Allison Bain Part 8

And if Allison had but known it, it was well worth her while both to look and to listen. The minister was the leader of the meeting, but it was open to all who had anything to say.

It was something else besides a prayer-meeting on most nights. There was usually a short exposition of some pa.s.sage of Scripture by the minister, and frequently a conversational turn was given to this part of the exercise. The minister had "the knack" of putting questions judiciously, to the great help and comfort of those who had something to say, but who did not well know how to say it. And though it must be acknowledged, as Mrs Hume had admitted to Allison, that there were now and then things said which were not altogether for edification, on the whole, this method, in the minister's hands, answered well. It kept up the interest of the meeting to some who would hardly have cared to listen to a sermon out of the kirk, or on a week night. A few who were only occasional hearers on the Sabbath liked these informal discussions of precept and doctrine, as they would have liked the discussion of any other matter, for the mere intellectual pleasure to be enjoyed, and, as may be supposed, opportunities for this kind of enjoyment did not often occur in Nethermuir.

And there were a few men of another stamp among them--men to whom Mr Hume and "his new doctrines," as they were called, had come, as sunlight comes into a day of darkness. Even in that time which was already pa.s.sing away when these men were children, the time which its friends have called "the dark days of the kirk of Scotland," the Bible had been read and reverenced in all well-ordered households, and it was as true then as in the day when our Lord himself had said it: "The words which I speak unto you, they are spirit and they are life." And so, through much reading of the Word, had come a sense of sinfulness and ill-desert which a vain striving to work out a righteousness for themselves could not quiet or banish, a longing for pardon from Him whom they had offended, and for a sense of acceptance and friendship with Him who had promised to save.

With regard to all this, it was but "an uncertain sound" which was uttered by the greater number of the teachers of the day; and so when men like Mr Hume came preaching a free and full salvation through Jesus Christ, not only from the consequences of sin, but from the power and the love of it, there were many through all the land who "heard the word gladly."

There were some in Nethermuir who had heard and heeded, and found the peace they sought, and who showed by their new lives that a real change had been wrought in them. These were the men who rejoiced the minister's heart and strengthened his hands both in the meeting and elsewhere; and though some of them were slow of speech, and not so ready with their word as others who spoke to less purpose, yet it was from them that the tone of the meeting was taken.

It cannot be said that this privilege of speech was often abused. As for the sisters, they rarely went beyond a question, or a token of a.s.sent or approval, given in one word, when something which recommended itself to their taste and judgment had been well said. Mr Hume refused to acknowledge that he did not sufficiently encourage them to do their part for mutual edification in the semi-privacy of these meetings in the manse parlour, and he did acknowledge that two or three whom he could name among them had all the right which a high intelligence, deep spirituality, and sound common sense could give, to lift their voices when the right time came, to "reprove, rebuke, exhort, with all long-suffering and doctrine." But his observation had taught him that these qualifications did not make a woman more ready or willing, but rather less, to put in her word at such times.

The teaching of the kirk by law established had been in past years vague and indefinite enough on several points of importance, it was truly said. But in the pulpit and out of it, on one point it had been full, clear, and definite. A man must rule (well) his own household. "The husband is the head of the wife," who is not suffered "to usurp authority over the man," but who is to listen in silence, being "the weaker vessel"--and so on.

All this had been taught by word and deed for many a year and day--not always, it was to be feared, in the way or in the spirit that Saint Paul would have approved. But it was still true that the best women and the wisest had best learned the lesson. So when the "missioners" came with new light on the matter--no longer insisting upon silence where a few of the brethren and sisters were met to edify one another--it was not, as the minister said, those who were best fitted for it who were the readiest to claim the right or the privilege, whichever it might be called; and as for him, he was not urgent about the matter, either to encourage or restrain.

The brethren, as a rule, were ready enough to fill up the time with exhortation or discussion, and might have been in danger sometimes of becoming too eager and energetic in their utterances if Mr Hume had not, with equal gentleness and firmness, exercised his right to rule among them. To-night the folk had their Testaments open at one of the chapters of Galatians, and when Allison's attention was first caught, the word was being pa.s.sed backward and forward between Peter Gilchrist, one of the staunchest supporters of the little kirk, and old Saunners Crombie, staunch, too, in his way. Peter had grown both in knowledge and in grace since the day when he had become a friend of the minister, and he could take his part with the rest. He had "grown mair in gress than in knowledge, if sic a thing were possible," his friendly opponent, Saunners, declared.

And in Saunners' sense it was perhaps true. For "hair-splitting" and the art of finding and formulating distinctions where no real difference exists, to be learned well, must be learned young, and Peter's simplicity and common sense, which did him good service at other times, were rather apt to be at fault when "tackled by auld Saunners and his meta_pheesics_."

The subject under discussion to-night was the "old law" (la, like the sixth musical note), and its relation to the life and duty of those who had the privilege of living under the new dispensation of grace, and it had fallen, for the most part, to these two to discuss it. The minister's turn would come next; but in the meantime auld Saunners, with his elbows on his knees, and his Bible held faraway from his too youthful horn spectacles, laid down the law in a high, monotonous voice, never for a moment suffering himself to be disturbed by the frequent but timid interruptions of Peter, till his own say should be said. Peter fidgeted on his seat and appealed to the minister with his eyes. But the minister only smiled and nodded and bided his time.

How earnest they were, Allie thought. It was a great matter to them, apparently. Yes, and to the rest as well. For all the folk were looking and listening, and some nodded an approval of the sentiments of one, and some of the other. Even Robert sat with a smile on his face and his eye on the speakers, as though he were enjoying it all--as indeed he was--and waiting till a few words from his father should reconcile common sense and metaphysics again.

What did it all mean? And what did it matter what it might mean? And where was the use of so many words about it? Allison looked from one face to another in amaze. Then Marjorie's little hand touched her cheek.

"Which side do you take, Allie?" said she softly.

But Allie shook her head, and the ghost of a smile parted her lips for an instant.

"I ken naething about it," said she.

"Well, I'm no' just sure about it myself to-night. But wait you, till my father takes them in hand. He'll put them both right and bring them to see the same way. At least they'll say nae mair about it _this_ time," said Marjorie, and then she added gravely, a little anxious because of her friend's indifference. "It's very important, Allie, if we could understand it all."

"Oh! ay, I daur say," said Allie with a sigh, coming back to her own sad thoughts again.

But the gloom had lightened a little, Mrs Hume thought, for she had not lost one of the changes on Allison's face, as she looked and listened, nor the smile, nor the doubtful lock with which she had answered the child.

CHAPTER SIX.

"Do thy duty, that is best, Leave unto the Lord the rest."

That year there was through all the North an open winter, and the "green yule," which is said to make "a full kirkyard." The weather was mild and moist, with heavy fogs in the morning, which sometimes stayed all day, and all night as well. There was serious illness in many houses, and much discomfort in others, even where there was not danger.

Poor old folk who had sat by the door, or "daundered" about the streets and lanes in comfort during the summertime, now sat coughing and wheezing in the chimney-corner, or went, bowed and stiff, about the work which must not be neglected, though pain made movement difficult. Some who had lingered beyond the usual term of life "dropped away," and their place knew them no more. And death, the Reaper, not content with the "bearded grain," gathered a flower or two as well.

Measles came first among the bairns, and whooping-cough followed, and Mrs Hume would have liked to wrap up her little daughter and carry her away from the danger which threatened her. For, that the child should escape these troubles, or live through them, the mother, usually cheerful and hopeful in such times, could not believe. "And her father!" thought she, with a sinking heart, while the father was saying to himself, "Alas for her poor mother;" and out of all their anxious thoughts, nothing better could come than this; "We must submit to G.o.d's will, whatever it may be."

As for wrapping her up and carrying her away, that was out of the question. If it had been summertime they might have sent her to a friend of theirs, who would have cared for the child tenderly and faithfully. But on the whole it seemed wiser to keep her at home.

"We must just leave her in G.o.d's hand," they said to one another, and they did so entirely. Mrs Hume was kept away from no sick or suffering household by the thought of possible danger to her little daughter.

Many needed both help and comfort who could not come to the manse to find them, and to them the minister and his wife went gladly. But the strain of all she had to do told on Mrs Hume. She also had her turn of illness, which kept her in the house for a while, and then a part of her duties to the sick poor in the neighbourhood fell to Allison.

"It is not always that the Lord lets us see at once the good which He has promised to bring out of what seems to be evil to us; but He has done so this time," said Mrs Hume, after a little.

For what she had lost in being laid aside from helping others, Allison had gained in taking her place. It was at some cost to herself, because of her shyness, and because of other folk's curiosity, not always kept within bounds when a chance to gratify it came in the way. But on the whole she held her own among the neighbours, whom she had kept at arm's-length so long, and won the good opinion of many, and their good words also, which were, however, oftener spoken behind her back than before her face, because she would not stay to listen. Her way was to bring the medicine, or the broth, or the jug of tea, and set it down without a word, and then go at once, if there was no more needed from her. But occasionally she put her strong, expert hands to the doing of some good turn--the firm and gentle lifting of some weary, pain-worn creature, while the bed was put right, or to the setting in order of the confusion which soon befalls in a sickroom, where nurses are unaccustomed, and have besides other cares to fill their time.

Whatever she did was done in silence. No one in telling of the help she gave, could tell a word that she had uttered beyond the message which her mistress had sent. But though she had few words for any one, she had many thoughts about other people's troubles, which helped her to turn from the constant brooding over her own. So she got more good than she gave, which is oftener the case with the doers of kindly deeds than is always known.

It was in this way that her acquaintance began with Mrs Beaton, who lived in a house at the end of the street, close by the green. Allison had sometimes seen her in the kirk, and had noticed her at first for no better reason than that she wore a bonnet. Of course there were other bonnets in the kirk--many of them. The times were changing for the worse, it was thought, and even the servant-la.s.sies were getting to wear bonnets. But of the elderly women who came there, not many had so far changed the fashion of their youth as to cover the white "mutch" with anything but a handkerchief in the summertime, or with a shawl, or with the hood of the mantle of scarlet or grey duffel, when the weather was cold.

Mrs Beaton wore a bonnet always at the kirk, and when she went to other places, also, as if she had been used with it all her life. And she had some other fashions, as well, which made her seem different from her neighbours in Allison's eyes. She was small and fair, and over her grey hair she wore a widow's cap which was not at all like the thick mutches of the other women, and her shawls and gowns were of a texture and form which told of better days long past. She "kept herself to herself," the neighbours said, which meant that her door did not always stand open for all comers, though she was neighbourly enough in other ways when there was occasion. But though Allison had seen her, she had never spoken with her till the night when the minister, hearing from one of the neighbours that Mrs Beaton was but poorly, sent her over to inquire about her.

"Just go down and see if you can do anything for her. I cannot have your mistress disturbed to-night. You will know what to do. Mrs Beaton is not just like the rest of them, as you will see yourself."

So, Allison went down the dark street, thinking a little about the sick woman, but quite indifferent as to the welcome she might receive. The house stood by itself, a little back from the road, and a wooden paling enclosed a piece of garden ground before it. The gate yielded to her hand, and so did the door. Allison felt her way to the inner door in the dim light, and then she spoke:

"I'm the minister's la.s.s. Mistress Hume is no' weel, or she would have come herself. Will I licht your lamp?"

"Ay, might ye, if there is fire enough left," said a voice from the darkness.

The lamp was lighted, and holding it high above her head, Allison turned toward the bed. Mrs Beaton raised herself up, and regarded her for a moment.

"And so you are wee Marjorie's bonny Allie! I am glad to see you."

"You're not weel. The minister said I was to do what ye needed done."

"It was kind of him to send you, and it is kind in you to come. I'm not just very well. I was trying to settle myself for the night, since there seemed nothing better to be done. Maybe ye might make my bed a wee bit easier for me, if ye were to try."

"I'll do that," said Allison.

"Mrs Coats would have come in, I suppose; but her bairns are not well, and she has enough to do. And Annie, the la.s.sie that comes in to make my fire and do other things, has gone to see her brother, who has just come home from a long voyage. I'm more than glad to see you. It's eerie being quite alone."

"I'm glad I came. Will I make you some gruel or a cup of tea? When had you your dinner?"

"If you have the time to spare--"

There was time enough. In a minute or two the fire was burning brightly. Allison knew what to do, and where to find what was needed without a question; and Mrs Beaton lay, following her movements with great interest.

"I was once young and strong like you," said she, with a sigh.

Allison said nothing, but went on with the making of the gruel.

"You have done that before," said Mrs Beaton.

"Ay, many a time."

She left the gruel to simmer by the fire, and taking the coverlid from the bed, spread it over the arm-chair, then she lifted the sick woman as if she had been a child, and placed her in it. Then she put a pillow behind her, and wrapped her warmly round.