The Starling Part 8

"No!" said Mary, very decidedly.

"What for no'?" asked the Sergeant, kindly.

"I'm awfu' frichtened for him," said Mary.

"Why are ye frichtened for _Him_?" asked Adam.

Mary seemed to be counting the b.u.t.tons on his coat.

"Tell me, bairn!" he continued.

"Because," said Mary, sorrowfully, yet encouraged by his tone, "Mrs.

Craigie aye telt me He wad sen' me to the bad place; and when I got my fit burned she said that I wad be a' burnt thegither some day, as I was a bad la.s.sie; and I'm sure I wasna' doing her ony ill to mak' her say that."

"G.o.d will never," remarked the Sergeant, reverently, "send ye to the bad place, unless ye gang yersel'."

"I'll never do that!" exclaimed Mary.

"I hope no', my la.s.sie," said Adam, "for I wish you no' to be bad, but to be good; and to trust G.o.d is the way to be good. Noo tell me, Mary, why wad ye trust me?"

"Because--jist because," said Mary, looking up to his face, "ye're faither."

"Weel dune, Mary!" continued the Sergeant. "Noo tell me what's the beginning o' the Lord's Prayer?"

"Our Faither which art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name. Thy----"

"That'll do, Mary," interrupted Adam. "But can ye tell me noo wha's yer Faither as weel as me?"

After a pause, Mary said, as if she had made a discovery, "Our Faither in heaven!"

"That's a clever woman! _Faither!_ that's G.o.d's _Name_. And noo that ye ken his Name, ye maun trust Him faur mair than me: for He lo'es ye mair than I can do, and is aye wi' ye; and never will forsake ye, and can aye help ye; and He has said that when faither and mither forsake you, he will tak' ye up. That will He, my la.s.sie!"

"But," said Mary, "my mither and faither, they tell me, dee'd wi' fever, but didna forsake me."

"That's true; but I mean, my bairn," said Adam, "that ye can never be an orphan la.s.sie wi' G.o.d as yer Faither."

"But," said Mary, "for a' that, ye maun aye be my faither as weel. Oh!

dinna sen' me back to Mrs. Craigie."

"Dinna fear, Mary," replied Adam; "but maybe I maun hae to leave you.

G.o.d may tak' me awa', and tak' yer mither there awa' too; and then when ye're alane in the world, ye maun trust G.o.d."

"I'll no' trust Him," replied Mary; "if you and mither dees, I'll dee tae, and gang wi' ye." And she fairly broke down, and clung to him as if he was about to leave her.

The Sergeant took Mary on his knee. "Be cheerie, Mary--be cheerie!" he said. "If ye kent G.o.d, ye wad aye be cheerie, my la.s.sie. Mrs. Craigie has frichted ye."

"Ay, awfu'!" said Mary.

The Sergeant felt as if Mary had not quite learned her lesson, and he continued:--"D'ye mind what I telt ye ae nicht aboot mithers bringing their bairns to Christ?--and hoo some folk that didna ken Him were for keeping them awa'?--and hoo Jesus was angry at them?--and hoo the bairns gaed till Him----"

"And did they no' squeel wi' fricht?" asked Mary.

"Did ye squeel, Mary," asked the Sergeant, with a smile, "when I took ye into _my_ arms?"

"No. What for should I?" replied Mary.

"Aweel, my la.s.sie," argued Adam, "why do ye think that bairns like yersel' should be frichted to trust that same Jesus wha was Himsel' a bairn and kens a bairn's heart? He wad be unco sorry, Mary, if ye didna trust Him, when He dee'd, as ye ken, on the cross to save you and me and ilka body, and aye thinks aboot us and prays for us."

Mary sighed, and crept closer to the Sergeant.

Adam, taking her little hand in his, said, "Mind what I tell ye, my bairn. Learn ye to speak aye to G.o.d and tell Him yer heart in yer ain prayer, and never gang ony road He wadna like; and stick till Him as ye wad to me if we were gaun ower the muir thegither at nicht, or through a burn in a spate; and never, Mary, in the hour o' distress think that He doesna care for you or has forgotten you. For nae doot whan ye grow up to be big ye'll hae mony a distress, like ither folk, ye dinna ken aboot yet."

Mary turned her face to his bosom as if to sleep, but never was she less inclined to sleep.

The Sergeant added, with a sigh, "Think, my wee dearie, on what I tell ye noo, after I'm dead and gane."

Katie, seated on the opposite side of the fire, had been reading Boston's _Crook in the Lot_. She seemed not to have heard a word of her husband's lesson; but her ears drank in the whole of it. The Sergeant had evidently forgotten her presence, so quiet was she, and so absorbed was he with Mary, who was to him a new life--his own child restored.

But as Katie caught his last words, she put down her book, and looking almost in anger at her husband--could she have felt jealous of Mary?--said, "Tuts, Adam! what's the use o' pitting me and Mary aboot wi' discoorsin' in that way! It's really no' fair. I declare ane wad think that Andra Wilkie, the bederal, was diggin' yer grave! What pits deein' in yer head e'enoo? An' you an auld sodger! Be cheerie yersel', man!"

"I daursay ye're richt, gudewife," said Adam, with a smile, and rather a sheepish look, as if he had been caught playing the woman with an unmanly expression of his feelings and dim forebodings. "Gie Mary her piece," he added, "and sen' her to her bed. She has dune unco weel."

He pa.s.sed into the bedroom, closing the door while Katie was putting Mary to rest.

It was a peaceful night. He sat down near the small window of the bedroom, from which was a pleasant peep of trees, their underwood now hid in darkness, but their higher branches, with every leafy twig, mingling with the blue of the starry sky, partially illumined by a new moon. He had felt during these last days an increasing dulness of spirits. But this evening he had been comforting himself while comforting Mary; and remembering the lesson he had given her, he said to himself, "Blessed are all they who put their trust in Thee". And somehow there came into his mind pictures of the old war--times in which, amidst the trampling of armed men and words of command, the sudden rush to the charge or up the scaling-ladder, the roar and cries of combat, the volcano of shot and sh.e.l.l bursting and filling the heavens with flame and smoke and deadly missile, he had trusted G.o.d, and felt calm at his heart, like a child in the arms of a loving parent.

These pictures flashed on him but for a second, yet they were sufficient to remind him of what G.o.d had ever been to him, and to strengthen his faith in what He would ever be.

CHAPTER XII

ADAM MERCER, SERGEANT, BUT NOT ELDER

Next morning the announcement of the Sergeant's suspension from the eldership was conveyed to him by an official doc.u.ment from Mr.

Mackintosh, the Session clerk and parish schoolmaster;--a good, discreet man, who did his duty faithfully, loyally voted always with the minister from an earnest belief that it was right to do so, and who made it his endeavour as a member of society to meddle with n.o.body, in the good hope that n.o.body would meddle with him. Every man can find his own place in this wide world.

Katie heard the news, but, strange to say, was not so disconcerted as Adam antic.i.p.ated. In proportion as difficulties gathered round her husband, she became more resolute, and more disposed to fight for him.

She was like many women on their first voyage, who in calm weather are afraid of a slight breeze and the uneasy motion of the ship, yet who, when actual danger threatens, rise up in the power and dignity of their nature, and become the bravest of the brave--their very feeling and fancy, which shrank from danger while it was unseen, coming to their aid as angels of hope when danger alone is visible.

"Aweel, aweel," remarked Katie; "it's their ain loss, Adam, no' yours; ye hae naething to charge yersel' wi'."

But she would sometimes relapse into a meditative mood, as the more painful side of the case revealed itself. "Ay noo--ay--and they hae suspended ye?--that's hanged ye, as I suppose, like a dog or cat!

Bonnie-like Session!--my word!--and for what? Because ye wadna kill the bird! Teuch! It micht pit a body daft tae think o't!" And so on.

But this did little good to Adam, who felt his character, his honour, at stake. Things were daily getting worse to bear. The news had spread over the town, "Adam Mercer has been rebuked and suspended by the Kirk Session!" From that moment he became a marked man. Old customers fell away from him; not that any openly declared that they would not employ him as a shoemaker merely because the minister and Kirk Session were opposed to him:--Oh no! Not a hint was given of that, or anything approaching to it; but, somehow, new shoes seemed to have gone out of fashion in Drumsylie.

The cold unfeeling s...o...b..ll increased as it rolled along the street in which Adam lived, until it blocked up his door, so that he could hardly get out. If he did go, it was to be subjected to constant annoyance.

The boys and girls of the lowest cla.s.s in his neighbourhood, influenced by all they heard discussed and a.s.serted in their respective homes, where reserve was not the characteristic of the inmates, were wont to gather round his window, and to peer into the interior with an eager gaze, as if anxious to discover some fitting fuel to enlighten their domestic hearths at night. It was as impossible to seize them as to catch a flock of sparrows settled down upon a seed plot in a garden.