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32X

A'r

JOCK HALLIDAY

a Ckrassmarhrt 1l?fro

Sketches of Life axd Character
IN AN Old City Parish

By ROIUXA F. HARDY

AUTHOK UK ' NANNKll li S NKW S.iOKS,' 'WHINBLOOM,' El C. KTC.

•That is host which lii-th nearest ; —
Shape from tluit thy work of art.'

— Longfellow

SEVENTH EDITION,

TORONTO:
WILLIAM BRIGGS,

78 & 80 Kino Strrst East.
MONTREAL: C. W. COAXES. HALIFAX: S. F. HUESTIS.

1884.

Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada,
in the year oiw thousand eight hundred and eighty-fonr, by
William Briggs, in the Office of the Minister ot Agriculture,
at Ottawa.

TO TUB MEMORY OF

A GOOD MINISTER

mtO LABOURED LONG AND EARNESTLY IN TUB

*OLD CITY PARIS H^*

THESE SKETCHES OF THE PEOPLE AND PLACE HE LOVED

SO IVELL, ARE NOW AFFECTIONATELY

DBDICA TSO,

CONTENTS.

CMAP.

I. LIFE IN NUMBER NINETY-SEVEN— JOCK I
II. A VISIT TO THE RAMPAR IS,
HI. MRS. H ALL! day's LETTER,

IV. efkie's 'penny pig,'

V. 'the GLENDINNINtiS,'
VI. NUMBER NINKTY-SKVKN ATTACKED,
VII. THE 'LEDDY-VEICSITOR's' PKOGRISS,
VIII. MR. TOWIE's 'band OP HOPE,'.

IX. SANDY'S HAME-COMIN',

X. * LIGHTS AND SHADOWS IN THE STAI

R.'

XI. BETTY S SUPPER-PARTY,

XII. A NEW EXCITEMENT,
Xin. MRS. TUCKER AND HER VISITORS,
XIV. 'GOING DOWN HILL,'

XV. 'STOP THIEF 1' .

XVI. *IN THE POLICE OFFICE,'

XVII. LUCKY law's LEDGER,

XVIII. THE BAZAAR, ....
XIX. A GOLDEN SHILLING, . .

XX. A CONSULTATION,
XXI. MORNING CALLERS, .
XXH. CRISIS AND CONCLUSION, .

NTROnUCED

PACK

9
i8

39
53
6i

73
8o

108

118

124

132

13S

144

151

158

16S

173

182

188

JOCK HALLIDAY.

* Had any tried his face to scan,
" A cummon man I " you would have said.
Thank Gud I he was — a common man ! '

—ISA Craig's Pofms,

CHAPTER I.

LIFE IN NUMBER NINETY-SEVEN —
JOCK INTRODUCED.

[AE wa* wi' ye this mecnit, or I'll send for
the pollis 1 '
This awful threat came from Lucky
Law, greengrocer and general merchant in the
Grassmarket, and was hurled at the head of a rough-
looking boy named Jock Halliday, whose iattentions
were rather familiar to be pleasant Jock was a
baker's boy, and having to pass Lucky's corner
frequently in the discharge of his duties, made a
point of peering in at her low doorway, and often
indulged in a free criticism of her stock-in-trade, her
actions, or whatever took his fancy at the moment

JOCK HALLWAY,

*Luck — y Law! Luck— y Law!' he had sung
out on this occasion, imitating the crowing of a
cock, that being a favourite serenade of Jock's ; and
no sooner had he sounded the first note than
Lucky's huge frilled nightcap appeared at the door,
and the rack of withered vegetables beside her shook
violently as if in anticipation of the coming storm.
It was a red and angry face that filled the nightcap,
md Lucky's figure was tall, bony, and masculine ; so
it was no wonder that Jock Halliday showed signs
of a quick retreat.

*A body canna get a mouthfu* o' meat ta'cn in
peace for yer impidence ! ' cried the virago. ' See if
I dinna tell yer maister o' yer tricks, ye idle loon ! '

* He kens them fine, Lucky ! ye needna fash
yersel'!' rejoined the youth with charming can-
dour.

It was, indeed, highly probable that Mr. Braid, the
baker, knew from sad experience the character of
his youthful assistant.

A customer appearing at this moment, Lucky
descended her two or three steps again, and ushered
her into the well-filled premises below. It was a
low-roofed shop, divided into two by a slight
partition — the one part entirely occupied by a huge
brown counter, two or three racks or ranges filled
with carrots, turnips, and any other vegetables in
season. Some shelves also displayed a store of

LIFE IN NUMBER NINETY-SEVEN, ii

bath-brick, pipe-clay, and such articles dear to the
hearts of cleanly housewives ; while a barrel of
yellow sand, and one of oatmeal, loomed darkly out
from the far end of the shop. It was said — but the
neighbours were doubtless rather ill-tongued — that
Miss Law used only one scoop for these two barrels,
diverse though their contents were ; but even if it
were so, she was a person of clear judgment and
much discrimination, and probably never made any
mistake in serving them out! The other half of
the shop was devoted to the private life and affairs
of the owner, with the exception of a large mangle,
by which a good deal of her modest income was
earned. At the window of this department, which
also looked out to the street, Jock Halliday now
flattened his nose, and as soon as the customer was
served renewed his attack upon Lucky.

* Eh ! she's bilin' up the auld kail runts ! ' was his
next sally, having observed a pot boiling on the
little fire. * They've a fine smell, Lucky I Ye'U no
be gaun to keep them for Scobie's swine this
week ? '

*Ye ne'er-do-weel varlet! I'll gie ye something
to taste yer ain kail wi', that will I ! ' cried the old
dame, diving under the counter, and bringing for-
ward a tin pitcher, apparently filled with greasy
water and vegetable refuse, which was probably
destined for ' Scobie's swine.' This she affected to

ii'

1 1

JOCK HALLIDA V.

aim at the head of her tormentor, who now took to
his heels in earnest, leaving Lucky Law mistress of
the situation.

Jock went off at a good rate, dashing round a
corner of the street, and then ran up the first stair
after that, whistling as he went, and occasionally
jumping up two or three steps at a time. It was a
dark and dirty stair of five long flights. Jock's
home was at the very top, but he had still time for
some diversion before seeking it On the first land-
ing, and in a deep window recess, some six or seven
small children were playing. Jock pulled the hair
of one, made a wry face at another, and rubbed his
floury * bannet * over the face of a third. Of course
they all howled and shouted in consequence,
though they seemed rather to enjoy it than other-
wise. Certainly they were well used to these
performances. However, Jock had no sooner left
them than a * touzy '-looking matron, of portly form
and flowing drapery, emerged from her own dwell-
ing on to the landing, and addressed — it might be
the children, or it might be the general public, for
her tones were loud enough to reach the street :

* Noo, this'U no dae ! I canna bide a' this steer
an* confusion, an* what's mair, I'll no pit up wi*
it!'

* It's no huz,' whined the children. * It was Jock
Hallidayr

LIFE IN NUMBER NINETY-SEVEN 13

*A body micht weel ken it's Jock Halliday
whenever there's a din i' the stair — a regiment
o' dragoons is naething till him ! *

The matron 'skirled' out this more loudly still,
turning her head towards the angle of the stair,
where, as she fully expected, Jock was listening.
She had her reward.

*Tam Lowrie's wife's an unco wife!* struck up
the musical youth.

This was a popular refrain in the stair, chanted to
a wild irregular tune, and was one well known to
Mrs. Lowrie, who naturally resented it with some
asperity. Its origin, like that of many populaf
ballads and ditties, was unknown or obscure. The
heroine made a feint of pursuing Jock up the stair,
but was interrupted.

* lu that you, Mrs. Lowrie ? * cried a woman from
below, who had just entered the * stair-fit* She had
a shawl thrown over her head, and had evidently
just crossed the street on some little errand. * Are
my Geordie's buits ready yet frae the mendin'?
I've just comed ower for them, for the laddie canna
want them nae langer.'

*Bide a wee, Mrs. Fairlie, an' I'll speir at the
gudeman,' returned Mrs. Lowrie, disappearing into
her own demesne.

After a brief colloquy with the redoubtable
* Tam,' she again emerged, but with looks prepared

JOCK HALLWAY.

for either diplomacy or defiance. The boots were
evidently not ready !

*'Deed they're no jist dune, Mrs. Fairlie. Were
ye in ony parteeklar hurry, like ? '

* Hurry i* re-echoed the voice from the entry ; *I
dinna ken what ye ca' hurry. Geordie's waited
this three weeks an* mair. This is a fine time to
talk o' hurry, I assure ye 1 '

'Weel, weel, woman, ye needna be angry. The
gudeman's just been sair put aboot wi* stress o*
business this while back.*

*Ay, indeed!' said Mrs. Fairlie dryly. *I thocht
I had seen him ilka nicht gangin* ower to the
Haurrow Inn. I maun hae been mista'en.*

* He micht be there and he micht no,' said Tarn
Lowrie's wife, lounging over the railings with her
arms akimbo, and prepared for defiance now that
diplomacy had failed; 'but I can tell ye, my man
has mair important affairs to mind than your
laddie's buits at a time like this, when the nation's
gaun clean wrang a* thegither.'

* Wheesht, woman ! * growled a voice from within,
*an* dinna ye try to meddle wi* politeeks.'

It was perhaps as well that Tarn stopped the
tide of his wife's eloquence, for her views were by
no means clear on * politeeks.'

* Maister Lowrie '11 be gaun up to Paurliment
himsel* sune, likely* cried Mrs. Fairlie in her most

The

Lion's

LIFE IN NUMBER NINETY-SEVEN. 15

sarcastic tones. *He'd better gie back Geordie's
buits as they are, an' Rob Ryan the cobbler up by '11
be gled to dae them. They tell me he's gettin' into a
fine business — he's rael steady, an* aye at his wark.'

* He'll ne'er baud the caundle to Tam for soliu*
an' heelin'/ shrieked Mrs. Lowrie in reply ; * but
he's maist welcome to you an' a' your custom from
this day forth ! I'm sure there's aye mair steer
aboot your folk's shoon than a* the rest o' the
customers pitten thegither ! '

The colloquy was here ended, however, by the
appearance of a rough head of hair and very
bloated countenance, just seen over the landing,
and a deep, grufif voice saying :

* I'll have them feenished the morn's nicht, Mrs.
Fairlie, if that'll dae. They'll mak a gude strong
pair yet for mony a day.'

Mrs. Fairlie was evidently mollified.

* Vera weel, Maister Lowrie ! I'll send up Geordie
the morn's nicht, an' if they're ready we'll hae nae
mair words aboot it'

Mrs. Lowrie had beat a rapid retreat, perhaps a
little ashamed of her own rashness, and Mrs. Fairlie
herself was not slow to quit the field.

We must now follow Jock Halliday, who has by
this time gained the very top of the stairs, and is
seated at his mother's fireside.

lit

JOCK HALLIDA K

* What's keepit ye, Jock ? ' demanded his mother,
a broad, comely-faced woman, but exceedingly
*hashy* in her appearance and dress. She stood
leaning on a long besom with which she had been
raking out some corners of her garret, for it was one
of Mrs. Halliday's characteristics to be always in
process of 'redding up,' although her house re-
mained usually to the last degree confused and
comfortless. * What's keepit ye ? I had to gie the
weans their denner, but there's your bite waitin' for

ye.'

Jock's ' bite * was in a little basin by the fire, and
seemed to be an indiscriminate jumble of brose,
bacon, and fried liver, it was tolerably hot in spite
of Jock's late arrival, and he could hardly be said
to have deserved so much grace, considering the
idle way in which his leisure moments had been
spent.

He sat down at once on the fender and attacked
the mess ravenously, eating in perfect silence, while
his mother went on with her sweeping, stopping
now and then to ask a question of her son, at other
times singing in a high shrill voice some favourite
national melody.

' Noo, Jock,' she began whenever she saw him on
his feet to depart, * there's ae thing I hae to say
to ye.*

Mrs. Halliday again leaned on her besom-shank,

la
til

LIFE IN NUMBER NINETY-SEVEN. 17

lother,
dingly
stood
J been
as one
ays in
ise re-
;d and
gie the
;in' for

re, and
brose,
n spite
)e said
ig the
1 been

tacked
, while
jpping
other
/ourite

lim on
o say

and Jock 'glowered* with no pleasing forebodings
written on his face.

* Tliae new folk that's come to the stair — ben the
hoose, ye ken. Bruce they ca* them.*

* Ay, weel.'

'They're real ceevil, canny-like folk, ye ken.

'What for no?' Jock growled suspiciously, but it
was a good-humoured sort of growl.

'Ye'U keep a ceevil tongue in yer heid gin ye
meet in wi* them, like a gude lad ? *

* Ou ay,* quoth Jock indifferently.

'An* ye'U no fricht their wee lassie like ye fricht
the other bairns i' the stair ? '

' The blind lassie^ mother } I daursay ye think
I'm a vaigabond I '

' Aweel, Jock, my man, ye' re whiles ^t.y like ane,
laughed the mother as Jock went whistling down
tlie stairs.

shank,

CHAPTER II.

A VISIT TO THE RAMPARTS.

'mons mbc'

One bright April morning, soon after the events

recorded in the last chapter, a young woman,

with a baby in her arms and a little girl holding

by her dress, might have been seen wending her

way slowly down the stair which was so often

enlivened by Jock Halliday's pranks and by Mrs.

Lowrie's eloquence. She looked timidly around her,

as if everything were somewhat new and strange,

A VISIT TO THE RAMPARTS.

events
voman,
lolding
ng her

often
y Mrs.
nd her,

range,

and only gave a civil 'good day' to any passing
neighbour. But the stairs were very quiet just then,
and the trio went almost unnoticed. From the
Candlemaker Row, at the foot of which their
dwelling lay, Mrs. Bruce, for it was she, pushed her
way up the winding street known as the West Bow,
and presently emerged on to the ancier;t High
Street, that steep, ridgy ascent leading up to the
Castle-yard.

The sun was shining merrily on the grey walls
and the many towers of the Scottish metropolis.
Merrily, too, the jingling chimes of St. Giles — its
grand old Cathedral Church — rang out the hour of
noon, accompanying it with a feeble fantasia, said
by the initiated to be 'The Blue Bells of Scotland,'
alternating with * Home ! Sweet Home 1 '

But the High Street had other and more stirring
strains to enliven it just then, for a band of the 42nd
Highlanders — * The Black Watch ' — was marching up
in all the glory of fife and drum and fluttering tart?*^*?.
and followed, of course, by an admiring throng *'
* rag-tag and bobtail,' while many a window on
either side was blocked up by a * toozy * head or two,
or a white * mutch.' Added to all these, there was
the usual hum of busy life — the noise of traffic and
commerce — the cries of coal-carters, fishwives, and
hucksters — all

itifying

great

Auld Reekie ' was alive and flourishing.

JOCK HALLIDA K

Mrs. Bruce seemed well-nigh bewildered by these
unusual sounds, though she still held bravely on her
way towards the Castle. But the little girl by her
side stood still, enraptured, as the Highlanders
came near, clapping her hands and crying :

* Oh ! mither, mither I that's bonnie music, bonnie
music I '

* Ay, Effie, it'.<5 rael bonnie ; but wait or we win
by this crood, an' syne we'll stop.'

* Come in here, neighbour/ said a strange voice
by her side ; * it's a covered place, an' safer for the
bairns.'

It was an old woman who spoke, tall and
ungainly of aspect, clad in a shabby dress and faded
tartan shawl, yet with something honest and
independent-looking about her. She was sheltering
herself under the wide arch of Mylne's Court — a
fashionable resort in days gone by, but now only a
swarm of dirty and miserable dwellings.

* Come in here/ she repeated ; and Mrs. Bnice
gladly obeyed the advice, after a hasty glance had
assured her that it was one of her neighbours who
spoke, and one of whom she had heard a fair
enough report.

* Ye're a neighbour o* mine/ said Jean Campbell,
'though maybe ye know it not, for I have been
away on my travels since ye came to the
stair/

,;•!)

A VISIT TO THE RAMPARTS.

■i

Jean spoke with a strong north-country accent
of a somewhat pecuh'ar nature, but expressed
herself well for one of her order, seldom using
the broad Scotch, or rather the ' low Edinburgh,'
prevalent around her.

'Your name's Bruce, isn't it?' inquired she in
her abrupt manner.

* Ay ; I'm thinkin* ye're the tenant next door to
us. But I would hardly hae kenned ye again, for
ilka thing's sae new an' strange to me in this toun ;
I'm just fair bewildered.'

'Your man works on the railway?' again
interrogated her new friend.

*Ay, he's a platelayer on the line. He was
that in the country place he cam' frae, an* they
sent him on here. Willie thinks it's a gran' rise ; but
'deed I'm whiles no verra sure.*

'Well, well, neighbour ; nobody can say what will
be best for them, or what will be worst for them,
till they have tried. If a woman can't make herself
happy in one place, it's my belief she'll never do it
in any other ; and Jean Campbell has seen more of
this world's ups and downs than any of you three
have done ! *

Jean had worked herself into a sort of mild
frenzy during these philosophic reflections, and now
clenched her withered hands together, muttering to
herself :

JOCK HALLWAY,

*Ay, ayl Jean could tell ye strange stories if she
liked, but ye're maybe best without them. They
are well off that have no story of their own to tell.
But where are ye bound for ? *

The last question was so sudden that Mrs. Bruce
started.

'Bound rbr?' she repeated. *To the Castle-yaird.
My man bade me tak the bairns up there for a
breath o' fresh air.*

Effie burst into tears at this moment.

'Mither, mitherl* she wailed, 'the bonnie music's
a* gane by.*

' Whcesht, wheesht, my wee wifie ; ye'll hear them
again at the Castle, maybe. But 'deed/ she added
to Jean, * I'm no verra keen to gang my lane. I
dinna ken my way yet aboot the streets.'

* The Castell "i * said the old woman meditatively.
' I am a kind of ** gangin'-about body," as they say
in the north country, and my business does as well
in one place as another. 'Deed 1 I may well say
that, for it never does very much anywhere. So, if
ye care for the convoy of an old witch like Jean,
I'll take ye safe to the Castell and help ye with the
weans.*

'I'll be real gled,' said the younger v/oman, *an*
tak it verra kind o' ye to think on't. Will ye tak
wee Kffie's hand ? Ye'll maybe no hae noticed
that she's blind ? *

A VISIT TO THE RAMPARTS.

* Blind!* exclaimed Jean. It was her turn to
start this time, for she had noticed with interest the
eyes of this Httle gin — so lustrous and beautiful were
they, of the softest violet colour ; and yet it never had
occurred to her that they were but sightless eyes.

*Ay, woman, blind! Puir wee Effie hardly ever
saw mair nor jist the licht o* day. But she's real
clever for a' that, an' real canty tae.'

Jean said no more, but took the little hand of
the blind child softly in her own horny palm, and
started off towards the Castle-yard. The street
was quieter now, and they made their way easily
up the picturesque but dirty approach to the
ancient fortress. In the yard some recruits were
being drilled, and they watched them for a little,
Kffic eagerly picking up the various words of
command, and imitating with her tiny feet the
* tramp, tramp' of the men as they passed and
repassed. Then they went on, Jean pointing out
the old portcullis gateway, the drawbridge, the
moat, and all other places of interest. Upward
still, past the officers' quarters, and up the steps
till they reached at last the ramparts and stood
beside ' Mons Meg,' that ancient relic of the war-
fare of other days, feeling the breezes blowing fresh
and strong around them, as if they had suddenly
arrived in some new climate altogether.
Here they all sat down to rest.

•4

JOCK HALLIDA K

Behind them was the quaint little chapel built
by St. Margaret, the godly queen of Malcolm
Canmore, the smallest and the most ancient
ecclesiastical building in Scotland ; and in front of
them stretched one of the most magnificent
panoramas that the world can show.

At their feet lay the city, clearly defined as in a
map, and proudly raising its countless spires and
turrets from the shrouding silvery mist. On the
right rose abruptly the Calton Hill, crowded with
classic monuments ; on the left, the pleasant slopes
of Corstorphine Hill declined gradually into a long
vista of cultured fields and wooded plains ; while
beyond all swept the blue waters of the winding
Forth, swelling out into its wide and stately Firth,
where white sails came and went, and rocky islands
glittered in the sunlight.

The shores of Fife were clearly descried, and it
was on these that the eyes of the young stranger
rested most eagerly.

' Bonnie Lairgo Bay ! ' she said softly to herself,
* what wad I no gie whiles to be there ? I doubt we
were fules to leave it.'

'Mither, can ye see it frae here.^' asked the
blind child earnestly.

* No, Effie, no ; but I see whaur it lies. I see
Kinghorn Point stretchin' oot into the water, an'
it's just beyond that, ye ken.*

A VISIT TO THE RAMPARTS.

the

see
an

'Faither '11 tak us there some day, mither; will
he no?'

'Ay, dearie; but we maun hae some siller
gathered first, sae ye maun hae patience. An' this
is a braw toon an' a bonnie, ye ken, sae you an' wee
Willie maun learn to like it'

Jean Campbell had been lost in a brown study
till now, sitting on the ramparts with her eyes
fixed, not on the view around her, but on the little
group by her side. She now broke silence in her
abrupt and singular fashion.

' She's not your own bairn, though — that one,' she
said, nodding in the direction of little Effie, who had
BtroUed away a few steps and seated herself at the
base of the old cannon.

Agnes Bruce coloured deeply.

' Hoo ken ye that?' she said in surprise. * I thocht
I treated her the same as my ain.'

* You're good to her, very good ; but it's never the
same,' returned Jean in a decisive tone. ' A bairn
can have but one mother. I had a stepmother
myself, and a good one ; but it was never the same
—it never can be. What's her story ? '

* Her story ? Nane, but jist that my Willie was
married afore, and Effie's mother died when she was
born — that's a'. They say she was a bonnie lassie,
an' as guid as she was fair ; but I never saw her, for
a' we belanged to the same pairish. She lies buried

JOCK JIALLIDA Y,

ower yonder/ she added, bending her head in the
direction of Largo.

*Ay, ay!' was the only comment Jean chose to
make as she still sat coolly surveying the features
of her new friend. There was a look of truth and
goodness in this young countrywoman's homely face
that could not be mistaken. She was, in fact, only
too simple and trustful for the sort of people among
whom she had come to dwell, and Jean — not extra
particular for herself — saw and regretted this.

'I'm real vexed ye could tell she wasna my ain,'
said the young mother, tears rising to her eyes as
she spoke. * Unless it might be frae her luiks, for
Efiie's like her ain mother, an* she was bonnic by
me ! But maybe I'm no sae kind to the bit lassie
as I thocht I was ! *

* Woman, I said ye were good to her, very good,'
said Jean sternly. 'But look into your own infant's
face and tell me if they are the same to ye ! '

The baby was smiling and crowing, doing his
very best to captivate a doting mother's fancy.
Agnes Bruce looked long and steadily, first on the
one child, then on the other.

* I daurna say,' she said at last in a low voice ; ' I
micht be tempted to say mair nor the truth, an'
there's Ane abunc that reads a' oor hearts.'

'That's right,' cried Jean trium[)hantly.

*Ay; but there's ac thing I will say,' continued

in the

hose to
features
uth and
ely face
ct, only
among
)t extra

ny am,
eyes as
liks, for
nnivj by
t lassie

ood,'
infant's

ng his
fancy,
on the

ice ; ' I

Ih, an'

itinucd

SBAD OF WEST DOW.

■

ilt^n

f ■ '■ ,

i .' ■

1 '
1,

'i ■
1

•

A VISIT TO THE RAMPARTS.

the other solemnly, * and it is this : God deal with
me and mine as I sail deal with the puir bairn
committed to my charge ! — my husband's bairn, an'
hers who lies low in the dust this day at the fute o*
Lairgo Law ! '

Jean only nodded her assent or approval, or
whatever else she might mean.

* Is your man steady ? ' she asked, suddenly chang-
ing the subject of conversation.

* Steady ? Ou ay. He's aye been steady yet,
thank God ! What for do ye ask } Are they a'
quate-livin' folk in the stair ? *

The last question was asked with a very quavering
voice, for indeed Mrs. Bruce had good cause for
doubting if any of them would come under that
denomination.

* Humph ! * said her eccentric neighbour, * as to
that ye'U learn for yourself. Jean is no tale-pyet,
be she what she may ! '

*I just speired at ye because my Willie's awfu'
easy led,' said Mrs. Bruce apologetically. ' But he's
been steady as yet — real steady. I hae nae cause
for bein' anxious about him the noo.*

* If he's easy led,' said Jean with emphasis, * mind
my words, for I'll say no more than this, keep him
from 7 am Lowrie and his wife / '

*Ta.m Lowrie! That's on the first floor, I'm
thinkin'?' began Mrs. Bruce. But Jean neither heard

.* i>

3©

rOCK HALLIDAY,

«4

nor heeded her words. She had seized little Effie
by the hand again, and declaring it was time to be
home, began their return march, keeping well in
front of the other, so as to give no further chance of
conversation.

And so they went down into the valley again
— down the steep Castle-hill between the two
Assembly Halls, and under the overhanging wooden
front of the old house (now taken down) at the
head of what was 'The Bow,* once. There Jean
conducted them by steps down to the present Bow,
yclept * The West,' where they saw the celebrated
shop of Mr. Braid, the baker, Jock Halliday's
master; and then past the Cowgatehead, blocked up
with Irish barrow-women and old-clothes shops, and
so onward till they reached at last the grimy stairs
where both their dwellings lay.

:le Effie

le to be

well in

iiance of

:y again
he two
wooden
) at the
:re Jean
jnt Bow,
ilebrated
alliday's
)cked up
ops, and
ny stairs

of an

CHAPTER III.

MRS. HALLIDAY'S LETTER.

*Hey, Betsey! Hae
ye seen oor Jock
gaun by ? *

* Na, mither ; no
this while back.*

This was part of
a colloquy carried
on by Mrs. Halliday
and her eldest
daughter, a half-
clad nymph of
thirteen, who was
skipping on the
plainstones below,
while her mother
leant over the bal-
cony above. The
cowGATEHHAD. balcony consisted

iron bar which helped to maintain the clothcii-

JOCK HALLIDA V.

'II

pole, on which Mrs. Halliday's washings were driecl,
and from which a solitary shirt was suspended. To
an imaginative mind this shirt might have suggested
an idea of the absent master of the house in a
similar state of suspension — at least, that was its
effect on Mrs. Halliday as it swung and fluttered in
the breeze.

* Sirs, me ! I got sic a fleg wi* Sandy's sark e'en
noo ! ' she exclaimed as she withdrew her head from
the window. * I thocht it was himsel' — or his ghaist,
mair likely !'

Why Sandy's * ghaist ' was likely to be of grey
checked woollen aspect, and destitute of head and
legs, it is difficult to understand ; but this was Mrs.
Halliday's view of the subject.

Her house was, as usual, in process of being * redd
up,* and the door stood wide open — that was also as
usual. She held something tightly in her hand,
which might have been a letter ; but it was so rolled
up, crumpled, and blackened, that it was not very
easy to distinguish what it was.

* Hech, sirs,* continued the good woman, address-
ing either an imaginary audience or the entire
neighbourhood beyond the open door. * Hech, sirs,
it's a bonnie-like thing to think that here's a letter
frae my gudeman, an' me lost my specs an' canna
read a word o't. If that idle loon Jock wad only
come hame 1 He comes aften aneuch whan nae-

J/A-.V. ILXrJJDATS LETTER.

I)ody's wantin* him. Betsey's nae scholard — she'd
jist mak a rifrmarole o't ; an' it '11 be ill aneuch to
undcrst.'in' vvilhoot that, nae doot.'

Agnes Bruce happened to come past the door at
that very moment with the baby in her arms, and
little Effie trotting after her. Hearing Mrs. Ilalli-
day's wailing remarks, she stepped in to ask if she
could be of any use. Mrs. Halliday seemed some-
what embarrassed, and turned the letter round and
round again as if wondering what to do.

'Thank ye kindly, neibor. I mak nae doot ye
could read it for mc ; but to tell the truth, my man's
geyan throughithcr, an' 'deed there's jist nae sayin'
what micht be in't.'

Agnes apologized for seeming too officious, and
withdrew.

»' If I see your laddie on the road, I'll send him
up,' she said pleasantly.

' Ay, dae that, like a woman,* said Mrs. Halliday,
following her to the stair-head, where, lounging over
the railing, she carried on her discourse.

*Ye see, oor Jock's a gran' scholar, though ye
wadna think it tae luik at him, maybe. He got his
Icar' at the Vennel schule up by, an', believe me,
there's no a better maister than Maister Mill in a'
the toon. He lethers them at times ; but, my word
he lethers Icarnin' into them ; and what's their skins
made for, I wad like to ken, if it's no for letherin' t '

JOCK HALLIDA Y.

v.
ill

Mrs. Bruce did not attempt to discuss this
profound view of physical science, and Mrs. Ilalliday
resumed.

*Ma bairns are ^Q.y dour and wild, ye ken, an' I've
to gie them their licks myscl' whiles ; but Jock aye
says it hauds them fine an* warm an' saves the
fuelin'. For he's an awfu' laddie for his joke, ye ken
— oor Jock ! Hoot ay, and what for no ? It keeps
the house cheery ! *

* Mither ! ' skirled a voice from the entry below,
'there's oor Jock gaun up by wi' his board to Bristo
Port ! '

' Weel, rin aifter 'im, lassie, an' tell him there's a
letter frae yer faither, an' he maun come hnme to
mak it oot as sune as Maister Braid can .^; arc him.'

It was not very long before the redoubtable
scholar appeared on the scene, coming up the long
stair three steps at a time, and wakening the echoes
with melodious howls, as was his wont.

' Noo, Jock, my man, dinna be a fule ! ' said his
mother. ' I'll steek the door, an' ye'll sit doon an*
read it through wise-like. She was awfu' kind
offerin' to dae't, ye ken,' she added in a whisper,
nodding in the direction of the Bruces' door ; ' but
I'm jalousin* yer faither maun hae been on the
rammle again that he hesna written this while back,
an* it wadna hae dune to expose him to strangers.*

* Aweel, mither,' said Jock, ' we'll sune see.'

MRS. JIALLIDATS LETTER,

kind

The door having been 'stcekit' — a circumstance
sufficient in itself to proclaim to the 'stair folk ' that
something important was going on — Mrs. Ilalliday
set herself down on the end of the fender, threw a
duster over her head, crossed her arms, and prepared
in this solemn manner to receive the greetings or
commands of her absent lord and master.

' Sit richt foment me, Jock, an' dinna rin a' the
words thegithcr as ye whiles dae.*

Thus admonished, Jock took the chair opposite
to her, and broke the seal ; for Mr. Halliday in-
dulged in red sealing-wax, very stragglingly applied,
and stamped with a * thoomb,' not the crest of the
family, but the genuine living article.

' Ma dear wife an' bairns,' began Jock, reading
slowly from the document, which he held slanting
towards the light.

* Puir Sandy ! ' ejaculated the mother, * he's aye
rael affectionate — maist o' a' when he's no at hame 1 '

This was said with perfect simplicity, be it
observed — not the least vestige of sarcasm !

' This comes a-hopin' as you are well,' continued
the letter, * as it leves me verra bad ; no atower the
bed for a week.'

* Preserve us a', Jock ! what'U be wrang ? '

' It was the Newcastle races that guv me cowld.'
' Eh, Jock, it'll be the broon kadics ! Yer faithcr
aye taks them aifter ony o' his sprees — the Fast-day

JOCK HALLWAY.

or the HK'C o' tliat. They're a sair trouble th.ie
broon kadics. Piiir fallow, I'm just racl wac ai)out
him, tlac )'C ken ? *

Bronchitis, it must be explained, was the disease
indicated by Mrs. Ilalliday, who was apparently
under the impression that it was something of the
plural number and a sad colour.

A half-audible 'grumph* was the only expression
of sympathy Jock accorded to his mother's various
comments. lie went stolidly on with the letter as
follows : —

*Thae English doctors is jist a pack o' haverals —
they hev nac skeel like oor men. The bit chappie
that they sent for tae me aye says to drink watter,
a thing that never agreed with me.'

Mrs. Ilalliday sighed deeply. Jock growled under
his breath : * A wus he wad gie the watter a better
chance ! '

' Wife, I wus ye wad send my thick worset
grauvet and anither sark — ony thing else ye -'^•nd o*.
Me and some o' the ither men hev got word o' a
gran' job aboot London ; an' sae if I get up my held
again, I'm no hame just yet.*

'Preserve me! he's aye gaun farrer an* farier

awa * I 1 doot he'll no sattle verra weel aifter't. But

'deed ! gin he doesna tak heid to his ways, thae

broon kadies '11 soon sattle him ! '

' Dear wife an' bairns, I canna send ony siller

MRS. jLirunArs letter.

for a week or twa owin* to this sickness.' (MIc
niiclit liac put in tlic races intae the bargain ! '
quotii Jock indi^niantly.) * Sae ye maun chie the
best ye can an' Hppen to Providence, forbye makin*
Jock stick to his wark an* bring hame his wages
regular.'

Mluh! I daursay that!* growled the youth
referred to.

' Keep a guid heart, an* I'll try to send some siller
afore' lang. Dinna fash to pay the parcel to the
railway folk. — Your true friend and well-wisher,

'Sandy IIalliday.'

' Noo, mither, I maun be aff, or the maister '11 be
flytin'. Gin ye'll hae faithcr's things pittin the-
g'ther, I'll tak them tae the train the nicht.'

' Eh ! Jock lad 1 * said his mother, jumping to her
feet, * I maun hae his worset grauvet socht oot !
Yonder's his sark washed and dried, puir man ! an'
me thinkin' it was like his ghaist. I wus he mayna
be waur nor we think I But whaur did I see that
grauvet ? '

So saying, she seized the old hairless besom that
was her favourite resource at all times, and began
raking underneath the bed with it — a process which
quickly revealed a strange miscellany of goods ; in
fact, it appeared as if the wardrobe of the entire
family was deposited in that safe and sure retreat.

' He's a fine man, tae, yer faither, Jock,* she went

JOCK HALLWAY.

on meanwhile. ' Ye mauna think that ill o' him, for
a' his failin's ! But eh ! Jock, my man ! aye keep
ye the richt road, for ye see what the ither ane
brings folk tae ! *

'Ou ay, mither!* responded Jock indifferently,
and without more ado he was off, rattling down the
stair as noisily as he had ascended it.

In due time Mrs. Halliday had raked out the
* worset grauvet * from some dark recess, and had
roiled it up with a few other garments in the checked
fchirt still damp from the pole. Then she set to
work and baked some oatmeal cakes, and cut down
large whangs of a skim-milk cheese or * kebbock,' — ■
all of which were packed a little confusedly in an
old hamper, the viands being, in Mrs. Halliday's
opinion, ' fine for the broon kadies^

CHAPTER IV.

EFFIE S 'PENNY PIG.

Some weeks had passed
away since Agnes
Bruce's first expedi-
tion to the Castle-
yard. The:je weeks
had helped to make
her feel much more
at home in the great
city than she had
ever hoped to do at
first. The early
summer weather had
been bright and plea-
sant, and William
Bruce, like a kind husband and father, had often
taken his little family out in the lengthening
evenings, after work hours, for a stroll round the

Meadows and Bruntsfield Links, or Queen's Park ;

LBITH PIER.

< 'I

I !

JOCK HALLIDAY.

sometimes down to the old Palace of Ilolyrood, and
on Saturdays as far as Portobello Sands or Leith
Pier, to get a brcatli of the salt sea-air, and to look
across towards the beloved but invisible Largo.

Effie, though she could not see with her own eyes
the beautiful places and interesting objects around
her, was marvellously quick at picking up some
idea of them from what the others told her; and
her keen car for music was often gratified by street
organs, German bands, and other itinerant per-
formances. Once or twice, when the evening walk
had been rather longer than usual, Effie had been
greatly delighted by finding her own short legs
suddenly relieved of the necessity of dragging
wearily on, as she was lifted bodily in 'the strong
arms of ' Oor Jock,* who would invariably declare
that he 'had a bit errant that gait,' and *wad gie
the wee lassie a lift sae far's he was gaun/

*That gait' must have been a very wide word
in Jock's vocabulary ; for once when he had joined
them beyond the Dean Bridge, a huge parcel
projecting from his pocket disclosed the fact that
his original destination v as the South Back of
Canongate ! It was only evening errands, however,
for Lucky Law and others, that were thus dealt
with, and Jock was of course master of his own
leis'Me hours.

'Ye maun be fond o' a walk, like oorsels, Jock,'

legs

r;er,
ealt
own

jij:!'

■'£t

I
I

EFFIES PENNY PIG.

Mrs. Bruce would say when they met ^'■^^ ; but Jock
never owned to any such weakness.

' Hooh ! I'm no heedin', was his usual rejoinder,
with an indifferent glance cast around him as if to
show how little he valued natural or artificial
beauty. He knew, however, the names of all the
places they might pass, and the histories of many of
them, and was quite ready to part with these bits of
information ; only they were invariably thrown out
as a bone might be thrown to a dog, so as to
impress the hearer's mind with a conviction of their
absolute worthlessness in Jock's estimation. For
example, it would be Fettes College seen from afar
that the Bruces were gaping at, and Jock would act
showman thus :

*Ay, that's Fettes. Sir Willum Fettes, a rich
banker, left money for't. A fine place, nae doot, but
awfu^ English. Mickle Scotch gowks are sent
thehe to be clippit into wee English gentlemen.
Gentlemen ! I wus ye saw some o' them wi' their
ticht jaickets an* chimney-can hats on their heids
— laddies no hauf the size o' me ! Losh ! they're
av^fu* fond o' ca'in' hus "keds; " but when I luik at
thcm^ I'm aye glca to be " a ked ! " Hooh ! we've
gi'en tJicm mony a fleg, I can tell you. Ou ay!'

The Bruce baby, too, had grown and flourished
wonderfully in the interval, and was considered — by
his parents — to be the most intelligent and observ-

•]\

/OCK HALLIDA K

ing infant ever known to exist. Certainly town life
had agreed with him ; so that his fond mother was
all the more ready to allow that Edinburgh, in spite
of noisy streets and crowded thoroughfares, had many
advantages of its own, and that * perhaps they did
richt to leave the auld bit aifter a', though it ivas
beside bonnie Lairgo Bay.*

* Hoots ay, woman ; what are ye aye yammerin*
aboot hit for?' her husband would answer in a
good-humoured, bantering tone. ' A man micht as
wcel be a kail-runt as bide in a place like yon a' his
days. Naething like a big toon for shairpenin* up
the wuts — that's what I say.*

For Willie Bruce, whom any one would have
seen to be a country man from his rosy cheeks
and wondering eyes, considered himself a pretty
sharp fellow now, and well up to the ways of the
world.

* Eh, Willie, my man, I wus there mayna * be
waur things nor kail-runts in this mickle toon.*

Agnes Bruce looked anxiously at her husband as
she said this. They had just passed, in one of their
country rambles, a little group which had awakened
in her a strong but painful interest. The mere wreck
of what had once been a respectable artisan
staggered stupidly along the road, ragged, dirty, and
degraded. He was closely followed by a weary,
anxious-looking woman, toiling under a heavy

EFFIE'S PENNY FIG.

burden, and leading a liitle starving child by the
hand. Oh ! in this great city, with its unknown sins
and sorrows, would the time ever come when her
Willie would be like that, when she would follow
him so with little Effie, trying to lure him back from
ruin ?

* No, no ! he could never be like that /* He
had not given her much cause for anxiety yet, per-
haps ; but he was, as she had said, ' easy led,' and it
was still a question here who was to lead him. It
had been no difficult task in the quiet Fifeshire
village, where all their friends were sober, God-fearing
people, where his place in the ' kirk* was seldom or
never vacant, and where every influence around them,
from the cottage garden to the parish library, was
one for good. Very easy there — but here ! Their
home up that dark, rilthy stair, that seethed with
life of a very low and degraded kind ; their neigh-
bours (Jock always excepted, and a little lame
dressmaker next door), people they could hardly
make friends of ; for even Jean Campbell, itinerant
vendor of pin-cushions and such small wares,
had too little care for outward appearances. Jean
was, however, rather better than they supposed
her to be, being originally come of respectable
people in a remote Highland parish, and having
about her more information and scholarship than all
the rest of the stair put together.

JOCK IIALLIDA V.

r '

,( \!

> >i

Jean was decidedly eccentric. Her temper,
soured perhaps by eariy disappointment and mis-
fortune, was cynical and morbid to a degree, thoui^h
there were times when she softened wonderfully and
betrayed glimpses of a good and kindly nature be-
neath hard looks and bitincf words. Little Effie had
an extraordinary influence over her. She was never
hard or severe with the child, but would pass her
horny hand gently over the sunny hair and the
sightless eyes, saying, 'The bonnie bairn! It's
maybe just as well — ^just as well ! Who knows
ivhat their een have to see or ever they close in
their long, last sleep .'"

The last time Jean had returned from her travels,
she had stopped at the Bruces' door, and called
little Effie to her, then rolled something round and
hard towards her along the wooden floor. Effie
quickly caught it, following it by the sound, and
taking it up, gleefully asked if it was for her, and
what it was for.

' Ay, ay ; it's for you, Effie. It's a penny pig^
my dawtie ! Tell your father to make speed and fill
it for ye, and take ye over to that Lairgo Bay ye are
aye talking about.'

Effie was delighted. It was her first experience
of this primitive sort of money-chest. She feii it
all over and grew familiar with the rounded form
—so smooth above, so rough below — the little knob

•no! he could never be like that i'

EFFIE'S rJiXXV PIG.

at the top to hold it by, the lotifj slit to ()ass the
pennies throun^h. She pressed the smooth brown
surface to I'.cr lips, and called the precious gift *hcr
own — her dear penny pig \ '

Jean seemed highly pleased at her gift being so
much appreciated. Then she turned away sharply,
saying, 'Never a plack has Jean to put in it,
though! Just like her luck! All goes to the rich
folk — none to the poor!* So saying, she dived
into her cheerless-looking room and banged the
door after her, as she often did in her misanthropic
moods.

That very forenoon, when Jock I lalliday appeared
on the landing for his'denner' or * bite,* Effie got
hold of her chosen ally and friend, and displayed
her new treasure to him, with eyes that sparkled
with pleasure, even though they could not see.
Betsey, the half-clad nymph of the skipping-rope,
met her brother at the stair-head, holding out a dish
with two or three cold potatoes boiled in their
'jackets' (the best of all ways, by the bye), also
' twa bawbees,* which she amused herself by tossing
into the air and catching again.

' Hae, Jock,' said the girl, ' mither's got wark at

the rubber factory for hauf the day, an' the couldna

mak ready the meat ; sae ye're jist to tak thae

tatties an' buy a drink o' mulk to yersel'.'

Jock stared at the potatoes, then tossed them

JOCK HALTJDAY,

into one pocket, and the ' bawbees ' into another of
his raj^ged coat.

* What liac ye for yersels ? ' he asked with more
real courtesy than might have been supposed from
his tone.

* We've a* gotten the same as you, Jock ; but /';;/
no gaun to buy mulk — nae fears o* me ! '

' What'U ye buy ? '

* Gujttiy r shrieked Betsey as she ran wildly
down the stairs before her brother could object.

*Ye mickle gowk!' he called after her con-
temptuously ; but she was already out of hearing
on this wild pursuit of pleasure.

*Ay, that's a bonnie die-die, Effie/ he said
kindly, handling the beloved ' pig * that Effie held
up to him ; 'but it'll mak a fine jinglin' sound whan
it's full o' bawbees, and ye'U like that best o' onyj
Ask yer mither for some.*

'She's awa to the doctor's wi* wee Willie to
be vack — vack — something — I dinna mind what
She'll be a while yet*

The child looked disappointed, for the pleasure of
hearing any 'jinglin" sound was to her an extra-
ordinary one.

Jock did not like to see her bright eyes cloud
over so. He ran off all the quicker, perhaps, to
avoid the sight. But at the stair-foot he turned,
muttering to himself, ' They say soor dock's best

I
I

■■f

.■;l

EFFIES PENNY PIG.

S«

for the stamack. I'd daur mine to fia* faut wi*
oiiything I'd chuse to pit in't ; an' 'deed I'm no
vcrra sure vvhaiir it is cxcei)t wliilcs when it's
toom I But I dinna mind lunnouriu' it ance in a
way. Soor dock's easy to j;ct. Lucky Lavv'll ^Me
me some for cleavin' her sticks yestreen, for we've
been rael gude freens this while back.'

By the time Jock's soliloquy was ended he was
at the top of the stair again. He looked in at the
l^ruces' door.

Little Effie sat silent but happy on a low stool
by the fireside, hugt^ing her new-found treasure.
She knew his foot in a moment.

'Jock!' she said, 'what for are ye come
back?'

But Jock did not answer in words. He only
knelt down beside her on the rug, and slipped
quietly into the 'pig's* mouth his two battered
halfpennies, then gave the dish a hasty shake,
whereat the halfpennies danced and danced again,
making the rriost charming ' jingle ' in little Lffie's
ears.

' Eh I Jock, that's braw ! (vaw ! Let Effie shake
it hersel' noo !'

And so he left her blythe and cheery, to shake
the pig and listen to its music, imagining all sorts
of pleasant songs and stories to herself out of it, a&
was her wont

5«

JOCK IIALLIDA Y.

Mary Morrison, the lame dressmaker, had come
m with her work to watch Effie and the house.
The sunshine came merrily in from the window
on her and on the little blind face by the fire.
So Effie was safe till mother would come home— safe
and happy.

.; \

CHAPTER V.

THE GLENDINNINGS.

fOCK BALL IB A Y.

I I

* Pat/ just done uith school life, stood by a window,
watching the passers-by, and making comments upon
them in a lively style, quite indifferent to the fact
that no one was listening to her. She was short and
thick-set, somewhat brown in complexion, and her
face was only redeemed from plainness by a pair of
merry black eyes, a winning smile, and frank, open
expression.

'Well, I declare,* said Miss Pat in a louder tone,
so as to arrest her sister's attention, 'there's that
venerable " Mater" of ours at last, just coming round
the corner ! And on each side of her one of these
chosen friends of hers, the Miss M'Gibbons — the fat
one that I don^t like, and the nice one with the curls.
What a splendid "claver" the three are having!
Well, I 7t£ver ! There comes Dr. Randal himself, no
less, and his new assistant — oh, isn't he a cure !
Why, it's the whole meeting turned out, I believe,
in a procession ; and our respected parent is sure to
ask them all in for refreshments. Alice, I do wish
you'd get her to remember that we're not living at
Thornydean just now! Town people don't go in
for bread and cheese at all hours as they do in the
country — either luncheon at one, or afternoon tea
at four.'

* Pat, dear, don't be staring out if they are all
coming this way,' was Alice's only rejoinder.

'Staring, Alice .^ What a shocking idea! Only

• THE GLENDTNNINGS:

"casting a casual glance," as we say in novels. And
they arc a good way off yet, besides.*

* That " we" reminds me of your novel, Pat. How
is it getting on } I haven't been favoured lately
with any of your '* flashes of genius." *

' Oh, that one is off the hooks,, you know.*

* Published ? ' suggested Alici with a smile.
Pat shrugged her shoulders.

'Well, it's in \}oiQ press certainly, — the press in our
room, top shelf, — and likely to remain there. But
really, Alice, I've got a splendid idea this time,
which I think may come to something. Pll let you
read the first chapter to-night. " Lorenzo the Lost,"
I call it There are two elopements in it, and three
sets of lovers, all at sixes and sevens, and' —

' Oh, Pat, do try to comb down your genius a
little.*

* Comb it down, indeed ! What an insulting sug-
gestion ! Down to the dead level of that tiresome,
hum-drum, classical music of yours, I suppose. I
hate the very name of it — ugh !'

* Pat. dear, think of the great musicians who
comp' —

' Great fiddlesticks,* interrupted the literary genius.
* I don't believe one of them would have known
** Annie Laurie" if he had heard it'

'Very likely not, Pat Some of them could
hardly be expected to, yoM Lnow.'

JOCK HALLIDA Y.

* Oh ! Alice, here they all are at last, at our
own corner. Here's a parting scene, for they're
evidently not coming in after all Mater's persuasions.
There go the Miss M'Gibbons in contrary direc-
tions — fat one into the Meadows for a saunter, thin
one, I fear, back to the giddy world again. What a
shaking of hands! "When shall we three meet
again } " And Dr. Randal is being tugged across to
Buccleuch Place by that indefatigable Mr. Towie.
Oh ! here is mother now. I'll go to meet her.'

So saying, the genius took herself off, a crimson
ribbon from her hair being left to flutter on to the
carpet in her rapid flight. Alice, too, rose from
her piano, and wheeled her mother's chair into a
pleasant, shady corner.

A minute afterwards Mrs. Glendinning herself
entered — a bright, active matron not much over
fifty, and thoroughly able to enjoy life — its work
and its amusements — even after all the cares of a
rather numerous family.

Mr. Glendinning was factor for some large estates
in the south of Scotland, and the family home was
in reality at Thornydean, a quiet rural nook of
Selkirkshire. Just half a year ago they had secured
this town house in George Square, that the young-
sters might attend school, and the older boys and
girls enjoy some of the many educational advantages
that only a large city can afford. Mr. Glendinning

■iftii

• THE GLENDINNINGS:

himself spent part of each week with them, and
perhaps enjoyed the change as much as anybody ;
while his wife, though she dearly loved her country
home and all its concerns, felt that in Edinburgh
a new life opened before her, which enlisted
sympathies yet unstirred and energies hitherto
dormaiit.

The old parish church to which they had, almost
by chance, attached themselves, was one surrounded
not only by its own beautiful and historic grave-
yard, but also by a low and poor neighbourhood,
which presented a wide field for the missionary
efforts of the congregation.

Dr. Randal, their minister, a man of apostolic zeal
and rare administrative genius, had but lately entered
on his .work. Fresh from the green hills and breezy
pasture lands of a quiet country parish, he almost
shuddered as he faced alone the seething mass of
misery, degradation, and crime now committed
his charge. How was he to thread those filthy
wynds and noxious stairs and closes, that were
all the more loathsome because the clover-fields
and the broomy knowes were so clear to his
memory still, and the song of the laverock was
yet ringing in his ear.?

And so the Doctor had wisely resolved to gather
around him a band of devoted men and women
who would help him to assail this stronghold of

JOCK HALLIDA V.

Satan, and to gather from out its ruins the livini:^
jewels that lay there so foully crusted over with
vice, so meanly clothed in wretchedness and shame.

It was this brave Christian enterprise that had
so deeply stirred the warm, kindly soul of Mrs.
Glendinning. She longed to reach a helping hand
to those poor creatures, lounging at close-mouth or
stair-foot, knowing nothing of a home life so happy
and useful as her own had been. And she loncrcd
still more to see the little faces of the innocent
' bairns ' grow bright and fresh as those of country
children, and to hear their voices ringing in glad
and childlike mirth, instead of with the strains of
the drunken and the ribald.

*No, girls, no 1 indeed I am not the least tired !*
she declared as she seated herself in the chair -Alice
had set for her, laughing at their eager solicitude
about her.

'Do let me fetch you a cup of coffee, mother.^*
Alice had said, while Tat prepared to disrobe her of
shawl and bonnet.

* I enjoyed the meeting so much. It was really
quite refreshing. Dr. Randal speaks so clearly and
so well about the way in which one must approach
this work '—

'And dear Mr. Towie?* asked Pat in her mock-
ing way. ' Didn't /le get leave to make any sweet
and interesting: reflections ? '

'THE GLENDINNINGS:

*Hush, Pat, my dear ; you know I don't like }'ou
to be too frivolous. But, do you know, Alice, I have
done something about which I don't feel very sure
of your approval. I had better confess at once, I
suppose.'

' Oh, mother ! what ca7i it be ? '

'You've asked Mr. Tow'e to dinner, l\'uffie,
I know you have ! * cried Pat, It being one of this
young lady's peculiarities to invent as many new
synonyms for the word 'mother' as her prolific
imagination could suggest.

' Something you won't like so much, Pat,' said
her mother, laughing. * I have promised that my
two elder girls will take a very small, tiny " district "
between them — that one single stair may be set
apart for them to visit, that is — I really could not
help it, my dear. There was only this one stair
left unappropriated, and Dr. Randal was so very
anxious to have «//his parish allotted. Now, what
do you say, Alice ? for, of course, it falls most to
your share. Pat is rather young yet for such a task.
Indeed, I could not allow her to go alone.'

Pat sat staring at her mother open-mouthed and
silent. Genius seemed for once to have deserted
her. Alice had grown pale at first, but now a little
wild-rose colour of [)leasurable anticipation began
to show itself.

*I should so like to be of use, mother dear;

JOCK HALLIDAY.

... '■

but — but — do you really think we can manage
it ? I am so bad at talking to perfect strangers
— i know my courage will take wing on the very
first floor.'

* Oh ! as to that,' cried Pat, finding voice again^
* why, you know, Fve pluck enough for any\\\w\^\
Yes, Alice, let's go to-morrow. I'll carry on the
general conversation, and you'll drop moral re-
jections in gently afterwards, lik^ the children's
story books ! It'll be first-rate. Mother, do tell us
where is this El-Dorado to be found ? '

Mrs. Glendinniiig took a folded paper '"rom her
bag, and read : ^ No. 97 Caudlonakcr Row / '

::P*t

I'^r' \

r !

I-

|r~^^'

^^.e>^^

>-j-%.

CHAPTER VI.

NUMBER NINETY-SEVEN ATTACKED.

I^OME days elapsed before the Glcndinning
^^ girls actually set forth on their new
mission. Alice, naturally timid and self-
distrustful, wanted time to think over it well, and
to make what little preparation she could. Some
pleasant books and papers, both well illustrated,
some picture cards for children, and a bag of sweet-
meats — these constituted what Pat called her * stock
of ammunition for the grand attack.'

Pat herself had been most anxious to set off at
once. Every morning heard her ask, 'Aren't you
ready now, Alice ? What on earth are we waiting
for.!* Think of that stronghold of evil lifting its
iniquitous head proudly to the sky, and us sheath-
ing our swords here in luxurious idleness ! I feel
like another Greatheart before Giant Despair's.

hospitable mansion ! Come and let us begin I *

JOCK JIALLIDAY.

Still Alice waited.

'I must finish these little baby's boots first,' she
said. * I think some motlier's heart may be a little
more easily won if the pretty blue and pink things
happen to fit her baby.'

' 15ribcry and corruption, Alice! I'll go in foi
nothing of that sort. High moral principle and
elevated sentiments — these are the only allurements
I mean to hold out ! *

But a suggestion made by her brother Arthur
gave Alice more confidence than Pat's rhodo-
montade, which she knew was very likely to end
in smoke.

Arthur Glendinning, the second son, was a
student about to enter the Divinity Hall. He was
kept a prisoner at home just then by a severe
sprain, and was consequently more in the way of
hearing his sisters' plans and projects than he might
otherwise have been. Arthur was a nice, frank
youth of eighteen or so, combining some of Pat's
merry humour with Alice's quiet steadfastness.

TU tell you what, Alice,' he said, *you might
help me out of a fine dilemma. I promised Dr.
Randal that I would start a week-evening class for
bo}'s — big rough fellows, you know, who haven't had
time for much schooling. Not like a Sunday school,
but just to give them a taste for natural history and
all that sort of thing. And here I am — more like

NUMBER NINETY-SEVEN ATTACKED. 63

a chained bear than anything elsel It's no easy
matter, I assure you, to carry on the business of life
with only one leg — and how am I ever to get hold
of these rascals ? *

'But what can I do, Arthur?'

*Do? Like a good creature, keep your eyes on
any boys you may meet in your district, and send
them up to me ! Mother says I may do what I like
with that large room down-stairs ; so say that
Professor Glendinning's class will meet here on
Saturday evenings at seven o'clock. Fees payable
in advance. Five guineas only for the course.*

*0h, Arthur ! that will suit me exactly ! It gives
me something definite to say on my first visit
— some little excuse for going. Thank you ever so
much!*

So that very morning, being Monday, the two
girls at last set out, resolved to begin the attack.
They left the wide, pleasant Square, with its shady
walks and leafy gardens, and passed through the
narrow, noisy street where Bristo Port had once
opened and shut its iron gates to the traveller, then
passed along by the fragment of the old city wall still
remaining at that time, and soon reached the gates
of the Grey friars' Churchyard, where they paused to
reconnoitre. They looked down a rather steep and
dusty lane leading into the Grassmarket and Cow-
gate, called Candlemaker Row, a place which had

JOCK HALLWAY.

quite (IcscrvcLl its name in byi^onc days; lor there all
tlie candles of the city were duly made, in vast vats,
cmittinc,^ throu^^di the oi)en, iron-baned windows an
odour so powerful that in some memories forty
years have not sufficed to efface it. The street was
indeed one long row of candlcmakers* cauldrons,

t— iHt-— -

GRBVFKIARS' CHURCH.

and loud and bitter was the outcry made when oil
and lamp came in to spoil the trade and enliven the
town. Oil and lamp had of course but a brief day,
or rather night of triumph, before giving place to the
ubiquitous gas. And now is not even that mighty
spirit about to be deposed ? However that may be,
the old candlemakers of the Row have long since

NUMBER NINETY-SE VEN A TTA CKED. 65

departed, and their place is occupied by flarinor
spirit shops, raj^^ stores, blacksmiths' dens, sni.ill
eatinij-houses, and blocks of dwellinj^s so very far
from being clean or comfortable, that one might well
wonder whether it would not be better to have the
old reeking cauldrons of boiling fat back again in
their place.

* This is the place now,' said Alice in a rather
despondent tone.

*0h ! this, is it ?* echoed Pat still more dubiously.

During the walk Pat's spirits had been rapidly
cooling, and her scintillations of genius had been few
indeed. The vast supply of ' pluck ' and ' general
conversation ' lately boasted of by her were now
somewhat conspicuously absent. A crisis was at
hand. After a few yards of this via dolorosa had
been slowly accomplished, Pat fairly turned, saying :

* Do you know, Alice, I think it would be best for
you just to strike up a little acquaintance with these
people, and then I'll go with you another day ! *

' What ! running away already, Pat ) *

* No, no ! not that ; but I fancy you are better at
that sort of thing than I am — and — I want so much
to go over to the Philosophical for that volume of
Browning — what do you say, Alice? Would you
think it unkind of me ? *

* Unkind ? Oh no, Pat, nr)t at all. Mamma said
you were rather young yet, you know, and I almost

JOCK HALLIDA V.

think it may be as easy or easier to open a con-
versation by one's self. Do just as you like, dear,
about it ! '

' You're an old darling, Alice ! Such a weight off
my mind ! I'll write six chapters of Lorenzo the
Lost to-night, — I know I shall, — my spirits are so
revived/

* Off you go, then,* said Alice, laughing ; ' but
don't expect me to read the whole six to-night, sfter
iTiy solitary labours/

* I'll go now, Alice, though I feel horribly selfish,
I must say ; but remember ! I mean to make myself
of the greatest use on some future occasion/

So the two parted, Pat to seek the life and light
of ir'rinces Street, via George IV. Bridge, and Alice
to descend alone into the grimy vale.

It was about eleven o'clock, and a bright, airy
morning. Mrs. Lowrie, in her usual easy toilette,
was lounging over the railing of her own landing,
apparently on the outlook for any bit of gossip
that might turn up.

* Thio'U be some o' yer leddy veesitors, nae doot,*
she said to herself in a contemptuous tone as Alice
Glendinning's figure appeared at the stair-foot, for
the girl peered timidly and dubiously about her in
the darkening shadows of the entry. * Hech ! hech I
things are come to a bonny pass when siclike

cattle daur to dairken ma door 1 But I'll tak the

NUMBER NINETY-SEVEN ATTACKED. 67

meesure o* that ane's fute easy — a feckless-like
tawpie.

' Ye'il be seekin' for, some o' hus fowk in the
stair, Miss, I'm thinkin',* she said aloud as soon
as Alice arrived within hail.

'I'm seeking for everybody/ said Alice with a
pleasant smile. * I should like to make some
friends on this stair, and perhaps you will let me
begin with you. May I ask your name first } My
own is Glendinning, and I have come at your
minister's request. He wants his people to become
acquainted with each other, you know.*

*0u ay. Weel, I hae nae objection, for my pairt.
Lowrie's ma name an* ma gudeman's. But come
awa in here an' rest ye a wee minute. We're plain
workin' fowk, ye ken, but we're no ashamed o' that.*

' I should think not, indeed, Mrs. Lovvrie ! ' said
Alice in her winning manner as she followed her
guide into a dark passage, anvi then emerged into
the clearer light of what was partly kitchen, partly
shoemaker's workshop.

The celebrated Tarn was not then visible, but
numerous tokens of his handicraft were scattered
broadcast over the dirty wooden floor, — bits of
leatner, balls of rosin, m'lgs of paste, awls, tackcts,
what not? It was difficult to find a spare corner
for the visitor ; but Mrs. Lowrie scuttled about with
wonderful activity, shovelling some dirty dishes otf

^ifli

JOCK HALLIDA V.

one chair, and an empty porridge pan off another,
and eventually got two scats ready; then ensconcing
herself in one, she motioned Alice to the other.
In front of them was the fire, or rather the grate ;
for it was merely an indistinguishable mass of grey
ashes, rapidly accumulating to a pyramid on the
hearth below. At the farther end of the room a
door opened Into a darker apartment blocked up
with a large tent bed. Mrs. Lowrie did not allow
the conversation to flag.

''Deed, as you say, Miss, we needna be ashamed ;
for what are yer grand folk aifter a' but dust an'
ashes like oorsels ! An' for a' their saft carpets
an' cushions, losh keep me ! they canna dae wantin*
the puir shoemakers.'

' Of course not ! But you know many of the
grand people, as you call them, work just as hard
as the shoemakers ! *

* Aweel, I canna say ! Me an' ma gudeman has
striven hard, early an' late, an' aye keepit up a
respectable appearance, and brocht up a big family
— to be a comfort an* a credit to hus ' —

Mrs. Lowrie was interrupted by a violent fit of
coughing. Perhaps her last statement had been
rather strong for even herself to swallow ; for the
police books could certainly h.' /e thrown a m.ore
lurid light on the Lowrie fanily history !

' That is very nice,' said Alice innocently. * You

DUMBER iXJNETY-SE VEN A TTA CKED. 69

will be able to take thinc^s a little more easily, now
that your family are up and doing so well.'

' Nae doot ! nae doot ! But it's aye a hard push
for us pui»* folk to mak ends meet ; an' if ye hear
ony word o' the coals or the cheap meal bein*
distreebuted in the back end o* the year, ye'U no
forget us. Miss.*

' Oh ! Mr. Towie will see to tJiat, you know ' —

* Towie ! That's a lang-shankit lad, wi' starin'
een, that rins about the Row whiles ? Ou ay ! He
cam' in ae day an' had a crack wi' Tarn aboot
polyteeks. Tarn thocht him raither wake i' the
heid. He's a great polyteecian, ye see, ma man, an'
he's awfu* taen up" the noo aboot that new law
they're wantin' to mak in Paurliment. Preserve
me ! what's this they ca't ? *

Alice could not enlighten her. She was far from
being a good * polyteecian ' like Tam !

* Aweel ! it's to dae wi' scrapin' mair siller oot
o' us puir folk for the behoof o' some bic princie
or ither, that must needs set up a hoose o* his
ain. As m 1 Tam says, what for can he no tak a
herrin' an' pitata like ither folk, instead o' drawin'
the swat o' a haill nation to mak turtle-sowp for
hees denner ? But your folk '11 be a' Tories, maist
likely?'

By what ingenious process the sweat of the nation
was to be changed into turtle-soup, Mrs. Lowrie did

JOCK HALLIDA K

not explain, and her visitor sat silent a moment,
deeply reg^retting the unprofitable turn the con-
versation had taken. Her heart sank within her.
Would she ever do any good at all in the stair, if
this was a sample of the intercourse she was to hold
with its inmates ?

* My father is a Liberal,* she said at last ; * but do
you know, Mrs. Lowrie, I am old-fashioned enough
to believe that a woman's politics should be //07;ie
politics ! That we should try to keep t/iai little
kingdom bright and pure and happy, and that if we
do this, we may safely leave the larger kingdoms to
other heads and other hands. But I must be going
on now to make some more calls. I have a nice
magazine here. Would you care to look it over? H
you like the stories in it, you can have the others after-
wards. Perhaps your husband is fond of a book ? *

* Ou ay ! I hae nae objection. Thank ye kindly.
Miss,' said Mrs. Lowrie in a very indifferent tone.
She was not to be outdone in respect of the high
moralities, however, by this young mushroom of a
creature. * An' 'deed ye're no far wrang aboot the
woman's wark, Miss. It's just what I aften say
mysel'. Says I to Tam whiles, "Tarn, my man,
says I, " redd ye up the Lords an' the Commons,
an' I'll redd up my ain fireside ! " '

With this sublime sentiment, Mrs. Lowrie pre-
pared to usher her visitor to the door.

NUMBER NINE TY-SE VEN A TTA CKED. 7 1

loment,
le con-
lin her.
stair, if
to hold

but do
enough
e home
It Httle
it if we
oms to
- going

a nice
er? II
"s after-
)ok?*
kindly,
t tone,
e high
n of a
•ot the
m say
' man,
imons,

e pre-

As Alice Glendinning glanced at the 'ain fire-
side ' thus referred to, she could not help thinking
how few traces it showed of this noble determination ;
but she tried to think and hope the best of her
new friend. A loud yawn, or rather protracted
howl, startled her at that moment. It came from
the tent bed in the * ben room.' Mrs. Lowrie
also started.

* The gudeman was late at a meetin* last nicht,'
she explained, 'an' was a wee thing forfochcn.
He's no that strong, ye ken — sair fashed at times
wi* a bile on the stamack.'

Miss Glendinning expressed her sympathy, but
retreated all the more quickly on finding that the
great politician himself had been so near at hand all
the time of her visit.

' Ye'U find them a geyan rough lot up the stairs.
Miss, for a young leddy like you,' Mrs. Lowrie
said in a loud whisper when they reached the
landing.

* Some of them are very poor, I suppose ? *

* Puir ! No them ! if they wadna waste their
money on drink and playaclin' an' the like. But
'deed, an' I needna speak, for I ken little aboot ma
neebors. I just aye keep mysel' to mysel', an' never
listen to their clavers. Thae folk in there they say's
aivfiC wild.' (This was said with the corner of her
apron up to her mouth.) *Some folk say the

JOCK HALLWAY.

faither an' mttlier never were richt mairret, but I
canna say for my pairt*

* Good-bye, Mrs. Lovvrie,* said Alice Glendinning
as quickly as she could, anxious to get away frum
what she felt she ought not to listen to.

Mrs. Lowrie looked after her as she disappeared,
and muttered to herself, * She's mair spunk than I
thocht, that ane I *

:, but I

dinning
ly from

peared,

than I i

CHAPTER VII.

THE * LEDDY-VEESITOR'S ' PROGRESS.

LICE GLENDINNING went on her
way, trying hard to banish from her

(Ltfi-^v^ mind the unpleasant surmises which
Mrs. Lowrie's discourse had awakened there.
Fortunately one or two doors were locked, the
inmates being out at work probably — among these
the door of that very couple over whose hymeneal
rites Mrs. Lowrie had thrown so dark a cloud. And
so, shortly after twelve o'clock — long before she
could otherwise have accomplished it — the visitor
found herself on the garret floor, with only four
rooms to be explored. Jean Campbell's was one,
and she was absent on her travels. Mary Morrison,
the lame dressmaker, was sitting beside Mrs. Bruce,
as she so often did, for company ; so one visit did
for both.

Agnes Bruce and Mary Morrison sat by the
window, busy at work. Baby slumbered in his cradle.

JOCK HALLWAY,

Effie played about the floor, with her beloved 'pig'
beside her. It was a pretty and peaceful scene—
quite a little green oasis, Alice Glendinning
thought — after the dreary and dirty desert through
which she had penetrated. Everything in the
small room was scp'pulou^'y clean and tidy — the
fiu.,ide swept, 'J j '. v' ».»,i^it and shining, table
and chairs scrubbed wbs'e ^,.h the cotton 'seam* in
Agnes Bruce's lap. She w\^.w")med her young
visitor with simple kindliness and warmth, and it
took only a very few minutes to make these three
strangers feel as if they had been long and well
acquainted. Effie put her hand shyly on the
'lady's' silken sleeve, and was soon telling her all
about 'bonnic Lairgo Bay,' and how 'faither' had
promised to take her there some day. 'Jock
Halliday,* being another of Effie's favourite topics,
was not forgotten, and her mother had to explain
that it was a * big laddie ' next door who was ver\
kind to the little blind girl. Alice inquired after
this youth with much interest, for she had not as
yet beat up any recruits for her brother's class, and
she resolved to make one desperate effort to secure
Oor Jock.'

' What a nice view you have of our dear old
churchyard !' she said, looking out from the little
square window, with its screen of sweet-scented
geranium and fuchsia, which overlooked the quiet

THE ' LEDDY-VEESITORS' PROGRESS. 75

restinp;-place renowned in Scottish history as the
scene the signing of tnc Covenant. There one
des^la\'j alley, with mouldering ga*-e\vay and rusty
chains still tells of cruel imprisonment suffered
once, long, long ago, by many who bade faltering
farewell th^ouj^h tnat very grating to the friends
they loved the best, and were then led forth from
it only to die. Around its walls are to be seen the
crumbling and moss-grown monuments of many
of the wealthiest and noblest families in Scotland.
And there are to be found in close proximity the
stately mausoleum of the bloodthirsty persecutor,
and the lowly graves of a thousand saintly martyrs.

It was a scene on which Alice Glendinning's eye^.
loved well to rest, and she had a pleasant little chat
with her new friends about the storms and persecu-
tions of other days, all now happily at an end.

* It is a bonnie an' a peacefu' spot, that auld kirk-
yard,' said Agnes Bruce meditatively. * Aftentimes
it minds me o' the quiet country place we cam' frae.
No that it's ae bit like it, to be sure ; but there's
maybe jist a wee thing o' the same calm sough
aboot it, whan the wund waukens amang the trees,
or the sound o' psalm-singin' comes frae yon grey
wa's. It aye minds me then o' the paraphrase little
Effie says real weel, about

** Whaur the wicked cease frae troublin ,
An' the weary are at rest.'"

JOCK HALLWAY,

There was a sad and rather anxious look on her
face as she said this, and her eyes glanced restlessly
round the little room, as if there was some lurkinjj
shadow there to trouble her. Alice Glendinnin^
wondered what it could be that made her look so,
when all the outward circumstances of her lot seemed
to suggest only joy and peace. But it was too soon
to inquire, even in an indirect way. She would
trust to time making her more of a friend and
confidant in any little troubles, or even in greater
ones, than she could hope to be just yet. So bidding
them all a kind and cheerful good-day, she set off for
her final call, which was reserved for Mrs. Halliday
■ — not, however, without noticing Effie's dear 'Penny
Pig,' and slipping into it a little bit of silver, the
pleasant jingle of which Effie detected in a moment,
crying out :

* Eh, mither ! bonnie, bonnie sound ! like the
silver shells amang the rocks in Lairgo Bay.'

' Mrs. Halliday,* said Alice, stepping in at the
door, which as usual stood gaping, ' I must come
some other day, if you will let me, to make acquaint-
ance ; but I promised to be home by one o'clock
to-day, and must run for it ; only I have looked in
for a moment to ask about your boy. He is not
in just now, I suppose ?'

* Oor Jock?' said Mrs. Halliday, laying down her
work, for she had taken in some coarse sacks to make

THE ' LEDDY-VEESITOKS' PROGRESS. 77

since the supplies from Sandy had fallen off so
badly, — * Oor Jock ? 'Deed, he'll no be lan<j^, Miss, o'
coniin' up for liis bite, [)uir man. It's no that muckle,
but he's no like to for^^et it. Ye're kindly walcome,
ma young leddy. Wad ye no sit a nieenit or he
come in ?'

* Thank you. I only wanted to ask if he would
join a little class my brother is startini^.*

' A claiss ? Ou ay. But, ye see, oor Jock's a gran*
scholard, Miss, an' I daursay he thinks himsel' kin'
o' feenished like. But he micht tak it a compliment,
I'm sure, to be socht by the like o' you, Miss, an'— •
But there he comes, I'm certain sure, rantin' up
the stair like a steam-engine. Ye may ken oor
Jock's fit, Miss, amang a thoosand. Noo, dinna ye
think the waur o' him if he's a kin' o' dour an' stour
at the first wi' ye, for it's jist oor Jock's wye, ye ken,
an' '—

This whispered advice was cut short by our hero's
arrival on the landing-place, where his mother im-
mediately tackled him, saying with an admonitory
shake of the head :

* Noo, Jock, this braw young leddy's come up to
spcir if ye'U gang to a claiss at yer bye-hoors ; an' ye
ken, it's no ilka ane that wad trouble herself sae faur.*

* No, no, Mrs. Halliday ; let me explain it to Jock
myself,' said Alice, laughing, for she saw Jock's face
growing longer and longer under his mother's well-

JOCK HALLIDA K

meant address. * * It is hardly a class I mean, Jock.
My brother is quite a young fellow, not very much
older than yourself, and he is so fond of natural
history and all that, and has so many curiosities
collected — quite a little museum of his own, you
know ; and he wants two or three big boys like you
to come to him once a week, to keep up the know-
ledge they have gained at school. I hear you are a
good scholar already, Jock* —

Jock favoured his mother with an expressive
•glumph' here, as if understanding where that
character had come from. It was the only sign he
had made hitherto of any feeling whatever on the
subject. He had just stood hanging against the door-
way with his usual indififercnt air, his hands in the
pockets of his ragged coat, and his floury * bannet*
on his head. The latter breach of etiquette was at
last remembered by his mother, who promptly pulled
off the * bannet ' with a brief —

* Div ye no mind yer mainners, Jock }*

*Do you think you would like to join them,
Jock ? ' asked Alice with her pleasant musical
voice.

' I'm no heedin' I ' — Jock's usual formula — was
the only answer.

* Noo, Jock, my man,* began his mother ; but
Alice interposed.

* Are you fond of beasts and birds, Jock t We have

THE ' LEDDYVEESITOR'S' PROGRESS. 79

some fine Persian rabbits to show you. Such long
h.'iir they liave, and such bright eyes. And we have
a wonderful monkey who docs all sorts of tricks,
and teases poor Sancho, our old terrier, quite out of
his life. I think you must come and see all our
pets. Won't > .^u think of it ? *

Jock*s eyes had Segun to sparkle when the Persian
rabbits were so skilfully introduced, and the monkey
almost conquered him.

' Maybe I wull,' he said ; * whaur is't at ? *

* At our house, Jock, in George Square, on Satur-
day, at seven in the evening. We shall be so glad
to see you. You won't forget ? Now, Pm only
keeping you from your dinner, I know. See, here is
my card with the right address.*

So saying, she ran merrily off down the long stairs
that she had ascended with such dark forebodings.
Things looked so much better, she thought, now
that she had really seen them, and here was one
pupil at least fairly captured.

Jock did not forget his engagement all that
week, though his invariable answer to his mother's
numerous reminders was, * Hoots ! Pm no hecdin' I*

-^^

CHAPT}n:R VIII.

MR. TOWIE'S *BAND OF HOPE.*
*p^> HAT summer so bright and beautiful

i^/t-4 faded, as such summers always will fade,
only too soon from the grey

towers

and breezy slopes of Auld Reekie. It was followed,
however, by an autumn almost as mild and
beneficent as itself; and then at last came the
serried forces of bluff old King Winter — biting
frost, chill hail showers, and deep-lying snow- -
more terrible by contrast with the past mildness,
and bringing want and suffering in their train,
especially to those poorer districts with which our
story has so much to do.

Mr. Halliday had not yet returned to the bosom
of his family, and his remittances had been but few
in number and trifling in value. On the wife and
eldest son, therefore, had as usual devolved the task
of providing for his family of some five or six hungry
children. Mrs. Halliday was employed all day now

MR. TOWIE'S 'BAND OF HOPE:

iiautlful
11 fad-
tower?
llowed,
d and
le the
-biting
snow- -
ildness,
train,
ich our

bosom
but few
ife and
he task
hungry
ly now

at the Fountainbridge Rubber Factory, r.nd was,
perhaps, quite as happy is usual ; but her house
and bairns, committed to the care of Betsey — the
young lady of skipping propensities — could not be
said to improve, either the former in salubrity and
cleanliness, or the latter in morals, manners, and
deportment

Fortunately for *Oor Jock,' he had another
influence working on him for good. He had
actually summoned up courage to go that Saturday
evening, as invited, to Miss Glendinning's house, and
had found the * claiss ' there to be of a much more
attractive character than he had supposed possible.

Arthur Glendinning had received him and the
other lads — three or four about his own age and
station — in a comfortable room looking out into a
pleasant garden where most of the numerous * pets'
were kept. And there was plenty of hot coffee and
buttered scones ibr the boys before they began their
work at all ; so that they went to their books and
writing - copies with some vigour and comfort.
Then after 'lessons,' which were as much an in-
teresting conversation about the wonders of Nature
and Art as anything else, they had a saunter in
the garden, and were introduced personally to the
Persian rabbits and all their associates.

No wonder, perhaps, that Jock found his way
back there nearly every Saturday evening after-

I '

/OCi: HALLIDA Y.

wards, and no wonder either that other working lads
were found glad to enjoy this breath of wholesome
relaxation and improvement. Arthur Glendinning
was quite delighted when he saw so many as a
dozen eager and intelligent faces round his class-
room table, and he had good cause to believe that
they came not so much for the hot coffee and the
scones as for things better and more enduring by
far.

The Glendinning girls often looked in upon them,
either out-of-doors or in-doors, and made the
acquaintance of each one — a circumstance which
helped greatly to soften and refine the ideas and
manners of most of the boys, not the least con-
spicuously those of * Oor Jock.' He had learned
unconsciously to be more particular about his own
personal appearance — to dust the old shabby shoot-
ing-jacket free from its superfluous coating of flour,
and to tie .he faded tartan necktie so as not to
reveal the ragged ends.

Dr. Randal and Mr. Towie were both frequent
visitors at Mr. Glendinning's, and with both of these,
particularly the latter, Jock, as well as the other
lads, soon became acquainted. Mr. Towie was, as
Mrs. Lowrie had graphically described him, Mang-
shankit, wi' starin' een;' for his eyes at least seemed
always on fire with some new idea or project, while
his short, stiff, brown hair was always bristling up,

ng lads
>lcsome
i inning"
^ as a

class-
ic that
nd the
ing by

I them,
le the
which
IS and
it con-
earned
s own
shoot-
flour,
lot to

iquent
these,
other
as, as
Ian"--
emed
while

S up,

^i - B^ til

:|1 ^"■■'.i||

A .\ /n III ,"!

«"-

:?^

-I

m
k

MR. TO IVIES 'BAND OF HOPE.'

as if in sympathy therewith, and his lonf^, lithe
form was continually to be seen rushing about on
some parochial enterprise. Many a ^ime was he
to be seen at Cowgatehead or King's Stables, up
Lamont's Pend or Castle Wynd, in the centre of a
knot perhaps of ragged urchins, perhaps of wizened
crones, whom he was eagerly persuading to reform
in some way or other — to join a Sunday class or a
'Band of Hope,' or to attend a meeting of some sort.
It may be that Mr. Towie enjoyed the social charms
of the lively old-fashioned drawing-room up-stairs,
with Alice Glendinning's soft, dreamy music, and
Pat's lively, rattling conversation, and felt tnat it was
a great relief to drop in there now and then, after the
dark closes and the filthy wynds he had so much
of all day long, or even after the lonely dreariness
of his own lodgings up three stairs in Keir Street ;
yet he certainly did not even there neglect the
work committed to his charge.

•Jock,* he said one evening as he was in the
garden anjong Arthur Glendinning's boys — 'Jock
Halliday, I want you to make up your mind
thoroughly about the temperance cause. I want
you to put down your name just now as one <
our new " Band of Hope." Will you do it V

Jock's usual rejoinder was of course at hand :
'Hooh! I'm no heedinV

'Well, but Jock, you know, it's a thing you ought

i >.\

JOCK HALLWAY.

to consider carefully. Look at your mother's diffi-
culties, poor woman, for instance, all through your
father's unfortunate propensity to drink.'

*Ay, weel, but I dinna ken what guid it wad dae
me to pit ma name doon. I drink nacthing stronger
nor pump-water frae June to Januar', and frae
Januar' back to June again. What mair can 1 dae
to keep afft.?'

'That's a good beginning, Jock — a grand begiti-
ning ; but if you put down your name, it gives a
sort of confirmation to the thing. It strengthens
immensely your good resolution ; and — and then
your influence over others, you know, Jock — that
is a most important thing.'

* Influence ?' said Jock, gaping with astoni.sh-
ment.

'Yes, my man, influence. I mean that wratever
one fellow does, a good many others are likely to
do. Let 3'our influence be for good, Jock, not
for evil'

* I dinna ken,' answered Jock slowly, ' wha wad
be likely to dae onything because Jock Halliday
had dune't — unless it was onything daft-like, may-
be,' he added with a laugh.

'Well, you know, Jock, there's that fellow up
your own stair — William Bruce. You've more say
with that family than I have by a long way. I
doubt very much Willie is going to give us the slip

-i

MR. TOiVJKS 'BAND OF HOPE:

}r's diffi-
gh your

wad dae
stronger
ind frae
m 1 dae

d begin-
gives a
engthens
nd then
ck — that

astoni.sh-

tvratever
likely to
ock, not

vha wad
Hallida)'
:e, may-
How up
aore say
way. I
the slip

altogether, and that his poor wife and children will
jtoon be in a most miserable condition. Now,
couldn't you try to stop that fine fellow from
ruining himself? Think over it, Jock.*
Jock shook his head.

* It's thae polytecks,' he said at last, rubbing his
sandy hair. * It's a bad job when they tak to them,
Tam Lowrie an' his set hae gotten a haud o' Willie,
an' he gangs up to their club noo at nicht an* spouts
awa. He thinks himsel* a gran' haun' at it, they
say, I dinna ken aboot that ; but I ken, whan Tam
Lowrie an' him comes hame, whiles they're no
that sure whether theii heids or their heels are
upmost*

* Well, Jock, suppose you join the temperance
band to-night, and tell Willie you've done it ?
There's Miss Glendinning, though, calling us. Will
ye go with me to the meeting to-niglit, and do
it?'

But in spite of all Mr. Towie's eagerness, — his
eyes being nearly out of his head, and his hair quite
perpendicular, — Jock only shook liis head once more,
and uttered his usual indifferent response, ' I'm nae
heed in'.'

CHAPTER IX.

SANDY'S HAME-COMIN'.

-^T was zhc t two months after this conver-
sation had occurred, when the early snow
was lying deep in the streets, and the
bitter winds were sweeping round every corner, that
Mrs. Halliday received another letter from her
absent spouse. It was very short. In fact, it only
stated he would oe home on the following morning,
he and his mates being about to start from London
by the night ttun, their job being over, and Mr.
Halliday's own health being far from good. It was
eight o'clock when the letter arrived. Jock had
come home for his breakfast, and read it aloud, aftei
which he computed that his respected parent would
be due in a couple of hours. It rather startled the
little family circle, this bit of news.

* Eh ! Jock, an' to think o' me wi' the hoose no
redd up nor naethin' ! No that yer faither's
awfu' perteeklur naither ; but he's been sae lang

SANDTS HAME'COMIN",

awa, an' Lunnon's siccan a gran' place forbye
this ! '

* It's as weel ye're no at the fact'ry the day,* said
Jock. * I'll rin doon an* see if Maistcr Braid can
spare me ower to the station. He'll maybe need
a lift wi' his cairrages.*

* 'Deed ay, Jock, my man, that's wool thocht
on,* said his mother cordially as she threw some
sticks on the slumbering fire, and seized her ' fail-
me-never,' — the old hairless besom, — proceedin;,; at
once to rake the premises with it wildly as hereto-
fore, in search of ' matter out of place ' (as dirt has
been defined by a modern philosopher!). Some
vague notion was evidently in her head that Sandy
had been accustomed of late to many luxuries and
refinements in the great metropolis — streets paved
with gold probably being one of them — after which
the aspect of Modern Athens would seem decidedly
dull and prosaic!

Some hours later, when Mrs. Halliday's fire had
burned up a little, and her kettle had been got to
boil in preparation for her husband's breakfast, she
plunged her head out at the window, and, leaning
on the iron beam before mentioned, began her
anxious look-out. On a chair by the fire were a
cracked cup and saucer, a spoutless teapot, and one
or two articles of the family service. The viands
consisted of (to use her own words) ' a muckle loaf,

JOCK II ALU DA Y.

a clad o' butter, an* a wlianfr o' cheese.* It might
not be much, but it was vvaitinj^ there with a kindly
welcome for one who had scarcely reason to expect
much welcome of any sort. Many and many a time
the blankets had all been in pawn, the cupboard
had been bare, and the 'bairns sair hunj^ercd,' all
because Sandy Halliday could not want his glass —
not only one glass, certainly, but a good many.
But Mrs. Halliday was good nature itself, and never
a harder word escaped her than, * I'm jist racl vext
aboot Sandy, dae ye ken I *

* Eh, sirs me 1 ' she exclaimed after a short
.scrutiny of the passers-by, 'there's Jock noo, comin'
roon frae the Brig ; an' if that's no the gudeman
hissel', Icanin' real heavy-like upon him. Preserve
me ! What'll be wrang } Is't thae broon kadies
again .-* I maun rin doon an* help Jock wi' him.'

So saying, she lost no time in hastening down
to the street ; but before she reached it, she met
Betsey and the other children, who had been sent
out of the way for a little time till * faither got
sattled.' Betsey, however, had been on the alert
while occupied with her skipping-rope, and came
flying back now with the latest intelligence.

' Eh ! mither, faither's awfu' fou ! Jock canna
get him hauden straught up for a' he can dae.'

* Gae awa wi* yer havers, lasr.ie, an' dinna hinder
me the noo/ cried the poor mother in an agitated

SANDY'S IJAME-COMLV,

9«

many.
1 never
-1 vcxt

short
com in'
Jeman
cserve

adies

m.'

down
e met
1 sent
r got
alert
came

:anna

inder
tated

voice as she pushed the girl away and ran up
the Row as quickly as she could. Sandy's
eccentricities she was well used to, and it was
not a trifle that would strike her so deeply. A
stat^gering gait or confused utterance might have
been vexing enough, to be sure, just at his home-
coming ; but Mrs. Ilalllday's practised eye saw
tiiat something else was wrong too. She was
quite right. Sandy Ilalliday had come home —
a dvin^:^ man !

Jock had found no easy task waiting him at the
Wavcrley Station ; for Mr. Ilalliday and his mates,
who were kindred souls, had spent all the first
part of their homeward journey in discussing the
contents of several black bottles, and the latter
part of it in endeavouring to sleep off the effects
of the same. The other men, strong and hale,
had accomplished this desirable end so far as to
be able to stagger homewards unaided ; but
Halliday, a worn-out man a^ the best, and now
labouring under an incipient attack of his mortal
enemy the * broon kadics,* could only reel help-
lessly about on the platform till he was gr.sped
and steadied by the stronger arm of his son. Jock
took the same view if the case as his sister Betsey
had done, and he was on!) angry — not alarmed
in any way. Uttering a few growling reproaches,
he gathered up the few ' cairrages ' his father

IMAGE EVALUATION
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Sciences

Corporation

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L1>^

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO

(716) 872-4SC3

N' ^^>^^\

■<<*.'*

JOCK H ALU DA V.

had brought with him, and gripping him again
by the elbow, he made the best of his way out
of the crowded station, and then up the long
incline leading to Bank Street, and so on till
they had crossed George IV. Bridge and reached
the Candlemaker Row. It was a long and arduous
pilgrimage, for Halliday senior, lurching heavily
from side to side at every step, drove his son
now into the gutter and now against the wall,
complaining all the time in a feeble tone that
the 'hooses gaed roon' an' roon* like a whurley-gig.*
Long as the way was, however, Jock would not
shorten it, as he might have done by going down
the Bow ; for Braid's shop being there, he waj
determined not to risk this new disgrace. Never
a word had he uttered during the walk ; he was
too angry and ashamed for that. It was only
when his mother came running towards them
that he perceived how much worse things were
than he had supposed. For his mother's face was
white with fear, her eyes were startled-looking,
and she had hardly a word for either of them.
She held up her finger as if to warn her son. And
then Jock looked, too, in the face of his miserable
sire. It was a strange, ghastly, and blue-looking
countenance, from which all intelligence and anima-
tion seemed to have vanished ; and it was one on
which some dark, dread shadow seemed lowering

SANDY'S HAME-COMirr,

fast Even the boy's inexperienced eye saw now
that something else was wronf^, and his heart
smote him for having been so angry.

The neighbours gathered quickly round, and
they were all kind and sympathetic, whatever
view of the subject they took.

*Puir fallow; he's sair forfochen !* said one
woman. ' Thae trains is eneuch to kill onybbdy !
Come awa, my man, an* I'll gie ye a han' up this
lang stair o* oors 1 '

They clapped Mrs. Halliday on the back, and
tried to encourage her, too, in this new distress ; and
even Mrs. Lowrie, though she never meddled with
her neighbours, according to her own account,
caught hold of Jock as he followed the wavering
procession slowly up the stair, and whispered in his
ear:

* Jock, my man, if yer mither wants a bite to gie
him, or even a wee drap o' the cratur to revive him
like, jist ye come doon to me for't.'

With all this attention Sandy Halliday was soon
laid safely, and as comfortably as circumstances
would permit, on his own bare, curtainless bed.
Every ordinary means of reviving him was first tried,
but tried in vain, and then the doctor was sent for.
It was growing late when he came, and the early
darkness of a short winter day was setting in. He
shook his head.

t )

1 1

JOCK HALLIDA Y.

* A very bad case/ he said. * Too far gone for any
remedies. I don't know if he'll live over the night.
Just wet his lips with a little brandy now and then.'

Jock went for Mr. Towie, too, and everything the
sick man could want was readily obtained ; but
Halliday only lay unconscious, breathing very hard,
with a strange rattling in his chest. He neither
spoke nor moved.

Agnes Bruce had taken all the children *ben*
to her own fireside, where they were better cared for
than usual. Jean Campbell and other neighbours
came and sat with Mrs. Halliday in solemn conclave
round the bed, only uttering wise saws and sayings
occasionally, or expressions of condolence. The
poor afflicted wife said little, but rocked herself to
and fro, covering her face, except when she rose to
look at * her Sandy,* and to moisten his dry, parched
lips.

And so the long dark night passed away, and
the chill, eerie hour before the dawn had come.
The neighbours had all gone for a time, except
Jean Campbell, who, with Jock, sat grim and silent by
the fire. Mrs. Halliday had grown restless, and in
stirring about the little room had come upon her
favourite besom, which, by the mere force of habit,
she now clutched with her trembling hands. Just at
that moment a gleam of intelligence lighted up the
face of the dying man. By the quivering light of

SANDTS HAME-COMIJSr,

their one candle she perceived it, and stooped gently
over him.

* Gudewife,' he said feebly.

* Ay, Sandy, ma man, ma ain gudeman ; ye're at
yer ain hame noo, Sandy, ye ken.'

'Gudewife, ye're — ye're — aye — reddin' up the
hoose,* he said, glancing at the besom.

'Ay, Sandy, ma man, 'deed am I, lad, an*
never mak verra mickle o't, maybe, ye'll be
thinkin'.'

'I'm thinkin',' said Sandy with an efiort,
' there's m.iybe something for me — till — redd up —
tac — but — it's — maybe — owre — late.'

His voice died away into a whisper as he said it,
and the gleam of life and intelligence began to fade.
Was it some echo from the long-gone past saying,
in that silent hour, 'Set thine house in order, for
thou shalt surely die*? Or was it only a passing
fancy of the disordered brain ? Who can tell .^

However that may be, poor Sandy's hour had
come, and from the miserable and disorderly house
there went forth into the darkness a * tenant-at-will'
— not very orderly — not very ready to go — yet he
went! — whither? oh, whither?

V. i

CHAPTER X.

'LIGHTS AND SHADOWS IN THE STAIR.*

I IRS me ! It's a rael camsteery kind o*
warld this, aifter a' !'

These were Mrs. Lowrie's words as she
sat in front of her own ashy fireside next Saturday
evening, the great ' Polyteecian* himself enjoying
the calumet of peace and her society in his own
ingle-neuk.

* What are ye gaun on aboot, wumman ? ' was
Tam's rejoinder.

* It wad mak onybody g'ang- on, as ye ca'd, to
think o* a waddvC at the stair- fit an' a kisten at
the stair-heid, baith trysted for the same hour
tae! 'Deed, I dinna ken hoo to manage a gUsk
o' baith o' them ; or whilk may be the best worth
a body's ♦^ime!'

' Katey Blake's waddin* '11 no be a great aftair, I

wad say.*

''Deed no. He's but a weedaw-man she's gettin',

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS IN THE STAIR. 97

an' I hae nae opeenion o* them. I aye think the
gloss is kin' o' aff o' them like.'

* Havers, wumman, havers ! *

' Havers or no havers, Tarn, I hae a richt to
ma opeenion ; an' I'll e'en say that gin ye had
been a weedaw-man yersel* lang syne, I wadna
hae gane the length o' ma fit to the minister's
wi' ye ! There's for ye, ma man I*

Tarn smoked on in silence, keeping his eyes
fixed on the smouldering embers in the grate.
Whether he saw there any dream-like picture of
what his life must have been, bereft of the sweet
society of Mrs. Lowrie, or whether it was a vision
of that lady herself, as when in maiden loveliness
she first captivated his youthful fancy, must
remain uncertain. Probably his feelings were too
deep for utterance.

His wife bestirred herself presently, and after a
few easy toilet arrangements, joined the 'neebors*
on the stair, who were eagerly watching for the
bridal party. She stayed long enough to witness
the departure of Katey Blake, led off in triumph
by the successful widower to the minister's house
in George Square, and then returned for a moment
to her own household gods, in particular to a
three-cornered cupboard, from which she extricated
a small black bottle and a footless wine-glass.

* It's chappit aicht a while syne,' she remarked

•■1

ill

/OCJC HALLIDA K

to her spouse. 'They'll hae puir Sandy screwed
doun by this time — an' 'deed I'm no heedin' if
they hae, for thae gruesome kin' o' sichts gie me
a turn at the hert whiles. But it's what we maun
a' come to, an' I'd like to see wha's there. We'll
awa up. I'll tak this drap o' speerits wi' me,
for it sattles the nerves like naething else, an'
maybe that feckless tawpie '11 hae nane i' the
hoose.*

Tarn followed his wife obediently, and they
soon reached Halliday's garret, which looked
barer than ever in its unwonted order and quiet.
There was the coffin, proudly styled ' a full-muntit
kist,' laid on two chairs, with the long gaunt form
already gently enough lifted into it. There was
the poor widow, surrounded by some friendly neigh-
bours, and the half-frightened 'bairns' huddled
into a corner in the background. The Lowries
were in good enough time to offer condolence,
the little ceremony being barely over ; but Tam
slunk back into the darkness of the landing, and
allowed his wife to represent the family on this
important occasion. There was perfect silence
among all the men and women present, until at
last the widow herself gave brief utterance to her
feelings : ,

^ Ma puir Sandy ! Ma ain gudeman ! '

This was all ; but the tone in which it was said

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS IN THE STAIR. 99

spoke volumes. No one could doubt that, what-
ever had been the faults and failings of the
deceased, he was at that moment to her the fine
manly fellow she had thought so much of in days
gone by — the husband of her youth, the father
of her children.

Then the company followed suit, each with
some appropriate sentiment or moral reflection,
generally pretty well-worn ones.

* Aweel ! it's a* ower wi* him, puir fallow I '

*Ay, sirs! an* it's the road we maun a* gang!
Wha'U be the neist t It's hard to say ! '

' He luiks rael pleesant like, puir man ! ' said one
woman. ' We've a' oor ain fauts, nae doot, but to
ma way o' thinkin* Sandy wasna the warst in
the stair ! '

Mrs. Lowrle darted an irate glance at the last
speaker, as if jalousbi! who might be supposed
to merit that unenviable distinction which poor
Sandy Halliday had failed to attain ; but it was
neither the time nor the place for open hostilities.

* We're a* frail human craturs/ she said aloud,
in the didactic style she was so fond of as-
suming as head of the 'stair-folk,' — 'frail human
craturs ; an' what mair hae kings an' princes, an*
grit anes o' the yerth, till say for themsels \ An*
as to oor fauts an* failins, them 'at thinks themsels
the whitest are maybe jist as black as ither fowk,

100

JOCK HALLIDA Y.

an' a hantle blacker. But I'm vcrra jrled to see
a* thing here sae wisclike an' respectably con-
duckit ; it's a racl gcnteel-like kist, an* docs credit
to the stair.'

Mrs. Lowrie had the last word. All seemed
to feel that due respect had now been paid to
the bereaved family, and one by one they retired,
after a brief word of farewell and a kindly
shake of the hand, to the poor desolate creature,
who tried to say :

* Thank ye kindly, neebors, for the grace
that ye hae dune this nicht to him that canna
thank ye.'

Most of the departing guests — among others
Mrs, Lowrie — were in time to hail the return
of the bridal pair, and to join in pelting with
old 'shoon' (they were very old!), and handfuls
of salt, the fair young damsel who, according
to the highest authority in the stair, had been
rather too easily won, and who was no longer
simple Katey Blake, but Mrs. Michael Flannigan.

Nature had, however, been beforehand with
them in the matter of pelting, for the whole
party were plentifully sprinkled with white fleecy
snowflakes — the first outcome of a wintry storm
that had been brooding silently over the country
for days.

And the next day — Sunday — ^while the white-

ns II;

i '

Iff:

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS IN THE STAIR. loi

mantled hills kept guard round the city, and leaden
skies hung low over the muffled streets, one
little procession attracted the attention of the
people in the Row, for it was one of their own
number going the way whence he would not
return.

A tall lad followed close to the humble hearse,
leading two little boys with him. His mourning
was scanty in the extreme — only a band of
crape round the well-brushed 'bonnet,* slouched
carelessly, as usual, over a face very white and
hungered-looking. He never raised his eyes from
the deep ruts made by those black wheels upon the
snow-clad ground.

So, perhaps, — and even in plainer characters, —
lay the example of the dead father they followed
before the eyes of his children !

Had the little garret looked bare and dismal
at the sad ceremony of Saturday night? It now
looked far more so — what house of mourning
does not ? — when all was over, and the bereaved
family had gathered once more in narrowed
circle round the cheerless hearth. There was a
fire, indeed, though rather a smoky one, for Jean
Campbell had all that evening kept on stalking
in at intervals with a bit of stick or some
cinders, which she coaxed into a flame ; and she
had even pushed the old tin kettle into a snug

X02

JOCK HALLWAY.

corner, where there was some chance of it boiN
ing in process of time, though poor Mrs. HaHiday
repeatedly assured her that this latter step was
useless, saying, 'There isna a pickle tea within
the fowr wa's o' the hoose this nicht I *

But in spite of Jean Campbcirs kindly atten-
tions, things looked as dull and desolate as they
could possibly do — one feeble tallow candle
flickering in the socket being the only light they
had. The widow rocked herself to and fro,
with a low moaning sound, on a 'crcepie' before
the fire. The younger ones crouched silently
and wondcringly near her ; while Jock sat with
his face buried in his hands, and his head
resting on a wooden spar at the foot of the
dismantled bed, the white sheet of which still
bore the impress of his father's cofiRn-lid.

He was the first to rouse himself. He stepped
forward to where his mother sat, and put his
hand on her shoulder :

' Dinna ye greet, mither,' he said, — * dinna
ye greet sae sair ! Ye hae nae cause to blame
yersel', for ye were aye gude and kind to him.
It's me that micht greet, for I was ^o^y dour an*
thrawn wi' him at times.'

There was a sob in the boy's voice as he said
this, and yet in a moment he had rallied. A
spirit of self-defence seemed to rise within his

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS IN THE STAIR. 103

breast, and, shaking back his rou.c^h shock of
hair, he muttered between his teeth : * 'Deed it
was gey hard at times to ken hoc to deal wi*
him ! •

*Eh! Jock, ma man!' cried the widow, bursting
into tears, 'dinna speak that gait o' yer ain faithcr,
an' him new carried frae the door ! '

Jock fell back rebuked and ashamed, and once
more laid down his shaggy head to rest upon
the bed-foot. He was wearied out from want of
food, want of sleep, and unwonted excitement,
and at that moment there were strange new
thoughts throbbing and surging in that rough head
of his, so hardly pillowed.

' I've jiststappit up to speir for ye, puir body, said
another voice at that moment. It was Mrs. Lowrie,
who was certainly not without a kindliness of her
own. • Ye maun be verra dowff an' dowie this nicht.
See, noo, I hae jist brocht up a drap spirits wi' me,
an' ye'U pit this ower yer throat or we begin oor
cracks — it'll dae ye a warld o' guid.*

Mrs. Halliday thanked her, and put the glass to
her lips. Then remembering her son, she paused
and said, * That puir laddie has mair need o't than
me. He's had neither bite nor sup this day, puir
fallow.'

Mrs. Lowrie looked as if she thought this rather
a waste of the precious liquor, but at a time like

^|i

I04

JOCK HALLIDA \\

\ 1

this she could not refuse. * Hae, Jock, ma man, tak
a drap o' this ; ye're welcome,* she urged in her
hos]:)itable manner.

And Jock lifted his heavy head for a moment, and
looked wistfully enough at the fiery spirit that
sparkled gaily even in the dirty wine-glass and
under the flickering light. It was like the * red
pottage* of old in the eyes of the fainting hunts-
man : life, vii3;our, warmth, comfort — all seemed to
be in that tempting draught, while without it there
was only death and desolation. Ah I but the
drunkard's life and the drunkard's death were lying
blank and bare before him, forcing him to utter
in his heart one agonizing cry that they might
yet be saved from a fate so terrible-- himself and
those he loved in his own rough, boyish way so
well.

Jock covered his face with his hands, while Mrs.
Lowrie stood with the brimming glass beside him.
Only for a minute, yet it seemed to him an hour ;
for in that brief moment how many faces came and
vent, how many voices sounded in his ear I His
n •:»y!.er and the children beggars, and worse than
b'^ggars ; little Effie and her mother worn and
-".'cisted, shrinking from the deep abyss into which
her foolish father's hand was daily dragging them
down ; and far above that, like some bright angel
form, was the pure, sweet presence of Alice

■ !

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS IN THE STAIR, 105

Glendinning, saying in her clear, soft tones, * Be
good, Jock — be good and brave. Tread the way
we tread, live the life we live ! '

That momentary struggle past, the boy jumped
to his feet full of a new and eagf resolve — so
suddenly, indeed, that he knocked right up against
poor Mrs. Lowrie and her proffered glass, spilling
half its contents on the floor.

* Mother/ he said firmly, ' we've seen aneuch o't,
you an* me ! We'll hae nae mair to do wi't. Come
what may, I'm awa tae pit doun my name!*

Some brief words of thanks to their astonished
visitor, and Jock was off.

* Preserve me, the laddie's in a creel ! To skail
the guid Glenleevat as if it was but ditch water ! *
exclaimed Mrs. Lowrie, draining off the rest of her
glass as if in an unconscious reverie. * But 'deed
young folk's as weel wantin't, in ma opinion ; sae you
an' me'U jist hae a quate drappie by oorsels, hinnie,
noo that he's awa*.*

* Na, na, neebor ! Thank ye kindly ; thank ye
kindly ! But it's owre true what oor Jock says, thai
we hae seen aneuch o't. Ma puir laddie maun be
the breadwinner noo that his faither's awa, an I'll
no gang against him naeway. It's no for me tae
pit the stane o* stumblin* in his gait. Na, na ! But
I'm awfu' muckle obleeged tae ye for a' that — 'deed
amir

1 06

JOCK HALLIDA Y.

Mrs. Lowrie's anger fairly boiled over at this
second refusal. * Avva wi' ye, ye hypocreetical
jaud ! You an* yer ne'er-dae-weel son '11 hae gey
empty stamacks or ever / offer to feed ye again !
If it wasna for the deed man new carrit frae
yer door, I wad gie ye a bit mair o* ma mind,
I'se warrant ye. But I'll say nae mair e'noo. I
ken brawly what's what, though I'm maybe no
sae thick wi* yer leddy-veesitors as ye think yersels
to be.'

So saying, the irate lady flounced off, banging
the door after her violently, and rushed down
the stair almost as quickly as Jock had done.

Poor Mrs. Halliday, deeply affected at the result
of her own words, which she had meant to be
perfectly courteous, was destined to be still more
startled by the extraordinary behaviour of her only
remaining comforter, Jean Campbell. For Jean
started to her feet as soon as the door was
slammed, and began to clap her hands eagerly,
though in a subdued manner, too, and then gave
vent to one or two long shrill laughs or other
unearthly sounds peculiar to her. It was evident
^that Jean greatly rejoiced, for some reason, in the
turn events had taken.

'Wheesht, wheesht, ma wumman!* cried poor
Mrs. Halliday in an awe-struck whisper; *div ye no
mind that this is a hoose o' murnin' an' a hoose

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS IN THE STAIR. 107

o' death? It's no a time for the lauchter o' fules
an' the clappin* o* hands. Oh no, an' my puir
Sandy's corp hardly owre the doorstep.'

Jean seemed stricken with remorse when she saw
the poor creature give way again to all the violence
of her grief.

* Ye'U not heed a poor, crazy creature like Jean,'
she said with a coaxing tone, patting her on the
shoulder as if she had been a child ; ' but I was
glad, glad. Sorrow and death are here indeed ;
hunger and want and poverty are here, yet I
say to ye. Rejoice ! Rejoice ; for when the devils
are gone back to their swineherd again, the angels
of God will draw near — ay, they must be very
near now.'

* Aweel, Jean,' said the widow, only half pacified
by this strange address, 'they maun be unco like
angels 'at wad think o* comin' to a place like this.'

* A queer kind of angel?' said Jean meditatively.
* Ay, maybe it will be that.'

And Jean Campbell was right.

A f"

CHAPTER XI.

BETTY'S SUPPER PARTY.

E must now for a moment follow Mrs.
Lowrie on her hasty flight down the
long, dark stairs. Near her own door
she bumped up against a woman with a large
basket, who was ascending slowly and laboriously.
So rapid had been Mrs. Lowrie's motion that
this sudden collision was a pretty smart one, and
on the stranger was immediately poured forth
a torrent of that vituperative eloquence for which
* Tarn Lowrie's wife' was so justly famed.

But the new-comer, a big, brawny country
woman speaking with a strong Lowland accent,
seemed by no means overwhelmed.

'Keep yer ain fish-guts for yer ain sea-maws,

ma wumman!' she retorted. 'Aw dinna like that

lang'age o* yours, aw can tell ye ; an' maybe ye'd

no like mine gin ye had a taste o't ! '

* Ay, indeed ! ' began the other lady. * A fine

108

Ii:

BETTY'S SUPPER PARTY.

109

iws,
that

ine

pass this IS that things hae come to, when a body
canna ca' the stair their ain, even on a Sawbath
nicht, but maun mak room for a set o* tinkler
folk traikin* about wi' their baiiskets, like it was
Hallow Fair!'

The stranger, however, deigned no reply this
time, but marched steadily on, and disappeared,
basket and all, into the darkness of the stair.

Jean Campbell had been right, for a messenger
of help and comfort was near, as she had said ; and
yet it was but 'a queer kind of angel' too! No
white-robed, aerial, winged form, but the substantial
matter-of-fact * Betty,* head cook, housekeeper, and
factotum in the Glendinning family ; for she it was
who now presented herself at the door of the
Hallidays' desolate garret, breathless and excited
after her long climb and recent sharp encounter
with some one below.

It was probably this state of perturbation that
caused her to knock more violently at the widow's
door than she would otherwise have done.

Mrs. Halliday herself opened it, saying in a
querulous tone :

' Sirs me ! Wha wad think this was a hoose o*
murnin' wi* a' this Babel gaun on around it .? '

* Dinna talk to me o' Babel, or Bawbylon aither/
said the visitor excitedly, glad to get her story out
at last * The ill lang'age o' that beldame down

TIO

JOCK HALLTDAY.

■'i

'»

■ .

\ \\

\ i

' (I

the stair bates a' that was ever heard in their streets,
or avv'm chatcd ! An* as to a hoose o' murnin', ye
micht as weel say a den o* daurkncss at ance, for aw
can na see wha's leevin' an' wha's dcid here! Eh!
Jean, ma wumnian, is that you ? An hae ye dune
ma biddin' ? *

*Ay, ay,' said Jean, chuckh'ng to herself, and
rubbing her hands as if in eager expectancy of
something pleasant. *Ay, ay; it's all ready — the
fire's kindlin' up fine, an' the kettle '11 not be that
long now. I thought you would be here before
long. Jean said the angels were on the road —
ay did she, though maybe you'd say it was but a
foolish speech.'

Betty, who had little turn for figurative language
such as Jean Campbell frequently indulged in, and
probably did not recognise herself as the subject
of this allegory, began to give some fresh instruc-
tions to Jean regarding the contents of her basket,
which now revealed a noble supply of good things
— ham, cold meat, broken pastry, and bread and
butter, besides a coffee-pot, which only required the
aid of the tin kettle to complete its attractions.

While Jean Campbell busied herself in arranging
these viands in tempting order on the table, and
distractedly blew the feeble flame flickering below
the aforesaid dilatory kettle (a scene which the
Halliday children watched as if it were a trans-

BETT\'S SUPPER PARTY.

Ill

formation scene in the pantomrme), Betty turned
herself to the widow and began some of those
expressions of condolence and sympathy which the
circumstances demanded, and which, to say the
truth, had been somewhat unceremoniously delayed.
But Betty had a kindly, *couthy* manner when
she chose, and soon made it all right.

* Ay, puir body ! * she said, clapping the widow
affectionately on the shoulder, *this is a sair blow
that has come to ye, an' a dovvie hert ye maun hae
this nicht ! An' they tall me he was a wiselike man
to luik at. But ye had a' thing rael wiselike an'
respactable, I hear, an* what mair could ye dae for
him } Sae noo ye'll dry yer een, ma wumman,
an' think o' thae bonnie bairns that's laft to be a
comfort an* a blessin' to ye.*

* They're sair hungered, puir lambs/ said Mrs.
Halliday, drying her eyes. * I was jist gaun to see
if there was a neevefu' o' meal left to mak brose to
them or oor Jock comes back. He was to gang for
a laif frae Mrs. Braid. She wadna mind us seekin'
for't though it's Sabbath, for she kens the circum-
stances.'

'Ye needna trouble Mrs. Braid this nicht, ma
wumman ! Ma mistress has jist sent me up here
aince errant wi' some supper for you an' your
weans ; an' see, here it is a' ready for ye, an' the
kattle's jist comin' through the bile. Sae com^

112 ^ JOCK HALLWAY.

awa an* male the fiairns sit roun* the fireside here.
Whaur's Jock, ma freend, the only ane o' ye that
I'm acquent wi' ? That's his fute on the stair
this verra meenit. Come awa, Jock, ma man, an'
get your bit supper like the lave ! *

Jock entered with a much happier countenance
than he had shown at his departure. He seemed
relieved, too, to find that his mother had got out
of the hands of Mrs. Lowrie and into the safer
ones of old Betty.

*But wha am I to thenk lor a* this.^' began
the poor widow. Then interrupting herself, she
exclaimed, *Eh! I micht weel ken it's Miss Glen-
dinnin' that has dune it a'. Jean said it was an angel,
an' she's the likest to ane I ever saw or heard o' ! '

*Miss Ailice?' said Betty. * Ay, 'deed is she!
It's her aw've aye heard crackin' aboot ye a*, ye
ken — this bein' her districk like ; an' it's her that
gars yer neebor there come oot oor way whiles for
a mouthfu* o' meat (Jean had been despatched
for some sticks), and to get her bausket filled anew
wi' thae prin-cods an' rubbish she gangs aboot wi'.
Puir auld Jean ! She's been mair taen up, though,
aboot you an' the weans than ever she is aboot
hersel' ! Aw'll say that for her, though she's a
queer kin' o' wife tae. Aw dinna ken whiles what
to mak o* her verra weel. But aw'm jist hinderin' ye
wi' ma claivers 1 '

BETTYS SUPPER PARTY.

*Eh no, no, wumman ! yer no hinderin* me I*
exclaimed the grateful widow. ' It jist fair warms
ma hert to hear ye speak ! Will ye tell yer
young leddy hoo she's made the weedaw an' orphan
till rejoice this nicht — an' say ' —

* That wull aw no^ said Mistress Betty stoutly,
* for 'deed it was ma ain aiild mistress that thocht
o' this ! She's as giiid as ony o' them, an' has a
hauntle mair sense an' expairence to the bargain ! *

Then the supper was begun in earnest.

It was a repast such as the young Hallidays had
never even imagined in their wildest dreams, and,
childlike, their sorrow was for the moment forgotten
while with eager eyes and gaping mouths they
prepared to do justice to it. In truth, they sorely
needed some nourishment to revive them ; for the
slender income of the family had been so heavily
taxed by funeral expenses that food was ill to
get, and the poor little things, white-faced and
weary, had got to the indifferent stage which
succeeds the first sharp pangs of hunger. But
that soon vanished at the sight of Mrs. Glen-
dinning's supper.

A cup of coffee revived their mother, too,

wonderfully — far more effectually than all the

*draps' out of Mrs. Lowrie's black bottle could

have done, and she began to talk more composedly

of her recent distress and other topics,

114

JOCK HALL] DAY.

Jean Campbell was not idle meanwhile, even on
her own account, though she chiefly busied herself
in helping the little ones ; and at odd moments
now and then she stopped to rub her hands together
and chuckle quietly to herself, probably remember-
ing the incident of Mrs. Lowrie's rejected offer.
And Betty, having nothing to do but look on, took
that opportunity of discoursing fluently on her own
particular affairs.

*Weel, ye see, aw'd hae been here a ^cy while
since, but aw was hindered, for it's siccan a hoose
for folk, oors. Ye ne'er saw the like. Folk till
their breakfast, folk till their denner, folk till
ilka meal o* meat ; sae nae wonder it taks me a
while to get through a' ma dishes, no to speak
o' ma pats an' pans ! The lasses are verra willin*,
but I aye like to luik after a' thing mysel'.
An Sawbath nicht as this is, we've a heap o'
young folk in on a veesit to the toun, an' they maun
aye hae their meat, ye ken I But the mistress, she
says to me this mornin*, " Noo, Betty, I'll trust to
yer bein' up to thae puir bairns wi' some supper
afore they gang to their beds." "That wull aw,
mem," says aw, "an' wi' a richt guid wull tae!**
An' 'deed aw haena been as pleased wi' the toun
since aw cam' as aw am this nicht, seein* ye a*
made a wee mair cheery like. Eh, sirs, it's an
awfu' place this mickle toun I '

BETTYS SUPPER PARTY

"'5

The widow sighed a melancholy assent to any
views her benefactress might have to offer on this
or any other subject ; but Jean Campbell had a
mind of her own, and was more inclined for
conversation besides.

* The town 1 ' she repeated ; * what ails ye at the
town ? Think ye that the green grass and the
wimpling waters can make folk happier and better
than the town can do ? I trow not.'

* Aweel, Jean, they tell me it's an awfu' place for
sin an' wickedness, whatever ye may think to the
contrar*.'

^ Sin and wicked?iess 1 * repeated Jean scornfully.
* One must needs go out of this world altogether to
get rid of them ! I tell ye that Jean Campbell was
born and bred among Highland hills and glens,
where the foot of the false Southron never trod,
and she knows that the purple heather and the
bracken bush can hide secrets as dark and deeds as
cruel as ever the cold plainstones or the crowded
causeway could tell of.'

' Wheesht, wheesht, Jean, my wumman ! ' inter-
rupted Betty, quite alarmed at Jean's violent words
and strange gesticulations, * Ye maunna gang on
that gait an* fricht thae puir bairns — an' it the
Sabbath nicht tae.'

The Halliday family were, however, in no danger
of being frightened. They were far too well and

ii6

JOCK HALLIDA V.

•\

busily employed still over the fragments of their
meal ; and, besides, Jean's rhapsodies were quite
familiar to their ears, though they often conveyed
but little meaning to their minds.

'A' that aw meant to say was this,* resumed
Betty, who was now putting on her shawl and
bonnet for departure, 'that aw was racl sweered
to leave " Crummie " ma coo, an' "Sawny" an'
•' Mysie " ma mickle swine, an' a' thing sae bonnie an'
caller aboot the doors. Sae Kirsty Deans, the byre
wife — she's an auld crony o' mine — says to me,
" Losh keep me, wumman, ye're never gaun to
leave Thornydean for that muckle heap o' smoky
lums an' sklate stanes as they tell me E'nbro'
is?" "Ay, Kirsty," says aw, "the family are no
gaun a fit wi'oot auld Betty. For what wad aw
hear but that they were a* half-pushioned by some
o' thae toon tawpies wi' their greezy pats an' pans ?
Or what wad aw see but them a' comin' hame as
white's the gowans on the brae yonder, jist wi'
pewlin' owre ill-cookit meat the stamack canna
thole } Na ! na I come what may, aw'm for the
toun." Sae here aw am, an' rael canty have aw
been. Hoot ay ; an' what needs we heed the
claivers o* aither peat bogs or plainstanes ? Never
ye think mair o' them, Jean, ma wumman. Ye'U
be oot oor road the morn for yer awmous ? There's
aye a gude Providence owre us a' wherever oor

!•

BETTY'S SUrPER PARTY.

lot may be cast. Sae guid nicht, an' joy be wl'

I >

ye a

Betty departed, laden with the grateful thanks of
the whole party; and Jock went with her, as in duty
bound, to see her safely home, and to carry the
empty basket. As it was getting late now, and she
was so much of a stranger in the city, Betty did
not despise so stalwart an escort. And before long
sweet sleep and peaceful rest had fallen softly over
the Halliday garret

^-frfi

i 1

) ■:

CHAPTER XII.

A NEW EXCITEMENT.

HAT long, hard winter, with its cheerless
skies and pitiless storms, passed away at
Si last by slow but sure degrees, giving way
in its surly fashion to the boisterous mirth of March
and the soft but changeful moods of April. The old
lime-trees in George Square Gardens flushed out
into leafy beauty again, brightened here and there
by purple lilac or golden laburnum. And in the
Meadows and on the Links again the silvery gowans
shone and sparkled in the sunlight, while the air
grew glad around them with the voices of children
in their play.

The Glendinnings and their new Edinburgh friends
had found a fresh source of interest and excitement
in the prospect of a grand bazaar which was to take
place in the Music Hall some time during the sittings
of the General Assembly, when it was hoped the
^lany ministers, with their wives and families, would

118

A NEW EXCITEMENT.

119

swell the number of buyers. The object of this
bazaar was to raise funds for the mission work in
the Grassmarket ; a reading-room, a library, a coffee'
house, and other institutions being much wanted
there.

Into this movement Mrs. Glendinning had thrown
herself with all her warmth of heart and customary
energy. She was to take charge of one of the
largest stalls, besides acting as secretary for the
committee along with their friend, Miss M'Gibbon.
And so from that time forward No. — George Square
became a scene of bewildering arrangements and
preparations, often laughed at by Mr. Glendinning
and the boys, yet ably seconded, too, both by them
and the girls, as well as by numerous visitors, cousins,
schoolfellows, and so forth.

What numberless luncheon parties — what scores
of afternoon teas — had to be held for the due discus-
sion of this all-important business ! Innumerable
friends and relations had to be written to about
* work 'I They had to be coaxed to send 'work;*
threatened with utter estrangement if they failed to
send * work ; ' bullied, tormented, entreated, adjured
to send ' work '! And the result was that by and by
every corner in that large, many-roomed house of
theirs began to bristle all over, bulge out, and finally
boil over with the said 'work.' Bales of anti-
mr.cassars, piles of cushions, footstools and sewed

I20

JOCK HALLIDA Y,

chairs by the dozen, hampers of babies' boots, and
trunk-loads of tea-cosies and pen-wipers — these were
the abundant harv^est of that busy seed-time !

But the seed-time itself was by no means an un-
pleasant period. It was full of new amusement and
fresh interest for the young people especially. Alice
Glendinning went on daily helping in her own quiet,
sensible way ; while the genius of the family herself
even discarded her prolific pen, and stuck to this
new object of enthusiasm for a much longer period
of time than she had ever been known to do in
former instances. Indeed, * Lorenzo the Lost,' though
at the most critical stage of his romantic and thrilling
career, had been recklessly consigned to that fatal
top-shelf in the 'press,' which had already proved
the tomb of so many flashes of intellectual fire.

These bazaar arrangements also necessitated a
deal of intercourse between the Glendinnings and
their good minister Dr. Randal, who was the chief
promoter of the movement. Indeed, scarcely a day
now elapsed that did not see the Doctor rounding
th^ corner that separated his own house on the east
side of the Square from that of the Glendinnings on
the south ; while his face was seen to light up with
a fresh touch of cheerfulness or sparkle of fun as he
encountered some of the younger members of this
happy and warm-hearted family.

Mr. Towie was also frequently to be met — flying,

A NE W EXCITEMENT.

121

as was his wont — in the direction of No. — , eager to
be the bearer of fresh intelligence, perhaps, or the
suggester of some new idea on the all-important
subject.

Other things, however, were not forgotten, nor
other people forsaken, meanwhile. Alice, for in-
stance, visited her district faithfully, making herself
better and more intimately acquainted, week by
week, with the various characters to be found there.
And Arthur, on his part, was carrying on his little
class with more success than ever. It was wonderful
how much ground his boys had gone over already,
and how their interest had been awakened and
deepened concerning many branches of study, both
sacred and secular. The history of their own land,
for one thing, had assumed a much more real and
lively aspect in their eyes ; and when Alice
Glendinning played to them, as she often did, the
grand old Jacobite songs, it was with a full and
intelligent appreciation that they joined in singing
the words, and not after the manner of Geordie Roy,
one of the most musical of their number, who, in the
earlier part of the session, had given an answer
somewhat wide of the mark.

Geordie had sung — and sung remarkably well, too
—from * The Auld Hoose : '

• An' the leddy, too, saegenty, there sheltercJ Scotland's heir,
An' clipp't a lock wi' her ain hand frae his lang yellow hair.'

I2t

JOCK HALLIDAY.

'Now, Geordie,' cried Patricia, who had dashed
into the room for something, * are you quite sure
you know who he was ?*

'Wha?' asked Geordie, staring very hard.

* Why, the man whose hair the old lady cut off, to
be sure I'

*0u ay, I ken that!^ exclaimed Geordie, very
much relieved in his mind. ' It was Samson ! '

Arthur Glendinning laughed heartily, while Pat
rushed out of the room, too much shocked to reply.
But they know all about ' Bonnie Prince Charlie *
now, and about many a better and more respectable
hero, too.

It was on one of those sweet, clear evenings of
the lengthening spring that Jock Halliday, having
finished his lessons, and having lingered behind his
companions to take one more look at his favourites
in the back garden — the Persian rabbits — was at
last slowly leaving the Glendinnings' house for his
own home. At that moment a quick step was on
the pavement by his side, and a familiar voice said :

'Jock Halliday ! The very man I wanted.'

Jock turned and gladly recognised the minister.

Dr. Randal was a man of slight, spare form, and
rather under middle height, yet so well-proportioned
that it would never have occurred to any one to call
him a ' little man.' A sort of mild dignity, peculiar
to himself, gave a tinge of reserve to his intercourse

b^M

A NEW EXCITEMENT.

123

with strangers ; but to more intimate friends his
warm and graceful courtesy added a fresh charm to
his society. [Edinburgh was long privileged to claim
this philanthropic clergyman — so pure and beautiful
in character, so refined and cultivated in mind and
manners — as one of her best and most useful
citizens ; and when at last the veteran soldier of the
Cross laid down his arms, many a grateful heart,
many a loving memory turned sorrowfully towards
his distant grave beside the blue waters of the
Mediterranean.]

Il I

CHAPTER XIII.

MRS. TUCKER AND HER VISITOR.

;HE very man I wanted/ repeated the
minister. * I wish this letter delivered
to my brother, and to have an answer
from him, as soon as may be, to-night, Jock. Could
you go over with it now to Melville Street, wait
for a reply, and then bring it to my house ? I will
take it as a great favour if you will do so. It is a
matter of some little importance, and I know I can
{rust j'ou, Jock, not to loiter by the way.'

* Ou ay, sir,' said Jock readily. M hae naethin'
else on hand jist the noo. I'll no be lang o' stappin*
wast.' He was highly pleased both with the com-
mission and the compliment, though he tried to
speak with his usual nonchalance.

And so, having received his instructions, he set off
at a rapid pace with a letter in his breast pocket
addressed to Dr. Randal, — Melville Street, pro-
mising to be back as soon as possible.

124

MRS. TUCKER AND HER VISITOR. 125

Melville Street looked rather dismal in its spa-
cious and solemn west-end grandeur, with the red
flush of the late sunset still linfjerinfr on its win-
dows, and only a chance passer-by now and then
disturbing the silence of its pavements. Jock
almost started as his own tackety shoes rang on
their unfamiliar flags, and he touched the bright
brass knocker at No. — with some nervous trepi-
dation. The door was opened immediately by an
old housekeeper, in a rusty black silk gown, large
apron, and cherry-ribboned cap, who spoke in a
high, shrill voice, with a Cockney accent, which
Jock did not easily understand.

'Yes, young man,' she said in answer to Jock's
bashful inquiry, 'this is the right 'ouse ; but my
master is not at 'ome, nor won't be for 'alf-an-'our
yet, most likely ; so if you must *ave an answer to-
night, you 'ad best come in and wait a bit. If this
is from my master's brother, as I reckon it is, it
must be attended to — not a doubt of it'

Jock hung back modestly, saying he would call
acfain in half an hour for the answer: but Mrs.
1 ucker being indeed rather anxious for some one
to enliven her solitude that evening, courteously
renewed her invitation.

'You can wait in my own parlour, young man,
and welcome. There is a nice bit o' fire on, for the
hevenings is still chilly ; and me bein' all alone in

ii.

ia6

/OCUr HALLIDA Y.

this great big 'ouse makes me feel lonesome, I do
declare ! '

So Jock followed Mrs. Tucker into her own trig
little parlour on the ground floor, and sat down by
the fire, while she bustled about the room, * rum-
maging' for some keys she had lost, and carrying
on her monologue all the time.

* Yes, it's a bit lonesome, as I say ; but that minx
Martha 'ave set up a young man of her own this last
term, and she will allays be haskin out to rake
about the streets with him — convenient or incon-
venient, it's all one to Martha! Often I says to
her, " Martha, mark my words ! These young men
o' yours '11 bring you no good yet. Look at the
way they've taken to lately — assassinatin' the very
gals they 'ave kept company with ! Cleaving of
their skulls v/ith 'atchets, an' bangin* off revolvers
at 'em, or blowing 'em up with gunpowder ! It's
enough to put young men out o' the fashion,
Martha," says I. ^' Do just read the Heveniri! Noos
for yourself about it," says I.'

Jock felt rather sorry for the absent Martha
having the subject of sweethearting presented to
her in such a discouraging light ; but Mrs. Tucker
looked as if her 'bark might be worse than her bite.'
She had found the keys now, and took her own
arm-chair opposite to him, and prepared for a more
regular chat.

MRS. TUCKER AND HER VIS r TOR. 127

'You've a bit o* crape on your cap, youn^f man ?*
she remarked in a tone of inquiry, and before long
Jock had confided to her the whole story of the
'broon kadies,* and his father's death, in which the
old housekeeper took a lively interest, albeit greatly
in the dark as to the malady in question.

' They're a sair trouble, them ! * quoth Jock.

' Ah, indeed, yes ! Trouble to be sure, as you
say, my lad. But what may your name be, by
the way 1 *

'Jock — John Halliday, that is,' answered Jock.

* Why ! the very name of the book as I've been
a-readin* of this afternoon. To be sure it is— /o/m
Halifax — Getitleman. See, there it is in print, John ;
or Jock, as you Scotch folks say ! '

Mrs. Tucker flourished a greasy-looking volume
before his eyes, and Jock was too much confused
to be able to contradict her.

'Well, you don't just want the "gentleman" after
it, I suppose } ' she went on, laughing good-
humouredly. 'But who knows wot you may be,
some day ? And " 'ansom is that 'ansom does " is
allays my motto. You see, John Halifax, I took
up this vollum by chance, as it were, for that
idle piece Martha had left it about. So I comes
upon a pretty bit about a little blind jirl called
Muriel, an' that set me a thinkin', John Halifax;
I do assure you it did.'

, )

III

128

/OCA' HALLIDA V.

Jock showed much more interest in the book as
soon as the little blind girl was mentioned.

'That maun be a fine story,* he said.

' Yes, indeed, John Halifax, a very fine story ;
but wot I thought about it was this. If that
poor little creatur had only been alive in my
master's day, who knows but he might 'ave cured
her, as he has cured so many } Ah ! wot a
blessed thing it would 'ave been for that poor
father as doated upon her so — deary me, so it
would.'

This was too much for Jock.

* Hooh ! ' he said rather contemptuously, * there's
nae man leevin' can dae the like o* that*

Mrs. Tucker drew herself up proudly, and
smoothed out the folds of h^.: apron with some
asperity.

*I beg you will remember, young man, w/io
my master is. Dr. Philip Randal, the most
celebrated hoculist as this blessed world 'as hever
seen. That means a doctor for the /leyes, young
man ! for, perhaps, you do not know i/iat either ? '

Jock shook his head doubtfully.

* Maybe sae,' he answered, * maybe sae, but I
never heard his name afore.*

'Never 'eard his name!* It was quite a shriek
that accompanied these words. * Never 'eard the
name of Dr, Philip Randal^ a man as the whole

AfRS. TUCKER AND HER VISITOR. 129

of Europe, not to mention the Continent, is pmtid
of! But I pity your ignorance, young man. You
will know better in time.'

Jock was quite frightened at what he had done,
and hastened to express his great regret, saying
that he knew himself to be only a very ignorant
fellow, and that he would like much to hear of this
great man of whom Europe was so proud. Mrs.
Tucker's ruffled feathers were soon smoothed
again, and she proceeded to discourse fluently on
a very congenial theme.

* Not only Europe and the Continent,* she
began, * but the British dominions as well — all know
the name of Dr. Philip Randal, and 'ave 'card of
his wonderful cures. There may be savage Ili'hinds,
young man,* she added in an argumentative tone,
— 'there may be — I do not denige it — where people
'ave 7iot 'card of my master ; but if these are poor
benighted critturs as worship stocks an' stones,
and wear next to nothin* but some feathers on
their 'eads, who can wonder at them ? '

Jock admitted that these unfortunate savages
were not so much to blame, but felt that he must
class himself along with them. He also expressed
a desire to hear some of the wonders performed
by this celebrated man.

* The most re — mar — kable — cures ! ' said Mrs.
Tucker, holding up her hands and turning up

i)iiir

130

JOCK IIALLIDA Y.

licr eyes. * " Don't call 'em cures," says my friend
Mrs. Miig^nns to mc — "don't call 'em cures, my
dear, but viiraclcs !'^ " No," says I, •* Mrs. Miij^^ins.
No! It would be contrairy to Scripture," says I,
"and that I will not give in to. We are poor human
beings," says I, " so don't name the word miracle
to me ! " But if you could 'avc seed the poor
critturs over in Germany, John Halifax, w'ere
me an' my master 'ave been for years, a-comin'
day arter day with their cattertacks an* one thing
an' another, as blind as beetles, an* then seed them
agoin* *ome some fine day lookin* you full in the
face an* cryin* with joy at the sight — believe me,
John Halifax, you'd *ave said Mrs. Muggins warn't
far out !-^yer would indeed I '

Jock scratched his head violently. Something
was evidently working in his mind, and this was his
usual way of helping it out.

* Folk aye says,' he ejaculated at last, * that
a man canna open the een o* them that's born
blin'.'

' Born blind } No, John Halifax, neither they
can. That's in the Scriptures, as I said before,
and that I never will go agin. But I've 'card my
master say, over and over again, that if ever they
saw at all, were it but for a day, they might be
cured. If so be other circumstances were favour-
able, an' they fell into the hands of a skilful

MRS. TUCKER AND HER VISITOR. 131

hoculist — one like my master, you know ; but there
are very few like him.'

Jock's countenance brightened considerably.
Little Effie, of whom he had been thinking, had
not actually been born blind, but had seen, though
only for a short time during her infancy, and this
Jock had learned from Agnes Bruce only lately.

* He'll get a gey lot o* siller for a' that, I'm
thinkin',' suggested Jock with a new idea stirring
in his mind and making his colour rise.

'Silver — John Halifax, silver!' cried the old
housekeeper disdainfully ; ' never less than a gold
piece crosses my master's hand, I do assure you.
One at the very least for a consultation, as it is
called, and then ' —

But the good old lady was suddenly interrupted
by the sharp click of a latch-key, and then a quick
step across the hall.

* Any letters for me, Mrs. Tucker .? * asked the
Doctor in a cheery voice. ' Oh, only this note 1
Let me see it.'

In a few minutes Jock was despatched on his
return journey with a reply in his pocket. He
strode hastily along, whistling softly to himself
as he went, his shaggy head full of a new idea.

CHAPTER XIV.

* GOING DOWN HILL.'

I U

T was only too true about poor Willie Brucx;,
yt!^ For months past he had been going from
^^^^^ bad to worse ; getting more and more
taken up with Tarn Lowrie and the roystering
' politcecians' oi" the Auld Harrow Inn, and less and
less so witl\ his own innocent fireside circle. There
were aiixioiii; and troubled looks now on Agnes
BruceVi once happy countenance, and little Effie's
frock was very si.abby, and her round cheeks were
growing thin and white — for it was little indeed of
the week's wage that came in now-a-days ; while
many and many ;i day Willie only lounged, idle and
sulky, at his ow: hearth, too heav^y and headachy
even to attempt lis work.

All this culmina':ed at last, as might very naturally
be expected, in a sharp and brief dismissal. And
now his poor wife felt that the dark shadow she had
so long feared had indeed closed around her. It
was a brave resistance she had made all these

GOING DOWN hill:

"^Zl

months back, doing her best to keep the wolf from
the door, and all warm and well within. Both ends
had been made to meet somehow, though it was a
sore pull ; but now the worst had come to the
worst, and there was little before them but to ask
for help — even charity — from relatives in the old
Fifeshire village who could but ill afford to give it.

Agnes Bruce had a spirit of independence within
her, born of the good old Scottish peasantry, and
this was a bitter pill for her to swallow. But as
the weeks wore on, and there was no word of
Willie getting into work again, and when the needle-
work she toiled over early and late utterly failed to
support them, it had to be done.

How bare and desolate the little room looked, now
l-hat so many of their best bits of furniture had
silently disappeared one by one in some quiet gloam-
ing hour — the pawnbroker best knew where ! 15ut
perhaps the hardest lines were in the fact that Willie
himself was so sorely changed — so cross and sullen
now to the wife who loved him so dearly, and so
short and snappish to the little children, once all his
pride and delight.

The Lowries themselves were not without some
sort of compunction for the ruin they had been
instrumental in bringing about. Tarn smoked his
black cutty pipe more thoughtfully by the fire now,
and sometimes delivered an interlocutor on the case.

fp '

*34

/OCi: HALLIDA K

* Ye see, wife/ quoth Tarn, * there's a differ amang
heida a.9 weel as amang feet. Some men hae
heids that can cairry a' thae wechty affairs o' the
State an' no be a hair the waur ; some, again, are that
wakcly that theirbrains jist gae bizzin' roun Hke a tee-
totum when they try to get a grupp o' the subjeck.
An' that's the way, I'm thinkin', wi' Wullie Bruce.*

* Hhn a tce-totuni !' skirled the faithful partner of
Tarn's joys and sorrows. * Ye're as like ane yersel,
Tam, as Wullie Bruce is ! It's jist thae sleekit
scoon'rcis that gang up till Towie's meetin's that's
ca'd that ! An' they tell me Jock Halliday's ane o*
them mair betoken. It's aneuch to pit tee-totums
oot o' faushion to hae Jock ane o' them I*

* Hoots, woman ! It's tee-toU/es ye're thinkin' o' !
As Sandy Wudd says, "Talk to a woman, an' ye
talk to a fule."'

* I'd just like to hear Sandy say that till's ain
wife!' cried Mrs. Lowrie triumphantly. * There'd
be geyen few hairs left in /its carroty pow or he
gat his answer ! It's " 7io ilka cock that c 'aws best
in its ain midden," in ma opeenion !*

Mrs. Lowrie chuckled so long and loudly over this
new rendering of a.i ancient proverb, and over the
imaginary defeat of the scurrilous 'Sandy Wudd,*
that she had quite recovered htr good humour by
the time she was done, and the course of domestic
converse ran more smoothly after that.

• GOING DOWN HILL.'

135

Jock Halliday slipped into the !C uccs' garret for
a few minutes on his return home that evening,
having it in his mind to introduce the subject of Dr.
Philip Randal and his wonderful cures, if he saw the
slightest grounds of hope that the family might ere
long be able to afford a consultation. But things
looked worse and more discouraging even than he
had imagined. Willie Bruce, with eyes bloodshot
and heavy, and hair matted and wild, had got to the
defiant stage, and sat moodily by the hearth, growl-
ing at all the world in general and his late employers
in particular. He announced his intention of leaving
the country immediately (by what means he did
not condescend to explain), and no longer seeking
work from a blackguardly and rascally company of
scoundrels and tyrants thdt had screwed all the life
out of him, and given him no more than dog's wages
for it all. No ! he was a free man and a citizen as
good as any of them were, and he v/asn't going to be
trampled into the dust for their patent leather to
tread upon ! Not he ! He had done that long
enough to please some people (here he gave his poor
wife a very withering look!) — some people who
showed mighty little gratitude for it too — but
he was done with that ! Just see if he wasn't I
* The rank is but the guinea stamp, the man's the ' —
'Wheesht, man!' interrupted Jock Halliday at
this stage of the proceedings, * dinna mak a fule o'

136

JOCK HALLIDA K

yersel nae mair nor ye are ! That's " cauld kail het
again " o' Tarn Lowrie's — we a' ken that jaurgon !*

Willie turned an infuriated look upon this im-
pertinent youth, and rose as if to throttle him ; but
Agnes Bruce stepped quickly in between them, and
with a new tone of authority in her voice, bade her
husband sit down again, and Jock to leave them for
the present. While Jock turned reluctantly away
he was arrested by a Httle incident, very trifl'ng in
itself, but which proved sufficient to keep him awake
for an hour or two that night.

Willie Bruce had staggered back to his chair at
the resolute bidding of his helpmeet, but as he
did so his eye caught sight of poor little Effie's
treasured 'penny pig,' now well-nigh full of copper
coins, with a modest admixture of silver.

Many and many times the little blind child
jingled these gaily to herself, or in her mother's ear,
prattling all the while of bonnie summer days to
come, when * faither ' would take them all to * Lairgo
Bay ' to hear the big waves plashing round the rocks,
and to %^x a fine sail in Geordie Sharp's boat.

Agnes Bruce could only sigh when Effie said
all this, knowing how faint and far away those
golden dreams of happier days were fast becom-
ing in her own heart. Still she would not dash
the one little cup of pleasure from the tiny hands
that had so few to carry. And Effie's store was

*GOIVG DOWN hill:

137

safe enough — she had never doubted that ! How-
ever pinched and straitened the family circum-
stances might be, the thought of borrowing one
penny from Effie's pig had not once even
occurred to her. It could not have been safer in
the bank itself, with all its bolts and bars and fire-
proof safes, than it was in this stepmother's hands.

But Willie Bruce's fevered, bloodshot eyes had
rested on the brown crock often enough lattly
with a hungry, covetous look, and to-night — in his
bitter and rebellious mood — he went farther than
that. He even clutched the treasure with his
shaking hand, and tried to push it into one of
the pockets of his shabby coat. But Agnes was
quicker than himself. She darted on him like
lightning, her mild face changed in a moment to
one of indignant scorn, and seizing the drunkard's
weak, nerveless arm, forced him to resign his prey.

*Ye fause-herted loon!* she exclaimed; then,
instantly falling back into her usual tender and
gentle ways, * O ! Willie, Willie ! wad ye meddle
wi' the wean's bit gear ? — yer wee b 'in' lassie ! '

Willie did not answer. He slunk back to his
seat silent, and perhaps ashamed, while his wife
replaced the toy with trembling haste. Jock had
sprung forward to help her, but seeing it was
unnecessary, hastened to withdraw altogether, as
she silently motioned him to do.

? (■

CHAPTER XV.

'STOP thief!*

;OCK HALLIDAY passed but a restless
night. What with his recent excite-
ment about the Penny Pig, and Willie
Bruce's attempted raid on it, besides wandering
thoughts and wild conjectures regarding the great
eye-doctor and one particular cure he might yet
accomplish, he found it quite impossible to fall
into his usual deep, unbroken slumber. It was
only four o'clock when he started from his bare,
comfortless bed, wide-awake, and firmly resolved
not to lie another minute, but to go out and see
what the 'caller air* would do to cool his heated
brain and refresh his wearied powers.

The cold grey dawn was just coming in through
the dingy, uncurtained window of their little garret.
It was too soon to disturb his mother, who snored
and slumbered blissfuV/, surrounded by her nume-
rous flock in the big tent bed beyond the fireplace ;

188

'STOP THIEF r

139

and Jock's toilet arrangements being of the briefest
and simplest description on all occasions, were
now minimized so as not to arouse even the most
wakeful of the family.

In a few moments he found himself standing
at the * stair-fit/ looking sleepily enough up and
down the steep Candlemaker Row, which was
as yet shrouded in silence and slumber. Now
that he was out in the open air, what was he to
do } Where was he to go } Mr. Braid's bakehouse
did not open till five at the earliest.

Suddenly there was a swift foot on the stairs
behind him — a man banged up against him, and
almost sent him spinning into the niddle of the
road. At the same time he heard the jingle of
some coins in the man's pocket — a curious sort of
jingle too, hard and loud, as if they were contained
in some box or coffer — a peculiar sound, yet one
not unfamiliar in Jock's ears. The man had
darted past him, and was about to rush down
towards the Grassmarket, when, quick as thought,
Jock Halliday gripped him by the sleeve.

*Wullie Bruce!' he ejaculated. He could say
nothing more. He knew now the man's errand,
and what the rattling sound was. Willie Bruce
had stolen his blind child's pennies after all, and
was off to turn them into whisky as soon as ever
the publicans would let him !

'Hands aff!' growled the older man with an

140

JOCK HALLIDA K

oath. * I'll fell ye to the plainstanes gin ye dinna
lowse yer grip ! *

He was a strongly-built man, and, though now
but the wreck of what he had been, he was stronger
still for the moment with fury and desperation.
With one fierce thrust he managed to get the
better of his antagonist, who, of course, was but a
half-grown stripling, very insufficiently fed.

Poor Jock's head suffered pretty severely, being
actually ground against the wall, while the full
force of "VVillie Bruce's left hand descended at the
same time upon the luckless pate. And then the
reckless drunkard was off like the wind upon his
miserable and selfish expedition !

For a few seconds Jock lay stunned and almost
unconscious upon the steps, but no longer. As
he said himself afterwards, 'anger did him mair
guid than ony cordial could hae dune.* He was
so determined that the villain should not succeed
after all Agnes Bruce's efforts — or should not escape
easily — and with that prize too !

Swifter than one can tell it, Jock was after his
opponent ; down to the wide open Market, that
was just beginning to awake — across it and up
the Bow — round again by George IV. Bridge and
back to the other end of their own narrow Row.
So it was they went, Willie Bruce flying like the
guilty, hunted creature he was, and Jock tearing
along after him in red-hot pursuit Jock was

'STOP THIEF r

141

gaining on his adversary every moment, and his
eager excitement made him forget all about the
pain he felt, and the blood that was streaming
down his face and on to his ragged shirt, iic was
almost done, though, for want of breath and want of
vigour, when Bruce darted up a dark entry at the
Cowgatehead, which they had once more reached
in their circuitous flight. It was a narrow, filthy
place, but it belonged to a ruinous and deserted
tenement, and so was quiet and secure of interruption.
Here Bruce turned boldly on his pursuer, and
began to wrestle with him as before. It would
soon have gone very hard with the lad, but not even
at the worst did he relinquish his efforts at the
recovery of little Effie's treasure.

'Gie me back Effie's bawbees,' he articulated aa
well as he could while the struggle went on. *Just
gie me tJiainiy an* I'll lat ye gang yer ain gait ! *

* You^ ye vaigabon' loon that ye are ! What
business hae yott wi* my bairn's siller ? Can I no
dae what I like wi't mysel' ? '

* No ! ' said Jock stoutly, though his breath was
beginning to fail him sadly, and the burly country-
man's hand was still tightening upon his throat.

* Are ye — a man — ava, that — ye can — rob the puir
blin* lassie } ' he managed to ejaculate with difficulty.

' Ha ! ha ! * laughed the other scornfully — a wild
and miserable laugh. *Blin' folk are the best to
rob, for they canna see ye — div ye no ken that ? '

142

JOCK HALLIDA Y.

fil I

The cruel and pitiless jeer roused Jock's failing
powers. He threw himself afresh upon his an-
tagonist, and fairly wrenched the brown, jingling
thing out of his clutch. As he did so he retorted
on the heartless father :

^ Blind f Ay, God be thankit she couldna see
it was her ain faither's haun' that robbed her !
Oh, man ! there's maybe better een than oors that
watch her an' the like o* her I ' «

Poor Jock ! This outburst of rough and homely
eloquence seemed destined to be his last effort !
Was it the lingering chime of that text he had
heard Alice Glendinning teaching some little ones
in her Sunday class to repeat, only a short time
before, * Their angels do always behold the face of
my Father which is in heaven * ?

It was a rough blow that felled him to the
ground almost before the last words had left his
lips, and he lay bleeding profusely and quite un-
conscious at the foot of the broken, deserted stairs.

Willie Bruee, terrified now at what he had done,
was about to fly, but to his horror and astonishment
found himself pinioned by two strong policemen,
who had just then entered the stair, attracted by
the voices within.

Their bull's-eye lanterns flashed light instantly
on Jock's pale and blood-stained countenance, and
that sight made the unhappy drunkard's overthrow
complete. He had no longer any nerve to resist,

'STOP TITTEF!'

or any desire to fly. He fynly threw himself down,
sobbing bitterly beside what he supposed to be the
dead body of his former friend, slain by his own
hand, and refused to answer any inquiries made
by the officers of justice.

In a few minutes, however, these gentlemen had
arranged the affair according to their own ideas. It
was a case of common theft, they decided. Here
was the booty, and these two drunk men had
quarrelled over the division of it, as was quite usual
and very natural in the circumstances. A stretcher
was soon procured for the insensible prisoner, and
the other was handcuffed and marched in pro-
cession after it between two other policemen,
quickly summoned for the occasion. And in this
fashion poor Jock and the more unhappy Willie
Bruce, along with little Effie's jingling penny pig,
were conducted up the Bow and down the High
Street to the gloomy regions of the police station,
there to await the leisure of the magistrates.

It was quite daylight now, and the sun had broken
cheerily through his thick mantle of grey, and was
lighting troops of workmen on their various ways.
Many a one looked round as the little band moved
slowly past, and not a few recognised Jock and
his comrade, wondering what mischief they had
got into so early in the day. But the police en-
couraged no conversation, and the affair remained
a mystery.

ill

CHAPTER XVI.

'IN THE POLICE OFFICE.'

tM<

Y the time he arrived at the office
Jock Halliday was so far recovered
as to sit up and look wildly about
him, staring at the blank walls and the burly
officers round him as if they were all fi<jures in
a dream.

*Whaur am I?' he muttered, struggling to
free himself from a policeman's grasp. * Man, I
maun be awa till my wark! It's braid dayliclit.
Let me gang, I tell ye ! *

* Eh, Jock/ cried poor Willie Bruce, bursting
into tears anew at this voice from the slain, —
* eh, Jock, I'm rael blythe to hear you. An'
to think ma ain hand was to gie ye ycr
death - blow. Oh, man, I couldna hae tholed
that ! '

Jock glared savafjc-ly on his late antagonist.

* What are ye haverin' about, ye mickle gowk }

144

IN THE POLICE OFFICE,

Wliaur's the bairn's siller? Gin ye claur to tak
it, ye black scoon'rel * —

* Come, come, my fine follow,' interrupted the
representative of the law, 'none of this brawling
here, you know. You seem to have got out
of the doctor's hands all of a sudden ; but you're
still in ours, you know — mind that ! '

Jock only gaped in reply, and fell back in
his chair, being still faint from loss of blood.
It now behoved the other prisoner to clear up
matters a little, which he attempted to the best
of his ability.

* Ye see, sirs,' he began slowly and hesitatingly,
hanging his head with shame and confusion, —
*ye see, I've been a black sicht to mysel' an'
a' body belongin' to me. It's drink that's dune
for mc, sure aneuch, an' 1*11 nt'er get ma heid
up again in this warkl. I gajd that far that I
took my ain wee lassie's bawbees, an' her a sichtless
bairn ! God forgie me * —

His voice quivered, and he broke down
entirely here. The sergeant of police lifted
little Efiie's ' pig' as he said this, and shook it
carelessly.

* This } * he asked curtly.

*Ay, ay!' sobbed Willie, 'that's just it — the

^erra thing she was sae fond o'. I'm a black-

herted villain for ever thinkin' o't ; but I ne'e/

146

JOCK HALLWAY.

■\

felt hoo black I was till that puir laddie's bluid
was drappin' on the plainstanes — bluid shed by
ma ain hand ! And him aye the best an' kindest
freen' we've had ! God forgie me for this crime,
but I can never forgie mysel, e'en though the
laddie has been brocht back as frae the deid
again ! *

And here poor Willie's emotions overc; mo
him entirely, and he covered his face with
his hands, and rocked to and fro as if in a
perfect agony of shame and remorse.

* Haud yer havers, man ! * said a rough but
kindly voice familiar to his ear. 'A body wad
tl ink I was baith streekit an' kisted to hear ye
speak ! But deed I'm no just sae easy sattled ! *

Jock was interrupted here by the return
of the police surgeon, who had gone lor
some appliances, and was come to examine his
wounds. Bruce was immediately removed to a
lock-up cell on the basement, without being
allowed to utter one word, whether conciliatorv
or otherwise.

Some of Jock Halliday's wounds were serious
enough in their way, and after dressing them
the doctor recommended that he should remain
quietly where he was, stretched on two chairs
till sleep and rest should restore him to his
usual vigour.

I 'I

IN THE POLICE OFFICE.

re serious

*Me bide here!' exclaimed Jock in dismay.
' In the Pollis Office ! Me ' An' Maister Braid's
shop open an hour syrj an* naebody to mliid
the oven. Na, na, sir, I canna bide here the
noo! '

In his fervour Jock had started to his feet
while he spoke, but in so doing verified the
doctor's s:atement that his strength was tempo-
rarily exhausted, for he fell suddenly back into
the arms of the nearest policeman, and fainted
right away. When he next came to himself
he found himself lying quite alone in a different
room, and on a low, baie truckle bed. lie felt
giddy and weak whenever he raised his head ;
so, after one or two vain efforts he resigned
himself to his fate, and lay still and silent,
staring at the grim white-washed walls round
him, and the narrow window overhead, whose
cross-bars seemed to grudge admission to some
murky daylight.

However unfortunate Jock's position might be,
it was certainly infinitely preferable to that of his
companion in the floor below. Willie Bruce lay
prostrate on the ground, cold and damp and
hard as that was, his breast heaving, his whole
frame shaking with the newly-awakencd tempest
of penitent emotion. It was in vain that the
various officials plied him with questions; he

i.(li

148

JOCK HALLIDA Y.

would return no further answer than that he was
* a blacl'-herted villain, and wished he was at the
bottom o' Lairgo Bay.'

Tha*-. statement being perhaps too poetical for
these practical functionaries, was but Indifferently
received, and by and by, as some more exciting
cases came in, the miserable man was left alone
to bemoan himself as he might.

So passed the weary morning hours till high
noon sounded from the silvery chimes of St. Giles',
not very far from this dreary abode, but out in
the air and light of freedom, where the old
cathedral raised its fine crown of fretted stone
up to the blue heavens above it, as if to tell the
crowds of toiling, struggling, care-laden men and
women always passing and repassing, that their
hearts and treasures should be set on high.

At mid-day, however, things took a new turn,
and that rapidly. Bailie Middleton was on the
bench, and before him some half-dozen cases
were promptly brought, and as promptly decided.
That of Jock Halliday and Willie Bruce was
si»nple enough, as neither had ought to say against
the other but what the other freely corroborated.
They were not alone at the bar. News of their
seizure had soon reached the Candlemaker Row,
and of course in a highly exaggerated form.
Jock was said to be almost if not quite killed,

IN THE POLICE OFFICE,

149

and Willie was understood to be in danger of
transportation, if not capital punishment.

* I've aye said/ pronounced Mrs. Lov/rie, speak-
ing in a loud tone, as usual, from her favourite
rostrum, the first landing, — * T've aye said thae twa
wad come tae nae guid ! The tane a fule an' the
tither a hypocreet. What could ye expect ? *

* Avveel, neebor,' said a gossip by her side, ' yeVe
a richt to say't, for ye'U ken well about Willie
Bruce. He was aye gaun wi' yer ain gudeman.'

* My gudeman has a heid on his shouthers,
ma woman,* retorted Mrs. Lcwrie, * an' he canna
be responsible for a' the fowk that comes rinnin*
to hear what he thinks o' this an' that — State affairs
an' the like.*

While this passage of arms went on, Agnes
Bruce and Mrs. Halliday hastily repaired to the
police office with tearful countenances and anxious,
heavy hearts. There they stood in the back-
ground as the prisoners were led into the dingy
room, where the Bailie dispensed justice in his
usual summary and satisfactory manner.

Mrs. Bruce's neat and respectable appearance, as
well as the quiet and modest way in which she
answered all questions put to her, aroused the
sympathy and interest of the magistrate, and he
treated the reckless husband to a very stern and
sharp reproof After which, administering a mildef

«So

JOCK JIALLIDAY.

i '

?;d

admonition to Jock Halliday, he dismissed the
whole company, and called for the next cise to
be brought on.

It was a sombre and sorrowful enough group,
however, that slowly wended away fr^m llio
police office. Jock was too indignant at his own
unmerited detention to express himself in any
terms, while tears checked even the customary
eloquence of Mrs. Halliday, and Agnes Bruce
could only hold silently by Willie's trembling
arm, praying in her heart for some word of wisdom
to be given hei to say in this dark and perplexing
hour. Willie himself moved slowly along, with
eyes fixed stedfastiy on the ground, and hopeless
dejection written on his face. If there was one
ray of light in the picture, it was only visible to
Jock Halliday's eyes, and that was in the fact
that Effie s penny pig was safe and sound.

m^!^

l}.

i;f^i

'1^^"~^

CHAPTER XVII.

LUCKY law's ledger.

;HE months that followed saw hard enough
times in the two garret homes of No. 97.
^^^^^1 Willie Bruce, never of a very robust
constitution, had thoroughly ruined his health by
the unwonted tack of dissipation into which his
intimacy with the great ' Polyteecian ' had un-
happily dragged him. That last miserable morning
ending in the police cell had put the copestone on
this work of destruction, and in less than a week an
Infirmary chair conveyed him to the fever hospital
in a state which left but slender hopes of his
recovery. Ten weeks the fever ran its course, and
then, though the crisis was safely passed, he lay
weak and helpless as a child fof nearly as many
weeks following. •

Agnes Bruce found it a hard time indeed. She
was not really so unhappy as she had been ; for this
illness, alarming as it was, seemed light compared

151

152

JOCK HALLWAY,

to that terrible one which had been consuming her
lusband's mind, temper, and principles for many
months before. She could hope now that, if he ever
came back at all, he mic'^ht come back an altered
man — a sadder but a wiser one. And if he was
doomed to die, she could at least think it possible
that from that sore sick-bed he might pass away
repentant and forgiven. Still she had her troubles
to meet, not the least of which were little Effie's
sorrowful face and her own baby boy's dvvining
aspect.

In the Halliday mansion things looked much
more cheerful, though hard times did hang over it
too. Jock and his mother fought bravely the battle
of life, he in Mr. Braid's bakehouse and she at the
Rubber Factory, and so between them they
managed * to keep the wolf from the door.* Betsey
had resumed her skipping on the plainstones and
other spring pastimes, and the younger ones, when
released from the halls of learning, battered each
other with their 'bannets,' and tumbled over one
anouicr on the stair very much as they had done in
brighter days. Still they too knew what it was to
have 'a stave out o' their bicker,' as the Scotch
proverb has it, and became aware at not unfrequent
intervals that the stomach is a living organ, and not
merely a medical or scientific term.

Jock Halliday had oiten pondered deeply ovei

LUCKY LAWS LEDGER.

«5:

the old housekeeper's words, and the grand idea he
had once formed of raising a *gowd piece' for a
consultation fee ; but that golden fancy was be-
coming faint and shadowy now, almost as much so
as the new moon, to which he wistfully looked now
and again, turning a fourpenny-bit in his pocket
as he did so, and wishing three wishes meanwhile.
Whatever the two latter of these might be, the first
was invariably the same, and it did not concern
himself or any of the Halliday lineage.

* Hey, Jock, ma man ! Is that you ? Jist come
in by for a meenit like a gude cratur as ye are!
I'm sair fashed this nicht — I can tall ye that ! *

It was the shrill metallic voice of Lucky Law
that fell on Jock's ear as he was sauntering along
the Market one evening, his hands in his pockets,
and ruminating deeply. By almost imperceptible
degrees the ancient hostility between himself and
the randy greenwife had slowly dwindled away.
Perhaps Jock had lost the schoolboy element which
made him so prone to torment her ; and perhaps
Lucky had tried more conciliatory measures. Any-
way they had been quite on friendly terms now for
some time back, and Jock often did little errands or
odd jobs for her when required. But to-night it was
something quite different that Lucky wanted. She
sat at the foot of her own stair, with a huge cracked
slate on her knees, rocking herself to and fro in

:"'*■•■

"S4

JOCK n ALU DAY.

;'t II

considerable distress of mind, while the withered
greens and dejected leeks waved mournfully over
her big frilled night-mutch as if in silent sympathy
with her trouble.

*I canna bide this ava! It's ower muckle for
flesh an* bluid to contend wi ! ' moaned poor Lucky.

'What ir't tliat's wrang?' inquired Jock, bli'ff
and brief as usual.

' Wi "iq, laddie.^ /•.' thing's clean wrang a' the-
gither , It's no ae thing nor anither — I wadna
mind chat, no me ! — but it's jist the haill stock, stoup
an' roup, pipe-clay an' pease-meal br^jrlcy an'
blackenin', sybies, leeks, ingans, an* a' thing! Jist
fair steered aboot, gin as ye had steered them wi' a
stick. Tak this slate I'ke a ^uid laddie, an' see if
ye carna mak some mair sense oot o t than ma puir
auld een can dae.'

Thus adjured, Jock Halliday took the slate, which
evidently contained the last week's accounts, debit
and credit, of the entire commercial system con-
ducted by Miss Law.

It was indeed a wilderness of wild writing and
wilder spelling, with figures much more neaily
allied to the hieroglyphs of Egypt and Assyria than
to those presented by English arithmetic.

'What'n a genius has pit thae accounts doo/i?'
inquired Jock. *It maun hae been Jumblin' Jess,
I'm thinking.*

Z UCK Y LA WS LEDGER.

«5S

*Ve may weel ken that/ exclaimed L icky, now
more in anger than in sorrow, since she saw some
way out of her difficulties. 'A muckle haverin' gowk
she is ; an' sister's bairn as she is to me, I'll no hae
her dairken ma door again — no for a whilcy
onygate I Her tu set up an* tall me she was a
scholard noo, an* wad keep ma accoonts for me the
week she was bidin' here, oot o' wark ! An' me,
like an auld fule, tae believe her tae ! I micht hae
kenned weel eneuch what Jumblin' Jess would mak
o' ma sklate ; but eh, laddie, ye're a rael godsend
to me this nicht, an it'll a' come richt again or
lang.'

Jock laughed quietly to himself as he thought of
the change of days that must have occurred since he
could be called a godsend by Lucky Law. * It wud
hae been a praisent frae anither quarter aince on a
day,* he muttered ; but Lucky was engaged in a
sharp encounter with some exacting customer
on the subject of bath-brick, and did not hear
him.

An horr and more Jock laboured at his task,
comparing the hieroglyphics of Jumblin* Jess one
with another, and so arriving at some idea of their
meaninsj ; arranging and compiling the various
items on a clean sheet of paper, which at last
presented to Lucky Law's critical survey a fair
report of the last week's loss and profits ; and as

»S6

JOCK IIALLIDA Y,

the latter greatly exceeded the former on this
occasion, she was lavish in her encomiums on Jock's
scholarship and assiduity, concluding with a generous
offer of no less than 'a shillin' a week* if he would
undertake to be her clerk, so far as ' redding up the
aforesaid sklate ' went, once or twice a-week.

Jock, of course, accepted the offer thankfully. For
a moment or two the thought occurred to him that
this extra pay might be laid aside to accumulate in
time to a real * gowd piece,' but the idea faded away
as he remembered the pinched state of matters at
home. Jock told his mother, however, of the bit of
good luck, handing her the shilling he had just
received. What was his joy to hear that cheery
matron exclaim :

* Na, na, ma laddie ! That's a shillin* I'll hae
nocht tae dae wi*. Ye'U e'en keep it for yersel, an
mak yersel a bit braw for the Sabbath days and
the like.'

* Hoots, mither ! I'm no heedin* aboot that,'
quoth Jock.

'Aweel, laddie, dae what ye like wi't, but no
a penny o't will I tak ; ibr, lat me tall ye, I've
gotten a gran* rise mysel at the factory this day.
Five shillin's mair nor I had ; for the manager's
awfu' weel pleased like, and I dinna ken but
some o' yer freens doun yonder hae spoken a guid
word for me. Hoosumever we're jist in clover

LUCKY LA irS LEDGER.

157

the noo ; an', Jock, my ain laddie, ye'll keep Lucky
Law's shillin' till ycrscl. I'm no hcedin' what yc
dae wi't, sac lang as it doesna gang an ill gait.'

' Aweel, mither, we'll no say what'n a gait it'll
gai ^ jist yet,' said Jock with an amused smile.
The gold piece had again gleamed before his
imagination, though reason suggested that it must
yet be very far away.

* It's a far cry to Lochowe ! ' Jock muttered
to himself next morning as he went whistling
down the stairs to his work. Twenty shillings
would take twenty weeks, and that was five months
at least. Well, they would pass away in time,
and somehow he felt his heart grow lighter as
he thought of this new project. All the day long
Jock worked briskly at his loaves and bricks and
* penny baps,' and the dough seemed to dance
lightly in the baking trough all the time to the
tune of * A shillin' a week ! A shillin' a week i*

that,*

•ym

I:.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE BAZAAR.

Once again the
green-robed smiling
May had done her
best to mantle the
'grey Metropolis
of the North.' But
it was not only the
time of buds and
blossoms in Auld
Reekie; it was also
the time of 'flittings,'
with their inevitable
confusion and dis-
traction — straw fill-
ing the air and
flying along the
QUHKN MARY'S BATH, HOLYRooa btrccts, — ' Gcneral

Bug's review' of old pots and pans and shovels,

]«8

THE BAZAAR.

'59

rusty grates and rickety chairs, being held all
over the city. It was also the time of Synods
and General Assemblies. Black coats and white
neckcloths swarmed everywhere about, and every-
body was on the qui vive to catch the first notes
of their exciting controversies. Ministers' wives and
daughters, too, displayed the freshest charms of
the manse, dressed in the latest fashions of some
provincial town, to the jaded eyes of the capital.
Holyrood once more raised its drooping head,
and forgetting the blood of Rizzio, which always
lies so heavily on its conscience, and the mouldering
bedsteads on which royalty had once reposed,
opened its arms to receive a fresh tide of revellers
and merrymakers, who gladly availed themselves of
the free invitations to levees, dinners, and receptions
given by His Grace the Lord High Commissioner.

And so it was a stirring time. Among the
many families unusually occupied in receiving
their clerical friends at this time were the Glen-
dinnings. They kept open house indeed in George
Square, and many a happy gathering took place
there. But they had something else to think of,
too. The grand bazaar, for which they had been
for half a year back toiling and troubling, hoping,
fearing, doubting, and deliberating, was to come
ofif on the 20th and 21st of tht month. Of course
the said clerical friends and their wives and

i6o

JOCK HALLIDA Y.

daughters tiad all piomised to be present, though it
was dubious whe ;her, among so many other attrac-
tions, these promises were much worth. Prepara-
tions grew quits bewildering, and the house was in
a state of blockade with boxes and hampers.

Mr. Glendinning took fright altogether, and retired
to Thornydean for the week, from whence, however,
he sent as much country produce as could reasonably
appear at a fancy fair, including a splendid sheep
from the Cheviot Hills, with a black face, and blue
ribbon round its neck.

The day came at last. The Music Hall displayed
a blaze of splendour almost unexamphd in the
annals of bazaar life. Dazzling, indeed, were the
stalls with their blue and pink awnings, showing
the names of many distinguished ladies who had
consented to play at the pretty game of 'shop-
keepers.' Ravishing, too, were the toilettes of the
young ladies acting as their assistants. Of the
goods displayed, it 's needless to say more than
that they were quite as brilliant, as superabundant,
and perhaps as useless as bazaar goods usually are.

All honour vo the genus, however ! Jt is the right
sort for * raising the wind.' What /.lodern church
has not been built on a solid substratum of the
same }

The 'fun of the fair' went on merrily all that
day, after its more serious opening by a popular

THE BAZAAR.

i6i

Iioiigh it
r attrac-
Prepara-
t was in

d retired
however,
asonably
id sheep
and blue

lisplayed
d in the
were the
showing
who had
)f * shop-
2s of the
Of the
ore than
bundant,
ally are.
the right
n church
n of the

all that
1 popular

divine of the city. Instead of a lull in business,
which the Glendjnnings had greatly feared, it soon
became evident that a deadlock of eager customers
was the more imminent danger. They had such
lots of friends, both town and country ones, that
they easily kept the first place among the amateur
firms doing so brisk a trade around the hall.

Lady Dacres, a fat, fashionable old lady irom.
their own county, was a customer much coveted
by the others. She stuck, however, pretty closely
to the Thornydean family, and positively seemed
* made of money ' that day ! What quantities
of things sl\e bought, and how her poor little
lady's-maid followed her, gasping under her load
of cushions, tidies, and other fluffy articles, and
bristling all over with nick-nacks and toys !

Mr. Towie, too, was an unfailing devotee, though
perhaps not quite so serviceable. He did his best, to
be sure, lugging about the heavier articles, such as
chairs and ottomans, for review, but had to endure
the sharp lash of Miss Pat's censure occasionally
for absurd mistakes he made regarding the uses
and prices thereof.

' Oh ! Mr. Towie ! ' she would exclaim, * how
could you say ten shillings for this splendid tea-
cosey } Why, it is worth nearly a guinea, so, of
course, must sell for two ! *

Whereupon Mr. Towie would look penitent, but

X62

JOCK HALLIDA K

happy, and declare he thought the cosey the
cheapest he had ever heard of !

It was the opinion of Mr. Towie that Alice
Glcndinning never had looked so lovely as she
did that day in her white muslin cap and apron,
with the blue ribbons fluttering softly about her ;
but he admired only as he would have admired
some 'bright particular star,' too far away from
earth for him to think of. And so he was often
fain to sun himself in the more ordinary sunshine
furnished by Pat and her lively companions.

There was an enthusiastic burst of applause from
the whole staff of workers that night, about eleven
o'clock, when Dr. Randal announced from the
top of a big packing-case that the day's sales
had realized the handsome sum of £Zoo ! Then
there was the next day to add to it, and the next
night too, when it was expected there would be
a grand clearing off of surplus stock, by means
of rough-and-ready auctioneering, and other populai
inventions.

Alice Glendinning had set her heart on giving
tickets of admission on that last evening to her
brother's class, and among others, Jock Halliday
had, of course, one.

* I'm no heedin',' was at first Jock's wonted
rejoinder, not very encouraging to the donor ; but
then she knew her way through the boy's nature,

THE BAZAAR.

163

rough-ca^t outwardly, but so gentle, even polisJicd^
beneath !

'You don't need to buy anything, Jock, mind
that,* said his friend emphatically. 'Indeed, I
am sure you ought not, in present circumstances,
to waste even a sixpence on what can't be said
to be even amusement to you. But I want you
to see it, you know, that is all. I'm sure you
will think it a pretty enough sight, too ! '

Jock nodded his head and put the ticket in his
breast pocket with a brief ' thanks,' but he privately
resolved that one sixpence at least cf Lucky Law's
money would go to help the grand bazaar — even
though it retarded the eventful consultation to
which he was eagerly looking forward.

f;;-i

-<T

CHAPTER IX.

A GOLDEN SHILLING.

MILITARY band was playing its loudest
and liveliest next evening, when Jock
Halliday and his companions entered the
Music Hall. The noise and excitement going on,
the glare of the lights, the brilliant colouring of the
stalls, all conspired to bewilder them at first, and
they could only wander round, jostling and being
jostled, quite unable to think of any purchases.

Jock had been in luck that day. Half-a-crown
had found its way into his pocket because he had
caught the runaway horse of a rich old farmer in at
the market ; and Jock, being a kind-hearted fellow,
had determined to devote it to his own home-circle.
In the first place, little Davie, his favourite brother,
was to be taken to the bazaar. His mother and
Betsey had the first offer, but the state of their ward-
robe just then proved an insurmountable obstacle.
Davie, however, a bright-haired merry little fellow,

164

A GOLDEN SHILLING.

165

and a favourite in the stair, was soon rigged out
in a ' loan collection ' of garments fit for any
society.

So a sixpence was cheerfully paid for Davie's ad-
mission, and he had another sixpence to buy what
he liked for himself, and was supremely happy.
Jock looked down at him several times to wonder at
his glowing cheeks aiid sparkling eyes, and to con-
gratulate himself on the success of his plan. It was
getting late when the whole party stopped in front
of a most tempting array of miscellaneous goods,
brilliantly illuminated, and purporting to be all
offered to the public at the ridiculously low rate of
one shilling each ! The stall was kept by the Misses
Sharpe, young ladies already well known in the Hall
for business qualities well suited to their name. In
fact they had been doing a roaring trade all day,
rather to the detriment of some of the other fair
stall-holders.

* Hae, Davie ! tak this and buy something for
me ! ' said Jock, shoving a shilling into his little
brother's hand, quite proud to see the important
look Davie put on at the thought of this commis-
sion. * It maun be something it'll be a praesent
for mother,* he continued. * I want to tak her
hame some bit thing, and yell chuse it for inc,
ye ken.'

Off ran Davie to the enchanting stalls, Jock and

[66

JOCK HALL ID A Y.

his comrades goinfj on a little way, so as to leave
him all the glory of the affair. Some ten minutes
or more had elapsed before Davie made up to them
again, laden with the purchase he had just accom-
plished. He was immensely proud of it himself,
and evidently considered that he had done quite a
stroke of business. Alas for Davie ! His brother's
face fell ominously, and his brows darkened, as
he beheld the treasure, for it consisted of nothing
more nor less than a pair of very old dingy-looking
brass candlesticks !

Jock was seriously angry for a moment, and hasty
wordj rose to his lips, but Davie burst out crying,
and that disarmed him in a moment. He also
caught at the idea originated by some of the other
lads, that the unfortunate purchase might yet be
exchanged for something more desirable. He ran
back to the stall, and represented the case in as
courteous terms as he could devise ; but, to his
great chagrin, the Misses Sharpe were inexorable.
The candlesticks had been bought and paid for ;
it was getting late, and no one else was likely to buy
them now, and they positively refused to think of
an exchange.

Poor Jock ! He could only sink down on an
adjacent bench, and bemoan his unhappy fate,
assisted by a chorus of sympathizing companions,
and the remorseful, weeping Davie. ' Cami lesticks I '

A GOLDEN SHILLING.

167

he muttered helplessly. *T\vae auld ricklcs o'
caun'lesticks, and hus that has gas tae i' the
hoose. Eh, man, it's awfu* ! Thae fo'k maun jist
hae threepit on the bairn to tak them, an* he's no
gotten nae sense yet, o' coorse. The mair fule me
to trust him wi the " bob ! " Dinna greet, Davie,
man ! it's ma ain wight as wee! as yours/

Jock and his companions agreed in suspect-
ing the Misses Sharpe to be capable of any
villainy, such as ^jntrapping young and inex-
perienced customers, and luring them on to ruin.
The whole affair was very dark and dismal in
their eyes.

A more cheering view of the subject was, how-
ever, taken by a young lady who happened to pass
at that moment. It was Pat Glendinning, and
being a genius, she readily understood the whole
dilemma without any explanation.

* Why, Jock, these are something quite out of the
common — you are in luck, I do declare ! '

' Luck ? ' repeated Jock slowly. * It's gty queer
kin' o' luck this ! An' we dinna burn caun'les in
the Row, now, ony gait ! *

' But they're old, Jock ! * Pat almost shrieked into
his ear. 'They're aivfully old — I know they are.
I know the lady who sent them to the bazaar.
They must have gone in that lot quite by
mistake ! '

i68

JOCK HALLWAY,

' Ou ay, I dinna doot they're auld. It's no that
I'm hccdin* aboot. They micht hae rubbit up again
gin they had been worth the trouble.*

' But they're antique^ Jock ! ' again shrieked the
genius. * They're r ,;ular Queen Aj^ne v aacli ..^ fc* s !
I'm sure they are ! '

'Like aneuch,* sighed Jock. *She n.xcht !^e
keepit them till hersel' for aught I care.'

But Pat had seized the treasures by this time,
and was flying off round the Hall in search of her
fashionable friend, Lady Dacres.

* Oh, Lady Dacres, do look at these ! Regular,
genuine Queen Anners, and no mistake ! Mrs.
Bracket sent them, and she has a regular museum of
these things. Would you mind buying them of the
poor boy who has got them by mistake, and doesn't
in the least understand their value ? He is quite
miserable about them ! Would you believe it ?
Only a poor baker's boy, though, you know, who
really catUt be expected ' —

* Of course not ! ' interrupted her ladyship. * How
could he, poor boy > Why, it takes a perfect
curriculum of study to appreciate these things, my
dear. Let me see them. Yes ; indeed they are
lovely^ my child ! Oh, the sweetness of that delicate
moulding ! The quaint truthfulness of this fluted
column. Patricia, my darling, you have made me
quite envious of your baker's boy ! He won't part

A GOLDEN SHILLING,

169

with these trcii^jures ardcr a foiiune — a king's
ransom ! '

'Oh, indeed, Lady iJacres, he will let you have
them for r. mere trifle, and be ffiuukjiill Just wait
till I ask him!'

Pat was off in a moment, and returned quickly
with the tidings that Jock Halliday would consider
himself lucky beyond measure to get his un-
fortunate shilling restored to him in lieu of the
precious candlesticks. She found her ladyship
still gloating eagerly over these gems, dilating to
all around her on graceful curves and exquisite
finish, which were all but invisible to such un-
tutored eyes as theirs.

M shilling r she exclaimed. *Yes, indeed, he
shall have that' But it was a golden shilling
which Lady Dacres drew from her now v/ell-nigh
exhuujted purse, and which she pushed into Pat's
hand, saying, * Pray, offer him this in my name, and
say if he considers it sufficient, / am more than
delighted with the purchase ! *

In vain Pat remonstrated on this fresh extrava-
gance. In vain she described the boy's disgust
at his fate, and the value which a bit of silver
had in his eyes. Lady Dacres was quite angry
at the idea of cheapening the * Queen Aniiers!

* Am I to deprive the poor innocent youth of his
birthright,' she exclaimed in her usual high-flown

170

JOCK JIALLIDAY.

style of lanj^uage, * simply because he is ignorant of
its true value? Shall I give him a mess of pottage,
and pretend that that is a fair equivalent for so
divine a gift? My beautiful candlesticks! In-
deed, I should have no pleasure in contemplating
them, if they were to remind me of so base an action!*

So Jock Halliday was forthwith dragged up by
Patricia to receive in person, with many bows and
scrapes and muttered thanks, the shining sovereign,
which he could hardly at all understand to be his
own, Lady Dacres accompanying it by a few kind
and gracious words, which the boy felt he would
always treasure in his heart.

lie made straight tracks for Miss Alice's stall
now, and actually laid out another shilling in some
useful and pretty presents for his mother and all
at home ; for at that late hour things were going
at the * tremendous sacrifice ' rate.

Alice Glendinning warmly congratulated Jock
on his good fortune, but she was a little puzzled
by his reply.

* I'm no wantin' them at hame to ken o*t — no
jist yet,* he whispered. 'Wad ye mind keepin't
quate ? '

* No ; certainly not, if you wish it, Jock/ she
returned hesitatingly. * But you don't have many
secrets from your mother, I hope ; she would have
been so glad to know of this.*

A GOLDEN SHILLING,

»7i

Jock hung his head.

*Ay, I ken that fine. But— but— Miss Alice,
it's no for nae vvrang I'm hidin't. Will ye trust
me ? It's no for lang.*

There was an earnest, pleading tone in his voice
that touched her, and there was the usual open,
honest look in his eyes when he raised them to
her face. She was sorry in a moment for having
ever suspected him.

* All right, Jock,' she said cheerily. ' Indeed,
I can trust you or any of my boys. I will keep
your little secret till you tell me. Don't be afraid.*

Soon after that the great bazaar, like everything
else, came to an end, and silence and repose
settled on the now empty Hall. Everybody was
highly satisfied with its success — none more so
th'an Dr. Randal, who learned with joy that
;^ioc>o would be left clear, after all expenses
were paid, for his mission buildings

•**■«

•Vfi '"^

CHAPTER XX.

A CONSULTATION.

f '

RS. TUCKER had a very busy time of
it during all that Assembly season.
So many people, taking advantage of
their rare visit to the Metropolis, came to consult
her master regarding their eyesight, that it be-
came no sinecure to act as his portress. On one
bright afternoon in particular, she was about to
throw up the sponge altogether, and had given
orders for 'that slut, Martha,' to get herself up for
answering the door, and to mind her manners,
and not usher the patients in all higglety-pigglety
in a promiscuous way, as there was nothing more
likely to make her good master angry than that
was.

Martha's toilet, however, took some time to
complete, whatever the study of manners might
involve, and before she was ready Mrs. Tucker
had opened the door to a couple of visitors so

178

A CONSULTATION.

'73

ap^reeable to her mind, that strength and cheerful-
ness immediately returned.

'John Halifax, I do declare!' she cried, hold-
ing up her hands in surprise as she recognised
her roughish-looking, hobbledehoy visitor of a few
weeks back, carefully dressed and nicely brushed,
shoe-blacked and hair-oiled, for an important call.

Jock laughed, blushed, and nodded, but seemed
to trust entirely to the housekeeper's penetration to
discover his errand.

*And what pretty little missy may this be?'
continued Mrs. Tucker, turning to little Kffie,
who stood quietly beside her big protector on
the doorstep, just shyly lifting her sweet, sunless
eyes to where the kindly voice was coming from.

' It's the wee blin* lassie I was tellin' ye aboot,*
said Jock bashfully. *But yc'll maybe no mind ? '

'Yes; indeed, I do, John Halifax, and a dear
little thing she is too. But come away in, both
of you, to my parlour, and tell me all about it.
Has her mother sent her over here to see my
precious master, or what ? Eh } Ar 1 'ave you got
a 'alf-'oliday, John, for you ain't often walkin*
about like a gentleman at this time o' day, I
reckon, otherwise?'

* Ma faigs, it's no jist a holiday,' answered Jock
as he followed with Effie into the housekeeper's
room, and half reluctantly drawing from his pocket

% jC

JOCK IIALLIDA Y.

the right hand which had previously been hidden
there. It was partially bandaged, but the marks
of a terrible burn were easily visible beyond the
straps.

'Why, you 'ave burnt yourself sadly! And 'ow
did it 'appen .''*

* It was a bit fire in oor bakehoo^e yestreen,*
explained Jock. 'An' I caught the lowe some
gait whan we was pitten't oot,' alluding in these
very moderate terms to a conflagration which
had agitated the West Bow from its summit to its

'Dear, dear!' exclaimed the housekeeper. 'Did
I ever ! No wonder you're hoff work for to-day,
young man, an' will be, I dessay, for a week yet.
And you must 'ave felt it terrible.?'

* No verra bad,' said Jock stoically. * An' 'deed
I cudna help feelin' a kind o' gled o't for the sake
o' an aff day, though I canna afford mony o' them
the noo. But the maisier was rael kind, an' said
it wadna mak nae difference, aifter me helpin'
to put oot the flames like.' Jock added the last
sentence modestly, in a kind of apologetic tone.

Effie was being regaled with a huge piece of cake
meanwhile, and a big orange lay in her lap to be
carried home afterwards. So she was quite happy
and content, while her guardian let Mrs. Tucker
into the history of this little expedition.

A CONSULTATION.

175

'And now then, John Halifax,' said that lady
at last, when all had been told, even to the matter
of the brass candlesticks and Lady Dacres' muni-
ficent payment, — ' now then, you want to see my
master, and you shall see him as soon ?.s that
young curate goes out. He's 'ad such a time
of it try in* to get heye-glasses to suit 'im. If
he's been *ere once it's ten times, I believe ; and
nothin' but conceit in my hestimation. There he
goes now, and 'e'U be ten minutes certain afore the 'all
mirror a-brushin' of 'is »viskers an' adjustin' of 'is 'at.'

Mrs. Tucker hurried off to attend on this depart-
ing visitor, and returning shortly, requested Jock
and little Effie to follow her. They did so, and
were soon ushered into a handsome room, quite shady
and softly carpeted, in which Jock's spirits rather
threatened to forsake him, and Effie began to cry.

* Dinna greet, Effie,' whispered Jock, feeling the
necessity of keeping up appearances with her, —
* dinna greet. He's no gaun to eat ye up like
the wolf in Red Ridin' Hood.' And Jock tried
a laugh, but it seemed to die away among the
velvet curtains and the luxurious furniture.

It was an unfortunate illustration. Effie, naturally
a most imaginative child, at once recalled the scene
in that sad drama, and felt persuaded that she was
the very heroine in question. She sobbed more
bitterly than ever, and Juck v;as in despair.

176

JOCK HALLWAY.

A moment later, however, the poor little blind
child was lifted gently in a pair of strong arms, and a
big hand smoothed away the tangled hair very ten-
derly from her eyes and brow, while a rich, low voice,
soft as a woman's, asked what she was crying for.

'The wolf, the wolf,' sobbed poor Effic, strug-
gling to get away from this unknown monster.

* Hoots, -havers, Effie,* remonstrated Jock, quite
ashamed of this absurd opening of the interview,
which he had determined should be at least full
of due ceremony and decorum. * Dinna speak
like a fule that gait ; there's nae wolfs here, ye
ken. They're a' in the story-books.*

But Dr. Philip Randal motioned him to be
quiet, and sat himself down with Effie on his knee
in a large arm-chair by the window.

•The wolf?' he asked, 'the one that met little
Red Riding Hood long ago.? Ah! but don't
you know the end of that story i* — how it all
turned out to be a mistake, and the wolf didn't
hurt her at all, at all, but just curled himself up
at her feet and fell fast asleep, while she watched
him and played with his long brown hair, so
thick, and soft, and warm, just like this/ he added,
making the child's little hand rub over his own
thick, bushy beard of beautitul, tawny hair.
* Didn't you ever hear that before ? '

Whether it was the musical voice or the gentle

blind

, and a

:y ten-

1 voice,

for.

Strug-

, quite
erview,
ist full
speak
ere, ye

to be
is knee

it little
don't
it all
didn't
self up
atched
air, so
added,
is own
hair.

gentle

A CONSULTATION.

177

touch that did it, one way or another Effie's fears
were suddenly arrested and her spirit soothed.
Her sobs ceased, and she sat quite still and content
on the strange doctor's knee, listening wiih eager
interest to this new development of an old story, her
large lustrous eyes fixed on the face she could not see.

* That is right, that is right ! * said the doctor softly
to himself as he wheeled her imperceptibly more
towards the light, and deftly arranged some lenses
and instruments on the table by his side.

' And so you never heard that about the poor dear
old wolf before } ' he continued. ' No ! Well, you
know, it is quite a common story in a nice country
far away, where I have come from, and the little
girls and boys there are not afraid to meet that wolf.
If they met him, they would only go and speak
frankly to him, and stroke his long brown beard.'

Little Effie laughed softly, and of her own accord
touched the good doctor's own beard as he had made
her do before. He laughed too. It was evidently
established as quite a little joke between them.

* So you are little Red Riding Hood and I am
the wolf,' he said, ' and we have a great deal to say to
each other. Firsi you will tell me your name — your
other name, you know. Then I may tell you more
about the good-iiatured old wolf and his little friends.*

Effie told him her name, and her age, and many

other pieces of information, such as that her father

178

JOCK HALLIDA V.

was lying ill in the hospital, and that hei mother had
to sew all day long, and sometimes all night too, to
buy meal for the porridge and milk to sup along with
it. She also informed him that little Willie liked
his porridge * fine,' as she expressed it, but that she
herself didn't care x^or * them ' very much. Also how
this was Jock who had brought her here, — Jock
Halliday, who lived next door, and who was so kind
to her always, more particularly in bringing home
cookies and 'bakes ' sometimes for her tea ; for Jock
was learning to be a baker, and was to have a grand
shop of his own some day, which she was to keep for
him while he baked the bread and carried it home.

* Hoots, havers, Effie ! ' muttered the hero in ques-
tion several times under his breath, for he was
thoroughly ashamed of Effie's garrulity, and very
much afraf-d that the doctor would be angry.

The doctor, however, was not losing time during
this interesting discourse. He had managed to
examine thoroughly the bright, beautiful eyes that
were always raised to his own face, ready to catch his
lightest word. It would have been impossible for
any stranger to have guessed that Effie did not see
her new friend. Dr. Philip had at once perceived
that it was a very ^:o .-"Har case, and one of immense
interest from a professio ij] poir.c of view. Presently
he turned to Jock, vho .-il^l ,:>,oou a little behind him,
twisting his 'boniitt ' jivously in his .lands, and

A CONSULTATION.

179

00, to
p; with

liked
lat she
so how
—Jock
;o kind

home
jr Jock
L grand
:eep for
home.
in ques-
he was

d very

during
iged to
es that
atchhis
ible for

not see
lerceived
mmense
resently
ind him,

ds, and

trying to think how the *gowd bit* might be most
respectfully offered.

* So you are only a neighbour, my good fellow ? *
said Dr. Philip ; * not her brother, as I supposed. I
am afraid you won't be able to tell me much about
her ; how the blindness came on, and so forth. No ;
I must see her parents before I can say anything
definite. You may tell her mother tliat I shall louk
in some day. I won't ask her to come over lierc, as
she is so overworked at present. Give me the right
address, and then you and Effie may go for the
present. Good-bye, little Red Riding Hood ! You
must keep a good look-out for the big brown wolf,
you know — won't you ? '

Jock wrote down Mrs. Bruco's address clearly and
carefully on a slip of paper which tlie doctor handed
to him. Then he felt that the tug of war had come.
He slipped the sovereign from his waistcoat pocket,
and laid it on the paper. Then shutting his eyes,
as if he were about to set off some dangerous ex-
plosive, he shoved them both towards Dr. Randal,
saying hurriedly :

'This is the address, sir; an' I was to gie ye this
tae, an' to speir gin it was aneuch.'

The doctor stared at this unexpected speech, also
at the gold piece, whose history he so little knew.

*T/iis?' he said slowly. ' Oh, no ! not to-day at
least. Let the poor woman keep it at present for

I So

JOCK HALLWAY.

necessary expenses. Let me see. You are quite tc
be trusted with it, I suppose.-** The doctor spoke
rather sharply this time, and Jock's face coloured
deeply at the implied suspicion.

Poor Jock ! It was hard to be suspected of any
design to 'steal what was his own, or, at least, what
lie had ?o generously given away. But the flush of
injured irnocence and that of conscious guilt are not
always to be distinguished from each other, and this
time Dr. Philip Randal misinterpreted the signal.

' Give me the fee,' he said coldly. * I shall return
it myself. It is more correct to do so under any
circumstances.*

Angry words rose to Jock's lips, the angriest he
had ever felt tempted to utter. It required all his
heroism — far more than it had taken for the be-
stowal of the money — to keep them from being
spoken, but he remembered what issue was at stake.
Could he run the risk of offending this wonderful
doctor, and so ruining any chance there was of Effie's
sight being restored ? No, indeed, he could noi; !

Taking little Effie's hand in his, he just managed
to make some sort of bow, and hurriedly withdrew.
He did not even stay to speak a word or two with
his friend Mrs. Tucker, who thought it very rude of
him, and wound up a discourse on the subject
to Martha by saying, * Them Scotch 'as no more
manners than the pigs, I do declare.'

CHAPTER XXI.

MORNING CALLERS.

<ggi^r<r>T was not long before Dr. Philip Randal
Mp\^: fOx found his way to the poor little garret
!>;^4r«:^ where Effie I^ruce sat singing to herself
in the sunshine. After some conversation with her
mother, and learning all the particulars he wanted
regarding Effie's earliest days, the doctor laid the
rejected fee quietly in her hand, thanking her for it,
but saying he would rather that it purchased some
little comforts for herself and children during so
trying a time as her husband's long illness must
involve. Great was his surprise when Mrs. Bruce
assured him that he must be under some strange
mistake, for she had never sent him any such pay-
ment, which indeed it was quite out of her power
even to think of in present circumstances. In \ain
Dr. Philip pulled his bushy beard and moustache,
trying to recall the interview with that rough huJ
who brought little Effie. He could not see liovv
he could by any possibility be mi-^takeii.

18\

182

JOCK HALLIDA V.

'Why, I am quite certain the fellow brought it-—
from you — said he was told to give it to me. Just
think again ! Haven't you forgotten about it your-
self some way or other ? *

Agnes Bruce shook her head sadly. She was by
no means likely to forget a coin like that. Much
more likely, she thought it was, that the doctor, who
had so many of them passing through his hands
every day, should make some little mistake about it.
She thanked him most gratefully, but could not for
a moment think of accepting what was so clearly
not h,' r ov;n.

While they both stood perplexed, a light step was
heard on the threshold, a light tap at the door, and
then, without further parley, a bright sweet face
looked in — a face that coloured . ond'^'^rfully when '.t
first caught sight of the other visitor. Dr. Philip,
too, on his part started visibly as he recognised
Alice Glendinninc: !

* You here ! ' she was the first to say, looking up
with a shy glance of glad surprise.

'And yon!' he returned with a thrill of pleasure
in his tone. It was a long, lingering clasp with
which he retained the little gloved hand in his own ;
and even Agnes Bruce, absorbed as she was with her
own concerns, could easily perceive that these two
were somcthin'j: more to each other than mere
acquaintances.

MORNING CALLERS.

I S3

This new visitor rather prolonc^ed the doctor's
stay ; for, of course, the whole story of Kffie having
been taken over to consuii him, under the guardian-
ship of Jock Halliday, had to be i;one through; and
then incidental reference was naturally made to the
mysterious sovereign, which Dr. Philip still declared
must have been sent to him by Mrs. Bruce.

*No me! no me!' exclaimed Agnes Bruce for
about the twentieth time. 'An' I canna think
whaur that laddie could ever get the lend o' sic a
thing at a time like this, when his folk hae jist
eneuch to dae to mak ends meet*

Then Alice Glendinning surprised everybody still
more by suddenly clapping her hands as if with joy,
and crying out, * Oh ! I know, I know! Yes; I am
sure I know all about it.'

* I tJiocJit it maun be frae your hoose, Miss Ailicc,*
cried Agnes Bruce ; ' it could be frae nac ithcr ! '

* No, no ; it wasn't from us at all ! It was poor
Jock's own property. I saw him get it. I know
h:)W he gained it! And he was so anxious to kccj)
it \ secret for a little w^iile, he said. So I promised
not to tell ! But now surely one may ! '

And then she proceeded to tell her astonished
listeners all about the old brass candlesticks, and
Jock's dismay, and Lady Dacres* mania for 'Queen
Anne,' and her lavish way of paying for everything,
and so on. * But there is Jock himself, I declare,'

li ^

184

JOCK II ALL! DAY.

she added at the end of licr narrative, ' whistling
and rackctinfT on the stair as usual ! Home for his
dinner, I daresay ; just let me bring him in and
question him.*

Jock was collared and broucjht in accord ing^ly, by
Miss Glendinning's own fair hands, and there he
stood abashed and confounded in the presence of
the company, with never a word to say for himself
either one way 01 another. His mother, too, had
added herself to the j^roup in an easy, friendly
manner, though uninvited ; for, as she remarked :

* I cudna think nae ither but ma laddie was in
some mischeef again, seein' him brocht up afore this
stranger gentleman an' a'. 'Deed, it gaed me a
turn, I can tell ye ; for though he's an awfu' heap
sobered doon since Miss Ailice got a haud o' him,
he's a gey throughither kin' o' lad still, oor Jock.'

Mrs. Halliday's mind, however, as well as every-
body else's, was soon set at rest on this important
subject, especially when Dr. Philip Randal shook
Jock warmly by the hand, expressing in the hand-
somest manner his i^rcat regret for havinc^ mistaken
so fine a fellow and thought him unworthv of con-
fidence. He begged Jock's pardon so heartily, that
again our hero felt confused and abashed beyond
measure, and at last fairly took refuge in flight. Dr.
Philip had managed to slip the aforesaid sovereign
once more into the lad's reluctant hand, and Jock

MORNING CALLERS,

i8.

rei^n

found that after all some other destination niu.st yet
be found for it.

As to little Effic's case, the doctor had previously
said he would attend to it in time, but that for a
long while no steps of any kind could be taken.
Only she was to be fed up and strengthened as
much as possible, and he did not doubt but that, at
some far distant day, the blessing of sight might be
restored to her. How thankful they all felt; Jock,
not least of all, feeling that the attempt that had cost
him so much time and thought and consideration
had not after all been in vain.

And Dr. Philip escorted Miss Glendinning home
that day. It was an exceedingly busy time of day
with him ju^t then, to be sure ; but, as he observed,
George Square was so very near — hardly a step out
of his way. So it might be, perhaps ; and yet that
hardly accounted for their extending the walk
so far as to go round by Bruntsfield Links and St.
Catherine's Convent, as they are said to have done !

It is known, however, that the conversation was a
particularly interesting one to both parties, leading
before long to very important results. Lut we must
not anticipate quite so far as yet.

Before that summer was fairly over, Willie Bruce
came home from his long sojourn in the Infirmary.
He returned a sadder but a wiser man — broken in
health, enfeebled in spirits, but very penitent for the

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JVII

1 86

JOCK HALLWAY,

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past, and full of earnest resolves for the future
And he came home not to the poor empty garret
and the companionship of Tarn Lowrie and his
loquacious spouse, but to a neat little cottage with a
garden about it in the Grange Loan, which the
Largo friends had clubbed together to hire for his
wife and children. There Willie began his new and
better days, or rather went back to the old pure and
simple life he had led before his miserable falling
ofC

There Effie grew fat, and strong, and rosy, and
played about most merrily with her little brother
among the daffodils and daisies. There Agnes
Bruce became a busy and much-wanted laundress,
taking in as much work as she could well accomplish,
and sending home the whitest and smoothest of
linens by the careful hands of her little blind girl.
For Effie could do all that, and more than that !
And was not the day coming, at thought of which
her little heart beat high, when the bright eyes
would look in wonder, and love, and gratitude at the
beautiful world around her — at the roses in the
garden, at the bird > upon the green branches.^ Nay,
more ! at the faces of father and mother, brother and
friends, and surely— oh I surely— at *00R Jock'sT

CHAPTER XXir.

CRISIS AND CONCLUSION.

Time passed on with all our
Edinburgh friends, as it always
does and always must do — very
slowly in the eyes of some, very
quickly in the eyes of others,
but surely and silently, all tlie
same, bringing changes of some
sort to everybody. It brought,
for one thing, a fair young bride
to the great, lonely house in
Melville Street, where Mrs.
Tucker had once received Jock
Halliday and little Effie. That
good old lady had retired, on a
comfortable pension, to a small flat in the South
Side, where Jock sometimes took tea with her,
having long ago explained his abrupt departure on
that eventful evening when she had declared * the
Scotch had no more manners than pigs had.*

INFIRMARY TOWER.

188

/OCA' HALLIDA K

Martha still remained in the service of Dr. Phih'p
Randal, not having found a young man suited to
her mind, and being, perhaps, discouraged by Mrs.
Tucker's frequently expressed views as to that faith-
less sex.

When Mr. Towie first learned that Alice Glen-
dinning's destiny was fixed, he felt, to use his own
graphic words, * utterly floored.' But, after a time
of mental depression such as he had never before
experienced, that Mang-shankit youth,' as Mrs.
Lowrie termed him, buckled on his armour once
more, and went forth, like the knights of old, to do
battle in a glorious cause. And it was not in vain
that he tore up the long, winding stairs — poked
through the miry, miserable closes — listened to the
stories of the old, and the troubles of the middle-
aged, and the difficulties of all. His own sorrow
grew not less real, but more easy to bear — he hardly
knew how or why. And by and by he was able to
reflect that * bright particular stars ' were not in the
habit of descending to adorn the common earth, but
generally kept aloft somewhere pretty high above
his head !

And when the time came he was even able to
dance at Alice Glendinning's wedding — a feat which
he once thought would have killed him ; and also
to take comfort in the thought that Patricia, the
genius of the family, was 'really a first-rate sort of girl.

CRISIS AND CONCLUSION.

189

Time, the great healer, was to do still more for Mr.
Towie. It was to bring him the snug little manse
of Crumlauchy, and to set him considering whether
genius might not be tempted to try that green
retreat. But again we are going too fast. Let us
rather look back at some other changes that have
occurred in the Grassmarket and its environs.

Mr. Braid the baker, having retired from his old
shop in the West Bow — after turning a considerable
penny in it — there appeared a new name on the
sign-board, nicely painted in blue and gold. The
windows were bright — the loaves fresh and well-
coloured. The new baker stood laughing in fr )nt of
his premises one bright May morning ; for his good
old mother, well dressed and comfortable-looking,
had been quite overjoyed at the sight of the sign-
board, and cried out enthusiastically, clapping hef
hands at the same time, * W eel dune y Oor Jock !*

And Effie ? It was in a carefully-darkened room
in the old Infirmary of Edinburgh that some per-
sons were assembled one afternoon, anxiously wait-
ing the result of a difficult and uncertain operation.
A very young girl lay quiet and motionless on the
white-covered couch, which had been to her one of
pain and agony, in spite of all the appliances known
to modern science.

It had been over for some days, but the eyes were

190

/oca: HALLWAY.

■i ■

r ;

closely bandaged still. Now, at long last, the sur-
geon's skilful and gentle hand was to remove that
bandage and discover — what ?

Was it that the soft sunlight of God's fair world
fell now upon the long -closed eyes ? That the better
and sweeter light of loving looks and friendly faces
might dawn upon them as these had never done
before ? Or would it be that the darkness of life-
long night had settled once more hopelessly and for
ever over those beautiful but shrouded orbs ? Who
could tell ?

It was an anxious moment. Willie Bruce and
his wife stood near the bed, hand clasped in
hand, trying to think they were prepared for the
worst.

There was a young man sitting nearer still, with
head bent upon his hands, too much agitated even
to look up. It was Jock Halliday.

After a few moments of breathless suspense, Dr.
Philip Randal touched this youth and gently
motioned him to advance. He did so, and bent his
face down towards the white face upon the scarcely
whiter pillows. There was no motion, no sign, no
glance of recognition. Surely their hope had been
in vain I

Dr. Philip looked restlessly at his watch, felt the
pulse of his patient, then raised a warning finger.
Effie Bruce's sweet blue eyes looked up as they had

CRISIS AND CONCL USION.

191

never done since her unconscious infancy, and her
lips murmured softly, ^ Jock ! is it you f^

Had he ever done anything — sacrificed anything
for her sake ? It was all made up to him in that
moment a thousand and a thousand fold !

Poor little Effie ! And yet thrice happy too !
Among other strange things in her lot this was
surely the strangest, that perhaps alone of woman-
kind since the days of Eden, her first conscious
glance, like that of Mother Eve herself, fell on the
face of him who was to be her partner through all
the chequered scenes of life. For, farther away in
the far distance of time than even the snug manse of
Crumlauchy and Mr. Towie's happiness, there rises
before us the vision of one well-ordered home, where
Effie, grown a sweet and comely matron, duly pre-
sides, her bright eyes quick to discern the smallest
thorn in the path of husband or children, her skilful
hands prompt to remove it. And should she ever
be asked what made her home so bright, her lot so
happy, those shining eyes would grow dim for a
moment, and the ready answer would be, * Jock^ Oor
Jock!'

We must leave now those friends of old Edinburgh
days, with whom we have companied for a little
while. Already they have gone from our sight.
Tarn Lowrie and his worthy spouse ; Jean Campbell,

193

JOCK HALLIDA Y.

Lucky Law, and many others have vanished some-
where and somehow in the ceaseless kaleidoscope of
human life, only the one central figure of our little
story clearly remaining.

I have called him a hero. Is the word too grand,
the idea too ridiculous? He was only a baker's
boy ; only a 'prentice lad ; only a common working
man. Yet he made many homes better and happier
by his efforts and his example. He helped the
helpless, cheered the faint-hearted, rescued the
drunkard from his miserable fate. He cared for
others more than for himself. That is all.

Other heroes have done greater things than these,
and yet some of them have little recked to leave
burning homesteads and bleeding victims and
broken hearts behind them, as they marched
proudly on to win the laurel and bind it round their
own ambitious brows! And thinking of these
things, I, for one, would rather linger over the sim-
pler, homelier picture that I know so well, and would
even join with good Mrs. Halliday as she stands
gazing at her son's name in blue and gold letters on
the new sign-board, and like her clap my hands and
say:

*WEEL DUNEI WEEL DUNEl OOR JOCK.*

some-

Dpe of

little

^rand,
aker's
jrking
appier
:d the
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ed for

I these»
) leave
s and
arched
Id their
these
e sim-
would
stands
ers on
Ids and

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