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diff --git a/old/43192-h/43192-h.htm b/old/43192-h/43192-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index c14a8b5..0000000 --- a/old/43192-h/43192-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10111 +0,0 @@ -<?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> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> -<title> -Afterwards, by Ian Maclaren -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - <!-- - 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: 100%; font-style:normal; - margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; - text-align: right;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - --> -</style> -</head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Afterwards, by Ian Maclaren - -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: Afterwards -And Other Stories - -Author: Ian Maclaren - -Release Date: September 15, 2013 [EBook #43192] -Last Updated: March 1, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AFTERWARDS *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger - - - - - -</pre> - -<div style="height: 8em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h1> -AFTERWARDS -</h1> -<h2> -AND OTHER STORIES -</h2> -<p> -<br /> -</p> -<h2> -By Ian Maclaren -</h2> -<p> -<br /> -</p> -<h3> -1898 -</h3> -<p> -<br /> <br /> -</p> -<h3> -TO -</h3> -<h3> -LADY GRAINGER-STEWART -</h3> -<h3> -IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE DAYS OF LONG AGO AND THE FRIENDS WHO ARE FAR AWAY -</h3> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<p> -<b>CONTENTS</b> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0001"> AFTERWARDS </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0003"> AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0004"> RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0005"> A PROBATIONER </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE RIGHT HAND OF SAMUEL DODSON </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0008"> SAVED BY FAITH </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE LAST SACRIFICE </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0010"> AN EVANGELIST </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0012"> FATHER JINKS </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE PASSING OF DOMSIE </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0014"> DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS </a> -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -AFTERWARDS -</h2> -<h3> -I -</h3> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e received the telegram in a garden where he was gazing on a vision of -blue, set in the fronds of a palm, and listening to the song of the -fishers, as it floated across the bay. -</p> -<p> -“You look so utterly satisfied,” said his hostess, in the high, clear -voice of Englishwomen, “that, I know you are tasting the luxury of a -contrast. The Riviera is charming in December; imagine London, and Cannes, -is Paradise.” - </p> -<p> -As he smiled assent in the grateful laziness of a hard-worked man, his -mind was stung with the remembrance of a young wife swathed in the dreary -fog, who, above all things, loved the open air and the shining of the sun. -</p> -<p> -Her plea was that Bertie would weary alone, and that she hated travelling, -but it came to him quite suddenly that this was always the programme of -their holidays—some Mediterranean villa, full of clever people, for -him, and the awful dulness of that Bloomsbury street for her; or he went -North to a shooting-lodge, where he told his best stories in the -smoking-room, after a long day on the purple heather; and she did her best -for Bertie at some watering-place, much frequented on account of its -railway facilities and economical lodgings. Letters of invitation had -generally a polite reference to his wife—“If Mrs. Trevor can -accompany you I shall be still more delighted”—but it was understood -that she would not accept “We have quite a grudge against Mrs. Trevor, -because she will never come with her husband; there is some beautiful -child who monopolises her,” his hostess would explain on his arrival; and -Trevor allowed it to be understood that his wife was quite devoted to -Bertie, and would be miserable without him. -</p> -<p> -When he left the room, it was explained: “Mrs. Trevor is a hopelessly -quiet person, what is called a 'good wife,' you know.” - </p> -<p> -“The only time she dined with us, Tottie Fribbyl—he was a -Theosophist then, it's two years ago—was too amusing for words, and -told us what incarnation he was going through. -</p> -<p> -“Mrs. Trevor, I believe, had never heard of Theosophy, and looked quite -horrified at the idea of poor Tottie's incarnation. -</p> -<p> -“'Isn't it profane to use such words?' she said to me. So I changed to -skirt dancing, and would you believe me, she had never seen it? -</p> -<p> -“What can you do with a woman like that? Nothing remains but religion and -the nursery. Why do clever men marry those impossible women?” - </p> -<p> -Trevor was gradually given to understand, as by an atmosphere, that he was -a brilliant man wedded to a dull wife, and there were hours—his -worst hours—when he agreed. -</p> -<p> -<i>Cara mia, cara mia</i>, sang the sailors; and his wife's face in its -perfect refinement and sweet beauty suddenly replaced the Mediterranean. -</p> -<p> -Had he belittled his wife, with her wealth of sacrifice and delicate -nature, beside women in spectacles who wrote on the bondage of marriage, -and leaders of fashion who could talk of everything from horse-racing to -palmistry? -</p> -<p> -He had only glanced at her last letter; now he read it carefully:— -</p> -<p> -“The flowers were lovely, and it was so mindful of you to send them, just -like my husband. Bertie and I amused ourselves arranging and rearranging -them in glasses, till we had made our tea-table lovely. But I was just one -little bit disappointed not to get a letter—you see how exacting I -am, sir. I waited for every post, and Bertie said, 'Has father's letter -come yet?' When one is on holiday, writing letters is an awful bore; but -please just a line to Bertie and me. We have a map of the Riviera, and -found out all the places you have visited in the yacht; and we tried to -imagine you sailing on that azure sea, and landing among those silver -olives. I am so grateful to every one for being kind to you, and I hope -you will enjoy yourself to the full. Bertie is a little stronger, I'm -sure; his cheeks were quite rosy to-day for him. It was his birthday on -Wednesday, and I gave him a little treat The sun was shining brightly in -the forenoon, and we had a walk in the Gardens, and made believe that it -was Italy! Then we went to Oxford Street, and Bertie chose a regiment of -soldiers for his birthday present He wished some guns so much that I -allowed him to have them as a present from you. They only cost -one-and-sixpence, and I thought you would like him to have something. Jane -and he had a splendid game of hide-and-seek in the evening, and my couch -was the den, so you see we have our own gaiety in Bloomsbury. -</p> -<p> -“Don't look sulky at this long scribble and say, 'What nonsense women -write!' for it is almost the same as speaking to you, and I shall imagine -the letter all the way till you open it in the sunshine. -</p> -<p> -“So smile and kiss my name, for this comes with my heart's love from -</p> -<p> -“Your devoted wife, -</p> -<p> -“Maud Trevor. -</p> -<p> -“P.S.—Don't be alarmed because I have to rest; the doctor does not -think that there is any danger, and I'll take great care.” - </p> -<p> -“A telegram.” It was the shattering of a dream. “How wicked of some horrid -person. Business ought not to be allowed to enter Paradise. Let's hope -it's pleasure; perhaps some one has won a lot of money at Monte Carlo, and -wishes us to celebrate the affair. -</p> -<p> -“Whom is it for? Oh! Mr. Edward Trevor; then it's a brief by telegraph, I -suppose. Some millionaire's will case, and the Attorney-General can't -manage it alone. What a man he is, to have briefs in holiday time. -</p> -<p> -“There it is, but remember, before you open it, that you are bound to -remain here over Christmas at any rate, and help us with our theatricals. -My husband declares that a successful barrister must be a born actor.”... -</p> -<p> -An hour later Trevor was in the Paris express, and for thirty hours he -prayed one petition, that she might live till he arrived. He used to have -a berth in the Wagon Lit as a matter of course, and had begun to complain -about the champagne in the dining-car, but the thought of comfort made him -wince on this journey, and he twice changed his carriage, once when an -English party would not cease from badinage that mocked his ears, and -again because a woman had brown eyes with her expression of dog-like -faithfulness. The darkness of the night after that sunlit garden, and the -monotonous roar of the train, and the face of smiling France covered with -snow, and the yeasty waters of the Channel, and the moaning of the wind, -filled his heart with dread. -</p> -<p> -Will that procession of luggage at Dover never come to an end? A French -seaman—a fellow with earrings and a merry face—appears and -reappears with maddening regularity, each time with a larger trunk. One -had X. Y. on it in big white letters. Why not Z. also? Who could have such -a name? That is a lady's box, black and brown, plastered with hotel -labels. Some bride, perhaps... they are carrying the luggage over his -heart. Have they no mercy? -</p> -<p> -The last piece is in, and the sailors make a merry group at the top of the -gangway. They look like Bretons, and that fellow is laughing again—some -story about a little child; he can just hear <i>Ma petite.</i>... -</p> -<p> -“Guard, is this train never to start? We're half-an-hour late already.” - </p> -<p> -“Italian mail very heavy, sir; still bringing up bags; so many people at -Riviera in winter, writing home to their friends.”... -</p> -<p> -How cruel every one is! He had not written for ten days. Something always -happened, an engagement of pleasure. There was a half-finished letter; he -had left it to join a Monte Carlo party. -</p> -<p> -“Writing letters—home, of course, to that idolised wife. It's -beautiful, and you are an example to us all; but Mrs. Trevor will excuse -descriptions of scenery; she knows you are enjoying yourself.” - </p> -<p> -Had she been expecting that letter from post to post, calculating the hour -of each delivery, identifying the postman's feet in that quiet street, -holding her breath when he rang, stretching her hand for a letter, to let -it drop unopened, and bury her face in the pillow? Had she died waiting -for a letter that never came? Those letters that he wrote from the -Northern Circuit in that first sweet year, a letter a day, and one day two—it -had given him a day's advantage over her. Careful letters, too, though -written between cases, with bits of description and amusing scenes. -</p> -<p> -Some little sameness towards the end, but she never complained of that, -and even said those words were the best And that trick he played—the -thought of the postman must have brought it up—how pleasant it was, -and what a success! He would be his own letter one day, and take her by -surprise. “A letter, ma'am,” the girl said—quite a homely girl, who -shared their little joys and anxieties—and then he showed his face -with apologies for intrusion. The flush of love in her face, will it be -like that to-night, or... What can be keeping the train now? Is this a -conspiracy to torment a miserable man? -</p> -<p> -He thrusts his head out of the window in despair, and sees the guard -trying to find a compartment for a family that had mistaken their train. -</p> -<p> -The husband is explaining, with English garrulity, all the station -hearing, what an inconvenience it would have been had they gone in the -Holbom Viaduct carriages. -</p> -<p> -“Half an hour's longer drive, you know, and it's very important we should -get home in time; we are expected....” - </p> -<p> -For what? Dinner, most likely. What did it matter when they got home, -to-day or next year? Yet he used to be angry if he were made late for -dinner. They come into his compartment, and explain the situation at great -length, while he pretends to listen. -</p> -<p> -A husband and wife returning from a month in Italy, full of their -experiences: the Corniche Road, the palaces of Genoa, the pictures in the -Pitti, St Peter's at Rome. Her first visit to the Continent, evidently; it -reminded them of a certain tour round the Lakes in '80, and she withdrew -her hand from her husband's as the train came out from the tunnel. They -were not smart people—very pronounced middle-class—but they -were lovers, after fifteen years. -</p> -<p> -They forgot him, who was staring on the bleak landscape with white, -pinched face. -</p> -<p> -“How kind to take me this trip. I know how much you denied yourself, but -it has made me young again,” and she said “Edward.” Were all these -coincidences arranged? had his purgatorio begun already? -</p> -<p> -“Have you seen the <i>Globe</i>, sir? Bosworth, M.P. for Pedlington, has -been made a judge, and there's to be a keen contest. -</p> -<p> -“Trevor, I see, is named as the Tory candidate—a clever fellow, I've -heard. Do you know about him? he's got on quicker than any man of his -years. -</p> -<p> -“Some say that it's his manner; he's such a good sort, the juries cannot -resist him, a man told me—a kind heart goes for something even in a -lawyer. Would you like to look.... -</p> -<p> -“Very sorry; would you take a drop of brandy? No? The passage was a little -rough, and you don't look quite up to the mark.” - </p> -<p> -Then they left him in peace, and he drank his cup to the dregs. -</p> -<p> -It was for Pedlington he had been working and saving, for a seat meant -society and the bench, perhaps.... What did it matter now? -</p> -<p> -She was to come and sit within the cage when he made his first speech, and -hear all the remarks. -</p> -<p> -“Of course it will be a success, for you do everything well, and your -wifie will be the proudest woman in London. -</p> -<p> -“Sir Edward Trevor, M.P. I know it's foolish, but it's the foolishness of -love, dear, so don't look cross; you are everything to me, and no one -loves you as I do.” - </p> -<p> -What are they slowing for now? There's no station. Did ever train drag -like this one? -</p> -<p> -Off again, thank God... if she only were conscious, and he could ask her -to forgive his selfishness. -</p> -<p> -At last, and the train glides into Victoria. No, he had nothing to -declare; would they let him go, or they might keep his luggage altogether. -</p> -<p> -Some vision was ever coming up, and now he saw her kneeling on the floor -and packing that portmanteau, the droop of her figure, her thin white -hands. -</p> -<p> -He was so busy that she did these offices for him—tried to buckle -the straps even; but he insisted on doing that It gave him half an hour -longer at the Club. What a brute he had been.... -</p> -<p> -“Do anything you like with my things. 'I'll come to-morrow... as fast as -you can drive.” - </p> -<p> -Huddled in a corner of the hansom so that you might have thought he slept, -this man was calculating every foot of the way, gloating over a long -stretch of open, glistening asphalt, hating unto murder the immovable -drivers whose huge vans blocked his passage. If they had known, there was -no living man but would have made room for him... but he had not known -himself.... Only one word to tell her he knew now. -</p> -<p> -As the hansom turned into the street he bent forward, straining his eyes -to catch the first glimpse of home. Had it been day-time the blinds would -have told their tale; now it was the light he watched. -</p> -<p> -Dark on the upper floors; no sick light burning... have mercy... then the -blood came back to his heart with a rush. How could he have forgotten? -</p> -<p> -Their room was at the back for quietness, and it might still be well. Some -one had been watching, for the door was instantly opened, but he could not -see the servant's face. -</p> -<p> -A doctor came forward and beckoned him to go into the study.... -</p> -<p> -It seemed as if his whole nature had been smitten with insensibility, for -he knew everything without words, and yet he heard the driver demanding -his fare, and noticed that the doctor had been reading the evening paper -while he waited; he saw the paragraph about that seat What work those -doctors have to do.... -</p> -<p> -“It was an hour ago... we were amazed that she lived so long; with any -other woman it would have been this morning; but she was determined to -live till you came home. -</p> -<p> -“It was not exactly will-power, for she was the gentlest patient I ever -had; it was”—the doctor hesitated—a peremptory Scotchman -hiding a heart of fire beneath a coating of ice—“it was simply -love.” - </p> -<p> -When the doctor had folded up the evening paper, and laid it on a side -table, which took some time, he sat down opposite that fixed, haggard -face, which had not yet been softened by a tear. -</p> -<p> -“Yes, I'll tell you everything if you desire me; perhaps it will relieve -your mind; and Mrs. Trevor said you would wish to know, and I must be here -to receive you. Her patience and thoughtfulness were marvellous. -</p> -<p> -“I attend many very clever and charming women, but I tell you, Mr. Trevor, -not one has so impressed me as your wife. Her self-forgetfulness passed -words; she thought of every one except herself; why, one of the last -things she did was to give directions about your room; she was afraid you -might feel the change from the Riviera. But that is by the way, and these -things are not my business. -</p> -<p> -“From the beginning I was alarmed, and urged that you should be sent for; -but she pledged me not to write; you needed your holiday, she said, and it -must not be darkened with anxiety. -</p> -<p> -“She spoke every day about your devotion and unselfishness; how you wished -her to go with you, but she had to stay with the boy.... -</p> -<p> -“The turn for the worse? it was yesterday morning, and I had Sir Reginald -at once. We agreed that recovery was hopeless, and I telegraphed to you -without delay. -</p> -<p> -“We also consulted whether she ought to be told, and Sir Reginald said, -'Certainly; that woman has no fear, for she never thinks of herself, and -she will want to leave messages.' -</p> -<p> -“'If we can only keep her alive till to-morrow afternoon,' he said, and -you will like to remember that everything known to the best man in London -was done. Sir Reginald came back himself unasked to-day, because he -remembered a restorative that might sustain the failing strength. She -thanked him so sweetly that he was quite shaken; the fact is, that both of -us would soon have played the fool. But I ought not to trouble you with -these trifles at this time, only as you wanted to know all.... -</p> -<p> -“Yes, she understood what we thought before I spoke, and only asked when -you would arrive. 'I want to say “Good-bye,” and then I will be ready,' -but perhaps.... -</p> -<p> -“'Tell you everything?' That is what I am trying to do, and I was here -nearly all day, for I had hoped we might manage to fulfil her wish. -</p> -<p> -“No, she did not speak much, for we enjoined silence and rest as the only -chance; but she had your photograph on her pillow, and some flowers you -had sent. -</p> -<p> -“They were withered, and the nurse removed them when she was sleeping; but -she missed them, and we had to put them in her hands. 'My husband was so -thoughtful.' -</p> -<p> -“This is too much for you, I see; it is simply torture. Wait till -to-morrow.... -</p> -<p> -“Well, if you insist Expecting a letter... yes... let me recollect... No, -I am not hiding anything, but you must not let this get upon your mind. -</p> -<p> -“We would have deceived her, but she knew the hour of the Continental -mails, and could detect the postman's ring. Once a letter came, and she -insisted upon seeing it in case of any mistake. But it was only an -invitation for you, I think, to some country house. -</p> -<p> -“It can't be helped now, and you ought not to vex yourself; but I believe -a letter would have done more for her than... What am I saying now? -</p> -<p> -“As she grew weaker she counted the hours, and I left her at four full of -hope. 'Two hours more and he'll be here,' and by that time she had your -telegram in her hand. -</p> -<p> -“When I came back the change had come, and she said, 'It's not God's will; -bring Bertie.' -</p> -<p> -“So she kissed him, and said something to him, but we did not listen. -After the nurse had carried him out—for he was weeping bitterly, -poor little chap—she whispered to me to get a sheet of paper and sit -down by her bedside.... I think it would be better... very well, I will -tell you all. -</p> -<p> -“I wrote what she dictated with her last breath, and I promised you would -receive it from her own hand, and so you will. She turned her face to the -door and lay quite still till about six, when I heard her say your name -very softly, and a minute afterwards she was gone, without pain or -struggle.”... -</p> -<p> -She lay as she had died, waiting for his coming, and the smile with which -she had said his name was still on her face. It was the first time she did -not colour with joy at his coming, that her hand was cold to his touch. He -kissed her, but his heart was numbed, and he could not weep. -</p> -<p> -Then he took her letter and read it beside that silence. -</p> -<p> -“Dearest,— -</p> -<p> -“They tell me now that I shall not live to see you come in and to cast my -arms once more round your neck before we part Be kind to Bertie, and -remember that he is delicate and shy. He will miss me, and you will be -patient with him for my sake. Give him my watch, and do not let him forget -me. My locket with your likeness I would like left on my heart. You will -never know how much I have loved you, for I could never speak. You have -been very good to me, and I want you to know that I am grateful; but it is -better perhaps that I should die, for I might hinder you in your future -life. Forgive me because I came short of what your wife should have been. -None can ever love you better. You will take these poor words from a dead -hand, but I shall see you, and I shall never cease to love you, to follow -your life, to pray for you—my first, my only love.” - </p> -<p> -The fountains within him were broken, and he flung himself down by the -bedside in an agony of repentance. -</p> -<p> -“Oh, if I had known before; but now it is too late, too late!” - </p> -<p> -For we sin against our dearest not because we do not love, but because we -do not imagine. -</p> -<h3> -II -</h3> -<p> -Maud Trevor was a genuine woman, and kept her accounts with the aid of six -purses. One was an ancient housewife of her grandmother's, which used to -be equipped with silk and thread and needles and buttons, and from a -secret place yielded to the third generation a bank note of value. This -capacious receptacle was evidently intended for the household exchequer, -whose transactions were innumerable, and whose monthly budget depended for -success on an unfailing supply of copper. Another had come from her -mother, and was of obsolete design—a bag closed at both extremities, -with a long narrow slit in the middle, and two rings which compressed the -gold into one end and the silver into the other. This was marked out by -Providence for charity, since it made no provision for pennies, and laid a -handicap of inconvenience on threepenny bits. It retained a subtle trace -of an old-fashioned scent her mother loved, and recalled her mother going -out on some errand of mercy—a St Clare in her sacrifices and -devotion. Purse three descended from her father, and was an incarnation of -business—made of chamois leather with a steel clasp that closed with -a click, having three compartments within, one of which had its own clasp -and was reserved for gold. In this bank Maud kept the funds of a clothing -society, whose more masterly bargains ran sometimes into farthings, and -she was always haunted with anxiety lest a new farthing and a -half-sovereign should some day change places. A pretty little purse with -ivory sides and silver hinges—a birthday gift of her girlhood—was -large enough to hold her dress allowance, which Trevor had fixed at a most -generous rate when he had barely four hundred a year, and had since -forgotten to increase. One in sealskin had been a gift of engagement days, -and held the savings of the year against birthday and Christmas presents—whose -contents were the subject of many calculations. A cast-off purse of -Trevor's had been devoted to Bertie, and from its resources came one way -or other all he needed; but it happened that number six was constantly -reinforced from the purse with the ivory sides. -</p> -<p> -Saturday afternoon was sacred to book-keeping, and Maud used her bed as a -table for this critical operation, partly because it was so much larger -than an escritoire, but chiefly because you could empty the purses into -little pools with steep protecting banks. Of course if one sat down -hurriedly there was great danger of amalgamation, with quite hopeless -consequences; and Trevor held over Maud's head the chance of his making -this mistake. It was his way, before he grew too busy, to watch till the -anxious face would suddenly brighten and a rapid change be made in the -pools—the household contributing something to presents and the dress -purse to Bertie, while private and public charity would accommodate each -other with change. Caresses were strictly forbidden in those times of -abstruse calculation, and the Evil One who stands at every man's elbow -once tempted Trevor to roll the counterpane into a bundle—purses, -money, and all—but Maud, when he confessed, said that no human being -would be allowed to fall into such wickedness. -</p> -<p> -Trevor was obliged to open her wardrobe, fourteen days after the funeral, -and the first thing he lighted upon was the purses. They lay in a row on -an old account-book—a motley set indeed—but so absurd and -tricky a spirit is pathos, they affected him more swiftly than the sight -of a portrait Was ever any one so faithful and conscientious, so -self-forgetful and kind, so capable also and clever in her own sphere? -Latterly he had sneered at the purses, and once, being vexed at something -in a letter, he had told Maud she ought to have done with that folly and -keep her accounts like an educated woman. “A girl of twelve would be -ashamed.”... What a merciless power memory wields. She only drooped her -head,... it was on the sealskin purse the tear fell, and at once he saw -the bend of the Wye at Tintern where he had surprised her with the gift of -that purse. He was moved to kiss away that tear, but his heart hardened. -Why could she not be like the women he knew?... Well, he would not be -troubled any longer with her simple ways... he could do as he pleased now -with the purses.... A bitter madness of grief took possession of him, and -he arranged them on the bed. -</p> -<p> -One was empty, the present purse, and he understood... the dress purse, of -course, a little silver only... the rest had gone that he might have -something beautiful.... He knew that it must be done sooner or later, and -to-day was best, for his heart could be no sorer.... Yes, here they were, -the ungiven gifts. For every person, from himself to the nurse; all -wrapped in soft white paper and ready in good time.... She used to arrange -everything on Christmas Eve... this year he had intended to stay at -Cannes,... there would just have been Bertie and his mother, now... But he -must open it—an inkstand for his study in solid brass, with pens and -other things complete—he noted every detail as if to estimate its -value. It came back to him how she had cunningly questioned him about his -needs before he left for Cannes, till he grew impatient. “Don't bother me -about ink-bottles,” Yes, the very words, and others... the secret writing -of memory came out in this fire of sorrow. “Why won't women understand -that a man can't answer questions about trifles when he has work on hand?” - He could swear to the words, and he knew how Maud looked, although he did -not see. -</p> -<p> -“Don't go away; you promised that you would sit beside me when I worked—hinder -me? I suppose you are bidding for a kiss; you know the sight of your face -inspires me.”... That was ten years ago... he might have borne with her -presence a little longer.... She never would come again... he would have -no interruptions of that kind.... -</p> -<p> -Her gloves, sixes—what a perfect hand it was (smoothes out the -glove). His memory brings up a dinner table. Mrs. Chatterby gives her -opinion on Meredith's last novel, and helps herself to salt—he sees -a disgusting hand, with stumpy fingers, and, for impudence, a street arab -of a thumb. A vulgar little woman through and through, and yet because she -picked up scraps from the monthlies, and had the trick of catch-words, -people paid her court And he had sometimes thought, but he knew better -to-day... of all things in the world a glove is the surest symbol. Mended, -too, very neatly... that he might have his hansoms. -</p> -<p> -It was the last thing he ever could have imagined, and yet it must be a -diary—Maud's diary! Turns over the leaves, and catches that woman's -name against whom he has suddenly taken a violent dislike. -</p> -<p> -“January 25. Was at Mrs. Chatterby's—how strange one does not say -anything of her husband—yet he is the nicer of the two—and I -think it will be better not to go again to dinner. One can always make -some excuse that will not be quite untrue. -</p> -<p> -“'The dinner is in honour of Mr. Fynical, who is leaving his College and -coming to live in London, to do literary work.' as Mrs. Chatterby has been -explaining for weeks, 'and to give tone to the weeklies.' -</p> -<p> -“'The younger men are quite devoted to him, and we ought all to be so -thankful that he is to be within reach. His touch reminds one of,'—I -don't know the French writer, but she does not always give the same name. -'We hope to see a great deal of him. So delightfully cynical, you know, -and hates the bourgeoisie.' -</p> -<p> -“I was terrified lest I should sit next Mr. Fynical, but Mrs. Chatterby -was merciful, and gave me Janie Godfrey's father. Edward says that he is a -very able man, and will be Lord Chancellor some day, but he is so quiet -and modest, that one feels quite at home with him. Last summer he was -yachting on the west coast of Scotland, and he described the sunset over -the Skye hills; and I tried to give him a Devonshire sunrise. We both -forgot where we were, and then Mrs. Chatterby asked me quite loud, so that -every one looked, what I thought of 'Smudges.' -</p> -<p> -“The dinner-table seemed to wait for my answer, and I wish that the book -had never come from the library, but I said that I had sent it back -because it seemed so bitter and cruel, and one ought to read books which -showed the noble side of life. -</p> -<p> -“'You are one of the old-fashioned women,' she replied. 'You believe in a -novel for the young person,' with a smile that hurt me, and I told her -that I had been brought up on Sir Walter Scott I was trying to say -something about his purity and chivalry, when I caught Mr. Fynical's eye, -and blushed red. If I had only been silent,—for I'm afraid every one -was laughing, and Edward did not say one word to me all the way home. -</p> -<p> -“February 20. Another ordeal, but not so unfortunate as the last. The -Browne-Smythes are very kind friends, but I do think they are too much -concerned about having clever people at their house. One evening Mrs. -Browne-Smythe said she was happy because nothing had been talked about -except translations of Homer. A certain guest was so miserable on that -occasion that I begged Edward to leave me at home this time, but he said -it would not be Greek again. It was science, however, and when we came in -Mrs. Browne-Smythe was telling a very learned-looking person that she -simply lived for fossils. A young lady beside me was talking about gases -to a nervous man, who grew quite red, and tried to escape behind a table. -I think she was wrong in her words, and he was too polite to correct her. -To my horror, he was obliged to take me in to dinner, and there never -could have been two people more deserving of pity, for I was terrified of -his knowledge, and he was afraid of my ignorance. We sat in perfect -silence till a fatherly old man, quite like a farmer, on my left, began to -talk to me so pleasantly that I described our country people, and was -really sorry when the ladies had to leave. Edward says that he is one of -the greatest discoverers in the world, and has all kinds of honours. We -became so friendly that he has promised to take tea with me, and I think -he does not despise my simplicity. How I long to be cleverer for Edward's -sake, for I'm sure he must be ashamed of me among those brilliant women. I -cannot blame him: I am proud of my husband. -</p> -<p> -“May 15. I am quite discouraged, and have resolved never to go to any -charitable committee again. Miss Tabitha Primmer used shameful language at -the Magdalene meeting to-day, and Mrs. Wood-Ruler showed me that I had -broken Law 43 by giving a poor girl personal aid. It seems presumptuous on -my part to criticise such able and diligent workers, but my mother never -spoke about certain subjects, and it is agony for me to discuss them. When -the vicar insisted on Sunday that thoughtful women were required for -Christian service to-day, and that we must read up all kinds of books and -know all kinds of painful things, my heart sank. It does not seem as if -there was any place left for simple folk like me. Perhaps it would be -better to give up going out altogether, and live for Edward and Bertie. I -can always do something for them, and their love will be enough reward. -</p> -<p> -“Nov. 30 I have not slept all night, for I made a dreadful mistake about a -new book that every one is reading, and Edward was so angry. He did not -mean all he said, but he never called me a fool before. Perhaps he is -right, and it is hard on him, who is so bright Sometimes I wish-” And then -there was no writing, only a tear mark.... -</p> -<p> -Afterwards he opened the letters that had come since her death, and this -is what he read: -</p> -<p> -“My dear Trevor,— -</p> -<p> -“The intelligence of Mrs. Trevor's death has given me a great shock of -regret, and you will allow me to express my sympathy. Many men not given -to enthusiasm had told me of her face and goodness, and before I had seen -your wife I knew she was a very perfect type of womanliness The few times -I met her, Mrs. Trevor cast a certain spell over me—the nameless -grace of the former days—and I felt myself unworthy in her presence. -Once when a silly woman referred to one of the most miserable examples of -decadent fiction, your wife spoke so nobly of true literature that I was -moved to thank her, but I gathered from her face that this would not be -acceptable. It seemed to me that the mask had fallen from a beautiful -soul, and one man at least, in whom there is too little reverence, took -the shoes from off his feet. Pardon me if I have exceeded, and -</p> -<p> -“Believe me, -</p> -<p> -“Yours faithfully, -</p> -<p> -“Bernard Fynical.” - </p> -<p> -The next was from the F.R.S. -</p> -<p> -“My dear Sir,— -</p> -<p> -“It is quite wrong for me, a stranger, to intrude on your grief, but I am -compelled to tell you that an old fellow who only spoke to your wife once, -had to wipe his spectacles over the <i>Times</i> this morning. It came -about this way. The lady I had taken in to dinner at the Browne-Smythes -gabbled about science till I lost my temper, and told her it would be a -good thing if women would keep to their own sphere. Your wife was on the -other side, and I turned to her in despair. She delighted me by confessing -utter ignorance of my subject, and then she won my heart by some of the -loveliest stories of peasant life in Devonshire I ever heard, so full of -insight and delicacy. If the parsons preached like that I would be in -church next Sunday. She put me in mind of a sister I lost long ago—who -had the same low, soft voice and honest, trusty eyes. When she found I was -a lonely man, your wife had pity on me, and asked me to call on her. But I -had to go to America, and only returned two days ago. I intended to wish -her a Happy New Year, but it's too late. I cannot get you out of my mind, -and I thought it might comfort you to know how a fossil like myself was -melted by that kind heart “Believe me, my dear sir, -</p> -<p> -“Your obedient servant, -</p> -<p> -“Archibald Gilmore.” - </p> -<p> -The third was also from a man, but this time a lad in rooms whom Trevor -had seen at the house. -</p> -<p> -“Dear Mr. Trevor,— -</p> -<p> -“You perhaps know that Mrs. Trevor allowed me to spend an hour with her of -an evening, when I felt downhearted or had any trouble, but no one will -ever know how much she did for me. When I came up to London my faith began -to go, and I saw that in a short time I would be an Agnostic. This did not -trouble me so much on my own account as my mother's, who is dead, and made -me promise something on her death-bed. So I bought books and heard sermons -on unbelief till I was quite sick of the whole business. Mrs. Trevor took -me to hear your own clergyman, who did not help me one bit, for he was too -clever and logical; but you remember I came home with you, and after you -had gone to your study I told Mrs. Trevor my difficulties, and she did me -more good than all the books. She never argued nor preached, but when I -was with her one felt that religion was a reality, and that she knew more -about it than any one I had met since I lost my mother. It is a shame to -trouble you with my story when you are in such sorrow, and no one need -tell you how noble a woman Mrs. Trevor was; but I could not help letting -you know that her goodness has saved one young fellow at least from -infidelity and worse. -</p> -<p> -“You will not mind my having sent a cross to put on the coffin; it was all -I could do. -</p> -<p> -“Yours gratefully, -</p> -<p> -“George Benson.” - </p> -<p> -There was neither beginning nor end to the fourth letter, but it was -written in a lady's hand. -</p> -<p> -“I am a clergyman's daughter, who left her father's house, and went -astray. I have been in the Inferno, and have seen what I read in <i>Dante</i> -while I was innocent One day the old rectory rose up before my eyes—the -roses hanging over my bedroom window; the birds flying in and out the ivy; -my father on the lawn, aged and broken through my sin—and I resolved -that my womanhood should no longer be dragged in the mire. My home was -closed years ago, I had no friends, so I went in my desperation to a -certain Institute, and told my case to a matron. She was not unkindly, but -the committee were awful, without either sympathy or manners; and when an -unmarried woman wished to pry into the details of my degradation—but -I can't tell a man the shame they would have put upon me—my heart -turned to flint, and I left the place. I would have gone back to my life -and perished had it not been for one woman who followed me out, and asked -me to go home with her for afternoon tea. Had she said one word about my -past, I had flung myself away; but because she spoke to me as if I were -still in the rectory, I could not refuse. Mrs. Trevor never once mentioned -my sin, and she saved my soul. I am now a nurse in one of the hospitals, -and full of peace. As long as I live I shall lay white flowers on her -grave, who surely was the wisest and tenderest of women.” Trevor's -fortitude was failing fast before this weight of unconscious condemnation, -and he was only able to read one more—an amazing production, that -had cost the writer great pains. -</p> -<p> -“Honoured Sir,— -</p> -<p> -“Bill says as it's tyking too much on the likes o' me to be addressing you -on your missus' death, but it's not her husband that will despise a pore -working woman oo's lost her best friend. When Bill 'ad the rumatiks, and -couldn't do no work, and Byby was a-growing that thin you could see thro' -'im, Mrs. Byles says to me, 'Mrs. 'Awkes, you goes to the Society for the -Horganisation of Female Toilers.' Says I, 'Wot is that?' and she declares, -'It's a set of ladies oo wants to'elp women to work, and they 'ill see you -gets it' So I goes, and I saw a set of ladies sitting at a table, and they -looks at me; and one with spectacles, and a vice like an 'and-saw, arsks -me, 'Wot's yer name?' and ''Ow old are you?' and ''Ow many children have -you?' and 'Are your 'abits temperate?' And then she says, 'If you pay a -shilling we 'ill put your nyme down for work has an unskilled worker.' 'I -'avn't got a shilling, and Byby's dyin' for want of food.' 'This ain't a -Poor 'ouse,' says she; 'this is a Booro.' When I wos a-going down the -stairs, a lady comes after me. 'Don't cry, Mrs. 'Awkes,' for she had -picked up my name. 'I've some charring for you, and we'ill go to get -something for Byby.' If ever there wos a hangel in a sealskin jacket and a -plain little bonnet, but the true lady hall hover, 'er name was Mrs. -Trevor. Bill, he looked up from that day, and wos on his keb in a week, -and little Jim is the biggest byby in the court. Mrs. Trevor never rested -till I got three hoffices to clean, to say nothing of 'elping at cleanings -and parties in 'ouses. She wos that kind, too, and free, when she'd come -hin with noos of some hoffice. 'We're horganisin' you, Missus 'Awkes, just -splendid,' with the prettiest bit smile. Bill, he used to say, ''Er -'usband's a proud man, for I never saw the like o' her for a downright -lady in 'er wys'—and 'e knows, does Bill, being a kebman. When I -told 'im he wos that bad that'e never put a match to 'is pipe the'ole -night 'Mariar,' 'e says to me, 'you an' me 'as seen some think of her, but -you bet nobody knew what a saint she wos 'xcept 'er 'usband.'”... -</p> -<p> -Trevor could read no more, for it had dawned at last upon him that Christ -had lived with him for more than ten years, and his eyes had been holden. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S -</h2> -<h3> -I -</h3> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was in the sixties that a southern distiller, who had grown rich -through owning many public-houses and much selling of bad gin, bought -Glenalder from its poverty-stricken laird, and cleared out the last of the -Macdonalds from Lochaber. They arose and departed on a fine spring day, -when the buds were bursting on the trees, and the thorn was white as snow, -and the birds were bringing forth their young, and the heather was -beginning to bloom. Early in the morning, while the grass was yet wet with -dew and the sun had not come over the hill, Ian Dhu, at the head of the -Glen, with his brothers and their families, their sons and their sons' -wives, began the procession, which flowed as a stream of sorrow by the -side of the Alder, all the day, gathering its rivulets from every forsaken -home. When it reached the poor little clachan, where were the kirk and the -graveyard, the emigrants halted, and leaving their goods upon the road -went in to worship God for the last time in Glenalder kirk. A very humble -sanctuary, with earthen floor and bare benches, and mightily despised by -the kind of southron who visited the new laird's mansion, but beautiful -and holy to those who had been baptised there, and married there, and sat -with their heart's love there, and who, in that place, but after many -years and in old age, had received the sacrament. When they were all in -their places, the minister of the Glen, who would fain have gone with -them, but was now too old, ascended the pulpit and spake to them from the -words, “He went out, not knowing whither he went,” charging them never to -forget their native country nor their fathers' faith, beseeching them to -trust in God and do righteousness, calling them all kinds of tender names -in the warm Gaelic speech, till they fell a-weeping, men and women -together, and the place was full of lamentation. After which Alister -Macdonald, who had been through the Crimean War and the Mutiny, and now -was a catechist great in opening mysteries, committed them to the care of -their fathers' God. They would hardly leave the kirk, and the sun was -westering fast when they came to the elbow of the hill where the traveller -gets his last look of the Glen. There they sang “If I forget thee, O -Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning,” but it was Glenalder -they meant, a parcel of whose earth each family carried with them into -exile; and as the pipes played “Lochaber no more” they went away for ever -from the land they loved and which had cast them forth. For an hour the -minister and Alister, with a handful of old people, watched their kinsfolk -till they could see them no more, and then they went back, no one speaking -with his neighbour, to the empty Glen. -</p> -<p> -Besides the huge staring castle, with its lodges, built by the foreigner, -there are only some twenty houses now in all bonnie Glenalder. Tourists -venturing from the main road come, here and there, across a little heap of -stones and the remains of a garden, with some patches of bright green -still visible among the heather. It is the memorial of a home where -generation after generation of well-built, clean-blooded, God-fearing -Highland folk were raised. From those humble cottages went up morning and -evening the psalm of praise to God. From them also came hardy men to fill -the ranks of the Highland regiments, who had tasted none of the city vices -and did not know what fear was. Nor were they a fierce or morose people, -for the Glen sounded of a summer evening with the sound of the pipes, -playing reels and strathspeys, and in the winter time the minister would -lend his barn for a dance, saying, like the shrewd man he was, “The more -dancing the less drinking.” The very names of those desolate homesteads -and the people that lived therein are now passing out of mind in -Glenalder, but away in North-West Canada there is a new Glenalder, where -every name has been reproduced, and the cuttings of the brier roses bloom -every year in memory of the land that is “far awa.” And if any man from -Lochaber, or for that matter from any part of Scotland, lights on this -place, it will be hard for him to get away from the warm hearts that are -there, and he must depart a better man after hearing the kindly speech and -seeing the sword dance once more. -</p> -<p> -While the exiles halted on the elbow of the hill, each man, woman and -child, according to his size and strength, carried a stone from the -hillside and placed it on a heap that grew before their eyes, till it made -a rough pyramid. This was called the Cairn of Remembrance, and as often as -any one of the scanty remnant left the Glen to go south it was a custom -that his friends should accompany him to this spot and bid him farewell, -where the past pledged him to love and faithfulness. It was here therefore -that Henry Rutherford parted from Magdalen Macdonald as he went to his -last session at the Divinity Hall. -</p> -<p> -“It's four years since I came first to Glenalder to teach the school in -the summer-time, Magdalen, an' little I thought then I would ever be so -near the ministry or win my sweetheart in the Glen.” They were sitting on -a heather bank below the cairn, and as he spoke his arm slipped round her -waist He was a typical Scot, with bony frame, broad shoulders, strong -face, deep-set eyes of grey, and the somewhat assertive and -self-sufficient manner of his race. She was of the finest type of Highland -beauty, with an almost perfect Grecian face, fair hair dashed with gold, -eyes of the blue of the Highland lochs, and a queenly carriage of head and -body. Deep-bosomed and unfettered by fashionable city dress, with strong -hand and firm foot, she had the swinging gait and proud independence of -the free hill woman. -</p> -<p> -“Had it not been for you,” he went on, “I had never persevered; it was -your faith put strength in me and hope, and then... the help you gave me; -I can never forget or repay you. To think that you should have slaved that -I should have books and—better food.” - </p> -<p> -“Hush, I command you, for I will not be hearing another word, and if you -are saying more I will be very angry. It is not good that any man should -be a minister and not keep his word. And the day I gave you the purse with -the two or three pieces of gold you made a promise never to speak about -that day again. It is not many quarrels we have had, Henry, and some will -be good quarrels, for afterward we were loving each other more than ever. -But it was not good when you would lay the bits of gold on that very stone -there—for I am seeing them lie in the hollow—and say hot words -to me.” - </p> -<p> -“Magdalen, I put the purse itself in my breast, and I loved you more than -ever for your thought of me and your sacrifice, and I wanted to kiss you, -and... you ordered me to stand off, and your eyes were blazing. Lassie, -you looked like a tigress; I was feared of you.” - </p> -<p> -“It was not for me to have my gifts given back, and if I was driving home -the cows and milking the white milk into the pail, and churning the sweet -yellow butter, all that my love should not be wanting anything, it is not -for him to be so proud and mighty.” - </p> -<p> -“But I did take your kindness at last, and it was more than two or three -pounds, and so it was you that sent me to Germany. You gave me my -learning, and some day, when we're in our manse together, I'll show you -all my books and try... to repay your love.” - </p> -<p> -“Henry, it will come over me at times in the twilight, when strange sights -are seen, that we shall never be together in our house. Oh, yes, I have -seen a room with books round the walls, and you will be sitting there, but -I am not seeing any Magdalen. Wait a minute, for there will be another -sight, and I am not understanding it. It is not this land, but where it -will be I do not know; but I will be there in a beautiful room, and I will -be in rich dress, but I am not seeing you. -</p> -<p> -“Do not speak.” She rose up and looked at Rutherford, holding him at arm's -length, with her hand upon his shoulder. “Have you got the broken piece?” - He thrust his hand into his breast, and showed the jagged half of a common -penny hung round his neck by a blue ribbon. -</p> -<p> -“My half will be here”—Magdalen touched her bosom—“but maybe -it will be better for me to give you it, and then... you will be free; -each of us... must drink the cup that is mixed. The visions will be very -clear, though I have not the second sight.” - </p> -<p> -“What is the meaning of all this talk, Magdalen?” Rutherford's face was -pale, and his voice vibrated. “Are you tired of me because I am not bonnie -of face, but only a plain Scot, or is it that you will not wait till I win -a home for you, or have you seen another man—some glib English -sportsman?” - </p> -<p> -“God forgive you, Henry Rutherford, for saying such words; is it Alister -Macdonald's granddaughter that would play her lover false? Then let him -drive the skean dhu into her heart.” - </p> -<p> -“Then it is me you suspect, and it is not what I have deserved at your -hands, Magdalen. A Scot may seem cold and hard, but he can be 'siccar,' -and if I keep not my troth with you, and deal not by you as you have by -me, then may God be my judge and do unto me as I have done unto you.” - </p> -<p> -They looked into one another's eyes, and then tears put out the fire in -hers, and she spoke with a wail in her voice. -</p> -<p> -“This is all very foolish talk, and it is this girl that will be sorry -after you are gone and I am sitting lonely, watching the sun go down. But -it was a thought that would be coming over my mind, for you will be -remembering that I am a Highlander; but it is not that you will not be -faithful to me or I to you, oh, no, and I have put it away, my love. Now -may God be keeping you”—and she took his hand—“and prospering -you in all your work, till you have your heart's desire in knowledge and -everything... that would be good for you. This is the prayer Magdalen -Macdonald will be offering for you every morning and night and all the day -when it is winter-time and the snow is heavy in Glenalder.” Then she -kissed him full upon the lips as in a sacrament, and looking back he saw -her standing against the evening light, the perfect figure of a woman, and -she waved to him, whom he was not to see again for ten long years. -</p> -<h3> -II -</h3> -<p> -“Just ventured to look in for a single minute, Mr. Rutherford, at the -close of this eventful day, to say how thankful we all are that you were -so wonderfully sustained. But you are busy—making notes for next -Sabbath, perhaps—and I must not interrupt you. We must keep -ourselves open to the light; in my small way I find there are times when -the thoughts just drop upon one. If we were more lifted above the world -they would come oftener, far oftener.” - </p> -<p> -A very “sleekit” personage indeed, as they say in Scotland, with a suave -manner, a sickly voice, and ways so childish that simple people thought -him almost silly; but those who happened to have had deals with him in -business formed quite another opinion, and expressed it in language -bordering on the libellous. -</p> -<p> -“Will you be seated?” Rutherford laid aside a letter beginning “Dearest -Magdalen,” and telling how it had fared with him on his first Sunday in St -Bede's, Glasgow, W., a kirk which contained many rich people and thought -not a little of itself. “You have a meeting on Sunday evening, I think you -said. I hope it was successful.” - </p> -<p> -“There was blessing to-night, I am sure. I felt the power myself. Lord -Dunderhead was passing through Glasgow and gave the address. It was on -'The Badgers' Skins* of the Tabernacle, and was very helpful. And -afterward we had a delightful little 'sing.*' You know his lordship?” - </p> -<p> -“No, I never saw him,” said Rutherford shortly, with a Scot's democratic -prejudice against religious snobbery, forgetting that people who will not -listen to a reasoned discourse from a clergyman will crowd to the simplest -utterance of a lord. -</p> -<p> -“You will allow me to introduce you on Tuesday evening; you got Mrs. -Thompson's card. I hope we may have a profitable gathering. Captain -Footyl, the hussar evangelist, will also be present—a truly -delightful and devoted young man.” Rutherford had not forgotten the card— -</p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> -Mr. and Mrs. Thompson - -At Home Tuesday, May 2nd, - -To meet Lord Dunderhead who will give a Bible Reading. - -8 to 10.30 Evening Dress. -</pre> -<p> -And had sent it off to his college friend, Carmichael of Drumtochty, with -a running commentary of a very piquant character. -</p> -<p> -“Thank you, but I fear that my work will prevent me being with you on -Tuesday; it is no light thing for a man to come straight from college to -St Bede's without even a holiday.” - </p> -<p> -“So sorry, but by-and-bye you will come to one of our little meetings. -Mrs. Thompson greatly enjoyed your sermon to young men this afternoon; -perhaps just a little too much of works and too little of faith. Excuse -the hint—you know the danger of the day—all life, life; but -that's a misleading test By the way, we are all hoping that you may get -settled in a home as well as in your church,” continued Mr. Thompson, with -pious waggery, and then chilling at the want of sympathy on the minister's -face; “but that is a serious matter, and we trust you may be wisely -guided. A suitable helpmeet is a precious gift.” - </p> -<p> -“Perhaps you may not have heard, Mr. Thompson, that I am engaged”—and -Rutherford eyed the elder keenly,—“and to a girl of whom any man and -any congregation may be proud. I am going north next week to see her and -to settle our marriage day.” - </p> -<p> -“I am so pleased to hear you say so, and so will all the elders be, for I -must tell you that a rumour came to our ears that gave us great concern; -but I said we must not give heed to gossip, for what Christian has not -suffered in this way at the hand of the world?” - </p> -<p> -“What was the gossip?” demanded Rutherford, and there was that in his tone -that brooked no trifling. -</p> -<p> -“You must not take this to heart, dear Mr. Rutherford; it only shows how -we ought to set a watch upon our lips. Well that you were to marry a young -woman in Glen—Glen——” - </p> -<p> -“Alder. Go on,” said Rutherford. “Yes, in Glenalder, where we all rejoice -to know you did so good a work.” - </p> -<p> -“I taught a dozen children in the summer months to eke out my living. But -about the young woman—what did they say of her?” - </p> -<p> -“Nothing at all, except that she was, perhaps, hardly in that position of -society that a clergyman's wife ought to be, especially one in the west -end of Glasgow. But do not let us say anything more of the matter; it just -shows how the great enemy is ever trying to create dissension and injure -the work.” - </p> -<p> -“What you have heard is perfectly true, except that absurd reference to -Glasgow, and I have the honour to inform you, as I intend to inform the -elders on my return next week, that I hope to be married in a month or two -to Magdalen Macdonald, who was brought up by her grandfather, Alister -Macdonald of the Black Watch, and who herself has a little croft in -Glenalder”—and Rutherford challenged Mr. Thompson, expounder of -Scripture and speculator in iron, to come on and do his worst “Will you -allow me, my dear young friend, to say that there is no necessity for -this... heat, and to speak with you as one who has your... best Interests -at heart, and those of St. Bede's. I feel it to be a special providence -that I should have called this evening.” - </p> -<p> -“Well?” insisted Rutherford. -</p> -<p> -“What I feel, and I have no doubt you will agree with me, is that -Christians must not set themselves against the arrangements of Providence, -and you see we are set in classes for a wise purpose. We are all equal -before God, neither 'bond nor free,' as it runs, but it is expedient that -the minister of St Bede's should marry in his own position. There are many -sacrifices we must make for our work's sake; and, oh, Mr. Rutherford, what -care we have to take lest we cast a stumbling-block in the way of others! -It was only last week that a valued fellow-worker begged me to invite a -young lady to my little drawing-room meeting who was concerned about -spiritual things. 'Nothing would give me greater pleasure,' I said, 'if it -would help her; but it is quite impossible, and you would not have asked -me had you known her history. Her father was a shopkeeper, and in the -present divided state of society I dare not introduce her among the -others, all wholesale without exception.' You will not misunderstand me, -Mr. Rutherford?” - </p> -<p> -“You have stated the case admirably, Mr. Thompson, and from your -standpoint in religion, I think, conclusively. Perhaps the Sermon on the -Mount might...; but we won't go into that Before deciding, however, what -is my duty, always with your aid, you might like to see the face of my -betrothed. There, in that light.” - </p> -<p> -“Really quite beautiful, and I can easily understand; we were all young -once and... impressionable. As good-looking as any woman in St Bede's? -Excuse me, that is hardly a question to discuss. Grace does not go with -looks. We all know that beauty is deceitful. Knows the poets better than -you do, I dare say. There is a nurse of my sister's, a cabman's daughter—I -beg your pardon for dropping the photograph; you startled me. But you will -excuse me saying that it is not this kind of knowledge... well, culture, -which fits a woman to be a minister's wife. Addressing a mothers' meeting -is far more important than reading poetry. Highland manners more graceful -than Glasgow? That is a very extraordinary comparison, and... can do no -good. Really no one can sympathise with you more than I do, but I am quite -clear as to your duty as a minister of the Gospel.” - </p> -<p> -“You mean”—and Rutherford spoke with much calmness—“that I -ought to break our troth. It is not a light thing to do, sir, and has -exposed both men and women to severe... criticism.” - </p> -<p> -“Certainly, if the matter be mismanaged, but I think, although it's not -for me to boast, that it could be arranged. Now, there was Dr. Drummer—this -is quite between ourselves—he involved himself with a teacher of -quite humble rank during his student days, and it was pointed out to him -very faithfully by his elders that such a union would injure his -prospects. He made it a matter of prayer, and he wrote a beautiful letter -to her, and she saw the matter in the right light, and you know what a -ministry his has been. His present wife has been a real helpmeet; her -means are large and are all consecrated.” - </p> -<p> -“Do you happen to know what became of the teacher? I only ask for -curiosity, for I know what has become of Dr. Drummer.” - </p> -<p> -“She went to England and caught some fever, or maybe it was consumption, -but at any rate she died just before the Doctor married. It was all -ordered for the best, so that there were no complications.” - </p> -<p> -“Exactly; that is evident, and my way seems now much clearer.. There is -just one question more I should like to ask. If you can answer it I shall -have no hesitation about my course. Suppose a woman loved a man and -believed in him, and encouraged him through his hard college days, and -they both were looking forward with one heart to their wedding day, and -then he—did not marry her—what would honourable men think of -him, and what effect would this deed of—prudence have on his -ministry of the Gospel?” - </p> -<p> -“My dear friend, if it were known that he had taken this step simply and -solely for the good of the cause he had at heart and after prayerful -consideration, there is no earnest man—and we need not care for the -world—who would not appreciate his sacrifice.” - </p> -<p> -“I do not believe one word you say.” Mr. Thompson smiled feebly, and began -to retire to the door at the look in Rutherford's eye. “But whether you be -right or wrong about the world in which you move, I do not know. In my -judgment, the man who acted as you describe would have only one rival in -history, and that would be Judas Iscariot.” - </p> -<h3> -III -</h3> -<p> -Southern travellers wandering over Scotland in their simplicity have a dim -perception that the Scot and the Celt are not of one kind, and, as all -racial characteristics go back to the land, they might be helped by -considering the unlikeness between a holding in Fife and a croft in a -western glen. The lowland farm stands amid its neighbours along the -highway, with square fields, trim fences, slated houses, cultivated after -the most scientific method, and to the last inch a very type of a shrewd, -thrifty, utilitarian people. The Highland farm is half a dozen patches of -as many shapes scattered along the hillside, wherever there are fewest -stones and deepest soil and no bog, and those the crofter tills as best he -can—sometimes getting a harvest and sometimes seeing the first snow -cover his oats in the sheaf, sometimes building a rude dyke to keep off -the big, brown, hairy cattle that come down to have a taste of the sweet -green corn, but often finding it best to let his barefooted children be a -fence by day, and at certain seasons to sit up all night himself to guard -his scanty harvest from the forays of the red deer. Somewhere among the -patches he builds his low-roofed house, and thatches it over with straw, -on which, by-and-bye, grass with heather and wild flowers begins to grow, -till it is not easy to tell his home from the hill. His farm is but a -group of tiny islands amid a sea of heather that is ever threatening to -overwhelm them with purple spray. Any one can understand that this man -will be unpractical, dreamy, enthusiastic, the child of the past, the hero -of hopeless causes, the seer of visions. -</p> -<p> -Magdalen had milked her cows at midday and sent them forth to pasture, and -now was sitting before her cottage among wallflower and spring lilies, -reading for the third time the conclusion of Rutherford's last letter:— -</p> -<p> -“Here I was interrupted by the coming of an elder, a mighty man in the -religious world, and very powerful in St Bede's. He tells me that -something has been heard of our engagement, and I have taken counsel with -him with the result that it seems best we should be married without delay. -After loving for four years and there being nothing to hinder, why should -you be lonely on your croft in Glenalder and I in my rooms at Glasgow? -Answer me that, 'calf of my heart' (I do not attempt the Gaelic). But you -cannot. You will only kiss the letter, since I am not at your side, and -next week I shall come north, and you will fix the day. -</p> -<p> -“My head is full of plans, and I do not think that joy will let me sleep -to-night for thinking of you and all that we shall do together. We'll be -married early in the morning in the old kirk of Glenalder, as soon as the -sun has filled the Glen and Nature has just awaked from sleep. Mona -Macdonald will be your bridesmaid, I know, and she will wear white roses -that shall not be whiter than her teeth. Yes, I have learned to notice all -beautiful things since I knew you, Magdalen. My best man will be -Carmichael of Drumtochy, who is of Highland blood himself and a goodly man -to look upon, and he has his own love-story. All the Glen will come to our -wedding, and will grudge that a Lowland Scot has spoiled the Glen of the -Flower of Dalnabreck—yes, I know what they call you. And we shall -have our breakfast in the manse, for the minister has pledged us to that, -and it is he and John Carmichael that will be making the wonderful -speeches! (You see how I've learned the style.) But you and I will leave -them and catch the steamer, and then all the long June day we shall sit on -the deck together and see distant Skye, and the little isles, and pass -Mull and Ardnamurchan, and sail through Oban Bay and down Loch Fyne, and -thread our way by Tighnabruaich, and come into the Firth of Clyde when the -sun is going down away behind Ben Alder. Won't it be a glorious marriage -day, among lochs and hills and islands the like of which travellers say -cannot be found in all the world? -</p> -<p> -“Then I want to take you to Germany, and to show you the old University -town where I lived one summer, and we will have one good day there, too, -my bride and I. Early in the morning we shall stand in the market-place, -where the women are washing clothes at the fountain and the peasants are -selling butter and fruit, and the high-gabled houses rise on three sides, -and the old Rathhaus, on whose roof the storks build their nests, makes -the fourth. We'll go to my rooms near the Kirche, where I used to write a -letter to you every day, and here is what old Frau Hepzacker will say, -'Mein Gott, der Schottlander und ein wunderschones madchen* (you will -English and Gaelic this for yourself), and we will drink a glass of -(fearfully sour) wine with her, and go out with her blessing echoing down -the street Then we will watch the rafts coming down the Neckar from the -Black Forest, and walk among the trees in the Vorstadt, where I lay and -dreamed of you far away in Glenalder. And we will go to the University -where you sent me... but that is never to be mentioned again; and the -students in their wonderful dress will come and go—red hats and -blue, besides the white, black and gold I used to wear. And in the evening -we will drive through the vines and fruit-trees to Bebenhausen, the king's -hunting-seat. And those will only be two days out of our honeymoon, -Magdalen. It seems too good to be my lot that I should be minister of -Christ's evangel—of which surely I am not worthy—and that you -should be my bride, of which I am as unworthy. Next Monday I shall leave -this smoky town and meet you at the Cairn of Remembrance on Tuesday -morning. -</p> -<p> -“Meanwhile and ever I am your faithful lover, -</p> -<p> -“Henry Rutherford.” - </p> -<p> -Magdalen kissed the name passionately and thrust the letter into her -bosom. Then she went to the edge of the heather and looked along the Glen, -where she had been born and lived her twenty-two years in peace, from -which she was so soon to go out on the most adventurous journey of life. -When a pure-bred Highland woman loves, it is once and for ever, and earth -has no more faithful wife, or mother, or daughter. And Magdalen loved -Rutherford with all her heart. But it is not given unto her blood to taste -unmixed joy, and now she was haunted with a sense of calamity. The past -flung its shadow over her, and the people that were gone came back to -their deserted homes. She heard the far-off bleating of the sheep and the -wild cry of the curlew; she crooned to herself a Gaelic song, and was so -carried away that she did not see the stranger come along the track -through the heather till he spoke. -</p> -<p> -“Good evening; may I ask whether this is eh... Dalnabreck? and have I the -pleasure of addressing Miss Macdonald?” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, I am Magdalen Macdonald”—and as she faced him in her beauty -the visitor was much abashed. “Would you be wanting to see me, sir?” - </p> -<p> -“My name is Thompson, and I have the privilege of being an elder in St -Bede's, Glasgow, and as I happened to be passing through Glenalder—just -a few days' rest after the winter's work—how the soul wears the -body!—I thought that it would be... a pleasure to... pay my respects -to one of whom I have... heard from our dear pastor. Perhaps, however,”—this -with some anxiety—“Mr. Rutherford may have mentioned my humble -name.” - </p> -<p> -“There are so many good people in St Bede's, and they are all so kind to -him, that... Henry”—the flush at her lover's name lent the last -attraction to her face and almost overcame the astute iron merchant—“will -not be able to tell me all their names. But I will be knowing them all for -myself soon, and then I will be going to thank every person for all that -has been done to... him. It is very gracious of you to be visiting a poor -Highland girl, and the road to Dalnabreck is very steep; you will come in -and rest in my house, and I will bring you milk to drink. You must be -taking care of the door, for it is low, and the windows are small because -of the winter storms; but there is room inside and a heart welcome for our -friends in our little homes. When I am bringing the milk maybe you will be -looking at the medals on the wall. They are my grandfather's, who was a -brave man and fought well in his day, and two will be my father's, who was -killed very young and had not time to get more honour.” - </p> -<p> -The elder made a hurried survey of the room, with its bits of black oak -and the arms on the wall, and the deer-skins on the floor, and bookshelves -hanging on the wall, and wild flowers everywhere; and, being an operator -so keen that he was said to know a market by scent, he changed his plan. -</p> -<p> -“I took a hundred pounds with me,” he explained afterward to a friend of -like spirit, “for a promising ministry was not to be hindered for a few -pounds! I intended to begin with fifty and expected to bring back -twenty-five, but I saw that it would have been inexpedient to offer money -to the young woman. There was no flavour of spirituality at all about her, -and she was filled with pride about war and such-like vanities. Her manner -might be called taking in worldly circles, but it was not exactly... -gentle, and she might have... been rude, quite unpleasant, if I had tried -to buy her... I mean arrange on a pecuniary basis. Ah, Juitler, how much -we need the wisdom of the serpent in this life!” - </p> -<p> -“What a position you are to occupy, my dear friend,” began the simple man, -seated before the most perfect of meals—rich milk of cows, fed on -meadow grass, yellow butter and white oat cakes set among flowers. “I -doubt not that you are often weighed down by a sense of responsibility, -and are almost afraid of the work before you. After some slight experience -in such matters I am convinced that the position of a minister's wife is -the most... I may say critical in Christian service.” - </p> -<p> -“You will be meaning that she must be taking great care of her man, and -making a beautiful home for him, and keeping away foolish people, and -standing by him when his back will be at the wall. Oh, yes, it is a -minister that needs to be loved very much, or else he will become stupid -and say bitter words, and no one will be wanting to hear him”—and -Magdalen looked across the table with joyful confidence. -</p> -<p> -“Far more than that, I'm afraid”—and Mr. Thompson's face was full of -pity. “I was thinking of the public work that falls to a minister's wife -in such a church as St Bede's, which is trying and needs much grace. The -receiving of ladies alone—Providence has been very good to our -people, twelve carriages some days at the church door—requires much -experience and wisdom. -</p> -<p> -“Mrs. Drummer, who has been much used among the better classes, has often -told me that she considered tact in society one of her most precious -talents, and I know that it was largely owing to her social gifts, -sanctified, of course, that the Doctor became such a power. Ah, yes”—and -Mr. Thompson fell into a soliloquy—“it is the wife that makes or -mars the minister.” - </p> -<p> -“Glasgow then will not be like Glenalder”—and Magdalen's face was -much troubled—“for if any woman here will tell the truth and speak -good words of people, and help when the little children are sick, and have -an open door for the stranger, then we will all be loving her, and she -will not hurt her man in anything.” - </p> -<p> -“Be thankful that you do not live in a city, Miss Macdonald, for the world -has much more power there; they that come to work are in the thick of the -battle and need great experience, but you will learn in time and maybe you -could live... quietly for a year or two... you will excuse me speaking -like this... you see it is for our beloved minister I am anxious.” - </p> -<p> -Magdalen's face had grown white, and she once or twice took a long, sad -breath. -</p> -<p> -“As regards the public work expected of a minister's wife—but I am -wearying you, I fear, and it is time to return to the inn. I cannot tell -you how much I have enjoyed this delicious milk.. -</p> -<p> -“Will you tell me about the... the other things... I want to know all.” - </p> -<p> -“Oh, it was the meetings I was thinking of, for of course, as I am sure -you know, our minister's wife is the head of the mothers' meeting. Mrs. -Drummer's addresses there were excellent, and her liberality in giving -treats—gospel treats, I mean, with tea—was eh, in fact, -queenly. And then she had a Bible-class for young ladies that was -mentioned in the religious papers.” - </p> -<p> -Magdalen had now risen and was visibly trembling. -</p> -<p> -“There is a question I would like to ask, Mister...” - </p> -<p> -“Thompson—Jabez Thompson.” - </p> -<p> -“Mister Thompson—and you will be doing a great kindness to a girl -that has never been outside Glenalder, and... is not wanting to be a -sorrow to the man she loves, if you will answer it Do you know any -minister like... your minister who married a country girl and... what -happened?” - </p> -<p> -“Really, my dear friend, I... well, if you insist, our neighbour in St -Thomas's—a very fine young fellow—did, and he was a little -hindered at first; but I am sure, in course of time, if he had waited—yes, -he left, and I hear is in the Colonies, and doing an excellent work among -the squatters, or was it the Chinese?... No, no, this is not good-bye. I -only hope I have not discouraged you.... What a lovely glen! How can we -ever make up to you for this heather?” - </p> -<p> -For three days no one saw Magdalen, but a shepherd attending to his lambs -noticed that a lamp burned every night in the cottage at Dalnabreck. When -Rutherford arrived at the cairn on Tuesday he looked in vain for Magdalen. -Old Elspeth, Magdalen's foster-mother, was waiting for him and placed a -letter in his hands, which he read in that very place where he had parted -from his betrothed. -</p> -<p> -“Dearest of my Heart,— -</p> -<p> -“It is with the tears of my soul that I am writing this letter, and it is -with cruel sorrow you will be reading it, for I must tell you that our -troth is broken and that Magdalen cannot be your wife. Do not be thinking -this day or any day that she is not loving you, for never have you been so -dear to me or been in my eyes so strong and brave and wise and good, and -do not be thinking that I do not trust you, for it is this girl knows that -you would be true to me although all the world turned against me. -</p> -<p> -“Believe me, my beloved, it is because I love you so much that I am -setting you free that you may not be put to shame because you have married -a Highland girl, who has nothing but two cows, and who does not know the -ways of cities, and who cannot speak in public places, and who can do -nothing except love. -</p> -<p> -“If it had been possible I would have been waiting for you at the Cairn of -Remembrance, and it is my eyes that ache to see you once more, but then I -would be weak and could not leave you, as is best for you. -</p> -<p> -“You will not be seeking after me, for I am going far away, and nobody can -tell you where, and this is also best for you and me. But I will be -hearing about you, and will be knowing all you do, and there will be none -so proud of you as your first love. -</p> -<p> -“And, Henry, if you meet a good woman and she loves you, then you must not -think that I will be angry when you marry her, for this would be selfish -and not right I am going away for your sake, and I will be praying that -the sun be ever shining on you and that you become a great man in the -land. One thing only I ask—that in those days you sometimes give a -thought to Glenalder and your faithful friend, -</p> -<p> -“Magdalen Macdonald.” - </p> -<h3> -IV -</h3> -<p> -“It was a first-rate match, and we were fairly beaten; it was their -forward turned the scale. I had two hacks from him myself”—the -captain of the Glasgow Football Club nursed the tender spots. “It's a -mercy to-morrow's Sunday and one can lie in bed.” - </p> -<p> -“Olive oil is not bad for rubbing. You deserve the rest, old man. It was a -stiff fight. By-the-way I saw Rutherford of St Bede's there. He cheered -like a good'un when you got that goal. He's the best parson going in -Glasgow.” - </p> -<p> -“Can't bear the tribe nor their ways, Charlie, they're such hypocrites, -always preaching against the world and that kind of thing and feathering -their own nests at every turn. Do you know I calculated that six of them -in Glasgow alone have netted a hundred and twenty thousand pounds by -successful marriages. That's what sickens a fellow at religion.” - </p> -<p> -“Well, you can't say that against Rutherford, Jack, for he's not married, -and works like a coal-heaver. He's the straightest man I've come across -either in the pulpit or out of it, besides being a ripping preacher. -Suppose you look me up to-morrow about six, and we'll hear what he's got -to say.” - </p> -<p> -His friends said that Rutherford was only thirty-four years of age, but he -looked as if he were near fifty, for his hair had begun to turn gray, and -he carried the traces of twenty years' work upon his face. No one would -have asked whether he was handsome, for he had about him an air of -sincerity and humanity that at once won your confidence. His subject that -evening was the “Sanctifying power of love,” and, as his passion gradually -increased to white heat, he had the men before him at his mercy. Women of -the world complained that he was hard and unsympathetic; some elderly men -considered his statements unguarded and even unsound; but men below thirty -heard him gladly. This evening he was stirred for some reason to the -depths of his being, and was irresistible. When he enlarged on the love of -a mother, and charged every son present to repay it by his life and -loyalty, a hundred men glared fiercely at the roof, and half of them -resolved to write home that very night. As he thundered against lust, the -foul counterfeit of love, men's faces whitened, and twice there was a -distinct murmur of applause. His great passage, however, came at the -close, and concerned the love of a man for a maid: “If it be given to any -man in his fresh youth to love a noble woman with all his heart, then in -that devotion he shall find an unfailing inspiration of holy thoughts and -high endeavours, a strong protection against impure and selfish -temptations, a secret comfort amid the contradictions and adversities of -life. Let him give this passion full play in his life and it will make a -man of him and a good soldier in the great battle. And if it so be that -this woman pass from his sight or be beyond his reach, yet in this love -itself shall he find his exceeding reward.” As he spoke in a low, sweet, -intense voice, those in the gallery saw the preacher's left hand tighten -on the side of the pulpit till the bones and sinews could be counted, but -with his right hand he seemed to hold something that lay on his breast -“Look here, Charlie”—as the two men stood in a transept till the -crowd passed down the main aisle—“if you don't mind I would like... -to shake hands with the preacher. When a man takes his coat off and does a -big thing like that he ought to know that he has... helped a fellow.” - </p> -<p> -“I'll go in too, Jack, for he's straightened me, and not for the first -time. You know how I used to live... well, that is over, and it was -Rutherford saved me.” - </p> -<p> -“He looks as if he had been badly hit some time. Do you know his record?” - </p> -<p> -“There's some story about his being in love with a poor girl and being -determined to marry her, but 'Iron Warrants' got round her and persuaded -her that it would be Rutherford's ruin; so she disappeared, and they say -Rutherford is waiting for her to this day. But I don't give it as a fact.” - </p> -<p> -“You may be sure every word of it is true, old man; it's like one of -Thompson's tricks, for I was in his office once, and it's just what that -man in the pulpit would do; poor chap, he's served his time... I say, -though, suppose that girl turns up some day.” - </p> -<p> -They were near the vestry door and arranging their order of entrance when -a woman came swiftly down the empty aisle as from some distant corner of -the church and stood behind them for an instant. -</p> -<p> -“Is this Mr. Rutherford's room, gentlemen”—with a delicate flavour -of Highland in the perfect English accent—“and would it be possible -for me to see him... alone?” - </p> -<p> -They received a shock of delight on the very sight of her and did instant -homage. It was not on account of her magnificent beauty—a woman in -the height of her glory—nor the indescribable manner of good -society, nor the perfection of her dressing, nor a singular dignity of -carriage. They bowed before her for the look in her eyes, the pride of -love, and, although both are becoming each day her more devoted slaves, -yet they agree that she could only look once as she did that night. -</p> -<p> -It was Charlie that showed her in, playing beadle for the occasion that -this princess might not have to wait one minute, and his honour obliged -him to withdraw instantly, but before the door could be closed he heard -Rutherford cry—“At last, Magdalen, my love!” - </p> -<p> -“Do you think, Charlie...?” - </p> -<p> -“Rutherford has got his reward, Jack, and twenty years would not have been -too long to wait.” - </p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN -</h2> -<h3> -I -</h3> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>e must have Trixy Marsden on the Thursday”—for Mrs. Leslie was -arranging two dinner parties. “She will be in her element that evening; -but what are we to do with Mr. Marsden?” - </p> -<p> -“Isn't it rather the custom to invite a husband with his wife? he might -even expect to be included,” said John Leslie. “Do you know I'm glad we -came to Putney; spring is lovely in the garden.” - </p> -<p> -“Never mind spring just now,” as Leslie threatened an exit to the lawn; -“you might have some consideration for an afflicted hostess, and give your -mind to the Marsden problem.” - </p> -<p> -“It was Marsden brought spring into my mind,” and Leslie sat down with -that expression of resignation on his face peculiar to husbands consulted -on domestic affairs; “he was telling me this morning in the train that he -had just finished a table of trees in the order of their budding, a sort -of spring priority list; his love for statistics is amazing. -</p> -<p> -“He is getting to be known on the 9 train; the men keep their eye on him -and bolt into thirds to escape; he gave a morning on the influenza -death-rate lately, and that kind of thing spreads. -</p> -<p> -“But he's not a bad fellow for all that,” concluded Leslie; “he's -perfectly straight in business, and that is saying something; I rather -enjoy half an hour with him.” - </p> -<p> -“Very likely you do,” said his wife with impatience, “because your mind -has a squint, and you get amusement out of odd people; but every one has -not your taste for the tiresome. He is enough to devastate a dinner table; -do you remember that escapade of his last year?” - </p> -<p> -“You mean when he corrected you about the length of the American passage, -and gave the sailings of the Atlantic liners since '80,” and Leslie lay -back to enjoy the past: “it seemed to me most instructive, and every one -gave up conversation to listen.” - </p> -<p> -“Because no one could do anything else with that voice booming through the -room. I can still hear him: 'the <i>Columba</i> six days, four hours, five -minutes.' Then I rose and delivered the table.” - </p> -<p> -“It was only human to be a little nettled by his accuracy; but you ought -not to have retreated so soon, for he gave the express trains of England a -little later, and hinted at the American lines. One might almost call such -a memory genius.” - </p> -<p> -“Which is often another name for idiocy, John. Some one was telling me -yesterday that quiet, steady men rush out of the room at the sound of his -voice, and their wives have to tell all sorts of falsehoods about their -absence. -</p> -<p> -“Trixy is one of my oldest and dearest friends, and it would be a shame to -pass her over; but I will not have her husband on any account.” - </p> -<p> -“Perhaps you are right as a hostess; it is a little hard for a frivolous -circle to live up to Marsden, and I hear that he has got up the -temperatures of the health resorts; it's a large subject, and lends itself -to detail.” - </p> -<p> -“It will not be given in this house. What Trixy must endure with that man! -he's simply possessed by a didactic devil, and ought never to have -married. Statistics don't amount to cruelty, I suppose, as a ground of -divorce?” - </p> -<p> -“Hardly as yet; by-and-bye incompatibility in politics or fiction will be -admitted; but how do you know, Florence, that Mrs. Marsden does not -appreciate her husband? You never can tell what a woman sees in a man. -Perhaps this woman hungers for statistics as a make-weight She is very -amusing, but a trifle shallow, don't you think?” - </p> -<p> -“She used to be the brightest and most charming girl in our set, and I -have always believed that she was married to Mr. Marsden by her people. -Trixy has six hundred a year settled on her, and they were afraid of -fortune-hunters. Mothers are apt to feel that a girl is safe with a man of -the Marsden type, and that nothing more can be desired.” - </p> -<p> -“Perhaps they are not far wrong. Marsden is not a romantic figure, and he -is scarcely what you would call a brilliant <i>raconteur</i>; but he -serves his wife like a slave, and he will never give her a sore heart.” - </p> -<p> -“Do you think it nothing, John, that a woman with ideals should be tied to -a bore all her days? What a contrast between her brother and her husband, -for instance. Godfrey is decidedly one of the most charming men I ever -met.” - </p> -<p> -“He has a nice tenor voice, I grant, and his drawing-room comedies are -very amusing. Of course, no one believes a word he says, and I think that -he has never got a discharge from his last bankruptcy; but you can't -expect perfection. Character seems to oscillate between dulness and -dishonesty.” - </p> -<p> -“Don't talk nonsense for the sake of alliteration, John. Trixy's brother -was never intended for business; he ought to have been a writer, and I -know he was asked to join the staff of the <i>Boomeller</i>. Happy -thought! I'll ask him to come with his sister instead of Mr. Marsden.” - </p> -<p> -And this was the note: -</p> -<p> -“My dear Trixy,— -</p> -<p> -“We are making up a dinner party for the evening of June 2nd, at eight -o'clock, and we simply cannot go on without you and Mr. Mars-den. Write <i>instantly</i> -to say you accept; it is an age since I've seen you, and my husband is -absolutely devoted to Mr. Marsden. He was telling me only a minute ago -that one reason why he goes by the 9 train is to get the benefit of your -husband's conversation. With much love, -</p> -<p> -“Yours affectionately, -</p> -<p> -“Florence Leslie. -</p> -<p> -“P.S.—It does seem a shame that Mr. Marsden should have to waste an -evening on a set of stupid people, and if he can't tear himself from his -books, then you will take home a scolding to him from me. -</p> -<p> -“P.S.—If Mr. Marsden <i>will not</i> condescend, bring Godfrey to -take care of you, and tell him that we shall expect some music.” - </p> -<h3> -II -</h3> -<p> -“Come to this corner, Trixy, and let us have a quiet talk before the men -arrive from the dining-room. I hope your husband is duly grateful to me -for allowing him off this social ordeal. Except perhaps John, I don't -think there is a person here fit to discuss things with him.” - </p> -<p> -“Oh, Mr. Marsden does not care one straw whether they know his subjects or -not so long as people will listen to him, and I'm sure he was quite eager -to come, but I wanted Godfrey to have a little pleasure. -</p> -<p> -“I'm so sorry for poor Godfrey,” and Mrs. Marsden settled herself down to -confidences. “You know he lost all his money two years ago through no -fault of his own. It was simply the stupidity of his partner, who was -quite a common man, and could not carry out Godfrey's plans. My husband -might have helped the firm through their difficulty but he was quite -obstinate, and very unkind also. He spoke as if Godfrey had been careless -and lazy, when the poor fellow really injured his health and had to go to -Brighton for two months to recruit.” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, I remember,” put in Mrs. Leslie; “we happened to be at the Metropole -one week end, and Godfrey looked utterly jaded.” - </p> -<p> -“You have no idea how much he suffered, Florrie, and how beautifully he -bore the trial. Why, had it not been for me, he would not have had money -to pay his hotel bill, and that was a dreadful change for a man like him. -He has always been very proud, and much petted by people. The poor fellow -has never been able to find a suitable post since, although he spends days -in the city among his old friends, and I can see how it is telling on him. -And—Florrie, I wouldn't mention it to any one except an old friend—Mr. -Marsden has not made our house pleasant to poor Godfrey.” - </p> -<p> -“You don't mean that he... reflects on his misfortunes.” - </p> -<p> -“Doesn't he? It's simply disgusting what he will say at times. Only -yesterday morning—this is absolutely between you and me, one must -have some confidant—Godfrey made some remark in fun about the cut of -Tom's coat; he will not go, you know, do what I like, to a proper tailor.” - </p> -<p> -“Godfrey is certainly much better dressed,” said Mrs. Leslie, “than either -of our husbands.” - </p> -<p> -“Perhaps it was that made Tom angry, but at any rate he said quite -shortly, 'I can't afford to dress better,' and of course Godfrey knew what -he meant. It was cruel in the circumstances, for many men spend far more -on their clothes than Godfrey. He simply gives his mind to the matter and -takes care of his things; he will spend any time selecting a colour or -getting a coat fitted.” - </p> -<p> -“Is your brother quite... dependent on... his friends, Trixy?” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, in the meantime, and that is the reason why we ought to be the more -considerate. I wished to settle half my income on him, but it is only a -third of what it used to be—something to do with investments has -reduced it—and Mr. Marsden would not hear of such a thing; he allows -Godfrey one hundred a year, but that hardly keeps him in clothes and -pocket money.” - </p> -<p> -“Still, don't you think it's all Godfrey could expect?” and Mrs. Leslie -was inclined for once to defend this abused man. “Few husbands would do as -much for a brother-in-law.” - </p> -<p> -“Oh, of course he does it for my sake, and he means to be kind. But, -Florrie, Mr. Marsden is so careful and saving, always speaking as if we -were poor and had to lay up for the future, while I know he has a large -income and a sure business. -</p> -<p> -“Why, he would not leave that horrid street in Highbury, say what I could; -and I owe it to Godfrey that we have come to Putney. When Tom went out to -Alexandria, my brother simply took our present house and had it furnished -in Mr. Marsden's name, and so when he came home from Alexandria we were -established in The Cottage.” - </p> -<p> -“John is the best of husbands, but I dare not have changed our house in -his absence,” and Mrs. Leslie began to get new views on the situation. -“Was not Mr. Marsden rather startled?” - </p> -<p> -“He was inclined to be angry with Godfrey, but I sent the boy off to -Scarborough for a month; and he is never hasty to me, only tiresome—you -can't imagine how tiresome.” - </p> -<p> -“Is it the statistics?” - </p> -<p> -“Worse than that. He has begun the Reformation now, and insists on reading -from some stuffy old book every evening, <i>Dumas' History</i>, I think, -till I wish there never had been such a thing, and we were all Roman -Catholics.” - </p> -<p> -“Very likely he would have read about the Popes, then, or the saints. My -dear girl, you don't wish to have your mind improved. You ought to be -proud of your husband; most men sleep after dinner with an evening paper -in their hands, and are quite cross if they're wakened. But there they -come, and we must have Godfrey's last song.” - </p> -<h3> -III -</h3> -<p> -“Nurse will rise at four and bring you a nice cup of tea. Are you sure you -will not weary, being alone for two hours?” and Mrs. Marsden, in charming -outdoor dress, blew eau-de-Cologne about the room. “Don't you love scent?” - </p> -<p> -“Where are you going?” asked Marsden, following her with fond eyes. “You -told me yesterday, but I forget; this illness has made me stupider than -ever, I think. Wasn't it some charity?” - </p> -<p> -“It's the new society every one is so interested in, 'The Working Wives' -Culture Union.' What is wanted is happy homes for the working men,” - quoting freely from an eloquent woman orator, “and the women must be -elevated; so the East End is to be divided into districts, and two young -women will be allotted to each. Are you listening?” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, dear; but it rests me to lie with my eyes closed. Tell me all about -your society. What are the young ladies to do?” - </p> -<p> -“Oh, they're to visit the wives in the afternoon and read books to them: -solid books, you know, about wages and... all kinds of things working men -like. Then in the evening the wives will be able to talk with their -husbands on equal terms, and the men will not want to go to the -public-houses. Isn't it a capital idea?” - </p> -<p> -A sad little smile touched Marsden's lips for an instant “And where do you -meet to-day? It's a long way for you to go to Whitechapel.” - </p> -<p> -“Didn't I tell you? The Marchioness of Gloucester Is giving a Drawing Room -at her town house, and Lady Helen wrote an urgent note, Insisting that I -should come, even though it were only for an hour, as her mother depended -on my advice so much. -</p> -<p> -“Of course I know that's just a way of putting it; but I have taken lots -of trouble about founding the Union, so I think it would hardly do for me -to be absent You're feeling much better, too, to-day, aren't you, Thomas?” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, much better; the pain has almost ceased; perhaps it will be quite -gone when you return. Can you spare just ten minutes to sit beside me? -There is something I have been wanting to say, and perhaps this is my only -chance. When I am well again I may... be afraid.” - </p> -<p> -Mrs. Marsden sat down wondering, and her husband waited a minute. -</p> -<p> -“One understands many things that puzzled him before, when he lies in -quietness for weeks and takes an after look. I suspected it at times -before, but I was a coward and put the thought away. It seemed curious -that no one came to spend an hour with me, as men do with friends; and I -noticed that they appeared to avoid me. I thought it was fancy, and that I -had grown self-conscious. -</p> -<p> -“Everything is quite plain now, and I... am not hurt, dear, and I don't -blame any person; that would be very wrong. People might have been far -more impatient with me, and might have made my life miserable. -</p> -<p> -“God gave me a dull mind and a slow tongue; it took me a long time to -grasp anything, and no one cared about the subjects that interested me. -Beatrice... I wish now you had told me how I bored our friends; it would -have been a kindness; but never mind that now; you did not like to give me -pain. -</p> -<p> -“What troubles me most is that all these years you should have been tied -to a very tiresome fellow,” and Marsden made some poor attempt at a smile. -“Had I thought of what was before you, I would never have asked you to -marry me. -</p> -<p> -“Don't cry, dear; I did not wish to hurt you. I wanted to ask your pardon -for... all that martyrdom, and... to thank you for... being my wife; and -there's something else. -</p> -<p> -“You see when I get well and am not lying in bed here, maybe I could not -tell you, so let me explain everything now, and then we need not speak -about such things again. -</p> -<p> -“Perhaps you thought me too economical, but I was saving for a purpose. -Your portion has not brought quite so much as it did, and I wished to make -it up to you, and now you can have your six hundred a year as before; if -this illness had gone against me, you would have been quite comfortable—in -money, I mean, dear. -</p> -<p> -“No, I insist on your going to Lady Gloucester's; the change will do you -good, and I'll lie here digesting the Reformation, you know,” and he -smiled, better this time, quite creditably, in fact “Will you give me a -kiss, just to keep till we meet again?” - </p> -<p> -When the nurse came down at four to take charge, she was horrified to find -her patient alone, and in the death agony, but conscious and able to -speak. -</p> -<p> -“Don't ring... nor send for my wife... I sent... her away knowing the end -was near... made her go, in fact... against her will.” - </p> -<p> -The nurse gave him brandy, and he became stronger for a minute. -</p> -<p> -“She has had a great deal to bear with me, and I... did not wish her to -see death. My manner has been always so wearisome... I hoped that... -nobody would be here. You are very kind, nurse; no more, if you please. -</p> -<p> -“Would it trouble you... to hold my hand, nurse? It's a little lonely... I -am not afraid... a wayfaring man though a fool... not err therein...” - </p> -<p> -He was not nearly so tedious with his dying as he had been with his -living; very shortly afterwards Thomas Marsden had done with statistics -for ever. -</p> -<h3> -IV -</h3> -<p> -Three days later Leslie came home from the city with tidings on his face, -and he told them to his wife when they were alone that night “Marsden's -lawyer made an appointment after the funeral, and I had an hour with him. -He has asked me to be a trustee with himself in Mrs. Marsden's -settlement.” - </p> -<p> -“I'm so glad; you must accept, for it will be such a comfort to poor -Beatrice; but I thought Godfrey was her sole trustee.” - </p> -<p> -“So he was,” said Leslie grimly, “more's the pity, and he embezzled every -penny of the funds—gambled them away in card-playing and... other -ways.” - </p> -<p> -“Godfrey Harrison, Beatrice's brother?” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, her much-admired, accomplished, ill-used brother, the victim of her -husband's stinginess.” - </p> -<p> -“If that be true, then Godfrey is simply a...” - </p> -<p> -“You mean an unmitigated scoundrel. Quite so, Florence, and a number of -other words we won't go over. I tell you,” and Leslie sprang to his feet, -“there is some use in swearing; if it had not been for one or two -expressions that came to my memory suddenly to-day, I should have been -ill. Curious to say, the lawyer seemed to enjoy them as much as myself, so -it must be a bad case.” - </p> -<p> -“But I don't understand—if Godfrey spent Trixy's money, how is there -anything to manage? Did he pay it back?” - </p> -<p> -“No, he did not, and could not; he has not enough brains to earn eighteen -pence except by cheating, and if by any chance he came into a fortune, -would grudge his sister a pound.” - </p> -<p> -“Then...?” - </p> -<p> -“Don't you begin to catch a glimpse of the facts? Why, Marsden toiled and -scraped, and in the end, so the doctors say, killed himself to replace the -money, and he had just succeeded before his death.” - </p> -<p> -“How good of him! but I don't see the necessity of all this secrecy on his -part, and all those stories about low interest that he told Trixy.” - </p> -<p> -“There was no necessity; if it had been some of us, we would have let Mrs. -Marsden know what kind of brother she had, and ordered him out of the -country on threat of jail. -</p> -<p> -“It was Marsden's foolishness, let us call it, to spare his wife the -disgrace of her idol and the loss of his company. So her husband was -despised beside this precious rascal every day.” - </p> -<p> -“Trixy will get a terrible shock when she is told; it would almost have -been kinder to let her know the truth before he died.” - </p> -<p> -“Mrs. Marsden is never to know,” said Leslie; “that was his wish; she's -just to be informed that new trustees have been appointed, and we are to -take care that she does not waste her income on the fellow. -</p> -<p> -“People will send letters of condolence to Mrs. Marsden, but they will say -at afternoon teas that it must be a great relief to her, and that it's -quite beautiful to see her sorrow. In two years she will marry some -well-dressed fool, and they will live on Marsden's money,” and Leslie's -voice had an unusual bitterness. -</p> -<p> -“Did you ever hear of another case like this, John?” - </p> -<p> -“Never; when old Parchment described Marsden giving him the instructions, -he stopped suddenly. -</p> -<p> -“'Marsden,' he said, 'was the biggest fool I ever came across in the -course of forty-two years' practice,' and he went over to the window.” - </p> -<p> -“And you?” - </p> -<p> -“I went to the fireplace; we were both so disgusted with the man that we -couldn't speak for five minutes.” - </p> -<p> -After a short while Mrs. Leslie said, “It appears to me that this slow, -uninteresting man, whom every one counted a bore, was in his own way... -almost a hero.” - </p> -<p> -“Or altogether,” replied John Leslie. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH -</h2> -<h3> -I -</h3> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>ow do you do, Crashaw? didn't know you condescended to conversaziones at -the Town Hall, at least when there is no dancing. Their Worships will be -satisfied this evening, for the whole world and his wife seem to be here, -and some people that have never been in the world before, one would -judge.” - </p> -<p> -“There is just one person I wish particularly to see, and I can't find -her; that is Arkwright's young wife. I passed the old man himself a minute -ago, conversing with Peterson, and lecturing on the effect of the American -tariff on wool. Has he left her at home, Jack, to keep her out of harm and -to tantalise the public?” - </p> -<p> -“Not he. Jacob is quite proud of her, to do him justice, and worships the -ground on which she treads, although I doubt whether she knows that or -cares. Mrs. Arkwright is very beautiful In my humble judgment, but there -is a wide gulf between twenty-one and seventy. Besides, she has a temper, -and no sympathy with his religious notions. When December weds May, it's -bound to be either a comedy or a tragedy, and this is half and between.” - </p> -<p> -“When you have quite finished your interesting moral reflections, Jack, -and can attend to practical detail, could you do me the pleasure of -pointing Mrs. Arkwright out to me, and, as you seem to have seen a good -deal of her, introducing your unworthy servant? I'll be able then to judge -for myself. We are obliged to Arkwright for creating a piquant situation.” - </p> -<p> -“Come to the next room, where the band is playing; Mrs. Arkwright was -there ten minutes ago. But I don't know whether I can intrude on her at -the present moment, even although provided with so good-looking and -well-dressed an excuse. Yes; there, Crashaw, in the alcove, talking to a -parson, that is Jacob's wife. Was I right?” - </p> -<p> -“Your taste, Jack, is perfect; but, indeed, a man who admires Mrs. -Arkwright deserves no credit; it is inevitable. There is prettiness, and -there is sweetness, and there is taking-ness, and they are very well, but -this is on another level.” - </p> -<p> -“I thought you would be astonished, and am pleased to notice that even so -<i>blasé</i> a critic of womankind can grow enthusiastic on occasion. -Isn't that a proud head?” - </p> -<p> -“Why, Jack, that woman ought to have been a duchess, and a leader of -society in town, instead of Mrs. Jacob Arkwright, wife of a self-made -wool-spinner and a deacon. Her face is the most complete piece of Grecian -beauty I ever saw—nose, eyes, chin, mouth, perfect; forehead perhaps -the slightest bit high—a Greek would have worn a ribbon—and -that glorious hair, brown shot with gold.” - </p> -<p> -“She is certainly looking splendid to-night Do you notice how she has put -the other women to confusion?” - </p> -<p> -“Simply a goddess among a lot of peasants. I say, Jack, how in the world -did that girl, with such a face and such an air, ever marry Arkwright? -Where was she hidden away? Had she no opportunity? Talk about waste, this -is an absolute sin. Do you know her history?” - </p> -<p> -“Lived with her mother, and got her living by teaching. Arkwright, who has -all his life been busy with wool and religious affairs, saw her in chapel, -and remembered he was human. Fell in love with her on first sight, having -lived scatheless unto threescore years and ten, and got a fellow-deacon to -negotiate the affair; at least, so it is reported.” - </p> -<p> -“Most likely, I should say; but, Jack, what an abandoned criminal that -mother of hers must have been, and what did she herself do this thing for? -She has a will of her own, or else I do not know a woman's face.” - </p> -<p> -“Oh, the old story. Her mother was proud and poor, and considered -Arkwright an excellent suitor. Mrs. Arkwright is not much troubled about -religion, and I fancy has a very different idea of things from her -husband, but she had the chance of a handsome provision for herself and -her mother, and she seized it There could be no romance; but can you blame -the old lady, Crashaw, urging such a marriage, or the daughter escaping -from the dreary governess life?” - </p> -<p> -“No, I suppose not. The girl took the veil, and obtained a settlement at -the same time, after a sound Protestant fashion; but it does seem a crime -against nature to sacrifice a beautiful young woman to a hard, bloodless -old Puritan like Arkwright, who is, I grant you, very able in wool, and -perfectly straight in character, but who is perfectly uncultured and -hopelessly bigoted. What a life of dreariness she must lead in the -Arkwright circle!” - </p> -<p> -“Well, of course she can't attend concerts, nor dance, nor hunt, nor go -into society, but she has a good home, and a carriage, and as much money -as she can spend. I don't suppose that she cares for Jacob, but she does -her duty as a wife, and does not seem unhappy.” - </p> -<p> -“Certainly Mrs. Arkwright is not unhappy this evening with her present -companion. I will hazard the guess, Jack, without any reflection on her -wifely character, that she never looked at her worthy, but not very -attractive, husband with the same interest which she is bestowing on that -handsome parson. Who is he, Jack?” - </p> -<p> -“Egerton's his name, and he's Arkwright's minister—a -Congregationalism or Baptist; I can never remember the difference. He is a -very able fellow, they say, and a rattling good preacher, quite broad and -liberal in his views, but a perfect ascetic in his life. He must be very -much in Mrs. Arkwright's company, and he's certainly the decentest man she -knows.” - </p> -<p> -“Arkwright is about seventy, and is not so strong as he looks, Jack; his -wife will have time to console herself, and her second husband will be a -very lucky man, for he will have a fortune and her heart.” - </p> -<h3> -II -</h3> -<p> -“You have come quickly, Mr. Egerton, and that was well done,” said Jacob -Arkwright, looking very white and worn, propped up with pillows. “I have -much to say, and I'll take a sup o' brandy; them that never touches drink -when they're well get the good when they're ill. -</p> -<p> -“That gives me the strength I need for the time, and ma work is nearly -done. Don't go away, Laura; I want you to hear what I say to the pastor. -</p> -<p> -“The doctor says 'at ma days are few, mayhap only to-morrow, and it's best -to speak when a man's head is clear, and I thank God mine is that, though -my body be weakened by this sickness.” - </p> -<p> -His wife stood on one side of the bed, now and then rearranging the -pillows at his back and bathing his forehead with vinegar—for scent -he would not have—and Egerton stood on the other, refusing to sit -down while she stood, and watching her strong white hands at their -service, but only once did he look her straight in the face. -</p> -<p> -“You're young, Pastor—thirty, did ye say?—and I'm owd, -seventy-two this month, and I havena' known you long, but there's no mon -I've liked better or could trust more.” And he looked steadily at Egerton -with a certain softening of expression. -</p> -<p> -“You've been very kind to me and to the chapel, Mr. Arkwright, and I hope -it may be God's will to spare you and raise you up again,” and although -the words were formal, the accent was tender and moving. -</p> -<p> -“No, no, lad; our times are in His hand, and I have received the summons, -and so we 'ill go to business. And first about ma affairs. I wish ye to -understand everything, that ye may be able to do your duty by ma widow.” - </p> -<p> -Egerton was conscious that Mrs. Arkwright straightened herself, and could -feel the silence in the room; but the dying man was not one to appreciate -an atmosphere. -</p> -<p> -“It may be that I was too owd for marrying, and ma ways too old-fashioned. -Ma house has no been very bright for a young wife, and ma conscience did -not allow me liberty in worldly amusements. But according to my nature I -can say before God that I loved ye, Laura, and have tried to do ma part by -ye.” - </p> -<p> -“You married me a poor girl, and have been most... kind to me, Jacob. Why -speak of such things?” and her voice was proud and pained. -</p> -<p> -“You have been a faithful wife to me,” he went on, as one fulfilling a -plan, “and have put up with my... peculiarities—for I know you do -not think wi' me in things, and do not like some of the men 'at came to -the house. Oh, I said nowt, but I saw aal.” - </p> -<p> -Mrs. Arkwright laid her hand on her husband's, and it occurred to Egerton -from a slight flush on his face that she had never done this before. -</p> -<p> -“Ma will has been made for a year”—it was plain that Mr. Arkwright -was to go on to the end, and Egerton could not have lifted his eyes for a -ransom—“and I have left aal to my wife without any condition, with -just one legacy. It is to you, Egerton, and I hope you'ill not refuse it—just -something to remind you of me, and... get you books.” - </p> -<p> -“It was very... good of you, sir, and I am most... grateful, but I... -really can't accept your kindness. It is not likely that I will ever -marry, and I've got enough for myself.” - </p> -<p> -As he spoke, Mrs. Arkwright shook up the pillows hastily, and went to a -side table for a glass. -</p> -<p> -“Well, if you will not, then there's an end of it; but you will grant me -another favour which may be harder,” and for a minute Arkwright seemed to -hesitate. -</p> -<p> -“Ma wife will be left young and rich, and although I have never said it to -you, ma lass, she is... beautiful.” - </p> -<p> -“Jacob, this is not seemly.” Her voice was vibrant with passion. -</p> -<p> -“Blame me not for saying this once, and if another be present, he is our -friend, and I am coming to my point; the brandy again, and I'll soon be -done. -</p> -<p> -“You have no brother, and I have no person of my blood to guide you, ma -lass; ye might be persecuted by men 'at would bring you nowt but trouble -and vexation of heart You need an honest man to be your guardian and give -you advice. -</p> -<p> -“Ye may never want to marry again, for I doubt ye have had little joy -these years, or again ye may, to taste some joy, and I would count it -unjust to hinder you—peace, lass, till I be done; I was ever rough -and plain—and some one must see that your husband be a right mon. -</p> -<p> -“So I turned it over in ma mind, and I sought for a friend 'at was sound -o' heart and faithful. This speaking is hard on me, but it 'ill soon be -done.” And as Mrs. Arkwright stooped to give him brandy once more, Egerton -saw that her cheeks were burning. -</p> -<p> -“An older mon might have been better, but ye're old for your years, -Pastor, and have parted wi' the foolishness o' youth. You have some -notions I don't hold with, for I'm the owd sort—believe and be -saved, believe not and be damned—but ye're no a mon to say yea and -do nay. Naa, naa, I have seen more than I said; and though some 'at came -to the house had the true doctrine, they were shoddy stuff. -</p> -<p> -“George Egerton, as I have done good to you and not ill these years, will -ye count Laura Arkwright as your sister, and do to her a brother's part, -as ye will answer to God at the laast day?” - </p> -<p> -The wind lifted the blind and rustled in the curtains; the dying man -breathed heavily, and waited for an answer. Egerton looked across the bed, -but Mrs. Arkwright had withdrawn behind the curtain. Arkwright's eyes met -the minister's with an earnest, searching glance. -</p> -<p> -“I will be as a brother to your wife while I live.” - </p> -<p> -As he spoke, Arkwright grasped his hand and gave a sigh of content; but -when Egerton left the room, Laura refused to touch his hand, and her face -was blazing with anger. -</p> -<h3> -III -</h3> -<p> -“You have been very generous to the chapel, and we thank you very much for -keeping up all Mr. Arkwright's subscriptions those three years. The work -of God would have been much crippled had it not been for your liberality.” - </p> -<p> -“Do you know, Mr. Egerton, that when you talk in that grave, approving -fashion, as if I were one of your devout women like poor Mrs. Tootle, who -is really a good creature, although her husband is a sanctimonious idiot, -I feel a perfect hypocrite.” - </p> -<p> -“Why do you always depreciate yourself...” - </p> -<p> -“Do not interrupt me, for I am determined to settle this matter once for -all, and not walk about in a vain show, as if I were a saint You think me -good, and so do the chapel people, I suppose, because I give to foreign -missions and Bible-women, and go to the prayer-meeting, and attend the -special meetings. Do you know why I do those things?” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, I think so,” said the minister; “but I will hear your reason.” - </p> -<p> -“Because Mr. Arkwright believed in missions and evangelists, and he was... -a better husband to me than I was wife to him, and because it would be -dishonourable not to use his money for the objects he approved.” - </p> -<p> -“And the services? Is that the reason you are always present, and set such -a good example?” And it was plain the minister did not take Mrs. Arkwright -at her value of herself. -</p> -<p> -“Oh, this is because... because...” - </p> -<p> -“Yes?” And Mr. Egerton smiled as one who is giving checkmate. -</p> -<p> -“Because you were Jacob's friend, and the only man he... loved, and -because, although we have quarrelled several times, and I have been very -rude to you once or twice, still”—and a smile brought Mrs. -Arkwright's face to perfection—“we are friends also.” - </p> -<p> -“You have been... angry with me,” said Egerton, “when I could not -understand the reason, but I never doubted your friendship. If I were in -serious trouble, I would come to you rather than to any man.” - </p> -<p> -“Would you really?” Then her tone changed. -</p> -<p> -“I don't believe you, for you would go to some snuffy, maundering old -minister.” - </p> -<p> -“And you are good,” he insisted, taking no notice of her petulance. “You -are honest, and brave, and high-minded, and loyal, and...” - </p> -<p> -“Pious, with a gift of prayer, you had better add. How blind you are, for -all your knowledge and... other qualities. You forgot to add -sweet-tempered; but perhaps you were coming to that.” - </p> -<p> -“No, I would not say that, and I am rather glad you are not gentle,”—the -minister was very bold,—“for you would not be... yourself.” - </p> -<p> -“You had your suspicions, then, and are not sure that I am ready for -canonising? Do you know I feel immensely relieved; suppose we celebrate -this confession by tea? Would you ring the bell, Mr. Egerton?” - </p> -<p> -“There is something I want to talk about, and as it's rather important, -would you mind, Mrs. Arkwright, giving me a few minutes first? Tea is -rather distracting.” - </p> -<p> -“Composing, I find it—but as you please; is it the District -Visitors, or the Nurses' Home, or the Children's Holiday, and is it -money?” Mrs. Arkwright for some reason was very gracious. -</p> -<p> -“No, it has nothing to do with the chapel. I wish to speak about... -yourself.” - </p> -<p> -“Yes?” and she looked curiously at him. -</p> -<p> -“You remember that day when Mr. Arkwright committed you to my care, and I -gave my word to.. -</p> -<p> -“Do your best to look after a very troublesome woman,” Mrs. Arkwright -interposed hurriedly; “it was a... risky task, and I thought you were far -too hasty, and just a little presumptuous, in undertaking it, but you've -been a very lenient guardian for your age. Have I done anything wrong?” - </p> -<p> -“No, and you could not at any time in my eyes,”—Mrs. Arkwright made -as though she would curtsey,—“but others might do wrong to you, and -I have been anxious for some time. -</p> -<p> -“Mr. Arkwright was afraid lest some unworthy man should admire you or -desire your wealth, and... marry you, and your life be miserable. And he -wished me to save you from this, and I promised to do my best.” - </p> -<p> -“Well?” and her voice had begun to freeze. “I remember all that.” - </p> -<p> -“It is difficult to speak about such things, but you know that I... would -do anything to save you pain....” - </p> -<p> -“Go on,” and now her eyes were fixed on the minister. -</p> -<p> -“It came to my ears and I saw for myself that one whom I knew slightly and -did not like was paying you attentions, and it might be, as I also heard, -was favoured by you. So it seemed my duty to make enquiries about Mr. -Crashaw.” - </p> -<p> -“And?” - </p> -<p> -“There is nothing against his character, and I have heard much good of him—that -he has cultured tastes and is very well liked by those who know him; -personally we could never be friends, for various reasons, but he... is -not unworthy to be the husband of... a good woman. That is all I have to -say”; and the saying of it was plainly very hard to the minister. -</p> -<p> -“You recommend me to marry Mr. Crashaw, if that gentleman should do me the -honour to ask my hand, or do you propose to suggest this step to him, so -as to complete your duty as guardian?” Mrs. Arkwright was now standing and -regarding Egerton with fierce scorn. -</p> -<p> -“My information seemed to me reliable”—he was also standing, white -and pained—“and I thought it would help you in that case to know -what I have told you, when you came to decide.” - </p> -<p> -“If I knew who told you such falsehoods, I would never speak to them -again, and I would make them suffer for their words. Mr. Crashaw! and it -was to that cynical, worldly, supercilious tailor's block you were to -marry me. What ill have I done you?” - </p> -<p> -“God knows I did not desire.... I mean... do you not see that I tried to -do what was right at a cost?... Why be so angry with me?” - </p> -<p> -“Because I do not really care what any person in this town or all -Yorkshire says about me, but I do care and cannot endure that you should -turn against me, and be content to see me Crashaw's wife or any other -man's.” And she drove the minister across the room in her wrath—he -had never seen her so beautiful—till he stood with his back to the -door, and she before him as a lioness robbed of her cubs. -</p> -<p> -“It has been my mistake, for I understand not women,” he said, with proud -humility. “I beg your pardon, and am more than ever... your servant.” - </p> -<p> -She looked at him stormily for ten seconds; then she turned away. “If that -is all you have to say, you need not come again to this house.” - </p> -<h3> -IV -</h3> -<p> -“You will excuse me sending a verbal message by the doctor, for, as you -see, I am past writing, and... the time is short I wanted to speak with -you, Mrs. Arkwright, once before... I died.” And Egerton thought of the -day she had stood by her husband's deathbed as now she stood by his, only -that the nurse had left the room and there was no third person to be an -embarrassment “Do not suppose I forget your words to me the last time we -met in private,” he continued, as she did not speak nor look at him, -beyond one swift glance as she came into the room; “and believe me, I -would not have forced myself on you, nor would I have asked this favour, -had it not been that... I have something of which I must deliver my soul.” - </p> -<p> -“You are not dying; you were a strong man, and a few days' illness -couldn't... be fatal,” she burst out, and it seemed as if Mrs. Arkwright -for once was going to lose control and fall a-weeping. -</p> -<p> -Then she mastered herself, and said almost coldly, “Had I known you were -so ill, I would have called to inquire; but nothing was said of pneumonia, -only a bad cold.” - </p> -<p> -“You forgive me, then, that ill-judged interference, Mrs. Arkwright, and -anything else in which I have offended you or failed in... my brother's -part?” - </p> -<p> -“Do not speak like that to me unless you wish to take revenge; it is I who -ask your pardon for my evil temper and insolence that day, and other -times; but you are too... good, else you would have understood.” - </p> -<p> -“You did not, then, hate me, as I supposed?” and his voice was strained -with eagerness. -</p> -<p> -“When you were prepared to approve my engagement to Mr. Crashaw? Yes, I -did, and I could have struck you as you bore witness to his character—whom -you detested. Conscientious and unselfish... on your part, very. And yet -at the same time I... did not hate you; I could have... you are a dull -man, Mr. Egerton, and I am not a saint. Is it milk you drink?” And when -she raised his head, her hands lingered as they had not done before on her -husband's. -</p> -<p> -“Are you really dying?” She sat down and looked at him, her head between -her hands. “You and I are, at least, able to face the situation.” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, without doubt; but I am not a martyr to overwork, or anything else; -my death is not a sentimental tragedy; do not let any one speak of me in -that fashion: I simply caught a cold and did not take care; it's quite -commonplace.” When he smiled his face was at its best, the dark blue eyes -having a roguish look as of a boy. -</p> -<p> -Mrs. Arkwright leant back on her chair and bit her lower lip. -</p> -<p> -“This is good-bye, then, and our friendship—six years long, isn't -it?—is over. Had I known it was to be so short—well, we had -not quarrelled.” - </p> -<p> -“Not over,” and he looked wistfully at her; “this life does not end all.” - </p> -<p> -“Ah, you have the old romantic faith, and one would like to share it, but -no one knows; this life is the only certainty.” - </p> -<p> -“In a few hours,” he went on, “I shall know, and I expect to see my friend -Jacob Arkwright, whom I loved, although we only knew one another for three -years, and he... will ask for you.” Mrs. Arkwright regarded Egerton with -amazement. -</p> -<p> -“He will ask how I kept my trust, and I... will be ashamed, unless you -hear my confession and forgive me. For I... have sinned against you and -your husband.” - </p> -<p> -“In what?” she asked, with a hard voice. -</p> -<p> -“God knows that I had no thought of you he might not have read while he -was here. And afterwards for a year I was in heart your brother; and then—oh, -how can I say it and look you in the face, who thought me a good and -faithful minister of Christ?” and his eyes were large with pain and -sorrow. -</p> -<p> -“Say it,” she whispered, “say it plain; you must,” and she stretched out -her hand in commandment. -</p> -<p> -“I loved you as... a man loves a woman whom he would make his wife, till -it came to pass that I made excuses to visit you, till I watched you on -the street, till I longed for the touch of your hand, till I... oh, the -sin and shame—thought of you in the service and... at my prayers; -yet I had been left your guardian and had promised to be as a brother to -you; besides, nor was this the least of my shame, you were rich.” - </p> -<p> -“And now?” She had risen to her feet “I have finally overcome, but only -within these few months, and my heart is at last single. You are to me -again my friend's wife, and I shall meet him... in peace, if you forgive -me.” - </p> -<p> -For a few seconds nothing was heard but his rapid breathing, and then she -spoke with low, passionate voice. -</p> -<p> -“Your love needs no forgiveness; your silence... I can never forgive.” - </p> -<p> -He lived for two hours, and he spoke twice. Once he thanked his nurse for -her attentions, and just before he passed away she caught the words, -“through much tribulation... enter the Kingdom... God.” - </p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -A PROBATIONER -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>ne winter I forsook the cottage at Drumtochty, in spite of the pure white -snow and the snell, bracing wind from Ben Urtach, and took rooms in -Edinburgh. It was a poor exchange, for the talk of professors and -advocates, although good enough in its way, was not to be compared with -the wisdom of James Soutar; but there were more books in Edinburgh than in -the Glen, and it was there that I met my probationer. From time to time we -passed upon the stair, when he would shrink into a landing and apologise -for his obstruction, and if in sheer forgetfulness I said “Fine day,” with -the rain beating on the windows, he nervously agreed. With his suspicion -of clerical attire, and his deferential manner, he suggested some helot of -the ecclesiastical world, whose chiefs live in purple and fine linen, and -whose subordinates share with tramway men and sempstresses the honour of -working harder and receiving less pay than any other body in the -commonwealth. By his step I had identified him as the tenant of a single -room above my sitting-room, and one wondered how any man could move so -little and so gently. If he shifted a chair, it was by stealth, and if in -poking his fire a coal dropped on the hearth, he abandoned the audacious -attempt. -</p> -<p> -One grew so accustomed to these mouse-like movements that it came as a -shock when my neighbour burst into activity. It was on a Friday afternoon -that he seemed to be rearranging his furniture so as to leave a clear -passage from end to end of the room, and then, after he had adjusted the -chairs and table to his satisfaction, he began a wonderful exercise. -Sometimes he would pace swiftly backwards and forwards with a murmuring -sound as one repeating passages by rote, with occasional sudden pauses, -when he refreshed his memory from some quarter. Sometimes he stood before -the table and spoke aloud, rising to a pitch, when one could catch a word -or two, and then he would strike a book, quite fiercely for him, and once -or twice he stamped his foot almost as hard as a child could. After this -outbreak he would rest a while, and then begin again on the lower key, and -one knew when he reached the height by the refrain, “Abana and Pharpar, -rivers of Damascus.” It was an amazing development, and stimulated -thought. -</p> -<p> -“No,” explained our excellent landlady, “he's no daft, though ye micht -think sae. He's a minister without a kirk, an' he's juist learnin' his -sermon; but, Losh keep us, he's by ordinar' the day. -</p> -<p> -“He's my cousin's son, ye see”—and Mrs. Macfarlane settled to -historical detail—“an' his mother's a weedow. She focht to get him -through St. Andrew's, an' hoo she managed passes me. Noo he's what is -called a probationer, an', eh, but he earns his livin' hard. -</p> -<p> -“His business,” continued Mrs. Macfarlane, “is to tak' the pulpit when a -minister is awa' at a Sacrament or on his holiday, and any Sabbath he -micht be at Peterhead and the next at Wigtown. He gets his orders on -Friday, an' he sets aff wi' his bit bag on Saturday, an' a weary body he -is on Monday nicht An' it's little he maks for a' he does, bare twenty -shillin' a week clear; but naebody can stand this colie-shangie, -(disturbance).” For above the landlady's exposition rose the probationer's -voice: “Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus.” - </p> -<p> -What she said to her cousin once removed I know not, but it was not in -vain, for in the evening this was brought by the servant:— -</p> -<p> -“Dear Sir,— -</p> -<p> -“It affords me sincere regret to learn that you have been disturbed in the -midst of your literary avocations by sounds and movements emanating from -my room. They are unfortunately and unavoidably connected with a new -method of professional work which I have been advised to adopt by -experienced friends. It would, however, be unrighteous that one man should -hinder another in his daily labour, and I would be greatly obliged if you -could indicate any time of absence during which I might be free to speak -aloud and move with energy in my chamber without offence. Apologising for -my unwitting annoyance, -</p> -<p> -“I am, -</p> -<p> -“Yours respectfully, -</p> -<p> -“Hiram Clunas.” - </p> -<p> -It was written on poor paper and a single sheet, but the handwriting was -that of a scholar, a man accustomed to form Hebrew and Greek characters, -and the very flavour of pedantry was attractive, so that one wanted to -know the writer, and I seized the excuse of a personal answer. -</p> -<p> -He was quite unprepared for my coming, and upset a Hebrew lexicon and four -German books on the Prophets before he could get a chair in his single -room below the slates; nor had he any small talk to offer, but he was -ready enough to speak about his own work, and seemed anxious to explain -his recent departure. It also occurred to me that he wanted my judgment. -</p> -<p> -“My work, let me explain,” he said, hesitatingly, “is not pastoral or... -devoted to a particular sphere, since my gifts have not yet... commended -themselves to a congregation after such a fashion that they were inclined -to... in short, wished to have me as their minister. Mine is a vagum -ministerium. I am what is called a probationer, that is, I have been duly -educated in profane and sacred learning for the holy ministry, and have -passed certain examinations... without discredit.” - </p> -<p> -“Of that I am sure,” I interpolated with sincerity, whereat the -probationer ought to have bowed and replied, “It is very good of you to -say so,” but as it was he only blushed and looked as if he had been caught -boasting. -</p> -<p> -“And then?” I suggested. -</p> -<p> -“It remains to discover whether I am... fit for the practical work of my -calling—if it be, indeed, I am called at all.. And here the little -man came to a halt. -</p> -<p> -“You are examined again,” I inquired, tentatively, “or placed under a -chief for a little?” - </p> -<p> -“Well, no, although the latter would be an excellent way—but it is -not for me to criticise the rules of my Church; if any congregation has -lost its minister, then such as I, that is, persons in a state of -probation, are sent each Sabbath to... preach, and then the people choose -the one who... And again Mr. Clunas came to a stand for want of fitting -words. -</p> -<p> -“Who comes out first in the preaching competition,” I added, and in an -instant was sorry. -</p> -<p> -“It would ill become me to put the matter... in such a form, and if I have -done so it has been an inadvertence, and indeed I did not mean to -complain, but rather to explain the reason of... the noise.” - </p> -<p> -“Please tell me whatever you please, but it was not noise, for I heard -some words... -</p> -<p> -“The rivers of Damascus? I feared so, sir; that was the climax or point of -repetition—but I will relate the matter in order, with your -permission. -</p> -<p> -“It has been my habit, after I have duly examined a passage in the -original language and the light of competent scholars, and verified its -lessons by my own reason and conscience—collected the raw material, -if I may so say—to commit the same to writing according to my -ability, using language that can be understood of the people, and yet -conforming as far as may be to the Elizabethan standard.” - </p> -<p> -In my opinion, I indicated, he had done well. “I judged that I would have -your approval so far, but hereafter comes in a grave question of -expediency, on which I should like your mind as a neutral person and one -given to literary pursuits. My habit is further to read to the people what -I have written in a clear voice, and with such animation as is natural to -me, in the faith that whatsoever may have been given me by the Spirit of -Truth may be witnessed to the hearers by the same Spirit.” - </p> -<p> -This appeared to me a very reasonable method and a just hope. -</p> -<p> -“Others, however, acting according to their nature, commit their message -to memory, and deliver it to the people with many lively and engaging -gestures, which pleases the people and wins their hearts.” - </p> -<p> -“And so the groundlings prefer the windbags,” I interrupted, “and elect -them to be their minister.” - </p> -<p> -“It is not so that I wished you to infer,” and the probationer's voice was -full of reproof, “for I trust my desire is not to obtain a church, but the -confirmation of my calling through the voice of the people; yet who -knoweth his heart?” And the probationer was much distressed. -</p> -<p> -It was only my foolish thought, I hastened to explain, and besought him to -continue. -</p> -<p> -“A friend of... much shrewdness and, I am sure, of good intention, has -spoken to me at length on my... want of favour with the people, and has -pointed out that the Word must be placed before them after a winsome -fashion.” - </p> -<p> -“And so?” - </p> -<p> -“He urged me to choose texts which could be frequently repeated with -effect, and so lodge their idea in the mind of the people, and that I -should not use any manuscript, but should employ certain arts of oratory, -such as beginning low and raising the voice up to a climax where it would -be good to repeat the text with emphasis. -</p> -<p> -“As an example and... inducement he dwelt upon the case of one probationer -who had taken for his text, 'And there shall be no more sea,' whereon he -composed a single sermon, to which he devoted much pains. This he -delivered daily for some hours in his chamber, and at the end of each -paragraph said in a loud voice, 'And there shall be no more sea.' He was -elected to three churches within a short space,” concluded Mr. Clunas. -</p> -<p> -“You have therefore thought it desirable to amend your habit.” - </p> -<p> -“Well, so far,” and the probationer was much embarrassed, “it was -impossible for me to handle what my adviser called 'repeaters,' such as -that I have mentioned, for my mind does not incline to them; but as I had -been labouring the tendency to prefer meretricious and sensational -religion to that which is austere and pure from the text, 'Are not Abana -and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? * -it seemed to me that I might for once... make trial... that is, use the -words Abana and Pharpar as a symbol to... fix the truth, as it were. It is -very laborious and... not grateful to me. Do you think that... I am doing -right?” and my probationer fixed me with an anxious eye. -</p> -<p> -“Quite so, sir, I understand perfectly,” as I was making a blundering -effort to suggest that Providence hardly intended that my probationer -should go round the country like a showman with “repeaters.” - </p> -<p> -“You have confirmed my own idea and... delivered my feet from falling, for -I had come nearly to unreality in a holy thing, besides ridding me from an -irksome task,” and he regarded the sheets—the “rivers” standing out -in half text—with strong dislike. -</p> -<p> -“There is another matter,” he continued, “on which I would fain have your -mind, since you have shown so much sympathy. It is now, I regret to say, -the custom for a person in my position, that is, on probation, to print a -number of certificates from influential persons and send them to... the -authorities in a vacant church. This I have refused to do; but there is a -special reason why I strongly desire to be settled... not quite unworthy, -I hope,” and a faint flush came to the probationer's face. -</p> -<p> -“I understand”—for it was natural to suppose that he was engaged, as -many in his circumstances are, which grows into a pathetic tragedy as a -girl waits for long years till her betrothed is approved in his work and -can offer her a home—“and you have got your certificates.” - </p> -<p> -“A few, and it may be that I could secure more; here is one which... I -value deeply... count above gold. It's from Prof. Carphin; you know what -he has done, of course. -</p> -<p> -“Hebrew scholar”—the probationer rose from his chair and paced the -floor—“that is inadequate, quite inadequate; there are many Hebrew -scholars, thank God, but Prof. Carphin has gone deeper. Why, sir, he has -made a race of scholars, and changed the face of theological thought in -Scotland; he is the modern Erasmus of our land,” and the probationer was -very warm. -</p> -<p> -“This is what he has written of me, and it is superfluous to say that from -such a man this testimony is the highest praise; I ought hardly to show -such words, but you will not misjudge me.” - </p> -<p> -“I beg to certify that Mr. Hiram Clunas, Master of Arts and Bachelor of -Divinity, late Fellow of this College, is in my judgment fully competent -to expound the Hebrew Scriptures after an accurate and spiritual fashion -to any body of intelligent people. -</p> -<p> -“Zechariah Carphin, -</p> -<h3> -“D.D., LL.D. -</h3> -<p> -“Calvin College, Edinburgh.” - </p> -<p> -“Pardon me, it is my foolishness, but you notice 'fully'; this extremity -of language is, I need not say, undeserved, but that Dr. Carphin should -have written it is... a compensation for many little disappointments,” and -the probationer's voice trembled. -</p> -<p> -“No, it will not be of material service in the way of gaining me a -hearing, for it is a... moral disgrace to my Church that the word of this -eminent man carries little weight with... committees and such like, and -that many people in this University city do not know his face when he -walks along Princes Street. -</p> -<p> -“This is from another kind of man, who is very... acceptable as a -preacher, and has much influence... in vacancies; it was an indiscretion, -I fear, to have asked him for... a certificate, as he has only seen me -once; but when one is pressed he is not always wise.” - </p> -<p> -“I have had the pleasure of knowing the Rev. Hiram Clunas for a -considerable time, and have much satisfaction in recommending him to the -favourable consideration of selection committees of vacant congregations, -He is a ripe scholar, a profound divine, an eloquent preacher, a faithful -pastor, an experienced Christian, with an attractive and popular manner, -and general knowledge of a varied and rich character. Any congregation -securing Mr. Clunas is certain to increase both in number and finance, and -I anticipate for this talented young minister a future of remarkable and -rapid success. -</p> -<p> -“MacDuff MacLeear, D.D.” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, it is a curious name, and I believe was, so to say, adopted. -Originally he was James MacLeear—MacLeear is his own—and some -years ago he inserted MacDuff, I am credibly informed, and now he has -dropped his Christian name. -</p> -<p> -“The reason for the change, it is understood, is for purposes of -advertisement in the public prints, where, I am informed, ordinary names -such as James or John are less... striking, so that preachers who desire -to appeal to the people use two surnames, as it were; it seems to me -doubtful in ethics, but one must not be ready to judge his neighbour in -such straits. -</p> -<p> -“No, his degree is not from a Scots University, but from a seat of -learning in a Western State of America—Auroraville, I think it is -called, but I am not sure. Yes, he wrote a little book on the <i>Maidens -of the Bible</i> of a popular cast. -</p> -<p> -“You agree with me that no one could use such a testimony with... -self-respect, and I have resolved to print no certificates or make any -personal appeal; but I do not regret the effort I made, for it has gained -me the Professor's letter,” and the probationer folded up the letter -carefully and placed it in his desk. -</p> -<p> -“I fear that you must think me charged with vain ambition, but... it is -not for my own sake.” - </p> -<p> -From time to time we spent an hour together, and he told me of his -journeys, many and toilsome. -</p> -<p> -“Of course I am not sent to supply in cities, for they require men of -greater... experience; my allotment is always in the country, and I like -that better. -</p> -<p> -“When my station comes near I begin to look out of the window and see -whether the district is level or hilly—for though climbing tries one -a little, one has a fair view to refresh the soul, and I like woods -because of the mystery and the rustling of the leaves. -</p> -<p> -“Sometimes a farmer will meet me with a dogcart—and there are no men -so kind as farmers—but mostly I walk, and that is nothing unless the -distance be far and it be raining heavily. No, it may be a weakness of the -flesh, but I do not like a night walk, and yet to see the squares of light -in the cottage windows, flashing across a glen or breaking out of a wood, -is very pleasing.” - </p> -<p> -One snowy morning in February he came into my room in evident excitement, -with a letter in his hand. -</p> -<p> -“You have taken such an interest in my affairs that I thought you would -like to know... I have received a letter informing me that I am on the -short leet for Tilliegask... just two, and I am one... and I am to preach -next Sabbath... and the farmer with whom I stayed has sent a very -encouraging letter.” - </p> -<p> -During the week the probationer was much tried on a question of -conscience, whether he ought to act on a suggestion of his friend at -Tilliegask. -</p> -<p> -“It happens,” he explained to me, “that the people at Tilliegask are very -conservative in their views of the Bible, while, as you are aware, I have -been led to accept certain modern conclusions regarding the history of the -books, and my good friend desires that I should... make no allusion to -them in my discourse. -</p> -<p> -“Now,” went on the probationer, “it was not my intention to do so, but -after this advice am I not bound in conscience to indicate, simply to -indicate, my position, that they may not be deceived, and that I may not -obtain a church by guile?” And he read to me the sentence, which I make no -doubt no one understood, but which was to Mr. Clunas a great relief. He -came home from Tilliegask in high spirits, and speculated every evening on -his chances as against the other man who was to preach on Sabbath. -</p> -<p> -“No, he was not what you would call a scholar,” and then the probationer -laughed aloud—a rare occurrence; “well, it was a translation in the -Latin class; he rendered <i>adhuc juvenis</i> as 'a still youth,' which -was much tasted, and others, too, as remarkable; but it is not generous to -remember such... failings.” - </p> -<p> -The good man was indeed so distressed by this disparaging allusion to his -rival that he searched his heart for the sins of pride and jealousy, which -with envy and worldliness, he confessed to me, constantly beset him. He -also impressed upon me that although Mr. Tosh might not be a scholar in -the academic sense, yet he had such gifts of speech that he would be an -excellent minister for Tilliegask if the choice of that secluded place -should fall on Tosh. But the probationer waited anxiously for the first -post on Tuesday, which would give the result, and I was only less anxious. -</p> -<p> -When he did not come down with tidings, and only the faintest sound came -from his room as of a chair occasionally shifted before the fire, I went -up, and found my friend very low and two open letters on the table. -</p> -<p> -“It has not been... God's will,” and he signed that I should read the -letters. One was from the ecclesiastical functionary who presides over -elections and church courts, and who is called by the suggestive name of -“moderator”; that the vote had been fifty-two for Mr. Clunas and -ninety-three for Mr. Tosh; that Mr. Tosh had been elected; that on his, -the moderator's appeal, the minority had “fallen in”; that he, the -moderator, was sure that Mr. Clunas would be pleased to know that his -supporters had shown so good a spirit, and that there was no doubt that -the Great Head of the Church had something in store for His servant; and -that in the event of Mr. Clunas applying in another vacancy he, the -moderator, would be willing to give him a strong certificate as to the -impression he, Mr. Clunas, had produced on the congregation of Tilliegask. -The second letter was from Wester Tilliegask, my friend's host, who was -full of genuine regret that Mr. Clunas had not won the poll, who explained -that up to Sabbath his chance was excellent, but that Mr. Tosh had carried -all before him by a sermon on “A Rainbow round about the Throne,” with -very fetching illustrations and quotations—Mr. Tosh had also won -several votes by shaking hands with the people at the door, and -ingeniously giving it to be understood that his idea of pastoral duty was -to visit his congregation four times a year; that, notwithstanding all -these Tosh attractions, he, Wester Tilliegask, would have preferred Mr. -Clunas; and that as there was a rumour that the minister of Ballengeich -would soon need a colleague, he would arrange through his, Wester -Tilliegask's, wife's brother that Mr. Clunas should have a hearing. He -added that a certificate from MacDuff MacLeear, placing Mr. Tosh a little -lower than St Paul, had told. -</p> -<p> -The probationer was very brave and generous, blaming no one, and -acknowledging that Tosh would be a more suitable man for Tilliegask, but -it was evident he was hardly hit. -</p> -<p> -“It was not to escape the unrest of this life,” he said, “nor for the -position, nor even for the sanction of my work; it was for the sake of one -who... has waited long to see me an ordained minister. She may not... be -spared much longer; my mother is now nearly seventy.” So it was no -sweetheart, but his mother of whom he thought. -</p> -<p> -“If I had been elected, I had purposed to start this forenoon and carry -the news myself, and I imagined the scene. I never could reach the cottage -unseen, for there is a window in the gable which commands the road, so -that mother is ever waiting at the garden gate for me. -</p> -<p> -“Do not count me foolish, but I was to pretend that I had just come to -visit her for a day, and then ask her how she would like to leave the -cottage and live in a manse. -</p> -<p> -“By this time she would jalouse something—'tis her word—but I -would tell nothing, only expatiate on the manse and her room in it, and... -and... she would suddenly throw her arms round my neck.... Excuse me, sir; -I will come down in the evening, if you please.” - </p> -<p> -Before evening he was hurrying down to the cottage, for after all he had -to go to his mother, and when he came back next Monday she was dead and -buried. -</p> -<p> -“Your sympathy is very grateful,” as we sat together, “and it helps me, -but I think my heart is... broken; although I had to live in Edinburgh in -order to accomplish my railway journeys, and we only saw one another at -intervals, we were all in all to one another.... -</p> -<p> -“There were things passed between us I cannot tell, for it seems to me -that a mother's death-bed is a holy place; but she knew that I had lost -Tilliegask, and... she was not cast down, as I was for her sake. -</p> -<p> -“'Dinna lose heart, Hiram,' she said, her hand in mine, 'for my faith will -be justified; when I gave ye to the Lord the day your father died I was -sure, a' through the fecht o' education I was sure, an' when you got your -honours I was sure, an' when you got no kirk I was still as sure, and now -my eyes are clear, an' I see that God has savit you for a work that hath -not entered into my heart,' and she blessed me....” - </p> -<p> -From that day he began to fail, and although he struggled to fulfil -preaching engagements, he had at last to give up public work. But he -toiled harder than ever at the Semitic languages. -</p> -<p> -“It is not that I am deceiving myself with vain hopes,” he explained to me -one day, “for I know full well that I am dying, but it seemeth good that -whatsoever talent I have should be cultivated to the end. -</p> -<p> -“The future life is veiled, and speculation is vain, but language must be -used, and they who have mastered the ancient roots will be of some -service; it is all I can offer, and I must give of my best.” - </p> -<p> -The morning he died I looked over his few affairs and balanced his -accounts, which were kept in a small pass-book, his poor fees on one side -and his slender expenses on the other to a halfpenny. -</p> -<p> -“The expenditure may seem heavy the last few journeys, but my strength -failed by the way, and I was unable to walk to my destination, but there -may still be enough at the end of the week for what has to be done. -</p> -<p> -“There will be £9 15s. 6d. when all is paid. -</p> -<p> -“With the sale of my books it will suffice, for I have carefully enquired, -to buy a grave and defray the cost of burial. It is not possible to be -buried beside my mother, for our ground is full, so let me lie where the -sun is shining on the Grange Cemetery.” - </p> -<p> -Soon after his mind wandered, and I gathered he was in the vestry of -Tilliegask Kirk. -</p> -<p> -“Lord, be merciful to me and remember my infirmities... deliver Thy -servant from the fear of man and all doubleness of heart... give me grace -to declare Thy truth and to set Thee before me... bless my mother and hear -her prayers....” - </p> -<p> -After a little while he began to preach, but we could make nothing of the -words till he suddenly stopped and raised himself in the bed. -</p> -<p> -“Thou, Lord,” he cried, with great astonishment, “hearing me... Forgive... -I am not worthy to declare Thy Gospel....” What was said by the Master -none of us heard, but the astonishment passed into joy, and the light -thereof still touched and made beautiful his face as the probationer fell -on sleep. -</p> -<p> -It was a spring day when we laid his body to rest, and any one who cares -can find his grave because a weeping willow hangs over it, and this is the -inscription on the stone: -</p> -<p> -Hiram Clunas, -</p> -<p> -Probationer. -</p> -<p> -“It is a very small thing that I should be judged of man's judgment.” - </p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ever had I met any man so methodical in his habits, so neat in his dress, -so accurate in speech, so precise in manner as my fellow-lodger. When he -took his bath in the morning I knew it was half-past seven, and when he -rang for hot water that it was a quarter to eight Until a quarter-past he -moved about the room in his slow, careful dressing, and then everything -was quiet next door till half-past eight, when the low murmur of the -Lord's Prayer concluded his devotions. Two minutes later he went -downstairs—if he met a servant one could hear him say “Good morning”—and -read his newspaper—he seldom had letters—till nine, when he -rang for breakfast. Twenty-past nine he went upstairs and changed his -coat, and he spent five minutes in the lobby selecting a pair of gloves, -brushing his hat, and making a last survey for a speck of dust One glove -he put on opposite the hat-stand, and the second on the doorstep, and when -he touched the pavement you might have set your watch by nine-thirty. Once -he was in the lobby at five and twenty minutes to ten, distressed and -flurried. -</p> -<p> -“I cut my chin slightly when shaving,” he explained, “and the wound -persists in bleeding. It has an untidy appearance, and a drop of blood -might fall on a letter.” - </p> -<p> -The walk that morning was quite broken, and before reaching the corner, he -had twice examined his chin with a handkerchief, and shaken his head as -one whose position in life was now uncertain. -</p> -<p> -“It is nothing in itself,” he said afterwards, with an apologetic allusion -to his anxiety, “and might not matter to another man. But any little -misadventure—a yesterday's collar or a razor cut, or even an inky -finger—would render me helpless in dealing with people. They would -simply look at the weak spot, and one would lose all authority. Some of -the juniors smile when I impress on them to be very careful about their -dress—quiet, of course, as becomes their situation, but -unobjectionable. With more responsibility they will see the necessity of -such details. I will remember your transparent sticking-plaster—a -most valuable suggestion.” - </p> -<p> -His name was Frederick Augustus Perkins; so ran the card he left on my -table a week after I settled in the next rooms, and the problem of his -calling gradually became a standing vexation. It fell under the class of -conundrums, and one remembered from childhood that it is mean to be told -the answer, so I might not say to Mister Perkins—for it was -characteristic of the prim little man that no properly constituted person -could have said Perkins—“By the way, what is your line of things?” - or any more decorous rendering of my curiosity. -</p> -<p> -Mrs. Holmes, who was as a mother to Mr. Perkins and myself, as well as two -younger men of literary pursuits and irregular habits, had a gift of -charming irrelevance, and was able to combine allusions to Mr. Perkins' -orderly life and the amatory tendencies of a new cook in a mosaic of -enthralling interest. -</p> -<p> -“No, Betsy Jane has 'ad her notice and goes this day week; not that her -cookin's bad, but her brothers don't know when to leave. One was 'ere no -later than last night, though if he was her born brother, 'e 'ad a -different father and mother, or my name ain't 'Olmes. 'Your brother, Betsy -Jane,' says I, 'ought not to talk in a strange 'ouse on family affairs -till eleven o'clock.' -</p> -<p> -“'E left at 'alf-past ten punctual,' says she, looking as hinnocent as a -child, 'for I 'eard Mr. Perkins go up to 'is room as I was lettin' Jim -out. -</p> -<p> -“'Betsy Jane,' I says, quite calm, 'where do you expeck to go to as -doesn't know wot truth is?' for Mr. Perkins leaves 'is room has the 'all -clock starts on eleven, and e's in 'is bedroom at the last stroke. If she -'adn't brought in Mr. Perkins she might'ave deceived me, gettin' old and -not bein' so quick in my hearing as I was; but that settled her. -</p> -<p> -“'Alf-past,” went on Mrs. Holmes, scornfully; “and 'im never varied two -minutes the last ten years, except one night 'e fell asleep in 'is chair, -being bad with hinfluenza. -</p> -<p> -“For a regular single gentleman as rises in the morning and goes out, and -comes in and takes 'is dinner, and goes to bed like the Medes and -Persians, I've never seen 'is equal; an' it's five-and-twenty years since -'Olmes died, 'avin' a bad liver through takin' gin for rheumatics; an' -Liz-beth Peevey says to me, 'Take lodgers, Jemima; not that they pays for -the trouble, but it 'ill keep an 'ouse.'... -</p> -<p> -“Mr. Perkins' business;” it was shabby, but the temptation came as a way -of escape from the flow of Mrs. Holmes' autobiography; “now that I -couldn't put a name on, for why, 'e never speaks about 'is affairs; just -'Good evening, Mrs.'Olmes; I'll take fish for breakfast to-morrow;' no -more than that, or another blanket on 'is bed on the first of November, -for it's by days, not cold, 'e goes....” - </p> -<p> -It was evident that I must solve the problem for myself. -</p> -<p> -Mr. Perkins could not be a city man, for in the hottest June he never wore -a white waistcoat, nor had he the swelling gait of one who made an -occasional <i>coup</i> in mines, and it went without saying that he did -not write; a man who went to bed at eleven, and whose hair made no claim -to distinction. One's mind fell back on the idea of law—conveyancing -seemed probable—but his face lacked sharpness, and the alternative -of confidential clerk to a firm of drysalters was contradicted by an air -of authority that raised observations on the weather to the level of a -state document The truth came upon me—a flash of inspiration—as -I saw Mr. Perkins coming home one evening. The black frock-coat and -waistcoat, dark grey trousers, spotless linen, high, old-fashioned collar, -and stiff stock, were a symbol, and could only mean one profession. -</p> -<p> -“By the way, Mr. Perkins,” for this was all one now required to know, “are -you Income Tax or Stamps?” - </p> -<p> -“Neither, although my duty makes me familiar with every department in the -Civil Service. I have the honour to be,” and he cleared his throat with -dignity, “a first-class clerk in the Schedule Office.” - </p> -<p> -“Our work,” he explained to me, “is very important, and in fact... vital -to the administration of affairs. The efficiency of practical government -depends on the accuracy of the forms issued, and every one is composed in -our office. -</p> -<p> -“No, that is a common mistake,” in reply to my shallow remark; “the -departments do not draw up their own forms, and in fact they are not fit -for such work. They send us a memorandum of what their officials wish to -ask, and we put it into shape. -</p> -<p> -“It requires long experience and, I may say, some... ability to compose a -really creditable schedule, one that will bring out every point clearly -and exhaustively—in fact, I have ventured to call it a science”—here -Mr. Perkins allowed himself to smile—“and it might be defined -Schedulology. -</p> -<p> -“Yes, to see a double sheet of foolscap divided up into some twenty-four -compartments, each with a question and a blank, space for the answer, is -pleasing to the eye, very pleasing indeed. -</p> -<p> -“What annoys one,” and Mr. Perkins became quite irritable, “is to examine -a schedule after it has been filled and to discover how it has been -misused—simply mangled. -</p> -<p> -“It is not the public simply who are to blame; they are, of course, quite -hopeless, and have an insane desire to write their names all over the -paper, with family details; but members of the Civil Service abuse the -most admirable forms that ever came out of our office. -</p> -<p> -“Numerous? Yes, naturally so; and as governmental machinery turns on -schedules they will increase every year. Could you guess, now, the number -of different schedules under our charge?” - </p> -<p> -“Several hundred, perhaps.” - </p> -<p> -Mr. Perkins smiled with much complacency. “Sixteen thousand four hundred -and four, besides temporary ones that are only used in emergencies. One -department has now reached twelve hundred and two; it has been admirably -organised, and its secretary could tell you the subject of every form. -</p> -<p> -“Well, it does not become me to boast, but I have had the honour of -contributing two hundred and twenty myself, and have composed forty-two -more that have not yet been accepted. -</p> -<p> -“Well, yes,” he admitted, with much modesty, “I have kept copies of the -original drafts,” and he showed me a bound volume of his works. -</p> -<p> -“An author? It is very good of you to say so,” and Mr. Perkins seemed much -pleased with the idea, twice smiling to himself during the evening, and -saying as we parted, “It's my good fortune to have a large and permanent -circulation.” - </p> -<p> -All November Mr. Perkins was engaged with what he hoped would be one of -his greatest successes. -</p> -<p> -“It's a sanitation schedule for the Education Department, and is, I dare -to say, nearly perfect It has eighty-three questions on every point, from -temperature to drains, and will present a complete view of the physical -condition of primary schools. -</p> -<p> -“You have no idea,” he continued, “what a fight I have had with our Head -to get it through—eight drafts, each one costing three days' labour—but -now he has passed it. -</p> -<p> -“'Perkins,' he said, 'this is the most exhaustive schedule you have ever -drawn up, and I'm proud it's come through the hands of the drafting -sub-department Whether I can approve it as Head of the publishing -sub-department is very doubtful.'” - </p> -<p> -“Do you mean that the same man would approve your paper in one department -to-day and... -</p> -<p> -“Quite so. It's a little difficult for an outsider to appreciate the -perfect order—perhaps I might say symmetry—of the Civil -Service,” and Mr. Perkins spoke with a tone of condescension as to a -little child. “The Head goes himself to the one sub-department in the -morning and to the other in the afternoon, and he acts with absolute -impartiality. -</p> -<p> -“Why, sir,”—Mr. Perkins began to warm and grow enthusiastic,—“I -have received a letter from the other sub-department, severely criticising -a draft he had highly commended in ours two days before, and I saw his -hand in the letter... distinctly; an able review, too, very able indeed. -</p> -<p> -“'Very well put, Perkins,' he said to me himself; 'they've found the weak -points; we must send an amended draft;' and so we did, and got a very -satisfactory reply. It was a schedule about swine fever, 972 in the -department of Agriculture. I have had the pleasure of reading it in public -circulation when on my holidays.” - </p> -<p> -“Does your Head sign the letters addressed to himself?” - </p> -<p> -“Certainly; letters between departments are always signed by the chief -officer.” Mr. Perkins seemed to have found another illustration of public -ignorance, and recognised his duty as a missionary of officialism. “It -would afford me much pleasure to give you any information regarding our -excellent system, which has been slowly built up and will repay study; but -you will excuse me this evening, as I am indisposed—a tendency to -shiver which annoyed me in the office to-day.” - </p> -<p> -Next morning I rose half an hour late, as Mr. Perkins did not take his -bath, and was not surprised when Mrs. Holmes came to my room, overflowing -with concern and disconnected speech. -</p> -<p> -“'E's that regular in 'is ways, that when 'Annah Mariar says 'is water's -at 'is door at eight o'clock, I went up that 'urried that I couldn't -speak; and I 'ears him speaking to 'isself, which is not what you would -expect of him, he being the quietest gentleman as ever...” - </p> -<p> -“Is Mr. Perkins ill, do you mean?” for Mrs. Holmes seemed now in fair -breath, and was always given to comparative reviews. -</p> -<p> -“So I knocks and says, 'Mr. Perkins, 'ow are you feeling?' and all I could -'ear was 'temperance'; it's little as he needs of that, for excepting a -glass of wine at his dinner, and it might be something 'ot before going to -bed in winter.... -</p> -<p> -“So I goes in,” resumed Mrs. Holmes, “an' there 'e was sittin' up in'is -bed, with 'is face as red as fire, an' not knowing me from Adam. If it -wasn't for 'is 'abits an' a-catching of 'is breath you wud 'ave said -drink, for 'e says, 'How often have the drains been sluiced last year?'” - After which I went up to Mr. Perkins' room without ceremony. -</p> -<p> -He was explaining, with much cogency, as it seemed to me, that unless the -statistics of temperature embraced the whole year, they would afford no -reliable conclusions regarding the sanitary condition of Board Schools; -but when I addressed him by name with emphasis, he came to himself with a -start: -</p> -<p> -“Excuse me, sir; I must apologise... I really did not hear... in fact,” - and then, as he realised his situation, Mr. Perkins was greatly -embarrassed. -</p> -<p> -“Did I forget myself so far as... to send for you?... I was not feeling -well. I have a slight difficulty in breathing, but I am quite able to go -to the office... in a cab. -</p> -<p> -“You are most kind and obliging, but the schedule I am... it just comes -and goes... thank you, no more water... is important and... intricate; no -one... can complete it... except myself. -</p> -<p> -“With your permission I will rise... in a few minutes... ten o'clock, dear -me... this is most unfortunate... not get down till eleven... I must -really insist...” But the doctor had come, and Mr. Perkins obeyed on one -condition. -</p> -<p> -“Yes, doctor, I prefer, if you please, to know; you see I am not a young -person... nor nervous... thank you very much... quite so; pneumonia is -serious... and double pneumonia dangerous, I understand... no, it is not -that... one is not alarmed at my age, but... yes, I'll lie down... letter -must go to office... dictate it to my friend... certain form... leave of -absence, in fact... trouble you too much... medical certificate.” - </p> -<p> -He was greatly relieved after this letter was sent by special messenger -with the key of his desk, and quite refreshed when a clerk came up with -the chiefs condolences. -</p> -<p> -“My compliments to Mr. Lighthead... an excellent young official, very -promising indeed... and would he step upstairs for a minute... will excuse -this undress in circumstances... really I will not speak any more. -</p> -<p> -“Those notes, Mr. Lighthead, will make my idea quite plain... and I hope -to revise final draft... if God will... my dutiful respect to the Board, -and kind regards to the chief clerk... it was kind of you to come, most -thoughtful.” - </p> -<p> -This young gentleman came into my room to learn the state of the case, and -was much impressed. -</p> -<p> -“Really this kind of thing—Perkins gasping in bed and talking in his -old-fashioned way—knocks one out of time, don't you know? If he had -gone on much longer I should have bolted. -</p> -<p> -“Like him in the office? I should think so. You should have seen the young -fellows to-day when they heard he was so ill. Of course we laugh a bit at -him—Schedule Perkins he's called—because he's so dry and -formal; but that's nothing. -</p> -<p> -“With all his little cranks, he knows his business better than any man in -the department; and then he's a gentleman, d'y see? could not say a rude -word or do a mean thing to save his life—not made that way, in fact. -</p> -<p> -“Let me just give you one instance—show you his sort Every one knew -that he ought to have been chief clerk, and that Rodway's appointment was -sheer influence. The staff was mad, and some one said Rodway need not -expect to have a particularly good time. -</p> -<p> -“Perkins overheard him, and chipped in at once. 'Mr. Rodway'—you -know his dry manner, wagging his eyeglass all the time—'is our -superior officer, and we are bound to render him every assistance in our -power, or,' and then he was splendid, 'resign our commissions.' Rodway, -they say, has retired; but the worst of it is that as Perkins has been -once passed over he 'ill not succeed. -</p> -<p> -“Perhaps it won't matter, poor chap. I say,” said Lighthead, hurriedly, -turning his back and examining a pipe on the mantel-piece, “do you think -he is going to... I mean, has he a chance?” - </p> -<p> -“Just a chance, I believe. Have you been long with him?” - </p> -<p> -“That's not it—it's what he's done for a... for fellows. Strangers -don't know Perkins. You might talk to him for a year, and never hear -anything but shop. Then one day you get into a hole, and you would find -out another Perkins. -</p> -<p> -“Stand by you?” and he wheeled round. “Rather, and no palaver either: with -money and with time and with... other things that do a fellow more good -than the whole concern, and no airs. There's more than one man in our -office has cause to... bless Schedule Perkins. -</p> -<p> -“Let me tell you how he got... one chap out of the biggest scrape he'll -ever fall into. Do you mind me smoking?” And then he made himself busy -with matches and a pipe that was ever going out for the rest of the story. -</p> -<p> -“Well, you see, this man, clerk in our office, had not been long up from -the country, and he was young. Wasn't quite bad, but he couldn't hold his -own with older fellows. -</p> -<p> -“He got among a set that had suppers in their rooms, and gambled a bit, -and he lost and borrowed, and... in fact, was stone broke. -</p> -<p> -“It's not very pleasant for a fellow to sit in his room a week before -Christmas, and know that he may be cashiered before the holidays, and all -through his own fault. -</p> -<p> -“If it were only himself, why, he might take his licking and go to the -Colonies; but it was hard... on his mother—it's always going out, -this pipe—when he was her only son, and she rather... believed in -him. -</p> -<p> -“Didn't sleep much that night—told me himself afterwards—and -he concluded that the best way out was to buy opium in the City next day, -and take it—pretty stiff dose, you know—next night. -</p> -<p> -“Cowardly rather, of course, but it might be easier for the mater down in -Devon—his mother, I mean—did I say he was Devon?—same -county as myself—affair would be hushed up, and she would have... -his memory clean. -</p> -<p> -“As it happened, though, he didn't buy any opium next day—didn't get -the chance; for Perkins came round to his desk, and asked this young chap -to have a bit of dinner with him—aye, and made him come. -</p> -<p> -“He had the jolliest little dinner ready you ever saw, and he insisted on -the fellow smoking, though Perkins hates the very smell of 'baccy, and—well, -he got the whole trouble out of him, except the opium. -</p> -<p> -“D'y think he lectured and scolded? Not a bit—that's not Perkins—he -left the fool to do his own lecturing, and he did it stiff. I'll tell you -what he said: 'Your health must have been much tried by this anxiety, so -you must go down and spend Christmas with your mother, and I would venture -to suggest that you take her a suitable gift. -</p> -<p> -“With regard to your debt, you will allow me,' and Perkins spoke as if he -had been explaining a schedule, 'to take it over, on two conditions—that -you repay me by instalments every quarter, and dine with me every Saturday -evening for six months. -</p> -<p> -“See what he was after? Wanted to keep... the fellow straight, and cheer -him up; and you've no idea how Perkins came out those Saturdays—capital -stories as ever you heard—and he declared that it was a pleasure to -him. -</p> -<p> -“'I am rather lonely,' he used to say, 'and it is most kind of a young man -to sit with me.' Kind!” - </p> -<p> -“What was the upshot with your friend? Did he turn over a new leaf?” - </p> -<p> -“He 'ill never be the man that Perkins expects, but he's doing his level -best, and... is rising in the office. Perkins swears by him, and that's -made a man of the fellow. -</p> -<p> -“He's paid up the cash now, but... he can never pay up the kindness—confound -those wax matches, they never strike—he told his mother last summer -the whole story. -</p> -<p> -“She wrote to Perkins—of course I don't know what was in the letter—but -Perkins had the fellow into his room. 'You ought to have regarded our -transaction as confidential. I am grieved you mentioned my name;' and then -as I—I mean, as the fellow—was going out, 'I'll keep that -letter beside my commission,' said Perkins. -</p> -<p> -“If Perkins dies”—young men don't do that kind of thing, or else one -would have thought—“it'ill be... a beastly shame,” which was a -terrible collapse, and Mr. Geoffrey Light-head, of the Schedule -Department, left the house without further remark or even shaking hands.. -</p> -<p> -That was Wednesday, and on Friday morning he appeared, flourishing a large -blue envelope, sealed with an imposing device, marked “On Her Majesty's -Service,” and addressed to— -</p> -<p> -“Frederick Augustus Perkins, Esq., -</p> -<p> -“First Class Clerk in the Schedule Department, -</p> -<p> -“Somerset House, -</p> -<p> -“London,” - </p> -<p> -An envelope any man might be proud to receive, and try to live up to for a -week. -</p> -<p> -“Rodway has retired,” he shouted, “and we can't be sure in the office, but -the betting is four to one—I'm ten myself—that the Board has -appointed Perkins Chief Clerk,” and Lighthead did some steps of a -triumphal character. -</p> -<p> -“The Secretary appeared this morning after the Board had met 'There's a -letter their Honours wish taken at once to Mr. Perkins. Can any of you -deliver it at his residence?' Then the other men looked at me, because—well, -Perkins has been friendly with me; and that hansom came very creditably -indeed. -</p> -<p> -“Very low, eh? Doctors afraid not last over the night—that's hard -lines... but I say, they did not reckon on this letter. Could not you read -it to him? You see this was his one ambition. He could never be Secretary, -not able enough, but he was made for Chief Clerk. Now he's got it, or I -would not have been sent out skimming with this letter. Read it to him, -and the dear old chap will be on his legs in a week.” - </p> -<p> -It seemed good advice, and this was what I read, while Perkins lay very -still and did his best to breathe:— -</p> -<p> -“Dear Mr. Perkins,— -</p> -<p> -“I have the pleasure to inform you that the Board have appointed you Chief -Clerk in the Schedule Department in succession to Gustavus Rodway, Esq., -who retires, and their Honours desire me further to express their -appreciation of your long and valuable service, and their earnest hope -that you may be speedily restored to health. I am, -</p> -<p> -“Your obedient servant, -</p> -<p> -“Arthur Wraxhall, -</p> -<p> -“Secretary.” - </p> -<p> -For a little time it was too much for Mr. Perkins, and then he whispered:— -</p> -<p> -“The one thing on earth I wished, and... more than I deserved... not -usual, personal references in Board letters... perhaps hardly regular... -but most gratifying... and... strengthening. -</p> -<p> -“I feel better already... some words I would like to hear again... thank -you, where I can reach it... nurse will be so good as to read it” - </p> -<p> -Mr. Perkins revived from that hour, having his tonic administered at -intervals, and astonished the doctors. On Christmas Eve he had made such -progress that Lighthead was allowed to see him for five minutes. -</p> -<p> -“Heard about your calling three times a day... far too kind with all your -work... and the messages from the staff... touched me to heart... never -thought had so many friends... wished been more friendly myself. -</p> -<p> -“My promotion, too... hope may be fit for duty... can't speak much, but -think I'll be spared... Almighty very good to me... Chief Clerk of -Schedule Department... would you mind saying Lord's Prayer together... it -sums up everything.” - </p> -<p> -So we knelt one on each side of Perkins' bed, and I led with “Our Father”—the -other two being once or twice quite audible. The choir of a neighbouring -church were singing a Christmas carol in the street, and the Christ came -into our hearts as a little child. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -THE RIGHT HAND OF SAMUEL DODSON -</h2> -<h3> -I -</h3> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>moking, as usual, and wasting your time after luncheon, instead of -hurrying to your offices and coining time into money like old Sam Dodson, -who can give the cash value of every five minutes,” and Welsby sat down -beside three other young Liverpool merchants in the club—all men who -had one eye on business and the other on the good of the city. -“Something's happened since I saw you fellows last on 'Change. Guess.” - “Cotton up three points? A corn corner at Chicago? A big bear in lard? -Anything to do with fruit?” - </p> -<p> -“Nothing whatever to do with such prosaic subjects, and I am ashamed to -notice your mercenary tempers; this is a public affair, and is to be a -profound secret for exactly seventy minutes, after which it will appear in -the fourth edition of the <i>Evening Trumpet</i>. -</p> -<p> -“It's a pity that the early news could not be used for an operation in -cotton, but I'll take it along to the 'Flags,' and tell it under pledge of -silence to half a dozen brokers. If you are really interested in the -matter, this will give it a wider and more certain circulation than any <i>Trumpet</i> -could.” - </p> -<p> -“We're all ears, Welsby.” - </p> -<p> -“Well, to begin at the beginning, you know how our people in Liverpool are -crowded together in courts and rookeries without room or air. It's hard on -the men and women, but it's hardest on the children, who have no place to -play in but the gutter. -</p> -<p> -“So a man wrote a letter to the papers about a month ago, pleading for a -fund to put down small playgrounds in the crowded districts, where the -little folk could come of an evening, and the mothers could sit, and the -men might smoke a pipe... -</p> -<p> -“I remember the letter,” broke in Cotton; “it was signed 'Philanthropist,' -and was generally supposed to have been composed in a moment of -inspiration by some proprietor of insanitary property; it was an elegant -letter, and affected me very much—to tears, in fact,” - </p> -<p> -“It was signed 'Charles Welsby,' and you never read a word of it, because -it had no reference to polo nor the Macfarlane Institute for Working Lads, -the only subjects to which you give any attention. Four people read it, -however, and wrote to me at once. One man denounced the scheme as another -instance of the patronage of the rich. He added that it was a sop, and -that the toilers would soon find open places for themselves.” - </p> -<p> -“He would mean your garden, Welsby,” suggested Lard. “The Socialist has -two main principles of action: first, to give nothing to any good cause -himself; and second, to appropriate his neighbour's property on the first -opportunity. And your other correspondents?” - </p> -<p> -“I had a letter from the inventor of a nonintoxicating beer, offering £5 -on condition that we advertised his beverage, which he discovered by -supernatural guidance and sold for philanthropic ends.” - </p> -<p> -“All queer beverages and patent medicines are owned by high-class -religious people, as far as I can understand,” remarked Com. -</p> -<p> -“Go on.” - </p> -<p> -“A third letter warned me that such spaces would be abused by bad -characters and sap the morals of the people; the writer also wanted to -know whether they would be closed on the Sabbath.” - </p> -<p> -“A publican evidently,” remarked Cotton; “no man is so concerned about -Sabbath observance. And so you got sick of the whole affair?” - </p> -<p> -“Rather, till I got this letter. I'll read it, and then you can make your -guesses at the enclosure. -</p> -<p> -“'Liverpool, June 9, 189-. -</p> -<p> -“'MY DEAR Sir,—Your letter of 7th ult, in the issue of the <i>Morning -Trumpet</i> of May 8, caught my eye and received my most careful -attention. As you appeared to have established a <i>primâ facie</i> case -for what you designate “People's Playgrounds,” I have occupied my leisure -time in examining the sanitary and social condition of certain parts of -our city which were more or less distinctly indicated in your letter. As -the result of my investigations, I am thoroughly convinced, in the first -place, that you have proved your case as regards the unfortunate -circumstances of the children in such parts, and, in the second place, -that your plan for their relief is practical and wisely considered, -</p> -<p> -“'It then became my duty as a citizen of Liverpool to consider what I -could do to further the ends of your scheme, and it seemed to me on the -whole most advisable to place a sum of money at your disposal, on -condition that it be spent with such other sums as may be sent you in -purchasing decaying property and creating playgrounds—said -playgrounds to be vested in the Parks and Gardens Committee of the City -Council—and I would suggest that people interested in each district -be allowed and encouraged to contribute to the furnishing and adornment of -the playgrounds. -</p> -<p> -“'I beg therefore to enclose a draft in your favour on Messrs. Goldbeater -& Co., Lombard Street, London, and I have only to add my sincere -approval of the good work you are doing among the poor of Liverpool, and -my wish, which, as a man of honour, you will doubtless carefully respect, -that you will take no steps to discover my name.—I have the honour -to be, your obedient servant, -</p> -<p> -“'Zaccheus.'” - </p> -<p> -“Satisfactory, very, although a trifle pedantic and long-winded. And the -sum, Welsby? I say £250.” - </p> -<p> -“£500” said Cotton. -</p> -<p> -“£1,000,” cried Lard. -</p> -<p> -“What do you say to £10,000?” and the draft was handed round. -</p> -<p> -“Congratulate you, old man.” Com shook hands with Welsby, and so did they -all, for he had worked hard in many a good cause. “You deserve your luck; -think I'll take to writing letters for my pet hospital. Who can he be? Do -you suspect any one?” - </p> -<p> -“Half a dozen, but I'm bound not to inquire; and I rather think that the -trail is covered at Goldbeater's beyond finding. But I know who did not -give it—Sam Dodson. -</p> -<p> -“No, of course I did not ask him for help. One does not court refusals; -but you know his meddling, ferreting ways. If he didn't stop me in the -street and ask fifty questions till I hinted at a subscription, when he -was off in a minute.” - </p> -<p> -“Nothing frightens him like a suggestion of that kind. He has raised -meanness to the height of genius. They say that he is worth £200,000, but -I wouldn't change with him,” said Lard, “for a million. When he dies, -Dodson will not leave a soul to regret him, and there'll not be six people -at his funeral.” - </p> -<p> -“You can't be sure, gentlemen,” said a quiet voice behind; “I've overheard -you on Dodson, and I hope what you say is not true.” - </p> -<p> -The speaker was one of those rare souls God sends forth at a time to -establish our faith in goodness; who are believed in by all parties, and -respected by all creeds, and loved by all classes; who sit on all the -charitable boards, and help on every good cause, and make peace in -quarrels; whom old men consult in their perplexities, and young men turn -to in trouble, and people follow with affectionate glances in the street; -who never suspect their own excellence, always take the lowest seat, and -have to be compelled to accept an honour. -</p> -<p> -“You have a good word to say for everybody, sir,” said Cotton with deep -respect; “but have you, even, ever got a penny from Mr. Dodson far a -charity?” - </p> -<p> -“Well, I cannot say that I remember an instance; only I'm sure that he has -his own way of doing good. Every one has, unless he be utterly bad; and -I'm seventy years old, gentle-men, and I never met that kind yet.” - </p> -<p> -“Greatheart is the only man in Liverpool who would say a word for Dodson,” - said Lard a minute later, “and in this case his charity has rather -overshot the mark; but it does one good to hear the old man. He is a -walking Sermon on the Mount, and the best thing about him is that he -believes in everybody; the very sight of his white hair makes me a better -man.” - </p> -<h3> -II -</h3> -<p> -“How tired you must be, Fred, after four hours' begging in offices! I'll -bring you a cup of tea in the study at once, and then you are to have a -nice little dinner all to yourself. -</p> -<p> -“Oh, no, I've not been extravagant at all, and I've not taken any money -out of our alms-box, and I'm not a wicked parson's wife who gets into -debt; but a hamper came from the country, with lots of good things in it, -and you will have the chicken; the children and I simply rioted in plenty -to-day. Now, I'll not hear a word about your expedition until you have had -some food.” - </p> -<p> -“There, I feel a perfect glutton, Ethel. I hope you have sent some of the -h-hamper to the sick.” - </p> -<p> -“I've done nothing of the kind; every single bit is to be eaten in this -Vicarage of St Ambrose; you would starve yourself and your family for the -parish, and I am sure you are the hardest working man in it. Well, have -you got the money to furnish the playground of St Ambrose's?” - </p> -<p> -“Do you mean have I come home with £54 in my pocket as the result of one -r-raid by a poor, dull, s-stammering parson, who couldn't make an eloquent -appeal to save his life?” - </p> -<p> -“You don't stammer, Fred, and I wish you wouldn't say such things; you -may... hesitate at a time, and I am sure any one would give you money for -a good cause, because you are... so sincere and...” - </p> -<p> -“That will do, Ethel; it's a great h-help to an obscure parson in the -poorest of parishes to have a wife who believes in him, and makes four -hundred pounds out of two.” - </p> -<p> -“And now about the money. Was the asking hard?” - </p> -<p> -“It might have been, but every one was so j-jolly. The first man I went to -was Mr. Welsby, and as soon as I came into his room he cried out, 'Was -just thinking of you: I hope you're on the w-warpath for that playground, -for I've a five-pound note ready for you.' -</p> -<p> -“He sent me on to a cotton b-broker, and he thanked me several times for -coming on such a good errand, and backed up Welsby with five pounds. Every -person had a kind word, and by five o'clock I had... -</p> -<p> -“The whole sum?” - </p> -<p> -“With six p-pounds over, which will get a little sheltered seat for old -people. How good those city fellows are when they fancy a cause.” - </p> -<p> -“And when they fancy the man who pleads it, Fred. Did you not get one -refusal?” - </p> -<p> -“Well, I was h-hurt by one man, who treated me rather shabbily. He allowed -me to explain the whole scheme—swings, sand-heaps, seats and all—and -he asked me a hundred questions about the parish and my work, till I think -he knew as much about the place as we do ourselves, and then sent me off -without a penny—said he didn't give to subscriptions on -p-principle.” - </p> -<p> -“What a mean, hypocritical wretch!” - </p> -<p> -“I left rather down, for I had lost h-half an hour with him, and I was -afraid I had offended him by some remark, but when I met Welsby again in -the street and told him, he declared that I ought not to have been sent -there, because D-Dodson—that's his name—was the most -inquisitive and hardest man on 'Change.” - </p> -<p> -“He can't be a gentleman, at any rate, to question you for mere curiosity; -I hope you gave him something to think over.” - </p> -<p> -“No, I didn't; it's no use, and only frets oneself. He had a big c-chance -and lost it What do you say to inviting the subscribers down some evening -when the playground is in full occupation? They will get full value for -their money at the sight of the girls on the swings, and the boys at ball, -and the b-babies scooping up the sand, and the old folks sunning -themselves on their seats.” - </p> -<p> -“It will be splendid; but Fred, it goes to my heart that our own boys can -have no holiday, and when their schoolfellows are away in Wales, will be -sweltering in this close house.” - </p> -<p> -“How much have we in the h-holiday fund?” - </p> -<p> -“Just two pounds and sixpence. Save as I would, that is all I could -manage... If we had not given so much away we might...” - </p> -<p> -“You are just as r-ready to give as I am, my little wife, and none of us -regret anything we've done for the poor souls around us; but I'm sorry for -the boys. Did you tell them?” - </p> -<p> -“No, I hadn't the heart, so I played the coward and said you were thinking -the matter over, and that you would tell them, perhaps, to-morrow -morning.” - </p> -<p> -“Do you know I rather s-suspected this would be the end of it, and I was -planning how to make the best of things. I made up a series of cheap -trips, personally conducted, to New Brighton, and Cheshire, and Hale; -you'll give us our l-lunch, and we'll have a regular picnic. I have some -old knick-knacks of my schooldays at Shrewsbury, and I'll offer them as -p-prizes for the best account of the day. You'll come with us, too, and -we'll have a particularly jolly time. -</p> -<p> -“Letters? The post is late to-night That is about the c-contract for -swings, and this is a diocesan circular, and there is a new company -p-prospectus—rather an irony sending it to me—but here are two -unknown hands; let us see the news. -</p> -<p> -“Now isn't this good? £3 for the playground from a Dissenter who -c-complains I didn't call on him, and has a kind word about my hard work, -as he calls it; and I've been often annoyed at that man for the things he -said on Disestablishment. He may say anything he pleases now on a -platform; I know there is a kind heart behind the words. -</p> -<p> -“Will this be more money for the s-swings? Hurrah! here is an enclosure of -some sort But what is this...?” - </p> -<p> -“What's wrong, Fred? Is any one dead? Are you ill...?” - </p> -<p> -“Ethel, you are an excellent m-manager.”' The Vicar, very white as to his -cheeks, and somewhat wet as to his eyes, stood on the hearthrug and waved -his wife to a distance. “Be g-good enough to secure a commodious farmhouse -in North Wales, somewhere between Bettws-y-Coed and Llanberis, for the -month of August—with a little f-fishing attached, if possible. -</p> -<p> -“Please sit down, Ethel, and don't interrupt. I'm sane, quite sane; much -p-playground and domestic affliction have not made me mad. Now, where was -I? Yes, and arrange quite a s-series of tours round by Festiniog, and up -Snowdon, and down to Llandudno, and another to the Menai Straits.... -</p> -<p> -“You are an extravagant, d-dressy woman, Ethel, so you may get a n-natty -walking dress and three blouses, but keep a trifle for f-fishing apparatus -and special provisions... you are t-throttling me... then read it -yourself, read it aloud, and... I will p-process round the table. I wish -the boys had not gone to bed.” - </p> -<p> -“'Liverpool, <i>July</i> 16, 189—. -</p> -<p> -“'Reverend and Dear Sir,—It has come to my knowledge from various -quarters that you and your devoted partner in life are doing a most -beneficent work, both sacred and secular, in a very necessitous district -of our great city, and that you are discharging this duty to your -fellow-creatures at severe cost to yourselves and your family. -</p> -<p> -“'My observation of life leads me to believe that none of our citizens -live harder lives, or make greater sacrifices, than clergymen of limited -means whose sphere of labour lies in poor parishes, and, without being in -any sense a good man—for my whole life is a struggle with one -besetting sin, which often getteth the victory—I have been filled -with respectful admiration, and have wished to assist, after a humble -fashion, in this Christian service. -</p> -<p> -“'As you may have some difficulty in securing a suitable holiday for your -family through your notorious charity—for such is the report -concerning you—I venture with much diffidence to enclose a draft on -London, which can be cashed at any bank, for your use, under two -conditions, which I must charge you to observe: (i) that the whole sum be -employed to the last penny in holiday expenses—including such -special outfit as may be judged fit by your wife for you all; and (2) that -you make no effort to discover the name of your unworthy friend. The -endorsement of this draft will be sufficient acknowledgment. -</p> -<p> -“'Trusting you will all have a health-giving, happy, and long holiday, -</p> -<p> -“'I have the honour to be, -</p> -<p> -“'Your humble servant, -</p> -<p> -“'Zaccheus'” - </p> -<p> -“Your voice is a little shaky, Ethel... don't wonder... such nonsense -about me and such c-compliments to you... yes, it will be g-glorious, -another honeymoon, and those rascals of boys, why won't they... Let us -thank God, wife; it came from Him....” - </p> -<h3> -III -</h3> -<p> -“You will be pleased to hear, mater dear, that corn is up twopence a -cental, and that the market is buoyant; that's the good of new blood being -brought into corn. I would have been lost in medicine. -</p> -<p> -“I have been studying the career of a corn prince, and it has five -chapters. He begins a poor boy—from the North of Ireland by -preference, but that is not necessary—then he attracts his chiefs -attention, who sends him out to America, where even the Yankees can't hold -their own with him, and he becomes manager of his firm. His next move is -to start in partnership with some young fellow who has money and no -brains; by-and-bye he discovers by instinct that corn is going to rise, so -he buys it ahead by the cargo, and piles up a gorgeous sum—say one -hundred thousand pounds. Afterwards he buys out Emptyhead, and becomes the -chief of a big house with lots of juniors, and he ends by being a Bank -director and moving resolutions at the Town Hall. -</p> -<p> -“Please don't interrupt, mother, for I have not done yet. Long before the -Town Hall level this rising corn man has gone up by stages from the street -off Princes Road to an avenue near the Park, and then into the Park, and -perhaps into the country, whence he appears as High Sheriff. -</p> -<p> -“One minute more, you impatient mother. A certain person who will pretend -to be nearly fifty when the corn man comes into his kingdom, but will -remain always at twenty-five exactly, and grow prettier every year, will -have a better set of rooms in each new house, and, at last, will have her -own carriage, and visit whole streets of poor folk, and have all Liverpool -blessing her. This is the complete history of the corn man and his mother, -as it will be expounded to after generations of schoolboys by informing -and moral philanthropists. What do you think of it?” - </p> -<p> -“I think that you are a brave boy, Jack, and your mother is proud of you -and grateful; if it's any reward for you to know this, I can say that the -way you have taken your disappointment has been one of my chief comforts -in our great sorrow.” - </p> -<p> -“Don't talk as if I were a sort of little tin hero, mater, or else I'll -have to leave the room, for I'm nothing of the sort, really. If you only -saw me at my desk, or fussing round the offices, or passing the time of -day on corn, you would see that I was simply born for business.” - </p> -<p> -“Jack,” said Mrs. Laycock solemnly, “you have not been without faults, I'm -thankful to say, for you've been hot-tempered, hot-headed, wilful, and -lots of things, but this is the first time you have been deliberately -untruthful.” - </p> -<p> -“Mother, with all respect to you, I will not stand this insult,” and so he -slipped down on the floor and caressed his mother's hand. “You think that -I've no commercial ability. Wait for the event It will be swagger, you -bet.” - </p> -<p> -“I think everything that is good of you, Jack, as I ought, and your father -did; but I know that it was very hard that you could not go back to Rugby -this autumn and finish in the sixth, and go to Cambridge and study at -Caius, your father's college, and get your M.D., and take up your father's -profession and the one you loved, the noblest a man can live and... die -in,” and there was a break in the widow's voice. -</p> -<p> -“Of course, mater, that is what I would have preferred, and it was a -bit... stiff when I knew that it would all have to be given up; but that -was nothing to... losing father. And besides, I think that I may get on in -business and... help you, mother.” - </p> -<p> -“Your father had set his heart on your being a doctor, and I don't know -whether he ever spoke to you about it, but he hoped you might become a -specialist—in surgery, I think; he said you had the hands at least -for a good surgeon. -</p> -<p> -“It was his own heart's desire, you know, to be a surgeon, pure and -simple, and Mr. Holman, the great consultant, considered him to be one of -the best operators in the provinces, but he was obliged to be a general -practitioner. -</p> -<p> -“Why? Oh, because he had no private means, and he had you and me to -support, so he couldn't run any risks; he had to secure a regular income; -and there is something I wish you to understand, in case you should ever -think hardly of your father.” - </p> -<p> -“Mother—as if I could! The very people in the street admired father; -you know what they said in the <i>Morning Trumpet</i> about his -self-sacrificing life, and his skill being at the disposal of the poorest, -without money and without price.” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, the papers were very kind, and his patients adored your father; but -I am certain some of our neighbours criticised him because he did not make -better provision for his wife and child. As if he had been extravagant or -improvident, who never spent a farthing on himself, and was always -planning for our welfare.” - </p> -<p> -“You are just torturing yourself with delusions, I am sure, mater. Did any -single person ever hint that father had not done... his duty by us? I -can't believe it.” - </p> -<p> -“One man did, at any rate, Jack, and that was our neighbour, Mr. Dodson.” - </p> -<p> -“What did he say, the miserable old curmudgeon? Did he dare to bring a -charge against father? I wish I had been with you.” - </p> -<p> -“No, it was not that he said anything; it was rather what he implied; he -just questioned and questioned in an indirect fashion, all by way of -interest in our affairs, but left the impression on my mind that he -thought the doctor ought to have done better for his family.” - </p> -<p> -“What business had Mr. Dodson to call at all and to ferret into our -affairs, who was never before in our house? If we needed help—which -we don't—he is the last man in this district to give it. Do you know -he's the hardest, meanest creature in Liverpool? He'll leave a cab thirty -yards from his house when he's coming from the station, to keep within the -shilling limit, and he goes down in the penny 'bus with the working-women -to save twopence.” - </p> -<p> -“There is a certain young corn-broker,” interpolated Mrs. Laycock, “who -walks all the way to save even that penny, and I don't consider him mean.” - </p> -<p> -“That is economy, and indicates the beginning of a fortune, which will be -shared with a certain sarcastic mater. But Dodson is a millionaire, and -has nobody depending on him but an old housekeeper. Certainly father was -not economical by his standard.” - </p> -<p> -“Your father was most careful and thrifty,” said the widow eagerly, “and -that is what I want to explain. He had to borrow money to educate himself, -and that he paid back, every penny, with interest Then, you know, a doctor -cannot keep himself for the first few years of his practice—he only -made £32 10s. 6d. the year he began—and when he reached £200 he did -a... foolish thing.” - </p> -<p> -“Let me guess, mater. Was it not marrying the dearest, sweetest, -prettiest...” - </p> -<p> -“Hush, you stupid boy! And we had to keep up a certain appearance and pay -a high rent, and we were very poor—poorer than the public ever knew. -</p> -<p> -“Of course, the doctor had a large practice before he died, and people -used to think he made two and three thousand pounds a year; and Mrs. -Tattler-Jones, who knows everything, said our income was £4,000. -</p> -<p> -“His last year, your father earned £1,800 and got in £1,200; the other -£600 will never be paid; and yet he was so pleased because he had cleared -off the last penny of his debt, and thought he would begin to lay -something aside for your education.” - </p> -<p> -“But why did he not get the other £600? Could the people not pay?” - </p> -<p> -“They could pay everybody else—wine merchants, jewellers, and -car-owners—but their doctor's bill was left last, and often -altogether, and your father would never prosecute.” - </p> -<p> -“And didn't father attend many people for nothing?” - </p> -<p> -“No one will ever know how many, for he did not even tell me; he used to -say that if he didn't get often to church, he tried to do as people were -told to do there; his commandment was the eleventh, 'Love one another.'” - </p> -<p> -“Did father believe the same as clergymen about things, mater?” - </p> -<p> -“No, not quite, and I suppose some people would call him a heretic; but -you and I know, Jack, that if to do good and to be quite selfless, and to -be high-minded, pure, and true, is to be like Christ, then the doctor was -a Christian, the best I ever saw.” - </p> -<p> -“Very likely he was the same sort of heretic as Christ Himself. I say, -mater, there will be a good lot to speak up for father some day—widows -and orphans and such like. I'm proud to be his son; it's a deal better to -have such a father, of whom every person speaks well, than to come in for -a pot of money. If old Dodson had a son, how ashamed he would be of his -father.” - </p> -<p> -“Money is not a bad thing, all the same, Jack,” and Mrs. Laycock sighed. -“If we had had a little more than the insurance policy, then we would not -have had to come to this house, and you would not have been in an office.” - </p> -<p> -“It's a jolly house, I think; and when the Christmas cards are stuck up -the decorations will be complete. I wonder if the advance ones will come -by this post? We'll see who remembers us.” - </p> -<p> -“That's the bell; and see, six, seven, I declare, ten to begin with! -Here's one in a rare old-fashioned hand. I'll take off the envelope and -you will see the name. Why, it's a letter, and a long screed, and a... -cheque!” - </p> -<p> -“Have some of those thieves paid their account? You are crying, mater. Is -it about father? May I see the letter, or is it private?” - </p> -<p> -“No, it's about you, too, my son. I wish you would read it aloud; I'm -not... quite able.” - </p> -<p> -“'Liverpool, <i>December</i> 24, 189—. -</p> -<p> -“'Dear Madam,— -</p> -<p> -“'Along with many others in Liverpool, I experienced a feeling of keen -regret that in the inscrutable actings of Providence your respected -husband, Dr. Laycock, was, as it appears, prematurely removed from his -work and family. -</p> -<p> -“'It must be a sincere consolation for his widow to know that no man could -have rendered more arduous and salutary service to his fellows, many of -whom he relieved in pain, not a few of whom he was instrumental in -restoring to their families from the portals of death. Without curiously -inquiring into the affairs of private life, many persons were persuaded -that Dr. Laycock was in the custom of attending persons of limited means -as an act of charity, whereby he did much good, won much affection, and -doubtless has laid up for himself great riches in the world to come, if we -are to believe the good Book. -</p> -<p> -“'I have not, however, sent you this letter merely to express my sympathy, -shared with so many who have the privilege, denied to me, of your personal -friendship, or to express the admiration felt by all for the eminent -departed. My object is different, and must be its own excuse. Unless I -have been incorrectly informed—and my authority seemed excellent—the -noble life of Dr. Laycock hindered him from making that complete provision -for his family which he would have desired, and which other men in less -unselfish walks of life could have accomplished. This disability, I am -given to understand, has seriously affected the career of your son, whom -every one describes as a promising lad, so that he has been removed from a -public school, and has been obliged to abandon the hope of entering on the -study of medicine. -</p> -<p> -“'If my information be correct, it was his father's wish that your son -should follow in his steps, and it is incumbent on those who honoured Dr. -Laycock for his example of humanity, to see that his cherished wish be -fulfilled. Will you, therefore, in the light of the explanation I have -made at some length, accept the draft I have the honour to send—value -£1,000—and use the proceeds in affording to your son a complete -medical education at home and abroad? The thought that the just desire of -a good man has not fallen to the ground, and that a certain burden will be -lifted from his widow's life, will be more than sufficient recompense to -one whom you will never know, but who will, so long as he may be spared, -follow your son's career with sincere interest.—Believe me, my dear -madam, your obliged and grateful servant, -</p> -<h3> -“'ZACCHEUS.' -</h3> -<p> -“Hold it up against the light, mater; it's the prettiest Christmas card -we'll ever see.... You ought to be laughing, and not crying.... But I feel -a little—just a tiny wee bit watery myself. -</p> -<p> -“He might as well have told us his name; but I suppose he was afraid of a -row. Zaccheus? Why, that's the man who gave the playgrounds. He must have -a pile, and he knows how to use it; he's no Dodson, you bet At any rate, -though we don't know him, we can say, 'God bless him,' mater.” - </p> -<p> -“Amen,” said Mrs. Laycock. “I hope the father knows.” - </p> -<h3> -IV -</h3> -<p> -“How do I know that there is something wrong, Bert? Because we've been -married five years last month, and I can read your face like a book, or -rather a great deal better than most books, for I'm not clever in -following deep books, but I'm quite sure about your face. -</p> -<p> -“No, I don't imagine, for you may be able to hide what you feel on the -'Flags,' but you let out the secret at home; and that is one reason why I -love you—because you are not cunning and secretive. Now tell me, is -cotton down, and have you lost? -</p> -<p> -“Oh, yes, Bert, I know your principle, that a man ought to bear the burden -outside, and the woman inside the home; but there are exceptions. You have -acted up to your principle splendidly. You have never said a word all -these years, although I know you've had anxious times, and you've helped -me many a time with my little troubles. Let me help you in yours now.” - </p> -<p> -“Queenie, if you want to put me to utter shame, you have taken the right -way, for it's your thrift and good management which has given us our happy -home, and I...” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, you, Bert, you have idled your time, I suppose, and spent your money -on dress, and generally neglected your family. For shame, sir, when you -have done so well, and every one says that nobody is so much respected. -Don't look like that if you love me. What is it?” - </p> -<p> -“It is necessary that you be told, and I was going to speak this evening, -but it is very hard. Queenie, when I kissed the children and looked at you -all so happy, I felt like a... murderer.” - </p> -<p> -“Have you.. -</p> -<p> -“No, on my word of honour, I have done nothing wrong, <i>that</i> I can -say; neither you nor the little ones have any cause to be ashamed of me.” - </p> -<p> -“If you had, I would have stood by your side, Herbert, but I knew disgrace -would never come by you; then what is it? If it's only the loss of some -money, why, I know half a dozen economies.” - </p> -<p> -“It's far worse than that, wife, I fear. This will be our last Christmas -in our dear little home, and it's all my blame, and I feel... the basest -of men. As if you had trusted me when I had deceived you all. -</p> -<p> -“You are the best wife ever man had.... I feel better, and I'll explain it -all to you. It is not very difficult; it is so easy to be ruined. -</p> -<p> -“You know we are brokers, and our business is to buy or sell cotton for -other people, and we are responsible for them, so that if they cannot pay -the losses, we have to find the money. -</p> -<p> -“Two of our firms, which have been very kind to us, were sure cotton would -go up—and so it ought to have done, and will in the end—and -they bought so many bales through us. -</p> -<p> -“Well, a big house, which can do pretty much as it likes, seized the -opportunity of a fraud to rush in and upset the market, so our friends and -many others have to face declines they cannot meet So unless our poor -little firm can pay £10,000 at least on Monday, we must stop, and... all -our hard work to build up an honourable name is lost. -</p> -<p> -“We can scrape £4,000, and my partner and I have £1,000 private means to -put in, and... that's all. £5,000 short -</p> -<p> -“Yes, we have tried the Bank, but they can't do anything there. -Goldsworthy, the manager, is the nicest fellow living, and his 'No' is -almost as good as another's 'Yes'; but of course it was 'No'; we had no -security; the cotton may go lower before it turns, and he has told us we -must pay.” - </p> -<p> -“But surely, Herbert, if the big firms knew how you were situated, they -would help you, because things would come right in a few weeks, you say.” - </p> -<p> -“Every man has to look after himself in the market But I did go to -Huddleston, because he has given me so much advice, and wanted me to take -an interest in the Church.... I wish my tongue had been burned before I -crossed his room. -</p> -<p> -“No, he wasn't rude—that's not his sin; he might be better if he -were straighter. He hoped that I was prospering in business, and reminded -me that I must not allow the world to get too much hold, and became -eloquent on money being only a stewardship. But when I opened up my -errand, he explained that he made it a principle never to lend money, and -suggested that this was a chastening because we had hasted to be rich. He -hoped that the issue would be sanctified, and... but I rose and left, -quite sick.” - </p> -<p> -“What a canting old wretch!” Mrs. Ransome was very angry. “I always hated -that man's soft sawder; he's much too pussy to be true.” - </p> -<p> -“He was not bound to help me unless he pleased. But what riled me was his -religious talk; he might have spared me that at least. And if those -operators who have knocked the market to pieces haul in £30,000, they will -likely give £1,000 to missions. -</p> -<p> -“When a man has done his level best, and been fairly prudent, and has -worked hard, and is getting a fair connection, and everything is taken -away by a big, unscrupulous, speculative firm, which sees a chance of -making a pile at the ruin of half a dozen struggling firms, it's a little -hard.” - </p> -<p> -“They ought to be put in jail; but they'll catch it some day;” and it was -evident Mrs. Ransome, like many other people in her circumstances, found -much satisfaction from the belief in future punishment. -</p> -<p> -“It's apt to make one bitter, too,” Ransome went on. “When I sat opposite -old Dodson in the 'bus this afternoon—come to the penny 'bus now, -you see, Queenie—looking out from below his shaggy eyebrows like a -Scotch terrier, with meanness written over his shabby clothes, and almost -heard the gold chinking in his pockets, and thought that he could save our -home and secure my future by a cheque, and never miss the money—suppose -he lost it, which he wouldn't if I lived—I declare, I could have... -well, I did not feel as Christian as Huddleston would desire.” - </p> -<p> -“Bert, have you ever thought what we would do if we became rich—how -we would send flowers to people who were not well off, and let them use -our carriage, and send overworked teachers and clerks for holidays, and... -</p> -<p> -“Help lame dogs in cotton over stiles, eh wifie? Yes, I've had my dreams -too. I'd go in for the poor children's holiday fund, that would be my -extravagance. But we are no better than other people. And were you never -afraid that we would grow selfish and pompous, and mean and pharisaical, -like Huddleston, and maybe end in being Dodsons?” - </p> -<p> -“No, no, that is impossible!” cried his wife, “because, for one thing, we -have loved, and, perhaps, Mr. Dodson never was loved, poor soul; and if -things come to the worst, remember there is a good deal left.” - </p> -<p> -“There is something in that, Queenie; run over the inventory, and I'll -check you.” - </p> -<p> -“First of all there is you, the truest, kindest, bravest husband in -Liverpool.... -</p> -<p> -“Stop; that is your own private property, and we were to go over our -common means; besides, the valuation is ninety per cent too high.” - </p> -<p> -“You be quiet And there are two children whom every one looks at in the -street, and who are the sweetest... Nobody hears us, so it doesn't matter, -and you know they are. Wouldn't it have been far worse if we had lost -Reggie when he had diphtheria? Well, we have him and Maud, and they never -looked better.” - </p> -<p> -“That's true, wifie; go on; capital is mounting up.” - </p> -<p> -“Then there's your good name, which has never been stained. Nobody says -you are mean, or hypocritical, or unmanly, or... anything bad; and if... -you can't pay that money on Monday, every person will know that it was not -your fault, and that you will repay all you owe some day, if you can.” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, please God, wife, we will... You think too much of me, but go on.” - </p> -<p> -“We have half a dozen friends, and, although they're not rich, they're -true; and if we have to go into a smaller house and live very quietly, -they won't mind; they'll just come closer, won't they?” - </p> -<p> -“Right again; you are getting on. We've somewhere about £50,000 working -capital now.” - </p> -<p> -“We have our books and our music, and... five years of love and... -spiritual blessings one doesn't talk about....” - </p> -<p> -“One piece of property wanting, which is best of all—yourself, -Queenie, surely the cleverest, loyalest...” - </p> -<p> -“You are talking nonsense now, Bert; and are you aware that it is past -eleven o'clock? I'll turn out the gas in the dining-room if you will see -that the door is fastened.” - </p> -<p> -“Here is a letter which must have come by the last post and been -forgotten; perhaps it's a Christmas card in advance. Let's see. Oh, I say, -you've left me in darkness.” - </p> -<p> -“Come up to our room; we can open it there; very likely it's a bill. -Well?” - </p> -<p> -“I say... Queenie... no, it can't be a hoax... nobody would be so cruel... -and here's an enclosure... letter from London bankers confirming... sit -down here beside me; we'll read it together... so, as near as you can, and -your arm round my neck... just a second before we begin... my eyes are... -all right now.” - </p> -<p> -“Liverpool, <i>December</i> 22, 189—. -</p> -<p> -“Dear Sir,—It has been my practice, as a man engaged for many years -in commercial pursuits, to keep a watchful and, I hope, not unkindly eye -upon young firms beginning their business career in Liverpool. For the -last five years I have observed your progress with much interest, and you -will pardon my presumption and take no offence, when I express my -satisfaction, as an old merchant, with your diligence, caution, ability, -and, most of all, integrity, to which all bear witness. -</p> -<p> -“I was therefore greatly grieved to learn that your firm may be hardly -pressed next week, and may be in danger of stoppage—all the more -because I find no charge of folly can be brought against you, but that you -are the indirect victims of one firm's speculative operations. There is no -one, I am also informed, from whom you can readily obtain the temporary -assistance you require and are morally entitled to receive. -</p> -<p> -“The only satisfaction I have in life is using such means as Providence -has been pleased to put into my hands for the succour of people who are in -every way better than myself, but who are in some kind of straits. I have -therefore directed my London bankers to open an account for you and to put -£10,000 to your credit. Upon this account you will be pleased to draw such -a sum as will tide you over the present crisis, and such other sums as -will enable you to extend your business along the safe and honourable -lines you have hitherto followed. I do not doubt that you will repay the -said sum or sums to the same account as you may be able—no interest -will be accepted—and I only lay one other obligation on your honour, -that you make no endeavour to discover my name. -</p> -<p> -“Be pleased to accept my best wishes of this season for your admirable -wife, your two pleasing children, and my confident hope for your final and -large success in business.—I remain, your faithful friend, -</p> -<p> -“Zaccheus.” - </p> -<p> -“Let us go and kiss the children, hubbie, and then... we might say the -Lord's Prayer together.” - </p> -<h3> -V -</h3> -<p> -“A respectable, elderly woman, did you say, Marshall?” said Mr. Greatheart -in his room at the office; “certainly, bring her in. Very likely a widow -wishing to get her son admitted to the Bluecoat School, or some poor -householder in trouble about her taxes.” For to this man came all sorts -and conditions of people in their distresses, and to each he gave patient -audience and practical succour. -</p> -<p> -“You don't trouble me. If I can be of any use, nothing will please me -better,” he said, placing a chair and making a kindly fuss to cover his -visitor's confusion. “Now sit down and tell me all about it” That was why -the respectable poor loved him, from the Catholic Irish of Scotland Road -to the Orangemen of Toxteth. -</p> -<p> -“Is it your husband or your son you are so anxious about?”—for she -was much agitated. “I notice that a woman hardly ever comes about herself! -It's we men who are selfish, not the women.” - </p> -<p> -“No, it's neither, for I am an unmarried woman. It's about my master, whom -I believe you know, sir—Mr. Dodson.” - </p> -<p> -“Samuel Dodson, you mean; I should think so! Have known him for fifty -years—since we served our time together in Palmer's shipping office. -What, is he ill?” - </p> -<p> -“He's dead... this morning. You'll excuse me, I was his housekeeper for -near thirty year, and... I'm a little upset.” - </p> -<p> -“Good gracious! No wonder. Maria Wilkins, did you say?... You may well be -upset And thirty years with him! Tell me how this happened, for we've -heard nothing in the city. He couldn't have been ill long.” - </p> -<p> -“No, sir, he was never ill at all—not what you would say proper; but -I've seen him failin' for some time—gettin' thin like and growin' -down—and last night he was that white and shaky, that I wanted him -to see a doctor. But no, he wouldn't If it had been me or the girl, he -would have had a doctor when there was nothing wrong with us, he was that -concerned about other people; but for himself...” - </p> -<p> -Mr. Greatheart nodded—indicating that Mr. Dodson's unselfish -character was well known to him. -</p> -<p> -“'No, no, Maria,' says he, 'a doctor can do no good to me. I'm a tough old -fellow*—speaking that way to me, being long with him—'I'll be -all right to-morrow.' But I made bold to put a glass of brandy in his -room, and pleaded with him to ring the bell if he was unwell—he was -not easily managed—and that was all I could do, sir.” - </p> -<p> -Her hearer was of opinion that from what he knew of Mr. Dodson's native -obstinacy, Maria Wilkins had done all in the power of mortal woman, and -possibly, more, than could have been accomplished by any man. -</p> -<p> -“Twice during the night I rose and listened at his door—his face, -when he said good-night, lyin' heavy on me, so to say—and I heard -nothing; but when he didn't answer in the mornin' I took it on me to open -the door. Mr. Dodson was a-sittin' up in his bed, and at the sight of his -face I knew how it was, havin' seen death many times. My old master... was -gone,” and the housekeeper yielded to her feelings. -</p> -<p> -“Dear, dear! So Sam Dodson is gone; an able and successful merchant, one -who always met his obligations, and whose word was as good as his bond; he -had a warmer heart than any person knew. I've seen a look in his face at a -time, and am sure that he did good in his own way.” - </p> -<p> -“God bless you for that, sir! but it's what I could have looked for from -you, if I may say it without offence. And you never spoke a truer word, -and that I can testify as has lived with master for a lifetime, and could -tell the difference between the outside and the inside.” - </p> -<p> -“Ah, yes, you saw the real man, Maria; but he was sometimes... well, -hidden from the public.” - </p> -<p> -“He had his peculiarities, and 'oo hasn't, I say? Now, my wages when I -came to him was just fourteen pounds, and they're just fourteen yet; but -every Christmas, for many a year, master slipped a ten-pound note into my -hand. 'Put that into your bank, Maria,' he would say, 'and never tell -anybody you've got it.' -</p> -<p> -“As for food, he was aggravatin', for he would have nothing as was not -plain, and he would check the books to a ha'penny; but if you was ill, -why, he would bring home grapes with his own hand. We dare not for our -lives give a morsel to beggars at the door, but if he heard of a poor -family, nothin' would serve him but he would go and find out all about -them.” - </p> -<p> -“That's my Dodson, just as I imagined him,” cried Mr. Greatheart; “tell me -more, Maria; it's excellent, every word.” - </p> -<p> -“Do you think he would let any person know he was givin' help? Not he; and -he was artful, was master. Why, I've known him send me with money to a -clergyman, that he might give it, and his words were, 'No name, Maria, or -we part; just a citizen of Liverpool.'” - </p> -<p> -“Dodson all over! shrewd and unassuming, and full of charity. Have you -anything else to tell, Maria?” - </p> -<p> -“Well, sir, I do not know for certain, and it was not for me to spy on my -master, but I'm much mistaken if many a one in the better class was not -the better of Mr. Dodson in their troubles.” - </p> -<p> -“How do you think that?” inquired Mr. Great-heart in huge delight “I've -seen him read a letter maybe six times, and he would wipe his eyes through -pleasure as I took it You wouldn't believe, maybe, as master could be like -that” - </p> -<p> -“I do, Maria. I declare it's what I expected. And what then?” - </p> -<p> -“He would walk up and down the room, and speak to himself, and read -another bit, and rub his hands...” - </p> -<p> -“I wish I had been there, Maria.” - </p> -<p> -“And he would carry a letter like that in his pocket for days, and then he -would put it carefully in the fire; but I saw him take it out, -half-burned, and read a corner again before he burned that letter.” - </p> -<p> -“Maria, I cannot tell you how much obliged I am to you for coming to me, -and giving me such a touching account of your dear master. Now, is there -anything I can do for you in this loss?” - </p> -<p> -“Lord bless me, sir, that I should have been taking up your time like -this, and you a magistrate, and never told you what brought me! It's more -than a month past that master said to me, 'Maria, if anything happens to -me, go to Mr. Greatheart's office, and give him my keys, and ask him to -open my desk. He is a good man, and he's sure to come.'” - </p> -<p> -“Did he say so? That was most generous of him, and I appreciate it highly. -I will come instantly, and shall bring a lawyer with me, a kind-hearted -and able man. Good-bye for the present, Maria; you have fulfilled your -charge, as I believe you have all your duty, excellently... excellently.” - </p> -<p> -“You see, Welsby,” as they went up to the house, “Dodson had left his -firm, and had few friends, perhaps none—a reserved man about -himself, but a true man at the bottom.” - </p> -<p> -“So you have always said, Mr. Greatheart Well know now; my experience as a -lawyer proves that, as a rule, a man's papers reveal him, and there are -some curious surprises.” - </p> -<p> -“If you look through that safe, and note the contents, Welsby, I'll read -this letter addressed to me. I gather that I must be executor, and there -seems to be no lawyer; very like Dodson, very—do everything for -himself. -</p> -<p> -“Liverpool, April 15th, 188—. -</p> -<p> -“Barnabas Greatheart, Esq. -</p> -<p> -“My dear Sir,—You will peruse this letter after my death, and you -will be pleased to consider it as intended for your eyes alone, since it -is in the nature of a confession. -</p> -<p> -“My early career was a continuous struggle with narrow and arduous -circumstances, and I suffered certain disappointments at the hands of -friends which I considered undeserved. In consequence of these experiences -I grew penurious, cynical, merciless, hopeless, and, let me say it -plainly, a sour, hard man, hating my neighbours, and despised of them. May -the Almighty forgive me! -</p> -<p> -“This year in which I write, a great change has come over me, and my heart -has been softened and touched at last with human sympathy. The force which -has affected me is not any book nor sermon, but your example of goodness -and your charity towards all men. In spite of the general judgment on me, -which has been fully merited, I have seen that you do not shun me, but -rather have gone out of your way to countenance me, and I have heard that -you speak kindly of me. It is not my nature to say much; it is not yours -to receive praise; but I wish you to know you have made me a new man. -</p> -<p> -“It seemed to me, however, dangerous that I should begin to distribute my -means openly among charities, as I was inclined to do, since I might pass -from hardness to pride and be charged with ostentation, as I had been once -with miserliness, with sad justice in both cases. -</p> -<p> -“So it came to me that, still retaining and maintaining my character for -meanness—as a punishment for my past ill-doing and a check on vanity—I -would gradually use my capital in the private and anonymous aid of -respectable people who are passing through material adversity, and the -help of my native city, so that my left hand should not know what my right -was doing. This plan I have now, at this date, pursued for six months, and -hope to continue to my death, and I did not know so great joy could be -tasted by any human being as God has given to me. And now, to all the -goodness you have shown me, will you add one favour, to wind up my affairs -as follows:— -</p> -<p> -“(1) Provide for my housekeeper generously. -</p> -<p> -“(2) Give a liberal donation to the other servant. -</p> -<p> -“(3) Bury me quietly, without intimation to any one. -</p> -<p> -“(4) Distribute all that remains, after paying every debt, as you please, -in the help of widows, orphans, and young men. -</p> -<p> -“(5) Place a packet, marked 'gilt-edged securities,' in my coffin. -</p> -<p> -“And consider that, among all your good works, this will have a humble -place, that you saved the soul of—Your grateful friend, -</p> -<p> -“Samuel Dodson.” - </p> -<p> -“What Dodson has done with his money, Mr. Greatheart I don't know; all the -securities together don't amount to £5,000. He seems to have been living -on an annuity.” - </p> -<p> -“His wealth is here, Welsby, in this packet of cancelled cheques, two -hundred and eighty-seven, which go with him to the other side; and I tell -you, Welsby, I know no man who has invested his money so securely as -Samuel Dodson. See, read that top check.” - </p> -<p> -“To Goldbeater, London, £10,000. Why, the draft I got for playgrounds was -on that bank, and the date corresponds. Curious. -</p> -<p> -“Eh? What? You don't mean to say that this man we slanged and... looked -down on was....” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, Zaccheus was Sam Dodson.” - </p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -SAVED BY FAITH -</h2> -<h3> -I -</h3> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>o you have agreed to accept seven-and-six-pence in the pound from -Hatchard?” Oxley said in his slow, quiet manner, as he smoked with his two -friends after luncheon at the Club. “I could not attend the meeting, but I -hear that the affairs showed badly.” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, we took the sum he offered, and of course it would have done no good -to put him in the Bankruptcy Court, as far as the dividend is concerned: -very likely we should only have netted half-a-crown; but I had a good mind -to refuse a composition.” And in his excitement Beazley established -himself for oratorical purposes on the hearthrug,—he had recently -taken to municipal politics. -</p> -<p> -“You mean that Hatchard has acted foolishly, and ought not to have got -into such a hole. I suppose you are right: Tommy was always a sanguine -chap.” - </p> -<p> -“Sanguine has nothing to do with it, Oxley, and I fancy you know that -there's more than want of judgment at Hatchard's door. Of course the -longest-headed men in the corn trade may make a mistake and be caught by a -falling market, but that is no reason why a fellow should take in every -friend he could lay hands on. What do you say, Macfarlane?” - </p> -<p> -That most phlegmatic and silent of Scots never said anything unless speech -was absolutely necessary; and as the proposition that a man ought not to -cheat his friends was one no person could deny, Macfarlane gave no sign. -</p> -<p> -“I'm afraid that it is a rather bad case,” Oxley admitted with reluctance, -“but I'm sorry for Tommy: when a man is at his wits' end he's apt to... -forget himself, in fact, and do things he would be the first to condemn at -other times. A man loses his moral presence of mind.” - </p> -<p> -Macfarlane indicated, after consideration, his agreement. -</p> -<p> -“That sounds very fine, Oxley,” burst in Beaz-ley, “but it's very -dangerous doctrine and would cover some curious transactions. Hatchard -knew quite well that when he was hopelessly bankrupt he ought not to have -borrowed a thousand from Macfarlane and you and five hundred from me: our -business losses were enough.” - </p> -<p> -“Had none,” murmured Macfarlane to himself. -</p> -<p> -“I was so angry,” continued Beazley, “that I got hold of him afterwards in -Fenwick Street and gave him as sound a talking to as ever a man got in -this city: he'll not forget it in a hurry. You see he is a friend, and -that makes me sore.” - </p> -<p> -“Can you give us an idea what you said?” inquired Oxley drily, while -Macfarlane showed that he was listening. -</p> -<p> -“Well, I said various things; but the gist was that his friends were -ashamed of him—not about the cash, you know, but about the conduct, -and that he was little better than a swindler: yes, I did.” - </p> -<p> -Macfarlane smoked furiously. -</p> -<p> -“No, Oxley, he made no reply. Not one word of defence: he simply turned -round and walked away. I suppose you think that I ought not to have been -so hard on him?” - </p> -<p> -“Well, no doubt you did what seemed right, and Hatchard has not been quite -straight; but I now understand what I saw two hours ago, and what gave me -a shock. You favoured him with your mind about eleven, I should guess? -Yes: then at twelve he came out of a restaurant in Dale Street as if he -had been drinking. That is the first time Hatchard ever did that kind of -thing, I believe, but it will not be the last: his face was quite changed—half -woe-begone and half desperate.” - </p> -<p> -“If Thomas takes to tasting”—Macfarlane was much moved—“it's -all over with him: he's such a soft-hearted chap.” - </p> -<p> -“Nonsense, you're making too much of it; but I was a trifle sharp, -perhaps: he's been very provoking, and any other man would have said the -same except you two fellows, and the one of you is so charitable that he -would find an excuse for a pickpocket, and the other is so cannie that he -can't make up his mind to say anything.” - </p> -<p> -After which there was a pause. -</p> -<p> -“Yes,” began Oxley again, falling into ancient history, “he has gone off -form a bit—the best may do so at a time—but Tommy wasn't half -a bad fellow once: he got a study at Soundbergh before me, and he was very -decent with it, letting me do 'prep.' in it before exams.; and I never -counted him sidey, did you, B.?” - </p> -<p> -“I should think not; I'll say that for him at any rate, there wasn't one -scrap of humbug in Tommy: why, he was a prefect when I was in the fourth, -and he didn't mind although a chap 'ragged' and chaffed him; he was the -jolliest 'pre.' in the whole school. It was perhaps rather hard lines to -slang him to-day,—I half wish I hadn't.” - </p> -<p> -“If Tommy got a grub-box from home every chap in Buttery's house knew,”—Oxley -was bent on reminiscences,—“it was shared round in three days, and -his raspberry jam was not to be despised. I hear him yet: 'All right, Ox., -dig in, there's lots left' Now there's By les, who makes speeches about -hospitals: he was mean if you please.” - </p> -<p> -“Mean ain't the word for Byles,” and in his enthusiasm Freddie Beazley -dropped into school slang, which no public-schoolboy ever forgets, and -which lasts from generation to generation, like the speech of the Gypsies: -“Byles was a beastly gut, and a sneak too; why, for all his cheek now he -isn't fit to black Tommy's shoes. Tommy wasn't what you would call 'pie,' -but he was as straight as a die. I'd give ten pounds not to have called -him that word to-day.” Freddie was breaking down. -</p> -<p> -“Poor old Tommy!” went on Oxley: “one never expected him to come such a -cropper; he was a good all-round man—cricket, football, sports, -Tommy did well for his house; he was a double-colour man.” - </p> -<p> -“Do ye mind the ten miles, lads?” and Macfarlane chuckled. -</p> -<p> -“Rather,” and Freddie could not sit still: “he did it in one hour twelve -minutes and was it fifteen seconds?” - </p> -<p> -“Thirteen and three-fifths seconds.” Macfarlane spoke with decision. -</p> -<p> -“And he could have walked back to Buttery's, as if he had never run a -yard; but didn't the fellows carry him?” - </p> -<p> -“I had a leg myself.” Macfarlane was growing loquacious. -</p> -<p> -“Yes, and he didn't swagger or brag about it,”—Oxley took up the -running,—“not he, but was just as civil as if he had won some -footling little race at the low-country schools, where they haven't a hill -within twenty miles, instead of running round Baughfell in the Soundbergh -ten-mile.” - </p> -<p> -“What did old Tommy do it for?” and Freddie Beazley almost wept at the -thought that the crack of Soundbergh had played foul: “it couldn't be -money; he was never selfish—as open-handed a chap as ever I saw.” - </p> -<p> -“Wife and kids” answered Macfarlane, smoking thoughtfully. -</p> -<p> -“The Scot has it,” said Oxley. “Tommy doesn't care one straw for himself, -but he wanted, I take it, to keep that dear little wife of his comfortable -and get a good education for his boys, and so he got deeper and deeper, -trying to retrieve himself for their sakes. Mind you, I don't defend him, -but that was his excuse; and now Tommy has gone under.” - </p> -<p> -“Not if I can help it, boys,” and Beazley's face flushed. “And I say, here -are three of us: why shouldn't we join and—and—tighten the -rope and haul Tommy on his feet again?” Macfarlane took the briar root out -of his mouth and regarded Freddie with admiration. -</p> -<p> -“We were all in the same house, and Tommy likes us, and we could do... -that sort of thing when he wouldn't take it from others; and I say, it -would be a jolly decent thing to do.” - </p> -<p> -“You're all right, Freddie,”—Oxley was evidently pleased,—“and -we're with you” (“shoulder to shoulder,” said Macfarlane, lighting his -pipe with ostentatious care). “Now the first step is to let Tommy know -that we have not turned our backs on him: my idea is that if he knows we -three are going to stand by him he'll not throw up the sponge.” - </p> -<p> -“Look here,” cried Beazley, “I'll go round this minute, and I'll beg his -pardon for what I said, and I'll tell him that we haven't forgotten the -old days among the hills, and that we know he's a white man, and... in -fact he'll take the cup yet.” - </p> -<p> -“That will help mightily; and now let us make up our plans,” said Oxley. -</p> -<p> -And that was how three men joined in a conspiracy for the business and -social and personal salvation of Thomas Hatchard. -</p> -<h3> -II -</h3> -<p> -“How late you are, Tom—eight o'clock—and how tired you look, -poor fellow! I've been thinking about you all day. Was it very trying this -morning, or were they nice? They ought to have been, for everybody must -know that it wasn't your fault.” - </p> -<p> -“No, I don't think everybody could know that, Amy dear, for I don't know -it myself, and some men have good reason to know the opposite. Well, yes, -I was... rather sick at the meeting, and worse afterwards.” - </p> -<p> -“Did they dare to insult you, Tom? If they had had one spark of -gentlemanly feeling they would have pitied you. Do you mean that they... -said things? Tell me, for I want to share every sorrow with you, darling.” - </p> -<p> -“One man was very hard on me, and I didn't expect it from him—no, I -won't tell you his name, for he behaved very handsomely in the end. -Perhaps I didn't deserve all the sharp words, but I am sure I haven't -deserved any of the kind words that were said before the day was done. But -never mind about me just now: tell me how you got on. Wasn't it your -visiting day? did... any one call?” - </p> -<p> -“So you were thinking about me in all your troubles!”—his wife put -her arm round Hatch-ard's neck—“and you were afraid I should be -deserted because you were victimised by those speculators! Now confess.” - </p> -<p> -“Well, you know, Amy, society is not very merciful, and I think women are -the crudest of all. What hits a man, if he is unfortunate, or... worse, is -that his poor wife is made to suffer. If her husband has done... I mean -has acted foolishly, well, say, has lost money, his wife is neglected and -cut and made to feel miserable. It's a beastly shame, and I was afraid -that...” - </p> -<p> -“I would be sitting all alone to-day, because we are poor. Do you know, -Tom, I was just a tiny bit nervous too, although I would not have told you -this morning for worlds. And now I have splendid news to give you: our -friends are as true as steel. Now answer a question, Tom, to see whether -you and I agree about the difference between acquaintances and friends. -Mention the names of the three families you would expect to stand by us in -our trial.” - </p> -<p> -“The Oxleys, of course, wife, and... I would have said the Beazleys, and, -let me see, yes, the Macfarlanes, although their manner doesn't allow them -to show what they feel. Am I right?” - </p> -<p> -“To a man (and woman), they all called today—the women, I mean: I -daresay the men called on you. And they all said the nicest things, and -what is best, they said the nicest things about you: yes, they did, and if -you doubt my word we shall separate... do you really think I would chaff -to-day? -</p> -<p> -“Sit there, just where I can lay my head on your shoulder, and I shall -describe everything. It was half-past two when I began to watch the clock -and wonder whether any one would come: have other people had the same -feeling? About a quarter to three the bell rang, and my heart beat: who -would it be? It was nothing—a tax paper; and I began to think what I -would have done if the same thing had happened to one of our friends—how -I would have simply rushed along and been in the house the first decent -minute after lunch, and how I would...” - </p> -<p> -“I know you would, Pet, and that is why they did it to you. Well, drive -on.” - </p> -<p> -“Exactly at eight minutes to three—oh, I know the time to-day -without mistake—the door opened, and in came Mrs. Macfarlane; and do -you know what she did?” - </p> -<p> -“She didn't!” cried Hatchard—“not kissed you?” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, she did, and a real kiss; and she took me in her arms, and I saw -tears in her eyes, and—and... I cried for a minute; I couldn't help -it, and it was quite a comfort. She hadn't said a word all this time, and -that was just right, wasn't it?” - </p> -<p> -“I'll never say a word against the Scots' manner again,” said Tom huskily. -</p> -<p> -“But she spoke quite beautifully afterwards, and told me of some trials no -one knows, which they had ten years ago, and how they had never loved one -another so much before. When reticent people give you their confidence it -touches your heart, and we used to think her voice harsh, and to laugh at -her accent.” - </p> -<p> -“God forgive me!” said Thomas: “I'm a fool.” - </p> -<p> -“She said: 'You know how quiet Ronald is, and how he hardly ever gets -enthusiastic. Well, it would have done you good to have heard him speak -about Mr. Hatchard this morning. He said...'” - </p> -<p> -“Don't tell me, Amy—it... hurts; but I'm grateful all the same, and -will never forget it. And who came next?” - </p> -<p> -“Mrs. Oxley; and what do you think? We are to have their house at Hoylake -for August, so the chicks will have their holiday. Mr. Oxley has been -quite cast down, she says, about you, for he has such a respect——” - </p> -<p> -“It's good of them to think about the children, but never mind about me.” - </p> -<p> -“You are very unfeeling, Tom, to stop me at the best bits, when I had -saved them up and committed them to memory: perhaps you would get vain, -however, and become quite superior. What do you think of your 'kindness.' -and your 'generosity,' and your 'popularity,' and your 'straightness'? You -are shivering: are you cold?” - </p> -<p> -“No, no; but you haven't told me if Mrs. Beazley was kind to you: did she -call between four and five?” - </p> -<p> -“Yes: how did you know the hour?” - </p> -<p> -“Oh, I.. guessed, because she... was last, wasn't she?” - </p> -<p> -“She apologised for being so late; indeed, she was afraid that she might -not get round at all, but I'm so glad she came, for no one was more -glowing about you: I saw, of course, that she was just repeating Mr. -Beazley's opinion, for every one can see how he admires... -</p> -<p> -“Tom, you are very ungrateful, and for a punishment I'll not tell you -another word. What is wrong? has any one injured you? Was it Mr. Beazley?” - </p> -<p> -“Beazley said kinder things in my office to me, in difficult circumstances -too, than I ever got from any man: some day, Amy, I'll tell you what he -said, but not now—I cannot—and he spent two hours canvassing -for business to start me as a corn broker, and he... got it.” - </p> -<p> -“It could not be Mr. Oxley.” - </p> -<p> -“Oxley has given me a cargo to dispose of, and I never had any of his -broking before; and he told me that some of my old friends were going -to... to... in fact, see me through this strait, speaking a good word for -me and putting things in my way. -</p> -<p> -“Yes, of course Macfarlane came to the office, and said nothing for -fifteen minutes: just gripped my hand and smoked, and then he rose, and as -he was leaving, he merely mentioned that Beazley and Oxley had become -securities for £5,000 at the bank; he is in it, too, you may be sure.” - </p> -<p> -“How grateful we ought to be, Tom dear; and how proud I am of you!—for -it's your character has affected every person, because you are so -honourable and high-minded. Tom, something is wrong; oh, I can't bear it: -don't cry... you are overstrung... lie down on the couch, and I'll bathe -your forehead with eau de Cologne.” - </p> -<p> -“No, I am not ill, and I don't deserve any petting; if you knew how mean I -have been you would never speak to me again. If they had scolded me I -would not have cared; but I can't bear their kindness. -</p> -<p> -“Amy, you must not send for the doctor, else you will put me to shame; my -mind is quite right, and it isn't overwork: it's... conscience: I am not -worthy to be your husband, or the friend of these men.” - </p> -<p> -“You will break my heart if you talk in this way. You unworthy! when you -are the kindest, truest, noblest man in all the world—don't say a -word—and everybody thinks so, and you must let us judge. Now rest -here, and I'll get a nice little supper for you,” and his wife kissed him -again and again. -</p> -<p> -“It's no use trying to undeceive her,” Hatchard said to himself when she -was gone; “she believes in me, and those fellows believe in me—Freddie -more than anybody, after all he said; and please God they will not be -disappointed in the end.” - </p> -<h3> -III -</h3> -<p> -“You've got here before me, Mac.,” cried Freddie Beazley, bursting into -Oxley's private room, “and I simply scooted round. Oh, I say, you've -broken every bone in my hand, you great Scotch ruffian: take the ruler out -of his fist, Ox., for heaven's sake, or else he'll brain us. -</p> -<p> -“Ox., you old scoundrel, read that letter aloud. Mac wasn't a creditor—he -wishes he was this day—and he doesn't know it verbatim, and I'm not -sure about a word or two. Stand up, old man, and do the thing properly. -There now we're ready.” - </p> -<p> -<i>July 7</i>, 1897. -</p> -<p> -“Dear Sir,— -</p> -<p> -“It will be in your recollection that in July, 1887, I was obliged to make -a composition with my creditors while trading as a corn merchant under the -style of Thomas Hatchard & Co., and that they were good enough to -accept the sum of seven shillings and sixpence in the pound. -</p> -<p> -“Immediately thereafter, as you may be aware, I began business as a corn -broker, and owing to the kind assistance of certain of my creditors and -other friends, have had considerable success. -</p> -<p> -“Having made a careful examination of my affairs, I find that I can now -afford to pay the balance of twelve shillings and sixpence which is -morally due to my creditors of 1887, and it affords me much personal -satisfaction to discharge this obligation. -</p> -<p> -“I therefore beg to enclose a cheque for the amount owing to you, with 5 -per cent compound interest, and with sincere gratitude for your -consideration ten years ago. -</p> -<p> -“I have the honour to remain, -</p> -<p> -“Your obedient servant, -</p> -<p> -“Thomas Hatchard.” - </p> -<p> -“Isn't that great, young gentlemen?” and Beazley took a turn round the -room: “it's the finest thing done in Liverpool in our time. Tommy has come -in again an easy first on the ten miles—just skipped round -Baughfell: there's nothing like the old school for rearing hardy fellows -with plenty of puff in them for a big hill.” - </p> -<p> -“Thomas 'ill be a proud man the night,” remarked Macfarlane, “and his wife -will be lifted.” - </p> -<p> -“What about the Hatchard securities and encouragement company? isn't it a -booming concern, and aren't the three men lucky dogs who took founders' -shares? Oxley, old chap,” and Freddie grew serious, “it was you who put -Tommy on his legs, and helped him on to this big thing.” - </p> -<p> -“Nonsense! we all had a share in the idea; and now that I remember, it was -you, Beazley, who sang his praises that day till Macfarlane allowed his -pipe to go out, and I had to join the chorus. Isn't that so, Mac.?” - </p> -<p> -Macfarlane was understood to give judgment of strict impartiality—that -the one was as bad as another, and that he had been a victim in their -hands, but that the result had not been destructive of morality in -Liverpool, nor absolutely ruinous to the character of Thomas Hatchard, -beyond which nothing more could be said. -</p> -<p> -He offered the opinion on his own account that the achievement of Thomas -had been mighty. -</p> -<p> -“You can put your money on that, Mac.,” and Beazley went off again: “to -pay up the balance of that composition and every private loan with -interest, compound too, is simply A1. T. H. has taken the cake. And didn't -he train for it, poor chap! -</p> -<p> -“No man enjoyed a good cigar more than Tommy—could not take him in -with bad tobacco. Well, I happen to know that he hasn't had one smoke -since July 7th, *87. Of course he could have had as much 'baccy as he -wanted; but no, it was a bit of the training—giving up every luxury, -d'ye see?” - </p> -<p> -“I wish I was Thomas the night,” remarked Macfarlane. “He 'ill have a -worthwhile smoke.” - </p> -<p> -“He rather liked a good lunch, and did justice to his grub, too,” - continued Beazley. “Well, for ten years he's taken his midday meal -standing, on milk and bread—not half bad all the same—at the -Milk-Pail in Fenwick Street, and he wouldn't allow himself a cup of tea. -You saw how he lived at Heswall, Oxley?” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, he found out that he could get a little house, with a bit of garden, -for forty pounds, taxes included, and so he settled there and cut the -whole concern here. There was one sitting-room for the children and -another for themselves, and the garden was the drawing-room; but I don't -believe Hatchard was ever happier, and Mrs. Hatchard has turned out a -heroine.” - </p> -<p> -“Tommy played up well,” broke in Beazley, “and he never missed a chance. -There has not been any brokerage lying loose in the corn market these ten -years, you bet; and what he got he did well. Do you hear that MacConnell -of Chicago has given him his work to do? Tommy is steaming down the -deep-water channel now, full speed. What's to be done? that's the -question. We simply must celebrate.” - </p> -<p> -“Well,” replied Oxley, “I suppose the creditors will be giving him a -dinner at the Adelphi and that sort of thing. But there's something -Hatchard would like far better than fifty dinners. He has never entered -the corn exchange since his failure, and I know he never would till he -could look every man in the face. What do you say to ask Barnabas -Greatheart to call at his office and take him?” - </p> -<p> -“Oxley, you are inspired, and ought to take to politics: it's just the -thing Greatheart would like to do, and it will please the men -tremendously. I bet you a new hat there will be a cheer, and I see them -shaking hands with Tommy: it will touch up two or three scallawags on the -raw first-rate, too, who have made half a dozen compositions in their -time. But what about ourselves, Ox.?” - </p> -<p> -“Aye,” said Macfarlane; “we're not common shareholders in this concern: -we're founders, that's what we are.” - </p> -<p> -“I was thinking before you men came in that a nice piece of silver for -their dinner-table—they will come up to town now—say a bowl -with some little inscription on it...” - </p> -<p> -“The very thing: we'll have it this afternoon; and Ox., you draw up the -screed, but for my sake, as well as Tommy's, put in something about -honour, and, old fellow, let it be strong; it'll go down to his boys, and -be worth a fortune to them, for it will remind them that their father was -an honest man.” - </p> -<p> -It is not needful to describe, because everybody in the Liverpool Corn -Market knows, how Barnabas Greatheart came into the room arm in arm with -Thomas Hatchard, and how every single man shook hands with Thomas because -he had gone beyond the law and done a noble deed, and was a credit to the -corn business; and how Tommy tried to return thanks for his health a week -after at the Adelphi, and broke down utterly, but not before he had -explained that he wasn't at all the good man they thought him, but that he -happened to have had better friends than most men. -</p> -<p> -What is not known is that on the very evening of the great day a special -messenger brought over to the cottage at Heswall a parcel, which, being -opened, contained a massive silver bowl, with this inscription:— -</p> -<h3> -TO -</h3> -<h3> -MRS. THOMAS HATCHARD, -</h3> -<p> -From Three Friends, -</p> -<p> -In Admiration of her Husband's -</p> -<p> -Business Integrity and Stainless Honour. -</p> -<p> -July 7, 1897. -</p> -<p> -and that on the first anniversary of the great day the Hatchards gave a -dinner-party in their new house at Mossley Hill, where six guests were -present, whose names can be easily supplied, and the bowl, filled with -roses, stood in the centre of the table so that all could read the writing -thereon; that without any direct allusion to the circumstances, or any -violation of good taste, the bowl came into conversation eleven times: -once in praise of the roses; once in discussion of the pattern (Queen -Anne); once with reference to the pedestal of Irish bog-oak; once in -verification of the fact that “honour” was spelt with a “u” (it was -Freddie who, with much ingenuity, turned the search-light on honour); and -seven times in ways too subtle and fleeting for detection. When the ladies -left the room there was a look between the host and his wife as he held -the door; and when the other men's cigars were fully lit, Tommy made and -finished, with some pauses, a speech which may not sound very eloquent on -paper, but which the audience will never forget “There's a text somewhere -in the Bible,” he said, pretending that his cigar was not drawing—“which -runs something like this, 'saved by faith,' and when I look at that bowl I -remember that I... was saved that way; but it wasn't... my faith: it was -the faith... of you three men.” - </p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -THE LAST SACRIFICE -</h2> -<h3> -I -</h3> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>irelight casts a weird enchantment over an old-fashioned room in the -gloaming, and cleanses it from the commonplace. Distant comers are veiled -in a shadow full of mystery; heavy curtains conceal unknown persons in -their folds; a massive cabinet, full of Eastern curios, is flung into -relief, so that one can identify an Indian god, who distinctly grins and -mocks with sardonic humour, although in daylight he be a personage of -awful solemnity; a large arm-chair, curiously embroidered, grows into the -likeness of a stout elderly gentleman of benevolent heart but fierce -political prejudices; the flickering flames sketch on the ceiling scenes -of past days which can never return; and on a huge mirror the whole -interior is reflected as in a phantasmagoria. -</p> -<p> -“It is, I do honestly believe, the dreariest room in Bloomsbury, and one -can hardly go farther,” said a young woman, lying at her ease on the white -bearskin before the fire; “and yet it has a beauty of its own—sober, -of course, but kindly; yes, that is the word, and true. My room at -Kensington, that Reggie and his artist friends have been doing up in their -best style, as Maples say, does not look prettier to-night, nor your -lovely black oak at the Rectory.” - </p> -<p> -“If you had got your will, Frances,” answered a sister some six years -older from the couch, “every stick of this furniture would have been sold -long ago, and the walls draped in pale green. You are full of sentiment -to-night.” - </p> -<p> -“It's the double wedding and the departure from the ancestral mansion -which is casting shadows over my too susceptible heart and a glamour over -this prosaic old room with its solid Philistine furniture,” and Frances -pretended to conceal her rising emotion behind a fan. “Your already -matronly staidness, Gerty, is incapable of entering into such moods. It is -a mercy one daughter, at least—I think there are two—reproduces -mother, and can never be accused of sentiment—and such a blessing -for the Rector! It is a rule, one would say from observation, that -clergymen choose matter-of-fact and managing wives, as a check, I suppose, -on their own unworldliness and enthusiasm. As for me, so frivolous and... -affectionate, poor papa must have the entire responsibility,” and Frances -sighed audibly. -</p> -<p> -“Are you really deceived by mother's composure and reserve?” Gertrude's -quiet tone emphasized the contrast between her refined face and Frances' -Spanish beauty. “Strangers count her cold as marble, and I can excuse -them, for they judge her in society. We ought to know better, and she has -always seemed to me the very type of loyalty and faithfulness.” - </p> -<p> -“Of course she is the dearest mater ever was, and far too unselfish, and -she has been most patient with her wayward youngest daughter; but she is—well, -I could not say that she is a creature of emotion.” - </p> -<p> -“You believe, I suppose,”—Gertrude was slightly nettled—“in -women who kiss frantically on meeting, first one cheek and then the other, -and sign themselves 'with a thousand remembrances and much love, yours -most affectionately,' who adopt a new friend every month, and marry three -times for companionship.” - </p> -<p> -“Gertrude, I am ashamed of you; you are most provoking and unjust; my -particular detestations, as you know very well, are a couple of girls' -arms round each other's waists—studying one another's dresses all -the time—and a widow who marries again for protection,—it's a -widower who says companionship,—but I enjoy your eloquence; it will -be a help to Fred when he is sermon-making. You will collaborate—that -is the correct word, isn't it?” - </p> -<p> -“None of us will ever know how deep and strong is the mater's love,” - continued Gertrude, giving no heed to her sister's badinage; “she cannot -speak, and so she will always be misunderstood, as quiet people are. Did -you ever notice that she writes her letters on that old desk, instead of -using the escritoire? that is because it was father's; and although she -never mentions his name, I believe mother would rather starve than leave -this house or part with a chair that was in it when he was living. -</p> -<p> -“Frances, I'll tell you something I once saw and can never forget. When I -slept in mother's room, I woke one night, and found she had risen. She -opened a drawer that was always kept locked, and took out a likeness of -father. After looking at it again and again—can you believe that?—she -laid it on a chair, and, kneeling down, prayed to God for us all, and that -they might meet again; and then she looked at him once more, and put the -picture in its place. -</p> -<p> -“Pray God, Frances, that you and I, who are to be married on Tuesday, may -love as she has done, once for ever; do you know I've often thought that -Grace is the only one of us that has mother's power of affection, and yet -we are to be married and she is to be left.” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, Grace is like mother, and yet I don't think mother understands her -one bit What a wife she would make to some man, Gerty; only it would be -bad for him. She would serve him like a slave, and he would be -insufferable. -</p> -<p> -“But there is no fear of that calamity,” Frances went on, “for Grace will -never marry. She is beginning to have the airs of an old maid already, a -way of dressing and a certain primness which is alarming.” - </p> -<p> -“It passes me,” said Gertrude, “how no man has seen her excellence and -tried to win her; do you know I've sometimes thought that Mr. Lennox -admired her; they would certainly make a perfect pair.” - </p> -<p> -“You are the dearest old stupid, Gertrude. Of course George Lennox adores -Grace, as he would do a saint in a painted window; and Grace appreciates -him because he teaches astronomy or conchology or something to working men -in the East End. Neither of them knows how to make love; their -conversation is a sort of religious exercise,” and Frances' eyes danced -with the delight of a mistress in her art “Why, I once did my best with -him just to keep my hand in, and Gertrude, you might as well have flirted -with that wretched god. I would rather have the god, for he winked to me -just now quite distinctly, the reprobate old scoundrel.” - </p> -<p> -“Perhaps you're right, and Grace does not wish to marry. But it will be -lonely in this big, empty house for mother and her when we are gone.” - </p> -<p> -“Dull! Gerty, you do not understand the situation. It will be a relief for -the two of them to have this love traffic over, and no more men about the -house. Grace simply endures it, as a nun might, and the mater resents any -of her daughters being married. They have their programme fixed. Grace -will visit her sick people in the forenoon, and the mater will do her -tradesmen; in the afternoon the two will attend the Committee for the -Relief of Decayed Washerwomen, and after dinner Gracie will read to mother -out of Hallam's <i>Middle Ages</i>. -</p> -<p> -“I'll box that creature's ears,” and Frances jumped to her feet, a very -winsome young woman indeed; “he's grinning from ear to ear on his pedestal -at some wicked joke, or as if he knew a family secret He's an old cynic, -and regards us as a pair of children prattling about life.” - </p> -<h3> -II -</h3> -<p> -“My work at Court was finished a little earlier to-day, and I have done -myself the pleasure of calling to inquire for Mrs. Leconte and you after -the marriage. Will you accept a few roses?” The manner was grave and a -trifle formal, but George Lennox was one in whom any woman might safely -put her trust—tall and well built, with a strong face and kindly -eyes—a modest and courteous gentleman. -</p> -<p> -“It is good of you to remember us, but, indeed, you have always been most -kind,” said Miss Leconte, with the faintest flush on her cheek. “Mother is -out, and will be sorry to have missed you. Will you not sit down, and I'll -order tea.” - </p> -<p> -The London sun, which labours hard, with many ingenuities, to do his part -by every home and give to each its morsel of brightness, found the right -angle at that moment, and played round Grace's face with soft afternoon -light She was not beautiful like her sisters, but one man out of a -thousand would learn to love her for the loyalty that could be read in the -grey eyes, and the smile, a very revelation of tenderness, as if her soul -had looked at you. -</p> -<p> -“Yes, mother and I have settled down to our quiet round after the -festivities; mother needs a rest, for you know how little she thinks of -herself; her unselfishness puts one to shame every day.” - </p> -<p> -Mr. Lennox looked as if he knew another unselfish person, and Grace -continued hurriedly: “Every one thought the marriage went off so well, and -the day was certainly perfect Didn't Gertrude and Frances make lovely -brides, each in her own way?” - </p> -<p> -“So the people said, and I know how they would look; but it happened that -I stood where I could only see the bridesmaids.” - </p> -<p> -“Will you excuse me putting the roses in water? they are the finest I've -seen this summer, and I want to keep them fresh,” and she escaped for the -moment He watched her place one dish on the end of the grand piano and -another on a table near her mother's chair, and a yearning look came over -his face. -</p> -<p> -They talked of many things, but both were thinking of one only, and then -it was she, In her kindness, that provoked the catastrophe. -</p> -<p> -“You will come again and see mother; she misses Gerty and Frances, and it -is very pleasant to have a talk with old friends.” - </p> -<p> -“And you, Grace—Miss Leconte, I mean—may I not come to visit -you?” - </p> -<p> -“You know that I am glad when you come, and always will be; you are my -friend also,” and she looked at him with frank, kind eyes. -</p> -<p> -“Nothing more than friend after all these years—seven now since -first we met Do you not guess what I was thinking as your sisters stood -beside their bridegrooms in church?” But she did not answer. -</p> -<p> -“Can you give me no hope, Grace? If you told me to come back in five -years, I would count them days for the joy of hearing you call me by my -name at the end, as a woman speaks to the man she loves.” - </p> -<p> -“You ought not to open this matter again” but she was not angry, “for my -mind is made up, and cannot be changed. There is no man living whom I -respect more; none to whom I would rather go in time of trouble; there is -nothing I would not do for you, Mr. Lennox, except one...” - </p> -<p> -“But it is the one thing I desire;” and then Lennox began to plead. “No -man is worthy of you, Grace, and I least of all. The world counts me proud -and cold, and I regret my manner every day, but I can love, and I love you -with all my heart You know I can give you a house and every comfort of -life—perhaps I may be able to bring you honour and rank some day; -but these are not the arguments I would urge or you would care to hear. -Love is my plea—that I never loved before I saw you, and if you -refuse me that I will not love any other. -</p> -<p> -“Do not speak yet” His face was white, and he stretched out his hands in -appeal. “Have we not the same... faith and the same ideals? Could not we -work together for a lifetime, and serve the world with our love? Perhaps I -ought to have spoken years ago, but the Bar is an uncertain profession, -and my position was not made. It seemed to me cowardly to ask a woman's -love before one could offer her marriage, so I kept silent till last -spring, when I saw your sisters' lovers and their happiness—and then -I could not help telling you that one man hoped to win your heart Now I -ask for your answer. -</p> -<p> -“If you love another man,” he went on, “or feel that you can never love -me, tell me at once, Grace, for this were better for us both. I would -never cease to love you, for we slow, cold men do not change, and if you -had need I would serve you, but never again would I... trouble you,” and -the ablest of the junior counsel at the Chancery Bar broke down before a -girl that had no other attraction than the goodness of her soul. -</p> -<p> -Grace Leconte was the calmer of the two when she spoke, but her face was -set like a martyr's in his agony. -</p> -<p> -“I had hoped, Mr. Lennox, that you would not have followed up what you -said in March, but yet so selfish is a woman, I am not sorry to be told -that I... am loved by such a man. -</p> -<p> -“Believe me, it is I that am unworthy. You have made too much of a very -ordinary woman But I am proud of... your love, and in after years, when I -find the strain too heavy, will often say, 'God has been good to me. -George Lennox loved me.” - </p> -<p> -He was waiting anxiously, not knowing how this would end. -</p> -<p> -“You have spoken frankly to me, and have laid bare your heart,” she went -on. “I do not see why I should be hindered by custom from telling you the -truth also,” and then she hesitated, but only for a little. “For years—I -do not know how long—I have... loved you, and have followed your -career as only a woman who loves could—gathering every story of your -success, and rejoicing in it all as if you had been mine. Wait, for I have -not yet done. -</p> -<p> -“If I could say 'Yes,' I would, George—may I call you this, only -to-day?—without any delay but I must say 'No' instead, although it -may break my heart I can never be your wife.” - </p> -<p> -“What do you mean...?” - </p> -<p> -“Bear with me, and I will tell you all. You know now it is not because I -do not want to marry you—I do; I also can love, and I do not wish to -be an old maid—no woman does. I will not pretend indifference, but -it is not possible for me to leave my mother.” - </p> -<p> -“Is that all?” cried Lennox, as one who has cast off a great dread. “I -would never ask Mrs. Leconte to part from the last of her daughters. She -will come with you, and we shall strive to make her life peaceful and -glad....” - </p> -<p> -“Please do not go on, for this can never be. No power could induce mother -to change her way or live with us. She will live and die alone, or I must -stay with her. My duty is clear, and, George, you must... accept this -decision as final.” - </p> -<p> -“You will let me speak to her and put our case...?” - </p> -<p> -“No, a thousand times no. She must never know our secret. It would still -be the same between you and me, but mother would fret every year because I -had made this sacrifice. As it is she knows nothing, and will never guess -the truth. Promise me you will say nothing; that is one favour I have to -ask, and there is another, that... you do not call again, for I could not -bear to see you for a little... for some years. You will do so much for -me, will you not?” - </p> -<p> -He had sat down, his head on his breast, a figure of utter dejection, when -she laid her hand on his arm. -</p> -<p> -“Things cannot end after this fashion,” and Lennox sprang to his feet; -“does not the Book say that a man will forsake father and mother for -love's sake, and should it not be so with a woman also? What right have -you to deny your love and blight two lives?” - </p> -<p> -“Many would say that I am wrong, but my mind is made up. Do not try me -farther, George; God knows how hard it is to obey my conscience. My duty, -as I see it, and that is all one can go by, is to mother, and if I made it -second even to love, I should be inwardly ashamed, and you... you could -not respect me. -</p> -<p> -“Say you understand,” and her lips trembled; “say that you forgive me for -the sorrow I have brought upon you, and let us say farewell.” - </p> -<p> -He made as though he would have clasped her in his arms and compelled her -to surrender, and then he also conquered. -</p> -<p> -“God keep and bless you, Grace; if I cannot have you in my home, none can -keep me from carrying you in my heart,” and he was gone. -</p> -<p> -She watched him till he disappeared round the corner of the square, and -noticed that he walked as one stricken with age. One of their windows -commanded a corner of the square garden, where the trees were in their -first summer greenery, and she could hear the birds singing. As she turned -away, the sunlight lingered on the white roses which George Lennox had -brought as the token of his love, and then departed, leaving the faded -room in the shadow. -</p> -<h3> -III -</h3> -<p> -“This frame seems to have been made for our purpose, Grace,” and Mrs. -Leconte arranged in order Gertrude with her two girls and Frances with her -two boys. “It seems only a few months, instead of four years, since the -wedding day. -</p> -<p> -“They have good husbands and happy homes. I only wish their father...” - This was so unusual that Grace looked at her mother, and Mrs. Leconte -checked herself. “You are going down to the Rectory, I hope, next week; -Gertrude is always anxious to have you, and August in London is very -trying.” - </p> -<p> -“Certainly; but on one condition, mother, that you go too; it would be -such a joy to Gerty, and you must have some change.” - </p> -<p> -“Perhaps I will, a little later, but I never leave London in August. I -have always been very strong, and I like a... quiet time then.” - </p> -<p> -“Mother,” and Mrs. Leconte turned at the passion in her daughter's voice, -“why will you not allow any of us to share your remembrance and your -grief? We know why you shut yourself up alone in August, and now, when -there are just you and I, it hurts me that I may not be with you, if it -were only to pray... or weep. Would it not be some help?” and Grace took -her mother's hand, a very rare caress. -</p> -<p> -“You are a good daughter, Grace,” she spoke with much difficulty, “but... -God made me to be alone, and silent I was not able to tell either joy or -sorrow even to your father. You spoke of weeping; do you know I've never -shed a tear since I was a child—not often then. -</p> -<p> -“When he died, my eyes were dry.... Oh, Grace, you are most like me: may -God deliver you from a tearless grief; but it must be so with me to the -end.” - </p> -<p> -“Dearest mother,” said Grace, but she did not kiss her. -</p> -<p> -“You are often in my thoughts, Grace,” after a long silence, “and I am -concerned about you, for you have aged beyond your years. Are you... -well?” - </p> -<p> -“What a question, mater; you know that I have the health of a donkey—save -a headache now and then that gives me an interesting pallor. You forget -that I am getting to be an old maid, nearly thirty.” - </p> -<p> -“Is it really that... I mean, do you not feel lonely?—it is a -contrast, your sisters' lot and yours, and a woman's heart was made for -love, but if it be so do not sorrow over-much... I can't explain myself—there -are many in this world to love, and, at any rate... you will never know -the sense of loss.” - </p> -<p> -“That is the postman's ring,” and Grace made an errand to obtain the -letters, and lingered a minute on the way. -</p> -<p> -“Only one letter, and it's for you, mother. I think I know the -handwriting.” - </p> -<p> -“Of course you do; it's from Mrs. Archer, George Lennox's aunt. She is a -capital correspondent, and always sends lots of news. Let me see. Oh, -they've had Gertrude and her husband staying a night with them for a -dinner. -</p> -<p> -“'Everything went off well'... 'Gerty looked very distinguished, and has -just the air of a clergyman's wife. Gerty was always suited for that part, -just as Frances does better among the painters.... I wish all the same -they were both here, Grace, but I suppose that's a wrong feeling, for -marriage is a woman's natural lot... that is in most cases, some have -another calling.' -</p> -<p> -“Do you know who has been staying with the Archers? Why, you might guess -that—George Lennox; he's Jane Archer's favourite nephew, and I don't -wonder; no woman, I mean sensible woman, could help liking him; he's so -reliable and high-toned, as well as able, and do you know, I always -thought Mr. Lennox good-looking. -</p> -<p> -“What's this? 'You will be sorry to hear that George is looking very ill -indeed, and just like an old man, and he's not forty yet. Are you there, -Grace? Oh, I thought perhaps you had left the room. Isn't that sad about -Mr. Lennox? -</p> -<p> -“Mrs. Archer goes on to say that he overworks shockingly, and that he is -bound to break down soon; he will take no advice, and allows himself no -pleasure. What a pity to see a man throwing away his life, isn't it?” - </p> -<p> -“Perhaps he finds his... satisfaction in work, mother.” - </p> -<p> -“Nonsense; no man ought to kill himself. Mr. Lennox ought to have married -years ago, and then he would not have been making a wreck of himself; I -don't know any man who would have made a better husband, or of whom a -woman would have been prouder.” And Mrs. Leconte compelled a reply. -</p> -<p> -“He is a good man, and I think you are right, mother.” Something in her -tone struck Mrs. Leconte's ear. -</p> -<p> -“Grace, Mr. Lennox used to come frequently to this house, and now I have -noticed he never calls.” - </p> -<p> -Her daughter said nothing. -</p> -<p> -“It was after your sisters' wedding that he ceased to call. Do you -think... I mean, was he in love with Gerty? Frances it couldn't be. I -never thought of that before, for I am not very observant. Nothing would -have given me more pleasure, if my daughters were to be married, than to -have George Lennox for a son-in-law. Can it be, Grace, that Gerty refused -him, and we have never known?” - </p> -<p> -“I am sure she did not, mother;” and again Mrs. Leconte caught a strange -note in her daughter's voice. -</p> -<p> -“Do you know, I suspect that if you had given him any encouragement, -George Lennox would have been a happy man to-day. Is that so, Grace? -</p> -<p> -“Pardon me, Grace, perhaps I ought not to ask such a question; it came -suddenly into my mind. Whatever you did was no doubt right; a woman cannot -give her hand without her heart even to the best of men. If it be as I -imagine, I do not blame you, Grace, but... I am sorry for George Lennox.” - </p> -<p> -Grace wept that night over the saddest of all the ironies of life—a -sacrifice which was a mistake and which had no reward. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -AN EVANGELIST -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>is private business was lard, which he bought for the rise and sold for -the fall—being a bull or a bear without prejudice—and with a -success so distinguished that his name was mentioned in highly -complimentary terms on the American market When the famous lard corner of -1887 had been wound up, and every man had counted his gains (or losses), -old man Perkins, of Chicago, did justice to his chief opponent, like the -operator of honour that he was. -</p> -<p> -“No, sir, I ain't a slouch, and the man who says that I don't know lard is -a mining expert; but Elijah Higginbotham, of Victoria Street, Liverpool, -Great Britain, has come out on top: he's a hustler from way back, is -Elijah.” - </p> -<p> -Mr. Perkins' opinion, which was a deduction based on the results of at -least six first-class encounters, was generally accepted on both sides of -the Atlantic, and it was conceded that what Mr. Elijah Higginbotham did -not know about that capricious and volatile instrument of speculation was -not knowledge. As a matter of principle he was opposed to gambling, and -denounced it with much eloquence and perfect sincerity at conferences of a -religious character,—warning his audience, composed mainly of old -ladies, against the Derby,—but if this evil and ruinous spirit -should happen to enter his market, where it seemed quite at home, Elijah -was prepared to overthrow gambling with its own weapons, and on such -occasions it was worldly wisdom to bet on Elijah's side. His ideas -regarding the date of unfulfilled prophecy might be crude, but his -foresight regarding the future of lard was an instinct. -</p> -<p> -His public business was religion, and especially the work of an -evangelist, and to this Elijah gave himself with incredible courage and -diligence. When he was not manipulating lard or asleep, he was inquiring -into the condition of his neighbour's soul, and none could escape him. It -was freely told on 'Change how he had fallen on an alderman, who had -responded too generously to the loyal toasts at a municipal banquet, and -so impressed him with the shortness of life and the awfulness of the -future, that the worthy man was bathed in tears, and promised if spared to -join the Plymouth Brethren next day. Bishops of the Church, who are awful -beings to ordinary people, and with whom some of us hardly dare to speak -about the weather, were to Elijah a chosen prey in railway carriages, so -that he would hunt a train to travel with one for a long journey, and he -has been known to reduce one pompous prelate to the verge of apoplexy by -showing before a (secretly) delighted company of “firsts” that this -successor to the Apostles did not really know wherein conversion -consisted, and, by not very indirect inference, that the Bishop was -himself still unconverted. Unto Elijah belongeth also the doubtful and -perilous distinction of having been the unwilling and (as he would himself -say) unworthy means of stopping a London express when going at full speed. -It was, of course, an old and perhaps over-nervous gentleman who actually -pulled the cord and waved to the guard, and it was Elijah who offered -immediate and elaborate explanations; but Elijah's fellow-passenger held a -strong position when he laid the blame on the evangelist. -</p> -<p> -“It's well enough for him to say that he was speaking spiritually, but he -told me plainly that I was going to Hell, and not to London, and I put it -to you, guard,”—by this time there was a large jury of interested -passengers,—“when the only other man in the compartment uses -language of that kind, and he much younger and stronger, whether I wasn't -justified in calling for assistance.” - </p> -<p> -Quiet men, not prone to panics, just breaking upon their luncheon at the -Club, rose and fled when Elijah sat down at the same table, knowing well -that not only would a forbidding silence be no protection, but that even -ingenious and ensnaring allusions to the critical condition of the lard -market would be no protection against personal inquiries of the most -searching character. He was always provided with portable religious -literature of a somewhat startling character, and was in this way able to -supply his fellow-passengers in the evening 'bus; and it was stimulating -to any one with a sense of humour to see commercial magnates handling one -of Elijah's tracts as if it were dynamite, and late-comers taking in the -interior at a glance from the step, and hurriedly climbing to the top—willing -to risk bronchitis rather than twenty minutes of Elijah. His conscientious -opinion was that the limited number of persons who held his particular -opinions would go to heaven, and the large number who did not would go -elsewhere, and in these circumstances no one could blame him for being -urgent No doubt Elijah—for indeed this was almost an official title—was -very insistent, and had no tact; but then when you are pulling people out -of fires, and handing them out of burning houses—these were his -favourite illustrations of the situation—one does not pay much -attention to ceremony or even manners. It was often said that he alienated -people from religion, and so defeated his own ends; but I suppose that his -reply would be that he left them no worse than he found them, and if it -was asserted that he influenced no one, he very likely had some cases of -success among that class of persons who are never utterly persuaded until -they are felled by a blow between the eyes. Very likely he was not -concerned about success or failure, approval or disapproval, but simply -was determined to do his duty, which was to hold back as many of his -neighbours as he could from going to Hell. This duty he discharged with -all his might and with undeniable courage, and Elijah had his reward by -universal consent in that no one accused him of canting, for he never said -anything he did not believe with the marrow of his bones, or of hypocrisy, -for he certainly made no gain of godliness. -</p> -<p> -When Elijah entered my room one morning—his clean-shaven, -heavy-jawed face more determined than ever—I was certain that he had -not come to talk over the weather, and prepared myself for faithful -dealing. -</p> -<p> -“It is not my custom,” he began, “to read fiction, and I believe that the -more people read novels the less will they want to read their Bibles; but -I was recommended to read a book of yours, called <i>The Days of Auld Lang -Syne</i>, by a friend, in whose judgment I have usually placed confidence, -and I feel it my duty to call and remonstrate with you about that book.” - </p> -<p> -Was it the literary form that he wished to criticise, or the substance? In -either case I hoped he would speak with all frankness, an encouragement -which Mr. Higginbotham perhaps hardly needed. -</p> -<p> -“Well, I don't know anything about literature, for I thank God that my -Bible and the <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i> are enough for me; but I did once -read Scott—long ago before I knew the value of time—and your -book is certainly not up to that sample.” This, I assured Elijah, was my -own fixed and unalterable opinion, and I ventured to congratulate Elijah -on the acuteness of his literary judgment—which compliment was -passed over without acknowledgment—and then I pressed for his -farther criticism. -</p> -<p> -“What I have to say is just this, that there are characters in the book -who ought not to be introduced to a Christian family, and views which are -sure to injure religion.” - </p> -<p> -Now it happened that I had been reading that morning an interesting and -very caustic review, in which it was pointed out that no people had ever -lived or ever would live so good as the inhabitants of Drumtochty: that I -had confused together the (mythical) garden of Eden with a Scots village; -that the places were really very different in morals and general -environment; that it was a pity that the author did not know the limits of -true art; that what was wanted was reality, not sentimental twaddle, and -that in short—but this is not how the critic put it—let the -writer of fiction stick to the ash-pit in a house, and not attempt the -picture gallery. The critic—a young gentleman, I should say—was -very severe on my London doctor, who had taken a servant girl to his own -house that she might die there in peace, and assured me that such -extravagant unrealities showed my hopeless ignorance, and proved my -unfitness to be an artist in life. Up to this point I had been much -humbled, and had been trying to profit by every word of wisdom; but now I -laid down the paper and had a few moments of sinless enjoyment, for this -incident had been lifted bodily out of life, with only some change in -names, and was the only fact in the book. A poor puling idealist!—yet -even in my most foolish flights I had kept some hold on life—but -here was Elijah Higginbotham sitting calmly in my study and suggesting -that I was a realist of such a pronounced and shameless character that my -books were not fit for family reading. -</p> -<p> -When I pressed him for some evidence of his charge, he cited “Posty,” and -spoke briefly but strongly about that unfortunate man's taste for -alcoholic liquors. -</p> -<p> -“Could I reconcile it with my conscience to introduce such a man to the -Christian public, and was I not aware of the injury which drink was doing -in our country?” - </p> -<p> -“Mr. Higginbotham,” I said, “my business was to represent life in a Scots -parish, within limits, as I had seen it, and although I say it with deep -regret, and hope the matter will never be mentioned outside this room, -every Scot is not a rigid and bigoted abstainer—a few, I hope fewer -every year, do 'taste.'” - </p> -<p> -“We are all perfectly aware of that, and more than a few,”—which was -not generous on his part,—“but that is not the question. It is -whether you, as a respectable—and I would fain believe in spite of -what I have read—Christian man, ought deliberately to condone and -countenance this conduct.” - </p> -<p> -“Surely, sir, you do not suppose for one moment that I have the slightest -sympathy with intemperance, or that I did not deeply regret the habits -into which Posty had fallen! Had I known that you or any intelligent -person would have imagined such a thing, I would have added footnotes, -whenever Posty forgot himself, such as (1) The author deeply regrets -Posty's conduct; (2) The author repudiates Posty's language with all his -heart.” - </p> -<p> -“It might have saved misunderstanding.” Elijah regarded me dubiously. “I -would certainly not have judged that you felt so strongly from the book.” - </p> -<p> -“Ah, there you are wrong, for again and again I simply wrestled with Posty -to take the blue ribbon; but you know one should not boast, and it would -have sounded egotistical to obtrude these efforts, unhappily unsuccessful, -in the book. -</p> -<p> -“It is,” I ventured to add with some pathos, “very hard that I should -first of all have had to suffer from my association, even in a literary -sense, with Posty, and then afterwards to be treated by religious and -philanthropic persons as if I had been his boon companion.” - </p> -<p> -“No, no; don't put words in my mouth,” broke in Elijah. “I said nothing of -the kind; but you have not been careful to convey your own position.” - </p> -<p> -“Mr. Higginbotham, if I might give you a word of advice, do not meddle -with fiction, for you never can tell into what company you may come. Why, -I may tell you that 'Posty,' before his lamented death, used to haunt this -room—in a literary sense, of course—and some evenings I was -terrified. -</p> -<p> -“If he were (comparatively) sober he would confine himself to the news of -the district, and the subject of her Majesty's mails; but if he had been -tasting he always took to theology, as Scots generally do, and then he -grew so profound and eloquent on the doctrine of election that if you had -come in my character would have been worth nothing: you would have jumped -to the conclusion, not without reason, that he had got his refreshments -here.” - </p> -<p> -“You will excuse me,” said Elijah, who had lost his customary expression -of cocksureness during the last few minutes, “I am out of touch with the -market: am I not right in understanding that the Postman was never alive?” - </p> -<p> -“Well, I'm sorry you have thought so, for it would be rather a severe -reflection on his author; but I think he must have had some life, else you -would not have done him (and me) the honour of so much attention.” - </p> -<p> -“He was your manufacture or creation, in fact done for the book; put it as -you please—you know what I mean”—and my visitor grew -impatient. “Then, if that be so, you could make him say and do what you -pleased.” - </p> -<p> -“In fact, take the blue ribbon and become an example for temperance -speeches.” - </p> -<p> -“Why not?” replied Elijah stoutly; “it might have done good.” - </p> -<p> -“Mr. Higginbotham,” I said with much solemnity, “be thankful that in your -busy and blameless life you have never meddled with fiction, save, I -fancy, in commercial transactions; for you have escaped trials of anxiety -and disappointment beyond anything in the markets. You suppose, I notice, -that because a story-teller creates certain characters, he can do with -them as he pleases, putting words into their mouths and dictating their -marriages.” - </p> -<p> -“Well, naturally I do.” - </p> -<p> -“Nothing of the kind, sir. Once these characters are fairly started on -their career, and come of age, as it were, they go their own way, and the -whole of their author's time is taken up following them, remonstrating -with them, and trying, generally in vain, to get them to work out his -plan. Now you would say, I fancy, that the poor author could at least -settle their marriages.” - </p> -<p> -“I would do so,” said Elijah grimly, “if I were writing.” - </p> -<p> -“Unfortunately that is one of the most difficult and delicate parts of a -poor novelist's work, and he fails as often as he succeeds. The man -marries the wrong woman, and <i>vice versâ</i>, till the author is in -despair, and sometimes wishes he had never called such a set of rebels -into existence.” - </p> -<p> -Elijah looked incredulous. -</p> -<p> -“I can assure you, you never know what secret they may have in their past -lives, or what love affairs are going on behind your back. I'll give you -an illustration, if I may quote from very simple fiction. A lady wrote me, -after the publication of the <i>Brier Bush</i>, that she believed -Drumsheugh was in love with Marget Howe, and wished to know whether this -was the case? I replied that this suspicion had crossed my own mind, and -that I was watching events. And as you have done me the honour of reading -<i>Auld Lang Syne</i>, you will remember that Drumsheugh had been a -faithful, although undeclared lover of Marget since early manhood. Yet it -came on me as a surprise; and if any one had said, Why did not you tell -this sooner? my answer would have been, I did not know. If I am not -wearying you, Mr. Higginbotham—I am on my defence, and I should like -to have your good opinion—I may confess that I tried to arrange, in -a book, a girl's love affairs, and she married the wrong man, one quite -unsuited for her, and the result was—although this is again a secret—they -have had many unnecessary trials. No, no, we are helpless creatures, we -so-called authors; poor mother hens, beseeching from the edge of the pond -and lamenting, while the brood of ducklings swim away in all directions.” - </p> -<p> -“That's all very well; and, as writing is not in my line, you may be -right; but I have not come to my most serious ground of complaint, and -that is the Postman's—er—judgment and future lot.” - </p> -<p> -“Yes,” I said, and waited for the indictment u Here, according to your own -description, is a man”—and Elijah checked off the list of my poor -gossip's sins on his fingers—“who makes no profession of religion—vital -religion, I mean, for theology is a mere matter of the head—who -indulged in spirituous liquors to excess, who refused tracts, when they -were offered, with contempt, who to all appearance had never known any -saving change. He dies suddenly, and bravely, I admit, but with no sign of -repentance, and this man, dying in his sin, is sent to Heaven as if he -were a saint If that is what happened with the Postman,” summed up Elijah -with uncompromising decision, “then I do not know the Gospel. 'He that -believeth shall be saved, and he that believeth not shall be damned,' is -plain enough. He wasn't saved here—no one could say that 'As the -tree falleth, so shall it lie.' -</p> -<p> -He couldn't be saved there. Yes, it may sound severe, but it is the truth, -and there is no room for sentiment in religion; your story is grossly -misleading, and may do injury to many precious souls.” - </p> -<p> -“By moving people, do you mean, to give their lives for others and to -forget themselves?” I dared to ask. -</p> -<p> -“I don't deny that it was a gallant deed to jump into the river and save -the girl's life,” replied Elijah hastily. “I appreciate that; but it's not -by works that any one can be saved. What right had you to send that man to -Heaven?” - </p> -<p> -“Mr. Higginbotham, you are still making me the scapegoat for other men's -acts. I was only the historian. It was Jamie Soutar and Carmichael, the -Free Kirk minister, who held a council on the road one day, and decided -that it must be well with Posty because he died to save a little child. -Jamie has always been a trial to me, and a ground of criticism, especially -because he used to cloak his good deeds with falsehood to escape praise -instead of proclaiming them at the corners of the streets as the good -people used to do. So little sympathy have I with Jamie, that before the -proof sheets of the book left this room I sent for Jamie (in a literary -sense), and he came (in the same sense), and I placed him just where you -are sitting and spoke to him (always in the same sense) very seriously. -May I tell you—as it will further vindicate me—what I said? -</p> -<p> -“Thank you, sir, for your patience. 'James,' I said—for if any one -is usually called Jamie and on some occasion you say James, it is very -impressive—'if these sheets are printed as they stand, I'm afraid -both you and I will suffer at the hands of the good people, and, with your -permission, there is one passage at least I would like to amend.' -</p> -<p> -“'What is it?* said Jamie quickly, but, I felt, unresponsively. -</p> -<p> -“'It's where you go up to London solely to visit the poor servant lass, -and then say you are in charge of Drumsheugh's cattle; where you assure -Lily that her mistress had been enquiring for her, when you had just rated -her mistress for cruel carelessness; where you give Lily twenty pounds as -from her mistress, while it is your own money: all to cheer a poor dying -lassie, James, I admit, but not true, not true.' -</p> -<p> -“'What wud ye hev me to say?' enquired Jamie, but very drily indeed. -</p> -<p> -“'Well, I have written a sentence or two, James, which I hope you will -allow me to insert, and I am sure our critics will be quite satisfied; -it's what they would say themselves.' -</p> -<p> -“'Read on,' said Jamie, looking very hard. -</p> -<p> -“'Here I am, Lily, a' the way frae Drumtochty, ane's errand to see ye—a -matter o' five pounds outlay, I reckon, but what's that 'atween friends? -And here's twenty punds o' ma hard-earned savin's a've brocht ye; ye'll -pay me back gin ye be spared; an' gin things come to the worst, yir -grandmother's honest; interest needna be mentioned unless ye insist, and -ye maunna tell onybody what a've done for ye, except a friend or two in -the Glen.' -</p> -<p> -“'Are ye prood o' that passage?' enquired Jamie, and his tone was -distinctly disagreeable; 'd'ye think it a credit to you or me?' -</p> -<p> -“'It's safe, James, and will be acceptable.' -</p> -<p> -“Mr. Higginbotham, you will have some idea what sort of men I've had to -deal with, and will be more merciful to me when I tell you that Jamie -walked to the door without a word and then gave me his answer: 'Ye hev ae -Pharisee in yer book; an' gin ye want two, a'm no the man.' You can see -yourself what a man of Jamie Soutar's peculiar disposition would do, if he -had the power, with poor Posty, who gave his life for a little maid.” - </p> -<p> -“More than Jamie Soutar would... in fact, let Posty off”—Elijah -spoke with some feeling—“and it's a mercy that such decisions are -not in our hands. We must just go by Revelation, and I do not see any way -of escape. As regards Jamie, I cannot approve of deliberate falsehood, and -I wish to say so distinctly, but I understand and... appreciate his -motive.” - </p> -<p> -As Elijah said this, certain stories came suddenly into my mind: how he -would have a hot altercation with some man on religion, but afterwards -would do him a good turn in business; how a young fellow had insulted him -in a 'bus, and in a great strait, had been helped by some unknown person, -and he always believed himself that the person was Elijah. It seemed to me -as if the evangelist's face had relaxed a little, and that beneath this -casing of doctrine a heart might be beating. So I went on with my defence. -</p> -<p> -“The other judge who took upon him to reward 'Posty' in the next world was -the Free Kirk minister, and I always regarded Carmichael as a heady young -man, too much inclined to take up with new views, and not sufficiently -respectful to the past But young men have generous impulses and I suppose -Carmichael's heart got the better of his head as he thought of Posty -giving all he had—his life—for the drowning lassie.” - </p> -<p> -“He would have been unworthy the name of a man, let alone a minister,” - broke in Elijah, “if he had not admired that deed. Do you think I don't... -appreciate the devotion of such a man? It was admirable, and Mr. -Carmichael is to be excused if he... did go too far.” - </p> -<p> -So Elijah really was the “Produce Broker” who headed the subscription for -the widows and orphans of the gallant lifeboats-men. Some had laughed the -idea to scorn, saying that he would never give £100 to any object except -tracts or missions. They did not know my evangelist. Whatever he compelled -himself to think the Almighty would do with men, Posty had been very well -off indeed with Elijah as judge. -</p> -<p> -“Mr. Higginbotham,” I said, taking a rapid resolution, “it does not matter -what I think, for a humble story-teller is no theologian, and it matters -as little what my friends of the book thought: let me tell the story over -again in brief, and I shall leave you to pronounce 'Posty's' doom.” - </p> -<p> -“It's far later than I supposed,” and Elijah rose hastily, “and I'm afraid -I must go: the market is very sensitive at present. Some other day we can -talk the matter over. I have no wish to be uncharitable, whatever people -may think of me, but we must obey the truth. Well, if you insist—just -ten minutes.... It is not by our feelings, however, that such things are -to be decided.” Elijah sat down again, looking just a shade too stern, as -if he were afraid of his own integrity, and not perfectly sure that the -Bible would back him. -</p> -<p> -“It was Mrs. Macfadyen's youngest daughter, you remember, who fell into -the Tochty, and Elsie was everybody's favourite. She was a healthy and -winsome child, with fair hair and bright laughing eyes... -</p> -<p> -“Blue?” suddenly enquired Elijah, and then added in some confusion, “I beg -your pardon; I was thinking of a child I once knew, and... loved. Go on.” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, blue, about the colour of a forget-me-not....” - </p> -<p> -“Hers were darker, like the sea, you know, and in her last illness they -were as deep... I interrupt you.” - </p> -<p> -“People liked Elsie because she was such a merry soul: coming to meet you -on the road, nodding to you over a hedge, or giving you a kiss if you -wished.” - </p> -<p> -Elijah nodded as one who understood; yet he was a wifeless, childless man. -Some child friendship most likely; and now, even as I glance at him from -the corner of my eyes, his friend is putting her arms round his neck. -Would they recognise him in the 'bus at this moment? -</p> -<p> -“Her mother was washing blankets by the edge of the river, which was in -flood, and rising, and the lassie was playing beside her with a doll. She -was singing at the very time in gladness of hear and thinking of no -danger.” - </p> -<p> -“Poor little woman!” It gave one a start, for this was a new voice, -unknown in the lard market or the religious meeting. What had become of -Elijah Higginbotham? -</p> -<p> -“When she either stooped too near the flood, or a larger wave had caught -her where she sat, and at the sound of a scream her mother looked round, -and saw the wee lassie disappear in the black cauldron which whirled round -and round within the rocks.” - </p> -<p> -“Ah!” groaned Elijah, visibly moved, who had spoken calmly of the -everlasting damnation of the greater portion of the human race times -without number. -</p> -<p> -“Her mother, in her agony, cried to God to save Elsie.” - </p> -<p> -“She could not have done better,” cried Elijah; “and He answered her -prayer.” - </p> -<p> -“While she prayed, Posty was coming down the footpath behind, and he heard -her cry.” - </p> -<p> -“Posty was the instrument,” and Elijah rapped the floor with his stick. -“He obeyed the Divine command within, and he cannot go without some -reward.” - </p> -<p> -“He tore off his coat in an instant, and then—I suppose if you had -been there you would have besought him to bethink himself: and to remember -that he was a man unfit to die! Is not that so?” - </p> -<p> -“Sir,” said Elijah, “you do me less than justice, and... insult me. What -right have you to ask me such a question? I have preached, and I will -preach again; but there's a time for preaching, and a time to refrain from -preaching. I can swim, and I have saved two lives in my time. I am a fool -for boasting, but I would...” - </p> -<p> -“I believe you would, Mr. Higginbotham”—I saw an able-bodied man -without fear—“and I beg your pardon...” - </p> -<p> -Elijah waved his hand. I was to go on to the end without delay. -</p> -<p> -“It seemed fifteen minutes, it was only one, while the mother hung over -the edge of the black seething whirlpool, and then he came up, bleeding -from a wound in the forehead, without Elsie.” - </p> -<p> -“I take you to witness,” declared Elijah solemnly, “that I said he was a -brave man. Yes, he had the natural virtues, and some who make a profession -have none.” - </p> -<p> -“For a few seconds he hung on to the edge to get breath, and Mrs. -Macfadyen herself besought him not to risk his life, for he was a husband -and father; but he only answered: 'I'll hae Elsie oot'.” - </p> -<p> -“They forgot themselves,—do you mark that?—both of them,” - cried Elijah. “Whose Spirit was that? Didn't they keep the commandment of -Love, which is the chief commandment? and—answer me—can any -one keep that commandment without grace?” - </p> -<p> -It was not with me but with himself the evangelist was arguing, and I went -on: -</p> -<p> -“He came up again, this time with Elsie in one arm, a poor, little limp -bundle of clothes, her yellow hair spread over her face, and her eyes -closed, I was afraid, for ever.” - </p> -<p> -“But she lived, didn't she?” There was no Elijah Higginbotham anywhere to -be found now, only an excited man, concerned about the saving of a little -maid. “Excuse me, I didn't read that part about the saving so carefully as -I ought I was more concerned about... the judgment.” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, Elsie was all right in a day or two, but Posty had not strength to -do more than hand her to her mother, and then, exhausted by the struggle -with the water, he fell back, and was dead when he was found.” - </p> -<p> -“What were you doing that you did not lay hold of Posty and pull him out?” - thundered Elijah; “you seem to have been there.” - </p> -<p> -“Only in a literary sense,” I hastened to explain, for it now seemed -likely that the evangelist having come to condemn Posty, was about to take -up the cudgels on his behalf. -</p> -<p> -“I wish to Heaven you had been there in a physical sense; you would have -been far more useful!” replied Elijah. “And so he died and Elsie was -saved?” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, Posty died and went to his account; that was how he lived, and that -was how he died.” And I waited. -</p> -<p> -Elijah sprang out of his seat and stood on the hearthrug, his face -flushed, and his eyes shining. -</p> -<p> -“It's a pity that he tasted; I wish he hadn't It's a pity he did not think -more about his own soul; I wish he had. But Posty was a hero, and played -the man that day. Posty will have another chance. Posty loved, and God is -Love; if there's such a thing as justice, it's all right with Posty.” - </p> -<p> -We did not look at one another for a full minute—a print of -Perugino's Crucifixion over the mantelpiece interested me, and Elijah's -eye seemed to be arrested by the <i>Encyclopedia Britannica</i> on the -other side of the room—a minute later we shook hands upon the basis -of the Divine Love and our common humanity, and nothing more passed -between us. -</p> -<p> -From my window I could see him go along the street He stopped and slapped -his leg triumphantly. I seemed to hear the evangelist say again with great -joy: “It's all right with Posty!” I said, “And it's all right with Elijah -Higginbotham.” - </p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>here were many capable men in the session of the North Free Kirk, -Muirtown—such as Bailie MacCallum, from whom Drumsheugh bought Kate -Carnegie's wedding present after a historical tussle—but they were -all as nothing beside the Collector, and this was so well known in -Muirtown that people spoke freely of the Collector's kirk. When he arrived -in Muirtown, it was understood that he sampled six kirks, three -Established and three Free—the rumour about the Original Seceders -was never authenticated—and that the importance of his visits was -thoroughly appreciated. No unseemly fuss was made on his appearance; but -an ex-bailie, or the Clerk to the Road Trustees, or some such official -person, happened to meet him at the door, and received him into his pew -with quiet, unostentatious respect; and when he left, officious deacons -did not encompass his exit, rubbing their hands and asking how he liked -their place, but an elder journeying in the same direction entered into -general conversation and was able to mention with authority next day what -the Collector had said. Various reasons were canvassed for his settlement -in the North Kirk, where old Dr. Pitten-driegh was then drawing near to -the close of his famous exposition of the Epistle to the Romans, published -after the Doctor's death, and sold to the extent of fifty-seven copies -among the congregation. It was, for one thing, a happy coincidence that on -that occasion the Doctor, having taken an off day from Romans, had -preached from the text “Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's,” - and had paid a high tribute to the character of a faithful servant of the -Crown. Some importance, no doubt, also attached to the fact that the -Procurator Fiscal sat in the “North Free,” austere and mysterious, whose -power of detecting crime bordered on the miraculous, and whose ways were -veiled in impenetrable darkness, so that any one with a past felt -uncomfortable in his presence; and it was almost synonymous with doom to -say of a man, “The Fiscal has his eye on him.” Perhaps it was not without -influence that the Supervisor, who was the Collector's subordinate, with -power also of official life and death, had long sat under Dr. Pittendriegh—the -Doctor and the Collector were indeed the only persons the Supervisor did -sit under. He had admirable opportunities of enlarging to the Collector on -the solid and edifying qualities of Dr. Pittendriegh's ministry, and the -unfortunate defects in the preaching and pastoral gifts of neighbouring -ministers, in the intervals of business, when the two of them were not -investigating into the delinquencies of some officer of excise, who had -levied a tax on the produce of Dunleith Distillery not only in money but -also in kind; or concocting cunning plans for the detection of certain -shepherds who were supposed to be running an entirely unlicensed still in -the recesses of Glen Urtach. It was at least through this official, -himself an elder, that the Collector's decision was intimated to the -Doctor and the other authorities of the North Kirk, and they lost no time -in giving it proper and irrevocable effect The Supervisor set an example -of patriotic sacrifice by surrendering his pew in the centre of the church -and retiring to the modest obscurity of the side seats, so that the -Collector could be properly housed; for it was not to be thought of for a -moment that he should sit anywhere except in the eye of the public, or -that ordinary persons—imagine for instance young children—should -be put in the same pew with him. So he sat there alone, for he had neither -wife nor child, from January to December, except when on his official -leave—which he took not for pleasure but from a sense of duty—and -he gave a calm, judicial attention to all the statements put before him by -the preacher. Very soon after this arrangement the Doctor discovered that -the Deacons' Court required strengthening, and, as a man of affairs, the -Collector was added at the head of the list; and when a year later a happy -necessity compelled an election of elders, the Collector was raised to -this higher degree, and thereafter was “thirled” to the North Free, and -the history of that kirk and of the Collector became one. -</p> -<p> -What exactly the great man collected, or what functions and powers might -be included in his office, were not matters Muirtown pretended to define -or dared to pry into. It was enough that he was, in the highest and final -sense of the word, Collector—no mere petty official of a local body, -but the representative of the Imperial Government and the commissioned -servant of Her Majesty the Queen, raised above principalities and powers -in the shape of bailies and provosts, and owning no authority save, as was -supposed, the Chancellor of the Exchequer. For any one to confound him -with the collector of, say, water rates was either abysmal ignorance or, -it might be, although one hoped not, a piece of Radical insolence and a -despising of dignities. It was good manners to call him by his title—many -would have had difficulty in mentioning his private name, which was, I -believe, Thomas Richard Thome, just as the Queen's, I believe, is Guelph—and -it was pleasing to hear a porter at the station shout, amid a crowd of -tourists going to the Kilspindie Arms, “Collector's cab”; or Bailie -MacCallum on the street, “Fine morning, Collector”; and one did not wonder -that the session of the “North Free” exalted its head when this kind of -thing went on at its meetings: “Moderator, with your permission, I would -like to have the mind of the Collector”; and then in reply, “Moderator, my -views practically coincide with those of the Fiscal” And there were dinner -tables, such as old Peter MacCash's, the manager of the Muirtown Bank, -where conversation reached a very high level of decoration, and nothing -could be heard save “Sheriff,” “Provost,” “Collector,” “Town Clerk,” - “Fiscal,” “Banker,” “Doctor,” “Dean of Guild,” and such like, till an -untitled person hardly dared to defend his most cherished opinion. -</p> -<p> -As the movements of Government officials were always mysterious, no one -could tell whence the Collector had come, but it was known to a few that -he was not really of Scots blood, and had not been bred in the -Presbyterian Kirk. When his hand in the way of Church rule was heavy on -the “North Free” and certain sought anxiously for grounds of revolt, they -were apt to whisper that, after all, this man, who laid down the -ecclesiastical law with such pedantic accuracy and such inflexible -severity, was but a Gentile who had established himself in the true fold, -or at most a proselyte of the gate. They even dared to ask what, in the -matter of churches, he had been before he was appointed to Muirtown; and -so unscrupulous and virulent are the mongers of sedition, as every student -of history knows, that some insinuated that the Collector had been a -Nonconformist; while others, considering that this violence could only -overreach itself, contented themselves with allusions to Swedenborg. Most -of his brethren treated him as if he had been within the covenant from the -beginning, and had been granted the responsible privilege of Scots birth -either because in course of time they had forgotten the fact of alien -origin in face of every appearance to the contrary, or because, as we all -need mercy, it is not wise to search too curiously into the dark chapters -of a man's past. -</p> -<p> -Upon his part the Collector had wonderfully adapted himself to the new -environment, and it defied the keenest critic to find in him any trace of -a former home. It is true that he did not use the Scots dialect, merely -employing a peculiarly felicitous word at a time for purposes of effect, -but he had stretched his vowels to the orthodox breadth, and could roll -off the letter “r” with a sense of power. “Dour” he could say in a way -that deceived even the elect Sometimes he startled the Presbytery with a -sound like “Yah, yah,” which indicates the shallow sharpness of the -English, instead of “He-e-er, he-e-er,” which reveals as in a symbol the -solidity of the Scot; but then one cannot live in London for years—as -an official must—and be quite unscathed; and an acute observer might -mark a subdued smartness in dress—white tie instead of stock on -sacrament Sabbaths—which was not indigenous; but then it must be -allowed that one in his position was obliged to be, to a certain degree, a -man of the world. No one ever caught him quoting a clause from the -Prayer-Book on the rare occasions when he was heard at his family -devotions, or breaking into a riotous “Hallelujah” in the midst of a -sermon. If misfortune had thrown him into Episcopalian or Methodist folds -in earlier years, he had since been thoroughly purged and cleansed. He had -a way of alluding to “the Disruption principles laid down in 1843,” or “my -younger brethren will allow me to say that the Disruption,” which was very -convincing; and on the solitary occasion when he made a set speech in -public—for his strength lay in silence rather than eloquence—he -had a peroration on our “covenanted forefathers” which left an indelible -impression. It was understood that he spent his holidays in visiting -remote districts of the Highlands where the people took strong peppermints -in church without scruple or apology, and preserved the primeval -simplicity of Presbyterian worship entire; and it was supposed that he was -looking for a birthplace which would finally establish his position as an -elder of the Kirk. -</p> -<p> -What gave the Collector his supreme influence in the session of the Free -North, and extended his sphere of ecclesiastical influence to the -Presbytery of Muirtown, was an amazing knowledge of Church law and a -devouring love for order. The latter may have been the natural outcome of -his professional training, wherein red-tape has been raised to a science, -but the former was an acquired accomplishment Dr. Pittendriegh remembered -almost painfully that on the day of his election to the eldership the -Collector enquired the names of the most reliable authorities on Church -law, and that he (Dr. Pittendriegh) had not only given him a list, but had -urged him to their study, judging from past experience that no man was -likely to go too far in the pursuit of this branch of knowledge. For a -while the Collector sat silent and observant at the meetings of Session, -and then suddenly one evening, and in the quietest manner, he inquired -whether a certain proceeding was in order. -</p> -<p> -“Well, at any rate, that is how we have done here for twenty years,” said -the Doctor, with just a flavour of indignation, and the startled Fiscal -confirmed the statement. -</p> -<p> -“That may be so, Moderator, and I am obliged to Mr. Fiscal for his -assurance, but you will pardon me for saying, with much respect, that the -point is not whether this action has been the custom, but whether it is -legal. On that, Moderator, I should like your deliverance.” - </p> -<p> -He took the opportunity, however, of showing that only one deliverance -could be given by long quotations from Church law, supported by references -which extended back to the seventeenth century. Every one knew that, -unlike his distinguished colleague in Muirtown Dr. Dowbiggin, the minister -of the Free North was more at home in Romans than in Canon Law; but, like -every true Scot, he loved a legal point, and he not only announced at next -Session meeting that the Collector was quite right, but expressed his -satisfaction that they had such a valuable addition to their number in the -Collector. His position from that evening was assured beyond dispute; and -when the Clerk of Session resigned on the ground of long service, but -really through terror that there might be a weak place in his minutes, the -Collector succeeded, and made the proceedings of the Free North Session to -be a wonder unto many. It was a disappointment to some that, when the -Collector was sent to the Presbytery, he took no part for several -meetings; but others boldly declared that even in that high place he was -only biding his time, which came when the Presbytery debated for one hour -and ten minutes whether a certain meeting had been <i>pro re nata</i> or -<i>in hunc effectum</i>, while the learned Clerk listened with delight as -one watches the young people at play. -</p> -<p> -“Moderator,” said the Collector, “I have given the most careful attention -to the arguments on both sides, and I venture to suggest that the meeting -was neither <i>pro re nata</i> nor <i>in hunc effectum</i>, but was a -meeting <i>per saltum</i>”; and, after referring to Pardovan's Institutes, -he sat down amid a silence which might be felt Several ministers openly -confessed their ignorance one to another with manifest chagrin, and one -young minister laughed aloud: “<i>Per saltum</i>, I declare—what -next?” as if it were a subject for jesting. -</p> -<p> -“The Collector is quite right, Moderator,” said the Clerk with his -unspeakable air of authority; “the meeting referred to was undoubtedly <i>per -saltum</i>, but I did not wish to interfere prematurely with the debate”; -and from that date the Clerk, who used to address his more recondite -deliverances to Dr. Dowbiggin as the only competent audience, was careful -to include the Collector in a very marked and flattering fashion. -</p> -<p> -While it was only human that his congregation should be proud of the -Collector, and while there is no question that he led them in the paths of -order, they sometimes grumbled—in corners—and grew impatient -under his rule. He was not only not a man given to change himself, but he -bitterly resented and resisted to the uttermost any proposal of change on -the part of other people. What was in the Free North, when he, so to say, -mounted the throne, was right, and any departure therefrom he scented afar -off and opposed as folly and mischief. There are men whom you can convince -by argument; there are others whom you can talk round on trifles; but -whether the matter were great or small—from Biblical criticism, on -which the Collector took a liberal line, to the printing of the -congregational report, where he would not allow a change of type—once -his mind was made up he remained unchangeable and inaccessible. He -prevented the introduction of hymns for ten years, and never consented to -the innovation on the ground of the hold which the metrical psalms had -upon Presbyterians from their earliest days, and he did succeed in -retaining that remarkable custom of the Scots Kirk by which a communicant -cannot receive the Sacrament without first presenting a leaden token, and -his argument was again the sacred associations of the past He did -certainly agree to the recovering of the pulpit cushions, which the -exposition of Romans had worn bare, only however on the assurance of -Bailie MacCallum, given officially, that he had the same cloth in store; -but a scheme for a ventilating chamber in the roof—an improvement -greatly needed in a church which was supposed to have retained the very -air of the Disruption—he denounced as an irresponsible fad. -</p> -<p> -He gave much watchful attention to the Sabbath schools—“Sunday” was -a word he abhorred—and between the Collector and the younger people -engaged in that work there was almost constant conflict, which extended to -every detail, and came to a head over the matter of entertainments. It was -their belief that once a year it was necessary for the success and -well-being of a Sabbath school that the children should be gathered on an -evening and fed with tea and buns, and afterwards elevated by magic slides -representing various amusing situations in life and concluding with a -vivid picture of rats disappearing into a gaping man's mouth, which opened -to receive them with a jerk. The fact that this festivity was opened and -closed with a hymn in no way sanctified it in the eyes of the Collector, -who declared it to be without any Scripture warrant and injurious to true -religion, as well as—and this was hardly less important—quite -without sanction by the laws of the Kirk. By sheer force of will—the -weight of a silent, obstinate uncompromising nature, he brought the -“treats”—very modest, innocent, if not particularly refined efforts -to give some brightness to the life of the poor children in Muirtown—to -an end, and in place thereof he provided, at his own expense, views of the -mission stations of the world, with a gratuitous distribution of -missionary literature. This was endured for three years with much -discontent and with sudden and disorderly demands for the rats in place of -the interesting although somewhat monotonous faces of Chinese Christians, -and then the rebellion was organized which had so unexpected and -felicitous a result The party of the Juniors, some of them approaching -forty years of age, took a covenant that they would stand by one another, -and they made their plan that upon a certain evening in March they would -gather together their corps of Muirtown Arabs and feed them with dainties -even unto the extent of raisins and oranges. They were not unconscious -that oranges, on account of their pronounced colour, would be an offence -to the Collector, and that that estimable man had already referred to this -fruit, as a refreshment at a religious meeting, in terms of deep contempt; -and there would not only be a magic lantern with scenes of war and sport, -to say nothing of amusement, but also a sacred cantata to be sung by the -children. When the Collector heard of the programme, he grasped the -situation at once, and knew that in the coming battle quarter could not be -given—that the “Reds” would be completely reduced to subordination, -or that a severely constitutional monarchy would be finally closed. This -was indeed the general opinion; and when the Juniors appeared before the -Session to present their ultimatum, nothing but a sense of decency -prevented the Free North attending in a body, and Bailie MacCallum took a -gloomy view of the issue. -</p> -<p> -“Oranges and the what-ye-call-it,” alluding to the cantata, “the Collector -'ll never stand, and ye couldna expect him.” - </p> -<p> -Dr. Pittendriegh was now <i>emeritus</i>3, which means that he had retired -from the active duty of the ministry and was engaged in criticising those -who were still in the yoke; and many pitied young Mr. Rutherford, brother -of Rutherford of Glasgow, who had to preside over so critical a meeting. -His prayer was, however, favourably received by both sides, and his few -remarks before calling on the leader of the “Reds” were full of tact and -peace. As for that intrepid man—grocer by trade and full of -affability, but a Radical in politics and indifferent to the past—he -discharged a difficult duty with considerable ability. For himself and his -friends he disclaimed all desire to offend any one, and least of all one -whom every one respected so much for his services both to Church and State—both -the Bailie and Fiscal felt bound to say “hear, hear,” and the Collector -bowed stiffly—but they must put the work they had carried on in the -Vennel before any individual: they were dealing with a poor and neglected -class of children very different from the children in grand houses—this -with some teethiness. They must make religion attractive, and show that -they were interested in the children's lives as well as their souls. None -of them could see anything wrong in a cup of tea or a bit of music; and if -the Session was to forbid this small pleasure, he and his friends would -respectfully resign the position they had held for many years, and allow -the elders to carry on the work on any plan they pleased. -</p> -<p> -There was a faint rustle; the Bailie gave a low whistle, and then the -Collector rose from the table, where he sat as clerk, removed the gold -eyeglass from his nose with much deliberation, coughed slightly, and -waving his eyeglass gently with his left hand, gave his deliverance. He -acknowledged with somewhat cold courtesy the generous expressions -regarding any slight services he had been allowed to render in his dual -capacity, and he desired to express his profound sense of the devotion -with which his friends on the other side, if he might just for the -occasion speak of sides, carried on their important work. His difficulty, -however, was this—and he feared that it was insuperable—Christian -work must be carried on in accordance with sound principles, by the -example of the Bible and according to the spirit of the Scots Kirk. He was -convinced that the entertainments in question, with the accompaniments to -which he would not further allude in this place, were quite contrary to -the sound and solid traditions which were very dear to some of them, and -from which he ventured to hope the Free North Church of Muirtown would -never depart. If the Session should take another view than that of his -humble judgment, then nothing would remain for him but to resign his -position as Session Clerk and Elder. There was general consternation on -the faces of his brethren, and even the Juniors looked uncomfortable, and -the Moderator did wisely in adjourning the meeting for a week. -</p> -<p> -The idea was some kind of compromise; but no one was particularly hopeful, -and the first essays were not very encouraging. It was laid on the Bailie -to deal with the leader of the insurgents, for the sound reason that, as -every class has its own freemasonry, one tradesman was likely to know how -to deal with another. No man had a more plausible tongue, as was well -known in municipal circles, and the Bailie plied the grocer with the -arguments of expediency: that the Collector was an ornament to the Free -North; that any disruption in their congregation would be a sport to the -Philistines; that if you offended the Collector, you touched the Fiscal -and the other professional dignitaries; that it would be possible to go a -good way in the direction that the insurgents desired without attracting -any notice; and that the Collector... “Well, ye see, Councillor”—for -the grocer had so far attained—“there's bound to be changes; we maun -be prepared for that. He's failin' a wee, an' there's nae use counterin' -him.” So, with many shrugs and suggestions, the astute politician advised -that the insurgents should make a nominal submission and wait their time. -Then the Councillor informed the Bailie that he would fight the battle to -the end, although the Collector should join the Established Kirk, and -Bailie MacCallum knew that his labour had been all in vain. -</p> -<p> -It was the Fiscal who approached the Collector, as was most meet, and he -considered that the best time was after dinner, and when the two were -discussing their second glass of port “That's a sound wine, Collector, and -a credit to a Muirtown firm. Remarkable man, old Sandeman; established a -good port in Scotland and invented a new denomination, when to save my -life I couldn't have thought of another.” - </p> -<p> -“So far as I can judge, I do not think that Sandemanianism is any credit -to Muirtown. How any Scots Kirkman can sink down into that kind of thing -passes me. But the wine is unexceptionable, and I never tasted any but -good wine at your table; yet I suppose young men would prefer claret—not -the rich claret Scots gentlemen used to drink, but that feeble Gladstone -stuff,” and the Collector wagged his head in sorrow over the decadent -taste of the day. -</p> -<p> -“I quite agree with you, Collector, but you know <i>de gustibus</i>; and -when the young fellows do me the honour of dining with me, I let them have -their claret: there must be give and take between the seniors and juniors, -eh, Collector?”—this with some adroitness. -</p> -<p> -“There I venture to disagree with you, Fiscal,” and the Collector's face -hardened at once. “It is the young who ought to yield to the old; I see no -reason why the old should give in to the young; if they do, the end will -be anarchy in Church and State.” - </p> -<p> -“There is a great deal in what you say, Collector; but have you never been -afraid that if we of the old school refuse to make any concessions, we -shall simply lose our influence, and things will be done foolishly, which, -with our help, might have been done wisely?” - </p> -<p> -“If there be one word I detest, it is 'concessions'; they are ruinous, -both in the Civil Service and in the Church; and it just comes to this, -Fiscal: if you yield an inch, you must yield a yard. Nothing will preserve -order save resistance from the beginning, <i>obsta principiis</i>, yes, <i>obsta -principiis.</i>.” - </p> -<p> -The Fiscal recognised the expression on the Collector's face, and knew -that it was useless to continue the subject, and so his labour was also in -vain. -</p> -<p> -It only now remained that the minister should try his hand upon this -inflexible man, and one of the urgent duties of his pastoral office -hindered him until the evening before the meeting. During the last few -days Rutherford had been trying to get the key to this type of character, -and had been touched by the Collector's loneliness. Without wife or child, -engaged in routine year by year, moving in a narrow set of officials or -ecclesiastics, he had withered and contracted till he had become a mere -pedant. People spoke of his narrowness and obstinacy. They were angry with -him, and would not be sorry to teach him a lesson. The minister's heart -was full of pity and charity; and, so optimistic is youth, he believed -that there must be springs of emotion and romance in the old man; but this -faith he did not mention to the Bailie or the Fiscal, considering, with -some reason, that they would put it down as a foolish dream, and be -inwardly much amused. As he stood before the Collector's residence, as it -was called in the <i>Muirtown Advertiser</i>, his pity deepened, and he -seemed to be confirmed in his compassion. The Collector did not live in -rooms or in a small “house as did other bachelors, for this would be -unworthy of his position, and a reflection on the State; but he must needs -live in a house on the North Meadow. The large drawing-room lay unused and -empty, since no ladies came to the house; and of the bedrooms only three -were furnished—one for his servants, one for himself, and another a -guest-room, which was never occupied save by some Government official from -London on inspection, or a minister attending the Presbytery. The -Collector was eager to secure Rabbi Saunderson, but that learned man, of -absent mind, was apt to forget that he had been invited. The dining-room -was a bare, sombre room, where the Collector took his meals in solitary -state and entertained half a dozen men to simple but well-cooked dinners, -after which the tablecloth was removed from the polished dark mahogany, -and the sound old port coasted round in silver slides. As the minister -entered the dimly lit lobby everything seemed to him significant and -eloquent: the middle-aged housekeeper with her air of severe propriety; -the hat-stand, with no careless, unkempt exuberance of undress hats, -shooting caps country sticks, but with two silk hats only—one for -good weather and Sundays, one for bad and funerals; a bamboo cane, with an -ivory and silver head of straight and unadorned pattern; and two coats—one -for cold, one for milder temperature. His sitting-room, where he spent his -unofficial time, seemed to the minister that evening the very embodiment -of the man—a physical shape, as it were, revealing his character. -There was no comfortable disorder of papers, books, pipes, which sets one -at ease in some rooms. Everything had its place; and the daily paper, -after having been read, was sent down to the kitchen, unless there was -some news of an unedifying description, in which case it was burned. -Instead of a couch whereon one could lie and meditate after dinner on the -problems of existence, there were two straight-backed armchairs, one on -each side of the fireplace. The bookcase had glass doors, and one could -read the titles on one shelf: <i>The Incidence of the Income Tax, The -Abolition of the Malt Duty, Rules for the Collectors of H.M. Inland -Revenue, Practice of the Free Church of Scotland, Abstract of the Acts of -Assembly 1700 to 1840, and The Elders Manual</i>. The Collector was -reading another book of the same genial and exhilarating class, and the -minister noticed its contents with some dismay, <i>The Authority of Kirk -Sessions</i>; but the Collector was quite cordial (for him). -</p> -<p> -“I am much pleased to see you, Mr. Rutherford, and should be gratified if -your onerous duties allowed you to call more frequently; but I never -forget that while our hours in the service of the Queen are, as a rule, -fixed, yours, in a higher service, have no limit Do not, I pray you, sit -there; that is in the draught between the door and the fire: here, if you -will be so good, opposite me. Well, sir, how is your work prospering?” - </p> -<p> -The minister explained that he had intended to call sooner, but had been -occupied with various cases of sickness, one of which had touched him -closely. The people were not in the Collector's district; but perhaps he -might have noticed them: they sat before him in church. -</p> -<p> -“Do you refer to a couple who have come quite recently, within a year, and -who, as I judge, are newly married; they are interesting young people, it -seemed to me, and most attentive, as I can testify to their religious -duties.” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, the same. They were engaged for many years—a love affair of -childhood, and they have been married less than eight months. They have a -beautiful little home at Craigie, and they simply lived one for another.” - </p> -<p> -“I can believe that, Mr. Rutherford; for I may mention that on one -occasion, when you touched on love in appropriate and... somewhat moving -terms, I happened to notice, without espionage I trust, that the wife -slipped her hand into her husband's, and so they sat until the close of -the sermon. Has trouble come to them?” and the Collector looked anxiously -at the minister over his spectacles. -</p> -<p> -“Very dangerous and sudden trouble, I am sorry to say. Last Monday Mrs. -Fortune was prematurely confined, and I... don't understand about these -things; but the doctor considered it a very bad case.” - </p> -<p> -“There had been complications, I fear; that sometimes happens, and, I -don't know why, often with those whose lives are most precious. How is -she? I earnestly hope that she... that he has not lost his bride.” And -Rutherford was struck by the anxiety and sadness in the Collector's voice. -</p> -<p> -“It was feared he might, and I have never seen any man so utterly broken -down; and yet he kept calm for her sake. On Wednesday I stayed with him -all the afternoon, and then I returned for the night after the prayer -meeting.” - </p> -<p> -“You were never more needed, be sure of that, sir; and is there hope of -her recovery? I pray God, if it be His will, that the young wife be -spared. Sitting before me has given me... an interest in the case.” The -Collector felt as if he must apologise for his unusual emotion. -</p> -<p> -“Their own doctor took a gloomy view, but they called in Dr. Manley. If -there's real danger of death in Muirtown, or a radius of twenty miles, -people must have Manley. And when he came into the parlour—you know -his brusque, decided way—Manley turned to poor Fortune, who couldn't -say one word, only look.” - </p> -<p> -“It is, Mr. Rutherford, I will dare to say, the bitterest hour in all -human sorrow”—the Collector spoke with strong feeling—“and Dr. -Manley said?” - </p> -<p> -“'You thought you were going to lose your wife. No wonder; very bad case; -but you're not, please God you're not. Dr. Gellatly knows his business. -Mrs. Fortune will get better with care, mark me, immense care.' That's his -way, you know, Collector; then Fortune... well, lost command of himself. -So Manley went on,—'with care and skill; and Gellatly will see to -that.'” - </p> -<p> -“God be praised!” exclaimed the Collector. “How many Dr. Manley has -comforted in Muirtown! yet all medical skill is of no avail sometimes. But -you have said nothing of the child.” - </p> -<p> -“Manley was very doubtful about it—a girl, I think—and that is -the only danger now with Mrs. Fortune. She is always asking for the child, -which she has not seen; and so long as the news are good she is satisfied; -but if the baby dies, it will go hard with the mother. Collector,” cried -Rutherford suddenly, “what mothers suffer, and how they love!” - </p> -<p> -The Collector took off his spectacles and examined them carefully, and -then he wiped his eyes. -</p> -<p> -“When can the doctors be certain about the child, Mr. Rutherford?” - </p> -<p> -“Dr. Manley is going again this evening, and we hope he will be able to -give a good report I intended to call after seeing you; for if all be -well, we would return thanks to God; and if... the child is not to live, -there will be the more need of prayer. You will excuse me, Collector?” - </p> -<p> -“Go at once, sir, and... do you mind me going with you—just to the -door, you know? I would sleep better to-night if I knew mother and child -were safe.” And the Collector was already moving to the door as one in -haste. -</p> -<p> -“It is very good of you, Collector, and Fortune will value your sympathy; -but there is something I called to talk about and in my concern about Mrs. -Fortune I... quite forgot it. It's about that unfortunate Sabbath-school -entertainment.” - </p> -<p> -“It's of no importance beside this trial—none whatever. Let us not -delay, and I'll hear you on the other matter as we cross the South -Meadow.” - </p> -<p> -So Rutherford was hustled out of the house in growing amazement. -</p> -<p> -“Let me say, first of all, Collector, that we are all much concerned... -</p> -<p> -“Who could be otherwise, my good sir, if he had a heart in his bosom—only -eight months married, and in danger of being separated. Mother and child -taken, and the husband... left desolate... desolate for life!” - </p> -<p> -“If you could see your way,” resumed Rutherford, after a respectful pause, -and still harking back to the dispute, “to do anything...” - </p> -<p> -“Why did you not say that before? Only tell me; and if it be in my power, -it shall be done. May I undertake the doctor's fees, or arrange with the -nurse—through you of course, and in any way that will be in keeping -with their feelings? Command me; I shall count it more than a privilege—a -duty of pity and... love.” - </p> -<p> -“It was not the Fortunes I was thinking of,” said Rutherford; “but that -can be left over. It is kind of you to offer help; they are not, however, -in need of pecuniary assistance. Fortune has a good post in the railway. -He's a first-rate engineer and a rising man. But if you cared to send -flowers...” - </p> -<p> -“I am obliged to you for the hint, and I'll attend to this to-morrow -morning.” (The invalid had a fresh bouquet every day for a month.) “No, I -will not go in. Just present my compliments and sympathy to Mr. Fortune. -Here is my card, and... I'll just wait for the bulletin, if you would be -so good as to come with it to the door.” - </p> -<p> -“Baby's going to live too, and Manley says she will be a thumping big -child in a few months!” - </p> -<p> -“Thank God, Mr. Rutherford! You cannot imagine how this incident has -affected me. I'll go home now, and as I cross through the dark-ness of the -Meadow my humble thanksgiving will mingle with yours, that in this home it -has been God's pleasure to turn the darkness... into light.” The voice of -the Collector was charged with emotion, and Rutherford was confirmed in -his romantic belief, although it seemed as if he had laboured in vain in -the affair of the Sabbath school. -</p> -<p> -It was known before the meeting of that evening that no compromise had -been effected; and when the Collector rose to speak, his face and manner -charged with solemnity, it was felt that a crisis in the Free North had -arrived. He began by saying that the subject of last meeting had never -been long out of his thoughts, and that he had now arrived at a decision -which commended itself to his judgment, and which he would submit with all -brevity. -</p> -<p> -“Moderator”—for the Collector's historical utterance must be given -in his own words—“if a man lives alone for many years, through the -providence of God, and has come almost to the limit of ordinary human life -as set down by the Psalmist, he is apt to become censorious and to be out -of sympathy with young people; and if I have erred in this respect, you -will kindly assign it to the habits of my life, not to the feelings of my -heart.” - </p> -<p> -There was so much gracious tenderness and unaffected humility in the -Collector's tone that the grocer—unless roused, himself the most -generous of men—wished to rise and withdraw the oranges instantly, -and to leave the other details of tea and cantata absolutely to the -Collector's decision, but was checked by the Moderator. -</p> -<p> -“So far, therefore, as I am concerned, I beg, Moderator, to withdraw all -opposition to the programme of my excellent friends, and I do so with all -my heart; but, with your permission, I must annex one condition, which I -hope my good friends will see their way to grant.” - </p> -<p> -“Whatever the Collector wants shall be done!” burst in the Councillor, -with chorus of applause from his side. -</p> -<p> -“Mr. Councillor must not be too rash lest he be caught in a snare,” - resumed the Collector facetiously, “for I am contemplating an innovation. -However agreeable an evening entertainment in winter may be to the Vennel -children, it appears to me that it would be even better for them to go to -the country and admire the works of the Creator. There is a beautiful -spot, only some twelve miles from here, which few Muirtown people have -seen. I refer to the Tochty woods, where are the graves of Bessie Bell and -Mary Gray, and my condition is that in the height of summer our poor -Muirtown children be driven there and spend a long summer's day on the -grass and by the river. I have only to add that if this proposal should -meet with my friends' and my colleagues' approval, I shall count it a -privilege and, er... honour to defray the cost.” And for the first time in -his public life the Collector sat down covered with confusion as with a -garment The Tochty excursion came off on midsummer day, and is now a -chapter of ancient history, to which what remains of the “Old Guard” turn -back with fond recollection; for though the things reported were almost -incredible in Muirtown, yet were they all less than true. How there had -been preparation in the unsavoury homes of the Vennel for weeks before, -with the result that the children appeared in such spotless cleanliness -and varied gaiety of attire that the Councillor was filled with pride, and -the Collector declared that they looked like ladies and gentlemen. How the -Collector was himself dressed in a light-grey summer suit, with a blue tie -and a soft hat—this was never believed in his “Collection,” but -could any one have invented it?—and received many compliments on his -appearance from all sides. How he had provided a barouche from the -Kilspindie Arms for the Councillor and his wife, as chiefs of the school, -and for his guests the Fortunes, whose baby crowed triumphantly half the -way, and smiled in her sleep the other half; but the Collector travelled -on the box-seat of the first break with the children—I tremble while -I write—through the main streets of Muirtown. How the Collector had -arranged with Bumbrae, the Free Kirk elder of Drumtochty, to supply every -one on arrival with a pint of sweet, fresh milk; and how a quarrel arose -in the end of the days between the town and country elders because Bumbrae -gave the bairns a pint and a half at the price of a pint, and was never -brought to a state of repentance. How almost every game known to children -in ancient and modern times was played that day in Tochty woods, and the -Collector patronised them all, from “tig” to “jingo-ring,” with great -access of popularity, if not conspicuous proficiency. How they all -gathered together in front of the Lodge before leaving, and the Councillor—he -has since risen to be Lord Provost—made the great speech of his life -in proposing a vote of thanks to the Collector; and the Collector, to save -himself from breaking down, called for three cheers in honour of the -Councillor, and led them himself. And how they drove back past Kilbogie in -the pleasant evening-time, and at the dispersing half the children of the -Vennel shook hands with H.M. Collector of Inland Revenue for Muirtown. -</p> -<p> -The Collector returned home, his heart full of peace, and went to a -certain closet of his bedroom, wherein was a box he had not opened for -forty years. Within it lay a bridal dress, and an unfinished set of baby -clothes, with a needle still fastened in the hem of a garment And the -Collector wept; but his tears were half sorrow and half joy, and he did -not sorrow as one who had no hope. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -FATHER JINKS -</h2> -<h3> -I -</h3> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen I give him this title, I am perfectly aware that his right to it was -at the best very doubtful, and that the Romans at St. Francis Xavier's -laughed openly at his conceit; but he was always greatly encouraged by any -one calling him “Father”; and now that he is gone I, for one, who knew -both his little eccentricities and his hard sacrifices, will not throw -stones at his grave—plenty were thrown at himself in his lifetime—nor -shall I wound his memory by calling him Mr. Jinks. My opinion, as a -layman, unattached and perhaps not even intelligent, is of very small -account, but it is that of many other laymen; and to us it is of no -importance what the servant of the Master is called, whether, like my dear -old friend Father Pat Reilly, who has brought back more prodigals from the -far country and rescued more waifs from the streets than any man I can -hear of, or after the fashion of that worthy man, Pastor John Jump, as he -delights to describe himself, who attends to business all the week—something -in tinned meats, I think—and on Sunday preaches to a congregation of -“baptized believers” with much force and earnestness, also without money -or price. Both the Father and the Pastor had some doubts about my -salvation—the one because I was not a member of the Anglican -Communion, and the other because I was not a “strait Baptist”; but I never -had any doubt about theirs—much less indeed than they had of one -another's—and of the two I liked... but no, there is no use of -comparisons, especially as the Pastor, as well as the Father, has gone to -the land where, doubtless, many surprises are waiting for us all. -</p> -<p> -Nor does it seem of grave concern to some of us—but here again we -may only be displaying our own ignorance of ecclesiastical subtleties—how -a minister of religion is set apart to his office, if so be that he is an -educated man and does the work put to his hand faithfully. Jinks was -priested—I think that was what he called it, but he is not -responsible for my mistakes—in a cathedral by a Right Rev. Father in -God, and he used often to insist that only through such a channel could -the grace of Orders come; but when the successor of the apostles advised -Jinks in a most kindly, fatherly spirit to cease from some of his amiable -extravagances—he had added a bran-new chasuble to his other bravery, -which greatly pleased his female devotees—“the dear Father do look -so pretty in his new chalice,” one of his admirers said—Jinks repaid -the Episcopal counsel with thinly-veiled scorn, and preached a sermon -which ran to the unwonted length of twenty minutes to show that the bishop -was himself a law-breaker and little better than a Protestant My friend -Carmichael, again, was ordained in the little Free Kirk of Drumtochty by -the Presbytery of Muirtown,—that heavy body of Church Law and -Divinity, Dr. Dowbiggin, being Moderator,—and I cannot recollect -Carmichael once referring to his Orders but he regarded his spiritual -superiors with profound respect, and was very much relieved when his -heresy case was dismissed—knowing very well that if they took it -into their heads he would be turned out of his Church without delay and -deposed from the ministry beyond human remedy. Carmichael was in the -custom of denouncing priestcraft, and explaining that he had no claim to -be a priest; but he administered a ghostly discipline so minute and -elaborate, with sins which could be loosed by him, and reserved sins which -could only be loosed by a higher authority, that the Father would have -regarded it with envy. And Carmichael exercised an unquestioned authority -among the hard-headed and strong-willed people of Drumtochty which Jinks -would have cheerfully given ten years of his life to possess in the parish -of St Agatha's. Between the two there was this difference, that the vicar -of St Agatha's had the form of authority without the power, and the -minister of Drumtochty had the power of authority without the form; and, -as no man could be personally more humble or in heart more sincere than -Jinks, this was the weary pity of the situation for my little Father. -</p> -<p> -Had St. Agatha's been in the West End, where his ritualism would have been -accepted with graceful enthusiasm because it was fashionable—which -would, however, have caused him much searching of heart: or in the East -End, where it would have been condoned with a wink on account of his -almsgiving, which would have wounded him deeply—Father Jinks had not -been a subject of mockery and reproach. As it was Providence had dealt -severely with the good man in sending him to the obdurate and stiff-necked -parish of St Agatha's, where the people were anything but open soil for -his teaching. The houses ranged from twenty pounds of rent up to forty, -and were inhabited by foremen artisans, clerks, shopkeepers, single women -letting lodgings, and a few people retired on a modest competence. The -district had not one rich man, although it was wonderful what some of the -shopkeepers gave to special efforts at their chapels, nor any person in -the remotest contact with society, but neither were there any evil livers -or wastrels. Every one worked hard, lived frugally—with a special -Sunday dinner—paid his taxes promptly, as well as his other debts, -and lived on fairly good terms with his neighbours. The parish had -certainly no enthusiasms, and would not have known what an ideal was, but -it had a considerable stock of common sense, and most people possessed a -traditional creed which they were prepared to defend with much obstinacy. -St. Agatha's parish was a very home of Philistinism, and, as everybody -knows, the Philistines have always had an instinctive dislike to Catholic -usages and teachings. -</p> -<h3> -II -</h3> -<p> -The congregation of St Agatha's were a prejudiced people, and had long -been established in their own ways. The previous vicar, who had a certain -fame as an orator of the florid order and rose to be an honorary canon, -was a churchman of the lowest depths, and did things which Father Jinks -used to mention with a shudder. He preached in a black gown, and delighted -to address religious meetings in unlicensed places without any gown at -all; he administered the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper once a month, and -preferred to do so at evening service; he delighted to offer an extempore -prayer before sermon, and never concluded a discourse without witnessing -against the errors of the Church of Rome; he delighted in a three-decker -pulpit, and would occasionally, in visiting the church for a baptism, -leave his hat on the communion table where there was no other ornament. In -his early days the music was led by a barrel organ, which was turned by -the clerk, and later, when a large harmonium was introduced, the Psalms -were read—the clerk leading the congregation with a stentorian voice—and -Moody and Sankey's hymns were freely used. It was understood that the -Canon had received a sudden call to the ministry while engaged in -commercial pursuits, and had not found time for a University education—the -hood which he wore at marriages was an invention of his wife's—and -he was therefore very careful to correct the inaccuracies of the accepted -versions, saying, with much impressiveness, “In the original Hebrew of -this Gospel,” or, “The Greek of Isaiah has it,” although, in order to -prevent monotony he would next Sunday reverse the order of languages and -again conform to traditional belief. Critical persons, connected by blood -with the families of St Agatha's and attending services there on occasion, -declared openly that the Canon was a preposterous personage and a -wind-bag; but he had without doubt a certain vein of genuine piety, which -unsympathising people were apt to call unctuous, but which was, at any -rate, warm; and a turn for rhetoric—he was of Irish birth—which -might not be heavily charged with thought, but was very appetizing to the -somewhat heavy minds of St Agatha's parish. While he did not allow -excessive charity to interfere with comfortable living, and while he did -not consider it his duty to risk a valuable life by reckless visitation of -persons with contagious diseases, the Canon, by his popular religious -manner—his funeral addresses which he delivered at the grave, -wearing a tall hat and swaying an umbrella, moved all to open grief,—and -by his sermons,—an hour long and rich in anecdotes—held the -parish in his hand and kept St Agatha's full. People still speak of a -course of lectures on “The Antichrists of the Bible,” in which Rome was -compared to Egypt, Samaria, Nineveh, and Babylon, and the strangers sat in -the aisles; and there can be no doubt that the Canon convinced the parish -that a High Churchman was a Jesuit in disguise, and that a priest was -(probably) an immoral person. So far as I could gather, the worthy man -believed everything he said—although his way of saying it might -savour of cant—and he was greatly impressed by an anonymous letter -threatening his life and telling him that the eye of Rome was on him. He -had been guided to marry three times—possibly as a protest against -celibacy—with cumulative financial results of a fairly successful -character, and his last wife mourns her loss at Cheltenham, where she -subscribes freely to “escaped nuns,” and greedily anticipates the field of -Armageddon. -</p> -<p> -When the new patron, who had bought his position for missionary purposes, -appointed the Rev. John James Jinks to be vicar of St Agatha's, there was -a rebellion in the parish, which, of course, came to nothing, and an -appeal to the Bishop, which called forth a letter exhorting every person -to peace and charity. Various charges were made against the new vicar, -ranging from the fact that he had been curate in a church where the -confessional was in full swing, and that the morals of the matrons of St -Agatha's would be in danger, to the wicked calumny that he was an -ex-Primitive Methodist, and was therefore, as is natural in such -circumstances, very strong on the doctrine of apostolical succession. As -the last insinuation cut Jinks to the quick, and was, indeed, almost the -only attack he really felt, it is due to his memory to state that he was -the son (and only child) of a country rector, whose living was worth £129, -and who brought up his lad in the respectable, if somewhat arid, -principles of the historical High Church school, which in the son -blossomed rapidly into the luxuriance of Ritualism. It was only by the -severest economy at the Rectory that Jinks could be sent to one of the -cheaper Halls at Oxford, and it was the lasting sorrow of his blameless -life that the Rector and his wife both died before he secured his modest -pass degree. His mother used to call him John James, and had dreams that -he would be raised to the Episcopate long after she had been laid to rest; -but he knew very well from the beginning that his intellectual gifts were -limited, and that his career would not be distinguished. While he -magnified his priestly office beyond bounds, and was as bold as a lion for -the Church in all her rights and privileges, he had no ambition for -himself and was the most modest of men. Because he was only five feet four -in height, and measured thirty-two inches round the chest, and had a pink -and white boyish face, and divided his hair down the middle, and blushed -when he was spoken to by women and dons, and stammered slightly in any -excitement, they called him Jinksy at Tommy's Hall, and he answered -cheerfully; and when our big Scots doctor availed himself on occasion of -the same familiar form of address he showed no resentment No one, however, -could say, when he was with us in St Agatha's, that he forgot his -position, not only as a priest with power to bind and loose, but also as -the disciple of his Lord; for if any clergyman ever did, our little Father -adorned the doctrine of Christ by his meekness and lowliness of character, -and by a self-sacrifice and self-forgetfulness which knew no limits. He -wore a low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, and in winter a garment resembling -a Highland cloak, which gave him as he imagined a certain resemblance to a -continental abbé; and as he skimmed at all hours along our sombre, -monotonous streets on errands which were often very poorly requited, and -in many cases may have been quite uncalled for, he was, if you pleased to -see him from a certain angle, a rather absurd figure; but as his simple, -boyish face grew thinner and paler every month, and his eyes grew brighter -and more spiritual, one's smile rather passed into the tears of the heart -And now that he is gone, and no one in St Agatha's is vexed either by his -chasuble or his kindness, it comes to us that Father Jinks followed the -light given to him without flinching, and has rendered in a good account. -</p> -<h3> -III -</h3> -<p> -When Father Jinks read himself into St Agatha's, the church seemed to him -little better than a conventicle, a mere preaching-house, and it was his -business to change it into a place fit for Catholic worship. His success -in this direction was marvellous. Before his death there was a chancel -with screen and choir stalls, a side pulpit of carved stone with scenes -from the Gospels thereon, a reredos, and an altar with cross and -candlesticks, besides other pieces of ecclesiastical furniture of lesser -importance and beyond the lay intelligence. There was also an organ, for -which so many pews were removed, and a font near the door, for which other -pews were removed, and an east window, containing the life and death of -our patron saint, about whom nobody knew anything before, and for which a -magnificent geometrical design in red and blue, greatly admired by the -parish, had to be removed. The very plaster, with ornate pattern of roses, -he had stripped from the roof, and had the oak laid bare; and although the -walls had been tastefully decorated by a local firm with a mixed border on -a ground of green, so fierce and unrelenting was the Vicar's iconoclastic -passion that this also was sacrificed, and nothing was to be seen in St -Agatha's save stone and wood. “It was the 'omeliest church you ever see,” - that excellent woman Mrs. Judkin remarked to me, “in the old Canon's time, -with the bits of colour, and 'im a looking down at you in 'is black gown; -and now it chills your 'art to sit there, let alone that you're hexpected -to bow 'alf the time;” and so Mrs. Judkin, with many of like mind, went -off to Ebenezer, where the firmament was represented on the roof and the -service was decidedly warm. The structural reformation (or deformation, as -it was generally considered) was a very achievement of persevering and -ingenious begging, in which he taxed the patron and all the patron's -friends, as well as every old lady or ecclesiastical layman with the -reputation of highness, obtaining a pulpit from one and a font from -another, picking up crosses, candlesticks, stools, altar-cloths in all -quarters, and being mightily cheered by every addition to the full -equipment of this neglected edifice. Nor did Father Jinks ask from other -people what he would not give himself, for he dispensed with a curate that -he might repair the chancel, and, as appeared afterwards, he expended all -his little patrimony on the apocryphal life of St Agatha, whose doings and -appearance as represented on that window were a subject of derision to the -wits of the parish. When Jinks held his first festival in her honour, and -preached a discourse eleven minutes in length on St Agatha's example and -miracles, an interesting correspondence followed in the local paper, in -which it was asserted that the church, then in the country and a chapel of -ease to the famous church of St Paul's-in-the-Fields, was named in the -evil Laudian times, and ought to have been rechristened by the name of -Wycliffe or Latimer in the days of the late lamented Canon; that St. -Agatha never existed; that if she did, she was a Papist; that if we knew -enough, we should likely find that her antecedents were very doubtful. -</p> -<p> -This correspondence, in which my friend himself was freely handled, did -not in the least disturb him, for the Festival of St Agatha was a height -to which he had been working for the three years, and it was the last -function of his public ministry. When the procession came out of the -vestry, with a cross-bearer—Jack Storgiss, the grocer, to whose -deformed little boy Jinks had been very kind—the banners of the -Guild of St Agatha, a choir of six men and twelve boys in varied garments, -Father Jinks himself with everything on he knew, attended by acolytes—two -little monkeys on whose ingenuous countenances self-importance struggled -with mischief—and, having marched round the church singing “Onward, -Christian soldiers,” re-entered the chancel, so far as outward things -went, the Father's heart was almost satisfied; and as, in his stall, he -thought of the desolation of the past he was as one that dreamed. -</p> -<p> -If Jinks allowed himself to be proud of anything, it was of his choir; and -when people spoke of my friend as a weakling because he was insignificant -in appearance and a feeble preacher—he himself thanked God daily -that he was a priest, to whom Pastor Jumps' oratorical gifts were -unnecessary—one could always point to the choir, for the qualities -which created and held together that remarkable body were peculiar to -Jinks and were quite wanting in the Pastor. Three years before this -advertisement had appeared in the <i>Anglo-Catholic</i>:— -</p> -<p> -“Wanted, an organist and choirmaster, who will be prepared, for the glory -of God and the love of sacred music, to assist a priest in affording -Catholic worship to a neglected parish.” - </p> -<p> -This unworldly invitation caught the eye (and fancy) of Harold de Petre—his -original name was Henry Peter—about whom his friends were much -concerned because he had a small competency and would do nothing except -work at music; because he wore a brown velvet coat and a loose red bow, -and three ancient gems on his left hand, and his hair falling over his -ears; and because he practised a certain luxurious softness of life which -might pass any day into positive vice. Two more different men could not -have been found in a day's journey, but they became friends at once. The -priestly instinct detected at-once in Petre a gift whose consecration -would be the salvation of a soul and an assistance to the Church of God; -and the humility and sincerity of the little priest were very attractive -to the aesthete. From that time the curiously assorted pair worked -together in perfect harmony and ever-growing affection, with one common -desire to beautify the worship and edifice of St Agatha's. -</p> -<p> -In order to secure an organ Petre sacrificed one-third of his means, and -was daily designing some improvement in his loved instrument; for her help -he had even learned some organ handicraft, and could be seen almost any -day toiling in his shirt-sleeves. As he watched the life of the Vicar, -Petre began also to make many personal sacrifices, giving up his wine—used -to spend a good deal on Chateau Lafitte—to defray choir expenses; -teaching the piano in the more ambitious homes of the parish, and with the -proceeds providing two tenors and two basses of distinction for the choir. -One year he took no holiday that the altar might be becomingly dressed -according to the season of the Church year, whether of joy or sorrow. -Working with Jinks, a certain change even came over Petre's outer man; -with every year he shed a gem; black velvet replaced the brown, and his -hair became almost decorous; and one evening, when the two were having a -lemon squash after hard work at the Easter decorations, Petre made a -confession to his friend. -</p> -<p> -“There is something I wanted to tell you Jinks,” lighting his pipe slowly. -“My name is not really Harold de Petre: it's... just Henry Peter. Didn't -sound very artistic, you know, and I just... improved it in fact. Rather -think that I should go back to old signature.” - </p> -<p> -“My own name,” said the Vicar with much simplicity, “isn't a high-class -name, and I was once tempted to change it—it lends itself too easily -to abbreviations—but it seemed unreal to do that kind of thing.” - </p> -<p> -“Do you know, Father, I expect that anthem to go well to-morrow; that -little rascal Bags took the high notes magnificently to-night I told him -so, and he was awfully pleased: he's as keen as mustard at practice.” - </p> -<p> -Nothing further was said about fancy pseudonyms, but next time the Father -saw the organist's signature it was Henry Peter. -</p> -<p> -The boys in St. Agatha's choir were not angels, but they were Jinks' -particular friends, and would do more for him than for their own parents. -He had picked them up one by one in the parish as he visited—for he -had no school—upon the two qualifications that each one had an ear, -and each was an out-and-out boy. Because he was so good himself Jinks -would have nothing to do with prigs and smugs; and because he did nothing -wrong himself he delighted in the scrapes of his boys. It was to him they -went in trouble, and he somehow found a way of escape. Every one knew who -paid for the broken glass in the snowball fight between Thackeray and -Dickens Streets, in which Bags and another chorister, much admired for his -angelic appearance, led their neighbourhood; and it was asserted by the -Protestant party that the Papist Vicar was seen watching the fray from the -corner. When an assistant School Board master bullied his boys beyond -endurance and they brought him to his senses with pain of body, it was the -Vicar of St Agatha's who pled the case of the rebels before the Board, and -saved them from public disgrace and the Police Court The Vicarage and all -its premises were at the disposal of the boys, and they availed themselves -freely of their privileges. Bags kept his rabbits in the yard—his -parents allowed no such tenants at home—and his fellow-warrior of -the snowball fight had a promising family of white mice in one of the -empty rooms, where another chorister had a squirrel, and <i>his</i> friend -housed four dormice. There was a fairly complete collection of pigeons—tumblers, -pouters, fantails; you could usually have your choice in pigeons at the -Vicarage of St Agatha's. The choir did elementary gymnastics in what was -the Canoness's drawing-room, and learned their lessons, if they were moved -that way, in the dining-room. Every Friday evening, after practice, there -was a toothsome supper of sausages and mashed potatoes, with stone ginger. -Ye gods, could any boy or man feed higher than that? On Saturdays in -summer the Vicar took the whole gang to the nearest Park, where, with some -invited friends, they made two elevens and played matches, with Jinks, who -was too short-sighted to play himself, but was the keenest of sportsmen, -as consulting umpire; and on chief holidays they all made excursions into -the country, when Harold de Petre became Henry Peter with a vengeance. And -this was how there was no difficulty in getting boys for the choir, and -people began to come to hear the music at St Agatha's. -</p> -<h3> -IV -</h3> -<p> -It is not to be supposed that Father Jinks achieved his heart's desire -without opposition, and he verified in his experience the fact that a -man's bitterest foes are those of his own household. He was opposed by the -people's churchwarden, who would not go elsewhere, declaring that he had -been in St Agatha's before Jinks was born—which was not the case—and -would be after Jinks had gone, which turned out sadly true. He was -harassed by “aggrieved parishioners,” who declared by petitions in all -quarters that they could no longer worship in St Agatha's, and that what -with daily services, fine music, and decorations, the place was little -better than a Papist chapel. His breakfast-table had daily one or two -anonymous letters reminding Jinks of his ordination vows, and accusing him -of perjury, insinuating charges against his moral character and -threatening exposure, quoting texts regarding the condition of the -unconverted and the doom of hypocrites. He was dragged before all kinds of -Courts, this one little man, and received every form of censure and -admonition; he was ordered to prison, and left the Vicarage one evening in -a cab, while the choir boys, led by Bags, wanted to fight the officer. And -when all these measures produced no effect, more forcible measures were -taken to express the mind of the people and to re-establish the -Reformation in the parish of St Agatha's. A leader was raised up in a -gentleman who had earned an uncertain living by canvassing for the <i>Kings -of England</i> in forty-two parts, in selling a new invention in -gas-burners, in replying to infidels in Hyde Park, and in describing the -end of the world with the aid of a magic lantern. This man of varied -talents saw it to be his duty—and who can judge another man's -conscience?—to attend St Agatha's one Sunday forenoon, accompanied -by a number of fellow-Protestants, who, owing to the restriction of the -licensing laws, were out of employment at that hour, and they expressed -their theological views during service in a very frank and animated -fashion. Bigger men than Jinks might have been upset by the turmoil and -menaces; but it shows what a spirit may dwell in small bulk, that this shy -modest man did not stutter once that morning, and seemed indeed -unconscious of the “Modern Luther's” presence; and after the floor of the -church had been washed on Monday no trace remained that a testimony had -been lifted up against the disguised Jesuit who was corrupting St -Agatha's. Once only did Jinks publicly reply to the hurricane of charges -which beat upon him during his short, hard service, and that was when he -was accused of having introduced the confessional, with results which it -was alleged were already well known in the district, and which would soon -reduce its morality to the social level of the south of Ireland. A week -afterwards Jinks explained in a sermon which he had rewritten three times: -(1) That the practice of confession was, in his poor judgment, most -helpful to the spiritual life by reminding us of the sins which do most -easily beset us, and their horrible guilt before God; (2) That it was -really the intention of the Church of England that her children should -have this benefit; and (3) That he, John James Jinks, a duly ordained -priest of the same Church, had power, under conditions, to hear -confessions and declare the forgiveness of sins to all true penitents. -Thereafter, he went on to state that he had not introduced confession as a -practice in St Agatha's, because he had never been trained in confessional -theology, because a confessor required authority from his bishop, and this -the bishop would not give; and, finally, it seemed to him that any -confessor must be a priest with a special knowledge of life, and of -conspicuous holiness; and, as they knew well, he was neither, but only an -ignorant and frail man, who was more conscious of his deficiencies every -day, and who earnestly besought the aid of their prayers. This sermon was -reported in the <i>Islington Mercury</i>, which circulated largely amongst -us, and called forth an ingenious reply from the “Modern Luther,” who -pointed out that if Mr. Jinks had not set up a confessional box in St -Agatha's Church, it was only because his (the “Modern Luther's”) eye was -upon him; that the confessional could likely be discovered in the -Vicarage; that in so far as Mr. Jinks was not telling the truth he would -receive absolution from the Jesuits, and that he very likely had already -received a licence to tell as many lies as he saw would help his cause. -Men, however, do count for something even in religious controversy, and -the very people who had no belief in Jinks' doctrine could see some -difference between his patient, charitable self-sacrificing life and the -career of a windbag like the “Modern Luther,” and no one in the last year -of his life accused Jinks of falsehood. -</p> -<p> -During all these troubled days he never lost his temper, or said bitter -things: he believed, as he once told me in all modesty, that if he -suffered it was for his sins, and that persecution was only a call to -harder labour; and it appeared afterwards that he had gone out of his way -to do a good turn to certain of his bitterest enemies. Indeed, I am now -certain that they did not injure him at all; but one is also quite as -certain that he was hindered and made ridiculous by certain of his own -supporters. Certain young women of uncertain age who had been district -visitors and carried tracts under the revered Canon, or had been brought -up in various forms of Dissent, responded with enthusiasm to the Catholic -Reformation. They wore large gold (or gilt) crosses, and were careful to -use heavily crossed prayer-books; they attended early celebration, and -were horrified at people taking the sacrament not fasting; they not only -did obeisance to the altar, where there was no sacrament, and bowed at the -name of Jesus, and crossed themselves in a very diligent and comprehensive -fashion, but invented forms of devotion which even Jinks could not -comprehend, and so scandalized the old clerk, who stuck by St. Agatha's, -that he asked them one day during service if they were ill, and suggested -that they should leave the church before things came to the worst -Personally, as a close observer of this drama, I had no sympathy with the -ill-natured suggestion that these devout females were moved by the fact -that the priest of St Agatha's was unmarried, because no man was ever more -careful in his intercourse with the other sex than my friend, and because -this kind of woman—till she marries, and with modifications -afterwards—has a mania for ritual and priests. This band, who called -themselves the Sisters of St Agatha, and severely tried our unsentimental -district, were a constant embarrassment to Jinks. They made the entire -attendance at the daily services; they insisted on cleaning the chancel on -their knees; they fluttered round the confused little man in the street; -they could hardly be kept out of the Vicarage; they talked of nothing but -saints' days and offices and vestments, till Jinks, the simplest and -honestest of men, was tempted, for his sake and their own salvation, to -entreat them to depart and return whence they had come. -</p> -<h3> -V -</h3> -<p> -The strongest and most honourable opponent the Vicar had was my other -friend, Pastor Jump, who would not condescend to the methods or company of -the “Modern Luther,” but who was against both Jinks and Jinks' Church, -whether it was Low, High, Broad, or anything else, on grounds of reason -and conscience. He did not believe in creeds, whether they were made in -Rome or Geneva, and considered a Presbyter just a shade better than a -priest His one book of theology was the Bible, which he knew from Genesis -to Revelation in the English Version (he also knew far more about the -Hebrew and Greek than the Canon did), and he found his ecclesiastical -model in the Acts of the Apostles. It was indeed the Pastor's firm -conviction that the Christian Church had only had two periods of purity in -her history—one under the charge of the Apostle Paul, and the other -under the Puritans; and that if, during her whole history, bishops and -such-like people had been replaced by Puritan ministers, it would have -been much better for Christianity and for the world. His idea of a -Christian was a person who knew the day that he had been converted, and -who afterwards had been baptized; and of the Church, that it was so many -of these people with a pastor to teach them. He detested Established -Churches, priests, and liturgies, as well as the House of Lords, -capitalists, and all privileged persons. His radicalism was however -tempered by a profound belief in himself and his own opinions. He was fond -of insisting on the rights of the masses; but when the working people -wished to have the Park open on Sunday that they might walk there with -their children, the Pastor fought them tooth and nail, and he regarded -their desire to see pictures on Sunday as the inspiration of Satan. No man -was ever more eloquent upon the principles of religious liberty, but he -would have put an infidel into prison without compunction and he drave -forth a deacon from his own congregation with contumely, who held unsound -views on the Atonement The tyranny of the Papacy was a favourite theme at -Ebenezer, as well as the insolence of priests; but every one knew that -Pastor Jump as Pope was infallible without the aid of any Council, and -that his little finger was heavier in personal rule than both Jinks' arms. -When the Pastor, who had the voice of a costermonger and the fist of a -prize-fighter, was carried away at a Liberation Society meeting by his own -undoubted eloquence, and described himself as a conscientious Dissenter, -despised by the proud priests of the Anglican Church, and next day one saw -Jinks, thinner than ever, hurrying along the street, and concealing -beneath his shabby cloak some dainty for a sick child, then one had a -quite convincing illustration of the power and utility of rhetoric. -</p> -<p> -Upon occasion the Pastor felt it his duty to depart from his usual course -of evangelical doctrine, and to enlighten his people on some historical -subject and the district was once shaken by a discourse on Oliver -Cromwell, whom he compared to Elijah, and whose hatred of the Baal worship -was held up for imitation in our own day. Jinks committed the one big -mistake of his ministry by replying with a sermon on St. Charles the -Blessed Martyr—I think he said St.—which was a very weak -performance, and left the laurels altogether with Ebenezer. It must indeed -be admitted that Jump exactly expressed the mind of an Englishman of the -lower middle class, who understands the Evangelical system and no other, -and likes extempore prayer, with its freedom, variety, warmth, and -surprises, who suspects priests of wishing to meddle with his family -affairs, and dislikes all official pretensions, although willing to be -absolutely ruled by a strong man's personality. Both were extreme men, and -both were needed to express the religious sense of an English parish. Jump -considered the Canon an indefensible humbug, neither one thing nor -another, and the Canon used to pass Jump on the street; but the Sunday -after Jinks' death the Pastor, who had a warm heart in his big body, and -testified of things he had seen, passed a eulogium on the late Vicar of St -Agatha's, so generous and affecting, that beside it the peeping little -sermon preached in St Agatha's by a “Father” of the “Anglican Friars” was -as water to wine. The Pastor declared that although he did not agree with -his doctrine, he knew no man who had lived nearer his Lord, or had done -more good works than the Vicar of St Agatha's; and that if every priest -had been like him, he would never say a word against the class. The people -heard his voice break as he spoke, and two deacons wiped their eyes, and -the angels set down the sermon in that Book where the record of our -controversies is blotted out by their tears, and our deeds of charity are -written in gold. -</p> -<p> -Perhaps, however, our poor priest suffered most in some ways at the hands -of a handful of Scots who had settled in the parish. They did not oppose -any of his proceedings, for they never condescended to cross the door of -St. Agatha's, and they accepted any extravagances of ritual as things to -be expected of an Episcopalian. Nor had they, like the Pastor, a -hereditary feud with the Anglican Church, for neither they nor their -fathers ever had anything to do with it They were indeed inclined to -believe that the Prayer-Book, where the officiating clergyman is called a -Minister and a Priest alternately, is admirably suited to the English -mind, to which the Almighty has been pleased to deny the gift of logic. -What touched, and (almost) nettled, the little Father was the tacit and -immovable superiority of the Scots, which made conversion impossible, and -even pastoral conversation difficult. It was Jinks' conscientious -conviction that he was responsible for the spiritual charge of all the -people in the parish, and so he visited laboriously among the Scots -schismatics, if haply he might bring them to the true faith, with -mortifying results. Old Andrew MacKittrick seemed to Jinks' innocent mind -a promising case, because Andrew had retired on a pension after keeping -the books of a drysalter's firm for forty years, and now had nothing to do -but argue. In fact, on the Vicar's first visit, the bookkeeper fairly -smacked his lips, seeing whole afternoons of intellectual diversion before -him; and Jinks, who was ever optimistic, already imagined the -responsible-looking figure of the Scot sustaining a procession. It turned -out a lamentable instance of cross-purposes, for Jinks was burning to -prove, with all tenderness, that the Kirk had no Orders; while the idea -that Dr. Chalmers was not a real minister and Archbishop Sharpe was, -seemed to Andrew unworthy of discussion by any sane person; and Andrew, on -his part, was simply longing for some one to attack Jonathan Edward's <i>Freedom -of the Will,</i> while Jinks had never heard of the book, and was quite -blameless of philosophy. After two conferences, Andrew was sadly convinced -of their futility, and would not waste time on a third. -</p> -<p> -“Jess wumman,” he said to his housekeeper, rolling himself hurriedly up in -a plaid and lying down on the sofa, “there's that curate body at the door -again; a've nae satisfaction arguin' wi' him, for he's no fit to tak' up -ony serious subject Just say that a'm no feelin' verra weel the day, and, -see here, slip ten shillings into his hand to gie awa', for he's a fine -bit craturie amang the poor, but he's no head for argument.” - </p> -<p> -With Mrs. Gillespie, who kept lodgings, and was as a mother to two Scots -bank clerks pushing their way up to be managers, Father Jinks was not more -successful, but his discomfiture was of another kind. -</p> -<p> -“Come in, come in; it's an awfu' day to be oot, an' ye dinna look strong; -na, na, a dinna gang to Saint Agatha's, for ye ken we've a Kirk o' oor -ain, an' a properly ordained minister, but a'm gled to see ye; a'm -thankfu' for my ain preevileges, but a'm no bigoted. -</p> -<p> -“Sit doon there by the fire an' dry yersel; a cudna manage wi' a -prayer-book masel, but we've had mony advantages in Scotland, and it suits -the English fouk. A hed a cousin' at married an Episcopalian, and she gied -wi' him as long as he lived, though of course it was a deprivation. -</p> -<p> -“'A schismatic?'—a've heard the word: they used to misca' the -English bishops that way in the North—an' ye called to warn me. Noo -that was kind, and, of coorse, ye did na know that a sit under Mr. McCaw; -but Losh keep us! ye're juist dreeping; a'll get ye a pair o' the lad's -slippers an' mak ye a warm cup o' tea. -</p> -<p> -“A hed a laddie juist your age, an' ma heart warms to young men that are -na verra strong. Say awa'; a'll hear ye though a'm in the next room. There -noo, drink up your tea, an' that's short-bread frae Edinburgh, Let's hear -noo aboot yer Kirk; somebody was sayin' that ye carried on the same antics -as the Papists; but a'm no believin' that. Are ye feelin' warmer noo, ma -puir wee mannie?” and the good woman encompassed Jinks with motherly -attentions, but refused to take seriously his efforts to convert her from -the Kirk to the Church. Nor did he think it an encouraging sign that Mrs. -Gillespie pressed him to give her “a cry” every time he was in the street, -and sent him three pots of black currant jam for his chest The most -disappointing encounter was with our Scots doctor, who had looked into St -Agatha's one evening in passing and found Jinks warning Dissenters of all -kinds, among whom the Doctor found to his amusement that he was included -of their doom if they died in schism. The Doctor's delight reached its -height when Jinks, standing at his full height of five feet four, and -looking more than ever like a dear little boy, opened his arms and invited -every wandering prodigal to return to the bosom of Mother Church. -</p> -<p> -“Jinksy”—and the Doctor laid hold of the Father next day on the -street—“what sort of nonsense was yon ye were talking in your kirk -last night? -</p> -<p> -“Hurt my feelings”—as Jinks was explaining that he had only been -declaring the truth, and that he did not wish to offend any one—“it -would take three men of your size to offend me. But I say, Jinksy, do you -ever take a holiday in Scotland? You hope to do some day. Then I'll give -ye a bit of advice: if you ever feel a turr-murring in your inside, take -the first train for Carlisle. Why? Because if you die in Scotland, you'll -die a Dissenter; and then, my little man, you know where you'll go to”; -for the Doctor's hand in humour was heavy, and his style was that of an -elephant crashing through a wood. -</p> -<h3> -VI -</h3> -<p> -Next time the Anglican and the Scot met it was in circumstances where -differences of creed are forgotten and good men stand shoulder to -shoulder. In one room of the house a clerk's wife was seriously ill with -influenza, and in another the Doctor was examining her husband—a -patient, hard working, poorly paid drudge, who had come home from the City -very ill. “My wife thinks that it's nothing but a bad 'eadache. Don't tell -'er, Doctor, else it might go bad with 'er, an* she 'asn't much strength; -but I say, tell me, 'aven't I got diphtheria?” - </p> -<p> -“What makes everybody that gets a sore throat think he has diphtheria? -Well, I believe you have some grit in you, and don't want to be treated -like a child. You have, I'm sorry to say, and pretty bad; but you have the -spirit to make a fight, and I'll do my best. -</p> -<p> -“Yes, I'll see that no one in this house comes near you, and I'll try to -get a nurse for to-night, but they're hard to get just now. I'll come back -with medicine in half an hour; and, look here, Holmes, mind your wife and -bairns, and keep up your heart. -</p> -<p> -“No, Jinks, you must not come into this house: it's more than influenza. -Holmes has got diphtheria very bad; ought to have been in bed two days -ago, but the stupid ass stuck to his work. The mischief is that I can't -get a nurse, and he should not be left alone at night.” - </p> -<p> -“You, man alive, you're no fit for such work, and you would maybe catch -it.. I know you're not afraid, but... well, it's real gude o' ye, an' I'll -see ye settled for the night about eight.” - </p> -<p> -“That's the medicine, every three hours”—the doctor was giving his -directions to Nurse Jinks in the sick-room—“and let him have some -brandy and water when he's thirsty. Toots, Holmes, I know you could get a -bottle for yourself, but this is a special brand for sick folk. Oh, yes, -it'll go in the bill, risk me for that: every Scot looks after himself. -The minister is to stay all night with you, and what between the two of us -well see ye through. -</p> -<p> -“Here's a cordial for yourself, Jinks”—this outside the door—“and -for ony sake keep clear of his breath. If he takes a turn for the worse, -send the servant lass for me. I may be out, but they will know where to -get me. And, Jinks, old man, I withdraw that about Carlisle.... Ye'll go -to Heaven from either side o' the Tweed. God bless you, old man; you're -doin' a good turn the night... -</p> -<p> -“Yes, he's much worse than he was last morning; but it's not the blame of -your nursing: there's just one chance, and I'll try it. How do you know -about it? Well, yes, if you must know, I am going to use suction. Get -diphtheria myself? Maybe I may, and why should I not run the risk as well -as you, Mr. Jinks?... It's all right, man. I'm not angry. Neither you nor -me are cowards,” said the Doctor; “neither is Holmes, and he must have his -chance, poor chap. Yes, I would be glad of your help. -</p> -<p> -“No, you will not be needed at Holmes's to-night, and you've had enough of -it, Jinks. I've got a nurse, and Holmes is coming round first rate. It's -all right about paying the nurse; I'll see to that Man, ye would pay for -all the nurses in the district, if ye were allowed. -</p> -<p> -“Me, I'm as fit as a fiddle. Doctors can't afford to be ill; but you're no -the thing, Jinks. Come back to the manse with me this minute, I want to -have a look at ye. Yon were three hard nichts ye had”—the Doctor -dropped into Scots when he was excited.... -</p> -<p> -“Sir Andrew's gone, and I wish we had better news for you and ourselves. -Don't thank me for telling the truth; no man would tell you a lie. ... -You're all right, whatever happens, Jinks,” and he dropped his hand within -reach of the Father's, on whose face the shadow was fast falling. -</p> -<p> -“It will not be for some hours, may be not till morning, and I hope you'll -not suffer much... I'll come back after the minister has left and stay -with you till, till...” - </p> -<p> -“Daybreak,” said Jinks. -</p> -<p> -“Doctor,” Jinks whispered, during the night as they watched by his bed, -the Scot on one side and Peter, who would allow no nurse, on the other, -“the Scots kirk has seemed to me... as Samaria, but the Lord chose... a -Samaritan in His parable, and you are...that Samaritan,” and the Father -looked at the Doctor with eyes full of love. Just before sunrise he -glanced at the Doctor enquiringly. -</p> -<p> -“Yes, it's no far off now, an' the worst's past. Ye'll have an easy -passage.” They passed each an arm round his neck, and each took one of his -hands. -</p> -<p> -“Till Jesus comes Himself,” whispered Jinks, thanking them with his eyes. -</p> -<p> -“O Saviour of the world, who by Thy cross and precious blood hast redeemed -us, save us, and help us, we humbly beseech Thee, O Lord.” This which he -had often offered for others, he now prayed for himself very slowly. The -light stole into the room and woke him from a brief unconsciousness. -</p> -<p> -“I believe”... he said, “in the Life Everlasting,” and the soul of the -faithful servant was with the Lord, Whom, not having seen, he had loved. -</p> -<p> -When the Doctor left the Vicarage, although still very early, Bags, the -choir-boy, was on the doorstep and was weeping bitterly. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -THE PASSING OF DOMSIE -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was an ancient custom that Domsie and Drumsheugh should dine with -Doctor Davidson in the Manse after the distribution of prizes at the -school, and his companions both agreed afterwards that the Dominie was -never more cheerful than on those days. There was always a review of -stories when the Doctor and Domsie brought out their favourites, with -Drumsheugh for an impartial and appreciative audience, and every little -addition or improvement was noted in a spirit of appreciative criticism. -</p> -<p> -During the active operations of dinner, talk was disjointed and -educational, hinging on the prospects of the calf crop in the school, and -the golden glories of the past, ever better than the present, when the end -of each University session showered medals on Drumtochty. When the Doctor -had smacked his first glass of port, having examined it against the light, -and the others had prepared their toddy in a careful silence, broken only -by wise suggestions from the host, it was understood that genuine -conversation might begin. -</p> -<p> -“Aye, aye,” Domsie would remark, by way of intimating that they, being now -in an open and genial mind, were ready to welcome one of the Doctor's best -stories, and Drumsheugh became insistent, “A'm no wantin' tae tribble ye, -Docter, but ave never got ower that sermon on the turtle. Docter. Ye micht -let's hear it again. A'm no sure gin the Dominie ever herd it” May -Drumsheugh be forgiven! -</p> -<p> -Whereupon Domsie went on the back trail, and affected to search his memory -for the traces of the turtle, with no satisfaction. May he also be -forgiven! -</p> -<p> -“Toots, Drumsheugh, you are trying to draw my leg. I know you well, eh? As -for you, Dominie, you've heard the story twenty times. Well, well, just to -please you; but mind you, this is the last time. -</p> -<p> -“It was the beginning of a sermon that old MacFee, of Glenogil, used to -preach on the Monday after the Sacrament from the text, 'The voice of the -turtle is heard in the land,' and this was the introduction. -</p> -<p> -“There will be many wonders in the latter day; but this is the greatest of -them all—the voice of the turtle shall be heard in the land. This -marvel falls into two parts, which we shall consider briefly and in order. -</p> -<p> -“I. A new posture evidently implied, when an animal that has gone upon its -belly for ages shall arise on its hind legs and walk majestically through -the land, and -</p> -<p> -“II. A new voice distinctly promised, when a creature that has kept -silence from generation to generation will at last open its mouth and sing -melodiously among the people.” - </p> -<p> -“It's michty,” summed up Drumsheugh, after the exposition had been fully -relished, “Ye'll no hear the like o' that noo-a-days in a coonty. It's -weel telt also, and that's important, for the best story is no worth -hearin' frae a puir hand The corn needs to be cleaned afore ye tak it tae -market.” - </p> -<p> -“The story is not without merit,” and the Doctor's modesty was all the -more striking as he was supposed to have brought the turtle into its -present form out of the slenderest materials, “but the Dominie has some -far neater things.” Anything Domsie had was from Aberdeen, and not to be -compared, he explained, with Perthshire work, being very dry and wanting -the fruity flavour of the Midland County; but he could still recall the -divisions of the action sermon given every year before the winter -Sacrament in Bourtrie-Lister: -</p> -<p> -I. “Let us remember that there is a moral law in the universe.” - </p> -<p> -II. “Let us be thankful there is a way of escape from it” - </p> -<p> -And then Domsie would chuckle with a keen sense of irony at the theology -underneath. “For the summer Sacrament,” he would add after a pause, “we -had a discourse on sin wi' twa heads, 'Original Sin' and 'Actual -Transgressions'; and after Maister Deuchar finished wi' the first, he aye -snuffed, and said with great cheerfulness: 'Now let us proceed to actual -transgressions.'” - </p> -<p> -Although Domsie's tales had never in them the body of the Doctor's, yet he -told them with such a pawkie humour, that Drumsheugh was fain between the -two to cry for mercy, being often reduced to the humiliation of open -laughter, of which he was afterwards much ashamed. -</p> -<p> -On that day, however, when Domsie made his lamentable announcement, it was -evident to his friends that he was cast down, and ill at ease. He only -glanced at a Horace which the Doctor had been fool enough to buy in -Edinburgh, and had treasured up for Domsie's delectation at the close of -the school year—the kind of book he loved to handle, linger over, -return to gaze at, for all the world like a Catholic with a relic. -</p> -<p> -“Printed, do you see, by Henry Stephen, of Paris; there's his trademark, a -philosopher gathering twigs from the tree of knowledge—and bound by -Boyet—old French morocco. There is a coat of arms—I take it of -a peer of France;” and the Doctor, a born book-collector, showed all its -points, as Drumsheugh would have expatiated on a three-year-old bullock. -</p> -<p> -Domsie could not quite resist the contagious enthusiasm; putting on his -spectacles to test the printing; running his hand over the gold tooling as -one strokes a horse's glossy skin, and tasting afresh one or two favourite -verses from a Horace printed and bound by the master craftsmen of their -day. But it was only a brief rally, and Domsie sank again into silence, -from which neither kindly jest nor shrewd country talk could draw him, -till at last the Doctor asked him a straight question, which was going far -for us, who thought it the worst of manners to pry into one's secrets: -“What ails you, Dominie? Are any of your laddies going back on you?” and -the Doctor covered the inquiry by reminding Drumsheugh that his glass was -low. -</p> -<p> -“Na, na; they are fechting hard wi' body and mind, an' daein' their verra -best, accordin' tae their pairts. Some o' the Drumtochty scholars lived -and some dee'd in the war at the University, but there wasna ane disgraced -his pairish.” - </p> -<p> -“They have made it known in every University of Scotland,” broke in the -Doctor, “and also their master's name.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye've aye made ower mickle o' my wark, but a'm grateful this nicht an' -content to tak' a' ye say in yir goodness, for a've sent oot ma last -scholar,” and Domsie's voice broke. -</p> -<p> -“Not a bit of it Man alive, you're fit for ten years yet, and as for -laddies, I know four in the school that'll do you credit, or I'm not -minister of Drumtochty.” - </p> -<p> -“If it's the siller for their fees,” began Drums-heugh, inwardly overcome -by Domsie's unexpected breakdown. -</p> -<p> -Domsie waved his hand. “The laddies are there, and the twa or three notes -'ill be gotten as afore, but it 'ill no be me that 'ill feenish them.” - </p> -<p> -“What is the meaning of this, Mister Jamieson?” demanded the Doctor -sternly, for the woeful dejection of Domsie was telling on him also. -</p> -<p> -“It's been on ma mind for years to retire, an maybe I should hae dune it -lang syne; but it was hard on flesh an' blude. I hev taught ma last class, -and ye will need to get another Dominie,” and Domsie, who was determined -to play the man, made a show of filling his glass, with a shaking hand. -</p> -<p> -“Ye're an Aiberdeenshire man, a ken, though maist fouk hae forgotten that -ye're no ain' o' oorsels, but div ye tell me that ye're gain' tae leave us -after a' thae years an' a' the bairns ye've educat?” and Drumsheugh grew -indignant “Dinna be feared, Drumsheugh, or think me ungrateful. I may gang -north tae see ma birthplace aince mair, an' the graves o' ma fouk, an' -there's another hoose in Aberdeen I would like tae see, and then I'm -comin' back to Drumtochty to live an' dee here among the friends that hev -been kind to me.” - </p> -<p> -“This has come suddenly, Domsie, and is a little upsetting,” and -Drumsheugh noticed that the Doctor was shaken. “We have worked side by -side for a long time, church and school, and I was hoping that there would -be no change till—till we both retired altogether; we're about the -same age. Can't you think over it—eh, Dominie?” - </p> -<p> -“God kens, Doctor, a dinna lik' the thocht o't, but it's for the gude o' -the schule. A'm no hearing sae weel as aince a did, an' ma hands are -shakin' in the writin'. The scholars are gettin' their due, for a'm no -failin' in humanity (Latin), but the ither bairns are losing their share, -and ma day's dune. -</p> -<p> -“Ye'ill just say that a'm retirin' an' thank a' body for their -consideration, and, Doctor, a've juist a favour tae ask. Gin a new schule -an' maister's hoose be built, will ye lat me get the auld ane; it 'ill no -be worth much, an'... I wud like tae end ma days there.” - </p> -<p> -“Whate'er you want, Domsie, and ye 'ill come to the Manse till it be free, -and we 'ill have many a night among the classics, but... this is bad news -for the Glen, come who may in your place,” and then, though each man did -his part bravely, it was a cheerless evening. -</p> -<p> -Next day Domsie left to make his pious pilgrimage, and on the Sabbath -there was only one subject in the kirkyard. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye no think, neebours,” said Hillocks, after a tribute had been paid -to Domsie's services, “that he oucht tae get some bit testimonial? It -wudna be wiselike tae let him slip oot o' the schule withoot a word frae -the Glen.” - </p> -<p> -Hillocks paused, but the fathers were so much astonished at Hillocks -taking the initiative in expenditure that they waited for further speech. -</p> -<p> -“Noo, Pitscothrie is no a pairish tae pit beside Drumtochty for ae meenut, -but when their Dominie gied up his post, if the bodies didna gather fifty -pund for him; they ca'd it a purse o' sovereigns in the <i>Advertiser</i>, -but that was juist a genteel name for't. -</p> -<p> -“A'm no sayin*,” continued Hillocks, “that it wud be safe tae trust Domsie -wi' as mickle siller at a time; he wud be off tae Edinburgh an' spend it -on auld bukes, or may be divide it up amang his students. He's careless, -is Domsie, an' inclined to be wastefu'; but we micht gie him somethin' tae -keep.” - </p> -<p> -“What wud ye say,” suggested Whinnie, when the kirkyard was revolving the -matter, “if we got him a coo 'at wud gie him milk and be a bit troke tae -occupy his time? What he didna need cud be made into butter and sent tae -Muirtown; it wud be a help.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye have an oreeginal mind,” said Jamie, who always on those occasions -pitied the woman that was married to Whinnie, “an' a'm sure yir perposal -'ll be remembered. Domsie feedin' his coo on the road-side, wi' a Latin -buke in his hand, wud be interestin'.” - </p> -<p> -“It's most aggravatin',” broke in Hillocks, who was much annoyed at the -turn things had taken, “that ye winna gie me time tae feenish, an' 'ill -set Domsie stravaging the roads at the tail o' a coo for his last days.” - </p> -<p> -“It was Jamie,” remonstrated Whinnie. -</p> -<p> -“Haud yir tongue.” Hillocks felt the time was short, and he had an idea -that must be ventilated. “A was considerin' that Domsie's snuff-box is gey -far thro' wi't A'm judjin' it has seen thirty years, at on y rate, and it -was naethin tae boast o' at the beginnin'. A've seen fresh hinges pit on -it twice masel. -</p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> -“Now, gin we bocht a snod bit silver boxie ain pit an inscription on't -wi' - -Presented To - -MR PATRICK JAMIESON, - -Late Schoolmaster Of Drumtochty, - -By A Few Friends, -</pre> -<p> -it wud be usefu' for ae thing, it wud be bonnie for anither, aye, an' -something mair,” and Hillocks grew mysterious. -</p> -<p> -“A legacy, div ye mean,” inquired Jamie, “or what are ye aifter?” - </p> -<p> -“Weel, ye see,” exclaimed Hillocks with much cunning, “there's a man in -Kildrummie got a box frae his customers, an' it's never oot o' his hand. -When he taps the lid ye can see him reading the inscription, and he's a -way o' passin' it tae ye on the slant that's downricht clever. Ye canna -help seein' the words.” - </p> -<p> -“Gin we were thinkin' aboot a present tae a coal agent or a potato -dealer,” said Jamie, “I wud hae the box wi' the words, but Domsie's a -queer body, an' a'm jalousin' that he wud never use yir grand silver box -frae the day he got it, an' a'm dootin' it micht be sold fer some laddie -to get him better keep at the college. -</p> -<p> -“Besides,” continued Jamie thoughtfully, “a'm no sure that ony man can tak -up wi' a new box after fifty. He's got accustomed tae the grip o' the auld -box, and he kens whar tae pit in his thumb and finger. A coont that it -taks aboot fifteen year tae grow into a snuff-box. -</p> -<p> -“There's juist ae thing Domsie cares aboot, an' it's naither meat nor -drink, nor siller snuffboxes; it's his college laddies, gettin' them -forrit and payin' their fees, an' haudin' them in life till they're dune.” - </p> -<p> -By this time the kirkyard was listening as one man and with both ears, for -it was plain Jamie had an idea. -</p> -<p> -“Ca' on, Jamie,” encouraged Drumsheugh, who had as yet given no sign. -</p> -<p> -“He's hed his ain time, hes Domsie, gaein' roond Muirtown market -collectin' the bank notes for his scholars an' seein' they hed their -bukes' A'm no denyin* that Domsie was greedy in his ain way, and gin the -Glen cud gither eneuch money tae foond a bit bursary for puir scholars o' -Drumtochty, a wudna say but that he micht be pleased.” - </p> -<p> -The matter was left in Drumsheugh's hands, with Doctor Davidson as -consulting counsel, and he would tell nothing for a fortnight. Then they -saw in the Dunleith train that he was charged with tidings, and a meeting -was held at the junction, Peter being forbidden to mention time, and -commanded to take the outcasts of Kildrummie up by themselves if they -couldn't wait. -</p> -<p> -“The first man a mentioned it tae was oor Saunders, an' he said naethin' -at the time, but he cam up in the forenicht, and slippit a note in ma -hand. 'He didna pit mickle intae me,' says he, 'but he's daein' fine wi' -the bairns. Neebur, a kent that meenut that the Glen wud dae something -handsome. -</p> -<p> -“Next morning a gied a cry at the Free Manse, and telt Maister Carmichael. -If he was na oot o' the room like a man possessed, and he gied me every -penny he hed in the hoose, ten pund five shilling. And at the gate he -waved his hat in the air, and cries, 'The Jamieson Bursary.' -</p> -<p> -“It was ae note from one man an' three frae his neebur, an' twa shilling -frae the cottars. Abody has dune his pairt, one hundred an' ninety-two -pounds frae the Glen. -</p> -<p> -“We sent a bit letter tae the Drumtochty fouk in the Sooth, and they've -sent fifty-eight pounds, wi' mony good wishes, an' what na think ye hev -the auld scholars sent? A hundred and forty pounds. An' last nicht we hed -three hundred and ninety pounds.” - </p> -<p> -“Ma word!” was all Hillocks found himself able to comment; “that wad get a -richt snuffbox.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye hev mair tae tell, Drumsheugh,” said Jamie; “feenish the list” - </p> -<p> -“Ye're a wratch, Jamie,” responded the treasurer of the Jamieson Bursary -Fund. “Hoo did ye ken aboot the Doctor? says he tae me laist nicht, -'Here's a letter to Lord Kilspindie. Give it to him at Muirtown, and I -would not say but he might make the sum up to four hundred.' So a saw his -lordship in his room, and he wrote a cheque and pit in a letter, an' says -he, 'Open that in the Bank, Drumsheugh,' an' a did. It was for ten pounds, -wi' a hundred on tae't, making up £500. Twenty pund a year tae a -Drumtochty scholar for ever. Jamie,” said Drumsheugh, “ye've gotten yir -bursary.” - </p> -<p> -It was arranged that the meeting of celebration should be held in the -parish kirk, which in those days was used for nothing except Divine -worship; but the Doctor declared this to be no exception to his rule. -</p> -<p> -“Kirk and school have been one in Scotland since John Knox's day, and one -they shall be while I live in Drumtochty; we 'ill honour him in the kirk, -for the good the Dominie has done to the bairns, and to pure learning.” - </p> -<p> -The meeting was delayed till Professor Ross had come home from Australia, -with his F.R.S. and all his other honours, for he was marked out to make -the presentation; and every Drumtochty scholar within reach was enjoined -to attend. -</p> -<p> -They came from Kildrummie at various hours and in many conveyances, and -Hillocks checked the number at the bridge with evident satisfaction. -</p> -<p> -“Atween yesterday and the day,” he reported to Jamie, in the afternoon, -“aucht and twenty scholars hae passed, no including the Professor, and -there's fower expected by the next train; they'll just be in time,” which -they were, to everybody's delight. -</p> -<p> -“It's a gude thing, Hillocks,” said Jamie, “that bridge was mended; -there's been fifty degrees gane over it the day, Hillocks! to say naithin' -o' a wecht o' knowledge.” - </p> -<p> -The Doctor had them all, thirty-three University men, with Domsie and -Carmichael and Weelum MacLure, as good a graduate as any man, to dinner, -and for that end had his barn wonderfully prepared. Some of the guests -have written famous books since then, some are great preachers now, some -are chief authorities to science, some have never been heard of beyond a -little sphere, some are living, and some are dead; but all have done their -part, and each man that night showed, by the grip of his hand, and the -look on his face, that he knew where his debt was due. -</p> -<p> -Domsie sat on the Doctor's right hand, and the Professor on his left, and -a great effort was made at easy conversation, Domsie asking the Professor -three times whether he had completely recovered from the fever which had -frightened them all so much in the Glen, and the Professor congratulating -the Doctor at intervals on the decorations of the dinner hall. Domsie -pretended to eat, and declared he had never made so hearty a dinner in his -life, but his hands could hardly hold the knife and fork, and he was -plainly going over the story of each man at the table, while the place -rang with reminiscences of the old school among the pines. -</p> -<p> -Before they left the barn, Doctor Davidson proposed Domsie's health, and -the laddies—all laddies that day—drank it, some in wine, some -in water, every man from the heart, and then one of them—they say it -was a quiet divine—started, In face of Doctor Davidson, “For he's a -jolly good fellow,” and there are those who now dare to say that the -Doctor joined in with much gusto, but in these days no man's reputation is -safe. -</p> -<p> -Domsie was not able to say much, but he said more than could have been -expected. He called them his laddies for the last time, and thanked them -for the kindness they were doing their old master. There was not an honour -any one of them had won, from a prize in the junior Humanity to the last -degree, he could not mention. -</p> -<p> -Before sitting down he said that they all missed George Howe that day, and -that Marget, his mother, had sent her greetings to the scholars. -</p> -<p> -Then they went to the kirk, where Drumtochty was waiting, and as Domsie -came in with his laddies round him the people rose, and would have cheered -had they been elsewhere and some one had led. The Doctor went into the -precentor's desk and gave out the hundredth psalm, which is ever sung on -great days and can never be sung dry. After which one of the thirty-three -thanked the Almighty for all pure knowledge, all good books, all faithful -teachers, and besought peace and joy for “our dear master in the evening -of his days.” - </p> -<p> -It was the Professor who read the address from the scholars, and this was -the last paragraph: -</p> -<p> -“Finally, we assure you that none of us can ever forget the parish school -of Drumtochty, or fail to hold in tender remembrance the master who first -opened to us the way of knowledge, and taught us the love thereof. -</p> -<p> -“We are, so long as we live, -</p> -<p> -“Your grateful and affectionate -</p> -<p> -“Scholars.” - </p> -<p> -Then came the names with all the degrees, and the congregation held their -breath to the last M.A. -</p> -<p> -“Now, Drumsheugh,” said the Doctor, and that worthy man made the great -speech of his life, expressing the respect of the Glen for Domsie, -assigning the glory of a brilliant idea to Jamie Soutar, relating its -triumphant accomplishment, describing the Jamieson Bursary, and declaring -that while the parish lasted there would be a Jamieson scholar to the -honour of Domsie's work. For a while Domsie's voice was very shaky when he -was speaking about himself, but afterwards it grew strong and began to -vibrate, as he implored the new generation to claim their birthright of -learning and to remember that “the poorest parish, though it have but bare -fields and humble homes, can yet turn out scholars to be a strength and -credit to the commonwealth.” - </p> -<p> -The Professor saw Domsie home, and noticed that he was shaking and did not -wish to speak. He said good-bye at the old schoolhouse, and Ross caught -him repeating to himself: -</p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> -“Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, -Labuntur anni;” - </pre> -<p> -but he seemed very content Ross rose at daybreak next morning and wandered -down to the schoolhouse, recalling at every step his boyhood and early -struggles, the goodness of Domsie, and his life of sacrifice, The clearing -looked very peaceful, and the sun touched with beauty the old -weather-beaten building which had been the nursery of so many scholars, -but which would soon be deserted for ever. He pushed the door open and -started to see Domsie seated at the well-known desk, and in his right hand -firmly clasped the address which the scholars had presented to him. His -spectacles were on his forehead, his left elbow was resting on the arm of -the chair, and Ross recognised the old look upon his face. It used to come -like a flash when a difficult passage had suddenly yielded up its hidden -treasure, and Ross knew that Domsie had seen the Great Secret, and was at -last and completely satisfied. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>hristmas fell on a Sunday the year Dr. Davidson died, and on the -preceding Monday a groom drove up to the manse from Muirtown Castle. -</p> -<p> -“A letter, Doctor, from his lordship”—John found his master sitting -before the study fire in a reverie, looking old and sad—“and there's -a bit boxie in the kitchen.” - </p> -<p> -“Will you see, John, that the messenger has such food as we can offer -him?” and the Doctor roused himself at the sight of the familiar -handwriting; “there is that, eh, half-fowl that Rebecca was keeping for my -dinner to-day; perhaps she could do it up for him. I... do not feel hungry -to-day. And, John, will you just say that I'm sorry that... owing to -circumstances, we can't offer him refreshment?” On these occasions the -Doctor felt his straitness greatly, having kept a house in his day where -man and beast had of the best “What dis for the minister of Drumtochty an' -his... hoose 'ill dae for a groom, even though he serve the Earl o' -Kilspindie, an' a ken better than say onything tae Becca aboot the -chuckie;” this he said to himself on his way to the kitchen, where that -able woman had put the messenger from the castle in his own place, and was -treating him with conspicuous and calculated condescension. He was a man -somewhat given to appetite, and critical about his drink, as became a -servant of the Earl; but such was the atmosphere of the manse and the -awfulness of the Doctor's household that he made a hearty dinner off ham -and eggs, with good spring water, and departed declaring his gratitude -aloud. -</p> -<p> -“My dear Davidson,— -</p> -<p> -“Will you distribute the enclosed trifle among your old pensioners in the -Glen as you may see fit, and let it come from you, who would have given -them twice as much had it not been for that confounded bank. The port is -for yourself, -</p> -<p> -Sandeman's '48—the tipple you and I have tasted together for many a -year. If you hand it over to the liquidators, as you wanted to do with the -few bottles you had in your cellar, I'll have you up before the Sheriff of -Muirtown for breach of trust and embezzlement as sure as my name is “Your -old friend, -</p> -<p> -“Kilspindie.” - </p> -<p> -“P.S.—The Countess joins me in Christmas greetings and charges you -to fail us on New Year's Day at your peril. We are anxious about Hay, who -has been ordered to the front.” - </p> -<p> -The Doctor opened the cheque and stroked it gently; then he read the -letter again and snuffed, using his handkerchief vigorously. After which -he wrote:— -</p> -<p> -“Dear Kilspindie,— -</p> -<p> -“It is, without exception, the prettiest cheque I have ever had in my -hands, and it comes from as good a fellow as ever lived. You knew that it -would hurt me not to be able to give my little Christmas gifts, and you -have done this kindness. Best thanks from the people and myself, and as -for the port, the liquidators will not see a drop of it Don't believe any -of those stories about the economies at the manse which I suspect you have -been hearing from Drumtochty. Deliberate falsehoods; we are living like -fighting cocks. I'm a little shaky—hint of gout, I fancy—but -hope to be with you on New Year's Day. God bless you both, and preserve -Hay in the day of battle. -</p> -<p> -“Yours affectionately, -</p> -<p> -“Alexander Davidson.” - </p> -<p> -“Don't like that signature, Augusta,” said the Earl to his wife; “'yours -affectionately' it's true enough, for no man has a warmer heart, but he -never wrote that way before. Davidson's breaking up, and... he 'ill be -missed. I must get Manley to run out here and overhaul him when Davidson -comes down on New Year's Day. My belief is that he's been starving -himself. Peter Robertson, the land steward, says that he has never touched -a drop of wine since that bank smashed; now that won't do at our age, but -he's an obstinate fellow, Davidson, when he takes a thing into his head.” - </p> -<p> -The Doctor's determination—after the calamity of the bank failure—to -reduce himself to the depths of poverty was wonderful, but Drumtochty was -cunning and full of tact. He might surrender his invested means and -reserve only one hundred pounds a year out of his living, but when he sent -for the Kildrummie auctioneer and instructed him to sell every stick of -furniture, except a bare minimum for one sitting-room and a bedroom, Jock -accepted the commission at once, and proceeded at eleven miles an hour—having -just bought a new horse—to take counsel with Drumsheugh. Next -Friday, as a result thereof, he dropped into the factor's office—successor -to him over whom the Doctor had triumphed gloriously—and amid an -immense variety of rural information, mentioned that he was arranging a -sale of household effects at Drumtochty Manse. Jock was never known to be -so dilatory with an advertisement before, and ere he got it out Lord -Kilspindie had come to terms with the liquidator and settled the Doctor's -belongings on him for life. -</p> -<p> -The Doctor's next effort was with his household, and for weeks the -minister looked wistfully at John and Rebecca, till at last he called them -in and stated the situation. -</p> -<p> -“You have both been... good and faithful servants to me, indeed I may -say... friends for many years, and I had hoped you would have remained in -the Manse till... so long as I was spared. And I may mention now that I -had made some slight provision that would have... made you comfortable -after I was gone.” - </p> -<p> -“It wes kind o' ye, sir, an' mindfu'.” Rebecca spoke, not John, and her -tone was of one who might have to be firm and must not give herself away -by sentiment. -</p> -<p> -“It is no longer possible for me, through... certain events, to live as I -have been accustomed to do, and I am afraid that I must... do without your -help. A woman coming in to cook and... such like will be all I can -afford.” The expression on the housekeeper's face at this point was such -that even the Doctor did not dare to look at her again, but turned to -John, whose countenance was inscrutable. -</p> -<p> -“Your future, John, has been giving me much anxious thought, and I hope to -be able to do something with Lord Kilspindie next week. There are many -quiet places on the estate which might suit...” then the Doctor weakened, -“although I know well no place will ever be like Drumtochty, and the old -Manse will never be the same... without you. But you see how it is... -friends.” - </p> -<p> -“Doctor Davidson,” and he knew it was vain to escape her, “wi' yir -permission a wud like tae ask ye ane or twa questions, an' ye 'ill forgie -the leeberty. Dis ony man in the Pairish o' Drumtochty ken yir wys like -John? Wha 'ill tak yir messages, an' prepare the fouk for the veesitation, -an' keep the gairden snod, an' see tae a' yir trokes when John's awa? Wull -ony man ever cairry the bukes afore ye like John?” - </p> -<p> -“Never,” admitted the Doctor, “never.” - </p> -<p> -“Div ye expect the new wumman 'ill ken hoo mickle stairch tae pit in yir -stock, an' hoo mickle butter ye like on yir chicken, an' when ye change -yir flannels tae a day, an' when ye like anither blanket on yir bed, an' -the wy tae mak the currant drink for yir cold?” - </p> -<p> -“No, no, Rebecca, nobody will ever be so good to me as you've been”—the -Doctor was getting very shaky. -</p> -<p> -“Then what for wud ye send us awa, and bring in some handless, useless -tawpie that cud neither cook ye a decent meal nor keep the Manse wise -like? Is't for room? The Manse is as big as ever. Is't for meat? We'ill -eat less than she 'ill waste.” - </p> -<p> -“You know better, Rebecca,” said the Doctor, attempting to clear his -throat; “it's because... because I cannot afford to...” - </p> -<p> -“A ken very weel, an' John an' me hev settled that For thirty year ye've -paid us better than ony minister's man an' manse hoosekeeper in -Perthshire, an' ye wantit tae raise oor wages aifter we mairrit. Div ye -ken what John an' me hev in the bank for oor laist days?” - </p> -<p> -The Doctor only shook his head, being cowed for once in his life. -</p> -<p> -“Atween us, five hundred and twenty-sax pund.” - </p> -<p> -“Eleven an' sevenpence,” added John, steadying his voice with arithmetic. -</p> -<p> -“It's five year sin we askit ye tae py naethin' mair, but juist gie's oor -keep, an' noo the time's come, an' welcome. Hev John or me ever disobeyed -ye or spoken back a' thae years?” - </p> -<p> -The Doctor only made a sign with his hand. “We' ill dae't aince, at ony -rate, for ye may gie us notice tae leave an' order us oot o' the manse; -but here we stop till we're no fit tae serve ye or ye hae nae mair need o' -oor service.” “A homologate that”—it was a brave word, and one of -which John was justly proud, but he did not quite make the most of it that -day. -</p> -<p> -“I thank you from my heart, and... I'll never speak of parting again,” and -for the first time they saw tears on the Doctor's cheek. -</p> -<p> -“John,” Rebecca turned on her husband—no man would have believed it -of the beadle of Drumtochty, but he was also... “what are ye stoiterin' -roond the table for? it's time tae set the Doctor's denner; as for that -chicken—” and Rebecca retired to the kitchen, having touched her -highest point that day. -</p> -<p> -The insurrection in the manse oozed out, and encouraged a conspiracy of -rebellion in which even the meekest people were concerned. Jean Baxter, of -Bumbrae, who had grasped greedily at the dairy contract of the manse, when -the glebe was let to Netherton, declined to render any account to Rebecca, -and the Doctor had to take the matter in hand. -</p> -<p> -“There's a little business, Mrs. Baxter, I would like to settle with you, -as I happen to be here.” The Doctor had dropped in on his way back from -Whinny Knowe, where Marget and he had been talking of George for two -hours. “You know that I have to be, eh... careful now, and I... you will -let me pay what we owe for that delicious butter you are good enough to -supply.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye 'ill surely tak a 'look roond the fields first, Doctor, an' tell's -what ye think o' the crops;” and after that it was necessary for him to -take tea. Again and again he was foiled, but he took a firm stand by the -hydrangea in the garden, where he had given them Lord Kilspindie's -message, and John Baxter stood aside that the affair might be decided in -single combat. -</p> -<p> -“Now, Mrs. Baxter, before leaving I must insist,” began the Doctor with -authority, and his stick was in his hand; but Jean saw a geographical -advantage, and seized it instantly. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye mind, sir, comin' tae this gairden five year syne this month, and -stannin' on that verra spot aside the hydrangy?” - </p> -<p> -The Doctor scented danger, but he could not retreat. -</p> -<p> -“Weel, at ony rate, John an' me dinna forget that day, an' never wull, for -we were makin' ready tae leave the home o' the Baxters for mony -generations wi' a heavy heart, an' it wes you that stoppit us. Ye'ill -maybe no mind what ye said tae me.” - </p> -<p> -“We 'ill not talk of that to-day, Mrs. Baxter... that's past and over.” - </p> -<p> -“Aye, it's past, but it's no over, Doctor Davidson; na, na, John an' me -wesna made that wy Ye may lauch at a fulish auld wife, but ilka kirnin' -(churning) day ye veesit us again. When a'm turnin' the kirn a see ye -comin' up the road as ye did that day, an' a gar the handle keep time wi' -yir step; when a tak oot the bonnie yellow butter ye're stannin' in the -gairden, an' then a stamp ae pund wi' buttercups, an' a say, 'You're not -away yet, Bumbrae, you're not away yet'—that wes yir word tae the -gude man; and when the ither stamp comes doon on the second pund and -leaves the bonnie daisies on't, 'Better late than never, Bumbrae; better -late than never, Bumbrae.' Ye said that afore ye left, Doctor.” Baxter was -amazed at his wife, and the Doctor saw himself defeated. -</p> -<p> -“Mony a time hes John an' me sat in the summer-hoose an' brocht back that -day, an' mony a time hev we wantit tae dae somethin' for him that keepit -the auld roof-tree abune oor heads. God forgie me, Doctor, but when a -heard ye hed gien up yir glebe ma hert loupit, an' a said tae John, 'The -'ill no want for butter at the manse sae lang as there's a Baxter in -Bumbrae.' -</p> -<p> -“Dinna be angry, sir,” but the flush that brought the Doctor's face unto a -state of perfection was not anger. “A ken it's a leeberty we're takin* an' -maybe a'm presumin' ower far, but gin ye kent hoo sair oor herts were wi' -gratitude ye wudna deny us this kindness.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye 'ill lat the Doctor come awa noo, gude wife, tae see the young horse,” - and Doctor Davidson was grateful to Burnbrae for covering his retreat. -</p> -<p> -This spirit spread till Hillocks lifted up his horn, outwitting the Doctor -with his attentions, and reducing him to submission. When the beadle -dropped in upon Hillocks one day, and, after a hasty review of harvest -affairs, mentioned that Doctor Davidson was determined to walk in future -to and from Kildrummie Station, the worthy man rose without a word, and -led the visitor to the shed where his marvellous dog-cart was kept. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye think that a' cud daur?” studying its general appearance with -diffidence. -</p> -<p> -“There's nae sayin' hoo it micht look wi' a wash,” suggested John. -</p> -<p> -“Sall, it's fell snod noo,” after two hours' honest labour, in which John -condescended to share, “an* the gude wife 'ill cover the cushions. Dinna -lat on, but a'll be at the gate the morn afore the Doctor starts,” and -Peter Bruce gave it to be understood that when Hillocks convoyed the -Doctor to the compartment of the third rigidly and unanimously reserved -for him, his manner, both of walk and conversation, was changed, and it is -certain that a visit he made to Piggie Walker on the return journey was -unnecessary save for the purpose of vain boasting. It was not, however, to -be heard of by the Doctor that Hillocks should leave his work at intervals -to drive him to Kildrummie, and so there was a war of tactics, in which -the one endeavoured to escape past the bridge without detection, while the -other swooped down upon him with the dog-cart. On the Wednesday when the -Doctor went to Muirtown to buy his last gifts to Drumtochty, he was very -cunning, and ran the blockade while Hillocks was in the corn room, but the -dog-cart was waiting for him in the evening—Hillocks having been -called to Kildrummie by unexpected business, at least so he said—and -it was a great satisfaction afterwards to Peter Bruce that he placed -fourteen parcels below the seat and fastened eight behind—besides -three which the Doctor held in his hands, being fragile, and two, soft -goods, on which Hillocks sat for security. For there were twenty-seven -humble friends whom the Doctor wished to bless on Christmas Day. -</p> -<p> -When he bade the minister good-bye at his gate, Hillocks prophesied a -storm, and it was of such a kind that on Sunday morning the snow was -knee-deep on the path from the manse to the kirk, and had drifted up four -feet against the door through which the Doctor was accustomed to enter in -procession. -</p> -<p> -“This is unfortunate, very unfortunate,” when John reported the state of -affairs to the Doctor, “and we must just do the best we can in the -circumstances, eh?” - </p> -<p> -“What wud be yir wull, sir?” but John's tone did not encourage any -concessions. -</p> -<p> -“Well, it would never do for you to be going down bare-headed on such a -day, and it's plain we can't get in at the front door. What do you say to -taking in the books by the side door, and I'll just come down in my -top-coat, when the people are gathered”; but the Doctor did not show a -firm mind, and it was evident that he was thinking less of himself than of -John. -</p> -<p> -“All come for ye at the usual 'oor,” was all that functionary deigned to -reply, and at a quarter to twelve he brought the gown and bands to the -study—he himself being in full black. -</p> -<p> -“The drift 'ill no tribble ye, an' ye 'ill no need tae gang roond; na, -na,” and John could not quite conceal his satisfaction, “we 'ill no start -on the side door aifter five and thirty years o' the front.” So the two -old men—John bare-headed, the Doctor in full canonicals and wearing -his college cap—came down on a fair pathway between two banks of -snow three feet high, which Saunders from Drumsheugh and a dozen plowmen -had piled on either side. The kirk had a severe look that day, with hardly -any women or children to relieve the blackness of the men, and the drifts -reaching to the sills of the windows, while a fringe of snow draped their -sides. -</p> -<p> -The Doctor's subject was the love of God, and it was noticed that he did -not read, but spoke as if he had been in his study. He also dwelt so -affectingly on the gift of Christ, and made so tender an appeal unto his -people, that Drumsheugh blew his nose with vigour, and Hillocks himself -was shaken. After they had sung the paraphrase— -</p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> -“To Him that lov'd the souls of men, -And washed us in His blood,” - </pre> -<p> -the Doctor charged those present to carry his greetings to the folk at -home, and tell them they were all in his heart After which he looked at -his people as they stood for at least a minute, and then lifting his -hands, according to the ancient fashion of the Scottish Kirk, he blessed -them. His gifts, with a special message to each person, he sent by -faithful messengers, and afterwards he went out through the snow to make -two visits. The first was to blind Marjorie, who was Free Kirk, but to -whom he had shown much kindness all her life. His talk with her was -usually of past days and country affairs, seasoned with wholesome humour -to cheer her heart, but to-day he fell into another vein, to her great -delight, and they spoke of the dispensations of Providence. -</p> -<p> -“'Whom the Lord loveth, he chasteneth,' Marjorie, is a very instructive -Scripture, and I was thinking of it last night You have had a long and -hard trial, but you have doubtless been blessed, for if you have not seen -outward things, you have seen the things... of the soul.” The Doctor -hesitated once or twice, as one who had not long travelled this road. -</p> -<p> -“You and I are about the same age, Marjorie, and we must soon... depart My -life was very... prosperous, but lately it has pleased the Almighty to... -chasten me. I have now, therefore, some hope also that I may be one of His -children.” - </p> -<p> -“He wes aye gude grain, the Doctor,” Marjorie said to her friend after he -had left, “but he's hed a touch o' the harvest sun, and he's been -ripening.” - </p> -<p> -Meanwhile the Doctor had gone on to Tochty Lodge, and was standing in the -stone hall, which was stripped and empty of the Camegies for ever. Since -he was a laddie in a much-worn kilt and a glengarry bonnet without tails, -he had gone in and out the Lodge, and himself had seen four generations—faintly -remembering the General's grandfather. Every inch of the house was -familiar to him, and associated with kindly incidents. He identified the -spaces on the walls where the portraits of the cavaliers and their ladies -had hung; he went up to the room where the lairds had died and his friend -had hoped to fall on sleep; he visited the desolate gallery where Kate had -held court and seemed to begin a better day for the old race; then he -returned and stood before the fireplace in which he had sat long ago and -looked up to see the stars in the sky. Round that hearth many a company of -brave men and fair women had gathered, and now there remained of this -ancient stock but two exiles—one eating out his heart in poverty and -city life, and a girl who had for weal or woe, God only knew, passed out -of the line of her traditions. A heap of snow had gathered on the stone, -where the honest wood fire had once burned cheerily, and a gust of wind -coming down the vast open chimney powdered his coat with drift It was to -him a sign that the past was closed, and that he would never again stand -beneath that roof. -</p> -<p> -He opened the gate of the manse, and then, under a sudden impulse, went on -through deep snow to the village and made a third visit—to Archie -Moncur, whom he found sitting before the fire reading the <i>Temperance -Trumpet</i>. Was there ever a man like Archie?—so gentle and fierce, -so timid and fearless, so modest and persevering. He would stoop to lift a -vagrant caterpillar from the cart track, and yet had not adjectives to -describe the infamy of a publican; he would hardly give an opinion on the -weather, but he fought the drinking customs of the Glen like a lion; he -would only sit in the lowest seat in any place, but every winter he -organised—at great trouble and cost of his slender means—temperance -meetings which were the fond jest of the Glen. From year to year he toiled -on, without encouragement, without success, hopeful, uncomplaining, -resolute, unselfish, with the soul of a saint and the spirit of a hero in -his poor, deformed, suffering little body. He humbled himself before the -very bairns, and allowed an abject like Milton to browbeat him with -Pharisaism, but every man in the Glen knew that Archie would have gone to -the stake for the smallest jot or tittle of his faith. -</p> -<p> -“Archie,” said the Doctor, who would not sit down, and whose coming had -thrown the good man into speechless confusion, “it's the day of our Lord's -birth, and I wish to give you and all my friends of the Free Kirk—as -you have no minister just now—hearty Christmas greeting. May peace -be in your kirk and homes... and hearts. -</p> -<p> -“My thoughts have been travelling back of late over those years since I -was ordained minister of this parish and the things which have happened, -and it seemed to me that no man has done his duty by his neighbour or -before God with a more single heart than you, Archie.” - </p> -<p> -“God bless you.” Then on the doorstep the Doctor shook hands again and -paused for a minute. “You have fought a good fight, Archie—I wish we -could all say the same... a good fight.” - </p> -<p> -For an hour Archie was so dazed that he was not able to say a word, and -could do nothing but look into the fire, and then he turned to his -sisters, with that curious little movement of the hand which seemed to -assist his speech. -</p> -<p> -“The language wes clean redeeklus, but it wes kindly meant... an' it maks -up for mony things.... The Doctor wes aye a gentleman, an' noo... ye can -see that he's... something mair.” - </p> -<p> -Drumsheugh dined with the Doctor that night, and after dinner John opened -for them a bottle of Lord Kilspindie's wine. -</p> -<p> -“It is the only drink we have in the house, for I have not been using -anything of that kind lately, and I think we may have a glass together for -the sake of Auld Lang Syne.” - </p> -<p> -They had three toasts, “The Queen,” and “The Kirk of Scotland,” and “The -friends that are far awa,” after which—for the last included both -the living and the dead—they sat in silence. Then the Doctor began -to speak of his ministry, lamenting that he had not done better for his -people, and declaring that if he were spared he intended to preach more -frequently about the Lord Jesus Christ. -</p> -<p> -“You and I, Drumsheugh, will have to go a long journey soon, and give an -account of our lives in Drumtochty. Perhaps we have done our best as men -can, and I think we have tried; but there are many things we might have -done otherwise, and some we ought not to have done at all. -</p> -<p> -“It seems to me now, the less we say in that day of the past the -better.... We shall wish for mercy rather than justice, and”—here -the Doctor looked earnestly over his glasses at his elder—“we would -be none the worse, Drums-heugh, of a friend to... say a good word for us -both in the great court.” - </p> -<p> -“A've thocht that masel”—it was an agony for Drumsheugh to speak—“mair -than aince. Weelum MacLure wes... ettlin' (feeling) aifter the same thing -the nicht he slippit awa, an' gin ony man cud hae stude on his ain feet... -yonder, it was... Weelum.” - </p> -<p> -The Doctor read the last chapter of the Revelation of St John at prayers -that evening with much solemnity, and thereafter prayed concerning those -who had lived together in the Glen that they might meet at last in the -City. -</p> -<p> -“Finally, most merciful Father, we thank Thee for Thy patience with us and -the goodness Thou hast bestowed upon us, and for as much as Thy servants -have sinned against Thee beyond our knowledge, we beseech Thee to judge us -not according to our deserts, but according to the merits and intercession -of Jesus Christ our Lord.” He also pronounced the benediction—which -was not his wont at family worship—and he shook hands with his two -retainers; but he went with his guest to the outer door. -</p> -<p> -“Good-bye, Drumsheugh... you have been... a faithful friend and elder.” - </p> -<p> -When John paid his usual visit to the study before he went to bed, the -Doctor did not hear him enter the room. He was holding converse with Skye, -who was seated on a chair, looking very wise and much interested. -</p> -<p> -“Ye're a bonnie beastie, Skye”—like all Scots, the Doctor in his -tender moments dropped into dialect—“for a'thing He made is verra -gude. Ye've been true and kind to your master, Skye, and ye 'ill miss him -if he leaves ye. Some day ye 'ill die also, and they 'ill bury ye, and I -doubt that 'ill be the end o' ye, Skye. -</p> -<p> -“Ye never heard o' God, Skye, or the Saviour, for ye're juist a puir -doggie; but your master is minister of Drumtochty, and... a sinner -saved... by grace.” - </p> -<p> -The Doctor was so much affected as he said the last words slowly to -himself that John went out on tiptoe, and twice during the night listened—fancying -he heard Skye whine. In the morning the Doctor was still sitting in his -big chair, and Skye was fondly licking a hand that would never again -caress him, while a miniature of Daisy—the little maid who had died -in her teens, and whom her brother had loved to his old age—lay on -the table, and the Bible was again open at the description of the New -Jerusalem. -</p> -<div style="height: 6em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Afterwards, by Ian Maclaren - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AFTERWARDS *** - -***** This file should be named 43192-h.htm or 43192-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/1/9/43192/ - -Produced by 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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