Inchbracken Part 31

Joseph's principles might all have been resolved into one, and that was to take care of Joseph Smiley. Nothing was too good for that cherished person, so he got the lead; and as n.o.body else ever got anything at all, it was not more costly than an unprincipled life of impulse, and much more comfortable to the beloved object. Had his brother man been allowed to dip with him in the dish, both must have contented themselves with plain fare, but by letting the brother forage elsewhere, a smaller and choicer mess would be enough for the rest of the party.

When Joseph went out in the morning he locked his door and handed the key to Peggy Mathieson, his neighbour, whom he employed to make his bed, cook his meals, and 'do' for him generally. Peggy was a lone widow, who supplied the youth of the village with bullseyes and marbles. She was discreet and silent, asked no questions and told no tales, and knew how to make him comfortable.

On the evening of the day which had witnessed Joseph's discomfiture at Auchlippie, Peggy was engaged as usual in preparing his evening meal.

The fire was lit, and the kettle set to boil, the floor swept, the tea things arranged on the table, and a neat rasher stood ready for the frying pan when he should come in. She was giving a last look around to see that all was in order before retiring to her own premises, when the door opened and Tibbie Tirpie walked in, followed by her daughter carrying a baby. Each had a basket on her arm, and both took seats, which they drew up to the hearth, and seated themselves, before either appeared to observe that any one else was present. As for Peggy, she was a woman of few words, and her employer she knew to be what in higher circles is called a peculiar person, that is one with whose affairs it is safest not to meddle, except by his particular request; therefore she stood silent waiting to be addressed.

'I wuss ye gude e'en, Peggy!' said Tibbie. 'We're juist waitin' for Joseph to come in, and we'll bide till then, e'en gin he be late; sae ye needna mind stoppin' here for hiz. We'se mak out brawly our lane!'

'Aweel, Tibbie, I'se leave ye, for my yett's steikit, an' aiblins there's bairns wantin' some o' my sma' trokes, an' wearyin' to get in.'

'An' noo, Tibbie,' said the mother when they were left alone, 'gie me the bairn, an' gang ye til yer bed. Aiblins ye'll can sleep. Ony gate steik yer eyen ticht, an' dinna cheep, what e'er may come o't; an'

let's see gin I canna gar this balksome naig o' yours tak baith bridle an' saidle, ay, an' a lick or twa o' the whup as weel afore I'm through wi' him. Heest ye, la.s.s! an' dinna staand there fummlin' wi'

prins. Aff wi' yer bannet an' in wi' ye! Juist hap up weel. It's a kittle job at the best, but gin I'm to hae ye at the greetin' on my haands, forby him, I may lay by afore I begin. In wi'ye!'

Thus exhorted, the daughter lay down in the bed, and covered herself with the blankets.

'Turn round t'ey wa', Tibbie! Ye'd be for keekin' at ween yer eyen, an' greetin', (wha kens?) an' gin he catches sicht o' a sign o'

saftness in ye, it's a' ower wi' you an' the bairn!'

The daughter complied, and Tibbie, seated before the fire, brought out certain little habiliments from her basket, and proceeded to array her grandchild for the night, hanging his daylight apparel on chairs, on all the chairs she could find, and marshalling them before the fire, till that staid apartment a.s.sumed the appearance not only of a nursery, but of one for a dozen infants. Having got so far, she had leisure to survey the refreshments provided for her son-in-law.

'Od, Tibbie! ye'll be rael crouse here, woman! The best o' a' thing, an' plenty! An' here's as bonny a fry o' bacon as e'er was seen! I'se on wi' 't til the fire. It gars a body's mouth water juist to see til 't! He little thocht, honest man, it wad be his gudemother wad fry his supper for him the nicht! Ay faigs! 'An' eat her share o' 't as weel.

But there's little enough for twa here,' she added, going to the cupboard where the remainder of the flitch was discovered, as well as the other little comforts and supplies with which Joseph had provided himself.

'My certie, laad! But ye live weel! An' ye'll do credit to yer gudemither or a's dune! He was aye ane o' the unco gude, an' here's the gude livin'! Whether it be holy livin' or no'.'

Another plentiful rasher was cut, the frying-pan laid on the coals, and Tibbie returned to her seat. But now, disturbed by so many gettings-up and sittings-down, the babe began to whimper.

'Whist, my bonny man! Ye'se hae yer share o' yer daddie's supper as weel as the lave!' And thereupon she emptied the contents of Joseph's milk jug into a basin. Then she cut the nice new loaf and broke some of the bread into the milk; after that a contribution was levied on the sugar basin, and lastly the singing kettle completed the gracious mess, of which the wandering heir thus unexpectedly returned to his father's halls partook with appet.i.te. Then stretching himself out in his grandmother's arms, he fell asleep.

Joseph Smiley being a beadle, and liable to be called away at all times and seasons, worked by the piece. He was a good workman, and so could dictate in some measure his terms. He was working on the new church, and having lost so much time fruitlessly in the morning, he remained at work after the other men had left. It was nearly dark, therefore, when at last he laid aside his tools and moved homewards very much beyond his usual hour.

He had been depressed and disgusted with himself all day. How could he, a man of sense as he had always supposed, and one accustomed to play upon the weaknesses of his fellows--how had it ever come to pa.s.s that he, so clear-sighted as he thought, should have come to grief in this utterly discreditable fashion? To himself it was incomprehensible, though to the perspicuous reader plain enough. Joseph had been trying to do two things at once--to capture both Jean and her Mistress, meaning to use whichever might happen to answer best in the end; and he had missed both, as any man of his intelligence should have known would come of it. But then small successes make a man conceited, and conceit makes a man blind (Pray to be defended from small successes, my reader!) It is the single eye which hits the mark.

As Joseph walked along the main street, a subtle fragrance seemed to hover in the air, thin, bright, appetizing, but indefined.

'Hech!' he said to himself, 'somebody has a gude supper the nicht! I wuss I was there.'

As he neared the approach to his own dwelling the odour began to grow specific.

'That's bacon, an' gye an' like my ain!'

The '_close_' reached, the whole air seemed greasily aromatic. 'Can Peggy be eatin' my bacon hersel'? I ne'er catched her yet at ony sic tricks; but still water's rael deep. I'se drap on her an' her no thinkin', an' hae my share o' 't, an' gin I dinna eat an' drink tea an' sugar and bread to the vailey o' a' she's stealt, I'm no Joseph Smiley!'

Joseph hurried homeward so quickly, and so full of thief-catching thoughts, that he failed to observe the gleam of the candle from his cas.e.m.e.nt. Joseph always lighted his candle himself. It was therefore as if some one had struck him when he threw the door open, and the cheerful light of the fire and two candles fell on his sight. Tibbie seeing a spare candlestick and a number of candles, thought that if the candle on the table was necessary along with the fire-light for a solitary man, it would need at least one more candle to lighten his family fittingly. Wherefore she stuck a candle in the spare candlestick, and when the daylight outside had altogether faded away, she lit the two candles and heaped fresh fuel on the hearth.

Joseph stood in the doorway contemplating the scene. Had he been drinking? The candle was double. But no! He had washed down his dinner with a draft of b.u.t.termilk, and that was never known to go to anybody's head.

The air was heavy with the richness of frizzling bacon. The chairs were gathered like a palisade around the hearth, and hung all over with baby linen. Joseph's next idea was that he had mistaken the house, turned up the wrong close or entry. No! There was Peggy at her back door, ostensibly sweeping something out, but, as Joseph knew full well, in reality watching to see what he would do or say. Was she partner in some plot against him? Then he would leave her no excuse or opportunity to intervene and join forces with the enemy. He entered with as resolute a stride as he could a.s.sume, and banged the door behind him.

'Hm!' he coughed with a mighty effort, endeavouring to rally his sinking heart, where black foreboding sat heavily and blocked the lagging current of his blood, while cobwebs of misgiving seemed gathering in his throat, till the nearly stifled voice could hardly come.

'Whisht man! whisht!' hissed Tibbie in her loudest whisper, from the hearth where she sat, and throwing up a warning hand. 'Ye'll waaken yer wife! Hsh! She's beddet! an' she's sleepin'.

'Tibbie Tirpie!' The exclamation hovered feebly about Joseph's lips, like the thin grey smoke that hangs over a hill of burnt whins, when food for fire has been exhausted, and nothing remains but black and hopeless desolation. The bag of tools slipped from his nerveless fingers with a clatter.

'Ca' canny! Joseph! or ye'll waaken yer bairn! Yer supper's juist ready, sae set ye down.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: "An' wha bade ye come here, an' mak my supper, gudewife?" Page 271.]

'An' wha bade _ye_ come here? an' mak my supper, gudewife?'

'Hoot, toot, Joseph! Say naething! It's nae fash ava! Think ye yer gude-mither wadna do faar mair nor that for ye? Juist bide or ye see!'

Here the baby, aroused by the talking, opened its eyes, and the grand-mother began to shake and addle him after the usual manner of nurses.

'Bonny man! An' did his daddie waaken him?'

'He's gotten yer ain glint o' the e'e, Joseph! Ye pawkie rascal! I'se tell ye he's the gleg ane like his faither afore him.'

'Lay by, gudewife! an' get ye hame! you an' a' belangin' to ye! Ye hae carried on eneugh for ae nicht, an' I'se hae nae din here!'

Tibbie made no reply. She merely regarded the speaker with a shrug of amus.e.m.e.nt, mingled with a dash of humorous pity, while she lifted the frying-pan from the coals and deposited the bacon done to a nicety on the dish. She then began to place the second rasher which she had cut in the pan; but this was more than Joseph could endure.

'Let alane o' my baacon, ye auld jad!' he cried, 'an' get ye gane! you an' a' yer tribe.'

Then followed a silence of some duration, for Tibbie did not seem to think the last observation worthy of notice. At length, however, she spoke again.

'Are ye for nae baacon the nicht, than, Joseph? I'm thinkin' I cud eat maist a' 'at's fried mysel'. An' I wadna say but Tibbie micht be for tryin' juist a bittie, whan she waakens out o' her first sleep.'

'Tibbie! say ye?' gasped Joseph, looking around. His eyes fell on the disordered bed, and there they fastened, widening and rolling as though they beheld a ghost.

'Gudesakes! Pity me! gin there's no' a wummin' i' my very bed! To the de'il wi' the weemin', say I! gin ye gang na to _them_, they'se come efter _ye!_ Sae there's nae haudin' awa frae them!'

'Deed no! Joseph! an' that's sae. Whan it's a likely bit chappie, like yersel'. They're no that plenty, ye see. But keep up yer heart, laad!

Atween yer wife an' yer gude-mither, ye'll be clear o' the lave. Ye needna mis...o...b.. o' that.'

'But set ye doon an' eat yer supper, or it grows cauld,' she continued, at the same time selecting a piece of the bacon from the dish and putting it in her mouth with manifest relish.

'Lay by! ye auld wutch. An' awa wi' ye!' cried Joseph, roused into vigour by the raid on his provisions. 'I'se pet ye out gin ye winna gang!'

'No ye winna! Joseph. Ye hae mair sense nor raise a din whan it's yersel' wad get the dirdom o't.'

'Gang quiet then, an' gang smart!''

'An' wad ye? Honest noo! wad ye raelly pet 's a' out e'y the dark this nicht? There's yer ain wee bairn no sax month auld. An' him juist in his wee sark, an' a' his coats hingin' afore the fire! Wad ye noo?