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diff --git a/2588-h/2588-h.htm b/2588-h/2588-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f25538e --- /dev/null +++ b/2588-h/2588-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5550 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Stories by English Authors + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Stories by English Authors: Scotland, by Various + +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: Stories by English Authors: Scotland + +Author: Various + +Release Date: April 3, 2006 [EBook #2588] +Last Updated: September 21, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES BY ENGLISH AUTHORS: *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + STORIES BY ENGLISH AUTHORS<br /> + </h2> + <h1> + SCOTLAND + </h1> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE COURTING OF T’NOWHEAD’S BELL, By J. M. + Barrie </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> “THE HEATHER LINTIE”, By S. R. Crockett + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL, By Ian + Maclaren </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> WANDERING WILLIE’S TALE, By Sir Walter + Scott </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE GLENMUTCHKIN RAILWAY, By Professor + Aytoun </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THRAWN JANET, By Robert Louis Stevenson + </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + THE COURTING OF T’NOWHEAD’S BELL, By J. M. Barrie + </h2> + <p> + For two years it had been notorious in the square that Sam’l Dickie was + thinking of courting T’nowhead’s Bell, and that if Little Sanders + Elshioner (which is the Thrums pronunciation of Alexander Alexander) went + in for her, he might prove a formidable rival. Sam’l was a weaver in the + tenements, and Sanders a coal-carter, whose trade-mark was a bell on his + horse’s neck that told when coal was coming. Being something of a public + man, Sanders had not, perhaps, so high a social position as Sam’l, but he + had succeeded his father on the coal-cart, while the weaver had already + tried several trades. It had always been against Sam’l, too, that once + when the kirk was vacant he had advised the selection of the third + minister who preached for it on the ground that it became expensive to pay + a large number of candidates. The scandal of the thing was hushed up, out + of respect for his father, who was a God-fearing man, but Sam’l was known + by it in Lang Tammas’s circle. The coal-carter was called Little Sanders + to distinguish him from his father, who was not much more than half his + size. He had grown up with the name, and its inapplicability now came home + to nobody. Sam’l’s mother had been more far-seeing than Sanders’s. Her man + had been called Sammy all his life because it was the name he got as a + boy, so when their eldest son was born she spoke of him as Sam’l while + still in the cradle. The neighbours imitated her, and thus the young man + had a better start in life than had been granted to Sammy, his father. + </p> + <p> + It was Saturday evening—the night in the week when Auld Licht young + men fell in love. Sam’l Dickie, wearing a blue glengarry bonnet with a red + ball on the top, came to the door of the one-story house in the tenements, + and stood there wriggling, for he was in a suit of tweed for the first + time that week, and did not feel at one with them. When his feeling of + being a stranger to himself wore off, he looked up and down the road, + which straggles between houses and gardens, and then, picking his way over + the puddles, crossed to his father’s hen-house and sat down on it. He was + now on his way to the square. + </p> + <p> + Eppie Fargus was sitting on an adjoining dyke knitting stockings, and + Sam’l looked at her for a time. + </p> + <p> + “Is’t yersel’, Eppie?” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a’ that,” said Eppie. + </p> + <p> + “Hoo’s a’ wi’ ye?” asked Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “We’re juist aff an’ on,” replied Eppie, cautiously. + </p> + <p> + There was not much more to say, but as Sam’l sidled off the hen-house he + murmured politely, “Ay, ay.” In another minute he would have been fairly + started, but Eppie resumed the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Sam’l,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye, “ye can tell Lisbeth Fargus + I’ll likely be drappin’ in on her aboot Mununday or Teisday.” + </p> + <p> + Lisbeth was sister to Eppie, and wife of Tammas McQuhatty, better known as + T’nowhead, which was the name of his farm. She was thus Bell’s mistress. + </p> + <p> + Sam’l leaned against the hen-house as if all his desire to depart had + gone. + </p> + <p> + “Hoo d’ ye kin I’ll be at the T’nowhead the nicht?” he asked, grinning in + anticipation. + </p> + <p> + “Ou, I’se warrant ye’ll be after Bell,” said Eppie. + </p> + <p> + “Am no sae sure o’ that,” said Sam’l, trying to leer. He was enjoying + himself now. + </p> + <p> + “Am no sure o’ that,” he repeated, for Eppie seemed lost in stitches. + </p> + <p> + “Sam’l!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye’ll be speerin’ her sune noo, I dinna doot?” + </p> + <p> + This took Sam’l, who had only been courting Bell for a year or two, a + little aback. + </p> + <p> + “Hoo d’ ye mean, Eppie?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe ye’ll do ‘t the nicht.” + </p> + <p> + “Na, there’s nae hurry,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “Weel, we’re a’ coontin’ on ‘t, Sam’l.” + </p> + <p> + “Gae ‘wa’ wi’ ye.” + </p> + <p> + “What for no?” + </p> + <p> + “Gae ‘wa’ wi’ ye,” said Sam’l again. + </p> + <p> + “Bell’s gei an’ fond o’ ye, Sam’l.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “But am dootin’ ye’re a fell billy wi’ the lasses.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, oh, I d’na kin; moderate, moderate,” said Sam’l, in high delight. + </p> + <p> + “I saw ye,” said Eppie, speaking with a wire in her mouth, “gaein’ on + terr’ble wi’ Mysy Haggart at the pump last Saturday.” + </p> + <p> + “We was juist amoosin’ oorsel’s,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “It’ll be nae amoosement to Mysy,” said Eppie, “gin ye brak her heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Losh, Eppie,” said Sam’l, “I didna think o’ that.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye maun kin weel, Sam’l, ‘at there’s mony a lass wid jump at ye.” + </p> + <p> + “Ou, weel,” said Sam’l, implying that a man must take these things as they + come. + </p> + <p> + “For ye’re a dainty chield to look at, Sam’l.” + </p> + <p> + “Do ye think so, Eppie? Ay, ay; oh, I d’na kin am onything by the + ordinar.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye mayna be,” said Eppie, “but lasses doesna do to be ower-partikler.” + </p> + <p> + Sam’l resented this, and prepared to depart again. + </p> + <p> + “Ye’ll no tell Bell that?” he asked, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her what?” + </p> + <p> + “Aboot me an’ Mysy.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll see hoo ye behave yersel’, Sam’l.” + </p> + <p> + “No ‘at I care, Eppie; ye can tell her gin ye like. I widna think twice o’ + tellin’ her mysel’.” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord forgie ye for leein’, Sam’l,” said Eppie, as he disappeared down + Tammy Tosh’s close. Here he came upon Henders Webster. + </p> + <p> + “Ye’re late, Sam’l,” said Henders. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “Ou, I was thinkin’ ye wid be gaen the length o’ T’nowhead the nicht, an’ + I saw Sanders Elshioner makkin’ ‘s wy there an ‘oor syne.” + </p> + <p> + “Did ye?” cried Sam’l, adding craftily, “but it’s naething to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Tod, lad,” said Henders, “gin ye dinna buckle to, Sanders’ll be carryin’ + her off.” + </p> + <p> + Sam’l flung back his head and passed on. + </p> + <p> + “Sam’l!” cried Henders after him. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Sam’l, wheeling round. + </p> + <p> + “Gie Bell a kiss frae me.” + </p> + <p> + The full force of this joke struck neither all at once. Sam’l began to + smile at it as he turned down the school-wynd, and it came upon Henders + while he was in his garden feeding his ferret. Then he slapped his legs + gleefully, and explained the conceit to Will’um Byars, who went into the + house and thought it over. + </p> + <p> + There were twelve or twenty little groups of men in the square, which was + lit by a flare of oil suspended over a cadger’s cart. Now and again a + staid young woman passed through the square with a basket on her arm, and + if she had lingered long enough to give them time, some of the idlers + would have addressed her. As it was, they gazed after her, and then + grinned to each other. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Sam’l,” said two or three young men, as Sam’l joined them beneath the + town clock. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Davit,” replied Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + This group was composed of some of the sharpest wits in Thrums, and it was + not to be expected that they would let this opportunity pass. Perhaps when + Sam’l joined them he knew what was in store for him. + </p> + <p> + “Was ye lookin’ for T’nowhead’s Bell, Sam’l?” asked one. + </p> + <p> + “Or mebbe ye was wantin’ the minister?” suggested another, the same who + had walked out twice with Chirsty Duff and not married her after all. + </p> + <p> + Sam’l could not think of a good reply at the moment, so he laughed + good-naturedly. + </p> + <p> + “Ondootedly she’s a snod bit crittur,” said Davit, archly. + </p> + <p> + “An’ michty clever wi’ her fingers,” added Jamie Deuchars. + </p> + <p> + “Man, I’ve thocht o’ makkin’ up to Bell mysel’,” said Pete Ogle. “Wid + there be ony chance, think ye, Sam’l?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m thinkin’ she widna hae ye for her first, Pete,” replied Sam’l, in one + of those happy flashes that come to some men, “but there’s nae sayin’ but + what she micht tak’ ye to finish up wi’.” + </p> + <p> + The unexpectedness of this sally startled every one. Though Sam’l did not + set up for a wit, however, like Davit, it was notorious that he could say + a cutting thing once in a way. + </p> + <p> + “Did ye ever see Bell reddin’ up?” asked Pete, recovering from his + overthrow. He was a man who bore no malice. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a sicht,” said Sam’l, solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “Hoo will that be?” asked Jamie Deuchars. + </p> + <p> + “It’s weel worth yer while,” said Pete, “to ging atower to the T’nowhead + an’ see. Ye’ll mind the closed-in beds i’ the kitchen? Ay, weel, they’re a + fell spoiled crew, T’nowhead’s litlins, an’ no that aisy to manage. Th’ + ither lasses Lisbeth’s haen had a michty trouble wi’ them. When they war + i’ the middle o’ their reddin’ up the bairns wid come tum’lin’ aboot the + floor, but, sal, I assure ye, Bell didna fash lang wi’ them. Did she, + Sam’l?” + </p> + <p> + “She did not,” said Sam’l, dropping into a fine mode of speech to add + emphasis to his remark. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell ye what she did,” said Pete to the others. “She juist lifted up + the litlins, twa at a time, an’ flung them into the coffin-beds. Syne she + snibbit the doors on them, an’ keepit them there till the floor was dry.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, man, did she so?” said Davit, admiringly. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve seen her do ‘t mysel’,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no a lassie mak’s better bannocks this side o’ Fetter Lums,” + continued Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Her mither tocht her that,” said Sam’l; “she was a gran’ han’ at the + bakin’, Kitty Ogilvy.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve heard say,” remarked Jamie, putting it this way so as not to tie + himself down to anything, “‘at Bell’s scones is equal to Mag Lunan’s.” + </p> + <p> + “So they are,” said Sam’l, almost fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “I kin she’s a neat han’ at singein’ a hen,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “An’ wi’ ‘t a’,” said Davit, “she’s a snod, canty bit stocky in her + Sabbath claes.” + </p> + <p> + “If onything, thick in the waist,” suggested Jamie. + </p> + <p> + “I dinna see that,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “I d’na care for her hair, either,” continued Jamie, who was very nice in + his tastes; “something mair yallowchy wid be an improvement.” + </p> + <p> + “A’body kins,” growled Sam’l, “‘at black hair’s the bonniest.” + </p> + <p> + The others chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “Puir Sam’l!” Pete said. + </p> + <p> + Sam’l, not being certain whether this should be received with a smile or a + frown, opened his mouth wide as a kind of compromise. This was position + one with him for thinking things over. + </p> + <p> + Few Auld Lichts, as I have said, went the length of choosing a helpmate + for themselves. One day a young man’s friends would see him mending the + washing-tub of a maiden’s mother. They kept the joke until Saturday night, + and then he learned from them what he had been after. It dazed him for a + time, but in a year or so he grew accustomed to the idea, and they were + then married. With a little help he fell in love just like other people. + </p> + <p> + Sam’l was going the way of the others, but he found it difficult to come + to the point. He only went courting once a week, and he could never take + up the running at the place where he left off the Saturday before. Thus he + had not, so far, made great headway. His method of making up to Bell had + been to drop in at T’nowhead on Saturday nights and talk with the farmer + about the rinderpest. + </p> + <p> + The farm kitchen was Bell’s testimonial. Its chairs, tables, and stools + were scoured by her to the whiteness of Rob Angus’s sawmill boards, and + the muslin blind on the window was starched like a child’s pinafore. Bell + was brave, too, as well as energetic. Once Thrums had been overrun with + thieves. It is now thought that there may have been only one, but he had + the wicked cleverness of a gang. Such was his repute that there were + weavers who spoke of locking their doors when they went from home. He was + not very skilful, however, being generally caught, and when they said they + knew he was a robber, he gave them their things back and went away. If + they had given him time there is no doubt that he would have gone off with + his plunder. One night he went to T’nowhead, and Bell, who slept in the + kitchen, was awakened by the noise. She knew who it would be, so she rose + and dressed herself, and went to look for him with a candle. The thief had + not known what to do when he got in, and as it was very lonely he was glad + to see Bell. She told him he ought to be ashamed of himself, and would not + let him out by the door until he had taken off his boots so as not to soil + the carpet. + </p> + <p> + On this Saturday evening Sam’l stood his ground in the square, until + by-and-by he found himself alone. There were other groups there still, but + his circle had melted away. They went separately, and no one said + good-night. Each took himself off slowly, backing out of the group until + he was fairly started. + </p> + <p> + Sam’l looked about him, and then, seeing that the others had gone, walked + round the town-house into the darkness of the brae that leads down and + then up to the farm of T’nowhead. + </p> + <p> + To get into the good graces of Lisbeth Fargus you had to know her ways and + humour them. Sam’l, who was a student of women, knew this, and so, instead + of pushing the door open and walking in, he went through the rather + ridiculous ceremony of knocking. Sanders Elshioner was also aware of this + weakness of Lisbeth’s, but though he often made up his mind to knock, the + absurdity of the thing prevented his doing so when he reached the door. + T’nowhead himself had never got used to his wife’s refined notions, and + when any one knocked he always started to his feet, thinking there must be + something wrong. + </p> + <p> + Lisbeth came to the door, her expansive figure blocking the way in. + </p> + <p> + “Sam’l,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Lisbeth,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + He shook hands with the farmer’s wife, knowing that she liked it, but only + said, “Ay, Bell,” to his sweetheart, “Ay, T’nowhead,” to McQuhatty, and + “It’s yersel’, Sanders,” to his rival. + </p> + <p> + They were all sitting round the fire; T’nowhead, with his feet on the + ribs, wondering why he felt so warm; and Bell darned a stocking, while + Lisbeth kept an eye on a goblet full of potatoes. + </p> + <p> + “Sit into the fire, Sam’l,” said the farmer, not, however, making way for + him. + </p> + <p> + “Na, na,” said Sam’l; “I’m to bide nae time.” Then he sat into the fire. + His face was turned away from Bell, and when she spoke he answered her + without looking round. Sam’l felt a little anxious. Sanders Elshioner, who + had one leg shorter than the other, but looked well when sitting, seemed + suspiciously at home. He asked Bell questions out of his own head, which + was beyond Sam’l, and once he said something to her in such a low voice + that the others could not catch it. T’nowhead asked curiously what it was, + and Sanders explained that he had only said, “Ay, Bell, the morn’s the + Sabbath.” There was nothing startling in this, but Sam’l did not like it. + He began to wonder if he were too late, and had he seen his opportunity + would have told Bell of a nasty rumour that Sanders intended to go over to + the Free Church if they would make him kirk officer. + </p> + <p> + Sam’l had the good-will of T’nowhead’s wife, who liked a polite man. + Sanders did his best, but from want of practice he constantly made + mistakes. To-night, for instance, he wore his hat in the house because he + did not like to put up his hand and take it off. T’nowhead had not taken + his off, either, but that was because he meant to go out by-and-by and + lock the byre door. It was impossible to say which of her lovers Bell + preferred. The proper course with an Auld Licht lassie was to prefer the + man who proposed to her. + </p> + <p> + “Ye’ll bide a wee, an’ hae something to eat?” Lisbeth asked Sam’l, with + her eyes on the goblet. + </p> + <p> + “No, I thank ye,” said Sam’l, with true gentility. + </p> + <p> + “Ye’ll better.” + </p> + <p> + “I dinna think it.” + </p> + <p> + “Hoots aye, what’s to hender ye?” + </p> + <p> + “Weel, since ye’re sae pressin’, I’ll bide.” + </p> + <p> + No one asked Sanders to stay. Bell could not, for she was but the servant, + and T’nowhead knew that the kick his wife had given him meant that he was + not to do so, either. Sanders whistled to show that he was not + uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, then, I’ll be stappin’ ower the brae,” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + He did not go, however. There was sufficient pride in him to get him off + his chair, but only slowly, for he had to get accustomed to the notion of + going. At intervals of two or three minutes he remarked that he must now + be going. In the same circumstances Sam’l would have acted similarly. For + a Thrums man, it is one of the hardest things in life to get away from + anywhere. + </p> + <p> + At last Lisbeth saw that something must be done. The potatoes were + burning, and T’nowhead had an invitation on his tongue. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’ll hae to be movin’,” said Sanders, hopelessly, for the fifth + time. + </p> + <p> + “Guid-nicht to ye, then, Sanders,” said Lisbeth. “Gie the door a fling-to + ahent ye.” + </p> + <p> + Sanders, with a mighty effort, pulled himself together. He looked boldly + at Bell, and then took off his hat carefully. Sam’l saw with misgivings + that there was something in it which was not a handkerchief. It was a + paper bag glittering with gold braid, and contained such an assortment of + sweets as lads bought for their lasses on the Muckle Friday. + </p> + <p> + “Hae, Bell,” said Sanders, handing the bag to Bell in an offhand way as if + it were but a trifle. Nevertheless he was a little excited, for he went + off without saying good-night. + </p> + <p> + No one spoke. Bell’s face was crimson. T’nowhead fidgeted on his chair, + and Lisbeth looked at Sam’l. The weaver was strangely calm and collected, + though he would have liked to know whether this was a proposal. + </p> + <p> + “Sit in by to the table, Sam’l,” said Lisbeth, trying to look as if things + were as they had been before. + </p> + <p> + She put a saucerful of butter, salt, and pepper near the fire to melt, for + melted butter is the shoeing-horn that helps over a meal of potatoes. + Sam’l, however, saw what the hour required, and, jumping up, he seized his + bonnet. + </p> + <p> + “Hing the tatties higher up the joist, Lisbeth,” he said, with dignity; + “I’se be back in ten meenits.” + </p> + <p> + He hurried out of the house, leaving the others looking at each other. + </p> + <p> + “What do ye think?” asked Lisbeth. + </p> + <p> + “I d’na kin,” faltered Bell. + </p> + <p> + “Thae tatties is lang o’ comin’ to the boil,” said T’nowhead. + </p> + <p> + In some circles a lover who behaved like Sam’l would have been suspected + of intent upon his rival’s life, but neither Bell nor Lisbeth did the + weaver that injustice. In a case of this kind it does not much matter what + T’nowhead thought. + </p> + <p> + The ten minutes had barely passed when Sam’l was back in the farm kitchen. + He was too flurried to knock this time, and, indeed, Lisbeth did not + expect it of him. + </p> + <p> + “Bell, hae!” he cried, handing his sweetheart a tinsel bag twice the size + of Sanders’s gift. + </p> + <p> + “Losh preserve ‘s!” exclaimed Lisbeth; “I’se warrant there’s a shillin’s + worth.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a’ that, Lisbeth—an’ mair,” said Sam’l, firmly. + </p> + <p> + “I thank ye, Sam’l,” said Bell, feeling an unwonted elation as she gazed + at the two paper bags in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Ye’re ower-extravegint, Sam’l,” Lisbeth said. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said Sam’l; “not at all. But I widna advise ye to eat thae + ither anes, Bell—they’re second quality.” + </p> + <p> + Bell drew back a step from Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “How do ye kin?” asked the farmer, shortly, for he liked Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “I speered i’ the shop,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + The goblet was placed on a broken plate on the table, with the saucer + beside it, and Sam’l, like the others, helped himself. What he did was to + take potatoes from the pot with his fingers, peel off their coats, and + then dip them into the butter. Lisbeth would have liked to provide knives + and forks, but she knew that beyond a certain point T’nowhead was master + in his own house. As for Sam’l, he felt victory in his hands, and began to + think that he had gone too far. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Sanders, little witting that Sam’l had trumped his trick, + was sauntering along the kirk-wynd with his hat on the side of his head. + Fortunately he did not meet the minister. + </p> + <p> + The courting of T’nowhead’s Bell reached its crisis one Sabbath about a + month after the events above recorded. The minister was in great force + that day, but it is no part of mine to tell how he bore himself. I was + there, and am not likely to forget the scene. It was a fateful Sabbath for + T’nowhead’s Bell and her swains, and destined to be remembered for the + painful scandal which they perpetrated in their passion. + </p> + <p> + Bell was not in the kirk. There being an infant of six months in the house + it was a question of either Lisbeth or the lassie’s staying at home with + him, and though Lisbeth was unselfish in a general way, she could not + resist the delight of going to church. She had nine children besides the + baby, and, being but a woman, it was the pride of her life to march them + into the T’nowhead pew, so well watched that they dared not misbehave, and + so tightly packed that they could not fall. The congregation looked at + that pew, the mothers enviously, when they sang the lines: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Jerusalem like a city is + Compactly built together.” + </pre> + <p> + The first half of the service had been gone through on this particular + Sunday without anything remarkable happening. It was at the end of the + psalm which preceded the sermon that Sanders Elshioner, who sat near the + door, lowered his head until it was no higher than the pews, and in that + attitude, looking almost like a four-footed animal, slipped out of the + church. In their eagerness to be at the sermon many of the congregation + did not notice him, and those who did put the matter by in their minds for + future investigation. Sam’l however, could not take it so coolly. From his + seat in the gallery he saw Sanders disappear, and his mind misgave him. + With the true lover’s instinct he understood it all. Sanders had been + struck by the fine turnout in the T’nowhead pew. Bell was alone at the + farm. What an opportunity to work one’s way up to a proposal! T’nowhead + was so overrun with children that such a chance seldom occurred, except on + a Sabbath. Sanders, doubtless, was off to propose, and he, Sam’l, was left + behind. + </p> + <p> + The suspense was terrible. Sam’l and Sanders had both known all along that + Bell would take the first of the two who asked her. Even those who thought + her proud admitted that she was modest. Bitterly the weaver repented + having waited so long. Now it was too late. In ten minutes Sanders would + be at T’nowhead; in an hour all would be over. Sam’l rose to his feet in a + daze. His mother pulled him down by the coat-tail, and his father shook + him, thinking he was walking in his sleep. He tottered past them, however, + hurried up the aisle, which was so narrow that Dan’l Ross could only reach + his seat by walking sideways, and was gone before the minister could do + more than stop in the middle of a whirl and gape in horror after him. + </p> + <p> + A number of the congregation felt that day the advantage of sitting in the + loft. What was a mystery to those downstairs was revealed to them. From + the gallery windows they had a fine open view to the south; and as Sam’l + took the common, which was a short cut through a steep ascent, to + T’nowhead, he was never out of their line of vision. Sanders was not to be + seen, but they guessed rightly the reason why. Thinking he had ample time, + he had gone round by the main road to save his boots—perhaps a + little scared by what was coming. Sam’l’s design was to forestall him by + taking the shorter path over the burn and up the commonty. + </p> + <p> + It was a race for a wife, and several onlookers in the gallery braved the + minister’s displeasure to see who won. Those who favoured Sam’l’s suit + exultingly saw him leap the stream, while the friends of Sanders fixed + their eyes on the top of the common where it ran into the road. Sanders + must come into sight there, and the one who reached this point first would + get Bell. + </p> + <p> + As Auld Lichts do not walk abroad on the Sabbath, Sanders would probably + not be delayed. The chances were in his favour. Had it been any other day + in the week Sam’l might have run. So some of the congregation in the + gallery were thinking, when suddenly they saw him bend low and then take + to his heels. He had caught sight of Sanders’s head bobbing over the hedge + that separated the road from the common, and feared that Sanders might see + him. The congregation who could crane their necks sufficiently saw a black + object, which they guessed to be the carter’s hat, crawling along the + hedge-top. For a moment it was motionless, and then it shot ahead. The + rivals had seen each other. It was now a hot race. Sam’l dissembling no + longer, clattered up the common, becoming smaller and smaller to the + onlookers as he neared the top. More than one person in the gallery almost + rose to their feet in their excitement. Sam’l had it. No, Sanders was in + front. Then the two figures disappeared from view. They seemed to run into + each other at the top of the brae, and no one could say who was first. The + congregation looked at one another. Some of them perspired. But the + minister held on his course. + </p> + <p> + Sam’l had just been in time to cut Sanders out. It was the weaver’s saving + that Sanders saw this when his rival turned the corner; for Sam’l was + sadly blown. Sanders took in the situation and gave in at once. The last + hundred yards of the distance he covered at his leisure, and when he + arrived at his destination he did not go in. It was a fine afternoon for + the time of year, and he went round to have a look at the pig, about which + T’nowhead was a little sinfully puffed up. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Sanders, digging his fingers critically into the grunting + animal, “quite so.” + </p> + <p> + “Grumph,” said the pig, getting reluctantly to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Ou, ay, yes,” said Sanders thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + Then he sat down on the edge of the sty, and looked long and silently at + an empty bucket. But whether his thoughts were of T’nowhead’s Bell, whom + he had lost for ever, or of the food the farmer fed his pig on, is not + known. + </p> + <p> + “Lord preserve ‘s! are ye no at the kirk?” cried Bell, nearly dropping the + baby as Sam’l broke into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Bell!” cried Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + Then T’nowhead’s Bell knew that her hour had come. + </p> + <p> + “Sam’l,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Will ye hae ‘s, Bell?” demanded Sam’l, glaring at her sheepishly. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” answered Bell. + </p> + <p> + Sam’l fell into a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Bring ‘s a drink o’ water, Bell,” he said. But Bell thought the occasion + required milk, and there was none in the kitchen. She went out to the + byre, still with the baby in her arms, and saw Sanders Elshioner sitting + gloomily on the pigsty. + </p> + <p> + “Weel, Bell,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “I thocht ye’d been at the kirk, Sanders,” said Bell. + </p> + <p> + Then there was a silence between them. + </p> + <p> + “Has Sam’l speered ye, Bell?” asked Sanders, stolidly. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Bell again, and this time there was a tear in her eye. Sanders + was little better than an “orra man,” and Sam’l was a weaver, and yet—But + it was too late now. Sanders gave the pig a vicious poke with a stick, and + when it had ceased to grunt, Bell was back in the kitchen. She had + forgotten about the milk, however, and Sam’l only got water after all. + </p> + <p> + In after-days, when the story of Bell’s wooing was told, there were some + who held that the circumstances would have almost justified the lassie in + giving Sam’l the go-by. But these perhaps forgot that her other lover was + in the same predicament as the accepted one—that of the two, indeed, + he was the more to blame, for he set off to T’nowhead on the Sabbath of + his own accord, while Sam’l only ran after him. And then there is no one + to say for certain whether Bell heard of her suitors’ delinquencies until + Lisbeth’s return from the kirk. Sam’l could never remember whether he told + her, and Bell was not sure whether, if he did, she took it in. Sanders was + greatly in demand for weeks to tell what he knew of the affair, but though + he was twice asked to tea to the manse among the trees, and subjected + thereafter to ministerial cross-examinations, this is all he told. He + remained at the pigsty until Sam’l left the farm, when he joined him at + the top of the brae, and they went home together. + </p> + <p> + “It’s yersel’, Sanders,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “It is so, Sam’l,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “Very cauld,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “Blawy,” assented Sanders. + </p> + <p> + After a pause— + </p> + <p> + “Sam’l,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “Ay.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m hearing ye’re to be mairit.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay.” + </p> + <p> + “Weel, Sam’l, she’s a snod bit lassie.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank ye,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “I had ance a kin o’ notion o’ Bell mysel’,” continued Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “Ye had?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sam’l; but I thocht better o’ ‘t.” + </p> + <p> + “Hoo d’ ye mean?” asked Sam’l, a little anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Weel, Sam’l, mairitch is a terrible responsibeelity.” + </p> + <p> + “It is so,” said Sam’l, wincing. + </p> + <p> + “An’ no the thing to tak’ up withoot conseederation.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s a blessed and honourable state, Sanders; ye’ve heard the + minister on ‘t.” + </p> + <p> + “They say,” continued the relentless Sanders, “‘at the minister doesna get + on sair wi’ the wife himsel’.” + </p> + <p> + “So they do,” cried Sam’l, with a sinking at the heart. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been telt,” Sanders went on, “‘at gin ye can get the upper han’ o’ + the wife for a while at first, there’s the mair chance o’ a harmonious + exeestence.” + </p> + <p> + “Bell’s no the lassie,” said Sam’l, appealingly, “to thwart her man.” + </p> + <p> + Sanders smiled. + </p> + <p> + “D’ ye think she is, Sanders?” + </p> + <p> + “Weel, Sam’l, I d’na want to fluster ye, but she’s been ower-lang wi’ + Lisbeth Fargus no to hae learned her ways. An’ a’body kins what a life + T’nowhead has wi’ her.” + </p> + <p> + “Guid sake, Sanders, hoo did ye no speak o’ this afore?” + </p> + <p> + “I thocht ye kent o’ ‘t, Sam’l.” + </p> + <p> + They had now reached the square, and the U. P. kirk was coming out. The + Auld Licht kirk would be half an hour yet. + </p> + <p> + “But, Sanders,” said Sam’l, brightening up, “ye was on yer wy to speer her + yersel’.” + </p> + <p> + “I was, Sam’l,” said Sanders, “and I canna but be thankfu’ ye was + ower-quick for ‘s.” + </p> + <p> + “Gin ‘t hadna been you,” said Sam’l, “I wid never hae thocht o’ ‘t.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m saying naething agin Bell,” pursued the other, “but, man, Sam’l, a + body should be mair deleeberate in a thing o’ the kind.” + </p> + <p> + “It was michty hurried,” said Sam’l wofully. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a serious thing to speer a lassie,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “It’s an awfu’ thing,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “But we’ll hope for the best,” added Sanders, in a hopeless voice. + </p> + <p> + They were close to the tenements now, and Sam’l looked as if he were on + his way to be hanged. + </p> + <p> + “Sam’l!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Sanders.” + </p> + <p> + “Did ye—did ye kiss her, Sam’l?” + </p> + <p> + “Na.” + </p> + <p> + “Hoo?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s was varra little time, Sanders.” + </p> + <p> + “Half an ‘oor,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “Was there? Man Sanders, to tell ye the truth, I never thocht o’ ‘t.” + </p> + <p> + Then the soul of Sanders Elshioner was filled with contempt for Sam’l + Dickie. + </p> + <p> + The scandal blew over. At first it was expected that the minister would + interfere to prevent the union, but beyond intimating from the pulpit that + the souls of Sabbath-breakers were beyond praying for, and then praying + for Sam’l and Sanders at great length, with a word thrown in for Bell, he + let things take their course. Some said it was because he was always + frightened lest his young men should intermarry with other denominations, + but Sanders explained it differently to Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “I hav’na a word to say agin’ the minister,” he said; “they’re gran’ + prayers; but, Sam’l, he’s a mairit man himsel’.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s a’ the better for that, Sanders, isna he?” + </p> + <p> + “Do ye no see,” asked Sanders, compassionately, “‘at he’s trying to mak’ + the best o’ ‘t?” + </p> + <p> + “O Sanders, man!” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up, Sam’l,” said Sanders; “it’ll sune be ower.” + </p> + <p> + Their having been rival suitors had not interfered with their friendship. + On the contrary, while they had hitherto been mere acquaintances, they + became inseparables as the wedding-day drew near. It was noticed that they + had much to say to each other, and that when they could not get a room to + themselves they wandered about together in the churchyard. When Sam’l had + anything to tell Bell he sent Sanders to tell it, and Sanders did as he + was bid. There was nothing that he would not have done for Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + The more obliging Sanders was, however, the sadder Sam’l grew. He never + laughed now on Saturdays, and sometimes his loom was silent half the day. + Sam’l felt that Sanders’s was the kindness of a friend for a dying man. + </p> + <p> + It was to be a penny wedding, and Lisbeth Fargus said it was the delicacy + that made Sam’l superintend the fitting up of the barn by deputy. Once he + came to see it in person, but he looked so ill that Sanders had to see him + home. This was on the Thursday afternoon, and the wedding was fixed for + Friday. + </p> + <p> + “Sanders, Sanders,” said Sam’l, in a voice strangely unlike his own, + “it’ll a’ be ower by this time the morn.” + </p> + <p> + “It will,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “If I had only kent her langer,” continued Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “It wid hae been safer,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “Did ye see the yallow floor in Bell’s bonnet?” asked the accepted swain. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Sanders, reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “I’m dootin’—I’m sair dootin’ she’s but a flichty, light-hearted + crittur after a’.” + </p> + <p> + “I had aye my suspeecions o’ ‘t,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “Ye hae kent her langer than me,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sanders, “but there’s nae getting’ at the heart o’ women. Man + Sam’l, they’re desperate cunnin’.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m dootin’ ‘t; I’m sair dootin’ ‘t.” + </p> + <p> + “It’ll be a warnin’ to ye, Sam’l, no to be in sic a hurry i’ the futur’,” + said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + Sam’l groaned. + </p> + <p> + “Ye’ll be gaein’ up to the manse to arrange wi’ the minister the morn’s + mornin’,” continued Sanders, in a subdued voice. + </p> + <p> + Sam’l looked wistfully at his friend. + </p> + <p> + “I canna do ‘t, Sanders,” he said; “I canna do ‘t.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye maun,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “It’s aisy to speak,” retorted Sam’l, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “We have a’ oor troubles, Sam’l,” said Sanders, soothingly, “an’ every man + maun bear his ain burdens. Johnny Davie’s wife’s dead, an’ he’s no + repinin’.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Sam’l, “but a death’s no a mairitch. We hae haen deaths in our + family too.” + </p> + <p> + “It may a’ be for the best,” added Sanders, “an’ there wid be a michty + talk i’ the hale country-side gin ye didna ging to the minister like a + man.” + </p> + <p> + “I maun hae langer to think o’ ‘t,” said Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “Bell’s mairitch is the morn,” said Sanders, decisively. + </p> + <p> + Sam’l glanced up with a wild look in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Sanders!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Sam’l!” + </p> + <p> + “Ye hae been a guid friend to me, Sanders, in this sair affliction.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing ava,” said Sanders; “doun’t mention ‘d.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Sanders, ye canna deny but what your rinnin’ oot o’ the kirk that + awfu’ day was at the bottom o’ ‘d a’.” + </p> + <p> + “It was so,” said Sanders, bravely. + </p> + <p> + “An’ ye used to be fond o’ Bell, Sanders.” + </p> + <p> + “I dinna deny ‘t.” + </p> + <p> + “Sanders, laddie,” said Sam’l, bending forward and speaking in a wheedling + voice, “I aye thocht it was you she likit.” + </p> + <p> + “I had some sic idea mysel’,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “Sanders, I canna think to pairt twa fowk sae weel suited to ane anither + as you an’ Bell.” + </p> + <p> + “Canna ye, Sam’l?” + </p> + <p> + “She wid mak’ ye a guid wife, Sanders. I hae studied her weel, and she’s a + thrifty, douce, clever lassie. Sanders, there’s no the like o’ her. Mony a + time, Sanders, I hae said to mysel’, ‘There’s a lass ony man micht be + prood to tak’.’ A’body says the same, Sanders. There’s nae risk ava, man—nane + to speak o’. Tak’ her, laddie; tak’ her, Sanders; it’s a gran’ chance, + Sanders. She’s yours for the speerin’. I’ll gie her up, Sanders.” + </p> + <p> + “Will ye, though?” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “What d’ ye think?” asked Sam’l. + </p> + <p> + “If ye wid rayther,” said Sanders, politely. + </p> + <p> + “There’s my han’ on ‘t,” said Sam’l. “Bless ye, Sanders; ye’ve been a true + frien’ to me.” + </p> + <p> + Then they shook hands for the first time in their lives, and soon + afterward Sanders struck up the brae to T’nowhead. + </p> + <p> + Next morning Sanders Elshioner, who had been very busy the night before, + put on his Sabbath clothes and strolled up to the manse. + </p> + <p> + “But—but where is Sam’l?” asked the minister; “I must see himself.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a new arrangement,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Sanders?” + </p> + <p> + “Bell’s to marry me,” explained Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “But—but what does Sam’l say?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s willin’,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “And Bell?” + </p> + <p> + “She’s willin’ too. She prefers ‘t.” + </p> + <p> + “It is unusual,” said the minister. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a’ richt,” said Sanders. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know best,” said the minister. + </p> + <p> + “You see the hoose was taen, at ony rate,” continued Sanders, “an’ I’ll + juist ging in til ‘t instead o’ Sam’l.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so.” + </p> + <p> + “An’ I cudna think to disappoint the lassie.” + </p> + <p> + “Your sentiments do you credit, Sanders,” said the minister; “but I hope + you do not enter upon the blessed state of matrimony without full + consideration of its responsibilities. It is a serious business, + marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a’ that,” said Sanders, “but I’m willin’ to stan’ the risk.” + </p> + <p> + So, as soon as it could be done, Sanders Elshioner took to wife + T’nowhead’s Bell, and I remember seeing Sam’l Dickie trying to dance at + the penny wedding. + </p> + <p> + Years afterward it was said in Thrums that Sam’l had treated Bell badly, + but he was never sure about it himself. + </p> + <p> + “It was a near thing—a michty near thing,” he admitted in the + square. + </p> + <p> + “They say,” some other weaver would remark, “‘at it was you Bell liked + best.” + </p> + <p> + “I d’na kin,” Sam’l would reply; “but there’s nae doot the lassie was fell + fond o’ me; ou, a mere passin’ fancy, ‘s ye micht say.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “THE HEATHER LINTIE”, By S. R. Crockett + </h2> + <p> + Janet Balchrystie lived in a little cottage at the back of the Long Wood + of Barbrax. She had been a hard-working woman all her days, for her mother + died when she was but young, and she had lived on, keeping her father’s + house by the side of the single-track railway-line. Gavin Balchrystie was + a foreman plate-layer on the P.P.R., and with two men under him, had + charge of a section of three miles. He lived just where that distinguished + but impecunious line plunges into a moss-covered granite wilderness of + moor and bog, where there is not more than a shepherd’s hut to the + half-dozen miles, and where the passage of a train is the occasion of + commotion among scattered groups of black-faced sheep. Gavin Balchrystie’s + three miles of P.P.R. metals gave him little work, but a good deal of + healthy exercise. The black-faced sheep breaking down the fences and + straying on the line side, and the torrents coming down the granite + gullies, foaming white after a water-spout, and tearing into his + embankments, undermining his chairs and plates, were the only troubles of + his life. There was, however, a little public-house at The Huts, which in + the old days of construction had had the license, and which had lingered + alone, license and all, when its immediate purpose in life had been + fulfilled, because there was nobody but the whaups and the railway + officials on the passing trains to object to its continuance. Now it is + cold and blowy on the west-land moors, and neither whaups nor dark-blue + uniforms object to a little refreshment up there. The mischief was that + Gavin Balchrystie did not, like the guards and engine-drivers, go on with + the passing train. He was always on the spot, and the path through Barbrax + Wood to the Railway Inn was as well trodden as that which led over the bog + moss, where the whaups built, to the great white viaduct of Loch Merrick, + where his three miles of parallel gleaming responsibility began. + </p> + <p> + When his wife was but newly dead, and his Janet just a smart elf-locked + lassie running to and from the school, Gavin got too much in the way of + “slippin’ doon by.” When Janet grew to be woman muckle, Gavin kept the + habit, and Janet hardly knew that it was not the use and wont of all + fathers to sidle down to a contiguous Railway Arms, and return some hours + later with uncertain step, and face pricked out with bright pin-points of + red—the sure mark of the confirmed drinker of whisky neat. + </p> + <p> + They were long days in the cottage at the back of Barbrax Long Wood. The + little “but an’ ben” was whitewashed till it dazzled the eyes as you came + over the brae to it and found it set against the solemn depths of + dark-green firwood. From early morn, when she saw her father off, till the + dusk of the day, when he would return for his supper, Janet Balchrystie + saw no human being. She heard the muffled roar of the trains through the + deep cutting at the back of the wood, but she herself was entirely out of + sight of the carriagefuls of travellers whisking past within half a mile + of her solitude and meditation. + </p> + <p> + Janet was what is called a “through-gaun lass,” and her work for the day + was often over by eight o’clock in the morning. Janet grew to womanhood + without a sweetheart. She was plain, and she looked plainer than she was + in the dresses which she made for herself by the light of nature and what + she could remember of the current fashions at Merrick Kirk, to which she + went every alternate Sunday. Her father and she took day about. Wet or + shine, she tramped to Merrick Kirk, even when the rain blattered and the + wind raved and bleated alternately among the pines of the Long Wood of + Barbrax. Her father had a simpler way of spending his day out. He went + down to the Railway Inn and drank “ginger-beer” all day with the landlord. + Ginger-beer is an unsteadying beverage when taken the day by the length. + Also the man who drinks it steadily and quietly never enters on any + inheritance of length of days. + </p> + <p> + So it came to pass that one night Gavin Balchrystie did not come home at + all—at least, not till he was brought lying comfortably on the door + of a disused third-class carriage, which was now seeing out its career + anchored under the bank at Loch Merrick, where Gavin had used it as a + shelter. The driver of the “six-fifty up” train had seen him walking + soberly along toward The Huts (and the Railway Inn), letting his long + surface-man’s hammer fall against the rail-keys occasionally as he walked. + He saw him bend once, as though his keen ear detected a false ring in a + loose length between two plates. This was the last that was seen of him + till the driver of the “nine-thirty-seven down” express—the + “boat-train,” as the employees of the P.P.R. call it, with a touch of + respect in their voices—passed Gavin fallen forward on his face just + when he was flying down grade under a full head of steam. It was duskily + clear, with a great lake of crimson light dying into purple over the hills + of midsummer heather. The driver was John Platt, the Englishman from + Crewe, who had been brought from the great London and Northwestern + Railway, locally known as “The Ell-nen-doubleyou.” In these remote railway + circles the talk is as exclusively of matters of the four-foot way as in + Crewe or Derby. There is an inspector of traffic, whose portly presence + now graces Carlisle Station, who left the P.P.R. in these sad days of + amalgamation, because he could not endure to see so many “Sou’west” + waggons passing over the sacred metals of the P.P.R. permanent way. From + his youth he had been trained in a creed of two articles: “To swear by the + P.P.R. through thick and thin, and hate the apple green of the + ‘Sou’west.’” It was as much as he could do to put up with the sight of the + abominations; to have to hunt for their trucks when they got astray was + more than mortal could stand, so he fled the land. + </p> + <p> + So when they stopped the express for Gavin Balchrystie, every man on the + line felt that it was an honour to the dead. John Platt sent a “gurring” + thrill through the train as he put his brakes hard down and whistled for + the guard. He, thinking that the Merrick Viaduct was down at least, + twirled his brake to such purpose that the rear car progressed along the + metals by a series of convulsive bounds. Then they softly ran back, and + there lay Gavin fallen forward on his knees, as though he had been trying + to rise, or had knelt down to pray. Let him have “the benefit of the + doubt” in this world. In the next, if all tales be true, there is no such + thing. + </p> + <p> + So Janet Balchrystie dwelt alone in the white “but an’ ben” at the back of + the Long Wood of Barbrax. The factor gave her notice, but the laird, who + was not accounted by his neighbours to be very wise, because he did + needlessly kind things, told the factor to let the lassie bide, and + delivered to herself with his own handwriting to the effect that Janet + Balchrystie, in consideration of her lonely condition, was to be allowed + the house for her lifetime, a cow’s grass, and thirty pound sterling in + the year as a charge on the estate. He drove down the cow himself, and + having stalled it in the byre, he informed her of the fact over the yard + dyke by word of mouth, for he never could be induced to enter her door. He + was accounted to be “gey an’ queer,” save by those who had tried making a + bargain with him. But his farmers liked him, knowing him to be an easy man + with those who had been really unfortunate, for he knew to what the year’s + crops of each had amounted, to a single chalder and head of nowt. + </p> + <p> + Deep in her heart Janet Balchrystie cherished a great ambition. When the + earliest blackbird awoke and began to sing, while it was yet gray + twilight, Janet would be up and at her work. She had an ambition to be a + great poet. No less than this would serve her. But not even her father had + known, and no other had any chance of knowing. In the black leather chest, + which had been her mother’s, upstairs, there was a slowly growing pile of + manuscript, and the editor of the local paper received every other week a + poem, longer or shorter, for his Poet’s Corner, in an envelope with the + New Dalry postmark. He was an obliging editor, and generally gave the + closely written manuscript to the senior office boy, who had passed the + sixth standard, to cut down, tinker the rhymes, and lope any superfluity + of feet. The senior office boy “just spread himself,” as he said, and + delighted to do the job in style. But there was a woman fading into a gray + old-maidishness which had hardly ever been girlhood, who did not at all + approve of these corrections. She endured them because over the signature + of “Heather Bell” it was a joy to see in the rich, close luxury of type + her own poetry, even though it might be a trifle tattered and tossed about + by hands ruthless and alien—those, in fact, of the senior office + boy. + </p> + <p> + Janet walked every other week to the post-office at New Dalry to post her + letters to the editor, but neither the great man nor yet the senior office + boy had any conception that the verses of their “esteemed correspondent” + were written by a woman too early old who dwelt alone at the back of + Barbrax Long Wood. + </p> + <p> + One day Janet took a sudden but long-meditated journey. She went down by + rail from the little station of The Huts to the large town of Drum, thirty + miles to the east. Here, with the most perfect courage and dignity of + bearing, she interviewed a printer and arranged for the publication of her + poems in their own original form, no longer staled and clapper-clawed by + the pencil of the senior office boy. When the proof-sheets came to Janet, + she had no way of indicating the corrections but by again writing the + whole poem out in a neat print hand on the edge of the proof, and + underscoring the words which were to be altered. This, when you think of + it, is a very good way, when the happiest part of your life is to be spent + in such concrete pleasures of hope, as Janet’s were over the crackly + sheets of the printer of Drum. Finally the book was produced, a small + rather thickish octavo, on sufficiently wretched gray paper which had + suffered from want of thorough washing in the original paper-mill. It was + bound in a peculiarly deadly blue, of a rectified Reckitt tint, which gave + you dazzles in the eye at any distance under ten paces. Janet had selected + this as the most appropriate of colours. She had also many years ago + decided upon the title, so that Reckitt had printed upon it, back and + side, “The Heather Lintie,” while inside there was the acknowledgment of + authorship, which Janet felt to be a solemn duty to the world: “Poems by + Janet Balchrystie, Barbrax Cottage, by New Dalry.” First she had thought + of withholding her name and style; but, on the whole, after the most + prolonged consideration, she felt that she was not justified in bringing + about such a controversy as divided Scotland concerning that “Great + Unknown” who wrote the Waverley Novels. + </p> + <p> + Almost every second or third day Janet trod that long lochside road to New + Dalry for her proof-sheets, and returned them on the morrow corrected in + her own way. Sometimes she got a lift from some farmer or carter, for she + had worn herself with anxiety to the shadow of what she had once been, and + her dry bleached hair became gray and grayer with the fervour of her + devotion to letters. + </p> + <p> + By April the book was published, and at the end of this month, laid aside + by sickness of the vague kind called locally “a decline,” she took to her + bed, rising only to lay a few sticks upon the fire from her store gathered + in the autumn, or to brew herself a cup of tea. She waited for the tokens + of her book’s conquests in the great world of thought and men. She had + waited so long for her recognition, and now it was coming. She felt that + it would not be long before she was recognised as one of the singers of + the world. Indeed, had she but known it, her recognition was already on + its way. + </p> + <p> + In a great city of the north a clever young reporter was cutting open the + leaves of “The Heather Lintie” with a hand almost feverishly eager. + </p> + <p> + “This is a perfect treasure. This is a find indeed. Here is my chance + ready to my hand.” + </p> + <p> + His paper was making a specialty of “exposures.” If there was anything + weak and erring, anything particularly helpless and foolish which could + make no stand for itself, the “Night Hawk” was on the pounce. Hitherto the + junior reporter had never had a “two-column chance.” He had read—it + was not much that he <i>had</i> read—Macaulay’s too famous article + on “Satan” Montgomery, and, not knowing that Macaulay lived to regret the + spirit of that assault, he felt that if he could bring down the “Night + Hawk” on “The Heather Lintie,” his fortune was made. So he sat down and he + wrote, not knowing and not regarding a lonely woman’s heart, to whom his + word would be as the word of a God, in the lonely cottage lying in the lee + of the Long Wood of Barbrax. + </p> + <p> + The junior reporter turned out a triumph of the new journalism. “This is a + book which may be a genuine source of pride to every native of the ancient + province of Galloway,” he wrote. “Galloway has been celebrated for black + cattle and for wool, as also for a certain bucolic belatedness of + temperament, but Galloway has never hitherto produced a poetess. One has + arisen in the person of Miss Janet Bal— something or other. We have + not an interpreter at hand, and so cannot wrestle with the intricacies of + the authoress’s name, which appears to be some Galwegian form of Erse or + Choctaw. Miss Bal—and so forth—has a true fount of pathos and + humour. In what touching language she chronicles the death of two young + lambs which fell down into one of the puddles they call rivers down there, + and were either drowned or choked with the dirt: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘They were two bonny, bonny lambs, + That played upon the daisied lea, + And loudly mourned their woolly dams + Above the drumly flowing Dee.’ +</pre> + <p> + “How touchingly simple!” continued the junior reporter, buckling up his + sleeves to enjoy himself, and feeling himself born to be a “Saturday + Reviewer.” + </p> + <p> + “Mark the local colour, the wool and the dirty water of the Dee—without + doubt a name applied to one of their bigger ditches down there. Mark also + the over-fervency of the touching line, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘And loudly mourned their woolly dams,’ +</pre> + <p> + “Which, but for the sex of the writer and her evident genius, might be + taken for an expression of a strength hardly permissible even in the + metropolis.” + </p> + <p> + The junior reporter filled his two columns and enjoyed himself in the + doing of it. He concluded with the words: “The authoress will make a great + success. If she will come to the capital, where genius is always + appreciated, she will, without doubt, make her fortune. Nay, if Miss Bal—but + again we cannot proceed for the want of an interpreter—if Miss B., + we say, will only accept a position at Cleary’s Waxworks and give readings + from her poetry, or exhibit herself in the act of pronouncing her own + name, she will be a greater draw in this city than Punch and Judy, or even + the latest American advertising evangelist, who preaches standing on his + head.” + </p> + <p> + The junior reporter ceased here from very admiration at his own cleverness + in so exactly hitting the tone of the masters of his craft, and handed his + manuscript in to the editor. + </p> + <p> + It was the gloaming of a long June day when Rob Affleck, the woodman over + at Barbrax, having been at New Dalry with a cart of wood, left his horse + on the roadside and ran over through Gavin’s old short cut, now seldom + used, to Janet’s cottage with a paper in a yellow wrapper. + </p> + <p> + “Leave it on the step, and thank you kindly, Rob,” said a weak voice + within; and Rob, anxious about his horse and his bed, did so without + another word. In a moment or two Janet crawled to the door, listened to + make sure that Rob was really gone, opened the door, and protruded a hand + wasted to the hard, flat bone—an arm that ought for years to have + been full of flesh and noble curves. + </p> + <p> + When Janet got back to bed it was too dark to see anything except the big + printing at the top of the paper. + </p> + <p> + “Two columns of it!” said Janet, with great thankfulness in her heart, + lifting up her soul to God who had given her the power to sing. She + strained her prematurely old and weary eyes to make out the sense. “A + genuine source of pride to every native of the ancient province,” she + read. + </p> + <p> + “The Lord be praised!” said Janet, in a rapture of devout thankfulness; + “though I never really doubted it,” she added, as though asking pardon for + a moment’s distrust. “But I tried to write these poems to the glory of God + and not to my own praise, and He will accept them and keep me humble under + the praise of men as well as under their neglect.” + </p> + <p> + So clutching the precious paper close to her breast, and letting tears of + thankfulness fall on the article, which, had they fallen on the head of + the junior reporter, would have burned like fire, she patiently awaited + the coming dawn. + </p> + <p> + “I can wait till the morning now to read the rest,” she said. + </p> + <p> + So hour after hour, with her eyes wide, staring hard at the gray + window-squares, she waited the dawn from the east. About half-past two + there was a stirring and a moaning among the pines, and the roar of the + sudden gust came with the breaking day through the dark arches. In the + whirlwind there came a strange expectancy and tremor into the heart of the + poetess, and she pressed the wet sheet of crumpled paper closer to her + bosom, and turned to face the light. Through the spaces of the Long Wood + of Barbrax there came a shining visitor, the Angel of the Presence, he who + comes but once and stands a moment with a beckoning finger. Him she + followed up through the wood. + </p> + <p> + They found Janet on the morning of the second day after, with a look so + glad on her face, and so natural an expectation in the unclosed eye, that + Rob Affleck spoke to her and expected an answer. The “Night Hawk” was + clasped to her breast with a hand that they could not loosen. It went to + the grave with her body. The ink had run a little here and there, where + the tears had fallen thickest. + </p> + <p> + God is more merciful than man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL, By Ian Maclaren + </h2> + <h3> + [See also the illustrated html version: #9320] + </h3> + <p> + I A GENERAL PRACTITIONER + </p> + <p> + Drumtochty was accustomed to break every law of health, except wholesome + food and fresh air, and yet had reduced the psalmist’s furthest limit to + an average life-rate. Our men made no difference in their clothes for + summer or winter, Drumsheugh and one or two of the larger farmers + condescending to a top-coat on Sabbath, as a penalty of their position, + and without regard to temperature. They wore their blacks at a funeral, + refusing to cover them with anything, out of respect to the deceased, and + standing longest in the kirkyard when the north wind was blowing across a + hundred miles of snow. If the rain was pouring at the junction, then + Drumtochty stood two minutes longer through sheer native dourness till + each man had a cascade from the tail of his coat, and hazarded the + suggestion, half-way to Kildrummie, that it had been “a bit scrowie,” and + “scrowie” being as far short of a “shoor” as a “shoor” fell below “weet.” + </p> + <p> + This sustained defiance of the elements provoked occasional judgments in + the shape of a “hoast” (cough), and the head of the house was then + exhorted by his women folk to “change his feet” if he had happened to walk + through a burn on his way home, and was pestered generally with sanitary + precautions. It is right to add that the gudeman treated such advice with + contempt, regarding it as suitable for the effeminacy of towns, but not + seriously intended for Drumtochty. Sandy Stewart “napped” stones on the + road in his shirt-sleeves, wet or fair, summer and winter, till he was + persuaded to retire from active duty at eighty-five, and he spent ten + years more in regretting his hastiness and criticising his successor. The + ordinary course of life, with fine air and contented minds, was to do a + full share of work till seventy, and then to look after “orra” jobs well + into the eighties, and to “slip awa’” within sight of ninety. Persons + above ninety were understood to be acquitting themselves with credit, and + assumed airs of authority, brushing aside the opinions of seventy as + immature, and confirming their conclusions with illustrations drawn from + the end of last century. + </p> + <p> + When Hillocks’s brother so far forgot himself as to “slip awa’” at sixty, + that worthy man was scandalised, and offered laboured explanations at the + “beerial.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s an awfu’ business ony wy ye look at it, an’ a sair trial tae us a’. + A’ never heard tell of sic a thing in oor family afore, an’ it ‘s no easy + accoontin’ for ‘t. + </p> + <p> + “The gudewife was sayin’ he wes never the same sin’ a weet nicht he lost + himsel’ on the muir and slept below a bush; but that’s neither here nor + there. A’ ‘m thinkin’ he sappit his constitution thae twa years he wes + grieve aboot England. That wes thirty years syne, but ye’re never the same + after thae foreign climates.” + </p> + <p> + Drumtochty listened patiently to Hillocks’s apologia, but was not + satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “It’s clean havers aboot the muir. Losh keep’s, we’ve a’ sleepit oot and + never been a hair the waur. + </p> + <p> + “A’ admit that England micht hae dune the job; it’s no canny stravagin’ + yon wy frae place tae place, but Drums never complained tae me as if he + hed been nippit in the Sooth.” + </p> + <p> + The parish had, in fact, lost confidence in Drums after his wayward + experiment with a potato-digging machine, which turned out a lamentable + failure, and his premature departure confirmed our vague impression of his + character. + </p> + <p> + “He’s awa’ noo,” Drumsheugh summed up, after opinion had time to form; + “an’ there were waur fouk than Drums, but there’s nae doot he wes a wee + flichty.” + </p> + <p> + When illness had the audacity to attack a Drumtochty man, it was described + as a “whup,” and was treated by the men with a fine negligence. Hillocks + was sitting in the post-office one afternoon when I looked in for my + letters, and the right side of his face was blazing red. His subject of + discourse was the prospects of the turnip “breer,” but he casually + explained that he was waiting for medical advice. + </p> + <p> + “The gudewife is keepin’ up a ding-dong frae mornin’ till nicht aboot ma + face, and a’ ‘m fair deaved (deafened), so a’ ‘m watchin’ for MacLure tae + get a bottle as he comes wast; yon’s him noo.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor made his diagnosis from horseback on sight, and stated the + result with that admirable clearness which endeared him to Drumtochty: + </p> + <p> + “Confound ye, Hillocks, what are ye ploiterin’ aboot here for in the weet + wi’ a face like a boiled beer? Div ye no ken that ye’ve a tetch o’ the + rose (erysipelas), and ocht tae be in the hoose? Gae hame wi’ ye afore a’ + leave the bit, and send a halflin’ for some medicine. Ye donnerd idiot, + are ye ettlin tae follow Drums afore yir time?” And the medical attendant + of Drumtochty continued his invective till Hillocks started, and still + pursued his retreating figure with medical directions of a simple and + practical character: + </p> + <p> + “A’ ‘m watchin’, an’ peety ye if ye pit aff time. Keep yir bed the + mornin’, and dinna show yir face in the fields till a’ see ye. A’ll gie ye + a cry on Monday,—sic an auld fule,—but there’s no ane o’ them + tae mind anither in the hale pairish.” + </p> + <p> + Hillocks’s wife informed the kirkyard that the doctor “gied the gudeman an + awful’ clearin’,” and that Hillocks “wes keepin’ the hoose,” which meant + that the patient had tea breakfast, and at that time was wandering about + the farm buildings in an easy undress, with his head in a plaid. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible for a doctor to earn even the most modest competence + from a people of such scandalous health, and so MacLure had annexed + neighbouring parishes. His house—little more than a cottage—stood + on the roadside among the pines toward the head of our Glen, and from this + base of operations he dominated the wild glen that broke the wall of the + Grampians above Drumtochty—where the snow-drifts were twelve feet + deep in winter, and the only way of passage at times was the channel of + the river—and the moorland district westward till he came to the + Dunleith sphere of influence, where there were four doctors and a + hydropathic. Drumtochty in its length, which was eight miles, and its + breadth, which was four, lay in his hand; besides a glen behind, unknown + to the world, which in the night-time he visited at the risk of life, for + the way thereto was across the big moor with its peat-holes and + treacherous bogs. And he held the land eastward toward Muirtown so far as + Geordie. The Drumtochty post travelled every day, and could carry word + that the doctor was wanted. He did his best for the need of every man, + woman, and child in this wild, straggling district, year in, year out, in + the snow and in the heat, in the dark and in the light, without rest, and + without holiday for forty years. + </p> + <p> + One horse could not do the work of this man, but we liked best to see him + on his old white mare, who died the week after her master, and the passing + of the two did our hearts good. It was not that he rode beautifully, for + he broke every canon of art, flying with his arms, stooping till he seemed + to be speaking into Jess’s ears, and rising in the saddle beyond all + necessity. But he could ride faster, stay longer in the saddle, and had a + firmer grip with his knees than any one I ever met, and it was all for + mercy’s sake. When the reapers in harvest-time saw a figure whirling past + in a cloud of dust, or the family at the foot of Glen Urtach, gathered + round the fire on a winter’s night, heard the rattle of a horse’s hoofs on + the road, or the shepherds, out after the sheep, traced a black speck + moving across the snow to the upper glen, they knew it was the doctor, + and, without being conscious of it, wished him God-speed. + </p> + <p> + Before and behind his saddle were strapped the instruments and medicines + the doctor might want, for he never knew what was before him. There were + no specialists in Drumtochty, so this man had to do everything as best he + could, and as quickly. He was chest doctor, and doctor for every other + organ as well; he was accoucheur and surgeon; he was oculist and aurist; + he was dentist and chloroformist, besides being chemist and druggist. It + was often told how he was far up Glen Urtach when the feeders of the + threshing-mill caught young Burnbrae, and how he only stopped to change + horses at his house, and galloped all the way to Burnbrae, and flung + himself off his horse, and amputated the arm, and saved the lad’s life. + </p> + <p> + “You wud hae thocht that every meenut was an hour,” said Jamie Soutar, who + had been at the threshing, “an’ a’ ‘ll never forget the puir lad lyin’ as + white as deith on the floor o’ the loft, wi’ his head on a sheaf, and + Burnbrae haudin’ the bandage ticht an’ prayin’ a’ the while, and the + mither greetin’ in the corner. + </p> + <p> + “‘Will he never come?’ she cries, an’ a’ heard the soond o’ the horse’s + feet on the road a mile awa’ in the frosty air. + </p> + <p> + “‘The Lord be praised!’ said Burnbrae, and a’ slipped doon the ladder as + the doctor came skelpin’ intae the close, the foam fleein’ frae his + horse’s mooth. + </p> + <p> + “‘Whar is he?’ wes a’ that passed his lips, an’ in five meenuts he hed him + on the feedin’ board, and wes at his wark—sic wark, neeburs! but he + did it weel. An’ ae thing a’ thocht rael thochtfu’ o’ him: he first sent + aff the laddie’s mither tae get a bed ready. + </p> + <p> + “‘Noo that’s feenished, and his constitution ‘ill dae the rest,’ and he + carried the lad doon the ladder in his airms like a bairn, and laid him in + his bed, and waits aside him till he wes sleepin’, and then says he, + ‘Burnbrae, yir a gey lad never tae say, “Collie, will ye lick?” for a’ + hevna tasted meat for saxteen hoors.’ + </p> + <p> + “It was michty tae see him come intae the yaird that day, neeburs; the + verra look o’ him wes victory.” + </p> + <p> + Jamie’s cynicism slipped off in the enthusiasm of this reminiscence, and + he expressed the feeling of Drumtochty. No one sent for MacLure save in + great straits, and the sight of him put courage in sinking hearts. But + this was not by the grace of his appearance, or the advantage of a good + bedside manner. A tall, gaunt, loosely made man, without an ounce of + superfluous flesh on his body, his face burned a dark brick colour by + constant exposure to the weather, red hair and beard turning gray, honest + blue eyes that look you ever in the face, huge hands with wrist-bones like + the shank of a ham, and a voice that hurled his salutations across two + fields, he suggested the moor rather than the drawing-room. But what a + clever hand it was in an operation—as delicate as a woman’s! and + what a kindly voice it was in the humble room where the shepherd’s wife + was weeping by her man’s bedside! He was “ill pitten thegither” to begin + with, but many of his physical defects were the penalties of his work, and + endeared him to the Glen. That ugly scar, that cut into his right eyebrow + and gave him such a sinister expression, was got one night Jess slipped on + the ice and laid him insensible eight miles from home. His limp marked the + big snowstorm in the fifties, when his horse missed the road in Glen + Urtach, and they rolled together in a drift. MacLure escaped with a broken + leg and the fracture of three ribs, but he never walked like other men + again. He could not swing himself into the saddle without making two + attempts and holding Jess’s mane. Neither can you “warstle” through the + peat-bogs and snow-drifts for forty winters without a touch of rheumatism. + But they were honourable scars, and for such risks of life men get the + Victoria Cross in other fields. MacLure got nothing but the secret + affection of the Glen, which knew that none had ever done one tenth as + much for it as this ungainly, twisted, battered figure, and I have seen a + Drumtochty face soften at the sight of MacLure limping to his horse. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hopps earned the ill-will of the Glen for ever by criticising the + doctor’s dress, but indeed it would have filled any townsman with + amazement. Black he wore once a year, on sacrament Sunday, and, if + possible, at a funeral; top-coat or water-proof never. His jacket and + waistcoat were rough homespun of Glen Urtach wool, which threw off the wet + like a duck’s back, and below he was clad in shepherd’s tartan trousers, + which disappeared into unpolished riding-boots. His shirt was gray + flannel, and he was uncertain about a collar, but certain as to a tie,—which + he never had, his beard doing instead,—and his hat was soft felt of + four colours and seven different shapes. His point of distinction in dress + was the trousers, and they were the subject of unending speculation. + </p> + <p> + “Some threep that he’s worn thae eedentical pair the last twenty year, an’ + a mind masel’ him getting’ a tear ahint, when he was crossin’ oor palin’, + an the mend’s still veesible. + </p> + <p> + “Ithers declare ‘at he’s got a wab o’ claith, and hes a new pair made in + Muirtown aince in the twa year maybe, and keeps them in the garden till + the new look wears aff. + </p> + <p> + “For ma ain pairt,” Soutar used to declare, “a’ canna mak’ up my mind, but + there’s ae thing sure: the Glen wudna like tae see him withoot them; it + wud be a shock tae confidence. There’s no muckle o’ the check left, but ye + can aye tell it, and when ye see thae breeks comin’ in ye ken that if + human pooer can save yir bairn’s life it ‘ill be dune.” + </p> + <p> + The confidence of the Glen—and the tributary states—was + unbounded, and rested partly on long experience of the doctor’s resources, + and partly on his hereditary connection. + </p> + <p> + “His father was here afore him,” Mrs. Macfadyen used to explain; “atween + them they’ve hed the country-side for weel on tae a century; if MacLure + disna understand oor constitution, wha dis, a’ wud like tae ask?” + </p> + <p> + For Drumtochty had its own constitution and a special throat disease, as + became a parish which was quite self-contained between the woods and the + hills, and not dependent on the lowlands either for its diseases or its + doctors. + </p> + <p> + “He’s a skilly man, Dr. MacLure,” continued my friend Mrs. Macfadyen, + whose judgment on sermons or anything else was seldom at fault; “an’ a + kind-hearted, though o’ coorse he hes his faults like us a’, an’ he disna + tribble the kirk often. + </p> + <p> + “He aye can tell what’s wrong wi’ a body, an’ maistly he can put ye richt, + and there’s nae new-fangled wys wi’ him; a blister for the ootside an’ + Epsom salts for the inside dis his wark, an’ they say there’s no an herb + on the hills he disna ken. + </p> + <p> + “If we’re tae dee, we’re tae dee; an’ if we’re tae live, we’re tae live,” + concluded Elspeth, with sound Calvinistic logic; “but a’ ‘ll say this for + the doctor, that, whether yir tae live or dee, he can aye keep up a sharp + meisture on the skin. + </p> + <p> + “But he’s no verra ceevil gin ye bring him when there’s naethin’ wrang,” + and Mrs. Macfadyen’s face reflected another of Mr. Hopps’s misadventures + of which Hillocks held the copyright. + </p> + <p> + “Hopps’s laddie ate grosarts (gooseberries) till they hed to sit up a’ + nicht wi’ him, an’ naethin’ wud do but they maum hae the doctor, an’ he + writes ‘immediately’ on a slip o’ paper. + </p> + <p> + “Weel, MacLure had been awa’ a’ nicht wi’ a shepherd’s wife Dunleith wy, + and he comes here withoot drawin’ bridle, mud up tae the een. + </p> + <p> + “‘What’s adae here, Hillocks?’ he cries; ‘it’s no an accident, is ‘t?’ and + when he got aff his horse he cud hardly stand wi’ stiffness and tire. + </p> + <p> + “‘It’s nane o’ us, doctor; it’s Hopps’s laddie; he’s been eatin’ ower-mony + berries.’ + </p> + <p> + “If he didna turn on me like a tiger! + </p> + <p> + “‘Div ye mean tae say—’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Weesht, weesht,’ an’ I tried tae quiet him, for Hopps wes coomin’ oot. + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, doctor,’ begins he, as brisk as a magpie, ‘you’re here at last; + there’s no hurry with you Scotchmen. My boy has been sick all night, and + I’ve never had a wink of sleep. You might have come a little quicker, + that’s all I’ve got to say.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘We’ve mair tae dae in Drumtochty than attend tae every bairn that hes a + sair stomach,’ and a’ saw MacLure was roosed. + </p> + <p> + “‘I’m astonished to hear you speak. Our doctor at home always says to Mrs. + ‘Opps, “Look on me as a family friend, Mrs. ‘Opps, and send for me though + it be only a headache.”’ + </p> + <p> + “‘He’d be mair spairin’ o’ his offers if he hed four and twenty mile tae + look aifter. There’s naethin’ wrang wi’ yir laddie but greed. Gie him a + gud dose o’ castor-oil and stop his meat for a day, an’ he ‘ill be a’richt + the morn.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘He ‘ill not take castor-oil, doctor. We have given up those barbarous + medicines.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Whatna kind o’ medicines hae ye noo in the Sooth?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, you see Dr. MacLure, we’re homoeopathists, and I’ve my little + chest here,’ and oot Hopps comes wi’ his boxy. + </p> + <p> + “‘Let’s see ‘t,’ an’ MacLure sits doon and tak’s oot the bit bottles, and + he reads the names wi’ a lauch every time. + </p> + <p> + “‘Belladonna; did ye ever hear the like? Aconite; it cowes a’. Nux vomica. + What next? Weel, ma mannie,’ he says tae Hopps, ‘it’s a fine ploy, and ye + ‘ill better gang on wi’ the nux till it’s dune, and gie him ony ither o’ + the sweeties he fancies. + </p> + <p> + “‘Noo, Hillocks, a’ maun be aff tae see Drumsheugh’s grieve, for he’s doon + wi’ the fever, and it’s tae be a teuch fecht. A’ hinna time tae wait for + dinner; gie me some cheese an’ cake in ma haund, and Jess ‘ill take a pail + o’ meal an’ water. + </p> + <p> + “‘Fee? A’ ‘m no wantin’ yir fees, man; wi’ that boxy ye dinna need a + doctor; na, na, gie yir siller tae some puir body, Maister Hopps,’ an’ he + was doon the road as hard as he cud lick.” + </p> + <p> + His fees were pretty much what the folk chose to give him, and he + collected them once a year at Kildrummie fair. + </p> + <p> + “Weel, doctor, what am a’ awin’ ye for the wife and bairn? Ye ‘ill need + three notes for that nicht ye stayed in the hoose an’ a’ the vessits.” + </p> + <p> + “Havers,” MacLure would answer, “prices are low, a’ ‘m hearin’; gie ‘s + thirty shillin’s.” + </p> + <p> + “No, a’ ‘ll no, or the wife ‘ill tak’ ma ears aff,” and it was settled for + two pounds. + </p> + <p> + Lord Kilspindie gave him a free house and fields, and one way or other, + Drumsheugh told me the doctor might get in about one hundred and fifty + pounds a year, out of which he had to pay his old housekeeper’s wages and + a boy’s, and keep two horses, besides the cost of instruments and books, + which he bought through a friend in Edinburgh with much judgment. + </p> + <p> + There was only one man who ever complained of the doctor’s charges, and + that was the new farmer of Milton, who was so good that he was above both + churches, and held a meeting in his barn. (It was Milton the Glen supposed + at first to be a Mormon, but I can’t go into that now.) He offered MacLure + a pound less than he asked, and two tracts, whereupon MacLure expressed + his opinion of Milton, both from a theological and social standpoint, with + such vigour and frankness that an attentive audience of Drumtochty men + could hardly contain themselves. + </p> + <p> + Jamie Soutar was selling his pig at the time, and missed the meeting, but + he hastened to condole with Milton, who was complaining everywhere of the + doctor’s language. + </p> + <p> + “Ye did richt tae resist him; it ‘ill maybe roose the Glen tae mak’ a + stand; he fair hands them in bondage. + </p> + <p> + “Thirty shillin’s for twal’ vessits, and him no mair than seeven mile + awa’, an’ a’ ‘m telt there werena mair than four at nicht. + </p> + <p> + “Ye ‘ill hae the sympathy o’ the Glen, for a’body kens yir as free wi’ yir + siller as yir tracts. + </p> + <p> + “Wes ‘t ‘Beware o’ Gude Warks’ ye offered him? Man, ye chose it weel, for + he’s been colleckin’ sae mony thae forty years, a’ ‘m feared for him. + </p> + <p> + “A’ ‘ve often thocht oor doctor’s little better than the Gude Samaritan, + an’ the Pharisees didna think muckle o’ his chance aither in this warld or + that which is tae come.” + </p> + <p> + II THROUGH THE FLOOD + </p> + <p> + Dr. MacLure did not lead a solemn procession from the sick-bed to the + dining-room, and give his opinion from the hearth-rug with an air of + wisdom bordering on the supernatural, because neither the Drumtochty + houses nor his manners were on that large scale. He was accustomed to + deliver himself in the yard, and to conclude his directions with one foot + in the stirrup; but when he left the room where the life of Annie Mitchell + was ebbing slowly away, our doctor said not one word, and at the sight of + his face her husband’s heart was troubled. + </p> + <p> + He was a dull man, Tammas, who could not read the meaning of a sign, and + laboured under a perpetual disability of speech; but love was eyes to him + that day, and a mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Is ‘t as bad as yir lookin’, doctor? Tell ‘s the truth. Wull Annie no + come through?” and Tammas looked MacLure straight in the face, who never + flinched his duty or said smooth things. + </p> + <p> + “A’ wud gie onythin’ tae say Annie has a chance, but a’ daurna; a’ doot + yir gaein’ to lose her, Tammas.” + </p> + <p> + MacLure was in the saddle, and, as he gave his judgment, he laid his hand + on Tammas’s shoulder with one of the rare caresses that pass between men. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a sair business, but ye ‘ill play the man and no vex Annie; she ‘ill + dae her best, a’ ‘ll warrant.” + </p> + <p> + “And a’ ‘ll dae mine,” and Tammas gave MacLure’s hand a grip that would + have crushed the bones of a weakling. Drumtochty felt in such moments the + brotherliness of this rough-looking man, and loved him. + </p> + <p> + Tammas hid his face in Jess’s mane, who looked round with sorrow in her + beautiful eyes, for she had seen many tragedies; and in this silent + sympathy the stricken man drank his cup, drop by drop. + </p> + <p> + “A’ wesna prepared for this, for a’ aye thocht she wud live the langest. . + . . She’s younger than me by ten year, and never was ill. . . . We’ve been + mairit twal’ year last Martinmas, but it’s juist like a year the day. . . + . A’ wes never worthy o’ her, the bonniest, snoddest (neatest), kindliest + lass in the Glen. . . . A’ never cud mak’ oot hoo she ever lookit at me, + ‘at hesna hed ae word tae say about her till it’s ower-late. . . . She + didna cuist up to me that a’ wesna worthy o’ her—no her; but aye she + said, ‘Yir ma ain gudeman, and nane cud be kinder tae me.’ . . . An’ a’ + wes minded tae be kind, but a’ see noo mony little trokes a’ micht hae + dune for her, and noo the time is by. . . . Naebody kens hoo patient she + wes wi’ me, and aye made the best o’ me, an’ never pit me tae shame afore + the fouk. . . . An’ we never hed ae cross word, no ane in twal’ year. . . + . We were mair nor man and wife—we were sweethearts a’ the time. . . + . Oh, ma bonnie lass, what ‘ill the bairnies an’ me dae without ye, + Annie?” + </p> + <p> + The winter night was falling fast, the snow lay deep upon the ground, and + the merciless north wind moaned through the close as Tammas wrestled with + his sorrow dry-eyed, for tears were denied Drumtochty men. Neither the + doctor nor Jess moved hand or foot, but their hearts were with their + fellow-creature, and at length the doctor made a sign to Marget Howe, who + had come out in search of Tammas, and now stood by his side. + </p> + <p> + “Dinna mourn tae the brakin’ o’ yir hert, Tammas,” she said, “as if Annie + an’ you hed never luved. Neither death nor time can pairt them that luve; + there’s naethin’ in a’ the warld sae strong as luve. If Annie gaes frae + the sicht o’ yir een she ‘ill come the nearer tae yir hert. She wants tae + see ye, and tae hear ye say that ye ‘ill never forget her nicht nor day + till ye meet in the land where there’s nae pairtin’. Oh, a’ ken what a’ ‘m + sayin’, for it’s five year noo sin’ George gied awa’, an’ he’s mair wi me + noo than when he was in Edinboro’ and I wes in Drumtochty.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank ye kindly, Marget; thae are gude words an’ true, an’ ye hev the + richt tae say them; but a’ canna dae without seein’ Annie comin’ tae meet + me in the gloamin’, an’ gaein’ in an’ oot the hoose, an’ hearin’ her ca’ + me by ma name; an’ a’ ‘ll no can tell her that a’ luve her when there’s + nae Annie in the hoose. + </p> + <p> + “Can naethin’ be dune, doctor? Ye savit Flora Cammil, and young Burnbrae, + an’ yon shepherd’s wife Dunleith wy; an’ we were a’ sae prood o’ ye, an’ + pleased tae think that ye hed keepit deith frae anither hame. Can ye no + think o’ somethin’ tae help Annie, and gie her back her man and bairnies?” + and Tammas searched the doctor’s face in the cold, weird light. + </p> + <p> + “There’s nae pooer in heaven or airth like luve,” Marget said to me + afterward; “it mak’s the weak strong and the dumb tae speak. Oor herts + were as water afore Tammas’s words, an’ a’ saw the doctor shake in his + saddle. A’ never kent till that meenut hoo he hed a share in a’body’s + grief, an’ carried the heaviest wecht o’ a’ the Glen. A’ peetied him wi’ + Tammas lookin’ at him sae wistfully, as if he hed the keys o’ life an’ + deith in his hands. But he wes honest, and wudna hold oot a false houp tae + deceive a sore hert or win escape for himsel’.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye needna plead wi’ me, Tammas, to dae the best a’ can for yir wife. Man, + a’ kent her lang afore ye ever luved her; a’ brocht her intae the warld, + and a’ saw her through the fever when she wes a bit lassikie; a’ closed + her mither’s een, and it wes me hed tae tell her she wes an orphan; an’ + nae man wes better pleased when she got a gude husband, and a’ helpit her + wi’ her fower bairns. A’ ‘ve naither wife nor bairns o’ ma own, an’ a’ + coont a’ the fouk o’ the Glen ma family. Div ye think a’ wudna save Annie + if I cud? If there wes a man in Muirtown ‘at cud dae mair for her, a’ ‘d + have him this verra nicht; but a’ the doctors in Perthshire are helpless + for this tribble. + </p> + <p> + “Tammas, ma puir fallow, if it could avail, a’ tell ye a’ wud lay doon + this auld worn-oot ruckle o’ a body o’ mine juist tae see ye baith sittin’ + at the fireside, an’ the bairns round ye, couthy an’ canty again; but it’s + nae tae be, Tammas, it’s nae tae be.” + </p> + <p> + “When a’ lookit at the doctor’s face,” Marget said, “a’ thocht him the + winsomest man a’ ever saw. He wes transfigured that nicht, for a’ ‘m + judgin’ there’s nae transfiguration like luve.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s God’s wull an’ maun be borne, but it’s a sair wull fur me, an’ a’ ‘m + no ungratefu’ tae you, doctor, for a’ ye’ve dune and what ye said the + nicht,” and Tammas went back to sit with Annie for the last time. + </p> + <p> + Jess picked her way through the deep snow to the main road, with a skill + that came of long experience, and the doctor held converse with her + according to his wont. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Jess, wumman, yon wes the hardest wark a’ hae tae face, and a’ wud + raither hae taen ma chance o’ anither row in a Glen Urtach drift than tell + Tammas Mitchell his wife wes deein’. + </p> + <p> + “A’ said she cudna be cured, and it was true, for there’s juist ae man in + the land fit for ‘t, and they micht as weel try tae get the mune oot o’ + heaven. Sae a’ said naethin’ tae vex Tammas’s hert, for it’s heavy eneuch + withoot regrets. + </p> + <p> + “But it’s hard, Jess, that money will buy life after a’, an’ if Annie wes + a duchess her man wudna lose her; but bein’ only a puir cotter’s wife, she + maun dee afore the week ‘s oot. + </p> + <p> + “Gin we hed him the morn there’s little doot she wud be saved, for he + hesna lost mair than five per cent. o’ his cases, and they ‘ill be puir + toons-craturs, no strappin’ women like Annie. + </p> + <p> + “It’s oot o’ the question, Jess, sae hurry up, lass, for we’ve hed a heavy + day. But it wud be the grandest thing that wes ever done in the Glen in + oor time if it could be managed by hook or crook. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll gang and see Drumsheugh, Jess; he’s anither man sin’ Geordie Hoo’s + deith, and he was aye kinder than fouk kent.” And the doctor passed at a + gallop through the village, whose lights shone across the white + frost-bound road. + </p> + <p> + “Come in by, doctor; a’ heard ye on the road; ye ‘ill hae been at Tammas + Mitchell’s; hoo’s the gudewife? A’ doot she’s sober.” + </p> + <p> + “Annie’s deein’, Drumsheugh, an’ Tammas is like tae brak his hert.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s no lichtsome, doctor, no lichtsome, ava, for a’ dinna ken ony man + in Drumtochty sae bund up in his wife as Tammas, and there’s no a bonnier + wumman o’ her age crosses oor kirk door than Annie, nor a cleverer at her + work. Man ye ‘ill need tae pit yir brains in steep. Is she clean beyond + ye?” + </p> + <p> + “Beyond me and every ither in the land but ane, and it wud cost a hundred + guineas tae bring him tae Drumtochty.” + </p> + <p> + “Certes, he’s no blate; it’s a fell chairge for a short day’s work; but + hundred or no hundred we ‘ill hae him, and no let Annie gang, and her no + half her years.” + </p> + <p> + “Are ye meanin’ it, Drumsheugh?” and MacLure turned white below the tan. + </p> + <p> + “William MacLure,” said Drumsheugh, in one of the few confidences that + ever broke the Drumtochty reserve, “a’ ‘m a lonely man, wi’ naebody o’ ma + ain blude tae care for me livin’, or tae lift me intae ma coffin when a’ + ‘m deid. + </p> + <p> + “A’ fecht awa’ at Muirtown market for an extra pund on a beast, or a + shillin’ on the quarter o’ barley, an’ what’s the gude o’ ‘t? Burnbrae + gaes aff tae get a goon for his wife or a buke for his college laddie, an’ + Lachlan Campbell ‘ill no leave the place noo without a ribbon for Flora. + </p> + <p> + “Ilka man in the Kildrummie train has some bit fairin’ in his pooch for + the fouk at hame that he’s bocht wi’ the siller he won. + </p> + <p> + “But there’s naebody tae be lookin’ oot for me, an’ comin’ doon the road + tae meet me, and daffin’ (joking) wi’ me aboot their fairin’, or feelin’ + ma pockets. Ou, ay! A’ ‘ve seen it a’ at ither hooses, though they tried + tae hide it frae me for fear a’ wud lauch at them. Me lauch, wi’ ma cauld, + empty hame! + </p> + <p> + “Yir the only man kens, Weelum, that I aince luved the noblest wumman in + the Glen or onywhere, an’ a’ luve her still, but wi’ anither luve noo. + </p> + <p> + “She hed given her hert tae anither, or a’ ‘ve thocht a’ micht hae won + her, though nae man be worthy o’ sic a gift. Ma hert turned tae + bitterness, but that passed awa’ beside the brier-bush what George Hoo lay + yon sad simmer-time. Some day a’ ‘ll tell ye ma story, Weelum, for you an’ + me are auld freends, and will be till we dee.” + </p> + <p> + MacLure felt beneath the table for Drumsheugh’s hand, but neither man + looked at the other. + </p> + <p> + “Weel, a’ we can dae noo, Weelum, gin we haena mickle brightness in oor + ain hames, is tae keep the licht frae gaein’ oot in anither hoose. Write + the telegram, man, and Sandy ‘ill send it aff frae Kildrummie this verra + nicht, and ye ‘ill hae yir man the morn.” + </p> + <p> + “Yir the man a’ coonted ye, Drumsheugh, but ye ‘ill grant me a favour. Ye + ‘ill lat me pay the half, bit by bit. A’ ken yir wullin’ tae dae ‘t a’; + but a’ haena mony pleasures, an’ a’ wud like tae hae ma ain share in + savin’ Annie’s life.” + </p> + <p> + Next morning a figure received Sir George on the Kildrummie platform, whom + that famous surgeon took for a gillie, but who introduced himself as + “MacLure of Drumtochty.” It seemed as if the East had come to meet the + West when these two stood together, the one in travelling furs, handsome + and distinguished, with his strong, cultured face and carriage of + authority, a characteristic type of his profession; and the other more + marvellously dressed than ever, for Drumsheugh’s top-coat had been forced + upon him for the occasion, his face and neck one redness with the bitter + cold, rough and ungainly, yet not without some signs of power in his eye + and voice, the most heroic type of his noble profession. MacLure compassed + the precious arrival with observances till he was securely seated in + Drumsheugh’s dog-cart,—a vehicle that lent itself to history,—with + two full-sized plaids added to his equipment—Drumsheugh and Hillocks + had both been requisitioned; and MacLure wrapped another plaid round a + leather case, which was placed below the seat with such reverence as might + be given to the Queen’s regalia. Peter attended their departure full of + interest, and as soon as they were in the fir woods MacLure explained that + it would be an eventful journey. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a’richt in here, for the wind disna get at the snow; but the drifts + are deep in the Glen, and th’ ‘ill be some engineerin’ afore we get tae + oor destination.” + </p> + <p> + Four times they left the road and took their way over fields; twice they + forced a passage through a slap in a dyke; thrice they used gaps in the + paling which MacLure had made on his downward journey. + </p> + <p> + “A’ seleckit the road this mornin’, an’ a’ ken the depth tae an inch; we + ‘ill get through this steadin’ here tae the main road, but our worst job + ‘ill be crossin’ the Tochty. + </p> + <p> + “Ye see, the bridge hes been shakin’ wi’ this winter’s flood, and we + daurna venture on it, sae we hev tae ford, and the snaw’s been meltin’ up + Urtach way. There’s nae doot the water’s gey big, and it’s threatenin’ tae + rise, but we ‘ill win through wi’ a warstle. + </p> + <p> + “It micht be safer tae lift the instruments oot o’ reach o’ the water; wud + ye mind haddin’ them on yir knee till we’re ower, an’ keep firm in yir + seat in case we come on a stane in the bed o’ the river.” + </p> + <p> + By this time they had come to the edge, and it was not a cheering sight. + The Tochty had spread out over the meadows, and while they waited they + could see it cover another two inches on the trunk of a tree. There are + summer floods, when the water is brown and flecked with foam, but this was + a winter flood, which is black and sullen, and runs in the centre with a + strong, fierce, silent current. Upon the opposite side Hillocks stood to + give directions by word and hand, as the ford was on his land, and none + knew the Tochty better in all its ways. + </p> + <p> + They passed through the shallow water without mishap, save when the wheel + struck a hidden stone or fell suddenly into a rut; but when they neared + the body of the river MacLure halted, to give Jess a minute’s breathing. + </p> + <p> + “It ‘ill tak’ ye a’ yir time, lass, an’ a’ wud raither be on yir back; but + ye never failed me yet, and a wumman’s life is hangin’ on the crossin’.” + </p> + <p> + With the first plunge into the bed of the stream the water rose to the + axles, and then it crept up to the shafts, so that the surgeon could feel + it lapping in about his feet, while the dog-cart began to quiver, and it + seemed as if it were to be carried away. Sir George was as brave as most + men, but he had never forded a Highland river in flood, and the mass of + black water racing past beneath, before, behind him, affected his + imagination and shook his nerves. He rose from his seat and ordered + MacLure to turn back, declaring that he would be condemned utterly and + eternally if he allowed himself to be drowned for any person. + </p> + <p> + “Sit doon!” thundered MacLure. “Condemned ye will be, suner or later, gin + ye shirk yir duty, but through the water ye gang the day.” + </p> + <p> + Both men spoke much more strongly and shortly, but this is what they + intended to say, and it was MacLure that prevailed. + </p> + <p> + Jess trailed her feet along the ground with cunning art, and held her + shoulder against the stream; MacLure leaned forward in his seat, a rein in + each hand, and his eyes fixed on Hillocks, who was now standing up to the + waist in the water, shouting directions and cheering on horse and driver: + </p> + <p> + “Haud tae the richt, doctor; there’s a hole yonder. Keep oot o’ ‘t for ony + sake. That’s it; yir daein’ fine. Steady, man, steady. Yir at the deepest; + sit heavy in yir seats. Up the channel noo, and ye ‘ill be oot o’ the + swirl. Weel dune, Jess! Weel dune, auld mare! Mak’ straicht for me, + doctor, an’ a’ ‘ll gie ye the road oot. Ma word, ye’ve dune yir best, + baith o’ ye, this mornin’,” cried Hillocks, splashing up to the dog-cart, + now in the shallows. + </p> + <p> + “Sall, it wes titch an’ go for a meenut in the middle; a Hielan’ ford is a + kittle (hazardous) road in the snaw-time, but ye ‘re safe noo. + </p> + <p> + “Gude luck tae ye up at Westerton, sir; nane but a richt-hearted man wud + hae riskit the Tochty in flood. Ye ‘re boond tae succeed aifter sic a + graund beginnin’,” for it had spread already that a famous surgeon had + come to do his best for Annie, Tammas Mitchell’s wife. + </p> + <p> + Two hours later MacLure came out from Annie’s room and laid hold of + Tammas, a heap of speechless misery by the kitchen fire, and carried him + off to the barn, and spread some corn on the threshing-floor, and thrust a + flail into his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Noo we ‘ve tae begin, an’ we ‘ill no be dune for an’ ‘oor, and ye ‘ve tae + lay on without stoppin’ till a’ come for ye; an’ a’ ‘ll shut the door tae + haud in the noise, an’ keep yir dog beside ye, for there maunna be a cheep + aboot the house for Annie’s sake.” + </p> + <p> + “A’ ‘ll dae onythin’ ye want me, but if—if——” + </p> + <p> + “A’ ‘ll come for ye, Tammas, gin there be danger; but what are ye feard + for wi’ the Queen’s ain surgeon here?” + </p> + <p> + Fifty minutes did the flair rise and fall, save twice, when Tammas crept + to the door and listened, the dog lifting his head and whining. + </p> + <p> + It seemed twelve hours instead of one when the door swung back, and + MacLure filled the doorway, preceded by a great burst of light, for the + sun had arisen on the snow. + </p> + <p> + His face was as tidings of great joy, and Elspeth told me that there was + nothing like it to be seen that afternoon for glory, save the sun itself + in the heavens. + </p> + <p> + “A’ never saw the marrow o’ ‘t, Tammas, an’ a’ ‘ll never see the like + again; it’s a’ ower, man, withoot a hitch frae beginnin’ tae end, and + she’s fa’in’ asleep as fine as ye like.” + </p> + <p> + “Dis he think Annie—‘ill live?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he dis, and be aboot the hoose inside a month; that’s the gude + o’ bein’ a clean-bluided, weel-livin’— + </p> + <p> + “Preserve ye, man, what’s wrang wi’ ye? It’s a mercy a’ keppit ye, or we + wud hev hed anither job for Sir George. + </p> + <p> + “Ye ‘re a’richt noo; sit doon on the strae. A’ ‘ll come back in a while, + an’ ye ‘ill see Annie, juist for a meenut, but ye maunna say a word.” + </p> + <p> + Marget took him in and let him kneel by Annie’s bedside. + </p> + <p> + He said nothing then or afterward for speech came only once in his + lifetime to Tammas, but Annie whispered, “Ma ain dear man.” + </p> + <p> + When the doctor placed the precious bag beside Sir George in our solitary + first next morning, he laid a check beside it and was about to leave. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” said the great man. “Mrs. Macfadyen and I were on the gossip + last night, and I know the whole story about you and your friend. + </p> + <p> + “You have some right to call me a coward, but I ‘ll never let you count me + a mean, miserly rascal,” and the check with Drumsheugh’s painful writing + fell in fifty pieces on the floor. + </p> + <p> + As the train began to move, a voice from the first called so that all the + station heard: + </p> + <p> + “Give ‘s another shake of your hand, MacLure; I’m proud to have met you; + your are an honour to our profession. Mind the antiseptic dressings.” + </p> + <p> + It was market-day, but only Jamie Soutar and Hillocks had ventured down. + </p> + <p> + “Did ye hear yon, Hillocks? Hoo dae ye feel? A’ ‘ll no deny a’ ‘m lifted.” + </p> + <p> + Half-way to the Junction Hillocks had recovered, and began to grasp the + situation. + </p> + <p> + “Tell ‘us what he said. A’ wud like to hae it exact for Drumsheugh.” + </p> + <p> + “Thae’s the eedentical words, an’ they’re true; there’s no a man in + Drumtochty disna ken that, except ane.” + </p> + <p> + “An’ wha’s that Jamie?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s Weelum MacLure himsel’. Man, a’ ‘ve often girned that he sud fecht + awa’ for us a’, and maybe dee before he kent that he had githered mair + luve than ony man in the Glen. + </p> + <p> + “‘A’ ‘m prood tae hae met ye,’ says Sir George, an’ him the greatest + doctor in the land. ‘Yir an honour tae oor profession.’ + </p> + <p> + “Hillocks, a’ wudna hae missed it for twenty notes,” said James Soutar, + cynic in ordinary to the parish of Drumtochty. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WANDERING WILLIE’S TALE, By Sir Walter Scott + </h2> + <p> + “Honest folks like me! How do ye ken whether I am honest, or what I am? I + may be the deevil himsell for what ye ken, for he has power to come + disguised like an angel of light; and, besides, he is a prime fiddler. He + played a sonata to Corelli, ye ken.” + </p> + <p> + There was something odd in this speech, and the tone in which it was said. + It seemed as if my companion was not always in his constant mind, or that + he was willing to try if he could frighten me. I laughed at the + extravagance of his language, however, and asked him in reply if he was + fool enough to believe that the foul fiend would play so silly a + masquerade. + </p> + <p> + “Ye ken little about it—little about it,” said the old man, shaking + his head and beard, and knitting his brows. “I could tell ye something + about that.” + </p> + <p> + What his wife mentioned of his being a tale-teller as well as a musician + now occurred to me; and as, you know, I like tales of superstition, I + begged to have a specimen of his talent as we went along. + </p> + <p> + “It is very true,” said the blind man, “that when I am tired of scraping + thairm or singing ballants I whiles make a tale serve the turn among the + country bodies; and I have some fearsome anes, that make the auld carlines + shake on the settle, and the bits o’ bairns skirl on their minnies out + frae their beds. But this that I am going to tell you was a thing that + befell in our ain house in my father’s time—that is, my father was + then a hafflins callant; and I tell it to you, that it may be a lesson to + you that are but a young thoughtless chap, wha ye draw up wi’ on a lonely + road; for muckle was the dool and care that came o’ ‘t to my gudesire.” + </p> + <p> + He commenced his tale accordingly, in a distinct narrative tone of voice, + which he raised and depressed with considerable skill; at times sinking + almost into a whisper, and turning his clear but sightless eyeballs upon + my face, as if it had been possible for him to witness the impression + which his narrative made upon my features. I will not spare a syllable of + it, although it be of the longest; so I make a dash—and begin: + </p> + <p> + Ye maun have heard of Sir Robert Redgauntlet of that ilk, who lived in + these parts before the dear years. The country will lang mind him; and our + fathers used to draw breath thick if ever they heard him named. He was out + wi’ the Hielandmen in Montrose’s time; and again he was in the hills wi’ + Glencairn in the saxteen hundred and fifty-twa; and sae when King Charles + the Second came in, wha was in sic favour as the laird of Redgauntlet? He + was knighted at Lonon Court, wi’ the king’s ain sword; and being a red-hot + prelatist, he came down here, rampauging like a lion, with commission of + lieutenancy (and of lunacy, for what I ken), to put down a’ the Whigs and + Covenanters in the country. Wild wark they made of it; for the Whigs were + as dour as the Cavaliers were fierce, and it was which should first tire + the other. Redgauntlet was aye for the strong hand; and his name is kend + as wide in the country as Claverhouse’s or Tam Dalyell’s. Glen, nor + dargle, nor mountain, nor cave could hide the puir hill-folk when + Redgauntlet was out with bugle and bloodhound after them, as if they had + been sae mony deer. And, troth, when they fand them, they didna make + muckle mair ceremony than a Hielandman wi’ a roebuck. It was just, “Will + ye tak’ the test?” If not—“Make ready—present—fire!” and + there lay the recusant. + </p> + <p> + Far and wide was Sir Robert hated and feared. Men thought he had a direct + compact with Satan; that he was proof against steel, and that bullets + happed aff his buff-coat like hailstanes from a hearth; that he had a mear + that would turn a hare on the side of Carrifra-gauns (a precipitous side + of a mountain in Moffatdale); and muckle to the same purpose, of whilk + mair anon. The best blessing they wared on him was, “Deil scowp wi’ + Redgauntlet!” He wasna a bad master to his ain folk, though, and was weel + aneugh liked by his tenants; and as for the lackeys and troopers that rade + out wi’ him to the persecutions, as the Whigs caa’d those killing-times, + they wad hae drunken themsells blind to his health at ony time. + </p> + <p> + Now you are to ken that my gudesire lived on Redgauntlet’s grund—they + ca’ the place Primrose Knowe. We had lived on the grund, and under the + Redgauntlets, since the riding-days, and lang before. It was a pleasant + bit; and, I think the air is callerer and fresher there than onywhere else + in the country. It’s a’ deserted now; and I sat on the broken door-cheek + three days since, and was glad I couldna see the plight the place was in—but + that’s a’ wide o’ the mark. There dwelt my gudesire, Steenie Steenson; a + rambling, rattling chiel’ he had been in his young days, and could play + weel on the pipes; he was famous at “hoopers and girders,” a’ Cumberland + couldna touch him at “Jockie Lattin,” and he had the finest finger for the + back-lilt between Berwick and Carlisle. The like o’ Steenie wasna the sort + that they made Whigs o’. And so he became a Tory, as they ca’ it, which we + now ca’ Jacobites, just out of a kind of needcessity, that he might belang + to some side or other. He had nae ill-will to the Whig bodies, and liked + little to see the blude rin, though, being obliged to follow Sir Robert in + hunting and hoisting, watching and warding, he saw muckle mischief, and + maybe did some that he couldna avoid. + </p> + <p> + Now Steenie was a kind of favourite with his master, and kend a’ the folk + about the castle, and was often sent for to play the pipes when they were + at their merriment. Auld Dougal MacCallum, the butler, that had followed + Sir Robert through gude and ill, thick and thin, pool and stream, was + specially fond of the pipes, and aye gae my gudesire his gude word wi’ the + laird; for Dougal could turn his master round his finger. + </p> + <p> + Weel, round came the Revolution, and it had like to hae broken the hearts + baith of Dougal and his master. But the change was not a’thegether sae + great as they feared and other folk thought for. The Whigs made an unco + crawing what they wad do with their auld enemies, and in special wi’ Sir + Robert Redgauntlet. But there were ower-mony great folks dipped in the + same doings to make a spick-and-span new warld. So Parliament passed it a’ + ower easy; and Sir Robert, bating that he was held to hunting foxes + instead of Covenanters, remained just the man he was. His revel was as + loud, and his hall as weel lighted, as ever it had been, though maybe he + lacked the fines of the nonconformists, that used to come to stock his + larder and cellar; for it is certain he began to be keener about the rents + than his tenants used to find him before, and they behooved to be prompt + to the rent-day, or else the laird wasna pleased. And he was sic an awsome + body that naebody cared to anger him; for the oaths he swore, and the rage + that he used to get into, and the looks that he put on made men sometimes + think him a devil incarnate. + </p> + <p> + Weel, my gudesire was nae manager—no that he was a very great + misguider—but he hadna the saving gift, and he got twa terms’ rent + in arrear. He got the first brash at Whitsunday put ower wi’ fair word and + piping; but when Martinmas came there was a summons from the grund officer + to come wi’ the rent on a day preceese, or else Steenie behooved to flit. + Sair wark he had to get the siller; but he was weel freended, and at last + he got the haill scraped thegether—a thousand merks. The maist of it + was from a neighbour they caa’d Laurie Lapraik—a sly tod. Laurie had + wealth o’ gear, could hunt wi’ the hound and rin wi’ the hare, and be Whig + or Tory, saunt or sinner, as the wind stood. He was a professor in the + Revolution warld, but he liked an orra sough of the warld, and a tune on + the pipes weel aneugh at a by-time; and, bune a’, he thought he had gude + security for the siller he len my gudesire ower the stocking at Primrose + Knowe. + </p> + <p> + Away trots my gudesire to Redgauntlet Castle wi’ a heavy purse and a light + heart, glad to be out of the laird’s danger. Weel, the first thing he + learned at the castle was that Sir Robert had fretted himsell into a fit + of the gout because he did no appear before twelve o’clock. It wasna + a’thegether for sake of the money, Dougal thought, but because he didna + like to part wi’ my gudesire aff the grund. Dougal was glad to see + Steenie, and brought him into the great oak parlour; and there sat the + laird his leesome lane, excepting that he had beside him a great, + ill-favoured jackanape that was a special pet of his. A cankered beast it + was, and mony an ill-natured trick it played; ill to please it was, and + easily angered—ran about the haill castle, chattering and rowling, + and pinching and biting folk, specially before ill weather, or disturbance + in the state. Sir Robert caa’d it Major Weir, after the warlock that was + burnt; and few folk liked either the name or the conditions of the + creature—they thought there was something in it by ordinar—and + my gudesire was not just easy in mind when the door shut on him, and he + saw himsell in the room wi’ naebody but the laird, Dougal MacCallum, and + the major—a thing that hadna chanced to him before. + </p> + <p> + Sir Robert sat, or, I should say, lay, in a great arm-chair, wi’ his grand + velvet gown, and his feet on a cradle, for he had baith gout and gravel, + and his face looked as gash and ghastly as Satan’s. Major Weir sat + opposite to him, in a red-laced coat, and the laird’s wig on his head; and + aye as Sir Robert girned wi’ pain, the jackanape girned too, like a + sheep’s head between a pair of tangs—an ill-faur’d, fearsome couple + they were. The laird’s buff-coat was hung on a pin behind him and his + broadsword and his pistols within reach; for he keepit up the auld fashion + of having the weapons ready, and a horse saddled day and night, just as he + used to do when he was able to loup on horseback, and sway after ony of + the hill-folk he could get speerings of. Some said it was for fear of the + Whigs taking vengeance, but I judge it was just his auld custom—he + wasna gine not fear onything. The rental-book, wi’ its black cover and + brass clasps, was lying beside him; and a book of sculduddery sangs was + put betwixt the leaves, to keep it open at the place where it bore + evidence against the goodman of Primrose Knowe, as behind the hand with + his mails and duties. Sir Robert gave my gudesire a look, as if he would + have withered his heart in his bosom. Ye maun ken he had a way of bending + his brows that men saw the visible mark of a horseshoe in his forehead, + deep-dinted, as if it had been stamped there. + </p> + <p> + “Are ye come light-handed, ye son of a toom whistle?” said Sir Robert. + “Zounds! If you are—” + </p> + <p> + My gudesire, with as gude a countenance as he could put on, made a leg, + and placed the bag of money on the table wi’ a dash, like a man that does + something clever. The laird drew it to him hastily. “Is all here, Steenie, + man?” + </p> + <p> + “Your honour will find it right,” said my gudesire. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Dougal,” said the laird, “gie Steenie a tass of brandy, till I + count the siller and write the receipt.” + </p> + <p> + But they werena weel out of the room when Sir Robert gied a yelloch that + garr’d the castle rock. Back ran Dougal; in flew the liverymen; yell on + yell gied the laird, ilk ane mair awfu’ than the ither. My gudesire knew + not whether to stand or flee, but he ventured back into the parlour, where + a’ was gaun hirdie-girdie—naebody to say “come in” or “gae out.” + Terribly the laird roared for cauld water to his feet, and wine to cool + his throat; and ‘Hell, hell, hell, and its flames’, was aye the word in + his mouth. They brought him water, and when they plunged his swoln feet + into the tub, he cried out it was burning; and folks say that it <i>did</i> + bubble and sparkle like a seething cauldron. He flung the cup at Dougal’s + head and said he had given him blood instead of Burgundy; and, sure + aneugh, the lass washed clotted blood aff the carpet the neist day. The + jackanape they caa’d Major Weir, it jibbered and cried as if it was + mocking its master. My gudesire’s head was like to turn; he forgot baith + siller and receipt, and downstairs he banged; but, as he ran, the shrieks + came fainter and fainter; there was a deep-drawn shivering groan, and word + gaed through the castle that the laird was dead. + </p> + <p> + Weel, away came my gudesire wi’ his finger in his mouth, and his best hope + was that Dougal had seen the money-bag and heard the laird speak of + writing the receipt. The young laird, now Sir John, came from Edinburgh to + see things put to rights. Sir John and his father never ‘greed weel. Sir + John had been bred an advocate, and afterward sat in the last Scots + Parliament and voted for the Union, having gotten, it was thought, a rug + of the compensations—if his father could have come out of his grave + he would have brained him for it on his awn hearthstane. Some thought it + was easier counting with the auld rough knight than the fair-spoken young + ane—but mair of that anon. + </p> + <p> + Dougal MacCallum, poor body, neither grat nor graned, but gaed about the + house looking like a corpse, but directing, as was his duty, a’ the order + of the grand funeral. Now Dougal looked aye waur and waur when night was + coming, and was aye the last to gang to his bed, whilk was in a little + round just opposite the chamber of dais, whilk his master occupied while + he was living, and where he now lay in state, as they can’d it, weeladay! + The night before the funeral Dougal could keep his awn counsel nae longer; + he came doun wi’ his proud spirit, and fairly asked auld Hutcheon to sit + in his room with him for an hour. When they were in the round, Dougal took + a tass of brandy to himsell, and gave another to Hutcheon, and wished him + all health and lang life, and said that, for himsell, he wasna lang for + this warld; for that every night since Sir Robert’s death his silver call + had sounded from the state chamber just as it used to do at nights in his + lifetime to call Dougal to help to turn him in his bed. Dougal said that + being alone with the dead on that floor of the tower (for naebody cared to + wake Sir Robert Redgauntlet like another corpse), he had never daured to + answer the call, but that now his conscience checked him for neglecting + his duty; for, “though death breaks service,” said MacCallum, “it shall + never weak my service to Sir Robert; and I will answer his next whistle, + so be you will stand by me, Hutcheon.” + </p> + <p> + Hutcheon had nae will to the wark, but he had stood by Dougal in battle + and broil, and he wad not fail him at this pinch; so doun the carles sat + ower a stoup of brandy, and Hutcheon, who was something of a clerk, would + have read a chapter of the Bible; but Dougal would hear naething but a + blaud of Davie Lindsay, whilk was the waur preparation. + </p> + <p> + When midnight came, and the house was quiet as the grave, sure enough the + silver whistle sounded as sharp and shrill as if Sir Robert was blowing + it; and up got the twa auld serving-men, and tottered into the room where + the dead man lay. Hutcheon saw aneugh at the first glance; for there were + torches in the room, which showed him the foul fiend, in his ain shape, + sitting on the laird’s coffin! Ower he couped as if he had been dead. He + could not tell how lang he lay in a trance at the door, but when he + gathered himsell he cried on his neighbour, and getting nae answer raised + the house, when Dougal was found lying dead within twa steps of the bed + where his master’s coffin was placed. As for the whistle, it was gane anes + and aye; but mony a time was it heard at the top of the house on the + bartizan, and amang the auld chimneys and turrets where the howlets have + their nests. Sir John hushed the matter up, and the funeral passed over + without mair bogie wark. + </p> + <p> + But when a’ was ower, and the laird was beginning to settle his affairs, + every tenant was called up for his arrears, and my gudesire for the full + sum that stood against him in the rental-book. Weel, away he trots to the + castle to tell his story, and there he is introduced to Sir John, sitting + in his father’s chair, in deep mourning, with weepers and hanging cravat, + and a small walking-rapier by his side, instead of the auld broadsword + that had a hunderweight of steel about it, what with blade, chape, and + basket-hilt. I have heard their communings so often tauld ower that I + almost think I was there mysell, though I couldna be born at the time. (In + fact, Alan, my companion, mimicked, with a good deal of humour, the + flattering, conciliating tone of the tenant’s address and the hypocritical + melancholy of the laird’s reply. His grandfather, he said, had while he + spoke, his eye fixed on the rental-book, as if it were a mastiff-dog that + he was afraid would spring up and bite him.) + </p> + <p> + “I wuss ye joy, sir, of the head seat and the white loaf and the brid + lairdship. Your father was a kind man to freends and followers; muckle + grace to you, Sir John, to fill his shoon—his boots, I suld say, for + he seldom wore shoon, unless it were muils when he had the gout.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Steenie,” quoth the laird, sighing deeply, and putting his napkin to + his een, “his was a sudden call, and he will be missed in the country; no + time to set his house in order—weel prepared Godward, no doubt, + which is the root of the matter; but left us behind a tangled hesp to + wind, Steenie. Hem! Hem! We maun go to business, Steenie; much to do, and + little time to do it in.” + </p> + <p> + Here he opened the fatal volume. I have heard of a thing they call + Doomsday book—I am clear it has been a rental of back-ganging + tenants. + </p> + <p> + “Stephen,” said Sir John, still in the same soft, sleekit tone of voice—“Stephen + Stevenson, or Steenson, ye are down here for a year’s rent behind the hand—due + at last term.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Stephen.</i> Please your honour, Sir John, I paid it to your father. + </p> + <p> + <i>Sir John.</i> Ye took a receipt, then, doubtless, Stephen, and can + produce it? + </p> + <p> + <i>Stephen.</i> Indeed, I hadna time, an it like your honour; for nae + sooner had I set doun the siller, and just as his honour, Sir Robert, + that’s gaen, drew it ill him to count it and write out the receipt, he was + ta’en wi’ the pains that removed him. + </p> + <p> + “That was unlucky,” said Sir John, after a pause. “But ye maybe paid it in + the presence of somebody. I want but a <i>talis qualis</i> evidence, + Stephen. I would go ower-strictly to work with no poor man.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Stephen.</i> Troth, Sir John, there was naebody in the room but Dougal + MacCallum, the butler. But, as your honour kens, he has e’en followed his + auld master. + </p> + <p> + “Very unlucky again, Stephen,” said Sir John, without altering his voice a + single note. “The man to whom ye paid the money is dead, and the man who + witnessed the payment is dead too; and the siller, which should have been + to the fore, is neither seen nor heard tell of in the repositories. How am + I to believe a’ this?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Stephen.</i> I dinna ken, your honour; but there is a bit memorandum + note of the very coins, for, God help me! I had to borrow out of twenty + purses; and I am sure that ilka man there set down will take his grit oath + for what purpose I borrowed the money. + </p> + <p> + <i>Sir John.</i> I have little doubt ye <i>borrowed</i> the money, + Steenie. It is the <i>payment</i> that I want to have proof of. + </p> + <p> + <i>Stephen.</i> The siller maun be about the house, Sir John. And since + your honour never got it, and his honour that was canna have ta’en it wi’ + him, maybe some of the family may hae seen it. + </p> + <p> + <i>Sir John.</i> We will examine the servants, Stephen; that is but + reasonable. + </p> + <p> + But lackey and lass, and page and groom, all denied stoutly that they had + ever seen such a bag of money as my gudesire described. What saw waur, he + had unluckily not mentioned to any living soul of them his purpose of + paying his rent. Ae quean had noticed something under his arm, but she + took it for the pipes. + </p> + <p> + Sir John Redgauntlet ordered the servants out of the room and then said to + my gudesire, “Now, Steenie, ye see ye have fair play; and, as I have + little doubt ye ken better where to find the siller than ony other body, I + beg in fair terms, and for your own sake, that you will end this fasherie; + for, Stephen, ye maun pay or flit.” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord forgie your opinion,” said Stephen, driven almost to his wits’ + end—“I am an honest man.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I, Stephen,” said his honour; “and so are all the folks in the + house, I hope. But if there be a knave among us, it must be he that tells + the story he cannot prove.” He paused, and then added, mair sternly: “If I + understand your trick, sir, you want to take advantage of some malicious + reports concerning things in this family, and particularly respecting my + father’s sudden death, thereby to cheat me out of the money, and perhaps + take away my character by insinuating that I have received the rent I am + demanding. Where do you suppose the money to be? I insist upon knowing.” + </p> + <p> + My gudesire saw everything look so muckle against him that he grew nearly + desperate. However, he shifted from one foot to another, looked to every + corner of the room, and made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Speak out, sirrah,” said the laird, assuming a look of his father’s, a + very particular ane, which he had when he was angry—it seemed as if + the wrinkles of his frown made that selfsame fearful shape of a horse’s + shoe in the middle of his brow; “speak out, sir! I <i>will</i> know your + thoughts; do you suppose that I have this money?” + </p> + <p> + “Far be it frae me to say so,” said Stephen. + </p> + <p> + “Do you charge any of my people with having taken it?” + </p> + <p> + “I wad be laith to charge them that may be innocent,” said my gudesire; + “and if there be any one that is guilty, I have nae proof.” + </p> + <p> + “Somewhere the money must be, if there is a word of truth in your story,” + said Sir John; “I ask where you think it is—and demand a correct + answer!” + </p> + <p> + “In hell, if you <i>will</i> have my thoughts of it,” said my gudesire, + driven to extremity—“in hell! with your father, his jackanape, and + his silver whistle.” + </p> + <p> + Down the stairs he ran (for the parlour was nae place for him after such a + word), and he heard the laird swearing blood and wounds behind him, as + fast as ever did Sir Robert, and roaring for the bailie and the + baron-officer. + </p> + <p> + Away rode my gudesire to his chief creditor (him they caa’d Laurie + Lapraik), to try if he could make onything out of him; but when he tauld + his story, he got the worst word in his wame—thief, beggar, and + dyvour were the saftest terms; and to the boot of these hard terms, Laurie + brought up the auld story of dipping his hand in the blood of God’s + saunts, just as if a tenant could have helped riding with the laird, and + that a laird like Sir Robert Redgauntlet. My gudesire was, by this time, + far beyond the bounds of patience, and, while he and Laurie were at deil + speed the liars, he was wanchancie aneugh to abuse Lapraik’s doctrine as + weel as the man, and said things that garr’d folks’ flesh grue that heard + them—he wasna just himsell, and he had lived wi’ a wild set in his + day. + </p> + <p> + At last they parted, and my gudesire was to ride hame through the wood of + Pitmurkie, that is a’ fou of black firs, as they say. I ken the wood, but + the firs may be black or white for what I can tell. At the entry of the + wood there is a wild common, and on the edge of the common a little lonely + change-house, that was keepit then by an hostler wife,—they suld hae + caa’d her Tibbie Faw,—and there puir Steenie cried for a mutchkin of + brandy, for he had had no refreshment the haill day. Tibbie was earnest + wi’ him to take a bite of meat, but he couldna think o’ ‘t, nor would he + take his foot out of the stirrup, and took off the brandy, wholely at twa + draughts, and named a toast at each. The first was, the memory of Sir + Robert Redgauntlet, and may he never lie quiet in his grave till he had + righted his poor bond-tenant; and the second was, a health to Man’s Enemy, + if he would but get him back the pock of siller, or tell him what came o’ + ‘t, for he saw the haill world was like to regard him as a thief and a + cheat, and he took that waur than even the ruin of his house and hauld. + </p> + <p> + On he rode, little caring where. It was a dark night turned, and the trees + made it yet darker, and he let the beast take its ain road through the + wood; when all of a sudden, from tired and wearied that it was before, the + nag began to spring and flee and stend, that my gudesire could hardly keep + the saddle. Upon the whilk, a horseman, suddenly riding up beside him, + said, “That’s a mettle beast of yours, freend; will you sell him?” So + saying, he touched the horse’s neck with his riding-wand, and it fell into + its auld heigh-ho of a stumbling trot. “But his spunk’s soon out of him, I + think,” continued the stranger, “and that is like mony a man’s courage, + that thinks he wad do great things.” + </p> + <p> + My gudesire scarce listened to this, but spurred his horse, with + “Gude-e’en to you, freend.” + </p> + <p> + But it’s like the stranger was ane that doesna lightly yield his point; + for, ride as Steenie liked, he was aye beside him at the selfsame pace. At + last my gudesire, Steenie Steenson, grew half angry, and, to say the + truth, half feard. + </p> + <p> + “What is it that you want with me, freend?” he said. “If ye be a robber, I + have nae money; if ye be a leal man, wanting company, I have nae heart to + mirth or speaking; and if ye want to ken the road, I scarce ken it + mysell.” + </p> + <p> + “If you will tell me your grief,” said the stranger, “I am one that, + though I have been sair miscaa’d in the world, am the only hand for + helping my freends.” + </p> + <p> + So my gudesire, to ease his ain heart, mair than from any hope of help, + told him the story from beginning to end. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a hard pinch,” said the stranger; “but I think I can help you.” + </p> + <p> + “If you could lend me the money, sir, and take a lang day—I ken nae + other help on earth,” said my gudesire. + </p> + <p> + “But there may be some under the earth,” said the stranger. “Come, I’ll be + frank wi’ you; I could lend you the money on bond, but you would maybe + scruple my terms. Now I can tell you that your auld laird is disturbed in + his grave by your curses and the wailing of your family, and if ye daur + venture to go to see him, he will give you the receipt.” + </p> + <p> + My gudesire’s hair stood on end at this proposal, but he thought his + companion might be some humoursome chield that was trying to frighten him, + and might end with lending him the money. Besides, he was bauld wi’ + brandy, and desperate wi’ distress; and he said he had courage to go to + the gate of hell, and a step farther, for that receipt. The stranger + laughed. + </p> + <p> + Weel, they rode on through the thickest of the wood, when, all of a + sudden, the horse stopped at the door of a great house; and, but that he + knew the place was ten miles off, my father would have thought he was at + Redgauntlet Castle. They rode into the outer courtyard, through the muckle + faulding yetts, and aneath the auld portcullis; and the whole front of the + house was lighted, and there were pipes and fiddles, and as much dancing + and deray within as used to be at Sir Robert’s house at Pace and Yule, and + such high seasons. They lap off, and my gudesire, as seemed to him, + fastened his horse to the very ring he had tied him to that morning when + he gaed to wait on the young Sir John. + </p> + <p> + “God!” said my gudesire, “if Sir Robert’s death be but a dream!” + </p> + <p> + He knocked at the ha’ door just as he was wont, and his auld acquaintance, + Dougal MacCallum—just after his wont, too—came to open the + door, and said, “Piper Steenie, are ye there lad? Sir Robert has been + crying for you.” + </p> + <p> + My gudesire was like a man in a dream—he looked for the stranger, + but he was gane for the time. At last he just tried to say, “Ha! Dougal + Driveower, are you living? I thought ye had been dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Never fash yoursell wi’ me,” said Dougal, “but look to yoursell; and see + ye tak’ naething frae onybody here, neither meat, drink, or siller, except + the receipt that is your ain.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he led the way out through the halls and trances that were weel + kend to my gudesire, and into the auld oak parlour; and there was as much + singing of profane sangs, and birling of red wine, and blasphemy and + sculduddery, as had ever been in Redgauntlet Castle when it was at the + blythest. + </p> + <p> + But Lord take us in keeping! What a set of ghastly revellers there were + that sat around that table! My gudesire kend mony that had long before + gane to their place, for often had he piped to the most part in the hall + of Redgauntlet. There was the fierce Middleton, and the dissolute Rothes, + and the crafty Lauderdale; and Dalyell, with his bald head and a beard to + his girdle; and Earlshall, with Cameron’s blude on his hand; and wild + Bonshaw, that tied blessed Mr. Cargill’s limbs till the blude sprung; and + Dumbarton Douglas, the twice turned traitor baith to country and king. + There was the Bludy Advocate MacKenyie, who, for his worldly wit and + wisdom, had been to the rest as a god. And there was Claverhouse, as + beautiful as when he lived, with his long, dark, curled locks streaming + down over his laced buff-coat, and with his left hand always on his right + spule-blade, to hide the wound that the silver bullet had made. He sat + apart from them all, and looked at them with a melancholy, haughty + countenance; while the rest hallooed and sang and laughed, that the room + rang. But their smiles were fearfully contorted from time to time; and + their laughter passed into such wild sounds as made my gudesire’s very + nails grow blue, and chilled the marrow in his banes. + </p> + <p> + They that waited at the table were just the wicked serving-men and + troopers that had done their work and cruel bidding on earth. There was + the Lang Lad of the Nethertown, that helped to take Argyle; and the + bishop’s summoner, that they called the Deil’s Rattlebag; and the wicked + guardsmen in their laced coats; and the savage Highland Amorites, that + shed blood like water; and mony a proud serving-man, haughty of heart and + bloody of hand, cringing to the rich, and making them wickeder than they + would be; grinding the poor to powder when the rich had broken them to + fragments. And mony, mony mair were coming and ganging, a’ as busy in + their vocation as if they had been alive. + </p> + <p> + Sir Robert Redgauntlet, in the midst of a’ this fearful riot, cried, wi’ a + voice like thunder, on Steenie Piper to come to the board-head where he + was sitting, his legs stretched out before him, and swathed up with + flannel, with his holster pistols aside him, while the great broadsword + rested against his chair, just as my gudesire had seen him the last time + upon earth; the very cushion for the jackanape was close to him, but the + creature itsell was not there—it wasna its hour, it’s likely; for he + heard them say, as he came forward, “Is not the major come yet?” And + another answered, “The jackanape will be here betimes the morn.” And when + my gudesire came forward, Sir Robert or his ghaist, or the deevil in his + likeness, said, “Weel, piper, hae ye settled wi’ my son for the year’s + rent?” + </p> + <p> + With much ado my father gat breath to say that Sir John would not settle + without his honour’s receipt. + </p> + <p> + “Ye shall hae that for a tune of the pipes, Steenie,” said the appearance + of Sir Robert—“play us up ‘Weel Hoddled, Luckie.’” + </p> + <p> + Now this was a tune my gudesire learned frae a warlock, that heard it when + they were worshipping Satan at their meetings; and my gudesire had + sometimes played it at the ranting suppers in Redgauntlet Castle, but + never very willingly; and now he grew cauld at the very name of it, and + said, for excuse, he hadna his pipes wi’ him. + </p> + <p> + “MacCallum, ye limb of Beelzebub,” said the fearfu’ Sir Robert, “bring + Steenie the pipes that I am keeping for him!” + </p> + <p> + MacCallum brought a pair of pipes might have served the piper of Donald of + the Isles. But he gave my gudesire a nudge as he offered them; and looking + secretly and closely, Steenie saw that the chanter was of steel, and + heated to a white heat; so he had fair warning not to trust his fingers + with it. So he excused himsell again, and said he was faint and + frightened, and had not wind aneugh to fill the bag. + </p> + <p> + “Then ye maun eat and drink, Steenie,” said the figure; “for we do little + else here; and it’s ill speaking between a fou man and a fasting.” Now + these were the very words that the bloody Earl of Douglas said to keep the + king’s messenger in hand while he cut the head off MacLellan of Bombie, at + the Threave Castle; and put Steenie mair and mair on his guard. So he + spoke up like a man, and said he came neither to eat nor drink, nor make + minstrelsy; but simply for his ain—to ken what was come o’ the money + he had paid, and to get a discharge for it; and he was so stout-hearted by + this time that he charged Sir Robert for conscience’s sake (he had no + power to say the holy name), and as he hoped for peace and rest, to spread + no snares for him, but just to give him his ain. + </p> + <p> + The appearance gnashed its teeth and laughed, but it took from a large + pocket-book the receipt, and handed it to Steenie. “There is your receipt, + ye pitiful cur; and for the money, my dog-whelp of a son may go look for + it in the Cat’s Cradle.” + </p> + <p> + My gudesire uttered mony thanks, and was about to retire, when Sir Robert + roared aloud, “Stop, though, thou sack-doudling son of a —! I am not + done with thee. HERE we do nothing for nothing; and you must return on + this very day twelvemonth to pay your master the homage that you owe me + for my protection.” + </p> + <p> + My father’s tongue was loosed of a suddenty, and he said aloud, “I refer + myself to God’s pleasure, and not to yours.” + </p> + <p> + He had no sooner uttered the word than all was dark around him; and he + sank on the earth with such a sudden shock that he lost both breath and + sense. + </p> + <p> + How lang Steenie lay there he could not tell; but when he came to himsell + he was lying in the auld kirkyard of Redgauntlet parochine, just at the + door of the family aisle, and the scutcheon of the auld knight, Sir + Robert, hanging over his head. There was a deep morning fog on grass and + gravestane around him, and his horse was feeding quietly beside the + minister’s twa cows. Steenie would have thought the whole was a dream, but + he had the receipt in his hand fairly written and signed by the auld + laird; only the last letters of his name were a little disorderly, written + like one seized with sudden pain. + </p> + <p> + Sorely troubled in his mind, he left that dreary place, rode through the + mist to Redgauntlet Castle, and with much ado he got speech of the laird. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you dyvour bankrupt,” was the first word, “have you brought me my + rent?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered my gudesire, “I have not; but I have brought your honour + Sir Robert’s receipt for it.” + </p> + <p> + “How, sirrah? Sir Robert’s receipt! You told me he had not given you one.” + </p> + <p> + “Will your honour please to see if that bit line is right?” + </p> + <p> + Sir John looked at every line, and at every letter, with much attention; + and at last at the date, which my gudesire had not observed—“From my + appointed place,” he read, “this twenty-fifth of November.” + </p> + <p> + “What! That is yesterday! Villain, thou must have gone to hell for this!” + </p> + <p> + “I got it from your honour’s father; whether he be in heaven or hell, I + know not,” said Steenie. + </p> + <p> + “I will debate you for a warlock to the Privy Council!” said Sir John. “I + will send you to your master, the devil, with the help of a tar-barrel and + a torch!” + </p> + <p> + “I intend to debate mysell to the Presbytery,” said Steenie, “and tell + them all I have seen last night, whilk are things fitter for them to judge + of than a borrel man like me.” + </p> + <p> + Sir John paused, composed himsell, and desired to hear the full history; + and my gudesire told it him from point to point, as I have told it you—neither + more nor less. + </p> + <p> + Sir John was silent again for a long time, and at last he said, very + composedly: “Steenie, this story of yours concerns the honour of many a + noble family besides mine; and if it be a leasing-making, to keep yourself + out of my danger, the least you can expect is to have a red-hot iron + driven through your tongue, and that will be as bad as scaulding your + fingers wi’ a red-hot chanter. But yet it may be true, Steenie; and if the + money cast up, I shall not know what to think of it. But where shall we + find the Cat’s Cradle? There are cats enough about the old house, but I + think they kitten without the ceremony of bed or cradle.” + </p> + <p> + “We were best ask Hutcheon,” said my gudesire; “he kens a’ the odd corners + about as weel as—another serving-man that is now gane, and that I + wad not like to name.” + </p> + <p> + Aweel, Hutcheon, when he was asked, told them that a ruinous turret lang + disused, next to the clock-house, only accessible by a ladder, for the + opening was on the outside, above the battlements, was called of old the + Cat’s Cradle. + </p> + <p> + “There will I go immediately,” said Sir John; and he took—with what + purpose Heaven kens—one of his father’s pistols from the hall table, + where they had lain since the night he died, and hastened to the + battlements. + </p> + <p> + It was a dangerous place to climb, for the ladder was auld and frail, and + wanted ane or twa rounds. However, up got Sir John, and entered at the + turret door, where his body stopped the only little light that was in the + bit turret. Something flees at him wi’ a vengeance, maist dang him back + ower—bang! gaed the knight’s pistol, and Hutcheon, that held the + ladder, and my gudesire, that stood beside him, hears a loud skelloch. A + minute after, Sir John flings the body of the jackanape down to them, and + cries that the siller is fund, and that they should come up and help him. + And there was the bag of siller sure aneaugh, and mony orra thing besides, + that had been missing for mony a day. And Sir John, when he had riped the + turret weel, led my gudesire into the dining-parlour, and took him by the + hand, and spoke kindly to him, and said he was sorry he should have + doubted his word, and that he would hereafter be a good master to him, to + make amends. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Steenie,” said Sir John, “although this vision of yours tends, + on the whole, to my father’s credit as an honest man, that he should, even + after his death, desire to see justice done to a poor man like you, yet + you are sensible that ill-dispositioned men might make bad constructions + upon it concerning his soul’s health. So, I think, we had better lay the + haill dirdum on that ill-deedie creature, Major Weir, and say naething + about your dream in the wood of Pitmurkie. You had taen ower-muckle brandy + to be very certain about onything; and, Steenie, this receipt”—his + hand shook while he held it out—“it’s but a queer kind of document, + and we will do best, I think, to put it quietly in the fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Od, but for as queer as it is, it’s a’ the voucher I have for my rent,” + said my gudesire, who was afraid, it may be, of losing the benefit of Sir + Robert’s discharge. + </p> + <p> + “I will bear the contents to your credit in the rental-book, and give you + a discharge under my own hand,” said Sir John, “and that on the spot. And, + Steenie, if you can hold your tongue about this matter, you shall sit, + from this time downward, at an easier rent.” + </p> + <p> + “Mony thanks to your honour,” said Steenie, who saw easily in what corner + the wind was; “doubtless I will be conformable to all your honour’s + commands; only I would willingly speak wi’ some powerful minister on the + subject, for I do not like the sort of soumons of appointment whilk your + honour’s father—” + </p> + <p> + “Do not call the phantom my father!” said Sir John, interrupting him. + </p> + <p> + “Well then, the thing that was so like him,” said my gudesire; “he spoke + of my coming back to see him this time twelvemonth, and it’s a weight on + my conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “Aweel then,” said Sir John, “if you be so much distressed in mind, you + may speak to our minister of the parish; he is a douce man, regards the + honour of our family, and the mair that he may look for some patronage + from me.” + </p> + <p> + Wi’ that, my father readily agreed that the receipt should be burnt; and + the laird threw it into the chimney with his ain hand. Burn it would not + for them, though; but away it flew up the lum, wi’ a lang train of sparks + at its tail, and a hissing noise like a squib. + </p> + <p> + My gudesire gaed down to the manse, and the minister, when he had heard + the story, said it was his real opinion that, though my gudesire had gane + very far in tampering with dangerous matters, yet as he had refused the + devil’s arles (for such was the offer of meat and drink), and had refused + to do homage by piping at his bidding, he hoped that, if he held a + circumspect walk hereafter, Satan could take little advantage by what was + come and gane. And, indeed, my gudesire, of his ain accord, lang forswore + baith the pipes and the brandy—it was not even till the year was + out, and the fatal day past, that he would so much as take the fiddle or + drink usquebaugh or tippenny. + </p> + <p> + Sir John made up his story about the jackanape as he liked himsell; and + some believe till this day there was no more in the matter than the + filching nature of the brute. Indeed, ye ‘ll no hinder some to thread that + it was nane o’ the auld Enemy that Dougal and Hutcheon saw in the laird’s + room, but only that wanchancie creature the major, capering on the coffin; + and that, as to the blawing on the laird’s whistle that was heard after he + was dead, the filthy brute could do that as weel as the laird himsell, if + no better. But Heaven kens the truth, whilk first came out by the + minister’s wife, after Sir John and her ain gudeman were baith in the + moulds. And then my gudesire, wha was failed in his limbs, but not in his + judgment or memory,—at least nothing to speak of,—was obliged + to tell the real narrative to his freends, for the credit of his good + name. He might else have been charged for a warlock. + </p> + <p> + The shades of evening were growing thicker around us as my conductor + finished his long narrative with this moral: “You see, birkie, it is nae + chancy thing to tak’ a stranger traveller for a guide when you are in an + uncouth land.” + </p> + <p> + “I should not have made that inference,” said I. “Your grandfather’s + adventure was fortunate for himself, whom it saves from ruin and distress; + and fortunate for his landlord.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but they had baith to sup the sauce o’ ‘t sooner or later,” said + Wandering Willie; “what was fristed wasna forgiven. Sir John died before + he was much over threescore; and it was just like a moment’s illness. And + for my gudesire, though he departed in fulness of life, yet there was my + father, a yauld man of forty-five, fell down betwixt the stilts of his + plough, and rase never again, and left nae bairn but me, a puir, + sightless, fatherless, motherless creature, could neither work nor want. + Things gaed weel aneugh at first; for Sir Regwald Redgauntlet, the only + son of Sir John, and the oye of auld Sir Robert, and, wae’s me! the last + of the honourable house, took the farm aff our hands, and brought me into + his household to have care of me. My head never settled since I lost him; + and if I say another word about it, deil a bar will I have the heart to + play the night. Look out, my gentle chap,” he resumed, in a different + tone; “ye should see the lights at Brokenburn Glen by this time.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GLENMUTCHKIN RAILWAY, By Professor Aytoun + </h2> + <p> + [The following tale appeared in “Blackwood’s Magazine” for October, 1845. + It was intended by the writer as a sketch of some of the more striking + features of the railway mania (then in full progress throughout Great + Britain), as exhibited in Glasgow and Edinburgh. Although bearing the + appearance of a burlesque, it was in truth an accurate delineation (as + will be acknowledged by many a gentleman who had the misfortune to be “out + in the Forty-five”); and subsequent disclosures have shown that it was in + no way exaggerated. + </p> + <p> + Although the “Glenmutchkin line” was purely imaginary, and was not + intended by the writer to apply to any particular scheme then before the + public, it was identified in Scotland with more than one reckless and + impracticable project; and even the characters introduced were supposed to + be typical of personages who had attained some notoriety in the throng of + speculation. Any such resemblances must be considered as fortuitous; for + the writer cannot charge himself with the discourtesy of individual satire + or allusion.] + </p> + <p> + I was confoundedly hard up. My patrimony, never of the largest, had been + for the last year on the decrease,—a herald would have emblazoned + it, “ARGENT, a money-bag improper, in detriment,”—and though the + attenuating process was not excessively rapid, it was, nevertheless, + proceeding at a steady ratio. As for the ordinary means and appliances by + which men contrive to recruit their exhausted exchequers, I knew none of + them. Work I abhorred with a detestation worthy of a scion of nobility; + and, I believe, you could just as soon have persuaded the lineal + representative of the Howards or Percys to exhibit himself in the + character of a mountebank, as have got me to trust my person on the + pinnacle of a three-legged stool. The rule of three is all very well for + base mechanical souls; but I flatter myself I have an intellect too large + to be limited to a ledger. “Augustus,” said my poor mother to me, while + stroking my hyacinthine tresses, one fine morning, in the very dawn and + budding-time of my existence—“Augustus, my dear boy, whatever you + do, never forget that you are a gentleman.” The maternal maxim sank deeply + into my heart, and I never for a moment have forgotten it. + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding this aristocratic resolution, the great practical + question, “How am I to live?” began to thrust itself unpleasantly before + me. I am one of that unfortunate class who have neither uncles nor aunts. + For me, no yellow liverless individual, with characteristic bamboo and + pigtail,—emblems of half a million,—returned to his native + shores from Ceylon or remote Penang. For me, no venerable spinster hoarded + in the Trongate, permitting herself few luxuries during a long protracted + life, save a lass and a lanthorn, a parrot, and the invariable baudrons of + antiquity. No such luck was mine. Had all Glasgow perished by some vast + epidemic, I should not have found myself one farthing the richer. There + would have been no golden balsam for me in the accumulated woes of + Tradestown, Shettleston, and Camlachie. The time has been when—according + to Washington Irving and other veracious historians—a young man had + no sooner got into difficulties than a guardian angel appeared to him in a + dream, with the information that at such and such a bridge, or under such + and such a tree, he might find, at a slight expenditure of labour, a + gallipot secured with bladder, and filled with glittering tomans; or, in + the extremity of despair, the youth had only to append himself to a cord, + and straightway the other end thereof, forsaking its staple in the roof, + would disclose amid the fractured ceiling the glories of a profitable + pose. These blessed days have long since gone by—at any rate, no + such luck was mine. My guardian angel was either wofully ignorant of + metallurgy, or the stores had been surreptitiously ransacked; and as to + the other expedient, I frankly confess I should have liked some better + security for its result than the precedent of the “Heir of Lynn.” + </p> + <p> + It is a great consolation, amid all the evils of life, to know that, + however bad your circumstances may be, there is always somebody else in + nearly the same predicament. My chosen friend and ally, Bob M’Corkindale, + was equally hard up with myself, and, if possible, more averse to + exertion. Bob was essentially a speculative man—that is, in a + philosophical sense. He had once got hold of a stray volume of Adam Smith, + and muddled his brains for a whole week over the intricacies of the + “Wealth of Nations.” The result was a crude farrago of notions regarding + the true nature of money, the soundness of currency, and relative value of + capital, with which he nightly favoured an admiring audience at “The + Crow”; for Bob was by no means—in the literal acceptation of the + word—a dry philosopher. On the contrary, he perfectly appreciated + the merits of each distinct distillery, and was understood to be the + compiler of a statistical work entitled “A Tour through the Alcoholic + Districts of Scotland.” It had very early occurred to me, who knew as much + of political economy as of the bagpipes, that a gentleman so well versed + in the art of accumulating national wealth must have some remote ideas of + applying his principles profitably on a smaller scale. Accordingly I gave + M’Corkindale an unlimited invitation to my lodgings; and, like a good + hearty fellow as he was, he availed himself every evening of the license; + for I had laid in a fourteen-gallon cask of Oban whisky, and the quality + of the malt was undeniable. + </p> + <p> + These were the first glorious days of general speculation. Railroads were + emerging from the hands of the greater into the fingers of the lesser + capitalists. Two successful harvests had given a fearful stimulus to the + national energy; and it appeared perfectly certain that all the populous + towns would be united, and the rich agricultural districts intersected, by + the magical bands of iron. The columns of the newspapers teemed every week + with the parturition of novel schemes; and the shares were no sooner + announced than they were rapidly subscribed for. But what is the use of my + saying anything more about the history of last year? Every one of us + remembers it perfectly well. It was a capital year on the whole, and put + money into many a pocket. About that time, Bob and I commenced operations. + Our available capital, or negotiable bullion, in the language of my + friend, amounted to about three hundred pounds, which we set aside as a + joint fund for speculation. Bob, in a series of learned discourses, had + convinced me that it was not only folly, but a positive sin, to leave this + sum lying in the bank at a pitiful rate of interest, and otherwise + unemployed, while every one else in the kingdom was having a pluck at the + public pigeon. Somehow or other, we were unlucky in our first attempts. + Speculators are like wasps; for when they have once got hold of a ripening + and peach-like project, they keep it rigidly for their own swarm, and + repel the approach of interlopers. Notwithstanding all our efforts, and + very ingenious ones they were, we never, in a single instance, succeeded + in procuring an allocation of original shares; and though we did now and + then make a bit by purchase, we more frequently bought at a premium, and + parted with our scrip at a discount. At the end of six months we were not + twenty pounds richer than before. + </p> + <p> + “This will never do,” said Bob, as he sat one evening in my rooms + compounding his second tumbler. “I thought we were living in an + enlightened age; but I find I was mistaken. That brutal spirit of monopoly + is still abroad and uncurbed. The principles of free trade are utterly + forgotten, or misunderstood. Else how comes it that David Spreul received + but yesterday an allocation of two hundred shares in the Westermidden + Junction, while your application and mine, for a thousand each were + overlooked? Is this a state of things to be tolerated? Why should he, with + his fifty thousand pounds, receive a slapping premium, while our three + hundred of available capital remains unrepresented? The fact is monstrous, + and demands the immediate and serious interference of the legislature.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a burning shame,” said I, fully alive to the manifold advantages of + a premium. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you what, Dunshunner,” rejoined M’Corkindale, “it’s no use + going on in this way. We haven’t shown half pluck enough. These fellows + consider us as snobs because we don’t take the bull by the horns. Now’s + the time for a bold stroke. The public are quite ready to subscribe for + anything—and we’ll start a railway for ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Start a railway with three hundred pounds of capital!” + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw, man! you don’t know what you’re talking about—we’ve a great + deal more capital than that. Have not I told you, seventy times over, that + everything a man has—his coat, his hat, the tumblers he drinks from, + nay, his very corporeal existence—is absolute marketable capital? + What do you call that fourteen-gallon cask, I should like to know?” + </p> + <p> + “A compound of hoops and staves, containing about a quart and a half of + spirits—you have effectually accounted for the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it has gone to the fund of profit and loss, that’s all. Never let me + hear you sport those old theories again. Capital is indestructible, as I + am ready to prove to you any day, in half an hour. But let us sit down + seriously to business. We are rich enough to pay for the advertisements, + and that is all we need care for in the meantime. The public is sure to + step in, and bear us out handsomely with the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “But where in the face of the habitable globe shall the railway be? + England is out of the question, and I hardly know a spot in the Lowlands + that is not occupied already.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say to a Spanish scheme—the Alcantara Union? Hang me if + I know whether Alcantara is in Spain or Portugal; but nobody else does, + and the one is quite as good as the other. Or what would you think of the + Palermo Railway, with a branch to the sulphur-mines?—that would be + popular in the north—or the Pyrenees Direct? They would all go to a + premium.” + </p> + <p> + “I must confess I should prefer a line at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, why not try the Highlands? There must be lots of traffic there + in the shape of sheep, grouse, and Cockney tourists, not to mention salmon + and other etceteras. Couldn’t we tip them a railway somewhere in the + west?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s Glenmutchkin, for instance—” + </p> + <p> + “Capital, my dear fellow! Glorious! By Jove, first-rate!” shouted Bob, in + an ecstasy of delight. “There’s a distillery there, you know, and a + fishing-village at the foot—at least, there used to be six years + ago, when I was living with the exciseman. There may be some bother about + the population, though. The last laird shipped every mother’s son of the + aboriginal Celts to America; but, after all, that’s not of much + consequence. I see the whole thing! Unrivalled scenery—stupendous + waterfalls—herds of black cattle—spot where Prince Charles + Edward met Macgrugar of Glengrugar and his clan! We could not possibly + have lighted on a more promising place. Hand us over that sheet of paper, + like a good fellow, and a pen. There is no time to be lost, and the sooner + we get out the prospectus the better.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Heaven bless you, Bob, there’s a great deal to be thought of first. + Who are we to get for a provisional committee?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s very true,” said Bob, musingly. “We <i>must</i> treat them to some + respectable names, that is, good-sounding ones. I’m afraid there is little + chance of our producing a peer to begin with?” + </p> + <p> + “None whatever—unless we could invent one, and that’s hardly safe; + ‘Burke’s Peerage’ has gone through too many editions. Couldn’t we try the + Dormants?” + </p> + <p> + “That would be rather dangerous in the teeth of the standing orders. But + what do you say to a baronet? There’s Sir Polloxfen Tremens. He got + himself served the other day to a Nova Scotia baronetcy, with just as much + title as you or I have; and he has sported the riband, and dined out on + the strength of it ever since. He’ll join us at once, for he has not a + sixpence to lose.” + </p> + <p> + “Down with him, then,” and we headed the provisional list with the pseudo + Orange tawny. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Bob, “it’s quite indispensable, as this is a Highland line, + that we should put forward a chief or two. That has always a great effect + upon the English, whose feudal notions are rather of the mistiest, and + principally derived from Waverley.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not write yourself down as the laird of M’Corkindale?” said I. “I + dare say you would not be negatived by a counter-claim.” + </p> + <p> + “That would hardly do,” replied Bob, “as I intend to be secretary. After + all, what’s the use of thinking about it? Here goes for an extempore + chief;” and the villain wrote down the name of Tavish M’Tavish of + Invertavish. + </p> + <p> + “I say, though,” said I, “we must have a real Highlander on the list. If + we go on this way, it will become a justiciary matter.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re devilish scrupulous, Gus,” said Bob, who, if left to himself, + would have stuck in the names of the heathen gods and goddesses, or + borrowed his directors from the Ossianic chronicles, rather than have + delayed the prospectus. “Where the mischief are we to find the men? I can + think of no others likely to go the whole hog; can you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know a single Celt in Glasgow except old M’Closkie, the drunken + porter at the corner of Jamaica Street.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s the very man! I suppose, after the manner of his tribe, he will do + anything for a pint of whisky. But what shall we call him? Jamaica Street, + I fear, will hardly do for a designation.” + </p> + <p> + “Call him THE M’CLOSKIE. It will be sonorous in the ears of the Saxon!” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” and another chief was added to the roll of the clans. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Bob, “we must put you down. Recollect, all the management, + that is, the allocation, will be intrusted to you. Augustus—you + haven’t a middle name, I think?—well then, suppose we interpolate + ‘Reginald’; it has a smack of the crusades. Augustus Reginald Dunshunner, + Esq. of—where, in the name of Munchausen!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I don’t know. I never had any land beyond the contents of a + flower-pot. Stay—I rather think I have a superiority somewhere about + Paisley.” + </p> + <p> + “Just the thing!” cried Bob. “It’s heritable property, and therefore + titular. What’s the denomination?” + </p> + <p> + “St. Mirrens.” + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful! Dunshunner of St. Mirrens, I give you joy! Had you discovered + that a little sooner—and I wonder you did not think of it—we + might both of us have had lots of allocations. These are not the times to + conceal hereditary distinctions. But now comes the serious work. We must + have one or two men of known wealth upon the list. The chaff is nothing + without a decoy-bird. Now, can’t you help me with a name?” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” said I, “the game is up, and the whole scheme exploded. I + would as soon undertake to evoke the ghost of Croesus.” + </p> + <p> + “Dunshunner,” said Bob, very seriously, “to be a man of information, you + are possessed of marvellous few resources. I am quite ashamed of you. Now + listen to me. I have thought deeply upon this subject, and am quite + convinced that, with some little trouble, we may secure the cooperation of + a most wealthy and influential body—one, too, that is generally + supposed to have stood aloof from all speculation of the kind, and whose + name would be a tower of strength in the moneyed quarters. I allude,” + continued Bob, reaching across for the kettle, “to the great dissenting + interest.” + </p> + <p> + “The what?” cried I, aghast. + </p> + <p> + “The great dissenting interest. You can’t have failed to observe the row + they have lately been making about Sunday travelling and education. Old + Sam Sawley, the coffin-maker, is their principal spokesman here; and + wherever he goes the rest will follow, like a flock of sheep bounding + after a patriarchal ram. I propose, therefore, to wait upon him to-morrow, + and request his cooperation in a scheme which is not only to prove + profitable, but to make head against the lax principles of the present + age. Leave me alone to tickle him. I consider his name, and those of one + or two others belonging to the same meeting-house,—fellows with + bank-stock and all sorts of tin,—as perfectly secure. These + dissenters smell a premium from an almost incredible distance. We can fill + up the rest of the committee with ciphers, and the whole thing is done.” + </p> + <p> + “But the engineer—we must announce such an officer as a matter of + course.” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought of that,” said Bob. “Couldn’t we hire a fellow from one + of the steamboats?” + </p> + <p> + “I fear that might get us into trouble. You know there are such things as + gradients and sections to be prepared. But there’s Watty Solder, the + gas-fitter, who failed the other day. He’s a sort of civil engineer by + trade, and will jump at the proposal like a trout at the tail of a + May-fly.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed. Now then, let’s fix the number of shares. This is our first + experiment, and I think we ought to be moderate. No sound political + economist is avaricious. Let us say twelve thousand, at twenty pounds + apiece.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, that’s arranged. I’ll see Sawley and the rest to-morrow, + settle with Solder, and then write out the prospectus. You look in upon me + in the evening, and we’ll revise it together. Now, by your leave, let’s + have a Welsh rabbit and another tumbler to drink success and prosperity to + the Glenmutchkin Railway.” + </p> + <p> + I confess that, when I rose on the morrow, with a slight headache and a + tongue indifferently parched, I recalled to memory, not without + perturbation of conscience and some internal qualms, the conversation of + the previous evening. I felt relieved, however, after two spoonfuls of + carbonate of soda, and a glance at the newspaper, wherein I perceived the + announcement of no less than four other schemes equally preposterous with + our own. But, after all, what right had I to assume that the Glenmutchkin + project would prove an ultimate failure? I had not a scrap of statistical + information that might entitle me to form such an opinion. At any rate, + Parliament, by substituting the Board of Trade as an initiating body of + inquiry, had created a responsible tribunal, and freed us from the chance + of obloquy. I saw before me a vision of six months’ steady gambling, at + manifest advantage, in the shares, before a report could possibly be + pronounced, or our proceedings be in any way overhauled. Of course, I + attended that evening punctually at my friend M’Corkindale’s. Bob was in + high feather; for Sawley no sooner heard of the principles upon which the + railway was to be conducted, and his own nomination as a director, than he + gave in his adhesion, and promised his unflinching support to the + uttermost. The prospectus ran as follows: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “DIRECT GLENMUTCHKIN RAILWAY,” + + IN 12,000 SHARES OF L20 EACH. DEPOSIT L1 PER SHARE. + + Provisional Committee. + + SIR POLLOXFEN TREMENS, Bart. Of Toddymains. + TAVISH M’TAVISH of Invertavish. + THE M’CLOSKIE. + AUGUST REGINALD DUNSHUNNER, Esq. of St. Mirrens. + SAMUEL SAWLEY, Esq., Merchant. + MHIC-MHAC-VICH-INDUIBH. + PHELIM O’FINLAN, Esq. of Castle-Rock, Ireland. + THE CAPTAIN of M’ALCOHOL. + FACTOR for GLENTUMBLERS. + JOHN JOB JOBSON, Esq., Manufacturer. + EVAN M’CLAW of Glenscart and Inveryewky. + JOSEPH HECKLES, Esq. + HABAKKUK GRABBIE, Portioner in Ramoth-Drumclog. + <i>Engineer</i>, WALTER SOLDER, Esq. + <i>Interim Secretary</i>, ROBERT M’CORKINDALE, Esq. +</pre> + <p> + “The necessity of a direct line of Railway communication through the + fertile and populous district known as the VALLEY OF GLENMUTCHKIN has been + long felt and universally acknowledged. Independently of the surpassing + grandeur of its mountain scenery, which shall immediately be referred to, + and other considerations of even greater importance, GLENMUTCHKIN is known + to the capitalist as the most important BREEDING-STATION in the Highlands + of Scotland, and indeed as the great emporium from which the southern + markets are supplied. It has been calculated by a most eminent authority + that every acre in the strath is capable of rearing twenty head of cattle; + and as it has been ascertained, after a careful admeasurement, that there + are not less than TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND improvable acres immediately + contiguous to the proposed line of Railway, it may confidently be assumed + that the number of Cattle to be conveyed along the line will amount to + FOUR MILLIONS annually, which, at the lowest estimate, would yield a + revenue larger, in proportion to the capital subscribed, than that of any + Railway as yet completed within the United Kingdom. From this estimate the + traffic in Sheep and Goats, with which the mountains are literally + covered, has been carefully excluded, it having been found quite + impossible (from its extent) to compute the actual revenue to be drawn + from that most important branch. It may, however, be roughly assumed as + from seventeen to nineteen per cent. upon the whole, after deduction of + the working expenses. + </p> + <p> + “The population of Glenmutchkin is extremely dense. Its situation on the + west coast has afforded it the means of direct communication with America, + of which for many years the inhabitants have actively availed themselves. + Indeed, the amount of exportation of live stock from this part of the + Highlands to the Western continent has more than once attracted the + attention of Parliament. The Manufactures are large and comprehensive, and + include the most famous distilleries in the world. The Minerals are most + abundant, and among these may be reckoned quartz, porphyry, felspar, + malachite, manganese, and basalt. + </p> + <p> + “At the foot of the valley, and close to the sea, lies the important + village known as the CLACHAN of INVERSTARVE. It is supposed by various + eminent antiquaries to have been the capital of the Picts, and, among the + busy inroads of commercial prosperity, it still retains some interesting + traces of its former grandeur. There is a large fishing station here, to + which vessels from every nation resort, and the demand for foreign produce + is daily and steadily increasing. + </p> + <p> + “As a sporting country Glenmutchkin is unrivalled; but it is by the + tourists that its beauties will most greedily be sought. These consist of + every combination which plastic nature can afford: cliffs of unusual + magnitude and grandeur; waterfalls only second to the sublime cascades of + Norway; woods of which the bark is a remarkably valuable commodity. It + need scarcely be added, to rouse the enthusiasm inseparable from this + glorious glen, that here, in 1745, Prince Charles Edward Stuart, then in + the zenith of his hopes, was joined by the brave Sir Grugar M’Grugar at + the head of his devoted clan. + </p> + <p> + “The Railway will be twelve miles long, and can be completed within six + months after the Act of Parliament is obtained. The gradients are easy, + and the curves obtuse. There are no viaducts of any importance, and only + four tunnels along the whole length of the line. The shortest of these + does not exceed a mile and a half. + </p> + <p> + “In conclusion, the projectors of this Railway beg to state that they have + determined, as a principle, to set their face AGAINST ALL SUNDAY + TRAVELLING WHATSOEVER, and to oppose EVERY BILL which may hereafter be + brought into Parliament, unless it shall contain a clause to that effect. + It is also their intention to take up the cause of the poor and neglected + STOKER, for whose accommodation, and social, moral, religious, and + intellectual improvement, a large stock of evangelical tracts will + speedily be required. Tenders of these, in quantities of not less than + 12,000, may be sent in to the Interim Secretary. Shares must be applied + for within ten days from the present date. + </p> + <p> + “By order of the Provisional Committee, + </p> + <p> + “ROBERT M’CORKINDALE, <i>Secretary</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “There!” said Bob, slapping down the prospectus on the table with as much + triumph as if it had been the original of Magna Charta, “what do you think + of that? If it doesn’t do the business effectually, I shall submit to be + called a Dutchman. That last touch about the stoker will bring us in the + subscriptions of the old ladies by the score.” + </p> + <p> + “Very masterly indeed,” said I. “But who the deuce is + Mhic-Mhac-vich-Induibh?” + </p> + <p> + “A bona-fide chief, I assure you, though a little reduced. I picked him up + upon the Broomielaw. His grandfather had an island somewhere to the west + of the Hebrides; but it is not laid down in the maps.” + </p> + <p> + “And the Captain of M’Alcohol?” + </p> + <p> + “A crack distiller.” + </p> + <p> + “And the Factor for Glentumblers?” + </p> + <p> + “His principal customer. But, bless you, my dear St. Mirrens! Don’t bother + yourself any more about the committee. They are as respectable a set—on + paper at least—as you would wish to see of a summer’s morning, and + the beauty of it is that they will give us no manner of trouble. Now about + the allocation. You and I must restrict ourselves to a couple of thousand + shares apiece. That’s only a third of the whole, but it won’t do to be + greedy.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Bob, consider! Where on earth are we to find the money to pay up the + deposits?” + </p> + <p> + “Can you, the principal director of the Glenmutchkin Railway, ask me, the + secretary, such a question? Don’t you know that any of the banks will give + us tick to the amount ‘of half the deposits.’ All that is settled already, + and you can get your two thousand pounds whenever you please merely for + the signing of a bill. Sawley must get a thousand according to + stipulation; Jobson, Heckles, and Grabbie, at least five hundred apiece; + and another five hundred, I should think, will exhaust the remaining means + of the committee. So that, out of our whole stock, there remain just five + thousand shares to be allocated to the speculative and evangelical public. + My eyes! Won’t there be a scramble for them!” + </p> + <p> + Next day our prospectus appeared in the newspapers. It was read, + canvassed, and generally approved of. During the afternoon I took an + opportunity of looking into the Tontine, and, while under shelter of the + Glasgow “Herald,” my ears were solaced with such ejaculations as the + following: + </p> + <p> + “I say, Jimsy, hae ye seen this grand new prospectus for a railway tae + Glenmutchkin?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay. It looks no that ill. The Hieland lairds are pitting their best + foremost. Will ye apply for shares?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I’ll tak’ twa hundred. Wha’s Sir Polloxfen Tremens?” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be yin o’ the Ayrshire folk. He used to rin horses at the Paisley + races.” + </p> + <p> + (“The devil he did!” thought I.) + </p> + <p> + “D’ ye ken ony o’ the directors, Jimsy?” + </p> + <p> + “I ken Sawley fine. Ye may depend on ‘t, it’s a gude thing if he’s in ‘t, + for he’s a howkin’ body. + </p> + <p> + “Then it’s sure to gae up. What prem. d’ ye think it will bring?” + </p> + <p> + “Twa pund a share, and maybe mair.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Od, I’ll apply for three hundred!” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven bless you, my dear countrymen!” thought I, as I sallied forth to + refresh myself with a basin of soup, “do but maintain this liberal and + patriotic feeling—this thirst for national improvement, internal + communication, and premiums—a short while longer, and I know whose + fortune will be made.” + </p> + <p> + On the following morning my breakfast-table was covered with shoals of + letters, from fellows whom I scarcely ever had spoken to,—or who, to + use a franker phraseology, had scarcely ever condescended to speak to me,—entreating + my influence as a director to obtain them shares in the new undertaking. I + never bore malice in my life, so I chalked them down, without favouritism, + for a certain proportion. While engaged in this charitable work, the door + flew open, and M’Corkindale, looking utterly haggard with excitement, + rushed in. + </p> + <p> + “You may buy an estate whenever you please, Dunshunner,” cried he; “the + world’s gone perfectly mad! I have been to Blazes, the broker, and he + tells me that the whole amount of the stock has been subscribed for four + times over already, and he has not yet got in the returns from Edinburgh + and Liverpool!” + </p> + <p> + “Are they good names, though, Bob—sure cards—none of your + M’Closkies and M’Alcohols?” + </p> + <p> + “The first names in the city, I assure you, and most of them holders for + investment. I wouldn’t take ten millions for their capital.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the sooner we close the list the better.” + </p> + <p> + “I think so too. I suspect a rival company will be out before long. Blazes + says the shares are selling already conditionally on allotment, at seven + and sixpence premium.” + </p> + <p> + “The deuce they are! I say, Bob, since we have the cards in our hands, + would it not be wise to favour them with a few hundreds at that rate? A + bird in the hand, you know, is worth two in the bush, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I know no such maxim in political economy,” replied the secretary. “Are + you mad, Dunshunner? How are the shares to go up, if it gets wind that the + directors are selling already? Our business just now is to <i>bull</i> the + line, not to <i>bear</i> it; and if you will trust me, I shall show them + such an operation on the ascending scale as the Stock Exchange has not + witnessed for this long and many a day. Then to-morrow I shall advertise + in the papers that the committee, having received applications for ten + times the amount of stock, have been compelled, unwillingly, to close the + lists. That will be a slap in the face to the dilatory gentlemen, and send + up the shares like wildfire.” + </p> + <p> + Bob was right. No sooner did the advertisement appear than a simultaneous + groan was uttered by some hundreds of disappointed speculators, who, with + unwonted and unnecessary caution, had been anxious to see their way a + little before committing themselves to our splendid enterprise. In + consequence, they rushed into the market, with intense anxiety to make + what terms they could at the earliest stage, and the seven and sixpence of + premium was doubled in the course of a forenoon. + </p> + <p> + The allocation passed over very peaceably. Sawley, Heckles, Jobson, + Grabbie, and the Captain of M’Alcohol, besides myself, attended, and took + part in the business. We were also threatened with the presence of the + M’Closkie and Vich-Induibh; but M’Corkindale, entertaining some reasonable + doubts as to the effect which their corporeal appearance might have upon + the representatives of the dissenting interest, had taken the precaution + to get them snugly housed in a tavern, where an unbounded supply of + gratuitous Ferintosh deprived us of the benefit of their experience. We, + however, allotted them twenty shares apiece. Sir Polloxfen Tremens sent a + handsome, though rather illegible, letter of apology, dated from an island + in Loch Lomond, where he was said to be detained on particular business. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sawley, who officiated as our chairman, was kind enough, before + parting, to pass a very flattering eulogium upon the excellence and + candour of all the preliminary arrangements. It would now, he said, go + forth to the public that the line was not, like some others he could + mention, a mere bubble, emanating from the stank of private interest, but + a solid, lasting superstructure, based upon the principles of sound return + for capital, and serious evangelical truth (hear, hear!). The time was + fast approaching when the gravestone with the words “HIC OBIT” chiselled + upon it would be placed at the head of all the other lines which rejected + the grand opportunity of conveying education to the stoker. The stoker, in + his (Mr. Sawley’s) opinion, had a right to ask the all-important question, + “Am I not a man and a brother?” (Cheers.) Much had been said and written + lately about a work called “Tracts for the Times.” With the opinions + contained in that publication he was not conversant, as it was conducted + by persons of another community from that to which he (Mr. Sawley) had the + privilege to belong. But he hoped very soon, under the auspices of the + Glenmutchkin Railway Company, to see a new periodical established, under + the title of “Tracts for the Trains.” He never for a moment would relax + his efforts to knock a nail into the coffin which, he might say, was + already made and measured and cloth-covered for the reception of all + establishments; and with these sentiments, and the conviction that the + shares must rise, could it be doubted that he would remain a fast friend + to the interests of this company for ever? (Much cheering.) + </p> + <p> + After having delivered this address, Mr. Sawley affectionately squeezed + the hands of his brother directors, and departed, leaving several of us + much overcome. As, however, M’Corkindale had told me that every one of + Sawley’s shares had been disposed of in the market the day before, I felt + less compunction at having refused to allow that excellent man an extra + thousand beyond the amount he had applied for, notwithstanding his + broadest hints and even private entreaties. + </p> + <p> + “Confound the greedy hypocrite!” said Bob; “does he think we shall let him + burke the line for nothing? No—no! let him go to the brokers and buy + his shares back, if he thinks they are likely to rise. I’ll be bound he + has made a cool five hundred out of them already.” + </p> + <p> + On the day which succeeded the allocation, the following entry appeared in + the Glasgow sharelists: “Direct Glenmutchkin Railway 15s. 15s. 6d. 15s. + 6d. 16s. 15s. 6d. 16s. 16s. 6d. 16s. 6d. 16s. 17s. 18s. 18s. 19s. 6d. 21s. + 21s. 22s. 6d. 24s. 25s. 6d. 27s. 29s. 29s. 6d. 30s. 31s.” + </p> + <p> + “They might go higher, and they ought to go higher,” said Bob, musingly; + “but there’s not much more stock to come and go upon, and these two + share-sharks, Jobson and Grabbie, I know, will be in the market to-morrow. + We must not let them have the whip-hand of us. I think upon the whole, + Dunshunner, though it’s letting them go dog-cheap, that we ought to sell + half our shares at the present premium, while there is a certainty of + getting it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not sell the whole? I’m sure I have no objections to part with every + stiver of the scrip on such terms.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Bob, “upon general principles you may be right; but then + remember that we have a vested interest in the line.” + </p> + <p> + “Vested interest be hanged!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s very well; at the same time it is no use to kill your salmon in a + hurry. The bulls have done their work pretty well for us, and we ought to + keep something on hand for the bears; they are snuffing at it already. I + could almost swear that some of those fellows who have sold to-day are + working for a time-bargain.” + </p> + <p> + We accordingly got rid of a couple of thousand shares, the proceeds of + which not only enabled us to discharge the deposit loan, but left us a + material surplus. Under these circumstances a two-handed banquet was + proposed and unanimously carried, the commencement of which I distinctly + remember, but am rather dubious as to the end. So many stories have lately + been circulated to the prejudice of railway directors that I think it my + duty to state that this entertainment was scrupulously defrayed by + ourselves and <i>not</i> carried to account, either of the preliminary + survey, or the expenses of the provisional committee. + </p> + <p> + Nothing effects so great a metamorphosis in the bearing of the outer man + as a sudden change of fortune. The anemone of the garden differs scarcely + more from its unpretending prototype of the woods than Robert + M’Corkindale, Esq., Secretary and Projector of the Glenmutchkin Railway, + differed from Bob M’Corkindale, the seedy frequenter of “The Crow.” In the + days of yore, men eyed the surtout—napless at the velvet collar, and + preternaturally white at the seams—which Bob vouchsafed to wear with + looks of dim suspicion, as if some faint reminiscence, similar to that + which is said to recall the memory of a former state of existence, + suggested to them a notion that the garment had once been their own. + Indeed, his whole appearance was then wonderfully second-hand. Now he had + cast his slough. A most undeniable taglioni, with trimmings just bordering + upon frogs, gave dignity to his demeanour and twofold amplitude to his + chest. The horn eye-glass was exchanged for one of purest gold, the dingy + high-lows for well-waxed Wellingtons, the Paisley fogle for the fabric of + the China loom. Moreover, he walked with a swagger, and affected in common + conversation a peculiar dialect which he opined to be the purest English, + but which no one—except a bagman—could be reasonably expected + to understand. His pockets were invariably crammed with sharelists; and he + quoted, if he did not comprehend, the money article from the “Times.” This + sort of assumption, though very ludicrous in itself, goes down + wonderfully. Bob gradually became a sort of authority, and his opinions + got quoted on ‘Change. He was no ass, notwithstanding his peculiarities, + and made good use of his opportunity. + </p> + <p> + For myself, I bore my new dignities with an air of modest meekness. A + certain degree of starchness is indispensable for a railway director, if + he means to go forward in his high calling and prosper; he must abandon + all juvenile eccentricities, and aim at the appearance of a decided enemy + to free trade in the article of Wild Oats. Accordingly, as the first step + toward respectability, I eschewed coloured waistcoats and gave out that I + was a marrying man. No man under forty, unless he is a positive idiot, + will stand forth as a theoretical bachelor. It is all nonsense to say that + there is anything unpleasant in being courted. Attention, whether from + male or female, tickles the vanity; and although I have a reasonable, and, + I hope, not unwholesome regard for the gratification of my other + appetites, I confess that this same vanity is by far the most poignant of + the whole. I therefore surrendered myself freely to the soft allurements + thrown in my way by such matronly denizens of Glasgow as were possessed of + stock in the shape of marriageable daughters; and walked the more readily + into their toils because every party, though nominally for the purposes of + tea, wound up with a hot supper, and something hotter still by way of + assisting the digestion. + </p> + <p> + I don’t know whether it was my determined conduct at the allocation, my + territorial title, or a most exaggerated idea of my circumstances, that + worked upon the mind of Mr. Sawley. Possibly it was a combination of the + three; but, sure enough few days had elapsed before I received a formal + card of invitation to a tea and serous conversation. Now serious + conversation is a sort of thing that I never shone in, possibly because my + early studies were framed in a different direction; but as I really was + unwilling to offend the respectable coffin-maker, and as I found that the + Captain of M’Alcohol—a decided trump in his way—had also + received a summons, I notified my acceptance. + </p> + <p> + M’Alcohol and I went together. The captain, an enormous brawny Celt, with + superhuman whiskers and a shock of the fieriest hair, had figged himself + out, <i>more majorum</i>, in the full Highland costume. I never saw Rob + Roy on the stage look half so dignified or ferocious. He glittered from + head to foot with dirk, pistol, and skean-dhu; and at least a + hundredweight of cairngorms cast a prismatic glory around his person. I + felt quite abashed beside him. + </p> + <p> + We were ushered into Mr. Sawley’s drawing-room. Round the walls, and at + considerable distances from each other, were seated about a dozen + characters, male and female, all of them dressed in sable, and wearing + countenances of woe. Sawley advanced, and wrung me by the hand with so + piteous an expression of visage that I could not help thinking some awful + catastrophe had just befallen his family. + </p> + <p> + “You are welcome, Mr. Dunshunner—welcome to my humble tabernacle. + Let me present you to Mrs. Sawley”—and a lady, who seemed to have + bathed in the Yellow Sea, rose from her seat, and favoured me with a + profound curtsey. + </p> + <p> + “My daughter—Miss Selina Sawley.” + </p> + <p> + I felt in my brain the scorching glance of the two darkest eyes it ever + was my fortune to behold, as the beauteous Selina looked up from the + perusal of her handkerchief hem. It was a pity that the other features + were not corresponding; for the nose was flat, and the mouth of such + dimensions that a harlequin might have jumped down it with impunity; but + the eyes <i>were</i> splendid. + </p> + <p> + In obedience to a sign from the hostess, I sank into a chair beside + Selina; and, not knowing exactly what to say, hazarded some observation + about the weather. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is indeed a suggestive season. How deeply, Mr. Dunshunner, we + ought to feel the pensive progress of autumn toward a soft and premature + decay! I always think, about this time of the year, that nature is falling + into a consumption!” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure, ma’am,” said I, rather taken aback by this style of colloquy, + “the trees are looking devilishly hectic.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have remarked that too! Strange! It was but yesterday that I was + wandering through Kelvin Grove, and as the phantom breeze brought down the + withered foliage from the spray, I thought how probable it was that they + might ere long rustle over young and glowing hearts deposited prematurely + in the tomb!” + </p> + <p> + This, which struck me as a very passable imitation of Dickens’s pathetic + writings, was a poser. In default of language, I looked Miss Sawley + straight in the face, and attempted a substitute for a sigh. I was + rewarded with a tender glance. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said she, “I see you are a congenial spirit! How delightful, and yet + how rare, it is to meet with any one who thinks in unison with yourself! + Do you ever walk in the Necropolis, Mr. Dunshunner? It is my favourite + haunt of a morning. There we can wean ourselves, as it were, from life, + and beneath the melancholy yew and cypress, anticipate the setting star. + How often there have I seen the procession—the funeral of some very, + <i>very</i> little child—” + </p> + <p> + “Selina, my love,” said Mrs. Sawley, “have the kindness to ring for the + cookies.” + </p> + <p> + I, as in duty bound, started up to save the fair enthusiast the trouble, + and was not sorry to observe my seat immediately occupied by a very + cadaverous gentleman, who was evidently jealous of the progress I was + rapidly making. Sawley, with an air of great mystery, informed me that + this was a Mr. Dalgleish of Raxmathrapple, the representative of an + ancient Scottish family who claimed an important heritable office. The + name, I thought, was familiar to me, but there was something in the + appearance of Mr. Dalgleish which, notwithstanding the smiles of Miss + Selina, rendered a rivalship in that quarter utterly out of the question. + </p> + <p> + I hate injustice, so let me do the honour in description to the Sawley + banquet. The tea-urn most literally corresponded to its name. The table + was decked out with divers platters, containing seed-cakes cut into + rhomboids, almond biscuits, and ratafia-drops. Also on the sideboard there + were two salvers, each of which contained a congregation of glasses, + filled with port and sherry. The former fluid, as I afterward ascertained, + was of the kind advertised as “curious,” and proffered for sale at the + reasonable rate of sixteen shillings per dozen. The banquet, on the whole, + was rather peculiar than enticing; and, for the life of me, I could not + divest myself of the idea that the self-same viands had figured, not long + before, as funeral refreshments at a dirgie. No such suspicion seemed to + cross the mind of M’Alcohol, who hitherto had remained uneasily surveying + his nails in a corner, but at the first symptom of food started forward, + and was in the act of making a clean sweep of the china, when Sawley + proposed the singular preliminary of a hymn. + </p> + <p> + The hymn was accordingly sung. I am thankful to say it was such a one as I + never heard before, or expect to hear again; and unless it was composed by + the Reverend Saunders Peden in an hour of paroxysm on the moors, I cannot + conjecture the author. After this original symphony, tea was discussed, + and after tea, to my amazement, more hot brandy-and-water than I ever + remember to have seen circulated at the most convivial party. Of course + this effected a radical change in the spirits and conversation of the + circle. It was again my lot to be placed by the side of the fascinating + Selina, whose sentimentality gradually thawed away beneath the influence + of sundry sips, which she accepted with a delicate reluctance. This time + Dalgleish of Raxmathrapple had not the remotest chance. M’Alcohol got + furious, sang Gaelic songs, and even delivered a sermon in genuine Erse, + without incurring a rebuke; while, for my own part, I must needs confess + that I waxed unnecessarily amorous, and the last thing I recollect was the + pressure of Mr. Sawley’s hand at the door, as he denominated me his dear + boy, and hoped I would soon come back and visit Mrs. Sawley and Selina. + The recollection of these passages next morning was the surest antidote to + my return. + </p> + <p> + Three weeks had elapsed, and still the Glenmutchkin Railway shares were at + a premium, though rather lower than when we sold. Our engineer, Watty + Solder, returned from his first survey of the line, along with an + assistant who really appeared to have some remote glimmerings of the + science and practice of mensuration. It seemed, from a verbal report, that + the line was actually practicable; and the survey would have been + completed in a very short time, “if,” according to the account of Solder, + “there had been ae hoos in the glen. But ever sin’ the distillery stoppit—and + that was twa year last Martinmas—there wasna a hole whaur a + Christian could lay his head, muckle less get white sugar to his toddy, + forby the change-house at the clachan; and the auld lucky that keepit it + was sair forfochten wi’ the palsy, and maist in the dead-thraws. There was + naebody else living within twal’ miles o’ the line, barring a taxman, a + lamiter, and a bauldie.” + </p> + <p> + We had some difficulty in preventing Mr. Solder from making this report + open and patent to the public, which premature disclosure might have + interfered materially with the preparation of our traffic tables, not to + mention the marketable value of the shares. We therefore kept him steadily + at work out of Glasgow, upon a very liberal allowance, to which, + apparently, he did not object. + </p> + <p> + “Dunshunner,” said M’Corkindale to me one day, “I suspect that there is + something going on about our railway more than we are aware of. Have you + observed that the shares are preternaturally high just now?” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better. Let’s sell.” + </p> + <p> + “I did so this morning, both yours and mine, at two pounds ten shillings + premium.” + </p> + <p> + “The deuce you did! Then we’re out of the whole concern.” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite. If my suspicions are correct, there’s a good deal more money + yet to be got from the speculation. Somebody had been bulling the stock + without orders; and, as they can have no information which we are not + perfectly up to, depend upon it, it is done for a purpose. I suspect + Sawley and his friends. They have never been quite happy since the + allocation; and I caught him yesterday pumping our broker in the back + shop. We’ll see in a day or two. If they are beginning a bearing + operation, I know how to catch them.” + </p> + <p> + And, in effect, the bearing operation commenced. Next day, heavy sales + were effected for delivery in three weeks; and the stock, as if + water-logged, began to sink. The same thing continued for the following + two days, until the premium became nearly nominal. In the meantime, Bob + and I, in conjunction with two leading capitalists whom we let into the + secret, bought up steadily every share that was offered; and at the end of + a fortnight we found that we had purchased rather more than double the + amount of the whole original stock. Sawley and his disciples, who, as + M’Corkindale suspected, were at the bottom of the whole transaction, + having beared to their hearts’ content, now came into the market to + purchase, in order to redeem their engagements. + </p> + <p> + I have no means of knowing in what frame of mind Mr. Sawley spent the + Sunday, or whether he had recourse for mental consolation to Peden; but on + Monday morning he presented himself at my door in full funeral costume, + with about a quarter of a mile of crape swathed round his hat, black + gloves, and a countenance infinitely more doleful than if he had been + attending the interment of his beloved wife. + </p> + <p> + “Walk in, Mr. Sawley,” said I, cheerfully. “What a long time it is since I + have had the pleasure of seeing you—too long indeed for brother + directors! How are Mrs. Sawley and Miss Selina? Won’t you take a cup of + coffee?” + </p> + <p> + “Grass, sir, grass!” said Mr. Sawley, with a sigh like the groan of a + furnace-bellows. “We are all flowers of the oven—weak, erring + creatures, every one of us. Ah, Mr. Dunshunner, you have been a great + stranger at Lykewake Terrace!” + </p> + <p> + “Take a muffin, Mr. Sawley. Anything new in the railway world?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear sir,—my good Mr. Augustus Reginald,—I wanted to + have some serious conversation with you on that very point. I am afraid + there is something far wrong indeed in the present state of our stock.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, to be sure it is high; but that, you know, is a token of the public + confidence in the line. After all, the rise is nothing compared to that of + several English railways; and individually, I suppose, neither of us has + any reason to complain.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like it,” said Sawley, watching me over the margin of his + coffee-cup; “I don’t like it. It savours too much of gambling for a man of + my habits. Selina, who is a sensible girl, has serious qualms on the + subject.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why not get out of it? I have no objection to run the risk, and if + you like to transact with me, I will pay you ready money for every share + you have at the present market price.” + </p> + <p> + Sawley writhed uneasily in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Will you sell me five hundred, Mr. Sawley? Say the word and it is a + bargain.” + </p> + <p> + “A time-bargain?” quavered the coffin-maker. + </p> + <p> + “No. Money down, and scrip handed over.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I can’t. The fact is, my dear young friend, I have sold all my + stock already!” + </p> + <p> + “Then permit me to ask, Mr. Sawley, what possible objection you can have + to the present aspect of affairs? You do not surely suppose that we are + going to issue new shares and bring down the market, simply because you + have realised at a handsome premium?” + </p> + <p> + “A handsome premium! O Lord!” moaned Sawley. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what did you get for them?” + </p> + <p> + “Four, three, and two and a half.” + </p> + <p> + “A very considerable profit indeed,” said I; “and you ought to be + abundantly thankful. We shall talk this matter over at another time, Mr. + Sawley, but just now I must beg you to excuse me. I have a particular + engagement this morning with my broker—rather a heavy transaction to + settle—and so—” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use beating about the bush any longer,” said Mr. Sawley, in an + excited tone, at the same time dashing down his crape-covered castor on + the floor. “Did you ever see a ruined man with a large family? Look at me, + Mr. Dunshunner—I’m one, and you’ve done it!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Sawley! Are you in your senses?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends on circumstances. Haven’t you been buying stock lately?” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to say I have—two thousand Glenmutchkins, I think, and + this is the day of delivery.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, can’t you see how the matter stands? It was I who sold them!” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + “Mother of Moses, sir! Don’t you see I’m ruined?” + </p> + <p> + “By no means—but you must not swear. I pay over the money for your + scrip, and you pocket a premium. It seems to me a very simple + transaction.” + </p> + <p> + “But I tell you I haven’t got the scrip!” cried Sawley, gnashing his + teeth, while the cold beads of perspiration gathered largely on his brow. + </p> + <p> + “That is very unfortunate! Have you lost it?” + </p> + <p> + “No! the devil tempted me, and I oversold!” + </p> + <p> + There was a very long pause, during which I assumed an aspect of serious + and dignified rebuke. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible?” said I, in a low tone, after the manner of Kean’s + offended fathers. “What! you, Mr. Sawley—the stoker’s friend—the + enemy of gambling—the father of Selina—condescend to so + equivocal a transaction? You amaze me! But I never was the man to press + heavily on a friend”—here Sawley brightened up. “Your secret is safe + with me, and it shall be your own fault if it reaches the ears of the + Session. Pay me over the difference at the present market price, and I + release you of your obligation.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’m in the Gazette, that’s all,” said Sawley, doggedly, “and a wife + and nine beautiful babes upon the parish! I had hoped other things from + you, Mr. Dunshunner—I thought you and Selina—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, man! Nobody goes into the Gazette just now—it will be + time enough when the general crash comes. Out with your cheque-book, and + write me an order for four and twenty thousand. Confound fractions! In + these days one can afford to be liberal.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t got it,” said Sawley. “You have no idea how bad our trade has + been of late, for nobody seems to think of dying. I have not sold a gross + of coffins this fortnight. But I’ll tell you what—I’ll give you five + thousand down in cash, and ten thousand in shares; further I can’t go.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Sawley,” said I, “I may be blamed by worldly-minded persons for + what I am going to do; but I am a man of principle, and feel deeply for + the situation of your amiable wife and family. I bear no malice, though it + is quite clear that you intended to make me the sufferer. Pay me fifteen + thousand over the counter, and we cry quits for ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you take the Camlachie Cemetery shares? They are sure to go up.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “Twelve hundred Cowcaddens Water, with an issue of new stock next week?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if they disseminated the Gauges!” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand Ramshorn Gas—four per cent. guaranteed until the act?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if they promised twenty, and melted down the sun in their retort!” + </p> + <p> + “Blawweary Iron? Best spec. going.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I tell you once for all! If you don’t like my offer,—and it is + an uncommonly liberal one,—say so, and I’ll expose you this + afternoon upon ‘Change.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, there’s a cheque. But may the—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, sir! Any such profane expressions, and I shall insist upon the + original bargain. So then, now we’re quits. I wish you a very + good-morning, Mr. Sawley, and better luck next time. Pray remember me to + your amiable family.” + </p> + <p> + The door had hardly closed upon the discomfited coffin-maker, and I was + still in the preliminary steps of an extempore <i>pas seul</i>, intended + as the outward demonstration of exceeding inward joy, when Bob + M’Corkindale entered. I told him the result of the morning’s conference. + </p> + <p> + “You have let him off too easily,” said the political economist. “Had I + been his creditor, I certainly should have sacked the shares into the + bargain. There is nothing like rigid dealing between man and man.” + </p> + <p> + “I am contented with moderate profits,” said I; “besides, the image of + Selina overcame me. How goes it with Jobson and Grabbie?” + </p> + <p> + “Jobson had paid, and Grabbie compounded. Heckles—may he die an evil + death!—has repudiated, become a lame duck, and waddled; but no doubt + his estate will pay a dividend.” + </p> + <p> + “So then, we are clear of the whole Glenmutchkin business, and at a + handsome profit.” + </p> + <p> + “A fair interest for the outlay of capital—nothing more. But I’m not + quite done with the concern yet.” + </p> + <p> + “How so? not another bearing operation?” + </p> + <p> + “No; that cock would hardly fight. But you forget that I am secretary to + the company, and have a small account against them for services already + rendered. I must do what I can to carry the bill through Parliament; and, + as you have now sold your whole shares, I advise you to resign from the + direction, go down straight to Glenmutchkin, and qualify yourself for a + witness. We shall give you five guineas a day, and pay all your expenses.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bad notion. But what has become of M’Closkie, and the other fellow + with the jaw-breaking name?” + </p> + <p> + “Vich-Induibh? I have looked after their interests as in duty bound, sold + their shares at a large premium, and despatched them to their native hills + on annuities.” + </p> + <p> + “And Sir Polloxfen?” + </p> + <p> + “Died yesterday of spontaneous combustion.” + </p> + <p> + As the company seemed breaking up, I thought I could not do better than + take M’Corkindale’s hint, and accordingly betook myself to Glenmutchkin, + along with the Captain of M’Alcohol, and we quartered ourselves upon the + Factor for Glentumblers. We found Watty Solder very shaky, and his + assistant also lapsing into habits of painful inebriety. We saw little of + them except of an evening, for we shot and fished the whole day, and made + ourselves remarkably comfortable. By singular good luck, the plans and + sections were lodged in time, and the Board of Trade very handsomely + reported in our favour, with a recommendation of what they were pleased to + call “the Glenmutchkin system,” and a hope that it might generally be + carried out. What this system was, I never clearly understood; but, of + course, none of us had any objections. This circumstance gave an + additional impetus to the shares, and they once more went up. I was, + however, too cautious to plunge a second time in to Charybdis, but + M’Corkindale did, and again emerged with plunder. + </p> + <p> + When the time came for the parliamentary contest, we all emigrated to + London. I still recollect, with lively satisfaction, the many pleasant + days we spent in the metropolis at the company’s expense. There were just + a neat fifty of us, and we occupied the whole of a hotel. The discussion + before the committee was long and formidable. We were opposed by four + other companies who patronised lines, of which the nearest was at least a + hundred miles distant from Glenmutchkin; but as they founded their + opposition upon dissent from “the Glenmutchkin system” generally, the + committee allowed them to be heard. We fought for three weeks a most + desperate battle, and might in the end have been victorious, had not our + last antagonist, at the very close of his case, pointed out no less than + seventy-three fatal errors in the parliamentary plan deposited by the + unfortunate Solder. Why this was not done earlier, I never exactly + understood; it may be that our opponents, with gentlemanly consideration, + were unwilling to curtail our sojourn in London—and their own. The + drama was now finally closed, and after all preliminary expenses were + paid, sixpence per share was returned to the holders upon surrender of + their scrip. + </p> + <p> + Such is an accurate history of the Origin, Rise, Progress, and Fall of the + Direct Glenmutchkin Railway. It contains a deep moral, if anybody has + sense enough to see it; if not, I have a new project in my eye for next + session, of which timely notice shall be given. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THRAWN JANET, By Robert Louis Stevenson + </h2> + <p> + The Reverend Murdoch Soulis was long minister of the moorland parish of + Balweary, in the vale of Dule. A severe, bleak-faced old man, dreadful to + his hearers, he dwelt in the last years of his life, without relative or + servant or any human company, in the small and lonely manse under the + Hanging Shaw. In spite of the iron composure of his features, his eye was + wild, scared, and uncertain; and when he dwelt, in private admonitions, on + the future of the impenitent, it seemed as if his eye pierced through the + storms of time to the terrors of eternity. Many young persons, coming to + prepare themselves against the season of the holy communion, were + dreadfully affected by his talk. He had a sermon on I Pet. V. 8, “The + devil as a roaring lion,” on the Sunday after every 17th of August, and he + was accustomed to surpass himself upon that text both by the appalling + nature of the matter and the terror of his bearing in the pulpit. The + children were frightened into fits, and the old looked more than usually + oracular, and were, all that day, full of those hints that Hamlet + deprecated. The manse itself, where it stood by the water of Dule among + some thick trees, with the Shaw overhanging it on the one side, and on the + other many cold, moorish hilltops rising toward the sky, had begun, at a + very early period of Mr. Soulis’s ministry, to be avoided in the dusk + hours by all who valued themselves upon their prudence; and guidmen + sitting at the clachan alehouse shook their heads together at the thought + of passing late by that uncanny neighbourhood. There was one spot, to be + more particular, which was regarded with especial awe. The manse stood + between the highroad and the water of Dule, with a gable to each; its bank + was toward the kirktown of Balweary, nearly half a mile away; in front of + it, a bare garden, hedged with thorn, occupied the land between the river + and the road. The house was two stories high, with two large rooms on + each. It opened not directly on the garden, but on a causewayed path, or + passage, giving on the road on the one hand, and closed on the other by + the tall willows and elders that bordered on the stream. And it was this + strip of causeway that enjoyed among the young parishioners of Balweary so + infamous a reputation. The minister walked there often after dark, + sometimes groaning aloud in the instancy of his unspoken prayers; and when + he was from home, and the manse door was locked, the more daring + school-boys ventured, with beating hearts, to “follow my leader” across + that legendary spot. + </p> + <p> + This atmosphere of terror, surrounding, as it did, a man of God of + spotless character and orthodoxy, was a common cause of wonder and subject + of inquiry among the few strangers who were led by chance or business into + that unknown, outlying country. But many even of the people of the parish + were ignorant of the strange events which had marked the first year of Mr. + Soulis’s ministrations; and among those who were better informed, some + were naturally reticent, and others shy of that particular topic. Now and + again, only, one of the older folk would warm into courage over his third + tumbler, and recount the cause of the minister’s strange looks and + solitary life. + </p> + <p> + Fifty years syne, when Mr. Soulis cam’ first into Ba’weary, he was still a + young man,—a callant, the folk said,—fu’ o’ book-learnin’ and + grand at the exposition, but, as was natural in sae young a man, wi’ nae + leevin’ experience in religion. The younger sort were greatly taken wi’ + his gifts and his gab; but auld, concerned, serious men and women were + moved even to prayer for the young man, whom they took to be a + self-deceiver, and the parish that was like to be sae ill supplied. It was + before the days o’ the Moderates—weary fa’ them; but ill things are + like guid—they baith come bit by bit, a pickle at a time; and there + were folk even then that said the Lord had left the college professors to + their ain devices, an’ the lads that went to study wi’ them wad hae done + mair and better sittin’ in a peat-bog, like their forebears of the + persecution, wi’ a Bible under their oxter and a speerit o’ prayer in + their heart. There was nae doubt, onyway, but that Mr. Soulis had been + ower-lang at the college. He was careful and troubled for mony things + besides the ae thing needful. He had a feck o’ books wi’ him—mair + than had ever been seen before in a’ that presbytery; and a sair wark the + carrier had wi’ them, for they were a’ like to have smoored in the Deil’s + Hag between this and Kilmackerlie. They were books o’ divinity, to be + sure, or so they ca’d them; but the serious were o’ opinion there was + little service for sae mony, when the hail o’ God’s Word would gang in the + neuk of a plaid. Then he wad sit half the day and half the nicht forby, + which was scant decent—writin’, nae less; and first they were feard + he wad read his sermons; and syne it proved he was writin’ a book himsel’, + which was surely no fittin’ for ane of his years an’ sma’ experience. + </p> + <p> + Onyway, it behooved him to get an auld, decent wife to keep the manse for + him an’ see to his bit denners; and he was recommended to an auld limmer,—Janet + M’Clour, they ca’d her,—and sae far left to himsel’ as to be + ower-persuaded. There was mony advised him to the contrar’, for Janet was + mair than suspeckit by the best folk in Ba’weary. Lang or that, she had + had a wean to a dragoon; she hadnae come forrit for maybe thretty year; + and bairns had seen her mumblin’ to hersel’ up on Key’s Loan in the + gloamin’, whilk was an unco time an’ place for a God-fearin’ woman. + Howsoever, it was the laird himsel’ that had first tauld the minister o’ + Janet; and in thae days he wad have gane a far gate to pleesure the laird. + When folk tauld him that Janet was sib to the deil, it was a’ superstition + by his way of it; and’ when they cast up the Bible to him, an’ the witch + of Endor, he wad threep it doun their thrapples that thir days were a’ + gane by, and the deil was mercifully restrained. + </p> + <p> + Weel, when it got about the clachan that Janet M’Clour was to be servant + at the manse, the folk were fair mad wi’ her an’ him thegether; and some + o’ the guidwives had nae better to dae than get round her door-cheeks and + chairge her wi’ a’ that was kent again’ her, frae the sodger’s bairn to + John Tamson’s twa kye. She was nae great speaker; folk usually let her + gang her ain gait, an’ she let them gang theirs, wi’ neither fair + guid-e’en nor fair guid-day; but when she buckled to, she had a tongue to + deave the miller. Up she got, an’ there wasnae an auld story in Ba’weary + but she gart somebody lowp for it that day; they couldnae say ae thing but + she could say twa to it; till, at the hinder end, the guidwives up and + claught haud of her, and clawed the coats aff her back, and pu’d her doun + the clachan to the water o’ Dule, to see if she were a witch or no, soum + or droun. The carline skirled till ye could hear her at the Hangin’ Shaw, + and she focht like ten; there was mony a guid wife bure the mark of her + neist day an’ mony a lang day after; and just in the hettest o’ the + collieshangie, wha suld come up (for his sins) but the new minister. + </p> + <p> + “Women,” said he (and he had a grand voice), “I charge you in the Lord’s + name to let her go.” + </p> + <p> + Janet ran to him—she was fair wud wi’ terror—an’ clang to him, + an’ prayed him, for Christ’s sake, save her frae the cummers; an’ they, + for their pairt, tauld him a’ that was kent, and maybe mair. + </p> + <p> + “Woman,” says he to Janet, “is this true?” + </p> + <p> + “As the Lord sees me,” says she, “as the Lord made me, no a word o’ ‘t. + Forby the bairn,” says she, “I’ve been a decent woman a’ my days.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you,” says Mr. Soulis, “in the name of God, and before me, His + unworthy minister, renounce the devil and his works?” + </p> + <p> + Weel, it wad appear that, when he askit that, she gave a girn that fairly + frichtit them that saw her, an’ they could hear her teeth play dirl + thegether in her chafts; but there was naething for it but the ae way or + the ither; an’ Janet lifted up her hand and renounced the deil before them + a’. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” says Mr. Soulis to the guidwives, “home with ye, one and all, + and pray to God for His forgiveness.” + </p> + <p> + And he gied Janet his arm, though she had little on her but a sark, and + took her up the clachan to her ain door like a leddy of the land, an’ her + scrieghin’ and laughin’ as was a scandal to be heard. + </p> + <p> + There were mony grave folk lang ower their prayers that nicht; but when + the morn cam’ there was sic a fear fell upon a’ Ba’weary that the bairns + hid theirsel’s, and even the men folk stood and keekit frae their doors. + For there was Janet comin’ doun the clachan,—her or her likeness, + nane could tell,—wi’ her neck thrawn, and her heid on ae side, like + a body that has been hangit, and a girn on her face like an unstreakit + corp. By-an’-by they got used wi’ it, and even speered at her to ken what + was wrang; but frae that day forth she couldnae speak like a Christian + woman, but slavered and played click wi’ her teeth like a pair o’ shears; + and frae that day forth the name o’ God cam’ never on her lips. Whiles she + wad try to say it, but it michtnae be. Them that kenned best said least; + but they never gied that Thing the name o’ Janet M’Clour; for the auld + Janet, by their way o’ ‘t, was in muckle hell that day. But the minister + was neither to haud nor to bind; he preached about naething but the folk’s + cruelty that had gien her a stroke of the palsy; he skelpt the bairns that + meddled her; and he had her up to the manse that same nicht, and dwalled + there a’ his lane wi’ her under the Hangin’ Shaw. + </p> + <p> + Weel, time gaed by, and the idler sort commenced to think mair lichtly o’ + that black business. The minister was weel thocht o’; he was aye late at + the writing—folk wad see his can’le doon by the Dule Water after + twal’ at e’en; and he seemed pleased wi’ himsel’ and upsitten as at first, + though a’ body could see that he was dwining. As for Janet, she cam’ an’ + she gaed; if she didnae speak muckle afore, it was reason she should speak + less then; she meddled naebody; but she was an eldritch thing to see, an’ + nane wad hae mistrysted wi’ her for Ba’weary glebe. + </p> + <p> + About the end o’ July there cam’ a spell o’ weather, the like o’ ‘t never + was in that countryside; it was lown an’ het an’ heartless; the herds + couldnae win up the Black Hill, the bairns were ower-weariet to play; an’ + yet it was gousty too, wi’ claps o’ het wund that rummled in the glens, + and bits o’ shouers that slockened naething. We aye thocht it but to + thun’er on the morn; but the morn cam’, an’ the morn’s morning, and it was + aye the same uncanny weather; sair on folks and bestial. Of a’ that were + the waur, nane suffered like Mr. Soulis; he could neither sleep nor eat, + he tauld his elders; an’ when he wasnae writin’ at his weary book, he wad + be stravaguin’ ower a’ the country-side like a man possessed, when a’ body + else was blithe to keep caller ben the house. + </p> + <p> + Abune Hangin’ Shaw, in the bield o’ the Black Hill, there’s a bit enclosed + grund wi’ an iron yert; and it seems, in the auld days, that was the + kirkyaird o’ Ba’weary, and consecrated by the papists before the blessed + licht shone upon the kingdom. It was a great howff, o’ Mr. Soulis’s + onyway; there he would sit an’ consider his sermons’ and inded it’s a + bieldy bit. Weel, as he came ower the wast end o’ the Black Hill, ae day, + he saw first twa, an’ syne fower, an’ syne seeven corbie craws fleein’ + round an’ round abune the auld kirkyaird. They flew laigh and heavy, an’ + squawked to ither as they gaed; and it was clear to Mr. Soulis that + something had put them frae their ordinar. He wasna easy fleyed, an’ gaed + straucht up to the wa’s; and what suld he find there but a man, or the + appearance of a man, sittin’ in the inside upon a grave. He was of a great + stature, an’ black as hell, and his een were singular to see. Mr. Soulis + had heard tell o’ black men, mony’s the time; but there was something unco + abut this black man that daunted him. Het as he was, he took a kind o’ + cauld grue in the marrow o’ his banes; but up he spak’ for a’ that; an’ + says he, “My friend, are you a stranger in this place?” The black man + answered never a word; he got upon his feet, an’ begude to hirsel to the + wa’ on the far side; but he aye lookit at the minister; an’ the minister + stood an’ lookit back; till a’ in a meenute the black man was ower the wa’ + an’ rinnin’ for the bield o’ the trees. Mr. Soulis, he hardly kenned why, + ran after him; but he was sair forjaskit wi’ his walk an’ the het, + unhalesome weather; and rin as he likit, he got nae mair than a glisk o’ + the black man amang the birks, till he won doun to the foot o’ the + hillside, an’ there he saw him ance mair, gaun, hap, step, an’ lowp, ower + Dule Water to the manse. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Soulis wasna weel pleased that this fearsome gangrel suld mak’ sae + free wi’ Ba’weary manse; an’ he ran the harder, an’ wet shoon, ower the + burn, an’ up the walk; but the deil a black man was there to see. He + stepped out upon the road, but there was naebody there; he gaed a’ ower + the gairden, but na, nae black man. At the hinder end, and a bit feard as + was but natural, he lifted the hasp and into the manse; and there was + Janet M’Clour before his een, wi’ her thrawn craig, and nane sae pleased + to see him. And he aye minded sinsyne, when first he set his een upon her, + he had the same cauld and deidy grue. + </p> + <p> + “Janet,” says he, “have you seen a black man?” + </p> + <p> + “A black man?” quo’ she. “Save us a’! Ye ‘re no wise, minister. There’s + nae black man in a’ Ba’weary.” + </p> + <p> + But she didna speak plain, ye maun understand; but yam-yammered, like a + powny wi’ the bit in its moo. + </p> + <p> + “Weel,” says he, “Janet, if there was nae black man, I have spoken with + the Accuser of the Brethren.” + </p> + <p> + And he sat down like ane wi’ a fever, an’ his teeth chittered in his heid. + </p> + <p> + “Hoots!” says she, “think shame to yoursel’, minister,” an’ gied him a + drap brandy that she keept aye by her. + </p> + <p> + Syne Mr. Soulis gaed into his study amang a’ his books. It’s a lang, + laigh, mirk chalmer, perishin’ cauld in winter, an’ no very dry even in + the top o’ the simmer, for the manse stands near the burn. Sae doun he + sat, and thocht of a’ that had come an’ gane since he was in Ba’weary, an’ + his hame, an’ the days when he was a bairn an’ ran daffin’ on the braes; + and that black man aye ran in his heid like the owercome of a sang. Aye + the mair he thocht, the mair he thocht o’ the black man. He tried the + prayer, an’ the words wouldnae come to him; an’ he tried, they say, to + write at his book, but he couldnae mak’ nae mair o’ that. There was whiles + he thocht the black man was at his oxter, an’ the swat stood upon him + cauld as well-water; and there was other whiles when he cam’ to himsel’ + like a christened bairn and minded naething. + </p> + <p> + The upshot was that he gaed to the window an’ stood glowrin’ at Dule + Water. The trees are unco thick, an’ the water lies deep an’ black under + the manse; and there was Janet washing’ the cla’es wi’ her coats kilted. + She had her back to the minister, an’ he for his pairt, hardly kenned what + he was lookin’ at. Syne she turned round, an’ shawed her face; Mr. Soulis + had the same cauld grue as twice that day afore, an’ it was borne in upon + him what folk said, that Janet was deid lang syne, an’ this was a bogle in + her clay-cauld flesh. He drew back a pickle and he scanned her narrowly. + She was tramp-trampin’ in the cla’es, croonin’ to hersel’; and eh! Gude + guide us, but it was a fearsome face. Whiles she sang louder, but there + was nae man born o’ woman that could tell the words o’ her sang; an’ + whiles she lookit sidelang doun, but there was naething there for her to + look at. There gaed a scunner through the flesh upon his banes; and that + was Heeven’s advertisement. But Mr. Soulis just blamed himsel’, he said, + to think sae ill of a puir auld afflicted wife that hadnae a freend forby + himsel’; an’ he put up a bit prayer for him an’ her, an’ drank a little + caller water,—for his heart rose again’ the meat,—an’ gaed up + to his naked bed in the gloaming. + </p> + <p> + That was a nicht that has never been forgotten in Ba’weary, the nicht o’ + the seeventeenth of August, seventeen hun’er’ an’ twal’. It had been het + afore, as I hae said, but that nicht it was hetter than ever. The sun gaed + doun amang unco-lookin’ clouds; it fell as mirk as the pit; no a star, no + a breath o’ wund; ye couldnae see your han’ afore your face, and even the + auld folk cuist the covers frae their beds and lay pechin’ for their + breath. Wi’ a’ that he had upon his mind, it was gey and unlikely Mr. + Soulis wad get muckle sleep. He lay an’ he tummled; the gude, caller bed + that he got into brunt his very banes; whiles he slept, and whiles he + waukened; whiles he heard the time o’ nicht, and whiles a tike yowlin’ up + the muir, as if somebody was deid; whiles he thocht he heard bogles + claverin’ in his lug, an’ whiles he saw spunkies in the room. He behooved, + he judged, to be sick; an’ sick he was—little he jaloosed the + sickness. + </p> + <p> + At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind, sat up in his sark on + the bedside, and fell thinkin’ ance mair o’ the black man an’ Janet. He + couldnae weel tell how,—maybe it was the cauld to his feet,—but + it cam’ in upon him wi’ a spate that there was some connection between + thir twa, an’ that either or baith o’ them were bogles. And just at that + moment, in Janet’s room, which was neist to his, there cam’ a stamp o’ + feet as if men were wars’lin’, an’ then a loud bang; an’ then a wund gaed + reishling round the fower quarters of the house; an’ then a’ was ance mair + as seelent as the grave. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Soulis was feard for neither man nor deevil. He got his tinder-box, + an’ lit a can’le, an’ made three steps o’ ‘t ower to Janet’s door. It was + on the hasp, an’ he pushed it open, an’ keeked bauldly in. It was a big + room, as big as the minister’s ain, an’ plenished wi’ grand, auld, solid + gear, for he had naething else. There was a fower-posted bed wi’ auld + tapestry; and a braw cabinet of aik, that was fu’ o’ the minister’s + divinity books, an’ put there to be out o’ the gate; an’ a wheen duds o’ + Janet’s lying here and there about the floor. But nae Janet could Mr. + Soulis see, nor ony sign of a contention. In he gaed (an’ there’s few that + wad hae followed him), an’ lookit a’ round, an’ listened. But there was + naethin’ to be heard neither inside the manse nor in a’ Ba’weary parish, + an’ naethin’ to be seen but the muckle shadows turnin’ round the can’le. + An’ then a’ at aince the minister’s heart played dunt an’ stood + stock-still, an’ a cauld wund blew amang the hairs o’ his heid. Whaten a + weary sicht was that for the puir man’s een! For there was Janet hangin’ + frae a nail beside the auld aik cabinet; her heid aye lay on her shouther, + her een were steeked, the tongue projecket frae her mouth, and her heels + were twa feet clear abune the floor. + </p> + <p> + “God forgive us all!” thocht Mr. Soulis, “poor Janet’s dead.” + </p> + <p> + He cam’ a step nearer to the corp; an’ then his heart fair whammled in his + inside. For—by what cantrip it wad ill beseem a man to judge—she + was hingin’ frae a single nail an’ by a single wursted thread for darnin’ + hose. + </p> + <p> + It’s an awfu’ thing to be your lane at nicht wi’ siccan prodigies o’ + darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in the Lord. He turned an’ gaed his + ways oot o’ that room, and locket the door ahint him; and step by step + doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; and set doon the can’le on the table at + the stair-foot. He couldnae pray, he couldnae think, he was dreepin’ wi’ + caul’ swat, an’ naething could he hear but the dunt-dunt-duntin’ o’ his + ain heart. He micht maybe have stood there an hour, or maybe twa, he + minded sae little; when a’ o’ a sudden he heard a laigh, uncanny steer + upstairs; a foot gaed to an’ fro in the cham’er whair the corp was + hingin’; syne the door was opened, though he minded weel that he had + lockit it; an’ syne there was a step upon the landin’, an’ it seemed to + him as if the corp was lookin’ ower the tail and doun upon him whaur he + stood. + </p> + <p> + He took up the can’le again (for he couldnae want the licht), and, as + saftly as ever he could, gaed straucht out o’ the manse an’ to the far end + o’ the causeway. It was aye pit-mirk; the flame o’ the can’le, when he set + it on the grund, brunt steedy and clear as in a room; naething moved, but + the Dule Water seepin’ and sabbin’ doon the glen, an’ yon unhaly footstep + that cam’ plodding’ doun the stairs inside the manse. He kenned the foot + ower-weel, for it was Janet’s; and at ilka step that cam’ a wee thing + nearer, the cauld got deeper in his vitals. He commended his soul to Him + that made an’ keepit him; “and, O Lord,” said he, “give me strength this + night to war against the powers of evil.” + </p> + <p> + By this time the foot was comin’ through the passage for the door; he + could hear a hand skirt alang the wa’, as if the fearsome thing was + feelin’ for its way. The saughs tossed an’ maned thegether, a long sigh + cam’ ower the hills, the flame o’ the can’le was blawn aboot; an’ there + stood the corp of Thrawn Janet, wi’ her grogram goun an’ her black mutch, + wi’ the heid aye upon the shouther, an’ the girn still upon the face o’ + ‘t,—leevin’, ye wad hae said—deid, as Mr. Soulis weel kenned,—upon + the threshold o’ the manse. + </p> + <p> + It’s a strange thing that the saul of man should be thirled into his + perishable body; but the minister saw that, an’ his heart didnae break. + </p> + <p> + She didnae stand there lang; she began to move again, an’ cam’ slowly + toward Mr. Soulis whaur he stood under the saughs. A’ the life o’ his + body, a’ the strength o’ his speerit, were glowerin’ frae his een. It + seemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted words, an’ made a sign wi’ the + left hand. There cam’ a clap o’ wund, like a cat’s fuff; oot gaed the + can’le, the saughs skrieghed like folk’ an’ Mr. Soulis kenned that, live + or die, this was the end o’ ‘t. + </p> + <p> + “Witch, beldam, devil!” he cried, “I charge you, by the power of God, + begone—if you be dead, to the grave; if you be damned, to hell.” + </p> + <p> + An’ at that moment the Lord’s ain hand out o’ the heevens struck the + Horror whaur it stood; the auld, deid, desecrated corp o’ the witch-wife, + sae lang keepit frae the grave and hirselled round by deils, lowed up like + a brunstane spunk and fell in ashes to the grund; the thunder followed, + peal on dirling peal, the rairing rain upon the back o’ that; and Mr. + Soulis lowped through the garden hedge, and ran, wi’ skelloch upon + skelloch, for the clachan. + </p> + <p> + That same mornin’ John Christie saw the black man pass the Muckle Cairn as + it was chappin’ six; before eicht, he gaed by the change-house at + Knockdow; an’ no lang after, Sandy M’Lellan saw him gaun linkin’ doun the + braes frae Kilmackerlie. There’s little doubt but it was him that dwalled + sae lang in Janet’s body; but he was awa’ at last; and sinsyne the deil + has never fashed us in Ba’weary. + </p> + <p> + But it was a sair dispensation for the minister; lang, lang he lay ravin’ + in his bed; and frae that hour to this, he was the man ye ken the day. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Stories by English Authors: Scotland, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES BY ENGLISH AUTHORS: *** + +***** This file should be named 2588-h.htm or 2588-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/8/2588/ + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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