Inchbracken Part 24

'It is also not to be expected,' continued this reverend Achitophel, 'that our erring brother'----

'Prove the error,' muttered the Laird.

'That our brother who has wandered from the paths of holy living, but whom we all love (and brethren, I may add that he is still but young, and the flesh is weak)! It is not to be expected that he should call a Court to investigate into his own shortcomings; or that until he has been brought to see and admit the heinousness of his offences, and that they have all been found out (for that, brethren, I have always observed is a powerful lever in awakening a slumbering conscience)--It is when the poor sinner has discovered that his refuges of lies will not stand, that they are all swept away like mists before the winds of indignation, and that the clear light of truth is shining down on his nakedness, and wretchedness, and moral wounds; it is then that the poor sinner comes forth with tears in his eyes and sackcloth on his loins, and cries aloud, "I have sinned."'

Here the orator stopped for breath. He was moved by his own pathetic elocution, and his picture of the returning prodigal. Also, he had got entangled among his parts of speech, and lost his way among the parentheses; and now he scarcely knew where he was, or what he had intended to say next.

'Are you not condemning a man before you have even heard the accusation brought against him?' inquired the Laird; but without gaining much attention from any one. The audience, in fact, was just then uttering a sigh of satisfaction over the moving words of the previous speaker, which were as impressive as a doleful sing-song could make them, besides being in accordance with their own opinion; and nothing is more interesting and weighty than our own sentiments uttered by another, with a fluency and copiousness which we could not have lent them. It is like looking at ourselves through a glorifying medium, contemplating our own portrait from the brush of a distinguished court painter; which, judged by the walls of Royal Academy Exhibitions, is the highest, as well as the best paid form of art. The golden bowls and pomegranates of the morning were nothing to this! it was as good as a sermon, and 'so practical,' as some one whispered. Nothing like a practical sermon! my friend; and much tilting at sin. Always premising that the sin is not yours nor mine (which would be personal and rude), it makes one feel virtuous by proxy.

Mr. Geddie looked over for a suggestion how to proceed, to brother Dowlas, who was quietly enjoying the scene. He knew what it was to be flown away with by Pegasus, and then dropped helpless in a swamp. It had happened to himself; but he was older now, and it was not disagreeable to see his young friend meet the reward of his overforwardness in this miscarriage.

Mr. Dowlas suggested that the present was properly to be considered a meeting of members and office-bearers of the congregation, to investigate certain rumours affecting the character of their acting minister, and to decide what action, either by way of pet.i.tion to the Presbytery or otherwise, as might seem most expedient was to be taken thereanent.

'Ay! Thereanent, Elluck! Hear ye that?' whispered a neighbour to Alec Lamont, 'That's juist what they say e'y Presbytery. I ken, for I hae heard them mysel'! A graund head for business he's gotten, that Mester Dowlas. We's gang the richt gate to wark noo, I'm thinkin'. An' hear till him noo, Elluck!' he continued. 'Hear til him noo!' while poor Alec was straining his ears to listen, and was only prevented by the chatter of his talkative neighbour.

Mr. Dowlas went on to propose that the postmaster, Mr. Prittie, act as secretary to the meeting, which was carried with general applause; and Ebenezer took a new quill pen from his drawer, examined the nib critically on his nail, and then placed it thoughtfully between his teeth, while he took his stand at the little shop desk. Observing the tall stool he bethought him that a chairman was wanted, and forthwith reciprocated the holy man's politeness by proposing that he take the chair. Mr. Dowlas bearing in mind his own bulk, and surveying the tall and slender legs of the stool, demurred, suggesting that the chair should be filled by one of themselves--the Laird in fact. The Laird declined with emphasis. He said that it would not be long till they would not only regret, but be heartily ashamed of what they were doing, that he would not compromise himself in their proceedings, even so far as to be present, but that he thought it well that a friend of both sides, who had not yet committed himself to a judgment without evidence, should be present, to prevent mischief as far as possible.

No one ventured to retort. The majesty of wealth and prosperity forbade that; but it may be safely said that for the moment the kindness and goodwill of a lifetime did little to mitigate the indignation begotten of that rebuke.

With some trepidation and much care, Mr. Dowlas clambered up to his lofty perch, from which he looked giddily down. He could not now _rise_ to speak, and there was nothing so abstruse going forward that he need come down to the level of his hearers, wherefore he remained where he was, and like the Queen addressing her Parliament, he spoke seated.

He looked down over Ebenezer and his clean sheet of paper and directed him how he should begin the minutes of the meeting, and then informed his auditors that they might now consider the meeting as const.i.tuted, and that it would be in order for some one to bring before it a categorical statement of the business which had brought them together.

All eyes were turned on Ebenezer, but that terrible word 'categorical'

had proved a stumbler to him. Looks, winks and nods were in vain, because he had resolved not to see them, and was busy remaking his pen, and flicking the point with his thumb that the hair split might come straight. Next they looked to Peter Malloch, but _he_ was persistently looking to some one else, so that the electric influence, if there was any, was simply pa.s.sed along further by him as a conductor, and nothing came of it.

'Is there no one,' said Mr. Dowlas at length, 'who will state the purpose of this meeting? We have nothing before us which we can consider or come to a decision upon, surely some one present could repeat the charges and statements on which Mr. Geddie and myself were induced to attend here.'

His eye had fallen on that of Andrew Semple, who was looking up and listening with all attention, and there, unwittingly fixed, it had remained, till Andrew feeling himself singled out and addressed individually, stood up as by special command, and after some introductory stammering, found voice.

'It's little I can say 'at I _ken_, Mester Dowlas, an' I see na what for ye suld look to me to mak yer statement; but seein' ye're a minister 'at kens what's richt, an' wad na be for leadin' simple folk 'at lippens to ye, intil harm, I'm no mindin' gin I say what I can. A weel, sir, ye see it was just the very day our Davie was ta'en down wi' the jandies. It may hae been on a Tuesday? Na, it was Wadnesday, I'm gye an' sure it was a Wadnesday. I had gotten thegither a score o'

yows, an' I was just gaun to herd them down by til Elluc Powie's; an'

the gudewife she comes to me an' she says, "Andra," says she, "I'm sair mis...o...b..in' but our Davie"--or na! It was "that puir bairn Davie"

she ca'd him. Ay! thae was her very words, "that he's gotten the jandies, an', gin yer road's through Glen Effick, I wuss ye wad just rin in as ye gang by, an' tell my Auntie Lillie, she's just graund on the jandies." An', says I, "gudewife, I'll do yer biddin'."

An' sae, me an' my yows, an' my dug Bawtie--ay it was--Bawtie, I'm thinkin'--Mustard had gotten a lang jag in's forepaw, sae he bed at hame. Aweel, as I was sayin'--'

'Hurry up! Andra,' whispered the Laird, 'or it will be supper time before you get through! I want to get home.'

'The truith's better nor rubies, Laird! speer the minister there gin it's no! I wull no lee, for a' the lairds atween here an' Fruchie! an'

it's a sair job to be mindin' byganes. But, as I was sayin', minister, we was just fornent the smiddie, (me, an' the yows, ye ken, an'

Bawtie) whan wha suld I see but Auntie Lillie hersel, an' says I to her, "Hoo's a' wi' ye, Auntie?" says I--Na! that's no hit. It was her 'at says to me, "Andra Semple," says she, "but the sicht o' you's gude for sair eyen," says she, an' syne she speered for the gudewife. An' I up an' telled her hoo our Davie was down wi' the jandies, an' her, she was sair afflicket to hear tell o't, for she's a rael kindly auld body. An' says she to me, "It's just trouble an' affliction a' round,"

says she, "I'm thinkin' it's the days of the end 'at's comin' to pa.s.s," says she. "An' there's nane to lippen til. We're just born til evil as the sparks flee up. An' there's non that doeth gude, no not wan," for she's weel grundet e'y scripter, our Auntie Lillie. "An'

ye'll no hae been hearin' what's come o'er our minister," says she, "Him we a' tuk for sic a sonsie honest laad, an' a gude!--aweel gin a'

the folk says," says she, "be true, he's gaen clean wrang a'

thegither." An' sae she up an' telled me a' 'at a'body kens a'ready; an' ye a' ken't, an' that's just hoo I cam to hear tell o't at the first. An' sae I hae telled ye a' I ken.'

'But you have told us nothing at all,' said the Laird, 'except that your Auntie Lillie has skill with the "Jandies," and it was not that we a.s.sembled to hear about, though it is a far more useful thing to know than the other stuff. I think we had better go home!'

'Patience! brethren,' said the chairman, 'let us cultivate a calm and judicious frame of mind. What was it, Andrew, that your aunt told you about the minister?'

'Hear-say evidence!' interjected the Laird.

'Not at all! It is not evidence in the legal sense we are after at present, simply a beginning of some kind,--an allegation, a statement to be afterwards sifted. Now, Andrew Semple, what was it your aunt told you about Mr. Brown?'

'Aweel, sir, she telled me o' the bairn 'at auld Eppie Ness was takin'

tent on; an' I says, ne'er mis...o...b..in' wrang, ye ken, says I, "It's juist like him; it's him 'at's aye doin' gude." An' Auntie Lillie she just leugh, an' gae a kin' o' glint o' the e'e, an' syne she gae the ither nicker, an' says she, "Andra," she says, "Semple's yer name, an'

simple's yer natur! It's his ain bairn, bless ye!--the pawkie young sneckdrawer 'at we a' thocht was sae blate an' sae douce. I canna but laugh whiles, to think sic fules as he has made o' us, for a' it's sae wrang." "But it's no true," says I. "That's just the fash o't," quo'

she; "it's ower true! There's no a wife e'y hale glen 'at disna ken a'

about it."'

'You affirm, then, that it is commonly reported, Andrew,' said the chairman, 'that the infant adopted by Mr. Brown is his own child? Here is an allegation which the ecclesiastical authorities cannot possibly let pa.s.s unsifted. On what authority is the a.s.sertion made?'

'Just a' body tells the same tale. An' I hae telled ye a' 'at I ken, an' that's naething!'

The ice being broken, every one was now willing to contribute a surmise or a circ.u.mstance, till in the end they had worked up the narrative to the full strength at which it was circulating out of doors.

'And now,' said the chairman, 'we have the accusation before us; and yet, strange to say, there is no accuser. We have here a public scandal, a case which would give the enemy ground to blaspheme. We must do our duty to the Church by taking steps for the removal of its withered branch. Now, who will undertake the Christian duty of libelling Mr. Brown before the Presbytery? Will the Session do it? or will the members of Session do it? It is a thing that must be done!

You are all guilty of connivance, and are in fact accessories to the sin. Will the Session undertake to present the libel?'

'I won't for one,' said the Laird. 'I believe it to be all idle tattle. You have not a thread of evidence to support your libel, whatever.'

'Is there no one whom we could examine, so as to get at the facts?'

'Here's Joseph the bederal,' said Peter Malloch. 'The minister's man sees mair o' him nor ither folk!'

'I ken naething!' said Joseph, coming forward with a troubled look, 'naething ava! I'm ower weel kenned for a douce an' peacefu'

Christian, for ony body to let on to me, gin their walk and conversation wasna what they suld be.'

Mr. Geddie appeared touched, and began to observe more attentively this excellent person.

'Did you see Mr. Brown bring home this infant?'

'No sir; but I saw the bairn in Miss Brown's arms, no lang after.'

'Where was the child brought from?'

'Naebody kens.'

'The child was brought from the seash.o.r.e,' interposed the Laird, 'where it had been cast by the waves after a shipwreck. Mr. Brown never made any mystery about that!'

'Ah yes!' broke forth Mr. Geddie in his most dulcet cadence, 'charity never faileth! It is good for us to be here! This simple undoubting credence in our beloved and highly esteemed brother, is refreshing to the soul, as the grapes of Eshcol in a thirsty land! We know, my brethren, that we must all become as little children, trustful and believing in the gospel message. And here is one who has been nourished on the slopes of Carmel, in the footsteps of the flock, on whom the heaven has dropped her fatness, and the wisdom of the word has been his abundant nourishment. He is as a prince among us, and dwells in his own land among his flocks and herds, with none to make him afraid. Lo! my brethren, behold the simple and confiding innocency of our well-beloved brother, and his charity that never faileth, and his voice that is as the voice of a dove. But ah! my brethren, this is not the primeval Eden of our earliest progenitors! Alas! the trail of the serpent can be traced among the flowers! Sin has entered on our goodly land, and though we should still seek to be harmless as the dove, the wisdom of the serpent is also required, and we are cautioned to arm ourselves with that wisdom, even before we show the lovely gentleness of the bird of beauty, whose wings are sprinkled with silver, and its feathers with yellow gold. It is a wicked world, my friends, and while we may well envy our brother his beautiful charity of soul, we are clearly called upon to take heed to our steps, and not to be deceived by the cunning craftiness of evil men.'

An angry flush suffused the forehead of the Laird. I sadly fear he was not the heavenly-minded person depicted by the gushing preacher. He certainly would have resented and repudiated the portrait himself, and would have liked to detect some palpable sign of ironical intent, that he might quarrel with the man on the spot. But the preacher continued to regard him with his most lambent and seraphic smile, and in perfect good faith, without the smallest tinge of mockery. The audience, too, bore the outpouring in the best possible spirit. It struck them as very pretty language, and no doubt the Laird deserved it, though that was scarcely the view of his excellences which had hitherto presented itself to their minds; however, no doubt, the minister being a learned man knew best.

Joseph was the only person present whose sense of humour was in any way disturbed. When he heard the Laird likened to a bird of beauty, his wandering eyes alighted on his honour's bald and blushing poll. He felt tempted to grin, but checked himself in time, raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed long and softly, like one recovering breath after a protracted draught of sweetness. Mr. Dowlas bore the effusion with entire composure. Such bearing is a necessary gift in the eloquent professions. He had often had to practise it for the behoof of his fellows, and he suspected that they too had had reason to use it for his. He took up the examination.

'How was this infant brought home? he asked of Joseph.

'On Patey Soutar's pownie, sir. The minister cam hame ridin'.'