SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 a gjtcrp of a i^mtster 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE MACDONALD 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 1897 
 
Copyright, 1896-18^ 
 By Dodd, Mead and Company 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 H^-v^ 4.L. , K.^'^:), 
 
 ©Intbersttg IPress 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 
 

 Salted With Fire 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 "Whaur are ye aff till this bonny mornin', 
 Maggie, my dow?" said the soutar, looking up 
 from his work, and addressing his daughter as 
 she stood in the doorway with her shoes in 
 her hand. 
 
 " Jist ower to Stanecross, wi' yer leave, father, 
 to speir the mistress for a feow goupins o' chaff: 
 yer bed aneth ye 's grown unco hungry-like." 
 " Hoot, the bed 's weel eneuch, lassie ! " 
 " Na, it 's onything but weel eneuch. It 's my 
 pairt to luik efter my ain father, and see there 
 be nae knots either in his bed or his parritch." 
 
 " Ye 're jist yer mither ower again, my lass ! 
 Weel, I winna miss ye that sair, for the minister 
 '11 be in this mornin'." 
 
 " Hoo ken ye that, father? " 
 " We didna gree vera weel last nicht." 
 ** I canna bide the minister — argle-barglin' 
 body ! " 
 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " Toots, bairn ! I dinna like to hear ye speyk 
 sae scornfu like, o' the gude man that has the care 
 o' oor souls ! " 
 
 '* It wad be mair to the purpose ye had the 
 care o' his ! " 
 
 " Sae I hae ; hasna ilkabody the care o' ilk 
 ither's?" 
 
 " Ay ; but he preshumes upo' 't — and ye 
 dinna; there's the differ!" 
 
 " Weel, but ye see, lassie, the man has nae 
 insicht — nana to speak o', that is; and it's 
 pleased God to mak him a wee stoopid, and 
 some thrawn (twisted). He has nae notion even 
 o' the wark I put intil thae wee bit sheenie o* 
 his — that I 'm this moment labourin' owcrl" 
 
 "It 's sair wastit upon him 'at canna see the 
 thoucht intil 't ! " 
 
 " Is God's wark wastit upo' you and me excep' 
 whan we see intil 't and un'erstan' 't, Maggie? " 
 
 The girl was silent. Her father resumed. 
 
 "There 's three concernt i' the matter o' the 
 wark I may be at: first, my ain duty to the 
 wark — that's me; syne him I'm working for 
 — that's the minister; and syne him 'at sets 
 me to the wark, and him i' the need o' 't — ye 
 ken wha that is : whilk o' the three wad ye hae 
 me lea' oot o' the consideration.-*" 
 
 For another moment the girl continued silent; 
 then she said, — 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 "Ye maun be i' the richt, father. I be- 
 lieve 't, though I canna jist see 't. A body 
 canna like a'body, and the minister's jist the 
 ae man I canna bide." 
 
 "Ay could ye, gi'en ye lo'ed the anc as he 
 ocht to be lo'ed, and as ye maun learn to lo'e 
 him." 
 
 " Weel, I 'm no come to that wi' the minister 
 yet!" 
 
 " It 's a trowth — but a sair pity, my dautie. " 
 
 " He provokes me the w'y that he speaks to 
 you, father — him 'at 's no fit to tie the thong o' 
 your shee! " 
 
 "The Maister would lat him tie his, and say 
 thank ye! " 
 
 " It aye seems to me he has sic a scrimpit 
 way o' believin' ! It 's no like believin' at a' ! 
 He winna trust him for naething that he hasna 
 his ain word, or some ither body's for! Ca' ye 
 that lippenin' til him.-*" 
 
 It was now the father's turn to be silent for a 
 moment. Then he said, — 
 
 " Lea' the judgin' o' him to his ain maister, 
 lassie. I ha'e seen him whiles sair concernt 
 for ither fowk. " 
 
 "'At they wouldna baud wi' him, and war 
 condemn't in consequence — wasna that it.-* " 
 
 " I canna answer ye that, bairn." 
 
 "Weel, I ken he doesna like you — no ae 
 
 3 
 
SALTED WITH FIR£ 
 
 wee bit. He 's aye girdin' at ye to ither 
 fowk." 
 
 "Maybe. The mair's the need I should lo'e 
 him." 
 
 " But noo can ye, father.^ " 
 
 "There's naething, o' late, I ha'e to be sae 
 gratefu' for to him as that I can. But I con- 
 fess I had to try sair at first ! " 
 
 "The mair I was to try, the mair I jist 
 couldna. " 
 
 "But ye could try; and He could help ye." 
 
 " I dinna ken ; I only ken that sae ye say, and 
 I maun believe ye. Nane the mair can I see 
 hoo it 's ever to be brought aboot. " 
 
 " No more can I, though I ken it can be. But 
 just think, my ain Maggie, hoo would onybody 
 ken that ever ane o' 's was his disciple, gien we 
 war aye argle-barglin' aboot the holiest things 
 — at least what the minister coonts the holiest, 
 though may be I ken better? It 's whan twa 
 o' 's strive that what 's ca'd a schism begins, 
 and I jist winna, please God — and it does 
 please him. He never said. Ye maun a' think 
 the same gait, but he did say, Ye maun a' lo'e 
 ane anither, and no strive ! " 
 
 " Ye dinna aye gang to his kirk, father! " 
 
 "Na, for I'm jist feared sometimes lest I 
 should stop lo'ein' him. It matters little aboot 
 gaein' to the kirk ilka Sunday, but it matters a 
 4 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 heap aboot aye lo'ein' anc anither; and whiles 
 he says things aboot the mind o' God, sic that 
 it 's a' I can dee to sit still. " 
 
 "Weel, father, I dinna believe that I can 
 lo'e him ony the day, sae, wi' yer leave, I 's be 
 awa to Stanecross afore he comes. " 
 
 " Gang yer w'ys, lassie, and the Lord gang 
 wi' ye, as ance he did wi' them that gaed to 
 Emmaus. " 
 
 With her shoes in her hand, the girl was 
 leaving the house when her father called after 
 her, — 
 
 " Hoo 's folk to ken that I provide for my ain 
 whan my bairn gangs unshod .'' Tak aff yer 
 shune gin ye like when ye 're oot o' the 
 toon." 
 
 "Are ye sure there 's nae hypocrisy aboot sic 
 afauseshow, father.-*" asked Maggie, laughing. 
 "I maun hide them better! " 
 
 As she spoke, she put them in the empty bag 
 she carried for the chaff. 
 
 "There 's a hidin' o' what I hae — no a pre- 
 tendin' to hae what I haena! I 's be hame in 
 guid time for yer tay, father. I can gang a 
 heap better without them," she added, as she 
 threw the bag over her shoulder. "I'll put 
 them on whan I come to the heather," she 
 concluded. 
 
 "Ay, ay; gang yer wa's, and lea' me to the 
 5 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 wark ye haena the grace to adverteeze by 
 wearin t. 
 
 Maggie looked in at the window as she passed 
 it on her way, and got a last sight of her father. 
 The sun was shining into the little bare room, 
 and her shadow fell upon him as she passed 
 him; but his form lingered clear in the close 
 chamber of her mind after she had left him far 
 behind her. There it was not her shadow, but 
 the shadow rather of a great peace that rested 
 concentred upon him as he bowed over his last, 
 his mind fixed indeed upon his work, but far 
 more occupied with the affairs of quite another 
 region. Mind and soul were each so absorbed 
 in its accustomed labour that never did either 
 interfere with that of the other. His shoemak- 
 ing lost nothing when he was deepest sunk in 
 some one or other of the words of his Lord, 
 which he sought eagerly to understand — nay, 
 I imagine it gained thereby. In his leisure 
 hours, not a great, he was yet an intense 
 reader; but it was nothing in any book that now 
 occupied him ; it was the live good news, the 
 man Jesus Christ himself. In thought, in love, 
 in imagination, that man dwelt in him, was alive 
 in him, and made him alive. This moment he 
 was with him, had come to visit him — yet was 
 never far from him — present ever with an indi- 
 viduality that never quenched but was always 
 6 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 developing his own. For the soutar absolutely 
 believed in the Lord of Life, was always trying 
 to do the things he said, and to keep his words 
 abiding in him. Therefore was he what the 
 parson called a mystic, and was the most prac- 
 tical man in the neighbourhood ; therefore did 
 he make the best shoes, because the Word of 
 the Lord abode in him. 
 
 The door opened, and the minister came into 
 the kitchen. The soutar always worked there 
 that he might be near his daughter, whose pres- 
 ence never interrupted either his work or his 
 thought, or even his prayers, which at times 
 seemed involuntary as a vital automatic impulse. 
 
 "It's a grand day," said the minister. "It 
 aye seems to me that just on such a day will 
 the Lord come, nobody expecting him, and the 
 folk all following their various callings, just as 
 when the flood came and astonished them." 
 
 The man was but reflecting, without knowing 
 it, what the soutar had been saying the last time 
 they had encountered ; neither did he think, at 
 the moment, that the Lord himself had said it 
 first. 
 
 " And I was thinkin', this verra minute," re- 
 turned the soutar, " sic a bonny day as it was 
 for the Lord to gang aboot amang his ain fowk. 
 I was thinkin* maybe he was come upon Maggie, 
 and was walkin' wi' her up the hill to Stanecross, 
 7 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 — nearer till her, maybe, nor she could hear or 
 see or think." 
 
 " Ye 're a deal taen up wi' vain imaiginin's, 
 MacLear," returned the minister, tartly. " What 
 scriptur hae ye for sic a wanderin' invention, o' 
 no practical value?" 
 
 " Deed, sir, what scriptur hae I for takin' my 
 brakfast this or ony mornin'? Yet I never luik 
 for a judgment to fa' upon me for that ! I 'm 
 thinkin' we do mair things in faith than we ken 
 
 — but no eneuch ! no eneuch ! I was thankfu' 
 for 't though, I min' that, and maybe that '11 stan* 
 for faith. But gien I gang on this gait, we '11 be 
 beginnin' as we left aff last nicht, and maybe fa' 
 to strife ! And we hae to lo'e ane anither, not 
 accordin' to what the ane thinks, or what the 
 ither thinks, but accordin' as each kens the 
 Maister lo'es the ither, for he lo'es the twa o' us 
 thegither." 
 
 " But hoo ken ye that he 's pleased wi' ye? " 
 " I said naething aboot that : I said he lo'es 
 
 you and me ! " 
 
 " For that, he maun be pleast wi' ye ! " 
 
 " I dinna think nane aboot that ; I jist tak' my 
 
 life i' my han', and awa' wi' 't till him ; and he 's 
 
 never turned his face frae me yet. Eh, sir ! think 
 
 what it would be gien he did ! " 
 
 " But we maunna think o' him ither than he 
 
 would hae us think." 
 
 8 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " That 's hoo I 'm aye hingin' aroun' his door, 
 and aye luikin' aboot for him." 
 
 " Weel, I kenna what to mak' o' ye ! I maun 
 jist lea' ye to him ! " 
 
 "Ye couldna du a kinder thing! I desire 
 naething better frae man or minister than be 
 left to him." 
 
 " Weel, weel, see till yersel'." 
 
 " I '11 see to him, and try to lo'e my neighbour 
 — that's you, Mr. Pethrie. I'll hae yer shune 
 ready by Setterday, sir. I trust they '11 be 
 worthy o' the feet that God made, and that hae 
 to be shod by me. I trust and believe they '11 
 nowise distress ye, or interfere wi' yer preachin'. 
 I '11 fess them hame mysel', gien the Lord wull, 
 and that without fail ! " 
 
 " Na, na ; dinna dee that ; let Maggie come 
 wi' them. Ye would only be puttin' me oot o' 
 humour for the Lord's wark wi' yer havers ! " 
 
 "Weel, I'll sen' Maggie — only ye would 
 obleege me by no seein' her, for ye micht put 
 her oot o' humour, sir, and she michtna gie yer 
 sermon fair play the morn ! " 
 
 The minister closed the door with some 
 sharpness. 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 In the meantime, Maggie was walking shoeless 
 and bonnetless up the hill to the farm she sought. 
 It was a hot morning in June, tempered by a 
 wind from the northwest. The land was green 
 with the slow-rising tide of the young corn, 
 among which the cool wind made little waves, 
 showing the brown earth between them on the 
 somewhat arid face of the hill. A few fleecy 
 clouds shared the high blue realm with the keen 
 sun. As she rose to the top of the road, the 
 gable of the house came suddenly into her sight, 
 and near it a sleepy old grey horse, treading his 
 ceaseless round at the end of a long lever, too 
 listless to feel the weariness of a labour that to 
 him must have seemed unprogressive, and to any- 
 thing young heart-breaking. Nor did it seem 
 to give him any consolation to listen to the com- 
 motion he was causing on the other side of the 
 wall, where a threshing-machine of an antiquated 
 sort was in full response with multiform motion 
 to the monotony of his round-and-round. Near 
 by a peacock, as conscious of his glorious plu- 
 mage as indifferent to the ugliness of his feet, kept 
 
 lO 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 time with his undulating neck to the motion of 
 those same feet, as he strode with stagey gait 
 across the cornyard, now and then stooping to 
 pick up spitefully astray grain, and occasionally 
 erecting his superb neck to give utterance to a 
 hideous cry of satisfaction at his own beauty, as 
 unlike it as ever discord to harmony. His glory, 
 his legs, and his voice perplexed Maggie with an 
 unanalysed sense of contradiction and unfitness. 
 
 Radiant with age and light, the old horse 
 stood still just as the sun touched the meridian; 
 the hour of repose and food was come, and he 
 knew it ; at the same moment the girl, passing 
 one of the green-painted doors of the farm- 
 house, stopped at the other, the kitchen one. 
 It stood open, and in answer to her modest 
 knock, a ruddy maid stood before her, with 
 question in her eyes and a smile on her lips at 
 sight of the shoemaker's Maggie, whom she 
 knew well. Maggie asked if she might see 
 the mistress. 
 
 " Here 's the soutar's Maggie wantin' ye, 
 mem ! " called the maid, and Mistress Blather- 
 wick, who was close at hand, came, to whom 
 Maggie humbly but confidently making her 
 request, had it as kindly granted, and at once 
 proceeded to the barn to fill the pock she had 
 brought, with the light plumy covering of the 
 husk of the oats, the mistress of Stanecross help- 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 ing her the while, and talking away to her as she 
 did so, for both the soutar and his daughter were 
 favourites with her and her husband, and she had 
 not seen either of them for some time. 
 
 " Ye used to ken oor Jeames i' the auld lang 
 syne, Maggie ! " she went on, for the two had 
 played together as children at the same school, 
 although growth and difference of station had 
 gradually put an end to their intimacy, and it 
 now became the mother to refer to him with 
 circumspection, seeing that, in her eyes at 
 least, James was far on the way to become a 
 great man, being now a divinity student; for in 
 the Scotch church, although it sets small store 
 by the claim to apostolic descent, every minister, 
 until he has either shown himself eccentric, 
 or incapable of interesting a congregation, is 
 regarded with quite as much respect as in Eng- 
 land is accorded to the claimant of a phantom- 
 priesthood ; and therefore, prospectively, was to 
 his mother a man of no little note. And Maggie 
 remembered how, when a boy, he had liked to 
 talk with her father, who listened to him with a 
 curious look on his rugged face, while he set 
 forth the commonplaces of a lifeless theology 
 with an occasional freshness of logical presenta- 
 tion that at least interested himself. But she 
 remembered also that she had never heard the 
 soutar, on his side, make the slightest attempt to 
 
 12 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 lay open to the boy his stores of what one or 
 two in the place, but one or two only, counted 
 wisdom and knowledge. 
 
 " He 's a gey clever laddie," he had said once 
 to Maggie, " and gien he gets his een open i' 
 the coorse o' the life he 's begun to tak a haud 
 o', he'll doobtless see something; but he disna 
 ken yet that there 's onything rael to be seen 
 ootside or inside o' him ! " When he heard that 
 he was going to study divinity, he shook his 
 head, and was silent. 
 
 " I 'm jist hame frae payin' him a short veesit," 
 Mrs. Blatherwick went on. " I cam hame but 
 twa nichts ago. He 's lodged wi' a decent widow 
 in Arthur Street, in a flat up a lang stane stair 
 that gangs roun and roun till ye come there, and 
 syne gangs past the door and up again. She 
 luiks efter his claes, and sees to the washin' o' 
 them, and does her best to haud him tidy ; but 
 Jeamie was aye that partic'lar aboot his appear- 
 ance ! And that 's a guid thing, specially in a 
 minister, wha has to set an example ! I was 
 sair pleased wi' the auld body." 
 
 There was one in the Edinburgh lodging, how- 
 ever, who did not appear, so long as Mrs. Blath- 
 erwick was there, at least, oftener than she must, 
 and of whom the mother had made no mention 
 to her husband upon her return, any more than 
 she did now to Maggie MacLear; indeed, she 
 13 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 had taken so little notice of her that she could 
 hardly be said to have seen her at all. This was 
 a girl of about sixteen, who did far more for the 
 comfort of her aunt's two lodgers than she who 
 reaped all the advantage. If Mrs. Blatherwick 
 had let her eyes rest upon her but for a moment, 
 she would probably have looked again, and per- 
 haps discovered that she was both a good-look- 
 ing and graceful little creature, with blue eyes 
 and hair as nearly black as that kind of hair, 
 both fine and plentiful, ever is. She might 
 then have discovered as well a certain look of 
 earnestness and service that might have been 
 called devotion, and would at first have attracted 
 her for its own sake, and then repelled her for 
 James's ; she would assuredly have read in it 
 what she would have counted danger. But see- 
 ing her poorly dressed, and looking untidy, 
 which she could not for the time help being, the 
 mother took her for an ordinary servant of all 
 work, and gave her no attention ; neither once 
 for a moment doubted that her son saw her just 
 as she did. For him, who was her only son, her 
 heart was full of ambition, and she brooded on 
 the honour he was destined to bring her and his 
 father. The latter, however, caring much less 
 for his good looks, had neither the same satis- 
 faction in him nor an equal expectation from him. 
 Neither of his parents, indeed, had as yet reaped 
 14 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 much pleasure from his existence, however much 
 they might hope in the time to come. There 
 were two things against such satisfaction, indeed 
 — that James had never been open-hearted 
 toward them, never communicative as to his 
 feeHngs, or even his doings; and, what was 
 worse, that he had long made them feel in him 
 a certain unexpressed claim to superiority over 
 them. Nor would it have lessened their uneasi- 
 ness at this to have noted that the existence of 
 such an implicit claim was more or less evident 
 in relation to everyone with whom he came in 
 contact, manifested mainly by a stiff, incommu- 
 nicative reluctance, taking the form now of an 
 affected absorption in his books, now of con- 
 tempt for any sort of manual labour, to the sad- 
 dling of the pony he was about to ride, and now 
 and always by an affectation of proper English, 
 which, while quite successful as to grammar and 
 accentuation, did not escape the ludicrous in a 
 certain stiltedness of tone and inflection, from 
 which intrusion of the would-be gentleman, his 
 father, a simple old-fashioned man, shrank with 
 more of dislike than he was willing to be con- 
 scious of. 
 
 Quite content that, having a better education 
 
 than himself, his son should both be and show 
 
 himself superior, he could not help feeling that 
 
 these his ways of asserting himself were but 
 
 15 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 signs of foolishness, and especially as conjoined 
 with his wish to be a minister, in regard to which 
 Peter but feebly sympathised with the general 
 ambition of Scots parents. Full of simple pa- 
 ternal affection, whose utterance was quenched 
 by the behaviour of his son, he was continuously 
 aware of something that took the shape of an 
 impassable gulf between him and his father and 
 mother. Profoundly religious, and readily ap- 
 preciative of what was new in the perception of 
 truth, although by no means eager after novelt)', 
 he was, above all, of a great and simple right- 
 eousness — full, that is, of a loving sense of fair- 
 play — a very different thing, indeed, from what 
 most of those who count themselves religious 
 mean when they talk of the righteousness of 
 God ! Little, however, was James yet able to 
 see of this or other great qualities in his father. 
 I would not have my reader think that he was 
 consciously disrespectful to either of his parents, 
 or even knew that his behaviour was unloving. 
 He honoured their character, but shrank from 
 the simplicity of their manners ; he thought of 
 them with no lively affection, though with not a 
 little kindly feeling and much confidence, at the 
 same time regarding himself with still greater 
 confidence. He had never been an idler, or 
 disobedient, and had made such efforts after 
 theological righteousness as had served to bol- 
 i6 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 ster rather than buttress his conviction that he 
 was a righteous youth, or at least to nourish his 
 ignorance of the fact that he was far from being 
 the person of moral strength and value that he 
 imagined himself. The person he saw in the 
 mirror of his self-consciousness was a very fine 
 and altogether trustworthy personage ; the real- 
 ity so twisted in its reflection was but a decent 
 lad, as lads go, with high but untrue notions of 
 personal honour, and an altogether unwarranted 
 conviction that such as he admiringly imagined 
 himself, such he actually was; he had never dis- 
 covered his true and unworthy self! There 
 were many things in his life and ways upon 
 which had he but fixed eyes of question he 
 would at once have perceived that they were 
 both judged and condemned. So far, neverthe- 
 less, his father and mother might have good 
 hope of his future. 
 
 It is folly to suppose that such as follow most 
 the fashions of this world are more enslaved by 
 them than multitudes who follow them only afar 
 off. These reverence the judgments of society 
 in things of far greater importance than the 
 colour or cut of a gown ; often without knowing 
 it, they judge life, and truth itself, by the falsest 
 of all measures, namely, the judgment of others 
 falser than themselves; they do not ask what 
 is true or right, but what folk think and say 
 * 17 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 about this or that. James, for instance, al- 
 together missed being a gentleman, by his habit 
 of asking himself how, in such or such circum- 
 stances, a gentleman would behave. As the 
 man of honour he would fain know himself, he 
 would never tell a lie or break a promise ; but 
 he had not come to perceive that there are 
 other things as binding as the promise, which 
 alone he regarded as obligatory. He did not 
 mind raising expectations which he had not the 
 least intention of fulfilling. 
 
 Being a Scotch lad, it is not to be wondered 
 at that he should turn to Theology as a means 
 of livelihood ; neither is it surprising that he 
 should have done so without any conscious love 
 to God, seeing it is not in Scotland alone that 
 men take refuge in the Church, and turn the 
 highest profession into the meanest, laziest, 
 poorest, and most unworthy, by following it 
 without any genuine call to the same. In any 
 profession, the man must be a poor common 
 creature who follows it without some real inter- 
 est in it; but he who, without a spark of enthu- 
 siasm, adopts the Church, is either a " blind 
 mouth," as Milton calls him, — scornfullest of 
 epithets, — or an " old wife" ambitious of telling 
 her fables well ; and James's ambition was of an 
 equally contemptible sort, — that, namely, of 
 distinguishing himself in the pulpit. This, if he 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 had the natural gift of eloquence, he might well 
 do by its misuse to his own glory ; or if he had 
 it not, he might acquire a spurious facility re- 
 sembling it, and so be every way a wind-bag. 
 
 Mr. Petrie, whom it cost the soutar so much 
 care and effort to love, and who, although intel- 
 lectually small, was yet a good man, and by no 
 means a coward where he judged people's souls 
 in danger, thought to save the world by preach- 
 ing a God eminently respectable to those who 
 could believe in such a God, but to those who 
 could not, very far from lovely because far from 
 righteous ; for his life, nevertheless, he showed 
 himself in many ways a believer in Him who 
 revealed a very different God indeed — which 
 did not, however, prevent him from looking 
 upon the soutar, who believed only in the God 
 he saw in Jesus Christ, as one in a state of 
 rebellion against God. 
 
 Young Blatherwick on his part had already 
 begun to turn his back upon several of the 
 special tenets of Calvinism, without, however, 
 being either a better or a worse man because of 
 this change in his opinions. He had cast aside, 
 for instance, the doctrine of an everlasting hell 
 for the unbeliever, but in doing so became aware 
 that he was thus leaving fallow a great field for 
 the cultivation of eloquence, and not having yet 
 discovered any other equally productive of the 
 19 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 precious crop, without which so little was to be 
 gained for the end he desired, — namely, the 
 praise of men. He kept on in the meantime 
 sowing and reaping the same field. Mr, Petrie, 
 on the other hand, held to the doctrine as ab- 
 solutely fundamental ; while the soutar, who 
 had discarded it from almost his childhood, 
 positively refused to enter into any argument 
 on the matter with the disputatious little man, 
 who was unable to perceive any force in his 
 argument that, to tell a man he must one day 
 give in and repent, would have greater potency 
 with him than any assurance that the hour 
 would come when repentance itself would be 
 unavailing. 
 
 As yet, therefore, James was reading Scotch 
 metaphysics, and reconciling himself to the con- 
 cealment of his freer opinions, for upon their 
 concealment depended the success of his pro- 
 bation, and his license. The close of his studies 
 in divinity was now at hand. 
 
 ao 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Upon a certain stormy day in the great north- 
 ern city, preparing for what he regarded as his 
 career, James sat in the same large shabbily 
 furnished room where his mother had once 
 visited him, half-way up the hideously long spiral 
 stair of an ancient house, whose entrance was 
 in a narrow close. The great clock of a church 
 in the neighbouring street had just begun to 
 strike five of a wintry afternoon, dark with snow, 
 falling and yet to fall — how often in after years 
 was he not to hear the ghostly call of that clock, 
 and see that falling snow ! — when a gentle tap 
 came to his door, and the girl I have already 
 mentioned came in with a tray, and the materi- 
 als for his most welcomed meal of coffee and 
 bread and butter. She set it down in a silence 
 which was plainly that of deepest respect, gave 
 him one glance of devotion, and was turning to 
 leave the room, when he looked up from the 
 paper he was writing, and said, — 
 
 " Don't be in such a hurry, Isy. Have n't 
 you time to pour out my coffee for me? " 
 
 21 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Isy was still a small, dark, neat little thing, 
 with finely formed features, and a look of child- 
 like simplicity, not altogether removed from 
 childishness. She answered him first with her 
 very blue eyes full of love and trust. 
 
 " Plenty o* time, sir. What other have I to 
 do than see that you 're at your ease? " 
 
 He shoved aside his work, and looking up 
 with some concentration in his regard, pushed 
 his chair back a little from the table, and re- 
 joined, — 
 
 " What's the matter with you this last day or 
 two, Isy? You 're not altogether like yourself ! " 
 
 She hesitated a moment, then answered, — 
 
 " It can be naething, I suppose, but just that 
 I *m growing older and beginning to think aboot 
 things." 
 
 She stood near him. He put his arm round 
 her little waist, and would have drawn her down 
 upon his knees, but she resisted. 
 
 " I don't see what difference that can make 
 all at once, Isy ! We 've known each other so 
 long there can be no misunderstanding of any 
 sort between us. You have always behaved 
 like the good and modest girl you are ; and 
 I 'm sure you have been most attentive to me 
 all the time I have been in your aunt's house." 
 
 He spoke in the superior tone of approval. 
 
 " It was my bare duty, and ye hae aye been 
 
 22 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 kinder to me than I could hae had ony richt to 
 expec'. But it's nearhan' ower noo ! " she con- 
 cluded with a sigh that indicated tears some- 
 where, and yielding to the increased pressure of 
 his arm. 
 
 "What makes you say that?" he returned, 
 giving her a warm kiss, plainly neither unwel- 
 come nor the first. 
 
 " Dinna ye think it wad be better to drop that 
 kin' o* thing noo, sir?" she said, and would 
 have risen, but he held her fast. 
 
 " Why now, more than any time, for I don't 
 know how long? Where is there any differ- 
 ence? What puts the notion in your pretty 
 little head? " he asked. 
 
 " It maun come some day, and the langer the 
 harder it '11 be ! " 
 
 " But tell me, what sets you thinking about it 
 all at once? " 
 
 She burst into tears. He tried to soothe and 
 comfort her, but in struggling not to cry she 
 only sobbed the worse. At last, however, she 
 succeeded in faltering out an explanation, 
 
 " Auntie 's been tellin' me that I maun luik to 
 my heart, no so tyne't to ye a' thegither ! But 
 it 's awa already," she went on, with a fresh out- 
 burst; "and it's no manner o' use cryin' till't 
 to come back to me ! I micht as weel cry upo' 
 the win' as it blaws by me. I canna understan' 
 23 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 't; I ken weel ye '11 soon be a great man, and a* 
 the toon crushin' to hear ye; and I ken just as 
 weel that I '11 hae to sit still in my seat and 
 luik up to ye whaur ye stan', — no daurin' to say 
 a word, no daurin' even to think a thoucht lest 
 somebody sittin' aside me should hear 't ohn me 
 said a word. For what would it be but clean 
 impidence to think 'at ance I was sittin' whaur 
 I 'm sitting the noo — and that i' the vera kirk 
 — I would be nearhan' deein' for shame ! " 
 
 " Did n't you ever think, Isy, that maybe I 
 might marry ye some day?" said James jok- 
 ingly, confident in the gulf between them. 
 
 " Na, no ance. I kenned better nor that ! I 
 never even wusst it. For that would be nae 
 freen's wuss ; ye would never get on gien ye 
 did. I 'm nane fit for a minister's wife — nor 
 worthy o' it. I micht do no that ill, and pass 
 middlin' weel in a sma' clachan wi' a Avee bit 
 kirkie — but amang gran' fowk, in a muckle 
 toon — for that 's whaur ye 're sure to be — eh 
 me, me ! A' the last week or twa I haena been 
 able to help seein' ye driftin' awa frae me, oot 
 and oot to the great sea, whaur never a thoucht 
 o' Isy would come nigh ye again ; and what 
 for should there? Ye cam' na into the vvarld 
 to think aboot me or the likes o' me, but to be 
 a great preacher, and lea' me ahin ye, like a 
 sheaf o' corn ye had jist cuttit and left unbun' !" 
 24 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Here came another burst of bitter weeping, 
 followed by words whose very articulation was 
 a succession of sobs. 
 
 " Eh me, me ! I doobt I hae clean disgraced 
 mysel' ! " 
 
 As to young Blatherwick, I venture to assert 
 that nothing vulgar or low, still less of evil 
 intent, was passing through his mind during this 
 confession, and yet what but evil was his un- 
 pitying, selfish exultation in the fact that this 
 simple-hearted and very pretty girl loved hirn 
 unsought, and had told him so unasked ? A 
 true-hearted man would at once have perceived 
 and shrunk from what he was bringing upon 
 her, but James's vanity made him think it only 
 very natural, and more than excusable in her ; 
 and while his ambition made him imagine him- 
 self so much her superior as to admit no least 
 thought of marrying her, it did not prevent 
 him from yielding to the delight her confession 
 caused him, or from persuading her that there 
 was no harm in loving one to. whom she must 
 always be dear, whatever his future might bring 
 with it, Isy left the room not a little consoled, 
 and with a new hope in possession of her in- 
 nocent imagination; James remained to exult 
 over his conquest, and indulge a more definite 
 pleasure than hitherto in the person and devo- 
 tion of the girl. As to any consciousness of 
 
 25 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 danger to either of them, it was no more than 
 the uneasy stir on the shore of a storm far out 
 at sea ; had the least thought of wrong to her 
 invaded his mind, he would have turned from 
 it with abhorrence ; yet was he endangering 
 all her peace of mind without giving it one 
 reasonable thought. He was acting with self- 
 ishness too ingrained to manifest its own un- 
 lovely shape ; while yet in his mind lay all the 
 time a half-conscious care to avoid making a 
 promise. 
 
 As to her fitness for a minister's wife, he had 
 never asked himself a question concerning it ; 
 but she might, in truth, very soon have grown 
 far fitter for the position than he was now for 
 that of a minister. In character she was much 
 beyond him, and in breeding and consciousness 
 far more of a lady than he of a gentleman, — 
 fine gentleman as he would fain know himself. 
 Her manners were immeasurably better than 
 his, because they were simple and aimed at 
 nothing. Instinctively she avoided whatever, 
 had she done it, she would have recognised 
 as uncomely. She did not know that simplicity 
 was the purest breeding, yet from mere truth 
 of nature practised it unknowing. If her words 
 were older-fashioned, therefore more provincial 
 than his, at least her tone was less so, and 
 her utterance prettier than if, like him, she had 
 26 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 aped an Anglicised mode of speech. James 
 would, I am sure, have admired her more if she 
 had been dressed on Sundays in something more 
 showy than a simple cotton gown ; but her 
 aunt was poor, and she poorer, for she had no 
 fixed wages even ; and I fear that her poverty 
 had its influence in the freedoms he allowed 
 himself with her. 
 
 Her aunt was a weak as well as unsuspicious 
 woman, who had known better days, and pitied 
 herself because they were past and gone. She 
 gave herself no anxiety upon her niece's pru- 
 dence, but was so well assured of it that even 
 her goodness seemed to fight against her safety. 
 It would have required a man, not merely of 
 greater goodness than James, but of greater 
 insight into the realities of life as well, to per- 
 ceive the worth and superiority of the girl who 
 waited upon him with a devotion far more an- 
 gelic than servile ; for whatever might have 
 seemed to savour of the latter had love, hope- 
 less of personal advantage, at the root of it. 
 
 Thus things went on for a while, with a con- 
 tinuous strengthening of the pleasant yet not 
 altogether easy bonds in which Isobel walked, 
 and a constant increase in the power of the at- 
 traction that drew the student to the self-yielding 
 girl, until the appearance of another lodger in 
 the house was the means of opening Blather- 
 27 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 wick's eyes to the state of his own feelings, 
 giving occasion to the birth and recognition of 
 a not unnatural jealousy; and this " gave him 
 pause." On Isy's side there was not the least 
 occasion for this jealousy, and he knew it ; but 
 not the less he saw that, if he did not mean to 
 go further, here he must stop, — the immediate 
 result of which was that he began to change a 
 little in his behaviour toward her, when at any 
 time she came into his room in ministration to 
 his wants. 
 
 Of this change the poor girl was at once 
 aware, but attributed it to a temporary absorp- 
 tion in his studies. Soon, however, she could 
 not doubt that not merely was his voice or his 
 countenance changed towards her, but that his 
 heart also had grown cold to her, and that he 
 was no longer " friends with her." For there 
 was another and viler element than mere jealousy 
 concerned in his alteration ; the consciousness 
 of the jealousy had opened his eyes to another, 
 to him a more real danger into which he was 
 rapidly drifting, — that of irrecoverably blasting 
 the very dawn of his prospects by an imprudent 
 marriage. " To be saddled with a wife," as he 
 vulgarly expressed it to himself, before a church 
 was attainable to him, — before even he had had 
 the poorest opportunity of distinguishing him- 
 self in that wherein he hoped to excel, — was a 
 28 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 thing not for a moment to be contemplated ; 
 and now, when Isobel asked him in sorrowful 
 mood some indifferent question, the uneasy 
 knowledge that he was about to increase her sad- 
 ness made him answer her roughly, — a form not 
 unnatural to incipient compunction. White as a 
 ghost she stood silently staring at him a mo- 
 ment, then sank on the floor senseless. 
 
 Seized with an overmastering repentance that 
 brought back with a rush all his tenderness, 
 James sprang to her, lifted her in his arms, laid 
 her on the sofa, and lavished caresses upon her, 
 until she recovered sufficiently to know that she 
 lay in the false paradise of his arms, while he 
 knelt over her in a passion of regret, the first 
 passion he had ever felt or manifested toward 
 her, pouring into her ear words of incoherent 
 dismay, which, taking shape as she revived, soon 
 became promises and vows. Thereupon, worse 
 consequence, the knowledge that he had com- 
 mitted himself, and the conviction that he was 
 bound to one course in regard to her, wherein 
 he seemed to himself incapable of falsehood, 
 freed him from the self-restraint then most im- 
 perative, and his trust in his own honour became 
 the last loop of the snare about to entangle his 
 and her very life. At the moment when a gen- 
 uine love would have hastened to surround her 
 with bulwarks of safety, he ceased to be his 
 29 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 sister's keeper. Cain ceased to be his brother's 
 when he slew him. 
 
 But the vengeance on his unpremeditated 
 treachery — for treachery, although unpremedi- 
 tated, it certainly was none the less — came close 
 upon its heels. The moment Isy left the room 
 weeping and pallid, conscious that a miserable 
 shame but waited the entrance of importunate 
 reflection, he threw himself down, writhing as in 
 the claws of a hundred demons. The next day 
 but one he was to preach his first sermon before 
 his class, in the presence of his professor of 
 divinity ! His immediate impulse was to rush 
 from the house, and home to his mother on foot. 
 Perhaps it would have been well for him had he 
 done so indeed, confessed all, and turned his 
 back on the church and his paltry ambition to- 
 gether. But he had never been open with his 
 mother, and he feared his father, not knowing 
 the tender righteousness of that father's heart, 
 or the springs of love which would at once open 
 to meet the sorrowful tale of his wretched son. 
 Instead of fleeing at once to that city of refuge, 
 he fell to pacing the room in hopeless bewilder- 
 ment; nor was it long before he was searching 
 every corner of his reviving consciousness, — not 
 indeed as yet for any justification, but for what 
 palliation of his " fault " might there be found. 
 It was the first necessity of this self-lover to 
 30 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 think well, or at least endurably, of himself; 
 and soon a multitude of sneaking arguments, 
 imps of Satan, began to come at the cry of his 
 agony of self-dissatisfaction. 
 
 But in that agony was no detestation of him- 
 self, because of his humiliation of the trusting 
 Isobel; he did not yet loathe his abuse of her 
 confidence, his foul envelopment of her in the 
 fire-damp of his miserable weakness, — the hour 
 of a true and good repentance was not yet 
 come; shame only in the failure of his own 
 fancied strength as yet possessed him. If it 
 should ever come to be known, what contempt 
 would clothe him instead of the garments of 
 praise he had dreamed of all these years ! The 
 pulpit, the goal of his ambition, the field of his 
 imagined triumphs, — the very thought of it 
 made him sick. Still, there at least lay yet a 
 chance of recovery ; for many were the chances 
 that no one might hear a word of what had 
 happened. Sure enough, Isy would never tell 
 anything, — least of all, her aunt ! He had 
 promised to marry poor Isy, and that, of course, 
 he would, neither would it be any great hard- 
 ship ; only as an immediate thing, it was not to 
 be thought of. There could be at the moment 
 no necessity for such an extreme measure. He 
 would wait and see. He would be guided by 
 events. As to the sin of the thing, — how 
 31 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 many had fallen like him, and no one the 
 wiser! Never would he so offend again; and 
 in the meantime would let it go, and try to 
 forget it, — in the hope that providence now, 
 and at length time, would bury it from all men's 
 sight. He would go on the same as if the un- 
 toward thing had not so cruelly happened, had 
 cast no such cloud over the fair future that lay 
 before him. Nor were his selfish regrets un- 
 mingled with annoyance that Isy should have 
 yielded so easily; why had she not aided him 
 to resist the weakness that had wrought his 
 undoing? She was much to blame; and for 
 her unworthiness was he to be left to suffer? 
 Within half an hour he had returned to the ser- 
 mon he had in hand, revising it for the twentieth 
 time, to have it perfect before finally commit- 
 ting it to memory ; for the orator would have it 
 seem the thing it was not, — an outcome of ex- 
 temporaneous feeling, — so the lie of his life be 
 crowned with success. During what remained 
 of the two days following he spared no labour, 
 and at the last delivered it with considerable 
 unction, and felt he had achieved his end. 
 Neither of those days did Isy make her ap- 
 pearance in his room ; her aunt excused her 
 apparent neglect with the information that she 
 was in bed with a bad headache, and herself 
 supplied her place. 
 
 32 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 The next day she was about her work as 
 usual, but never once looked up. He imagined 
 reproach in her silence, and did not venture to 
 address her. But, indeed, he had no wish to 
 speak to her, for what was there to be said ? A 
 cloud was between them ; a great gulf seemed 
 to divide them. He wondered at himself, no 
 longer conscious of her attraction, or of his 
 former delight in her proximity. It was not 
 that his resolve to marry her wavered ; he fully 
 intended to keep his promise to her, but he 
 found he must wait the proper time, the right 
 opportunity for revealing to his parents the fact 
 of his engagement to her, — which engagement 
 he never for a long time dreamed of repudiat- 
 ing. But after a few days, during which there 
 had been no return to their former familiarity, 
 it was with a fearful kind of relief that he learned 
 she was gone to pay a visit to an old grand- 
 mother in the country. He did not care that 
 she had gone without taking leave of him, only 
 wondered if she could have said anything to in- 
 criminate him. The session came to an end 
 while she was still absent. He took a formal 
 leave of her aunt, and went home to Stonecross. 
 
 His father at once felt a wider division be- 
 tween them than before, and his mother was 
 now compelled, much against her will, to ac- 
 knowledge to herself its existence. At the 
 3 33 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 same time he carried himself with less arro- 
 gance, and seemed humbled rather than uplifted 
 by his success. During the year that followed 
 he made several visits to Edinburgh, and before 
 long received a presentation to a living in the 
 gift of his father's landlord, a certain duke who 
 had always been friendly to the well-to-do and 
 unassuming tenant of one of his largest farms in 
 the north. Neither upon nor since these visits 
 had he inquired about or heard anything of Isy ; 
 but even now, when, without blame, he might 
 have taken steps toward the fulfilment of the 
 promise which he had made her, and which he 
 had never ceased to regard as binding, he could 
 not yet persuade himself that the right time had 
 come for revealing it to his parents, for he knew 
 it would be a great blow to his mother to learn 
 that he had so handicapped his future, and he 
 feared the silent face of his father listening to 
 the announcement of it. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say that he had made 
 no attempt to establish any correspondence with 
 the poor girl, was by this time not unwilling to 
 forget her, and hoped, indeed, that she had, if 
 not forgotten, at least dismissed from her mind 
 all that had taken place between them. Now 
 and then he would in the night have a few ten- 
 der thoughts about her, but in the morning 
 they would all be gone, and he would drown 
 34 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 painful reminiscence in the care with which, in 
 duty bound it seemed to him, he would polish 
 and repolish his sentences, aping the style of 
 Chalmers or Robert Hall, and occasionally in- 
 serting some quotation whose fine sound made 
 him covet it; for apparent richness of compo- 
 sition was his principal aim, not truth of mean- 
 ing, or lucidity of utterance. 
 
 I can hardly be presumptuous in adding that, 
 although thus growing in a certain popularity, 
 he was not growing in favour with God, for who 
 can that makes the favour of man his aim ! 
 And as he continued to hear nothing about Isy, 
 the hope at length, bringing with it a keen shoot 
 of pleasure, awoke in him that he was never to 
 hear of her any more. For the praise of men, 
 and the love of that praise, had now restored 
 him to his own good graces, and he thought of 
 himself with more interest and approbation than 
 ever before; hence his forgetting of Isy and 
 his promises. His continued omission of in- 
 quiry after her, notwithstanding the predicament 
 in which he might possibly have placed her, was 
 a far worse sin, because deliberate, than his pri- 
 mary wrong to her, and it was that which now 
 recoiled upon him in his increase of hardness 
 and self-satisfaction. 
 
 And now, in love with himself, and so shut 
 out from the salvation of love to another, he was 
 35 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 specially in danger of falling in love with any 
 woman's admiration, — whence now occurred a 
 little episode in his history, not quite so insig- 
 nificant as it may appear. 
 
 He had not been more than a month or two 
 in his parish, when he was attracted by a certain 
 young woman in his congregation, of some in- 
 born refinement and distinction of position, to 
 whom he speedily became anxious to recom- 
 mend himself; he must have her approval, and, 
 if possible, her admiration! So in preaching, if 
 the word used for the lofty, simple utterance of 
 divine messengers may be misapplied to his 
 paltry memorisations, his main thought was al- 
 ways whether she was justly appreciating the 
 eloquence and wisdom with which he meant to 
 impress her, — while he was in truth incapable 
 of understanding how deep her natural insight 
 penetrated him and his pretensions. He did 
 understand, however, that she gave him no small 
 encouragement ; and thus making him only the 
 more eager after her good opinion, he came at 
 last to imagine himself heartily in love with her, 
 — a thing at present impossible to him with any 
 woman, — until, encouraged by the fancied im- 
 portance of his position, and his own fancied 
 distinction in it, he ventured an offer of his 
 feeble hand and feebler heart, — only to have 
 them, to his surprise, definitely and absolutely 
 36 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 refused. He turned from her door a good deal 
 disappointed, but severely mortified ; and, judg- 
 ing it impossible for any woman to keep silence 
 concerning such a refusal, unable also to endure 
 the thought of the gossip to ensue, he began at 
 once to look about him for a refuge, and frankly 
 told his patron the whole story. It happened to 
 suit his grace's plans, and he came speedily to 
 his assistance with the offer of his native parish, 
 whence the soutar's arguing antagonist had just 
 been elevated to a position, probably not a very 
 distinguished one, in the kingdom of heaven. 
 Then it seemed to all but a natural piety that 
 made James Blatherwick exchange his living for 
 the parish where his father and mother lived 
 prospering. 
 
 37 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 The soutar was still meditating on things spirit- 
 ual, still reading the Gospel of St. John, still 
 making and mending shoes, and still watching 
 the spiritual development of his daughter. She 
 had now unfolded what not a few of the neigh- 
 bours, with most of whom she was in favour, 
 counted nothing less than beauty. The farm 
 labourers in the vicinity were nearly all more or 
 less her admirers, and many a pair of shoes was 
 carried to her father for the sake of a possible 
 smile from Maggie; but because of a certain 
 awe that was at once felt in her presence, no one 
 had as yet dared a word to her beyond that of 
 greeting or farewell. No one had felt in her 
 anything repellent, but each when he looked 
 upon her became immediately aware of inferi- 
 ority. Her dark and in a way mysterious 
 beauty had not a little to do with it, for it 
 seemed to suggest behind it a beauty it was un- 
 able to reveal. 
 
 She was rather but by no means remarkably 
 short in stature, being of a strong active type, 
 altogether well proportioned, with a face won- 
 38 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 derfully calm and clear, and quiet but keen dark 
 eyes. Her complexion owed its white rose tinge 
 to a strong but gentle life, and its few freckles to 
 the pale sun of Scotland, and the breezes she 
 courted bonnetless upon the hills, when she ac- 
 companied her father in his walks, or when she 
 carried home some work he had finished. He 
 rejoiced in her delight with the wind, holding 
 that it indicated sympathy with the Spirit whose 
 symbol it was. He loved to think of that Spirit 
 as folding her about, closer and more lovingly 
 than his own cherishing soul, to which never an 
 action of hers, and seldom even a word, caused 
 a throb of anxiety. Of her own impulse, and 
 almost from the moment of her mother's death, 
 she had given herself to his service, doing all 
 the little duties of the house, and, as her strength 
 and faculty grew, with a tenderness of ministra- 
 tion unusual at her years, helping him more and 
 more in his trade, until by degrees she had 
 grown so familiar with the lighter parts of it that 
 he could leave them to her with confidence. As 
 soon as she had cleared away the few things 
 necessary for a breakfast of porridge and milk, 
 to which they held fast, declining the more deli- 
 cate but far inferior wheaten bread, Maggie 
 would hasten to join her father stooping over his 
 last, for he was a little short-sighted. When he 
 lifted his head you saw that, notwithstanding the 
 39 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 ruggedncss of his face, he was a good-looking 
 man, with strong, well-proportioned features, 
 although even on Sundays, when he scrubbed 
 his face unmercifully, there would still remain in 
 some of its furrows lines more than suggestive 
 of ingrained rosin and heel-ball. On week days 
 he was not so careful to remove every sign of 
 the labour by which he earned his bread ; but 
 when his work was indeed over till the morning, 
 and he felt himself free to do what he pleased, 
 he would never even touch a book without first 
 carefully washing his hands and face. 
 
 In the workshop, Maggie's place was a leather- 
 seated stool like her father's, a yard or so away 
 from his, leaving room for his elbows in drawing 
 out the lingels {rosined threads) ; there she would 
 at once resume the work she had left unfinished 
 the night before. It was a curious trait in the 
 father, early inherited by the daughter, that he 
 would never rise from a finished job, however 
 near the hour for dropping work, without hav- 
 ing begun another to go on with in the morn- 
 ing. There was this difference in result between 
 their two modes of working, that, while the 
 daughter was quite as particular and excellent 
 in her finish, it was wonderful how much cleaner 
 she managed to keep her hands. But then to 
 her fell naturally the lighter work for women 
 and children. She declared herself ambitious, 
 40 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 however, of one day making throughout, with 
 her own hands, a perfect pair of top boots. 
 
 The advantages to Maggie of constant inter- 
 course with her father were incalculable. With- 
 out the least loss to her freedom of thought, nay, 
 on the contrary, to the far more rapid develop- 
 ment of her liberty in all true directions, the 
 soutar seemed to avoid no subject as unsuitable 
 for the girl's consideration, insisting only on re- 
 garding it from the highest attainable point of 
 view. Matters of indifferent import they sel- 
 dom, if ever, discussed at all ; and nothing that 
 she knew her father cared about did Maggie 
 ever allude to with indifference. Full of an hon- 
 est hilarity, ever ready to break out when oc- 
 casion occurred, she was incapable of a light 
 word upon a sacred subject. Such merriment 
 or such jokes as one, more than elsewhere, is in 
 danger of hearing among the clergy of any 
 church, from the cause that such are more 
 familiar than other people with the Scriptures, 
 she very seldom heard in her father's company. 
 But she became early aware that he made dis- 
 tinctions: it much depended on the nature of 
 the joke how the soutar would take it; and not 
 every one might be capable of perceiving why 
 he should now smile and now keep a severe 
 silence. One thing sure to offend him was a 
 light use of any word of the Lord. If it were 
 41 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 an ordinary man who thus offended, he would 
 rebuke him, — perhaps by asking if he remem- 
 bered who said the words, perhaps by an irre- 
 sponsive stillness; but if it was a man in any 
 way specially regarded, he might say something 
 to this effect, " The Maister doesna forget 
 whaur and when he spak thae words : I houp 
 ye do ! " Once or twice only in her life had 
 Maggie heard him express himself in such 
 fashion, but it had an immediate and lasting in- 
 fluence upon her personal reverence for Jesus 
 Christ, so different from the killing theological 
 regard of the Saviour then cultivated in Scot- 
 land ! Indeed the most powerful force in the 
 education of Maggie was the evident attitude of 
 her father towards that Son of Man who was 
 bringing up the children of God to the knowl- 
 edge of that Father of whom the whole family 
 in heaven and earth is named. Around His 
 name gathered his whole consciousness and hope 
 of well-being. Nor was it wonderful that certain 
 of his ways of thinking should pass unhindered 
 into the mind of his child, and there show 
 themselves as original and necessary truths. 
 Mingling with her delights in the inanimate 
 powers of Nature, in the sun and the wind, in 
 the rain and the growth, in the running waters 
 and the darkness sown with stars, was a sense of 
 the presence of the Son of Man, such that she 
 42 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 felt he might at any moment appear to her 
 father, or indeed, should it so please Him, to 
 herself. And soon an event occurred which, 
 giving her quite a new object of thought, har- 
 monised and brought into more practical activity 
 all her other thinkings. 
 
 Two or three miles away, in the heart of the 
 hills, on the outskirts of the farm of Stonecross, 
 lived an old cottar and his wife. They paid a 
 few shillings of rent to Mr. Blatherwick for the 
 acre or two their ancestors had redeemed from 
 the heather and bog, and with their one son 
 remaining at home gave occasional service 
 when required on the farm. They were much 
 respected both by the farmer and his wife, as 
 well as the small circle to which they were 
 known in the neighbouring village, — better 
 known, and more respected still probably, in the 
 region called the kingdom of heaven. For they 
 were such as he to whom the promise was given, 
 that he should yet see the angels of God ascend- 
 ing and descending on the Son of Man ; and with 
 such beings, although science has nothing to tell 
 us about them, this worthy pair may yet have 
 had some intercourse. They had long and 
 heartily loved and honoured the soutar, whom 
 they had known before the death of his wife, 
 a God-fearing woman, such as at the time were 
 many in that part of the country, and for both 
 43 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 their sakes had always befriended the motherless 
 Maggie. They could not greatly pity her, seeing 
 she had such a father, yet old Eppie had her 
 occasional moments of anxiety as to how the 
 bairn would grow up without a mother's care. 
 No sooner, however, did the little one begin to 
 show character, than Eppie's doubt began to 
 abate, and long before the time to which my 
 narrative has now come the child and the 
 childlike old woman were fast friends ; whence 
 Maggie was often invited to spend a day at Bog- 
 sheuch, — oftener indeed than she felt at liberty 
 to leave her father and their common work, 
 though not oftener than she would have liked 
 to go. 
 
 One day about noon, in the early summer, 
 when first the hillsides began to look attrac- 
 tive, a small agricultural cart, such as is now 
 but seldom seen, with little paint except on its 
 two red wheels, and drawn by a thin, long- 
 haired littlQ horse, stopped at the door of the 
 soutar's clay-floored, straw-thatched house, in 
 a back-lane of the village. It was a cart the 
 cottar used in the cultivation of his little hold- 
 ing, and the man who drove it, now nearly 
 middle-aged, was likely to succeed to the hut 
 and acres of Bogsheuch. Both man and equi- 
 page were well known to the soutar and Maggie ; 
 they had come with an invitation to Maggie, 
 44 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 more pressing than usual, to pay them a visit 
 of a few days. 
 
 Father and daughter, consulting together in 
 the presence of Andrew Cormack, arrived at 
 the conclusion that, work being rather slacker 
 than usual, and nobody in need of a promised 
 job which the soutar could not finish by himself 
 in good time, she should go. Maggie sprang 
 up joyfully, — not without a little pang at the 
 thought of leaving her father alone, though she 
 knew him quite equal to do all that would be 
 necessary in the house before her return, — and 
 set about preparing their dinner, while Andrew 
 went to execute a few commissions that the 
 mistress and his mother had given him. By 
 the time he returned Maggie was in her Sunday 
 gown, with her week-day wrapper and winsey 
 petticoat in a bundle, for she reckoned on being 
 of some use to Eppie during her visit. 
 
 When they had eaten their humble dinner, 
 Andrew brought the cart to the door, and Mag- 
 gie scrambled into it. 
 
 "Tak' a piece wi' ye," said her father; "ye 
 hadna muckle to yer denner, and ye may be 
 hungry again or ye win ower the lang rouch 
 road. " 
 
 He went back into the house, and brought 
 her two pieces of oatcake in his hand. She 
 received them with a loving smile, and they 
 45 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 set out at a walking pace, which Andrew did 
 not attempt once to quicken. 
 
 It was far from a comfortable carriage, 
 neither was her wisp of straw in the bottom of it 
 very comfortable to sit upon. The change from 
 her stool and from the close attention her work 
 required, to the open air and the free rush of the 
 thoughts that came crowding to her out of the 
 wideness, instead of having to be sought, and 
 sometimes with difficulty retained, put her at 
 once in a blissful mood ; so that even the few 
 dull remarks the slow-thinking Andrew made 
 at intervals from his perch on the front of 
 the cart, came to her from the realm of faerie, 
 the mysterious world that lay in the folds of the 
 huddled hills. Everything Maggie saw or heard 
 that afternoon seemed, at least in the retro- 
 spect, to wear the glamour of God's imagination 
 which is the birth and the truth of things. 
 Selfishness alone can rub away that divine gild- 
 ing, without which gold itself is poor indeed. 
 
 Suddenly the little horse stood still. An- 
 drew, waking up from a snooze, jumped at once 
 to the ground, and began, still half asleep, to 
 search into the cause of the arrest ; for Jess, 
 although she could not make haste, never of her 
 own accord stood still while able to walk. 
 Maggie, however, had for some time noted that 
 they were making very slow progress. 
 46 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " She 's deid cripple ! " said Andrew, straight- 
 ening his long back from an examination of 
 Jess's forefeet, and coming to Maggie's side of 
 the cart with a serious face; "I dinna believe 
 the crater can gang ae step furder. Yet I canna 
 see what 's happent her." 
 
 Maggie was on the road before he had done 
 speaking. Andrew tried once more to lead 
 Jess, but at once desisted. 
 
 "It wud be fell cruelty!" he said. "We 
 maun jist lowse her and tak' her gien we can 
 to the How o' the Mains. They '11 gie her a 
 nicht's quarters there, puir thing! And we'll 
 see gien they can tak' you in as weel, Maggie. 
 The maister '11 len' me a horse to come for ye 
 i' the morning, I haena a doobt. " 
 
 " I winna hear o' 't ! " answered Maggie. " I 
 can tramp the lave o' the road as weel 's you, 
 Andrew ! " 
 
 " But I hae a' thae things to cairry, an' that '11 
 no lea' me a han' to help ye ower the burn! " 
 objected Andrew. 
 
 "What o' that.!"' she returned. "I was sae 
 fell tired o' sittin' that my legs are jist like to 
 rin awa' wi' me. Lat me jist dook mysel' i' 
 the bonny win'," she added. " Isna it just like 
 awfu' thin watter, An'rew.^* Here, gie me a 
 baud o' that loaf. I 's carry that and my ain bit 
 bundle ; syne, I fancy, ye can manage the lave ? " 
 47 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Andrew never had much to say, and this time 
 he had nothing. But her readiness relieved 
 him of some anxiety; his mother would be very 
 uncomfortable if he went home without her ! 
 
 Maggie's spirits rose to lark-pitch as the 
 darkness came on and deepened. The wind 
 seemed to her now a live gloom, in which, with 
 no eye-bound to the space enclosing her, she 
 could go on imagining after the freedom of her 
 own wild will ; and as the world and everything 
 in it disappeared, it grew the easier to imagine 
 Jesus first making the darkness light about him, 
 and then stepping out of it plain before her 
 sight. That could be no trouble to him, 
 she argued, as, being everywhere, he must be 
 there. Besides, he could appear in any form, 
 she thought, because he had made every shape 
 on the earth ! " Oh, if only she were fit to see 
 him ! Then surely he would come ! " Her 
 father had several times spoken to her after this 
 fashion, when talking of the varied appearances 
 of the Lord to his disciples after his resurrec- 
 tion ; and had he not then said that he would 
 be with them to the end of the world .'' Why 
 then might he not be seen of any one of them.^ 
 Even after he ascended to his Father, had he 
 not appeared to the apostle Paul? and was it 
 not very probable that he had shown himself to 
 many another, although at long intervals through 
 48 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the ages ? In any case he was everywhere, she 
 thought, and always about them, although now, 
 perhaps because of the lack of faith in the earth, 
 he had not been seen for a very long time. 
 And she remembered her father once saying 
 that nobody could even think a thing if there 
 was no possible truth in it. It was good for the 
 Lord to go away, said her father, that they 
 might believe in him when out of the sight of 
 him, and so believe in him better and grow 
 stronger in their power to believe. But, indeed, 
 if he was in them, and they were in him, how 
 could they help it } 
 
 "I dinna think," said Maggie aloud to her- 
 self, as she trudged along beside the delightfully 
 silent Andrew, "that my father would be the 
 least astonished — only filled wi' an awfu' 
 glaidness — if at ony moment, waulkin' at his 
 side, the Lord were to call him by his name and 
 appear to him. He would but feel as gien he 
 had just steppit oot upon him frae some secret 
 door! I fancy my father sayin', *I thoucht. 
 Lord, I would see you some day ! Eh, ye are 
 good to me. Son o' my Father! Jist tak' the 
 life o' me gien ye like. I was aye greedy efter 
 a sicht o' ye, Lord, and here ye are. Praise 
 God! ' That 's what I think my father would 
 say." 
 
 49 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 The same moment to her ears came the cry of 
 an infant, and her first thought was, " Can that 
 be himsel' come again as he cam' afore?" 
 
 She stopped in the dusky starlight, listening 
 with all her soul. 
 
 " Andrew ! " she cried, for she heard the sound 
 of his steps as he plodded on in front of her with 
 a good mile yet to be traversed, and could 
 vaguely see him, — " Andrew, what was yon? " 
 
 " I h'ard naething," answered Andrew, stop- 
 ping at her cry and listening. 
 
 Then came a second cry, a feeble, sad wail, and 
 then both heard it. Maggie darted off in the 
 direction whence it seemed to come ; nor had she 
 far to run, for the voice was not one to reach far. 
 
 They were at the moment climbing a dreary, 
 desolate ridge by a rough road, a mere stony 
 hollow, in winter a path for the rain rather than 
 the feet of men. On each side of it lay a wild 
 moor, covered with heather and low berry- 
 bearing shrubs ; under a big bush Maggie saw 
 something glimmer, and flying to it found it a 
 50 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 child, apparently about a year old, but poorly 
 nourished. With the instinct of a mother, she 
 caught it up, and held it close to her exultant 
 breathless bosom, delighted not only to have 
 found it, but that it ceased wailing the moment 
 it felt the pressure of her arm. Andrew, drop- 
 ping the things he carried, had started after her, 
 but met her half-way with her new-found treasure. 
 Maggie had never cared, for a doll, because it 
 was not alive, but her whole being seemed at 
 once to wrap itself around the baby because it 
 needed her. She all but ran against the pursuing 
 Andrew, having no eyes except for the baby; 
 then avoiding him, began, to his amazement, to 
 run down the hill, back the way they had come ; 
 she thought of nothing but carrying the child 
 home to her father. But here even the slow 
 perception of her companion understood her. 
 
 " Maggie, Maggie," he cried, " ye '11 baith be 
 deid afore ye win hame wi' 't. Come on to my 
 mither. There never was woman like her for 
 bairns ! She '11 ken a hantle better what to do 
 wi"t!" 
 
 Maggie at once recovered her reason, and 
 knew he was right. But at the moment she had 
 an insight that never left her ; she understood 
 the heart of the Son of Man, who came to find 
 and carry back all the stray children to their 
 Father and his. When afterward she told her 
 51 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 father what she then felt, he answered her with 
 just four words, — 
 
 " Lassie, ye hae 't ! " 
 
 She wrapped the baby in the winsey petticoat, 
 lest it should grow cold while she carried it 
 through the night-air. Andrew took up his loaf 
 and his other packages. They set out again, 
 Maggie's heart overwhelmed with gladness. Had 
 the precious thing been twice the weight of the 
 solid little lump it was, so exuberant were her 
 feelings of wealth and delight that she could 
 have carried it twice the distance with ease, and 
 that though the road was so rough that she went 
 in terror of stumbling. Andrew gave now and 
 then a queer chuckle at the ludicrousness of their 
 home-coming, and every other minute had to 
 stop and pick up one of his many parcels ; but 
 Maggie strode in front, full of possession, and 
 with a feeling of having now entered upon her 
 heavenly inheritance. She was almost startled 
 when suddenly, as it seemed to her, they came 
 in sight of the turf cottage, in whose little window 
 an oil lamp was burning. Before they reached 
 it the door opened, and Eppie appeared with an 
 overflow of questions and anxious welcome. 
 
 " What on earth — " she began. 
 
 " It 's naething but a bonny wee bairnie wha's 
 mither has tint it ! " interrupted Maggie, flying 
 up to her, and laying the child in her arms. 
 52 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Mrs. Cormack stood and stared, now at Mag- 
 gie, and now at the bundle that lay in her arms. 
 Tenderly, at length, the old mother, searching 
 in the petticoat, found the little one's face, and 
 uncovered the sleeping child. 
 
 " Eh, the puir mither ! " she said — and cov- 
 ered again the tiny countenance. 
 
 " It 's mine ! " cried Maggie. " I faund it 
 honest ! " 
 
 " Its mither may ha' lost it honest, Maggie ! " 
 said Eppie. 
 
 " Weel, its mither can come for 't gien she 
 want it ! It 's mine till she does, ony gait ! " re- 
 joined the girl. 
 
 " Nae doobt o* that ! " replied the old woman, 
 scarcely questioning that the infant had been 
 left to perish by some worthless tramp. " Ye 'II 
 maybe hae 't langer nor ye '11 care to keep it ! " 
 " That 's no verra likely," answered Maggie, 
 with a smile, as she stood in the doorway, in the 
 wakeful night of the northern summer; "it's 
 ane o' the Lord's ain lammies that he cam' to 
 the hills to seek. He 's fund this ane ! " 
 
 " Weel, weel, my bonnie doo, it sanna be for 
 me to contradick ye ! But wae 's upo' me for a 
 menseless auld wife ! Come in ; come in ; ye 're 
 the mair welcome that ye hae been sae lang ex- 
 peckit. Bless me, An'rew, what hae ye dune 
 wi' the cairt and the beastie ? " 
 53 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 In a few words, for brevity was easy to him, 
 Andrew told the story of their disaster, 
 
 " It maun hae been the Lord's mercy ! The 
 beastie bude to suffer for the sake of the bairnie ! 
 He maybe wants to mak' something o' him bye 
 the common ! " 
 
 She got them their supper, which was keeping 
 hot by the fire, and then sent Maggie to her bed 
 in the ben-end, where she laid the baby beside 
 her, after washing him and wrapping him in her 
 own newest shift. But Maggie scarcely slept 
 for listening lest the baby's breathing should 
 stop. Eppie sat in the kitchen with Andrew 
 until the light, slowly travelling rotmd the north, 
 deepened in the east, and at last climbed the 
 sky, leading up the sun himself. Then Andrew 
 rose, and set his face towards Stonecross, in full 
 but not very anxious expectation of a stormy re- 
 ception from his mistress before he had time to 
 explain. He would gladly have said as little as 
 possible about their treasure trove, but reflect- 
 ing that the mistress was terrible at " speirin' 
 questions," he resolved to tell her all about it. 
 When he reached home, however, the house 
 was not yet astir ; and he had time to feed and 
 groom his horses before any one was about, so 
 that no explanation was necessary as to the hour 
 when he returned. 
 
 All the next day Maggie was ill at case, 
 54 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 dreading the appearance of a mother. The 
 baby seemed nothing the worse for his ex- 
 posure, and although thin and pale seemed a 
 healthy child, and took heartily the food pro- 
 vided for him. He was decently though poorly 
 clad, and very clean. The tale of his finding 
 was speedily known in the neighbourhood, for 
 the Cormacks made inquiry at every farmhouse 
 and cottage within range of the moor; but to 
 the satisfaction of Maggie at least, who fretted 
 to get home with her treasure, it had no result, 
 and by the time the period of her visit arrived, 
 she had begun to feel tolerably safe in her pos- 
 session, with which she returned in triumph to 
 her father. 
 
 The long-haired horse not yet proving equal 
 to the journey, she had to walk home ; but 
 Eppie herself accompanied her, bent on taking 
 her share in the burden of the child, which 
 Maggie was with difficulty persuaded to yield. 
 Eppie indeed carried him up to the soutar's 
 door, but Maggie insisted on herself laying him 
 in her father's arms. The soutar rose from his 
 stool, received him like Simeon taking the in- 
 fant Jesus from the arms of his mother, and held 
 him high like a heave-offering to Him that had 
 sent him forth from the hidden Holiest of 
 Holies. For a moment he held him thus in si- 
 lence, then, restoring him to his daughter, sat 
 55 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 down again, and took up his last and shoe. But 
 becoming suddenly aware of his breach of man- 
 ners, he rose again, saying, — 
 
 " I crave yer pardon, Mistress Cormack. I 
 was clean forgettin' ony breedin' I ever had ! 
 Maggie, tak' oor freen ben the hoose, and gar 
 her rest her a bit while ye get something for her 
 to eat and drink efter her long walk, I '11 be 
 ben mysel' in a minute or twa to hae a crack wi' 
 her. I hae but a few stitches mair to put intill 
 this same sole ! We maun tak' some serious 
 coonsel thegither, the three o' 's, anent the up- 
 bringin' o' this God-sent bairn ! I dootna but 
 he 's come wi' a blessin' to this hoose, and Mag- 
 gie, and me. It was a' in sic mercifu' wise ar- 
 rangement, baith for the puir bairn and Maggie, 
 that they sud that nicht come thegither. Verily, 
 He shall give his angels charge over thee ! 
 They maun hae been aboot the muir, maybe a' 
 that day, that nane but Maggie sud get a haud 
 o' 'im — as they were aboot the field and the 
 flock and the shepherds and the inn-stable a' 
 that nicht ! " 
 
 The same moment entered a neighbour who, 
 having heard and misinterpreted the story 
 before, had now caught sight of the arrival. 
 
 " Eh, soutar, but ye 're a man sair oppressed 
 by Providence ! " she said. " Wha think ye 's 
 been i' the faut here?" 
 56 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 The wrath of the soutar sprang up flaming. 
 
 " Gang oot o' my hoose, ye ill-thouchtit 
 wuman ! " he cried. " Gang oot this verra 
 meenit — and comena in again till it's to beg 
 my pardon and that o' my bonny lass. The 
 Lord God bless her frae ill tongues — gang oot, 
 I tell ye." 
 
 The outraged father had risen towering. All 
 the town knew him for a man of gentle temper 
 and great courtesy. The woman stood one 
 moment dazed and uncertain, then turned and 
 ran from the house ; and when the soutar joined 
 Mrs. Cormack and Maggie, he said never a 
 word about her. When Eppie had taken her 
 tea, she rose and bade them good-night, nor 
 crossed another threshold in the village. 
 
 57 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 But that same night, when the baby had gone 
 to sleep, Maggie went back to the kitchen 
 where her father still sat at work. 
 
 " Ye 're late the night, father ! " she said. 
 
 "I am that, lassie; but ye see I canna luik 
 for help frae you for some time ; for ye '11 hae 
 eneuch to dae wi' that bairn o' yours ; and we 
 hae him to feed noo as weel 's oorsel's ! No 'at 
 I hae the least concern about the bonny white 
 raven, only we maun consider him ! " 
 
 " It 's little he '11 want for a whilie at least, 
 father ! " answered Maggie. " But noo," she 
 went on, in a tone of seriousness that was almost 
 awe, " lat me hear what ye 're thinkin'. What 
 kin' o' a mither could hae left her bairn i' the 
 wide, eerie nicht — and what for? " 
 
 " It maun jist hae been some puir lassie that 
 didna think o' His wull, or the consequences o' 
 gaein' against it. She hadna learnt to consider ! 
 She believet the man whan he promised to 
 merry her, no kennin' he was a leear, and no 
 heedin' the voice that spak inside her and said ye 
 maunna, sae she loot him dee what he likit wi' 
 58 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 her, and mak' himscl' the father o' a bairnie that 
 wasna meant for him. He took leeberties wi' 
 her she ouchtna to hae permittit, sae that she 
 was a mither afore ever she was merried. Sic 
 as dae that hae an awfu' time o' 't ; fowk hardly 
 ever forgies them, but aye luiks doon upo' 
 them. The rascal ran awa' and left her ; nae- 
 body would help her; she had to beg the 
 breid for hersel', and the drap milk for the 
 bairnie that had dune nae wrang, but had to 
 thole a great wrang frae its ain faither and 
 mither." 
 
 " I kenna whilk o' them was the warst ! " 
 cried Maggie. 
 
 " Nae mair do I ! " answered the soutar ; 
 " but I doobt the ane that lee'd to the ither." 
 
 " There canna be mony sic men ! " said 
 Maggie. 
 
 " 'Deed there 's a heap o' men no a hair bet- 
 ter ! " rejoined her father ; " but wae 's me for 
 the puir lassie that believes them ! " 
 
 " But she kenned what was richt a' the time, 
 father! " 
 
 " That's true, my dautie; but to ken is no to 
 un'erstan' ; and even to un'erstan' is no aye to 
 obey ! No woman 's safe that hasna the love o' 
 God, the great Love, in her hcrt a' the time. 
 What 's best in her, whan the very best 's awa*, is 
 her greatest danger. And the higher ye rise ye 
 59 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 come into the waur danger, till ance ye 're fairly 
 intill the ae safe place, the hert o* the Father. 
 There, and there only, ye 're safe ! — safe frae 
 earth, frae hell, and frae yer ain hert ! A' the 
 temptations, even sic as ance made the heavenly 
 hosts themsel's fa' frae h'aven to hell, canna 
 touch ye there ! But when man or wuman re- 
 pents and heumbles themsel', there is He to lift 
 them up, and that higher than ever they were 
 afore ! — higher than ever they could hae won 
 withoot the sair lesson o' that fa' ! " 
 
 " Syne they 're no to be despised that fa' ! " 
 
 " Nane despises them, lassie, but them that 
 haena yet learnt that they 're in danger o* 
 that same fa' themsel's. Mony ane, I 'm think- 
 ing, is keepit frae fa'in' jist because she's no far 
 eneuch on, to get ony guid o' the shame, but 
 would jist sink farther and farther ! " 
 
 •' But auld Eppie tells me that maist o' them 
 'at trips gangs on fa'in', and never wins up again." 
 
 " Ou, ay ; that 's a' that we, short-lived and 
 short-sichtit craturs, see o' them ! but this warl' 's 
 but the beginnin', and the glory o' Christ, wha's 
 the veesible Love o' the Father, spreads a heap 
 farther nor that. It's no for naething we're 
 tellt hoo the sinner-women cam' till him frae a' 
 sides ! They needit him sair, and cam'. Never 
 ane o' them was ower black to be latten gang 
 close up till him ; and some o' sic women 
 60 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 un'erstude things that he said, sic as mony a 
 respectable wuman couldna get a gHmp o' ! 
 There 's aye rain eneuch, as Maister Shaksper 
 says, i' the sweet h'avens to wash the vera han' 
 o' murder as white as snow. The creatin' hert 
 is fu' o' sic rain. Lo'e liim, lassie, and ye '11 
 never glaur the bonny goon ye broocht white 
 frae his hert ! " 
 
 The soutar's face was solemn and white, and 
 tears were running down the furrows of his 
 cheeks. Maggie too was weeping. At length 
 she said, — 
 
 "Supposin' the mither o' my bairnie a wuman 
 like that, can ye think it fair that her disgrace 
 should stick till hint ? " 
 
 " It sticks till him only in sic minds as never 
 saw the lovely greatness o' God." 
 
 " But sic bairns comena intill the warl' as God 
 would hae them come ! " 
 
 " But your bairnie is come, and that he couldna 
 withoot the creatin' wull o' the great Father. 
 Doobtless they hae to suffer frae the prood 
 jeedgment o' their fellow-men, but they may get 
 muckle guid and little ill frae that, and a guid 
 naebody can reive them o'. It 's no a mere 
 veesitin' o' the sins o' the fathers upo' the bairns, 
 but a provision to haud the bairns aff o' the like, 
 and to shame the fathers o' them. Eh, but they 
 need to be sair affrontit wi' themsel's wha dis- 
 6i 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 grace at ance the wife that should hae been and 
 the bairn that shouldna ! Eh ! the puir bairnie 
 that has sic a father ! But he has anither as 
 weel, — a richt gran' father to rin till. The ae 
 thing," the soutar went on, "that you and me, 
 Maggie, has to do, is never to let the bairn ken 
 the miss o' father or mother, and sae lead him to 
 the ae Father, the only real and true ane. There 
 he 's wailin', the bonny wee man ! " 
 
 Maggie ran to quiet him, but soon returned, 
 and, sitting down again beside her father, asked 
 him for a piece of work. 
 
 And all this time, through his own indifference, 
 the would-be-grand preacher, James Blatherwick, 
 knew nothing of the fact that, somewhere in 
 the world, without father or mother, lived and 
 breathed a silent witness against him. 
 
 62 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 For some time Isy had contrived to postpone 
 her return to her aunt, — that was, until James 
 was gone ; for she dreaded being in the house, 
 lest it should lead to the discovery of the rela- 
 tion between them. But soon she had to en- 
 counter the appalling fact that the dread moment 
 was on its way when she could no longer con- 
 ceal the change in her condition ; and her first 
 thought then was the good name of her lover, — 
 to avoid involving him in the approaching ruin 
 of her reputation. With this intent she vowed 
 to God and to her own soul absolute silence 
 with regard to the past. James's name even 
 should never pass her lips ! Nor did she find 
 her vow hard to keep, even when her aunt took 
 measures to make her disclose her secret ; but 
 the dread lest in her pains she should cry out 
 for the comfort which James alone could give 
 her, almost drove her to poison, — from yielding 
 to which temptation only the thought of his 
 child restrained her. Filled with fear, and hope- 
 less of any good, enabled only by the inex- 
 orable inevitability that held her, she passed at 
 length through the crisis of that agony which 
 63 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 no man but the Son of Man can understand, and 
 found herself ahve and breathless on the other 
 side. In the glad calm of her relief, she locked 
 tight her lips, and no more ever feared being 
 tempted to name the father of her child. Thus 
 the poor girl who was weak enough to imperil 
 her good name for love of a worthless man, 
 grew strong through that love to shield him. 
 Whether in this she did well for the world, for 
 truth, or for her own soul, she never wasted a 
 thought on the matter. In vain did her aunt ply 
 her with questions, promising never to utter a 
 word of reproach if only she would speak the 
 one name ; she was rigidly obstinate. She felt 
 that to comply would be to wrong him, and so 
 to lose her last righteous hold upon the man 
 who had at least once loved her a little. Through 
 shame and blame, she clung to his scathlessness 
 as the one only joy left her. She had not a 
 gleam, not even a shadow, of hope for herself. 
 He had most likely all but forgotten her very 
 existence, for he had never written to her, or, 
 so far as she knew, made the least effort to dis- 
 cover what had become of her. She, on her 
 part also, had never written to him ; but how 
 could he fail to know the motive of her quies- 
 cence ! At the same time she clung to the con- 
 viction that he could never have heard of what 
 had befallen her. 
 
 64 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 By and by she grew able to reflect that re- 
 maining where she was would be the ruin of 
 her aunt; for who would lodge in the same 
 house with Jicr ? In her exhausted physical 
 condition, her longing to go, and the impossi- 
 bility of going at once, or even of thinking 
 where to go, so wrought upon her brain, already 
 weakened by the demands of the baby, that she 
 was on the very verge of despair, but again 
 strength came to her from the thought of her 
 child, and for his sake she lived on. One shred 
 of the cloud, however, that had at one time all 
 but overwhelmed her intellect, remained, — the 
 fixed idea that, agonising as had been her effort 
 after silence, she had failed in her resolve and 
 broken the promise she imagined she had given 
 to James ; that she had been false to her lover, 
 had brought him to shame, and for ever ruined 
 his prospects ; she had betrayed him, she thought, 
 first, into the power of her aunt, and then, 
 through her, to the authorities of the church! 
 That was why she never heard a word from 
 him ! She was never to see him any more ! 
 The conviction, the seeming consciousness, so 
 grew upon her, along with the sense of the 
 impossibility of remaining with her aunt, that, 
 one morning, when her infant was not yet a 
 month old, she crept from the house and wan- 
 dered out into the world, with just one shilling 
 5 65 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 in a purse forgotten in the pocket of her dress. 
 Then for a time her memory seemed to have lost 
 all hold upon her consciousness, and all that 
 befell her remained a blank, refusing to be 
 recalled. 
 
 When she began to come to herself, she had 
 no knowledge of where she had been, or for how 
 long her mind had been astray; all seemed a 
 dread blank, crossed with cloud-like trails of 
 blotted dreams, and vague survivals of grati- 
 tude for bread and pieces of money. Every- 
 thing she became aware of surprised her; but 
 one thing she never seemed to become aware 
 of, or be surprised at, so could never have for- 
 gotten, — the child in her arms. Her story had 
 been plain to everyone she met, and she had 
 received thousands of kindnesses which her 
 memory could not hold, though doubtless they 
 would all return to her one day. At length 
 she found herself — whether intentionally or 
 not she could not tell — in a neighbourhood to 
 which she had heard James Blatherwick refer. 
 
 But here again a blank stopped her backward 
 gaze. Then suddenly she grew aware, and 
 knew that she was aware, of being alone on a 
 wide moor in a dim night, hungry, with her 
 hungry child, to whom she had given the last 
 drop of nourishment he could draw from her, 
 wailing in her arms. Then once more there 
 66 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 fell upon her a hideous despair. Worn out 
 with walking, and unable to carry him a step 
 farther, she dropped him from her helpless 
 hands into a bush. But he was starving, and 
 she must get him some milk. She went stag- 
 gering about, looking under the great stones, 
 and into the clumps of heather, for something 
 he could drink. At last, I presume, she sank 
 on the ground, and was for a time insensible; 
 anyhow, when she came to herself she could 
 nowhere find the child, or even the place where 
 she had left him. 
 
 The same evening it was that Maggie came 
 along with Andrew and found the baby, as I 
 have already told. All that night, and a great 
 part of the next day also, Isy went searching 
 about, with intervals of compelled repose. 
 Imagining at length that she had discovered 
 the very spot where she left him, and coming 
 to the conclusion that some wild beast had 
 come upon the helpless thing and carried him 
 off, she rushed to a peat-hag whence the gleam 
 of water came to her eye, and would there have 
 drowned herself, but was turned aside by a man 
 who threw down his flauchter spade and ran be- 
 tween her and the frightful hole. He tried to 
 console her with the assurance that no child left 
 on that moor could be in other than luck's way, 
 and directed her to the next town, with a few 
 67 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 halfpence in her pocket, and a threat of hanging 
 if she made another attempt of the sort. A 
 long time of wandering followed, with cease- 
 less inquiry, and alternating disappointment 
 and expectation. Every day something occurred 
 that served to keep the life in her; and at last 
 she reached the county-town, where she was 
 taken to the poorhouse for a time. 
 
 68 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER VHI 
 
 James Blatherwick was proving himself not 
 unacceptable to the parish where first he 
 opened his eyes, and was thought a very rising 
 man, inasmuch as his fluency was far ahead of 
 his perspicuity. He soon came to regard the 
 soutar as a man far ahead of the rest of his par- 
 ishioners, but he saw, at the same time, that he 
 was looked upon by far the greater number as a 
 wild fanatic, if not as a dangerous heretic. But 
 while he himself had little inclination to differ 
 with the soutar, he perceived almost at once 
 that for his acceptability he had far better differ 
 than agree with him, and that at least, until 
 his influence was more firmly established, it 
 would be well to seem as much of the same 
 mind with his congregation as he could without 
 loss to his eloquence. He must for the present, 
 therefore, use the doctrinal phrases he had 
 been accustomed to in his youth, or others so 
 like that they would be taken to indicate un- 
 changed opinions; while for his part he prac- 
 tised a mental reservation in regard to them 
 69 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 until he should have gained such authority as 
 justified him in preaching what he pleased 
 without regard to consequences. This goal of 
 acknowledged eloquence, such, that is, as igno- 
 rant and wordy people count eloquence, he had 
 already gained; but such insight into truth as 
 even his father and a few other plain people in 
 the neighbourhood possessed, he showed little 
 sign indeed of ever attaining. 
 
 What he saw in the soutar was at first merely 
 negative. He had noted, indeed, that he used 
 almost none of the set phrases of the good 
 people in the village, who devoutly followed 
 the traditions of the elders; but he knew little 
 as to what it really was that the soutar did not 
 believe, and far less as to what he did believe, 
 and that with all his heart and soul, John 
 MacLear could not utter the name of God with- 
 out a confession of faith immeasurably beyond 
 anything inhabiting the consciousness of the 
 parson; while he soon began to note the ab- 
 sence of all enthusiasm in James with regard 
 to such things on which his very position im- 
 plied an absolute acceptance, he would allude 
 to any or all of them as if they were the merest 
 matters of course. Never did his face light up 
 when he spoke of the Son of God, of his death, 
 or of his resurrection from the dead; never did 
 he make mention of the kingdom of heaven as 
 70 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 if it were anything more venerable than the 
 kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. 
 
 But the soul of the soutar would venture far 
 into the twilight, searching after the things of 
 God, opening wider its eyes as the darkness 
 widened around them. On one occasion the 
 parson took upon him to remonstrate with what 
 seemed to him the audacity of his parishioner. 
 
 " Don't you think you are just going a little 
 bit too far there, Mr. MacLear.^" he said. 
 
 " Ye mean ower far intill the dark, Mr. 
 Blatherwick?" 
 
 "Yes, that is what I mean. You speculate 
 too boldly." 
 
 "But in that direction, plainly the dark 
 grows thinner, though I grant ye there 's noth- 
 ing yet to ca' licht. That ye ken by its ain fair 
 shinin', and by noucht else." 
 
 " But the human soul is as apt to deceive 
 itself as is the human eye, with a flash inside 
 it ! " said Blatherwick. 
 
 " Nae doot ; but whan the true licht comes, 
 ye aye ken the differ! A man may tak' the 
 dark for licht, but he canna tak' the licht for 
 darkness ! " 
 
 "But there must be something for the light 
 to shine upon, else the man sees nothing," said 
 the parson. 
 
 "There's thoucht, and possible insicht i' the 
 71 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 man ! " said the soutar to himself. — " Maybe, 
 like the Ephesians, ye haena yet fund oot gien 
 there be ony Holy Ghost, sir?" he said to his 
 companion. 
 
 " No man dares deny that ! " 
 
 "But a man mayna ken 't, though he daursna 
 deny't! Nane but them 'at follows vvhaur he 
 leads, can ken that he verily is." 
 
 "We have to beware of private interpreta- 
 tion ! " 
 
 "Gien a man has nae word till his ain sel', 
 he has nae word to lippen till. The Scripture 
 is but a sealed bulk till him; he walks i' the 
 dark. The licht is neither pairtit nor gethered. 
 Gien a man has licht, he has nane the less that 
 there's anither present; gien there be twa or 
 three prayin' thegither, the fourth may hae 
 nane o' 't, and ilk ane o' the three has jist what 
 he 's able to receive, and he kens 't in himsel' 
 as licht. Gien it comena to ilk ane o' them a', 
 it doesna come to them a'. Ilk ane maun hae 
 the revelation intill his ain sel', as gien there 
 wasna ane mair present. And gien it be sae, 
 which I'm no thinkin' ye '11 fin' it hard to 
 admit, hoo are we to win at ony trouth no yet 
 revealed, 'cep' we gang oot intill the dark to 
 meet it.? Ye maun caw canny, I admit, i' the 
 mirk; but ye maun caw gien ye wad win at 
 onything ! " 
 
 72 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " But suppose you know enough to keep you 
 going, and do not care to venture into the 
 dark?" 
 
 " Gien a man hauds on practeesin' what he 
 kens, the hunger 'ill wauk in him efter some- 
 thing mair. I 'm thinkin' the angels desired 
 lang afore they could see intill certain things 
 they want it to ken aboot, but ye may be sure 
 they warna left withoot as muckle licht as 
 would serve honest fowk to baud them gaein' 
 or desirin' ! " 
 
 "Suppose they couldn't tell whether what 
 they saw was true light or not?" 
 
 "They had to fa' back upo' the wull o' the 
 great Licht; we ken He wants us a' to see as 
 he does himsel'. If ye carena to seek that 
 sicht, ye 're jist naething and naegait, and are 
 in sore need o' sharp discipleen. " 
 
 "I'm afraid I can't follow you quite. The 
 fact is, I have been for a long time occupied so 
 closely with the Bible history, and the new dis- 
 coveries that bear testimony to the same, that 
 I 've had but little time to give to metaphysics." 
 
 "And what 's the guid o' history, or sic meta- 
 pheesics as is the vera sowl o' history, but to 
 help ye to see Christ wi' yer understan'in* as 
 weel as wi' yer hert? and what's the guid o* 
 seein' Christ but sae to see God wi' yer hert 
 and yer understan'in' also, and ken that yer 
 73 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 seein' him, and sae to receive him intill yer 
 vera natur? Ye min' hoo the Lord said that 
 nane could ken his Father, but him to whom 
 the Son would reveal him? Man, sir, it's 
 time ye had a glimp' o' that ! Ye ken naething 
 till ye ken God; and he 's the only ane a man 
 can truly and really ken." 
 
 "Well, you're a long way ahead of me, and 
 for the present I 'm afraid there 's nothing for 
 it but to say good-night to you! " 
 
 And therewith the minister departed. 
 
 "Lord," said the soutar, as he sat on his 
 stool, and guided his awl through sole and welt 
 and upper of the shoe on his last, "there's 
 surely something workin' i' the young man! 
 Surely he canna be that far frae waukin' up to 
 ken that he kens naething! Lord, pu' doon 
 the dyke o' learnin' and self -righteousness that 
 he canna see ower to thee upo' the ither side 
 o' 't. Lord, sen' him the open grace o' eyes, 
 that he may see whaur and what he is, and cry 
 oot wi' the lave o' us, puir blin' bodies, that 
 hae begun to see, to him that hasna, * Awauk, 
 thoo that sleepest and get oot o' thy grave, 
 that thoo may see the licht o' the Father i' the 
 face o' the Son.' " 
 
 But the minister went away trying to classify 
 the soutar, whom he thought to place in some 
 certain sect of middle-age mystics. Thence- 
 74 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 forward, nevertheless, something which he did 
 not know seemed to haunt the man. That part 
 of him which he called his religious sense 
 appeared to know something of which he him- 
 self knew nothing ! Faithlessly as he had be- 
 haved to Isy, Blatherwick was not consciously, 
 that is, with the least purpose of intent, a de- 
 ceitful man ; he had always cherished a strong 
 faith in his own honour. But faith in a thing, 
 in an idea, in a notion, is no proof, or even 
 sign, that the thing exists, especially when it 
 has its root in a man's thought of himself, in a 
 man's presentation to himself of his own re- 
 flected self. This man who thought so much 
 of his honour was in truth a moral unreality, a 
 cowardly fellow, a sneak who, in the hope that 
 no consequences would overtake him, carried 
 himself as beyond reproof. How should such 
 a one ever have the power of spiritual vision 
 developed in him.-* How should such a one 
 ever see God, — ever exist in the same region in 
 which the soutar had long taken up his abode .-• 
 Still, there was this much reality in him, and 
 he had made this much progress, that, holding 
 fast by his resolve henceforth no more to slide, 
 he had also a dim suspicion of something he 
 had not seen, but which he might become able 
 to see, and was half resolved to think and read 
 for the future with the intent to find out what 
 75 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 this strange man knew, if, indeed, he did know 
 anything more than everybody else. Unable, 
 however, to be sure of anything, let him try as 
 hard as he might, he soon became weary of the 
 effort, and sank back into self-satisfied blind 
 sleep. 
 
 76 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 But out of this quiescence a pang from the past 
 suddenly one morning awaked him, and in his 
 pain, almost without consciousness of a volition, 
 he found himself at the soutar's door. Maggie 
 opened it to him with the baby in her arms. She 
 had just been having a game with the child ; her 
 face was in a glow, her hair tossed about, and her 
 dark eyes flashing with excitement. To Blather- 
 wick, without any great natural interest in life, 
 and in the net of a trouble which caused him 
 no immediate apprehension, and was of no 
 absorbing interest, the poor girl, of so little 
 account in the world, and so far below him, as he 
 took for granted, somehow affected him at the 
 moment as beautiful ; and, indeed, she was 
 beautiful, far more beautiful than he was yet 
 able to appreciate. Besides, it was not long 
 since he had been refused by another; and just 
 at such a time, as Shakspere must have re- 
 marked, a man is readiest to fall in love 
 afresh. Trouble then, lack of interest, and 
 late repulse had laid James's heart, such as it 
 was, unexpectedly open to assault from a 
 77 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 new quarter threatening no danger. Painfully 
 warned by late experience against a second 
 time encouraging personal relations with a 
 poor girl of lowly origin, he could not help 
 being interested in her, both because of her 
 beauty and because of her evident disciple- 
 ship to her father, to whom the young parson 
 had not infrequently been listening of late, with 
 Maggie silently at work beside him. But he had 
 not as yet taken sufficient interest in either to 
 ask who the child was whom she was nursing 
 so tenderly, and whom he had once or twice 
 seen her ministering to with such assiduity. 
 
 " That 's a very fine baby ! " he said, forgetting 
 to inquire after her father, who had been a trifle 
 ailing. " Whose is he?" 
 
 " Mine, sir," answered Maggie, with some 
 triumph, but a little abruptly, — for like a mother 
 she was ready to resent ignorance with regard to 
 her treasure. 
 
 " Oh, indeed ; I did not know," answered the 
 parson, bewildered. 
 
 " At least," Maggie resumed a little hurriedly, 
 and stopped — whereupon the parson would at 
 once have concluded, except for her extreme 
 youth, that she was herself the mother of the 
 child. Now he feared to prosecute the inquiry 
 without first seeking enlightenment from his 
 housekeeper. 
 
 78 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " Is your father in the house, Maggie?" he 
 asked, and without waiting for an answer, went 
 on, " It is much too heavy for you to carry 
 about." 
 
 " No ae bit ! " she rejoined, as if he meant to 
 disparage her strength ; " and who 's to carry 
 him but me? " 
 
 Huddling the child to her bosom, she contin- 
 ued to address him, — 
 
 " And would he hae my pet gang traivellin' 
 the warl' upo' thae twa bonny wee legs o' his ain, 
 wantin' the wings he left ahint him whan he 
 cam'? They maun grow a heap stronger first. 
 It'll come a' in guid time! His ain mammie 's 
 Strang eneuch to carry him gien he war twice 
 the size ! Noo, come but the hoose and see 
 daddy." 
 
 This also was addressed to the child, with 
 whom she went at once to the kitchen, fol- 
 lowed by the minister, growing more and more 
 confused. 
 
 There sat her father as usual, hands and knees 
 in skilful consort of labour. 
 
 "Weel, minister, hoo are ye the day? Is the 
 yerd ony lichter upo' the tap o' ye?" said the 
 soutar, with a smile that was almost pawky. 
 
 " I do not understand you, Mr. MacLear." 
 
 "Na, yecanna. Gien ye could, ye wouldna 
 be sae comfortable as ye seem." 
 79 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " I cannot think, Mr. MacLear, why you seem 
 rude to me." 
 
 " Ye *re richt, sir; seem is the proper word. 
 But gien ye saw the hoose on fire aboot him ye 
 maybe wouldna be polite yersel' tae a man in a 
 drucken sleep." 
 
 " Dare you imply that I have been drinking?" 
 cried the parson. 
 
 " Not for a single moment, sir ; and I beg 
 yer pardon for raisin' the simile thouchtlessly ; 
 I dinna believe ye war ever ance owertaen wi' 
 drink in a' yer life, sir ! And maybe I shouldna 
 be sae ready to speyk in parables, for as no 
 a'body that can or wull un'erstan' them. But 
 ye canna hae forgotten that cry o' the Apostle 
 o' the Gentiles, — ' Wauk up, thoo that sleepest ! ' 
 And divna ye min' whaur the man he cried till 
 was sleeping? It was whaur ane micht think 
 the chance o' his hearin' was but sma' ! But 
 what's impossible, ye ken, is possible, and vera 
 possible, wi' God. Even the deid wauk whan 
 the trumpet blast batters at their lugs ! " 
 
 " It seems to me that the Apostle makes al- 
 lusion in that passage to the condition of the 
 Gentile nations. But it may apply as well, 
 doubtless, to the conversion of every unbelieving 
 man of being converted from the error of his 
 ways." 
 
 " Weel, are ye convertit, sir? Or are ye but 
 80 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 turnin', noo and than, frae side to side o' yer 
 coffin, — seekin' a sleepin' assurance that ye 're 
 waukin'?" 
 
 " You are plain-spoken, anyway ! " said the 
 minister, rising. 
 
 " Maybe I am at last, sir ! And maybe I hae 
 been ower lang in comin' to the plainness ! 
 Maybe I was ower-feart for yer coontin' me — 
 or, maybe, for bein' ill-fashiont — what ye ca' 
 rude ! " 
 
 The parson was half-way to the door, for he 
 was angry — which can hardly surprise any 
 reader. But, with the latch in his hand, he 
 turned. There, in the middle of the floor, with 
 the child in her arms, stood the beautiful Mag- 
 gie, as if in act to follow him. He had forgotten 
 them. Both were staring after him. 
 
 " Dinna anger him, father," said Maggie. 
 " Maybe he disna ken better ! " 
 
 " VVeel ken I, my dautie, that he disna ken 
 better. But I canna help thinkin' he 's maybe 
 no that faur frae the waukin'. God grant I be 
 richt aboot that ! Eh, gien he would but wauk 
 up, what a man he would mak' ! He kens a 
 heap — but what 's that whan a man has no 
 licht!" 
 
 " I certainly do not see things as you would 
 have me believe you saw them ; and you are 
 hardly capable of persuading me, I fear ! " re- 
 6 8i 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 marked Blathcrwick, with the angry flush again 
 on his face ; it had for a moment been replaced 
 with pallor. 
 
 Here the baby seemed to have recognised 
 the unsympathetic in the tone of the conversa- 
 tion, for his little face, which had for a moment 
 or two been slowly changing, at length pulled 
 down its lovely little mouth, and sent from it a 
 dread and potent cry. Clasping him close to 
 her bosom, Maggie ran from the room with 
 him, jostling James in the doorway as he stood 
 aside to let her pass. 
 
 " I am afraid I spoke without due regard to 
 the infant's presence, and frightened the little 
 man," he said. 
 
 " 'Deed, sir, it may ha' been you, or it may ha' 
 been me," rejoined the soutar. " It 's a thing 
 I 'm sair to blame in, — that whan I 'm in richt 
 earnest, I 'm aye ower-ready to speyk as gien 
 I was angert. I 'm feart it indicates a fac' — 
 namely, that I am angert! Sir, I humbly beg 
 yer pardon." 
 
 " As humbly I beg yours," returned the par- 
 son; " I was in the wrong." 
 
 The heart of the old man was drawn afresh to 
 the youth. He laid aside his shoe, and, turning 
 on his stool, took James's hand in both of his, 
 and said solemnly and lovingly, — 
 
 " This moment I would willingly die, sir, so 
 82 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 be that thereby the licht o' that uprising o' 
 which we spak micht brak throuw upon ye ! " 
 
 " I believe you, sir," answered James, " but," 
 he went on with an attempt at humour, " it 
 would n't be so much for you to do, after all, 
 seeing you would straightway find yourself in a 
 better place ! " 
 
 " Maybe whaur the penitent thief sat, some 
 auchteen hunner year ago, waiting to be called 
 up higher ! " rejoined the soutar, with a watery 
 smile. 
 
 The parson opened the door, and went home 
 — where his knees found their way to the 
 carpet. 
 
 From that day Blatherwick began to go oftener 
 to the soutar's, and before long went almost 
 every other day, for at least a few minutes ; and 
 on such occasions had generally a short inter- 
 view with Maggie and the baby, in both of 
 whom, having heard from the soutar the story 
 of the child, he took a growing interest. 
 
 " You seem to love him as if he were your 
 own, Maggie ! " he said one morning to the 
 girl. 
 
 "And isna he my ain? Didna God himsel' 
 gie me the bairn intill my vera airms — or a' 
 but?" she rejoined. 
 
 " Suppose he were to die ! " suggested the 
 minister. " Such children often do." 
 83 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " I needna think aboot that," she answered. 
 " I would just hae to say, as mony ane has had 
 to say afore me : ' The Lord gave,' — ye ken the 
 rest, sir." 
 
 Day by day Maggie grew more beautiful in 
 the minister's eyes, until at last he was not 
 only ready to say that he loved her, but for 
 her sake to disregard all worldly and ambitious 
 considerations. 
 
 84 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 On the morning of a Saturday, therefore, which 
 day of the week he ahvays made a holiday, he 
 resolved to let her know without delay that he 
 loved her; and he was the more determined, 
 because on the next day he had to preach for a 
 brother clergyman at Deemouth, and felt that, 
 with this on his mind, he would not have it clear 
 enough to do well in the pulpit. But neither 
 disappointment nor new love had yet served to 
 free him from vanity or arrogance. Although 
 he had been for some time cherishing the re- 
 solve, he still regarded his approaching decla- 
 ration as conferring a great honour as well as 
 favour upon the damsel of low estate ; for was 
 she not about to share in his growing distinc- 
 tion? In his late invitation to a lady to descend 
 a little from her social pedestal, he had believed 
 himself to offer her a greater than proportion- 
 ate counter-elevation, and in his present suit to 
 Maggie he was unable to conceive the possibil- 
 ity of failure. When she appeared she would 
 have shown him into the kitchen, but he took 
 her by the arm and led her to the ben-end, 
 85 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 where at once he began his intended speech. 
 Scarce had she gathered his meaning, however, 
 when he was checked by the startled look upon 
 her face. 
 
 "And what am I to do wi' my bairn?" she 
 asked instantly, without sign of hesitation or 
 perplexity, and smiled on the little one as at 
 some absurdity in her arms rather than in her 
 mind. 
 
 But now the minister was sufficiently in love 
 to disregard these unexpected indications. His 
 pride was indeed a little hurt, — and hurt in that 
 quarter could not be less than a serious one to 
 him ; but he resisted any show of it, reflecting 
 that the feeling she manifested was not altogether 
 an unnatural one. 
 
 " Oh, we shall easily find some experienced 
 mother," he answered, " who will understand 
 better than you how to take care of him ! " 
 
 " Na, na ! " she answered. " I hae baith a 
 father and a wean to luik efter, and that 's aboot 
 as muckle as I '11 ever be up till ! " 
 
 So saying, she rose and carried the little one 
 up the stair to the room her father now occu- 
 pied, nor cast a single glance of farewell in the 
 direction of her lover. 
 
 And now at last he was not a little astonished. 
 Did it, could it, mean that she did not appreciate 
 his offer, and could not listen to him? Impos- 
 86 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 sible ! Her devotion to the child she had picked 
 up was indeed absurdly engrossing, but that 
 would come all right very soon. He need not 
 fear such a rivalry as that, however unpleasant 
 it might be at the moment. That little vagrant, 
 indeed, from no one could tell where, to come 
 between him and the girl he would honour by 
 making his wife ! 
 
 He glanced round him ; the room looked 
 very empty. He heard her oft interrupted step 
 through the thin floor that divided them ; she 
 was lavishing caresses on the insensate little 
 animal ! He caught up his hat, and with a 
 flushed face of annoyance went straight to the 
 soutar where he sat at work. 
 
 " I have come to ask you, Mr. MacLear, if you 
 will give me your daughter to be my wife," he 
 said. 
 
 " Ow, sae that 's it ! " returned the soutar, with- 
 out raising his eyes from his occupation. 
 
 "You have no objection, I hope?" continued 
 the minister, finding he did not go on. 
 
 "What says she hersel'? Ye comena to me 
 first, I reckon ! " 
 
 " She said, or implied at least, that she could 
 not leave the child. But she cannot mean 
 that!" 
 
 " And what for no? I hae nae need to mak' 
 objections." 
 
 87 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 "But if she withdraw that one — as I hope 
 soon to persuade her to do?" 
 
 "Then I should hae objections — mair nor 
 ane — to put to the fore!" 
 
 " You surprise me ! Is not a woman to leave 
 father and mother, and cleave to her husband? " 
 
 " Ow, ay — sae be the woman is a wife ! Than 
 lat nane sun'er them! — But there's anither 
 saying, sir, that I doobt may hae something to 
 dee wi' Maggie's answer." 
 
 " And what, pray, may that be? " 
 
 " That man or woman must leave father and 
 mother, wife and child, for the sake o' the Son 
 o' Man." 
 
 " You surely are not papist enough to think 
 that means that a minister is not to marry?" 
 
 "Not at all, sir; but I doobt that's what it'll 
 come to wi' Maggie." 
 
 "You mean that she will not marry?" 
 
 " I mean that she winna merry j^ou, sir." 
 
 " But just think how much more she would be 
 able to do for Christ as the minister's wife ! " 
 
 " I 'm 'maist convinced she would coont mer- 
 ryin' you tantamount to refusin' to lea' a' for the 
 Son o' Man." 
 
 "And why should she think that? " 
 
 " Because, sae far as I see, she canna think 
 that j<? hae left a' for /nm." 
 
 " Ah, that is what you have been teaching 
 88 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 her! She does not say that of herself! You 
 have not left her free to choose ! " 
 
 " The question never cam' up atween 's. But 
 she's perfectly free to wyle her ain gait — and 
 she kens she is. Ye dinna seem to think it 
 possible she sud tak' his vvuU raither nor yours, 
 — that the love o' Christ should constrain her 
 ower and ayont the love o' Jeames Bletherwick ! 
 We hae conversed aboot ye, sir, but niver 
 differed ! " 
 
 "But allowing us — you and me — to be of 
 different opinions on some points, must that be 
 a reason why she and I should not love one 
 another? " 
 
 " No reason whatever, sir — if ye can and do : 
 that point would be already settled. But ye 
 winna get Maggie to merry ye sae lang as she 
 disna believe ye lo'e her Lord as weel as she lo'es 
 him hersel'. It 's no a common love that Maggie 
 beirs to her Lord ; and gien ye lo'ed her wi' a 
 luve worthy o' her, ye would see that ! " 
 
 " But at least ye will promise me not to inter- 
 fere?" 
 
 " I '11 promise ye naething, sir, excep' to do 
 my duty by her, — sae far as I understan' what 
 that duty is. Gien I thoucht — which the God 
 o' my life forbid ! — that Maggie didna lo'e him 
 as I lo'e him — excep', as I houp, and am free 
 to think, she lo'es him better nor I can yet — I 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 would gang upo' my auld knees till her, to 
 entreat her to love him vvi' a' her heart and sovvl 
 and stren'th and min' ; an' whan I had done 
 that, she micht merry wha she would, — hang- 
 man or minister : no a word would I say ! For 
 trouble she maun hae, and trouble she wull get 
 — I thank my God, who givcth to all men liber- 
 ally and upbraideth not ! " 
 
 " Th6n I am free to do my best to win her? " 
 
 "Ye are, sir; and mair, — afore the morn's 
 mornin', I winna pass ae word wi' her upo' the 
 subject." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," returned the minister, and 
 took his leave. 
 
 " A fine lad ! a fine lad ! " said the soutar 
 aloud to himself, as he resumed the work for 
 a moment interrupted, "but no clear, — no 
 crystal-clear, — no clear like the Son o' Man 
 himsel' ! " 
 
 He looked up, and saw his daughter in the 
 doorway. 
 
 " No a word, lassie ! " he cried. " I 'm no for 
 ye this meenute. No a word to me aboot ony- 
 thing or onybody the day — 'cep' it be absolute 
 necessar' ! " 
 
 " As ye wull, father," rejoined Maggie. " I 'm 
 gaein' oot to seek auld Eppie ; she was intill the 
 baker's shop a meenute ago. The bairnie 's 
 asleep." 
 
 90 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " Vera weel ! gien I hear him, I 's atten' till 
 him," said the soutar. 
 
 "Thank ye, father!" she returned, and left 
 the house. 
 
 But the minister, having to start that same 
 afternoon for Deemouth, and feeling it impos- 
 sible to preach at his case, things remaining as 
 they were, had been watching the soutar's door, 
 and saw it open and Maggie appear. For a 
 moment he flattered himself she was coming 
 to look for him, to say she was sorry for her 
 behaviour to him. But her start when first she 
 became aware of his presence did not fail, 
 notwithstanding his conceit, to satisfy him that 
 such was not her intent. He made haste to 
 explain. 
 
 " I 've been waiting all this time on the 
 chance of seeing you, Margaret ! " he said. " I 
 am starting within an hour or so for Deemouth, 
 and could not bear to go without first assuring 
 you that your father has no objection to my 
 saying what I please to you, only he means 
 to have a talk with you to-morrow morning, 
 and as I cannot possibly get back from Dee- 
 mouth before Monday, I must express the hope 
 now that he will not succeed in persuading you 
 to doubt the reality of my love. I admire your 
 father more than I can tell you, but he seems 
 to hold the affections God has given us of small 
 91 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 account compared with his judgment concern- 
 ing the strength and reality of them." 
 
 " Did he no say I was free to do what I 
 hked?" rejoined Maggie, rather sharply. 
 
 " Yes ; he did say something to that effect." 
 
 " Then, for mysel' and i' the name o' my 
 father, I tell ye, Maister Bletherwick, I dinna 
 care to see ye again — though I 'm sure ye '11 
 aye be welcome to my father, wha 's taen a great 
 anxiety aboot ye." 
 
 "Do you mean what you say, Margaret?" 
 rejoined the minister, in a voice that betrayed 
 not a little genuine emotion. 
 
 " I do mean it," she answered. 
 
 " If 1 tell you that I am both ready and will- 
 ing to take the child, and bring him up as my 
 own? " 
 
 " He wouldna be yer ain ! " 
 
 " Quite as much as yours ! " 
 
 "Hardly," she returned, with a curious little 
 laugh. " But, as I daresay my father told you, 
 I do not, I cannot believe that ye lo'e God wi' 
 a* yer hert." 
 
 " But dare you say that for yourself, Mar- 
 garet?" 
 
 "No; but I do want to love God as Jesus 
 
 says we must love him. Besides, you have 
 
 made it your professed business to teach people 
 
 man's chief end, which is to love God like that. 
 
 92 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Mr. Blatherwick, are ye a rael Christian, or are 
 ye a hypocrite? I wad Hke to ken. But I hae 
 nae richt to question ye, for I dinna believe ye 
 ken yersel' ! " 
 
 " Well, perhaps I do not. But I see there 
 is no occasion to say more ! " 
 
 "Na, nane," answered Maggie. 
 
 He lifted his hat, and turned away to the 
 coach office. Maggie went to look for Eppie. 
 
 93 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 It would be difficult to represent the condi- 
 tion of mind in which Blatherwick sat on the 
 box-seat of the Defiance coach that evening, 
 behind four grey thoroughbreds carrying him 
 at the rate of ten miles an hour toward Dee- 
 mouth. Hurt pride, indignation, and a certain 
 mild revenge in contemplating Maggie's disap- 
 pointment when at length she should become 
 aware of the distinction he had gained and she 
 had lost, were its main components. He never 
 noted a feature of the rather tame scenery that 
 went hurrying by him, and yet the time did not 
 seem to pass at all slowly : he was astonished 
 when the coach stopped, and he found his 
 journey at an end. 
 
 He descended from his seat rather cramped 
 and stiff, and, as it was still early, started for a 
 stroll about the streets to stretch himself, and 
 see what was going on, glad he had not to 
 preach in the morning, and would have a part 
 of the day to go over his sermon again in that 
 dreary memory of his. The streets were bril- 
 liant with gas, for Saturday was always a sort 
 94 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 of market-night there, and at that moment were 
 crowded with girls going home, rollicking ancj 
 merry, from a paper-mill at the close of a 
 week's labour. To Blatherwick, who had very 
 little sympathy with gladness of any sort, the 
 sight only called up by contrast the very differ- 
 ent scenes on which his eyes would look down 
 the next evening from the vantage coigne of 
 the pulpit, in a church filled with a respectable 
 congregation, — to which he would be setting 
 forth the results of certain late geographical 
 discoveries and local identifications, not know- 
 ing that yet later discoveries had rendered 
 everything he was about to say more than 
 doubtful. 
 
 But as, while sunk in a not very profound 
 reverie, he was turning the corner of a narrow 
 wynd, he was all but knocked down by a girl 
 whom another in the crowd had pushed violently 
 against him. The former, recoiling from the 
 impact, and unable to recover her equilibrium, 
 fell helplessly prostrate on the granite pavement, 
 and lay there motionless. Annoyed and half 
 angry, he was on the point of walking on, heed- 
 less of the accident, when something in the pale 
 face among the coarse and shapeless shoes that 
 had already begun to gather thick around it, 
 arrested him with a strong suggestion of some 
 one he had once known. But the same moment 
 95 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the crowd that stooped over her hid her from 
 his view ; and, shocked to be reminded of Isy 
 in such an assemblage, he turned resolutely 
 away, and, seeking refuge in the many chances 
 against its being she, walked steadily on. When 
 he looked round again ere crossing the street, 
 the crowd had vanished, and the pavement was 
 all but empty. He spoke to a policeman who 
 just then came up, but he had seen nolliing of 
 the occurrence, and remarked only that they 
 were a rough lot of girls at the paper-mills. 
 
 A moment more and his mind was busy with 
 a passage in his sermon which seemed about to 
 escape his memory: it was still as impossible 
 for him to talk freely about the things a minister 
 is supposed to love best, as it had been when he 
 began to preach. It was not, certainly, out of 
 the fulness of the heart that Jiis mouth ever 
 spoke. 
 
 He went to the house of Mr. Robertson, the 
 friend he had come to assist, had supper, retired 
 early, and in the morning went to his friend's 
 church. When the evening came, he climbed to 
 the pulpit, and soon appeared engrossed in its 
 rites. But while he seemed to be pouring out 
 his soul in the long extempore prayer, he opened 
 his eyes as if suddenly compelled, and that 
 moment saw, in the front of the gallery before 
 him, a face he could not doubt to be the face of 
 96 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Isy. Her gaze was fixed upon him. He saw 
 her shiver, and knew that she saw and knew him. 
 He felt himself grow blind. His head swam, 
 and it seemed as if some force bent his body 
 down sideways from her. Such was his self- 
 possession, however, that he went on with his 
 prayer, if that could in any sense be prayer in 
 which he knew neither word he uttered, thing he 
 thought, nor feeling he felt. With the king in 
 Hamlet, he might have said, — 
 
 " My words fly up, my thoughts remain below : 
 Words without thoughts never to heaven go ! " 
 
 But while yet speaking, and holding his eyes fast 
 closed that he might not see her again, his con- 
 sciousness all at once returned, — it seemed to 
 him with a mighty effort of the will, and upon 
 that he afterward prided himself. Thereupon he 
 became aware of his thoughts and words, and was 
 able to control his actions and speech. But all the 
 while he " conducted " the rest of the " service," 
 he was constantly aware of the figure of Isy 
 before him with its gaze fixed motionless upon 
 him, although he did not again look at her, until 
 he began to wonder vaguely whether it might 
 not be that she was dead, and come back only 
 to his mind, — not from the grave, but from the 
 quite as mysterious world of the memory, a 
 thought-spectre. But at last he thought she 
 7 97 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 must indeed be alive, for when, at the close of 
 the sermon, the people stood up to sing, 
 she rose with them, and the half-unconscious 
 preacher sat down exhausted with emotion, con- 
 flict, and with effort. When he rose again for 
 the benediction, she was gone; and once more 
 he took refuge in the doubt whether she had 
 indeed been present. 
 
 When the lady of the house had retired, and 
 James was sitting with his host over his one 
 tumbler of toddy only to keep him company, 
 for he never took whisky himself, there came 
 a knock to the door. Mr. Robertson went to 
 open it, and James's heart gave a despairing 
 leap, as if to break from its prison. But in a 
 few moments the host returned, saying it was a 
 policeman who had knocked to let him know 
 that a woman was lying drunk at the bottom of 
 his doorsteps, and to inquire what he would have 
 him do with her. 
 
 " I told him," said Mr. Robertson, " to take 
 the poor creature to the station, and in the 
 morning I would see if I could do anything for 
 her. When they 're ill the next day, you see," 
 he added, " one may have a sort of chance with 
 them; but it is seldom of any use." 
 
 A horrible suspicion that it was Isy herself 
 had laid hold of Blatherwick ; and for a mo- 
 ment he was in the mind to follow the men to 
 98 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the station ; but then his friend was sure to go 
 with him, and what might not come of it ! See- 
 ing, however, that she had kept silent so long, 
 she had probably lost all care about him, and if 
 let alone would say nothing to trouble him. 
 Thus he reasoned with himself against doing 
 anything, shrinking from the very thought of 
 looking the lost, disreputable creature in the 
 eyes. Yet every now and then the old tender- 
 ness would come surging up in him, — to meet 
 the awful consciousness that, if she had fallen 
 into drunken habits and possibly worse, it was 
 all his fault, and the ruin of the once lovely and 
 lovable creature lay at his door and his alone. 
 
 He made haste to his room, and to bed, 
 where for a long while he lay unable even to 
 think. Then all at once, with gathered force, 
 the frightful reality, the keen, bare truth, broke 
 upon him like a huge, cold wave; he had a 
 clear vision of his guilt, and the vision was con- 
 scious of itself as Ids; he saw it rounded in a 
 grey fog of life-chilling dismay. What was he 
 but a troth-breaker, a liar, — and that in strong 
 fact, not in feeble tongue? " W^hat art thou," 
 said Conscience, " but a cruel, self-seeking, love- 
 less horror, — a contemptible sneak, who, in 
 dread of missing the praises of men, had crept 
 away unseen, and left the woman to bear alone 
 their common sin ! " What was he but a whited 
 99 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 sepulchre, full of dead men's bones and all un- 
 cleanness? — a fellow posing in the pulpit as an 
 example to the faithful, who knew all the time 
 that somewhere in the land lived a woman — 
 once a loving, trusting woman — who could with 
 a word hold him up to the world a hypocrite 
 and a dastard, — 
 
 *' A fixed figure for the time of scorn 
 To point his slow unnioving finger at ! " 
 
 He sprang to the floor; the cold hand of an 
 injured ghost seemed clutching feebly at his 
 throat. But, in or out of bed, what could he 
 do? Utterly helpless, he thought, but in truth 
 not daring to look the question in the face, he 
 crept back ignominiously, and, growing a little 
 less uncomfortable, began to reason with him- 
 self that things were not so bad as they had for 
 a moment seemed ; that many another had 
 failed in like fashion with him, but the fault 
 was forgotten, and had never reappeared against 
 him, — neither could any culprit be required 
 to bear witness against himself. He must learn 
 to discipline and repress his over-sensitiveness, 
 otherwise it would one day seize him at a disad- 
 vantage, and betray him into exposing himself. 
 Thus he reasoned, and sank back once more 
 among the all but dead ; the loud alarum 
 of his rousing conscience ceased, and he fell 
 
 I GO 
 
SALTED WITH i FIRS 
 
 asleep in the resolve to get avvny '^fro'iT- Dee- 
 mouth the first thing in the morning, before 
 Mr. Robertson should be awake. 
 
 Truly, it had been well for him to hold fast 
 his repentant mood, but very few of his practi- 
 cal ideas, however much brooded over at night, 
 lived to be a fruit in the morning; at this time 
 in his life, indeed, he never embodied in action 
 a single resolve that pointed in the direction of 
 amendment. He could welcome the thought of 
 a final release from sin and suffering at the dis- 
 solution of nature, but did his best to forget 
 that at the very moment he was suffering be- 
 cause of sin for which he had never taken the 
 least trouble to make the amends that were pos- 
 sible to him. He had lived for himself, to the 
 destruction of one whom he once loved, and to 
 the denial of his Lord and Master ! More than 
 twice on his way home he all but turned to go 
 back to the police station, but it was, as usual, 
 only all but, and he kept waiting on. 
 
 lOI 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 But the yet early morning saw his friend Rob- 
 ertson on his way to do what he might for the 
 redemption of one concerning whom he knew 
 little or nothing. The policemen returning from 
 their night's duty found him already at the door 
 of the office, where he was at once admitted, for 
 he was well known to most of them. 
 
 He found the poor woman miserably recovered 
 from the effects of her dissipation. She was not 
 merely ill and wretched, but looked so woe- 
 begone that the heart of the good man, whose 
 office in the economy of the world was healthful 
 consolation, was immediately filled with the pro- 
 foundest pity, recognising before him a creature 
 whose hope was wasted to the verge of despair. 
 She neither looked up nor spoke, but what he 
 could see of her face appeared neither sullen 
 nor vengeful. When he addressed her, she lifted 
 her head a little, but not her eyes to his face, 
 confessing apparently that she had and sought 
 nothing to say for herself He saw in her the 
 signs of a despair on the point of taking refuge 
 at the water-door out of life. Tenderly, as if to 
 the little one he had left in bed with her mother, 
 
 102 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 he spoke in her scarce-listening ear child-sooth- 
 ing words of almost inarticulate sympathy, and 
 his tone carried what it meant where his words 
 were hardly intelligible. She lifted her lost eyes, 
 and at sight of his face burst into tears. 
 
 " Na, na," she cried, through tearing sobs, " ye 
 canna help me, sir ! There 's naething 'at you 
 or onybody can dee for me ! But I 'm near the 
 mou' o' the pit, and God be thankit, I '11 be ower 
 the rim o' 't or I hae grutten my last greit 
 cot ! For God's sake, gie me a drink — a drink 
 o' onything! " 
 
 " I daurna gie ye onything Strang," answered 
 the minister, who could scarcely speak for a 
 swelling in his throat. " What ye want is a cup 
 o' nice het tay ! There 's a cab waitin' me at the 
 door ; get ye up, my puir bairn, and come hame 
 wi' me. My wife '11 be doon afore we win back, 
 an' she '11 hae a cup o' tay ready for ye in 
 ae minute ! You and me 'ill hae oor breakfast 
 thegither." 
 
 " Ken ye what ye 're sayin', sir? I daurna luik 
 honest wuman i' the face. I *m sic as ye ken 
 naething aboot ! " 
 
 " I ken a heap aboot fowk o' a' kinds, — mair, 
 a heap, nor ye ken yersel', I 'm thinking ! I ken 
 mair aboot you nor ye think, for I hae seen ye i' 
 my ain kirk mair nor ance or twice. I was 
 preachin' straucht intill yer bonny face, and saw 
 103 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 ye greitin', and maist grat mysel'. Come awa' 
 hame wi' me, my dear; my wife 's ane jist like 
 mysel', an' '11 turn naething but the smilin' side 
 o' her face to ye, I s' promise ye. She 's no an 
 ill wuman, I can assure ye — nor luiks like it. 
 Come awa' ! " 
 
 She rose. 
 
 " Eh, but I would like to luik ance mair i' the 
 face o' a bonny, clean wuman ! I '11 gang, sir — 
 only, I pray ye, mak' speed and tak' me oot o' 
 the sicht o' fowk ! " 
 
 " Ay, ay, com' awa' ; we '11 hae ye oot o* this in 
 a moment," answered Mr. Robertson. — " Put 
 the fine doon to me," he whispered to the in- 
 spector, as they passed him on their way out. 
 The man merely returned his nod, and took no 
 further notice of the woman. 
 
 " I thoucht that was what would come o' 't ! " 
 he murmured to himself as he looked after them 
 with a smile. 
 
 But indeed he knew little of what would come 
 of it! 
 
 The good minister whose heart was the 
 teacher of his head, and who was not ashamed 
 either of himself or his companion, showed Isy 
 into their little breakfast-parlour, and ran up the 
 stair to his wife. Hurriedly he told her that he 
 had brought the woman home, and wanted her 
 judgment upon her. Mrs. Robertson hurried 
 104 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 her toilet, left her child to the care of her one 
 servant, and made haste to welcome the poor 
 shivering bird of the night, waiting with ruffled 
 feathers below. She opened the door, and stood 
 silent on the threshold while the two made the 
 acquaintance of each other's eyes. Then the 
 wanderer fled to the wide-opened arms, but, 
 failing, fell on the floor. Instantly the other was 
 down by her side. Her husband came, and be- 
 tween them they laid her on the little couch. 
 
 "Shall I get the brandy?" asked Mrs. 
 Robertson. 
 
 " Try a cup of tea first," he answered. " If 
 she does not come to at once, I will run for the 
 doctor." 
 
 Mrs. Robertson made haste, and soon had the 
 tea poured out and cooling. But Isy still lay 
 motionless. Then her hostess, kneeling by the 
 sofa, raised the helpless head upon her arm, and, 
 putting a spoonful of tea to her lips, found to 
 her joy that she tried to swallow it. The next 
 minute she opened her eyes and would have 
 risen, but the rescuing hand held her down. 
 
 " I want to tell ye ! " moaned Isy, with feeble 
 expostulation : " ye dinna ken wha ye hae taen 
 intill yer hoose ! Lat me up to get my breath, 
 or I winna be able to tell ye." 
 
 " Drink the tea," answered the other, " and 
 then you shall say what you like. Only you 
 105 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 need n't try to say much : there will be time 
 enough afterwards for everything." 
 
 The poor girl opened her eyes wide, and 
 gazed for a moment at Mrs. Robertson. Then 
 she took the cup and drank the tea. Her new 
 friend went on : — 
 
 " You must just be content to bide where you 
 are for a day or two. And ye 're no to fash yer- 
 sel' aboot onything. I have clothes enough to 
 give you all the change you want. Hold your 
 tongue, please, and finish your tea." 
 
 " Eh, mem," cried Isy, " fowk '11 say ill o* ye, 
 gien they see the like o' me i' the hoose ! " 
 
 " Lat them say, and say 't again ! What 's 
 fowk but muckle geese? " 
 
 " But there 's the minister and his character ! " 
 she persisted. 
 
 "Hoots! what cares the minister?" said his 
 wife. " Speir at him there what he thinks o' 
 clash." 
 
 " 'Deed," he answered, " I never heedid it 
 eneuch to tell. There 's but ae word I heed, 
 and that 's my Maister's ! " 
 
 *' Eh, but ye canna lift me oot o' the pit ! " 
 
 " God helpin', I can," returned the minister. 
 " But ye 're no i' the pit yet by a lang road ; and 
 oot o' the road till 't I s' hae ye, please God, 
 afore anither nicht has darkent and anither 
 mornin' dawed ! " 
 
 1 06 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " I dinna ken what 's to come o* me ! " 
 
 " What 's to come o' ye we 'II soon see ! 
 Brakfast 's yer business the noo ; and efter that 
 my wife an' me 'II sit in jeedgment upo* ye. 
 Ye 'II say what ye please, and neither ill fowk 
 nor unco guid sail come nigh ye," 
 
 A pitiful smile flitted across the face of Isy, 
 with the almost babyish look that used to form 
 part of her charm. Then, like an obedient child, 
 she set herself to eat and drink what she could. 
 When she had evidently done her best, — • 
 
 " Now put up your feet again on the sofa, and 
 tell us everything," said the minister. 
 
 " No," returned Isy, " I 'm not at liberty to 
 tell you everything." 
 
 " Then tell us what you please — so long as 
 it's true," he rejoined. 
 
 " I will, sir," she replied. 
 
 She was silent for a moment, as if thinking 
 how to begin ; then, after a gasp or two, said, — 
 
 "I'm not a good woman. Perhaps I am 
 worse than you think me. Oh, my baby ! my 
 baby 1 " she cried, and burst into tears. 
 
 "There 's nae that mony o' 's just what ither 
 fowk think us," said the minister's wife. 
 "We're in general baith better and waur nor 
 that. But tell me ae thing, — what took ye, 
 last nicht, straucht frae the kirk to the public.-' 
 The twa haudna weel thegither ! " 
 107 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 "It was this, ma'am," she replied, reassum- 
 ing the more refined speech to which she had 
 latterly been less accustomed ; " I had a dread- 
 ful shock that night from suddenly seeing some 
 one in the church I had not thought ever to see 
 again. And when I got out into the street, I 
 turned so sick that somebody gave me whisky, 
 and I disgraced myself. Indeed I am greatly 
 ashamed of it, ma'am; but I have a much 
 worse trouble upon me than that, — one you 
 would hardly believe!" 
 
 "I understand," said Mrs. Robertson, modi- 
 fying her speech the moment she perceived the 
 change in that of her guest. " You saw him in 
 the church, — the man that got you into trouble ! 
 I thought that must be it ! Tell me about 
 him!" 
 
 " I will not tell his name. I was the most in 
 fault, for I knew better. I would rather die 
 than do him any more mischief! — Good- 
 morning, ma'am! — I thank you kindly, sir! 
 Believe me, I am not ungrateful, whatever else 
 I may be that is bad." 
 
 She rose as she spoke ; but Mrs. Robertson 
 got to the door first, and, standing between her 
 and it, confronted her with a smile. 
 
 "Don't think I blame you for holding your 
 tongue, my dear. I believe, if I were in the 
 same case — or, at least, I hope that if I were, 
 1 08 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 hot pincers would n't draw his name out of me. 
 What right has every vulgar inquisitive woman 
 to know the secret gnawing at your heart like 
 a live serpent? I will never ask you anything 
 about him. — There! you have my promise! 
 Now sit down again, and don't be afraid. Tell 
 me what you like, and not a word more. The 
 minister is sure to comfort you." 
 
 "What can anybody do to comfort such as 
 me I I am lost — lost out of sight ! Nothing 
 can save me! The Saviour himself wouldn't 
 open the door to a woman that left her sucking 
 child out in the dark night! — That 's what I 
 did ! " she cried, ending with a wail as from 
 a heart whose wound eternal years could not 
 close. 
 
 Growing a little calmer, — 
 
 "I would not have you think, ma'am," she 
 resumed, "that I was careless of what might 
 happen to the darling. But my wits went all 
 of a sudden, and a terror came upon me. Could 
 it have been the hunger, do you think.-' I laid 
 him down in the heather, and ran from him. 
 How far I went I do not know. But all at 
 once I came to myself, and knew what I had 
 done, and ran to take him up again. But 
 whether I lost my way back, or what I did, I 
 cannot tell, only I could not find him! Then 
 for a while I must have been clean out of my 
 109 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 mind; I was always thinking I saw him torn by 
 the foxes, and the corbies picking out his eyes. 
 Even now, at night, I cannot get things like 
 that out of my head ! It was that drove me to 
 the drink for a while. If only I could keep 
 from seeing them when I 'm falling asleep! " 
 
 She gave a smothered scream, and hid her face 
 in her hands. Mrs. Robertson, weeping her- 
 self, sought to comfort her, but it seemed in vain. 
 
 "The worst o' 't is," Isy resumed, " — for 
 I maun confess a' thing, mem ! — is that I 
 canna tell what I may hae done i' the drink. I 
 may even hae tellt his name, though I min' 
 naething aboot it ! It maun be months sin' I 
 tastit a drap; but I 'm no fit that he should ever 
 cast a luik at me again ! My hert 's jist like to 
 brak when I think I may hae been fause to him, 
 as weel as fause to my bairn, as I hae been to 
 Him that said to the greitin' sinner, Gang yer 
 wa's and dinna dee 't again. — Eh, but wasna 
 that bonny o' him.'' And there 's me has gane 
 and dune 't again, ever sae aften — I mean the 
 drink, mem ! — Gien the deils wud but come 
 and rive me, I would say to them, Thank ye, 
 sirs, ilka bit they tore oot o' me ! " 
 
 " My dear," said the voice of the parson, from 
 
 where he sat listening to every word she uttered, 
 
 — "my dear, there 's never deil sail come nigh 
 
 you or the wee dowie ye hae lost sicht o' for a 
 
 no 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 time; naething but the han' o' the Son o' Man '11 
 come upon ye, saft-strokin' yer hert, and closin' 
 up the terrible gash intill 't. I' the name o' 
 God, I tell ye, dautie, the day 'ill come whan 
 ye '11 smile i' the vera face o' the Lord himsel' 
 at thoucht o' what he has broucht ye throw! 
 Lord Christ, keep a guid gruip o' thy puir 
 bairn, and gie her back her ain. Thy wull be 
 done! and that wull's a' for redemption! — 
 Gang on wi' yer tale, my lassie." 
 
 "'Deed, sir, I can say nae mair — and hae 
 nae mair to say ; I 'm some — some sick-like ! " 
 
 She fell back on the sofa, white as death. 
 
 The parson was a big man; he took her 
 bodily in his arms, and carried her to a room 
 they had always ready, on the chance of a visit 
 from "one of the least of these." 
 
 At the top of the stair stood their little 
 daughter, a child of five or six, wanting to go 
 down to her mother, and wondering why she 
 was not permitted. 
 
 "Who is it, moder.?" she whispered, as Mrs. 
 Robertson passed her, following her husband 
 and Isy. " Is she very dead ? " 
 
 "No, darling," answered the mother; "it is 
 an angel that has lost her way, and is tired — 
 so tired ! You must be very quiet, and not 
 disturb her. Her head is going to ache very 
 much." 
 
 Ill 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 The child turned and went down the stair, 
 step by step, softly, saying, — 
 
 "I will tell my rabbit not to make any 
 noise — only to be as white as he can." 
 
 Once more they succeeded in bringing back 
 to the light of consciousness her beclouded 
 spirit. She woke in a soft white bed, with 
 two faces of compassion bending over her, 
 closed her eyes again with a smile of sweet 
 content, and was soon wrapt in a wholesome 
 slumber. 
 
 In the meantime the caitiff minister had 
 reached his manse, and found a ghastly loneli- 
 ness awaiting him, — oh, how much deeper than 
 that of the woman he had forsaken ! She had 
 lost her repute and her baby; he had lost his 
 God ; the vision was shut up in the unfathom- 
 able abysses of thought, outside and far away 
 from his consciousness. The signs of God were 
 around him in the Book, around him in the 
 world, around him in his own existence, — but 
 the signs only. God did not speak to him, did 
 not manifest himself; he was not where James 
 Blatherwick sought him; he was not in any 
 place where he would ever look for or find 
 him ! 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XHI 
 
 It must be remembered that Blatherwick knew 
 nothing of the existence of his child: such 
 knowledge might have modified the half- 
 conscious satisfaction with which, on his way 
 home, he now and then saw a providence in the 
 fact that he had been preserved from marrying 
 a woman who proved capable of disgracing him 
 in the very streets : what then would have be- 
 come of him ? During his slow journey of forty 
 miles, most of which he made on foot, eager 
 after bodily motion, again, as in the night, he 
 had to pass through many an alternation of 
 thought and feeling and purpose. To and fro 
 in him, up and down, this way and that, went 
 the changing currents of self-judgment, of self- 
 consolement and dread — never clear, never 
 determined, never set straight for honesty. 
 He must line up — not to the law of righteous- 
 ness, but to the show of what a minister ought 
 to be; he must appear unto men! In a word, 
 he must keep up the deception he had begun in 
 childhood, and had until of late years practised 
 unknowingly. Now he knew it, but not how 
 8 113 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 to get rid of it. In fact, he only sought how to 
 conceal it. He had no pleasure in the decep- 
 tion; he had a conscious misery in not being 
 what he seemed, in being compelled, as he fan- 
 cied himself in excuse, to look like one that 
 had not sinned. He grumbled in his heart 
 that God should have forsaken him so far as to 
 allow him to disgrace himself before his own 
 conscience. He did not yet see that he was 
 ingrainedly dark; that the Ethiopian could 
 change his skin, or the leopard his spots as soon 
 as he; that he had never yet looked purity in 
 the face; that the fall which disgraced him in 
 his own eyes was but the necessary outcome of 
 his character — that it was no accident, but an 
 unavoidable result; that his true nature had 
 but appeared, as everything hid must be known, 
 and everything covered revealed. Even to be- 
 gin the purification without which his moral and 
 spiritual being must perish eternally, he must 
 dare to look on himself as he was; there were 
 others who saw him as he was ; but he shrank 
 from recognising himself, and thought he lay 
 hid from all. Dante describes certain of the 
 redeemed as lying hid in their own cocoon of 
 light, but James lay hidden like the insect in 
 its own gozvk-spittle. It is strange, but so it 
 is, that many a man never sees himself until he 
 becomes aware of the eyes of other men fixed 
 114 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 upon him; they seeing him, and he knowing 
 that they see him, then first, even to himself, 
 will he confess what he may have long all but 
 known. Blatherwick's hour was on its way, 
 slow in coming, but not to be avoided. His 
 soul was ripening to self-declaration. The 
 ugly flower must blossom, must show itself as 
 the flower of that evil thing he counted himself. 
 What a hold has not God upon us, in this inevi- 
 table ripening of the unseen into the visible and 
 present ! The flower is there and must appear. 
 In the meantime he suffered, and walked on in 
 silence, walking like a servant of the Ancient 
 of Days, but knowing himself a whited sepul- 
 chre. Within him he felt the dead body that 
 could not rest until it was laid bare to the sun; 
 but all the time he comforted himself that he 
 had not fallen a second time, and that the once 
 would not be remembered against him : did not 
 the fact that it was forgotten, most likely in- 
 deed was never known, indicate that he was 
 forgiven of God.^ And so, unrepentant, he 
 remained unforgiven, for he remained the ser- 
 vant of sin. 
 
 But the hideous thing was not altogether con- 
 cealed; something showed under the covering 
 whiteness ! His mother saw the shapeless 
 something that haunted him, and shrank from 
 conjecturing what it might be, though often 
 ^^5 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 she asked herself what was amiss with him, and 
 why the fashion of his countenance seemed so 
 changed when next she saw him. His father, 
 too, felt that he had gone from him utterly; 
 that all his son's feeding of the flock had done 
 nothing to bring his parents and him nearer to 
 each other! What could be lying hidden be- 
 neath the mask of that unsmiling face? 
 
 But there was one who could see a little 
 deeper than either of the parents. One day, 
 after the interval of a fortnight, the minister 
 walked into the workshop of the soutar, and 
 found him there as usual, his hands working 
 away diligently, and his thoughts brooding 
 over the blessed fact, that God is not the God 
 of the perfect only, but of the growing as well; 
 not the God of the righteous only, but of those 
 also who hunger and thirst after righteousness: 
 
 " God blaw on the smoking flax and tie up 
 the bruised reed!" he was saying to himself 
 aloud when in walked the minister. 
 
 Now, as in other mystical natures, a some- 
 thing had been developed in the soutar very 
 like the spirit of prophecy — an insight, that 
 is, which, seemingly without exercise of the 
 will, in a measure laid bare to him the thoughts 
 and intents of some heart in whom he was 
 deeply interested; or perhaps it was rather a 
 
 faculty, working unconsciously, of putting to- 
 ii6 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 gether outward signs, and drawing from them 
 an instantaneous conclusion as to the single 
 fact at which they all pointed, the thing, that 
 is, which would explain them all. After the 
 first greeting, when he had but glanced up from 
 the old shoe he was cobbling, he looked up 
 with a certain sudden fixing of his attention 
 upon his visitor, for the mere glance had shown 
 him that he looked ill, and perceived that some- 
 thing in the man's heart was eating at it like a 
 canker; and with that the question rose in his 
 brain — could he be the father of the little one 
 crowing in the next room ? The same moment 
 he shut the question into the darkest closet of 
 his mind, for he shrank from the secret of an- 
 other soul, as from lifting a corner of the veil 
 that hid the Holy of Holies! But what, he 
 thought again, if the man stood in need of the 
 offices of a friend ? It was one thing to pry into 
 a man's secret; another, to help him to escape 
 from it ! As out of this thought he sat looking 
 at him for a moment, the minister felt the hot 
 blood rush to his cheeks. 
 
 "Ye dinna luik that weel, minister," said 
 the soutar; "is there onything the matter wi' 
 ye, sir? " 
 
 "Nothing worth mentioning," answered the 
 parson. " I have sometimes a touch of head- 
 ache in the early morning, especially when I 
 117 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 have sat later than usual over my books the 
 night before, but it always goes off during the 
 day." 
 
 "Ow weel, sir, that's no, as ye say, a vera 
 sarious thing! I couldna help fancyin' ye 
 had something on yer min' by ord'nar! " 
 
 "Naething, naething," rejoined the minister, 
 with a feeble laugh. " — But," he went on — 
 and something seemed to send the words to his 
 lips without giving him time to think — " it is 
 curious you should say that, for I was just 
 thinking what was the real intent of the Apostle 
 in his injunction to confess our faults to one 
 another." 
 
 The moment he uttered the words, he felt as 
 if he had proclaimed his secret on the house- 
 top, and began the sentence afresh, with the 
 notion of correcting it; but again he felt the 
 hot blood shooting to his face. " I must go on 
 with something," he felt rather than said to 
 himself, "or those sharp eyes will see through 
 and through me! " 
 
 "It came into my mind," he went on, "that 
 I should like to know what yoii thought about 
 the passage; it cannot surely give any ground 
 for auricular confession ! I understand per- 
 fectly how a man may want to consult a friend 
 in any difficulty — and that friend naturally the 
 minister; but — " 
 
 ii8 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 This was by no means a thing he had meant 
 to say, but he seemed carried on to say he knew 
 not what. It was as if, without his will, the 
 will of God was driving the man to the brink 
 of a pure confession — to the cleansing of his 
 stuffed bosom from " that perilous stuff which 
 weighs upon the heart." 
 
 "Do you think, for instance, " he went on, 
 thus driven, "that a man is bound to tell every- 
 thing — even to the friend he loves best.-'" 
 
 "I think," answered the soutar after a 
 moment's thought, "that we must answer the 
 w/iat, before we enter upon the hozv much. 
 And I think, first of all, we must ask — to 
 whom are we bound to confess.-' — and there 
 surely the answer is, to him to whom we have 
 done the wrong. If we have been grumbling 
 in our hearts, it is to God we must confess ; 
 who else has to do with the matter .-• To Him 
 we maun flee the moment our eyes are opened 
 to what we 've been doin' ! But, gien we hae 
 wranged ane o' oor fellow-craturs, wha are we 
 to gang till wi' oor confession but that same.-' 
 It seems to me we maun gang to that man first 
 — even afore we gang to God himsel', excep' it 
 be wi' a cry for stren'th as we gang. And not 
 one moment must we indulge procrastination 
 on the plea o' pray in' ! From our knees we 
 maun rise in haste, to say to brother or sister, 
 119 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 'I've done ye this or that wrong: forgi'e me. 
 God can wait for your prayer better than you, 
 or him that ye 've wranged, can wait for your 
 confession ! After that ye maun at ance fa' to 
 your best endeevour to mak' up for the wrang. 
 'Confess your sins,' I think it means, 'each o' 
 ye to the ither against whom is the offence. ' 
 Dinna ye think that 's the common-sense o' the 
 thing.?" 
 
 " Indeed, I think you must be right ! " replied 
 the minister, who sat summoning resolution to 
 cover his retreat as well as he could. " I will 
 go home and think it over. Indeed, I am al- 
 ready all but convinced that must be what the 
 Apostle intended." 
 
 With a great sigh, of which he was not 
 aware, Blatherwick rose and walked from the 
 kitchen, hoping he looked not guilty, but sunk 
 in thought. In truth, however, he was unable 
 to think. Oppressed and heavy-laden with the 
 sense of a duty too unpleasant for his perform- 
 ance, he went home to his cheerless manse, 
 where his housekeeper was the only person to 
 speak to, a woman nearly incapable of comfort- 
 ing anybody. He went straight to his study, 
 and there kneeling, found he could not pray 
 the simplest prayer; he could not pray without 
 words, and not a word would come ! For the 
 time he was dead, and in hell — so far perished 
 
 I20 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 that he felt nothing. He rose, and sought the 
 open air, but it brought him no restoration. 
 He had not heeded his friend's advice, had not 
 even contemplated the one thing possible to 
 him, had not moved, even in spirit, toward 
 Isy! The only comfort of his guilty soul was 
 the thought that he could at present do noth- 
 ing, for he did not know where Isy was to be 
 found. When he remembered the next moment 
 that his friend Robertson must be able to find 
 her, he soothed his conscience with the reflec- 
 tion that there was no coach till the next morn- 
 ing! In the meantime he could write: a letter 
 would reach him almost as soon as he could 
 himself! But what would Robertson think? 
 He might give his wife the letter to read I She 
 might read it herself, for they concealed noth- 
 ing from each other! So he only walked the 
 faster, tired himself, and earned an appetite: 
 that was his day's work! He ate a good din- 
 ner, although without much enjoyment, and, 
 after it, fell fast asleep in his chair. No letter 
 was written that day. No letter of such sort 
 was ever written. The spirit was not willing, 
 and the flesh was weakness itself. 
 
 In the evening he took up a learned commen- 
 tary on the Book of Job; but he never even 
 approached the discovery of what Job wanted, 
 received, and was satisfied withal. He never 
 
 121 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 saw that what he himself needed, but did not 
 desire, was the same thing — even a sight of 
 God! He never perceived that when God came 
 to Job, Job forgot all he intended to say to 
 him — had not a question to ask him — knew 
 that all was well. The student could not see 
 that the very presence of the Father of men 
 sufficed to answer 'every doubt! But then 
 James's heart was not pure like Job's, and he 
 could not see God; he did not even desire to 
 see him, therefore could see nothing as it was. 
 He read with the devil beside him, and the hurt 
 of his presence in his heart. 
 
 He was like the Mephistopheles of Marlowe's 
 Faust. The student, in his conversation with 
 the demon, asks him, — 
 
 " How comes it, then, that thou art out of hell? " 
 
 And Mephistopheles answers him, — 
 
 " Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it." 
 
 And again, — 
 
 " Where we are is hell ; 
 And where hell is there must we ever be. 
 . . . . When all the world dissolves. 
 And every creature shall be purified, 
 All places shall be hell that are not heaven." 
 
 And yet again, — 
 
 " I tell thee I am damned, and now in hell." 
 
 122 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 And as James sat thus miserable, or lay 
 sleepless, or walked in his death about the 
 room, his father and mother, some three miles 
 or so away, were talking about him in bed. 
 
 123 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 For some time they had lain silent, thinking 
 and thinking about him by no means happily. 
 They were thinking how little had been their 
 satisfaction in their minister-son ; and both had 
 gone back in their minds to a certain time, long 
 before, when they had conferred together about 
 him while he was but a boy at school. 
 
 The heart of the mother had even then begun 
 to resent his coldness, his seeming unconscious- 
 ness of his parents as having any share or in- 
 terest in his life or prospects. Scotch parents 
 are seldom demonstrative to each other or to 
 their children ; but in them, too, possibly even 
 the hotter because of their outward coldness, 
 burns the causal fire — the first, the central, the 
 deepest in their being ; for it is that eternal fire 
 which keeps the world from turning to a frozen 
 clod : the love of parents must burn while the 
 Father lives ; it must burn until the universe is 
 the Father and his children, and none beside. 
 That fire, when held down and crushed together 
 by the weight of unkindled fuel, will gather 
 heat, and gathering glow, until it break forth in 
 124 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the scorching and wounding flames of a right- 
 eous indignation. But for the present this wor- 
 thy pair endured, and were still. Their son 
 was always hidden from them by an impervious 
 moral hedge ; he never came out from behind 
 it, never stood clear before them ; and they 
 were unable to break through to him. There 
 was no angelic traitor within his citadel of in- 
 difference to draw back the bolts of its iron 
 gates and let them in. They had gone on hop- 
 ing, and hoping in vain, for some holy, lovely 
 change in him ; but at last confessed it a relief 
 when he left the house and went to Edinburgh. 
 
 The children were in bed and asleep, and the 
 parents lay as now, sleepless. 
 
 "Hoo's Jamie been gettin' on the day?" his 
 father had said. 
 
 " Well enough, I suppose," answered his 
 mother, who did not then speak Scotch quite 
 so broad as her husband's, although a good deal 
 broader than her mother, the wife of a country 
 doctor, would have permitted when she was a 
 child ; " he 's always busy at his books. He 's a 
 good boy, and a diligent ; there 's no gainsayin' 
 that ! But as to kennin' hoo he 's gettin' on, I can 
 beir no testimony. He never lets a word go from 
 him as to what he 's aboot, ae way or anither. 
 'What can he be thinkin' aboot?' I whiles say 
 to mysel' — sometimes ower and ower again i' 
 
 125 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the day. When I go into the parlour, where he 
 always sits till he has done his lessons, he never 
 lifts his heid to show that he hears me, or cares 
 who 's there or who is n't. And as soon as he 's 
 leart them, he takes a book and goes up till his 
 room, or oot aboot the hoose or the cornyard, 
 or intill the barn, and never comes near me ! I 
 sometimes won'er gien ever he would miss me 
 deid ! " she ended, with a great sigh. 
 
 " Hoot awa', woman ! dinna tak' on like that 
 aboot it," returned her husband. " The laddie 's 
 like the lave of laddies ! They 're a' just like 
 pup-doggies till their een comes open, and they 
 ken them 'at broucht them here. He canna 
 mak' a guid man, as he wull, and no learn in 
 time to be a guid son to her 'at bore him ! Ye 
 canna say 'at ever he contert ye ! Ye hae tellt 
 me that a hunner times ! " 
 
 " I have that ! But I would hae had no occa- 
 sion to dwall upo' that fac', gien he had gi'en 
 me, jist noo and than, a wee bit sign o' ony 
 affection ! " 
 
 " Ay, doobtless ! but the signs are no' the 
 thing. The affection, as ye ca' 't, may be there, 
 and the signs o' 't wantin' ! — But I ken weel hoo 
 the hert o' ye 's workin', my ain auld dautie ! " 
 he went on, anxious to comfort her who was 
 dearer to him than son or daughter. " I dinna 
 think it wad dee for me to say onything till him 
 126 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 aboot his behaviour to }'c; it micht only mak' 
 things waur; for he wouldna ken what I was 
 aimin' at ! I dinna beheve he has a notion o' 
 onything amiss in him, and I fear he would only 
 think I was hard upon him, and no fair. Ye see, 
 gien a thing disna come oot o' 'tsel', no cryin* 
 upo' 't '11 gar 't lift its heid frae the deeps — sae 
 lang, at least, as a man himsel' kens naething 
 aboot its vera existence." 
 
 " I don't doubt you 're right, Peter," answered 
 his wife ; " I know well that scolding will never 
 make love spread out his wings — except it be 
 to fly away. Naething but fleein' can come o' 
 fly tin' ! " 
 
 " Maybe it micht be waur nor that ! " rejoined 
 Peter : " flytin' may drive Love clean oot o' sicht 
 i' the droonin' deeps ! But we better gang till 
 oor sleeps, lass ! We hae ane anither, whatever 
 comes ! " 
 
 "That's true, Peter; but aye the mair I hae 
 you, the mair I want my Jamie ! " cried the 
 mother. 
 
 The father said no more, but, rising after a 
 while, stole softly into his son's room. His wife 
 followed him, and found her husband on his 
 knees by the bedside, his face buried in his boy's 
 blankets ; while, with calm, dreamless counte- 
 nance, James lay asleep, nor knew a jot of the 
 trouble of his parents. Had he been able to look 
 127 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 into their hearts, he would have understood 
 nothing of what v/ent on in them — would have 
 seen no glow of the fire that made God able to 
 create. 
 
 Marion took her husband's hand and led him 
 back to bed. 
 
 " To think," she said as they went, " 'at he's 
 the same bairnie I glowert at till my soul ran oot 
 at my e'en ; and I leuch and grat, baith at ance, 
 to think I was the mother o' a man, and kenned 
 what was i' the hert o' Mary hersel' when she 
 claspit the blessed ane to her bosom ! " 
 
 " May that same bairnie, born for oor remeiB> 
 save the man afore he 's ower auld to repent ! " 
 responded the father in a broken voice. 
 
 " For what," moaned Marion, " was the hert 
 o' a mother gien me .-' What was I made a woman 
 for, whase life is for the beirin' o' bairns to the 
 great Father o' a', gien this same was to be my 
 reward ? Na, na, Lord," she went on, interrupt- 
 ing and correcting herself, " I claim naething but 
 thy wull ; and ye wouldna, sure, hae me think 
 that siclike was thy wull, for I wouldna believe 't 
 gien an angel frae h'aven was to declare 't to me 
 na, no gien the Bible itsel' were to haud it oot to 
 my e'en i' the plainst o' muckle print ! " 
 
 128 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 It would be too much to say that the hearts of 
 his parents took no pleasure in the advancement 
 of their son, such as it was. I suspect the mother 
 was glad to be yet proud where she could find 
 no happiness — proud in the love that lay incor- 
 ruptible in her being. But the love that is all 
 ^n one side, though it may be stronger than 
 death, can hardly be so strong as life ! A poor, 
 maimed, one-winged thing, it cannot soar into 
 any region of bliss — conscious bliss, I mean, 
 while indeed it soars into that very region where 
 God himself dwells, and there partakes of the 
 divine sorrow which his heartless children cause 
 him — partakes also of the eternal bliss that love 
 is in herself, even while all response is still denied 
 her. But my reader may well believe that father 
 nor mother dwelt much upon what their neigh- 
 bours called James's success — much less cared 
 to talk about it with them ; they would have felt 
 it but hypocrisy, so long as hearty and genuine 
 relations were so much worse than imperfect 
 between them. Never to human being, save the 
 one to the other, and that now but very seldom, 
 9 129 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 did they allude to the bitterness which their 
 hearts knew ; that would have seemed equivalent 
 to disowning their son. And the daughter was 
 gone to whom the mother had once been able to 
 bemoan herself, because she understood and 
 shared in their trouble ! Isobel's heart had re- 
 echoed every involuntary sigh that burst from 
 the heart of her mother, loaded with its empti- 
 ness; for she too loved her brother, and would 
 gladly have laid down her life to kindle in his 
 heart such a love as hers to their parents. 
 
 My reader may now understand a little what 
 sort of a man the lad James Blatherwick had 
 grown into. He left Stonecross for the Univer- 
 sity with scarce a backward look, with nothing 
 in his heart but eagerness for the coming conflict. 
 Having there gained one of the highest bursaries, 
 he donned his red gown with never a thought for 
 the son of the poor widow who had competed 
 along with him, and who, in consequence of his 
 failure, had to leave his ambition behind him 
 and go into a shop — where, however, he soon 
 became able to keep, and did keep, his mother 
 in what, to her, was nothing less than luxury, 
 while the successful competitor — well, so far my 
 reader already knows! 
 
 When James returned home for the vacations, 
 things showed themselves unaltered, between 
 him and his parents ; and by his third return the 
 130 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 heart of his sister had ceased to beat at all faster 
 when the hour of his arrival drew near. For she 
 knew that he would but shake hands with her 
 limply, let her hand drop, and in a moment be 
 set down to read. Before the time for him to 
 take his degree arrived, she was gone to the 
 great Father, and James never missed or be- 
 moaned her. He left that all to his mother. 
 To her he was never anything more or less than 
 quite civil, while she, on her part, never asked 
 him to do anything for her. He came and went 
 as he pleased, cared for nothing done on the 
 farm or about the house, and seemed in his own 
 thoughts, and in his studies, the ardour of which 
 had shown no sign of intermission, to have 
 enough to occupy him. He had grown up a 
 powerful as well as a handsome youth, and had 
 dropped almost every sign of his country breed- 
 ing, hardly ever deigned a word in his original 
 mother-dialect, but spoke good English with a 
 Scotch accent, nor had any of the abominable 
 affectations cultivated by not a few of such as 
 sought to repudiate their vernacular. 
 
 His father had not to discover that he was far 
 too fine a gentleman to show any interest in 
 agriculture, or put out his hand to take the 
 least share in the oldest and most dignified of 
 callings. His mother continued to look for- 
 ward, although with fading interest, to the time 
 131 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 when he should be the messenger of a gospel 
 which he nowise at present understood ; but his 
 father did not at all share this anticipation; and 
 his mother soon came to know that to hear him 
 preach would but renew and intensify the misery 
 to which she had become a little accustomed in 
 their ordinary intercourse. The father felt that 
 his boy had either left him a long way off, or 
 had never come near him any time. He seemed 
 to see him afar upon some mountain-top of con- 
 scious or imagined superiority. James, as one 
 having no choice, lived at what custom and use 
 called homey but behaved as if come of another 
 breed than his parents, a breed that had with 
 theirs but few appreciable points of contact. 
 One of the most conventional of youths, he yet 
 wrote verses in secret, and worshipped Byron in 
 his hidden closet. What he wrote he seldom 
 showed, and then only to the one or two whom 
 he thought fit to appreciate its formal excel- 
 lence. Perhaps he wrote only with the object 
 of proving to himself that he could do that also, 
 and in so far probably succeeded, for the one 
 thing he never doubted was his general faculty. 
 When he went to Edinburgh to learn theology, 
 forsooth, he was an accomplished mathematician 
 and a yet better classic, with some predilections 
 for science, and a very small knowledge of the 
 same. His books showed for the two former, 
 132 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 and for the latter, an occasional attempt to set 
 his father right in some point of chemistry. His 
 aspirations were first, to show himself a gentle- 
 man in matters under the jurisdiction of that 
 bubblehead of the community calling itself 
 Society — of which in fact he knew nothing; 
 and next, to have his eloquence recognised by 
 the public, although at present it existed only 
 in an imagination informed by ambition. These 
 were the two devils, or rather the two forms 
 of the one devil. Vanity, that possessed him. 
 Hence, although in part unconsciously, he 
 looked down on his parents, and on the whole 
 circumstance of his present existence, as un- 
 worthy because old-fashioned, and countrified, 
 concerned only with God's earth and God's 
 animals, and having nothing to do with the 
 shows of life. And yet to the worthiest of 
 those who could have claimed social distinction, 
 the ways of life in the house of his parents 
 would, contrasted with their son's views of life, 
 have seemed altogether admirable. To such, 
 the homely, simple, not quite unfastidious modes 
 and conditions of the unassuming homestead, 
 would have appeared not a little attractive. 
 But James took little interest in any of them, 
 and none at all in the ways of the humble peo- 
 ple, tradesmen or craftsmen, of the neighbour- 
 ing village. He never felt the common humanity 
 ^33 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 that made him one with them, and did not in 
 his thoughts associate with them. Had he 
 turned his feeling into thinking and then into 
 words, he would have said, " I cannot help be- 
 ing the son of a farmer, but at least my mother's 
 father was a doctor; and had I been consulted, 
 my father should have been at least an officer 
 in one of his majesty's services, naval or military, 
 and my mother the daughter of such an officer ! " 
 The root of his folly lay in the groundless self- 
 esteem of the fellow, fostered, I think, by a cer- 
 tain literature which fed the notion, if indeed it 
 did not plainly inculcate it as a duty, of rising 
 in the world — of gaining that praise of men 
 which seems to so many the patent of nobility, 
 but which the man whom we call Tlie Saviour', 
 and who professed to know the secret of Life, 
 warned his followers they must not seek, if they 
 would be the children of the Father who claimed 
 them as his. Its books taught the pursuit of 
 knowledge, the saving of money, and the acqui- 
 sition of influence — not the doing of one's duty 
 in whatever condition he found himself, as the 
 only way to become such as God intended us 
 to be. 
 
 I have said enough, perhaps too much, of this 
 
 most uninteresting of men ! How he came to be 
 
 born such, is not for my speculation ; had he 
 
 remained such, his story would not have been 
 
 134 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 writing; how he became something better it is 
 now my task to try to tell. 
 
 I have been led to the foregoing remarks on 
 the minister's past by my episode of the talk of 
 his parents as they lay in bed on one occasion, 
 recalling an incident of their experience con- 
 cerning the boy: I now return to the talk that 
 followed that conversation. 
 
 They had again lain silent for a while, but at 
 length broke words from their silence : — 
 
 " I was jist thinkin', Peter," said Marion, 
 " o' the last time we spak' thegither about the 
 laddie — it maun be nigh sax year sin syne, 
 I 'm thinkin'." 
 
 " 'Deed ye may be richt, Mirran," replied her 
 spouse. "It's no sic a cheery subjec' 'at we 
 should hae muckle to say to ane anither anent 
 it ! He 's a man noo, an' weel luikit upo', but, 
 eh, it mak's unco little differ to his parents ! 
 He 's jist as dour as ever, and as far as man 
 could weel be frae them he cam' o' ! — never a 
 word to the ane or the ither o' 's ! Gien we war 
 twa dowgs, he couldna hae less to say till 's, but 
 micht weel hae mair ! I's warran' Frostie says 
 mair in ae half-hoor to his tyke, nor Jamie has 
 said to you or me sin' first he gaed to the 
 college ! " 
 
 " Bairns is whiles a queer kin' o' a blessin' ! " 
 remarked the mother. " But, eh, Peter ! it 's 
 ^35 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 what may lie ahint the silence that frichts 
 me!" 
 
 " Lass, ye 're frichtin' me! What div ye mean ? " 
 
 " Ow naething ! " returned Marion, bursting 
 into tears. " But it was a' at ance borne in upo' 
 me, that there maun be something to accoont for 
 the thing. At the same time I daurna speir at 
 God himsel' what that thing micht be. For 
 there *s something waur noo, and has been for 
 some time, than ever there was afore ! He has 
 sic a luik, as gien he saw nor heard naething but 
 ae thing, and that ae thing keepit on inside him, 
 and wouldna wheesht. It's an awfu' thing to 
 say o' a mither's ain laddie ; and to hae said it 
 only to my ain man, and the father o' the laddie, 
 mak's my hert like to brak ! — It 's as gien I had 
 been fause to my ain flesh and blude but to 
 think it o' him ! Eh, Peter, what can it be ! " 
 
 " Ou jist maybe naething at a'. Maybe he 's 
 in love, and the lass winna hear till him ! " 
 
 " Na, Peter; love gars a man luik up, no doon 
 at his ain feet ! It gars him fling his heid back, 
 and luik oot afore him — no in at his ain inside! 
 It mak's a man straucht i' the back, strong i' the 
 airm, and bauld i' the hert. — Didna it you, 
 Peter?" 
 
 " Maybe it did ; I dinna min' vera weel. But 
 I see it can hardly be love wi' the lad. Still, 
 even his paurants maun tak' tent o' jeedgin' — 
 136 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 specially ane o' the Lord's ministers — maybe 
 ane o' the Lord's elec' ! " 
 
 " It 's awfu' to think — I daurna say 't — I 
 daurna maist think the words o' 't, Peter, but it 
 Willi cry oot i' my vera hert ! — Steik the door, 
 Peter — and ticht, that no a stray stirk may hear 
 me ! — Was a minister o' the gospel ever a 
 heepocrite, Peter? — like ane o' the auld scribes 
 and Pharisees, Peter? — Wadna it be ower 
 terrible, Peter, to be permittit? — Gien our ain 
 only son was — " 
 
 But here she broke down ; she could not 
 finish the frightful sentence. The farmer left his 
 bed, and sat on a chair by the side of it. The 
 next moment he sank on his knees, and, hiding 
 his face in his hands, groaned, as from a thicket 
 of torture, — 
 
 " God in h'aven, hae mercy upo' the haill lot 
 o' us." 
 
 Then he went as if unconscious of what he did, 
 wandering from the room, down to the kitchen, 
 and out to the barn on his bare feet, closing the 
 door of the house behind him. In the barn 
 he threw himself face downward on a heap of 
 loose straw, and there lay motionless, while his 
 wife wept alone in her bed and hardly missed 
 her husband. It required, indeed, no reflection 
 on her part to understand where he had gone, 
 and what he did: he was crying like Lear, in 
 137 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the bitterness of his wounded heart, to the Father 
 of fathers. 
 
 " God, ye 're a father yersel'," he groaned 
 from the deepest, silentest nook of his soul, 
 " and sae ye ken hoo it's rivin' at my hert ! — 
 Na, Lord, ye dinna ken ; for ye never had a 
 doobt aboot your son ! — Na, I 'm no blamin' 
 Jamie, Lord ; for ye ken weel I ken naething 
 at a' aboot him; he never opened the buik o' 
 his hert to me! Oh, God, grant that he hae 
 naething to hide; but gien he has, Lord, pluck 
 him oot o' the glaur, and latna him stick there. 
 I kenna hoo to shape my petition, for I'm a' i' 
 the dark; but deliver him some gait, Lord, I 
 pray thee, for his mither's sake ! — ye ken what 
 she is ! — / dinna coont for onything, but ye 
 ken Jier ! — she 's ane o' the subjec's o' yer ain 
 kingdom ! — Lord, deliver the hert o' her frae 
 the awfu'est o' a' her fears. — Lord, a hypo- 
 crite ! a Judas-man ! " 
 
 What more he said, I cannot tell; somehow 
 this much reached my ears. He remained there 
 hour after hour, pleading with the great Father 
 for his son, his thought now lost in dull fatigue, 
 and now uttering itself in groans for lack of 
 words, until at length the dawn looked in on 
 the night-weary earth, and into the sorrow-laden 
 heart of the suffering parent, bringing with it 
 a comfort he did not seek to understand. 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 But it brought no solace to the mind of his 
 weak and guilty son. He had succeeded once 
 more in temporarily stifling his conscience with 
 false comfort, and slept the sleep of the house- 
 less, who look up to no watchful eye over them, 
 and whose covering is narrower than they can 
 wrap themselves in. Ah, those sleepless nights 
 out in the eternal cold ! So cold was he, that 
 if he had seen his mother come down in the 
 morning with her dim eyes, he would never 
 have asked himself what could be her trouble ; 
 would not have had sympathy enough even to 
 see that she was unhappy ; would never have 
 suspected himself the cause of her red eyes and 
 aching head ! At this time the only good thing 
 in him was the uneasiness of his heart, the 
 trouble of his mind ; there was not good enough 
 to make him desire to share his pain with any 
 friend. But there was no way round the purify- 
 ing fire ; he could not escape it ; he must pass 
 through it ! 
 
 139 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 How little knows the world what a power among 
 men is the man who simply and really believes, 
 hoping in Him who came to save the world from 
 its sins ! He may be neither wise nor prudent; 
 he may be narrow and dim-sighted even in the 
 things he loves best; they may promise him 
 much that he is unable to claim from them, and 
 yield him therefore but a poor fragment of the 
 joy that might be his ; he may represent them 
 to others so that they wear no attractive hues, 
 clothe themselves in no word of power ; and yet, 
 if he has but that love to his neighbour which 
 love to his God must awake, he is always a re- 
 deeming, reconciling influence among his fellows 
 — such of them, namely, as, knowing less and 
 hoping less than he, have yet the same simple 
 heart, open to the influence of the true Human, 
 which is in reality the true Divine. The Rob- 
 ertsons were genial of heart, loving and tender 
 toward man or woman that needed them ; their 
 door was always on the latch for such to enter 
 and find help. If the parson insisted on the 
 wrath of God against sin, he did not fail to give 
 140 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 assurance of His tenderness toward such as had 
 fallen in the greatness of their way. Together 
 the godly pair persuaded Isobel of the eager 
 forgiveness of the Son of Man. They showed 
 her that he could not drive from him the very 
 chief of sinners, but tenderly loved — nothing 
 less than loved — anyone who, having sinned, re- 
 pented and returned to the Father. She would 
 doubtless, they said, have to bear her trespass 
 in the eyes of unforgiving women, but he would 
 lift her high, and receive her into the home of 
 the glad-hearted, the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 But poor Isy, who regarded her fault as both 
 against God and the man who had misled her, 
 and was sic"k at the thought of being such as she 
 judged herself, said that nothing God himself 
 could do could ever restore her, — could ever 
 make it that she had not fallen; and nothing less 
 than such a contradiction, such an impossibility, 
 could make her clean. God might be ready to 
 forgive her, but he could not love her. Jesus 
 might have made satisfaction to him for her sin, 
 but that made no difference in her. She was 
 troubled that Jesus should have so suffered, but 
 how could that give her back her purity, or the 
 peace of mind she once had? That at least was 
 gone for ever ! The life that lay in front of her 
 took the form of an unchanging gloom, a desert 
 region whence the sweet gladness had withered, 
 141 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 and whence could issue no purifying wind of God 
 to blow from her the airs of the grave by which 
 she seemed even physically haunted. Never to 
 all eternity could she be innocent again. Life 
 was no more worth doing anything in. It had 
 no interest for her now. She was, and must re- 
 main just what she was, for, alas, she could not 
 cease to be ! 
 
 Such thoughts had at one period ceaselessly 
 ravaged her life, but had for some time been 
 growing duller and deader ; now again, revived 
 by goodness and sympathy, they had resumed 
 their gnawing and scorching, and she grew yet 
 more hateful to herself. Even those who thus 
 befriended and comforted her, she thought, 
 could never cease to regard her as what they 
 knew she was. But strange to say, with this 
 revival of her sufferings, came also a requicken- 
 ing of her long-dormant imagination, cherished, 
 doubtless, by the peace that surrounded her. 
 First her dreams, then her broodings, began to be 
 haunted with sweet embodiments. As if the 
 agonised question of the guilty Claudius were 
 answered to her, as if to assure her that there 
 was " rain enough in the sweet heavens to wash 
 her white as snow," she would wake from a 
 dream where she stood in blessed nakedness with 
 a deluge of cool, comforting rain pouring upon 
 her from the sweetness of those heavens — to 
 142 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 fall asleep again, and dream of a soft strong west 
 wind blowing from her the evil odours that 
 seemed to have haunted her for years as the 
 blood of Duncan persecuted the nostrils of the 
 wretched Lady Macbeth. And every night to 
 her sinful bosom came back the soft innocent 
 hands of the child she had lost. But ever and 
 again she would dream that she was Hagar, who 
 had cast her child away, and was fleeing from 
 the sight of his death, — only to wake and know 
 that she had indeed fled, and had returned and 
 sought him in vain. And more than once she 
 dreamed that an angel came to her, and went 
 out to look for him ; but had returned only to 
 lay him in her arms grievously mangled by some 
 horrid beast, and she woke with the cry, " My 
 God ! " — the prevailing prayer of the labouring 
 and heavy-laden, which went where every such 
 prayer must go, — weeping, but comforted. 
 
 When the first few days of her sojourn with 
 the good Samaritans were over, and she had 
 gathered strength enough to feel that she ought 
 no longer to be burdensome to them, but must 
 look for work, they positively refused to let her 
 leave them before her spirit also had regained 
 some vital tone, and was able to " live a little ; " 
 to which end they set themselves to revive in 
 her the hope of finding her lost child, setting 
 inquiry on foot, in every direction, and promis- 
 H3 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 ing to tell her the very moment her presence 
 began to cause them inconvenience. 
 
 " Let you go, child ! " exclaimed her hostess ; 
 " God forbid ! Go you shall not until you go 
 for your own sake ; you cannot go for ours ! " 
 
 " But I 'm such a useless burden to you ! " 
 
 " Was the Lord a burden to Mary and Laza- 
 rus, think ye, my poor bairn?" rejoined Mrs. 
 Robertson. 
 
 " Don't, ma'am, please, compare me to Jiim ! " 
 sobbed Isy. 
 
 " ' Inasmuch as ye did it to one of the least of 
 these, ye did it to me ' ! " she returned. 
 
 " That doesna apply to me, ma'am," sobbed 
 Isy. " I 'm nane o' his ! " 
 
 "Who is then? Who was it he came to save? 
 Are you not one of his lost sheep? Are you 
 not weary and heavy-laden? Will you never 
 let him feel at home with you? Are j/ou to 
 tell him who he is to love and who he is n't, 
 who he is to count his, and who are not good 
 enough?" 
 
 Isy was quiet for a while, and silent longer than 
 she was quiet. The foundations of her coming 
 peace were being laid wider and dug deeper. 
 
 She still found it impossible, from the dis- 
 ordered state of her mind at the time, to give 
 any notion of whereabout she had been when 
 she laid her child down, and, leaving him, could 
 144 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 not again find him. And Maggie, who had 
 him, loving him passionately and believing him 
 wilfully abandoned, had no desire to discover 
 one who could claim him and was unworthy to 
 have him. For a long time, therefore, neither 
 she nor her father ever talked, or encouraged 
 talk, about him ; whence certain questing busy- 
 bodies began to snuff and give tongue. It was 
 all very well, they said, for the cobbler and his 
 Maggie to pose as benefactors ; but whose was 
 the child? But his growth went on all the 
 same, and however the talk might seem to 
 concern him, happily it never reached him. 
 Nor, Maggie flattered herself, would it ever in 
 this world reach and trouble him; it would die 
 away in the void, as dies a fallen wave against 
 the heedless shore. Yet, in the not so distant 
 city a loving woman was weeping and pining 
 for lack of him. Her conduct, in the eyes of 
 the minister and his wife, was not merely blame- 
 less, but sweetly and manifestly true, constantly 
 yielding fuel to the love that encompassed her. 
 Both mentally and spiritually she seemed to 
 them growing rapidly, but to have lost all hope 
 for herself. Deeper in her soul, and nearer the 
 root of her misery than even the loss of her 
 child, lay the character and conduct of the man 
 to whom her attachment was inextinguishable. 
 His apostasy from and neglect of her, and with 
 1° H5 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the constantly gnawing sense of her pollution, 
 burned at the bands of her life ; and her friends 
 soon began to fear that she was on the verge 
 of a slow downward slide upon which there is 
 seldom any turning. 
 
 Now the parson and his wife had long been on 
 friendliest terms with the farmer and his wife of 
 Stonecross ; and, brooding on the condition and 
 needs of their guest, it was natural that the 
 thought of Mrs. Blatherwick should occur to 
 them as one who might be able to render them 
 help in their perplexity. Difficulties were in the 
 way, however, chiefly that of conveying a true 
 conception of the nature and character of the 
 woman in whom they desired her interest, but if 
 she once saw her, there could be no fear of the 
 result; while, received as an inmate at the farm, 
 she was certain to leave it without having in any 
 way compromised them : they were confident she 
 would never belie the character they were pre- 
 pared to give her. Neither was there any one 
 at the farm for whom it was possible to dread 
 intercourse with her, seeing that since the death 
 of their only daughter, about two years ago, 
 they had not had a servant in the house. It was 
 concluded therefore between the two that Mr. 
 Robertson should go to their friends, and tell 
 them all he knew about Isy, and say everything 
 he could for her. 
 
 146 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 It was a morning in the decline of summer, 
 the corn nearly full grown, but still green, with- 
 out sign of the coming gold of perfection, when 
 the minister mounted the top of the coach, to 
 wait silent and a little anxious for the coachman 
 to appear from the office, thrust the waybill into 
 the pocket of his huge greatcoat, gather his 
 reins, and climb to his perch. A journey of 
 four hours, through a not very interesting coun- 
 try, but along a splendid road, carried him to 
 the village where the soutar lived, and where 
 James Blatherwick was parson. There a walk 
 of about three miles awaited him, — a long and 
 somewhat weary way to the town minister, — 
 accustomed indeed to tramping the hard pave- 
 ments, but not to long walks unbroken by calls. 
 Climbing at last the hill on which the farmhouse 
 stood, he caught sight of Peter Blatherwick in a 
 neighbouring field of barley stubble, with the 
 reins of a pair of powerful Clydesdales in his 
 hands, wrestling with the earth as it strove to 
 wrench from his hold the stilts of the plough 
 whose share and coulter he was guiding through 
 it. Peter's delight was in the open air, and 
 hard work in it. He was as far above the vulgar 
 idea that a man rises in the social scale by ceas- 
 ing to labour with his hands, as he was from 
 imagining that a man rose in the kingdom of 
 heaven when he was made a bishop. 
 147 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 As to his higher nature, the farmer believed 
 in God, — that is, he tried to do what God 
 required of him, and was thus on the straight 
 road to know him. He talked little about 
 religion, and was no partisan. When he heard 
 people advocating or opposing the claims of this 
 or that division of the Church, he would turn 
 away with a smile such as men yield to the talk 
 of children. He had no time, he would say to 
 his wife, for that kind of thing: he had enough 
 to do, he said, to practise a little of what was 
 beyond dispute. 
 
 Peter was a reading man, one who not merely 
 drank at every open source he came across, but 
 thought over what he read, and was, therefore, a 
 man of true intelligence, regarded by his neigh- 
 bours with more than ordinary respect. He had 
 been the first in the district to lay hold of the 
 discoveries in chemistry applicable to agricul- 
 ture, and had made use of them, with notable 
 results, upon his own farm ; setting thus an 
 example which his neighbours were so ready 
 to follow that the region, nowise remarkable for 
 its soil, soon became remarkable for its crops. 
 The most noteworthy thing in him, however, 
 was his humanity, and the strength of his family 
 affections, though there was no self-consciousness 
 of the fact, neither show of it in his behaviour. 
 He had a strong drawing, not to his immediate 
 148 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 relations only, but to all of his blood, and they 
 were not few, for he came of an ancient family, 
 which had been long settled in that neighbour- 
 hood. In worldly affairs he was well to do, 
 having added a little to the little his father had 
 left him ; but he was no lover of money, for he 
 was open-handed even to his wife, upon whom 
 your money-grub generally exercises first his 
 parsimony. There was, however, no great need 
 to spend at Stonecross, and less temptation from 
 without; living as well as simple heart could 
 desire, the farm itself was equal to the supply of 
 much the greater part of their daily wants. 
 
 In disposition he was a good-humoured, even 
 merry man, with a playful answer almost always 
 ready. 
 
 The minister waved a greeting to the farmer, 
 and went on to the house, which stood with its 
 low gable toward him. Late summer still lorded 
 it in the land ; merely a few fleecy clouds shared 
 the blue of the sky with the ripening sun ; and 
 on the hot ridges the air pulsed and trembled 
 like vaporised layers of mother-of-pearl. 
 
 At the end of the idle lever, no sleepy old 
 horse was now making his monotonous rounds ; 
 his radiance, born of age and sunshine, was now 
 quenched in the dark of the noonday stall ; but 
 the peacock still strutted among the ricks, as 
 conscious of his glorious plumage, as regardless 
 149 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 of the ugliness of his feet, as ever ; now and then 
 checking the rhythmic movement of his neck, 
 undulating green and blue, to scratch the ground 
 with those ugly feet, and dart his ugly beak spite- 
 fully at the grain they exposed, or from the 
 steeple of his lifted throat to utter his self- 
 satisfaction in a hideous cry. 
 
 In the gable before him, he passed a low 
 window, through which he had a glimpse of the 
 pretty, old-fashioned parlour within, and, going 
 round to the front, there knocked at the nearest 
 of two green-painted doors. 
 
 Mrs. Blatherwick came herself to open it, and, 
 finding who it was that knocked, — of all men 
 she knew the most welcome in her present 
 mood, — received him with a hearty gladness. 
 
 For was he not a minister? and was not he 
 who caused all the trouble she had a minister 
 also? She was not, indeed, going to open her 
 heart and let him see into its sorrow ; for her 
 son was far more to her than any but her hus- 
 band, and to confess him the cause of the least 
 anxiety to her, would be faithless and treach- 
 erous; still the unexpected appearance of Mr. 
 Robertson was a comfort to her, and like the 
 dawn of a winter morning upon her long night 
 of pain. 
 
 She led him into the low-ceiled parlour, into 
 the green gloom of the big hydrangea that filled 
 150 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the front window, and tlic ancient scent of the 
 withered rose-leaves in the gorgeous China-bowl 
 on the green, gold-bordered table-cover. The 
 minister, after a few kind commonplaces, sat 
 for a moment silently pondering how to begin. 
 But he did not ponder long, for his way was to 
 rush headlong at whatever seemed to harbour 
 a lion, and come at once to the death-grapple. 
 
 Marion Blatherwick was a good-looking 
 woman, with a quiet strong expression, and 
 sweet grey eyes. The daughter of a country- 
 surgeon, she had been left an orphan without 
 means ; but was so generally respected that 
 every one said Mr. Blatherwick had never done 
 better than when he married her. There had 
 very early grown up a sense of distance between 
 her and her son, and now her heart would 
 sometimes go longing after him as if he were 
 one of those who died in their infancy and 
 who seemed altogether beyond her reach. But 
 she never had felt separated from her daughter ; 
 although she too was gone bej/ond the range of 
 eye or ear, there was no division, only distance, 
 between them. 
 
 " I have taken the liberty, Mrs. Blatherwick, 
 of coming to ask your help in a great per- 
 plexity," began Mr. Robertson, with an em- 
 barrassment she had never seen in him before, 
 which bewildered her not a little. 
 151 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " Weel, sir, it 's an honour yc do me, — a 
 great honour, for which I hae to thank ye, I 'm 
 sure ! " she answered. 
 
 " Bide ye, mem, till ye hear what it is," re- 
 turned the minister. " We hae a puir lass at 
 hame, 'at my wife and mysel' hae taen a great 
 interest in, and we 're maist at oor wits' end 
 what to do wi' her neist. She 's sair oot o* hert, 
 and oot o' health, and oot o' houp, and in fac' 
 she Stan's in desperate need o' a cheenge." 
 
 " Weel, that ouchtna to be a difeeculty to 
 mak' a wark aboot atween auld frien's like 
 oorsel's, Maister Robertson. — Ye wad hae us 
 tak' her in for a whilie, till she luiks up a bit, 
 puir thing! — Hoo auld may she be?" 
 
 " She can hardly be mair nor twenty, or 
 aboot that, — sic like as your ain bonny lassie 
 would hae been by this time, gien she had 
 ripened here, i'stead o' gaein' yon'er to the gran 
 finishin' schule o' the just made perfec'. Weel 
 min' I upo' her bonny face ! And, 'deed, this 
 ane's nae that unlike her!" 
 
 " Eh, sir, fess her to me as fest as ye can ! 
 My hert 's waitin' for her a' ready! Her mither 
 maunna hae to lose her ! " 
 
 " She has nae mither, puir thing ! And ye 
 maun do naething in a hurry ; I maun tell ye 
 aboot her first ! " 
 
 " I 'm content 'at she 's a frien' o' yours, sir. 
 152 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 I ken wee! ye would never hae me tak' intill ma 
 hoose ane that wasna fit, — and a' the lads 
 aboot the place frae mornin' till nicht ! " 
 
 "Indeed she is a frien' o' mine, mem; and 
 I hae nae dreid o' onything happening ye 
 wouldna like. She 's in ovver sair trouble to 
 be feart at. The fac' is, she 's had a terrible 
 misfortun ! " 
 
 The good woman started, drew herself up a 
 little, and said hurriedly, — 
 
 " There 's no a wean, is there ? " 
 
 " 'Deed is there, mem ! — but pairt o' the 
 meesery is, the bairn's disappeart; and she's 
 brakin' her heart aboot him. She 's maist oot o' 
 her min', mem. No that she 's onything but 
 perfec'ly reasonable, and gies never a grain o' 
 trouble. I canna doobt she '11 be a great help to 
 ye, and that ilka minute ye see fit to lat her bide. 
 But she 's jist huntit wi' the idea that the bairnie 's 
 gane, — that she's left him, she kensna whaur. 
 Verily, mem, she 's ane o' the lambs o' the Lord's 
 ain flock." 
 
 " That 's no the w'y the lambs o' /ii's flock be- 
 have themsel's. I doobt, sir, ye 're lattin' yer hert 
 rin awa' wi' yer jeedgment." 
 
 " I hae aye coontit Mary Magdalen ane o' the 
 
 Lord's ainyowies, that he left the lave to luik for; 
 
 this is sic anither. Gien ye help him to come 
 
 upon her, ye '11 carry her hame atween ye 
 
 153 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 rej'icin*. And ye min' hoo he stude atween ana 
 far waur nor her, and the ill men that would 
 fain hae shamet her, and sent them oot like sae 
 mony tykes — thae gran' Pharisees — wi' their 
 tails tuckit in atween their hin' legs ! — Sair 
 affrontit they war, doobtless. — But I maun be 
 gaein', mem, for we 're no vera like to agree. 
 My Maister 's no o' the same min' as you, mem, 
 aboot sic affairs — sae I maun gang. But I 
 would just remin' ye, mem, that she 's at this 
 present i' my hoose, wi' my wife, and my wee bit 
 lassie, that hings aboot her as gien she was an 
 angel come doon to see the bonny place this 
 warl luiks frae up there. Eh, puir lammie; the 
 stanes ought to be foewer upo' thae hill-sides ! " 
 
 " What for that, Maister Robertson? " 
 
 " 'Cause there 's sae mony whaur human herts 
 ought to be. Come awa', doggie," he added, 
 rising. 
 
 " Dear me, sir ! haena ye a grain o' patience 
 to waur upon a puir menseless body like me? " 
 cried Marion, wringing her hands in dismay. 
 "To think /sud be nice whaur my Lord was 
 sae free ! " 
 
 "Aye," returned the minister, "he was as 
 clean as ever, wi' mony ane sic like as her inside 
 the hert o' him ! ' Gang awa', and dinna do the 
 like again,' was a' he said to that ane ! — and 
 ye may weel be sure she never did ! And now 
 154 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 she and Mary are followin' \vi' yer ain Isy, i' 
 the vera futsteps o' the great shepherd, throuw 
 the gowany leys o' the New Jerusalem — whaur 
 it may be they ca' her Isy yet, as they ca' this 
 ane I hae to gang hame till." 
 
 " Ca' they her tJiat, sir? Eh, gar her come, 
 gar her come ! I wud fain cry upo' Isy ance 
 mair, meanin her to come ! — Sit ye doon, sir, 
 shame upon me ! — and tak' something efter yer 
 lang walk. — Will ye no bide the nicht \vi' 's, 
 and gang back by the mornin's coch? " 
 
 " I will that, mem — and thank ye kindly ! 
 I 'm a bit fatiguit wi' the hill-road, and the walk 
 a wee langer than I 'm used till. — Ye maun hae 
 pity upo' my kittle temper, mem, and no drive 
 me to ower muckle shame o' mysel' ! " he con- 
 cluded, wiping his forehead. 
 
 " And to think," cried his hostess, " that my 
 hard hert should be the cause o' sic a word frae 
 ane o' the Lord's servan's that serve him day 
 and nicht ! I beg yer pardon, and that richt 
 heumbly, sir ! I daurna say I '11 never do the 
 like again, but I 'm no sae likely to transgress a 
 second time as the first. Lord, keep the doors 
 o' my lips, that words comena thouchtless oot, 
 and shame me and them that hear me ! — I 
 maun gang and see aboot yer denner, sir ; I s' 
 no be lang." 
 
 " Yer gracious words, mem, are mair nor 
 15s 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 meat and drink to me. I could, like Elijah, go 
 in the strength of them — maybe something 
 less than forty days, but it would be by the 
 same sort o' strength as that angel's-food gied 
 the prophet ! " 
 
 Marion hurried none the less for such a 
 speech ; and soon the minister had both eaten 
 his supper, and was seated, in the cool of a 
 green summer evening, in the garden before 
 the house, among roses and lilies and poppy- 
 heads, and long pink-striped grasses, enjoying a 
 pipe with the farmer, who had anticipated the 
 hour for unyoking, and hurried home to have a 
 talk with Mr. Robertson. The minister opened 
 wide his heart, and told them all he knew of 
 Isy and thought, perceiving nothing of their 
 vague misery about James and his suspected 
 secret. But the prospect of aiding one in the 
 effort to rise to a new life was the best com- 
 fort he could have brought them. And so 
 prejudiced were they in her favour by what he 
 said of her, and the arguments he brought 
 to show the judgment of the world in her case 
 tyrannous and false, that what anxiety might 
 yet remain as to the new relation into which 
 they were about to enter, was soon absorbed 
 in hopeful expectation at her appearance. 
 
 "But," he said, "you will have to be wise 
 as serpents, lest you kep a lost sheep on her 
 156 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 w'y back to the shepherd, and she lie theroot, 
 exposed to the prowlin' wolf. Before God, I 
 would rather share wi' her in tJiat(h.y, than wi' 
 them that keppit her!" 
 
 That night they all slept well in the hope of 
 good on its way, and in the morning the min- 
 ister started early to mount the return-coach; 
 with a lightened heart, indeed, but the new 
 anxiety of persuading her who needed the help 
 to accept it now it was offered. But he was 
 startled, indeed dismayed, at the pallor that 
 overwhelmed Isy's look when, following his 
 assurance of the welcome that awaited her, she 
 heard the name and abode of her new friends. 
 
 "They'll be wantin' to ken a' thing!" she 
 sobbed. 
 
 "Tell you them," returned the minister, 
 "everything they have a right to know; they 
 are good people, and will not ask more. Be- 
 yond that, they will respect your silence." 
 
 "There 's but ae thing, as ye ken, sir, that I 
 canna, and winna, tell. To baud my tongue 
 aboot that is the ae particle o' honesty left 
 possible to me ! It 's eneuch I should hae been 
 the cause o' the puir man's sin, and I 'm no 
 gaein' to bring upon him ony o' the conse- 
 quences o' 't as weel. God keep the doors o' 
 my lips ! " 
 
 "We will not go into the question whether 
 157 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 you or he was the more to blame," returned 
 the parson; "but I heartily approve of your 
 resolve, and admire your firmness in holding 
 to it. The time 7nay come when you ought to 
 tell, but until then I shall not even allow my- 
 self to wonder who the faithless man may 
 be." 
 
 Isy burst into tears. 
 
 "Dinna ca' him that, sir! Dinna gar me 
 doobt him. Latna the thoucht cross my min' 
 that he could hae helpit it ! For me, I deserve 
 naething; and my bonny bairn maun by this 
 time be back hame to Him that sent him ! " 
 
 Assured that her secret would be respected 
 by those to whom she was going, she ceased to 
 show any farther reluctance to accept the shel- 
 ter they offered her. And, in truth, beneath 
 the dread of encountering James Blatherwick's 
 parents, lay hidden in her mind the fearful joy 
 of a chance that some day, herself unseen, she 
 might catch a glimpse of the man she still 
 loved with all the forgiving tenderness of a 
 true, therefore a strong heart ; for is there any 
 strength but what is founded on truth.** God 
 is true if every man be a liar, and God loves if 
 he loves alone. With a trembling, fluttering 
 bosom she took her place beside her friend, to 
 go with him to the refuge he had found for 
 her. 
 
 158 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Once more out in the open world, with 
 which she had as yet had so little of a joyous 
 acquaintance, that same world began at once to 
 work the will of its Maker upon her poor torn 
 soul, and afar in its hidden deeps the slow 
 process of healing was already begun. Sorrow 
 would often return unbidden, would at times 
 even rise like a crested wave and threaten with 
 despair the last hour of her victorious conflict, 
 but Reality, long hidden from her by the lying 
 judgments of men and women of this world, 
 was beginning to reveal itself to her tear- 
 blinded vision, and Hope was lifting a feeble 
 head above the weeds of the ugly heap : soon, 
 soon she would see and understand how little 
 the Father, whose judgment is the truth of 
 things, cares what any one of his children may 
 at any time have been or done, the moment 
 that child gives himself up to be made what he 
 would have him be! Looking down into the 
 hearts of men, he sees differences there of 
 which the self-important world takes no heed ; 
 and many that are first are in his eyes the last ; 
 and what he sees, alone is: kings and emperors 
 are nowhere, and their judgments are forgot- 
 ten ; a gutter-child, a thief, a girl who had 
 never in this world even a notion of purity, 
 may lie smiling in the arms of the Eternal, 
 while the head of a lordly house which still flour- 
 159 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 ishes like a green bay-tree may be wandering 
 with the dogs outside the city. 
 
 Out in the open world, I say, the power of 
 the present God began at once to work upon 
 Isobel, for she looked into his open face dimly, 
 vaguely sketched in the mighty something we 
 call Nature, — chiefly in the great vault we call 
 Heaven, the Upheaved. Shapely but unde- 
 fined, perfect in form, yet limitless in depth; 
 blue and persistent, yet ever evading capture by 
 human heart in human eye, — this sphere of fash- 
 ioned boundlessness, of definite shapelessness, 
 called up in her heart the formless children 
 of upheavedness, grandeur, namely, and awe, 
 hope, namely, and desire, all rushing together 
 toward the dawn of the unspeakable One, who, 
 dwelling in that heaven, is above all heavens 
 — mighty and unchangeable, yet childlike; in- 
 exorable, yet tender as never was mother, and 
 devoted as never yet was child save one ! Isy, 
 indeed, understood little of all this; yet she 
 wept, she knew not why, and it was not for 
 sorrow. 
 
 But when the coach-journey was over, and 
 without knowing it, she turned her back upon 
 the house where her child lay, and entered the 
 desolate hill-country, with so little attraction 
 save for such to whom a present childhood has 
 revealed it, a strange feeling began to invade 
 i6o 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 her consciousness. Seeming at first but the 
 return of a mood, then of an old dream, then of 
 a painful, confused, half-forgotten memory, it 
 cleared and settled at last into the conviction 
 that she had been in that same region before, 
 and had had although a passing, yet a painful 
 acquaintance with it; and at last she concluded 
 that she must be near the very spot where she 
 had left and lost her baby. All that had up to 
 that moment befallen her seemed fused in a 
 troubled conglomerate of hunger and cold and 
 weariness, help and hurt, deliverance and return- 
 ing pain, and to mingle inextricably with the 
 vision around her, there condensing into mem- 
 ory of that one event, of which this was the 
 actual scene — widespread wastes of heather 
 and peat, great stones here and there half- 
 buried in it, half-sticking out of it, and she 
 waiting there for something to come to pass: 
 surely behind this veil of the Visible a child 
 must somewhere stand with outstretched arms, 
 hungering after his mother! Memory must 
 that very moment be trembling into vision! 
 Surely at length her heart's desire was coming 
 near to her expectant soul ! But alas ! even 
 this certainty of recollection, this assurance of 
 prophetic anticipation, faded from her, and of 
 the memory itself remained nothing but a ruin; 
 and all this came and passed within her while 
 II i6i 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 she walked wearily by the side of her compan- 
 ion — meditating a glad sermon for the next Sun- 
 day about the lost sheep carried home with re- 
 joicing, and forgetting how unfit was the poor 
 sheep beside him for such a fatiguing tramp up 
 and down hill along the broken country road, 
 little better than the bed of a torrent, which it 
 was indeed in the winter. But all at once she 
 darted aside from the rough track, and ran like 
 one demented into a great clump of heather, 
 which she began to search through and through, 
 while the minister stopped and watched her, 
 fearing she had again lost her wits. At length 
 she got on the top of a stone that stood in the 
 middle of the clump, and, having again and 
 again gazed all around her, descended with a 
 look of hopelessness, and she came slowly 
 back to him, saying, — 
 
 "I beg yer pardon, sir; I thoucht I had a 
 glimp o' my bairnie amo' the heather! This 
 maun be the vera spot whaur I left him ! " 
 
 A moment more, and she faltered feebly, 
 "Is't far we hae to gang yet, sir?" and 
 before he could answer her, staggered to the 
 side of the road, and sinking upon the bank 
 that bordered it, gave a great gasp and lay 
 still. 
 
 The minister saw in a moment that he had 
 been cruel in expecting her to walk so far, and 
 162 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 made haste to lay her comfortably on the top 
 of the bank among the long heather; then he 
 waited in some anxiety for her to come to her- 
 self. He could see no water, but at least she 
 had plenty of air ! 
 
 In a little while she began to recover, sat up, 
 and would have risen to resume her journey. 
 But the big minister, filled with compunction, 
 took her in his long arms, to carry her up the 
 crown of the ascent. She expostulated, but 
 was unable even to resist his determination. 
 Strong as he was, however, and light as was 
 her weight, he found it no easy task to bear her 
 up the last part of the steep rise, and was glad 
 to set her down at the top, where a fresh breeze 
 was waiting to revive them both. She thanked 
 him like any little girl whose father had come 
 to her help, and they seated themselves to- 
 gether on the highest point of the moor, with 
 a large, desolate land on every side of them. 
 
 " Oh, sir, but ye are good to me ! " she re- 
 sumed. "That brae just minded me o' the 
 Hill of Difficulty in the Pilgrini s Progress !" 
 
 " You know that story, then } " said the 
 minister. 
 
 "My old grannie used to make me read it to 
 
 her as she lay dying. I thought it long and 
 
 tiresome then, but since you took me home, I 
 
 have remembered many things in it; I had 
 
 163 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 come to the house of the Interpreter. You 've 
 made me understand, sir ! " 
 
 " I am glad of that, Isy ! You see I know 
 some things that make me very glad, and I 
 want them to make you glad too. And the 
 thing that makes me gladdest of all is just 
 that God is what he is. To know that such a 
 being is God over us and in us, makes our very 
 existence a most precious delight. His chil- 
 dren, those of them that know him, are all glad 
 just because he is and they are his children. 
 Do you think a strong man like me would read 
 sermons and say prayers and talk to people, and 
 do nothing but such shamefully easy work, if 
 he did not believe what he said .-' " 
 
 "I'm sure, sir, you had hard enough work 
 with me ! I am a bad one to teach ! I thought 
 I knew all that you have had such trouble to 
 make me see ! I was in a bog of ignorance 
 and misery, but now I am getting my head 
 up, and seeing about me! Please, let me ask 
 you one thing, sir — how is it that, when the 
 thought of God comes to me, I always draw 
 back, afraid of him } If he be the kind of 
 person you say he is, why can't I go close up 
 to him } " 
 
 "I confess to the same foolishness at times," 
 answered the minister. " It can only be be- 
 cause we do not yet see God as he is — and 
 164 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 that must be because we do not yet really un- 
 derstand Jesus — do not see the glory of God in 
 his face. God is just like him." 
 
 And the parson fell awondering why it could 
 be that so many, gentle and guileless as this 
 woman-child, should recoil from the thought 
 of the perfect One. Why should they not be 
 always and irresistibly drawn toward the very 
 idea of God ? Why should they not run to see 
 and make sure whether God were indeed such 
 a one or not.? whether he was really Love 
 itself, or only after a fashion? It made him 
 think about many things — concerning which 
 he soon discovered that he had been teaching 
 them without kiioiviiig them — for, indeed, how 
 could he knoiv things that were not true and 
 therefore could not be known? He had indeed 
 been saying that God was Love, and yet teach- 
 ing many things about him that were not 
 lovable ! 
 
 They sat thinking and talking, with silences 
 between ; and, all the time, the day-star was 
 rising unnoted in their hearts. At length they 
 rose themselves and resumed their journey. 
 
 The door stood open to receive them, but ere 
 they reached it a bright-looking little woman, 
 with delicate lines of ingrained red in a sor- 
 rowful, waiting face, appeared in it, looking 
 out for them with questioning eyes, like a 
 i6S 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 mother-bird whose feet were just leaving hold 
 of the threshold of her nest to fly to meet them. 
 Through the film that blinded her expectant 
 eyes, Marion saw at once what manner of 
 woman she was who drew nigh, and her moth- 
 erhood went out to welcome her. In the love- 
 witchery of the yearning look that humbly 
 sought acceptance, in the hesitating approach, 
 half-checked by gentle apology, Marion seemed 
 to see her own Isy returned from the gates of 
 Death, and sprang to meet her. The mediat- 
 ing love of the minister, obliterating itself, had 
 made him draw lingering back a step or two, 
 and wait for what would follow ; but when he 
 saw the two folded each in the other's arms, 
 and the fountain of eternal love break forth at 
 once from the two encountering hearts, his soul 
 leaped for joy at the birth of a new love, new 
 indeed, but not the less surely eternal, for God 
 is Love, and Love is that which is, and was, 
 and shall be for evermore, boundless, uncondi- 
 tioned, self-existent, creative! "Truly," he 
 said in himself, "God is Love, and God is all 
 and in all ! He is no abstraction, but the one 
 eternal Individual! In him Love evermore 
 breaks forth anew into fresh personality in 
 every new consciousness, in every new child of 
 the one creating Father. In every burning 
 heart, in every thing that hopes and fears and 
 i66 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 is, Love is the creative presence, the centre, the 
 source of life, yea, Life itself; yea, God him- 
 self ! ' I said, ye are gods ! ' " 
 
 The elder woman drew herself a little back, 
 held the poor white-faced thing at arm's-length, 
 and looked her through the face into the heart. 
 
 " My bonny lamb ! " she cried, and pressed 
 the younger again to her bosom ; " come hame, 
 and be a guid bairn, and ill man sail never touch 
 ye mair ! There 's my man waiting for ye to 
 tak' ye and haud ye safe ! " 
 
 Isy looked up, and over the shoulder of her 
 hostess saw the strong paternal face of the 
 farmer, full of silent welcome. For the strange 
 emotion that filled him he did not seek to ac- 
 count. His mood he had no more made than 
 himself! Such as he was, such he would be — 
 content with what he found himself. But his 
 will was lord over his mood, and he kept him- 
 self quiet. 
 
 " Come ben the hoose, lassie," he said, and 
 led the way to the parlour, where the red sunset 
 was shining through the low gable window, fill- 
 ing the place with the glamour of departing 
 glory. " Sit ye doon upo' the sofa there ; ye 
 maun be sair tired ! But surely ye haena come 
 a' the lang road frae Tiltbowie upo' yer ain twa 
 wee, wee feet ! " 
 
 '* 'Deed has she," answered the minister, who 
 167 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 had followed them into the room, " the more 
 shame to me who let her do it ! " 
 
 But the hostess was lingering outside the door 
 of it, and wiped away the tears that would keep 
 flowing. For still the one question, " What can 
 be amiss wi' Jamie?" haunted and harried her 
 heart ; and with it was the idea, although vague 
 and formless, that their good-will to the wander- 
 ing outcast of the world might perhaps do 
 something to make up for whatever ill thing 
 Jamie had done. At last, instead of entering 
 after them, she turned away to the kitchen, and 
 made haste to get the tea, while Isy sank back 
 in the wide sofa, lost in refuge, and the minister 
 said to himself as he saw her look, " Surely she 
 is feeling just as we shall all feel when first we 
 know that nothing is near us but the Love itself 
 that was before all worlds, and there is no doubt 
 more, and no questioning more ! " Only the 
 heart of the father was full of the same old 
 uncontent, the same longing after the heart 
 of his boy that had never learned to cry 
 " Father ! " 
 
 But soon they sat down to the pleasantest of 
 all meals, a farmhouse tea. Hardly anyone 
 spoke, and hardly anyone missed the speech, or 
 was aware of the silence — until, from very hap- 
 piness, the bereaved Isobel thought of her for- 
 saken child, and burst into silent tears. Then 
 1 68 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the mother, who sorrowed with such a different 
 and bitterer sorrow, divining at once her thought, 
 and whence it came, rose, and standing behind 
 her said, — 
 
 " Noo ye maun jist come awa' wi' me, and I s' 
 pit ye till yer bed, and lea' ye there ! — Na, na; 
 say gude nicht to naebody ! Ye '11 see the 
 minister again i' the mornin' ! " 
 
 With that she took her away, half carrying 
 her close-pressed, half leading her: Marion was 
 no bigger than Isy, but much stronger, and 
 could easily have carried her to bed. That 
 night both mothers slept well, and both dreamed 
 of their mothers and of their children. But in 
 the morning nothing remained of their dreams 
 except a great hope in the great Father. 
 
 When Isy in the morning entered the little 
 parlour, she found she had slept so long that 
 breakfast was over, the minister smoking his 
 pipe in the garden, and Peter busy in the yard. 
 But Marion, hearing her, appeared at once, 
 bringing her breakfast, and beaming with min- 
 istration. Bethinking herself, however, that she 
 would eat it better if left to herself, she went 
 back to her work. In about five minutes, how- 
 ever, Isy joined her, and began at once to lend 
 her a helping hand. 
 
 "Hoot, hoot, my dear!" cried her hostess, 
 "ye haena taen time eneuch to make a dacent 
 169 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 brakfast o' 't ! Gang awa' back, and put mair 
 intill ye. Ye maun learn to ate, or we '11 never 
 hae ony guid o' ye ! " 
 
 " I just canna eat for glaidness," returned Isy. 
 " Ye 're that guid to me, that I daur hardly think 
 aboot it for greitin' ! — Lat me help ye, mem, 
 and I '11 be hungry 'gen dennertime ! " 
 
 Mrs. Blathervvick understood, and said no 
 more. She showed her what to do to help her; 
 and Isy, happy as a child, came and went at her 
 pleasant orders rejoicing. Probably, had she 
 started in life with less devotion, she might have 
 fared better; but the end was not yet, and that 
 must be known before we dare judge the pro- 
 cess : result explains history. For the present 
 it is enough to say that, with the repose of mind 
 she now enjoyed, with the good food she had 
 and the wholesome exercise, for Mrs. Blather- 
 wick took care she should not have to work too 
 hard, with the constant kindness shown her, and 
 the steady growth of her faith and hope, her 
 light-heartedness first, and then her good looks, 
 began to return, and soon the dainty little crea- 
 ture was both prettier and lovelier than before ; 
 and at the same time her face and figure, her 
 ways and motions, went on mingling themselves 
 so inextricably with Marion's impressions of her 
 vanished Isy, that at length it seemed to her 
 mistress — for so of her own will she always 
 170 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 called Mrs. Blathenvick — that she never could 
 be able to part with her. She had not for some 
 days had anyone to help her, having lately dis- 
 missed one, and been waiting to see how Isy 
 would turn out, whether capable or helpless. 
 Nor had she long to wait assurance on that 
 point, for that same day she found her equal to 
 anything and everything necessary in the house, 
 and that she had but to put her hands to the 
 work of the dairy to compass that as well. So 
 she settled into the place, as if she and it had 
 been made for each other. 
 
 It did sometimes cross Isy's mind, with a sting 
 of doubt, whether it was fair to hide from her 
 new friends the full facts of her sorrowful his- 
 tory, and the relation in which she stood to 
 them ; but to quiet her conscience she had only 
 to reflect that it was solely for the sake of the 
 son they loved that she kept her silence. 
 Further than his protection, she had no design, 
 cherished no scheme. The idea of compelling, 
 or even influencing him to do her justice, never 
 crossed her horizon. On the contrary, she was 
 possessed by the notion that she had done him 
 a great wrong, and was in danger of rendering it 
 irretrievable. She had never thought the thing 
 out as between her and him, never even said to 
 herself that he too had been to blame. The ex- 
 aggerated notion of her share in the blame had 
 171 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 found a lodgment and got fixed in her mind, 
 partly from her acquaintance with the popular 
 judgment concerning such as she that filled the 
 moral air around her, partly and yet more from 
 her humble and constant readiness to take any 
 possible blame to herself Even had she been 
 capable of bringing the consequences into com- 
 parison, the injury she had done to his prospects 
 as a minister would have seemed to her revering 
 soul a far greater wrong than any suffering or 
 loss he had brought upon her ; for what was she 
 beside him? what her life to the frustration of 
 such prospects as his? Nor was the injury she 
 had done him the less grievous that it had been 
 unintentional; while the sole alleviation of her 
 misery was that she seemed hitherto to have 
 escaped involving him in the consequences, 
 which, so far as she could tell, remained con- 
 cealed from him, as well as from such whose 
 knowledge of them might have rendered them 
 operative to his hurt. In truth, never was less 
 worthy man more devotedly shielded ; and 
 never was hidden wrong turned more eagerly 
 and persistently into loving service ! Many and 
 many a time did the loving heart of James's 
 mother, as she watched Isy's deft and dainty 
 deeds and motions, regret even with bitterness 
 that such a capable and love-inspiring girl 
 should have rendered herself unworthy of her 
 172 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 son, whom, notwithstanding the disparity of their 
 positions, she would gladly have welcomed as a 
 daughter, had she but been spotless, and fit to 
 be loved by him. 
 
 In the evenings, when the work of the day 
 was done, Isy used to ramble about the moor, 
 in the lingering rays of the last of the sunset 
 and the long twilight that followed ; and in 
 those unhasting, gentle hours, so spiritual in 
 their tone that they seem to come straight from 
 the eternal spaces, where is no recalling and no 
 forgetting, where time, space, and spirit are at 
 rest, Isy first began to read with understanding. 
 For now first she fell into the company of books 
 — old-fashioned ones, no doubt, but perhaps 
 even therefore better for her, who was an old- 
 fashioned, gentle, ignorant, thoughtful child. 
 Among the rest in the farmhouse, she came 
 upon the two volumes of a book called the Pre- 
 ceptor, which contained various treatises laying 
 down " the first principles of polite learning." 
 These drew her eager attention ; and with one 
 or other of these not very handy volumes in 
 her hand, she would steal out of sight of the 
 farm, and, lapt in the solitude of the moor, 
 there sit and read until at last the light itself 
 could read no more. Even the Geometry she 
 found there attracted her not a little ; the 
 Rhetoric and Poetry drew her yet more ; and 
 173 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 most of all, the Natural History, with its engrav- 
 ings of beasts and birds, poor as it was, de- 
 lighted her. From these antiquated repertories 
 of science and art, she gathered much, and 
 chiefly the most valuable knowledge of her 
 ignorance. There, also, searching in a garret 
 to which she had free access, she found an Eng- 
 lish translation of Klopstock's Messiah^ a poem 
 which in the middle of the last century caused 
 a great excitement in Germany, and did not a 
 little, I fancy, for the development of religious 
 feeling in the country during that and the fol- 
 lowing century, its slow-subsiding ripple not 
 altogether unfelt possibly even to this day. 
 She read the book through in these her twilight 
 strolls, not without risk of many a fall over bush 
 and stone ere practice had taught her to see at 
 once both the path for her feet and that for her 
 eyes over the printed page. The book both 
 pleased and suited her, the parts that interested 
 her most being those about the repentant angel, 
 Abaddon; who, if I remember aright, haunted 
 the steps of the Saviour, and hovered about the 
 cross while he was crucified. The great ques- 
 tion with her for a long time was, whether the 
 Saviour must not have forgiven him ; but by 
 slow degrees it became at last clear to her that 
 he who came but to seek and save the lost, 
 could not close the door against one that sought 
 174 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 return to his fealty. It was not until she knew 
 the soutar, however, that at length she under- 
 stood the tireless redeeming of the Father, who 
 had sent men blind and stupid and ill-condi- 
 tioned, into a world where they had to learn 
 almost everything. 
 
 There were some few books accessible of a 
 more theological sort, which happily she neither 
 could understand nor was able to imagine she 
 understood, and which therefore she instinctively 
 refused, as containing food neither for thought 
 nor feeling. There was, besides, Dr. Johnson's 
 Rasselas, which mildly interested her, and a 
 book called Dialogues of Devils, which she 
 read with avidity ; and thus, if indeed her igno- 
 rance did not grow much less, at least her 
 knowledge of it grew a little greater. 
 
 And all the time she was haunted with the 
 conviction that she had been in that region 
 before, and that indeed she was very near the 
 spot where she had laid down and lost her 
 child. 
 
 175 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 In the meantime, the said child, a splendid boy, 
 was the delight of the humble dwelling to which 
 he had been borne in triumph, although the 
 mind of the soutar was not a little exercised as 
 to how far their right in the boy approached the 
 paternal : were they justified in regarding him 
 as their love-property, before exhaustive inquiry 
 as to who could claim and might reappropriate 
 him? For a duty was infinite; and no degree 
 of solicitude or fulfilment of obligation could 
 liberate the finder of a thing lost from the neces- 
 sity of restoring it upon demand : none could 
 be certain that the child had been deliberately 
 and finally abandoned ! Maggie, indeed, re- 
 garded the baby as hers by right of rescue ; but 
 what if by retaining him she were depriving her 
 who had lost him of the one remaining link be- 
 tween her and humanity, that held her fast to 
 the ultimate righteousness, and might at last de- 
 liver her from the snare of the enemy? Surely 
 to take and withhold from any woman her child, 
 would be to sever the one tie that bound her to 
 176 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the unseen and eternal ! And the soutar saw 
 that for the sake of the truth in Maggie, she 
 must omit no possible endeavour to restore the 
 child to the care of his mother. 
 
 So the next time Maggie brought the crow- 
 ing infant to the kitchen, her father, who sat as 
 usual under the small window, to gather all the 
 light to be had upon his work, said, glancing up 
 at the child, and turning his eyes again to his 
 work : — 
 
 " Eh, the bonny, glaid cratur ! Wha can say 
 'at sic as he 'at haena the tvva 'm ane to see till 
 them getna frae Himsel' a mair partic'lar and 
 carefu* regaird, gien that could be, than ither 
 bairns ! I would fain believe the same ! " 
 
 " Eh, father, but ye aye think bonny ! " ex- 
 claimed Maggie. " Mony ane has been dingin' 
 't in upo' me 'at sic as he maist aye turn oot 
 onything but weel whan they step oot intill the 
 warl. Eh, but we maun tak' care o' 'im, father ! 
 Whaur would I be wi'oot you at my back ! " 
 
 " And God at the back o' me, bairn ! " re- 
 joined the soutar. " It's possible the Almichty 
 may hae special diffeeculty wi' sic as he, but 
 nane can jeedge o' onything or ony body till 
 they see the hin'er en' o' 't a'. But I 'm thinkin' 
 it maun aye be harder for ane that hasna his 
 ain mither to luik till. Ony ither body, be she 
 as guid as she may, maun be but a mak'shift! 
 12 177 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 For ae thing he winna get the same naitral dis- 
 ciplene ilka mither cat gi'es its kitlins ! " 
 
 " Maybe ! maybe ! — I couldna lay a finger 
 upo' the bonny cratur mysel' ! " said Maggie. 
 
 " There 't is ! " returned her father. " I dinna 
 think," he went on, " we can expec' mucklc frae 
 the wisdom o' the mither o' 'm, gien she had 
 him, nor yet frae that o' ither fowk 'at '11 be sair 
 enough upon 'im though nane wiser! It '11 be 
 but puir disciplene to luik upon 'im as ane in 
 wha's existance God has had nae share — or jist 
 as muckle as gi'es him a grup o' him for his 
 licks ! There 's a heap o' mystery aboot a' 
 thing, Maggie, and that frae the vera beginnin' 
 to the vera en' ; and maybe yon bairnie 's in 
 waur danger than or'nar jist frae you and me, 
 Maggie ! Eh, but I wuss his ain mother were 
 gien back till him ! And wha can tell but she 's 
 needin' him waur nor he's needin' her — though 
 there maun aye be something he canna get, — 
 'cause ye 're no his ain mither, Maggie, and I 'm 
 no his ain gran'father ! " 
 
 The adoptive mother broke into a howl like 
 that of a sorely wounded dam. 
 
 " Father, father, ye '11 brak the hert o' me 1 " 
 she all but yelled. 
 
 Laying the child on the top of her father's 
 hands as they were in the very act of drawing 
 his waxed ends, and thus changing him per- 
 178 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 force from cobbler to nurse, she bolted from the 
 kitchen to hide her misery in solitude. Throw- 
 ing herself down by her bedside, she sought 
 instinctively and unconsciously the presence of 
 him who sees in secret. For a time, however, 
 she had nothing to say even to him, and could 
 only moan on in the darkness that lay beneath 
 her closed eyelids. Suddenly she came to her- 
 self, remembering that she, too, had abandoned 
 the child, and must go back to him. 
 
 But as she ran she heard loud noises of infan- 
 tile jubilation, and, re-entering the kitchen, was 
 at first amazed to see the soutar's hands moving 
 as persistently if not quite so rapidly as before, 
 while the child hung at the back of the soutar's 
 head, in the bight of the long jack-towel he had 
 taken from behind the door, holding on by the 
 hair on the soutar's grey occiput. There he 
 tugged and crowed, while his nurse bent over 
 his work, circumspect in every movement, not 
 once forgetting the precious thing on his back, 
 so delighted with the new style of nursing as 
 only now and then to make a wry face at some 
 motion of the human machine more abrupt than 
 usual. Evidently he took it all as done solely 
 for his pleasure. 
 
 Maggie burst out laughing through her tears, 
 and the child, after a futile effort to stretch out 
 his arms to her, began to cry a little, whereupon 
 179 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the mother in her, waking to a sense that he 
 was being treated too unceremoniously, bounded 
 to Hberate him, undid the towel, and sat down 
 with her treasure in her lap. The grandfather, 
 availing himself of his release, gave his shoul- 
 ders a little writhing shake, laughed an amused 
 laugh, and set off boring and stitching and 
 drawing at redoubled speed. 
 
 " Weel, Maggie," he said interrogatively, 
 without looking up. 
 
 " I saw ye was richt, father, and it set me 
 greitin' sae that I forgot the bairn and you as 
 weel. Gang on, father ; say what ye like : it 's 
 a' true ! " 
 
 " There 's but little mair to say, lassie, noo 
 ye hae begun to say 't to yersel'. But, believe 
 me, though ye can never be the bairn's ain 
 mither, she can never be till 'im the same ye hae 
 been. The pairt ye hae chosen is guid eneuch 
 never to be taen frae ye — i' this warl or the 
 neist ! " 
 
 " Thank ye, father, for that ! I '11 dee for the 
 bairn what I can, ohnforgotten that he *s no 
 mine but anither wuman's. I maunna tak' what 's 
 hers for mine ! " 
 
 The soutar, especially while at his work, was 
 
 always trying " to get," as he said, " into his 
 
 Lord's company " — now trying to understand 
 
 some recorded saying of his, now, it might be, 
 
 i8o 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 his reasons for saying it just then and there; 
 and often he would be pondering why he al- 
 lowed this or that to take place in the world, 
 which was his house, where he was always pres- 
 ent, and always at work. Humble as diligent 
 disciple, he never doubted when once a thing 
 had taken place that it had been his will it 
 should so come to pass, but even where he knew 
 that this or that must ultimately be his Lord's 
 will, he was careful not to set his heart upon the 
 when or how of its taking place, for he knew 
 that evil itself, originating with man or his de- 
 ceiver, must subserve the final will of the All- 
 in-All, and he knew in his own self much that 
 must first be set right before that will could be 
 done in earth as it was in heaven. To this end 
 a divine regeneration was necessary, and this 
 process was but very vaguely discernible at the 
 time by him in whom it was taking place, and 
 still less by another. Therefore, he was able to 
 welcome in his child any new manifestation of 
 feeling, recognising even in its unexpectedness 
 the pressure of a guiding hand in the formation 
 of her history, revealing to herself what was in 
 her, and making room for what was as yet un- 
 developed. Hence he could love what his child 
 was becoming, without being able to fore-imagine 
 the beauty on its way. Hence, too, he was able 
 to understand St. John, where he says, "Beloved, 
 i8i 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet 
 appear what we shall be, but we know that, 
 when he shall appear, we shall be like him, for 
 we shall see him as he is." For first, foremost, 
 and deepest of all, he positively and abso- 
 lutely believed in the man whose history he 
 found in the Gospel : that is, he believed not 
 only that such a man once was, and that every 
 word he then spoke was true ; but believed that 
 he was still in the world, and that every word he 
 then spoke had always been and was still true ; 
 therefore, believed what was yet more to the 
 Master and to his disciple, John MacLear, that 
 the chief end and aim of his conscious life was 
 to live in his presence, to keep his affections ever 
 afresh and constantly turning toward him, ever 
 appealing to him for strength to believe and un- 
 derstand, and ever aspiring toward him. Hence 
 every day he felt afresh that he was living in the 
 house of God, among the things of his father. 
 Many of my readers themselves will think they 
 know the man to whom this description more or 
 less corresponds, and indeed in Tiltbowie itself 
 there was a general feeling about him that did 
 him a sort of justice, even where he was least 
 understood. In a certain far-offway men seemed 
 to know what he was about, although the value 
 of his pursuit they were one and all unable to 
 estimate. What this judgment was, may be so 
 182 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 far gathered from the answer of the village fool 
 to a passer-by who asked him, " Weel, and what 's 
 yer soutar aboot the noo?" " Ow, as usual," 
 answered the natural, " turnin' up ilka muckle 
 stane to luik for his Maister ancth it ! " For in 
 truth he believed that the Lord of men was con- 
 stantly walking to and fro in the kingdom of his 
 Father, seeing what was there going on, and doing 
 his best to bring it to its ideal condition ; that he 
 was ever and always in the deepest sense present 
 in it, and could at any moment show himself, if 
 he pleased, visible in any spot. Never did John 
 MacLear lift his eyes heavenward without a vague 
 feeling that he might that very moment catch a 
 sight of the glory of his coming Lord ; if ever 
 he fixed his eyes on the far horizon, it was 
 never without a shadowy suggestion that, like a 
 sail towering over the edge of the world, the 
 first great flag of the Lord's hitherward march 
 might that moment be rising between earth and 
 heaven ; — for certainly he would come una- 
 wares, and who then could tell the moment he 
 might not set his foot on the edge of the visible, 
 and come out of the dark in which he had 
 hitherto clothed himself as with a garment, to 
 appear in the ancient glory of his transfigura- 
 tion? Thus was he ever on the watch, and thus 
 never did he play the false prophet, with cries 
 of " Lo here ! " and " Lo there ! " nor ever said, 
 183 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " Hear the word of the Lord " when the Lord 
 had not spoken. And even when deepest lost 
 in watching, the lowest whisper of the march of 
 human life was always loud enough to recall the 
 soutar to his " work alive " — to wake him, that 
 is, lest he should be found asleep at the coming 
 of his Lord. His was the same live readiness 
 that had held the ear of Maggie open to the cry 
 of the little one on the hillside. As his daily 
 work was ministration to the weary feet of his 
 Master's men, so was his soul ever awake to 
 their sorrows and spiritual necessities. 
 
 " There 's a haill warl o' bonny wark aboot 
 me ! " he would say. " I hae but to lay my 
 han' to what's neist me, and it's sure to be 
 something that wants deein' ! I 'm clean ashamt 
 when I wauk up to fin' mysel' deein' naething ! " 
 
 Every evening while the summer lasted, he 
 would go out alone for a walk, generally toward 
 a certain wood nigh the town ; for there, though 
 it was of no great extent, and its trees were 
 small, lay a probability of escaping for a few 
 moments from the eyes of men, and a chance of 
 certain of another breed showing themselves. 
 
 " But," he said to Maggie once, " I never 
 cared vera muckle aboot the angels; it's the 
 man, the perfec' man, wha was there wi' the 
 Father afore ever an angel was h'ard tell o', that 
 sen's me upo' my knees ! Whan I see a man 
 184 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 that but 'minds me o' him, my hert rises up wi' 
 a loup, and seems as gien it would 'maist lea' my 
 body ahint it." " Love 's the law o' the universe," 
 he would say, " and it jist works amazin' ! " 
 
 One day, a man, seeing him approach in the 
 near distance, and knowing he had not perceived 
 his presence, lay down behind a great stone to 
 watch " the mad soutar," in the hope of hear- 
 ing him say something insane. As John came 
 nearer, he saw his lips moving, and heard sounds 
 issue from them ; but as he passed nothing was 
 audible but the same words repeated several 
 times, with the same expression of surprise and 
 joy, as if at something for the first time discov- 
 ered : " Eh, Lord ! Eh, Lord, I see ! I un'er- 
 staun' ! — Lord, I 'm yer ain — to the vera deith 
 — a' yer ain ! — Thy father bless thee, Lord ! — 
 I ken ye care for noucht else ! — Eh, but my 
 hert 's glaid ! — that glaid, I 'maist canna 
 speyk ! " 
 
 That man never after spoke of the soutar but 
 with a respect that seemed something like awe. 
 
 After that talk with her father about the child 
 and his mother, a certain silent change appeared 
 in Maggie. People saw in her a look which they 
 read as like that of one whose child was ill, and 
 who expected him soon to die. But what Maggie 
 felt was only that he was not hers but the Lord's, 
 and lent to her but for a season, and that she 
 185 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 must walk softly, doing all for the infant as 
 under the eye of the Master, who might at any 
 moment call to her from above, " Bring the 
 child ; I want him now." And although she 
 soon became as cheerful as before, she never 
 lost the still, solemn look as of one in the eternal 
 spaces, who saw beyond this world's horizon. 
 She even talked less with her father than hith- 
 erto, although at the same time she seemed to 
 live closer to him. She did not seem, however, 
 to try to remember his words, but to ponder 
 something they had given her. Sometimes she 
 would ask him to help her to understand what 
 he had said ; but even then he would not always 
 try to make it plain. He might but answer, — 
 
 " I see, lassie ; ye 're no just ready for 't ! It 's 
 true, though ; and the day maun come whan ye '11 
 see the thing itsel', and ken what it is ; and that 's 
 the only w'y to win at the trowth o' 't ! In fac' 
 to see a thing, and ken a thing, and be sure a 
 thing's true, is a' ane and the same thing!" 
 Such a word from her father was always enough 
 to still and content the girl's mind, and then 
 things would go on as before. Her delight in 
 the child, instead of growing less, went on in- 
 creasing because of the awe rather than dread 
 of having at last to give him up. 
 
 i86 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 All this time the minister remained moody, 
 apparently sunk in contemplation, but indeed 
 mostly brooding, and not meditating either form 
 or truth. Sometimes he felt indeed as if he were 
 losing altogether his power of thinking — espe- 
 cially when in the middle of the week he sat 
 down to find something to say on the Sunday. 
 He had greatly lost interest in the questions that 
 had occupied him so much while yet a student, 
 imagining himself in preparation for what he 
 called the ministry ; for how was one to minister 
 who had not yet learned to obey, and had never 
 sought anything but his own glorification ? What 
 interest could there be in a profession where all 
 was but profession? What pleasure could he 
 find in holy labour who did not indeed offer his 
 pay to purchase the Holy Ghost, but offered the 
 Holy Ghost himself to purchase a living? No 
 wonder he found himself at length in lack of talk 
 wherewith to purchase his one thing needful. 
 He had always been more or less dependent on 
 commentaries for the joint, and even for the 
 187 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 cooking of it; and it was no wonder that his 
 guests should show less and less appetite for 
 the dinners he provided them ! 
 
 The hungry sheep looked up and were not fed ! 
 To have food to give them he must think! to 
 think, he must be in peace ! to have peace he 
 must forget himself! to forget himself he must 
 walk in the truth ! to walk in the truth he must 
 love God and his neighbour I Even to have in- 
 terest in the dry bone of criticism, which alone 
 he could find in his larder, he must broil it, and 
 so burn away in the slow fire of his damp intel- 
 lect every scrap of meat left upon it ! His last 
 relation to his work was departing from him, to 
 leave him lord of a dustheap. He grubbed and 
 nosed and scraped dog-like in the unsavoury 
 mound, but could not uncover a single scrap 
 that smelt of provender. The morning came at 
 last when he recognised, with a burst of agonis- 
 ing sweat, that he dared not stand up before his 
 congregation : not one written word had he to 
 read to them; and extempore utterance was, 
 from very vacancy, impossible to him : he could 
 not think of even one meaningless phrase word 
 to articulate ! He flung his Concordance sprawl- 
 ing upon the floor, snatched up his hat and 
 clerical cane, and, scarce knowing what he did, 
 found himself standing at the soutar's door, 
 where already he had knocked, without a notion 
 188 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 in his head of anything he was come to seek. 
 The old parson, generally in a mood to quarrel 
 with the man he sought, had always gone straight 
 into his workshop without warning, and always 
 been glad once more to see him crouched there 
 over his work ; but the new parson waited help- 
 less on the doorstep for Maggie, whom he did 
 not want to see, to admit him to one to whom 
 he had nothing to say. 
 
 She was occupied with her precious charge, 
 and a few moments passed before she appeared ; 
 but she had opened the door wide before the 
 caller had begun to discover what he might pre- 
 tend to be in want of. In the last extremity of 
 invention, a feasible thought came to him by 
 which he might also avoid the cobbler's deep-set 
 black eyes, of which he was always in some 
 dread, because they seemed to probe searchingly 
 his very thoughts. 
 
 " Do you think your father would have time," 
 he said humbly, " to measure me for a pair of 
 light boots?" 
 
 Mr. Blatherwick was very particular about his 
 foot-gear, and had hitherto always fitted himself 
 in the country town ; but he had learned that 
 nothing he could there buy ready-made ap- 
 proached in quality, either of material or work- 
 manship, what the soutar supplied to his poorest 
 customer ; for, while he would mend anything 
 189 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 worth mending, he would never make anything 
 inferior. 
 
 "Ye '11 get what ye want at such and such 
 place," he would answer, " and I doobtna it '11 
 be as guid as can be made at the siller; but for 
 my ain pairt, ye maun excuse me ! " 
 
 " 'Deed, sir, he '11 be baith glaid and prood to 
 mak' ye as guid a pair o' boots as he can com- 
 pass," answered Maggie. " Jist step in here, sir, 
 and lat him ken what ye want. My bairn 's 
 greitin', and I maun gang till him, for it 's seldom 
 he cries oot ! " 
 
 The minister walked in at the open door of 
 the kitchen, and met the eyes of the soutar 
 expectant. 
 
 " Ye 're welcome, sir," said MacLear, and 
 returned his eyes to the labour he had for a 
 moment interrupted. 
 
 " Will you make me a nice pair of boots, Mr. 
 MacLear? I am somewhat particular about the 
 fit ! " said the minister, as cheerily as he could. 
 
 " I '11 do what I can, sir ; but wi' mair readi- 
 ness nor confidence," answered the shoemaker. 
 " I canna profess assurance o' fittin' the first 
 time, no haein' the necessar' instinc' frae the 
 mak' o' the man to the shape o' the fut, sir." 
 
 " Of course I should like them both neat and 
 comfortable," said the parson. 
 
 " In coorse ye wad, sir, and sae would I ! I 
 190 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 would hae customers tak' note o' my success in 
 followin' the paittern set afore me i' the individ- 
 ooal fut." 
 
 " But you will allow, I suppose, that a foot is 
 seldom as perfect now as when the divine idea 
 of the member was first embodied by its Maker ? " 
 rejoined the minister. 
 
 " Ow, ay; there's been mony an interferin' 
 circumstance; but whan his kingdom's come, 
 things 'II tak' an upward turn for the redemption 
 o' the feet as weel as the lave o' the body — as 
 the Apostle Paul says i' the twenty-third verse o' 
 the aucht chapter o' his epistle to the Romans ; 
 — only I 'm weel advised there 's no sic a thing 
 as adoption mentioned i' the original Greek, sir- 
 That can hae no pairt in what fowk ca's the plan 
 o' salvation — as gien the consumin' fire o' the 
 Love eternal could be ca'd d^plaiif Hech, min- 
 ister, it scunners me ! — But for the fut, it 's aye 
 perfec' eneuch to be my pattern, for it 's the only 
 ane I hae to follow ! It 's himsel' sets the 
 shape o' the shune this or that man maun weir ! " 
 
 " That 's very true — and the same applies to 
 every thing a man cannot help. A man has his 
 make and his circumstances to do the best he can 
 with, and sometimes they seem not to fit each 
 other so well as, I hope, your boots will fit my 
 feet." 
 
 " Ye 're richt there, sir — only that no man 's 
 191 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 bun' to follow his inclinations or his circum- 
 stances, ony mair than he 's bun' to alter his fut 
 to the shape o' a ready-made bute ! But hoc 
 wull ye hae them made, sir? — I mean what 
 fashion o* bute wud ye hae me mak' them?" 
 
 "Oh, I leave that to you, Mr. MacLear — a 
 sort of half-wellington, I suppose — a neat pair 
 of short boots." 
 
 " I understand, sir." 
 
 " But now tell me," said the minister, moved 
 by a sudden impulse, " what you think of this 
 new fad, if it be nothing worse, of the Eng- 
 lish clergy — I mean about confession to the 
 priest. I see they have actually prevailed upon 
 that wretched creature we've all been reading 
 about in the papers lately to confess the murder 
 of her little brother. Do you think they had 
 any right to do that? Remember, the jury 
 had acquitted her." 
 
 " And has she railly confessed? I atn 
 
 glaid o' that ! I only wuss they could get a 
 haud o' Madelaine Smith as weel, and persuaud 
 her to confess ! Eh, the state o' that puir cra- 
 tur's conscience ! It 'maist gars me greet to 
 think o' 't ! Gien she but confess, houp wad 
 spring to life in her sin-oppressed soul ! Eh, 
 but it maun be a great lichtenin' to that puir 
 Miss Kent ! I 'm richt glaid to hear o' 't." 
 
 " I did n't know, Mr. MacLear, that you 
 192 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 favoured the priesthood to such an extent. 
 We clergy of the Presbyterians are not in the 
 way of turning detectives, or acting as agents 
 of human justice. There is no one, guilty or 
 not, but is safe with us." 
 
 " As with any confessor, Papist or Protes- 
 tant," said the soutar ; " and if I understand your 
 news, sir, it can only mean that they persuaded 
 the poor soul to confess her guilt, and so put 
 herself safe in the hands of God ! " 
 
 " But is not that to come between God and 
 the sinner? " 
 
 " Doubtless, sir, — but only in order to bring 
 them together; to persuade the sinner to the 
 first step toward reconciliation with God, and 
 peace in his own mind." 
 
 "That could be had without intervention of 
 the priest ! " 
 
 " Yes, but not without the consenting will of 
 the sinner ! And in this case she would not, 
 and did not confess until so persuaded ! " 
 
 " They had no right to threaten her, as if the 
 power lay with them ! " 
 
 " If they did so, they were wrong; but in any 
 case they did for her the best they knew ! And 
 they did get her, you tell me, to confess, and so 
 cast from her the misery, the horror of carrying 
 about in her secret heart the knowledge of an 
 unforgiven crime ! Christians of all denomina- 
 '3 193 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 tions, I presume, hold that, to be forgiven, a sin 
 must be confessed ! " 
 
 "Yes, to God, — that is enough! No man 
 has a right to know the sins of his neighbour ! " 
 
 " Not even the man against whom the sin was 
 committed? " 
 
 •' Suppose the sin has never come abroad, but 
 remained hidden in the heart, is a man bound to 
 confess it? Is he, for instance, bound to tell his 
 neighbour that he used to hate him and in his 
 heart wish him evil? " 
 
 " The time micht come whan to confess even 
 that would ease the hert ; but in sic a case, the 
 man's first duty, it seems to me, would be to 
 watch for an opportunity o' deein' that neigh- 
 bour a kin'ness. Where a man, however, has 
 done an injustice, an open wrong to a neighbour, 
 he has no ch'ice but confess it: that neighbour 
 is the one from whom he has to ask and receive 
 forgiveness : he alone, if the offender can get at 
 him, can lift the burden aff o' him ! It is his 
 duty, on anither possible gr'un' also, namely, 
 that the blame be na laid at the door o' some in- 
 nocent man. And the author o' nae offence can 
 afford to forget," ended the soutar, " hoo the 
 Lord said, ' There 's nae thing happit-up, but it 
 maun come to the licht'? " 
 
 Now what could have led the minister so near 
 the truth of his own story, like the murderer 
 194 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 who haunts the proximity of the loudest witness 
 to his crime, except the will of God working in 
 him to set him free, I do not know ; but he went 
 on, driven by an impulse he neither understood 
 nor suspected : — 
 
 " Suppose the thing not known, however, or 
 likely to be known, and that the man's confes- 
 sion, instead of serving any good end, could 
 only destroy his reputation and usefulness, and 
 bring bitter grief upon those who loved him, 
 and nothing but shame to the one he had 
 wronged — what would you say then? You will 
 please to remember, Mr. MacLear, that I am 
 putting an entirely imaginary case, and for the 
 sake of argument only." 
 
 "Eh, but I doobt — I doobt yer imaiginary 
 case ! " murmured the soutar to himself, hardly 
 daring even to think his thought clearly, lest 
 somehow it should reveal itself, " Even then," 
 he replied, " it seems to me the offender maun 
 cast aboot him for ane he can trust, and to him 
 reveal the haill affair, that he may get help to 
 see and do what's richt aboot it. It mak's an 
 unco difference upon a thing to luik at it throuw 
 anither man's een, i' the licht o' anither man's 
 conscience ! hae caused sair evil, that is, mair 
 injustice, nor the man himsel' kens? And what 's 
 the reputation ye speak o', or what 's the eesefu'- 
 ness o' sic a man worth? Isna his hoose biggit 
 195 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 upon the leein' sand ? What kin' a usefulness can 
 that be that has for its foundation hypocrisy? 
 Awa' wi' 't a'thegither. Let him flee frac the 
 pooer o' 't ! Lat him destroy 't ! Lat him cry 
 oot to a' the warl, ' I am a worm, and no man ! ' 
 Lat him cry oot to his Maker, ' I am a beast 
 afore thee ! Lat me dee, gien sae thoo wull, but 
 deliver my sowl by this my confession ' ! " 
 
 As the soutar spoke, overcome by sympathy 
 with the sinner, whom he could not help feeling 
 in bodily presence before him, the minister 
 stood listening with a face pale as death, pale 
 with a deadly fear of shame. 
 
 " For God's sake, minister," went on the 
 soutar, " gien ye hae ony sic thing upo' yer min', 
 mak' haste and oot wi' 't. I dinna say to me, but 
 to somebody. Mak' a clean breist o' 't, afore the 
 Adversary has ye again by the thrapple ! " 
 
 But here started up in the minister the pride 
 of conscious superiority in station and learning: 
 what a liberty taken by a shoemaker from whom 
 he had just ordered a pair of boots ! He drew 
 himself up to his lanky height, and made 
 reply : — 
 
 "I am not aware, Mr. MacLear, that I have 
 given you any pretext for addressing me in such 
 terms. As I told you, I was putting a case, a 
 very possible one, indeed, but not the less a 
 merely imaginary one ! But you have made me 
 196 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 see how unsafe it is to enter into any argument 
 on a supposed case with one of limited educa- 
 tion and outlook ! It is my own fault, however, 
 and I beg your pardon for having thoughtlessly 
 led you into such a blunder ! Good morning ! " 
 
 As the door closed behind the parson, he be- 
 gan to felicitate himself on having so happily 
 turned aside the course of their conversation, of 
 which he now first recognised the dangerous 
 drift; but he little thought how much he had 
 already conveyed to a mind and observation 
 so well schooled in the symptoms of human 
 unrest. 
 
 " I must set a better watch over my thoughts," 
 he said to himself, " lest they betray me ! " thus 
 resolving to conceal himself yet more from the 
 one man in the place who saw and would have 
 cut for him the snare of the fowler. 
 
 " I was ower hasty," said the soutar on his 
 part. " But I think the truth has ta'en some 
 grup o' 'im. His conscience is waukin' up, I 
 fancy, and growlin' a bit; and whaur that dog 
 has ance a haud, he 's no ready to lowsen or lat 
 it gang! We maun jist lie quaiet a bit, and 
 see ! His hoor 'ill come ! " 
 
 The minister, being one who turned pale in 
 
 his anger, walked home with a face of such 
 
 corpse-like whiteness, that a woman who met 
 
 him said to herself, " What can ail the minis- 
 
 197 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 tcr, bonny laad ! He 's luikin' as scared as a 
 corp ! That fule body, the soutar, 's been 
 angerin' him wi' his havers ! " 
 
 The first thing he did, notwithstanding, was to 
 turn to the chapter and verse the soutar had in- 
 dicated, which through all his mental commo- 
 tion had, rather oddly, remained unruffled in his 
 memory — only to find, however, that the pas- 
 sage suggested nothing out of which he could 
 fabricate a sermon. How could it be otherwise 
 with one who was quite content to have God 
 nearer him than a merely adoptive father ! He 
 found at the same time that his late interview 
 had rendered the machinery of his thought- 
 factory no fitter than before for the weaving of 
 a tangled wisp of loose ends into the homoge- 
 neous web of a sermon ; and at last found him- 
 self driven to his old stock of carefully preserved 
 preordination sermons, where he was specially 
 unhappy in his choice of one least of all fitted 
 to awake comprehension or interest in his 
 audience. 
 
 His selection made, and the rest of the day 
 clear for inaction, he wrote a letter. Ever since 
 his fall he had been successfully practising the 
 throwing of sops straight into one or other of 
 the throats of the triple-headed Cerberus, his 
 conscience, which was more clever in catching 
 them than they were in choking the said howler; 
 198 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 and one of such sops, the said letter, was the 
 result of his talk with the soutar. Addressed to 
 an old divinity classmate, it was mere gowk- 
 spittle, with the question inside it for core of the 
 spittle — whether his friend had ever heard of 
 the little girl — he could just remember the 
 name and pretty face of her — Isy, general 
 slavey to her aunt's lodgers in the Canongate, 
 of whom he was one: he had often wondered, 
 he said, what had become of her, for he had 
 been almost in love with her for half a year at 
 Deemouth ; and I cannot but take the enquiry 
 as a mere pretence, with the object of deceiving 
 himself into the notion that he had made at 
 least one attempt to discover her. His friend 
 forgot to answer his question, and Blatherwick 
 never reminded him of it. 
 
 199 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 Never dawned Sunday upon soul more wretched. 
 He had not, indeed, to climb into his watchman's 
 tower without the pretence of a proclamation, 
 but on that very morning his father had put the 
 mare between the shafts of the gig to drive his 
 wife to Tiltbowie, and their son's church, instead 
 of one in the next parish, nearer and more 
 accessible, where they were oftener the way of 
 going. And it is not wonderful that they 
 should have found themselves so dissatisfied 
 with the spiritual food laid before them, as to 
 wish heartily that they had remained at home, 
 or driven to the nearer church. The moment 
 the service was over, Mr. Blatherwick felt even 
 more than inclined to drive home without wait- 
 ing for an interview with James ; for there was 
 no remark he could make on the sermon that 
 would be pleasant either for his son or his 
 wife to hear; but Marion combated his resolve 
 with entreaties that grew even angry, until at 
 last Peter was compelled to give sullenly in, 
 and they waited in the churchyard for his 
 appearance. 
 
 200 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 "Weel, Jamie," said his father, shaking hands 
 with him hmply, for, though for different reasons, 
 both their hearts were full of conscious discom- 
 fort," yon was a dish o' some steeve parritch ye 
 gied us this mornin' ! In fac' the meal itsel' was 
 baith auld and soor ! " 
 
 The mother said not a word, but gave her 
 son a pitiful smile; and he, haunted by the taste 
 of failure which his sermon had left in his own 
 mouth, and troubled as well by sub-conscious 
 motions of a gradually waking self-recognition, 
 found it scarce possible to look his father in the 
 face, feeling as if he had been just rebuked by 
 him before all the congregation. 
 
 " Father," he said, " you do not know how 
 difficult it is to preach a fresh sermon every 
 Sunday!" 
 
 " Ca' ye yon fresh, Jamie? It was mair like 
 the fuistit husks o* the half-faimisht swine ! 
 Man, I wuss sic provender would drive yersel' 
 whaur there 's better and to spare ! Ye canna help 
 kenning yon for neither brose nor stourum ! " 
 
 James made a wry face, and the sight of his 
 annoyance broke the thin ice that had gathered 
 over the wellspring in his mother's heart; for a 
 brief moment the minister was her boy again. 
 But he gave her no filial response ; his own 
 ambition, and the praise of worthy men, had 
 blocked the natural movements of the divine 
 
 20I 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 in him, and turned aside his wholesomest im- 
 pulses. He received, however, the conviction 
 that his parents had never had any sympathy 
 with his preaching, and this reacted in a sudden 
 cold flow of resentment, and a thickening of 
 the ice between them. Some fundamental 
 shock must surely be necessary to unsettle and 
 dislodge that overmastering ice, if ever his win- 
 tered heart was to feel the power of a reviving 
 spring ! 
 
 The whole threesum family stood in forced 
 silence for a few moments; then the father said 
 to the mother, — 
 
 " I doobt we maun be settin* oot for hame ! " 
 
 " Will you not come into the manse, and have 
 something before you go? " answered James, 
 not without anxiety lest his housekeeper should 
 be taken at unawares, and annoyed by their ac- 
 ceptance ; he lived in constant dread of offending 
 her, for he feared her searching eyes. 
 
 "Na, I thank ye," returned his father: "it 
 wad taste o' stew ! " {blown dust.) 
 
 It was a rude remark ; but Peter was not in a 
 kind mood ; and when love itself is unkind, it is 
 burning and bitter and merciless. Marion burst 
 into tears. James turned away, and walked 
 home with a gait of wounded dignity. Peter 
 went to interrupt with the bit the mare's feed 
 of oats by the churchyard gate. His wife saw 
 202 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 his hands tremble pitifully as he put the head- 
 stall over the creature's ears, and reproached 
 herself that she had given him such a cold- 
 hearted son. She climbed in a helpless way 
 into the gig, and sat waiting for her husband to 
 take his place beside her, which he did with the 
 remark, — 
 
 " I 'm that drowthy I could drink cauld 
 watter ! " 
 
 They drove away from the place of tombs, but 
 carried death with them, and left the sunlight 
 behind them. 
 
 Neither spoke a word all the way — not until 
 she was dismounting at their own door, did the 
 mother venture even the remark, " Eh, sirs ! " 
 which meant a world of unexpressed and inex- 
 pressible misery. She went straight up to the 
 little garret where she kept her Sunday bonnet, 
 and used to say her prayers when in especial 
 misery, and thence, having placed the venerated 
 adornment in the sacred chest, went to her bed- 
 room, where she washed her face, and prepared 
 to encounter the dinner Isy had got ready for 
 them — hoping to hear something about the 
 sermon, perhaps even some little word about 
 the minister himself. But Isy, too, must share 
 in the disappointment of that glorious Sunday 
 morning. Not a word passed between the two. 
 Their son was the shepherd, indeed, but rather 
 203 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the keeper of the sheepfold than of the sheep. 
 Over the church he was very careful that it 
 should be properly swept and sometimes even 
 garnished, but of the temple of the Holy Ghost, 
 the hearts of his sheep, he knew nothing ! The 
 gloom of his parents, their sense of failure and 
 loss, grew and grew all the dull hot afternoon, 
 until to both of them it seemed almost to pass 
 their power of endurance. At last, however, it 
 abated, as does every pain, for life is at its root; 
 thereto ordained, it slew itself by exhaustion. 
 " But," said the mother to herself, " there 's 
 Monday comin', and what am I to do ! " For 
 she felt that with the new day would return the 
 old trouble, the gnawing, sickening pain that 
 she was childless — her daughter gone, and no 
 son left. None the less, however, when the 
 new day came, it brought with it its own new 
 possibility of living yet one day more. 
 
 But the minister, although he did not know it, 
 was much more to be pitied than those whose 
 misery he was. All night long he had slept with 
 a sense of ill-usage sub-lying his consciousness 
 and dominating his dreams ; but with the sun 
 came a doubt whether he had not acted in a way 
 unseemly when he turned and left his father and 
 mother alone in the churchyard. Of course 
 they had not treated him well ; but what would 
 any of his congregation — and some might have 
 204 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 happened to be lingering in the churchyard — 
 think to have seen them part as they did? 
 What would the scene have looked like? He 
 did not answer himself, however, that it would 
 have looked what it was, and justified a severe 
 judgment on him ! He thought only to take 
 precaution against such a judgment. 
 
 When he had had his breakfast, he set out, his 
 custom of a Monday morning after the fatigues 
 of the Sunday, for what he called a quiet stroll, 
 but his thoughts would keep returning, and that 
 with ever fresh resentment, to the soutar's 
 insinuation — for such he counted it — on the 
 Saturday; when suddenly, all uninvited, and 
 displacing the mental phantasm of her father, 
 arose before him that of Maggie, as he had seen 
 her turn from him that same Saturday morning 
 with an embarrassed flush ; and with it the sud- 
 den question. What baby was it on which she 
 seemed so constantly to spend her devotion? he 
 had never heard of brother or sister ! and it 
 would be strange were there such a difference 
 of age between them ! Could it be Maggie her- 
 self made a slip? With the idea arose in him a 
 certain satisfaction in the possible prospect of 
 learning that this man, so ready to believe evil 
 of his neighbour, had not succeeded in keeping 
 his own house undefiled. He rebuked himself 
 the next moment, it is true, in a mild fashion, 
 205 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 for harbouring even the ghost of satisfaction in 
 the wrong-doing of another: it was rejoicing in 
 iniquity unbefitting the pastor of a Christian 
 flock ! It was, however, he said, for himself 
 only, but presently he pardoned a passing 
 thought, against whose entrance he had not 
 been warned in time ! But it came and came 
 again, and he took no continuous trouble to 
 cast it out. When he returned from his walk, 
 he warily asked his housekeeper about the 
 little one, but she only shook her head know- 
 ingly, as if she knew more than she chose to 
 tell. It shows how little he had moved among 
 his flock that he had never heard how the child 
 came to be in the soutar's house. 
 
 After his early dinner, he thought it would be 
 well to forgive his parents and call at Stone- 
 cross : that would tend to wipe out any undesir- 
 able conclusion their hurried parting might have 
 left on the minds of his parents, and to prevent 
 any breath of gossip from injuring him in his 
 sacred profession ! He had not been to see 
 them for a long time; and although such visits 
 gave him no satisfaction, he never dreamed of 
 attributing it to his own want of cordiality, while 
 he judged it well to avoid any appearance of 
 evil, and therefore thought it his duty to pay 
 them a hurried call about once a month. Now, 
 upon reflection, he saw it must be nearly three 
 206 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 months since last he had been at the place, but 
 he excused himself because of the distance, and 
 his not being a good walker ! Even now he 
 was in no haste to set out, and had a long 
 snooze in his armchair first; so that it was the 
 evening when he climbed the hill and came in 
 sight of the low gable behind which he was 
 born. 
 
 Isy was in the garden gathering up the linen 
 she had spread to dry on the gooseberry bushes, 
 when his head came in sight at the top of the 
 brae. She knew him at once, and, stooping 
 behind the bushes, fled to the back of the house, 
 and so away to the moor. James saw the white 
 flutter of a sheet, but nothing of her who took 
 it, neither heard any allusion to her presence 
 at the farm. He had, indeed, heard that his 
 mother had a very nice young woman to help 
 her in the house, but he had so little interest 
 in home-affairs that the news waked in him no 
 curiosity. 
 
 Ever since she came, Isy had been on the out- 
 look lest James should unexpectedly surprise 
 her, and be surprised into an unwitting dis- 
 closure of his relation to her; and not even by 
 the long deferring of her hope to see him yet 
 again, had she come to pretermit her vigilance; 
 for the longer he delayed, the more certain it 
 became that he must soon appear. She had not 
 207 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 intended to avoid him altogether, only not to 
 startle him into any unintentional recognition 
 of her in the presence of his mother. But 
 when she saw him approaching the house, her 
 courage failed her, and she fled to avoid the 
 danger of betraying both herself and him. 
 She was, in truth, ashamed of meeting him, 
 feeling guiltily exposed to his just reproaches. 
 All the time he remained with his mother, 
 she kept watching the house, nor once showed 
 herself until he was gone, when she reappeared 
 as if just returned from roaming the moor. 
 Her mistress imagined she still indulged the 
 hope of there finding her baby, whose very 
 existence the elder woman doubted, taking it 
 for nothing but a half crazy survival from the 
 time of her insanity before the Robertsons 
 found her. 
 
 The minister made a comforting peace with 
 his mother, telling her a part of the truth, 
 namely, that he had been much out of sorts 
 during the week, and quite unable to write a 
 new sermon, so had been driven at the very last 
 to take an old one so hurriedly that he failed to 
 recall correctly the subject and nature of it, 
 which he soon but too late found to be alto- 
 gether unsuitable, and that at a moment fatal 
 to his equanimity, when, discovering his par- 
 ents in the congregation, he was so dismayed 
 208 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 that he lost his self-possession, and from that 
 ensued his apparent lack of cordiality. It was 
 a lame excuse, but served to silence, if not to 
 satisfy, his mother at least. His father was 
 out of doors, and he did not see him. 
 
 14 209 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 As time went on, the terror of discovery grew 
 rather than abated in the mind of the minister. 
 He did not know whence or why it was so, for 
 no news of Isy reached him, and in his cooler 
 moments he felt almost certain she could not 
 have passed so completely out of sight and 
 hearing if she were still in the world. When 
 most persuaded of this, he felt ablest to live 
 and forget the past, of which indeed, blotted as 
 it was with a dangerous wrong, he could recall 
 no portion with satisfaction, while its darkness 
 and silence gave it a threatening aspect, out of 
 which any moment might burst the hidden 
 enemy, the thing that might, and must not be 
 known : the thought was torture. At the same 
 time he felt that, having done nothing to hide 
 the miserable fact, neither now would he do 
 anything to keep it secret ; he would leave all 
 to that Providence which seemed hitherto to 
 have wrought on his behalf; while he himself 
 only kept a silence which no gentleman must 
 break! And why should that come abroad 
 which Providence itself concealed? Who had 
 
 210 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 any claim to know a mere passing fault, which 
 the partner in it must least of all desire ex- 
 posed, seeing it would fall heavier upon her 
 than upon him ? Where then cculd be the call 
 for confession, about which the soutar maun- 
 dered so? If, on the other hand, the secret 
 should threaten to creep out, he would not, he 
 flattered himself, move a finger to retain over it 
 the veil of concealment: he would, on the con- 
 trary, that moment disappear in some trackless 
 solitude, rejoicing that the truth was known, 
 and that he had nothing left to wish hidden ! 
 As to the charge of hypocrisy that was sure to 
 follow such discovery, he was innocent: he 
 had never said anything he did not believe ; he 
 had made no professions but such as were in- 
 volved in his position; never once had he posed 
 as a man of Christian experience — like the 
 soutar, for instance ! Simply and only he had 
 been overtaken in a fault: he never repeated, 
 would never repeat it; and was willing to atone 
 for it in any way he could ! It must be remem- 
 bered for him that he was altogether in the dark 
 as to the existence of the little one. 
 
 Upon the Saturday after the minister's visit 
 to his parents, the soutar had been hard at work 
 all day long finishing the new boots which the 
 minister had ordered of him, and which indeed 
 he had almost forgotten in his anxiety about 
 
 211 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 him for whom he had to make them. For Mac- 
 Lear was now thoroughly convinced that the 
 young man had " some sick offence within his 
 mind," and was the more anxious to finish his 
 boots in time to carry them home the same 
 night, that he knew his words had increased 
 the sickness of that offence, and that he would 
 not be sorry if opportunity occurred for keeping 
 that same sickness alive, seeing it was the one 
 form that returning health could take. Noth- 
 ing attracted the soutar more than a chance of 
 doing anything to lift from a human soul, were 
 it but a single fold of the darkness that com- 
 passed it, and so let the light nearer to the 
 troubled heart. At the same time, as to what 
 it might be that was harassing the minister's 
 soul, he sternly repressed all curiosity, and 
 indeed suspected nothing of what lay festering 
 there. He had no desire that he should un- 
 bosom himself to him, but hoped what he said 
 would send him to seeking counsel of some one 
 who could help him, and that, his displeasure 
 gradually passing, he would resume his friendly 
 intercourse with himself, for somehow there 
 was that in the gloomy parson which powerfully 
 attracted the cheery and hopeful soutar, who 
 set down his troubled abstraction to the hunger 
 of his heart after a spiritual good he had not 
 begun to find; he could not, he thought, under- 
 
 212 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 stand the good news about God, — that he was 
 to all his children just what Jesus seemed to 
 them that saw God in his countenance; he 
 could not have learned from Jesus much of the 
 truth about God, for it seemed to make in him 
 no gladness, no power of life, no strength to 
 be : for him he had not risen, but lay wrapt in 
 the mummy-cloths, where the women had suc- 
 ceeded in embalming him ; and the larks and 
 the angels were both mistaken in singing as 
 they did! 
 
 At such an hour as made the soutar doubt 
 whether the housekeeper might not have retired 
 for the night, he rang the bell of the manse- 
 door, and brought the minister himself from his 
 study to confront him with the new boots in his 
 hand on the other side of the threshold. 
 
 In the meantime, James Blatherwick had 
 come to see that his late attempt at communi- 
 cation with the soutar had exposed him to a not 
 unnatural suspicion, and was now bent on re- 
 moving the unfortunate impression his words 
 might have made. Wishing therefore to ap- 
 pear to cherish no offence because of his par- 
 ishioner's appeal to him when last they parted, 
 and thus to obliterate any notion that a con- 
 fession lurked behind his repented words, he 
 addressed him with the abandon which, gloomy 
 in spirit as he now habitually was, he had yet 
 213 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 learned to assume in a moment when the mask- 
 ing instinct was roused in him. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. MacLear," he said jocularly, "I 
 am glad you have just managed to escape 
 breaking the Sabbath ! You have had a close 
 shave! It wants about ten minutes, hardly 
 more, to the awful hour! " 
 
 " I doobt, sir, it would hae broken the Saw- 
 bath waur, to fail o' my word for the sake o' a 
 steik or twa, that maiters naething to God or 
 man," returned the soutar. 
 
 "Ah, well, we won't argue about it; but if 
 we were inclined to be strict, the Sabbath 
 began some " — here he looked at his watch — 
 "some five hours and three-quarters ago, that 
 is, at six of the clock, Saturday evening ! " 
 
 " Hoot, minister, ye ken ye 're wrang there, 
 for, Jew-wise, it began at sax o' the Friday 
 nicht ! But ye hae made it plain frae the poopit 
 that ye hae nae supperstition aboot the first day 
 o' the week, which alane has aucht to do wi' us 
 Christians ! We 're no a' Jews, though there 's 
 a heap o' them upo' this side o' the Tweed ; and 
 I for ane confess nae obligation but to drap 
 workin' and sit doon wi' clean ban's, or as 
 clean as I can weel mak' them, to the speeritual 
 table o' the Lord, whan I aye try also to weir a 
 cheerfu' and clean face — as far as the sermon 
 will permit, and there 's aye a pyke o' mate 
 214 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 samewhaur intill 't ! For isna it the bonny day 
 whan the Lord wad hae us sit doon and eat wi' 
 himsel', wha made the heavens and the earth, 
 and the waters under the earth that haud it up ? 
 Didna he rise this day, and poor oot the gran' 
 reid wine, and say, ' Sit ye doon, bairns, and 
 tak' o' my best ' ? " 
 
 "Ay, ay, Mr. MacLear, that 's a fine way to 
 think of the Sabbath ! " rejoined the minister, 
 "and the very way I 'm in the habit of thinking 
 of it myself. — I'm greatly obliged to you for 
 bringing home my boots; but indeed I could 
 have managed very well without them ! " 
 
 "Ay, sir, maybe; I dinna doobt ye hae pairs 
 eneuch for that, but ye see 1 couldna do wV oot 
 them, for I \\2A promised.'' 
 
 The word struck the minister to the heart. 
 "He means it!" he said to himself. "But I 
 never promised the girl anything! I could not 
 have done it ! I never thought of such a thing! 
 I am not bound by anything I said ! " 
 
 He never saw or said to himself that, whether 
 he had promised or not, his deed had bound 
 him more absolutely than could any words. 
 
 All this time he was letting the soutar stand 
 on the doorstep, with the new boots in his 
 hand. 
 
 "Come in," he said at last, "and put them 
 there in the window. It's about time we were 
 
 215 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 all going to bed, I think, — especially me, the 
 morn being preaching-day! " 
 
 The soutar betook himself to his home and 
 to bed, sorry that he had said nothing, yet hav- 
 ing said more than he knew. 
 
 The next evening he listened to the best ser- 
 mon he had yet heard from that pulpit, — a 
 r6sum6 of the facts bearing on the resurrection 
 of our Lord, with which sermon, however, a 
 large part of the congregation was anything but 
 pleased, because the minister admitted the im- 
 possibility of reconciling in every particular the 
 differing accounts of the doings and seeings of 
 those who witnessed it. 
 
 "As if," said the soutar, "the Lord wasna to 
 shaw himsel' openly till a' that saw the thing 
 were agreed as to their recollection o' what they 
 saw ! " 
 
 He himself went home edified and uplifted 
 by the fresh contemplation of the story of his 
 Master's victory, whose pains were over at last, 
 and he through death lord for ever over death 
 and evil, over pain and loss and fear, who was 
 already, through his Father, lord of creation and 
 life, and all things, visible and invisible, lord 
 of all thinking and feeling and judgment, able 
 to give repentance and restoration and recov- 
 ery, and to set right all that self-will had set 
 wrong. The heart of his humble disciple re- 
 216 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 joiced in him. Indeed he scandalised the repos- 
 ing Sabbath-street by breaking out as he went 
 home into a somewhat unmelodious song, sing- 
 ing, "They are all gone down to hell with the 
 weapons of their war! " to a tune nobody knew 
 but himself, and which he could never have 
 sung again. "O Faithful and True," he broke 
 out again as he reached his own door; but 
 stopped suddenly, saying, "Tut, tut, the fowk 
 '11 think I hae been drinkin' ! — Eh," he said to 
 himself as he went in, "gien I micht but ance 
 hear the name that no man kennet but himsel' ! " 
 
 The next day he was very tired, and felt it 
 would be quite right to take a holiday, although 
 it was one of the six days in which the old 
 commandment enjoined him to labour and do 
 all his work. So he took a large piece of oat- 
 cake in his pocket, and, telling Maggie he was 
 going to the hills "to do naething and a'thing, 
 baith at ance, a' day," disappeared with a back- 
 ward look and a lingering smile. 
 
 He went brimful of expectation, neither was 
 disappointed in those he met by the way. 
 
 After walking some distance, however, in 
 quiescent peace, and having since noontide met 
 no one — to use his own fashion of speech — -by 
 which he meant that no individual thought 
 had arisen in his mind, for he always was ready 
 to regard a thought that came suddenly, with- 
 217 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 out his having looked for or invited its approach, 
 as a word direct from the First Thought into 
 his. He bethought him of Peter Blatherwick, 
 whom he had known for many years, and hon- 
 oured as a genuine Nathaniel, a man without 
 guile; and not having seen him now for a long 
 time, it was with a rush of pleasure and confi- 
 dence that he thought of him again, and the 
 desire to see him came upon him. He had left 
 the farm far behind, but he turned at once his 
 face and his feet toward Stonecross; for the 
 farmer's true face was one he was sure of meet- 
 ing in the kingdom of heaven ; and now first he 
 became aware of a special reason for wishing 
 to see him ; he had caught a sight of him and 
 his wife as they stood in the churchyard after 
 James's disappointing sermon, and could not 
 help seeing that neither had profited by it ; and 
 now he rejoiced in the thought of making them 
 share in the pleasure and benefit he had gath- 
 ered from the sermon of yesterday evening. 
 He went as a messenger of good tidings, a wit- 
 ness to the quality of the food their son then 
 laid before the sheep he was appointed to feed. 
 His eagerness to see his friend increased as he 
 approached his dwelling, and, having knocked 
 at the door, stood attending on its opening. 
 
 To his surprise, the farmer came himself to 
 the door, and stood there in silence, with a look 
 218 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 that seemed to say, " I know you ; but what can 
 you be wanting of me?" His face looked 
 troubled, and not merely sorrowful, but scared. 
 Usually ruddy with health and calm with con- 
 tent, it was now blotted with white shadows, 
 and seemed, as he held the door-handle with- 
 out a welcome, that of one who was aware of 
 something unseen behind him. 
 
 "What can ail ye, Mr. Blatherwick .'' " asked 
 the soutar in a voice that faltered with sympa- 
 thetic anxiety. "Surely — I houp there's nae- 
 thing come ower the mistress ! " — for how could 
 less than mishap to her make her husband look 
 like that } 
 
 " Na, I thank ye; she's vera weel; but a 
 dreid thing has befa'en her and me. It 's little 
 mair nor an hoor sin syne 'at oor Isy — ye 
 maun hae h'ard tell o' Isy, that we baith had 
 sic a fawoour for — a' at ance she jist drappit 
 doon deid, as gien shotten wi' a gun. In fac' 
 I thoucht for a meenut, though I h'ard nae shot, 
 that sic had been the case. The ae meenut she 
 stude talkin' to her mistress i' the kitchen, and 
 the next she was in a heap on the flure o' 't ! — 
 But come in, come in." 
 
 "Eh, the bonny lassie!" cried the shoe- 
 maker, without moving to enter; "I min' upo' 
 her weel, though I think I never saw her but 
 ance! — a fine, delicat' pictur' o' a lassie, that 
 219 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 luikit at ye as gien she made ye kin'ly welcome 
 to onything she could gie or get for ye ! " 
 
 " Aweel, as I 'm telling ye," said the farmer, 
 " she 's awa' ; and we '11 see her no more till the 
 earth gies up her deid. The wife 's in there 
 wi' what 's left o' her, greitin' as gien she wad 
 greit oot her een. Eh, but she lo'ed her weel ! 
 Doon she drappit, and never a moment to say 
 her prayers ! " 
 
 "That matters na muckle, — no a hair, in 
 fac' ! " returned the soutar. " It was the Father 
 o' her, nane ither, that took her. He wantit 
 her hame; and he 's no ane to dee onything ill, 
 or at the wrang moment ! Gien a meenut mair 
 had been ony guid till her, thinkna ye she 
 would hae had that meenut ? " 
 
 "Willna ye come in and see her? Some 
 fowk canna bide to luik upo' the deid, but ye 
 canna be ane o' sic ! " 
 
 "Na; it's trowth I daurna be nane o' sic. 
 I s' gang wi' ye to luik upo' the face o' ane 'at 's 
 won throuw richt wullingly — though the leev- 
 ing coontenance maun aye be a heap bonnier, 
 bein' mair like to the Son o' Man, the first and 
 the last, that can never dee ! " 
 
 "Come awa', than; and maybe the Lord 'ill 
 gie ye a word o' comfort for her mistress, for 
 she tak's on terrible aboot her. It jist braks 
 my hert to see her ! " 
 
 220 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 "The hert o' king or cobbler 's i' the han' o' 
 the Lord," answered the soutar solemnly, "and 
 gien my hert indite onything, my tongue 'ill 
 be ready to speyk the same." 
 
 He followed the farmer, who trode softly, 
 as if he feared disturbing the sleeper, upon 
 whom even the sudden silences of the world 
 would break no more. 
 
 Mr. Blatherwick led the way to the parlour, 
 and through it to a closet behind, used as a 
 guest-chamber when used at all. There, on a 
 little white bed with white dimity curtains, 
 drawn entirely back, as if still a hope was 
 cherished of her revival from what at first they 
 supposed a swoon, lay the form of Isobel. The 
 eyes of the soutar, in whom had lingered yet 
 a hope, at once, although not unaccustomed to 
 the face of the dead, concluded that she was 
 indeed gone to return no more. Her lovely 
 little face, although its light was departed, and 
 its beautiful eyes were closed, was even love- 
 lier than before. Her arms and hands lay 
 straight by her sides, as if their work was gone 
 from them, and nothing left for them to do, 
 neither would any voice again call Isy. Now 
 she might sleep on and take her rest ! 
 
 "I had but to lay them straucht," sobbed her 
 mistress; "her een she had closed hersel' as 
 she drappit — deid at my vera feet ! Eh, but 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 she was a bonny lassie — and a guid, naething 
 less nor a dother to me ! " 
 
 "And a dother to me as weel ! " supple- 
 mented Peter, with a burst of dry sobbing. 
 
 " And no ance had I paid her a penny wage ! " 
 exclaimed Marion, with a sudden remorseful 
 reminiscence as of a wrong she had done her. 
 
 " She never wantit it — and never wull noo — 
 or ance think o' wages! We '11 e'en han' them 
 ower to the hospital, and that '11 ease yer min', 
 Marion ! " said the more practical Peter. 
 
 " Eh, she was a dacent, mensefu', richt 
 lo'able cratur!" cried Marion. "She never 
 said naething to jeedge by, but I hae a glimmer 
 o' houp she may ha' been ane o' the Lord's 
 ain." 
 
 "Is that a' ye can say, mem.-*" interposed 
 the soutar. " Sure ye widna daur imaigine her 
 drappit oot o' his ban's!" 
 
 "Na," returned Marion; "but I wad richt 
 fain ken her weel intill them ! and wha is there 
 to assure us she had the needfu' faith i' the 
 atonement ? " 
 
 " 'Deed, I carena, mem ! I houp she had faith 
 i' naither thing nor thoucht but the Lord him- 
 sel' ! Alive or deid, we 're in his ban's wha 
 dee'd for us, revealin' his Father," said the 
 soutar; "and gien she didna ken him afore, 
 she wull noo! The holy All-in-all be wi' her 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 i' the dark, or whatever comes first! — O God, 
 hand up her heid, and latna the watters gang 
 ovver her! " 
 
 Anti-Theology rose, dull, rampant, and indig- 
 nant ; but the solemn face of the dead interdicted 
 dispute, and love was ready to hope, if not quite 
 to believe. Nevertheless, to those guileless two, 
 the words of the soutar sounded like blasphemy : 
 was not her fate settled for ever? Had not death 
 in a moment turned her into an immortal angel 
 or an equally immortal devil? Only how, at 
 such a moment, with the peaceful face before 
 them, were they to argue the possibility that 
 she, the loving, the gentle, whose fault they 
 knew only by her confession, was now as utterly 
 disregarded by the God of the living as if she 
 had never been born? Was the same measure, 
 thought the soutar, to be meted to her as to 
 him that betrayed the Holy One in the garden of 
 his prayers? Would it have been better for her, 
 too, that she had never been born? Therefore 
 no one spoke ; and the soutar, after gazing on 
 her image for a while, prayer overflowing in his 
 heart but never reaching his lips, turned slowly, 
 and departed without a word. 
 
 Reaching home long before his Maggie ex- 
 pected him, he told her of the blow that had 
 fallen upon the good people of Stonecross. 
 Maggie clasped her baby to her bosom, and 
 223 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 was silent; she had never even seen the young 
 woman, and had never once thought of her and 
 the baby together. 
 
 Just ere he reached his own door, however, 
 he met the parson, whom, then first remember- 
 ing with what object he had gone to pay his 
 parents a visit, he told of the condition in which 
 he had found and left them, adding that very 
 plainly they were in sore need of what sympathy 
 it might be in his power to show them, he so 
 representing the shock they had received and 
 the bitterness of their grief, that the young 
 minister, although he marvelled at their being 
 in such trouble about the death of merely a ser- 
 vant, was roused to the duty of his profession ; 
 and although his heart had never yet drawn 
 him either to the house of mourning or of mirth, 
 he judged it becoming to call again at Stone- 
 cross, and the rather, perhaps, that on the occa- 
 sion of his last visit neither had his father left 
 his work when he heard he was in the house, 
 nor had James gone to the next field where his 
 father was. It pleased the soutar that he had 
 faced about in the street, and, without going in 
 the direction of the manse, started immediately 
 for the farm, with a quicker stride than, since his 
 return to Tiltbowie as its minister, he had seen 
 him put on. 
 
 James had never encountered Isobel at his 
 224 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 father's house, and had not the smallest antici- 
 pation of whose face he was about to meet after 
 a separation so long. Had he foreseen what 
 was awaiting him, I cannot even conjecture the 
 feeling with which he would have approached 
 the house, whether one of compunction, or one 
 of relief from a haunting sense of danger, with- 
 out which, revived and deepened by her reap- 
 pearance at Deemouth, he would probably by 
 this time have all but forgotten " the unfor- 
 tunate accident " from whose possible results 
 Providence seemed hitherto to have protected 
 him. Utterly unconscious, then, of the shock 
 toward which he was rushing, he hurried on 
 with a faint pleasure at the thought of seeing 
 his mother, and having something because of 
 which to assume the superiority of expostulation 
 with her. Toward his father, had he ever 
 examined his consciousness, he would have 
 been aware of a dim feeling of disapproval, if 
 not of repugnance. His emotional condition 
 toward him, if indeed in some measure an un- 
 usual one, was by no means an exceptional or 
 solitary case : there are many in the world who 
 have not yet learned to love, still less to trust 
 their parents, and whose hearts are even now 
 waiting to surprise them, in a mode they cannot 
 foresee because incapable of understanding it. 
 James Blatherwick was one of those, probably 
 IS 225 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 few, whose sluggish natures require, for the 
 melting of their stubbornness and their remould- 
 ing into forms of strength and beauty, such a 
 concentration of the love of God as takes the 
 shape of a consuming fire. 
 
 226 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 The night had fallen when he reached the farm. 
 The place was silent ; the doors were all shut, 
 and when he opened the nearest, seldom used 
 but for the reception of strangers, and walked 
 in, not a soul was to be seen. No one came to 
 meet him, for no one had even thought of or 
 desired his coming. He went into the parlour, 
 and there, from the little chamber beyond, whose 
 door stood wide open, appeared his mother. 
 Her heart big with grief, she clasped him in her 
 arms, and laid her cheek against his bosom; 
 higher she could not reach, and nearer to him 
 than his breast-bone she could not come. No 
 endearment had ever been natural to James ; he 
 had never encouraged or missed any, neither 
 knew how to receive such when perforce it 
 manifested itself. 
 
 " I am distressed, mother," he began, " to see 
 you so upset, and cannot help thinking such a 
 display of feeling unnecessary, and, if I may say 
 so, unreasonable. You cannot, in such a brief 
 period as this new maid of yours has been with 
 you, have naturally developed such an affection 
 227 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 for her, as this — " he hesitated for a word — 
 " as this bojilcverseuicnt would seem to indicate ! 
 The young woman can hardly be a relative, or I 
 should have heard of her existence. The sud- 
 denness of the occurrence, of which I heard from 
 my shoemaker, MacLear, must have wrought 
 disastrously upon your nerves. Come, come, 
 dear mother ! you must indeed compose your- 
 self. It is quite unworthy of you, to yield to 
 such paroxysms of unnatural and uncalled-for 
 grief Surely it is the part of a Christian like 
 you to meet with calmness, especially in the case 
 of one you have known so little, that inevitable 
 change which neither man nor woman can avoid 
 longer than a few years at most! Of course, the 
 appalling instantaneousness of it in the present 
 case goes far to explain and excuse your emo- 
 tion, but now at least, after so many hours have 
 elapsed, it is time for reason to resume her sway, 
 and for calmness to succeed storm ! Was it not 
 Schiller who said, ' Death cannot be an evil, for 
 it is universal '? At all events, it is not an un- 
 mitigated evil!" he added — with a sigh, as if 
 for his part he was prepared to welcome it. 
 
 During this prolonged and foolish speech, the 
 gentle woman, whose mother-heart had loved the 
 poor girl that bore her daughter's name, had been 
 restraining her sobs behind her handkerchief, 
 but now, perhaps, it was a little wholesome anger 
 228 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 that woke as she Hstened to her son's cold com- 
 monplaces, and made her able to speak. 
 
 "Ye didna ken her, laddie," she cried, " or ye 
 would never mint at layin' yer tongue upon her 
 like that ! — 'Deed, na, ye wouldna ! I doobt gien 
 ever ye could hae come to ken as she was sic a 
 bonny sowl as dwalt in yon white-faced, patient 
 thing, lyin' i' the chaumer there, wi' the stang 
 oot o* her hert at last, and left the sharper i' 
 mine ! But me and yer father, weel we likit her; 
 for to hiz she was mair a dochter nor a servan', 
 wi' a braw lovin' kin'ness no to be luikit for frae 
 ony son, wha 's but a man, and we never had frae 
 ony lass but oor ain Isy ! Jistgang ye intill the 
 closet there, gien ye wull, and ye '11 see some- 
 thing that '11 maybe saften yer hert a bit, and lat 
 ye un'erstan' what mak' o' a thing 's come to the 
 twa auld fowk ye never cared sae muckle aboot ! " 
 
 James felt himself bitterly aggrieved by this 
 personal allusion of his mother. How unfair 
 she was to him ! What had he ever done to 
 offend her? He had always behaved himself 
 properly, — except indeed that once when he 
 had been betrayed into wrong, — of which, how- 
 ever, neither she, nor living soul else, knew any- 
 thing, or would ever know. What right had she, 
 then, to say such things to him? She had never 
 done so before. Had he not fulfilled the expec- 
 tations with which his father sent him to college? 
 229 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Had he not gained a position the reflected splen- 
 dour of which would always crown them the 
 parents of James Blatherwick? She was behav- 
 ing very ill to him, showing him none of the 
 consideration and respect he had so justly earned, 
 but never demanded of them. He rose sud- 
 denly, and with scarce a thought save to escape 
 from his mother in a way that must manifest his 
 displeasure, left the room, and walked heedlessly 
 into the little chamber, and the presence of the 
 more heedless dead. 
 
 The night had fallen, but the small window of 
 the room looked westward, and a bar of golden 
 light yet lay like a resurrection stone over the spot 
 where the sun was buried. A pale sad gleam, 
 softly vanishing, hovered, hardly rested, upon 
 the lovely, still, unlocking face, that lay white on 
 the scarcely whiter pillow. Coming out of the 
 darker room, the sharp, low light blinded him a 
 little, and he saw without any certainty of per- 
 ception, yet seemed to have something before 
 him altogether unfamiliar, giving him a sense 
 of something he had known once, perhaps yet 
 ought to know, but had forgotten; the truth 
 concerning it seemed hidden by the strange 
 autumnal light, which yet alone revealed it. 
 Concluding himself oddly affected by the sight 
 of a room he had regarded with some awe in 
 his childhood, and had not set foot in for so long, 
 230 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 he drew, almost unconsciously, a little nearer 
 to the bed, to look closer at this paragon of 
 servants whose loss caused his mother a sorrow 
 so unreasonably poignant. The sense of some- 
 thing known grew stronger. Not even yet did 
 he recognise the death-changed countenance, 
 but he knew now that he Jiad seen that still face 
 before, and knew also that, were she but for one 
 moment to open those eyes, he would know who 
 she was. Then the truth flashed upon him ; it 
 was — Good God, could it be the dead face of 
 Isy? It was the merest nonsensical fancy! 
 Nothing but an illusion of the light and darkness 
 that would not mingle properly ! In the day- 
 light he could never have been so befooled. 
 How could his imagination have played so false 
 a game with him ! Strange that he should just 
 once be so mis-served by a mind of unshakable 
 sanity like his ! He had always prided himself 
 on the clearness, both physical and mental, with 
 which he saw everything. Still, his foolish 
 imagination had power enough to fix him where 
 he stood, gazing on what was only like, and 
 could not be the same : he could not turn and 
 go from it. Why did he not by mere will force 
 himself out of the room? Was it only repug- 
 nance to encounter again the unbecoming tears 
 of his mother that held him paralysed? He 
 could not stir a foot, but stared and stood. And 
 231 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 as he kept looking, the dead face grew upon 
 him, and kept telHng him who she was, — grew 
 more and more like the only girl whom in any 
 sense he had ever loved. If it was not she, how 
 could the dead look so like the living he had 
 once known and loved? At length what doubt 
 was left changed at once to the assurance that 
 this was indeed all that he had known of the girl 
 whom now he could know no more ! And — 
 dare I say it? — it was but a sense of relief the 
 assurance brought him. He breathed a sigh of 
 such peace as he had not known since his sin, 
 and with that sigh — which let my reader inter- 
 pret as he sees fit — left the room. Passing his 
 mother, who still wept in the deeper dusk of the 
 parlour, with the observation that there was no 
 moon, and it would be quite dark before he 
 reached the manse, he bade her good-night, and 
 went out. 
 
 When Peter, who, unable to sit longer inactive, 
 had gone to attend to something in stable or 
 byre, now re-entered the room, and sat down 
 beside his wife, she began to talk about the 
 funeral preparations, and the persons to be 
 invited. But such grief overtook him afresh, 
 that even his wife was surprised at the depth of 
 her husband's feeling over the loss of Isy, who 
 was no relative. He could scarcely endure lis- 
 tening to her; it seemed to him indelicate and 
 232 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 even heartless to talk of burying one so dear 
 who was but just gone from their sight. It was 
 not the custom of the country to shorten the 
 time of the dead above ground ; unnecessary 
 dispatch was a lack of reverence ! 
 
 " What for sic a hurry?" said Peter. " Isna 
 there time eneuch to put oot o' yer sicht ane ye 
 hae lo'ed sae weel, and luikit upon sae lang wi' 
 by ord'nar' content? Lat me be the nicht; the 
 morn 'ill be time eneuch. Rest my sowl wi' 
 deith, and haud awa' wi' yer funeral. ' Sufficient 
 untill the day,' ye ken ! " 
 
 " Eh, dear ! I 'm no like you, Peter ! Whan 
 the sowl 's gane, I tak' no content i' the presence 
 o' the puir worthless body, luikin' what it never 
 mair can be ! But be it as ye wuU, my ain man ! 
 It 's a sair hert ye hae as weel as me this nicht, 
 and we maun beir ane anither's burdens ! The 
 dautie may lie as we hae laid her, the nicht 
 throuw, and naethingsaid. There's no need for 
 ony to watch her ; tyke nor baudrins '11 never 
 come near her. I hae aye won'ert what for fowk 
 would sit up wi' the deid : yet I min' me weel 
 they aye did i' the auld time." 
 
 In this alone she showed, however, that the 
 girl they lamented was not their own daughter; 
 for when the other Isy died, the body, although 
 not so lovely to look upon as this, was never for 
 a moment left alone while yet unveiled from the 
 233 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 eternal spaces, as if they feared she but slept, 
 and, waking to find herself alone, might be terri- 
 fied. Then, as if God had forgotten them, they 
 seemed to forget God, for they went to bed with- 
 out saying their usual evening-prayers together. 
 I think, however, it was only that they fancied 
 Isy gone beyond their prayers, and as they were 
 not going to separate, they could, each apart, 
 yet not the less together, pray as well in bed ; 
 and the coming of her son had been to Marion 
 like the chill of a wandering iceberg at sea. 
 
 In the morning the farmer was, as usual, up 
 the first, and, going into the death-chamber, sat 
 down by the side of the bed, there remembering, 
 he reproached himself, that he had forgotten 
 " worship " the night before, when God himself 
 had just reminded them that life and death were 
 in his hands ; if they had not consciously mur- 
 mured against him, they had forgotten his lov^e, 
 and had not acknowledged his care ! 
 
 And as he sat, thus reproaching himself as he 
 looked at the white face, he became aware of a 
 fact he had not noted before, — that upon the 
 lips, otherwise plainly dead, was a little tinge 
 of colour, also, possibly, a fainter — the faint- 
 est tinge, of which he could be nowise certain, 
 in the cheek. He knew it must be a fancy, 
 or at best an accident without significance, — 
 for had he not heard before that such a thing 
 234 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 sometimes happened? Still, if his eyes were 
 but deceiving him with an appearance he would 
 so gladly have hailed, he yet shrank from the 
 thought of hiding away the form so long as 
 it retained even such a counterfeit appearance 
 of life. Possibly the widow of Nain might have 
 fancied such signs of life in her son ere the 
 Lord of life drew near who was to stop his 
 funeral; and just such the little daughter of 
 Jairus might have looked when the wailing 
 friends laughed him to scorn who was about 
 to give her back to her parents. But now the 
 age of miracles was long over, and death was 
 death beyond remeid. Their own Isy died, 
 and Jesus never raised her from the dead, but 
 let them cover her with the cold green sod. 
 Oh, why was God farther away now than when 
 his Son was on the earth? Did not men need 
 him more now than when his Son was with 
 them? It did not occur to him that Jesus, 
 nearer to the Father, could not be farther away 
 from men, else could he never, by being with 
 them, bring the Father nearer ! And had He 
 not brought all men nearer to each other, both 
 the living and the dead? Was not at that 
 moment the soul of the farmer nearer the soul 
 of the shoemaker than ever before; for were 
 not the two travelling upon lines converging 
 to one centre? — "that they also may be one 
 235 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 in us, as thou, Father, art in me, and I in 
 thee ! " Peter Blatherwick was not yet capable 
 of such reflections ; but the soutar philosophised 
 thus, though in humbler and more characteristic 
 form of speech : God is a spirit, and every- 
 where all the same and always ; but when the 
 Son, who is one with the Father, came into new 
 and perhaps nearer, anyhow different, relations 
 with space and matter, and human life in them, 
 who can say whether the Eternal himself was 
 not thereby drawn also into new relations with 
 the finite, to us of course unintelligible, and so, 
 with his Son on the earth, might not be himself 
 nearer to it than ever before, — nearer even than 
 when the Son, by the will and power of his 
 Father, was bringing all things into being? 
 If so, and such new relation must be eternal? 
 But whether or no, — and here I must reproduce 
 his vernacular, — we maunna forget that he can 
 and dis come nearer to ony leevin' soul than he 
 could approach the bonniest lump o' leevin' clay 
 that ever he shapit ! That Son o' the Father 
 could put on the form o' livin' man, and come 
 oot and walk aboot amo' men, talkin' to them 
 frae the very hert o' the Father; and yet, it 
 seems to me, he can come closer still to ony 
 livin' soul than ever he was even to that human 
 body in the which he manifested himsel'. He 
 can come nearer to me, I mean nearer to my 
 236 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 vera hert and min', than he can come to ony 
 ither kin' o' thing that ever he made. — " Oh, my 
 God ! " he broke out, " lat me but ken thee 
 near me, nearer than near, one vvi' my hfe and 
 bein', and I seek nae mair ! The hert o' me can 
 haud nae mair ! I 'm full to the brim ! I 'm 
 complete ! — Eh, my God, thoo art, and I am 
 wi' thee, — a' made oot, and shinin' i' they 
 licht ! " 
 
 The farmer could not go very far with his 
 friend in the path of the abstruse, though, being 
 of childlike nature, those paths were open to 
 him also ; no obstructing fence anywhere crossed 
 them ; and as he grew, he would be able to go 
 farther and farther, until the heaven of thought 
 must at length open itself up to him, and he 
 with the rest of the children run shouting 
 through the gates of the city into regions which 
 many a doctor of blessed divinity has not yet 
 entered. 
 
 But to return to the Present. To Peter's eyes 
 it seemed, I say, as if there lingered in the lips 
 and on the cheeks of the girl a doubtful tinge 
 of all but invisible colour, — of the spirit-like red 
 of life. While that appearance, or the appear- 
 ance rather of that appearance, was there, it 
 would be too horrible to lay the form of her in 
 the earth ! And even if it were all a fancy of 
 his own, as most likely it was, there was not, 
 237 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 therefore, any haste ; it would be time enough 
 to bury the form when other signs rendered it 
 beyond dispute that the spirit was irrevocable ! 
 
 Instead of going into the yard to make prep- 
 aration toward the approaching harvest, he 
 sat on with the dead, as if he could not leave 
 her till his wife came to keep her company in 
 his place. He brought a Bible from the next 
 room, sat down again, and waited. His inten- 
 tion was to give his wife no hint, but wait how 
 she saw; he would put to her no leading ques- 
 tion, but watch for any start or touch of surprise 
 that might show itself! 
 
 By and by his wife appeared, gazed a moment 
 on the face of the dead, looked pitifully in 
 her husband's countenance, and went out again 
 wiping her eyes. 
 
 " She sees naething ! " said Peter to himself 
 " I s' awa' to my wark ! Still I winna hae her laid 
 aside afore I 'm a wheen surer o' what she is, — 
 leevin' sowl or deid clod ! " 
 
 He rose and went out. As he passed through 
 the kitchen, his wife followed him to the door. 
 
 " Ye '11 see and sen' a message to the vricht 
 (^carpenter) the day? " she whispered. 
 
 " Ow, ay, I 'm no likely to forget ! " he answered ; 
 " but there 's nae hurry, seein' there 's no life 
 concernt! " 
 
 " Na, nane, the mair 's the pity," she answered ; 
 238 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 and Peter knew, with a glad relief, that his wife 
 was coming to herself. 
 
 Marion sent the cowboy to the Cormacks' 
 cottage to tell Eppie to come to her. 
 
 The old woman came, heard what details there 
 were to the sad story, shook her head, and found 
 nothing to say. Together they prepared the body 
 of Isy for its burial. Then the mind of Mrs. 
 Blatherwick was at ease, and she waited a visit 
 from the carpenter. But the carpenter did not 
 come. 
 
 On the Thursday morning the soutar came to 
 inquire after his friends at Stonecross, and the 
 gudewife gave him a message to Willie Webster, 
 the vricht, to hurry with the coffin. 
 
 But the soutar, catching sight of the farmer in 
 the yard, went and had a talk with him ; and the 
 result was that the carpenter had no message. 
 When Peter went in to his dinner, he still said to 
 his wife that there was no hurry ; why should she 
 be so anxious to heap earth over the dead? For 
 still he saw, or fancied he saw, the same possible 
 colour on Isy's cheek, — like the faintest sunset- 
 red, or what is either glow or pallor as you choose 
 to think it, in the heart of the palest blush-rose. 
 So the first week of Isy's death passed, and still 
 she lay in state, that is, ready for the tomb. 
 
 Not a few of the neighbours came to see her, 
 and were admitted where she lay; and some of 
 239 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 them warned Marion that, when the change 
 came, it would come suddenly; but such was the 
 face of the dead that Peter still would not hear 
 of her being buried " with that colour on her 
 cheek." And Marion had come to see, or to 
 imagine with her husband that she saw it ; and so 
 they kept watching her in turn, and felt as if 
 waiting to see whether the Lord were not going 
 to work a miracle for them, and was not in the 
 meantime only trying how long their hope and 
 patience would endure. 
 
 The report spread through the neighbourhood, 
 and reached Tiltbowie, where it pervaded street 
 and lane: "The lass at Stanecross, she's lyin' 
 deid, and luikin' as muckle alive as ever she was." 
 From street and lane the people came crowding 
 to see the strange sight, and were ready to over- 
 run the whole house, but met with a reception by 
 no means cordial. The farmer set men at every 
 door, and would admit no one. Angry and 
 ashamed, they all went away except a few of the 
 more inquisitive, who continued lurking about 
 the place in the hope of hearing something to 
 carry home with them and enlarge upon. 
 
 As to the minister, he insisted upon disbe- 
 lieving the whole thing, but could not help 
 being made very uncomfortable by the report. 
 Always such a foe to superstition that in his 
 own mind he silently questioned the truth of 
 240 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the record as to miracles in general, to whom- 
 soever attributed, and for whatever reason, he 
 was yet invaded by a fear which he dared not 
 formulate. Of course, whatever, if anything, 
 was taking place, it was no miracle, but the nat- 
 ural effect of causes entirely natural; none the 
 less, however, did he dread the rumour. For a 
 time he did not dare again to go near the place. 
 If the girl was in a trance, might she not revive 
 and mention his name? or might she not, even 
 in her unconsciousness, say something to reveal 
 her acquaintance with him, and lead to inquiry? 
 This might be a case of catalepsy. Isy had al- 
 ways been a strange girl. She might come to 
 herself entirely — and then? What if, indeed, 
 she were kept alive that she might tell the truth, 
 and disgrace him before all the world? In view 
 of the possibility of her revival, might it not be 
 well that he should himself be present at the 
 moment ? He might be some check upon her, 
 or at least in some way influence what she said. 
 At the least he would, by what she said, or by 
 what she did not say, learn how to be on his 
 guard. He would go at once to Stonecross and 
 make inquiry after her. His mother, anyhow, 
 would not be sorry to see him. In the mean- 
 time Peter had been growing more and more 
 expectant, and had nearly forgotten all about 
 the coffin, when a fresh rumour arose, and came, 
 
 i6 
 
 24T 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 well substantiated like most rumours, to the ears 
 of William Webster, carpenter and builder of 
 houses for the dead, that the young woman at 
 Stonecross was indeed and unmistakably gone 
 from this life; whereupon he, having long lost 
 patience over the uncertainty which had so long 
 crippled his operations, and never questioning 
 the truth of the expected result, unwilling also 
 to be hurried in what must next fall to his part, 
 set at once to his task, and finished what he had 
 many days before begun and half ended. That 
 very night, indeed, on which the minister went 
 to the farm, his man and he carried the coffin 
 home, where, afraid by the gathering signs of 
 an imminent storm, they stupidly set it up be- 
 side the first door, and, going to the other, told 
 the deaf Eppie that there it was. She making 
 them no intelligible reply, there they left it, lean- 
 ing up against the wall, and went home, trusting 
 all else to the men of the place. There the min- 
 ister, when he came, saw it, and, entering with 
 condolence on his lips, walked through the par- 
 lour to the little chamber, where he found his 
 mother seated beside Isy, who still lay where 
 and as he had left her on his former visit, while 
 from the darkest corner came his father, and, to 
 his astonishment, greeted him more cheerfully 
 than usual. James cast a hurried, perplexed 
 look on the face of the unburied dead, saw that 
 242 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 it seemed nowise changed, and held a bewil- 
 dered peace. 
 
 " Isna this a most amazin' thing, and houpfu' 
 as it's amazin'?" said his father. "What can 
 there be to come oot o' 't? Eh, the ways o' the 
 Almichty are truly no to be measured by mor- 
 tal line ! The lass maun surely be meant for 
 marvellous things, to be dealt wi' efter sic an 
 extraord'nar' fashion ! Nicht efter nicht has the 
 tane or the tither o' us twa sitten here aside her, 
 lattin' the hairst tak' its chance, and lea'in' a' to 
 the men, me sleepin' and they at their wark, and 
 here has the bonny cratur been lyin' as quaiet 
 as gien she had never seen trouble, for thirteen 
 days, and no change passed upon her, no more 
 than on the three holy children i' the fiery fur- 
 nace ! I 'm jist a' in a trimle to think o' what 's 
 to come o' 't ! God only kens what he means 
 to do ; we can but sit still and wait for his ap- 
 pearance. What think ye, James ? When the 
 Lord was deid upo' the cross, they waitit but 
 twa nichts, and there he was up afore them ! 
 Here we hae waitit — this is the thirteent nicht 
 — and naething to pruv even that she's deid, 
 still less ony sign that ever she '11 speyk word to 
 us again ! What think ye o' 't, man? " 
 
 " I greatly doubt, if she ever returns to life, 
 that she '11 bring back her senses with her. Ye 
 min' the tale of the lady — Lady Fanshawe, I 
 243 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 believe they ca'd her. She cam' till hersel' a' 
 richt i' the en','' said his mother. 
 
 " I don't remember hearing the story," said 
 James. 
 
 " I min' naething aboot it," said his father, 
 " and can think o' naething but the bonny lassie 
 lyin' there afore me naither deid nor alive. I 
 jist won'er, James, that ye 're no as concernt, 
 and as full o' doobt and ev^en dreid as I am 
 mysel'." 
 
 " We 're in the hands of the God who created 
 life and death," returned James, piously. 
 
 The father was silent. 
 
 " And he'll bring licht oot o' the vera dark o' 
 the grave ! " said the mother. 
 
 Her faith, or at least her hope, once set 
 a-going, went farther than her husband's, and 
 she had a greater power of waiting. Her son 
 had sorely tried both her patience and her hope, 
 and not even yet had she given up. 
 
 " Ye '11 bide and share oor watch this ae nicht, 
 Jeames?" said Peter. "It's an eldritch kin' o' 
 a thing to wauk up i' the mirk mids o' the nicht 
 wi' a deid corp aside ye ! No 'at even yet I gie 
 her up for deid, but I canna help feelin' some 
 eerie like — not to say fleyt. Bide, man, and 
 see the nicht oot wi' 's, and gie yer mither and 
 me some hert o' grace." 
 
 James had no inclination to add another to 
 244 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the party of three, which a silent one made 
 ghastly, and began to murmur something about 
 his housekeeper. But his mother cut him short 
 with the indignant remark, — 
 
 " Hoot, what 's sJie? — neither mother nor wife 
 nor sweethert ! She 's naething to you or ony 
 o' 's ! Lat her sit up for ye, gien she likes to 
 tak' the trouble. Lat her sit, I say, and tak' 
 never a thoucht aboot her ! " 
 
 James had not a word to say. He must, 
 greatly as he shrunk from the ordeal, encounter 
 it without show of reluctance. He dared not 
 even propose that he should sit in the kitchen 
 and smoke. With better courage than will, he 
 consented to share their vigil ; if she should 
 come to herself, there might be some advantage 
 in his doing so, — not that in the least he ex- 
 pected, still less hoped for it: the very idea was 
 frightful to him. 
 
 His mother went to prepare supper for them, 
 and his father went out to have a glance at the 
 night. Their strange position did not entirely 
 smother the anxiety of the husbandman. 
 
 The moment he went out he saw the cofifin up 
 against the wall. It roused him to a wrath he 
 could scarce restrain. But he shut his lips tight, 
 and, in terror lest his wife should see or hear, 
 took the hateful thing, awkward burden as it 
 was, in his two arms, and, carrying it to the 
 245 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 back of the cornyard, shoved it over the low 
 wall into the dry ditch at the foot of it, and 
 heaped dirty straw from the stable over it, vow- 
 ing that Webster should not soon hear the last 
 of it, neither have a sixpence for his self-imposed 
 and premature ministration. Besides, he had 
 never lined the thing ! 
 
 " Fain wud I screw the reid held o* 'im intill 
 that same kist, and baud him there, short o' 
 smorin' ! " he muttered. " Faith, I could 'maist 
 beery him ootricht ! " he added, with a grim 
 smile, as he returned to the house. 
 
 Ere he entered it, however, he walked a little 
 way up the hill to cast over the vault above him 
 a farmer's look of inquiry as to the coming 
 night, and went in shaking his head at what 
 the clouds foreboded. 
 
 When they had finished their supper, and 
 Eppie had taken away the remnants, the two 
 went into the dead-chamber, to hold their sad, 
 perplexed lyke-wake. Eppie, having cleaned up, 
 and rested the fire in the kitchen, came also into 
 the parlour, and sat down just inside the door. 
 James, who had lighted a candle, and taken his 
 place at the table with a book, bethought him- 
 self, and, rising, joined his parents. 
 
 Peter had said nothing about the night, and 
 indeed, in his wrath with the carpenter, had not 
 noted how imminent was the storm. The air 
 246 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 had grown very sultry ; the night had become, 
 as it seemed, unnaturally dark, for there was a 
 good-sized moon, which great, black, changing 
 clouds had blotted out. It was plain that long 
 ere the morning a terrible storm must break, 
 but as yet it was not quite ripe, and, as with 
 other and more dread evils, they could only be 
 still and wait for it. Midnight was come and 
 gone ere it arrived, with a forked and vibrating 
 flash of keen, angry light. It vanished in a 
 darkness whose presence for a moment the 
 eyeballs felt almost like a solid weight. Then 
 all at once it seemed torn and shattered into 
 sound, into heaps of bursting, roaring, tumult- 
 uous billows. Another flash was followed by 
 yet another and another, each with its attendant 
 volley of crashing avalanches. At the first flash 
 Peter had risen and gone to the larger window 
 of the parlour, to discover, if he could, in what 
 direction the storm was travelling. Marion, in 
 the region of whose nerves a thunderstorm was 
 always reproduced, feeling herself suddenly un- 
 roofed as it were, followed him thither, and left 
 James alone with the dead. He sat, not daring 
 to move ; but when the third flash came it flick- 
 ered and played so long about the dead face, 
 and made it come so vividly out of the dark- 
 ness, that his gaze was, as it were, fascinated by 
 it. The same moment, while he was almost 
 247 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 unconsciously and the more fixedly regarding 
 it, all at once, without a single previous move- 
 ment, Isy sprang to her feet upon the bed. 
 
 A great cry from the chamber came to the 
 ears of the father and mother in the parlour. 
 They hurried in. James lay motionless and 
 senseless on the floor ; for the strength of a 
 man's nerves is not necessarily in the same 
 ratio with the hardness of his heart: the in- 
 rush of the overwhelming fact had given him 
 an unsustainable shock. 
 
 Isobel lay gasping and sighing across the bed. 
 
 She knew nothing yet of what had happened 
 to her, or that, in coming to life, she had terri- 
 fied her faithless lover almost to death. She 
 scarcely yet knew herself, and did not know 
 that James lay unconscious on the floor by the 
 side of her bed. 
 
 When the mother entered, she saw nothing, 
 only heard Isy's breathing. But when her hus- 
 band entered with a candle, and she saw her son, 
 she forgot Isy, and all her anxiety was about 
 James. She dropped on her knees beside him, 
 and, raising his head, held it to her bosom, 
 lamenting over him as if he were dead in her 
 arms. She was even annoyed with the poor 
 girl who lay struggling back into life ; she felt 
 toward her as if she was behaving indiscreetly : 
 why should she, whose history was what it was, 
 248 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 be the cause of such a catastrophe to her wor- 
 shipful son? Was she worth one of his little 
 fingers? Let her moan away there — what did it 
 matter? She would see to her presently, when 
 her boy was better. 
 
 Very different was the effect upon Peter when 
 he saw Isy coming to herself It was a miracle 
 indeed — nothing less ! White as was her face, 
 there was in it an unmistakable look of reviving 
 life; when she opened her eyes and saw her 
 master bending over her, she greeted him with 
 a faint smile, closed her eyes again, and lay still. 
 James began to show signs of recovery, and he 
 turned to him. With the old sullen look of his 
 boyhood, he glanced up at his mother, who was 
 overwhelming him with caresses and tears. 
 
 " Let me up," he said querulously, and began 
 to wipe his face. " I feel strange. What can 
 have made me turn so sick?" 
 
 " Isy 's come to life again ! " said his mother. 
 
 " Oh ! " he returned, and was silent. 
 
 " Ye 're surely no sorry for that ! " rejoined 
 his mother, rising with a weary air of disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 " I 'm pleased to hear it : why should I not 
 be? I suppose she gave me a great start. 
 Why, I can't tell." He took care not to say, " I 
 don't know." "But then I never expected it, 
 as you did ! " 
 
 249 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " Weel, ye are hertless ! " said his father. 
 " Hae ye nae spark o' fellow-feelin' wi' yer mither 
 whan the lass comes to Hfe she has been murnin' 
 for deid, vvatchin' ovver like nane but herself? 
 But I doot she 's aff again, deid or in a dwaum, 
 and maybe she '11 slip frae oor airms yet ! " 
 
 James only turned his head aside as he lay, 
 and murmured something inaudible. 
 
 But Isy had only fainted. After some eager 
 ministrations on the part of Peter, she came to 
 herself once more, and lay panting, her forehead 
 wet as with the dew of death. 
 
 The farmer ran out to a loft in the yard, and 
 calling the herd-boy, a clever lad, told him to 
 rise and ride for the doctor as fast as the mare 
 could go. 
 
 " Tell him," he said, " that Isy has come to 
 life, but he maun munt and ride like the vera 
 mischeef, or she '11 be deid again afore he wins 
 till her. Gien ye canna get the tae doctor, awa' 
 wi' ye to the tither, and dinna ley him till ye see 
 him i' the saiddle and startit. Syne ye can ease 
 the mere and come hame at yer leisur ! He '11 
 be here lang afore ye ! — I '11 pey him ony fee 
 he likes, and no compleen ! " 
 
 The boy ran to the stable, and when he came 
 back on the mare, the farmer was waiting for 
 him with the whisky bottle in his hand. 
 
 " Na, na ! " he said, seeing the lad eye the 
 250 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 bottle, " it 's no for you ; ye need a' the sma' 
 \vit ye ever hed ; and ye haena to rin, — ye hae 
 but to ride like the deevil ! Hae, Susy ! " 
 
 He poured half a tumblerful into a soup-plate, 
 and held it out to the mare, who did not even 
 snuff at it, but licked it up greedily, and started 
 off herself at a good round pace. 
 
 Peter carried the bottle into the chamber, and 
 between them his wife and he managed to make 
 Isy swallow a little, after which she began to 
 recover. In the course of an hour and a half, 
 the doctor arrived, full of amazed incredulity. 
 He found Isy asleep, and James gone to bed, 
 unable, apparently, to recover from the shock 
 he had received. 
 
 251 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 The next day, Isy, although very weak, was 
 greatly better. She was, however, too ill to get 
 up ; and Marion seemed now in her element, 
 with two invalids, both dear to her, to look after. 
 She hardly knew for which to be the more 
 grateful, — for her son, now given helpless into 
 her hands, and unable to repel the love she 
 lavished upon him ; or for the girl whom God 
 had taken from the very throat of the grave. 
 Her heart seemed to bubble over with gladness, 
 — soon to be moderated when she saw how ill 
 James proved to be. Nor was it long before 
 she feared lest perhaps she should have to part 
 with her hitherto unloving child, in exchange 
 for the devoted girl who never could be her own. 
 If ever she thought of the two together, which 
 she could not always help, she would turn away 
 from the impossible idea with a sort of meek 
 loathing. How would her James endure the 
 suggestion of her holding, even for a moment, 
 together in the same thought, himself and any 
 girl that was less spotless than he ! 
 252 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 But James was very ill, and growing worse ; 
 for what one of our old Saxon poets calls the 
 Backbite of Conscience had him fixed in its 
 hold, and was worrying him at last. Whence it 
 came we know, but how it came, and how it 
 began its saving torment, who can understand 
 but God the maker of men? The beginnings of 
 conscience, and the beginnings of its work, are 
 both infinitesimal, as are all God's beginnings, 
 wrapt in the mystery of creation. 
 
 Their results only, not their mode of opera- 
 tion or the stages of it, I can attempt to convey. 
 It was the wind blowing where it listed that did 
 all and explained nothing. That wind from the 
 timeless and spaceless and formless realities of 
 God's feeling and thought blew open the eyes of 
 this man's mind so that he saw, and became 
 aware of what he saw. It blew away the gath- 
 ered mists of his satisfaction and self-conceit; 
 it blew wide the windows of his soul, that the 
 sweet odour of his father and mother's thoughts 
 concerning him might enter, and when it en- 
 tered, he knew it for what it was ; it blew back 
 to him his own judgments of them and their 
 doings, and he saw those judgments side by side 
 with his new insights into their thoughts and 
 feelings ; it blew away the desert sands of his 
 own moral dulness, indifference, and dead selfish- 
 ness, that had so long hidden beneath them the 
 253 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 watersprings of his own heart, created by and 
 for love and its joy; it cleared all his con- 
 scious existence, made him understand that he 
 had never loved his mother or his father, never 
 loved any neighbour, never loved God one gen- 
 uine atom, never loved the Lord Christ, his 
 Master, or cared at all that he had died for him ; 
 never at any moment loved Isy, least of all when 
 to himself he pleaded, in excuse of his behaviour 
 toward her, that he loved her. In a word, that 
 blowing wind which he could not see nor knew 
 whence it came, still less whither it was going, — 
 that wind began to blow together his soul and 
 those of his parents ; the love in his father and 
 in his mother drew him ; the memories of his 
 boyhood and his childhood drew him ; the heart 
 of God drew him ; and as he yielded to the 
 drawing and went nearer, they grew more and 
 more lovely to him ; until at last, I know not 
 how God did it, or what he did to the soul of 
 James Blatherwick to make it different, but so 
 he grew at length capable of loving, and loved, 
 — first because he yielded to love and could not 
 help it; then loved with a will because he could 
 love, and, become conscious of the power, loved 
 the more, and so went on to love more and 
 more. Thus he became what he had to become 
 or perish. 
 
 But before he could reach this, or grow capable 
 254 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 of knowing and striving after it, he had to pass 
 through wild regions of torment and horror ; he 
 had to become all but mad, and know it; his 
 body and his soul had to be parched with fever, 
 thirst, and hopeless fear; he had to fall asleep, 
 and dream lovely dreams of coolness and peace 
 and courage ; then wake and know that he had 
 all his life been dead, and now he lived ; to know 
 that love, newborn, and now first awake in his 
 heart, had driven out of it the gibbering phan- 
 toms ; now, now, it was good to be, and know 
 that others were alive about him ; now, life was 
 possible, because life was to love, and love was 
 to live. The knowledge of this began in him 
 then, and he knew it for the good and accept- 
 able, the perfect and eternal will of God. What 
 that love was, or how it was, he knew nothing, — 
 only that it was the will and the joy of the Father 
 and the Son, The spiritual vision grew in him, 
 — grew until it was the surest thing of all ; 
 grew until, compared with aught else, it was the 
 only sure thing. 
 
 And long ere it came to this, all the meanness 
 of his behaviour to Isyhad become plain to him, 
 bringing with it an overpowering self-contempt 
 and self-loathing, — such that he was even driven 
 to the thought of self-destruction, to escape the 
 knowledge that he was himself the man who had 
 been such as to do such things. " To know my 
 255 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 deed, 't were best not know myself! " But by 
 and by he grew reconciled to the fact that he 
 must live, for how otherwise could he in any 
 degree make atonement? And with the thought 
 of reparation, and following forgiveness and 
 reconcilement, his old love for Isy returned like 
 a flood, and in far nobler kind than before, be- 
 coming at last a genuine, self-forgetting devotion. 
 Until this change arrived, however, the paroxysms 
 of his remorse rose now and then almost to mad- 
 ness, and for long it seemed doubtful whether 
 his mental condition might not be permanently 
 tinged with insanity ; during which time he con- 
 ceived a great disgust at his office and all its 
 requirements ; sometimes in his wanderings bit- 
 terly blaming the parents who had not interfered 
 with his choice of a profession which had been 
 his ruin, and which now he detested. 
 
 One day, having had no return of the delirium 
 for a good many hours, he suddenly called out 
 as they stood by his bed, — 
 
 " Oh, mother ! Oh, father ! why did you tempt 
 me to such hypocrisy? Why did you not bring 
 me up at the plough-tail? Then I should never 
 have been exposed to the cursed snares of the 
 pulpit ! It was that which seduced me, — the 
 notion that I must take the minister for my pat- 
 tern, and live up to that idea before I had any- 
 thing real in me. That was the road royal to 
 256 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 hypocrisy ! Without that I might have been no 
 worse than other people ! Now I am lost ! Now 
 I shall never get to bare honesty, not to say in- 
 nocence ! That is gone for ever ! " 
 
 The poor mother could only imagine that his 
 humility made him accuse himself of hypocrisy 
 because he had not fulfilled to the uttermost the 
 duties of his great office. 
 
 " Jamie, dear," she would cry, laying her cheek 
 to his, " cast yer care upon Him that careth for 
 you. He kens ye hae dune yer best, or if no 
 yer vera best — for wha daur say that ? — ye hae 
 dune what ye could ! " 
 
 " Na, na," he answered, resuming the speech 
 of his boyhood, — a far better sign of him than 
 his mother understood, — " I ken ower muckle, 
 and that muckle ower weel, to lay sic a flattering 
 unction to my soul ! It 's jist as black as the fell 
 mirk ! Ah, limed soul, that, struggling to be 
 free, art more engaged ! " 
 
 " Hoots, ye 're dreamin', laddie ! ye never was 
 engaged to onybody, at least that ever I h'ard tell 
 o'. But fash na ye aboot that ! Gien it be ony- 
 thing o' sic a natur that 's troublin' ye, yer father 
 and me we s' hae ye clear o' 't some gait ! " 
 
 " Ay, there ye 're at it again. It was you that 
 laid the bird-lime ! Ye aye tuik pairt, mither, 
 wi' the muckle deil that wad hae my sowl in 's 
 deepest pit ! " 
 
 17 257 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " The Lord kens his ain ; he '11 see that they 
 come throuw unscaumit ! " 
 
 " The Lord disna mak' ony hypocreet o' pur- 
 pose, doobtless ; but gien a man sin after he has 
 ance come to the knowledge of the trowth, there 
 remaineth for him — ye ken the lave o' 'tas weel 
 as I do mysel', mother ! My only houp lies in a 
 doobt whether I had ever come to a knowledge 
 o' the trowth — or hae yet ! Maybe no." 
 
 " Laddie, ye 're no i' yer richt min'. It 's fear- 
 some to hearken to ye ! " 
 
 " It '11 be waur to hear me roarin' like the rich 
 man i' the low o' hell ! " 
 
 •' Peter ! Peter ! " called out Marion, driven 
 almost to distraction ; " here 's yer ain son, puir 
 fallow, blasphemin' like ane o' the condemned ! 
 He jist gars me creep ! " 
 
 Receiving no answer, for her husband was no- 
 where near her at the moment, she called in her 
 despair, — 
 
 " Isy ! Isy ! come and see gien ye can dee 
 onything to quaiet this ill bairn." 
 
 It was the third day of his fever. Isy was 
 by this time much better, — able to eat and go 
 about the house. She sprang from her bed, 
 where at the moment she lay resting. 
 
 " Coming, mistress ! " she answered ; " coming 
 as fast as my legs '11 carry me ! " 
 
 She had not yet seen James, nor he her, since 
 258 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 her resurrection, as Peter always called her res- 
 toration. 
 
 " Isy ! Isy ! " cried James the moment he 
 heard her steps, " come and hand the deil afif 
 o' me ! " 
 
 He rose to his elbow and looked eagerly 
 toward the door. 
 
 She entered. James threw wide his arms, and 
 with glowing eyes took her and pressed her to 
 his bosom. She made no resistance, for she 
 knew his mother would think the fever only 
 spoke, and thus best she might hold him uncom- 
 promised, nor rouse in her any suspicion. He 
 broke into wild words of love, repentance, and 
 devotion ; but she was determined he should be 
 held accountable for nothing he might say. 
 
 " Never heed him a hair, mem : he 's clean afif 
 o' his heid ! " she said in a low voice, looking 
 round to where she sat, and making no attempt 
 to free herself from his embrace, but treating 
 him like a delirious child. " There 's something 
 aboot me that quaiets him a bit ! It 's the 
 brain, ye ken, mem ! it 's the het brain ! We 
 maunna contre him ; he maun hae his ain w'y 
 for a wee ! " 
 
 But such was his behaviour to her, for he had 
 no thought of concealment, that it was impos- 
 sible for the mother not to suspect at least that 
 this was far from the first time they had met; 
 259 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 and presently she began to think she must her- 
 self have seen Isy before ever she came to 
 Stonecross. She dared not, however, probe the 
 question before one in the heat of a growing 
 fever; but when in the matter, and, by and by, 
 her husband came in, and she found herself 
 compelled, much against her will, to leave the 
 two together, she sent up Eppie to take Isy's 
 place, with the message that she was to go down 
 at once to her dinner. Isy obeyed, but, per- 
 turbed and trembling, dropped on the first chair 
 she came to in the kitchen. The farmer, al- 
 ready seated at the table, looked up, and, anx- 
 iously regarding her, said, — 
 
 " Bairn, ye 're no fit to be aboot ! Ye maun 
 caw canny, or ye '11 be ower the burn yet or ever 
 ye 're safe upo' this side o' 't ! Preserve 's a' ! 
 are we to lowse ye twice in ae month? " 
 
 " Jist answer me ae question, Isy, and I '11 
 speir nae mair — " 
 
 " Na, na, never a question ! " interposed 
 Peter, " no ane afore even the shaidow o' deith 
 be worn afif o' the hoose ! — Draw ye up to the 
 table, my bonny bairn : this isna a time for cere- 
 mony ; there 's sma' room for that ony day ! " 
 
 Finding she sat motionless and death-like, he 
 
 got up, and, pouring out a spoonful of whisky, 
 
 insisted on her swallowing it. She did so, and, 
 
 glad to put herself under his protection, took 
 
 260 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the chair he had placed for her beside him, and 
 made a futile attempt to eat. 
 
 "It's sma' won'er the puir thing has na 
 muckle appeteet," remarked Mrs, Blathervvick, 
 " considerin' the w'y yon ravin' laddie up the 
 stair has been carryin' on till her ! " 
 
 "What! Hoo'sthat?" interposed her hus- 
 band, with a start. 
 
 " But ye 're no to mak' onything o' that, Isy," 
 added her mistress in conclusion. 
 
 " No ae hair," returned Isy. "I ken weel it 
 Stan's for naething but the heat o' the burnin' 
 brain. But I 'm richt glaid the sichto' me did 
 seem to comfort him a wee, just for a meenut ! " 
 
 " Weel, I 'm no sae sure ! " answered Marion. 
 " But we '11 say nae mair anent it for the noo ! 
 The guidman says no, and his word 's law i' this 
 hoose." 
 
 Isy resumed her pretence of dining. Presently 
 Eppie came down, and, going up close to her 
 master, for she was hard of hearing, said, — 
 
 " Here's my man, sir, come to speir efter the 
 yoong minister and Isy. Am I to gar him 
 come in? " 
 
 " Ay, and gie him his denner," answered the 
 farmer. 
 
 The old woman set a chair for him by the 
 door, and proceeded to attend to him. 
 
 Silence again fell, and the ceremony of dining 
 261 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 was resumed. Peter was the only one that 
 made a reality of it Marion was occupied with 
 many thinkings, and a growing doubt and sore- 
 ness with regard to Isy. She had been good to 
 her for a long time, and what if, through it all, 
 the girl had been cherishing plans of her own. 
 She had consented not to press her with ques- 
 tions, and the hussy had taken advantage of her 
 unsuspiciousness. It would be a fine thing for 
 her to get hold of the minister ! but, please 
 God, that she should not succeed in. It was 
 too bad of her old friend, Mr. Robertson, whom 
 she had known so long and trusted so well, to 
 join with Isy to deceive her ! She began to 
 .distrust ministers! No doubt they were right 
 to venture much for the rescue of a brand from 
 the burning; there were limits that ought not 
 to be passed. Must the sinner be favoured at 
 the expense of the honest woman? That could 
 not be justified. It was not right. She would 
 say so in the face of all the angels in heaven ! 
 It was doing evil that good might come. But 
 good would not, never should come of it ! 
 
 A cry of distress came from the room above. 
 Isy started to her feet, but Marion was up 
 almost before her. 
 
 " Sit doon this minute," she commanded. 
 
 Isy hesitated. 
 
 " Sit doon this moment, I tell ye ! " she re- 
 262 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 peated yet more imperiously. " Ye hae no 
 business there. I 'm gaein' till him mysel' ! " 
 and with the word she left the room. 
 
 Peter laid down his knife and fork, then sat 
 up, stared bewildered, and rose apparently to 
 follow his wife. 
 
 " Oh, my baby ! my baby ! " cried Isy ; " if 
 only I had you to take my part ! God gave you 
 to me, however ill I deserved you ; but then 
 how could I love you so? And then the mis- 
 tress thinks I never had a baby. Maybe noo 
 she '11 say I killed my bonny wee man ! But 
 even for his sake I never ance wished ye hadna 
 been born ! And noo, whan he 's ill, and cryin' 
 oot for me, they winna lat me till 'im ! " 
 
 The last words left her lips in a wailing shriek. 
 Then she saw that her master had re-entered ; 
 and, wiping her eyes hurriedly, she turned to 
 him with a pitiful apologetic smile, like the sun- 
 set of a dreary day. 
 
 " Dinna be sair vext wi' me, sir. I canna 
 help bein' glaid that I had him, though to tyne 
 him has gien me a sair, an unco sair hert ! " 
 
 She stopped, terrified ; for what had he 
 heard ? She could not tell what she might not 
 have said. But the farmer had resumed his 
 breakfast, and went on eating as if she had not 
 spoken. But he had heard well enough, and 
 was now inwardly digesting her words. 
 263 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Isy sat still, saying to herself: " If only he 
 loved me, I should be content, and want no 
 more ! I would never even want him to say it. 
 I would be so good to him, and so silent, that he 
 could not help loving me a little ! " 
 
 I wonder whether she would have been as 
 strong and as hopeful had the knowledge then 
 been vouchsafed to her how his mother had 
 loved him, and looked in vain for his love in 
 return. And when Isy vowed in her heart 
 never to let James know that she had borne him 
 a son, certainly she never saw that thus she 
 would be withholding from him the most potent 
 of injfluences for his repentance and restoration 
 to God and his parents. She did not see James 
 again that night; but before she fell asleep at 
 last in the small hours of the morning, she had 
 made up her mind that, ere the same morning 
 was clear upon the moor, she would, as the best, 
 yes, only thing left her to do for James Blather- 
 wick, be far away from Stonecross. She would 
 go back to Deemouth, and beg for readmittance 
 to the paper-mills she had left. 
 
 264 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 She woke in the first of the grey dawn. In 
 the house was utter stillness. She rose and 
 dressed herself in soundless haste. Mr. Blather- 
 wick, she knew, was that night watching by his 
 son's bedside, who was no better. It was hard 
 to go and leave him thus, but she had no 
 choice. She held her breath and listened, but 
 all was still. She opened her door very softly, 
 and not a sound reached her ear as she crept 
 down the stair, and left the house. She had not 
 to unlock or unbolt the door, for it was never 
 fastened. A dread feeling of the old time of 
 wandering desolation came back upon her as 
 she stepped across the threshold, but the worse 
 sense of her now babyless lot soon banished its 
 seriousness. None the less was she sad at leav- 
 ing the place where she had found welcome, 
 where peace and love had encompassed her for 
 so long, where she had learned so much, and 
 where she left him, it might be dying, whose 
 life was so sadly and inextricably bound up with 
 her own. She feared the moor, dreams of 
 265 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 which would yet often oppress brain and heart 
 when she slept, hardly vanishing when she 
 awoke; but now first crossing it in her new 
 loneliness, the memory came back to her of the 
 time when she lay in that long trance ; partly 
 conscious, but unable to move, she knew, or 
 seemed to know, what was going on about her, 
 and thought she was dead, and waiting to be 
 buried. But she felt her Maker with her, and 
 that he would not leave her. She felt no fear, 
 and was not aware of the least struggle to come 
 awake. All at once she found herself upon her 
 feet, aware that she was still in the region of 
 anxiety. Her first thought was not of rescue 
 from the grave, but wonder where God was 
 gone, for her heart was troubled. She had felt 
 herself unaccountable for anything; now once 
 more she had to think what to do. 
 
 Of the roads that led from the farm she knew 
 only that by which Mr. Robertson had brought 
 her there ; it would lead her to the village where 
 they had left the coach to walk to Stonecross, 
 and there she would find some way of returning 
 to Deemouth. She found the way very weary, 
 for she was feeble after her prolonged inaction 
 and the crowd of emotions that had succeeded 
 her recovery. Long ere she reached the vil- 
 lage, she seemed all but worn out. At the only 
 house she had come to on the way, she stopped 
 266 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 and asked for water. The woman, the only hu- 
 man being she had seen, for it was still early 
 morning, and the road always a lonely one, saw 
 that she looked ill, and gave her milk instead. 
 In the strength of that milk she reached the end 
 of her first day's journey. For many days she 
 had not to take a second. 
 
 Isy had once seen the soutar at the farm, and, 
 going about her work, had listened to scraps of 
 his conversation with the mistress ; had been 
 greatly struck by some things he said, and had 
 often wished for a chance of talking to him. 
 That morning, going along a narrow lane in the 
 village, she heard the sound of a cobbler's ham- 
 mer, and, glancing through a window close to 
 the path, saw and at once recognised the soutar. 
 He looked up, and could scarce believe his eyes 
 when so early in the day he saw before him 
 Mistress Blatherwick's maid, concerning whom 
 there had been such a talk and such excitement 
 for weeks. She looked ill, and he wondered 
 she could be about so soon. She smiled to 
 him, and passed from the window with a re- 
 spectful nod. He sprang to his feet, and over- 
 took her easily, for she was walking but slowly. 
 
 " I 'm jist gaeing to drop wark, mem, and 
 hae my brakfast; wull ye no come in and 
 share? Ye hae come a gey bit, and ye luik 
 sair fatiguit ! " 
 
 267 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 "Thank ye kindly, sir," returned Isy. " I am 
 a bit tired. But I won'er ye kenned me." 
 
 " Weel, I canna jist say I ken ye by the name 
 fowk ca' ye ; and still less div I ken ye by the 
 name the Lord ca's ye ; but that maitters little 
 whan I ken that he has a name grovvin' for ye ; 
 or, raither, a name ye 're growin' till ! Eh, what 
 a day will that be whan ilk habitant o' the holy 
 city 'ill tramp the streets o' 't weel kenned and 
 weel kennin' ! " 
 
 " Ay, sir ! I un'erstan' ye weel, for I h'ard 
 ye conversin' wi' the mistress, that nicht ye 
 broucht hame the maister's shune. And I 'm 
 richt glaid to see ye ance mair ! " 
 
 They were already in the house, for she had 
 followed him in almost mechanically; and the 
 soutar was setting for her the only chair there 
 was, when the cry of a child reached their ears. 
 
 The girl started to her feet. A rosy flush of 
 unexpected delight overspread her countenance ; 
 she began to tremble from head to foot, and 
 seemed at once on the point of running to the 
 cry, and of falling to the ground. 
 
 "Ay," exclaimed the soutar, with one of his 
 sudden flashes of unquestioning insight, " by 
 the luik o' ye, that '11 be the cry o' yer ain bairn, 
 my bonny lass ! Hae ye missed him for ony 
 len'th o' time past? Sit ye doon, and I'll hae 
 him i' yer airms afore a meenut 's ower ! " 
 268 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 She obeyed him and sat down, her eyes fixed 
 wildly on the door. He feared lest she should 
 fall again into her old trance, and made haste 
 for the child. But when he returned with him 
 in his arms, he found her sitting bolt upright, 
 with her hands already apart, and held out to 
 receive him. She still looked ready to fall, but 
 her eyes were alive as he had never seen eyes 
 before. 
 
 " My Jamie ! my ain bairn ! " she cried, seiz- 
 ing him to her bosom with hands that trembled 
 and yet seemed to cling to him desperately, and 
 a look almost of defiance, as if she dared the 
 world to take him from her again. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " she cried, in an agony of 
 thankfulness, " I ken ye noo ! I ken ye noo ! 
 Never mair wuU I doobt ye, my God and 
 Father ! — Lost and found ! Lost for a wee, 
 and found again for ever ! " 
 
 Then she caught sight of Maggie, who had 
 entered behind her father, and now stood mo- 
 tionless, staring at her, — with a look of glad- 
 ness indeed, but not all of gladness. 
 
 " I ken," Isy broke out, with a trembling, yet 
 eager apologetic voice, " that ye 're grudgin* me 
 ilka luik at him ! I ken 't by mysel' ! Ye 're 
 thinkin' him mair yours nor mine ! And weel 
 ye may, for it 's you that 's been motherin' him 
 ever since I lost my wits ! It 's true I ran awa' 
 269 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 and left him, but ever sin' syne, I hae soucht 
 him carefully wi' tears. And ye maunna beir 
 me ony ill will — for there ! " she added, hold- 
 ing out the child to Maggie, — " and I haena 
 kissed him yet! — no ance ! — Will ye lat me 
 kiss him afore ye tak' him awa' ? — my ain 
 bairnie, whas vera comin' I had prepared shame 
 for ! Oh, my God ! — But he kens naething 
 aboot it, and winna ken for years to come ! 
 And nane but his ain mammie maun brak the 
 dreid trowth till him ! — and by that time he '11 
 lo'e her weel eneuch to be able to bide it ! I 
 thank God that I haena had to shue the birds 
 and the beasts afif o' his bonny wee body. I 
 micht hae had but for you, my bonny lass ! — 
 and for you, sir ! " she added, turning to the 
 soutar. 
 
 Maggie caught the child from her offering 
 arms, and held his little face for her to kiss; 
 and so held him until for the moment she was 
 satisfied, and he began to whimper a little. 
 Then Maggie sat down with him in her lap, and 
 Isy stood absorbed in regarding him, every now 
 and then lifting up her swimming eyes. Then 
 she said, with a deep sigh, — 
 
 " And noo I maun awa', and I dinna ken hoo 
 
 I 'm to gang ! I hae found him and maun leave 
 
 him, I houp no for vera lang ! Maybe ye winna 
 
 min' keepin' him, say for a week mair? He's 
 
 270 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 been sae lang unused to a vagrant life that I 
 doobt it winna weel agree wi' him, and I maun 
 awa' back to Deemooth, gicn I can get onybody 
 to len' me a Hft." 
 
 " Na, na ; that '11 never dee," returned Maggie, 
 with a sob. " We '11 be glaid eneuch to keep 
 him, — though we hae nae richt against yer 
 wull." 
 
 " Ye see I hae nae place to tak' him till ! " 
 said Isy, appealingly. 
 
 " Gien ye dinna want him, gie him to me : I 
 want him ! " said Maggie. 
 
 " Want him ! " returned Isy, bursting into 
 tears : " I hae lived but upo' the bare houp o' 
 gettin' him again ! I hae grutten my een sair 
 for the sicht o' 'im ! I hae wakent greetin' ohn 
 kenned for what ! and noo ye tell me I dinna 
 want him, 'cause I hae nae spot but my breist 
 to lay his heid upo' ! Eh, guid fowk, keep him 
 till I get a place to tak' him till, and syne haudna 
 him a meenute frae me ! " 
 
 All this time the soutar had been watching 
 the two girls with a divine look in his black 
 eyes and rugged face ; and now he spoke — 
 
 "Them that haps the bairn, are aye sib to 
 the mither," he said. " Gang ben the hoose 
 wi' Maggie, and lie doon on her bed, and she '11 
 lay the bairnie aside ye, and fess yer brakfast 
 there till ye. Ye winna be easy to sair o' 'im, 
 271 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 haein' sae little for sae lang ! Lea' them there 
 thegither, Maggie, my doo," he went on with 
 infinite tenderness, " and come and gie me a 
 han' as sune as ye hae maskit the tay, and 
 gotten a lof o' white breid. I s' hae my parritch 
 a bit later." 
 
 Maggie obeyed at once, and took Isy to the 
 other end of the house, where the soutar had 
 long ago given up his bed to herself and the 
 baby. 
 
 When all had their breakfast, she sat down 
 in her old place beside her father, and for a 
 long time they worked together without a word 
 spoken. 
 
 •' I doobt, father," said Maggie at length, " I 
 haena been attendin' tae ye properly ! I fear 
 the bairnie 's been garrin* me forget ye ! " 
 
 " No a hair, dautie ! " returned the soutar. 
 " The needs o' the little ane stude aye far afore 
 mine; he had to be seen till first. And noo 
 that we hae the mither, we '11 get on faumous ! 
 Isna she a fine cratur, and richt mitherlike wi' 
 the bairn? That was a' I was anxious aboot. 
 We '11 get her story fae her or lang, and syne 
 we '11 ken a heap better hoo to help her. I' the 
 meantime, I dinna fear but, atween you and me, 
 and the Michty at the back o' 's, we s' get breid 
 eneuch for the quaternion o' 's ! " 
 
 He laughed at the odd word as it fell from 
 272 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 his mouth and the Acts of the Apostles ; and 
 Maggie laughed too, and wiped her eyes. 
 
 Before long Maggie knew that she had never 
 been so happy in her life. Isy told them as 
 much as she could without breaking her resolve, 
 never mentioning the name of the minister ex- 
 cept when it was natural and unavoidable. She 
 wrote to Mr. Robertson, telling him where she 
 was, and that she had found her baby. He came 
 out with his wife to see her, and so began a 
 friendship between the soutar and him which 
 Mr. Robertson always declared one of the most 
 fortunate things that had ever befallen him. 
 
 "That soutar body," he would say, "kens 
 mair aboot God and his kingdom, the heart o' 't 
 and the w'ys o' 't, than ony man I ever h'ard 
 tell o' — and that heumble ! — jist like the Son 
 o' God himsel' ! " 
 
 Before many days passed, however, a great 
 anxiety laid hold of the little household. Wee 
 Jamie was taken so ill that the doctor had to be 
 summoned. For some days the child was very 
 ill, and his appealing looks were pitiful to see. 
 When first he ceased to run about, and wanted 
 to be nursed, no one could please him but the 
 soutar himself, who, at once discarding his work 
 at the petulant cry of the waking child, gave 
 himself up to his service until he again slept. 
 He grew so ill, however, as to want defter hand- 
 i8 273 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 ling, and then no one would do but Maggie, to 
 whom he was most accustomed. Isy could get 
 no share in the labour of love except when he 
 was asleep, and, as soon as he woke, had to bear 
 the pain of hearing him cry for Maggie, and 
 seeing him from his mother's lap stretch out his 
 hands to one he knew better. But Maggie was 
 very careful over the poor mother, and always, 
 the minute he was securely asleep, would lay 
 him softly upon her lap. One of the happiest 
 moments in her life was the first time he con- 
 sented — his recovery then a little advanced — 
 to leave her arms for those of his mother. And 
 soon he was so much better that Isy, as well as 
 Maggie, was able to lend a helping hand and 
 needle to the lining of some of the more delicate 
 of the soutar's shoes. 
 
 274 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 There was, of course, great concern, and even 
 alarm, at Stonecross because of the disappear- 
 ance of Isy. But James continued so ill that 
 his parents were unable to spend much thought 
 upon any one else. At last, however, the fever 
 left him, and he began to recover. But although 
 he lay still and silent, seeming to take no in- 
 terest in anything, and remembered nothing 
 he had said, or even that he had seen Isy, his 
 wakened conscience was still at work in him, 
 and had more to do with his condition than any 
 weakness from the prolonged fever. At length 
 both his mother and father were convinced that 
 he had something on his mind that interfered 
 with his recovery, and his mother was positive 
 that it had to do with "that deceitful creature, 
 Isy." To know that she was safe gave Marion 
 little satisfaction, so long as the place of her 
 refuge was within a short distance of the close 
 to the manse. Having once learned where the 
 girl was, she had never asked another question 
 about her. But her husband, having heard the 
 words that fell from Isy when she thought her- 
 275 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 self alone, was intently though quietly waiting 
 for what would follow. 
 
 " I 'm doobtin' sair, Peter," began Marion 
 one morning after a long talk with the cottar's 
 wife, who had been telling her of Isy's domesti- 
 cation with the soutar, " I 'm sair misdoobtin' 
 whether that hizzie hadna mair to do wi' 
 Jamie's mischance nor we hae been jaloosin' ! 
 It seems to me he 's been lang broodin' ower 
 something we ken noucht aboot." 
 
 " That would be nae ferlie, woman ! Whan 
 was it ever we kent onything gaein' on i' that 
 mysterious laddie? Na, but his had need be a 
 guid conscience, for did ever onybody ken 
 eneuch aboot it or him to say richt or wrang 
 till him ? But gien ye hae ae thoucht he 's ever 
 wranged that lassie, I s' hae the trowth o' 't, gien 
 it cost him a greitin' ! He '11 never come to 
 health o' body or min' till he 's confest, and God 
 has forgi'en him. He maun confess ! " 
 
 " Hoot, Peter, dinna be sae suspicious o' yer 
 ain. It's no like ye to be sae maisterfu' and 
 owerbeirin'. I would na lat an ill thoucht o' 
 puir Jeemie inside this auld heid o' mine! It's 
 the lassie, I '11 tak' my aith, it's that Isy's at the 
 bothom o' 't ! " 
 
 "Ye 're some ready wi' yer aith, Mirran, to 
 what ye ken naething aboot ! I say again, gien 
 he 's dune ony wrang to that bonny cratur, — 
 276 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 and it wouldna tak' ower mucklc proof to con- 
 vince me o' the same, — he shall tak' his stan', 
 minister or no minister, upo' the stule o' 
 repentance ! " 
 
 " Daur ye to spcyk that gait aboot yer ain 
 son — ay, and mine the mair gien ye disown 
 him, Peter Blathervvick — and the Lord's ain 
 ordeent minister forbye ! " cried Marion, driven 
 almost to her wits' end, but more by the per- 
 sistent haunting of her own suspicions, which 
 she could not repress, than by the terror of her 
 husband's threat, " Besides, dinna ye see," she 
 added cunningly, " that that would be to affront 
 the lass as weel? He 's no' the first to fa' to the 
 wiles o' a designin' wuman ; and would it be for 
 his ain father to expose him to public contempt? 
 Your pairt suld be to cover up his sin, gien it 
 were a multitude and no ae solitary bit faut ! " 
 
 " Daur yc speyk o' a thing like that as a bit 
 faut? Is leein' an' hypocrisy a bit faut? I alloo 
 the sin itsel' mayna be jist damnable, but to what 
 bouk mayna it come wi' ither and waur sins upo' 
 the backo' 't. Wi' leein', and haudin' aff o' him- 
 sel', a man may grow a cratur no fit to be taen 
 up wi' the taings ! Eh me, but my pride i' 
 the laddie ! It 'ill be sma' pride for me gien 
 this fearsome thing be true ! " 
 
 "And wha daur say it's true?" rejoined 
 Marion, almost fiercely. 
 277 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 *' Nane but himsel' ; and gien he dinna con- 
 fess, the rod laid upon him 'ill be the rod o' iron, 
 that braks a man like a muckle crock. I maun 
 tak* Jamie throuw han* ! " 
 
 " Nog jist tak' ye care, Peter, that ye dinna 
 quench the smokin' flax." 
 
 " I 'm mair likely to get the bruised reed intill 
 my nakit loof ! " returned Peter. " But I s' say 
 naething till he 's a wee better, for we maunna 
 drive him to despair ! Eh, gien he would only 
 repent ! What is there I wouldna du to clear 
 him frae ony wrang to her ! I wad dee wi' 
 thanksgivin' ! " 
 
 " Weel I kenna that we're jist called upon sae 
 far as that ! " said Marion. " A lass is aye able 
 to luik efter hersel' ! " 
 
 " I wud ! I wud ! — God hae mercy upo' the 
 twa o' them ! " 
 
 After that they were silent. 
 
 In the afternoon James was a good deal bet- 
 ter ; and when his father went in to see him, his 
 first words were, — 
 
 " I doobt, father, I 'm no likely to preach ony 
 mair ; I 've come to see 'at I never was fit for the 
 wark, neither had ony call till 't." 
 
 " It may be sae, Jeemie," answered his father ; 
 " but we '11 haud awa' frae conclusions till ye 're 
 better, and able to jeedge correctly, wi'oot bias 
 o' ony thrawing distemper." 
 278 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " O father," James went on, and to his de- 
 light Peter saw, for the first time since he was 
 the merest child, tears running down his cheeks, 
 now thin and wan, — " O father, I hae been a 
 terrible hypocreet ! But my ecn hae come open 
 at last. I see mysel' as I am." 
 
 " Weel, there 's God hard by, to tak' ye by the 
 han' like Enoch ! Tell me," Peter went on, 
 " hae ye onything upo' yer min', laddie, 'at ye 
 would like to confess and be eased o' ? There 's 
 nae papistry in confessing to yer ain auld 
 father ! " 
 
 James lay still for a few moments; then he 
 said, almost inaudibly, — 
 
 " I think I could tell my mother better nor 
 you, father." 
 
 " Weel, it '11 be a' ane whilk o' 's ye tell. The 
 forgiein' and the forgettin' '11 be ae deed — by the 
 twa o' 's at ance ! I s' gang and cry doon the 
 stair to yer mither to come up and hear ye." For 
 Peter knew by experience that good motions 
 must be taken advantage of in their first ripe- 
 ness. "We maunna try the speerit wi' ony 
 delays ! " he added, and going to the head of 
 the stair called aloud to his wife. Then re- 
 turning to the bedside, he resumed his seat, 
 and said, " I '11 jist bide a minute till she comes." 
 
 He was loath to let in any risk between his 
 going and her coming, for he knew how quickly 
 2 79 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 minds may change; but the moment she ap- 
 peared, he left the room, gently closing the door 
 behind him. 
 
 Then the trembhng, convicted soul plucked 
 up what courage his stubborn heart was capable 
 of, and began. 
 
 " Mother, there was a lass I cam' to ken in 
 Edinburgh, when I was a divinity student there, 
 and — " 
 
 " Ay, ay, I ken a' aboot it ! " interrupted the 
 mother, eager to spare him; " — an ill-faured, 
 designing limmer, 'at micht ha' kent better nor 
 come ower a dacent woman's son that gait ! 
 Sic like as she wad deceive the very elec' ! " 
 
 *' Na, na, mother, she was nane o' that sort! 
 She was bonny and guid and pleasant to the 
 hert as to the sicht, and would have saved me 
 gien I had been true till her ! She was ane o' 
 the Lord's makin' as he has made but feow ! " 
 
 "What for didna she haud frae ye till ye 
 had merried her than?" 
 
 " Mother, in that word ye hae slandert yersel' ! 
 I '11 no say a ward mair." 
 
 " I 'm sure neither yer father nor mysel' would 
 hae stude i' yer gait," said Marion, retreating 
 from the false position she had taken. 
 
 She did not know how bitter would have been 
 her opposition ; she had set her mind on a dis- 
 tinguished match for her Jamie. 
 280 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " God knows how I wish I had had patience ! 
 Syne I micht hae steppit oot o' the dirt o' my 
 hypocrisy, i'stead o' gaein' ower the heid intill 't. 
 I was aye a hypocrite, but she would maybe hae 
 fun' me oot, and shawed me to mysel'." 
 
 He did not know the probability that, if he 
 had not fallen, he would have but sunk the 
 deeper in the worst bog of all, self-satisfaction, 
 and would none the less have played her false, 
 and left her to break her heart. 
 
 If any reader of this tale should argue it bet- 
 ter then to do wrong and repent, than to resist 
 the devil, I warn him that in such case he will 
 not repent until the sorrows of death and the 
 pains of hell itself lay hold upon him. An 
 overtaking fault may be beaten with few stripes, 
 but a wilful wrong shall be beaten with many 
 stripes. The doer of the latter must share, not 
 with Judas, for he did repent, but with those 
 who have taken from themselves the power of 
 repentance. 
 
 "Was there no mark left o' her disgrace?" 
 asked his mother. " Wasna there a bairn to 
 mak' it manifest?" 
 
 " Nane I ever heard tell o'." 
 
 " In that case she 's no muckle the waur, and 
 
 ye needna gang lamentin' ; she '11 no be the ane 
 
 to tell, and ye maunna, for her sake. Sae tak' 
 
 ye corpfort ower what 's gane and dune wi', 
 
 281 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 and canna come back, and maunna happen 
 again. Eh, but it 's a God's mercy there was 
 nae bairn." 
 
 Thus had his mother herself become an evil 
 counsellor, and cried Peace ! peace ! when there 
 was no peace, tempting her own son to be a 
 devil. The one thing that now stood up for the 
 truth in his miserable heart was his reviving and 
 growing love for Isy. It had seemed smothered 
 in selfishness, but was alive and operative, God 
 knows how, — perhaps through feverish, inco- 
 herent dreams. 
 
 He had expected his mother to aid his repent- 
 ance, and uphold his walk in the way of right- 
 eousness, even should it be that of social disgrace. 
 He knew well that reparation and repentance 
 must go hand in hand where the All-wise was 
 judge, and foolish Society was not allowed one 
 despicable word to bring honour out of the 
 most carefully hidden shame. He had been 
 the cowering slave of a false reputation, but his 
 illness had roused him, set repentance before 
 him, brought confession within sight, and purity 
 within prayer. 
 
 " I maun gang till her as soon as ever I 'm 
 up," he cried. " Whaur is she, mother? " 
 
 " Upo' nae accoont see her, Jamie, It would 
 be but to fa' again intill her snare," answered his 
 mother, with decision in her look and tone. 
 282 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " We 're to abstain frae a' appearance o' evil — 
 as ye ken better nor I can tell ye." 
 
 " But Isy 's no an appearance o' evil, 
 mother ! " 
 
 " Ye say weel there, I confess, Na, she 's no 
 an appearance ; she 's the vera thing. Hand 
 frae her, as ye would frae the ill ane himsel'." 
 
 " Did she never lat on what there had been 
 atween 's? " 
 
 " Na, never. She kenned weel what would 
 come o' that." 
 
 "What, mother?" 
 
 " The ootside o' the door." 
 
 " Think ye she ever tauld onybody?" 
 
 " Mony ane, I doobtna." 
 
 " Weel, I dinna believe 't. She 's heeld her 
 tongue, and that weel." 
 
 ** Hoo ken ye that? What for said she never 
 ae word aboot ye till yer ain mither?" 
 
 " 'Cause she was set on haudin' her tongue. 
 Was she to bring an ower true tale o' me to the 
 vera hoose I was born in? As lang as I haud 
 my tongue, she '11 never wag hers." 
 
 " Weel, I alloo that 's deein' as a wuman 
 should — whan the faut 's a' her ain." 
 
 "And the faut bein' a' mine, mother, she 
 wouldna tell what would disgrace me." 
 
 " She micht hae kenned the secret would be 
 safe wi' me." 
 
 283 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " I micht hae said the same but for the w*y I 
 h'ard ye speyk o' her this vera minute. Whaur 
 is Isy, mother? " 
 
 " 'Deed, she 's made a munelicht flittin' 
 o' 't" 
 
 " I telled ye she would never tell upo' me. I 
 fear me noo ye hae driven her to tell a'. Did 
 ye pay her her wages afore she gaed ? " 
 
 " She gae me no time. But she winna tell 
 noo, for wha would tak' her in ? " 
 
 " Eh, mother, but ye are hard-hertit ! " 
 
 " I ken a harder, Jamie." 
 
 " That 's me, and ye 're richt, mother. But, 
 eh, gien ye wad hae me lo'e ye frae this min- 
 ute to the end o' my days, be fair to Isy ; / hae 
 been a damned scoon'rel till her." 
 
 "Jamie, Jamie, ye 're provokin' the Lord to 
 anger, — sweirin' like that in his vera face, and 
 you a minister ! " 
 
 " I provokit him a heap waur whan I left 
 Isy to dree her shame, St. Peter cursed awfu' 
 gran' when he said to Simon the magician, 
 ' Gang to hell wi' yer siller ! ' " 
 
 " She 's tellt the soutar, onygait, or he wadna 
 hae ta'en her in. It '11 be a* ower the toon lang 
 or this." 
 
 "And hoo will ye meet the trowth, mother?" 
 
 " We maun tell yer father, and get him to con- 
 trive wi' the soutar to haud the thing quaiet. 
 284 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 We maun jist stop her mou' wi' a bunch o' 
 banknotes." 
 
 "Ye would mak' it 'maist impossible for her to 
 forgi'e me ony langer? " 
 
 " And wha 's she to speak o' forgivin' ? " 
 But here the door opened, and Peter entered. 
 He went up to his wife, and stood over her like 
 an angel of vengeance. His very lips were 
 white. 
 
 " Efter thirty years o' merried life, noo first to 
 ken the wife o' my bosom for a messenger o' 
 Sawtan ! " he panted. " Gang oot o' my sicht, 
 wuman ! " 
 
 She fell on her knees before him, and held up 
 her two hands. 
 
 " Think o' Jamie, Peter ! " she pleaded. " It 's 
 a' for him, only for him ! I wad tyne my sowl 
 for Jamie ! " 
 
 "Ay, and his as weel ! Tyne what's yer ain 
 to tyne, wuman — and that 's no your sowl, nor 
 yet Jamie's ! He 's no yours or mine to save 
 or to destroy ! Wad ye sen' him straucht awa' 
 to hell for the sake o' a guid name — a lee ! a 
 hypocrisy ! Oot upo' ye for a Christian mither ! 
 — Jamie, I 'm awa' to the toon, upo' my twa feet, 
 for the mere 's cripple : the vera deil 's i' the 
 hoose and the stable and a', it would seem ! 
 I 'm awa' to fess Isy hame ! And, Jamie, ye '11 
 jist tell her afore me and yer mither, that as 
 285 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 soon 's ye 're able to crawl to the kirk wi' her, 
 ye '11 marry her afore the warl, and tak' her hame 
 to the manse wi' ye ! " 
 
 " Hoot, Peter ! Wad ye disgrace him afore a' 
 the beggars in Tiltbowie?" 
 
 " Ay, and afore God, that kens a'thing or ony- 
 body tell him ! My ban's and hert sail be clear 
 o' this abomination ! " 
 
 " Merry a wuman 'at was to be ta'en wi' a wat 
 finger? — a maiden that never said na? — a lass 
 that 's nae maiden, nor ever will be?" 
 
 " And wha 's to blame for that? " 
 
 " Hersel'." 
 
 " Jamie ! gang awa' wi' ye ! " 
 
 " Oh, father, father," cried James, " forgi'e my 
 mither afore ye gang, or my hert 'ill brak. It 's 
 the awfu'est thing o' ony to see you twa striven 
 wi' ane anither ! " 
 
 " She 's no sorry, no ae bit sorry ! " said Peter. 
 
 " I am, I am, Peter ! " cried Marion, breaking 
 down utterly. " Do what ye wull, and I '11 do 
 the same — only let the thing be dune quaietly, 
 'ithoot din or proclamation. What for sud 
 a'body ken a'thing ! W' ha has a richt to see 
 intill ither fowk's herts and lives? The warl 
 could ill gang on gien that was the gait o' 't." 
 
 " Father," said James, " I thank God that noo 
 ye ken a' ! Eh, sic a weight as it tak's afif o' me ! 
 I '11 be hale and weel noo in ae day. I think I '11 
 286 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 gang wi' ye to Isy mysel'. But I 'm a wee sorry 
 ye cam' in jist that minute. I wuss ye had harkit 
 a wee langer. For I wasna gi'en in to my mither ; 
 I was but luikin' to see hoo to say oot what was 
 in me, and no vex her waur than couldna be 
 helpit. BeHeve me, father, gien ye can ; though 
 I doobt ye winna be able ! " 
 
 " I believe ye, my bairn ; and I thank God I 
 hae that muckle pooer o' belief left in me ! I 
 confess I was in ower great a hurry, and am sure 
 ye war takin' the richt gait wi' yer puir mither. 
 Ye see she lo'ed ye sae weel that she could think 
 o' nae thing or body but yersel'. That 's the w'y 
 o' mithers, Jamie, gien ye only kenned it ! She 
 was nigh sinnin' an awfu' sin for your sake, man ! 
 That's what comes o' lovin' the praise o' men, 
 Mirran. Easy it passes intill the fear o' men, and 
 disregaird o' the Holy. — I s' awa' doon to the 
 soutar, and tell him the cheenge that 's come 
 ower us a' : he '11 no be a hair surprised ! " 
 
 " I 'm ready, father — or will be in ae minute ! " 
 
 " Na, na; ye 're no fit ! I would hae to be 
 takin' ye upo' my back afore we war at the fut 
 o' the brae. Bide ye at hame, and keep yer 
 mither company." 
 
 "Ay, bide, Jamie, and I winna come near ye," 
 sobbed his mother. 
 
 " Onything to please ye, mother, — but I'm 
 fitter nor my father thinks." 
 287 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 So Peter went, leaving mother and son silent 
 together. 
 
 At last the mother spoke. 
 
 " It 's the shame o' 't, Jamie ! " she said. 
 
 " The shame was i' the thing itsel', mother, and 
 in hidin' frae the shame," he answered. " Noo, 
 I hae but the dregs to drink, and that I maun 
 bide wi' patience, for I hae weel deserved it. 
 But, eh, my bonnie Isy, she maun hae sufifert 
 sair ! " 
 
 " Her mither couldna hae broucht her up richt ! 
 The first o' the faut lay in the upbringin' ! " 
 
 " There 's anither wha's upbringin' wasna to 
 blame, but was a' it oucht to be ! " 
 
 " It wasna ! I see it plain the noo ! I was 
 aye ower feart o' garrin' ye hate me. Oh, Isy, 
 Isy ! I hae dune ye wrang ! I ken ye never 
 laid yersel' oot to snare him ! " 
 
 " Thank ye, mother. It was, really and truly, 
 a' my wyte ! And noo my life sail gang to mak' 
 up till her ! " 
 
 " And I maun see to the manse ! " said his 
 mother. " And first in order o' a', that Jinse o* 
 yours '11 hae to gang." 
 
 " As ye like, mother. But for the manse, I 
 maun clear oot o' that ! I speak nae mair frae 
 that poopit ! I hae hypocreesit in 't ower lang ! 
 The thoucht o' 't scunners me ! "' 
 
 " Speykna like that o' the poopit, Jamie, 
 288 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 vvhaur sae mony holy men hae stude up and 
 spoken frae 't the word o' God ! It frichts me 
 to hear ye ! Yc '11 be a burnin' and shinin* licht 
 i' that poopit for mony a lang day efter we 're 
 deid and hame ! " 
 
 " The mair holy men that hae there witnessed, 
 the less may ony livin' lee stan' there braggin' 
 and blazin* i' the face o' God and man ! It 's 
 shame o' mysel' that gars me hate the place, 
 mother ! Ance and no more wull I stan' there, 
 makin' o' 't my stool o' repentance ; and syne 
 doon the steps and awa', like Adam frae the 
 gairden ! " 
 
 " And what's to come o' Eve? Are ye gaein', 
 like him, to say, * The wuman thou gavest me — 
 it 's a' her wyte' ? " 
 
 " I '11 tak' a' the wyte." 
 
 " But hoo can ye gien up there ye stan' and 
 confess ? Fowk '11 aye gie her a full share at the 
 least ! Ye maun hae some care o' the lass — 
 yer wife — efter a'. And what are ye to turn 
 till, seein' ye hae put yer haun to the pleuch 
 and turned back?" 
 
 "To the pleuch again, mother. Frae the kirk 
 door I '11 come hame like the prodigal to my 
 father's hoose, and say till him, * Set me to the 
 pleuch, father. See gien I canna be something 
 like a son to ye, after a' ! '" 
 
 So wrought in him that mighty power, mys- 
 19 289 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 terious in its origin, as marvellous in its result, 
 which had been at work in him all the time he 
 lay whelmed under feverish phantasms. The 
 result was no phantasm. His repentance was 
 true; it was hfe from the dead. God and the 
 man had met. As to Jiow God turned the man's 
 heart we can only say, "Thou, God, knowest." 
 To understand it we should have to go down 
 below the foundations themselves, underneath 
 creation, and there watch God send out from 
 himself, man, the spirit, distinguished yet never 
 divided from him, for ever dependent upon and 
 growing in him, never complete because his 
 origin, his very life, is infinite ; never outside of 
 God because in him only he lives and moves 
 and grows, and has his being. Brothers, let us 
 not linger even to ask him questions, but turn at 
 once to him this being that says / and me, and 
 make haste to obey him, — so to become all we 
 are capable of being, so to learn all we are capa- 
 ble of knowing. Only the pure in heart shall 
 see God; and they who see him know more 
 than the wise and prudent can ever see until 
 they also become pure in heart. 
 
 Something like this was the meditation of the 
 soutar, as he saw the farmer stride away into the 
 dusk of the gathering twilight, going home with 
 glad heart to his wife and son. 
 
 He had told the soutar that the sickness of 
 290 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 his son had brought to light that a sin of his 
 youth and its concealment had for a long time 
 troubled him, and now he was resolved to make 
 all the reparation he could. 
 
 " Mr. Robertson," he told him, " broucht the 
 lass to oor hoose, never mentionin' Jamie, for he 
 didna ken they war onything to ane anither ; and 
 for her, she never said ae word aboot him to 
 Mirran or me." 
 
 The soutar went to the door and called Isy. 
 She came, and stood humbly before her old 
 master, waiting for him to speak. 
 
 "Weel, Isy," said he, kindly, "ye gied 's a 
 clever slip the ither morning and a gey fricht 
 forbye ! What possessed ye, lass, to dae sic a 
 thing? " 
 
 She stood distressed, and made no answer. 
 
 " Hoot, lassie, tell me," insisted Peter, " I 
 haena been an ill maister to ye, have I ? " 
 
 " Sir, ye hae been mair nor guid till me. But 
 I canna — that is, I maunna — or raither, I'm 
 determined no' to explain the thing." 
 
 " Thoucht ye my wife was feared the minister 
 micht fa' in love wi' ye? " 
 
 " Weel, sir, there micht hae been something 
 like that intill 't ! But I wantit sair to win at 
 my bairn again ; for i' that trance I lay intill sae 
 lang, I saw or h'ard something I took for an inti- 
 mation that he was alive, and no that far awa'. 
 291 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 And wad ye believe 't, sir, i' this vera hoose I 
 fand him, and here I hae him, and I 'm jist as 
 happy the noo as I was miserable afore ! Is 't 
 ill o' me 'at I canna be sorry ony mair?" 
 
 "And noo," said Mr. Blatherwick, " ye '11 be 
 able to tell 's wha 's the father o' 'im ! " 
 
 " Na, I canna dee that, sir; it's eneuch that I 
 hae disgracet inyscV ! Ye wadna hae me dis- 
 grace anither as weel ! What guid would that 
 be?" 
 
 " It would help ye beir the disgrace better." 
 
 " No a hair better, sir ; he couldna stan' the 
 disgrace half sae weel 's me my lane. I reckon 
 the man the weaker vessel, sir ; the woman has 
 her bairn to fend for, and that tak's her thouchts 
 ofif o' the shame ! " 
 
 "You dinna tell me he gies ye noucht to 
 mainteen the crature upo'?" 
 
 " I tell ye naething, sir. He never even kenned 
 there was a bairn ! " 
 
 " Hoot, toot ! ye canna be sae semple as that 
 comes till ! Did ye never tell him? " 
 
 " 'Deed, no ; I was ower sair ashamit ! Ye see 
 it was a' my vvyte, and it was naebody's busi- 
 ness ! My auntie said gien I wouldna tell I 
 micht put the door atween 's ; and I took her at 
 her word, for I kenned she couldna keep a se- 
 cret, and I wasna gaein' to hae his name mixed 
 up wi' a lass like mysel' ! And, sir, ye maunna 
 292 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 try to gar me tell, for I hae no richt, and surely 
 ye haena the hert ! " 
 
 " I dinna blame ye, Isy ! but there 's jist ae 
 thing I 'm determined upo', and that is that the 
 rascal sail merry ye ! " 
 
 Isy's face flushed ; she was taken too much at 
 unawares to hide her pleasure at such a word 
 from his mouth. But presently the flush faded, 
 and Mr. Blatherwick saw that she was fighting 
 with herself. Then the mere shadow of a pawky 
 smile flitted across her face as she answered, — 
 " Surely ye wouldna merry me upon a rascal, 
 sir ! Ill as I hae behaved till ye, I hae hardly 
 deservit that at yer han' ! " 
 
 " That's what he '11 hae to do, though, — jist 
 merry ye aff han' ! I 's gar him." 
 
 " I winna hae him garred ! It 's me that has 
 the richt ower him, and no anither, man or 
 wuman, and he sanna be garred ! What would 
 ye hae me, thinkin' I would tak' a man 'at was 
 garred ! Na, na; there's be nae garrin' ! And 
 ye canna gar Jiim merry me gien / winna hae 
 him ! The days are by for that ! " 
 
 " Weel, my bonny leddy," said Peter, " gien I 
 had a prince to my son, providit he was worth 
 yer takin', I would sae to ye, * Hae ! ' " 
 
 " And I would say to you, sir, ' No, — gien he 
 bena willin','' answered Isy, and ran from the 
 room. 
 
 293 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " Weel, what think ye o' the lass, Mr. Blather- 
 wick?" said the soutar, with a twinkle in 
 his eye. 
 
 " I think jist what I thoucht afore," answered 
 Peter; " she 's ane amo' a million ! " 
 
 " I'm no that sure aboot the proportion ! " re- 
 turned MacLear. " I doobt ye micht come upo' 
 twa afore ye wan throw the million ! A million 's 
 a heap o' women ! " 
 
 " All I care to say is, that gien Jeemie binna 
 ready to leav' father and mother and kirk and 
 steeple, and cleave to that wuman and her only, 
 he 's no a mere gomeril, but jist a meeserable, 
 wickit fule ! and I s' never speyk word till him 
 again, wi' my wull, gien I live to the age o' auld 
 Methuselah ! " 
 
 " Tak' tent what ye say, or mint at sayin' to 
 persuad' him : Isy 'ill be upon ye ! " said the 
 soutar, laughing. " But hearken to me, Mr. 
 Blatherwick, and sayna a word to the minister 
 aboot the bairnie." 
 
 " Na, na; it '11 be best to lat him fin' 't oot for 
 himsel'. And noo I maun be gaein', for I hae 
 my wallet fu*." 
 
 He strode to the door, holding his head high, 
 and, with never a word more, went out. The 
 soutar closed the door and returned to his work, 
 saying aloud as he went, " Lord, lat me ever and 
 aye see thy face, and desire noucht mair, excep' 
 294 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 that the haill warl, O Lord, may behold it 
 likewise." 
 
 Peter Blatherwick went home joyous at heart. 
 His son was his son, and no villain ! — only a 
 poor creature, as is every man until he turns to 
 the Lord, away from ambition and care for the 
 judgment of men. He rejoiced also that the 
 girl he had befriended would be a strength to 
 his son ; that she whom his wife would have 
 rejected had proved herself noble. And he 
 praised the Father of men, that the very wander- 
 ings of those he loved had brought about their 
 repentance and uplifting. 
 
 " Here I am ! " said the farmer, as he entered. 
 " I hae seen the lassie ance mair, and she 's 
 better and bonnier than ever ! " 
 
 " Ow, ay; ye 're jist like a' the men I ever 
 kenned ! " said Marion, smiling; " easy ta'en wi' 
 the skin-side ! " 
 
 " Doobtless ; the Makker has ta'en a heap o' 
 pains wi' the skin ! Ony gait yon lassie 's ane 
 amang ten thoosan ! Jeemie here suld be on 
 his knees till her this vera moment, — no sitting 
 there glowerin' as gien his een were two balls, 
 — fired afif but never won oot o' the barrels ! " 
 
 " Hoot ! wad ye hae him gang on his knees 
 to ony but the Ane? " 
 
 "Aye wad I — to ony ane that's nearer His 
 lik'ness nor Jeemie himsel' — and that ane 's oor 
 29s 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Isy! — I wouldna won'er, Jamie, gien ye war 
 fit for a drive the morn ! In that case, I '11 caw 
 yc doon to the toon to say yer say to Isy." 
 
 James did not sleep much that night, and 
 nevertheless was greatly better the next day, — 
 indeed almost well ; and before noon they were 
 at the soutar's door. He opened it himself, and 
 took the minister straight to the ben-end of the 
 house, where Isy sat alone. She rose, and with 
 downcast eyes went to meet him. 
 
 " Isy," he faltered, " can ye forgi'e me? and 
 will ye merry me as soon as ever we can be 
 cried ? I 'm as ashamed o' mysel' as even ye 
 would hae me ! " 
 
 "Ye haena sae muckle to be ashamet o' as 
 mysel', sir : it was a' my ain wyte ! " 
 
 " And syne no to haud my face till 't ! I 'm 
 that ashamet o' mysel' I canna luik ye i' the 
 face ! " 
 
 " Ye didna ken whaur I was. I ran awa' that 
 naebody micht ken." 
 
 " What necessity was there for onybody to 
 ken? I 'm sure ye never tellt ! " 
 
 Isy went to the door and called Maggie. 
 James stared bewildered. 
 
 "This tellt," she said, re-entering with the 
 child, and laying him in James's arms. 
 
 He gasped with astonishment, almost con- 
 sternation. 
 
 296 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " Is this mine? " he stammered. 
 
 " Yours and mine, sir," she replied. " Wasna 
 God a heap better till me than I deserved ? Sic 
 a bonny bairn ! no a mark, no a spot upon him 
 frae heid to fut to tell hoo he cam', or that he 
 ouchtna to be here ! — Gie the bonny wee man 
 a kiss, Mr. Blatherwick. Haud him close to ye, 
 sir, and he'll tak' the pain oot o' yer hert: 
 aften has he ta'en 't oot o' mine ! He 's yer ain 
 son, sir, and cam' to me wi' the Lord's forgive- 
 ness lang or I was able to beg for 't. Eh, but 
 we maun mak' up till him for the wrang we did 
 him afore he was born — gien that be possible ! 
 But he '11 be like his great Father, and forgi'e us 
 baith ! " 
 
 When Maggie had given the child to his 
 mother, she returned to her father, and sat 
 beside him, crying softly. He turned on his 
 leather-bottomed stool, and looked at her. 
 
 " Canna ye rejoice wi' them that rejoice, whan 
 ye hae nane to greit wi', Maggie, my doo?" he 
 said. " Ye haena lost ane, and ye hae gained 
 twa ! Haudna the glaidness back, that 's sae 
 fain to come to the licht, even in your grudgin' 
 hert, Maggie ! God himsel' 's glaid, and the 
 Shepperd 's glaid, and the angels are a' makin' 
 sic a flut-flutter wi' their muckle wings, I can 
 'maist see naething for them ! " 
 
 Maggie rose, and stood a moment wiping her 
 297 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 eyes. The same moment the door opened, and 
 James entered with the Httle one in his arms. 
 He laid him with a smile in Maggie's. 
 
 " Thank you, sir ! " said the girl humbly, and 
 clasped the child to her bosom ; nor, after that, 
 was ever a cloud of jealousy to be seen on her 
 face. I will not say she never longed or wept 
 after the child, whom she still regarded as her 
 very own even when he was gone away with his 
 father and mother; she mourned for him like a 
 mother from whom death has taken her first- 
 born ; neither did she see much difference to 
 her between the two forms of loss, for she knew 
 that neither life nor death could destroy the 
 relation that already and for ever existed be- 
 tween them. She could not be her father's 
 daughter and not understand that; so, like a 
 bereaved mother, she only gave herself the 
 more to her father. 
 
 I will not dwell on the delight of James and 
 Isobel, thus restored to each other, the one from 
 a sea of sadness, the other from a gulf of perdi- 
 tion. Our sins and our iniquities shall be no 
 more remembered against us for ever, when we 
 take refuge with the Father of Jesus and of us. 
 Nothing we have done can ever separate us 
 from him, — nothing can, except our abiding 
 in the darkness and refusing to come to the 
 light. 
 
 298 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Before James left the house, the soutar took 
 him aside, and said, — 
 
 " Daur I offer ye a word o' advice, sir?" 
 
 " 'Deed, that ye may," answered the young 
 man, with humiHty ; " and I dinna see hoc I can 
 miss doin' as ye tell me ; for you and my father 
 and Isy atween ye hae jist saved my vera life ! " 
 
 " Weel, what I would beg o' ye is, that ye 
 tak' no step concernin' Isy afore ye see Maister 
 Robertson and tell him the haill affair." 
 
 " I 'm vera willin'," answered James, " gien Isy 
 hersel' be content." 
 
 " Ye may be vera certain, sir, she '11 be nae- 
 thing but pleased : she has a gran' opinion, and 
 weel she may, o' Maister Robertson. Ye see, 
 sir, I want ye to put yersel's i' the ban's o' a 
 man that kens ye baith, and the hauf o' yer 
 story a'ready ; ane wha '11 judge ye truly and 
 mercifully, and no condemn ye afifhan'. He '11 
 be the man to tell ye what ye oucht to dee 
 neist." 
 
 " I will — and thank you, Mr. MacLear. But 
 ae thing I houp, — that you nor he will ever try 
 to persuad' me to gang on preachin'. Ae thing 
 I 'm set upon, and that is to deliver my sowl frae 
 hypocrisy, and gang saftly the lave o' my days ! 
 Happy man wad I no be, had I been set at the 
 first to ploo and reap and gether intill the barn, 
 instead o' creepin' intill a boat to fish for men 
 299 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 wi' naething but a foul and tangled net ! I 'm 
 affrontit and disgustit at mysel' ! Eh, the pre- 
 sumption o' the thing ! But I have been weel 
 and richteously punished ! The Father drew 
 his han' oot o' mine, and loot me try to gang 
 my lane, and doon I cam', for I was fit only to 
 fa' ; naething less would hae broucht me to 
 mysel' — and that took a lang time ! I hae a 
 great houp that Mr. Robertson will see the thing 
 as I dae mysel' ! — Wull I write and ask him oot 
 to Stanecross to advise wi' my father aboot Isy? 
 That would bring him ! There never was man 
 readier to help! — But it's surely my part to 
 gang to him and mak' my confession, and tak' 
 his judgment ! Only I maun gang and tell Isy 
 first ! " 
 
 He found her not only willing, but eager that 
 Mr. Robertson should know everything. 
 
 " But be sure," she said, " you let him know 
 too that you come of yourself, and that I never 
 asked you." 
 
 But Peter said he must himself go with him, 
 for he was but weakly yet, — and the very next 
 day, before anything should transpire. 
 
 The news which father and son carried to the 
 Robertsons filled them with pleasure ; and if 
 their reception of James made him feel the re- 
 pentant prodigal he was, it was by its heartiness, 
 and their jubilation over Isy. The next Sun- 
 300 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 day Mr. Robertson preached in James's pulpit, 
 and published the banns of marriage between 
 James Blatherwick and Isobel Rose, returning 
 the two following Sundays for the same pur- 
 pose, and on the next Monday marrying them 
 at Stonecross, — when also the little one was 
 baptised, by the name of Peter, in his father's 
 arms, — amid much gladness, not quite un- 
 mingled with shame. The soutar and his 
 Maggie were the only friends present besides 
 the Robertsons. Before the breaking up, Peter 
 put the big Bible in the hands of the soutar, 
 who, at the desire of the company, led their 
 prayers, when this was very nearly what he 
 said : " O God, to whom we belang, hert and 
 soul, body and blude and banes, hoo great art 
 thou, and hoo close to us, to haud sic a grand 
 and fair, sic a just and true, ownership ower us ! 
 VVe bless thee hertily; and rejoicin' for what 
 we are, still mair for what thou art thysel ! 
 Tak' to thy hert, and haud them there, these 
 thy twa repentant sinners, and thy ain little 
 ane and theirs, wha's innocent as thoo hast 
 made him. Gie them sic grace to bring him up 
 that he be nane the waur for the wrang they did 
 him afore he was born ; and lat the knowledge 
 o' his parents' faut haud him safe frae onything 
 sic like ! and may they baith be the better for 
 their fa', and live a heap the mair to the glory 
 301 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 o' their Father by cause o' that sHp ! And 
 gien ever the minister should again preach thy 
 word, may it be wi' the better comprehension 
 and the mair fervour; and to that end gie him 
 to understan' the height and depth and breadth 
 and len'th o' thy forgivin' love. Thy name be 
 gloryfeed. Amen ! " 
 
 " Na, na ! I '11 never preach again ! " whis- 
 pered James to the soutar, as they rose from 
 their knees. 
 
 " I winna be a'thegither sure o' that ! " re- 
 turned the soutar. " Doobtless ye '11 dee as the 
 Spirit shaws ye ! " 
 
 James made no answer, and neither spoke 
 again that night. 
 
 The next morning James sent to the clerk of 
 the synod his resignation of his parish and office, 
 setting plainly forth under what necessity he 
 did so. 
 
 No sooner had Marion, repentant under her 
 husband's terrible rebuke, set herself to resist 
 her rampant pride than the indwelling goodness 
 arose in her with an overwhelming rush, and 
 she was herself again, — her old and lovely self 
 Little Peter, with his beauty and his winsome 
 ways, melted and scattered the last lingering 
 rack of the evil fog of her ambition for her son. 
 Twenty times a morning would she drop her 
 work to catch up and caress her grandchild, and 
 302 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 overwhelm him with endearments. And over 
 the return of his mother — her second Isy, now 
 her daughter indeed — she was jubilant. 
 
 From the first publication of the banns, she 
 had been busy cleaning and setting to rights the 
 parlour, which she intended making over en- 
 tirely to Isy and James; but the moment Isy 
 discovered her intent, she protested obstinately; 
 it should not, could not, must not be ! The 
 very morning after the wedding she was down 
 in the kitchen, and had put the water on the 
 fire for the porridge before her husband was 
 awake. The water was already boiling and the 
 table laid for breakfast before her mother was 
 down, or her father come in from his last prepa- 
 rations for the harvest. 
 
 *' I ken weel," said Isy to Marion, " that I 
 hae nae richt to contre ye ; but ye ken ye war 
 glaid eneuch o' my help whan first I cam' to be 
 yer servan'-lass : what for shouldna things be 
 jist the same noo? I ken a' the Av'ys o' the 
 place, — divna I, noo? — and they'll lea' me 
 plenty o' time to tak' the bairnie oot, and play 
 wi' him as muckle as ever he wad hae ! Ye 
 maun jist lat me step again, mother, intill my ain 
 auld place ! Gien onybody comes in, it winna 
 tak' me a minute to mak' mysel' tidy as becomes 
 the minister's wife. Only that's to be a' ower 
 noo, he says, and there '11 be no need." 
 303 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 With that she broke into a little song, and 
 went on with her work. 
 
 At breakfast James made request to his father 
 that he might be allowed to make of a certain 
 little-used loft a room for Isy and himself, so as 
 not to overpeople the house. He had always 
 been fond of carpentering before he took him- 
 self to theology, and would now be glad to turn 
 it to use ! His father making no objection, he 
 began at once. But his project was interrupted 
 by the arrival of an exceptionally plentiful 
 harvest. 
 
 The very day the cutting began, James ap- 
 peared among the ripe oats with the other 
 scythe-men, and did his best to keep up with 
 them. When his father came, however, he in- 
 terfered, and compelled him to take it easier, as 
 unfit by habit and recent illness to emulate the 
 others. What delighted his father even more 
 than his good-will was the way he talked with 
 the men and women in the field. Every show 
 of superiority had vanished from his bearing 
 and speech, and he was simply himself, behaving 
 like the others, only with greater courtesy; 
 ready to share with them whatever he had 
 learned that he thought might interest them, 
 and thus letting his light shine, and showing he 
 thought them as fit as himself to receive it. 
 
 When the hour for the noonday meal arrived, 
 304 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Isy appeared with her mother-in-law and old 
 Eppic, bringing the " minister," as they still 
 would call him, his share of the meal in one 
 hand and leading little Peter with the other, to 
 play with him while the labourers rested. For 
 a while the whole field was enlivened with their 
 merriment, after which the child was laid to 
 rest with his bottle under the shadow of an over- 
 arching stook, and went to sleep, with his mother 
 watching the shadow while she took her first 
 lesson in gathering and binding sheaves. When 
 he woke, the grandfather sent his whole family, 
 James and his mother included, to the house 
 for the rest of the day. 
 
 " Hoots, Isy, my dautie," he said, when she 
 wanted to continue her work, " would ye mak' a 
 slave-driver o* me, and bring disgrace upo' the 
 name o' father?" 
 
 Then at once she obeyed, and went with her 
 husband, — both tired indeed, but happier than 
 ever in their lives before. 
 
 20 
 
 305 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 The next morning James was in the field with 
 the rest long before the sun was up. Day by 
 day he grew stronger in mind and in body, until 
 at length he was not only quite equal to the 
 harvest-work, but capable of anything required 
 of a farm servant. 
 
 His deliverance from the slavery of Sunday 
 prayers and sermons, and his consequent sense 
 of freedom and its delight, greatly favoured his 
 growth in health and strength. Before the win- 
 ter came, however, he had begun to find his 
 heart turning towards the pulpit with a desire 
 after utterance. For, almost as soon as his 
 day's work ceased to exhaust him, he had be- 
 gun to take up the study of the recorded say- 
 ings and doings of the Lord of men, eager to 
 verify the relation in which he stood toward 
 him, and through him toward that eternal at- 
 mosphere in which he lived and moved and had 
 his being, namely, God himself. One day with 
 a sudden questioning hunger he rose in haste 
 from his knees to turn almost trembling to his 
 Greek Testament, in order to find out whether 
 306 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 the words of the Master, " If any man will do 
 the will of the Father," meant " If any man is 
 willing to do the will of the Father ; " and 
 finding that indeed they did, he was thence- 
 for^vard so far at rest as to be able to go on 
 asking and hoping ; nor was it long then before 
 he began to feel that he had something worth 
 telling, and which he must tell to every man. 
 Heartily he took himself to prayer for that 
 spirit of truth which the same Lord had prom- 
 ised to him that asked for it. 
 
 He talked with his wife about what he had 
 found; he talked with his father about it; he 
 went to the soutar and talked with him about 
 it. 
 
 Now the soutar had for many years made 
 one use of his Sundays by which he saw he 
 could now be of service to James : he went four 
 miles into the country on the other side of 
 Stonecross, and there held a Sunday-school, 
 at the last farm for a long way in that direction, 
 beyond which lay an unproductive region, con- 
 sisting mostly of peat-mosses, and lone barren 
 hills, — where the waters above the firmament 
 were but imperfectly divided from the waters 
 below the firmament. The roots of the hills 
 coming together pretty close, the waters gath- 
 ered and made marshy places, with only here 
 and there patches of higher ground upon which 
 307 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 crops could be raised. Yet there were many 
 more houses in it, such as they were, than could 
 have been expected from the appearance of the 
 country. In one spot, indeed, not far from the 
 farm I have mentioned, there was a small, thin 
 hamlet. A long way from church or parish- 
 school, and without any to minister to the spir- 
 itual wants of the people nearer than a good 
 many miles, it was a rather rough and ignorant 
 place, with a good many superstitions, — none 
 of them in their nature specially mischievous, 
 save indeed as they blotted the idea of the 
 divine care and government. It was just the 
 country for bogie-baes and brownie-baes, hoodies 
 and water-kelpies to linger and disport them- 
 selves long after they had elsewhere disappeared. 
 
 When, therefore, James Blatherwick came to 
 him in his need of counsel, the soutar proposed, 
 without giving any special reason for it at the 
 time, that he should go with him next Sunday 
 afternoon to his school at Bogiescratt. James 
 consented with pleasure, and the soutar proposed 
 to call for him at Stonecross on his way. 
 
 " Mr. MacLear," said James, as they walked 
 along the rough parish road together, " it seems 
 to me that I have but just arrived at the point I 
 ought to have reached before ever even desiring 
 to address my fellows upon any matter of reli- 
 gion. Perhaps I knew some little things about 
 308 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 religion, but certainly I knew nothing of relig- 
 ion ; least of all, had I made any discovery for 
 myself in religion — before which no man can 
 understand or know anything whatever about it. 
 I fear lest even now I may be presuming, but 
 I do seem now to know a little of the relation 
 between a man and the God who made him ; 
 and with the sense of that, as I was saying to 
 you last Friday night, there has arisen in my 
 mind the desire to communicate to my fellow- 
 men something of what I have learned. One 
 thing I hope at least, that should I be entangled 
 afresh in any desire to show-off, I shall see the 
 danger, and have the grace to pull up. You 
 will tell me I must not be too sure ; I will try 
 not to be, but to doubt myself, and so keep on 
 my guard. One thing I have resolved upon — 
 that, if ever I preach again, I will never again 
 write a sermon. I know I shall make many 
 mistakes, and do the thing very badly; but 
 failure itself will help to keep me from conceit 
 — indeed, I hope, from thinking of myself at all, 
 and make me leave myself in God's hands, will- 
 ing to fail if he pleases. Don't you think, Mr. 
 MacLear, we may look to God now for what we 
 ought to say, as confidently as if, like the early 
 Christians, we stood before the magistrates to 
 explain ourselves? " 
 
 " Indeed I do, Mr. James," answered the 
 309 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 soutar. " Hide yourself in God, and out of 
 that secret place speak — and fear nothing. 
 Never think of speaking down to your congre- 
 gation. Look them in the eyes, and say what 
 at the moment you think and feel ; and do not 
 hesitate to give them the best you have." 
 
 When is a man most likely to reach the 
 thought and feeling of others, if not when he 
 speaks the thing that is at the moment rising 
 warm within him, direct from the heart of him 
 in whom we live and move and have our being? 
 Have no anxiety about results. I have often 
 found my utterance freest when I felt so far from 
 well that I must leave all to him, and take no 
 thought about Jiow I was doing my work. Then 
 I am able to say, " Lord, thou seest my con- 
 dition ; look to my work, I pray thee." When 
 the Lord gives you freedom and joy, use them 
 in love and confidence. Be willing to fail in 
 what you have set before you, and let the Lord 
 work his own success — his acceptable and 
 perfect will. Even when Moses presumptuously 
 strikes the rock in his own name, it does not 
 always refuse its precious store; one may be 
 there perishing of thirst, for whose sake it must 
 yield the water of life. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, sir ! I think I un- 
 derstand," replied James. " If ever I speak 
 again, I should like to begin in your school ! " 
 31Q 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " Ye sail — this vera nicht, gien ye like," 
 replied the soutar. " I think ye hae something 
 e'en noo upo' yer min' 'at ye would like to say to 
 them — but we '11 see hoo ye feel aboot that 
 when I hae spoken a word to them first ! " 
 
 " When you have said what you want to say, 
 Mr. MacLear, then give me a look; and if I 
 have anything I want to say, I will answer your 
 sign. Then you can introduce me, saying of 
 me what you will. Only, do not spare me; 
 use me after your judgment." 
 
 The soutar held out his hand to his disciple, 
 and they finished their journey in silence. 
 
 When they reached the farmhouse, the small 
 assembly was nearly complete. It was mostly 
 of farm-labourers, but a few worked in a small 
 quarry, where serpentine lay below the peat, 
 and in this serpentine occurred veins of soap- 
 stone, occasionally of such a thickness as to be 
 itself the object of the quarrier ; it was of service 
 in the making of porcelain, and for other uses 
 small quantities of it were in request. 
 
 When the .soutar began, James was a little 
 shocked to hear him speak in the country-dia- 
 lect which was his mother-tongue and that of 
 his ordinary conversation ; but soon the sense 
 of its unsuitableness vanished, and he felt that 
 the vernacular gave him additional power of 
 expression, and with it of persuasion. 
 
 3TI 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " My frien's, I was jist thinkin', as I cam' 
 ower the hill," he began, " hooness we war a' 
 made wi' differin' pooers — some o' 's able to do 
 ae thing best, and some anither; and that led 
 me to remark, that it was the same wi' the warl 
 we live in — some pairts o' 't fit for growin' aits, 
 and some bere, and some wheat, or pitatas ; and 
 hoo ilk varyin' bit had to be put to its ain richt 
 use. We a' ken what a lot o' uses the bonny 
 marble can be put till ; but it wouldna do weel 
 for biggin' hooses, specially gien there was mony 
 streaks o' saipstane intill 't. Still it's no 'at the 
 saipstane itsel 's o' nae use, for ye ken there 's a 
 heap o' uses it can be put till. For ae thing, the 
 tailor tak's a bit o' 't to mark whaur he 's to sen' 
 the shears alang the claith ; and again they 
 mix 't wi' the clay, for the finer kin's o' crockery. 
 But upon the ither han' there 's ae thing it 's 
 used for by some, 'at canna be considered a 
 richt use ; there 's ae wild tribe at least in 
 America that eat a heap o' 't — and that 's a 
 thing I cannot un'erstan' ; for it does them no 
 guid at a', 'cept it be jist to fill in the toom 
 places i' their stammacks, puir reid craturs, and 
 haud their ribs ohn stucken thegither — and 
 maybe that's what they dee 't for! Eh, but 
 they maun be sair hungert afore they tak' till 't ! 
 But they 're only savage fowk, I 'm thinkin', that 
 hae hardly begun to be men ava' ! 
 31a 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 " Noo ye see what I'm drivin' at? It's this 
 — that things should aye be put to their richt 
 uses ! But there are guid uses and better uses, 
 and things canna ajyc be putten to their best 
 uses ; only, whaur they can, it 's a shame to put 
 them to ony ither than their best. Noo, what 's 
 the best use o' a man? What's a man made for? 
 The carritchis (j:atec]iisni) says, to glorify God. 
 And hoo is he to do that? Jist by doin' the 
 wull o' him that sent him. For the ae perfec' 
 man said he was born intill the warl for that ae 
 special purpose, to do the wull o' him that sent 
 him. A man 's for a heap o' uses, but that ae 
 use covers them a'. Whan he 's doin' the wull 
 o' God he 's doin' just a'thing. Still there are 
 varhious w'ys in which a man can be doin' the 
 wull o' his Father in heaven, and the great thing 
 for ilk ane is to fin' oot the best w'y lie can do 
 that wull. 
 
 " Noo here 's a man sitting aside me that I 
 want to help set to the best use he 's fit for — 
 and that is to tell ither fowk what he kens aboot 
 the God that made him and them, and to stir 
 them up to do what he would hae them do. 
 The fac' is, that the man was ance a minister o' 
 the Kirk o' Scotlan'. But when he was a yoong 
 man he fell intill a great faut — a yoong man's 
 faut — I 'm no gaein' to excuse 't — dinna think 
 it ! Only I chairge ye, be ceevil till him i' yer 
 313 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 vera thouchts, rememberin' hoo mony things ye 
 hae dune yersel's that ye hae to be ashamit o', 
 though it may be they hae never come to the 
 Hcht; for, be sure o' this, he's repentit richt 
 sair. Like the prodigal, he grew that ashamit 
 o' what he had dune, that he gied up his kirk, 
 and gaed hame to the day's darg upo' his father's 
 ferm. And that's what he 's at the noo, thof he 
 be a scholar, and that a ripe ane. And by his 
 repentance he 's learnt a heap that he didna 
 ken afore, and that he couldna hae learnt ony 
 ither w'y than by turnin' wi' shame frae the path 
 o' the transgressor. I hae broucht him wi' me 
 this day, sirs, to tell ye something — he hasna 
 said to me what — that the Lord in his mercy 
 has tellt him. I '11 say nae mair — Mr. Blather- 
 wick, wull ye please tell 's what the Lord has 
 putten it intill yer min' to say." 
 
 The soutar sat down ; and James got up, 
 white and trembling. For a moment or t\vo he 
 was unable to speak, but overcoming his emo- 
 tion, fell at once, forgetful of his petty repug- 
 nance to the vernacular, into the old Scots 
 tongue, and said, — 
 
 " My frien's, I hae little richt to stan' up afore 
 ye and say onything; for as some o' ye ken, if 
 no afore, at least noo frae what my frien' the 
 soutar has just been tellin' ye, I was a minister 
 o' the kirk, but ance in my life had behaved sae 
 314 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 ill, that, whan I cam' to mysel', I thoucht it my 
 duty to gie up my office therein, that anithcr 
 micht tak' my bishoprick, as was said o' Judas 
 the traitor. But noo I seem to hae gotten mair 
 licht, and to ken some things I didna ken afore ; 
 sae, turnin' my back upo' my past sin, and be- 
 lievin' God has forgi'en me, and is willin' I should 
 set my han' to his pleuch ance mair, I hae 
 thoucht to begin here again in a quiet heumble 
 fashion, tellin' ye something o' what I hae begun, 
 i' the mercy o' God, to un'erstan' a wee for 
 mysel'. Sae noo, gien ye '11 turn, them o' ye 
 that has broucht yer buiks wi' ye, to the seventh 
 chapter o' John's gospel, and the seventeenth 
 verse, ye '11 read wi' me what the Lord says 
 there to the fowk o' Jerusalim : Gien 07iy man 
 be W2illin' to do His wiill, he 'II ken whetJier what 
 I tell him comes frae God, or whether I say it 
 only oot d my ain held. Luik at it for yersel's, 
 for that's what it says i' the Greek, which is 
 plainer than the English to them that un'erstan' 
 the auld Greek tongue : ' Gien onybody be 
 wullhi' to dee the wull o' God, he '11 ken 
 whether what I say comes frae God, or I say 
 't o' mysel'." 
 
 From that he went on to say that, if they kept 
 
 trusting in God, and doing what Jesus told them, 
 
 any mistake they made would only help them to 
 
 understand better what he would have them do. 
 
 315 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 The Lord gave them no promise, he said, of 
 knowing what this man or that man ought to 
 do ; but only of knowing what the man himself 
 ought to do. And he illustrated this by the 
 rebuke the Lord gave Peter when, leaving en- 
 quiry into the will of God that he might do it, 
 he made enquiry into the decree of God con- 
 cerning his friend, that he might know it; seek- 
 ing wherewithal, not to prophesy, but to foretell. 
 Then he showed them the difference between 
 the Greek and the modern English meaning of 
 the word pivphesy. 
 
 The congregation seemed to hang upon his 
 words, and when they were going away they 
 thanked him heartily for thus talking to them. 
 
 That night, as James and the soutar went 
 home together, they were overtaken by an early 
 snowstorm, lost their way, and were in danger, 
 no small one, of having to pass the night on the 
 moor. But the farmer's wife, in whose house 
 they had assembled, had, as they were taking 
 their leave, made the soutar a present of some 
 onions to plant, of a sort for which her garden 
 was famous : exhausted tn conflict with the 
 freezing blast, they had lain down, apparently 
 to perish before the morning, when the soutar 
 bethought himself of the onions; and, obeying 
 their nearest necessity, they ate instead of keep- 
 ing them to plant; with the result that they 
 316 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 were so refreshed, and so heartened to battle 
 with the wind and snow, that at last they got 
 home in the small hours of the morning, weary 
 and nigh frozen. 
 
 All through that winter, James accompanied 
 the soutar to his Sunday-school, sometimes on 
 his father's old gig-horse, and oftener on foot. 
 Occasionally his father would go also, and then 
 the men at Stonecross began to go, with the 
 cottar and his wife ; and the little company 
 gradually increased to about thirty men and 
 women, and half as many children. In general 
 the soutar gave a short address, but he always 
 made "the minister" speak; and thus James 
 Blatherwick, while encountering many hidden 
 experiences, went through his apprenticeship to 
 extempore preaching, and, hardly knowing how, 
 grew capable at length of following in his own 
 mind a train of thought, all the better that, as it 
 rose, it found utterance, and was helped out by 
 the sight of the eager faces of his humble friends 
 fixed upon him, while he spoke, as they eagerly 
 drank in, sometimes even anticipated, the things 
 he was saying. He seemed to himself almost at 
 times to see the thoughts taking reality and form 
 in their listening minds, and accompanying him 
 whither he led them : the stream of his thought, 
 as it disappeared from his consciousness and 
 memory, settled in the minds of those who heard 
 317 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 him, like seed cast on open soil. Some of 
 the seed grew up resolutions, and brought forth 
 fruit. And all the road, as the two friends 
 returned, sometimes in moonlight, sometimes in 
 darkness and rain, sometimes in wind and snow, 
 they had such things to think of and talk about, 
 that the way never seemed long. Thus dwindled 
 by degrees Blatherwick's self-reflection and self- 
 seeking, and, growing divinely conscious, he grew 
 at the same time divinely forgetful. 
 
 Once, on such an occasion, as his wife was 
 helping him off with his wet boots, he said to 
 her, — 
 
 " To think, Isy, that here am I, a dull, selfish 
 creature, always wanting for myself knowledge 
 or influence, grown able to feel in my heart all 
 the way home, that I took every step, one after 
 the other, only by the strength o' God in me, 
 carin' for me as my father ! Ken ye what I 'm 
 tryin' to say, Isy, my dear? " 
 
 " I canna be a'thegither certain that I do, but 
 I '11 keep thinkin' aboot it, and maybe I '11 come 
 till 't," answered his wife. 
 
 " I can desire no more," answered James, " for 
 until the Lord lat ye see a thing, hoo can you or 
 I or onybody see for oorsel's the thing that he 
 maun see first. And what is there for us to 
 desire, but to see things as God sees them, and 
 would hae us see them? I used to think the 
 31S 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 soutar a puir fule body whan he was sayin' the 
 vera things I 'm tryin' to say noo. I saw nae 
 mair what he was efter than that puir collie there 
 at my feet — maybe no half sae muckle, for wha 
 can tell what he mayna be thinkin', wi' that far- 
 awa' luik o' his ! " 
 
 " Div ye think, James, we'll ever be able to 
 see inside them doggies, and ken what they 're 
 thinkin'? " 
 
 " I wouldna won'er at onything we may come 
 to see, for Paul says, ' A' things are yours, and 
 ye are Christ's, and Christ is God's.' Wha can 
 tell but the vera herts o' the doggies may lie 
 bare and open till oor hearts, as to the hert o' 
 Him wi' whom they and we hae to do. Eh, but 
 the thouchts o' a doggie maun be a won'erfu' 
 sicht! And syne to think o' the thouchts o' 
 Christ aboot that doggie ! We '11 ken them, I 
 daurna weel doobt, some day ! I 'm surer aboot 
 that nor aboot the thouchts o' the doggie himsel' ! " 
 
 Another Sunday night, having come home 
 through a terrible storm of thunder and Hght- 
 ning, he said to Isy, — 
 
 " I hae been feelin', a' the w'y hame, as gien, 
 afore lang, I micht hae to gie a wider testimony. 
 The apostles and the first Christians, ye see, had 
 to beir testimony to the fac' that the man that 
 was hangt up and dee'd upo' the cross, the 
 same was up again oot o' the grave and gangin' 
 319 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 aboot the warl ; noo I canna beir testimony to 
 that, for I wasna at that time waukit up i' the 
 min' o' my Maker; but I micht wcel be called 
 upon to beir testimony to the fac' that whaur 
 ance he lay deid and beeried, there he was 
 come alive at last — that is, i' the sepulchre o' 
 my hert. For I hae seen him noo, and ken him 
 noo — the houp o' glory in my hert and my life. 
 Whatever he said ance, I believe for ever." 
 
 The talks James Blathervvick and the soutar 
 had together were now, according to Mr. Rob- 
 ertson, even wonderful. But it was chiefly the 
 soutar that spoke, while James sat and listened 
 in silence. On one occasion, however, James 
 spoke out freely, and indeed eloquently. The 
 soutar, accompanying Mr. Robertson to his inn 
 that night, the latter said to him ere they 
 separated, — 
 
 " Do you see any reason, Mr. MacLear, why 
 this man should not resume his pastoral office? " 
 
 " One thing, at least, I am sure of," answered 
 the soutar, " that he is far fitter for it than ever 
 he was before." 
 
 This, Mr. Robertson repeated to James the 
 next day, adding, — 
 
 " And I am certain everyone who knows you 
 will vote the restoration of your licence." 
 
 " I must speak to Isy about it," answered 
 James with simplicity. 
 
 320 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 "That is quite right, of course," rejoined Mr. 
 Robertson ; " you know I tell my wife every- 
 thing, and am a great insister that all men 
 should ; but I do not suppose you doubt what 
 she will say." 
 
 " Will not some public recognition of my 
 reinstatement be necessary? " asked James. 
 
 " I will have a talk with some of the leaders 
 in the synod, and let you know what they say," 
 answered Mr. Robertson. 
 
 " Of course I am ready," returned Blatherwick, 
 " to make any public confession judged neces- 
 sary or desirable ; but that will involve my wife. 
 I know perfectly what she will be ready for, but 
 not the less is it my part to lay the thing before 
 her." 
 
 " Of one thing I think you may be sure : that, 
 with our present moderator, your case will 
 be handled with more than delicacy — with 
 tenderness." 
 
 "I must not doubt it; but for my part I 
 would deprecate indulgence. Still, I must 
 have a talk with my wife about it ! She is sure 
 to know best." 
 
 "My advice is to leave it all in the hands of 
 the moderator. We have no right to choose 
 our own penalties ! " 
 
 James went home and opened the whole ques- 
 tion to his wife, 
 
 21 321 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 Instead of looking frightened, or even anxious, 
 Isy laid little Peter in his cradle, threw her arms 
 round James's neck, and cried, — 
 
 " Thank God, my husband, that you have 
 come to this ! Don't think to leave me out, I 
 beg of you. I am more than ready to accept 
 my shame. I have always said I was more to 
 blame than you ! It was me that should have 
 known better ! " 
 
 " You trusted me, and I was unworthy of your 
 confidence, But they shall know what you say. 
 Had ever man a wife to be so proud of as I of 
 you? " 
 
 Mr. Robertson brought the matter before the 
 synod ; but neither James nor Isy heard anything 
 more of it, except what was conveyed in the cor- 
 dial announcement of the renewal of James's 
 licence, which was soon followed by the offer of 
 a church in the poorest and most populous par- 
 ish north of the Tweed. 
 
 " See the loving power at the heart of things, 
 Isy," said James to his wife; "out of evil He 
 has brought good, the best good, and nothing 
 but good ; a good ripened through my sin and 
 selfishness and greed — for what else is ambi- 
 tion but greed? — bringing upon you as well as 
 me disgrace and suffering. The evil in me had 
 to come out and show itself before it could be 
 cleared away. Some people, nothing but an 
 322 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 earthquake in their httle world will wake from 
 their dead sleep. I was one of such. God in 
 his mercy brought on the earthquake, and it 
 woke me and saved me from death. Ignorant 
 creatures who do not yet understand anything 
 go about asking why God permits evil. We 
 know why ! It may be he could with a word 
 cause evil to cease — but would that be to 
 create good ? It might make us good like oxen 
 or harmless sheep, but would that be a good- 
 ness worthy of him who was made in the image 
 of God? If a man ceased to be capable of evil, 
 he must cease to be a man. What would the 
 goodness be that could not help being good — 
 that had no choice in the matter, but must be 
 such because it was so made? God chooses to 
 be good, else he would not be God : man must 
 choose to be good, else he cannot be the son of 
 God. Herein we see the grand love of the 
 Father of men — that he gives them a part, 
 and that a part necessary as his own, in the 
 making of themselves. Thus, and thus only, 
 by willing the good, can they become partakers 
 of the divine nature." Satan said, "Ye shall be 
 as gods, knowing good and evil." God says, 
 " Ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil, 
 and choosing the good." For the sake of this, 
 all the discipline of the world exists. God is 
 teaching us to know good and evil in some real 
 323 
 
SALTED WITH FIRE 
 
 degree as they are and not as they seem to 
 the incomplete, that we may learn to choose the 
 good and refuse the evil. He would make 
 them see the two things, good and evil, in 
 some measure as they were, and then say 
 whether they would be good children or not. 
 If they fail, and choose the evil, he takes yet 
 harder measures. If at last it should prove 
 possible for a created being to see good and 
 evil as they are, and choose the evil, then, and 
 only then, there would, I presume, be nothing 
 left for God but to set his foot upon him and 
 crush him, as we crush a noxious insect. But 
 God is deeper in us than our own life, yea, is the 
 very centre and cause of our life ; therefore is 
 the Life in us stronger than the Death, for 
 the creating Good is stronger than the created 
 Evil. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 324 
 
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