Inchbracken Part 5

'No weel!--An' ye'll be for no letting on ye ken ocht about it!'

'What wad a ken, Mistress Tirpie? She was aye a fine bit la.s.sie, blythe and bonny as ye'd see in a' the country side, but sin' she gaed awa, naebody kenned whaur, I hae na heard tell o' her ava.'

'Lay by! Joseph Smiley; I ken a' 'at's come an' gane atween ye; she's telled me a'.'

'The saft silly tawpie!' this aside, and under his breath.

'I ken a' about yer guilefu' tongue, an' a' yer pawkie gates. An'

think ye I'll haud my whisht, an' see her bear the wite her lane? Ye ken ye swore to marry her.'

'Speak laich, mither; ye dinna ken wha's hearkenin'. They hae lang lugs 'at travel after dark.'

'Ye ken it's true! Joseph Smiley. Ye took yer Bible aith, an' ye beut to keep it. Wha's fraickin' tongue but yours has played a' the mischief? She gaed awa' at yer biddin', an' the bairn's left there, an' naebody kens wha's acht it. But the matter canna bide sae, an'

ye'se beut to mak' a decent woman o' her noo. An' a gude wife she'll mak ye, an' a faithfu' whan a's done.'

'Speak laich, woman! An' bide a wee. (The deil's in the wife! the way her tongue rins). Oh Mistress Tirpie! I'm bund till own it was ill my pairt to do as I did; but the best o' us wull gang astray whiles. King Dawvit himself, tho' I wadna be sae presumptious as even mysel' wi'

the like o' him, gaed ance wrang amang the la.s.ses, but he made it a'

richt belive; an' sae aiblins wull I. But it taks time--we maun bide a wee.'

'An' what's to come o' Tibbie or than?'

'The deil may flee awa' wi' her for me! An' I wuss he wad,' muttered Joseph below his breath; but aloud his words were more prudent. 'She maun just juke an' let the jaw gae by, like the lave. An' after a', there's naethin' kenned till her discredit, we tuk braw gude care o'

that; and there's a gude tent taen o' the bairn as ye cud tak'

yersel', an' ye're its grannie. Bide a wee; it'll a' come richt. Ye see, Mistress Tirpie, I'm an office-bearer e'y kirk, an' there maun be nae clashes or clavers about me, or I'd lose my place. Gin thae lang-tongued gouks cud find but a haunel, it's nae Joseph Smiley was be lang the bederal o' Kilrundle, an' then whaur wad the siller come frae for me to keep a wife?'

'Hech! Joseph Smiley, but ye're a pawkie loon an' a slick-tongued!

Ye'd fraik the tail aff auld Hornie himsel'. But I'm mis...o...b..in' ye.

Ye'll be slippin' through our fingers yet, like an eel. But I'd be laith to lose ye yer place; an' gin ye'll swear again afore me an'

cripple Cormack, an' own her for yer wife, I'se raise nae din. Least said suinest mendet. But Tibbie's real lonesome, an' aye at the greetin'. Ye maun come an' see her twa fore nichts ilka week, an' keep up her heart.'

'I'se tak my aith to yersel, Tibbie, wi' muckle pleasure, an' I'se some an' see Tib, but I'll say naething afore auld Cormack. I winder that a sensible woman like you wad fash wi' sic a doited auld gomeral, 'at can nae mair haud his tongue than he can flee. But I maun be steerin', or it's cauld parritch I'll sup this nicht. Sae here's wussin' ye weel, an' mind me kindly to Tibbie--bonny la.s.s!--gude nicht.'

'Fushionless senseless gowk!' he muttered to himself as he turned homewards. 'An' she's gaun to wive her on me is she? We'll see, Luckie! Time wull tell! But it winna be by garrin' me own up afore auld Cormack!'

Tibbie likewise wended home. As she recalled her interview, she could not but admit to herself that excepting fair words she had taken little. At the same time she had broken ground, and her adversary had betrayed no small dread of a scandal. She, had, therefore she thought some slight hold on that slippery person, and took comfort in recollecting that a salmon ere now has been angled for and landed with a single horse hair. 'But we maun ca' canny,' she muttered to herself.

'He's a kittle chield to drive.' She began now to regret she had not used her little pull towards securing some present advantage. It is sweet to spoil the Egyptians. Besides, any tribute secured would be an admission of her power, and every such tribute and admission would add strength to the chain by which she hoped eventually to secure her victim. Wherefore, it was resolved and decided in Tibbie's council of one, that no time should be lost, but the very earliest opportunity taken to commence operations.

CHAPTER VIII.

_A FIELD PREACHING_.

Sunday in summertime among the hills is not like other days of the week, and it is not like the Sundays given to less favoured scenes. It is free from the smothering sense of restraints experienced in cities, shut up as it were for the day, with their inhabitants paraded through the streets in solemn raiment returning home to depressing lunches and drowsy afternoons. It seems rather to foreshadow that bright eternal Sabbath we looked forward to in childhood, ere faith grew dim-sighted or criticism had been heard of,--that day when every act shall be spontaneously holy, and each sacred observance a delight. The glorious sunshine, the bright breezy sky streaked and dappled with shining white clouds, the crimson moors and the all-pervading scent of the heather, the hum of bees and the chirp of gra.s.shoppers in the herbage, a silence that is musical with faint and distant sounds, burns babbling in the hollows, lambs bleating on the braes, all speak to the spirit of perfect peace and freedom and holy gladness.

The Sangster family preferred walking to church that morning. It was a long walk, but they set forth in good time and the phaeton would bring them home. It was with some misgiving lest she was yielding to the allurements of sense, that Mrs. Sangster consented to gratify this desire of the young people, but prudential considerations seemed to recommend the arrangement. Sophia could have no better opportunity for free and friendly talk with Mr. Wallowby, and Peter could walk with Mary Brown. Mary had two or three thousand pounds, and was a 'nice girl,' and should his lordship Peter, so incline, would not be an unsuitable connection. Peter's private idea was not unlike his mother's, indeed their views in secular matters were wonderfully alike, and each could count on the support of the other without the unpleasant feeling of conspiracy, which comes of putting schemes into words, when they are apt to confront one so strangely and stare one out of countenance. He was therefore the earliest in the hall and stood hatted and gloved, ready to step forward so soon as his intended companion should issue from her room.

'What brings that fool Wallowby, in such a hurry?' he thought to himself, as the latter appeared shortly after him, also equipped for the walk But the 'fool Wallowby' had his own plans. He too was minded to cross the moorland with 'that jolly Brown girl,' as he called her to himself, rather than with the other 'stick' who had so little to say for herself.

'I think we have got ready too soon,' said Peter; 'the ladies will not come down stairs for twenty minutes at least, they take so long to dress,' and he moved as if for the door.

'One expects to have to wait,' replied Wallowby, and he stood his ground.

Presently Mary appeared, descending the stairs. Wallowby secured her book as she reached the landing, and placed himself at her side; and Peter, not to be cut out, had to make a dash for her parasol on the stand, and so const.i.tute himself a third in the party. They set forth, and when Mrs. Sangster got down stairs she beheld to her disgust Mary Brown disappearing in the shrubbery attended by both the squires.

'Bother that la.s.sie!' she muttered, but whether it was her own daughter or the other will never be known. At that moment Sophia, in perfect tranquility, was still giving her orders in the kitchen for the family dinner.

Mr. Sangster kept his room. He often did so of a Sunday, for the time had not yet arrived when a G.o.dly divine should stigmatize taking medicine on Sunday as a form of Sabbath breaking.

Eventually Sophia was ready to start, and at the same moment the two ministers appeared. Mrs. Sangster was of course taken possession of by the elder, and there was nothing for it but to let the ineligible escort Sophia. There was consolation then in remembering how slow and safe she was. No fear of _her_ being hurried into an entangling admission during one moorland walk, but 'Oh! if Providence had only seen fit to grant her a bright lively girl like Mary Brown!'

No misgiving oppressed the soul of Roderick. The Sabbath in any case was to him a day of holy calm, whose devout a.s.sociations he had cultivated by long habit into a sacred joy. To-day these were exhausted by the surroundings. The sunshine on the hills seemed to bring him into the very presence of a loving creator, and the companion by his side was one whose image in his thoughts had long stood for the embodiment of the good and beautiful. It was no vulgar love-making that he poured forth as they walked along, but the enthusiastic utterances of a devout young heart br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with piety and content.

And she? She looked up in his face and softly smiled. No need for words, the light in her eye spoke more eloquently than poets had ever sung. Poor youth! That light had shone as brightly and the smile had been as sweet--less vague and more intelligent--when a little while before she stood at the kitchen table and bade the cook put ten eggs instead of twelve in the custard for dinner.

Yet she really liked Roderick Brown. He was so good and so kind. She had known him all her life, and she knew that he admired her. He did not exactly say so, in fact she did not expect that, it would have been too frivolous; but his voice grew softer when he spoke to her, his eyes glowed, and his pale face would sometimes flush. She did not understand much of what he said, but she knew she was not clever, and was content it should be so. It was 'nice' to hear him talk about heaven in his earnest eloquent way; it sounded all so real, and she felt always more sure of going there when she was with him--he was so good.

Over the moor, down a brae, across a burn and up another slope.

Moorland again, past a peat hag with the new cut turf drying in the sun. Straggling groups dotted the outlook, the dwellers in many a distant shieling, all converging towards the common goal--the preaching tent. Old men and women, mothers with their children, shepherds with their dogs, lads and la.s.ses, the latter carrying their heavy shoes and stockings in their hands, till they should come to the last burn before reaching the kirk, there, after a preliminary footbath, to put them on and appear before the congregation decently clad.

Joseph Smiley, ever on the alert, produced his chairs as the Lady of Auchlippie and her suite entered the a.s.sembly and took her place in the front with a condescending smile, and Mr. Dowlas disappeared from view behind the curtains of the tent.

Roderick not being as yet an ordained minister, was not authorized to celebrate the sacraments of the church, which necessitated the occasional intervention of some one who was, as on the present occasion, when Mr. Dowlas was to perform the rite of baptism, as might be guessed from frequent thin small wails which issued intermittingly from the neighbouring covert. Immediately in front of the tent were the elders and deacons seated on the uncomfortable benches which Joseph had constructed, and near them the older and more devout of the people sat on their folded plaids, on stools or bunches of bracken.

These were the more earnest church members, denominated the 'far ben christians' by their neighbours. Behind, reclining at their ease on the elastic heather, where it sloped upward from the gra.s.sy level, were the general company, who felt diffident about including themselves with the 'professors,'--men, women, children and collie dogs, basking in the sun and fanned by breezes sweet with the heather and the wild thyme.

Mr. Wallowby had all the prejudices of a middle-cla.s.s Englishman.

Whatever differed from the use and wont of his native county and country was wrong, and a good many things in the North had therefore met with his disapproval; but of all the matters on which sane men could differ, the most preposterous appeared to him to be church affairs, in a country where the established religion was not ent.i.tled to be called a church at all, but only, by a supercilious adoption of the native speech, a 'Kirk,' as something altogether different; though, to be sure, all bodies of Christians not affiliated to his church were in the same position, excepting the Latin and Greek communions, which being older than his, are wont to treat it with precisely the same contemptuous disrespect. The present conventicle promised at least more interest than a schismatic service in a kirk, and Mr. Wallowby had come in a mood of bland condescension to enjoy the humours of the scene, and amuse his superior mind with Sawney at his devotions. But when he seated himself in the silent a.s.semblage, the spirit of the scene seemed to fall on him, and he found himself strongly impressed.

The minister shortly appeared in gown and bands, and although silence overspread the crowd before, it seemed to deepen as the worshippers straightened themselves in their seats, and fixed their gaze intently on his face. Around, the swelling hills showed not a sign of life or habitation; yet in this sequestered hollow a thousand souls perhaps, were gathered together for prayer. The minister gave out a psalm, and the whole congregation presently burst forth in song. At first the voice of the precentor quavered uncertain and thin in the wide expanse of the open air, then one by one a few others tremulously joined in, till at length the ear of the people caught the familiar cadence of 'Bangor,' and the mult.i.tudinous voice rose in a mighty swell, filling up that recess in the hillside, br.i.m.m.i.n.g over and reverberating among the rocks around. Here and there around him he would perceive the momentary jar of a bad voice or a false ear, but these were overborne in the vast flood of sound, in which every one joined with a seeming intensity of feeling that counterbalanced mere technical imperfections, and fulfilling the purpose of all art, that of conveying emotion from soul to soul, the song of those uncultured voices impressed him as he had never been by choir and organ under the fretted roof of church or minster.

Mr. Dowlas preached from the Canticles, applying the apostrophe to the Shulamite to such as had wandered from the truth. The audience listened with silent and deep attention, but without any of the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n and amens with which Mr. Wallowby's dissenting fellow-countrymen relieve and stimulate their fervour. Some aged grandmother would occasionally shake her head in concurrence with the minister's words, but that was all.

At the beginning of the sermon a slight rustling attracted Joseph Smiley's attention. He looked up and beheld Tibbie Tirpie taking her seat on the outskirts of the crowd. She was accompanied by a young woman who leant on her arm and appeared delicate and pale till she caught sight of Joseph, when her cheeks became suffused with crimson, and she bent down her head. A look of annoyance came into his sharp, squirrel-like eyes, but he pa.s.sed his hand across his mouth, which appeared to act like the wet sponge over a much be-written slate, and left it blank and sober as before.

There were four babies to be baptized at the conclusion of the sermon, and during the singing of a hymn, Joseph, as master of the ceremonies, proceeded to the clump of hazel bushes and thence ushered three well pleased mothers, each with her latest born held proudly in her arms.

As struts the brood hen before her chippering train, calling the universe to witness the last new life added to the mighty sum by her praiseworthy exertions, so sailed these worthy women behind the beadle, and took their places with rustle and importance in front of the congregation. The husband of each came diffidently behind, and stood in front of his proprietress, tall, awkward, and a little shame-faced before all the people, the length of leg and arm appearing sadly in its owner's way, and the hands especially difficult to dispose of. Behind the matrons came Mary Brown, carrying the little waif rescued by her brother from the sea, Roderick himself bringing up the rear. Their appearance created a sensation, and a hum of enquiry ran through the congregation, for many were as yet ignorant of the addition to the minister's family. Mary gave her own name to the little one, and Roderick presented it for baptism as the several sires presented theirs, vowing to bring it up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.

Mr. Dowlas concluded the service, and while the younger and the English-speaking part of the congregation rose to depart, the older members drew more closely together before the tent, and Roderick at once commenced the afternoon service in Gaelic for their behoof. Many of them having come long distances, it was best that the two services should follow each other without interval, that they might start the earlier on their return home. In reverent haste the retiring worshippers withdrew from the ground, that they might not disturb the Gaelic congregation, and in ten minutes every one of them was out of sight. Joseph's duties were now over till the breaking up of the meeting, and as he did not understand Gaelic he withdrew to a mossy bank hard by, where birch trees warded off the afternoon sun, and stretched himself at length to enjoy a little repose. He had drawn from the crown of his tall black hat a bannock and a hunch of skim-milk cheese wrapped in a turkey red cotton handkerchief which he spread out on his knees, and proceeded to refresh himself. While he was still so engaged there approached him from the thicket in his rear Tibbie Tirpie.

'I wuss ye gude day! Joseph Smiley.'

Joseph snorted with impatience, and the squirrel-like gleam came into his eyes, but he merely answered--

'Gude day to ye! Tibbie,' sweeping together the scattered fragments of his repast, and causing them all to disappear in one comprehensive gulp. Then he wiped his mouth with the red cloth, replaced it in the hat, and resumed his wonted look of solemn composure.

'A weel, Tibbie! an' it's a graund discourse we hae heard this day; an' I houp it'll do ye gude. He's a G.o.dly man, Mester Dowlas, an' he's gaen hame wi' Mistress Sangster til a verra gude denner I mak nae doubt. But you an' me has haen a feast of fat things o' his providence. Marrow an' fatness truly, tho' it's juist a when bannocks we may hae to stay the flesh withal an' aiblins just a drappie o'

something to wash a' down. Will ye taste, hinnie?' Thereupon he arose and retreated some steps to where the tree stems would conceal him from any wandering eye among the congregation, and drew forth from his bosom a flat bottle, which he applied to his lips, throwing back his head the while. After a prolonged gulp he paused for breath, and pa.s.sed the bottle to his friend with one hand, while with the back of the other he wiped his lips.