Inchbracken Part 25

'Patey Soutar!' e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Ebenezer, 'Patey Soutar the cadger? The maist ill doin' drucken vagabond e'y parish. Ye may tak yer aith the minister was after nae gude whan he gaed ridin' Patey Soutar's pownie!'

'Did you see him riding it then?' asked the Laird.

'No sir, but I heard tell o't.'

'Who told you?'

'I'm sure I canna say, sir.'

'Then we must question Soutar himself.'

'He's the warst leear e'y glen!' cried Joseph, who had no desire that it should be found out that it was himself who had procured Patey's pony for the minister. Had that come out, and the object of the minister's journey, all the suspicion and mystery would have fallen to pieces; and while he had no deliberate wish to injure the minister (whom indeed he liked as well as any one, except Joseph Smiley), yet if somebody else did it, and if Tibbie could be induced to join, why then his suit to Jean Macaulay might come to something. His att.i.tude, therefore, may be described as 'expectant,' and his policy, to use his own words, was 'to haud a man on his ain gate.'

'And what do you think about this yourself, Joseph?' asked Mr. Geddie.

'A weel sir! I dinna weel ken just what to think; but my granny had an auld sayin' 'at there was "aye water whaur the stirk was drowned," an'

I'm feared it's a true ane, for the heart of man rins on evil continual, we hae Scripter for that, an' the flesh is waik ye ken, sir, for, after a', ministers are but men, though wi' a hantle grace they may come to great things, as in yer ain case,' said this polite Joseph.

Mr. Geddie was visibly touched,--the tribute was as unexpected as it was gratifying. 'Evidently a very superior man,' he thought, 'and one who has the root of the matter in him. He seems to know his Bible well too.'

'And now,' said Mr. Dowlas, 'what is to be the result of our deliberations? We dare not let this matter drop. Of all here present, who will sustain before the Presbytery the libel that must be drawn?'

'Who _can_ sustain it?' said the Laird, 'that is what I want to know.'

'There is clearly a _fama clamosa_ in this parish, against the acting minister, destroying his usefulness, and injurious to the church. If some of the office-bearers here present will frame a libel, it will be the best and most expeditious mode of proceeding; if not, Mr. Geddie and I must bring this _fama clamosa_ before the Presbytery, that it may deal with it as in its wisdom may appear best, and I call on you all here present to a.s.sist us in the work! Further, it seems to me that we should appoint a committee to visit and deal with the suspected transgressors, in all faithfulness and love. Who knows but they may be brought to a due sense of their offences, and may make confession (which would simplify proceedings)? Or at any rate such admissions as they may make, will be of a.s.sistance in framing our libel.'

'Wha's that he's gaun tae gar confess?' asked Alec Lamont. 'I ne'er heard the name afore. Phemie wha? I'm thinkin' ye hae her name wrang, minister!' he continued in a louder voice. 'Her name's no Phemie ava, it's juist Tibbie Tirpie!'

Alec was speedily reduced to silence by his neighbours, and Mr. Dowlas went on.

'I have important duties at home which will call me away to-morrow, but I propose that the committee to call on and deal with the parties under suspicion, be as follows:--To represent the Presbytery, Brother Geddie, who, I feel sure, will see it his duty to remain over, Mr.

Sangster and Mr. Prittie to represent the Eldership, Mr. Peter Malloch the Deacons and congregation.'

'For myself,' said the Laird, 'I will accompany your deputation to wait on Mr. Brown, if it were only to show him that there are some who believe in him still; but as for visiting the young woman who has had the ill luck to fall under the suspicion of this meeting, I must crave to be excused. How any man can think of going on such an errand to a lonely old woman and her daughter is beyond my comprehension. For myself, I could not do it.'

'Duty, brother! duty!' cried Mr. Geddie. 'That should be the watchword of every true soldier of the cross! Likings and dislikes will go for nothing in the eyes of true wisdom when duty calls, and _her_ ways are ways of pleasantness and all her paths are peace!'

CHAPTER XXVII.

_DEALING WITH A SINNER IN LOVE AND FAITHFULNESS_.

The next day Roderick, having slept well, was greatly refreshed, and felt strong enough to move to his easy chair by the fire. Mary had heaped up the peat and coppice oak on the hearth, and thrown open the window till the air grew sweet and wholesome, and the clammy damps of their hovel were dissipated like the nightmares that had been oppressing his brain all through the past dreary week.

'And what can the rumours be that Sophie spoke of, Mary?' he asked. 'I really am curious to know. I suspect they have influenced more people than that absurd d.u.c.h.ess. That would account for the way the people have stayed away from me, which has been surprising and even distressing me a good deal. However, I am getting better now; a day or two more and I shall be out among them, and I shall find it all out.

But I really feel hurt by their coldness and indifference to me.'

'Nonsense, Roddie! They are a foolish and ungrateful lot; never mind them. You must follow the doctor's advice, and go south for the winter, as soon as you are able to travel. Just look at the walls!

green with damp, and the moisture trickling down the plaster; and yet this is only October! What will it be in January? It is fine weather now, and we are burning as much fuel as can be done without setting the house on fire, and it takes it all to drive the horrid mouldiness even temporarily out of the air. When winter comes and the rain is incessant out of doors, except when it snows, perhaps, for a change, the window must be kept closed, and the mouldiness and the damp will turn the place into a very cave, and, as the doctor said, after this attack a very little matter will drive you into a consumption. You must not think of it--it terrifies me, and, indeed, I am afraid even for myself. As for the people--I think they will very likely think better of you after we are gone. When your charities among them are suspended, very likely they may think more of you and them. It will serve them right, and be a warning against wagging their tattling tongues so freely for the future. Have done with them! They are a worthless set.'

'Fie, Mary! What are any of us but poor worthless creatures? We who have education and an income, should not be hard on the poor souls.

The world must appear very different to them, from what it does to us.

Think what it must be to look into the half empty meal-girnel, and at the little heap of potatoes, and know that that is all between them and starvation, till more is earned,--that the smallest miscarriage, a delay in receiving the weekly wage, a stumble ending in a sprain, sickness of a child, even an accident to a horse or a car, may entail a supperless night, or a day of hunger! And when all the energy and care are needed to stave off from day to day their physical dest.i.tution, is it not too much to look for those more graceful and spiritual charities which make our life pleasant? It takes so much of light and heat and moisture to support the mere plant life; and when these are so stintedly supplied, it is surely over-exacting to look for the same profusion of flower and fruit on the bare hill-side as one expects in a sheltered garden. In visiting among the poor, I have often felt humbled at the view of their st.u.r.dy fort.i.tude under privation, and the extent of their unostentatious charities to one another. They will stint themselves of the necessaries of life to help those worse provided than themselves, but they cannot talk about it.

Indeed, the beautiful act and the gracious word are never to be met with both on the same bush among these wind-swept hills, and I am thankful to say it is the deed I have oftenest observed. I feel bound to make allowance for much rugged speech which might sound hard and uncharitable to a stranger. You may sow mignonette and gilly-flower in your garden, but it is the heather, tough and st.u.r.dy, which grows upon the braes, and defies the blasts; and that, too, has its beauty and its sweetness, and we value it less only because it is more abundant and common.'

'Poor Roderick! The hebdomadal orator had broken out in him after his long rest in bed,--the habit of prelecting before a silent auditory, which many find so difficult to acquire, and which, when learnt, makes so many long-winded and pragmatical nuisances in private life. It did not trouble Mary. Born in a manse, she had been used to prelections all her life, and as the periods would grow longer and more resonant, she would know that no answer was expected, and would go on with her work. Perhaps she regarded it as practise for Sunday, most likely she did not think of it at all, as she settled more steadily to her tatting and crochet work--the Penelope's web, always beginning and never apparently coming to an end,--which kept her fingers pleasantly busy, and left her mind in perfect peace.

There is no saying to what heights and depths of wisdom, or, mayhap, nonsense, Roderick might have attained. The muse theologic, after a week's inaction, inclined to long and discursive flight, but was interrupted in full career by the entrance of Mr. Sangster.

Mr. Sangster was always a welcome visitor, being indeed the only man in the congregation of education or judgment sufficient to warrant confidential consultation. His rugged face and burly form showed some discomposure, as, after a greeting of unusual warmth, for him, he took his seat.

'This is not a mere friendly visit, Mr. Roderick,' he said;' I wish it was. I am the advanced guard, if I may say so, of a deputation which is going to wait on you; and I wish you distinctly to understand, that I have no sympathy with it whatever. I would say that their errand is both impertinent and absurd, but that these expressions are not half strong enough to convey what I think; and, as I have told them, I only accompany them to a.s.sure you that, though they are taking upon them to speak in the name of your flock, we are not all to be taken as represented by them. Quite the contrary!'

Mary flushed and looked disturbed, and presently she left the room.

Roderick's face showed only astonishment. 'But what is it about, Mr.

Sangster? Mary has used the word '_rumours_' more than once, but she has not explained it, and you know I have been shut up here for a week past. There must be something the matter, for none of the people have come to see me, and scarcely any so far as I know have even asked how I am. I have been so ill as scarcely to have noted the neglect, but to-day, when I am again able to think, it seems strange. There are so many warm hearts among them.'

'A set of born idiots!' muttered the Laird testily. But at that moment the door opened, and the deputation appeared. Ebenezer Prittie and Peter Malloch were grave and austere of demeanour, and dignified withal, but a little uncertain. They had thought to gather facts, hints, and experience for this more weighty visitation, in their preliminary raid on Tibbie Tirpie; but when they had arrived before her shieling, the door was locked, and no sign of life showed around the premises but a starveling black cat, which arched its back threateningly at their approach, and guarded the threshold with a display of needle-sharp claws and teeth.

Mr. Geddie's deportment also was grave, but solemn rather than severe.

He was minded that his disapproval should be chastened with much love, and expected thereby to win the culprit to repentance, and what would be especially convenient in the present unripe and ill-gotten-up state of their case, to confession.

Roderick greeted them with his wonted cordiality, provided them with seats, and sat down facing them to hear what they would say, while the Laird twirled his thumbs in expectancy; but they said nothing.

The laymen exchanged shakes of the head and glances of sorrowful reprobation at the tranquil composure of this impenitent sinner, then they sighed despondingly and looked at the carpet, till their clerical leader should begin. Mr. Geddie had his voice and demeanour attuned to sad solemnity and love, but the words which these sentiments were to clothe were slow to arrive. He looked secretly at his intended penitent, as if inviting him to open the conference, but the invitation was unheeded. Curiosity and a well-mannered patience only were apparent in his bearing, and these were gradually changed into astonished amus.e.m.e.nt as the silence continued, and perhaps some slight gleam of mischief, as Mr. Geddie's regard grew more appealing. It was evident that their errand, whatever it might be, was hardly a friendly one, or they would not feel so much difficulty in putting it into words; and there was no reason why he should a.s.sist them to get into position the artillery with which they were about to open a cannonade on himself.

Mr. Geddie was an accomplished preacher. He could preach from any text, at any length, and what was more, on any subject,--at least he could work round to the subject he meant to discuss, from any text or subject whatever, in a way the most natural. But a text or starting point of some kind he must have, and hence his desire that Roderick should speak. Had he even spoken of the weather, there would have been an opening to compare present climatic conditions with those which the impenitent wicked shall hereafter experience, and the whole affair would then have been open before him, to discourse on such points and phases as appeared expedient. But this obdurate person remained persistently silent, instead of helping with becoming meekness to prepare the discipline for his own shoulders. Mr. Geddie at length bethought him of his Bible, and, like any other proper-minded person, had recourse to that in his difficulty. Lifting his voice in a melancholy cadence, while he opened the book--

'Let us read,' he cried, 'for edification and correction, a few of the Psalms.'

His voice rose and fell according to his peculiar theory of elocution, getting fuller and louder as he warmed to the work, till he had read through the seven penitential Psalms. Then he paused and closed the book.

'Brother!' he said, 'the words which we have read are the inspired expression of contrition and penitence. They give fitting voice to every agonized soul that has--stumbled in the miry ways of life.

Still, they are but in the general. Each case must bring its own particular specification of transgression--must bring forth its own dead out of its secret chambers, must lay bare its own moral wounds, and expose them to the healing sight of truth. The pa.s.ser-by may shoot out the tongue and say, 'Aha!' but thou, my brother, hast purged thy skirts by open confession and separation, and mayhap thou mayest save thy soul! And oh! my brother, it is above price!'

Roderick sat speechless and amazed. Had Mr. Geddie been alone, he would have supposed that he had lost his wits, or, in view of the weight he attached to the penitential Psalms and to penitence, which might perhaps mean penance, especially when coupled with confession, he might have supposed that he had joined the Jesuits, who were believed to be especially active at that time, and to be using all manner of crafty devices to secure converts; but after what the Laird had said, and in view of the lay delegates present, some other explanation was needed.

'And art thou still speechless, Oh, my brother?' the exhorter went on, 'Thou for whom our hearts have yearned with many tears? Think not longer to shelter in delusive secresy. Thy refuges of lies are overthrown, thy sin discovered. Come forth and make submission to the Church, while there is time! lest no place be found for repentance, though thou seek it with tears!'

Mr. Geddie's own handkerchief here came into requisition. If we would raise the sluices of our neighbours' tears, it is not amiss to begin by letting loose our own. Hysteria is infinitely infectious, as more than one pulpit orator, blessed with the gift of tears, has found in his brilliantly successful experience.

Roderick caught at the momentary silence to enquire what it all meant, and to what circ.u.mstance he could possibly be indebted for the singular scene. He looked to Ebenezer and Peter Malloch, but both turned their eyes austerely away, and fixed them on the carpet. He next addressed the Laird; but the Laird replied that they must state their own errand, he would not soil his lips with it, and if they had sense enough left to let decent shame keep them even yet from speaking, the best thing they could do would be to leave it unsaid, and trust to the whole exhibition being condoned as a mistake.

Mr. Geddie, handkerchief in hand, eyes fixed on the ground, was gathering his forces for a fresh onslaught on this hard and obdurate conscience. Mr. Sangster's remark appeared singularly inopportune, treacherous even, and most censurable. What hope of reducing the garrison if his own followers, his auxiliaries at least, were thus to turn and raise a diversion in favour of the besieged? He turned to the Laird in sorrow rather than in anger--