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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/13667-0.txt b/13667-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1045ac9 --- /dev/null +++ b/13667-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13165 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13667 *** + +BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT + +TALES CHIEFLY OF GALLOWAY + +GATHERED FROM THE YEARS 1889 TO 1895, BY + +S.R. CROCKETT + +LONDON + +BLISS, SANDS AND FOSTER +15 CRAVEN STREET, STRAND +MDCCCXCV + + + + + _Inscribed with the Name of + George Milner of 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_. + + + + +KENMURE + +1715 + + + "The heather's in a blaze, Willie, + The White Rose decks the tree, + The Fiery-Cross is on the braes, + And the King is on the sea. + + "Remember great Montrose, Willie, + Remember 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. + + 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. + + ANDREW LANG. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +BOOK FIRST. ADVENTURES + + I. THE MINISTER OF DOUR + II. A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER +III. SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES + IV. UNDER THE RED TERROR + V. THE CASE OF JOHN ARNISTON'S CONSCIENCE + VI. THE GLISTERING BEACHES + + +BOOK SECOND. INTIMACIES + + I. THE LAST ANDERSON OF DEESIDE + II. A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY +III. THE COURTSHIP OF TAMMOCK THAKANRAIP, AYRSHIREMAN + IV. THE OLD TORY + V. THE GREAT RIGHT-OF-WAY CASE + VI. DOMINIE GRIER +VII. THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER + + +BOOK THIRD. HISTORIES + + I. FENWICK MAJOR'S LITTLE 'UN + II. MAC'S ENTERIC FEVER +III. THE COLLEGING OF SIMEON GLEG + IV. KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WELL + V. THE BACK O' BEYONT + VI. NORTH TO THE ARCTIC + + +BOOK FOURTH. IDYLLS + + I. ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE + II. A FINISHED YOUNG LADY +III. THE LITTLE LAME ANGEL + + +BOOK FIFTH. TALES OF THE KIRK + + I. THE MINISTER-EMERITUS + II. A MINISTER'S DAY +III. THE MINISTER'S LOON + IV. THE BIOGRAPHY OF AN INEFFICIENT + V. JOHN + VI. EUROCLYDON OF THE RED HEAD +VII. THE CAIRN EDWARD KIRK MILITANT + + +EPILOGUE: IN PRAISE OF GALLOWAY + +NIGHT IN THE GALLOWAY WOODS +BIRDS AT NIGHT +THE COMING OF THE DAWN +FLOOD-TIDE OF NIGHT +WAY FOR THE SUN +THE EARLY BIRD +FULL CHORUS +THE BUTCHER'S BOY OF THE WOODS +THE DUST OF BATTLE +COMES THE DAY + + + + +_PREFACE_ + + +_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 twilight 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 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 before 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 maidens' 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 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, things 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.R. 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_. + + + + +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 Herakles_." + + + + +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 +village 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 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 conspicuously 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 complacently, 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 fishermen ran their cargoes of Holland gin and ankers of French +brandy, put good gear on the back 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 business 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. + +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 inwards +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? O 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. + +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 gauger 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 followed a crash, and the +two halves of the kitchen door sprang asunder with great and sudden +noise. Abraham Ligartwood came in. + +The men sat awed, each man wishful to creep behind his neighbour. + +The minister's breadth of shoulder filled up the doorway 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 followed--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 said, "with your +face like the moon in harvest and your girth like a tun of Rhenish, 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 +halesome 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. +Rebuke 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 set himself to "fence the tables." He stated +clearly who had a right to come forward to the table 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 Ligartwood 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. Deputations were chosen, and started for the manse +full of courage 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 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 whitethorn +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. + +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 catechising, 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 +Judgment. 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. + +Then came Abraham Ligartwood out of the manse of Dour. He went down to +the farm towns and into the village 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 kirk 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. 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 kirkyard 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 scorner'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 Abraham 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 dawn 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 MILNER. + + + + +II + +A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER + + _With Rosemary for remembrance, + And Rue, sweet Rue, for you_. + + +It was at the waterfoot 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 tremors 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, sounding athwart the dancing ripples of the +loch. + +On the farther shore was a flat white ferry-boat, looking, as it lay +motionless in the river, like a white table chained in the water with +its legs in the air. The chain 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 +Cairnsmuir. + +"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 stern 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 gentlest magic, the ferry-boat drew nearer to him. +It did not seem to move; yet gradually the space of blue water between +it and the shore on which the whitewashed cottage stood spread and +widened. He could hear the gentle clatter of the wavelets against the +lip of the landing-drop as the 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 interest 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 gripper-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 fore-feet high and throwing +them out in an uncertain and tentative manner. + +Then the girl, with a quiet and matter-of-fact acceptance 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, +would never return look for look to any of them, save perhaps 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 +especially, he might have added, the young women of the people. Hitherto +he had done this chiefly in his imagination, 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. + +"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 passage 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 unresponsive. "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 Rhonefoot. 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, wondering 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 impulsively. + +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 information was superfluous. + +The end of the white, rose-smothered boathouse was 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 Barbara 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 forgotten to ask him for +it!" + +"Did I ever see sic a lassie! Rin 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 breakfast. There was a +large house company. The men were prowling discontentedly about, looking +under covers or cutting 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 telling 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 asked; for, indeed, +they had a right to expect something. + +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 blessing that I forgot +to pay the ferry!" + +When he got outside he said to his host, "Is there such a place +hereabouts as the Rhonefoot?" + +"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 window 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 accustomed 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. + +Again there came the cry from the Rhonefoot, 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 moaning and rustling +in the trees, but it did not stir even a ripple 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 you 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 +beside 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 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 dividing of the +blue-black thunder-cloud by the winking flame, fell the sword of God, +smiting and shattering. It seemed hard that it should fall on the weaker +and the more innocent. But then God has plenty of time. + +One chilly gloaming there was no calling at the Rhonefoot. Nevertheless +Grace rowed over and waited, imagining that all evil had befallen her +lover. Within, her aunt Barbara 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, unconcernedly 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 interest, 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. + +"Ou 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 stockin'-fit, +I'se warrant." + +"Ye may say sae, or a lawyer wadna come speerin' her," returned him from +Drumglass as the boat reached the farther 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 Raw, where he had trysted with a maid of another +sort. "Did ye notice she never said 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 indifferently. + +"Some fowk are like swine. They notice nocht that's no pitten intil the +trough afore them!" said the Mains indignantly. + +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 wandered 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 intoxicating 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 Rhonefoot. Once she put on her clothes in haste +and would have gone forth; but her aunt Annie, waking and startled, a +tall, gaunt apparition, came to her. + +"Grace Allen," she said, "where are you gangin' at this time o' the +nicht?" + +"There's somebody at the boat," she said, "waiting. Let me gang, Aunt +Annie: they want me; I hear them cry. O 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?" + +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 finder 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. + +"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 Watery Something white floated dancingly +alongside, 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?" + +Barbara's voice rose and fell, wayward and querulous. There was no other +sound in the house, only the water sobbing 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. + +But within an inner pocket he had a letter that was not filed 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 judgeship. 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 Barmark +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 boathouse 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 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 disagreeable 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 hopefulness, 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. + +"How do they know, I wonder, that I want to be taken to the Rhonefoot? +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 Jeffray 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 Allens 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 Culsharg 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 hayfield scents, my feet_ + + _Scatter abroad some morning in July; + O wildwood 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_. + + "_Heart's Delight_." + + + + +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 remained 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 northwards 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 reading 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. 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 Drumdarroch 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 or manufacture for this purpose, though +threatening to turn out somewhat over tardy in development to profit by +the act of patronage. But the Douglas 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 Regent, 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 +watering-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 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, lifting 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 things are not the marks of a good woman, as I take it. +Yet there was no real cause for the bitter and sudden dislike, for, as +it chanced, she came but little into our adventures. 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 casement. I hung half out of the window, and satisfied +myself with looking upon the still, calm blue of Lago d'Orta beneath, +flecked 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, especially 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 on 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 themselves 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. + +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. Introductions 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 bubbling 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 Red +Eyelids. + +"Madame von Eisenhagen!" So that is your name, thought I; and I wonder +what may be your intentions! I had 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 Fenwick, 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, +flattering him with her eyes. + +So for a while we sat on the terrace, and a kind of scentless, 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 consumedly. + +Of the matter of our talk there is not much to say. Henry spoke freely +and well, Madame interjecting leading questions, and holding him with +her eyes. I, on the contrary, 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 Averso, +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 +sky-line, 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 laughing 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 coming 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 Red 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 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 Eisenhagen, 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 WORD OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE + + +Betimes in the morning we were afoot--long before Madame was awake; and +having committed our heavier 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 "_Buone feste, buon principio, e buona fine_" 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 valerian 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 artichokes or other precious crop. We understood him not +over well, nor indeed tried to. But a touchingly insignificant 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. 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, smit 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 a 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 apostolic baptism for our red wine. + +There presently we arrive. The place is verily an inspiration. 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 willingly 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 interstices 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 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 Rebekah of the well herself expects her kiss, +nor, spite of a possible 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 wandering lads +who, asking no favour, go a-wayfaring with strong hearts as in the +ancient days. + +Round 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 Caranco 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!" + +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 possibilities. + + + + +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 daggers 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. + +Then with a tale of Venice[1] 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." + +[Footnote 1: 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.] + +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 morning 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. + +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 before 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 breakfast, 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 sitting 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!" + +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." + +"Oh" 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-- + +"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 stumblingly 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 mud bank. 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 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 SINFUL VILLAGE OF SPELLINO + + +This was the story we told, and there was not a face among the audience +that did not blanch, and in that village 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 careful. A reputation so sudden and tremendous +is, at its beginning, 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 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 may be?" asked he, evidently thinking of our +reverence at the well-stoop. + +We shook our heads. + +"It matters not," said the easy father; "you are, I perceive, 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 certainly most excellent. "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 hungry off the road," +she said. "If thou, O 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 meekly, "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 cloisters +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 flickered 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 not that a remnant of the Waldenses was 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 Gentinetta, 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 saint swung about its neck. The men are out at the +_festa_, 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 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 Gentinetta has the advantage of me during 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," soliloquised 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--'My friend, such and such dues are +wanting. 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 affect 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 care 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 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 settled 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 Purgatory 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 +quittance of the heavenly dues, when thou hast not cleared thyself 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 minister, 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 my 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 sickness in the land, 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 incomes are small but regular. +Yet, I beseech thee, tell it not in this municipality, nor yet in the +next village; for in the 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. + + + + +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 Spellino. + +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 trampling 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 stand-still. + +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 discomposed nor terrified, as in such cases is +the custom. + +"I 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 English. "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 present, which was like +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 Government 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 +undefined 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 resolved 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 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 countrymen 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, indescribable movement of her +shoulders. "My father was a Russian 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 explanation. Henry, whose appreciation 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. + +"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 extent, which lay along +the edge of a small mountain lake, gravelled paths cut 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 Russia +among the Alps. It is to my brother a very serious matter. To me it is +the Fair of Asnières 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." + +The small dark man bowed low, yet with a certain reserve. + +"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 distinguishing 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 circumstances. "Here, +you understand, gentlemen, I am a hotel-keeper. 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 decided 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 +cosmopolitan 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 herself 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. + +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 Vallière'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. Presently they disappeared in the direction of the +Count's rooms to examine some new and beautiful specimens more at their +leisure. + +In an hour Henry came rushing back to us in great excitement. + +"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 desire 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 hillside, 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 outlined 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 _yashmak_ 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 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 perforce +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 Thal 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. + +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 Giovanni Turazza I read +the Tuscan poets, came to me. An ancient rhyme was in my head, and ere +I was aware I murmured-- + +"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 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 looking 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 save, 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 morning?" 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. + +"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 lapse 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 breaking 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 desires 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 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 calling her, she came. I +did not see her till she was near me on the gravel path which leads to +the châlet 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 which we trod, too, how strangely elastic! The pine-trees +give 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 mountains, 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 myself, "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. + +"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 eyelashes. + +"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 Russia, we are not secure of what is +our own, even for a day. We may well pray there for our daily bread. In +Russia 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 present, 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 believe. 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. + +"Remember," 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." + +"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?" + +"Oh," I said quickly, "happy!--you know that without needing to be +told." + +"No matter what I know," the Countess said, with a certain 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!" + +"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-foot 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 answer. And I gave it guiltily, saying to +myself that anything which took his mind off Madame Von Eisenhagen was +certainly 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, innocently 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 performers 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 Russia, of wolf-hunts, and of other hunts when the wolves +were the hunters--tales to make the blood run cold, yet not amiss being +recounted over a bottle of Forzato in the bright dining-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 madness 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 something, that he may have something to show. The Countess is +for the hills, as I am, and the _élan_ 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 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 naturally on the side of the +adventurous. The thing is impossible. + +"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 precipices 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 +foothold 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 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 nature 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 Thal wind was bringing +the heavy mist-spume pouring 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 midnight. + +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. + +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 shivered. 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 fingerless 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. + +I strode from under the dark shadow of the hotel, wondering 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 attention. + +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 no 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 +Thal 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 tingled through the +frosty air. The lake lay black beneath on a grey world, plain as a blot +of ink on a boy's copybook. + +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 Clints 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, creaking 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 sideways 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. He was endeavouring to steer a +boat-load of city young ladies to a landing-place. A squall was +bursting; the harbour was difficult. One of the girls annoyed him by +jumping up and calling anxiously, "O, 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 succinctly, "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 yesterday that +the nails in my boots refused to grip. But presently there, remained +only a snow-slope, and a final pull up a great white-fringed bastion of +rock. Here was the summit; and even as I reached it, over the Bernina +the morning 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 summit 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 Thal 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 farther +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 Gutwein! He ought to have remembered that that +particular sort does not keep. We had better take it now!" There was +also half a chicken, some clove-scented Graubündenfleisch, four large +white rolls, crisp as an Engadine cook can make them, half a pound of +butter in each--O excellent Gutwein--O 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 breakfast 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 +reflecting 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 _déjeuner_ 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 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 +châlet 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 topmost 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 CHÂLET + + +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, beginning as soon as the sun touched our balcony, +and continuing 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. We were ready to +make the most of the long hours of sunshine 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 shooting, 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 illiberal 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 excitement 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 represented, 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. + +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 châlet 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 châlet 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 +châlet 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 ourselves 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 bedroom of the German +widow. M. Bourget, with the instinct of his nation, had arranged a +little _coup de théâtre_. 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 whiteness gave me a sense of horror for which I could not +account. 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. + +"O 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 XI + +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 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 Government 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 russet, 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 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. +Perhaps 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 writing--writing. It is to that girl. You +will pass away and think no more of Lucia!" + +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 farther 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 moorland 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 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 farther 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 Russia 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 certainly 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, 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 intends 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 meaningless as the lapse of the waves on +the shore, pattering an accompaniment 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." + +"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." + +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 +entered 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 morrow, 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 carefully twice. He seemed much +struck with the contents. + +"I am summoned to Milan," he said, "and upon the instant. I shall yet +overtake my sister. May I ask Monsieur 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 ridden out of sight over the pass through which the +Thal 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 River 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 +perspired wisdom on the coldest day. The other officials imitated the +Burgomeister in so far as their corporeal condition allowed. The _curé_ +only was excepted. He was a thin, spare man with an ascetic face and a +great talent for languages. 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 lightened our spirits +and cheered our waiting; for it is my experience 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--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 running 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 diplomaëd, 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 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 runners 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-padded 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. + +Down I came flying, checked a little at the rise for the crossing of the +village street. A mountainous bulk towered 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 out-house 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 Rathhaus. 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 unhappy. 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 village 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 excellent plans of the ground, +showing where the miscreant assaulted 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 snow-bank, duly described his parabola, discuticled +his nose--in fact, fulfilled the programme 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 matter: 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 Hotel 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 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 palaces 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, colour 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 trippingly 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!" + +"'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! Remember 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 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, joyless, tragic. + +Castel del Monte sat on the hill-top, eminent, far-beholding. +Vine-stakes ran up hill and down dale, all about it. White houses were +sprinkled here and there. As we ascended, 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 movement of the feet. The mule sent a greeting to his kind; and +some other white mountain, larger, more broken as to its sky-line, 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 dignified Venetian senator, in the black and +radiant linen of the time, came forth to meet me, and with the utmost +respect ushered me within. In my campaigning dress and broad-brimmed +hat, I felt that my appearance was unworthy of the grandeur of the +entrance-hall, of the suits of armour, the vast pictures, and the +massive last-century furniture in crimson and gold. + + + + +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 expectation. + +In my own room I arrayed me in clothes more fitted to the 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 down-stairs, conscious by the hearing of the ear that a heart was +beating somewhere loudly, mine or another'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 wonder 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 stiffly to a seat without a +word. Lucia continued her conversation without a pause, and paid no +further heed to the ancient dame, who took her meal with a single-eyed +absorption 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 +tumultuously. 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 laughing 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 motioned me to sit close +by her in another, but one smaller and lower. We talked of many things, +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. + +"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 forgetful, 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 breaking. + +"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 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 the 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 down-stairs 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 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, saying 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 judgment!" ... 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 indeed 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!" + +"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?--I have forgotten--" + +"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; + "Jabbeké, 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 Bells of Antwerp_." + + +I am writing this 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 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 intendant 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 "dumbhead," also +condemned, and many other things, because, he says, I can never tell +anything that I begin to tell straightforwardly 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 +children 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 beginning, else I shall never make an ending, as Madame +Hegelmann 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 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 German; and when +there is supper he will always have old Jacob to tell him tales, in +which he says that there is no beginning, 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. + +"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 suddenly 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 Professor Müller'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 Schläger-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 Rhine corps, so he thought he might gain some cheap glory by pushing +rudely against the tall Englander 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 Rhine +brute--though my cousin, for my sins. + +"So Hellmuth went to the end of the Bridge, and, turning with his +corps-brothers to back him, he pushed the second time against your +Herr, and stepped back so that all might laugh as he took off his cap to +mock the Englishman's bow and curious way of saying 'Pardon!' + +"But the Englander 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 +_cafés_." + +"But surely that is no cause for a challenge, Excellenz?" said I. "How +can an officer of the Kaiser bring such a challenge?" + +"Ach!" he said, shrugging his shoulders, "is not a fight a fight, cause +or no cause? Moreover, is not Hellmuth 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 immediately 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 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 Schläger, but he has +more steel in his veins than a dozen of Hellmuths. Thunderweather, I +shall fight Hellmuth 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 England. + +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 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 Reiters 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 suspicion was everywhere. Yet in Paris I +was, all through the days of the investiture. More, I was chief of +domestic service at the Hôtel 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 +Élysées. It happened that I went every morning to the Halles to make the +market for the day--such as was to be had. And, of course, we at the +Hôtel 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 Hôtel de +Ville. And please to take off your _képis, 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 grievously +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 were 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 Frenchmen +thought that he wept to see the disgrace of Paris. So that, and nothing +else, saved him. + +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 Hôtel 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 Hôtel de Ville, to +carry the provisions. For already the new marketings were beginning to +come in by the Porte Maillot at Neuilly. + +As ever, when we came to the market-stalls, it was "Give place to the +Hôtel 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 fusiladed!" + +This made him afraid, for indeed the thing was commonly done at that +time. + +The old man smiled and held out his hand to me. He said-- + +"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 maligned 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 Père Félix, +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 Hôtel 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 +disband nor work. They sulked about the brows of Montmartre, 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 unknown young men who came to the Hôtel de +Ville made no change to Jules, the head waiter from the Midi. He made +ready the _déjeuner_ 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 aristocrats of the _règime_ of +Buonaparte. It was quite equal. + +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 +Commune, 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 +Fatherland, 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 Pomerania 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. + +They were ill-conditioned, white-livered hounds. + +"Jules the garçon--Jules of the white apron!" cried one who knew me. +"Know you not that he is now Dictator? _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 frightened 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 deserted--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 crew reported that he held a prisoner, the +citizen commonly called Père Félix. + +"Père Félix?" 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 before 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 supercilious 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 Asnières 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, 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 Hôtel de Ville," I cried. "Let me go! It will be the worse for you!" + +"There is no more any Hôtel de Ville!" cried one. "See it blaze." + +"Accompany gladly the house wherein thou hast eaten many good dinners! +Go to the Fire, ingrate!" cried another of my captors. + +So for very shame, and because the young maid was silent, I had to cease +my crying. They erected us like targets against the brick wall, and I +set to my prayers. But when they had retired from us and were preparing +themselves 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 farthest 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 cheering 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 Versaillists 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 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 Heidelberg? 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 +Oberkellner to Madame the Frau Wittwe than to be Prince of +Kennenlippeschönberghartenau! + + + + +V + +THE CASE OF JOHN ARNISTON'S CONSCIENCE + + _Hail, World adored! to thee three times all hail! + We at thy mighty shrine--profane, obscure + With clenchèd hands beat at thy cruel door, + O hear, awake, and let us in, O 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?_ + + _Bear us, O 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, O Baal!_ + + "_Pro Fano_." + + +John Arniston'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 +passionate 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. Nevertheless, 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. Because 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 saying about some one +named Reginald. 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 her +life. Well, what of that? He had always understood she had been married +before. Enwoven in the mesh-net of her scented hair, her soft cheek warm +and wet against his, all this talk seemed infinitely detached--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-morrow they twain, drawing apart from all the evil tongues +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 between +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 +horror, 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 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 patchwork 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-in-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 with 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 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"[2] 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. + +[Footnote 2: Engage in family worship.] + +He opened the book at random: "_And God spake all these words saying_ +... THOU SHALT NOT--" The tremendous 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 heavily 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 Embankment. The fog was +thicker than ever. Unseen watercraft 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. Nothing more than +that. Every one knew it. All intelligent people were nowadays of one +religion. The thing was manifestly absurd--the Hebrew fetich 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. + +"AND 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 sentence 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 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 morrow. Who was he, that he should put himself in the attitude +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 interpretation, +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 finished 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 detachment. 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--Reginald Gale." + +"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 down-stairs, 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 policeman, 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. + +"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 Arniston. + +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 falling 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, manoeuvred 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 (accompanied with violence), was blazing on the fire. +Then, 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 opposite the publishers' advertisements needed 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 landlady 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 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 emotion was life, and the +expression of it second nature, running 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 excellent 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 the matter. The heavens smiled +upon his bride and himself. There was now no stern voice to break +through upon his blissful self-approval. + +Why there should be this favouritism among the commandments, 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 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, besides 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 peculiarity 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 practicable side of Suliscanna, +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. + +"Mind you sneak past your father, Anna!" cried Simeon, 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 Simeon 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 +careful 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 everything. 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 +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 procedure was much +simpler. She found her father sitting in his office, constructed of +rough boards. He frowned continuously 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. + +"Row!" 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. + +"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 hundred 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!" + +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 fishermen 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 imperfect 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. 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 Glistering 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 companion 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 themselves 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 Glistering Beaches had power to wile them +away. + +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 +Suliscanna 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 Glistering 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 exquisite +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 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 ostentatiously, 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 uncanny, 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. + +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 precipitous, they were fairly lined with the birds and +hoary with their whitewash. + +After Simeon had charged his gun, the children proceeded 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 unaccustomed pleasure of doing as she +was bid. + +Deeper and deeper they went into the cleft of the rocks, 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 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 astonishment. 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 grandfather!" + +"Wouldn't I just--for a hundred pounds!" said Simeon briskly, looking +for a larger stone. + +"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 Iceland 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 + + I + + _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_! + + 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 MILNER. + + + + +I + +THE LAST ANDERSON OF DEESIDE + + _Pleasant is sunshine after rain, + Pleasant the sun; + To cheer the parchèd 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 forward 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 conducting the +funeral--if, indeed, Scots funerals can ever be said to be +conducted--had given it a too successful push to let the rickety 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 +irregular fire of skirmishers. + +"Ay, man, he's won awa'!" + +"Ay, ay, he is that!" + +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 +Rob Adair of the Mains of Deeside, as they walked sedately together, +neither swinging 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' Deeside," said Rob 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." (Rob +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 pairish; 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 at the Auld Wa's where the three roads meet. +For nae _sicht_ could they get on a' Deeside for kirk or manse, because +frae the Dullarg to Craig Ronald 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 faither, +'Faither, wull ye no' speak to yer ain son?' no' ae 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 forgathered 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 gey queer look +in his face. 'Wattie!' he said, an' for ae blink the minister thocht +that his faither was gaun to greet, a thing that he had never seen him +do in a' 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 forbye, an' the twa o' them never +said _Disruption_ mair as lang as they leeved. + +"'Ye had better see the factor aboot pittin' up a meetin'-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 minister, but he's a' +by wi't the day," continued Saunders M'Quhirr, as they trudged behind +the hearse. + +"Did I ever tell ye, Rob, aboot seem' young Walter--his boy that gaed +wrang, ye ken--when I was up in London the year afore last? Na? 'Deed, I +telled naebody binna 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. + +"Ae 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 thocht 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 gey queer place no' far +frae where Tammas Carlyle leeves, near the water-side. I thocht that +there was nae ill bits i' London but i' the East-end; but I learned +different. + +"I gaed up the stair o' a wee brick hoose nearly tumlin' 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, verra sharp an' clippit in her mainner o' +speech. + +"'Does Walter Anderson o' Deeside bide here?' I asked, gey an' plain, as +ye ken a body has to speak to thae Englishers 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 no' be acquant 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 ae 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. O man, Rob, I hope I may never see the like again." + +"Ay, man, Saunders, ay, ay!" said Rob 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 +considerable distance with his hand deep in the pocket of his tail-coat. + +The farmer of Drumquhat proceeded on his even way. + +"The lassie that I took to be his wife (but I asked nae 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 Rob 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. + +"'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 talkin' aboot hoo Fred +Robson an' him stole the hale o' the Drumquhat plooms ae 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 dike, 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 retical 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!'" + +"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, liftin' 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' +knowledge, and that no' seldom. + +"'O 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. + +"'Walter,' says I, 'I'll pit up a prayer, as I'm on my knees onyway.' +I'm no' giftit like some, I ken; but, Robert, I prayed for that laddie +gaun afore his Maker as I never prayed afore or since. And when I spak' +aboot the forgiein' 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, Robert Adair!" said Saunders 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 farther 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. There was no religious service at the minister's +grave save that of the deepest silence. Ranked 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 ventured +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 faither," 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 impossible. + +As the mourners "skailed" slowly away from the kirkyaird in twos and +threes, there was wonderment as to who should have the property, for +which the late laird and minister had cared so little. There were very +various opinions; 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 Scottish +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 +grave-head 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 immovable 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 Archibald Grier, gone +to stand a while by his benefactor's grave. + +But Daft Jess was of another opinion. + + + + +II + +A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY + + "_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 Carmichael 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 benediction. 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 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 memories. + +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 +_hyule_" "Wattie, ye mischéevious boy." For he was a stirring lad, and +his restlessness frequently brought him into trouble. He remembers 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 historian 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 a U.P. + +Walter looked for the time when all the world, from 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 attacking _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 alternatively, 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 already 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 entirely 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 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 scriptural authority, certainly +carries with her materials for constructing 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 "laft," where the "boys"[3] slept. The roof of this +upper floor was unceiled, and through the crevices the winter 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 powdery 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. + +[Footnote 3: 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.] + +The whole family of Saunders M'Quhirr was collected every Sabbath +morning at the "buik." It was a solemn time. No one was absent, or +could be absent for any purpose 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," garnished with +endless quavers and grace-notes. + +The chapter was then read with a simple trust and manfulness like that +of an ancient patriarch. Once at this portion of the service the most +terrible thing that ever happened 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 "tenpenny," 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 +promoted to the place of the "trapped." The master's "taws" were a +wholesome deterrent of persistent or mistaken trapping; and, in +addition, the trapped boys sometimes rectified matters at the back of +the school at the play-hour, 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 school. When this was asked of Walter, +he replied modestly 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 conflict, as he had often seen Royal 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. +Moreover, 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 solemnity of the week +had culminated, and the portion was being read, Walter detected a quaint +antiquity in the pronunciation 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 to be highly gifted in intercession. But he was +also considered 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, however 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 lief learn +sune as syne." + +This excellent theory of prayer was certainly productive of curious +results. For instance, Alec is recorded in the family archives to have +interjected the following petition 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 become too +outrageous, Alec continued without break in his supplications--"And now, +Lord, will you please excuse me till I gang an' kick that loon Rab, for +he'll no' behave himsel'!" 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 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 patriarchal. + +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 +time-keepers, 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 slumbered 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 +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 overlooking 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 Galloway 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 accompanied 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 surrounded by trees, a +place both bieldy and heartsome. The 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 inside, 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 CAMERONIAN DIET OF WORSHIP + +There were not many distractions for a boy of active habits and restless +tendencies during the long double service 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 +exquisitely chiselled face of some marble Apollo, Richard Cameron was, +as his name-sake had been, an ideal minister 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, "O 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 before 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-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 +entertainment; against all such as swear minced oaths, such as 'losh,' +'gosh,' 'fegs,' '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 certain 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. Walter 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 +exhausted 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. Once, however, after he had seated himself, he was put +to shame by the minister suddenly darting off on a new excursion, 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 thereafter he +was not so sure. + +Once, also, when the minister visited the farm of Drumquhat, 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. + +"Ou 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 second 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-bag full of good road-metal on the following morning, in order to +impress the Copland boys, who were Frees, with a 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 occasionally with a start when his granny +nudged him when Saunders 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, having 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 THREE 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 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 Whinnyliggate 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 +"fait 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 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 Settlement of "Aughty-nine" (1689), when the +Cameronians refused to enter into the Church of Scotland as +reconstructed by the Revolution 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 Thursday 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 awfu' 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 +Cameronian. 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, nevertheless, in the long-run, it was +the will of Billy that was the ultimate law. Walter was very glad to +have the M'Haffies on the cart, both because he was allowed to walk all +the 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 occasions, 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 Abernethies" melted in the mouth arose before him with +irresistible 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 COURTSHIP OF TAMMOCK THACKANRAIP, AYRSHIREMAN + + _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 after 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 afternoon, 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, becomes exceedingly anxious--not about her own shortcomings, +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' standing. But the minister kens her weakness. We +must all 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. And 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 _grooin_' in her back, and remarks +"_Ateeshoo-oo!_" ye are bound for the sake of peace to put the question, +"What ails ye, guidwife?" + +"I'll never believe that the minister smokes. He never has 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." + +"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 Tammock 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 +popularity. 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-pook_ing 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, Tammock; it's no' a +kindly nicht for auld banes," says the wife. + +"Ay, guidwife, 'deed and I sympathise wi' ye," says Tammock. "It's what +we maun a' come to some day." + +"Doitered 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, and her hands on +that part of the onstead that appears to have been built for them, "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 Tammock, 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 mysel'." + +"_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 herself 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 fragments. We were +sitting smoking very peacefully and wondering 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 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 held." + +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 behave themselves. But ultimately Tammock +Thackanraip 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-sefting 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 favourite expression); +"an' what for no'? What said she, Tammock, to turn you frae 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 Mulwhulter, 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 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 Rob!" + +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 further 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 a' 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 sudden-like?" + +"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'll 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 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 attention. + +"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 gibe 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[4] for her faither; but, of course, +I let on that it was for her guidman, and wanted her to tak' the size o' +my held so that she micht mak' it richt. + +[Footnote 4: Night-cap.] + +"'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 airn should be owre +dear?' said I. + +"'Ou, nocht ava,' says Tibby. 'I juist gat them whaur the Ayrshire +drover gat the coo. I fand them in a field!' + +"Then everybody _haa-haa_ed 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 hand 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' belonged 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 gey an' brisk, +clatterin' dishes an' reddin' 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. + +"I ripit a' my pooches, yin after the ither. + +"'I misdoot I maun hae comed 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, pittin' 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. '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, sympathetically. + +"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 TORY + + _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 scurrying down the street +of the Radical village where he lived, with a score of men after him. +Clods and stones were flying, 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 Radical leader. It was +a time when the political atmosphere was prickly with electricity, and +men's passions easily flared up--specially 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 chimney 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 blunderbuss 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 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 Wardhaugh sprawled on his knees to catch the +slumbering inmate 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 quarters +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 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 determination. 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 reminiscences of the snoring powers of his +spouse Meg. But, in spite of the entertaining nature of the +conversation, Jamie 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 stocking-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 riggin'," 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 candidate +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 +Chartist 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 gowl 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 without 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, ae way or the 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 GREAT RIGHT-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 + Unpurified; 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 Conquhar was a summer resort. Its hillsides 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 +shooting-lodge of Ben Dhu, which lay half a dozen miles to the 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 +underlings of the establishment would approach and in awe-struck tones +whisper the information, "That's the Marquis!" For it is the next thing +in these parts to being Providence to be the Marquis of Rannoch. + +The hotel of Glen Conquhar was far from the haunts of men. Its quiet was +never disturbed by the noise of roysterers. 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, Radical 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 degenerate 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 Royle," 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 Royle regarded the best fishing in the water as his +birthright, and every rival as an intruder. He showed this too, for +there was no bashfulness about Old Royle. Young men who had just begun +to fish consulted him as to where they should begin on the morrow. Old +Royle 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 +morning to a certain pool six miles up the water, where he had seen a +round half-dozen of beauties only the night before. 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 +Conquhar 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 farther 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 unaccompanied by the more persistent +male. So there was wrath at the _table-d'hôte_. There was indignation in +the houses of summer residence scattered up and down the strath. It was +the new tenant of the Lodge of Glen Conquhar, 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 +Marquis of Rannoch. 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 windows, 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 ventured 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 indignation 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 of damages,' at the same time offering the +money composition 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 leading 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 individual; (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 +exception to this attitude, undertake to pilot even the most upright of +women through the custom-house. + +The situation became acute owing to the indignant feelings of the +visitors, now reinforced by the dwellers in the various houses of +private entertainment. Indignation meetings 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 agreeing +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 Reverend 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 up on 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 indeed 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 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 ORDER 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 Right-of-Way Case. + + + + +VI + +DOMINIE GRIER + + _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_. + + "_The 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 Rowantree? 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 Todston, 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 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, +resting 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. Calmsough, 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. + +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 Tam, 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 Tam, 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 examination of my +bit school at the Rowantree, 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 Rowantree +even as Corseglass, and Deadthraws, and other Valleys of Dry Bones about +us. + +"There shall be no more fanatics in Rowantree!" 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 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 hayfield 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 +remained 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 saying 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 town of Edinburgh and a rough road, still +I thought that I should be hardly bestead if I could not walk it in two +days. For my heart was sore to think of the want of sound doctrine that +was about to fall upon the parish of Rowantree. 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 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 splashing 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 propose 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 the road, to drag myself over it, and lie snug till their +cavalcade 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 +Chryston 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 company guid at the Fisher's Tryst, we'll +bring back the gospel yet to the holms of the Rowantree, 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 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 begone 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 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 +Rowantree." + +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 Mickie 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 PRODIGAL DAUGHTER + + _Hard is it, O 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 imperill'd + With service, Mary-like she brought her pains_, + + _And laid them 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 bear, 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 parish 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 Cauldshields. To the manse +he had brought his young wife, and from its cheerless four 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 waywardness 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 Rullion Green to be slaughtered, sent +Claverhouse 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 large, the sheep +were dispossessing the plough, and the principle of "led" farms was +depopulating the countryside. 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 +moment that he looked out into the dim white chaos of whirling 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 consciousness 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. + + * * * * * + +In the manse of Cauldshields the Reverend Eli M'Diarmid'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 shouldna gang oot snod," she said, as she +brushed him faitly down. "Ye mind hoo Miss Elsie used to say that ye wad +gang oot a verra ragman gin she didna look efter 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 minister, 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 declare that she suggested the +text. Nor is this so wholly impossible 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 remained 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 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 expressive 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 evermore + 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 oppressed, for the little children and those on whom +the Lord has special pity--"for to Thee, O Lord, more are the children +of the desolate than the children of the married wife, saith the Lord." +And the minister seemed to hear somewhere 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 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 the 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 sermon. 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 +baptizing. + +"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 bade wi' him +respectable a' my days; but hear ye to me, Mistress Colville, I will +never darken their doorstep till the day of my death." So she would not +go in. + + + + +BOOK THIRD + +HISTORIES + + + + +I + +FENWICK MAJOR'S LITTLE 'UN + + _A short to-day, + And no to-morrow: + A winsome wife, + And a mickle sorrow-- + Then done was the May + Of my love and my life_. + + "Secrets." + + +[_Edinburgh student lodgings of usual type_. ROGER CHIRNSIDE, M.A.; +_with many books about him, seated at table_. JO BENTLEY _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 "headaches" 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 intermittently as the +others subside for the time_. + +CHIRNSIDE. Migraine--artery--decussate--wonder what this other fool says +(_rustling leaves_). They all contradict one another, and old +Rutherland will never believe you when you tell him so. + +[_A new quarrel arises at the upper end of the room between Jo Bentley +and Tad_. + +CHIRNSIDE (_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_. + +CHIRNSIDE (_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. Fenwick's governor prowling about in the background with a +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 at the window. Good old lady, mine, as ever +they make them. Ever felt that way, fellows? + +[_Chirnside'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. They 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 unnecessary. 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 +knowing as to bars. I envied, but luckily had no money. Besides, 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_. + +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 Fenwick 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 fellows 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 goodwives. + +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 session; and when we came up again in +November, Fenwick Major was going it harder than ever. + +[_Jo Bentley and Tad Anderson look at each other. They know all about +that_. + +CHIRNSIDE (_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 maybe 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, Fenwick, 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 a dozen "wets" on board, so we won't +count him responsible. + +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. Their 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 Edinburgh 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 barmaid 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. + +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 awfu' 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. + +I had forgotten his name was James. He was only Fenwick 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 married (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 window 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!" + +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 fellows 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 night 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 tomcats between 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 over-eat. Therefore, we students had +porridge twice a day, with a herring in between, 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. After that we went out for a walk, and the landlady +gathered 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 meantime 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 photographs 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 white-wash. 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 appeared +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 they were 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 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 caricatures 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 engine 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 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 anxiously and maternally at +his face. She seemed surprised also, and a trifle agitated. + +"Dear me, Maister Mac, what's the maitter? Ye're 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, "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 expression 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 +be. 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 looking 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 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 procession, 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 +(previously 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 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 +mustard 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 plaster, really--only a few +pepper-corns 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 +speculate 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 perspiration. 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 success 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 pronounced 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-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 medical 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 bedrooms; and, locking +the doors, sit down to observe with interest 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. Robert 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 assured 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--" + +"Hout na, laddie," said good Roger 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. 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 mysel', ye +maun mind, an' I 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 inordinately 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 Reverend Robert 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 individually, 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 Disestablishment, as is others' +use and wont. He went in a better 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 instructed as to the number of +hands that had had the making of the different prophecies, and upon the +allusions to primitive customs in the book of Genesis (which the +minister 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 make for peace. As, indeed, the Reverend Doctor Drumly +foretold when the thing was started. He had met the professor'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 consulting, 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, +binna yersel'." + +"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. + +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, elfish-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, accustomed 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 elfish 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. + +"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 +on 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 +meditatively settled his hard circular collar, which he wore in the +interests of Life and Work, but privately hated with a deadly hatred, as +his particular form of penance. + +It was no very long season that he had to wait, and before 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 trouble 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, exceedingly +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 half-way round +the head as if uncertain where to stop. Betsy had arrayed this "object" +in a pink bed-gown of her own, a pair of the minister'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-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 bed-gown. + +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 arm-chair, 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 forebears 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 continued. + +This would explain matters. + +"Na, na," said Simeon Gleg; "nae Dissenter ava'. I'm for the Kirk +itsel'--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 maister 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?" + +"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 improvement 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 gey rough, whinny grund, and has never +been turned owre. But I was thinkin' Enbra wad gie it a rare bit lift. +What do ye think o' the professors there? I was hearin' some o' them +wasna 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 minister, "that you intended +to enter the ministry of the Kirk." + +"Ou ay, that's nae dout 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 bed-gown looked +thoughtfully at the palms of his horny hands as he reeled off 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 providin'. 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 Gleg wrestled a moment with the M.B. waistcoat, 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. O man--I mean, O minister"--he broke out earnestly, "gin ye +wad juist gie the letters a bit rin owre. 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, O, +it's bonny, bonny! There's nocht like the Greek and the Laitin!" + +Now, there were many more brilliant ministers in Scotland than the +minister of Blawrinnie, but none 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 +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 understand all about it," +replied the minister warmly. + +Simeon still lingered undecided. He was now standing in the M.B. +waistcoat and the pink bed-gown. The sleeves were more obtrusive than +ever. The minister was reminded 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, O minister, ye micht gie +thae letters anither skelp owre--aboot _Alfy, Betaw, Gaumaw_!" + +The minister took the Greek Rudiments 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. + +"O Lord," he said, "help me keep mind o' it! It's just like the kingdom +o' heaven! Greek an' Laitin'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 dreadfu' heap o' siller; but, O minister, my mind +'ill stand an awfu' sicht o' impruvement! It'll no' be a penny owre +muckle!" + + + + +IV + +KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WELL + + "_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? + 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 Kennedy, 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 MacWalter 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 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 better than that. + +"Gin ye dinna be stirrin', I'll be up to ye wi' a stick!" cried Mistress +MacWalter. + +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, pampered +guid-for-naething! Dinna think I canna hear ye grumblin' and speakin' +ill words there!" + +Yet all he had said was "Ouch!"--in the circumstances, 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-sacks that could beat the +rain any day. Snow, in his own words, he did not give a "buckie"[5] for. + +[Footnote 5: The fruit of the dog-rose is, when large and red, locally +called a "buckie."] + +Then there was a stirring on the floor, a creaking of the ancient +joists. It was Kit putting on his clothes. He always 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 followed. 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 break-down. The angels saw, and smiled. But they took it to +the Father, just the same as if Kit Kennedy had been in 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' frae 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 oatcake out of the basket of "farles" which swung +from the black, smoked beam in the corner. Kit had cause to remember 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 listening. 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. + +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 Kennedy did his work, and +that there would be no cause to complain. 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 fancied 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. 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 upon +it, his mind was full of queer thoughts and funny imaginings. It is a +strange thing that the thought of rattling on the ribs of a lazy, sleepy +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 companionable 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 +bullocks, 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 slobbering 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 milking-pail, which he +would have called a luggie, set his knee 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 +reflections 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 falling 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_[6] in +the lirks of the knowes. + +[Footnote 6: A sheep turns _avel_ when it so settles itself upon its +back in a hollow of the hill that it cannot rise.] + +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-fog. + +Mistress MacWalter was on foot. She had slept nearly two hours, being +half-an-hour too long, after wearying herself 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 "flyting 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 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 MacWalter, 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 Mac Walter 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 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 Mac Walter waited for him, and with a hand both +hard and heavy fetched him a ringing blow on the side of the 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 exceeding 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 forgiven his enemies. He said nothing +about the sack. So Kit Kennedy began the day with a clean slate and a +ringing 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 mornin'?" cried Mistress MacWalter 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,'"[7] 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 punishment. So she called +Kit in to wash the dishes from which he had never eaten. Meysie stood +beside them, and dried for him, and her little heart was sore. There was +something 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. + +[Footnote 7: Has family worship.] + +"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. + + + + +THE BACK O' BEYONT + + + I + + _O nest, leaf-hidden, Dryad's green alcove, + Half-islanded by hill-brook's seaward rush, + My lovers 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 campanule; + 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, + Rich with love's lore, unlearnt in any book_. + + "_Memory Harvest_." + + +"An' what brings the lang-leggit speldron howkin' an' scrauchlin' owre +the Clints o' Drumore an' the Dungeon o' Buchan?" This was a question +which none of Roy Campbell's audience felt able to answer. But each +grasped his rusty Queen's-arm musket and bell-mouthed horse-pistol 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 _débris_ 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 twitching of the corners of the mouth. He was active and +nimble, 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 Westland 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 himself 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 Roy Campbell, late +of Glen Dochart, flourished 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, Roy 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 Roy, 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' +missin'? 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 blunderbuss 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, he said-- + +"May I, Roy Campbell, be boiled in my ain still-kettle, distilled +through my ain worm, an' drucken by a set o' reckless 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. + +"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 dislike, 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 mountain-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 gulf through which the streams sped westward 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 Range 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 readiness, he sought it not for the first time. + +Surmounting the ridge, he wormed his way along the sky-line with +caution, till, getting his back into a perpendicular cleft down the side +of the mountain, he cautiously descended, 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 suddenly with a +ringing sound into a basin of pure white granite--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 intervals, 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 fetching 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, overgrown cavity of the +runnel. When he was midway he heard a step coming across the heath, +brushing through the "gall"[8] bushes, splashing through the shallow +pools. A foot heavily booted crashed through the half-concealed tunnel, +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. + +[Footnote 8: The bog-myrtle is locally called "gall" bushes. It is the +most characteristic and delightful of Galloway scents.] + +"That's Roy himsel'!" 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 outlaw Highlander." + +Once on the hillside 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 indignity 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 hollow 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 chuckling, "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 +caution 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 unable to say how these two +met. He only knows that when the pale light flooded back upon the +hillside and cast its reflection into the dim depths of the hope, they +were evidently well agreed. "It is true what I told you," 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 Balmaclellan, 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 smugglers and gangrel bodies who had come to look upon +the fastnesses of the Forest as their own. + +"Have ye no fellow-feeling, Roy, 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." + +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 thinkin'!" + + + + +VI + +NORTH TO THE ARCTIC + + _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 on 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 Constantine, leaning back +in his luxurious easy-chair and joining 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 Yakût 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 literary and newspaper topics, seldom of Russia, +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 Constantine +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--Russian 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 Command was purgatory, but +the Yoort was Hell!" Then he paused a moment, and added, "_I_ 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 +Englishman. 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 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 +Yakût Yoort.' Not that the Yakûts meant to be unkind. 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 Government 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 abominations 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 Russians and their habits of personal cleanliness from monkeys. +For long I was never allowed to leave the Yoort for any purpose, even +for a moment, without a couple of savages coming 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 (previously 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 blubber +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 escaping. 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 September. + +"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 island 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 endeavour to escape. It +was very lonely, for I had no one to consult, and no friend to whom to +intrust any part of my arrangements. But the suspicion of the Yakûts 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 running 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 provisions, +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 +uncertain 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 Wiledóte, 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 intolerably conceited. He was for ever +asking if I could do this and that, and jeering at me for my incapacity +when I disclaimed 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 discharge 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 supplies 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_? 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_.' + +"Being glad on any terms to get clear of the precious couple, I gave +them both money for their _vodka_, and set off 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 luxuries +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 hundred 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 farther 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 hundredth chance was indubitably worth the risk--better +than inaction, and better than the suicide which would inevitably 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, turning, 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 hummock. +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 delightedly +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 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 +troublesome 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. Siberia 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 Arctic Ocean!' And there, blue and clear, +through the narrow 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. Now, 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 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 Russian cruiser could be in these waters. +But out from the sternsheets 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 _Concord_, commissioned +to seek for the records of the lost American 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 Constantine 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 Russia 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 Russia?" + +Almost for the first time throughout the long story, Constantine looked +me fixedly in the eyes. The strange light of another world, of the +fatalist East, looked plainly out of his eyes. Every Russian 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_." + + + + +BOOK FOURTH + +IDYLLS + + + + +I + +ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE + + I + + _Far in the deep of Arden wood it lies; + About it pleasant leaves for ever wave. + Through charmèd afternoons we wander on, + And at the sundown reach the seas that lave + The golden isles of blessèd 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 draweth 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 mainly, barring those of the ice +and the channel-stones. The deep voice of the Reverend Doctor Spence +Hutchison, minister of the parish, whose lair was on the broomy knowes +of Howpaslet beside its ancient kirk, was answered by the keener, more +intense tones of the Reverend 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 election 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 Doctor 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, +Saunders 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 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 Reverend William Henry Calvin take the chair--moved by +Saunders Ker, seconded by himself. So Dr. Hutchison has the casting +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 schoolroom, 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 parliamentary 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 carried 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 anything of a Ker. + +So the schoolroom was crowded with "Establishers," for the Kers would +not come within such a tainted building as a parochial school--except to +a comic nigger minstrel performance, which in Howpaslet levels and +composes all differences. So instead they waited at the windows and +listened. One prominent and officious stoop of the Kirk tried to shut a +window. But he got a Ker's clicky[9] over his head from without, and sat +down discouraged. + +[Footnote 9: Shepherd's staff.] + +"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 Reverend 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 feeling 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 himsel', 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 ae 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 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 curious notions out of Laurence Sterne crossed with +Rutherfurd's _Letters_ and _The Man of Feeling_. + +"It is moved and seconded that the meetings be opened with prayer." + +Objected to by Doctor 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 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 minister, Saunders Ker put the matter +practically in his broadest and most popular Scots. The rare Howpaslet +dialect thrilled to the spinal cord 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 an' the bairn's +prayer has put to shame baith elder an' 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 outside, 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 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 graund--heard ye ever the like o' that!" + +The 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 appointed, 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 at all the rest of his +life was a preposterous one. Some said they would have voted 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. Hutchison 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 and 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 Reverend +Doctor 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 Lamont, 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 +Tuesday; and sometimes, but more rarely, he opened the meeting 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 +proposed 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 important 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 advise 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 minutes 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, unless +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 always suspected that "Auld Wullie" +(referring to the Prime Minister of the time) studied the reports of the +Howpaslet school-board proceedings in the _Bordershire Advertiser_. +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 Howpaslet 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 qualification 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 thoroughly, and obtained wondrous reports written in the +official 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 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 +withheld till the alterations were made. + +The militant Doctor could not dismiss Duncan Rowallan 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 Rowallan had not come to Howpaslet for salary, and his expenses +were so few that he lived as comfortably on his pittance 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 breathe 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. + +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 moment. But he did +not catch the run-away 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 braeface. 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 minister's daughter. + +The teacher of the village school found himself apologising, 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 waterproof. + +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 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 sedate 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 Ministers' 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 Rowallan'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 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 Ramage's, where on an eve of tea and +philosophy it was conceivable 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 recollected 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 handkerchief 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 shilling and sixpence at the +hat-shop up three stairs at the corner of the Bridges. + + * * * * * + +The next evening Duncan Rowallan stood by his own door. Deaf old Mary +Haig, his housekeeper, was clacking 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 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 interests the +Kers had assaulted and battered four fellow-Christians of the contrary +opinion, and the Reverend William Henry Calvin had shaken his fist in +the stern face of Dr. Hutchison as he defied 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 be 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 frequently 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 morning--that most mysterious thing in nature. He missed, +indeed, the diffused elation of the dawn; but it was infinitely sweet to +hear in that still place the softened sounds of the 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 between 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 growing alone and +looking westward in the twilight. + +"You will pardon me, Mr. Rowallan," 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 Rowallan did not suffer her to go on. + +"Pray do not say a word about the matter, Miss Hutchison; 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 unanimity 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 Howpaslet did not +quarrel about you, it would just be something else. But I am sorry you +should be annoyed by our bickerings." + +"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, these 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 Rowallan's senses, quickening his pulses, and making 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 shuddered slightly, and +drew her shawl closer about her shoulders. + +"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." + +"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 Rowallan was sure that it trembled, so +he took it in his. There it fluttered 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 valleys 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 Hutchinson took +back her hand. + +Opportunity stood on tip-toe. The full tide of Duncan Rowallan'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 beneath 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 how it all happened, but +without success. Where they have failed, can I succeed? + +I can only tell what did happen. + +Duncan Rowallan 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 electric touch their +old world flew into flinders. + +The stone dyke was not any longer between. Duncan Rowallan had +overleaped it and stood by the side of Grace Hutchison. + + * * * * * + +The minister had come home to Howpaslet manse exceedingly 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 +Rowallan. 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 Rowallan was neither here nor there; but, indeed, the +Kers were hard to bear. + +His daughter met him with a grave face. The determined 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 Rowallan." + +The stern old minister swayed--doubting whether he had heard aright. + +"Marry Duncan Rowallan, 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 mastership at the High +School. I have promised to marry him." + +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. + +"Grade," 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 daffodil 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 end 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 Ryan. He had come from Glasgow and set up in quite +grand style, succeeding to the business of his uncle, John M'Connell, +who had spent all his days selling treacle and snuff to the guidwives of +the Port. When Fergus Teeman came from Glasgow, 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, +overfrowned by mere eyebrows of chocolate-coloured eaves. + +He had a broad and gorgeous sign specially painted in place of the old +"_John M'Connell, licensed to sell Tea, Coffee, 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 gentleman 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 Ryan, 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 +greatness. + +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 Fergus 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 forward 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 conveying the goods and benefits of +the Emporium to the remoter villages. The van was resplendent with paint +and gilding. It was covered with advertisements of its contents +executed in the highest style of art. The Kirk in the Vennel 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 magnificent 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. + +"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 +Ryan 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 Ryan. 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 accepted. On the Monday he left +Port Ryan for ever, directing 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 Providence 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 Teeman, 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. Fergus, therefore, read +this to the candidates, and gave them for breakfast plain bread and +butter (best Irish cooking, 6-1/2d. 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 +frequently 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, 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 successfully 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 o' there, boy; +ye're lickin' 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 bags made yet? Gin they're no' dune in five meenits, I'll 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 Teeman 'was there with his notebook, and before the +close of the service more than two pages were filled with the measure +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 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 minister, 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 minister 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 account 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!" + +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 Stewart was so intent on watching the +swift changes of expression 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 explain them. + +To them entered another Fergus Teeman to the militant 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 +kennin' 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 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 nests 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 gleaming 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 ashamed + 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?_" + + +Once I wrote[10] about two little, boys who played together all through +the heats of the Dry Summer in a garden 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. + +[Footnote 10: Jiminy and Jaikie (_The Stickit Minister_).] + +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 over-seas there came +letters one, two, and three, asking to be told what these two did in the +beautiful garden 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 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', +likewise 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 Jiminy'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, 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 flowing, 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 hearkened +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 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 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 moisture; "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 farther 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 alone in 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 breathing 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. + +"_I_ 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 explanation 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 KIRK + + + + +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 fill; + Men are but dolts who talk of Good and Ill. + These grapes of ours are wondrous sour, I trow!_ + + _They sneer because we live for other things, + 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 forlornest 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 mountains 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-windows, and a roof of purple Parton slates. There +were one or two small office-houses about it devoted to a cow, a +Galloway 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, waiting 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 photograph 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 Symington, 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 liberty 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 Clints of Drumore. Yet +forty years before, the Reverend Fergus Symington was counted the +luckiest young minister in the Stewartry; and many were the jokes made +in public-house parlours and in private houses about his mercenary +motives. He had married money. He had been wedded with much rejoicing to +the rich daughter of a Liverpool 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 hearty 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 congregation. +They were married, and it is obvious what the countryside 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 Weelum 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 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 sermons, had only given occasional +notice to the eager, ill-balanced 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 +Mitchelfleld. 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 disappointed when he found +himself stranded in the little cottage by the Clints of Drumore with +thirty pounds a year. 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 incursion 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 contentment 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 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 Clints 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 Clints o' Drumore?" asked the +old woman, going forward and taking 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, Meysie 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!" 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 it's money I must have_!" + +Meysie bent her head towards him. + +"Ye shallna gang in to break yer faither's heart, Clement; 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 unfraternally. But he +took the pencil and wrote--"_I 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 Symington 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 Ronald, 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 wilderness 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. + +"O 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 ministering woman, and on me, alas! Thine unworthy +servant, for I am but a sinful man, O 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 hole in the waxcloth. So, kneeling on the bare stone, he prayed +long, even till the candle flickered itself out, smelling 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 Symington 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 MINISTER'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 spot_, + + _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 uplands 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 conscience 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 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 +memorise, or "mandate," them, as it was called. So that on Sabbath, 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 premeditated 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 minister went down into the little study to take his +spare breakfast of porridge and milk. Then, having called his +housekeeper 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 instinctive 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 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 chimneys of the "Lang Raw," 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. Wherever 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 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 minister. + +"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 fell oot wi' the +minister's loon, and staned him aff the Drumquhat grund. 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 +expression 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 sudden 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 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 play-actors." + +But the minister was placable and interested. He recognised the face as +that of the boy who came to church on various occasions; but with whom +he had found it so difficult to come to speech. + +"How many plays of Shakespeare have you read?" queried 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 Shakespeare? 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?" + +"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' ae +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. Rab 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 interest. 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 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 barefoot like you, over rocky +roads and up and down hillsides?" + +"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 Richard Cameron. + +"Dowgs hae!" asserted Walter stoutly. + +"What makes you say so?" said the minister indulgently. 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 ae thing, he gangs to the kirk every Sabbath, 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 sermon'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 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. + +"Repeating tunes!" said the minister, with a certain painful +recollection of a storm in his session on the Thursday 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, "Royal disna hand 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 yersel'. Mair than that, +Royal gangs for the kye every nicht himsel'. 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 bottom was a true +Scot, and could always answer one question by asking another. + +"Well," answered the minister, making a great concession, "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 neighbouring 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 welcome 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 goodwife 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 becoming in him to have a +good judgment on these secularities. + +The family and dependants were all gathered together in the wide, cool +kitchen of Drumquhat, for it was the time for the minister's +catechising. Saunders sat with his wife beside him. The three +sons--Alec, James, and Rob--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 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 Rob momentarily +mislaid the "Reasons Annexed" to the second 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 permission of his seniors at the farm, but wandered off by +himself to be present at the strange ceremonies of the opening. There +the Drumquhat 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 Whunnyliggate, and he appeared +in person on the following Sabbath 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, 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 Whunnyliggate 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 +awkward 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 younger 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 pilgrimage 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 minister 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:-- + + "_Nether Dullarg_. + + "DEAR MR. M'QUHIRR,--_I made strict inquiry subsequent 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 + indignation, 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 intervention of their + parents. I may say, in conclusion, that the application of a + portion of uncooked beef to the protuberance has considerably + reduced the swelling upon my son's nose during the night. I intend + (D.V.) to resume the visitation of my congregation on Thursday + next, unaccompanied either by my own son or yours.--Believe me, + dear sir, to remain your most obedient servant_, + + _July 3rd_. + + "JOHN 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 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 as that +misleered hound, the minister's loon!" + +It was evidently more than ever necessary to proceed with +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 +among the hay or corn in the end of the barn. Like all Lowland barns, +ours has got a row of three-cornered unglazed 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 slender enough to scramble after. I had +not the smallest doubt that the scapegrace was now lying snugly in his +hole, impregnable 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!" + +"Nae 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 destructionfu' 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." + +"Weel, never mind the buiks," said I, for this had nothing 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 whenever either +a policeman or a minister is seen within miles of Drumquhat, my lad +takes the shortest cut for the fastnesses of Drumquhat Bank, there to +lie like one of his hunted forebears 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 gey while, wi' Airchie +haudin' ae 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, onyway, I could see through the wundy, 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. + +"He micht ask me my quaistions, 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. Marchbanks 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 shoother." + +"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. (O +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 hoo 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, and Airchie got the whup, +but it was roon the legs, an' it garred him loup and squeal!" + +My wife nodded grim approval. + +"When we got to Drumquhat," continued Alec, "it was gey 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 didna +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 couldna pit up +wi'--nae boy could. For it was my ain coach, minister'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 blue 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, + Roses of the mountains, flowers of the valley, + Hill rose and plain rose and white vale lilies_. + + +PART I + +There is no doubt that any committee on ministerial inefficiency would +have made short work of the Reverend 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 people have the gift, fortunate or otherwise, of obtaining credit +for the work of others, and transferring to the shoulders 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 environment, that man was the +minister of the "Laigh" or Townend Kirk. Now, Ebenezer Skinner was a +model subject 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 Greek and Latin class-rooms. He even took the noted +Professor Lauchland seriously, whereupon the latter promptly 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 +resolved never to go again. He talked chiefly to the youth next to him +on Bench Seventeen, who had come from another 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 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 Ebenezer'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. Occasionally 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 regulations 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. Therefore more and +more he withdrew himself from them, crystallising into his narrow early +conventions. His college learning acted like an unventilated mackintosh, +keeping 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 professors, said when the +co-examiner hinted darkly of "spinning": "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 himself on the more proper soil of the +philosophy of morals. Here he did indeed learn something, for the +professor's system 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 valuable 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 +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 lecture." His wicked +companions--who had returned themselves variously as "Reading the +_Scotsman_," "Writing a love-letter," "Watching a fight between a spider +and a bluebottle, spider weakening"--saw at once that the future of a +man who did not know any better than to listen to a discourse on +Hermeneutics was entirely hopeless. So henceforth 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 September 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. Spurgeon'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 Sunday 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 would have been +childlike had it not been childish), predoomed 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_.] + +SKINNER--HALDANE.--On the 25th instant, 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 Haldane.--_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, 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 +congregation watching the green leaves of the trees waving at the +windows. But, certes, after he brought 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 was peeling +for a "fecht"--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, instead 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 himself. + +"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 Dally'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!" + +"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, "seein' 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 considerable 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 Reverend 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. + +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 thankful +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 expression 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 singing 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 Cairn Edward +folk. She was a quick and dainty little person. + +"Man, Gib, but she's a feat bit craitur!" said the shoemaker, 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 Rob's heid is screwed the richt way on his +shoothers!" + +Now, in her rambles the minister's wife met one and another 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, 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 congregation. 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 Renfrewshire 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 wonderful beadle of old times, to whose enlarged duties his +late spruce visitor had succeeded. He smiled fitfully as he brooded +over old things and old times; and when his aunt came in from washing up +the dinner dishes, he asked concerning "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 crossed pipes and fly-blown +sweatmeats. As the city 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 disappeared, 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 the town boys, conscious innocence did not keep any of +them still. They ran first, and inquired from a distance whom he was +after. For John's justice was not evenhanded. His voice was ever for +open war, and everything that wore tattered trousers and a bonnet 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 +minister'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 remark, after +you had vainly engaged in the pleasure of the chase, having surprised us +in some specially outrageous 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 circumstance 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. + +"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; Tam 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 wasna 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' gless 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 forebears, 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 fu' 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 bairdies 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 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 to 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 sermons. 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 naewise discomposed wi' the hale service.' + +"Ay, it is queer to come back to the auld place efter 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 bookboard, 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 behadden to the makkar. But they never could mak' ye +onything 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 + +EUROCLYDON OF THE RED 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 + Comes 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, O 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 + Under the orchard wall_." + + +Euroclydon of the Red Head was the other name of the Reverend Sylvanus +Septimus Cobb during his student 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 proportions 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 pertinently. + +Sylvanus had attained the cognomen of Euroclydon of the Red 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 impression 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 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--foolishly, for that +was business much more in our line than in hers. With one mind we +thundered back a responsive request 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 (O 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 +yersel'!" 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 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 having 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 acceptance. + +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 +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 sunshine 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." + +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 running 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 seaweed 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 conditions, 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 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 CAIRN EDWARD KIRK 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 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 micht 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 Glasgow, with "THIS STYLE OF SUIT, £2, 10s." printed on the breast of +it. The lay figure was a new thing in Cairn Edward, 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 payed itsel'!" 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 Reubens that could in nowise excel." + +"Weel, we're fixed noo, rarely. I may say that I mentioned his wearin' +knickerbockers to him when he first cam', thinkin' that as a young man +he micht no' ken the prejudices 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 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 wasna 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, thinking 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 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 +ae 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 mysel'. For thirty year I was +drunk every Monday nicht, and that often atweenwhiles that it fair bate +me to tell when ae spree feenished and the next began! But it's three +month 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 himsel' 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 Tipperairy 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 +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 aff and were fechtin' wi' the bluid rinnin' on +to the verra street. + +"The fowk 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'Kelvie an' me war drinkin' in the toon. Oh, he's a fine polisman! 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 thegither 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 constables, 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'Kelvie 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 + + + + +IN PRAISE 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?_ + + _Night in the 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 saying 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 corn-crake. + +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 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 +bird 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!" + +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 wakeful 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 wonderfully 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 +evidently, 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 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 +underground horologes being out of gear, a poor shade had somehow +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 reproach 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 without 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 without 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 himself, 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 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 laboriously 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 possible 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 pheasant'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 perspective." + + +_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 blackbird is mellow with much pecking of +winter-ripened apples. He winds his song artlessly along, like a _prima +donna_ singing 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. Instantly 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 frenzied. 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, +breathless 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 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 suspected that he sucks eggs, and even +murder in the first degree--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 "Ringtail." The Blue and the Brown, so unlike each other +that no ordinary person 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, warning cry of +the male bird, who catches sight of us standing behind the shining grey +trunk of the beech. The rovers 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 we 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. + + + + +BALLAD OF MINE OWN COUNTRY[11] + +[Footnote 11: _Rhymes à la Mode_ (Kegan Paul, Trench & Co.)] + + + 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! + + O 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; + 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. + + + + +Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh +University Press. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bog-Myrtle and Peat, by S.R. Crockett + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13667 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..65e184d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #13667 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13667) diff --git a/old/13667-8.txt b/old/13667-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5596258 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13667-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13555 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bog-Myrtle and Peat, by S.R. Crockett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bog-Myrtle and Peat + Tales Chiefly Of Galloway Gathered From The Years 1889 To 1895 + +Author: S.R. Crockett + +Release Date: October 7, 2004 [EBook #13667] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Josephine Paolucci and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT + +TALES CHIEFLY OF GALLOWAY + +GATHERED FROM THE YEARS 1889 TO 1895, BY + +S.R. CROCKETT + +LONDON + +BLISS, SANDS AND FOSTER +15 CRAVEN STREET, STRAND +MDCCCXCV + + + + + _Inscribed with the Name of + George Milner of 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_. + + + + +KENMURE + +1715 + + + "The heather's in a blaze, Willie, + The White Rose decks the tree, + The Fiery-Cross is on the braes, + And the King is on the sea. + + "Remember great Montrose, Willie, + Remember 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. + + 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. + + ANDREW LANG. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +BOOK FIRST. ADVENTURES + + I. THE MINISTER OF DOUR + II. A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER +III. SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES + IV. UNDER THE RED TERROR + V. THE CASE OF JOHN ARNISTON'S CONSCIENCE + VI. THE GLISTERING BEACHES + + +BOOK SECOND. INTIMACIES + + I. THE LAST ANDERSON OF DEESIDE + II. A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY +III. THE COURTSHIP OF TAMMOCK THAKANRAIP, AYRSHIREMAN + IV. THE OLD TORY + V. THE GREAT RIGHT-OF-WAY CASE + VI. DOMINIE GRIER +VII. THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER + + +BOOK THIRD. HISTORIES + + I. FENWICK MAJOR'S LITTLE 'UN + II. MAC'S ENTERIC FEVER +III. THE COLLEGING OF SIMEON GLEG + IV. KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WELL + V. THE BACK O' BEYONT + VI. NORTH TO THE ARCTIC + + +BOOK FOURTH. IDYLLS + + I. ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE + II. A FINISHED YOUNG LADY +III. THE LITTLE LAME ANGEL + + +BOOK FIFTH. TALES OF THE KIRK + + I. THE MINISTER-EMERITUS + II. A MINISTER'S DAY +III. THE MINISTER'S LOON + IV. THE BIOGRAPHY OF AN INEFFICIENT + V. JOHN + VI. EUROCLYDON OF THE RED HEAD +VII. THE CAIRN EDWARD KIRK MILITANT + + +EPILOGUE: IN PRAISE OF GALLOWAY + +NIGHT IN THE GALLOWAY WOODS +BIRDS AT NIGHT +THE COMING OF THE DAWN +FLOOD-TIDE OF NIGHT +WAY FOR THE SUN +THE EARLY BIRD +FULL CHORUS +THE BUTCHER'S BOY OF THE WOODS +THE DUST OF BATTLE +COMES THE DAY + + + + +_PREFACE_ + + +_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 twilight 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 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 before 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 maidens' 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 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, things 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.R. 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_. + + + + +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 Herakles_." + + + + +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 +village 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 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 conspicuously 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 complacently, 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 fishermen ran their cargoes of Holland gin and ankers of French +brandy, put good gear on the back 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 business 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. + +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 inwards +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? O 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. + +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 gauger 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 followed a crash, and the +two halves of the kitchen door sprang asunder with great and sudden +noise. Abraham Ligartwood came in. + +The men sat awed, each man wishful to creep behind his neighbour. + +The minister's breadth of shoulder filled up the doorway 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 followed--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 said, "with your +face like the moon in harvest and your girth like a tun of Rhenish, 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 +halesome 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. +Rebuke 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 set himself to "fence the tables." He stated +clearly who had a right to come forward to the table 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 Ligartwood 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. Deputations were chosen, and started for the manse +full of courage 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 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 whitethorn +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. + +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 catechising, 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 +Judgment. 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. + +Then came Abraham Ligartwood out of the manse of Dour. He went down to +the farm towns and into the village 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 kirk 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. 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 kirkyard 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 scorner'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 Abraham 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 dawn 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 MILNER. + + + + +II + +A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER + + _With Rosemary for remembrance, + And Rue, sweet Rue, for you_. + + +It was at the waterfoot 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 tremors 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, sounding athwart the dancing ripples of the +loch. + +On the farther shore was a flat white ferry-boat, looking, as it lay +motionless in the river, like a white table chained in the water with +its legs in the air. The chain 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 +Cairnsmuir. + +"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 stern 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 gentlest magic, the ferry-boat drew nearer to him. +It did not seem to move; yet gradually the space of blue water between +it and the shore on which the whitewashed cottage stood spread and +widened. He could hear the gentle clatter of the wavelets against the +lip of the landing-drop as the 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 interest 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 gripper-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 fore-feet high and throwing +them out in an uncertain and tentative manner. + +Then the girl, with a quiet and matter-of-fact acceptance 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, +would never return look for look to any of them, save perhaps 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 +especially, he might have added, the young women of the people. Hitherto +he had done this chiefly in his imagination, 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. + +"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 passage 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 unresponsive. "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 Rhonefoot. 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, wondering 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 impulsively. + +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 information was superfluous. + +The end of the white, rose-smothered boathouse was 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 Barbara 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 forgotten to ask him for +it!" + +"Did I ever see sic a lassie! Rin 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 breakfast. There was a +large house company. The men were prowling discontentedly about, looking +under covers or cutting 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 telling 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 asked; for, indeed, +they had a right to expect something. + +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 blessing that I forgot +to pay the ferry!" + +When he got outside he said to his host, "Is there such a place +hereabouts as the Rhonefoot?" + +"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 window 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 accustomed 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. + +Again there came the cry from the Rhonefoot, 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 moaning and rustling +in the trees, but it did not stir even a ripple 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 you 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 +beside 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 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 dividing of the +blue-black thunder-cloud by the winking flame, fell the sword of God, +smiting and shattering. It seemed hard that it should fall on the weaker +and the more innocent. But then God has plenty of time. + +One chilly gloaming there was no calling at the Rhonefoot. Nevertheless +Grace rowed over and waited, imagining that all evil had befallen her +lover. Within, her aunt Barbara 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, unconcernedly 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 interest, 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. + +"Ou 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 stockin'-fit, +I'se warrant." + +"Ye may say sae, or a lawyer wadna come speerin' her," returned him from +Drumglass as the boat reached the farther 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 Raw, where he had trysted with a maid of another +sort. "Did ye notice she never said 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 indifferently. + +"Some fowk are like swine. They notice nocht that's no pitten intil the +trough afore them!" said the Mains indignantly. + +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 wandered 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 intoxicating 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 Rhonefoot. Once she put on her clothes in haste +and would have gone forth; but her aunt Annie, waking and startled, a +tall, gaunt apparition, came to her. + +"Grace Allen," she said, "where are you gangin' at this time o' the +nicht?" + +"There's somebody at the boat," she said, "waiting. Let me gang, Aunt +Annie: they want me; I hear them cry. O 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?" + +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 finder 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. + +"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 Watery Something white floated dancingly +alongside, 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?" + +Barbara's voice rose and fell, wayward and querulous. There was no other +sound in the house, only the water sobbing 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. + +But within an inner pocket he had a letter that was not filed 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 judgeship. 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 Barmark +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 boathouse 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 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 disagreeable 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 hopefulness, 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. + +"How do they know, I wonder, that I want to be taken to the Rhonefoot? +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 Jeffray 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 Allens 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 Culsharg 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 hayfield scents, my feet_ + + _Scatter abroad some morning in July; + O wildwood 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_. + + "_Heart's Delight_." + + + + +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 remained 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 northwards 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 reading 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. 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 Drumdarroch 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 or manufacture for this purpose, though +threatening to turn out somewhat over tardy in development to profit by +the act of patronage. But the Douglas 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 Regent, 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 +watering-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 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, lifting 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 things are not the marks of a good woman, as I take it. +Yet there was no real cause for the bitter and sudden dislike, for, as +it chanced, she came but little into our adventures. 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 casement. I hung half out of the window, and satisfied +myself with looking upon the still, calm blue of Lago d'Orta beneath, +flecked 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, especially 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 on 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 themselves 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. + +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. Introductions 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 bubbling 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 Red +Eyelids. + +"Madame von Eisenhagen!" So that is your name, thought I; and I wonder +what may be your intentions! I had 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 Fenwick, 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, +flattering him with her eyes. + +So for a while we sat on the terrace, and a kind of scentless, 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 consumedly. + +Of the matter of our talk there is not much to say. Henry spoke freely +and well, Madame interjecting leading questions, and holding him with +her eyes. I, on the contrary, 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 Averso, +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 +sky-line, 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 laughing 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 coming 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 Red 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 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 Eisenhagen, 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 WORD OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE + + +Betimes in the morning we were afoot--long before Madame was awake; and +having committed our heavier 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 "_Buone feste, buon principio, e buona fine_" 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 valerian 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 artichokes or other precious crop. We understood him not +over well, nor indeed tried to. But a touchingly insignificant 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. 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, smit 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 a 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 apostolic baptism for our red wine. + +There presently we arrive. The place is verily an inspiration. 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 willingly 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 interstices 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 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 Rebekah of the well herself expects her kiss, +nor, spite of a possible 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 wandering lads +who, asking no favour, go a-wayfaring with strong hearts as in the +ancient days. + +Round 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 Caranco 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!" + +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 possibilities. + + + + +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 daggers 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. + +Then with a tale of Venice[1] 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." + +[Footnote 1: 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.] + +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 morning 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. + +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 before 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 breakfast, 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 sitting 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!" + +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." + +"Oh" 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-- + +"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 stumblingly 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 mud bank. 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 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 SINFUL VILLAGE OF SPELLINO + + +This was the story we told, and there was not a face among the audience +that did not blanch, and in that village 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 careful. A reputation so sudden and tremendous +is, at its beginning, 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 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 may be?" asked he, evidently thinking of our +reverence at the well-stoop. + +We shook our heads. + +"It matters not," said the easy father; "you are, I perceive, 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 certainly most excellent. "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 hungry off the road," +she said. "If thou, O 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 meekly, "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 cloisters +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 flickered 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 not that a remnant of the Waldenses was 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 Gentinetta, 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 saint swung about its neck. The men are out at the +_festa_, 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 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 Gentinetta has the advantage of me during 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," soliloquised 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--'My friend, such and such dues are +wanting. 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 affect 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 care 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 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 settled 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 Purgatory 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 +quittance of the heavenly dues, when thou hast not cleared thyself 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 minister, 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 my 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 sickness in the land, 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 incomes are small but regular. +Yet, I beseech thee, tell it not in this municipality, nor yet in the +next village; for in the 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. + + + + +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 Spellino. + +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 trampling 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 stand-still. + +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 discomposed nor terrified, as in such cases is +the custom. + +"I 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 English. "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 present, which was like +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 Government 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 +undefined 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 resolved 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 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 countrymen 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, indescribable movement of her +shoulders. "My father was a Russian 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 explanation. Henry, whose appreciation 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. + +"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 extent, which lay along +the edge of a small mountain lake, gravelled paths cut 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 Russia +among the Alps. It is to my brother a very serious matter. To me it is +the Fair of Asnières 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." + +The small dark man bowed low, yet with a certain reserve. + +"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 distinguishing 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 circumstances. "Here, +you understand, gentlemen, I am a hotel-keeper. 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 decided 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 +cosmopolitan 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 herself 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. + +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 Vallière'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. Presently they disappeared in the direction of the +Count's rooms to examine some new and beautiful specimens more at their +leisure. + +In an hour Henry came rushing back to us in great excitement. + +"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 desire 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 hillside, 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 outlined 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 _yashmak_ 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 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 perforce +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 Thal 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. + +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 Giovanni Turazza I read +the Tuscan poets, came to me. An ancient rhyme was in my head, and ere +I was aware I murmured-- + +"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 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 looking 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 save, 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 morning?" 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. + +"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 lapse 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 breaking 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 desires 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 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 calling her, she came. I +did not see her till she was near me on the gravel path which leads to +the châlet 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 which we trod, too, how strangely elastic! The pine-trees +give 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 mountains, 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 myself, "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. + +"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 eyelashes. + +"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 Russia, we are not secure of what is +our own, even for a day. We may well pray there for our daily bread. In +Russia 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 present, 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 believe. 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. + +"Remember," 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." + +"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?" + +"Oh," I said quickly, "happy!--you know that without needing to be +told." + +"No matter what I know," the Countess said, with a certain 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!" + +"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-foot 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 answer. And I gave it guiltily, saying to +myself that anything which took his mind off Madame Von Eisenhagen was +certainly 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, innocently 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 performers 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 Russia, of wolf-hunts, and of other hunts when the wolves +were the hunters--tales to make the blood run cold, yet not amiss being +recounted over a bottle of Forzato in the bright dining-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 madness 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 something, that he may have something to show. The Countess is +for the hills, as I am, and the _élan_ 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 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 naturally on the side of the +adventurous. The thing is impossible. + +"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 precipices 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 +foothold 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 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 nature 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 Thal wind was bringing +the heavy mist-spume pouring 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 midnight. + +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. + +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 shivered. 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 fingerless 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. + +I strode from under the dark shadow of the hotel, wondering 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 attention. + +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 no 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 +Thal 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 tingled through the +frosty air. The lake lay black beneath on a grey world, plain as a blot +of ink on a boy's copybook. + +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 Clints 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, creaking 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 sideways 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. He was endeavouring to steer a +boat-load of city young ladies to a landing-place. A squall was +bursting; the harbour was difficult. One of the girls annoyed him by +jumping up and calling anxiously, "O, 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 succinctly, "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 yesterday that +the nails in my boots refused to grip. But presently there, remained +only a snow-slope, and a final pull up a great white-fringed bastion of +rock. Here was the summit; and even as I reached it, over the Bernina +the morning 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 summit 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 Thal 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 farther +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 Gutwein! He ought to have remembered that that +particular sort does not keep. We had better take it now!" There was +also half a chicken, some clove-scented Graubündenfleisch, four large +white rolls, crisp as an Engadine cook can make them, half a pound of +butter in each--O excellent Gutwein--O 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 breakfast 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 +reflecting 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 _déjeuner_ 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 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 +châlet 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 topmost 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 CHÂLET + + +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, beginning as soon as the sun touched our balcony, +and continuing 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. We were ready to +make the most of the long hours of sunshine 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 shooting, 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 illiberal 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 excitement 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 represented, 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. + +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 châlet 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 châlet 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 +châlet 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 ourselves 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 bedroom of the German +widow. M. Bourget, with the instinct of his nation, had arranged a +little _coup de théâtre_. 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 whiteness gave me a sense of horror for which I could not +account. 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. + +"O 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 XI + +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 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 Government 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 russet, 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 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. +Perhaps 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 writing--writing. It is to that girl. You +will pass away and think no more of Lucia!" + +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 farther 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 moorland 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 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 farther 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 Russia 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 certainly 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, 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 intends 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 meaningless as the lapse of the waves on +the shore, pattering an accompaniment 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." + +"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." + +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 +entered 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 morrow, 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 carefully twice. He seemed much +struck with the contents. + +"I am summoned to Milan," he said, "and upon the instant. I shall yet +overtake my sister. May I ask Monsieur 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 ridden out of sight over the pass through which the +Thal 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 River 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 +perspired wisdom on the coldest day. The other officials imitated the +Burgomeister in so far as their corporeal condition allowed. The _curé_ +only was excepted. He was a thin, spare man with an ascetic face and a +great talent for languages. 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 lightened our spirits +and cheered our waiting; for it is my experience 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--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 running 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 diplomaëd, 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 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 runners 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-padded 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. + +Down I came flying, checked a little at the rise for the crossing of the +village street. A mountainous bulk towered 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 out-house 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 Rathhaus. 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 unhappy. 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 village 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 excellent plans of the ground, +showing where the miscreant assaulted 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 snow-bank, duly described his parabola, discuticled +his nose--in fact, fulfilled the programme 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 matter: 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 Hotel 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 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 palaces 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, colour 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 trippingly 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!" + +"'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! Remember 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 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, joyless, tragic. + +Castel del Monte sat on the hill-top, eminent, far-beholding. +Vine-stakes ran up hill and down dale, all about it. White houses were +sprinkled here and there. As we ascended, 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 movement of the feet. The mule sent a greeting to his kind; and +some other white mountain, larger, more broken as to its sky-line, 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 dignified Venetian senator, in the black and +radiant linen of the time, came forth to meet me, and with the utmost +respect ushered me within. In my campaigning dress and broad-brimmed +hat, I felt that my appearance was unworthy of the grandeur of the +entrance-hall, of the suits of armour, the vast pictures, and the +massive last-century furniture in crimson and gold. + + + + +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 expectation. + +In my own room I arrayed me in clothes more fitted to the 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 down-stairs, conscious by the hearing of the ear that a heart was +beating somewhere loudly, mine or another'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 wonder 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 stiffly to a seat without a +word. Lucia continued her conversation without a pause, and paid no +further heed to the ancient dame, who took her meal with a single-eyed +absorption 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 +tumultuously. 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 laughing 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 motioned me to sit close +by her in another, but one smaller and lower. We talked of many things, +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. + +"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 forgetful, 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 breaking. + +"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 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 the 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 down-stairs 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 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, saying 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 judgment!" ... 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 indeed 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!" + +"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?--I have forgotten--" + +"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; + "Jabbeké, 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 Bells of Antwerp_." + + +I am writing this 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 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 intendant 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 "dumbhead," also +condemned, and many other things, because, he says, I can never tell +anything that I begin to tell straightforwardly 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 +children 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 beginning, else I shall never make an ending, as Madame +Hegelmann 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 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 German; and when +there is supper he will always have old Jacob to tell him tales, in +which he says that there is no beginning, 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. + +"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 suddenly 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 Professor Müller'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 Schläger-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 Rhine corps, so he thought he might gain some cheap glory by pushing +rudely against the tall Englander 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 Rhine +brute--though my cousin, for my sins. + +"So Hellmuth went to the end of the Bridge, and, turning with his +corps-brothers to back him, he pushed the second time against your +Herr, and stepped back so that all might laugh as he took off his cap to +mock the Englishman's bow and curious way of saying 'Pardon!' + +"But the Englander 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 +_cafés_." + +"But surely that is no cause for a challenge, Excellenz?" said I. "How +can an officer of the Kaiser bring such a challenge?" + +"Ach!" he said, shrugging his shoulders, "is not a fight a fight, cause +or no cause? Moreover, is not Hellmuth 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 immediately 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 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 Schläger, but he has +more steel in his veins than a dozen of Hellmuths. Thunderweather, I +shall fight Hellmuth 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 England. + +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 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 Reiters 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 suspicion was everywhere. Yet in Paris I +was, all through the days of the investiture. More, I was chief of +domestic service at the Hôtel 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 +Élysées. It happened that I went every morning to the Halles to make the +market for the day--such as was to be had. And, of course, we at the +Hôtel 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 Hôtel de +Ville. And please to take off your _képis, 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 grievously +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 were 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 Frenchmen +thought that he wept to see the disgrace of Paris. So that, and nothing +else, saved him. + +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 Hôtel 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 Hôtel de Ville, to +carry the provisions. For already the new marketings were beginning to +come in by the Porte Maillot at Neuilly. + +As ever, when we came to the market-stalls, it was "Give place to the +Hôtel 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 fusiladed!" + +This made him afraid, for indeed the thing was commonly done at that +time. + +The old man smiled and held out his hand to me. He said-- + +"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 maligned 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 Père Félix, +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 Hôtel 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 +disband nor work. They sulked about the brows of Montmartre, 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 unknown young men who came to the Hôtel de +Ville made no change to Jules, the head waiter from the Midi. He made +ready the _déjeuner_ 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 aristocrats of the _règime_ of +Buonaparte. It was quite equal. + +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 +Commune, 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 +Fatherland, 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 Pomerania 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. + +They were ill-conditioned, white-livered hounds. + +"Jules the garçon--Jules of the white apron!" cried one who knew me. +"Know you not that he is now Dictator? _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 frightened 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 deserted--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 crew reported that he held a prisoner, the +citizen commonly called Père Félix. + +"Père Félix?" 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 before 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 supercilious 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 Asnières 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, 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 Hôtel de Ville," I cried. "Let me go! It will be the worse for you!" + +"There is no more any Hôtel de Ville!" cried one. "See it blaze." + +"Accompany gladly the house wherein thou hast eaten many good dinners! +Go to the Fire, ingrate!" cried another of my captors. + +So for very shame, and because the young maid was silent, I had to cease +my crying. They erected us like targets against the brick wall, and I +set to my prayers. But when they had retired from us and were preparing +themselves 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 farthest 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 cheering 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 Versaillists 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 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 Heidelberg? 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 +Oberkellner to Madame the Frau Wittwe than to be Prince of +Kennenlippeschönberghartenau! + + + + +V + +THE CASE OF JOHN ARNISTON'S CONSCIENCE + + _Hail, World adored! to thee three times all hail! + We at thy mighty shrine--profane, obscure + With clenchèd hands beat at thy cruel door, + O hear, awake, and let us in, O 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?_ + + _Bear us, O 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, O Baal!_ + + "_Pro Fano_." + + +John Arniston'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 +passionate 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. Nevertheless, 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. Because 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 saying about some one +named Reginald. 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 her +life. Well, what of that? He had always understood she had been married +before. Enwoven in the mesh-net of her scented hair, her soft cheek warm +and wet against his, all this talk seemed infinitely detached--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-morrow they twain, drawing apart from all the evil tongues +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 between +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 +horror, 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 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 patchwork 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-in-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 with 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 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"[2] 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. + +[Footnote 2: Engage in family worship.] + +He opened the book at random: "_And God spake all these words saying_ +... THOU SHALT NOT--" The tremendous 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 heavily 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 Embankment. The fog was +thicker than ever. Unseen watercraft 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. Nothing more than +that. Every one knew it. All intelligent people were nowadays of one +religion. The thing was manifestly absurd--the Hebrew fetich 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. + +"AND 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 sentence 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 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 morrow. Who was he, that he should put himself in the attitude +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 interpretation, +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 finished 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 detachment. 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--Reginald Gale." + +"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 down-stairs, 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 policeman, 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. + +"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 Arniston. + +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 falling 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, manoeuvred 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 (accompanied with violence), was blazing on the fire. +Then, 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 opposite the publishers' advertisements needed 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 landlady 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 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 emotion was life, and the +expression of it second nature, running 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 excellent 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 the matter. The heavens smiled +upon his bride and himself. There was now no stern voice to break +through upon his blissful self-approval. + +Why there should be this favouritism among the commandments, 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 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, besides 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 peculiarity 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 practicable side of Suliscanna, +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. + +"Mind you sneak past your father, Anna!" cried Simeon, 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 Simeon 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 +careful 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 everything. 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 +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 procedure was much +simpler. She found her father sitting in his office, constructed of +rough boards. He frowned continuously 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. + +"Row!" 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. + +"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 hundred 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!" + +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 fishermen 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 imperfect 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. 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 Glistering 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 companion 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 themselves 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 Glistering Beaches had power to wile them +away. + +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 +Suliscanna 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 Glistering 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 exquisite +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 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 ostentatiously, 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 uncanny, 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. + +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 precipitous, they were fairly lined with the birds and +hoary with their whitewash. + +After Simeon had charged his gun, the children proceeded 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 unaccustomed pleasure of doing as she +was bid. + +Deeper and deeper they went into the cleft of the rocks, 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 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 astonishment. 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 grandfather!" + +"Wouldn't I just--for a hundred pounds!" said Simeon briskly, looking +for a larger stone. + +"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 Iceland 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 + + I + + _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_! + + 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 MILNER. + + + + +I + +THE LAST ANDERSON OF DEESIDE + + _Pleasant is sunshine after rain, + Pleasant the sun; + To cheer the parchèd 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 forward 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 conducting the +funeral--if, indeed, Scots funerals can ever be said to be +conducted--had given it a too successful push to let the rickety 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 +irregular fire of skirmishers. + +"Ay, man, he's won awa'!" + +"Ay, ay, he is that!" + +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 +Rob Adair of the Mains of Deeside, as they walked sedately together, +neither swinging 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' Deeside," said Rob 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." (Rob +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 pairish; 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 at the Auld Wa's where the three roads meet. +For nae _sicht_ could they get on a' Deeside for kirk or manse, because +frae the Dullarg to Craig Ronald 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 faither, +'Faither, wull ye no' speak to yer ain son?' no' ae 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 forgathered 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 gey queer look +in his face. 'Wattie!' he said, an' for ae blink the minister thocht +that his faither was gaun to greet, a thing that he had never seen him +do in a' 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 forbye, an' the twa o' them never +said _Disruption_ mair as lang as they leeved. + +"'Ye had better see the factor aboot pittin' up a meetin'-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 minister, but he's a' +by wi't the day," continued Saunders M'Quhirr, as they trudged behind +the hearse. + +"Did I ever tell ye, Rob, aboot seem' young Walter--his boy that gaed +wrang, ye ken--when I was up in London the year afore last? Na? 'Deed, I +telled naebody binna 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. + +"Ae 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 thocht 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 gey queer place no' far +frae where Tammas Carlyle leeves, near the water-side. I thocht that +there was nae ill bits i' London but i' the East-end; but I learned +different. + +"I gaed up the stair o' a wee brick hoose nearly tumlin' 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, verra sharp an' clippit in her mainner o' +speech. + +"'Does Walter Anderson o' Deeside bide here?' I asked, gey an' plain, as +ye ken a body has to speak to thae Englishers 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 no' be acquant 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 ae 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. O man, Rob, I hope I may never see the like again." + +"Ay, man, Saunders, ay, ay!" said Rob 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 +considerable distance with his hand deep in the pocket of his tail-coat. + +The farmer of Drumquhat proceeded on his even way. + +"The lassie that I took to be his wife (but I asked nae 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 Rob 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. + +"'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 talkin' aboot hoo Fred +Robson an' him stole the hale o' the Drumquhat plooms ae 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 dike, 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 retical 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!'" + +"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, liftin' 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' +knowledge, and that no' seldom. + +"'O 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. + +"'Walter,' says I, 'I'll pit up a prayer, as I'm on my knees onyway.' +I'm no' giftit like some, I ken; but, Robert, I prayed for that laddie +gaun afore his Maker as I never prayed afore or since. And when I spak' +aboot the forgiein' 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, Robert Adair!" said Saunders 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 farther 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. There was no religious service at the minister's +grave save that of the deepest silence. Ranked 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 ventured +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 faither," 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 impossible. + +As the mourners "skailed" slowly away from the kirkyaird in twos and +threes, there was wonderment as to who should have the property, for +which the late laird and minister had cared so little. There were very +various opinions; 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 Scottish +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 +grave-head 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 immovable 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 Archibald Grier, gone +to stand a while by his benefactor's grave. + +But Daft Jess was of another opinion. + + + + +II + +A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY + + "_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 Carmichael 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 benediction. 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 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 memories. + +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 +_hyule_" "Wattie, ye mischéevious boy." For he was a stirring lad, and +his restlessness frequently brought him into trouble. He remembers 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 historian 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 a U.P. + +Walter looked for the time when all the world, from 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 attacking _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 alternatively, 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 already 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 entirely 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 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 scriptural authority, certainly +carries with her materials for constructing 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 "laft," where the "boys"[3] slept. The roof of this +upper floor was unceiled, and through the crevices the winter 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 powdery 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. + +[Footnote 3: 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.] + +The whole family of Saunders M'Quhirr was collected every Sabbath +morning at the "buik." It was a solemn time. No one was absent, or +could be absent for any purpose 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," garnished with +endless quavers and grace-notes. + +The chapter was then read with a simple trust and manfulness like that +of an ancient patriarch. Once at this portion of the service the most +terrible thing that ever happened 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 "tenpenny," 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 +promoted to the place of the "trapped." The master's "taws" were a +wholesome deterrent of persistent or mistaken trapping; and, in +addition, the trapped boys sometimes rectified matters at the back of +the school at the play-hour, 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 school. When this was asked of Walter, +he replied modestly 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 conflict, as he had often seen Royal 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. +Moreover, 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 solemnity of the week +had culminated, and the portion was being read, Walter detected a quaint +antiquity in the pronunciation 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 to be highly gifted in intercession. But he was +also considered 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, however 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 lief learn +sune as syne." + +This excellent theory of prayer was certainly productive of curious +results. For instance, Alec is recorded in the family archives to have +interjected the following petition 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 become too +outrageous, Alec continued without break in his supplications--"And now, +Lord, will you please excuse me till I gang an' kick that loon Rab, for +he'll no' behave himsel'!" 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 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 patriarchal. + +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 +time-keepers, 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 slumbered 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 +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 overlooking 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 Galloway 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 accompanied 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 surrounded by trees, a +place both bieldy and heartsome. The 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 inside, 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 CAMERONIAN DIET OF WORSHIP + +There were not many distractions for a boy of active habits and restless +tendencies during the long double service 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 +exquisitely chiselled face of some marble Apollo, Richard Cameron was, +as his name-sake had been, an ideal minister 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, "O 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 before 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-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 +entertainment; against all such as swear minced oaths, such as 'losh,' +'gosh,' 'fegs,' '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 certain 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. Walter 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 +exhausted 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. Once, however, after he had seated himself, he was put +to shame by the minister suddenly darting off on a new excursion, 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 thereafter he +was not so sure. + +Once, also, when the minister visited the farm of Drumquhat, 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. + +"Ou 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 second 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-bag full of good road-metal on the following morning, in order to +impress the Copland boys, who were Frees, with a 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 occasionally with a start when his granny +nudged him when Saunders 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, having 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 THREE 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 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 Whinnyliggate 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 +"fait 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 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 Settlement of "Aughty-nine" (1689), when the +Cameronians refused to enter into the Church of Scotland as +reconstructed by the Revolution 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 Thursday 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 awfu' 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 +Cameronian. 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, nevertheless, in the long-run, it was +the will of Billy that was the ultimate law. Walter was very glad to +have the M'Haffies on the cart, both because he was allowed to walk all +the 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 occasions, 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 Abernethies" melted in the mouth arose before him with +irresistible 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 COURTSHIP OF TAMMOCK THACKANRAIP, AYRSHIREMAN + + _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 after 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 afternoon, 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, becomes exceedingly anxious--not about her own shortcomings, +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' standing. But the minister kens her weakness. We +must all 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. And 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 _grooin_' in her back, and remarks +"_Ateeshoo-oo!_" ye are bound for the sake of peace to put the question, +"What ails ye, guidwife?" + +"I'll never believe that the minister smokes. He never has 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." + +"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 Tammock 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 +popularity. 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-pook_ing 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, Tammock; it's no' a +kindly nicht for auld banes," says the wife. + +"Ay, guidwife, 'deed and I sympathise wi' ye," says Tammock. "It's what +we maun a' come to some day." + +"Doitered 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, and her hands on +that part of the onstead that appears to have been built for them, "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 Tammock, 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 mysel'." + +"_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 herself 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 fragments. We were +sitting smoking very peacefully and wondering 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 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 held." + +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 behave themselves. But ultimately Tammock +Thackanraip 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-sefting 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 favourite expression); +"an' what for no'? What said she, Tammock, to turn you frae 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 Mulwhulter, 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 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 Rob!" + +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 further 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 a' 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 sudden-like?" + +"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'll 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 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 attention. + +"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 gibe 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[4] for her faither; but, of course, +I let on that it was for her guidman, and wanted her to tak' the size o' +my held so that she micht mak' it richt. + +[Footnote 4: Night-cap.] + +"'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 airn should be owre +dear?' said I. + +"'Ou, nocht ava,' says Tibby. 'I juist gat them whaur the Ayrshire +drover gat the coo. I fand them in a field!' + +"Then everybody _haa-haa_ed 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 hand 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' belonged 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 gey an' brisk, +clatterin' dishes an' reddin' 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. + +"I ripit a' my pooches, yin after the ither. + +"'I misdoot I maun hae comed 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, pittin' 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. '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, sympathetically. + +"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 TORY + + _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 scurrying down the street +of the Radical village where he lived, with a score of men after him. +Clods and stones were flying, 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 Radical leader. It was +a time when the political atmosphere was prickly with electricity, and +men's passions easily flared up--specially 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 chimney 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 blunderbuss 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 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 Wardhaugh sprawled on his knees to catch the +slumbering inmate 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 quarters +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 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 determination. 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 reminiscences of the snoring powers of his +spouse Meg. But, in spite of the entertaining nature of the +conversation, Jamie 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 stocking-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 riggin'," 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 candidate +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 +Chartist 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 gowl 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 without 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, ae way or the 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 GREAT RIGHT-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 + Unpurified; 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 Conquhar was a summer resort. Its hillsides 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 +shooting-lodge of Ben Dhu, which lay half a dozen miles to the 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 +underlings of the establishment would approach and in awe-struck tones +whisper the information, "That's the Marquis!" For it is the next thing +in these parts to being Providence to be the Marquis of Rannoch. + +The hotel of Glen Conquhar was far from the haunts of men. Its quiet was +never disturbed by the noise of roysterers. 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, Radical 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 degenerate 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 Royle," 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 Royle regarded the best fishing in the water as his +birthright, and every rival as an intruder. He showed this too, for +there was no bashfulness about Old Royle. Young men who had just begun +to fish consulted him as to where they should begin on the morrow. Old +Royle 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 +morning to a certain pool six miles up the water, where he had seen a +round half-dozen of beauties only the night before. 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 +Conquhar 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 farther 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 unaccompanied by the more persistent +male. So there was wrath at the _table-d'hôte_. There was indignation in +the houses of summer residence scattered up and down the strath. It was +the new tenant of the Lodge of Glen Conquhar, 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 +Marquis of Rannoch. 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 windows, 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 ventured 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 indignation 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 of damages,' at the same time offering the +money composition 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 leading 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 individual; (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 +exception to this attitude, undertake to pilot even the most upright of +women through the custom-house. + +The situation became acute owing to the indignant feelings of the +visitors, now reinforced by the dwellers in the various houses of +private entertainment. Indignation meetings 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 agreeing +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 Reverend 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 up on 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 indeed 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 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 ORDER 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 Right-of-Way Case. + + + + +VI + +DOMINIE GRIER + + _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_. + + "_The 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 Rowantree? 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 Todston, 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 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, +resting 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. Calmsough, 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. + +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 Tam, 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 Tam, 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 examination of my +bit school at the Rowantree, 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 Rowantree +even as Corseglass, and Deadthraws, and other Valleys of Dry Bones about +us. + +"There shall be no more fanatics in Rowantree!" 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 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 hayfield 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 +remained 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 saying 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 town of Edinburgh and a rough road, still +I thought that I should be hardly bestead if I could not walk it in two +days. For my heart was sore to think of the want of sound doctrine that +was about to fall upon the parish of Rowantree. 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 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 splashing 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 propose 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 the road, to drag myself over it, and lie snug till their +cavalcade 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 +Chryston 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 company guid at the Fisher's Tryst, we'll +bring back the gospel yet to the holms of the Rowantree, 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 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 begone 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 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 +Rowantree." + +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 Mickie 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 PRODIGAL DAUGHTER + + _Hard is it, O 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 imperill'd + With service, Mary-like she brought her pains_, + + _And laid them 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 bear, 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 parish 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 Cauldshields. To the manse +he had brought his young wife, and from its cheerless four 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 waywardness 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 Rullion Green to be slaughtered, sent +Claverhouse 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 large, the sheep +were dispossessing the plough, and the principle of "led" farms was +depopulating the countryside. 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 +moment that he looked out into the dim white chaos of whirling 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 consciousness 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. + + * * * * * + +In the manse of Cauldshields the Reverend Eli M'Diarmid'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 shouldna gang oot snod," she said, as she +brushed him faitly down. "Ye mind hoo Miss Elsie used to say that ye wad +gang oot a verra ragman gin she didna look efter 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 minister, 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 declare that she suggested the +text. Nor is this so wholly impossible 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 remained 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 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 expressive 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 evermore + 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 oppressed, for the little children and those on whom +the Lord has special pity--"for to Thee, O Lord, more are the children +of the desolate than the children of the married wife, saith the Lord." +And the minister seemed to hear somewhere 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 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 the 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 sermon. 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 +baptizing. + +"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 bade wi' him +respectable a' my days; but hear ye to me, Mistress Colville, I will +never darken their doorstep till the day of my death." So she would not +go in. + + + + +BOOK THIRD + +HISTORIES + + + + +I + +FENWICK MAJOR'S LITTLE 'UN + + _A short to-day, + And no to-morrow: + A winsome wife, + And a mickle sorrow-- + Then done was the May + Of my love and my life_. + + "Secrets." + + +[_Edinburgh student lodgings of usual type_. ROGER CHIRNSIDE, M.A.; +_with many books about him, seated at table_. JO BENTLEY _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 "headaches" 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 intermittently as the +others subside for the time_. + +CHIRNSIDE. Migraine--artery--decussate--wonder what this other fool says +(_rustling leaves_). They all contradict one another, and old +Rutherland will never believe you when you tell him so. + +[_A new quarrel arises at the upper end of the room between Jo Bentley +and Tad_. + +CHIRNSIDE (_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_. + +CHIRNSIDE (_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. Fenwick's governor prowling about in the background with a +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 at the window. Good old lady, mine, as ever +they make them. Ever felt that way, fellows? + +[_Chirnside'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. They 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 unnecessary. 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 +knowing as to bars. I envied, but luckily had no money. Besides, 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_. + +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 Fenwick 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 fellows 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 goodwives. + +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 session; and when we came up again in +November, Fenwick Major was going it harder than ever. + +[_Jo Bentley and Tad Anderson look at each other. They know all about +that_. + +CHIRNSIDE (_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 maybe 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, Fenwick, 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 a dozen "wets" on board, so we won't +count him responsible. + +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. Their 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 Edinburgh 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 barmaid 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. + +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 awfu' 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. + +I had forgotten his name was James. He was only Fenwick 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 married (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 window 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!" + +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 fellows 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 night 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 tomcats between 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 over-eat. Therefore, we students had +porridge twice a day, with a herring in between, 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. After that we went out for a walk, and the landlady +gathered 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 meantime 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 photographs 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 white-wash. 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 appeared +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 they were 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 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 caricatures 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 engine 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 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 anxiously and maternally at +his face. She seemed surprised also, and a trifle agitated. + +"Dear me, Maister Mac, what's the maitter? Ye're 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, "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 expression 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 +be. 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 looking 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 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 procession, 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 +(previously 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 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 +mustard 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 plaster, really--only a few +pepper-corns 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 +speculate 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 perspiration. 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 success 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 pronounced 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-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 medical 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 bedrooms; and, locking +the doors, sit down to observe with interest 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. Robert 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 assured 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--" + +"Hout na, laddie," said good Roger 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. 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 mysel', ye +maun mind, an' I 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 inordinately 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 Reverend Robert 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 individually, 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 Disestablishment, as is others' +use and wont. He went in a better 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 instructed as to the number of +hands that had had the making of the different prophecies, and upon the +allusions to primitive customs in the book of Genesis (which the +minister 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 make for peace. As, indeed, the Reverend Doctor Drumly +foretold when the thing was started. He had met the professor'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 consulting, 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, +binna yersel'." + +"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. + +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, elfish-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, accustomed 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 elfish 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. + +"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 +on 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 +meditatively settled his hard circular collar, which he wore in the +interests of Life and Work, but privately hated with a deadly hatred, as +his particular form of penance. + +It was no very long season that he had to wait, and before 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 trouble 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, exceedingly +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 half-way round +the head as if uncertain where to stop. Betsy had arrayed this "object" +in a pink bed-gown of her own, a pair of the minister'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-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 bed-gown. + +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 arm-chair, 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 forebears 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 continued. + +This would explain matters. + +"Na, na," said Simeon Gleg; "nae Dissenter ava'. I'm for the Kirk +itsel'--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 maister 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?" + +"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 improvement 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 gey rough, whinny grund, and has never +been turned owre. But I was thinkin' Enbra wad gie it a rare bit lift. +What do ye think o' the professors there? I was hearin' some o' them +wasna 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 minister, "that you intended +to enter the ministry of the Kirk." + +"Ou ay, that's nae dout 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 bed-gown looked +thoughtfully at the palms of his horny hands as he reeled off 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 providin'. 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 Gleg wrestled a moment with the M.B. waistcoat, 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. O man--I mean, O minister"--he broke out earnestly, "gin ye +wad juist gie the letters a bit rin owre. 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, O, +it's bonny, bonny! There's nocht like the Greek and the Laitin!" + +Now, there were many more brilliant ministers in Scotland than the +minister of Blawrinnie, but none 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 +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 understand all about it," +replied the minister warmly. + +Simeon still lingered undecided. He was now standing in the M.B. +waistcoat and the pink bed-gown. The sleeves were more obtrusive than +ever. The minister was reminded 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, O minister, ye micht gie +thae letters anither skelp owre--aboot _Alfy, Betaw, Gaumaw_!" + +The minister took the Greek Rudiments 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. + +"O Lord," he said, "help me keep mind o' it! It's just like the kingdom +o' heaven! Greek an' Laitin'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 dreadfu' heap o' siller; but, O minister, my mind +'ill stand an awfu' sicht o' impruvement! It'll no' be a penny owre +muckle!" + + + + +IV + +KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WELL + + "_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? + 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 Kennedy, 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 MacWalter 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 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 better than that. + +"Gin ye dinna be stirrin', I'll be up to ye wi' a stick!" cried Mistress +MacWalter. + +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, pampered +guid-for-naething! Dinna think I canna hear ye grumblin' and speakin' +ill words there!" + +Yet all he had said was "Ouch!"--in the circumstances, 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-sacks that could beat the +rain any day. Snow, in his own words, he did not give a "buckie"[5] for. + +[Footnote 5: The fruit of the dog-rose is, when large and red, locally +called a "buckie."] + +Then there was a stirring on the floor, a creaking of the ancient +joists. It was Kit putting on his clothes. He always 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 followed. 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 break-down. The angels saw, and smiled. But they took it to +the Father, just the same as if Kit Kennedy had been in 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' frae 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 oatcake out of the basket of "farles" which swung +from the black, smoked beam in the corner. Kit had cause to remember 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 listening. 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. + +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 Kennedy did his work, and +that there would be no cause to complain. 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 fancied 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. 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 upon +it, his mind was full of queer thoughts and funny imaginings. It is a +strange thing that the thought of rattling on the ribs of a lazy, sleepy +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 companionable 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 +bullocks, 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 slobbering 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 milking-pail, which he +would have called a luggie, set his knee 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 +reflections 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 falling 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_[6] in +the lirks of the knowes. + +[Footnote 6: A sheep turns _avel_ when it so settles itself upon its +back in a hollow of the hill that it cannot rise.] + +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-fog. + +Mistress MacWalter was on foot. She had slept nearly two hours, being +half-an-hour too long, after wearying herself 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 "flyting 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 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 MacWalter, 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 Mac Walter 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 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 Mac Walter waited for him, and with a hand both +hard and heavy fetched him a ringing blow on the side of the 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 exceeding 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 forgiven his enemies. He said nothing +about the sack. So Kit Kennedy began the day with a clean slate and a +ringing 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 mornin'?" cried Mistress MacWalter 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,'"[7] 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 punishment. So she called +Kit in to wash the dishes from which he had never eaten. Meysie stood +beside them, and dried for him, and her little heart was sore. There was +something 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. + +[Footnote 7: Has family worship.] + +"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. + + + + +THE BACK O' BEYONT + + + I + + _O nest, leaf-hidden, Dryad's green alcove, + Half-islanded by hill-brook's seaward rush, + My lovers 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 campanule; + 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, + Rich with love's lore, unlearnt in any book_. + + "_Memory Harvest_." + + +"An' what brings the lang-leggit speldron howkin' an' scrauchlin' owre +the Clints o' Drumore an' the Dungeon o' Buchan?" This was a question +which none of Roy Campbell's audience felt able to answer. But each +grasped his rusty Queen's-arm musket and bell-mouthed horse-pistol 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 _débris_ 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 twitching of the corners of the mouth. He was active and +nimble, 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 Westland 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 himself 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 Roy Campbell, late +of Glen Dochart, flourished 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, Roy 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 Roy, 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' +missin'? 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 blunderbuss 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, he said-- + +"May I, Roy Campbell, be boiled in my ain still-kettle, distilled +through my ain worm, an' drucken by a set o' reckless 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. + +"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 dislike, 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 mountain-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 gulf through which the streams sped westward 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 Range 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 readiness, he sought it not for the first time. + +Surmounting the ridge, he wormed his way along the sky-line with +caution, till, getting his back into a perpendicular cleft down the side +of the mountain, he cautiously descended, 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 suddenly with a +ringing sound into a basin of pure white granite--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 intervals, 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 fetching 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, overgrown cavity of the +runnel. When he was midway he heard a step coming across the heath, +brushing through the "gall"[8] bushes, splashing through the shallow +pools. A foot heavily booted crashed through the half-concealed tunnel, +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. + +[Footnote 8: The bog-myrtle is locally called "gall" bushes. It is the +most characteristic and delightful of Galloway scents.] + +"That's Roy himsel'!" 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 outlaw Highlander." + +Once on the hillside 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 indignity 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 hollow 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 chuckling, "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 +caution 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 unable to say how these two +met. He only knows that when the pale light flooded back upon the +hillside and cast its reflection into the dim depths of the hope, they +were evidently well agreed. "It is true what I told you," 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 Balmaclellan, 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 smugglers and gangrel bodies who had come to look upon +the fastnesses of the Forest as their own. + +"Have ye no fellow-feeling, Roy, 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." + +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 thinkin'!" + + + + +VI + +NORTH TO THE ARCTIC + + _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 on 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 Constantine, leaning back +in his luxurious easy-chair and joining 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 Yakût 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 literary and newspaper topics, seldom of Russia, +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 Constantine +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--Russian 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 Command was purgatory, but +the Yoort was Hell!" Then he paused a moment, and added, "_I_ 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 +Englishman. 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 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 +Yakût Yoort.' Not that the Yakûts meant to be unkind. 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 Government 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 abominations 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 Russians and their habits of personal cleanliness from monkeys. +For long I was never allowed to leave the Yoort for any purpose, even +for a moment, without a couple of savages coming 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 (previously 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 blubber +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 escaping. 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 September. + +"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 island 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 endeavour to escape. It +was very lonely, for I had no one to consult, and no friend to whom to +intrust any part of my arrangements. But the suspicion of the Yakûts 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 running 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 provisions, +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 +uncertain 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 Wiledóte, 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 intolerably conceited. He was for ever +asking if I could do this and that, and jeering at me for my incapacity +when I disclaimed 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 discharge 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 supplies 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_? 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_.' + +"Being glad on any terms to get clear of the precious couple, I gave +them both money for their _vodka_, and set off 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 luxuries +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 hundred 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 farther 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 hundredth chance was indubitably worth the risk--better +than inaction, and better than the suicide which would inevitably 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, turning, 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 hummock. +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 delightedly +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 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 +troublesome 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. Siberia 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 Arctic Ocean!' And there, blue and clear, +through the narrow 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. Now, 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 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 Russian cruiser could be in these waters. +But out from the sternsheets 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 _Concord_, commissioned +to seek for the records of the lost American 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 Constantine 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 Russia 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 Russia?" + +Almost for the first time throughout the long story, Constantine looked +me fixedly in the eyes. The strange light of another world, of the +fatalist East, looked plainly out of his eyes. Every Russian 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_." + + + + +BOOK FOURTH + +IDYLLS + + + + +I + +ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE + + I + + _Far in the deep of Arden wood it lies; + About it pleasant leaves for ever wave. + Through charmèd afternoons we wander on, + And at the sundown reach the seas that lave + The golden isles of blessèd 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 draweth 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 mainly, barring those of the ice +and the channel-stones. The deep voice of the Reverend Doctor Spence +Hutchison, minister of the parish, whose lair was on the broomy knowes +of Howpaslet beside its ancient kirk, was answered by the keener, more +intense tones of the Reverend 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 election 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 Doctor 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, +Saunders 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 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 Reverend William Henry Calvin take the chair--moved by +Saunders Ker, seconded by himself. So Dr. Hutchison has the casting +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 schoolroom, 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 parliamentary 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 carried 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 anything of a Ker. + +So the schoolroom was crowded with "Establishers," for the Kers would +not come within such a tainted building as a parochial school--except to +a comic nigger minstrel performance, which in Howpaslet levels and +composes all differences. So instead they waited at the windows and +listened. One prominent and officious stoop of the Kirk tried to shut a +window. But he got a Ker's clicky[9] over his head from without, and sat +down discouraged. + +[Footnote 9: Shepherd's staff.] + +"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 Reverend 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 feeling 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 himsel', 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 ae 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 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 curious notions out of Laurence Sterne crossed with +Rutherfurd's _Letters_ and _The Man of Feeling_. + +"It is moved and seconded that the meetings be opened with prayer." + +Objected to by Doctor 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 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 minister, Saunders Ker put the matter +practically in his broadest and most popular Scots. The rare Howpaslet +dialect thrilled to the spinal cord 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 an' the bairn's +prayer has put to shame baith elder an' 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 outside, 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 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 graund--heard ye ever the like o' that!" + +The 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 appointed, 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 at all the rest of his +life was a preposterous one. Some said they would have voted 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. Hutchison 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 and 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 Reverend +Doctor 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 Lamont, 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 +Tuesday; and sometimes, but more rarely, he opened the meeting 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 +proposed 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 important 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 advise 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 minutes 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, unless +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 always suspected that "Auld Wullie" +(referring to the Prime Minister of the time) studied the reports of the +Howpaslet school-board proceedings in the _Bordershire Advertiser_. +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 Howpaslet 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 qualification 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 thoroughly, and obtained wondrous reports written in the +official 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 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 +withheld till the alterations were made. + +The militant Doctor could not dismiss Duncan Rowallan 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 Rowallan had not come to Howpaslet for salary, and his expenses +were so few that he lived as comfortably on his pittance 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 breathe 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. + +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 moment. But he did +not catch the run-away 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 braeface. 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 minister's daughter. + +The teacher of the village school found himself apologising, 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 waterproof. + +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 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 sedate 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 Ministers' 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 Rowallan'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 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 Ramage's, where on an eve of tea and +philosophy it was conceivable 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 recollected 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 handkerchief 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 shilling and sixpence at the +hat-shop up three stairs at the corner of the Bridges. + + * * * * * + +The next evening Duncan Rowallan stood by his own door. Deaf old Mary +Haig, his housekeeper, was clacking 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 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 interests the +Kers had assaulted and battered four fellow-Christians of the contrary +opinion, and the Reverend William Henry Calvin had shaken his fist in +the stern face of Dr. Hutchison as he defied 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 be 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 frequently 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 morning--that most mysterious thing in nature. He missed, +indeed, the diffused elation of the dawn; but it was infinitely sweet to +hear in that still place the softened sounds of the 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 between 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 growing alone and +looking westward in the twilight. + +"You will pardon me, Mr. Rowallan," 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 Rowallan did not suffer her to go on. + +"Pray do not say a word about the matter, Miss Hutchison; 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 unanimity 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 Howpaslet did not +quarrel about you, it would just be something else. But I am sorry you +should be annoyed by our bickerings." + +"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, these 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 Rowallan's senses, quickening his pulses, and making 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 shuddered slightly, and +drew her shawl closer about her shoulders. + +"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." + +"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 Rowallan was sure that it trembled, so +he took it in his. There it fluttered 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 valleys 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 Hutchinson took +back her hand. + +Opportunity stood on tip-toe. The full tide of Duncan Rowallan'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 beneath 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 how it all happened, but +without success. Where they have failed, can I succeed? + +I can only tell what did happen. + +Duncan Rowallan 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 electric touch their +old world flew into flinders. + +The stone dyke was not any longer between. Duncan Rowallan had +overleaped it and stood by the side of Grace Hutchison. + + * * * * * + +The minister had come home to Howpaslet manse exceedingly 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 +Rowallan. 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 Rowallan was neither here nor there; but, indeed, the +Kers were hard to bear. + +His daughter met him with a grave face. The determined 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 Rowallan." + +The stern old minister swayed--doubting whether he had heard aright. + +"Marry Duncan Rowallan, 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 mastership at the High +School. I have promised to marry him." + +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. + +"Grade," 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 daffodil 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 end 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 Ryan. He had come from Glasgow and set up in quite +grand style, succeeding to the business of his uncle, John M'Connell, +who had spent all his days selling treacle and snuff to the guidwives of +the Port. When Fergus Teeman came from Glasgow, 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, +overfrowned by mere eyebrows of chocolate-coloured eaves. + +He had a broad and gorgeous sign specially painted in place of the old +"_John M'Connell, licensed to sell Tea, Coffee, 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 gentleman 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 Ryan, 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 +greatness. + +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 Fergus 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 forward 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 conveying the goods and benefits of +the Emporium to the remoter villages. The van was resplendent with paint +and gilding. It was covered with advertisements of its contents +executed in the highest style of art. The Kirk in the Vennel 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 magnificent 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. + +"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 +Ryan 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 Ryan. 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 accepted. On the Monday he left +Port Ryan for ever, directing 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 Providence 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 Teeman, 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. Fergus, therefore, read +this to the candidates, and gave them for breakfast plain bread and +butter (best Irish cooking, 6-1/2d. 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 +frequently 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, 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 successfully 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 o' there, boy; +ye're lickin' 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 bags made yet? Gin they're no' dune in five meenits, I'll 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 Teeman 'was there with his notebook, and before the +close of the service more than two pages were filled with the measure +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 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 minister, 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 minister 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 account 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!" + +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 Stewart was so intent on watching the +swift changes of expression 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 explain them. + +To them entered another Fergus Teeman to the militant 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 +kennin' 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 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 nests 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 gleaming 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 ashamed + 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?_" + + +Once I wrote[10] about two little, boys who played together all through +the heats of the Dry Summer in a garden 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. + +[Footnote 10: Jiminy and Jaikie (_The Stickit Minister_).] + +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 over-seas there came +letters one, two, and three, asking to be told what these two did in the +beautiful garden 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 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', +likewise 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 Jiminy'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, 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 flowing, 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 hearkened +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 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 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 moisture; "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 farther 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 alone in 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 breathing 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. + +"_I_ 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 explanation 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 KIRK + + + + +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 fill; + Men are but dolts who talk of Good and Ill. + These grapes of ours are wondrous sour, I trow!_ + + _They sneer because we live for other things, + 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 forlornest 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 mountains 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-windows, and a roof of purple Parton slates. There +were one or two small office-houses about it devoted to a cow, a +Galloway 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, waiting 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 photograph 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 Symington, 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 liberty 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 Clints of Drumore. Yet +forty years before, the Reverend Fergus Symington was counted the +luckiest young minister in the Stewartry; and many were the jokes made +in public-house parlours and in private houses about his mercenary +motives. He had married money. He had been wedded with much rejoicing to +the rich daughter of a Liverpool 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 hearty 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 congregation. +They were married, and it is obvious what the countryside 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 Weelum 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 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 sermons, had only given occasional +notice to the eager, ill-balanced 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 +Mitchelfleld. 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 disappointed when he found +himself stranded in the little cottage by the Clints of Drumore with +thirty pounds a year. 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 incursion 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 contentment 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 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 Clints 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 Clints o' Drumore?" asked the +old woman, going forward and taking 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, Meysie 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!" 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 it's money I must have_!" + +Meysie bent her head towards him. + +"Ye shallna gang in to break yer faither's heart, Clement; 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 unfraternally. But he +took the pencil and wrote--"_I 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 Symington 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 Ronald, 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 wilderness 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. + +"O 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 ministering woman, and on me, alas! Thine unworthy +servant, for I am but a sinful man, O 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 hole in the waxcloth. So, kneeling on the bare stone, he prayed +long, even till the candle flickered itself out, smelling 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 Symington 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 MINISTER'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 spot_, + + _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 uplands 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 conscience 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 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 +memorise, or "mandate," them, as it was called. So that on Sabbath, 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 premeditated 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 minister went down into the little study to take his +spare breakfast of porridge and milk. Then, having called his +housekeeper 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 instinctive 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 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 chimneys of the "Lang Raw," 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. Wherever 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 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 minister. + +"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 fell oot wi' the +minister's loon, and staned him aff the Drumquhat grund. 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 +expression 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 sudden 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 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 play-actors." + +But the minister was placable and interested. He recognised the face as +that of the boy who came to church on various occasions; but with whom +he had found it so difficult to come to speech. + +"How many plays of Shakespeare have you read?" queried 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 Shakespeare? 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?" + +"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' ae +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. Rab 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 interest. 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 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 barefoot like you, over rocky +roads and up and down hillsides?" + +"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 Richard Cameron. + +"Dowgs hae!" asserted Walter stoutly. + +"What makes you say so?" said the minister indulgently. 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 ae thing, he gangs to the kirk every Sabbath, 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 sermon'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 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. + +"Repeating tunes!" said the minister, with a certain painful +recollection of a storm in his session on the Thursday 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, "Royal disna hand 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 yersel'. Mair than that, +Royal gangs for the kye every nicht himsel'. 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 bottom was a true +Scot, and could always answer one question by asking another. + +"Well," answered the minister, making a great concession, "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 neighbouring 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 welcome 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 goodwife 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 becoming in him to have a +good judgment on these secularities. + +The family and dependants were all gathered together in the wide, cool +kitchen of Drumquhat, for it was the time for the minister's +catechising. Saunders sat with his wife beside him. The three +sons--Alec, James, and Rob--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 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 Rob momentarily +mislaid the "Reasons Annexed" to the second 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 permission of his seniors at the farm, but wandered off by +himself to be present at the strange ceremonies of the opening. There +the Drumquhat 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 Whunnyliggate, and he appeared +in person on the following Sabbath 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, 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 Whunnyliggate 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 +awkward 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 younger 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 pilgrimage 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 minister 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:-- + + "_Nether Dullarg_. + + "DEAR MR. M'QUHIRR,--_I made strict inquiry subsequent 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 + indignation, 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 intervention of their + parents. I may say, in conclusion, that the application of a + portion of uncooked beef to the protuberance has considerably + reduced the swelling upon my son's nose during the night. I intend + (D.V.) to resume the visitation of my congregation on Thursday + next, unaccompanied either by my own son or yours.--Believe me, + dear sir, to remain your most obedient servant_, + + _July 3rd_. + + "JOHN 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 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 as that +misleered hound, the minister's loon!" + +It was evidently more than ever necessary to proceed with +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 +among the hay or corn in the end of the barn. Like all Lowland barns, +ours has got a row of three-cornered unglazed 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 slender enough to scramble after. I had +not the smallest doubt that the scapegrace was now lying snugly in his +hole, impregnable 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!" + +"Nae 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 destructionfu' 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." + +"Weel, never mind the buiks," said I, for this had nothing 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 whenever either +a policeman or a minister is seen within miles of Drumquhat, my lad +takes the shortest cut for the fastnesses of Drumquhat Bank, there to +lie like one of his hunted forebears 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 gey while, wi' Airchie +haudin' ae 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, onyway, I could see through the wundy, 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. + +"He micht ask me my quaistions, 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. Marchbanks 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 shoother." + +"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. (O +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 hoo 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, and Airchie got the whup, +but it was roon the legs, an' it garred him loup and squeal!" + +My wife nodded grim approval. + +"When we got to Drumquhat," continued Alec, "it was gey 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 didna +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 couldna pit up +wi'--nae boy could. For it was my ain coach, minister'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 blue 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, + Roses of the mountains, flowers of the valley, + Hill rose and plain rose and white vale lilies_. + + +PART I + +There is no doubt that any committee on ministerial inefficiency would +have made short work of the Reverend 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 people have the gift, fortunate or otherwise, of obtaining credit +for the work of others, and transferring to the shoulders 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 environment, that man was the +minister of the "Laigh" or Townend Kirk. Now, Ebenezer Skinner was a +model subject 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 Greek and Latin class-rooms. He even took the noted +Professor Lauchland seriously, whereupon the latter promptly 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 +resolved never to go again. He talked chiefly to the youth next to him +on Bench Seventeen, who had come from another 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 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 Ebenezer'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. Occasionally 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 regulations 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. Therefore more and +more he withdrew himself from them, crystallising into his narrow early +conventions. His college learning acted like an unventilated mackintosh, +keeping 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 professors, said when the +co-examiner hinted darkly of "spinning": "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 himself on the more proper soil of the +philosophy of morals. Here he did indeed learn something, for the +professor's system 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 valuable 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 +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 lecture." His wicked +companions--who had returned themselves variously as "Reading the +_Scotsman_," "Writing a love-letter," "Watching a fight between a spider +and a bluebottle, spider weakening"--saw at once that the future of a +man who did not know any better than to listen to a discourse on +Hermeneutics was entirely hopeless. So henceforth 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 September 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. Spurgeon'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 Sunday 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 would have been +childlike had it not been childish), predoomed 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_.] + +SKINNER--HALDANE.--On the 25th instant, 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 Haldane.--_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, 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 +congregation watching the green leaves of the trees waving at the +windows. But, certes, after he brought 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 was peeling +for a "fecht"--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, instead 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 himself. + +"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 Dally'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!" + +"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, "seein' 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 considerable 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 Reverend 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. + +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 thankful +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 expression 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 singing 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 Cairn Edward +folk. She was a quick and dainty little person. + +"Man, Gib, but she's a feat bit craitur!" said the shoemaker, 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 Rob's heid is screwed the richt way on his +shoothers!" + +Now, in her rambles the minister's wife met one and another 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, 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 congregation. 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 Renfrewshire 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 wonderful beadle of old times, to whose enlarged duties his +late spruce visitor had succeeded. He smiled fitfully as he brooded +over old things and old times; and when his aunt came in from washing up +the dinner dishes, he asked concerning "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 crossed pipes and fly-blown +sweatmeats. As the city 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 disappeared, 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 the town boys, conscious innocence did not keep any of +them still. They ran first, and inquired from a distance whom he was +after. For John's justice was not evenhanded. His voice was ever for +open war, and everything that wore tattered trousers and a bonnet 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 +minister'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 remark, after +you had vainly engaged in the pleasure of the chase, having surprised us +in some specially outrageous 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 circumstance 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. + +"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; Tam 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 wasna 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' gless 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 forebears, 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 fu' 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 bairdies 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 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 to 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 sermons. 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 naewise discomposed wi' the hale service.' + +"Ay, it is queer to come back to the auld place efter 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 bookboard, 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 behadden to the makkar. But they never could mak' ye +onything 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 + +EUROCLYDON OF THE RED 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 + Comes 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, O 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 + Under the orchard wall_." + + +Euroclydon of the Red Head was the other name of the Reverend Sylvanus +Septimus Cobb during his student 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 proportions 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 pertinently. + +Sylvanus had attained the cognomen of Euroclydon of the Red 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 impression 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 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--foolishly, for that +was business much more in our line than in hers. With one mind we +thundered back a responsive request 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 (O 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 +yersel'!" 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 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 having 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 acceptance. + +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 +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 sunshine 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." + +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 running 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 seaweed 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 conditions, 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 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 CAIRN EDWARD KIRK 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 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 micht 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 Glasgow, with "THIS STYLE OF SUIT, £2, 10s." printed on the breast of +it. The lay figure was a new thing in Cairn Edward, 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 payed itsel'!" 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 Reubens that could in nowise excel." + +"Weel, we're fixed noo, rarely. I may say that I mentioned his wearin' +knickerbockers to him when he first cam', thinkin' that as a young man +he micht no' ken the prejudices 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 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 wasna 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, thinking 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 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 +ae 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 mysel'. For thirty year I was +drunk every Monday nicht, and that often atweenwhiles that it fair bate +me to tell when ae spree feenished and the next began! But it's three +month 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 himsel' 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 Tipperairy 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 +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 aff and were fechtin' wi' the bluid rinnin' on +to the verra street. + +"The fowk 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'Kelvie an' me war drinkin' in the toon. Oh, he's a fine polisman! 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 thegither 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 constables, 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'Kelvie 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 + + + + +IN PRAISE 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?_ + + _Night in the 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 saying 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 corn-crake. + +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 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 +bird 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!" + +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 wakeful 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 wonderfully 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 +evidently, 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 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 +underground horologes being out of gear, a poor shade had somehow +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 reproach 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 without 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 without 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 himself, 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 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 laboriously 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 possible 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 pheasant'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 perspective." + + +_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 blackbird is mellow with much pecking of +winter-ripened apples. He winds his song artlessly along, like a _prima +donna_ singing 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. Instantly 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 frenzied. 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, +breathless 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 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 suspected that he sucks eggs, and even +murder in the first degree--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 "Ringtail." The Blue and the Brown, so unlike each other +that no ordinary person 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, warning cry of +the male bird, who catches sight of us standing behind the shining grey +trunk of the beech. The rovers 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 we 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. + + + + +BALLAD OF MINE OWN COUNTRY[11] + +[Footnote 11: _Rhymes à la Mode_ (Kegan Paul, Trench & Co.)] + + + 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! + + O 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; + 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. + + + + +Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh +University Press. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bog-Myrtle and Peat, by S.R. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/13667-8.zip b/old/13667-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4ebd14f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13667-8.zip diff --git a/old/13667.txt b/old/13667.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..76043f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13667.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13555 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bog-Myrtle and Peat, by S.R. Crockett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bog-Myrtle and Peat + Tales Chiefly Of Galloway Gathered From The Years 1889 To 1895 + +Author: S.R. Crockett + +Release Date: October 7, 2004 [EBook #13667] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Josephine Paolucci and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT + +TALES CHIEFLY OF GALLOWAY + +GATHERED FROM THE YEARS 1889 TO 1895, BY + +S.R. CROCKETT + +LONDON + +BLISS, SANDS AND FOSTER +15 CRAVEN STREET, STRAND +MDCCCXCV + + + + + _Inscribed with the Name of + George Milner of 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_. + + + + +KENMURE + +1715 + + + "The heather's in a blaze, Willie, + The White Rose decks the tree, + The Fiery-Cross is on the braes, + And the King is on the sea. + + "Remember great Montrose, Willie, + Remember 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. + + 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. + + ANDREW LANG. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +BOOK FIRST. ADVENTURES + + I. THE MINISTER OF DOUR + II. A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER +III. SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES + IV. UNDER THE RED TERROR + V. THE CASE OF JOHN ARNISTON'S CONSCIENCE + VI. THE GLISTERING BEACHES + + +BOOK SECOND. INTIMACIES + + I. THE LAST ANDERSON OF DEESIDE + II. A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY +III. THE COURTSHIP OF TAMMOCK THAKANRAIP, AYRSHIREMAN + IV. THE OLD TORY + V. THE GREAT RIGHT-OF-WAY CASE + VI. DOMINIE GRIER +VII. THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER + + +BOOK THIRD. HISTORIES + + I. FENWICK MAJOR'S LITTLE 'UN + II. MAC'S ENTERIC FEVER +III. THE COLLEGING OF SIMEON GLEG + IV. KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WELL + V. THE BACK O' BEYONT + VI. NORTH TO THE ARCTIC + + +BOOK FOURTH. IDYLLS + + I. ACROSS THE MARCH DYKE + II. A FINISHED YOUNG LADY +III. THE LITTLE LAME ANGEL + + +BOOK FIFTH. TALES OF THE KIRK + + I. THE MINISTER-EMERITUS + II. A MINISTER'S DAY +III. THE MINISTER'S LOON + IV. THE BIOGRAPHY OF AN INEFFICIENT + V. JOHN + VI. EUROCLYDON OF THE RED HEAD +VII. THE CAIRN EDWARD KIRK MILITANT + + +EPILOGUE: IN PRAISE OF GALLOWAY + +NIGHT IN THE GALLOWAY WOODS +BIRDS AT NIGHT +THE COMING OF THE DAWN +FLOOD-TIDE OF NIGHT +WAY FOR THE SUN +THE EARLY BIRD +FULL CHORUS +THE BUTCHER'S BOY OF THE WOODS +THE DUST OF BATTLE +COMES THE DAY + + + + +_PREFACE_ + + +_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 twilight 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 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 before 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 maidens' 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 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, things 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.R. 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_. + + + + +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 Herakles_." + + + + +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 +village 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 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 conspicuously 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 complacently, 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 fishermen ran their cargoes of Holland gin and ankers of French +brandy, put good gear on the back 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 business 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. + +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 inwards +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? O 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. + +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 gauger 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 followed a crash, and the +two halves of the kitchen door sprang asunder with great and sudden +noise. Abraham Ligartwood came in. + +The men sat awed, each man wishful to creep behind his neighbour. + +The minister's breadth of shoulder filled up the doorway 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 followed--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 said, "with your +face like the moon in harvest and your girth like a tun of Rhenish, 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 +halesome 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. +Rebuke 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 set himself to "fence the tables." He stated +clearly who had a right to come forward to the table 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 Ligartwood 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. Deputations were chosen, and started for the manse +full of courage 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 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 whitethorn +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. + +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 catechising, 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 +Judgment. 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. + +Then came Abraham Ligartwood out of the manse of Dour. He went down to +the farm towns and into the village 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 kirk 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. 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 kirkyard 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 scorner'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 Abraham 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 dawn 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 MILNER. + + + + +II + +A CRY ACROSS THE BLACK WATER + + _With Rosemary for remembrance, + And Rue, sweet Rue, for you_. + + +It was at the waterfoot 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 tremors 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, sounding athwart the dancing ripples of the +loch. + +On the farther shore was a flat white ferry-boat, looking, as it lay +motionless in the river, like a white table chained in the water with +its legs in the air. The chain 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 +Cairnsmuir. + +"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 stern 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 gentlest magic, the ferry-boat drew nearer to him. +It did not seem to move; yet gradually the space of blue water between +it and the shore on which the whitewashed cottage stood spread and +widened. He could hear the gentle clatter of the wavelets against the +lip of the landing-drop as the 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 interest 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 gripper-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 fore-feet high and throwing +them out in an uncertain and tentative manner. + +Then the girl, with a quiet and matter-of-fact acceptance 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, +would never return look for look to any of them, save perhaps 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 +especially, he might have added, the young women of the people. Hitherto +he had done this chiefly in his imagination, 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. + +"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 passage 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 unresponsive. "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 Rhonefoot. 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, wondering 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 impulsively. + +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 information was superfluous. + +The end of the white, rose-smothered boathouse was 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 Barbara 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 forgotten to ask him for +it!" + +"Did I ever see sic a lassie! Rin 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 breakfast. There was a +large house company. The men were prowling discontentedly about, looking +under covers or cutting 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 telling 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 asked; for, indeed, +they had a right to expect something. + +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 blessing that I forgot +to pay the ferry!" + +When he got outside he said to his host, "Is there such a place +hereabouts as the Rhonefoot?" + +"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 window 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 accustomed 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. + +Again there came the cry from the Rhonefoot, 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 moaning and rustling +in the trees, but it did not stir even a ripple 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 you 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 +beside 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 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 dividing of the +blue-black thunder-cloud by the winking flame, fell the sword of God, +smiting and shattering. It seemed hard that it should fall on the weaker +and the more innocent. But then God has plenty of time. + +One chilly gloaming there was no calling at the Rhonefoot. Nevertheless +Grace rowed over and waited, imagining that all evil had befallen her +lover. Within, her aunt Barbara 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, unconcernedly 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 interest, 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. + +"Ou 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 stockin'-fit, +I'se warrant." + +"Ye may say sae, or a lawyer wadna come speerin' her," returned him from +Drumglass as the boat reached the farther 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 Raw, where he had trysted with a maid of another +sort. "Did ye notice she never said 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 indifferently. + +"Some fowk are like swine. They notice nocht that's no pitten intil the +trough afore them!" said the Mains indignantly. + +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 wandered 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 intoxicating 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 Rhonefoot. Once she put on her clothes in haste +and would have gone forth; but her aunt Annie, waking and startled, a +tall, gaunt apparition, came to her. + +"Grace Allen," she said, "where are you gangin' at this time o' the +nicht?" + +"There's somebody at the boat," she said, "waiting. Let me gang, Aunt +Annie: they want me; I hear them cry. O 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?" + +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 finder 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. + +"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 Watery Something white floated dancingly +alongside, 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?" + +Barbara's voice rose and fell, wayward and querulous. There was no other +sound in the house, only the water sobbing 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. + +But within an inner pocket he had a letter that was not filed 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 judgeship. 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 Barmark +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 boathouse 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 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 disagreeable 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 hopefulness, 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. + +"How do they know, I wonder, that I want to be taken to the Rhonefoot? +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 Jeffray 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 Allens 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 Culsharg 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 hayfield scents, my feet_ + + _Scatter abroad some morning in July; + O wildwood 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_. + + "_Heart's Delight_." + + + + +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 remained 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 northwards 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 reading 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. 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 Drumdarroch 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 or manufacture for this purpose, though +threatening to turn out somewhat over tardy in development to profit by +the act of patronage. But the Douglas 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 Regent, 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 +watering-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 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, lifting 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 things are not the marks of a good woman, as I take it. +Yet there was no real cause for the bitter and sudden dislike, for, as +it chanced, she came but little into our adventures. 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 casement. I hung half out of the window, and satisfied +myself with looking upon the still, calm blue of Lago d'Orta beneath, +flecked 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, especially 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 on 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 themselves 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. + +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. Introductions 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 bubbling 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 Red +Eyelids. + +"Madame von Eisenhagen!" So that is your name, thought I; and I wonder +what may be your intentions! I had 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 Fenwick, 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, +flattering him with her eyes. + +So for a while we sat on the terrace, and a kind of scentless, 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 consumedly. + +Of the matter of our talk there is not much to say. Henry spoke freely +and well, Madame interjecting leading questions, and holding him with +her eyes. I, on the contrary, 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 Averso, +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 +sky-line, 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 laughing 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 coming 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 Red 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 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 Eisenhagen, 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 WORD OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE + + +Betimes in the morning we were afoot--long before Madame was awake; and +having committed our heavier 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 "_Buone feste, buon principio, e buona fine_" 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 valerian 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 artichokes or other precious crop. We understood him not +over well, nor indeed tried to. But a touchingly insignificant 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. 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, smit 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 a 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 apostolic baptism for our red wine. + +There presently we arrive. The place is verily an inspiration. 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 willingly 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 interstices 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 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 Rebekah of the well herself expects her kiss, +nor, spite of a possible 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 wandering lads +who, asking no favour, go a-wayfaring with strong hearts as in the +ancient days. + +Round 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 Caranco 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!" + +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 possibilities. + + + + +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 daggers 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. + +Then with a tale of Venice[1] 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." + +[Footnote 1: 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.] + +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 morning 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. + +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 before 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 breakfast, 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 sitting 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!" + +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." + +"Oh" 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-- + +"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 stumblingly 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 mud bank. 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 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 SINFUL VILLAGE OF SPELLINO + + +This was the story we told, and there was not a face among the audience +that did not blanch, and in that village 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 careful. A reputation so sudden and tremendous +is, at its beginning, 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 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 may be?" asked he, evidently thinking of our +reverence at the well-stoop. + +We shook our heads. + +"It matters not," said the easy father; "you are, I perceive, 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 certainly most excellent. "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 hungry off the road," +she said. "If thou, O 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 meekly, "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 cloisters +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 flickered 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 not that a remnant of the Waldenses was 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 Gentinetta, 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 saint swung about its neck. The men are out at the +_festa_, 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 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 Gentinetta has the advantage of me during 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," soliloquised 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--'My friend, such and such dues are +wanting. 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 affect 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 care 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 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 settled 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 Purgatory 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 +quittance of the heavenly dues, when thou hast not cleared thyself 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 minister, 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 my 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 sickness in the land, 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 incomes are small but regular. +Yet, I beseech thee, tell it not in this municipality, nor yet in the +next village; for in the 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. + + + + +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 Spellino. + +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 trampling 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 stand-still. + +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 discomposed nor terrified, as in such cases is +the custom. + +"I 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 English. "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 present, which was like +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 Government 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 +undefined 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 resolved 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 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 countrymen 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, indescribable movement of her +shoulders. "My father was a Russian 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 explanation. Henry, whose appreciation 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. + +"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 extent, which lay along +the edge of a small mountain lake, gravelled paths cut 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 Russia +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." + +The small dark man bowed low, yet with a certain reserve. + +"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 distinguishing 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 circumstances. "Here, +you understand, gentlemen, I am a hotel-keeper. 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 decided 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 +cosmopolitan 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 herself 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. + +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. Presently they disappeared in the direction of the +Count's rooms to examine some new and beautiful specimens more at their +leisure. + +In an hour Henry came rushing back to us in great excitement. + +"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 desire 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 hillside, 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 outlined 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 _yashmak_ 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 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 perforce +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 Thal 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. + +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 Giovanni Turazza I read +the Tuscan poets, came to me. An ancient rhyme was in my head, and ere +I was aware I murmured-- + +"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 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 looking 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 save, 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 morning?" 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. + +"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 lapse 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 breaking 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 desires 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 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 calling 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 which we trod, too, how strangely elastic! The pine-trees +give 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 mountains, 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 myself, "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. + +"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 eyelashes. + +"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 Russia, we are not secure of what is +our own, even for a day. We may well pray there for our daily bread. In +Russia 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 present, 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 believe. 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. + +"Remember," 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." + +"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?" + +"Oh," I said quickly, "happy!--you know that without needing to be +told." + +"No matter what I know," the Countess said, with a certain 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!" + +"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-foot 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 answer. And I gave it guiltily, saying to +myself that anything which took his mind off Madame Von Eisenhagen was +certainly 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, innocently 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 performers 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 Russia, of wolf-hunts, and of other hunts when the wolves +were the hunters--tales to make the blood run cold, yet not amiss being +recounted over a bottle of Forzato in the bright dining-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 madness 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 something, 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 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 naturally on the side of the +adventurous. The thing is impossible. + +"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 precipices 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 +foothold 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 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 nature 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 Thal wind was bringing +the heavy mist-spume pouring 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 midnight. + +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. + +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 shivered. 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 fingerless 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. + +I strode from under the dark shadow of the hotel, wondering 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 attention. + +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 no 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 +Thal 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 tingled through the +frosty air. The lake lay black beneath on a grey world, plain as a blot +of ink on a boy's copybook. + +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 Clints 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, creaking 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 sideways 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. He was endeavouring to steer a +boat-load of city young ladies to a landing-place. A squall was +bursting; the harbour was difficult. One of the girls annoyed him by +jumping up and calling anxiously, "O, 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 succinctly, "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 yesterday that +the nails in my boots refused to grip. But presently there, remained +only a snow-slope, and a final pull up a great white-fringed bastion of +rock. Here was the summit; and even as I reached it, over the Bernina +the morning 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 summit 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 Thal 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 farther +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 Gutwein! He ought to have remembered that that +particular sort does not keep. We had better take it now!" There was +also half a chicken, some clove-scented Graubuendenfleisch, four large +white rolls, crisp as an Engadine cook can make them, half a pound of +butter in each--O excellent Gutwein--O 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 breakfast 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 +reflecting 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 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 topmost 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, beginning as soon as the sun touched our balcony, +and continuing 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. We were ready to +make the most of the long hours of sunshine 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 shooting, 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 illiberal 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 excitement 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 represented, 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. + +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 ourselves 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 bedroom of the German +widow. M. Bourget, with the instinct 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 whiteness gave me a sense of horror for which I could not +account. 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. + +"O 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 XI + +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 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 Government 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 russet, 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 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. +Perhaps 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 writing--writing. It is to that girl. You +will pass away and think no more of Lucia!" + +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 farther 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 moorland 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 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 farther 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 Russia 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 certainly 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, 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 intends 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 meaningless as the lapse of the waves on +the shore, pattering an accompaniment 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." + +"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." + +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 +entered 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 morrow, 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 carefully twice. He seemed much +struck with the contents. + +"I am summoned to Milan," he said, "and upon the instant. I shall yet +overtake my sister. May I ask Monsieur 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 ridden out of sight over the pass through which the +Thal 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 River 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 +perspired wisdom on the coldest day. The other officials imitated 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 languages. 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 lightened our spirits +and cheered our waiting; for it is my experience 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--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 running 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 diplomaed, 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 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 runners 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-padded 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. + +Down I came flying, checked a little at the rise for the crossing of the +village street. A mountainous bulk towered 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 out-house 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 Rathhaus. 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 unhappy. 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 village 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 excellent plans of the ground, +showing where the miscreant assaulted 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 snow-bank, duly described his parabola, discuticled +his nose--in fact, fulfilled the programme 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 matter: 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 Hotel 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 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 palaces 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, colour 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 trippingly 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!" + +"'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! Remember 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 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, joyless, tragic. + +Castel del Monte sat on the hill-top, eminent, far-beholding. +Vine-stakes ran up hill and down dale, all about it. White houses were +sprinkled here and there. As we ascended, 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 movement of the feet. The mule sent a greeting to his kind; and +some other white mountain, larger, more broken as to its sky-line, 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 dignified Venetian senator, in the black and +radiant linen of the time, came forth to meet me, and with the utmost +respect ushered me within. In my campaigning dress and broad-brimmed +hat, I felt that my appearance was unworthy of the grandeur of the +entrance-hall, of the suits of armour, the vast pictures, and the +massive last-century furniture in crimson and gold. + + + + +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 expectation. + +In my own room I arrayed me in clothes more fitted to the 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 down-stairs, conscious by the hearing of the ear that a heart was +beating somewhere loudly, mine or another'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 wonder 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 stiffly to a seat without a +word. Lucia continued her conversation without a pause, and paid no +further heed to the ancient dame, who took her meal with a single-eyed +absorption 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 +tumultuously. 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 laughing 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 motioned me to sit close +by her in another, but one smaller and lower. We talked of many things, +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. + +"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 forgetful, 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 breaking. + +"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 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 the 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 down-stairs 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 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, saying 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 judgment!" ... 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 indeed 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!" + +"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?--I have forgotten--" + +"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 Bells of Antwerp_." + + +I am writing this 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 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 intendant 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 "dumbhead," also +condemned, and many other things, because, he says, I can never tell +anything that I begin to tell straightforwardly 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 +children 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 beginning, else I shall never make an ending, as Madame +Hegelmann 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 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 German; and when +there is supper he will always have old Jacob to tell him tales, in +which he says that there is no beginning, 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. + +"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 suddenly 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 Professor Mueller'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 Schlaeger-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 Rhine corps, so he thought he might gain some cheap glory by pushing +rudely against the tall Englander 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 Rhine +brute--though my cousin, for my sins. + +"So Hellmuth went to the end of the Bridge, and, turning with his +corps-brothers to back him, he pushed the second time against your +Herr, and stepped back so that all might laugh as he took off his cap to +mock the Englishman's bow and curious way of saying 'Pardon!' + +"But the Englander 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, Excellenz?" said I. "How +can an officer of the Kaiser bring such a challenge?" + +"Ach!" he said, shrugging his shoulders, "is not a fight a fight, cause +or no cause? Moreover, is not Hellmuth 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 immediately 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 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 Schlaeger, but he has +more steel in his veins than a dozen of Hellmuths. Thunderweather, I +shall fight Hellmuth 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 England. + +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 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 Reiters 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 suspicion was everywhere. Yet in Paris I +was, all through the days of the investiture. More, I was chief of +domestic service 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 had. And, of course, we at the +Hotel 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 grievously +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 were 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 Frenchmen +thought that he wept to see the disgrace of Paris. So that, and nothing +else, saved him. + +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 Neuilly. + +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 fusiladed!" + +This made him afraid, for indeed the thing was commonly done at that +time. + +The old man smiled and held out his hand to me. He said-- + +"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 maligned 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 Hotel 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 +disband nor work. They sulked about the brows of Montmartre, 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 unknown young men who came to the Hotel 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 aristocrats of the _regime_ of +Buonaparte. It was quite equal. + +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 +Commune, 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 +Fatherland, 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 Pomerania 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. + +They were ill-conditioned, white-livered hounds. + +"Jules the garcon--Jules of the white apron!" cried one who knew me. +"Know you not that he is now Dictator? _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 frightened 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 deserted--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 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 before 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 supercilious 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, 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 another of my captors. + +So for very shame, and because the young maid was silent, I had to cease +my crying. They erected us like targets against the brick wall, and I +set to my prayers. But when they had retired from us and were preparing +themselves 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 farthest 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 cheering 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 Versaillists 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 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 Heidelberg? 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 +Oberkellner to Madame the Frau Wittwe than to be Prince of +Kennenlippeschoenberghartenau! + + + + +V + +THE CASE OF JOHN ARNISTON'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, + O hear, awake, and let us in, O 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?_ + + _Bear us, O 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, O Baal!_ + + "_Pro Fano_." + + +John Arniston'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 +passionate 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. Nevertheless, 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. Because 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 saying about some one +named Reginald. 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 her +life. Well, what of that? He had always understood she had been married +before. Enwoven in the mesh-net of her scented hair, her soft cheek warm +and wet against his, all this talk seemed infinitely detached--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-morrow they twain, drawing apart from all the evil tongues +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 between +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 +horror, 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 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 patchwork 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-in-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 with 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 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"[2] 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. + +[Footnote 2: Engage in family worship.] + +He opened the book at random: "_And God spake all these words saying_ +... THOU SHALT NOT--" The tremendous 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 heavily 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 Embankment. The fog was +thicker than ever. Unseen watercraft 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. Nothing more than +that. Every one knew it. All intelligent people were nowadays of one +religion. The thing was manifestly absurd--the Hebrew fetich 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. + +"AND 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 sentence 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 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 morrow. Who was he, that he should put himself in the attitude +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 interpretation, +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 finished 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 detachment. 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--Reginald Gale." + +"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 down-stairs, 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 policeman, 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. + +"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 Arniston. + +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 falling 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, manoeuvred 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 (accompanied with violence), was blazing on the fire. +Then, 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 opposite the publishers' advertisements needed 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 landlady 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 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 emotion was life, and the +expression of it second nature, running 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 excellent 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 the matter. The heavens smiled +upon his bride and himself. There was now no stern voice to break +through upon his blissful self-approval. + +Why there should be this favouritism among the commandments, 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 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, besides 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 peculiarity 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 practicable side of Suliscanna, +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. + +"Mind you sneak past your father, Anna!" cried Simeon, 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 Simeon 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 +careful 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 everything. 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 +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 procedure was much +simpler. She found her father sitting in his office, constructed of +rough boards. He frowned continuously 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. + +"Row!" 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. + +"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 hundred 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!" + +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 fishermen 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 imperfect 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. 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 Glistering 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 companion 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 themselves 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 Glistering Beaches had power to wile them +away. + +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 +Suliscanna 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 Glistering 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 exquisite +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 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 ostentatiously, 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 uncanny, 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. + +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 precipitous, they were fairly lined with the birds and +hoary with their whitewash. + +After Simeon had charged his gun, the children proceeded 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 unaccustomed pleasure of doing as she +was bid. + +Deeper and deeper they went into the cleft of the rocks, 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 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 astonishment. 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 grandfather!" + +"Wouldn't I just--for a hundred pounds!" said Simeon briskly, looking +for a larger stone. + +"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 Iceland 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 + + I + + _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_! + + 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 MILNER. + + + + +I + +THE LAST ANDERSON OF DEESIDE + + _Pleasant is 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 forward 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 conducting the +funeral--if, indeed, Scots funerals can ever be said to be +conducted--had given it a too successful push to let the rickety 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 +irregular fire of skirmishers. + +"Ay, man, he's won awa'!" + +"Ay, ay, he is that!" + +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 +Rob Adair of the Mains of Deeside, as they walked sedately together, +neither swinging 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' Deeside," said Rob 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." (Rob +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 pairish; 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 at the Auld Wa's where the three roads meet. +For nae _sicht_ could they get on a' Deeside for kirk or manse, because +frae the Dullarg to Craig Ronald 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 faither, +'Faither, wull ye no' speak to yer ain son?' no' ae 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 forgathered 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 gey queer look +in his face. 'Wattie!' he said, an' for ae blink the minister thocht +that his faither was gaun to greet, a thing that he had never seen him +do in a' 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 forbye, an' the twa o' them never +said _Disruption_ mair as lang as they leeved. + +"'Ye had better see the factor aboot pittin' up a meetin'-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 minister, but he's a' +by wi't the day," continued Saunders M'Quhirr, as they trudged behind +the hearse. + +"Did I ever tell ye, Rob, aboot seem' young Walter--his boy that gaed +wrang, ye ken--when I was up in London the year afore last? Na? 'Deed, I +telled naebody binna 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. + +"Ae 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 thocht 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 gey queer place no' far +frae where Tammas Carlyle leeves, near the water-side. I thocht that +there was nae ill bits i' London but i' the East-end; but I learned +different. + +"I gaed up the stair o' a wee brick hoose nearly tumlin' 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, verra sharp an' clippit in her mainner o' +speech. + +"'Does Walter Anderson o' Deeside bide here?' I asked, gey an' plain, as +ye ken a body has to speak to thae Englishers 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 no' be acquant 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 ae 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. O man, Rob, I hope I may never see the like again." + +"Ay, man, Saunders, ay, ay!" said Rob 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 +considerable distance with his hand deep in the pocket of his tail-coat. + +The farmer of Drumquhat proceeded on his even way. + +"The lassie that I took to be his wife (but I asked nae 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 Rob 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. + +"'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 talkin' aboot hoo Fred +Robson an' him stole the hale o' the Drumquhat plooms ae 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 dike, 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 retical 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!'" + +"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, liftin' 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' +knowledge, and that no' seldom. + +"'O 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. + +"'Walter,' says I, 'I'll pit up a prayer, as I'm on my knees onyway.' +I'm no' giftit like some, I ken; but, Robert, I prayed for that laddie +gaun afore his Maker as I never prayed afore or since. And when I spak' +aboot the forgiein' 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, Robert Adair!" said Saunders 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 farther 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. There was no religious service at the minister's +grave save that of the deepest silence. Ranked 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 ventured +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 faither," 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 impossible. + +As the mourners "skailed" slowly away from the kirkyaird in twos and +threes, there was wonderment as to who should have the property, for +which the late laird and minister had cared so little. There were very +various opinions; 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 Scottish +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 +grave-head 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 immovable 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 Archibald Grier, gone +to stand a while by his benefactor's grave. + +But Daft Jess was of another opinion. + + + + +II + +A SCOTTISH SABBATH DAY + + "_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 Carmichael 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 benediction. 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 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 memories. + +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 +_hyule_" "Wattie, ye mischeevious boy." For he was a stirring lad, and +his restlessness frequently brought him into trouble. He remembers 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 historian 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 a U.P. + +Walter looked for the time when all the world, from 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 attacking _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 alternatively, 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 already 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 entirely 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 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 scriptural authority, certainly +carries with her materials for constructing 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 "laft," where the "boys"[3] slept. The roof of this +upper floor was unceiled, and through the crevices the winter 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 powdery 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. + +[Footnote 3: 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.] + +The whole family of Saunders M'Quhirr was collected every Sabbath +morning at the "buik." It was a solemn time. No one was absent, or +could be absent for any purpose 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," garnished with +endless quavers and grace-notes. + +The chapter was then read with a simple trust and manfulness like that +of an ancient patriarch. Once at this portion of the service the most +terrible thing that ever happened 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 "tenpenny," 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 +promoted to the place of the "trapped." The master's "taws" were a +wholesome deterrent of persistent or mistaken trapping; and, in +addition, the trapped boys sometimes rectified matters at the back of +the school at the play-hour, 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 school. When this was asked of Walter, +he replied modestly 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 conflict, as he had often seen Royal 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. +Moreover, 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 solemnity of the week +had culminated, and the portion was being read, Walter detected a quaint +antiquity in the pronunciation 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 to be highly gifted in intercession. But he was +also considered 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, however 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 lief learn +sune as syne." + +This excellent theory of prayer was certainly productive of curious +results. For instance, Alec is recorded in the family archives to have +interjected the following petition 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 become too +outrageous, Alec continued without break in his supplications--"And now, +Lord, will you please excuse me till I gang an' kick that loon Rab, for +he'll no' behave himsel'!" 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 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 patriarchal. + +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 +time-keepers, 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 slumbered 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 +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 overlooking 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 Galloway 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 accompanied 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 surrounded by trees, a +place both bieldy and heartsome. The 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 inside, 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 CAMERONIAN DIET OF WORSHIP + +There were not many distractions for a boy of active habits and restless +tendencies during the long double service 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 +exquisitely chiselled face of some marble Apollo, Richard Cameron was, +as his name-sake had been, an ideal minister 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, "O 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 before 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-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 +entertainment; against all such as swear minced oaths, such as 'losh,' +'gosh,' 'fegs,' '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 certain 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. Walter 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 +exhausted 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. Once, however, after he had seated himself, he was put +to shame by the minister suddenly darting off on a new excursion, 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 thereafter he +was not so sure. + +Once, also, when the minister visited the farm of Drumquhat, 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. + +"Ou 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 second 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-bag full of good road-metal on the following morning, in order to +impress the Copland boys, who were Frees, with a 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 occasionally with a start when his granny +nudged him when Saunders 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, having 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 THREE 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 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 Whinnyliggate 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 +"fait 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 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 Settlement of "Aughty-nine" (1689), when the +Cameronians refused to enter into the Church of Scotland as +reconstructed by the Revolution 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 Thursday 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 awfu' 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 +Cameronian. 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, nevertheless, in the long-run, it was +the will of Billy that was the ultimate law. Walter was very glad to +have the M'Haffies on the cart, both because he was allowed to walk all +the 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 occasions, 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 Abernethies" melted in the mouth arose before him with +irresistible 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 COURTSHIP OF TAMMOCK THACKANRAIP, AYRSHIREMAN + + _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 after 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 afternoon, 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, becomes exceedingly anxious--not about her own shortcomings, +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' standing. But the minister kens her weakness. We +must all 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. And 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 _grooin_' in her back, and remarks +"_Ateeshoo-oo!_" ye are bound for the sake of peace to put the question, +"What ails ye, guidwife?" + +"I'll never believe that the minister smokes. He never has 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." + +"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 Tammock 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 +popularity. 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-pook_ing 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, Tammock; it's no' a +kindly nicht for auld banes," says the wife. + +"Ay, guidwife, 'deed and I sympathise wi' ye," says Tammock. "It's what +we maun a' come to some day." + +"Doitered 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, and her hands on +that part of the onstead that appears to have been built for them, "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 Tammock, 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 mysel'." + +"_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 herself 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 fragments. We were +sitting smoking very peacefully and wondering 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 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 held." + +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 behave themselves. But ultimately Tammock +Thackanraip 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-sefting 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 favourite expression); +"an' what for no'? What said she, Tammock, to turn you frae 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 Mulwhulter, 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 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 Rob!" + +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 further 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 a' 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 sudden-like?" + +"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'll 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 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 attention. + +"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 gibe 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[4] for her faither; but, of course, +I let on that it was for her guidman, and wanted her to tak' the size o' +my held so that she micht mak' it richt. + +[Footnote 4: Night-cap.] + +"'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 airn should be owre +dear?' said I. + +"'Ou, nocht ava,' says Tibby. 'I juist gat them whaur the Ayrshire +drover gat the coo. I fand them in a field!' + +"Then everybody _haa-haa_ed 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 hand 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' belonged 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 gey an' brisk, +clatterin' dishes an' reddin' 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. + +"I ripit a' my pooches, yin after the ither. + +"'I misdoot I maun hae comed 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, pittin' 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. '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, sympathetically. + +"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 TORY + + _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 scurrying down the street +of the Radical village where he lived, with a score of men after him. +Clods and stones were flying, 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 Radical leader. It was +a time when the political atmosphere was prickly with electricity, and +men's passions easily flared up--specially 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 chimney 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 blunderbuss 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 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 Wardhaugh sprawled on his knees to catch the +slumbering inmate 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 quarters +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 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 determination. 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 reminiscences of the snoring powers of his +spouse Meg. But, in spite of the entertaining nature of the +conversation, Jamie 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 stocking-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 riggin'," 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 candidate +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 +Chartist 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 gowl 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 without 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, ae way or the 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 GREAT RIGHT-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 + Unpurified; 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 Conquhar was a summer resort. Its hillsides 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 +shooting-lodge of Ben Dhu, which lay half a dozen miles to the 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 +underlings of the establishment would approach and in awe-struck tones +whisper the information, "That's the Marquis!" For it is the next thing +in these parts to being Providence to be the Marquis of Rannoch. + +The hotel of Glen Conquhar was far from the haunts of men. Its quiet was +never disturbed by the noise of roysterers. 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, Radical 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 degenerate 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 Royle," 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 Royle regarded the best fishing in the water as his +birthright, and every rival as an intruder. He showed this too, for +there was no bashfulness about Old Royle. Young men who had just begun +to fish consulted him as to where they should begin on the morrow. Old +Royle 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 +morning to a certain pool six miles up the water, where he had seen a +round half-dozen of beauties only the night before. 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 +Conquhar 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 farther 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 unaccompanied by the more persistent +male. So there was wrath at the _table-d'hote_. There was indignation in +the houses of summer residence scattered up and down the strath. It was +the new tenant of the Lodge of Glen Conquhar, 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 +Marquis of Rannoch. 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 windows, 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 ventured 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 indignation 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 of damages,' at the same time offering the +money composition 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 leading 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 individual; (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 +exception to this attitude, undertake to pilot even the most upright of +women through the custom-house. + +The situation became acute owing to the indignant feelings of the +visitors, now reinforced by the dwellers in the various houses of +private entertainment. Indignation meetings 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 agreeing +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 Reverend 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 up on 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 indeed 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 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 ORDER 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 Right-of-Way Case. + + + + +VI + +DOMINIE GRIER + + _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_. + + "_The 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 Rowantree? 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 Todston, 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 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, +resting 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. Calmsough, 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. + +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 Tam, 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 Tam, 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 examination of my +bit school at the Rowantree, 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 Rowantree +even as Corseglass, and Deadthraws, and other Valleys of Dry Bones about +us. + +"There shall be no more fanatics in Rowantree!" 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 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 hayfield 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 +remained 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 saying 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 town of Edinburgh and a rough road, still +I thought that I should be hardly bestead if I could not walk it in two +days. For my heart was sore to think of the want of sound doctrine that +was about to fall upon the parish of Rowantree. 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 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 splashing 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 propose 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 the road, to drag myself over it, and lie snug till their +cavalcade 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 +Chryston 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 company guid at the Fisher's Tryst, we'll +bring back the gospel yet to the holms of the Rowantree, 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 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 begone 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 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 +Rowantree." + +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 Mickie 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 PRODIGAL DAUGHTER + + _Hard is it, O 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 imperill'd + With service, Mary-like she brought her pains_, + + _And laid them 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 bear, 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 parish 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 Cauldshields. To the manse +he had brought his young wife, and from its cheerless four 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 waywardness 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 Rullion Green to be slaughtered, sent +Claverhouse 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 large, the sheep +were dispossessing the plough, and the principle of "led" farms was +depopulating the countryside. 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 +moment that he looked out into the dim white chaos of whirling 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 consciousness 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. + + * * * * * + +In the manse of Cauldshields the Reverend Eli M'Diarmid'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 shouldna gang oot snod," she said, as she +brushed him faitly down. "Ye mind hoo Miss Elsie used to say that ye wad +gang oot a verra ragman gin she didna look efter 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 minister, 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 declare that she suggested the +text. Nor is this so wholly impossible 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 remained 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 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 expressive 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 evermore + 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 oppressed, for the little children and those on whom +the Lord has special pity--"for to Thee, O Lord, more are the children +of the desolate than the children of the married wife, saith the Lord." +And the minister seemed to hear somewhere 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 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 the 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 sermon. 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 +baptizing. + +"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 bade wi' him +respectable a' my days; but hear ye to me, Mistress Colville, I will +never darken their doorstep till the day of my death." So she would not +go in. + + + + +BOOK THIRD + +HISTORIES + + + + +I + +FENWICK MAJOR'S LITTLE 'UN + + _A short to-day, + And no to-morrow: + A winsome wife, + And a mickle sorrow-- + Then done was the May + Of my love and my life_. + + "Secrets." + + +[_Edinburgh student lodgings of usual type_. ROGER CHIRNSIDE, M.A.; +_with many books about him, seated at table_. JO BENTLEY _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 "headaches" 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 intermittently as the +others subside for the time_. + +CHIRNSIDE. Migraine--artery--decussate--wonder what this other fool says +(_rustling leaves_). They all contradict one another, and old +Rutherland will never believe you when you tell him so. + +[_A new quarrel arises at the upper end of the room between Jo Bentley +and Tad_. + +CHIRNSIDE (_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_. + +CHIRNSIDE (_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. Fenwick's governor prowling about in the background with a +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 at the window. Good old lady, mine, as ever +they make them. Ever felt that way, fellows? + +[_Chirnside'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. They 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 unnecessary. 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 +knowing as to bars. I envied, but luckily had no money. Besides, 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_. + +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 Fenwick 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 fellows 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 goodwives. + +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 session; and when we came up again in +November, Fenwick Major was going it harder than ever. + +[_Jo Bentley and Tad Anderson look at each other. They know all about +that_. + +CHIRNSIDE (_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 maybe 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, Fenwick, 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 a dozen "wets" on board, so we won't +count him responsible. + +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. Their 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 Edinburgh 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 barmaid 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. + +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 awfu' 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. + +I had forgotten his name was James. He was only Fenwick 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 married (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 window 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!" + +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 fellows 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 night 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 tomcats between 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 over-eat. Therefore, we students had +porridge twice a day, with a herring in between, 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. After that we went out for a walk, and the landlady +gathered 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 meantime 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 photographs 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 white-wash. 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 appeared +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 they were 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 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 caricatures 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 engine 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 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 anxiously and maternally at +his face. She seemed surprised also, and a trifle agitated. + +"Dear me, Maister Mac, what's the maitter? Ye're 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, "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 expression 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 +be. 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 looking 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 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 procession, 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 +(previously 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 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 +mustard 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 plaster, really--only a few +pepper-corns 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 +speculate 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 perspiration. 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 success 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 pronounced 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-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 medical 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 bedrooms; and, locking +the doors, sit down to observe with interest 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. Robert 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 assured 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--" + +"Hout na, laddie," said good Roger 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. 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 mysel', ye +maun mind, an' I 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 inordinately 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 Reverend Robert 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 individually, 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 Disestablishment, as is others' +use and wont. He went in a better 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 instructed as to the number of +hands that had had the making of the different prophecies, and upon the +allusions to primitive customs in the book of Genesis (which the +minister 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 make for peace. As, indeed, the Reverend Doctor Drumly +foretold when the thing was started. He had met the professor'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 consulting, 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, +binna yersel'." + +"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. + +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, elfish-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, accustomed 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 elfish 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. + +"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 +on 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 +meditatively settled his hard circular collar, which he wore in the +interests of Life and Work, but privately hated with a deadly hatred, as +his particular form of penance. + +It was no very long season that he had to wait, and before 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 trouble 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, exceedingly +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 half-way round +the head as if uncertain where to stop. Betsy had arrayed this "object" +in a pink bed-gown of her own, a pair of the minister'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-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 bed-gown. + +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 arm-chair, 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 forebears 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 continued. + +This would explain matters. + +"Na, na," said Simeon Gleg; "nae Dissenter ava'. I'm for the Kirk +itsel'--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 maister 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?" + +"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 improvement 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 gey rough, whinny grund, and has never +been turned owre. But I was thinkin' Enbra wad gie it a rare bit lift. +What do ye think o' the professors there? I was hearin' some o' them +wasna 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 minister, "that you intended +to enter the ministry of the Kirk." + +"Ou ay, that's nae dout 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 bed-gown looked +thoughtfully at the palms of his horny hands as he reeled off 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 providin'. 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 Gleg wrestled a moment with the M.B. waistcoat, 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. O man--I mean, O minister"--he broke out earnestly, "gin ye +wad juist gie the letters a bit rin owre. 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, O, +it's bonny, bonny! There's nocht like the Greek and the Laitin!" + +Now, there were many more brilliant ministers in Scotland than the +minister of Blawrinnie, but none 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 +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 understand all about it," +replied the minister warmly. + +Simeon still lingered undecided. He was now standing in the M.B. +waistcoat and the pink bed-gown. The sleeves were more obtrusive than +ever. The minister was reminded 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, O minister, ye micht gie +thae letters anither skelp owre--aboot _Alfy, Betaw, Gaumaw_!" + +The minister took the Greek Rudiments 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. + +"O Lord," he said, "help me keep mind o' it! It's just like the kingdom +o' heaven! Greek an' Laitin'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 dreadfu' heap o' siller; but, O minister, my mind +'ill stand an awfu' sicht o' impruvement! It'll no' be a penny owre +muckle!" + + + + +IV + +KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WELL + + "_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? + 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 Kennedy, 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 MacWalter 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 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 better than that. + +"Gin ye dinna be stirrin', I'll be up to ye wi' a stick!" cried Mistress +MacWalter. + +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, pampered +guid-for-naething! Dinna think I canna hear ye grumblin' and speakin' +ill words there!" + +Yet all he had said was "Ouch!"--in the circumstances, 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-sacks that could beat the +rain any day. Snow, in his own words, he did not give a "buckie"[5] for. + +[Footnote 5: The fruit of the dog-rose is, when large and red, locally +called a "buckie."] + +Then there was a stirring on the floor, a creaking of the ancient +joists. It was Kit putting on his clothes. He always 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 followed. 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 break-down. The angels saw, and smiled. But they took it to +the Father, just the same as if Kit Kennedy had been in 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' frae 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 oatcake out of the basket of "farles" which swung +from the black, smoked beam in the corner. Kit had cause to remember 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 listening. 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. + +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 Kennedy did his work, and +that there would be no cause to complain. 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 fancied 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. 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 upon +it, his mind was full of queer thoughts and funny imaginings. It is a +strange thing that the thought of rattling on the ribs of a lazy, sleepy +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 companionable 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 +bullocks, 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 slobbering 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 milking-pail, which he +would have called a luggie, set his knee 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 +reflections 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 falling 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_[6] in +the lirks of the knowes. + +[Footnote 6: A sheep turns _avel_ when it so settles itself upon its +back in a hollow of the hill that it cannot rise.] + +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-fog. + +Mistress MacWalter was on foot. She had slept nearly two hours, being +half-an-hour too long, after wearying herself 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 "flyting 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 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 MacWalter, 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 Mac Walter 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 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 Mac Walter waited for him, and with a hand both +hard and heavy fetched him a ringing blow on the side of the 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 exceeding 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 forgiven his enemies. He said nothing +about the sack. So Kit Kennedy began the day with a clean slate and a +ringing 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 mornin'?" cried Mistress MacWalter 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,'"[7] 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 punishment. So she called +Kit in to wash the dishes from which he had never eaten. Meysie stood +beside them, and dried for him, and her little heart was sore. There was +something 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. + +[Footnote 7: Has family worship.] + +"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. + + + + +THE BACK O' BEYONT + + + I + + _O nest, leaf-hidden, Dryad's green alcove, + Half-islanded by hill-brook's seaward rush, + My lovers 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 campanule; + 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, + Rich with love's lore, unlearnt in any book_. + + "_Memory Harvest_." + + +"An' what brings the lang-leggit speldron howkin' an' scrauchlin' owre +the Clints o' Drumore an' the Dungeon o' Buchan?" This was a question +which none of Roy Campbell's audience felt able to answer. But each +grasped his rusty Queen's-arm musket and bell-mouthed horse-pistol 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 twitching of the corners of the mouth. He was active and +nimble, 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 Westland 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 himself 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 Roy Campbell, late +of Glen Dochart, flourished 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, Roy 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 Roy, 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' +missin'? 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 blunderbuss 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, he said-- + +"May I, Roy Campbell, be boiled in my ain still-kettle, distilled +through my ain worm, an' drucken by a set o' reckless 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. + +"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 dislike, 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 mountain-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 gulf through which the streams sped westward 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 Range 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 readiness, he sought it not for the first time. + +Surmounting the ridge, he wormed his way along the sky-line with +caution, till, getting his back into a perpendicular cleft down the side +of the mountain, he cautiously descended, 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 suddenly with a +ringing sound into a basin of pure white granite--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 intervals, 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 fetching 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, overgrown cavity of the +runnel. When he was midway he heard a step coming across the heath, +brushing through the "gall"[8] bushes, splashing through the shallow +pools. A foot heavily booted crashed through the half-concealed tunnel, +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. + +[Footnote 8: The bog-myrtle is locally called "gall" bushes. It is the +most characteristic and delightful of Galloway scents.] + +"That's Roy himsel'!" 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 outlaw Highlander." + +Once on the hillside 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 indignity 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 hollow 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 chuckling, "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 +caution 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 unable to say how these two +met. He only knows that when the pale light flooded back upon the +hillside and cast its reflection into the dim depths of the hope, they +were evidently well agreed. "It is true what I told you," 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 Balmaclellan, 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 smugglers and gangrel bodies who had come to look upon +the fastnesses of the Forest as their own. + +"Have ye no fellow-feeling, Roy, 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." + +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 thinkin'!" + + + + +VI + +NORTH TO THE ARCTIC + + _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 on 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 Constantine, leaning back +in his luxurious easy-chair and joining 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 literary and newspaper topics, seldom of Russia, +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 Constantine +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--Russian 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 Command was purgatory, but +the Yoort was Hell!" Then he paused a moment, and added, "_I_ 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 +Englishman. 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 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 unkind. 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 Government 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 abominations 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 Russians and their habits of personal cleanliness from monkeys. +For long I was never allowed to leave the Yoort for any purpose, even +for a moment, without a couple of savages coming 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 (previously 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 blubber +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 escaping. 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 September. + +"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 island 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 endeavour to escape. It +was very lonely, for I had no one to consult, and no friend to whom to +intrust 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 running 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 provisions, +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 +uncertain 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 intolerably conceited. He was for ever +asking if I could do this and that, and jeering at me for my incapacity +when I disclaimed 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 discharge 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 supplies 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_? 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_.' + +"Being glad on any terms to get clear of the precious couple, I gave +them both money for their _vodka_, and set off 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 luxuries +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 hundred 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 farther 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 hundredth chance was indubitably worth the risk--better +than inaction, and better than the suicide which would inevitably 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, turning, 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 hummock. +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 delightedly +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 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 +troublesome 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. Siberia 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 Arctic Ocean!' And there, blue and clear, +through the narrow 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. Now, 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 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 Russian cruiser could be in these waters. +But out from the sternsheets 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 _Concord_, commissioned +to seek for the records of the lost American 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 Constantine 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 Russia 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 Russia?" + +Almost for the first time throughout the long story, Constantine looked +me fixedly in the eyes. The strange light of another world, of the +fatalist East, looked plainly out of his eyes. Every Russian 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_." + + + + +BOOK FOURTH + +IDYLLS + + + + +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 draweth 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 mainly, barring those of the ice +and the channel-stones. The deep voice of the Reverend Doctor Spence +Hutchison, minister of the parish, whose lair was on the broomy knowes +of Howpaslet beside its ancient kirk, was answered by the keener, more +intense tones of the Reverend 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 election 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 Doctor 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, +Saunders 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 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 Reverend William Henry Calvin take the chair--moved by +Saunders Ker, seconded by himself. So Dr. Hutchison has the casting +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 schoolroom, 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 parliamentary 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 carried 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 anything of a Ker. + +So the schoolroom was crowded with "Establishers," for the Kers would +not come within such a tainted building as a parochial school--except to +a comic nigger minstrel performance, which in Howpaslet levels and +composes all differences. So instead they waited at the windows and +listened. One prominent and officious stoop of the Kirk tried to shut a +window. But he got a Ker's clicky[9] over his head from without, and sat +down discouraged. + +[Footnote 9: Shepherd's staff.] + +"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 Reverend 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 feeling 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 himsel', 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 ae 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 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 curious notions out of Laurence Sterne crossed with +Rutherfurd's _Letters_ and _The Man of Feeling_. + +"It is moved and seconded that the meetings be opened with prayer." + +Objected to by Doctor 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 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 minister, Saunders Ker put the matter +practically in his broadest and most popular Scots. The rare Howpaslet +dialect thrilled to the spinal cord 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 an' the bairn's +prayer has put to shame baith elder an' 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 outside, 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 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 graund--heard ye ever the like o' that!" + +The 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 appointed, 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 at all the rest of his +life was a preposterous one. Some said they would have voted 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. Hutchison 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 and 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 Reverend +Doctor 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 Lamont, 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 +Tuesday; and sometimes, but more rarely, he opened the meeting 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 +proposed 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 important 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 advise 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 minutes 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, unless +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 always suspected that "Auld Wullie" +(referring to the Prime Minister of the time) studied the reports of the +Howpaslet school-board proceedings in the _Bordershire Advertiser_. +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 Howpaslet 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 qualification 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 thoroughly, and obtained wondrous reports written in the +official 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 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 +withheld till the alterations were made. + +The militant Doctor could not dismiss Duncan Rowallan 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 Rowallan had not come to Howpaslet for salary, and his expenses +were so few that he lived as comfortably on his pittance 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 breathe 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. + +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 moment. But he did +not catch the run-away 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 braeface. 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 minister's daughter. + +The teacher of the village school found himself apologising, 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 waterproof. + +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 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 sedate 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 Ministers' 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 Rowallan'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 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 Ramage's, where on an eve of tea and +philosophy it was conceivable 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 recollected 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 handkerchief 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 shilling and sixpence at the +hat-shop up three stairs at the corner of the Bridges. + + * * * * * + +The next evening Duncan Rowallan stood by his own door. Deaf old Mary +Haig, his housekeeper, was clacking 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 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 interests the +Kers had assaulted and battered four fellow-Christians of the contrary +opinion, and the Reverend William Henry Calvin had shaken his fist in +the stern face of Dr. Hutchison as he defied 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 be 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 frequently 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 morning--that most mysterious thing in nature. He missed, +indeed, the diffused elation of the dawn; but it was infinitely sweet to +hear in that still place the softened sounds of the 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 between 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 growing alone and +looking westward in the twilight. + +"You will pardon me, Mr. Rowallan," 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 Rowallan did not suffer her to go on. + +"Pray do not say a word about the matter, Miss Hutchison; 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 unanimity 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 Howpaslet did not +quarrel about you, it would just be something else. But I am sorry you +should be annoyed by our bickerings." + +"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, these 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 Rowallan's senses, quickening his pulses, and making 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 shuddered slightly, and +drew her shawl closer about her shoulders. + +"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." + +"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 Rowallan was sure that it trembled, so +he took it in his. There it fluttered 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 valleys 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 Hutchinson took +back her hand. + +Opportunity stood on tip-toe. The full tide of Duncan Rowallan'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 beneath 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 how it all happened, but +without success. Where they have failed, can I succeed? + +I can only tell what did happen. + +Duncan Rowallan 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 electric touch their +old world flew into flinders. + +The stone dyke was not any longer between. Duncan Rowallan had +overleaped it and stood by the side of Grace Hutchison. + + * * * * * + +The minister had come home to Howpaslet manse exceedingly 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 +Rowallan. 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 Rowallan was neither here nor there; but, indeed, the +Kers were hard to bear. + +His daughter met him with a grave face. The determined 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 Rowallan." + +The stern old minister swayed--doubting whether he had heard aright. + +"Marry Duncan Rowallan, 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 mastership at the High +School. I have promised to marry him." + +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. + +"Grade," 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 daffodil 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 end 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 Ryan. He had come from Glasgow and set up in quite +grand style, succeeding to the business of his uncle, John M'Connell, +who had spent all his days selling treacle and snuff to the guidwives of +the Port. When Fergus Teeman came from Glasgow, 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, +overfrowned by mere eyebrows of chocolate-coloured eaves. + +He had a broad and gorgeous sign specially painted in place of the old +"_John M'Connell, licensed to sell Tea, Coffee, 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 gentleman 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 Ryan, 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 +greatness. + +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 Fergus 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 forward 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 conveying the goods and benefits of +the Emporium to the remoter villages. The van was resplendent with paint +and gilding. It was covered with advertisements of its contents +executed in the highest style of art. The Kirk in the Vennel 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 magnificent 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. + +"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 +Ryan 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 Ryan. 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 accepted. On the Monday he left +Port Ryan for ever, directing 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 Providence 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 Teeman, 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. Fergus, therefore, read +this to the candidates, and gave them for breakfast plain bread and +butter (best Irish cooking, 6-1/2d. 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 +frequently 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, 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 successfully 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 o' there, boy; +ye're lickin' 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 bags made yet? Gin they're no' dune in five meenits, I'll 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 Teeman 'was there with his notebook, and before the +close of the service more than two pages were filled with the measure +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 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 minister, 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 minister 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 account 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!" + +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 Stewart was so intent on watching the +swift changes of expression 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 explain them. + +To them entered another Fergus Teeman to the militant 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 +kennin' 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 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 nests 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 gleaming 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 ashamed + 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?_" + + +Once I wrote[10] about two little, boys who played together all through +the heats of the Dry Summer in a garden 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. + +[Footnote 10: Jiminy and Jaikie (_The Stickit Minister_).] + +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 over-seas there came +letters one, two, and three, asking to be told what these two did in the +beautiful garden 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 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', +likewise 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 Jiminy'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, 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 flowing, 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 hearkened +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 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 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 moisture; "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 farther 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 alone in 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 breathing 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. + +"_I_ 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 explanation 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 KIRK + + + + +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 fill; + Men are but dolts who talk of Good and Ill. + These grapes of ours are wondrous sour, I trow!_ + + _They sneer because we live for other things, + 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 forlornest 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 mountains 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-windows, and a roof of purple Parton slates. There +were one or two small office-houses about it devoted to a cow, a +Galloway 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, waiting 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 photograph 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 Symington, 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 liberty 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 Clints of Drumore. Yet +forty years before, the Reverend Fergus Symington was counted the +luckiest young minister in the Stewartry; and many were the jokes made +in public-house parlours and in private houses about his mercenary +motives. He had married money. He had been wedded with much rejoicing to +the rich daughter of a Liverpool 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 hearty 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 congregation. +They were married, and it is obvious what the countryside 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 Weelum 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 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 sermons, had only given occasional +notice to the eager, ill-balanced 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 +Mitchelfleld. 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 disappointed when he found +himself stranded in the little cottage by the Clints of Drumore with +thirty pounds a year. 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 incursion 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 contentment 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 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 Clints 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 Clints o' Drumore?" asked the +old woman, going forward and taking 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, Meysie 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!" 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 it's money I must have_!" + +Meysie bent her head towards him. + +"Ye shallna gang in to break yer faither's heart, Clement; 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 unfraternally. But he +took the pencil and wrote--"_I 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 Symington 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 Ronald, 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 wilderness 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. + +"O 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 ministering woman, and on me, alas! Thine unworthy +servant, for I am but a sinful man, O 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 hole in the waxcloth. So, kneeling on the bare stone, he prayed +long, even till the candle flickered itself out, smelling 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 Symington 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 MINISTER'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 spot_, + + _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 uplands 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 conscience 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 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 +memorise, or "mandate," them, as it was called. So that on Sabbath, 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 premeditated 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 minister went down into the little study to take his +spare breakfast of porridge and milk. Then, having called his +housekeeper 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 instinctive 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 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 chimneys of the "Lang Raw," 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. Wherever 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 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 minister. + +"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 fell oot wi' the +minister's loon, and staned him aff the Drumquhat grund. 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 +expression 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 sudden 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 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 play-actors." + +But the minister was placable and interested. He recognised the face as +that of the boy who came to church on various occasions; but with whom +he had found it so difficult to come to speech. + +"How many plays of Shakespeare have you read?" queried 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 Shakespeare? 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?" + +"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' ae +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. Rab 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 interest. 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 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 barefoot like you, over rocky +roads and up and down hillsides?" + +"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 Richard Cameron. + +"Dowgs hae!" asserted Walter stoutly. + +"What makes you say so?" said the minister indulgently. 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 ae thing, he gangs to the kirk every Sabbath, 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 sermon'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 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. + +"Repeating tunes!" said the minister, with a certain painful +recollection of a storm in his session on the Thursday 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, "Royal disna hand 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 yersel'. Mair than that, +Royal gangs for the kye every nicht himsel'. 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 bottom was a true +Scot, and could always answer one question by asking another. + +"Well," answered the minister, making a great concession, "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 neighbouring 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 welcome 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 goodwife 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 becoming in him to have a +good judgment on these secularities. + +The family and dependants were all gathered together in the wide, cool +kitchen of Drumquhat, for it was the time for the minister's +catechising. Saunders sat with his wife beside him. The three +sons--Alec, James, and Rob--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 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 Rob momentarily +mislaid the "Reasons Annexed" to the second 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 permission of his seniors at the farm, but wandered off by +himself to be present at the strange ceremonies of the opening. There +the Drumquhat 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 Whunnyliggate, and he appeared +in person on the following Sabbath 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, 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 Whunnyliggate 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 +awkward 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 younger 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 pilgrimage 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 minister 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:-- + + "_Nether Dullarg_. + + "DEAR MR. M'QUHIRR,--_I made strict inquiry subsequent 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 + indignation, 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 intervention of their + parents. I may say, in conclusion, that the application of a + portion of uncooked beef to the protuberance has considerably + reduced the swelling upon my son's nose during the night. I intend + (D.V.) to resume the visitation of my congregation on Thursday + next, unaccompanied either by my own son or yours.--Believe me, + dear sir, to remain your most obedient servant_, + + _July 3rd_. + + "JOHN 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 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 as that +misleered hound, the minister's loon!" + +It was evidently more than ever necessary to proceed with +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 +among the hay or corn in the end of the barn. Like all Lowland barns, +ours has got a row of three-cornered unglazed 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 slender enough to scramble after. I had +not the smallest doubt that the scapegrace was now lying snugly in his +hole, impregnable 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!" + +"Nae 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 destructionfu' 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." + +"Weel, never mind the buiks," said I, for this had nothing 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 whenever either +a policeman or a minister is seen within miles of Drumquhat, my lad +takes the shortest cut for the fastnesses of Drumquhat Bank, there to +lie like one of his hunted forebears 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 gey while, wi' Airchie +haudin' ae 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, onyway, I could see through the wundy, 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. + +"He micht ask me my quaistions, 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. Marchbanks 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 shoother." + +"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. (O +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 hoo 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, and Airchie got the whup, +but it was roon the legs, an' it garred him loup and squeal!" + +My wife nodded grim approval. + +"When we got to Drumquhat," continued Alec, "it was gey 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 didna +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 couldna pit up +wi'--nae boy could. For it was my ain coach, minister'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 blue 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, + Roses of the mountains, flowers of the valley, + Hill rose and plain rose and white vale lilies_. + + +PART I + +There is no doubt that any committee on ministerial inefficiency would +have made short work of the Reverend 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 people have the gift, fortunate or otherwise, of obtaining credit +for the work of others, and transferring to the shoulders 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 environment, that man was the +minister of the "Laigh" or Townend Kirk. Now, Ebenezer Skinner was a +model subject 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 Greek and Latin class-rooms. He even took the noted +Professor Lauchland seriously, whereupon the latter promptly 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 +resolved never to go again. He talked chiefly to the youth next to him +on Bench Seventeen, who had come from another 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 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 Ebenezer'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. Occasionally 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 regulations 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. Therefore more and +more he withdrew himself from them, crystallising into his narrow early +conventions. His college learning acted like an unventilated mackintosh, +keeping 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 professors, said when the +co-examiner hinted darkly of "spinning": "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 himself on the more proper soil of the +philosophy of morals. Here he did indeed learn something, for the +professor's system 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 valuable 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 +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 lecture." His wicked +companions--who had returned themselves variously as "Reading the +_Scotsman_," "Writing a love-letter," "Watching a fight between a spider +and a bluebottle, spider weakening"--saw at once that the future of a +man who did not know any better than to listen to a discourse on +Hermeneutics was entirely hopeless. So henceforth 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 September 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. Spurgeon'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 Sunday 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 would have been +childlike had it not been childish), predoomed 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_.] + +SKINNER--HALDANE.--On the 25th instant, 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 Haldane.--_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, 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 +congregation watching the green leaves of the trees waving at the +windows. But, certes, after he brought 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 was peeling +for a "fecht"--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, instead 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 himself. + +"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 Dally'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!" + +"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, "seein' 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 considerable 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 Reverend 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. + +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 thankful +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 expression 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 singing 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 Cairn Edward +folk. She was a quick and dainty little person. + +"Man, Gib, but she's a feat bit craitur!" said the shoemaker, 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 Rob's heid is screwed the richt way on his +shoothers!" + +Now, in her rambles the minister's wife met one and another 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, 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 congregation. 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 Renfrewshire 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 wonderful beadle of old times, to whose enlarged duties his +late spruce visitor had succeeded. He smiled fitfully as he brooded +over old things and old times; and when his aunt came in from washing up +the dinner dishes, he asked concerning "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 crossed pipes and fly-blown +sweatmeats. As the city 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 disappeared, 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 the town boys, conscious innocence did not keep any of +them still. They ran first, and inquired from a distance whom he was +after. For John's justice was not evenhanded. His voice was ever for +open war, and everything that wore tattered trousers and a bonnet 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 +minister'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 remark, after +you had vainly engaged in the pleasure of the chase, having surprised us +in some specially outrageous 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 circumstance 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. + +"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; Tam 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 wasna 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' gless 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 forebears, 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 fu' 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 bairdies 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 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 to 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 sermons. 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 naewise discomposed wi' the hale service.' + +"Ay, it is queer to come back to the auld place efter 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 bookboard, 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 behadden to the makkar. But they never could mak' ye +onything 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 + +EUROCLYDON OF THE RED 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 + Comes 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, O 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 + Under the orchard wall_." + + +Euroclydon of the Red Head was the other name of the Reverend Sylvanus +Septimus Cobb during his student 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 proportions 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 pertinently. + +Sylvanus had attained the cognomen of Euroclydon of the Red 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 impression 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 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--foolishly, for that +was business much more in our line than in hers. With one mind we +thundered back a responsive request 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 (O 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 +yersel'!" 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 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 having 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 acceptance. + +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 +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 sunshine 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." + +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 running 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 seaweed 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 conditions, 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 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 CAIRN EDWARD KIRK 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 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 micht 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 Glasgow, with "THIS STYLE OF SUIT, L2, 10s." printed on the breast of +it. The lay figure was a new thing in Cairn Edward, 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 payed itsel'!" 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 Reubens that could in nowise excel." + +"Weel, we're fixed noo, rarely. I may say that I mentioned his wearin' +knickerbockers to him when he first cam', thinkin' that as a young man +he micht no' ken the prejudices 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 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 wasna 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, thinking 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 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 +ae 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 mysel'. For thirty year I was +drunk every Monday nicht, and that often atweenwhiles that it fair bate +me to tell when ae spree feenished and the next began! But it's three +month 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 himsel' 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 Tipperairy 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 +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 aff and were fechtin' wi' the bluid rinnin' on +to the verra street. + +"The fowk 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'Kelvie an' me war drinkin' in the toon. Oh, he's a fine polisman! 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 thegither 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 constables, 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'Kelvie 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 + + + + +IN PRAISE 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?_ + + _Night in the 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 saying 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 corn-crake. + +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 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 +bird 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!" + +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 wakeful 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 wonderfully 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 +evidently, 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 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 +underground horologes being out of gear, a poor shade had somehow +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 reproach 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 without 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 without 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 himself, 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 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 laboriously 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 possible 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 pheasant'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 perspective." + + +_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 blackbird is mellow with much pecking of +winter-ripened apples. He winds his song artlessly along, like a _prima +donna_ singing 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. Instantly 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 frenzied. 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, +breathless 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 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 suspected that he sucks eggs, and even +murder in the first degree--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 "Ringtail." The Blue and the Brown, so unlike each other +that no ordinary person 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, warning cry of +the male bird, who catches sight of us standing behind the shining grey +trunk of the beech. The rovers 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 we 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. + + + + +BALLAD OF MINE OWN COUNTRY[11] + +[Footnote 11: _Rhymes a la Mode_ (Kegan Paul, Trench & Co.)] + + + 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! + + O 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; + 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. + + + + +Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh +University Press. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bog-Myrtle and Peat, by S.R. 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