The Dew of Their Youth Part 38

I returned from this interview considerably relieved, but for some days Sir Louis was visibly cast down.

However, I said nothing to Irma, only advising her to devote herself a little more to her brother, at times when the exigencies of Duncan the Second would leave her time and opportunity.

"Why!" she said, with a quick gasp of astonishment, "I never forget Louis--but of course baby needs me sometimes. I can't help that!"

If I had dared, I should have reminded her that baby appeared to need every woman about the house of Heathknowes--to whom may be added my mother from the school-house, Mrs. Thomas Gallaberry (late Anderson), and a great and miscellaneous cloud of witnesses, to all of whom the commonest details of toilet--baby's bath, his swathing and unbandaging, the crinkling of his face and the clenching of his fists, the curious curdled marbling upon his fat arms, even the inbending of his toes, were objects of a cult to which that of the Lama of Thibet was a common and open secret.

Even fathers were excluded as profane on such occasions, and the gasps of feminine delight at each new evidence of genius were the only sounds that might be heard even if you listened at the door, as, I admit, I was often mean enough to do. Yet the manifestations of the object of worship, as overheard by me, appeared sufficiently human and ordinary to be pa.s.sed over in silence.

I admit, however, that such was not the opinion of any of the regular worshippers at the shrine, and that the person of the opposite s.e.x who was permitted to warm the hero's bath-towel at the fire, became an object of interest and envy to the whole female community. As for my grandmother, I need only say that while Duncan the Second abode within the four walls of Heathknowes, not an ounce of decent edible b.u.t.ter pa.s.sed out of her dairy. Yet not a man of us complained. We knew better.

There still remained, however, a ceremony to be faced which I could not look forward to with equanimity. It had been agreed upon between us, that, though by the interference of our good friend the Advocate, we had been married in the old private chapel attached to the Deanery, we should defer the christening of Duncan the Second till "the Doctor"

could perform the office--there being, of course, but one "Doctor" for all Eden Valley people--Doctor Gillespie, erstwhile Moderator of the Kirk of Scotland.

I had long been under reproach for my slackness in this matter.

Inuendoes were mixed with odious comparisons upon Mary Lyon's tongue.

If her daughter had only married a Cameronian, the bairn would have been baptized within seven days! Never had she seen an unchristened bairn so long about a house! But for them that sit at ease in an Erastian Zion--she referred to my father, who was not only precentor but also session-clerk, and could by no means be said to sit at ease--she supposed anything was good enough. It was different in her young days.

She, at least, had been properly brought up.

Finally, however, I went and put the case to the Doctor. He was ready to come up to Heathknowes for the baptism. After his usual protest that according to rule it ought to be performed in sight of all the congregation, he accepted the good reason that my grandfather and grandmother, being ardent Cameronians, could not in that case be present. The Doctor had, of course, antic.i.p.ated this objection. For he knew and respected the "kind of people" reared by four generations of "Societies," and often (in private) held them up as ensamples to his own flock.

So to Heathknowes, the house of the Cameronian elder, there came, with all befitting solemnity, Doctor Gillespie, ex-Moderator of the Kirk of Scotland. Stately he stepped up the little loaning, followed by his session, their clerk, my father at their head. At the sight of the Doctor arrayed in gown and bands, his white hair falling on his neck and tied with a black ribbon, the whole family of us instinctively uncovered and stood bareheaded. My grandfather had gone down to the foot of the little avenue to open the gate for the minister. The Doctor smilingly invited him to walk by his side, but William Lyon had gravely shaken his head and said, "I thank you, Doctor, but to-day, if you will grant me the privilege, I will walk with my brethren, the other elders of the Kirk of G.o.d."

And so he did, and as they came within sight of the house I took Irma by the hand. For she trembled, and tears rose to her eyes as she saw that simple but dignified procession (like to that which moved out of the vestry on the occasion of the Greater Sacrament) approaching the house.

The lads stood silent with bared heads. For once Duncan lay quiet in the arms of Mary Lyon--who that day would yield her charge to none, till she gave him to the mother, when the time should come, according to the Presbyterian rite, to stand up and place the firstborn in his father's arms.

There was only one blank in that gathering. Louis had gone to his own room, pretexing a headache, but really (as he blurted out afterwards) because his Uncle Lalor had said that Presbyterianism was no religion for a gentleman.

However, it was only afterwards that he was missed.

The Doctor was great on such occasions. A surprising soft radiance, almost like a halo, surrounded his smooth snowy locks. A holy calm, exhaling from half a century of spotless life lived in the sight of all men, spoke in every word, moved in every gesture. The elders stood about grave and quiet. The great Bible lay open. The psalm of dedication was sung--of which the overword is, "Lo, children are G.o.d's heritage," and the conclusion the verse which no Scot forgets the world over, perhaps because it contains, quite unintentionally, so delightful a revelation of his own national character--

"O happy is the man that hath His quiver filled with those: _They unashamed in the gate Shall speak unto their foes._"

CHAPTER x.x.xIX

THE WICKED FLAG

"There's Boyd Connoway has been sitting on my front doorstep," cried my Aunt Jen, "and if I've telled the man once, I've telled him twenty times!"

"But how do ye ken, Janet?" said her mother out of the still-room where she was brewing nettle-beer. "He is not there now!"

"How do I ken--fine that!" snapped Jen. "Do I no see my favourite check pattern on his trousers!" said Jen, which, indeed, being plain to the eye of every beholder, admitted of no denial--except perhaps, owing to point of view, by the unconscious wearer himself. He had sat down on these mystic criss-crossings and whorls dear to the Galloway housewife for her floor ornaments, while the whiting was still wet.

"It's no wonder," Jen pursued vengefully, "they may say what they like.

An I were that man's wife, I wad brain him. Here he has been the livelong day. Twa meals has he eaten. Six hours has he hung about malingering. He came to roof the pigstye. He tore off the old thatch, and there it lies, and there will lie for him. If there is frost, Girzie's brood will be stiff by the morning. Then he 'had a look' at my roasting-jack and ... there it is!"

She indicated with an indignant sweep of the hand what she designated "a rickle o' rubbish" as the net proceeds of Boyd's industry.

The artist explained himself between the mouthfuls at his third repast.

"Ye see, Miss Lyon, there's nocht that spoils good work like worry on the mind. The pigs will do fine. I'll put a branch or two over them and a corn-sack over that. If a drap o' rain comes through it will only harden the wee grunties for the trials o' life. Aye" (here Boyd relapsed into philosophy), "life is fu' o' trials, for pigs as weel as men. But men the worst--for as for pigs, their bread is given them and their water is sure. Now as for myself----"

"Yourself," cried Aunt Jen, entering into one of her sudden rages, "if ye were half as much worth to the world as our old sow Girzie, ye wad be salted and hanging up by the heels now! As it is, ye run the country like Crazy, our collie, a burden to yourself and a nuisance to the world at lairge!

"Eh, Miss Jen, but it's the word ye have, as I was sayin' to Rob McTurk up at the pirn-mill last Tuesday week. 'If only our Miss Jen there had been a man,' says I, 'it's never Lalor Maitland that would have been sent to sit in King George's High House o' Parliament.'"

Again Boyd Connoway took up his burden of testimony.

"Aye, Miss Jen, there's some that's born to trouble as the sparks fly upward. That's me, Miss Jen. Now there's my brother that's a farmer in County Donegal. Niver a market night sober--and _yet_ he's not to say altogether content. An' many is the time I say to our Bridget, 'What would you do if I was Brother Jerry of Ballycross, coming home to ye in the box of the gig, and the reins on the horse's neck?'

"'Ye never _had_ a horse,' says she, and thinks that an answer! Women's heads are born void of logic, and what they fill them with--axing your pardon, Mistress Lyon, ah, if they were all like you--'tis a happier place this world would be!"

"Finish, and let us get the dishes cleared away!" said my grandmother, who did not stand upon fashions of speech, least of all with Boyd Connoway.

Boyd hastened to obey, ladling everything within reach into his mouth as fast as knife and spoon could follow each other.

He concluded, crooning over his eternal ditty, by way of thanksgiving after meat--

"If I was in bed and fast asleep I wouldn't get up for a score of sheep."

This distich had the gift of always infuriating Aunt Janet.

"You may well say so," she cried, clattering away with an armful of dishes in a way that was a protest in itself; "considering all you are good for when you _do_ get up, you might just as well be in bed fast asleep, and----"

"Now there you're wrong, Miss Janet," said Boyd. "It was only last Sunday that I gave up all my evil courses and became one of Israel Kinmont's folk. My heart is changed," he added solemnly; "I gave it to the Lord, and He seen fit to convart me!"

The whole household looked up. Anything bearing on personal religion instantly touched Scots folk of the humble sort. But Aunt Jen was obdurate. Long experience had rendered her sceptical with regard to Boyd Connoway.

"We'll soon see if you are converted to the Lord," she said. "_He_ is a hard worker. There are no idlers on His estates. If it's true, we may get these pigs covered in to-night yet."

"Never trouble your head about the pigs, Miss Janet," said Boyd, "they will surely sleep safe under a roof this night. Strive to fix your mind on higher things, Miss Jen. There's such a thing as makin' a G.o.d of this here transient evil world, as I said to Bridget when the potatoes went bad just because I got no time to 'pit' them, having had to play the fiddle at four kirns'[2] in different parishes during potato-lifting week!"

"Never mind about that," said my grandfather from his seat in the chimney corner, "tell us about your 'conversion'!"

For the word was then a new one in Galloway, and of no good savour either among orthodox Cameronians or pillars of the Kirk as by law established. But Israel Kinmont had been a sailor to far ports. In his youth he had heard Whitefield preach. He had followed Wesley's folk afar off. The career of a humble evangelist attracted him, and when in his latter days he had saved enough to buy the oldest and worst of all luggers that ever sailed the sea, he devoted himself, not to the gainful traffic of smuggling, but to the unremunerative transport of sea-coal and lime from c.o.c.kermouth and Workington to the small ports and inlets of the Galloway coast.

No excis.e.m.e.n watching on the cliffs gave more than a single glance at "Israel's Tabernacle," as, without the least irreverence, he had named his boat. But, using the same ports as the smugglers, he was often brought into close relations with them. They asked him for information which was freely given, as from one friend to another. They trusted him, for though often interrogated by the supervisor and riding officers, Israel could develop upon occasion an extraordinary deafness, so that the questions to which he could give a clear answer were never such as to commit any one. In exchange for this the smugglers would go aboard the Tabernacle and allow Israel to preach to them. And woe betide the irreverent on these occasions! Black Rob o' Garlies or Roaring Imrie from Douglas-ha' thought nothing of taking such a one by convenient parts of his clothing and dropping him overboard.

"Aye," said Boyd, encouraged by my grandfather's request, "Israel Kinmont has made a new man of many a hardened sinner!"

"I dare you to say so," cried my grandmother; "only the Lord that is on High can do that."

"But He can make use of instruments," argued Boyd, who had learned his lesson, "and Israel Kinmont is one of them. He has showed me where to get grace."