PRICE, TWEXTY-FtVE CENTS. No 19 , 
 
 THE IDEAL LIBRARY, 
 
 Issued Tri-Weel:!y. Subscription price, $30.00 per year. April] 0, 1895 
 
 Entered at Chicago Post Office as Second-Class Matter. 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 TILLYLOSS SCANDAL 
 
 BY- 
 
 d. M. Bf\RRIB 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 
 DONCHUE, HEN.NEBERRY & CO. 
 407-425 DEARBORN STREET 
 
GEORGE HOLMES HOWISON 
 

 
 
The Tiffyfoss Scandaf 
 
 BY 
 
 J. M. BARRIE. 
 
 Author of "The Little Minister," " When a Man's 
 Single," " The Professor's Love Story. n 
 
 CHICAGO : 
 
 DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & OX 
 407-425 DBABBOBN ST. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A TILLYLOSS SCANDAL. 
 
 CHAPTER. 
 
 I. In which we approach Haggart hat in han<f. 5 
 II. Containing the circumstances which led to 
 
 the Departure of Haggart 14 
 
 III. Shows how Haggart sat on a dyke looking 
 
 at his own funeral 28 
 
 IV. The Wanderings of Haggart , 44 
 
 V. The Return of Haggart 59, 
 
 VI. In which a birth is recorded 73 
 
 How GAVIN BIRSE PUT IT TO MAG LOWNIE 88 
 
 DITE DEUCHARS 97 
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY MANSE. 
 
 I. Janet 106 
 
 II. Janet's Curiosity 115 
 
 III. Teacher M'Queen 123 
 
 IV. The Post 131 
 
 V. A Wedding in the Smiddy 138 
 
 VI. The Minister's Gown 147 
 
 
 552427 
 
vi CONTENTS, 
 
 rAGB. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN OF THE SCHOOL. 152 
 
 A POWERFUL DRUG 158 
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN DOCTOR 167 
 
 SHUTTING A MAP. A NOTE OF WARNING 177 
 
 AN INVALID IN LODGINGS 186 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF TIME-TABLES 194 
 
 MENDING THE CLOCK 200 
 
 THE BIGGEST Box IN THE WORLD 210 
 
 THE COMING DRAMATIST 220 
 
A TILLYLOSS SCANDAL 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN WHICH WE APPROACH HAGGART, HAT IN 
 HAND. 
 
 ACCORDING to those who have thought tlie 
 thing- over, it would defy the face of clay to 
 set forth this prodigious affair of Tilly loss, the 
 
 upshot of which was that Tammas Haggart 
 became a humorist. It happened so far back 
 as the Long Year, so called by reason of dis- 
 ease in the potato crop ; and doubtless the 
 house, which still stands, derides romance to 
 those who cavil at an outside stair. Further- 
 more, the many who only knew Haggart in 
 his later years, whether personally or through 
 written matter or from Thrums folk who have 
 traveled, will not readily admit that he may 
 once have been an every-day man. There is 
 also against me the vexing practice of the 
 farmer of Lookaboutyou, who never passes 
 Tillyloss, if there is a friend of minv5 within 
 earshot, without saying : 
 
'*' Grave-stane or no grave-stane, Tammas 
 Hawaii Would have been a humorist." 
 
 Lbokabbutyou thus implies that he knew 
 Haggart for a man of parts when the rest of 
 us were blind, and it is tantalizing beyond 
 ordinary to see his word accepted in this mat- 
 ter by people who would not pay him for a 
 drill of potatoes without first stepping it to 
 make sure of the length. 
 
 I have it from Tammas Haggart that until 
 the extraordinary incident occurred which I 
 propose telling as he dropped it into my mouth 
 he was such a man as myself. True, he was 
 occasionally persuaded by persons of Look- 
 aboutyou's stamp to gloss over this admis- 
 sion, as incredible on the face of it, but that 
 was in his last years, when he had become 
 something of a show, and was in a puzzle 
 about himself. Of the several reasons he 
 gave me in proof of a non-humorous period 
 in his life the following seem worthy of es- 
 pecial attention : 
 
 First, that for some years after his marriage 
 he had never thought of himself as more 
 nicely put together than other men. He 
 could not say for certain whether he had ever 
 thought of himself at all, his loom taking up 
 so much of his time. 
 
 Second, that Chirsty was able to aggravate 
 him by saying that if which was which she 
 would have married James Pitbladdo. 
 
 Third, that he was held of little account 
 
by the neighbors, who spoke of his living 
 " above Lunan's shoppy," but never local- 
 ized the shop as " below Haggart's house." 
 
 Fourth, that while on his wanderings he 
 experienced certain novel and singular sen- 
 sations in his inside, which were probably 
 his humor trying to force a passage. 
 
 Fifth, that in the great scene which ended 
 his wanderings, his humor burst its banks 
 like a dam, and had flowed in burns ever 
 since. 
 
 During nearly forty years we contrived 
 now and again to harness Tammas to his 
 story, but often he would stop at the difficulty 
 of realizing the man he must have been in 
 his pre-humorous days, and remark, in his 
 sarcastic way, that the one Haggart could 
 not fathom the other. Thus our questionings 
 sometimes ended in silence, when we all 
 looked in trouble at the fire and then went 
 home. As for starting him on the story 
 when he was not in the vein, it was like 
 breasting the brae against a high wind. 
 
 When the events happened I was only a 
 lad. I cannot send my mind back to the 
 time when I could pass Haggart without the" 
 side-glance nearly all Thrums offered to his 
 reputation, and he is best pictured hunkering 
 at Tillyloss, one of a row of his admirers. 
 After eight o'clock it was the pleasant custom 
 of the weavers to sit in the open against a 
 house or dyke, their knees near their chins 
 
8 
 
 and their ears ready for Haggart. Then his 
 face would be contracted in pain as some 
 strange idea bothered him and he searched 
 for its humorous aspect Perhaps ten min- 
 utes afterwards his face would expand, he 
 would slap his knees, and we knew that the 
 struggle was over. It was one of his ways, 
 disliked at the time, yet admired on reflec- 
 tion, n^ A . tD take us into the secret of his 
 laughter ; but he usually ended by looking 
 whimsically in the direction of the burying- 
 ground, when we were perfectly aware of the 
 source of the joke, and those of us nudged 
 each other who were not scared. Until the 
 spell was broken we might sit thus for the 
 space of a quarter of an hour, none speaking, 
 yet in the completest sympathy, because 
 we were all thinking of the same thing, and 
 that a grave-stone. 
 
 Tillyloss is three broken rows of houses 
 in the east end of Thrums, with gardens be- 
 tween them, nearly every one of which used 
 to contain a pig-sty. There are other ways 
 of getting into the gardens than by windows, 
 for those who are sharp at knowing a gate 
 when it looks like something else. Three 
 or four other houses stand in odd corners, 
 blocking the narrow road, which dodges 
 through Tillyloss like a hunted animal. 
 Starting from the west end of the suburb, as 
 Tillyloss will be called as soon as we can 
 the word without smirking, the road 
 
8Utjt0!S$ jlfltttda*. 9 
 
 climbs straight from the highway to the up- 
 permost row, where it runs against a two- 
 story house. Here we leave it, as many 
 a curious stranger has done, to get out of 
 Tillyloss the best way it can, for that two- 
 storied house is where Tammas Haggart 
 lived, up the outside stair, the west room. 
 
 Tammas flitted to the Tenements a year 
 after he became a humorist, and it is an ex- 
 traordinary tribute to his memory that the 
 road from the pump up to his old residence 
 in Tillyloss is still called Haggart's Roady. 
 Many persons have inhabited his room since 
 he left it, but though the younger ones hold 
 out for an individuality of their own, the 
 gray-beards still allow that it is Haggart's 
 house. To this day Tillyloss residents asked 
 for a landmark to their dwellings may reply, 
 
 " I'm sax houses south frae Haggart's," 
 or, "Onybody can point out Haggart's stair 
 to you. Ay, weel, gang to that, and then 
 come back three doors/' 
 
 The entrance to Lunan's shop was beneath 
 Haggart's stair, which provided a handy 
 retiring place in wet weather. Lunan's per- 
 sonality had the enormous advantage of a 
 start of Tammas's, as has been seen, yet 
 Haggart has practically swallowed Lunan, 
 who in his more crabbed age scowled at the 
 sight-seers that came to look at the second 
 story of the house and ignored the shop. 
 As boys we envied, more than learning, 
 
io 
 
 the companion whose father kept a shop, 
 and I remember Lunan's son going with his 
 fists for the banker's son who though he 
 never really believed it said that his father 
 could have a shop if he liked. Yet the grand 
 romance of Haggart choked the fame of 
 Lunan even with the lads who played dumps 
 at Tillyloss, and the shop came to be local- 
 ized as "beneath Haggart's stair." Even 
 Lunan's stoutness, which was a landmark in 
 itself, could not save him. The passage be- 
 tween his counter and the wall was so nar- 
 row and the rest of his shop so full of goods 
 that before customers could enter Lunan had 
 to come out, but in this quandary his dignity 
 never left him. He always declined to join 
 the company who might be listening on the 
 stairs to Tammas's adventures, but some say 
 he was not above hearkening through a hole 
 in one of the steps. 
 
 The exact date of Haggart's departure can- 
 not be determined, though it was certainly 
 in the back end of the year 1834. He had 
 then been married to Chirsty a little short of 
 three years. His age would be something 
 beyond thirty, but he never knew his birth- 
 day, and I have heard him say that one of 
 the few things he could not understand was 
 how the relatives of a person deceased could 
 know the precise age to send to the news- 
 papers. 
 
 What is, however, known for certain is 
 
jfcanttoL 
 
 that Tammas's adventures began within a 
 week of the burial of old Mr. Yuill, the parish 
 minister. There had been a to-do about who 
 should preach the funeral sermon, two min- 
 isters having words over it, and all Thrums 
 knowing that Mr. Yuill had left seven pounds 
 to the preacher. At this time Haggart did 
 not belong to the Auld Lichts, nor was he 
 even regular in his attendance at the parish 
 church, but the dispute about the funeral 
 sermon interested him greatly, and when he 
 heard that the session was meeting to decide 
 the affair, he agreed with Chirsty that he 
 might do worse than hang around the door 
 on the chance of getting early information. 
 There was a small crowd at the door on 
 the same errand, all of whom noticed, 
 though they little thought it would give them 
 a topic to their dying day, that Haggart had 
 on his topcoat. It had been an old one of 
 Mr. Yuill's, presented to Tammas, who could 
 not fill it, but refused to have it altered, out 
 of respect to the minister's memory. It has 
 also been fondly recalled of Tammas that 
 he was only shaven on the one side, as if 
 Chirsty had sent him to the meeting in a 
 hurry, and that he had not the look of a man 
 who was that very night to enter upon ex- 
 periences which would confound the world. 
 " It was an impressive spectacle," Snecky 
 Hobart said subsequently, " to see Tammas 
 discussing the burial sermon, just as keen as 
 
12 ^ aftttgt0#0 
 
 me and T'nowhead, and then to think that 
 within twenty-four hours the very ministers 
 themselves would be discussing him." 
 
 ' ' He said to me it had been a dowie day," 
 T'nowhead always remembered. 
 
 "He shoved me when he was crushing 
 in nearer the door," was Hender Robbie's 
 boast. 
 
 "But he took a snuff out of my mull." 
 
 " Maybe he did, but I was the last he spoke 
 to. He said, ' Weel, Dan'l, I'll be stepping 
 back to Tilly/" 
 
 "Ay, but I passed him at the Tenements, 
 and he says, 'Davit/ he says, and I says, 
 ' Tammas/" 
 
 "Very like ; but I was carrying a ging of 
 water frae Susie Linn's pump, and Tammas 
 said would I give him a drink, the which I 
 did." 
 
 " Lads, I'm no sure but what I noticed a 
 far-away look in Tammas's face, as if there 
 was something on his mind." 
 
 "If ye did, Jeames, ye kept it to your- 
 sel'/' 
 
 "Ay, but I meant to mention it when I 
 got hame." 
 
 " How did ye no, then? " 
 
 " How does a body no do many a thing ? 
 I dinna say I noticed the look, but just that 
 I'm no sure but what I noticed it" 
 
 So we all did our best to recall Haggart's 
 last words and looks on that amazing even- 
 
jtamtat., 13 
 
 ing ; even the Auld Licht minister, who cared 
 little for popularity, claiming as a noticeable 
 thing to have walked behind Tammas and 
 observed that his handkerchief was hanging 
 out of his north pocket. But though all 
 these memories have their value as relics, 
 we have Tammas's own word for it that 
 from the time he reached the session-house 
 until his return to Tillyloss he felt much as 
 usual. 
 
 "Ay," he would say in his impressive 
 way, " many a thing may happen between 
 the'aucht and the ten-o'clock bells, but I told 
 neither T'nowhead nor Snecky nor none of 
 them as onything was to happen that 
 nicht." 
 
 "Ye did not, Tammas; na, na, for if ye 
 had I would have heard ye, me being there. " 
 
 "Ay, but ye couldna say my reason for no 
 telling ye ? " 
 
 "Na." 
 
 "Weel, then, my reason was just this, 
 that I didna ken mysel'." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 CONTAINING THE CIRCUMSTANCES WHICH LED TO 
 THE DEPARTURE OF HAGGART. 
 
 IN the future Haggart's mind was to be- 
 come a book in which he could turn up any 
 page wanted, but its early stage was a ravel 
 not worth harking back to unless for pur- 
 poses of comparison. He could never, 
 therefore, when questioned, say for certain 
 that between the session-house and Tillyloss 
 he had met a soul except the Auld Licht 
 minister, to see whom was naturally to' feel 
 him. At the foot of Tilly, however, he was 
 taken aback to find a carriage and two horses 
 standing. 
 
 The sight knocked all the news he had 
 heard about the funeral sermon out of his 
 head, and left him with just sufficient sense 
 to put his back to the wall and assume the 
 appearance of a man who would begin to 
 think directly. First he gazed at the horses 
 and said, 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 Then he looked less carefully at the coach- 
 man. 
 
$ittjjto#0 ^nwttal , 15 
 
 "Yes, "he said. 
 
 Lastly, he gave both eyes to the carriage, 
 and corroborated his previous remarks with, 
 
 "Umpha." 
 
 In themselves these statements suggest 
 little, though they really left Haggart master 
 of the situation. The first was his own 
 answer to the question, "Will these be 
 Balribbie's beasts ? " and the second was 
 merely a stepping-stone to the third, which 
 was a short way of saying that the ladies 
 had called on Chirsty at last. 
 
 Tammas's wife. Chirsty, had been a serv- 
 ant at Balribbie, the mistress of which had 
 promised, as most of Thrums was aware, to 
 call on her some day. 
 
 " Ye'll be none the better though she does 
 call," Haggart used to say, to which Chirsty's 
 inhuman answer was, 
 
 "Maybe no; but it'll make every other 
 woman in Tillyloss miserable." 
 
 Every day for a year Chirsty awaited the 
 coming of the ladies, after which it was the 
 neighbors who spoke of the promised visit 
 rather than herself. But evidently the ladies 
 had come after all, and the question for 
 Tammas was whether to face them or step 
 about Tilly until they had driven away. It 
 is difficult, no doubt, to believe that there 
 ever was a time when Haggart would rather 
 have hidden behind a dyke than converse 
 with the gentry, but I have this from him- 
 
1 6 ^ MlyHwt jfarodal. 
 
 self. He, whose greatest topic in the future 
 was to be, Women, and Why we should 
 Put up with Them, however Unreasonable, 
 could not think of the proper thing to say to 
 the ladies of Balribbie. 
 
 "Losh, losh," he has said, when casting 
 his mind back to this period, ' ' it's hard to 
 me to believe that the unhumorous man 
 swithering at the foot of Tilly that nicht 
 was really Tammas Haggart, and no just 
 somebody dressed up in Tammas Haggart's 
 image." 
 
 If it was hard to Tammas, how much 
 harder to the like of us ! 
 
 Without actually deciding to show tail, 
 Tammas continued to lean heavily against 
 the wall, where he was not conspicuous to 
 two women who passed a little later with 
 baskets on their arms. 
 
 ' ' I assure ye Chirsty's landed, " one of them 
 said, " for she has her grand folk after all." 
 
 " Ay," said the other, " and Tammas is 
 no in, so she'll no need to explain how her 
 man's so lang and thin by what he was 
 when she exhibited him at Balribbie. " 
 
 "What do ye mean, ye limmers ?" cried 
 Haggart, stepping into sight. "I was never 
 at Balribbie." 
 
 They slipped past " him giggling, with the 
 parting shots 
 
 " Chirsty can tell ye what we mean," and 
 
 "And so can Jeames Pitbladdo." 
 
jtamtat. 17 
 
 Haggart probably sent his under lip over 
 the upper one, for that was his way when 
 troubled. He was aware that Chirsty had 
 very nearly married Pitbladdo, but these 
 women meant something else. Without 
 knowing that he was doing so, he marched 
 straight for his house, and was half-way up 
 the outside stair when the door opened, and 
 two ladies, accompanied by Chirsty, came 
 out. Haggart did not even know what they 
 were like, though he was to become such 
 an authority on the female face and figure. 
 He stopped, wanting the courage to go on 
 and the discourtesy to turn back. So he 
 merely stood politely in their way. 
 
 Chirsty gave her curls an angry shake as 
 she saw him, but he had to be acknowl- 
 edged. 
 
 " This is himsel '/"'she said, with the con- 
 tempt a woman naturally feels for her 
 husband. 
 
 Thus cornered, Tammas opened his mouth 
 wide, to have his photograph taken, as it 
 were, by the two ladies. The elder smiled 
 and said, 
 
 " I am glad to make your acquaintance, 
 James, " 
 
 Tammas thinks she said more, but could 
 never swear to it. To keep up with her quick 
 way of speaking was a race for him, and at 
 the word "James " he stumbled, as against a 
 stone. When he came to himself, 
 
"Thank ye, mem/' he said, "but my 
 name ' 
 
 Here Chirsty gave him a look that made 
 him lose his words. 
 
 " Let the leddies pass, can ye no ? " she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 For a moment Tammas did not see how 
 they could pass, unless by returning to the 
 house, when he could follow them and so 
 get rid of himself. Then he had the idea of 
 descending. 
 
 " At the same time," he said, picking up 
 the lost words, " my name 
 
 " Dinna argy bargy with the leddies," said 
 Chirsty, tripping down the stair like a lady 
 herself, but not hoisting the color that would 
 at that moment have best become her. 
 
 " You must come out to Balribbie again 
 and see us, James," the elder lady remarked 
 by way of good-night. 
 
 Tammas turned a face of appeal to his 
 other visitor, who had been regarding him 
 curiously. 
 
 "Do you know, James," she said, "I 
 would not have recognized you again ? " 
 
 " Very like," answered Tammas, " for ye 
 never saw me." 
 
 " Be ashamed of yourself, James," cried 
 Chirsty, shocked to hear husband of hers 
 contradict a lady. 
 
 The young lady, however, only smiled. 
 
 " Oh, James," she said, playfully, "to 
 
^cumtul 19 
 
 think you have forgotten me, and I poured 
 out your tea that day at Balribbie with my 
 own hand." 
 
 In his after years Tammas, tempted to this 
 extent, would have answered in some gallant 
 words such as the young lady could have 
 taken away with her in the carriage. But 
 that night he was only an ordinary man. 
 
 " I never set foot in Bal " he was 
 
 replying, when Chirsty interfered. 
 
 " Well he minds of it," she said, auda- 
 ciously, "and no farther back than Monday 
 he says to me, 'That was a cup of tea,' he 
 says, ' as I never tasted the marrows of.' " 
 
 " Wuman ! " cried Tammas. 
 
 " See to the house, James," said Chirsty, 
 "and I'll go as far as the carriage with the 
 ladies." 
 
 When Chirsty returned, five minutes after- 
 wards, her husband was standing where she 
 had left him. 
 
 " My name, mem," he was saying to the 
 stair, "is not James, but Tammas, audit's 
 gospel I tell ye when I say I was never at 
 Balribbie in my born days." 
 
 Chirsty passed him without a word, and 
 went into the house, slamming the door. 
 Tammas and his tantrums did not seriously 
 disturb her, but she had been badly used on 
 her way back from the carriage. While 
 helping the ladies to their seats she had been 
 happily conscious of Kitty Crabb peeping ai 
 
2o , 
 
 the proud sight from the back of the doctor's 
 dyke, and as Kitty was the most celebrated 
 gossip in Tillyloss, Chirsty thought to her- 
 self, ' ' It'll be through Tilly before bedtime. " 
 
 "Ay, Kitty," she said, on her way back, 
 looking over the dyke, "that was the Balrib- 
 bie family calling on me." 
 
 Kitty, however, could never stand Chirsty's 
 airs, andsawan opportunity of humbling her. 
 
 " I saw nobody," she answered. 
 
 "They've been in my house since half 
 nine," cried Chirsty anxiously, "and that 
 was their carriage. " 
 
 " I saw no carriage," said Kitty cruelly. 
 
 " I saw ye gaping at it ower the dyke," 
 Chirsty screamed, "and that's it ye hear 
 driving east the road." 
 
 " I hear nothing," said Kitty. 
 
 "Katrine Crabb," cried Chirsty, "think 
 shame of yourself." 
 
 ' ' Na, Chirsty, " rejoined Kitty, ' ' ye needna 
 blame me if your grand folk ignore ye." 
 
 So Chirsty entered her house with the 
 dread fear that no one would give her the 
 satisfaction of allowing that the Balribbie 
 family had crossed its threshold. She was 
 wringing a duster, as if it were Kitty Crabb, 
 when Tammas stamped up the stair in no 
 mood to offer sympathy. 
 
 He kept his bonnet on, more like a visitor 
 than a man in his own house, but as he 
 plumped upon a stool by the fire he flung 
 
21 
 
 his feet against the tongs in a way that 
 showed he required immediate attention. 
 
 " I'm waiting," he said, after a pause. 
 
 "Take your feet off the fender/' replied 
 Chirsty. 
 
 "Tell me my name immediately/' re- 
 quested Tammas. 
 
 "That's what's troubling ye? " 
 
 " It is so. What's my name ? " 
 
 "Sal, whatever it is, I wish it wasna 
 mine. " 
 
 "Your grand folk called me Jeames." 
 
 "So I noticed." 
 
 "How was that? " 
 
 "Ye couldna expect the like of them to 
 ken the ins and outs of your name." 
 
 "Naneof your tricks, wuman ; I wasna 
 born on a Sabbath. It was you that said 
 my name was Jeames ; ay, and what's more, 
 ye called me Jeames yoursel'." 
 
 " Do ye think I was to conter grand folk 
 like the Balribbie family ? " 
 
 "Conter here, conter there, I want to 
 bottom this. They said I had been at 
 Balribbie." 
 
 "Weel, I think ye micht have been glad 
 to take the credit of that." 
 
 "It's my opinion," said Tammas, "that 
 ye've been pretending I was Jeames Pit- 
 bladdo." 
 
 "Ye micht have been proud of that, too," 
 retorted Chirsty. 
 
22 
 
 "As sure as death," said Tammas, "if 
 ye dinna clear this up I'll gang to Balribbie 
 forlicht on't." 
 
 "She looked me in the face at that," 
 Tammas used to say as he told the story, 
 "and when she saw the michty determina- 
 tion in it she began to sing small. I pointed 
 to the place whaur I wanted her to stand, 
 and I says, ' Now, then, I'm waiting/ ' 
 
 " I never pretended to ye," said Chirsty, 
 "but what it was touch and go my no 
 marrying Jeames Pitbladdo." 
 
 Tammas nodded. 
 
 "The leddies at Balribbie thocht it was 
 him I was to marry." 
 
 " I daursay." 
 
 "They didna ken about you at that time." 
 
 "They dinna seem to ken about me yet." 
 
 "Jeames used to come about Balribbie a 
 heap, and they saw he was after me, and 
 Miss Mary often said to me, was I fond of 
 him ? Ay, and I said he was daft about me. 
 Then he spiered me, and after that they had 
 him up to the house." 
 
 "So, so, and that was the time he got the 
 tea ? " 
 
 " It was so, and then I gave up my place, 
 them promising to come and visit me when 
 I was settled." 
 
 "Ay, but Jeames creepit off after all." 
 
 " Weel ye ken it was his superstitiousness 
 made him give me the .go-by." 
 
KiltylW j&cattdat* - 23 
 
 " I've heard versions of the story frae folk 
 in the toon, but I didna credit them. Ye 
 took guid care never to tell me about it 
 yoursel'. Ye said to me it was you that 
 wouldna have him, no that he wouldna take 
 you." 
 
 "He wanted me, but he was always a 
 superstitious man, Jeames Pitbladdo. He 
 was never fonder of me than when we 
 parted." 
 
 ''All I ken/' said Tammas, "is that he 
 wouldna buy the ring to ye, and that must 
 either have been because he didna want ye 
 when it came to the point, or because he 
 was a michty greedy crittur. " 
 
 "He's no greedy; and as for no caring 
 for me, it near broke his heart to give me 
 up. There was tears on his face when we 
 parted. " 
 
 "Havers! what was there to keep him 
 frae buying the ring if he wanted it ? " 
 
 " His superstitiousness. " 
 
 "What is there superstitious about a 
 ring?" 
 
 " It wasna the ring; it was the hiccup 
 did it." 
 
 " Ay, I heard there was a hiccup in the 
 story, but I didna fash about it." 
 
 "Jeames did though, and it was a very 
 queery thing, I can tell ye, though I didna 
 put the wecht on it that he did. As many 
 a one kens forby me, he walked straight to 
 
jtamtat. 
 
 Peter Lambie's shop to buy the ring, and 
 just as he had his hand on the door he took 
 the hiccup. Ye ken what a superstitious 
 man Jeames is." 
 
 "If I wanted a wife it's no hiccup would 
 stand in the road." 
 
 "Because you're ower ignorant to be 
 superstitious. And Jeames didna give in at 
 the first try. He was back at the shop the 
 next nicht, and there he took the hiccup 
 again. Then he came to me and said in 
 terrible disappointment as it would be 
 wicked to marry in the face of Providence. 
 I never saw a man so crushed like." 
 
 "Ay, I'm no saying but what this may 
 be true, but it doesna explain your reason 
 for calling me Jeames. " 
 
 "I call ye Tammas as a rule, when it's 
 necessary to mention your name. Ye canna 
 deny that." 
 
 "Tell me how I'm Jeames to the gentry." 
 
 "I wasna to disgrace mysel' to them, 
 was I ? " 
 
 "Whaur's the disgrace in Tammas ?" 
 
 "Ye maun see, Tammas Haggart, dull as 
 ye are, that it was a trying position for me 
 to be in. When I left Balribbie the leddies 
 thocht I was to marry Jeames Pitbladdo ; 
 did they no ? " 
 
 " I daursay. " 
 
 "And I had told them Jeames was com- 
 plete daft about me ; and so he was, for he 
 
25 
 
 called his very porridge spoon after me, a 
 thing you never did." 
 
 " Did I ever pretend to you I had these 
 political ways ? " 
 
 " I wouldna have believed it though you 
 did. But was ever mortal woman left in 
 sic a predicament because of a superstition ? 
 Nat'rally, when I married you, I didna let 
 on to the Balribbie family as ye wasna 
 Jeames Pitbladdo, and Jeames Pitbladdo 
 they think ye to this day. What harm does 
 it do ye ? " 
 
 "Harm! It leaves me complete mixed 
 up about mysel'. Chirsty Todd, ye have 
 disgraced me this merit." 
 
 Here Chirsty turned on him. 
 
 "I've disgraced ye, have I? And wha 
 has shamed me every nicht for years, if no' 
 yersel', Tammas Haggart ? " 
 
 ' ' In what way have I shamed ye ? " 
 
 "In many a way, and particularly with 
 what ye say at family worship. Take your 
 feet off that fender." 
 
 "I keep my feet on the fender till I hear 
 what new blether this is ; ay, and longer if 
 Hike." 
 
 ' ' The things ye say in the prayer is an 
 insult." 
 
 "Canny, Chirsty Todd. That prayer, as 
 weel ye ken, was learned out of a book, the 
 which was lended to me for the purpose by 
 a flying stationer. " 
 
26 
 
 "Ye're a puir crittur if ye canna make up 
 what to say yersel'. Do you think you'll 
 ever be an elder? Not you." 
 
 " Wha wants to be an elder? " 
 
 "None of your blasphemy, Tammas Hag- 
 gart." 
 
 "What's wrang with the prayer? " 
 
 " Gang through it in your head, and you'll 
 soon see that." 
 
 Tammas repeated the prayer aloud, but 
 without enlightenment ; whereupon Chirsty 
 nearly went the length of shaking him. 
 
 "Did ye not pray this minute," she said, 
 " 'for the heads of this house, and also the 
 children thereof?'" 
 
 "I did so." 
 
 "And have ye no* repeated these words 
 every nicht for near three years ? " 
 
 "And what about that? " 
 
 "Tammas Haggart, have we any bairns ? 
 Is there 'children thereof? " 
 
 Tammas used to say that at this point he 
 took his feet off the fender. When he spoke 
 it was thus 
 
 "As sure as death, Chirsty, I never thocht 
 of that." 
 
 His intention was to soothe the woman, 
 but the utter unreasonableness of the sex, as 
 he has pointed out, was finely illustrated by 
 the way Chirsty took his explanation. 
 
 " Ye never thocht of it ! " she exclaimed, 
 "Tammas, you're a most aggravating man/' 
 
27 
 
 In his humorous period, Haggart could 
 have stood even this, but that night it was 
 beyond bearing. He jumped to his feet and 
 stumbled to the door. 
 
 "Chirsty Todd," he turned to say, slowly 
 and emphatically, " you're a vain tid. But 
 beware, woman, there's others than Jeames 
 Pitbladdo as can take the hiccup. " 
 
 Chirsty had strange cause to remember 
 this prophecy, but at the moment it only 
 sent her running to the door. Tammas was 
 half-way down Tillyloss already, but she 
 caught him in the back with this stone : 
 
 "Guid-nicht, Jeames !" 
 
 With these words the Thrums Odyssey 
 began. 
 
28 i friUto^ f ramtef 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SHOWS HOW HAGGART SAT ON A DYKE LOOK 
 ING AT HIS OWN FUNERAL. 
 
 Haggart must have left Tillyloss with 
 Chirsty heavy on his mind, for an hour after- 
 wards he was suprised to find himself out of 
 Thrums. He was wandering beneath trees 
 alongside the Whunny drain, which is said 
 to have been chiseled from the rocks when 
 men's wages were fourpence a day. Here 
 he sat down, preparatory to turning back. 
 It was now past his usual bedtime, and he 
 had been twelve hours at work that day. 
 
 "I canna say whether I sat lang think- 
 ing about Chirsty," he afterwards admitted; 
 "but I mind watching a water-rat running 
 out and in among some nettles till it got 
 mixed in my mind with the shuttle of my 
 loom, and by that time I was likely sleep- 
 ing. " 
 
 The probability is that Tammas, who met 
 no one, walked west from Tillyloss to Susie 
 Linn's pump, where he took the back wynd 
 and made for the drain edge by the west 
 town-end. This is the route we have usually 
 
miyH*w jfoautal 29 
 
 given him though Lookaboutyou sends 
 him round by the den and I have walked 
 it often with Tammas when we were draw- 
 ing up a sort of map of his wanderings. 
 The last time I did this was in the company 
 of William Byars, who came back to Thrums 
 recently after nearly thirty years' absence, 
 and spoke of Haggart the moment his eyes 
 lighted again on Tillyloss. Those that saw 
 him say that William was overcome with 
 emotion when he gazed at the memorable 
 outside stair, and at last walked away softly 
 saying, " Haggart was a man." What I can 
 say of my own knowledge is that William 
 met me one day as I was coming into 
 Thrums from my school-house, and asked 
 me as a favor to go round the Haggart places 
 with him. This I mention as showing what 
 a hold the affair we are now tracking took 
 upon the popular mind. 
 
 I pointed out to William the very spot on 
 which Tammas fell asleep. The drain edge 
 path crossed the burn at that time by a foot- 
 bridge of stone, and climbed a paling into 
 the Long Parks of Auchtersmellie. A hoard- 
 ing has been erected on this bridge to make 
 travelers go another way, but it is also as good 
 as a sign-post, for ten yards due south from it 
 stands the short thick beech against which 
 Tammas Haggart undoubtedly slept for 
 nearly seven hours on that queer night. 
 Even Lookaboutyou admits this. 
 
30 
 
 To make the scene as vivid as possible, 
 William, at my suggestion, sat down be- 
 neath the tree like one sleeping. I then went 
 a little way into the Long Parks and came 
 back hurriedly, making pretense that it was 
 a dark night. I climbed the paling, crossed 
 the bridge there being two loose spars in 
 the hoarding and was passing on when 
 suddenly I saw a man sleeping at the foot 
 of a tree. When regarding- him I shivered, 
 as if it was the depth of winter, and then 
 noted that he had on a thick top-coat. After 
 a little hesitation, I raised him cautiously 
 andgotthe coat off without wakeninghim. I 
 was rushing off with it when I remembered 
 that the night was cold for him as well as 
 for me, and flung my old coat down beside 
 him. Then I hurried off, but of course came 
 back directly, the make-believe being over. 
 
 Something very like this happened while 
 Haggart was asleep, though no human eye 
 witnessed the scene. All we are sure of is 
 that the thief was dressed in corduroys like 
 Tammas's, and that the coat he left behind 
 him was a thin linen one, coarse, stained 
 though not torn and apparently worthless. 
 There were twelve buttons on it an unusual 
 number, but not, as Tammas discovered, too 
 many. It is a matter for regret that this 
 coat was not preserved. 
 
 No doubt Tammas was shivering when he 
 woke up, but all his minor troubles were swal- 
 
Randal 3 1 
 
 lowed in the loss of his top-coat which was 
 not only a fine one, but contained every 
 penny he had in the world, namely, seven 
 shillings and sixpence in a linen bag. He 
 climbed into the Long Parks looking for the 
 thief; he ran along the drain edge looking 
 for him, and finally he sat down in dull 
 despair. It was a cruel loss, and now not 
 his indignation with Chirsty, but Chirsty 's 
 case against him, shook his frame. 
 
 " The first use I ever made of the linen 
 coat," he allowed, " was to wipe the water off 
 my een wi't. " 
 
 Only fear of Chirsty can explain Haggart's 
 next step, which was, after putting on the 
 linen coat, to wander off by the Long Parks, 
 instead of at once returning to Tillyloss. 
 
 I did not take William over the ground 
 covered by Haggart during the next three 
 days ; indeed, the great part of it is only 
 known to me by vague report. Tammas 
 doubtless had no notion when he ran away, 
 as one might call it, from Chirsty, that he 
 would sleep next night thirty miles from 
 Thrums. At the back of the house of Auch- 
 tersmellie, however, he fell in with a wander- 
 ing tailor, bound for a glen farm, where six 
 weeks' work awaited him. He was not a 
 man of these parts, but Tammas offered to 
 walk a few miles with him, and ended by 
 going the whole way. Of Haggart's experi- 
 ences at this time I know much, but none 
 
^ VUgtaf 
 
 of them is visible beside the surprising event 
 that sent him homewards striding. 
 
 It takes one aback to think that Haggart 
 might never have been a humorist had not 
 one of the buttons fallen off his coat. The 
 immediate effect of this was dramatic rather 
 than humorous. The tailor picked up the 
 button to sew it on to the coat again, but, 
 surprised by its weight, had the curiosity to 
 tear its linen covering with his scissors. 
 Then he drew in his breath, extending his 
 eyes and looking so like a man who would 
 presently whistle with surprise that Hag- 
 gart stooped forward to regard the button 
 closely. Next moment he had snatched up 
 the button with one hand and the coat with 
 another, and was off like a racer to the 
 tinkle of the starter's bell. 
 
 When beyond pursuit, Haggart sat down 
 to make certain that he was really a rich 
 man. The button that had fallen off was a 
 guinea gold guineas we said in Thrums, 
 out of respect for them covered with cloth, 
 and a brief examination showed that the 
 eleven other buttons were of the same costly 
 kind. One popular explanation of this mys- 
 terious affair is that the tramp who left this 
 coat to Tammas had stolen it from some 
 person unknown, without realizing its value. 
 Who the owner was has never been discov- 
 ered, but he was doubtless a miser, who 
 liked to carry his hoard about with him un- 
 
^cawtal 33 
 
 ostentatiously. I have known of larger sums 
 hidden by farmers in as unlikely places. 
 
 Before resuming his triumphal march 
 home, Tammas pricked a hole in each of the 
 buttons, to make sure of his fortune, and 
 wasted some time in deciding that it would 
 be safer to carry the guineas as they were 
 than stowed away in his boots. 
 
 " Sometimes on the road home," he used 
 to say, " I ran my head on a tree or 
 splashed into a bog, for it's sair work to keep 
 your een on twelve buttons, when they're all 
 in different places. Lads, I watched them 
 as if they were living things. " 
 
 William and I crossed from the drain edge 
 to the hill, where the next scene in the drama 
 was played. The hill is public ground 
 to the north of Thrums, separated from it by 
 the cemetery and a few fields. So steep is 
 the descent that a heavy stone pushed from 
 the south side of the hill-dyke might crash 
 two minutes afterwards against the back 
 walls of Tillyloss. The view from the hill 
 is among the most extensive in Scotland, 
 and it also exposes some dilapidated courts 
 in Thrums that are difficult to find when you 
 are within a few feet of them. Fifty years 
 ago the hill was nearly covered with whins, 
 and it is half hidden in them still, despite the 
 life-work of D. Fittis. 
 
 For some reason that I probably neve* 
 knew, we always called him D. Fittis, bu, 
 
34 & ^itttjlw Jtamtal. 
 
 tradition remembers him as the Whinslayer. 
 At a time when neither William nor I was of 
 an age to play smuggle, D. Fittis's wife lay 
 dying far up Glen Quharity. Her head was 
 on D. Fittis's breast, and the tears on her 
 cheeks came from his eyes. There were no 
 human beings within an hour's trudge of 
 them, and what made D. Fittis gulp was 
 that he must leave Betsy alone while he 
 ran through the long night for the Thrums 
 doctor, or sit with her till she died. 
 
 " Ye'll no leave me, Davie? " she said. 
 
 " Oh, Betsy ; if I had the doctor, ye micht 
 live ! " 
 
 Betsy did not think she could live, but she 
 knew her man writhed in his helplessness, 
 and she told him to go. 
 
 " Put on your cravat, Davie," she said, 
 " and mind and button up your coat." 
 
 " Oh, but I'm loth to gang frae ye," he 
 said when his cravat was round his neck and 
 he stood holding Betsy's hand. 
 
 " God's with me, Davie, and with you," 
 Betsy said, but she could not help clinging to 
 him, and then D. Fittis cried, " Oh, blessed 
 God, Thou who didst in Thy great wis- 
 dom make poor folk like me, in Thy hands 
 I leave this woman, and oh, Ye micht spare 
 her to me." 
 
 "Ay, but God's will be done," said Betsy. 
 "He kens best." 
 
 It was not God's will that these two should 
 
35 
 
 meet again on this earth. At the school- 
 house, which was to become my home, D. 
 Fittis found friends who hastened to his wife's 
 side, and Craigiebuckle lent him a horse on 
 which he galloped off to Thrums. But 
 among the whins of the hill the horse flung 
 him and broke his leg. D. Fittis tried to 
 crawl the rest of the way, but he was found 
 next morning in a wild state among the 
 whins, and he was never a sane man again. 
 For the remainder of his life he had but one 
 passion to cut down the whins, and many 
 a time, at early morn, at noon, and when 
 gloaming was coming on, I have seen him 
 busy among them with his scythe. They 
 grew as fast as he could cut, but he had 
 loving relatives to tend him, and was still 
 a kindly, harmless man, though his laugh 
 was empty. 
 
 William and I waded through the whins to 
 a hollow in the hill, known as the toad's hole. 
 It was here that Haggart, returning boldly 
 to Thrums four days after Chirsty had the 
 last word, fell in with D. Fittis. 
 
 ''He was cutting away at the whins," 
 Tammas remembered, " and I dinna think 
 that the whole time me and him spoke he 
 ever raised his head ; he was a terrible busy 
 man, D. Fittis." 
 
 Haggart, big with his buttons, had, doubt- 
 less, as he approached the whinslayer, the 
 bosom of a victorious soldier marching home 
 
36 
 
 to music. Nevertheless it has been noticed 
 that the warrior, who thrives on battles, 
 may, even in the hour of his greatest glory, 
 be forever laid prone by a chimney can. 
 For Tammas Haggart, confident that a few 
 minutes would see him in Tillyloss, was 
 preparing a surprise that rooted him to the 
 toad's hole like a whin. I have a poor 
 memory if I cannot remember Haggart's 
 own words on this matter. 
 
 " I stood looking at D. Fittis for a while," 
 he told me, "but I said nothing loud out, 
 though the chances are I was pitying the 
 stocky in my mind. Then I says to him in 
 an ordinary voice, not expecting a dum- 
 founding answer, I says, ' Ay, D. Fittis, and 
 is there onything fresh in Thrums ? ' 
 
 "He hacks away at the whins, but says 
 he, ' The bural's this day. ' 
 
 "'Man/ I says, 'so there's a funeral! 
 Wha's dead?' 
 
 " 'Ye ken fine/ says he, implying as the 
 thing was notorious. 
 
 " ' Na/ I says, 'I dinna ken. Wha is 
 it?' 
 
 "'Weel/ says he, 'it's Tammas Hag- 
 gart/" 
 
 Tammas always warned us here against 
 attempting to realize his feelings at these 
 monstrous words. " I dinna say I can pict- 
 ure my position now mysel'/' he said, "but 
 one thing sure is that for the moment these 
 
gtmtol 37 
 
 buttons slipped clean out of my head. It 
 was an eerie-like thing to see D. Fittis cutting 
 away at the whins after making such an 
 announcement. A common de^.th couldna 
 have affected him less. " 
 
 "'Say wha's dead again, D. Fittis/ I 
 cries, minding that the body was daft. 
 
 "'Tammas Haggart/ says he, with the 
 utmost confidence. 
 
 "'Man, D. Fittis,' I says, with uncon- 
 trolled indignation, ' ye're a big liar/ 
 
 " 'Whaever ye are,' says he, 'I would 
 lick ye for saying that if I could spare the time.' 
 
 " 'Whaever I am ! ' I cries. 'Very weel 
 ye ken I'm Tammas Haggart.' 
 
 " ' Wha's -the liar now ? ' says he. 
 
 " I was a sort of staggered at this, and I 
 says sharp-like, ' What did Tammas Haggart 
 die of? ' 
 
 "I thocht that would puzzle him, if it was 
 just his daftness that made him say I was 
 gone, but he had his cause of death ready. 
 ' He fell down the quarry,' says he. 
 
 "Weel, lads, his confidence about the 
 thing sickened me,, and I says, ' Leave these 
 whins alone, D. Fittis, and tell me all about 
 it.' 
 
 " 'I canna stop my work,' he says, 'but 
 Tammas Haggart fell down the quarry four 
 nichts since. Ou, it was in the middle of 
 the nicht, and all Thrums were sleeping when 
 it was wakened by one awful scream. It 
 
3 & tegto* jtawtat. 
 
 wakened the whole town. Ay, a heap of 
 folk sat up sudden in their beds.' 
 
 " 'And was that Tammas Haggart falling- 
 down the quarry ? ' I says, earnest-like, for 
 I was a kind of awestruck. 
 
 " ' It was so, ' says he, tearing away in 
 the whins. 
 
 " 'They didna find the body, though,' I 
 says, looking down on mysel' with satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 " 'Ay/ says he, 'the masons found it the 
 next morning, and there was a richt rush 
 of folk to see it.' 
 
 " 'Ye had been there ? ' I says. 
 
 " 'I was/ says he, 'and so was the wifie 
 as lives beneath me. She took her bairn 
 too, for she said, " It'll be something for the 
 little ane to boast about having seen when 
 he grows bigger. " Ay, man, it had been a 
 michty fall, and the face wasna recogniz- 
 able/ 
 
 " 'How did they ken, then/ says I, 'that 
 it was Tammas Haggart ? ' 
 
 " 'Ou/ says he at once, 'they kent him 
 by his top-coat/ 
 
 " Lads, of course I saw in a klink that the 
 man as stole my top-coat had fallen down 
 the quarry and been mista'en for me. Weel, 
 I nipped mysel' at that. It's an unco thing 
 to say, but I admit I was glad to have this 
 proof, as ye may call it, that it was really 
 me as was standing in the toad's hole. 
 
39 
 
 "'When did ye say the bural was? 'I 
 asked him. 
 
 " ' It's at half three this day, 'he says, 'and 
 I'll warrant it's half three now, so if ye want 
 to be sure ye're no Tammas Haggart ye can 
 see him buried/ 
 
 " I took a long look at D. Fittis, and it's 
 gospel I tell ye when I say I never liked 
 him from that minute. Then I hurried up 
 the hill to the cemetery dyke, and sat down 
 on it. Lads, I sat there, just at the very 
 corner, whaur they've since put a cross to 
 mark the spot, and I watched my am bural. 
 Yes, there I sat for near an hour, me, 
 Tammas Haggart, an ordinary man at that 
 time, getting sic an experience as has been 
 denied to the most highly edicated in the 
 land. I'm no boasting, but facts is facts. 
 
 " I'm no saying it wasna a fearsome sight, 
 for I had a terrible sinking at the heart, and 
 a mortal terror took grip of me, so that I 
 couldna have got off that dyke except by 
 falling. Ay, and when the grave was filled 
 up and the mourners had dribbled away, I 
 sat on with some uncommon thochts in my 
 mind. It would be wearing on to four 
 o'clock when I got up shivering, and walked 
 back to whaur D. Fittis was working. There 
 was a question I wanted to put to him. 
 
 " <D. Fittis/ 1 says, 'was there ony of the 
 Balribbie folk as visited Tammas Haggart's 
 wife in her affliction ? ' 
 
4o 
 
 " ' Ay/ says the crittur, trying to break a 
 supple whin with his foot, 'the wifie as lives 
 beneath me was in the house at Tillyloss 
 when in walks a grand leddy. ' 
 
 " 'So so/ I says, ' and was Chirsty ta'en 
 up like about her man being dead ? ' 
 
 " 'Ay/ says D. Fittis, 'she was greeting, 
 but as soon as the grand woman conies in, 
 Chirsty takes the wifie as lives beneath me 
 into a corner and whispers to her/ 
 
 "'D. Fittis/ I says, sternly, 'tell me 
 what Chirsty Todd whispered, for muckle 
 depends on it/ 
 
 " ' Weel/ he says, ' she whispered, "If the 
 leddy calls the corpse * Jeames ' dinna con- 
 terdict her/' 
 
 " I denounced Chirsty in my heart at that, 
 not being sufficient of a humorist to make 
 allowance for women, and I says, just to see 
 if the thing was commonly kent, I says, 
 
 " ' And wha would Jeames be ? ' 
 
 " { I dinna ken/ says D. Fittis, 'but 
 maybe you're Jeames yersel', when ye canna 
 be Tammas Haggart/ 
 
 " Lads, ye see now that it was D. Fittis 
 as put it into my head to do what I subse- 
 quently did. 'Jeames/ I said, 'I'll be frae 
 this hour/ and without another word I walked 
 off in the opposite direction frae Thrums. 
 
 "I dinna pretend as it was Chirsty's be- 
 havior alone that sent me wandering through 
 the land. I had a dread of that funeral for 
 
41 
 
 one thing, and for another I had twelve 
 gold guineas about me. Moreover, the am- 
 bition to travel took hold of me, and I 
 thocht Chirsty's worst trials was over at ony 
 rate, and that she was used to my being 
 dead now. " 
 
 "But the well-wishei Tammas ? " we 
 would say at this stage. 
 
 "Ay, I'm coming to that. I walked at a 
 michty stride alang the hill and round by 
 the road at the back of the three-cornered 
 wood to near as far as the farm of Glassal, 
 and there I sat down at the roadside. I was 
 beginning to be mair anxious about Chirsty 
 now and to think I was fell fond of her, for 
 all her exasperating ways. I was torn with 
 conflicting emotions, of which the one said, 
 * Back ye go to Tilly loss/ but the other says, 
 ' Ye'll never have a chance like this again.' 
 Weel, I could not persuade mysel', though I 
 did my best, to gang back to my loom and 
 handower the siller to Chirsty, and so, as ye 
 all ken, I compromised. I hurried back to 
 the hill " 
 
 "But ye've forgotten th 3 cheese?" 
 
 "Na, listen : I hurried back to the hill, 
 wondering how I could send a guinea to 
 Chirsty, and I minded that I had about half 
 a pound of cheese in my pouch, the which I 
 had got at a farm in Glen Quharity. Weel, 
 I shoved a guinea into the cheese, and back 
 I goes to the hill to D. Fittis. 
 
42 
 
 "'D. Fittis,' I says, 'I ken you're an 
 honest man, and I want ye to take this bit 
 of cheese to Chirsty Todd. ' 
 
 " 'Ay,' he says, Til take it, but no till 
 ^t's ower dark for me to see the whins/ 
 
 "What a busy crittur D. Fittis was, 
 and to no end ! I left the cheese with him, 
 and was off again, when he cries me 
 back. 
 
 ' ' ' Wha will I say sent the cheese ? ' he 
 asks. I considered a minute, and then I 
 says, 'Tell her/ I says, 'that it is frae a 
 well-wisher. ' 
 
 "These were my last words to D. Fittis, 
 for I was feared other folk micht see me, 
 and away I ran. Yes, lads, I covered 
 twenty miles that day, never stopping till I 
 got to Dundee." 
 
 It was Haggart's way, when he told his 
 story, to pause now and again for com- 
 ments, and this was a point where we 
 all wagged our heads, the question being 
 whether his assumption of the character of a 
 well-wisher was not a clear proof of humor. 
 "That there was humor in it," Haggart 
 would say, when summing up, "I can now 
 see, but compared to what was to follow, it 
 was neither here nor there. My humor at 
 that time was like a laddie trying to open 
 a stiff gate, and even when he did squeeze 
 past, the gate closed again with a snap. Ay, 
 lads, just listen, and ye'll hear how it came 
 
jforatot. 43 
 
 about as the gate opened wide, never to 
 close again/' 
 
 "Ye had the stuff in ye, though," Look- 
 aboutyou would say, "and therefore I'm of 
 opinion that ye've been a humorist frae the 
 cradle." 
 
 " Little you ken about it," Haggart would 
 answer. "No doubt I had the material of 
 humor in me, but it was raw. I'm thinking 
 cold water and kail and carrots and a penny 
 bone are the materials broth is made of ? " 
 ' ' They are, they are. " 
 " Ay, but it's no broth till it boils ! " 
 " So it's no. Ye're richt, Tammas." 
 "Weel, then, it's the same with humor. 
 Considering me as a humorist, ye micht say 
 that when my travels began I had put my 
 sel' on the fire to boil." 
 
44 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE WANDERINGS OF HAGGART. 
 
 NOT having a Haggart head on my 
 shoulders I dare not attempt to follow the 
 explorer step by step during his wanderings 
 of the next five months. In that time he 
 journeyed through at least one country, un- 
 consciously absorbing everything that his 
 conjurer's wand could turn to humor when 
 the knack came to him. This admission he 
 has himself signed in conversation. 
 
 "Ay," he said, " I was like a blind beg- 
 gar in these days, and the dog that led me 
 by a string was my impulses." 
 
 Most of us let this pass, with the reflec- 
 tion that Haggart could not have said it in 
 his pre-humorous days, but Snecky Hobart 
 put in his word. 
 
 "Ye were hardly like the blind beggar," 
 he said, ' ' for ye didna carry a tanker for folk 
 to put bawbees in. " 
 
 Snecky explained afterwards that he only 
 spoke to give Haggart an opportunity. It 
 was, indeed, the way of all of us, when we 
 saw an opening, to coax Tammas into it 
 
gt- Ultjlo0 Jtawdal. 45 
 
 So sportsmen of another kind can point out 
 the hare to their dogs, and confidently await 
 results. 
 
 " Ye're wrang, Snecky," replied Haggart. 
 
 As ever, before shooting his bolt, he then 
 paused. His mouth was open, and he had 
 the appearance of a man hearkening in- 
 tensely for some communication from below. 
 There were those who went the length of 
 hinting that on these occasions something 
 inside jumped to his mouth and told him 
 what to say. 
 
 "Yes, Snecky," he said at last, "ye're 
 wrang. My mouth was the tanker, and the 
 folk I met had all to pay toll, as ye may 
 say, for they dropped things into my mouth 
 that my humor turns to as muckle account 
 as though they were bawbees. I'm no 
 sure " 
 
 "There's no many things ye're no sure 
 of, Tammas." 
 
 " And this is no one of them. It's just a 
 form of expression, and if ye interrupt me 
 again, Snecky Hobart, I'll say a sarcastic 
 thing about you that instant. What I was 
 to say was that I'm no sure but what a 
 humorist swallows everybody whole that he 
 fads in with." 
 
 The impossibility of telling everything 
 that befell Haggart in his wanderings is best 
 proved in his own words : 
 
 "My adventures," he said, "was so 
 
46 
 
 surprising thick that when I cast them over 
 in my mind I'm like a man in a corn-field, 
 and every stalk of corn an adventure. Lads, 
 it's useless to expect me to give you the 
 history of ilka stalk. I rax out my left 
 hand, and I grip something, namely, an ad- 
 venture ; or I rax out my right hand and 
 grip something, namely, another adventure. 
 Well, by keeping straight on in ony direction 
 we wade through adventures till we get out 
 of the field, that is to say, till we land back 
 at Thrums. Ye say my adventures sounds 
 different on different nichts. Precisely, for 
 it all depends on which direction I splash 
 off in." 
 
 Without going the length of saying that 
 Haggart splashed more than was necessary, 
 I may perhaps express regret that he never 
 saw his way to clearing up certain disputed 
 passages in his wanderings. I would, I 
 know, be ill-thought of among the friends 
 who survive him if I stated for a fact that he 
 never reached London. There was a gen- 
 eral wish that he should have taken London 
 in his travels, and if Haggart had a weakness 
 it was his reluctance to disappoint an audi- 
 ence. I must own that he trod down his 
 corn-field pretty thoroughly before his hand 
 touched the corn-stalk called London, and 
 that his London reminiscences never seemed 
 to me to have quite the air of reality that 
 filled his recollections of Edinburgh. Ad- 
 
47 
 
 mitted that he confirmed glibly as an eye- 
 witness the report that London houses have 
 io gardens (except at the back), it remains 
 undoubted that Craigiebuckle confused him 
 with the question : 
 
 "What do they charge in London for 
 half-a-pound of boiling beef and a penny 
 bone ? " 
 
 Haggart answered, but after a pause, as 
 if he had forgotten the price, which scarcely 
 seems natural. However, I do not say that 
 he was never in London, and certainly his 
 curious adventures in it are still retailed, 
 especially one with an ignorant policeman 
 who could not tell him which was the road 
 to Thrums, and another with the doorkeeper 
 of the House of Parliament, who, on being 
 asked by Haggart "How much was to 
 pay ? " foolishly answered ' ' What you 
 please." 
 
 But though I heartily approve the feeling 
 in Thrums against those carping critics who 
 would slice bits off the statue which we may 
 be said to have reared to Haggart's memory, 
 some of the stories now fondly cherished are 
 undoubtedly mythical. For instance, what- 
 ever Lookaboutyou may say, I do not 
 believe that Haggart once flung a clod of 
 earth at the Pope. It is perfectly true that 
 some such story got abroad, but if counte- 
 nanced by Haggart it was only because 
 Chirsty had her own reasons_for wanting 
 
48 
 
 him to stand well with the Auld Licht minis- 
 ter. Often Haggart was said in his own 
 presence to have had adventures in such 
 places as were suddenly discovered by us in 
 the newspapers, places that had acquired a 
 public interest, say, because of a murder ; 
 and then he neither agreed that he had been 
 there nor allowed that he had not. Thus 
 it is reasonable to believe that his less dis- 
 criminating admirers splashed out of Hag- 
 gart's corn-field into some other body's with- 
 out noticing that they had crossed the dyke. 
 His silence at those times is a little aggra- 
 vating to his chronicler now, but I would 
 be the first to defend it against detractors. 
 Unquestionably the length of time during 
 which Haggart would put his under lip over 
 the upper one, and so shut the door on 
 words, was one of the grandest proofs of his 
 humor. However plentiful the water in the 
 dam may be, there are occasions when it is 
 hanc^y to let down the sluice. 
 
 I the more readily grant that certain of 
 the Haggart stones may have been plucked 
 from the wrong fields, because there still 
 remain a sufficient number of authenticated 
 ones to fill the mind with rapture. A sta- 
 tistician could tell how far they would reach 
 round the world, supposing they were rep- 
 resented by a brick apiece, or how long 
 they would take to pass through a doorway 
 on each other's heels. We never attempted 
 
SMtgtow ^cattdai ' 49 
 
 to count them. Being only average men 
 we could not conveniently carry beyond a 
 certain number of the stories about with us, 
 and thus many would doubtless now be lost 
 were it not that some of us loaded ourselves 
 with one lot and others with another. Each 
 had his favorites, and Haggart supplied us 
 with the article we wanted, just as if he and 
 we were on opposite sides of a counter. 
 Thus when we discuss him now we may 
 have new things to tell of him ; nay, even 
 the descendants of his friends are worth 
 listening to on Haggart, for the stories have 
 been passed on from father to son. 
 
 Some enjoyed most his reminiscences of 
 how he felt each time he had to cut off 
 another button. 
 
 " Lads," he said, " I wasna unlike a doc- 
 tor. Ye mind Doctor Skene saying as how 
 the young doctors at the college grew faint 
 like at first when they saw blood gushing, 
 but by and by they became so michty hardy 
 that they could off with a leg as cool as 
 though they were just hacking sticks ? " 
 
 " Ay, he said that." 
 
 " Weel, that was my sensation. When 
 I cut off the first button it was like sticking 
 the knife into mysel', and I did it in the dark 
 because I hadna the heart to look on. Ay, 
 the next button was a stiff job too, but after 
 that I grew what ye may call hard-hearted, 
 and it's scarce going beyond the truth to 'say 
 
 4 
 
50 ^ MtylWtf 
 
 that a time came when I had a positive 
 pleasure in sending the siller flying. I 
 dinna ken, thinking the thing out calmly 
 now, but what I was like a wild beast drunk 
 with blood/' 
 
 "What was the most ye ever spent in a 
 week ? " 
 
 "I could tell ye that, but I would rather 
 ye wanted to ken what was the most I ever 
 spent in a nicht. " 
 
 " How muckle? " 
 
 "Try a guess." 
 
 "Twa shillings?" 
 
 "Twa shillings!" cried Haggart, with a 
 contempt that would have been severe had 
 the coins been pennies ; "ay, sax shillings 
 is nearer the mark." 
 
 "In one nicht?" 
 
 "Ay, in one single nicht." 
 
 "Ye must have lost some of it ? " 
 
 "Not a bawbee. Ah, T'nowhead, man, 
 ye little ken how the money goes in grand 
 towns. Them as lives like lords must 
 spend like lords." 
 
 "That's reasonable enough, but I would 
 like to hear the price of ilka thing ye got 
 that nicht?" 
 
 "And I could tell ye. What do ye say 
 to a shilling and saxpence for a bed? " 
 
 "I say it was an intake/" 
 
 "Of course it was, but I didna grudge 1 , it.' 1 
 
 "Ye didna?" 
 
5 1 
 
 "No, I didna. It was in Edinburgh, and 
 my last nicht in the place, and also my last 
 button, so I thinks to mysel' I'll have one 
 tremendous, memorable nicht, and then I'll 
 go hame. Lads, I was a sort of wearying 
 forChirsty." 
 
 "Ay, but there's four shillings and sax- 
 pence to account for yet." 
 
 "There is so. Saxpence of it goes for 
 a glass of whisky in the smoking-room. 
 Lads, that smoking-room was a sight utterly 
 baffling imagination. There was no chairs 
 in it except great muckle saft ones, a hantle 
 safter than a chaff bed, and in ilka chair 
 some nobleman or other with his feet up in 
 the air. Ay, I a sort of slipped the first 
 time I tried a chair, but I wasna to be beat, 
 for thinks I, ' Lords ye may be, but I have 
 paid one and sax for my bed as weel as 
 you, and this nicht I'll be a lord too ! ' 
 Keeping the one and sax before me made 
 me bold, and soon I was sprawling in a 
 chair with my legs sticking ower the arm 
 with the best of them. Ay, it wasna so 
 much enjoyable as awe-inspiring." 
 
 "That just brings ye up to twa shillings." 
 
 ' ' Weel, there was another one and sax 
 for breakfast. " 
 
 "Astounding! " 
 
 ' ' Oh, a haver, of course, but we got as 
 muckle as we liked, and I assure ye it's 
 amazing how much ye can eat, when ye 
 
52 
 
 ken ye have to pay for it at ony rate. Then 
 there was ninepence for a luncheon." 
 
 ' ' What's that ? " 
 
 ' ' I didna ken mysel' when I heard them 
 speaking about it, but it turned out to be a 
 grand name for a rabbit." 
 
 "Man, is there rabbits in Edinburgh?" 
 
 " Next there was threepence of a present 
 to the waiter-loon, and I finished up with a 
 shilling's worth of sangwiches." 
 
 " Na, that's just five and saxpence. " 
 
 Haggart, however, would not always tell 
 how the remaining sixpence went. At 
 first he admitted having squandered it on 
 the theater, but after he was landed by 
 Chirsty in the Auld Licht kirk he with- 
 drew this reminiscence, and put another 
 sixpence-worth in the smoking-room in its 
 place. 
 
 As a convincing proof of the size of Edin- 
 burgh, Haggart could tell us how he lost his 
 first lodgings in it. They were next house 
 to a shop which had a great show of vege- 
 tables on a board at the door, and Haggart 
 trusted to this shop as a landmark. When 
 he returned to the street, however, there 
 were greengrocery shops everywhere, and 
 after asking at a number of doors if it was 
 here he lived, he gave up the search. This 
 experience has been paralleled in later days 
 by a Tilliedrum minister, who went for a 
 holiday to London, and forgot the name of 
 
53 
 
 the hotel he was staying at ; so he tele- 
 graphed to Tilliedrum to his wife, asking 
 her to tell him what address he had given 
 her when he wrote, and she telegraphed 
 back to him to come home at once. 
 
 Like all the great towns Haggart visited, 
 Edinburgh proved to be running with low 
 characters, with whom, as well as with the 
 flowers of the place for he was received 
 everywhere he had many strange advent- 
 ures. His affair with the bailie would make 
 a long story itself, if told in full as he told 
 it ; also what he did to the piper ; how he 
 climbed up the Castle rocks for a wager ; 
 why he once marched indignantly out of a 
 church in the middle of the singing ; the cir- 
 cumstances in which he cut off his sixth 
 button ; his heroic defense of a lady who 
 had been attacked by a footpad ; his advent- 
 ures with the soldier who was in love and 
 had a silver snuffbox ; his odd meeting with 
 James Stewart, lawful King of Great Britain 
 and Ireland. With this personage, between 
 whom and a throne there only stood the 
 constables, Haggart of Thrums hobnobbed 
 on equal terms. The way they met was 
 this. Haggart was desirous of the sensation 
 of driving in a carnage, but grudged much 
 outlay on an experience that would soon be 
 over. He accordingly opened the door of a 
 street vehicle and stepped in, when the 
 driver was not looking. They had a pleas- 
 
54 ^ Cfttgfea 
 
 ant drive along- famous Princes Street, and 
 would probably have gone farther had not 
 Haggart become aware that some one was 
 hanging on behind. In his indignation he 
 called the driver's attention to this, which 
 led to his own eviction. The hanger-on 
 proved to be no other than the hapless 
 monarch, with whom Haggart subsequently 
 broke a button. For a king, James Stew- 
 art, who disguised his royal person in cordu- 
 roys, was, as Haggart allowed, very ill in 
 order. The spite of the authorities had 
 crushed that once proud spirit, and darkened 
 his intellect, and he took his friend to a 
 gambling-house, where he nodded to the 
 proprietor. 
 
 " Whether they were in company, with 
 designs on my buttons," Haggart has said, 
 " I'm not in a position to say, but I bear no 
 ill-will to them. They treated me most 
 honorable. Ay, the king, as we may call 
 him if we speak in a low voice, advises me 
 strong to gamble a button at one go, for, 
 says he, 'You're sure to win.' Lads, it's no 
 for me to say a word against him, but I 
 thocht I saw him wink to the proprietor lad, 
 and so I says in a loud voice, says I, ' I'll 
 gamble half-a-crown first, and if I win, then 
 I'll put down a button.' The proprietor a 
 sort of nods to the king at that, and I plunks 
 down my half-crown. Weel, lads, I won five 
 shillings in a clink." 
 
55 
 
 " Ay, but they were just waiting for your 
 guinea." 
 
 "It may have been so, Andrew, but we 
 have no proof of that ; for, ye see, as soon 
 as I got the five shillings and had buttoned 
 it up in my pouch, I says, ' I'll be stepping 
 hame now/ I says, and away I goes. Ye 
 canna say but what they treated me honor- 
 able. " 
 
 "They had looked thrawn ? " 
 
 " Ou, they did; but a man's face is his 
 own to twist it as he pleases. '" 
 
 "And ye never saw the king again ? " 
 
 "Ay, I met him after that in a close. I 
 gave the aristocratic crittur saxpence." 
 
 "I'll tell ye what, Tammas Haggart : if 
 he was proclaimed king, he would very 
 likely send for ye to the palace and make 
 ye a knight." 
 
 "Man, Snecky, I put him through his 
 catechism on that very subject, but he had 
 no hope. Ye canna think how complete 
 despondent he was. " 
 
 "Ye' re sure he was a genuine Pretender? " 
 
 "Na faags ! But when ye're traveling it 
 doesna do to let on what ye think, and I 
 own it's a kind of satisfaction to me now to 
 picture mysel' diddling a king out of five 
 shillings.'" 
 
 "It's a satisfaction to everybody in 
 Thrums, Tammas, and more particular to 
 Tillyloss." 
 
$6 
 
 " Ay, Tilly has the credit of it in a man- 
 ner of speaking. And it was just touch and 
 go, lads, that Ididna do a thing with the siller 
 as would have commemorated that advent- 
 ure among future ages. " 
 
 "Ay, man ? " 
 
 " I had the notion to get bawbees for the 
 money, namely, one hundred and thirty-twa 
 bawbees, for of course I didna count the 
 saxpence. Well, what was I to do with 
 them ? " 
 
 "Put the whole lot in the kirk-plate the 
 first Sabbath day after ye came back to 
 Thrums ? " 
 
 " Na, na. My idea was to present a baw- 
 bee to a hundred and thirty-twa folk in 
 Thrums, so as they .could keep it round their 
 necks or in a drawer as a memento of one 
 of their humble fellow-townsman." 
 
 ' ' No humble, surely ? " 
 
 " Maybe no, but when ye do a thing in a 
 big public way it's the proper custom to 
 speak of yersel' as a puir crittur, and leave 
 the other speakers to tell the truth about ye." 
 
 "It's a pity ye didna carry out that no- 
 tion." 
 
 " Na, it's no, for I had a better ane after, 
 the which I did carry out. " 
 
 "Yea?" 
 
 "Ay, I bocht a broach to Chirsty with the 
 siller. " 
 
 " Ho, ho, that's whaur she got the broach ? " 
 
57 
 
 " It is so, and though I dinna want to 
 boast, nobody having less need to do so, I 
 can tell ye it was the biggest broach in Edin- 
 burgh at the price. " 
 
 Edinburgh was only a corner in Haggart's 
 field of corn, and from it I have not pulled 
 half-a-dozen stalks. He was in various other 
 great centers of adventure, and even in 
 wandering between them he had experiences 
 such as would have been a load for any ordi- 
 nary man's back. Once he turned showman, 
 when the actors were paid in the pennie? 
 flung at them by admirers in the audience. 
 Haggart made for himself a long blood-red 
 nose, which proved such an irresistible tar- 
 get for moneyed sportsmen that the other 
 players complained to the management. He 
 sailed up canals swarming with monsters of 
 the deep. He proved such an agreeable 
 companion at farms that sometimes he had 
 to escape in the night. He rescued a child 
 from drowning and cowed a tiger by the 
 power of the human eye, exactly as these 
 things are done in a book which belonged to 
 Chirsty. He had eleven guineas with him 
 when he set out, and without a note-book 
 he could tell how every penny of the money 
 was spent. Prices, indeed, he remembered 
 better than anything. 
 
 I might as well attempt to walk up the 
 wall of a house as to cut my way through 
 Haggart's corn-field. Before arriving at the 
 
58 
 
 field I thought to get through it by taking the 
 buttons one by one, but here I am at the end 
 of a chapter, and scarcely any of the corn is 
 behind me. I now see that no biographer 
 will ever be able to treat Haggart on the 
 grand scale he demands ; for humility will 
 force .those who knew him in his prime to 
 draw back scared from the attempt, while 
 younger admirers have not the shadow of 
 his personality to warn them of their respon- 
 sibility. For my own part, I publicly back 
 out of the field, and sit down on the doctor's 
 dyke awaiting Haggart's return to Thrums. 
 
59 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE RETURN OF HAGGART. 
 
 HAGGART came home on a Saturday even- 
 ing, when the water-barrels were running 
 over, and our muddy roads had lost their 
 grip. But at all times he took small note of 
 the weather, and often said it was a fine day 
 out of politeness to the acquaintances he 
 met casually, when Tillyloss dripped in rain. 
 To a man who has his loom for master it 
 only occurs as an after-thought to look out 
 at the window. 
 
 His shortest and natural route would have 
 taken the wanderer to Tillyloss without zig- 
 zagging him through the rest of Thrums, but 
 he made a circuit of the town, and came 
 marching down the Roods. 
 
 ' ' I wanted to burst upon the place sudden- 
 like," he admitted, "and to let everybody 
 see me. I dinna deny but what it was a 
 proud moment, lads, as Thrums came in 
 sicht. I had naturally a sort of contempt for 
 the placey, and yet I was fell awid to be 
 back in it too, just as a body is glad to slip 
 into his bed at nicht. Ay, foreign parts is 
 
60 
 
 grand for adventure, but Thrums for com- 
 pany." 
 
 At the top of the Roods he was recognized 
 by two boys who had been to a farm for 
 milk, and were playing at swinging their 
 flagon over their heads without dropping its 
 contents. The apparition stayed the flagon 
 in the air, and the boys clattered off scream- 
 ing. Their father had subsequently high 
 words with Tammas, who refused to refund 
 the price of the milk. 
 
 "Though my expectations was high," 
 Haggart said, ' ' they were completely beaten 
 by the reality. Nothing could have been 
 more gratifying than the sensation I created, 
 not only among laddies and lassies but 
 among grown men and women. Very weel 
 I ken that Dan'l Strachan pretends he stood 
 his ground when I came upon him at the 
 mouth of Saunders Rae's close, but whaur 
 was the honor in that, when the crittur was 
 paralyzed with fear ? Ay, he wasna the 
 only man that lost his legs in the Roods that 
 day ; Will'um Crewe being another. Snecky 
 Hobart, you was one of them as I walked 
 into at Peter Lambie's shop door, and I'll 
 never speak to ye again if ye dinna allow as 
 I scattered ye like a showman in the square 
 does when he passes round the hat." 
 
 " I allow, Tammas, as I made my feet my 
 friend that nicht." 
 
 " And did I no send the women flying and 
 
angtai jfamfal. 6 1 
 
 skirling in all directions ? Was it me or was 
 it no me that made Mysy Dinnie faint on 
 her back in the corner of the school-wynd ?" 
 
 "It was you, Tammas, and michty boast- 
 ful the crittur was when she came to, and 
 heard she had fainted." 
 
 "And there's a curran women as says 
 they hung out at their windows looking at 
 me. I would like to hear of one proved 
 case in which ony woman did that except at 
 a second story window ? 
 
 "Sal! they didna dare look out at low 
 windows. Na, they were more like putting 
 on their shutters. 
 
 "And did some of them no bar their 
 doors, and am I lying when I say Lisbeth 
 Whamand up with her bairn out of the cradle 
 and ran to the door of the Auld Licht kirk, 
 thinking I couldna harm her there ? " 
 
 " You're speaking gospel, Tammas. And 
 it wasna to be wondered at that we should 
 be terrified, seeing we had buried ye five 
 months before. " 
 
 "I'm no saying it was unnatural. I 
 would have been particular annoyed if ye 
 had been so stupid as to stand your ground. 
 And what's more, if I had met the Auld 
 Licht minister he would have run like the 
 rest. " 
 
 But this oft-repeated assertion of Haggart's 
 was usually received in silence. His 
 extraordinary imagination enabled him to 
 
62 
 
 conceive this picture, but to such a height 
 we never rose. 
 
 By the time Haggart reached the Tene- 
 ments the town had sufficiently recovered 
 to follow him at a distance. How he 
 looked to the populace has been frequently 
 discussed, Peter Lambie's description being 
 regarded as the best. 
 
 'Them of you," Peter would say, drawn 
 to the door of his shop by Haggart groups, 
 " as has been to the Glen Quharity Hieland 
 sports, can call to mind the competition for 
 best-dressed Hielander. The Hielanders 
 stands in their glory in a row, and the grand 
 leddies picks out the best-dressed one. 
 Weel, the competitors tries to look as if they 
 didna ken they were being admired, imply- 
 ing as they're indifferent to whether they get 
 the prize or no, but, all the time, there's a 
 sort of pleased smirk on their faces, mixed 
 up with a natural anxiety. Ay, then, that's 
 the look Tammas Haggart had when he 
 passed my shop. " 
 
 "But ye saw a change come over him, 
 did ye no ? " 
 
 " I did. I was among them as ran after 
 him along the Tenements, and, though I 
 just saw his back, it wasna the back he had 
 on when he passed my shop. I would say,- 
 judging from his back, as his chest was 
 sticking out, and he walked with a sort of 
 strut, like the Hielander as has won the 
 
Jftandal. 63 
 
 prize and kens it would be a haver to make 
 pretense of modesty ony more." 
 
 "But ye never saw me look back, Pete," 
 Haggart said, when Lambie's version was 
 presented to him. 
 
 " Na, it was astonishing how ye could 
 have kept frae turning your head. Ye was 
 like one unaware that there was sic a crowd 
 running after ye." 
 
 "Ay, lad, but very weel I kent for all 
 that. Thinks I to mysel' as I walks on 
 before ye 'This scene winna be forgotten 
 for many a year/ ' 
 
 "And it will not, Tammas. It did the 
 work of the town for a nine days. Ay, I've 
 often said myself that you walked hame that 
 nicht more like a circus procession than a 
 single man. The only thing I a kind of 
 shake my head at is your saying ye wasna 
 a humorist at that time." 
 
 "I didnajust gang that length, Pete. I 
 was a humorist and I wasna a humorist. 
 My humor was just peeping out of its hole 
 like a rabbit, as ye micht say. " 
 
 "Ye said as when ye started on your 
 wanderings it was like putting yoursel', con- 
 sidered as a humorist, on the fire to boil. 
 Weel, then, I say as ye had come aboil when 
 ye marched through Thrums. " 
 
 "Na, Lookaboutyou, it's an ingenious 
 argument that ; but ye've shot ower the top 
 of the target, lad. Ye've all seen water so 
 
terrible near the boil that if ye touch it with 
 your finger it does begin to boil ? " 
 
 "Ay, that's true ; but a spoon is better to 
 touch it with, in case you burn your finger/' 
 
 Lookaboutyou got a laugh for this, which 
 annoyed Tammas. 
 
 "Take care, Lookaboutyou," he said, warn- 
 ingly, " or I'll let ye see as my humor can 
 burn too. I ken a sarcastic thing to say to 
 ye, my man." 
 
 " But what about the water so near the 
 boil ? " asked Hobart, while Lookaboutyou 
 shrunk back. 
 
 "My humor was in that condition," said 
 Haggart, still eying the foolish farmer threat- 
 eningly, "when I came back to Thrums. 
 It just needed a touch to make it boil." 
 
 " And, sal, it got the touch ! " 
 
 ' ' Ay, I admit that ; but no till the Monday. " 
 
 We go back to the march from the Roods 
 to Tillyloss. In less time than it would 
 have taken Haggart to bring his sarcastic 
 shaft from the depths where he stowed these 
 things and fire it into Lookaboutyou, he had 
 walked triumphantly to Tillyloss, and turned 
 up the road that was presently to be named 
 after him. His tail of fellow-townsmen 
 came to a stop at the pump, where they had 
 a good view of Haggart's house, all but a 
 few daring ones, nearly all women, who 
 ran up the dyke, in hope of witnessing the 
 meeting with Chirsty. 
 
Jfowdat. 65 
 
 "I suppose, lads/' Haggart said to us, 
 "that ye're thinking my arrival at Tilly- 
 loss was the crowning moment of my 
 glory?" 
 
 "It was bound to be." 
 
 "So ye think, Andrew; but that just 
 shows how little ye ken about the human 
 heart I got as far as Tillyloss terribly 
 windy at the way ye had honored me ; but, 
 lads, something came ower me at sicht of 
 that auld outside stair. Ay, it had a michty 
 hame-like look." 
 
 " I've heard tell ye stopped and gazed at 
 it, like grand folk admiring the view." 
 
 "Ay, lathies, I daursay I did so ; but it 
 wasna the view I was thinking about. I'll 
 warrant ye couldna say what was in my 
 mind ? " 
 
 " Your funeral ? " 
 
 " I never gave it a thocht. Na, but I'll 
 tell ye : I was thinking of Chirsty Todd." 
 
 "Ay, and the startle she was to get ? " 
 
 ' ' No, Snecky ; it's an astonishing thing, 
 but the moment my een saw that outside 
 stair I completely lost heart, and frae being 
 lifted up with pride, down goes my courage 
 like -a bucket in a well. Was it the stair 
 as terrified me ? Na, it was Chirsty Todd. 
 Lads, I faced the whole drove of ye as bold 
 as a king sitting down at the head of his tea- 
 table ; but the thocht of Chirsty Todd brocht 
 my legs to a stop. Ay, for all we may say 
 
66 
 
 to the contrairy, is there a man in Thrums 
 as hasna a kind of fear of his wife ? " 
 
 At this question Haggart's listeners usually 
 looked different ways. 
 
 "Lads," continued Tammas, "it ran 
 through me suddenly, like a cold blast of 
 wind 'What if Chirsty shouldna be glad to 
 see me back ? ' and I regretted michty that 
 I hadna halved the guineas with her. Ay, 
 I tell ye openly, as I found mysel' getting 
 smaller, like a gas-ball with a hole in it, and 
 I a kind of lost sight of all I had to boast 
 of. I was ashamed of mysel', and also in 
 mortal terror of Chirsty Todd. Ay, but I 
 never let her ken that : na, na ; a man has to 
 be wary about what he tells his wife. " 
 
 "He has so, for she's sure to fling it at 
 him by and by like a wet clout. Women 
 has terrible memories for what ye blurt out 
 to them." 
 
 " Ye're repeating my words, Rob, as if they 
 were your own ; but what ye say is true. 
 Women doesna understand about men's 
 minds being profounder than theirs, and con- 
 sequently waur to manage." 
 
 "That's so, and it's a truth ye daurna 
 mention to them. But ye was come to the 
 outside stair, Tammas." 
 
 "Ay, I was. Lads, I climbed that stair all 
 of a tremble, and my hand was shaking so 
 muckle that for a minute I couldna turn the 
 handle of the door. " 
 
ftiUyte* Jfarotal 67 
 
 " We saw as ye a sort of tottered." 
 
 "Ay, I was uneasy ; and even when the 
 door opened I didna just venture inside. 
 Na, I had a feeling as it was a judicious 
 thing to keep a grip of the door. Weel, 
 lathies, I stood there keeking in, and what 
 does I see but Chirsty Todd sitting into the 
 fire, with my auld pipe in her mouth. Ay, 
 there she sat blasting." 
 
 " How did that affect ye, Tammas ? " 
 
 "How did it affect me? It angered me 
 most michty to see her enjoying hersel', and 
 me thocht to be no more. 
 
 " ' Ye heartless limmer/ I says to mysel', 
 and that reminds me as a man is master in 
 his own house, so I bangs the door to and 
 walks in." 
 
 " Wha spoke first ? " 
 
 "Oh, I spoke first. I spoke just as her 
 een lichted on me." 
 
 " Ye had said a memorable thing? " 
 
 "I canna say I did. No, Pete. I just 
 gave her a sly kind of look, and I says, ' Ay, 
 Chirsty. ' " 
 
 "She screamed, they say ? " 
 
 "She did so, and the pipe fell from her 
 mouth. Ay, it's a gratification to me to ken 
 that she did scream." 
 
 "And what happened next ? " 
 
 "She spied at me suspiciously ; and says 
 she, * Tammas Haggart, are you in the 
 flesh ? ' to which I replies, 'I am so, Chirsty.' 
 
68 
 
 * Then, ' cries she, sharply, ' take your dirty 
 feet off my clean floor ! ; " 
 
 "And did ye? " 
 
 "Ay, I put them on the fender; and she 
 cries, 'Take your dirty feet off the fender.* 
 
 "Lads, I thocht it was best to sing small, 
 so I took off my boots, and she sat glowering 
 at me, but never speaking. 'Ay, Chirsty/ 
 I says, ' ye've had rain I'm thinking ; ' and 
 she says, ' The rain's neither here nor there ; 
 the question is, How did you break out ? ' 
 Ay, the crittur thocht I had broken out of 
 my grave." 
 
 "We all thocht that." 
 
 "Nat'rally ye did. Weel, I began my 
 story at the beginning but with the impa- 
 tience of a woman she aye said, ' I dinna 
 want to hear that, I want to ken how you 
 broke out ! ' ; 
 
 " But she wanted to hear about the siller 
 in the buttons ? " 
 
 "Ay, but I tried to slither ower the but- 
 tons, fearing she would be mad at me for 
 spending them. And, losh, mad she was ! 
 I explained to her as I put them to good 
 use by improving my mind, but she says, 
 
 * Dinna blether about your mind tome, or 
 I'll take the poker to ye ! ' Chirsty was 
 always fond of language." 
 
 "But what about the Well-wisher? " 
 "Oh, that was a queery. I says to 
 Chirsty, 'I did not forget your sufferings, 
 
69 
 
 Chirsty, for I'm the Well-wisher/ At first 
 She didna understand, but then she minds 
 and says, ' It was you as sent that bit cheese 
 with D. Fittis, was it ? ' Lads, then it came 
 out as the cheese was standing in the press 
 untouched. Ay, I tore it in twa with my 
 hands, and out rolls the guinea. She had 
 never dreamed of there being siller in the 
 cheese." 
 
 "Na, she was terrified to touch the cheese. 
 I mind when I could have bocht it frae her 
 for twa or three bawbees. Ay, what chances 
 a body misses ! But she had been pleasanter 
 with ye after she got the guinea ? " 
 
 "I can hardly say that. She nipped it up 
 quick, and tells me to go on with my story. 
 Weel, I did so in a leisurely way, her aye 
 nagging at me to come to the quarry, as I 
 soon had to do. I need scarce tell yc she 
 was michty surprised it wasna me ye buried, 
 but, after that was cleared up, I saw her 
 mind wasna on what I was saying to her. 
 No, lads, I was the length of Dundee in my 
 story when she jumps up, and away she 
 goes to the lowest shelf in the dresser. I 
 stopped in my talk and watched her. She 
 pulls out the iron and lays it on the table, 
 then she shoves a heater into the fire, and 
 brings an auld dicky out of a drawer. Lads, 
 I had a presentiment what she was after." 
 
 " 'What are ye doing, Chirsty?' I says 
 with misgivings. 
 
70 
 
 " 
 
 m to iron a dicky for ye to wear to 
 morrow/ she cries, and she kicks my foot 
 off the fender. 
 
 "'I'm no going to the kirk/ I warns 
 her. 
 
 ' * ' Are ye no ? ' says she ; ' ye gang twice, 
 Tammas Haggart, though the Auld Licht 
 minister has to drive ye to the door with a 
 stick." 
 
 "Ay, when I heard she had joined the 
 Auld Lichts I kent I was 4one with lazy 
 Sabbaths. Weel, she ironed away at that 
 dicky with tremendous energy, and then 
 all at once she lays down the iron and she 
 cries, 
 
 "'Keep us all, I had forgotten!' She 
 was the picture of woe. 
 
 " 'What's the matter, Chirsty?' I says. 
 
 "She stood there wringing her hands. 
 
 " ' Ye canna gang to the kirk/ she moans, 
 ' for ye have no clothes. ' 
 
 "'No clothes !' I cries. 'I have my 
 blacks/ 
 
 " ' They're gone/ she says. 
 
 " 'Gone, ye limmer?' I says, 'Wha has 
 them ? ' 
 
 "'Davit Whamand/ she says, 'has the 
 coat, and Render Haggart the waistcoat 
 and the hat/ 
 
 "Ay, lads, I can tell ye this composedly 
 now, but I was fuming at the time. Chirsty 's 
 passion for genteelity was such that she had 
 
^caudal 71 
 
 imitated grand folk's customs and given 
 away the clothes as had been worn by the 
 corpse." 
 
 "That came of taking a wife frae Bal- 
 ribbie." 
 
 "Ay, and it's not the only proof of 
 Chirsty's vanity, for, as ye all ken, she 
 continued to wear her crape to the kirk long 
 after I came back." 
 
 "Because she thocht it set her ? " 
 
 "Ou, rather, just because she had it. 
 But it was aggravating to me to have to 
 walk with her to the kirk, and her in widow's 
 crapes. It would have provoked an ordi- 
 nary man to the drink." 
 
 " It would so, but what said ye when ye 
 heard the blacks was gone ? " 
 
 "Said? It wasna a time for saying. I 
 shoved my feet into my boots and flung on 
 my bonnet, and hurries to the door. 
 
 " ' Whaur are ye going ? ' cries Chirsty. 
 
 " ( To demand back my blacks/ I says, 
 dashing open the door with my fist. Ye 
 may mind there was some of ye keeking in 
 at the door and the window, trying to 
 hearken to the conversation. " 
 
 "Ay, and we flew frae ye as If ye was 
 the Riot Act. But we was thinking by that 
 time as ye micht be a sort of living." 
 
 "Maybe, but I wasna thinking about 
 you. Na, it was the blacks as was on my 
 mind, and away I goes." 
 
72 ^ M\$v&$ jfrmttal 
 
 "Ye ran/' 
 
 "Yes, I ran straight to the Tenements to 
 Davit Whamand's house. Lads, I said 
 the pot was very near the boil when I 
 marched down the Roods, but my humor 
 was getting cold again. Ay, Chirsty Todd 
 had suddenly lifted the pot off the fire." 
 
gtmfal. 73 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN WHICH A BIRTH IS RECORDED. 
 
 ""DAVIT'S collie barked at me," Haggart 
 continued, "when it heard me lifting the 
 sneck of the door, but I cowed it with a stern 
 look, and stepped inside. The wife was 
 away cracking about me to 'Lizzie Linn, but 
 there was Davit himsel' with a bantam cock 
 on his knee, the which was ailing, and he 
 was forcing a little butter into its nib. He 
 let the beast fall when he saw me, and I was 
 angered to notice as he had been occupied 
 with the bantam when he should have been 
 discussing me with consternation." 
 
 " It was the greater surprise to him when 
 in ye marched." 
 
 "Ay, but my desire to be thocht a ghost 
 had gone, and I says at once, ' Dinna stand 
 trembling there, Davit Whamand/ I says, 
 * for I'm in the flesh, and so you'll please 
 hand ower my black coat ! ' He hardly 
 believed I was human at first, but at the 
 mention of the coat he grows stiff and hard, 
 and says he, ' What black coat ? ' 
 
 "' Deception will not avail ye, Davit 
 
74 
 
 Whamand, ' says I, ' for Chirsty has con- 
 fessed all.' 
 
 " 'The coat's mine/ says Davit, glower- 
 ing. 
 
 " ' I want that coat direct/ I says. 
 
 " 'Think shame o' yoursel/says he, 'and 
 you a corpse this half year/ 
 
 " The crittur tried to speak like a minister, 
 but I waved away his argument with my 
 hand. 
 
 " 'Back to the cemetery, ye shameless 
 corp/ says he, ' and I'll mention this to no- 
 body ; but if ye dinna gang peaceably we'll 
 call out the constables.' 
 
 " 'Dinna haver, Davit Whamand/ I re- 
 torts, ' for ye ken fine I'm in the flesh, and if 
 ye dinna produce my coat immediately I'll 
 take the law of ye.' 
 
 " ' Will ye ? ' he sneers ; ' and what micht 
 ye call yoursel' ? ' 
 
 " ' I'll call mysel' by my own name, namely 
 Tammas Haggart/ I thunders. 
 
 "'Yea, yea/ says he; ' I'm thinking a 
 corp hands on his name to his auldest son, 
 and Tammas Haggart being dead without a 
 son the name becomes extinct/ 
 
 " Lads, that did stagger me a minute, but 
 then I minds I'm living, and I cries, ' Ye sly 
 crittur, I'm no dead/ 
 
 "'Are ye not?' says he; 'I think ye 
 are/ 
 
 " ' Do I look dead ? ' I argues. 
 
" ' Look counts for nothing before a bailie, ' 
 says he, ' and if ye annoy me I'll bring- wit- 
 nesses to prove you're dead. Yes, I'll pro- 
 duce the widow in her crapes, and them as 
 coffined ye/ 
 
 " 'Ay/ I cries, 'but I'll produce mysel'/ 
 
 " 'The waur for you/ says he, 'for if ye 
 try to overthrow the law we'll bury ye again, 
 though it should be at the public expense.' 
 
 "Lads, that made me uneasy, and all I 
 could think to do was just to fling out my 
 foot at the bantam. 
 
 " 'Ye daur look me in the face, Davit 
 Whamand/ I says, ' and pretend as I'm no 
 mysel' ? ' 
 
 " ' I daur do so/ he says ; ' and not only 
 are ye no yersel', but I would never have 
 recognized ye for such/ 
 
 " 'So, so/ I remarks ; ' and ye refuse to 
 deliver up my coat ? ' 
 
 ' ' ' Yes, ' he says, ' and what's more, I never 
 had your coat/ 
 
 "Lads, that was his cautiousness in case 
 twa lines of defense was needed before the 
 bailie ; but I said no more to him, for now 
 the house began to fill with folk wanting to 
 make sure of me, and I was keen to con- 
 vince them I was in the flesh before Davit 
 prejudiced them. Ay, Robbie, you was one 
 of them as convoyed me to Render Hag- 
 gart's." 
 
 " I was, Tammas, and when ye shut the 
 
door on me a mask of folk came round me 
 to hear how ye had broke out. " 
 
 "I daursay that, but their curiosity didna 
 interest me now. Ye mind when we got to 
 Render's house it was black and dark, him 
 pretending to be away to his bed ? Ay, but 
 the smell of roasting potatoes belied that. 
 As we ken now, Hender had been warned 
 that I was at Davit's demanding back the 
 coat, and he suspected I would come next 
 to him for the waistcoat and the hat." 
 
 "Ay, but he had to let ye in." 
 
 " Ou, I would have broken in the door 
 rather than have been beat, and in the tail 
 of the day Hender takes the snib off the 
 door." 
 
 " He pretended he thocht ye a ghost too, 
 did he no ? " 
 
 "No, no, that's a made-up story. Hen- 
 der and his wife had agreed to pretend that, 
 but when Hender came to the door he be- 
 came stupid-like, and when I says 'Ay, 
 Hender/ he says ' Ay, Tammas/ I've 
 heard his wife raged at him about it after. 
 
 "'Nanny/ I says to the wife, 'it's me 
 back again, and ye'll oblige by handing 
 ower my waistcoat and my hat/ 
 
 "I've forgotten to tell ye that when I 
 walked in, Nanny was standing on a stool 
 with a poker in her hand, the which she was 
 using to shove something on the top of the 
 press out of sicht. She jumped down hur- 
 
$ caudal 77 
 
 riedly, but looking bold, and says she, 'These 
 mice is very troublesome.' 
 
 " Weel, I had a presentiment, and I says, 
 ' Give me the poker, Nanny, and I'll get at 
 the mice ! ' Says she, ' Na, na ; ' and she lifts 
 away the stool. 
 
 "All this time Render had been looking 
 very melancholy, but despite that, he was 
 glad to see me back, and he says in a senti- 
 mental way, ' You're a stranger, Tammas/ 
 eays he. 
 
 "'I am, Render/ says I, 'and I want 
 my waistcoat, also my hat.' 
 
 " Render gave a confused look to the 
 wife, and says she, 'The waistcoat has been 
 sold for rags, and I gave the hat to tinklers/ 
 
 "'Render Haggart/ says I, 'is this 
 so ?' 
 
 " Render a sort of winked, meaning that 
 we could talk the thing ower when Nanny 
 wasna there, but I couldna wait. 
 
 " 'I think, Nanny/ says I, pointedly, 'as 
 I'll take a look at these mice of yours/ 
 
 " ' Ye'll do no sic things/ says she. 
 
 '"I'm thinking/ says I, 'as I'll find a 
 black waistcoat on the top of that press, and 
 likewise a Sabbath hat/ 
 
 " Render couldna help giving me an ad- 
 miring look for my quickness, but Nanny 
 put her back to the press, and says she, 
 ' Render, am I to be insulted before your 
 face ? ' 
 
78 
 
 il Hender was perplexed, but he says to 
 me, 'Ye hear what Nanny says, Tammas?' 
 
 " 'Ay,' I says, ' I hear her/ 
 
 " ' He hears ye, Nanny/ says Hender. 
 
 " 'But I want my lawful possessions/ I 
 cries. 
 
 " Hender hesitated again, but Nanny re- 
 peats, ' Hender, am I to be insulted before 
 your face ? ' 
 
 " ' Dinna insult her before my face/ Hen- 
 der whispers to me. 
 
 " 'I offer no insult/ I says, loud out, 'but 
 I've come for my waistcoat and my hat, and 
 I dinna budge till I get them/ 
 
 " ' Ye've a weary time before ye, then/ 
 says Nanny. 
 
 " 'I wonder ye wouldna be ashamed to 
 keep a man frae his belongings/ I said. 
 
 " 'Tell him they're yours, Hender/ she 
 cries. 
 
 "'Ye see, Tammas/ says Hender, 'she 
 says they're mine/ 
 
 "'Ay/ I says, 'but ye canna pretend 
 they're yours yersel', Hender?' 
 
 " 'Most certainly ye can, Hender/ says 
 Nanny. 
 
 " 'Ye see that, Tammas/ says Hender, 
 triumphant. 
 
 " ' And how do ye make out as they are 
 yours ? ' I asks him. 
 
 "'Tell him/ cries Nanny, 'as ye got 
 them for helping in his burial/ 
 
jtarotal 79 
 
 " 'Tammas/ says Render, 'that's how I 
 got them/ 
 
 "Maybe/ I says, 'but did I give ye 
 them ? ' 
 
 " ' Say he was a corp/ Nanny cries. 
 
 " ' Meaning no disrespect, Tammas/ says 
 Hender, ' ye was a corp/ 
 
 " ' How could I have been a corp/ I ar- 
 gues, ' when here I am speaking to ye ? ' 
 
 " Hender turned to Nanny for the answer 
 to this, but she showed him her back, so he 
 just said in a weak way, ' We'll leave the 
 minister to settle that/ 
 
 11 'Hender, ye gowk/ I says, 'ye ken I'm 
 living ; and if I'm living I'm no dead/ 
 
 " Lads, I regretted I hadna put it plain like 
 that to Davit Whamand. However, Hender 
 hadna the clear-headedness necessary to 
 follow out sic reasoning, and he replies, 
 
 " ' No doubt/ he says, ' ye are living in a 
 sense, but no in another sense/ 
 
 " ' I wasna the corp/ I cried. 
 
 "'Weel, weel, Tammas/ says he, in a 
 fell dignified voice, ' we needna quarrel on 
 a matter of opinion/ 
 
 "I was just beginning to say as it was 
 more likely to be the waistcoat we would 
 fall out about, when in walks Chirsty in the 
 most flurried way. 
 
 "'Tammas Haggart/ she pants, 'come 
 hame this instant; the minister's waiting 
 for ye/ 
 
8o 
 
 " Which minister ? " I asks. 
 
 " ' None other/ she says, looking proudly 
 at Nancy, ' than the Auld Licht minister.' 
 
 ' ' Lads, I shook in my boots at that, and 
 I says, ' I winna come till I've got my hat 
 and my waistcoat.' 
 
 "'What/ screams Chirsty, 'ye daur to 
 keep the minister waiting ! ' and she shoved 
 me clean out of the house. " 
 
 What the minister said to Haggart is not 
 known, for Tammas never divulged the con- 
 versation. Those who remained on the 
 watch said that the -minister looked very 
 stern when walking back to the manse, and 
 that Chirsty found her husband tractable for 
 the rest of the evening. The most we ever 
 got out of Tammas on the subject was that 
 though he had met many terrifying folk in 
 his wanderings, they were a herd of sheep 
 compared to the minister. He had some- 
 times to be enticed out of the reverie into 
 which thought of the minister plunged him. 
 
 "So it was next day ye dandered up to 
 the grave ? " we would say craftily, though 
 well aware that he did not leave the house 
 till Monday. 
 
 " Na, na, not on the Sabbath day. When 
 I wakened in the morning I admit I was 
 terribly anxious to see the grave, as was 
 natural, but thocht of the minister cowed 
 me. I would have ventured as far as the 
 grave if I had been able to persuade mysel' 
 
s i 
 
 I wasna going for pleasure, but pleasure it 
 was, lads. Ay, there was no denying that." 
 
 " Chirsty was at the kirk ? " 
 
 " She was so, and in her widow's crapes. 
 I watched her frae the window. Ay, it's no 
 everybody as has watched his own widow." 
 
 "Na, and it had been an impressive spec- 
 tacle. How would ye say she looked, Tam- 
 mas ? " 
 
 " She looked proud, Robbie." 
 
 11 She would ; but what would ye say she 
 was proud of? " 
 
 "Ah, Robbie, there you beat me. But I 
 can tell ye what she was proud of on the 
 Monday." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Before porridge-time no less than seven 
 women, namely, three frae Tillyloss, twa 
 frae the Tenements, and twa frae the Roods, 
 chaps at the door and invites her to a dish 
 of tea. That's what she was proud of, and 
 I would like to hear of any other woman in 
 this town, single or married or a widow, as 
 has had seven invitations to her tea in one 
 day." 
 
 "The thing's unparalleled; but of course it 
 was to hear about you that they speired 
 her? 3 * 
 
 "Oh, of course, and also to get out of her 
 what the minister said to me. Ay, but can 
 ony of ye tell me what's the memorablist 
 thing about these invitations ? " 
 
 6 
 
82 
 
 "I dinna say I can, but it's something 
 about the grave. " 
 
 "It's this, Snecky, that before Chirsty had 
 made up her mind whether to risk seven 
 teas in one day, I had become a humorist 
 for life. " 
 
 "Man, man, oh, losh ! " 
 
 "Ay, and it's perfectly appalling- to con- 
 sider as she was so excited about her invita- 
 tions that when I came down frae the cem- 
 etery she never looked me in the face, and 
 I had to say to her, 'Chirsty Todd, do ye no 
 see as something has come ower me ? ' At 
 that she says, ' I notice you're making queer 
 faces, but I dinna ken what they mean.' 
 'They mean, Chirsty Todd/ says I, 'as I 
 am now a humorist,' to which she replies, 
 ' Pick up that dishclout. ' " 
 
 ' ' Keep us all ! But oh, man, a woman's 
 mind doesna easily rise to the sublime." 
 
 " It doesna, Pete, and I'll tell ye the rea- 
 son ; it's because of women, that is to say, 
 richt-minded women, all having sic an 
 adoration for ministers." 
 
 "I dinna contradict ye, Tammas, but 
 surely that's a fearsome statement. Is min- 
 isters not nearer the sublime than other 
 folk?" 
 
 "They are, they are, and that's just it. 
 Ministers, ye may say, is always half-road 
 up to the sublime. Weel, what's the result ? 
 Women raises their een to gaze upon the 
 
gftmtoil. 83 
 
 sublime, when they catch sichtofthe minis- 
 ter, and canna look ony higher." 
 
 "Sal, Tammas, you've solved it ! But I 
 warrant ye couldna have said that till ye 
 became a humorist ? " 
 
 ' ' No more than you could have said it yer- 
 sel', Robbie." 
 
 " Na, I dinna pretend I could have said it, 
 and even though I was to gang hame 
 now and say it in your very words, it 
 wouldna have the same show as when you 
 say it. " 
 
 " It would not, for ye would just blurt it 
 out, but them as watches me saying a humor- 
 ous thing notices the mental struggle before 
 the words comes up. Ay, the mental strug- 
 gle's like the servant in grand houses as puts 
 his head in at the door and cries, ' Leddies 
 and gentlemen, take your seats, for the din- 
 ner is all but ready. ' ' 
 
 Early on Monday morning Haggart, the 
 non-humorist, woke for the last time. The 
 day was moderately fine, but gave no indi- 
 cation that anything remarkable was about 
 to happen. Lookaboutyou, it is true, says 
 that he noticed a queer stillness in the air, 
 and Snecky Hobart spoke of an unusually 
 restless night. It is believed by some that 
 the cocks of Tilly loss did not crow that morn- 
 ing. But none of these phenomena were 
 noticed until it became natural to search 
 the memory for them, and Haggart himself 
 
84 
 
 always said that it was a common day. 
 The fact, I suppose, is that an uncommon 
 day was not needed, for here was Haggart 
 and there was the cemetery. Nature never 
 wastes her materials. 
 
 Haggart was elated no doubt, but so would 
 any man have been in the circumstances. 
 For the last time Haggart, the non-humorist, 
 put off cleaning his boots for another day. 
 For the last time he combed his hair without 
 studying the effect in the piece of glass that 
 was glued to the wall. Never again would 
 the Haggart who briskly descended his out- 
 side stair, forgetting to shut the door, enter 
 that room in which Chirsty was already bak- 
 ing bannocks. It was a new Haggart who 
 would return presently, Haggart of Haggart's 
 Roady, Haggart of Thrums, in short, Hag- 
 gart the humorist. 
 
 The last person to speak to Haggart the 
 non-humorist was James Spens ; the last to 
 see him was Sanders Landels. Jamie met 
 him at the foot of Tillyloss, and Sanders 
 passed him on the burying-ground brae. 
 Both were ordinary persons, and they never 
 distinguished themselves again. 
 
 It was not his grave that made Haggart 
 a humorist, but the grave-stone. Two years 
 earlier he had erected a tombstone to trie 
 memory of his relatives, but it had never 
 struck him that he would some day be able 
 to read his own fate on it. The grave is to 
 
jtamfat. 85 
 
 the right of the entrance to the cemetery, 
 almost exactly under the favorite seat known 
 as the Bower, and being- at the bend of the 
 path it comes suddenly into view. Haggart 
 walked eagerly along the path, an ordinary 
 man upon the whole ; then all at once . . . 
 He looked .... He looked again. This 
 is what he read : 
 
 THIS STONE XVAS ERECTED BY 
 
 THOMAS HAGGART 
 To THE MEMORY OF PETER HAGGART, 
 
 FATHER OF THE SAID THOMAS, 
 WHO DEPARTED THIS LlFE, JAN. 7, 1825. 
 
 ALSO HERE LIES JfiAN LlNN, OR HAGGART, 
 
 MOTHER OF THE SAID THOMAS, 
 
 DIED 1828. 
 
 ALSO JEAN HAGGART, 
 
 SISTER OF THE SAID THOMAS, 
 
 DIED 1829. 
 
 ALSO ANDREW HAGGART, 
 BROTHER OF THE SAID THOMAS, 
 
 DIED 1831. 
 
 ALSO THE SAID THOMAS HIMSELF, 
 DIED 1834. 
 
 Haggart sat down on the grave. In 
 Thrums common folk were doing common 
 things weaving, feeding the hens, supping 
 porridge, carting peats. 
 
 Haggart sat on the grave. In Thrums 
 
86 ^ 8ttltgl0ft9E 
 
 they were thinking of their webs, of their 
 dinner, of well-scrubbed floors, of their love 
 affairs. 
 
 But Haggart sat on the grave, and a pot 
 began to boil. He has told us what hap- 
 pened. Down in his inside something was 
 roaring, and every moment the noise in- 
 creased. He breathed with difficulty. He 
 was as a barrel swelling but held in by hoops 
 of iron. He rose to his feet, for his tongue 
 was hot and there was a hissing in his throat, 
 and the iron hoops pressed more and more 
 tightly. Suddenly the hissing ceased, and 
 he stood as still as salt. The roaring far 
 down died away. All at once he was tilted 
 to the side, the hoops burst, and he began 
 to laugh. The pot was boiling. Haggart 
 was a humorist. 
 
 As soon as he realized what had happened 
 Haggart returned to Tillyloss. The first to 
 see him was Tibbie Robbie, the first to speak 
 to him was William Lamb, the first to notice 
 the change was Snecky Hobart. 
 
 I only undertook to tell how Haggart be- 
 came a humorist, and here, therefore, my 
 story ends. I have shown how a lamp was 
 lit in Thrums, but not how it burned. Per- 
 haps if I followed Haggart to his end, as I 
 should like to do, to the time when the 
 lamp flickered and a room in the Tenements 
 grew dark, some who have smiled at an old 
 
87 
 
 man's tale would leave a tear behind them 
 to a weaver's memory. 
 
 " Na," Haggart often said, "we winna 
 touch the grave-stone. It'll come in handy 
 some day." 
 
 His humor, appetizing from the first, rip- 
 ened with the years. For a time this was 
 his comment on the tombstone : 
 
 " Lads, lads, what a do we're preparing 
 for posterity ! " 
 
 Later in his life he said : 
 
 ' ' It's almost cruel to cheat future genera- 
 tions in 'this way." 
 
 His hair was white before he said : 
 
 " I dinna ken but what I should do the 
 honest thing, and have the date rubbed 
 out." 
 
 And when there was a squeal in his voice, 
 he could add : 
 
 " No that it much matters." 
 
HOW GAVIN BIRSE PUT IT TO 
 MAG LOWNIE. 
 
 IN a wet day the rain gathers in blobs on the 
 road that passes our Thrums garden. Then 
 it crawls into the cart-tracks, until the road 
 is streaked with water. Last, the water 
 gathers in heavy yellow pSols. If the rain 
 still continues, clods of earth topple from 
 the garden dyke into the ditch. 
 
 On such a day when even the dulse- 
 man had gone into shelter, and the women 
 scudded by with their wrappers over their 
 heads, came Gavin Birse to our door. 
 Gavin, who is the Glen Quharity post, is still 
 young, but has never been quite the same 
 man since some amateurs in the Glen ironed 
 his back for rheumatism. At present I am 
 lodging in Thrums, with Hen dry M'Qumpha, 
 and I thought Gavin had called to have a 
 crack with me. He sent his compliments 
 up to the attic, however, by Leeby, and 
 would I come and be a witness ? 
 
 Gavin came up and explained. He had 
 
mtd Pag |C0wttfe. 89 
 
 taken off his scarf and thrust it into his 
 pocket, lest the rain should take the color 
 out of it. 
 
 His boots cheeped, and his shoulders had 
 risen to his ears. He stood steaming before 
 my fire. 
 
 " If it's no ower muckle to ask ye," he 
 said, " I would like ye for a witness." 
 
 " A witness ! But for what do you need 
 a witness, Gavin ? " 
 
 " I want ye," he said, " to come wi' me 
 to Mag's, and be a witness." 
 
 Gavin and Mag Birse had been engaged 
 for a year or more. Mag is the daughter 
 of Janet Ogilvy, who is best remembered as 
 the body that took the hill (that is wandered 
 about it) for twelve hours on the day Mr. 
 Dishart, the Auld Licht minister, accepted 
 a call to another church. 
 
 " You don't mean their to tell me, Gav- 
 in," I asked, " that your marriage is to take 
 place to-day ? " 
 
 By the twist of his mouth I saw that he 
 was only deferring a smile. 
 
 " Far frae that," he said. 
 
 "Ah, then, you have quarreled, and I am 
 to speak up for you ? " 
 
 " Na, na," he said, " I dinna want ye to 
 do that above all things. It would be a 
 favor if ye could gi'e me a bad character." 
 
 This beat me, and, I dare say, my face 
 showed it. 
 
90 
 
 " I'm no' juist what ye would call anx- 
 ious to marry Mag noo," said Gavin, with- 
 out a tremor. 
 
 I told him to go on. 
 
 " There's a lassie oot at Craigiebuckle," 
 he explained, " workin' on the farm Jeanie 
 Luke by name. Ye may ha'e seen her ? " 
 1 ' What of her ? " I asked, severely. 
 " Weel," said Gavin, still unabashed, 
 " I'm thinkin' noo 'at I would rather ha'e 
 her." 
 
 Then he stated his case more fully. 
 " Ay, I thocht I liked Mag oncommon till 
 I saw Jeanie, an' I like her fine yet ; but I 
 prefer the other ane. That state o' matters 
 canna gang on forever, so I came into 
 Thrums the day to settle't one wy or an- 
 other." 
 
 " And how," I asked, "do you propose 
 going about it ? It is a somewhat delicate 
 business." 
 
 " Ou, I see nae great difficulty in't. I'll 
 speir at Mag, blunt oot, if she'll let me aff. 
 Yes, I'll put it to her plain. " 
 
 " You're sure Jeanie would take you ? " 
 "Ay ; oh, there's nae fear o' that." 
 " But if Mag keeps you to your bargain ? " 
 "Weel, in that case there's nae harm done. " 
 "You are in a great hurry, Gavin ? " 
 " Ye may say that ; but I want to be mar- 
 ried. The wife I lodge wi' canna last lang, 
 an' I would like to settle doon in some place." 
 
and p#0 ^0wttU, 91 
 
 " So you are on your way to Mag's now ? " 
 
 "Ay, we'll get her in atween twal' and 
 ane." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but why do you want me to go 
 with you ? " 
 
 " I want ye for a witness. If she winna 
 let me aff, weel and guid ; and if she will, 
 it's better to ha'e a witness in case she 
 should go back on her word." 
 
 Gavin made his proposal briskly, and as 
 coolly as if he were only asking me to go fish- 
 ing ; but I did not accompany him to Mag's. 
 He left the house to look for another wit- 
 ness, and about an hour afterwards Jess saw 
 him pass with Tammas Haggart. Tammas 
 cried in during the evening to tell us how 
 the mission prospered. 
 
 " Mind ye/' said Tammas, a drop of water 
 hanging to the point of his nose, "I dis- 
 claim all responsibility in the business. I 
 ken Mag weel for a thrifty, respectable wo- 
 man, as her mither was afore her, and so 
 I said to Gavin when he came to speir me. " 
 
 "Ay, mony a pirn has Lisbeth filled to 
 me/' said Hendry, settling down to a remi- 
 niscence. 
 
 " No to be ower hard on Gavin," continued 
 Tammas, forestalling Hendry, "he took 
 what I said in guid part ; but aye when I 
 stopped speaking to draw breath, he says, 
 'The question is, will ye come wi' me? 1 
 He was michty made up in 's mind/' 
 
92 
 
 "Weel, ye wentwi' him, " suggested Jess, 
 who wanted to bring Tammas to the point. 
 
 "Ay, "said the stone-breaker, "but no 
 in sic a hurry as that. " 
 
 He worked his mouth round and round, 
 to clear the course, as it were, for a sarcasm. 
 
 "Fowk often say," he continued, '"at 
 'am quick beyond the ordinar in seein' the 
 humorous side o' things." 
 
 Here Tammas paused, and looked at 
 us. 
 
 "So ye are, Tammas," said Hendry. 
 " Losh, ye mind hoo ye saw the humorous 
 side o' me wearin a pair o' boots 'at wisna 
 marrows ! No, the ane had a toe-piece on, 
 an' the other hadna." 
 
 "Ye juist wore them sometimes when ye 
 was delvin'," broke in Jess, "ye have as 
 guid a pair o' boots as ony in Thrums." 
 
 "Ay, but I had worn them," said Hendry, 
 "at odd times for mairthan a year, an' I had 
 never seen the humorous side o' them. 
 Weel, as fac' as death (here he addressed 
 me), Tammas had just seen them twa or 
 three times when he saw the humorous side 
 o' them. Syne I saw their humorous side, 
 too, but no till Tammas pointed it oot." 
 
 "That was naething," said Tammas, 
 "naething ava to some things I've done." 
 
 " But what aboot Mag ? " said Leeby. 
 
 "We wasna that length, was we? " said 
 Tammas. " Na, we was speakin' aboot 
 
93 
 
 the humorous side. Ay, wait a wee, I didna 
 mention the humorous side for naething." 
 
 He paused to reflect. 
 
 "Oh, yes," he said at last, brightening 
 up, " I was sayin' to ye hoo quick I was to 
 see the humorous side o' onything. Ay, then, 
 what made me say that was 'at in a clink 
 (flash) I saw the humorous side o' Gavin's 
 position/' 
 
 "Man, man," said Hendry, admiringly, 
 " and what is't ? " 
 
 "Oh, it's this, there's something humorous 
 in speirin' a woman to let ye aff so as ye 
 c- n be married to another woman." 
 
 " I daursay there is," said Hendry, doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " Did she let him aff? " asked Jess, taking 
 the words out of Leeby's mouth. 
 
 " I'm comin' to that,' said Tammas. 
 "Gavin proposes to me after I had had my 
 laugh " 
 
 "Yes," cried Hendry, banging the table 
 with his fist, ' ' it has a humorous side. Ye're 
 richt again, Tammas." 
 
 " I wish ye wadna blatter (beat) the table/' 
 said Jess, and then Tammas proceeded. 
 
 "Gavin wanted me to tak' paper an' ink 
 an' a pen wi' me, to write the proceeding 
 doon, but I said, 'Na, na, I'll tak' paper, 
 but no nae ink nor nae pen, for there'll be 
 ink an' a pen there. That was what I said." 
 
 " An' did she let him aff? " asked Leeby. 
 
94 
 
 " Weel," said Tammas, "aff we goes to 
 Mag's hoose, an' sure enough Mag was in. 
 She was alane, too ; so Gavin, no to waste 
 time, juist sat doon for politeness' sake, an' 
 syne rises up again ; an' says he, ' Marget 
 Lownie, I ha'e a solemn question to speir 
 at ye, namely this, Will you, Marget Low- 
 nie, let me, Gavin Birse, aff ? '" 
 
 " Mag would start at that? " 
 
 "Sal, she was braw an' cool. I thocht 
 she maun ha'e got wind o' his intentions 
 aforehand, for she just replies, quiet-like, 
 ' Hoo do ye want aff, Gavin ? ' " 
 
 " ' Because/ says he, like a book, 'my 
 affections has undergone a change.' 
 
 " 'Ye mean Jean Luke,' says Mag. 
 
 " 'That is wha I mean,' says Gavin, very 
 straightforrard. " 
 
 "But she didna let him aff did she ? " 
 
 " Na, she wasna the kind. Says she, 'I 
 wonder to hear ye, Gavin, but 'am no goin' 
 to agree to naething o' that sort.' 
 
 ' ' ' Think it ower,' says Gavin. 
 
 " 'Na, my mind's made up,' said she. 
 
 "'Ye would sune get anither man/ he 
 says, earnestly. 
 
 ' ' ' Hoo do I ken that ? ' she speirs, rale 
 seriously, I thocht, for men's no sae easy to 
 get. 
 
 " 'Am sure o't/ Gavin says, wi' michty 
 conviction in his voice, ' for ye're bonny to 
 look at, an' weel-kent for bein' aguidbody/ 
 
(Savin |Sit$ m& ^ta0 30uwie* 95 
 
 " 'Ay/ says Mag-, 'I'm glad ye like me, 
 Gavin, for ye have to tak' me. ' }1 
 
 " That put a clincher on him/' interrupted 
 Hen dry. 
 
 " He was loth togie in," replied Tammas, 
 so he says, 'Ye think 'am a fine character, 
 Marget Lownie, but ye're very far mistaken. 
 I wouldna wonder but what I was lossin' my 
 place some o' thae days, an' syne whaur 
 would ye be ? Marget Lownie/ he goes on, 
 ''am nat'raily lazy and fond o' the drink. 
 As sure as ye stand there, 'am a reg'lar 
 deevil ! ' : 
 
 ' ' That was strong language, " said Hendry, 
 "but he would be wantin' to fleg (frighten) 
 her ? " 
 
 "Just so, but he didna manage 't, for Mag- 
 says, ' We a' ha'e oor faults, Gavin, an* 
 deevil or no deevil, ye're the man for me !' 
 
 "Gavin thocht a bit," continued Tammas, 
 an' syne he tries her on a new tack. ' Marget 
 Lownie/ he says, ' your father's an auld man 
 noo, an' he has naebody but yersel' to look 
 after him. I'm thinkin' it would be kind o' 
 cruel o' me to tak ye awa frae him ? ' ' 
 
 " Mag wouldna be ta'en in wi' that ; she 
 wasna born on a Sawbath," said Jess, using 
 one of her favorite sayings. 
 
 ' ' She wasna, " answered Tammas. ' ' Says 
 she, ' Hae nae fear on that score, Gavin; 
 my father's fine willin' to spare me ! ' ' 
 
 "An' that ended it?" 
 
96 $uviw te and 
 
 "Ay, that ended it." 
 
 "Did ye tak it doon in writin' ? " asked 
 Hen dry. 
 
 "There was nae need," said Tammas, 
 handing round his snuff-mull. ' ' No, I never 
 touched paper. When I saw the thing was 
 settled I left them to their coortin'. They're 
 to tak a look at Snecky Hobart's auld hoose 
 the nicht. It's to let." 
 
DITE DEUCHARS. 
 
 WONDERFUL is the variety of pleasures in 
 Thrums. One has no sooner unyoked from 
 his loom than something exhilarating 1 hap- 
 pens. In the same hour I have known 
 a barn go on fire in the Marywelbrae, a 
 merriment caravan stick on the Brig of the 
 Kelpies, and a lord dine in the Quharity 
 Arms parlor, the view of which is com- 
 manded from the top of Hookey Crewe's 
 dyke. To see everything worth seeing is 
 impossible, simply because the days are not 
 thirty-six hours long. Most of us, however, 
 see our fill, Dite Deuchars being the strange 
 exception. 
 
 A bad boy had flung a good boy's bonnet 
 on to Haggart's roof, and we had gone 
 for it with a ladder. We were now sitting 
 up there, to see what it was like. Conver- 
 sation had languished, but Haggart said 
 "Ay," and then again "Umpha," as one 
 may shove a piece of paper into a dying 
 fire to make a momentary blaze. In the 
 yard the boys were now mapping out the 
 
" Pilgrim's Progress " with kail-runts. Wo- 
 men were sitting on dykes, knitting stock- 
 ings. Snecky Hobart was pitting his 
 potatoes. We could join him presently if 
 Haggart refused to add to our stock of infor- 
 mation; but the humorist was sucking in 
 his lips, and then blowing them out and 
 we knew what that meant. To look at 
 his mouth rehearsing was to be suddenly 
 hungry. We had planted ourselves more 
 firmly on the roof when 
 
 " Wha's killing ? " cried Lunan. 
 
 The screech > and skirl of a pig under the 
 knife had suddenly shaken Thrums. 
 
 " Lookaboutyou's killing," cried Dite, 
 turning hastily to the ladder. 
 
 There followed a rush of feet along the 
 Tenements. Snecky Hobart flung down his 
 spade, the two laddies plucked up the Slough 
 of Despond and were off before him. The 
 women fell off the dykes as if shot. 
 
 "You're coming, Tammas, surely ? " said 
 Dite, already on the ladder. 
 
 ' ' Not me, " answered Haggart. ' ' If Look- 
 aboutyou likes to kill without telling me 
 aforehand, I dinna gang near him." 
 
 "Come awa', Davit," said Dite to Lunan. 
 
 "I dinna deny," said Lunan, "but what 
 my feet's tickly to start ; but this I will say, 
 that it was as little as Lookaboutyou could 
 have done to tell Tammas Haggart he was 
 killing." 
 
99 
 
 " But Tammas hadna speired ? " 
 
 "Speir!" cried Haggart. "Let me tell 
 you, Dite Deuchars, a humorist doesna 
 speir ; he just answers. But awa' wi' you 
 to the farm ; and tell Lookaboutyou that if 
 he thinks I'm angered at his no telling me 
 he was killing, he was never mair mistaken. " 
 
 "I wouldna leave you," said Dite, "il 
 you had been on your adventures, but you're 
 no, and I'm so unlucky, I hardly ever see 
 ony oncommon thing." 
 
 "On my adventures I'll be in a minute, 
 for the screaming o' that swine calls to my 
 mind an extraordinar' meeting I had wi' a 
 coachfu' o' pirates." 
 
 "Sal, I would like to hear that/' said Dite, 
 stepping on to the roof again. 
 
 The squeals of the pig broke out afresh. 
 
 "That's mair than I can stand," cried 
 Dite, sliding down the ladder. He ran a 
 few yards, and then turned back unde- 
 cidedly. 
 
 " Is it a partickler wonderful adventure, 
 Tammas ? " we heard him cry, though we 
 could not see him. 
 
 Haggart put his underlip firmly over the 
 upper one. 
 
 " You micht tell me, Tammas," cried the 
 voice. 
 
 It was not for us to speak, and Haggart 
 would not. 
 
 "I canna make up my mind," Dite con- 
 
ioo 
 
 tinued, sadly, "whether to bide wi' you, or 
 to gang to the killing. If I dinna gang, I'm 
 sure to wish I had ga'en ; and if I gang, I'll 
 think the hale time about what I'm missing. " 
 
 We heard him sigh, and then the clatter 
 of his heels. 
 
 " He's a lang time, though," said Lunan, 
 " in turning the close. We should see him 
 when he gets that length." 
 
 "The onlucky crittur '11 be wavering in 
 the close," said Haggart, "no able to make 
 up his mind whether to gang on or turn 
 back. I tell you, lads, to have twa minds 
 is as confusing as twins." 
 
 We saw Dite reach the mouth of the close, 
 where he stopped and looked longingly at 
 us. Then he ran on, then he stopped again, 
 then he turned back. 
 
 " He's coming back, after all," said 
 Lunan. 
 
 "Ou, he'll be off again directly," Haggart 
 said, with acumen, as we discoursed the 
 next minute. " Ay, the body's as ondecided 
 as a bairn standing wi' a bawbee in its hand, 
 looking in at the window o' a sweetie 
 shop." 
 
 We saw Dite take the backwynd like one 
 who had at last forgotten our counter-attrac- 
 tions, but just as he was finally disappearing 
 from view he ran into a group of women. 
 
 "Tod, he's coming back again," said 
 Lunan, breaking into the middle of Hag- 
 
tot 
 
 gait's story. "No wonder the ' crittur's 
 
 onlucky ! " :, '' '',','', ,' 
 
 Dite, however, only earner bbeli a little' 
 way. He then climbed the glebe dyke, and 
 hurried off up the park. 
 
 " He's fair demented," said Lunan, ''for 
 that's as little the road to Lookaboutyou's 
 as it's the road to the tap o' this noose." 
 
 The women sauntered nearer, and when 
 they were within earshot Haggart stopped 
 his narrative to shout 
 
 "Susie Linn, what made Dite Deuchars 
 take the glebe park ? " 
 
 "He's awa' to see Easie Pennycuick's 
 new crutches," replied Susie. "The pride- 
 fu' stock has got a pair that cost twal and 
 saxpence (so she says), and she's inviting 
 a'body in to see them." 
 
 "The wy she's lifted up about these 
 crutches," broke in Haggart's wife, Chirsty, 
 from her window, "is hard to bear; and I 
 ken I'll no gang to look at them. ' Have 
 you seen my new crutches ? ' she says, as 
 soon as her een lichts on you." 
 
 "That's true, Chirsty, and she came in 
 the kirk late wi' them last Sabbath of set 
 purpose. Weel, we telt Dite about them in 
 the backwynd, and he's awa' to see them. 
 
 He said If that's no him coming 
 
 back ! " 
 
 Dite had turned, and was hastening; down 
 the field. 
 
102 
 
 ^ " He's changed his mind again," said 
 Lunar:.: : "'He's off to the killing, after all." 
 * " Hoy, "Dite Deuchars," shouted Susie 
 Linn. 
 
 Dite hesitated, looking first in the direc- 
 tion of Lookaboutyou's, and then at us. 
 
 "He's coming here," said one of the 
 women. 
 
 "He's halted," said another. 
 
 " He's awa' to the killing at Lookabout- 
 you's," cried Susie Linn. 
 
 "As sure as death he's climbing into the 
 glebe park again," said Ltman. "Oh, the 
 onlucky body ! " 
 
 "We maun turn our backs to the dis- 
 tracted crittur," said Haggart, " or I'll never 
 finish my adventure/' 
 
 It was a marvelous adventure, with as 
 many morals as Dite had minds ; and when 
 we had talked it over, as well as listened to 
 it, we prepared to descend the ladder. 
 
 " Ca' canny," cried Haggart, "there's 
 somebody coming up." 
 
 Dite Deuchars, flushed with running, ap- 
 peared at the top of the ladder. 
 
 " Was it a big swine ? " asked Lunan. 
 
 "I didna gang to the killing. I heard 
 that Easie Pennycuick " 
 
 " Ay, and what thocht you of her 
 crutches ? " 
 
 "Truth to tell, Davit, I didna see them, 
 for I couldna make up my mind whether to 
 
gitc gettrhattf. 103 
 
 gangtoEasie's or to Lookaboutyou's. They 
 were both so enticing that in the tail o* 
 the day I sat down on the glebe dyke, de- 
 spising mysel' michty. " 
 
 " And a despiseable figure you maun have 
 been. " 
 
 "Ay, but I've come back to hear your 
 adventure, Tammas." 
 
 "The adventure's finished," replied Hag- 
 gart, " and we're coming down." 
 
 Dite tottered off the ladder. 
 
 "Dagont ! " he cried. 
 
 "Let this be a warning to you," said 
 Haggart, ' ' that them that's greedy for a'- 
 thing gets naething. " 
 
 Dite, however, was looking so mournful 
 that the very bucket on which he sat down 
 might have been sorry for him. 
 
 " Dinna tell me I'm an ill-gittit man," he 
 said, dejectedly, "for I'm no. A'thing's agin 
 me. I'm keener to see curious oncommon 
 things than ony ane o' ye, but do I see them ? 
 The day the doctor's shalt flung him in the 
 school-wynd, whaur was I? Oh, wi' my 
 usual luck, of course, I had gone round by 
 the banker's close. On the hill, market day, 
 I sat in the quarry for an hour, and naething 
 happened. Syne I taks a dander through 
 the wood, and no suner am I out o' sicht 
 than a ga'en about body flings himsel' ower 
 the quarry. Jeames McQuhatty and Pete 
 Pundas saw him, though they hadna been 
 
104 
 
 there a quarter as lang as me. Sax months 
 on end I'm as reg'lar at the kirk as if I got 
 my living out o' the minister, and naething 
 wonderful occurs ; but one single Sabbath 
 I taks to my bed, and behold ! in the after- 
 noon the minister swoundsdead awa' in the 
 pulpit. When the show took fire in the 
 square, was I there ? Na, na, you may be 
 sure I had been sent out o' the wy to the 
 fishing. Did I see Sam'l Robb fall off his 
 hoose ? Not me, though we had been neigh- 
 bors for a twalmonth. What was the name 
 o' the only man in the east town end that 
 sleepit through the nicht o' the Weavers' 
 Riot and never woke up till it was a' ower ? 
 The name o' that man was Dite Deuchars." 
 
 "Lad, lad, you're onlucky ; but I didna 
 ken you had brooded on't like this." 
 
 "I've brooded on't till I'm a gey queer 
 character. Tammas Haggart, let me speir 
 this at you. Afore you met the pirate coach, 
 did you or did you no come to a cross- 
 road ? " 
 
 " Man, Dite, I mind I did ; but how did 
 you ken ? " 
 
 " Ken ! I guessed it. I tell you, if I had 
 been in your place, as sure as luck's agin 
 me, I would ha'e ta'en the other road, and 
 never fallen in wi' the pirates ava.. That's 
 what it is to be an onlucky man. Tammas 
 Haggart " 
 
 "Ay, Dite?" 
 
gite gcuriiw. 105 
 
 "There's few things you dinna see humor 
 in, but I think I ken one that beats you." 
 
 " Namely, yoursel'. Dite ? " 
 
 "Namely mysel'." 
 
 "No, Dite," Haggart said, thoughtfully, 
 "I admit I see no humor in you. Ay, 
 you're a melancholy case. You had better 
 gang awd/ to your bed/' 
 
 "Sic an onlucky man as me," replied 
 Dite, doggedly, " doesna deserve a bed. 
 I'm ga'en to sit for an hour on this bucket 
 and sneer at mysel'." 
 
LIFE IN A COUNTRY MANSE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 JANET. 
 
 UP here among the heather (or nearly so) 
 we are, in the opinion of tourists, a mere 
 hamlet, though to ourselves we are at least 
 a village. Englishmen call us a " clachan " 
 though, truth to tell, we are not sure 
 what that is. Just as Gulliver, could not 
 see the Lilliputians without stooping, these 
 tourists may be looking for the clachan 
 when they are in the middle of it, and 
 knocking at one of its doors to ask how far 
 they have yet to go till they reach it. To 
 be honest, we are only five nouses in a row 
 (including the smiddy), with a Free Church 
 manse and a few farms here and there on 
 the hillsides. 
 
 So far as the rest of the world is concerned, 
 we are blotted out with the first fall of snow. 
 I suppose tourists scarcely give us a thought 
 save when they are here. I have heard 
 
ft in & Country |ftw*, 107 
 
 them admiring our glen in August, and 
 adding : 
 
 "But what a place it must be in winter I" 
 
 To this their friends reply, shivering : 
 
 "A hard life, indeed!" 
 
 And the conversation ends with the com- 
 ment : 
 
 " Don't call it life ; it is merely existence." 
 
 Well, it would be dull, no doubt, for 
 tourists up here in January, say, but I find 
 the winter a pleasant change from summer. 
 I am the minister, and though my heart 
 sank when I was "called," I rather enjoy 
 the life now. I am the man whom the 
 tourists pity most. 
 
 "The others drawl through their lives/' 
 these tourists say, "to the manner born; 
 but think of an educated man who has seen 
 life spending his winters in such a place ! " 
 
 " He can have no society." 
 
 " Let us hope the poor fellow is married." 
 
 "Oh, he is sure to be. But married or 
 single, I am certain I would go mad if I 
 were in his shoes." 
 
 Their comparison is thrown away. I am 
 strong and hale. I enjoy the biting air, 
 and I seldom carry an umbrella. I should 
 perhaps go mad if I were in the English- 
 men's shoes, glued to a stool all day, and 
 feeling my road home through fog at night. 
 And there is many an educated man who 
 envies me. Did not three times as many 
 
in 
 
 probationers apply for a hearing when the 
 church was vacant as could possibly be 
 heard ? 
 
 But how do I occupy my time? the 
 English gentlemen would say, if they had 
 not forgotten me. What do the people do 
 in winter? True, I don't lie long in the 
 mornings and doze on the sofa in the after- 
 noon, and go to bed at one o'clock. When 
 I was at College, where I saw much "life," 
 I breakfasted frequently at ten ; but here, 
 where time must (they say) hang heavy on 
 my hands, I am up at seven. Though I 
 am not a married man, no one has said 
 openly that I arn insane. Janet, my house- 
 keeper and servant, has my breakfast of 
 porridge and tea and ham ready by half- 
 past seven sharp. You see the mornings 
 are keen, and so, as I have no bedroom fire 
 nor hot water, I dress much more quickly 
 than I dressed at College. Six minutes I 
 give myself, then Janet and I have prayers, 
 and then follows my breakfast. What an 
 appetite I have ! I am amazed to recall the 
 student days, when I "could not look at 
 porridge," and thought a halfpenny roll 
 sufficient for two of us. 
 
 Dreary pleasure, you say, breakfasting 
 alone in a half-furnished house, with the 
 snow lying some feet deep outside and still 
 monotonously falling. Do I forget the 
 sound of my own voice between Monday 
 
it'c in iv (ilountvy |fta#e* 109 
 
 and Saturday? I should think not. Nor, 
 do I forget Janet's voice. I have read some- 
 where that the Scotch are a very taciturn 
 race, but Janet is far more Scotch than the 
 haggis that is passed round at some London 
 dinners, and Janet is not a silent woman. 
 The difficulty with some servants is to get 
 them to answer your summons, but my 
 difficulty with Janet is to get her back to 
 the kitchen. Her favorite position is at the 
 door, which she keeps half open. One of 
 her feet she twists round it, and there she 
 stands, half out of the room and half in it. 
 She has a good deal of gossip to tell me 
 about those five houses that lie low, two 
 hundred yards from the manse, and it must 
 be admitted that I listen. Why not? If 
 one is interested in people he must gossip 
 about them. You, in London, may not 
 care in the least who your next door neigh- 
 bor is, but you gossip about your brothers 
 and sisters and aunts. Well, my people are 
 as familiar to me as your brothers are to 
 you, and, therefore, I say, "Ah, indeed/' 
 when told that the smith is busy with the 
 wheel of a certain farmer's cart, and "Dear 
 me, is that so ? " when Janet explains that 
 William, the ploughman, has got Meggy, 
 his wife, to cut his hair. Meggy has cut 
 my own hair. She puts a bowl on my head 
 and clips away everything that it does not 
 cover. So I would miss Janet if she were 
 
no 
 
 gone, and her tongue is as enlivening as a 
 strong ticking clock. No doubt there are 
 times when, if I were not a minister, I 
 might fling something soft at her. She 
 shows to least advantage when I have 
 visitors, and even in winter I have a man 
 to dinner now and again. Then I realize 
 that Janet does not know her place. While 
 we are dining she hovers in the vicinity. 
 If she is not pretending to put the room to 
 rights, she is in her fortified position at the 
 door ; and if she is not at the door she is 
 immediately behind it. Her passion is to 
 help in the conversation. As she brings in 
 the potatoes she answers the last remark 
 my guest addressed to me, and if I am too 
 quick for her she explains away my answer, 
 or modifies it, or signifies her approval of it. 
 Then I try to be dignified, and to show 
 Janet her place. If I catch her eye I frown, 
 but such opportunities are rare, for it is the 
 guest on whom she concentrates herself. 
 She even tells him, in my presence, little 
 things about myself which I would prefer to 
 keep to myself. The impression conveyed 
 by her is that I confide everything to her. 
 When my guest remarks that I am becoming 
 a hardened bachelor, and I hint that it is 
 because the ladies do not give me a chance, 
 Janet breaks in with 
 
 "Oh, 'deed it's a wonder he wasn't mar- 
 ried long sfnce, but the one he wanted 
 
itt tt tetttr w** in 
 
 wouldn't have him, and the ones that want 
 him he won't take. He's an ill man to 
 please." 
 
 "Ah, Janet," the guest may say (for he 
 enjoys her interference more than I do), 
 "you make him so comfortable that you 
 spoil him." 
 
 "Maybe," says Janet, "but it took me 
 years to learn how to manage him. " 
 "Does he need to be managed ? " 
 " I never knew a man that didna." 
 Then they get Janet to tell them all my 
 little "tantrums " (as she calls them), and she 
 holds forth on my habit of mislaying my hat 
 and then blaming her, or on how I hate rice 
 pudding, or on the way I have worn the car- 
 pet by walking up and down the floor when I 
 would be more comfortable in a chair. Now 
 and again I have wound myself up to the 
 point of reproving Janet when the guest had 
 gone, but the result is that she tells her select 
 friends how "quick in the temper" I am. 
 So Janet must remain as she has grown, and 
 it is gratifying to me (though I don't let on) 
 to know that she turns up her nose at every 
 other minister who preaches in my church. 
 Janet is always afraid when I go off for a 
 holiday that the congregations in the big 
 towns will "snap me up." It is pleasant to 
 feel that she has this opinion of me, though 
 I know that the large congregations do not 
 share it. 
 
in a 
 
 Who are my winter visitors ? The chief 
 of them is the doctor. We have no doctor, 
 of course, up here, and this one has to come 
 twelve miles to us. He is rather melancholy 
 when we send for him ; but he wastes no 
 time in coming, though he may not have 
 had his clothes off for twenty-four hours, 
 and is well aware that we cannot pay big 
 fees. Several times he has had to remain 
 with me all night, and once he was snowed 
 up here for a week. At times, too, he 
 drives so far on his way to us and then has to 
 turn back because the gig sticks on the heavy 
 roads. He is only a doctor in a small country 
 town, but I am elated when I see him, for he 
 can tell me whether the Government is still 
 in power. Then I have the school inspector 
 once a year. The school inspector is al- 
 ways threatening to change the date of in- 
 spection to summer, but he takes the town 
 from which the doctor comes in early spring, 
 and finds it convenient to come from there 
 to here. Early spring is often winter with 
 us, so that the school inspector comes when 
 there is usually snow on the ground or 
 threatening. The school is a mile away at 
 another "clachan/' but the inspector dines 
 with me, and so does the schoolmaster. On 
 these occasions the schoolmaster is not such 
 good company as at other times, for he is 
 anxious about his passes, and explains (bw. 
 think) more than is necessary that regular 
 
iw a tottfry patttfje, 113 
 
 attendance is out of the question in a place 
 like this. The inspectors visit is the time 
 of my great annual political debate, for the 
 doctor calls politics "fudge. " The inspect' 
 or and I are on different sides, however, 
 and we go at each other hammer and tongs, 
 while the schoolmaster signs to me (with his 
 foot) not to anger the inspector. 
 
 Of course, outsiders will look incredulous 
 when I assure them that a good deal oi 
 time is passed in preparing my sermons. I 
 have only one Sabbath service, but two ser- 
 mons, the one beginning as soon as the 
 other is finished. In such a little church, 
 you will say, they must be easily pleased ; 
 but they are not. Some of them tramp long 
 distances to church in weather that would 
 keep you, reader, in the house, though your 
 church is round the corner and there is pave- 
 ment all the way to it. I can preach old 
 sermons ? Indeed I cannot. Many of my 
 hearers adjourn to one of the five houses 
 when the service is over, and there I am 
 picked pretty clean. They would detect an 
 old sermon at once, and resent it. I do not 
 "talk" to them from the pulpit. I write 
 my sermons in the manse, and though I use 
 "paper," the less I use it the better they are 
 pleased. 
 
 The visits of the doctor are pleasant to me 
 in one sense, but painful in others, for I 
 need not say that when he is called I am re- 
 8 
 
n 
 
 quired too. To wade through miles of snow 
 is no great hardship to those who are accus- 
 tomed to it ; but the heavy heart comes 
 when one of my people is seriously ill. Up 
 here we have few slight illnesses. The doc- 
 ter cannot be summoned to attend them, 
 and we usually "fight away" until the 
 malady has a heavy hold. Then the doc- 
 tor comes, and though we are so scattered, 
 his judgment is soon known all through the 
 glens. When the tourists come back in 
 summer they will not see all the " natives" 
 of the year before. 
 
 It is said by those who know nothing of 
 our lives that we have no social events 
 worth speaking of, and no amusements. 
 This is what ignorance brings outsiders to. 
 I had a marriage last week that was probably 
 more exciting than many of your grand 
 affairs in London. And as for amusements, 
 you should see us gathered together in the 
 smiddy, and sometimes in the school-house. 
 But I must break off here, for the reason that 
 I have used up all my spare sermon paper 
 a serious matter. I shall send the editor 
 something about our social gatherings pres- 
 ently, for he says he wants it. Janet, I 
 may add, has discovered that this is not a 
 sermon, and is very curious about it. 
 
in % $<wtttnj Pang*. 115 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 JANET'S CURIOSITY. 
 
 I HAD no intention of saying anything 
 more about our " clachan,." but since I 
 posted my two last letters Janet has been so 
 miserable, entirely owing to her reprehen- 
 sible inquisitiveness, that I have been quite 
 uncomfortable in the manse. If this is 
 printed, as a kind of postscript to what I 
 wrote before, I shall read it aloud to Janet, 
 and so, I hope, humiliate her. 
 
 I hinted that Janet could not discover why 
 I was writing so-much. At first she thought 
 I was at sermons, but very soon she de- 
 cided against this theory. Without blushing 
 the woman cannot blush she would look 
 over my shoulder and gaze at the paper ; 
 but that helped her not a jot, for Janet cannot 
 read what she calls " wrote hand." 
 
 " Ay, Janet," I would say to her when I 
 looked behind me and found her eyes on 
 the paper, " and how do you like it ? " 
 
 " 'Deed," she would reply, " I dinna like 
 it at all, and I think you would be better em- 
 ployed attending to your duties." 
 
ifr iw a (Kouwtvtj 
 
 " How do you know I am not at this mo- 
 ment attending to my duties?" 
 
 ' ' Very well ; I canna read your wrote hand, 
 but I see it's not a sermon you're at." 
 
 I was curious to know how Janet had dis- 
 covered this, and pressed her. 
 
 " You scrawl your sermons, for one thing," 
 said Janet, " and that is wrote plainer." 
 
 "And for another? " 
 
 " Well, for another, I've seen you smiling 
 to yourself when you were writing, and 
 .here's nothing to smile at in your ser- 
 mons." 
 
 " Any more reasons? " 
 
 " Yes, there's this. When I came in yes- 
 terday and told you your supper was ready 
 you wrote on for half an hour, so that I had 
 to put your porridge in the oven to warm. 
 You're very willing to come to your supper 
 when it's just a sermon you're at." 
 
 This, of course, is utterly untrue, and I 
 told Janet to leave the room, which she did, 
 banging the door. 
 
 Janet thought it out doubtless in the 
 kitchen, and her next idea was that I was to 
 be called to Aberdeen. I had been in Aber- 
 deen just before the winter came on, and she 
 decided that I was writing out my testimo-. 
 nials. It is not, however, Janet's way to ques- 
 tion me boldly on any matter that she thinks 
 I want to keep secret. If she had asked me 
 whether I was expecting to be called away I 
 
ift in a (Kotwiry IJtw*. 117 
 
 would have told her the truth, but what she 
 did was this. She " stepped down" to the 
 smiddy, and informed the smith's wife that I 
 had received a call from Aberdeen. Janet 
 thinks she has an official connection with the 
 Free Church because she is my housekeeper, 
 and she likes to be first in the field with church 
 news. It is wormwood to her to discover 
 that the elders have been told anything by 
 me which I have not first told her, and so 
 she is constantly forming absurd conclu- 
 sions, and announcing them as facts. Of 
 course, the smith's wife told her neighbors 
 that I had a call to Aberdeen, and soon 
 the glen was discussing nothing else. The 
 session came to the manse to hear all about 
 it, and I had to tell them that the story was 
 only another of Janet's foolish notions. I 
 was very angry with Janet, but she was not 
 in the least ashamed of herself. If I had not 
 got a call, who was I writing these letters to ? 
 she asked herself. Her next decision was 
 that I was to be married. This enraged her. 
 The fact that I posted the letters myself 
 struck her as proof positive. Of course, 
 I only posted them because I knew that if I 
 gave them to her she would get some one to 
 read the address. 
 
 This time Janet kept her suspicions to her- 
 self, leading me, however, to understand 
 that I was behaving very foolishly. 
 
 ''You'll have been hearing," she would 
 
n 
 
 say, "that the schoolmaster and his wife 
 are getting on very ill ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, I understand that they 
 are very happy." 
 
 ' ' Some folk have queer ideas of happiness, 
 but I would not be happy if I was a school- 
 master, and my wife flung the tongs at me. " 
 
 "Tuts, tuts, Janet, that never happened 
 at the schoolhouse." 
 
 " Did it not ? " said Janet. " You can see 
 the mark of the tongs on his brow/' 
 
 Then Janet would look sideways at me, 
 and say artfully : 
 
 She's an Aberdeen woman. " 
 So I believe. " 
 
 'Ay, the Aberdeen lassies is sly." 
 'What makes you think that? " 
 It's well known. I've often heard them 
 that kens say that you can just be sure of 
 one thing about Aberdeen lassies." 
 
 "And what is that ? " 
 
 "That they're the very opposite of what 
 they pretend to be. " 
 
 With this shot Janet would retire, but soon 
 she would return to the subject 
 
 "I hear the Aberdeen lassies try terrible 
 hard to snap up the students. " 
 
 "Do they?" 
 
 "They do-, and they have ruined many a 
 promising man especially ministers." 
 
 "But many a minister is married without 
 being ruined." 
 
in a Country PWUM, 119 
 
 "Not to an Aberdeen lassie. These lim- 
 mers are no' brought up to mak' house- 
 keepers, but just to show off. They can 
 play on the piano, and that's about all 
 they're fit for. They would disgrace a 
 manse, leastwise a country manse." 
 
 " They would have had no chance with 
 you, Janet, if you had been a man." 
 
 " They wouldna ; but some folk are no* 
 difficult to get round, and ministers are 
 easily wheedled." 
 
 " You don't think me easily wheedled, do 
 you ? " 
 
 " 'Deed there's no saying." 
 
 " But if I had been so weak I would have 
 fallen a victim to their wiles long ago. " 
 
 "I dinna ken about that. It's said there's 
 no fule like an old fule." 
 
 " Do you mean to call me old ? " 
 
 "Oh, you're no' that young now." 
 
 "What makes you talk so much about 
 marriage nowadays, Janet ? " 
 
 " I have een, and can use them. When I 
 see you writing letters by the hour I ken 
 what it means." 
 
 "But if I'm writing to a lady, why does 
 she not write to me ? " 
 
 "That's what puzzles me, but no doubt 
 she's sly. She kens what she's about. I 
 daresay she has another lad she would 
 rather have, and she's just keeping you 
 dangling on, in case he refuses her." 
 
120 ft in a 
 
 " Refuses her, Janet ? The woman, as you 
 surely know, does not propose to the man." 
 
 "I'm thinking- she does a hantle times 
 oftener than the men have any idea of. Ye 
 may laugh, but I ken women especially 
 these Aberdeen hussies." 
 
 "Why, you never were within seventy 
 miles of Aberdeen in your life. " 
 
 "Maybe no, but I ken what fules these 
 women mak' of ministers. Yes, and I ken 
 how the ministers repents when it's too late. 
 You admire these dressed-up dolls' grand 
 clothes, but I'm thinking you sing a different 
 tune when you have to pay for them. The 
 piano's a pretty instrument, but you think 
 less of it when you're hungry and the broth 
 pot's full of soot." 
 
 "But, Janet, the Aberdeen lassie would 
 keep a servant to look after the broth pot. " 
 
 "And a pretty-like servant, I'm thinking. 
 These limmers of stuck-up wives dinna like 
 to have a respectable middle-aged woman 
 in the kitchen like " 
 
 "Like yourself? " 
 
 "Yes, like myself. Oh, no; they bring 
 some useless fule of a lassie with them that 
 they think genteel-looking. Yes, she can 
 wear a neat cap (and set it at every single 
 man in the kirk) ; but as for work, she kens 
 nothing about it. All she's fit for is for 
 combing her mistress's false hair and burn- 
 ing the potatoes." 
 
in a totttry 'jftrnw. 121 
 
 "Hoots, Janet, you were young once 
 yourself. " 
 
 "Oh, you're an infatuated man, and will 
 not listen to reason. But let me tell you 
 this, that folk haver when they say a minis- 
 ter is better looked after when he's married. 
 That's a story invented by young women. 
 When you have ministers preaching here, 
 do you think I need to speir whether they're 
 married or single ? No, I ken from one look 
 at them. If they're sensible single men with 
 a decent body to look after them, their boots 
 is in good order and their coats well brushed. 
 But I detect the married man at once by his 
 want of buttons and his boots worn down 
 at the heel, and the seams of his sleeves 
 open. Yes, and I ken him by his want of 
 spirit. However, as I say, a willful man 
 maun have his say, and I will not argue 
 with you." 
 
 Then one day Janet found out that my 
 letters have been addressed to a newspaper 
 office, and immediately she had a new idea. 
 I was advertising for another housekeeper. 
 This was too terrible, and she could beat 
 about the bush no longer. She walked into 
 the manse parlor, and said : 
 
 " I dinna ken what I've done to make you 
 treat me so secret-like, but I want to hear 
 the worst." 
 
 "What are you talking about, Janet?" I 
 asked, innocently. 
 
122 
 
 "Are you to be married?'' demanded 
 Janet. 
 
 "Certainly not," I answered. "No one 
 will have me." 
 
 ' Then it's a new servant ? " 
 ' What is a new servant ? " 
 'That you're advertising for." 
 1 Did I say I was advertising ? " 
 ' Tell me the worst, I can bear it. " 
 'Janet," I said, severely, " your curiosity 
 will bring you to an early grave if you don't 
 restrain it. It is no affair of yours what I 
 have been writing, and therefore I shall not 
 answer your questions. You have brought 
 all your misery on yourself." 
 
 So Janet is still wondering what the writ- 
 ing is about, but I won't tell her till th6 paper 
 arrives. Then I shall read this aloud to 
 her, and add certain moral reflections which 
 will cow her for a day or two, though they 
 would not interest the public. 
 
ift in & Country Hftw** 123 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TEACHER M 'QUEEN. 
 
 As I tried to show some time ago, my old 
 manse housekeeper, Janet, takes a personal 
 interest in my affairs. In certain matters 
 she has me under complete subjection ; for 
 instance, I dare not smoke (except in com- 
 pany) in my black coat, and it is the worse 
 for me if I forget to change my socks on the 
 days which she has, as it were, set apart for 
 that purpose. So far she has allowed me 
 to compose my own sermons, but I have 
 visions of a time when she will insist on 
 telling me what to say in the pulpit, as well 
 as how to say it. Nay, more, Teacher 
 M'Queen declared at the smiddy the other 
 night that when I grew old and weak in 
 intellect (Janet, who dislikes him, says that 
 he said "weaker in intellect") my house- 
 keeper would propose to me, and we would 
 be "kirked" before I had courage to enter 
 a protest. This prediction I openly flout, 
 while admitting Janet's power in the manse. 
 This chapter in our "clachan" life, indeed, 
 is written at her instigation. At first when 
 
124 
 
 she discovered that I had become an authot 
 she was contemptuous, and her sneers 
 on the subject made me uncomfortable. 
 About a month ago, however, Janet began 
 to look upon authorship in a new light. 
 There are several persons in the glen whom 
 she never passes, even on the Sabbath, 
 without flinging her head so far back that 
 she can see what is taking place behind her. 
 One of these is Teacher M'Queen, and it 
 has struck Janet that I might make the 
 old dominie more humble if I "showed him 
 up in the newspapers." 
 
 " Of which he has great need," Janet fre- 
 quently reminds me. 
 
 ' ' I can show him his errors from the 
 pulpit," I tell her. 
 
 ' ' You can, " says Janet, ' ' and when you're 
 done he wakes up. '' 
 
 Teacher M'Queen does not sleep in church, 
 but Janet scorns him, and therefore insists 
 that he does. Janet watches the congrega- 
 tion so sharply that she has no time to pay 
 much attention to the sermon. When this 
 is pointed out to her she says : 
 
 "I have the minister six days a week, 
 and so I can surely take my een off him on 
 the Sabbath." 
 
 However, I must leave Janet (whom I 
 seem to have on the brain) and come to 
 Teacher M'Queen. Nevertheless, I would 
 have it first understood that I mean to 
 
in K <0wwy Pause. 125 
 
 sketch the dominie as I know him, not as 
 he is conceived by Janet. 
 
 M'Queen has never been a schoolmaster 
 here in my time. It will be six years in 
 June since I came to the glen, and he had 
 retired on a pension two years before that. 
 He was a teacher in the glen (as he tells me 
 every time we quarrel about whitewashing 
 the session-house) " long before I was born," 
 and he is still so hale that he might venture 
 to add that he will still be a resident here 
 long after I am dead. They say that he 
 and the inspector once nearly came to blows 
 about a vulgar fraction, but as a rule, I 
 fancy, he -was sly rather than combative on 
 the days of the examination, and there are 
 queer stories (told by former pupils) of what 
 he did behind the inspector's back. The 
 grand ambition of the inspector was to get 
 him to retire, which he did, after thinking 
 the matter over six years. His great sub- 
 ject of conversation at the social board had 
 always been the glories of life in Aberdeen, 
 for he despised what he called the " stagna- 
 tion " of the glen, and would frequently say 
 to our farmers, or to the smith : 
 
 "The like of you can have no notion of 
 the sublime thoughts that fill the brain of an 
 educated mar., Therefore, what do you 
 mean by presuming to argue with me? " 
 
 Of course, when he decided to retire on a 
 pension, the universal opinion was that he 
 
would spend his last days in his beloved 
 Aberdeen. I believe the glen folk were 
 grieved to think that he would be known 
 to them no more ; for though he was and 
 is a cantankerous man, it is impossible to 
 live for years in intimacy with any one 
 without discovering some good in him. The 
 dominie had been an indefatigable teacher, 
 and had done numerous kind-hearted things, 
 though not, it must be admitted, in a gra- 
 cious manner. A number of his old pupils 
 rallied round him when he retired, and there 
 was a social gathering given in his honor at 
 the new school-house. An English village 
 school could not, I think, make such a dis- 
 play, for even up in our little glen boys are 
 ambitious of learning, and there were three 
 ministers and an advocate (all former pupils) 
 at the gathering. Several other pupils, who 
 had risen to what in the glen is called fame, 
 were unable to be present, but they sent 
 their good wishes and a subscription to the 
 present. The present to the dominie con- 
 sisted of " a purse and sovereigns," but I 
 never heard how many sovereigns were in 
 the purse. Perhaps this is one of the things 
 best kept dark. 
 
 Then when the presentation was over, 
 and the speeches and the tea run down, 
 nearly the whole glen shook hands with 
 Teacher M'Queen, and wished him happy 
 days in Aberdeen. 
 
itt fl 0Utttnj PW*. 127 
 
 "Thank you kindly," he replied a score 
 of times, " but I may see you again before 
 I go, as I've taken lodgings with the smith 
 for a week. You see, I have some things 
 to do before I can start." 
 
 So the dominie spoke ; but the week went 
 by, and another week, and then another, 
 and he was still at the smith's. When ques- 
 tioned as to when he meant to leave, he 
 continued to say : 
 
 " Oh, in a few days. You see I have 
 some things to do before I can start." 
 
 One of the things the dominie had to do 
 was to give up his eldership, and this took 
 a long time. I had the story from my pre- 
 decessor. 
 
 " M'Queen used to come up to the manse, " 
 Mr. Marr told me, "and explain that as 
 he was going to Aberdeen, he would have 
 to give up his eldership. Then he would 
 sigh, and say, ' You'll get the session-house 
 whitewashed when I'm away ; ' and I would 
 reply, ' Well, it needs to be whitewashed, 
 and I could never understand why you were 
 so much opposed to whitewashing it. ' ' Ah, ' 
 he would answer, ' you see James White 
 and I never got on well, and James was for 
 the whitewashing, and so I was bound to go 
 against it. I'll hardly sleep at nights at 
 Aberdeen, for I'll always be thinking James 
 has got his way/ Then when he rose to go 
 (I always let him out myself, because Janet 
 
128 pft iii-H $0uutnj 
 
 and he used to put up their backs at each 
 other) I would say, ' So I am to understand 
 that you have resigned your eldership ? ' and 
 he would answer, ' Well, it must come to 
 that, but I think I'll put off resigning for 
 another week,, as I'm not just leaving yet, 
 there being some things I must do before I 
 can start. ' '' 
 
 At the smiddy the dominie spoke for a 
 time of the glories of Aberdeen. He had 
 been born there, and educated at the Uni- 
 versity, and there was a gleam in his eye 
 when he talked of the old college, and of the 
 smell of the sea. But when he was asked 
 whether he had many friends in Aberdeen 
 now, he became silent, and went out alone. 
 His feet took him in the direction of his old 
 school, a miserable little building that was 
 falling to pieces even before the new school 
 was built. Even to this day it is toward 
 the old school that Teacher M'Queen 
 wanders, and I have heard it said that some- 
 times as he strides along the path, he for- 
 gets that the school is no longer in use, and 
 that his own working days are done. He 
 has been seen stopping short at the doorway 
 of the old school (the door is gone), and 
 looking around him as if for his ragged 
 scholars, or listening for the sound of them 
 at play. Then he looks straight before him 
 for a time, and speaks to himself, after which 
 he returns to the smith's and says that he 
 
n H ttttvj a#*. 129 
 
 has decided to set off for Aberdeen on Satur- 
 day. But Saturday passes, and still there 
 is something to be done before Teacher 
 M 'Queen can start. 
 
 I think the dominie had been fully six 
 months in his quarters with the smith before 
 he ceased to talk of going to Aberdeen next 
 week. Then he admitted that the winter 
 was too far advanced. 
 
 "The east winds are trying in Aberdeen," 
 he allowed, " and it would scarcely be safe 
 to make the change from here to there in 
 midwinter. But I'll go in spring." 
 
 Spring came, and the dominie was still in 
 no hurry to go. 
 
 'Til wait till summer, when the days are 
 long/' he said. 
 
 Then winter came again. 
 
 I suppose he did mean to go to Aberdeen 
 at some time. There is something rather 
 pathetic in this. All his life he had looked 
 forward to returning to Aberdeen, and pass- 
 ing his last years in it. When he was a 
 youth he had no thought, we may be sure, 
 of being a dominie in an insignificant glen 
 during all the working years of his life. He 
 came to the glen strong in the belief that 
 very soon he would get a better place, per- 
 haps in the famous grammar school of Aber- 
 deen itself. Everything he saw here he 
 compared scornfully to what he had seen in 
 Aberdeen. He would not allow that the sun 
 
130 
 
 shone here as it did there ; and the Aberdeen 
 people excelled all others. His relatives 
 lived in Aberdeen, but they died before the 
 dominie had a chance of returning perma- 
 nently to it. He had a love-story, too, as I 
 suppose all men have, and the scene of it 
 was Aberdeen. I don't know why it came to 
 nothing, for on that subject the dominie, 
 even in his loquacious hours, shuts his mouth. 
 
 He discovered, but tried to put the dis- 
 covery from him as something distasteful, 
 that Aberdeen no longer contained a friend 
 of his. He might have left the glen for it, 
 but though many persons in the glen would 
 have seen him on the coach, there was no 
 one to meet him at Aberdeen station. All 
 his life he had thought of Aberdeen as his 
 real home, yet during this time he was mak- 
 ing a new home in the glen. It would have 
 been death for him to leave us. In the glen 
 he is somebody, but Aberdeen buried him 
 decades ago. 
 
 So the dominie remains with us, and here 
 he will end his days. In the glen he is still 
 Teacher M'Queen, while the present school- 
 master is only Mr. Rowand. Mr. Marrwent 
 the way of all the earth some years ago, 
 but still Teacher M'Queen is an elder in the 
 church, still Janet and he shake their heads 
 at each other, and he is still violent in his 
 opposition to the whitewashing of the ses- 
 sion-house. 
 
fo in a (Sountvij PHU^, 131 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE POST. 
 
 WHEN a carriage is going one way along 
 our glen road, and the post's bicycle is 
 coming the other way, there is an anxious 
 moment for the persons in the carriage. 
 They will squeeze their vehicle, if they are 
 wise, into a recess, but even then the bicycle 
 may charge into it, for the post's " machine " 
 is more like a restive horse than a thing of 
 wheels, and, except when there is a brae to 
 climb, it is constantly running away with 
 him. It used to back in the middle of 
 braes and whirl him down the way he had 
 come, much like a canoe trying to ascend a 
 rush of water and giving up the contest 
 when near the top. Now, however, the 
 post is more cautious. When he comes to 
 a brae he jumps (and falls) from his veloci- 
 pede, as he calls it, and drags it up the hill. 
 When he is tired of dragging, he pushes. 
 It has been noticed of our glen that it is all 
 climbing. The road the post has to go is 
 more like a switchback railway than any- 
 thing else, so that he is oftener off his 
 
132 fpf* itt a 
 
 velocipede than on it To the calm out- 
 sider the machine doubles his daily work, yet 
 it is the one thing in this world he is proud of. 
 
 He is a lanky man, with hair that the wind 
 blows across his eyes, and his age is uncer- 
 tain. He thinks he must be sixty, but some 
 in the glen say he is seventy. Every day he 
 has some eighteen miles to walk (or "cycle") 
 but we do not consider this astounding, there 
 being several men of threescore-and-ten in 
 the glen who can still walk their thirty miles 
 on occasion. One of them, indeed, can even 
 fish after it. However, John had set his 
 heart on a velocipede, and two years ago a 
 subscription was started to enable him to 
 buy a second-hand one. Nearly twelve 
 shillings were gathered in a single evening 
 at the schoolhouse for this purpose, the 
 teacher having got up a concert (at which I 
 read Mr. Stanley's account of how he found 
 Livingstone though the hit of the evening 
 was made by our comic singer). After the 
 money had been presented to the post, he 
 changed his mind about the bicycle and 
 bought a fiddle, to the great indignation of 
 the subscribers. He showed considerable 
 canniness when taken to task. 
 
 "How have I cheated you?" he asked 
 the smith's wife. 
 
 "We gave money to let you buy a veloci- 
 pede, and you've bought a fiddle. That's 
 how you've cheated us." 
 
fe in a GTounttg ^tow, 133 
 
 "No, Mary, you misjudge me. In the 
 testimonial I got with the siller, it said that 
 the money was raised in recognition of my 
 long and valuable services." 
 
 "Yes, and to let you buy a velocipede." 
 
 "There's not a word about a velocipede." 
 
 "Maybe it's called a bi bicycle, but 
 that's the same thing. v 
 
 " It's hardly the same thing, but I assure 
 you bicycles are no mentioned any more 
 than velocipedes." 
 
 " Havers ! did I no hear the testimonial 
 read out ? " 
 
 " You did ; and I can repeat it to you by 
 heart, for often I say it to myself when stand- 
 ing beneath a tree till the rain stops. The 
 words you're thinking of are as follows : 
 ' This gift is raised to enable him to buy some- 
 thing that will make his journeys easier.' ' 
 
 "And surely that means a velocipede?" 
 
 "I don't see but what it might mean a 
 fiddle. The roads don't seem so long if you 
 have music to brighten them." 
 
 "Well aware you are that these words 
 were just put in because the dominie's heart 
 failed him at the word, 'velocipede/ he no 
 being sure how many s's were in it." 
 
 " If that's so," said John, cunningly, "the 
 blame for buying the fiddle should be 
 charged to the dominie." 
 
 It was apparently only to "stop talk" 
 that the post by and by began to construct 
 
134 Ififr in a (toutttj 
 
 a velocipede out of his own head. At first 
 he took little interest in the enterprise, per- 
 haps because he was hopeless, but soon he 
 became so enamored of it that he grudged 
 the time spent in delivering letters. My 
 housekeeper wanted me to have him dis- 
 missed promptly (Janet thinks the Govern- 
 ment would not dare to disobey the orders 
 of a Free Church minister), because one day 
 he said to her : 
 
 "Hie, Janet ; there's twa or three letters 
 for the minister in my bag. You'll better cry 
 in at the smith's for them. They're on the 
 mantel-piece." 
 
 " Bring them yourself," said Janet, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 'Til try to run up with them," said the 
 audacious post, "before supper-time, but I'm 
 terribly busy making my velocipede." 
 
 "Are you paid by the Government for 
 making velocipedes," demanded Janet, "or 
 for delivering letters ? " 
 
 "I disdain to argue with a woman," 
 replied John. "Stand out of the light, 
 woman." 
 
 "Woman indeed 1 " said Janet, holding 
 her head high. 
 
 John and the smith are only on speaking 
 terms now when the velocipede is broken, 
 which is once a week or so. Then they 
 mend it between them. Their quarrel arose 
 in this way. John began to make his vehi- 
 
f* itt ," totttvy PHW, 135 
 
 cle in his own kitchen, from which he was 
 driven by his wife to a shed that is cold in 
 winter, because it wants half of the roof. 
 Having made a machine here that looked 
 complete when leaning against the side of 
 the shed, but came to pieces if you tried to 
 sit on it, John had to call in the smith, and 
 for a month, the two men were engaged in 
 the evenings in giving it finishing touches. 
 They were great friends during this period, 
 and, indeed, up to the memorable day when 
 the post's steed was first seen by the glen at 
 large. It was so much admired that John 
 felt it to be his duty to himself and the Post- 
 master-General to claim full credit for the 
 construction. From the same day the smith 
 took to maintaining that he had made the 
 velocipede. 
 
 "The smith lent me some nails and a 
 hammer," John said, "but I made the 
 thing." 
 
 " Him make a bicycle ! " said the smith, 
 scornfully. "I let him hold the nails till I 
 needed them, but I did all the work." 
 
 "A laddie could have done all the smith 
 did," John explained. 
 
 "That's true," retorted the smith, "if a 
 laddie could have made the bicycle." 
 
 So fierce did the controversy run that the 
 smith turned his back when John came clat- 
 tering along on his wooden horse. Never- 
 theless both love that bicycle, and when 
 
anything is wrong with it they rush for ham- 
 mers and twine. There is a great deal of 
 twine about the machine, and when it cuts, 
 the wheels go different ways. 
 
 To describe the post's velocipede is alto- 
 gether beyond my pen. To me it looks 
 like a little cart-wheel in chase of a big one, 
 with an excited rider trying to keep them 
 apart. 
 
 " The post's coming ! " some one says at 
 the "clachan," and then mothers dart into 
 the road for their children to save them from 
 death, while terrified hens run this way and 
 that. Then with a clatter John bears down 
 upon us, shouting : 
 
 ''Clear the road there!" 
 
 "Stop him," some one cries to John. 
 
 "I canna," says John ; "he's away with 
 me again. Grip him at the back." 
 
 Some bold spirit seizes the little wheel, 
 and is dragged along by the infuriated bicy- 
 cle until John is able to descend. 
 
 "Bring me a drink of water," he pants. 
 
 But it is not always thus that the post 
 arrives. Sometimes he is hours late, and 
 we say : 
 
 "I can't make out why John is so late." 
 
 " He'll have broken down," is suggested 
 next. 
 
 By and by John walks into the hamlet, 
 pushing his bicycle before him, or laden 
 with various parts of it. 
 
in a Cuuntnj Pause, 137 
 
 " We've had an accident/' he explains, as 
 if an explanation were necessary. 
 
 Sometimes the post comes to grief as well 
 as his machine, and we have to sally forth 
 to look for him. Once something still more 
 remarkable happened. The bicycle arrived 
 alone. We hurried up the brae, at the foot 
 of which the hamlet lies, and near the top 
 we found John prone in the middle of a wet 
 road. 
 
 " Don't bother about me," he cried, "but 
 help me to find the velocipede. It's bolted." 
 
 I should say that it would be easier to walk 
 forty miles on our roads than to ride five on 
 that demon machine, but the post by no 
 means agrees with me. 
 
 "That velocipede's like a watch," he says, 
 fondly. ' ' So long as I never had one I didn't 
 miss it, but now I couldn't do without it." 
 
If if* iw a 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A WEDDING IN THE SMIDDY. 
 
 I PROMISED to take the world at large into 
 my confidence on the subject of our wedding 
 at the smiddy. You in London, no doubt, 
 dress more gorgeously for marriages than we 
 do though we can present a fine show of 
 color and you do not make your own wed- 
 ding cake, as Lizzie did. But what is your 
 excitement to ours? I suppose you have 
 many scores of marriages for our one, but 
 you only know of those from the newspapers. 
 "At so-and-so, by the Rev. Mr. Such-a- 
 one, John to Elizabeth, eldest daughter of 
 Thomas." That is all you know of the 
 couple who were married round the corner, 
 and therefore, I say, a hundred such wed- 
 dings are less eventful in your community 
 than one wedding in ours. 
 
 Lizzie is off to Southampton with her hus- 
 band. As the carriage drove off behind two 
 horses that could with difficulty pull it 
 through the snow, Janet suddenly appeared 
 at my elbow and remarked : 
 
in a (Dmitry Ittanietf* 139 
 
 "Well, well, she has him now, and may 
 she have her joy of him." 
 
 " Ah, Janet/' I said, " you see you were 
 wrong. You said he would never come for 
 her." 
 
 "No, no," answered Janet. " I just said 
 Lizzie made too sure about him, seeing as he 
 was at the other side of the world. These 
 sailors are scarce to be trusted. " 
 
 "But you see this one has turned up a 
 trump. " 
 
 ' ' That remains to be seen. Anybody that's 
 single can marry a woman, but it's no so 
 easy to keep her comfortable." 
 
 I suppose Janet is really glad that the sailor 
 did turn up and claim Lizzie, but she is an- 
 noyed in a way too. The fact is that Janet 
 was skeptical about the sailor. I never saw 
 Janet reading anything but the Free Church 
 Monthly, yet she must have obtained her 
 wide knowledge of sailors from books. She 
 considers them very bad characters, but is 
 too shrewd to give her reasons. 
 
 "We all ken what sailors are," is her dark 
 way of denouncing those who go down to the 
 sea in ships, and then she shakes her head 
 and purses up her mouth as if she could tell 
 things about sailors that would make our 
 hair rise. 
 
 I think it was in Glasgow that Lizzie met 
 the sailor three years ago. She had gone 
 there to be a servant, but the size of the 
 
140 
 
 place (according to her father) frightened 
 her, and in a few months she was back at 
 the clachan. We were all quite excited to 
 see her again in the church, and the general 
 impression was that Glasgow had ' ' made 
 her a deal more lady-like." In Janet's opin- 
 ion she was just a little too lady-like to be 
 Natural. 
 
 In a week's time there was a wild rumor 
 through the glen that Lizzie was to be 
 married. 
 
 " Not she/' said Janet uneasily. 
 
 Soon, however, Janet had to admit that 
 there was truth in the story, for, ' ' the way 
 Lizzie wandered up the road looking for the 
 post showed she had a man on her mind." 
 
 Lizzie, I think, wanted to keep her wonder- 
 ful secret to herself, but that could not be 
 done. 
 
 "I canna sleep at nights for wondering 
 who Lizzie is to get," Janet admitted to me. 
 So in order to preserve her health Janet 
 studied the affair, reflected on the kind of 
 people Lizzie was likely to meet in Glasgow, 
 asked Lizzie to the manse to tea (with no 
 result), and then asked Lizzie's mother (vic- 
 tory). Lizzie was to be married to a sailor. 
 
 " I'm cheated, " said Janet, "if she ever 
 sets eyes on him again. Oh, we all ken 
 what sailors are.'' 
 
 You must not think Janet too spiteful. 
 Marriages were always too much for her, 
 
iu u (llouwtnj ^iun^, 141 
 
 but after the wedding is over she becomes 
 good-natured again. She is a strange mix- 
 ture, and, I rather think, very romantic, 
 despite her cynical talk. 
 
 Well, I confess now that for a time I was 
 somewhat afraid of Lizzie's sailor myself. 
 His letters became few in number, and often 
 I saw Lizzie with red eyes after the post had 
 passed. She had too much work to do to 
 allow her to mope, but she became unhappy 
 and showed a want of spirit that alarmed her 
 father, who liked to shout at his relatives 
 and have them shout back at him. 
 
 "I wish she had never set eyes on that 
 sailor," he said to me one day when Lizzie 
 was troubling him. 
 
 "She could have had William Simpson," 
 her mother said to Janet. 
 
 "I question that, "said Janet, in repeating 
 the remark to me. 
 
 But though all the clachan shook its head 
 at the sailor, and repeated Janet's aphorism 
 about sailors as a class, Lizzie refused to 
 believe her lover untrue. 
 
 "The only way to get her to flare up at 
 me," her father said, "is to say a word 
 against her lad. She will not stand that." 
 
 And, after all, we were wrong and Lizzie 
 was right. In the beginning of the winter 
 Janet walked into my study and parlor (she 
 never knocks), and said : 
 
 << He's come 1" 
 
142 
 
 "Who?" I asked. 
 
 * ' The sailor. Lizzie's sailor. It's a per- 
 fect disgrace." 
 
 " Hoots, Janet, it's the very reverse. I'm 
 delighted ; and so, I suppose, are you in 
 your heart." 
 
 "I'm not grudging her the man if she 
 wants him," said Janet, flinging up her head, 
 "but the disgrace is in the public way he 
 marched past me with his arm around her. 
 It affronted me." 
 
 Janet gave me details. She had been to 
 a farm for the milk and passed Lizzie, who 
 had wandered out to meet the post as usual. 
 
 "I've no letter for ye, Lizzie," the post 
 said, and Lizzie sighed. 
 
 "No, my lass," the post continued, "but 
 I've something better." 
 
 Lizzie was wondering what it could be, 
 when a man jumped out from behind a 
 hedge, at the sight of whom Lizzie screamed 
 with joy. It was her sailor. 
 
 "I would never have let on I was so 
 fond of him," said Janet. 
 
 "But did he not seem fond of her?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "That was the disgrace," said Janet. 
 " He marched off to her father's house with 
 his arm round her ; yes, passed me and a 
 wheen other folk, and looked as if he neither 
 kent nor cared how public he was making 
 himself. She did not care either." 
 
in a $0wtnj PW*. 143 
 
 I addressed some remarks to Janet on the 
 subject of meddling with other people's 
 affairs, pointing out that she was now half 
 an hour late with my tea ; but I, too, was 
 interested to see the sailor. I shall never 
 forget what a change had come over Lizzie 
 when I saw her next. The life was back in 
 her face, she bustled about the house as 
 busy as a bee, and her walk was springy. 
 
 "This is him," she said to me, and then 
 the sailor came forward and grinned. He 
 was usually grinning when I saw him, but 
 he had an honest, open face, if a very 
 youthful one. 
 
 The sailor staid on at the clachan till the 
 marriage, and continued to scandalize Janet 
 by strutting " past the very manse gate " 
 with his arm round the happy Lizzie. 
 
 "He has no notion of the solemnity of 
 marriage," Janet informed me, "or he would 
 look less jolly. I would not like a man that 
 joked about his marriage." 
 
 The sailor undoubtedly did joke. He 
 seemed to look on the coming event as the 
 most comical affair in the world's history, 
 and Avhen he spoke of it he slapped his knees 
 and roared. But there was daily fresh evi- 
 dence that he was devoted to Lizzie. 
 
 The wedding took place in the smiddy, 
 because it is a big place, and all the glen was 
 invited. "Lizzie would have had the com- 
 pany comparatively select, but the sailor 
 
144 
 
 asked every one to come whom he fell in 
 with, and he had few refusals. He was 
 wonderfully "flush "of money, too, and 
 had not Lizzie taken control of it, would 
 have given it all away before the marriage 
 took place. 
 
 " It's a mercy Lizzie kens the worth of a 
 bawbee," her mother said, "for he would 
 scatter his siller among the very bairns as if 
 it was corn and he was feeding hens. " 
 
 All the chairs in the five houses were not 
 sufficient to seat the guests, but the smith is 
 a handy man, and he made forms by crossing 
 planks on tubs. The smiddy was an amazing 
 sight, lit up with two big lamps ; and the 
 bride, let me inform those who tend to scoff, 
 was dressed in white. As for the sailor, we 
 have perhaps never had so showily dressed 
 a gentleman in our parts. For this occasion 
 he discarded his seafaring " rig-out" (as he 
 called it), and appeared resplendent in a 
 black frock coat (tight at the neck), a light 
 blue waistcoat (richly ornamented), and 
 gray trousers with a green stripe. His 
 boots were new and so genteel that as the 
 evening wore on he had to kick them off and 
 dance in his stocking soles. 
 
 Janet tells me that Lizzie had gone through 
 the ceremony in private with her sailor a 
 number of times, so that he might make no 
 mistake. The smith, asked to take my place 
 at these rehearsals, declined on the ground 
 
in H tetttnj Pan0*. 145 
 
 that he forgot how the knot was tied ; but 
 his wife had a better memory, and I under- 
 stand that she even mimicked me for 
 which I must take her to task one of these 
 days. 
 
 ' However, despite all these precautions, 
 the sailor was a little demonstrative during 
 the ceremony, and slipped his arm round 
 the bride "to steady her." Janet wonders 
 that Lizzie did not fling his arms from her, 
 but 'Lizzie was too nervous now to know 
 what her swain was about. 
 
 Then came the supper and the songs and 
 the speeches. The tourists who picture us 
 shivering, silent, and depressed all through 
 the winter should have been in the smiddy 
 that night. 
 
 I proposed the health of the young couple, 
 and when I called Lizzie by her new name, 
 "Mrs. Fairweather," the sailor flung back 
 his head and roared with glee till he choked, 
 and Lizzie's first duty as a wife was to hit 
 him hard between the shoulder blades. 
 When he was sufficiently composed to reply, 
 he rose to his feet and grinned round the 
 room. 
 
 " Mrs. Fairweather," he cried in an ec- 
 stasy of delight, and again choked. 
 
 The smith induced him to make anothei 
 attempt, and this time he got as far as 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, me and my wife " 
 when the speech ended prematurely in re- 
 
 10 
 
146 'gift in H 
 
 sounding chuckles. The last we saw of 
 him, when the carriage drove away, he was 
 still grinning ; but that, as he explained, 
 was because "he had got Lizzie at last." 
 
 "You'll be a good husband to her, I hope," 
 I said. 
 
 "Will I not ! " he cried, and his arm went 
 round his wife again. 
 
in a Cflttttfrg |ttw* 147 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 THE MINISTER'S GOWN. 
 
 ON the morning after a probationer has 
 been chosen minister of a church, his land- 
 lady intimates through the key-hole of his 
 bedroom that a gentleman has called * ' about 
 the gown." The gentleman is from a firm 
 that supplies gowns, and he has arrived 
 early to forestall the representative of an- 
 other firm. About the same time, two ladies 
 (in black jackets) begin to collect from the 
 other ladies of the congregation the money 
 which is to pay for the gown, and by and 
 by it is presented to the chosen of the people 
 at a soiree. Such is the natural history of 
 the minister's gown. 
 
 But congregations there be ("by steamer 
 to Inverary, thence hire ") that love not 
 
 fowns, and it was one of these that " called" 
 indlater, M.A., a short year ago. Never 
 until this had there been a gown in their pul- 
 pit, nor did the Session think that innovations 
 should come with Findlater. The ladies of 
 the congregation, however (of whom one 
 had a sealskin coat, and therefore was not 
 
fc in iv Country 
 
 to be slighted), " gathered" a gown, and 
 Findlater swore to wear it : and worn it he 
 has every Sunday since, except when it is 
 not there to wear. For the whereabouts of 
 that gown is only known at irregular intervals 
 to many persons at a time. Now it is in the 
 lawful owner's possession, and again in the 
 hands of the enemy that is, of the Session 
 who scruple not to make off with it of a 
 Saturday night and restore it to the vestry 
 on Monday morning. 
 
 Lest it be concluded that the gown has 
 bred ill-feeling between the pastor and his 
 people, let me say at once that this is not so. 
 It has been admitted by all (though neither 
 in writing nor in spoken words) that, gown 
 or no gown, Findlater is the man for them. 
 True, a maiden who subscribed has been 
 asked to return a ring by a gentleman who, 
 though not a deacon, has already the walk 
 of one ; but this she refused to do on the 
 ground that men are hard to get ; and thus 
 a tragedy is averted. Again, though the 
 opposition is, undeniably, led by the pillars 
 of the Kirk, the gown was presented by her 
 of the sealskin, who was educated at an 
 Edinburgh boarding-school where only Free 
 Church plants are received; and thus must, 
 her actions be right and proper. It is, then, 
 with a chastened exultation that the Session 
 see the minister fail to find his gown ; while 
 on those occasions when he unexpectedly 
 
149 
 
 appears in it (they thinking it to be at that 
 moment hidden in the smiddy), they good- 
 naturedly overlook the triumph with which 
 he gives out his first psalm. 
 
 How often the gown has disappeared and 
 been returned or captured I cannot tell. 
 Only occasionally am I in the place for a 
 week-end, and then can no one assure me 
 for certain whether or no we are to have a 
 gown Sunday. At first the gown was kept 
 in the vestry, where it hung on a nail so 
 temptingly that a garden-rake entered by the 
 window and abducted it. That was on a 
 Saturday evening, and service on the follow- 
 ing day began some twenty minutes late. 
 The gown was on its nail by Monday at 10 
 A. M. , and locked away in the vestry-press 
 at ii A. M. ; and for some weeks the min- 
 ister triumphed. Then again had he to 
 preach without his gown in the forenoon. 
 Between services it was discovered lurking 
 behind a tombstone. Some say that he had 
 left the key in the press ; others that, 
 whether locked or not, the press opens if 
 shaken by those who have the knack of it. 
 But those supposed to have the knack of it 
 say nothing, and equally reticent is Find- 
 later, save in the presence of Kirsteen, his 
 housekeeper, who can goad any man to 
 language. 
 
 Latterly Findlater has kept the gown in 
 the manse, from which he now walks to 
 
15 
 
 church in it. Even from the manse has it 
 been removed by daring hands, despite (as 
 the minister once thought) Kirsteen's un- 
 wearying guard over it, but (as he now 
 holds) with the connivance of that double 
 woman. There was a time when Kirsteen 
 was allowed to take the gown to the kitchen, 
 there to renew the seams at the armpit, which 
 give way when Findlater is pronouncing the 
 benediction ; but then had the gown a habit 
 of running off through the shrubbery the 
 moment her back was turned. Hence the 
 new regulation that, when the gown requires 
 mending, it is mended in the minister's 
 presence. 
 
 The lady in the sealskin (which the envi- 
 ous call plush, though they sit immediately 
 behind her, and have felt it with their fingers, 
 when pretending to be merely laying their 
 Bible on the "board") considers Findlater's 
 silence in the face of such persecution sin- 
 gularly beautiful ; and so it is, unless Kir- 
 steen's stories be true of the way he opens 
 out on the subject to her. Only once in 
 public has the gown led to his forgetting him* 
 self : and then the circumstances were try- 
 ing. The manse garden and the church 
 were only the breadth of a burn and a high- 
 road apart, and the minister has to jump the 
 burn. I have seen him do so often, and 
 always first with a look round to apologize 
 for the undignified nature of the act. Such, I 
 
fe in # Country Ittanse. 151 
 
 am sure, is his meaning ; but there are those 
 who maintain that he only looks about him 
 to make sure that no one is in the vicinity 
 with designs on the gown. On the occa- 
 sion in question, just as he was on the point 
 of jumping, it seemed to him that an im- 
 pious hand had tried to pluck the gown off 
 him. His assailant was in reality but the 
 branch of a tree dipping suddenly in the 
 wind till it touched his shoulder ;. but before 
 Findlater realized this he clutched his gown 
 with both hands and said something. 
 
 I called at the manse to-day and found 
 Findlater in his study, busy at his sermon. 
 He was sitting on the gown. 
 
THE 
 
 CAPTAIN OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 WHEN Peterkin, who is twelve, wrote to 
 us that there was a possibility (" but don't 
 count on it," he said) of his bringing the 
 captain of the school home with him for a 
 holiday, we had little conception what it 
 meant. The captain \ve only knew by re- 
 port as the " man " \vho lifted leg-balls over 
 the pavilion and was said to have made a 
 joke to the head-master's wife. By and by 
 we understood the distinction that was to 
 be conferred on us. Peterkin instructed his 
 mother to send the captain a formal invita- 
 tion addressed "J. Rawlins, Esq." This was 
 done, but in such a way that Peterkin feared 
 we might lose our distinguished visitor. 
 " You shouldn't have asked him for all the 
 holidays," Peterkin wrote, " as he has prom- 
 ised a heap of fellows. " Then came a con- 
 descending note from the captain, saying 
 that if he could manage it he would give us 
 a few days. In this letter he referred to 
 
Captain 0f tto $rti001L 153 
 
 Peterkin as his young friend. Peterkin wrote 
 shortly afterwards asking his sister Grizel to 
 send him her photograph. " If you haven't 
 one," he added, " what is the color of your 
 eyes ? " Grizel is eighteen, which is also, 1 
 believe, the age of J. Rawlins. We con- 
 cluded that the captain had been sounding 
 Peterkin about the attractions that our home 
 could offer him ; but Grizel neither sent her 
 brother a photograph nor any account of her 
 personal appearance. "It doesn't matter," 
 Peterkin wrote back ; " I told him you were 
 dark. " Grizel is rather fair, but Peterkin had 
 not noticed that. 
 
 Up to the very last he was in an agony 
 lest the captain should disappoint him. 
 " Don't tell anybody he is coming," he ad- 
 vised us, "for of course there is no saying 
 what may turn up." Nevertheless the cap- 
 tain came, and we sent the dog-cart to the 
 station to meet him and Peterkin. On all 
 previous occasions one of us had gone to 
 the station with the cart ; but Peterkin wrote 
 asking us not to do so this time. "Rawlins 
 hates any fuss," he said. 
 
 Somewhat to our relief, we found the 
 captain more modest than it would have 
 been reasonable to expect. "This is Raw- 
 lins," was Peterkin's simple introduction ; 
 but it could not have been done with more 
 pride had the guest been Mr. W. G. Grace 
 himself. One thing I liked in Rawlins from 
 
154 $to $aptaw of 
 
 the first : his consideration for others. When 
 Peterkin's mother and sister embraced that 
 boy on the doorstep, Rawlins pretended not 
 to see. Peterkin frowned, however, at this 
 show of affection, and with a red face looked 
 at the captain to see how he took it. With 
 much good taste, Peterkin said nothing about 
 this "fuss " on the door-step, and I concluded 
 that he would let it slide. It has so far been 
 a characteristic of that boy that he can let 
 anything which is disagreeable escape his 
 memory. This time, however, as I sub- 
 sequently learned, he had only bottled up 
 his wrath to pour it out upon his sister. 
 Finding her alone in the course of the day, 
 he opened his mind by remarking that this 
 was a nice sort of thing she had done, mak- 
 ing a fool of him before another fellow. 
 Asked boldly for Grizel can be freezing on 
 occasion not only to her own brother, but to 
 other people's brothers what he meant, 
 Peterkin inquired hotly if she was going to 
 pretend that she had not kissed him in Raw- 
 lins' presence. Grizel replied that if Rawlins 
 thought anything of that he was a nasty 
 boy ; at which Peterkin echoed "boy" with 
 a grim laugh, and said he only hoped she 
 would see the captain some day when the 
 ground suited his style of bowling. Grizel 
 replied contemptuously that the time would 
 come when both Peterkin and his disagree- 
 able friend would be glad to be kissed; 
 
itt of tto jStfowt. 155 
 
 upon which her brother flung out of the room, 
 warmly protesting that she had no right to 
 bring such charges against fellows. 
 
 Though Grizel was thus a little prejudiced 
 against the captain, he had not been a day 
 in the house when we began to feel the 
 honor that his visit conferred on us. He 
 was modest almost to the verge of shyness ; 
 but it was the modesty that is worn by a 
 man who knows he can afford it. While 
 Peterkin was there Rawlins had no need to 
 boast, for Pete'rkin did the boasting for him. 
 When, however, the captain exerted himself 
 to talk, Peterkin was contented to retire into 
 the shade and gaze at him. He would look 
 at all of us from his seat in the background, 
 and note how Rawlins was striking us. 
 Peterkin's face as he gazed upon that of the 
 captain went far beyond the rapture of a 
 lover singing to his mistress's eyebrow. He 
 fetched and carried for him, anticipated his 
 wants as if Rawlins were an invalid, and 
 bore his rebukes meekly. When Rawlins 
 thought that Peterkin was speaking too 
 much, he had merely to tell him to shut up, 
 when Peterkin instantly collapsed. We 
 noticed one great change in Peterkin. For- 
 merly, when he came home for the holidays 
 he had strongly objected to making what he 
 called drawing-room calls, but all that was 
 changed. Now he went from house to house 
 showing the captain of! "This is Raw- 
 
156 WM dtojrtaitt rf tint 
 
 lins," remained his favorite form of introduc- 
 tion. He is a boy who can never feel com- 
 fortable in a drawing-room, and so the visits 
 were generally of short duration. They had 
 to go because they were due in another 
 house in a quarter of an hour, or he had 
 promised to let Jemmy Clinker (who is our 
 local cobbler and a great cricketer) see Raw- 
 lins. When a lady engaged the captain in 
 conversation, Peterkin did not scruple to 
 sign to her not to bother him too much ; 
 and if they were asked to call again, Peterkin 
 said he couldn't promise. There was a re- 
 markable thing the captain could do to a 
 walking-stick, which Peterkin wanted him 
 to do everywhere. It consisted in lying flat 
 on the floor, and then raising yourself in an 
 extraordinary way by means of the stick. 
 I believe it is a very difficult feat, and the 
 only time I saw our guest prevailed upon 
 to perform it he looked rather apoplectic. 
 Sometimes he would not do it, apparently 
 because he was not certain whether it was 
 a dignified proceeding. He found it very 
 hard, nevertheless, to resist the temptation, 
 and it was the glory of Peterkin to see him 
 yield to it. From certain noises heard in 
 Peterkin's bedroom it is believed that he is 
 practicing the feat himself. 
 
 Peterkin, you must be told, is an affection- 
 ate boy, and almost demonstrative to his 
 relatives if no one is looking. He was con- 
 
157 
 
 sequently very anxious to know what the 
 captain thought of us all, and brought us our 
 testimonials as proudly as if they were 
 medals awarded for saving life at sea. It is 
 pleasant to me to know that I am the kind 
 of governor Rawlins would have liked him- 
 self, had he required one. Peterkin's mother, 
 however, is the captain's favorite. She pre- 
 tended to take the young man's preference 
 as i\ joke when her son informed her of it, 
 but in reality I am sure she felt greatly re- 
 lieved. . If Rawlins had objected to us, it 
 would have put Peterkin in a very awkward 
 position. As for Grizel, the captain thinks 
 her a very nice little girl, but "for choice," 
 he says (according to Peterkin), "give him 
 a bigger woman." Grizel was greatly an- 
 noyed when he told her this, which much 
 surprised him, for he thought it quite as 
 much as she had any right to expect. On 
 the whole we were perhaps rather glad when 
 Rawlins left, for it was somewhat trying to 
 live up to him. Peterkin 's mother, too, has 
 discovered that her boy has become round- 
 shouldered. It is believed that this is the 
 result of a habit he acquired when in Raw- 
 lins' company of leaning forward to catch 
 what people were saying about the captain. 
 
A POWERFUL DRUG. 
 
 (NO HOUSEHOLD SHOULD BE WITHOUT IT.) 
 
 ALL respectable chemists, Montgomery 
 assures me, keep the cio-root. That is the 
 name of the drug, and Montgomery is the 
 man who ought to write its testimonials. 
 This is a testimonial to the efficacy of the 
 cio-root, and I write it the more willingly 
 because, until the case of Montgomery 
 cropped up, I had no faith in patent medi- 
 cines. Seeing, however, is, they say, believ- 
 ing ; and I have seen what the cio-root did for 
 Montgomery. I can well believe now that 
 it can do anything, from removing grease- 
 spots to making your child cry .out in the 
 night. 
 
 Montgomery, who was married years ago, 
 is subject to headaches, and formerly his 
 only way of treating them was to lie in bed 
 and read a light novel. By the time the 
 novel was finished, so, as a rule, was the 
 headache. This treatment rather interfered 
 
goiwfui grug. 159 
 
 with his work, however, and he tried vari- 
 ous medicines which were guaranteed to 
 cure rapidly. None of them had the least 
 result, until one day, some two months ago, 
 good fortune made him run against an old 
 friend in Chambers Street. Montgomery, 
 having a headache, mentioned it, and his 
 friend asked him if he had tried the cio-root. 
 The name even was unfamiliar to Mont- 
 gomery, but his friend spoke so enthusias- 
 tically of it that the headache man took a 
 note of it. He was told that it had never 
 been known to fail, and the particular merit 
 of it was that it drove the headache away in 
 five minutes. The proper dose to take was 
 half an inch of the root, which was to be 
 sucked and eventually swallowed. Mont- 
 gomery tried several chemists in vain, for 
 they had not heard of it, but at last he got 
 it on George IV. Bridge. He had so often 
 carried home in triumph ascertain cure," 
 which was subsequently flung out at the 
 window in disgust, that his wife shook her 
 head at the cio-root, and advised him not to 
 be too hopeful. However, the cio-root sur- 
 passed the fondest expectations. It com- 
 pletely cured Montgomery in less than the 
 five minutes. Several times he tried it, and 
 always with the same triumphant result. 
 Having at last got a drug to make an idol of, 
 it is not perhaps to be wondered at that 
 Montgomery was full of gratitude. He kept a 
 
160 gt gflllttfttl 
 
 three-pound tin of the cio-root on his library- 
 table, and the moment he felt a headache 
 coming on he said, "Excuse me for one 
 moment," and bit off half an inch of cio-root. 
 
 The headaches "never had a chance. It 
 was therefore natural, though none the less 
 annoying, that his one topic of conversation 
 should become the properties of this remark- 
 able drug. You would drop in on him, 
 glowing over the prospect of a delightful 
 two hours' wrangle over the crofter question, 
 but he pushed the subject away with a wave 
 of his hand, and begged to introduce to our 
 notice the cio-root. Sitting there smoking, 
 his somewhat dull countenance would sud- 
 denly light up as his eyes came to rest on 
 the three-pound tin. He was always ad- 
 vising us to try the cio-root, and when we 
 said we did not have a headache he got 
 sulky. The first thing he asked us when we 
 met was whether we had a headache, and 
 often he clipped off an inch or two of the 
 cio-root and gave it us in a piece of paper, 
 so that the headache might not take us un- 
 awares. I believe he rather enjoyed waking 
 with a headache, for he knew that it would 
 not have a chance. If his wife had been a 
 jealous woman, she would not have liked 
 the way he talked of the cio-root. 
 
 Some of us did try the drug, either to 
 please him or because we were really curious 
 about it. Whatever the reason, none of us, 
 
t think, were prejudiced. We tested it on 
 its merits, and came unanimously to the 
 conclusion that they were negative. The 
 cio-ropt did us no harm. The taste was 
 what one may imagine to be the taste of the 
 root of any rotten tree dipped in tar, which 
 was subsequently allowed to dry. As we 
 were all of one mind on the subject, we in- 
 sisted with Montgomery that the cio-root 
 was a fraud. Frequently we had such alter- 
 cations with him on the subject that we 
 parted in sneers, and ultimately we said that 
 it would be best not to goad him too far ; so 
 we arranged merely to chaff him about his 
 faith in the root, and never went farther 
 than insisting, in a pleasant way, that he 
 was cured, not by the cio-root, but by his 
 believing in it. Montgomery rejected this 
 theory with indignation, but we stuck to it 
 and never doubted it. Events, nevertheless, 
 will show you that Montgomery was right 
 and that we were wrong. 
 
 The triumph of cio-root came as recently 
 as yesterday. Montgomery, his wife, and 
 myself had arranged to go into Glasgow for 
 the day. I called for them in the forenoon 
 and had to wait, as Montgomery had gone 
 along to the office to see if there were any 
 letters. He arrived soon after me, saying 
 that he had a headache, but saying it in a 
 cheery way, for he knew that the root was 
 in the next room. He disappeared into the 
 ii 
 
1 62 g^ g0W#tfttJ 
 
 library to nibble half an inch of the cio-root, 
 and shortly afterwards we set off. The 
 headache had been dispelled as. usual. In 
 the train he and I had another argument 
 about the one great drug, and he ridiculed 
 my notion about its being faith that drove 
 his headache away. I may hurry over the 
 next two hours, up to the time when we 
 wandered into Buchanan Street. There 
 Montgomery met a friend, to whom he intro- 
 duced me. The gentleman was in a hurry, 
 so we only spoke for a moment, but after 
 he had left us he turned back. 
 
 ' ' Montgomery, " he said, ' ' do you remem- 
 ber that day I met you in Chambers Street, 
 Edinburgh ? " 
 
 ' ' I have good reason for remembering the 
 occasion," said Montgomery, meaning to 
 begin the story of his wonderful cure ; but 
 his friend, who had to catch a 'bus, cut him 
 short. 
 
 ' ' I told you at that time, " he said, * ' about 
 a new drug called the cio-root, which had a 
 great reputation for curing headaches. " 
 
 "Yes, "said Montgomery; "I always 
 wanted to thank you " 
 
 His friend, however, broke in again- 
 
 "I have been troubled in my mind since 
 then," he said, "because I was told after- 
 wards that I had made a mistake about the 
 proper dose. If you try the cio-root, don't 
 take half an inch, as I recommended, but 
 
gntg. 163 
 
 a quarter of an inch. Don't forget. It is of 
 vital importance." 
 
 Then he jumped into his 'bus, but I called 
 after him, ' ' What would be the effect of 
 half an inch ? " 
 
 "Certain death," he shouted back, and 
 was gone. I turned to look at Montgomery 
 and his wife. She let her umbrella fall and 
 he had turned white. "Of course there is 
 nothing to be alarmed about," I said, in 
 a reassuring way. ' ' Montgomery has taken 
 half an inch scores of times ; you say it 
 always cured you ? " 
 
 * ' Yes, yes, " Montgomery answered ; but 
 his voice sounded hollow. 
 
 Up to this point the snow had kept off, but 
 now it began to fall in a soaking drizzle. If 
 you are superstitious you can take this as an 
 omen. For the rest of the day, certainly, 
 we had a miserable time of it. I had to do 
 all the talking, and while I laughed and 
 jested, I noticed that Mrs. Montgomery was 
 looking anxiously from time to time at her 
 husband. She was afraid to ask him if he 
 felt unwell, and he kept up, not wanting to 
 alarm her. But he walked like a man who 
 knew that he had come to his last page. At 
 my suggestion we went to St. Enoch's Sta- 
 tion Hotel to have dinner. I had dinner, Mrs. 
 Montgomery pretended to have dinner, but 
 Montgomery himself did not even make the 
 pretense. He sat with his elbows on the 
 
1 64 ^ powerful 
 
 table and his face buried in his hands. At 
 last he said with a groan that he was feeling 
 very ill. He looked so doleful that his wife 
 began to cry. 
 
 Montgomery admitted that he blamed the 
 cio-root for his sufferings. He had taken an 
 overdose of it, he said, tragically, and must 
 abide the consequences. I could have 
 shaken him, for reasoning was quite flung 
 away on him. Of course, I repeated what I 
 had said previously about an overdose hav- 
 ing done him no harm before, but he only 
 shook his head sadly. I said that his be- 
 havior now proved my contention that he 
 only believed in the cio-root because he was 
 told that it had wonderful properties ; other- 
 wise he would have laughed at what his 
 friend had just told him. Undoubtedly, I 
 said, his sufferings to-day were purely 
 imaginary. Montgomery did not have suffi- 
 cient spirits to argue with me, but he mur- 
 mured in a die-away voice that he had felt 
 strange symptoms ever since we set out from 
 Edinburgh. Now, this was as absurd as any- 
 thing in Euclid, for he had been boasting of 
 the wonderful cure the drug had effected 
 again, most of the way between Edinburgh 
 and Glasgow. He insisted that he had a 
 splitting headache, and that he was very 
 sick. In the end, as his wife was now in a 
 frenzy, I sent out for a doctor. The doctor 
 came, said "Yes" and "Quite so" to him- 
 
self, and pronounced Montgomery feverish. 
 That he was feverish by this time, I do not 
 question. He had worked himself into a 
 fever. There was some talk of putting him 
 to bed in the hotel, but he insisted ongoing 
 home. Though he did not put it so plainly, 
 he gave us to understand that he wanted to 
 die in his own bed. 
 
 Never was there a more miserable trio than 
 we in a railway carriage. We got a com- 
 partment to ourselves, for though several 
 passengers opened the door to come in, they 
 shrank back as soon as they saw Montgom- 
 ery's ghastly face. He lay in a corner of 
 the carriage, with his head done up in flan- 
 nel, procured at the hotel. He had the rugs 
 and my great-coat over his legs, but he 
 shivered despite them, and when he spoke at 
 all, except to say that he was feeling worse 
 every minute, it was to talk of men cut off in 
 their prime and widows left destitute. At 
 Mrs. Montgomery's wish I telegraphed, from 
 a station at which the train stopped, to the 
 family doctor in Edinburgh, asking him to 
 meet us at the house. He did so ; indeed, 
 he was on the steps to help Montgomery 
 up them. We took an arm of the in- 
 valid apiece, and dragged him into the 
 library. 
 
 It was a fortunate thing that we went into 
 the library, for the first thing Montgomery 
 saw on the table was the half-inch of cio 
 
166 
 
 root which he thought had killed him. He 
 had forgotten to take it. 
 
 In ten minutes he was all right. Just as 
 we were sitting down to supper, we heard 
 a cat squalling outside. Montgomery flung 
 a three-pound tin of the cio-root at it. 
 
EVERY MAN HIS OWN DOCTOR. 
 
 STATISTICS showing the number of persons 
 who yearly meet their death in our great 
 cities by the fall of telegraph wires are pub- 
 lished from time to time. As our cities grow, 
 and the need of telegraphic communication 
 is more generally felt, this danger will 
 become even more conspicuous. Persons 
 who value their lives are earnestly advised 
 not to walk under telegraph wires. 
 
 Is it generally realized that every day at 
 least one fatal accident occurs in our streets? 
 So many of these take place at crossings that 
 we would strongly urge the public never to 
 venture across a busy street until all the 
 vehicles have passed. 
 
 We find prevalent among our readers 
 an impression that country life is compara- 
 tively safe. This mistake has cost Great 
 Britain many lives. The country is so full 
 of hidden dangers that one may be said to 
 risk his health every time he ventures into 
 it. 
 
 We feel it our duty to remind holiday- 
 
1 68 
 
 makers that when in the country in the open 
 air, they should never sit down. Many a 
 man, aye, and woman too, has been done 
 to death by neglecting this simple precau- 
 tion. The recklessness of the public, indeed, 
 in such matters is incomprehensible. The 
 day is hot, they see an inviting grassy bank, 
 and down they sit. Need we repeat that 
 despite the sun (which is ever treacherous) 
 they should continue walking at a smart 
 pace ? Yes, bitter experience has taught us 
 that we must repeat such warnings. 
 
 When walking in the country, holiday- 
 makers should avoid over-heating them- 
 selves. Nothing is so conducive to disease. 
 We have no hesitation in saying that nine- 
 tenths of the colds that prove fatal are 
 caught through neglect of this simple rule. 
 
 Beware of walking on grass. Though it 
 may be dry to the touch, damp is ever 
 present, and cold caught in this way is 
 always difficult to cure. 
 
 Avoid high-roads in the country. They 
 are, for the most part, unsheltered, and on 
 hot days the sun beats upon them unmerci- 
 fully. The perspiration that ensues is the 
 beginning of many a troublesome illness. 
 
 Country lanes are stuffy and unhealthy, 
 owing to the sun not getting free ingress 
 into them. They should, therefore, be 
 avoided by all who value their health. ' 
 
 In a magazine we observe an article extol- 
 
tote mvw gortor, 169 
 
 ling 1 the pleasures of walking in a wood. 
 That walking in a wood may be pleasant we 
 do not deny, but for our own part we avoid 
 woods. More draughty places could not 
 well be imagined, and many a person who 
 has walked in a wood has had cause to 
 repent it for the rest of his life. 
 
 It is every doctor's experience that there 
 is a large public which breaks down in 
 health simply because it does not take suffi- 
 cient exercise in the open air. Once more 
 we would remind our readers that every 
 man, woman, or child who does not spend 
 at least two hours daily in the open air is 
 slowly committing suicide. 
 
 How pitiful it is to hear a business man 
 say, as business men so often say : ''Really 
 I cannot take a holiday this summer, my 
 business ties me so to my desk, and, besides, 
 I am feeling quite well. No, I shall send 
 my wife and children to the seaside, and 
 content myself with a Saturday-to-Monday 
 now and again." We solemnly warn all 
 such foolish persons that they are digging 
 their own graves. Change is absolutely 
 essential to health. 
 
 Asked the other day why coughs were so 
 prevalent in the autumn, we replied without 
 hesitation, "Because during the past month 
 or two so many persons have changed their 
 beds. " City people rush to the seaside in 
 their thousands, and here is the result. A 
 
change of beds is dangerous to all, but per- 
 haps chiefly to persons of middle age. We 
 have so often warned the public of this that 
 we can only add now, " If they continue to 
 disregard our warning, their blood be on 
 their own heads." This we say not in 
 anger, but in sorrow. 
 
 A case has come to our knowledge of a 
 penny causing death. It had passed through 
 the hands of a person suffering from infec- 
 tious fever into those of a child, who got it 
 as change from a shop. The child took 
 fever and died in about a fortnight. We 
 would not have mentioned this case had we 
 not known it to be but an instance of what 
 is happening daily. Infection is frequently 
 spread by money, and we would strongly 
 urge no one to take change (especially cop- 
 pers), from another without seeing it first 
 dipped in warm water. Who can tell where 
 the penny he gets in change from the news- 
 paper-boy has come from ? ^ 
 
 If ladies, who are ever purchasing new 
 clothes, were aware that disease often lurks 
 in these, they would be less anxious to enter 
 dressmakers' shops. The saleswoman who 
 "fits" them may come daily from a home 
 where her sister lies sick of a fever, or the 
 dress may have been made in some East 
 End den, where infection is rampant. Cases 
 of the kind frequently come to our knowl- 
 edge, and we would warn the public 
 
against this danger that is ever present 
 among us. 
 
 Must we again enter a protest against in- 
 sufficient clothing ? We never take a walk 
 along any of our fashionable thoroughfares 
 without seeing scores of persons, especially 
 ladies, insufficiently clad. The same spec- 
 tacle, alas ! may be witnessed in the East 
 End, but for a different reason. Fashion- 
 able ladies have a horror of seeming stout, 
 and to retain a slim appearance they will 
 suffer agonies of cold. The world would 
 be appalled if it knew how many of these 
 women die before their fortieth year. 
 
 We dress far too heavily. The fact is, 
 that we would be a much healthier people 
 if we wore less clothing. Ladies, especially, 
 wrap themselves up too much, with the re- 
 sult that their blood does not circulate freely. 
 Coats, ulsters, and other wraps cause far 
 more colds than they prevent. 
 
 Why have our ladies not the smattering of 
 scientific knowledge that would tell them to 
 vary the thickness of their clothing with the 
 weather? New garments, indeed, they do 
 don for winter, but how many of them put 
 on extra flannels ? 
 
 We are far too frightened of the weather, 
 treating it as our enemy when it is ready to 
 be our friend. With the first appearance of 
 frost we fly to extra flannel, and thus dan- 
 gerously overheat ourselves. 
 
1 72 
 
 Though there has been a great improve- 
 ment in this matter in recent years, it would 
 be idle to pretend that we are yet a cleanly 
 nation. To speak bluntly, we do not change 
 our under-garments with sufficient frequency. 
 This may be owing to various reasons, but 
 none of them is an excuse. Frequent change 
 of under-clothing is a necessity for the pres- 
 ervation of health, and woe to those who 
 neglect this simple precaution. 
 
 Owing to the carelessness of servants and 
 others, it is not going too far to say that, four 
 times in five, under-garments are put on in 
 a state of semi-dampness. What a fearful 
 danger is here. We do not hesitate to say 
 that every time a person changes his linen 
 he does it at his peril. 
 
 This is such an age of bustle that compara- 
 tively few persons take time to digest their 
 food. They swallow it, and run. Yet they 
 complain of not being in good health. The 
 wonder rather is that they do not fall dead 
 in the street, as, indeed, many of them do. 
 
 How often have doctors been called in to 
 patients whom they find crouching by the 
 fireside and complaining of indigestion ? 
 Too many medical men pamper such pa- 
 tients, though it is their plain duty to tell the 
 truth. And what is the truth ? Why, sim- 
 ply this, that after dinner the patient is in 
 the habit of spending his evening in an 
 jrm-chair, when he ought to be out in the 
 
Pan to urn 0tf<w, 173 
 
 open air, walking off the effects of his heavy 
 meal. 
 
 Those who work hard ought to eat plenti- 
 fully, or they will find that they are burning 
 the candle at both ends. Surely no science 
 is required to prove this. Work is, so to 
 speak, a furnace, and the brighter the fire 
 the more coals it ought to be fed with, or it 
 will go out. Yet we are a people who let 
 our systems go down by disregarding this 
 most elementary and obvious rule of health. 
 
 If doctors could afford to be outspoken 
 they would, twenty times a day, tell pati- 
 ents that they are simply suffering from 
 over-eating themselves. Every foreigner 
 who visits this country is struck by this 
 propensity of ours to eat too much. 
 
 Very heart-breaking are the statistics now 
 to hand from America about the increase in 
 smoking. That this fatal habit is also grow- 
 ing in favor in this country, every man who 
 uses his eyes must see. What will be the 
 end of it we shudder to think, but we warn 
 those in high places that if tobacco smoking 
 is not checked, it will sap the very vitals 
 of this country. Why is it that nearly every 
 young man one meets in the streets is hag- 
 gard and pale? No one will deny that it is 
 due to tobacco. As for the miserable wretch 
 himself, his troubles will soon be over. 
 
 We have felt it our duty from time to time 
 to protest against what is known as the anti- 
 
174 
 
 tobacco campaign. We are, we believe, 
 under the mark in saying that nine doctors 
 in every ten smoke, which is sufficient dis- 
 proof of the absurd theory that the medical 
 profession, as a whole, are against smoking. 
 As a disinfectant, we are aware that tobacco 
 has saved many lives. In these days ot 
 wear and tear, it is especially useful as a 
 sedative ; indeed, many times a day, as we 
 pass pale young men in the streets, whose 
 pallor is obviously due to over-excitement 
 about their businesses, we have thought of 
 stopping them, and ordering a pipe as the 
 medicine they chiefly require. 
 
 Even were it not a destroyer of health, 
 smoking could be condemned for the good 
 and sufficient reason that it makes man sel- 
 fish. It takes away from his interest in con- 
 versation, gives him a liking for solitude, 
 and deprives the family circle of his presence. 
 
 Not only is smoking excellent for the 
 health, but it makes the smoker a better 
 man. It ties him down more to the domestic 
 circle, and loosens his tongue. In short, it 
 makes him less selfish. 
 
 No one will deny that smoking and drink- 
 ing go together. The one provokes a taste 
 for the other, and many a man who has 
 died a drunkard had tobacco to thank for 
 giving him the taste for drink. 
 
 Every one is aware that heavy smokers 
 are seldom heavy drinkers. When asked, as 
 
to own 0^0*. 175 
 
 we often are, for a cure for the drink mad- 
 ness, we have never any hesitation in ad- 
 vising the application of tobacco in larger 
 quantities. 
 
 Finally, smoking stupefies the intellect. 
 
 In conclusion, we would remind our 
 readers that our deepest thinkers have almost 
 invariably been heavy smokers. Some of 
 them have gone so far as to say that they 
 owe their intellects to their pipes. 
 
 The clerical profession is so poorly paid 
 that we would not advise any parent to send 
 his son into it. Poverty means insufficiency 
 in many ways, and that means physical 
 disease. 
 
 Not only is the medical profession over- 
 stocked (like all the others), but medical 
 work is terribly trying to the constitution. 
 Doctors are a short-lived race. 
 
 The law is such a sedentary calling, that 
 parents who care for their sons' health should 
 advise them against it. 
 
 Most literary people die of starvation. 
 
 Trades are very trying to the young ; in- 
 deed, every one of them has its dangers. 
 Painters die from blood poisoning, for in- 
 stance, and masons from the inclemency 
 of the weather. The commercial life on 
 'Change is so exciting that for a man with- 
 out a specially strong heart to venture into 
 it is to court death. 
 
 There is, perhaps, no such enemy to health 
 
176 
 
 as want of occupation. We would entreat 
 all young men, therefore, whether of private 
 means or not, to attach themselves to some 
 healthy calling. 
 
SHUTTING A MAP. 
 
 A NOTE OF WARNING. 
 
 PROMINENT among the curses of civilization 
 is the map that folds up " convenient for the 
 pocket." There are men who can do almost 
 everything except shut a map. It is calcu- 
 lated that the energy wasted yearly in de- 
 nouncing these maps to their face would 
 build the Eiffel Tower in thirteen weeks. 
 
 Almost every house has a map warranted 
 to shut easily, which the whole family, work 
 ing together, is unable to fold. It is gen- 
 erally concealed at the back of a press, with 
 a heavy book on it to keep it down. If you 
 remove the book, the map springs up like a 
 concertina. Sometimes after the press is 
 shut you observe something hanging out. 
 This is sure to be part of the map. If you 
 push this part in, another part takes its place. 
 No press is large enough to hold a map that 
 shuts. This is because maps that shut are 
 maps that won't shut. They have about as 
 much intention of shutting when you buf 
 
 12 
 
178 
 
 hem as the lady has of obeying her husband 
 when she gives a promise to that effect in 
 v he marriage service. 
 
 Maps that shut may also be compared to 
 the toys that whistle, spin, or jump when the 
 shopman is showing you how to work them, 
 or to the machinery that makes mangling a 
 pleasure, or to the instrument that sharpens 
 a pencil in no time. These are completely 
 under the control of the shopman, but after 
 you have bought them and taken them 
 home they become as uncertain in temper 
 as a nervous dog. 
 
 The impossibility of shutting maps except 
 by accident having been long notorious, it 
 is perhaps remarkable that the public should 
 go on buying them. There are hundreds of 
 persons engaged at this moment upon mak- 
 ing maps that shut (as the advertisement 
 puts it), and there must, therefore, be a de- 
 mand to meet such a supply. It is vanity 
 that brings so many people to folly. 
 
 To do the nineteenth century justice, no 
 one nowadays enters a shop with the ob- 
 ject of buying a map that shuts. Wives, 
 especially young ones, have asked their 
 husbands to buy curious things for them ; 
 and husbands, especially old ones, have done 
 it without being asked. But no wife who 
 ever valued her domestic happiness has 
 ever requested her husband to run into a 
 shop in passing and buy a map that shuts. 
 
179 
 
 Even if she did, the husband would refuse. 
 H e might buy ' ' Pigs in clover " if she wanted 
 it ; but the map puzzle, never. 
 
 Yet it has to be sorrowfully admitted that 
 the street could be paved with the maps we 
 do buy. Vanity is the true cause of our 
 fall, but a shopman is the instrument. That 
 even shopmen can shut maps which do 
 not shut except in the shop, no thoughtful 
 person believes ; but over a counter they 
 do it as easily and prettily as a conjurer 
 plays with cards. 
 
 "Have you seen this new map ?" they 
 ask with affected carelessness, while they 
 tie up your books. 
 
 "Anything special about it?" you reply 
 guardedly. 
 
 "Well, yes; it is very convenient for the 
 pocket." 
 
 At the words "convenient for the pocket " 
 you ought to up with your books and run, 
 foi- they are a danger signal ; but you hesi- 
 tate and are lost. 
 
 "You see," he goes on, "it folds into un- 
 usually small space." 
 
 This is merely another way of saying, 
 "You see this is the worst kind of map 
 that has been yet invented." 
 
 " These maps that shut are so difficult to 
 shut," you venture to say. He laughs. 
 
 "My dear sir," he says, "a child could 
 shut this one." 
 
i8o 
 
 Then he opens and shuts it like a lady 
 manipulating her fan, and a fierce desire 
 grows within you to do likewise. When 
 you leave the shop you take away with you 
 a map convenient for the pocket. 
 
 What makes you buy it ? In your heart 
 you know that you are only taking home a 
 pocketful of unhappiness, but you have the 
 pride of life. In an age when we have 
 made slaves of electricity and steam, it 
 seems humiliating that we cannot shut a 
 map. \Ve have ceased, as a people, to 
 look for the secret of perpetual motion, but 
 we still hanker after the secret of how to 
 shut a map. 
 
 No doubt the most maddening thing 
 about maps that shut is that they do shut 
 occasionally. They never shut, however, 
 when you are particularly anxious that they 
 should do so before company, for instance. 
 Very probably you take the map with you 
 from the shop to your office, and there 
 open it up. To your delight it shuts quite 
 easily. This gives you a false feeling of 
 security. If you would really know whether 
 this map shuts more easily than the various 
 other ones over which you have lost your 
 temper, ask your office-boy to come in and 
 see you shut it. You will find that it no 
 longer shuts. This is a sure test. 
 
 Instead of experimenting in this way, 
 and ordering the boy out of the room when 
 
tog H Pap. 
 
 you see him trying to get his face behind 
 his hand, you are so foolish as to take the 
 map home with you, to let your wife see 
 how easily it shuts. If you are a keen 
 observer you will notice her turn white 
 when she sees you produce the map from 
 your pocket. She knows there will be no 
 harmony this evening, and her first deter- 
 mination is to keep the map from you until 
 after dinner. 
 
 What follows when you produce the map 
 and begin is too well-known to require 
 description. What you ought to do in the 
 circumstances no one out of a pulpit could 
 tell you, but there are certain negative rules 
 which it would be well if you would observe. 
 For instance 
 
 Do not be too sanguine. Your tendency is 
 to open the map with a flourish, as one 
 sometimes unfurls a handkerchief. Accom- 
 panied by the remark that nothing is easier 
 than to shut a map once you have the knack 
 of it, this raises hopes which are not likely 
 to be realized. The smile of anticipatory 
 triumph on your face loses you the sym- 
 pathy which is your right at such a moment 
 If you are over-confident, the feeling is that 
 your failure will do you good. On the 
 other hand, 
 
 Keep your misgivings to yourself. Most 
 men, however confident they have been when 
 thinking of the ease with which they can 
 
1 82 
 
 close maps, lose hope at the last moment, 
 and admit that perhaps they have forgotten 
 the way. This is a mistake, for there is al- 
 ways just a possibility of the map's shutting 
 as easily as an ordinary book. Should you 
 have prefaced your attempt with misgivings, 
 you will not get the credit of this, and it will 
 be ascribed to chance. Therefore, be neither 
 too sanguine nor too openly doubtful. 
 
 Don't repeat the experiment. This, of 
 course, is in the improbable event of your 
 succeeding the first time. At once hand 
 over the map to your wife, as if you had 
 solved the puzzle forever. Encouraged by 
 your success she will probably attempt it 
 also and fail, when the chances are that she 
 will ask you to do it again. As you value 
 her good opinion of you, decline to do so. 
 Make any excuse you think best. To carry 
 out the deception more completely, lie back 
 in your chair, and smile good-naturedly at 
 her futile efforts. Put on the expression of 
 being amused at seeing her unable to do 
 so simple a thing. As a result she will think 
 more of you than ever if possible. 
 
 Don't boast. The chances, of course, are 
 that you will have no occasion to boast ; 
 but in the event of your succeeding by ac- 
 cident, don't wave your arms in the air, or 
 go shouting all over the house, " I've done 
 it, I've done it 1 " If you behave in this 
 way your elation will undo you, and no one 
 
^hutting a Pap. 183 
 
 will believe that you can do it again. Con- 
 trol yourself until you are alone. 
 
 Dortt speak to the map. Now we come to 
 the rules which should be observed if you 
 fail. As the chances are forty-nine to one 
 that you will fail, these rules are more im- 
 portant than the others. When you have 
 got the map half folded, you will see that 
 there is something wrong. Do not frown at 
 this point, and say, " Confound you, what 
 is the matter with you now ? " The map 
 will not answer. It will give you no assist- 
 ance. You ought at once to realize that 
 you and it have entered upon a desperate 
 struggle. 
 
 Dorit be rude. You would like to shake it 
 as a terrier shakes a rat ; but forbear. You 
 may remember that when you witnessed 
 the illegal contest between Jem Smith and 
 Kilrain they shook hands before trying to 
 kill each other. In the same way you 
 should look as if you had no ill-will toward 
 the map, even when it is getting the better 
 of you. 
 
 Don't fold it the wrong" way. When you 
 can't discover the right way, don't clench 
 your teeth and fold it by brute force. In 
 this way you can no doubt appear to gain a 
 momentary advantage over it, but your 
 triumph is short-lived. The instant you take 
 your hand off it, the map springs up, and 
 now, instead of finding it convenient for the 
 
1 84 tmttittg a 
 
 pocket, you would have some difficulty in 
 packing it away in a sack. 
 
 Dorit put your fist through it. When you 
 find that it will neither go this way nor that, 
 don't pummel it. Spread it out, and begin 
 again. 
 
 Don t tear it. It is a waste of energy on 
 your part to do this, for it is sure to tear 
 itself. It can be relied upon for this alone. 
 
 Don't kick it round the room. Though this 
 is a pleasure for the moment, it is not last- 
 ing. When you come to yourself you see 
 that the proceeding has been undignified, 
 and, besides, the map is no nearer being 
 folded than ever. You cannot remember 
 too persistently that a map is not to be 
 folded by bullying. On the other hand, you 
 can try kindness if you like. 
 
 Don't deceive yourself into thinking you 
 have done it. Your wife has been wringing 
 her hands in anguish all the time you have 
 been at it, and is wildly anxious to get you 
 off to bed. It is now midnight. Accord- 
 ingly, should you double the map up, as if 
 you were making a snowball of it, she will 
 pretend to think that you have folded it. 
 Don't be deceived by her. However great 
 the temptation to accept her verdict, re- 
 member that you are a man, and have con- 
 sequently a mind of your own. Have the 
 courage to admit defeat. 
 
 Don't blame your wife. It is unmanly to 
 
185 
 
 remark pointedly that you did it quite easily 
 when she was not by. To imply that she is 
 in league with the map against you is un- 
 worthy of a reasoning animal. 
 
 Don't lie. In other words, if she leaves 
 the room for a moment, don't say you did it 
 while she was out. 
 
 Don't strike your boy. The boy m y 
 snatch it from your hands, .nd fold it in a 
 moment. There is great provocation in 
 this, but don't yield to it. 
 
 Don't take gloomy views of .ife. Your 
 ignominious failure casts a gloom over the 
 household. Fling it off. Don'!; speak of 
 your expenditure being beyond your in- 
 come, or of having to sell the piano. Be 
 cheerful ; remember that there is nobler 
 work for you to do than that on which you 
 have squandered an evening, and that no- 
 body can fold maps. 
 
AN INVALID IN LODGINGS. 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 UNTIL my system collapsed, and my atten- 
 uated form and white face made me an 
 object for looking at, my landlady only 
 spoke of me as her parlor. At intervals I 
 had communicated with her through the 
 medium of Sarah Ann, the servant, when 
 she presented her compliments (on a dirty 
 piece of paper), and, as her rent was due on 
 Wednesday, could I pay my bill now ? 
 Except for these monetary transactions, my 
 landlady and I were total strangers, and, 
 though I sometimes fell over her children in 
 the lobby, that led to no intimacy. Even 
 Sarah Ann never opened her mouth to me. 
 She brought in my tea, and left me to dis- 
 cover that it was there. My first day in 
 lodgings I said ' ' Good-morning " to Sarah 
 Ann, and she replied, "Eh?" "Good- 
 morning," I repeated, to which she an- 
 swered contemptuously, "Oh, ay." For 
 six months I was simply the parlor, but 
 
* ftmtUd in |M0ittg0, 187 
 
 then I fell ill, and at once became an 
 interesting person. 
 
 Sarah Ann found me shivering on the sofa 
 one hot day a week or more ago, beneath 
 my rug, two coats, and some other articles. 
 Then I ate no dinner, then I drank no tea, 
 and then Sarah Ann mentioned the matter 
 to her mistress. My landlady sent up some 
 beef-tea, in which she has a faith that is 
 pathetic, and then to complete the cure she 
 appeared in person. She has proved a nice, 
 motherly old lady, but not cheerful company. 
 
 ' ' Where do you feel it worst, sir ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 I said it was bad all over, but worst in my 
 head. 
 
 ' ' On your brow ? " 
 
 "No, on the back of my head." 
 
 "It feels like a lump of lead ? " 
 
 "No, like a furnace." 
 
 "That's just what I feared," she said. 
 " It began so with him." 
 
 "With whom?" 
 
 "My husband. He came in one day, five 
 years ago, complaining of his head, and in 
 three days he was a corpse." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Don't be afraid, sir. Maybe it isn't the 
 same thing." 
 
 '"Of course it isn't. Your husband, ac- 
 cording to the story you told me when I 
 took these rooms, died of fever. " 
 
1 88 w wattd iw 
 
 "Yes, but the fever began just in this 
 way. It carried him off in no time. You 
 had better see a doctor, sir. Doctor was no 
 use in my husband's case, but it is a satis- 
 faction to have him." 
 
 Here Sarah Ann, who had been listening 
 with mouth and eyes wide open, suddenly 
 burst into tears, and was led out of the 
 room, exclaiming, "Him such a quiet 
 gentleman, and he never flung nothing at 
 me." Now, for the first time, did I discover 
 that I had touched Sarah Ann's heart. 
 
 Though I knew that I had only caught a 
 nasty cold, a conviction in which the doctor 
 confirmed me, my landlady stood out for its 
 being just such another case as her hus- 
 band's, and regaled me for hours with 
 reminiscences of his rapid decline. If I 
 was a little better one day, alas ! he had 
 been a little better the day before he died, 
 and if I answered her peevishly she told 
 Sarah Ann that my voice was going. She 
 brought the beef-tea up with her own hand, 
 her countenance saying that I might as well 
 have it, though it could not save me. Some- 
 times I pushed it away untasted (how I 
 loathe beef-tea now !), when she whispered 
 something to Sarah Ann that sent that 
 tender-hearted maid howling once more 
 from the room. 
 
 "He's supped it all," Sarah Ann said, 
 one day, brightening. 
 
id iw p>d0ittjj& 189 
 
 "That's a worse sign," said her mistress, 
 "than if he hadn't took none/' 
 
 I lay on a sofa, pulled close to the fire, 
 and when the doctor came my landlady was 
 always at his heels, Sarah Ann's dismal face 
 showing at the door. The doctor is a per- 
 sonal friend of my own, and each day he 
 said I was improving a little. 
 
 " Ah, doctor ! " my landlady said, reprov- 
 ingly. 
 
 ''He does it for the best," she exclaimed 
 to me, ' ' but I don't hold with doctors as 
 deceive their patients. Why don't he speak 
 out the truth like a man ? My husband 
 were told the worst, and so he had time to 
 reconcile himself." 
 
 On one of these occasions I summoned up 
 sufficient energy to send her out of the room ; 
 but that only made matters worse. 
 
 "Poor gentleman!" I heard her say to 
 Sarah Ann ; "he is very violent to-day. I 
 saw he were worse the moment I clapped 
 eyes on him. Sarah Ann, I shouldn't won- 
 der though we had to hold him down yet." 
 
 About an hour afterwards, she came in to 
 ask me if I "had come more round to my- 
 self," and when I merely turned round on 
 the sofa for reply, she said, in a loud whis- 
 per, to Sarah Ann, that I "were as quiet as a 
 lamb now." Then she stroked me and went 
 away. 
 
 So attentive was my landlady that she 
 
iil iw 
 
 was a ministering angel. Yet I lay on that 
 sofa plotting how to get her out of the room. 
 The plan that seemed the simplest was to 
 pretend sleep, but it was not easily carried 
 out. Not getting any answer from me, she 
 would approach on tiptoe and lean over the 
 sofa, listening to hear me breathe. Con- 
 vinced that I was still living, she and Sarah 
 Ann began a conversation in whispers, of 
 which I or the deceased husband was the 
 subject. The husband had slept a good deal, 
 too, and it wasn't a healthy sign. 
 
 "It isn't a good sign/' whispered my land- 
 lady, "though them as know no better 
 might think it is. It shows he's getting 
 weaker. When they takes to sleeping in the 
 daytime it's only because they don't have 
 the strength to keep awake." 
 
 "Oh, missus ! " Sarah Ann would say. 
 
 "Better face facts, Sarah Ann," replies 
 my landlady. 
 
 In the end I had generally to sit up and 
 confess that I heard what they were saying. 
 My landlady evidently thought this another 
 bad sign. 
 
 I discovered that my landlady held recep- 
 tions in another room, where visitors came 
 who referred to me as her ' ' trial. " When 
 she thought me distinctly worse, she put on 
 her bonnet and went out to disseminate the 
 sad news. It was on one of these occa- 
 sions that Sarah Ann, who had been left in 
 
gut giivalitt in ^0d0i00. 191 
 
 charge of the children, came to me with a 
 serious request. 
 
 "Them children," she said, "want aw- 
 ful to see you, and I soit of promised to 
 bring 'em in, if so you didn't mind." 
 
 "But, Sarah Ann, they have seen me 
 often, and, though I'm a good deal better, I 
 don't feel equal to speaking to them." 
 
 Sarah Ann smiled pityingly when I said I 
 felt better, but she assured me the children 
 only wanted to look at me. I refused her 
 petition, but, on my ultimatum being an- 
 nounced to them, they set up such i\ roar 
 that, to quiet them, I called them in. 
 
 They came one at a time. Sophia, the 
 eldest, came first. She looked at me very 
 solemnly, and then said bravely that if I 
 liked she would kiss me. As she had a 
 piece of flannel tied round her face, and was 
 swollen in the left cheek, I declined this 
 honor, and she went off much relieved. 
 Next came Tommy, who sent up a shriek as 
 his eyes fell on me, and had to be carried 
 off by Sarah Ann. Johnny was bolder and 
 franker, but addressed all his remarks to 
 Sarah Ann. First, he wanted to know if he 
 could touch me, and, being told he could, 
 he felt my face all over. Then, he wanted 
 to see the "spouter. " The "spouter"was 
 a spray through which Sarah Ann blew cool- 
 ness on my head, and Johnny had heard of 
 it with interest. He refused to leave the 
 
1 9 2 M* ifnvatid In 
 
 room until he had been permitted to satu- 
 rate me and my cushion. 
 
 1 am so much better now that even my 
 landlady knows I am not dying. I suppose 
 she is glad that it is so, but at the same time 
 she resents it. She has given up coming to 
 my room, which shows that I have wounded 
 her feelings, and I notice that the beef-tea 
 is no longer so well made. The last time I 
 spoke to her it was I who introduced the sub- 
 ject of her husband, and she spoke of him 
 with a diminution of interest. His was a 
 real illness, she said, with emphasis on the 
 adjective that made me feel I had been 
 drinking beef-tea on false pretenses. 
 
 The children are more openly annoyed. 
 In the innocence of youth they had looked 
 upon me as a sure thing, and had been so 
 "good" for nearly a week that they feel 
 they will never be able to make the lost 
 time up. I understand that their mother had 
 to break my recovery to them gently. 
 
 But Sarah Ann's is the severest blow. 
 For years Sarah Ann has been a servant in 
 lodging-houses, with nobody and nothing to 
 take any interest in. She has seen many 
 lodgers come and go without knowing who 
 or what they were, and she has never had 
 a mistress who thought her of any im- 
 portance. In these circumstances the neg- 
 lected one takes, in story-books, to tending 
 a flower in a broken pot, for which 
 
M* Invalid in $0d0ing& 193 
 
 conceives a romantic attachment. The 
 devotion Sarah Ann might have given to a 
 tulip she bestowed on me. For a week I 
 believed she loved me, but only on the 
 understanding that I was leaving this world 
 behind me. Her interest in me \vas morbid, 
 but sincere. I was the only thing she had 
 ever been given to look after. If I had gone 
 the way of my landlady's husband, I am 
 confident that Sarah Ann would have remem- 
 bered me for the whole summer. But it was 
 not to be, and she has not enough spirit to 
 complain. When she comes in to remove 
 the breakfast things and finds that I have 
 eaten two eggs and four slices of toast, she 
 says nothing, but I hear her sigh. In the 
 over-mantel I see her looking at me so 
 reproachfully that I have not the heart to 
 be angry with her. If Sarah Ann's feelings 
 could be analyzed it would be found, I 
 believe, that she looks upon herself as a 
 hopelessly unlucky person doomed to eternal 
 disappointments. In another week's time I 
 expect to be able to go to my office as usual, 
 when Sarah Ann and I will again be 
 strangers. Already the children have given 
 up opening my door and peeping in. There 
 is an impression in the house that I am a 
 fraud. They call me by my name as yet, 
 but soon again I will be the parlor. 
 13 
 
THE MYSTERY OF TIME-TABLES. 
 
 THE history of the time-table is probably 
 this. When the first one was issued trav- 
 elers accepted it in the spirit in which it was 
 produced : as an amusing puzzle with no 
 solution. By and by they began to tire of the 
 puzzle, and then a clever advertisement (in 
 the form of a paragraph) appeared in the 
 papers declaring that a gentleman ("whose 
 name and address we are not at liberty to 
 mention ") had solved the puzzle, and dis- 
 covered that time-tables really told you when 
 your train started. This revived interest in 
 the subject ; several persons wrote to the 
 Times, maintaining that time-tables were for 
 use as well as ornament, and, to be brief, a 
 cry arose that there was more in time-tables 
 than met the eye. One man who only trav- 
 eled between London and Bristol, while ad- 
 mitting that the time-table was upside down 
 as to that line, held that if he traveled be- 
 tween Manchester and Newcastle he could 
 look up the trains quite easily : a second 
 found that his time-table told him when his 
 
195 
 
 train started for Manchester, only it always 
 turned out to be a Sunday train ; and a third 
 declared that the time-table would enable 
 him to catch the train for Scotland were it 
 not for alterations made in the beginning of 
 the month. Soon time-tables were as much 
 a subject of controversy as Ibsen is to-day. 
 There were the Tableites, as they were 
 called, just as we have the Ibsenites. The 
 Tableites were the out-and-out believers in 
 time-tables, the persons who found a pro- 
 found meaning in every figure. At first they 
 were few in number, while the Anti-Table- 
 ites were many ; but the minority were en- 
 thusiastic over their discovery, and made a 
 creed of it. They wrote plays and novels 
 in which Tableites married and found the 
 missing will, while the Anti-Tableites were 
 left to die at Waterloo Station, looking vainly 
 for the way out. Of course, the Anti-Table- 
 ites retorted, going so far as to say that time- 
 tables are immoral ; but the great general 
 public is ever greedy of a new thing, and 
 soon Tableism was the fashion. At the pres- 
 ent moment there is hardly a man or woman 
 in the United Kingdom who would dare to say 
 that he or she knows time-tables to be frauds. 
 Yet in what is called our innermost heart 
 we are all aware that time-tables remain a 
 puzzle, and that we only carry them about 
 with us and look knowingly at them because 
 it is the national form of swaggering. No 
 
196 
 
 one can really look up his train in a time- 
 table. 
 
 Then how (the African monarch who is to 
 be the next season's lion might ask) do the 
 great English-speaking people catch their 
 trains, for they certainly do travel a good 
 deal ? You, O reader, could answer that 
 question. What is your procedure when 
 you have decided to take a railwayjourney ? 
 It is this. You say to your wife, quite sol- 
 emnly, that she had better send out for 
 a new time-table. She says, with equal 
 solemnity, that there is a time-table some- 
 where ; and you reply that you must have a 
 new one, as there are sure to be alterations 
 this month. Then you slip out of the house 
 and proceed to St. Pancras, where you bribe 
 or threaten a porter into telling you when 
 your train starts. Returning home, you 
 find the new time-table lying ready for you, 
 and, as soon as your wife enters, you open 
 it and mutter: "Hem! Ha! Very awk- 
 ward ! Just so ! Have I time to catch the 
 connection at Normanton ? Let me see 
 whether the Great Northern would not suit 
 better," and so on. Finally you say you 
 see that the best train starts at a certain 
 hour. 
 
 Do you believe you have deceived your 
 wife? Probably you think there is just a 
 chance of her having been taken in. As a 
 matter of fact, she is aware that time-tables 
 
197 
 
 are as much a mystery to you as to her, 
 and she knows quite well that you were at 
 St. Pancras an hour ago. But she keeps up 
 the deception. When she married you she 
 knew what men are, and that on the sub- 
 ject of time-tables there must be deceit be- 
 tween man and wife if they are to be happy. 
 The ideal couple keep nothing from each 
 other, save this affair of the time-table, and 
 a wise wife, instead of asking her husband 
 why he occasionally looks as if he had a 
 secret on his mind, will understand that he 
 is only feeling guilty of pretending to under- 
 stand, ' See Willesden Junction K* 2 for 
 Wednesday and Saturday." The perfect 
 bride undertakes at the altar to love, honor, 
 and obey her husband, and pretend to be- 
 lieve that he can look up his train. 
 
 But all wives are not perfect, and one 
 often hears it said of Mr. and Mrs. Such-a- 
 One that they don't get on together. The 
 name usually given to their complaint is in- 
 compatibility of temper, but inquiry, which 
 we have no right to make, would prove 
 four times in five that the wife has been so 
 ill-advised as to challenge her husband's 
 knowledge of time-tables. Men who will 
 endure a great deal from their wives, and 
 go on reading their paper at breakfast quite 
 placidly, fire up at this. It is the one charge 
 they cannot brook ; it takes six inches from 
 the height of a. six-footer, and there will be 
 
of 
 
 no more happiness in that household until 
 the wife apologizes with tears. A little ex- 
 perience will show her that nothing is to be 
 gained by holding up her husband's one 
 weakness to the light, and much by pretend- 
 ing that his skill in reading time-tables is a 
 constant marvel to her. Speak of this skill 
 in company when he is present, and there 
 is nothing your husband will deny you. 
 Politicians call each other everything that 
 is bad, and yet one hears now and again 
 that they continue to dine together. The 
 cynical say that this is because politics 
 deadens the conscience, and that seems as 
 good a reason as another. But not even 
 members of Parliament are absolutely hard- 
 ened. It is notorious that a few of them 
 are not on speaking terms, and that they 
 quarreled over time-tables. ''The honor- 
 able gentleman is a moral cut-throat, and 
 that is the only moral thing about him/' 
 "The honorable and gallant member for 
 Shillelagh is a poltroon," are merely Parlia- 
 mentary expressions ; but tell a member 
 out of the House that he cannot look up his 
 train in a time-table, and he and you are 
 enemies forever. You cannot bring such a 
 charge against him in the House without 
 being sent to the Clock Tower. 
 
 These are all well-known facts, familiar 
 to every reader, but there is a conspiracy of 
 silence about them. Enter a railway com- 
 
of %ttm-tMt$. 199 
 
 partmerit, and you find all your fellow-trav- 
 elers turning- over the leaves of their time- 
 table, with the exception, perhaps, of one 
 who has opened his map and is making des- 
 perate efforts to close it. You open your 
 time-table, too ; but, instead of pretending 
 to understand it, please look over it at these 
 other humbugs. The man in the corner, 
 who has already asked six porters if this is 
 the train for Doncaster, and is still doubtful, 
 sees your eye on him, and says aloud, " Ha ! 
 I see we reach Doncaster at 5 : 30." The 
 man who is resting his feet on your Glad- 
 stone bag ostentatiously turns down a cor- 
 ner of his time-table to imply that he has 
 found the page. The third man is boldly 
 pretending that he finds the index a help. 
 And so it goes on, and we all do it, and we 
 are a nation of hypocrites, for not one of 
 us can solve the riddle of the time-tables or 
 find out anything from them, save that all 
 the trains are running in the wrong direc- 
 tion. But why not be open, and admit that 
 the time-tables are a mystery still? 
 
MENDING THE CLOCK. 
 
 IT >.* a little American clock, which I got 
 AS a present about two years ago. The 
 donor told me it cost half-a-guinea, but on 
 inquiry at the shop where it was bought 
 (this is what I always do when I get a 
 present), I learned that the real price was 
 four-and-sixpence. Up to this time I had 
 been hesitating about buying a stand for 
 it, but after that I determined not to do so. 
 Since I got it, it has stood on my study 
 mantel-piece, except once or twice at first, 
 when its loud tick compelled me to wrap 
 it up in flannel, and bury it in the bottom of 
 the drawer. Until a fortnight ago my clock 
 went beautifully, and I have a feeling that 
 had we treated it a little less hardly it would 
 have continued to go well. One night a 
 fortnight ago it stopped, as if under the im- 
 pression that I had forgotten to wind it up. 
 I wound it up as far as was possible, but 
 after going for an hour it stopped again. 
 Then I shook it, and it went for five minutes. 
 I strode into another room to ask who had 
 
201 
 
 been meddling with my clock, but no one 
 had touched it. When I came back it was 
 going again, but as soon as I sat down it 
 stopped. I shook my fist at it, which terri- 
 fied it into going for half a minute, and then 
 it went creak, creak, like a clock in pain. 
 The last thing- it did before stopping finally 
 was to strike nineteen. 
 
 For two days I left my clock serenely 
 alone, nor would I ever have annoyed my- 
 self with the thing had it not been for my 
 vistors. I have a soul above mechanics, 
 but when the&e visitors saw that my clock 
 had stopped they expressed surprise at my 
 not mending it. How different I must be, 
 they said, fro;n my brother, who had a 
 passion for making himself generally useful. 
 If the clock had been his he would have had 
 it to pieces and put it right within the hour. 
 I pointed out that my mind was so full of 
 weightier matters that I could not descend to 
 clocks, but they had not the brains to see 
 that what prevented my mending the clock 
 was not incapacity, but want of desire to do 
 so. This has ever been the worry of my 
 life, that, because I don't do certain things, 
 people take it for granted that I can't do 
 them. I took no prizes at school or college, 
 but you entirely misunderstand me if you 
 think that that was because I could not take 
 them. The fact is, that I had always a con- 
 tempt for prizes and prizemen, and I have 
 
202 Pawling the (Elocfc. 
 
 ever been one of the men who gather statis- 
 tics to prove that it is the boy who sat at 
 the foot of his class that makes his name in 
 after life. I was that boy, and though 1 
 have not made my mark in life as yet, I 
 could have done it had I wanted to do so as 
 easily as I could mend a clock. My visitors, 
 judging me by themselves, could not fol- 
 low this argument, though I have given 
 expression to it in their presence many 
 times, and they were so ridiculous as to say 
 it was a pity that my brother did not happen 
 to be at home. 
 
 "Why, what do I need him for ? " I asked, 
 irritably. 
 
 "To mend the clock," they replied, and 
 all the answer I made to them was that if 
 I wanted the clock mended I would mend 
 it myself. 
 
 "But you don't know the way," they said. 
 
 "Do you really think," I asked them, 
 "that I am the kind of man to be beaten by 
 a little American clock ? " 
 
 They replied that that was their belief, at 
 which I coldly changed the subject. 
 
 "Are you really going to attempt it?" 
 they asked, as they departed. 
 
 " Not I," I said ; " I have other things to 
 do." 
 
 Nevertheless the way they flung my 
 brother at me annoyed me, and I returned 
 straight from the door to the study to mend 
 
th* tefe. 203 
 
 ihe clock. It amused me to picture their 
 chagrin when they dropped in the next night 
 and found my clock going beautifully. 
 "Who mended it ? " I fancied them asking, 
 and I could not help practicing the careless 
 reply, "Oh, I did it myself." Then I took 
 the clock in my hands, and sat down to 
 examine it. 
 
 The annoying thing, to begin with, was 
 that there seemed to be no way in. The 
 clock was practically hermetically sealed, 
 for, though the back shook a little when I 
 thumped it on my knee, I could see quite well 
 that the back would not come off unless I 
 broke the mainspring. I examined the clock 
 carefully round and round, but to open the 
 thing up was as impossible as to get into an 
 egg without chipping the shell. I twisted 
 and twirled it, but nothing would move. 
 Then I raged at the idiots who made clocks 
 that would not open. My mother came in 
 about that time to ask me how I was getting 
 on. 
 
 " Getting on with what ? " I asked. 
 
 "With the clock," she said. 
 
 "The clock," I growled, "is nothing to 
 me," for it irritated me to hear her insinuat- 
 ing that I had been foiled. 
 
 " But I thought you were trying to mend 
 it," she said/ 
 
 "Not at all," I replied; "I have some- 
 thing else to do." 
 
204 porting the (Stack. 
 
 "What a pity," she said, "that Andrew 
 is not here. " 
 
 Andrew is the brother they are always 
 flinging at me. 
 
 "He could have done nothing," I retorted, 
 " for the asses made this clock not to open." 
 
 "I'm sure it opens/' my mother said. 
 
 "Why should you be sure?" I asked, 
 fiercely. 
 
 "Because," she explained, "I never saw 
 or heard of a clock that doesn't open." 
 
 "Then," I snarled, " you can both see and 
 hear of it now " and I pointed contempt- 
 uously at my clock. 
 
 She shook her head as she went out, and 
 as soon as the door shut I hit the clock with 
 my clenched fist (stunning my fourth finger). 
 I had a presentiment that my mother was 
 right about the clock's opening, and I feared 
 that she still labored under the delusion that 
 I had been trying to mend the exasperating 
 thing. 
 
 On the following day we had a visit from 
 my friend Summer, and he had scarcely sat 
 down in my study when he jumped up, ex- 
 claiming, "Hullo, is that the right time?" 
 
 I said to him that the clock had stopped, 
 and he immediately took it on his knees. I 
 looked at him sideways, and saw at once 
 that he was the kind of man who knows 
 about clocks. After shaking it he asked me 
 what was wrong. 
 
the (JMfldk, 205 
 
 "It needs cleaning," I said at a venture, 
 for if I had told him the whole story he 
 might have thought that I did not know how 
 to mend a clock. 
 
 "Then you have opened it and examined 
 the works ? " he asked, and not to disappoint 
 him, I said yes. 
 
 "If it needs cleaning, why did you not 
 clean it ? " was his next question. 
 
 "I hate inquisitiveness in a man, but I 
 replied that I had not had time to clean it. 
 He turned it round in his hands, and I knew 
 what he was looking for before he said : 
 
 " I have never taken an American clock 
 to pieces. Does it open in the ordinary 
 way ? " 
 
 "This took me somewhat aback, but Sum- 
 mer, being my guest, had to be answered. 
 
 "Well," I said, cautiously, "it does and 
 it doesn't." 
 
 He looked at it again, and then held it 
 out to me, saying : "You had better open 
 it yourself, seeing that you know the 
 way. " 
 
 There was a clock in the next room, and 
 such a silence was there in my study after 
 that remark that I could distinctly hear it 
 ticking. 
 
 "Curiously unsettled weather," I said. 
 
 "Very," he answered. "But let me see 
 how you get at the works of the clock." 
 
 "The fact is," I said, "that I don't want 
 
206 
 
 this clock mended ; it ticks so loudly that it 
 disturbs me." 
 
 "Never mind," Summer said, "about 
 that. I should like to have a look at its in- 
 ternals, and then we can stop it if you want 
 to do so." 
 
 Summer talked in a light way, and I was 
 by no means certain whether, once it was 
 set a-going, the clock could be stopped so 
 easily as he thought, but he was evidently 
 determined to get inside. 
 
 " It is a curious little clock," I said to 
 him ; "a sort of puzzle, indeed, and it took 
 me ten minutes to discover how to \open it 
 myself. Suppose you try to find out the 
 way ? " 
 
 "All right," Summer said, and then he 
 tried to remove the glass. 
 
 "The glass doesn't come off, does it?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "I'm not going to tell you," I replied. 
 
 "Stop a bit," said Summer, speaking to 
 himself; "is it the feet that screw out?" 
 
 It had never struck me to try the feet ; 
 but I said : " Find out for yourself." 
 
 I sat watching with more interest than he 
 gave me credit for, and very soon he had 
 both the feet out ; then he unscrewed the ring 
 at the top, and then the clock came to pieces. 
 
 "I've done it," said Summer. 
 
 "Yes," I said, "but you have been a 
 long time about it." 
 
207 
 
 He examined the clock with a practiced 
 eye, and then 
 
 " It doesn't seem to me/' he said, " to be 
 requiring cleaning. " 
 
 A less cautious man than myself would 
 have weakly yielded to the confidence of 
 this assertion, and so have shown that he 
 did not know about clocks. 
 
 "Oh, yes, it does," I said, in a decisive 
 tone. 
 
 "Well," he said, "we had better clean 
 it." 
 
 "I can't be bothered cleaning it," I replied, 
 "but, if you like, you can clean it." 
 
 "Are they cleaned in the ordinary way, 
 those American clocks ? " he asked. 
 
 "Well," I said, "they are and they 
 aren't." 
 
 "How should I clean it, then? " he asked. 
 
 "Oh, in the ordinary way," I replied. 
 
 Summer proceeded to clean it by blowing 
 at the wheels, and after a time he said, 
 "We'll try it now." 
 
 He put it together again, and then wound 
 it up, but it would not go. 
 
 "There is something else wrong with it," 
 he said. 
 
 "We have not cleaned it properly," I ex- 
 plained. 
 
 "Clean it yourself," he replied, and flung 
 out of the house. 
 
 After he had gone I took up the clock to 
 
208 *wto ih* 
 
 see how he had opened it, and to my sur- 
 prise it began to go. I laid it down triumph- 
 antly. At last I had mended it. When 
 Summer came in an hour afterwards he 
 exclaimed 
 
 " Hullo, it's going." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "I put it to rights after 
 you went out. " 
 
 " How did you do it ?" he asked. 
 
 " I cleaned it properly," I replied. 
 
 As I spoke I was leaning against the 
 mantel-piece, and I heard the clock begin- 
 ning to make curious sounds, I gave the 
 mantel-piece a shove with my elbow, and 
 the clock went all right again. Summer had 
 not noticed. He remained in the room for 
 half-an-hour, and all that time I dared not sit 
 down. Had I not gone on shaking the 
 mantel-piece the clock would have stopped 
 at any moment. When he went at last I 
 fell thankfully into a chair, and the clock 
 had stopped before he was half-way down 
 the stairs. I shook it and it went for five 
 minutes, and then stopped. I shook it 
 again, and it went for two minutes. I shook 
 it, and it went for half a minute. I shook it, 
 and it did not go at all. 
 
 The day was fine, and my study window 
 stood open. In a passion I seized hold of 
 that clock and flung it fiercely out into the 
 garden. It struck against the trunk of a 
 tree, and fell into a flower-bed. Then I 
 
flu $Io*fe. 209 
 
 stood at the window sneering at it, when 
 suddenly I started. I have mentioned that 
 it has a very loud tick. Surely I heard it 
 ticking- ! I ran into the garden. The clock 
 was going again ! Concealing it beneath 
 my coat I brought it back to the study, and 
 since then it has gone beautifully. Every- 
 body is delighted except Summer, who ii 
 naturally a little annoyed. 
 14 
 
THE 
 
 BIGGEST BOX IN THE WORLD. 
 
 THE largest ship the seas have ever seen 
 was not, as is generally held, the Great 
 Eastern. It was the vessel in which William 
 the Conqueror came over to England, bring- 
 ing the ancestors of so many people with 
 him. One thinks of this enormous ship 
 when looking about him for anything with 
 which to compare Glengarry's box. As 
 William's ship is to other ships, so is Glen- 
 garry's box to. all other boxes. 
 
 Glengarry is a medical in his ninth year. 
 He has a romantic notion that he could real- 
 ly study if he had the proper surroundings. 
 He finds that the sharp corners of a square 
 room are against concentration, and that 
 long rooms are depressing, and round rooms 
 too exhilarating. In quest of the room that 
 would suit him he changes his lodgings every 
 month or so, but though his cab, with a ton 
 of luggage on the top of it, and bags falling 
 off the seat, is now a familiar sight in most 
 
iu ite WmML 211 
 
 Edinburgh streets, Glengarry has never yet 
 come upon a room that has proved a real 
 help. 
 
 It will already be seen why Glengarry be- 
 gan to think by day and night of a big box. 
 He did not want it to study in, but to hold 
 his things in, as he passed from one tem- 
 porary home to another. In nine years he 
 had accumulated a great many suits of 
 clothes, and these Glengarry had to drag 
 after him from lodging to lodging. In his 
 passionate desire to become a doctor he 
 has now hundreds of note-books, most of 
 them left him by men who have got round 
 the examiners, and at the University, where 
 such things are talked of with bated breath, 
 he is reputed to have the only complete col- 
 lection of cribs and keys in Edinburgh. His 
 rooms are thus a favorite resort. 
 
 After Glengarry had packed all his belong- 
 ings, as he fondly thought, he usually dis- 
 covered that he had forgotten the six vol- 
 umes in manuscript entitled " How to Get 
 the Soft Side of Turner," or twelve pairs of 
 boots, or three old coats, or something else, 
 and then the straps had to be taken off his 
 boxes again when the lid jumped up, explod- 
 ing the contents in all directions. Thus the 
 idea of a box sufficiently gigantic to hold 
 everything took possession of Glengarry to 
 such an extent that he could almost have 
 passed an examination in it. 
 
in tlu 
 
 Rumors that the box had been contracted 
 for were passed from mouth to mouth at the 
 University three months ago. These were 
 at first scouted, as big undertakings the 
 Channel Tunnel, for instance usually are; 
 but it was noticed that Glengarry often wore 
 a- preoccupied look now, and was absenting 
 himself from his classes even more frequent- 
 ly than usual. When asked to stand for the 
 Students' Council he said that he had some- 
 thing else in his eye at present. Some 
 thought that he referred to a scheme for writ- 
 ing answers to all possible medical questions 
 on his shirt-sleeves, but he was really think- 
 ing of the box. It was by this time in 
 course of construction, the plans being Glen- 
 garry's own. 
 
 At that time Glengarry was living in Fred- 
 erick Street, at the top of the house. The 
 room was of such remarkable construction 
 that it could not be classified, and when he 
 took it he thought he had got what he was 
 after at last. Bitter disappointment awaited 
 him, however, for the wind howled up there 
 all day long, and he cannot study in wind. 
 He was anxious, too, to try his new box as 
 soon as possible, so he engaged another 
 room in Cumberland Street, where there was 
 said to be no wind. 
 
 The night before Glengarry was to leave 
 Frederick Street he sat waiting for his box 
 as impatiently as though it were a letter in 
 
in tht WtorML 213 
 
 an angular hand. By this time he would, 
 on former occasions, have been damp with 
 perspiration caused by his efforts to get all 
 his things into three small boxes and five 
 Gladstone bags. He would have been sit- 
 ting on the boxes in wild attempts to close 
 them, finding after they were closed that 
 a coat-sleeve was sticking out, or that the 
 bootjack had taken advantage of some mo- 
 ment when he had his back to it to leap out 
 of a bag and hide beneath the table. His 
 feet would have been catching in waistcoats 
 which he could have sworn were at the bot- 
 tom of box 2, and he would have had a pre- 
 sentiment that he had forgotten to pack his 
 "Guide to the Ways of Grainger Stewart." 
 Even after the boxes were so full that the 
 locks refused to work, and the Gladstone 
 bags were of new and strange shapes, look- 
 ing like animals whose bones wanted to 
 burst the skin, he would have had to make 
 up brown paper parcels, out of which books, 
 brushes, and photograph frames would fall 
 as he carried them down the stair. But the 
 box was coming, and Glengarry smoked, 
 and chuckled at the surprise he would give 
 his things directly. 
 
 Glengarry was in this pleasing frame of 
 mind, as exultant as if a message had come 
 asking him to cut off a magistrate's leg, 
 when the bell rang. He tried not to look 
 proud, but listened eagerly to make sure 
 
214 a* i*# 0x in to 
 
 that his landlady had gone to the door. His 
 landlady finished her supper and put her 
 children to bed, and then remembered that 
 the bell had been ringing for some time. 
 Soon afterwards she informed Glengarry that 
 two men wanted to see him, also that they 
 were using language. Glengarry waved his 
 hand grandly, and told her to show them in. 
 
 " I suppose you have brought the box?" 
 Glengarry said. 
 
 They said they had, and they wanted to 
 know what they were to do with it. 
 
 "Bring it in here," said Glengarry. 
 
 "We can't get it up the stair." 
 
 "What? It can't be heavy with nothing 
 in it." 
 
 "No, but it's too big. If you want it up 
 here you'll have to widen the passage." 
 
 Glengarry's pipe went out at this, and he 
 said falteringly that he would come down 
 and have a look at the box. When he saw 
 it in all its magnitude, the box staggered 
 him. 
 
 "Perhaps it could be got into your room 
 by the window," one of the men said; "but 
 you would have to take the window out 
 first." 
 
 "And you would need a crane," said the 
 other man, "to lift it up." 
 
 Glengarry measured the passage, and saw 
 that the leviathan box could never enter 
 it 
 
in the W0vt4. 215 
 
 "Can you leave the box here all night?" 
 he asked. 
 
 ''You would be run in if we did that/' the 
 men said. 
 
 There was, therefore, nothing for it but to 
 bribe them to take the box away again. 
 
 "Bring it back early in the morning,'* 
 Glengarry said, " before there is much traf- 
 fic. It might frighten the horses. " 
 
 "They would take it for a steam tram," 
 said the men. 
 
 That night Glengarry stole into Cumber- 
 land Street with a string, and measured the 
 passage that led to his new lodgings. The 
 passage was wide enough to admit the box. 
 
 On the following evening two other medi- 
 cals, Smith (seventh year) and Flint (sixth 
 year), called at Cumberland Street as a 
 deputation from the medical faculty, who 
 wanted to know about the box. They were 
 shown into Glengarry's new abode, and 
 Glengarry welcomed them nervously. 
 
 "It looks like a good room for working 
 in," said Smith, who always thinks he could 
 work in other people's rooms, "but where 
 is the box ? " 
 
 "You don't mean to say that you don't 
 see it ? " asked Glengarry. 
 
 Smith and Flint looked round the room, 
 and their eyes rested on what they had 
 taken for a monster cupboard. 
 
 4 Is it in there ? " asked Flint. 
 
216 
 
 " In there ! " cried Glengarry in dig- 
 nantly ; " that is it." 
 
 < 'What?" 
 
 "The box." 
 
 "I took it for a bedroom," said Flint. 
 
 "It is more like a cabmen's shelter," said 
 Smith. 
 
 When the visitors had come to, they 
 Wanted to know how the box was brought 
 from Frederick Street, but at first Glengarry 
 refused to gratify their curiosity. He was in 
 need of sympathy, however, and gradually 
 they got the story out of him. 
 
 Though the box had arrived at Frederick 
 Street early in the morning, a crowd soon 
 gathered round it, owing to an absurd rumor 
 that it was to be erected as a house for the 
 band in Princes Street Gardens. Glengarry 
 had to carry all his things down to the box, 
 and pack it there, and then the story went 
 out that it was a furniture van. When the 
 boys realized that the "show," as they 
 termed it, belonged to Glengarry, they 
 studied him as he packed, and for a time 
 their gaze was reverent. Becoming used 
 to the idea, however, they took to jumping 
 over the box (and into it when the owner 
 was on his way up or down stairs) ; to show 
 that they appreciated the magnitude of his 
 labors they gave three ringing cheers every 
 time he appeared with another load. 
 
 Glengarry in his excitement was so foolish 
 
in th* 
 
 as to think that the box could be conveyed 
 to Cumberland Street on a cab, but the cab- 
 men whom he hailed gave him a piece of 
 their mind. At last a lorry was got, and the 
 box was raised upon it by six men, amid 
 loud applause from the boys, who insisted 
 on following the lorry to Cumberland Street, 
 sadly and solemnly, as if they were walking 
 in a funeral procession. Men and boys 
 joined the crowd, as the fame of the box 
 spread, and when it arrived at its destination 
 all Cumberland Street was in a commotion. 
 
 The box was got into the passage and 
 there it stood. 
 
 "Turn it on its side," cried Glengarry, 
 but it would not turn. 
 
 "Pull it back," was his next suggestion, 
 but it would not pull back. 
 
 The six men sat down on the steps and 
 wiped their brows, and the boys danced 
 with honest glee. Lodgers going out found 
 their way blocked by the box, and had to 
 climb over it. A lady who had been leav- 
 ing tracts had to go up the stairs again and 
 sit in some kitchen for an hour. 
 
 The policeman came and said : 
 
 "Come, you know, this won't do," and 
 then strolled away. 
 
 ' Glengarry's new landlady apologized to 
 all the people on the stairs for having al- 
 lowed Glengarry to have the back parlor. 
 She also warned Glengarry that if the box 
 
was brought up it would probably kill the 
 people below. 
 
 A man on the opposite side of the street 
 opened his window and shouted direc- 
 tions. 
 
 " Break the lid or the door of the thing-," 
 he cried, " carry up its contents in youi 
 arms." 
 
 Unfortunately the box was lying on its 
 lid, and so the suggestion was not practical. 
 At last the six men disappeared and came 
 back with an ax. With this, one made a 
 way into the box, and the boys shouted 
 gleefully once more as they heard the ax 
 smashing Glengarry's pictures. 
 
 All forenoon Glengarry was carrying up 
 armfuls of books, boots, and clothing, and 
 then the box itself was carried up. Glen- 
 garry grudged the money he had to pay 
 those six men until the bill for the box came 
 in, when he saw that the men had been 
 cheap in comparison. 
 
 The box and Glengarry are in Cumber- 
 land Street still. Glengarry would have 
 tried new rooms long ago if he could have 
 left the box behind him, but the landlady 
 refuses to accept it. The room is utterly 
 unsuitable for working in, Glengarry not 
 being able to work where there is no wind, 
 and, consequently, he does not mean to go 
 in for his final this year. His friends have 
 suggested that the box might prove use- 
 
in the WwU. 219 
 
 ful at an exhibition, not as an exhibit, but as 
 a stall. Another suggestion is that the Sena- 
 tus could put the Brewster statue in it at 
 the time of the rectorial election. 
 
THE COMING DRAMATIST. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE has three plays on the Lon- 
 don stage at present, and several companies 
 in the "provinces," where Sheridan, too, is 
 holding- up his head. This is even better 
 than Mr. Pettitt, and has set those Who write 
 about the theatre a-talking. The manager 
 who produces Shakespearean pieces gets a 
 certificate of character from the critics, and 
 theater-goers are given to understand that he 
 is a public benefactor. He has "the best 
 interests of the stage at heart," and you 
 ought to clap your hands when you look at 
 him. So they say, but it is only a manner 
 of talking. The manager who invites the 
 populace to see himself as Hamlet in reduced 
 circumstances, or his wife in Lady Teazle's 
 dresses, is usually a greater bore than the 
 comic person with red nose for trade-mark, 
 or the melodramatic hero in a prologue and 
 five acts. Even when Shakespeare is effi- 
 ciently presented, there is no reason why we 
 should exult over the fact, as if each of the 
 players merited a medal for doing the best 
 
221 
 
 for himself; nor need we at once begin to 
 argue that the prospects of the theatre are 
 brightening. The old playwrights are pop- 
 ular with actors because of reasons that are 
 quite creditable, but not specially inspiring. 
 It is pleasant to feel that you are looked 
 upon as some one to honor the moment you 
 produce a Shakespearean play, and " Fame" 
 being what the actor murmias to himself as 
 he walks along the streets, he naturally likes 
 to appear in the parts that give him his best 
 opportunity. Hamlet is his favorite charac- 
 ter when he is his own manager, because 
 it is the longest part in Shakespeare. An- 
 other weighty reason is that you can play 
 the old dramatists for nothing. Thus, 
 though one is always glad to see actors 
 ambitious of great parts, it is not necessary 
 to extol them otherwise than for their acting. 
 Mr. Irving has, no doubt, done more for the 
 stage than any other living man, but only in 
 the way of showing that Shakespeare in 
 magnificent upholstery need not spell bank- 
 ruptcy. By far the healthiest sign of the 
 stage would be the appearance of new play- 
 wrights of distinction, and Mr. Irving seems 
 to have given up looking for them. Obvi- 
 ously they are hard to find, but the actor or 
 manager who discovers even one will have 
 done better for the stage than those who 
 revise Shakespeare to the end of their days. 
 That we should have no living playwrights 
 
222 he (towing g 
 
 to speak of is assuredly remarkable, for the 
 demand is great : the rewards are such as to 
 dwarf the honors attainable by novelists, 
 poe.ts, or essayists, and the pecuniary remu- 
 neration for a single successful play means 
 a bank account forever. Miss Gubbins, 
 author of the famous novel Her Fourth Hus- 
 band, produces a silly play at a matinee, and 
 every prominent daily paper in the country 
 has half a column about it next morning. 
 Mr. Wigley adapts the latest Ambiguous 
 Comic piece, and sells the rights for five or 
 ten thousand pounds. After that he is inter- 
 viewed whithersoever his triumphal progress 
 takes him, and London correspondents tele- 
 graph to Australia that he sometimes wears 
 a white waistcoat. In short, the newspaper 
 editors, who know what they are about, 
 think that theatrical intelligence must be 
 given in full, though important books have 
 to wait for notice until Parliament rises. 
 Such interest in the drama ought to produce 
 a dramatist, but we have none of parts to 
 be compared with, say, our eight or ten 
 leading novelists. Mr. Gilbert is a wit when 
 he is set to music, but his latest effort, 
 Brantingliame Hall, was dull and trivial, and 
 only proved that a proper playwright is not 
 necessarily a playwright proper. Mr. Pinero 
 has always been unsuccessful when he was 
 in the least ambitious, farce being what suits 
 him best, and his ' ' dramas " or " comedies " 
 
223 
 
 being ever a curious mixture of comedy, 
 farce, and "serious interest." Mr. Grundy 
 is a smaller Pinero, and the melodramatists 
 are to be forgotten as soon as possible. We 
 do not nowadays even have the secret of 
 burlesque, for our burlesques burlesque 
 nothing, and are only music-hall entertain- 
 ments, in which many ladies are the scenery, 
 while agile gentlemen play the fool at 
 twenty or fifty pounds a week. At this 
 moment London is looking forward to see- 
 ing a comedian from the music halls turning 
 Lancelot into ridicule. A few comic songs 
 from the vulgar palaces that are now so 
 fashionable in London will probably make 
 this latest "burlesque" run for hundreds of 
 nights. In Edinburgh the interest Lon- 
 doners have in their music halls is not easily 
 realized, though it is one of the worst signs 
 of the times. The other night there was a 
 disturbance in a London music hall over a 
 comic political song, and since then innu- 
 merable "leaders " have solemnly discussed 
 the question of politics in places of amuse- 
 ment. As a matter of fact, actors know 
 nothing about the questions of the day. 
 Not one in fifty records his vote in a Parlia- 
 mentary election. Their politics are that 
 Mr. Gladstone is the G. O. M., and that 
 Lord Randolph Churchill curls his mustache. 
 In speaking of the theater of to-day, never- 
 theless, a pessimistic tone is uncalled for. 
 
224 
 
 The stage has been swept of many of its 
 objectionable features, and the standard of 
 acting has been immeasurably raised. If we 
 have no one theater where the performance 
 is of such uniform excellence as at one 
 famous Paris play-house, we have more 
 actors and actresses of intelligence than any 
 other country in the world. When the 
 dramatist appears, scores of companies will 
 be found capable of acting his pieces satis- 
 factorily. Nor do we fear that he would be 
 unappreciated. Trash is often a success on 
 the stage, thanks to the talent of one or two 
 of the players ; but the average audience 
 recognizes good work, and would rejoice to 
 have the opportunity of commending it. 
 All that is wanted is the dramatist. One 
 would think that there are novelists now 
 with us who could write plays that would be 
 literary as well as effective. Some of them 
 have tried and failed, but obviously because 
 they did not set about it in the proper way. 
 Plays and novels require quite different con- 
 struction, but the story-writer who is dra- 
 matic could become sufficiently theatrical by 
 serving a short apprenticeship to the stage. 
 There are such prizes to pluck for those who 
 can stand on tiptoe that the absence of an 
 outstanding dramatist is as surprising as it 
 is disappointing. 
 
IT. 
 
 As they were my friends, I don't care to 
 say how it came about that I had this 
 strange and, I believe, unique experience. 
 They considered it a practical joke, though 
 it nearly unhinged my reason. Suffice it 
 that last Wednesday, when I called on them 
 at their new house, I was taken upstairs and 
 shown into a large room with a pictorial wall- 
 paper. There was a popgun on the table 
 and a horse with three legs on the floor. In 
 a moment it flashed through my mind that 
 I must be in a nursery. I started back, and 
 then, with a sinking at the heart, I heard 
 the key turn in the lock. From the corner 
 came a strange uncanny moan. Slowly I 
 forced my head round and looked, and a 
 lump rose in my throat, and I realized that 
 I was alone with It. 
 
 I cannot say how long I stood there 
 motionless. As soon as I came to myself I 
 realized that my only chance was to keep 
 quiet. I tried to think. The probability 
 was that they were not far away, and if they 
 
 '5 
 
226 
 
 heard nothing for a quarter of an hour or S6, 
 they might open the door and let me out 
 So I stood still, with my eyes riveted on the 
 thing where It lay. It did not cry out again, 
 and I hoped against hope that It had not 
 seen me. As I became accustomed to the 
 room I heard It breathing quite like a human 
 being. This reassured me to some extent, 
 for I saw that It must be asleep. The ques- 
 tion was, Might not the sleep be disturbed 
 at any moment, and in that case, what 
 should I do? I remembered the story of the 
 man who met a wild beast in the jungle and 
 subjugated it by the power of the human 
 eye. I thought I would try that. All the 
 time I kept glaring at its lair (for I could 
 not distinguish itself), and the two things 
 mixed themselves up in my mind till I 
 thought I was trying the experiment at that 
 moment. Next it struck me that perhaps 
 the whole thing was a mistake. The servant 
 had merely shown me into the wrong room. 
 Yes ; but why had the door been locked ? 
 After all, was I sure that it was locked ? I 
 crept closer to the door, and with my eyes 
 still fixed on the corner, put my hand gently 
 oh, so gently ! on the handle. Softly I 
 turned it round. I felt like a burglar. The 
 door would not open. Losing all self-con- 
 trol, I shook it ; and then again came that 
 unnatural cry. I stood as if turned to stone, 
 still clutching the door-handle, lest it should 
 
227 
 
 squeak if I let it go. Then I listened for the 
 breathing. In a few moments I heard it. 
 Before it had horrified me ; now it was like 
 sweet music, and I resumed breathing my- 
 self. I kept close to the wall, ready for any- 
 thing ; and then I had a strange notion. As 
 It was asleep, why should I not creep for- 
 ward and have a look at It ? I yielded to 
 this impulse. 
 
 Of course I had often seen Them before, 
 but always with some responsible person 
 present, and never such a young one. I 
 thought It would be done up in clothes, but 
 no, It lay loose, and without much on. I 
 saw Its hands and arms, and It had hair. It 
 was sound asleep to all appearances, but 
 there was a queer smile upon its face that I 
 did not like. It crossed my mind that It 
 might be only shamming, so I looked away 
 and then turned sharply round to catch It. 
 The smile was still there, but It moved one 
 of its hands in a suspicious way. The more 
 I looked, the more uncomfortable did that 
 smile make me. There was something 
 saturnine about it, and It kept it up too long. 
 I felt in my pocket hurriedly for my watch, 
 in case It should wake ; but, with my usual 
 ill-luck, I had left it at the watchmaker's. 
 If It had been older I should not have minded 
 so much, for I would have kept on asking 
 what its name was. But this was such a 
 very young one that It could not even have 
 
228 
 
 a name yet. Presently I began to feel that 
 It was lying too quietly. It is not Their 
 nature to be quiet for any length of time, 
 and, for aught I knew, this one might be ill. 
 I believe I should have felt relieved if It had 
 cried out again. After thinking it over for 
 some time I touched It, to see if It would 
 move. It drew up one leg and pushed out 
 a hand. Then I bit my lips at my folly, for 
 there was no saying what It might do next 
 I got behind the curtain, and watched it 
 anxiously through a chink. Except that the 
 smile became wickeder than ever, nothing 
 happened. I was wondering whether I 
 should not risk pinching It, so as to make It 
 scream and bring somebody, when I heard 
 an awful sound. Though I am only twenty 
 I have had considerable experience of life, 
 and I can safely say that I never heard such 
 a chuckle. It had wakened up and was 
 laughing. 
 
 I gazed at It from behind the curtain ; Its 
 eyes were wide open, and you could see 
 quite well that it was reflecting what It ought 
 to do next. As long as it did not come out 
 I felt safe, for It could not see me. Some- 
 thing funny seemed to strike It, and It 
 laughed heartily. After a time It tried to sit 
 up. Fortunately its head was so heavy that 
 It always lost its balance just as It seemed 
 on the point of succeeding. When It saw 
 that It could not rise, It reflected again, and 
 
It 
 
 then all of a sudden It put its fist into its 
 mouth. I gazed in horror; soon only the 
 wrist was to be seen, and I saw that It 
 would choke in another minute. Just for a 
 second I thought that I would let It do as It 
 liked. Then I cried out, " Don't do that I " 
 and came out from behind the curtain. 
 Slowly It removed its fist, and there we were, 
 looking at each other. 
 
 I retreated to the door, but It followed me 
 with its eyes. It had not had time to scream 
 yet, and I glared at It to imply that I would 
 stand no nonsense. But, difficult though 
 this may be to believe, It didn't scream when 
 It had the chance. It chuckled instead, and 
 made signs to me to come nearer. This was 
 even more alarming than my worst fears. 
 I shook my head and then my fist at it, but 
 it only laughed the more. In the end I got 
 so fearful that I went down on my hands 
 and knees, to get out of its sight. Then it 
 began to scream. However, I did not get 
 up. When they opened the door they say 
 I was beneath the table, and no wonder. 
 But I certainly was astonished to discover 
 that I had only been alone with It for seven 
 minutes. 
 
 THE END. 
 
Travelling ? 
 
 TAKE THE 
 
 JVIonon 
 
 Elegantly Vestibuled 
 TRAINS .... 
 
 BETWEEN 
 
 Chicago, 
 
 Indianapolis, 
 
 Cincinnati, 
 
 LAFAYETTE, LOUISVILLE 
 and the SOUTH. 
 
 Magnificent Faultless 
 
 Equipment. Service. . 
 
 Pullman Sleeping Cars on all night trains ; Park r 
 and Dining Cars on all day trains. Only 
 line to the Celebrated WEST BADBN 
 and FRENCH WCK SPRINGS. Hotels 
 open the year round. 
 
 W. H. McDOEL, FRANK J. REED, 
 
 Vice-Pres, and Gen, Mgr. Gen. Pass. Agent. 
 

THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
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 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
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 OVERDUE. 
 
 MAR 24 1934 
 
 LD 21-100m-7,'33 
 
YB 74153 
 
 "O/f 
 
 127 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
Briggs Pianos 
 
 Are 
 
 MARVELLOUS 
 
 in 
 
 itNE 
 
 TOUCH 
 
 SCALE 
 
 ACTION 
 
 DESIGN 
 
 FINISH 
 
 DURABILITY 
 
 The trained skill, taste, and science displayed in the manufacture of these 
 instruments win the universal admiration of musical artists. They have a phe- 
 nomenal pleasing quality of TONE, delicate and elastic TOUCH, evenly adjusted 
 SOALE, prompt responding ACTION, artistic DESIGN, exquisite FINISH, and ex- 
 traordinary DURABILITY. Their popularity is daily extending. 
 
 A twenty page illustrated book for piano buyers, "POINTS PERTINENT TO 
 PIANOS " and new catalogue free on application. 
 
 BRIQQS PIANO CO., BOSTON, MASS.