LIBRARY 
 
 University 
 
 
 IRVINE, 

 
 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT
 
 EGG-MYRTLE AND PEAT 
 
 BEING TALES, CHIEFLY OF GALLOWAY, 
 
 GATHERED FROM THE YEARS 
 
 MDCCCLXXXIX-MDCCCXCr 
 
 S. R. CROCKETT 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE STICKIT MINISTER, THE RAIDERS, 
 THE LILAC SUNBONNET, ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 1895
 
 cs 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1895, 
 BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
 
 INSCRIBED WITH THE NAME OF 
 
 GEORGE MILNER OP MANCHESTER, 
 
 A MAN MOST GENEROUS, BRAVE, TRUE, 
 
 TO WHOM, 
 BECAUSE HE FREELY GAVE ME THAT OF HIS 
 
 WHICH I THE MOST DESIRED, 
 
 I, HAVING NOTHING WORTHIER TO GIVE, 
 
 GIVE THIS.
 
 KENMUKE. 
 1715. 
 
 " THE heather's in a blaze, "Willie, 
 
 The White Kose decks the tree, 
 The Fiery-Cross is on the braes, 
 And the King is on the sea. 
 
 " Eem ember great Montrose, "Willie, 
 
 Kemember fair Dundee, 
 And strike one stroke at the foreign foes 
 Of the King that's on the sea. 
 
 " There's Gordons in the North, Willie, 
 
 Are rising frank and free, 
 Shall a Kenmure Gordon not go forth 
 For the King that's on the sea ? 
 
 "A trusty sword to draw, Willie, 
 
 A comely weird to dree, 
 For the royal Rose that's like the snaw, 
 And the King that's on the sea ! " 
 
 He cast ae look upon his lands, 
 
 Looked over loch and lea, 
 He took his fortune in his hands, 
 
 For the King was on the sea. 
 
 vii
 
 viii KEN MURE. 
 
 Kenmures have fought in Galloway 
 For Kirk and Presbyt'rie, 
 
 This Kenmure faced his dying day, 
 For King James across the sea. 
 
 It little skills what faith men vaunt, 
 
 If loyal men they be 
 To Christ's ain Kirk and Covenant, 
 
 Or the King that's o'er the sea. 
 
 ANDKEW LANG.
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 THERE is a certain book of mine which no publisher has 
 paid royalty upon, which has never yet been confined in 
 spidery lines upon any paper, a book that is nevertheless 
 the Book of my Youth, of my Love, and of my Heart. 
 
 There never was such a book, and in the chill of type 
 certainly there never will be. It has, so far as I know, no 
 title, this unpublished book of mine. For it would need 
 the blood of rubies and the life of diamonds crusted on 
 ivory to set the title of this book. 
 
 Mostly I see it in the late night watches, when the twi- 
 light verges to the cock-crowing and the universe is silent, 
 stirless, windless, for about the space of one hour. Then 
 the pages of the book are opened a little ; and, as one that 
 reads hungrily, hastily, at the bookstall of an impatient 
 vendor a book he cannot buy, so I scan the idylls, the epics, 
 the dramas of the life of man written in words which thrill 
 me as I read. Some are fiercely tender, some yearning and 
 unsatisfying, some bitter in the mouth but afterward sweet 
 in the belly. All are expressed in words so fit and chaste 
 and noble, that each is an immortal poem which would give 
 me deathless fame could I, alas ! but remember. 
 
 Then the morning comes, and with the first red I awake 
 to a sense of utter loss and bottomless despair. Once more 
 I have clutched and missed and forgotten. It is gone from
 
 x PREFACE. 
 
 me. The imagination of my heart is left unto me desolate. 
 Sometimes indeed when a waking bird by preference a 
 mavis sings outside my window, for a little while after I 
 swim upward out of the ocean of sleep, it seems that I 
 might possibly remember one stanza of the deathless words ; 
 or even by chance recapture, like the brown speckled thrush, 
 that " first fine careless rapture " of the adorable refrain. 
 
 Even when I arise and walk out in the dawn, as is my 
 custom winter and summer, still I have visions of this book 
 of mine, of which I now remember that the mystic name is 
 " The Book Sealed." Sometimes in these dreams of the 
 morning, as I walk abroad, I find my hands upon the clasps. 
 I touch the binding wax of the seals. When the first rosy 
 fingers of the dawn point upward to the zenith with the 
 sunlight behind them, sanguine like a maid's hand held be- 
 fore a lamp, I catch a farewell glimpse of the hidden pages. 
 
 Tales, not poems, are written upon them now. I hear 
 the voices of " Them Ones," as Irish folk impressively say 
 of the Little People, telling me tales out of the Book Sealed, 
 tales which in the very hearing make a man blush hotly and 
 thrill with hopes mysterious. Such stories as they are ! The 
 romances of high young blood, of maiden's winsome purity 
 and frank disdain, of strong men who take their lives in 
 hand and hurl themselves upon the push of pikes. And 
 though I cannot grasp more than a hint of the plot, yet as 
 my feet swish through the dewy swathes of the hyacinths or 
 crisp along the frost-bitten snow, a wild thought quickens 
 within me into a belief, that one day I shall hear them all, 
 and tell these tales for my very own so that the world must 
 listen. 
 
 But as the rosy fingers of the morn melt and the broad 
 day fares forth, the vision fades, and I who saw and heard 
 must go and sit down to my plain saltless tale. Once I 
 wrote a book, every word of it, in the open air. It was full 
 of the sweet things of the country, so at least as they seemed
 
 PREFACE. x j 
 
 to me. I saw the hens nestle sleepily in the holes of the 
 bank-side where the dry dust is, and so I wrote it down. I 
 heard the rain drum on the broad leaves over my head, and 
 I wrote that down also. Day after day I rose and wrote in 
 the dawn, and sometimes I seemed to recapture a leaf or a 
 passing glance of a chapter-heading out of the Book Sealed. 
 It came back to me how the girls were kissed and love was 
 made in the days when the Book Sealed was the Book 
 Open, and when I cared not a jot for anything that was 
 written therein. So as well as I could I wrote these things 
 down in the red dawn. And so till the book was done. 
 
 Then the day comes when the book is printed and 
 bound, and when the critics write of it after their kind, 
 thiDgs good and things evil. But I that have gathered the 
 fairy gold dare not for my life look again within, lest it 
 should be even as they say, and I should find but withered 
 leaves therein. For the sake of the vision of the breaking 
 day and the incommunicable hope, I shall look no more 
 upon it. But ever with the eternal human expectation, I 
 rise and wait the morning and the final opening of the 
 " Book Sealed." 
 
 S. E. CROCKETT.
 
 NOTE. 
 
 I AM deeply in the debt of my friend, Mr. Andrew Lang, 
 for the ballad of " Kenmure " which he has written to grace 
 my bare boards and spice the plain fare here set out in 
 honour of the ancient Free Province. 
 
 xii
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK FIRST. ADVENTURES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. THE MINISTER OF DOUR 3 
 
 II. A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER 13 
 
 III. SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES 32 
 
 IV. UNDER THE RED TERROR 107 
 
 V. THE CASE OF JOHN ARXISTON'S CONSCIENCE . . . 122 
 
 VI. THE GLISTERING BEACHES 134 
 
 BOOK SECOND. INTIMACIES. 
 
 I. THE LAST ANDERSON OF DEESIDE 149 
 
 II. A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY 159 
 
 III. THE COURTSHIP OF TAMMOCK THACKANRAIP, AYRSHIRE- 
 
 MAN .176 
 
 IV. THE OLD TORY . . 186 
 
 V. THE GREAT RIGHT-OF-WAY CASE 192 
 
 VI. DOMINIE GRIER . . . 199 
 
 VII. THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER 208 
 
 BOOK THIRD. HISTORIES. 
 
 I. FENWICK MAJOR'S LITTLE 'Us ....... 217 
 
 II. MAC'S ENTERIC FEVER 226 
 
 III. THE COLLEGIXG OF SIMEON GLEG 234 
 
 IV. KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WEEL 243 
 
 V. THE BACK o' BEYONT 255 
 
 VI. NORTH TO THE ARCTIC 265 
 
 xiii
 
 xiv CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK FOURTH. IDYLLS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE 279 
 
 II. A FINISHED YOUNG LADY 299 
 
 III. THE LITTLE LAME ANGEL 307 
 
 BOOK FIFTH. TALES OF THE KIRK. 
 
 I. THE MINISTER-EMERITUS 317 
 
 II. A MINISTER'S DAY 326 
 
 III. THE MINISTER'S LOON 338 
 
 IV. THE BIOGRAPHY OF AN "INEFFICIENT" .... 345 
 
 V. JOHN 357 
 
 VI. EUROCLYDON OF THE RED HEAD 363 
 
 VII. THE CAIRN EDWARD KIRK MILITANT .... 370 
 
 EPILOGUE : IN PRAISE OF GALLOWAY. 
 
 NIGHT IN THE GALLOWAY WOODS 379 
 
 BIRDS AT NIGHT 380 
 
 THE COMING OF THE DAWN 381 
 
 FLOOD TIDE OF NIGHT 381 
 
 WAY FOR THE SUN 382 
 
 THE EARLY BIRD 383 
 
 FULL CHORUS 385 
 
 THE BUTCHER'S BOY OF THE WOODS 385 
 
 THE DUST OF BATTLE 386 
 
 COMES THE DAY ....'.... . 387
 
 BOOK FIRST. 
 ADVENTURES. 
 
 Lo, in the dance the wine-drenched coronal 
 From shoulder white and golden hair doth fall ! 
 A nigh his breast each youth doth hold an head, 
 Twin flushing cheeks and locks unfilleted ; 
 Swifter and swifter doth the revel move 
 Athwart the dim recesses of the grove . . . 
 Where Aphrodite reigneth in her prime, 
 And laughter ringeth all the summer time. 
 
 There hemlock branches make a languorous gloom, 
 And heavy-headed poppies drip perfume 
 In secret arbours set in garden close ; 
 And all the air, one glorious breath of rose, 
 Shakes not a dainty petal from the trees, 
 Nor stirs a ripple on the Cyprian seas. 
 
 The Choice of Htrakles. 
 1
 
 I. 
 THE MINISTER OF DOUR. 
 
 This window looketh towards the west, 
 
 And o'er the meadows grey 
 Glimmer the snows that coldly crest 
 
 The hills of Galloway. 
 
 The winter broods on all between 
 
 In every furrow lies : 
 Nor is there aught of summer green, 
 
 Nor blue of summer skies. 
 
 Athwart the dark grey rain-clouds flash 
 
 The seabird's sweeping wings, 
 And through the stark and ghostly ash 
 
 The wind of winter sings. 
 
 The purple woods are dim with rain, 
 
 The cornfields dank and bare ; 
 And eyes that look for golden grain 
 
 Find only stubble there. 
 
 And while I write, behold the night 
 
 Comes slowly blotting all, 
 And o'er grey waste and meadow bright 
 
 The gloaming shadows fall. 
 
 From Two Windows. 
 
 THE wide frith lay under the manse windows of the 
 parish of Dour. The Tillage of Dour straggled, a score of 
 white-washed cottages, along four hundred yards of rocky 
 shore. There was a little port, to attempt which in a south- 
 west wind was to risk an abrupt change of condition. This 
 2 3
 
 4: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 was what made half of the men in the parish of Dour God- 
 fearing men. The other half feared the minister. 
 
 Abraham Ligartwood was the minister. He also feared 
 God exceedingly, but he made up for it by not regarding 
 man in the slightest. The manse of Dour was conspicuous- 
 ly set like a watch-tower on a hill or like a baron's castle 
 above the huts of his retainers. The fishermen out on the 
 water made it their lighthouse. The lamp burned in the 
 minister's study half the night, and was alight long ere the 
 winter sun had reached the horizon. 
 
 Abraham Ligartwood would have been a better man had 
 he been less painfully good. When he came to the parish 
 of Dour he found that he had to succeed a man who had 
 allowed his people to run wild. Dour was a garden filled 
 with the degenerate fruit of a strange vine. 
 
 The minister said so in the pulpit. Dour smiled com- 
 placently, and considered that its hoary wickednesses would 
 beat the minister in the long run. But Dour did not at that 
 time know the minister. It was the day of the free-traders. 
 The traffic with the Isle of Man, whence the hardy fisher- 
 men ran their cargoes of Holland gin and ankers of French 
 brandy, put good gear on the backs of many a burgher's 
 wife, and porridge into the belly of many a fisherman's bairn. 
 
 The new minister found all this out when he came. He 
 did not greatly object. It was, he said, no part of his busi- 
 ness to collect King George's dues. But he did object when 
 the running of a vessel's cargo became the signal for half 
 his parishioners settling themselves to a fortnight of black, 
 solemn, evil-hearted drinking. He said that he would break 
 up these colloguings. He would not have half the wives in 
 the parish coming to his kirk with black eyes upon the 
 Lord's Sabbath day. 
 
 The parish of Dour laughed. But the parish of Dour 
 was to get news of the minister, for Abraham Ligartwood 
 was not a man to trifle with.
 
 THE MINISTER OF DOUR. 5 
 
 One night there was a fine cargo cleanly run at Port 
 Saint Johnston, the village next to Dour. It was got as 
 safely off. The " lingtowmen " went out, and there was 
 the jangling of hooked chains along all the shores ; then 
 the troll of the smugglers' song as the cavalcade struck in- 
 wards through the low shore hills for the main free-trade 
 route to Edinburgh and Glasgow. The king's preventive 
 men had notice, and came down as usual three hours late. 
 Then they seized ten casks of the best Bordeaux, which had 
 been left for the purpose on the sand. They were able and 
 intelligent officers in especial the latter. And they had 
 an acute perception of the fact that if their bread was to be 
 buttered on both sides, it were indeed well not to let it fall. 
 
 This cargo-running and seizures were all according to 
 rule, and the minister of Dour had nothing to say. But at 
 night seventeen of his kirk members in good standing and 
 fourteen adherents met at the Back Spital of Port Dour to 
 drink prosperity to the cargo which had been safely run. 
 There was an elder in the chair, and six unbroached casks 
 on a board in the corner. 
 
 There was among those who assembled some word of 
 scoffing merriment at the expense of the minister. Abraham 
 Ligartwood had preached a sermon on the Sabbath before, 
 which each man, as the custom was, took home and applied 
 to his neighbour. 
 
 " Ay man, Mains, did ye hear what the minister said 
 aboot ye ? man, he was sair on ye ! " 
 
 " Hoot na, Portmark, it was yersel' he was hittin' at, and 
 the black e'e ye gied Kirsty six weeks syne." 
 
 But when the first keg was on the table, and the men, 
 each with his pint-stoup before him, had seated themselves 
 round, there came a knocking at the door loud, insistent, 
 imperious. Each man ran his hand down his side to the 
 loaded whip or jockteleg (the smuggler's sheath-knife) 
 which he carried with him.
 
 6 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 But no man was in haste to open the door. The red 
 coats of King George's troopers might be on the other side. 
 For no mere ganger or preventive man would have the 
 assurance to come chapping on Portmark's door in that 
 fashion. 
 
 " Open the door in the name of Most High God ! " cried 
 a loud, solemn voice they all knew. The seventeen men 
 and an elder quaked through all their inches; but none 
 moved. Writs from the authority mentioned did not run 
 in the parish of Dour. 
 
 The fourteen adherents fled underneath the table like 
 chickens in a storm. 
 
 " Then will I open it in my own name ! " Whereon fol- 
 lowed a crash, and the two halves of the kitchen door sprang 
 asunder with great and sudden noise. Abraham Ligart- 
 wood came in. 
 
 The men sat awed, each man wishful to creep behind 
 his neighbour. 
 
 The minister's breadth of shoulder filled up the door- 
 way completely, so that there was not room for a child to 
 pass. He carried a mighty staff in his hand, and his dark 
 hair shone through the powder which was upon it. His 
 glance swept the gathering. His eye glowed with a sparkle 
 of such fiery wrath that not a man of all the seventeen and 
 an elder was unafraid. Yet not of his violence, but rather 
 of the lightnings of his words. And above all, of his power 
 to loose and to bind. It is a mistaken belief that priestdom 
 died when they spelled it Presbytery. 
 
 The comprehensive nature of the anathema that fol- 
 lowed spoken from the advantage of the doorway, with 
 personal applications to the seventeen individuals and the 
 elder cannot now be recalled ; but scraps of that address 
 are circulated to this day, mostly spoken under the breath 
 of the narrator. 
 
 " And you, Portmark," the minister is reported to have
 
 THE MINISTER OF DOUR. 7 
 
 said, " with your face like the moon in harvest and your 
 girth like a tun of Khenish, gin ye turn not from your evil 
 ways, within four year ye shall sup with the devil whom ye 
 serve. Have ye never a word to say, ye scorners of the hale- 
 some word, ye blaspheming despisers of doctrine? Your 
 children shall yet stand and rebuke you in the gate. Heard 
 ye not my word on the Sabbath in the kirk ? Dumb dogs are 
 ye every one ? Have ye not a word to say ? There was a 
 brave gabble of tongues enough when I came in. Are ye 
 silent before a man ? How, then, shall ye stand in That 
 Day?" 
 
 The minister paused for a reply. But no answer came. 
 
 " And you, Alexander Kippen, puir windlestrae, the 
 Lord shall thresh ye like ill-grown corn in the day of His 
 wrath. Ye are hardly worth the word of rebuke ; but for 
 mine office I wad let ye slip quick to hell ! The devil takes 
 no care of you, for he is sure of ye ! " 
 
 The minister advanced, and with the iron-pointed shod 
 of his staff drove in the bung of the first keg. Then there 
 arose a groan from the seventeen men who sat about. Some 
 of them stood up on their feet. But the minister turned on 
 them with such fearsome words, laying the ban of anathema 
 on them, that their hearts became as water and they sat 
 down. The good spirit gurgled and ran, and deep within 
 them the seventeen men groaned for the pity of it. 
 
 Thus the minister broke up the black drinkings. And 
 the opinion of the parish was with him in all, except as to 
 the spilling of the liquor. Kebuke and threatening were 
 within his right, but to pour out the spirit was a waste even 
 in a minister. 
 
 " It is the destruction of God's good creature ! " said the 
 parish of Dour. 
 
 But the minister held on his way. The communion 
 followed after, and Abraham Ligartwood had, as was usual, 
 three days of humiliation and prayer beforehand. Then he
 
 g BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 set himself to " fence the tables." He stated clearly who 
 had a right to come forward to the tables of the Lord, and 
 who were to be debarred. He explained personally and 
 exactly why it was that each defaulter had no right there. 
 As he went on, the congregation, one after another, rose 
 astonished and terrified and went out, till Abraham Ligart- 
 wood was left alone with the elements of communion. 
 Every elder and member had left the building, so effective 
 had been the minister's rebuke. 
 
 At this the parish of Dour seethed with rebellion. 
 Secret cabals in corners arose, to be scattered like smoke- 
 drift by the whisper that the minister was coming. Depu- 
 tations were chosen, and started for the manse full of cour- 
 age and hardihood. Portmark, as the man who smarted 
 sorest, generally headed them ; and by the aid of square 
 wide-mouthed bottles of Hollands, it was possible to get the 
 members as far as the foot of the manse loaning. But 
 beyond that they would not follow Portmark's leading, nor 
 indeed that of any man. The footfall of the minister of 
 Dour as he paced alone in his study chilled them to the 
 bone. 
 
 They told one another on the way home how Ganger 
 Patie, of the black blood of the gypsy Marshalls, finding 
 his occupation gone, cursed the minister on Glen Morrison 
 brae ; but broke his neck-bone by the sudden fright of his 
 horse and his own drunkenness at the foot of the same brae 
 on his home-coming. They said that the minister had 
 prophesied that in the spot where Ganger Patie had cursed 
 the messenger of God, even there God would enter into 
 judgment with him. And they told how the fair white- 
 thorn hedge was blasted for ten yards about the spot where 
 the Death Angel had waited for the blasphemer. There 
 were four men who were willing to give warrandice that 
 their horses had turned with them and refused to pass the 
 place.
 
 THE MINISTER OP DOUR. 9 
 
 So the parish was exceedingly careful of its words to the 
 minister. It left him severely alone. He even made his 
 own porridge in the wide-sounding kitchen of the gabled 
 manse, on the hill above the harbour. He rang with his 
 own hands the kirk-bell on the Sabbath morn. But none 
 came near the preachings. There was no child baptized 
 in the parish of Dour; and no wholesome diets of cate- 
 chising, where old and young might learn the Way more 
 perfectly. 
 
 Mr. Ligartwood's brethren spoke to him and pled with 
 him to use milder courses ; but all in vain. In those days 
 the Pope was not so autocratic in Rome as a minister in his 
 own parish. 
 
 " They left me of their own accord, and of their own 
 accord shall they return," said Abraham Ligartwood. 
 
 But in the fall of the year the White Death came to 
 Dour. They say that it came from the blasted town of 
 Kirk Oswald, where the plague had been all the summer. 
 The men of the landward parishes set a watch on all that 
 came out of the accursed streets. But in the night-time 
 men with laden horses ran the blockade, for the prices to be 
 obtained within were like those in a besieged city. 
 
 Some said that it was the farmer of Portmark who had 
 done this thing once too often. At least it is sure that it 
 was to his house that the Death first came in the parish of 
 Dour. At the sound of the shrill crying, of which they 
 every one knew the meaning, men dropped their tools in 
 the field and fled to the hills. It was like the Day of Judg- 
 ment. The household servants disappeared. Hired men 
 and field-workers dispersed like the wave from a stone in a 
 pool, carrying infection with them. Men fell over at their 
 own doors with the rattle in their throats, and there lay, 
 none daring to touch them. In Kirk Oswald town the grass 
 grew in the vennels and along the High Street. In Dour 
 the horses starved in the stables, the cattle in the byres.
 
 10 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Then came Abraham Ligartwood out of the manse of 
 Dour. He went down to the farm towns and into the vil- 
 lage huts and lifted the dead. He harnessed the horse in 
 the cart, and swathed the body in sheets. He dug the 
 graves, and laid the corpse in the kindly soil. He nursed 
 the sick. He organised help everywhere. He went from 
 house to stricken house with the high assured words of a 
 messenger fresh from God. 
 
 He let out the horses to the pasture. He milked the 
 kine, that bellowed after him with the plague of their milk. 
 He had thought and hands for all. His courage shamed 
 the cowards. He quickened the laggards. He stilled the 
 agony of fear that killed three for every one who died of 
 the White Death. 
 
 For the first time since the minister came to Dour, the 
 kirk-bell did not ring on Sabbath, for the minister was at 
 the other end of the parish setting a house in order whence 
 three children had been carried. In the kirkyard there 
 was the dull rattle of sods. The burying-party consisted of 
 the roughest rogues in the parish, whom the minister had 
 fetched from their hiding-holes in the hills. 
 
 Up the long roads that led to the kirkyard on its windy 
 height the scanty funerals wended their way. For three 
 weeks they say that in the kirkyard, from dawn to dusk, 
 there was always a grave uncovered or a funeral in sight. 
 There was no burial service in the kirkyard save the rattle 
 of the clods ; for now the minister had set the carpenters to 
 work and coffins were being made. But the minister had 
 prayer in all the houses ere the dead was lifted. 
 
 Then he went off to lay hot stones to the feet of another, 
 and to get a nurse for yet another. For twenty days he 
 never slept and seldom ate, till the plague was stayed. 
 
 The last case was on the 27th of September. Then 
 Abraham Ligartwood himself was stricken in one of the 
 village hovels, and fell forward across a sick man's bed.
 
 THE MINISTER OP DOUR. H 
 
 They carried him to the manse of Dour, and wept as they 
 went. The next day all the men that were alive in the 
 parish of Dour stood about the minister's grave in the kirk- 
 yard on the hill. There was none there that could pray. 
 But as they were about to separate, some one, it was never 
 known who, raised the tune of the first Psalm. And the 
 wind wafted to the weeping wives in the cottages of the 
 stricken parish of Dour the sound of the hoarse and broken 
 singing of men. In three weeks the minister had brought 
 the evil parish of Dour into the presence of God. 
 
 And these were the words of their singing, while the 
 gravediggers stood with the red earth ready on their spades, 
 but before a clod fell on the minister's grave : 
 
 " That man hath perfect blessedness 
 
 Who walketh not astray, 
 In counsel of ungodly men, 
 
 Nor stands in sinners' way ; 
 Nor sitteth in the scoruer's chair, 
 
 But placeth his delight 
 Upon God's law, and meditates 
 
 On his law day and night." 
 
 The new minister who succeeded had an easy time and 
 a willing people. But he can never be to them what Abra- 
 ham Ligartwood was. They graved on his tomb, and that 
 with good cause, the words, " Here lyes a Man who never 
 feared the face of Man."
 
 The lovers are whispering under thy shade, 
 
 Grey Tower of Dalmeny ! 
 I leave them and wander alone in the glade 
 
 Beneath thee, Dalmeny. 
 
 Their thoughts are of all the bright years coming on, 
 But mine are of days and of dreams that are gone ; 
 They see the fair flowers Spring has thrown on the grass, 
 And the clouds in the blue light their eyes as they pass ; 
 But my feet are deep down in a drift of dead leaves, 
 And I hear what they hear not a lone bird that grieves. 
 What matter? the end is not far for us all, 
 And spring, through the summer, to winter must fall, 
 And the lovers' light hearts, e'en as mine, will be laid, 
 At last, and for ever, low under thy shade, 
 
 Grey Tower of Dalmeny. 
 
 GEORGE MILKER. 
 
 12
 
 II. 
 A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER 
 
 With Rosemary for remembrance, 
 And Rue, sweet Rue, for you. 
 
 IT was at the waterf oot of the Ken, and the time of the 
 year was June. 
 
 " Boat ahoy ! " 
 
 The loud, bold cry carried far through the still morning 
 air. The rain had washed down all that was in the sky 
 during the night, so that the hail echoed through a world 
 blue and empty. 
 
 Gregory Jeffray, a noble figure of a youth, stood leaning 
 on the arch of his mare's neck, quieting the nervous tre- 
 mors of Eulalie, that very dainty lady. His tall, alert figure, 
 tight-reined and manly, was brought out by his riding- 
 dress. His pose against the neck of the beautiful beast, 
 from which a moment before he had swung himself, was 
 that of Hadrian's young Antinous. 
 
 " Boat ahoy ! " 
 
 Gregory Jeffray, growing a little impatient, made a 
 trumpet of his hands, and sent the powerful voice, with 
 which one day he meant to thrill listening senates, sound- 
 ing athwart the dancing ripples of the loch. 
 
 On the farther shore was a flat white ferry-boat, look- 
 ing, as it lay motionless in the river, like a white table 
 chained in the water with its legs in the air. The chain 
 
 13
 
 14 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 along which it moved plunged into the shallows beside him, 
 and he could see it descending till he lost it in the dusky 
 pool across which the ferry plied. To the north, Loch Ken 
 ran in glistening levels and island-studded reaches to the 
 base of Cairnsinuir. 
 
 " Boat ahoy ! " 
 
 A figure, like a white mark of exclamation moving over 
 green paper, came out of the little low whitewashed cottage 
 opposite, and stood a moment looking across the ferry, with 
 one hand resting on its side and the other held level with 
 the eyes. Then the observer disappeared behind a hedge, 
 to be seen immediately coming down the narrow, deep- 
 rutted lane towards the ferry-boat. When the figure came 
 again in sight of Gregory Jeffray, he had no difficulty in 
 distinguishing a slim girl, clad in white, who came sedately 
 towards him. 
 
 When she arrived at the white boat which floated so 
 stilly on the morning glitter of the water, only just stirred 
 by a breeze from the south, she stepped at once on board. 
 Gregory could see her as she took from the corner of the 
 flat, where it stood erect along with other boating gear, 
 something which looked like a short iron hoe. With this 
 she walked to the end of the boat nearest him. She laid 
 the hoe end of the instrument against a chain that ran 
 breast-high along one side of the boat and at the end 
 plunged diagonally into the water. His mare lifted her 
 feet impatiently, as though the shoreward end of the chain 
 had brought a thrill across the loch from the moving ferry- 
 boat. Turning her back to him, the girl bent her slim 
 young body without an effort ; and, as though by the gen- 
 tlest magic, the ferry-boat drew nearer to him. It did not 
 seem to move ; yet gradually the space of blue water be- 
 tween it and the shore on which the whitewashed cottage 
 stood spread and widened. He could hear the gentle clat- 
 ter of the wavelets against the lip of the landing-drop as the
 
 A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER. 15 
 
 boat came nearer. His mare tossed her head and snuffed 
 at this strange four-footed thing that glided towards them. 
 
 Gregory, who loved all women, watched with natural in- 
 terest the sway and poise of the girlish figure. He heard 
 the click and rattle of the chain as she deftly disengaged 
 her gripper-iron at the farther end, and, turning, walked 
 the deck's length towards him. 
 
 She seemed but a young thing to move so large a boat. 
 He forgot to be angry at being kept so long waiting, for of 
 all women, he told himself, he most admired tall girls in 
 simple dresses. His exceptional interest arose from the 
 fact that he had never before seen one manage a ferry-boat. 
 
 As he stood on the shore, and the great flat boat moved 
 towards him, he saw that the end of it nearest him was 
 pulled up a couple of feet clear of the water. Still the boat 
 moved noiselessly forward, till he heard it first grate and 
 then ground gently, as the graceful pilot bore her weight 
 upon the iron bar to stay its progress. Gregory specially 
 admired the flex of her arms bent outwardly as she did so. 
 Then she went to the end of the boat, and let down the 
 tilted gangway upon the pebbles at his feet. 
 
 Gregory Jeffray instinctively took off his hat as he said 
 to this girl, " Good-morning ! Can I get to the village of 
 Dullarg by this ferry ? " 
 
 " This is the way to the Dullarg," said the girl, simply 
 and naturally, leaning as she spoke upon her dripping grip- 
 per-iron. 
 
 Her eyes did not refuse to take in the goodliness of the 
 youth while his attention was for the moment given to his 
 mare. 
 
 " Gently, gently, lass ! " he said, patting the neck which 
 arched impatiently as she felt the boards hollow beneath her 
 feet. Yet she came obediently enough on deck, arching 
 her forefeet high and throwing them out in an uncertain 
 and tentative manner.
 
 16 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Then the girl, with a quiet and matter-of-fact accept- 
 ance of her duties, placed her iron once more upon the 
 chain, and bent herself to the task with well-accustomed 
 effort of her slender body. 
 
 The heart of the young man was stirred within him. 
 True, he might have beheld fifty field-wenches breaking 
 their backs among the harvest sheaves without a pang. 
 This, however, was very different. 
 
 " Let me help you," he said. 
 
 " It is better that you stand by your horse," she said. 
 
 Gregory Jeffray looked disappointed. 
 
 " Is it not too hard work for you ? " he queried, humbly 
 and with abased eyes. 
 
 " No," said the girl. " Ye see, sir, I live with my 
 mother's two sisters at the boathouse. They are very kind 
 to me. They brought me up, though I had neither father 
 nor mother. And what signifies bringing the boat across 
 the Water a time or two ? " 
 
 Her ready and easy movements told the tale for her. 
 She needed no pity. She asked for none, for which Gregory 
 was rather sorry. He liked to pity people, and then to right 
 their grievances, if it were not very difficult. Of what use 
 otherwise was it to be, what he was called in Galloway, the 
 " Boy Sheriff " ? Besides, he was taking a morning ride 
 from the Great House of the Barr, and upon his return to 
 breakfast he desired to have a tale to tell which would rivet 
 attention upon himself. 
 
 " And do you do nothing all day, but only take the boat 
 to and fro across the loch ? " he asked. 
 
 He saw the way clear now, he thought, to matter for an 
 interesting episode the basis of which should be the delight 
 of a beautiful girl in spending her life in the carrying of 
 desirable young men, riding upon horses, over the shining 
 morning waters of the Ken. They should all look with eyes 
 of wonder upon her ; but she, the cold Dian of the lochside,
 
 A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER. 17 
 
 would never return look for look to any of them, save per- 
 haps to Gregory Jeffray. Gregory went about the world 
 finding pictures and making romances for himself. He 
 meant to be a statesman ; and, with this purpose in view, it 
 was wholly necessary for him to study the people, and es- 
 pecially, he might have added, the young women of the 
 people. Hitherto he had done this chiefly in his imagina- 
 tion, but here certainly was material attractive to his hand. 
 
 " Do you work at nothing else ? " he repeated, for the 
 girl was uncomplimentarily intent upon her gripper-iron. 
 How deftly she lifted it just at the right moment, when it 
 was in danger of being caught upon the revolving wheel ! 
 How exactly she exerted just the right amount of strength 
 to keep the chain running sweetly upon its cogs ! How 
 daintily she stepped back, avoiding the dripping of the 
 water from the linked iron which rose from the bed of the 
 loch, passed under her hand, and dipped diagonally down 
 again into the deeps ! Gregory had never seen anything 
 like it, so he told himself. 
 
 It was not until he had put his question the third time 
 that the girl answered, " Whiles I take the boat over to the 
 waterfoot when there's a cry across the Black Water." 
 
 The young man was mystified. 
 
 " ' A cry across the Black Water ! ' What may that be ? " 
 he said. 
 
 The girl looked at him directly almost for the first time. 
 Was he making fun of her? She wondered. His face 
 seemed earnest enough, and handsome. It was not possible, 
 she concluded. 
 
 " Ye'll be a stranger in these parts ? " she answered 
 interrogatively, because she was a Scottish girl, and one 
 question for another is good national barter and exchange. 
 
 Gregory Jeffray was about to declare his names, titles, 
 and expectations ; but he looked at the girl again, and saw 
 something that withheld him.
 
 18 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I am staying for a week or two over at 
 Barr." 
 
 The boat grounded on the pebbles, and the girl went to 
 let down the hinged end. It had seemed a very brief pas- 
 sage to Gregory Jeffray. He stood still by his mare, as 
 though he had much more to say. 
 
 The girl placed her cleek in the corner, and moved to 
 leave the boat. It piqued the young man to find her so un- 
 responsive. " Tell me what you mean by ' a cry across the 
 Black Water,' " he said. 
 
 The girl pointed to the strip of sullen blackness that lay 
 under the willows upon the southern shore. 
 
 " That is the Black Water of Dee," she said simply, 
 " and the green point among the trees is the Khonefoot. 
 Whiles there's a cry from there. Then I go over in the 
 boat, and set them across." 
 
 " Not in this boat ? " he said, looking at the upturned 
 deal table swinging upon its iron chain. 
 
 She smiled at his ignorance. 
 
 " That is the boat that goes across the Black Water of 
 Dee," she said, pointing to a small boat which lay under the 
 bank on the left. 
 
 " And do you never go anywhere else ? " he asked, won- 
 dering how she came by her beauty and her manners. 
 
 " Only to the kirk on the Sabbaths," she said, " when I 
 can get some one to watch the boat for me." 
 
 " I will watch the boat for you ! " he said impul- 
 sively. 
 
 The girl looked distressed. This gay gentleman was 
 making fun of her, assuredly. She did not answer. Would 
 he never go away ? 
 
 " That is your way," she said, pointing along the track 
 in front. Indeed, there was but one way, and the informa- 
 tion was superfluous. 
 
 The end of the white, rose-smothered boathouse was
 
 A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER. ]Q 
 
 towards them. A tall, bowed, woman's figure passed quickly 
 round the gable. 
 
 " Is that your aunt? " he asked. 
 
 " That is my aunt Annie," said the girl ; " my aunt Bar- 
 bara is confined to her bed." 
 
 " And what is your name, if I may ask ? " 
 
 The girl glanced at him. He was certainly not making 
 fun of her now. 
 
 " My name is Grace Allen," she said. 
 
 They paced together up the path. The bridle rein 
 slipped from his arm, but his hand instinctively caught it, 
 and Eulalie cropped crisply at the grasses on the bank, 
 unregarded of her master. 
 
 They did not shake hands when they parted, but their 
 eyes followed each other a long way. 
 
 " Where is the money ? " said Aunt Barbara from her 
 bed as Grace Allen came in at the open door. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said the girl, frightened : " I have forgot- 
 ten to ask him for it ! " 
 
 "Did I ever see sic a lassie! Ein after him an' get it; 
 haste ye fast ! " 
 
 But Gregory was far out of reach by the time Grace got 
 to the door. The sound of hoofs came from high up the 
 wooded heights. 
 
 Gregory Jeffray reached the Barr in time for late break- 
 fast. There was a large house company. The men were 
 prowling discontentedly about, looking under covers or cut- 
 ting slices from dishes on the sideboard; but the ladies 
 were brightly curious, and eagerly welcomed Gregory. He 
 at least did not rise with a headache and a bad temper every 
 morning. They desired an account of his morning's ride. 
 But on the way home he had changed his mind about tell- 
 ing of his adventure. He said that he had had a pleasant 
 ride. It had been a beautiful morning. 
 
 "But have you nothing whatever to tell us?" they 
 3
 
 20 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 asked; for, indeed, they had a right to expect some- 
 thing. 
 
 Gregory said nothing. This was not usual, for at other 
 times when he had nothing to tell, it did not cost him 
 much to invent something interesting. 
 
 "You are very dull this morning, Sheriff," said the 
 youngest daughter of the house, who, being the baby and 
 pretty, had grown pettishly privileged in speech. 
 
 But deep within him Gregory was saying, " What a bless- 
 ing that I forgot to pay the ferry ! " 
 
 When he got outside he said to his host, " Is there such 
 a place hereabouts as the Rhonef oot ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, there is," said Laird Cunningham of Barr. 
 " But why do you ask ? I thought a Sheriff would know 
 everything without asking even an ornamental one on his 
 way to the Premiership." 
 
 " Oh, I heard the name," said Gregory. " It struck me 
 as a curious one." 
 
 So that evening there came over the river from the 
 Waterfoot of the Rhone the sound of a voice calling. Grace 
 Allen sat thoughtfully looking out of the rose-hung win- 
 dow of the boathouse. Her face was an oval of perfect 
 curve, crowned with a mass of light brown hair, in which 
 were red lights when the sun shone directly upon it. Her 
 skin was clear, pale as ivory, and even exertion hardly 
 brought the latent under-flush of red to the surface. 
 
 "There's somebody at the waterfit. Gang, lassie, an' 
 dinna' be lettin' them aff withoot their siller this time ! " 
 said her aunt Barbara from her bed. Annie Allen was ac- 
 customed to say nothing, and she did it now. 
 
 The boat to the Rhonefoot was seldom needed, and the 
 oars were not kept in it. They leaned against the end of 
 the cottage, and Grace Allen took them on her shoulder as 
 she went down. She carried them as easily as another girl 
 might carry a parasol.
 
 A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER. 1 
 
 Again there came the cry from the Rhouefoot, echoing 
 joyously across the river. 
 
 Standing well back in the boat, so as to throw up the 
 bow, she pushed off. The water was deep where the boat 
 lay, and it had been drawn half up on the bank. Where 
 Grace dipped her oars into the silent water, the pool was so 
 black that the blade of the oar was lost in the gloom before 
 it got half-way down. Above there was a light wind moan- 
 ing and rustling in the trees, but it did not stir even a rip- 
 ple on the dark surface of the pool where the Black Water 
 of Dee meets the brighter Ken. 
 
 Grace bent to her oars with a springing verve and force 
 which made the tubby little boat draw towards the shore, 
 the whispering lapse of water gliding under its sides all the 
 while. Three lines of wake were marked behind a vague 
 white turbulence in the middle and two lines of bubbles on 
 either side where the oars had dipped, which flashed a 
 moment and then winked themselves out. 
 
 When she reached the Waterfoot, and the boat touched 
 the shore, Grace Allen looked up to see Gregory Jeffray 
 standing alone on the little copse-enclosed triangle of 
 grass. He smiled pleasantly. She had not time to be 
 surprised. 
 
 " What did you think of me this morning, running away 
 without paying my fare ? " he asked. 
 
 It seemed very natural now that he should come. She 
 was glad that he had not brought his horse. 
 
 " I thought yon would come by again," said Grace 
 Allen, standing up, with one oar over the side ready to pull 
 in or push off. 
 
 Gregory extended his hand as though to ask for hers to 
 steady him as he came into the boat. Grace was surprised. 
 No one ever did that at the Rhonefoot, but she thought it 
 might be that he was a stranger and did not understand 
 about boats. She held out her hand. Gregory leapt in be-
 
 22 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 side her in a moment, but did not at once release the hand. 
 She tried to pull it away. 
 
 " It is too little a hand to do so much hard work," he said. 
 
 Instantly Grace became conscious that it was rough and 
 hard with rowing. She had not thought of this before. 
 He stooped and kissed it. 
 
 " Now," he said, " let me row across for you, and sit in 
 front of me where I can see you. You made me forget 
 all about everything else this morning, and now I must 
 make up for it." 
 
 It was a long way across, and evidently Gregory Jeffray 
 was not a good oarsman, for it was dark when Grace Allen 
 went indoors to her aunts. Her heart was bounding within 
 her. Her bosom rose and fell as she breathed quickly and 
 silently through her parted red lips. There was a new 
 thing in her eye. 
 
 Every evening thereafter, through all that glorious 
 height of midsummer, there came a crying at the Waterfoot ; 
 and every evening Grace Allen went over to the edge of the 
 Rhone wood to answer it. There the boat lay moored to a 
 stone upon the turf, while Gregory and she walked upon 
 the flowery forest carpet, and the dry leaves watched and 
 clashed and muttered above them as the gloaming fell. 
 These were days of rapture, each a doorway into yet fuller 
 and more perfect joy. 
 
 Over at the Waterfoot the copses grew close. The green 
 turf was velvet underfoot. The blackbirds fluted in the 
 hazels there. None of them listened to the voice of Gregory 
 Jeffray, or cared for what he said to Grace Allen when she 
 went nightly to meet him over the Black Water. 
 
 She rowed back alone, the simple soul that was in her 
 forwandered and mazed with excess of joy. As she set the 
 boat to the shore and came up the bank bearing the oars 
 which were her wings into the world of love under the 
 green alders, the light in the west, lingering clear and
 
 A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER. 23 
 
 pure and cold, shone upon her and added radiances to 
 her eyes. 
 
 But Aunt Annie watched her with silent pain. Barbara 
 from her bed spoke sharp and cruel words which Grace 
 Allen listened to not at all. 
 
 For as soon as the morning shone bright over the hills 
 and ran on tip-toe up the sparkling ripples of the loch, she 
 looked across the Black Water to the hidden ways where in 
 the evening her love should meet her. 
 
 As she went her daily rounds, and the gripper-iron 
 slipped on the wet chain or grew hot in the sun, as she 
 heard the clack of the wheel and the soft slow grind of the 
 boat's broad lip on the pebbles, Grace Allen said over and 
 over to herself, " It is so long, only so long, till he will 
 come." 
 
 So all the days she waited in a sweet content. Barbara 
 reproached her ; Aunt Annie perilled her soul by lying to 
 shield her ; but Grace herself was shut out from shame or 
 fear, from things past or things to come, by faith and joy 
 that at last she had found one whom her soul loved. 
 
 And overhead the dry poplar leaves clashed and rustled, 
 telling out to one another that love was a vain thing, and 
 the thrush cried thrice, " Beware." But Grace Allen would 
 not have believed had one risen to her from the dead. 
 
 So the great wasteful summer days went by, the glory of 
 the passionate nights of July, the crisper blonde luxuriance 
 of August. Every night there was the calling from the 
 green plot across the Black Water. Every night Aunt 
 Annie wandered, a withered grey ghost, along the hither 
 side of the inky pool, looking for what she could not see and 
 listening for that which she could not hear. Then she 
 would go in to lie gratuitously to Barbara, who told her to 
 her face that she did not believe her. 
 
 But in the first chill of mid-September, swift as the di- 
 viding of the blue-black thundercloud by the winking flame,
 
 24 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 fell the sword of God, smiting and shattering. It seemed 
 hard that it should fall on the weaker and the more inno- 
 cent. But then God has plenty of time. 
 
 One chilly gloaming there was no calling at the Ehone- 
 foot. Nevertheless Grace rowed over and waited, imagining 
 that all evil had befallen her lover. Within, her aunt Bar- 
 bara fretted and murmured at her absence, driving her silent 
 sister into involved refuges of lies to shield young Grace 
 Allen, whom her soul loved. 
 
 The next day went by as the night had passed, with 
 an awful constriction about her heart, a numbness over 
 all her body; yet Grace did her work as one who dares 
 not stop. 
 
 Two serving-men crossed in the ferry-boat, unconcern- 
 edly talking over the country news as men do when they 
 meet. 
 
 "Did ye hear aboot young Jeffray?" asked the herd 
 from the Mains. 
 
 " Whatna Jeffray ? " asked, without much show of in- 
 terest, the ploughman from Drumglass. 
 
 " Wi' man, the young lad that the daft folk in Enbra 
 sent here for Sheriff." 
 
 " I didna ken he was hereawa'," said the Mains, with a 
 purely perfunctory surprise. 
 
 " On, ay, he has been a feck ower by at the Barr. They 
 say he's gaun to get marriet to the youngest dochter. She's 
 hae a gye fat stockm'-fit, I'se warrant." 
 
 " Ye may say sae, or a lawyer wadna come speerin' her," 
 returned him from Drumglass as the boat reached the far- 
 ther side. 
 
 "Guid-e'en to ye, Grace," said they both as they put 
 their pennies down on the little tin plate in the corner. 
 
 " She's an awesome still lassie, that," said the Mains, as 
 he took the road down to Parton Eaw, where he had trysted 
 with a maid of another sort. " Did ye notice she never said
 
 A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER. 25 
 
 a word to us, neyther ' Thank ye,' nor yet ' Guid-day ' ? Her 
 een were fair stelled in her head." 
 
 " Na, I didna observe," said Drumglass cotman indiffer- 
 ently. 
 
 " Some fowk are like swine. They notice nocht that's 
 no pitten intil the trough afore them ! " said the Mains in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 So they parted, each to his own errand. 
 
 Day swayed and swirled into a strange night of shooting 
 stars and intensest darkness. The soul of Grace Allen wan- 
 dered in blackest night. Sometimes the earth appeared 
 ready to open and swallow her up. Sometimes she seemed 
 to be wandering by the side of the great pool of the Black 
 Water with her hands full of flowers. There were roses 
 blush-red, like what he had said her cheeks were sometimes. 
 There were velvety pansies, and flowers of strange intoxi- 
 cating perfume, the like of which she had never seen. But 
 at every few yards she felt that she must fling them all 
 into the black water, and fare forth into the darkness to 
 gather more. 
 
 Then in her bed she would start up, hearing the hail of 
 a dear voice calling to her from the Khonefoot. Once she 
 put on her clothes in haste and would have gone forth ; but 
 her aunt Annie, waking and startled, a tall, gaunt appari- 
 tion, came to her. 
 
 " Grace Allen," she said, " where are you gangin' at this 
 time o' thenicht?" 
 
 " There's somebody at the boat," she said, " waiting. Let 
 me gang, Aunt Annie : they want me ; I hear them cry. 
 Annie, I hear them crying as a bairn cries ! " 
 
 " Lie doon on yer bed like a clever lass," said her aunt 
 gently. " There's naebody there." 
 
 " Or gin there be," said Aunt Barbara from her bed, 
 " e'en let them cry. Is this a time for decent fowk to be 
 gaun play-actin' aboot ? "
 
 26 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 So the daylight came, and the evening and the morning 
 were the second day. And Grace Allen went about her 
 work with clack of gripper-iron and dip of oar. 
 
 Late on in the gloaming of the third day following, 
 Aunt Annie went down to the broad flat boat that lay so 
 still at the water's edge. Something black was knocking 
 dully against it. 
 
 Grace had been gone four hours, and it was weary work 
 watching along the shore or going within out of the chill 
 wind to endure Barbara's bitter tongue. 
 
 The black thing that knocked was the small boat, broken 
 loose from her moorings and floating helplessly. Annie 
 Allen took a boathook and pulled it to the shore. Except 
 that the boat was half full of flowers, there was nothing and 
 no one inside. 
 
 But the world span round and the stars went out when 
 the tinder saw the flowers. 
 
 When Aunt Annie Allen came to herself, she found the 
 water was rising rapidly. It was up to her ankles. She 
 went indoors and asked for Grace. 
 
 " Save us, Ann ! " said Barbara ; " I thocht she was wi' 
 you. Where hae ye been till this time o' nicht ? An' your 
 feet's dreepin' wat. Haud aff the clean floor ! " 
 
 " But Gracie ! Oor lassie Grade ! What's come o' 
 Gracie ? " wailed the elder woman. 
 
 At that instant there came so thrilling a cry from over 
 the dark waters out of the night that the women turned to 
 one another and instinctively caught at each other's hands. 
 
 " Leave me, I maun gang," said Aunt Annie. " That's 
 surely Grace." 
 
 Her sister gripped her tight. 
 
 " Let me gang let me gang. She's my ain lassie, no 
 yours ! " Annie said fiercely, endeavouring to thrust off 
 Barbara's hands as they clutched her like birds' talons from 
 the bed.
 
 A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER. 27 
 
 " Help me to get up," said Barbara ; " I canna be left 
 here. I'll come wi' ye." 
 
 So she that had been sick for twelve years arose, like a 
 ghost from the tomb, and with her sister went out to seek 
 for the girl they had lost. They found their way to the 
 boat, reeling together like drunken men. Annie almost 
 lifted her sister in, and then fell herself among the drenched 
 and waterlogged flowers. 
 
 With the instinct of old habitude they fell to the oars, 
 Barbara rowing the better and the stronger. They felt the 
 oily swirl of the Dee rising beneath them, and knew that 
 there had been a mighty rain upon the hills. 
 
 " The Lord save us ! " cried Barbara suddenly. 
 " Look ! " 
 
 She pointed up the long pool of the Black Water. 
 What she saw no man knows, for Aunt Annie had fainted, 
 and Barbara was never herself after that hour. 
 
 Aunt Annie lay like a log across her thwart. But, with 
 the strength of another world, Barbara unshipped the oar of 
 her sister and slipped it upon the thole-pin opposite to her 
 own. Then she turned the head of the boat up the pool of 
 the Black Water. Something white floated danciugly along- 
 side, upborne for a moment on the boiling swirls of the 
 rising water. Barbara dropped her oars, and snatched at it. 
 She held on to some light wet fabric by one hand ; with the 
 other she shook her sister. 
 
 " Here's oor wee Gracie," she said ; " Ann, help me hame 
 wi' her ! " 
 
 So they brought her home, and laid her all in dripping 
 white upon her white bed. Barbara sat at the bed-head and 
 crooned, having lost her wits. Aunt Annie moved all in a 
 piece, as though she were about to fall headlong. 
 
 " White floo'ers for the angels, where Gracie's ga'en to ! 
 Annie, woman, dinna ye see them by her body four great 
 angels, at ilka corner yin ? "
 
 28 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Barbara's voice rose and fell, wayward and querulous. 
 There was no other sound in the house, only the water sob- 
 bing against the edge of the ferry-boat. 
 
 " And the first is like a lion," she went on, in a more 
 even recitative, " and the second is like an ox, and the third 
 has a face like a man, and the fourth is like a flying eagle. 
 An' they're sittin' on ilka bedpost ; and they hae sax wings, 
 that meet owre my Gracie, an' they cry withoot ceasing,' Holy ! 
 holy ! holy ! Woe unto him that causeth one of these little 
 ones to perish ! It were better for him that a millstone 
 were hanged about his neck and he were cast into the deeps 
 o' the Black Water ! ' " 
 
 But the neighbours paid no attention to her for, of 
 course, she was mad. 
 
 Then the wise folk came and explained how it had all 
 happened. Here she had been gathering flowers ; here she 
 had slipped; and here, again, she had fallen. Nothing 
 could be clearer. There were the flowers. There was the 
 dangerous pool on the Black Water. And there was the 
 body of Grace Allen, a young thing dead in the flower of 
 her days. 
 
 " I see them ! I see them ! " cried Barbara, fixing her 
 eyes on the bed, her voice like a shriek ; " they are full of 
 eyes, behind and before, and they see into the heart of man. 
 Their faces are full of anger, and their mouths are open to 
 devour " 
 
 " Wheesh, wheesh, woman ! Here's the young Sheriff 
 come doon frae the Barr wi' the Fiscal to tak' evidence." 
 
 And Barbara Allen was silent as Gregory Jeffray came in. 
 
 To do him justice, when he wrote her the letter that 
 killed concerning the necessities of his position and career 
 he had tried to break the parting gently. How should he 
 know all that she knew? It was clearly an ill turn that fate 
 had played him. Indeed, he felt ill-used. So he listened 
 to the Fiscal taking evidence, and in due course departed.
 
 A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER. 99 
 
 But within an inner pocket he had a letter that was not 
 filled with the documents, but which might have shed 
 clearer light upon when and how Grace Allen slipped and 
 fell, gathering flowers at night above the great pool of the 
 Black Water. 
 
 " There is set up a throne in the heavens," chanted mad 
 Barbara Allen as Gregory went out ; " and One sits upon it 
 and my Gracie's there, clothed in white robes, an' a palm 
 in her hand. And you'll be there, young man," she cried 
 after him, " and I'll be there. There's a cry comin' owre 
 the Black Water for you, like the cry that raised me oot o' 
 my bed yestreen. An' ye'll hear it ye'll hear it, braw young 
 man ; ay and rise up and answer, too ! " 
 
 But they paid no heed to her for, of course, she was 
 mad. Neither did Gregory Jeffray hear aught as he went 
 out, but the water lapping against the little boat that was 
 still half full of flowers. 
 
 The days went by, and being added together one at a 
 time, they made the years. And the years grew into one 
 decade, and lengthened out towards another. 
 
 Aunt Annie was long dead, a white stone over her ; but 
 there was no stone over Grace Allen only a green mound 
 where daisies grew. 
 
 Sir Gregory Jeffray came that way. He was a great law- 
 officer of the Crown, and first heir to the next vacant judge- 
 ship. This, however, he was thinking of refusing because 
 of the greatness of his private practice. 
 
 He had come to shoot at the Barr, and his baggage was 
 at Earmark station. How strange it would be to see the old 
 places again in the gloom of a September evening ! 
 
 Gregory still loved a new sensation. All was so long 
 past the bitterness clean gone out of it. The old boat- 
 house had fallen into other hands, and railways had come 
 to carry the traffic beyond the ferry. 
 
 As Sir Gregory Jeffray walked from the late train which
 
 30 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 set him down at the station, he felt curiously at peace. The 
 times of the Long Ago came back not ungratefully to his 
 mind. There had been much pleasure in them. He even 
 thought kindly of the girl with whom he had walked in the 
 glory of a forgotten summer along the hidden ways of the 
 woods. Her last letter, long since destroyed, was not disa- 
 greeable to him when he thought of the secret which had 
 been laid to rest so quietly in the pool of the Black Water. 
 
 He came to the water's edge. He sent his voice, stronger 
 now than of yore, but without the old ring of boyish hope- 
 fulness, across the loch. A moment's silence, the whisper 
 of the night wind, and then from the gloom of the farther 
 side an answering hail low, clear, and penetrating. 
 
 " I am in luck to find them out of bed," said Gregory 
 Jeffray to himself. 
 
 He waited and listened. The wind blew chill from the 
 south athwart the ferry. He shivered, and drew his fur- 
 lined travelling-coat about him. He could hear the water 
 lapping against the mighty piers of the railway viaduct 
 above, which, with its gaunt iron spans, like bows bent to 
 send arrows into the heavens, dimly towered between him 
 and the skies. 
 
 Now, this is all that men definitely know of the fate of 
 Sir Gregory Jeffray. A surfaceman who lived in the new 
 houses above the landing-place saw him standing there, heard 
 him hailing the Waterfoot of the Dee, to which no boat had 
 plied for years. Maliciously he let the stranger call, and 
 abode to see what should happen. 
 
 Yet astonishment held him dumb when again across the 
 dark stream came the crying, thrilling him with an unknown 
 terror, till he clutched the door to make sure of his retreat 
 within. Mastering his fear, he stole nearer till he could hear 
 the oars planted in the iron pins, the push off the shore, and 
 then the measured dip of oars coming towards the stranger 
 across the pool of the Black Water.
 
 A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER. 31 
 
 " How do they know, I wonder, that I want to be taken 
 to the Ehonef oot ? They are bringing the small boat," he 
 heard him say. 
 
 A skiff shot out of the gloom. It was a woman who was 
 rowing. The boat grounded stern on. The watcher saw 
 the man step in and settle himself on the seat. 
 
 "What rubbish is this?" Gregory Jeff ray cried angrily 
 as he cleared a great armful of flowers off the seat and threw 
 them among his feet. 
 
 The oars dipped, and without sound the boat glided out 
 upon the waves of the loch towards the Black Water, into 
 whose oily depths the blades fall silently, and where the 
 water does not lap about the prow. The night grew 
 suddenly very cold. Somewhere in the darkness over the 
 Black Water the watching surfaceman heard some one call 
 three times the name of Gregory Jeffray. It sounded like a 
 young child's voice. And for very fear he ran in and shut 
 the door, well knowing that for twenty years no boat had 
 plied there. 
 
 It was noted as a strange thing that, on the same night 
 on which Sir Gregory Jeffray was lost, the last of the Aliens 
 of the old ferry-house died in the Crichton Asylum. Barbara 
 Allen was, without doubt, mad to the end, for the burden of 
 her latest cry was, " He kens noo ! he kens noo ! The Lord 
 our God is a jealous God ! Now let Thy servant depart in 
 peace ! " 
 
 But Gregory Jeffray was never seen again by water or on 
 shore. He had heard the cry across the Black Water.
 
 III. 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 
 
 [Taken from the Journals of Travel written by Stephen Douglas 
 sometime of Culskarg in Galloway.} 
 
 I. 
 
 O mellow rain upon the clover tops ; 
 
 O breath of morning blown o'er meadow-sweet ; 
 Lush apple-blooms from which the wild bee drops 
 
 Inebriate ; O hayn'eld scents, my feet 
 
 Scatter abroad some morning in July ; 
 
 O wild wood odours of the birch and pine, 
 And heather breaths from great red hill-tops nigh, 
 
 Than olive sweeter or Sicilian vine ; 
 
 Not all of you, nor summer lands of balm 
 
 Not blest Arabia, 
 Nor coral isles in seas of tropic calm, 
 
 Such heart's desire into my heart can draw. 
 
 II. 
 
 O scent of sea on dreaming April morn 
 Borne landward on a steady-blowing wind ; 
 
 O August breeze, o'er leagues of rustling corn, 
 Wafts of clear air from uplands left behind, 
 
 And outbreathed sweetness of wet wallflower bed, 
 
 O set in mid-May depth of orchard close, 
 Tender germander blue, geranium red ; 
 
 O expressed sweetness of sweet briar-rose ; 
 
 Too gross, corporeal, absolute are ye, 
 
 Ye help not to define 
 That subtle fragrance, delicate and free, 
 
 Which like a vesture clothes this Love of mine. 
 
 Heard Delight. 
 32
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 33 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE WOMAN OF THE RED EYELIDS. 
 
 IT was by Lago d'Istria that I found my pupil. I had 
 come without halt from Scotland to seek him. For the 
 first time I had crossed the Alps, and from the snow-flecked 
 mountain-side, where the dull yellow-white patches re- 
 mained longest, I saw beneath me the waveless plain of 
 Lombardy. 
 
 The land of Lombardy how the words had run in my 
 dreams ! Surely some ancestor of mine had wandered north- 
 wards from that gracious plain. On one side of me, at least, 
 I was sib to the vineyards and the chestnut groves. For 
 strange yearnings thrilled me as I beheld white-garlanded 
 cities strung across the plain, the blue lakes grey in the haze, 
 like eyes that look through tears. 
 
 Yet hitherto a hill-farm on the moors of Minnigaff had 
 been my abiding- place. There I had played with the collies 
 and the grey rabbits. There I had listened to the whaup and 
 the peewits crying in the night ; and save the cold, grey, 
 resonant spaces of Edinburgh, whither I had gone to study, 
 this was all my eyes had yet known. But when Giovanni 
 Turazza, exile from the city of Verona, paused in his read- 
 ing of the sonorous Italian to rebuke my Scots accent, and 
 continued softly to give me illustrations of the dialects of 
 north and south, something moved within me that sickened 
 me to think of the Lombard plain sleeping in the gracious 
 sunshine which I might never see. 
 
 Yet I saw it. I trod its ways and stood by its still 
 waters. And already they are become my life and my home. 
 
 Now, I who write am Stephen Douglas, of the moorland 
 stock of the northern Douglases kin to Douglaswater, and 
 on the wrong side of the blanket to Drumdarroch himself.
 
 34 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 It has been the custom that one of the Douglases should in 
 every generation be sent to the college to rear for the kirk. 
 
 For the hand of the Douglas has ever been kind to kin ; 
 and since patronage came back in law or out law, the 
 Douglases have managed to put their man into Drumdar- 
 roch parish and to have a Douglas in the white manse by 
 the Waterside. And so it is like to be when, as they say, 
 the rights of patron shall again pass away. 
 
 Now, I was in process of manufacture for this purpose, 
 though threatening to turn out somewhat over tardy in de- 
 velopment to profit by the act of patronage. But the Doug- 
 las dourness stood me in good stead, as it has done all the 
 Douglases that ever lived since the greatest of the race 
 charged to the death, with the point of his spear dropped 
 low and the heart of his lord thrown before him, among the 
 Paynim hordes. 
 
 The lad to undertake whose tutelage I went abroad was 
 a Fenwick of Allerton in the Border country the scion of 
 a reputable stock, sometime impoverished by gambling in 
 the times of the Eegent, and before that with whistling 
 " Owre the water to Charlie " ; but now, by the opening-up 
 of the sea-coal pits, again gathering in the canny siller as 
 none of the Fenwicks had done in the palmiest days of the 
 moss-trooping. 
 
 Well I knew when I set out that I had my work before 
 me, and that I should earn my two hundred pounds a year 
 or all were done. For I had but a couple of years more than 
 my pupil to boast myself upon ; and he, having grown up 
 on the Continent, chiefly in Latin cities and German water- 
 ing-places, was vastly superior to me in the knowledge which 
 comes not easily to the lads from the moors, who at all times 
 know better how to loup a moss-hag than how to make a 
 courtly bow. 
 
 Yet for all that I did not mean to be far behind any 
 Border Fenwick when it came to making bows. Nor, as it
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 35 
 
 happened, was I when all was done. This confidence was 
 partly owing to full feeding on fine porridge and braxy, but 
 more to that inbred belief of Galloway in itself which the 
 ill-affected and envious nominate its conceit. 
 
 Henry Fenwick was abiding in this city of Vico Averso, 
 as I had been informed by his uncle and guardian, for the 
 baths. He had been advised of my coming, and, like the 
 kindly lad that he proved to be, I found him waiting for 
 me when the diligence arrived. 
 
 We met with few words on either side, but I think with 
 instant hearty liking. My pupil was tall and dark, his hair 
 a little long, yet not falling to his shoulders somewhat 
 feminine in type of feature and Italianate in complexion. 
 But the mouth shewed breeding, the eyes kindliness ; and, 
 after all, these are the main features. I was especially glad 
 to find myself taller than he by a span of inches. 
 
 He took me to the hotel where a room had been ordered 
 for me not one of the common Italian inns, but a hotel 
 built for the accommodation of foreigners. As we went up 
 the steps, we passed a lady sitting in the shade with a book. 
 She was a large fair woman, with sleepy eyes and a mane of 
 bronzed gold hair. She had been looking at us as we came, 
 I will be bound ; but when we passed she became absorbed 
 and unconscious upon her book. 
 
 As Henry raised his hat she bowed slightly to him, lift- 
 ing at the same time her heavy eyelids and glancing at me. 
 I had once seen that look before in a spectacle of wild 
 beasts when I happened to stand close to a drowsing tigress 
 that twitched an eyelid and flashed a yellow eye at me. In 
 that eye-shot on the verandah of the hotel in Vico Averso, 
 the crossing of glances was like a challenge, and thrilled me 
 as when one is called to fight. I think we hated one another 
 on the spot ; yet for the life of me I could not tell why, save 
 that the woman of the tiger's glance had a red edge to her 
 heavy eyelids, and no eyelashes that I could see which 
 4
 
 36 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 things are not the marks of a good woman, as I take it. 
 Yet there was no real cause for the bitter and sudden dis- 
 like, for, as it chanced, she came but little into our adven- 
 tures. For youth, for the sake of change, turns as readily 
 away from evil as from good. 
 
 So eager was I to be down and out of doors, that I had 
 hardly time to make disposition of my goods in the room 
 which had been reserved for me. I threw open the case- 
 ment. I hung half out of the window, and satisfied myself 
 with looking upon the still, calm blue of Lago d'Orta be- 
 neath, necked with heavy-bodied craft with deep yellow sails. 
 My heart all the while was crying out hungrily, "At last ! 
 at last ! " 
 
 The precipices of hills, coloured like amethysts, fronted 
 us, where the southern Alps threw themselves downwards to 
 the lake-shore. Half-a-dozen hotels with white walls and 
 green blinds clung about the outside of the little town, and 
 specially about the baths, which ever since the time of the 
 Romans had given the place its reputation. Few English 
 people went there, but many Italians, some Austrians, espe- 
 cially women German men, and cosmopolitan Russians, to 
 whom all outside their native country was a Fatherland. 
 
 " Come," said Henry as soon as we had become a little 
 familiar, " let us go to the baths." 
 
 Entering a low stone door, we ran up a flight of steps 
 and found ourselves in a circular building of ancient marble. 
 It was to me the strangest sight. We looked down upon a 
 great number of people up to their necks in a kind of thick, 
 coffee-coloured fluid, which steamed and gave off strange 
 odours. Men and women were there, old and young. All 
 were clad in full suits of light material, and comported them- 
 selves towards each other as in a drawing-room. The sight 
 of so many heads all bobbing about on the coffee-coloured 
 mud, like a hundred John the Baptists on one large charger, 
 was to me exceedingly diverting.
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 37 
 
 Little tables were floating about on the muddy water, and 
 some pairs in quiet corners played chess and even cards. 
 But there was a constant circulation among the throng. In- 
 troductions were effected in form, save that no one shook 
 hands, at least above the water ; only the detached heads 
 bowed ceremoniously. It was a new canto of the Inferno 
 the condemned playing dully at human society in the bub- 
 bling caldrons of the place of evil shades. Henry proposed 
 to go down and take a bath, but my stomach rose against 
 the fumes and the slimy brown stuff. 
 
 " It is not nearly so bad when you are once in ! " he said, 
 for he had tried it. But though I had reason to believe that 
 to be true, I had no heart to make the test for myself. 
 
 As we came out, Henry made me an introduction to the 
 Lady of the Ked Eyelids. 
 
 " Madame von Eisenhagen ! " So that is your name, 
 thought I ; and I wonder what may be your intentions ! I 
 bad never seen the breed before, but the side of me that was 
 sib to the South seemed to leap to a comprehension. 
 
 As Madame and I crossed our glances again, I am sure 
 we both knew that it was to the knife. For Henry Fen- 
 wick, being a lad, had laid his boy's heart in her hands. 
 Yet not seriously, but as a boy will when a woman twice his 
 age thinks it worth her while to spread a net for him, flat- 
 tering him with her eyes. 
 
 So for a while we sat on the terrace, and a kind of scent- 
 less, spineless whitethorn wept sprays of flowers upon us. 
 We spoke French, in which my pupil, as I found, had 
 greatly the advantage of me, and thought extremely well 
 of himself in consequence. But within me I said, " My 
 friend, wait till I have you a week at Greek ! " 
 
 And. this indeed came to pass, for over the intricacies 
 of that language I made him presently to sweat con- 
 sum edly. 
 
 Of the matter of our talk there is not much to sav.
 
 38 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Henry spoke freely and well, Madame interjecting leading 
 questions, and holding him with her eyes. I, on the con- 
 trary, spoke little, being occupied with the scenes going on 
 beneath me the men in the piazza piling the fine grain 
 for the making of macaroni the changing and chaffering 
 groups about the kerchiefed market-women the dark- 
 faced, gypsy-like men with beady eyes. The murmur of 
 the conversation came to me only at intervals, like voices 
 in a dream ; and sometimes for whole sentences together, I 
 lost its meaning completely. 
 
 Indeed, I had more pleasure in looking at the houses in 
 Vico Averse, which were tangled together without the 
 semblance of a plan. Each house, or part of a house, 
 struggled upward to occupy its own patch of skyline, in a 
 hundred different heights and breadths. Each had a scrap 
 of garden clinging to it along the lake-side, in which the 
 green of the magnolias contrasted with the grey aspens 
 and the warmer oleanders. There was a bright and laugh- 
 ing charm about the whole which drew my heart, and I 
 longed to spend a lifetime in these white and foliage- 
 fringed places. 
 
 But I found very soon that the face of Vico Averso was 
 her fortune. For the side of our hostel which was turned 
 to a dark and narrow Street of Smells took away my desire 
 to dwell there. There came out clear in my mind the 
 thought and sight of our hill-farm of Culsharg, set on the 
 edge of its miles of heather, the free airs blowing about it, 
 and all the wild birds crying. My mother would be com- 
 ing to the door to look for my grandfather as he came off 
 the hill from the sheep. A disgust at the bubbling devil's- 
 caldron, a horror of the smiling, monosyllabic Woman of 
 the Eed Eyelids, filled my heart. I resolved to battle it 
 out with Henry that very night, and to leave Vico Averso 
 at once. If he would not do so much for me, I knew that 
 I might take the diligence back again the way I came, and
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 39 
 
 report my failure. But, for all that, I did not mean thus 
 lamely to fail or go home with my finger in my mouth. 
 
 That night I drew from the lad his heart. He had been 
 here for two months indeed, ever since his Swiss tutor, 
 Herr Gunther, had departed for Zurich suddenly, having 
 been ignominiously thrashed by his own pupil. I gathered 
 from him that he had intended to perform the like for me, 
 but had given up the idea after seeing me leap from the 
 top of the diligence. 
 
 Yet he was not unwilling to be taught that there are 
 better things out under the free sunshine than to dream 
 away good days with a woman like Madame Von Eisen- 
 hagen, who after all had perhaps done nothing worse than 
 encourage the lad to philander and to waste his time. Then 
 I cunningly painted the joys of a walking tour. We should 
 take our packs on our backs, only a few pounds' weight ; 
 and, our staves in our hands, like student lads of clerkly 
 learning in the ancient times, we should go forth to seek our 
 adventures a new one every hour, a new roof to sleep under 
 every night, and maids fairer than dreams waving hands to us 
 over every vineyard wall. Thus cunningly I baited my trap. 
 
 So had I gone many a time in mine own country, and 
 so I meant to lead my pupil now. Henry Fenwick rose 
 joyously at the thought. Madame had made his service 
 a little hard, and, what is worse, a little monotonous. He 
 was but a boy, and needed not, she thought, the binding 
 distractions which usually accompany such allegiances. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE WOED OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE. 
 
 BETIMES in the morning we were afoot long before 
 Madame was awake ; and having committed our heavier
 
 4-0 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 luggage to the care of our Swiss landlord, we set each a 
 knapsack on our "backs, and with light foot passed through 
 the market-place among the bright and chattering throng 
 of Italian folk, whose greetings of " Buonefeste, buonprin- 
 cipio, e luonafine" told of the birth of another day of joy 
 for them under the blue of their sky. 
 
 Before we were clear of the town, Henry turned, and 
 as he glanced at the green valanced windows of the Hotel 
 Averso he drew a long breath which was not quite a sigh. 
 And this was all his farewell to the allegiance of half a 
 score of weeks. For my part, I was not easy till we swung 
 out of sight along the dusty road, and had skirted the first 
 two or three miles of old wall and vineyard terrace, where 
 the lizards were already flashing and darting in the sun. 
 
 But indeed it takes much to chain a young man's fancy, 
 when the road of life runs enticingly before him, dappled 
 with laurel and carpeted with primrose. 
 
 It was our vagabond year, and, as I had foretold, a fair 
 maid stood at every door, smiling at us and leading us on. 
 We did not keep long by the dusty road. Presently we 
 turned up byways, over which the prickly-pear and red va- 
 lerian broke in profuse and unprecise beauty fleshy-leaved 
 creepers, too, as of a house-leek turned passion-flower, over- 
 crowned all with scarlet blotches of cunningly placed colour. 
 
 We wandered into woodland paths and across fields. A 
 peasant or small farmer ran out to stay us. Something 
 was forbidden, it appeared. We were trampling his arti- 
 chokes or other precious crop. We understood him not 
 over well, nor indeed tried to. But a touchingly insignifi- 
 cant piece of silver induced him to think more kindly of 
 our error, and he showed us a sweet path, by the side of 
 which a brook tinkled down from the cliffs above. It led us 
 into another scene and, I am of opinion, upon another 
 man's property. For at the door of a low, square-roofed 
 house stood a man with his hands clasped behind him.
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 41 
 
 He frowned, for he had seen his neighbour of the itching 
 palm lead us to his gate and there leave us. And of the 
 silver that lay within that palm he had not partaken. 
 
 The sun was broad and high. Here were flats of hay, 
 greyish-green, blue in parts but with none of that moist 
 and emerald velvet which would have flashed upon the 
 burnside meadows at home. Again by the water we 
 brushed against the asters, which had no business to be 
 growing here in the spring. Among the young wheat the 
 poppies were flaming red-coat officers of the Sower of 
 Tares, with flaunting feather leading on to the inquisition 
 of fires, when the reapers edge their keen sickles and fall to, 
 and the tares are separated from the wheat. 
 
 For pence judiciously tendered, we had the young Pan 
 himself for leader an Italian boy of sixteen, fair as a god 
 of Greece. He went before with the most innocent grace 
 in the world, and looked at us over his shoulder. He called 
 his sister to come also, and as a stimulant he held up his 
 penny. But she hung back, sinit with sudden maidenly 
 modesty at the sight of two such proper young men ; and 
 so her brother danced on without her. 
 
 Looking back, we saw that she had called her mother, 
 and now peeped out wistfully from behind the shelter of 
 the skirt maternal. Perhaps she regretted that she had not 
 gone with us, for there, far ahead, was her brother skipping 
 upon his quest. And suddenly there was no interest in 
 the dull farmyard and the cattle. For that is the way of 
 women to be willing too late. 
 
 As we go, we talk with the young Pan Henry Fenwick 
 freely, I slowly, yet with comprehension greater than speech. 
 
 Will Pan sit down and eat with us ? we ask. 
 
 Surely ! There is no doubt whatever that he will, and 
 that gladly. But we must wait till we come to a spring of 
 hill-water, so that we may have the true and only apos- 
 tolic baptism for our red wine.
 
 42 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 There presently we arrive. The place is verily an in- 
 spiration. It is a natural well in the shadow of a great 
 rock. Overhead is the virgin cup rudely cut in the stone. 
 A shelf for sitting on while you drink, and the rocky laver 
 brimming with clear and icy water. Little grains of fine 
 white sand dance at the bottom, where from its living 
 source the pure brew wells up. It is indeed a proper place 
 to break bread. 
 
 Here, with Pan talking to us in a speech soft as the 
 Italian air, we eat and are refreshed. Pan himself will- 
 ingly opens his heart, and tells us of the changes that are 
 coming an Italy free from lagoon to triangle which is to 
 say, from Venice to Messina. But there is much dying to 
 be done before then. The tears must fall from many 
 mothers' eyes from his own, who knows ? Will he fight ? 
 Ay, surely he will fight! And the face of Pan hardens, 
 till one understands how he could have been so cruel one 
 day to the reeds which grew in the river. 
 
 But the distance beckons us, and the sun draws himself 
 upward to his strength. We have on us the English itch 
 for change. The breeze comes and goes as we plunge 
 among the groves of Virgilian ilex, and through the inter- 
 stices of the trees we see on a hill-slope above us thirty 
 great horned oxen, etched black against the sky. 
 
 Here Pan leaves us, saying farewell with tears in his 
 woman's eyes ; with silver also in his pocket, which, to do 
 him justice, does not comfort him wholly. Before he goes, 
 for love and gratitude he tells us of a rhyme with which to 
 please the children and to cause the good wives to give us a 
 lodging. 
 
 At the next village we try its efficacy upon a company 
 by the well a group with those oriental suggestions which 
 are common to all villages south of the Alps. The effect is 
 instantaneous. The shy maidens draw nearer, the boys 
 gather from their noisy game, the bambinos stretch to us
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 43 
 
 from many a sisterly shoulder. We sit down, a couple of 
 wayfarers, dusty and hot. But no sooner is the rhyme said 
 than, lo ! a tin is dipped for our drinking, and the Kebecca 
 of the well herself expects her kiss, nor, spite of a pos- 
 sible knife, is she disappointed. For the rhyme's sake we 
 are friends of the fairies and can put far the evil eye. It is 
 good to entertain us. Thanks be to Pan ! We shall offer 
 him a garland of enduring ivy, or it may be half a kid. 
 The cry that was heard over the waters was not true ! Pan 
 is not dead. Perhaps he too but sleeps a while, and in the 
 likeness of young goatherds the god of the earlier time, 
 reborn in dew, comes out still to tell his secrets to wander- 
 ing lads who, asking no favour, go a-wayfaring with strong 
 hearts as in the ancient days. 
 
 Bound the corner peeps a laughing face. An urchin of 
 surpassing impishness, one who has come too late to hear 
 our password, taunts us in evil words. 
 
 " Ha, Giuseppe, beware of the Giant Caranco ! Behold, 
 he has the great teeth of the English. At the water-trough 
 this morning I saw him sharpening them to eat thee, thou 
 exceeding plump one ! In the bag at his back he carries 
 the bones of sixteen just as fat as thou art! " 
 
 And the rascal flees with a cry of pretended fear. So 
 contagious is terror, that more than half our band flees 
 away a dozen paces, halting there upon one foot, balancing 
 our evil and our good. 
 
 But we have wiles as well as rhymes, and great in all 
 places of the earth is the fascination of ready money. 
 
 " The Giant Caranco ! forsooth," we say ; " what lack of 
 sense ! Does the Giant Caranco know the good word of the 
 Gentle Folk whose song brings luck ? Can the Giant Ca- 
 ranco tell the tale that only the fairies know? Has the 
 Giant Caranco those things in his wallet which are loved of 
 lads and maids ? Of a surety, no ! Was ever such nonsense 
 heard ! "
 
 44 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 In vain rings the shout of the maligner on the rocks 
 above, as the circle gathers in again closer than ever 
 about us. 
 
 " Beware of his thrice-sharpened teeth, Giuseppe ! I 
 saw him bite a fair half-moon out of the iron pipe by the 
 fountain trough this morning ! " he cries. 
 
 It is worse than useless now. Not only does the devil's 
 advocate lack his own halfpenny ; but with a swirl of the 
 hand and a cunning jerk at the side, a stone whizzes after 
 this regardless railer upon honest giants. Wails and agony 
 follow. It is a dangerous thing to sit in the scorner's chair, 
 specially when the divinity has the popular acclaim, with 
 store of sweetmeats and soldi as well. 
 
 Most dangerous of all is it to interfere with a god in the 
 making, for proselytism is hot, and there are divine possi- 
 bilities. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE SEVEN DEAD MEN". 
 
 AND the stories ! There were many of them. The 
 young faces bent closer as we told the story of Saint Martin 
 dividing his cloak among the beggars. Then came our 
 own Cornish giant-killer, adapted for an Italian audience, 
 dressed to taste in a great brigand hat and a beltful of dag- 
 gers and pistols. Blunderbore in the Italian manner was a 
 distinguished success. It was Henry who told the tales, 
 but yet I think it was I who had the more abundant 
 praise. For they heard me prompt my Mercurius, and 
 they saw him appeal to me in a difficulty. Obviously, 
 therefore, Henry was the servant of the chief magician, who 
 like a great lord only communicated his pleasure through 
 his steward.
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 45 
 
 Then with a tale of Venice * that was new to them we 
 scared them out of a year's growth frightening ourselves 
 also, for then we were but young. It was well that the time 
 was not far from high noon. The story told in brief ran 
 thus. It was the story of the " Seven Dead Men." 
 
 There were once six men that went fishing on the 
 lagoons. They brought a little boy, the son of one of them, 
 to remain and cook the polenta. In the night-time he was 
 alone in the cabin, but in the morning the fishermen came 
 in. And if they found that aught was not to their taste, 
 they beat him. But if all was well, they only bade him to 
 wash up the dishes, yet gave him nothing to eat, knowing 
 that he would steal for himself, as the custom of boys is. 
 
 But one merning they brought with them from their 
 fishing the body of a dead man a man of the mainland 
 whom they had found tumbling about in the current of the 
 Brenta. For he had looked out suddenly upon them where 
 the sea and the river strive together, and the water boils up 
 in great smooth, oily dimples that are not wholesome for 
 men to meddle with. 
 
 Now, whether these six men had not gone to confession 
 or had not confessed truly, so that the priest's absolution 
 did them no good, the tale ventures not to say. But this at 
 least is sure, that for their sins they set this dead thing that 
 had been a man in the prow of the boat, all in his wet 
 clothes. And for a jest on the little boy they put his hand 
 on his brow, as though the dead were in deep cogitation. 
 
 As this story was in the telling, the attention of the 
 children grew keen and even painful. For the moment 
 each was that lonely lad on the islet, where stood the cabin 
 of the Seven Dead Men. 
 
 * For the origin of this and much else as profitable and pleasant, see Mr. 
 Horatio Brown's Life on the Lagoons^ the most charming and characteristic 
 of Venetian books.
 
 46 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 So as the boat came near in the morning light, the boy 
 stood to greet them on the little wooden pier where the 
 men landed their fish to clean, and he called out to the men 
 in the boat 
 
 " Come quickly," he cried ; " breakfast is ready all but 
 the fish to fry." 
 
 He saw that one of the men was asleep in the prow ; 
 yet, being but a lad, he was only able to count as many as 
 the crows that is, four. So he did not notice that in the boat 
 there was a man too many. Nor would he have wondered, 
 had he been told of it. For it was not his place to wonder. 
 He was only sleepy, and desired to lie down after the long 
 night alone. Also he hoped that they had had a good 
 catch of fish, so that he would escape being beaten. For 
 indeed he had taken the best of the polenta for himself be- 
 fore the men came which was as well, for if he had waited 
 till they were finished, there had been but dog's leavings 
 for him. He was a wise boy, this, when it came to eating. 
 Now, eating and philosophy come by nature, as doth also a 
 hungry stomach ; but arithmetic and Greek do not come by 
 nature. To which Henry Fenwick presently agreed. 
 
 The men went in with a good appetite to their break- 
 fast, and left the dead man sitting alone in the prow with 
 his hand on his brow. 
 
 So when they sat down, the boy said 
 
 " Why does not the other man come in ? I see him sit- 
 ting there. Are you not going to bring him in to breakfast 
 also?" (For he wished to show that he had not eaten any 
 of the polenta.) 
 
 Then, for a jest upon him, one of the men answered 
 
 "Why, is the man not here? He is indeed a heavy 
 sleeper. You had better go and wake him." 
 
 So the little boy went to the door and called, shouting 
 loud, " Why cannot you come to breakfast ? It has been 
 ready this hour, and is going cold ! "
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 47 
 
 And when the men within heard that, they thought it 
 the best jest in a month of Sundays, and they laughed loud 
 and strong. 
 
 So the boy came in and said " What ails the man ? 
 He will not answer though I have called my best." 
 
 " 0,"" said they, " he is but a deaf old fool, and has had 
 too much to drink over night. Go thou and swear bad 
 words at him, and call him beast and fool ! " 
 
 So the men put wicked words into the boy's mouth, and 
 laughed the more to hear them come from the clean and 
 innocent lips of a lad that knew not their meaning. And 
 perhaps that is the reason of what followed. 
 
 So the boy ran in again. 
 
 " Come out quickly, one of you," said the lad, " and 
 wake him, for he does not heed me, and I am sure that 
 there is something the matter with him. Mayhap he hath 
 a headache or evil in his stomach." 
 
 So they laughed again, hardly being able to eat for 
 laughing, and said 
 
 " It must be cramp of the stomach that is the matter 
 with him. But go out again, and shake him by the leg, and 
 ask him if he means to keep us waiting here till doomsday." 
 
 So the boy went out and shook the man as he was 
 bidden. 
 
 Then the dead man turned to him, sitting up in the 
 prow as natural as life, and said 
 
 " What do you want with me ? " 
 
 " Why in the name of the saints do you not come ? " 
 said the boy ; " the men want to know if they are to wait 
 till doomsday for you." 
 
 " Tell them," said the man, " that I am coming as fast 
 as I can. For this is Doomsday ! " said he. 
 
 The boy ran back into the hut, well pleased. For a 
 moment his voice could not be heard, because of the noisy 
 laughter of the men. Then he said
 
 48 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " It is all right. He says he is coming." 
 
 Then the men thought that the boy was trying in his 
 turn to put a jest on them, and would have beaten him. 
 In a moment, however, they heard something coming 
 slowly up the ladder, so they laughed no more, but all 
 turned very pale and sat still and listened. And only the 
 boy remembered to cross himself. 
 
 The footsteps came nearer. The door was pushed stum- 
 blingly open, as by one that fumbles and is not sure of his 
 way. Then the man that had been dead and drowned, of 
 whom they had made their sport, came in and sat down at 
 the boy's place, the seventh at the table. Whereupon there 
 was a great silence. None spoke, but all looked ; for none, 
 save the boy only, could withdraw his eyes from those of 
 the dead man. Colder and chillier flowed the blood in 
 their veins, till it ceased to flow at all, and froze about their 
 hearts. 
 
 Whereat the boy flung himself shrieking into a boat and 
 rowed away by the power of his own saint, Santa Caterina 
 of Siena. He met some fishermen in a sailing boat, but it 
 was the third day before any dared row to the lonely Casa 
 on the mudbank. When they did go, three men climbed 
 up the posts at different sides, for the ladder had fallen 
 away. They went not in, but only looked through the 
 window. They saw indeed six men, who sat round the 
 platter of cold polenta. But the seventh, who sat at the 
 bottom in the boy's place, shone as though he had been on 
 fire, leaning back in his chair as one that laughed and made 
 merry at a jest. But the six were fallen silent and very 
 sober. 
 
 So the three men that looked fell back from off the 
 platform into the water as dead men ; and had not their 
 companions been active men of Malamocco, they too had 
 been drowned. So there to this day in the lonely Casa of 
 the Seven Dead Men the six are sitting, and the fiery seventh
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 49 
 
 at the table-foot, in the boy's place until the Day comes 
 that is Doomsday, which is the last day of all. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SIXFUL VILLAGE OF SPELLING. 
 
 THIS was the story we told, and there was not a face 
 among the audience that did not blanch, and in that vil- 
 lage there were undoubtedly some who that night did not 
 sleep. 
 
 Now, the success of the story of the Seven Dead Men 
 was great, surprising, embarrassing. For as soon as we 
 ceased the children ran off to their homes to bring their 
 mothers, who also had to hear. So we had to tell as before, 
 without the alteration of a word. 
 
 Then home from the meadow pastures where they had 
 been mowing, past the ripening grain, the fathers came, 
 ill-pleased to find the dinner still not ready. Then these 
 in their turn had to be fetched, and the story told from the 
 beginning. Yea, and did we vary so much as the droop of 
 a hair on the wet beard of the drowned man as he tumbled 
 in the swirl of the lagoon where the Brenta meets the tide, 
 a dozen voices corrected us, and we were warned to be care- 
 ful. A reputation so sudden and tremendous is, at its be- 
 ginning, somewhat brittle. 
 
 The group about the well now included almost every 
 able-bodied person in the village, and several of the cripples, 
 who cried out if any pushed upon them. Into the midst of 
 this inward bent circle of heads the village priest elbowed 
 his way, a short and rotund father, with a frown on his face 
 which evidently had no right there. 
 
 " Story-tellers ! " he exclaimed. " There is no need for 
 such in my village. We grow our own. Thou, Beppo, art
 
 50 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 enough for a municipality, and thou, Andrea. But what 
 have we here ? " 
 
 He paused open-mouthed. He had expected the usual 
 whining, mumping beggar; and lo, here were two well- 
 attired forestieri with their packs on their backs and their 
 hats upon their heads. But we stood up, and in due form 
 saluted the father, keeping our hats in our hands till he, 
 pleased at this recognition and deference before his flock, 
 signed to us courteously to put them on again. 
 
 After this, nothing would do but we must go with him 
 to his house and share with him a bottle of the noble wine 
 of Montepulciano. 
 
 " It is the wine of my brother, who is there in the cure 
 of souls," he said. " Ah, he is a judge of wine, my brother. 
 It is a fine place, not like this beast of a village, inhabited 
 by bad heretics and worse Catholics." 
 
 "Bad Protestants who are they?" I said, for I had 
 been reared in the belief that all Protestants were good 
 except, perhaps, they were English Episcopalians. Specially 
 all Protestants in the lands of Rome were good by nature. 
 
 The priest looked at us with a question in his eye. 
 
 "You are of the Church, it maybe?" asked he, evi- 
 dently thinking of our reverence at the well-stoop. 
 
 We shook our heads. 
 
 " It matters not," said the easy father ; " you are, I per- 
 ceive, good Christians. Not like these people of Spellino, 
 who care neither for priest nor pastor. 
 
 " There he goes," said the priest, pointing out of the 
 window at a man in plain and homely black who went by 
 the sight of whom, as he went, took me back to the village 
 streets of Dullarg when I saw the minister go by. I had a 
 sense that I ought to have been out there with him, instead 
 of sitting in the presbytery of the Pope's priest. But the 
 father thought not of that, and the Montepulciano was cer- 
 tainly most excellent.
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 51 
 
 " A bad, bad village," said the father, looking about him 
 as if in search of something. 
 
 " Margherita ! " he cried suddenly. 
 
 An old woman appeared, dropping a bleared courtesy, 
 unlike her queenly name. 
 
 " What have you for dinner, Margherita ? " 
 
 " Enough for one ; not enough for three, and they hun- 
 gry off the road," she said. " If thou, father, art about 
 to feed the lazzaroni of the north and south, thou must at 
 least give some notice, and engage another servant ! " 
 
 " Nay, good Margherita," answered the priest very meek- 
 ly, " there is enough boiled fowl and risotto of liver and rice 
 to serve half a score of appetites. See to it," he said. 
 
 Margherita went grumbling away. What with beggars 
 and leaping dogs, besides children crawling about the steps, 
 it was ill living in such a presbytery one also which was at 
 any rate so old that no one could keep it clean, though they 
 laboured twenty-four hours in the day ay, and rose betimes 
 upon the next day. 
 
 As the lady said, the place was old. Father Philip told 
 us that it had been the wing of a monastery. 
 
 " See," he said, " I will show you." 
 
 So saying, he led us through a wide, cool, dusky place, 
 with arched roof and high windows, the walls blotched and 
 peeling with the steam of many monkish dinners. The 
 doors had been mostly closed up, and only at one side did 
 an open window and archway give glimpses of pillared clois- 
 ters and living green. We begged that we might sit out 
 here, which the priest gladly allowed, for the sight of the 
 green grass and the tall white lilies standing amid was a 
 mighty refreshment in the hot noontide. Sunshine flick- 
 ered through the mulberry and one grey cherry-tree, and 
 sifted down on the grass. 
 
 Then the priest told us all the sin of the villagers of 
 Spellino. It was riot that a remnant of the Waldenses was 
 5
 
 52 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 allowed to live there. The priest did not object to good 
 Waldensians. But the people of Spellino would neither pay 
 priest nor pastor. They were infidels. 
 
 " A bad people, an accursed people ! " he repeated. " I 
 have not had my dues for ten years as I ought. I send my 
 agent to collect ; and as soon as he appears, every family 
 that is of the religion turns heretic. Not a child can sign 
 the sign of the Cross, not though I baptized' every one of 
 them. All the men belong to the church of Pastor Genti- 
 netta, and can repeat his catechism." 
 
 The priest paused and shook his head. 
 
 " A bad people ! a bad people ! " he said over and over 
 again. Then he smiled, with some sense of the humour of 
 the thing. 
 
 " But there are many ways with bad people," he said ; 
 " for when my good friend, Pastor Gentinetta, collects his 
 stipend, and the blue envelopes of the Church are sent 
 round, what a conversion ensues to Holy Church ! Lo, 
 there is a crucifix in every house in Spellino, save in one or 
 two of the very faithful, who are so poor that they have 
 nothing to give. Each child blesses himself as he goes in. 
 Each bambino has the picture of its patron saiut swung 
 about its neck. The men are out at ihefesta, the women 
 not home from confession, and there is not a soldo for priest 
 or pastor in all this evil village of Spellino ! " 
 
 Father Philip paused to chuckle in some admiration at 
 such abounding cleverness in his parish. 
 
 " How then do you live, either of you ? " I asked, for the 
 matter was certainly curious. 
 
 The father looked at us. 
 
 "You are going on directly?" he said, in a subdued 
 manner. 
 
 " Immediately," we said, " when we have tired out your 
 excellent hospitality." 
 
 " Then I shall tell you. The manner of it is this. My
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 53 
 
 friend Gentinetta ; he is my friend, and an excellent one 
 in this world, though it is likely that our paths may not lie 
 together in the next, if all be true that the Pope preaches. 
 We two have a convention, which is private and not to be 
 named. It is permitted to circumvent the wicked, and to 
 drive the reluctant sheep by innocent craft. 
 
 "Now, Pastor Geutinetta has the advantage of me dur- 
 ing the life of his people. It is indeed a curious thing that 
 these heretics are eager to partake of the untransformed 
 and unblessed sacraments, which are no sacraments. It is 
 the strangest thing ! I who preach the truth cannot drive 
 my people with whips of scorpions to the blessed sacraments 
 of Holy Church. They will not go for whip or cord. But 
 these heretics will mourn for days if they be not admitted 
 to their table of communion. It is one of the mysterious 
 things of God. But, after all, it is a lucky thing," solilo- 
 quised Father Philip ; " for what does my friend do when 
 they come to him for their cards of communion, but turns 
 up his book of stipend and statute dues. Says he-v' My 
 friend, such and such dues are awanting. A good Christian 
 cannot sit down at the sacrament without clearing himself 
 with God, and especially with His messenger.' So there he 
 has them, and they pay up, and often make him a present 
 besides. For such threats my rascals would not care one 
 black and rotten fig." 
 
 " But how," said I in great astonishment, " does this af- 
 fect you?" 
 
 " Gently and soothly," said the priest. " Wait and ye 
 shall hear. If the pastor has the pull over me in life, when 
 it comes to sickness, and the thieves get the least little look 
 within the Black Doors that only open the one way I have 
 rather the better of my friend. It is my time then. My 
 fellows indeed cate no button to come to holy sacrament. 
 They need to be paid to come. But, grace be to God for 
 His unspeakable mercy, Holy Church and I between us
 
 54 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 have made them most consumedly afraid of the world that 
 is to come. And with reason ! " 
 
 Father Philip waited to chuckle. 
 
 " But Gentinetta's people have everything so neatly set- 
 tled for them long before, that they part content without so 
 much as a ' by your leave ' or the payment of a death duty. 
 Not so, however, the true believer. He hath heard of Pur- 
 gatory and the warmth and comfort thereof. Of the other 
 place, too, he has heard. He may have scorned and mocked 
 in his days of lightsome ease, but down below in the roots 
 of his heart he believes. Oh, yes, he believes and trembles ; 
 then he sends for me, and I go ! 
 
 " ' Confession it is well, my son ! extreme unction, the 
 last sacraments of the Church better and better ! But, my 
 son, there is some small matter of tithes and dues standing 
 in my book against thy name. Dost thou wish to go a 
 debtor before the Judge ? Alas ! how can I give thee quit- 
 tance of the heavenly dues, when thou hast not cleared thy- 
 self of the dues of earth ? ' Then there is a scramble for the 
 old canvas bag from its hiding-place behind the ingle-nook. 
 A small remembrance to Holy Church and to me, her min- 
 ister, can do no harm, and may do much good. Follows 
 confession, absolution and, comforted thus, the soul passes ; 
 or bides to turn Protestant the next time that iny assessor 
 calls. It matters not ; I have the dues." 
 
 " But," said I, " we have here two things that are hard 
 to put together. In a time of health, when there is no sick- 
 ness in the laud, thou must go hungry. And when sickness 
 comes, and the pastor's flock are busy with their dying, they 
 will have no time to go to communion. How are these 
 things arranged ? " 
 
 " Even thus," replied Father Philip. " It is agreed upon 
 that we pool the proceeds and divide fairly, so that our in- 
 comes are small but regular. Yet, I beseech thee, tell it not 
 in this municipality, nor yet in the next village ; for in the
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 55 
 
 public places we scowl at one another as we pass by, Pastor 
 Gentinetta and I." 
 
 " And which is earning the crust now ? " said I. 
 
 The jovial priest laughed, nodding sagely with his 
 head. 
 
 " Gentinetta hath his sacraments on Tuesday, and his 
 addresses to his folk have been full of pleasant warnings. It 
 will be a good time with us." 
 
 "And when comes 'your turn? "cried Henry, who was 
 much interested by this recital. 
 
 " There cometh at the end of the barley harvest, by the 
 grace of God, a fat time of sickness, when many dues are 
 paid ; and when the addresses from the altar of this Church 
 of Sant Philip are worth the hearing." 
 
 The old priest moved the glass of good wine at his 
 elbow, the fellow of the Montepulciano he had set 
 at ours. 
 
 " A bad town this Spellino," he muttered ; " but I, 
 Father Philip, thank the saints and Gentinetta, he thanks 
 his mother, for the wit which makes it possible for poor 
 servants of God to live." 
 
 The old servant thrust her head within. 
 
 " Tonino Scala is very sick," she said, " and calleth for 
 thee ! " 
 
 The priest nodded, rose from his seat, and took down a 
 thick leather-bound book. 
 
 " Lire thirty-six," he said " it is well. It begins to be 
 my time. This week Gentinetta and his younglings shall 
 have chicken-broth." 
 
 So with heartiest goodwill we bade our kind Father 
 Philip adieu, and fared forth upon our way.
 
 56 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE COUNTESS CASTEL DEL MONTE. 
 
 AFTER leaving Spellino we went downhill. There was 
 a plain beneath, but up on the hillside only the sheep were 
 feeding contentedly, all with their broad-tailed sterns turned 
 to us. The sun was shining on the white, diamond-shaped 
 causeway stones which led across a marshy place. We came 
 again to the foot of the hill. It had indeed been no more 
 than a dividing ridge, which we had crossed over by Spel- 
 lino. 
 
 We saw the riband of the road unwind before us. One 
 turn swerved out of sight, and one alone. But round this 
 curve, out of the unseen, there came toward us the tram- 
 pling of horses. A carriage dashed forward, the coachman's 
 box empty, the reins flying wide among the horses' feet. 
 There was but little time for thought ; yet as they passed I 
 caught at their heads, for I was used to horses. Then I 
 hung well back, allowing myself to be jerked forward in 
 great leaps, yet never quite loosing my hold. It was but a 
 chance, yet a better one than it looked. 
 
 At the turn of the road towards Spellino I managed to 
 set their heads to the hill, and the steep ascent soon brought 
 the stretching gallop of the horses to a standstill. 
 
 It seemed a necessary thing that there should be a lady 
 inside. I should have been content with any kind of lady, 
 but this one was both fair and young, though neither dis- 
 composed nor terrified, as in such cases is the custom. 
 
 " 1 trust Madame is not disarranged," I said in my poor 
 French, as I went from the horses' heads to the carriage and 
 assisted the lady to alight. 
 
 " It serves me right for bringing English horses here 
 without a coachman to match," she said in excellent Eng-
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 57 
 
 lish. " Such international misalliances do not succeed. 
 Italian horses would not have startled at an old beggar in a 
 red coat, and an English coachman would not have thrown 
 down the reins and jumped into the ditch. Ah, here we 
 have our Beppo " she turned to a flying figure, which came 
 labouring up hill. To him the lady gave the charge of the 
 panting horses, to me her hand. 
 
 " I must trouble you for your safe conduct to the hotel," 
 she said. Now, though her words were English, her manner 
 of speech was not. 
 
 By this time Henry had come up, and him I had to pre- 
 sent, which was likely to prove a difficulty to me, who did 
 not yet know the name of the lady. But she, seeing my 
 embarrassment, took pity on me, saying 
 
 " I am the Countess Castel del Monte," looking at me 
 out of eyes so broadly dark, that they seemed in certain 
 lights violet, like the deeps of the wine-hearted Greek sea. 
 
 By this time Beppo had the horses well under control, 
 and at the lady's invitation we all got into the carriage. 
 She desired, she said, that her brother should thank us. 
 
 We went upwards, turning suddenly into a lateral valley. 
 Here there was an excellent road, better than the Govern- 
 ment highway. We had not driven many miles when we 
 came in sight of a house, which seemed half Italian palazzo 
 and half Swiss cottage, yet which had nevertheless an unde- 
 fined air of England. There were balconies all about it, 
 and long rows of windows. 
 
 It did not look like a private house, and Henry and I 
 gazed at it with great curiosity. For me, I had already re- 
 solved that if it chanced to be a hotel, we should lodge there 
 that night. 
 
 The Countess talked to us all the way, pointing out the 
 objects of interest in the long row of peaks which backed 
 the Val Bergel with their snows and flashing Alpine steeps. 
 I longed to ask a question, but dared not. " Hotel " was
 
 58 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 what she had said, yet this place had scarcely the look of 
 one. But she afforded us an answer of her own accord. 
 
 " You must know that my brother has a fancy of playing 
 at landlord," she said, looking at us in a playful way. " He 
 has built a hostel for the English and the Italians of the 
 Court. It was to be a new Paris, was it not so ? And no 
 doubt it would have been, but that the distance was over 
 great. It was indeed almost a Paris in the happy days of 
 one summer. But since then I have been almost the only 
 guest." 
 
 " It is marvellously beautiful," I replied. " I would that 
 we might be permitted to become guests as well." 
 
 " As to that, my brother will have no objections, I am 
 sure," replied the Countess, " specially if you tell your coun- 
 trymen on your return to your own country. He counts on 
 the English to get him his money back. The French have 
 no taste for scenery. They care only for theatres and 
 pretty women, and the Italians have no money alas ! poor 
 Castel del Monte ! " 
 
 I understood that she was referring to her husband, and 
 said hastily 
 
 " Madame is Italian ? " 
 
 " Who knows ? " she returned, with a pretty, indescriba- 
 ble movement of her shoulders. " My father was a Eussian 
 of rank. He married an Englishwoman. I was born in 
 Italy, educated in England. I married an Italian of rank 
 at seventeen ; at nineteen I found myself a widow, and free 
 to choose the world as my home. Since then I have lived 
 as an Englishwoman expatriated for she of all human 
 beings is the freest." 
 
 I looked at her for an explanation. Henry, whose ap- 
 preciation of women was for the time-being seared by his 
 recent experience of Madame of the Red Eyelids, got out to 
 assist Beppo with the horses. In a little I saw him take 
 the reins. We were going slowly uphill all the time.
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 59 
 
 " In what way," I said, " is the Englishwoman abroad 
 the freest of all human beings ? " 
 
 " Because, being English, she is supposed to be a little 
 mad at any rate. Secondly, because she is known to be 
 rich, for all English are rich. And, lastly, because she is 
 recognised to be a woman of sense and discretion, having 
 the wisdom to live out of her own country." 
 
 We arrived on the sweep of gravel before the door. I 
 was astonished at the decorations. Upon a flat plateau of 
 small Bxtent, which lay along the edge of a small mountain 
 lake, gravelled paths cat the green sward in every direction. 
 The waters of the lake had been carefully led here and there, 
 in order apparently that they might be crossed by rustic 
 bridges which seemed transplanted from an opera. Little 
 windmills made pretty waterwheels to revolve, which in turn 
 set in motion mechanical toys and models of race courses in 
 open booths and gaily-painted summer-houses. 
 
 " You must not laugh," said the Countess gravely, seeing 
 me smile, " for this, you must know, is a mixture of the 
 courts of Italy and Eussia among the Alps. It is to my 
 brother a very serious matter. To me it is the Fair of 
 Asnieres and the madhouse at Charenton rolled into one.'' 
 
 I remarked that she did the place scant justice. 
 
 " Oh," she said, " the place is lovely enough, and in a 
 little while one becomes accustomed to the tomfoolery." 
 
 We ascended the steps. At the top stood a small dark 
 man, with a flash in his eyes which I recognised as kin to 
 the glance which Madame the Countess shot from hers, 
 save that the eyes of the man were black as jet. 
 
 "These gentlemen," said the Countess, "are English. 
 They are travelling for their pleasure, and one of them 
 stopped my stupid horses when the stupider Beppo let 
 them run away, and jumped himself into the ditch to save 
 his useless skin. You will thank the gentlemen for me, 
 Nicholas."
 
 60 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 The small dark man bowed low, yet with a certain re- 
 serve. 
 
 " You are welcome, messieurs," he said in English, spoken 
 with a very strong foreign accent. " I am greatly in your 
 debt that you have been of service to my sister." 
 
 He bowed again to both of us, without in the least dis- 
 tinguishing which of us had done the service, which I 
 thought unfair. 
 
 " It is my desire," he went on more freely, as one that 
 falls into a topic upon which he is accustomed to speak, 
 " that English people should be made aware of the beauty 
 of this noble plateau of Promontonio. It is a favourable 
 chance which brings you here. Will you permit me to show 
 you the hotel?" 
 
 He paused as though he felt the constraint of the cir- 
 cumstances. " Here, you understand, gentlemen, I am a 
 hotelkeeper. In my own country that is another matter. 
 I trust, gentlemen, I may receive you some day in my own 
 house in the province of Kasan." 
 
 " It will make us but too happy," said I, " if in your 
 capacity as landlord you can permit us to remain a few days 
 in this paradise." 
 
 I saw Henry look at me in some astonishment; but 
 his training forbade him to make any reply, and the 
 little noble landlord was too obviously pleased to do more 
 than bow. He rang a bell and called a very distinguished 
 gentleman in a black dress-coat, whose spotless attire made 
 our rough outfit look exceedingly disreputable, and the 
 knapsacks upon our backs no less than criminal. We de- 
 cided to send at once to Vico Averso for our baggage. 
 
 But these very eccentricities riveted the admiration of 
 our distinguished host, for only the mad English would 
 think of tramping through the Val Bergel in the heart of 
 May with a donkey's load on their backs. Herr Gutwein, 
 a mild, spectacled German, and the manager of this cosmo-
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 61 
 
 politan palace, was instructed to show us to the best rooms 
 in the house. From him we learned that the hotel was 
 nearly empty, but that it was being carried on at great loss, 
 in the hope of ultimate success. 
 
 We found it indeed an abode of garish luxury. In the 
 great salon, the furniture was crimson velvet and gold. All 
 the chairs were gilt. The very table-legs were gilded. There 
 were clocks chiming and ticking everywhere, no one of them 
 telling the right time. In the bedrooms which were lofty 
 and spacious, there were beautiful canopies, and the most 
 recent improvements for comfort. The sitting-rooms had 
 glass observatories built out, like swallows' nests plastered 
 against the sides of the house. Blue Vallauris vases were set 
 in the corners and filled with flowers. Turkey carpets of 
 red and blue covered the floor. Marvellous gold-worked 
 tablecloths from Smyrna were on the tables. Everywhere 
 there was a tinge of romance made real the dream of many 
 luxuries and civilisations transplanted and etherealised 
 among the mountains. 
 
 Then, when we had asked the charges for the rooms and 
 found them exceedingly reasonable, we received from the 
 excellent Herr Gutwein much information. 
 
 The hotel was the favourite hobby of Count Nicholas. It 
 was the dream of his life that he should make it pay. While 
 he lived .in it he paid tariff for his rooms and all that he had. 
 His sister also did the same, and all her suite. Indeed, the 
 working expenses were at present paid by Madame the 
 Countess of Castel del Monte, who was a half-sister of Count 
 Nicholas, and much younger. The husband of Madame was 
 dead some years. She had been married when no more than 
 a girl to an Italian of thrice her age. He, dying in the 
 second year of their marriage, had left her free to please her- 
 self as to what she did with her large fortune. Madame was 
 rich, eccentric, generous ; but to men generally more than a 
 little sarcastic and cold.
 
 62 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 At dinner that night Count Nicholas took the head of 
 the table, while Dr. Carson, the resident English physician, 
 sat at his left hand, and Madame at his right. I sat next to 
 the Countess, and Henry Fenwick next to the doctor. We 
 made a merry party. The Count opened for us a bottle of 
 Forzato and another of Sassella, of the quaint, untranslatable 
 bouquet which will not bear transportation over the seas, 
 and to taste which you must go to the Swiss confines of the 
 Valtellina. 
 
 " Lucia," said Count Nicholas, " you will join me in a 
 bottle of the Straw wine in honour of the stopping of the 
 horses ; and you will drink to the health of these gentlemen 
 who are with us to whom we owe so much." Afterwards we 
 drank to Madame, to the Count himself, and to the interests 
 of science in the person of the doctor. Then finally we 
 pledged the common good of the hotel and kursaal of the 
 Promontonio. 
 
 The Countess was dressed in some rose-coloured fabric, 
 thickly draped with black lace, through whose folds the 
 faint pink blush struggled upward with some suggestion of 
 rose fragrance, so sheathed was she in close-fitting drapery. 
 She looked still a very girl, though there was the slower 
 grace of womanhood in the lissom turn of her figure, slender 
 and svelte. Her blue-black hair had purple lights in it. And 
 her great dark violet eyes were soft as La Valliere's. I 
 know not why, but to myself I called her from that moment, 
 " My Lady of the Violet Crown." There was a passion- 
 flower in her hair, and on her pale face her lips, perfectly 
 shaped, lay like the twin petals of a geranium flower fallen 
 a little apart. 
 
 Dinner was over. The lingering lights of May were 
 shining through the hill-gaps, glorifying the scant woods 
 and the little mountain lake. Henry Fenwick and the 
 Count were soon deep in shooting and breechloaders. Pres- 
 ently they disappeared in the direction of the Count's rooms
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 63 
 
 to examine some new and beautiful specimens more at their 
 leisure. 
 
 In an hour Henry came rushing back to us in great ex- 
 citement. 
 
 " I have written for all my things from Lago d'Istria," 
 he said, " and I am getting my guns from home. There is 
 some good shooting, the Count says. Do you object to us 
 staying here a little time ? " 
 
 I did not contradict him, for indeed such a new-born de- 
 sire to abide in one place was at that moment very much to 
 my mind. And though I could not conceive what, save 
 rabbits, there could be to shoot in May on a sub- Alpine hill- 
 side, I took care not to say a word which might damp my 
 pupil's excellent enthusiasms. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LOVE ME A LITTLE NOT TOO MUCH. 
 
 I STOOD by the wooden pillars of the wide piazza and 
 watched the stars come out. Presently a door opened and 
 the Countess appeared. She had a black shawl of soft lace 
 about her head, which came round her shoulders and out- 
 lined her figure. 
 
 I knew that this must be that mantilla of Spain of which 
 I had read, and which I had been led to conceive of as a 
 clumsy and beauty-concealing garment, like the yakmash of 
 the Turks. But the goodliness of the picture was such that 
 in my own country I had never seen green nor grey which 
 set any maid one-half so well. 
 
 " Let us walk by the lake," she said, " and listen to the 
 night." 
 
 So quite naturally I offered her my arm, and she took it 
 as though it were a nothing hardly to be perceived. Yet in
 
 64 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Galloway of the hills it would have taken me weeks even to 
 conceive myself offering an arm to a beautiful woman. Here 
 such things were in the air. Nevertheless was my heart 
 beating wildly within me, like a bird's wings that must per- 
 force pulsate faster in a rarer atmosphere. So I held my 
 arm a little wide of my side lest she should feel my heart 
 throbbing. Foolish youth ! As though any woman does not 
 know, most of all one who is beautiful. So there on my arm, 
 light and white as the dropped feather of an angel's wing, 
 her hand rested. It was bare, and a diamond shone upon it. 
 
 The lake was a steel-grey mirror where it took the light 
 of the sky. But in the shadows it was dark as night. The 
 evening was very still, and only the Thai wind drew upward 
 largely and contentedly. 
 
 " Tell me of yourself ! " she said, as soon as we had 
 passed from under the shelter of the hotel. 
 
 I hesitated, for indeed it seemed a strange thing to speak 
 to so great a lady concerning the little moorland home, of 
 my mother, and all the simple people out there upon the 
 hills of sheep. 
 
 The Countess looked up at me, and I saw a light shine 
 in the depths of her eyes. 
 
 " You have a mother tell me of her ! " she said. 
 
 So I told her in simple words a tale which I had spoken 
 of to no one before of slights and scorns, for she was a 
 woman and understood. It came into my mind as I spoke 
 that as soon as I had finished she would leave me ; and I 
 slackened my arm that she might the more easily withdraw 
 her hand. But yet I spoke on faithfully, hiding nothing. 
 I told of our poverty, of the struggle with the hill-farm and 
 the backward seasons, of my mother who looked over the 
 moorland with sweet tired eyes as for some one that came 
 not. I spoke of the sheep that had been my care, of the 
 books I had read on .the heather, and of all the mystery 
 and the sadness of our life.
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 65 
 
 Then we fell silent, and the shadows of the sadness I 
 had left behind me seemed to shut out the kindly stars. I 
 would have taken my arm away, but that the Countess drew 
 it nearer to herself, clasping her hands about it, and said 
 
 softly 
 
 " Tell me more " and then, after a little pause, she 
 
 added, " and you may call me Lucia ! For have you not 
 saved my life ? " 
 
 Like a dream the old Edinburgh room, where with Gio- 
 vanni Turazza I read the Tuscan poets, came to me. An 
 ancient rhyme was in my head, and ere I was aware I mur- 
 mured 
 
 " Saint Lucy of the Eyes ! " 
 
 The Countess started as if she had been stung. 
 
 " No, not that not that," she said ; " I am not good 
 enough." 
 
 There was some meaning in the phrase to her which 
 was not known to me. 
 
 " You are good enough to be an angel I am sure," I 
 said foolishly, I fear. 
 
 There was a little silence, and a waft of scented air like 
 balm I think the perfume of her hair, or it may have been 
 the roses clambering on the wall. I know not. "We were 
 passing some. 
 
 " No," she said, very firmly, " not so, nor nearly so 
 only good enough to desire to be better, and to walk here 
 with you and listen to you telling of your mother." 
 
 We walked on thus till we heard the roar of the Trevisa 
 falls, and then turned back, pacing slowly along the shore. 
 The Countess kept her head hid beneath the mantilla, but 
 swayed a little towards me as though listening. And I 
 spoke out my heart to her as I had never done before. 
 Many of the things I said to her then, caused me to blush 
 at the remembrance of them for many days after. But 
 under the hush of night, with her hands pressing on my
 
 66 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 arm, the perfume of flowers in the air, and a warm woman's 
 heart beating so near mine, it is small wonder that I was 
 not quite myself. At last, all too soon, we came to the door, 
 and the Countess stood to say good-night. 
 
 " Good-night ! " she said, giving me her hand and look- 
 ing up, yet staying me with her great eyes ; " good -night, 
 friend of mine ! You saved my life to-day, or at least I 
 hold it so. It is not much to say, and I did not value it 
 highly, but you were not to know that. You have told me 
 much, and I think I know more. You are young. Twenty- 
 three is childhood. I am twenty-six, and ages older than 
 you. Remember, you are not to fall in love with me. You 
 have never been in love, I know. You do not know what 
 it is. So you must not grow to love me or, at least, not 
 too much. Then you will be ready when the True Love 
 that waits somewhere comes your way." 
 
 She left me standing without a word. She ran up the 
 steps swiftly. On the topmost she poised a moment, as a 
 bird does for flight. 
 
 " Good-night, Douglas ! " she said. " Stephen is a name 
 too common for you I shall call you Douglas. Remember, 
 you must love me a little but not too much." 
 
 I stood dull and stupid, in a maze of whirling thought. 
 My great lady had suddenly grown human, but human of a 
 kind that I had had no conception of. Only this morning 
 I had been opening the stores of very chill wisdom to my 
 pupil, Henry Fenwick of Allerton. Yet here, long ere 
 night was at its zenith, was I, standing amazed, trying 
 under the stars to remember exactly what a woman had 
 said, and how she looked when she said it. 
 
 " To love her a little yet not to love her too much." 
 
 That was the difficult task she had set me. How to 
 perform I knew not. 
 
 At the top of the steps I met Henry. 
 
 " Do you think that we need go on to-morrow morn-
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 67 
 
 ing ? " he said. " Do you not think we are in a very good 
 quarter of the world, and that we might do worse than stop 
 a while ? " 
 
 " If you wish it, I have no objections," I said, with due 
 caution. 
 
 " Thank you ! " he said, and ran off to give some further 
 directions about his guns. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE NEW DAY. 
 
 IT need not be wondered at that during the night I 
 slept little. It seemed such a strange thing which had 
 happened to me. That a great lady should lean upon my 
 arm a lady of whom before that day I had never heard 
 seemed impossible to my slow-moving Scots intelligence. 
 
 I sat most of the night by my window, from which I 
 looked down the valley. The moonlight was filling it. 
 The stars tingled keen and frosty above. Lucent haze of 
 colourless pearl-grey filled the chasm. On the horizon 
 there was a flush of rose, in the midst of which hung a 
 snowy peak like a wave arrested when it curves to break, 
 and on the upmost surge of white winked a star. 
 
 I opened the casement and flung it back. The cool, icy 
 air of night took hold on me. I listened. There came 
 from below the far sound of falling waters. Nearer at hand 
 a goat bleated keenly. A dull, muffled sound, vast and 
 mysterious, rose slumberously. I remembered that I was 
 near to the great Alps. Without doubt it was the rumble 
 of an avalanche. 
 
 But more than all these things, under this roof, closed 
 within the white curtains, was the woman who with her 
 well-deep, serene eyes had looked into my life. 
 6
 
 68 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow ! " I said to 
 myself, seeing the possibilities waver and thicken before me. 
 So I went to my bed, leaving the window open, and after a 
 time slept. 
 
 But very early I was astir. The lake lay asleep. The 
 shadows in its depths dreamed on untroubled. There was 
 not the lap of a wavelet on the shore. The stars diminished 
 to pin-points, and wistfully withdrew themselves into the 
 coming mystery of blue. Behind the eastern mountains 
 the sun rose not yet on us who were in the valley, but 
 flooding the world overhead with intense light. On the 
 second floor a casement opened and a blind was drawn 
 aside. There was nothing more a serving-maid, belike. 
 But my heart beat tumultuously. 
 
 Nova dies indeed, but I fear me not nova quies. But 
 when ever to a man was love a synonym for quietness? 
 Quietness is rest. Rest is embryonic sleep. Sleep is death's 
 brother. But, contrariwise, love to a man is life new life. 
 Life is energy the opening of new possibilities, the break- 
 ing of ancient habitudes. Sulky self -satisfactions are hunted 
 from their lair. Sloth is banished, selfishness done violence 
 to with swiftest poniard-stroke. 
 
 Again, even to a passionate woman love is rest. That 
 low sigh which comes from her when, after weary waiting, 
 at last her lips prove what she has long expected, is the sigh 
 for rest achieved. There is indeed nothing that she does 
 not know. But, for her, knowledge is not enough she de- 
 sires possession. The poorest man is glorified when she 
 takes him to her heart. She desires no longer to doubt and 
 fret only to rest and to be quiet. A woman's love when 
 she is true is like a heaven of Sabbaths. A man's, at his 
 best, like a Monday morn when the work of day and week 
 begins. For love, to a true man, is above all things a call 
 to work. And this is more than enough of theory. 
 
 Once I was in a manufacturing city when the horns of
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 69 
 
 the factories blew, and in every street there was the noise of 
 footsteps moving to the work of the day. It struck me as 
 infinitely cheerful. All these many men had the best of 
 reasons for working. Behind them, as they came out into 
 the chill morning air, they shut to the doors upon wife and 
 children. Why should they not work ? Why should they 
 desire to be idle ? Had I, methought, such reasons and 
 pledges for work I should never be idle, and therefore never 
 unhappy. For me, I choose a Monday morning of work 
 with the whistles blowing, and men shutting their doors 
 behind them. For that is what I mean by love. 
 
 All this came back to me as I walked alone by the lake 
 while the day was breaking behind the mountains. 
 
 As though she had heard the trumpet of my heart call- 
 ing her, she came. I did not see her till she was near me 
 on the gravel path which leads to the chalet by the lake. 
 There was a book of devotion in her hand. It was marked 
 with a cross. I had forgotten my prayers that morning till 
 I saw this. 
 
 Yet I hardly felt rebuked, for it was morning and the 
 day was before me. With so much that was new, the old 
 could well wait a little. For which I had bitterly to repent. 
 
 She looked beyond conception lovely as she came 
 towards me. Taller than I had thought, for I had not seen 
 her you must remember since. It seemed to me that in 
 the night she had been recreated, and came forth fresh 
 as Eve from the Eden sleep. Her eyelashes were so long 
 that they swept her cheeks ; and her eyes, that I had thought 
 to be violet, had now the sparkle in them which you may 
 see in the depths of the southern sea just where the sapphire 
 changes into amethyst. 
 
 Did we say good-morning? I forget, and it matters 
 little. We were walking together. How light the air 
 was ! cool and rapturous like snow-chilled wine that is 
 drunk beneath the rose at thirsty Teheran. The ground on
 
 70 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 which we trod, too, how strangely elastic ! The pine-trees 
 gave out how good a smell ! Is my heart beating at all, or 
 only so fine and quick that I cannot count its pulsings ? 
 
 What is she saying this lady of mine? I am not 
 speaking aloud only thinking. Cannot I think ? 
 
 She told me, I believe, why she had come out. I have 
 forgotten why. It was her custom thus to walk in the 
 prime. She had still the mantilla over her head, which, as 
 soon as the sun looked over the eastern crest of the moun- 
 tains, she let drop on her shoulders and so walked bareheaded, 
 with her head carried a trifle to the side and thrown back, 
 so that her little rounded chin was in the air. 
 
 " I have thought," she was saying when I came to my- 
 self, " all the night of what you told me of your home on 
 the hills. It must be happiness of the greatest and most 
 perfect, to be alone there with the voices of nature the 
 birds crying over the heather and the cattle in the fields." 
 
 " Good enough," I said, " it is for us moorland folk who 
 know nothing better than each other's society the bleating 
 sheep to take us out upon the hills and the lamp-light 
 streaming through the door as we return homewards." 
 
 " There is nothing better in this world ! " said the 
 Countess with emphasis. 
 
 But just then I was not at all of that mind. 
 
 " Ah, you think so," said I, " because you do not know 
 the hardness of the life and its weary sameness. It is 
 better to be free to wander where you will, in this old land 
 of enchantments, where each morning brings a new joy and 
 every sun a clear sky." 
 
 " You are young young," she said, shaking her head 
 musingly, " and you do not know. I am old. I have tried 
 many ways of life, and I know." 
 
 It angered me thus to hear her speak of being old. It 
 seemed to put her far from me. I remembered afterwards 
 that I spoke with some sharpness, like a petulant boy.
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 71 
 
 " You are not so much older than I, and a great lady 
 cannot know of the hardness of the life of those who have 
 to earn their daily bread." 
 
 She smiled in an infinitely patient way behind her eye- 
 lashes. 
 
 " Douglas," she said, " I have earned my living for more 
 years than the difference of age that is between us." 
 
 I looked at her in amazement, but she went on 
 
 " In my brother's country, which is Kussia, we are not 
 secure of what is our own, even for a day. We may well 
 pray there for our daily bread. In Kussia we learn the 
 meaning of the Lord's Prayer." 
 
 " But have you not," I asked, " great possessions in 
 Italy ? " 
 
 " I have," the Countess said, " an estate here that is my 
 own, and many anxieties therewith. Also I have, at pres- 
 ent, the command of wealth which I have never yet seen 
 bring happiness. But for all, I would that I dwelt on the 
 wide moors and baked my own bread." 
 
 I did not contradict her, seeing that her heart was set 
 on such things ; nevertheless, I knew better than she. 
 
 " You do not believe ! " she said suddenly, for I think 
 from the first she read my heart like a printed book. 
 " You do not understand ! "Well, I do not ask you to be- 
 lieve. You do not know me yet, though I know you. 
 Some day you will have proof ! " 
 
 " I believe everything you tell me," I answered fervently. 
 
 " Eemember," she said, lifting a finger at me " only 
 enough and not too much. Tell me what is your idea of 
 the place where I could be happy." 
 
 This I could answer, for I had thought of it. 
 
 " In a town of clear rivers and marble palaces," I 
 answered, " where there are brave knights to escort fair 
 ladies and save them from harm. In a city where to be a 
 woman is to be honoured, and to be young is to be loved."
 
 72 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " And you, young seer, that are of the moorland and the 
 heather," she said, " where would you be in such a city ? " 
 
 " As for me," I said, " I would stand far off and watch 
 you as you passed by." 
 
 "Ah, Messer Dante Alighieri, do not make a mistake. 
 I am no Beatrice. I love not chill aloofness. I am but 
 Lucia, here to-day and gone to-morrow. But rather than 
 all rhapsodies, I would that you were just my friend, and 
 no further off than where I can reach you my hand and you 
 can take it." 
 
 So saying, because we came to the little bridge where the 
 pines meet overhead, she reached me her hand at the word; 
 and as it lay in mine I stooped and kissed it, which seemed 
 the most natural thing in the world to do. 
 
 She looked at me earnestly, and I thought there was a 
 reproachful pity in her eyes. 
 
 " Friend of mine, you will keep your promise," she said. 
 I knew well enough what promise it was that she meant. 
 
 " Fear not," I replied ; " I promise and I keep." 
 
 Yet all the while my heart was busy planning how 
 through all the future I might abide near by her side. 
 
 We turned and walked slowly back. The hotel stood 
 clear and sharp in the morning sunshine, and a light wind 
 was making the little waves plash on the pebbles with a 
 pleasant clapping sound. 
 
 " See," she said, " here is my brother coming to meet us. 
 Tell me if you have been happy this morning ? " 
 
 " 0," I said quickly, " happy ! you know that without 
 needing to be told." 
 
 " No matter what I know," the Countess said, with a cer- 
 tain petulance, swift and lovable " tell it me." 
 
 So I said obediently, yet as one that means his words to 
 the full 
 
 " I have been happier than ever I thought to be this 
 morning ! "
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 73 
 
 " Lucia ! " she said, softly " say Lucia ! " 
 
 " Lucia ! " I answered to her will ; yet I thought she did 
 
 not well to try me so hard. 
 
 Then her brother came up briskly and heartily, like one 
 
 who had been a-f oot many hours, asking us how we did. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE CRIMSON SHAWL. 
 
 HENRY FENWICK and the Count went shooting. He 
 came and asked my leave as one who is uncertain of an an- 
 swer. And I gave it guiltily, saying to myself that anything 
 which took his mind off Madame Von Eisenhagen was cer- 
 tainly good. But there leaped in my heart a great hope 
 that, in what remained of the day, I might again see the 
 Countess. 
 
 I was grievously disappointed. For though I lounged 
 all the afternoon in the pleasant spaces by the lake, only the 
 servants of the great empty hotel passed at rare intervals. 
 Of Lucia I saw nothing, till the Count and Henry passed in 
 with their guns and found me with my book. 
 
 " Have you been alone all the afternoon ? " they said, in- 
 nocently enough. And it was some consolation to answer 
 " Yes," and so to receive their sympathy. 
 
 Henry came again to me after dinner. The Count was 
 going over the hills to the Forno glacier, and had asked 
 him ; but he would not go unless I wished it. I bade him 
 take my blessing and depart, and again he thanked me. 
 
 There was that night a band of thirty excellent perform- 
 ers to discourse music to the guests at the table being, as 
 the saw says, us four and no more. But the Count was 
 greatly at his ease, and told us tales of the forests of Eussia, 
 of wolf-hunts, and of other hunts when the wolves were *be
 
 74 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 hunters tales to make the blood run cold, yet not amiss 
 being recounted over a bottle of Forzato in the bright din- 
 ing-room. For, though it was the beginning of May, the 
 fire was sparkling and roaring upwards to dispel the chill 
 which fell with the evening in these high regions. 
 
 There is talk of mountaineering and of the English mad- 
 ness for it. The Count and Henry Fenwick are on a side. 
 Henry has been over long by himself on the Continent. He 
 is at present all for sport. Every day he must kill some- 
 thing, that he may have something to show. The Countess 
 is for the hills, as I am, and the elan of going ever upward. 
 So we fall to talk about the mountains that are about us, 
 and the Count says that it is an impossibility to climb them 
 at this season of the year. Avalanches are frequent, and the 
 cliffs are slippery with the daily sun-thaw congealing in thin 
 sheets upon the rocks. He tells us that there is one peak 
 immediately behind the hotel which yet remains unclimbed. 
 It is the Piz Langrev, and it rises like a tower. No man 
 could climb that mural precipice and live. 
 
 I tell them that I have never climbed in this country ; 
 but that I do not believe that there is a peak in the world 
 which cannot in some fashion or another be surmounted 
 time, money, and pluck being provided wherewith to 
 do it. 
 
 " You have a fine chance, my friend," says the Count 
 kindly, " for you will be canonised by the guides if you find 
 a way up the front of the Langrev. They would at once 
 clap on a tariff which would make their fortunes, in order 
 to tempt your wise countrymen, who are willing to pay vast 
 sums to have the risk of breaking their necks, yet who will 
 not invest in the best property in Switzerland when it is 
 offered to them for a song." 
 
 The Count is a little sore about his venture and its ill 
 success. 
 
 The Countess, who sits opposite to me to-night, looks
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 75 
 
 across and says, " I am sure that the peak can be climbed. 
 If Mr. Douglas says so, it can." 
 
 " I thank you, Madame," I say, bowing across at her. 
 
 Whereat the other two exclaim. It is (they say) but an 
 attempt on my part to claim credit with a lady, who is nat- 
 urally on the side of the adventurous. The thing is im- 
 possible. 
 
 " Countess," say I, piqued by their insistency, " if you 
 will give me a favour to be my drapeau de guerre, in twenty- 
 four hours I shall plant your colours on the battlements of 
 the Piz Langrev." 
 
 Certainly the Forzato had been excellent. 
 
 The Countess Lucia handed a crimson shawl, which had 
 fallen back from her shoulders, and which now hung over 
 the back of her chair, across the table to me. 
 
 " They are my colours ! " she said, with a light in her 
 eye as though she had been royalty itself. 
 
 Now, I had studied the Piz Langrev that afternoon, and 
 I was sure it could be done. I had climbed the worst preci- 
 pices in the Dungeon of Buchan, and looked into the nest 
 of the eagle on the Clints of Craignaw. It was not likely 
 that I would come to any harm so long as there was a foot- 
 hold or an armhold on the face of the cliff. At least, my 
 idiotic pique had now pledged me to the attempt, as well as 
 my pride, for above all things I desired to stand well in the 
 eyes of the Countess. 
 
 But when we had risen from table, and in the evening 
 light took our walk, she repented her of the giving of the 
 gage, and said that the danger was too great. I must forget 
 it how could she bear the anxiety of waiting below while I 
 was climbing the rocks of the Piz Langrev ? It pleased me 
 to hear her say so, but for all that my mind was not turned 
 away from my endeavour. 
 
 It was a foolish thing that I had undertaken, but it 
 sprang upon me in the way of talk. So many follies are
 
 76 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 committed because we men fear to go back upon our word. 
 The privilege of woman works the other way. Which is 
 as well, for the world would come to a speedy end if men 
 and women were to be fools according to the same follies. 
 
 The Countess was quieter to-night. Perhaps she felt 
 that her encouragement had led me into some danger. Yet 
 she had that sense of the binding nature of the "passed 
 word," which is perhaps strongest in women who are by na- 
 ture and education cosmopolitan. She did not any more 
 persuade me against my attempt, and soon went within. 
 She had said little, and we had walked along together for 
 the most part silent. Methought the stars were not so 
 bright to-night, and the glamour had gone from the bridge 
 under which the water was dashing white. 
 
 I also returned, for I had my arrangements to make for 
 the expedition. The weather did not look very promising, 
 for the Thai wind was bringing the heavy mist-spume pour- 
 ing over the throat of the pass, and driving past the hotel 
 in thin hissing wisps on a chill breeze. However, even in 
 May the frost was keen at night, and to-morrow might be a 
 day after the climber's heart. 
 
 I sought the manager in his sanctum of polished wood 
 a comptoir where there was little to count. Managers 
 were a fleeting race in the Kursaal Promontonio. The 
 Count was a kind master. But he was a Russian, and a 
 taskmaster like those of Egypt, in that he expected his 
 managers to make the bricks of dividends without the straw 
 of visitors. With him I covenanted to be roused at mid- 
 night. 
 
 Herr Gutwein was somewhat unwilling. He had not so 
 many visitors that he could afford to expend one on the 
 cliffs of the Piz Langrev. 
 
 I looked out on the lake and the mountains from the 
 window of my room before I turned in. They did not look 
 encouraging.
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. Y7 
 
 Hardly, it seemed, had my head touched the pillow, when 
 " clang, clang " went some one on my door. " It is half -past 
 twelve, Herr, and time to get up ! " 
 
 I saw the frost-flowers on the window-pane, and shiv- 
 ered. Yet there was the laughter of Henry and the Count 
 to be faced; and, above all, I had passed my word to 
 Lucia. 
 
 " Well, I suppose I may as well get up and take a look at 
 the thing, any way. Perhaps it may be snowing," I said, 
 with a devout hope that the blinds of mist or storm might 
 be drawn down close about the mountains. 
 
 But, pushing aside the green window-blind, I saw all 
 the stars twinkling; and the broad moon, a little worm- 
 eaten about the upper edge, was flinging a pale light over 
 the Forno glacier and the thick pines that hide Lake 
 Cavaloccia. 
 
 " Ah, it is cold ! " I flung open the hot-air register, but 
 the fires were out and the engineer asleep, for a draft of icy 
 wind came up direct from the snowfields. I slammed it 
 down, for the mercury in my thermometer was falling so 
 rapidly that I seemed to hear it tap-tapping on the bottom 
 of the scale. 
 
 Below there was a sleepy porter, who with the utmost 
 gruffness produced some lukewarm coffee, with stale, dry 
 slices of over-night bread, and flavoured the whole with an 
 evil-smelling lamp. 
 
 " Shriekingly cold, Herr ; yes, it is so in here ! " he said 
 in answer to my complaints. " Yes but, it is warm to 
 what it will be up there outside." 
 
 The pack was donned. The double stockings, the fin- 
 gerless woollen gloves were put on, and the earflaps of the 
 cap were drawn down. The door was opened quietly, and 
 the chill outer air met us like a wall. 
 
 " A good journey, my Herr ! " said the porter, a mocking 
 accent in his voice the rascal.
 
 78 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 I strode from under the dark shadow of the hotel, won- 
 dering if Lucia was asleep behind her curtains over the 
 porch. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE PIZ LANGREV. 
 
 PAST the waterfall and over the bridge our bridge 
 ran the path. As I turned my face to the mountain, there 
 was a strange constricted feeling about one corner of my 
 mouth, to which I put up a mittened hand. A small icicle 
 fell tinkling down. My feet were now beginning to get a 
 little warm, but I felt uncertain whether my ears were hot 
 or cold. There was a strange unattached feeling about 
 them. Had I not been reading somewhere of a mountaineer 
 who had some such feeling ? He put his hand to his ear 
 and broke off a piece as one breaks a bit of biscuit. A 
 horrid thought, but one which assuredly stimulates at- 
 tention. 
 
 Then I took off one glove and rubbed the ear vigorously 
 with the warm palm of my hand. There was a tingling 
 glow, as though some one were striking lucifer matches all 
 along the rim ; soon there was do doubt that the circulation 
 was effectually restored. En avant ! Ears are useless 
 things at the best. 
 
 I kept my head down, climbing steadily. But with the 
 tail of my eye I could see that the hills had a sprinkling of 
 snow the legacy of the Thai wind which last night 
 brought the moisture up the valley. Only the crags of the 
 Piz Langrev were black above me, with a few white streaks 
 in the crevices where the snow lies all the year. The cliffs 
 were too steep for the snow to lie upon them, the season too 
 far advanced for it to remain on the lower slopes. 
 
 The moon was lying over on her back, and the stars
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 79 
 
 tingled through the frosty air. The lake lay black beneath 
 on a grey world, plain as a blot of ink on a boy's copy- 
 book. 
 
 Yet I had only been climbing among the rocks a very 
 few moments when every nerve was thrilling with warmth 
 and all the arteries of the body were filled with a rushing 
 tide of jubilant life. " This is noble ! " I said to myself, as 
 if I had never had a thought of retreat. A glow of heat 
 came through my woollen gloves from the black rocks up 
 which I climbed. 
 
 But I had gradually been getting out of the clear path 
 on the face of the rocks into a kind of gully. I did not like 
 the look of the place. There was a ground and polished 
 look about the rocks at the sides which did not please me. 
 I have seen the like among the Glints of Minnigaff, where 
 the spouts of shingle make their way over the cliff. In 
 the cleft was a kind of curious snow, dry like sand, creak- 
 ing and binding together under foot amazingly like 
 pounded ice. 
 
 In the twinkling of an eye I had proof that I was right. 
 There was a kind of slushy roaring above, a sharp crack or 
 two as of some monster whip, and a sudden gust filled the 
 gully. There was just time for me to throw myself side- 
 ways into a convenient cleft, and to draw feet up as close to 
 chin as possible, when that hollow which had seemed my 
 path, and high up the ravine on either side, was filled with 
 tumbling, hissing snow, while the rocks on either side 
 echoed with the musketry spatter of stones and ice-pellets. 
 
 I felt something cold on my temple. As the glove came 
 down from touching it, there was a stain on the wool. A 
 button of ice, no larger than a shilling, spinning on its 
 edge, had neatly clipped a farthing's-worth out of the skin 
 as neatly as the house-surgeon of an hospital could do it. 
 
 At this point the story of a good Highland minister 
 came up in my mind inopportunely, as these things will.
 
 80 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 He was endeavouring to steer a boat-load of city young- 
 ladies to a landing-place. A squall was bursting ; the har- 
 bour was difficult. One of the girls annoyed him by jump- 
 ing up and calling anxiously, " 0, where are we going to ? 
 Where are we going to ? " " If you do not sit down and 
 keep still, my young leddy," said the minister-pilot suc- 
 cinctly, " that will verra greatly depend on how you was 
 brocht up ! " 
 
 The place at which I remembered this might have been 
 a fine place for an observatory. It was not so convenient 
 for reminiscence. Here the path ended. I was as far as 
 Turn Back. I therefore tried more round to the right. 
 The rocks were so slippery with the melted snow of yester- 
 day that the nails in my boots refused to grip. But pres- 
 ently there remained only a snow-slope, and a final pull up 
 a great white-fringed bastion of rock. Here was the sum- 
 mit ; and even as I reached it, over the Bernina the morn- 
 ing was breaking clear. 
 
 I took from my back the pine-branch which had been 
 such a difficulty to me in the narrow places of the ascent ; 
 and with the first ray of the morning sun, from the sum- 
 mit of Langrev the pennon of the Countess Lucia streamed 
 out. I thought of Manager Gutwein down there on the 
 look-out, and I rejoiced that I had pledged him to secrecy. 
 
 Gutwein there was a sound as of cakes and ale in the 
 very name. 
 
 A little way beneath the summit, where the Thai wind 
 does not vex, I sat me down on the sunny eastern side to 
 consult with the Gutwein breakfast. A bottle of cold tea 
 " Hum," said I ; " that may keep till I get further down. 
 It will be useful in case of emergency there is nothing 
 like cold tea in an emergency. Imprimis, half a bottle of 
 Forzato our old Straw wine. How thoughtless of Gut- 
 wein! He ought to have remembered that that particular 
 sort does not keep. We had better take it now ! " There
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 81 
 
 was also half a chicken, some clove-scented Graubimden- 
 fleisch, four large white rolls, crisp as an Engadine cook 
 can make them, half a pound of butter in each excel- 
 lent Gutwein great and judicious Gutwein ! 
 
 But no more for the sun was climbing the sky, and I 
 must go down with a rush to be in time for the late break- 
 fast of the hotel. 
 
 The rocks came first no easy matter with the sun on 
 them for half an hour ; but they at last were successfully 
 negotiated. Then came the long snow-slope. This we 
 went down all sails set. I hear that the process is named 
 glissading in this country. It is called hunker-sliding in 
 Scotland among the Galloway hills a favourite occupation 
 of politicians. It added to the flavour that we might very 
 probably finish all standing in a crevasse. Snow rushed 
 past, flew up one's nose and froze there. It did not behave 
 itself thus when we slid down Craig Ronald and whizzed 
 out upon the smooth breast of Loch Grannoch. I was re- 
 flecting on this unwarrantable behaviour of the snow, when 
 there came a bump, a somersault, a slide, a scramble. 
 " Dear me ! " I say ; " how did this happen ? " Ears, eyes, 
 mouth, nose were full of fine powdered snow also, there 
 were tons down one's back. Cold as charity, but no great 
 harm done. 
 
 The table was set for the dejeuner in the dining-room 
 of the hotel. The Count was standing rubbing his hands. 
 Henry, who had been shooting at a mark, came in smelling 
 of gun-oil; and after a little pause of waiting came the 
 Countess. 
 
 " Where," said the Count, " is our Alpinist ? " 
 
 Henry had not seen him that day. He was no doubt 
 somewhere about. But Herr Gutwein smiled, and also the 
 waiter. They knew something. There was a crying at the 
 door. The porter, full of noisy admiration, rang the great 
 bell as for an arrival. Gutwein disappeared. The Count
 
 82 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 followed, then came Lucia and Henry. At that moment I 
 arrived, outwardly calm, with my clothes carefully dusted 
 from travel-stains, all the equipment of the ascent left 
 in the wayside chalet by the bridge. I gave an easy good- 
 morning to the group, taking off my hat to Madame. The 
 Count cried disdainfully that I was a slug-a-bed. Henry 
 asked with obvious sarcasm if I had not been up the Piz 
 Langrev. The Countess held out her hand in an uncertain 
 way. Certainly I must have been very young, for all this 
 gave me intense pleasure. Especially did my heart leap 
 when I took the Countess to the window a little to the 
 right, and, pointing with one hand upwards, put the 
 Count's binocular into her hands. The sun of the mid- 
 noon was shining on a black speck floating from the top- 
 most cliff of the Piz Langrev. As she looked she flung out 
 her hand to me, still continuing to gaze with the glass held 
 in the other. She saw her own scarlet favour flying from 
 the pine-branch. That cry of wonder and delight was 
 better to me than the Victoria Cross. I was young then. 
 It is so good to be young, and better to be in love. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PURPLE CHALET. 
 
 OUR life at the Kursaal Promontonio was full of change 
 and adventure. For adventures are to the adventurous. In 
 the morning we read quietly together, Henry and I, begin- 
 ning as soon as the sun touched our balcony, and continu- 
 ing three or four hours, with only such intermission as the 
 boiling of our spirit-lamp and the making of cups of tea 
 afforded to the steady work of the morning. 
 
 Then at breakfast-time the work of the day was over.
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 83 
 
 We were ready to make the most of the long hours of sun- 
 shine which remained. Sometimes we rowed with Lucia 
 and her brother on the lake, dreaming under the headlands 
 and letting the boat drift among the pictured images of the 
 mountains. 
 
 Oftener the Count and Henry would go to their shoot- 
 ing, or away on some of the long walks which they took in 
 company. 
 
 One evening it happened that M. Bourget, the architect 
 of the hotel, a bright young Belgian, was at dinner with us, 
 and the conversation turned upon the illiber-al policy of the 
 new Belgian Government. Most of the guests at table were 
 landowners and extreme reactionaries. The conversation 
 took that insufferably brutal tone of repression at all 
 hazards which is the first thought of the governing classes 
 of a despotic country, when alarmed by the spread of liberal 
 opinions. 
 
 I could see that both the Count and Lucia put a strong 
 restraint upon themselves, for I knew that their sympathies 
 were with the oppressed of their own nation. But the ex- 
 citement of M. Bourget was painful to see. He could speak 
 but little English (for out of compliment to us the Count 
 and the others were speaking English) ; and though on 
 several occasions he attempted to tell the company that 
 matters in his country were not as they were being repre- 
 sented, he had not sufficient words to express his meaning, 
 and so subsided into a dogged silence. 
 
 My own acquaintance with the political movements in 
 Europe was not sufficient to enable me to claim any special 
 knowledge ; but I knew the facts of the Belgian dispute 
 well enough, and I made a point of putting them clearly 
 before the company. As I did so, I saw the Count lean 
 towards me, his face whiter than usual and his eyes dark 
 and intense. The Countess, too, listened very intently ; but 
 the architect could not keep his seat. 
 7
 
 84: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 As soon as I had finished he rose, and, coming round to 
 where I sat, offered me his hand. 
 
 " You have spoken well," he said ; " you are my brother. 
 You have said what I was not able to say myself." 
 
 On the next day the architect, to show his friendship, 
 offered to take us all over a chalet which had been built on 
 the cliffs above the Kursaal, of which very strange tales had 
 gone abroad. The Count and Henry had not come back 
 from one of their expeditions, so that only the Countess 
 Lucia and myself accompanied M. Bourget. 
 
 As we went he told us a strange story. The chalet was 
 built and furnished to the order of a German countess from 
 Mannheim, who, having lost her husband, conceived that 
 the light of her life had gone out, and so determined to 
 dwell in an atmosphere of eternal gloom. 
 
 To the outer view there was nothing extraordinary about 
 the place a chalet in the Swiss-Italian taste, with wooden 
 balconies and steep outside stairs. 
 
 M. Bourget threw open the outer door, to which we 
 ascended by a wide staircase. We entered, and found our- 
 selves in a very dark hall. All the woodwork was black as 
 ebony, with silver lines on the panels. The floor was 
 polished work of parquetry, but black also. The roof was 
 of black wood. The house seemed to be a great coffin. 
 Next we went into a richly furnished dining-room. There 
 were small windows at both ends. The hangings here were 
 again of the deepest purple so dark as almost to be black. 
 The chairs were upholstered in the same material. All the 
 woodwork was ebony. The carpet was of thick folds of 
 black pile on which the feet fell noiselessly. M. Bourget 
 flung open the windows and let in some air, for it was close 
 and breathless inside. I could feel the Countess shudder as 
 my hand sought and found hers. 
 
 So we passed through room after room, each as funereal 
 as the other, till we came to the last of all. It was to be the
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 85 
 
 bedroom of the German widow. M. Bourget, with the in- 
 stinct of his nation, had arranged a little coup de theatre. 
 He flung open the door suddenly as we stood in one of the 
 gloomy, black-hung rooms. Instantly our eyes were almost 
 dazzled. This furthest room was hung with pure white. 
 The carpet was white ; the walls and roof white as milk. 
 All the furniture was painted white. The act of stepping 
 from the blackness of the tomb into this cold, chill white- 
 ness gave me a sense of horror for which I could not ac- 
 count. It was like the horror of whiteness which sometimes 
 comes to me in feverish dreams. 
 
 But I was not prepared for its effects upon the Countess. 
 
 She turned suddenly and clung to my arm, trembling 
 violently. 
 
 " take me away from this place ! " she said earnestly. 
 
 M. Bourget was troubled and anxious, but I whispered 
 that it was only the closeness of the rooms which made 
 Madame feel a little faint. So we got her out quickly into 
 the cool bright sunshine of the Alpine pastures. The 
 Countess Lucia recovered rapidly, but it was a long while 
 before the colour came back to her cheeks. 
 
 " That terrible, terrible place ! " she said again and 
 again. " I felt as though I were buried alive shrouded in 
 white, coffined in mort-cloths ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE WHITE OWL. 
 
 To distract her mind I told her tales of the grey city of 
 the North where I had been colleged. I told of the bleak 
 and biting winds which cut their way to the marrow of the 
 bones. I described the students rich and poor, but mostly 
 poor, swarming into the gaunt quadrangles, reading eagerly
 
 86 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 in the library, hasting grimly to be wise, posting hotfoot to 
 distinction or to death. She listened with eyes intent. 
 " We have something like that in Russia," she said ; " but 
 then, as soon as these students of ours become a little wise, 
 they are cut off, or buried in Siberia." But I think that, 
 with all her English speech and descent, Lucia never fully 
 understood that these students of ours were wholly free to 
 come or go, talk folly or learn sense, say and do good and 
 evil, according to the freedom of their own wills. I told of 
 our debating societies, where in the course of one debate 
 there is often enough treason talked to justify Siberia and 
 yet, after all, the subject under discussion would only be, 
 " Is the present Government worthy of the confidence of 
 the country ? " 
 
 " And then what happens ? What does the Government 
 say ? " asked Lucia. 
 
 ". Ah, Countess ! " I said, " in my country the Govern- 
 ment does not care to know what does not concern it. It 
 sits aloft and aloof. The Government does not care for the 
 chatter of all the young fools in its universities." 
 
 So in the tranced seclusion of this Alpine valley the 
 summer of the year went by. The flowers carpeted the 
 meadows, merging from pink and blue to crimson and rus- 
 set, till with the first snow the Countess and her brother 
 announced their intention of taking flight she to the 
 Court of the South, and he to his estates in the North. 
 
 The night before her departure we walked together by 
 the lake. She was charmingly arrayed in a scarlet cloak 
 lined with soft brown fur ; and I thought for I was but 
 three-and-twenty that the turned-up collar threw out her 
 chin in an adorable manner. She looked like a girl. And 
 indeed, as it proved, for that night she was a girl. 
 
 At first she seemed a little sad, and when I spoke of 
 seeing her again at the Court of the South she remained 
 silent, so that I thought she feared the trouble of having us
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 87 
 
 on her hands there. So in a moment I chilled, and would 
 have taken my hand from hers, had she permitted it. But 
 suddenly, in a place where there are sands and pebbly 
 beaches by the lakeside, she turned and drew me nearer to 
 her, holding me meantime by the hand. 
 
 ** You will not go and forget ? " she said. " I have 
 many things to forget. I want to remember this this good 
 year and this fair place and you. But you, with your youth 
 and your innocent Scotland you will go and forget. Per- 
 haps you already long to go back thither." 
 
 I desired to tell her that I had never been so happy in 
 my life. I might have told her that and more, but in her 
 fierce directness she would not permit me. 
 
 " There is a maid who sits in one of the tall grey houses 
 of which you speak, or among the moorland farms sits and 
 waits for you, and you write to her. You are always writ- 
 ing writing. It is to that girl. You will pass away and 
 think no more of Lucia ! n 
 
 And I what could or did I reply ? I think that I did 
 the best, for I made no answer at all, but only drew her so 
 close to me that the adorable chin, being thrown out fur- 
 ther than ever, rested for an instant on my shoulder. 
 
 " Lucia," I said to her " not Countess any more little 
 Saint Lucy of the Eyes, hear me. I am but a poor moor- 
 land lad, with little skill to speak of love ; but with my 
 heart I love you even thus and thus and thus." 
 
 And I think that she believed, for it comes natural to 
 Galloway to make love well. 
 
 In the same moment we heard the sound of voices, and 
 there were Henry and the Count walking to and fro on the 
 terrace above us in the blessed dark, prosing of guns and 
 battues and shooting. 
 
 Lucia trembled and drew away from me, but I put my 
 finger to her lip and drew her nearer the wall, where the 
 creepers had turned into a glorious wine-red. There we
 
 88 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 stood hushed, not daring to move ; but holding close the 
 one to the other as the feet of the promenaders waxed and 
 waned above us. Their talk of birds and beasts came in 
 wafts of boredom to us, thus standing hand in hand. 
 
 I shivered a little, whereat the Countess, putting a hand 
 behind me, drew a fold of her great scarlet cloak round 
 me protectingly as a mother might. So, with her mouth 
 almost in my ear, she whispered, " This is delightful is it 
 not so? Pray, just hearken to Nicholas: 'With that I 
 fired.' ' Then we tried the covert.' * The lock jammed.' 
 * Forty-four brace.' Listen to the huntsmen ! Shall we 
 startle them with the horn, tra-la? " And she thrilled with 
 laughter in my ear there in the blissful dark, till I had to 
 put that over her mouth which silenced her. 
 
 " Hush, Lucy, they will hear ! Be sage, littlest," I said 
 in Italian, like one who orders, for (as I have said) Galloway 
 even at twenty-three is no dullard in the things of love. 
 
 " Poor Nicholas ! " she said again. 
 
 " Nay, poor Henry, say rather ! " said I, as the footsteps 
 drew away to the verge of the terrace, waxing fine and thin 
 as they went further from us. 
 
 " Hear me," said she. " I had better tell you now. 
 Nicholas wishes me greatly to marry one high in power in 
 our own country one whose influence would permit him to 
 go back to his home in Eussia and live as a prince as 
 before." 
 
 " But you will not you cannot " I began to say to 
 
 her. 
 
 " Hush ! " she said, laughing a little in my ear. " I cer- 
 tainly shall if you cry out like that " for the footsteps 
 were drawing nearer again. We leaned closer together 
 against the parapet in the little niche where the creepers 
 grew. And the dark grew more fragrant. She drew the 
 great cloak about us both, round my head also. Her own 
 was close to mine, and the touch of her hair thrilled me,
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 89 
 
 quickening yet more the racing of my heart, and making 
 me light-headed like unaccustomed wine. 
 
 " Countess ! " I said, searching for words to thrill her 
 heart as mine was thrilled already. 
 
 " Monsieur ! " she replied, and drew away the cloak a 
 little, making to leave me, but not as one that really in- 
 tends to go. 
 
 " Lucia," I said hastily, " dear Lucy " 
 
 " Ah ! " she said, and drew the cloak about us again. 
 
 And what we said after that, is no matter to any. 
 
 But we forgot, marvel at it who will, to hearken to the 
 footsteps that came and went. They were to us meaning- 
 less as the lapse of the waves on the shore, pattering an ac- 
 companiment above the soft sibilance of our whispered talk, 
 making our converse sweeter. 
 
 Yet we had done well to listen a little. 
 
 "... I think it went in there," said the voice of the 
 Count, very near to us and just above our heads. " I judge 
 it was a white owl." 
 
 " I shall try to get it for the Countess ! " said Henry. 
 
 Then I heard the most unmistakable, and upon occasion 
 also the most thrilling, of sounds the clicking of a well- 
 oiled lock. My heart leapt within me no longer flying in 
 swift, light fashion like footsteps running, but bounding 
 madly in great leaps. 
 
 Silently I swept the Countess behind me into the recess 
 of the niche, forcing her down upon the stone seat, and 
 bending my body like a shield over her. 
 
 In a moment Henry's piece crashed close at my ear, a 
 keen pain ran like molten lead down my arm ; and, spite 
 of my hand upon her lips, Lucia gave a little cry. "I 
 think I got it that time ! " I heard Henry's voice say. 
 " Count, run round and see. I shall go this way." 
 
 " Run, Lucy," I whispered, " they are coming. They 
 must not find you."
 
 90 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " But you are hurt ? " she said anxiously. 
 
 " No," I said, lying to her, as a man does so easily to a 
 woman, " I am not at all hurt. Have I hurt you ? " 
 
 For I had thrust her behind me with all my might. 
 
 " I cannot tell yet whether you have hurt me or not," 
 she said. " You men of the North are too strong ! " 
 
 " But they come. Run, Lucy, beloved ! " I said. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A NIGHT ASSAULT. 
 
 AND she melted into the night, swiftly as a bird goes. 
 Then I became aware of flying footsteps. It seemed that I 
 had better not be found there, lest I should compromise the 
 Countess with her brother, and find myself with a duel 
 upon my hands in addition to my other embarrassments. 
 So I set my toes upon the little projections of the stone 
 parapet, taking advantage of the hooks which confined the 
 creepers, and clutching desperately with my hands, so that 
 I scrambled to the top just as the Count and Henry met 
 below. 
 
 " Strike a light, Count," I heard Henry say ; " I am 
 sure I hit something. I heard a cry." 
 
 A light flamed up. There was the rustling noise of the 
 broad leaves of the creeper being pushed aside. 
 
 " Here is blood ! " cried Henry. " I was sure I hit 
 something that time ! " 
 
 His tone was triumphant. 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Monsieur," said the calm voice of 
 the Count ; " if you go through the world banging off shots 
 on the chance of shooting white owls which you do not see, 
 you are indeed likely to hit something. But whether you 
 will like it after it is hit, is another matter."
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 91 
 
 Then I went indoors, for my arm was paining me. In 
 my own room I eagerly examined the wound. It was but 
 slight. A pellet or two had grazed my arm and ploughed 
 their way along the thickness of the skin, but none had en- 
 tered deeply. So I wrapped my arm in a little lint and 
 some old linen, and went to bed. 
 
 I did not again see the Countess till noon on the mor- 
 row, when her carriage was at the door and she tripped 
 down the steps to enter. 
 
 The Count stood by it, holding the door for her to enter 
 I midway down the broad flight of steps. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said, holding out her hand, from which 
 she deftly drew the glove. " We shall meet again." 
 
 " God grant it ! I live for that ! " said I, so low that 
 the Count did not hear, as I bent to kiss her hand. For in 
 these months I had learned many things. 
 
 At this moment Henry came up to say farewell, and he 
 shook her hand with boyish affectation of the true British 
 indifference, which at that time it was the correct thing for 
 Englishmen to assume at parting. 
 
 " Nice boy ! " said the Countess indulgently, looking up 
 at me. The Count bowed and smiled, and smiled and 
 bowed, till the carriage drove out of sight. 
 
 Then in a moment he turned to me with a fierce and 
 frowning countenance. 
 
 "And now, Monsieur, I have the honour to ask you to 
 explain all this ! " 
 
 I stood silent, amazed, aghast. There was in me no 
 speech, nor reason. Yet I had the sense to be silent, lest I 
 should say something maladroit. 
 
 A confidential servant brought a despatch. The Count 
 impatiently flung it open, glanced at it, then read it care- 
 fully twice. He seemed much struck with the contents. 
 
 " I am summoned to Milan," he said, " and upon the in- 
 stant. I shall yet overtake my sister. May I ask Monsieur
 
 92 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 to have the goodness to await me here that I may receive 
 his explanations ? I shall return immediately." 
 
 " You may depend that I shall wait," I said. 
 
 The Count bowed, and sprang upon the horse which his 
 servant had saddled for him. 
 
 But the Count did not immediately return, and we 
 waited in vain. No letter came to me. No communication 
 to the manager of the hostel. The' Count had simply rid- 
 den out of sight over the pass through which the Thai wind 
 brought the fog-spume. He had melted like the mist, and, 
 so far as we were concerned, there was an end. We waited 
 here till the second snow fell, hardened, and formed its 
 sleighing crust. 
 
 Then we went, for some society to Henry, over to the 
 mountain village of Bergsdorf, which strings itself along 
 the hillside above the Eiver Inn. 
 
 Bergsdorf is no more than a village in itself, but, being 
 the chief place of its neighbourhood, it supports enough 
 municipal and other dignitaries to set up an Imperial Court. 
 Never was such wisdom never such pompous solemnity. 
 The Burgomeister of Bergsdorf was a great elephant of a 
 man. He went abroad radiating self-importance. He per- 
 spired wisdom on the coldest day. The other officials imi- 
 tated the Burgomeister in so far as their corporeal condition 
 allowed. The cure only was excepted. He was a thin, 
 spare man with an ascetic face and a great talent for lan- 
 guages. One day during service he asked a mother to carry 
 out a crying child, making the request in eight languages. 
 Yet the mother failed to understand till the limping old 
 apparator led her out by the arm. 
 
 There is no doubt that the humours of Bergsdorf light- 
 ened our spirits and cheered our waiting ; for it is my expe- 
 rience that a young man is easily amused with new, bright, 
 and stirring things even when he is in love. 
 
 And what amused us most was that excellent sport
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 93 
 
 now well known to the world, but then practised only in the 
 mountain villages the species of adventure which has come 
 to be called "tobogganing." I fell heir in a mysterious 
 fashion to a genuine Canadian toboggan, curled and buffalo- 
 robed at the front, flat all the way beneath ; and upon this, 
 with Henry on one of the ordinary sleds with runners of 
 steel, we spent many a merry day. 
 
 There was a good run down the road to the post village 
 beneath ; another, excellent, down a neighbouring pass. 
 But the best run of all started from high up on the hillside, 
 crossed the village street, and undulated down the hillside 
 pastures to the frozen Inn river below a splendid course of 
 two miles in all. But as a matter of precaution it was 
 strictly forbidden ever to be used at least in that part of it 
 which crossed the village street. For such projectiles as 
 laden toboggans, passing across the trunk line of the village 
 traffic at an average rate of a mile a minute, were hardly 
 less dangerous than cannon-balls, and of much more erratic 
 flight. 
 
 Nevertheless, there was seldom a night when we did not 
 risk all the penalties which existed in the city of Bergsdorf, 
 by defying all powers and regulations whatsoever and run- 
 ning the hill-course in the teeth of danger. 
 
 I remember one clear, starlight night with the snow 
 casting up just enough pallid light to see by. Half a dozen 
 of us Henry and myself, a young Swiss doctor newly di- 
 plomaed, the adventurous advocate of the place, and several 
 others went up to make our nightly venture. We gave 
 half a minute's law to the first starter, and then followed on. 
 I was placed first, mainly because of the excellence of my 
 Canadian iceship. As I drew away, the snow sped beneath ; 
 the exhilarating madness of the ride entered into my blood. 
 I whooped with sheer delight. . . . There was a curve or 
 two in the road, and at the critical moment, by shifting the 
 weight of my body and just touching the snow with the
 
 94 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 point of the short iron-shod stick I held in my hand, the 
 toboggan span round the curve with the delicious clean cut 
 of a skate. It seemed only a moment, and already I was 
 approaching the critical part of my journey. The stray oil- 
 lights of the village street began to waver irregularly here 
 and there beneath me. I saw the black gap in the houses 
 through which I must go. I listened for the creaking run- 
 ners of the great Valtelline wine-sledges which constituted 
 the main danger. All was silent and safe. But, just as I 
 drew a long breath, and settled for the delicious rise over 
 the piled snow of the street and the succeeding plunge down 
 to the Inn, a vast bulk heaved itself into the seaway, like 
 some lost monster of a Megatherium retreating to the 
 swamps to couch itself ere morning light. 
 
 It was the Burgomeister of Bergsdorf. 
 
 " Acht u um m ! " I shouted, as one who, on the 
 Scottish links, should cry " Fore ! " and be ready to commit 
 murder. 
 
 But the vision solemnly held up its hand and cried 
 " Halt ! " 
 
 " Halt yourself ! " I cried, " and get out of the way ! " 
 For I was approaching at a speed of nearly a mile a minute. 
 Now, there is but one way of halting a toboggan. It is to 
 run the nose of your machine into a snow-bank, where it 
 will stick. On the contrary, you do not stop. You describe 
 the curve known as a parabola, and skin your own nose on 
 the icy crust of the snow. Then you " halt," in one piece 
 or several, as the case may be. 
 
 But I, on this occasion, did not halt in this manner. 
 The mind moves swiftly in emergencies. I reflected that I 
 had a low Canadian toboggan with a soft buffalo-skin over 
 the front. The Burgomeister also had naturally well-pad- 
 ded legs. Eh, bien a meeting of these two could do no 
 great harm to either. So I sat low in my seat, and let the 
 toboggan run.
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 95 
 
 Down I came flying, checked a little at the rise for the 
 crossing of the village street. A mountainous bulk tow- 
 ered above me a bulk that still and anon cried " Halt ! " 
 There was a slight shock and a jar. The stars were eclipsed 
 above me for a moment; something like a large tea-tray 
 passed over my head and fell flat on the snow behind me. 
 Then I scudded down the long descent to the Inn, leaving 
 the village and all its happenings miles behind. 
 
 I did not come up the same way. I did not desire to 
 attract immodest attention. Unobtrusively, therefore, I 
 proceeded to leave my toboggan in its accustomed outhouse 
 at the back of the Osteria. Then, slipping on another 
 overcoat, I took an innocent stroll along the village street, 
 in the company of the landlord. 
 
 There was a great crowd on the corner by the Kathhaus. 
 In the centre was Henry, in the hands of two officers of 
 justice. The Burgomeister, supported by sympathising 
 friends, limped behind. There is no doubt that Henry 
 was exercising English privileges. His captors were un- 
 happy. But I bade him go quietly, and with a look of 
 furious bewilderment he obeyed. Finally we got the hotel- 
 keeper, a staunch friend of ours and of great importance in 
 these parts, to bail him out. 
 
 On the morrow there was a deliciously humorous trial. 
 The young advocate was in attendance, and the whole vil- 
 lage was called to give evidence. But, curiously enough, I 
 was not summoned. I had been, it seemed, in the hotel 
 changing my clothes. However, I was not missed, for 
 everybody else had something to say. There were excel- 
 lent plans of the ground, showing where the miscreant as- 
 saulted the magistrate. There, plain to be seen, was the 
 mark in the snow where Henry, starting half a minute after 
 me, and observing a vast prostrate bulk on the path, had 
 turned his toboggan into the snowbank, duly described his 
 parabola, discuticled his nose in fact, fulfilled the pro-
 
 96 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 gramme to the letter. Clearly, then, he could not have 
 been the aggressor. The villain has remained, up to the 
 publication of this veracious chronicle, unknown. No mat- 
 ter ; I am not going back to Bergsdorf . 
 
 But something had to be done to vindicate the offended 
 majesty of the law. So they fined Henry seventeen francs 
 for obstructing the police in the discharge of their duty. 
 
 "Never mind," said Henry, "that's just eight francs 
 fifty each. I got in two, both right-handers." 
 
 And I doubt not but the officers concerned considered 
 that he had got his money's worth. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CASTEL DEL MONTE. 
 
 IT was March before we found ourselves in the Capital 
 of the South. The Countess was still there, but the Count, 
 her brother, had not appeared, and the explanation to which 
 he referred remained unspoken. Here Lucia was our kind 
 friend and excellent entertainer; but of the tenderness of 
 the H6tel Promontonio it was hard for me to find a trace. 
 The great lady indeed outshone her peers, and took my 
 moorland eyes as well as the regards of others. But I had 
 rather walked by the lake with the scarlet cloak, or stood 
 with her and been shot at for a white owl in the niche of 
 the terrace. 
 
 In the last days of the month there came from Henry's 
 uncle and guardian, Wilfred Fenwick, an urgent summons. 
 He was ill, he might be dying, and Henry was to return at 
 once ; while I, in anticipation of his return, was to continue 
 in Italy. There was indeed nothing to call me home. 
 
 Therefore and for other reasons I abode in Italy; 
 and after Henry's departure I made evident progress in the
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 97 
 
 graces of the Countess. Once or twice she allowed me to 
 remain behind for half an hour. On these occasions she 
 would come and throw herself down in a chair by the fire, 
 and permit me to take her hand. But she was weary and 
 silent, full of gloomy thoughts, which in vain I tried to 
 draw from her. Still, I think it comforted her to have me 
 thus sit by her. 
 
 One morning, while I was idly leaning upon the bridge, 
 and looking towards the hills with their white marble pal- 
 aces set amid the beauty of the Italian spring, one touched 
 me on the shoulder. I turned, and lo Lucia ! Not any 
 more the Countess, but Lucia, radiant with brightness, col- 
 our in her cheek for the first time since I had seen 
 her in the Court of the South, animation sparkling in 
 her eye. 
 
 " So I have found you, faithless one," she said. " I have 
 been seeking for you everywhere." 
 
 " And I, have I not been seeking for you all these weeks 
 and never have found you till now, Lucia ! " 
 
 I thought she would not notice the name. 
 
 " Why, Sir Heather Jock," she returned, " did you not 
 part with me last night at eleven of the clock ? " 
 
 " Pardon me," I replied, letting the love in my heart 
 woo her through my eyes, and say what I dared not at 
 least, not here upon the open bridge over which we slowly 
 walked. " Pardon me, it is true that I parted at eleven of 
 the clock last night with Madame the Countess of Castel 
 del Monte. But, on the contrary, this morning I have met 
 Lucia my little Saint Lucy of the Eyes." 
 
 " Who in Galloway taught you to make such speeches ? " 
 she said. " It is all too pretty to have been said thus trip- 
 pingly for the first time." 
 
 "Love," I made answer. "Love, the Master, taught 
 me ; for never before have I known either a Countess or a 
 Lucia ! "
 
 98 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " ' Douglas, Douglas, tender and true,' does not your 
 song say?" said she. " Will you ever be true, Douglas?" 
 
 " Lucy, will you ever be cruel ? I dare you to say these 
 things to-night when I come to see you. 'Tis easy to dare 
 to say them in the face of the streets." 
 
 " Ah, Douglas, you will not see me to-night ! I have 
 come to bid you farewell farewell ! " said she, as tragically 
 as she dared, yet so that I alone would hear her. Her eyes 
 darted here and there, noting who came near ; and a smile 
 flickered about her mouth as she calculated precisely the 
 breaking strain of my patience, and teased me up to that 
 point. I can easily enough see her elvish intent now, but I 
 did not then. 
 
 " I go this afternoon," she said. " I have come to bid 
 you farewell 'Farewell! The anchor's weighed! Ee- 
 member me ! ' ' 
 
 " Is that why you are so happy to-day, because you are 
 going away ? " I asked, putting a freezing dignity into my 
 tones. 
 
 She nodded girlishly, and I admit, as a critic, adorably. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " that is just the reason." 
 
 We were now in the Public Gardens, and walking along 
 a more quiet path. 
 
 " Good-bye, then," I said, holding out my hand. 
 
 " No, indeed ! " she said ; " I shall not allow you to kiss 
 my hand in public ! " 
 
 And she put her hands behind her with a small, petulant 
 gesture. " Now, then ! " she said defiantly. 
 
 With the utmost dignity I replied " Indeed, I had no 
 intention of kissing your hand, Madame ; but I have the 
 honour of wishing you a very good day." 
 
 So lifting my hat, I was walking off, when, turning with 
 me, Lucia tripped along by my side. I quickened my pace. 
 
 " Stephen," she said, " will you not forgive me for the 
 sake of the old time ? It is true I am going away, and that
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 99 
 
 you will not see me again unless, unless you will come 
 and visit me at my country house. Stephen, if you do not 
 walk more slowly, I declare I shall run after you down the 
 public promenade ! " 
 
 I turned and looked at her. With all my heart I tried 
 to be grave and severe, but the mock-demure look on her 
 face caused me weakly to laugh. And then it was good-bye 
 to all my dignity. 
 
 " Lucy, I wish you would not tease me," I said, still 
 more weakly. 
 
 " Poor Toto ! give it bon-bons ! It shall not be teased, 
 then," she said. 
 
 Before we parted, I had promised to come and see her 
 at her country house within ten days. And so, with a new 
 brightness in her face, Saint Lucy of the Eyes came back 
 to my heart, and came to stay. 
 
 It was mid-April when I started for Castel del Monte. 
 It was spring, and I was going to see my love. The land 
 about on either side, as I went, was faintly flushed with 
 peach-blossom shining among the hoary stones. By the 
 cliff edge the spiny cactus threw out strange withered arms. 
 A whitethorn without spike or spine gracefully wept floods 
 of blonde tears. 
 
 At a little port by the sea-edge I left the main route, 
 and fared onward up into the mountains. A mule carried 
 my baggage ; and the muleteer who guided it looked like a 
 mountebank in a garb rusty like withered leaves. Like 
 withered leaf, too, he danced up the hillside, scaling the 
 long array of steps which led through the olives toward 
 Castel del Monte. Some of his antics amused me, until I 
 saw that none of them amused himself, and that through 
 all the contortions of his face his eyes remained fixed, joy- 
 less, tragic. 
 
 Castel del Monte sat on the hill-top, eminent, far-behold- 
 ing. Vine-stakes ran up hill and down dale, all about it. 
 8
 
 100 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 White houses were sprinkled here and there. As we as- 
 cended, the sea sank beneath, and the shining dashes of the 
 wave-crests diminished to sparkling pin-points. Then with 
 oriental suddenness the sun went down. Still upward fared 
 the joyless farceur, and still upon the soles of my feet, and 
 with my pilgrim staff in my hand, I followed. 
 
 Sometimes the sprays of fragrant blossom swept across 
 our faces. Sometimes a man stepped out from the roadside 
 and challenged ; but, on receiving a word of salutation from 
 my knave, he returned to his place with a sharp clank of 
 accoutrement. 
 
 White blocks of building moved up to us in the equal 
 dusk of the evening, took shape for a moment, and vanished 
 behind us. The summit of the mountain ceased to frown. 
 The strain of climbing was taken from the mechanic move- 
 ment of the feet. The mule sent a greeting to his kind ; 
 and some other white mountain, larger, more broken as to 
 its skyline, moved in front of us and stayed. 
 
 " Castel del Monte ! " said the muleteer, wrinkling all 
 the queer puckered leather of his visage in the strong light 
 which streamed out as the great door opened. A most dig- 
 nified Venetian senator, in the black and radiant linen of 
 the time, came forth to meet me, and with the utmost re- 
 spect ushered me within. In my campaigning dress and 
 broad-brimmed hat, I felt that my appearance was un- 
 worthy of the grandeur of the entrance-hall, of the suits of 
 armour, the vast pictures, and the massive last-century fur- 
 niture in crimson and gold.
 
 SAINT LUCY OP THE EYES. 101 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 AN" ERROR IN JUDGMENT. 
 
 I HAD expected that Lucia would have come to greet 
 me, and that some of the other guests would be moving 
 about the halls. But though the rooms were brightly lit, 
 and servants moving here and there, there abode a hush 
 upon the place strangely out of keeping with my expecta- 
 tion. 
 
 In my own room I arrayed me in clothes more fitted to 
 ^he palace in which I found myself, though, after all was 
 done, their plainness made a poor contrast to the mailed 
 warriors on the pedestals and the scarlet senators in the 
 frames. 
 
 There was a rose, fresh as the white briar-blossom in my 
 mother's garden, upon my table. I took it as Lucia's gage, 
 and set it in my coat. 
 
 " My lady waits," said the major-domo at the door. 
 
 I went downstairs, conscious by the hearing of the ear 
 that a heart was beating somewhere loudly, mine or an- 
 other's I could not tell. 
 
 A door opened. A rush of warm and gracious air, a 
 benediction of subdued light, and I found myself bending 
 over the hand of the Countess. I had been talking some 
 time before I came to the knowledge that I was saying 
 anything. 
 
 Then we went to dinner through the long lit passages, 
 the walls giving back the merry sound of our voices. Still, 
 strangely enough, no other guests appeared. But my won- 
 der was hushed by the gladness on the face of the Countess. 
 We dined in an alcove, screened from the vast dining-room. 
 The table was set for three. As we came in, the Countess 
 murmured a name. An old lady bowed to me, and moved
 
 102 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 stiffly to a seat without a word. Lucia continued her con- 
 versation without a pause, and paid no further heed to the 
 ancient dame, who took her meal with a single-eyed absorp- 
 tion upon her plate. 
 
 My wonder increased. Could it be that Lucia and I 
 were alone in this great castle ! I cannot tell whether the 
 thought brought me more happiness or discontent. Clearly, 
 I was the only guest. Was I to remain so, or would others 
 join us after dinner? My heart beat faint and tuinultu- 
 ously. At random I answered to Lucia's questionings about 
 my journey. My slow-moving Northern intelligence began 
 to form questions which I must ask. Through the laugh- 
 ing charm of my lady's face and the burning radiance of 
 her eyes, there grew into plainness against the tapestry the 
 sad, pale face of my mother and her clear, consistent eyes. 
 I talked I answered I listened all through a humming 
 chaos. For the teaching of the moorland farm, the ethic 
 of the Sabbath nights lit by a single candle and sanctified 
 by the chanted psalm and the open Book, possessed me. It 
 was the domination of the Puritan base, and most bitterly I 
 resented, while I could not prevent, its hold upon me. 
 
 Dinner was over. We took our way into a drawing- 
 room, divided into two parts by a screen which was drawn 
 half-way. In the other half of the great room stood an 
 ancient piano, and to this our ancient lady betook herself. 
 
 The Countess sat down in a luxurious chair, and mo- 
 tioned me to sit close by her in another, but one smaller 
 and lower. We talked of many tlmigs, circling ever about 
 ourselves. Yet I could not keep the old farm out of my 
 mind its simple manners, its severe code of morals, its 
 labour and its pain. Also there came another thought, the 
 sense that all this had happened before the devil's fear 
 that I was not the first who had so sat alone beside the 
 Countess and seen the obsequious movement of these well- 
 trained servants.
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 103 
 
 " Tell me, Douglas," at last the Countess said, glancing 
 down kindly at me, " why you are so silent and distrait. 
 This is our first evening here, and yet you are sad and for- 
 getful, even of me." 
 
 What a blind fool I was not to see the innocence and 
 love in her eyes ! 
 
 " Countess " I began, and paused uncertain. 
 
 " Sir to you ! " she returned, making me a little bow in 
 acknowledgment of the title. 
 
 " Lucia," I went on, taking no notice of her frivolity, 
 " I thought I thought that is, I imagined that your 
 brother that others would be here as well as I " 
 
 I got no further. I saw something sweep across her 
 face. Her eyes darkened. Her face paled. The thin 
 curved nostrils whitened at the edges. I paused, astonished 
 at the tempest I had aroused by my faltering stupidities. 
 Why could I not take what the gods gave? 
 
 " I see," she said bitterly : " you reproach me with 
 bringing you here as my guest, alone. You think I am 
 bold and abandoned because I dreamed of an Eden here 
 with friendship and truth as dwellers in it. I saw a new 
 and perfect life ; and with a word, here in my own house, 
 and before you have been an hour my guest, you insult 
 me " 
 
 " Lucia, Lucia," I pleaded, " I would not insult you for 
 the world I would not think a thought speak a word 
 dishonouring to you for my life " 
 
 " You have you have it is all ended broken ! " she 
 said, standing up " all broken and thrown down ! " 
 
 She made with her hands the bitter gesture of break- 
 ing. 
 
 " Listen," she said, while I stood amazed and silent. 
 " I am no girl. I am older than you, and know the world. 
 It is because I dreamed I saw that which I thought truer
 
 104: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 and purer in you than the conventions of life that I asked 
 you to come here " 
 
 " Lucia, Lucia, my lady, listen to me," I pleaded, trying 
 to take her hand. She put me aside with a single swift, 
 imperious movement which women use when their pride is 
 deeply wounded. 
 
 " That lady " she pointed within to where the silent 
 dame of years was tinkling unconcernedly on the keys 
 " is my dead husband's mother. Surely she abundantly 
 supplies the proprieties. And now you you whom I 
 thought I could trust, spoil my year spoil my life, slay 
 in a moment my love with reproach and scorn ! " 
 
 She walked to the door, turned and said " You, whom 
 I trusted, have done this ! " Then she threw out her 
 hands in an attitude of despair and scorn, and disappeared. 
 
 I sat long with my head on my hands, thinking the 
 world about me in ruins, never to be built up. Then I 
 went up to my room, paused at the wardrobe, changed my 
 black coat to that in which I had arrived, and went softly 
 downstairs again. The waning moon had just risen late, 
 and threw a weird light over the ranges of buildings, the 
 gateways and towers. 
 
 I walked swiftly to the outer gate, and, there leaping 
 a hedge of flowering plants, I fled down the mountain 
 through the vineyards. I went swiftly, eager to escape 
 from Castel del Monte, but in the tangle of walls and 
 fences it was not easy to advance. At the parting of three 
 ways I paused, uncertain in which direction to proceed. 
 Suddenly, without warning, a dark figure stepped from 
 some hidden place. I saw the gleam of something bright. 
 I knew that I was smitten. "Waves of white-hot metal ran 
 suddenly in upon my brain, and I knew no more. 
 
 When I awoke, my first thought was that I was back 
 again in the room where Lucia and I had 'talked together. 
 I felt something perfumed and soft like a caress. It
 
 SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES. 105 
 
 seemed like the filmy lace that the Countess wore upon her 
 shoulder. My head lay against it. I heard a voice say, as 
 it had been in my ear, through the murmuring floods of 
 many waters " My boy ! my boy ! And I, wicked one 
 that I was, sent you to this ! " 
 
 All the time she who spoke was busy binding something 
 to the place on my side where the pain burned like white 
 metal. And as she did so she crooned softly over me, say- 
 ing as before " My poor boy ! my poor boy ! " It was like 
 the murmuring of a dove over its nestling. Again and 
 again I was borne away from her and from myself on the 
 floods of great waters. The universe alternately opened 
 out to infinite horrors of vastness, and shrank to pinpoint 
 dimensions to crush me. Through it all I heard my love's 
 voice, and was content to let my head bide just where it lay. 
 
 Ever and anon I came to the surface, as a diver does lest 
 he die. I heard myself say " It was an error in judg- 
 ment ! " . . . Then after a pause " nothing but an error 
 in judgment." 
 
 And I felt that on which my head rested shake with a 
 little earthquake of hysterical laughter. The strain had 
 been too great, yet I had said the right word. 
 
 " Yes," she said softly, " my poor boy, it has been in- 
 deed an error in judgment for both of us ! " 
 
 " But a blessed error, Lucia," I said, answering her 
 when she least expected it. 
 
 A dark shape flitted before my dazzled eyes. 
 
 The Countess looked up. " Leonardi ! " she called, 
 " tell me, has one of your people done this ? " 
 
 " Nay," said the man, " none of the servants of the 
 Bond nor yet of the Mafia. Pietro the muleteer hath done 
 it of his own evil heart for robbery. Here are the watch 
 and purse ! " 
 
 " And the murderer where is he ? " said again Lucia. 
 " Let him be brought ! "
 
 106 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 "He has had an accident, Excellency. He is dead," 
 said Leonardi simply. 
 
 Then they took me up very softly, and bore me to the 
 door from which I had fled forth. Lucia walked with me. 
 In the dusk of the leaves, while the bearers were fumbling 
 with the inner doors, which would swing in their faces, 
 Lucia put her hot lips to my hand, which she had held 
 kindly in hers all the way. 
 
 " Pardon me, Douglas," she said, and there was a break 
 in her voice. I felt the ocean of tears rising about me, and 
 feared that I could not find the words fittingly to answer. 
 For the pain had made me weak. 
 
 " Nay," I said at last, just over my breath, " it was my 
 folly. Forgive me, little Saint Lucy of the Eyes ! It 
 was it was what was it that it was? 1 have for- 
 gotten " 
 
 " An error in judgment ! " said Saint Lucy of the Eyes, 
 and forgave me, though I cannot remember more about it. 
 
 I suppose I could take the title if I chose, for these 
 things are easily arranged in Italy ; but Lucia and I think 
 it will keep for the second Stephen Douglas.
 
 IV. 
 
 UNDER THE RED TERROR. 
 
 What of the night, O Antwerp bells, 
 
 Over the city swinging, 
 Plaintive and sad, O kingly bells, 
 
 In the winter midnight ringing ? 
 
 And the winds in the belfry moan 
 From the sand-dunes waste and lone, 
 
 And these are the words they say, 
 
 The turreted bells and they 
 
 " Calamtout, Krabbendyk, Calloo," 
 
 Say the noisy, turbulent crew ; 
 
 " Jabbeke, Chaam, Waterloo; 
 
 Hoggerhaed, Sandvaet, Lilloo, 
 
 We are weary, a-weary of you ! 
 
 We sigh for the hills of snow, 
 
 For the hills where the hunters go, 
 
 For the Matterhorn, Wetterhorn, Dom, 
 
 For the Dom ! Dom ! Dom ! 
 For the summer sun and the rustling corn, 
 And the pleasant vales of the Rhineland valley." 
 
 The Bella of Antwerp. 
 
 I AM writing tins for my friend in Scotland, whose 
 strange name I cannot spell. He wishes to put it in the 
 story-book he is writing. But his book is mostly lies. This 
 is truth. I saw these things, and I write them down now 
 because of the love I have for him, the young Herr who 
 saved my brother's life among the black men in Egypt. 
 Did I tell how our Fritz went away to be Gordon's man in 
 
 107
 
 108 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 the Soudan of Africa, and how he wrote to our father and 
 the mother at home in the village " I am a great man and 
 the inteudant of a military station, and have soldiers under 
 me, and he who is our general is hardly a man. He has no 
 fear, and death is to him as life " ? So this young Herr, 
 whom I love the same as my own brother, met Fritz when 
 there was not the thickness of a Wurst-skin between him 
 and the torture that makes men blanch for thinking on, 
 and I will now tell you the story of how he saved him. It 
 was 
 
 But the Herr has come in, and says that I am a " dumb- 
 head," also condemned, and many other things, because, he 
 says, I can never tell anything that I begin to tell straight- 
 forwardly like a street in Berlin. He says my talk is 
 crooked like the " Philosophers' Way " after one passes the 
 red sawdust of the Hirsch-Gasse, where the youngsters 
 "drum" and "drum" all the Tuesdays and the Fridays, 
 like the donkeys that they are. I am to talk (he says 
 violently) about Paris and the terrible time I saw there in 
 the war of Seventy. 
 
 Ah ! the time when there was a death at every door, the 
 time which Heidelberg and mine own Thurm village will 
 not forget that made grey the hairs of Jacob Oertler, the 
 head-waiter, those sixty days he was in Paris, when men's 
 blood was spilt like water, when the women and the chil- 
 dren fell and were burned in the burning houses, or died 
 shrieking on the bayonet point. There is no hell that the 
 Pfaffs tell of, like the streets of Paris in the early summer 
 of Seventy-one. But it is necessary that I make a begin- 
 ning, else I shall never make an ending, as Madame Hegel- 
 mann "Wittwe, of the Prinz Karl, says when there are 
 many guests, and we have to rise after two hours' sleep as if 
 we were still on campaign. But again I am interrupted 
 and turned aside. 
 
 Comes now the young Herr, and he has his supper, for
 
 UNDER THE RED TERROR. 109 
 
 ever since he came to the Prinz Karl he takes his dinner in 
 the midst of the day as a man should. 
 
 " Ouch," he says, " it makes one too gross to eat in the 
 evening." 
 
 So the Herr takes his dinner at midday like a good Ger- 
 man ; and when there is supper he will always have old 
 Jacob to tell him tales, in which he says that there is no be- 
 ginning, no era, nor Hegira, no Anno Domini, but only the 
 war of Seventy. But he is a hard-hearted young Kerl, and 
 will of necessity have his jesting. Only yesterday he said 
 
 " Jacob, Jacob, this duck he must have been in the war 
 of Siebenzig ; for, begomme, he is tough enough. Ah, yes, 
 Jacob, he is certainly a veteran. I have broken my teeth 
 over his Iron Cross." But if he had been where I have 
 been, he would know that it is not good jesting about the 
 Iron Cross. 
 
 Last night the young Herr, he did not come home for 
 supper at all. But instead of him there came an Officier 
 clanging spurs and twisting at seven hairs upon his upper 
 lip. The bracing-board on his back was tight as a drum. 
 The corners stretched the cloth of his uniform till they 
 nearly cut through. 
 
 He was but a boy, and his shoulder-straps were not ten 
 
 / ' 
 
 days old ; but old Jacob Oertler's heels came together with 
 a click that would have been loud, but that he wore waiter's 
 slippers instead of the field-shoes of the soldier. 
 
 The Officier looked at me, for I stood at attention. 
 
 "Soldier?" said he. And he spoke sharply, as all the 
 babe-officers strive to do. 
 
 I bowed, but my bow was not that of the Oberkellner 
 of the Prinz Karl that I am now. 
 
 " Of the war ? " he asked again. 
 
 " Of three wars ! " I answered, standing up straight that 
 he might see the Iron Cross I wear under my dress-coat, 
 which the Emperor set there.
 
 HO BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 "Name and regiment?" he said, quickly, for he had 
 learned the way of it, and was pleased that I called him 
 Hauptmann. 
 
 "Jacob Oertler, formerly of the Berlin Husaren, and 
 after of the Intelligence Department." 
 
 " So," he said, " you speak French, then ? " 
 
 " Sir," said I, " I was twenty years in France. I was 
 born in Elsass. I was also in Paris during the siege." 
 
 Thus we might have talked for long enough, but sud- 
 denly his face darkened and he lifted his eyes from the 
 Cross. He had remembered his message. 
 
 " Does the tall English Herr live here, who goes to Pro- 
 fessor Miiller's each day in the Anlage ? Is he at this time 
 within ? I have a cartel for him." 
 
 Then I told him that the English Herr was no Schlager- 
 player, though like the lion for bravery in fighting, as my 
 brother had been witness. 
 
 " But what is the cause of quarrel ? " I asked. 
 
 " The cause," he said, " is only that particular great 
 donkey, Hellmuth. He came swaggering to-night along the 
 New Neckar-Bridge as full of beer as the Heidelberg tun is 
 empty of it. He met your Herr under the lamps where 
 there were many students of the corps. Now, Hellmuth is 
 a beast of the Ehine corps, so he thought he might gain 
 some cheap glory by pushing rudely against the tall Eng- 
 lauder as he passed. 
 
 " ' Pardon ! ' said the Englishman, lifting his hat, for he 
 is a gentleman, and of his manner, when insulted, noble. 
 Hellmuth is but a Khine brute though my cousin, for my 
 sins. 
 
 " So Hellmuth went to the end of the Bridge, and, turn- 
 ing with his corps-brothers to back him, he pushed the sec- 
 ond time against your Herr, and stepped back so that all 
 might laugh as he took off his cap to mock the English- 
 man's bow and curious way of saying ' Pardon ! '
 
 UNDER THE BED TERROR. HI 
 
 " But the Englauder took him momently by the collar, 
 and by some art of the light hand turned him over his 
 foot into the gutter, which ran brimming full of half- 
 melted snow. The light was bright, for, as I tell you, 
 it was underneath the lamps at the bridge-end. The moon 
 also happened to come out from behind a wrack of cloud, 
 and all the men on the bridge saw and the girls with 
 them also so that you could hear the laughing at the 
 Molkenkur, till the burghers put their red night-caps out 
 of their windows to know what had happened to the wild 
 Kerls of the cafes." 
 
 " But surely that is no cause for a challenge, Excel- 
 lenz ? " said I. " How can an officer of the Kaiser bring 
 such a challenge ? " 
 
 " Ach ! " he said, shrugging his shoulders, " is but a 
 fight a fight, cause or no cause ? Moreover, is not Hell- 
 muth after all the son of my mother's sister, though but a 
 Rhineland donkey, and void of sense ? " 
 
 So I showed him up to the room of the English Herr, 
 and went away again, though not so far but that I could 
 hear their voices. 
 
 It was the officer whom I heard speaking first. He 
 spoke loudly, and as I say, having been of the Intelligence 
 Department, I did not go too far away. 
 
 "You have my friend insulted, and you must immedi- 
 ately satisfaction make ! " said the young Officier. 
 
 " That will I gladly do, if your friend will deign to come 
 up here. There are more ways of fighting than getting 
 into a feather-bed and cutting at the corners." So our 
 young Englander spoke, with his high voice, piping and 
 clipping his words as all the English do. 
 
 " Sir," said the officer, with some heat, " I bring you a 
 cartel, and I am an officer of the Kaiser. What is your 
 answer ? " 
 
 " Then, Herr Hauptmann," said the Englishman, " since
 
 112 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 you are a soldier, you and I know what fighting is, and that 
 snipping and snicking at noses is no fighting. Tell your 
 friend to come up here and have a turn with the two-ounce 
 gloves, and I shall be happy to give him all the satisfaction 
 he wants. Otherwise I will only fight him with pistols, and 
 to the death also. If he will not fight in my way, I shall 
 beat him with a cane for having insulted me, whenever I 
 meet him." 
 
 With that the officer came down to me, and he said, 
 " It is as you thought. The Englishman will not fight with 
 the Schlager, but he has more steel in his veins than a 
 dozen of Hellmuths. Thunderweather, I shall fight Hell- 
 muth myself to-morrow morning, if it be that he burns so 
 greatly to be led away. Once before I gave him a scar of 
 heavenly beauty!" 
 
 So he clanked off in the ten days' glory of his spurs. 
 I have seen many such as he stiff on the slope of Spichern 
 and in the woods beneath St. Germain. Yet he was a Kerl 
 of mettle, and will make a brave soldier and upstanding 
 officer. 
 
 But the Herr has again come in and he says that all this 
 is a particular kind of nonsense which, because I write also 
 for ladies, I shall not mention. I am not sure, also, what 
 English words it is proper to put on paper. The Herr says 
 that he will tear every word up that I have written, which 
 would be a sad waste of the Frau Wittwe's paper and ink. 
 He says, this hot Junker, that in all my writing there is yet 
 no word of Paris or the days of the Commune, which is true. 
 He also says that my head is the head of a calf, and, indeed, 
 of several other animals that are but ill-considered in Eng- 
 land. 
 
 So I will be brief. 
 
 In Seventy, therefore, I fought in the field and scouted 
 with the Uhlans. Ah, I could tell the stories ! Those were 
 the days. It is a mistake to think that the country-people
 
 UNDER THE BED TERROR. 113 
 
 hated us, or tried to kill us. On the contrary, if I might 
 tell it, many of the young maids 
 
 Ach, bitte, Herr of a surety I will proceed and tell of 
 Paris. I am aware that it is not to be expected that the 
 English should care to hear of the doings of the Keiters of 
 the black-and-white pennon in the matter of the maids. 
 
 But in Seventy-one, during the siege and the terrible 
 days of the Commune, I was in Paris, what you call a spy. 
 It was the order of the Chancellor our man of blood-and- 
 iron. Therefore it was right and not ignoble that I should 
 be a spy. 
 
 For I have served my country in more terrible places 
 than the field of Weissenburg or the hill of Spichern. 
 
 Ja wohl ! there were few Prussians who could be taken 
 for Frenchmen, in Paris during those months when sus- 
 picion was everywhere. Yet in Paris I was, all through the 
 days of the investiture. More, I was chief of domestic serv- 
 ice at the Hotel de Ville, and my letters went through the 
 balloon-post to England, and thence back to Versailles, 
 where my brothers were and the Kaiser whom in three wars 
 I have served. For I am Prussian in heart and by begetting, 
 though born in Elsass. 
 
 So daily I waited on Trochu, as I had also waited on 
 Jules Favre when he dined, and all the while the mob 
 shouted for the blood of spies without. But I was Jules 
 Lemaire from the Midi, a stupid provincial with the rolling 
 accent, come to Paris to earn money and see the life. Not 
 for nothing had I gone to school at Clermont-Ferrand. 
 
 But once I was nearly discovered and torn to pieces. 
 The sweat breaks cold even now to think upon it. It was a 
 March morning very early, soon after the light came stealing 
 up the river from behind Notre-Dame. A bitter wind was 
 sweeping the bare, barked, hacked trees on the Champs 
 Elysees. It happened that I went every morning to the 
 Halles-to make the market for the day such as was to be
 
 114 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 had. And, of course, we at the Hdtel de Ville had our pick 
 of the best before any other was permitted to buy. So I 
 went daily as Monsieur Jules Lemaire from the Hotel de 
 Ville. And please to take off your kepis, canaille of the 
 markets. 
 
 Suddenly I saw riding towards me a Prussian hussar of 
 my old regiment. He rode alone, but presently I spied two 
 others behind him. The first was that same sergeant Strauss 
 who had knocked me about so greviously when first I joined 
 the colours. At that time I hated the sight of him, but 
 now it was the best I could do to keep down the German 
 " Hoch ! " which rose to the top of my throat and stopped 
 there all of a lump. 
 
 Listen ! The gamins and vauriens of the quarters 
 louts and cruel rabble were running after him yes, 
 screaming all about him. There were groups of National 
 Guards looking for their regiments, or marauding to pick 
 up what they could lay their hands on, for it was a great 
 time for patriotism. But Strauss of the Blaue Husaren, he 
 sat his horse stiff and steady as at parade, and looked out 
 under his eyebrows while the mob howled and surged. 
 Himmel ! It made me proud. Ach, Gott ! but the old 
 badger-grey Strauss sat steady, and rode his horse at a walk 
 easy, cool as if he was going up Unter den Linden on 
 Mayday under the eyes of the pretty girls. Not that ever 
 old Strauss cared as much for maids' eyes as I would have 
 done ah me, in Siebenzig ! 
 
 Then came two men behind him, looking quickly up the 
 side-streets, with carbines ready across their saddles. And 
 so they rode, these three, like true Prussians every one. 
 And I swear it took Jacob Oertler, that was Jules of the 
 Midi, all his possible to keep from crying out; but he could 
 not for his life keep down the sobs. However, the French- 
 men thought that he wept to see the disgrace of Paris. So 
 that, and nothing else, saved him.
 
 UXDER THE RED TERROR. 115 
 
 When Strauss and his two stayed a moment to consult 
 as to the way, the crowd of noisy whelps pressed upon 
 them, snarling and showing their teeth. Then Strauss and 
 his men grimly fitted a cartridge into each carbine. Seeing 
 which, it was enough for these very faint-heart patriots. 
 They turned and ran, and with them ran Jules of the Midi 
 that waited at the Hotel de Ville. He ran as fast as the 
 best of them ; and so no man took me for a German that 
 day or any other day that I was in Paris. 
 
 Then, after this deliverance, I went on to the Halles. 
 The streets were more ploughed with shells than a German 
 field when the teams go to and fro in the spring. 
 
 There were two men with me in the uniform of the 
 Hotel de Ville, to carry the provisions. For already the 
 new marketings were beginning to come in by the Porte 
 Maillot at Xeuilly. 
 
 As ever, when we came to the market-stalls, it was " Give 
 place to the Hotel de Ville ! " While I made my purchases 
 an old man came up to the butcher-fellow who was serving, 
 and asked him civilly for a piece of the indifferent beef he 
 was cutting for me. The rascal, a beast of Burgundy, 
 dazed with absinthe and pig by nature, answered foully 
 after his kind. The old man was very old, but his face 
 was that of a man of war. He lifted his stick as though 
 to strike, for he had a beautiful young girl on his arm. 
 But I saw the lip of the Burgundian butcher draw up 
 over his teeth like a snarling dog, and his hand shorten on 
 his knife. 
 
 " Have politeness," I said sharply to the rascal, " or I 
 will on my return report you to the General, and have you 
 f usiladed ! " 
 
 This made him afraid, for indeed the thing was com- 
 monly done at that time. 
 
 The old man smiled, and held out his hand to me. 
 
 He said 
 *. 9
 
 116 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " My friend, some day I may be able to repay you, but 
 not now." 
 
 Yet I had interfered as much for the sake of the lady's 
 eyes as for the sake of the old man's grey hairs. Besides, 
 the butcher was but a pig of a Burgundian who daily ma- 
 ligned the Prussians with words like pig's offal. 
 
 Then we went back along the shell-battered streets, 
 empty of carriages, for all the horses had been eaten, some 
 as beef and some as plain horse. 
 
 " Monsieur the Commissary," said one of the porters, 
 " do you know that the old man to whom you spoke, with 
 the young lady, is le Pere Felix, whom all the patriots of 
 Paris call the ' Deliverer of Forty-eight ' ? " 
 
 I knew it not, nor cared. I am a Prussian, though born 
 in Elsass. 
 
 So in Paris the days passed on. In our H6tel de Ville 
 the officials of the Provisional Government became more 
 and more uneasy. The gentlemen of the National Guard 
 took matters in their own hands, and would neither dis- 
 band nor work. They sulked about the brows of Mont- 
 martre, where they had taken their cannon. My word, 
 they were dirty patriots ! I saw them every day as I went 
 by to the Halles, lounging against the walls linesmen 
 among them, too, absent from duty without leave. They 
 sat on the kerb-stone leaning their guns against the placard- 
 studded wall. Some of them had loaves stuck on the points 
 of their bayonets dirty scoundrels all ! 
 
 Then came the flight of one set of masters and the 
 entry of another. But even the Commune and the un- 
 known young men who came to the H6tel de Ville made no 
 change to Jules, the head waiter from the Midi. He made 
 ready the dejeuner as usual, and the gentlemen of the red 
 sash were just as fond of the calves' flesh and the red Wine 
 as the brutal bourgeoisie of Thiers' Republic or the aristo- 
 crats of the regime of Buonaparte. It was quite equal.
 
 UNDER THE RED TERROR. 
 
 It was only a little easier to send my weekly report to my 
 Prince and Chancellor out at Saint Denis. That was all. 
 For if the gentlemen who went talked little and lined their 
 pockets exceedingly well, these new masters of mine both 
 talked much and drank much. It was no longer the Com- 
 mune, but the Proscription. I knew what the end of these 
 things would be, but I gave no offence to any, for that was 
 not my business. Indeed, what mattered it if all these 
 Frenchmen cut each other's throats? There were just so 
 many the fewer to breed soldiers to fight against the Fa- 
 therland, in the war of revenge of which they are always 
 talking. 
 
 So the days went on, and there were ever more days 
 behind them east-windy, bleak days, such as we have in 
 Pomerauia and in Prussia, but seldom in Paris. The city 
 was even then, with the red flag floating overhead, beautiful 
 for situation the sky clear save for the little puffs of 
 smoke from the bombs when they shelled the forts, and 
 Valerien growled in reply. 
 
 The constant rattle of musketry came from the direction 
 of Versailles. It was late one afternoon that I went towards 
 the Halles, and as I went I saw a company of the Guard 
 National, tramping northward to the Buttes Montmartre 
 where the cannons were. In their midst was a man with 
 white hair at whom I looked the same whom we had seen 
 at the market-stalls. He marched bareheaded, and a pair 
 of the scoundrels held him, one at either sleeve. 
 
 Behind him came his daughter, weeping bitterly but 
 silently, and with the salt water fairly dripping upon her 
 plain black dress. 
 
 " What is this ? " I asked, thinking that the cordon of 
 the Public Safety would pass me, and that I might perhaps 
 benefit my friend of the white locks. 
 
 " Who may you be that asks so boldly ? " said one of the 
 soldiers sneeringly.
 
 118 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 They were ill-conditioned, white-livered hounds. 
 
 " Jules the gar9on Jules of the white apron ! " cried 
 one who knew me. " Know you not that he is now Dicta- 
 tor? Vive the Dictator Jules, Emperor-of 'Encore-un- 
 Bock ' ! " 
 
 So they mocked me, and I dared not try them further, 
 for we came upon another crowd of them with a poor fright- 
 ened man in the centre. He was crying out " For me, I 
 am a man of peace gentlemen, I am no spy. I have lived 
 all my life in the Rue Scribe." But one after another 
 struck at him, some with the butt-end of their rifles, some 
 with their bayonets, those behind with the heels of their 
 boots till that which had been a man when I stood on one 
 side of the street, was something which would not bear 
 looking upon by the time that I had passed to the other. For 
 these horrors were the commonest things done under the 
 rule of Hell which was the rule of the Commune. Then 
 I desired greatly to have done my commission and to be rid 
 of Paris. 
 
 In a little the Nationals were thirsty. Ho, a wine-shop ! 
 There was one with the shutters up, probably a beast of a 
 German or a Jew. It is the same thing. So with the 
 still bloody butts of their chassepots they made an entrance. 
 They found nothing, however, but a few empty bottles and 
 stove-in barrels. This so annoyed them that they wrought 
 wholesale destruction, breaking with their guns and with 
 their feet everything that was breakable. 
 
 So in time we came to the Prison of Mazas, which in 
 ordinary times would have been strongly guarded ; but now, 
 save for a few National Guards loafing about, it was de- 
 serted the criminals all being liberated and set plundering 
 and fighting the hostages all fusiladed. 
 
 When we arrived at the gate, there came out a finely 
 dressed, personable man in a frock-coat, with a red ribbon 
 in his button-hole. The officer in charge of the motley
 
 UNDER THE RED TERROR. 119 
 
 crew reported that he held a prisoner, the citizen commonly 
 called Pere Felix. 
 
 " Pere Felix ? " said the man in the frock-coat, " and 
 who might he be ? " 
 
 " A member of the Revolutionary Government of Forty- 
 eight," said the old man with dignity, speaking from the 
 midst of his captors; "a revolutionary and Republican be- 
 fore you were born, M. Raoul Regnault ! " 
 
 "Ah, good father, but this is not Forty-eight! It is 
 Seventy-one ! " said the man on the steps, with a super- 
 cilious air. " I tell you as a matter of information ! " 
 
 " You had better shoot him and have the matter over ! " 
 he added, turning away with his cane swinging in his hand. 
 
 Then, with a swirl of his sword, the officer marshalled 
 us all into the courtyard for I had followed to see the end. 
 I could not help myself. 
 
 It was a great, bare, barren quadrangle of brick, the 
 yard of Mazas where the prisoners exercise. The walls rose 
 sheer for twenty feet. The doorway stood open into it, and 
 every moment or two another company of Communists 
 would arrive with a gang of prisoners. These were rudely 
 pushed to the upper end, where, unbound, free to move in 
 every direction, they were fired at promiscuously by all the 
 ragged battalions men, women, and even children shooting 
 guns and pistols at them, as at the puppet-shows of Asnieres 
 and Neuilly. 
 
 The prisoners were some of them running to and fro, 
 pitifully trying between the grim brick walls to find a way 
 of escape. Some set their bare feet in the niches of the 
 brick and strove to climb over. Some lay prone on their 
 faces, either shot dead or waiting for the guards to come 
 round (as they did every five or ten minutes) to finish the 
 wounded by blowing in the back of their heads with a 
 charge held so close that it singed the scalp. 
 
 As I stood and looked at this horrible shooting match,
 
 120 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 a human shambles, suddenly I was seized and pushed along, 
 with the young girl beside me, towards the wall. Horror 
 took possession of me. " I am Chief Servitor at the Hotel 
 de Ville," I cried. " Let me go ! It will be the worse for 
 you ! " 
 
 " There is no more any Hotel de Ville ! " cried one. 
 " See it blaze." 
 
 " Accompany gladly the house wherein thou hast eaten 
 many good dinners ! Go to the Fire, ingrate ! " cried an- 
 other of my captors. 
 
 So for very shame, and because the young maid was 
 silent, I had to cease my crying. They erected us like tar- 
 gets against the brick wall, and I set to my prayers. But 
 when they had retired from us and were preparing them- 
 selves to fire, I had the grace to put the young girl behind 
 me. For I said, if I must die, there is no need that the 
 young maid should also die at least, not till I am dead. I 
 heard the bullets spit against the wall, fired by those far- 
 thest away ; but those in front were only preparing. 
 
 Then at that moment something seemed to retard them, 
 for instead of making an end to us, they turned about and 
 listened uncertainly. 
 
 Outside on the street, there came a great flurry of cheer- 
 ing people, crying like folk that weep for joy " Vive la 
 ligne ! Vive la ligne ! The soldiers of the Line ! The 
 soldiers of the Line ! " 
 
 The door was burst from its hinges. The wide outer 
 gate was filled with soldiers in dusty uniforms. The Ver- 
 saillists were in the city. 
 
 " Vive la ligne ! " cried the watchers on' the house-tops. 
 " Vive la ligne ! " cried we, that were set like human targets 
 against the wall. " Vive la ligne ! " cried the poor wounded, 
 staggering up on an elbow to wave a hand to the men that 
 came to Mazas in the nick of time. 
 
 Then there was a slaughter indeed. The Communists
 
 UNDER THE RED TERROR. 121 
 
 fought like tigers, asking no quarter. They were shot 
 down by squads, regularly and with ceremony. And we 
 in our turn snatched their own rifles and revolvers and 
 shot them down also .... " Coming, Frau Wittwe ! So 
 fort!" .... 
 
 And the rest well, the rest is, that I have a wife and 
 seven beautiful children. Yes, " The girl I left behind 
 me," as your song sings. Ah, a joke. But the seven 
 children are no joke, young Kerl, as you may one day find. 
 
 And why am I Oberkellner at the Prinz Karl in Heidel- 
 berg? Ah, gentlemen, I see you do not know. In the 
 winter it is as you see it; but all the summer and autumn 
 what with Americans and English, it is better to be Ober- 
 kellner to Madame the Frau Wittwe than to be Prince of 
 Kennenlippeschonberghartenau !
 
 V. 
 
 THE CASE OF JOHN AKNISTON'S 
 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 Hail, World adored ! to thee three times all hail ! 
 We at thy mighty shrine profane, obscure, 
 With clenched hands beat at thy cruel door, 
 
 hear, awake, and let us in, Baal ! 
 
 Low at thy brazen gates ourselves we fling 
 Hear us, even us, thy bondmen firm and sure, 
 Our kin, our souls, our very God abjure ! 
 
 Art thou asleep, or dead, or journeying ? 
 
 Hear us, Ashtoreth, O Baal, that we 
 In mystic mazes may a moment gleam, 
 May touch and twine with hot hearts pulsing free 
 
 Among thy groves by the Orontes stream. 
 
 Open and make us, ere our sick hearts fail, 
 Hewers of wood within thy courts, Baal 1 
 
 Pro Fano. 
 
 JOHN AKNTSTON'S heart beat fast and high as he went 
 homeward through the London streets. It had come at last. 
 The blossom of love's passion-flower had been laid within 
 his grasp. The eyes in whose light he had sunned himself 
 for months had leaped suddenly into a sweet and passion- 
 ate flame. He had seen the sun of a woman's wondrous 
 beauty, and long followed it afar. Miriam Gale was the 
 success of the season. It was understood that she had the 
 entire unattached British peerage at her feet. Neverthe- 
 
 122
 
 JOHN ARNISTON'S CONSCIENCE. 123 
 
 less, her head had touched John Arniston's shoulder to-night. 
 He had kissed her hair. " A queen's crown of yellow gold," 
 was what he said to himself as he walked along, the evening 
 traffic of the Strand humming and surging about him. Be- 
 cause her lips had rested a moment on his, he walked light- 
 headed as one who for the first time " tastes love's thrice- 
 repured nectar." 
 
 He tried to remember how it happened, and in what 
 order so much within an hour. 
 
 - He had gone in the short and dark London afternoon 
 into her drawing-room. Something had detained him a 
 look, the pressure of a hand, a moment's lingering in a glance 
 he could not remember which. Then the crowd of gilded 
 youth ebbed reluctantly away. There was long silence after 
 they had gone, as Miriam Gale and he sat looking at each 
 other in the ruddy firelight. Nor did their eyes sever till 
 with sudden unanimous impulse they clave to one another. 
 Then the fountains of the deep were broken up, and the 
 deluge overwhelmed their souls. 
 
 What happened after that ? Something Miriam was say- 
 ing about some one named Keginald. Her voice was low and 
 earnest, thrillingly sweet. How full of charm the infantile 
 tremble that came into it as she looked entreatingly at him ! 
 He listened to its tones, and it was long before he troubled to 
 follow the meaning. She was telling him something of an 
 early and foolish marriage of a life of pain and cruelty, of 
 a new life and sphere of action, all leading up to the true 
 and only love of hir life. Well, what of that? He had 
 always understood she had been married before. En- 
 woven in the mesh-net of her scented hair, her soft cheek 
 warm and wet against his, all this talk seemed infinitely de- 
 tached the insignificant problems of a former existence, 
 long solved, prehistoric, without interest. Then he spoke. 
 He remembered well what he had said. It was that to-mor- 
 row they twain, drawing apart from all the evil tongues
 
 124 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 of the world, were to begin the old walk along the Sure 
 Way of Happiness. The world was not for them. A better 
 life was to be theirs. They would wander through noble 
 and high-set cities. Italy, beloved of lovers, waited for 
 them. Her stone-pines beckoned to them. There he would 
 tell her about great histories, and of the lives of the knights 
 and ladies who dwelt in the cities set on the hills. 
 
 " I am so ignorant," Miriam Gale had said, pushing his 
 head back that she might look at his whole face at once. " I 
 am almost afraid of you but I love you, and I shall learn 
 all these things." 
 
 It was all inconceivable and strange. The glamour of 
 love mingled with the soft, fitful firelight reflected in 
 Miriam's eyes, till they twain seemed the only realities. So 
 that when she began to speak of her husband, it seemed at 
 first no more to John Arniston than if she had told him 
 that her shoeblack was yet alive. He and she had no past ; 
 only a future, instant and immediate, waiting for them to- 
 morrow. 
 
 How many times did they not move apart after a last 
 farewell? John Arniston could not tell, though to content 
 himself he tried to count. Then, their eyes drawing- them 
 together again, they had stood silent in the long pause when 
 the life throbs' to and fro and the heart thunders in the ears. 
 At last, with " To-morrow ! " for an iterated watchword be- 
 tween them, they parted, and John Arniston found himself 
 in the street. It was the full rush of the traffic of London ; 
 but to him it was all strangely silent. Everything ran 
 noiselessly to-night. Newsboys mouthed the latest hor- 
 ror, and John Arniston never heard them. Mechanically 
 he avoided the passers-by, but it was with no belief in their 
 reality. To him they were but phantom shapes walking in 
 a dream. His world was behind him and before. The 
 fragrance of the bliss of dreams was on his lips. His heart 
 bounded with the thought of that " To-morrow " which they
 
 JOHN ARNISTON'S CONSCIENCE. 125 
 
 had promised to one another. The white Italian cities which 
 he had visited alone gleamed whiter than ever before him. 
 Was it possible that he should sit in the great square of St. 
 Mark's with Miriam Gale by his side, the sun making a patch- 
 work of gold and blue among the pinnacles of the Church 
 of the Evangelist. There, too, he saw, as he walked, the 
 Lido shore, and the long sickle sweep of the beach. The 
 Adriatic slumbrously tossed up its toy surges, and lo ! a tall 
 girl in white walked hand-iu-hand with him. He caught 
 his breath. He had just realised that it was all to begin to- 
 morrow. Then again he saw that glimmering white figure 
 throw itself down in an agony of parting into the low chair, 
 kneeling beside which his life began. 
 
 But stop what was it after all that Miriam had been 
 saying? Something about her husband? Had he heard 
 aright that he was still alive, only dead to her ? " Dead 
 for many years," was her word. After all it was no matter. 
 Nothing mattered any more. His goddess had stepped 
 down to him with open arms. He had heard the beating of 
 her heart. She was a breathing, loving woman. 
 
 " To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow." It seemed 
 so far away. And were there indeed other skies, blue 
 and clear, in Italy, in which the sun shone ? It seemed hard 
 to believe that the fog of London, yellow and thick like bad 
 pea-soup, taking him stringently in the throat. 
 
 How he found his way back to his room, walking thus in 
 a maze, he never could recall. As the door clicked and he 
 turned towards the fireplace, his eye fell upon a brown- 
 paper parcel lying on the table. John Arniston opened it 
 out in an absent way, his mind and fancy still abiding by 
 the low chair in Miriam's room. What he saw smote him 
 suddenly pale. He laid his hand on the mantelpiece to keep 
 from falling. It was nothing more than a plain, thick 
 quarto volume, covered with a worn overcoat of undressed 
 calf -skin. At the angle of the back and on one side
 
 126 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 the rough hair was worn thin, and the skin showed 
 through. His mother had done that, reaching it down 
 for his father to " take the book " * in the old house 
 at home. John Arniston sat down on the easy-chair with 
 the half -unwrapped parcel on his knee. His eye read the 
 pages without a letter printing itself on his retina. It was 
 a book within a book, and without also, which he read. He 
 read the tale of the smooth places on the side. No one in 
 the world but himself could know what he read. He saw 
 this book, his father's great house Bible, lying above a certain 
 grey head, in the white square hole in the wall. Beneath 
 it was a copy of the Drumfern Standard, and on the top a 
 psalm-book in which were his mother's spectacles, put 
 there when she took them off after reading her afternoon 
 portion. 
 
 He opened the book at random : "And God spake all 
 these words, saying . . . THOU SHALT NOT " The tre- 
 mendous sentence smote him fairly on the face. He threw 
 his head violently back so that he might not read any 
 further. The book slipped between his knees and fell heav- 
 ily on the floor. 
 
 But the words which had caught his eye, " THOU SHALT 
 
 NOT " were printed in fire on the ceiling, or on his 
 
 brain he did not know which. He got up quickly, put on 
 his hat, and went out again into the bitter night. He 
 turned down to the left and paced the Thames Embank- 
 ment. The fog was thicker than ever. Unseen watercrnft 
 with horns and steam-roarers grunted like hogs in the river. 
 But in John Arniston's brain there was a conflict of terrible 
 passion. 
 
 After all, it was but folklore, he said to himself. Noth- 
 ing more than that. Every one knew it. All intelligent 
 people were nowadays of onereligion. The thing was mani- 
 
 * Engage in family worship.
 
 JOHN ARNISTON'S CONSCIENCE. 127 
 
 festly absurd the Hebrew fetish was dead dead as 
 Mumbo Jumbo. " Thank God ! " he added inconsequently. 
 He walked faster and faster, and on more than one occasion 
 he brushed hurriedly against some of the brutal frequenters 
 of that part of the world on foggy evenings. A rough lout 
 growled belligerently at him, but shrank from the gladsome 
 light of battle which leaped instantly into John Arniston's 
 eye. To strike some one would have been a comfort to him 
 at that moment. 
 
 Well, it was done with. The effete morality of a printed 
 book was no tie upon him. The New Freedom was his 
 the freedom to do as he would and possess what he desired. 
 Yet after all it was an old religion, this of John's. It has 
 had many names ; but it has never wanted priests to preach 
 and devotees to practise its very agreeable tenets. 
 
 John Arniston stamped with his foot as he came to this 
 decision. The fog was clearing off the river. It was no 
 more than a mere scum on the water. There was a rift 
 above, straight up to the stars. 
 
 GOD SPAKE ALL THESE WORDS - " 
 
 " No," he said, over and over, " I shall not give her up. 
 It is preposterous. Yet my father believed it. He died 
 with his hand on the old Bible, his finger in the leaves 
 my mother - " 
 
 " AND GOD SPAKE ALL THESE WORDS - " The sen- 
 tence seemed to flash through the rift over the shot-tower 
 to tingle down from the stars. 
 
 There are no true perverts. When man strips him to 
 the bare buff, he is of the complexion his mother bestowed 
 upon him. When his life's card-castle, laboriously piled, 
 tumbles ignominious, he is again of his mother's religion. 
 
 " AND GOD - " 
 
 John Arniston stepped to the edge of the parapet. He 
 looked over into the slow, swirling black water. It was a 
 quick way that but no it was not to be his way. He
 
 128 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 looked at his watch. It was time to go to the office. He 
 had an article to do. As well do that as anything. But 
 first he would write a letter to her. 
 
 Shut in his room, his hand flying swiftly lest it should 
 turn back in spite of him, John Arniston wrote a letter to 
 Miriam Gale a letter that was all one lie. He could not 
 tell her the true reason why he would not go on the mor- 
 row. Who was he that he should put himself in the atti- 
 tude of being holier than Miriam Gale ? It was certainly 
 not because he did not wish to go or that he thought it 
 wrong. Simply, his father's calf-skin Bible barred the 
 way, and he could no more pass over it than he could have 
 trampled over his mother's body to his desire. 
 
 It was done. The letter was written. What was the 
 particular excuse, invented fiercely at the moment, there is 
 no use writing down here to cumber the page. John 
 Arniston cheerfully gave himself over to the recording 
 angel. Yet the ninth commandment is of equal interpre- 
 tation, though it may be somewhat less clearly and tersely 
 expressed than the seventh. 
 
 He went out and posted his note at a' pillar-box in a 
 quiet street with his own hand. The postman had just fin- 
 ished clearing when John came to thrust in the letter to 
 Miriam Gale. The envelope slid into an empty receiver as 
 the postman clicked the key. He turned to John with a 
 look which said " Too late that time, sir ! " But John 
 never so much as noticed that there was a postman by his 
 side, who shouldered his bags with an air of official detach- 
 ment. John Arniston went back to his room, and while he 
 waited for a book of reference (for articles must be written 
 so long as the pillars of the firmament stand) he lifted an 
 evening paper which lay on the table. He ran his eye by 
 instinct over the displayed cross headings. His eye caught 
 a name. " Found Drowned at Battersea Bridge Eeginald 
 Gale."
 
 JOHN ARNISTON'S CONSCIENCE. 129 
 
 " Reginald Gale," said John to himself " where did I 
 hear that name ? " 
 
 Like a flash, every word that Miriam had told him about 
 her worthless husband his treatment of her, his desertion 
 within a few days of her marriage stood plain before him 
 
 as if he had been reading the thing in proof Miriam 
 
 Gale was a free woman. 
 
 And his pitiable lying letter ? It was posted lurking 
 in the pillar-box round the corner, waiting to speed on its way 
 to break the heart of the girl, who had been willing to risk 
 all, and count the world well lost for the sake of him. 
 
 He seized his hat and ran downstairs, taking the steps 
 half a dozen at a time. He met the boy coming up with 
 the book. He passed as if he had stepped over the top of 
 him. The boy turned and gazed open-mouthed. The 
 gentlemen at the office were all of them funny upon 
 occasion, but John Arniston had never had the symptoms 
 before. 
 
 " He's got a crisis ! " said the boy to himself, clutching 
 at an explanation he had heard once given in the sub-editor's 
 room. 
 
 For an hour John Arniston paced to and fro before that 
 pillar-box, timing the passing policemen, praying that the 
 postman who came to clear it might prove corruptible. 
 
 Would he never come? It appeared upon the white 
 enamelled plate that the box was to be cleared in an hour. 
 But he seemed to have waited seven hours in hell already. 
 The policeman gazed at him suspiciously. A long row of 
 jewellers' shops was just round the corner, and he might 
 be a professional man of standing in spite of the fur-collar 
 of his coat with an immediate interest in jewellery. 
 
 The postman came at last. He was a young, alert, 
 beardless man, who whistled as he came. John Arniston 
 was instantly beside him as he stooped to unlock the little 
 iron door.
 
 130 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " See here," he said eagerly, in a low voice, " I have 
 made a mistake in posting a letter. Two lives depend on 
 it. I'll give you twenty pounds in notes into your hand 
 now, if you let me take back the letter at the bottom of 
 that pillar ! " 
 
 " Sorry can't do it, sir more than my place is worth. 
 Besides, how do I know that you put in that letter? It 
 may be a jewel letter from one of them coves over there ! " 
 
 And he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. 
 
 John Arniston could meet that argument. 
 
 " You can feel it," he said ; " try if there is anything in 
 it, coin or jewels you could tell, couldn't you ? " 
 
 The man laughed. 
 
 " Might be notes, sir, like them in your hand couldn't 
 do it, indeed, sir." 
 
 The devil leaped in the hot Scots blood of John Arnis- 
 ton. 
 
 He caught the kneeling servant of Her Majesty's noblest 
 monopoly by the throat, as he paused smiling with the door 
 of the pillar-box open and the light of the street-lamp fall- 
 ing on the single letter which lay within. The clutch was 
 no light one, and the man's life gurgled in his throat. 
 
 John Arniston snatched the letter, glanced once at the 
 address. It was his own. There was, indeed, no other. 
 Hurriedly he thrust the four notes into the hand of the 
 half-choked postman. Then he turned and ran, for the 
 windows of many tall houses were spying upon him. He 
 dived here and there among archways and passages, ma- 
 noeuvred through the purlieus of the market, and so back 
 into the offices of his paper. 
 
 " And where is that Dictionary of National Biography ? " 
 asked John Arniston of the boy. The precious letter for 
 which he had risked penal servitude, and the cat in the 
 prisons of his country for robbery of the Imperial mails (ac- 
 companied with violence), was blazing on the fire. Then,
 
 JOHN ARNISTON'S CONSCIENCE. 131 
 
 with professional readiness, John Arniston wrote a column 
 and a half upon the modern lessons to be drawn from the 
 fact that Queen Anne was dead. It was off-day at the 
 paper, Parliament was not sitting, and the columns oppo- 
 site the publishers' advertisements needing filling or these 
 gentlemen would grumble. The paper had a genuine, if 
 somewhat spasmodic, attachment to letters. And from this 
 John Arniston derived a considerable part of his income. 
 
 When he went back to his room he found that his land- 
 lady had been in attending to the fire. She had also lifted 
 the fallen Bible, on which he could now look with some 
 complacency so strange a thing is the conscience. 
 
 On the worn hair covering of the old Bible lay a letter. 
 It was from Miriam a letter written as hastily as his own 
 had been, with pitiful tremblings, and watered with tears. 
 It told him, through a maze of burning love, among other 
 things that she had been a .wicked woman to listen to his 
 words and that while her husband lived she must never 
 see him again. In time, doubtless, he would find some one 
 worthier, some one who would not wreck his life, as for one 
 mad half-hour his despairing Miriam had been willing to 
 do. Finally, he would forgive her and forget her. But she 
 was his own he was to remember that. 
 
 In half an hour John Arniston was at the mortuary. 
 Of course, he found a pressman there with a notebook 
 before him. With him he arranged what should be said 
 the next morning, and how the inquest should be reported. 
 There was no doubt about the identity, and John Arniston 
 soon possessed the proofs of it. But after all, there was 
 no need that the British public should know more than it 
 already knew, or that the name of Miriam Gale should be 
 connected with the drowned wretch, whose soddenly friendly 
 leer struck John Arniston cold, as though he also had been 
 in the Thames water that night. 
 
 So all through the darkness he paced in front of the 
 10
 
 132 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 house of the Beloved. His letter to her, written on leaves 
 of his notebook, in place of that which he had destroyed, 
 went in with the morning's milk. In half an hour after 
 he was with her. And when he came out again he had 
 seen a wonderful thing a beautiful woman to whom emo- 
 tion was life, and the expression of it second nature, run- 
 ning through the gamut of twenty moods in a quarter of 
 an hour. At the end, John departed in search of a licence 
 and a church. And Miriam Gale put her considering finger 
 to her lip, and said, " Let me see which dresses shall I 
 take?" 
 
 The highway robbery was never heard of. The excel- 
 lent plaster which John Arniston left in the hand of the 
 official had salved effectively the rude constriction of his 
 throat, where John's right hand had closed upon it. 
 
 It was even better to sit with Miriam Arniston in reality 
 in the great sun-lit square of St. Mark's than it had been in 
 fantasy with Miriam Gale. 
 
 The only disappointment was, that the pigeons of the 
 Square were certainly fatter and greedier than the pictured 
 cloud of doves, which in his day-dream he had seen flash 
 the under-side of their wings at his love as they checked 
 themselves to alight at her feet. 
 
 But on Lido side there was no such rift in the lute's 
 perfection. The sands, the wheeling sea-birds, the tall girl 
 in white whose hand he held all these were even as he had 
 imagined them. Thither they came every day, passing 
 along the straight dusty avenue, and then wandering for 
 hours picking shells. They talked only when the mood 
 took them, and in the pauses they listened idly to the 
 slumbrous pulsations of Adria. John Arniston had lied 
 at large in the letter he had written to his love. He had 
 assaulted a man who righteously withstood him in the 
 discharge of his duty, in order to steal that letter back 
 again. Yet his conscience was wholly void of offence in
 
 JOHN ARNISTON'S CONSCIENCE. 133 
 
 the matter. The heavens smiled upon his bride and him- 
 self. There was now no stern voice to break through upon 
 his blissful self-approval. 
 
 Why there should be this favouritism among the com- 
 mandments, was not clear to John. Indeed, the thing did 
 not trouble him. He was no casuist. He only knew that 
 the way was clear to Miriam Gale, and he went to her the 
 swiftest way. 
 
 But there were, for all that, the elements of a very 
 pretty dilemma in the psychology of morals in the case of 
 Miriam Gale and John Arniston. True, the calf -skin Bible 
 said when it was consulted, " The letter killeth, but the 
 spirit maketh alive." 
 
 But, after all, that might prove upon examination to 
 have nothing to do with the matter.
 
 VI. 
 
 THE GLISTERING BEACHES. 
 
 For wafts of unforgotten music come, 
 
 All unawares, into my lonely room, 
 To thrill me with the memories of the past 
 
 Sometimes a tender voice from out the gloom 
 A light hand on the keys, a shadow cast 
 
 Upon a learned tome 
 That blurs somewhat Alpha and Omega, 
 
 A touch upon my shoulder, a pale face, 
 
 Upon whose perfect curves the firelight plays, 
 
 Or love-lit eyes, the sweetest e'er I saw. 
 
 Memory Harvest. 
 
 IT was clear morning upon Suliscanna. That lonely 
 rock ran hundreds of feet up into the heavens, and pointed 
 downwards also to the deepest part of the blue. Simeon 
 and Anna were content. 
 
 Or, rather, I ought to say Anna and Simeon, and that 
 for a reason which will appear. Simeon was the son of the 
 keeper of the temporary light upon Suliscanna, Anna the 
 daughter of the contractor for the new lighthouse, which 
 had already begun to grow like a tall-shafted tree on its 
 rock foundation at Easdaile Point. Suliscanna was not a 
 large island in fact, only a mile across the top ; but it was 
 quite six or eight in circumference when one followed the 
 ins and outs of the rocky shore. Tremendous cliffs rose to 
 the south and west facing the Atlantic, pierced with caves 
 into which the surf thundered or grumbled, according as the 
 
 134
 
 THE GUSTERING BEACHES. 135 
 
 uneasy giant at the bottom of the sea was having a quiet 
 night of it or the contrary. Grassy and bare was the top of 
 the island. There was not a single tree upon it ; and, be- 
 sides the men's construction huts, only a house or two, so 
 white that each shone as far by day as the lighthouse by 
 night. 
 
 There was often enough little to do on Suliscanna. At 
 such times, after standing a long time with hands in their 
 pockets, the inhabitants used to have a happy inspiration : 
 " Ha, let us go and whitewash the cottages ! " So this pe- 
 culiarity gave the island an undeniably cheerful appearance, 
 and the passing ships justly envied the residents. 
 
 Simeon and Anna were playmates. That is, Anna played 
 with Simeon when she wanted him. 
 
 " Go and knit your sampler, girl ! " Simeon was saying 
 to-day. " What do girls know about boats or birds ? " 
 
 He was in a bad humour, for Anna had been unbearable 
 in her exactions. 
 
 " Very well," replied Anna, tossing her hair ; " I can get 
 the key of the boat and you can't. I shall take Donald out 
 with me." 
 
 Now, Donald was the second lighthouse-keeper, detested 
 of Simeon. He was grown-up and contemptuous. Also he 
 had whiskers horrid ugly things, doubtless, but whiskers. 
 So he surrendered at discretion. 
 
 " Go and get the key, then, and we will go round to the 
 white beaches. I'll bring the provisions." 
 
 He would have died any moderately painless death rather 
 than say, " The oatcake and water-keg." 
 
 So in a little they met again at the Boat Cove which 
 Providence had placed at the single inlet upon the prac- 
 ticable side of Suliseanna, which could not be seen from 
 either the Laggan Light or the construction cottages. 
 Only the lighter that brought the hewn granite could spy 
 upon it.
 
 136 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " Mind you sneak past your father, Anna ! " cried Sim- 
 eon, afar off. 
 
 His voice carried clear and lively. But yet higher and 
 clearer rose the reply, spoken slowly to let each word sink 
 well in. 
 
 " Teach-your-grandmother-to-suck-eggs ducks' eggs ! " 
 
 What the private sting of the discriminative, only Sim- 
 eon knew. And evidently he did know very well, for he 
 kicked viciously at a dog belonging to Donald the second 
 keeper a brute of a dog it was ; but, missing the too-well- 
 accustomed cur, he stubbed his toe. He then repeated the 
 multiplication table. For he was an admirable boy and care- 
 ful of his language. 
 
 But, nevertheless, he got the provision out with care and 
 promptitude. 
 
 " Where are you taking all that cake ? " said his mother, 
 who came from Ayrshire and wanted a reason for every- 
 thing. In the north there is no need for reasons. There 
 everything is either a judgment or a dispensation, according 
 to whether it happens to your neighbour or yourself. 
 
 " I am no coming hame for ony dinner," said Simeon, 
 who adopted a modified dialect to suit his mother. With 
 his father he spoke English only, in a curious sing-song tone 
 but excellent of accent. 
 
 Mrs. Lauder Simeon's mother, that is accepted the 
 explanation without remark, and Simeon passed out of her 
 department. 
 
 " Mind, ye are no to gang intil the boat ! " she cried after 
 him ; but Simeon was apparently too far away to hear. 
 
 He looked cautiously up the side of the Laggan Light to 
 see that his father was still polishing at his morning brasses 
 and reflectors along with Donald. Then he ran very swiftly 
 through a little storehouse, and took down a musket from the 
 wall. A powder-flask and some shot completed his outfit ; 
 and with a prayer that his father might not see him, Simeon
 
 THE GLISTERING BEACHES. 137 
 
 sped to the trysting-stone. As it happened, his father was 
 oblivious and the pilfered gun unseen. 
 
 Anna's experience had been quite different. Her pro- 
 cedure was much simpler. She found her father sitting in 
 his office, constructed of rough boards. He frowned con- 
 tinuously at plans of dovetailed stones, and rubbed his head 
 at the side till he was rapidly rubbing it bare. 
 
 Anna came in and looked about her. 
 
 " Give me the key of the boat," she said without preface. 
 She used from habit, even to her father, the imperative mood 
 affirmative. 
 
 Mr. Warburton looked up, smoothed his brow, and began 
 
 to ask, " What are you going to do ? " But in the midst 
 
 of his question he thought better of it, acknowledging its 
 uselessness ; and, reaching into a little press by his side, he 
 took down a key and handed it to Anna without comment. 
 Anna said only, " Thank you, father." For we should be 
 polite to our parents when they do as we wish them. 
 
 She stood a moment looking back at the bowed figure, 
 which, upon her departure, had resumed the perplexed frown 
 as though it had been a mask. Then she walked briskly 
 down to the boathouse. 
 
 Upon the eastern side of Suliscanna there is a beach. It 
 is a rough beach, but landing is just possible. There are 
 cunning little spits of sand in the angles of the stone reaches, 
 and by good steering between the boulders it is just possible 
 to make boat's-way ashore. 
 
 " Kow ! " said Anna, after they had pushed the boat off, 
 and began to feel the hoist of the swell. " I will steer." 
 
 Simeon obediently took the oars and fell to it. So close 
 in did Anna steer to one point, that, raising her hand, she 
 pulled a few heads of pale sea-pink from a dry cleft as they 
 drew past into the open water and began to climb green and 
 hissing mountains. 
 
 Then Anna opened her plans to Simeon.
 
 138 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " Listen ! " she said. " I have been reading in a book of 
 my father's about this place, and there was a strange great 
 bird once on Suliscanna. It has been lost for years, so the 
 book says ; and if we could get it, it would be worth a hun- 
 dred pounds. We are going to seek it." 
 
 " That is nonsense," said Simeon, " for you can get a 
 goose here for sixpence, and there is no bird so big that it 
 would be worth the half of a hundred pounds." 
 
 " Goose yourself, boy," said Anna tauntingly. " I did 
 not mean to eat, great stupid thing ! " 
 
 " What did you mean, then ? " returned Simeon. 
 
 " You island boy, I mean to put in wise folks' museums 
 where they put all sorts of strange things. I have seen 
 one in London." 
 
 " Seen a bird worth a hundred pounds ? " Simeon was 
 not taking Anna's statements on trust any more. 
 
 " No, silly not the bird, but the museum." 
 
 " Um you can tell that to Donald ; I know better than 
 to believe." 
 
 " Ah, but this is true," said Anna, without anger at the 
 aspersion on her habitual truthfulness. "I tell you it is 
 true. You would not believe about the machine-boat that 
 runs by steam, with the smoke coming from it like the spout 
 of our kettle, till I showed you the picture of it in father's 
 book." 
 
 " I have seen the lion and the unicorn fighting for the 
 crown. There are lies in pictures as well as in books ! " said 
 Simeon, stating a great truth. 
 
 " But this bird is called the Great Auk did you never 
 hear your father tell about that ? " 
 
 Simeon's face still expressed no small doubt of Anna's 
 good faith. The words conveyed to him no more meaning 
 than if she had said the Great Mogul. 
 
 Then Anna remembered. 
 
 " It is called in Scotland the Gare Fowl ! "
 
 THE GLISTERING BEACHES. 139 
 
 Simeon was on fire in a moment. He stopped rowing 
 and started up. 
 
 " I have heard of it," he said. " I know all that there is 
 to know. It was chased somewhere on the northern islands 
 and shot at, and one of them was killed. But did it ever 
 come here ? " 
 
 " I have father's book with me, and you shall see ! " 
 Being prepared for scepticism, Anna did not come empty- 
 handed. She pulled a finely bound book out of a satchel- 
 pocket that swung at her side. " See here," she said ; and 
 then she read: "After their ill-usage at the islands of 
 Orkney, the Gare Fowl were seen several times by fisher- 
 men in the neighbourhood of the Glistering Beaches on 
 the lonely and uninhabited island of Suliscanna. It is 
 supposed that a stray bird may occasionally visit that rock 
 to this day." 
 
 Simeon's eyes almost started from his head. 
 
 " Worth a hundred pounds ! " he said over and over as if 
 to himself. 
 
 Anna, who knew the ways of this most doubting of 
 Thomases, pulled a piece of paper from her satchel and 
 passed it to him to read. It related at some length the sale 
 in a London auction-room of a stuffed Great Auk in imper- 
 fect condition for one hundred and fifty pounds. 
 
 " That would be pounds sterling ! " said Simeon, who 
 was thinking. He had a suspicion that there might be some 
 quirk about pounds " Scots," and was trying to explain 
 things clearly to himself. 
 
 " Now, we are going to the Glistering Beaches to look 
 for the Great Auk ! " said Anna as a climax to the great 
 announcement. 
 
 The water lappered pleasantly beneath the boat as Simeon 
 deftly drew it over the sea. There is hardly any pleasure 
 like good oarsmanship. In rowing, the human machine 
 works more cleanly and completely than at any other work.
 
 140 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Before the children rose two rocky islands, with an opening 
 between, like a birthday cake that has been badly cut in the 
 centre and has had the halves moved a little way apart. 
 This was Stack Canna. 
 
 " Do you think that there would be any chance here?" 
 said Anna. The splendour of the adventure was taking 
 possession of her mind. 
 
 " Of course there would ; but the best chance of all will 
 be at the caves of Rona Wester, for that is near the Glister- 
 ing Beaches, and the birds would be sure to go there if the 
 people went to seek them at the Beaches." 
 
 " Has any one been there ? " asked Anna. 
 
 " Fishers have looked into them from the sea. No one 
 has been in ! " said Simeon briefly. 
 
 The tops of the Stack of Canna were curiously white, 
 and Simeon watched the effect over his shoulder as he 
 rowed. 
 
 " Look at the Stack," he said, and the eyes of his com- 
 panion followed his. 
 
 " Is it snow ? " she asked. 
 
 "No; birds thousands of them. They are nesting. 
 Let us land and get a boat-load to take back." 
 
 But Anna declared that it must not be so. They had 
 come out to hunt the Great Auk, and no meaner bird would 
 they pursue that day. 
 
 Nevertheless, they landed, and made spectacles of them- 
 selves by groping in the clay soil on the top of the Stack for 
 Petrels' eggs. But they could not dig far enough without 
 spades to get many, and when they did get to the nest, it 
 was hardly worth taking for the sake of the one white egg 
 and the little splattering, oily inmate. 
 
 Yet on the wild sea-cinctured Stack, and in that young 
 fresh morning, the children tasted the joy of life ; and only 
 the fascinating vision of the unknown habitant of the Glis- 
 tering Beaches had power to wile them away.
 
 THE GLISTERING BEACHES. 141 
 
 But there before them, a mile and a half round the point 
 of Stack, lay the Beaches. On either side of the smooth 
 sweep of the sands rose mighty cliffs, black as the eye of the 
 midnight and scarred with clefts like battered fortresses. 
 Then at the Beaches themselves, the cliff wall fell back a 
 hundred yards and left room for the daintiest edging of 
 white sand, shining like coral, crumbled down from the 
 pure granite which at this point had not been overflowed 
 like the rest of the island of Suliscanua by the black lava. 
 
 Such a place for play there was not anywhere neither 
 on Suliscanna nor on any other of the outer Atlantic isles. 
 Low down, by the surf's edge, the wet sands of the Glister- 
 ing Beaches were delicious for the bare feet to run and be 
 brave and cool upon. The sickle sweep of the bay cut off 
 the Western rollers, and it was almost always calm in there. 
 Only the sea-birds clashed and clanged overhead, and made 
 the eye dizzy to watch their twinkling gyrations. 
 
 Then on the greensward there was the smoothest turf, a 
 band of it only not coarse grass with stalks far apart, as it 
 is on most sea-beaches ; but smooth and short as though it 
 had been cropped by a thousand woolly generations. " Such 
 a place ! " they both cried. And Anna, who had never been 
 here before, clapped her hands in delight. 
 
 " This is like heaven ! " she sighed, as the prow of the 
 boat grated refreshingly on the sand, and Simeon sprang 
 over with a splash, standing to his mid-thigh in the salt 
 water to pull the boat ashore. 
 
 Then Simeon and Anna ran races on the smooth turf. 
 They examined carefully the heaped mounds of shells, 
 mostly broken, for the " legs of mutton " that meant to 
 them love and long life and prosperity. They chose out 
 for luck also the smooth little rose-tinted valves, more ex- 
 quisite than the fairest lady's finger-nails. 
 
 Next they found the spring welling up from an over- 
 flow mound which it had built for itself in the ages it had
 
 142 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 run untended. Little throbbing grains of sand dimpled in 
 it, and the mound was green to the top ; so that Simeon 
 and Anna could sit, one on one side and the other upon 
 the other, and with a farle of cake eat and drink, passing 
 from hand to hand alternate, talking all the time. 
 
 It was a divine meal. 
 
 " This is better than having to go to church ! " said 
 Anna. 
 
 Simeon stared at her. This was not the Sabbath or a 
 Fast-day. What a day, then, to be speaking about church- 
 going ! It was bad enough to have to face the matter when 
 it came. 
 
 " I wonder what we should do if the Great Auk were 
 suddenly to fly out of the rocks up there, and fall splash 
 into the sea," he said to change the subject. 
 
 " The Great Auk does not fly," said positive Anna, who 
 had been reading up. 
 
 " What does it do, then ? " said Simeon. " No wonder 
 it got killed ! " 
 
 " It could only waddle and swim," replied Anna. 
 
 " Then I could shoot it easy ! I always can when the 
 things can't fly or will stand still enough. It is not often 
 they will," he added after due consideration. 
 
 Many things in creation are exceedingly thoughtless. 
 
 Thereupon Simeon took to loading his gun ostenta- 
 tiously, and Anna moved away. Guns were uncertain 
 things, especially in Simeon's hands, and Anna preferred 
 to examine some of the caves. But when she went to 
 the opening of the nearest, there was something so un- 
 canny, so drippy, so clammy about it, with the little pools 
 of water dimpled with drops from above, and the spume- 
 balls rolled by the wind into the crevices, that she was 
 glad to turn again and fall to gathering the aromatic, hay- 
 scented fennel which nodded on the edges of the grassy 
 slopes.
 
 THE GLISTERIXG BEACHES. 143 
 
 There was no possibility of getting up or down the 
 cliffs that rose three hundred feet above the Glistering 
 Beaches, for the ledges were hardly enough for the dense 
 population of gannets which squabbled and babbled and 
 elbowed one another on the slippery shelves. 
 
 Now and then there would be a fight up there, and 
 white eggs would roll over the edge and splash yellow upon 
 the turf. Wherever the rocks became a little less precipi- 
 tous, they were fairly lined with the birds and hoary with 
 their whitewash. 
 
 After Simeon had charged his gun, the children pro- 
 ceeded to explore the caves, innocently taking each other's 
 hands, and advancing by the light of a candle which, 
 with flint and steel, they had found in the locker of their 
 boat. 
 
 First they had to cross a pool, not deep, but splashy and 
 unpleasant. Then more perilously they made their way 
 along the edges of the water, walking carefully upon the 
 slippery stones, wet with the clammy, contracted breath of 
 the cave. Soon, however, the cavern opened out into a 
 wider and drier place, till they seemed to be fairly under 
 the mass of the island ; for the cliffs, rising in three 
 hundred feet of solid rock above their heads, stretched 
 away before them black and grim to the earth's very 
 centre. 
 
 Anna cried out, " Oh, I cannot breathe ! Let us go 
 back ! " 
 
 But the undaunted Simeon, determined to establish his 
 masculine superiority once for all, denied her plumply. 
 
 " "We shall go back none," he said, " till we have finished 
 this candle." 
 
 So, clasping more tightly her knight-errant's hand, 
 Anna sighed, and resigned herself for once to the unac- 
 customed pleasure of doing as she was bid. 
 
 Deeper and deeper they went into the cleft of the rocks,
 
 144: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 stopping sometimes to listen, and hearing nothing but the 
 beating of their own hearts when they did so. 
 
 There came sometimes, however, mysterious noises, as 
 though the fairy folks were playing pipes in the stony 
 knolls, of which they had both heard often enough. And 
 also by whiles they heard a thing far more awful a plunge 
 as of a great sea-beast sinking suddenly into deep water. 
 
 " Suppose that it is some sea-monster," said Anna with 
 eyes on fire ; for the unwonted darkness had changed her, 
 so that she took readily enough her orders from the less 
 imaginative boy whereas, under the broad light of day, 
 she never dreamed of doing other than giving them. 
 
 Once they had a narrow escape. It happened that 
 Simeon was leading and holding Anna by the hand, for 
 they had been steadily climbing upwards for some time. 
 The footing of the cave was of smooth sand, very restful 
 and pleasing to the feet. Simeon was holding up the 
 candle and looking before him, when suddenly his foot 
 went down into nothing. He would have fallen forward, 
 but that Anna, putting all her force into the pull, drew 
 him back. The candle, however, fell from his hand and 
 rolled unharmed to the edge of a well, where it lay still 
 burning. 
 
 Simeon seized it, and the two children, kneeling upon 
 the rocky side, looked over into a deep hole, which seemed, 
 so far as the taper would throw its feeble rays downwards, 
 to be quite fathomless. 
 
 But at the bottom something rose and fell with a deep 
 roaring sound, as regular as a beast breathing. It had a 
 most terrifying effect to hear that measured roaring deep 
 in the bowels of the earth, and at each respiration to see 
 the suck of the air blow the candle-flame about. 
 
 Anna would willingly have gone back, but stout Simeon 
 was resolved and not to be spoken to. 
 
 They circled cautiously about the well, and immediately
 
 THE GLISTERING BEACHES. 145 
 
 began to descend. The way now lay over rock, fine and 
 regular to the feet as though it had been built and polished 
 by the pyramid-builders of Egypt. There was more air, 
 also, and the cave seemed to be opening out. 
 
 At last they came to a glimmer of daylight and a deep 
 and solemn pool. There was a path high above it, and the 
 pool lay beneath black like ink. But they were evidently 
 approaching the sea, for the roar of the breaking swell could 
 distinctly be heard. The pool narrowed till there appeared 
 to be only a round basin of rock, full of the purest water, 
 and beyond a narrow bank of gravel. Then they saw the 
 eye of the sea shining in, and the edge of a white breaker 
 lashing into the mouth of the cave. 
 
 But as they ran down heedlessly, all unawares they came 
 upon a sight which made them shrink back with astonish- 
 ment. It was something antique and wrinkled that sat or 
 stood, it was difficult to tell which, in the pool of crystal 
 water. It was like a little old man with enormous white 
 eyebrows, wearing a stupendous mask shaped like a beak. 
 The thing turned its head and looked intently at them 
 without moving. Then they saw it was a bird, very large 
 in size, but so forlorn, old, and broken that it could only 
 flutter piteously its little flippers of wings and patiently 
 and pathetically waggle that strange head. 
 
 " It is the Great Auk itself we have found it ! " said 
 Anna in a hushed whisper. 
 
 " Hold the candle till I kill it with a stone or, see ! 
 with this bit of timber." 
 
 " Wait ! " said Anna. " It looks so old and feeble ! " 
 
 " Our hundred pounds," said Simeon. 
 
 "It looks exactly like your grandfather," said Anna; 
 "look at his eyebrows! You would not kill your grand- 
 father ! " 
 
 " Wouldn't I just for a hundred pounds! " said Simeon 
 briskly, looking for a larger stone.
 
 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " Don't let us kill him at all. We have seen the last 
 Great Auk! That is enough. None shall be so great 
 as we." 
 
 The grey and ancient fowl seemed to wake to a sense of 
 his danger, just at the time when in fact the danger was 
 over. He hitched himself out of the pool like an ungainly 
 old man using a stick, and solemnly waddled over the little 
 bank of sand till he came to his jumping-off place. Then, 
 without a pause, he went souse into the water. 
 
 Simeon and Anna ran round the pool to the shingle- 
 bank and looked after him. 
 
 The Great Auk was there, swimming with wonderful 
 agility. He was heading right for the North and the Ice- 
 land skerries where, it may be, he abides in peace to this 
 day, happier than he lived in the cave of the island of 
 Suliscanna. 
 
 The children reached home very late that night, and 
 were received with varying gladness ; but neither of them 
 told the ignorant grown-up people of Suliscanna that theirs 
 were the eyes that had seen the last Great Auk swim out 
 into the bleak North to find, like Moses, an unknown 
 grave.
 
 BOOK SECOND. 
 INTIMACIES. 
 
 L 
 
 Take cedar, take the creamy card, 
 
 With regal head at angle dight : 
 And though to snatch the time be hard, 
 
 To all our loves at home we'll write. 
 
 II. 
 
 Strange group ! in Bowness' street we stand 
 Nine swains enamoured of our wives, 
 
 Each quaintly writing on his hand, 
 In haste, as 'twere to save our lives. 
 
 III. 
 
 O wondrous messenger, to fly 
 
 All through the night from post to post ! 
 Thou bearest home a kiss, a sigh 
 
 And but a halfpenny the cost 1 
 
 IV. 
 To-morrow when they crack their eggs, 
 
 They'll say beside each matin urn 
 " These men are still upon their legs ; 
 Heaven bless 'em may they soon return ! " 
 
 GEORGE MILKER. 
 147 
 
 11
 
 I. 
 THE LAST AKDEKSON OF DEESIDE. 
 
 Pleasant in sunshine after rain, 
 
 Pleasant the sun ; 
 To cheer the parched land again, 
 
 Pleasant the rain. 
 
 Sweetest is joyance after pain, 
 
 Sweetest is joy ; 
 Yet sorest sorrow worketh gain, 
 
 Sorrow is gain. 
 
 As in the Days of Old. 
 
 " WEEL, he's won awa' ! " 
 
 " Ay, ay, he is that ! " 
 
 The minister's funeral was winding slowly out of the 
 little manse loaning. The window-blinds were all down, 
 and their bald whiteness, like sightless eyes looking out of 
 the white-washed walls and the trampled snow, made the 
 Free Church manse of Deeside no cheerful picture that 
 wild New Year's Day. The green gate which had so long 
 hung on one hinge, periodically mended ever since the 
 minister's son broke the other swinging on it the summer 
 of the dry year before he went to college, now swayed for- 
 ward with a miserably forlorn lurch, as though it too had 
 tried to follow the funeral procession of the man who had 
 shut it carefully the last thing before he went to bed every 
 night for forty years. 
 
 Andrew Malcolm, the Glencairn joiner, who was con- 
 
 149
 
 150 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 ducting the funeral if, indeed, Scots funerals can ever be 
 said to be conducted had given it a too successful push to 
 let the ricketty hearse have plenty of sea-room between the 
 granite pillars. It was a long and straggling funeral, silent 
 save for the words that stand at the opening of this tale, 
 which ran up and down the long black files like the irregu- 
 lar fire of skirmishers. 
 
 " Ay, man, he's won awa' ! " 
 
 "Ay, ay, he is that I" 
 
 This is the Scottish Lowland " coronach," characteristic 
 and expressive as the wailing of the pipes to the Gael or 
 the keening of women among the wild Eirionach. 
 
 " We are layin' the last o' the auld Andersons o' Deeside 
 amang the mools the day," said Saunders M'Quhirr, the 
 farmer of Drumquhat, to his friend Eob Adair of the Mains 
 of Deeside, as they walked sedately together, neither swing- 
 ing his arms as he would have done on an ordinary day. 
 Saunders had come all the way over Dee Water to follow 
 the far-noted man of God to his rest. 
 
 " There's no siccan men noo as the Andersons o' Dee- 
 side," said Eob Adair, with a kind of pride and pleasure in 
 his voice. "I'm a dale aulder than you, Saunders, an' I 
 mind weel o' the faither o' him that's gane." (Eob had in 
 full measure the curious South-country disinclination to 
 speak directly of the dead.) 
 
 " Ay, an angry man he was that day in the '43 when 
 him that's a cauld corp the day, left the kirk an' manse that 
 his faither had pitten him intil only the year afore. For, 
 of coorse, the lairds o' Deeside were the pawtrons o' the pair- 
 ish ; an' when the auld laird's yae son took it intil his head 
 to be a minister, it was in the nature o' things that he 
 should get the pairish. 
 
 " Weel, the laird didna speak to his son for the better 
 part o' twa year ; though mony a time he drave by to the 
 Pairish Kirk when his son was haudin' an ootdoor service
 
 THE LAST ANDERSON OF DEES1DE. 151 
 
 at the Auld Wa's where the three roads meet. For nae 
 sicht could they get on a' Deeside for kirk or manse, be- 
 cause frae the Dullarg to Craig Bonald a' belanged to the 
 laird. The minister sent the wife an' bairns to a sma' 
 hoose in Cairn Edward, an' lodged himsel' amang sic o' the 
 farmers as werena feared for his faither's factor. Na, an' 
 speak to his son the auld man wadna, for the very dourness 
 o' him. Ay, even though the minister wad say to his fai- 
 ther, ' Faither, wull ye no' speak to yer ain son ? ' no' yae 
 word wad he answer, but pass him as though he hadna seen 
 him, as muckle as to say ' Nae son o' mine ! ' 
 
 " But a week or twa after the minister had lost yon twa 
 nice bairns wi' the scarlet fever, his faither an' him for- 
 gathered at the fishin' whaur he had gane, thinkin' to jook 
 the sair thochts that he carried aboot wi' him, puir man. 
 They were baith keen fishers an' graun' at it. The minister 
 was for liftin' his hat to his faither an' gaun by, but the 
 auld man stood still in the middle o' the fit-pad wi' a gye 
 queer look in his face. * Wattie ! ' he said, an' for yae blink 
 the minister thocht that his faither was gaun to greet, a 
 thing that he had never seen him do in all his life. But 
 the auld man didna greet. ' Wattie,' says he to his son, 
 * hae ye a huik ? ' 
 
 "Ay, Saunders, that was a' he said, an* the minister 
 juist gied him the huik and some half-dizzen fine flees for- 
 bye, an' the twa o' them never said Disruption mair as lang 
 as they leeved. 
 
 " ' Ye had better see the factor aboot pittin' up a meet- 
 in'-hoose and a decent dwallin', gin ye hae left kirk and 
 manse ! ' That was a' that the auld laird ever said, as his 
 son gaed up stream and he down. 
 
 " Ay, he's been a sair-tried man in his time, your min- 
 ister, but he's a' by wi't the day," continued Saunders 
 M'Quhirr, as they trudged behind the hearse. 
 
 " Did I ever tell ye, Bob, aboot seein' young Walter-^-
 
 152 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 his boy that gaed wrang, ye ken when I was up in London 
 the year afore last? Na? 'Deed, I telled naebody bena 
 the mistress. It was nae guid story to tell on Deeside ! 
 
 " Weel, I was up, as ye ken, at Barnet Fair wi' some 
 winter beasts, so I bade a day or twa in London, doin' what 
 sma' business I had, an' seein' the sichts as weel, for it's no' 
 ilka day that a Deeside body finds themsel's i' London. 
 
 " Yae nicht wha should come in but a Cairn Edward 
 callant that served his time wi' Maxwell in the Advertiser 
 office. He had spoken to me at the show, pleased to see a 
 Gallawa' face, nae doot. And he telled me he was married 
 an' workin' on the Times. An' amang ither things back 
 an' forrit, he telled me that the minister o' Deeside's son 
 was here. ' But,' says he, ' I'm feared that he's comin' to 
 nae guid.' I kenned that the laddie hadna been hame to 
 his faither an' his mither for a maitter o' maybe ten year, so 
 I thought that I wad like to see the lad for his faither's 
 sake. So in a day or twa I got his address frae the reporter 
 lad, an' fand him after a lang seek doon in a gye queer place 
 no' far frae where Tammas Carlyle leeves near the water- 
 side. I thocht that there was nae ill bits i' London but in 
 the East-end ; but I learned different. 
 
 " I gaed up the stair o' a wee brick hoose nearly tum- 
 mlin' doon wi' its ain wecht a perfect rickle o' brick an' 
 chappit. A lass opened the door after a wee, no' that ill- 
 lookin', but toosy aboot the heid an' unco shilpit aboot 
 the face. 
 
 "'What do you want?' says she, Terra sharp an' clippit 
 in her mainner o' speech. 
 
 " ' Does Walter Anderson o' Deeside bide here ? ' I asked, 
 gye an' plain, as ye ken a body has to speak to thae Eng- 
 lishers that barely can understand their ain language. 
 
 " ' What may you want with him ? ' says she. 
 
 " ' I come frae Deeside,' says I no' that I meaned to 
 lichtly my ain pairish, but I thocht that the lassie micht
 
 THE LAST ANDERSON OF DEESIDE. 153 
 
 no' be aequant wi' the name o' Whunnyliggate. * I come 
 frae Deeside, an' I ken Walter Anderson's faither.' 
 
 "'That's no recommend,' says she. 'The mair's the 
 peety,' says I, ' for he's a daicent man.' 
 
 " So she took ben my name, that I had nae cause to be 
 ashamed o', an' syne she brocht word that I was to step in. 
 So ben I gaed, an' it wasna a far step, eyther, for it was 
 juist yae bit garret room ; an' there on a bed in the corner 
 was the minister's laddie, lookin' nae aulder than when he 
 used to swing on the yett an' chase the hens. At the verra 
 first glint I gat o' him I saw that Death had come to him, 
 and come to bide. His countenance was barely o' this 
 earth sair disjaskit an' no' manlike ava' mair like a lassie 
 far gane in a decline ; but raised-like too, an' wi' a kind o' 
 defiance in it, as if he was darin' the Almichty to His face. 
 man, Bob, I hope I may never see the like again." 
 
 "Ay, man, Saunders, ay, ay!" said Kob Adair, who, 
 being a more demonstrative man than his friend, had been 
 groping in the tail of his " blacks " for the handkerchief 
 that was in his hat. Then Rob forgot, in the pathos of the 
 story, what he was searching for, and walked for a consider- 
 able distance with his hand deep in the pocket of his tailcoat. 
 
 The farmer of Drumquhat proceeded on his even way. 
 
 " The lassie that I took to be his wife (but I asked no 
 questions) was awfu' different ben the room wi' him, frae 
 what she was wi' me at the door fleechin' like wi' him to 
 tak' a sup o' soup. An' when I gaed forrit to speak to him 
 on the puir bit bed, she cam' by me like stour, wi' the 
 water happin' off her cheeks, like hail in a simmer thunder- 
 shoo'er." 
 
 " Puir bit lassockie ! " muttered Eob Adair, who had 
 three daughters of his own at home, as he made another 
 absent-minded and unsuccessful search for his handkerchief. 
 " There's a smurr o' rain beginnin' to fa', I think," he said, 
 apologetically.
 
 154: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " ' An' ye're Sandy MacWhurr frae Drumquhat,' says 
 the puir lad on the bed. ' Are your sugar- plums as guid as 
 ever ? ' 
 
 " What a quastion to speer on a dying bed, Saunders ! " 
 said Rob. 
 
 " 'Deed, ye may say it. "Weel, frae that he gaed on talk- 
 in' aboot hoo Fred Robson an' him stole the hale o' the 
 Drumquhat plooms yae back-end, an' hoo they gat as far as 
 the horse waterin'-place wi' them when the dogs gat after 
 them. He threepit that it was me that set the dogs on, but 
 I never did that, though I didna conter him. He said that 
 Fred an' him made for the seven-fit march dyke, but hadna 
 time to mak' ower it. So there they had to sit on the tap 
 o' a thorn-bush in the meadow on their hunkers, wi' the 
 dogs fair loupin' an' yowlin' to get haud o' them. Then I 
 cam' doon mysel' an' garred them turn every pooch inside 
 oot. He minded, too, that I was for hingin' them baith up 
 by the heels, till what they had etten followed what had 
 been in their pooches. A' this he telled juist as he did, 
 when he used to come ower to hae a bar wi' the lassies, in 
 the forenichts after he cam' hame frae the college the first 
 year. But the lad was laughin' a' the time in a way I didna 
 like. It wasna natural something hard an' frae the teeth 
 oot, as ye micht say maist peetifu' in a callant like him, 
 wi' the deid-licht shinin' already in the blue een o' him." 
 
 " D'ye no' mind, Saunders, o' him comin' hame frae the 
 college wi' a hantle o' medals an' prizes?" said Rob Adair, 
 breaking in as if he felt that he must contribute his share 
 to the memories which shortened, if they did not cheer, 
 their road. " His faither was rael prood o' him, though it 
 wasna his way to say muckle. But his mither could talk 
 aboot naething else, an' carriet his picture aboot wi' her a' 
 ower the pairish in her wee black recktical basket. Fegs, a 
 gipsy wife gat a saxpence juist for speerin' for a sicht o' it, 
 and cryin', ' Blessings on the laddie's bonny face ! ' '
 
 THE LAST ANDERSON OF DEESIDE. 155 
 
 " Weel," continued Saunders, imperturbably taking up 
 the thread of his narrative amid the blattering of the snow, 
 " I let the lad rin on i' this way for a while, an' then says 
 I, ' Walter, ye dinna ask after yer faither ! ' 
 
 " ' No, I don't,' says he, verra short. ' Nell, gie me the 
 draught.' So wi' that the lassie gied her een a bit quick 
 dab, syne cam' forrit, an' pittin' her airm aneath his heid 
 she gied him a drink. Whatever it was, it quaitened him, 
 an' he lay back tired like. 
 
 "- ' Weel,' said I, after a wee, ' Walter, gin ye'll no' speer 
 for yer faither, maybe ye'll speer for yer ain mither ? ' 
 
 " Walter Anderson turned his heid to the wa'. ' Oh, 
 my mither ! my ain mither ! ' he said, but I could hardly 
 hear him sayin' it. Then more fiercely than he had yet 
 spoken he turned on me an' said, ' Wha sent ye here to 
 torment me before my time ? ' 
 
 " I saw young Walter juist yince mair in life. I stepped 
 doon to see him the next mornin' when the end was near. 
 He was catchin' and twitchin' at the coverlet, lif tin' up his 
 hand an' lookin' at it as though it was somebody else's. It 
 was a black fog outside, an' even in the garret it took him 
 in his throat till he couldna get breath. 
 
 " He motioned for me to sit doon beside him. There 
 was nae chair, so I e'en gat doon on my knees. The lass 
 stood white an' quaite at the far side o' the bed. He 
 turned his een on me, blue an' bonnie as a bairn's ; but wi' 
 a licht in them that telled he had eaten o' the tree o' knowl- 
 edge, and that no seldom. 
 
 " ' Sandy,' he whispered, ' what a mess I've made o't, 
 haven't I ? You'll see my mither when ye gang back to 
 Deeside. Tell her it's no' been so bad as it has whiles 
 lookit. Tell her I've aye loved her, even at the warst an' 
 an' my faither too ! ' he said, with a kind o' grip in his 
 words.
 
 156 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " * Walter,' says I, ' I'll pit up a prayer, as I'm on my 
 knees onyway.' I'm no' gif tit like some, I ken ; but, Eob- 
 ert, I prayed for that laddie gaun afore his Maker as 1 never 
 prayed afore or since. And when I spak aboot the f orgiein' 
 o' sin, the laddie juist steekit his een an' said ' Amen ! ' 
 
 " That nicht as the clock was chappin' twal' the lassie 
 cam' to my door (an' the landlady wasna that weel pleased 
 at bein' raised, eyther), an' she askit me to come an' see 
 Walter, for there was naebody else that had kenned him in 
 his guid days. So I took my stave an' my plaid an' gaed 
 my ways wi' her intil the nicht a' lichtit up wi' lang raws 
 o' gas-lamps, an' awa' doon by the water-side whaur the 
 tide sweels black aneath the brigs. Man, a big lichtit toun 
 at nicht is far mair lanesome than the Dullarg muir when 
 it's black as pit-mirk. When we got to the puir bit hoosie, 
 we fand that the doctor was there afore us. I had gotten 
 him brocht to Walter the nicht afore. But the lassie was 
 nae sooner within the door than she gied an unco-like cry, 
 an' flang hersel' distrackit on the bed. An' there I saw, 
 atween her white airms and her tangled yellow hair, the 
 face o' Walter Anderson, the son o' the Manse o' Deeside, 
 lyin' on the pillow wi' the chin tied up in a napkin ! 
 
 " Never a sermon like that, Eobert Adair ! " said Saun- 
 ders M'Quhirr solemnly, after he had paused a moment. 
 
 Saunders and Robert were now turning off the wind- 
 swept muir-road into the sheltered little avenue which led 
 up to the kirk above the white and icebound Dee Water. 
 The aged gravedigger, bent nearly double, met them where 
 the roads parted. A little further up the newly elected 
 minister of the parish kirk stood at the manse door, in 
 which Walter Anderson had turned the key forty years ago 
 for conscience' sake. 
 
 Very black and sombre looked the silent company of 
 mourners who now drew together about the open grave a 
 fearsome gash on the white spread of the new-fallen snow.
 
 THE LAST ANDERSON OF DEESIDE. 157 
 
 There was no religious service at the minister's grave save 
 that of the deepest silence. Hanked round the coffin, which 
 lay on black bars over the grave-mouth, stood the elders, 
 but no one of them ventured to take the posts of honour 
 at the head and the foot. The minister had left not one of 
 his blood with a right to these positions. He was the last 
 Anderson of Deeside. 
 
 " Preserve us ! wha's yon they're pittin' at the fit o' the 
 grave ? Wha can it be ava ? " was whispered here and there 
 back- in the crowd. " It's Jean Grier's boy, I declare him 
 that the minister took oot o' the puirhoose, and schuled and 
 colleged baith. Weel, that cowes a' ! Saw ye ever the like 
 o'that?" 
 
 It was to Rob Adair that this good and worthy thought 
 had come. In him more than in any of his fellow-elders 
 the dead man's spirit lived. He had sat under him all his 
 life, and was sappy with his teaching. Some would have 
 murmured had they had time to complain, but no one ven- 
 tured to say nay to Rob Adair as he pushed the modest, 
 clear-faced youth into the vacant place. 
 
 Still the space at the head of the grave was vacant, and 
 for a long moment the ceremony halted as if waiting for 
 a manifestation. With a swift, sudden startle the coil of 
 black cord, always reserved for the chief mourner, slipped 
 off the coffin-lid and fell heavily into the grave. 
 
 " He's there afore his farther," said Saunders M'Quhirr. 
 
 So sudden and unexpected was the movement, that, 
 though the fall of the cord was the simplest thing in the 
 world, a visible quiver passed through the bowed ranks of 
 the bearers. " It was his ain boy Wattie come to lay his 
 faither's heid i' the grave ! " cried Daft Jess, the parish 
 " natural," in a loud sudden voice from the " thruch " stone 
 near the kirkyaird wall where she stood at gaze. 
 
 And there were many there who did not think it impos- 
 sible.
 
 158 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 As the mourners " skailed " slowly away from the kirk- 
 yaird in twos and threes, there was wonderment as to who 
 should have the property, for which the the late laird and 
 minister had cared so little. There were very various opin- 
 ions ; but one thing was quite universally admitted, that 
 there would be no such easy terms in the matter of rent and 
 arrears as there had been in the time of " him that's awa'." 
 The snow swept down with a biting swirl as the groups 
 scattered and the mourners vanished from each other's 
 sight, diving singly into the eddying drifts as into a great 
 tent of many flapping folds. Grave and quiet is the Scot- 
 tish funeral, with a kind of simple manfulness as of men in 
 the presence of the King of Terrors, but yet possessing that 
 within them which enables every man of them to await 
 without unworthy fear the Messenger who comes but once. 
 On the whole, not so sad as many things that are called 
 mirthful. 
 
 So the last Anderson of Deeside, and the best of all 
 their ancient line, was gathered to his fathers in an equal 
 sleep that snowy January morning. There were two inches 
 of snow in the grave when they laid the coffin in. As 
 Saunders said, " Afore auld Elec could get him happit, his 
 Maister had hidden him like Moses in a windin'-sheet o' 
 His ain." In the morning, when Elec went hirpling into 
 the kirkyaird, he found at the gravehead a bare place which 
 the snow had not covered. Then some remembered that, 
 hurrying by in the rapidly darkening gloaming of the night 
 after the funeral, they had seen some one standing immov- 
 able by the minister's grave in the thickly drifting snow. 
 They had wondered why he should stand there on such a 
 bitter night. 
 
 There were those who said that it was just the lad Archi- 
 bald Grier, gone to stand a while by his benefactor's grave. 
 
 But Daft Jess was of another opinion.
 
 II. 
 A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAT. 
 
 " On this day 
 
 Men consecrate their souls, 
 As did their fathers." 
 
 And ah ! the sacred morns that crowned the week 
 The path betwixt the mountains and the sea, 
 The Sannox water and the wooden bridge, 
 The little church, the narrow seats and we 
 That through the open window saw the ridge 
 
 Of Fergus, and the peak 
 Of utmost Cior Mohr nor held it wrong, 
 When vext with platitude and stirless air, 
 To watch the mist-wreaths clothe the rock -scarps bare 
 And in the pauses hear the blackbird's song. 
 
 Memory Harvest. 
 
 I. THE BUIK. 
 
 WALTER CAKMICHAEL often says in these latter days 
 that his life owed much of its bent to his first days of the 
 week at Drumquhat. 
 
 The Sabbath morning broke over the farm like a bene- 
 diction. It was a time of great stillness and exceeding 
 peace. It was, indeed, generally believed in the parish that 
 Mrs. M'Quhirr had trained her cocks to crow in a fittingly 
 subdued way upon that day. To the boy the Sabbath light 
 seemed brighter. The necessary duties were earlier gone 
 about, in order that perfect quiet might surround the farm 
 
 159
 
 160 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 during all the hours of the day. As Walter is of opinion 
 that his youthful Sabbaths were so important, it may be 
 well to describe one of them accurately. It will then be 
 obvious that his memory has been playing him tricks, and 
 that he has remembered only those parts of it which tell 
 somewhat to his credit a common eccentricity of memo- 
 ries. 
 
 It is a thousand pities if in this brief chronicle Walter 
 should be represented as a good boy. He was seldom so 
 called by the authorities about Drumquhat. There he was 
 usually referred to as " that loon," " the liyule? " Wattie, 
 ye mischeevious boy." For he was a stirring lad, and his 
 restlessness frequently brought him into trouble. He re- 
 members his mother's Bible lessons on the green turn of 
 the loaning by the road, and he is of opinion now that they 
 did him a great deal of good. It is not for an outside his- 
 torian to contradict him ; but it is certain that his mother 
 had to exercise a good deal of patience to induce him to 
 give due attention, and a species of suasion that could 
 hardly be called moral to make him learn his verses and 
 his psalm. 
 
 Indeed, to bribe the boy with the promise of a book was 
 the only way of inspiring in him the love of scriptural 
 learning. There was a book-packman who came from 
 Balmathrapple once a month, and by the promise of a new 
 missionary map of the world (with the Protestants in red 
 floating like cream on the top, and the pagans sunk in 
 hopeless black at the bottom) Wattie could be induced to 
 learn nearly anything. Walter was, however, of opinion 
 that the map was a most imperfect production. He thought 
 that the portion of the world occupied by the Cameronians 
 ought to have been much more prominently charted. This 
 omission he blamed on Ned Kenna the bookman, who was 
 aTJ.R 
 
 Walter looked for the time when all the world, from
 
 A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY. 161 
 
 great blank Australia to the upper Icy Pole, should become 
 Cameronian. He anticipated an era when the black savages 
 would have to quit eating one another and learn the Shorter 
 Catechism. He chuckled when he thought of them attack- 
 ing Effectual Calling. 
 
 But he knew his duty to his fellows very well, and he did 
 it to the best of his ability. It was, when he met a Free 
 Kirk or Established boy, to throw a stone at him ; or alter- 
 natively, if the heathen chanced to be a girl, to put out his 
 tongue at her. This he did, not from any special sense of 
 superiority, but for the good of their souls. 
 
 When Walter awoke, the sun had long been up, and al- 
 ready all sounds of labour, usually so loud, were hushed 
 about the farm. There was a breathless silence, and the 
 boy knew even in his sleep that it was the Sabbath morning. 
 He arose, and unassisted arrayed himself for the day. Then 
 he stole forth, hoping that he would get his porridge before 
 the " buik " came on. Through the little end window he 
 could see his grandfather moving up and down outside, 
 leaning on his staff his tall, stooped figure very clear 
 against the background of beeches. As he went he looked 
 upward often in self-communion, and sometimes groaned 
 aloud in the instancy of his unspoken prayer. His brow 
 rose like the wall of a fortress. A stray white lock on his 
 bare head stirred in the crisp air. 
 
 Wattie was about to omit his prayers in his eagerness for 
 his porridge, but the sight of his grandfather induced him 
 to change his mind. He knelt reverently down, and was so 
 found when his mother came in. She stood for a moment 
 on the threshold, and silently beckoned the good mistress of 
 the house forward to share in the sight. But neither of the 
 women knew how near the boy's prayers came to being en- 
 tirely omitted that morning. And what is more, they 
 would not have believed it had they been informed of it by 
 the angel Gabriel. For this is the manner of women the
 
 162 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 way that mothers are made. The God of faith bless them 
 for it ! The man has indeed been driven out of Paradise, 
 but the woman, for whose expulsion we have no direct scrip- 
 tural authority, certainly carries with her materials for con- 
 structing one out of her own generous faith and belief. 
 Often men hammer out a poor best, not because they are 
 anxious to do the good for its own sake, but because they 
 know that some woman expects it of them. 
 
 The dwelling-house of Drumquhat was a low one-storied 
 house of a common enough pattern. It stood at one angle 
 of the white fortalice of buildings which surrounded the 
 "yard." Over the kitchen and the "ben the hoose" there 
 was a " laf t," where the " boys " * slept. The roof of this 
 upper floor was unceiled, and through the crevices the win- 
 ter snows sifted down upon the sleepers. Yet were there 
 no finer lads, no more sturdy and well set-up men, than the 
 sons of the farmhouse of Drumquhat. Many a morning, 
 ere the eldest son of the house rose from his bed in the 
 black dark to look to the sheep, before lighting his candle 
 he brushed off from the coverlet a full arm-sweep of pow- 
 dery snow. It was a sign of Walter's emancipation from 
 boyhood when he insisted on leaving his mother's cosy little 
 wall-chamber and climbing up the ladder with the boys to 
 their " laft " under the eaves. Nevertheless, it went with a 
 sudden pang to the mother's heart to think that never more 
 should she go to sleep with her boy clasped in her arms. 
 Such times will come to mothers, and they must abide them 
 in silence. A yet more bitter tragedy is when she realises 
 that another woman is before her in her son's heart. 
 
 The whole family of Saunders M'Quhirr was collected 
 every Sabbath morning at the " buik." It was a solemn 
 
 * As in Ireland, all the sons of the house are " boys " so long as they 
 remain under the roof-tree, even though they may carry grey heads on their 
 shoulders.
 
 A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY. 163 
 
 time. No one was absent, or could be absent for any pur- 
 pose whatever. The great Bible, clad rough-coated in the 
 hairy hide of a calf, was brought down from the press and 
 laid at the table-end. Saunders sat down before it and 
 bowed his head. In all the house there was a silence that 
 could be felt. It was at this time every Sabbath morning 
 that Walter resolved to be a good boy for the whole week. 
 The psalm was reverently given out, two lines at a time 
 
 " They in the Lord that firmly trust, 
 Shall be like Zion hill " 
 
 and sung to the high quavering strains of " Coleshill," gar- 
 nished with endless quavers and grace-notes. 
 
 The chapter was then read with a simple trust and man- 
 fulness like that of an ancient patriarch. Once at this por- 
 tion of the service the most terrible thing that ever hap- 
 pened at Drumquhat took place. Walter had gone to 
 school during the past year, and had been placed in the 
 " sixpenny " ; but he had promptly " trapped " his way to 
 the head of the class, and so into the more noble " ten- 
 penny," which he entered before he was six. The operation 
 of "trapping" was simply performed. When a mistake 
 was made in pronunciation, repetition, or spelling, any 
 pupil further down the class held out his hand, snapping 
 the finger and thumb like a pop-gun Nordenfeldt. The 
 master's pointer skimmed rapidly down the line, and if no 
 one in higher position answered, the " trapper," providing 
 always that his emendation was accepted, was instantly pro- 
 moted to the place of the " trapped." The master's " taws " 
 were a wholesome deterrent of persistent or mistaken trap- 
 ping ; and, in addition, the trapped boys sometimes rectified 
 matters at the back of the school at the play-hour r when 
 fists became a high court of appeal and review. 
 
 Walter had many fights " Can ye fecht ? " being the 
 recognised greeting to the new comer at Whinnyliggate 
 12
 
 164 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 school. When this was asked of Walter, he replied mod- 
 estly that he did not know, whereupon his enemy, without 
 provocation, smote him incontinently on the nose. Him 
 our boy-from-the-heather promptly charged, literally with 
 tooth and nail, overbore to the dust, and, when he held him 
 there, proceeded summarily to disable him for further con- 
 flict, as he had often seen Koyal do when that mild dog 
 went forth to war. Walter could not at all understand why 
 he was dragged off his assailant by the assembled school, 
 and soundly cuffed for a young savage who fought like the 
 beasts. Wattie knew in his heart that this objection was 
 unreasonable, for whom else had he seen fight besides the 
 beasts ? But in due time he learned to fight legitimately 
 enough, and to take his share of the honours of war. More- 
 over, the reputation of a reserve of savagery did him no 
 harm, and induced many an elder boy who had been 
 " trapped " to forego the pleasure of " warming him after 
 the schule comes oot," which was the formal challenge of 
 Whinnyliggate chivalry. 
 
 But this Sabbath morning at the " buik," when the so- 
 lemnity of the week had culminated, and the portion was 
 being read, Walter detected a quaint antiquity in the pro- 
 nunciation of a Bible name. His hand shot out, cracking 
 like a pistol, and, while the family waited for the heavens 
 to fall, Walter boldly " trapped " the priest of the household 
 at his own family altar ! 
 
 Saunders M'Quhirr stopped, and darted one sharp, severe 
 glance at the boy's eager face. But even as he looked, his 
 face mellowed into what his son Alec to this day thinks may 
 have been the ghost of a smile. But this he mentions to no 
 one, for, after all, Saunders is his father. 
 
 The book was closed. " Let us pray," Saunders said. 
 
 The prayer was not one to be forgotten. There was a 
 yearning refrain in it, a cry for more worthiness in those 
 whom God had so highly favoured. Saunders was allowed
 
 A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY. 165 
 
 to be highly gifted in intercession. But he was also con- 
 sidered to have some strange notions for a God-fearing 
 man. 
 
 For instance, he would not permit any of his children 
 to be taught by heart any prayer besides the Lord's Prayer. 
 After repeating that, they were encouraged to ask from 
 God whatever they wanted, and were never reproved, how- 
 ever strange or incongruous their supplications might be. 
 Saunders simply told them that if what they asked was not 
 for their good they would not get it a fact which, he said, 
 " they had as lieve learn sune as syne." 
 
 This excellent theory of prayer was certainly produc- 
 tive of curious results. For instance, Alec is recorded in 
 the family archives to have interjected the following pe- 
 tition into his devotions, While saying his own prayers, 
 he had been keeping a keen fraternal eye upon sundry 
 delinquencies of his younger brother. These having be- 
 come too outrageous, Alec continued without break in his 
 supplications " And now, Lord, will you please excuse me 
 till I gang an' kick that loon Bab, for he'll no' behave him- 
 sel' ! " So the spiritual exercises were interrupted, and in 
 Alec's belief the universe waited till discipline allowed the 
 petitionary thread to be taken up. 
 
 The " buik " being over, the red farm-cart rattled to 
 the door to convey such of the churchgoers as were not 
 able to walk all the weary miles to the Cameronian kirk in 
 Cairn Edward. The stalwart, long-legged sons cut across 
 a shorter way by the Big Hoose and the Deeside kirk. 
 Both the cart and the walkers passed on the way a good 
 many churches, both Established and Free ; but they never 
 so much as looked the road they were on. 
 
 This hardly applied to Alec, whose sweetheart (for the 
 time-being) attended the Free kirk at Whinnyliggate. He 
 knew within his own heart that he would have liked to 
 turn in there, and the consciousness of his iniquity gave
 
 166 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 him an acute sense of the fallen nature of man at least, 
 till he got out of sight of the spireless rigging of the kirk, 
 and out of hearing of the jow of its bell. Then his spirits 
 rose to think that he had resisted temptation. Also, he 
 dared not for his life have done anything else, for his 
 father's discipline, though kindly, was strict and patri- 
 archal. 
 
 And, moreover, there was a lass at the Cameronian kirk, 
 a daughter of the Arkland grieve, whose curls he rather 
 liked to see in the seat before him. He had known her 
 when he went to the neighbouring farm to harvest for in 
 that lowland district the corn was all cut and led, before it 
 was time to begin it on the scanty upland crop which was 
 gathered into the barns of Drumquhat. Luckily, she sat 
 in a line with the minister ; and when she was there two 
 sermons on end were not too long. 
 
 II. THE ROAD TO THE KIRK. 
 
 THE clean red farm-cart rattled into the town of Cairn 
 Edward at five minutes past eleven. The burghers looked 
 up and said, " Hoo is the clock ? " Some of them went so 
 far as to correct any discrepancy in their timekeepers, for 
 all the world knew that the Drumquhat cart was not a 
 moment too soon or too late, so long as Saunders had the 
 driving of it. Times had not been too good of late ; and 
 for some years indeed, ever since the imposition of the 
 tax on light-wheeled vehicles the " tax-cart " had slum- 
 bered wheelless in the back of the peat-shed, and the 
 Drumquhat folk had driven a well-cleaned, heavy- wheeled 
 red cart both to kirk and market. But they were respected 
 in spite of their want of that admirable local certificate of 
 character, " He is a respectable man. He keeps a gig." 
 One good man in Whinnyliggate says to this day that he
 
 A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY. 167 
 
 had an excellent upbringing. He was brought up by his 
 parents to fear God and respect the Drumquhat folks ! 
 
 Walter generally went to church now, ever since his 
 granny had tired of conveying him to the back field over- 
 looking the valley of the Black Water of the Dee, while his 
 mother made herself ready. He was fond of going there to 
 see the tents of the invading army of navvies who were 
 carrying the granite rock-cuttings and heavy embankments 
 of the Portpatrick Railway through the wilds of the Gallo- 
 way moors. But Mary M'Quhirr struck work one day 
 when the " infant," being hungry for a piece, said calmly, 
 " D'ye no think that we can gang hame ? My mither will 
 be awa' to the kirk by noo ! " 
 
 On the long journey to church, Walter nominally ac- 
 companied the cart. Occasionally he seated himself on 
 the clean straw which filled its bottom ; but most of the 
 time this was too fatiguing an occupation for him. On the 
 plea of walking up the hills, he ranged about on either side 
 of the highway, scenting the ground like a young collie. 
 He even gathered flowers when his grandfather was not 
 looking, and his mother or his " gran," who were not so 
 sound in the faith, aided and abetted him by concealing 
 them when Saunders looked round. The master sat, of 
 course, on the front of the cart and drove ; but occasionally 
 he cast a wary eye around, and if he saw that they were 
 approaching any houses he would stop the cart and make 
 Walter get in. On these occasions he would fail to observe 
 it even if Walter's hands contained a posy of wild flowers 
 as big as his head. His blindness was remarkable in a man 
 whose eyesight was so good. The women-folk in the cart 
 generally put the proceeds of these forays under the straw, 
 or else dropped them quietly overboard before entering 
 Cairn Edward. 
 
 The old Cameronian kirk sits on a hill, and is sur- 
 rounded by trees, a place both bieldy and heartsome. The
 
 158 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 only thing that the Cameronians seriously felt the want of 
 was a burying-ground round about it. A kirk is never 
 quite commodious and cheery without monuments to read 
 and " thruchs " to sit upon and " ca' the crack." Now, 
 however, they have made a modern church of it, and a 
 steeple has been set down before it, for all the world as if 
 Cleopatra's needle had been added to the front wall of a 
 barn. 
 
 But Cairn Edward Cameronian kirk has long been a 
 gate of heaven. To many who in their youth have entered 
 it the words heard there have brought the beginning of a 
 new life and another world. Of old, as the morning psalm 
 went upward in a grand slow surge, there was a sense of 
 hallowed days in the very air. And to this day Walter 
 has a general idea that the mansions of the New Jerusalem 
 are of the barn class of architecture and whitewashed in- 
 side, which will not show so much upon the white robes 
 when it rubs off, as it used to do on plain earthly " blacks." 
 
 III. A CAMERONIAlSr DIET OF WORSHIP. 
 
 THERE were not many distractions for a boy of active 
 habits and restless tendencies during the long double serv- 
 ice of two hours and a bittock in the Cameronian kirk of 
 Cairn Edward. The minister was the Reverend Richard 
 Cameron, the youngest scion of a famous Covenanting 
 family. 
 
 He had come to Cairn Edward as a stripling, and he 
 was now looked upon as the future high priest of the sect 
 in succession to his father, at that time minister of the 
 metropolitan temple of the denomination. Tall, erect, with 
 flowing black hair that swept his shoulders, and the ex- 
 quisitely chiselled face of some marble Apollo, Richard 
 Cameron was, as his name-sake had been, an ideal minister
 
 A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY. 169 
 
 of the Hill Folk. His splendid eyes glowed with still and 
 chastened fire, as he walked with his hands behind him 
 and his head thrown back, up the long aisle from the 
 vestry. 
 
 His successor was a much smaller man, well set and 
 dapper, who wore black gloves when preaching, and who 
 seemed to dance a minuet under his spectacles as he walked. 
 Alas! to him also came in due time the sore heart and 
 the bitter draught. They say in Cairn Edward that no 
 man ever left that white church on the wooded knoll south 
 of the town and was happier for the change. The leafy 
 garden where many ministers have written their sermons, 
 has seemed to them a very paradise in after years, and their 
 cry has been, " 0, why left I my hame ! " 
 
 But these were happy days for Richard Cameron when 
 he brought his books and his violin to the manse that nestled 
 at the foot of the hill. He came among men strict with 
 a certain staid severity concerning things that they counted 
 material, but yet far more kindly-hearted and charitable 
 than of recent years they have gotten credit for. 
 
 Saunders did not object to the minister's violin, being 
 himself partial to a game at the ice, and willing that another 
 man should also have his chosen relaxation. Then, again, 
 when the young man began to realise himself, and lay about 
 him in the pulpit, there were many who would tell how 
 they remembered his father preaching on one occasion 
 the sermon that " fenced the tables," on the Fast Day be- 
 fore the communion, when the partitions were out and the 
 church crowded to the door. Being oppressed with the 
 heat, he craved the indulgence of the congregation to be 
 allowed to remove his coat ; and thereafter, in his shirt- 
 sleeves, struck terror into all, by denunciations against heresy 
 and infidelity, against all evil-doing and evil-speaking. It 
 was interesting as a battle-tale how he barred the table of 
 the Lord to " all such as have danced or followed after play-
 
 170 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 actors, or have behaved themselves unseemly at Kelton 
 Hill or other gathering of the ungodly, or have frequented 
 public-houses beyond what is expedient for lawful enter- 
 tainment ; against all such as swear minced oaths, such as 
 ' losh,' ' gosh,' ' legs,' ' certes,' ' faith ' ; and against all such 
 as swear by heaven or earth, or visit their neighbours' houses 
 upon the Lord's Day, saving as may be necessary in coming 
 to the house of the Lord." 
 
 The young man could not be expected at once to come up 
 to the high standard of this paternal master-work which, 
 indeed, proved to be too strong meat for any but a few of 
 the sterner office-bearers, who had never heard their brother- 
 elders' weaknesses so properly handled before. But they 
 had, nevertheless, to go round the people and tell them that 
 what the Doctor had said was to be understood spiritually, 
 and chiefly as a warning to other denominations, else there 
 had been a thin kirk and but one sparse table instead of the 
 usual four or five, on the day of high communion in the 
 Cairn Edward Cameronian kirk. 
 
 Now, Walter could be a quiet boy in church for a cer- 
 tain time. He did not very much enjoy the service, except 
 when they sang " Old Hundred " or " Scarborough," when 
 he would throw back his head and warble delightedly with 
 the best. But he listened attentively to the prayers, and 
 tracked the minister over that well-kenned ground. Wal- 
 ter was prepared for his regular stint, but he did not hold 
 with either additions or innovations. He liked to know 
 how far he was on in the prayer, and it was with an ex- 
 hausted gasp of relief that he caught the curious lowering 
 of the preacher's voice which tells that the "Amen" is 
 within reasonable distance. 
 
 The whole congregation was good at that, and hearers 
 began to relax themselves from their standing postures as 
 the minister's shrill pipe rounded the corner and tacked for 
 the harbour; but Walter was always down before them.
 
 A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY. 171 
 
 Once, however, after he had seated himself, he was put to 
 shame by the minister suddenly darting off on a new excur- 
 sion, having remembered some other needful supplication 
 which he had omitted. Walter never quite regained his 
 confidence in Mr. Cameron after that. He had always 
 thought him a good and Christian man hitherto, but there- 
 after he was not so sure. 
 
 Once, also, when the minister visited the farm of Drum- 
 quhat, "Walter, being caught by his granny in the very act 
 of escaping, was haled to instant execution with the shine 
 of the soap on his cheeks and hair. But the minister was 
 kind, and did not ask for anything more abstruse than 
 " Man's Chief End." He inquired, however, if the boy had 
 ever seen him before. 
 
 " Ow, ay," said Walter, confidently ; " ye're the man that 
 sat at the back window ! " 
 
 This was the position of the manse seat, and at the 
 Fast Day service Mr. Cameron usually sat there when a 
 stranger preached. Not the least of Walter's treasures, now 
 in his library, is a dusky little squat book called The Peep 
 of Day, with an inscription on it in Mr. Cameron's minute 
 and beautiful backhand : " To Walter Carmichael, from the 
 Man at the Back Window." 
 
 The minister was grand. In fact, he usually was grand. 
 On this particular Sunday he preached his two discourses 
 with only the interval of a psalm and a prayer ; and his sec- 
 ond sermon was on the spiritual rights of a Covenanted 
 kirk, as distinguished from the worldly emoluments of an 
 Erastian establishment. Nothing is so popular as to prove 
 to people what they already believe, and that day's sermon 
 was long remembered among the Cameronians. It redd up 
 their position so clearly, and settled their precedence with 
 such finality, that Walter, hearing that the Frees had done 
 far wrong in not joining the Church of the Protests and 
 Declarations in the year 1843, resolved to have his school-
 
 1Y2 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 bag full of good road-metal on the following morning, in 
 order to impress the Copland boys, who were Frees, with 
 the sense of their position. 
 
 But as the sermon proceeded on its conclusive way, the 
 bowed ranks of the attentive Hill Folk bent further and 
 further forward, during the long periods of the preacher ; 
 and when, at the close of each, they drew in a long, united 
 breath like the sighing of the wind, and leaned back in 
 their seats, Walter's head began to nod over the chapters of 
 First Samuel, which he was spelling out. 
 
 David's wars were a great comfort to him during long 
 sermons. Gradually he dropped asleep, and wakened oc- 
 casionally with a start when his granny nudged him when 
 Sauuders happened to look his way. 
 
 As the little fellow's mind thus came time and again 
 to the surface, he heard snatches of fiery oratory concerning 
 the Sanquhar Declarations and the Covenants, National and 
 Solemn League, till it seemed to him as though the trump 
 of doom would crash before the minister had finished. And 
 he wished it would ! But at last, in sheer desperation, hav- 
 ing slept apparently about a week, he rose with his feet 
 upon the seat, and in his clear, childish treble he said, being 
 still dazed with sleep 
 
 " Will that man no' soon be dune ? " 
 
 It was thus that the movement for short services began 
 in the Cameronian kirk of Cairn Edward. They are an 
 hour and twenty minutes now a sore declension, as all will 
 admit. 
 
 IV. THE THKEE M'HAFFIES. 
 
 AGAIN the red farm-cart rattled out of the town into 
 the silence of the hedges. For the first mile or two, the 
 church-folk returning to the moor-farm might possibly
 
 A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY. 173 
 
 meet and, if they did so, frankly reprove with word or look 
 the " Sunday walkers," who bit shamefacedly, as well they 
 might, the ends of hawthorn twigs, and communed together 
 apparently without saying a word to each other. There 
 were not many pairs of sweethearts among them any that 
 were, being set down as " regardless Englishry," the spawn 
 of the strange, uncannylike building by the lochside, which 
 the " General " had been intending to finish any time these 
 half-dozen years. 
 
 For the most part the walkers were young men with 
 companions of their own sex and age, who were anxious to 
 be considered broad in their views. Times have changed 
 now, for we hear that quite respectable folk, even town 
 councillors, take their walks openly on Sabbath afternoons. 
 It was otherwise in those days. 
 
 But none of their own kind did the Drumquhat folk 
 meet or overtake, till at the bottom rise of the mile-long 
 Whinuyliggate Wood the red cart came up with the three 
 brave little old maids who, leaving a Free kirk at their very 
 door, and an Established over the hill, made their way 
 seven long miles to the true kirk of the persecutions. 
 
 It had always been a grief to them that there was no 
 Clavers to make them testify up to the chin in Solway tide, 
 or with a great fiery match between their fingers to burn 
 them to the bone. But what they could they did. They 
 trudged fourteen miles every Sabbath day, with their dresses 
 " fate and snod " and their linen like the very snow, to listen 
 to the gospel preached according to their conscience. They 
 were all the smallest of women, but their hearts were great, 
 and those who knew them hold them far more worthy of 
 honour than the three lairds of the parish. 
 
 Of them all only one remains. (Alas, no more !) But 
 their name and honour shall not be forgotten on Deeside 
 while fire burns and water runs, if this biographer can help 
 it. The M'Haffies were all distinguished by their sturdy
 
 174 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 independence, but Jen M'Haffie was ever the cleverest with 
 her head. The parish minister had once mistaken Jen for 
 a person of limited intelligence ; but he altered his opinion 
 after Jen had taken him through hands upon the Settle- 
 ment of " Aughty-nine " (1689), when the Cameronians 
 refused to enter into the Church of Scotland as recon- 
 structed by the Eevolution Settlement. 
 
 The three sisters had a little shop which the two less 
 active tended; while Mary, the business woman of the 
 family, resorted to Cairn Edward every Monday and Thurs- 
 day with and for a miscellaneous cargo. As she plodded 
 the weary way, she divided herself between conning the 
 sermons of the previous Sabbath, arranging her packages, 
 and anathematising the cuddy. " Ye person ye awf u' 
 person ! " was her severest denunciation. 
 
 Billy was a donkey of parts. He knew what houses to 
 call at. It is said that he always brayed when he had to 
 pass the Established kirk manse, in order to express his 
 feelings. But in spite of this Billy was not a true Camer- 
 onian. It was always suspected that he could not be much 
 more than Cameronian by marriage a "tacked-on one," 
 in short. His walk and conversation were by no means so 
 straightforward, as those of one sound in the faith ought to 
 have been. It was easy to tell when Billy and his cart had 
 passed along the road, for his tracks did not go forward, 
 like all other wheel-marks, but meandered hither and 
 thither across the road, as though he had been weaving 
 some intricate web of his own devising. He was called the 
 Whinnyliggate Express, and his record was a mile and a 
 quarter an hour, good going. 
 
 Mary herself was generally tugging at him to come on. 
 She pulled Billy, and Billy pulled the cart. But, never- 
 theless, in the long-run, it was the will of Billy that was 
 the ultimate law. Walter was very glad to have the M'Haf- 
 fies on the cart, both because he was allowed to walk all the
 
 A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY. 
 
 time, and because he hoped to get Mary into a good temper 
 against next Tuesday. 
 
 Mary came Drumquhat way twice a week on Tuesdays 
 and Fridays. As Wattie went to school he met her, and, 
 being allowed by his granny one penny to spend at Mary's 
 cart, he generally occupied most of church time, and all the 
 school hours for a day or two before these red-letter occa- 
 sions, in deciding what he would buy. 
 
 It did not make choice any easier that alternatives were 
 strictly limited. While he was slowly and laboriously 
 making up his mind as to the long-drawn-out merits of 
 four farthing biscuits, the way that "halfpenny Aber- 
 nethies " melted in the mouth arose before him with irresist- 
 ible force. And just as he had settled to have these, the 
 thought of the charming explorations after the currants in 
 a couple of " cookies " was really too much for him. Again, 
 the solid and enduring charms of a penny "Jew's roll," 
 into which he could put his lump of butter, often entirely 
 unsettled his mind at the last moment. The consequence 
 was that Wattie had always to make up his mind in the 
 immediate presence of the objects, and by that time neither 
 Billy nor Mary could brook very long delays. 
 
 It was important, therefore, on Sabbaths, to propitiate 
 Mary as much as possible, so that she might not cut him 
 short and proceed on her way without supplying his wants, 
 as she had done at least once before. On that occasion she 
 said 
 
 "D'ye think Mary M'Haffie has naething else in the 
 world to do, but stan' still as lang as it pleases you to gaup 
 there ! Gin ye canna tell us what ye want, ye can e'en do 
 withoot ! Gee up, Billy ! Come oot o' the roadside ye're 
 aye eat-eatin', ye bursen craitur ye ! "
 
 III. 
 
 THE COUKTSHIP OF 
 TAMMOCK THACKANKAIP, AYESHIKEMAN. 
 
 The peats were brought, the fires were set, 
 
 While roared November's gale; 
 With unbound mirth the neighbours met 
 
 To speed the canty tale. 
 
 A BASK, dry November night at Drumquhat made us 
 glad to gather in to the goodwife's fire. I had been round 
 the farm looking the sheep. Billy Beattie, a careless loon, 
 was bringing in the kye. He was whacking them over the 
 rumps with a hazel. I came on him suddenly and changed 
 the direction of the hazel, which pleased my wife when I 
 told her. 
 
 " The rackless young vaigabond," said she " I'll rump 
 him ! " 
 
 " Bide ye, wife ; I attended to that mysel'." 
 
 The minister had been over at Drumquhat in the after- 
 noon, and the wife had to tell me what he had said to her, 
 and especially what she had said to him. For my guidwife, 
 when she has a fit of repentance and good intentions, be- 
 comes exceedingly anxious not about her own shortcom- 
 ings, but about mine. Then she confesses all my sins to 
 the minister. Now, I have telled her a score of times that 
 this is no' bonnie, and me an elder of twenty years' stand- 
 ing. But the minister kens her weakness. We must all 
 
 176
 
 TAMMOCK THACKANRAIP. 177 
 
 bear with the women-folk, even ministers, he says, for he is 
 a married man, an' kens. 
 
 " Guidman," she says, as soon as I got my nose by the 
 door-cheek, " it was an awsome peety that ye werena inby 
 this afternoon. The minister was graund on smokin'." 
 
 " Ay," said I ; " had his brither in Liverpool sent him 
 some guid stuff that had never paid her Majesty's duty, as 
 he did last year ? " 
 
 " Hoots, haivers ; I'll never believe that ! " said she, 
 scouring about the kitchen and rubbing the dust out of odd 
 corners that were clean aneuch for the Duke of Buccleuch 
 to take his " fower-oors " off. But that is the way of the 
 wife. They are queer cattle, wives even the best of them. 
 Some day I shall write a book about them. It will be a 
 book worth buying. But the wife says that when I do, she 
 will write a second volume about men, that will make every 
 married man in the parish sit up. As for me, I had better 
 take a millstone about my neck and loup into the depths of 
 the mill-dam. That is what she says, and she is a woman 
 of her word. My book on wives is therefore " unavoidably 
 delayed," as Maxwell whiles says of his St. Mungo's letter, 
 and capital reading it is. 
 
 " Hoots, haivers ! " said the wife again. She cannot 
 bide not being answered. Even if she has a groom" 1 in her 
 back, and remarks " Ateeshoo-oo ! " ye are bound for the 
 sake of peace to put the question, "What ails ye, guid- 
 wife ? " 
 
 " I'll never believe that the minister smokes. He never 
 lias the gliff o' it aboot him when he comes here." 
 
 " That's the cunnin' o' the body," said I. " He kens 
 wha he's comin' to see, an' he juist cuittles ye till ye gang 
 aboot the hoose like Pussy Bawdrons that has been strokit 
 afore the fire, wi' your tail wavin' owre your back." 
 
 " Think shame o' yoursel', Saunders M'Quhirr you an 
 elder and a man on in years, to speak that gate."
 
 178 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " Gae wa' wi' ye, Mary M'Quhirr," I said. " Do ye 
 think me sae auld ? There was but forty-aught hours and 
 twenty meenits atween oor first scraichs in this warld. 
 That's no' aneuch to set ye up to sic an extent, that ye can 
 afford to gang aboot the hoose castin' up my age to me. 
 There's mony an aulder man lookin' for his second wife." 
 
 And with that, before my wife had time to think on a 
 rouser of a reply (I saw it in her eye, but it had not time to 
 come away), Thomas Thackanraip hirpled in. Thomas 
 came from Ayrshire near forty years since, and has been 
 called Tammock the Ayrshireman ever since. He was now 
 a hearty-like man with a cottage of his own, and a cheery 
 way with him that made him a welcome guest at all the 
 neighbouring farmhouses, as he was at ours. The humours 
 of Tarnmock were often the latest thing in the countryside. 
 He was not in the least averse to a joke against himself, 
 and that, I think, was the reason of a good deal of his popu- 
 larity. He went generally with his hand in the small of 
 his back, as if he were keeping the machinery in position 
 while he walked. But he had a curious young-like way with 
 him for so old a man, and was for ever pook-pookiu.g at the 
 lasses wherever he went. 
 
 " Guid e'en to ye, mistress ; hoo's a' at Drumquhat the 
 nicht ? " says Tammock. 
 
 " Come your ways by an' tak' a seat by the fire, Tam- 
 mock ; it's no' a kindly nicht for auld banes," says the wife. 
 
 " Ay, gu id wife, 'deed and I sympathise wi' ye," says 
 Tammock. " It's what we maun a' come to some day." 
 
 " Doidered auld body ! " exclaimed my wife, " did ye 
 think I was meanin' mysel'?" 
 
 " Wha else?" said Tammock, reaching forward to get a 
 light for his pipe from the hearth where a little glowing 
 knot had fallen, puffing out sappy wheezes as it burned. 
 He looked slyly up at the mistress as he did so. 
 
 " Tammock," said she, standing with her arms wide set,
 
 TAMMOCK THACKANRAIP. 179 
 
 and her hands on that part of the onstead that appears to 
 have been built for them, " I wad hae ye mind that I was 
 but a lassock when ye cam' knoitin' an' hirplin' alang the 
 Ayrshire road frae Dalmellington."" 
 
 " I mind brawly," said Tainmock, drawing bravely 
 away. " Ay, Mary, ye were a strappin' wean. Ye said ye 
 wadna hae me ; I mind that weel. That was the way ye 
 fell in wi' Drumquhat, when I gied up thochts o' ye 
 myseP." 
 
 " You gie up thochts o' me, Tammock ! Was there 
 ever- siccan presumption ? Ye'll no' speak that way in my 
 hoose. Hoo daur ye? Saunders, hear till him. Wull ye 
 sit there like a puddock on a post, an' listen to this this 
 Ayrshireman misca' your marriet wife, Alexander M'Quhirr? 
 Shame till ye, man ! " 
 
 My married wife was well capable of taking care of her- 
 self in anything that appertained to the strife of tongues. 
 In the circumstances, therefore, I did not feel called upon 
 to interfere. 
 
 " Ye can tak' a note o' the circumstance an' tell the 
 minister the next time he comes owre," said I, dry as a mill- 
 hopper. 
 
 She whisked away into the milk-house, taking the door 
 after her as far as it would go with a flaff that brought a 
 bowl, which had been set on its edge to dry, whirling off 
 the dresser on to the stone floor. 
 
 "When the wife came back, she paused before the frag- 
 ments. We were sitting smoking very peacefully and won- 
 dering what was coming. 
 
 "Wha whammelt my cheeny bowl?" said Mistress 
 M'Quhirr, in a tone which, had I not been innocent, would 
 have made me take the stable. 
 
 " Wha gaed through that door last ? " said I. 
 
 " The minister," says she. 
 
 " Then it maun hae been the minister that broke the 
 13
 
 180 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 bowl. Pit it by for him till he comes. I'm no' gaun to be 
 wracked oot o' hoose an' hame for reckless ministers." 
 
 " But wha was't ? " she said, still in doubt. 
 
 " Juist e'en the waff o' your ain coat-tails, mistress," 
 said Tammock. " I hae seen the day that mair nor 
 bowls whammelt themsel's an' brak' into flinders to be 
 after ye." 
 
 And Tammock sighed a sigh and shook his head at the 
 red greesoch in the grate. 
 
 "Hoots, haivers!" said the mistress. But I could see 
 she was pleased, and wanted Tammock to go on. He was 
 a great man all his days with the women-folk by just such 
 arts. On the contrary, I am for ever getting cracks on the 
 crown for speaking to them as ye would do to a man body. 
 Some folk have the gift, and it is worth a hundred a year 
 to them at the least. 
 
 " Ay," said Tammock thoughtfully, " ye nearly brak' my 
 heart when I was the grieve at the Folds an' cam' owre in 
 the forenichts to coort ye. D'ye mind hoo ye used to sit on 
 my knee, and I used to sing, 
 
 ' My love she's but a lassie yet ' ? " 
 
 "I mind no siccan things," said Mistress M'Quhirr. 
 " Weel do ye ken that when ye cam' aboot the mill I was 
 but a wee toddlin' bairn rinnin' after the dyukes in the 
 yaird. It's like aneuch that I sat on your knee. I hae 
 some mind o' you haudin' your muckle turnip watch to my 
 lug for me to hear it tick." 
 
 "Aweel, aweel, Mary," he said placably, "it's like 
 aneuch that was it. Thae auld times are apt to get a 
 kennin' mixter-maxter in yin's heid." 
 
 "We got little more out of him till once the bairns were 
 shooed off to their beds, and the wife had been in three 
 times at them with the broad of her loof to make them be- 
 have themselves. But ultimately Tammock Thackanraip
 
 TAMMOCK TflACKANRAIP. 181 
 
 agreed to spend the night with us. I saw that he wanted 
 to open out something by ourselves, after the kitchen was 
 clear and the men off to the stable. 
 
 So on the back of nine we took the book, and then drew 
 round the red glow of the fire in the kitchen. It is the 
 only time in the day that the mistress allows me to put my 
 feet on the jambs, which is the only way that a man can 
 get right warmed up, from foundation to rigging, as one 
 might say. In this position we waited for Tammock to 
 begin or rather I waited, for the wife sat quietly in the 
 corner knitting her stocking. 
 
 " I was thinkin' o' takin' a wife gin I could get a guid, 
 faceable-like yin," said Tammock, thumbing the dottle 
 down. 
 
 " Ay ? " said I, and waited. 
 
 " Ye see, I'm no' as young as I yince was, and I need 
 somebody sair." 
 
 " But I thocht aye that ye were lookin' at Tibby o' the 
 Hilltap," said the mistress. 
 
 " I was," said Thomas sententiously. He stroked his 
 leg with one hand softly, as though it had been a cat's 
 back. 
 
 Now, Tibby o' the Hilltap was the farmer's daughter, a 
 belle among the bachelors, but one who had let so many 
 lads pass her by, that she was thought to be in danger of 
 missing a down-setting after all. But Tammock had long 
 been faithful. 
 
 " I'll gang nae mair to yon toun," said Tammock. 
 
 " Hoots, haivers ! " (this was Mistress M'Quhirr's favour- 
 ite expression) ; " an' what for no' ? What said she, Tam- 
 mock, to turn you f rae the Hilltap ? " 
 
 " She said what settled me," said Tammock a little sadly. 
 " I'm thinkin' there's nocht left for't but to tak' Bell Mul- 
 whulter, that has been my housekeeper, as ye ken, for twenty 
 year. But gin I do mak' up my mind to that, it'll be a
 
 182 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 heartbreak that I didna do it twenty year since. It wad 
 hae saved expense." 
 
 '"Deed, I'm nane so sure o' that," said the goodwife, 
 listening with one ear cocked to the muffled laughter in the 
 boys' sleeping-room. 
 
 " Thae loons are no' asleep yet," said she, lifting an old 
 flat-heeled slipper and disappearing. 
 
 There was a sharp slap-slapping for a minute, mixed 
 with cries of " Oh, mither, it was Alec ! " " No, mither, it 
 was Eob ! " 
 
 Mary appeared at the door presently, breathing as she 
 did when she had half done with the kirning. She set the 
 slipper in the corner to be ready to her hand in case of fur- 
 ther need. 
 
 "Na, na, Ayrshireman," she said; "it's maybe time 
 aneuch as it is for you to marry Bell Mulwhulter. It's sma' 
 savin' o' expense to bring up a rachle o' bairns." 
 
 " Dod, woman, I never thocht o' that," said Tammock. 
 " It's maybe as weel as it is." 
 
 " Ay, better a deal. Let weel alane," said the mistress. 
 
 " I doot I'll hae to do that ony way noo," said Tammock. 
 
 " But what said Tibby o' the Hilltap to ye, Tammock, 
 that ye gied up thochts o' her sae suddenlike ? " 
 
 " Na, I can tell that to naebody," he said at last. 
 
 " Hoots, haivers ! " said the wife, who wanted very much 
 to know. " Ye ken that it '11 gang nae farder." 
 
 "Aweel," said Tammock, "I'll tell ye." 
 
 And this he had intended to do from the first, as we 
 knew, and he knew that we knew it. But the rules of the 
 game had to be observed. There was something of a 
 woman's round-the-corner ways about Tammock all his 
 days, and that was the way he got on so well with them as 
 a general rule though Tibby o' the Hilltap had given him 
 the go-by, as we were presently to hear. 
 
 " The way o't was this," began Tammock, putting a red
 
 TAMMOCK THACKANRAIP. 133 
 
 doit of peat into the bowl of his pipe and squinting down 
 at it with one eye shut to see that it glowed. " I had been 
 payin' my respects to Tibby up at the Hilltap off and on 
 for a year or twa " 
 
 " Maistly on," said my wife. Tammock paid no atten- 
 tion. 
 
 " Tibby didna appear to mislike it to ony extent. She 
 was fond o' caa'in' the crack, an' I was wullin' that she 
 should miscaa' me as muckle as she likit for I'm no' yin 
 o' your crouse, conceity young chaps to be fleyed awa' wi' a 
 jibe frae a lassie." 
 
 " Ye never war. that a' the days o' ye, Tammock ! " said 
 the mistress. 
 
 "Ay, ye are beginnin' to mind noo, mistress," said 
 Tammas dryly. " Weel, the nicht afore last I gaed to the 
 Hilltap to see Tibby, an' as usual there was a lad or twa in 
 the kitchen, an' the crack was gaun screevin' roond. But 
 I can tak' my share in that," continued Tammas modestly, 
 " so we fell on to the banter. 
 
 " Tibby was knitting at a reid pirnie * for her faither ; 
 but, of course, I let on that it was for her guidman, and 
 wanted her to tak' the size o' my heid so that she micht 
 mak' it richt. 
 
 " * It'll never be on the pow o' an Ayrshire drover,' says 
 she, snell as the north wind. 
 
 " An' what for that ? ' says I. 
 
 " ' The yairn's owre dear,' says Tibby. ' It cost twa 
 baskets o' mushrooms in Dumfries market ! ' 
 
 " ' An' what price paid ye for the mushrooms that the 
 yairn should be owre dear?' said I. 
 
 " ' Ow, nocht ava,' says Tibby. ' I juist gat them 
 whaur the Ayrshire drover gat the coo. I fand them in a 
 field ! ' 
 
 * Night-cap.
 
 184: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 "Then everybody Jiaa-haaed with laughing. She had 
 me there, I wull alloo me that had been a drover," said 
 Tammas Thackanraip. 
 
 " But that was naething to discourage ye, Tammock," 
 said I. " That was juist her bit joke." 
 
 " I ken I ken," said Tammock ; " but haud a wee 
 I'm no' dune yet. So after they had dune laughin', I telled 
 them o' the last man that was hangit at the Grassmarket 
 o' Edinburgh. There was three coonts in the dittay 
 against him : first, that he was fand on the king's highway 
 withoot due cause ; second, he wan'ered in his speech ; 
 and, thirdly, he owned that he cam' frae Gallowa'. 
 
 " This kind o' squared the reckoning, but it hadna the 
 success o' the Ayrshireman and the coo, for they a' be- 
 longed to Gallowa' that was in the kitchen." 
 
 " 'Deed, an' I dinna see muckle joke in that last mysel'," 
 said my wife, who also belonged to Galloway. 
 
 " And I'll be bound neither did the poor lad in the 
 Grassmarket ! " I put in, edgeways, taking my legs down 
 off the jambs, for the peats had burned up, and enough 
 is as good as a feast. 
 
 Then Tammas was silent for a good while, smoking 
 slowly, taking out his pipe whiles and looking at the shank 
 of it in a very curious manner. 
 
 I knew that we were coming to the kernel of the story 
 now. 
 
 " So the nicht slippit on," continued the narrator, " an' 
 the lads that had to be early up in the morning gaed awa 
 yin by yin, an' I was left my lane wi' Tibby. She was gaun 
 aboot here an' there gye an' brisk, clatterin' dishes an' red- 
 din' corners. 
 
 " ' Hae a paper an' read us some o' the news, gin ye hae 
 nocht better to say,' said she. 
 
 " She threw me a paper across the table that I kenned 
 for Maxwell's by the crunkle o' the sheets.
 
 TAMMOCK THACKANRAIP. 185 
 
 " I ripit a' my pooches, yin after the ither. 
 
 " ' I misdoot I maun hae corned awa' withoot my specs, 
 Tibby,' says I at last, when I could come on them nowhere. 
 
 " So we talked a bit langer, and she screeved aboot, pit- 
 tin' things into their places. 
 
 " ' It's a fine nicht for gettin' hame,' she says, at the 
 hinder end. 
 
 " This was, as ye may say, something like a hint, but I 
 was determined to hae it oot wi' her that nicht. An' so I 
 had, though no' in the way I had intended exactly. 
 
 ." ' It is a fine nicht,' says I ; ' but I ken by the pains in 
 the sma' o' my back that it's gaun to be a storm.' 
 
 " Wi' that, as if a bee had stang'd her, Tibby cam' to 
 the ither side o' the table frae whaur I was sittin' as it 
 micht be there an' she set her hands on the edge o't, wi' 
 the loofs doon (I think I see her noo ; she looked awsome 
 bonny), an' says she 
 
 " ' Tammas Thackanraip, ye are a decent man, but ye 
 are wasting your time comin' here coortin' me.' she says. 
 4 Gin ye think that Tibby o' the Hilltap is gaun to marry a 
 man wi' his een in his pooch an' a weather-glass in the sma' 
 o' his back, ye're maist notoriously mista'en,' says she." 
 
 There was silence in the kitchen after that, so that we 
 could hear the clock ticking time about with my wife's 
 needles. 
 
 " So I cam' awa'," at last said Tammock, sadly. 
 
 " An' what hae ye dune aboot it ? " asked my wife, sym- 
 pathetically. 
 
 " Dune aboot it? " said Tammas ; " I juist speered Bell 
 Mulwhulter when I cam' hame." 
 
 " An' what said she?" asked the mistress. 
 
 " Oh, "cried Tammas, " she said it was raither near the 
 eleeventh 'oor, but that she had nae objections that she 
 kenned o'."
 
 IV. 
 
 THE OLD TOEY. 
 
 One man alone, 
 
 Amid the general consent of tongues, 
 For his point's sake bore his point 
 Then, unrepenting, died. 
 
 THE first time I ever saw the Old Tory, he was scurry- 
 ing down the street of the Eadical village where he lived, 
 with a score of men after him. Clods and stones were fly- 
 ing, and the Old Tory had his hand up to protect his head. 
 Yet ever as he fled, he turned him about to cry an epithet 
 injurious to the good name of some great Eadical leader. 
 It was a time when the political atmosphere was prickly 
 with electricity, and men's passions easily flared up spe- 
 cially the passions of those who had nothing whatever to do 
 with the matter. 
 
 The Old Tory was the man to enjoy a time like that. 
 On the day before the election he set a banner on his chim- 
 ney which he called " the right yellow," which flaunted 
 bravely all day so long as David Armitt, the Old Tory, sat 
 at his door busking salmon hooks, with a loaded blunder- 
 buss at his elbow and grim determination in the cock of 
 one shaggy grey eyebrow. 
 
 But at night, when all was quiet under the Dullarg 
 stars, Jamie Wardhaugh and three brave spirits climbed to 
 the rigging of the Old Tory's house, tore down his yellow 
 
 186
 
 THE OLD TORY. 187 
 
 flag, thrust the staff down the chimney, and set a slate 
 across the aperture. 
 
 Then they climbed down and proceeded to complete 
 their ploy. Jamie Wardhaugh proposed that they should 
 tie the yellow flag to the pig's tail in derision of the Old 
 Tory and his Toryism. It was indeed a happy thought, 
 and would make them the talk of the village upon election 
 day. They would set the decorated pig on the dyke to see 
 the Tory candidate's carriage roll past in the early morning. 
 
 They were indeed the talk of the village ; but, alas ! the 
 thing itself did not quite fall out as they had anticipated. 
 For, while they were bent in a cluster within the narrow, 
 slippery quadrangle of the pig-sty, and just as Jamie Ward- 
 haugh sprawled on his knees to catch the slumbering in- 
 mate by the hind-leg, they were suddenly hailed in a deep, 
 quiet voice the voice of the Old Tory. 
 
 " Bide ye whaur ye are, lads ye will do bravely there. 
 I hae Mons Meg on ye, fu' to the bell wi' slugs, and she is 
 the boy to scatter. It was kind o' ye to come and see to the 
 repairing o' my bit hoose an' the comfort o' my bit swine. 
 Ay, kind it was an' I tak' it weel. Ye see, lads, my wife Meg 
 wull no let me sleep i' the hoose at election times, for Meg 
 is a reid-headed Radical besom sae I e'en tak' up my quar- 
 ters i' the t'ither end o' the swine-ree, whaur the auld sow 
 died oot o'." 
 
 The men appeared ready to make a break for liberty, 
 but the bell-mouth of Mons Meg deterred them. 
 
 " It's a fine nicht for the time o' year, Davit ! " at last 
 said Jamie "Wardhaugh. "An' a nice bit pig. Ye hae 
 muckle credit o't ! " 
 
 " Ay," said David Armitt, " 'deed, an' ye are richt. It's 
 a sonsy bit swine." 
 
 " We'll hae to be sayin' guid-nicht, Davit ! " at last said 
 Jamie Wardhaugh, rather limply. 
 
 " Na, na, lads. It's but lanesome oot here an' the
 
 188 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 morn's election day. We'll e'en see it in thegither. I see 
 that ye hae a swatch o' the guid colour there. That's braw ! 
 Noo, there's aneuch o't for us a', Jamie ; divide it intil five ! 
 Noo, pit ilka yin o' ye a bit in his bonnet ! " 
 
 One of the others again attempted to run, but he had 
 not got beyond the dyke of the swine-ree when the cold rim 
 of Mons Meg was laid to his ear. 
 
 " She's fu' to the muzzle, Wullie," said the Old Tory ; 
 " I wadna rin, gin I war you." 
 
 Willie did not run. On the contrary, he stood and shook 
 visibly. 
 
 " She wad mak' an awfu' scatterment gin she war to 
 gang aff. Ye had better be oot o' her reach. Ye are braw 
 climbers. I saw ye on my riggin' the nicht already. Climb 
 your ways back up again, and stick every man o' ye a bit o' 
 the bonny yellow in your bonnets." 
 
 So the four jesters very reluctantly climbed away up to 
 the rigging of David Armitt's house under the lowering 
 threat of Mons Meg's iron jaws. 
 
 Then the Old Tory took out his pipe, primed it, lighted 
 it, and sat down to wait for the dawning with grim deter- 
 mination. With one eye he appeared to observe the waxing 
 and waning of his pipe ; and with the other, cocked at an 
 angle, he watched the four men on his rigging. 
 
 " It's a braw seat, up there, gentlemen. Fine for the 
 breeks. Dinna hotch owre muckle, or ye'll maybe gang 
 doon through, and I'm tellin' ye, ye'll rue it gin ye fa' 
 on oor Meg and disturb her in her mornin' sleep. Hearken 
 till her rowtin' like a coo ! Certes, hoo wad ye like to sleep 
 a' yer life ayont that ? Ye wad be for takin' to the empty 
 swine-ree that the sow gaed oot o', as weel as me." 
 
 So the Old Tory sat with his blunderbuss across his 
 knees, and comforted the men on the roof with reminis- 
 cences of the snoring powers of his spouse Meg. But, in 
 spite of the entertaining nature of the conversation, Jamie
 
 THE OLD TORY. 189 
 
 Wardhaugh and the others were more than usually silent. 
 They sat in a row with their chins upon their knees and 
 the ridiculous yellow favours streaming from their broad 
 blue bonnets. 
 
 The morning came slowly. Gib Martin, the tailor, came 
 to his door at ten minutes to six to look out. He had 
 hastily drawn on his trousers, and he came out to spit and 
 see what kind of morning it was ; then he was going back 
 to bed again. But he wished to tell the minister that he 
 had been up before five that morning ; and, as he was an 
 elder, he did not want to tell a whole lie. 
 
 Gib glanced casually at the sky, looked west to the little 
 turret on the kirk to see the clock, and was about to turn in 
 again, when something black against the reddening eastern 
 sky caught his eye. 
 
 " Preserve us a', what's yon on Davit Armitt's riggin' ? " 
 he cried. 
 
 And so surprised was Gib Martin, that he came all the 
 way down the street in three spangs, and that on his stock- 
 ing-feet, though he was a married man. 
 
 But he did not see the Old Tory sitting by the side of 
 the pig-sty a thing he had cause to be sorry for. 
 
 " Save us, Jamie, what are ye doin' sittin' on Davit 
 Armitt's hoose-riggin' ? Gin the doited auld Tory brute 
 catches ye " 
 
 " A fine mornin' to ye, tailor," said the Old Tory from 
 the side of the dyke. 
 
 The tailor faced about with a sudden pallor. 
 
 The muzzle of Mons Meg was set fair upon him, and he 
 felt for the first time in his life that he could not have 
 threaded a needle had his life depended on it. 
 
 " Climb up there aside the other four," commanded 
 David Armitt. 
 
 " I'm on my stockin'-feet, Davit ! " said the tailor. 
 
 " It's brave an' dry for the stockin'-feet up on the rig-
 
 190 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 gin','' said the Old Tory. " Up wi' ye, lad ; ye couldna do 
 better." 
 
 And the tailor was beside the others before he knew it, 
 a strand of the bright yellow streaming from the button- 
 hole of his shirt. So one after another the inhabitants of 
 Dullarg came out to wonder, and mounted to wear the 
 badge of slavery ; until, when the chariot of the Tory candi- 
 date dashed in at twenty minutes to seven on its way to the 
 county town, the rigging of David Armitt's house was 
 crowded with men all decorated with his yellow colours. 
 Never had such a sight been seen in the Radical and Chart- 
 ist village of Dullarg. 
 
 Then the Old Tory leaped to his feet as the horses went 
 prancing by. 
 
 " Gie a cheer, boys ! " he cried ; and as the muzzle of 
 Mons Meg swept down the file, a strange wavering cry arose, 
 that was half a growl of anger and half a broken-backed 
 cheer. 
 
 Then " Bang ! " went Mons Meg, and David Armitt 
 took down the street at full speed with sixteen angry men 
 jumping at his tail. But, by good luck, he got upon the 
 back of the Laird's coach, and was borne rapidly out of 
 their sight down the dusty road that led to the county 
 town. 
 
 It was the Old Tory's Waterloo. He did not venture 
 back till the time of the bee-killing. Then he came with- 
 out fear, for he knew he was the only man who could take 
 off the honey from the village hives to the satisfaction of 
 the parish. 
 
 The Old Tory kept the secret of his Toryism to the 
 last. 
 
 Only the minister caught it as he lay a-dying. He was 
 not penitent, but he wanted to explain matters. 
 
 " It's no' as they a' think, minister," he said, speaking 
 with difficulty. " I cared nocht aboot it, yae way or the
 
 THE OLD TORY. 191 
 
 ither. I'm sure I aye wantit to be a douce man like the 
 lave. But Meg was sair, sair to leeve wi'. She fair drave 
 me till't. D'ye think the like o' that wull be ta'en into 
 account, as it were up yonder ? " 
 
 The minister assured him that it would, and the Old 
 Tory died in peace.
 
 V. 
 
 THE GEEAT EIGHT-OF-WAY CASE. 
 
 The Vandal and the Visigoth come here, 
 The trampler under foot, and he whose eyes, 
 Unblest, behold not where the glory lies ; 
 
 The wallower in mire, whose sidelong leer 
 
 Degrades the wholesome earth these all come near 
 To gaze upon the wonder of the hills, 
 And drink the limpid clearness of the rills. 
 
 Yet each returns to what he holds most dear, 
 
 To change the script and grind the mammon mills 
 Un purified ; for what men hither bring, 
 That take they hence, and Nature doth appear 
 
 As one that spends herself for sodden wills, 
 Who pearls of price before the swine doth fling, 
 And from the shrine casts out the sacred gear. 
 
 GLEN CONQUHAE was a summer resort. Its hill-sides 
 had never been barred by the intrusive and peremptory 
 notice-board, a bugbear to ladies strolling book in hand, a 
 cock-shy to the children passing on their way to school. 
 The Conquhar was a swift, clear-running river coursing 
 over its bed of gneiss, well tucked-in on either side by 
 green hayfields, where the grasshopper for ever " burred," 
 and the haymakers stopped with elbows on their rakes to 
 watch the passer-by. The Marquis had never enforced his 
 rights of exclusion in his Highland solitudes. His shoot- 
 ing-lodge of Ben Dhu, which lay half a" dozen miles to the 
 
 192
 
 THE GREAT RIGHT-OF-WAY CASE. 193 
 
 north, was tenanted only by himself and a guest or two 
 during the months of September and October. The visitors 
 at the hotel above the Conquhar Water saw now and then 
 a tall figure waiting at the bridge or scanning the hill-side 
 through a pair of deer-stalker glasses. Then the under- 
 lings of the establishment would approach and in awe- 
 struck tones whisper the information, " That's the Mar- 
 quis ! " For it is the next thing in these parts to being 
 Providence to be the Marquis of Kannoch. 
 
 The hotel of Grlen Conquhar was far from the haunts of 
 men. Its quiet was never disturbed by the noise of royster- 
 ers. It was the summer home of a number of quiet people 
 from the south fishing men chiefly, who loved to hear the 
 water rushing about their legs on the edges of the deep 
 salmon-pools of the Conquhar Water. There was Cole, 
 Eadical, M. P., impulsive and warm-hearted, a London 
 lawyer who had declined, doubtless to his own monetary 
 loss, to put his sense of justice permanently into a blue bag. 
 There was Dr. Percival, the father of all them that cast the 
 angle in Glen Conquhar, who now fished little in these de- 
 generate days, but instead told tales of the great salmon of 
 thirty years ago fellows tremendous enough to make the 
 spick-and-span rods of these days, with their finicking 
 attachments, crack their joints even to think of holding the 
 monsters. Chiefly and finally there was " Old Eoyle," who 
 came in March, first of all the fishing clan, and lingered on 
 till November, when nothing but the weathered birch- 
 leaves spun down the flooded glen of the Conquhar. Old 
 Eoyle regarded the best fishing in the water as his birth- 
 right, and every rival as an intruder. He showed this too, 
 for there was no bashfulness about Old Eoyle. Young 
 men who had just begun to fish consulted him as to where 
 they should begin on the morrow. Old Eoyle was of opinion 
 that there was not a single fish within at least five miles of 
 the hotel. Indeed, he thought of " taking a trap " in the
 
 194 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 morning to a certain pool six miles up the water, where he 
 had seen a round half-dozen of beauties only the night be- 
 fore. The young men departed, strapped and gaitered, at 
 cock-crow on the morrow. They fished all day, and caught 
 nothing save and except numerous dead branches in the 
 narrow swirls of the linn. But they lost, in addition to 
 their tempers, the tops of a rod or two caught in the close 
 birch tangles, many casts of flies, and a fly-book which one 
 of them had dropped out of his breast-pocket while in act 
 to disentangle his hook from the underlip of a caving bank. 
 His fly-book and he had descended into the rushing Con- 
 quhar together. He clambered out fifty yards below ; and 
 as for the fly-book, it was given by a mother-salmon to her 
 young barbarians to play with in the deepest pool between 
 Glendona and Loch Alsh. 
 
 When these young men returned, jolly Mr. Forbes, of 
 landlords the most excellent, received them with a merry 
 twinkle in his eye. In the lobby, Old Royle was weighing 
 his " take." He had caught two beautiful fish one in the 
 pool called " Black Duncan," and the other half a mile 
 further up. He had had the water to himself all day. 
 These young men passed in to dinner with thoughts too 
 deep for words. 
 
 Suddenly the quiet politics of the glen were stirred by 
 the posting of a threatening notice, which appeared on the 
 right across the bridge at the end of the path, along which 
 from time immemorial the ladies of the hotel had been in 
 the habit of straying in pairs, communing of feminine 
 mysteries ; or mooning singly with books and water-colour 
 blocks, during the absence of the nominal heads of their 
 houses, who were engaged in casting the fly far up the glen. 
 
 Once or twice a surly keeper peremptorily turned back 
 the innocent and law-abiding sex, but always when un- 
 accompanied by the more persistent male. So there was 
 wrath at the table d'hote. Thsre was indignation in the
 
 THE GREAT RIGHT-OF-WAY CASE. 195 
 
 houses of summer residence scattered up and down the 
 strath. It was the new tenant of the Lodge of Glen Con- 
 quhar, or rather his wife, who had done this thing. For 
 the first season for many years the shooting and -fishing on 
 the north side of the Conquhar had been let by the Mar- 
 quis of Eannoch. From the minister's glebe for ten miles 
 up the water these rights extended. They had been leased 
 to the scion of a Black Country family, noble in the second 
 generation by virtue of the paternal tubs and vats. The 
 master was a shy man, dwelling in gaiters and great boots, 
 only to be met with far on the hills, and then passing 
 placidly on with quiet down-looking eyes. Contrariwise, 
 the lady was much in evidence. Her noble proportions 
 and determined eye made the boldest quail. The M. P. 
 thanked Heaven three times a day that he was not her 
 husband. She managed the house and the shooting as 
 well. Among other things, she had resolved that no more 
 should mere hotel-visitors walk to within sight of her win- 
 dows, and that the path which led up the north side of the 
 glen must be shut up for ever and ever. She procured a 
 painted board from a cunning artificer in the neighbouring 
 town of Portmore, which announced (quite illegally) the 
 pains and penalties which would overtake those who ven- 
 tured to set foot on the forbidden roadway. 
 
 There were enthusiastic mass meetings, tempered with 
 tea and cake, on the lawn. Ladies said impressive things 
 of their ill-treatment; and their several protectors, and 
 even others without any direct and obvious claim, felt in- 
 dignation upon their several accounts. The correct theory 
 of trespass was announced by a high authority, and the 
 famous prescription of the great judge, Lord Mouthmore, 
 was stated. It ran as follows : 
 
 " When called to account for trespass, make use of the 
 following formula if you wish the law to have no hold over 
 you : ' I claim no right-of-way, and I offer sixpence in lieu 
 U
 
 196 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 of damages,' at the same time offering the money composi- 
 tion to the enemy." 
 
 This was thought to be an admirable solution, and all 
 the ladies 'present resolved to carry sixpences in their pockets 
 when next they went a-walking. One lady so mistrusted 
 her memory that she set down the prescription privately as 
 follows : " I claim no sixpence, and I offer damages in lieu 
 of right-of-way ! " 
 
 " It is always well to be exact," she said ; " memory is so 
 treacherous." 
 
 But this short and easy method with those who take 
 their stand on coercion and illegality was scouted by the 
 Radical M. P. He pointed out with the same lucidity and 
 precision with which he would have stated a case to a lead- 
 ing counsel, the facts (first) that the right-of-way was not 
 only claimed, but existed; (second) that the threatening 
 notice was inoperative; (third) that an action lay against 
 any person who attempted to deforce the passage of any in- 
 dividual ; (fourth) that the road in question was the only 
 way to kirk and market for a very considerable part of the 
 strath, that therefore the right-of-way was inalienable ; and 
 (fifth) that the right could be proved back to the beginning 
 of the century, and, indeed, that it had never been disputed 
 till the advent of Mrs. Nokes. The case was complete. It 
 had only to go before any court in the land to be won with 
 costs against the extruder. The only question was, " Who 
 would bell the cat ? " Several ladies of yielding dispositions, 
 who went fully intending to beard the lion, turned meekly 
 back at the word of the velveteen Jack-in-office. For such 
 is the conservative basis of woman, that she cannot believe 
 that the wrong can by any possibility be on the side of the 
 man in possession. If you want to observe the only excep- 
 tion to this attitude, undertake to pilot even the most up- 
 right of women through the custom-house. 
 
 The situation became acute owing to the indignant feel-
 
 THE GREAT RIGHT-OF-WAY CASE. 197 
 
 ings of the visitors, now reinforced by the dwellers in the 
 various houses of private entertainment. Indignation meet- 
 ings increased and abounded. A grand demonstration along 
 the path and under the windows of the lodge was arranged 
 for Sunday after morning church several clergymen agree- 
 ing to take part, on the well-known principle of the better 
 day the better deed. "What might have happened no one 
 can say. An action for assault and battery would have been 
 the English way ; a selection of slugs and tenpenny nails 
 over the hedge might possibly have been the Irish way ; but 
 what actually happened in this law-abiding strath was quite 
 different. 
 
 In this parish of Glen Conquhar there was a minister, as 
 there is a minister in every parish in broad Scotland. He 
 was very happy. He had a cow or two of his own on the 
 glebe, and part of it he let to the master of the hotel. 
 
 The Eeverend Donald Grant of Glen Conquhar was an 
 old man now, but, though a little bowed, he was still strong 
 and hearty, and well able for his meal of meat. He lived 
 high upon the hill, whose heathery sides looked down upon 
 the kirk and riverside glebe. His simplicity of heart and 
 excellence of character endeared him to his parish, as in- 
 deed was afterwards inscribed upon enduring marble on the 
 tablet which was placed under the list of benefactions in 
 the little kirk of the strath. 
 
 The minister did not often come down from his Mount 
 of the Wide Prospects ; and when he did, it was for some 
 definite purpose, which being performed, he straightway 
 returned to his hill-nest. 
 
 He had heard nothing of the great Glen Conquhar 
 right-of-way case, when one fine morning he made his way 
 down to the hamlet to see one of his scanty flock, whose 
 church attendance had not been all that could be desired. 
 As he went down the hill he passed within a few feet of the 
 newly painted trespass notice-board ; but it was not till his
 
 198 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 return, with slow steps, a little weary with the uphill road 
 and the heat of the day, that his eyes rested on the glaring 
 white notice. Still more slowly and deliberately he got his 
 glasses out of their shagreen case, mounted their massive 
 silver rims on his nose, and slowly read the legend which 
 intimated that " Trespassers on this Private Road will be 
 Prosecuted with the utmost Rigour of the Law." 
 
 Having got to the large BY ORDEK at the end, he calmly 
 dismounted the benignant silver spectacles, returned them 
 to the shagreen case, and so to the tail-pocket of his black 
 coat. Then, still more benignantly, he sought about among 
 the roots of the trees till he found the stout branch of a fir 
 broken off in some spring gale, but still tough and able- 
 bodied. With an energy which could hardly have been 
 expected from one of his hoar hairs, the minister climbed 
 part way up the pole, and dealt the obnoxious board such 
 hearty thwacks, first on one side and then on the other, that 
 in a trice it came tumbling down. 
 
 As he was picking it up and tucking it beneath his arm, 
 the gamekeeper on the watch in some hidden sentry-box 
 among the leaves came hurrying down. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Grant, Mr. Grant ! " he exclaimed in horror, 
 " what are you doing with that board ? " his professional 
 indignation grievously at war with his racial respect for the 
 clerical office. 
 
 " 'Deed, Dugald, I'm just taking this bit spale boardie 
 hame below my arm. It will make not that ill firewood, 
 and it has no business whatever to be cockin' up there on 
 the corner of my glebe." 
 
 The end of the Great Glen Conquhar Eight-of-Way 
 Case.
 
 VI. 
 
 DOMINIE GRIEK. 
 
 A grey, grey world and a grey belief, 
 
 True as iron and grey as grief; 
 
 Worse worlds there are, worse faiths, in truth, 
 
 Than the grey, grey world and the grey belief. 
 
 Tfie Grey Land. 
 
 WHAT want ye so late with Dominie Grier ? To tell you 
 the tale of my going on foot to the town of Edinburgh that 
 I might preserve pure the doctrine and precept of the parish 
 of Kowantree ? Ay, to tell of it I am ready, and with right 
 goodwill. Never a day do I sit under godly Mr. Campbell 
 but I think on my errand, and the sore stroke that the deil 
 and Bauldy Todd gat that day when I first won speech with 
 the Lady Lochwinnoch. 
 
 It was langsyne in the black Moderate days, and the 
 Socinians were great in the land. 'Deed, ay, it was weary 
 work in these times ; let me learn the bairns what I liked in 
 the school, it was never in me to please the Presbytery. 
 But whiles I outmarched them when they came to examine. 
 As, indeed, to the knowledge and admiration of all the 
 parish, I did in the matter of Effectual Calling. It was 
 Maister Calmsough of Clauchaneasy that was putting the 
 question, and rendering the meaning into his own sense as 
 he went along. But he chanced upon James Todd of Tod- 
 ston, a well-learned boy ; and, if I may say so, a favourite of 
 mine, with whom I had been at great pains that he should 
 
 199
 
 200 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 grow up in the faith and wholesome discipline. Thereto I 
 had fed him upon precious Thomas Boston of Ettrick and 
 the works of godly Mr. Erskine, desiring with great desire 
 that one day he might, by my learning and the blessing of 
 Almighty God, even come to wag his head in a pulpit a 
 thing which, because of the sins of a hot youth, it had never 
 been in my power, though much in my heart, to do. 
 
 But concerning the examination. Mr. Calmsough was 
 insisting upon the general mercy of God which, to my 
 thinking, is at the best a dangerous doctrine, and one that 
 a judicious preacher had best keep his thumb upon. At 
 last he asked Jamie Todd what he thought of the matter ; 
 for he was an easy examiner, and would put a question a 
 yard long to be answered with " Yes " and " No " a fool 
 way of examining, which to me was clear proof of his 
 incapacity. 
 
 But James Todd was well learned and withstood him, so 
 that Mr. Calmsough grew angry and roared like a bull. I could 
 only sit quiet in my desk, for upon that day it was not 
 within my right to open my mouth in my own school, since 
 it was in the hands of the Presbytery. So I sat still, rest- 
 ing my confidence upon the Lord and the ready answers of 
 James Todd. And I was not deceived. For though he was 
 but a laddie, the root of the matter was in him, and not a 
 Socinian among them could move him from my teaching 
 concerning Justification and Election. 
 
 " Ye may explain it away as ye like, sir," said James 
 Todd, " but me and the Dominie and the Bible has anither 
 way o't ! " 
 
 " Is it thus that you train your elder scholars to speak to 
 their spiritual advisers, Dominie Grier ? " asked Mr. Calm- 
 sough, turning on me. 
 
 "Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings," said I 
 meekly, for pride in James Todd was just boiling within 
 me, and yet I would not let them see it.
 
 DOMINIE GRIER. 201 
 
 I desired them to depart from the school of Rowantree, 
 thinking that any of my first class in the Bible could have 
 answered them even as did James Todd. I was in the fear 
 of my life that they should light upon mine own son Tarn, for 
 he knew no more than how to bait a line and guddle trout ; 
 but nevertheless he has done wonderfully well at the pack 
 among the ignorant English, and is (I deny it not to him) 
 the staff of my declining years. But Tarn, though as great 
 a dulbert as there is betwixt Saterness and the Corse o' 
 Slakes, sat up looking so gleg that they passed him by and 
 continued to wrestle with James Todd, who only hung his 
 head and looked stupid, yet had in him, for all that, a very 
 dungeon of lear. 
 
 Now, it came to pass, less than three weeks after the ex- 
 amination of my bit school at the Kowantree, that our own 
 minister, Mr. Wakerife, took a chill after heating himself at 
 the hay, and died. He was a canny body, and sound on the 
 doctrine, but without unction or the fervour of the Spirit 
 blowing upon him in the pulpit. Still, he was sound, and 
 in a minister that is aye the main thing. 
 
 Now, so great was the regardlessness of the parish, that 
 the honest man was not cold in his coffin before two-three 
 of the farmers with whom the members of the Presbytery 
 were wont to stay when they came to examine, laid their 
 heads together that they might make the parish of Kowan- 
 tree even as Corseglass, and Deadthraws, and other Valleys 
 of Dry Bones about us. 
 
 " There shall be no more fanatics in Rowan tree ! " said 
 they. 
 
 And they had half a gallon over the head of it, which, 
 being John Grieve's best, they might have partaken of in a 
 better cause. 
 
 Now, the worst of them was Bauldy Todd of Todston, 
 the father of my James. It was a great thing, as I have 
 often been told, to hear James and his father at it. James
 
 202 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 was a quiet and loutish loon so long as he was let alone, and 
 he went about his duties pondering and revolving mighty 
 things in his mind. But when you chanced to start him on 
 the fundamentals, then the Lord give you skill of your 
 weapon, for it was no slight or unskilled dialectician who 
 did you the honour to cross swords with you. 
 
 But Bauldy Todd, being a hot, contentious man, could 
 not let his son alone. In the stable and out in the hay-field 
 he was ever on his back, though Jamie was never the lad to 
 cross him or to begin an argument. But his father would 
 rage and try to shout him down a vain thing with Jamie. 
 For the lad, being well learned in the Scriptures, had the 
 more time to bethink himself while the " goldering " of his 
 father was heard as far as the high Crownrigs. And 
 even as Bauldy paused for breath, James would slip a text 
 under his father's guard, which let the wind out of him like 
 a bladder that is transfixed on a thorn-bush. Then there re- 
 mained nothing for Bauldy but to run at Jamie to lay on 
 him with a staff an argument which, taking to his heels, 
 Jamie as easily avoided. 
 
 It was my own Jamie who brought me word of the ill- 
 contrived ploy that was in the wind. He told me that his 
 father and Mickle Andrew of Ingliston and the rest of that 
 clan were for starting to see the Lady Lochwinnoch, the 
 patron of the parish, to make interest on behalf of Mr. 
 Calmsough's nephew, as cold and lifeless a moral preacher 
 as was ever put out of the Edinburgh College, which is say- 
 ing no little, as all will admit. 
 
 They were to start, well mounted on their market 
 horses, the next morning at break of day, to ride all the 
 way to Edinburgh. In a moment I saw what I was called 
 upon to do. I left Jamie Todd with a big stick to keep 
 the school in my place, while, with some farles of cake 
 bread in my pocket, I took alone my way to Edinburgh. 
 Ten hours' start I had ; and though it be a far cry to the
 
 DOMINIE GRIEE. 203 
 
 town of Edinburgh and a rough road, still I thought that I 
 should be hardly bested if I could not walk it in two days. 
 For my heart was sore to think of the want of sound doc- 
 trine that was about to fall upon the parish of Eowantree. 
 Indeed, I saw not the end of it, for there was no saying 
 what lengths such a minister and his like-minded elders 
 might not run to. They might even remove me from some 
 of my offices and emoluments. And then who would train 
 the Jamie Todds to give a reason of the faith that was in 
 them before the minister and elder ? 
 
 "So all that night I walked on sore-hearted. It was 
 hardly dark, for the season of the year was midsummer, 
 and by the morning I had gone thirty miles. But when I 
 came on the hard " made " road again, I hasted yet more, 
 for I knew that by the hour of eight Bauldy and his farmers 
 would be in the saddle. And I heard as it were the hoofs 
 of the horses ringing behind me the horses of the enemies 
 of sound doctrine ; for the Accuser of the Brethren sees to 
 it that his messengers are well mounted. Yet though I was 
 footsore, and had but a farle of oatcake in my pocket, I 
 went not a warfare on my own charges. 
 
 For by the way I encountered a carrier in the first 
 spring-cart that ever I had seen. It was before the day of 
 the taxes. And, seeing the staff in my hand and the splash- 
 ing of the moor and the peatlands on my knee-breeches, he 
 very obligingly gave me a lift, which took me far on my 
 journey. When he loosed his horse to take up his quarters 
 at an inn for the night I thanked him very cordially for his 
 courtesy, and so fared on my way without pause or rest for 
 sleep. I had in my mind all the time the man I was to pro- 
 pose to the Lady Lochwinnoch. 
 
 I had not reached the city when I heard behind me the 
 trampling of horses and the loud voices of men. Louder 
 than all I heard Bauldy Todd's roar. It was as much as I 
 could do to make a spring for the stone-dyke at the side of
 
 204: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 the road, to drag myself over it, and lie snug till their cav- 
 alcade had passed. I could hear them railing upon me as 
 they went by. 
 
 " I'll learn him to put notions into my laddie's head ! " 
 cried Todd of Todston. 
 
 " We'll empty the auld carle's meal-ark, I'se warrant ! " 
 said Mickle Andrew. 
 
 " Faith, lads, we'll get a decent drinking, caird-playin' 
 minister in young Calmsough yin that's no' feared o' a 
 guid braid oath ! " cried Chrystou of Commonel. 
 
 And I was trembling in all my limbs lest they should see 
 me. So before I dared rise I heard the clatter of their 
 horses' feet down the road. My heart failed me, for I 
 thought that in an hour they would be in Edinburgh town 
 and have audience of my lady, and so prefer their request 
 before me. 
 
 Yet I was not to be daunted, and went limping onward 
 as best I might. Nor had I gone far when, in a beautiful 
 hollow, by the lintels of an inn that had for a sign a burn- 
 trout over the door, I came upon their horses. 
 
 " Warm be your wames and dry your thrapples ! " quoth 
 I to myself ; " an', gin the brew be nappy and the com- 
 pany guid at the Fisher's Tryst, we'll bring back the 
 gospel yet to the holms of the Eowantree, or I am sair 
 mista'en ! " 
 
 So when I got to my lady's house, speering at every 
 watchman, it was still mirk night. But in the shadow of 
 an archway I sat me down to wait, leaning my breast against 
 the sharp end of my staff lest sleep should overcome me. 
 The hope of recommending the godly man, Mr. Campbell, 
 to my lady kept me from feeling hungered. Yet I was fain 
 in time to set about turning my pockets inside out. In 
 them I searched for crumblings of my cakes, and found a 
 good many, so that I was not that ill off. 
 
 As soon as it was day, and I saw that the servants of the
 
 DOMINIE GRIER. 205 
 
 house began to stir, I went over and knocked soundly upon 
 the great brass knocker. A man with a cropped black poll 
 and powder sifted among it, came and ordered me away. I 
 asked when my lady would be up. 
 
 " Not before ten of the clock," said he. 
 
 Now, I knew that this would never do for me, because 
 the farmer bodies would certainly arrive before" that, drunk 
 or sober. So I told Crophead that he had better go and 
 tell his mistress that there was one come post-haste all the 
 way from the parish of Rowantree, where her property lay, 
 and that the messenger must instantly speak with her. 
 
 But Crophead swore at me, and churlishly bade me be- 
 gone at that hour of the morning. But since he would have 
 slammed the door on me, I set my staff in the crevice and 
 hoised it open again. Ay, and would have made my oak 
 rung acquaint with the side of his ill-favoured head, too, 
 had not a woman's voice cried down the stair to know the 
 reason of the disturbance. 
 
 " It is a great nowt from the country, and he will not go 
 away," said Crophead. 
 
 Then I stepped forward into the hall, sending him that 
 withstood me over on his back against the wall. Speaking 
 high and clear as I do to my first class, I said 
 
 " I am Dominie Grier, parish schoolmaster of the parish 
 of Rowantree, madam, and I have come post-haste from that 
 place to speak to her ladyship." 
 
 Then I heard a further commotion, as of one shifting 
 furniture, and another voice that spoke rapidly from an 
 inner chamber. 
 
 In a little while there came one down the stair and called 
 me to follow. So forthwith I was shown into a room where 
 a lady in a flowered dressing-gown was sitting up in bed 
 eating some fine kind of porridge and cream out of a silver 
 platter. 
 
 " Dominie Grier ! " said the lady pleasantly, affecting the
 
 206 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 vulgar dialect, " what has brocht ye so far from home ? Have 
 the bairns barred ye oot o' the schule ? " 
 
 " Na, my lady," I replied, with my best bow ; " I come to 
 you in mickle fear lest the grace of God be barred out of the 
 poor parish of Kowantree." 
 
 So I opened out to her the whole state of the case ; and 
 though at first she seemed to be amused rather than edified, 
 she gave me her promise that young William Campbell, who 
 was presently assistant to the great Dr. Shirmers, of St. 
 John's in the city, should get the kirk of Rowantree. He 
 was not a drop's blood to me, though him and my wife were 
 far-out friends, so that it was not as if I had been asking 
 anything for myself. Yet I thanked her ladyship warmly 
 for her promise in the name of all the godly in the parish 
 of Rowantree, and warned her at the same time of the 
 regardless clan that were seeking to abuse her good-nature. 
 But I need not have troubled, for I was but at the door and 
 Crophead sulkily showing me out, when whom should I 
 meet fair in the teeth but Bauldy Todd and all his fighting 
 tail. 
 
 Never were men more taken aback. They stopped dead 
 where they were, when they saw me ; and Bauldy, who had 
 one hand in the air, having been laying down the law, as 
 was usual with him, kept it there stiff as if he had been 
 frozen where he stood. 
 
 Now I never let on that I saw any of them, but went by 
 them with my briskest town step and my head in the air, 
 whistling like a lintie 
 
 " The Campbells are coming, aha ! aha ! 
 The Campbells are coming, aha ! aha ! 
 The Campbells are coming to bonnie Loch Leven ! 
 The Campbells are coming, aha ! aha ! " 
 
 " Deil burn me," cried Bauldy Todd, " but the Dominie 
 has done us ! " 
 
 " 'Deed, he was like to do that ony gate," said Mickle
 
 DOMINIE GRIER. 207 
 
 Andrew. " We may as weel gang 'hame, lads. I ken the 
 Dominie. His tongue wad wile the bird aff the tree. We 
 hae come the day after the fair, boys." 
 
 But as for me, I never turned a hair ; only keeped my 
 nose in the straight of my face, and went by them down 
 the street as though I had been the strength of a regiment 
 marching with pipers, whistling all the time at my refrain 
 
 " The Campbells are coming to bonnie Loch Leven ! 
 The Campbells are coming, aha! aha!"
 
 VII. 
 
 THE PEODIGAL DAUGHTER. 
 
 Hard is it, my friends, to gather up 
 
 A whole life's goodness into narrow space 
 A life made Heaven-meet by patient grace, 
 
 And handling oft the sacramental cup 
 
 Of sorrow, drinking all the bitter drains. 
 
 Her life she kept most sacred from the world ; 
 
 Though, Martha-wise, much cumber'd and imperillM 
 With service, Mary-like she brought her pains, 
 
 And laid then! and herself low at the feet, 
 The travel-weary, deep-scarr'd feet, of Him 
 The incarnate Good, who oft in Galilee 
 
 Had borne Himself the burden and the heat 
 Ah ! couldst thou hear, thy tender eyes were dim 
 With humble tears to think this meant for thee ! 
 
 A CERTAIN man had two daughters. The man was a 
 minister in Galloway a Cameronian minister in a hill par- 
 ish in the latest years of last century ; consequently he had 
 no living to divide to them. Of the two daughters, one was 
 wise and the other was foolish. So he loved the foolish 
 with all his heart. Also he loved the wise daughter ; but 
 her heart was hard because that her sister was preferred 
 before her. The man's name was Eli M'Diarmid, and his 
 daughters' names were Sophia and Elsie. He had been 
 long in the little kirk of Cauld shields. To the manse he 
 had brought his young wife, and from its cheerless four 
 
 90S
 
 THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER. 209 
 
 walls he had walked behind her hearse one day nigh twenty 
 years ago. The daughters had been reared here ; but, even- 
 as enmity had arisen on the tilled slips of garden outside 
 Eden, so there had always been strife between the 
 daughters of the lonely manse on the one side rebellion 
 and the resentment of restraint, on the other tale-bearing 
 and ferret-eyed spying. 
 
 This continued till Elsie M'Diarmid was a well-grown 
 and a comely lass, while her sister Sophia was already 
 sharpening and souring towards the thirties. One day 
 there was a terrible talk in the parish. Elsie, the minister's 
 younger daughter, had run off to Glasgow, and there got 
 married to Alec Saunderson, the dominie's ne'er-do-well 
 son. So to Glasgow the minister went, and came back in 
 three weeks with an extra stoop to his shoulders. But with 
 such a still and patient silence on his face, that no man and 
 (what is more wonderful) no woman durst ask him any 
 further questions. After that, Elsie was no more named in 
 the manse ; but the report of her beauty and her wayward- 
 ness was much in the parish mouth. A year afterwards her 
 sister went from the manse in all the odour of propriety, to 
 be the mistress of one of the large farms of a neighbouring 
 glen. Then the minister gathered himself more than ever 
 close in to his lonely hearth, with only Euphemia Kerr, his 
 wise old housekeeper, once his children's nurse. He went 
 less frequently abroad, and looked more patiently than ever 
 out of his absent grey eyes on the " herds " and small sheep- 
 farmers who made up the bulk of his scanty flock. 
 
 The Cameronian kirk of Cauldshields was a survival of 
 the time when the uplands of Galloway were the very home 
 and hive of the "Westlan"' "Whigs of the men who 
 marched to Bullion Green to be slaughtered, sent Claver- 
 house scurrying to Glasgow from Drumclog, and abjured 
 all earthly monarchs at the cross of Sanquhar. 
 
 But now the small farms were already being turned into
 
 210 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 large, the sheep were dispossessing the plough, and the 
 principle of " led " farms was depopulating the country-side. 
 That is, instead of sonsy farmers' wives and their husbands 
 (the order is not accidental) marshalling their hosts into 
 the family pews on Sabbath, many of the farms were held 
 by wealthy farmers who lived in an entirely different part 
 of the country. These gave up the farmhouse, with its 
 feudality of cothouses, to a taciturn bachelor shepherd or 
 two, who squatted promiscuously in the once voluble kitchen. 
 The morning of the first Sabbath of February dawned 
 bitterly over the scattered clachan of Cauldshields. It had 
 been snowing since four o'clock on Saturday night, and 
 during those hours no dog had put its nose outside the door. 
 At seven in the morning, had any one been able to see 
 across the street for the driving snow, he would have seen 
 David Grier look out for a moment in his trousers and shirt, 
 take one comprehensive glance, and vanish within. That 
 glance had settled David's church attendance for the day. 
 He was an " Auld Kirk," and a very regular hearer, having 
 been thirty years in the service of the laird ; but in the mo- 
 ment that he looked out into the dim white chaos of whirl- 
 ing snow, David had settled it that there would be no 
 carriage down from the " Big House " that day. " The 
 drifts will be sax fit in the howes o' the muir-road," he said, 
 as he settled himself to sleep till midday, with a solid con- 
 sciousness that he had that day done all that the most 
 exacting could require of him. As his thoughts composed 
 themselves to a continuation of his doze, while remaining 
 deliciously conscious of the wild turmoil outside, David 
 Grier remembered the wayfarer who had got a lift in his 
 cart to Cauldshields the night before. " It was weel for the 
 bit bairn that I fell in wi' her at the Cross Roads," said he, 
 as he stirred his wife in the ribs with his elbow, to tell her 
 it was time to get up and make the fire.
 
 THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER. 211 
 
 In the manse of Cauldshields the Reverend Eli M'Diar- 
 mid's housekeeper was getting him ready for church. 
 
 " There'll no' be mony fowk at the kirk the day, gin 
 there be ony ava; but that's nae raison that ye should na 
 gang oot snod," she said, as she brushed him featly down. 
 " Ye mind hoo Miss Elsie used to say that ye wad gang oot 
 a verra ragman gin she didna look ef ter ye ! " The minister 
 turned his back, and the housekeeper continued, like the 
 wise woman of Tekoa, " Eh, but she was a heartsome bairn, 
 Miss Elsie ; an' a bonny nane like till her in a' the pairish ! " 
 
 " Oh, woman, can ye not hold your tongue? " said the min- 
 ister, knocking his hands angrily together. 
 
 " Haud my tongue or no haud my tongue, ye're no' gaun 
 withoot yer sermon an' yer plaid, minister," said his helper. 
 So with that she brought the first from the study table and 
 placed it in the leather case which held his bands, and 
 reached the plaid from its nail in the hall. It was not for 
 nothing that she had watched the genesis and growth of 
 that sermon which she placed in the case. Some folk de- 
 clare that she suggested the text. Nor is this so wholly im- 
 possible as it looks, for Cauldshields' housekeeper was a very 
 wise woman indeed. 
 
 It was but a step to the kirk door from the manse, but 
 it took the minister nearly twenty minutes to overcome the 
 drifts and get the key turned in the lock for in these hard 
 times it was no uncommon thing for the minister to be also 
 the doorkeeper of the tabernacle. Then he took hold of the 
 bell-rope, and high above him the notes swung out into the 
 air ; for though the storm had now settled, vast drifts re- 
 mained to tell of the blast of the night. But the gale had 
 engineered well, and as the minister looked over the half 
 mile that separated the kirk from the nearest house of the 
 clachan he knew that not a soul would be able to come to 
 the kirk that day. Yet it never occurred to him to put off 
 the service of the sanctuary. He was quite willing to preach
 
 212 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 to Euphemia Kerr alone, even so precious a discourse as he 
 carried in his band-case that day. 
 
 The minister was his own precentor, as, according to 
 the law and regulation of the kirks of Scotland, he always 
 is in the last resort, however he may choose to delegate his 
 authority. He gave out from his swallow's nest the Twenty- 
 third Psalm, and led it off himself in a powerful and ex- 
 pressive voice, which sounded strangely in the empty church. 
 The tune was taken up from the manse pew, in the dusk 
 under the little gallery, by a quavering, uncertain pipe as 
 dry and unsympathetic as, contrariwise, the singer was warm- 
 hearted and full of the very sap of human kindness. The 
 minister was so absorbed in his own full-hearted praise that 
 he was scarce conscious that he was almost alone in the 
 chill emptiness of the church. Indeed, a strange feeling 
 stole upon him, that he heard his wife's voice singing the 
 solemn gladness of the last verse along with him, as they 
 had sung it together near forty years ago when she had first 
 come to the hill kirk of Cauldshields. 
 
 " Goodness and mercy all my life 
 
 Shall surely follow me : 
 And in God's house for ever more 
 My dwelling-place shall be." 
 
 Then the prayer echoed along the walls, bare like a barn 
 before the harvest. Nevertheless, I doubt not that it went 
 straight to the throne of God as the minister pleaded for 
 the weary and the heavy-laden, the fatherless and the op- 
 pressed, for the little children and those on whom the Lord 
 has special pity " for to Thee, Lord, more are the chil- 
 dren of the desolate than the children of the married wife, 
 saith the Lord." And the minister seemed to hear some- 
 where a sound of silent weeping, like that which he had 
 hearkened to in the night long ago, when his wife sorrowed 
 by his side and wept in the darkness for the loss of their 
 only man-bairn.
 
 THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER. 213 
 
 The minister gave out his text. There was silence 
 within, and without the empty church only the whistling 
 sough of the snowdrift. " And when he was yet a great 
 way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, 
 and fell on his neck and kissed him." 
 
 There was a moment's pause, and a strange, unwonted 
 sound came from the manse seat under the dark of the 
 gallery. It was the creak of the housekeeper opening the 
 door of tha pew. The minister paused yet a moment in 
 his discourse, his dim eyes vaguely expectant. But what 
 he saw, stilled for ever the unspoken opening of his ser- 
 mon. A girlish figure came up the aisle, and was almost 
 at the foot of the pulpit-steps before the minister could 
 move. And she carried something tenderly in her arms, as 
 a bairn is carried when it is brought forward for the bap- 
 tizing. 
 
 " My father ! " she said. 
 
 Nobody knows how the minister got out of the pulpit 
 except Euphemia Kerr, and it is small use asking her ; but 
 it is currently reported that it was in such fashion as never 
 minister got out of pulpit before. And at the door of the 
 manse seat stood Euphemia, the wise woman of Tekoa, her 
 tears falling pat-pat like raindrops on the narrow book- 
 board ; but with a smile on her face, as who would say, 
 " Now, Lord, let Thy servant depart in peace," when she 
 saw the minister fall on the neck of his well-beloved 
 daughter and kiss her, having compassion on her. 
 
 But this is what Sophia M'Diarmid that was, said when 
 she heard of the home-coming of her sister Elsie. 
 
 " It was like her brazen face to come back when she had 
 shut every other door. My father never made ony sic wark 
 wi' me that bode wi' him respectable a' my days ; but hear 
 ye to me, Mistress Colville, I will never darken their door- 
 step till the day of my death." So she would not go in.
 
 BOOK THIKD. 
 HISTOEIES. 
 
 215
 
 I. 
 FENWICK MAJOK'S LITTLE 'UN. /\- / 
 
 A short to-day 
 
 AncUno to-morrow : 
 A winsome wife, 
 
 And a mickle sorrow 
 Then done was the May 
 
 Of my love and my life. 
 Stcrets. 
 
 [Edinburgh student lodgings of usual type. ROGER CHIRN- 
 SIDE, M. A., with many looks about him, seated at table. 
 Jo BEISTTLEY and " TAD " ANDERSON squabbling by the 
 fireplace.] 
 
 Loquitur ROGER CHIRNSIDE. 
 
 LOOK here, you fellows, if you can't be quiet, I'll kick 
 you out of this ! How on earth is a fellow to get up " head- 
 aches " for his final, if you keep making such a mischief of 
 a row ? By giving me a fine one for a sample, do you say ? 
 I'll take less of your sauce, Master Tad, or you'll get shown out 
 of here mighty quick. Now, not another word out of the 
 heads of you. 
 
 [Chirnside attacks his books again, murmuring inter- 
 mittently as the others subside for the time. 
 CHIRNSIDE. Migraine artery decussate wonder 
 what this other fool says (rustling leaves). They all con- 
 
 21?
 
 218 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 tradict one another, and old Sutherland will never believe 
 you when you tell him so. 
 
 [A new quarrel arises at the upper end of the room be- 
 tween Jo Bentley and Tad. 
 
 CHIKNSIDE (starting to his feet). Lay down that book, 
 Bentley ! Do you hear ? I know Tad is a fool, and needs 
 his calf's head broken. But do it with another book 
 Calderhead's Mind and Matter, or T. and T. anything but 
 that. Take the poker or anything! But lay down that 
 book. Do you hear me, Bentley ? 
 
 [ The book is laid down. 
 
 CHIENSIDE (continuing). What am I in such a funk 
 about? No, it's not because it is a Bible, though a Bible 
 never makes a good missile. I always keep an Oliver and 
 Boyd on purpose one of the old leather-backed kind that 
 never wears out, even when half the leaves are ripped out 
 for pipe-lights. 
 
 [Tad Anderson asks a question. 
 
 Why am I so stung up about that book? Tell you 
 fellows? Well, I don't mind knocking off a bit and 
 giving you the yarn. That Bible belonged to Fenwick 
 Major. Never heard of Fenwick Major! What blessed 
 ignorant chickens you must be ! Where were you 
 brought up ? 
 
 [ Chirnside slowly lights his pipe before speaking again. 
 
 Well I entered with Fenwick Major when I came up as 
 a first year's man in arts. I was green as grass, or as 
 you fellows last year. Not that you know much yet, by the 
 way. 
 
 Now, drop that Medical Ju, Bentley ! Hand me the 
 Lancet. It makes good pipe-lights about all it's good for. 
 Oh Fenwick Major ? Well (puff -puff -puff), he came up 
 to college with me. Third-class carriage our several maters 
 at the door weeping you know the kind of thing. Fen- 
 wick's governor prowling about in the background with a
 
 FENW1CK MAJOR'S LITTLE 'UN. 219 
 
 tenner in an envelope to stick in through the window. His 
 mother with a new Bible and his name on the first leaf. I 
 had no governor and no blooming tenner. Only my old 
 mater told me to spend my bursary as carefully as I could, 
 and not to disgrace my father's memory. Then something 
 took me, and I wanted to go over to the other side of the 
 compartment and look out of the window. Good old 
 lady, mine, as ever they make them. Ever felt that way, 
 fellows ? 
 
 [CJiirnside's pipe goes out. Jo Bentley and Tad shift 
 their legs uneasily and cross them the other way, 
 
 So we came up. Fenwick Major's name stands next to 
 mine on the University books. You know the style. Get 
 your money all ready. Make out your papers What is your 
 place of birth? Have you had the small-pox ? If so, how 
 often and where? And shove the whole biling across the 
 counter to the fellow with the red head and the uncertain 
 temper. You've been there? 
 
 [Bentley and Tad Anderson nod. Tliey had ~been 
 there. 
 
 Well, you fellows, Fenwick Major and I got through our 
 first session together. We were lonely, of course, and we 
 chummed some. First go off, we lodged together. But 
 Fenwick had hordes of chips and I had only my bursary, 
 and none too much of that. Fenwick wanted a first floor. 
 I preferred the attic, and thought a sitting room unneces- 
 sary. So we parted. Fenwick Major used to drop in 
 after that, and show me his new suits and the latest thing in 
 sticks nobby things, with a silver band round them and 
 his name. Then he got a terrier, and learned to be know- 
 ing as to bars. I envied, but luckily had no money. Be- 
 sides, that's all skittles any way, and you've to pay for it 
 sweetly through the nose in the long-run. Now mind me, 
 you fellows ! 
 
 [Bentley and Tad mind Chirnside.
 
 220 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Oh, certainly, I'll get on with my apple-cart and tell you 
 about the book. 
 
 Well, the short and the long of it is that Fenwick Major 
 began to go to the dogs, the way you and I have seen a many 
 go. Oh, it's a gay road room inside, and a penny all the 
 way. But there's always the devil to pay at the far end. I'm 
 not preaching, fellows ; only, you take my word for it and 
 keep clear. 
 
 Yet, in spite of the dogs, there was no mistake but Fen- 
 wick Major could work. His father was a parson white 
 hair on his shoulders, venerable old boy, all that sort of 
 thing. Had coached Fenwick till he was full as a sheep- 
 tick. So he got two medals that session, and the fellows 
 his own set gave him a supper whisky-toddy, and we'll 
 not go home till morning that style ! But most of them 
 wouldn't even go home when it was morning. They went 
 down to the Royal and tried to break in with sticks young 
 fools ! The bobbies scooped them by couples and ran them 
 in. They were all in court the next day. Most of the fel- 
 lows gave their right enough names, but they agreed to lie 
 about Fenwick's for his father's sake and his medals. Most 
 of them were colonial medicals anyway. It didn't matter a 
 toss-up to them. So Fenwick went home all right with his 
 two medals. His father met him at the station, proud as 
 Punch. His mother took possession of the medals; and 
 when she thought that Fenwick Major was out of the way, 
 she took them all round the parish in her black reticule 
 basket, velvet cases and all, and showed them to the good- 
 wives. 
 
 Fenwick Minor was home from school, and went about 
 like a dog worshipping his big brother. This is all about 
 Fenwick Minor. 
 
 But Greenbrae parish and its humble, poor simpletons of 
 folk did not content Fenwick Major long. He went back to 
 Edinburgh, as he told his father, to read during the summer
 
 FENWICK MAJOR'S LITTLE 'UN. 221 
 
 session, and when he came up again in November, Fen wick 
 Major was going it harder than ever. 
 
 [Jo Bentley and Tad Anderson look at each other. 
 They know all about that. 
 
 CHIBNSIDE (continues). Then he gave up attending 
 class much, only turning up for examinations. He had fits 
 of grinding like fire at home. Again he would chuck the 
 whole thing, and lounge all day and most of the night about 
 shops in the shady lanes back of the Register. So we knew 
 that Fenwick Major was burning his fingers. Then he cut 
 classes and grinds altogether, and when I met him next, blest 
 if he didn't cut me. That wasn't much, of course, and may- 
 be showed his good taste. But it was only a year since we 
 chummed and I knew his people, you know. 
 
 Fact was, we felt somebody ought to speak to Fenwick 
 so all the fellows said. But of course, when it came to 
 the point, they pitched on me, and stuck at me till they 
 made me promise. 
 
 So I met him and said to him : " Now, look here, Fen- 
 wick, this is playing it pretty low down on the old man at 
 home and your mother. Better let up on this drinking and 
 cutting round loose. It's skittles anyway, and will come to 
 no good ! " Just as I would say to you fellows. 
 
 I think Fenwick Major was first of all a bit staggered at 
 my speaking to him. Later he came to himself, and told 
 me where to go for a meddling young hypocrite. 
 
 " Who are you to come preaching to me, any way ? " he 
 said. 
 
 And I admitted that I was nobody. But I told him all 
 the same that he had better listen to what I said. 
 
 " You are playing the fool, and you'll come an awful 
 cropper," I went on. " Not that it matters so much for 
 you, but you've got a father and a mother to think about." 
 
 What Fenwick Major said then about his father and 
 mother I am not going to tell you. He had maybe half
 
 222 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 a dozen " wets " on board, BO we won't count him re- 
 sponsible. 
 
 But after that Fenwick Major never looked the way I 
 was on. He drank more than ever, till you could see the 
 shakes on him from the other side of the street. And there 
 was the damp, bleached look about his face that you see in 
 some wards up at the Infirmary. 
 
 [Jo Bentley and Tad Anderson nod. Tlieir heads are 
 bent eagerly towards Chirnside. 
 
 But I heard from other fellows that he still tried to work. 
 He would come out of a bad turn. Then he would doctor 
 himself, Turkish-bath himself, diet himself, and go at his 
 books. But, as I am alive, fellows, he had got himself into 
 such a state that what he learned the night before, he had 
 forgotten the next morning. Ay, even the book he had been 
 reading and the subject he was cramming. Talk about no 
 hell, fellows ! Don't you believe 'em. I know four knocking 
 about Edinburgh this very moment. 
 
 But right at the close of the session we heard that the 
 end had come. So, at least, we thought. Fenwick Major 
 had married a barmaid or something like that. " What a 
 fool ! " said some. I was only thankful that I had not to 
 tell his mother. 
 
 But his mother was told, and his father came to Edin- 
 burgh to find Fenwick Major. He did not find the prodigal 
 son, who was said to have gone to London. At any rate, his 
 father went home, and in a fortnight there was a funeral 
 two in a month. Mother went first, then the old man. I 
 went down to both, and cursed Fenwick Major and his bar- 
 maid with all the curses I knew. And I was a second year 
 medical at the time. 
 
 I never thought to hear more of him. Did not want to. 
 He was lost. He had married a barmaid, and I knew where 
 his father and mother lay under the sod. And my own old 
 mater kept flowers on the two graves summer and winter.
 
 FENWICK MAJOR'S LITTLE 'UN. 223 
 
 One night I was working here late green tea, towel 
 round my head oral next morning. There was a knock 
 at the door. The landlady was in bed, so I went. There 
 was a laddie there, bare-legged and with a voice like a rip- 
 saw. 
 
 " If ye please, there's a man wants awf u' to see ye at 
 Grant's Land at the back o' the Pleasance." 
 
 I took my stick and went out into the night. It was 
 just coming light, and the gas-jets began to look foolish. I 
 stumbled up to the door, and the boy showed me in. It 
 was a poor place of the poorest. The stair was simply 
 filthy. 
 
 But the room into which I was shown was clean, and 
 there on a bed, with the gas and the dawn from the east 
 making a queer light on his face, sat Fenwick Major. 
 
 He held out his hand. 
 
 " How are you, Chirnside ? Kind of you to come. This 
 is the little wife ! " was what he said, but I can tell you he 
 looked a lot more. 
 
 At the word a girl in black stole silently out of the 
 shadow, in which I had not noticed her. 
 
 She had a white, drawn face, and she watched Fenwick 
 Major as a mother watches a sick child that is going to be 
 taken from her up at the hospital. 
 
 " I wanted to see you, old chap, before I went you 
 know. It's a long way to go, and there's no use in hanging 
 back even if I could. But the little wife says she knows the 
 road, and that I won't find it dark. She can't read much, 
 the little wife education neglected and all that. Precious 
 lot I made of mine, medals and all ! But she's a trump. 
 She made a man of me. Worked for me, nursed me. Yes, 
 you did, Sis, and I shall say it. It won't hurt me to say it. 
 Nothing will hurt me now, Sis." 
 
 "James, do not excite yourself !" said the little wife just 
 then.
 
 224: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 I had forgotten his name was James. He was only Fen- 
 wick Major to me. 
 
 " Now, little wife," he said, " let me tell Chirnside how 
 I've been a bad fellow, but the Little 'Un pulled me through. 
 It was the best day's work I ever did when I married Sis ! " 
 
 " James ! " she said again, warningly. 
 
 " Look here, Chirnside," Fenwick went on, " the Little 
 'Un can't read ; but, do you know, she sleeps with my old 
 mother's Bible under her pillow. I can't read either, though 
 you would hardly know it. I lost my sight the year I mar- 
 ried (my own fault, of course), and I've been no better than 
 a block ever since. I want you to read me a bit out of the 
 old Book." 
 
 "Why didn't you send for a minister, Fenwick?" I said. 
 " He could talk to you better than I can." 
 
 " Don't want anybody to speak to me. Little 'Un has 
 done all that. But I want you to read. And, see here, 
 Chirnside, I was a brute beast to you once quarrelled with 
 you years ago " 
 
 " Don't think of that, Fenwick Major ! " I said. " That's 
 all right ! " 
 
 " Well, I won't," he said ; " for what's the use ? But 
 Little 'Un said, ' Don't let the sun go down upon your 
 wrath.' ' And no more I will, Little 'Un,' says I. So I sent 
 a boy after you, old man." 
 
 Now, you fellows, don't laugh; but there and then I 
 read three or four chapters of the Bible out of Fenwick's 
 mother's Bible the one she handed in at the carriage win- 
 dow that morning he and I set off for college. I actually 
 did, and this is the Bible. 
 
 \Bentley and Tad Anderson do not laugh. 
 
 When I had finished, I said "Fenwick, I'm awfully 
 sorry, but fact is I can't pray." 
 
 " Never mind about that, old man ! " said he ; " Little 
 'Un can pray ! "
 
 PENWICK MAJOR'S LITTLE 'UN. 
 
 And Little 'Un did pray ; and I tell you what, fellows, 
 I never heard any such prayer. That little girl was a 
 brick. 
 
 Then Fenwick Major put out fingers like pipe-staples, 
 and said 
 
 " Old man, you'll give Little 'Un a hand after you 
 know." 
 
 I don't know that I said anything. Then he spoke 
 again, and very slowly 
 
 " It's all right, old boy. Sun hasn't gone down on our 
 wrath, has it ? " 
 
 And even as he smiled and held a hand of both of us, 
 the sun went down. 
 
 Little brick, wasn't she ? Good little soul as ever was ! 
 Three cheers for the little wife, I say. What are you fel- 
 lows snuffling at there ? Why can't you cheer ?
 
 II. 
 MAC'S ENTERIC FEVER. 
 
 Merry are the months when the years go slow, 
 Shining on ahead of us, like lamps in a row : 
 Lamps in a row in a briskly moving town. 
 Merry are the moments ere the nigiit shuts down. 
 
 Halleval and Haskeval. 
 
 IN those days we took great care of our health. It was 
 about the only thing we had to take care of. So we went 
 to lodge on the topmost floor of a tall Edinburgh land, with 
 only some indifferent slates and the midnight tom-cats be- 
 tween us and the stars. The garret story in such a house 
 is, medically speaking, much the healthiest. We have 
 always had strong views about this matter, and we did not 
 let any considerations of expense prevent us taking care of 
 our health. 
 
 Also, it is a common mistake to overeat. Therefore, we 
 students had porridge twice a day, with a herring in be- 
 tween, except when we were saving up for a book. Then 
 we did without the herring. It was a fine diet, wholesome 
 if sparse, and kept us brave and hungry. Hungry dogs 
 hunt best, except retrievers. 
 
 In this manner we lived for many years with an excellent 
 lady, who never interfered with our ploys unless we broke a 
 poker or a leaf of the table at least. Then she came in and 
 told us what she thought of us for ten eloquent minutes.
 
 MAC'S ENTERIC FEVER. 227 
 
 After that we went out for a walk, and the landlady gath- 
 ered up the fragments that remained. 
 
 It was a lively place when Mac and I lodged together. 
 Mac was a painter, but he had not yet decided which 
 Academy he would be president of so that in the mean- 
 time Sir Frederick Langton and Sir Simeon Stormcloud 
 could sleep in their beds with some ease of mind. - 
 
 Our room up near the sky was festooned with dim photo- 
 graphs of immense family tombstones a perfect graveyard 
 of them, which proved that the relations of Mrs. Christison, 
 our 'worthy landlady, would have some trouble in getting to 
 bed in anything like time if by chance they should be caught 
 wandering abroad at cock-crow. Mixed with these there 
 were ghastly libels on the human form divine, which Mac 
 had brought home from the students' atelier ladies and 
 gentlemen who appeared to find it somewhat cold, and had 
 therefore thoughtfully provided themselves with a tight- 
 fitting coat of whitewash. Mac said this was the way that 
 flesh-colour was painted under direct illumination. Well, 
 it might have been. We did not set up for judges. But to 
 an inexperienced eye they looked a great deal more like 
 deceased white-washed persons who had been dug up after 
 some weeks' decent burial. We observed that they ap- 
 peared to be mildewed in patches, but Mac explained that 
 these were the muscles. This also was possible ; but, all 
 the same, we had never seen any ladies or gentlemen who 
 carried their muscles outside, so to speak. Mac said he did 
 this sort of thing because he was applying for admission to 
 the Academy Life Class. We all hoped he would get in, 
 for we had had quite enough of dead people, especially 
 when theywere white-washed and resurrected, besides given 
 to wearing their muscles outside. 
 
 Mac used, in addition to this provocation, to play jokes 
 on us, because Almond and I were harmless and quiet. 
 Almond was studying engineering because he was going to 
 16
 
 228 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 be a wholesale manufacturer of wheelbarrows. I was an 
 arts student who wrote literary and political articles in the 
 office of a moribund newspaper all night, and wakened in 
 time to go along the street to dine in a theological college. 
 
 So 'Mac used to play off his wicked jokes upon Almond 
 and myself for the reasons stated. He bored a hole through 
 the wall at the head of our bed, and awoke us untimeously 
 in the frosty mornings by squirting mysterious streams of 
 water upon us. He said he had promised Almond's mother 
 to see that he took a bath every morning, and he was going 
 to do it. He anticipated us at our tins of sardines, and 
 when we re-opened them we found all the tails carefully 
 preserved in oil and sawdust. He made disgraceful carica- 
 tures of our physiognomies by falsely representing that he 
 wished us to sit for our portraits. He perpetrated drawings 
 upon the backs of our college exercises, mixing them with 
 opprobrious remarks concerning our preceptors, which we 
 did not observe till our attention was called to them upon 
 their return by the preceptors themselves. We bore these 
 things meekly on the whole, for that was our nature at 
 least mine. 
 
 Occasionally the worm turned, and then a good many 
 articles of furniture were overset; and the Misses Hope, 
 who resided beneath us, knocked up through the ceiling 
 with the tongs, whereupon the landlady and her daughter 
 came in armed with the poker and a long-handled broom to 
 promote peace. 
 
 But after the affair of the squirt Almond and I took 
 counsel, and Almond said (for Professor Jeeming Flenkin 
 had discovered on the back of a careful drawing of an en- 
 gine wheel a caricature of himself pointing with index- 
 finger and saying, " Very smutty ! ") that he would stand 
 this sort of thing no longer. 
 
 So we resolved to work a sell on Mac which he would 
 not forget to his dying day. To effect this we took our
 
 MAC'S ENTERIC FEVER. 229 
 
 landlady and our landlady's daughter into the plot, and the 
 matter was practically complete when Mac came home. 
 We heard him whistling up the stairs. The engineer was 
 drawing a cherub in Indian ink. The arts, student was 
 reading a text-book of geology. The landlady and her 
 daughter were busy about their work in their own quarters. 
 All was peace. 
 
 The key clicked in the lock, and then the whistle 
 stopped as Mac entered. 
 
 The landlady met him at the door. She gazed anxious- 
 ly and maternally at his face. She seemed surprised also, 
 and a trifle agitated. 
 
 " Dear me, Maister Mac, what's the maitter ? Ye are 
 no lookin' weel." 
 
 Mac was a little surprised, but not alarmed. 
 
 " There is nothing the matter, Mrs. Christison," said he 
 lightly. 
 
 " Eh, Teena, come here," she cried to her daughter. 
 
 Teena came hurriedly at her mother's call. But as she 
 looked upon Mac the fashion of her countenance changed. 
 
 " Are you not well ? " she said, peering anxiously into 
 the pupils of Mac's eyes. 
 
 Such attentions are flattering, and Mac, being a squire 
 of dames, was desirous of making the most of it. 
 
 " Well, I was not feeling quite up to the mark, but I 
 daresay it'll pass off," he said diplomatically. 
 
 " You must not be working so hard. You will kill 
 yourself one of these days." 
 
 For which we hope and trust she may be forgiven, 
 though it is a good deal to hope. 
 
 " Where do you feel it most, Mr. Mac ? " then inquired 
 Teena tenderly. 
 
 Mac is of opinion that, if anywhere, he feels it worst in 
 his head, but his chest is also paining him a little. 
 
 " Gang richt awa' in, my laddie," says the landlady,
 
 230 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " an' lie doon and rest ye on the sofa, an' I'll be ben the 
 noo wi' something till ye ! " 
 
 Mac comes in with a slightly scared and conscious ex- 
 pression on his face. Almond and I look up from our work 
 as he enters, though, as it were, only in a casual manner. 
 But what we see arrests our attention, and Almond's jaw 
 drops as he looks from Mac to me, and back again to Mac. 
 
 " Good gracious, what's wrang wi' ye, man ? " he gasps, 
 in his native tongue. 
 
 I get up hastily and go over to the patient. I take him 
 by the arm, pull him sharply to the window and turn him 
 round, an action which he resents. 
 
 " I wish to goodness you fellows would not make asses 
 of yourselves," he says, as he flings himself down on the 
 sofa. 
 
 Almond and I look at one another as if this fretfulness 
 were one of the worst signs, and we had quite expected it. 
 We say nothing for a little as we sit down to work ; but 
 uneasily, as if we have something on our minds. Presently 
 I rise, and, going into the bedroom, motion to Almond as I 
 go. This action is not lost on Mac. I did not mean that 
 it should. We shut the door and whisper together. Mac 
 comes and shakes the door, which is locked on the inside. 
 
 " Come out of that, you fellows," he cries, " and don't 
 be gibbering idiots ! " 
 
 But for all that he is palpably nervous and uneasy. 
 
 "Go away and lie down, like a good fellow," I say 
 soothingly ; " it'll be all right all right." 
 
 But Mac is not soothed in the least. Then we whisper 
 some more, and rustle the leaves of a large Quain which lies 
 on the mantelpiece, a legacy from some former medical 
 lodger. After a respectable time we come out without look- 
 ing at Mac, who peers at us steadily from the sofa. I go 
 directly to the Scotsman of the day, and run my finger 
 down the serried columns till I come to the paragraph
 
 MAC'S ENTERIC FEVER. 231 
 
 which gives the mortality for the week. Almond looks 
 over my shoulder the while, and I make a score with my 
 finger-nail under the words " enteric fever." We are sure 
 that Mac does not know what enteric fever is. No more do 
 we, but that does not matter. 
 
 We withdraw solemnly one by one, as if we were a pro- 
 cession, with a muttered excuse to Mac that we are going 
 out to see a man. Almond sympathetically and silently 
 brings a dressing gown to cover his feet. He angrily kicks 
 it across the floor. 
 
 -" I say, you fellows " he begins, as we go out. 
 
 But we take no heed. The case is too serious. Then 
 we go into the kitchen and discuss it with the landlady. 
 
 We do this with solemn pauses, indicative of deep 
 thought. We go back into the sitting-room. Mac has 
 been to look at the paper where my nail scored it. We 
 knew he would, and he is now lying on the sofa rather pale. 
 He even groans a little. The symptoms work handsomely. 
 It is small wonder we are alarmed. 
 
 We ring for the landlady, and she comes in hastily and 
 with anxiety depicted on her countenance. She asks him 
 where he feels it worst. Teena runs for Quain, and, being 
 the least suspect of the party, she reads, in a low, hushed 
 tone, an account of the symptoms of enteric fever (pre- 
 viously inserted in manuscript) which would considerably 
 astonish Dr. Quain and the able specialist who contributed 
 the real account of that disease to the volume. 
 
 It seems that for the disease specified, castor-oil and a 
 mustard blister, the latter applied very warm between the 
 shoulders, are the appropriate and certain cures. There is 
 nothing that Mac dislikes so much as castor-oil. He would 
 rather die than take it so he says. But a valuable life, 
 which might be spent in the service of the highest art, must 
 not be permitted to be thus thrown away. So we get the 
 castor-oil in a spoon, and with Teena coaxing and Almond
 
 232 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 acting on the well-known principle of twenty years' resolute 
 government down she goes. 
 
 Instantly Mac feels a little better, for he can groan 
 easier than before. That is a good sign. The great thing 
 now is to keep up the temperature and induce perspiration. 
 The mustard approaches. The landlady cries from the 
 kitchen to know if he is ready. Teena retires to get more 
 blankets. The patient is put to bed, and in a little the mus- 
 tard plaster is being applied in the place indicated by Quain. 
 We tell one another what a mercy it is that we have all the 
 requisites in the house. (There is no mustard in the plas- 
 ter really only a few peppercorns and a little sand scraped 
 from the geological hammer.) But we say aloud that we 
 hope Mac can bear it for twenty minutes, and we specu- 
 late on whether it will bring all the skin with it when it 
 comes off. 
 
 This is too much, and the groaning recommences. The 
 blankets are applied, and in a trice there is no lack of per- 
 spiration. But within three minutes Mac shouts that the 
 abominable plaster is burning right down through him. It 
 is all pure mustard, he says. We must have put a live 
 coal in by mistake. We tell him it will be all right in 
 twenty minutes. It is no use ; he is far past advice, and in 
 his insanity he would tear it off and so endanger the suc- 
 cess of the treatment. But this cannot be permitted. So 
 Almond sits on the plaster to keep it in its place, while I 
 time the twenty minutes with a stop-watch. 
 
 At the end of this period of crisis the patient is pro- 
 nounced past the worst. But, being in a state of collapse, 
 it becomes necessary to rouse him with a strong stimulant. 
 So, having sent the ladies to a place of safety, we take off 
 the plaster tenderly, and kindly show Mac the oatmeal and 
 the sand. We tell him that there was never anything the 
 matter with him at all. We express a hope that he will 
 find that the castor-oil has done him good. A little castor-
 
 MAC'S ENTERIC FEVER. 233 
 
 oil is an excellent thing at any time. And we also advise 
 him, the next time he feels inclined to work off a sell on 
 us or play any more of his pranks, to have a qualified medi- 
 cal man on the premises. Quain is evidently not good 
 enough. He makes mistakes. We show him the passage. 
 
 Then we advise him to put on his clothes, and not 
 make a fool of himself by staying in bed in the middle 
 of the day. 
 
 Whereupon, somewhat hurriedly, we retreat to our bed- 
 rooms ; and, locking the doors, sit down to observe with in- 
 terest the bolts bending and the hinges manfully resisting, 
 while Mac with a poker in either hand flings himself wildly 
 against them. He says he wants to see us, but we reply 
 that we are engaged.
 
 III. 
 THE COLLEGING OF SIMEON GLEG. 
 
 Forth from the place of furrows 
 
 To the town of the Many Towers ; 
 Full many a lad from the ploughtail 
 
 Has gone to strive with the hours. 
 
 Leaving the ancient wisdom 
 
 Of tilth and pasturage, 
 For the empty honour of striving, 
 
 And the emptier name of sage. 
 
 Shadows. 
 
 WITHOUT blared all the trumpets of the storm. The 
 wind howled and the rain blattered on the manse windows. 
 It was in the upland parish of Blawrinnie, and the minister 
 was preparing his Sabbath's sermon. The study lamp was 
 lit and the window curtains were drawn. Eobert Ford 
 Buchanan was the minister of Blawrinnie. He was a young 
 man who had only been placed a year or two, and he had a 
 great idea of the importance of his weekly sermons to the 
 Blawrinnie folk. He also spoke of " My People " in an as- 
 sured manner when he came up to the Assembly in May. 
 
 " I am thinking of giving my people a series of lectures 
 on the Old Testament, embodying the results of " 
 
 " Hoot, na, laddie," said Good Eoger Drumly, who got 
 a D. D. for marrying a professor's sister (and deserved a 
 V. C.), " ye had better stick to the Shorter's Quastions 
 an' preach nae whigmaleeries i' the pairish o' Blawrinnie. 
 
 334
 
 THE COLLEGING OF SIMEON GLEG. 235 
 
 Tak' my word for it, they dinna gie a last year's nest-egg 
 for a' the results of creeticism. I was yince helper there 
 myseP, ye maun mind, an' 1 ken Blawrinnie." 
 
 There is no manner of doubt that Dr. Drumly was 
 right. Since he married the professor's sister, he did not 
 speak much himself, except in his sermons, which were in- 
 ordinately long ; but he was a man very much respected, 
 for, as one of his elders said, " Gin he does little guid in the 
 pairish, he is a quate, ceevil man, an' does just as little ill." 
 And this, after all, is chiefly what is expected of a settled 
 and official minister with a manse and glebe in that part of 
 the country. Too much zeal is not thought to become him. 
 It is well enough in a mere U. P. 
 
 But the Keverend Eobert Ford Buchanan had not so 
 settled on his lees as to accept such a negative view of his 
 duties. He must try to help his people singly and indi- 
 vidually, and this he certainly did to the best of his ability. 
 For he neither spent all his time running after Dissenters, 
 as the manner of some is ; nor yet did he occupy all his 
 pastoral visits with conversations on the iniquity of Dises- 
 tablishment, as is others' use and wont. He went in a bet- 
 ter way about the matter, in order to prove himself a worthy 
 minister of the parish, taking such a vital interest in all 
 that appertained to it, that no man could take his bishopric 
 from him. 
 
 Among other things, he had a Bible class for the young, 
 in which the hope of the parish of Blawrinnie was in- 
 structed as to the number of hands that had had the mak- 
 ing of the different prophecies, and upon the allusions to 
 primitive customs in the book of Genesis (which the min- 
 ister called a "historical synopsis"). There were three 
 lassies attending the class, and three young men who came 
 to walk home with the lassies. Unfortunately, two of the 
 young men wanted to walk home with the same young lass, 
 so that the minister's Bible-class could not always be said to
 
 233 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 make for peace. As, indeed, the Keverend Doctor Drumly 
 foretold when the thing was started. He had met the pro- 
 fessor's sister first at a Bible- class, and was sore upon the 
 subject. 
 
 But it was the minister's Bible-class that procured Mr. 
 Ford Buchanan the honour of a visit that night of storm 
 and stress. First of all there was an unwonted stir in the 
 kitchen, audible even in the minister's study, where he stood 
 on one leg, with a foot on a chair, consulting authorities. 
 (He was an unmarried man,) 
 
 Elizabeth Milligan, better known as " the minister's 
 Betsy," came and rapped on the door in an undecided way. 
 It was a very interesting authority the minister was consult- 
 ing, so he only said " Thank you, Elizabeth ! " in an absent- 
 minded way and went on reading, rubbing his moustache 
 the while with the unoccupied hand in a way which, had he 
 known it, kept it perpetually thin. 
 
 But Betty continued to knock, and finally put her head 
 within the study door. 
 
 " It's no' yer parritch yet," she said. " It's but an hour 
 since ye took yer tea. But, if ye please, minister, wad ye be 
 so kind as open the door ? There's somebody ringing the 
 front-door bell, an' it's jammed wi' the rain forbye, an' nae 
 wise body gangs and comes that gait ony way, bena yer- 
 sel'." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly, Elizabeth ; I will open the door 
 immediately ! " said the minister, laying down his book 
 and marking the place with last week's list of psalms and 
 intimations. 
 
 Mr. Buchanan went to the seldom-used front-door, 
 turned the key, and threw open the portal to see who the 
 visitor might be who rang the manse bell at eight o'clock 
 on such a night. Betsy hung about the outskirts of the 
 hall in a fever of anticipation and alarm. It might be a 
 highwayman or even a wild U. P. There was no saying.
 
 THE COLLEGING OF SIMEON GLEG. 237 
 
 But when the minister pulled the door wide open, he 
 looked out and saw nothing. Only blackness and tossing 
 leaves were in front of him. 
 
 " Who's there ? " he cried, peremptorily, in his pulpit 
 voice which he used when " My People " stood convicted 
 of some exhibition of extreme callousness to impression. 
 
 But only the darkness fronted him and the swirl of 
 wind slapped the wet ivy-leaves against the porch. 
 
 Then apparently from among his feet a little piping 
 voice replied 
 
 " If ye please, minister, I want to learn Greek and Laitin, 
 an' to gang to the college." 
 
 The minister staggered back aghast. He could see no 
 one at all, and this peeping, elvish-like voice, rising amid 
 the storm to his ear out of the darkness, reminded him of 
 the days when he believed in the other world that is, of 
 course, the world of spirits and churchyard ghosts. 
 
 But gradually there grew upon him a general impression 
 of a little figure, broad and squat, standing bareheaded and 
 with cap in hand on his threshold. The minister came to 
 himself, and his habits of hospitality asserted themselves. 
 
 " You want to learn Greek and Latin," he said, accus- 
 tomed to extraordinary requests. " Come in and tell me all 
 about it." 
 
 The little, broad figure stepped within the doorway. 
 
 " I'm a' wat wi' the rain," again quoth the elvish voice, 
 more genially, " an' I'm no' fit to gang into a gentleman's 
 hoose." 
 
 " Come into the dining-room," said the minister kindly. 
 
 " 'Deed, an' ye'll no," interposed Betsy, who had been 
 coming nearer. " Ye'se juist gang into the study, an' I'll 
 lay doon a bass for ye to stand an' dreep on. Where come 
 ye frae, laddie ? " 
 
 " I am Tammas Gleg's laddie. My faither disna ken that 
 I hae come to see the minister," said the boy.
 
 238 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " The loon's no' wise ! " muttered Betsy. " Could the 
 back door no' hae served ye? Bringing fowk away through 
 the hoose traikin' to open the front door to you on sic a 
 nicht. Man, ye are a peetifu' object ! " 
 
 The object addressed looked about him. He was making 
 a circle of wetness an the floor. He was taken imperatively 
 by the coat-sleeve. 
 
 " Ye canna gang into the study like that. There wad 
 be nae dryin' the floor. Come into the kitchen, laddie," 
 said Betsy. " Gang yer ways ben, minister, to your ain 
 gate-end, an' the loon'll be wi' ye the noo." 
 
 So Betsy, who was accustomed to her own way in the 
 manse of Blawrinnie, drove Tammas Gleg's laddie before 
 her into the kitchen, and the minister went into the study 
 with a kind of junior apostolic meekness. Then he medi- 
 tatively settled his hard circular collar, which he wore in the 
 interests of Life and Work, but privately hated with a dead- 
 ly hatred, as his particular form of penance. 
 
 It was no very long season that he had to wait, and be- 
 fore he had done more than again lift up his interesting 
 " authority," the door of the study was pushed open and 
 Betsy cried in, " Here he's ! " lest there might be any trou- 
 ble in the identification. And not without some reason. 
 For, strange as was the figure which had stepped into the 
 minister's lobby out of the storm, the vision which now met 
 his eyes was infinitely stranger. 
 
 A thick-set body little over four and a half feet high, ex- 
 ceedingly thick and stout, was surmounted with one of the 
 most curious heads the minister had ever seen. He saw a 
 round apple face, eyes of extraordinary brightness, a thin- 
 lipped mouth which seemed to meander halfway round the 
 head as if uncertain where to stop. Betsy had arrayed this 
 " object " in a pink bedgown of her own, a pair of the min- 
 ister's trousers turned up nearly to the knee in a roll the 
 thickness of a man's wrist, and one of the minister's new-
 
 THE COLLEGING OF SIMEON GLEG. 239 
 
 fangled M. B. waistcoats, through the armholes of which 
 two very long arms escaped, clad as far as the elbows in the 
 sleeves of the pink bedgown. 
 
 Happily the minister was wholly destitute of a sense of 
 humour (and therefore clearly marked for promotion in the 
 Church) ; and the privation stood him in good stead now. 
 It only struck him as a little irregular to be sitting in the 
 study with a person so attired. But he thought to himself 
 "After all, he may be one of My People." 
 
 " And what can I do for you ? " he said kindly, when the 
 Object was seated opposite to him on the very edge of a 
 large armchair, the pink arms laid like weapons of warfare 
 upon his knees, and the broad hands warming themselves in 
 a curious unattached manner at the fire. 
 
 " Ye see, sir," began the Object, " I am Seemion Gleg, 
 an' I am ettlin' to be a minister." 
 
 The Reverend Robert Ford Buchanan started. He came 
 of a Levitical family, and over his head there were a series 
 of portraits of very dignified gentlemen in extensive white 
 neckerchiefs, his forbears and predecessors in honourable 
 office a knee-breeched, lace-ruffled moderator among them. 
 
 It was as if a Prince of the Blood had listened to some 
 rudely democratic speech from a waif of the causeway. 
 
 "A minister!" he exclaimed. Then, as a thought 
 flashed across him " Oh, a Dissenting preacher ! " he con- 
 tinued. 
 
 This would explain matters. 
 
 " Na, na," said Simeon Gleg ; " nae Dissenter ava. I'm 
 for the Kirk itseP the Auld Kirk or naething. That was 
 the way my mither brocht me up. An' I want to learn 
 Greek an' Laitin. I hae plenty o' spare time, an' my mais- 
 ter gies me a' the forenichts. I can learn at the peat fire 
 after the ither men are gane to their beds." 
 
 " Your master ! " said the minister. "Do you mean 
 your teacher ? "
 
 240 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " Na, na," said Simeon Gleg ; " I mean Maister Golder 
 o' the Glaisters. I serve there as plooman ! " 
 
 " You ! " exclaimed the minister, aghast. " How old 
 may you be ? " 
 
 " I'm gaun in my nineteenth year," said Simeon. " I'm 
 no' big for my age, I ken ; but I can throw ony man that I 
 get grups on, and haud ony beast whatsomever. I can ploo 
 
 wi' the best an' maw Weel, I'm no' gaun to brag, but 
 
 ye can ask Maister Golder that is an elder o' your ain, 
 an' comes at least twa Sabbaths afore every Communion to 
 hear ye." 
 
 " But why do ye want to learn Greek and Latin ? " 
 queried the minister. 
 
 " Weel, ye see, sir," said Simeon Gleg, leaning forward 
 to poke the manse fire with the toe of his stocking the 
 minister watching with interest to see if he could do it 
 without burning the wool " I hae saved twunty pounds, 
 and I thocht o' layin' it oot on the impruvement o' my 
 mind. It's a heap o' money, I ken ; but, then, my mind 
 needs a feck o' impruvement if ye but kenned hoo 
 ignorant I am, ye wadna wonder. Ay, ay " taking, as it 
 were, a survey of the whole ground " my mind will stand 
 a deal o' impruvement. It's gye rough, whinny grund, and 
 has never been turned ower. But I was thinkin' Enbra 
 wad gie it a rare bit lift. What do ye think o' the profess- 
 ors there? I was hearin' some o' them was no' thocht 
 muckle o' ! " 
 
 The minister moved a little uneasily in his chair, and 
 settled his circular collar. 
 
 " Well," he said, " they are able men most of them." 
 
 He was a cautious minister. 
 
 " Dod, an' I'm gled to hear ye sayin' that. It's a relief 
 to my mind," said Simeon Gleg. " I dinna want to fling 
 my twunty pound into the mill-dam." 
 
 " But I understood you to say," went on the min-
 
 THE COLLEGING OF SIMEON GLEG. 241 
 
 ister, " that you intended to enter the ministry of the 
 Kirk." 
 
 " Ow, ay, that's nae doot my ettlin'. But that's a lang 
 gate to gang, an' in the meantime my object in gaun to the 
 college is juist the cultivation o' my mind." 
 
 The wondrous apple-faced ploughboy in the red-sleeved 
 bedgown looked thoughtfully at the palms of his horny 
 hands as he reeled oif this sentence. But he had more to say. 
 
 "I think Greek and Laitin wull be the best way. 
 Twunty pounds' worth seven for fees an' the rest for pro- 
 vidin'. But my mither says she'll gie me a braxy ham or 
 twa, an' a crock o' butter." 
 
 " But what do you know ? " asked the minister. " Have 
 you begun the languages ? " 
 
 Simeon Greg wrestled a moment with the M. B. waist- 
 coat, and from the inside of it he extricated two books. 
 
 " This," he said, " is Melvin's Laitin Exercises, an' I hae 
 the Rudiments at hame. I hae been through them twice. 
 An' this is the Academy Greek Rudiments. man I 
 mean, minister " he broke out earnestly, " gin ye wad 
 juist gie the letters a bit rin ower. I dinna ken hoo to 
 mak' them soond ! " 
 
 The minister ran over the Greek letters. 
 
 The eyes of Simeon Gleg were upturned in heartfelt 
 thankfulness. His long arms danced convulsively upon his 
 knees. He shot out his red-knotted fingers till they 
 cracked with delight. 
 
 " Man, man, an' that's the soond o' them ! It's awsome 
 queer ! But, 0, it's bonny, bonny ! There's nocht like the 
 Greek and the Laitin ! " 
 
 Now, there were many more brilliant ministers in Scot- 
 land than the minister of Blawrinnie, but few kindlier; and 
 in a few minutes he had offered to give Simeon Gleg two 
 nights a week in the dead languages. Simeon quivered 
 with the mighty words of thankfulness that rose to his
 
 242 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Adam's apple, but which would not come further. He took 
 the minister's hand. 
 
 " Oh, sir," he said, " I canna thank ye ! I haena words 
 fittin' ! Gin I had the Greek and Laitin, I wad ken what 
 to say till ye " 
 
 " Never mind, Simeon ; do not say a word. I under- 
 stand all about it," replied the minister warmly. 
 
 Simeon still lingered undecided. He was now standing 
 in the M. B. waistcoat and the pink bedgown. The sleeves 
 were more obtrusive than ever. The minister was re- 
 minded of his official duties. He said tentatively 
 
 " Ah would you perhaps you would like me to give 
 you a word of advice, or ah perhaps to engage in 
 prayer ? " 
 
 These were things usually expected in Blawrinnie. 
 
 " Na, na ! " cried Simeon eagerly. " No' that ! But, 
 minister, ye micht gie thae letters anither skelp owre 
 aboot Alfy, Betaw, Gaumaiv ! " 
 
 The minister took the Greek Eudiments again without 
 a smile, and read the alphabet slowly and with unction, as 
 if it were his first chapter on the Sabbath morning and a 
 full kirk. 
 
 Simeon Gleg stood by, looking up and clasping his 
 hands in ecstasy. 
 
 " Lord," he said, " help me keep mind o' it ! It's 
 just like the kingdom o' heaven ! Greek and Lai tin's the 
 thing ! There's nae mistak', Greek and Laitin's the thing ! " 
 
 Then on the doorstep he turned, after Betsy had reclad 
 him in his dry clothes and lent him the minister's third 
 best umbrella. 
 
 This was Simeon Gleg's good-bye to the minister 
 
 " Twunty pound is a dreadf u' heap o' siller ; but, 
 minister, my mind 'ill stand an awfu' sicht o' impruvement ! 
 It'll no' be a penny owre muckle ! "
 
 IV. 
 
 KIT KENNEDY, NE'EK-DO-WEEL. 
 
 " Now I wonder," with a flicker 
 Of the Old Ford in his eyes 
 As he watched the snow come thicker, 
 " Are the angels warm and rosy 
 When the snow-storms fill the skies, 
 As in summer when the sun 
 Makes their cloud-beds warm and cosy 1 
 And I wonder if they're sleeping 
 Through this bitter winter weather ; 
 Or aloft their watches keeping, 
 As the shepherds told of them, 
 Hosts and hosts of them together, 
 Singing o'er the lowly stable, 
 In that little Bethlehem !" 
 
 Ford Bereton. 
 
 " KIT KEXNEDY, ye are a lazy ne'er-do-weel lyin' 
 snorin' there in your bed on the back o' five o'clock. 
 Think shame o' yoursel' ! " 
 
 And Kit did. 
 
 He was informed on an average ten times a day that he 
 was lazy, a skulker, a burden on the world, and especially 
 on the household of his mother's cousin, Mistress MacWal- 
 ter of Loch Spellanderie. So, being an easy-minded boy, 
 and moderately cheerful, he accepted the fact, and shaped 
 his life accordingly. 
 
 " Get up this instant, ye scoondrel ! " came again the 
 sharp voice. It was speaking from under three ply of 
 
 17 243
 
 244 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 blankets, in the ceiled room beneath. That is why it 
 seemed a trifle more muffled than usual. It even sounded 
 kindly, but Kit Kennedy was not deceived. He knew bet- 
 ter than that. 
 
 " Gin ye dinna be stirrin', I'll be up to ye wi' a stick ! " 
 cried Mistress Mac Walter. 
 
 It was a greyish, glimmering twilight when Kit Kennedy 
 awoke. It seemed such a short time since he went to bed, 
 that he thought that surely his aunt was calling him up the 
 night before. Kit was not surprised. She had married his 
 uncle, and was capable of anything. 
 
 The moon, getting old, and yawning in the middle as if 
 tired of being out so late, set a crumbly horn past the edge 
 of his little skylight. Her straggling, pallid rays fell on 
 something white on Kit's bed. He put out his hand, and 
 it went into a cold wreath of snow up to the wrist. 
 
 " Ouch ! " said Kit Kennedy. 
 
 " I'm comin' to ye," repeated his aunt, " ye lazy, pam- 
 pered guid-for-naething ! Dinna think I canna hear ye 
 grumblin' and speakin' ill words there ? " 
 
 Yet all he had said was " Ouch ! " in the circum- 
 stances, a somewhat natural remark. 
 
 Kit took the corner of the scanty coverlet and, with a 
 well-accustomed arm-sweep, sent the whole swirl of snow 
 over the end of his bed, getting across the side at the same 
 time himself. He did not complain. All he said, as he 
 blew upon his hands and slapped them against his sides, 
 was 
 
 " Michty, it'll be cauld at the turnip-pits this mornin' ! " 
 
 It had been snowing in the night since Kit lay down, 
 and the snow had sifted in through the open tiles of the 
 farmhouse of Loch Spellanderie. That was nothing. It 
 often did that. But sometimes it rained, and that was 
 worse. Yet Kit Kennedy did not much mind even that. 
 He had a cunning arrangement in old umbrellas and corn-
 
 KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WEEL. 245 
 
 sacks that could beat the rain any day. Snow, in his own 
 words, he did not give a " buckie "* for. 
 
 Then there was a stirring on the floor, a creaking of the 
 ancient joists. It was Kit putting on his clothes. He al- 
 ways knew where each article lay dark or shine, it made 
 no matter to him. He had not an embarrassment of apparel. 
 He had a suit for wearing, and his " other clothes." These 
 latter were, however, now too small for him, and so he could 
 not go to the kirk at Duntochar. But his aunt had laid 
 them aside for her son Rob, a growing lad. She was a 
 thoughtful, provident woman. 
 
 " Be gettin' doon the stair, my man, and look slippy," 
 cried his aunt, as a parting shot, " and see carefully to the 
 kye. It'll be as weel for ye." 
 
 Kit had on his trousers by this time. His waistcoat fol- 
 lowed. But before he put on his coat he knelt down to say 
 his prayer. He had promised his mother to say it then. If 
 he put on his coat he was apt to forget, in his haste to get 
 out-of-doors where the beasts were friendly. So between his 
 waistcoat and his coat he prayed. The angels were up at 
 the time, and they heard, and went and told the Father who 
 hears prayer. They said that in a garret at a hill-farm a 
 boy was praying with his knees in a snow-drift a boy 
 without father or mother. 
 
 " Ye lazy guid-for-naething ! Gin ye are no' doon the 
 stairs in three meenits, no' a drap o' porridge or a sup o' 
 milk shall ye get the day ! " 
 
 So Kit got on his feet, and made a queer little shuffling 
 noise with them, to induce his aunt to think that he was 
 bestirring himself. So that is the way he had to finish his 
 prayers on his feet, shuffling and dancing a breakdown. 
 The angels saw, and smiled. But they took it to the 
 Father, just the same as if Kit Kennedy had been in 
 
 * The fruit of the dog-rose is, when large and red, locally called a " buckie."
 
 246 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 church. All save one, who dropped something that might 
 have been a pearl and might have been a tear. Then he 
 also went within the inner court, and told that which he 
 had seen. 
 
 But to Kit there was nothing to grumble about. He was 
 pleased, if any one was. His clogs did not let in the snow. 
 His coat was rough, but warm. If any one was well off, and 
 knew it, it was Kit Kennedy. 
 
 So he came down stairs, if stairs they could be called 
 that were but the rounds of a ladder. His aunt heard him. 
 
 " Keep awa' f rae the kitchen, ye thievin' loon ! 
 There's nocht there for ye takin''the bairns' meat afore 
 they're up ! " 
 
 But Kit was not hungry, which, in the circumstances, 
 was as well. Mistress MacWalter had caught him red- 
 handed on one occasion. He was taking a bit of hard oat- 
 cake out of the basket of " farles " which swung from the 
 black, smoked beam in the corner. Kit had cause to re- 
 member the occasion. Ever since, she had cast it up to 
 him. She was a master at casting up, as her husband knew. 
 But Kit was used to it, and he did not care. A thick stick 
 was all that he cared for, and that only for three minutes ; 
 but he minded when Mistress MacWalter abused his mother, 
 who was dead. 
 
 Kit Kennedy made for the front door, direct from the 
 foot of the ladder. His aunt raised herself on one elbow in 
 bed, to assure herself that he did not go into the kitchen. 
 She heard the click of the bolt shot back, and the stir of the 
 dogs as Tweed and Tyke rose from the fireside to follow 
 him. There was still a little red gleaming between the 
 bars, and Kit would have liked to go in and warm his toes 
 on the hearthstone. But he knew that his aunt was listen- 
 ing. He was going thirteen, and big for his age, so he 
 wasted no pity on himself, but opened the door and went 
 out. Self-pity is bad at any time. It is fatal at thirteen.
 
 KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WEEL. 247 
 
 At the door one of the dogs stopped, sniffed the keen 
 frosty air, turned quietly, and went back to the hearthstone. 
 That was Tweed. But Tyke was out rolling in the snow 
 when Kit Kennedy shut the door. 
 
 Then his aunt went to sleep. She knew that Kit Ken- 
 nedy did his work, and that there would be no cause to com- 
 plain. But she meant to complain all the same. He was a 
 lazy, deceitful hound, an encumbrance, and an interloper 
 among her bairns. 
 
 Kit slapped his long arms against his sides. He stood 
 beneath his aunt's window, and crowed so like a cock that 
 Mistress Mac Walter jumped out of her bed. 
 
 " Save us ! " she said. " What's that beast doin' there at 
 this time in the mornin' ? " 
 
 She got out of bed to look ; but she could see nothing, 
 certainly not Kit. But Kit saw her, as she stood shivering 
 at the window in her night-gear. Kit hoped that her legs 
 were cold. This was his revenge. He was a revengeful boy. 
 
 As for himself, he was as warm as toast. The stars 
 tingled above with frost. The moon lay over on her back 
 and yawned still more ungracefully. She seemed more 
 tired than ever. 
 
 Kit had an idea. He stopped and cried up at her 
 
 " Get up, ye lazy guid-for-naething ! I'll come wi' a 
 stick to ye ! " 
 
 But the moon did not come down. On the contrary, she 
 made no sign. Kit laughed. He had to stop in the snow 
 to do it. The imitation of his aunt pleased him. He fan- 
 cied himself climbing up a rung-ladder to the moon, with a 
 broomstick in his hand. He would start that old moon, if 
 he fell down and broke his neck. Kit was hungry now. It 
 was a long time since supper-time. Porridge is, no doubt, 
 good feeding ; but it vanishes away like the morning cloud, 
 and leaves behind it only an aching void. Kit felt the void, 
 but he could not help it. Instead, however, of dwelling
 
 248 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 upon it, his mind was full of queer thoughts and funny im- 
 aginings. It is a strange thing that the thought of rattling 
 on the ribs of a lazy, sleeping moon with a besom-shank 
 pleased him as much as a plate of porridge and as much 
 milk as he could sup to it. But that was the fact. 
 
 Kit went next into the stable to get a lantern. The 
 horses were moving about restlessly, but Kit had nothing to 
 do with them. He went in only to get a lantern. It was 
 on the great wooden corn-crib in the corner. Kit lighted 
 it, and pulled down his cap over his ears. 
 
 Then he crossed over to the cattle-sheds. The snow 
 was crisp under foot. His feet went through the light 
 drift which had fallen during the night, and crackled 
 frostily upon the older and harder crust. At the barn, Kit 
 paused to put fresh straw in his iron-shod clogs. Fresh 
 straw every morning in the bottom of one's clogs is a great 
 luxury. It keeps the feet warm. Who can afford a new 
 sole of fleecy wool every morning to his shoe ? Kit could, 
 for straw is cheap, and even his aunt did not grudge a 
 handful. Not that it would have mattered if she had. 
 
 The cattle rattled their chains in a friendly and compan- 
 ionable way as he crossed the yard, Tyke following a little 
 more sedately than before. Kit's first morning job was to 
 fodder the cattle. He went to the hay-mow and carried a 
 great armful of fodder, filling the manger before the bul- 
 locks, and giving each a friendly pat as he went by. Great 
 Jock, the bull in the pen by himself in the corner, pushed a 
 moist nose over the bars, and dribbled upon Kit with slob- 
 bering affection. Kit put down his head and pretended to 
 run at him, whereat Jock, whom nobody else dared go near, 
 beamed upon him with the solemn affection of " bestial " 
 his great eyes shining in the light of the lamp with unlovely 
 but genuine affection. 
 
 Then came the cows' turn. Kit Kennedy took a milk- 
 ing-pail, which he would have called a luggie, set his knee
 
 KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WEEL. 249 
 
 to Crummie, his favourite, who was munching her fodder, 
 and soon had a warm draught. He pledged her in her own 
 milk, wishing her good health and many happy returns. 
 Then, for his aunt's sake, he carefully wiped the luggie 
 dry, and set it where he had found it. He had got his 
 breakfast no mean or poor one. 
 
 But he did not doubt that he was, as his aunt had said, 
 "a lazy, deceitful, thieving hound." 
 
 Kit Kennedy came out of the byre, and trudged away 
 out over the field at the back of the barn, to the sheep in 
 the park. He heard one of them cough as a human being 
 does behind his hand. The lantern threw dancing reflec- 
 tions on the snow. Tyke grovelled and rolled in the light 
 drift, barking loudly. He bit at his own tail. Kit set 
 down the lantern, and fell upon him for a tussle. The two 
 of them had rolled one another into a snowdrift in exactly 
 ten seconds, from which they rose glowing with heat the 
 heat of young things when the blood runs fast. Tyke, 
 being excited, scoured away wildly, and circled the park at 
 a hand-gallop before his return. But Kit only lifted the 
 lantern and made for the turnip-pits. 
 
 The turnip-cutter stood there, with great square mouth 
 black against the sky. That mouth must be filled. Kit 
 went to the end of the barrow-like mound of the turnip- 
 pit. It was covered with snow, so that it hardly showed 
 above the level of the field. Kit threw back the coverings 
 of old sacks and straw which kept the turnips from the 
 frost. There lay the great green-and-yellow globes full of 
 sap. The snow fell upon them from the top of the pit. 
 The frost grasped them without. It was a chilly job to 
 handle them, but Kit did not hesitate a moment. 
 
 He filled his arms with them, and went to the turnip- 
 cutter. Soon the crunch, crunch of the knives was to be 
 heard as Kit drove round the handle, and afterwards the 
 frosty sound of the square finger-lengths of cut turnip fall-
 
 250 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 ing into the basket. The sheep had gathered about him, 
 silently for the most part. Tyke sat still and dignified 
 now, guarding the lantern, which the sheep were inclined 
 to butt over. Kit heard the animals knocking against the 
 empty troughs with their hard little trotters, and snuffing 
 about them with their nostrils. 
 
 He lifted the heavy basket, heaved it against his breast, 
 and made his way down the long line of troughs. The 
 sheep crowded about him, shoving and elbowing each other 
 like so many human beings, callously and selfishly. His 
 first basket did not go far, as he shovelled it in great handfuls 
 into the troughs, and Kit came back for another. It was 
 tiring work, and the day was dawning grey when he had 
 finished. Then he made the circuit of the field, to assure 
 himself that all was right, and that there were no stragglers 
 lying frozen in corners, or turned avel * in the lirks of the 
 knowes. 
 
 Then he went back to the onstead. The moon had gone 
 down, and the farm-buildings loomed very cold and bleak 
 out of the frost-frog. 
 
 Mistress MacWalter was on foot. She had slept nearly 
 two hours, being half-an-hour too long, after wearying her- 
 self with raising Kit ; and, furthermore, she had risen with 
 a very bad temper. But this was no uncommon occurrence. 
 
 She was in the byre with a lantern of her own. She 
 was talking to herself, and " fiyting on " the patient cows, 
 who now stood chewing the cuds of their breakfast. She 
 slapped them apart with her stool, applied savagely to their 
 flanks. She even lifted her foot to them, which affronts a 
 self-respecting cow as much as a human being. 
 
 In this spirit she greeted Kit when he appeared. 
 
 "Where hae ye been, ye careless deevil, ye? A guid 
 
 * A sheep turns axel when it so settles itself upon its back in a hollow of 
 the hill that it cannot rise.
 
 KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WEEL. 51 
 
 mind hae I to gie ye my milking-stool owre yer crown, ye 
 senseless, menseless blastie ! What ill-contriving tricks hae 
 ye been at, that ye haena gotten the kye milkit ? " 
 
 " I hae been feeding the sheep at the pits, aunt," said 
 Kit Kennedy. 
 
 " Dinna tell me," cried his aunt ; " ye hae been wasting 
 your time at some o' your ploys. What do ye think that 
 John Mac Walter, silly man, feeds ye for ? He has plenty o' 
 weans o' his ain to provide for withoot meddling wi' the 
 like o' you careless, useless, fushionless blagyaird that ye 
 are." 
 
 Mistress Mac Walter had sat down on her stool to the 
 milking by this time. But her temper was such that she 
 was milking unkindly, and Crummie felt it. Also she had 
 not forgotten, in her slow-moving bovine way, that she had 
 been kicked. So in her turn she lifted her foot and let 
 drive, punctuating a gigantic semi-colon with her cloven 
 hoof just on that part of the person of Mistress MacWalter 
 where it was fitted to take most effect. 
 
 Mistress MacWalter found herself on her back, with the 
 milk running all over her. She picked herself up, helped 
 by Kit, who had come to her assistance. 
 
 Her words were few, but not at all well ordered. She 
 went to the byre door to get the driving-stick to lay on 
 Crummie. Kit stopped her. 
 
 " If you do that, aunt, ye'll pit a' the kye to that o't 
 that they'll no' let doon a drap o' milk this morning an' 
 the morn's kirning-day." 
 
 Mistress MacWalter knew that the boy was right ; but 
 she could only turn, not subdue, her anger. So she turned 
 it on Kit Kennedy, for there was no one else there. 
 
 " Ye meddlin' curse," she cried, " it was a' your blame ! " 
 
 She had the shank of the byre besom in her hand as she 
 spoke. With this she struck at the boy, who ducked his 
 head and hollowed his back in a manner which showed
 
 252 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 great practice and dexterity. The blow fell obliquely on his 
 coat, making a resounding noise, but doing no great harm. 
 
 Then Mistress MacWalter picked up her stool and sat 
 down to another cow. Kit drew in to Crummie, and the 
 twain comforted one another. Kit bore no malice, but he 
 hoped that his aunt would not keep back his porridge. 
 That was what he feared. No other word of good or bad 
 said the Mistress of Loch Spellanderie by the Water of 
 Ken. Kit carried the two great reaming cans of fresh 
 milk into the milkhouse ; and as he went out empty- 
 handed, Mistress MacWalter waited for him, and with a 
 hand both hard and heavy fetched him a ringing blow on 
 the side of head, which made his teeth clack together and 
 his eyes water. 
 
 " Tak' that, ye gangrel loon ! " she said. 
 
 Kit Kennedy went into the barn with fell purpose in 
 his heart. He set up on end a bag of chaff, which was laid 
 aside to fill a bed. He squared up to it in a deadly way, 
 dancing lightly on his feet, his hands revolving in a most 
 knowing manner. 
 
 His left hand shot out, and the sack of chaff went over 
 in the corner. 
 
 " Stand up, Mistress MacWalter," said Kit, " an' we'll 
 see wha's the better man." 
 
 It was evidently Kit who was the better man, for the 
 sack subsided repeatedly and flaccidly on the hard-beaten 
 earthen floor. So Kit mauled Mistress MacWalter exceed- 
 ing shamefully, and obtained so many victories over that 
 lady that he quite pleased himself, and in time gat him 
 into such a glow that he forgot all about the tingling on 
 his ear which had so suddenly begun at the milkhouse door. 
 
 " After all, she keeps me ! " said Kit Kennedy cheerily. 
 
 There was an angel up aloft who went into the inner 
 court at that moment and told that Kit Kennedy had for- 
 given his enemies. He said nothing about the sack. So
 
 KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WEEL. 253 
 
 Kit Kennedy began the day with a clean slate and a ring- 
 ing ear. 
 
 He went to the kitchen door to go in and get his breakfast. 
 
 " Gae 'way wi' ye ! Hoo daur ye come to my door after 
 what yer wark has been this morniii' ? " cried Mistress 
 Mac Walter as soon as she heard him. " Aff to the schule 
 wi' ye ! Ye get neither bite nor sup in my hoose the day." 
 
 The three MacWalter children were sitting at the table 
 taking their porridge and milk with horn spoons. The 
 ham was skirling and frizzling in the pan. It gave out a 
 good smell, but that did not cost Kit Kennedy a thought. 
 He knew that that was not for the like of him. He would 
 as soon have thought of wearing a white linen shirt or 
 having the lairdship of a barony, as of getting ham to his 
 breakfast. But after his morning's work, he had a sore 
 heart enough to miss his porridge. 
 
 But he knew that it was no use to argue with Mistress 
 MacWalter. So he went outside and walked up and down 
 in the snow. He heard the clatter of dishes as the children, 
 Rob, Jock, and Meysie MacWalter, finished their eating, 
 and Meysie set their bowls one within the other and carried 
 them into the back- kitchen to be ready for the washing. 
 Meysie was nearly ten, and was Kit's very good friend. 
 Jock and Rob, on the other hand, ran races who should 
 have most tales to tell of his misdoings at home, and also 
 at the village school. 
 
 " Kit Kennedy, ye scoondrel, come in this meenit an' 
 get the dishes washen afore yer uncle tak's the ' Buik,' " * 
 cried Mistress MacWalter, who was a religious woman, and 
 came forward regularly at the half-yearly communion in 
 the kirk of Duntochar. She did not so much grudge Kit 
 his meal of meat, but she had her own theories of punish- 
 ment. So she called Kit in to wash the dishes from which 
 
 * Has family worship.
 
 254 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 he had never eaten. Meysie stood beside them, and dried 
 for him, and her little heart was sore. There was some- 
 thing in the bottom of some of them, and this Kit ate 
 quickly and furtively Meysie keeping a watch that her 
 mother was not coming. The day was now fairly broken, 
 but the sun had not yet risen. 
 
 " Tak' the pot oot an' clean it. Gie the scrapins' to 
 the dogs ! " ordered Mistress MacWalter. 
 
 Kit obeyed. Tyke and Tweed followed with their tails 
 over their backs. The white wastes glimmered in the grey 
 of the morning. It was rosy where the sun was going to 
 rise behind the great ridge of Ben Arrow, which looked, 
 smoothly covered with snow as it was, exactly like a gigantic 
 turnip-pit. At the back of the milkhouse Kit set down 
 the pot, and with a horn spoon which he took from his 
 pocket he shared the scraping of the pot equally into 
 three parts, dividing it mathematically by lines drawn up 
 from the bottom. It was a good big pot, and there was a 
 good deal of scrapings, which was lucky for both Tweed 
 and Tyke, as well as good for Kit Kennedy. 
 
 Now, this is the way that Kit Kennedy that kinless 
 loon, without father or mother won his breakfast. 
 
 He had hardly finished and licked his spoon, the dogs 
 sitting on their haunches and watching every rise and fall 
 of the horn, when a well-known voice shrilled through the 
 air 
 
 " Kit Kennedy, ye lazy, ungrateful hound, come ben to 
 the ' Buik.' Ye are no better than the beasts that perish, 
 regairdless baith o' God and man ! " 
 
 So Kit Kennedy cheerfully went in to prayers and 
 thanksgiving, thinking himself not ill off. He had had 
 his breakfast. 
 
 And Tweed and Tyke, the beasts that perish, put their 
 noses into the porridge-pot to see if Kit Kennedy had left 
 anything. There was not so much as a single grain of meal.
 
 V. 
 
 THE BACK O' BEYONT. 
 i. 
 
 O nest, leaf-hidden, Dryad's green alcove, 
 Half-islanded by hill-brook's seaward rush, 
 
 My love's still bower, where none may come but I ! 
 Where in clear morning prime and high noon hush 
 
 With only some old poet's book I lie ! 
 
 Sometimes a lonely dove 
 Calleth her mate, or droning honey thieves 
 
 Weigh down the bluebell's nodding carnpanule ; 
 
 And ever singeth through the twilight cool 
 Low voice of water and the stir of leaves. 
 
 II. 
 
 Perfect are August's golden afternoons ! 
 All the rough way across the fells, a peal 
 
 Of joy-bells ring, not heard by alien ear. 
 The jealous brake and close-shut beech conceal 
 The sweet bower's queen and mine, albeit I hear 
 
 Hummed scraps of dear old tunes. 
 I push the boughs aside, and lo, I look 
 Upon a sight to make one more than wise, 
 A true maid's heart, shining from tender eyes, 
 Eich with love's lore, unlearnt in any book. 
 
 Memory Harvest. 
 
 " AN' what brings the lang-leggit speldron howkin' an' 
 scrauchlin' owre the Glints o' Drumore an' the Dungeon o' 
 Buchan ? " This was a question which none of Eoy Camp- 
 bell's audience felt able to answer. But each grasped his 
 rusty Queen's-arm musket and bell-mouthed horse-pistol 
 
 255
 
 256 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 with a new determination. The stranger, whoever he 
 might be, was manifestly unsafe. Roy Campbell had kept 
 the intruder under observation for some time through the 
 weather-beaten ship's prospect-glass which he had stayed 
 cumbrously on the edge of a rock. The man was poking 
 about among rocks and debris at the foot of one of the 
 cliffs in which the granite hills break westward towards the 
 Atlantic. 
 
 Roy Campbell, the watcher, was a grey-headed man, 
 slack in the twist but limber in the joints distinguished 
 by a constant lowering of the eye and a spasmodic twitch- 
 ing of the corners of the mouth. He was active and nim- 
 ble, and in moments of excitement much given to spitting 
 Gaelic oaths like a wild-cat. But, spite his half-century of 
 life, he was still the best and the most daring man of a 
 company who had taken daring as their stock-in-trade. 
 
 It was in the palmy days of the traffic with the Isle of 
 Man, when that tight little island supplied the best French 
 brandy for the drouthy lairds of half Scotland, also lace for 
 the " keps " and stomachers of their dames, not to speak of 
 the Sabbath silks of the farmer's goodwife, wherein she 
 brawly showed that she had as proper a respect for herself 
 in the house of God as my lady herself. 
 
 Solway shore was a lively place in those days, and it was 
 worth something to be in the swim of the traffic; ay, or 
 even to have a snug farmhouse, with perhaps a hidden cellar 
 or two, on the main trade-routes to Glasgow and Edinburgh. 
 Much of the stuff was run by the " Rerrick Nighthawks," 
 gallant lads who looked upon the danger of the business as 
 a token of high spirit, and considered that the revenue laws 
 of the land were simply made to be broken an opinion in 
 which they were upheld generally by the people of the 
 whole countryside, not excepting even those of the austere 
 and Covenanting sort. 
 
 How Roy Campbell had found his way among the West-
 
 THE BACK O' BEYOXT. 257 
 
 land Whigs is too long a story to be told some little trouble 
 connected with the days of the '45, he said. More likely 
 something about a lass. Suffice it that he had drawn him- 
 self into hold in a lonely squatter shieling deep among the 
 fastnesses of the Clints o' Drumore. He had built the 
 house with his own hands. It was commonly known to 
 the few who ventured that way as " The Back o' Beyont." 
 In the hills behind the hut, which itself lay high on the 
 brae-face, were many caves, each with its wattling of woven 
 wicker, over which the heather had been sodded, so that in 
 summer and autumn it grew as vigorously as upon the solid 
 hill-side. Here Eoy Campbell, late of Glen Dochart, nour- 
 ished exceedingly, in spite of all the Kennedys of the South. 
 
 So it was that from the Clints o' Drumore and from 
 among the scattered boulder-shelters around it, Eoy and his 
 men had been watching this intrusive stranger. Suddenly 
 Roy gave a cry, and the prospect-glass shook in his hand. 
 A little after there came the far-away sound of a gun. 
 
 " Somebody has let a shot intil him," said Eoy, dancing 
 with excitement, "but it has no' been a verra good shot, 
 for he's sittin' on a stane an' rubbin' the croon o' his hat. 
 Have I no telled you till I'm tired tellin' you, that there 
 was no' be no shootin' till there was no fear o' missiu' ? It 
 is not good to have to shoot ; but it iss a verra great deal 
 waur to shoot an' miss. If that's Gavin Stevenson the 
 muckle nowt, I declare I'll brek his ramshackle blunder- 
 buss owre his thick heid." 
 
 Taming for an instant his fury, the old man kept his 
 eye on the distant point of interest, and the others fixed 
 their eyes on him. Suddenly he leapt to his feet, uttering 
 what, by the sound, were very strong words indeed, for 
 they were in the Gaelic, a language in which it is good and 
 mouth-filling to read the imprecatory psalms. When at 
 last his feelings subsided to the point when his English 
 returned to him, lie said
 
 258 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " May I, Koy Campbell, be boiled in my ain still-kettle, 
 distilled through my ain worm, an' drucken by a set o' reck- 
 less loons, if that's no my ain Flora that's speakin' till the 
 man himsel' ! " 
 
 The old man himself seemed much calmed either by the 
 outbreak or by the discovery he had made ; but on several 
 of the younger men among his followers the news seemed 
 to have an opposite effect. 
 
 At the same moment, high on the hill-side above them, 
 a young woman was talking to a young man. She had 
 walked towards him holding a bell-mouthed musket in her 
 hands. As she approached, the youth rose to his feet with 
 a puzzled expression on his face. But there was no fear in 
 it, only doubt and surprise, slowly fading into admiration. 
 He put his forefinger and the one next it through the hole 
 in his hat, and said calmly, since the young woman seemed 
 to expect him to begin the conversation 
 
 "Did you do this?" 
 
 " I took the gun from the man who did. The accident 
 will not happen again ! " 
 
 It seemed inadequate as an explanation, but there was 
 something in the girl's manner of saying it which seemed 
 to give the young man complete satisfaction. Then the 
 speaker seated herself on a fragment of rock, and set her 
 chin upon her hand. It was a round and rather prominent 
 chin, and the young man, who stood abstractedly twirling 
 his hat, making a pivot of the two fingers which protruded 
 through the hole, thought that he had never seen a chin 
 quite like it. Or perhaps, on second thoughts, was it that 
 dimple at the side of the mouth, in which an arch mockery 
 seemed to be lurking, which struck him more? He resolved 
 to think this out. It seemed now more important than the 
 little matter of the hole in the hat. 
 
 " You had better go away," said the young girl suddenly.
 
 THE BACK 0' BEYONT. 259 
 
 "And why?" asked the young man. 
 
 " Because my father does not like strangers ! " she said. 
 
 Again the explanation appeared inadequate, but again 
 the youth was satisfied, finding reason enough for the dis- 
 like, mayhap, either in the dimple on the prominent chin, 
 or in the hole by which he twirled his hat. 
 
 " Do you come from England ? " he asked, referring to 
 her accent. 
 
 The girl rose from her seat as she answered 
 
 " Oh, no, I come from the ' Back o' Beyont ' ! What is 
 your name ? " 
 
 '" My name," said the young man stolidly, " is Hugh 
 Kennedy ; and I am coming soon to the ' Back o' Beyont,' 
 father or no father ! " 
 
 It was a dark night in August, brightening with the 
 uncertain light of a waning moon, which had just risen. 
 High up on a mountain-side a man was hastening along, 
 running with all his might whenever he reached a dozen 
 yards of fairly level ground, desperately clinging at other 
 times with fingers and knees and feet to the niches in the 
 bare slates which formed the slippery roofing of the moun- 
 tain-side. As he paused for a long moment, the moon 
 turned a scarred and weird face towards him, one-half of it 
 apparently eaten away. Panting, he resumed his course, 
 and the pebbles that he started rattled noisily down the 
 mountain-side. But as he drew near the top of the ridge 
 up which he had been climbing, he became more cautious. 
 He raced no more wildly, and took care that he loosened 
 no more boulders to go trundling and thundering down 
 into the valley. Here he crawled carefully among the bare 
 granite slabs which lay in hideous confusion the weather- 
 blanched bones of the mountain, each casting an ebony 
 shadow on its neighbour. He looked over the ridge into 
 the deep gulf through which the streams sped westward 
 18
 
 260 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 towards the Atlantic. A deep glen lay beneath him over 
 it on the other side a wilderness of rugged screes and sheer 
 precipices. Opposite, to the east, rose the solemn array of 
 the Eange of Kells, deep indigo-blue under the gibbous 
 moon. There were the ridges of towering Millfore, the 
 shadowy form of Millyea, to the north, the mountain of the 
 eagle, Ben Yelleray, with his sides gashed and scarred. 
 But the young man's eyes instinctively sought the opener 
 space between the precipices, whence the face of the loch 
 glimmered like steel on which one has breathed, in the 
 scanty moonbeams. Hugh Kennedy had come as he said 
 to seek the Back o' Beyont, and, by his familiarity and read- 
 iness, he sought it not for the first time. 
 
 Surmounting the ridge, he wormed his way along the 
 skyline with caution, till, getting his back into a perpendic- 
 ular cleft down the side of the mountain, he cautiously de- 
 scended, making no halt until he paused in the shadow 
 of the precipice at the foot of the perilous stairway. 
 A plain surface of benty turf lay before him, bright in 
 the moonlight, dangerous to cross, upon which a few 
 sheep came and went. A little burn from the crevice 
 of the rocks, through which he had descended, cut the 
 green surface irregularly. Into this the daring searcher for 
 hidden treasure descended, and prone on his face pushed 
 his way along, hardly a pennon of heather or a spray of red 
 sorrel swaying with his stealthy passage. 
 
 At the end of the grassy level the little burn fell sud- 
 denly with a ringing sound into a basin of pure white gran- 
 ite a drinking-cup with a yard-wide edge of daintiest silver 
 sand. The young man made his way hastily across the 
 water to a little bower beneath the western bank, overhung 
 with birch and fern, half islanded by the swift rush 
 of the mountain streamlet. Here a tiny circle of stones 
 lay on the sand. Hugh Kennedy stooped to examine their 
 position with the most scrupulous care. Five black at in-
 
 THE BACK O' BEYONT. 261 
 
 tervals, and a white one to the north with a bit of ribbon 
 under it. 
 
 " That means," he said, " that the whole crew are out, 
 and they are expecting a cargo from the south. The white 
 stone to the north and the bit ribbon Flora is waiting, 
 then, at the Seggy Goats." 
 
 He strained his eyes forward, but they could see nothing. 
 Far away to the south he heard voices, and a gun cracked. 
 " I'm well off the ridge," he muttered ; " they could have 
 marked me down like a foumart as I ran. They'll be fetch- 
 ing a cargo up from the Brig o' Cree," he added, " and it'll 
 be all snug at the ' Back o' Beyont ' before the morning." 
 He listened again, and laughed low to himself, the pleased 
 laugh a lover laughs when things are speeding well with 
 him. 
 
 " Maybe," said he, " Roy Campbell may miss something 
 from the ' Back o' Beyont ' the morrow's morn, that a score 
 of casks of Isle of Man brandy will not make up for." 
 
 So saying, he took his way back through the low, over- 
 grown cavity of the runnel. When he was midway he heard 
 a step coming across the heath, brushing through the 
 " gall " * bushes, splashing through the shallow pools. A 
 foot heavily booted crashed through the half-concealed tun- 
 nel, not six inches from where the young man lay, a gun 
 was discharged, evidently by the sudden jerk upon the 
 earth, and the air was rent above him by a perfect tornado 
 of vigorous Gaelic a good language, as has been said, for 
 preaching or swearing. 
 
 "That's Roy himseP!" said the young man. "It's a 
 strange chance when a Kennedy comes near to getting his 
 brains knocked out on his own land by the heel of an out- 
 law Highlander." 
 
 * The bo<j-myrtle is locally called " gall " bushes. It is the most charac- 
 teristic and delightful of Galloway scents.
 
 262 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Once on the hill-side, again he kept an even way over the 
 boulders and stones which cumbered it, with less care than 
 hitherto, as though to protest against the previous indig- 
 nity of his position. But, Kennedy though he might be, 
 it had been fitter if he had remembered that he was on the 
 No Man's Land of the Dungeon of Buchan, for here, about 
 this time, was a perfect Adullam cave of all the broken and 
 outlaw men south of the Highland border. A challenge 
 came from the hill-side " Wha's there ? " Kennedy dropped 
 like a stone, and a shot rang out, followed immediately by 
 the " scat " of a bullet against the rock behind which he lay 
 concealed. 
 
 A tramp of heavy Galloway brogans was heard, and a 
 half-hearted kicking about among the heather bushes, and 
 at last a voice saying discontentedly 
 
 " Gin Roy disna keep Kennedy's liftit beasts in the hol- 
 low whaur they should be, he needna blame me gin some o' 
 them gets a shot intil their hurdies." 
 
 " My beasts ! " said Kennedy to himself, silently chuck- 
 ling, " mine for a groat ! " He was in a mood to find things 
 amusing. So, having won clear of the keen-eyed watcher, 
 the young man made the best of his way with more cau- 
 tion to that northern gateway he had called the Seggy 
 Goats. 
 
 There he turned to the right up a little burnside which 
 led into a lirk in the hill, such as would on the border have 
 been called a " hope." As he came well within the dusky- 
 walled basin of the hill-side, some one tall and white glided 
 out to meet him ; but at this moment the moon discreetly 
 withdrew herself behind a cloud, mindful, it may be, of her 
 own youth and of Endymion's greeting on the Latmian 
 steep. So the chronicler, willing though he be, is yet un- 
 able to say how these two met. He only knows that 
 when the pale light flooded back upon the hill-side and cast 
 its reflection into the dim depths of the hope, they were
 
 THE BACK 0' BEYONT. 263 
 
 evidently well agreed. " It is true what I told yon," he is 
 saying to her, " that my name is Hugh Kennedy, but I did 
 not tell you that I am Kennedy of Bargany, and yours till 
 death!" 
 
 " Then," said the girl, " it is fitter that I should return 
 to the ' Back of Beyont ' till such time as you and your 
 men come back to burn the thatch about our ears." 
 
 The young man smiled and said " No, Flora, you and 
 I have another road to travel this night. Over there by 
 the halse o' the pass, there stand tethered two good horses 
 that will take us before the morning to the Manse of Bal- 
 maclellan, where my cousin, the minister, is waiting, and 
 his mother is expecting you. Come with me, and you shall 
 be Lady of Bargany before morning." He stooped again 
 to take her hand. 
 
 "My certes, but ye made braw and sure of me with 
 your horses," she said. " I have a great mind not to stir a 
 foot." 
 
 But the young man laughed, being still well pleased, 
 and giving no heed to her protestations. 
 
 So there was a wedding in the early morning at the 
 Manse of the Kells, and a young bride was brought home 
 to Bargany. As for old Roy Campbell, he was made the 
 deputy-keeper of the Forest of Buchan, which was an old 
 Cassilis distinction and a post that exactly suited his 
 Highland blood. Time and again, however, had his son 
 to intercede with him not to be too severe with those smug- 
 glers and gangrel bodies who had come to look upon the 
 fastnesses of the Forest as their own. 
 
 " Have ye no fellow-feeling, Eoy, for old sake's sake ? " 
 Kennedy would ask. 
 
 " Feeling ? havers ! " growled Roy impolitely, for Roy 
 was spoiled. " I'm a chief's man noo, and I'll harbour nae 
 gangrel loons on the lands o' Kennedy."
 
 264: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 So the old cateran would depart humming the Galloway 
 rhyme 
 
 " Frae Wigtown to the Toon o' Ayr, 
 
 Portpatrick to the Cruives o' Cree ; 
 Nae man need hope to bide safe there, 
 Unless he court wi' Kennedy." 
 
 "Body o' MacCallum More," chuckled the deputy- 
 keeper of the Forest of Buchan, " but it was Kennedy that 
 cam' coortin' to the ' Back o' Beyont ' that time, whatever, 
 I'm thiukin' ! "
 
 VI. 
 
 NOKTH TO THE AECTIC. 
 
 At home 'tis sunny September, 
 
 Though here 'tis a waste of snows, 
 So bleak that I scarce remember 
 
 How the scythe through the cornland goes. 
 
 With an aching heart I wander 
 
 Through the cold and curved wreaths, 
 And dream that I see meander 
 
 Brown burns amid purple heaths. 
 
 That I hear the stags oil the mountains 
 
 Bray loud in the early morn, 
 And that scarlet gleams by the fountains 
 
 The red-berried wild-rose thorn. 
 
 " IT was bad enough in the Free Command," said Con- 
 stautine, leaning back in his luxurious easy-chair and join- 
 ing his thin fingers easily before him as though he were 
 measuring the stretch between thumb and middle finger. 
 " But, God knows, it was Paris itself to the hell on earth 
 up at the Yakut Yoort." 
 
 It was a strange sentence to hear, sitting thus in the 
 commonplace drawing-room of a London house with the 
 baker's boy ringing the area bell and the last edition of the 
 Pall Mall being cried blatantly athwart the street. 
 
 But no one could look twice at Constantine Nicolai and 
 remain in the land of the commonplace. I had known 
 him nearly two years, and we had talked much usually on 
 
 2C5
 
 286 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 literary and newspaper topics, seldom of Eussia, and never 
 of his experiences. Constantine and I had settled down 
 together as two men will sometimes do, who work together 
 and are drawn by a sympathy of unlikeness which neither 
 can explain. Both of us worked on an evening paper of 
 pronounced views upon moral questions and a fine feeling 
 for a good advertising connection. 
 
 We had been sitting dreamily in the late twilight of a 
 gloomy November day. Work was over, and we were free 
 till Monday morning should call us back again to the 
 Strand. We sat silent a long while, till Constantiue broke 
 out unexpectedly with the words which startled me. 
 
 I looked up with a curiosity which I tried to make 
 neither too apparent nor yet too lukewarm. 
 
 " You were speaking of the time you spent in Siberia?" 
 I said, as though we had often discussed it. 
 
 " Yes ; did I ever tell you how I got away ? " 
 
 Constantine took out his handkerchief and flicked a 
 speck of dust from his clothes. He was an exception to the 
 rule that revolutionaries care nothing about their persons 
 Eussian ones especially. He said that it was because his 
 mother was an English-woman, and England is a country 
 where they manufacture soap for the world. 
 
 " Yes," he continued thoughtfully, " the Free Com- 
 mand was purgatory, but the Yoort was Hell ! " Then he 
 paused a moment, and added, " / was in the Yoort." He 
 went on 
 
 " There were three of us in the cage which boated us 
 along the rivers. Chained and manacled we were, so that 
 our limbs grew numb and dead under the weight of the 
 iron. All Kazan University men, I as good as an English- 
 man. The others, Leof and Big Peter, had been students 
 in my class. They looked up to me, for it was from me 
 that they had learned to read Herbert Spencer. They had 
 taught themselves to plot against the White Czar. Yet I
 
 NORTH TO THE ARCTIC. 267 
 
 had been expatriated because it could not be supposed that 
 I could teach them Spencer without Anarchy." 
 
 Constantine paused and smiled at the stupidity of his 
 former rulers. 
 
 "Well," he continued, "the two who had plotted to 
 blow up his Majesty were sent to the Free Command. 
 They could come and go largely at their own pleasure 
 in fact, could do most things except visit their old teacher, 
 who for showing them how to read Spencer was isolated in 
 the Yakut Yoort ! Not that the Yakuts meant to be un- 
 kind. They were a weak and cowardly set cruel only to 
 those who could not possibly harm them. They had the 
 responsibility of my keeping. They were paid for looking 
 after me, therefore it was to their interest to keep me 
 alive. But the less this cost them, the greater gainers were 
 they. They knew also that if, by accident, they starved 
 the donkey for the lack of the last straw, a paternal Gov- 
 ernment would not make the least trouble. 
 
 " At first I was not allowed to go out of their dirty tents 
 or still filthier winter turf-caves, than which the Augean 
 stables were a cleaner place of abode. Within the tent the 
 savages stripped themselves naked. The reek of all abom- 
 inations mingled with the smoke of seal-oil and burning 
 blubber, and the temperature even on the coldest day 
 climbed steadily away up above a hundred. Sometimes I 
 thought it must be the smell that sent it up. The natives 
 had apparently learned their vices from the Kussians and 
 their habits of personal cleanliness from monkeys. For 
 long I was never allowed to leave the Yoort for any pur- 
 pose, even for a moment, without a couple of savages com- 
 ing after me with long fish-spears. 
 
 " But for all that, much is possible, even in Siberia, to 
 a man who has a little money. By-and-by my hosts began 
 to understand that when the inspector visited us to see me 
 in the flesh, there was money enclosed in the letters (pre-
 
 268 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 viously carefully edited by the Government official), money 
 which could be exchanged at Bulun Store for raw leaf- 
 tobacco. After this discovery, things went much better. 
 I was allowed a little tent to myself within the enclosure, 
 and close to the great common tent in which the half-dozen 
 families lived, each in its screened cubicle, with its own 
 lamp and common rights on the fire of driftwood and blub- 
 ber in the centre. This was of course much colder than 
 the great tent, but with skins and a couple of lamps I did 
 not do so badly. 
 
 " One day I had a letter stealthily conveyed to me from 
 Big Peter, to say that he and Leof were resolved on escap- 
 ing. They had a boat, he said, concealed about eight miles 
 up the Lena under some willows on a stagnant backwater. 
 They intended to try for the north as soon as the water 
 opened, and hoped then to go towards the west and 
 Wrangell Island, where they felt pretty sure of being picked 
 up by American sealers by the month of August or Sep- 
 tember. 
 
 " This letter stirred all my soul. I did not believe 
 rightly in their chance. It is seldom, I knew, that whalers 
 come that way, or enter far through the Straits of Behring. 
 Still, undoubtedly, a few did so every year. It was worth 
 risking, any way, for any kind of action was better than 
 that ghastly wearing out of body and fatty degeneration of 
 soul. One or two more letters passed, stimulated by the 
 tobacco-money, and the day of rendezvous was fixed. 
 
 " Leof and Big Peter were to make their own way down 
 the river, hiding by day and travelling by night. I was to 
 go straight across country and meet them at the tail of the 
 sixth isla_nd above Bulun. So, very quietly, I made my 
 preparations, and laid in a store of frozen meat and fish, 
 together with a fish-spear, which I cached due south of my 
 Yoort, never by any chance allowing myself to take a walk 
 towards the north, the direction in which I would finally
 
 NOETH TO THE ARCTIC. 2G9 
 
 endeavour to escape. It was very lonely, for I had no one 
 to consult, and no friend to whom to entrust any part of 
 my arrangements. But the suspicion of the Yakuts was 
 now very considerably allayed, for, said they, he is now well 
 fed. A dog in good condition does not go far from home 
 to hunt. He will therefore stay. They knew something 
 about dogs, for they tried their hunting condition by run- 
 ning a finger up and down the spine sharply. If that 
 member was not cut, the dog was in good condition. 
 
 "At last, in the dusk of a night in early summer, when 
 the mosquitos were biting with all their first fury and it was 
 still broad day at ten o'clock, I started, walking easily and 
 conspicuously to the south, sitting down occasionally to 
 smoke as though enjoying the night air before turning in, 
 lest any of my hosts should chance to be awake. Once out 
 of sight of the Yoort, I went quickly to my cache of provi- 
 sions, and, shouldering the whole, I turned my face towards 
 the river and the Northern Ocean. 
 
 " I had not gone far when I struck the track which led 
 along the riverside in the direction of Bulun. There, to my 
 intense horror, I saw a man sitting still in a Siberian cart 
 within a few hundred yards, apparently waiting for me to 
 descend. I gave myself up for lost, but, nevertheless, made 
 my way down to him. He was a young man with an uncer- 
 tain face and weak, shifty eyes. 
 
 " ' Halloo ! ' I cried, in order to have the first word, 
 * what will you take to drive me to Maidy, where I wish to 
 fish?' 
 
 '"I cannot drive you to Maidy,' he returned, 'for I 
 am carrying provisions to my father, who has the shop in 
 Bulun; but for two roubles I will give you a lift to 
 Wiledote, where you can cross the river to Maidy in a 
 boat.' 
 
 " It was none so evil a chance after all which took me 
 in his way. He was a useless fellow enough, and intoler-
 
 270 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 ably conceited. He was for ever asking if I could do this 
 and that, and jeering at me for my incapacity when I dis- 
 claimed my ability. 
 
 " ' You cannot kill a wild goose at thirty paces when it 
 is coming towards you plaff so fast ! You could not 
 shoot as I. Last week I killed thirty ducks with one dis- 
 charge of my gun.' 
 
 " At this point he drove into a ditch, and we were both 
 spilled out on the tundra^ an unpleasant thing in summer 
 when the peaty ground is one vast sponge. At Maidy we 
 met this young man's father. Here I found that it was a 
 good thing for me that I had been isolated at the Yoort, for 
 had I been in the Free Command I should certainly have 
 been spotted. The wily old merchant knew every prisoner 
 in the Command ; but as I had always obtained all my sup- 
 plies indirectly through Big Peter, my name and appearance 
 were alike unknown to him. He approached me, however, 
 with caution and circumspection, and asked for a drink of 
 vodka for the ride which his son had given me. 
 
 " ' Why should I give thee a drink of vodka ?' I asked, 
 lest I should seem suspiciously ready to be friendly. 
 
 " ' Because my son drove you thirteen versts and more.' 
 
 " ' But I paid your son for all he has done two roubles, 
 according to bargain. "Why should I buy thee vodka 9 Thou 
 art better without vodka. Vodka will make thee drunk, and 
 thou shalt be brought before the ispravnik? 
 
 " The dirty old rascal drew himself up. 
 
 " ' I, even I, am ispravnik, and the horses were mine and 
 the tarantass also.' 
 
 " ' But thy son drove badly and upset us in the ditch.' 
 
 " ' Then,' whispered the old scoundrel, coming close up 
 with a look of indescribable cunning on his face, ' give my 
 son no vodka give me all the vodka.' 1 
 
 " Being glad on any terms to get clear of the precious 
 couple, I gave them both money for their vodka, and set off
 
 NORTH TO THE ARCTIC. 271 
 
 along the backwaters towards the place described by Leof 
 and Big Peter. I found them there before me, and we lost 
 no time in embarking. I found that they had the boat well 
 provendered and equipped. Indeed, the sight of their lux- 
 uries tempted us all to excess ; but I reminded them that 
 we were still in a country of game, and that we must save 
 all our supplies till we were out in the ocean. The Lena 
 was swollen by the melting snows, and the boat made slow 
 progress, especially as we had to follow the least frequented 
 arms of the vast delta. We found, however, plenty of fish 
 specially salmon, which were in great quantities wherever, in 
 the blind alleys of the backwaters, we put down the fish- 
 spear. We were not the only animals who rejoiced in the 
 free and open life of the delta archipelago. Often we saw 
 bears swimming far ahead, but none of them came near our 
 boat. 
 
 "One night when the others were, sleeping I strayed 
 away over the marshy tundra, plunging through the hun- 
 dred yards of black mud and moss where the willow-grouse 
 and the little stint were feeding. I came upon a nest or 
 two of the latter, and paused to suck some of the eggs, one 
 of the birds meanwhile coming quite close, putting its head 
 quaintly to the side as though to watch where its property 
 was going, with a view to future recovery. A little further 
 along I got on the real tundra, and wandered on in the full 
 light of a midnight sun, which coloured all the flat surface 
 of the marshy moorland a deep crimson, and laid deep 
 shadows of purple mist in the great hollow of the Lena 
 river. 
 
 " In a little I sat down, and, putting up the collar of my 
 coat for the air was beginning to bite sharply I meditated 
 on the chances of our life. It did not seem that we had 
 much more than one chance in a hundred, yet the hun- 
 dredth chance was indubitably worth the risk better than 
 inaction, and better than the suicide which would inevitably
 
 272 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 come with the weakening brain, after another winter such 
 as that we had just passed through. 
 
 " Meditating so, I heard a noise behind me, and, turn- 
 ing, found myself almost face to face with a great she-bear, 
 with two cubs of the year running gambolling about her. I 
 had not even so much as a fish-spear with me. With my 
 heart leaping like the piston-rod of an engine, I sat as still 
 as though I had been a pillar of ice carved out of the hum- 
 mock. The cubs were within twenty paces, and the mother 
 would have passed by but for the roystering youngsters. 
 They came galloping awkwardly up, and nosed all over me, 
 rubbing themselves against my clothes with just such a 
 purring noise as a cat might make. There was no harm in 
 them, but their whining caused the old bear to halt, then 
 abruptly to turn round and come slowly toward me. 
 
 " As I sat motionless I saw that she stood on the ground 
 beside me, her nose quite on a level with my face. She 
 came and smelled me over as if uncertain. Then she took 
 a walk all round me. One of the cubs put his long thin 
 snout into the pocket of my fur coat, and nuzzled delight- 
 edly among the crumbs. His mother gave him a cuff with 
 her paw which knocked him sprawling three or four paces. 
 
 " Having finished her own survey, the bear-mother called 
 away her offspring. The young bear which had first taken 
 the liberty of search waited till his mother was a few steps 
 off, and then came slyly round and sunk his nose deep in 
 the corresponding pocket on the other side. It was a false 
 move and showed bad judgment. A fish-hook attached 
 itself sharply to his nostril, and he withdrew his head with 
 a howl of pain. The mother turned with an impatient 
 grunt, and I gave myself up for lost. She came back at a 
 great stretching gallop, to where the cub was lying on the 
 snow pawing at his nose. His mother, having turned him 
 over two or three times as if he were a bag of wool, and 
 finding nothing wrong, concluded that he had been stung
 
 NORTH TO THE ARCTIC. 273 
 
 by a gadfly, or that he was making a fuss about nothing, 
 paying no attention to me whatever. Having finished her 
 inspection, she cuffed him well for his pains, as a trouble- 
 some youngster, and disappeared over the tundra. I sat 
 there for the matter of an hour, not daring to move lest the 
 lady-bruin might return. Then fearfully and cautiously I 
 found my way back to the boat and my companions. 
 
 " Our voyage after this was quiet and uneventful. Si- 
 beria is like no other country in the world, except the great 
 Arctic plains which fence in the Pole on the American side. 
 The- very loneliness and vastness of the horizon, like the 
 changeless plain of the sea, envelop you. As soon as you 
 are off the main roads, wide, untrodden, untouched, virgin 
 space swallows you up. 
 
 " Specially were we safe in that we had chosen to go to 
 the north. Had we fled to the east, we should have been 
 pursued by swift horses ; to the west, the telegraph would 
 have stopped us ; to the south, the Altai and Himalaya, to 
 say nothing of three thousand miles, barred our way. But 
 no escape had ever been made to the north, and, so far as 
 we knew, no attempt. 
 
 " One evening, while I was rowing, bending a back far 
 too weary to be conscious of any additional fatigue, Leof, 
 who happened to be resting, cried out suddenly, ' The Arc- 
 tic Ocean ! ' And there, blue and clear, through the nar- 
 row entrance of a channel half-filled with drift-ice, lay the 
 mysterious ocean of which we had thought so long. The 
 wind had been due from the north, and therefore in our 
 teeth, so that not till now had we had any chance of sailing. 
 Xow, however, we rigged a sail, and, passing over the bar, 
 we felt for the first time the lift of the waves of the Polar 
 Sea. 
 
 " Day by day we held on to the eastward, coasting along 
 almost within hail of the lonely shore. Often the ice 
 threatened to close in upon us. Sometimes the growling
 
 274: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 of the pack churned and crackled only a quarter of a mile 
 out. One night as we lay asleep it was my watch, but in 
 that great silence I too had fallen asleep Big Peter waked 
 first, and in his strong emphatic fashion he rose to take the 
 oars. But there before us were three boats' crews within 
 half a mile, all rowing toward us, while a mile out from 
 shore, near the edge of the pack, lay a steamer, blowing off 
 steam through her escape-valves, as though at the end of 
 her day's run. 
 
 " As we woke our first thought was, ' Lost ! ' For we 
 had no expectation that any other vessel save a Kussian 
 cruiser could be in these waters. But out from the stern- 
 sheets of the leading cutter fluttered the blessed Stars and 
 Stripes. My companions did not know all the happiness 
 that was included in the sight of that ensign. Leof had 
 reached for his case-knife to take his life, and I snatched it 
 from him ere I told him that of all peoples the Americans 
 would never give us up. 
 
 " We were taken on board the U. S. search-vessel Con- 
 cord, commissioned to seek for the records of the lost Amer- 
 ican Polar expedition. There we were treated as princes, 
 or as American citizens, which apparently means the same 
 thing. That is all my yarn. The Czar's arm is long, but 
 it does not reach either London or New York." 
 
 "And Leof and Big Peter?" I asked, as Constantino 
 ceased speaking. As though with an effort, he recalled 
 himself. 
 
 " Big Peter," he said, " is at St. Louis. He is in the 
 pork trade, is married, and has a large family." 
 
 "And Leof?" 
 
 " Ah, Leof ! he went back to Kussia at the time of the 
 former Czar's death, and has not been heard of since." 
 
 " And you, Constantine, you will never put your nose in 
 the lion's den again you will never go back to Eussia ? " 
 
 Almost for the first time throughout the long story,
 
 NORTH TO THE ARCTIC. 275 
 
 Constantine looked me fixedly in the eyes. The strange 
 light of another world, of the fatalist East, looked plainly 
 out of his eyes. Every Eussian carries a terrible possibility 
 about with him like a torch of tragic flame, ready to be 
 lighted at any moment. 
 
 " That is as may be," he said very slowly ; " it is possible 
 that I may go back at the time of other deaths, and also 
 not return any more." 
 
 19
 
 BOOK FOURTH. 
 IDYLLS. 
 
 277
 
 I. 
 
 ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE, 
 i. 
 
 Far in the deep of Arden wood it lies ; 
 About it pleasant leaves for ever wave. 
 
 Through charmed afternoons we wander on, 
 And at the sundown reach the seas that lave 
 
 The golden isles of blessed Avalon. 
 
 When the sweet daylight dies, 
 Out of the gloom the ferryman doth glide 
 
 To take us both into a younger day ; 
 
 And as the twilight land recedes away, 
 My lady drawcth closer to my side. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thus to a granary for our winter need 
 
 We bring these gleanings from the harvest field; 
 
 Not the full crop we bring, but only sheaves 
 At random ta'en from autumn's golden yield 
 One handful from a forest's fallen leaves; 
 
 Yet shall this grain be seed 
 Wherewith to sow the furrows year by year 
 These wither'd leaves of other springs the pledge, 
 When thou shalt hear, over our hawthorn hedge 
 The mavis to his own mate calling clear. 
 
 Memory Harvest. 
 
 THERE was the brool of war in the valley of Howpaslet. 
 It was a warlike parish. Its strifes were ecclesiastical main- 
 ly, barring those of the ice and the channel-stones. The 
 deep voice of the Reverend Doctor Spence Hutchison, min- 
 ister of the parish, whose lair was on the broomy knowes of
 
 280 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Howpaslet beside its ancient kirk, was answered by the 
 keener, more intense tones of the Eeverend William Henry 
 Calvin, of the Seceder kirk, whose manse stood defiantly on 
 an opposite hill, and dared the neighbourhood to come on. 
 But the neighbourhood never came, except only the Kers. 
 In fact, the neighbourhood mostly went to Dr. Hutchison's, 
 for Howpaslet was a great country of the Moderates. Unto 
 whom, as Mr. Calvin said, be peace in this world, for they 
 have small chance of any in the next at least, not to 
 speak of. 
 
 Now, ever since the school board came to Howpaslet its 
 meetings are the great arena of combat. At the first elec- 
 tion Dr. Spence Hutchison had the largest number of votes 
 by a very great deal, and carried two colleagues with him 
 to the top of the poll as part of his personal baggage. He 
 did not always remember to consult them, because he knew 
 that they were put there to vote as he wished them, and for 
 no other purpose. And, being honest and modest men, 
 they had no objections. So Dr. Hutchison was chairman 
 of Howpaslet school board. 
 
 But he reigned not without opposition. The forces of 
 revolution had carried the two minority men, and the Doc- 
 tor knew that at the first meeting of the board he would be 
 met by William Henry Calvin, minister of the Seceder kirk 
 of the Cowdenknowes, and his argumentative elder, Saun- 
 ders Ker of Howpaslet Mains one of a family who had 
 laid aside moss-trooping in order to take with the same 
 hereditary birr to psalm-singing and church politics. They 
 were, moreover, great against paraphrases. 
 
 That was a great day when the board was formed. There 
 was a word that the Doctor was to move that the meetings 
 of the school board be private. So the Kers got word of it 
 and sent round the fiery cross. They gathered outside and 
 roosted on the dyke by dozens, all with long faces and cutty 
 pipes. If the proceedings were to be private they would
 
 ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE. 281 
 
 ding down the parish school. So they said, and the parish 
 believed them. 
 
 It is moved by the majority farmer, and seconded by the 
 majority publican (whose names do not matter), that the 
 Reverend Dr. Spence Hutchison, minister of the parish, 
 take the chair. It is moved and seconded that the Eeverend 
 William Henry Calvin take the chair moved by Saunders 
 Ker, seconded by himself. So Dr. Hutchison has the cast- 
 ing vote, and he gives it on the way to the chair. 
 
 The school board is constituted. 
 
 " Preserve us ! what's that ? " say the Kers from the 
 windows where they are listening. They think it is some 
 unfair Erastian advantage. 
 
 " Nocht ava' it's juist a word ! " explains to them over 
 his shoulder their oracle Saunders, from where he sits by 
 the side of his minister a small but indomitable phalanx 
 of two in the rear of the farmer and publican. The school- 
 room, being that of the old parochial school, is crowded by 
 the supporters of Church and State. These are, however, 
 more especially supporters of the Church, for at the parlia- 
 mentary elections they mostly vote for " Auld Wullie " in 
 spite of parish politics and Dr. Spence Hutchison. 
 
 " Tak' care o' Auld Willie's tickets ! " is the cry when in 
 Howpaslet they put the voting-urns into the van to be car- 
 ried to the county town buildings for enumeration. It was 
 a Ker who drove, and the Tories suspected him of " losing " 
 the tickets of Auld Wullie's opponent by the way. They 
 say that is the way Auld Wullie got in. But nobody really 
 knows, and everybody is aware that a Tory will say any- 
 thing of a Ker. 
 
 So the schoolroom was crowded with " Establishes," for 
 the Kers would not come within such a tainted building as 
 a parochial school except to a comic nigger minstrel per- 
 formance, which in Howpaslet levels and composes all differ- 
 ences. So instead they waited at the windows and listened.
 
 282 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 One prominent and officious stoop of the Kirk tried to shut 
 a window. But he got a Ker's clicky * over his head from 
 without, and sat down discouraged. 
 
 " Wull it come to ocht, think ye?" the Kers asked of 
 each other outside. 
 
 " I'm rale dootfu'," was the general opinion ; " but we 
 maun juist howp for the best." 
 
 So the Kers stood without and hoped for the best 
 which, being interpreted, was that their champions, the 
 Keverend William Calvin and Saunders Ker of the Mains, 
 would get ill-treated by their opponents inside, and that 
 they, the Kers, might then have a chance of clearing out 
 the school. Every Ker had already picked his man. It 
 has never been decided, though often argued, whether in 
 his introductory prayer Mr. Calvin was justified in putting 
 up the petition that peace might reign. The general feel- 
 ing was against him at the time. 
 
 " But there's three things that needs to be considered," 
 said Saunders Ker : " in the first place, it was within his 
 richt as a minister to pit up what petition he liked ; and, in 
 the second, he didna mean it leeterally himseF, for we a' 
 kenned it was his intention to be doon the Doctor's throat 
 in five meenits ; an', thirdly, it wad be a bonny queer thing 
 gin thirty-three Kers an' Grahams a' earnestly prayin' the 
 contrar', hadna as muckle influence at a throne o' grace, as 
 yae man that didna mean what he said, even though the 
 name o' him was William Henry Calvin." 
 
 Saunders expressed the general feeling of the meeting 
 outside, which was frankly belligerent. They had indeed 
 been beaten at the polls as they had expected, but in an 
 honest tulzie with dickies the parish would hear a different 
 tale. 
 
 But there was one element in the meeting that the Kers 
 
 * Shepherd's staff.
 
 ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE. 283 
 
 had taken no notice of. There was but one woman there, 
 and she a girl. In the corner of the schoolroom, on the 
 chairman's right hand, sat Grace Hutchison, daughter of 
 the manse. The minister was a widower, and this was his 
 only daughter. She was nineteen. She kept his house, 
 and turned him out like a new pin. But the parish knew 
 little of her. It called her " the minister's shilpit bit 
 lassie." 
 
 Her face was indeed pale, and her dark eyes of a still 
 and serene dignity, like one who walks oft at e'en in the 
 Fairy Glen, and sees deeper into the gloaming than other 
 folk. 
 
 Grace Hutchison accompanied her father, and sat in 
 the corner knitting. A slim, girlish figure hardly filled to 
 the full curves of maidenhood, she was yet an element that 
 made for peace. The younger men saw that her lips were 
 red and her eyes had the depth of a mountain tarn. But 
 they had as soon thought of trysting with a ghaist from the 
 kirkyaird, or with the Lady of the Big House, as with 
 Grace Hutchison, the minister's daughter. 
 
 So it happened that Grace Hutchison had reached the 
 age of nineteen years, without knowing more of love than 
 she gathered from the seventeenth and eighteenth century 
 books in her father's library. And one may get some curi- 
 ous notions out of Laurence Sterne crossed with Ruther- 
 ford's Letters and The Man of Feeling. 
 
 " It is moved and seconded that the meetings be opened 
 with prayer." 
 
 Objected to by Dr. Hutchison, ostensibly on the ground 
 that they are engaged in a purely practical and parochial 
 business, really because it is proposed by Mr. Calvin and 
 seconded by Saunders Ker. Loyalty to the National Zion 
 forbade agreement. Yet even Dr. Hutchison did not see 
 the drift of the motion, but only had a general impression 
 that some advantage for the opposition was intended. So
 
 284 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 he objected. Then there was a great discussion, famous 
 through the parish, and even heard of as far as Polmont 
 and Crossraguel. William Henry Calvin put the matter on 
 the highest moral and spiritual grounds, and is generally 
 considered, even by the Government party, to have surpassed 
 himself. His final appeal to the chairman as a professing 
 minister of religion was a masterpiece. Following his min- 
 ister, Saunders Ker put the matter practically in his broad- 
 est and most popular Scots. The rare Howpaslet dialect 
 thrilled to the spinal marrow of every man that heard it, as 
 it fell marrowy from the lips of Saunders ; and when he 
 reached his conclusion, even the ranks of Tuscany could 
 scarce forbear to cheer. 
 
 " Ye are men, ye are faithers, near the halewar o' ye 
 maist o' ye are marriet. Ye mind what ye learned aboot 
 your mither's knee. Ye mind where ye learned the twenty- 
 third psalm on the quiet Sabbath afternoons. Ye dinna 
 want to hae yer ain bairns grow up regairdless o' a' that's 
 guid. Na, ye want them to learn the guid an' comfortable 
 word in the schule as ye did yoursel's. Ye want them to 
 begin wi' the psalm o' Dawvid an' the bit word o' prayer. 
 Can ye ask a blessin' on the wark o' the schule, that hasna 
 been askit on the wark o' the schule board ? Gin ye do, 
 it'll no' be the first time or the last that the bairn's hymn 
 and the bairn's prayer has put to shame baith elder and 
 minister." 
 
 As he sat down, Grace Hutchison looked at her father. 
 The Doctor was conscious of her look, and withdrew his 
 motion. The meetings were opened with prayer in all time 
 coming. 
 
 There was a murmur of rejoicing among the Kers out- 
 side, and thighs were quietly slapped with delight at the 
 management of the question by the minister and Saunders. 
 It was, with reason, considered masterly. 
 
 " Ye see their drift, dinna ye, man ? " said one Ker to
 
 ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE. 285 
 
 another. " What, no ? ye surely maun hae been born on 
 a Sabbath. D'ye no' see that ilka time the Doctor is awa', 
 eyther aboot his ain affairs or aboot the concerns o' the 
 General Assembly, or when he's no weel, they'll be obleeged 
 to vote either Saunders or oor minister into the chair for, 
 of coorse, the ither two can pray nane, bein' elders o' the 
 Establishment? An' the chairman has aye the castin' 
 vote ! " 
 
 " Dod, man, that's grauud heard ye ever the like o' 
 that ! " 
 
 T4ie Kers rejoiced in first blood, but they kept their 
 strategical theories to themselves, so as not to interfere with 
 the designs of Saunders and Mr. Calvin. 
 
 Little else was done that day. A clerk of school board 
 was appointed the lawyer factor of the Laird of Howpaslet 
 and a strong member of the State Church. 
 
 Mr. Calvin proposed the young Radical lawyer from the 
 next town, but simply for form's sake, and to lull the other 
 side with the semblance of victory. 
 
 " The clerk has nae vote," Saunders explained quietly 
 through the window to the nearest Ker. This satisfied the 
 clan, which was a little inclined to murmur. 
 
 It was then decided that a new teacher was to be ap- 
 pointed, and applications were to be advertised for. This 
 was really the crux of the situation. The old parochial 
 dominie had retired on a comfortable allowance. The 
 company inside the school wanted him to get the allowance 
 doubled, because he was precentor in the parish kirk, till 
 they heard that it was to come out of the rates. Then they 
 wanted him to have none at all. He should just have saved 
 his siller like other folk. Who would propose to support 
 them with forty-five pounds a year off the rates when they 
 came to retire ? a fresh, strong man, too, and well able for 
 his meat, and said to be looking out for his third wife. The 
 idea of giving him forty-five of their pounds to do nothing
 
 286 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 at all the rest of his life was a preposterous one. Some said 
 they would have yoted for the Seceders if they had known 
 what the minister had in his head. But, in spite of the 
 murmurs, the dominie got the money. 
 
 The next meeting was to be held on Tuesday fortnight 
 public intimation whereof having been made, the meeting 
 was closed with the benediction, pronounced by Dr. Hutchi- 
 son in a non-committal official way to show the Kers that 
 he was not to be coerced into prayer by them. 
 
 Applications for the mastership poured in thick and 
 fast. The members of the school board were appealed to 
 by letter and by private influence. They were treated at 
 the market and buttonholed on the street all except 
 Saunders arid his minister. These two kept their counsel 
 sternly to themselves, knowing that they had no chance of 
 carrying their man unless some mysterious providence 
 should intervene. 
 
 Providence did intervene, and that manifestly, only 
 three days before the meeting. After Sabbath service in 
 the parish church, the Rev. Dr. Hutchison went home to 
 the manse complaining of a violent pain in his breast. 
 
 His daughter promptly put on mustard, and sent for 
 the doctor. By so doing she probably saved his life. For 
 when the doctor came, he shook his head, and immediately 
 pronounced it lung inflammation of a virulent type. The 
 Doctor protested furiously that he must go to the meeting 
 on Tuesday. He would go, even if he had to be carried. 
 His daughter said nothing, but locked the door and put the 
 key in her pocket, till she got the chance of conveying 
 away every vestige of his clerical clothing out of his reach, 
 locking it where Marget Lament, his faithful servant, 
 could not find it. Marget would have brought him a 
 rope to hang himself if the Doctor had called for it. 
 Sometimes in his delirium he made the speeches which he 
 had meant to make at the school board meeting on Tues-
 
 ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE. 287 
 
 day ; and sometimes, but more rarely, he opened the meet- 
 ing with prayer. Grace sat by the side of the bed and 
 moistened his lips. He said it was ridiculous that he was 
 quite well, and would certainly go to the meeting. Grace 
 said nothing, and gave him a drink. Then he went 
 babbling on. 
 
 The meeting was duly held. As the Kers had foretold, 
 Mr. Calvin was voted into the chair unanimously, owing to 
 a feint of Saunders Ker's, who proposed that the publican 
 majority elder take the chair and open the proceedings with 
 prayer which so frightened that gentleman that he pro- 
 posed Mr. Calvin before he knew what he was about. It- 
 was " more fitting," he said. 
 
 Dr. Hutchison fitted him afterwards for this. 
 
 At the close of the prayer, which was somewhat long, 
 the Clerk proposed that, owing to the absence of an impor- 
 tant member, they should adjourn the meeting till that day 
 three weeks. 
 
 Mr. Calvin looked over at the Clerk, who was a broad, 
 hearty, dogmatic man, accustomed to wrestle successfully 
 with tenants about reductions and improvements. 
 
 " Mr. Clerk," he said sharply, " it is your business to ad- 
 vise us as to points of law. How many members of this 
 board does it take to make a quorum ? " 
 
 " Three," said the solicitor promptly. 
 
 "Then," answered Mr. Calvin, with great pith and 
 point, " as we are one more than a quorum, we shall proceed 
 to our business. And yours, Mr. Clerk, is to read the min- 
 utes of last meeting, and to take note of the proceedings of 
 this. It will be as well for you to understand soon as syne 
 that you have no locus standi for speech on this board, un- 
 less your opinion is asked for by the chair." 
 
 This was an early instance of what was afterwards, in 
 affairs imperial, called the closure, a political weapon of 
 some importance. The Kers afterwards observed that they
 
 288 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 always suspected that " Auld Wullie " (referring to the 
 Prime Minister of the time) studied the reports of the 
 Howpaslet school board proceedings in the Border 'shire Ad- 
 vertiser. Indeed, Saunders Ker was known to post one to 
 him every week. So they all knew where the closure came 
 from. 
 
 This is how the strongly Auld Kirk parish of Howpas- 
 let came to have a Dissenting teacher in the person of 
 Duncan Rowallan, a young man of great ability, who had 
 just taken a degree at college after passing through Moray 
 House (an ancient ducal palace where excellent dominies 
 are manufactured), at a time when such a double qualifica- 
 tion was much less common than it is now. 
 
 Duncan Rowallan was admitted by all to be the best 
 man for the position. It was, indeed, a wonder that one 
 who had been so brilliant at college, should apply for so 
 quiet a place as the mastership of the school of Howpaslet. 
 But it was said that Duncan Rowallan came to Howpaslet 
 to study. And study he did. In one way he was rather a 
 disappointment to the Kers, and even to his proposer and 
 seconder. He was not bellicose and he was not political; 
 but, on the other hand, he did his work soundly and thor- 
 oughly, and obtained wondrous reports written in the offi- 
 cial hand of H. M. Inspector, and signed with a flourish like 
 the tail of a kite. But he shrank from the more active 
 forms of partisanship, and devoted himself to his books. 
 
 Yet even in Howpaslet his life was not to be a peaceful 
 one. 
 
 The Reverend Doctor Hutchison arose from his bed of 
 sickness with the most fixed of determinations to make it 
 hot for the new dominie. When he lay near the gate of 
 death he had seen a vision, and heaven had been plain to 
 him. He had observed, among other things, that there was 
 but one establishment there, a uniform government in the 
 church triumphant. He took this as a sign that there
 
 ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE. 280 
 
 should be only one on earth. He understood the secession 
 of the fallen angels referred to by Milton to be a type of the 
 Disruption. He made a note of this upon his cuff at the 
 time, resolving to develop it in a later sermon. Then, on 
 rising, he proceeded at once to act upon it by making the 
 young dominie's life a burden to him. 
 
 Duncan Rowallan found himself hampered on every 
 hand. He was refused material for the conduct of his 
 school. The new schoolhouse was only built because the 
 Inspector wrote to the board that the grant would be with- 
 held till the alterations were made. 
 
 The militant Doctor could not dismiss Duncan Eowallan 
 openly. That, at the time, would have been going too far ; 
 but he could, and did, cut down his salary to starvation 
 point, in the hope that he would resign. But Duncan Row- 
 allan had not come to Howpaslet for salary, and his ex- 
 penses were so few that he lived as comfortably on his pit- 
 tance as ever he had done. Porridge night and morning is 
 not costly when you use little milk. 
 
 So he continued to wander much about the lanes with a 
 book. In the summer he could be met with at all hours of 
 light and dusk. Howpaslet was a land of honeysuckle and 
 clematis. The tendrils clung to every hedge, and the 
 young man wandered forth to breath the gracious airs. One 
 day in early June he was abroad. It was a Saturday, his 
 day of days. Somehow he could not read that morning, 
 though he had a book in his pocket, for the stillness of 
 early summer (when the buds come out in such numbers 
 that the elements are stilled with the wonder of watching) 
 had broken up. It was a day of rushing wind and sudden 
 onpelts of volleying rain. The branches creaked, and the 
 young green leaves were shred untimeously from the beeches. 
 All the orchards were dappled with flying showers of rosy 
 snow, as the blossoms of the apple and cherry fled before 
 the swirling gusts of cheerful tempest.
 
 290 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Duncan Rowallan was up on the windy braeface above 
 the kirk of Howpaslet, with one hand to his cloth cap, as 
 he held down his head and bored himself into the eye of 
 the wind. Of a sudden he was amazed to see a straw hat, 
 with a flash of scarlet about it, whirl past him, spinning 
 upon its edge. To turn and pursue was the work of a mo- 
 ment. But he did not catch the runaway till it brought up 
 blown flat against the kirkyard dyke. He returned with it 
 in his hand. A tall slip of a girl stood on the slope, her 
 hair wind-blown and unfilleted wind-blown also as to her 
 skirts. Duncan knew her. It was the minister's daughter, 
 the only child of the house of his enemy. 
 
 They met he beneath, she above on the whinny brae- 
 face. Her hair, usually so smooth, blew out towards him 
 in love-locks and witch-tangles. For the first time in his 
 life Duncan saw a faint colour in the cheeks of the min- 
 ister's daughter. 
 
 The teacher of the village school found himself apolo- 
 gising, he was not quite sure for what. He held the hat out 
 a little awkwardly. 
 
 " I found it," he said, not knowing what else to say. 
 
 This description of his undignified progress as he rattled 
 down the face of the hill after the whirling hat amused 
 Grace Hutchison, and she laughed a little, which helped 
 things wonderfully. 
 
 " But you have lost your own cap," she said, looking at 
 his cropped blond poll without disapproval. 
 
 " It does not matter," said Duncan, rubbing it all over 
 with his hand as though the action would render it water- 
 proof. 
 
 Now, Grace Hutchison was accustomed to domineer 
 over her father in household matters, such as the care of 
 his person ; so it occurred to her that she ought to order 
 this young man to go and look after his cap. But she 
 did not. On the contrary, she took a handkerchief out of
 
 ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE. 291 
 
 her pocket, disentangling it mysteriously from the recesses 
 of flapping skirts. 
 
 " Put that over your head till you get your own," she 
 said. 
 
 Sober is not always that which sober looks, and it may 
 be that Grace Hutchison had no objections to a little se- 
 date merriment with this young man. It was serious 
 enough down at the manse, in all conscience ; and every 
 young man in the parish stood ten yards off when he spoke 
 to Miss Hutchison. She had not been at a party since she 
 left- the Ministers' Daughters' College two years ago, and 
 then all the young men were carefully selected and edited 
 by the lady principal. And Grace Hutchison was nineteen. 
 Think of that, maids of the many invitations ! 
 
 The young master's attempts to tie the handkerchief 
 were ludicrous in the extreme. One corner kept falling over 
 and flicking into his eye, so that he seemed to be persistently 
 winking at her with that eyelid, a proceeding which would 
 certainly not have been allowed at the parties of the Minis- 
 ters' Daughters' College with the consent of the authorities 
 at least not in Grace's time. 
 
 "Oh, how stupid you are!" said Grace, putting a pin 
 into her mouth to be ready ; " let me do it." 
 
 She spoke just as if she had been getting her father 
 ready for church. 
 
 She settled the handkerchief about Duncan Kowallan's 
 head with one or two little tugs to the side. Then she 
 took the pin out of her mouth and pinned it beneath his 
 chin, in a way mightily practical, which the youth admired. 
 
 " Now, then," she said, stepping back to put on her own 
 hat, fastening it with a dangerous-looking weapon of war 
 shaped like a stiletto, thrust most recklessly in. 
 
 The two young people stood in the lee of the plantation 
 on the corner of the glebe, which had been planted by Dr. 
 Hutchison's predecessor, an old bachelor whose part in life 
 20
 
 292 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 had been to plant trees for other people to make love 
 under. 
 
 But there was no love made that day only a little talk 
 on equal terms concerning Edinburgh and Professor Eam- 
 age's, where on an eve of tea and philosophy it was con- 
 ceivable that they might have met. Only, as a matter of 
 fact they did not. But at least there were a great many 
 wonderful things which might have happened. And the 
 time flew. 
 
 But in the mid-stream of interest Grace Hutchison rec- 
 ollected herself. 
 
 " It is time for my father's lunch. I must go in," she 
 said. 
 
 And she went. She had forgotten her duties for more 
 than half an hour. 
 
 But even as she went, she turned and said simply, " You 
 may keep the handkerchief till you find your cap." 
 
 " Thank you," said Duncan, watching her so soberly 
 that the white cap on his head did not look ridiculous at 
 least, not to Grace. 
 
 As soon as she was out of sight he took off the hand- 
 kerchief carefully, and put it, pin and all, into the leather 
 case in his inner pocket where he had been accustomed to 
 keep his matriculation card. 
 
 He looked down at the kirkyard wall over which his 
 cap had flown. 
 
 " Oh, hang the cap ! " he said ; " what's about a cap, 
 any way ? " 
 
 Now, this was a most senseless observation, for the cap 
 was a good cap and a new cap, and had cost him one shil- 
 ing and sixpence at the hat-shop up three stairs at the cor- 
 ner of the Bridges. 
 
 The next evening Duncan Rowallan stood by his own 
 door. Deaf old Mary Haig, his housekeeper, was clacking
 
 ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE. 293 
 
 the pots together in the kitchen and grumbling steadily to 
 herself. Duncan drew the door to and went up by the side 
 of his garden, past the straw-built sheds of his bees, a legacy 
 from a former occupant, into the cool breathing twilight of 
 the fields. 
 
 He sauntered slowly up to the dykeside with his hands 
 behind his back. He was friends with all the world. It was 
 true that the school board had met that day and his salary 
 had been still further reduced, so that it was now thought 
 that for very pride he would leave. In his interest the Kers 
 had assaulted and battered four fellow-Christians of the con- 
 trary opinion, and the Keverend William Henry Calvin had 
 shaken his fist in the stern face of Dr. Hutchison as he de- 
 fied him at the school board meeting. But Duncan only 
 smiled and set his lips a little more firmly. He did not mean 
 to let himself be driven out at least not yet. 
 
 Up by the little wood there was a favourite spot from 
 which the whole village could he seen from under the leaves. 
 It was a patch of firs on the edge of the glebe, a useless rocky 
 place let alone even by the cows. Against the rough bark 
 of a fir-tree Duncan had fastened a piece of plank in order 
 to form a rude seat. 
 
 As soon as he reached his favourite thinking stance, he 
 forgot all about ecclesiastical politics and the strifes of the 
 Kers with the minister. He stood alone in the wonder of 
 the sunset. It glowed to the zenith. But, as very fre- 
 quently in his own water-colours, the colour had run down 
 to the horizon and flamed intensest crimson in the Nick of 
 Benarick. Broader and broader mounted the scarlet flame, 
 till he seemed in that still place to hear the sun's corona 
 crackle, as observers think they do when watching a great 
 eclipse. The set of the sun affected him like a still morn- 
 ing that most mysterious thing in nature. He missed, in- 
 deed, the diffused elation of the dawn ; but it was infinitely 
 sweet to hear in that still place the softened sounds of the
 
 294: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 sweet village life for Howpaslet was a Paradise to those 
 to whom its politics were naught. He saw the blue smoke 
 go up from the supper fires into the windless air in 
 pillars of cloud, then halt, and slowly dissipate into lawny 
 haze. 
 
 The cries of the playing children, the belated smith 
 ringing the evening chimes on his anvil in the smithy, 
 the tits chirping among the firs, the crackle of the rough 
 scales on the red boughs of the Scotch fir above him as they 
 cooled all fed his soul as though Peter's sheet had been let 
 down, and there was nothing common or unclean on all the 
 earth. 
 
 " I beg your pardon will you speak to me ? " 
 
 The words stole upon him as from another sphere, 
 startling him into dropping his book. Duncan looked 
 round. Some one was standing by the rough stone dyke 
 within a dozen yards of his summer seat. It was Grace 
 Hutchison. 
 
 Duncan went towards the dyke, taking off his cap as he 
 went a new cap. 
 
 So they stood there, the wall of rough hill-stones be- 
 tween them, but looking into one another's eyes. 
 
 There was no merriment now in the eyes that met his, 
 no word of the return of handkerchief or any maidenly 
 coquetry. The mood of the day of blowing leaves had 
 passed away. She had a shawl over her head, drawn close 
 about her shoulders. Underneath it her eyes were like night. 
 But her lips showed on her pale face like a geranium grow- 
 ing alone and looking westward in the twilight. 
 
 " You will pardon me, Mr. Kowallan," she said, " if I have 
 startled you. I am grieved for what is happening more 
 sorry than I can say my father thinks that it is his duty, 
 but " 
 
 Duncan Kowallan did not suffer her to go on 
 
 " Pray do not say a word about the matter, Miss Hutchi-
 
 ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE. 295 
 
 son ; believe that I do not mind at all. I know well the 
 conscientiousness of your father, and he is quite right to 
 carry out his duty." 
 
 " He has no quarrel against you," said Grace. 
 
 " Only against my office," said Duncan ; " poor office ! 
 If it were not for the peace of this countryside up here against 
 the skies, I should go at once and be no barrier to the una- 
 nimity of the parish." 
 
 She seemed to draw a long breath as his words came to 
 her across the stone dyke. 
 
 " Ah," she said, " I hope that you will not go ; for if How- 
 paslet did not quarrel about you, it would just be something 
 else. But I am sorry you should be annoyed by our bicker- 
 ings." 
 
 " No one could be less annoyed," said Duncan, smiling ; 
 " so perhaps it is to save some more sensitive person from 
 suffering, that I have been sent here." 
 
 They were very near to each other, those two young 
 people, though the dyke was between them. They leaned 
 their elbows on it, turning together and looking down the 
 valley. A scent that was not the scent of flowers stole on 
 Duncan Eowallan's senses, quickening his pulses, and mak- 
 ing him breathe faster to take it in. He was very near the 
 dark, bird-like head from which the June wind had blown 
 the love-locks. A balmy breath surrounded him like a halo 
 the witchery of youth's attraction, which is as old as Eden, 
 ambient as the air. 
 
 Grace Hutchison may have felt it too, for she shud- 
 dered slightly, and drew her shawl closer about her shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 " My father " she began, and paused. 
 
 " Please do not talk of these things," said Duncan, the 
 heart within him thrilling to the hinted womanhood which 
 came to him upon the balmy breath ; " I do not care for 
 anything if you are not mine enemy."
 
 296 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " I your enemy ! " she said softly, with a pause between 
 the words ; " oh, no, not that." 
 
 Her hand fell from the folds of her shawl and lay across 
 the dyke. It looked a lonely thing, and Duncan Eowallan 
 was sure that it trembled, so he took it in his. There it flut- 
 tered a little and then lay still, as a taken bird that knows it 
 cannot escape. The dyke was between them, but they drew 
 very near to it on either side. 
 
 Then at the same moment each drew a deep breath, and 
 one looked at the other as if expecting speech. Yet neither 
 spoke, and after a slow dwelling of questioning eyes, each 
 on each, as if in a kind of reproach they looked suddenly 
 away again. 
 
 The sunset glow deepened into rich crimson. The val- 
 leys into which they looked down from the high corner of 
 the field were lakes of fathomless sapphire. The light smoky 
 haze on the ridges was infinitely varied in tone, and caused 
 the distance to fall back, crest behind crest, in illimitable 
 perspective. 
 
 Still they did not speak, but their hearts beat so loudly 
 that they answered each other. The stone dyke was between. 
 Grace Hutchison took back her hand. 
 
 Opportunity stood on tip-toe. The full tide of Duncan 
 Eowallan's affairs lipped the watershed, the stone dyke only 
 standing between. 
 
 He turned towards her. Far away a sheep bleated. The 
 sound came to Duncan scornfully, as though a wicked elf 
 had laughed at his indecision. 
 
 He put out his hands across the rough stones to take her 
 hand again. He touched her warm shoulders instead be- 
 neath the shawl. He drew her to him. Into the deep eyes 
 luminous with blackness he looked as into the mirror of his 
 fate. Now, what happened just then is a mystery, and I 
 cannot explain it. Neither can Grace nor Duncan. They 
 have gone many times to the very place to find out exactly
 
 ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE. 297 
 
 how it all happened, but without success. Where they have 
 failed, can I succeed ? 
 
 I can only tell what did happen. 
 
 Duncan Eowallan seemed to rise into another world, as 
 in his childhood he had often dreamed of doing, looking 
 up and up into the fleecy waves of the highest cloudlets. 
 Her lips beckoned to him in the gloaming, like a red 
 flower whose petals have fallen a little apart. It came at last. 
 
 For the dyke proved too narrow, and in one swift elec- 
 tric touch their old world flew into flinders. 
 
 The stone dyke was not any longer between. Duncan 
 Eowallan had overleaped it and stood by the side of Grace 
 Hutchison. 
 
 The minister had come home to Howpaslet manse ex- 
 ceedingly elate. At last he had won the battle. The Kers 
 had gone home gnashing their teeth. There was lament in 
 the manse of the Calvins. After long endeavours he had 
 got the farmer and the publican to vote for the dismissal of 
 Duncan Eowallan. He smiled to himself as he came in. 
 He was not a malicious man, but he could not bear being 
 worsted in his own parish. His feeling against Duncan 
 Eowallan was neither here nor there ; but, indeed, the Kers 
 were hard to bear. 
 
 His daughter met him with a grave face. The deter- 
 mined Hutchison blood ran still and sure in her veins. 
 
 " Father," she said, " what I am going to tell you will 
 give you pain. I have promised to marry Duncan Eowal- 
 lan." 
 
 The stern old minister swayed doubting whether he 
 had heard aright. 
 
 " Marry Duncan Eowallan, the dominie ! " he said ; " the 
 lassie's gane gyte ! He's dismissed and a pauper ! " 
 
 " No," she said ; " on the contrary, he has got a master- 
 ship at the High School. I have promised to marry him."
 
 298 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 The old man said no word. He did not try to hector 
 Grace, as he would have done any one outside the manse. 
 Her household autocracy asserted itself even in that supreme 
 moment. Besides, he knew that it would be so useless, for 
 she was his own child. He put one hand up uncertainly 
 and smoothed his brow vaguely, as though something hurt 
 him and he did not understand. 
 
 He sat down in his great chair, and took up a little fire- 
 screen that had stood many years by his chair. Grace had 
 worked it as a sampler when as a little girl she went to the 
 village school and had slept at night in his room in a little 
 trundle-bed. He looked at it strangely. 
 
 " Gracie," he said, " Gracie my wee Gracie ! " and 
 then he set the fire-screen down very gently. " I am an 
 old man and full of years," he said. He looked worn and 
 broken. 
 
 Grace went quickly and put her arms about his neck. 
 
 " No, no, father," she said ; " you have only gained a 
 son." 
 
 But the old man's passions could not turn so quickly, 
 not having the pliancy of youth and love. He only shook 
 his head sadly. 
 
 " Not so," he said ; " I am left a lonely man my house 
 is left unto me desolate." 
 
 Yet, nevertheless, Grace was right. He stays with them 
 for a month every Assembly time, and lectures them daily 
 on the relations of Church and State.
 
 II. 
 A FINISHED YOUNG LADY. 
 
 i. 
 
 I cannot send thee gold 
 Nor silver for a show ; 
 
 Nor are there jewels sold 
 One half so dear as thou. 
 
 II. 
 
 No daflbdil doth blow 
 In this dull winter time, 
 
 Nor purple violet grow 
 In so unkind a clime. 
 
 III. 
 
 To-day I have not got 
 
 One spray of meadow-sweet, 
 Nor blue forget-me-not 
 
 My posy to complete. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet none of these can claim 
 So much goodwill as you; 
 
 Their lips put not to shame 
 Cowslip and oxlip too. 
 
 V. 
 
 But joy I'll take in this, 
 
 Pleasure more sweet than all, 
 If thou this book but kiss 
 
 As Love's memorial. 
 
 THERE were few bigger men in the West of Scotland 
 than Fergus Teeman, the grocer in Port Kyan. He had 
 come from Glasgow and set up in quite grand style, suc- 
 ceeding to the business of his uncle, John M'Connell, who 
 had spent all his days selling treacle and snuff to the guid- 
 wives of the Port. When Fergus Teeman came from Glas- 
 gow, he found that he could not abide the small-paned, 
 gloomy windows of the grocer's shop at the corner, so in a 
 little while the whole shop became window and door, over- 
 frowned by mere eyebrows of chocolate-coloured eaves. 
 
 299
 
 300 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 He had a broad and gorgeous sign specially painted in 
 place of the old "John M i Connell, licensed to sell Tea, Cof- 
 fee, and Tobacco" which had so long occupied its place. 
 Then he dismounted the crossed pipes and the row of 
 sweetie-bottles, and filled the great windows according to 
 the latest canons of Glasgow retail provision-trade taste. 
 The result was amazing, and for days there was the danger 
 of a block before the windows. It was as good as a peep- 
 show, and considerably cheaper. As many as four boys and 
 a woman with a shawl over her head, had been counted on 
 the pavement in front of the shop at once a fact which the 
 people in the next town refused to credit. 
 
 Fergus Teeman was a business man. He was " no gen- 
 tleman going about with his hands in his pockets " he said 
 so himself. And so far he was right, for, let his hands be 
 where they might, certainly he was no gentleman. But, for 
 all that, he was a big man in Port Eyan, and it was a great 
 day for the Kirk in the Vennel when Fergus Teeman led 
 his family to worship within the precincts of that modest 
 Zion. They made much of him there, and Fergus sunned 
 himself in his pew in the pleasing warmth of his own great- 
 ness. 
 
 In the congregation from whence he had come he had 
 not been accustomed to be so treated. He had held a seat 
 far under the gallery ; but in the Kirk in the Vennel he 
 had the corner seat opposite to the manse pew. There Fer- 
 gus installed his wife and family, and there last of all he 
 shut himself in with a bang. He then looked pityingly 
 around as his women-folk reverently bent a moment for- 
 ward on the book-board. That was well enough for women, 
 but a leading grocer could not so bemean himself. 
 
 In a few months Fergus started a van. This was a new 
 thing about the Port. The van was for the purpose of con- 
 veying the goods and benefits of the Emporium to the re- 
 moter villages. The van was resplendent with paint and
 
 A FINISHED YOUNG LADY. 301 
 
 gilding. It was covered with advertisements of its contents 
 executed in the highest style of art. The Kirk in the Ven- 
 nel felt the reflected glory, and promptly elected him an 
 elder. A man must be a good man to come so regularly to 
 ordinances and own such a van. The wife of this magnifi- 
 cent member of society was, like the female of so many of 
 the lower animals, of modest mien and a retiring plumage. 
 She sat much in the back parlour ; and even when she came 
 out, she crept along in the shadow of the houses. 
 
 M Na," said Jess Kissock of the Bow Head, " it's no' a 
 licht thing to be wife to sic a man " which, indeed, it 
 assuredly was not. Mrs. Fergus Teeman could have given 
 some evidence on that subject, but she only hid her secrets 
 under the shabby breast of her stuff gown. 
 
 There was said to be a daughter at a boarding-school 
 employed in " finishing," whatever that might be. There 
 were also various boys like steps in an uneven stair, models 
 of all the virtues under their father's eye, and perfect 
 demons on the street that is, on the streets of Port Eyan 
 which were not glared upon by the omniscient plate-glass 
 of Teeman's Emporium. 
 
 There was no minister in the Kirk in the Vennel when 
 Fergus Teeman came to Port Eyan. The last one had got 
 another kirk after fifteen years' service, thirteen of which 
 he had spent in fishing for just such a call as he got, being 
 heartily tired of the miserable ways of his congregation. 
 When he received the invitation, he waited a week before 
 he thought it would be decent to say, that perhaps he might 
 have seriously to consider whether this were not a direct 
 leading of Providence. On the following Thursday he ac- 
 cepted. On the Monday he left Port Eyan for ever, direct- 
 ing his meagre properties to be sent after him. He shook 
 his fist at the town as the train moved out. 
 
 So Fergus Teeman was just in time to come in for the 
 new election, which seemed like a favouritism of Provi-
 
 302 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 dence to a new man for, of course, he was put on the 
 committee which was to choose the candidates. Then 
 there was a great preaching. All the candidates stopped 
 with Mr. Teeman. This suited the Kirk in the Vennel, 
 for it was a saving in expense. It also suited Fergus Tee- 
 man, for it allowed him to sound them on all the subjects 
 which interested him. And, as he said, the expense was 
 really a mere trifle, so long as one did not give them ham 
 and eggs for their breakfast. It is not good to preach on 
 ham and eggs. It spoils the voice. Fergus Teeman had a 
 cutting out of the Glasgow Weekly Flail, an able paper 
 which is the Saturday Bible of those parts. This extract 
 said that Adelina Patti could not sing for five hours after 
 ham and eggs. It is just the same with preaching. Fer- 
 gus, therefore, read this to the candidates, and gave them 
 for breakfast plain bread and butter (best Irish cooking, 
 6d. per pound). 
 
 Fergus was an orthodox man. His first question was, 
 " How long are you out of the college ? " His next, 
 " Were you under Professor Robertson?" His third, " Do 
 ye haud wi' hymn-singin', street-preachin', revival meetings, 
 and novel-reading ? " 
 
 From the answers to these questions Fergus Teeman 
 formed his own short leet. It was a very short one. There 
 was only the Rev. Farish Farintosh upon it. He took 
 " cent-per-cent." in the examination. Some of the others 
 made a point or two in their host's estimation, but Farish 
 Farintosh cleared the paper. He was just out of college 
 that very month which was true. (But he did not say 
 that he had been detained a year or two, endeavouring to 
 overcome the strange scruples of the Examination Board.) 
 He had studied under Professor Robertson, and had fre- 
 quently proved him wrong to his very face in the class, till 
 the students could not keep from laughing (which, between 
 ourselves, was a lie). He was no hypocrite, advanced critic,
 
 A FINISHED YOUNG LADY. 303 
 
 or teetotaler, and would scorn to say he was. (He smelled 
 Fergus Teeman's breath. He had been a staunch teetotaler 
 at another vacancy the Saturday before.) He would not 
 open a hymn-book for thirty pounds. This was the very 
 man for Fergus Teeman. So they made a night of it, and 
 consumed five " rake " of hot water. Hot water is good for 
 the preaching. 
 
 But, strange to say, when the day of the voting came, 
 the congregation would by no means have the Reverend 
 Farish Farintosh, though his claims were vehemently urged 
 by the grocer in a speech, with strange blanks in the places 
 where the strong words would have come on other occasions. 
 They elected instead a mere nobody of a young beardless 
 boy, who had been a year or two in a city mission, and 
 whose only recommendation was that he had very success- 
 fully worked among the poor of his district. 
 
 Fergus Teeman stated his opinions of the new minister, 
 across his counter, often and vehemently. 
 
 " The laddie kens nae mair nor a guano-bag. There's 
 nocht in him but what the spoon pits intil him. He hasna 
 the spunk o' a rabbit. I tell ye what, we need a man o' 
 wecht in oor kirk. Come up oot 0' there, loy ; ye're lickin 1 
 that sugar again ! Na, he'll ken wha he's preachin' till, 
 when he stands up afore me. My e'e wull be on him nicht 
 and day. Hae ye no thae bays made yet ? Gin they're no 1 
 dune in five meenits, Pll knock the heid aff ye ! " 
 
 The new minister came. He was placed with a great 
 gathering of the clans. The Kirk in the Vennel was full 
 to overflowing the night of his first sermon. Fergus Tee- 
 man was there with his notebook, and before the close of 
 the service more than two pages were filled with the meas- 
 ure of the new minister's iniquity. Then, on the Tuesday 
 after, young Duncan Stewart, seeking to know all his office- 
 bearers, entered like the innocentest of flies the plate-glass- 
 fronted shop where Fergus Teeman lay in wait. There and
 
 304: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 then, before half a score of interested customers, the elder 
 gave the young minister " sic a through-pittin' as he never 
 gat in his life afore." This was the elder's own story, but 
 the popular opinion was clearly on the side of the minister. 
 It had to be latent opinion, however, for the names of most 
 of the congregation stood in the big books in Fergus 
 Teeman's shop. 
 
 The minister commended himself to his Maker, and 
 went about his own proper business. Every Sabbath, after 
 the sermon, often also before the service, Fergus Teeman 
 was on hand to say his word of reproof to the young min- 
 ister, to interject the sneering word which, like the poison 
 of asps, turned sweet to bitter. Had Duncan Stewart been 
 older or wiser, he would have showed him to the door. 
 Unfortunately, he was just a simple, honest, well-meaning 
 lad from college, trying to do his duty in the Kirk in the 
 Vennel so far as he knew it. 
 
 There was an interval of some months before the min- 
 ister could bring himself to visit again the shop and house 
 of his critical elder. This time he thought that he would 
 try the other door. As yet he had only paid his respects at 
 a distance to Mrs. Teeman. It seemed as if they had 
 avoided each other. He was shown into a room in which a 
 canary was swinging in the window, and a copy of Handel's 
 Messiah lay on the open piano. This was unlike the ac- 
 count he had heard of Mrs. Teeman. There was a merry 
 voice on the stairs, which said clearly in girlish tones 
 
 " Do go and make yourself decent, father ; and then if 
 you are good you may come in and see the minister ! " 
 
 Duncan Stewart said to himself that something had 
 happened. He was right, and something very important, 
 too. May Teeman was " finished." 
 
 " And I hope you like me," she had said to her father 
 when she came home. " Sit down, you disreputable old 
 man, till I do your hair. You're not fit to be seen ! "
 
 A FINISHED YOUNG LADY. 305 
 
 And, though it would not be credited in the Port, it is 
 a fact that Fergus Teeman sat down without a word. In a 
 week her father was a new man. In a fortnight May kept 
 the key of the cupboard where the square decanter was 
 hidden. 
 
 A tall, slim girl with an eager face, and little wisps of 
 fair hair curling about her head, came into the room and 
 frankly held out her hand to the minister. 
 
 " You are Mr. Stewart. I am glad to see you." 
 
 Whereupon they fell a-talking, and in a twinkling were 
 in the depths of a discussion upon poetry. Duncan Stew- 
 art was so intent on watching the swift changes of expres- 
 sion across the face of this girl, that he made several flying 
 shots in giving his opinions of certain poems for which he 
 was utterly put to shame by May Teeman, who instantly 
 fastened him to his random opinions and asked him to ex- 
 plain them. 
 
 To them entered another Fergus Teeman to the mili- 
 tant critic of the Sabbath morning whom Duncan knew too 
 well. 
 
 " Sit down, father. Make yourself at home," said his 
 daughter. " I am just going to play something." And so 
 her father sat down not ill-pleased, and, according to her 
 word, tried to make himself at home, till the hours slipped 
 away, and Duncan Stewart was induced to stay for tea. 
 
 " He's mellowin' fine, like a good blend o' Glenlivet ! " 
 said the grocer next day, in his shop. (He did not speak 
 nearly so loud as he used to do.) " He's comin' awa' 
 brawly. I'll no' say but what I was owre sharp wi' the lad 
 at first. He'll mak' a sound minister yet, gin he was a ken- 
 nin' mair spunky. Hear till me, yon was a graun' sermon 
 we got yesterday. It cowed a' ! Man, Lochnaw, he touched 
 ye up fine aboot pride and self-conceit ! " 
 
 " What's at the bottom o' a' that, think ye, na?" asked
 
 306 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Lochnaw that night as his wife and he dodged home at the 
 rate of five miles an hour behind the grey old pony with 
 the shaggy fetlocks. 
 
 " Ye cuif," said his wife ; " that dochter o' his 'ill be 
 gaun up to the manse. That boardin'-schule feenished her, 
 an' she's feenished the minister ! " 
 
 " Davert ! what a woman ye are ! " said Lochnaw, in 
 great admiration.
 
 III. 
 THE LITTLE LAME ANGEL. 
 
 In the field so wide and sunny 
 Where the summer clover is, 
 Where each year the mower searches 
 For the neste of wild- bee honey, 
 All along these silver birches 
 Stand up straight in shining row, 
 Dewdrops sparkling, shadows darkling, 
 In the early morning glow ; 
 And in gloaming time they're gleaming 
 White, like angels when I'm dreaming. 
 
 There among its handsome brothers 
 Was one little crooked tree, 
 Different from all the others, 
 Just as bent as bent could be. 
 
 First it crawl'd along the heather 
 Till it turn'd up straight again, 
 Then it drew itself together 
 Like a tender thing in pain ; 
 Scarce a single green leaf straggled 
 From its twigs so bare and draggled 
 And it really looks asham'd 
 When I'm passing by that way, 
 Just as if it tried to say 
 
 " Please don't look at such a maim'd 
 Little Cripple-Dick as I; 
 Look at all the rest about, 
 Look at them and pass me by, 
 I'm so crooked, do not flout me, 
 
 Kindly turn your head awry ; 
 Of what use is my poor gnarl'd 
 Body in this lovely world ? " 
 21 3OT
 
 308 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 OKCE I wrote* about two little boys who played to- 
 gether all through the heats of the Dry Summer in a gar- 
 den very beautiful and old. The tale told how it came to 
 pass that one of the boys was lame, and also why they loved 
 one another so greatly. 
 
 Now, it happened that some loved what was told, and 
 perhaps even more that which was not told, but only hinted. 
 For that is the secret of being loved not to tell all. At 
 least, from overseas there came letters one, two, and three, 
 asking to be told what these two did in the beautiful gar- 
 den of Long Ago, what they played at, where they went, 
 and what the dry summer heats had to do with it all. 
 
 Perhaps it is a foolish thing to try to write down in 
 words that which was at once so little and so dear. Yet, 
 because I love the garden and the boys, I must, for my own 
 pleasure, tell of them once again. 
 
 It was Jiminy's garden, or at least his father's, which is 
 the same thing, or even better. For his father lived in a 
 gloomy study with severe books, bound in divinity calf, all 
 about him ; and was no more conscious of the existence of 
 the beautiful garden than if it had been the Desert of 
 Sahara. 
 
 On the other hand, Jiminy never opened a book that 
 summer except when he could not help it, which was once 
 a day, when his father instructed him in the Latin verb. 
 
 The old garden was cut into squares by noble walks 
 bordered by boxwood, high like a hedge. For it had once 
 been the garden of a monastery, and the yews and the box 
 were all that remained of what the good monks had spent 
 so much skill and labour upon. 
 
 There was an orchard also, with old gnarled, green- 
 mossed trees, that bore little fruit, but made a glory of 
 shade in the dog-days. Up among the branches Jiminy 
 
 * Jiminy and Jaikie ( The SticTcit Minister).
 
 THE LITTLE LAME ANGEL. 309 
 
 made a platform, like those Jaikie read to him about in a 
 book of Indian travel, where the hunters waited for tigers 
 to come underneath them. Ever since Jaikie became lame 
 he lived at the manse, and the minister let him read all 
 sorts of queer books all day long, if so he wished. As for 
 Jiminy, he had been brought up among books, and cared 
 little about them ; but Jaikie looked upon each one as a 
 new gate of Paradise. 
 
 " You never can tell," said Jaikie to Jiminy ; " backs 
 are deceivin', like wise names. I've looked in ever so many 
 books by the man that wrote Robinson Crusoe, and there's 
 not an island in any of them." 
 
 " Books are all stuff," said Jiminy. " Let's play 
 ' Tiger.' " 
 
 " Well," replied Jaikie, " any way, it was out of a book 
 I got ' Tiger.' " 
 
 So Jaikie mounted on the platform, and they began to 
 play ' Tiger.' This is how they played it. Jaikie had a 
 bow and arrow, and he watched and waited silently up 
 among the green leaves till Jiminy came, crawling as softly 
 beneath as the tiger goes pit-pat in his own jungles. Then 
 Jaikie drew the arrow to a head, and shot the tiger square 
 on the back. With a mighty howl the beast sprang in the 
 air, as though to reach Jaikie. But brave Jaikie only 
 laughed, and in a moment the tiger fell on his back, pulled 
 up its trouser-legs, and expired. For that is the way tigers 
 always do. They cannot expire without pulling up their 
 trouser-legs. If you do not believe me, ask the man at the 
 Zoo. 
 
 Now, as the former story tells, it was Jaikie who used 
 always to do what Jiminy bade him ; but after Jaikie was 
 hurt, helping Jimmy's father to keep his church and manse, 
 it was quite different. Jiminy used to come to Jaikie and 
 say, " What shall we do to-day ? " And then he used to 
 wheel his friend in a little carriage the village joiner made,
 
 310 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 and afterwards carry him among the orchard trees to the 
 place he wanted to go. 
 
 " Jiminy," said Jaikie, " the flowers are bonnie in the 
 plots, but they are a' prisoners. Let us make a place where 
 they can grow as they like." 
 
 Perhaps he thought of himself laid weak and lonely, 
 when the green world without was all a-growing and 
 a-blowing. 
 
 " Bring some of the flowers up to this corner," said 
 Jaikie, the lame boy. And it was not long till Jiminy 
 brought them. The ground was baked and dry, however, 
 and soon they would have withered, but that Jaikie issued 
 his commands, and Jiminy ran for pails upon pails of water 
 from the little burn where now the water had stopped flow- 
 ing, and only slept black in the pools with a little green 
 scum over them. 
 
 " I can't carry water all night like this," said Jiminy at 
 last. " I suppose we must give up this wild garden here in 
 the corner of the orchard." 
 
 "No," said Jaikie, rubbing his lame ankle where it 
 always hurt, " we must not give it up, for it is our very 
 own, and I shall think about it to-night between the clock- 
 strikes." 
 
 For Jaikie used to lie awake and count the hours when 
 the pain was at the worst. Jaikie now lived at the manse 
 all the time (did I tell you that before ?), for his father was 
 dead. 
 
 So in the little room next to Jiminy's, Jaikie lay awake 
 and harkened to the gentle breathing of his friend. Jiminy 
 always said when he went to bed, " I'll keep awake to-night 
 sure, Jaikie, and talk to you." 
 
 And Jaikie only smiled a wan smile with a soul in it, 
 for he knew that as soon as Jiminy's head touched the 
 pillow he would be in the dim and beautiful country of 
 Nod, leaving poor Jaikie to rub the leg in which the pains
 
 THE LITTLE LAME ANGEL. 311 
 
 ran races up and down, and to listen and pray for the next 
 striking of the clock. 
 
 As he lay, Jaikie thought of the flowers in the corner 
 of the orchard thirsty and sick. It might be that they, like 
 him, were sleepless and suffering. He remembered the rich 
 clove carnations with their dower of a sweet savour, the dark 
 indigo winking " blueys " or cornflowers, the spotted musk 
 monkey- flowers, smelling like a village flower-show. They 
 would all be drooping and sad. And it might be that the 
 ferns would be dead all but the hart's-tongue ; which, 
 though moisture-loving, can yet, like the athlete, train itself 
 to endure and abide thirsty and unslaked. But the thought 
 of their pain worked in Jaikie's heart. 
 
 " Maybe it will make me forget my foot if I can go and 
 water them." 
 
 So he arose, crawling on his hands and knees down- 
 stairs very softly, past where Jiminy tossed in his bed, and 
 softer still past the minister's door. But there was no sound 
 save the creak of the stair under him. 
 
 Jaikie crept to the water-pail, and got the large quart 
 tankard that hung by the side of the wall. 
 
 It was a hard job for a little lad to get a heavy tin filled 
 a harder still to unlock the door and creep away across 
 the square of gravel. " You have no idea " (so he said 
 afterwards) " how badly gravel hurts your knees when they 
 are bare." 
 
 Luckily it was a hot night, and not a breath of air was 
 stirring, so the little white-clad figure moved slowly across 
 the front of the house to the green gate of the garden. 
 Jaikie could only reach out as far as his arms would go with 
 the tin of water. Then painfully he pulled himself forward 
 towards the tankard. But in spite of all he made headway, 
 and soon he was creeping up the middle walk, past the great 
 central sundial, which seemed high as a church-steeple above 
 him. The ghostly moths fluttered about him, attracted by
 
 312 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 the waving white of his garments. In their corner he found 
 the flowers, and, as he had thought, they were withered and 
 drooping. He lifted the water upon them with his palms, 
 taking care that none dripped through, for it was very 
 precious, and he seemed to have carried it many miles. 
 
 And as soon as they felt the water upon them the flowers 
 paid him back in perfume. The musk lifted up its head, 
 and mingled with the late velvety wallflower and frilled 
 carnation in releasing a wonder of expressed sweetness upon 
 the night air. 
 
 " I wish I had some for you, dear dimpled buttercups," 
 said Jaikie to the golden chalices which grew in the hollows 
 by the burnside, where in other years there was much mois- 
 ture ; " can you wait another day ? " 
 
 " We have waited long," they seemed to reply ; " we can 
 surely wait another day." 
 
 Then the honeysuckle reached down a single tendril to 
 touch Jaikie on the cheek. 
 
 " Some for me, please," it said ; " there are so many of 
 us at our house, and so little to get. Our roots are such a 
 long way off, and the big fellows further down get most of 
 the juice before it comes our way. If you cannot water us 
 all, you might pour a little on our heads." So Jaikie lifted 
 up his tankard and poured the few drops that were in the 
 bottom upon the nodding heads of the honeysuckle blooms. 
 
 " Bide a little while," said he, " and you shall have plenty 
 for root and flower, for branch and vine-stem." 
 
 There were not many more loving little boys than Jaikie 
 in all the world ; and with all his work and his helping and 
 talking, he had quite forgotten about the pain in his foot. 
 
 Now, if I were telling a story making it up, that is 
 it is just the time for something to happen, for a great 
 trumpet to blow to tell the world what a brave fellow this 
 friend of the flowers was ; or at least for some great person, 
 perhaps the minister himself, to come and find him there
 
 THE LITTLE LAME ANGEL. 313 
 
 alone iii the night. Then he might be carried home with 
 great rejoicing. 
 
 But nothing of the kind happened. In fact, nothing 
 happened at all. Jaikie began to creep back again in the 
 quiet, colourless night ; but before he had quite gone away 
 the honeysuckle said 
 
 " Remember to come back to-morrow and water us, and 
 we will get ready such fine full cups of honey for you to 
 suck." 
 
 And Jaikie promised. He shut the gate to keep out the 
 hens. He crept across the pebbles, and they hurt more 
 than ever. He hung up the tin dipper again on its peg, 
 and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Jiminy was breath- 
 ing as quietly and equally as a lazy red-spotted trout in the 
 shadow of the bank in the afternoon. Jaikie crept into his 
 bed and fell asleep without a prayer or a thought. 
 
 He did not awake till quite late in the day, when Jiminy 
 came to tell him that somebody had been watering the 
 flowers in their Corner of Shadows during the night. 
 
 " / think it must have been the angels," said Jiminy, 
 before Jaikie had time to tell him how it all happened. 
 " My father he thinks so too." 
 
 The latter statement was, of course, wholly unauthorised. 
 
 Jaikie sat up and put his foot to the floor. All the pain 
 had gone away out of it. He told Jiminy, who had an ex- 
 planation for everything. He knew how the foot had got 
 better and how the flowers were watered. 
 
 " 'Course it must have been the angels, little baby angels 
 that can't fly yet only crawl. I did hear them scuffling 
 about the floor last night." 
 
 And this, of course, explained everything.
 
 BOOK FIFTH. 
 TALES OF THE KIEK 
 
 815
 
 I. 
 THE MINISTER-EMERITUS. 
 
 Ho, let the viol's pleasing swifter grow 
 Let Music's madness fascinate the will, 
 And all Youth's pulses with the ardour thrill ! 
 
 Hast thou, Old Time, e'er seen so brave a show ? 
 
 Did not the dotard smile as he said " No " ? 
 
 Pshaw ! hang the grey-beard let him prate his till ; 
 
 Men are but dolts who talk of Good and 111. 
 These grapes of ours are wondrous sour, I trow ! 
 
 They sneer because we live for other tilings, 
 And think they know The Good. I tell the fools 
 
 We have the pleasure We ! Our master flings 
 Full-measured bliss to all the folk he rules, 
 
 Nor asks he aught for quit-rent, fee, or tithe 
 Ho, Bald-head, wherefore sharpenest thy scythe ? 
 
 IN the winter season the Clint of Drumore is the for- 
 lornest spot in God's universe twelve miles from anywhere, 
 the roads barred with snowdrift, the great stone dykes 
 which climb the sides of apparently inaccessible moun- 
 tains sleeked fore and aft with curving banks of white. In 
 the howe of the hill, just where it bends away towards the 
 valley of the Cree, stood a cottage buried up to its eyes in 
 the snow. Originally a low thatch house, it had somewhat 
 incongruously added on half a story, a couple of storm-win- 
 dows, and a roof of purple Parton slates. There were one 
 or two small office-houses about it devoted to a cow, a Gallo- 
 
 317
 
 318 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 way shelty, and a dozen hens. This snowy morning, from 
 the door of the hen-house the lord of these dusky paramours 
 occasionally jerked his head out, to see if anything hopeful 
 had turned up. But mostly he sat forlornly enough, wait- 
 ing with his comb drooping limply to one side and a foot 
 drawn stiffly up under his feathers. 
 
 Within the cottage there was little more comfort. It 
 consisted, as usual, of a " but " and a " ben," with a little 
 room to the back, in which there were a bed, a chair, and a 
 glass broken at the corner nailed to the wall. In this room 
 a man was kneeling in front of the chair. He was clad in 
 rusty black, with a great white handkerchief about his 
 throat. He prayed long and voicelessly. At last he rose, 
 and, standing stiffly erect, slipped a small yellow photo- 
 graph which he had been holding in his hand into a worn 
 leather case. 
 
 A man of once stalwart frame, now bowed and broken, 
 he walked habitually with the knuckles of one hand in the 
 small of his back, as if he feared that his frail framework 
 might give way at that point ; silvery hair straggling about 
 his temples, faded blue eyes, kindly and clouded under white 
 shocks of eyebrow such was the Reverend Fergus Syming- 
 ton, now for some years minister-emeritus. Once he had 
 been pastor of the little hill congregation of the Bridge of 
 Cairn, where he had faithfully served a scanty flock for 
 thirty years. When he resigned he knew that it was but 
 little that his people could do for him. They were sorry to 
 part with him, and willingly enough accepted the terms 
 which the Presbytery pressed on them, in order to be at lib- 
 erty to call the man of their choice, a young student from a 
 neighbouring glen, whose powers of fluent speech were 
 thought remarkable in that part of the country. So Mr. 
 Symington left Bridge of Cairn passing rich on thirty 
 pounds a year, and retired with his deaf old housekeeper to 
 the Glints of Drumore. Yet forty years before, the Rever-
 
 THE MINISTER-EMERITUS. 319 
 
 end Fergus Symington was counted the luckiest young min- 
 ister in the Stewartry ; and many were the jokes made in 
 public-house parlours and in private houses about his mer- 
 cenary motives. He had married money. He had been 
 wedded with much rejoicing to the rich daughter of a Liv- 
 erpool merchant, who had made a fortune not too tenderly 
 in the West Indian trade. Sophia Sugg was ten years the 
 senior of her husband, and her temper was uncertain, but 
 Fergus Symington honestly loved her. She had a tender 
 and a kindly heart, and he had met her in the houses of 
 the poor near her father's shooting-lodge in circumstances 
 which did her honour. So he loved her, and told her of it 
 as simply as though she had been a penniless lass from one 
 of the small farms that made up the staple of his congrega- 
 tion. They were married, and it is obvious what the coun- 
 tryside would say, specially as there were many eyes that had 
 looked not scornfully at the handsome young minister. 
 
 " This, all this was in the golden time, 
 Long ago." 
 
 The mistress of the little white manse on the Cairn 
 Water lived not unhappily with her husband for four years, 
 and was then laid with her own people in the monstrous 
 new family vault where her father lay in state. She left 
 two children behind her a boy of two and an infant girl of 
 a few weeks. 
 
 The children had a nurse, Meysie Dickson, a girl who 
 was already a woman in staidness and steadfastness at fifteen. 
 She had been in a kind of half-hearted way engaged to be 
 married to Weelum Lammitter, the grieve at Newlands; 
 but when the two bairns were left on her hand, she told 
 Weelum that he had better take Kirst Laurie, which Wee- 
 lum Lammitter promptly did. There was a furnished 
 house attached to the grieveship, and he could not let it 
 stand empty any longer. Still, he would have preferred
 
 320 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Meysie, other things being equal. He even said so to Kirst 
 Laurie, especially when he was taking his tea for Kirst 
 was no baker. 
 
 So for twenty years the household moved on its quiet, 
 ordered way in the manse by the Water of Cairn. Then 
 the boy, entering into the inheritance devised to him by his 
 mother's marriage-settlement, took the portion of goods that 
 pertained to him, and went his way into a far country, and 
 did there according to the manner of his kind. Meysie had 
 been to some extent to blame for this, as had also his father. 
 The minister himself, absorbed in his books and in his ser- 
 mons, had only given occasional notice to the eager, ill-bal- 
 anced boy who was growing up in his home. He had given 
 him, indeed, his due hours of teaching till he went away to 
 school, but he had known nothing of his recreations and 
 amusements. Meysie, who was by no means dumb though 
 she was undoubtedly deaf, kept dinning in his ears that he 
 must take his place with the highest in the land, by which 
 she meant the young Laird of Cairnie and the Mitchels of 
 Mitchelfield. Some of these young fellows were exceedingly 
 ready to show Clement Symington how to squander his 
 ducats, and when he took the road to London he went away 
 a pigeon ready for the plucking. The waters closed over 
 his head, and so far as his father was concerned there was 
 an end of him. 
 
 Elspeth Symington, the baby girl, turned out a child of 
 another type. Strong, masculine, resolute, with some of the 
 determination of the old slave-driving grandfather in her, 
 she had from an early age been under the care of a sister of 
 her mother's. And with her she had learned many things, 
 chiefly that sad lesson to despise her father. It had never 
 struck Mr. Symington in the way of complaint that he had 
 no art or part in his wife's fortune, so that he was not dis- 
 appointed when he found himself stranded in the little cot- 
 tage by the Glints of Drumore with thirty pounds a year.
 
 THE MINISTER-EMERITUS. 321 
 
 He was lonely, it was true, but his books stood between him 
 and unhappiness. Also Meysie, deaf and cross, grumbled 
 and crooned loyally about his doors. 
 
 This wintry morning there was no fire in the room 
 which was called by the minister the " study " but by 
 Meysie, more exactly and descriptively, " ben the hoose." 
 The minister had written on Meysie's slate the night before 
 that, as the peats were running done and no one could say 
 how long the storm might continue, no fire was to be put 
 in the study the next day. 
 
 So after Mr. Symington had eaten his porridge, taking 
 it with a little milk from their one cow Meysie standing 
 by the while to " see that he suppit them " he made an in- 
 cursion or two down the house to the " room " for some 
 books that he needed. Then Meysie bustled about her 
 work and cleaned up with prodigious birr and clatter, being 
 utterly unable to hear the noise she made. The minister 
 soon became absorbed in his book, and a light of content- 
 ment shone in his face. Occasionally his hand stole to his 
 pocket. Meysie, whose eyes never wandered far from him, 
 knew that he was feeling for the leather case in which he 
 kept the photographs of his boy and girl. He liked to 
 know that it was safe. Elspeth had recently sent him a 
 new portrait of herself in evening dress, with diamonds in 
 her hair. It came from London in a large envelope with 
 the florid monogram of Lady Smythe, the widow of the ex- 
 Lord Mayor, upon it. The minister considered it the last 
 triumph of art, and often took it out of his pocket to look 
 at when he thought Meysie was not looking. She always 
 was, however. She had little else to do. Nevertheless, 
 Meysie knew, for all that, the worn yellow " card " of the 
 lost son who never wrote or sent him anything, to be the 
 dearest to him. 
 
 While the minister sat pondering over his book, Meysie 
 went to the back door, and stood there a moment vaguely
 
 322 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 gazing out on the snow. As she did so, a figure came 
 slouching round the corner of the byre. Meysie quickly 
 shut the door behind her, and turned the key. Any visitor 
 was a strange surprise in winter at the Glints of Drumore. 
 But this figure she knew at the first glance. It was the 
 Prodigal Son come home the boy whom she had reared from 
 the time that she took his sister from his dying mother's 
 arms. Some deadly fear constrained her to lock the door 
 behind her. For the lad's looks were terribly altered. 
 There was a sullen, callous dourness where bright self-will 
 had once had its dwelling. His clothing had once been 
 fashionable, but it was now torn at the buttonholes and 
 frayed at the cuffs. 
 
 " Clement Symington, what brings ye to the Glints o' 
 Drumore ? " asked the old woman, going forward and tak- 
 ing hold of the skirts of his surtout, her face blanched like 
 the blue shadows on the winter snow. 
 
 " Why, Mother Hubbard " he broke out. 
 
 But Meysie stopped him, holding up her hand and 
 pointing to her slate, which hung by a " tang " round her 
 neck. 
 
 "Ha!" he murmured, "this is awkward old woman 
 gone deaf." 
 
 So he took the pencil and wrote 
 
 " Very hard up. Want some cash from the old man," 
 just as if he had been writing a telegram. 
 
 With her spectacles poised on the end of her nose, Mey- 
 sie read the message. Her face took a hue greyer and duller 
 than ever. 
 
 She looked at the lad she had once loved so well, and 
 his shifty eye could not meet hers. He looked away over 
 the moor, put his hands into his pockets, and whistled a 
 music-hall catch, which sounded strangely in that white 
 solitude. 
 
 " Weel do you ken that your faither has no sillar ! "
 
 THE MINISTER-EMERITUS. 323 
 
 said Meysie. " You had a 'the sillar, and what ye hae done 
 with it only you an' your Maker ken. But ye shallna come 
 into this hoose to annoy yer faither. Gang to the barn, and 
 wait till I bring you what I can get." 
 
 The young man grumblingly assented, and within that 
 chilly enclosure he stood swearing under his breath and 
 kicking his heels. 
 
 " A pretty poor sort of prodigal's return this," he said, 
 remembering the parable he used to learn to say to his 
 father on Sunday afternoons ; " not so much as a blessed 
 fatted calf only a half -starved cow and a deaf old woman. 
 I wonder what she'll bring a fellow." 
 
 In a little while Meysie came cautiously out of the back 
 door with a bowl of broth under her apron. The minister 
 had not stirred, deep in his folio Owen. The young man 
 ate the thick soup with a horn spoon from Meysie's pocket. 
 Then he stood looking at her a moment before he took the 
 dangling pencil again and wrote on the slate 
 
 "Soup's good, but ifs money I must have! " 
 
 Meysie bent her head towards him. 
 
 " Ye shallna gang in to break yer faither's heart, Clem- 
 ent ; but I hae brocht ye a' I hae, gin ye'll promise to gang 
 awa' where ye cam' frae. Your faither kens nocht aboot 
 your last ploy, or that a son o' his has been in London 
 gaol." 
 
 "And who told you ? " broke in the youth furiously. 
 
 The old woman could not, of course, hear him, but she 
 understood perfectly for all that. 
 
 " Your ain sister Elspeth telled me ! " she answered. 
 
 " Curse her ! " said the young man, succinctly and un- 
 f raternally. But he took the pencil and wrote " / promise 
 to go away and not to disturb my father " 
 
 Meysie took a lean green silk purse from her pocket 
 and emptied out of it a five-pound note, three dirty one- 
 pound notes, and seven silver shillings. Clement Sym- 
 22
 
 324: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 ington took them and counted them over without a 
 blush. 
 
 " You're none such a bad sort," he said. 
 
 " Now, mind your promise, Clement ! " returned his 
 old nurse. 
 
 He made his way at a dog's-trot down the half-snowed- 
 up track that led towards the Ferry Town of the Cree ; and 
 though Meysie went to the stile of the orchard to watch, he 
 ran out of sight without even turning his head. When the 
 old woman went in, the minister was still deep in his book. 
 He had never once looked up. 
 
 The short day faded into the long night. Icy gusts 
 drove down from the heights of Craig Eonald, and the 
 wind moaned mysteriously over the ridges which separated 
 the valley of the Cree Water from the remote fastnesses of 
 Loch Grannoch. The minister gathered his scanty family 
 at the " buik," and his prayer was full of a fine reverence 
 and feeling pity. He was pleading in the midst of a wilder- 
 ness of silence, for the deaf woman' heard not a word. 
 
 Yet it will do us no harm to hearken to the prayer of 
 yearning and wrestling. 
 
 " my God, who wast the God of my forefathers, keep 
 Thou my two bairns. They are gone from under my roof, 
 but they are under Thine. Through the storm and the 
 darkness be Thou about them. Let Thy light be in their 
 hearts. Though here we meet no more, may we meet an 
 unbroken family around Thy heavenly hearth. And have 
 mercy on us who here await Thy hand, on this good minis- 
 tering woman, and on me, alas ! Thine unworthy servant, 
 for I am but a sinful man, Lord ! " 
 
 Then Meysie made down her box-bed in the kitchen, 
 and the minister retired to his own little chamber. He took 
 his leather case out of his breast-pocket, and clasped it in 
 his hand as he began his own protracted private devotions. 
 He knelt on a place where his knees had long since worn a
 
 THE MINISTER-EMERITUS. 325 
 
 hole in the waxcloth. So, kneeling on the bare stone, he 
 prayed long, even till the candle flickered itself out, smell- 
 ing rankly in the room. 
 
 At the deepest time of the night, while the snow winds 
 were raging about the half-buried cot, the dark figure of 
 a young man opened the never-locked door and stepped 
 quickly into the small lobby in which the minister's hat and 
 worn overcoat were hanging. He paused to listen before he 
 came into the kitchen, but nothing was to be heard except 
 the steady breathing of the deaf woman. He came in and 
 stepped across the floor. The red glow from the peats on 
 the hearth revealed the figure of Clement Symington. He 
 shook the snow from his coat and blew on his fingers. Then 
 he went to the door of his father's room and listened. 
 Hearing no sound, he slowly opened it. His father had 
 fallen asleep on his knees, with his forehead on his open 
 Bible. The red glow of the dying peat-fire lighted the little 
 room. " I wonder where he keeps his cash," he murmured 
 to himself ; " the sooner it's over the better." His eye 
 caught something like a purse in his father's hand. As he 
 took it, something broad and light fell out. He held it up to 
 the moonbeam which came through the narrow upper panes. 
 It was his own portrait taken in the suit which his father 
 had bought him to go to college in. He had found the old 
 man's wealth. A strangeness in his father's attitude caught 
 his eye. With a sudden, quick return of boyish affection he 
 laid his hand on the bowed shoulder, forgetting for the 
 moment his evil purpose and all else. The attenuated figure 
 swayed and would have fallen to the side, had Clement Sym- 
 ington not caught it and laid his father tenderly on the bed. 
 Then he stood upright and cried aloud in agony with that 
 most terrible of griefs the repentance that comes too late. 
 But none heard him. The deaf woman slept on. And the 
 dead gave no answer, being also for ever deaf and dumb.
 
 II. 
 A MINISTEK'S DAY. 
 
 On either side the great and still ice sea 
 Are compassing snow mountains near and far; 
 While, dominant, Schreckhorn and Finsteraar 
 
 Hold their grim peaks aloft defiantly. 
 
 Blind with excess of light and glory, we, 
 Above whose heads in hottest mid-day glare 
 The Schreckhorn and his sons arise in air, 
 
 Sink in the weary snowfields to the knee; 
 
 Then, resting after peril pass'd in haste, 
 We saw, from our rock-shelter'd vantage ledge, 
 In the white fervent heat sole shadowy epot, 
 
 Familiar eyes that smiled amid the waste 
 Lo! in the sparsed snow at the glacier edge, 
 The small blue flower they call Forget-me-not ! 
 
 THE sun was glinting slantwise over the undulating up- 
 lands to the east. Ben- Gairn was blushing a rosy purple, 
 purer and fainter than the flamboyant hues of sunset, when 
 the Reverend Richard Cameron looked out of his bedroom 
 window in the little whitewashed manse of Cairn Edward. 
 His own favourite blackbird had awakened him, and he lay 
 for a long while listening to its mellow fluting, till his con- 
 science reproached him for lying so long a-bed on such a 
 morning. 
 
 Richard Cameron was by nature an early riser, a gift to 
 thank God for. Many a Sabbath morning he had seen the 
 
 326
 
 A MINISTER'S DAY. 327 
 
 sun rise from the ivy-grown arbour in the secluded garden 
 behind the old whitewashed kirk. It was his habit to rise 
 early, and, with the notes of his sermon in hand, to memo- 
 rise, or " mandate," them, as it was called. So that on Sab- 
 bath, when the hill-folk gathered calm and slow, there 
 might be no hesitation, and he might be able to pray the 
 Cameronian supplication, " And bring the truth premedi- 
 tated to ready recollection " a prayer which no mere 
 " reader " of a discourse would ever dare to utter. 
 
 But this was not a morning for " mandating " with the 
 minister. It was the day of his pastoral visitation, and it 
 behoved one who had a congregation scattered over a radius 
 of more than twenty miles to be up and doing. The min- 
 ister went down into the little study to take his spare break- 
 fast of porridge and milk. Then, having called his house- 
 keeper in for prayers which included, even to that sparse 
 auditory, the exposition of the chapter read he took his 
 staff in hand, and, crossing the main street, took the road 
 for the western hills, on which a considerable portion of his 
 flock pastured. 
 
 As he went he whistled, whenever he found himself at a 
 sufficient distance from the scattered houses which lined the 
 roads. He was everywhere respectfully greeted, with an in- 
 stinctive solemnity of a godly sort a solemnity without fear. 
 Men looked at him as he swung along, with right Scottish 
 respect for his character and work. They knew him to be 
 at once a man among men and a man of God. 
 
 The women stood and looked longer after him. There 
 was nothing so striking to be seen in Galloway as that clear- 
 cut, clean-shaven Greek face set on the square shoulders ; 
 for Galloway is a country of tall, stoop-shouldered men a 
 country also at that time of shaven upper lips and bristling 
 beards, the most unpicturesque tonsure, barring the mutton- 
 chop whisker, which has yet been discovered. The women, 
 therefore, old and young, looked after him with a warmth
 
 328 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 about their hearts and a kindly moisture in their eyes. 
 They felt that he was much too handsome to be going about 
 unprotected. 
 
 Notwithstanding that the minister had a greeting in the 
 bygoing for all, his limbs were of such excellent reach, and 
 moved so fast over the ground, that his pace was rather over 
 than under four miles an hour. Passing the thirteen chim- 
 neys of the " Lang Eaw," he crossed Dee bridge and bent 
 his way to the right along the wide spaces of the sluggish 
 river. The old fortress of the Douglases, the castle of 
 Thrieve, loomed up behind him through the wavering heat 
 of the morning. Above him was the hill of Knockcannon, 
 from which Mons Meg fired her fatal shots. The young 
 minister stood looking back and revolving the strange 
 changes of the past. He saw how the way of the humble 
 was exalted, and the lofty brought down from their seats. 
 
 " Some put their trust in horses, and some in chariots," 
 said the minister, " but we will trust in the Lord." 
 
 He spake half aloud. 
 
 " As ye war sayin', sir, we wull trust the Lord Himsel' 
 wull be oor strength and stay." 
 
 The minister turned. It was a middle-aged man who 
 spoke David M'Kie, the familiar good spirit of the village 
 of Whunnyliggate, and indeed of the whole parish. Wher- 
 ever sickness was, there David was to be found. 
 
 " I was thinking," said the minister sententiously, " that 
 it is not the high and lofty ones who sit most securely on 
 their seats. The Lord is on the side of the quiet folk who 
 wait." 
 
 " Ay, minister," said David M'Kie tentatively. 
 
 It was worth while coming five miles out of a man's road 
 to hear the minister's words. There was not a man who 
 would have a word to say, except himself, in the smiddy of 
 Whunnyliggate that night not even the autocratic smith. 
 
 " Yes, David, it was grand, no doubt, to hear Clavers
 
 A MINISTER'S DAY. 329 
 
 clattering down the Lawnmarket and turning the West Port 
 like a whirlwind, with all his pennons fluttering ; but it was 
 the Westland Levies, with their pikes and their Bibles, that 
 won the day at Dunkeld in the hinder-end. The king and 
 his men were a bonnie sicht, with their lace collars and their 
 floating love-locks ; but the drab-coats beat him out of the 
 field, because the Lord was on their side, at Naseby and 
 Marston Moor." 
 
 The two men were now on the final rise of the hillside. 
 The whole valley of the Dee lay beneath them, rich with 
 trees and pasture-lands, waving crops and the mansions of 
 the great. The minister shaded his eyes with his hand, and 
 looked beneath the sun. He pointed with his finger to 
 Thrieve, whose tall keep glimmered up from its island amid 
 the mists of the river. 
 
 " There is the castle where the proud once dwelt and 
 looked to dwell for ever, having no fear of God or man. 
 The hanging-stone is there that never wanted its tassel, the 
 courtyard where was the ready block, the dungeon for the 
 captive, the banquet-hall and the earl's chamber. They 
 are all there, yet only the owl and the bat dwell in them for 
 ever." 
 
 " There is a boy that makes poetry aboot the like o' 
 that," said David M'Kie, who loved to astonish the min- 
 ister. 
 
 "And who, pray, is the boy who makes poetry? I would 
 like to see him." 
 
 " 'Deed, minister, gin ye're gaun up to Drumquhat the 
 day, as I jalouse ye are, ye may see him. They ca' him 
 Walter Carmichael. He's some sib to the mistress, I'm 
 thinkin'." 
 
 " Yes, I have seen him in church, but I never had speech 
 with the lad," said the minister. 
 
 " Na, I can weel believe that. The boy's no' partial-like 
 to ministers ye'll excuse me for sayin' ever since he fe]l
 
 330 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 oot wi' the minister's loon, and staned him aff the Drum- 
 quhat grand. Saunders lickit him for that, an' so he tak's 
 the road if ever a minister looks near. But gin ye come 
 on him afore he can make the Hanging Shaw, ye may get 
 speech o' him, and be the means o' doing him a heap o' 
 guid." 
 
 At this point their ways parted. The minister held on 
 up the valley of the Ken, curving over the moorland towards 
 the farm of Drumquhat. He went more leisurely now that 
 he had broken the back of his morning's walk. The larks 
 sprang upward from his feet, and their songs were the ex- 
 pression of an innocent gladness like that which filled his 
 own heart. 
 
 He climbed the high stone dykes as they came in his 
 way, sometimes crossing his legs and sitting a while on the 
 top with a sort of boyish freedom in his heart as though he 
 too were off for a holiday a feeling born in part of the 
 breezy uplands and the wide spaces of the sky. On his 
 right hand was the dark mass of the Hanging Shaw, where 
 it began to feather down to the Black Water, which rushed 
 along in the shadow to meet the broad and equable waters 
 of the Ken. 
 
 As the minister came to one of these dykes, treading 
 softly on a noiseless cushion of heather and moss, he put 
 his foot on a projecting stone and vaulted over with one 
 hand lightly laid on the top stone. He alighted with a sud- 
 den bound of the heart, for he had nearly leapt on the top 
 of a boy, who lay prone on his face, deeply studying a book. 
 The boy sprang up, startled by the minister's unexpected 
 entrance into his wide world of air, empty of all but the 
 muirfowls' cries. 
 
 For a few moments they remained staring at each other 
 tall, well-attired minister and rough-coated herdboy. 
 
 " You are diligent," at last said the minister, looking 
 out of his dark eyes into the blue wondering orbs which
 
 A MINISTER'S DAY. 331 
 
 met his so squarely and honestly. " What is that you are 
 reading ? " 
 
 " Shakespeare, sir," said the boy, not without some fear 
 in telling the minister that he was reading the works of the 
 man who was known among many of the Cameronians as 
 " nocht but the greatest of the playactors." 
 
 But the minister was placable and interested. He recog- 
 nised the face as that of the boy who came to church on va- 
 rious occasions ; but with whom he had found it so difficult 
 to come to speech. 
 
 " How many plays of Shakespeare have you read ? " que- 
 ried the minister again. 
 
 " Them a' mony a time," said the boy. The minister 
 marvelled still more. "But ye'll no' tell my gran'mither?" 
 said the boy beseechingly, putting the minister upon his 
 honour. 
 
 Mr. Cameron hesitated for a moment, and then said 
 
 " I will not tell your grandmother unless you are doing 
 something worse than reading Shakespeare, my boy. You 
 are from Drumquhat, I think," he continued. " What are 
 you doing here ? " 
 
 The boy blushed, and hung his head. 
 
 " Cutting thistles," he said. 
 
 The minister laughed and looked about. On one hand 
 there was a mown swathe of thistles, on the other they still 
 grew luxuriantly all down the slope to the burnside. 
 
 " I suppose you are cutting down the thistles in Shake- 
 speare ? There are a good many of them," he said ; " but 
 is that what your master keeps you for ? " 
 
 The boy looked up quickly at this imputation on his 
 honesty. 
 
 " I'm on piecework," he said, with a kind of defiance in 
 his tone. 
 
 " On piecework ? " asked the minister, perplexed ; " how 
 is that?"
 
 332 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " Weel, sir, it's this way, ye see. Gran'faither used to 
 pay me a penny an hour for cuttin' the thistles. He did 
 that till he said I was the slowest worker ever he had, an' 
 that by the time that I was done wi' yae side o' the field, 
 the ither was ready to begin owre again. I said that I was 
 quite willin' to begin again, but he said that to sit doon 
 wi' a book and cut as far roon' ye as the hook could reach, 
 was no' the kind o' wark that he had been accustomed to 
 on the farm o' Drumquhat. So he took me off working by 
 time and put me on piecework. I dinna get as muckle 
 siller, but I like it juist as weel. So I can work and read 
 time aboot." 
 
 " But how do you know how the time goes ? " asked the 
 minister, for watches were not at that date to be found in 
 the pockets of herdboys on the Galloway hills. 
 
 The boy pointed to a peeled willow-wand which was 
 stuck in the ground, with a rough circle drawn round it. 
 
 " I made that sun-dial. Kab Affleck showed me," he 
 said simply, without any of the pride of genius. 
 
 " And are ye sure that the working hour is always the 
 same length as the reading time ? " asked the minister. 
 
 Walter looked up with a bright twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " Whiles when I'm workin' at the thistles, she may get a 
 bit kick forrit," he said. 
 
 The minister laughed a low, mellow laugh. Then he 
 quoted a text, as was customary with him. 
 
 " ' And Hezekiah said, It is a light thing for the shadow 
 to go down ten degrees in the dial of Ahaz.' " 
 
 The minister and Walter sat for a long time in the heat 
 of the noonday regarding one another with undisguised in- 
 terest. They were in the midst of a plain of moorland, over 
 which a haze of heat hung like a diaphanous veil. Over 
 the edge there appeared, like a plain of blue mist, the strath, 
 with the whitewashed farmhouses glimmering up like 
 patches of snow on a March hillside. The minister came
 
 A MINISTER'S DAY. 333 
 
 down from the dyke and sat beside the boy on the heather 
 clumps. 
 
 " You are a herd, you tell me. Well, so am I I am a 
 shepherd of men, though unworthy of such a charge," he 
 added. 
 
 Walter looked for further light. 
 
 " Did you ever hear," continued Mr. Cameron, looking 
 away over the valley, " of One who went about, almost bare- 
 foot like you, over rocky roads and up and down hill- 
 sides?" 
 
 "Ye needna tell me I ken His name," said Walter 
 reverently. 
 
 " Well," continued the minister, " would you not like 
 to be a herd like Him, and look after men and not 
 sheep?" 
 
 " Sheep need to be lookit after as weel," said Walter. 
 
 " But sheep have no souls to be saved ! " said Kichard 
 Cameron. 
 
 " Dowgs hae ! " asserted Walter stoutly. 
 
 "What makes you say so?" said the minister indul- 
 gently. He was out for a holiday. 
 
 " Because, if my dowg Royal hasna a soul, there's a heap 
 o' fowk gangs to the kirk withoot ! " 
 
 " What does Royal do that makes you think that he has 
 a soul ? " asked the minister. 
 
 " Weel, for yae thing, he gangs to the kirk every Sab- 
 bath, and lies in the passage, an' he'll no as muckle as snack 
 at a flee that lichts on his nose, a thing he's verra fond o' on 
 a week day. An' if it's no' yersel' that's preachin', my 
 gran'faither says that he'll rise an' gang oot till the ser- 
 mon's by." 
 
 The minister felt keenly the implied compliment. 
 
 " And mair nor that, he disna haud wi' repeating tunes," 
 said Walter, who, though a boy, knew the name of every 
 tune in the psalmody for that was one of the books which
 
 334 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 could with safety be looked at under the bookboard when the 
 minister was laying down his " fifthly," and when some one 
 had put leaden clogs on the hands of the little yellow-faced 
 clock in the front of the gallery a clock which in the 
 pauses of the sermon could be heard ticking distinctly, 
 with a staidness and devotion to the matter in hand which 
 were quite Cameronian. 
 
 " Kepeating tunes ! " said the minister, with a certain 
 painful recollection of a storm in his session on the Thurs- 
 day after the precentor had set up " Artaxerxes " in front of 
 him and sung it as a solo without a single member of the 
 congregation daring to join. 
 
 " Ay," said Walter, " Koyal disna baud wi' repeats. He 
 yowls like fun. But ' Kilmarnock ' and ' Martyrs ' fit him 
 fine. He thumps the passage boards wi' his tail near as 
 loud's ye do the Bible yerseP. Mair than that, Eoyal gangs 
 for the kye every nicht himseP. A' that ye hae to say is 
 juist 'Kye, Royal gae fetch them!' an' he's aff like a 
 shot." 
 
 " How does he open the gates ? " queried the minister. 
 
 " He lifts the bars wi' his nose, but he canna sneck them 
 ahint him when he comes back." 
 
 " And you think that he has a soul ? " said the minister, 
 to draw the boy out. 
 
 " What think ye yersel', sir ? " said Walter, who at bot- 
 tom was a true Scot, and could always answer one question 
 by asking another. 
 
 " Well," answered the minister, making a great conces- 
 sion, " the Bible tells us nothing of the future of the beasts 
 that perish " 
 
 "Who knoweth," said Walter, "the soul of the beast^ 
 whether it goeth upward or whether it goeth downward to 
 the ground ? " 
 
 The minister took his way over the moor, crossing the 
 wide peat-hags and the deep trenches from which the neigh-
 
 A MINISTER'S DAY. 335 
 
 bouring farmers of bygone generations had cut the peat for 
 their winter fires. He went with a long swinging step very 
 light and swift, springing from tussock to tussock of dried 
 brown bent in the marshy places. 
 
 At the great barn-door he came upon Saunders 
 M'Quhirr, master of the farm of Drumquhat, whose wel- 
 come to his minister it was worth coming a hundred miles 
 to receive. 
 
 " Come awa', Maister Cameron, and the mistress will get 
 you a drink o' milk, an' ye'll hae a bite o' denner wi' us gin 
 ye can bide half an hour ! " 
 
 The minister went in and surprised the good wife in the 
 midst of the clean and comely mysteries of the dairy. 
 From her, likewise, he received the warmest of welcomes. 
 The relation of minister and people in Galloway, specially 
 among the poorer congregations who have to work hard to 
 support their minister, is a very beautiful one. He is their 
 superior in every respect, their oracle, their model, their 
 favourite subject of conversation ; yet also in a special 
 measure he is their property. Saunders and Mary M'Quhirr 
 would as soon have contradicted the Confession of Faith as 
 questioned any opinion of the minister's when he spoke on 
 his own subjects. 
 
 On rotation of crops, and specially on " nowt " beasts, his 
 opinion was " no worth a preen." It would not have been be- 
 coming in him to have a good judgment on these secularities. 
 
 The family and dependents were all gathered together 
 in the wide, cool kitchen of Drumquhat, for it was the time 
 for the minister's catechising. Saunders sat with bis wife 
 beside him. The three sons Alec, James, and Eob sat 
 on straight-backed chairs ; Walter near by, his hand on his 
 grandmother's lap. 
 
 Question and answer from the Shorter Catechism passed 
 from lip to lip like a well-played game in which no one let 
 the ball drop. It would have been thought as shameful if
 
 336 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 the minister had not acquitted himself at " speerin' " the 
 questions deftly and instantaneously as for one of those 
 who were answering to fail in their replies. When Eob 
 momentarily mislaid the " Reasons Annexed " to the sec- 
 ond commandment, and his very soul reeled in the sudden 
 terror that they had gone from him for ever, his father 
 looked at him as one who should say, " Woe is me that I 
 have been the responsible means of bringing a fool into the 
 world!" Even his mother looked at him wistfully, in a 
 way that was like cold water running down his back, while 
 Mr. Cameron said kindly, " Take your time, Robert ! " 
 
 However, Rob recovered himself gallantly, and reeled off 
 the Reasons Annexed with vigour. Then he promised, 
 under his breath, a sound thrashing to his model brother, 
 James, who, having known the Catechism perfectly from 
 his youth up, had yet refused to give a leading hint to his 
 brother in his extremity. Walter had his answers as ready 
 as any of them. 
 
 Walter had, on one occasion, begun to attend a Sabbath 
 school at the village, which, was started by the enthusiastic 
 assistant of the parish minister, whose church lay some 
 miles over the moor. Walter had not asked any permis- 
 sion of his seniors at the farm, but wandered off by himself 
 to be present at the strange ceremonies of the opening. 
 There the Drurnquhat training made him easily first of 
 those who repeated psalms and said their Catechism. A 
 distinguished career seemed to be opening out before him, 
 but a sad event happened which abruptly closed the new- 
 fangled Sunday school. The minister of the parish heard 
 what his young " helper " had been doing over in Whunny- 
 liggate, and he appeared in person on the following Sab- 
 bath when the exercises were in full swing. He opened 
 the door, and stood silently regarding, the stick dithering 
 in both hands with a kind of senile fury. 
 
 The " helper " came forward with a bashful confidence,
 
 A MINISTER'S DAY. 337 
 
 expecting that he would receive commendation for his 
 great diligence. But he was the most surprised " helper " 
 in six counties when the minister struck at him suddenly 
 with his stick, and abruptly ordered him out of the school 
 and out of his employment. 
 
 " I did not bring ye frae Edinburgh to gang sneaking 
 aboot my pairish sugarin' the bairns an' flairdyin' the auld 
 wives. Get oot o' my sicht, an' never let your shadow 
 darken this pairish again, ye sneevlin' scoondrel ! " 
 
 Then he turned the children out to the green, letting 
 some of the laggards feel his stick as they passed. Thus 
 was closed the first Sabbath school that was ever held 
 in the village of Whunnyliggate. The too-enthusiastic 
 " helper " passed away like a dream, and the few folk who 
 journeyed every Sabbath from Whunuyliggate to the parish 
 kirk by the side of the Dee Water received the ordinances 
 officially at noon each Lord's Day, by being exhorted to 
 " begin the public worship of God in this parish " in the 
 voice which a drill-sergeant uses when he exhorts an awk- 
 ward squad. Walter did not bring this event before the 
 authorities at Drumquhat. He knew that the blow of the 
 minister's oaken staff was a judgment on him for having 
 had anything to do with an Erastian Establishment. 
 
 After the catechising, the minister prayed. He prayed 
 for the venerable heads of the household, that they might 
 have wisdom and discretion. He prayed that in the young- 
 er members the fear of the Lord might overcome the lust 
 of the eye and the pride of life for the sojourners, that 
 the God of journeying Israel might be a pillar of fire by 
 night and of cloud by day before them, and that their pil- 
 grimage way might be plain. He prayed for the young 
 child, that he might be a Timothy in the Scriptures, a 
 Samuel in obedience, and that in the future, if so it were 
 the will of the Most High, he might be both witness and 
 evangelist of the Gospel.
 
 III. 
 THE MINISTER'S LOON. 
 
 Saw ye ae flour in a fair garden, 
 Where the lilac blossom blooms cheerily ; 
 
 " Fairest and rarest ever was seen," 
 Sing the merle and laverock merrily. 
 
 Watered o' dew i' the earliest morn, 
 
 Lilac blossom blooms cheerily ; 
 Bield aboot wi' a sweet hawthorn, 
 
 Where the merle and lark sing merrily. 
 
 Wha shall pu' this flour o' the flours ? 
 
 Lilac blossom blooms cheerily ; 
 Wha hae for aye to grace their booers, 
 
 Where the merle and lark sing merrily ? 
 
 THIS is the note that came for me this morning. It was 
 the herd of Hanging Shaws that brought it. He had been 
 down at the smiddy getting the horses shod ; and Mr. 
 Marchbanks, the minister, handed it to him himself as he 
 was passing the manse on his way home. The herd said 
 that it was " bound to be something pressing, or the minis- 
 ter wadna hae been so soon oot o' his bed." So he waited 
 till I had opened it to hear what it was about, for the wife 
 of Hanging Shaws would be sure to be asking. I read it to 
 him, but he did not seem to be much the wiser. Here is 
 the letter, written in an ill, crabbed hand of write, like all 
 ministers' writings.
 
 THE MINISTER'S LOON. 339 
 
 ".NETHEB DULLARG. 
 
 " DEAR ME. M'QuniRR, I made strict inquiry subse- 
 quent to my return from your hospitable dwelling last 
 evening regarding the slight accident which happened to 
 my son, Archibald, whilst I was engaged in suitable converse 
 with your like-minded partner. I am of opinion that there 
 is no necessity for proceeding to extreme measures in the 
 case of your son, Alexander as in my first natural indigna- 
 tion, I urged somewhat strongly upon your good wife. It 
 may not ultimately be for the worse, that the lads were 
 allowed to settle their own differences without the interven- 
 tion of their parents. I may say, in conclusion, that the 
 application of a portion of uncooked beef to the protuber- 
 ance has considerably reduced the swelling upon my son's 
 nose during the night. I intend (D.V.) to resume the vis- 
 itation of my congregation on Thursday next, unaccom- 
 panied either by my own son or yours. Believe me, dear 
 sir, to remain your most obedient servant, 
 
 July 3rd. " JoHtf MARCHBANKS." 
 
 Now, Mr. Marchbanks is not my own minister, but there 
 is not a better respected man in the countryside, nor one 
 whom I would less allow any one belonging to me to make 
 light of. So it behoved me to make inquiry. Of the 
 letter itself I could make neither head nor tail ; but two 
 things were clear that that loon of a boy, my son Alec, 
 was in it, and also that his mother was " accessory after the 
 fact," as the Kirkcudbright lawyers say. In the latter case 
 it was necessary to act with circumspection. In the other 
 case I should probably have acted instantly with a suitable 
 hazel rod. 
 
 I went into the house. " Where's Alec ? " I asked, 
 maybe a kenning sharper than ordinary. 
 
 " What may ye be wantin' wi' Alec ? " said my wife, with 
 a sting in her accent which showed that she was deep in the 
 23
 
 340 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 ploy, whatever it had been. It now came to my mind that I 
 had not seen Alec since the day before, when I sent him out 
 to play with the minister's son, till Maister Marchbanks had 
 peace to give us his crack before I went out to the hill sheep. 
 
 So I mentioned to Mrs. M'Quhirr that I had a letter 
 from the minister about the boy. " Let us hear it," says 
 she. So I read the letter word for word. 
 
 " What does he mean by a' that screed ? " she asked. 
 " It's like a bit o' a sermon." 
 
 Now, my wife takes the general good out of a sermon, 
 but she does not always trouble to translate pulpit language 
 into plain talk. 
 
 " He means that there's six o' yin an' half a dizzen o' 
 the ither," I explained, to smooth, her down. 
 
 " Na, they're no' that," said Mrs. M'Quhirr ; " my laddie 
 may be steerin', I'm no' denyin' ; but he's no' to be named 
 in the same day with as misleered hound, the minister's 
 loon ! " 
 
 It was evidently more than ever necessary to proceed 
 circumspection. 
 
 " At any rate, let us hear what the laddie has to say 
 for himsel'. Where is he ? " I said. 
 
 " He's in the barn," said his mother shortly. 
 
 To the barn I went. It is an old building with two 
 doors, one very large, of which the upper half opens inwards ; 
 and the other gives a cheery look into the orchard when the 
 sugar-plums are ripening. One end was empty, waiting for 
 the harvest, now just changing into yellow, and the other 
 had been filled with meadow hay only the week before. 
 
 " Alec ! " I cried, as I came to the door. 
 
 There was an answer like the squeaking of a rat among 
 the hay, and I thought, " Bless me, the boy's smothered ! " 
 But then again I minded that in his times of distress, after 
 a fight or when he had been in some ploy for which he 
 dared not face his father, Alec had made himself a cave
 
 THE MINISTER'S LOON. 
 
 among the hay or corn in the end of the barn. Like all 
 Lowland barns, ours has got a row of three-cornered un- 
 glazed windows, called " wickets." Through one of these I 
 have more than once seen Alec vanish when hard pressed 
 by his mother, and have been amused even under the sober 
 face of parental discipline. For, once through, no one 
 could follow the boy. There was no one about the farm slen- 
 der enough to scramble after. I had not the smallest doubt 
 that the scapegrace was now lying snugly in his hole, im- 
 pregnable behind the great hay-mow, provisioned with a 
 few farls of cake from his mother, and with his well-beloved 
 Robinson Crusoe for sole companion of the solitary hours. 
 
 I went round to the opening and peered in, but could 
 see nothing. " Alec," says I, " come oot this moment ! " 
 
 "Kae lickin', then, faither?" says a voice out of the 
 wicket. 
 
 " No, if ye come oot an' tell the truth like a man." 
 
 So I took him ben to the " room " to be more solemn- 
 like, and bade him tell the whole story from the start. 
 This he did fairly on the whole, I am bound to confess, 
 with sundry questions and reminders here and there from 
 his mother and me. 
 
 " Weel, mither, the way o' it was this. We had only a 
 half-day yesterday at the schule," he began, " for the maister 
 was gaun to a funeral ; an' when I cam' oot at denner-time 
 I saw Airchie Marchbanks, an' he said that his faither was 
 gaun up the lochside veesitin', that he was gaun, too, an' if 
 I likit I could hing on ahint. So I hid my buiks aneath 
 a stane " 
 
 " Ye destructionf u' vagabond, I'll get yer faither to gie 
 ye a guid " 
 
 " But, mither, it was a big braid stane. They're better 
 there than cadgin' them hame an' maybe lossin' them. An' 
 my faither promised that there was to be nae lickin' if I 
 telt the truth."
 
 342 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " Weel, never mind the buiks," said I, for this had noth- 
 ing to do with the minister's letter. " Gae on wi' your story." 
 
 " The minister startit aboot twa o'clock wi' the auld 
 meer in the shafts, Airchie on the front seat aside his 
 faither, an' me sittin' on the step ahint." 
 
 " Did the minister ken ye war there ? " asked his 
 mother. 
 
 " Nae fears ! " said Alexander M'Quhirr the younger, 
 unabashed. It is a constant wonder to his mother whom 
 he takes after. But it is no great wonder to me. It had 
 been indeed a greater wonderment to me that Alec should 
 so readily promise to accompany the minister ; for when- 
 ever either a policeman or a minister is seen within miles 
 of Drumquhat, my lad takes the shortest cut for the fast- 
 nesses of Drumquhat Bank, there to lie like one of his 
 hunted forbears of the persecution, till the clear buttons or 
 the black coat have been carefully watched off the premises. 
 
 "The first place where the minister gaed," continued 
 my son, " was the clauchan o' Milnthird. He was gaun to 
 see Leezie Scott, her that has been ill sae lang. He gaed in 
 there an' bade a gye while, wi' Airchie haudin' yae side o' 
 the horse's heid an' me the ither no' that auld Jess wad 
 hae run away if ye had tied a kettle to her tail " 
 
 "Be mair circumspect in yer talk," said his mother; 
 " mind it's a minister's horse ! " 
 
 " Weel, ony way, I could see through the wunda, an' the 
 lassie was haudin' the minister's haun', an' him speakin' an' 
 lookin' up at somebody that I didna see, but maybe the 
 lassie did, for she lay back in her bed awfu' thankfu'-like. 
 But her mither never thankit the minister ava', juist turned 
 her back an' grat into her peenie. Mr. Marchbanks cam' 
 oot ; but I saw nae mair, for I had to turn an' rin, or he 
 wad hae seen me, an' maybe askit me to hae a ride ! " 
 
 " An' what for wad ye no' be prood to ride wi' the godly 
 man ? " asked my wife.
 
 THE MINISTER'S LOON. 343 
 
 " He micht ask me my questions, an' though I've been 
 lickit thirteen times for Effectual Callin', I canna get mair 
 nor half through wi't. [' Yer faither's wi' ye there, laddie,' 
 said I, under my breath.] Gin Mr. Marchbanks wad aye 
 look like what he did when he cam' oot o' Leezie Scott's, I 
 wadna rin for the heather when he comes. Then he had a 
 bit crack in twa-three o' the hooses wi' the auld wives that 
 wasna at the wark, though he has nae mair members in the 
 clauchan, them bein' a' Auld Kirkers. But Mr. March- 
 banks didna mind that, but ca'ed on them a', an' pat up a 
 prayer standin' wi' his staff in his hand and wi' his hair 
 owre his shooder." 
 
 " Hoo div ye ken ? " I asked, curious to know how the 
 boy had sketched the minister so exactly. 
 
 " I juist keekit ben, for I likit to see't." 
 
 " The assurance o' the loon ! " cried his mither, but not 
 ill-pleased. (0 these mothers !) 
 
 " Then we cam' to the auld mill, an' the minister gaed 
 in to see blin' Maggie Affleck, an' when he cam' oot I'm 
 sure as daith that he left something that jingled on the 
 kitchen table. On the doorstep he says, wi' a bricht face 
 on him, * Marget, it's me that needs to thank you, for I get 
 a lesson frae ye every time that I come here.' Though boo 
 blind Mag Affleck can learn a minister wi' lang white hair, 
 is mair nor me or Airchie Marchbanks could mak' oot. Sae 
 we gaed on, an' the minister gied every ragged bairn that 
 was on the road that day a ride, till the auld machine was 
 as thrang as it could stick, like a merry-go-roon' at the fair. 
 Only, he made them a' get oot at the hills an' walk up, as 
 he did himsel'. 'Deed, he walkit near a' the road, an' pu'ed 
 the auld meer efter him insteed o' her drawin' him. 'I 
 wish my faither wad lend me the whup ! ' Airchie said, an' 
 he tried to thig it awa' frae his faither. But the minister 
 was mair gleg than ye wad think, an' Airchie got the whup, 
 but it was roon the legs, an' it garred him loup an' squeal ! "
 
 344 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 My wife nodded grim approval. 
 
 " When we got to Drumquhat," continued Alec, " it was 
 gye far on in the efternune, an' the minister an' my mither 
 lowsed the powny an' stabled it afore gaun ben. Then me 
 an' Airchie were sent oot to play, as my mither kens. We 
 got on fine a while, till Airchie broke my peerie an' pooched 
 the string. Then he staned the cats that cam' rinnin' to 
 beg for milk an' cheese cats that never war clodded afore. 
 He wadna be said ' no ' to, though I threepit I wad tell his 
 faither. Then at the hinner-en' he got into my big blue 
 coach, and wadna get oot. I didua mind that muckle, for 
 I hadna been in't mysel' for six months. But he made 
 faces at me through the hole in the back, an' that I could na 
 pit up wi' nae boy could. For it was my ain coach, min- 
 ister's son or no' minister's son. Weel, I had the cross-bow 
 and arrow that Geordie Grier made me the yin that shoots 
 the lumps o' hard wud. So I let fire at Airchie, just when 
 he was makin' an awfu' face, and the billet took him fair 
 atween the een. Into the hoose he ran to his faither, ba- 
 haain' wi' a' his micht ; an' oot cam' the minister, as angry 
 as ye like, wi' my mither ahint him like to greet." 
 
 " 'Deed, I was that ! " said Mrs. M'Quhirr. 
 
 "'What for did ye hit my son's nose wi' a billet of 
 wood through the hole in your blue coach ? ' the minister 
 asked me. 
 
 " ' Because your son's nose was at the hole in my blue 
 coach ! ' says I, as plain as if he hadna been a minister, I 
 was that mad. For it was my coach, an' a bonny-like thing 
 gin a boy couldna shoot at a hole in his ain bine coach ! 
 Noo, faither, mind there was to be nae lickin' gin I telt ye 
 the truth ! " 
 
 There was no licking which, if you know my wife, you 
 will find no difficulty in believing.
 
 IV. 
 
 THE BIOGRAPHY OF AN " INEFFICIENT." 
 
 White as early roses, girt by daffodillies, 
 Gleam the feet of maidens moving rhythmically, 
 Roses of the mountains, flowers of the valley, 
 
 Hill rose and plain rose and white vale lilies. 
 
 Dewy in the meadow lands, clover blossoms mellow 
 Lift their heads of red and white to the bride's adorning ; 
 Sweetly in the sky-realms all the summer morning, 
 
 Joyeth the skylark and calleth his fellow. 
 
 In the well-known precincts, lo the wilding treasure 
 
 Glows for marriage merriment in my sweetheart's gardens, 
 Welcoming her joy-day, tenderest of wardens 
 
 Heart's pride and love's life and all eyes' pleasure. 
 
 Bride among the bridesmaids, lily clad in whiteness, 
 She cometh to the twining none may twain in sunder ; 
 While to marriage merriment wakes the organ's thunder, 
 
 And the Lord doth give us all His heavenly brightness. 
 
 Then like early roses, girt by daffodillies 
 Goes the troop of maidens, moving rhythmically, 
 Eoses of the mountains, flowers of the valley, 
 
 Hill rose and plain rose and white vale lilies. 
 
 PART 1. 
 
 THERE is no doubt that any committee on ministerial 
 inefficiency would have made short work of the Eeverend 
 Ebenezer Skinner, minister of the Townend Kirk in Cairn 
 Edward that is, if it had been able to distinguish the work 
 he did from the work that he got the credit for. Some 
 
 345
 
 34:6 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 people have the gift, fortunate or otherwise, of obtaining 
 credit for the work of others, and transferring to the shoul- 
 ders of their neighbours the responsibility of their blunders. 
 
 Yet, on the whole, the Townend minister had not been 
 fairly dealt with, for, if ever man was the product of envi- 
 ronment, that man was the minister of the "Laigh" or 
 Townend Kirk. Now, Ebenezer Skinner was a model sub- 
 ject for a latter-day biography, for he was born of poor but 
 honest parents, who resolved that their little Ebenezer 
 should one day " wag his head in a pulpit," if it cost them 
 all that they possessed. 
 
 The early days of the future minister were therefore 
 passed in the acquisition of the Latin rudiments, a task 
 which he performed to the satisfaction of the dominie who 
 taught him. He became letter-perfect in repetition of all 
 the rules, and pridefully glib in reeling off the examples 
 given in the text. He was the joy of the memory-lesson 
 hour, and the master's satisfaction was only damped when 
 this prodigy of accurate knowledge applied himself to the 
 transference of a few lines of English into a dead language. 
 The result was not inspiring, but by perseverance Ebenezer 
 came even to this .task without the premonition of more 
 egregious failure than was the custom among pupils of 
 country schools in his day. 
 
 Ebenezer went up to Edinburgh one windy October 
 morning, and for the first time in his life saw a university 
 and a tramcar. The latter astonished him very much ; but 
 in the afternoon he showed four new comers the way to the 
 secretary's office in the big cavern to the left of the entrance 
 of the former, wide-throated like the portal of Hades. 
 
 He took a lodging in Simon Square, because some one 
 told him that Carlyle had lodged there when he came up to 
 college. Ebenezer was a lad of ambition. His first session 
 was as bare of interest and soul as a barn without the roof. 
 He alternated like a pendulum between Simon Square and
 
 THE BIOGRAPHY OF AN "INEFFICIENT." 347 
 
 the Greek and Latin class-rooms. He even took the noted 
 Professor Lauchland seriously, whereupon the latter prompt- 
 ly made a Greek pun upon his name, by which he was called 
 in the class whenever the students could remember it. 
 There was great work done in that class-room in the 
 manufacture of paper darts. Ebenezer took no part in 
 such frivolities, but laboured at the acquisition of such 
 Greek as a future student of theology would most require. 
 And he succeeded so well that, on leaving, the Professor 
 complimented him in the following terms, which were 
 thought at the time to be handsome: "Ye don't know 
 much Greek, but ye know more than most of your kind 
 that is, ye can find a Greek word in the dictionary." It 
 was evident from this that Ebenezer was a favourite pupil, 
 but some said that it was because Lauchland was pleased 
 with the pun he made on the name Skinner. There are 
 always envious persons about to explain away success. 
 
 Socially, Ebenezer confined himself to the winding 
 stairs of the University, and the bleak South-side streets 
 and closes, through which blew wafts of perfume that were 
 not of Arcady. Once he went out to supper, but suffered 
 so much from being asked to carve a chicken that he re- 
 solved never to go again. He talked chiefly to the youth 
 next to him on Bench Seventeen, who had come from an- 
 other rural village, and who lived in a garret exactly like 
 his own in Nicolson Square. 
 
 Sometimes the two of them walked through the streets 
 to the General Post Office and back again on Saturday 
 nights to post their letters home, and talked all the while 
 of their landladies and of the number of marks each had 
 got on Friday in the Latin version. Thus they improved 
 their minds and received the benefits of a college education. 
 
 At the end of the session Ebenezer went back directly 
 to his village on the very day the classes closed and he could 
 get no more for his money ; where, on the strength of a
 
 348 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 year at the college, he posed as the learned man of the 
 neighbourhood. He did not study much at home, but what 
 he did was done with abundant pomp and circumstance. 
 His mother used to take in awed visitors to the " room," 
 cautioning them that they must not disturb any of Ebene- 
 zer's ".Greek and Laitin " books, lest in this way the career 
 of her darling might be instantly blighted. Privately she 
 used to go in by herself and pore over the unknown wonders 
 of Ebenezer's Greek prose versions, with an admiration 
 which the class-assistant in Edinburgh had never been able 
 to feel for them. 
 
 Such was the career of Ebenezer Skinner for four years. 
 He oscillated between the dinginess and dulness of the 
 capital as he knew it, and the well-accustomed rurality of 
 his home. For him the historic associations of Edinburgh 
 were as good as naught. 'He and Sandy Kerr (Bench 
 Seventeen) heard the bugles blaring at ten o'clock from the 
 Castle on windy Saturday nights, as they walked up the 
 Bridges, and never stirred a pulse ! They never went into 
 Holyrood, because some one told Ebenezer that there was a 
 shilling to pay. He did not know what a quiet place it 
 was to walk and read in on wet Saturdays, when there is 
 nothing whatever to pay. He read no books, confining 
 himself to his class-books and the local paper, which his 
 mother laboriously addressed and sent to him weekly. Oc- 
 casionally he began to read a volume which one of his more 
 literary companions had acquired on the recommendation 
 of one of the professors, but he rarely got beyond the first 
 twenty pages. 
 
 Yet there never was a more conscientious fellow than 
 Ebenezer Skinner, Student in Divinity. He studied all that 
 he was told to study. He read every book that by the reg- 
 ulations he was compelled to read. But he read nothing 
 besides. He found that he could not hold his own in the 
 give-and-take of his fellow-students' conversation. There-
 
 THE BIOGRAPHY OF AN "INEFFICIENT." 349 
 
 fore more and more he withdrew himself from them, 
 crystallising into his narrow early conventions. His col- 
 lege learning acted like an unventilated mackintosh, keep- 
 ing all the unwholesome, morbid personality within, and 
 shutting out the free ozone and healthy buffeting of the 
 outer world. Many college-bred men enter life with their 
 minds carefully mackintoshed. Generally they go into the 
 Church. 
 
 But he found his way through his course somehow. It 
 was of him that Kelland, kindliest and most liberal of pro- 
 fessors, said when the co-examiner hinted darkly of " spin- 
 ning " : " Poor fellow ! We'll let him through. He's done 
 his best." Then, after a pause, and in the most dulcet 
 accents of a valetudinarian cherub, " It's true, his best is 
 not very good ! " 
 
 But Ebenezer escaped from the logic class-room as a 
 roof escapes from a summer shower, and gladly found him- 
 self on the more proper soil of the philosophy of morals. 
 Here he did indeed learn something, for the professor's sys- 
 tem was exactly suited to such as he. In consequence, his 
 notebooks were a marvel. But he did not shine so brightly 
 in the oral examinations, for he feared, with reason, the 
 laughter of his fellows. In English literature he took 
 down all the dates. But he did not attend the class on 
 Fridays for fear he should be asked to read, so he never 
 heard Masson declaim, 
 
 " Ah, freedom is a noble thing ! " 
 
 which some of his contemporaries consider the most valua- 
 ble part of their university training. 
 
 After Ebenezer Skinner went to the Divinity Hall, he 
 brought the same excellent qualities of perseverance to bear 
 upon the work there. When the memorable census was 
 taken of a certain exegetical class, requesting that each 
 student should truthfully, and upon his solemn oath, make
 
 350 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 record of his occupation at the moment when the paper 
 reached him, he alone, an academic Abdiel, 
 
 " Among the faithless, faithful only he," 
 
 was able truthfully to report Name, " Ebenezer Skinner " ; 
 Occupation at this Moment, " Trying to attend to the lec- 
 ture." His wicked companions who had returned them- 
 selves variously as " Reading the Scotsman" " Writing a 
 love-letter," " Watching a fight between a spider and a blue- 
 bottle, spider weakening " saw at once that the future of a 
 man who did not know any better than to listen to a dis- 
 course on Hermaneutics was entirely hopeless. So hence- 
 forth they spoke of him openly and currently as " Poor 
 Skinner ! " 
 
 Yet when the long-looked-for end of the divinity course 
 came, and the graduating class burst asunder, scattering 
 seed over the land like an over-ripe carpel in the Septem- 
 ber sun, Ebenezer Skinner was one of the first to take root. 
 He preached in a " vacancy " by chance, supplying for a 
 man who had been taken suddenly ill. He read a discourse 
 which he had written on the strictest academical lines for 
 his college professor, and in the composition of which he 
 had been considerably assisted by a volume of Mr. Spur- 
 geon's sermons which he had brought home from Thin's 
 wondrous shop on the Bridges, where many theological 
 works await the crack of doom. The congregation to which 
 he preached was in the stage of recoil from the roaring 
 demagogy of a late minister, and all too promptly elected 
 this modest young man. 
 
 But when the young man moved from Simon Square 
 into the Townend manse, and began to preach twice a Sun- 
 day to the clear-headed business men and the sore-hearted 
 women of many cares who filled the kirk, his ignorance of 
 all but these theological books, as well as an innocence of 
 the motives and difficulties of men and women (which
 
 THE BIOGRAPHY OF AN "INEFFICIENT." 351 
 
 would have been childlike had it not been childish), pre- 
 doomed him to failure. His ignorance of modern literature 
 was so appalling that the youngest member of his Bible- 
 class smiled when he mentioned Tennyson. These and 
 other qualities went far to make the Reverend Ebenezer 
 Skinner the ministerial " inefficient " that he undoubtedly 
 was. 
 
 But in time he became vaguely conscious that there was 
 something wrong, yet for the life of him he could not think 
 what it was. He knew that he had done every task that was 
 ever set him. He had trodden faithfully the appointed path. 
 He was not without some ability. And yet, though he did his 
 best, he was sadly aware that he was not successful. Being 
 a modest fellow, he hoped to improve, and went the right 
 way about it. He knew that somehow it must be his 
 own fault. He did not count himself a " Product," and 
 he never blamed the Mill. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 [Reported by Saunders M'Quhirr of Drumquhat.] 
 
 SKIMNEK HALDANE. On the 25th inst, at the Manse of Kirkmichael, by 
 the Rev. Alexander Haldane, father of the bride, the Rev. Ebenezer Skinner, 
 minister of Townend Church, Cairn Edward, to Elizabeth Catherine Hal- 
 dane. Scotsman, June 27th. 
 
 THIS was the beginning of it, as some foresaw that it would 
 be. I cut it out of the Scotsman to keep, and my wife has 
 pasted it at the top of my paper. But none of us knew it 
 for certain, though there was Robbie Scott, John Scott's 
 son, that is herd at the Drochills in the head-end of the 
 parish of Kirkmichael he wrote home to his father in a 
 letter that I saw myself : " I hear you're to get our minister's 
 dochter down by you ; she may be trusted to keep you brisk 
 about Cairn Edward." 
 
 But we thought that this was just the lad's nonsense,
 
 352 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 for he was aye at it. However, we had news of that before 
 she had been a month in the place. Mr. Skinner used to 
 preach on the Sabbaths leaning over the pulpit with his 
 nose kittlin' the paper, and near the whole of the congrega- 
 tion watching the green leaves of the trees waving at the 
 windows. But, certes, after he brpught the mistress home 
 he just preached once in that fashion. The very next Sabbath 
 morning he stood straight up in the pulpit and pulled at his 
 cuffs as if he were peeling for a " f echt " and so he was. He 
 spoke that day as he had never spoken since he came to the 
 kirk. And all the while, as my wife said, " The mistress 
 sat as quate as a wee broon moose in the minister's seat by 
 the side wall. She never took her een aff him, an' ye 
 never saw sic a change on ony man." 
 
 " She'll do ! " said I to my wife as we came out. We were 
 biding for a day or so with my cousin, that is the grocer in 
 Cairn Edward, as I telled you once before. The Sabbath 
 morning following there was no precentor in the desk, and 
 the folk were all sitting wondering what was coming next, 
 for everybody kenned that " Cracky " Carlisle, the post, had 
 given up his precentorship because the list of tunes had 
 come down from the manse to him on the Wednesday, in- 
 stead of his being allowed to choose what he liked out of 
 the dozen or so that he could sing. " Cracky " Carlisle got 
 his name by upholding the theory that a crack in the high 
 notes sets off a voice wonderfully. He had a fine one him- 
 self. 
 
 " I'll no' sing what ony woman bids me," said the post, 
 putting the saddle on the right horse at once. 
 
 " But hoo do ye ken it was her ? " he was asked that night 
 in Daily's smiddy, when the Laigh End folk gathered in to 
 have their crack. 
 
 " Ken ? " said Cracky ; " brawly do I ken that he wad 
 never hae had the presumption himsel'. Na, he kenned 
 better ! "
 
 THE BIOGRAPHY OP AN "INEFFICIENT." 353 
 
 " It was a verra speerited thing to do, at ony rate, to gie 
 up your precentorship," said Fergusson, whose wife kept 
 the wash-house on the Isle, and who lived on his wife's 
 makings. 
 
 " Verra," said the post drily, " seem' that I haena a wife 
 to keep me." 
 
 There was a vacancy on the seat next the door, which the 
 shoemaker filled. But, with all this talk, there was a con- 
 siderable expectation that the minister would go himself to 
 Cracky at the last moment and beseech him to sing for them. 
 The minister, however, did not arrive, and so Cracky did not 
 go to church at all that day. 
 
 Within the Laigh Kirk there was a silence as the Rev- 
 erend Ebenezer Skinner, without a tremor in his voice, gave 
 out that they would sing to the praise of God the second 
 Paraphrase to the tune "St. Paul's." The congregation 
 stood up a new invention of the last minister's over which 
 also Cracky had nearly resigned, because it took away from 
 his dignity as precentor and having therefore the sole right 
 to stand during the service of song. The desk was still 
 empty. The minister gave one quick look to the manse seat, 
 and there arose from the dusky corner by the wall such a 
 volume of sweet and solemn sound that the first two lines 
 were sung out before a soul had thought of joining. But as 
 the voice from the manse seat took a new start into the 
 mighty swing of " St. Paul's," one by one the voices which 
 had been singing that best-loved of Scottish tunes at home 
 in " taking the Buik," joined in, till by the end of the verse 
 the very walls were tingling with the joyful noise. There 
 was something ran through the Laigh Kirk that day to 
 which it had long been strange. " It's the gate o' heeven," 
 said old Peter Thomson, the millwright, who had voted for 
 Ebenezer Skinner for minister, and had regretted it ever since. 
 He was glad of his vote now that the minister had got 
 married.
 
 354 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Then followed the prayer, which seemed new also ; and 
 Ebenezer Skinner's prayers had for some time been well 
 known to the congregation of the Laigh Kirk. The worst 
 of all prayer-mills is the threadbare liturgy which a lazy or 
 an unspiritual man cobbles up for himself. But there seemed 
 a new spirit in Ebenezer's utterances, and there was a thank- 
 ful feeling in the kirk of the Townend that day. As they 
 " skailed," some of the young folk went as far as to say that 
 they hoped that desk would never be filled. But this ex- 
 pression of opinion was discouraged, for it was felt to border 
 on irreverence. 
 
 Cracky Carlisle was accidentally at his door when Gib 
 Dally passed on his way home. Cracky had an unspoken 
 question in his eye ; but Gib did not respond, for the sing- 
 ing had drawn a kind of spell over him too. So Cracky had 
 to speak plain out before Gib would answer. 
 
 " Wha sang the day ? " he asked anxiously, hoping that 
 there had been some sore mishap, and that the minister, or 
 even Mrs. Skinner herself, might come humbly chapping at 
 his door to fleech with him to return. And he hardened 
 himself even in the moment of imagination. 
 
 " We a' sang," said Gib cruelly. 
 
 " But wha led ? " said the ex-precentor. 
 
 " Oh, we had no great miss of you, Cracky," said Gib, 
 who remembered the airs that the post had many a time 
 given himself, and did not incline to let him off easily in the 
 day of his humiliation. " It was the minister's wife that 
 led." 
 
 The post lifted his hands, palm outwards, with a gesture 
 of despair. 
 
 " Ay, I was jalousing it wad be her," said he sadly, as he 
 turned into his house. He felt that his occupation and 
 craft were gone, and first and last that the new mistress of 
 the manse was the rock on which he had split. 
 
 Mrs. Ebenezer Skinner soon made the acquaintance of
 
 THE BIOGRAPHY OF AN "INEFFICIENT." 355 
 
 the Cairn Edward folk. She was a quick and dainty little 
 person. 
 
 " Man, Gib, but she's a feat bit craitur ! " said the shoe- 
 maker, watching her with satisfaction from the smiddy 
 door, and rubbing his grimy hands on his apron as if he 
 had been suddenly called upon to shake hands with her. 
 
 " Your son was nane so far wrang," he said to John 
 Scott, the herd, who came in at that moment with a coulter 
 to sharpen. 
 
 " Na," said John ; " oor Eob's heid is screwed the richt 
 way o.n his shoothers ! " 
 
 Now, in her rambles the minister's wife met one and an- 
 other of the young folk of the congregation, and she invited 
 them in half-dozens at a time to come up to the manse for 
 a cup of tea. Then there was singing in the evening, till 
 by some unkenned wile on her part fifteen or sixteen of the 
 better singers got into the habit of dropping in at the manse 
 two nights a week for purposes unknown. 
 
 At last, on a day that is yet remembered in the Laigh 
 Kirk, the congregation arrived to find that the manse seat 
 and the two before it had been raised six inches and that 
 they were filled with sedate-looking young people who had 
 so well kept the secret that not even their parents knew 
 what was coming. But at the first hymn the reason was 
 very obvious. The singing was grand. 
 
 " It'll be what they call a ' koyer,' nae doot ! " said the 
 shoemaker, who tolerated it solely because he admired the 
 minister's wife and she had shaken hands with him when 
 he was in his working things. 
 
 Cracky Carlisle went in to look at the new platform 
 pulpit, and it is said that he wept when he saw that the old 
 precentor's desk had departed and all the glory of it. But 
 nobody knows for certain, for the minister's wife met him 
 just as he was going out of the door, and she had a long 
 talk with him. At first Cracky said that he must go home, 
 24
 
 356 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 for he had to be at his work. But, being a minister's 
 daughter, Mrs. Skinner saw by his " blacks " that he was 
 taking a day off for a funeral, and promptly marched him 
 to the manse to tea. Cracky gives out the books in the 
 choir now, and sings bass, again well pleased with himself. 
 The Reverend Ebenezer Skinner is an active and successful 
 minister, and was recently presented with a gown and 
 bands, and his wife with a silver tea-set by the congrega- 
 tion. He has just been elected Clerk of Presbytery, for it 
 was thought that his wife would keep the Records as she 
 used to do in the Presbytery of Kirkmichael, of which her 
 father was Clerk, to the great advantage of the Kirk of 
 Scotland in these parts. 
 
 [My wife, Mary M'Quhirr, wishes me to add to all whom 
 it may concern, " Go thou and do likewise."]
 
 V. 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 Shall we, then, make our harvest of the sea 
 And garner memories, which we surely deem 
 
 May light these hearts of ours on darksome days, 
 When loneliness hath power and no kind beam 
 
 Lightens about our feet the perilous ways ? 
 
 For of Eternity 
 This present hour is all we call our own, 
 
 And Memory's edge is dull'd, even as it brings 
 
 The sunny swathes of unforgotten springs, 
 And sweeps them to our feet like grass long mown. 
 
 FERGUS MORRISON was in his old town for a few days. 
 He was staying with the aunt who had brought him up, 
 schooled him, marshalled him to the Burgher Kirk like a 
 decent Kenfrewshire callant, and finally had sent him off to 
 Glasgow to get colleged. Colleged he was in due course, 
 and had long been placed in an influential church in the 
 city. On the afternoon of the Saturday he was dreamily 
 soliloquising after the plain midday meal to which his aunt 
 adhered. 
 
 Old things had been passing before him during these 
 last days, and the coming of the smart church-officer for the 
 psalms and hymns for the morrow awoke in the Reverend 
 Fergus Morrison a desire to know about " John," the won- 
 derful beadle of old times, to whose enlarged duties his late 
 spruce visitor had succeeded. He smiled fitfully as he 
 
 357
 
 358 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 brooded over old things and old times ; and when his aunt 
 came in from washing up the dinner dishes, he asked con- 
 cerning " John." He was surprised to find that, though 
 frail, bent double with rheumatism, and nearly blind, he 
 was still alive ; and living, too, as of yore, in the same old 
 cottage with its gable-end to the street. The Glasgow 
 minister took his staff and went out to visit him. As he 
 passed down the street he noted every change with a start, 
 marvelling chiefly at the lowness of the houses and the 
 shrunken dimensions of the Town Hall, once to him the 
 noblest building on earth. 
 
 "When he got to John's cottage the bairns were playing 
 at ball against the end of it, just as they had done thirty 
 years ago. One little urchin was making a squeaking noise 
 with a wet finger on the window-pane, inside which were 
 displayed a few cross pipes and fly-blown sweatmeats. As 
 the pity minister stood looking about him, a bent yet awe- 
 inspiring form came hirpling to the door, leaning heavily 
 on a staff. Making out by the noise the whereabouts of the 
 small boy, the old man turned suddenly to him with a great 
 roar like a bull, before the blast of which the boy disap- 
 peared, blown away as chaff is blown before the tempest. 
 The minister's first impulse was likewise to turn and flee. 
 Thirty added years had not changed the old instinct, for 
 when John roared at any of town boys, conscious innocence 
 did not keep any of them still. They ran first, and in- 
 quired from a distance whom he was after. For John's 
 justice was not even-handed. His voice was ever for open 
 war, and everything that wore tattered trousers and a bon- 
 net was his natural enemy. 
 
 So the minister nearly turned and ran, as many a time 
 he had done in the years that were past. However, instead 
 he went indoors with the old man, and, having recalled 
 himself to John's clear ecclesiastical memory, the interview 
 proceeded somewhat as follows, the calm flow of the minis-
 
 JOHN. 359 
 
 ter's accustomed speech gradually kindling as he went, into 
 the rush of the old Doric of his boyhood. 
 
 " Ay, John, I'm glad you remember me ; but I have 
 better cause to remember you, for you once nearly knocked 
 out my brains with a rake when I was crawling through the 
 manse beech-hedge to get at the minister's rasps. Oh, yes 
 you did, John ! You hated small boys, you know. And 
 specially, John, you hated me. Nor can I help thinking 
 that, after all, taking a conjunct and dispassionate view of 
 your circumstances, as we say in the Presbytery, your 
 warmth of feeling was entirely unwarranted. ' Thae loons 
 they're the plague o' my life ! ' you were wont to re- 
 mark, after you had vainly engaged in the pleasure of 
 the chase, having surprised us in some specially outrage- 
 ous ploy. 
 
 " Once only, John, did you bring your stout ash ' rung ' 
 into close proximity to the squirming body that now sits by 
 your fireside. You have forgotten it, I doubt not, John, 
 among the hosts of other similar applications. But the cir- 
 cumstance dwells longer in the mind of your junior, by 
 reason of the fact that for many days he took an interest in 
 the place where he sat down. He even thought of writing 
 to the parochial authorities to ask why they did not cushion 
 the benches of the parish school. 
 
 " You have no manner of doot, you say, John, that I 
 was richly deserving of it ? There you are right, and in the 
 expression I trace some of the old John who used to keep 
 us so strictly in our places. You're still in the old house, I 
 rejoice to see, John, and you are likely to be. What ! the 
 laird has given it to you for your life, and ten pound a year ? 
 And the minister gives you free firing, and with the bit 
 you've laid by you'll juik the puirhoose yet ? Why, man, 
 that's good hearing ! You are a rich man in these bad 
 times ! Na, na, John, us Halmyre lads wad never see you 
 gang there, had your ' rung ' been twice as heavy.
 
 360 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " Do ye mind o' that day ye telled the maister on us ? 
 There was Joe Craig, that was lost somewhere in the China 
 seas ; Sandy Young, that's something in Glasgow ; Tarn 
 Simpson, that died in the horrors o' drink ; and me and 
 ye got us a' a big licking. It was a frosty morning, and ye 
 waylaid the maister on his way to the school, and the tawse 
 were nippier than ordinar' that mornin'. No, John, it 
 wasua me that was the ringleader. It was Joe Craig, for ye 
 had clooted his lugs the night before for knockin' on your 
 window wi' a pane o' glass, and then letting it jingle in a 
 thousand pieces on the causeway. Ye chased him doon the 
 street and through the lang vennel, and got him in Payne's 
 field. Ye brocht him back by the cuff o' the neck, an' got 
 a polisman to come to see the damage. An' when ye got to 
 the window there wasna a hole in't, nor a bit o' glass to be 
 seen, for Sandy Young had sooped it a' up when ye were 
 awa' after Joe Craig. 
 
 " Then the polisman said, ' If I war you, John, I wadna 
 gang sae muckle to the Cross Keys yer heid's no as strong 
 as it was, an' the minister's sure to hear o't ! ' This was 
 mair than mortal could stan', so ye telled the polisman yer 
 opinion o' him and his forbears, and attended to Joe Craig's 
 lugs, baith at the same time. 
 
 " Ye dinna mind, do ye, John, what we did that nicht? 
 No ? Weel, then, we fetched ye the water that ye were aye 
 compleenin' that ye had naebody to carry for ye. Twa cans 
 f u' we carried an' we proppit them baith against your door 
 wi' a bit brick ahint them. Ay, just that very door there. 
 Then we gied a great ' rammer ' on the panels, an' ye cam' 
 geyan fast to catch us. But as ye opened the door, baith 
 the cans fell into the hoose, an' ye could hae catched bair- 
 dies an' young puddocks on the hearthstane. Weel, ye got 
 me in the coachbuilder's entry, an' I've no' forgotten the bit 
 circumstance, gin ye have. 
 
 " Ill-wull ? Na, John, the verra best of guid-wull, for
 
 JOHN. 361 
 
 ye made better boys o' us for the verra fear o' yer stick. As . 
 ye say, the ministers are no' what they used to be when you 
 and me were sae pack. A minister was a graun' man then, 
 wi' a presence, an' a necktie that took a guid half-yard o' 
 seeventeen-hunner linen. I'm a minister mysel', ye ken, 
 John, but I'm weel aware I'm an unco declension. Ye wad 
 like tae hear me preach? Noo, that's rale kind o' ye, 
 John. But ye'll be snuggest at your ain fireside, an' I'll 
 come in, an' we'll e'en hae a draw o' the pipe atween ser- 
 mons. Na, I dinna wunner that ye canna thole to think 
 on the new kirk-officer, mairchin' in afore the minister, 
 an's gouns an' a' sic capers. They wadna hae gotten you 
 to do the like. 
 
 " Ye mind, John, hoo ye heartened me up when I was 
 feared to speak for the first time in the auld pulpit ? * Keep 
 yer heid up,' ye said, ' an' speak to the gallery. Never heed 
 the folk on the floor. Dinna be feared ; in a time or twa 
 ye'll be nae mair nervish than mysel'. Weel do I mind 
 when I first took up the buiks, I could hardly open the 
 door for shakin', but noo I'm naewie discomposed wi' the 
 hale service.' 
 
 " Ay, it is queer to come back to the auld place ef ter sae 
 mony year in Glesca. You've never been in Glesca, John ? 
 No ; I'll uphaud that there's no' yer match amang a' the 
 beadles o' that toun no' in yer best days, when ye handed 
 up yer snuff-box to Maister M'Sneesh o' Balmawhapple in 
 the collectin' ladle, when ye saw that he was sore pitten til't 
 for a snuff. Or when ye said to Jamieson o' Penpoint, wee 
 crowl o' a body 
 
 " ' I hae pitten in the fitstool an' drappit the book- 
 board, to gie ye every advantage. So see an' mak' the 
 best o't.' 
 
 "Ay, John, ye war a man ! Ye never said that last, ye 
 say, John ? They lee'd on ye, did they ? Weel I dootna 
 that there was mony a thing pitten doon to ye that was be-
 
 362 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 .hadden to the makkar. But they never could mak' ye ony- 
 thing but oor ain kindly, thrawn, obstinate auld John, wi' 
 a hand like a bacon ham and a heart like a bairn's. Guid- 
 day to ye, John. There's something on the mantelpiece to 
 pit in the tea-caddy. I'll look in the morn, an' we'll hae 
 oor smoke."
 
 VI. 
 
 EUKOCLYDON OF THE EED HEAD. 
 
 There's a leaf in the book of the damask rose 
 
 That glows with a tender red ; 
 From the bud, through the bloom, to the dust it goes, 
 
 Into rose dust fragrant and dead. 
 
 And this word is inscribed on the petals fine 
 
 Of that velvety purple page 
 " Be true to thy youth while yet it is thine 
 
 Ere it sink in the mist of age, 
 
 " Ere the bursting bud be grown 
 
 To a rose nigh overblown, 
 And the wind of the autumn eves 
 
 Conies blowing and scattering all 
 The damask drift of the dead rose leaves 
 
 Under the orchard wall. 
 
 " Like late-blown roses the joy-days flit, 
 
 And soon will the east winds blow ; 
 So the love years now must be lived and writ 
 
 In red on a page of snow. 
 
 " And here the rune of the rose I rede, 
 
 'Tis the heart of the rose and me 
 O youth, maid, in your hour of need, 
 
 Be true to the sacred three 
 Be true to the love that is love indeed, 
 
 To thyself, and thy God, these three ! 
 
 "Ere the bursting bud is grown 
 
 To a rose nigh overblown, 
 And the wind of the autumn eves 
 
 Comes blowing and scattering all 
 The damask drift of the dead rose leaves 
 
 Dnder the orchard wall." 
 
 EUROCLYDON of the Eed Head was the other name of 
 the Reverend Sylvanus Septimus Cobb during his student
 
 364: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 days nothing more piratical than that. Sylvanus obtained 
 the most valuable part of his training in the Canadian 
 backwoods. During his student days he combined the 
 theory of theology with the practice of " logging," in pro- 
 portions which were mutually beneficial, and which greatly 
 aided his success as a minister on his return to the old 
 country. Sylvanus Cobb studied in Edinburgh, lodging 
 with his brother in the story next the sky at the corner of 
 Simon Square, supported by red herrings, oatmeal, and the 
 reminiscence that Carlyle had done the same within eyeshot 
 of his front window fifty years before. 
 
 " And look at him now ! " said Sylvanus Cobb perti- 
 nently. 
 
 Sylvanus had attained the cognomen of Euroclydon of 
 the Bed Head in that breezy collegiate republic whose only 
 order is the Prussian " For Merit." He was always in a 
 hurry, and his red head, with its fiery, untamed shock of 
 bristle, usually shot into the class-room a yard or so before 
 his broad shoulders. At least, this was the general im- 
 pression produced. Also, he always brought with him a 
 draught of caller air, like one coming into a close and fire- 
 warmed room out of the still and frost-bound night. 
 
 But Edinburgh, its bare "lands" and barren class-rooms, 
 in time waxed wearisome to Sylvanus. He grew to loathe 
 the drone of the classes, the snuffy prelections of professors 
 long settled on the lees of their intellects, who still moused 
 about among the dusty speculations which had done duty 
 for thought when their lectures were new, thirty years ago. 
 " A West Indian nigger," said Sylvanus quaintly, " ain't in 
 it with a genuine lazy Scotch professor. Wish I had him 
 out to lumber with me on the Ottawa ! He'd have to hump 
 himself or git ! I'd learn him to keep hag-hagging at trees 
 that had been dead stumps for half a century ! " 
 
 At this time of life we generally spent a part of each 
 evening in going round to inform our next neighbours that
 
 EUROCLYDON OF THE RED HEAD. 365 
 
 we had just discovered the solution of the problem of the 
 universe. True, we had been round at the same friend's 
 the week before with two equally infallible discoveries. 
 Most unfortunately, however, on Sunday we had gone to 
 hear the Great Grim Man of St. Christopher's preach in his 
 own church, and he had pitilessly knocked the bottom out 
 of both of these. Sometimes our friends called with their 
 own latest solutions ; and then there was such a pother of 
 discussion, and so great a noise, that the old lady beneath 
 foolishly knocked up a telephonic message to stop foolish- 
 ly, for that was business much more in our line than in 
 hers. With one mind we thundered back a responsive re- 
 quest to that respectable householder to go to Jericho for 
 her health, an it liked her. Our landlady, being long- 
 suffering and humorously appreciative of the follies of 
 academic youth (0 rare paragon of landladies!), wondered 
 meekly why she was sent to Coventry by every one of her 
 neighbours on the stair during the winter months; and 
 why during the summer they asked her to tea and inquired 
 with unaffected interest if she was quite sure that that part 
 of the town agreed with her health, and if she thought of 
 stopping over this Whitsunday term. 
 
 When Sylvanus Cobb came up our stairs it was as though 
 a bag of coals on the back of an intoxicated carter had 
 tumbled against our door. 
 
 " That's yon red-headed lunatic, I'll be bound ; open the 
 door to him yerseP ! " cried the landlady, remembering one 
 occasion when Euroclydon had entered with such fervour 
 as almost to pancake her bodily between wall and door. 
 
 Sylvanus came in as usual with a militant rush, which 
 caused us to lift the kitchen poker so as to be ready to poke 
 the fire or for any other emergency. 
 
 " I'll stop no more in this hole ! " shouted Euroclydon 
 of the Red Head, "smothered with easter haar on the 
 streets and auld wife's blethers inby. I'm off to Canada to
 
 366 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 drive the axe on the banks of the Ottawa. And ye can 
 bide here till your brains turn to mud and they'll not 
 have far to turn either ! " 
 
 "Go home to your bed, Euroclydon you'll feel better 
 in the morning ! " we advised with a calmness born of hav- 
 ing been through this experience as many as ten times 
 before. But, as it chanced, Sylvanus was in earnest this 
 time, and we heard of him next in Canada, logging during 
 the week and preaching on Sundays, both with equal ac- 
 ceptance. 
 
 One night Sylvanus had a " tough " in his audience an 
 ill-bred ruffian who scoffed when he gave out his text, called 
 " Three cheers for Ingersoll ! " when he was half through 
 with his discourse, and interjected imitations of the fife and 
 big drum at the end of each paragraph. It may be said on 
 his behalf that he had just come to camp, had never seen 
 Sylvanus bring down a six-foot pine, and knew not that he 
 was named Euroclydon or why. 
 
 The ruddy crest of the speaker gradually bristled till it 
 stood on end like the comb of Chanticleer. He paused and 
 looked loweringly at the interrupter under his shaggy 
 brows, pulling his under lip into his mouth in a moment of 
 grim resolve. 
 
 " I'll attend to you at the close of this divine service ! " 
 said Euroclydon. 
 
 And he did, while his latest convert held his coat. 
 
 " An almighty convincing exhorter ! " said Abram Sugg 
 from Maine, when Sylvanus had put the Ingersollian to bed 
 in his own bunk, and was feeding him on potted turkey. 
 
 On the hillsides, with their roots deep in the crevices of 
 the rocks, grew the pines. One by one they fell all through 
 that winter. The strokes of the men's axes rang clear in 
 the frosty air as chisel rings on steel. Whenever Sylvanus 
 Cobb came out of the door of the warm log-hut where the 
 men slept, the cold air met him like a wall. He walked
 
 EUROCLYDON OF THE RED HEAD. 367 
 
 light-headed in the moistureless chill of the rare sub- Arctic 
 air. He heard the thunder of the logs down the chute. 
 The crash of a falling giant far away made him turn his 
 head. It was a life to lead, and he rubbed his hands as he 
 thought of Edinburgh class-rooms. 
 
 Soon he became boss of the gang, and could contract 
 for men of his own. There was larger life in the land 
 of resin and pine-logs. No tune in all broad Scotland 
 was so merry as the whirr of the sawmill, when the little 
 flashing ribbon of light runs before the swift-cutting edge 
 of the saw. It made Sylvanus remember the pale sun- 
 shine his feet used to make on the tan-coloured sands of 
 North Berwick, when he walked two summers before with 
 May Chisholm, when it was low-water at the spring-tides. 
 But most of all he loved the mills, where he saw huge logs 
 lifted out of the water, slid along the runners, and made to 
 fall apart in clean-cut fragrant planks in a few seconds of 
 time. 
 
 " That tree took some hundreds of years to grow, but 
 the buzz-saw turns her into plain deal-boards before you 
 can wink. All flesh is grass," soliloquised the logger 
 preacher. 
 
 A winter in a lumber camp is a time when a man can 
 put in loads of thinking. Dried fish and boiled tea do not 
 atrophy a man's brain. Loggers do not say much except 
 on Sundays, when they wash their shirts. Even then it 
 was Sylvanus who did most of the talking. 
 
 Sometimes during the week a comrade would trudge 
 alongside of him as he went out in the uncomfortable 
 morning. 
 
 " That was the frozen truth you gave us on Sunday, I 
 guess ! " said one who answered placably to the name of 
 Bob Ridley or, indeed, to any other name if he thought it 
 was meant for him. " I've swore off, parson, and I wrote 
 that afternoon to my old mother."
 
 3G8 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 Such were the preacher's triumphs. 
 
 Thus Sylvanus Cobb learned his lesson in the College 
 of the Silences, to the accompaniment of the hard clang 
 of the logs roaring down the mountain-side, or the sweeter 
 and more continuous ring of his men's axes. At night he 
 walked about a long time, silent under the thick-spangled 
 roofing of stars. For in that land the black midnight sky 
 is not thin-sprinkled with glistening pointlets as at home, 
 but wears a very cloth of gold. The frost shrewdly nipped 
 his ears, and he heard the musical sound of the water run- 
 ning somewhere under the ice. A poor hare ran to his feet, 
 pursued by a fox which drew off at sight of him, showing 
 an ugly flash of white teeth. 
 
 But all the while, among his quietness of thought, and 
 even in the hours when he went indoors to read to the men 
 as they sat on their rugs with their feet to the fire, he 
 thought oftenest of the walks on the North Berwick sands, 
 and of the important fact that May Chisholm had to stop 
 three times to push a rebellious wisp of ringlets under her 
 hat brim. Strange are the workings of the heart of a 
 man, and there is generally a woman somewhere who pulls 
 the strings. 
 
 Euroclydon laid his axe handle on the leaves of his 
 Hebrew Bible to keep them from turning in the brisk airs 
 which the late Canadian spring brought into the long log- 
 hut, loosening the moss in its crevices. The scent of sea- 
 weed on a far-away beach came to him, and a longing to go 
 back possessed him. He queried within himself if it were 
 possible that he could ever settle down to the common quiet 
 of a Scottish parish, and decided that, under certain con- 
 ditions, the quiet might be far from commonplace. So he 
 threw his bundle over his shoulder, when the camp broke 
 up in the beginning of May, and took the first steamer 
 home. 
 
 His first visit was to North Berwick, and there on the
 
 EUROCLYDON OF THE RED HEAD. 369 
 
 sands between the East Terrace and the island promontory 
 which looks towards the Bass, where the salt water lies in 
 the pools and the sea-pinks grow between them, he found 
 May Chisholm walking with a young man. Sylvanus Cobb 
 looked the young man over. He had a pretty moustache 
 but a weak mouth. 
 
 " I can best that fellow, if I have a red head ! " said 
 Sylvanus, with some of the old Euroclydon fervour. 
 
 And he did. Whether it was the red head, of which 
 each individual hair stood up automatically, the clear blue 
 eyes, which were the first thing and sometimes the only 
 thing that most women saw in his face, or the shoulders 
 squared with the axe, that did it, May Chisholm only knows. 
 You can ask her, if you like. But most likely it was his 
 plain, determined way of asking for what he wanted an 
 excellent thing with women. But, any way, it is a fact 
 that, before eighteen months had gone by, Sylvanus Cobb 
 was settled in the western midlands of Scotland, with the 
 wife whose tangles of hair were only a trifle less distracting 
 than they used to be between the East Cliff and Tantallon. 
 And this is a true tale.
 
 VII. 
 
 THE CAIKN EDWAKD KIEK MILITANT. 
 
 Out of the clinging valley mists I stray 
 Into the summer midnight clear and still, 
 
 And which the brighter is no man may say 
 Whether the gold beyond the western hill 
 
 "Where late the sun went down, or the faint tinge 
 Of lucent green, like sea wave's inner curve 
 
 Just ere it breaks, that gleams behind the fringe 
 Of eastern coast. So which doth most preserve 
 
 My wistful soul in hope and steadfastness 
 I know not all that golden-memoried past 
 So sudden wonderful, when new life ran 
 
 First in my veins ; or that clear hope, no less 
 Orient within me, for whose sake I cast 
 All meaner ends into these ground mists wan. 
 
 " WE'VE gotten a new kind o' minister the noo at Cairn 
 Edward," said my cousin, Andrew M'Quhirr, to me last 
 Monday. I was down at the Mart, and had done some 
 little business on the Hill. My cousin is a draper in the 
 High Street. He could be a draper nowhere else in Cairn 
 Edward, indeed ; for nobody buys anything but in the High 
 Street. 
 
 " Look, Saunders, there he is gaun up the far side o' 
 the causeway." 
 
 I looked out and saw a long-legged man in grey clothes 
 going very fast, but no minister. I said to my cousin that 
 
 370
 
 THE CAIEN EDWARD KIRK MILITANT. 371 
 
 the minister had surely gone into the " Blue Bell," which 
 was not well becoming in a minister. 
 
 " Man, Saunders, where's yer een ? You that pretends 
 to read Tammas Carlyle. D'ye think that the black coat 
 mak's a minister ? I inicht hae a minister in the window 
 gin it did ! " said he, glancing at the disjaskit-looking wood 
 figure he had bought at a sale of bankrupt stock in Glas- 
 gow, with " THIS STYLE OF SUIT, 2, 10s." printed on the 
 breast of it. The lay figure was a new thing in Cairn Ed- 
 ward, and hardly counted to be in keeping with the respect 
 for the second commandment which a deacon in the Kirk 
 of the Martyrs ought to cultivate. The laddies used to 
 send greenhorns into the shop for a " penny peep o' Deacon 
 M'Quhirr's idol ! " But I always maintained that, whatever 
 command the image might break, it certainly did not break 
 the second ; for it was like nothing in the heavens above 
 nor in the earth beneath, nor (so far as I kenned) in the 
 waters under the earth. But my cousin said 
 
 " Maybes no' ; but it cost me three pound, and in my 
 shop it'll stand till it has paid itse? ! " Which gives it a 
 long lifetime in the little shop-window in the High Street. 
 
 This was my first sight of Angus Stark, the new minister 
 of Martyrs' Kirk in Cairn Edward. 
 
 " He carries things wi' a high hand," said Andrew 
 M'Quhirr, my cousin. 
 
 " That's the man ye need at the Martyrs' Kirk," said I ; 
 " ye've been spoiled owre lang wi' unstable Eeubens that 
 could in nowise excel." 
 
 " Weel, we're fixed noo, rarely. I may say that I men- 
 tioned his wearin' knickerbockers to him when he first cam', 
 thinkin' that as a young man he micht no' ken the preju- 
 dices o' the pairish." 
 
 " And what said he, Andrew ? " I asked. " Was he pitten 
 aboot?" 
 
 " Wha? Him ! Na, no' a hair. He juist said, in his 
 '25
 
 372 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 heartsome, joky way, ' I'm no' in the habit o' consulting my 
 congregation how I shall dress myself ; but if you, Mr. 
 M'Quhirr, will supply me with a black broadcloth suit free 
 of charge I'll see aboot wearin' it ! ' says he. So I said nae 
 mair. 
 
 " But did you hear what Jess Loan, the scaffie's wife, said 
 to him when he gaed in to bapteeze her bairn when he wasua 
 in his blacks ? She hummered a while, an' then she says, 
 'Maister Stark, I ken ye're an ordeened man, for I was 
 there whan a' the ministers pat their han's on yer heid, an' 
 you hunkerin' on the cushion but I hae my feelin's ! ' 
 
 " ' Your feelings, Mrs. Loan ? ' says the minister, think- 
 ing it was some interestin' case o' personal experience he was 
 to hear. 
 
 " ' Ay,' says Jess ; ' if it was only as muckle as a white tie 
 I wadna mind, but even a scaffie's wean wad be the better o' 
 that muckle ! ' 
 
 " So Maister Stark said never a word, but he gaed his 
 ways hame, pat on his blacks, brocht his goun an' bands 
 aneath his airm, and there never was sic a christenin' in 
 Cairn Edward as Jess Loan's bairn gat ! " 
 
 " How does he draw wi' his fowk, Andra ? " I asked, for 
 the " Martyrs " were far from being used to work of this 
 kind. 
 
 " Oh, verra weel," said the draper ; " but he stoppit 
 Tammas Affleck and John Peartree frae prayin' twenty 
 meenits a-piece at the prayer-meetin'. 'The publican's 
 prayer didna last twa ticks o' the clock, an' you're not likely 
 to better that even in twenty meenits ! ' says he. It was 
 thocht that they wad leave, but weel do they ken that nae 
 ither kirk wad elect them elders, an' they're baith fell fond 
 o' airin' their waistcoats at the plate. 
 
 " Some o' them was sore against him ridin' on a bicycle, 
 till John Peartree's grandson coupit oot o' the cart on the 
 day o' the Sabbath-schule trip, an' the minister had the
 
 THE CAIRN EDWARD KIRK MILITANT. 373 
 
 doctor up in seventeen minutes by the clock. There was a 
 great cry in the pairish because he rade doon on't to assist 
 Maister Forbes at the Pits wi' his communion yae Sabbath 
 nicht. But, says the minister, when some o' the Session 
 took it on them to tairge him for it, ' Gin I had driven, 
 eyther man or beast wad hae lost their Sabbath rest. I tired 
 nocht but my own legs,' says he. ' It helps me to get to the 
 hoose of God, just like your Sunday boots. Come barefit to 
 the kirk, and I'll consider the maitter again.' " 
 
 " That minister preaches the feck o' his best sermons 
 oot o* the pulpit," said I, as I bade Andrew good-day and 
 went back into the High Street, from which the folk were 
 beginning to scatter. The farmers were yoking their gigs 
 and mounting into them in varying degrees and angles of 
 sobriety. So I took my way to the King's Arms, and got 
 my beast into the shafts. Half a mile up the Dullarg road, 
 who should I fall in with but " Drucken " Bourtree, the 
 quarryman. He was walking as steady as the Cairn Edward 
 policeman when the inspector is in the town. I took 
 him up. 
 
 " Bourtree," says I, " I am prood to see ye." 
 
 " 'Deed, Drumquhat, an' I'm prood to see myseP. For 
 thirty year I was drunk every Monday nicht, and that often 
 atweenwhiles that it fair bate me to tell when yae spree 
 feenished and the next began ! But it's three months since 
 I've seen the thick end o' a tumbler. It's fac' as death ! " 
 
 " And what began a' this, Bourtree ? " said I. 
 
 " Juist a fecht wi' M'Kelvie, the sweep, that ca's himseP 
 a pugilist ! " 
 
 " A fecht made ye a sober man, Bourtree ! hoo in the 
 creation was that ? " 
 
 " It was this way, Drumquhat. M'Kelvie, a rank Tip- 
 perairy Micky, wi' a nose on him like a danger-signal " 
 here Bourtree glanced down at his own, which had hardly 
 yet had time to bleach " me an' M'Kelvie had been
 
 374: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 drinkin' verra britherly in the Blue Bell till M'Kelvie got 
 fechtin' drunk, an' misca'ed me for a hungry Gallowa' 
 Scot, an' nae doot I gaed into the particulars o' his ain 
 birth an' yeddication. In twa or three minutes we had oor 
 coats aft and were fechtin' wi' the bluid rinnin' on to the 
 verra street. 
 
 " The f owk made a ring, but nane dared bid us to stop. 
 Some cried, ' Fetch the polis ! ' But little we cared for 
 that, for we kenned brawly that the polisman had gane awa' 
 to Whunnyliggate to summon auld John Grey for pasturing 
 his coo on the roadside, as soon as ever he heard that M'Kel- 
 vie an' me war drinkin' in the toon. Oh, he's a fine polis- 
 man ! He's aye great for peace. Weel, I was thinkin' that 
 the next time I got in my left, it wad settle M'Kelvie. An' 
 what M'Kelvie was thinkin' I do not ken, for M'Kelvie is 
 nocht but an Irishman. But oot o' the grund there raise a 
 great muckle man in grey claes, and took fechtin' M'Kelvie 
 an' me by the cuff o' the neck, and dauded oor heids the- 
 gither till we saw a guano-bagfu' o' stars. 
 
 " ' Noo, wull ye shake hands or come to the lock-up ? ' 
 
 says he. 
 
 " We thocht he maun be the chief o' a' the chief con- 
 stables, an' we didna want to gang to nae lock-ups, so we 
 just shook haun's freendly-like. Then he sent a' them that 
 was lookin' on awa' wi' a flee in their lugs. 
 
 "'Forty men,' says he, 'an' feared to stop twa men 
 fechtin' cowards or brutes, eyther o' the twa ! ' says he. 
 
 " There was a bailie amang them he spoke to, so we 
 thocht he was bound to be a prince o' the bluid, at the least. 
 This is what I thocht, but I canna tell what M'Kelvie thocht, 
 for he was but an Irishman. So it does not matter what 
 M'Kelvie thocht. 
 
 " But the big man in grey says, 'Noo, lads, I've done ye 
 a good turn. You come and hear me preach the morn in 
 the kirk at the fit o' the hill.' ' A minister ! ' cried M'Kel-
 
 THE CAIRN EDWARD KIRK MILITANT. 375 
 
 vie an' me. A wastril whalp could hae dung us owre with 
 its tail. We war that surprised like." 
 
 So that is the way " Drucken " Bourtree became a God- 
 fearing quarryman. And as for M'Kelvie, he got three 
 months for assaulting and battering the policeman that 
 very night ; but then, M'Kelvie was only an Irishman !
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 377
 
 IN PEAISE OF GALLOWAY. 
 
 New lands, strange faces, all the summer days 
 My weary feet have trod, mine eyes have seen ; 
 Among the snows all winter have I been, 
 
 Rare Alpine air, and white untrodden ways. 
 
 From the great Valais mountain peaks my gaze 
 Hath seen the cross on Monte Viso plain, 
 Seen blue Maggiore grey with driving rain, 
 
 And white cathedral spires like flames of praise. 
 
 Yet now the spring is here, who doth not sigh 
 For showery morns, and grey skies sudden bright, 
 And a dear land a-dream with shifting light ! 
 
 Or in what clear-skied realm doth ever lie, 
 
 Such glory as of gorse on Scottish braes, 
 
 Or the white hawthorn of these English Mays ? 
 
 NigTit in ihe Galloway Woods. 
 
 THROUGH the darkness comes the melancholy hoot of 
 the barn owl, while nearer some bird is singing very softly 
 either a blackcap or a sedge warbler. The curlew is say- 
 ing good-night to the lapwing on the hill. By the edge of 
 the growing corn is heard, iterative and wearisome, the 
 " crake," " crake " of the corncrake. 
 
 We wait a little in the shade of the wood, but there are 
 no other sounds or sights to speak to us till we hear the 
 clang of some migratory wild birds going down to the 
 marshes by Loch Moan. Many birds have a night cry 
 quite distinct from their day note. The wood-pigeon has 
 a peculiarly contented chuckle upon his branch, as though 
 
 379
 
 380 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 he were saying, " This here is jolly comfortable ! This 
 just suits me ! " For the wood-pigeon is a vulgar and 
 slangy bird, and therefore no true Scot, for all that the 
 poets have said about him. He is however a great fighter, 
 exceedingly pugnacious with his kind. Listen and you 
 will hear even at night 
 
 " The moan of doves in immemorial elms," 
 
 or rather among the firs, for above all trees the wood-pigeon 
 loves the spruce. But you will find out, if you go nearer, 
 that much of the mystic moaning which sounds so poetic 
 at a distance, consists of squabblings and disputings about 
 vested rights. 
 
 " You're shoving me ! " says one angry pigeon. 
 
 " That is a lie. This is my branch at any rate, and 
 you've no business here. Get off ! " replies his neighbour, 
 as quarrelsome to the full as he. 
 
 Birds at Night. 
 
 A dozen or two of starlings sit on the roof of an out- 
 house now an unconsidered and uninteresting bird to 
 many, yet fifty years ago Sir Walter Scott rode twenty 
 miles to see a nest of them. They are pretty birds enough 
 in the daytime, but they are more interesting at night. 
 Now they have their dress coats off and their buttons 
 loosened. They sit and gossip among each other like a 
 clique of jolly students. And if one gets a little sleepy and 
 nods, the others will joggle him off the branch, and then 
 twitter with congratulatory laughter at his tumble. Let us 
 get beneath them quietly. We can see them now, black 
 against the brightening eastern sky. See that fellow give 
 his neighbour a push with his beak, and hear the assaulted 
 one scream out just like Mr. Thomas Sawyer in Sunday 
 school, whose special chum stuck a pin into him for the 
 pleasure of hearing him say " Ouch ! "
 
 IN PRAISE OF GALLOWAY. 381 
 
 As the twilight brightens the scuffling will increase, 
 until before the sun rises there will be a battle royal, and 
 then the combatants will set to preening their ruffled 
 feathers, disordered by the tumults and alarms of the wake- 
 ful night. 
 
 The bats begin to seek their holes and corners about an 
 hour before the dawn, if the night has been clear and 
 favourable. The moths are gone home even before this, so 
 that there is little chance of seeing by daylight the won- 
 derfully beautiful undervests of peacock blue and straw 
 colour which they wear beneath their plain hodden-grey 
 overcoats. 
 
 The Coming of the Dawn. 
 
 It is now close on the dawning, and the cocks have been 
 saying so from many farm-houses for half an hour tiny, 
 fairy cock-crows, clear and shrill from far away, like pixies 
 blowing their horns of departure, " All aboard for Elfland ! " 
 lest the hateful revealing sun should light upon their revels. 
 Nearer, hoarse and raucous Chanticleer (of Shanghai evi- 
 dently, from the chronic cold which sends his voice deep 
 down into his spurs) thunders an earth-shaking bass. 
 'Tis time for night hawks to be in bed, for the keepers will 
 be astir in a little, and it looks suspicious to be seen leaving 
 the pheasant coverts at four in the morning. The hands 
 of the watch point to the hour, and as though waiting for 
 the word, the whole rookery rises in a black mass and 
 drifts westward across the tree tops. 
 
 Flood Tide of Night. 
 
 In these long midsummer nights the twilight lingers 
 till within an hour or two of dawn. When the green cool 
 abyss of fathomless sky melts into pale slate-grey in the 
 west, and the high tide of darkness pauses before it begins
 
 382 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 to ebb, then is the watershed of day and night. The real 
 noon of night is quite an hour and a half after the witching 
 hour, just as the depth of winter is really a month after 
 the shortest day. Indeed, at this time of the year, it is 
 much too bright at twelve for even so sleepy a place as a 
 churchyard to yawn. And if any ghost peeped out, 'twould 
 only be to duck under again, all a-tremble lest, the under- 
 ground horologes being out of gear, a poor shade had some- 
 how overslept cockcrow and missed his accustomed airing. 
 
 Way for the Sun. 
 
 By two o'clock, however, there is a distinct brightening 
 in the east, and pale, streaky cirrus cloudlets gather to bar 
 the sun's way. Broad equal-blowing airs begin to draw to 
 and fro through the woods. There is an earthy scent of 
 wet leaves, sharpened with an unmistakable aromatic whiff 
 of garlic, which has been trodden upon and rises to re- 
 proach us for our carelessness. Listen! Let us stand 
 beneath this low-branched elder. 
 
 " We cannot see what flowers are at our feet," 
 
 but that there is violet in abundance we have the testimony 
 of a sense which the darkness does not affect, the same 
 which informed us of the presence of the garlic. Over the 
 hedge the sheep are cropping the clover with short, sharp 
 bites one, two, three, four, five bites then three or four 
 shiftings of the short black legs, and again " crop, crop." 
 So the woolly backs are bent all the night, the soft ears not 
 erected as by day, but laid back against the shoulders. 
 Sheep sleep little. They lie down suddenly, as though 
 they were settled for the night ; but in a little there is an 
 unsteady pitch fore and aft, and the animal is again at the 
 work of munching, steadily and apparently mechanically. 
 I have often half believed that sheep can eat and walk 
 and sleep all at the same time. A bivouac of sheep with-
 
 IN PRAISE OF GALLOWAY. 383 
 
 out lambs in the summer is very like an Arab encampment, 
 and calls up nights in the desert, when, at whatever hour 
 the traveller might look abroad, there were always some of 
 the Arabs awake, stirring the embers of the camp fire, 
 smoking, story-telling, or simply moving restlessly about 
 among the animals. As we stand under the elder bushes 
 we can look down among the sheep, for they have not the 
 wild animal's sense of smell, or else the presence of man 
 disturbs them not. One of the flock gives an almost 
 human cough, as if protesting against the dampness of the 
 night. 
 
 The Early Bird. 
 
 Swish ! Something soft, silent, and white comes across 
 the hedge almost in our eyes, and settles in that oak with- 
 out a sound. It is a barn-owl. After him a wood-pigeon, 
 the whistling swoop of whose wings you can hear half a 
 mile. The owl is just going to bed. The pigeon is only 
 just astir. He is going to have the first turn at Farmer 
 Macmillan's green corn, which is now getting nicely sweet 
 and milky. The owl has still an open-mouthed family in 
 the cleft of the oak, and it is only by a strict attention to 
 business that he can support his offspring. He has been 
 carrying field mice and dor beetles to them all night ; and 
 he has just paused for a moment to take a snack for him- 
 self, the first he has had since the gloaming. 
 
 But the dawn is coming now very swiftly. The first 
 blackbird is pulling at the early worm on the green slope of 
 the woodside, for all the world like a sailor at a rope. The 
 early worm wishes he had never been advised to rise so soon 
 in order to get the dew on the grass. He resolves that if 
 any reasonable proportion of him gets off this time, he will 
 speak his mind to the patriarch of his tribe who is always so 
 full of advice how to get " healthy, wealthy, and wise." 'Tis
 
 384: BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 a good tug-of-war. The worm has his tail tangled up 
 with the centre of the earth. The blackbird has not a very 
 good hold. He slackens a moment to get a better, but it is 
 too late. He ought to have made the best of what purchase 
 he had. Like a coiled spring returning to its set, the worm, 
 released, vanishes into its hole ; and the yellow bill flies up 
 into the branches of a thorn with an angry chuckle, which 
 says as plainly as a boy who has chased an enemy to the 
 fortress of home, " Wait till I catch you out again ! " 
 
 Nature is freshest with the dew of her beauty-sleep upon 
 her. The copses are astir, and the rooks on the tops of the 
 tall trees have begun the work of the day. They rise to a 
 great height, and drift with the light wind towards their 
 feeding-grounds by the river. Over the hedge flashes a 
 snipe, rising like a brown bomb-shell from between our feet, 
 and sending the heart into the mouth. The heron, which 
 we have seen far off, standing in the shallows, apparently 
 meditating on the vanity of earthly affairs, slowly and labo- 
 riously takes to flight. He cannot rise for the matter of a 
 stone's throw, and the heavy flaps of his labouring wings 
 resound in the still morning. There is no warier bird than 
 the heron when he gets a fair field. Sometimes it is possi- 
 ble to come upon him by chance, and then his terror and 
 instant affright cause him to lose his head, and he blunders 
 helplessly hither and thither, as often into the jaws of danger 
 as out of it. 
 
 Did you see that flash of blue. It was the patch of blue 
 sky on a jay's wing. They call it a " jay piet " hereabouts. 
 But the keepers kill off every one for the sake of a pheas- 
 ant's egg or two. An old and experienced gamekeeper is 
 the worst of hanging judges. To be tried by him is to be 
 condemned. As Mr. Lockwood Kipling says : " He looks 
 at nature along the barrel of a gun, Which is false per- 
 spective.."
 
 IN PRAISE OF GALLOWAY. 385 
 
 Full Chorus. 
 
 In the opener glades of the woods the wild hyacinths 
 lie in the hollows, in wreaths and festoons of smoke as blue 
 as peat reek. As we walk through them the dew in their 
 bells swishes pleasantly about our ankles, and even those we 
 have trodden upon rise up after we have passed, so thick 
 do they grow and so full are they of the strength of the 
 morning. Now it is full chorus. Every instrument of the 
 bird orchestra is taking its part. The flute of the black- 
 bird is mellow with much pecking of winter-ripened apples. 
 He winds his song artlessly along, like a prima donna sing- 
 ing to amuse herself when no one is by. Suddenly a rival 
 with shining black coat and noble orange bill appears, and 
 starts an opposition song on the top of the next larch. In- 
 stantly the easy nonchalance of song is overpowered in the 
 torrent of iterated melody. The throats are strained to the 
 uttermost, and the singers throw their whole souls into the 
 music. A thrush turns up to see what is the matter, and, 
 after a little pause for a scornful consideration of the folly 
 of the black coats, he cleaves the modulated harmony of 
 their emulation with the silver trumpet of his song. The 
 ringing notes rise triumphant, a clarion among the flutes. 
 
 The Butcher's Boy of the Woods. 
 
 The concert continues, and waxes more and more fren- 
 zied. Sudden as a bolt from heaven a wild duck and his 
 mate crash past through the leaves, like quick rifle shots 
 cutting through brushwood. They end their sharp, breath- 
 less rush in the water of the river pool with a loud " Splash ! 
 splash ! " Before the songsters have time to resume their 
 interrupted rivalry a missel thrush, the strident whistling 
 butcher's boy of the wood, appears round the corner, and, 
 just like that blue-aproned youth, he proceeds to cuff and 
 abuse all the smaller fry, saying, " Yah ! get along ! Who's
 
 386 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 your hatter? Does your mother know you're out?" and 
 other expressions of the rude, bullying youth of the streets. 
 The missel thrush is a born bully. It is not for nothing 
 that he is called the Storm Cock. It is more than sus- 
 pected that he sucks eggs, and even murder in the first de- 
 gree ornithologic infanticide has been laid to his charge. 
 The smaller birds, at least, do not think him clear of this 
 latter count, for he has not appeared many minutes before 
 he is beset by a clamorous train of irate blue-tits, who go 
 into an azure fume of minute rage; sparrows also chase 
 him, as vulgarly insolent as himself, and robin redbreasts, 
 persistent and perkily pertinacious, like spoiled children 
 allowed to wear their Sunday clothes on week-days. 
 
 The Dust of Battle. 
 
 So great is the dust of battle that it attracts a pair of 
 hen harriers, the pride of the instructed laird, and the 
 special hatred of his head keeper. Saunders Tod would 
 shoot them if he thought that the laird would not find out, 
 and come down on him for doing it. He hates the " Blue 
 Gled" with a deep and enduring hatred, and also the 
 brown female, which he calls the " Eingtail." The Blue 
 and the Brown, so unlike each other that no ordinary per- 
 son would take them for relatives, come sailing swiftly with 
 barely an undulation among the musical congregation. The 
 blackbird, wariest of birds he on the top of the larch has 
 hardly time to dart into the dark coverts of the underbrush, 
 and the remainder of the crew to disperse, before the Blue 
 and the Brown sail among them like Moorish pirates out 
 from Salee. A sparrow is caught, but in Galloway, at least, 
 'tis apparently little matter though a sparrow fall. The 
 harriers would have more victims but for the quick, warn- 
 ing cry of the male bird, who catches sight of us standing 
 behind the shining grey trunk of the beech. The rovers
 
 IN PRAISE OF GALLOWAY. 387 
 
 instantly vanish, apparently gliding down a sunbeam into 
 the rising morning mist which begins to fill the valley. 
 
 Comes the Day. 
 
 Now we may turn our way homeward, for Ve shall see 
 nothing further worth our waiting for this morning. 
 Every bird is now on the alert. It is a remarkable fact 
 that though the pleasure cries of birds, their sweethearting 
 and mating calls, seem only to be intelligible to birds of the 
 same race, yet each bird takes warning with equal quickness 
 from the danger cry of every other. Here is, at least, an 
 avian " Volapuk," a universal language understanded by the 
 freemasonry of mutual self-preservation. 
 
 While we stood quiet behind the beech, or beneath the 
 elder, nature spoke with a thousand voices. But now when 
 we tramp homewards with policeman resonance there is 
 hardly a bird except the street-boy sparrow to be seen. The 
 blackbird has gone on ahead and made it his business, with 
 sharp " Keck ! keck ! " to alarm every bird in the woods. 
 We shall see no more this morning. 
 
 Listen, though, before we go. Between six and seven in 
 the morning the corn-crake actually interrupts the ceaseless 
 iteration of his " Crake ! crake ! " to partake of a little light 
 refreshment. He does not now say " Crake ! crake ! " as he 
 has been doing all the night indeed, for the last three 
 months but instead he says for about half an hour 
 " Crake ! " then pauses while you might count a score, and 
 again remarks " Crake ! " In the interval between the first 
 " Crake ! " and the second a snail has left this cold earth for 
 another and a warmer place. 
 
 Now at last there is a silence after the morning burst of 
 melody. The blackcap has fallen silent among the reeds. 
 The dew is rising from the grass in a general dispersed 
 gossamer haze of mist. It is no longer morning ; it is day. 
 26
 
 
 BALLAD OF MINE OWN COUNTRY.* 
 
 LET them boast of Arabia, oppressed 
 
 By the odour of myrrh on the breeze ; 
 In the isles of the East and the West 
 
 That are sweet with the cinnamon trees 
 Let the sandal wood perfume the seas, 
 
 Give the roses to Rhodes and to Crete, 
 We are more than content, if you please, 
 
 With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat ! 
 
 Though Dan Virgil enjoyed himself best 
 
 With the scent of the limes, when the bees 
 Hummed low round the doves in their nest, 
 
 While the vintagers lay at their ease ; 
 Had he sung in our Northern degrees, 
 
 He'd have sought a securer retreat, 
 He'd have dwelt, where the heart of us flees, 
 
 With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat ! 
 
 the broom has a chivalrous crest, 
 And the daffodil's fair on the leas, 
 
 And the soul of the Southron might rest, 
 And be perfectly happy with these ; 
 
 * Rhymes a la Mode (Kegan Paul, Trench & Co.)
 
 BALLAD OF MINE OWN COUNTRY. 389 
 
 But we that were nursed on the knees 
 Of the hills of the North, we would fleet 
 
 Where our hearts might their longing appease 
 With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat ! 
 
 ENVOY. 
 
 Ah ! Constance, the land of our quest, 
 It is far from the sounds of the street, 
 
 Where the Kingdom of Galloway's blest 
 With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat ! 
 
 ANDREW LANG. 
 
 THE END.
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 T3OUND THE RED LAMP. By A. CONAN DOYLE, 
 
 *- * author of "The White Company," "The Adventures of Sher- 
 lock Holmes," " The Refugees," etc. I2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The " Red Lamp," the trade-mark, as it were, of the English country practitioner's 
 office, is the central point of these dramatic stories of professional life. There are no 
 secrets for the surgeon, and, a surgeon himself as well as a novelist, the author has 
 made a most artistic use of the motives and springs of action revealed to him in a field 
 of which he is the master. 
 
 " A volume of bright, clever sketches, ... an array of facts and fancies of medical 
 life, and contains some of the gifted author's best work." London Daily News. 
 
 /I 
 -*-* 
 
 FLASH OF SUMMER. By Mrs. W. K. CLIF- 
 FORD, author of" Love Letters of a Worldly \Voman," " Aunt 
 Anne," etc. I2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " The story is well written and interesting, the style is limpid and pure as fresh 
 water, and is so artistically done that it is only a second thought that notices it" San 
 Francisco Call. 
 
 LILAC SUNBONNET. A Lwe Story. By 
 S. R. CROCKETT, author of "The Stickit Minister," "The 
 Raiders," etc. I2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " A love story pure and simple, one of the old-fashioned, wholesome, sunshiny kind, 
 with a pure-minded, soui d-heartcd hero, and a heroine who is merely a good and beauti- 
 ful woman ; and if any other love story half so sweet has been written this year it has 
 " 
 
 escaped us." New York Times. 
 
 J\/T AELCHO. By the Hon. EMILY LAWLESS, author 
 * '* of " Crania," " Hurrish," etc. I2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "A paradox of literary genius. It is not a history, and yet has more of the stuff 
 of history in it, more of the true national character and fate, than any historical mono- 
 graph we know. It is not a novel, and yet fascinates us more than any novel." 
 London Spectator. 
 
 ^HE LAND OF THE SUN. Vistas Mexicanas. 
 
 *- By CHRISTIAN REID, author of " The Land of the Sky," " A 
 
 Comedy of Elopement," etc. Illustrated. I2mo. Cloth, $1.75. 
 
 In this picturesque travel romance the author of " The Land of the Sky " 
 takes her characters from New Orleans to fascinating Mexican cities like 
 Guanajuato, Zacatecas, Aguas Calientes, Guadalajara, and cf course the City 
 of Mexico. What they see and what they do are described in a vivacious 
 style which renders the book most valuable to those who wish an interesting 
 Mexican travel-book unencumbered with details, while the story as a story 
 sustains the high reputation of this talented author. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 T 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 NOVELS BY HALL CAINE. 
 HE MANXMAN. By HALL CAINE. 12010. 
 
 Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " A story of marvelous dramatic intensity, and in its ethical meaning has a force 
 comparable only to Hawthorne's ' Scarlet Letter.' " Boston Beacon. 
 
 " A work of power which is another stone added to the foundation of enduring fame 
 to which Mr. Caine is yearly adding." Public Opinion. 
 
 "A wonderfully strong study of character; a powerful analysis of those elements 
 which go to make up the strength and weakness of a man, which are at fierce warfare 
 within the same breast : contending against each other, as it were, the one to raise him 
 to fame and power, the other to drag him down to degradation and shame. Never in 
 the whole range of literature have we seen the struggle between these forces for 
 supremacy over the man more powerfully, more realistically delineated, than Mr. Caine 
 pictures it." Boston Home Journal. 
 
 " 'The Manxman' is one of the most notable novels of the year, and is unquestion- 
 ably destined to perpetuate the fame of Hall Caine for many a year to come." Phila- 
 delphia Telegra-h, 
 
 " The author exhibits a mastery of the elemental passions of life that places him 
 high among the foremost of piesent writers of fiction.' Philadelphia Inquirer. 
 
 T 
 
 HE DEEMSTER. A Romance of the Isle of 
 Man. By HALL CAINE. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " Hall Caine has already given us some very strong and fine work, and ' The 
 Deemster' is a story of unusual power. . . . Certain passages and chapters have an 
 intensely dramatic grasp, and hold the fascinated reader with a force rarely excited 
 nowadays in literature." The Critic. 
 
 "One of the strongest novels which has appeared for many a day." San Fran- 
 cisco Chronicle. 
 
 " Fascinates the mind like the gathering and bursting of a storm." Illustrated 
 London News. 
 
 "Deserves to be ranked among the remarkable novels of the day. "Chicago 
 Times. 
 
 "Remarkably powerful, and is undoubtedly one of the strongest works of fiction of 
 our time. Its conception and execution are both very fine." Philadelphia Inquirer. 
 
 S^APT'N DAVY'S HONEYMOON. A Manx 
 ^ Yarn. By HALL CAINE. I2mo. Paper, 50 cts. ; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 "A new departure by this author. Unlike his previous works, this little tale is 
 almost wholly humorous, with, however, a current of pathos underneath It is not 
 always that an author can succeed equally well in tragedy and in comedy, but it looks 
 as though Mr. Hall Caine would be one of the exceptions." London Literary 
 World. 
 
 " It is pleasant to meet the author of ' The Deemster' in a brightly humorous little 
 story like this. ... It shows the same observation of Manx character, and much of 
 the same artistic skill." Philadelphia Times. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 NOVELS BY MAARTEN MAARTENS. 
 
 GREATER GLORY. A Story of High Life. 
 * By MAARTEN MAARTENS, author of " God's Fool," " Joost 
 Avelingh," etc. I2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " Until the Appletons discovered the merits of Maarten Maartens, the foremost of 
 Dutch novelists, it is doubtful if many American readers knew that there were Duuh 
 novelists. His ' God's Fool ' and ' Joost Avelingh ' made for him an American reputa- 
 tion. To our mind this just published work of his is his best. . . . He is a master of 
 epigram, an artist in description, a prophet in insight." Boston Advertiser. 
 
 " It would take several columns to give any adequate idea of the superb way in 
 which the Dutch novelist has developed his theme and wrought out one of the most 
 impressive stories of the period. ... It belongs to the small class of novels which 
 one can not afford to neglect." San Francisco Chronicle. 
 
 " Maarten Maartens stands head and shoulders above the average novelist of the 
 day in intellectual subtlety and imaginative power." Boston Beacon. 
 
 FOOL. By MAARTEN MAARTENS. i2mo. 
 Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " Throughout there is an epigrammatic force which would make palatable a less 
 interesting story of human lives or one less deftly told." London Saturday Review. 
 
 " Perfectly easy, graceful, humorous. . . . The author's skill in character-drawing 
 is undeniable." London Chronicle. 
 
 " A remarkable work." New York Times. 
 
 " Maarten Maartens has secured a firm footing in the eddies of current literature. 
 . . . Pathos deepens into tragedy in the thrilling story of ' God's Fool.'" Philadel- 
 phia Ledger. 
 
 " Its preface alone stamps the author as one of the leading English novelists of 
 to-day." Boston Daily Advertiser. 
 
 "The story is wonderfully brilliant . . . The interest never lags; the style is 
 realistic and intense ; and there is a constantly underlying current of subtle humor. 
 ... It is, in short, a book which no student of modern literature should fail to read." 
 Boston Times. 
 
 "A story of remarkable interest and point." New York Observer. 
 
 'OOST AVELINGH. By MAARTEN MAARTENS. 
 
 I2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "So unmistakably good as to induce the ho-ve that an acquaintance with the Dutch 
 literature of fiction may soon become more general among us." London Morning 
 Post. 
 
 " In scarcely any of the sensational novels of the day will the reader find more 
 nature or more human nature." London Standard. 
 
 "A novel of a very high type. At once strongly realistic and powerfully ideal- 
 istic." London Literary World. 
 
 " Full of local color and rich in quaint phraseology and suggestion." London 
 Telegraph. 
 
 " Maarten Maartens is a capital story-teller." Pali Mall Gazette. 
 
 "Our English writers of fiction will have to look to their laurels." Birmingham 
 Daily Post. 
 
 N w York : D. APPLETON & C<X 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 BOOKS BY MRS. EVERARD COTES (SARA JEANNETTE DUNCAN). 
 
 J^ERNON'S AUNT. With many Illustrations. 
 * . I2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 " Her characters, even when broadly absurd, are always consistent with them- 
 selves, and the stream of fun flows naturally on, hardly ever flagging or forced." Lon- 
 don A thenceum. 
 
 /I 
 ** 
 
 DAUGHTER OF TO-DAY. A Novel. 12 mo. 
 Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " The book is well worth the attention it demands, and if the conviction at last 
 slowly dawns upon the reader that it contains a purpose, it is one which has been pro- 
 duced by the inevitable law of reaction, and is cleverly manipulated." London 
 A theniEum. 
 
 " This novel is a strong and serious piece of work ; one of a kind that is getting too 
 rare in these days of universal crankiness." Boston Courier. 
 
 " A new and capital story, full of quiet, happy touches of humor." Philadelphia 
 Press. 
 
 A 
 
 SOCIAL DEPARTURE: How Orthodocia and I 
 Went Round the World by Ourselves. With in Illustrations 
 by F. H. TOWNSEND. I2mo. Paper, 75 cents ; cloth, $1.75. 
 
 " Widely read and praised on both sides of the Atlantic and Pacific, with scores of 
 illustrations which fit the text exactly and show the mind of artist and writer in unison." 
 New York Evening Post. 
 
 "It is to be doubted whether another book can be found so thoroughly amusing 
 from beginning to end." Boston Daily Advertiser. 
 
 " A brighter, merrier, more entirely charming book would be, indeed, difficult to 
 find." Sf. Louis Republic. 
 
 A 
 
 N AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON. With 80 
 Illustrations by F. H. TOWNSEND. 121110. Paper, 75 cents ; 
 cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " One of the most naTve and entertaining books of the season." New York Ob- 
 server. 
 
 " So sprightly a book as this, on life in London as observed by an American, has 
 never before been written." Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 "Overrunning with cleverness and good-will." New York Commercial Adver- 
 tiser. 
 
 T 
 
 HE SIMPLE ADVENTURES OF A MEM- 
 SAHIB. With 37 Illustrations by F. H. TOWNSEND. i2mo. 
 Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " It is like traveling without leaving one's armchair to read it. Miss Duncan has 
 the descriptive and narrative gift in large measure, and she brings vividly before us 
 the street scenes, the interiors, the bewilderingly queer natives, the gayeties of the 
 English colony." Philadelphia Telegraph. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 BEATRICE WHITBY'S NOVELS. 
 
 HE AWAKENING OF MARY FEN WICK. 
 I2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 "Miss Whitby is far above the average novelist. . . . This story is original without 
 seeming ingenious, and powerful witliout being overdrawn." Mew i- ork Commercial 
 A dvertiser. 
 
 T 
 
 OF THE PROPERTY. i 2 mo. Paper, 50 
 
 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 " The book is a thoroughly good one. The theme is the rebellion of a spirited girl 
 against a match which has been arranged for her without her knowledge or consent. 
 . . . It is refreshing to read a novel in which there is not a trace of slipshod work." 
 London Spectator. 
 
 A 
 
 MATTER OF SKILL. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; 
 cloth, f i. oo. 
 
 " A very charming love-story, whose heroine is drawn with original skill and beauty, 
 and whom everybody will love for her splendid if very independent character." Boston 
 Home Journal. 
 
 o 
 
 NE REASON WHY. 12010. Paper, 50 cents; 
 cloth, 1.00. 
 
 " A remarkably well-written story. . . . The author makes her people speak the 
 language of every-day life, and a vigorous and attractive realism pervades the book." 
 Boston Saturday Evening Gazette. 
 
 I 
 
 N THE SUN TIME OF HER YOUTH, izmo. 
 
 Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 "The story has a refreshing air of novelty, and the people that figure in it are 
 depicted with a vivacity and subtlety that are very attractive." .<7.r&> Beacon. 
 
 M 
 
 AR Y FEN WICK 'S DA UGHTER. 1 2 mo. Pa- 
 per, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 "A novel which will rank high among those of the present season." Boston Ad- 
 vertiser. 
 
 O 
 
 N THE LAKE OF LUCERNE, and other Stones. 
 l6mo. Boards, with specially designed cover, 50 cents. 
 
 " Six short stories carefully and conscientiously finished, and told with the graceful 
 ease of the practiced raconteur." Literary Digest. 
 
 "Very dainty, not only in mechanical workmanship but in matter and manner."^- 
 Boston Advertiser. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 DENEFITS FORGOT. By WOLCOTT BALESTIER, 
 D author of " Reffey," " A Common Story," etc. I2mo. Cloth, 
 $1.50. 
 
 " A credit to American literature and a monument to the memory of the author.'' 
 Boston Beacon. 
 
 " The author places his reader at the very pulse of the human machine when that 
 machine is throbbing most tumultuously." London Chronicle. 
 
 " The author manages a difficult scene in a masterly way, and his style is brilliant 
 and finished." Buffalo Courier. 
 
 " An ambitious work. . . . The author's style is clear and graceful." New York 
 Times. 
 
 " Mr. Balestier has done some excellent literary work, but we have no hesitation in 
 pronouncing this, his latest work, by far his best."- Boston Advertiser. 
 
 7~\ UFFELS. By EDWARD EGGLESTON, author of " The 
 JS Faith Doctor," " Roxy," " The Hoosier Schoolmaster," etc. 
 I2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 " A collection of stories each of which is thoroughly characteristic of Dr. Eggles- 
 ton at his best." Baltimore Americ n. 
 
 " I )estined to become very popular. The stories are of infinite variety. All are 
 pleasing, even fascinating, studies of the character, lives, and manners of the periods 
 with which they deal." Philadelphia Item. 
 
 T 
 
 FAITH DOCTOR. By EDWARD EGGLESTON, 
 
 author of "The Hoosier Schoolmaster," " The Circuit Rider," 
 etc. I2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "One otthe novels of the decade." Rochester Union and Advertiser. 
 
 " The author of ' The Hoosier Schoolmaster" has enhanced his n putation by this 
 beautiful and touching study of the character of a girl to love whom proved a liberal 
 education to both of her admirers." London Athenceum. 
 
 " ' The Faith Doctor ' is worth reading for its style, its wit, and its humor, and not 
 less, we may add, for its pathos." London Spectator. 
 
 " Much skill is shown by the author in making these 'fads' the basis of a novel of 
 great interest. . . . One who tries to keep in the current of good novel-reading must 
 certainly find time to read ' The Faith Doctor.' " Buffalo Commercial. 
 
 A BELLA " AND OTHERS. By EGERTON CAS- 
 TLE, author of " Consequences." Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $I.GX>. 
 
 " The stories will be welcomed with a sense of refreshing pungency by readers 
 v/ho have been cloyed by a too long succession of insipid sweetness and familiar 
 incident" London Athenceum, 
 
 " The author is gifted with a lively fancy, and the clever plots he has devised gain 
 greatly in interest, thanks to the unfamiliar surroundings in which the action for the 
 most part takes place." London Literary World. 
 
 " Right stories, all exhibiting notable originality in concep'ion and mastery of art, 
 the first two illustrating them best. They add a dramatic power that makes them 
 masterpieces. Both belong to the period when fencing was most skillful, and illustrate 
 its practice." Boston Globe. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO.. 72 Fifth Avenue. 
 
 L
 
 A 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 CONVENTIONAL BOHEMIAN. By EDMUND 
 PENDLETON, author of "One Woman's Way," etc. i2mo. 
 Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.25. 
 
 "The vividly drawn characters of this interesting and thoughtful novel are the 
 work of a man gifted with genius. . . . We warmly acknowledge that he has given us 
 a rare and exquisite literary gem." Baltimore American. 
 
 " Mr. Pendleton shows power of invention and skill in diamatic arrangement." 
 New York Tribune. 
 
 A 
 
 VIRGINIA INHERITANCE. By EDMUND 
 PENDLETON, author of " A Conventional Bohemian," " One 
 Woman's Way," etc. I2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 "*' There is a warm sympathy between the author and his characters and scenes which 
 communicates itsell to tiie reader." New York kvening Post. 
 
 " The author evidently writes from careful observation." North A merican Review. 
 
 " Will be appreciated by those who like a delicate but vigorous style and a keen 
 sense of humor joined to a rare gift of portraiture." Boston 'J ranscrzft. 
 
 F 
 
 ROM DUSK TO DAWN. By KATHARINE 
 PEARSON WOODS, author of " Metzerott, Shoemaker." i2mo. 
 Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 " Rarely, indeed, does an author attain to such wide prominence in so short a time 
 as did Katharine Pearson Woods on the appearance of her somewhat socialistic novel 
 called ' Metzerott, Shoemaker.' That story, however, with all its absorbing power, 
 gave only the faintest evidence of the real str-ngth that has hitherto remained latent, 
 but which is now so wonderfully developed in her latest story, ' From Dusk to Dawn.' " 
 Baltimore A merican. 
 
 " The author has not only successfully interwoven discussion upon religion and the 
 occult sciences, but she has handled them throughout in a masterly manner, predicating 
 her entire familiarity with them." Boston Commercial Bulletin. 
 
 " If a novel may be called orthodox, this book is entitled to come under that 
 classification." San Francisco Call. 
 
 F 
 
 OOT STEPS OF FATE. By Louis COUPERUS, 
 
 author of " Eline Vere." Translated from the Dutch by Clara 
 Bell. With an Introduction by Edmund Gosse. Holland 
 Fiction Series. I2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 " It is a very remarkable book, and can not fail to make a profound impression by 
 its strength and originality. ... Its interest is intense, and the tragedy with which it 
 closes is depicted with remarkable grace and passion." Boston Saturday Evening 
 Gazette. 
 
 "A remarkable study of the theory of fatalism and its effect upon the human mind, 
 of the sophistical reasoning lo which it leads, and of the absolute indiffeience to the 
 fate of others which it succeeds in establishing. If the work of the Dutch Sensitivists, 
 as Kdmund Gosse calls them in his preface, is maintained on such a level as this, their 
 translation into English is a distinct gain." The Critic. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 M 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 ANY INVENTIONS. By RUDYARD KIPLINC*. 
 
 Containing fourteen stories, several of which are now pub- 
 lished for the first time, and two poems. I2mo, 427 pages. 
 Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "The reader turns from its pages with the conviction that the author has no supe- 
 rior to-day in animated narrative and virility of style. He remains master of a powei 
 n which none of his contemporaries approach him the ability to select out of countless 
 Jetails the few vital ones which create the finished picture. He knows how, with a 
 phrase or a word, to make you see his characters as he sees them, to make you feel 
 the full meaning of a dramatic situation." New York 'Iribune. 
 
 " ' Many Inventions ' will confirm Mr. Kipling's reputation. . . . We would cite 
 with pleasure sentences from almost every page, and extract incidents from almost 
 eyeiy story. But to what end? Here is the completest book that Mr. Kipling has yet 
 given us in workmanship, the weightiest and most humane in breadth of view." 
 Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " Mr. Kipling's powers as a story-teller are evidently not diminishing. We advis'e 
 everybody to buy ' Many Inventions,' and to profit by some of the best entertainment 
 that modern fiction has to offer." New York Sun. 
 
 " ' Many Inventions ' will be welcomed wherever the English language is spoken. 
 . . . Every one of the stories bears the imprint of a master who conjures up incident 
 as if by magic, and who portrays character, scenery, and feeling with an ease which is 
 only exceeded by the boldness of force." Boston Globe. 
 
 "The book will get and hold the closest attention of the reader." American 
 Bookseller. 
 
 " Mr. Rudyard Kipling's place in the world of letters is unique. He sits quite aloof 
 and alone, the incomparable and inimitable master of the exquisitely fine art of short- 
 story writing. Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson has perhaps written several tales which 
 match the run of Mr. Kipling's work, but the best of Mr. Kipling's tales are matchless, 
 and his latest collection, 'Many Inventions," contains several such." Philadelphia 
 Press. 
 
 "Of late essays in fiction the work of Kipling can be compared to only three 
 Blackmore's * Lorna Doone,' Stevenson's marvelous sketch of Villon in the ' New 
 Arabian Nights,' and Thomas Hardy's 'Tess of the r/Urbervilles.' ... It is probably 
 owing to this extreme care that ' Many Inventions ' is undoubtedly Mr. Kipling's best 
 book." Chicago Post. 
 
 "Mr. Kipling's style is too well known to American readers to require introduction, 
 but it can scarcely be amiss to say there is not a story in this collection that does not 
 more than repay a perusal of them all." Baltimore American. 
 
 " As a writer of short stories Rudyard Kipling is a genius. He has had imitators, 
 but they have not been successful in dimming the luster of his achievements by con- 
 trast. . . . 'Many Inventions' is the title. And they are inventions entirely origi- 
 nal in incident, ingenious in plot, and startling by their boldness and force." Rochester 
 Herald. 
 
 " How clever he is ! This must always be the first thought on reading such a 
 collection of Kipling's stories. Here is art art of the most consummate sort Com- 
 pared with this, the stories of our brightest young writers become commonplace." 
 New York Evangelist. 
 
 " Taking the group as a whole, it may be said that the execution is up to his best 
 in the past, while two or three sketches surpass in rounaed strength and vividness i.i 
 imagination anything else he has done." Hartford Courant. 
 
 "Fifteen more extraordinary sketches, without a ting*- of sensationalism, it would 
 be hard to find. . . . Every one has an individuality of its own which fascinates th) 
 reader." Boston Times. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue,
 
 H 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 GEORGE MACDONALU'S WORKS. 
 
 OME AGAIN. A Novel, izmo. Paper, 50 cents; 
 half cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 " ' Home Again ' is a more compact and complete story than some of the author's 
 later works. It is, of course, full of good things, pithy sayings, and deep thought. 
 . . . A master's hand shows itself in every page." Literary World. 
 
 " Teaches a wholesome lesson, and, like most of the author's stories, is full of shrewd 
 insight and fine suggestiveness." Charleston News and Courier. 
 
 "The novel has great strength. It will furnish lasting pleasure. . . . The pages 
 are luminous with helpful thoughts." Hartford Evening Post. 
 
 " One of the author's pleasantest and most wholesome tales, redolent of natural, 
 healthy country life." Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 T 
 
 HE ELECT LADY. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents; 
 half cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 "There are some good bits of dialogue and strong situations in the book." The 
 A iheneeum. 
 
 " Eich in imaginative beauty and fine insight into the mysteries of spiritual life." 
 London Spectator. 
 
 "As in previous books by Mr. MacDonald, a master-hand is perceptible in every 
 page. It would be impossible to read ' The Elect Lady ' without the feeling of having 
 been edified by the perusal." Baltimore American. 
 
 " The story is one to charm the mind of the cultivated reader. Mr. MacDonald 
 never yet set pen to a book that was not both an enjoyment amd an uplift to the mk.d." 
 Chicago Journal. 
 
 r~rHE FLIGHT OF THE SHADOW. i2mo. 
 -* Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 " It is extremely entertaining, contains a charming love-story, and is beautifully 
 written, like everything from Mr. MacDonald's pen." St. Paul Pioneer -Press. 
 
 " The author's words have always had a rich suggestiveness about them, and will 
 remain among the forces which have helped to save moral and spiritual life from 
 formality, bigotry, and death." Public Opinion. 
 
 " Mr. MacDonald's novels have a host of admirers, who will eagerly welcome a 
 new one from the same prolific pen." Syracuse Herald. 
 
 rj^HE HOPE OF THE GOSPEL. i 2 mo. Cloth, 
 ^ $1.25. 
 
 "George MacDonald began life as a preacher: anJ always, whether in sermon 
 or story, he is a preacher yet. He is also one of the most fervent of preachers. ... In 
 respect to simplicity, vitality, and directness of style, these sermons might be studied 
 with special profit." Advance. 
 
 " These sermons are marked by that same broad and all-embracing charity which 
 has characterized the writer's works of fiction." San Francisco Evening Post. 
 
 " In homely language, which is a sure means to touch the heart, the author delivers 
 his message, direct and plain as an every-day duty, but winged with the fervor of truih- 
 ful utterance." Philadelphia Ledger. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO.. 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 p>A UL AND VIRGINIA. By BERNARDIN DE SAINT- 
 
 -* PIERRE. With a Biographical Sketch, and numerous Illustra- 
 
 tions by Maurice Leloir. 8vo. Cloth, gilt top, uniform with 
 
 " Picciola," " The Story of Colette," and " An Attic Philosopher 
 
 in Paris." $1.50. 
 
 It is believed that this standard edition of " Paul and Virginia " with Leloir's charm- 
 ing illustrations will prove a most acceptable addition to the series of illustrated foreign 
 classics in which D. Appleton & Co. have published " The Story of Colette," " An 
 Attic Philosopher in Paris, and " Picciola." No more sympathetic illustrator than 
 Leloir could be found, and his treatment of this masterpiece of French literature invests 
 it with a peculiar value. 
 
 By X. B. SAINTINE. With 130 Illustra- 
 tions by J. F. GUELDRY. 8vo. Cloth, gilt top, $1.50. 
 
 "Saintine's 'Picciola,' the pathetic tale of the prisoner who raised a flower between 
 the cracks of the flagging of his dungeon, has passed definitely into the list of classic 
 books. ... It has never been more beautifully housed than in this edition, with its fine 
 typography, binding, and sympathetic illustrations." Philadelphia Telegraph. 
 
 " The binding is both unique and tasteful, and the book commends itself strongly at 
 one that should meet with general favor in the season of gift-making." Boston Satur- 
 day Evening Gazette. 
 
 "Most beautiful in its clear type, cream-laid paper, many attractive illustrations, 
 and holiday binding." -New York Observer. 
 
 N ATTIC PHILOSOPHER IN PARIS; or, A 
 Peep at the World from a Garret. Being the Journal of a 
 Happy Man. By EMILE SOUVESTRE. With numerous Illustra- 
 tions. 8vo. Cloth, gilt top, $1.50. 
 
 "A suitable holiday gift fora friend who appreciates refined liteiature." Boston 
 Times. 
 
 "The influence of the book is wholly good. The volume is a particularly hand- 
 some one." Philadelphia Telegraph. 
 
 "It is a classic. It has found an appropriate reliquary. Faithfully translated, 
 charmingly illustrated by Jean Claude with full-page pictuies, vignettes in the text, and 
 head and tail pieces, printed in graceful type on handsome paper, and bound with an 
 art worthy of Matthews, in half-cloth, ornamented on the cover, it is an exemplary book, 
 fit to be ' a treasure for aye.' " New York Times. 
 
 A 
 
 STOR Y OF COLETTE. A new large paper 
 
 edition. With 36 Illustrations. 8vo. Cloth, gilt top, $1.50. 
 
 " One of the handsomest of the books of fiction for the holiday season." Philadel- 
 phia Bulletin. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 A 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 FRIEND OF THE QUEEN. (Marie Antoinette 
 Count de Fersen.) By PAUL GAULOT. With Two Por- 
 traits. I2mo. Cloth, $2.00. 
 
 "M. Gaulot deserves thanks for presenting the personal history of Count Fersen 
 in a manner so evidently candid and unbiased." Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 " There are some characters in history of whom we never seem to grow tired. Of 
 no one is this so much the case as of the beautiful Marie Antoinette, and of that life 
 which is at once so eventful and so tragic. ... In this work we have much that up 
 to the present time has been only vaguely known." Philadelphia Press. 
 
 " A historical volume that will be eagerly read." New York Observer. 
 
 " One of those captivating recitals of the romance of truth which are the gilding of 
 the pill of history." London Daily News. 
 
 "*' It tells with new and authentic details the romantic story of Count Fersen's (the 
 friend of the Queen) devotioi to Marie Antoinette, of hi: share in the celebrated flight 
 to Varennes, and in many other well-known episodes of the unhappy Queen's life." 
 London Times. 
 
 " If the book had no more recommendation than the mere feet that Marie Antoinette 
 and Count Fersen are rescued at last from the voluminous and contradictory repre- 
 sentations with which the literature of that period abounds, it would be enough com- 
 peniition to any reader to become acquainted with the true delineations of two of the 
 moit romantically tragic personalities." Boston Globe. 
 
 "One of the most interesting volumes of recent publication, and sure to find its place 
 among the most noteworthy of historical novels." Bos. on Times. 
 
 T 
 
 ROMANCE OF AN EMPRESS. Catherine 
 II, of Russia. By K. WALISZEWSKI. With Portrait. I2mo. 
 Cloth, $2.00. 
 
 " Of Catharine's marvelous career we have in this volume a sympathetic, learned, 
 and picturesque narrative. No royal career, not even of some of the Roman or papal 
 ones, has better shown us how truth can be stranger than fiction." \ew York Times. 
 
 " A striking and able work, deserving of the highest praise." Philadelphia Ledger. 
 
 " The book is well called a romance, for, although no legends are admitted in it. 
 and the author has been at pains to preseit nothing but verified facts, the actual career 
 of the subject was so abnormal and sensational as to seem to belong to fiction." New 
 York Sun. 
 
 "A dignified, handsome, indeed superb volume, and well worth careful reading." 
 Chicago Herald. 
 
 " It is a most wonderful story, charmingly told, with new material to sustain it, and 
 a breadth and temperance and consideration that 30 far to soften one's estimate of one 
 of the most extraordinary women of history." -Vew York Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 " A romance in which fiction finds no place ; a charming narrative wherein the 
 author fearlessly presents the results of wha: has been obviously a thorough and im- 
 partial investigation." Philadelphia Press. 
 
 " The book makes the best of reading, because it is written without fear or favor. 
 . . . The volume is exceedingly suggestive, and gives to the general reader a plain, 
 blunt, strong, and somewhat prejudiced but still healthy view of one of the greatest 
 women of whom history bears record." New York Herald. 
 
 " The perusal of such a book can not fail to add to that breadth of view which is 
 so essential to the student of universal history." Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 
 A 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 JOURNEY IN OTHER WORLDS. A Ro* 
 
 mance of the future. By JOHN JACOB ASTOR. With 9 full- 
 page Illustrations by Dan Beard. I2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "An interesting and cleverly devised book. . . . No lack of imagination. . . . 
 Shows a skillful and wide acquaintance with scientific facts." New York Herald. 
 
 " The author speculates cleverly and daringly on the scientific advance of the earth, 
 and he revels in the physical luxuriance of Jupiter; but he also lets his imagination 
 travel through spiritual realms, and evidently delights in mystic speculation quite as 
 much as in scientific investigation. If he is a follower of Jules Verne, he has not forgot- 
 ten also to study the philosophers." New York Tribune. 
 
 " A beautiful example of typographical art and the bookmaker's skill. . . . To 
 appreciate the story one must read it." New York Commercial Advotiser. 
 
 "The date of the events nanated in this book is supposed to be 2000 A. D. The 
 inhabitants of North America have increased mightily in numbers and power and 
 knowledge. It is an age of marvelous scientific attainments. Flying machines have 
 long been in common use, and finally a new power is discovered called 'apergy,' 
 the reverse of gravitation, by which people are able to fly off into space in any direc- 
 tion, and at what speed they please." New York Sun. 
 
 "The scientific romance by John Jacob Astor is more than likely to secure a dis- 
 tinct popular success, and achieve widespread vogue both as an amusing and interest- 
 esting story, and a thoughtful endeavor to prophesy some of the triumphs which science 
 is destined to win by the year 2000. The book has been written with a purpose, and 
 that a higher one than the mere spinning of a highly imaginative yarn. Mr. Astor has 
 been engaged upon the book for over two years, and has brought to bear upon it a 
 great deal of hard work in the way of scientific research, of which he has been very fond 
 ever since he entered Harvard. It is admirably illustrated by Dan Beard." Mail and 
 Express, 
 
 " Mr. Astor has himself almost all the qualities imaginable for making the science of 
 astronomy popular. He knows the learned maps of the astrologers. He knows the 
 work of Copernicus. He has made calculations and observations. He is enthusiastic, 
 and the spectacular does not frighten him." New York Times. 
 
 "The work will remind the reader very much of Jules Verne in its general plan of 
 using scientific facts and speculation as a skeleton on which to hang the romantic 
 adventures of the central figures, who have all the daring ingenuity and luck of Mr. 
 Verne's heroes. Mr. Astor uses history to point out what in his opinion science may 
 be expected to accomplish. It is a romance with a purpose." Chicago Inter-Ocean. 
 
 " The romance contains many new and striking developments of the possibilities 
 of science hereafter to be explored, but the volume is intensely interesting, both as a 
 product of imagination and an illustration of the ingenious and original application of 
 science." Rochester Herald. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed. 
 
 PRINTED IN U.S.A. 
 
 CAT. NO. 24 1 61
 
 A 000 686 046 4