The Setons Part 19

Mrs. Macbean nodded her head several times, well pleased at the sensation she had made.

"You can imagine what a turn it gave me. Maggie was with me in the room, and she said afterwards she really thought I was going to faint.

I just kinda looked at the man--I'm meaning Sir Angus--but I could not say a word. I was speechless. But Maggie--Maggie's real bright--she spoke up and she says, 'Will she recover?' she says, just like that.

And he was nice, I must say he was awful nice, very rea.s.suring. 'Time,'

he says, 'time and treatment and patience'--I think that was the three things, and my! the patience is the worst thing."

"But she's improving, Mrs. Macbean?" asked Mrs. Forsyth.

"Slowly, Mrs. Forsyth, slowly. But a thing like that takes a long time."

"Our Hugh says that the less a body knows about their inside the better," said healthy Mrs. Forsyth.

"That's true, I'm sure," agreed Mrs. Thomson. "Mrs. Forsyth, is your cup out? Try a bit of this cake."

"Thanks. I always eat an extra big tea here, Mrs. Thomson, everything's that good. Have you a nurse for Phemie, Mrs. Macbean?"

Mrs. Macbean laid down her cup, motioning Jessie away as she tried to take it to refill it, and said solemnly:

"A nurse, Mrs. Forsyth? Nurses have walked in a procession through our house this last month. And, mind you, I haven't a thing to say against one of them. They were all nice women, but somehow they just didn't suit. The first one had an awful memory. No, she didn't forget things, it was the other way. She was a good careful nurse, but she could say pages of poetry off by heart, and she did it through the night to soothe Phemie like. She would get Phemie all comfortable, and then she'd turn out the light, and sit down by the fire with her knitting, and begin something about 'The stag at eve had drunk its fill,' and so on and on and on. She meant well, but who would put up with that? D'you know, that stag was fair getting on Phemie's nerves, so we had to make an excuse and get her away. Then the next was a strong-minded kind of a woman, and the day after she came I found Phemie near in hysterics, and it turned out the nurse had told her she had patented a shroud, and it had given the girl quite a turn. I don't wonder! It's not a nice subject even for a well body. Mr. Macbean was angry, I can tell you, so _she_ went. The next one--a nice wee fair-haired girl--she took appendicitis. Wasn't it awful? Oh! we've been unfortunate right enough.

However, the one we've got now is all right, and she considers the servants, and that's the main thing--not, mind you, that I ever have much trouble with servants. I niver had what you would call a real bad one. Mine have all been nice enough girls, only we didn't always happen to agree. Ye know what I mean?"

"Ucha," said Mrs. Thomson. "Are you well suited just now, Mrs. Macbean?"

"Fair, Mrs. Thomson, but that's all I'll say. My cook's is a c.o.c.kney! A real English wee body. I take many a laugh to myself at her accent. I'm quite good at speakin' like her. Mr. Macbean often says to me, 'Come on, Mamma, and give us a turn at the c.o.c.kney.' Oh! she's a great divert, but--_wasteful!_ It's not, ye know what I mean, that we grudge the things, but I always say that having had a good mother is a great disadvantage these days. My mother brought me up to hate waste and to hate dirt, and it keeps me fair miserable with the kind of servants that are now."

Mrs. Thomson nodded her head in profound agreement; but Mrs. Forsyth said:

"But my! Mrs. Macbean, I wouldna let myself be made miserable by any servant. I just keep the one--not that Mr. Forsyth couldn't give me two if I wanted them, but you can keep more control over one. She gets everything we get ourselves, but she knows better than waste so much as a potato peel. I've had Maggie five years now, and it took me near a year to get her to hang the dishcloths on their nails; but now I have her real well into my ways, and the way she keeps her range is a treat."

Presently Mrs. Forsyth and Mrs. Macbean went away to make other calls, and Mrs. Thomson and her two old friends drew near the fire for a cosy talk.

"Sit well in front and warm your feet, Miss Hendry. Miss Flora, try this chair, and turn back your skirt in case it gets scorched. Now, you'll just stay and have a proper tea and see Papa. Yes, yes," as the Miss Hendrys expostulated, "you just will. Ye got no tea to speak of, and there's a nice bit of Finnan haddie----My! these 'at home' days are tiring."

"They're awful enjoyable," said Miss Flora rather wistfully. "Ye've come on, Mrs. Thomson, since we were neighbours, but I must say you don't forget old friends."

"Eh, and I hope I never will. The new friends are all very well, they're kind and all that, but a body clings to the old friends. It was you I ran to when Rubbert took the croup and I thought we were to lose him; and d'ye mind how you took night about with me when Papa near slipped away wi' pneumonia? Eh, my, my! ... Jessie's awful keen to be grand; she's young, and young folk havena much sense. She tells me I'm eccentric because I like to see that every corner of the house is clean. She thinks Mrs. Simpson's a real lady because she keeps three servants and a dirty house. Well, Papa's always at me to get another girl, for of course this is a big house--we have the nine rooms--but I'll not agree. Jessie's far better helping me to keep the house clean than trailing in and out of picture houses like the Simpsons. The Simpsons! Mercy me, did I not know the Simpsons when they kept a wee shop in the Paisley Road? And now they're afraid to mention the word shop in case it puts anybody in mind. As I tell Jessie, there's nothing wrong in keepin' a shop, but there's something far wrong in being ashamed of it."

"Bless me," said Miss Hendry, who could not conceive of anyone being ashamed of a shop. "A shop's a fine thing--real interesting, I would think. You werena at the prayer-meeting last night?"

"No. I was real sorry, but there was a touch of fog, if you remember, and Papa's throat was troublesome, so I got him persuaded to stay in.

Was Mr. Seton good?"

"_Fine,_" said Miss Hendry,--"fair excelled himself."

"Papa often says that Mr. Seton's at his best at the prayer-meeting."

"You're a long way from the church now, Mrs. Thomson," said Miss Hendry. "You'll be speakin' about leaving one o' these days."

"Miss Hendry," said Mrs. Thomson solemnly, "that is one thing we niver will do, leave that church as long as Mr. Seton's the minister. Even if I had notions about a Pollokshields church and Society, as Jessie talks about, d'ye think Mr. Thomson would listen to me? I can do a lot with my man, but I could niver move him on that point--and I would niver seek to."

"Well," said Miss Hendry in a satisfied tone, "I'm glad to hear you say it. Of course we think there's not the like of our minister anywhere.

He has his faults. He niver sees ye on the street, and it hurts people; it used to hurt me too, but now I just think he's seeing other things than our streets.... And he has a kinda cold manner until ye get used to it. He came in one day when a neighbour was in--a Mrs. Steel, she goes to Robertsons' kirk--and she said to me afterwards, 'My! I wudna like a dry character like that for a minister.' I said to her, 'I dare say no' after the kind ye're used to, but I like ma minister to be a gentleman.' Robertson's one o' these joky kind o' ministers."

"Well," said Miss Flora, who seldom got a word in when her sister was present, "I'm proud of ma minister, and I'm proud of ma minister's family."

"Yes," agreed her sister, "Elizabeth's a fine-lookin' girl, and awful bright and entertainin'; it's a pity she canna get a man."

"I'm sure," said Mrs. Thomson, "she could get a man any day if she wanted one. I wouldn't wonder if she made a fine marriage--mebbe an M.P. But what would her father do wanting her? and wee David? She really keeps that house _well_. I've thought an awful lot of her since one day I was there at my tea, and she said to me so innerly-like, 'Would you like to see over the house, Mrs. Thomson?' and she took me into every room and opened every press--and there wasn't a thing I would have changed."

"Well," said Miss Hendry, "they talk about folk being too sweet to be wholesome, like a frosted tattie, and mebbe Elizabeth Seton just puts it on, but there's no doubt she's got a taking way with her. I niver get a new thing either for myself or the house but I wonder what she'll think about it. And she aye notices it, ye niver have to point it out."

"Yes," said Mrs. Thomson. "She's a grand praiser. Some folk fair make you lose conceit of your things, but she's the other way. Did I tell you Papa and me are going away next week for a wee holiday? Just the two of us. Jessie'll manage the house and look after the boys. Papa says I look tired. I'm sure that it's no' that I work as hard as I used to work; but there, years tell, and I'm no' the Mrs. Thomson I once was. We're going to the Kyles Hydro--it's real homely and nice."

"I niver stopped in a Hydro in my life," Miss Hendry said. "It must be a grand rest. Nothing to do but take your meat."

"That's so," Mrs. Thomson admitted. "It gives you a kind of rested feeling to see white paint everywhere and know that it's no business of yours if it gets marked, and to sit and look at a fine fire blazing itself away without thinkin' you should be getting on a shovel of dross; and it's a real holiday-feeling to put on your rings and your afternoon dress for breakfast."

Voices were heard in the lobby. Mrs. Thomson started up to welcome home her husband, while Jessie announced to the visitors that tea was ready in the parlour.

_CHAPTER IX_

"I have great comfort from this fellow."

_The Tempest._

On the afternoon of the Sat.u.r.day that brought Arthur Townshend to Glasgow Elizabeth sat counselling her young brother about his behaviour to the expected guest. She drew a lurid picture of his everyday manners, and pointed out where they might be improved, so that Mr.

Arthur Townshend might not get too great a shock. Buff remained quite calm, merely remarking that he had never seen anyone called Townshend quite close before. Elizabeth went on to remind him that any remarks reflecting on the English as a race, or on the actions in history, would be in extreme bad taste. This warning she felt to be necessary, remembering how, when Buff was younger, some English cousins had come to stay, and he had refused to enter the room to greet them, contenting himself with shouting through the keyhole, "_Who killed William Wallace?_"

Since then, some of his fierce animosity to the "English" had died down, though he still felt that Queen Mary's death needed a lot of explaining.

As his sister continued the lecture, and went into details about clean nails and ears, Buff grew frankly bored, and remarking that he wished visitors would remain at home, went off to find Thomas and Billy.

Mr. Seton, sitting with his sermon, unabatedly cheerful in spite of the fact that a strange young man--a youth "tried and tutored in the world"--was about to descend on his home, looked up and laughed at his daughter.

"Let the boy alone, Lizbeth," he advised. "I see nothing wrong with his manners."

"Love is blind," said Elizabeth. "But it's not only his manners; the boy has a perfect genius for saying the wrong thing. Dear old Mrs.

Morton was calling yesterday, and you know what a horror she has of theatres and all things theatrical. Well, when she asked Buff what he was going to be, expecting no doubt to hear that he had yearnings after the ministry, he replied quite frankly, 'An actor-man.' I had to run him out of the room. Then he told Mrs. Orr there was nothing he liked so much as fighting, so he meant to be a soldier. She said in her sweet old voice, 'You will fight with the Bible, darling--the sword of the Spirit.' 'Huh!' said Buff, 'queer dumpy little sword that would be.'"

Mr. Seton seemed more amused than depressed by the tale of his son's misdeeds, and Elizabeth continued: "After all, what does it matter what Mr. Arthur Townshend thinks of any of us? I've done my best for him, and I hope the meals will be decent; but of course the thought of him has upset Marget's temper. It is odd that when she is cross she _will_ quote hymns. I must say it is discouraging to make some harmless remark about vegetables and receive nothing in reply but a muttered

'Teach me to live that I may dread The grave as little as my bed.'"

"Elizabeth, you're an absurd creature," said her father. "Why you and Marget should allow yourselves to be upset by a visit from an ordinary young man I don't know. Dear me, _I'll_ look after him."