The Starling Part 14

"In the wast water and east water; in the big linn an' wee linn, in the Loch o' the Whins, in the Red Burn, an' in----"

"I dinna ken thae waters at a'," remarked the keeper, interrupting him, "nor ever heard o' them!"

"Nor me," chimed in old John, "though I hae been here for mair than fifty year."

"Maybe no'," said Jock with a laugh, "for they're in the back o' the beyonts, and that's a place few folk hae seen, I do a.s.sure you--ha! ha!

ha!" Jock had, in fact, fished the best streams watched by the keepers throughout the whole district. Young John was delighted with this new acquaintance, and looked up to him with the greatest reverence.

"What kin' o' flee duve ye fish wi'?" asked Johnnie. "Hae ye ony aboot ye e'enoo?"

"I hae a few," said Hall, as he unb.u.t.toned his waistcoat, displaying a tattered shirt within, and, diving into some hidden recess near his heart, drew forth a large old pocket-book and placed it on the table.

He opened it with caution and circ.u.mspection, and spread out before the delighted Johnnie, and his no less interested father, entwined circles of gut, with flies innumerable.

"That's the ane," Jock would say, holding up a small, black, hairy thing, "I killed ten dizzen wi'--thumpers tae, three pun's some o'

them--afore twa o'clock. Eh, man, he's a murderin' chiel this!"

exhibiting another. "But it was this ither ane," holding up one larger and more gaudy, "that nicked four salmon in three hours tae their great surprise! And thae flees," taking up other favourites, "wi' the muirfowl wing and black body, are guid killers; but isna this a cracker wi' the wee touch o' silver? it kilt mair salmon--whaur, ye needna speer--than I could carry hame on a heather wuddie! But, Johnnie," he added after a pause, "I maun, as yer freen', warn ye that it's no' the flee, nor the water, nor the rod, nor the win', nor the licht, can dae the job, wi'oot the watchfu' e'e and steady han', an' a feelin' for the business that's kin' o' born wi' a fisher, but hoo that comes aboot I dinna ken--I think I could maist catch fish in a boyne o' water if there were ony tae catch!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE KEEPER'S HOME

While the preparations for supper were going on within doors, Jock went out to have a "dauner", or saunter, but, in truth, from a modest wish to appear as if not expecting to be asked to partake of supper with the family.

The table was spread with a white home-made linen cloth, and deep plates were put down, each with a horn spoon beside it. A large pot, containing potatoes which had been pared before they were placed on the fire, was now put on the floor, and fresh b.u.t.ter with some salt having been added to its contents, the whole was beat and mashed with a heavy wooden beetle worked by Hugh and his son--for the work required no small patience and labour--into a soft ma.s.s, forming an excellent dish of "champed potatoes", which, when served up with rich milk, is "a dainty dish to set before a king", even without the four-and-twenty blackbirds.

Then followed a second course of "barley scones" and thick crisp oatmeal cakes, with fresh b.u.t.ter, cheese, and milk.

Before supper was served Jock Hall was missed, and Johnnie sent in search of him. After repeated shouts he found him wandering about the woods, but had the greatest difficulty in persuading him to join the family. Jock said, "It wasna for him tae gang ben",--"he had had eneuch tae eat in the afternoon",--"he wad hae a bite efter hin", &c. But being at last persuaded to accept the pressing invitation, he entered, and without speaking a word seated himself in the place allotted to him.

"Tak' in yer chair, Maister Hall,"--Jock could hardly believe his ears!--"and mak' what supper ye can," said Mrs. Hugh. "We're plain kintra folk hereawa',"--an apology to Jock for their having nothing extra at supper to mark their respect for a friend of the Sergeant's!

What were his thoughts? The character of an impostor seemed forced upon him when he most desired to be an honest man.

Then the old man reverently took off his "Kilmarnock cool", a coloured worsted night-cap, and said grace, thanking G.o.d for all His mercies, "of the least of which," he added, "we are unworthy". After supper Mrs.

Hugh gave a long account of the labours of the day, and of the big washing, and told how she had met Lady Mary, and Lady Caroline, and Lord Bennock, and how they had been talking to the children, and "speering for faither and grandfaither".

A happy family was that a.s.sembled under the keeper's roof. The youngest child, a boy, was ever welcome on old John's knee, who never seemed able to exhaust the pleasure he derived from his grandson's prattle. His large watch, which approached in size to a house clock, with its large pewter seal, was an endless source of amus.e.m.e.nt to the child; so also was the splendid rabbit shadowed on the wall, with moving ears and moving mouth, created by John's hands; and his imitation of dogs, cats, and all other domestic animals, in which he was an adept;--nay, his very crutches were turned to account to please the boy, and much more to please himself. The elder daughters clung round their mother in a group, frankly talking to her in mutual confidence and love. The boys enjoyed the same liberty with their father, and indulged unchecked in expressions of affection. All was freedom without rudeness, play without riot, because genuine heartfelt affection united all.

Jock did not join in the conversation, except when he was asked questions by Mrs. Hugh about Drumsylie, its shops and its people. On the whole he was shy and reserved. Anyone who could have watched his eye and seen his heart would have discovered both busy in contemplating a picture of ordinary family life such as the poor outcast had never before beheld. But Jock still felt as if he was not in his right place--as if he would have been cast out into the darkness had his real character been known. His impressions of a kind of life he never dreamt of were still more deepened when, before going to bed, the large Bible was placed on the table, and Hugh, amidst the silence of the family, said, "We'll hae worship." The chapter for the evening happened to be the fifteenth of St. Luke. It was as if written expressly for Jock.

Are such adaptations to human wants to be traced to mere chance? Surely He who can feed the wild beasts of the desert, or the sparrow amidst the waste of wintry snows, can give food to the hungry soul of a Prodigal Son, as yet ignorant of the food he needs and of the Father who alone can supply it.

They did not ask Jock if he would remain for evening worship. "The stranger within the gate" was a.s.sumed to be, for the time, a member of the household. It was for him to renounce his recognised right, not for the family to question it. But Jock never even argued the point with himself. He listened with head bent down as if ashamed to hold it up, and following the example set to him by the family, knelt down--for the first time in his life--in prayer. Did he pray? Was it all a mere form? Was it by constraint, and not willingly? What his thoughts were on such an occasion, or whether they were gathered up in prayer to the living G.o.d, who can tell? But if the one thought even, for the first time, possessed him, that maybe there was a Person beyond the seen and temporal, to whom the world and man belonged, whose Name he could now a.s.sociate with no evil but with all good, who possibly knew him and wished him to be good like Himself;--if there was even a glimmer in his soul, as he knelt down, that he might say as well as others, and along with them, "Our Father, which art in Heaven", then was there cast into his heart, though he knew it not, the germ of a new life which might yet grow into a faith and love which would be life eternal.

The prayer of Hugh the keeper was simple, earnest, and direct, a real utterance from one person to another--yet as from a man to G.o.d, couched in his own homely dialect to Him whom the people of every language and tongue can worship. The prayer was naturally suggested by the chapter which was read. He acknowledged that all were as lost sheep; as money lost in the dust of earth; as miserable prodigals lost to their Father and to themselves, and who were poor and needy, feeding on husks, having no satisfaction, and finding no man to give unto them. He prayed G.o.d to bring them all into the fold of the Good Shepherd, who had given His life for the sheep, and to keep them in it; to gather them as the lost coins into the treasury of Him who was rich, yet who for our sakes became poor; he prayed G.o.d to help them all to say, "I will arise and go to my Father", in the a.s.sured hope that their Father would meet them afar off, and receive them with joy. After remembering the afflicted in body and mind, the orphan and widow, the outcast and stranger, he asked that G.o.d, who had mercy on themselves who deserved nothing, would make them also merciful to others; and he concluded with the Lord's Prayer.

Had any one seen poor Hall that night as he lay in the hay-loft, a clean blanket under him and more than one over him, they might have discovered in his open eyes, and heard in his half-muttered expressions, and noticed even from his wakeful tossings to and fro, a something stirring in his soul the nature or value of which he himself could not comprehend or fully estimate.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE KEEPER'S LETTER

Old John Spence was an early riser. He did not share Charles Lamb's fears of indulging in the ambition of rising with the sun. The latter part of the day was to him a period of repose, a siesta of half-sleepy meditation, which not unfrequently pa.s.sed into a deep-toned sleep in his arm-chair. In a lucid interval, during the evening of Jock's arrival, he had been considering how he might best help the Sergeant out of his difficulties. He had not for a moment accepted of Jock's policy suggesting his lordship's interference in the great Drumsylie case.

With the instinct of an old servant, he felt that such presumption on his part was out of the question. So he had informed Jock, bidding him not to think of his lordship, who would not and could not do anything in the matter. He a.s.sured him at the same time that he would try what could be done by himself to muzzle Smellie. Having accordingly matured his plans, he was ready at daybreak to execute them. He embraced therefore the first opportunity of taking Hugh into a small closet, where the little business which required writing was generally transacted, and where a venerable escritoire stood, in whose drawers and secret recesses were carefully deposited all papers relating to that department of his lordship's estate over which John was chief.

The door having been carefully barred, the old keeper seated in an arm-chair, and his son Hugh at the escritoire, John said, "Get the pen and paper ready."

"A' richt," said Hugh, having mended his pen and tried it on his thumb-nail, looking at it carefully as he held it up in the light.

"Weel, then, begin! Write--'Sir;' no' 'Dear Sir,' but jist 'Sir'. Of coorse ye'll pit the direction 'To Mr. Peter Smellie'. Eh?--halt a wee--should I say Mr. or plain Peter? Jist mak' it plain Peter--say, 'To Peter Smellie'."

"To Peter Smellie," echoed Hugh.

"John Spence, keeper--or raither John Spence, senior keeper--wishes tae tell ye that ye're a sc.o.o.ndrill."

After writing these words with the exception of the last, Hugh said, "Be canny, faither, or maybe he micht prosecute you."

"Let him try't!" replied John; "but let sc.o.o.ndrill stan'. It's the vera pooder and shot o' my letter; wi'oot that, it's a' tow and colfin."

"I'm no' sure, faither, if I can spell't," said Hugh, who did not like the more than doubtful expression, and put off the writing of it by asking, "Hoo, faither, d'ye spell sc.o.o.ndrill?"

"What ither way but the auld way?"

"But I never wrote it afore, for I hae had little to dae wi' ony o' the squad."

"Weel, I wad say--s, k, oo, n, d, r, i, l, l, or to that effec'. Keep in the _drill_ whatever ye dae, for that's what I mean tae gie him!"

Having written this very decided introduction, Hugh went on with his letter, which when completed ran as follows:--

"John Spence, Senior Keeper, Castle Bennock, to Peter Smellie, Draper, Drumsylie.

"You are a skoondrill, and you kno it! But n.o.body else knos it but my son and me and Serjent Mercer. I wuss you to understan' that he knos all about yon black business o' yours, 20 year back. This comes to let you kno that unless you leve him alone, and don't molest him, I will send you to Botany Bay, as you deserve. Medle not with the Sergeant, or it wull be to your cost. Attend to this hint. I wull have you weel watched. You are in Mr. Mercer's power. Bewar!

"Your servt., "JOHN SPENCE."

"I houp," said John, as he had the letter read over to him, "that will mak the whitrat leave aff sookin' the Sergeant's throat! If no', I'll worry him like a brock, or hunt him like a fox aff the kintra side. But no' a word o' this, mind ye, tae ony leevin' cratur, mair especial tae yon trampin' chiel. Gie Smellie a chance, bad as he is. Sae let the letter be sent aff this verra nicht wi' Sandy the Post. The sooner the better. The nesty taed that he is! Him to be preaching tae a man like Adam oot o' his clay hole!"

The letter was despatched that night by the post. It was not thought discreet to intrust Jock with the secret, or to let Adam Mercer know in the meantime anything about this counter-mine.

Breakfast being over, Hall proposed to return to Drumsylie. Before doing so he wished some positive a.s.surance of obtaining aid in favour of the Sergeant from Spence. But all he could get out of the keeper was to "keep his mind easy--no' to fear--he wad look efter the Sergeant".