LOVE STUuiT 20 )< name was three secmod to partake of us dispassionately as if they had been stokiii.'jf a fire — this to the ^reat iudinnation of my mother, w ..). liaviiig been M-arncd of the proposed honour, had given herself even more com])letely to hosj)itality tlian was habitiial with her. Mr. Osbourne, i:uk'ed, nuuh' a pretext of talking to lier about the price of butter, and how her hens were laying. But she saw through him even as he spoke. For, as she said alUu'wanl.H, describing the scene, "I saw his lug co(!kit for what the itht-r twa were saying, and if it haiuia been for the restrain) n' grace o' (rod, I declare 1 wad hae telled him that butur was a guinea a pound in Dumfries market, and that my hi ns were laying a score o' eggs a')iece every day — he never wad hae kenned that I v.-as tellin' him a lee 1 '' All day the great controversy went on. I'^ven now I can remember the echoes of it coming to me through the wet green leaves of the mallows my mother had planted along the south-looking wall. To this day I can hear th(> drip of the water from the slates mingling with such phrases as "the divine sover^'ignty," the ''Covenant of Works," **'the Adamit; dispensation." T see the pur- j)le of the flowers and smell the rsweet smell of the pine shavings. They seemed to my childish mind like three Titans hurling the longest words in the dictionary at each other. I know nothing wherewith to exjiress the effect upon my mind of this day-long conflict save that great line in the flfth book of Pamdi.se Lost : "Thrones, donnnations, princedoms, vertue.s, powers ! '' It was years after when first 1 read it, but instantly I thought of that wet summer day in Lammastide, when 268 MV l'ATHl-:irs LOVE STORY 4 my fatliPv wrestled with his pe^Ts concerning tlie (l»'(')i things of eti-rnity, and was not overcome. My mother lias often told me that he never slej)t all that night — how wakin;-;' in the dawn and finding his place vacant, she had hastily thrown on a gown and gone ont to look for him. lie was walking n}) and down in the little orchard behind the barn, his hands (rlasjud behind his back. And all ho said in answer to her reproaches was: ''It's vexin', ^fary, to think that I only minded that text in Ephesians about being 'sealed unto the day of redemption ' after he was owor the hill. It wad hae ta'en the feet clean frae him if I had gotten hand o' it in time." " What can ye do wi' a man like that ? " she would conclude, summing up her husband's character, mostly in his hearing. " But remember, Mary, the pit from which I was digged ! '' he would reply, reaching down the worn oM leather-bound co})y of Boston's Fourfold State out of th« wall-press and settling himself to re-peruse a favourite chapter. * « « # * ' * My father's father, Yabel McQuhirr, was a fierce hard man, and seldom showed his heart, ruling his house with a rod of iron, setting each in his place, wife, child, man- servant and maid-servant, ox and ass — aye, and the stranger within his gates. My father does not talk of these things, but my mother has often told me of that strange household u]) iunvw^ the granite hills, to which, as a maid of nineteen, she went to serve. In those days in all the Galloway farni- vowns, master and servant sat down together to meals. MV FATIIKU'S LOVK STOKV 2(59 TliH hand <•[ tlio house was lawgiver and poteutatf, priest and parcul, to all bem.'ath his loof. And if Yabol McQuhirr ol Arrlmannoch did not exorcist' the right of [lit and K'iil-«'VV's, it was about all the authority lie did not claini over his own. Vabel had a family of strong sons, silent, dour — the (luctrine of inKjuestionijig obedience driven into them Viy their father's ri^ht arm and oaken staff. l?ut their love was for their mother, who drifted through the house with a foot light as a falling leaf, and a voice attuned to the murmuring of a hill stream. There was no daughter in the household, and Mary McArthur had come partly to supply the want. She had brought a .sore little heart with her, all because of a certain ship that had gone over the s6a, and the glint of a sailor lad's merry blue eyes sh • would S3e no more. She had therefore no mind for love-making, and Thomas and Abel, the two eldest sons, got very short answers for their pains when they "tried their hand" on their mother's new house-lass. Tom, the eldest, took it well enough, and went elsewhere ; but Abel was a bully by natur«', and would not let the girl alone. Once he kissed her by force as, hand-tied, she (tarried in the peats from the stack. Whereupon Alexander, the silent third brother, found oiit the reason of Clary's red eyes, and interviewed his brother behind the barn to such pur- pose that his face bore the marks of fraternal knuckles for a week. Also Alexander had his lij) split. "Ye hae been fechtin' again, ye blake.s," thundered their father. "Mind ye, if this happens again I will break every bane in your bodies. I will have you know that I am a man of peace ! How did you get that black pye, Yabel ? " IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) A 4is ■ts. V Ce <> ^ :/- f/. 1.0 I.I 1.25 |50 ™^ I: 1^ 2.5 2.2 1.4 12.0 1.8 1.6 Vj <^ /] ^a ^;. >^ .>5 « Photographic Sciences Corporation #^ V »% :\ % V 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 \ r^. L'?- 4 270 MY FATHER'S LOVE STOKY I " I trippit ower the shaft o' a eairt ! " said Abel, lying glibly in fear of consequences. " And you, Alexander — where gat ye that lip ? " " I ran against something ! " said the defender of inno- cence, succinctly. And stuck to it stubbornly, refusing all amplification. "Well," said their father, grimly, "take considerably more heed to your going, both of ye, or you may run against something more serious still ! " Then he Avhistled on his dogs, and went up the dyke- side towards the hill. # # * * * *■ After this, Alexander always carried in the peats for Mary McArthur, and, in spite of the taunts and gibes of his brothers, did such part of her work as lay outside the house. On winter nights and mornings he lighted the stable lantern for her before she went to milk the kye, and then when she was come to the byre he took his mother's stool and pail and milked beside her cow fur cow. All these things he did without speaking a word of love, or, indeed, saying a word of anything beyond the commonplaces of a country life. He never told her whether or no he had heard about the sailor lad who had gone over seas. Indeed, he never referred to the subject throughout a long lifetime. All the same, I think he must have sus- pected, and with natiiral gentleness and courtesy set himself to ease the girl's heartsore burden. Sometimes ]\Iary would raise her eyes and catch him looking at her — that was all. And more often she was conscious of his grave staid regard when she did not look A. I* MY FATHER'8 LOVE STORY 271 up. At first it fre^ed her a little. For, of course, she could never love again — never believe any man's word. Life was ended for her — ended at nineteen ! So at least Mary McArthur told herself. l^nt all the same, there — a pillar for sui)port, a buckler for defence, was Alexander McQuhirr, strong, undemonstrative, dependable. One da}^ she had cut her finger, and he was rolling it up for her daintily as a woman. They were alone in the shearing field together. Alexander had the lint and the thread in his pocket. So, indeed, he anticipated her wants silently all his life. It had hurt a good deal, and before he had finished the tears stood brimming in her eyes. " I think you must get tired of me. T bring all my cut fingers to you. Alec ! " she said, looking up at him. He gave a kind of gasp, as if he were going to say something, as a single drop of salt water pearled itself and ran down IVIr ry's cheek ; but instead he only folded tl e lint more carefully in at the top, and went on rolling the thread round it. " She is learnin' to love me ! " he thought, with some pleasure, but he was too bashful and diffident to take advantage of her feeling. He contented himself with making her life easier and sweeter in that hard upland cantonment of more than military discipline, from whose rocky soil Yabel and his sons dragged the bare neces- sities of life, as it were, at the point of the bayonet. All the time he was thiidcing hard behind his broad forehead, this quiet Alexander McQuhirr. He was the third son. His father was a poor man. He had noth- ing to look for from him. In time Tom would succeed to the farm. It was clear, then, that if he was ever to 272 MY FATHER'S LOVE 8T0KY « be anything, he must strike out <^p,rly for himself. And, as many a time before and since, it was the tears in tht^ eyes of a girl that brought matters to the breakins,' point. Yes, just the wet eyes of a girl — that is, of Mar\ McArthur, as she looked up at him suddenly in the har- vest-field among the serried lines of stooks, and said: -I bring all my cut lingers to you. Alec ! " Something, he knew not exactly what, appealed to him so strongly in that word and look, that resolve came upon him sudden as lightning, and binding as an oath — the man's instinct to be all and to do all for the woman he loves. He was unusually silent during the rest of the day. so that Mary McArthur, walking beside him down the loaning to bring home the cows, said : " You are no vexed wi' me for onything, Alec ? '' But it was the man's soul of Saunders McQuhiir which had come to him as a birthright — born out of a glance. He Avas a boy no longer. Ai.J that night, as his father, Yabel, stood looking over his scanty acres with a kind of grim satisfaction in the golden array ot corn stooks, his son Alexander went quietly up to him. "Father," he said, "next week I shall be one-and- twenty ! " In times of stress they spoke the English of the schools and of the Bible. His father turned a deep-set irascible eye upon him. The thick over-brooding brows lowered convulsively above him. A kind of illuminating flash like faint sheet lightning passed over the stern face. A week ago, nay, even twenty-four hours ago, Saunders McQuhirr would have trembled to have his father look at him thus. But MY FATHER-S LOVE STORY 273 -he had bound np a girl's finger since then, and seen her eyes wet. "Well what of that?'' The words c.une fiercely from label, with a rising anger in them, a kind of trum- pet blare heralding tlio storm. "I am thinking of taking a lierd's place at the term t " said Alexander, quietly. l-abel lifted his great body off the dyke-top, on which he had been leaning with his elbows. He towered a good four inches above his son, though my father was ahvays considered a tall man. "You -you are going to take a herd's place -at the term - yon ? " he said slowly and incredulously "Yes," answered his son; "you v.iil not need me There is no outgate for me here, and T have my way t^i make in the world." "And what need have you of an outgate, sir?" crie.l Ins father. "Have I housed you and schooled you and .eared you that, when at last you are of some use, yo„ shoidd leave your father and mother at a word, like ■, day-labourer on Saturday night ? " " A day-labourer on Saturday night gets his waoes-I have not asked for any ! " At this answer Yabel stood tempestuously wrathful for a moment, his hand and arm uplifted and twitching to strike Then all suddenly his n.ood changed. It becan.P scornfully ironic. "I see," he said, dropping his arm, "there's a lass be- lund this -that is the meaning of all the peat-carrying and byre-milking and handfasting in corners Well sirrah, I give you this one night. Tn the morning you' ^hall pack. From this instant I forbid you to touch 274 MY FATilER'S LOVE STOliY aught belonging to me, corn or fodder, liorse or bestial Ye shall tramp, lad, you and your madam with vou. The day is not yet, thank tlie Lord, when Abel ^McQiihin is not master in his own house ! " But the son that had been a boy was nov; a man. Ifo stood before his fatlier, giving him back glance li r glance. And an observer would have seen a great simi- larity between the two, the same attitude to a line, the massive head thrown back, the foot advanced, the deep- set eye, the compressed mouth. a Yeiy well, father ! " said Alexander McQuhirr, and he went away, carrying his bonnet in his hand. * * * * * # And on the morning that followed the sleepless ni^jht of thinking and planning, Alexander McQuhirr went forth to face the world, his plaid about his shoulders, his staff in his hand, his mother's blessing upon his head — and, what was most of all to a young man, his sweet- heart's kiss upon his lips. For in this part of his mandate Yabel had reckoned without his host. His wife, long trained to keep silence for the sake of peace, had turned and openly defied him— nay, had won the victory. The "Man of Wrath'" kncT exactly how far it was wise to push the doctrine of uu- questioning wifely obedience. Mary McArthur was h> bide still where she was, till — well, till another home was ready for her. And though her eyes were red, and there was no one to tie up her cat fingers any more, there was a kind of pride upon her face too. And the image of the young sailor-man over seas utterly faded away. At ten by the clock, Yabel McQuhirr, down in his harvest-field, saw his son set out. He gave no farewell. MY FATHER'S LOVE STORY 275 He waved no hand. He said no word. All the same, he .^Huled grindy to himself beliind the obedient backs of Tom and Abel the younger. "There's tlie be.t stuff o' the lot in that fule laddie " c growled ; '' even so for a lass's sake left I my father's house ! " And of all his children, this dour, hard-mouthed, gnarl- sted man loved best the boy who for the sake of a lass had outcasted himself without fear and without hesi- tation. * * * # * # It was to a herd's house, shining white on a hillside a burnie trilling below, the red heather surging about the garden dyke on all sides, that Alexander McQuhirr took his wife Mary, a year later. And there in the ful- ness of time my brother Willie was born _ the child of the cothouse and of the kailyaird. In time followed '^•ther,if not better, things -first a small holding, then a farm — then I, Alexander the second. And still, thank God, we, the children of Mary McArthur, run with our ent fingers to that steadfast, loving, silent man, Saunders ilcQuhirr, son of Yabel, the Man of Violence and Wrath I* THE MAN OF WRATH t A MAN of wratli was my grandfather, Yabel !McQuhirr, from his youth up. And I am now going to tell the story of how V)y a strange providence lie was turned aside from the last sin of Judas, and how he became in his latter days a man of peace and a lover of young children. He was my father's father, and I have already told how that son of his to whom I owe my life, went forth to make a new hearthstone warm and bright for the giil who was to be my mother. But after the departure of that third son, darker and darker descended the gloom ui)on the lonely uplying farm. Fiercer and ever fiei-cer fell the angers of Yabel IVIcQuhirr upon his remaining ehil- dren, Thomas and Abel — the latter named after his father, but whose Christian name never acquired the antique and preliminary " Y " that marks the border- line between the old and the new. One dismal Monday morning in the back-end of the year there were bitter words spoken in the barn at the threshing, between Thomas and his father. Retort followed retort, till, with knotted fist, the father savagely felled the youth to the ground. There was blood upon the clean yellow straw when he rose. Thomas went indoors, opened his little chest, took from it all the money he had, shook hands silently with his mother, and took his way over the Rig of Bennanbrack, never to be heard of more. 276 ', V THE MAX OF WllATJl 277 And after this ever closer and closer Yabel McQuhirr shut the door of his heart. He hardened himself under the weight of his wife's gentle sufferance and reproachful silences. He gripped his hands together when, with the corner of an eye that would not humble itself to look, he saw the tear trickling down the wasted cheek. He uttered no word of sorrow for the past, nor did the name of either of his departed sons pass his lips. Nevertheless, he grew markedly kinder in deed to Abel, the one son who remained — not much kinder in word perhaps, for still that loud and angry voice could be heard coming from field and meadow, barn or byre, till the fearful mother would steal silent-footed to the kitchen-door lest the last part of her threefold sorrow should indeed have come upon her. But not in this manner was the blow to fall. Abel was the least worthy but greatly the handsomest of the sons of Yabel McQuhirr. He had a large visiting acquaintance among the farm-towns, and often did not seek his garret-bed till the small hours of the morning. Then his mother, awake and vigilant, would incline her eai on the pillow to hear whether her husband was asleep beside her. Now, oftentimes Yabel, her husband, slept not, yet for Ms wife's sake, and perhaps because Abel, with his bright smile and clean-limbed figure, reminded him of a wild youth he had long put behind him, he bore with the lad, even to giving him in one short year more money to spend than had been his brothers' portion during all the time they had faithfully served their father. And this was not good for a young man. So that early one spring, the wild oat crop that Abel 278 THE MAN OF WliATH k had been sowing began to appear with braird and luxu- riant shoot. A wliispLT overran the parish swil'tci' than the moor-burn when the heather is dry on the iiidnrs. Two names were coupled not unto honour. And on a certain wihl March morning, Yal)el McQuliirr, liiiviin; called his son three times, clambered fiercely \\\) to tlic little garret stair to find an open skylight, a pallot-bod not slept in, and a home that was now childless from flagged hearth to smoke-browned roof-tree. # # # # * * Yabel rode to market upon ]\Iary (Jray, his old rough- fetlocked mare, once badger-gray, bu; now white as the sea-gulls that fluttered and settled upon his spriiigtiiuo furrows. He heard no word of tlie storv of Abel liis son and the gypsy lass, for none durst tell him — till one Rob Girmory of Barscob, bolder or drunker than the rest, blurted it out with an oath and a scurvy jest. The next moment he was smitten down, and Yabel ]\Ic(Juhirr stood over him with his riding-whip clubbed in his hand, the fierce irascible eyebrows twitching, and wide nostrils blown out with the breath of the man's wrath. But certain good friends, strong-armed men of peac?, held him back, and got Girmory away to a quiet cart- shed, where, on a heap of straw, he could sleep off his stupor and awake to wonder what had given him that lump, great as a hen's egg, over his right eye. As for Y''abel McQuhirr he saddled INIary Gray and took the road homeward lest any should bring the story first to his wife. For Jen, his Jen, was the kernel of that rough-husked, hard-shelled heart. And as he rode, he cursed Girmory with the slow studied anatlienia d the Puiitan — which is not swearing, but something */- Tin: NiAN OF WRATH 279 sterner, solemner, more endurinj,'. Soinetiines he wouhl cheat himself by sayin<^ over and over that there was aothiiig in the story. Abel had gone in his bestchithes to a neighbonring town — he knew the lad had a pound or two that burnt a luAe in his spendthrift pocket. He would return penitent when it was finished. And the old man found himself already 'Miirsing" with anger, and thinking of what he would say to the returned prodigal when he caught sight of him — a greeting which voald certainly not have run upon the lines of the parable. Yet, as he went on and on, fear began to enter in, and he set his spurless heels grimly to ]\lary Gray's well- padded ribs. Never had that sober steed gone home at such a pace, and on brown, windy braefaces ploughmen stood Vi^iping their brows and watching and wondering. Shepherds, high on the hills, set their palms horizontally above their brows and murmured, " What's takin' auld Yabel hame at sic a pelt this day, as if tlie 111 Yin Mmsel' were after him ? '' But for all his haste, some one had forestalled him. Tlie busybody in other men's matters, the waspish gossip to whom the carrying of ill tidings is a chief joy, had been before him. IMary Gray had sweated in vain. There was no one to be heard stirring as he tramped eagerly in — no one flitting softly to ajid fro in milk- liouse or dairy. But within Yabel McQuhirr found his wife fallen by the bake-board near the window, where she had been at work when the Messenger of Evil entered to do her fell ^ork. Her eyes were closed, her hands limp and numb. With a hoarse inarticulate cry of rage Yabel raised his 280 THE MAN OF WRATH '.' ^'%:-^ wife and carried her to the neatly-made bed with the patchwork quilt upon it. There he laid her down. "Jen," he said, more gently than one could have hn. lieved the rough harsh Man of Wrath could have spokfii. " Jen, waken, lassie. It's maybe no true. I tak' it dii my soul it's no true ! " But on his wife's face there remained a strange fixed smile, and her eyes, ojiening slowly, began to follow liim about wistfully, and seemed soinehow to beckon him, Then with infinites (!are Yabel removed his wife's outpr garments, cutting that which would not loosen otherwise, till the stricken woman reposed at ease beneath the coverlet. " Now, Jen," he said, " I maun ride to the town for a doctor. Will 1 tell Allison Brown to come and look after you ? " The wistful following eyes expressed neither yea nor nay. " Then will I send in Jean Murray f rae the Boreland ? '' The eyes were still indifferent. There was no desire for the help of any of human kind in the stricken womans heart. Her husband watched her keenly. " Or wad ye like Martha Yeatman ower f rae the Glen ? " Then all suddenly the dull eyes flashed, glowed, almost flamed, so fierce was the " No " that was in them. Yabel shut down his upper lip upon his nether. He nodded his head. " Then I will bring the doctor, and nurse you mysel'," he answered. But within him he said : " So it was Martha o' the Glen. For this thing will I reckon with Martha Yeatman." ^ THE MAN OF WKATll L'Sl Tt was fortiinaio for Mary Gray that thn distance was lot louf', for, like Jehu tho son of Ninishi, Yabol Mc- Quhirr dravo furiously. But at the Vicud of the highway lalled the I'ar-away Turn, just at the ])oint at which the road dives down under a tangle of hirch and alder, the old white mare was jjulled suddenly ii|). For there was Dr. Brydson, riding cautiously on his little round-bar rolled sheltie, his saddle-bags in front of him, and a silver-headed Malacca cane held in his hand like a rid- ing-whip. It was no long time before the good old doctor was raising the lax head of Yabcl McQuhirr's wife. The strange distant smile was still in her eyes, and the left corner of her mouth twitched. '' She has had a shock," said Dr. Brydson, slowly, when Yabel and he had withdrawn a little. He was i)ulling iiis chin meditatively, and not thinking much of the husband. "A stroke ! " said Yabel, and the tone of his voice was so strange and terrible that the doctor turned 'luickly — "but not unto death! You can cure her — surely you can cure her?" And he caught the doctor by the arm and shook it vehemently. "Take your hands away, sir, and calm yourself ! " said ilie physician. " If I am to do anything, we must have none of this." "Say that she will not die ! " he cried. And the deep- set angry eyes flamed down upon the physician, the great Ssts of iron were clenched. Dr. Brydson was a little man, but a long course of bemg deferKpd to had given him great local dignity. 282 THE MAX OF \V]IATH " I will say nothing of the kind, sir," he retorted. '■ I will do what I can ; but this thing is the visitation of God, and human skill avails but little. Stand away from my patient, sir." But at that moment a sudden and wondrous change passed over the face of Yabel McQuhirr. The physii'iau was startled. It was like an earthquake rifting ami changing a landscape while one looks. In the twinklitii,' of an eye the fashion of Yabel's countenance was altered. He would have wept, yet stood gasping like one who knows not the way to weep. Instead he uttered a hoarse and terrible cry, and iiung himself upon his knees by the bed. "Jen," he cried, "Jen — speak to me, Jen — to your ain man Yabel ! Say that this man lies ! Tell me ye are no gaun to dee, Jen — Jen, my Jen ! " And at the voice of that strange crying the doctor stood back, for be knew that no earthly physician had power to stay a soul's agony. Then, like a tide that wells up full to the fioodmark, the slow love rose in the eyes of his wife. Her lips moved. He bent his head eagerly. They seemed to form his name. " Yes, yes," he said eagerly, " ' Yabel, Yabel,' I hear that! What mair? Tell me — oh, tell me, ye are no gaun to leave me ! " He bent his head lower, holding his breath and lav- ing his hand on his own heart as if to still its dull, thitk beating. But though the pallid lips seemed to move, uo words came, and Yabel McQuhirr heaved up his head and struck his palm upon his brow. " I canna hear ! " he wailed. " She will dee, and no :*.*• THE Mxy OF WRATH 283 ^ If he did not know i,i,„. " wjio are you that sole, on my gnef, standing there and doing nothing G cot 0' my hoose, lest I do ye a hurt " i • ^'^t And the indignant little man went at the .vord, mount- mg h,s shelfe and riding away across the moors wTthout once turning his head, the "Penang lawyer" Ta oh" When Yabel turned again to his wife there were rsr::d:Si:r^""'^^'^^--^-- "I am a tool," he said, "an angry fool. I have ;™hn„awaythateametodohergUl.i„'e:i she!;' tit 'r "":,'" *:- "'"^ *» -''°' -^' «- ^t^tied 1°: tldle ^'"' "'•™ '''^ ^'^'^"'^ -™- '"'-d - "Vain is the help of man," said Yabel, as he turned ..o.,...,d if God.m not helpme,f „.,,.„:::« He sat a while by Janet's side, and it was very ouiet »e for the eloek ticking out the n,oments o I L^I ' fe. A hen eackled without in the yard with sudd , y over an egg safely nested. Yabel started up ang Z <1 laid h,s hand on his gun in the rack above the smoked mantel-board. Rut the woman's eyes called him to desist, and he eat ion agam beside her with a sigh. "n-hat is it, Jen ? (;a„ ye no speak to me^" The ^yes seemed to compel him yet lower_„po„ his knee!,! 284 THE MAN OF WRATH \* i ^ \ ' " To pray — I canna X)ray, Jen ; I winna pr;iy. Tf the Lord tak's you, I will arise and curse Him to His face." The direction of the gaze changed. It was upon the family Bible on the shelf, where it lay with Boston's Fourfold State and a penny almanack, the entire family library. " Am I to read ? " said Yabel, reaching it down, "What am I to read ? '' He ran down the table of con- tents with his great stub-nailed fingers, " Genesis, Exo- dus, Leviticus." But the speaking eyes did not check him till he came to the Psalms. He turned then over till he came to the twenty-third. The will in his wife's glance stopped him again, lie read the psalm slowly, kneeling on his knees by the bed- side. At the fourth verse his voice changed. " Yea, though I tvalk through the valley of the shadow of death, I vAU fa,- no evil, for Tliou art icith me " And at the sound of these words the unstricken left hand of his wife wavered upward uncertainly. It lay a moment, with something in its touch between a caress and a blessing, upon his head. Then it dropped lightly back upon the coverlet. ****** Yabel IVIcQuhirr sat till the gloaming by the side of his dead wife, a terrible purpose firming itself in his heart. His children had risen up against him. God had cast him off. Well, he, Yabel McQuhirr, would cast Him off. At His very Judgment Seat he would dare Him, and so be thrown unrepenting into the pit prepared for the impenitent. He had done that which was needful to the body of ,'^ THE MAN OF WKATH 285 een a caross liis helpmeet of mauj'^ years. There was no more to do — save one thing. He rose and was going out, when his bloodshot eye fell on the great familj'' Bible from which he had read eve and morn for forty years. A spasm of anger fierce as a blast from a furnace came over the man. That Book had lied ! It had deceived him. He lifted it in one strong hand and threw it upon the tiiv. Then he wvilked across the yard to the stable to get a coil of cart rope. He stumbled rather than stopped as he went, the ground somehow meeting his feet unexpect- edly. He could not find the rope, and found himself exclaiming savagely at the absent and outcast Abel who had mislaid it. At last he found it among some stable litter, lying beneath the peg on which it ought to have hung. Gath- ering the coils up in his hand, he crossed the straw- strewn yard again to the barn. There were sound open beams in the open space between mow and mow. " It had best be done there," he muttered. There was a rustling among the straAv as he pushed back the upper half of the divided door — rats, as he would have thought at another time. Now he only won- dered if he could reach the beams by standing on the corn bushel. As he made the knot firm and noosed the rope through the loop, his eyes fell on the further door of the barn — the one through which, in bygone golden Septembers, he had so ofteii pitchforked the sheaves of corn. There was something moving between him and the orchard door. In the dull light it looked like a young child. And then the heart of Yabel McQuhirr, who was 286 THE MAN OF WRATH \* ..*.! :,,ir y uot afraid to mewt God faoe to face, was filled witli a great fear. A faint moaning wliimper came to his ear. lie dropped the coil of rope and ran back to the liouse for the stable lantern. He lighted the candle with a jiiecc of red peat-ash, tossing the unconsumed Bible oft' the fire. Only the rough ealf-skin cover was singed, and its smouldering had filled the house with a keen acrid sni',-!!. Yabel went out again with the lantern in his liaind. Without entering, he held it over the lower half of the barn door, which had swung to after him. A }()uiig woman, clad in the halrit d a -' gypsy'' or " gaun body," lay huddled on the straw, wdiile over her, whimpering and nosing like a puppy, crawled the most beautiful child Yabel had ever seen. As the light broke into ilie darkness of the barn the little fellow stood up, a golden- haired boy of two years of age. He smiled and blinked, then, with his hands outstretched, came running across the floor to Yabel. "Mither willna speak to Davie," he said. "Ui) — up, Mannie, tak' wee Davie up ! " A sob, or something like it, rose in the stern old man's throat. He could forfeit life, he could defy God, lie could abandon all his possessions; but to leave tins little shining innocent to starve — no, he could not do it. He opened the door and went in. The child insisted fearlessly on being taken in his arms. He lifted him up, and the boy hid his face gladly on his shoulder. Yabel put Ids hand on the woman's breast; she was stone-cold, and had been so for hours. Death had been busy both without and within the little hill-farm that suell March afternoon. %«*-; THE MAN OF WRATH m He covered her decently up with a pair of corn-sacks, and as ]ie did so a scrap of paper sliowed between her fingers, white in the light of the lantern. " Mither will soon be warm noo/' said the child, from the safe covert of Yabel's shoulder. And in the clasping of the baby lingers the evil spirit passed quite out of the heart of Yabel .Alct^uhirr. And when by the oi)en door of the lantern he smoothed out the pa])er that had been in the dead woman's lingers, he read these words ; "This is to bear testimony that I, Abel McQuhirr the younger, take Alison Eaillie to be my wedded wife. Done in the presence of the undersigned witnesses. "Abel McQuhirr. "Ko. Gkikk. '•JOUN LonUAINE. May ?>v(\, 18—. >■ Witnesses.''' * * * * * # So in the day when Yabel McQuhirr defied his Maker and hardened Ins heart, God sent unto him His mercy ra the shape of a young child Then, after the grave had claimed its dead, the heart of Yabel ^/as \von- drously softened, and these two dwelt on in the empty house in great conteiit. And in the rescued Book, with Its charred calf-skin cover, the old man reads to the boy morning aiid evening the story of One, Other who came to sinful men in the likeness of a Young Child. But tliough his heart takes comfort in the record, Yabel never can bring himself to read aloud that verse which says: " Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these ■ ■ . ye did it unto Me." "I am not worthy. He can never mean Yabel Mc- Quhirr," he says, and shuts the Book. \t THE LASS IN THE SHOP ],,W t In Galloway, if you find an eldest son of tlie same name as his father, search the mother's face for the marks of a tragedy. An eldest son is rarely called by his father's Christian name, and when he is, usual Iv there is a little grave down in the kirkyard or a name that is seldom spoken in the house — a dead Aliel or a wandering Cain, at any rate a first-born that was — and is not. Now I am called Alexander McQuhirr. My father also is Alexander McQuhirr. And the reason is that a link has dropped out. I remember the day I found out that you could make my mother jump by coming quietly behind her and calling " Willie." It was Willie McAr- thur I was after — he had come over from Whinnyliggate to play with me. We were busy at " hide-and-seek." " Willie ! " T cried, sharp as one who would wake an echo. My mother dropped a bowl and caught at her side. It is only recently that she told me the whole story. The truth was that with twelve years between our ages and Willie away most of the time, I had no particu- lar reason to remember my elder brother. For years before I was born my mother had been compassionated with by the good wives of the neighbourhood, proud nursing mothers of ten or eleven, because she could boast of but one chicken in her brood. She has con- fessed to me what slie suffered on that account. And 288 ^•« jr^'iT THE LASS IN THE SHOP 289 though now I have younger brothers and the reproach was wiped away in time, there are certain Job's com- forters whom my mother has never forgiven. She would be sure to spoil Willie, — one child in a house was always spoilt. So the tongues went ding-dong. It was foolish to send him to school at Cairn Edward, throwing away good siller, instead of keeping him at liome to single the turnips. Thus and thus was the reproach of my mother's reluctant maternity rubbed ia — and to this day the rubbers are not forgotten. It will be time enough to forgive them, thinks my mother, when she comes to lie on her death-bed. Yet from all that I can gather there was some truth in what they said, and probably this is what rankles in that dear, kindly, ever vehement bosom. Willie was indeed spoilt. He was by all accounts a handsome lad. ?[e had his own way early, and what was worse — money to spend upon it. At thirteen he was bound apprentice to good honest Joseph Baillieson of the Apothecaries' Hall in Cairn Edward. Joseph was a chemist of the old school, who, when a more than usually illegible line occurred in the doctors' prescriptions of the day, always said : " We'll caa' it barley-water. That'll liairm nae- l)od3^" -^^1 Joseph's dispensing was of the eminently practical kind. To Mr. Baillieson, therefore, Wiiiie was made appren- tioo, and if he would have profited, he could not have been in better hands, and this story never had been written. But the fact was, he was too early away from tome. He was my mother's eye-apple, and as the farm was doing well during these years, an occasional pound note was slipped him when my mother was down on 290 THE LASS IN THE SHOP \* If k Market Monday. Now this is a part of the history she has never told me. I can only piece it toirether from hints and suggestions. But it is a road I know well. I liave seen too many walk in it. Mainly, I do not think it was so much bad company as thoughtlessness and high spirits. Sweetmeats ami gloves to a girl more witty than wise, neckties and a small running account yonder, membership of the row- ing club and a small occasional stake upon the races — not much in themselves, perhaps, but more than eno)n,'!i for an apprentice with two half-crowns a week of pocket money. So there came a time when honest Joseph IJail- lieson, with many misgivings and grave down-drawings of upper lip, as I doubt not, took my father into tho little back shop where the liniments were made up and the pills rolled. What they said to each othT I do not know, but when Alexander ^NTcQuhirr came out his face was marvellously whitened. He waited for Willie at his lodgings, and brought him home that night with him. He stayed just a week at the farm, restlessly scouring the hills by day and coming in to his bed late at night. After a time, by means of the minister, a place was found for him in Edinbiu'gh, and he set off in tlif coach with his little box, leaving what prayerful anx- ious hearts behind him only those who are fathers and mothers know. He was to lodge with a good old woman in the Pleas- ance, a regular hearer of Dr. Lawton's of Lady Nixon's Wynd. For a small wago she agreed to mend his socks and keep a motherly eye on his morals. He was to bp in by ten, and latch-keys were not allowed. THE LASS IN THE SHOP 291 Now I do not doubt that it was lonely for Willie np there in the great city. And in all condemnation, let the temptation be weighed and noted. May God bless the good folk of the Open Door who, '.vith sons and daughters of their own, set wide their iiortal.s and invite the stranger within where there is the sound of girlish laughter, the boisterous give-and-talce of youthful wit, and — yes, as m^ch as anything else, the clatter of hospitable knives and forks working together. Such an Open Door has saved many from destruction, and in That Day it shall be counted to that Man (or, more often, that Woman) for righteousness. For consider how lonely a lad's life is when first he comes up from the country. He works till he is weary, and in the evening the little bedroom is intolerably lonely and infinitely stuffy. If the Door of Kindness be not opened for him — if he lack the friend's hand, the comrade's slap on the back, the modest uplift of honest maidenly eyes — take my word for it, the Lad in the Garret will soon seek another Avay of it. There are many that will show him the guide-posts of that road. Other doors are open. Other laughter rings, not mellow and street, but as the crackling of thorns under a pot. If a youth be cut off from the one, he will have the other — that is, if the blood course hot and quick in his veins. And so, good folk of the city, you bien and comfort- able householders, you true mothers in Israel, fathers and mothers of brisk lads and winsome lasses, do not forget that you may save more souls from going down to the Pit in one year than a score of ministers in a life- time. And I, who write these things, know. 292 THE LASS IN THE SHOP \t Many a foot has been stayed on the Path (jailed Per- ilous simply because " a damsel named Rhoda '' came to answer a knock at a door. The time is not at all by- gone when '■' Given to hospitality " is also a saving gracp. And in the Day of Many Surprises, it shall be said of many a plain man and unpretending housewife : "Inas- much as ye did It unto one of the least of these, ye did it unto Me!" I But so it was not with Willie my brother. There was none to speak the word, and so he did after his kind. How mucli he did or how far he went I cannot toll, Perhaps it is best not to know. But, at all events, I can remember his home-coming to Drumquhat one Sat- urday night after he had been a year or fifteen months in Edinburgh. He came unexpectedly, and I was sleeping in a little crib set across the foot of my parents' bed in the " ben " room. My mother was a light sleeper all her days, and, be- sides, I judge her heart was sore. For never breeze tossed the trees or rustled the beech-leaves, but she thought of her boy so far away. In a moment she was up, and I after her, all noiseless on my bare feet, though the tails of my ^light-gear flapped like a banner in the draughty p?.s!sage. The dogs upon the hearthstone never so much as growled. " Wha's there ? " " It's me, mither ! " "Willie!" It was indeed Willie, a tall lad with a white face, a bright colour high-set on his cheek-bone, a dancing light in his eyes, and, at sight of his mother, a smile on his *; THE LASS IX THE SHOI' 29.'} lips. He was dressed in what seemed to me a style of f,'randeur such as I had never beheld, ])rol)ably no more than a suit of town-cut tweeds, a smfirt tic, and a watch- chain. But then my standard was gray home-s}>un and home-dyed — as often as not homo-tailored too. And Sol- omon in all his j,'lory did not seem to bo ai'rayed one half so nobly as ray elder brother Willie. I do not mind much about the visit, except that Willie let me wear his watcdi-chain, which wa ■ of gold, for nearly half-an-hour, and promised that the next time he came back he would trust me with the watch as well. But the following afternoon something happened that T do remember. After dinner, which was at noon, as it had been ever since the beginning of time, my father sat still in his great corner chair instead of going to the barn. My mother sent me out to play. "And bide in the yaird till I send for ye, mind — and dinna let me see your face till tea-time ! " was her com- mand, giving me a friendly cuff on the ear by way of speeding the parting guest. By this I knew that there was something she did not want me to hear. So I Avent about the house to the little window at which my father said his prayers. It stood open as always, like Daniel's, towards Jerusalem. I could not heai" very well ; but that was no fault of mine. I did my best. Willie was speaking very fast, telling his father some- thing — something to which my mother vehemently ob- jected. I could hear her interruptions rising stormily, and my father trying to calm her. Willie spoke low, except now and then when his voice broke into a kind of scream. I remember being very wae for him, and 294 THE LASS IN THE SHOP >, feeling in my pocket for a dirty hall-siu'ked brandy ball whicii I resolved to give him wlieu he came ovit. It had often comforted mc in times of trouble. "Siclike nonsense I never heard!" cried my niothor, "a Gallant like you! A besom — a designing niadain, nocht else — that's what she iai 1 wonder to hear yo, Willie ! " " Wheesh, wheest — Mary ! " 1 eould hear my father's voice, grave and sober as ever. The'.i Willie's vehement rush of words went on till I heard my mother break iu again. " Marriage; ! Marriage ! Siree, lieard ye ever tlio like ? A bairn to speak to nu; o' mairrying a woman naebody kens ocht aboot — a ' lass in a shop,' ye say ; aye, I'se warrant a bonny shop ! " Then there came the sound of a chair pushed vehe- mently back, the crash of a falling dish. My father's voice, deep and terrible so that I trembled, f(jll(nved. "Sir, sit down on your seat and compose yourself I Do not speak thus to your mother ! " " I will not sit down — I will not compose myself— I will never sit down in this house again — I will marry Lizzie in spite of you all ! " And almost before 1 eould get round to the front yard again Willie had come whirling all disorderedly out of the kitchen door, shutting it to with a clash that shook the house. Then with wild and angry eyes he strode across the straw-littered space, taking no notice of me, but leaping the gate and so down the little loaning and \\\< towards the heather like a man walking in his sleep. I remember I ran after him, railing him to come back; but he never heeded -me till I pulled him by the coat THK LASS IN THE SJIOl' •J95 tails. It wati uway ujj near tlio march dyko, and 1 could hardly speak with runniui,' so fast. He starod {is if he (lid not know lue. "Oh, dinna — dinna — conic back!'' 1 cried (and 1 think I wept); "dinna vex my mither ! — And — there's 'mmmclt tawtics ' ' to the sup])er! " r)Ut Willie would not .stop for all 1 could say to liim. However, ho i)atted me on the head. "Bide at luune and bo Jacob," he said} "thoy have cast out this Esau." For he had been well learned in the Bible, and once got a prize for catechism at the day school at Whinny- liggate. It was Boston's Fourfold iState, so, though there were three cojjies in the house, I never tried to read it. So saying, he took the hillside like a goat, while I stood open-mouthed, gazing at the lithe ligure of him who was my brother as it grew smaller, and finally vanished over the heathery shoulder of the Kig of Drumcpdiat. That night I heard my father and mother talking far iuto the morning, while I made a pretence of sleeping. " I will never own him ! " said my father, who was now the angry one. " I'm feared he doesna look strong ! " answered my mother in the darkness. "He shall sup sorrow for the way he spoke to the father that begat him and the mother that bore him ! " said my father. * " Rummelt tawties," i.e. a sort of pur^e of potatoes, made in the potiu which they have been boiled, with sweet milk, butter, and some- times a little flavouring of cheese. All hands are expected to assist in the operation of " champing," that is, pounding and stirring them to a proper consistency of toothsoraencss. 296 THE LASS IN THE SHOP A X .1 ' " Dinua say that, guidmau ! " pled my luotlier ; " it i.^ like cursiii' oor ain firstborn. Think how proud ve wcjc the time he grippit ye by the hand comin' up the loaniii' an' caa'ed ye ' Dadda ! ' *' After this there was silence for a space, and then it was my mother who spoke. " No, Alexander, you shallna gang to Edinbra to bring him hame. Gin yin o' us maun gang, let it be me. For ye wad be overly sore on the lad. But oh, the madam — the Jezebel, her that has wiled him awa' frae us, wait till I get my tongue on her ! " And this is how my mother carried out her throat, told in her own words. " Oh, that weary toon ! " she said afterward. " The streets sae het and dry, the blawin' stoor, the peetifu' bairns in the gutter, and the puir chapman's joes standiu' at the close-mouths wi' their shawls aboot their heads I I wondered what yin o' them had gotten hand o' my Willie. But at last I cam' to the place where he lodged. It was at a time o' the day when I kenned he wad be at his wark. It was a hoose as muckle as three kirks a' biggit on the tap o' yin anither, an' my Willie bode, as it vvere, in the tapmaist laft. " It was an auld lame woman wi' a mutch on her head that opened the door. 1 askit for Willie. " ' He's no here,' says she ; ' an' what may ye want m' him?' " < I'm his mither,' says I, and steppit ben. She was gye thrawn at the first, but I sune tamed her. She was backward to tell m.e ocht aboot Willie's ongar^in's, but nane backward to tell me that his 'book' hadna been ,Xr THE LASS IN THE SHOP 297 and then it rard. " Tlie on her head pay it for six weeks, and that she was sore in need o' the siller. So I eoimtit it doon to her shillm" by shillin , penny by penny. " ' An' noo,' says T, ' tell me a' ye ken o' this madam that has bewitched my bairn, her that's costin' him a' this siller — for doubtless he is wearin' it on the Jezebel — an' breakin' his mither's heart.' "Then the landlady's face took on anither cast and colour. She hummed an' hawed a whilie. Then at last she speaks plain. " ' She's nane an ill lass/ she says, ' 'deed, she comes 0* guid kin, and — she's neither mair nor less than sister's bairn to myseP ! ' " Wi' that I rises to my feet. ' If she be in this hoose, let me Kee her. 1 will speak wi' the woman face to face. I Oh, if I could only catch them thegither 1 wad let her ken what it is to twine a mither and her boy ! ' " The auld lame guidwife opens the door o' a bit closet wi' a bed in it and a chair or twa. "'Gang in there,' she says, 'an' ye shall hae your desire. In a quarter o' an hour Lisbeth \\ ill be coi ,iin' haine frae the shop where she serves, and it's mair than likely that your son will be wi' her ! ' " And wi' that she snecks the door wi' a brainge. For I could see she was angry at what I had said aboot her kith an' kin. And I liked her the better for that. " So there I sat thinkin' on what I wad say to the lass when she cam' in. And aye the mair I thocht, the faster the words raise in my mind, till I was fair feared I wad never get time to utter a tenth-part o' my mind. It needna hae troubled me, had I only kenned. 298 THE LASS IN THE SHOP ■..-■>*. .,;*'■■»'* " Then there was the risp o' a key in the lock, for in thae rickles o' stane an' lime that they rin up noo a days, ye can hear a cat sneeze ower a hale ' flat.' I heard foot- steps gang by the door o' the closet an' intil the front room. And I grippit the handle, bidin' my time to break cot on them. " But there was something that held me. A lassie's voice, fleeohin' and fleechin' wi' the lad she loves as if for life or death. Hoo did I ken that ? — Weel, it's nae business o' yours, Alec, hoo I kenned it. But yince Lear it and ye'll never forget it. " ' Willie,' it said, ' tak' the siller, I dinra need it. Put it back before they miss it — and oh, never, never gang to thae races again ! ' " I sat stane-cauld, dumb-stricken. It was an awesome thing for a mither to hear. Then Willie answered. " ' Lizzie,' he said, and I kenned he had been greeting, ' Lizzie, I canna tak' the money. I would be a greater hound than I am if I took the siller ye hae saved for the house and the marriage braws — and ' " * Oh, Will,' she cried, and I kenned fine she was greetin' too, an' grippin' him aboot the neck, 'I dinna want to be mairried — I dinna want a hoose o' my ain — I dinna want ony weddin' braws, if only ye will tak' the siller — and — be my ain guid lad and never break your mither's heart — an' mine ! Oh, promise me, Willie ! Let me hear ye promise me ! ' " Aye, she said that — an' me hidin' there ready to speak to her like a tinkler's messan. " So I opens the door an' gaed in. Willie had some pound notes grippit in his hand, and the lassie was on her knees thankin' God that he had ta'en her hard-earned f . 'I THE LASS IN THE SHOP 299 eed it. Put savin's as she asked him, and that Ke promised to be a guid boy. " ' Mither ! ' says Willie, and his lips were white. "And at the word the lassie rises, and I could see her legs tremble aneath her as she cam' nearer to me. "'Dinna be hard on him,' she says; 'he has prom- ised ' " ' What's that in your hand ? ' says I, pointing at the siller. "at's money I have stolen!' says Willie, wi' a face like a streikit corpse. "'Oh no, no,' cries the lass, 'it's his ain — his an' mine ! ' "And if ever there was a lee markit doon in shinin' gold in the book o' the Reeordin' Angel it was that yin. She was nae great beauty to look at — a bit slip o' a fair-haired lass, wi' blue een an' a ringlet or twa peepin' oot where ye didna expect them. But she looked bonny then — aye, as bonny as ever your Nance did. " ' Gie the pound notes back to the lass ! ' says I, ' and syue you and me will gang doon and speak with your maister that ye hae robbit ! ' "And wi' that the lass fell doon at my feet and grippit me, and fleeched on me, and kissed my hands, and let the warm tears rin drap — drap on my hngers. " ' Oh dinna, dinna do that,' she cried, ' let him pit them back. He only took them for a loan. Let him pit them back this nicht when his maister is awa hame for his tea. He is a hard man, and Willie is a' I hae!'" * * * * . # iH , " Weel," my mother would conclude, "may be it wasna 300 THE LASS IN THE SHOr '\' juist richt — but I couldua resist the lass. So Willie did as she said, and naething was kenned. But I garrcl him gie in his notice the next day, and I took him hanie, for it was clear as day that the lad was deein' on his feet. And I brocht the lass hame wi' me too. And if Willie had leeved — but it wasna to be. We juist keepit him to November. And the last nicht we sat yin on ilka side o' the bed, her haudiu' a hand axid me haiidiir a hand, neither jealous o' the ither, which was a great wonder. An' I think he kind o' dovered an' sleepit — whiles wanderin' in his mind and syne waukin' wi' a strange look on his face. But ower in the sma' hours when the wind begins to rise and blaw caulder, and tlie souls o' men to slip awa', he started up. It was nio he saw first, for the candle was on my side. " ' Mither,' he said, ' where's Lizzie ? ' " And when he saw her sit by him, he drew away the hand that had been in mine and laid it on hers. " ' Lizzie,' he said, * dinna greet, my bonnie : I prom- ise ! I will be your ain guid lad ! ' " * * * * * # " And the lass ? " I queried. '' Oh, she gaed back to the shop, and they say she has chairge o' a hale department noo, and is muckle thooht on. But she has never mairried, and, though we hae askit her every year, she wad never come back tO Drum- quhat again ! "And that," said my mother, smiling through her tears, " is the story how my Willie was led astray by the Lass in the Shop." .'v AS THE RESPECT OF DROWDLE Most folk in the West of Scotland kno^v the parish of Drowdle, at least by repute. It is a great mining centre and the inhabitants are not counted among the peaceablJ of the earth. "If ye want your head broken, gang doon to Drowdle on a Saturday nicht " is an advice often given to the boastful or the bumptious. Drowdle is a new place too and the inhabitants, instead of being, like ordinary Scot- tish Geordies, settled for generations in one coal-field and with whole streets of relatives within stonethrow are composed of all the strags and restless ne'er-do-weels of such as go down into the earth, from Cornwall even to the Hill-o'-Beith. Most, I say, know Drowdle by repute. I myself, indeed, once acted as locm-i tenens for the doctor there' during six hot and lively summer weeks, and gained an experience in the treatment of contusions, discolorations and abrasions of the skull and frontal bones which has been of the greatest possible use to me since. The younger Drowdleites, however, had at that time a habit of stretching a cord across the threshold about a foot above the step, which interfered considerably with pro- iessional dignity of exit - that is, till you were used to It. But after one has got into the habit of scouting ahead with a spatula ground fine and tied to a walking- stick on darkish nights, Drowdle began to respect you. 301 302 THE KESPEGT OF DROWDLE \t Is /-» Still better, if (as I did) yoii can catch a couple of tlie cord- stretchers, x>roduce an occipital contusion or two on your own account, and finish by kicking the jesters bod- ily into Drowdle Water. Then the long rows of slated brick which constitute the mining village agree that " the new doakter kens his business — a smart lad, yun ! Heard ye what he did to thae tw9, deils, Jock Lee an' Cockly Nixon? He catchit them trippin' him wi' a cairt rape at Betty Eorgan's door, and, faith, he threw them baith into Drowdle Water ! " Such being the way to earn the esteem of Drowdle. it would have saved the telling of this story if, when young Dairsie Gordon received a call to be minister of the recently established mission church there, he had had any one to enlighten him on the subject. He was so young that he was ashamed when any one asked him his age. They had called him " Joanna " at college, and sent him recipes along the desk for compel- ling a beard and moustache to grow under any conditions of soil and climate, however unfavourable. Dairsie G ordon was very innocent, very learned, very ignorant, and — the only son of a well-to-do mother, who from a child had destined him for the ministry. The more was the pity ! As a child he was considered too delicate for the rough-and-tumble of school. He had a tutor, a mild faced young man who seldom spoke above his breath. and never willingly walked more than a mile at a time, and then with a book in his hand and a flute in his tail pocket. Under his instruction, however, Dairsie became an excellent classic, and his verse gained the approval of Professor Jupiter Olympus when he went up to the •.,*v M THE HESPECT OF DKOWDLE 303 University of Edinburgh, where Latin verse was a rare accomplishment in those days, aad Greek ones as extinct as the dodo. When her son went to coUege, Mrs. Gordon came up herself from tlie country to settle Dairsie in the house of a friend of her own, the widow of a deceased minister who had married an old maid late in life. This excellent ]ady possessed much experience of bazaars and a good working knowledge of tea-meetings, but she knew noth- ing of young men. So, being placed in authority over Dairsie, she insisted that he should come straight back to Kose Crescent from his classes, take dinner in the middle of the day alone with his hostess, and then -as a treat - accompany her while she made a call or two on other clerical widows who had married late in life. Then she took him home to open his big lexicons and pore over crabbed constructions till supper-time. This feast consisted of plain bread and butter with the smallest morsel of cheese, because much cheese is not good for the digestion at night. A glass of milk accompanied these delicacies. It also was plain and blue, because the cream (a doubt- ful quantity at best) had been skimmed off it for Mrs. McSkirmish's tea in the morning. After that Dairsie was sent to bed. He was allowed ten minutes to take off his clothes and say his prayers. Then the gas was turned out at the meter. If he wanted time for more study and reading he could have it in the morning. It is good for youth to rise betimes and study the Hebrew Scriptures with cold feet and fingers that mil not turn thr, leaves of Gesenius till they are blown upon severally and individually. In this fashion, vary- 304 THE RESPECT OF DROWDLE ■■4> ,A • . •V* ing in nothing-, save that on alternate Sundays there was something hot for supper, because Mrs. McSkirmish's minister — a severe and faithful divine — came to inter- view Dairsie and report on his progress to his mother, the future pastor passed seven winter sessions. Scholastically his victories were many. IJursaries seemed purposely created for him to take — and imme- diately resign in favour of his jn'oxhiie acccssit, who needed the money more. The class never queried as to who would be first in tlie "exams.,"' but only wrangled concerning who would come next after Gordon — and how many marks below. In summer Dairsie went quietly down to his mother's house in the country, where his neck was fallen ujion duly, and four handmaids (with little else to do) wor- shipped him — especially when for the first time he took the " Book " at family worship. There was a woou before the door, in which he passed most of his tinn' lying on his back reading, and his old tutor came to stay with him for a month at a time. Thus was produced the Reverend Dairsie Gordon, B.D.. without doubt the first student of his college, Allingham Fellow, and therefore entitled to go to Germany for a couple of years by the terms of his Fellowship, But by one of these interpositions of Providence, which even the most orthodox denominate "doubtful," there was at this time a vacancy in the pastoral charge of the small Mission Church at Drowdle. The late minister had accepted a call to a moorland congregation of sixty members, where nothing had happened within the mem- ory of man more stirring than the wheel coming off a cart of peats opposite the manse. *. THE RESPECT OF DROWDLE 305 Daii'sie Gordon ])reaehed at Drowdle. His voice was sweet and cultivated and musical, so that it fell pleas- antly on the ears of the kirk-gours of Drowdle, over whose heads had long blared a voice like to the trumpi^ts at the opening of the seventh seal in the book of the Revelation. So they elected him unanimously. Also he was *' well- to-do," and it was understood in the congregation that his salary would not be a consideration. The ministei-- clfict immediately :(>signed his fellowship, considering this a direct call to the work. In this fashion Dairsie Gordon went to his martyr- dom. Ignorant of the world ns the child of four, never having been elbowed and buifeted and browbeaten by circumstances, never cuffed at school, snul)bed at college, and so variously and vicariously licked and kicked into shape, he found himself suddenly ])itchforked into the spiritual charge of one of the most difficult congregations in Scotland. The new minister was introduced socially at a tea- meeting on the evening of the ordination, and then and there he had his tirst taste of the Drowdelian quality. There wo-e plenty of douce and sober folk in the front pews of the little kirk, but at the back reckless, unnuir- ried Geordies were sandwiched between a militant and ungodly hobbledehoy hood. Paper bags that had con- tained fruit exploded in the midst of the most solemn addresses. Dairsie's own remarks were faii'ly punctu- ated with these explosions, and by the flying shells of Brazil nuts. Bone buttons at the end of knitting needles clicked and tapped at windows, and a shutter fell inward with a crash. It was thus that Dairsie re- turned thanks : 306 THE RESrECT OF DROWDLE I. I ^4 I ■A. "My dear people" (a penny trnm])et blew an ohlifijat) accomi>aniinent under the book-board of a i)ew), " 1 have been led to the oversight of this flock " (pom-pom-pon.) "after prayer and under guidance. 1 shall endeavour to teach you — " (" Catch -the -Ten ! " "All-fours!" " Quoits ! ") " some of those things which I have devoted my life to acquiring. 1 am prepared for some little difficulty at lirst, till we know one another " The remainder of the address was inaudible owing to the cries of, " Rob Kinstry has stole my bag ! " " Yy're a liar ! " All which presently issued in the general tur- moil of a free fight towards the rear of the church. Mrs. Gordon had come up to be present on the occa- sion of her son's ordination, and that night in the little manse mother and son mingled their tears. It all seemed so wrong and pitiful to them. But Dairsie, with a fine hopefulness on his delicate face, lifted his head from his mother's shoulder, smiling like a girl through his own tears. " But after all, this is the work to which I have been called, mother. And you know if it is His will that I am to labour here, in time He will give the in- crease." So somewhat heartened, mother and son kneeled down together, prayed, and went to bed. On the forenoon of the next day two of the elders, decent pitmen, who happened to be on the night-shift, called in tc give their verdict and to drop a word of advice. "A graund meetin'," said Pate Tamson. the oversman of No. 4 ; " what for didna ye tak' your stick and gie some o' the vaigabonds a clour on the lug ? It wad hae served them weel ! " ^. V '.it- * THE RESPECT OF DROWDLE 307 leeled down "I coidd nou think of doing such a thinfif," said Dairsie. " I d(!sire to wield a spiritual, not a cnrnal, influence !" " Carnal influence here, carnal infliu-nce there," cried Robin Naysmith, stamping his loot till the little study trembled, '' if ye are to succeed in this village o' l)roN\ die, ye maun pit docm your fit — like that, sir, like that! " And he stamped on the new Brussels carpet till the plaster began to come down in flakes from the ceiling. Dairsie tried to imagine himself stamping like that, but could not. For one thing, he had always worn single- soled shoes, with silk ties and woollen " soles " (which he had promised his mother to take out and dry whenever he came in), a fact which has more bearing on the main question than appears on the surface. "A man has to assert hissel' in this toon, or he is thocht little on," said Pate Tamson, the oversman. "Noo, tLere's MacGrogan, the Irish priest — I dinna agree wi' his ^leegion, an' dootlesa he will hae verra little chance at th.> Judgment, l^ut, faith, when he hears that there's ony o' his fowk drinkin' ower lang aboot Lucky Moat's, in he gangs wi' a cudgel as thick as your airm, and the great solemn curses, fair rowlin' aff the tongue o' him — and faith, he clears Lucky's faster than a hale raft of polissmen ! Aye, he does that ! " "Aye," assented the junior elder, Robin Naysmith, he whose feet had put the plaster in danger, " what we need i' Drowdle is a man o' poo'er — a man o' wecht ! " "* Quit ye like men — be strong!^ saith the Scripture," summed up the oversman. Then both of them waited for Dairsie, to see what he had got to say. "I — I am sure I shall endeavour to do my best," said no8 TIIK UESri'CT OF DROWDT.E y • t i the young iniiiister, '* l)ut I fear 1 have underestimated tlie (lifficultie.s oi" the position." Tho oversman shook his liead as he went out throu^'h the manse ^ate. "And I am some do(jtt'ii' that we hae made a mistak'I" " If we hae," rejoined Xaysmith, the strong man, " Wf maun keep it frae tlw knowh'dge o' Drowdle. \\u\, tlie hul is young — young. And when he has served his 'prentieeship to sorrow, he will maybes oome oot o' the furnaee as silver that is tried I '' ****** Now, neithei" Drowdle nor its inhabitants meant to ho unkind. In case of illness or accident among themselves, none gave material help more liberally. AVhat belon^'ed to one was held in a kindly comnuuiism to be the right of all. But Drowdle was not to be handled delicately. It was a nettle to be grasped with gloves of untanned leather. Dairsie Gordon oi)ened his first Sunday-school at three in the afternoon. At a quarter to four, as he stood up on the jdatform to give his closing address, he found boys scuttling and playing " tig '' between his legs. He laid down his hymn book, and on lifting it to read the dosing verses, discovered that a certain popular baceha- naliai.' ;3ollection entitled " Songs of the Red, White, and Blue '' had mysterioasly taken its place. The young minister had other and graver trials also. The pitmen passed him on the road with a surly grunt, and he did not know it was only because they were trudging home dog-tired from their long shift. The hard-driving managers and sub-managers, men without illusions and as blatantly practical as a Scottish daily ■A TIIK rvKSPlOCT OK DROWDLE 309 man, " wf paper, passed him liy conteinjitiiously, as if he had been a tract thrust under their ors. The schoolmaster, a cleverish uiachine-iimdo youth of inordinate conceit, openly scoffed. He was a weakliii',', this minister, and lie had better know it. And, indeed, in these days, Dairsie gave tliem plenty of scope for complaint. His sermons might possibly have edified a eompauy nl' the Tinfallen angels, if wti can fancy such being interested in heathen phil(tso[)hy and the interpretation of the more obscure lUd Testament Scrip- tures. ]-}ut to this gritty, luigodly, cras.s-r.atured, rasp- surfaced village of Drowdle, the young man merely babbled in his pulpit as the summer brooks do over the pebbles. An itinerant evangelist, who shook the fear of hell-tii (? under their noses with the fist of a pugilist, and claimed in ancient style the ])ower to bind and the power to loose, might co. .-eivably have succeeded in Drowdle, but as it was, Dairsie Gordon proved a failure of the most absolute sort. And Drowdle, having no false modesty, told him plainly of it. At infornuil meetings of Session the question of their minister's shortcomings was dis- cussed with freedom and point, only the oversman and Robin Naysmith pleading suspension of judgment on account of the young man'.s years. For there were sympathetic hearts here and there among the folk of Drowdle. Women with the maternal instinct yet untrampled out of them came to their doors to look after the tall slim " laddie " who was so like the sons they had dreamed of when the maiden's blush still tinged their cheeks. " He's a bonny laddie to look on," they said to each 310 THE RESPECT OF DROWDLE fv ,■■•* t other as, palm on hip, they stood looking after him. " It's a peety that he is sae feckless ! " Yet Dairsie was always busy. He was no neglecter of duty. He worked with eager strained hopefulness. No matter how deep had heen his depression of the evening, the morning found him contemplating a day of woriv with keen anticipation and unconquerable desire to succeed. To-day, at last, he would begin to make an impression. He would visit the remainder of Dickson's Row, and perhaps — who knew ? — it might be the turning of the tide. So he sat down oi)posite his mother at breakfast, smiling and rubbing his hands. " To-day I am going to show them, mother," he would say. " Show them what, Dairsie dear ? " " That I am a man ! " But within him he was saying, "Work while it is day!" And yet deeper in his heart, so deep that it became almost a prayer for release, he was wont to add — "^ The niqht cometh when no man can work! " Then to this hv? added, as he took his round soft hat and went out, " O Lord, help me to do something worthy before 1 die — something to make these people respect me." It was a hot September afternoon. Drowdle was a-drowse from Capersknowe to the Back Raw. Here and there could be heard a dull recurring thud, whicb was the dant dunt of the roller on the dough of the Lake- board as some housewife languidly rolled out her farles of oatcake. For the rest, there was no sound save the shout of a callant fishing for minnowo in the backwaters ■1 THE RESPECT OF DROWDLE .•511 of Drowdle, and the buzz of casual bluebottles on the dirty window-panes. Suddenly tlievc arose a cry, dominant and far-reaching. No words were andihlp. but the tone was enough. Women blanched and dropped the crockery they were carrying. The men of the night-shift, aslee]) on their backs in the hot and close-curtained wall-beds, tumbled into their grimy moleskins with a single movement. " Number Four pit's Orjire! The pW s c^rfire ! Number Fower ! " It was a mile to the particular colliery where the dan- ger was. The rows of houses emptied themselves simul- taneously upon the white dusty road, women running with men and barefooted children speeding between, a little scared, but, on the whole, rather enjoying the • xcitement. As they came nearer, the great high-mounted liead- wlieels of pit Number Four were spinning furiously, and over the m.ounds which led to it little ant-like figures were hurrying. A thin far-spreading spume of brownish smoke rose sluggishly from the pithead. At sight of it women cried out: "Oh God, my Jock's doon there!" And more than one set her hand suddenly upon her side and swung away from the rush into the hedge-root. A hundred questions were being- fired at the steadfast engineer, men and women all siiouting at once. He an- swered such as he could, but with his hand ev(!r upon the lever and his eye upon the scale which told at what point tlie cage stood in the long incline of the "dook." " The file's in the mair pit-shaft,'' he said. '■ They are trying to get doon by the second exit ; but it's half f u' o' p n pipes to drive the bottom engine." 312 THE RESPECT OF DROWDLE i; ' '\i > M " Wha's gane doon '.' " " Pate Tamson and Muckie Greg are in the cage tryin" to put the fire oot wi' the hose " '* They micht as weel spit on't if it's gotten ony catch I " " And Robin Naysmith and the minister are tryin' the second exit '' " The minister '' The cry was very scornful. The minister, indeed — what good coukl " a boy like him " do down there where strong men were dying helplessly ? So for half-au-hour Walter McCartney, the pithead engineer, stood at his post watching the cage index, and listening for the tinkle of the bell which signalled " up '" or " down." Suddenly the faces of such as could see the numbers blanched. And a murmur ran round the crowd at the long t-r-r-r-r-r-r which told that the cage was coming to the surface. Had all hope been abandoned, that the rescue j^arty were returning so unexpectedly ? A woman shrieked suddenly on the edges of the crowd. " Who's that ? " queried the manager, turning sharply. And when he was answered, " Take her away — don't let her come near the shaft I " was his ordrr. Out of the charred and dripping cage cam»' Pr-'.e Tam- son and his mate, blackened and wet from head to foot. "The cage is to be sent empty to the dook-bottoin I '* they said. " Somebody has managed to get doon the second exit." With a quick switch of levers and a humming hiss of woven wire from the head-wheels, down sank the cage into the belching brown smother of the deadly reek. I THE RESPECT OF DROWDLE 313 Then there was a long pause. The iiide:: sank till i1 pointed to the pit-bottom. The cage had passed through the fire safely. It had yet to be proved that living men could also pass. ''Tfnkle-tink!'' It was the bell for lifting. Walter McCartney com- pressed his lips ou receiving the signal, and pulled down the shiny cap over his forehead, as if he himself were about to face that whirlwind of fire six hundred feet down in the bowels of the earth. He drew a long breath and opened the lever for "Full Speed Up." The cage must have passed the zone of flame like a bird rising through a cloud. The folk silenced themselves as it ueared the surface. Then a great cry arose. The minister sat in the cage with a couple of boys in his arms. The rough wet brattice cloths that had been placed over them were charred almost to a cinder. Dair- sie Gordon's face was burnt and blackened. He handed the boys out into careful hands. "I am going down again,*' he said; "unless I do the men will not believe that it is possible to come alive through the fire. Are you ready, Walter ? Let her go ! " So a second time the young minister went down through the furnace. Presently the men began to be vv'hisked up through the fire, and as each relay arrived at the pit-bank they sang the praises of Dairsie Gordon, telling with Homeric zest how he had crawled half- roasted down the narrow throat of the steam-i)ipe-fillecl shaft, how he had argued with them that the fire could be passed, and at last proved it with two boys for volun- teer passengers. Dairsie Gordon, B.D., was the last man to leave the pit, and he fainted with pain and excitement 314 THE KESPECT OF DKOWDLE ^* when all Drowdle elieered him as they carried him home to his mother. And when at last he came to himself, swathed in cot- ton wool to the eyes, he murmured, "Do you not think they will respect me norv, mother ? " TADMOE m THE WILDERNESS The calm and solemn close of a stormy day— that i.s the impression vhich the latter years of the life of Ber- tram Erskine made on those who knew him best. Though I was young at the time, I well remember his solitary house of Barloehan, a small laird's mansion to which he had added a tiny study a- d a vast library, turning the whole into an externally curious but internally comfort- able conglomerate of architecture. The house stood near a little green depression of the moorland, shaped like the upturned palm of a hand. In the lowest part was the 'Mochan" or lakelet from which the pi, ice had its name, while the mansion with its whitewaslied gables and many chimneys rose on the brow above — and, facing south, overlooked well nigh a score of parishes. There was also a garden, half hidden behind a row of straggling poplars. A solitary " John " tended it, who, in the time of Mr. Erskine's predecessor, had doubled his part of gardener with that of butler at the family's evening meal. Few people in the neiglibourhood knew much about the "hermit of Barlochan.^' Yet he had borne a great part in the politics of twenty years before. He had been a minister of the Qdeen, a keen and vehement de- bater, a dour political fighter, as well as a man of some distinction in letters ; he had suddenly retired from all his offices and emoluments without a day's warning. 310 TADMOR IX THE WlLDEllNESS \t f-..'. I I The reason given was that he had quite suddenly lost an only and much beloved daughter. After a few years he had bought, through an Edin- burgh lawyer, the little estate of Barlochan, and it ^v;ls reported that he meant to settle in the district. Upon which ensued a clatter of masons and slaters, joiiiois and plasterers, all sleeping in stable-lofts, and keejjiuj,' the scantily ])eopled moorland parish in a turmoil with their midnight predatory raids and madcap freaks. Tlien came waggon-load after waggon-load of books — tAVO men (no less) to look after them and set them in their places on the shelves. After that, the advent of a housekeeper and a couple of staid maid-servants Avith strange English accents. Last of all arrived Bertram Erskine himself, a tall figure in gray, stepping out of a high gig at his own door, and the establishment of an ex-minister of the Crowii was complete. That is, with one exception — for John McWhan, gardener to the ancient owners of Barlochan, was dig- ging in the garden when Mr. Erskine went out on the first morning after his arrival. " Good-morning ! " John looked up from his spade, put his hand with the genuine Galloway reluctance to his bonnet, and remarked, " I'm thinkin' we'll hae a braw year for grosarts, sir ! " The new proprietor smiled, and as John said after- wards, " Then I kenned I was a' richt ! " '^ You are Mr. McCulloch's gardener ? " " Na, na, sir ; I am your ain gardener, sir," answered .Fohn McWhan, promptly. " Coarnel (Colonel) McCulloch pat everything intil my hand on the day he gaed awa' to the wars — never to set fit on guid Scots heather raair I " TA1).M0R IN THE WILDEKXESS ?,V Mr. Erskine nodded quietly, like one who accepts a legal obligation. '* I have heard of you, John," he said. '' 1 will take yon with the other pendicles of the estate. Vou are satisfied with your former v/ages ? '' "Aye, sir, aye — a bonny-like thing that I should hae been satisfied wi' thretty pound and a cotlioose lor tive- and-forty year, and begin to compleen at this time o' the day." "But I am somewhat peculiar, John," said Mr. Ers- kine, smiling. "I see little company: 1 desire to see none at all. If you remain with me, you must let nothing pass your li])s regarding me or my avocations." " Ye'll find that John Me Whan can baud his tongue to the full as well as even a learned man like yoursei', sir ! " " I have an uncertain temper, John ! " " Faith, then ye hae gotten the verra man for ye, sir," cried John, slapping his knee delightedly. "Lord keep us, ye will be but as a bairn at the schule to wliol ^NFaister McCulloch was. I tell ye, when the Coarnel's liver was warslin' wi' him, it was as muckle as your life was worth to gang within bowshot o' him. But yet he never hairmed John. He miscaaed him — aya, he did that — till the ill names cam' back oot o' the wood ower bye, as if the wee green fairies were mockin' the sinfu' augers o' man. But John never heeded. And in a wee, the Coar- nel wad be calm as a plate o' parritch, and send me into the hoose for his muckle pipe, saying, Mohn, that has dune me guid, I think I'll hae a smoke.' Na, na, ye may be as short in the grain as ye like, but after Coarnel McCulloch- ;> 318 TADMOR IN THE WILDERNESS > ♦ At this point of his comparison John felt the inade- quacy of further words and could only ejaculate, " Hoots awa', man ! So in this fashion John McWhan stayed on as "man" upon the policies of IJarlochan. That night at dinner it was John who carried in the soup tureen and deposited it before his new master, a very much scandalised table-maid following in the wake of the victor. "I hae brocht ye your kail, ISIaister Areskine," he said, setting the large vessel down with a flourish, " as I hae dune in this hoose for five-and-forty year. This trininiie (though Guid forgie me, I doubt na that she is a decent lass, for an Eriglisher) may set the glesses and bring ben thfi kickshaws, but the kail and the roast are John j\rc- Whan's perquisite — as likewise the cleanin' o' the silver. And I wad thank ye kindly, sir, to let the hizzie ken your mind on that same ! " With these words, John stood at attention with his hands at his sides and his lips pursed, gazing solemnly at his master. Mr. Erskine turned round on his chair, his napkin in his hand. His eyes encountered with astonishment a tall figure, gaunt and angular, clad in an ancient livery coat of tarnished blue and gold; knee breeches, black stockings, and a pair of many-clouted buckled shoes completed an attire which was certainly a marvellous transformation from John's ordinary labour- ing moleskins. With a word quiet and sedate, Mr. Erskine satisfied John's pride of place, and with another (the latter ac- companied with a certain humorous twinkle of the eye) he soothed the ruflied Jane. ,f ' .'N '*i * TADMOR IN THE \VILJ)ERXESS 319 After that the days passed quietly and uneventfullj enough at Barluchan. Mr. Erskine's habits were regu- lar. He rose early, he read much, he wrote more. The mail he received, the book [jackets tlu) carrier brought him, the huge sealed letters he sent off, were the wonder of the country-side — for a month or two. Then, save for the carters who drove the coal from the town, or brought in the firewood for Mr. Erskine's own library fire (for there he burned wood only), and the boxes of provisions ordered from Cairn Edward by his prim housekeeper Mrs. Lambert, l^arlochan was silent and without apparent distraction. All the same there were living souls and busy brains about it. The massive intellect of the master worked at \mknown problems in the library. Busy IMrs. Lambert hurried hither and thither contriving household com- forts, and developing the scanty resources of a moorland cuisine to their uttermost. Jane and Susan obeyed her beck, while out in the garden John Me^^'luln dug and raked, pruned and i)lanted, his hand never idle, while his brain busied itself with his master. " It's a michty queer thing he doesna gang to the kirk," said John to himself, "a terrible queer thing — him bein' itherwise sic a kindly weel-learned gentleman. I heard some word he was eddicated for the kirk him- sel'. Oh, that we had amang us a plant o' grace like worthy Master Hobbleshaw doon at the Nine-Mile-Burn, that can whup the guts oot o' a text a;^ gleg and clever as cleanin' a troot. Faith, I wad ask him to come wi' me to oor bit kirk at Machermore, had we a man there that could do mair than peep and mutter, t wonder what we hae dune that we shoidd be atHicted wi' sicoan 320 TADMOR IN THE AVILDKKNESS , V a reed sluikou wi' the wuii' as that feckless bit callant, Hughio I'eebles. He can preach nae mair than my cat, Tib — and as for unction " Here again John's words failed him under the press of his own indignant comminations. He coukl only drive the "graip" into the soil of the Barlochan garden, with a foot whose vehemence spoke eloquently of his inwai'd heat. For the pidpit of the little Dissentin,;,' kirk which John McWhan supported by his scanty con- tributions (and abundant criticisms), was occu[)ied every Sabbath day by that saddest of all labourers, a minister who has not fultilh^l his early promise, and of whom his congregation desire to be rid. "No but what wo kind o' like the craitur, too," John explained to his master, as he paused near him in one of Ills frequent promenades in the garden. '" lie has his points. He is a decent lad, and wi' some snui' gift in intercessory prayer. But he gangs frae door to door amang the fowk, as if he were comin' like a beggar for an awmous and were feared to daith o' the dog. Noo what the fowk like is a man that walks wi' an air, that speaks wi' authority, that stands up wi' some presence in the pulpit, and gies oot the psalm as if he war kind o' ])rood to read words that the guid auld tune o' Kilmar- nock wad presently carry to the seeventh heevens ! " "And your minister, .fohn, with whom you are dis- satisfied — how came you to choose him?'' "Weel, sir," si' id the old man, palpably distressed, " it was like this — ye see fowk are no what they used to be, even in the kirk o' the Marrow. In auld days they pickit a minister for the doctrine and smed- dom that was in him. ' Was he soond on the fvuida- ■! I TAmrOH TX THE WILDERNESS 321 uieiitals ? ' ' Iliul he a grip o' the fower Heads '.' ' ' Was he t'aithfu' in his monitions '' ' Thae were the questions they askit. But nooadays they maun hae a laddie fresh frae the college, that can leather atT a blatter o' words like a bairn's lesson. I'm tellin' ye the truth, sir — Sant Paul himsel', alter he had had the care o' a' the (diurches foi' a generation, wadna hae half the chanee o' a bare- faced, ai])j)le-cheekit loon in a black coatie and a dowg- collar. An' as for IVter, he wad hae Lad juist nae chance ava. He wad iwxev hae gotten sae niuckle as a smoU o' the short leet." *' And how would Saint Peter have had \n> (dianceV Wherein was his case worse than I'aul's '/ '' said Mr. Erskine, smiling. "Because he was a mairriet man, sir. It's a' thae feckless weeraen fowk, sir. A man o' wecht and experi- ence has little chance, though he speak wi* the tongue o' men and o' angels — a nuiirriet man has juist nae chance ava. It's my solemn opeenion that, when it comes to electin' a new minister, only respectable unmairriet men o' fifty years an' upwards should be allowed to vote. It's the only thing that will stop thae awfu' weemen frae ruling the kirk o' God. Talk o' the Session — faith, it's no the Session that bears rule ower us in things speerituol — na, na, it's juist thae petticoated randies that got us turned oot o' Paradise at the first, and garred me hae to grow your honour's veegetables in the sweet o' my broo ! " '' But why only unmarried men of over fifty ? " said Mr. Erskine, humouring his servitor. "For this reason," — John laid down the points of his argument on the palm of one hand with the crooked fore- 822 TADMOR IN THE Wn.nERNKSS i 1 ' tiii.'^'or of the othor, lut oor Maister Peebles — he juist haes nae ' fushion ' in him. ()i:y mair than a winter-frosted turnip in the month o' Aprilo ! " In accordance with his promise to his factotum, on the following Sabbath morning Mr, Erskine walked down to the little Kirk of Machermore. It was a fine harvest day and the folk had turned out well, as is usually the case at that season of the year. John INIcAVhan was too old a servant to dream of walking with his master to the kirk. He had " mair mainners," as he would have saitl himself. All the same, he had privately communicated with several of the elders, and so ensured Mr. Erskine a reception suited to his dignity. 'if'! ' > -v^ ' K^ s TAmrOR IN" THI<: wildfjixkss 323 [) " stoady iinniairrict, ini;-j lasses l' a;;«'s fas heir wivi's loon din I'' o down to see what I inj^'vegation iklled with at Maclicr- liands with hands with , hiiU bi'i'U 'as gaun to levelations. kvi' faithlu' jn frae the lUit oov in him. ony o' Apvilo ! " timi, on the :ed down to me liai'vest usually thi! lan was too aster to the 1 have said nniunicated Erskinc a The ex-ininisuT of Slate was r«'ceivt'd at the little kirk doorl)y H()i,'ri(^ and Mnirkitterick. two tenants on a large neighbonring property. These were the leading Marrow men in the district, and much looked u]) to, a.s V)Oth coming in their own gigs to the kirk. Hogrie it was who oi)ened the inner door for him, and Mnirkitterick conducted him to the seat of honour in the mountain Zion, being the manse pew, immediately to the right of the i)ulpit. It was not for some time that Mr. Erskine perceived that he did not sit aUme. Being a little short-sighted until he got his glasses adjusted, the faces of any audience or congregation were always a blur to him. Then all at once he noti(!0(l a slim girlish figure in a black dress almost shrinking from observation in the opposite corner. The service began immediately after he sat down. The minister was tall, of good appearance and pres- ence, but Mr. Erskine shuddered at the first grating notes of the clerical falsetto, which IVIr. Peebles had adopted solely because it had been the fashion at college in his time ; but it was not until the short prayei- before the sernuni that anything occurred to fix the politician's wandering attention. ' Then, as he bent forward, he heard a voice near him saying, in an intense inward whisper: " God, help my Haglde!" He glanced about him in astonishment. It Avas the girl in the black dress. She had knelt in the English fashion when all the rest of the congregation were merely bending forward " on their hunkers," or, as in the case of not a few ancient standards of the Faith, standing erect and protestant against all weak-hammed defection. .324 TADMOR IN THE WILDERXESS \/hen the girl arose again Mr. Erskine saw that her lips were trembling aud that she gazed "wistfully about at the set and severe faces of the congregatioTi. The minister began his sermon. It was not in any sense a good discourse. Rather, with the best will in the world, the hearer fovmd it fee- ble, Haeeid, unenlivened by illustration, unfirmed by doc- trine, unciinohed by application. Yet all tL'^ time Mr. Erskine was saying to himself : " AVhat a fool that youiiif man is I lie has a good voice and presence — how easily he might study good models, and make a very excellent appearance. It cannot be so difficult to please a feu- score ccnmtry farmers and ditchers ! •' But he ended with his usual Gallio-like reflection that " After all, it is none of my business ; '' and so forthwith removed his mind from the vapidity of the discourse, to a subject con- nected with his own immediate wirk. But as he issued out of the little kirk, he passed quite close to the vestry do(n-. The girl who had sat in tlie pew Ix'side him was coming out Avith the minister. He could not help hearing her Avords, apparently spoken in ans^s•cr to a question: " It Avas just beautiful, Hughie; you never preached better in your life." And in the shadow of the porch, before they turned the corner, Mi-. Erskine was morally certain that the young minister gave the girl's arm an impulsive little hug. But his own heart was heavy, for as he walked away there came a thought into his heart. A resemblanoe that had been haunting him suddenly flashed up vividly upon him. " If Marjorie had lived she would have been about that girl's age — and like her, too, pale and slim and dark." :ss iw that licr tfully about ition. The; 36. Rather, 'ound it fee- med by doc- L'3 time Mr. I that younij -how easily 'ly excellent )lease a ft'W it he ended After all, it removed his subject eon- passed quite 1 sat in tlie inister. He y spoken in rul, Hiighie; And in the corner, Mi-, ng minister k'^alked away resenibhmce i up vividly n about that .nd dark."' TADMOJi IX THE WILDERNESS .325 So all the way to his lonely mansion of Barlochan the ex-minister of the Crown thought of the young girl who had faded from his side, just as she was becoming a com- panion for the man wlio, for her sake, had put his career behind him. Tn the afternoon Mr. Erskine sat in the arbour, while John m his Sunday best tried to compromise with his conscience as to how much gardening could be made to come under the catechistic heading, '•' Works of Necessity and Mercy." He solved this by watering freely, train- ing and binding up sparingly, pruning in a furtive and shamefaced manner (when nobody was looking), bui strictly abstaining from the opener iniquities of weed- ing, digging, or knocking in nails with hammers. In the latter emergency John kept for Sunday use the iron- shod heel of an ohl boot, and in no case did he ever so far forget himself as to whistle. On that point he was adamant. At last, after hovering nearer and nearer, he paused before the avbour and addressed his master directly. " Than juist settles it ! " Mr. Erskine slowly put down his book, still, however, marking the place with his linger. '^ I do not understand — what do you mean by than T' "The sermon a ' " ' had the day, sir. It was fa ir af- frontin'. The Session are gaun up to ask Maister Pee bles to consider his resignation. The thing had neither o' years. It was withoot form o' peety, too, for the laddie, wi' en, on his hand. beginning o days nor end and void. It's a kind that young Englishy wife that he has ta I'm feared she is no the kind that will ever help to fill his meal-ark ! " 326 TADMOll IN THE WILDERNESS ".* " I am very sorry to hear you say so, John," said ]\rr. Erskine; "can nothing 1)6 done, think yon? Why don't they give the young man another chance ? (!an no onp speak to him ? Thtire were some things about the ser- vice that I liked very much. Inch'ed, I found myself feeling at home in a chundi for the first time for years." " Did ye, sir ? That's past a' thinkin' ! A' Macher- more was juist mournin' and lamentin". AVhat micht the points be that ye liket ? I will tell the elders. It micht do some guid to the puir lad ! '' Mr. Erskine was a little taken aback. He could not say that what pleased him most in the service had sat in the manse-seat beside him, had worn a plain black dress, and possessed a pair of eyes that reminded him of a certain young girl who had taken walks with him over the hills of Surrey, when the blackbirds were singing in the spring. Nevertheless, he managed to convey to John a satis- faction and a hopefulness that were all the more helpful for being a little vague. To which he added a practical word. "If you think it would do any good. John, J miglit see one or two of tin* members of Session themselves." " Ye needna trouble yoursel*, thank ye kindly, sir," said John, " I will undertak' the job. Though my infirmity at orra times keeps me frae acceptin' the elder- ship (I hae been twice eleckit), I nuiy say that John McWhan's influence in the testifyin' and Covenant-keep- ing Kirk o' the Marrow at the (h'oss-roads o' Machsrmore has to be reckoned wi' — aye, it has to be reckoned wi' ! " * * * * i> # Nevertheless, the agitation for a change of ministry continued to increase rather than to diminish. It took .'^ .V TADMOR IX THE WILDERNESS 327 the form of a petition to the Rev. Hugh Peebles to con- sider tlie .s])ii'itual needs of the congregation and forth- willi to remove liimself to another sphere of laliour. Xo^v, John MoWlian's Zion was not one of the greater and richer denominations into which Presbytery in Scot- land is nnhappily divided. It was bnt a small and poor "body " of the faithful, and such changes of ministry as that proposed were frequent enough. The operative cause might be inability to pay the minister's "steepend*' if it happened to be a bad year. Or, otherwise, and more frequently, a " split " — a psalm tune misplaced, an overplus of fervour in prayer for the Royal Family (a very deadly sin), or a laxity in dealing with a case of discipline ~ and, lo ! the minister trudged down the glen with his goods before him in a red cart, to fight his battle over again in another glen, and p.mong a people every whit as difficult and touchy. Rut one day there was an intiination read out in the Machermore Kirk of the Marrow to the following effect: "The Annual Ser- mon of the Stewartry Bran> li of the P>ritish and Foreign Bible Society will be preached in the Townhill Kirk at Cairn Edward, on Sabbath next, at p.m., by the Rev. Hugh Peebles of the Marrow Kirk, Machermore." Mr. Peebles read this through falteringly, as if it con- cerned some one else, and then added a doubtfid conclu- sion : "In consequence of this honour which has been done me, I know not why, there will be no service here on the evening of next Lord's Day ! " It was observed i)y the acute that j\lrs. Peebles put her face into her hands very (piickly as her husband finished reading the intimations. "Praying for him, was she?" said the Marrow folk, 328 TADMOR IN THE \VILDP:RNESS ^^ I A \ > grimly, as they went homeward: '"aye, an' she had muckle need ! " To say tluit the congregation of Machermore was dumfounded is wholly to underestimate the state of their feelings. They were aghast. For the occasion was a most notable one. All tlie wale of the half-dozen (central Galloway parishes, which were canvassed as one district by the agents of the Bible Society, would be there — the pro- fessional sermon-tasters of twenty congregations. At least a dozen ministers of all denominations (except the Episcopalian) would be seated in an awe-inspiring quad- rilateral about the square elders' pew. The Townliill Kirk, the largest in Galloway, would be packed from floor to ceiling, and the sermon, published at length in the local pajjer, would be discussed in all its bearings at kirk-door and market-ring for at least a month to collH^ And all these things must be faced by their " reed shaken with the wind," their feckless shadow of a minis- ter, weak in doctrine, ineffective in application, utterly futile in reproof. Hughie Peebles, and he alone, must represent the high ancient liberties of the Marrow Kirk before Free Kirk Pharisee and Erastian Sadducee. Considering these things, Machermore hung its head, and the wailing of its eldership was heard afar. Only John McWhan, as he had promised, kept his counsel. and went about with a shrewd twinkle in his e^ e. He continued to bring in the soup at Barlochan — indeed, he now w^aited all through dinner, and, though there was nothing said that he could definitely take hold upon, John had a shrewd suspicion that it was not for nothing that the young minister had been closeted with his TAD:SI0R IX THE WILDERNESS r,29 ion was a master for two or three hours, six days a week, for the last month. But though it went sorely to his heart that he could not even bid Maehermore and the folk thereof — *' Wait till next Sabbath at six o'clock, an' ye'll maybes hear something I " he loyally refrained himself. ****** At last the h(mr came and the man. ]\[r. Erskine, having ordered a carriage from the town, drove the minister and his wife down to Cairn Edward in style. John McWhan held the reins, the urban ''coachman" sitting, a silent and indignant hireling, on the lower place by his side. On the front seat within sat ^Mr. Peebles, very pale, and with his hands gripping each other nervously. But when he looked across at the calm face of Mr, Erskine, a sigh of relief broke from him. The Townhill Kirk was densely crowded. There was that kind of breathing hush over all, which one only hears in a country kirk on a very solemn occasion. Places had been kept for young Mrs. Peebles and Mr, Erskine in the pe of honour near the elders' seat, but the ex-minister of State, after accompanying Mrs. Peebles to her destination, went and sat immediately in front of the pulpit. " Wondrous weel the laddie looks," said one of the judges as Hugh Peebles came in, boyish in his plain black coat, " though they say he is but a puir craitur foi a' that!" " Appearances are deceitful — beauty is vain I " agreed her neighbour, in the same unimpassioned whisper. There was nothing remarkable about the "^ prelimina- ries," as the service of praise and prayer was somewhat slightingly denominated by these impatient sermou-lovers. 380 TADMOR IN THE WILDERNESS ■*»«. ■'-i* i A " Sap, but nae fushion! " summed up Mistress Elspeth Milligan, the chief of these, after the first praycir. The preliminaries beinjj; out of the way, the great con- gregation luxuriously settled it.self down to listen to the sermon, Machermore, which had hidden itself bodily in a remote corner of one of the galleries, begun to per- spire with sheer fright. " They'll throw the psalm-buiks at him, I wadna vam- ner — siccan grand preachers as they hae doon here in Cairn Edward ! " whispered the ruling elder to a friend. He had sneaked in after all the others, and was now sit- ting on one of the steps of the "laft." It was John Mc- Whan who occupied the corner seat beside him. "Maybe aye, an' maybe no!" returned John, drily, keeping his eye on the pulpit. The hush deepened as Hugh Peebles gave out his text. " And he built Tadmor in the wilderness." Whereupon ensued a mighty rustling of turned leaves, as the folk in the " airy " and the three " galleries " pur- sued the strange text to its lair in the second book of Chronicles. It sounded like the blowing of a sudden gust of wind through the entire kirk. Then came the final stir of settling to attention point, and the first words of Hugh Peebles' sermon. Macher- more, elder and kirk-member, adherent and communicant, young and old, bond and free, crouched deeper in their recesses. Some of the more bashful pulled up the collars of their coats an i searched their Bibles as if they had not yet found the text. The seniors put on their glasses and stared hard at the minister as if they had never seen him before. They did not wish it to appear that he belonged to them. ",*■ TADMOR IX THE WILDERNESS 331 vies ' pur- But when the first uotes of tho preacher's voice fell on their astonished ears, it is recorded that some of the more impulsive stood up on their feet. That was never their despised minister, Hughie Pee- bles. The strong yet restrained diction, tlie firmness of speech, the resonance of voice in the deeper notes — all were strange, yet somehow curiously familiar. They had heard them all before, but never without that terri- ble alloy of weakness, and the addition of a falsetto something that made the preacher's words empty and valueless. And the sermon — well, there never had been any- thing like it heard in the Ten Parishes before. There was, first of all, that great p3,ssage where the preacher pictured the Wise King sending out his builders and carpenters, his architects and cunning workmen — those very men who had ca\ised the Temple to rise on Moriah and set up the mysterious twin pillars thereof — to build in that great and terrible v/ilderness a city like to none the world had ever seen. There was his gradual open- ing up of the text, and applying it to the sending of the Word of God to the heathen ^/ho dwelt afar off — with- out God and Avithout hope in the world. Then came the searching personal appeal, which showed to each clearly that in his own heart there were wilderness tracts — as barren, as deadly, as apparently hopeless as the ground whereon Solomon set up his won- der-city — TaJmor, Palmyra, the city of temples and palaces and palm-trees. And above all, the pr<^acher's application was long remembered, his gradual uprising from the picture of the earthly king, " golden-robed in that abyss of blue," to 332 TAD^rOR IX THE WILDERNESS the Great King of all the worhls — "He who can make the wilderness, whether that of the heathen in distant lands and far isles of the sea, or that other more diffi- cult, the wilderness in our own breasts, to blossom as the rose ! " These things will never be forgotten by any in that congT-egation. Once only Hugh Peebles faltered. It was but for u moment. He gasped and glanced down to the first seat in the front of the church. Then in another moment he had gripped himself and resumed his argument. Some there were who said that he did this for effect, to show emotion, but there were two men in that congregation who knew better — the preacher and ]\Ir. Erskine. All jMachermore went home treading on the viewless air. They hardly talked to 3ach other for sheer joy and astonishment. " Dinna look as if we were surprised, lads ! Let on that we get the like o' that every day in cor kirk ! " That was John McWhan's word, which passed froin lip to lip. And Machermore and the Marrow Kirk thereof became almost insufferably puffed up. " I'll no say a word mair," said the ruling elder, " gin he never preaches anither decent word till the day o' his death." This was, indeed, the general sense of the congrega- tion. But Hugh Peebles, though perhaps he never reached the same pinnacle of fame, certainly preached much better than of old. With his wonderful success, too, he had gained a certain confidence in himself ; added to which he was almost as often at Barlochan as before the missionary sermon. His wife came with him sometimes in the evenings to 'i' » - - *■ */ TADMOK IX Tin-: \VliJ>KKNi:ss 333 dinner, and tlicn Mr. J-'rskiiie's eyes would dwell on her with a kind of gUidncss. For now she had a colour in her cheek and a proud look on her face, which had not been there on the dny when he had first heard her pray: "0 God, help my Hughie ! " iu the aiiuare manse pew. God had indeed helped Hughie — as He mostly does, through human agency. And Mr. Erskine was happier too. Pie had found an object in life, and, on the whole, his pupil did him great credit. He also inserted a clause in his will, whi(;h ensures that Hugh and his wife shall not be dependent in their old age upon the goodwill of a faithful but scanty Hock. And as for Hugh Peebles, probable plagiarist, he writes his own sermons now, though he always submits them before preaching to his wise friend up at Barlochan. But it is for his first success tliat he is always asked when ho goes from home. There is a never-failing post- script to any invitation from a clerical brother upon a sacramental occasion : " The congregation will be dread- fully disappointed if you do not give us ' Tadmor in the Wilderness.' " j(Vnd Hugh Peebles never disappoints them. *A PETERSON'S PATIENT t t A Whex I go out on the round of a morning I generally take John with me. .John is my "man," and of course it is etiquette that he should drive me to my patients' houses. But sometimes 1 tell him to put in old Black Bess for a long round-about journey, and then, in that case, I can drive myself. For Black Bess is a real country doctor's horse. She will stand at a loaning foot with the reins hitched over a post — that is, if you give her a yard or so of head liberty, so that she may solace herself with the grass and clover i,ufts on the bank. Even without any grass at all, she will stand by a jieat-stack in as profound a meditation as if she were responsible for the diagnosis of the case within. I honestly believe Bess is more than half a cow, and chews the cud on the sly. So whenever I feel a trifle lazy, I take the outer round and Bhicik Bess, leaving the town and what the ambitious might call its " suburbs " to Dr. Peterson, my assistant. Not that this helps me much in the long run, because I have to keep track of what is going on in Peterson's head and revise his treatment. For, though his zeal and know- ledge are always to be counted on, Peterson is apt to he lacking in a certain tact which the young practitioner only acquires by experience. For instance, to take the important matter of diagnosis, Peterson used to think nothing of standing silent five or 334 rETETlSON'S PATIKXT 335 ton minutes making n[) liis inind what was tho matter with a patient. I once tohl him about this. "Why," lie replied, with, I must say, some slight dis- respect for his senior, "you often do that yourself. You said this wry morning tiiat it took you tv»'enty minutes to make up your mind whether to treat Job Sampson's wito for scarlet fever or for di[»htht'ria !'* "Yes," I retorted, "I told //o// no, but 1 didn't stand agape all the time 1 was thinking it out. I took the temperature of the woman's armpits, and the back of her neck, and ))etween her toes. 1 asked her al)oiit her breakfast, and iier dinner, and her snpjier of the day before. Then I took a turn at her sleeping jiowers, and whether she had been eating too many vegetables lately. 1 inquired if she had hydthe measles, and the whooping- cough, and how often she had been vaccinated. I was just going to begin on her fatlu'r, mother, and collateral relatives in order to trace hereditary tendencies, when I made u}) my mind that it would be safest to treat the woman for scarlet fever." "Yes," said Peterson, drily, "Job was praising you up to the skies this very day. * There never was sic a careful doctor,' he swears ; Hhere wasna a blessed thing that he didna speer into, even unto the third and f(jurth genera,tion.' " "There, you hear, Peterson," I. said, with sober triumph, "thnt is the hrst st^^p in your profession. You must create confidence. Never let them think for a moment you don't know everything. Why, old Ned Harper sent for me to-day — said you didn't understand the case, because j'ou declined to prescribe." "He is malingering," cried Peterson, hotly; "he only 336 iM':ti:rson"s I'.vtient K. A wants to draw full pay out oi his two hent'tit sofictics. The man is a fraud, oix-n and jiatent. f wouldn't hiivc anything to do with him.'' "Now, Veterson,'' f said vory seriously, "once for all. this is nof practice, not 3'ours. You are my salari])lication only." I refused him prom])tly. telling him with truth that he was far better wiMiout it. " \\'eel, doctor," he said, shaking his head, "dootless ye ken best. Ihit there's nocht like brandy wlifii IIimc stamniack pains come on me. It mieht save ye a lung journey some cauld snawy nicht. The guard o' the late train will tak' doon ony message frae the junction, and if I dinna get the l)ramly to hae at hand to rub my legs wi' ye mieht hae a lang road to travel I I'.ut ;iin yc let uu^ hae it, doctor, it micdit save ye a heap o' trouble '' "The old wretch!" cried Peterson. "Of course you did not let him have it ?" "retersou," 1 re])lied sententiously, "I decline to answer you. Wait till you have been a winter here and know what a thirty-mile drive in a i aging snowstorm to the head-end of the ])arish of \\'liinuyliggatc means. Then yon will not have much doubt whether .Maxwell got his brandy or not." Now Peterson was really a very excellent fellow, and when he hail run his head against the reciuisitt number of stone walls, and learned to bite hard on his tongue when tempted to over-hasty speech, he made a capital assist- 338 PETEESOX'S PATIENT *.♦ "tl ♦ ant. I shall be sorry to lose him when the timts comes. For one thing Nance is fond of him, especially since he fell in love, and that goes for a great deal in our house. Peterson performed the latter feat ([uite suddenly and un- expectedly, as he did everything. It happened thuswisc. I had had a hard Avinter, and Nance was needing a change, so, ahout Easter, I took her south, for a lew weeks in the mild and recuperative air of the Regent Street bonnet shops. I have noted more than once that in Nance's case the jewellers' windows along l>ond Street possess tonic (pialities, quite unconnected with going iu- sid«' to buy anything, r.s also the dark windows of certain merchant tailors in which the patient can see her ntnv dress and hat reflected as in a mirror. As for me, 1 enjoyed the British ]\[edical Club and the Scientific Museums — which, of course, was what I came for. But when we went bac^": home we found that Peterson's daily report of cases had not conveyed all the truth. Peterson himself was changed. So far as I could gather, he seemed to have done his work very well and to have given complete satisfaction. II had even added the names of several new patients to my list. One of these was that of a somewhat large proprietor in a neighbour- ing parish, who was said to be exceedingly eccentric, but of wliom I knew nothing save by the vague-;t report. "How did you get hold of old Bliss Bulliston?" 1 asked my assistant, as I glanced over the list he handed me. We were sitting smoking in the study while Nance was unpacking upstairs and spreading her new things on the bed, amid the rapturous sighs and devotionally clasped hands of Betty Sim, our housemaid. V PETERSON'S PATIENT 339 Peteison turned away towards the mantelpiece for an- other spill. He appeared to have a dilticulty with his pipe. " Well, I don't exactly know," he said at last, when the problem was solved ; " it just came about somehow\ You know how these things happen." "They generally happen in our profession by the patient sending for the physician," I remarked drily. " I hope you have not been iioaehing on any one else's preserves, Peterson. Did Kulliston send for you?" Peterson stooped for a coal to light his pipe. It had gone out again. I'erhaps it was the exertion that red- dened his handsome face. " No," he said sl< . ly, " he did not send for me. I went of my own accord." I started from my seat. "Why, man," I cried, "you'll get me struck off the register, not to speak of youi'self. You don't mean to say that you went to the house touting for custom ? " "Now don't get excited," he said, smoking calmly, "and I'll tell you all about it." I became at once violently calm. Nevertheless, in spite of this, it took some time to get him under way. " Well," he said at last, " Piulliston has got a daughter." " Oh," said I, " so you were called in to attend on Mrs. Bullisron?" " When T say he has a daughter, I mean a grown-up daughter, not an infant ! " Peterson seemed quite unaccountably ruffled by my innocent remark. I thought of pointing out to him the advantages of habitual clearness of speech, but, on the whole, decided to let him tell his story, for 1 was really very anxious about Pulliston. SJ 340 PETEilSON'S PATIENT i '