Alec Forbes of Howglen Part 80

"Ow! sic like's thyme and southren-wood, and maybe a bittie o'

mignonette."

"Ay! ay! And sae the cowmon custom abuses you, young, bonnie lammies o'

the flock. Wadna ye tak' the rose o' Sharon itsel', nor the fire-reid lilies that made the text for the Saviour's sermon? Ow! na. Ye maun be sober, wi' flooers bonnie eneuch, but smellin' o' the kirkyard raither nor the blue lift, which same's the sapphire throne o' Him that sat thereon."

"Weel, but allooin' that, ye sudna gar fowk lauch, wi' a bonnie flooer, but rid.i.c.kleous for the size o' 't, 'cep' ye gie 't room. A kirk's ower little for't."

"Ye're richt there, my dawtie. And I haena been to the kirk ava'. I hae been to the hills."

"And what got ye there?"

"I got this upo' the road hame."

"But what got ye there?"

"Weel, I got the blue lift."

"And what was that to ye?"

"It _said_ to me that I was a foolish man to care aboot the claiks and the strifes o' the warl'; for a' was quaiet aboon, whatever stramash they micht be makin' doon here i' the cellars o' the speeritual creation."

Annie was silent: while she did not quite understand him, she had a dim perception of a grand meaning in what he said.

The fact was that Annie was the greater of the two _in esse_; Cupples the greater _in posse_. His imagination let him see things far beyond what he could for a long time attain unto.

"But what got ye at the kirk, Annie?"

"Weel, I canna say I got verra muckle the day. Mr Turnbull's text was, 'Thou, Lord, art merciful, for thou renderest to every man according to his works.'"

"Ye micht hae gotten a hantel oot o' that."

"Ay. But ye see, he said the Lord was merciful to ither fowk whan he rendert to the wicked the punishment due to them. And I cudna richtly feel i' my hert that I cud praise the Lord for that mercy."

"I dinna wonner, my bairn."

"But eh! Mr Cupples, Mr Turnbull's no like that aye. He's bonnie upo'

the Gospel news. I wiss ye wad gang and hear him the nicht. I canna gang, cause Mrs Forbes is gaun oot."

"I'll gang and hear him, to please you, my la.s.sie; for, as I said, I haena been to the kirk the day."

"But do ye think it's richt to brak the Sawbath, Mr Cupples?"

"Ay and no."

"I dinna unnerstan' ye."

"What the clergy ca' brakin' the Sawbath's no brakin' o' 't. I'll tell ye what seems to me the differ atween the like o' your Mr Turnbull and the Pharisees?-and it's a great differ. They band heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and laid them upo' men's shouthers, but wadna touch sic like to carry them wi' ane o' their fingers: Mr Turnbull and the like o' him beirs their share. But the burden's nane the less a heavy ane and grievous to be borne."

"But the burden's no _that_ grievous to me, Mr Cupples."

"There's no sayin' what you women-fowk will _not_ tak' a pleesur' in bearin'; but the pa.s.sage refers expressly to the men's shouthers. And faith mine _will_ not endure to be loadent wi' ither fowks fykes (trifles). And sae come alang, deid man's bells."

Annie thought all this rather dreadful, but she was not shocked as a Christian who lives by the clergy and their traditions, instead of by the fresh Spirit of G.o.d, would have been. For she could not help seeing that there was truth in it.

But although Cupples could say much to set Annie thinking, and although she did find enlightenment at last from pondering over his words, yet she could have told him far deeper things than he had yet suspected to exist. For she knew that the goal of all life is the face of G.o.d.

Perhaps she had to learn a yet higher lesson: that our one free home is the Heart, the eternal lovely Will of G.o.d, than that which should fail, it were better that we and all the worlds should go out in blackness.

But this Will is our Salvation. Because He liveth we shall live also.

Mr Cupples found in the missionar kirk a certain fervour which pleased him. For Mr Turnbull, finding that his appeals to the unG.o.dly were now of little avail to attract listeners of the cla.s.s, had betaken himself to the building up of the body of Christ, dwelling in particular upon the love of the brethren. But how some of them were to be loved, except with the love of compa.s.sionate indignation, even his most rapt listener Thomas Crann could not have supposed himself capable of explaining. As I said, however, Mr Cupples found the sermon in some degree impressive, and was attentive. As he was walking away, questioning with himself, he heard a voice in the air above him. It came from the lips of Thomas Crann, who, although stooping from asthma and rheumatism, still rose nearly a foot above the head of Mr Cupples.

"I was glaid to see ye at oor kirk, sir," said Thomas.

"What for that?" returned the librarian, who always repelled first approaches, in which he was only like Thomas himself, and many other worthy people, both Scotch and English.

"A stranger sud aye be welcomed to onybody's hoose."

"I didna ken it was your hoose."

"Ow na. It's no my hoose. It's the Lord's hoose. But a smile frae the servan'-la.s.s that opens the door's something till a man that gangs to ony hoose for the first time, ye ken," returned Thomas, who, like many men of rough address, was instantly put upon his good behaviour by the exhibition of like roughness in another.

This answer disarmed Cupples. He looked up into Thomas's face, and saw first a ma.s.sive chin; then a firmly closed mouth; then a nose, straight as a Greek's, but bulky and of a rough texture; then two keen grey eyes, and lastly a big square forehead supported by the two pedestals of high cheek bones?-the whole looking as if it had been hewn out of his professional granite, or rather as if the look of the granite had pa.s.sed into the face that was so constantly bent over it fashioning the stubborn substance to the yet more stubborn human will. And Cupples not only liked the face, but felt that he was in the presence of one of the higher natures of the world?-made to command, or rather, which is far better, to influence. Before he had time to reply, however, Thomas resumed:

"Ye hae had a heap o' tribble, I doobt, wi' that laddie, Alec Forbes."

"Naething mair nor was nateral," answered Cupples.

"He's a fine crater, though. I ken that weel. Is he come back, do ye think?"

"What do ye mean? He's lyin' in's bed, quaiet eneuch, puir fallow!"

"Is he come back to the fold?"

"Nae to the missionars, I'm thinkin'."

"Dinna anger me. Ye're nae sae ignorant as ye wad pa.s.s for. Ye ken weel eneuch what I mean. What care I for the missionars mair nor ony ither o' the Lord's fowk, 'cep that they're mair like his fowk nor ony ither that I hae seen?"

"Sic like's Robert Bruce, for a sample."

Thomas stopped as if he had struck against a stone wall, and went back on his track.

"What I want to ken is whether Alec unnerstans yet that the prodigal's aye ill aff; and?-"

"Na," interrupted Cupples. "He's never been cawed to the swine yet. Nor he sudna be, sae lang's I had a saxpence to halve wi' him."

"Ye're no richt, frien', _there_. The suner a prodigal comes to the swine the better!"

"Ay; that's what you richteous elder brithers think. I ken that weel eneuch."