Beside the bonnie brier bush

E. H, PIERCE,.
OLD BOOK SHOP,

2130 Oxford St.,
Berkelev. - Calif.

TO MY WIFE

** There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard,
And white are the blossoms on't in our kail-yard."

: J*^-

Beside the
Bonnie Brier Bush

New York
Dodd, Mead and Company

COPYRIGHT, I894j

e>4

CONTENTS.

PAGE

DOMSIE.

I. . A LAD o' PAIRTS, . , i
II. How WE CARRIED THE NEWS TO

WHINNIE KNOWE, ... 13

III. IN MARGET'S GARDEN, ... 20

IV. A SCHOLAR'S FUNERAL, . . 29

A HIGHLAND MYSTIC.

I. WHAT EYE HATH NOT SEEN, . . 39

II. AGAINST PRINCIPALITIES AND POWERS, 49

HIS MOTHER'S SERMON, ... 59

THE TRANSFORMATION OF LACK-
LAN CAMPBELL.

I. A GRAND INQUISITOR, . . . 71

II. His BITTER SHAME, .... 85

III. LIKE AS A FATHER, . . . 100

IV. As A LITTLE CHILD, . . . .112

THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUM-

TOCHTY, . . . . 123,

264027

VI CONTENTS.

PAGE

A WISE WOMAN.

I. OUR SERMON TASTER, . . .137
II. THE COLLAPSE OF MRS. MACFADYEN, 147

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL,

I. A GENERAL PRACTITIONER, „ / 157

II. THROUGH THE FLOOD, . . . 170

III. A FIGHT WITH DEATH, . . . ^83

IV. THE DOCTOR'S LAST JOURNEY, . 195
V* THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN, . . 207

DOMSIE.

A LAD O' PAIRTS.

THE Revolution reached our parish years ago,
and Drumtbchty has a School Board, with a chair-
man and a clerk, besides a treasurer and an officer.
Young Hillocks, who had two years in a lawyer's
office, is clerk, and summons meetings by post,
although he sees every member at the market or
the kirk. Minutes are read with much solemnity,
and motions to expend ten shillings upon a coal-
cellar door passed, on the motion of Hillocks,
seconded by Drumsheugh, who are both severely
prompted for the occasion, and move uneasily
before speaking.

Drumsheugh was at first greatly exalted by his
poll, and referred freely on market days to his
" plumpers," but as time went on the irony of the
situation laid hold upon him.

" Think o' you and me, Hillocks, veesitin' the
schule and sittin' wi' bukes in oor hands watchin'
the Inspector. Keep's a', it's eneuch to mak' the
auld Dominie turn in his grave. Twa meenisters

• /•!•**• .* * • • • • « • • •

•2 *« • * • 'DOMSIE.

cam' in his time, and Domsie put Geordie Hoo or
some ither gleg laddie, that was makin' for college,
thro' his facin's, and maybe some bit lassie brocht
her copybuke. Syne they had. their dinner, and
Domsie tae, wi' the Doctor. Man, a've often
thocht it was the prospeck o' the Schule Board and
its weary bit rules that feenished Domsie. He
wasna maybe sae shairp at the elements as this
pirjinct body we hae noo, but a'body kent he was
a terrible scholar and a credit tae the parish.
Drumtochty was a name in thae days wi' the lads
he sent tae college. It was maybe juist as weel he
slippit awa' when he did, for he wud hae taen ill
with thae new fikes, and nae college lad to warm
his hert."

The present school-house stands in an open
place beside the main road to Muirtown, treeless
and comfortless, built of red, staring stone, with a
playground for the boys and another for the girls,
and a trim, smug-looking teacher's house, all very
neat and symmetrical, and well regulated. The
local paper had a paragraph headed " Drumtochty,"
written by the Muirtown architect, describing the
whole premises in technical language that seemed
to compensate the ratepayers for the cost, mention-
ing the contractor's name, and concluding that
" this handsome building of the Scoto-Grecian style
was one of the finest works that had ever come from
the accomplished architect's hands." It has pitch-
pine benches and map-cases, and a thermometer
to be kept at not less than 58° and not more than
62°, and ventilators which the Inspector is careful

A LAD <T PAIRTS. 3

to examine. When I stumbled in last week the
teacher was drilling the children in Tonic Sol-fa
with a little harmonium, and I left on tiptoe.
' It is difficult to live up to this kind of thing, and
my thoughts drift to the auld schule-house and
Domsie. Some one with the love of God in his
heart had built it long ago, and chose a site for the
bairns in the sweet pine woods at the foot of the
cart road to Whinnie Knowe and the upland
farms. It stood in a clearing with the tall Scotch
firs round three sides, and on the fourth a brake of
gorse and bramble bushes, through which there
was an opening to the road. The clearing was
the playground, and in summer the bairns annexed
as much wood as they liked, playing tig among
the trees, or sitting down at dinner-time on the
soft, dry spines that made an elastic carpet every-
where. Domsie used to say there were two pleas-
ant sights for his old eyes every day. One was to
stand in the open at dinner-time and see the flit-
ting forms of the healthy, rosy, sonsie bairns in the
wood, and from the door in the afternoon to watch
the schule skail till each group was lost in the
kindly shadow, and the merry shouts died away in
this quiet place. Then the Dominie took a pinch
of snuff and locked the door, and went to his
house beside the school. One evening I came on
him listening bare-headed to the voices, and he
showed so kindly that I shall take him as he
stands. A man of middle height, but stooping be-
low it, with sandy hair turning to gray, and bushy
eye-brow covering keen, shrewd gray eyes. You

4 DOMSIE.

will notice that his linen is coarse but spotless, and
that, though his clothes are worn almost thread-
bare, they are well brushed and orderly. But you
will be chiefly arrested by the Dominie's coat, for
the like of it was not in the parish. It was a black
dress coat, and no man knew when it had begun
its history; in its origin and its continuance
it resembled Melchisedek. Many were the myths
that gathered round that coat, but on this all were
agreed, that without it we could not have realized
the Dominie, and it became to us the sign and
trappings of learning. He had taken a high place
at the University, and won a good degree, and I've
heard the Doctor say that he had a career before
him. But something happened in his life, and
Domsie buried himself among the woods with the
bairns of Drumtochcy. No one knew the story,
but after he died I found a locket on his breast,
with a proud, beautiful face within, and I have
fancied it was a tragedy. It may have been in
substitution that he gave all his love to the chil-
dren, and nearly all his money too, helping lads to
college, and affording an inexhaustible store of pep-
\^permints for the little ones.

Perhaps one ought to have been ashamed of
that school-house, but yet it had its own distinc-
tion, for scholars were born there, and now and
then to this day some famous man will come and
stand in the deserted playground for a space. The
door was at one end, and stood open in summer
so that the boys saw the rabbits come out from
their holes on the edge of the wood, and birds

A LAD 6>' PAIRTS. 5

sometimes flew in unheeded. The fireplace was
at the other end, and was fed in winter with the
sticks and peats brought by the scholars. On one
side Domsie sat with the half-dozen lads he hoped
t© send to college, to whom he grudged no labour,
and on the other gathered the very little ones, who
used to warm their bare feet at the fire, while
down the sides of the room the other scholars sat
at their rough old desks, working sums and copy-
ing. Now and then a class came up and did some
task, and at times a boy got the tawse for his neg-
ligence, but never a girl. He kept the girls in
as their punishment, with a brother to take them
home, and both had tea in Domsie's house, with a
bit of his best honey, departing much torn between
an honest wish to please Domsie and a pardonable
longing for another tea.

" Domsie," as we called the schoolmaster, behind
his back in Drumtochty, because we loved him,
was true to the tradition of his kind and had an
unerring scent for " pairts " in his laddies,^ He
could detect a scholar in the egg, and prophesied
Latinity from a boy that seemed fit only to be a
cowherd. /It was believed that he had never made
a mistake in judgment, and it was not his blame if
the embryo scholar did not come to birth/ " Five
and thirty years have I been minister at Drum-
tochty," the Doctor used to say at school examina-
tions, " and we have never wanted a student at the
University, and while Dominie Jamieson lives we
never shall." Whereupon Domsie took snuff, and
assigned his share of credit to the Doctor, " who

6 DOMSIE.

gave the finish in Greek to every lad of them, with-
out money and without price, to make no mention
of the higher mathematics." Seven ministers, four
schoolmasters, four doctors, one professor, and
three civil service men had been sent out by the
auld schule in Domsie's time, besides many that
" had given themselves to mercantile pursuits,"

He had a leaning to classics and the professions,
but Domsie was catholic in his recognition of
" pairts," and when the son of Hillocks' foreman
made a collection of the insects of Drumtochty,
there was a council at the manse. " Bumbee
Willie," as he had been pleasantly called by his
companions, was rescued from ridicule and encour-
aged to fulfil his bent. Once a year a long letter
came to Mr. Patrick Jamieson, M. A., Schoolmas-
ter, Drumtochty, N. B., and the address within was
the British Museum. When Domsie read this let-
ter to the school, he was always careful to explain
that " Dr. Graham is the greatest living authority
on beetles," and, generally speaking, if any clever
lad did not care for Latin, he had the alternative of
beetles.

But it was Latin Domsie hunted for as for fine
gold, and when he found the smack of it in a
lad he rejoiced openly. He counted it a day in his
life when he knew certainly that he had hit on an-
other scholar, and the whole school saw the iden-
tification of George Howe. For a winter Domsie
had been " at point," racing George through
Csesar, stalking him behind irregular verbs, baiting
traps with tit-bits of Vergil. During these exer-

A LAD O' PAIRTS. 7

cises Domsie surveyed George from above his
spectacles with a hope that grew every day in as-
surance, and came to its height over a bit of Latin
prose. Domsie tasted it visibly, and read it again
in the shadow of the firs at meal-time, slapping his
leg twice.

" He'll dae ! he'll dae ! " cried Domsie aloud,
ladling in the snuff. "George, ma mannie, tell
yir father that I am comin' up to Whinnie Knowe
the nicht on a bit o' business."

Then the "schule " knew that Geordie Hoo was
marked for college, and pelted him with fir cones
in great gladness of heart.

" Whinnie " was full of curiosity over the
Dominie's visit, and vexed Marget sorely, to whom
Geordie had told wondrous things in the milk-
house. " It canna be coals 'at he's wantin' frae
the station, for there's a fell puckle left."

" And it'll no be seed taties," she said, pursuing the
principle of exhaustion, " for he hes some Perthshire
reds himsel'. I doot it's somethin' wrang with
Geordie," and Whinnie started on a new track.

" He's been playin' truant maybe. A' mind
gettin' ma paiks for birdnestin' masel. I'll wager
that's the verra thing."

" Weel, yir wrang, Weelum," broke in Marget,
Whinnie's wife, a tall, silent woman, with a speak-
ing face ;; " it's naither the ae thing nor the ither,
but something I've been prayin' for since Geordie
was a wee bairn. Clean yirsel' and meet Domsie
on the road, for nae man deserves more honour
in Drumtochty, naither laird nor farmer."

8 DOMSIE.

Conversation with us was a leisurely game,
with slow movements and many pauses, and it
was our custom to handle all the pawns before
we brought the queen into action.

Domsie and Whinnie discussed the weather
with much detail before they came in sight of
George, but it was clear that Domsie was charged
with something weighty, and even Whinnie felt
that his own treatment of the turnip crop was
wanting in repose.

At last Domsie cleared his throat and looked
at Marget, who had been in and out, but ever
within hearing.

" George is a fine laddie, Mrs. Howe."

An ordinary Drumtochty mother, although
bursting with pride, would have responded, " He's
weel eneuch, if he hed grace in his heart," in
a tone that implied it was extremely unlikely,
and that her laddie led the reprobates of the
parish. As it was, Marget's face lightened, and
she waited.

" What do you think of making him.? " and the
Dominie dropped the words slowly, for this was a
moment in Drumtochty.

(There was just a single ambition in those humble
homes, to have one of its members at college, and
if Domsie approved a lad, then his brothers and
sisters would give their wages, and the family
would live on skim milk and oat cake, to let him
have his chance.

Whinnie glanced at his wife and turned to
Domsie.

A LAD O' PAIXTS. 9

" Marget's set on seein' Geordie a minister,
Dominie."

" If he's worthy o't, no otherwise. We haena
the means, though ; the farm is highly rented, and
there's barely a penny over at the end o' the year."

" But you are willing George should go and see
what he can do. If he disappoint you, then I
dinna know a lad o' pairts when I see him, and the
Doctor is with me."

" Maister Jamieson," said Marget, with great
solemnity, " ma hert's desire is to see George a
minister, and if the Almichty spared me to hear
my only bairn open his mooth in the Evangel, I
wud hae naething mair to ask — but I doot sair it
canna be managed."

Domsie had got all he asked, and he rose in his
strength.

" If George Howe disna get to college, then heis
the first scholar I've lost in Drumtochty — ye 'ill
manage his keep and sic like ? "

" Nae fear o' that," for Whinnie was warming,
" tho' I haena a steek [stitch] o' new claithes for
four years. But what aboot his fees and ither
ootgaeins ? "

" There's ae man in the parish can pay George's
fees without missing a penny, and I'll warrant he
'ill dae it."

" Are ye meanin' Drurnsheugh ? " said Whinnie,
" for ye 'ill never get a penny piece oot o' him. Did
ye no hear hoo the Frees wiled him intae their
kirk, Sabbath past a week, when Netherton's
sister's son frae Edinboro' wes preaching the mis-

10 DOMSIE.

sionary sermon, expectin' a note, and if he didna
change a shillin' at the public-hoose and pit in a
penny. Sail, he's a lad Drumsheugh ; a'm think-
ing ye may save yir journey, Dominie."

But Marget looked away from her into the past,
and her eyes had a tender light. " He hed the
best hert in the pairish aince."

Domsie found Drumsheugh inclined for com-
pany, and assisted at an exhaustive and caustic
treatment of local affairs. When the conduct
of Piggie Walker, who bought Drumsheugh's
potatoes and went into bankruptcy without paying
for a single tuber, had been characterised in lan-
guage that left nothing to be desired, Drumsheugh
began to soften and show signs of reciprocity.

" Hoo's yir laddies, Dominie?" whom the
farmers regarded as a risky turnip crop in a
stiff clay that Domsie had "to fecht awa in."
" Are ony o' them shaping weel ? "

Drumsheugh had given himself away, and
Domsie laid his first parallel with a glowing
account of George Howe's Latinity, which was
well received.

" Weel, I'm gled tae hear sic accoonts o' Marget
Hoo's son ; there's naething in Whinnie but what
the spune puts in."

But at the next move Drumsheugh scented
danger and stood at guard. " Na, na, Dominie,
I see what yir aifter fine ; ye mind hoo ye got
three notes oot o' me at Perth market Martinmas
a year past for ane o' yir college laddies. Five
punds for four years ; my word, yir no blate

A LAD O' PAIRTS. «

[modest]. And what for sud I educat Marget
Hoo's bairn ? If ye kent a* ye wudna ask me \
it's no reasonable, Dominie. So there's an end
o't."

Domsie was only a pedantic old parish school-
master, and he knew little beyond his craft, but
the spirit of the Humanists awoke within him, and
he smote with all his might, bidding good-bye to
his English [as one flings away the scabbard of
a swordy

" Ye think that a'm asking a great thing when
I plead for a pickle notes to give a puir laddie
a college education. I tell ye, man, a'm honourin*
ye and givin' ye the fairest chance ye'll ever hae
o* winning wealth. Gin ye store the money ye
hae scrapit by mony a hard bargain, some heir
ye never saw 'ill gar it flee in chambering and
wantonness. Gin ye hed the heart to spend it
on a lad o' pairts like Geordie Hoo, ye wud hae
twa rewards nae man could tak fra ye. Ane wud
be the honest gratitude o' a laddie whose desire
for knowledge ye hed sateesfied, and the second
wud be this — anither scholar in the land ; and a'm
thinking with auld John Knox that ilka scholar
is something added to the riches of the common-
wealth. And what 'ill it cost ye ? Little mair
than the price o' a cattle beast. Man, Drums-
heugh, ye poverty-stricken cratur, I've naethin'
in this world but a handfu' o' books and a ten-
pund note for my funeral, and yet, if it wasna
I have all my brither's bairns tae keep, I wud pay
every penny mysel' ! But I'll no see Geordie sent

12 DOMSIE.

to the plough, tho' I gang frae door to door. Na,
na, the grass 'ill no grow on the road atween the
college and the schule-hoose o' Drumtochty till
they lay me in the auld kirkyard ! "

" Sail, Domsie was roosed," Drumsheugh
explained in the Muirtown inn next market.
" ' Miserly wratch ' was the ceevilest word on his
tongue. He wud naither sit nor taste, and was
half-way doon the yaird afore I cud quiet him.
An* a'm no sayin' he hed na reason if I'd been
meanin' a* I said. It wud be a scan'al to the
pairish if a likely lad cudna win tae college for the
want o' siller. Na, na, neeburs, we hae oor faults,
but we're no sae dune mean as that in Drum-
tochty."

As it was, when Domsie did depart, he could
only grip Drumsheugh's hand, and say Maecenas,
and was so intoxicated, but not with strong drink,
that he explained to Hillocks on the way home that
Drumsheugh would be a credit to Drumtochty,
and that his Latin style reminded him of Cicero.
He added as an after-thought that Whinnie Knowe
had promised to pay Drumsheugh's fees for four
years at the University of Edinburgh.

II.

HOW WE CARRIED THE NEWS TO WHINNIE
KNOWE.

DOMSIE was an artist, and prepared the way for
George's University achievement with much cun-
ning. Once every Sabbath in the kirk-yard, where
he laid down the law beneath an old elm tree, and
twice between Sabbaths, at the post-office and by
. the wayside, he adjured us not to expect beyond
measure, and gave us reasons.

" Ye see, he has a natural talent for learning, and
took to Latin like a duck to water. What could
be done in Drumtochty was done for him, and he's
working night and day, but he'll have a sore fight
with the lads from the town schools. Na, na,
neighbours," said the Dominie, lapsing into dialect,
" we daurna luik for a prize. No the first year, at
ony rate."

" Man, Dominie. A'm clean astonished at ye,"
Drumsheugh used to break in, who, since he had
given to George' s support, outran us all in his
faith, and had no patience with Domsie's devices ;
" af tell ye if Geoix Jisna get a first in every class
he's entered for, the judges 'ill be a puir lot," with
a fine confusion of circumstances.
13

14 DO MSI E.

" Losh, Drumsheugh, be quiet, or ye'll clae the
laddie an injury," said Domsie, with genuine alarm.
" We maunna mention prizes, and first is fair
madness. A certificate of honour now, that will
be aboot it, may be next to the prizemen."

Coming home from market he might open his
heart. " George 'ill be amang the first sax, or my
name is no Jamieson," but generally he prophesied
a moderate success. There were times when he
affected indifference, and talked cattle. We then
regarded him with awe, because this was more
than mortal.

It was my luck to carry the bulletin to Domsie,
and I learned what he had been enduring. It was
good manners in Drumtochty to feign amazement
at the sight of a letter, and to insist that it,
must be intended for some other person. When it
was finally forced upon one, you examined the
handwriting at various angles and speculated about
the writer. Some felt emboldened, after these
precautions, to open the letter, but this haste was
considered indecent. When Posty handed Drum-
sheugh the factor's letter, with the answer to his
offer for the farm, he only remarked, " It '11 be frae
the factor," and harked back to a polled Angus
bull he had seen at the show. " Sail," said Posty
in the kirkyard with keen relish, "ye'll never flurry
Drumsheugh." Ordinary letters were read in leis-
urely retirement, and, in case of urgency, answered
within the week.

Domsie clutched the letter, and would have
torn off the envelope. But he could not ; his

HOW WE CARRIED THE NEWS. 1 5

hand was shaking like an aspen. He could only
look, and I read :

" DEAR MR. JAMIESON :

" The class honour lists are just out, and you will
be pleased to know that I have got the medal both
in the Humanity and the Greek."

There was something about telling his mother,
and his gratitude to his schoolmaster, but Domsie
heard no more. He tried to speak and could not,
for a rain of tears was on his hard old face,
Domsie was far more a pagan than a saint, but
somehow he seemed to me that day as Simeon, who-
had at last seen his heart's desire, and was satisfied.
When the school had dispersed with a joyful
shout, and disappeared in the pine woods, he said,
" Ye'll come too," and I knew he was going to-
Whinnie Knowe. He did not speak one word
upon the way, but twice he stood and read the
letter, which he held fast in his hand. His face
was set as he climbed the cart track. I saw it
set again as we came down that road one day, but
it was well that we could not pierce beyond the
present.

Whinnie left his plough in the furrow, and came
to meet us, taking two drills at a stride, and shout-
ing remarks on the weather yards off.

Domsie only lifted the letter. " Frae George."
" Ay, ay, and what's he gotten noo? "
Domsie solemnly unfolded the letter, and
brought down his spectacles. " Edinburgh,

1 6 DOMSIE.

April 7th." Then he looked at Whinnie and
closed his mouth.

" We'll tell it first to his mither."

"Yer richt, Dominie. She weel deserves it.
A'm thinking she's seen us by this time." So
we fell into a procession, Dominie leading by
two yards ; and then a strange thing happened.
For the first and last time in his life Domsie
whistled, and the tune was "A hundred pipers
and a' and a," and as he whistled he seemed to
dilate before our eyes, and he struck down thistles
with his stick — a thistle at every stroke.

" Domsie's fair carried," whispered Whinnie,
" it cowes a'."

Marget met us at the end of the house be-
side the brier bush, where George was to sit on
summer afternoons before he died, and a flash
passed between Domsie and the lad's mother.
Then she knew that it was well, and fixed her
eyes on the letter, but Whinnie, his thumbs in
his armholes, watched the wife.

Domsie now essayed to read the news, but
between the shaking of his hands and his voice
he could not.

" It's nae use," he cried, " he's first in the
Humanity oot o' a hundred and seeventy lads,
first o' them a', and he's first in the Greek too ;
the like o' this is hardly known, and it hasna been
seen in Drumtochty since there was a schule.
That's the word he's sent, and he bade me tell his
mother without delay, and I am here as fast as my
old feet could carry me."

HOW WE CARRIED THE NEWS. IT

I glanced round, although I did not myself see
very clearly.

Marget was silent for the space of five seconds ;
she was a good woman, and I knew that better
afterwards. She took the Dominie's hand, and
said to him, " Under God this was your doing,
Maister Jamieson, and for your reward ye'ill get
naither silver nor gold, but ye hae a mither's
gratitude."

Whinnie gave a hoarse chuckle and said to his
wife, " It was frae you, Marget, he got it a'."

When we settled in the parlour Domsie's tongue
was loosed, and he lifted up his voice and sang the
victory of Geordie Hoo.

" It's ten years ago at the brak up o' the winter
ye brought him down to me, Mrs. Hoo, and ye
said at the schule-hoose door, ' Dinna be hard on
him, Maister Jamieson, he's my only bairn, and
a wee thingie quiet/ Div ye mind what I said,
' There's something ahint that face/ and my heart
warmed to George that hour. Two years after
the Doctor examined the schule, and he looks at
George, ' That's a likely lad, Dominie. What
think ye?' And he was only eight years auld,
and no big for his size. ' Doctor, I daurna proph-
esy till we turn him into the Latin, but a've my
thoughts/ So I had a' the time, but I never
boasted ; na, na, that's dangerous. Didna I say,
' Ye hev a promisin' laddie, Whinnie/ ae day in the
market ? "

" It's a fac'," said Whinnie, " it wes the day I
bocht the white coo/' But Domsie swept on.

*8 DOMSIE.

" The first year o' Latin was enough for me.
He juist nippet up his verbs. Caesar couldna
keep him going ; he wes into Vergil afore he wes
eleven, and the Latin prose, man, as sure as a'm
living, it tasted o' Cicero frae the beginning."

Whinnie wagged his head in amazement.

" It was the verra nicht o' the Latin prose I cam
up to speak aboot the college, and ye thocht Geor-
die hed been playing truant."

Whinnie laughed uproariously, but Domsie
heeded not.

" It was awfu' work the next twa years, but the
Doctor stood in wee! wi' the Greek. Ye mind hoo
Geordie tramped ower the muir to the manse
thro' the weet an' the snaw, and there wes aye dry
stockings for him in the kitchen afore he had his
Greek in the Doctor's study."

" And a warm drink tae," put in Margaret,
"and that's the window I pit the licht in to guide
him hame in the dark winter nichts, and mony a
time when the sleet played swish on the glass I
wes near wishin' " Domsie waved his hand.

"But that's dune wi' noo, and he was worth a'
the toil and trouble. First in the Humanity, and
first in the Greek, sweepit the field, Lord preserve
us ! A' can hardly believe it. Eh, I was feared o'
thae High School lads. They had terrible advan-
tages. Maisters frae England, and tutors, and
whatna', but Drumtochty carried aff the croon.
It '11 be fine reading in the papers :

"' Humanity. — First Prize (and Medal), George
Howe. Drumtochty, Perthshire.

HOW WE CARRIED THE NEWS. 1 9

" ' Greek. — First Prize (and Medal), George
Howe, Drumtochty, Perthshire/ "

" It'll be michty," cried Whinnie, now fairly on
fire.

" And Philosophy and Mathematics to come.
Geordie's no bad at Euclid. I'll wager he'll be
first there too. When he gets his hand in there's
naething he's no fit for wi' time. My ain laddie —
and the Doctor's — we maunna forget him— it's his
classics he hes, every book o' them. The Doctor
'11 be lifted when he comes back on Saturday. A'm
thinkin' we'll hear o't on Sabbath. And Drum-
sheugh, he'll be naither to had nor bind in the
kirk-yard. As for me, I wadna change places wi'
the Duke o' Athole," and Domsie shook the table
to its foundation.

Then he awoke, as from a dream, and the shame
of boasting that shuts the mouths of self-respecting
Scots descended upon him.

" But this is fair nonsense. Ye'll no mind the
havers o' an auld dominie."

He fell back on a recent roup, and would not
again break away, although sorely tempted by cer-
tain of Whinnie's speculations.

When I saw him last, his coat-tails were waving
victoriously as he leaped a dyke on his way to tell
our Drumtochty Maecenas that the judges knew
their business.

III.

IN MARGET'S GARDEN.

THE cart track to Whinnie Knowe was com-
manded by a gable window, and Whinnie boasted
that Marget had never been taken unawares.
Tramps finding every door locked, and no sign of
life anywhere, used to express their mind in the
" close," and return by the way they came, while
ladies from Kildrummie, fearful lest they should
put Mrs. Howe out, were met at the garden gate
by Marget in her Sabbath dress, and brought into
a set tea as if they had been invited weeks before.

Whinnie gloried most in the discomfiture of the
Tory agent, who had vainly hoped to coerce him
in the stack-yard without Marget's presence, as
her intellectual contempt for the Conservative
party knew no bounds.

"Sail she saw him slip aff the road afore the
last stile, and wheep roond the fit o' the gairden
wa' like a tod [fox] aifter the chickens.

"'It's a het day, Maister Anderson/ says Mar-
get frae the gairden, lookin' doon on him as calm
as ye like. ' Yir surely no gaein' to pass oor hoose
without a gless o' milk? '

" Wud ye believe it, he wes that upset he left

IN MARGET'S GARDEN. 21

withoot sayin' ' vote/ and Drumsheugh telt me
next market that his langidge aifterwards cudna
be printed."

When George came home for the last time,
Marget went back and forward all afternoon from
his bedroom to the window, and hid herself be-
neath the laburnum to see his face as the cart
stood before the stile. It told her plain what she
had feared, and Marget passed through her Geth-
semane with the gold blossoms falling on her face.
When their eyes met, and before she helped him
down, mother and son understood.

" Ye mind what I told ye, o' the Greek mothers,
the day I left. Weel, I wud hae liked to have car-
ried my shield, but it wasna to be, so I've come
home on it." As they went slowly up the garden
walk, "I've got my degree, a double first, mathe-
matics and classics."

"Ye've been a gude soldier, George, and
faithfu'."

44 Unto death, a'm clootin', mother."

" Na," said Marget, " unto life."

Drumtochty was not a heartening place in sick-
ness, and Marget, who did not think our thoughts,
endured much consolation at her neighbour's
hands. It is said that in cities visitors congratu-
late a patient on his good looks, and deluge his
family with instances of recovery. This would
have seemed to us shallow and unfeeling, besides
being a " temptin' o' Providence," which might riot
have intended to go to extremities, but on a
challenge of this kind had no alternative. Sickness

22 DOMSIE.

was regarded as a distinction tempered with judg-
ment, and favoured people found it difficult to be
humble. I always thought more of Peter Mac-
intosh, when the mysterious" tribble " that needed
the Perth doctor made no difference in his manner,
and he passed his snuff box across the seat before
the long prayer as usual, but in this indifference to
privileges Peter was exceptional.

You could never meet Kirsty Stewart on equal
terms, although she was quite affable to any one
who knew his place.

" Ay," she said, on my respectful allusion to her
experience, " a've seen mair than most. It doesna
become me to boast, but tho' I say it as sudna, I
hae buried a' my ain fouk."

Kirsty had a " way " in sick visiting, consisting
in a certain cadence of the voice and arrangement
of the face, which was felt to be soothing and
complimentary.

" Yir aboot again, a'm glad to see/' to me after
my accident, " but yir no dune wi' that leg ; na, na,
Jeems — that was ma second son — scrapit his shin
aince, tho' no so bad as ye've dune, a'm hearing
[for I had denied Kirsty the courtesy of an inspec-
tion]. It's sax year syne noo, and he got up and
wes traivellin' fell hearty like yersel'. But he be-
good to dwam [sicken] in the end of the year, and
soughed awa' in the spring. Ay, ay, when tribble
comes ye never ken hoo it 'ill end. A* thocht I
wud come up and speir for ye. A body needs
comfort gin he's sober [ill]."

When I found George wrapped in his plaid

IN MA RGB T'S GA RDEN. 23

beside the brier bush, whose roses were no whiter
than his cheeks, Kirsty was already installed as
comforter in the parlour, and her drone came
through the open window.

" Ay, ay, Marget, sae it's come to this. Weel,
we daurna complain, ye ken. Be thankfu* ye
haena lost your man and five sons, besides twa
sisters and a brither, no to mention cousins. That
wud be something to speak aboot, and Losh keep's,
there's nae saying but he micht hang on a whilie.
Ay, ay, it's a sair blow aifter af that wes in the
papers. I wes feared when I heard o' the papers ;
' Lat weel alane,' says I to the Dominie ; ' ye 'ill
bring a judgment on the laddie wi' yir blawing.'
But ye micht as weel hae spoken to the hills.
Domsie's a thrann body at the best, and he was
clean infatuat' wi' George. Ay, ay, it's an awfu*
lesson, Marget, no to mak' idols o' our bairns, for
that's naethin' else than provokin' the Almichty."

It was at this point that Marget gave way and
scandalised Drumtochty, which held that obtrusive
prosperity was an irresistible provocation to the
higher powers, and that a skilful deprecation of
our children was a policy of safety.

" Did ye say the Almichty ? I'm thinkin' that's
ower grand a name for your God, Kirsty. What
wud ye think o' a faither that brocht hame some
bonnie thing frae the fair for ane o' his bairns, and
when the puir bairn wes pleased wi' it, tore it oot
o' his hand and flung it into the fire ? Eh, woman,
he wud be a meeserable, cankered, jealous body.
Kirsty, wumman, when the Almichty sees a mither

24 DOMSIE.

bound up in her laddie, I tell ye He is sair pleased
in His heaven, for mind ye hoo He loved His ain
Son. Besides, a'm judgin' that nane o' us can
love anither withoot lovin' Him, or hurt anither
withoot hurtin' Him.

" Oh, I ken weel that George is gaein' to leave us ;
but it's no because the Almichty is jealous o' him
or me, no likely. It cam' to me last nicht that He
needs my laddie for some grand wark in the ither
world, and that's hoo George has his bukes brocht
oot tae the garden and studies a* the day. He
wants to be ready for his kingdom, just as he
trachled in the bit schule o' Drumtochty for Edin-
boro'. I hoped he would hae been a minister o'
Christ's Gospel here, but he 'ill be judge over many
cities yonder. A'm no denyin', Kirsty, that it's a
trial, but I hae licht on it, and naethin' but gude
thochts o' the Almichty."

Drumtochty understood that Kirsty had dealt
faithfully with Marget for pride and presumption,
but all we heard was, " Losh keep us a'."

When Marget came out and sat down beside
her son, her face was shining. Then she saw the
open window.

" I didna ken."

"Never mind, mither, there's nae secrets atween
us, and it gar'd my heart leap to hear ye speak up
like yon for God, and to know yir content. Div ye
mind the nicht I called for ye, mother, and ye gave
me the Gospel aboot God ? "

Marget slipped her hand into George's, and he
let his head rest on her shoulder. The likeness

IN MARGET^S GARDEN. 25

flashed upon me in that moment, the earnest deep-
set gray eyes, the clean-cut firm jaw, and the tender
mobile lips, that blend of apparent austerity and
underlying romance that make the pathos of a
Scottish face.

" There had been a Revival man here," George
explained to me, " and he was preaching on hell.
As it grew dark a candle was lighted, and I can
still see his face as in a picture, a hard-visaged
man. He looked down at us laddies in the front,
and asked us if we knew what like hell was. By
this time we were that terrified none of us could
speak, but I whispered ' No.f

" Then he rolled up a piece of paper and held it
in the flame, and we saw it burn and glow and
shrivel up and fall in black dust.

" * Think/ said he, and he leaned over the desk,
and spoke in a gruesome whisper which made the
cold run down our backs, ' that yon paper was
your finger, one finger only of your hand, and it
burned like that for ever and ever, and think of
your hand and your arm and your whole body all
on fire, never to go out.' We shuddered that you
might have heard the form creak. * That is hell,
and that is where ony laddie will go who does not
repent and believe/

" It was like Dante's Inferno, and I dared not
take my eyes off his face. He blew out the candle,
and we crept to the door trembling, not able to
say one word.

" That night I could not sleep, for I thought I
might be in the fire before morning, It was harvest

26 DOMS1E.

time, and the moon was filling the room with cold,
clear light. From my bed I could see the stocks
standing in rows upon the field, and it seemed like
the judgment day.

" I was only a wee laddie, and I did what we all
do in trouble, I cried for my mother.

" Ye hae na forgotten, mither, the fricht that was
on me that nicht."

" Never," said Marget, " and never can ; it's
hard wark for me to keep frae hating that man,
dead or alive. Geordie gripped me wi' baith his
wee airms round my neck, and he cries over and
over and over again, ' Is yon God ? ' "

" Ay, and ye kissed me, mither, and ye said (it's
like yesterday), ' Yir safe with me/ and ye telt me
that God micht punish me to mak me better if I
was bad, but that he wud never torture ony puir
soul, for that cud dae nae guid, and was the Devil's
wark. Ye asked me :

" ' Am I a guid mother tae ye ? ' and when I
could dae naethin' but hold, ye said, ' Be sure God
maun be a hantle kinder/

" The truth came to me as with a flicker, and I
cuddled down into my bed, and fell asleep in His
love as in my mother's arms.

" Mither/* and George lifted up his head, " that
was my conversion, and, mither dear, I hae longed
a* thro' thae college studies for the day when ma
mooth wud be opened wi' this evangel."

Marget's was an old-fashioned garden, with
pinks and daisies and forget-me-nots, with sweet-
scented wall-flower and thyme and moss roses,

IN MARGETS GARDEN. 27

where nature had her way, and gracious thoughts
could visit one without any jarring note. As
George's voice softened to the close, I caught her
saying, " His servants shall see His face," and the
peace of Paradise fell upon us in the shadow of
death.

The night before the end George was carried out
to his corner, and Domsie, whose heart was nigh
unto the breaking, sat with him the afternoon. They
used to fight »the College battles over again, with
their favourite classics beside them, but this time
none of them spoke of books. Margaret was
moving about the garden, and she told me that
George looked at Domsie wistfully, as if he had
something to say and knew not how to do it.

After a while he took a book from below his
pillow, and began, like one thinking over his
words :

" Maister Jamieson, ye hae been a guid freena
tae me, the best I ever hed aifter my mither and
faither. Wull ye tak' this buik for a keepsake of
yir grateful scholar ? It's a Latin ' Imitation,'
Dominie, and it's bonnie printin'. Ye mind hoo
ye gave me yir ain Vergil, and said he was a kind
o' Pagan sanct. Noo, here is my sanct, and div ye
ken I've often thocht Vergil saw His day afar off,
and was glad. Wull ye read it, Dominie, for my

sake, and maybe ye 'ill come to see " and

George could not find words for more.

But Domsie understood. " Ma laddie, ma
laddie, that I luve better than onythin' on earth,
I'll read it till I die, and, George, I'll tell ye what

<8 DOMSIE.

livin' man doesna ken. When I was your verra
age I had a cruel trial, and ma heart was turned
frae faith. The classics hae been my Bible, though
I said naethin' to ony man against Christ. He
aye seemed beyond man, and noo the veesion o'
Him has come to me in this gairden. Laddie, ye
hae dune far mair for me than I ever did for you.
Wull ye mak' a prayer for yir auld dominie afore
we pairt ? "

There was a thrush singing in the birches and
a sound of bees in the air, when George prayed in
a low, soft voice, with a little break in it :

" Lord Jesus, remember my dear maister, for
he's been a kind freend to me and mony a puir
laddie in Drumtochty. Bind up his sair heart and
give him licht at eventide,* and may the maister
and his scholars meet some mornin* where the
schule never skails, in the kingdom o* oor Father."

Twice Domsie said Amen, and it seemed as the
voice of another man, and then he kissed George
upon the forehead ; but what they said Marget did
not wish to hear.

When he passed out at the garden gate, the
Westering sun was shining golden, and the face of
Domsie was like unto that of a little child.

IV.

A SCHOLAR'S FUNERAL.

DRUMTOCHTY never acquitted itself with credit
at a marriage, having no natural aptitude for
gaiety, and being haunted with anxiety lest any
" hicht " should end in a " howe," but the parish
had a genius for funerals. It was long mentioned
with a just sense of merit that an English under-
taker, chancing on a " beerial " with us, had no
limits to his admiration. He had been disheart-
ened to despair all his life by the ghastly efforts of
chirpy little Southerners to look solemn on occa-
sion, but his dreams were satisfied at the sight of
men like Drumsheugh and Hillocks in their Sab-
bath blacks. Nature lent an initial advantage in
face, but it was an instinct in the blood that
brought our manner to perfection, and nothing
could be more awful than a group of those austere
figures, each man gazing into vacancy without a
trace of expression, and refusing to recognise his
nearest neighbour by word or look. Drumtochty
gave itself to a " beerial " with chastened satisfac-
tion, partly because it lay near to the sorrow of
things, and partly because there was nothing of
speculation in it. " Ye can hae little rael pleesure

30 DOMSIE.

in a merrige," explained our gravedigger, in whom
the serious side had been perhaps abnormally de-
veloped, " for ye never ken hoo it will end ; but
there's nae risk about a ' beerial.' "

It came with a shock upon townsmen that the
ceremony began with a " service o' speerits," and
that an attempt of the Free Kirk minister to
replace this by the reading of Scripture was re-
sisted as an "innovation." Yet everyone ad-
mitted that the seriousness of Drumtochty per-
vaded and sanctified this function. A tray of
glasses was placed on a table with great solemnity
by the " wricht," who made no sign and invited
none. You might have supposed that the circum-
stance had escaped the notice of the company, so
abstracted and unconscious was their manner, had
it not been that two graven images a minute later
are standing at the table.

"Ye 'ill taste, Tammas," with settled melan-
choly.

" Na, na ; I've nae incleenation the day ; it's an
awfu* dispensation, this, Jeems. She wud be
barely saxty."

" Ay, ay, but we maun keep up the body sae
lang as we're here, Tammas."

" Weel, puttin' it that way, a'm not sayin* but
yir richt," yielding unwillingly to the force of
circumstance.

" We're here the day and there the morn,
Tammas. She wes a fine wumman — Mistress
Stirton — a weel-livin' wumman : this 'ill be a
blend, a'm thinkinV

A SCHOLAR'S FUNERAL. 31

" She slippit aff sudden in the end ; a'm judgin'
it's frae the Muirtown grocer ; but a body canna
discreeminate on a day like this."

Before the glasses are empty all idea of drinking
is dissipated, and one has a vague impression that
he is at church.

It was George Howe's funeral that broke thtf
custom and closed the " service." When I came
into the garden where the neighbours were
gathered, the " wricht " was removing his tray,
and not a glass had been touched. Then I knew
that Drumtochty had a sense of the fitness of
things, and was stirred to its depths.

" Ye saw the wricht carry in his tray," said
Drumsheugh, as we went home from the kirkyard.
" Weel, yon's the last sicht o't ye'ill get, or a'm
no Drumsheugh. I've nae objection masel' to a
neebur tastin' at a funeral, a' the mair if he's come
frae the upper end o' the pairish, and ye ken I
dinna hold wi' thae teetotal fouk. A'm ower auld
in the horn to change noo. But there's times and
seasons, as the Gude Buik says, and it wud hae
been an awfu' like business tae luik at a gless in
Marget's gairden, and puir Domsie standing in
ahent the brier bush as if he cud never lift his heid
again. Ye may get shairper fouk in*the uptak',
but ye'ill no get a pairish with better feelin's. It
'ill be a kind o' sateesfaction tae Marget when she
hears o't. She was aye against tastin', and a'm
judgin' her tribble has ended it at beerials."

" Man, it was hard on some o' yon lads the day,
but there wesna ane o' them made a mudge. I

32 DOMSIE.

keepit my eye on Posty, but he never lookit the way
it wes. He's a drouthy body, but he hes his feel-
in's, hes Posty."

Before the Doctor began the prayer, Whinnie
took me up to the room.

" There's twa o' Geordie's College freends with
Marget, grand scholars a'm telt, and there's
anither I canna weel mak' oot. He's terrible cast
doon, and Marget speaks as if she kent him."

It was a low-roofed room, with a box bed and
some pieces of humble furniture, fit only for a
labouring man. But the choice treasures of
Greece and Rome lay on the table, and on a shelf
beside the bed College prizes and medals, while
everywhere were the roses he loved. His peasant
mother stood beside the body of her scholar son,
whose hopes and thoughts she had shared, and
through the window came the bleating of distant
sheep. It was the idyl of Scottish University life.

George's friends were characteristic men, each
of his own type, and could only have met in the
commonwealth of letters. One was of an ancient
Scottish house which had fought for Mary against
the Lords of the Congregation, followed Prince
Charlie to Culloden, and were High Church and
Tory to trie last drop of their blood. Ludovic
Gordon left Harrow with the reputation of a
classic, and had expected to be first at Edinboro*.
It was Gordon, in fact, that Domsie feared in the
great war, but he proved second to Marget's son,
and being of the breed of Prince Jonathan, which
is the same the world over, he came to love our

A SCHOLAR'S FUNERAL. 33

David as his own soul. The other, a dark little
man, with a quick, fiery eye, was a western Celt,
who had worried his way from a fishing croft in
Barra to be an easy first in philosophy at Edin-
boro', and George and Ronald Maclean were as
brothers, because there is nothing so different as
Scottish and Highland blood.

"Maister Gordon," said Marget, " this is
George's Homer, and he bade me tell you that
he coonted yir freendship ain o' the gifts o' God."

For a brief space Gordon was silent, and, when
he spoke, his voice sounded strange in that room.

" Your son was the finest scholar of my time,
and a very perfect gentleman. He was also my
true friend, and I pray God to console his mother."
And Ludovic Gordon bowed low over Marget's
worn hand as if she had been a queen.

Marget lifted Plato, and it seemed to me that
day as if the dignity of our Lady of Sorrows had
fallen upon her.

" This is the buik George chose for you, Maister
Maclean, for he aye said to me ye hed been a
prophet and shown him mony deep things."

The tears sprang to the Celt's eyes.

" It wass like him to make all other men better
than himself," with the soft, sad Highland accent ;
" and a proud woman you are to hef been his
mother."

The third man waited at the window till the
scholars left, and then I saw he was none of that
kind, but one "who had been a slave of sin and now
was free.

34 DOMSIE.

" Andra Chaumers, George wished ye tae hev
his Bible, and he expecks ye tae keep the tryst."

" God helping me, I will," said Chalmers,
hoarsely ; and from the garden ascended a voice,
* O God, who art a very present help in trouble."

The Doctor's funeral prayer was one of the
glories of the parish, compelling even the Free
Kirk to reluctant admiration, although they hinted
that its excellence was rather of the letter than the
spirit, and regarded its indiscriminate charity with
suspicion. It opened with a series of extracts from
the Psalms, relieved by two excursions into the
minor prophets, and led up to a sonorous recita-
tion of the problem of immortality from Job, with
its triumphant solution in the peroration of the
fifteenth chapter of ist Corinthians. Drumtochty
men held their breath till the Doctor reached the
crest of the hill (Hillocks disgraced himself once
by dropping his staff at the very moment when the
Doctor was passing from Job to Paul), and then
we relaxed while the Doctor descended to local de-
tail. It was understood that it took twenty years
to bring the body of this prayer to perfection, and
any change would have been detected and re-
sented.

The Doctor made a good start, and had already
sighted Job, when he was carried out of his course
by a sudden current, and began to speak to God
about Marget and her son, after a very simple
fashion that brought a lump to the throat, till at
last, as I imagine, the sight of the laddie working
at his Greek in the study of a winter night came

A SCHOLAR'S FUNERAL. 35

up before him, and the remnants of the great
prayer melted like an iceberg in the Gulf Stream.

" Lord, hae peety upon us, for we a' luved him,
and we were a' prood o' him."

After the Doctor said " Amen " with majesty, one
used to look at his neighbour, and the other would
shut his eyes and shake his head, meaning
" There's no use asking me, for it simply can't be
better done by living man." This time no one re-
membered his neighbour, because every eye was
fixed on the Doctor. Drumtochty was identifying
its new minister.

" It may be that I hef judged, him hardly," said
Lachlan Campbell, one of the Free Kirk High-
landers, and our St. Dominic. " I shall never
again deny that the root of the matter is in
the man, although much choked with the tares of
worldliness and Arminianism."

" He is a goot man, Lachlan," replied Donald
Menzies, another Celt, and he was our St. Francis,
" for every one that loveth is born of God."

There was no hearse in Drumtochty, and we
carried our dead by relays of four, who waded
every stream unless more than knee deep, the rest
following in straggling, picturesque procession
over the moor and across the stepping stones.
Before we started, Marget came out and arranged
George's white silken hood upon the coffin with
roses in its folds.

She swept us into one brief flush of gratitude,
from Domsie to Posty.

" Neeburs, ye were a' his freends, and he wanted

36 DOMSIE.

ye tae ken hoo yir trust wes mickle help tae him
in his battle."

There was a stir within us, and k came to birth
in Drumsheugh of all men.

" Marget Hoo, this is no the day for mony words,
but there's juist ae heart in Drumtochty, and it's sair."

No one spoke to Domsle as we went down the
cart track, with the ripe corn standing on either
side, but he beckoned Chalmers to walk with him.

" Ye hae heard him speak o' me, then, Maister
Jamieson ? "

" Ay, oftentimes, and he said once that ye were
hard driven, but that ye had trampled Satan under
yir feet."

" He didna tell ye all, for if it hadna been for
George Howe I wudna been worth callin' a man
this day. One night when he was workin' hard
for his honours examination, and his disease was
heavy upon him, puir fellow, he sought me oot
where I was, and wouldna leave till I cam' wi' him.

" ' Go home,' I said, ' Howe ; it's death for ye to
be oot in this sleet and cold. Why not leave me
to lie in the bed I hae made ? "

" He took me by the arm into a passage. I see
the gaslicht on his white face, and the shining o'
his eyes.

" ' Because I have a mother '

" Dominie, he pulled me oot o' hell."

" Me tae, Andra, but no your hell. Ye mind
the Roman Triumph, when a general cam' hame
wi' his spoils. Laddie, we're the captives that go
with his chariot up the Capitol."

A SCHOLAR'S FUNERAL. 37

Donald Menzies was a man of moods, and the
Doctor's prayer had loosed his imagination so that
he saw visions.

" Look," said he, as we stood on a ridge, " I hef
seen it before in the book of Joshua."

Below the bearers had crossed a burn on foot,
and were ascending the slope where an open space
of deep green was fringed with purple heather.

" The ark hass gone over Jordan, and George
will have come into the Land of Promise."

The September sunshine glinted on the white
silk George won with his blood, and fell like a ben-
ediction on the two figures that climbed the hard
ascent close after the man they loved.

Strangers do not touch our dead in Drumtochty,
but the eight of nearest blood lower the body
into the grave. The order of precedence is keenly
calculated, and the loss of a merited cord can
never be forgiven. Marget had arranged every-
thing with Whinnie, and all saw the fitness. His
father took the head, and the feet (next in honour)
he gave to Domsie.

" Ye maun dae it. Marget said ye were o' his
am bluid."

On the right side the cords were handed to the
Doctor, Gordon, and myself; and on the left to
Drumsheugh, Maclean, and Chalmers. Domsie
lifted the hood for Marget, but the roses he gently
placed on George's name. Then with bent, un-
covered heads, and in unbroken silence, we buried
all that remained of our scholar.

We always waited till the grave was filled and

3o DOMSIE.

the tu*f laid down, a trying quarter of an hour.
Ah me ! the thud of the spade on your mother's
grave ! None gave any sign of what he felt save
Drumsheugh, whose sordid slough had slipped off
frpm a tender heart, and Chalmers, who went be-
hind a tombstone and sobbed aloud. Not even
Posty asked the reason so much as by a look, and
Drumtochty, as it passed, made as though it did
not see. But I marked that the Dominie took Chal-
mers home, and walked all the way with him to
Kildrummie station next morning. His friends
erected a granite cross over George's grave, and it
was left to Domsie to choose the inscription.
There was a day when it would have been "Whom
the gods love die young." Since then Domsie had
seen the kingdom of God, and this is graven where
the roses bloomed fresh every summer for twenty
years till Marget was laid with her son :

GEORGE HOWE, M. A.,

Died September 22d, 1869,

Aged 21.

** They shall bring the glory and honour of the nations into it."

It was a late November day when I went to see
George's memorial, and the immortal hope was
burning low in my heart ; but as I stood before
that cross, the sun struggled from behind a black
watery bank of cloud, and picked out every letter
of the Apocalypse in gold.

A HIGHLAND MYSTIC.

WHAT EYE HATH NOT SEEN.

STRANGE ministers who came to assist at the
Free Kirk Sacrament were much impressed with
the elders, and never forgot the transfiguration of
Donald MenzJes, which used to begin about the
middle of the " action " sermon, and was com-
pleted at the singing of the last Psalm. Once
there was no glory, because the minister, being
still young, expounded a new theory of the atone-
ment of German manufacture, and Donald's face
was piteous to behold. It haunted the minister
for months, and brought to confusion a promising
course of sermons on the contribution of Hegel to
Christian thought. Donald never laid the blame
of such calamities on the preacher, but accepted
them as a just judgment on his blindness of heart.

" We hef had the open vision," Donald explained
to his friend Lachlan Campbell, who distributed the
responsibility in another fashion, " and we would
not see — so the veil hass fallen."

40 A HIGHLAND MYSTIC.

Donald sat before the pulpit and filled the hearts
of nervous probationers with dismay, not because
his face was critical, but because it seemed non-
conducting, upon which their best passages would
break like spray against a rock, It was by nature
the dullest you ever saw, with hair descending low
upon the forehead, and preposterous whiskers
dominating everything that remained, except a
heavy mouth and brown, lack-lustre eyes. For a
while Donald crouched in the corner of the pew,
his head sunk on his breast, a very picture of utter
hopelessness. But as the Evangel began to play
round his heart, he would fix the preacher with
rapid, wistful glances, as of one who had awaked,
but hardly dared believe such things could be true.
Suddenly a sigh pervaded six pews, a kind of gentle
breath of penitence, faith, love, and hope mingled
together like the incense of the sanctuary, and
Donald lifted up his head. His eyes are now
aflame, and those sullen lips are refining into
curves of tenderness. From the manse pew I
watched keenly, for at any moment a wonderful
sight may be seen. A radiant smile will pass from
his lips to his eyes and spread over his face, as
when the sun shines on a fallow field and the rough
furrows melt into warmth and beauty. Donald's
gaze is now fixed on a window above the preacher's
head, for on these great days that window is to
him as the gate of heaven. All I could see would
be a bit of blue, and the fretted sunlight through
the swaying branches of an old plane tree. But
Donald has seen his Lord hanging upon the Cross

W 'HA T EYE HA TH NOT SEEN. 4!

for him, and the New Jerusalem descending like a
bride adorned for her husband, more plainly than
if Perugino's great Crucifixion, with the kneeling
saints, and Angelico's Outer Court of Heaven,
with the dancing angels, had been hung in our
little Free Kirk. When he went down the aisle
with the flagon in the Sacrament, he walked as one
in a dream, and wist not that his face shone.

There was an interval after the Sacrament,
when the stranger was sent to his room with light
refreshments, to prepare himself for the evening,
and the elders dined with the minister. Before
the introduction of the Highlanders conversation
had an easy play within recognised limits, and was
always opened by Burnbrae, who had come out in
'43, and was understood to have read the Confes-
sion of Faith.

" Ye gave us a grawnd discoorse this mornin/
sir, baith instructive and edifyin'; we were juist
sayin', comin' up the gairden, that ye were never
heard to mair advantage."

The minister was much relieved, because he
had not been hopeful during the week, and was
still dissatisfied, as he explained at length, with
the passage on the Colossian heresy.

When these doubts had been cleared up, Burn-
brae did his best by the minister upstairs, who had
submitted himself to the severe test of table
addresses.

" Yon were verra suitable words at the second
table; he's a speeritually minded man, Maister
Cosh, and has the richt sough."

42 A HIGHLAND MYSTIC.

Or at the worst, when Burnbrae's courage had
failed :

" Maister McKittrick had a fine text afore the
table. I aye like tae see a man gang tae the
Song o' Solomon on the Sacrament Sabbath.
A' mind Dr. Guthrie on that verra subject twenty
years syne."

Having paid its religious dues, conversation
was now allowed some freedom, and it was won-
derful how many things could be touched on,
always from a sacramental standpoint.

" We've been awfu' favoured wi' weather the
day, and ought to be thankfu'. Gin it hads on
like this I wudna say but th'ill be a gude hairst.
That's a fine pucklie aits ye hae in the laigh
park, Burnbrae. "

" A've seen waur ; they're fillin' no that bad.
I wes juist thinkin' as I cam to the Kirk that
there wes aits in that field the Sacrament after
the Disruption."

" Did ye notice that Rachel Skene sat in her
seat through the tables ? Says I, ' Are ye no
gain forrit, Mistress Skene, or hae ye lost yir
token ? ' ' Na, na,' says she, ' ma token's safe in
ma handkerchief ; but I cudna get to Kirk yester-
day, and I never went forrit withoot ma Saiturday
yet, and I'm no to begin noo/ "

"She was aye a richt-thinkin' woman, Rachel,
there's nae mistake o' that; a' wonder hoo her
son is gettin' on wi' that fairm he's takin'; a' doot
it's rack-rented."

It was an honest, satisfying conversation, and

WHA T EYE HA TH NOT SEEN. 43

reminded one of the parish of Drumtochty, being
both quoad sacra and quoad civzlza.

When the Highlanders came in, Burnbrae was
deposed after one encounter, and the minister was
reduced to a state of timid suggestion. There
were days when they would not «peak one word,
and were understood to be lost in meditation ; on
others they broke in on any conversation that was
going from levels beyond the imagination of
Drumtochty. Had this happened in the Auld
Manse, Drumsheugh would have taken for
granted that Donald was " feeling sober " (ill),
and recommended the bottle which cured him of
" a hoast " (cough) in the fifties. But the Free
Kirk had been taught that the Highlanders were
unapproachable in spiritual attainments, and even
Burnbrae took his discipline meekly.

" It wes a mercy the mune changed last week,
Maister Menzies, or a'm thinkin* it had been a
weet sacrament."

Donald came out of a maze, where he had been
wandering in great peace.

" I wass not hearing that the moon had anything
to do in the matter. Oh, no, but he wass bound
hand and foot by a mighty man."

" Wha was bund ? A'm no juist followin' ye,
Maister Menzies."

" The Prince of the power of the air. Oh, yes,
and he shall not be loosed till the occasion be over.
I hef had a sign." After which, conversation on
the weather languished.

Perhaps the minister fared worse in an attempt

44 A HIGHLAND MYSTIC.

to extract a certificate of efficiency from Lachlan
Campbell in favour of a rhetorical young preacher.

" A fery nice speaker, and well pleased with him-
self. But I would be thinking, when he wass giv-
ing his images. Oh, yes, I would be thinking.
There was a laddie feeshing in the burn before
my house, and a fery pretty laddie he wass. He
had a rod and a string, and he threw his line peau-
tiful. It wass a great peety he had no hook, for it
iss a want, and you do not catch many fish without
a hook. But I shall be glad that you are pleased,
sir, and all the elders."

These were only passing incidents, and left no
trace, but the rebuke Donald gave to Burnbrae will
be told while an elder lives. One of the last of
the old mystical school, which trace their descent
from Samuel Rutherford, had described the great
mystery of our Faith with such insight and pathos
that Donald had stood by the table weeping gently,
and found himself afterwards in the manse, he
knew not how.

The silence was more than could be borne, and
his former responsibility fell on Burnbrae.

" It wes wonnerful, and I canna mind hearing
the like o' yon at the tables ; but I was sorry to see
the Doctor sac failed. He wes bent twa fad ; a'
doot it's a titch o' rheumatism, or maybe lumbago. "

Johannine men are subject to sudden flashes of
anger, and Donald blazed.

" Bent down with rheumatism, iss that what you
say ? Oh, yes, it will be rheumatism. Hass the
sight of your eyes left you, and hef you no discern-

WNA T EYE HA TH NOT SEEN. 45

ment ? Did ye not see that he was bowed to the
very table with the power of the Word ? for it was
a fire in his bones, and he was baptised with the
Holy Ghost ! "

When the elders gathered in the vestry, the
minister asked what time the preacher might have
for his evening sermon, and Donald again burst
forth :

" I am told that in towns the Gospel goes by
minutes, like the trains at the station ; but there
is no time-table here, for we shall wait till the sun
goes down to hear all things God will be sending
by His servant."

Good memories differ about the text that
Sacrament evening, and the length of the sermon,
but all hold as a treasure forever what happened
when the book was closed. The people were
hushed into a quiet that might be felt, and the old
man, swayed by the spirit of the Prophets, began
to repeat the blessings and curses in the Bible
between Genesis and Revelation, and after each
pair he cried with heart piercing voice, " Choose
this day which ye will take," till Donald could con-
tain himself no longer.

"Here iss the man who hass deserved all the
curses, and here iss the man who chooses all the
blessings."

Our fathers had no turn for sensation, but they
had an unerring sense of a spiritual situation.
The preacher paused for five seconds, while no
man could breathe, and then lifting up his hand
to Heaven he said, with an indescribable authority

40 A HIGHLAND MYSTIC.

and tenderness, " The Lord fulfil the desire of your
heart both in this world and that which is to come."
Then the congregation sang, after the ancient
custom of our parts,

*' Now blessed be the Lord our God,
The God of Israel,"

and Donald's face was one glory, because he saw
in the soft evening light of the upper window the
angels of God ascending and descending upon the
Son of man.

It was after this that the Free Kirk minister
occupied six months in proving that Moses did
not write Deuteronomy, and Lachlan was trying
for the same period to have the minister removed
from Drumtochty. Donald, deprived by one
stroke of both his friends, fell back on me, and
told me many things I loved to hear, although they
were beyond my comprehension.

" It wass not always so with me as it iss this
day, for I once had no ear for God's voice, and
my eyes were holden that I saw not the spiritual
world. But sore sickness came upon me, and I
wass nigh unto death, and my soul awoke withm
me and began to cry like a child for its mother.
All my days I had lived on Loch Tay, and now I
thought of the other country into which I would
hef to be going, where I had no nest, and my soul
would be driven to and fro in the darkness as a
bird on the moor of Rannoch.

" Janet sent for the minister, and he wass fery
kind, and he spoke about my sickness and my

WHA T EYE HA TH NOT SEEN. 47

farm, and I said nothing. For I wass hoping he
would tell me what I wass to do for my soul. But
he began upon the sheep market at Amulree, and
I knew he wass also in the dark. After he left I
turned my face to the wall and wept.

" Next morning wass the Sabbath, and I said to
Janet :

" ' Wrap me in my plaid, and put me in a cart,
and take me to Aberfeldy.' ' And what will ye be
doing at Aberfeldy ? and you will die on the road/
4 There iss," said I, * a man there who knows the
way of the soul, and it iss better to die with my
face to the light. '

" They set me in a corner of the church where I
wass thinking no man could see me, and I cried in
my heart without ceasing, ' Lord, send me — send
me a word from Thy mouth.'

" When the minister came into the pulpit he
gave me a strange look, and this wass his text,
4 Loose him and let him go.'

" As he preached I knew I wass Lazarus, with
the darkness of the grave around me, and my soul
straitly bound. I could do nothing, but I wass
longing with all my strength.

" Then the minister stopped, and he said :

" ' There is a man in this church, and he will
know himself who it iss. When I came in this
morning I saw a shadow on his face, and I knew
not whether it was the wing of the Angel of Life
or the Angel of Death passing over him, but the
Lord has made it plain to me, and I see the silver
feathers of the Angel of the Covenant, and this

48 A HIGHLAND MYSTIC.

shall be a sign unto that man, ' Loose him and let
him go/

" While he wass still speaking I felt my soul
carried out into the light of God's face, and my
grave-clothes were taken off one by one as Janet
would unwind my plaid, and I stood a living man
before Christ.

" It wass a sweet June day as we drove home,
and I lay in sunshine, and every bird that sang,
and the burnies by the roadside, and the rustling
of the birch leaves in the wind — oh, yes ! and the
sound of the horse's feet were saying, ' Loose him
and let him go.'

" Loch Tay looked black angry as we came by
its side in the morning, and I said to Janet :

" ' It iss the Dead Sea, and I shall be as Sodom
and Gomorrah ; * but in the evening it wass as a
sea of glass mingled with fire, and I heard the
song of Moses and the Lamb sweeping over the
Loch, but this wrass still the sweetest word to me,
• Loose him and let him go/ "

II.

AGAINST PRINCIPALITIES AND POWERS.

THE powers of darkness had been making a
dead set upon Donald all winter, and towards
spring he began to lose hope. He came to the
Cottage once a week with news from the seat of
war, and I could distinguish three zones of depres-
sion. Within the first he bewailed his inveterate
attachment to this world, and his absolute indiffer-
ence to spiritual things, and was content to describe
himself as Achan. The sign that he had entered
the second was a recurring reference to apostasy,
and then you had the melancholy satisfaction of
meeting the living representative of Simon Peter.
When he passed into the last zone of the Purga-
torio, Donald was beyond speech, and simply
allowed one to gather from allusions to thirty
pieces of silver that he was Judas Iscariot.

So long as it was only Achan or Simon Peter
that came to sit with me, one was not gravely con-
cerned, but Judas Iscariot meant that Donald had
entered the Valley of the Shadow.

He made a spirited rally at the winter Sacra-
ment, and distinguished himself greatly on the
evening of the Fast day. Being asked to pray, as

49

5<> A HIGHLAND MYSTIC.

a recognition of comparative cheerfulness, Donald
continued for five and twenty minutes, and un-
folded the works of the Devil in such minute and
vivid detail that Burnbrae talks about it to this day,
and Lachlan Campbell, although an expert in this
department, confessed astonishment. It was a
mighty wrestle, and it was perhaps natural that
Donald should groan heavily at regular intervals,
and acquaint the meeting how the conflict went,
but the younger people were much shaken, and the
edification, even of the serious, was not without
reserve.

While Donald still lingered on the field of battle
to gather the spoils and guard against any sudden
return of the enemy, the elders had a hurried con-
sultation in the vestry, and Burnbrae put the posi-
tion with admirable force.

" Naebody can deny that it wes a maist extraor-
dinary prayer, and it passes me hoo he kens sae
muckle aboot the Deevil. In fac' it's a preevilege
tae hae sic an experienced hand among us, and I
wudna offend Donald Menzies for onything. But
yon groanin' wes a wee thingie discomposin', and
when he said, kind o' confidential, ' He's losing
his grup,' ma ain fouk cudna keep their coonte-
nance. Weel, I wes thinkin' that the best plan wud
be for Maister Campbell juist tae give a bit advice
and tell Donald that we're thankfu' to hear him at
the meeting, and michty lifted wi' his peteetions,
but it wud be an obleegation gin he wud leave oot
the groans and tell us aifterwards what wes gaein*
on, maybe in the Session."

AGAINST PRINCIPALITIES AND POWERS. 5 1

Lachlan accepted his commission with quite
unusual diffidence, and offered a very free transla-
tion on the way home. '

" It wass a mercy to hef you at the meeting this
night, Donald Menzies, for I saw that Satan had
come in great strength, and it iss not every man
that can withstand him. But you will not be
ignorant of his devices ; oh, no ! you will be knowing
them fery well. Satan had not much to say before
the prayer wass done, and I will not be expecting
to see him again at this occasion. It wass the
elders said, ' Donald Menzies has trampled Satan
under foot/ Oh, yes ! and fery glad men they were,
for it iss not given to them. But I would be think-
ing, iss it good to let the Devil hear you groaning
in the battle, and I would be wishing that you had
kept all your groans and given them to me on the
road."

" Iss it the groans you are not liking ? " retorted
Donald, stung by this unexpected criticism. " And
what iss wrong with groaning? But I hef the
Scripture, and I will not be caring what you say,
Lachlan Campbell."

" If you hef a warrant for groaning, it iss this
man that will be glad to hear it, for I am not re-
membering that passage."

" Maybe you hef not read " Maketh intercession
with groanings/ but it iss a fery good Scripture,
and it iss in my Bible."

" All Scripture iss good, Donald Menzies, but it
iss not lawful to divide Scripture, and it will read in
my Bible, ' groanings which cannot be uttered/

52 A HIGHLAND MYSTIC.

and I wass saying this would be the best way with
your groans."

Donald came in to tell me how this companion
in arms had treated him, and was still sore.

" He iss in the bondage of the letter these days,
for he will be always talking about Moses with the
minister, and I am not hearing that iss good for
the soul."

If even Lachlan could not attain to Donald, it
was perhaps no discredit that the Drumtochty
mind was at times hopelessly perplexed.

" He's a gude cratur and terrible gifted in
prayer/' Netherton explained to Burnbrae after
a prayer-meeting, when Donald had temporarily
abandoned Satan and given himself to autobi-
ography, "but yon wesna a verra ceevil way to
speak aboot his faither and mither."

" A* doot yir imaginin', Netherton. Donald
never mentioned his fouk the nicht, and it's no
likely he wud in the prayer-meeting."

" There's nae imaginin' aboot it ; a' heard him
wi* ma ain ears say twice, * My father was an
Amorite, and my mother a Hittite.' I'll take my
aith on it. Noo, a' dinna ken Donald's forbears
masel', for he's frae Tayside, but supposin' they
were as bad as bad cud be, it's no for him to
blacken his ain blood, and him an Elder."

" Toots, Netherton, yir aff it a' thegither. Div
ye no see yon's Bible langidge oot o' a Prophet, or
maybe Kings, and Donald wes usin't in a feegura-
tive capaucity ? "

" Feegurative or no feegurative, Burnbrae, it

AGAINST PRINCIPALITIES AND POWERS. 53

disna maitter ; it's a peetifu' job howking [digging]
thro* the Bible for ill words tae misca yir fouk wf
afore the public."

Burnbrae gave up the contest in despair, feeling
himself that Old Testament allusions were risky,
and that Donald's quotation was less than
felicitous.

Donald's prayers were not known outside the
Free Kirk circle, but his encounters with the evil
one were public property, and caused a general
shudder. Drumtochty was never sure who might
not be listening, and considered that it was safer
not to meddle with certain nameless people. But
Donald waged an open warfare in every corner of
the parish, in the Kirk, by the wayside, in his
house, on the road to market, and was ready to
give anyone the benefit of his experiences.

" Donald Menzies is in yonder," said Hillocks,
pointing to the smithy, whose fire sent fitful
gleams across the dark road, " and he's carryin*
on maist fearsome. Ye wud think tae hear him
speak that auld Hornie wes gaein* louse in the
parish ; it sent a grue f shiver] doon ma back.
Faigs, it's no cannie to be muckle wi' the body,
for the Deil and Donald seem never separate.
Hear him noo ; hear him ! "

" Oh, yes," said Donald, addressing the smith
and two horror-stricken ploughmen, " I hef seen
him, and he hass withstood me on the road. It
wass late, and I was thinking on the shepherd and
the sheep, and Satan will come out from the wood
below Hillocks' farm-house [" Gude preserve us,"

54 A HIGHLAND MYSTIC.

from Hillocks] and say, ' That word is not for
you, Donald Menzies.' But I wass strong that
night, and I said, ' Neither shall any pluck them
out of my hand/ and he will not wait long after
that, oh, no ! and I did not follow him into the
wood."

The smith, relieved by the conclusion of the
tale, blew a mighty blast, and the fire burst into a
red blaze, throwing into relief the black figure of
the smith and the white faces of the ploughmen ;
glancing from the teeth of harrows, and the blades
of scythes, and the cruel knives of reaping ma-
chines, and from instruments with triple prongs ;
and lighting up with a hideous glare the black
sooty recesses of the smithy.

" Keep's a'," whispered Hillocks, clutching my
arm, " it's little better than the ill place. I wish
to gudeness I wes safe in ma ain hoose."

These were only indecisive skirmishes, for one
evening Donald came to my den with despair
written on every feature, and I knew that fighting
had begun at the centre, and that he was worsted.

It was half an hour before he became articulate,
during which time he sighed as if the end of all
things had come, and I caught the word scapegoat
twice ; but at last he told me that he had resigned
his eldership, and would absent himself in future
from the Free Kirk.

" It hass been a weary winter when minister and
people hef gone into captivity, and on Sabbath the
word wass taken altogether from the minister's
mouth, and he spake a language which we under-

AGAINST PRINCIPALITIES AND POWERS. 55

stood not [it was the first of three sermons on the
Hexateuch, and had treated of the Jehovistic and
Elohistic documents with much learning], and I
will be asking all the way back, ' Iss it I ? ' ' Iss
it I?'

" Oh, yes ! and when I opened my Bible this iss
the word I will see, ' That thou doest, do quickly/
and I knew it wass my sins that had brought great
judgments on the people, and turned the minister
into a man of stammering lips and another tongue.

" It wass a mercy that the roof did not fall and
bury all the people with me ; but we will not be
tempting the Almighty, for I hef gone outside, and
now there will be peace and blessing."

When we left the lighted room and stood on the
doorstep, Donald pointed to the darkness. " There
is no star, and you will be remembering what John
saw when the door opened and Judas went out.
• It wass night ' — oh, yes ! it iss night for me, but it
will be light for them."

As weeks went past, and Donald was seen
neither at Kirk nor market, my heart went out
to the lonely man in his soul conflict, and, al-
though there was no help in me, I went to ask
how it fared with him. After the footpath disen-
tangled itself from the pine woods and crossed the
burn by two fir trees nailed together, it climbed
a steep ascent to Donald's house, but I had barely
touched the foot when I saw him descending, his
head in the air, and his face shining. Before any
words passed, I knew that the battle had been
fought and won.

$6 A HIGHLAND MYSTIC.

" It wass last night, and I will be coming to tell
you. Satan hass gone like darkness when the sun
ariseth, and I hef been delivered."

There are stories one cannot hear sitting, and
so we paced the meadow below, rich in primroses,
with a sloping bank of gorse behind us and the
pines before us, and the water breaking over the
stones at our feet. '

" It is three weeks since I saw you, and all that
time I hef been wandering on the hill by day and
lying in the barn at night, for it wass not good to
be with people, and Satan wass always saying to
me, Judas went to • his own place.' My dog will
lay his head on my knee and be sorry for me, and
the dumb animals will be looking at me out of
their great eyes, and be moaning.

" The lads are goot singers, and there wass
always a sound of Psalms on the farm, oh, yes,
and it was pleasant to come from the market and
hear the Psalms at the foot of the hill. It wass
like going up to Jerusalem. But there would be
no Psalms these days, for the lads could not sing
when their father's soul wass going down into
the pit.

" Oh no, and there wass no prayer last night,
but I told the lads to go to bed, and I lay down
before the fire to wrestle once more before I
perished.

" Janet will offer this word and the other, and
I will be trying them all, but Satan was tearing
them away as quick as I could speak, and he
always said, • his own place.'

AGAINST PRINCIPALITIES AND POWERS. 57

" ' There iss no hope for me/ I cried, ' but it iss
a mercy that you and the lads will be safe in the
City, and maybe the Lord will let me see you all
through the gate.' And that wass lifting me, but
then I will hear ' his own place/ ' his own place/
and my heart began to fail, and I wass nigh to
despair.

" Then I heard a voice, oh, yes, as plain as you
are hearing me, ' The blood of Jesus Christ, His
Son, cleanseth us from all sin.' It wass like a
gleam from the Mercy-seat, but I would be waiting
to see whether Satan had any answer, and my
heart was standing still. But there wass no word
from him,' not one word. Then I leaped to my
feet and cried, ' Get thee behind me, Satan/ and I
will look round, and there wass no one to be seen
but Janet in her chair, with the tears on her cheeks,
and she wass saying, ' Thanks be to God, which
giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus
Christ.'

" The lads were not sleeping fery sound when
their father was fighting for his life, oh, no, and I
am not saying but maybe they would be praying.
It wass not fery long before they came down, and
Hamish will be looking at my face, and then he
will get the books, and this is the Psalm we
sang:

" ' I love the Lord, because my voice

And prayers He did hear.
I, while I live, will call on Him,
Who bowed to me His ear.

S3 A HIGHLAND MYSTIC.

* ' God merciful and righteous is,
Yea, gracious is our Lord ;
God saves the meek ; I was brought low.
He did me help afford.' "

This was the victory of Donald Menzies, anil on
reaching home I marked that the early roses were
beginning to bloom over the door through whick
Donald had gone out into the darkness.

HIS MOTHER'S SERMON.

HE was an ingenuous lad, with the callow sim-
plicity of a theological college still untouched, and
had arrived on the preceding Monday at the Free
Kirk manse with four cartloads of furniture and
a maiden aunt. For three days he roamed from
room to room in the excitement of householding,
and made suggestions which were received with
hilarious contempt ; then he shut himself up in his
study to prepare the great sermon, and his aunt
went about on tiptoe. During meals on Friday he
explained casually that his own wish was to preach
a simple sermon, and that he would have done so
had he been a private individual, but as he had
held the MacWhammel scholarship a deliverance
was expected by the country. He would be care-
ful and say nothing rash, but it was due to him-
self to state the present position of theological
thought, and he might have to quote once or twice
from Ewaid.

His aunt was a saint, with that firm grasp of

truth, and tender mysticism, whose combination is

the charm of Scottish piety, and her face was

troubled. While %he minister was speaking in his

*

60 HIS MOTHER'S SERMON.

boyish complacency, her thoughts were in a room
where they had both stood, five years before, by
the death-bed of his mother.

He was broken that day, and his sobs shook the
bed, for he was his mother's only son and father-
less, and his mother, brave and faithful to the last,
was bidding him farewell.

" Dinna greet like that, John, nor break yir hert,
for it's the will o' God, and that's aye best.

" Here's my watch and chain," placing them be-
side her son, who could not touch them, nor would
lift his head, " and when ye feel the chain about
yir neck it will mind ye o' yir mother's arms.

"Ye'ill no forget me, John, I ken that weel,
and I'll never forget you. I've loved ye here, and
I'll love ye yonder. Th'ill no be an 'oor when I'll
no pray for ye, and I'll ken better what to ask than
I did here ; sae dinna be comfortless."

Then she felt for his head and stroked it once
more, but he could not look nor speak.

" Ye'ill follow Christ, and gin He offers ye
His cross, ye'ill no refuse it, for He aye carries the
heavy end Himsel'. He's guided yir mother a'
thae years, and been as guid as a husband since
yir father's death, and He'ill hold me fast tae
the end. He'ill keep ye too, and, John, I'll be
watchin* for ye. Ye'ill no fail me," and her poor
cold hand that had tended him all his days tight-
ened on his head.

But he could not speak, and her voice was fail-
ing fast.

" I canna see ye noo, John, but I know yir there,

HIS MOTHER'S SERlfiotf. 6l

and I've just one other wish. If God calls ye to
the ministry, ye'ill no refuse, an* the first day ye
preach in yir ain kirk, speak a gude word for
Jesus Christ, an', John, I'll hear ye that day, though
ye'ill no see me, and I'll be satisfied."

A minute after she whispered, " Pray for me/'
and he cried, " My mother, my mother !*'

It was a full prayer, and left nothing unasked of
Mary's Son.

" John," said his aunt, " your mother is with the
Lord," and he saw death for the first time, but it
was beautiful with the peace that passeth ail
understanding.

Five years had passed, crowded with thought
and work, and his aunt wondered whether he
remembered that last request, or indeed had heard
it in his sorrow.

" What are you thinking about, aunt ? Are you
afraid of my theology ? "

" No, John, it's no that, laddie, for I ken ye'ill
say what ye believe to be true withoot fear o' man,"
and she hesitated.

"Come, out with it, auntie: you're my only
mother now, you know," and the minister put his
arm round her, " as well as the kindest, bonniest,
goodest auntie ever man had."

Below his student self-conceit he was a good
lad, and sound of heart.

" Shame on you, John, to make a fule o* an auld
dune body, but ye'ill no come round me wi' yir
flattery. I ken ye ower weel," and as she caught
the likeness in his face, her eyes filled suddenly.

62 HIS MOTHER'S SERMON.

"What's the matter, auntie? Will ye no tell
me?"

" Dinna be angry wi' me, John, but a'm con-
cerned aboot Sabbath, for aVe been praying ever
syne ye were called to Drumtochty that it micht be
a great day, and that I micht see ye comin* tae yir
people, laddie, wi' the beauty o* the Lord upon ye,
according tae the auld prophecy : « How beautiful
upon the mountains are the feet of him that
bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace,' \
and again she stopped.

" Go on, auntie, go on," he whispered ; " say all
that's in yir mind."

" It's no for me tae advise ye, who am only a
simple auld woman, who ken's naethin* but her
Bible and the Catechism, and it's no that a'm
feared for the new views, or aboot yir faith, for I
aye mind that there's mony things the Speerit hes
still tae teach us, and I ken weel the man that fol-
lows Christ will never lose his way in ony thicket.
But it's the fouk, John, a'm anxious aboot; the
flock o' sheep the Lord hes given ye tae feed for
Him."

She could not see his face, but she felt him
gently press her hand, and took courage.

" Ye maun mind, laddie, that they're no clever
and learned like what ye are, but juist plain country
fouk, ilka ane wi* his ain temptation, an* a' sair
trachled wi' mony cares o' this world. They'ill
need a clear word tae comfort their herts and show
them the way everlasting. Ye'ill say what's
richt, nae doot o' that, and a'body 'ill be pleased

HIS MOTHER'S SERMON. 63

wi' ye, but, oh, laddie, be sure ye say a gude word
for Jesus Christ."

The minister's face whitened, and his arm re-
laxed. He rose hastily and went to the door, but
in going out he gave his aunt an understanding
look, such as passes between people who have
stood together in a sorrow. The son had not for-
gotten his mother's request.

The manse garden lies towards the west, and
as the minister paced its little square of turf shel-
tered by fir hedges, the sun was going down behind
the Grampians. Black massy clouds had begun
to gather in the evening and threatened to obscure
the sunset, which was the finest sight a Drum-
tochty man was ever likely to see, and a means of
grace to every sensible heart in the glen. But the
sun had beat back the clouds on either side, and
shot them through with glory, and now between
piled billows of light he went along a shining path-
way into the Gates of the West. The minister
stood still before that spectacle, his face bathed in
the golden glory, and then before his eyes the gold
deepened into an awful red, and the red passed
into shades of violet and green, beyond painter's
hand or the imagination of man. It seemed to
him as if a victorious saint had entered through
the gates into the city, washed in the blood of the
Lamb, and the after-glow of his mother's life fell
solemnly on his soul. The last trace of sunset
had faded from the hills when the minister
came in, and his face was of one who had seen
a vision. He asked his aunt to have worship

$4 HIS MOTHER'S SERMON.

with the servant, for he must be alone in his
study.

It was a cheerful room in the daytime, with its
southern window, through which the minister saw
the roses touching the very glass and dwarf apple
trees lining the garden walks ; there was also a
western window that he might watch each day
close. It was a pleasant room now, when the cur-
tains were drawn, and the light of the lamp fell on
the books he loved, and which bade him welcome.
One by one he had arranged the hard-bought
treasures of student days in the little book-case,
and had planned for himself that sweetest of
pleasures, an evening of desultory reading. But
his books went out of mind as he looked at the
sermon shining beneath the glare of the lamp and
demanding judgment. He had finished its last
page with honest pride that afternoon, and had
declaimed it, facing the southern window, with
a success that amazed himself. His hope was
that he might be kept humble, and not called to
Edinburgh for at least two years ; and now he
lifted the sheets with fear. The brilliant opening,
with its historical parallel, this review of modern
thought reinforced by telling quotations, that
trenchant criticism of old-fashioned views, would
not deliver. For the audience had vanished, and
left one careworn, but ever beautiful face, whose
gentle eyes were waiting with a yearning look.
Twice he crushed the sermon in his hands, and
turned to the fire his aunt's care had kindled, and
twice he repented and smoothed it out. What

HIS MOTHER'S SERMON. 65

else could he say now to the people ? and then in
the stillness of the room he heard a voice, " Speak
a gude word for Jesus Christ."

Next minute he was kneeling on the hearth, and
pressing the magnum opus, that was to shake
Drumtochty, into the heart of the red fire, and he
saw, half-smiling and half weeping, the impressive
words " Semitic environment " shrivel up and dis-
appear. As the last black flake fluttered out of
sight, the face looked at him again, but this time
the sweet brown eyes were full of peace.

It was no masterpiece, but only the crude pro
duction of a lad who knew little of letters and
nothing of the world. Very likely it would have
done neither harm nor good, but it was his best,
and he gave it for love's sake, and I suppose that
there is nothing in a human life so precious to
God, neither clever words nor famous deeds, as
the sacrifices of love.

The moon flooded his bedroom with silver light,
and he felt the presence of his mother. His bed
stood ghostly with its white curtains, and he re-
membered how every night his mother knelt by its
side in prayer for him. He is a boy once more,
and repeats the Lord's Prayer, then he cries again,
" My mother ! my mother ! " and an indescribable
contentment fills his heart.

His prayer next morning was very short, but
afterwards he stood at the window, for a space,
and when he turned, his aunt said :

" Ye will get yir sermon, and it will be worth
hearing."

66 HIS MOTHER'S SERMOtf.

" How did ye know ? "

But she only smiled, " I heard you pray.v

When he shut himself into the study that Satur-
day morning, his aunt went into her room above,
and he knew she had gone to intercede for him.

An hour afterwards he was pacing the garden
in such anxious thought that he crushed with his
foot a rose lying on the path, and then she saw his
face suddenly lighten, and he hurried to the house,
but first he plucked a bunch of forget-me-nots. In
the evening she found them on his sermon.

Two hours later — for still she prayed and
watched in faithfulness to mother and son — she
observed him come out and wander round the
garden in great joy. He lifted up the soiled rose
and put it in his coat ; he released a butterfly
caught in some mesh; he buried his face in
fragrant honeysuckle. Then she understood that
his heart was full of love, and was sure that it
would be well on the morrow.

When the bell began to ring, the minister rose
from his knees and went to his aunt's room to be
robed, for this was a covenant between them.

His gown was spread out in its black silken
glory, but he sat down in despair.

" Auntie, whatever shall we do, for I've forgotten
the bands?"

" But I've not forgot them, John, and here are
six pair wrought with my own hands, and now sit
still and I'll tie them round my laddie's neck."

When she had given the last touch, and he was
ready to go, a sudden seriousness fell upon them.

HIS MOTHER'S SERMON. 67

" Kiss me, auntie."

" For your mother, and her God be with you,"
and then he went through the garden and under-
neath the honeysuckle and into the kirk, where
every Free Churchman in Drumtochty that could
get out of bed, and half the Established Kirk, were
waiting in expectation.

I sat with his aunt in the minister's pew, and
shall always be glad that I was at that service.
When winter lies heavy upon the glen I go upon
my travels, and in my time have seen many reli-
gious functions. I have been in Mr. Spurgeon's
Tabernacle, where the people wept one minute and
laughed the next ; have heard Canon Liddon in St.
Paul's, and the sound of that high, clear voice
is still with me, " Awake, awake, put on thy
strength, O Zion ; " have seen High Mass in
St. Peter's, and stood in the dusk of the Duomo
at Florence when Padre Agostino thundered
against the evils of the day. But I never realised
the unseen world as I did that day in the Free
Kirk of Drumtochty.

It is impossible to analyse a spiritual effect,
because it is largely an atmosphere, but certain
circumstances assisted. One was instantly pre-
possessed in favour of a young minister who gave
out the second paraphrase at his first service, for it
declared his filial reverence and won for him the
blessing of a cloud of witnesses. No Scottish man
can ever sing,

" God of our fathers, be the God
Of their succeeding race,"

68 HIS MOTHER'S SERMON.

with a dry heart. It satisfied me at once that the
minister was of a fine temper when, after a brave
attempt to join, he hid his face and was silent
We thought none the worse of him that he was
nervous, and two or three old people who had
suspected self-sufficiency took him to their hearts
when the minister concluded the Lord's prayer
hurriedly, having omitted two petitions. But we
knew it was not nervousness which made him
pause for ten seconds after praying for widows and
orphans, and in the silence which fell upon us the
Divine Spirit had free access. His youth com-
mended him, since he was also modest, for every
mother had come with an inarticulate prayer that
the " puir laddie wud dae weel on his first day, and
him only twenty-four." Texts I can never remem-
ber, nor, for that matter, the words of sermons *
but the subject was Jesus Christ, and before he
had spoken five minutes I was convinced, who am
outside dogmas and churches, that Christ was
present. The preacher faded from before one's
eyes, and there rose the figure of the Nazarene, best
lover of every human soul, with a face of tender
patience such as Sarto gave the Master in the
Church of the Annunziata, and stretching out His
hands to old folk and little children as He did,
before His death, in Galilee. His voice might be
heard any moment, as I have imagined it in my
lonely hours by the winter fire or on the solitary
hills — soft, low, and sweet, penetrating like music
to the secret of the heart, " Come unto Me . . .
and I will give you rest."

HIS MOTHERS SERMON". 69

During a pause in the sermon I glanced up the
church, and saw the same spell held the people,
Donald Menzies had long ago been caught into the
third heaven, and was now hearing words which it
is not lawful to utter. Campbell in his watch-tower
at the back had closed his eyes, and was praying.
The women were weeping quietly, and the rugged
faces of our men were subdued and softened, as
when the evening sun plays on the granite stone.

But what will stand out for ever before my mind
was the sight of Marget Howe. Her face was as
white as death, and her wonderful gray eyes were
shining through a mist of tears, so that I caught
the light in the manse pew. She was thinking of
George, and had taken the minister to her heart.

The elders, one by one, gripped the minister's
hand in the vestry, and, though plain, homely men,
they were the godliest in the glen ; but no man
spoke save Burnbrae.

" I a* but lost ae fairm for the Free Kirk, and I
wud hae lost ten tae be in the Kirk this day."

Donald walked with me homewards, but would
only say ;

" There was a man sent from God whose name
was John." At the cottage he added, 4< The
friend of the bridegroom rejoiced greatly because
of the bridegroom's voice."

Beneath the honeysuckle at his garden gate a
woman was waiting.

" My name is Marget Howe, and I'm the wife of
William Howe of Whinnie Knowe. My only son
wes preparin' for the ministry, but God wanted him

70 HIS MOTHER'S SERMON.

nearly a year syne. When ye preached the Evan-
gel o' Jesus the day I heard his voice, and I loved
you. Ye hev nae mither on earth, I hear, and I
hae nae son, and I wantit tae say that if ye evet
wish tae speak to ony woman as ye wud tae yir
mither, come tae Whinnie Knowe, an' I'll coont it
ane of the Lord's consolations."

His aunt could only meet him in the study, and
when he looked on her his lip quivered, for his
heart was wrung with one wistful regret.

" Oh, auntie, if she had only been spared to sec
this day, and her prayers answered."

But his aunt flung her arms round his neck.

" Dinna be cast doon, laddie, nor be unbelievin'.
Yir mither has heard every word, and is satisfied,
for ye did it in remembrance o' her, and yon was
yir mither's sermon."

THE TRANSFORMATION OF
LACHLAN CAMPBELL

CHAPTER I.

A GRAND INQUISITOR.

THE Free Kirk of Drumtochty had no gallery,
but a section of seats at the back was raised two
feet, and anyone in the first pew might be said to
sit in the "briest o' the laft." When Lachlan
Campbell arrived from the privileged parish of
Auchindarroch, where the " Men " ruled with iron
hand and no one shaved on Sabbath, he examined
the lie of country with the eye of a strategist, and
seized at once a corner seat on the crest of the
hill. From this vantage ground, with his back to
the wall and a clear space left between himself
and his daughter Flora, he had an easy command
of the pulpit, and within six months had been con-
stituted a court of review neither minister nor
people could lightly disregard. It was not that
Lachlan spoke hastily or at length, for his policy
was generally a silence pregnant with judgment,
and his deliverances were for the most part in
parables, none the less awful because hard of in*

72 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

terpretation. Like every true Celt, he had the
power of reserve, and knew the value of mystery.
His voice must not be heard in irresponsible gos-
sip at the Kirk door, and he never condescended to
the level of Mrs. MacFadyen, our recognised ser-
mon taster, who criticised everything in the tech-
nique of the pulpit, from the number of heads in a
sermon, to the air with which a probationer used
his pocket-handkerchief. She lived in the eye of
the public, and gave her opinions with the light
heart of a newspaper writer ; but Lachlan kept
himself ' in the shadow and wore a manner of
studied humility as became the administrator of the
Holy Office in Drumtochty.

Lachlan was a little man, with a spare, wiry body,
iron-gray hair and whiskers carefully arranged,
a keen old-fashioned face sharpened by much
spiritual thinking, and eyes that looked at you from
beneath shaggy eyebrows as from some other
world. His face had an irresistible suggestion of
a Skye terrier, the most serious of animals, with
the hair reduced, and Drumsheugh carried us all
with him when, in a moment of inspiration, he
declared that " the body looks as if he hed juist
come oot 'o the Ark." He was a shepherd to
trade, and very faithful in all his work, but his life
business was theology, from Supralapsarianism in
Election to the marks of faith in a believer's heart.
His library consisted of some fifty volumes of
ancient divinity, and lay on an old oak kist close to
his hand, where he sat beside the fire of a winter
night. When the sheep were safe and his day's

A GRAND INQUISITOR. 73

labour was over, he read by the light of the fire
and the "crusie" (oil-lamp) overhead, Witsius on
the Covenants, or Rutherford's "Christ Dying," or
Bunyan's " Grace Abounding," or Owen's " i3Oth
Psalm," while the collies slept at his feet, and
Flora put the finishing stroke to some bit of rustic
finery. Worship was always coloured by the even-
ing's reading, but the old man never forgot to
pray that they both might have a place in the
everlasting covenant, and that the backslidings of
Scotland might be healed.

As our inquisitor, Lachlan searched anxiously
for sound doctrine and deep experience, but he
was not concerned about learning, and fluency he
regarded with disgust. When a young minister
from Muirtown stamped twice in his prayer at the
Drumtochty Fast, and preached with great elo-
quence from the words, " And there was no more
sea," repeating the text at the end of each para-
graph, and concluding the sermon with "Lord
Ullin's Daughter," the atmosphere round Lachlan
became electric, and no one dared to speak to him
outside. He never expressed • his mind on this
melancholy exhibition, but the following Sabbath
he explained the principle on which they elected
ministers at Auchindarroch, which was his stand-
ard of perfection.

*'Six young men came, and they did not sing
songs in the pulpit. Oh, no, they preached fery
well, and I said to Angus Bain, ' They are all goot
lads, and there is nothing wrong with their
doctrine/

74 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

" Angus \vass one of the ' Men,' and saw what
wass hidden from me, and he will be saying, « Oh,
yes, they said their lesson fery pretty, but I did
not see them tremble, Lachlan Campbell. Another
ks coming, and seven is a goot number.'

" It wass next Sabbath that he came, and he wass
a white man, giving out his text, ' Blessed are they
which are called unto the marriage supper of the
Lamb,' and I wass thinking that the Lord had laid
too great a burden on the lad, and that he could
not be fit for such a work. It wass not more than
ten minutes before he will be trying to tell us what
he wass seeing, and will not hef the words. He
had to go down from the pulpit as a man that had
been in the heavenly places, and wass stricken
dumb.

" • It iss the Lord that has put me to shame this
day/ he said to the elders, ' and I will nefer show
my face again in Auchindarroch, for I ought not
to have meddled with things too high for me.'

••* You will show your face here every Sabbath/
answered Angus Bain, • for the Lord said unto me,
* Wait for the man that trembles at the Word, and
iss not able to speak, and it will be a sign unto
you," ' and a fery goot minister he wass, and made
the hypocrites in Zion to be afraid."

Lachlan dealt tenderly with our young Free
Kirk minister, for the sake of his first day, and
passed over some very shallow experience without
remark, but an autumn sermon roused him to a
sense of duty. For some clays a storm of wind and
rain had been stripping the leaves from the trees

A GRAND INQUISITOR. 75

and gathering them in sodden heaps upon the
ground. The minister looked out on the garden
where many holy thoughts had visited him, and
his heart sank like lead, for it was desolate, and of
all its beauty there remained but one rose clinging
to its stalk, drenched and faded. It seemed as if
youth, with its flower of promise and hope, had
been beaten down, and a sense of loneliness fell on
his soul. He had no heart for work, and crept to
bed, broken and dispirited. During the night the
rain ceased, and the north wind began to blow,
which cleanses nature in every pore, and braces
each true man for his battle. The morrow was
one of those glorious days which herald winter, and
as the minister tramped along the road, where the
dry leaves crackled beneath his feet, and climbed
to the moor with head on high, the despair of yes-
terday vanished. The wind had ceased, and the
glen lay at his feet, distinct in the cold, clear air,
from the dark mass of pines that closed its upper
end to the swelling woods of oak and beech that
cut it off from the great Strath. He had received
a warm welcome from all kinds of people, and now
he marked with human sympathy each little home-
stead with its belt of firs against the winter's
storms, and its stackyard where the corn had been
gathered safe; the ploughman and his horses
cutting brown ribbons in the bare stubble ; dark
squares where the potato stalks have withered to
the ground, and women are raising the roots, and
here and there a few cattle still out in the fields.
His eyes fell on the great wood through which he

76 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

had rambled in August, now one blaze of colour,
rich green and light yellow, with patches of fiery
red and dark purple. God seemed to have given
him a sermon, and he wrote that evening, like one
inspired, on the same parable of nature Jesus
loved, with its subtle interpretation of our sorrows,
joys, trust, and hope. People told me that it was
a " rael bonnie sermon," and that Netherton had
forgotten his after-sermon snuff, although it was
his turn to pass the box to Burnbrae.

The minister returned to his study in a f r»e glow
of body and soul, to find a severe figure standing
motionless in the middle of the room.

" Wass that what you call a sermon?" said
Lachlan Campbell, without other greeting.

John Carmichael was still so full of joy that he
did not catch the tone, and explained with college
pedantry that it was hardly a sermon, nor yet a
lecture.

" You may call it a meditation."

" I will be calling it an essay without one bite of
grass for starving sheep."

Then the minister awoke from a pleasant dream,
as if one had flung cold water on his naked
body.

" What was wrong ? " with an anxious look at
the stern little man who of a sudden had become
his judge.

" There wass nothing right, for I am not think-
ing that trees and leaves and stubble fields will
save our souls, and I did not hear about sin and
repentance and the work of Christ. It iss sound

A GRAND INQUISITOR. 77

doctrine that we need, and a great peety you are
not giving it."

The minister had been made much of in college
circles, and had a fair idea of himself. He was a
kindly lad, but he did not see why he should be
lectured by an old Highlandman who read nothing
except Puritans, and was blind with prejudice.
When they parted that Sabbath afternoon it was
the younger man that had lost his temper, and the
other did not offer to shake hands.

Perhaps the minister would have understood
Lachlan better if he had known that the old man
could not touch food when he got home, and spent
the evening in a fir wood praying for the lad he
had begun to love. And Lachlan would have
had a lighter heart if he had heard the minister
questioning himself whether he had denied the
Evangel or sinned against one of Christ's disciples.
They argued together ; they prayed apart.

Lachlan was careful to say nothing, but the con-
gregation felt that his hand was against the minis-
ter, and Burnbrae took him to task.

" Ye maunna be ower hard on him, Maister
Campbell, for he's but young, and comin' on fine.
He hes a hearty word for ilka body on the road,
and the sicht o' his fresh young face in the poopit
is a sermon itsel'."

" You are wrong, Burnbrae, if you will be think-
ing that my heart iss not warm to the minister, for
it went out unto him from the day he preached
his first sermon. But the Lord regardeth not the
countenance of man."

78 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

" Nae doot, nae doot ! but I canna see onything
wrang in his doctrine ; it wudna be reasonable tae
expect auld-fashioned sermons frae a young man,
and I wud coont them barely honest. A'm no
denying that he gaes far afield, and tak's us tae
strange lands when he's on his travels, but ye'ill
acknowledge that he gaithers mony treasures, and
he aye comes back tae Christ."

" No, I will not be saying that John Carmichael
does not love Christ, for I hef seen the Lord in his
sermons like a face through a lattice. Oh, yes ! and
I hef felt the fragrance of the myrrh. But I am
not liking his doctrine, and I wass thinking that
some day there will be no original sin left in the
parish of Drumtochty."

It was about this time that the minister made
a great mistake, although he was trying to do his
best for the people, and always obeyed his con-
science. He used to come over to the Cottage for
a ramble through my books, and one evening he
told me that he had prepared what he called a
" course " on Biblical criticism, and was going to
place Drumtochty on a level with Germany. It
was certainly a strange part for me to advise a
minister, but I had grown to like the lad, because
he was full of enthusiasm and too honest for this
world, and I implored him to be cautious. Drum-
tochty was not anxious to be enlightened about the
authors of the Pentateuch, being quite satisfied
with Moses, and it was possible that certain good
men in Drumtochty might resent any interference
with their hereditary notions. Why could be not

A GRAND INQUISITOR. 79

read this subject for his own pleasure, and teach it
quietly in classes ? Why give himself away in the
pulpit ? This worldly counsel brought the minis-
ter to a white heat, and he rose to his feet. Had
he had not been ordained to feed his people with
truth, and was he not bound to tell them all he
knew? We were living in an age of transition,
and he must prepare Christ's folk that they be not
taken unawares. If he failed in his duty through
any fear of consequences, men would rise after-
wards to condemn him for cowardice, and lay
their unbelief at his door. When he ceased I was
ashamed of my cynical advice, and resolved never
again to interfere with " courses " or other matters
above the lay mind. But greater knowledge of
the world had made me a wise prophet.

Within a month the Free Kirk was in an up-
roar, and when I dropped in one Sabbath morn-
ing the situation seemed to me a very pathetic
tragedy. The minister was offering to the honest
country-folk a mass of immature and undigested
details about the Bible, and they were listening
with wearied, perplexed faces. Lachlan Campbell
sat grim and watchful, without a sign of flinching,
but even from the Manse pew I could detect the
suffering of his heart. When the minister blazed
into polemic against the bigotry of the old school,
the iron face quivered as if a father had been
struck by his son. Carmichael looked thin and
nervous in the pulpit, and it came to me that if
new views are to be preached to old-fashioned
people it ought not to be bv lads, who are always

80 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

heady and intolerant, but by a stout man of middle
age, with a rich voice and a good-natured manner.
Had Carmichael rasped and girded much longer,
one would have believed in the inspiration of the
vowel points, and I left the church with a low
heart, for this was a woeful change from his
first sermon.

Lachlan would not be pacified, not even by the
plea of the minister's health.

" Oh, yes ! I am seeing that he is ill and I will
be as sorry as any man in Drumtochty. But it
iss not too much work, as they are saying ; it iss
the judgment of God. It iss not goot to meddle
with Moses, and John Carmichael will be knowing
that. His own sister wass not respectful to Moses,
and she will not be feeling fery well next day."

But Burnbrae added that the " auld man cudna
be mair cast doon if he hed lost his dochter."

The peace of the Free Kirk had been broken,
and the minister was eating out his heart, when
he remembered the invitation of Marget Howe, and
went one sweet spring day to Whinnie Knowe.

Marget met him with her quiet welcome at the
garden gate.

" Ye hae done me a great kindness in comin',
Maister Carmichael, and if ye please we'ill sit
in this sunny corner which is dear tae me, and
ye'ill tell me yir troubles."

So they sat down together beside the brier bush,
and after one glance at Marget's face the minister
opened his heart, and told her the great contro-
versy with Lachlan.

A GRAND INQUISITOR. 8 1

Marget lifted her head as one who had heard
of some brave deed, and there was a ring in her
voice.

" It mak's me prood before God that there
are twa men in Drumtochty who follow their
conscience as king, and coont truth dearer than
their ain freends. It's peetiful when God's
bairns fecht through greed and envy, but it's
hertsome when they are wullin' tae wrestle
aboot the Evangel, for surely the end o' it a*
maun be peace.

" A've often thocht that in the auld days
baith the man on the rack and the inqueesitor
himself might be gude men and accepted o'
God, and maybe the inqueesitor suffered mair
than the martyr. A'm thinkin', Maister Car-
michael, that it's been hardest on Lachlan."

The minister's head was buried in his hands,
but his heart was with Marget.

" It's a strange buik the Bible, and no the buik
we wud hae made, tae judge by oor bit creeds and
confessions. It's like a head o' aits in the harvest
time. There's the ear that hauds the grain and
keeps it safe, and that's the history, and there's
often no mickle nutriment in it ; then there's the
corn lying in the ear, which is the Evangel frae
Eden tae Revelation, and that is the bread o' the
soul. But the corn maun be threshed first and the
cauf [chaff] cleaned aff. It's a bonnie sicht tae see
the pure grain fallin' like a rinnin' burn on the
corn-room floor, and a glint o' the sun through the
window turning it intae gold. But the stour [dust]

6 2 TRA NSFORMA TION OF LA CHL A N CA MPBELL.

o' the cauf room is mair than onybody can abide,
and the cauf's worth naethin' when the corn's
awa."

" Ye mean," said the minister, " that my study
is the threshin' mill, and that some of the chaff has
got into the pulpit."

" Yir no offended," and Marget's voice trem-
bled.

Then the minister lifted his head and laughed
aloud with joy, while a swift flash of humour lit up
Marget's face.

" You've been the voice of God to me this day,
Mrs. Howe. But if I give up my ' course,' the
people will misunderstand, for I know everything I
gave was true, and I would give it all again, if it
were expedient."

" Nae fear, Maister Carmichael ; naebody misun-
derstands that luves, and the fouk all luve ye, and
the man that hauds ye dearest is Lachlan Camp-
bell. I saw the look in his een that canna be mis-
ta'en."

" I'll go to him this very day," and the minister
leaped to his feet.

" Ye'ill no regret it," said Marget, " for God
will give ye peace."

Lachlan did not see the minister coming, for he
was busy with a lamb that had lost its way and
hurt itself. Carmichael marked with a growing
tenderness at his heart how gently the old man
washed and bound up the wounded leg, all the
time crooning to the frightened creature in the
sweet Gaelic speech, and also how he must needs

A GRAND INQUISITOR. 83

give the lamb a drink of warm milk before he set
it free.

When he rose from his work of mercy, he faced
the minister.

For an instant Lachlan hesitated, and then at
the look on Carmichael's face he held out both his
hands.

" This iss a goot day for me, and I bid you ten
thousand welcomes."

But the minister took the first word.

" You and I, Lachlan, have not seen eye to eye
about some things lately, and I am not here to
argue which is nearer the truth, because perhaps
we may always differ on some lesser matters. But
once I spoke rudely to you, and often I have spoken
unwisely in my sermons. You are an old man and
I am a young, and I ask you to forgive me and to
pray that both of us may be kept near the heart of
our Lord, whom we love, and who loves us."

No man can be so courteous as a Celt, and
Lachlan was of the pure Highland breed, kindest
of friends, fiercest of foes.

" You hef done a beautiful deed this day, Maister
Carmichael ; and the grace of God must hef been
exceeding abundant in your heart. It iss this man
that asks your forgiveness, for I wass full of pride,
and did not speak to you as an old man should;
but God iss my witness that I would hef plucked
out my right eye for your sake. You will say
every word God gives you, and I will take as much
as God gives me, and there will be a covenant
between us as long as we live."

84 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

They knelt together on the earthen floor of that
Highland cottage, the old school and the new,
before one Lord, and the only difference in their
prayers was that the young man prayed they might
keep the faith once delivered unto the saints, while
the burden of the old man's prayer was that they
might be led into all truth.

Lachlan's portion that evening ought to have
been the slaying of Sisera, from the Book of Judges,
but instead he read, to Flora's amaaement — it was
the night before she left her home — the thirteenth
chapter of ist Corinthians, and twice he repeated to
himself, " Now we see through a glass darkly, but
then face to face."

n.

HIS BITTER SHAME,

THE Free Kirk people were very proud of theif
vestry because the Established Church had none,
and because it was reasonably supposed to be the
smallest in Scotland. When the minister, who
touched five feet eleven, and the beadle, who was
three inches taller, assembled for the procession,
with the precentor, a man of fair proportions, there
was no waste ground in that room, and any mes-
senger from the church door had to be selected
with judgment. " Step up, Airchie, man, tae the
vestry," Burnbrae would say to the one under-
sized man in Drumtochty, " and tell the minister
no tae forget the Jews. Ye can birse [push] in fine,
but it wud beat me to get by the door. It's a bon-
nie bit room, but three fouk stannin* makes it con-
trakit for another man."

It was eight feet by eight, and consisted largely
of two doors and a fireplace, and its chief glory
was a portrait of Dr. Chalmers, whose face, dimly
seen in the light of the lamp, was a charter of
authority, and raised the proceedings to the level
of history. Lockers on either side of the mantel-
piece contained the church library, which abounded

86 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

in the lives of Scottish worthies, and was never
lightly disturbed. Where there was neither grate
nor door, a narrow board ran along the wall, on
which it was simply a point of honour to seat the
twelve deacons, who met once a month to raise
the Sustentation Fund by modest, heroic sacrifices
of hard-working people, and to keep the slates on
the church roof in winter. When they had nothing
else to do, they talked about the stove which " came
out in '43," and, when it was in good humour,
would raise the temperature in winter one degree
above freezing. Seating the court was a work of
art, and could only be achieved by the repression
of the smaller men, who looked out from the loop-
holes of retreat, the projection of bigger men on to
their neighbours' knees, and the absolute elimina-
tion of Archie Moncur, whose voice made motions
on temperance from the lowest depths. Netherton
was always the twelfth man to arrive, and nothing
could be done till he was safely settled. Only
some six inches were reserved at the end of the
bench, and he was a full sitter, but he had dis-
covered a trick of sitting sideways and screwing
his leg against the opposite wall, that secured the
court as well as himself in their places on the
principle of a compressed spring. When this
operation was completed, Burnbrae used to say to
the minister, who sat in the middle on a cane chair
before the tiniest of tables — the living was small,
and the ministers never grew fat till they left —

"We're fine and comfortable noo, Moderator,
and ye can begin business as sune as ye like."

HIS BITTER SHAME. 87

As there were only six elders they could sit in
state, besides leaving a vacant space for any peni-
tents who came to confess their sins and receive
absolution, or some catechumen who wished to be
admitted to the Sacrament. Carmichael used to
say that a meeting of Session affected his imagina-
tion, and would have made an interior for Rem-
brandt. On one side of the table sat the men who
represented the piety of the district, and were sup-
posed to be " far ben " in the Divine fellowship,
and on the other some young girl in her loneliness,
who wrung her handkerchief in terror of this
dreaded spiritual court, and hoped within her
heart that no elder would ask her " effectual call-
ing " from the Shorter Catechism ; while the little
lamp, hanging from the ceiling and swinging
gently in the wind that had free access from every
airt, cast a fitful light on the fresh, tearful face of
the girl and the hard, weather-beaten countenances
of the elders, composed into a serious gravity not
untouched by tenderness. They were little else
than labouring men, but no one was elected to
that court unless he had given pledges of godli-
ness, and they bore themselves as men who had
the charge of souls.

The little Sanhedrim had within it the school of
Hillel, which was swayed by mercy, and its Rabbi
was Burnbrae ; and the school of Shammai, whose
rule was inflexible justice, and its Rabbi was
Lachlan Campbell. Burnbrae was a big-hearted
man, with a fatherly manner, and had a genius
for dealing with " young communicants."

88 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

" Weel, Jessie, we're awfu' pleased tae think yer
gaein' forrit, and the Dominie wes tellin' me juist
last week that ye did yir work at schule graund,
and knew yir Bible frae end tae end.

" It '11 no be easy to speir fask] the like o' you
questions, but ye mind Abraham, Jessie."

" Ou, ay I " and Jessie is all alert, although she is
afraid to look up.

" What was the name o* his wife, noo ? "

" Sarah, an* their son was Isaac."

" That's richt, and what aboot Isaac's wife ? "

" Isaac mairrit Rebecca, and they hed twa
sons, Jacob and Esau," and the girl takes a
shy glance at the honest elder, and begins to feel
at home.

" Domsie wesna far wrang, af see, but it's no
possible ye cud tell us the names o' Jacob's sons ;
it's maybe no fair tae ask sich a teuch question,"
knowing all the while that this was a test case of
Domsie's.

When Jessie reached Benjamin, Burnbrae could
not contain himself.

" It's nae use trying to stick Jessie wi* the
Bible, neebers ; we 'ill see what she can dae wi*
the Carritches [Catechism]. Yir no the lassie
that said the questions frae beginning tae end
wi' twa mistak's, are ye ? "

Yes, she was, and dared him to come on, for
Jessie had forgotten the minister and all the
Session.

" The elders wud like tae hear ' What is the
Lord's Supper ? ' "

HIS BITTER SHAME. 89

" That's it ; and, Jessie, ma woman, gie's the
' worthy receiving.' "

Jessie achieves another triumph, and is now
ready for anything.

" Ye hae the Word weel stored in yir mind,
lassie, and ye maun keep it in yir life, and dinna
forget that Christ's a gude Maister."

" A '11 dae ma best," and Jessie declared that
Burnbrae had been as kind as if she had been
"his ain bairn," and that she " wasna feared
ava." But her trial is not over ; the worst is
to come.

Lachlan began where Burnbrae ended, and
very soon had Jessie on the rack.

" How old will you be ? "

" Auchteen next Martinmas."

" And why will you be coming to the Sacra-
ment ? "

" Ma mither thocht it was time," with a threat-
ening of tears as she looked at the face in the
corner.

" Ye will maybe tell the Session what hass been
your ' lawwork ' and how long ye haf been at
Sinai."

" A* dinna ken what yir askin'. I was never
oot o' Drumtochty," and Jessie breaks down
utterly.

" A* dinna think, Moderator, we ocht tae ask
sic questions," broke in Burnbrae, who could
not see a little one put to confusion ; " an* I
canna mind them in the Gospels. There's ae
commandment Jessie keeps weel, as a' can tes-

QO TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL*

teefy, and that's the fifth, for there's no a better
dochter in Drumtochty. A* move, Moderator,
she get her token; dinna greet, puir woman, for
ye've dune weel, and the Session's rael satisfeed."

" It wass Dr. John's mark I wass trying the girl
by," explained Lachlan after Jessie had gone away
comforted. " And it iss a goot mark, oh, yes ! and
very searching.

" Ye will maybe not know what it iss, Moder-
ator," and Lachlan regarded the minister with
austere superiority, for it was the winter of the
feud.

No, he did not, nor any of the Session, being all
douce Scotchmen, except Donald Menzies, who was
at home fighting the devil.

" It iss broken bones, and Dr. John did preach
three hours upon it at Auchindarroch Fast, and
there wass not many went to the Sacrament on
that occasion.

" Broken bones iss a fine mark to begin with,
and the next will be doubts. But there iss a
deeper," continued Lachlan, warming to his sub-
ject; " oh, yes ! far deeper, and I heard of it when I
wass North for the sheep, and I will not be forget-
ting that day with Janet Macfarlane.

" 1 knew she wass a professor, and I wass look-
ing for her marks. But it wass not for me to hef
been searching her ; it wass that woman that
should hef been trying me."

A profound silence wrapt the Session.

" ' Janet,' I said, ' hef ye had many doubts ? '

" ' Doubts, Lachlan ? was that what you asked ?

HIS BITTER SHAME. QI

I hef had desertions, and one will be for six
m0nths/

" So I saw she wass far beyond me, for I dare
not be speaking about desertions."

Two minutes after the minister pronounced the
benediction, and no one had offered any remark in
the interval.

It seemed to the elders that Lachlan dealt hardly
with young people and those that had gone astray,
but they learned one evening that his justice had
at least no partiality. Burnbrae said afterwards
that Lachlan "looked like a ghaist comin* in at
the door," but he sat in silence in the shadow, and
no one marked the agony on his face till the end.

" If that iss all the business, Moderator, I hef to
bring a case of discipline before the Session, and
ask them to do their duty. It iss known to me
that a young woman who hass been a member of
this church hass left her home and gone into the
far country. There will be no use in summoning
her to appear before the Session, for she will never
be seen again in this parish. I move that she be
cut off from the roll, and her name iss" — and
Lachlan's voice broke, but in an instant he re-
covered himself — " her name iss Flora Campbell."

Carmichael confessed to me that he was stricken
dumb, and that Lachlan's ashen face held him
with an awful fascination.

It was Burnbrae that first found a voice, and
showed that night the fine delicacy of heart that
may be hidden behind a plain exterior.

" Moderator, this is a terrible calamity that hes

92 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

aefaen oor brither, and a'm feelin' as if a' bed lost
a bairn o' my ane, for a sweeter lassie didna cross
oor kirk door. Nane o' us want tae know what lies
happened or where she hes gane, and no a word o'
this wull cross oor lips. Her faither's dune mair
than cud be expeckit o' mortal man, and noo we
have oor duty. It's no the way o' this Session tae
cut aff ony member o' the flock at a stroke, and we
'ill no begin with Flora Campbell. A* move, Mod-
erator, that her case be left tae her faither and yer-
sel', and oor neebur may depend on it that Flora's
name and his ain will be mentioned in oor prayers,
ilka mornin' an* nicht, till the gude Shepherd o' the
sheep brings her hame."

Burnbrae paused, and then, with tears in his
voice — men do not weep in Drumtochty — " With
the Lord there is mercy, and with Him is plente-
ous redemption."

The minister took the old man's arm and led
him into the manse, and set him in the big chair
by the study fire. " Thank God, Lachlan, we #re
friends now ; tell me about it as if I were your son
and Flora's brother."

The father took a letter out of an inner pocket
with a trembling hand, and this is what Carmichael
read by the light of the lamp :

" DEAR FATHER: When this reaches you I will
be in London, and not worthy to cross your door.
Do not be always angry with me, and try to forgive
sne, for you will not be troubled any more by
tiy dancing or dressing. Do not think that I will

HIS BITTER SHAME. 93

be blaming you, for you have been a good father
to me, and said what you would be considering
right, but it is not easy for a man to understand a
girl. Oh, if I had had my mother, then she would
have understood me, and I would not have crossed
you. Forget poor Flora's foolishness, but you will
not forget her, and maybe you will still pray for
me. Take care of the geraniums for my sake, and
give milk to the lamb that you called after me. I
will never see you again, in this world or the next,
nor my mother . . . [here the letter was much
blotted]. When I think that there will be no one
to look after you, and have the fire burning for you
on winter nights, I will be rising to come back.
But it is too late, too late ! Oh, the disgrace I will
be bringing on you in the glen !

" Your unworthy daughter,

" FLORA CAMPBELL."

" This is a fiery trial, Lachlan, and I cannot even
imagine what you are suffering. But do not de-
spair, for that is not the letter of a bad girl. Per-
haps she was impatient, and has been led astray.
But Flora is good at heart, and you must not think
she is gone forever."

Lachlan groaned, the first moan he had made,
and then he tottered to his feet.

" You are fery kind, Maister Carmichael, and so
wass Burnbrae, and I will be thankful to you all,
but you do not understand. Oh, no ! you do not
understand." Lachlin caught hold of a chair and
looked the minister in the face.

94 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

" She hass gone, and there will be no coming
back. You would not take her name from the roll
of the church, and I will not be meddling with that
book. But I hef blotted out her name from my
Bible, where her mother's name iss written and
mine. She has wrought confusion in Israel and in
an elder's house, and I .... I hef no daughter.
But I loved her ; she nefer knew how I loved herv
for her mother would be looking at me from her
eyes."

The minister walked with Lachlan to the foot of
the hill on which his cottage stood, and after they
had shaken hands in silence, he watched the old
man's figure in the cold moonlight till he disap-
peared into the forsaken home, where the fire had
gone out on the hearth, and neither love nor hope
was waiting for a broken heart.

The railway did not think it worth while to come
to Drumtochty, and we were cut off from the
lowlands by miles of forest, so our manners re-
tained the fashion of the former age. Six elders,
besides the minister, knew the tragedy of Flora
Campbell, and never opened their lips. Mrs. Mac-
Fadyen, who was our newspaper, and understood
her duty, refused to pry into this secret. The pity
of the glen went out to Lachlan, but no one even
looked a question as he sat alone in his pew or
came down on a Saturday afternoon to the village
shop for his week's provisions. London friends
thought me foolish about my adopted home, but I
asked them whether they could find such perfect
good manners in Belgravia, and they were silent.

HIS BITTER SHAME. 9$

My Drumtochty neighbours would have played an
awkward part in a drawing-room, but never have I
seen in all my wanderings men and women of
truer courtesy or tenderer heart.

" It gars ma hert greet tae see him," Mrs. Mac-
Fadyen said to me one day, " sae booed an' dis-
jackit, him that wes that snod [tidy] and firm.
His hair's turned white in a month, and he's awa*
tae naething in his claithes. But least said is sun-
est mended. It's no richt tae interfere wi' an*
other's sorrow, an' it wad be an awfu' sin tae
misca' a young lassie. We maun juist houp that
Flora '11 sune come back, for if she disna Lachlan
'11 no be lang wi's. He's sayin' naethin', and a*
respeck him for't; but onybody can see that his
hert is breakin'."

We were helpless till Marget Howe met Lach-
lan in the shop and read his sorrow at a glance.
She went home to Whinnie Knowe in great distress.

" It wes waesome tae see the auld mon githerin*
his bit things wi' a shakin' hand, and speakin' tae
me aboot the weather, and af the time his eyes
were sayin', ' Flora, Flora ! ' "

" Whar div ye think the young hizzie is,
Marget ? "

" Naebody needs tae know, Weelum, an' ye
maunna speak that way, for whatever's come ower
her, she's dear to Lachlan and tae God.

" It's laid on me tae veesit Lachlan, for a'm
thinking 'oor Father didna comfort us withoot
expeckin' that we wud comfort other fouk."

When Marget came round the corner of Lach-

96 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

lan's cottage, she found Flora's plants laid out
in the sun, and her father watering them on his
knees. One was ready to die, and for it he had
made a shelter with his plaid.

He was taken unawares, but in a minute he was
leading Marget in with hospitable words.

" It iss kind of you to come to an old man's
house, Mistress Howe, and it iss a fery warm day.
You will not care for speerits, but I am fery goot
at making tea."

Marget was not as other women, and she spoke
at once.

" Maister Campbell, ye will believe that I hev
come in the love of God, and because we hev baith
been afflickit. I had ae son, and he is gone ; ye
had a dochter, and she is gone. A' ken where
George is, and am sateesfied. A' doot sairly yir
sorrow is deeper than mine."

" Would to God that she wass lying in the kirk-
yard ; but I will not speak of her. She iss not
anything to me this day. See, I will show you
what I hef done, for she hass been a black shame
to her name."

He opened the Bible, and there was Flora's
name scored with wavering strokes, but the ink
had run as if it had been mingled with tears.

Marget's heart burned within her at the sight,
and perhaps she could hardly make allowance for
Lachlan's blood and theology.

" This is what ye hev dune, and ye let a woman
see yir wark. Ye are an auld man, and in sore
travail, but a* tell ye before God ye hae the greater

HIS BITTER SHAME. 97

shame. Juist twenty years o' age this spring, and
her mither dead ! Nae woman to watch over her,
and she wandered frae the fold, and a* ye can dae
is to tak her oot o' yir Bible. Wae's me if oor
Father had blotted out oor names frae the Book o'
Life when we left His hoose. But He sent His
ain Son to seek us, an* a weary road He cam. A'
tell ye, a man wudna leave a sheep tae perish as ye
hae cast aff yir ain bairn. Yir worse than Simon
the Pharisee, for Mary was nae kin tae him. Puir
Flora, tae hae sic a father ! "

" Who will be telling you that I wass a Phari-
see ? " cried Lachlan, quivering in every limb, and
grasping Marget 's arm.

" Forgie me, Lachlan, forgie me ! It was the
thocht o' the misguided lassie carried me, for a'
didna come tae upbraid ye."

But Lachlan had sunk into a chair and had for-
gotten her.

" She hass the word, and God will hef smitten
the pride of my heart, for it iss Simon that I am.
I wass hard on my child, and I wass hard on the
minister, and there wass none like me. The Lord
has laid my name in the dust, and I will be angry
with her. But she iss the scapegoat for my sins,
and hass gone into the desert. God be merciful
to me a sinner ! " And then Marget understood
no more, for the rest was in Gaelic ; but she heard
Flora's name with another she took to be her
mother's twined together.

So Marget knew it would be well with Lachlan
yet, and she wrote this letter :

Q8 TRAN-SFORMA TION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

" MY DEAR LASSIE : Ye ken that I wes aye yir
freend, and I am wrtfng this tae say that yir father
luves ye mair than ever, and is wearing oot his hert
for the sicht o' yir face. Come back, or he'll dee
thro* want o' his bairn. The glen is bright and
bonny noo, for the purple heather is on the hills,
and doon below the gowden corn, wi' bluebell
and poppy flowers between. Naebody 'ill ask ye
where ye've been, or onything else ; there's no a
bairn in the place that's no wearying tae see ye ;
and, Flora, lassie, if there will be sic gledness in
oor wee glen when ye come hame, what think ye
o' the joy in the Father's Hoose ? Start the
verra meenute that ye get this letter; yir father
bids ye come, and I'm writing this in place o' yir
mother.

" MARGET HOWE."

Marget went out to tend the flowers while Lach-
lan read the letter, and when he gave it back the
address was written in his own hand.

He went as far as the crest of the hill with Mar-
get, and watched her on the way to the post-
office till she was only a speck upon the road.

When he entered his cottage the shadows were
beginning to fall, and he remembered it would
soon be night.

" It iss in the dark that Flora will be coming,
and she must know that her father iss waiting
for her."

He cleaned and trimmed with anxious hand a
that was kept for show, and had never been

HIS BITTER SHAME. 99

used. Then he selected from his books Edwards'
" Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," and
" Coles on the Divine Sovereignty," and on them
he laid the large family Bible out of which Flora's
name had been blotted. This was the stand on
which he set the lamp in the window, and every
night till Flora returned its light shone down the
steep path that ascended to her home, like the
Divine Love from the open door of our Father's
House.

III.

LIKE AS A FATHER.

IT was only by physical force and a free use of
personalities that the Kildrummie passengers could
be entrained at the Junction, and the Drumtochty
men were always the last to capitulate.

They watched the main-line train that had
brought them from Muirtown disappear in the
distance, and then broke into groups to discuss
the cattle sale at leisure, while Peter, the factotum
of the little Kildrummie branch, drove his way
through their midst with offensive pieces of lug-
gage, and abused them by name without respect
of persons.

" It's maist aggravatin', Drumsheugh, 'at ye'il*
stand there girnin' at the prices, as if ye were a
puir cottar body that hed selt her ae coo, and us
twal meenutes late. Man, get intae yer kerridge ;
he'ill no be fat that buys frae you, a'll wager."

" Peter's in an awfu' feery-farry [excitement]
the nicht, neeburs," Drumsheugh would respond,
after a long pause ; " ye vvud think he wes a mail
gaird tae hear him speak. Mind ye, a'm no gain'
tae shove ahint if the engine sticks, for I hae na
time. He needs a bit nip," and Drumsheugh

LIKE AS A

settles himself in his seat, " or else there would be
nae leevin' wi' him."

Peter escaped this winged shaft, for he had de-
tected a woman in the remote darkness.

" Keep's a', wumman, what are ye stravagin*
about there for out o' a'body's sicht ? a* near set
aff withoot ye."

Then Peter recognised her face, and his manner
softened of a sudden.

"Come awa', lassie, come awa' ; a* didna ken
ye at the moment, but a* heard ye hed been
veesitin' in the sooth.

" The third is terrible full wi' thae Drumtochty
lads, and ye'ill hear naething but Drumsheugh's
stirks ; ye'ill maybe be as handy in oor second."
And Flora Campbell stepped in unseen.

Between the Junction and Kildrummie Peter
was accustomed to wander along the footboard,
collecting tickets and identifying passengers. He
was generally in fine trim on the way up, and took
ample revenge for the insults of the departure.
But it was supposed that Peter had taken Drum-
sheugh's withering sarcasm to heart, for he at-
tached himself to the second that night, and was
invisible to the expectant third till the last
moment.

"Ye've hed a lang journey, Miss Cammil, and
ye maun be nearly dune wi' tire ; juist ye sit still
till the fouk get awa', and the guid wife and me
would be prood if ye took a cup o' tea wi's afore
ye stairted hame. A'll come for ye as sune as a*
get the van emptied and ma little trokes feenished."

IOJ4 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

Peter hurried up to his cottage in such hot haste
that his wife came out in great alarm.

" Na, there's naethin' wrang; it's the opposite
way this nicht. Ye mind o' Flora Cammil that
left her father, and nane o' the Drumtochty fouk
wud say onything aboot her. Weel, she's in the
train, and a've asked her up tae rest, and she was
gled tae come, puir thing. Sae gie her a couthy
welcome, wumman, and the best in the hoose, for
oors 'ill be the first roof she'ill be under on her
way hame."

Our women do not kiss one another like the city
ladies; but the motherly grip of Mary Bruce's
hand sent a thrill to Flora's heart.

" Noo a' caf this real kind o' ye, Miss Cammil,
tae come in without ceremony, and a'd be terrible
pleased if ye would dae it ony time yer traivellin'.
The rail is by ordinar' fateegin,' and a cup o' tea
'ill set ye up," and Mary had Flora in the best
chair, and was loading her plate with homely
dainties.

Peter would speak of nothing but the new engine
that was coming, and was to place the Kildrummie
branch beyond ridicule forever, and on this great
event he continued without intermission till he
parted with Flora on the edge of the pine woods
that divided Drumtochty from Kildrummie.

" Gude nicht tae ye, Miss Cammil, and thank ye
again for yir veesit. Bring the auld man wi' ye
next time ye're passin', though a'm feared ye've
been deived [deafened] wi' the engine."

Flora took Peter's hand, that was callous and

LIKE AS A FATHER. 103

rough with the turning of brakes and the coupling
of chains.

" It wass not your new engine you wass thinking
about this night, Peter Bruce, but a poor girl that
iss in trouble. I hef not the words, but I will be
remembering your house ; oh, yes I as long as I
live/'

Twice Peter stood on his way home ; the first
time he slapped his leg and chuckled :

" Sail, it was gey clever o' me ; a hale kerridge
o' Drumtochty lads, and no ane o' them ever hed
a glint o' her."

At the second stoppage he drew his hand across
his eyes.

" Puir lassie, a* houp her father 'ill be kind tae
her, for she's sair broken, and looks liker deith than
life/'

No one can desire a sweeter walk than through a
Scottish pine wood in late September, where you
breathe the healing resinous air, and the ground is
crisp and springy beneath your feet, and gentle ani-
mals dart away on every side, and here and there you
come on an open space with a pool and a brake of
gorse. Many a time on market days Flora had gone
singing through these woods, plucking a posy of
wild flowers and finding a mirror in every pool, as
young girls will : but now she trembled and was
afraid. The rustling of the trees in the darkness,
the hooting of an owl, the awful purity of the
moonlight in the glades, the cold sheen of the
water, were to her troubled conscience omens of
judgment. Had it not been for the kindness of

104 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

Peter Bruce, which was a pledge of human for-
giveness, there would have been no heart in her to
dare that wood, and it was with a sob of relief she
escaped from the shadow and looked upon the old
glen once more, bathed from end to end in the
light of the harvest moon. Beneath her ran our
little river, spanned by its quaint old bridge ; away
on the right the Parish Kirk peeped out from a
clump of trees ; halfway up the glen the clachan
lay surrounded by patches 01 corn; and beyond
were the moors, with a shepherd's cottage that
held her heart. Two hours ago squares of light
told of warmth and welcome within ; but now, as
Flora passed one house after another, it seemed as
if everyone she knew was dead, and she was for-
gotten in her misery. Her heart grew cold, and
she longed to lie down and die, when she caught
the gleam of a lighted window. Someone was
living still to know she had repented, and she
knelt down among the flowers with her ear to the
glass to hear the sound of a human voice. Archie
Moncur had come home late from a far-away job,
but he must needs have worship with his sister
before they went to bed, and well did he choose
the psalm that night. Flora's tears rained upon
the mignonette as the two old people sang :

" When Sion's bondage God turned back,

As men that dreamed were we,
Then filled with laughter was our mouth,
Our tongue with melody ; "

while the fragrance of the flowers went up as
incense unto God.

LIKE AS A FATHER. 105

All the way along the glen the last words of the
psalm still rang in her ears, " Rejoicing shall
return," but as she touched the footpath to her
home, courage failed her. Marget had written
for her dead mother, but no one could speak with
authority for her father. She knew the pride of
his religion and his iron principles. If he refused
her entrance, then it had been better for her
to have died in London. A turn of the path
brought her within sight of the cottage, and her
heart came into her mouth, for the kitchen window
was a blaze of light. One moment she feared
Lachlan might be ill, but in the next she understood,
and in the greatness of her joy she ran the rest of
the way. When she reached the door, her strength
had departed, and she was not able to knock. But
there was no need, for the clogs, who never forget
nor cast off, were bidding her welcome with short
joyous yelps of delight, and she could hear her father
feeling for the latch, which for once could not be
found, and saying nothing but " Flora, Flora J"

She had made up some kind of speech, but the
only word she ever said was " Father," for Lachlan,
who had never even kissed her all the days of her
youth, clasped her in his arms and sobbed out
blessings over her head, while the dogs licked her
hands with their soft, kindly tongues.

" It iss a pity you hef not the Gaelic," Flora said
to Marget afterwards ; " it iss the best of all
languages for loving. There are fifty words for
darling, and my father would be calling me every
one that night I came home."

106 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

Lachlan was so carried with joy, and firelight is
so hopeful, that he had not seen the signs of sore
sickness on Flora's face, but the morning light un-
deceived him, and he was sadly dashed.

" You will be fery tired after your long journey,
Flora, and it iss good for you to rest. There iss a
man in the clachan I am wanting to see, and he
will maybe be comin' back with me."

When Lachlan reached his place of prayer, he
lay on the ground and cried, " Have mercy on me,
O Lord, and spare her for thy servant's sake, and
let me not lose her after Thou hast brought her
back and hast opened my heart. . . Take her not
till she hass seen that I love her. . . Give me
time to do her kindness for the past wherein I
oppressed her. . . O, turn away Thy judgment
on my hardness, and let not the child suffer for her
father's sins." Then he arose and hastened for
the doctor.

It was afternoon before Dr. MacLure could
come, but the very sight of his face, which was
as the sun in its strength, let light into the room
where Lachlan sat at the bedside holding Flora's
hand, and making woeful pretense that she was
not ill.

"Weel, Flora, yeVe got back frae yir veesits,
and a' tell ye we've missed ye maist terrible.
A* doot thae sooth country fouk haena been
feeding ye ower weel, or maybe it was the toon
air. It never agrees wi' me. A'm half chokit a*
the time a'm in Glesgie, and as for London, there's
ower mony fouk tae the square yaird for health."

LIKE AS A FATHER. toy

All the time he was busy at his work, and no
man could do it better or quicker, although the
outside of him was not encouraging.

" Lachlan, what are ye traivellin' in and oot
there for with a face that wud sour milk ? What
ails ye, man? ye're surely no imaginin' Flora's
gaein' to leave ye ?

" Lord's sake, it's maist provokin' that if
a body hes a bit whup o' illness in Drum-
tochty, their friends tak tae propheseein' deith."

Lachlan had crept over to Flora's side, and
both were waiting.

" Na, na ; ye ken a* never tell lees like the
graund ceety doctors, and a'll warrant Flora 'ill
be in kirk afore Martinmas, and kiltin' up the
braes as hardy as a hielan' sheltie by the new
year."

Flora puts an arm round her father's neck,
and draws down his face to hers, but the doctor
is looking another way.

" Dinna fash wi' medicine ; gie her plenty o*
fresh milk and plenty o' air. There's nae leevin,
for a doctor wi' that Drumtochty air; it hasna
a marra in Scotland. It starts frae the Moray
Firth and sweeps doon Badenoch, and comes
ower the moor o' Rannoch and across the Gram-
pians. There's the salt o' the sea, and the caller
air o' the hills, and the smell o' the heather, and
the bloom o' mony a flower in't. If there's nae
disease in the organs o' the body, a puff o' Drum-
tochty air wud bring back a man frae the gates
o' deith."

IDS TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

" You hef made two hearts glad this day, Dr.
MacLure," said Lachlan, outside the door, "and
I am calling you Barnabas."

"Ye've ca'd me waur names than that in yir
time," and the doctor mounted his horse. " It's
dune me a warld o' guid tae see Flora in her hame
again, and I'll gie Marget Howe a cry in passin'
and send her up tae hae a crack, for there's no a
wiser wumman in the glen."

When Marget came, Flora told her the history
of her letter.

" It wass a beautiful night in London, but I will
be thinking that there iss no living person caring
whether I die or live, and I wass considering how
I could die, for there iss nothing so hopeless as to
hef no friend in a great city. It iss often that I hef
been alone on the moor, and no man within miles,
but I wass never lonely; oh, no! I had plenty
of good company. I would sit down beside a
burn, and the trout will swim out from below a
stone, and the cattle will come to drink, and the
fnuirfowl will be crying to each other, and the
sheep will be bleating, oh, yes ! and there are the
bees all round, and a string of wild ducks above
your head. It iss a busy place, a moor; and a safe
place too, for there iss not one of the animals will
hurt you. No, the big highlanders will only look
at you and go away to their pasture. But it iss
weary to be in London and no one to speak a kind
word to you, and I will be looking at the crowd
that iss always passing, and I will not see one
kent face, and when I looked in at the lighted

LIKE AS A FATHER. 109

windows the people were all sitting round the
table, but there wass no place for me. Millions
and millions of people, and not one to say * Flora/
and not one sore heart if I died that night. Then
a strange thing happened, as you will be consider-
ing, but it iss good to be a Highlander, for we see
visions. You maybe know that a wounded deer
will try to hide herself, and I crept into the shadow
of a church, and wept. Then the people and the
noise and the houses passed away like the mist on
the hill, and I wass walking to the kirk with my
father, oh, yes ! and I saw you all in your places,
and I heard the Psalms, and I could see through
the window the green fields and the trees on the
edge of the moor. And I saw my home, with the
dogs before the door, and the flowers that I
planted, and the lamb coming for her milk, and
I heard myself singing, and I awoke. But there
wass singing, oh, yes ! and beautiful too, for the
dark church was open, and the light wass falling
over my head from the face of the Virgin Mary.
When I arose she wass looking down at me in the
darkness, and then I knew that there wass service
in the church, and this wass the hymn :

'* * There is a fountain filled with blood.'

So I went in and sat down at the door. The
sermon wass on the Prodigal Son, but there iss
only one word I remember. 'You are not for-
gotten or cast off,' the preacher said ; ' you are
missed,' and then he will come back to it again,
and it wass always ' missed, missed, missed/

HO TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

Sometime he will say, ' If you had a plant, and
you had taken great care of it, and it was stolen,
would you not miss it? And I will be thinking
of my geraniums, and saying ' yes ' in my heart.
And then he will go on, ' If a shepherd was count-
ing his sheep, and there wass one short, does he not
go out to the hill and seek for it ? ' and I will see
my father coming back with that lamb that lost
its mother. My heart wass melting within me, but
he will still be pleading, ' If a father had a child,
and she left her home and lost herself in the
wicked city, she will still be remembered in the
old house, and her chair will be there/ and I will
be seeing my father all ^.lone with the Bible before
him, and the dogs will lay their heads on his knee,
but there iss no Flora. So I slipped out into the
darkness and cried ' Father !' but I could not go
back, and I knew not what to do. But this wass
^ver in my ear, ' missed/ and I wass wondering
if God will be thinking of me. ' Perhaps there may
be a sign/ I said, and I went to my room, and I
saw the letter. It was not long before I will be
in the train, and all the night I held your letter
in my hand, and when I wass afraid I will read
' Your father loves you more than efer/ and I will
say, ' This is my warrant/ Oh, yes ! and God wass
fery good to me, and I did not want for friends
all the way home.

"The English guard noticed me cry, and he
will take care of me all th« night, and see me off
at Muirtown, and this iss what he will say as the
train wass leaving, in his cheery English way,

LIKE AS A FATHER. Ill

' Keep up your heart, lass, there's a good time
coming,' and Peter Bruce will be waiting for me
at the Junction, and a gentle man iss Peter Bruce,
and Maister Moncur will be singing a psalm to
keep up my heart, and I Vv ill see the light, and then
I will know that the Lord hass had mercy upon
me. That iss all I have to tell you, Marget, for
the rest I will be saying to God."

" But there iss something I must be telling," said
Lachlan, coming in, " and it iss not easy/'

He brought over the Bible and opened it at the
family register where his daughter's name had
been erased ; then he laid it down before Flora,
and bowed his head on the bed.

" Will you ever be able to forgive your father ? "

" Give me the pen, Marge'; anc ^Icra wrote
for a minute, but Lachlan never moved,

When he lifted his head, this was what he read
in a vacant space :

FLORA CAMPBELL.

Missed, April, 1873.

Found, September, 1873.

** Her father fell on her neck and kissed her.**

IV.

AS A LITTLE CHILD.

DRUMTOCHTY made up its mind slowly upon
any newcomer, and for some time looked into the
far distance when his name was mentioned. He
himself was struck with the studied indifference
of the parish, and lived under the delusion that he
had escaped notice. Perhaps he might have felt
uncomfortable if he had suspected that he was
under a microscope, and the keenest eyes in the
country were watching every movement at kirk and
market. His knowledge of theology, his preference
in artificial manures, his wife's Sabbath dress, his
skill in cattle, and his manner in the Kildrummie
train, went as evidence in the case, and were duly
weighed. Some morning the floating opinion sud-
denly crystallized in the kirkyard, and there is only
one historical instance in which judgment was
reversed. It was a strong proof of Lachlan
Campbell's individuality that he impressed him-
self twice on the parish, and each time with a
marked adjective.

Lachlan had been superintending the theology
of the glen and correcting our ignorance from an
unapproachable height for two years before the
word went forth, but the glen had been thinking.

" Lachlan is a carefu' shepherd and fine wi* the
ewes at the lambing time, there's nae doot o' that,

AS A LITTLE CHILD. 113

but a* canna thole [bear] himsel'. Ye wud think
there was nae releegion in the pairish till he cam*
frae Auchindarroch. What say ye, Domsie ? "

" Campbell's a censorious body, Drumsheugh,"
and Domsie shut his snuff-box lid with a snap.

Drumsheugh nodded to the fathers of our com-
monwealth, and they went into kirk with silent
satisfaction. Lachlan had been classified, and
Peter Bruce, who prided himself on keeping in
touch with Drumtochty, passed the word round
the Kildrummie train next market night.

" Ye haena that censorious body, Lachlan
Campbell, wi* ye the nicht," thrusting his head in
on the thirds.

"There's naething Peter disna ken," Hillocks
remarked with admiration afterwards ; " he's as
gude as the Advertiser"

, When Flora had come home, and Drumtochty
resumed freedom of criticism, I noticed for the
first time a certain vacillation in its treatment of
Lachlan.

" He's pluckit up his speerit maist extraordinar,"
Hillocks explained, " and he whuppit by me like a
three-year-auld laist Sabbath.

" ' I'm gled tae hear the Miss is comin* roond
fine/ says I,

" ' It's the fouk o* Drumtochty hes made her
weel. God bless you, for you hev done good for
evil,' and wi' that he was aff afore I cud fin' a
word.

" He's changed, the body, some wy or ither, and
there's a kird o* warmth aboot him ye canna get
ower. "

Next day I turned into Mrs. Macfadyen's cottage

114 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

for a cup of tea, and the smack of that wise
woman's conversation, but was not able to pass the
inner door for the sight which met my eyes.

Lachlan was sitting on a chair in the middle of
the kitchen with Elsie, Mrs. Macfadyen's pet child,
on his knee, and their heads so close together that
his white hair was mingling with her burnished
gold. An odour of peppermint floated out at the
door, and Elsie was explaining to Lachlan, for his
guidance at the shop, that the round drops were a
better bargain than the black and white rock.

When Lachlan had departed, with gracious
words on his lips and a very sticky imprint on his
right cheek, I settled down in the big chair, beyond
the power of speech, and Mrs. Macfadyen opened
the mystery.

" Ye may weel look, for twa month syne I wudna
hae believed this day, though a' hed seen him wi'
ma ain een.

" It was juist this time laist year that he cam*
here on his elder's veesitation, and he catches the
bairn in this verra kitchen.

" • Elspeth,' says he — it was Elsie the day, ye
mind — ' div ye ken that ye're an oreeginal sinner?'

" It was nichtfa* afore she got ower the fricht,
and when she saw him on the road next Sabbath,
she cooried in ahint ma goon, and cried till I
thocht her hert wud break.

" ' It's meeserable wark for Christ's Elder,' says
Jeems, ' tae put the fear o* death on a bairn, and
a'm thinkin' he wudna get muckle thanks frae his
Maister, if He wes here,' and Jeems wasna far
wrong, though, of course, a' told him tae keep a
quiet sough, and no center the elder.

AS A LITTLE CHILD. 115

" Weel, I sees Lachlan comin' up the road the
day, and a* ran oot to catch Elsie and hide her in
the byre. But a* micht hae saved mysel' the
trouble : afore I got tae the gairden gate they were
comin' up as chief [friendly] as ye like, and Lach-
lan wes callin' Elsie his bonnie dawtie.

" If he hadna a pock o* peppermints — but it
wasna that wiled Elsie's hert. Na, na ; dogs and
bairns can read fouks* faces, and mak nae mis-
takes. As sune as a* saw Lachlan's een a* kent he
wes a new man.

" Hoo has it come about ? That's easy tae
guess. Sax months syne Lachlan didna ken what
father meant, and the hert wes wizened in the
breist o' him wi' pride anf diveenity.

" He kens noo, and a'm jalousing that nae man
can be a richt father tae his ain without being sib
[akin] tae every bairn he sees. It was Flora he
wes dawting [petting] ye see the day, and he's
learned his trade weel, though it cost him a sair
lesson."

Wonderful stories circulated through the glen,
and were told in the kirkyard of a Sabbath morn-
ing, concerning the transformation of Lachlan
Campbell.

"Ane o' ma wee lassies," expatiated Domsie,
" fell comin' doon the near road frae Whinnie
Knowe, and cuttit her cheek on the stones, and
if Lachlan didna wash her face and comfort her ;
an' mair, he carried her a' the road tae the schule,
and says he in his Hieland way, ' Here iss a brave
little woman that hass hurt herself, but she will
not be crying,' and he gave her a kiss and a penny
tae buy some sweeties at the shop. It minded me

Il6 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

o' the Gude Samaritan, fouks," and everybody
understood that Lachlan had captured Domsie
for life.

" It beats a' things," said Whinnie ; " a' canna
mak' oot what's come ower the cratur. There's
a puckle o' the upland bairns pass oor wy frae
schule, and whiles Lachlan 'ill meet them when
he's aifter his sheep, and as sure as a'm stannin'
here, he '11 lay aff stories aboot battles and fairies,
till the laddies '11 hardly gae hame. I wes tellin'
Marget this verra mornin', and she says, * Lachlan's
become as a little child.' I dinna haud wi' her
there, but a quieter, mair cautious body ye never
saw."

Drumtochty was doing its best to focus Lachlan
afresh, and felt the responsibility lay on Domsie,
who accepted it cheerfully.

" Marget's aye richt, neeburs, and she's put the
word on it noo. His tribble hes melted Lachlan's
hert, an' — it's in the Evangel, ye ken — he's be-
come as a little child."

This language was too figurative and imposing
for the parish, but it ran henceforward in our
modest speech, " He's a cautious body." Cautious,
with us, meant unassuming, kindly, obliging, as
well as much more ; and I still hear Drumsheugh
pronouncing this final judgment of the glen on
Lachlan as we parted at his grave ten years later,
and adding, " He'ill be sair missed by the bairns."

While the glen was readjusting itself to Lach-
lan, I came down from a long tramp on the moor,
and intended to inquire for Flora. But I was ar-
rested on the step by the sound of Lachlan's voice
in family worship.

AS A LITTLE CHILD. 117

" ' This my son was dead, and is alive again ; he
was lost, and is found. And they began to be
merry/ "

Lachlan's voice trembled as he read, but he went
on with much firmness :

" * Now his elder son was in the field,' "

" You will not be reading more of that chapter,
father," interrupted Flora, with a new note of
authority.

" And why not ? " said Lachlan, quite humbly.

" Because you will be calling yourself the elder
son and many more bad names, and I will be
angry with you."

" But they are true names, and it iss good for me
to know myself."

" You hef just one true name, and that is father,
. . . And now you will be singing a psalm."

" There iss a book of himes [hymns] here, and
maybe you will be liking one of them."

And Lachlan produced the little book Flora got
in that London church when the preacher told her
she was missed.

" We will not sing hymns, father, for I am re-
membering that you hef a conscience against
hymns, and I did not know that you had that
book."

" My conscience wass sometimes better than the
Bible, Flora, and if God will be sending a hime to
bind up your heart when it wass broken, it iss your
father that will be wanting to sing that hime.

" It iss here," continued Lachlan in triumph,
" for I hef often been reading that hime, and I am
not seeing much wrong in it."

" But each hymn hass got its own tune, father,

Il8 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

and you will not know the way that it goes, and
the doctor will not be wishing me to sing/'

" You are a good girl, Flora, but you are not so
clever as your father; oh, no ! for I hef been try-
ing that hime on the hill, and it will sing beautiful
to a Psalm tune. You will lie still and hear."

Then Lachlan lifted up his voice in " French " :

** There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawn from Immanuel's veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that flood
Lose all their guilty stains.*'

The singing was fairly good, with a whisper
from Flora, till they came to that verse :

'* Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I'll sing Thy power to save,
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave,"

when Lachlan seemed to lose the tune, and be
falling into a coronach.

"We must not be singing that to-day, father,
for God iss fery good to us, and I will be stronger
every week, and maybe you will be saying that we
are thankful in your prayer."

Then I realised my baseness, and went off on
tiptoe (had the dogs been at home it had not been
so easy to escape) ; but first I heard, " Our Father.'
It was a new word for Lachlan ; he used to say'
Jehovah.

The doctor paid his last visit one frosty winter
day, and was merciless on Lachlan.

"What for are ye cockering up this lassie, and
no getting her doon tae the kirk ? It's clean dis-
gracefu' in an Elder, and if I were yir minister a*

AS A LITTLE CHILD. IIQ

wud hae ye sessioned. Sail, ye 're hard enough on
ither fouk that are no kirk greedy."

" You will not be speaking that way next Sab-
bath, for it iss in her pew Flora will be sitting
with her father," said Lachlan, in great spirits.

Flora caught him studying her closely for some
days, as if he were taking her measure, and he an-
nounced that he had business in Muirtown on
Friday.

When he came up in the market train he was
carrying a large paper parcel, and attempted a joke
with Peter at a window of the third. From a
critical point of view it was beneath notice, but
as Lachlan's first effort it was much tasted.

" Ye'ill believe me noo, Peter, since ye've heard
him. Did ye ever see sic a change ? It's maist
astonishin'."

" Man, Hillocks, div ye no see he's gotten
back his dochter, and it's made him anither
man ? " •»' '

Lachlan showed Flora a new pair of shears he
had bought in Muirtown, and a bottle of sheep
embrocation, but she did not know he had hidden
his parcel in the byre, and that he opened it four
separate times on Saturday.

From daybreak on Sabbath Lachlan went in and
out till he returned with Marget Howe.

" Mrs. Howe iss very kind, and she will be
conflng to help you with your dresses, Flora, for
we will be wanting you to look well this day, and
here iss some small thing to keep you warm," and
Lachlan produced with unspeakable pride a jacket
lined with flannel and trimmed with fur.

So her father and Marget dressed Flora for the

120 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

kirk, and they went together down the path on
which the light had shone that night of her return.

There were only two dog-carts in the Free Kirk
Session, and Burnbrae was waiting with his for
Flora at the foot of the hill.

" I bid ye welcome, Flora, in the name o' oor
kirk. It's a gled day for your father, and for us
a' tae see you back again and strong. And noo
ye'ill just get up aside me in the front, and Mis-
tress Hoo 'ill hap ye round, for we maunna let ye
come to ony ill the first day yir oot, or we'ill never
hear the end o't." And so the honest man went
on, for he was as near the breaking as Drumtochty
nature allowed.

" A'body's pleased," said Marget to Lachlan as
they sat on the back seat and caught the faces of
the people. " This is the first time I have seen
the fifteenth of Luke in Drumtochty. It's a bonnie
sicht, and a'm thinkin' it's still bonnier in the pres-
ence o' the angels."

" Flora Cammil's in the kirk the day," and the
precentor looked at Carmichael with expectation.
" The fouk are terrible taen up wi' Lachlan and
her."

" What do you think of the Hundred and third
Psalm, Robert ? It would go well this morning."

"The verra word that was on my lips, and
Lachlan '11 be lookin' for Coleshill."

Lachlan had put Flora in his old place ne^ the
wall (he would not need it again, having retired
from the office of inquisitor), and sat close beside
her, with great contentment on his face. The
manners of Drumtochty were perfect, and no one
turned his head by one inch ; but Marget Howe,

AS A LITTLE CHILD. 121

sitting behind in Burnbrae's pew, saw Flora's hand
go out to Lachlan's as the people sang :

** All thine iniquities who doth

Most graciously forgive,
Who thy diseases all and pains
Doth heal and thee relieve.'*

The Session met that week, and a young girl
broke down utterly in her examination for the
Sacrament, so that not even Burnbrae could get
a correct answer.

She rose in great confusion and sorrow.

" A1 see it wuclna be fit for the like o' me taegae
forrit, but a' had set ma hert on't ; it wes the last
thing He askit o' His freends," and she left before
anyone could bid her stay.

<4 Moderator," said Lachlan, "it iss a great joy
for me to move that Mary Macfarlane get her
token, and I will be wishing that we all had her
warrant, oh, yes ! for there iss no warrant like love.
And there is something that I must be asking of
the elders, and it is to forgive me for my pride in
this Session. I wass thinking that I knew more
than any man in Drumtochty, and wass judging
God's people. But He hass had mercy upon
Simon the Pharisee, and you hef all been very good
to me and Flora. . . . The Scripture hass been
fulfilled, * So the last shall be first, and the first
last.' "

Then the minister asked Burnbrae to pray, and
the Spirit descended on that good man, of simple
heart :

" Almichty Father, we are a' Thy puirand sinfu'
bairns, wha wearied o' hame and gaed awa' intae

122 TRANSFORMATION OF LACHLAN CAMPBELL.

the far country. Forgive us, for we didna ken
what we were leavin' or the sair hert we gied oor
Father. It wes weary wark tae live wi' oor sins,
but we wud never hev come back had it no been
for oor Elder Brither. He cam' a long road tae
find us, and a sore travail He had afore He set us
free. He's been a glide Brither tae us, and we've
been a heavy chairge tae Him. May He keep a
firm haud o' us, aud guide us in the richt road and
bring us back gin we wander, and tell us a* we
need tae know till the gloamin' come. Gither us in
then, we pray Thee, and a' we luve, no a bairn
missin', and may we sit doon for ever in oor ain
Father's House. , Amen."

As Burnbrae said Amen, Carmichael opened his
eyes, and had a vision which will remain with him
until the day break and the shadows flee away.

The six elders— three small farmers, a tailor,
a stonemason, and a shepherd — were standing be-
neath the lamp, and the light fell like a halo on
their bent heads. That poor little vestry had dis-
appeared, and this present world was forgotten.
The sons of God had come into their heritage,
* for the things which are seen are temporal, but
the things which are not seen are eternal."

THE CUNNING SPEECH OF
DRUMTOCHTY.

SPEECH in Drumtochty distilled slowly, drop by
drop, and the faces of our men were carved in
stone. Visitors, without discernment, used to pity
our dulness and lay themselves out for missionary
work. Before their month was over they spoke
bitterly of us, as if we had deceived them, and
departed with a grudge in their hearts. When
Hillocks scandalised the Glen by letting his house
and living in the bothie, — through sheer greed of
money, — it was taken by a fussy little man from
the South, whose control over the letter " h " was
uncertain, but whose self-confidence bordered on
the miraculous. As a deacon of the Social Reli-
gionists,— a new denomination, which had made
an 'it with Sunday Entertainments, — and Chairman
of the Amalgamated Sons of Rest, — a society of
persons with conscientious objections to work
between meals,— he was horrified at the primeval
simplicity of the Glen, where no meeting of pro-
test had been held in the memory of living man,
and the ministers preached from the Bible. It was
understood that he was to do his best for us, and
there was curiosity in the kirkyard.

" Whatna like man is that English veesitor ye've

124 THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY.

got, Hillocks ? a' hear he's fleein' ower the Glen,
yammerin' and haverin' like a starlin'."

" He's a gabby [talkative] body, Drumsheugh,
there's nae doot o' that, but terrible ignorant.

" Says he tae me nae later than yesterday*
' That's a fine field o' barley ye've there, Maister
Harris,' an' as sure as deith a' didna ken whaur tae
luik, for it was a puckle aits."

" Keep's a'," said Whinnie ; " he's been awfu'
negleckit when he was a bairn, or maybe there's a
want in the puir cratur."

Next Sabbath Mr. Urijah Hopps appeared in
person among the fathers — who looked at each
other over his head — and enlightened them on
supply and demand, the Game Laws, the produc-
tion of cabbages for towns, the iniquity of an
Established Church, and the bad metre of the
Psalms of David.

"You must 'ave henterprise, or it's hall hup
with you farmers."

" Ay, ay," responded Drumsheugh, after a long
pause, and then every man concentrated his
attention on the belfry of the kirk.

" Is there onything ava' in the body, think ye,
Domsie," as Mr. Hopps bustled into kirk, " or is't
a' wind ? "

"Three wechtfu's o' naething, Drumsheugh;
a' peety the puir man if Jamie Soutar gets a
baud o' him."

Jamie was the cynic of the Glen — who had
pricked many a wing bag — and there was a
general feeling that his meeting with Mr. Hopps
would not be devoid of interest. When he showed
himself anxious to learn next Sabbath, any man
outside Drumtochty might have been deceived, for

THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY. 125

Jamie could withdraw every sign of intelligence
from his face, as when shutters close upon a shop
window. Our visitor fell at once into the trap,
and made things plain xo the meanest capacity,
until Jamie elicited from the guileless Southron
that he had never heard of the Act of Union ;
that Adam Smith was a new book he hoped to-
buy; that he did not known the difference be-
tween an Arminian and a Calvinist, and that he
supposed the Confession of Faith was invented
in Edinburgh, This in the briefest space of time,
and by way of information to Drumtochty. James
was making for general literature, and had still
agriculture in reserve, when Drumsheugh inter-
vented in the humanity of his heart :

" A' dinna like tae interrupt yir conversation,
Maister Hopps, but it's no verra safe for ye tae
be stannin' here sae lang. Oor air hes a bit nip
in't, and is mair searchin' than doon Sooth.
Jamie 'ill be speirin' a* mornin' gin ye'ill answer
him, but a'm thinkin' ye'ill be warmer in the kirk."

And Drumsheugh escorted Mr. Hopps to cover,
who began to suspect that he had been turned
inside out, and found wanting.

Drumtochty had listened with huge delight,
but without a trace of expression, and, on Mr.
Hopps reaching shelter, three boxes were offered
Jamie.

The group was still lost in admiration when
Drumsheugh returned from his errand of mercy.

" Sail, ye've dune the job this time, Jamie.
Ye're an awfu' creetic. Yon man 'ill keep a quiet
cheep till he gets Sooth. It passes me hoo a body
wif sae little in him hes the face tae open his
mooth."

126 THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY.

" Ye did it weel, Jamie," Domsie added, " a
clean furrow frae end tae end."

" Toots, fouk, yir makin' ower muckle o' it. It
wes licht grund, no worth puttin' in a ploo."

Mr. Hopps explained to me, before leaving, that
he had been much pleased with the scenery of our
Glen but disappointed in the people.
I " They may not be hignorant," said the little
J man doubtfully, " but no man could call them
\haffable."

It flashed on me for the first time that perhaps
there may have been the faintest want of geniality
in the Drumtochty manner, but it was simply the
reticence of a subtle and conscientious people.
Intellect with us had been brought to so fine an
edge by the Shorter Catechism that it could detect
endless distinctions, and was ever on the watch
against inaccuracy. Farmers who could state the
esoteric doctrine of " spiritual independence " be-
tween the stilts of the plough, and talked familiarly
of " co-ordinate jurisdiction with mutual subordi-
nation," were not likely to fall into the vice of
generalisation. When James Soutar was in good
fettle, he could trace the whole history of Scottish
secession from the beginning, winding his way
through the maze of Original Sececlers and Came-
ronians, Burghers and Anti-Burghers — there were
days when he would include the Glassites — with
unfaltering step ; but this was considered a feat
even in Drumtochty, and it was admitted that
Jamie had " a gift o' discreemination." We all
had the gift in measure, and dared not therefore
allow ourselves the expansive language of the
South. What right had any human being to fling
about sunerlative adiectives. seeing what a bier

THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY. 127

place the world is, and how little we know ?
Purple adjectives would have been as much out of
place in our conversation as a bird of paradise
among our muirfowl.

Mr. Hopps was so inspired by one of our sun-
sets—to his credit let that be told — that he tried
to drive Jamie into extravagance.

" ' No bad ! ' I call it glorious, and if it hisn't,
then I'd like to know what his."

" Man," replied Soutar austerely, " ye'ill surely
keep ae word for the twenty-first o' Reevelation."

Had any native used " magnificent," there
would have been an uneasy feeling in the Glen ;
the man must be suffering from wind in the
head, and might upset the rotation of crops,
sowing his young grass after potatoes, or re-
placing turnip with beetroot. But nothing of
that sort happened in my time ; we kept our-
selves well in hand. It rained in torrents else-
where, with us it onlyj " threatened tae be
weet" — some provision had to be made for the
deluge. Strangers, in the pride of health, de-
scribed themselves as "fit for anything," but
Hillocks, who died at ninety-two, and never
had an hour's illness, did not venture, in his
prime, beyond " Gaein' aboot, a'm thankfu' to
say, gaein' aboot."

When one was seriously ill, he was said to
be " gey an' sober," and no one died in Drum-
tochty — " he slippit awa."

Hell and heaven were pulpit words ; in private
life we spoke of " the ill place " and " oor lang
hame."

When tne corn sprouted in the stooks one
late wet harvest, and Burnbrae lost half his

128 THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY.

capital, he only said, " It's no lichtsome," and no
congratulations on a good harvest ever extracted
more from Drumsheugh than " A' daurna com-
plain."

Drumsheugh might be led beyond bounds
in reviewing a certain potato transaction, but,
as a rule, he was a master of measured speech.
After the privilege of much intercourse with
that excellent man, I was able to draw up his
table of equivalents for the three degrees of
wickedness. When there was just a suspicion
of trickiness — neglecting the paling between your
cattle and your neighbour's clover field — " He's
no juist the man for an elder." If it deepened
into deceit — running a " greasy " horse for an
hour before selling — " He wud be better o' anither
dip." And in the case of downright fraud — find-
ing out what a man had offered for his farm and
taking it over his head — the offender was " an
ill gettit wratch." The two latter phrases were
dark with theology, and even the positive degree
of condemnation had an ecclesiastical flavor.

When Drumsheugh approved anyone, he was
content to say, " He micht be waur," a position
beyond argument. On occasion he ventured upon
bolder assertions : " There's nae mischief in
Domsie ; " and once I heard him in a white heat
of enthusiasm pronounce Dr. Davidson, our parish
minister, "A graund man ony wy ye tak him."
But he seemed ashamed after this outburst, and
44 shooed " the crows off the corn with needless
vigour.

No Drumtochty man would commit himself to a
positive statement on any subject if he could find
a way of escape, not because his mind was con-

THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY. I2Q

fused, but because he was usually in despair for
an accurate expression. It was told for years
in the Glen, with much relish and almost funereal
solemnity, how a Drumtochty witness held his
own in an ecclesiastical court.

" You are beadle in the parish of Pitscourie,'"
began the advocate with a light heart, not knowing
the witness's birthplace.

" It's a fac'," after a long pause and a careful
review of the whole situation.

" You remember that Sabbath when the minister
of Netheraid preached."

" Weel, a'll admit that," making a concession to
justice.

" Did ye see him in the vestry ? "

" A' canna deny it."

" Was he intoxicated ? "

The crudeness of this question took away
Drumtochty's breath, and suggested that some-
thing must have been left out in the creation of
that advocate. Our men were not bigoted
abstainers, but I never heard any word so coarse
and elementary as intoxicated used in Drum-
tochty. Conversation touched this kind of cir-
cumstance with delicacy and caution, for we keenly
realised the limitations of human knowledge.

" He hed his mornin'," served all ordinary pur-
poses, and in cases of emergency, such as Muir-
town market :

" Ye cud see he hed been tastin'."

When an advocate forgot himself so far as to
say intoxicated, a Drumtochty man might be ex-
cused for being upset.

" Losh, man," when he had recovered, " hoo cud
ony richt-thinkin' man sweer tae sic an awfu'

130 THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY.

word ? Na, na ; a' daurna use that kin' o' langidge ;
it's no cannie."

The advocate tried again, a humbler, wiser man.

" Was there a smell of drink on him ? "

" Noo, since ye press me, a'll juist tell ye the
hale truth ; it wes doonricht stupid o' me, but, as
sure as a'm livin', a* clean forgot to try him."

Then the chastened council gathered himself up
for his last effort.

" Will you answer one question, sir ? you are on
your oath. Did you see anything unusual in Mr.
MacOmish's walk ? Did he stagger ? "

" Na," when he had spent two minutes in recall-
ing the scene. " Na, I cudna say stagger, but he
micht gie a bit trimmil."

" We are coming to the truth now ; what did
you consider the cause of the trimmiling, as you
call it ? " and the innocent young advocate looked
round in triumph.

" Weel," replied Drumtochty, making a clean
breast of it, " since ye maun hae it, a' heard that
he wes a very learned man, and it cam' intae ma
mind that the Hebrew, which, a'm telt, is a very
contrairy langidge, hed gaen doon and settled in
his legs."

The parish of Netheraird was declared vacant,
but it was understood that the beadle of Pitscourie
had not contributed to this decision.

His own parish followed the trial with intense
interest, and were much pleased with Andra's
appearance.

" Sail," said Hillocks, " Andra has mair gump-
tion than ye wud think, and yon advocat didna
mak muckle o' him. Na, na ; Andra wesna brocht
up in the Glen for naethin'. Maister MacOmish

THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY. 13'

may hae taen his gless atween the Hebrew and the
Greek, and it's no verra suitable for a minister, but
that's anither thing frae bein' intoxicat."

" Keep's a', if ye were tae pit me in the box this
meenut, a* cudna sweer a* hed ever seen a man
intoxicat in ma life, except a puir body o' an Eng-
lish bag-man at Muirtown Station. A' doot he hed
bin meddlin' wi' speerits, and they were wheelin*
him tae his kerridge in a luggage-barrow. It wes
a fearsome sicht, and eneugh tae keep ony man
frae speakin' aboot intoxicat in yon loose wy."

Archie Moncur fought the drinking customs of
the Glen night and day with moderate success,
and one winter's night he gave me a study in
his subject which, after the lapse of years, I still
think admirable for its reserve power and Dan-
tesque conclusion.

" They a' begin in a sma' wy," explained Archie,
almost hidden in the depths of my reading chair,
and emphasising his points with a gentle motion
of his right hand; "naethin' tae mention at first,
juist a gless at an orra time — a beerial or a mer-
ridge — and maybe New Year. That's the first
stage ; they ca' that moderation. After a while
they tak a mornin' wi' a freend, and syne a gless
at the public-hoose in the evenin', and they treat
ane anither on market days. That's the second
stage; that's 'tastinV Then they need it reg'lar
every day, nicht an* mornin', and they'ill sit on at
nicht till they're turned oot. They'ill fecht ower
the Confession noo, and laist Sabbath's sermon,
in the Kildrummie train, till it's clean reediklus.
That's drammin', and when they've hed a year or
twa at that they hee their first spatie [spate is a
river flood], and that gives them a bit fricht. But

132 THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY.

aff they set again, and then comes anither spatie,
and the doctor hes tae bring them roond. They
ca' [drive] cannie for a year or sae, but the feein'
market puts the feenishin' titch. They slip aff
sudden in the end, and then they juist gang plunk
— ay," said Archie in a tone of gentle meditation,
looking, as it were, over the edge, " juist plunk."

Nothing ever affected my imagination more
powerfully than the swift surprise and gruesome
suggestion of that " plunk."

But the literary credit of Drumtochty rested on a
broad basis, and no one could live with us without
having his speech braced for life. You felt equal
to any emergency, and were always able to express
your mind with some degree of accuracy ; which is
one of the luxuries of life. There is, for instance,
a type of idler who exasperates one to the point of
assault, and whom one hungers to describe after a
becoming manner. He was rare in the cold air of
the North, but we had produced one specimen,
and it was my luck to be present when he came
back from a distant colony, and Jamie Soutar
welcomed him in the kirkyard.

" Weel, Chairlie," and Jamie examined the well-
dressed prodigal from top to toe, " this is a prood
moment for Drumtochty, and an awfu' relief tae
ken yir safe. Man, ye hevna wanted meat nor
claithes ; a* tak it rael neeburly o' ye tae speak ava
wi* us auld-fashtoned fouk.

" Ye needna look soor nor cock yir nose in the
air, for you an' me are auld freends, and yir puir
granny wes na mair anxious aboot ye than a*
wes.

" ' A'm feared that laddie o' Bell's 'ill kill himsel'
oot in Ameriky/ were ma verra words tae Hillocks

THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY. 133

here ; ' he'ill be slavin' his flesh aff his banes tae
mak a fortune and keep her comfortable/

" It was a rael satisfaction tae read yir letter
frae the backwoods— or was't a public-hoose in
New York ? ma memory's no what it used to be —
tellin* hoo ye were aye thinkin* o' yer auld granny,
and wantin' tae come hame and be a comfort tae
her if she wud send ye oot twenty pund.

" The bit that affeckit me maist wes the text
frae the Prodigal Son — it cam' in sae natural.
Mony a broken hert hes that story bund up, as we
ken weel in this Glen ; but it's dune a feck o' mis-
chief tae — that gude word o' the Maister. Half
the wastrels in the warld pay their passage hame
wi' that Parable, and get a bran new outfit for
anither start in the far country.

" Noo dinna turn red, Chairlie, for the neeburs
ken ye were tae work yir wy hame hed it no
been for yir health. But there's a pack of rascals
'ill sorn on their father as lang as he's livin', and
they'ill stairve a weedowed mither, and they'ill
take a sister's wages, and if they canna get ony
better a dune body o' eighty 'ill serve them.

" Man, Chairlie, if a1 hed ma wull wi' thae
wawfies, I wud ship them aff tae a desert island,
wi' ae sack o' seed potatoes and anither o' seed
corn, and let them work or dee. A* ken yir wi'
me there, for ye aye hed an independent spirit, and
wesna feared tae bend yir back.

" Noo, if a' cam' across ane o' thae meeserable
objects in Drumtochty, div ye ken the advice I
wud gie him ?

" A wud tell the daidlin', thowless, feckless,
fusionless wratch o' a cratur tae watch for the
first spate and droon himsel' in the Tochty.

134 THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY.

" What's he aff through the graves for in sic a
hurry ? " and Jamie followed Charlie's retreating
figure with a glance of admirable amazement;
" thae's no very gude mainners he's learned in
Ameriky."

" Thank ye, Jeemes, thank ye ; we're a' obleeged
tae ye," said Drumsheugh. "A* wes ettlin' tae
lay ma hands on the whup-ma-denty [fop] masel',
but ma certes, he's hed his kail het this mornin'.
Div ye think he'ill tak yir advice ? "

" Nae fear o' him ; thae neer-dae-weels haena
the spunk; but a'm expeckin' he'ill flee the
pairish."

Which he did. Had you called him indolent or
useless he had smiled, but " daidlin', thowless,
feckless, fushionless wratch," drew blood at every
stroke, like a Russian knout.

We had tender words also, that still bring the
tears to my eyes, and chief among them was
" couthy," What did it mean ? It meant a letter
to some tired townsman, written in homely Scotch,
and bidding him come to get new life from the
Drumtochty air : and the grip of an honest hand
on the Kildrummie platform, whose warmth lasted
till you reached the Glen ; and another welcome
at the garden gate that mingled with the scent of
honeysuckle, and moss-roses, and thyme, and car-
nations ; and the best cf everything that could be
given you ; and motherly nursing in illness, with
skilly remedies of the olden time ; and wise, cheery
talk that spake no ill of man or God ; and loud
reproaches if you proposed to leave under a month
or two ; and absolute conditions that you must re-
turn ; and a load of country dainties for a bachelor's
bare commons ; and far more, that cannot be put

THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY. 135

into words, of hospitality, and kindness, and quiet-
ness, and restfulness, and loyal friendship of hearts
now turned to dust in the old kirkyard.

But the best of all our words were kept for
spiritual things, and the description of a . godly
man. We did not speak of the " higher life," nor
of a " beautiful Christian," for this way of putting
it would not have been in keeping with the genius
•of Drumtochty. Religion there was very lowly
and modest — an inward walk with God. No man
boasted of himself, none told the secrets of the
soul. But the Glen took notice of its saints, and
did them silent reverence, which they themselves
never knew. Jamie Soutar had a wicked tongue,
and, at a time, it played round Archie's temper-
ance scheme, but when that good man's back was
turned Jamie was the first to do him justice.

" It wud set us better if we did as muckle gude
as Archie ; he's a richt livinf man and weel pre-
pared."

Our choicest tribute was paid by general consent
to Burnbrae, and it maybe partiality, but it sounds
to me the deepest in religious speech. Every cot-
tage, strangers must understand, had at least two
rooms — the kitchen where the work was done,
that we called the "But, "and there all kinds of
people came ; and the inner chamber which held
the household treasures, that we called the " Ben,"
and there none but a few honoured visitors had
entrance. So we imagined an outer court of the
religious life where most of us made our home,
and a secret place where only God's nearest friends
could enter, and it was said of Burnbrae, " He's
far ben," His neighbours had watched him, for
a generation and more, buying and selling, plough-

136 THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY.

ing and reaping, going out and in the common
ways of a farmer's life, and had not missed the
glory of the soul. The cynic of Drumtochty
summed up his character : " There's a puckle gude
fouk in the pairish, and ane or twa o' the ither
kind, and the maist o' us are half and between,"
said Jamie Sou tar, " but there's ae thing ye may
be sure o* — Burnbrae is 4 far ben.' "

A WISE WOMAN.

OUR SERMON TASTER.

A DRUMTOCHTY man, standing six feet three
in his boots, sat himself down one day in the study
of a West-End minister, and gazed before him with
the countenance of a sphinx.

The sight struck awe into the townsman's heart,
and the power of speech was paralysed within
him.

" A'm frae Drumtochty," began a deep, solemn
voice. " Ye'ill hae heard of Drumtochty, of
coorse. A've jined the polis ; the pay is no that
bad, and the work is naethin' to an able-bodied
man."

When these particulars had been digested by
the audience :

" It's a crooded place London, and the fouks aye
in a tiravie [commotion], rinnin' here and rinnin'
there, and the maist feck o' them dinna ken whar*
they're gaein*.

" It's officer this and officer that frae mornin*
till nicht. It's peetifu* tae see the helplessness o1
the bodies in their ain toon. And they're freevo-
lous," continued the figure, refreshing itself with a
reminiscence.

137

138 A WISE WOMAN.

" It wes this verra mornin* that a man askit me
hoo tae get tae the Strand.

" ' Haud on,' I says, * till ye come tae a cross
street, and dinna gang doon it, and when ye see
anither pass it, but whup round the third, and yir
nose 'ill bring ye tae the Strand/

" He was a shachlin bit cratur, and he lookit up
at me.

" ' Where were you born, officer ? ' in his clippit
English tongue.

" ' Drumtochty/ a' said, ' an* we hev juist ae
man as sma' as you in the hale Glen/

" He gied awa' lauchin' like tae split his sides,
an* the fac' is there's no ane o' them asks me a
question but he lauchs. They're a light-headed
fouk, and no sair educat. But we maunna boast ;
they hevna hed our advantages."

The minister made a brave effort to assert him-
self.

" Is there anything I can do " but the figure

simply waved its hand and resumed :

" A'm comin' tae that, but a thocht ye wud be
wantin' ma opeenion o* London.

" Weel, ye see, the first thing a* did, of coorse,
after settlin' doon, was tae gae roond the kirks
and hear what kin' o' ministers they hae up here.
A've been in saxteen kirks the last three months,
an* a ' wud hae been in mair had it no bin for ma
oors.

" Ay, ay, a* ken ye'ill be wantin' ma judgment/'
interpreting a movement in the chair, " an' ye'ill
hae it. Some wes puir stuff — plenty o' water and
little meal — and some wesna sae bad for England.
But ye'ill be pleased to know," here the figure
relaxed and beamed on the anxious minister, "that

OUR SERMON TASTER. 139

a'm rael weel satisfied wi' yersel', and a'm thinkin'
o* sittin* under ye.

" Man," were Drumtochty's last words, " a1
wish Elspeth Macfadyen cud hear ye, her 'at prees
[tastes] the sermons in oor Glen ; a* believe she
wud pass ye, an' if ye got a certeeficat frae Els-
peth, ye wud be a prood man."

Drumtochty read widely — Soutar was soaked in
Carlyle, and Marget Howe knew her " In
Memoriam " by heart — but our intellectual life
centred on the weekly sermon. Men thought
about Sabbath as they followed the plough in our
caller air, and braced themselves for an effort at
the giving out of the text. The hearer had his
snuff and selected his attitude, and from that mo-
ment to the close he never moved nor took his
eyes off the preacher. There was a tradition that
one of the Disruption fathers had preached in the
Free Kirk for one hour and fifty minutes on the
bulwarks of Zion, and had left the impression that
he was only playing round the outskirts of his sub-
ject. No preacher with anything to say could
complain of Drumtochty, for he got a patient,
honest, critical hearing from beginning to end.
If a preacher were slightly equipped, the audience
may have been trying. Well-meaning evangelists
who came with what they called " a simple Gospel
address," and were accustomed to have their
warmer passages punctuated with rounds of spirit-
ual applause in the shape of smiles and nods,
lost heart in face of that judicial front, and after-
wards described Drumtochty in the religious
papers as " dead." It was as well that these good
men walked in a vain show, for, as a matter of
fact, their hearers were painfully alive.

«4<> A WISE WOMAN,

" Whar did yon wakely body come frae, Burn-
brae ? It wes licht vvark the day. There wes nae
thocht worth mentionin', and onything he hed wes
eked oot by repeetition. Tae sae naethin' o'
bairnly stories."

"He lives aboot England, a'm telt, an* dis a
feck o' gude in his ain place. He hesna muckle in
his head, a'll alloo that, Netherton, but he's an
earnest bit cratur."

" Ou ay, and fu' o' self-conceit. Did ye hear
hoo often he said • I ' ? A' got as far as saxty-three,
and then a* lost coont. But a' keepit ' dear,' it
cam* tae the hundred neat.

" * Weel ? ' a' says tae Elspeth Macfadyen. A'
kent she wud hae his measure.

" ' Gruel, Netherton, juist gruel, and eneuch tae
scunner [disgust] ye wi' sugar/"

It was the birthright of every native of the parish
to be a critic, and certain were allowed to be ex-
perts in special departments — Lachlan Campbell in
doctrine and Jamie Soutar in logic — but as an all-
round practitioner Mrs. Macfadyen had a solitary
reputation. It rested on a long series of unre-
versed judgments, with felicitous strokes of descrip-
tion that passed into the literary capital of the
Glen. One felt it was genius, and could only note
contributing circumstances — an eye that took in
the preacher from the- crown of his head to the
sole of his foot ; an almost uncannie insight into
character ; the instinct to seize on every scrap of
evidence; a memory that was simply an automatic
register ; an unfailing sense of fitness ; and an ab-
solute impartiality regarding subject.

It goes without saying that Mrs. Macfadyen did
not take nervous little notes during the sermon —

OUR SERMON TASTER. 141

all writing on Sabbath, in kirk or outside, was
strictly forbidden in Drumtochty — or mark her
Bible, or practise any other profane device of
feeble-minded hearers. It did not matter how
elaborate or how incoherent a sermon might be ; it
could not confuse our critic.

When John Peddie of Muirtown, who always
approached two hours, and usually had to leave out
the last head, took time at the Drumtochty Fast,
and gave, at full length, his famous discourse on
the total depravity of the human race, from the
text, " Arise, shine, for thy light is come/' it may
be admitted that the Glen wavered in its confidence.
Human nature has limitations, and failure would
have been no discredit to Elspeth.

" They were sayin' at the Presbytery/' Burnbrae
reported, "that it hes mair than seeventy heads,
coontin' pints, of coorse, and a* can weel believe
it. Na, na; it's no tae be expeckit that Elspeth
cud gie them a' aifter ae hearin'/*

Jamie Soutar looked in to set his mind at rest,
and Elspeth went at once to work.

" Sit doon, Jamie, for it canna be dune in a
meenut."

It took twenty-three minutes exactly, for Jamie
watched the clock.

" That's the laist, makin' seeventy-four, and
ye may depend on every ane but that fourth
pint under the sixth head. Whether it wes the
{ beginnin' o* faith* or 'the origin/ a' canna be
sure, for he cleared his throat at the time."

Peter Bruce stood helpless at the Junction next
Friday — Drumtochty was celebrating Elspeth —
and the achievement established her for life.

Probationers who preached in the vacancy had

142 A WISE WOMAN.

heard rumours, and tried to identify their judge,
with the disconcerting result that they addressed
their floweriest passages to Mistress Stirton, who
was the stupidest woman in the Free Kirk, and had
once stuck in the " chief end of man." They
never suspected the sonsy, motherly woman, two
pews behind Donald Menzies, with her face of
demure interest and general air of country
simplicity. It was as well for the probationers
that they had not caught the glint of those black,
beady eyes.

" It's curious," Mrs. Macfadyen remarked to me
one day, " hoo the pulpit fashions change, juist
like weemen's bonnets.

" Noo a' mind when auld Doctor Ferintosh, him
'at wrote 'Judas Iscariot the first Residuary/
would stand twa meenutes facing the fouk, and no
sit doon till he hed his snuff.

" But thae young birkies gie oot 'at they see
naebody comin' in, an' cover their face wi' ae hand
sae solemn, that if ye didna catch them keekin'
through their fingers tae see what like the kirk is,
ye wud think they were prayin'."

" There's not much escapes you," I dared to say,
and although the excellent woman was not acces-
sible to gross flattery, she seemed pleased.

" A'm thankfu' that a' can see withoot lookin';
an' a'll wager nae man ever read his sermon in
Drumtochty Kirk, an' a' didna find him oot. Noo,
there's the new minister o' Netheraird, he writes
his sermon on ae side o' ten sheets o' paper, an'
he's that carried awa' at the end o' ilka page that
he disna ken what he's daein', an' the sleeve o' his
goon slips the sheet across tae the ither side o' the
Bible.

OUR SERMON TASTER. 143

" But Doctor Ferintosh wes cleverer, sail it near
beat me tae detect him," and Elspeth paused to
enjoy the pulpit ruse. " It cam' tae me sudden ae
Sacrament Monday, hoo dis he aye turn up twal
texts, naither mair nor less, and that set me think-
in'. Then a' noticed that he left the Bible open at
the place till anither text was due, an* I wunnered
a'd been sae slow. It was this wy: he askit the
beadle for a gless o' water in the vestry, and slippet
his sermon in atween the leaves in sae mony bits.
A've wished for a gallery at a time, but there's
mair credit in fmdin' it oot below — ay, an' pleasure
tae; a' never wearied in kirk in ma life."

Mrs. Macfadyen did not appreciate prodigal quo-
tations of Scriptures, and had her suspicions of this
practice.

" Tak the minister o' Pitscourie noo ; he's fair
fozzy wi' trokin' in his gairden an' feedin' pigs, and
hesna studied a sermon for thirty year.

" Sae what dis he dae, think ye ? He havers for
a while on the errors o* the day, and syne he says,
' That's what man says, but what says the Apostle
Paul ? We shall see what the Apostle Paul says.'
He puts on his glasses, and turns up the passage,
and reads maybe ten verses, and then he's aff on
the jundy [trot] again. When a man hes naethin'
tae say he's aye lang, and a've seen him gie half an
oor o' passages, and anither half oor o' havers.

" ' He's a Bible preacher, at any rate,' says Burn-
brae tae me laist Fast, for, honest man, he hes aye
some gude word for a body.

"' It's ae thing,' I said to him, ' tae feed a calf wi*
milk, and anither tae gie it the empty cogie tae lick/

" It's curious, but a've noticed that when a
Moderate gets lazy he preaches auld sermons, but

144 A WISE WOMAN.

a Free Kirk minister taks tae abusin' his neeburs
and readin' screeds o' the Bible.

" But Maister Pittendreigh hes twa sermons, at
ony rate," and Elspeth tasted the sweets of memory
with such keen relish that I begged for a share.

" Well, ye see he's terrible prood o' his feenishes,
and this is ane o' them :

" * Heaven, ma brethren, will be far grander than
the hoose o'ony earthly potentate, for there ye will
no longer eat the flesh of bulls nor drink the blood
o' goats, but we shall sook the juicy pear and
scoop the loocious meelon. Amen.'

" He hes nae mair sense o' humour than an owl,
and a' aye haud that a man withoot humour sudna
be allowed intae a poopit.

" A* hear that they have nae examination in
humour at the college ; it's an awfu' want, for it
wud keep oot mony a dreich body.

" But the meelon's naethin' tae the goat, that
cowed a'thing, at the Fast tae.

" If Jeems wes aboot a' daurna mention 't: he
canna behave himsel' tae this day gin he hears o'
it, though ye ken he's a douce man as ever lived.

" It wes anither feenish, and it ran this wy :

" * Noo, ma freends, a' wull no be keepin'ye ony
longer, and ye'ill a' gae hame tae yir ain hooses
and mind yir ain business. And as sune as ye get
hame ilka man 'ill gae tae his closet and shut the
door, and stand for five meenutes, and ask himsel'
this solemn question, "Am I a goat ? " Amen.'

" The amen near upset me masel', and a' hed tae
dunge Jeems wi* ma elbow.

" He said no a word on the wy back, but a' saw
it wes barmin' in him, and he gied oot sudden
aifter his dinner as if he had been ta'en unweel.

OUR SERMON TASTER. 145

" A' cam' on him in the byre, rowing in the strae
like a bairn, and every ither row he took he wud
say, ' Am I a goat ? '

" It wes na cannie for a man o' his wecht, be-
sides bein' a married man and a kirk member, and
a* gied him a hearin'.

" He sobered doon, and a* never saw him dae
the like since. But he hesna forgot, na, na; a've
seen a look come ower Jeems' face in kirk, and a've
been feared."

When the Free Kirk quarrelled in their vacancy
over two probationers, Mrs. MacFadyen summed
them up with such excellent judgment that they
were thrown over and peace restored.

" There's some o' thae Muirtown drapers can
busk oot their windows that ye canna pass withoot
lookin' ; there's bits o' blue and bits o' red, and a
ribbon here an' a lace yonder.

" It's a bonnie show and denty, an* no wunner
the lassies stan' and stare.

" But gae intae the shop, and peety me, there's
next tae naethin' ; it's a' in the window.

" Noo, that's Maister Popinjay, as neat an'
fikey a little mannie as ever a' saw in a black
goon.

" His bit sermon wes six poems — five a* hed
heard afore — four anecdotes — three aboot himsel'
and ain aboot a lord — twa burnies, ae floo'r gair-
den, and a snowstorm, wi' the text thirteen times
and 'beloved ' twal : that was a' ; a takin' win-
dow, and Netherton's lassies cudna sleep thinkin*
o' him.

" There's ither shopmen in Muirtown that fair
scunner ye wi' their windows — they're that ill set
out — and inside there's sic a wale o' stuff that the

146 A WISE WOMAN.

man canna get what ye want ; he's clean smoored
wi' his ain goods.

" It's a graund shop for the old fouk that hae
plenty o' time and can turn ower the things by the
oor. Ye'ill no get a young body inside the door.

" That's Maister Auchtermuchty ; he hes mair
material than he kens hoo tae handle, and naebody,
hearin' him, can mak head or tail o' his sermon.

" Ye get a rive at the Covenants ae meenut,
an' a mouthfu' o' justification the next. Yir nae
suner wi' the Patriarchs than yir whuppit aff tae
the Apostles.

" It's rich feedin', nae doot, but sair mixed an*
no verra tasty."

So the old and young compromised, and chose
Carmichael.

Elspeth was candid enough on occasion, but she
was not indiscreet. She could convey her mind
delicately if need be, and was a mistress of subtle
suggestion.

When Netherton's nephew preached the mis-
sionary sermon — he was a stout young man with
a volcanic voice — Mrs. Macfadyen could not shirk
her duty, but she gave her judgment with care.

" He's a fine lad, and 'ill be sure to get a kirk ;
he's been weel brocht up, and comes o' decent
fouk.

" His doctrine soonds richt, and he'ill no gang
aff the track. Ye canna ca' him bashfu', and he's
sure to be heard."

Her audience still waited, and not in vain.

" But the Lord hes nae pleesure in the legs
o' a man," and every one felt that the last word
had been said on Netherton's nephew.

II.

THE COLLAPSE OF MRS. MACFADYEN.

CARMICHAEL used to lament bitterly that he
had lost his Gaelic, and laboured plans of com-
pensation for our Celts, who were understood to
worship in English at an immense reduction of
profit. One spring he intercepted a Highland
minister, who was returning from his winter's raid
on Glasgow with great spoil, and arranged an
evening service, which might carry Lachlan Camp-
bell back to the golden days of Auchindarroch.
Mr. Dugald Mactavish was himself much im-
pressed with the opportunity of refreshing his
exiled brethren, speaking freely on the Saturday
of the Lowlands as Babylon, and the duty of
gathering the outcasts of Israel into one. He was
weaned with difficulty from Gaelic, and only con-
sented to preach in the " other language " on con-
dition that he should not be restricted in time.
His soul had been much hampered in West End
churches, where he had to appeal for his new
stove under the first head, lest he should go empty
away; and it was natural for one escaping from
such bondage to put a generous interpretation
on Carmichael's concession. So Maister Dugald
continued unto the setting of the sun. His dis-
course was so rich and varied that Pedclie of Muir-
town on original sin was not to be compared with

148 A WISE WOMAN.

it in breadth of treatment, and Mrs. Macfadyen
confessed frankly that she gave up in despair before
the preacher had fairly entered on his second hour.
Besides the encounter of the preacher with Mr.
Urijah Hopps, which carried the Glen by storm,
and kept the name of Mactavish green with us
for a generation.

Rumours of this monumental pulpit effort, with
its stirring circumstances, passed from end to end
of the Glen during the week, and Peter himself
recognised that it was an occasion at the Junction
on Friday.

" Ye may as weel shut aff the steam, Jeems,"
Peter explained to our engine-driver, "an* gie
them ten meenuts. It's been by ordinar' at
Drumtochty Free Kirk laist Sabbath nicht, and
Drumsheugh 'ill no move till he hears the end o't."

And as soon as the Muirtown train had removed
all strangers, that worthy man opened the campaign.

"What kin' o' collieshangie [disturbance] is
this ye've been carryin' on, Hillocks? It's doon-
richt aggravatin' that ye're no content pesterin'
oor life oot wi' that English body in the kirkyaird,
but ye maist needs set him up tae arglebargle
wi' a stranger minister at the Free Kirk. They
say that the puir man cud hardly get a word in
atween you and yir lodger. Burnbrae here is
threatenin' ye wi' the Sherra, and a* dinna wonder.

" It's nae lauchin' maitter, a' can tell ye,
Drumsheugh ; a've never been sae black affrontit
a' ma life. Burnbrae kens as weel as ye dae that
a' wasna tae blame.

" Ye'ill better clear yersel' at ony rate, Hil-
locks, for some o' the neeburs threep [insist] 'at
it wes you, and some that it wes yir freend, an*

THE COLLAPSE OF MRS. MACFADYEN. 149

there's ithers declare ye ran in compt [company]
like twa dogs worrying sheep ; it wes a bonnie
like pliskie [escapade] onywy, and hardly fit for an
Auld Kirk elder" — a sally much enjoyed by the
audience, who knew that, after Whinnie, Hillocks
was the doucest man in Drumtochty.

" Weel, ye see it wes this wy," began Hillocks,
with the air of a man on his trial for fire raising :
" Hopps fund oot that a Hielandman wes tae preach
in the Free Kirk, and naethin' wud sateesfy him
but that we maun gae. A' micht hae jaloused
[suspected] it wesna the sermon the wratch wantit,
for he hed the impidence tae complain that the
Doctor was tedious Sabbath a fortnicht when he
gied us ' Ruth,' though I never minded ' Ruth 'gae
aff sae sweet a' the times a've heard it.

" Gin a' hed imagined what the ettercap [captious
creature] wes aifter a' wud hae seen ma feet in the
fire afore they carried me tae the Free Kirk that
nicht.

" Says he tae me on the road, ' A'm told the
minister will be in his national costume."

" ' He'ill be in his goon and band,' says I, ' if
that's what ye mean,' for the head o' him is fu' o
maggots and nae man can tell what he wull be at
next.

" ' Mister Soutar said that he would wear his
kilt, and that it would be an interesting spectacle.'

" ' Jamie's been drawing yir leg [befooling you]/
says I. ' Man, there's naebody wears a kilt forbye
gemkeepers and tourist bodies. Ye'ill better come
awa' hame,' and sail, if a' hed kent what wes tae
happen, a' wud hae taken him aff below ma oxter.

" It's no richt tae mak me responsible, for a*
tried tae wile him awa tae the back o' the kirk

ISO A WISE WOMAN.

whar naebody cud see him, but he's that thravvn
and upsettin', if he didna gae tae the verra front
seat afore the poopit.

" ' I want a good position," says he ; ' I'll see
everything here ; ' sae a' left him an' gied tae
Elspeth Macfadyen's seat.

" ' He's anxious tae hear/ she said, ' an' a'm
thinkin' he'ill get mair than he expecks. A' wish
it wes weel ow.er masel', Hillocks ; it'ill be an awfu'
nicht.'

" Thae Hielandmen dinna pit aff time wi' the
preleeminaries, but they were lang eneuch tae let
onybody see what kin' o' man Mactavish wes.

" A gruesome carle, neeburs, wi' his hair hangin'
roond his face like a warlock and his een blazin'
oot o' his head like fire ; the sicht o' him is sure
tae sober Hopps, thinks I.

" But no, there's some fouk 'ill tak nae warnin' ;
there he was, sittin' in front o' Mactavish with his
thumbs in his airm-holes, and a watch gaird spread
richt across him, and ae leg cocked over the ither,
the verra eemage of a bantam cock fleein' in the
face o' judgment."

Drumtochty had never moved during this his-
tory, and now they drew closer round Hillocks, on
whom the mantle of speech had for once descended.

" Mactavish lookit at the body aince, and he
lookit again, juist tae gie him fair notis, and then
he broke oot in face o' the hale congregation ;

"' There's nothing in all the world so deceptive
as sin, for outside it's like a bonnie summer day,
and inside it's as black as hell.

" ' Now here iss this fat little man sittin' before
me with his suit o' blue clothes so bonnie and
dainty, and a watch guard as thick as my finger

THE COLLAPSE OF MRS. MACFADYEN. 15 1

on his wame, smilin' an' smirkin', and real well
contented with himself, but if he wass opened up
what a sight it would be for men and angels. Oh
yes, yes ! it would be a fearsome sicht, and no man
here would be able to look/

" A' tell ye, neeburs, ye micht hae heard a pin
fa' tae the ground, and ma heart was thumping in
ma briest ; a' wudna come thro' the like o' yon
again for half the pleenishin' o' Hillocks."

There was not a sound at the junction save the
steam escaping from the engine, and Hillocks re-
sumed :

" But the worst's comin'. Hopps jumps up and
faces Mactavish— a'll no deny there is some spunk
in the body.

" ' What right have you to speak like that to
me ? Do you know who I am ? '

" He hed better been quiet, for he wes nae match
for yon Hielandman.

" Mactavish glowered at him for maybe a mee-
nut till the puir cratur fell back intae his seat.

" ' Man/ says Mactavish, ' I do not know who
you are, and I do not know what you are, and I
shall not be asking who you are, and I am not car-
ing though you be MacCallummore himsel'. You
are just a parable ; oh, yes ! just a parable.

" ' But if ye be convicted of secret sin ye may
go out, and if there be anybody else whose sins
have been laid bare he may go out too, and if no-
body wants to go out, then I will be going on with
the sermon, oh, yes ! for it will not do to be spend-
ing all our time on parables/

" As sure as a'm stannin' here ye cudna see
Hopps inside his claithes when Mactavish wes
dune wi' him."

152 A WISE WOMAN.

When the train started Hillocks received the
compliments of the third with much modesty, and
added piquant details regarding the utter confusion
of our sermon taster.

" ' Did ye follow ? ' a' speirit o' Elspeth afore a'
went tae pit Hopps thegither.

" ' Cud a' follow a bumbee ? ' was the only word
a' got frae her ; a' saw she was beaten for aince
and wes rael mad."

" Is't true Elspeth scuffled wi' her feet at the
laist head and gar'd him close ? "

" A'll neither deny nor affirm, Drumsheugh ; but
there's nae doot when the mune began tae shine
aboot nine, and Mactavish started aff on the Devil,
somebody scrapit aside me. It wesna Jeems ; he
daurna for his life ; and it wesna me. A'll no say
but it micht be Elspeth, but she was sair provokit.
Aifter haddin' her ain twenty years, tae be maistered
by a Hielandman ! "

It was simply a duty of friendship to look in and
express one's sympathy with Mrs. Macfadyen in
this professional disaster. I found her quite will-
ing to go over the circumstances, which were un-
exampled in her experience, and may indeed be
considered a contribution to history.

" A' wudna hae minded," explained Elspeth,
settling down to narrative, " hoo mony heads he
gied oot, no tho' he hed titched the hundred. A've
cause tae be gratefu' for a guid memory, and a've
kept it in fine fettle wi' sermons. My wy is tae
place ilka head at the end o' a shelf and a' the
pints aifter it in order like the plates there," and
Mrs. Macfadyen pointed with honest pride to her
wall of crockery, " and when the minister is at an
illustration or makin' an appeal a' aye rin ower the

THE COLLAPSE OF MRS. MACFADYEN. 153

rack tae see that a've a' the pints in their places.
Maister Mactavish cud ne'er hae got the wheep-
hand o' me wif his diveesions ; he's no fit to haud
the can'le tae John Peddie. Na, na ; a' wesna
feared o' that when a' examined yon man gieing
oot the Psalm, but a' didna like his een.

" * He's ravelled,' a' said tae masel, ' without
beginning or end ; we'ill hae a nicht o't,' and sae
we hed."

I preserved a sympathetic silence till Mrs. Mac-
fadyen felt herself able to proceed.

" It's easy eneuch, ye see, for an auld hand tae
manage ae set o' heads gin they come tae ten or a
hundred, but it's another business when a mat hes
different sets in ae sermon. Noo, hoo mony sets
div ye think that man hed afore he wes dune ? "

It was vain for a mere layman to cope with the
possibilities of Mr. Mactavish.

" Fower, as a'm a leevin' woman, and that's no
a'; he didna feenish wi' ae set an' begin wi' the
next, but if he didna mix them a' thegither !
Fower set o' heads, a' in a tangle ; noo ye hae
some kin' o' idee o' what a' hed tae face." And
Mrs. Macfadyen paused that I might take in the
situation.

When I expressed my conviction that even the
most experienced hearer was helpless in such cir-
cumstances, Elspeth rallied, and gave me to under-
stand that she had saved some fragments from the
wreckage.

" A'll juist tell ye the hale hypothic, for sic a
discoorse ye may never hear a' the days o' yir
life.

" Ye ken thae Hielandmen tak their texts for the
maist pairt frae the Auld Testament, and this was

154 A WISE WOMAN.

it mair or less, ' The trumpet shall be blown, and
they shall come from Assyria and the land o'
Egypt/ and he began by explainin' that there
were twa classes in Drumtochty — those who were
born and bred in the parish, which were oursels',
and them 'at hed tae stay here owin' tae the
mysterious dispensation of Providence, which wes
Lachlan Campbell.

" Noo this roosed ma suspicions, for it's against
reason for a man tae be dividing intae classes till
the end o' his sermon. Tak my word, it's no
chancy when a minister begins at the tail o' his
subject : he'll wind a queer pirn afore he's dune."

" Weel, he gaed up and he gaed doon, and
he aye said, 'Oh, yes, yes! ' juist like the thrash-
ing mill at Drumsheugh scraiking and girling
till it's fairly aff, an' by and by oot he comes wi'
his heads.

" ' There are fower trumpets,' says he. ' First,
a leeteral trumpet ; second, a heestorical trumpet ;
third, a metaphorical trumpet ; fourth, a speeritual
trumpet.'

" ' I've got ye,' a' said tae masel, and settled
doon to hear him on the first head, for fear he
micht hae pints; but wull ye believe me, he
barely mentioned leeteral till he was aff tae
speeritual, and then back tae heestorical, an' in
five minutes he had the hale fower trumpets
blawing thegither.

"It was maist exasperatin', and a* saw Jeems
watchin' me — but that's naethin'.

" ' There be many trumpets,' says he, * oh, yesr
an' it wes a good trumpet Zaccheus heard,' and
afore a' knew where a' wes he hed startit again \vi'
fower new heads, as if he had never said trumpet.

THE COLLAPSE OF MRS. MACFADYEN. 155

" ' A big tree,' he cries, * an' a little man, oh,
yes ! an' this is what we will be doin'.

" ' First. We shall go up the tree wi' Zac-
cheus.

" Second. We shall sit in the branches wi'
Zaccheus.

" ' Third. We shall come down from the tree
wi' Zaccheus ; and if time permits,

" ' Fourth. We shall be going home wi' the
publican.' "

It seemed only just to pay a tribute at this point
to the wonderful presence of mind Mrs. Macfadyen
had shown amid unparalleled difficulties.

" Hoot awa," she responded ; " the meenut ony
heads cam' a' knew ma grund ; but the times
atween I wes fairly lost.

" A'll no deny," and our critic turned aside to
general reflections, " that Mactavish said mony
bonnie and affeckin' things frae time tae time,
like the glimpses o' the hills ye get when the mist
rolls awa, and he cam' nearer the hert than the
feck o' oor preachers , but certes yon confusion
is mair than us low-country fouk cud stand.

" Juist when he wes speakin' aboot Zaccheus as
nice as ye please— though whether he was up the
tree or doon the tree a' cudna for the life o' me
tell — he stops sudden and looks at us ower the top
o' his spectacles, which is terrible impressive, and
near dis instead o' speakin'.

" ' We will now come to the third head of this
discoorse.

" ' The trumpet shall be blown, for,' says he, in
a kin' o' whisper, ' there's a hint o' oppeesition
here,' an' a' tell ye honestly a' lost hert a'thegither,
for here he wes back again amang the trumpets.

I$6 A WISE WOMAN.

and a'll gie ma aith he never sae much as men-
tioned that head afore.

" It's an awfu' peety that some men dinna ken
when tae stop ; they micht see frae the poopit ; if
a' saw the tears comin' tae the women's een, or
the men glowering like wild cats for fear they sud
brak doon, a'd say Amen as quick as Pittendreigh
aifter his goat.

" What possessed Maister Dugald, as Lachlan
ca'd him, a' dinna ken, but aboot half nine — an*
he begood at six — he set oot upon the trumpets
again, an' when he cudna get a haud o' them, he
says :

" ' It will be getting dark' (the mune was fairly
oot), ' an' it is time we were considering our last
head.

" ' We will now study Satan in all his offices and
characteristics.'

" A' see they've been telling ye what happened,1*
and confusion covered Mrs. Macfadyen's ingenuous
countenance.

" Weel, as sure's deith a' cudna help it ; tae be
sittin' on peens for mair than twa oors trym* tae
get a grup o' a man's heads, an' him tae play hide-
and-seek wi' ye, an' then tae begin on S^can at
nine o'clock is mair nor flesh and blood could
endure.

" A' acknowledge a' scrapit, but a' houp tae
gudeness a'll never be tempted like yon again.

" It's a judgment on me for ma pride, an Jeems
said that tae me, for a' boastit a' cudna i^e beat,
but anither oor o' Mactavish wud ha' driven me
dottie [sillyj."

Then I understood that Mrs. Macfadyen had
been humbled in the dust.

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD
SCHOOL.

A GENERAL PRACTITIONER.

DRUMTOCHTY was accustomed to break every
law of health, except wholesome f9od and fresh
air, and yet had reduced the Psalmist's farthest
limit to an average life-rate. Our men made no
difference in their clothes for summer or winter,
Drumsheugh and one or two of the larger farmers
condescending to a topcoat on Sabbath, as a
penalty of their position, and without regard to
temperature. They wore their blacks at a funeral,
refusing to cover them with anything, out of
respect to the deceased, and standing longest in
the kirkyard when the north wind was blowing
across a hundred miles of snow. If the rain was
pouring at the Junction, then Drumtochty stood
two minutes longer through sheer native dourness
till each man had a cascade from the tail of his
coat, and hazarded the suggestion, halfway to
Kildrummie, that it had been " a bit scrowie," a
" scrowie " being as far short of a " shoor " as a
shoor " fell below " vveet."

This sustained defiance of the elements pro-

I5S A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

voked occasional judgments in the shape of a
" hoast " (cough), and the head of the house was
then exhorted by his women folk to " change his
feet " if he had happened to walk through a burn
on his way home, and was pestered generally with
sanitary precautions. It is right to add that the
gudeman treated such advice with contempt, re-
garding it as suitable for the effeminacy of towns,
but not seriously intended for Drumtochty. Sandy
Stewart " napped " stones on the road in his shirt
sleeves, wet or fair, summer and winter, till he was
persuaded to retire from active duty at eighty-five,
and he spent ten years more in regretting his
hastiness and criticising his successor. The ordi-
nary course of life, with fine air and contented
minds, was to do a full share of work till seventy,
and then to look after " orra " jobs well into the
eighties, and to " slip awa " within sight of ninety.
Persons above ninety were understood to be ac-
quitting themselves with credit, and assumed airs
of authority, brushing aside the opinions of seventy
as immature, and confirming their conclusions
with illustrations drawn from the end of last
century.

When Hillocks' brother so far forgot himself as
to " slip awa " at sixty, that worthy man was scan-
dalised and offered laboured explanations at the
"beerial."

" It's an awfu' business ony wy ye look at it, an'
a sair trial tae us a'. A' never heard tell o' sic a
thing in oor family afore, an' it's no easy accoontin'
for't.

" The gudewife was sayin' he vves never the
same sin' a weet nicht he lost himsel on the muir
and slept below a bush ; but that's neither here

A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. I$9

nor there. A'm thinkin' he sappit his constitution
t'nae twa years he wes grieve aboot England.
That wes thirty years syne, but ye're never the
same aifter thae foreign climates."

Drumtochty listened patiently to Hillocks' apo-
logia, but was not satisfied.

" It's clean havers aboot the muir. Losh keep's,
we've a' sleepit oot and never been a hair the
waur.

" A' admit that England micht hae dune the
job ; it's no cannie stravagin' yon wy frae place tae
place, but Drums never complained tae me as if he
heel been nippit in the Sooth."

The parish had, in fact, lost confidence in Drums
after his wayward experiment with a potato-digging
machine, which turned out a lamentable failure,
and his premature departure confirmed our vague
impression of his character.

" He's awa noo," Drumsheugh summed up, after
opinion had time to form ; " an* there were waur
fouk than Drums, but there's nae doot he wes a
wee flichty."

When illness had the audacity to attack a Drum-
tochty man, it was described as a " whup," and
was treated by the men with a fine negligence.
Hillocks was sitting in the Post Office one after-
noon when I looked in for my letters, and the right
side of his face was blazing red. His subject of
discourse was the prospects of the turnip " breer,"
but he casually explained that he was waiting for
medical advice.

"The gudewife is keepin' up a ding-dong frae
mornin' till nicht aboot ma face, and a'm fair
deaved [deafened], so a'm watchin' for MacLure
tae get a bottle as he comes wast ; yon's him noo."

l6o A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

The doctor made his diagnosis from horseback
on sight, and stated the result with that admirable
clearness which endeared him to Drumtochty.

" Confoond ye, Hillocks, what are ye ploiterin'
aboot here for in the weet wi' a face like a boiled
beet ? Div ye no ken that yeVe a tetch o' the
rose [erysipelas], and ocht tae be in the hoose ?
Gae hame wi' ye afore a' leave the bit, and send
a hafli.n for some medicine. Ye donnerd idiot, are
ye ettlin tae follow Drums afore yir time ? " And
the medical attendant of Drumtochty continued
his invective till Hillocks started, and still pursued
his retreating figure with medical directions of
a simple and practical character.

" A'm watchin', an' peety ye if ye pit aff time.
Keep yir bed the mornin', and dinna show yir face
in the fields till a' see ye. A'll gie ye a cry on
Monday — sic an auld fule — but there's no ane
o' them tae mind anither in the hale pairish."

Hillocks' wife informed the kirkyard that the
doctor " gied the gudeman an awfu' clearin'," and
that Hillocks "wes keepin' the hoose," which
meant that the patient had tea breakfast, and at
that time was wandering about the farm buildings
in an easy undress with his head in a plaid.

It was impossible for a doctor to earn even the
most modest competence from a people of such
scandalous health, and so MacLure had annexed
neighbouring parishes. His house — little more
than a cottage — stood on the roadside among the
pines towards the head of our Glen, and from this
base of operations he dominated the wild glen that
broke the wall of the Grampians above Drum-
tochty— where the snowdrifts were twelve feet
deep in winter, and the only way of passage at

A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. l6l

times was the channel of the river — and the moor-
land district westwards till he came to the Dun-
leith sphere of influence, where there were four
doctors and a hydropathic. Drumtochty in its
length, which was eight miles, and its breadth,
which was four, lay in his hand ; besides a glen
behind, unknown to the world, which in the night
•time he visited at the risk of life, for the^ way
thereto was across the big moor with its peat
holes and treacherous bogs. And he held the
land eastwards towards Muirtown so far as
Geordie, the Drumtochty post, travelled every day,
and could carry word that the doctor was wanted.
He did his best for the need of every man, woman,
and child in this wild, straggling district, year in,
year out, in the snow and in the heat, in the dark
and in the light, without rest, and without holiday
for forty years.

One horse could not do the work of this man,
but we liked best to see him on his old white mare,
who died the week after her master, and the pass-
ing of the two did our hearts good. It was not
that he rode beautifully, for he broke every canon
of art, flying with his arms, stooping till he seemed
to be speaking into Jess's ears, and rising in the
saddle beyond all necessity. But he could ride
faster, stay longer in the saddle, and had a firmer
grip with his knees than anyone I ever met, and
it was all for mercy's sake. When the reapers in
harvest time saw a figure whirling past in a cloud
of dust, or the family at the foot of Glen Urtach,
gathered round the fire on a winter's night, heard
the rattle of a horse's hoofs on the road, or the
shepherds, out after the sheep, traced a black speck
moving across the snow to ths upper glen, they

C62 A DOCTOK OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

knew it was the doctor, and without being con-
scious of it, wished him God speed.

Before and behind his saddle were strapped the
instruments and medicines the doctor might want,
for he never knew what was before him. There
were no specialists in Drumtochty, so this man had
to do everything as best he could, and as quickly.
He was chest doctor, and doctor for every other
organ as well ; he was accoucheur and surgeon ;
he was oculist and aurist ; he was dentist and
chloroformist, besides being chemist and druggist,
It was often told how he was far up Glen Urtach
when the feeders of the threshing mill caught
young Burnbrae, and how he only stopped to
change horses at his house, and galloped all the
way to Burnbrae, and flung himself off his horse
and amputated the arm, and saved the lad's life.

" You wud hae thocht that every meenut was an
hour," said Jamie Soutar, who had been at the
threshing, " an' a'll never forget the puir lad lying
as white as deith on the floor o' the loft, wi' his
head on a sheaf, and Burnbrae haudin' the band-
age ticht an' prayin' a1 the while, and the mither
greetin' in the corner.

" ' Will he never come ? ' she cries, an' a' heard
the soond o' the horse's feet on the road a mile
awa in the frosty air.

" ' The Lord be praised ! ' said Burnbrae, and a'
slippit doon the ladder as the doctor came skelpin'
intae the close, the foam fleein' frae his horse's
mooth.

" * Whar is he ? ' wes a' that passed his lips, an* in
five meenuts he hed him on the feedin' board, and
wes at his wark — sic wark, neeburs — but he did
it weel. An' ae thing a thocht rael thochtfu' o*

A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. I&3

him ; he first sent aff the laddie's mither tae get a
bed ready.

" ' Noo that's feenished, and his constitution 'ill
dae the rest,' and he carried the lad doon the lad-
der in his airms like a bairn, and laid him in his
bed, and waits aside him till he wes sleepin', and
then says he: ' Burnbrae, yir a gey lad never tae
say " Collie, will ye lick ? " for a' hevna tasted meat
for saxteen hoors.'

" It was michty tae see him come intae the
yaird that day, neeburs ; the verra look o' him
wes victory."

Jamie's cynicism slipped off in the enthusiasm of
this reminiscence, and he expressed the feeling of
Drumtochty. No one sent for MacLure save in
great straits, and the sight of him put courage in
sinking hearts. But this was not by the grace of
his appearance, or the advantage of a good bedside
manner. A tall, gaunt, loosely made man, without
an ounce of superfluous flesh on his body, his face
burned a dark brick colour by constant exposure to
the weather, red hair and beard turning gray, hon-
est blue eyes that look you ever in the face, huge
hands with wrist bones like the shank of a ham,
and a voice that hurled his salutations across
two fields, he suggested the moor rather than the
drawing-room. But what a clever hand it was in
an operation — as delicate as a woman's! and what
a kindly voice it was in the humble room where
the shepherd's wife was weeping by her man's bed-
side ! He was " ill pitten thegither " to begin with,
but many of his physical defects were the penalties
of his work, and endeared him to the Glen. That
ugly scar, that cut into his right eyebrow and gave
him such a sinister expression, was got one night

1 64 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

Jess slipped on the ice and laid him insensible
eight miles from home. His limp marked the big
snowstorm in the fifties, when his horse missed the
road in Glen Urtach, and they rolled together in a
drift. MacLure escaped with a broken leg and the
fracture of three ribs, but he never walked like
other men again. He could not swing himself
into the saddle withojut making two attempts and
holding Jess's mane. Neither can you " warstle "
through the peat bogs and snowdrifts for forty
winters without a touch of rheumatism. But they
were honourable scars, and for such risks of life
men get the Victoria Cross in other fields. Mac-
Lure got nothing but the secret affection of the
Glen, which knew that none had ever done one-
tenth as much for it as this ungainly, twisted,
battered figure, and I have seen a Drumtochty
face soften at the sight of MacLure limping to his
horse.

Mr. Hopps earned the ill-will of the Glen for-
ever by criticising the doctor's dress, but indeed it
would have filled any townsman with amazement.
Black he wore once a year, on Sacrament Sunday,
and, if possible, at a funeral ; topcoat or waterproof
never. His jacket and waistcoat were rough home-
spun of Glen Urtach wool, which threw off the wet
like a duck's back, and below he was clad in shep-
herd's tartan trousers, which disappeared into un-
polished riding boots. His shirt was gray flannel,
and he was uncertain about a collar, but certain as
to a tie — which he never had, his beard doing in-
stead, and his hat was soft felt of four colours and
seven different shapes. His point of distinction in
dress was the trousers, and they were the subject
of unending speculation.

A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 165

" Some threep that he's worn thae eedentical
pair the last twenty year, an' a' mind masel' him
gettin' a tear ahint, when he was crossin' oor
palin', and the mend's still veesible.

" Ithers declare 'at he's got a wab o' claith, and
hes a new pair made in Muirtown aince in the twa
year maybe, and keeps them in the garden till the
new look wears aff.

" For ma ain pairt," Soutar used to declare, " a'
canna mak up my mind, but there's ae thing sure,
the Glen wuclna like tae see him withoot them :
it wud be a shock tae confidence. There's no
muckle o' the check left, but ye can aye tell it, and
when ye see thae breeks comin' in ye ken that if
human pooer can save yir bairn's life it 'ill be
dune."

The confidence of the Glen — and tributarj
states — was unbounded, and rested partly on long
experience of the doctor's resources, and partly on
his hereditary connection.

"His father was here afore him," Mrs. Mac-
fadyen used to explain ; " atween them they've hed
the countryside for weel on tae a century ; if Mac-
Lure disna understand oor constitution, wha dis,
a* wud like tae ask ? "

For Drumtochty had its own constitution and a
special throat disease, as became a parish which
was quite self-contained between the woods and
the hills, and not dependent on the lowlands either
for its diseases or its doctors.

" He's a skilly man, Doctor Maclure," continued
my friend Mrs. Macfadyen, whose judgment on
sermons or anything else was seldom at fault ; " an*
a kind-hearted, though o' coorse he hes his faults
like us a', an' he disna tribble the Kirk often.

166 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

" He aye can tell what's wrong wi' a body, an*
maistly he can put ye richt, and there's nae new-
fangled wys wi' him : a blister for the ootside an'
Epsom salts for the inside dis his wark, an' they
say there's no an herb on the hills he disna ken.

"If we're tae dee, we're tae dee; an' if we're tae
live, we're tae live," concluded Elspeth, with sound
Calvinistic logic ; " but a'll say this for the doctor,
that whether yir tae live or dee, he can aye keep up
a sharp meisture on the skin.

" But he's no verra ceevil gin ye bring him when
there's naethin* wrang," and Mrs. Macfadyen's
face reflected another of Mr. Hopps' misadventures
of which Hillocks held the copyright.

" Hopps' laddie ate grosarts [gooseberries] till
they hed to sit up a' nicht wi' him, an' naethin'
wud do but they maun hae the doctor, an' he writes
' immediately' on a slip o' paper.

" Weel, MacLure had been awa a' night wi' a
shepherd's wife Dunleith wy, and he comes here
withoot drawin' bridle, mud up tae the een.

" ' What's adae here, Hillocks ? " he cries ; ' it's
no an accident, is't ? " and when he got aff his
horse he cud hardly stand wi' stiffness and tire.

"'It's nane o' us, doctor; it's Hopps' laddie;
he's been eatin* ower mony berries."

" If he didna turn on me like a tiger.

" ' Div ye mean tae say '

" ' Weesht, weesht,' an' I tried tae quiet him, for
Hopps wes coomin' oot.

" ' Well, doctor,' begins he, as brisk as a magpie
' you're here at last ; there's no hurry with you
Scotchmen. My boy has been sick all night, and
I've never had a wink of sleep. You might have
come a little quicker, that's all I've got to say.'

A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 167

" ' We've mair tae dae in Drumtochty than
attend tae every bairn that hes a sair stomach/ and
a' saw MacLure was roosed.

" ' I'm astonished to hear you speak. Our doc-
tor at home always says to Mrs. 'Opps, " Look on
me as a family friend, Mrs. 'Opps, and send for me
though it be only a headache." '

" ' He'd be mair spairin' o' his offers if he hed
four and twenty mile tae look aifter. There's nae-
thin' wrang wi' yir laddie but greed. Gie him a
gude dose o' castor oil and stop his meat for a day,
an* he'ill be a' richt the morn.'

" ' He'ill not take castor oil, doctor. We have
given up those barbarous medicines.'

" ' Whatna kind o' medicines hae ye noo in the
Sooth ? '

" ' Well, ypu see, Dr. MacLure, we're homce-
opathists, and I've my little chest here/ and oot
Hopps comes wi' his boxy.

" Let's se't/ an' MacLure sits doon and taks oot
the bit bottles, and he reads the names wi' a
lauch every time.

"'Belladonna; did ye ever hear the like?
Aconite ; it cowes a'. Nux Vomica. What next ?
Weel, ma mannie/ he says tae Hopps, ' it's a fine
ploy, and ye'ill better gang on wi' the Nux till it's
dune, and gie him ony ither o' the sweeties he
fancies.

" ' Noo, Hillocks, a' maun be aff tae see Drum-
sheugh's grieve, for he's doon wi' the fever, and
it's tae be a teuch fecht. A' hinna time tae wait
for dinner; gie me some cheese an' cake in ma
haund, and Jess 'ill take a pail o' meal an' water.

" ' Fee ; a'm no wantin' yir fees, man ; wi' that
boxy ye dinna need a doctor; na, na, gie yir

168 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

siller tae some puir body, Maister Hopps,' an
he was doon the road as hard as he cud lick."

His fees were pretty much what the folk chose
to give him, and he collected them once a year at
Kiklrummie fair.

"Weel, doctor, what am a* awin* ye for the
wife and bairn? Ye'ill need three notes for
that nicht ye stayed in the hoose an* a* the
veesits."

" Havers," MacLure would answer, " prices are
low, a'm hearing ; gie's thirty shillings."

"No, a'll no, or the wife 'ill tak ma ears off,"
and it was settled for two pounds.

Lord Kilspindie gave him a free house and
fields, and one way or other, Drumsheugh told
me, the doctor might get in about ^150 a year,
out of which he had to pay his old housekeeper's
wages and a boy's, and keep two horses, besides
the cost of instruments and books, which he
bought through a friend in Edinburgh with
much judgment.

There was only one man who ever complained
of the doctor's charges, and that was the new
farmer of Milton, who was so good that he was
above both churches, and held a meeting in his
barn. (It was Milton the Glen supposed at first
to be a Mormon, but I can't go into that now.)
He offered MacLure a pound less than he asked,
and two tracts, whereupon MacLure expressed
his opinion of Milton, both from a theological
and social standpoint, with such vigour and
frankness that an attentive audience of Drum-
tochty men could hardly contain themselves.

Jamie Soutar was selling his pig at the time,
and missed the meeting, but he hastened to

A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 169

condole with Milton, who was complaining
everywhere of the doctor's language.

" Ye did richt tae resist him ; it 'ill maybe
roose the Glen tae mak a stand ; he fair hands
them in bondage.

li Thirty shillings for twal veesits, and him no
mair than seeven mile awa, an' a'm telt there
werena mair than four at nicht.

" Ye'ill hae the sympathy o' the Glen, for a'-
body kens yir as free wi' yir siller as yir tracts.

" Wes't ' Beware o' gude warks* ye offered him ?
Man, ye chose it weel, for he's been colleckin' sae
mony thae forty years, a'm feared for him.

" A've often thocht oor doctor's little better
than the Gude Samaritan, an* the Pharisees didna
think muckle o' his chance aither in this warld or
that which is tae come."

II.

THROUGH THE FLOOD.

DR.. MACLURE did not lead a solemn proces-
sion from the sick bed to the dining-room, and
give his opinion from the hearthrug with an air
of wisdom bordering on the supernatural, because
neither the Drumtochty houses nor his manners
were on that large scale. He was accustomed to
deliver himself in the yard, and to conclude his
directions with one foot in the stirrup ; but when
he left the room where the life of Annie Mitchell
was ebbing slowly away, our doctor said not one
word, and at the sight of his face her husband's
heart was troubled.

He was a dull man, Tammas, who could not
read the meaning of a sign, and laboured under a
perpetual disability of speech : but love was eyes to
him that day, and a mouth.

" Is't as bad as yir lookin', doctor ? Tell's the
truth. Wull Annie no come through ? " and
Tammas looked MacLure straight in the face,
who never flinched his duty or said smooth things.

" A' wud gie onything tae say Annie has a
chance, but a' daurna ; a' doot yir gaein' to lose
her, Tammas."

MacLure was in the saddle, and as he gave his
judgment, he laid his hand on Tammas's shoulder
with one of the rare caresses that pass between
men.

THROUGH THE FLOOD. I?I

" It's a sair business, but ye'ill play the man
and no vex Annie ; she'ill dae her best, a'll war-
rant."

" And a'll dae mine," and Tammas gave Mac-
Lure's hand a grip that would have crushed the
bones of a weakling. Drumtochty felt in such
moments the brotherliness of this rough-looking
man, and loved him.

Tammas hid his face in Jess's mane, who looked
round with sorrow in her beautiful eyes, for she
had seen many tragedies, and in this silent sym-
pathy the stricken man drank his cup, drop by drop.

" A' wesna prepared for this, for a' aye thocht
she wud live the langest. . . She's younger than
me by ten years, and never was ill. . . We've
been mairit twal year last Martinmas, but its juist
like a year the day. . . A' wes never worthy o*
her, the bonniest, snoddest [neatest], kindliest lass
in the Glen. . . A* never cud mak oot hoo she
ever lookit at me, 'at hesna hed ae word tae say
aboot her till it's ower late. . . She didna cuist
up to me that a' wesna worthy o' her, no her, but
aye she said, ' Yir ma ain gudeman, and nane cud
be kinder tae me/ . . An' a* wes minded tae be
kind, but a* see noo mony little trokes a micht hae
dune for her, and noo the time is bye. . . Nae-
bocly kens hoo patient she wes wi' me, and aye
made the best o' me, an' never pit me tae shame
afore the fouk. . . An' we never hed ae cross
word, no ane in twal year. . . We were mair
nor man and wife — we were sweethearts a' the
time. . . Oh, ma bonnie lass, what ill the bairnies
an' me dae without ye, Annie ? "

The winter night was falling fast, the snow lay
deep upon the ground, and the merciless north

172 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

wind moaned through the close as Tammas wres-
tled with his sorrow dry-eyed, for tears were denied
Drumtochty men. Neither the doctor nor Jess
moved hand or foot, but their hearts were with
their fellow-creature, and at length the doctor
made a sign to Marget Howe, who had come out
in search of Tammas, and now stood by his side.

" Dinna mourn tae the brakin' o' yir hert, Tam-
mas,'' she said, " as if Annie an' you hed never
luved. Neither death nor time can pairt them that
luve ; there's naethin' in a' the warld sae strong as
luve. If Annie gaes frae the sicht o' yir een she'ill
come the nearer tae yir hert. She wants tae see
ye, and tae hear ye say that ye'ill never forget her
nicht nor day till ye meet in the land where there's
nae pairtin.' OhJ a' ken what a'm sayin,' for it's
five year noo sin George gied awa, an' he's mair
wi' me noo than when he wes in Edinboro' and I
wes in Drumtochty."

" Thank ye kindly, Marget ; thae are gude words
and true, an' ye hev the richt tae say them ; but a'
canna dae without seein' Annie comin' tae meet
me in the gloamin', an' gaein' in an' oot the hoose,
an* hearin' her ca* me by ma name, an' a'll no can
tell her that a' luve her when there's nae Annie in
tke hoose.

" Can naethin' be dune, doctor ? Ye savit Flora
Cammil, and young Burnbrae, an' yon shepherd's
wife Dunleith wy, an* we were a' sae prood o' ye,
an* pleased tae think that ye hed keepit deith frae
anither hame. Can ye no think o' somethin' tae
help Annie, and gie her back tae her man and
bairnies ? " and Tammas searched the doctor's face
in the cold, weird light.

" There's nae pooer in heaven or airth like luve,"

THROUGH THE FLOOD. 173

Marget said to me afterwards ; " it maks the weak
strong and the dumb tae speak. Oor herts Were
as water afore Tammas's words, an* a* saw the
doctor shake in his saddle. A* never kent till that
meenut hoo he hed a share in a'body's grief, an'
carried the heaviest wecht o' a' the Glen. A*
peetied him wi' Tammas lookin* at him sae wist-
fully, as if he hed the keys o' life an* deith in his
hands. But he wes honest, and wudna hold oot a
false houp tae deceive a sore hert or win escape for
himsel'."

" Ye needna plead wi' me, Tammas, to dae the
best a' can for yir wife. Man, a' kent her lang
afore ye ever luved her ; a' brocht her intae the
warld, and a' saw her through the fever when she
wes a bit lassikie ; a' closed her mither's een, and
it wes me hed tae tell her she wes an orphan, an*
nae man wes better pleased when she got a gude
husband, and a' helpit her wi' her fower bairns.
AVe naither wife nor bairns o' ma' own, an' a'
coont a' the fouk o' the Glen ma family. Div ye
think a' wudna save Annie if I cud ? If there wes
a man in Muirtown 'at cud dae mair for her, a'd
have him this verra nicht, but a' the doctors in
Perthshire are helpless for this tribble.

" Tammas, ma puir fallow, if it could avail, a'
tell ye a' wud lay doon this auld worn-oot ruckle
o' a body o' mine juist tae see ye baith sittin' at
the fireside, an* the bairns roond ye, couthy an*
canty again ; but it's no tae be, Tammas, it's no
tae be."

" When a' lookit at the doctor's face," Marget
said, " a' thocht him the winsomest man a' ever
saw. He wes transfigured that nicht, for a'n?
judging there's nae transfiguration like luve,"

174 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

" It's God's wull an' maun be borne, but it's a
sain wull fur me, an' a'm no ungratefu' tae you,
doctor, for a' ye've dune and what ye said the
nicht," and Tammas went back to sit with Annie
for the last time.

Jess picked her way through the deep snow to
the main road, with a skill that came of long ex-
perience, and the doctor held converse with her
according to his wont.

" Eh, Jess, wumman, yon wes the hardest wark
a' hae tae face, and a' wud raither hae ta'en ma
chance o' anither row in a Glen Urtach drift than
tell Tammas Mitchell his wife wes deein'.

" A' said she cudna be cured, and it wes true,
for there's juist ae man in the land fit for't, and
they micht as weel try tae get the mune oot o'
heaven. Sae a' said naethin' tae vex Tammas's
hert, for it's heavy eneuch withoot regrets,

" But it's hard, Jess, that money wull buy life
after a', an* if Annie wes a duchess her man
wudna lose her ; but bein' only a puir cottar's
wife, she maun dee afore the week's oot.

" Gin we hed him the morn there's little doot
she wud be saved, for he hesna lost mair than five
per cent, o' his cases, and they'ill be puir toon's
craturs, no strappin' women like Annie.

" It's oot o' the question, Jess, sae hurry up,
lass, for we've hed a heavy day. But it wud be
the grandest thing that was ever dune in the Glen
in oor time if it could be managed by hook or crook.

" We'll gang and see Drumsheugh, Jess ; he's
anither man sin' Georclie Hoo's deith, and he wes
aye kinder than fouk kent ; " and the doctor passed
at a gallop through the village, whose lights shone
across the white frost-bound road.

THROUGH THE FLOOD. 175

" Come in by, doctor ; a' heard ye on the road ;
ye'ill hae been at Tammas Mitchell's ; hoo's the
gudewife ? a' doot she's sober."

" Annie's deein', Drumsheugh, an' Tammas is
like tae brak his hert."

" That's no lichtsorne, doctor, no lichtsome, ava,
for a' dinna ken ony man in Drumtochty sae bund
up in his wife as Tammas, and there's no a bonnier
wumman o' her age crosses oor kirk door than
Annie, nor a cleverer at her wark. Man, ye'ill
need tae pit yir brains in steep. Is she clean
beyond ye ? "

" Beyond me and every ither in the land but
ane, and it wud cost a hundred guineas tae bring
him tae Drumtochty."

" Certes, he's no blate ; it's a fell chairge for
a short day's work ; but hundred or no hundred
we'ill hae him, and no let Annie gang, and her no
half her years."

" Are ye meanin' it, Drumsheugh ?" and Mac-
Lure turned white below the tan.

" William MacLure," said Drumsheugh, in one
of the few confidences that ever broke the Drum-
tochty reserve, " a'm a lonely man, wi' naebody
o' ma ain blude tae care for me livin', or tae lift
me intae ma coffin when a'm deid.

" A' fecht awa at Muirtown market for an extra
pund on a beast, or a shillin' on the quarter o'
barley, an' what's the gude o't? Burnbrae gaes
aff tae get a goon for his wife or a buke for his
college laddie, an' Lachlan Campbell 'ill no leave
the place noo withoot a ribbon for Flora.

" Ilka man in the Kildrummie train has some
bit fairin' in his pooch for the fouk at hame that
i.' th^ siller he won.

I?6 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

" But there's naebody tae be lookin' oot for
me an' comin' doon the road tae meet me, and
daffin' [joking] wi' me aboot their fairing, or
feeling ma pockets. Ou, ay ! a've seen it a* at
ither hooses, though they tried tae hide it frae
me for fear a' wud lauch at them. Me lauch,
wi' ma cauld, empty hame !

" Yir the only man kens, Weelum, that I aince
luved the noblest wumman in the glen or ony-
where, an' a' luve her still, but wi' anither luve
noo.

" She hed given her heart tae anither, or a've
thocht a' micht hae won her, though nae man
be worthy o' sic a gift. Ma hert turned tae
bitterness, but that passed awa beside the brier
bush whar George Hoo lay yon sad simmer
time. Some day a'll tell ye ma story, Weelum,
for you an' me are auld freends, and will be till
we dee."

MacLure felt beneath the table for Drum-
sheugh's hand, but neither man looked at the
ither.

" Weel, a* we can dae noo, Weelum, gin we
h^ena micjde brightness in^ oor ain hanxes, is
tae keep the licht frae gaein' oot in anither
hoose.'Y\Vrite the telegram^ man, and Sandy
'ill send it aff frae Kildrummie this verra nicht,
and ye'ill hae yir man the morn."

" Yir the man a' coonted ye, Drumsheugh, but
ye'ill grant me ae favour. Ye'ill lat me pay the
half, bit by bit — a' ken yir wullin* tae dae't af —
but a* haena mony pleesures, an* a* wud like tae
hae ma ain share in savin' Annie's life."

Next morning a figure received Sir George
on the Kildrummie platform, whom that fa-

THROUGH THE FLOOD. 177

mous surgeon took for a gillie, but who intro-
duced himself as " MacLure of Drumtochty."
It seemed as if the East had come to meet the
West when these two stood together, the one in
travelling furs, handsome and distinguished, with
his strong, cultured face and carriage of authority,
a characteristic type of his profession ; and the
other more marvellously dressed than ever, for
Drumsheugh's topcoat had been forced upon
him for the occasion, his face and neck one red-
ness with the bitter cold ; rough and ungainly,
yet not without some signs of power in his eye
and voice, the most heroic type of his noble pro-
fession. MacLure compassed the precious arrival
with observances till he was securely seated in
Drumsheugh's dogcart — a vehicle that lent itself
to history — with two full-sized plaids added to his
equipment — Drumsheugh and Hillocks had both
been requisitioned— and MacLure wrapped an-
other plaid round a leather case, which was
placed below the seat with such reverence as
might be given to the Queen's regalia. Peter
attended their departure full of interest, and as
soon as they were in the fir woods MacLure
explained that it would be an eventful journey.

" It's a' richt in here, for the wind disna get at
the snaw, but the drifts are deep in the Glen, and
th'ill be some engineerin' afore we get tae oor
destination."

Four times they left the road and took their way
over fields ; twice they forced a passage through a
slap in a dyke ; thrice they used gaps in the paling
which MacLure had made on his downward
journey,

" A' seleckit the road this mornin', an' a' ken

178 DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

the depth tae an inch ; we'ill get through this
steadin' here tae the main road, but oor worst job
'ill be crossin' the Tochty.

" Ye see the bridge hes Deen shakin* wi' this
winter's flood, and we daurna venture on it, sae
we hev tae ford, and the snaw's been melting up
Urtach way. There's nae doot the water's gey
big, and it's threatenin' tae rise, but we'ill win
through wi' a warstle.

" It micht be safer tae lift the instruments oot o*
reach o' the water ; wud ye mind haddin' them on
yir knee till we're ower, an' keep ftrm in yir seat in
case we come on a stane in the bed o' the river."

By this time they had come to the edge, and it
was not a cheering sight. The Tochty had spread
out over the meadows, and while they waited they
could see it cover another two inches on the trunk
of a tree. There are summer floods, when the
water is brown and flecked with foam, but this was
a winter flood, which is black and sullen, and runs
in the centre with a strong, fierce, silent current.
Upon the opposite side Hillocks stood to give di-
rections by word and hand, as the ford was on his
land, and none knew the Tochty better in all its
ways.

They passed through the shallow water without
mishap, save when the wheel struck a hidden
stone or fell suddenly into a rut ; but when they
neared the body of the river MacLure halted, to
give Jess a minute's breathing.

"It 'ill tak ye a' yir time, lass, an' a' wud raither
be on yir back ; but ye never failed me yet, and a
wumman's life is hangin' on the crossin'."

With the first plunge into the bed of the stream
the water rose to the axles, and then it crept up to

THROUGH THE FLOOD. 1 79

the shafts, so that the surgeon could feel it lap-
ping in about his feet, while the dogcart began to
quiver, and it seemed as if it were to be carried
away. Sir George was as brave as most men, but
he had never forded a Highland river in flood,
and the mass of black water racing past beneath,
before, behind him, affected his imagination and
shook his nerves. He rose from his seat and
ordered MacLure to turn back, declaring that he
would be condemned utterly and eternally if he
allowed himself to be drowned for any person.

"Sit doon!" thundered MacLure. "Con-
demned ye will be, suner or later, gin ye shirk yir
duty, but through the water ye gang the day."

Both men spoke much more strongly and
shortly, but this is what they intended to say, and
it was MacLure that prevailed.

Jess trailed her feet along the ground with
cunning art, and held her shoulder against the
stream ; MacLure leant forward in his seat, a rein
in each hand, and his eyes fixed on Hillocks, who
was now standing up to the waist in the water,
shouting directions and cheering on horse and
driver.

" Haud tae the richt, doctor; there's a hole
yonder. Keep oot o't for ony sake. That's it ;
yir daein' fine. Steady, man, steady. Yir at the
deepest ; sit heavy in yir seavs. Up the channel
noo, and ye'ill be oot o' the swirl. Weel dune,
Jess, weel dune, auld mare ! Mak straicht for me,
doctor, an' a'll gie ye the road oot. Ma word,
ye've dune yir best, baith o' ye, this mornin'," cried
Hillocks, splashing up to the dogcart, now in the
shallows.

" Sail, it wes titch an* go for a meenut in the

l8o A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

middle ; a Hielan' ford is a kittle [hazardous] road
in the snavv time, but ye're safe noo.

" Gude luck tae ye up at Westerton, sir ; nane
but a richt-hearted man wud hae riskit the Tochty
in flood. Ye're boond tae succeed aifter sic a
graund beginnin'," for it had spread already that a
famous surgeon had come to do his best for Annie,
Tammas Mitchell's wife.

Two hours later MacLure came out from
Annie's room and laid hold of Tammas, a heap of
speechless misery by the kitchen fire, and carried
him off to the barn, and spread some corn on
the threshing floor and thrust a flail into his
hands.

" Noo we've tae begin, an' we'ill no be dune for
an* oor, and ye've tae lay on withoot stoppin' till a'
come for ye, an' a'li shut the door tae haud in the
noise, an' keep yir dog beside ye, for there maunna
be a cheep aboot the hoose for Annie's sake."

" A'll dae onything ye want me, but if — if "

" A'll come for ye, Tammas, gin there be danger ;
but what are ye feared for wi" the Queen's ain
surgeon here ? "

Fifty minutes did the flail rise and fall, save
twice, when Tammas crept to the door and listened,
the dog lifting his head and whining.

It seemed twelve hours instead of one when the
door swung back, and MacLure filled the doorway,
preceded by a great burst of light, for the sun had
arisen on the snow.

His face was as tidings of great joy, and Elspeth
told me that there was nothing like it to be seen
that afternoon for glory, save the sun itself in the
heavens.

" A' never saw the marrow o't, Tammas, an*

THROUGH THE FLOOD. l8l

a'll never see the like again ; it's a* ower, man,
withoot a hitch frae beginnin' tae end, and she's
fa'in' asleep as fine as ye like."

" Dis he think Annie — 'ill live ? "

" Of coorse he dis, and be aboot the hoose inside
a month ; that's the gude o' bein' a clean-bluided,
weel-livin*

" Preserve ye, man, what's wrang wi' ye ? It's
a mercy a* keppit ye, or we wud hev hed anither
job for Sir George.

" Ye're a* richt noo ; sit doon on the strae.
A'll come back in a whilie, an' ye'ill see Annie,
juist for a meenut, but ye maunna say a word."

Marget took him in and let him kneel by Annie's
bedside.

He said nothing then or afterwards, for speech
came only once in his lifetime to Tammas, but
Annie whispered, *' Ma ain dear man."

When the doctor placed the precious bag beside
Sir George in our solitary first next morning, he
laid a check beside it and was about to leave.

" No, no ! " said the great man. " Mrs. Macfad-
yen and I were on the gossip last night, and I
know the whole story about you and your friend.

" You have some right to call me a coward, but
I'll never let you count me a mean, miserly rascal,"
and the check with Drumsheugh's painful writing
fell in fifty pieces on the floor.

As the train began to move, a voice from the
first called so that all in the station heard.

" Give's another shake of your hand, MacLure ;
I'm proud to have met you ; you are an honour to
our profession. Mind the antiseptic dressings."

It was market clay, but only Jamie Soutar and
Hillocks had ventured down.

1 82 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

" Did ye hear yon, Hillocks ? Hoo dae ye feel >
A'll no deny a'm lifted."

Halfway to the Junction Hillocks had recovered,
and began to grasp the situation.

" Tell's what he said. A* wud like to hae it ex-
act for Drumsheugh."

" Thae's the eedentical words, an* they're true ;
there's no a man in Drumtochty disna ken that,
except ane."

" An' wha's that, Jamie? "

" It's Weelum MacLure himsel'. Man, a've
often girned that he sud fecht awa for us a', and
maybe dee before he kent that he hed githered
mair luve than -ony man in the Glen.

" ' A'm prood tae hae met ye,' says Sir George,
an* him the greatest doctor in the land. ' Yir an
honour tae oor profession.'

" Hillocks, a' wudna hae missed it for twenty
notes," said James Soutar, cynic-in-ordinary to the
parish of Drumtochty.

III.

A FIGHT WITH DEATH.

WHEN Drumsheugh's grieve was brought to the
gates of death by fever, caught, as was supposed,
on an adventurous visit to Glasgow, the London
doctor at Lord Kilspindie's shooting lodge looked
in on his way from the moor, and declared it im-
possible for Saunders to live through the night.

" I give him six hours, more or less ; it is only a
question of time," said the oracle, buttoning his
gloves and getting into the brake. "Tell your
parish doctor that I was sorry not to have met him."

Bell heard this verdict from behind the door, and
gave way utterly, but Drumsheugh declined to
accept it as final, and devoted Jv'mself to consola-
tion.

" Dinna greet like that, Bell, wumman, sae lang
as Saunders is still livin* ; a'll never give up houp,
for ma pairt, till oor ain man says the word.
, " A* the doctors in the land dinna ken as muckle
aboot us as Weelum MacLure, an' he's ill tae beat
when he's tryin* tae save a man's life."

MacLure, on his coming, would say nothing,
either weal or woe, till he had examined Saunders.
Suddenly his face turned into iron before their eyes,
and he looked like one encountering a merciless
foe. For there was a feud between MacLure and
a certain mighty power which had lasted for forty
years in Drumtochty.

183

184 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

" The London doctor said that Saunders wud
sough awa' afore mornin', did he ? Weel, he's an*
authority on fevers an* sic like diseases, an' ought
tae ken.

" It's may be presumptuous o' me tae differ frae
him, and it wudna be verra respectfu' o' Saunders
tae live aifter this opeenion. But Saunders wes aye
thraun an* ill tae drive, an* he's as like as no tae
gang his ain gait.

" A'm no meanin' tae reflect on sae clever a man,
but he didna ken the seetuation. He can read
fevers like a buik, but he never cam* across sic a
a thing as the Drumtochty constitution a' his days.

" Ye see, when onybody gets as low as puir
Saunders here, it's a juist a hand-to-hand wrastle
atween the fever and his constitution, an' of coorse,
if he hed been a shilpit, stuntit, feckless effeegy o' a
cratur, fed on tea an' made dishes and pushioned
wi' bad air, Saunders wud hae nae chance ; he wes
boond tae gae oot like the snuff o' a candle.

" But Saunders has been fillin* his lungs for five
and thirty year wi' strong Drumtochty air, an*
eatin* naethin' but kirny aitmeal, and drinkin'
naethin* but fresh milk frae the coo, an' followin'
the ploo through the new-turned, sweet-smellin*
earth, an' swingin' the scythe in haytime and har-
vest, till the legs an* airms o' him were iron, an* his
chest wes like the cuttin' o* an oak tree.

" He's a waesome sicht the nicht, but Saunders
wes a buirdly man aince, and wull never lat his life
be taken lichtly frae him, Na, na ; he hesna sinned
against Nature, and Nature 'ill stand by him noo in
his oor o' distress.

" A* daurna say yea, Bell, muckle as a' wud like,
for this is an evil disease, cunnin' an' treacherous

A FIGHT WITH DEA TH. 185

as the deevil himsel', but a' winna say nay, sae
keep yir hert frae despair.

" It wull be a sair fecht, but it 'ill be settled one
wy or anither by six o'clock the morn's morn. Nae
man can prophecee hoo it 'ill end, but ae thing is
certain, a'll no see Deith tak a Drumtochty man
afore his time if a' can help it.

" Noo, Bell, ma wumman, yir near deid wi* tire,
an* nae wonder. Ye've dune a' ye cud for yir man
an* ye'ill lippen [trust] him the nicht tae Drum-
sheugh an' me ; we'ill no fail him or you.

" Lie doon an* rest, an' if it be the wull o' the
Almichty a'll wauken ye in the mornin' tae see a
livin', conscious man, an* if it be itherwise a'll come
for ye the suner, Bell," and the big red hand went
out to the anxious wife. " A' gie ye ma word."

Bell leant over the bed, and at the sight of Saun-
ders' face a superstitious dread seized her.

" See, doctor, the shadow of deith is on him that
never lifts. A've seen it afore, on ma father anf
mither. A* canna leave him ; a' canna leave him ! "

" It's hoverin', Bell, but it hesna fallen ; please
God it never wull. Gang but and get some sleep,
for it's time we were at oor wark.

" The doctors in the toons hae nurses an* a*
kinds o' handy apparatus," said MacLure to Drum*
sheugh when Bell had gone, " but you an' me 'ill
need tae be nurse the nicht, an* use sic things as
we hev.

" It 'ill be a lang nicht and anxious wark, but a*
wud raither hae ye, auld freend,wi' me than ony man
in the Glen. Ye're no feared tae gie a hand ? "

" Me feared ? No likely. Man, Saunders cam*
tae me a haflin, an' hes been on Drumsheugh for
twenty years, an' though he be a dour chiel, he's a

1 86 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

faithfu' servant as ever lived. It's waesome tae see
him lyin' there moanin' like some dumb animal frae
mornin* to nicht, an* no able tae answer his ain
wife when she speaks.

" Div ye think, Weelum, he hes a chance ? "

" That he hes, at ony rate, and it 'ill no be your
blame or mine if he hesna mair."

While he was speaking, MacLure took off his
coat and waistcoat and hung them on the back of
the door. Then he rolled up the sleeves of his
shirt and laid bare two arms that were nothing but
bone and muscle.

" It gar'd ma very blood rin faster tae the end of
ma fingers juist tae look at him," Drumsheugh ex-
patiated afterwards to Hillocks, " for a' saw noo
that there was tae be a stand-up fecht atween him
an* Deith for Saunders, and when a' thocht o' Bell
an* her bairns, a' kent wha wud win.

" ' Aff wi' yir coat, Drumsheugh,' said MacLure ;
* ye'ill need tae bend yir back the nicht ; gither a'
the pails in the hoose and fill them at the spring,
an* a'll come doon tae help ye wi' the carryin'.' "

It was a wonderful ascent up the steep pathway
from the spring to the cottage on its little knoll,
the two men in single file, bareheaded, silent,
solemn, each with a pail of water in either hand,
MacLure limping painfully in front, Drumsheugh
blowing behind ; and when they laid down their
burden in the sick room, where the bits of furniture
had been put to a side and a large tub held the cen-
tre, Drumsheugh looked curiously at the doctor.

" No, a'm no daft ; ye needna be feared ; but yir
tae get yir first lesson in medicine the nicht, an' if
we win the battle ye can set up for yersel' in theGlen.

" There's twa dangers— that Saunders' strength

A FIGHT WITH &EA TH. 187

fails, an' that the force o' the fever grows ; and we
have juist twa weapons.

" Yon milk on the drawers' head an' the bottle
of whisky is tae keep up the strength, and this
cool caller water is tae keep doon the fever.

" We'ill cast oot the fever by the virtue o' the
earth an' the water."

" Div ye mean tae pit Saunders in the tub ? "

"Ye hiv it noo, Drumsheugh, and that's hoo
a' need yir help."

" Man, Hillocks," Drumsheugh used to mor-
alise, as often as he remembered that critical
night, " it wes humblin' tae see how low sick-
ness can bring a pooerfu* man, an* ocht tae keep
us frae pride.

" A month syne there wesna a stronger man
in the Glen than Saunders, an' noo he wes juist
a bundle o' skin and bone, that naither saw nor
heard, nor moved nor felt, that kent naethin' that
was dune tae him.

" Hillocks, a* wudna hae wished ony man tae hev
seen Saunders — for it wull never pass frae before
ma een as long as a' live — but a' wish a' the Glen
hed stude by MacLure kneelin' on the floor wi' his
sleeves up tae his oxters and waitin' on Sounders.

" Yon big man wes as pitifu' an' gentle as a
wumman, and when he laid the puir fallow in his
bed again, he happit him ower as a mither dis
her bairn."

Thrice it was done, Drumsheugh ever bringing
up colder water from the spring, and twice
MacLure was silent ; but after the third time
there was a gleam in his eye.

" We're haudin' oor ain ; we're no bein' mais-
tered, at ony rate ; mair a' canna say for three oors*

1 88 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

" We'ill no need the water again, Drumsheugh ,
gae oot and tak a breath o' air ; a'm on gaird
masel'."

It was the hour before daybreak, and Drum-
sheugh wandered through fields he had trod-
den since childhood. The cattle lay sleeping
in the pastures ; their shadowy forms, with a
patch of whiteness here and there, having a weird
suggestion of death. He heard the burn running
over the stones ; fifty years ago he had made a
dam that lasted till winter. The hooting of
an owl made him start ; one had frightened him
as a boy so that he ran home to his mother — she
died thirty years ago. The smell of ripe corn
filled the air ; it would soon be cut and garnered.
He could see the dim outlines of his house, all
dark and cold ; no one he loved was beneath the
roof. The lighted window in Saunders' cottage
told where a man hung between life and death, but
love was in that home. The futility of life arose
before this lonely man, and overcame his heart
with an indescribable sadness. What a vanity
was all human labour ; what a mystery all human
We!

But while he stood, a subtle change came over
the night, and the air trembled round him as if one
had whispered. Drumsheugh lifted his head and
looked eastward. A faint gray stole over the dis-
tant horizon, and suddenly a cloud reddened
before his eyes. The sun was not in sight, but
was rising, and sending forerunners before his
face. The cattle began to stir, a blackbird burst
into song, and before Drumsheugh crossed the
threshold of Saunders' house, the first ray of the
sun had broken on a peak of the Grampians.

A FIGHT W1T& DEATH. 189

MacLure left the bedside, and as the light of the
candle fell on the doctor's face, Drumsheugh
could see that it was going well with Saunders.

" He's nae waur ; an* it's half six noo ; it's ower
sune tae say mair, but a'm houpin' for the best.
Sit doon and take a sleep, for ye're needin' ftr
Drumsheugh, an', man, ye hae worked for it."

As he dozed off, the last thing Drumsheugh saw
was the doctor sitting erect in his chair, a clenched
fist resting on the bed, and his eyes already bright
with the vision of victory.

He awoke with a start to find the room flooded
with the morning sunshine, and every trace of last
night's work removed.

The doctor was bending over the bed, and
speaking to Saunders.

" It's me, Saunders ; Doctor MacLure, ye ken :
dinna try tae speak or move ; juist let this drap
milk slip ower — ye'ill be needin' yir breakfast, lad
— and gang tae sleep again."

Five minutes, and Saunders had fallen into a
deep, healthy sleep, all tossing and moaning come
to an end. Then MacLure stepped softly across
the floor, picked up his coat and waistcoat, and
went out at the door.

Drumsheugh arose and followed him without a
word. They passed through the little garden,
sparkling with dew, and beside the byre, where
Hawkie rattled her chain, impatient for Bell's com-
ing, and by Saunders' little strip of corn ready for
the scythe, till they reached an open field. There
they came to a halt, and Dr. MacLure for once
allowed himself to go.

His coat he flung east and his waistcoat west, as
far as he could hurl them, and it was plain he

1QO A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

would have shouted had he been a complete mile
from Saunclers' room. Any less distance was use-
less for adequate expression. He struck Drum-
sheugh a mighty blow that well-nigh levelled that
substantial man in the dust, and then the doctor of
Drumtochty issued his bulletin.

" Saunders wesna tae live through the nicht, but
he's livhV this meenut, an' like to live.

" He's got by the warst clean and fair, and wi'
him that's as good as cure.

" It 'ill be a graund waukenin' for Bell ; she'ill
no be a weedow yet, nor the bairntes fatherless.

" There's nae use glowerin' at me, Drumsheugh,
for a body's daft at a time, an* a' canna contain
maser, and a'm no gaein' tae try."

Then it dawned upon Drumsheugh that the
doctor was attempting the Highland fling.

" He's ill made, tae begin wi'," Drumsheugh ex-
plained in the kirkyard next Sabbath, " and ye ken
he's been terrible mishannelled by accidents, saeye
may think what like it wes, but, as sure as deith, o'
a' the Hielan' flings a' ever saw yon wes the bonniest.

" A* hevna shaken ma ain legs for thirty years,
but a* confess tae a turn masel'. Ye may lauch
an* ye like, neeburs, but the thocht o' Bell an' the
news that wes waitin' her got the better o' me."

Drumtochty did not laugh. Drumtochty looked
as if it could have done quite otherwise for joy.

" Af wud hae made a third gin a' hed been
there," announced Hillocks aggressively.

'• Come on, Drumsheugh," said Jamie Soutar,
" gie's the end o't ; it wes a michty mornin'."

" * We're twa auld fules,' says MacLure tae me,
as he gaithers up his claithes. ' It wud set us
better tae be tellin' Bell.'

A FIGHT WITH DEA Tff. 19!

44 She was sleepin' on the top o' her bed wrapped
in a plaid, fair worn oot wi' three weeks' nursin'
o' Saunders, but at the first touch she was oot
upon the floor.

" ' Is Saunders deein', doctor ? ' she cries. ' Ye
promised tae wauken me ; dinna tell me it's a' ower.'

" There's nae deein' aboot him, Bell ; ye're no
tae lose yir man this time, sae far as a' can see.
Come ben an* jidge for yersel'.'

" Bell lookit at Saunders, and the tears of joy
fell on the bed like rain.

" * The shadow's lifted,' she said ; ' he's come
back frae the mooth o' the tomb.

" ' A' prayed last nicht that the Lord wud leave
Saunders till the laddies cud dae for themselves,
an' thae words came intae ma mind, " Weepin' may
endure for a nicht, but joy cometh in the mornin'."

" ' The Lord heard ma prayer, and joy hes come
in the mornin'/ an* she gripped the doctor's hand.

" * Ye've been the instrument, Doctor MacLure.
Ye wudna gie him up, and ye did what nae ither
cud for him, an* a've ma man the day, and the
bairns hae their father.'

" An* afore MacLure kent what she was daein',
Bell lifted his hand to her lips an* kissed it."

" Did she, though ? " cried Jamie. " Wha wud
hae«thocht there wes as muckle spunk in Bell ? "

" MacLure, of coorse, was clean scandalised,"
continued Drumsheugh, " an' pooed awa' his hand
as if it hed been burned.

" Nae man can thole that kind o' fraikin', and
a* never heard o' sic a thing in the parish, but we
maun excuse Bell, neeburs ; it wes an occasion
by ordinar," and Drumsheugh made Bell's apology
to Drumtochty for such an excess of feeling.

I92 A DOCTOR OF TKL OLD SCHOOL.

"A* see naethin' tae excuse," insisted Jamiel
who was in great fettle that Sabbath ; " the doctor
hes never been burdened wi' fees, and a'm judgin'
he coonted a wumman's gratitude that he saved
frae weedowhood the best he ever got."

" A* gaed up tae the Manse last nicht," con-
cluded Drumsheugh, " an* telt the minister hoo
the doctor focht aucht oors for Saunders' life, an'
won, an' ye never saw a man sae carried. He
walkit up an' doon the room a' the time, and every
other meenut he blew his nose like a trumpet.

" ' I've a cold in my head to-night, Drumsheugh/
says he ; ' never mind me.'"

" A've hed the same masel* in sic circumstances ;
they come on sudden," said Jamie.

•' Af wager there 'ill be a new bit in the laist
prayer the day, an' somethin' worth hearinV

And the fathers went into kirk in great ex-
pectation.

44 We beseech Thee for such as be sick, that
Thy hand may be on them for good, and that Thou
wouldst restore them again to health and strength,"
was the familiar petition of every Sabbath.

The congregation waited in a silence that might
be heard, and were not disappointed that morning,
for the minister continued :

" Especially we tender Thee hearty thanks that
Thou didst spare Thy servant who was brought
down into the dust of death, and hast given him
back to his wife and children, and unto that end
didst wonderfully bless the skill of him who goes
out and in amongst us, the beloved physician of
this parish and adjacent districts."

" Didna a' tell ye, neeburs ? " said Jamie, as
they stood at the kirkyard gate before dispersing ;

A FIGHT WITH DBA TH, 1Q3

" there's no a man in the coonty cud hae dune it
better. ' Beloved physician/ an* his ' skill,' tae,
an' bringing in * adjacent districts ' ; that's Glen
Urtach ; it wes handsome, and the doctor earned
it, ay, every word.

" It's an awfu' peety he didna hear yon ; but
dear knows whar he is the day, maist likely

Jamie stopped suddenly at the sound of a. horse's
feet, and there, coming down the avenue of beech
trees that made a long vista from the kirk gate,
they saw the doctor and Jess,

One thought flashed through the minds of the
fathers of the commonwealth.

It ought to be done as he passed, and it would
be done if it .were not Sabbath. Of course it was
out of the question on Sabbath.

The doctor is now distinctly visible, riding after
his fashion.

There was never such a chance, if it were only
Saturday ; and each man reads his own regret in
his neighbour's face.

The doctor is nearing them rapidly; they can
imagine the shepherd's tartan.

Sabbath or no Sabbath, the Glen cannot let him
pass without some tribute of their pride.

Jess has recognised friends, and the doctor is
drawing rein.

" It hes tae be dune," said Jamie desperately,
" say what ye like." Then they all looked towards
him, and Jamie led.

" Hurrah ! " swinging his Sabbath hat in the air,
" hurrah ! " and once more, " hurrah ! " Whinnie
Knowe, Drumsheugh, and Hillocks joining lustily,
but Tamrnas Mitchell carrying all before him, for

194 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

he had found at last an expression for his feelings
that rendered speech unnecessary.

It was a solitary experience for horse and rider,
and Jess bolted without delay. But the sound
followed and surrounded them, and as they passed
the corner of the kirkyard, a figure waved his
college cap over the wall and gave a cheer on his
own account.

" God bless you, doctor, and well done ! "

" If it isna the minister," cried Drumsheugh, " in
his goon an* bans ; tae think o' that ; but a'
respeck him for it."

Then Drumtochty became self-conscious and
went home in confusion of face and unbroken
silence, except Jamie Soutar, who faced his neigh-
bours at the parting of the ways without shame.

"A* wud dae it a' ower again if a* hed the
chance ; he got naethin* but his due."

It was two miles before Jess composed her mind,
and the doctor and she could discuss it quietly
together.

"A' can hardly believe ma ears, Jess, an* the
Sabbath tae ; their verra jidgment hes gane frae
the fouk o' Drumtochty.

" They've heard about Saunders, a'm thinkin',
wumman, and they're pleased we brocht him
roond ; he's fairly on the mend, ye ken, noo.

" A* never expeckit the like o' this, though, and it
wes juist a wee thingie mair than a* cud hae stude.

" Ye hev yir share in't tae, lass ; we've hed
mony a hard nicht and day thegither, an' yon wes
oor reward. No mony men in this warld 'ill ever
get a better, for it cam' from the hert o' honest
fouk."

IV.

THE DOCTOR'S LAST JOURNEY.

DRUMTOCHTY had a vivid recollection of the
winter when Dr. MacLure was laid up for two
months with a broken leg, and the Glen was de-
pendent on the dubious ministrations of the Kil-
drummie doctor. Mrs. Macfadyen also pretended
to recall a " whup " of some kind or other he had
in the .fifties, but this was considered to be rather
a pyrotechnic display of Elspeth's superior memory
than a serious statement of fact. MacLure could
not have ridden through the snow of forty winters
without suffering, yet no one ever heard him com-
plain, and he never pled illness to any messenger by
night or day.

" It took me," said Jamie Soutar to Milton after-
wards, " the feck o* ten meenuts tae howk him an*
Jess oot ae snawy nicht when Drums turned bad
sudden, and if he didna try to excuse himself for
no hearing me at aince wi' some story aboot juist
comin' in frae Glen Urtach, an no bein' in his bed
for the laist twa nicht.

" He wes that carefu' o' himsel' an* lazy that if it
hedna been for the siller, a've often thocht, Milton,
he wud never hae dune a handstroke o' wark in the
Glen.

" What scunnered me wes the wy the bairns
were ta'en in wi' him. Man, a've seen him tak a
wee laddie on his knee that his ain mither cudna
quiet, an' lilt ' Sing a song o' saxpence ' till the bit

1Q6 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

mannie wud be lauchin' like a gutie ane, an* pooin1
the doctor's beard.

"As for the weemen.he fair cuist a glamour ower
them ; they're daein' naethin' noo but speak aboot
this body and the ither he cured, an' hoo he aye hed
acouthy word for sick fouk. Weemen hae nae dis-
cernment, Milton; tae hear them speak ye wud think
MacLure hed been a releegious man like yersel',
although, as ye said, he wes little mair than a Gallic.

" Bell Baxter was haverin* awa in the shop tae
sic an extent aboot the wy MacLure brocht roond
Saunders when he hed the fever that a' gied oot at
the door, a' wes that disgusted, an' a'm telt when
Tammas Mitchell heard the news in the smiddy he
wes juist on the greetin'.

" The smith said that he wes thinkin' o' Annie's
tribble, but ony wy a' ca' it rael ?3airnly. It's no
like Drumtochty ; ye're setting an example, Milton,
wi' yir composure. But a' mind ye took the doctor's
meesure as sune as ye cam* intae the pairish."

It is the penalty of a cynic that he must have
some relief for his secret grief, and Milton began
to weary of life in Jamie's hands during those days.

Drumtochty was not observant in the matter of
health, but they had grown sensitive about Dr.
MacLure, and remarked in the kirkyard all sum-
mer that he was failing.

" He wes aye spare," said Hillocks, " anf he's been
sair twisted for the laist twenty year, but a* never
mind him booed till the year. An* he's gaein' intae
sma' buke [bulk], an' a* dinna like that, neeburs.

"The Glen wudna dae weel withoot Weelum
MacLure, an' he's no as young as he wes. Man,
Drumsheugh, ye micht wile him aff tae the saut
water atween the neeps and the hairst. He's been

THE DOCTOR'S LAST JOURNEY. IQ7

workin* forty year for a holiday, an' it's aboot due/
Drumsheugh was full of tact, and met MacLure
quite by accident on the road.

" Saunders 'ill no need me till the shearing be-
gins/' he explained to the doctor, " an' a'm gaein'
tae Brochty for a turn o' the hot baths ; they're
fine for the rheumatics.

" Wull ye no come wi' me for aulcl lang syne ? it's
lonesome for a solitary man,an'it would dae ye gude."

"Na, na, Drumsheugh," said MacLure, who
understood perfectly, "a've dune a' thae years
withoot a break, an* a'm laith [unwilling] tae be
takin' holidays at the tail end.

" A'll no be mony months wi' ye thegither noo.
an* a'm wanting tae spend a* the time a' hev in the
Glen. Ye see yersel' that a'll sune be getting ma
lang rest, an' a'll no deny that a'm wearyin* for it."

As autumn passed into winter, the Glen noticed
that the doctor's hair had turned gray, and that his
manner had lost all it's roughness. A feeling of
secret gratitude filled their hearts, and they united
in a conspiracy of attention. Annie Mitchell
knitted a huge comforter in red and white, which
the doctor wore in misery for one whole day, out
of respect for Annie, and then hung in his sitting-
room as a wall ornament. Hillocks used to inter-
cept him with hot drinks, and one drifting day
compelled him to shelter till the storm abated.
Flora Campbell brought a wonderful compound of
honey and whisky, much tasted in Auchindarroch,
for his cough, and the mother of young Burnbrae
filled his cupboard with black jam, as a healing
measure. Jamie Soutar seemed to have an endless
series of jobs in the doctor's direction, and looked
in " juist to rest himsel' " in the kitchen.

t9» A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

MacLure had been slowly taking in the situation,
and at last he unburdened himself one night to Jamie.

" What ails the fouk, think ye ? for they're aye
lecturin'me noo tae tak care o'the weetand tae wrap
niasel* up, an there's no a week but they're sendin'
bit presents tae the hoose, till a'm fair ashamed."

*' Oo, a '11 explain that in a meenut," answered
Jamie, " for a* ken the Glen weel. Ye see they're
juist tryin' the Scripture plan o' heapin' coals of
fire on yer head.

" Here ye've been negleckin' the fouk in seek-
ness an* lettin' them dee afore their freends' eyes
withoot a fecht, an* refusin' tae gang tae a puir
wumman in her tribble, an' frichtenin' the bairns —
no, a'm no dune — and scourgin' us wi' fees, and
livin' yersel' on the fat o' the land.

" Ye've been carry in' on this trade ever sin yir
father dee'd, and the Glen didna notis. But ma
word, they've fund ye oot at laist, an* they're
gaein* tae mak ye suffer for a* yir ill usage. Div
ye understand noo ? " said Jamie savagely.

For a while MacLure was silent, and then he
only said :

" It's little a* did for the puir bodies ; but ye hev
a gude hert, Jamie, a rael gude hert."

It was a bitter December Sabbath, and the
fathers were settling the affairs of the parish ankle
deep in snow, when MacLure's old housekeeper
told Drumsheugh that the doctor was not able to
rise, and wished to see him in the afternoon.

" Ay, ay," said Hillocks, shaking his head, and
that day Drumsheugh omitted four pews with the
ladle, while Jamie was so vicious on the way home
that none could endure him.

Janet had lit a fire in the unused grate, and

THE DOCTORS LAST JOURNEY. 1 99

hung a plaid by the window to break the power of
the cruel north wind, but the bare room with its
half a dozen bits of furniture and a worn strip of
carpet, and the outlook upon the snow drifted up
to the second pane of the window and the black
firs laden with their icy burden, sent a chill to-
Drumsheugh's heart.

The doctor had weakened sadly, and could
hardly lift his head, but his face lit up at the sight
of his visitor, and the big hand, which was now
quite refined in its whiteness, came out from the
bed-clothes with the old warm grip.

" Come in by, man, and sit doon ; it's an awfu'
day tae bring ye sae far, but a' kent ye wudna
grudge the traivel.

" A* wesna sure till last nicht, an* then a' felt k
wudna be lang, an* a* took a wearyin* this mornin*
tae see ye.

" We've been freends sin* we were laddies at
f he auld schule in the firs, an* a* wud like ye tae
be wi' me at the end. Ye'ill stay the nicht, Pait-
rick, for auld lang syne."

Drumsheugh was much shaken, and the sound
of the Christian name, which he had not heard
since his mother's death, gave him a " grue "
[shiver], as if one had spoken from the other world.

"It's maist awfu' tae hear ye speakin' aboot deein^
Weelum ; a' canna bear it. We'ill hae the Muirtown
doctor up, an* ye'ill be aboot again in nae time.

" Ye hevna ony sair tribble ; ye're juist trachled
wi' hard wark an* needin' a rest. Dinna say ye're
gaein' tae leave us, Weelum ; we canna dae with-
oot ye in Drumtochty ; " and Drumsheugh looked
wistfully for some word of hope.

" Na, na, Paitrick ; naethin* can be dune, an' it's

200 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

ower late tae send for ony doctor. There's a
knock that canna be mista'en, an' a' heard it last
night. A've focht deith for ither fouk mair than
forty year, but ma ain time hes come at laist.

" A've nae tribble worth mentionin* — a bit titch
o' bronchitis — an* a've hed a graund constitution ;
but a'm fair worn oot, Paitrick ; that's ma com-
plaint, an* it's past curin*."

Drumsheugh went over to the fireplace, and for a
while did nothing but break up the smouldering peats
whose smoke powerfully affected his nose and eyes.

" When ye're ready, Paitrick, there's twa or
three little trokes a* wud like ye tae look aifter, an'
a'll tell ye aboot them as lang's ma head's clear.

" A' didna keep buiks, as ye ken, for a' aye hed
a guid memory, so naebody 'ill be harried for
money aifter ma deith, and ye'ill hae nae accounts
tae collect.

" But the fouk are honest in Drumtochty, and
they'ill be offerin' ye siller, an* a'll gie ye ma mind
aboot it. Gin it be a puir body, tell her tae keep
it and get a bit plaidie wi' the money, and she'ill
maybe think o' her auld doctor at a time. Gin it
be a bien [well-to-do] man, tak half of what he
offers, for a Drumtochty man wud scorn to be
mean in sic circumstances ; and if onybody needs
a doctor an* canna pay for him, see he's no left tae
dee when a'm oot o' the road."

" Nae fear o' that as lang as a'm livin', Weelum.
That hundred's still tae the fore, ye ken, an* a'll tak
care it's weel spent.

" Yon wes the best job we ever did thegither,
an' dookin* Saunders ; ye'ill no forget that nicht,
Weelum," — a gleam came into the doctor's eyes, —
" tae say naethin' o' the Hielan' fling."

THE DOCTORS LAST JOURNEY. 2OI

The remembrance of that great victory came
upon Drumsheugh, and tried his fortitude.

" What 'ill become o's when ye're no here tae
gie a hand in time o' need ? We'ill tak ill wi' a
stranger that disna ken ane o's frae anither."

" It's a' for the best, Paitrick, an* ye'ill see that
in a whilie. A've kent fine that ma day wes ower,
an* that ye sud hae a younger man.

" A' did what a* cud tae keep up wi' the new
medicine, but a' hed little time for readin', an' nane
for traivellin'.

" A'm the last o' the auld schule, an' a' ken as
weel as onybody thet a' wesna sae dainty an' fine-
mannered as the town doctors. Ye took me as a'
wes, an' naebody ever cuist up tae me that a' wes
a plain man. Na, na ; ye've been rael kind an'
conseederate a* thae years."

" Weelum, gin ye cairry on sic nonsense ony
langer," interrupted Drumsheugh, huskily, " a'll
leave the hoose ; a* canna stand it."

" It's the truth, Paitrick, but we'ill gae on wi'
our wark, for a'm failin' fast.

" Gie Janet ony sticks of furniture she needs tae
furnish a hoose, and sell a* thing else tae pay the
wricht [undertaker] an' bedrel [grave-digger]. If
the new doctor be a young laddie and no verra
rich, ye micht let him hae the buiks an' instru-
ments ; it 'ill aye be a help.

" But a' wudna like ye tae sell Jess, for she's
been a faithfu' servant, an' a freend tae. There's
a note or twa in that drawer a* savit, an* if ye kent
ony man that wud gie her a bite o' grass and a sta'
in his stable till she followed her maister '*

"Confoond ye, Weelum," broke out Drum*
sheugh ; " its doonricht cruel o' ye to speak like this

202 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

tae me. Whar wud Jess gang but tae Drum-
sheugh ? She'ill hae her run of heck an* manger
sae lang as she lives ; the Glen wudna like tae see
anither man on Jess, and nae man 'ill ever touch
the auld mare."

"Dinna mind me, Paitrick, for a* expeckit this;
but ye ken we're no verra gleg wi* oor tongues in
Drumtochty, an' clinna tell a' that's in oor hearts.

" Weel, that's a* that a* mind, an* the rest a*
leave tae yersel'. A've neither kith nor kin tae
bury me, sae you and the neeburs 'ill need tae
lat me doon ; but gin Tammas Mitchell or
Saunders be stannin' near and lookin' as if they
wud like a cord, gie't tae them, Paitrick. Their
baith dour chiels, and haena muckle tae say, but
Tammas hes a graund hert, and there's waur fouk
in the Glen than Saunders.

" A'm gettin* drowsy, an* a'H no be able tae
follow ye sune, a* doot ; wud ye read a bit tae
me afore a' fa* ower ?

" Ye'ill find ma mither's Bible on the drawers'
heid, but ye'ill need tae come close tae the bed,
for a'am no hearin' or seein* sae weel as a* wes
when ye cam'/'

Drumsheugh put on his spectacles and searched
for a comfortable Scripture, while the light of the
lamp fell on his shaking hands and the doctor's
face, where the shadow was now settling,

" Ma mither aye wantit this read tae her when
she wes sober" [weak], and Drumsheugh began,
'• In My Father's house are many mansions," but
MacLure stopped him,

" It's a bonnie word, an* yir mither wes a sanct ;
but it's no for the like o' me. It's ower gude ; a'
daurna tak it.

THE DOCTOR'S LAST JOURNEY. 203

44 Shut the buik an* let it open itsel', an* ye'ill get
a bit a've been readin' every nicht the laist month."

Then Drumsheugh found the Parable wherein
the Master tells what God thinks of a Pharisee
and of a penitent sinner, till he came to the words :
" And the publican, standing afar off, would not lift
up so much as his eyes to heaven, but smote
upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a
sinner."

" That micht hae been written for me, Paitrick,
or ony ither auld sinner that hes feenished his
^ life, an* hes naething tae say for himser.
IT " It wesna easy for me tae get tae kirk, but a'
{ cud hae managed wi' a stretch, an* a* used Ian-
; gidge a* sudna, an* a* micht hae been gentler, and
no been so short in the temper. A' see't a' noo.*

" It's ower late tae mend, but ye'ill maybe juist
\ say to the fouk that I wes sorry, an* a'm houpin'
that the Almichty 'ill hae mercy on me.

" Cud ye ... pit up a bit prayer, Paitrick ? "

"A* haena the words," said Drumsheugh in
great distress ; " wud ye like's tae send for the
minister ? "

" It's no the time for that noo, an* a* wud rather
hae yersel' — juist what's in yir heart, Paitrick : the
Almichty 'ill ken the lave [rest Himsel'."

So Drumsheugh knelt and prayed with many
pauses.

" Almichty God . . dinna be hard on Weelum
MacLure, for he's no been hard wi' onybody in
Drumtochty. . . Be kind tae him as he's been
tae us a* for forty year. . . We're a' sinners afore
Thee. . . Forgive him what he's dune wrang,
an' dinna cuist it up tae him. . . Mind the fouk
he's helpit . . . the weemen an' bairnies ... an'

.204 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

gie him a welcome hame, for he's sair needin't aifter
a' his wark. . . Amen."

" Thank ye, Paitrick, and gude nicht tae ye. Ma
ain true freend, gie's yir hand, for a'll maybe no
ken ye again.

" Noo a'll say ma mither's prayer and hae a
sleep, but ye'ill no leave me till a' is ower."

Then he repeated as he had done every night of
his life :

44 This night I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
And if I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take."

He was sleeping quietly when the wind drove the
snow against the window with a sudden " swish ; "
and he instantly awoke, so to say, in his sleep.
Someone needed him.

" Are ye frae Glen Urtach ? " and an unheard
voice seemed to have answered him.

" Worse is she, an' sufferin' awfu' ; that's no
lichtsome ; ye did richt tae come.

"The front door's drifted up; gang roond tae the
back, an* ye'ill get intae the kitchen ; a'll be ready
in a meenut.

" Gie/s a hand wi' the lantern when a'm saidling
Jess, an* ye needna come on till daylicht ; a' ken
the road."

Then he was away in his sleep on some errand
of mercy, and struggling through the storm.

" It's a coorse nicht, Jess, an* heavy traivellin';
can ye see afore ye, lass ? for a'm clean confused
wi' the snaw ; bide a wee till a' find the diveesion
o' the roads ; it's aboot here back or forrit.

" Steady, lass, steady, dinna plunge ; it's a drift

THE DOCTOR'S LAST JOURNEY. 2p5

we're in, but ye're no sinkin' ; ... up noo ; . . .
there ye are on the road again.

" Eh, it's deep the nicht, an' hard on us baith,
but there's a puir wumman micht dee if we didna
warstle through ; . . . that's it ; ye ken fine
what a'm sayin'.

" We'ill hae tae leave the road here, an' tak tae
the muir. Sandie 'ill no can leave the wife alane
tae meet us ; ... feel for yersel', lass, and keep
oot o' the holes.

" Yon's the hoose, black in the snaw. Sandie !
man, ye frichtened us ; a' didna see ye ahint the
dyke ; hoo's the wife? "

After a while he began again :

" Ye're fair dune, Jess, and so a' am masel' ;
we're baith gettin' auld, an' dinna tak sae weel wi'
the nicht wark.

" We'ill sune be hame noo ; this is the black
wood, and it's no lang aifter that ; we're ready for
oor beds, Jess ; ... ay, ye like a clap at a time ;
mony a mile we've gaed thegither.

"Yon's the licht in the kitchen window; nae
wonder ye're nickering [neighing] ; . . . it's
been a stiff journey ; a'm tired, lass . . . a'm
tired tae deith," and the voice died into silence.

Drumsheugh held his friend's hand, which now
and again tightened in his, and as he watched, a
change came over the face on the pillow beside
him. The lines of weariness disappeared, as if
God's hand had passed over it ; and peace began
to gather round the closed eyes.

The doctor has forgotten the toil of later years,
and has gone back to his boyhood.

" The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want,"

206 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

he repeated, till he came to the last verse, and then
he hesitated.

" ' Goodness and mercy all my life
Shall surely follow me.'

"Follow me . . . and . . . and . . . what's next?
Mither said I wes tae hae't ready when she cam'.

" * A'll come afore ye gang tae sleep, Wullie, but
ye'ill no get yir kiss unless ye canfeenish the psalm.'

" And ... in God's house ... for evermore
my . . . hoo clis it rin ? a' canna mind the next
word . . . my, my

" It's ower dark noo tae read it, an' mither 'ill
sune be comin'."

Drumsheugh, in an agony, whispered into his
ear, " ' My dwelling-place,' Weelum.''

" That's it, that's it a' noo ; wha said it ?

44 * And in God's house for evermore
My dwelling-place shall be.'

" A'm ready noo, an' a'll get ma kiss when
mither comes ; a' wish she wud come, for a'm
tired an* wantin' tae sleep.

" Yon's her step . . . an' she's carryin' a licht in
her hand ; a' see it through the door.

" Mither ! a' kent ye wudna forget yir laddie, for
ye promised tae come, and a've feenished ma psalm.

" ' And in God's house for evermore
My dwelling-place shall be.'

" Gie me the kiss, mither, for a've been waitin'
for ye, an' a'll sune be asleep."

The gray morning light fell on Drumsheugh,
still holding his friend's cold hand, and staring
at a hearth where the fire had died down into
white ashes ; but the peace on the doctor's face
was of one who rested from his labours.

V.

THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN.

DR. MACLURE was buried during the great
snowstorm, which is still spoken of, and will
remain the standard of snowfall in Drumtochty
for the century. The snow was deep on the
Monday, and the men that gave notice of his
funeral had hard work to reach the doctor's dis-
tant patients. On Tuesday morning it began to
fall again in heavy, fleecy flakes, and continued
till Thursday, and then on Thursday the north
wind rose and swept the snow into the hollows of
the roads that went to the upland farms, and built
it into a huge bank at the mouth of Glen Urtach,
and laid it across our main roads in drifts of every
size and the most lovely shapes, and filled up
crevices in the hills to the depth of fifty feet.

On Friday morning the wind had sunk to pass-
ing gusts that powdered your coat with white, and
the sun was shining on one of those winter land-
scapes no townsman can imagine and no country-
man ever forgets. The Glen, from end to end and
side to side, was clothed in a glistering mantle
white as no fuller on earth could white it, that
flung its skirts over the clumps of trees and
scattered farmhouses, and was only divided where
the Tochty ran with black, swollen stream. The
great moor rose and fell in swelling billows of
snow that arched themselves over the burns,
running deep in the mossy ground, and hid the

208 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

black peat bogs with a thin, treacherous crust.
Beyond the hills northwards and westwards stood
high in white majesty, save where the black crags
of Glen Urtach broke the line, and, above our lower
Grampians, we caught glimpses of the distant
peaks that lifted their heads in holiness unto God.

It seemed to me a fitting day for William
MacLure's funeral, rather than summer time,
with its flowers and golden corn. He had not
been a soft man, nor had he lived an easy life, and
now he was to be laid to rest amid the austere
majesty of winter, yet in the shining of the sun.
Jamie Soutar, with whom I toiled across the Glen,
did not think with me, but was gravely concerned.

" Nae doot it's a graund s'cht ; the like o't is no
gien tae us twice in a generation, an' nae king wes
ever carried tae his tomb in sic a cathedral.

" But it's the fouk a'm conseederin', ae' hoo they
'ill win through ; it's hard eneuch for them 'at's on
the road, an' it's clean impossible for the lave.

" They'ill dae their best, every man o' them, ye
may depend on that, an' hed it been open weather
there wudna hev been six able-bodied men missin'.

" A' wes mad at them, because they never said
onything when he wes leevin', but they felt for a'
that what he hed dune, an', a' think, he kent it
afore he deed.

" He hed juist ae faut, tae ma thinkin', fer a'
never jidged the waur o' him for his titch of roch-
ness — guid trees hae gnarled bark — but he thocht
ower little o' himsel'.

"Noo, gin a' hed asked him hoo mony fouk wud
come tae his beerial, he wud hae said, ' They'ill
be Drumsheugh an' yersel', an' maybe twa or three
neeburs besides the minister,' an' the fact is that

THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN. 20Q

nae man in oor time wud hae sic a githerin' if it
werena for the storm.

" Ye see," said Jamie, who had been counting
heads all morning, " there's six shepherds in Glen
Urtach — they're shut up fast : an' there micht
hae been a gude half dizen frae Dunleith wy,
an' a'm telt there's nae road ; an' there's the heich
Glen, nae man cud cross the muir the day, an' it's
aucht mile roond ; " and Jamie proceeded to re-
view the Glen in every detail of age, driftiness of
road and strength of body, till we arrived at the
doctor's cottage, when he had settled on a reduc-
tion of fifty through stress of weather.

Drumsheugh was acknowledged as chief mourner
by the Glen, and received us at the gate with a
laboured attempt at everyday manners.

" Ye've hed heavy traivellin', a' doot, an' ye'ill be
cauld. It's hard weather for the sheep, an' a'm
thinkin' this 'ill be a feeding storm.

" There wes nae use trying tae dig oot the front
door yestreen, for it would hae been drifted up
again before morning. We've cleared awa the
snow at the back for the prayer ; ye'ill get in at the
kitchen door.

" There's a puckle Dunleith men "

" Wha ! " cried Jamie in an instant.

" Dunleith men," said Drumsheugh.

" Div ye mean they're here, whar are they ? "

" Drying themsel's at the fire, an' no withoot
need ; ane o' them gied ower the head in a drift,
and his neeburs hed tae pu' him oot.

" It took them a gude fower oors tae gfet across,
an' it wes coorse wark ; they likit him weel doon
that wy, an', Jamie man," — here Drumsheugh's
voice changed its note, and his public manner dis-

210 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

appeared — " what div ye think o' this? every man
o' them hes on his blacks."

" It's mair than cud be expeckit," said Jamie ;
" but whar dae yon men come frae, Drumsheugh ? "

Two men in plaids were descending the hill be-
hind the doctor's cottage, taking three feet at a
stride, and carrying long staffs in their hands.

" They're Glen Urtach men, Jamie, for ane o'
them wes at Kildrummie fair wi' sheep, but hoo
they've wun doon passes me."

" It canna be, Drumsheugh," said Jamie, greatly
excited. " Glen Urtach's steikit up wi' sna' like a
locked door.

" Ye're no surely frae the Glen, lads ? " as the
men leaped the dyke and crossed to the back door,
the snow falling from their plaids as they walked.

" We're that, an' nae mistak, but a' thocht we
wud be lickit ae place, eh, Charlie? a'm no sae
weel acquant wi' the hill on this side, an' there wer
some kittle [hazardous] drifts."

" It wes grand o' ye tae mak the attempt," said
Drumsheugh, " an' a'm gled ye're safe."

" He cam' through as bad himsel' tae help my
wife," was Charlie's reply.

" They're three mair Urtach shepherds 'ill come
in by sune ; they're frae Upper Urtach, an* we saw
them fordin' the river ; ma certes, it took them a'
their time, for it wes up tae their waists and rinnin'
like a mill lade, but they jined hands and cam*
ower fine." And the Urtach men went in to the fire.

The Glen began to arrive in twos and threes, and
Jamie, from a point of vantage at the gate, and
under an appearance of utter indifference, checked
his roll till even he was satisfied.

" Weelum MacLure '11 hae the beerial he deserves

THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN. 211

in spite o' sna' and drifts ; it passes a' tae see hoo
they've githered frae far an' near.

" A'm thinkin ye can colleck them for the min-
ister noo, Drumsheugh. A'body's here except the
heich Glen, an' we mauna luke for them."

" Dinna be sae sure o' that, Jamie. Yon's
terrible like them on the road, wi' Whinnie at their
head ; " and so it was, twelve in all, only old Adam
Ross absent, detained by force, being eighty-two
years of age.

" It wud hae been temptin' Providence tae cross
the muir," Whinnie explained, " and it's a fell stap
roond ; a' doot we're laist."

" See, Jamie," said Drumsheugh, as he went to the
house, " gin there beony antern body in sicht afore
we begin ; we maun mak allooances the day wi' twa
feet o' sna' on the grund, tae say naethin' o' drifts."

" There's somethin' at the turnin', an' it's no
fouk ; it's a machine o' some kind or ither — maybe
a bread cart that's focht it's wy up."

" Na, it's no that ; there's tvva horses, ane afore
the ither ; if it's no a dogcairt wi' twa men in the
front ; they 'ill be comin' tae the beerial."

" What wud ye sae, Jamie," Hillocks suggested,
" but it micht be some o' thae Muirtown doctors?
they were awfu' chief wi' MacLure."

" It's nae Muirtown doctors," cried Jamie, in
great exultation, " nor ony ither doctors. A' ken
thae horses, and wha's ahint them. Quick, man,
Hillocks, stop the fouk, and tell Drumsheugh tae
come oot, for Lord Kilspindie hes come up frae
Muirtown Castle."

Jamie himself slipped behind, and did not wish
to be seen.

" It's the respeck he's gettin' the day frae high

212 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

an' low," was Jamie's husky apology ; " tae think
o' them fechtin' their wy doon frae Glen Urtach,
and toilin' roond frae the heich Glen, an' his lord-
ship drivin' through the drifts a' the road frae Muir-
town, juist tae honour Weelum MacLure's beerial.

" It's nae ceremony the day, ye may lippen tae
it ; it's the hert brocht the fouk, an' ye can see it
in their faces ; ilka man hes his ain reason, an' he's
thinkin' on't, though he's speakin' o' naethin' but
the storm ; he's mindin' the day Weelum pued him
oot frae the jaws o' death, or the nicht he savit
the gude wife in her oor o' tribble.

" That's why they pit on their blacks this
mornin' afore it wes licht, and warstled through
the sna' drifts at risk o' life. Drumtochty fouk
canna say muckle, it's an awfu' peety, and they
'ill dae their best tae show naethin', but a' can
read it a' in their een.

" " But wae's me " — and Jamie broke down
utterly behind a fir tree, so tender a thing is a
cynic's heart — " that fouk 'ill tak a man's best
wark a' his days withoot a word an* no dae him
honour till he dees. Oh, if they hed only githered
like this juist aince when he wes livin', an' lat him
see he hedna laboured in vain. His reward hes
come ower late, ower late." TT~'

During Jamie's vain regret, the Castle trap,
bearing the marks of a wild passage in the snow-
covered wheels, a broken shaft tied with rope, a
twisted lamp, and the panting horses, pulled up
between two rows of farmers, and Drumsheugh
received his lordship with evident emotion.

" Ma lord ... we never thocht o' this . . .
an* sic a road."

" How are you, Drumsheugh ? and how are you

THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN. 213

all this wintry day? That's how I'm half an hour
late ; it took us four hours' stiff work for sixteen
miles, mostly in the drifts, of course."

" It wes gude o' yir lordship tae mak' sic an
effort, an' the hale Glen wull be gratefu' tae ye,
for ony kindness tae him is kindness tae us."

"You make too much of it, Drumsheugh,"and the
clear, firm voice was heard of all ; " it would have
taken more than a few snowdrifts to keep me from
showing my respect to William MacLure's memory."

When all had gathered in a half circle before the
kitchen door, Lord Kilspindie came out — every
man noticed he had left his overcoat, and was in
black, like the Glen — and took a place in the
middle with Drumsheugh and Burnbrae, his two
chief tenants, on the right and left, and as the
minister appeared every man bared his head.

The doctor looked on the company — a hundred
men such as for strength and gravity you could
hardly have matched in Scotland — standing out in
picturesque relief against the white background,
and he said :

" It's a bitter day, friends, and some of you are
old ; perhaps it might be wise to cover your heads
before I begin to pray."

Lord Kilspindie, standing erect and gray-headed
between the two old men, replied :

" We thank you, Dr. Davidson, for your thought-
fulness ; but he endured many a storm in our serv-
ice, and we are not afraid of a few minutes' cold
at his funeral.''

A look flashed round the stern faces, and was re-
flected from the minister, who seemed to stand
higher.

His prayer, we noticed with critical apprecia-

214 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

tion, was composed for the occasion, and the first
part was a thanksgiving to God for the life-work
of our doctor, wherein each clause was a reference
to his services and sacrifices. No one moved or
said Amen, — it had been strange with us, — but
when every man had heard the gratitude of his dumb
heart offered to Heaven, there was a great sigh.

After which the minister prayed that we might
have grace to live as this man had done from
youth to old age, not for himself, but for others,
and that we might be followed to our grave by
somewhat of " that love wherewith we mourn this
day Thy servant departed." Again the same sigh,
and the minister said Amen.

The " wricht" stood in the doorway without speak-
ing,and four stalwart men came forward. They were
the volunteers that would lift the coffin and carry it-
for the first stage. One was Tammas, Annie Mitch-
ell's man ; and another was Saunders Baxter, for
whose life MacLure had his great fight with Death ;
and the third was the Glen Urtach shepherd for
whose wife's sake MacLure suffered a broken leg
and three fractured ribs in a drift ; and the fourth, a
Dunleith man, had his own reasons of remembrance.

" He's far lichter than ye wud expeck for sae
big a man — there wesna muckle left o' him, ye
see— but the road is heavy, and a'll change ye
aifter the first half mile."

" Ye needna tribble yerself, wricht," said the
man from Glen Urtach ; " the'ill be nae change in
the cairryin' the day," and Tammas was thankful
someone had saved him speaking.

Surely no funeral is like unto that of a doctor
for pathos, and a peculiar sadness fell on that
company as his body was carried out who for

THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN. 21$

nearly half a century had been their help in sickness,
and had beaten back Death time after time from
their door. Death after all was victor, for the man
that saved them had not been able to save himself.

As the coffin passed the stable door a horse
neighed within, and every man looked at his neigh-
bour. It was his old mare crying to her master.

Jamie slipped into the stable, and went up into
the stall.

" Puir lass, ye're no gaein' wi' him the day, an
ye'ill never see him again ; ye've hed yir last ride
thegither, an' ye were true tae the end."

After the funeral Drumsheugh came himself for
Jess, and took her to his farm. Saunders made a
bed for her with soft, dry straw, and prepared for
her supper such things as horses love. Jess would
"neither take food nor rest, but moved uneasily in
her stall, and seemed to be waiting for someone
that never came. No man knows what a horse or
a dog understands and feels, for God hath not
given them our speech. If any footstep was heard
in the courtyard, she began to neigh, and was
always looking around as the door opened. But
nothing would tempt her to eat, and in the night-
time Drumsheugh heard her crying as if she ex-
pected to be taken out for some sudden journey.
The Kildrummie veterinary came to see her, and
said that nothing could be done when it happened
after this fashion with an old horse.

" A've seen it aince afore," he said. " Gin she
were a Christian instead o' a horse, ye micht say
she was dying o' a broken hert. "

He recommended that she should be shot to end
her misery, but no man could be found in the Glen
to do the deed, and Jess relieved them of the

216 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

trouble. When Drumsheugh went to the stable
on Monday morning, a week after Dr. MacLure
fell on sleep, Jess was resting at last, but her eyes
were open and her face turned to the door.

" She wes a' the wife he hed," said Jamie, as
he rejoined the procession, " an' they luved ane
anither weel."

The black thread wound itself along the white-
ness of the Glen, the coffin first, with his lordship
and Drumsheugh behind, and the others as they
pleased, but in closer ranks than usual, because
the snow on either side was deep, and because
this was not as other funerals. They could see
the women standing at the door of every house on
the hillside, and weeping, for each family had some
good reason in forty years to remember MacLure.
When Bell Baxter saw Saunders alive; and the
coffin of the doctor that saved him on her man's
shoulder, she bowed her head on the dyke, and the
bairns in the village made such a wail for him they
loved that the men nearly disgraced themselves.

" A'm gled we're through that, at ony rate,"
said Hillocks ; " he wes awfu' taen up wi' the
bairns, conseederin' he hed nane o' his ain."

There was only one drift on the road between
his cottage and kirkyard, and it had been cut early
that morning.

Before daybreak Saunders had roused the lads
in the bothy, and they had set to work by the light
of lanterns with such good will that, when
Drumsheugh came down to engineer a circuit for
the funeral, there was a fair passage, with walls of
snow twelve feet high on either side.

" Man, Saunders," he said, " this wes a kind
thocht, and rael weel dune."

THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN. 217

Bnt Saunders' only reply was this :

" Mony a time he's hed tae gang roond; he micht
as weel hae an open road for his last traivel."

When the coffin was laid down at the mouth of
the grave, the only blackness in the white kirkyard.
Tammas Mitchell did the most beautiful thing in
all his life. He knelt down and carefully wiped
off the snow the wind had blown upon the coffin,
and which had covered the name, and when he
had done this he disappeared behind the others,
so that Drumsheugh could hardly find him to take
a cord. For these were the eight that buried Dr.
MacLure — Lord Kilspindie at the head as landlord
and Drumsheugh at the feet as his friend ; the two
ministers of the parish came first on the right and
laft ; then Burnbrae and Hillocks of the farmers,
and Saunders and Tammas for the ploughmen. So
the Glen he loved laid him to rest.

When the bedrel had finished his work and
the turf had been spread, Lord Kilspindie spoke :

" Friends of Drumtochty, it would not be right
that we should part in silence and no man say
what is in every heart. We have buried the re-
mains of one that served this Glen with a devotion
that has known no reserve, and a kindliness that
never failed, for more than forty years. I have
seen many brave men in my day, but no man in
the trenches of Sebastopol carried himself more
knightly than William MacLure. You will never
have heard from his lips what I may tell you to-
day, that my father secured for him a valuable post
in his younger days, and he preferred to work
among his own people ; and I wished to do many
things for him when he was old, but he would
have nothing for himself. He will never be forgot-

•218 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

ten while one of us lives, and I pray that all doctors
•everywhere may share his spirit. If it be your pleas-
ure, I shall erect a cross above his grave and shall
ask my old friend and companion Dr. Davidson,
your minister, to choose the text to be inscribed,"

"We thank you, Lord Kilspindie," said the doc-
tor, " for your presence with us in our sorrow and
your tribute to the memory of William MacLure,
and I choose this for his text :

" * Greater love hath no man than this, that a \
man lay down his life for his friends.' "

Milton was, at that time, held in the bonds of
a very bitter theology, and his indignation was
stirred by this unqualified eulogium.

" No doubt Dr. MacLure hed mony natural vir-
tues, an' he did his wark weel, but it was a peety
he didna mak mair profession o' releegion."

" When William MacLure appears before the
Judge, Milton," said Lachlan Campbell, who that
day spoke his last words in public, and they were in
defence of charity, " He will not be asking him about
his professions, for the doctor's judgment hass been
ready long ago ; and it iss a good judgment, and
you and I will be happy men if we get the like of it.

" It iss written in the Gospel, but it iss William
MacLure that will not be expecting it."

"What is't, Lachlan?" asked Jamie Souter eagerly.

The old man, now very feeble, stood in the mid-
dle of the road, and his face, once so hard, was
softened into a winsome tenderness,

" ' Come, ye blessed of My father ... I was
sick, and ye visited Me.' "

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