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Printed at the University Press by John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A., PR t ; I -r / Z 'b Salted With Fire CHAPTER I "Whaur are ye aflf till this bonny mornin', Maggie, my dow? " said the soutar, looking up from his work, and addressing his daughter as she stood in the doorway with her shoes in her hand. " Jist ower to Stanecross, wi* yer leave, father, to speir the mistress for a feow goupins o* chaff: yer bed aneth ye's grown unco hungry-like." " Hoot, the bed 's weel eneuch, lassie ! " " Na, it 's onything but weel eneuch. It 's my pairt to luik efter my ain father, and see there be nae knots either in his bed or his parritch." " Ye *re jist yer mither ower again, my lass ! Weel, I winna miss ye that sair, for the minister *11 be in this mornin'." " Hoo ken ye that, father? " " We didna gree vera weel last nicht." " I canna bide the minister — argle-barglin' body 1 " II SALTED WITH FIRE M •I "\ i' lis A " Toots, bairn ! I dinna like to hear ye speyk sae scornfu' like o' the gude man that has the care o' cor souls ! " " It wad be mair to the purpose ye had the care o' his ! " " Sae I hae ; hasna ilkabody the care o* ilk ither's?" "Ay; but he preshumes upo' 't — and ye dinna ; there 's the differ ! " "Weel, but ye see, lassie, the man has nae insicht — nane to speak o', that is; and it's pleased God to mak him a wee stoopid, and some thrawn {twisted). He has nae notion even o' the wark I put intil thae wee bit sheenie o' his — that I 'm this moment labourin' ower!" "It 's sair wastit upon him 'at canna see the thoucht intil't!" " Is God's wark wastit upo' you and me excep* whan we see intil 't and un'erstan' 't, Maggie? " The girl was silent. Her father resumed. "There 's three concernt i' the matter o' the wark I may be at: first, my ain duty to the wark — that's me; syne him I'm working for — that 's the minister; and syne him 'at sets me to the wark, and him i' the need o' 't — ye ken wha that is : whilk o' the three wad ye hae me lea' oot o' the consideration.? " For another moment the girl continued silent; then she said, — iw SALTED WITH FIRE "Ye maun be i' the richt, father. I be- lieve 't, though I canna jist see 't. A body canna like a'body, and the minister's jist the ae man I canna bide." "Ay could ye, gi'en ye lo'ed the ane as he ocht to be lo'ed, and as ye maun learn to lo'e him." " Weel, I 'm no come to that wi' the minister yet ! " " It 's a trowth — but a sair pity, my dautie. " " He provokes me the w'y that he speaks to you, father — him 'at 's no fit to tie the thong o* your shee ! " " The Maister would lat him tie his, and say thank ye ! " "It aye seems to me he has sic a scrimpit way o' believin' ! It 's no like believin' at a' ! He winna trust him for naething that he hasna his ain word, or some ither body's for! Ca' ye that lippenin' til him.'" It was now the father's turn to be silent for a moment. Then he said, — " Lea' the judgin' o' him to his ain maister, lassie. I ha'e seen him whiles sair concernt for ither fowk." "'At they wouldna baud wi' him, and war condemn't in consequence — wasna that it } " "I canna answer ye that, bairn." "Weel, I ken he doesna like you — no ae 3 SALTED WITH FIRE ihi Hf H wee bit. He 's aye girdin' at ye to ither fowk." " Maybe. The mair's the need I should lo'e him." " But noo can ye, father ? " "There's naething, o' late, I ha'e to be sae crratefu' for to him as that I can. But I con- fess I had to try sair at first ! " "The mair I was to try, the mair I jist couldna." "But ye could try; and He could help ye." " I dinna ken ; I only ken that sae ye say, and I maun believe ye. Nane the mair can I see hoo it 's ever to be brought aboot." " No more can I, though I ken it can be. But just think, my ain Maggie, hoo would onybody ken that ever ane o' 's was his disciple, gien we war aye argle-barglin' aboot the holiest things — at least what the minister coonts the holiest, though may be I ken better? It *s whan twa o* 's strive that what 's ca'd a schism begins, and I jist winna, please God — and it does please him. He never said, Ye maun a' think the same gait, but he did say, Ye maun a' lo'e ane anither, and no strive ! " " Ye dinna aye gang to his kirk, father ! " "Na, for I'm jist feared sometimes lest I should stop lo'ein* him. It matters little aboot gaein* to the kirk ilka Sunday, but it matters a 4 SALTED WITH FIRE heap aboot aye lo'ein' ane anither; and whiles he says things aboot the mind o' God, sic that it 's a' I can dee to sit still." "Weel, father, I dinna believe that I can lo'e him ony the day, sae, wi' yer leave, I 's be awa to Stanecross afore he comes. " "Gang yer w'ys, lassie, and the Lord gang wi' ye, as ance he did wi' them that gaed to Emmaus." With her shoes in her hand, the girl v\ras leaving the house when her father called after her, — " Hoo 's folk to ken that I provide for my ain whan my bairn gangs unshod.? Tak aff yer shune gin ye like when ye 're oot o' the toon." "Are ye sure there 's nae hypocrisy aboot sic afauseshow, father.?" asked Maggie, laughing. "I maun hide them better! " As she spoke, she put them in the empty bag she carried for the chaff. "There's a hidin' o' what I hae — no a pre- tendin' to hae what I haena! I 's be hame in guid time for yer tay, father. I can gang a heap better without them," she added, as she threw the bag over her shoulder. "I'll put them on whan I come to the heather," she concluded. "Ay, ay; gang yer wa's, and lea' me to the 5 r 4- ^1' i in Jp Si' I SALTED WITH FIRE wark ye haena the grace to adverteeze by wearin' o' t." Maggie looked in at the window as she passed it on her way, and got a last sight of her father. The sun was shining into the little bare room, and her shadow fell upon him as she passed him; but his forir lingered clear in the close chamber of her mind after she had left him far behind her. There it was not her shadow, but the shadow rather of a gre2t peace that rested concentred upon him as Fe bowed over his last, his mind fixed indeed upon his work, but far more occupied with the affairs of quite another region. Mind and soul were each so absorbed in its accustomed labour that never did either interfere with that of the other. His shoemak- ing lost nothing when he was deepest sunk in some one or other of the words of his Lord, which he sought eagerly to understand — nay, I imagine it gained thereby. In his leisure hours, not a great, he was yet an intense reader; but it was nothing in any book that now occupied him ; it was the live good news, the man Jesus Christ himself In thought, in love, in imagination, that man dwelt in him, was alive in him, and made him alive. This moment he was with him, had ccme to visit him — yet was never far from him — present ever with an indi- viduality that never quenched but was always 6 ,« SALTED WITH FIRE developing his own. For the soutar absolutely believed in the Lord of Life, was always trying to do the things he said, and to keep his words abiding in him. Therefore was he what the parson called a mystic, and was the most prac- tical man in the neighbourhood ; therefore did he make the best shoes, because the Word of the Lord abode in him. The door opened, and the minister came into the kitcnen. The soutar always worked there that he might be near his daughter, whose pres- ence never interrupted either his work or his thought, or even his prayers, which at times seemed involuntary as a vital automatic impulse. " It 's a grand day," said the minister. " It aye seems to me thcc just on such a day will the Lord come, nobody expecting him, and the folk all following their various callings, just as when the flood came and astonished them." The man was but reflecting, without knowing it, what the soutar had been saying the last time they had encountered ; neither did he think, at the moment, that the Lord himself had sa«d it first. " And I was thinkln', this verra minute," re- turned the soutar, " sic a bonny day as it was for the Lord to gang aboot amang his ain fowk. I was thinkin' maybe he was come upon Maggie, and was walkin' wi* her up the hill to Stanecross, 7 n ■*:: I !•*( ■ ^ 4 SALTED WITH FIRE — nearer till her, maybe, nor she could hear or see or think." " Ye *re a deal taen up wi' vain imaiginin's, MacLear," returned the minister, tartly. " What scriptur hae ye for sic a wanderin' invention, o' no practical value?" " Deed, sir, what scriptur hae I for takin' my brakfast this or ony mornin'? Yet I never luik for a judgment to fa' upon me for that ! I *m thinkin* we do mair things in faith than we ken — but no eneuch ! no eneuch ! I was thankfu' for 't though, I min' that, and maybe that '11 stan' for faith. But gien I gang on this gait, we '11 be beginnin' as we left afif last nicht, and maybe fa' to strife ! And we hae to lo'e ane anither, not accordin' to what the ane thinks, or what the ither thinks, but accordin' as each kens the Maister lo'es the ither, for he lo'es the twa o' us thegither." " But hoo ken ye that he 's pleased wi' ye? " "I said naething aboot that: I said he lo'es you and me ! " •* For that, he maun be pleast wi' ye ! " ** I dinna think nane aboot that ; I jist tak' my life i' my han', and awa' wi' 't till him ; and he 's never turned his face frae me yet. Eh, sir ! think what it would be gien he did ! " " But we maunna think o' him ither than he would hae us think." 8 I SALTED WITH FIRE 1 ■ I 1; *• That 's hoo I 'm aye hingin' aroun' his door, and aye luikin' aboot for him." " Weel, I kenna what to mak' o' yc ! I maun jist lea' ye to him ! " "Ye couldna du a kinder thing! I desire naething better frae man or minister than be left to him." " Weel, weel, see till yersel'." " I '11 see to him, and try to lo'e my neighbour — that's you, Mr. Pethrie. I'll hae yer shune ready by Setterday, sir. I trust they '11 be worthy o' the feet that God made, and that hae to be shod by me. I trust and believe they '11 nowise distress yc, or interfere wi' yer preachin'. I '11 fcss them hamc mysel', gien the Lord wull, and that without fail ! " " Na, na; dinna dee that; let Maggie come wi' them. Ye would only be puttin' me oot o* humour for the Lord's wark wi' yer havers ! " "Weel, I'll sen' Maggie — only ye would obleege me by no seein' her, for ye micht put /icr oot o' humour, sir, and she michtna gie yer sermon fair play the morn ! " The minister closed the door with some sharpness. SALTED WITH FIRE CHAPTER II In the meantime, Maggie was walking shoeless and bonnetless up the hill to the farm she sought. It was a hot morning in June, tempered by a wind from the northwest. The land was green with the slow-rising tide of the young corn, among which the cool wind made little waves, showing the brown earth between them on the somewhat arid face of the hill. A few fleecy clouds shared the high blue realm with the keen sun. As she rose to the top of the road, the gable of the house came suddenly into her sight, and near it a sleepy old grey horse, treading his ceaseless round at the end of a long lever, too listless to feel the weariness of a labour that to him must have seemed unprogressive, and to any- thing young heart-breaking. Nor did it seem to give him any consolation to listen to the com- motion he was causing on the other side of the wall, where a threshing-machine of an antiquated sort was in full response with multiform motion to the monotony of his round-and-round. Near by a peacock, as conscious of his glorious plu- mage as indifferent to the ugliness of his feet, kept lO ■%4 I S •'a 'il i f SALTED WITH FIRE time with his undulating neck to the motion of those same feet, as he strode with stagey gait across the cornyard, now and then stooping to pick up spitefully astray grain, and occasionally erecting his superb neck to give utterance to a hideous cry of satisfaction at his own beauty, as unlike it as ever discord to harmony. His glory, his legs, and his voice perplexed Maggie with an unanalysed sense of contradiction and unfitness. Radiant with age and light, the old horse stood still just as the sun touched the meridian ; the hour of repose and food was come, and he knew it; at the same moment the girl, passing one of the green-painted doors of the farm- house, stopped at the other, the kitchen one. It stood open, and in answer to her modest knock, a ruddy maid stood before her, with question in her eyes and a smile on her lips at sight of the shoemaker's Maggie, whom she knew well. Maggie asked if she might see the mistress. " Here 's the soutar's Maggie wantin' ye, mem 1 " called the maid, and Mistress Blather- wick, who was close at hand, came, to whom Maggie humbly but confidently making her request, had it as kindly granted, and at once proceeded to the barn to fill the pock she had brought, with the light plumy covering of the husk of the oats^ the mistress of Stanecross help- II SALTED WITH FIRE fe t ing her the while, and talking away to her as she did so, for both the soutar and his daughter were favourites with her and her husband, and she had not seen either of them for some time. " Ye used to ken oor Jeames i' the auld lang syne, Maggie ! " she went on, for the two had played together as children at the same school, although growth and difference of station had gradually put an end to their intimacy, and it now became the mother to refer to him with circumspection, seeing that, in her eyes at least, James was far on the way to become a great man, being now a divinity student ; for in the Scotch church, although it sets small store by the claim to apostolic descent, every minister, until he has either shown himself eccentric, or incapable of interesting a congregation, is regarded with quite as much respect as in Eng- land is accorded to the claimant of a phantom- priesthood ; and therefore, prospectively, was to his mother a man of no little note. And Maggie remembered how, when a boy, he had liked to talk with her father, who listened to him with a curious look on his rugged face, while he set forth the commonplaces of a lifeless theology with an occasional freshness of logical presenta- tion that at least interested himself. But she remembered also that she had never heard the soutar, on his side, make the slightest attempt to 18 SALTED WITH FIRE :r as she ter were she had uld lang two had school, ion had r, and it im with eyes at 2come a : ; for in all store ninister, ccentric, ation, is in Eng- hantom- r, was to Maggie liked to n with a : he set heology •resenta- But she card the :empt to lay open to the boy his stores of what one or two in the place, but one or two only, counted wisdom and knowledge. " He 's a gey clever laddie," he had said once to Maggie, " and gien he gets his een open i' the coorse o' the lifj he 's begun to tak a haud o', he'll doobtless see something; but he disna ken yet that there's onything rael to be seen ootside or inside o' him ! " When he heard that he was going to study divinity, he shook his head, and was silent. " I 'm jist hame frae payin' him a short veesit," Mrs. Blatherwick went on. " I cam hame but twa nichts ago. He 's lodged wi' a decent widow in Arthur Street, in a flat up a lang stane stair that gangs roun and roun till ye come there, and syne gangs past the door and up again. She luiks efter his claes, and sees to the washin' o* them, and does her best to haud him tidy ; but Jeamie was aye that partic'lar aboot his appear- ance ! And that 's a guid thing, specially in a minister, wha has to set an example I I was sair pleased wi' the auld body." There was one in the Edinburgh lodging, how- ever, who did not appear, so long as Mrs. Blath- erwick was there, at least, oftener than she must, and of whom the mother had made no mention to her husband upon her return, any more than she did now to Maggie MacLear; indeed, she 13 SALTED WITH FIRE I >n II! had taken so little notice of her that she could hardly be said to have seen her at all. This was a girl of about sixteen, who did far more for the comfort of her aunt's two lodgers than she who reaped all the advantage. If Mrs. Blatherwick had let her eyes rest upon her but for a moment, she would probably have looked again, and per- haps discovered that she was both a good-look- ing and graceful little creature, with blue eyes and hair as nearly black as that kind of hair, both fine and plentiful, ever is. She might then have discovered as well a certain look of earnestness and service that might have been called devotion, and would at first have attracted her for its own sake, and then repelled her for James's ; she would assuredly have read in it what she would have counted danger. But see- ing her poorly dressed, and looking untidy, which she could not for the time help being, the mother took her for an ordinary servant of all work, and gave her no attention ; neither once for a moment doubted that her son saw her just as she did. For him, who was her only son, her heart was full of ambition, and she brooded on the honour he was destined to bring her and his father. The latter, however, caring much less for his good looks, had neither the same satis- faction in him nor an equal expectation from him. Neither of his parents, indeed, had as yet reaped 14 m 1 ■S, I lliil SALTED WITH FIRE 2 could his was for the he who lerwick loment, nd per- d-look- le eyes Df hair, might look of e been :tracted her for d in it 3ut see- untidy, ing, the t of all sr once her just son, her )ded on and his ich less le satis- )m him. ; reaped much pleasure from his existence, ho'-ever much they might hope in the time to come. There were two things against such satisfaction, indeed — that James had never been open-hearted toward them, never communicative as to his feelings, or even his doings; and, what was worse, that he had long made them feel in him a certain unexpressed claim to superiority over them. Nor would it have lessened their uneasi- ness at this to have noted that the existence of such an implicit claim was more or less evident in relation to everyone with whom he came in contact, manifested mainly by a stiff, incommu- nicative reluctance, taking the form now of an affected absorption in his books, now of con- tempt for any sort of manual labour, to the sad- dling of the pony he was about to ride, and now and always by an affectation of proper English, which, while quite successful as to grammar and accentuation, did not escape the ludicrous in a certain stiltedness of tone and inflection, from which intrusion of the would-be gentleman, his father, a simple old-fashioned man, shrank with more of dislike than he was willing to be con- scious of. Quite content that, having a better education than himself, his son should both be and show himself superior, he could not help feeling that these his ways of asserting himself were but IS lil. ' HI SALTED WITH FIRE signs of foolishness, and especially as conjoined with his wish to be a minister, in regard to which Peter but feebly sympathised with the general ambition of Scots parents. Full of simple pa- ternal affection, whose utterance was quenched by the behaviour of his son, he was continuously aware of something that took the shape of an impassable gulf between him and his father and mother. Profoundly religious, and readily ap- preciative of what was new in the perception of truth, although by no means eager after novelty, he was, above all, of a great and simple right- eousness — full, that is, of a loving sense of fair- play — a very different thing, indeed, from what most of those who count themselves religious mean when they talk of the righteousness of God ! Little, however, was James yet able to see of this or other great qualities in his father. I would not have my reader think that he was consciously disrespectful to either of his parents, or even knew that his behaviour was unloving. He honoured their character, but shrank from the simplicity of their manners ; he thought of them with no lively affection, though with not a little kindly feeling and much confidence, at the same time regarding himself with still greater confidence. He had never been an idler, or disobedient, and had made such efforts after theological righteousness as had served to bol- x6 ijoined ) which general pie pa- enched luously ; of an ler and ily ap- >tion of lovelty, I right- of fair- m what jligious ness of able to father, he was Darents, iloving. ik from ught of :h not a J, at the greater dler, or ts after to bol- SALTED WITH FIRE ster rather than buttress his conviction that he was a righteous youth, or at least to nourish his ignorance of the fact that he was far from being the person of moral strength and value that he imagined himself. The person he saw in the mirror of his self-consciousness was a very fine and altogether trustworthy personage ; the real- ity so twisted in its reflection was but a decent lad, as lads go, with high but untrue notions of personal honour, and an altogether unwarranted conviction that such as he admiringly imagined himself, such he actually was ; he had never dis- covered his true and unworthy self! There were many things in his life and ways upon which had he but fixed eyes of question he would at once have perceived that they were both judged and condemned. So far, neverthe- less, his father and mother might have good hope of his future. It is folly to suppose that such as follow most the fashions of this world are more enslaved by them than multitudes who follow them only afar off. These reverence the judgments of society in things of far greater importance than the colour or cut of a gown ; often without knowing it, they judge life, and truth itself, by the falsest of all measures, namely, the judgment of others falser than themselves; they do not ask what is true or right, but what folk think and say 2 17 SALTED WITH FIRE it,- ■-! if about this or that. James, for instance, al- together missed being a gentleman, by his habit of asking himself how, in such or such circum- stances, a gentleman would behave. As the man of honour he would fain know himself, he would never tell a lie or break a promise ; but he had not come to perceive that there are other things as binding as the promise, which alone he regarded as obligatory. He did not mind raising expectations which he had not the least intention of fulfillirg. Being a Scotch lad, it is not to be wondered at that he should turn to Theology as a means of livelihood ; neither is it surprising that he should have done so without any conscious love to God, seeing it is not in Scotland alone that men take refuge in the Church, and turn the highest profession into the meanest, laziest, poorest, and most unworthy, by following it without any genuine call to the same. In any profession, the man must be a poor common creature who follows it without some real inter- est in it ; but he who, without a spark of enthu- siasm, adopts the Church, is either a "blind mouth," as Milton calls him, — scornfuliest of epithets, — or an "old wife" ambitious of telling her fables well ; and James's ambition was of an equally contemptible sort, — that, namely, of distinguishing himself in the pulpit. This, if he i8 d>i\. SALTED WITH FIRE had the natural gift of eloquence, he might well do by its misuse to his own glory ; or if he had it not, he might acquire a spurious facility re- sembling it, and so be every way a wind-bag. Mr. Petrie, whom it cost the soutar so much care and effort to love, and who, although intel- lectually small, was yet a good man, and by no means a coward where he judged people's souls in danger, thought to save the world by preach- ing a God eminently respectable to those who could believe in such a God, but to those who could not, very far from lovely because far from righteous ; for his life, nevertheless, he showed himself in many ways a believer in Him who revealed a very different God indeed — which did not, however, prevent him from looking upon the soutar, who believed only in the God he saw in Jesus Christ, as one in a state of rebellion against God. Young Blatherwick on his part had already begun to turn his back upon several of the special tenets of Calvinism, without, however, being either a better or a worse man because of this change in his opinions. He had cast aside, for instance, the doctrine of an everlasting hell for the unbeliever, but in doing so became aware that he was thus leaving fallow a great field for the cultivation of eloquence, and not having yet discovered any other equally productive of the 19 ii i'^^fJ! SALTED WITH FIRE H- M precious crop, without which so little was to be gained for the end he desired, — namely, the praise of m^n. He kept on in the meantime sowing and reaping the same field. Mr. Petrie, on the other hand, held to the doctrine as ab- solutely fundamental; while the soutar, who had discarded it from almost his childhood, positively refused to enter into any argument on the matter with the disputatious little man, who was unable to perceive any force in his argument that, to tell a man he mtcst one day give in and repent, would have greater potency with him than any assurance that the hour would come when repentance itself would be unavailing. As yet, therefore, James was reading Scotch metaphysics, and reconciling himself to the con- cealment of his freer opinions, for upon their concealment depended tne success of his pro- bation, and his license. The close of his studies in divinity was now at hand. ao I Uv, A SALTED WITH FIRE CHAPTER III Upon a certain stormy day in the great north- ern city, preparing for what he regarded as his career, Jauies sat in the same large shabbily furnished room where his mother had once visited him, half-way up the hideously long spiral stair of an ancient house, whose entrance was in a narrow close. The great clock of a church in the neighbouring street had just begun to strike five of a wintry afternoon, dark with snow, falling and yet to fall — how often in after years was he not to hear the ghostly call of that clock, and see that falling snow ! — when a gentle tap came to his door, and the girl I have already mentioned came in with a tray, and the materi- als for his most welcomed meal of coffee and bread and butter. She :.et it down in a silence which was plainly that of deepest respect, gave him one glance of devotion, and was turning to leave the room, when he looked up from the paper he was writing, and said, — " Don't be in such a hurry, Isy. Have n't you time to pour out my coffee for me? " 21 SALTED WITH FIRE ' I Isy was still a small, dark, neat little thing, with finely formed features, and a look of child- like simplicity, not altogether removed from childishness. She answered him first with her very blue eyes full of love and trust. " Plenty o' time, sir. What other have I to do than see that you 're at your ease? " He shoved aside his work, and looking up with some concentration in his regard, pushed his chair back a little from the table, and re- joined, — " What 's the matter with you this last day or two, Isy? You 're not altogether like yourself! " She hesitated a moment, then answered, — '' It can be naething, I suppose, but just that I *m growing older and beginning to think aboot things." She stood near him. He put his arm round her little waist, and would have drawn her down upon his knees, but she resisted. " I don't see what difference that can make all at once, Isy ! We 've known each other so long there can be no misunderstanding of any sort between us. You have always behaved like the good and modest girl you are ; and I 'm sure you have been most attentive to me all the time I have been in your aunt's house." He spoke in the superior tone of approval. " It was my bare duty, and ye hae aye been aa I I thing, f child- d from nth her ve 1 to cing up pushed and re- : day or jrself!" List that ik aboot n round sr down n make Dther so [ of any Dchaved e ; and ; to me ouse." 'oval, ye been SALTED WITH FIRE kinder to me than I could hae had ony richt to exnec'. But it 's nearhan' ower noo ! " she con- cluded with a sigh that indicated tears some- where, and yielding to the increased pressure of his arm. "What makes you say that?" he returned, giving her a warm kiss, plainly neither unwel- come nor the first. " Dinna ye think it wad be better to drop that kin' o' thing noo, sir?" she said, and would have risen, but he held her fast. " Why now, more than any time, for I don't know how long? Where is there any differ- ence? What puts the notion in your pretty little head?" he asked. " It maun come some day, and the langer the harder it '11 be ! " " But tell me, what sets you thinking about it all at once? " She burst into tears. He tried to soothe and comfort her, but in struggling not to cry she only sobbed the worse. At last, however, she succeeded in faltering out an explanation. " Auntie's been tellin' me that I maun luik to my heart, no so tyne't to ye a* thegither ! But it 's awa already," she went on, with a fresh out- burst; "and it's no manner o' use cryin' till't to come back to me ! I micht as weel cry upo* the win' as it blaws by me. I canna understan' ^3 SALTED WITH FIRE w ^ ii':': i 't; I ken weel ye '11 soon be a great man, and a' the toon crushin' to hear ye ; and I ken just as weel that I '11 hae to sit still in my seat and luik up to ye whaur ye stan', — no daurin' to say a word, no daurin' even to think a thoucht lest somebody sittin' aside me should hear 't ohn me said a word. For what would it be but clean impidence to think 'at ance I was sittin' whaur I *m sitting the noo — and that i' the vera kirk — I would be nearhan' deein' for shame ! " " Did n't you ever think, Isy, that maybe I might marry ye some day?" said James jok- ingly, confident in the gulf between them. " Na, no ance. I kenned better nor that ! I never even wusst it. For that would be nae freen's wuss ; ye would never get on gien ye did. I 'm nane fit for a minister's wife — nor worthy o* it. I micht do no that ill, and pass middlin' weel in a sma' clachan wi' a wee bit kirkie — but amang gran' fowk, in a muckle toon — for that 's whaur ye 're sure to be — eh me, me ! A' the last week or twa I haena been able to help seein* ye driftin' awa frae me, oot and oot to the great sea, whaur never ^ thoucht o' Isy would come nigh ye again; and what for should there? Ye cam' na into the warld to think aboot me or the likes o' me, but to be a great preacher, and lea' me ahin ye, like a sheaf o' corn ye had jist cuttit and left unbun' !" 24 ■M and a* just as It and to say ht lest hn me clean whaur 'a kirk SALTED WITH FIRE Here came another burst of bitter weeping, followed by words whose very articulation was a succession of sobs. '• Eh me, me ! I doobt I hae cicaa disgraced mysel' ! " As to young Blatherwick, I venture to assert that nothing vulgar or low, still less of evil intent, was passing through his mind during this confession, and yet what but evil was his un- pitying, selfish exultation in the fact that this simple-hearted and very pretty girl loved him unsought, and had told him so unasked ? A true-hearted man would at once have perceived and shrunk from what he was bringing upon her, but James's vanity made him think it only very natural, and more than excusable in her; and while his ambition made him imagine him- self so much her superior as to admit no least thought of marrying her, it did not prevent him from yielding to the delight her confession caused him, or from persuading her that there was no harm in loving one to whom she must always be dear, whatever his future might bring with it. Isy left the room not a little consoled, and with a new hope in possession of her in- nocent imagination; James remained to exult over his conquest, and indulge a more definite pleasure than hitherto in the person and devo- tion of the girl. As to any consciousness of 25 % '4 SALTED WITH FIRE h :'|; V •i'i 18:11 danger to either of them, it was no more than the uneasy stir on the shore of a storm far out at sea ; had the least thought of wrong to her invaded Lis mind, he would have turned from it with abhorrence ; yet was he endangering all her peace of mind without giving it one reasonable thought. He was acting with self- ishness too ingrained to manifest its own un- lovely shape ; while yet in his mind lay all the time a half-conscious care to avoid making a promise. As to her fitness for a minister's wife, he had never asked himself a question concerning it ; but she might, in truth, very soon have grown far fitter for the position than he was now for that of a minister. In character she was much beyond him, and in breeding and consciousness far more of a lady than he of a gentleman, — fine gentleman as he would fain know himself. Her manners were immeasurably better than his, because they were simple and aimed at nothing. Instinctively she avoided whatever, had she done it, she would have recognised as uncomely. She did not know that simplicity was the purest breeding, yet from mere truth of nature practised it unknowing. If her words were older-fashioned, therefore more provincial than his, at least her tone was less so, and her utterance prettier than if, like him, she had 26 y|i i. SALTED WITH FIRE aped an Anglicised mode of speech. James would, I am sure, have admired her more if she had been dressed on Sundays in something more showy than a simple cotton gown ; but her aunt was poor, and she poorer, for she had no fixed wages even ; and I fear that her poverty had its influence in the freedoms he allowed himself with her. Her aunt was a weak as well as unsuspicious woman, who had known better days, and pitied herself because they were past and gone. She gave herself no anxiety upon her niece's pru- dence, but was so well assured of it that even her goodness seemed to fight against her safety. It would have required a man, not merely of greater goodness than James, but of greater insight into the realities of life as well, to per- ceive the worth and superiority of the girl who waited upon him with a devotion far »^ore an- gelic than servile; for whatever might have seemed to savour of the latter had love, hope- less of personal advantage, at the root of it. Thus things went on for a while, with a con- tinuous strengthening of the pleasant yet not altogether easy bonds in v.hich Isobel walked, and a constant increase in the power of the at- traction that drew the student to the self-yielding girl, until the appearance of another lodger in the house was the means of opening Blather- 27 SALTED WITH FIRE 5ji i! M wick's eyes to the state of his own feelings, giving occasion to the birth and recognition of a not unnatural jealousy; and this "gave him pause." On Isy's side there was not the least occasion for this jealousy, and he knew it; but not the less he saw that, if he did not mean to go further, here he must stop, — the immediate result of which was that he began to change a little in his behaviour toward her, when at any time she came into his room in ministration to his wants. Of this change the poor girl was at once aware, but attributed it to a temporary absorp- tion in his studies. Soon, however, she could not doubt that not merely was his voice or his countenance changed towards her, but that his heart also had grown cold to her, and that he was no longer " friends with her." For there was another and viler element than mere jealousy concerned in his alteration ; the consciousness of the jealousy had opened his eyes to another, to him a more real danger into which he was rapidly drifting, — that of irrecoverably blasting the very dawn of his prospects by an imprudent marriage. " To be saddled with a wife," as he vulgarly expressed it to himself, before a church was attainable to him, — before even he had had the poorest opportunity of distinguishing him- self in that wherein he hoped to excel, — was a aS ■€ !!!il I l.;:"!in ^X SALTED WITH FIRE feelings, ition of ave him le least it ; but mean to med'ate hange a at any ration to at once absorp- le could :e or his that his 1 that he "or there jealousy :iousness another, I he was blasting nprudent e," as he a church had had ing him- — was a 4 thing not for a moment to be contemplated ; and now, when Isobel asked him in sorrowful mood some indifferent question, the uneasy knowledge that he was about to increase her sad- ness made him answer her roughly, — a form not unnatural to incipient compunction. White as a ghost she stood silently staring at him a mo- ment, then sank on the floor senseless. Seized with an overmastering repentance that brought back with a rush all his tenderness, James sprang to her, lifted her in his arms, laid her on the sofa, and lavished caresses upon her, until she recovered sufficiently to know that she lay in the false paradise of his arms, while he knelt over her in a passion of regret, the first passion he had ever felt or manifested toward her, pouring into her ear words of incoherent dismay, which, taking shape as she revived, soon became promises and vows. Thereupon, worse consequence, the knowledge that he had com- mitted himself, and the conviction that he was bound to one course in regard to her, wherein he neemed to himself incapable of falsehood, freed him from the self-restraint then most im- perative, and his trust in his own honour became the last loop of the snare about to entangle his and her very life. At the moment when a gen- uine love would have hastened tr surround her with bulwarks of safety, he ceased to be his 29 SALTED WITH FIRE ^'i 1 ; !(! sister's keeper. Cain ceased to be his brother's when he slew him. But the vengeance on his unpremeditated treachery — for treachery, although unpremedi- tated, it certainly was none the less — came close upon its heels. The moment Isy left the room weeping and pallid, conscious that a miserable shame but waited the entrance of importunate reflection, he threw himself down, writhing as in the claws of a hundred demons. The next day but one he was to preach his first sermon before his class, in the presence of his professor of divinity ! His immediate impulse was to rush from the house, and home to his mother on foot. Perhaps it would have been well for him had be done so indeed, confessed all, and turned his back on the church and his paltry ambition to- gether. But he had never been open with his mother, and he feared his father, not knowing the tender righteousness of that father's heart, or the springs of love which would at once open to meet the sorrowful tale of his wretched son. Instead of fleeing at once to that city of refuge, he fell to pacing the room in hopeless bewilder- ment; nor was it long before he was searching every corner of his reviving consciousness, — not indeed as yet for any justification, but for what palliation of his " fault" might there be found. It was the first necessity of this self-lover to 30 ■'•■iii IMP ;^} rother's ;ditated remedi- le close room iserable )rtunate ng as in ext day 1 before essor of to rush on foot. I had he rned his ition to- with his knowing 's heart, ice open hed son. f refuge, jewilder- ;earching ss, — not for what )e found, -lover to SALTED WITH FIRE think well, or at least endurably, of himself; and soon a multitude of sneaking arguments, imps of Satan, began to come at the cry of his agony of self-dissatisfaction. But in that agony was no detestation of him- self, because of his humiliation of the trusting Isobel ; he did not yet loathe his abuse of her confidence, his foul envelopment of her in the fire-damp of his miserable weakness, — the hour of a true and good repentance was not yet come; shame only in the failure of his own fancied strength as yet possessed him. If it should ever come to be known, what contempt would clothe him instead of the garments of praise he had dreamed of all these years ! The pulpit, the goal of his ambition, the field of his imagined triumphs, — the very thought of it made him sick. Still, there at least lay yet a chance of recovery ; for many were the chances that no one might hear a word of what had happened. Sure enough, Isy would never tell anything, — least of all, her aunt! He had promised to marry poor Isy, and that, of course, he would, neither would it be any great hard- ship ; only as an immediate thing, it was not to be thought of. There could be at the moment no necessity for the far more rapid develop- ment of her liberty in all true directions, the soutar seemed to avoid no subject as unsuitable for the girl's consideration, insisting only on re- garding it from the highest attainable point of view. Matters of indifferent import they sel- dom, if ever, discussed at all ; and notning that she knew her father cared about did Maggie ever allude to with indifference. Full of an hon- est hilarity, ever ready to break C'Ut when oc- casion occurred, she was incapable of a light word upon a sacred subject. Such merriment or such jokes as one, more than elsewhere, is in danger of hearing among the clergy of any church, from the cause that such are more familiar than other people with the Scriptures, she very seldom heard in her father's company. But she became early aware that he made dis- tinctions: it much depended on the nature of the joke how the soutar would take it ; and not every one might be capable of perceiving why he should now smile and now keep a severe silence. One thing sure to offend him was a light use of any word of the Lord. If it were 41 ; f if 'ki :iii SALTED WITH FIRE ' t I Jl an ordinary man who thus offended, he would rebuke him, — perhaps by asking if he remem- bered who said the words, perhaps by an irre- sponsive stillness; but if it was a man in any way specially regarded, he might say something to this effect, " The Maister doesna forget whaur and when he spak thae words : I houp ye do ! " Once or twice only in her Hfe had Maggie heard him express himself in such fashion, but it had an immediate and lasting in- fluence upon her personal reverence for Jesus Christ, so different from the killing theological regard of the Saviour then cultivated in Scot- land ! Indeed the most powerful force in the education of Maggie was the evident attitude of her father towards that Son of Man who was bringing up the children of God to the knowl- edge of that Father of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named. Around His name gathered his whole consciousness and hope of well-being. Nor was it wonderful that certain of his ways of thinking should pass unhindered into the mind of his child, and there show themselves as original and necessary truths. Mingling with her delights in the inanimate powers of Nature, in the sun and the wind, m the rain and the growth, in the running waters and the darkness sown with stars, was a sense of the presence of the Son of Man, such that she 42 n SALTED WITH FIRE felt he might at any moment appear to her father, or indeed, should it so please Him, to herself. And soon an event occurred which, giving her quite a new object of thought, har- monised and brought into more practical activity- all her other thinkings. Two or three miles away, in the heart of the hills, on the outskirts of the farm of Stonecross, lived an old cottar and his wife. They paid a few shillings of rent to Mr. Blatherwick for the acre or two their ancestors had redeemed from the heather and bog, and with their one son remaining at home gave occasional service when required on the farm. Tbey were much respected both by the farmer and his wife, as well as the small circle to which they were known in the neighbouring village, — better known, and more respected still probably, in the region called the kingdom of heaven. For they were such as he to whom the promise was given, that he should yet s'^'e the angels of God ascend ing and descending on the Son of Man ; and with such beings, although science has nothing to tell us about them, this worthy pair may yet have had some intercourse. They had long and heartily loved and honoured the soutar, whom they had known before the death of his wife, a God-fearing woman, such as at the time were many in that part of the country, and for both 43 '■i'i J Uv, HI ^iil ''i' 1 ='ii' li SALTED WITH FIRE their sakes had always befriended the motherless Maggie. They could not greatly pity her, seeing she had such a father, yet old Eppie had her occasional moments of anxiety as to how the bairn would grow up without a mother's care. No sooner, however, did the little one begin to show character, than Eppie's doubt began to abate, and long before the time to which my narrative has now come the child and the childlike old woman were fast friends ; whence Maggie was often invited to spend a day at Bog- sheuch, — oftener indeed than she felt at liberty to leave her father and their common work, though not oftener than she would have liked to go. One day about noon, in the early summer, when first the hillsides began to look attrac- tive, a small agricultural cart, such as is now but seldom seen, with little paint except on its two red wheels, «,iid drawn by a thin, long- haired little horse, stopped at the door of the soutar's clay-floored, straw-thatched house, in a back-lane of the village. It was a cart the cottar used in the cultivation of his little hold- ing, and the man who drove it, now nearly middle-aged, was likely to succeed to the hut and acres of Bogsheuch. Both man and equi- page were well known to the soutar and Maggie ; they had come with an invitation to Maggie, 44 SALTED WITH FIRE '4l more pressing than usual, to pay them a visit of a few days. Father and daughter, consulting together in the presence of Andrew Cormack, arrived at the conclusion that, work being rather slacker than usual, and nobody in need of a promised job which the soutar could not finish by himself in good time, she should go. Maggie sprang up joyfully, — not without a little pang at the thought of leaving her father alone, though she knew him quite equal to do all that would be necessary in the house before her return, — and set about preparing their dinner, while Andrew went to execute a few commissions that the mistress and his mother had given him. By the time he returned Maggie was in her Sunday gown, with her week-day wrapper and winsey petticoat in a bundle, for she reckoned on being of some use to Eppie during her visit. When they had eaten their humble dinner, Andrew brought the cart to the door, and Mag- gie scrambled into it. "Tak' a piece wi' ye," said her father; "ye hadna muckle to yer denner, and ye may be hungry again or ye win ower the lang rouch road." He went back into the house, and brought her two pieces of oatcake in his hand. She received them with a loving smile, and they 45 f ? :■ I SALTED WITH FIRE "i :ii . ii, ■i 111 ;iii. vm set out at a walking pace, which Andrew did not attempt once to quicken. It was far from a comfortable carriage, neither was her wisp of straw in the bottom of it very comfortable to sit upon. The change from her stool and from the close attention her work required, to .'he open air and the free rush of the thoughts that came crowding to her out of the wideness, instead of having to be sought, and sometimes with difficulty retained, put her at once in a blissful mood ; so that even the few dull remarks the slow-thinking Andrew made at intervals from his perch on the front of the cart, came to her from the realm of faerie, the mysterious world that lay in the folds of the huddled hills. Everything Maggie saw or heard that afternoon seemed, at least in the retro- spect, to wear the glamour of God's imagination which is the birth and the truth of things. Selfishness alone can rub away that divine gild- ing, without which gold itself is poor indeed. Suddenly the little horse stood still. An- drew, waking up from a snooze, jumped at once to the ground, and began, still half asleep, to search into the cause of the arrest; for Jess, although she could not make haste, never of her own accord stood still while able to walk. Maggie, however, had for some time noted that they were making very slow progress. 46 SALTED WITH FIRE f I " She 's deid cripple ! " said Andrew, straight- ening his long back from an examination of Jess's forefeet, and coming to Maggie's side of the cart with a serious face; "I dinna believe the crater can gang ae step furder. Yet I canna see what 's happent her." Maggie was on the road before he had done speaking. Andrew tried once more to lead Jess, but at once desisted. "It wud be fell cruelty!" he said. "We maun jist lowse her and tak' her gien we can to the How o' the Mains. They '11 gie her a nicht's quarters there, puir thing! And we '11 see gien they can tak' you in as weel, Maggie. The maister '11 len' me a horse to come for ye i' the morning, I haena a doobt." " I winna hear o' 't ! " answered Maggie. " I can tramp the lave o' the road as weel 's you, Andrew ! " " But I hae a' thae things to cairry, an' that '11 no lea' me a han' to help ye ower the burn ! " objected Andrew. "What o' that.?" she returned. "I was sae fell tired o' sittin' that my legs are jist like to rin awa' wi' me. Lat me jist dook myseV i' the bonny win'," she added. " Isna it just like awfu' thin watter, An'rew.? Here, gie me a haud o' that loaf. I 's carry that and my ain bit bundle ; syne, I fancy, ye can manage the lave ? " 47 SALTED WITH FIRE Andrew never had much to say, and this time he had nothing. But her readiness relieved him of some anxiety; his mother would be very uncomfortable if he went home without her ! Maggie's spirits rose to lark-pitch as the darkness came on and deepened. The wind seemed to her now a live gloom, in which, with no eye-bound to the space enclosing her, she could go on imagining after the freedom of her own wild will ; and as the world and everything in it disappeared, it grew the easier to imagine Jesus first making the darkness light about him, and then stepping out of it plain before her sight. That could be no trouble to him, she argued, as, being everywhere, he must be there. Besides, he could appear in any form, she thought, because he had made every shape on the earth ! " Oh, if only she were fit to see him ! Then surely he would come ! " Her father had several times spoken to her after this fashion, when talking of the varied appearances of the Lord to his disciples after his resurrec- tion ; and had he not then said that he would be with them to the end of the world } Why then might he not be seen of any one of them.' Even after he ascended to his Father, had he not appeared to the apostle Paul? and was it not very probable that he had shown himself to many another, although at long intervals through 48 SALTED WITH FIRE the ages r In any case he was everywhere, she thought, and always about them, although now, perhaps because of the lack of faith in the earth, he had not been seen for a very long time. And she remembered her father once saying that nobody could even think a thing if there was no possible truth in it. It was good for the Lord to go away, said her father, that they might believe in him when out of the sight of him, and so believe in him better and grow stronger in their power to believe. But, indeed, if he was in them, and they were in him, how could they help it } "I dinna think," said Maggie aloud to her- self, as she trudged along beside the delightfully silent Andrew, "that my father would be the least .'stonished — only filled wi' an awfu* glaidness — if at ony moment, waulkin' at his side, the Lord were to call him by his name and appear to him. He would but feel as gien he had just steppit oot upon him frae some secret door! I fancy my father sayin', *I thoucht. Lord, I would see you some day ! Eh, ye are good to me, Son o' my Father! Jist tak' the life o' me gien ye like. I was aye greedy efter a sicht o' ye. Lord, and here ye are. Praise God ! ' That 's what I think my father would say. " \ 1 49 SALTED WITH FIRE CHAPTER V 4 I The same moment to her ears came the cry of an infant, and her first thought was, " Can that be himsel' come again as he cam* afore?" She stopped in the dusky starlight, listening with all her soul. *• Andrew ! " she cried, for she heard the sound of his steps as he plodded on in front of her with a good mile yet to be traversed, and could vaguely see him, — " Andrew, what was yon? " " I h'ard naething," answered Andrew, stop- ping at her cry and listening. Then came a second cry, a feeble, sad wail, and then both heard it. Maggie darted off in the direction whence it seemed to come ; nor had she far to run, for the voice was not one to reach far. They were at the moment climbing a dreary, desolate ridge by a rough road, a mere stony hollow, in winter a path for the rain rather than the feet of men. On each side of it lay a wild moor, covered with heather and low berry- bearing shrubs ; under a big bush Maggie saw something glimmer, and flying to it found it a 50 11; m "i, 111 ,: SALTED WITH FIRE child, apparently about a year old, but poorly nourished. With the instinct of a mother, she caught it up, and held it close to her exultant breathless bosom, delighted not only to have found it, but that it ceased wailing the moment it felt the pressure of her arm. Andrew, drop- ping the things he carried, had started after her, but met her half-way with her new-found treasure. Maggie had never cared for a doll, because it was not alive, but her whole being seemed at once to wrap itself around the baby because it needed her. She all but ran against the pursuing Andrew, having no eyes except for the baby ; then avoiding him, began, to his amazement, to run down the hill, back the way they had come ; she thought of nothing but carrying the child home to her father. But here even the slow perception of her companion understood her. " Maggie, Maggie," he cried, " ye '11 baith be deid afore ye win hame wi' 't. Come on to my mither. There never was woman like her for bairns ! She '11 ken a hantle better what to do wi' 't ! " Maggie at once recovered her reason, and knew he was right. But at the moment she had an insight that never left her ; she understood the heart of the Son of Man, who came to find and carry back all the stray children to their Father and his. When afterward she told her 1 m !| SALTED WITH FIRE I: t I ;;« fri ' li !«■; 'S p: f:\ i: f':^: i: i father what she then felt, he answered her with just four words, — " Lassie, ye hae 't ! " She wrapped the baby in the winsey petticoat, lest it should grow cold while she carried it through the night-air. Andrew took up his loaf and his other packages. They set oui again, Maggie's heart overwhelmed with gladness. Had the precious thing been twice the weight of the solid little lump it was, so exuberant were her feelings of wealth and delight that she could have carried it twice the distance with ease, and that though the road was so rough that she went in terror of stumbling. Andrew gave now and then a queer chuckle at the ludicrousness of their home-coming, and every other minute had to stop and pick up one of his many parcels ; but Maggie strode in front, full of possession, and with a feeling of having now entered upon her heavenly inheritance. She was almost startled when suddenly, as it seemed to her, they came in sight of the turf cottage, in whose little window an oil lamp was burning. Before they reached it the door opened, and Eppie appeared with an overflow of questions and anxious welcome. " What on earth — " she began. " It 's naething but a bonny wee bairnie wha's mither has tint it ! " interrupted Maggie, flying up to her, and laying the child in her arms. 52 SALTED WITH FIRE Mrs. Cormack stood and stared, now at Mag- gie, and now at the bundle that lay in her arms. Tenderly, at length, the old mother, searching in the petticoat, found the little one's facC; and uncovered the sleeping child. " Eh, the puir mither ! " she said — and cov- ered again the tiny countenance. " It 's mine ! " cried Maggie. " I faund it honest ! " " Its mither may ha* lost it honest, Maggie ! " said Eppie. ' Weel, its mither can come for't gien she want it ! It 's mine till she does, ony gait ! " re- joined the girl. " Nae doobt o* that ! " replied the old woman, scarcely questioning that the infant had been left to perish by some worthless tramp. ** Ye '11 maybe hae 't langer nor ye '11 care to keep it ! '* "That's no verra likely," answered Maggie, with a smile, as she stood in the doorway, in the wakeful night of the northern summer; "it's ane o' the Lord's ain lammies that he cam* to the hills to seek. He 's fund this ane ! " " Weel, weel, my bonnie doo, it sanna be for me to contradick ye ! But wae 's upo' me for a menseless auld wife ! Come in ; come in ; ye *re the mair welcome that ye hae been sae lang ex- peckit. Bless me, An'rew, what hae ye dune wi' the cairt and the beastie?" 53 I. ■( I :, SALTED WITH FIRE if t' 1 lit til In a few words, for brevity was easy to him, Andrew told the story of their disaster. •' It maun hae been the Lord's mercy ! The beastie bude to suffer for the sake of the bairnie ! He maybe wants to mak' something o' him bye the common ! " She got them their supper, which was keeping hot by the fire, and then sent Maggie to her bed in the ben-end, where she laid the baby beside her, after washing him and wrapping him in her own newest shift. But Maggie scarcely slept for listening lest the baby's breathing should stop. Eppie sat in the kitchen with Andrew until the light, slowly travelling round the north, deepened in the east, and at last climbed the sky, leading up the sun himself. Then Andrew rose, and set his face towards Stonecross, in full but not very anxious expectation of a stormy re- ception from his mistress before he had time to explain. He would gladly have said as little as possible about their treasure trove, but reflect- ing that the mistress was terrible at " speirin' questions," he resolved to tell her all about it. When he reached home, however, the house was not yet astir; and he had time to feed and groom his horses before any one was about, so that no explanation was necessary as to the hour when he returned. All the next day Maggie was ill at ease, 54 SALTED WITH FIRE dreading the appearance of a mother. The baby seemed nothing the worse for his ex- posure, and although thin and pale seemed a healthy child, and took heartily the food pro- vided for him. He was decently though poorly clad, and very clean. The tale of his finding was speedily known in the neighbourhood, for the Cormacks made inquiry at every farmhouse and cottage within range of the moor ; but to the satisfaction of Maggie at least, who fretted to get home with her treasure, it had no result, and by the time the period of her visit arrived, she had begun to feel tolerably safe in her pos- session, with which she returned in triumph to her father. The long-haired hoise not yet proving equal to the journey, she had to walk home ; but Eppie herself accompanied her, bent on taking her share in the burden of the child, which Maggie was with difficulty persuaded to yield. Eppie indeed carried him up to the soutar's door, but Maggie insisted on herself laying him in her father's arms. The soutar rose from his stool, received him like Simeon taking the in- fant Jesus from the arms of his mother, and held him high like a heave-offering to Him that had sent him forth from the hidden Holiest of Holies. For a moment he held him thus in si- lence, then, restoring him to his daughter, sat 55 i, 51 SALTED WITH FIRE :-i 1% M\ ^own again, and took up his Ia£t and shoe. But bee ming suddenly aware of his breach of man- ners, he rose again, saying, — " I crave yer pardon, Mistress Cormack. I was clean forgettin' ony breedin' I ever had ! Maggie, tak' oor freen ben the hoose, and gar her rest her a bit while ye get something for her to eat and drink efter her long walk. I '11 be ben mysel' in a minute or twa to hae a crack wi' her. I hae but a few stitches mair to put intill this same sole ! We maun tak' some serious coonsel thegither, the three o* 's, anent the up- bringin' o' this God-sent bairn ! I dootna but he 's come wi' a blessin' to this hoose, and Mag- gie, and me. It was a' in sic mercifu' wise ar- rangement, baith for the puir bairn and Maggie, that they sud that nicht come thegither. Verily, He shall give his angels charge over thee ! They maun hae been aboot the muir, maybe a' that day, that nane bul Maggie sud get a haud o' 'im — as they w ;: aboot the field and the flock and the shepherds and the inn-stable a' that nicht ! " The same moment entered a neighbour who, having heard and misinterpreted the story before, had now caught sight of the arrival. " Eh, soutar, but ye 're a man sair oppressed by Providence ! " she said. " Wha think ye 's been i' the faut here ? " S6 SALTED WITH FIRE The wrath of the soutar sprang up flaming. " Gang oot o' my hoose, ye ill-thouchtit wuman ! " he cried. " Gang oot this verra meenit — and comena in again till it's to beg my pardon and that o' my bonny lass. The Lord God bless her frae ill tongues — gang oot, I tell ye." The outraged father had risen towering. All the town knew him for a man of gentle temper and great courtesy. The woman stood one moment dazed and uncertain, then turned and ran from the house ; and when the soutar joined Mrs. Cormack and Maggie, he said never a word about her. When Eppie had taken her tea, she rose and bade them good-night, nor crossed another threshold in the village. 57 i ' • '.! '^' . • -( SALTED WITH FIRE CHAPTER VI 'I But that same night, when the baby had gone to sleep, Maggie went back to the kitchen where her father still sat at work. *• Ye 're late the night, father ! " she said. "I am that, lassie; but ye see I canna luik for help frae you for some time ; for ye '11 hae eneuch to dae wi' that bairn o' yours ; and we hae him to feed noo as weel 's oorsel's ! No 'at I hae the least concern about the bonny white raven, only we maun consider him ! " " It 's little he '11 want for a whilie at least, father ! " answered Maggie. " But noo," she went on, in a tone of seriousness that was almost awe, " lat me hear what ye 're thinkin*. What kin' o' a mither could hae left her bairn i' the wide, eerie nicht — and what for? " " It maun jist hae been some puir lassie that didna think o' His wull, or the consequences o' gaein' against it. She hadna learnt to consider ! She believet the man whan he promised to merry her, no kennin' he was a leear, and no heedin' the voice that spak inside her and said ye maunna, sae she loot him dee what he likit wi' 58 SALTED WITH FIRE her, and mak' himsel' the father o' a bairnie that vvasna meant for him. He took leeberties wi' her she ouchtna to hae permittit, sae that she was a mither afore ever she was merried. Sic as dae that hae an awfu' time o' 't ; fowk hardly ever forgies them, but aye luiks doon upo' them. The rascal ran awa' and left her ; nae- body would help her; she had to beg the breid for hersel', and the drap milk for the bairnie that had dune nae wrang, but had to thole a great wrang frae its ain faither and mither." " I kenna whilk o* them was the warst ! " cried Maggie. " Nae mair do I ! " answered the soutar ; " but I doobt the ane that lee'd to the ither." " There canna be mony sic men ! " said Maggie. " 'Deed there 's a heap o' men no a hair bet- ter ! " rejoined her father ; " but wae 's me for the puir lassie that believes them ! " " But she kenned what was richt a' the time, father! " " That *s true, my dautie ; but to ken is no to un'erstan'; and even to un'erstan' is no aye to obey ! No woman 's safe that hasna the love o' God, the great Love, in her hcrt a' the time. What 's best in her, whan the very best 's awa', is her greatest danger. And the higher ye rise ye 59 SALTED WITH FIRE come into the waur danger, till ance ye 're fairly intill the ae safe place, the hert o' the Father. There, and there only, ye 're safe ! — safe frae earth, frae hell, and frae yer ain hert ! A' the temptations, even sic as ance made the heavenly hosts themsel's fa' frae h'aven to hell, canna touch ve there ! But when man or wuman re- pents and heumbles themsel', there is He to lift them up, and that higher than ever they were afore ! — higher than ever they could hae won withoot the sair lesson o' that fa' ! " " Syne they 're no to be despised that fa' ! " " Nane despises them, lassie, but them that haena yet learnt that they 're in danger o' that same fa' themsel's. Mony ane, I 'm think- ing, is keepit frae fa'in' jist because she's no far eneuch on, to get ony guid o' the shame, but would jist sink farther and farther ! " " But auld Eppie tells me that maist o' them *at trips gangs on fa'in', and never wins up again." " Ou, ay; that's a' that we, short-lived and short-sichtit craturs, see o' them ! but this warl' 's but the beginnin', and the glory o' Christ, wha's the veesible Love o' the Father, spreads a heap farther nor that It 's no for naething v/e 're tellt hoo the sinner-women cam' till him frae a' sides ! They needit him sair, and cam'. Never ane o' them was ower black to be latten gang close up till him; and some o' sic women 60 SALTED WITH FIRE un'erstude things that he said, sic as mony a respectable wuman couldna get a giimp o'! There 's aye rain eneuch, as Maister Shaksper says, i* the sweet h'avens to wash the vera han' o' murder as white as snow. The creatin' hert is fu' o' sic rain. Lo'e him, lassie, and ye '11 never glaur the bonny goon ye broocht white frae his hert ! " The soutar's face was solemn and white, and tears were running down the furrows of his cheeks. Maggie too was weeping. At length she said, — " Supposin' the mither o' my bairnie a wuman like that, can ye think it fair that her disgrace should stick till him ? " " It sticks till him only in sic minds as never saw the lovely greatness o' God." " But sic bairns comena intill the warl' as God would hae them come ! " " But your bairnie is come, and that he couldna withoot the creatin' wull o' the great Father. Doobtless they hae to suffer frae the prood jeedgment o* their fellow-men, but they may get muckle guid and little ill frae that, and a guid naebody can reive them o'. It's no a mere veesitin' o' the sins o' the fathers upo' the bairns, but a provision to haud the bairns aff o' the like, and to shame the fathers o' them. Eh, but they need to be sair affrontit wi' themsel's wha dis- 6i '', ?.' It I i SALTED WITH FIRE w. grace at ance the wife that should hae been and the bairn that shouldna ! Eh ! the puir bairnie that has sic a father ! But he has anither as vveel, — a richt gran' father to rin till. The ae thing," the soutar went on, " that you and me, Maggie, has to do, is never to let the bairn ken the miss o' father or mother, and sae lead him to the ae Father, the only real and true ane. There he 's wailin', the bonny wee man ! " Maggie ran to quiet him, but soon returned, and., sitting down again beside her father, asked him for a piece of work. And all this time, through his own indifference, the A'ould-be-grand preacher, James Blatherwick, knew nothing of the fact that, somewhere in the world, without father or mother, lived and breathed a silent witness against him. 6a SALTED V;iTH FIRE CHAPTER VII il For some time Isy had contrived to postpone her return to her aunt, — that was, until James was gone ; for she dreaded being in the house, lest it should lead to the discovery of the rela- tion between them. But soon she had to en- counter the appalling fact that the dread moment was on its way when she could no longer con- ceal the change in her condition ; and her first thought then was the good name of her lover, — to avoid involving him in the approaching ruin of her reputation. With this intent she vowed to God and to her own soul absolute silence with regard to the past. James's name even should never pass her lips ! Nor did she find her vow hard to keep, even when her aunt took measures to make her disclose her secret; but the dread lest in her pains she rhould cry out for the comfort which James alone could give her, almost drove her to poison, — from yielding to which temptation only the thought of his child restrained her. Filled with fear, and hope- less of any good, enabled only by the inex- orable inevitability that held her, sh-- passed at length through the crisis of that agony which 63 SALTED WITH FIRE no man but the Son of Man can understand, and found herself alive and breathless on the other side. In the glad calm of her relief, she locked tight her lips, and no more ever feared being tempted to name the father of her child. Thus the poor girl who was weak enough to imperil her good name for love of a worthless man, grew strong through that love to shield him. Whether in this she did well for the world, for truth, or for her own soul, she never wasted a thought on the matter. In vain did her aunt ply her with questions, promising never to utter a word of reproach if only she would speak the one name; she was rigidly obstinate. She felt that to comply would be to wrong him, and so to lose her last righteous hold upon the man who had at least once loved her a little. Through shame and blame, she clung to his scathlessness as the one only joy left her. She had not a gleam, not even a shadow, of hope for herself. He had most likely all but forgotten her very existence, for he had never written to her, or, so far as she knew, made the least effort to dis- cover what had become of her. She, on her part also, had never written to him ; but how could he fail to know the motive of her quies- cence I At the same time she clung to the con- viction that he could never have heard of what had befallen her. 64 SALTED WITH FIRE By and by she grew able to reflect that re- maining where she was would be the ruin of her aunt; for who would lodge in the same house with her? In her exhausted physical condition, her longing to go, and the impossi- bility of going at once, or even of thinking where to go, so wrought upon her brain, already weakened by the demands of the baby, that she was on the very verge of despair, but again strength came to her from the thought of her child, and for his sake she lived on. One shred of the cloud, however, that had at one time all but overwhelmed her intellect, remained, — the fixed idea that, agonising as had been her effort after silence, she had failed in her resolve and broken the promise she ima^^ined she had given to James ; that she had been false to her lover, had brought him to shame, and for ever ruined his prospects ; she h id betrayed him, she thought, first, into the power of her aunt, and then, through her, to the authorities of the church ! That was why she never heard a word from him ! She was never to see him any more ! The conviction, the seeming consciousness, so grew upon her, along with the sense of the impossibility of remaining with her aunt, that, one morning, when her infant was not yet a month old, she crept from the house and wan- dered out into the world, with just one shilling 5 6s ' ;' 11; until he should have gained such authority as justified him in preaching what he pleased without regard to consequences. This goal of acknowledged eloquence, such, that is, as igno- rant and wordy people count eloquence, he had already gained ; but such insight into truth as even his father and a few other plain people in the neighbourhood possessed, he showed little sign indeed of ever attaining. What he saw in the soutar was at first merely negative. He had noted, indeed, that he used almost none of the set phrases of the good people in the village, who devoutly followed the traditions of the elders; but he knew little as to what it really was that the soutar did not believe, and far less as to what he did believe, and that with all his heart and soul. John MacLear could not utter the name of God with- out a confession of faith immeasurably beyond anything inhabiting the consciousness of the parson; while he soon began to note the ab- sence of all enthusiasm in James with regard to such things on which his very position im- plied an absolute acceptance, he would allude to any or all of them as if they were the merest matters of course. Never did his face light up when he spoke of the Son of God, of his death, or of his resurrection from the dead; never did he make mention of the kingdom of heaven as 70 l-i M ; SALTED WITH FIRE if it were anything more venerable than the kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. But the soul of the sou^-r v^ould venture far into the twilight, searching after the things of God, opening wider its eyes as the darkness widened around them. On one occasion the parson took upon him to remonstrate with what seemed to him the audacity of his parishioner. "Don't you think you are just going a little bit too far there, Mr. MacLear.?" he said. "Ye mean ower far intill the dark, Mr. Blatherwick?" "Yes, that is what I mean. You speculate too boldly." "But in that direction, plainly the dark grows thinner, though I grant ye there 's noth- ing yet to ca' licht. That ye ken by its ain fair shinin*, and by noucht else." "But the human soul is as apt to deceive itself as is the human eye, with a flash inside it ! " said Blatherwick. " Nae doot ; but whan the true licht comes, ye aye ken the differ! A man may tak' the dark for licht, but he canna tak' the licht for darkness ! " "But there must be something for the light to shine upon, else the man sees nothing," said the parson. "There 's thoucht, and possible insicht i' the 71 ■ t': I * H ■■■ \t r ;• SALTED WITH FIRE man ! " said the soutar to himself. — " Maybe, like the Ephesians, ye haena yet fund oot gien there be ony Holy Ghost, sir?" he said to his companion. " No man dares deny that ! " "But a man mayna ken 't, thouf^ he daursna deny't! Nane but them 'at follows whaur he leads, can ken that he verily is." "We have to beware of private interpreta- tion ! " " Gien a man has nae word till his ain sel', he has nae word to lippen till. The Scripture is but a sealed bulk till him; he walks i' the dark. The licht is neither pairtit nor gethered. Gien a man has licht, he has nane the less that there 's anither present; gien there be twa or three prayin' thegither, the fourth may hae nane o' 't, and ilk ane o' the three has jist what he 's able to receive, and he kens 't in himsel' as licht. Gien it comena to ilk ane o' them a', it doesna come to them a'. Ilk ane maun hae the revelation intill his ain sel', as gien there wasna ane mair present. And gien it be sae, which I 'm no thinkin' ye '11 fin' it hard to admit, hoo are we to win at ony trouth no yet revealed, *cep' we gang oot intill the dark to meet it.? Ye maun caw canny, I admit, i' the mirk; but ye maun caw gien ye wad win at onything!" 72 SALTED WITH FIRE ; " But suppose you know enough to keep you going, and do not care to venture into the dark?" "Gien a man hands on practeesin' what he kens, the hunger 'ill wauk in him efter some- thing main I 'm thinkin' the angels desired lang afore they could see intill certain things they want it to ken aboot, but ye may be sure they warna left withoot as muckle licht as would serve honest fowk to baud them gaein' or desirin' ! " "Suppose they couldn't tell whether what they saw was true light or not?" " They had to fa' back upo' the wull o' the great Licht ; we ken He wants us a' to see as he does himsel'. If ye carena to seek that sicht, ye 're jist naething and naegait, and are in sore need o' sharp discipleen. " "I'm afraid I can't follow you quite. The fact is, I have been for a long time occupied so closely with the Bible history, and the new dis- coveries that bear testimony to the same, that I 've had but little time to give to metaphysics." " And what 's the guid o' history, or sic meta- pheesics as is the vera sowl o' history, but to help ye to see Christ wi' yer understan'in' as weel as wi' yer hert? and what's the guid o' seein' Christ but sae to see God wi' yer hert and yer understan'in' also, and ken that yer 73 «ir % SALTED WITH FIRE I' ' # seein' him, and sae to receive him intill yer vera natur? Ye min' hoo the Lord said that nane could ken his Father, but him to whom the Son would reveal him? Man, sir, it's time ye had a glimp' o' that ! Ye ken naething till ye ken God; and he's the only ane a man can truly and really ken." "Well, you're a long way ahead of me, and for the present I 'm afraid there 's nothing for it but to say good-night to you! " And therewith the minister departed. "Lord," said the soutar, as he sat on his stool, and guided his awl through sole and welt and upper of the shoe on his last, "there's surely something workin' i' the young man! Surely he canna be that far frae waukin' up to ken that he kens naething! Lord, pu' doon the dyke o* learnin' and self -righteousness that he canna see ower to thee upo' the ither side o* 't. Lord, sen' him the open grace o* eyes, that he may see whaur and what he is, and cry cot wi' the lave o' us, puir blin' bodies, that hae begun to see, to him that hasna, * Awauk, thoo that sleepest and get oot o' thy grave, that thoo may see the licht o' the Father i' the face o' the Son. ' " But the minister went away trying to classify the soutar, whom he thought to place in some certain sect of middle-age mystics. Thence- 74 -i SALTED WITH FIRE forward, nevertheless, something which he did not know seemed to haunt the man. That part of him which he called his religious sense appeared to know something of which he him- self knew nothing ! Faithlessly as he had be- haved to Isy, Blatherwick was not consciously, that is, with the least purpose of intent, a de- ceitful man ; he had always cherished a strong faith in his own honour. But faith in a thing, in an idea, in a notion, is no proof, or even sign, that the thing exists, especially when it has its root in a man's thought of himself, in a mm's presentation to himself of his own re- fle.'cted self. This man who thought so much of his honour was in truth a moral unreality, a cowardly fellow, a sneak who, in the hope that no consequences would overtake him, carried himself as beyond reproof. How should such a one ever have the power of spiritual vision developed in him? How should such a one ever see God, — ever exist in the same region in which the soutar had long taken up his abode.? Still, there was this much reality in him, and he had made this much progress, that, holding fast by his resolve henceforth no more to slide, he had also a dim suspicion of something he had not seen, but which he might become able to see, and was half resolved to think and read for the future with the intent to find out what 7S I J l; 11 II '{ SALTED WITH FIRE this strange man knew, if, indeed, he did know anything more than everybody else. Unable, however, to be sure of anything, let him try as hard as he might, he soon became weary of the effort, and sank back into self-satisfied blind sleep. fr^ I. I I' 76 J w a ^> IS le d I SALTED WITH FIRE CHAPTER IX But out of this quiescence a pang from the past suddenly one morning awaked him, and in his pain, almost without consciousness of a volition, he found himself at the soutar's door. Maggie opened it to him with the baby in her arms. She had just been having a game with the child ; her face was in a glow, her hair tossed abou<-, and her dark eyes flashing with excitement. To Blather- wick, without any great natural interest in life, and in the net of a trouble which caused him no immediate apprehension, and was of no absorbing interest, the poor girl, of so little account in the world, and so far below him, as he took for granted, somehow affected him at the moment as beautiful ; and, indeed, she was beautiful, far more beautiful than he was yet able to appreciate. Besides, it was not long since he had been refused by another ; and just at such a time, as Shakspere must have re- marked, a man is readiest to fall in love afresh. Trouble then, lack of interest, and late lepulse had laid James's heart, such as it was, unexpectedly open to assault from a 77 SALTED WITH FIRE new quarter threatening no danger. Painfully warned by late experience against a second time encouraging personal relations with a poor girl of lowly origin, he could not help being interested in her, both because of her beauty and because of her evident disciple- ship to her father, to whom the young parson had not infrequently been listening of late, with Maggie silently at work beside him. But he had not as yet taken sufficient interest in cither to ask who the child was whom she was nursing so tenderly, and whom he ha.', once cr twice seen her ministering to with such assiduity. " That 's a very fine baby ! " he said, forgetting to inquire after her father, who had been a trifle ailing. " Whose is he? " '* Mine, sir," answered Maggie, with some triumph, but a little abruptly, — for h'ke a mother she was ready to resent ignorance with regard to her treasure. "Oh, indeed; I did not know," answered the parson, bewildered. " At least," Maggie resumed a little hurriedly, and stopped — whereupon the parson would at once have concluded, except for her extreme youth, that she was herself the mother of the child. Now he feared to prosecute the inquiry without first seeking enlightenment from his housekeeper. 78 SALTED Wn/I J' IRE I " Is your father in the house, Maggie?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, went on, " It is much too heavy for you to carry about." " No ae bit ! " she rejtjined, as if he meant to disparage her strength ; " and who 's to carry him but me? " Huddling the child to her bosom, sht contin- ued to address him, — " And would he hae my pet gang traivellin' the warl' upo' thae twa bonny wee legs o' his ain, wantin' the wings he left ahint him whan he cam'? They maun grow a heap stronger first. It'll come a' in guid time! His ain mammie 's Strang eneuch to carry him gien he war twice the size ! Noo, come but the hoose and see daddy." This also was addressed to the child, with whom she went at once to the kitchen, fol- lowed by the minister, growing more and more confused. There sat her father as usual, hands and knees in skilful consort of labour. " Weel, minister, hoo are ye the day? Is the yerd ony lichter upo' the tap o' ye?" said the soutar, with a smile that was almost pawky. " I do not understand you, Mr. MacLear." " Na, ye canna. Gien ye could, ye wouldna be sae comfortable as }e seem." 79 SALTED WITH FIRE " I cannot think, Mr. MacLear, why you seem rude to me." "Ye 're richt, sir; seetn is the proper word. But gien ye saw the hoose on fire aboot him ye maybe wouldna be polite yersel' tae a man in a drucken sleep." " Dare you imply that I have been drinking?" cried the parson. " Not for a single moment, sir; and I beg yer pardon for raisin* the simile thouchtlessly ; I dinna believe ye war ever ance owertaen wi' drink in a' yer life, sir ! And maybe I shouldna be sae ready to speyk in parables, for as no a'body that can or wull un'erstan' them. But ye canna hae forgotten that cry o* the Apostle o' the Gentiles, — ' Wauk up, thoo that sleepest ! ' And divna ye min' whaur the man he cried till was sleeping? It was whaur ane micht think the chance o' his hearin' was but sma' ! But what's impossible, ye ken, is possible, and vera possible, wi' God. Even the deid wauk whan the trumpet blast batters at their lugs ! " " Tt seems to me that the Apostle makes al- lusion in that passage to the condition of the Gentile nations. But it may apply as well, doubtless, to the ronversion of every unbelieving; man of being converted from the error of liS ways." "Weel, are ye corwerWt, sir? Or nr. ve btit 80 % I SALTED WITH FIRE :- turnin', noo and than, frae side to side o' yet coffin, — seekin' a sleepin' assurance that ye 're waukin'? " " You are plain-spoken, anyway ! " said the minister, rising. " Maybe I am at last, sir ! And maybe I hae been ower lang in comin' to the plainness ! Maybe I was ower-feart for yer coontin' me — or, maybe, for dein' ill-fashiont — what ye ca' rude ! " The parson was half-way to the door, for he was angry — which can hardly surprise any reader. But, with the latch in his hand, he turned. There, in the middle of the floor, with the child in her arms, stood the beautiful Mag- gie, as if in act to follow him. He had forgotten them. Both were staring after him. " Dinna anger him, father," said Maggie. " Maybe he disna ken better ! " " Weel ken I, my dautie, that he disna ken better. But I canna help thinkin' he 's maybe no that faur frae the waukin'. God grant I be richt aboot that! Eh, gien he would but wauk up, what a man he would mak' ! He kens a heap — but what 's that whan a man has no licht ! " " I certainly do not see things as you would have me believe yrm saw them; and you are hardly capable of persuading me, I fear! " re- 6 8i Si ?t SALTED WITH FIRE marked Blatherwick, with the angry flush again on his face ; it had for a moment been replaced with pallor. Here the baby se^i.e'^ rr. Ad\ />v:<.»|;Msed the unsympathetic •' 'U^ lone cf ilic co^-- -ir. - tion, for his little fa^ :, which hac fc a rioa :nt or two been slowly ;,i*dngu-i;;, it !en<;.l nailed down its lovely little nioj.h, and enc fr^m it a dread and potent cry Ciasping Luu ^lose to her bosom, Maggie ran from the roL^n with him, jostling James in the doorway as he stood aside to let her pass. " I am afraid I spoke without due regard to the infant's presence, and frightened the little man," he said. " 'Deed, sir, it may ha' been you, or it may ha* been me," rejoined the soutar. " It 's a thing I 'm sair to blame in, — that whan I 'm in richt earnest, I 'm aye ower-roady to spcyk as jjien I was angert. I'm feart it indicates a fac' — namely, that I am angert ! Sir, I humbl)- beg yer pardon." " As humbly I beg vours," u turned the par- son ; ' I was in the wtv^ng." The heart of the old man was drawn afrerh to the youth. Ht laid aside his >hoe, and, turning on his stool took James's hand in both of his, and said solemnly cind lovingl) , — " This moment I wvnild willingh die, sir, so SALTED WITH FIRE ■ be that thereby the licht o* that uprising o* which we spak micht brak throuw upon ye ! " " I believe you, sir," answered James, " but," he went on with an attempt at humour, " it would n't be so much for you to do, after all, seeing you would straightway find yourself in a better place ! " " Maybe whaur the penitent thief sat, some auchteen hunner year ago, waiting to be called up higher ! " rejoined the soutar, with a watery smile. The parson opened the door, and went home — where his knees found their way to the carpet. From that day Blather. vick began to go oftener to the soutar's, and before long went almost every other day, for at least a few minutes ; and on such occasions had generally a short inter- view with Maggie and the baby, in both of whom, having heard from the soutar the story of the child, he took a growing interest. '* You seem to love him as if he were your own, Maggie ! " he said one morning to the girl. *' And isna he my ain? Didna God himsel' gie me the bairn intill my vera airms — or a* but? " she rejoined. " Suppose he were to die ! " suggested the minister. " Such children often do." 83 SALTED WITH FIRE " I needna think aboot 'fliat," she answered. " I would just hae to say, as mony ane has had to say afore me : * The Lord gave,' — ye ken the rest, sir." Day by day Maggie grew more beautiful in the minister's eyes, until at last he was not only ready to say that he loved her, but for her sake to disregard all worldly and ambitious considerations. 84 SALTED WITH FIRE CHAPTER X On the morning of a Saturday, therefore, which day of the week he always made a holiday, he resolved to let her know without delay that he loved her; and he was the more determined, because on the next day he had to preach for a brother clergyman at Deemouth, and felt that, with this on his mind, he would not have it clear enough to do well in the pulpit. But neither disappointment nor new love had yet served to free him from vanity or arrogance. Although he had been for some time cherishing the re- solve, he still regarded his approaching decla- ration as conferring a great honour as well as favour upon the damsel of low estate ; for was she not about to share in his growing distinc- tion? In his late invitation to a lady to descend a little from her social pedestal, he had believed himself to offer her a greater than proportion- ate counter-elevation, and in his present suit to Maggie he was unable to conceive the possibil- ity of failure. When she appeared she would have shown him into the kitchen, but he took her by the arm and led her to the ben-end, 1;^ SALTED WITH FIRE where at once he began his intended speech. Scarce had she gathered his meaning, however, when he was checked by the startled look upon her face. "And what am I to do wi' my bairn?" she asked instantly, without sign of hesitation or perplexity, and smiled on the little one as at some absurdity in her arms rather than in her mind. But now the minister was sufficiently in love to disregard these unexpected indications. His pride was indeed a little hurt, — and hurt in that quarter could not be less than a serious one to him ; but he resisted any show of it, reflecting that the feeling she manifested was not altogether an unnatural one. " Oh, we shall easily find some experienced mother," he answered, *' who will understand better than you how to take care of him ! " *' Na, na ! " she answered. " I hae baith a father and a wean to luik efter. and that 's aboot as muckle as I '11 ever be up till ! " So saying, she rose and carried the little one up the stair to the room her father now occu- pied, nor cast a single glance of farewell in the direction of her lover. And now at last he was not a little astonished. Did it, could it, mean that she did not appreciate his offer, and could not listen to him? Impos- 86 i M il I SALTED WITH FIRE sible ! Her devotion to the child she had picked up was indeed absurdly engrossing, but that would come all right very soon. He need not fear such a rivalry as that, however unpleasant it might be at the moment. That little vagrant, indeed, from no one could tell where, to come between him and the girl he would honour by making his wife ! He glanced round him ; the room looked very empty. He heard her oft Interrupted step through the thin floor that divided them ; she was lavishing caresses on the insensate little animal ! He caught up his hat, and with a flushed face of annoyance went straight to the soutar where he sat at work. " I have come to ask you, Mr. MacLear, if you will give me your daughter to be my wife," he said. " Ow, sae that 's it ! " returned the soutar, with- out raising his eyes from his occupation. "You have no objection, I hope?" continued the minister, findinp- he did not go on. "What says she hersel'? Ye comena to me first, I reckon ! " " She said, or implied at Last, that she could not leave the child. But she cannot mean that!" " And what for no? I hae nae need to mak' objections." 87 H |: 1; f U i; IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) / O '"^^ C^x A y. '^l5 1.0 I.I S !f IIIIIM ^ I- III 2-0 1.8 1.25 1.4 14 < 6" — ► S^' VJ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STRUT WnSTIR.N.Y. MJSO (716) •73-4303